Wintertide Retreat

Tags

christmas, christmas gift, completed stories, coruscantbookshelf, j.r.r. tolkein, lord of the rings, short stories, snow, star wars, winter

This post is dedicated to coruscantbookshelf, who writes the most awesome stuff, inventor of Nasriel Kaliu Threeb and master of the online email roleplay. Seriously. Go check out her blog. Thought-provoking, enjoyable stuff to be found therein.

Since I obviously can’t send her a care package this Christmas, I’m settling for something almost as good–an original story to enjoy. This is my gift to you, am’yana arens. May the light of Christmas shine ever in your heart and home, and may the Force be with you. Always.

Insomnia

                Lights gleamed against the shutters, casting slatted luridly-colored psychedelic patterns across the roof, walls and floor of the darkened room. Obi-Wan turned over, trying to go back to sleep, mentally cursing Coruscant and its sickening night life. The blankets were too warm, the pillow flat, the atmosphere of the room choking, the Force outside churned and confused and muddy. Obi-Wan groaned and moved so that he was staring straight up at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. He tried blocking himself out from the miasma outside, but it wasn’t seeming to work.

Slowly, the twisting, writhing lights subsided into a less tawdry gleam; the Force calmed somewhat, the first heavy raindrops splattered against the window. Obi-Wan gave a cynical, faintly malicious smile at the startled feelings outside as the orgy was replaced by a rainstorm. Serves you right, he thought. The soft patter of raindrops was relaxing, lulling, cathartic. Obi-Wan drifted off, at last, thoughts becoming more and more scattered. Tomorrow’s air would be cleaner—the rain carried pollutants and other “things” down out of it. Why didn’t it rain more often? If only cleaning the air of war were so easy…

Suddenly, he jerked back to full wakefulness with the sensation of falling. It took a moment to remember where he was, what he was doing, a moment longer to realize that the jerk into wakefulness was not coming from himself.

It was one of the Padawans.

Obi-Wan reached out, breathing into the Force. Both Padawans seemed to be shielding, Ben much more lightly than Nasriel, but Obi-Wan could still sense distress seeping distantly from her. Silently, he got up, slipping a robe around his shoulders against the night-time chill. He chilled easily, always had, especially when wearing less than the full tunics. He walked across the common room and waved open the door to Nasriel’s room, entering quietly. “Nasriel? Are you all right?” he asked. Nasriel looked sharply up.

“I locked the door,” she said defensively. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Nasriel, I wouldn’t be a Jedi Master if I couldn’t open a simple lock. What’s troubling you, alir’yana?”

“Nothing,” Nasriel muttered, turning away. Gently, Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder.

“Nasriel, you don’t have to protect me from the ghosts of your past. I’ve dealt with my own for years now. What’s troubling you?”

“I don’t know,” Nasriel muttered. Obi-Wan glanced out the window, noticing suddenly the complete, lovely silence that had fallen outside. Perfectly formed crystals dropped silently from the sky, blanketing everything in white. Even better—more precious—rarer—than rain, and perfectly pure, absolute white.

“Nightmare?” he asked, turning back to his Padawan.

“Mmmmm,” Nasriel said.

“You can’t hold onto it, Nasriel. You have to let it go.”

Suddenly, Nasriel launched herself forward into Obi-Wan’s arms. He froze for a moment, then willed himself to relax. He hadn’t liked to be embraced since Qui-Gon had died; the memories were just too painful. Qui-Gon had never been effusive in any emotion, and his Padawan had been much the same, but there had been the occasional physical contact, which memories Obi-Wan had always clung to like a drowning man. After Naboo, any close contact was painful; it reminded him of things that hurt too much to recall, because they never would be reachable again. Perhaps it had been selfish, but he had preferred to allow those memories to remain untarnished, locked away in a place in his mind where nothing could ever mar them.

But that was then. Now, Nasriel was sobbing her heart out against his shoulder. Clumsily, Obi-Wan raised his hands and patted her back, reassuringly, or so he hoped. He didn’t speak. Better to say nothing than nonsensical, sugary promises that no one could keep. Long experience had taught him that it was better to just be there.

Finally, Nasriel’s sobs drew to an end. Obi-Wan lifted her chin with one long finger, smiling slightly. “Feel better now?” he asked. Nasriel nodded. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

Stopping in the kitchen to pick up some instant hot chocolate (Obi-Wan wondered how he could have ever sworn at the faucet after burning himself on the boiling-hot water earlier,) he led Nasriel out of the Temple, into the outdoor gardens. She shivered slightly in the chill breeze, and Obi-Wan wrapped the cloak around her. It drooped around her, pooling like russet velvet in the snow, the sleeves far too long for her arms. She looked strangely like he had when Qui-Gon had wrapped his own cloak about him in a similar situation. Obi-Wan passed her the thermos of hot chocolate. “Beautiful, isn’t it,” he said, softly. Nasriel nodded, silently. “I must have been even younger than you when Qui-Gon brought me out here the first time, to watch the snow fall. Now—it might as well not be Coruscant you’re standing on. Strange how other people don’t seem to see the magic in this.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, lost in memory. He wasn’t cold any more. Fluffy, fat flakes settled in his hair, beard and eyebrows; Nasriel was crowned in sparkling jewels of filigreed mithril.

Nasriel looked up at the snow. “It’s like fallen stars,” she said.

Something hit her from behind. She spun around to see Obi-Wan smiling at her, holding a snowball in one hand, a mischievous grin on his face. Despite the beard, she thought she had never seen him look so like Ben before. Obi-Wan nodded to her. “Come on. Aren’t you going to strike back?” He laughed softly. Nasriel picked up a handful of snow.

“As soon as I can figure out… how to… make it into a ball…” she said, watching in dismay as it crumbled away in her hand.

 

The next few hours were spent in snowballing each other, flinging huge piles of slush at each other, and so forth. It was about the fourth hour past midnight when they finally went back inside, soaking wet and completely happy.

 

Ben woke up, wondering why someone (Obi-Wan or Nasriel, it didn’t matter which) hadn’t come in to wake him up already. He snuggled back down into the warm covers with a sigh of contentment and looked out his window as he did so. He gave a whoop of excitement upon seeing the snow and threw on his clothes, joining the throng of winter-clad Padawans in the hall.

It didn’t matter if the Council member and older Padawan slept in at the moment.

It was Christmas break, after all.

The End

Quick book recommendation: Letters from Father Christmas, by J.R.R. Tolkien. Enjoy!

Merry Christmas, and may God bless us, every one!

Advertisement

The Unexpected

Tags

author, baroness emma orczy, bbc merlin, brian jacques, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, rambling musings, redwall, sherlock holmes, sir arthur conan doyle, star wars, story dynamics, the hobbit, the scarlet pimpernel

This gallery contains 3 photos.

Dear Diary, I really love unpredictable heroes. There never really seem to be enough of them. For instance, you can …

Continue reading →

Never Tell Me the Odds

Tags

author, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, explosion, flame it, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, madeleine l'engle, rambling musings, ray bradbury, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the silmarilion

Han Solo quote aside, just… don’t. They can be helpful, but statistics are also a nuisance. (Did I mention that the title is also the best Han Solo quote EVAR?!)

And then there are other things that you should never tell an author. Here are a few pet peeves (my own top ten):

10.”Oh my **** that’s so cool! What do you think about… {insert name of random celebrity who I have, honest to goodness, never heard of before}?” Or, “Sure, that’s nice. Do you mind getting more napkins?” Excuse me while I’m sick.

9. “So, you write novels all the time?” Sorry, no. I would love to, but there’s real life. Oh, and the fact that there is such a lovely thing as a short story. (Partial to Ray Bradbury, myself.)

8. “I can draw the illustrations for you if you like.” Er… ever heard of an author who does their own?

7. “Have you ever considered writing Amish fiction?” *facepalm*

6. “Have you ever considered writing about vampires?” Ewwww.

5. “Have you ever considered writing children’s books?” Gah. Should be the first consideration, to my mind. To quote Madeleine L’Engle, “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” Children believe better than adults, and aren’t going to laugh at you if you believe too.

4. “Are you getting this published?” Well, first and foremost, I write for myself. If other people like my stories, then that’s great, and yes, I will consider publishing. If not, I have lost nothing at all.

3. “I tried writing once, but I didn’t like it.” Do or do not. There is no try. If you are a writer, you will write, fair or foul, like it or not. Even if you just spend hours typing and erasing, that’s still progress. People who just give up are wimps.

2. “I might try writing some when I retire.” Seriously?! Everyone can write, if they try. This does not necessarily mean they will be good at it. That takes hard work, and a casual little moue like this indicates to me not wanting to really try. Even then, though, some people just (ultimately) can NOT write. This is why there are ghostwriters. Believe it or not, Miley Cyrus and all those bands don’t actually write all their own songs!

1. Don’t just make assumptions and randomly compare their work to the work of a published author, especially an uber-popular one. Some of us lesser-known authors have very strong likes and dislikes, and don’t care at all for Harry Potter, Twilight, The Hunger Games. Not that I have any dislike for any one of those in particular (never having read them), but, just for example. 😉

And, worst one of all time…

0. When someone tries to talk to you about a book you have never read that is really ultra-popular, completely ignoring that you just said that you liked The Silmarilion just two seconds ago!!!

Okay, rant over. You can go about your own lives again now. ;-P

Instant obsession, here we come!

Tags

battlefield of the soul, bbc merlin, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, disney, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, rambling musings, rise of the guardians, small rants, the hobbit

I’m back! Almost done with the first chapter of Battlefield of the Soul, too. ^_^

But apart from discovering a new emoticon (^_^), I now have a new obsession as well: Rise of the Guardians.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that this was unexpected. Normally, when I see a movie, it takes a little while for love at first sight to turn into full-blown obsession, but this was not the case with Rise, for some reason. I have no idea why. Unless it’s the simple brilliance of taking well-known characters/fantasy figures and changing them subtly, making them deeper, more… more like the Elves from Tolkien, vs. the inane fairytale product, so that along with the innate beauty, there’s also peril and wonder, without which, beauty is simply sugary, insubstantial flutter-bys. (I said it. Deal with it, Disney. :-P)

Anyway, if you have not seen this movie, you may want to avoid reading parts of this post, which will probably inadvertently contain spoilers.

First of all, there’s Santa Claus (North.) He’s Russian. Yeah… but it kind of makes it interesting, in context. (Even though St. Nicholas was really from Turkey! And Babushka is the real-life Russian version of Santa.) He takes the writing-on-one’s-hand thing a bit further–the naughty and nice lists are written out on his left and right forearms, respectively (if you watch close in the movie, you can actually see a scene where he wipes one of the names off the naughty list!) Another thing–he is HUGE. As in, 6’7 and broad-shouldered to boot. Oh, and the yetis make the toys (not the elves!) Does that surprise you?

Then, there’s the Tooth Fairy. She’s the only female Guardian, and also the only one who does not have any visible weapon that we actually see in the movie. Sure, there are a couple times where you see her taking on the Nightmares, but those are normally wide shots, and when they’re not, she seems to be using one of the Easter Bunny’s boomerangs. Maybe she’s just a master of hand to hand combat? The world may never know…

Next up, the Easter Bunny. Set aside your perceptions of fuzzy fluff, mates. This bunny means business. In fact, were it not for the consistent references to “bunnies” and “rabbits,” I would have thought that he was really a hare. (SPOILER ALERT! Though, this was sort of almost-debunked by one scene in the movie, which was to my mind completely unnecessary, though cute–ish? Maybe?) It must be the ears… And the Bunny? He’s Australian. And gets called a kangaroo by a certain very disrespectful, white-haired imp.

Now, for the Sandman. The only Guardian who does not actually speak, but is none-the-less expressive, despite the fact that he has no voice actor. He is sort of like the Swiss-army-knife character–the one who can pull just about anything out of his hat, thanks to a semi-solid substance known as “dream sand.”

And then… there’s Jack Frost.

The outcast–the mischief-maker–the trickster character. The irresponsible, reckless, and somewhat-crazy one.

There’s one in every crowd, and Jack Frost does not disappoint. He’s the most non-conformist of all the characters, and while all the other Guardians are defined by their predictability (as in, Santa comes on Christmas Eve, the Easter Bunny turns up on Easter, the Tooth Fairy when you’re waiting with a tooth under your pillow, the Sandman when your mom says “sweet dreams!”), Jack is very much defined by being unpredictable. After all, who expects a blizzard or a snow day, or even artistic geometrical designs on their windows on a cold morning? Jack basically does as he pleases. And he’s also the most visible Guardian–if you believe in him, you can see him at work, while the others–they don’t particularly like to show themselves. Whereas Jack goes around setting off people’s car alarms.

Jack is also possibly the least confident of the Guardians. Due to amnesia before waking up as Jack Frost, he doesn’t really know who he is or even what he is, or what he is supposed to do in the world. Thus, he’s the least secure. He’s confident all right, to the point of overconfidence, but he doesn’t really understand what he’s meant to do or why he is a Guardian until late in the movie. And Pitch Black, the Bogeyman, uses this lack of confidence to try and sway Jack to his side–though we can surmise that Pitch only wants, by extension, to wield Jack’s power–and, to be honest, the boy is powerful. He actually destroyed legions of nightmares while enraged by the Sandman (Sandy’s) death, and then later admitted he didn’t know how he did it, for crying out loud!

Anyway, Jack is very much driven by wanting to be believed in, to stop being invisible and unheard. He doesn’t want to be just a metaphor, so to speak, and he wants to know why he was chosen to be a Guardian. But he doesn’t want to be used, and he doesn’t want to be feared by children, or to harm them. And that’s what saves him from Pitch, ultimately. And it’s Jack’s “center”–joy–that proves to be key in defeating Pitch.

Now, to talk a bit about Jamie, the little boy who helps Jack to realize what’s important in his “life.” Jamie is, I think, Jack’s anchor–the reason why he is fighting in the first place. Also, if you look closely, Jamie looks very much like a younger version of Jack (before his death and subsequent restoration to life as Jack Frost.) It is possible that Jack is, in fact, Jamie’s grand-uncle, removed by a few generations. Perhaps it’s likely. The filmmakers don’t specify–and to be absolutely honest, they don’t need to.

Jamie’s resemblance of younger Jack is only one of the visual references in the movie; there are, in fact, several. For instance, the crook of Jack’s staff appears to be topped with the same ornamental “G” shape that is the Guardians’ symbol. Then, there is the North Pole, and Santa’s workshop; the office seems to be a visual reference to Rivendell, in the Lord of the Rings movies. Then there is an ice-like substance, which does not seem to melt; North crafts the prototype toys out of it.

I don’t really understand some of the elements of the plot, however. For instance, I don’t understand why, when the Man in the Moon chooses Jack to be a Guardian, Jack doesn’t really begin to suffer the effects of not being believed in. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t truly committed himself yet? And why, when all the other Guardians begin to lose their powers, does he remain the only character truly capable of combating Pitch? I guess it’s possible that the reason why Jack never had any real problems when no one believed in him (other than not really being believed in, of course), is because he wasn’t a Guardian yet. Besides, someone has to initiate things, don’t they?

Anyway, the real reason why Jack didn’t lose his powers when the others lost theirs is because the writers thought it would be “cool” to have Jack go up against Pitch… I think it’s more realistic (and far more interesting) that he sort of… lost.

Now, on to the other aesthetics of the movie. The visuals are supremely enchanting; for instance, the dream sand (and its nightmare counterpart), while seeming to originate as specks of sparkling gold (or black), forms itself into inchoate swirls or “vines”, can make shapes (such as dreams: unicorns, dinosaurs, dolphins, schools of fish; and communication media, which are Sandy’s main form of communication, other than rattling that poor elf’s brains out.) and solid items, such as a barnstorming plane for Sandy to ride in; whips, which are his chief weapon, and props, such as a funny little hat to tip; then there’s Pitch’s nightmares, which take the form of stylized black horses with malevolent gold eyes. Both forms of sand, though, seem to be capable of falling into their inert forms, in which they would appear to be normal, albeit beautifully-colored, alluring, and glittering, sand.

Then there’s the frost, which… *sighs wistfully* It’s hypnotic and mesmerizing, just watching it spread. The geometric patterns in it seem to demonstrate that Jack is a consummate artist, without even trying.

I can’t even begin to enumerate all the gorgeousness of the movie… so why should I try? Except in one other case; the huge book in which the Guardians’ Oath is recorded. What is it with me and huge old books?! (Some of you may recall me swooning likewise over the book of magic from BBC’s Merlin.)

As for the way the characters are portrayed–it’s hard to imagine them any other way. For instance, who would have imagined Bunny with gauntlets? But he has them and it’s just unbelievably cool-looking. And the Tooth Fairy is covered with iridescent feathers, but has insect-like wings, though you’d expect her to be a bit more like a hummingbird, seeing all the hovering she does. (The small fairies even have a long beak-like nose!) And North’s sleigh and reindeer–definitely not rickety. And Jack is a category all his own. When I first heard about the movie, I was kind of afraid he would make me think of Bruck Chun (a villain from the Jedi Apprentice series, who is platinum blond), but he really doesn’t come off that way at all. For one thing, Jack is smaller-boned and finer-featured than my mental image of Bruck, and Bruck also lacks the attitude (Bruck is more gloating, like a petty bully.) But that’s neither here nor there; what I’m thinking about is the portrayal. Jack’s face is very fine-featured indeed–in fact, on a few occasions when he was looking regretful or sad and had his hood up, it almost looked feminine. He has the sort of face you’d expect more from a manga or anime show than Western animation. But he’s clearly a teenaged boy (probably not older than fifteen or so,) and the way he walks and moves are different. And who would’ve expected a fifteen-year-old to have a more baritone voice already?! But, wonder of wonders, it works. Add the way he talks and expresses himself, and the character is very clearly masculine. Another wonder to be attributed only to the sound-enhanced motion picture.

What is it with thinner, slighter characters recently?! It used to be that a male hero would be tall and broad-shouldered, even if they were more lithe than muscular. But recently, there seems to be a trend toward more waifish-looking characters. For instance, there’s Violet in The Incredibles. Beside her dad, brother, and even her mom, she’s tiny. Then there’s Merlin, from the BBC show of the same name. He’s definitely smaller than Arthur, in the same show. And I won’t even mention Legolas (probably because he’s actually shorter than Aragorn… errm… never mind.)

Seriously, people?! What’s happened to all the hobbits?!

Oh… never mind.

Okay, so… I’m pretty much aware that probably no one read to the bottom of this post… except for Iris… and she likes anything and everything I write (misguided enthusiasm…) and has a crush on Bilbo… X-P

Thanks for reading (if you actually read all the way to the bottom) and God Bless!

Comes a Time

Tags

battlefield of the soul, c.s. lewis, completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, g.k. chesterton, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, military, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, poetry, politics, rambling musings, shifting tides series, short stories, small rants, story dynamics, the age old debate, the hero's dream

Yes! Erin is back at last from her long jaunt into Nanowrimo Nation. Did you miss me? 😉 Late happy Thanksgiving, everyone. 🙂

I have some news for all my beloved readers in this post. I have finished a concept drawing for The Hero’s Dream and other stories in the Shifting Tides series, as well as parts of the next installment of the series, Battlefield of the Soul. The concept drawing will be posted once I scan it into the computer (unfortunately, it’s black and white… sigh… Does anyone know how to use the program to color it in? *hint hint wink wink*), and the story will be posted as soon as I can type it up.

Also, I have a bunch of original short stories to post–I worked on them during Nano, sort of to fill up the gaps. 😉 I hope you all enjoy them!

Then, on Nano, I did not win… didn’t even make my wordcount goal. I do have two valid excuses, though: Jewel’s Birthday (Friday), and taking out the trash. Surprisingly, Thanksgiving wasn’t that much of a problem. Anyway, so I spent Jewel’s birthday with her, and the next day (the last day of Nano!) I was taking out the trash, and the garbage barrel lid came down and bopped me a good one across the back of the head, and my glasses fell off and landed in the trash can, and when I reached for them I cut myself on some broken glass, in the soft skin between my first and second fingers, at the knuckle. Ouch. So then I was bleeding like no one’s business, and it just hurt too freakin’ much to hold a pencil, much less type.

Soooo, here I am, 12k short, and still completely happy. Frankly, I’m not sure how this is even possible…

And I now have a cold. Figures…

And now, for the real juicy bit. Warning: Intense Christian doctrine and evangelization ahead! If some of you don’t like overtly Christian and/or Catholic writings, it might be best for you to simply avoid the rest of this post. However, if you are a lover of philosophy or C.S. Lewis or a fan of G.K. Chesterton (or simply just plain stubborn), you might just enjoy this (though of course my lowly work simply can not compare to either Lewis or Chesterton… or Tolkien for that matter.) That much said, enjoy or avoid at will! 😉

Comes a Time

                Arinna pulled the kettle off the stove, pouring the boiling water into a chipped, earth-toned ceramic carafe and tossing some tea leaves in on top. “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning slightly to herself.

“You’re going to die in this holy war and it isn’t even yours.” Lexi said. “How is that not…” She paused. Arinna sighed and put down the earthenware carafe.

“Do you mean to say that I’m going to die for a cause that is, in your opinion, both worthless, and already doomed to failure?” she asked bluntly. Lexi turned away, probably unused to such blunt, brash, plain honesty. It took her a moment—a very long moment—to regain her composure.

“Yes. I do.” she said at last.

“Well, let me ask you a question then,” Arinna said softly. “What do you believe in?” Startled again, especially since Arinna had broken the social rules twice in as many paragraphs, Lexi took a moment before she replied.

“I’m a Christian, too, just like you, you know that!” she protested.

“That means nothing,” Arinna said. “There are too many denominations nowadays for us to know for certain that we hold any common ground whatsoever. Besides, many people who say they believe in Christ don’t really love Him. If they did, then they would act like it. What do you believe in? What are you willing to fight and die for? If not Christ, then what?”

“I don’t know!” Lexi burst out, frustrated. “You keep asking questions without any answers!” she fumed.

“Oh, they have answers,” Arinna assured her. “You’re just afraid of the answers. So am I. So is everyone else, for that matter.” Arinna picked up the pitcher of hot tea and poured it out into two mugs. She handed one to Lexi and sipped slowly out of the other, looking at her friend over the rim. “I’m your friend. It’s my business to ask the hard questions, Lexi. I only do it because I care.” Slowly, she lowered her mug. “Do you want to go on?” she asked softly. Lexi shrugged.

“Yes. I guess. If you want to.” Arinna nodded slowly as she went on with her apology.

“All of us have something we’re willing to fight to the death for, Lexi. Something we believe in—something we believe is worth believing in. It’s part of what makes us human. Someday, Lexi, you will live, and fight, and die for something—and you’ll do it willingly, too. I can promise you that. It’s your destiny—it’s inevitable. You can’t change it, but you can decide what it is you will believe in. Put God out of your life, and you will find yourself trying to fill that void in your heart—you’ll catch yourself filling it with less desirable things. The catch, is to ask yourself what you’re willing to die for. Power? Money? Pleasure? Goods? Your home? Your possessions? Your friends? Your family? If any of that comes first—before God does—in your life, you’re no better than a pagan. You’re an idolater if you put any of those… material things before God.” Arinna looked down at her mug; for the first time her voice sounded unsure. “You may not like to hear this, Lexi, but I only say it because I care. I can’t soften this for you, without losing the message. It’s uncompromising, as hard as nails. You have to choose what you will fight for. He who will fight for nothing is no pacifist, but a coward indeed. You must choose—now—whom you will serve. No one can do it for you.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I am here—in this camp—in this army—today, Lexi. I said to myself, ‘No more hesitation! I am going to commit—today!’ We both know that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions—if you even believe in Hell.” The evangelist’s voice was tinged with heavy bitterness. “I am willing to die for my Heavenly King. I decided that He was worth fighting for. I regret all the lives lost in this war, but there comes a time when one can no longer stand idly by. There comes a time when one must make a stand. I decided Whom I am going to serve. So what if I’m not perfect? Perfection isn’t possible for any human being. It doesn’t come until Heaven. It’s the times I worked—hard—that matter. I know my cause is worth dying for. Is yours?” Arinna looked up at Lexi with pleading eyes. The other woman was silent. She knew would have to think about it; Arinna knew it too. And while Lexi thought, Arinna would pray.

“I’ll think about it, ‘Rin. I… I promise.” Lexi said. Then, she left the tent, as evening fell over the Crusaders’ camp.

Evangelist

Let the past lie where it’s buried

By the gravestone, on the hill,

Wind wanders wild across the wastelands,

They say the spirit moves at will.

Each sad tear-fall lies there buried

In the garden, by the rill,

Every laughter a rose has planted,

They say the roses bloom there still.

Where one rose blights, sad and mournful

One by one, the petals fall,

In the garden by the rill-side

Back to the womb whence it was called.

Hold tight to what you’re given.

Hold tight to those you love.

These little blessings that we seek

Are our anchors, from above.

Ask again what you now live for

Question your heart’s desire

Many things we are attached to

Pass, straw-like, in the fire.

With the light, morning arises

A new dawn casts the night away

Each day builds on the one before it,

The future’s fragments are at play.

Congratulations go to those who actually made it to the end of this post! Oh, and please tell me… did you like the poem? 😉 It’s originally from my April/July Nanowrimo project Angels’ Reflections. Which, incidentally, I have new ideas for now. Cheers!

As always, thanks for reading and may God bless you and keep you in all your days!

“It’s a faith worth fighting for.” –Anonymous (okay, maybe not ANONYMOUS, but I still can’t remember who I’m quoting. X-P)

I Called Him “Wormtongue”

Tags

brian jacques, completed stories, completely random posts, contrast, j.r.r. tolkein, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, redwall, short stories, star wars, story dynamics

Hello, my beloved readers! Yes, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Yes, I am still alive, believe it or not.

And today, I offer you a short–very short–story, as a brief break from my Nanowrimo project.

This story has a backstory, and that backstory was how I was thinking how some characters can pass by other ones’ names, or nicknames, even if they’re not from the same fandom. For instance, you could call Charles Wallace Murry “the Chosen One”, or you could call Obi-Wan Kenobi “Glorfindel” (“golden-haired” in Quenya. 🙂 ) You could call Martin the Warrior “the Seeker,” for goodness’ sake! You could even call Dooku “Sauruman”, if you wanted to. ;-P

That is what this story is about–name crossovers. Enjoy!

I have been called many things in my life. Obi-Wan Joseph Kenobi. Raelynn Ae’enn Narshala. Guardian angel. Mercy. Grace. The Negotiator. Brother.

Then there are the titles of which I am not so proud. The Angel of Death. That’s what they called me after the disaster of Nokama. Unobservant.

Traitor.

I don’t want to argue over whether people called me this for a reason. According to the strict definition, I am not a traitor. I never swore fealty to the Empire. I am–was–loyal to the Republic I promised to serve. I am not a traitor. I have merely been called that.

Palpatine–Sidious–was the real traitor. He betrayed us all. But maybe he was not a traitor–his allegiance always was to himself. It always comes down to points of view–and mine… it keeps on shifting, now. Making excuses for people whom I should not excuse.

Whoever said that the mind is a good servant but a cruel mistress was more right than he will ever know.

Palpatine stole my brother’s heart. I thought it was safe in my keeping, but he had already given it to someone else. He gave his heart to an angel, and it was stolen by a demon. Palpatine spent long years in poisoning my brother’s ears, changing his heart, making him cold, cruel, dark. I can see that now. They say, after all, that hindsight is always twenty/twenty.

Palpatine made me kill my brother. I am a murderer. It was me that killed Anakin Skywalker and allowed Darth Vader to take his place. I strangled the very thing I meant to nurture. I killed the innocent sprout-ling and nurtured the tares.

And in the end, I ran. I ran like a coward. He might have turned–he might have broken my heart–the heart I never really gave away until I met him–but I still loved him. Attachment is a curious thing. It can cosset and warm you, or it can betray you.

I ran. I ran from Palpatine, and from Vader. But before I ran, there was one confrontation with the man who destroyed my brother. It was not of the body, but of the spirit. He put a curse on me, but I put a name on him.

He called me “accursed.”

I called him “Wormtongue.”

The Breath

Tags

author, baroness emma orczy, bbc merlin, brave, brian jacques, c.s. forester, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, disney, hornblower, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, merida, rambling musings, redwall, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the scarlet pimpernel

Once again, my readers, I am back, and this time bringing to you a well-known plot device–so well-known, perhaps, that maybe you don’t even think of it like this. Maybe you don’t even know it, but I’ll bet you’ve probably been using it, unconsciously, all through your writing life.

I’m talking about the phenomenon known as breathe. Or, more simply, take a breath and keep on living.

But this is actually two things, and probably you’ve been using them both. The first one is the actual deep breath before the plunge.

The second is still more innocuous. I don’t know if it even has a name, properly, so I’m going to call it The Breath.

The Breath has only two requirements, and they are as follows:

1. There must be a look shared between two characters; as in they must meet each other’s eyes. (Gasp!) Even though this is a social no-no.
2. Is the redeeming feature. This simple look, only a few milliseconds long, must also convey some meaning.

That’s it. But, if you think about it, The Breath is meaningful and an important element in literature. It says the things that characters never otherwise say. It bears meaning.

It’s like paisley. It started out sharing a name with a little town in Scotland, and now it’s a recurrently popular pattern.

Popular and pretty.

Now, for the examples. It’s like when Merlin and Arthur exchange a glance, and Arthur leaps out and attacks the bandits. Or when Anakin and Obi-Wan exchange a glance–at exactly the same moment—before Anakin’s little line “What will happen to me now?” Sheesh, even Obi-Wan’s look at the camera right after Qui-Gon’s line “I will train him” could be counted–even though, technically, this is a look at the audience and not at another character. Or Keyla looking at Dwurp and knowing he’s been betrayed. Or you could see Frodo and Sam glance at each other just before Frodo says, “I’m glad you are here with me, Sam. Here at the end of all things.” Or it could be the look when Meg Murry and her brother Charles Wallace Murry share after he’s been ill, or the one between Meg and Calvin O’Keefe when they know they don’t exactly have to kythe, just be in communion with each other. Or maybe it’s Horatio Hornblower and Bunting looking at each other and by that, Hornblower knows that the heretofore troublemaker won’t be instigating a mutiny–anyway, not this time. Or Merida and Elinor smiling at each other after Merida turned aside a potential disaster.

See? Prevalent.

Like paisley.

You never know…

Tags

completed stories, completely random posts, contrast, j.r.r. tolkein, lord of the rings, rambling musings, short stories, small rants, song-related fiction, star wars, story dynamics

This is just a piece of randomness that I decided to post, just because. 😉 It’s just one of these things that happen… Welcome to a day in the life of an author.

You Never Know

T’karti closed her eyes against evening chill. It was cold, and she was far from home, and alone. She was a cast-off of society, forgotten. No one knew–no one even cared that she had been taken by cruel men, sold into slavery. No one cared. There would be no rescue. There was no hope.

That was when she heard it. The voice, young, pure, resonant, clear as crystal, sweet and strong, childlike treble melting into youthful tenor. It was a fragile thing, only a little thing, yet it gave her hope.

Home is behind

The world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

T’karti struggled forward in an attempt to push through the crowd of other downtrodden unfortunates. Something miraculous was happening. Even the most exhausted and broken of the slaves lifted up their heads, the first fingers of a hopeful future showing over the horizon. T’karti pushed past the others in the hopes of getting a glimpse of the singer. She was already in love with his voice.

Through shadows

To the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight

There was no fear, no pain, only golden light. There was hope.

Mist and twilight

Cloud and shade

Away shall fade

All shall…

A whiplash silenced the song. T’karti froze. A moment’s dead silence. But then the last note still rang out in triumph.

Fade!

Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi bit his lip against the searing lash that shot a white line of fire across his vision. He did not care. Hope was precious, but it was meant to be given away, and he might have just made someone, somewhere, a little happier.

You never know.

Author’s note: Okay, I know I stole the song from J.R.R. Tolkien, but still. 😉 It was all for the best, and I love it, anyway. I know this is shorter than most of my stories, but it’s only an interlude and could really fit in just about anywhere, into any story where Obi-Wan is sold into slavery as a Padawan. 😉 Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story, and God Bless! 🙂

On Disney/Pixar’s “Brave”

Tags

bbc merlin, brave, brian jacques, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, disney, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, merida, poetry, rambling musings, redwall, small rants, story dynamics

Today, I have a few thoughts to share on Disney/Pixar’s recent movie, Brave. Some of my viewpoints may seem odd to you, but if you really think about it, they should make at least some sense. After all, if they didn’t, then why in the name of the Valar would I be holding these opinions?! (Just so you know, I am a reasonable person in real life. ;-P)

First of all, Merida’s attitude in the beginning of the movie is really… *ahem.* She should be less cavalier in leading the country to war, and more into diplomacy like her mother Elinor. However, she shouldn’t be so upset about her impending marriage; these arranged marriages are not the end of the world, however grumpy you may get about them. Besides, there are other options, such as negotiation. “Would that kill them?”

Second, the dress she wears during the whole scene with the suitors, the archery contest, and the witch. While completely GORGEOUS, this dress is not historically accurate! Sure, the pattern is, but the sizing isn’t. By the time that Constantine became Roman emperor and the world became Christian, there was such a thing as modesty standards– and though that dress covers every inch of skin, it’s too tight, far too revealing to make the cut. Thus, it’s inaccurate.

Also, the general attitude of the movie is slightly off. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great story– but it’s not entirely accurate. Call it artistic license, but the BBC show Merlin is actually more accurate in attitude than Brave is! The Dark Ages are not quite so dark as some history books would have you believe. Look at Oop-Arts (Out Of Place Artifacts), for goodness’ sake!

That’s the bad side. Now for the good stuff. 😉

Merida learning to fight– that is historically accurate. Especially in the Highlands, the women of various Celtic races would learn to fight, and follow the men to war. They wouldn’t fight in the battles, but they would defend the camp if it was attacked. Also, the chatelaine of a castle would defend the castle if it came under siege while the lord of the castle was away. More than that, I love the idea of the “Wisps.” They are probably my favorite part of an enchanting movie. Instead of leading you to your doom (as in, a bottomless bog), they lead you to your fate? Awesome. And the idea of Mor-du, one person’s selfishness and greed unleashing a monster, is one of the best to come out of Pixar recently. The sets are nothing short of amazing, perhaps even better than How to Train Your Dragon‘s, and the animation is the best yet. I sat, mouth open in awe, at the detailing on leaves, grass, boards, moss. It wasn’t quite The Lord of the Rings, but it was nothing short of incredible.

Off topic, but I think it’s obvious from my critique what kind of person I am… I’m a mercuric and mischievous sprite with an unexpected steely streak.

And now, for a poem. This was inspired by some of the poetry of The Lord of the Rings and the Redwall books (by Brian Jacques. I highly suggest that you go to your library and read them!!!) as well as Brave. Enjoy!

Mor-du

They say the Fates repeat their tales

So legends are lessons and ring with truth

And history repeats itself;

A monster is born from the selfishness of youth.

For five hundred years the blight of the land

What haunted the crags with its past to rue,

And from peak to peak its terror grew,

The demon in bear’s shape, the great black Mor-du.

His pride and his selfishness a horror unleashed,

And for five hundred years his kingdom in ruin,

And only death could set his soul free,

After the bear took hold and the monster grew in him.

So follow the Wisps to your fate’s doorstep

And change destiny before you will rue;

Beware the monster before you fall to it,

Beware yourself! Beware Mor-du.

A Questionnaire and a Link-Up

Tags

baroness emma orczy, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, rambling musings, star wars, story dynamics, the scarlet pimpernel

Hello, friends. I was on Nanowrimo this morning, and I just happened to find my way, roundabout like, onto another author’s blog, where I found this questionnaire. Instantly, I was thinking, “oh, what a good idea! I am SO doing this!” And here it is, my answers to her questions:

1. What was your first-ever piece of writing? A Robin Hood novel– my own take on the legends. It was fun, while it lasted, but now… *sigh* It has a problem with: lack of story arc, sprawling motion, pale characterizations, etc.
2. How old were you when you first began writing? Eight or nine, maybe? Probably nine. But I didn’t start taking it really seriously until I was eleven.
3. Name two writing goals. One short term & one long term. Short term? Catch up with these stupid Journals that I’m supposed to be editor for (the Journals are a short friendly newsletter with more stories than editorials. :-P) and actually get ahead on them. Long term? Get something I wrote published in a public venue, even if it be only over the internet as an e-book, and preferably sooner rather than later.
4. Do you write fiction or non-fiction? Both, though I write more fiction than non. I just prefer making up my own worlds, etc…
5. Bouncing off of question 4, what’s your favorite genre to write in? I like writing historical fiction, fantasy, science fiction… and preferably a combination of the last two, or all three! ;-P
6. One writing lesson you’ve learned since 2013 began. Sometimes flowery wording just won’t cut it… though it does add to your Nano word count.
7. Favorite author, off the top of your head! Probably J.R.R. Tolkien, though I also like a lot of other authors… 😛
8. Three current favorite books. Ummm…. Let’s see. The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Orczy, The Lord of the Rings by Tolkien, and A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeleine L’Engle. In no particular order ;-P
9. Biggest influence on your writing {person}: My mother, and my best friend Iris. Iris is my kindred spirit and Earth Angel. Unlike me, she has a whole bunch of usernames. She’s known as “Irisbloom5” on Nanowrimo, “AnotherBook” on Fanfiction, and “Daylee15” on lego.com and/or Wikia. She and I have been writing together for about three years now. And Mom… sometimes little brothers are confusing or just plain don’t cut it (sorry, Sprite!) but Mom is always good for a review. She’s always been there for me, and I am absolutely going to dedicate my first published novel to her in an attempt to express my gratitude.
10. What’s your go-to writing music? The Lord of the Rings Musical. Yes, there is a musical. 😀 It was in Britain and received mixed reviews. The tour through America was cancelled, though. :’-( And then there are the movie soundtracks by Howard Shore… and I would have others, had I more soundtracks. ;-P
11. List three to five writing quirks of yours! Little habits, must-haves as you write, etc. Music, tea, occasionally a walk or bike ride, fresh air, and email or Nanomail. 😉
12. What, in three sentences or less, does your writing mean to you? It keeps me sane, to be honest. Otherwise, my life would be unbearably dull. And it’s also very satisfying. You should really get out and try it! 😉