Allowed in Writing, Forbidden in Editing

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author, authors, c.s. lewis, confusing nonsense, description, dumas, editor, insanity, j.r.r. tolkien, life, living life unexpectedly, long rants, muse, rambling musings, rousseau, secret life, story dynamics, writer, writer trouble, writing

Or, How to Talk With Authors and Not Tick Them Off.

Have you ever compared a writer to a published author, only for them to become upset and irritated? It’s a common enough occurrence. I know that I myself have been subjected to this form of torture a few times.

Why do writers find comparison irritating? Well, perhaps because they are occasionally inadvertently compared to an author whose work they object to, or whom they simply know is not really very good at their craft. But more often, it’s like this.

While comparisons are the essence of description, they can also be trite and shallow. And when dealing with an author, it’s a good idea to not upset them. For one thing, it won’t change their mind or their writing if they feel antagonized. For another… have you seen those buttons around the internet?! You know, the ones that say “Be nice, or you’ll end up in my novel”?! There is truth to those, you know.

So, each event, no matter how commonplace, should be taken as a new and unprecedented one in the larger context. Also, an author may take you too literally when you compare them to Rousseau, for instance. They may think you are calling them unoriginal, that you think that their ideas are too similar to Rousseau to be taken practically. They may think that you’re secretly irritated with them for emulating Rousseau. (It’s true, writers oftentimes have inferiority complexes.) Instead, you should tell them, “Your prose reminds me of Dumas!” or “Your world-building brings C.S. Lewis to mind!” or “I love this description. It sounds like Tolkien’s work. I can really see it in my mind’s eye!” Rather than making a sweeping generalization, it’s better to compare different elements of their work to authors, rather than comparing their work as a whole. Remember, real life isn’t actually a paper you’re writing on how different mythologies influenced Lewis and Tolkien, making their work different, or comparing Dumas son to Dumas pere. Instead, you’re supposed to be giving useful feedback (not necessarily advice!) to an author who isn’t dead yet, so be specific.

Good luck.

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Bound to the Flame, Chapter V, Part II

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bound to the flame, camp nanowrimo, camp nanowrimo july 2014, college, confusing nonsense, insanity, john flanagan, life, nanowrimo, national novel writing month, philosophy, rambling musings, ranger's apprentice, secret life, small rants, stories in progress, story dynamics

It’s been awhile–sorry about that. I had college applications, Iris moving, and Nanowrimo to worry about. (I’m behind on my novel, but this will take only a few minutes so I AM NOT WORRYING ABOUT IT. Studiously. :-P)

In other news, I read the first book of the Ranger’s Apprentice series by John Flanagan, The Ruins of Gorlan, and I LOVED it. The humor in the book was very unexpected, and the main character respects his mentor… I can’t think of anything morally objectionable in the book. (On the downside, there was one extraneous plot point that was not as well incorporated as it might be, but I’ll leave that until I can do a proper book review.) I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the chapter! 🙂

Warnings: Lots and lots of philosophy, maybe a little theory. Nothing too strenuous, unless you don’t like exercising your brain. ;-P

Bound to the Flame

Chapter V

Part II

Rowan fell silent again. Margery bit her lip. “Some of my father’s men were defending our coasts against Sea Raiders last winter, and two of them failed to report back in, and were presumed lost. They finally turned up in the springtime. One of them had lost a leg and two fingers. The other one had stayed with him all winter, helping him to survive and nursing him back to health. But when they came back, both of them had changed. The injured man was morose; the other was tired and worn-down. It took the combined efforts of all the men-at-arms as well as my father and brothers to get them back on their proverbial feet. Neither of them was ever quite the same, though.” Margery paused, looking sidelong at Rowan, unsure of how to continue. Without looking at her, Rowan slowly guided Obsidian onwards.

“And you’re trying to figure out if there’s some subtle way of helping me.” Rowan said. “You pity me.” He paused for a moment, biting his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that, as far as this goes, this is the best way that you can help.” He sighed. “Activity helps, even if I’m exhausted and sore for hours afterwards.” There was a long time in which they simply rode in silence.

“It’s so quiet here,” Margery said, after a while. Rowan looked up.

“It is,” he said, without offering any explanation. Margery tilted her head on one side.

“Are they setting a trap for us, do you think?”

“Unlikely. I don’t feel any warning that might indicate on. If the silence troubles you, though, what about a walking song? Our enemies are nowhere nearby, I think, and there is no one to hear us.”

“All right…” Margery said. “You sing.” Rowan chuckled.

“Very well.”

“O’er the hills and far away

Out from a rising sun

From my door I heard Mother say,

‘I pray that soon back you’ll come.’

Among the woodlands dark and gray

While leaves all fall around

And squirrels among campfire ashes play

There comes the marching sound.

“O’er the plains so wide and far

O’er the moors so dreary

While at night a shooting star

Falls at our feet weary.

By the cliffsides steep and high

Marching to a song

When the morning dawn draws nigh

Again we pass along.

“O’er the mountains at break of day

When we rise to travel on,

In the dawning cold and gray,

We march over that browning lawn.

In the rain and in the spray

Flying from a stormy sea

Marching far, far away

We’ll come flying homeward free.

“O’er the hills and far away

Into a setting sun

Until the darkness ends the day

And stars now out have come.

O’er the fells and low green tors

Turning fast to gray,

Far from home and hearth and door

We march, far, far, away.”

                Rowan had a good voice, clear and strong, but at the same time soft and melodious; it was almost subdued, but it made the glades reverberate with sound, the earth beneath them trembling in unison with the melody. For a long while after the song had concluded, they rode along in affable silence. At last, contrary to all Margery’s expectations, Rowan broke it.

“Margery, if we are to be able to continue to evade our enemy, there is something that I must do.”

“Then do it,” Margery said, shrugging, not quite comprehending.

“No…” Rowan said. “What I meant is, I would like to—I should ask your permission first.”

“Why?” Margery asked.

“Well, if we are to remain undetected… I need to mute your presence and ground the loose magic that has gathered around you.” Margery gave him a blank gaze. “You can be sensed by magic,” Rowan explained. “But it’s harder for whoever might sense you to do if there isn’t loose magic pooled around you.”

“I don’t understand,” Margery said.

“Well,” Rowan began, apparently trying to think out the best way to explain it, “loose magic—magic that has been already drawn from the warp—”

“Start at the beginning, please,” Margery said. “You’ve explained elemental magic, but not this branch of theory.” Rowan inclined his head.

“Very well. This has to do more with the origins of magic than with the theory of magic,” he said. “Most magic remains hidden, like the warp threads under the weft of a tapestry, holding together the tapestry of life on this world. You can think of the visible world as the weft threads—magic holds them together, just like warp. Magic can be drawn up out of the warp in order to be used. But magic can not be used up, like material goods can. It simply returns to its energy phase. It tries to get back into the warp, but it takes effort or time—even both in some cases—to return. Naturally, it always seeks the path of least resistance—and living things, especially people with an innate magical talent, are like bridges straight to the warp. Thus, ‘loose’ magic tends to gather around magic users, and other living things. The easier a Wielder can connect with the warp, the more magic will tend to pool around them. Most naturally-gifted wizards have the ability to sense large ‘drifts’ of loose magic, which means that they could potentially sense all living things around them. So, if we want to go unnoticed, the wisest course would be to ‘dim’ our presence by returning the loose magic that has gathered around us to the warp.”

Margery shrugged. “Well, go ahead. You didn’t have to ask permission for that. I’m not a magic user, anyway.”

“I don’t like the idea of doing it without asking,” Rowan said. “Just… be warned. This may make you feel vulnerable, tired, weak, perhaps even ill. Everyone can sense magic on some level or other; potentially anyone could become a Wielder, but it would take time and energy. You have a slight magical ability, and that could exacerbate the effect.” Margery shrugged again.

“Well, forewarned is forearmed, I guess. Go ahead.”

Margery had expected to feel any of the sensations Rowan had described—or perhaps she hadn’t known what to expect—but she certainly had not expected the strange draining sensation that flowed through her and left her limbs feeling heavy and her head slightly dizzy. She focused on relaxing and not fighting the dizzy feeling, taking deep breaths. As the off-balanced sensation passed, Margery gave a sigh of relief.

“You responded well,” Rowan said encouragingly. He seemed dimmed, muted, diminished somehow—though it was not in his physical appearance. As far as looks went, he was just a fraction paler than before; that was all. “I may have to repeat this, periodically. Loose magic tends to build up, over time. It makes spell-casting easier. I only grounded enough so that we can blend in with nature.”

“This is more complex than I ever imagined,” Margery murmured. Rowan offered her a sympathetic look.

“Most things are that way,” he remarked. “They seem simple on the surface, but look deeper and they’re inescapably complex, yet beautifully simple at the same time.”

“Can you teach me?” Margery asked, suddenly, impulsively.

“I don’t think so,” Rowan replied pensively. “You’re more intuitive; you use magic instinctively, if at all. I don’t think I could teach you to use it in the way I do, and certainly not in this short a time. Not with any degree of safety. It takes a lifetime to learn properly. Magic is not a plaything; it’s a tool, and like all tools it can be dangerous if abused, or misused. It should not be used by the unskilled. Ever.” Margery bowed her head, chastened. “However,” Rowan continued, I can teach you more about it and help you to understand the gift.” Margery looked at him, grateful.

“Please,” she said softly. Rowan gazed on ahead, thoughtful.

“If you wanted to become a Wielder and were really, honestly serious about it, you could become a scholar, focusing on knowledge, discovery, and research. You would need to find a partner who specialized in focused or applied Wielding, to work with, of course, but wisdom and those who seek it are sorely needed.” Margery smiled. Rowan turned toward her, an unrecognized expression twinkling in tawny hazel eyes. “Besides, there’s another reason why I can’t teach you more than just theory.”

“What would that be?” Margery asked, ducking under a tree branch as she rode.

“Whatever would your parents say?” Rowan asked. Margery suddenly realized what the sly twinkle in the young man’s eyes was—mischief. She moved to swat him, but Rowan moved much more quickly. She missed him completely as he swiftly ducked. “There are some things you should know beforehand,” Rowan said, turning serious. “There are certain laws which should be followed, when it comes to magic. These are not merely the laws of Ertraia, but the laws of righteous Wielders everywhere. Some laws are punishable by imprisonment; others by banishment, or instant death. To seek refuge in Ertraia is to put yourself under Ertraia’s justice. First of all, magic should never be used to take a life by any means, except in the defense of life. There are certain prayers and meditations that should be undertaken subsequent to the taking of a life in self-defense. Attempting to summon spirits is most certainly forbidden. If one of the saints speaks to you in a dream or vision, that’s a different thing entirely; but you must be cautious and examine the message of such a dream, analyzing it to decide if it truly comes from God or His saints. There is almost nothing in the world that is more dangerous than a magician under the influence of a demon; you must guard yourself carefully against the mental interference of such evil forces. Magic can not defend against evil spirits; only reverent prayer can do that. Using magic to compel someone against their free will is also forbidden. Magic should never be used for personal gain. Changing the appearance—the accidents, or circumstances—of some object is possible, but only our Lord—” he bowed his head, respectfully—“can change their substance or essence. To attempt to do so would be blasphemy. It is not permissible to attempt to create life, though imitating it is allowed, under certain dire circumstances. Only God can create life, give it and take it. Saving lives, however, is most certainly permissible and praiseworthy. Creating a bond with someone and then throwing them aside without a thought is unthinkable; bonds should not be created in the first place, unless it is absolutely necessary. Bonding with an animal and then forcing it off on its own is punishable by a fine. Courting dreams and visions is not necessarily culpable, but it is generally considered to be a stupid thing to do, as it can leave you open to suggestion by outside forces that might not be benign. Some forms of knowledge are better left alone; we do not believe that the enemy is best fought with his own weapons. That makes us worse than him, because we actually know better, and yet we still allow ourselves to be provoked. Not his own, no, but with equal and opposite ones.”

Margery looked solemnly at Rowan. “So, the gift comes with responsibilities.”

“As all true gifts do,” Rowan nodded solemnly. “All true gifts are given to us so that we may serve others. We are nothing on our own. It is folly to take our gifts for granted, though this is more a matter for personal guidance, rather than for the law. We walk similar lines in magic that we do in our everyday lives. We fall in similar ways; we make similar errors. The punishments are more severe because a rogue magician can cause more harm than an average man in the same plight. The only man who might cause more damage would be one in a position of power or influence. The more we are entrusted with, the higher the expectations. We must be on our guard at all times so that our power does not corrupt us, and take safeguards against greed.” Margery nodded, seriously.

“So, are all the stories about magic true? Not the ones that say all magicians are evil, of course, but the stories about what magic can do.”

“Some of them, but probably not all,” Rowan said. “Even magic has its rules and its limitations. And there are things that should not be attempted, not merely because they can cause physical harm, but because they are morally destructive to the Wielder as well.”

“What about the stories where someone is healed of a wound that should have been fatal?” Margery asked.

“Those are more likely to be true,” Rowan replied, looking down. Margery could not help it; her eyes were drawn to the ugly old scar on one cheek. How had that come about, if…? “Ertraia’s healers are the best in Scotland,” Rowan carried on, “perhaps the best in the world. Normal wounds are easy enough to heal. Magical wounds—those dealt by direct magical means—are more difficult. Some of our healers have traveled abroad to heal the wounds dealt in war and to aid the sick, but due to the persecution of magic users and other knowledge that seems to them of magic, they have had to keep their true abilities secret, and they have grown rarer. Some of our healers have gone out and never returned, and no word came back to us of their fate. We can only hope that they yet live, and are safe and well.”

“What’s the difference—I mean, how do you tell which magic is dark and which is light?”

“No. Don’t say ‘dark’ or ‘light,’” Rowan said. “Perhaps they are, as you use them, mere metaphors, but they are not quite perfect. To use ‘light’ to imply ‘good’ and ‘dark’ to imply ‘evil’ is not quite accurate. We must remember that they are mere metaphors and not innately good or evil of themselves. Darkness predates sin; it is not evil of itself. Even the light, in this broken world of ours, is flawed. Only the Light of Christ shines perfect. Furthermore, some people use ‘light’ to equate truth, and ‘dark’ for ignorance. But this is flawed as well; truth alone, on its own, without the light of grace and divine revelation, can point people in the wrong direction. A few scattered truths do not add up to a full picture. Truth can be colored by perspective, and twisted to the selfish ends of men. Reason unguided by faith can lead down a dark path indeed. Light illuminates, but it does not always guide.” Rowan fell silent; Margery sat, overawed, perfectly still in her saddle. Rowan cocked his head to one side. “What was the question again?”

Margery couldn’t help but laugh. With his philosophical dissertation, he had obviously forgotten entirely about the question that had prompted it. “I asked how I could tell the good from the bad. Or, maybe, a right use of magic from a wrong one?”

“Much the same way as you can tell a good action from a bad one on a purely ordinary level,” Rowan said. “If either the end or the action is not morally permissible on a completely material, natural, and spiritual standpoint, you can be sure it’s wrong no matter the means, ordinary or magical. Natural law. Conscience. Both apply in any situation.”

“By natural law, you mean the moral guidelines ingrained into us, almost instinct?” Margery clarified.

“Exactly.”

They continued to travel, Margery struggling to remember as much philosophy as she could, until nightfall.

Liebster Award: Once again…

Tags

a wind in the door, award, camp nanowrimo july 2014, insanity, j.r.r. tolkien, life, long rants, madeleine l'engle, nanowrimo, national novel writing month, secret life, small rants, star wars

Once again, I have been nominated for a Liebster award, this time by Proverbs31teen, over at The World of the Writer. (See, I finally did it! For the fourth time in the history of this blog, actually!) You can read about the previous Liebster nominations here and here.

And now, to answer the questions…

1. Why did you start your blog? Has your reason changed since then? I started this blog mainly for the sake of sharing my writing and connecting with other writers. I occasionally use this blog to vent, but yes, this is primarily a writing blog still.
2. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a would chuck could chuck wood? (No fair Googling!!! There’s a real answer, though.) The same amount of woodchucks Chuck Norris would chuck, if Chuck Norris was chucking woodchucks. (My brother told me this years ago.) 😛 But really, though, as much wood a woodchuck cared to chuck, I suppose. 😛
3. If you could travel to any fictional world, which one would you go to? Probably to either Middle-Earth or Narnia. I wouldn’t want to land in the middle of the Empire era, were I to go to the galaxy far, far away. I love democracy far too much. 😛
4. If you could meet with any person (real, past or present) for coffee, who would you meet with? Ooooh… Does it have to be just one!? I definitely would want to meet Washington, Lincoln and Jefferson. Perhaps Napoleon Bonaparte, I don’t know. And now we get to the lesser known historical figures. I would like to meet Gabriel Garcia Moreno (president of Ecuador from 1859-1865 and 1861-1875), because the man was a genius (he actually balanced a horrible budget and helped to move Ecuador from dictatorship to democracy, among other things!), Jacques Cathelineau (you guys all know about my obsession with the Vendee rebellion by now, probably,) because he was an amazing leader, and Jose Luis Escriva. (If you don’t know about Jose Luis, then you need to go look him up, RIGHT NOW!!!)
5. If you could meet with any fictional character, who would you want to meet? Martin the Warrior and the Murry family (from A Wrinkle in Time and its sequels.)
6. Which country do you (or would you) most want to visit? It’s a tie between the UK, New Zealand, Mexico, and Russia. (Though, if I had to choose, I probably wouldn’t go to Russia.)
7. Mountains, desert, or beach? Mountains. That was easy. 😛
8. What’s your favorite genre to read? To write in? To read, I love family dramas, mystery, adventure, suspense, historical fiction, fantasy, science fiction, speculative fiction, and dystopian best. I don’t care much for romance, especially romance with no side plots. To write, I have mostly written sci-fi and fantasy so far, with dystopian flavor and the occasional magic. I’m testing out suspense, though, with a little mystery on the side.
9. What’s your all-time favorite movie? Oh, War of the Vendee, hands down. With Courageous and Fireproof a close second and third.
10. What is your favorite movie quote? Book quote? Movies: “‘You brought the girls?’ ‘Yes! Er, was that wrong?'” (Gru and Nefario, Despicable Me), “So this is how liberty dies–with thunderous applause.” (Padme Amidala, Revenge of the Sith. Have not seen the movie, but still love the quote.) Books: “So do all who live to see such times, Frodo Baggins, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that has been given us.” (Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings.)
11. Which name would you rather have: (for girls) Gertrude or Beatrice, and (for guys) Ernest or Humphrey? Beatrice. Call it a result of 1. too much Hogan’s Heroes, and 2. enjoying the works of Beatrice Potter.

Now, for the eleven facts…

1. I dislike paperwork. Strongly.
2. I dislike being coerced into certain aspects of Raya-care (such as bathroom breaks and showers) nearly as much.
3. I love being outdoors.
4. I want to go camping this summer.
5. I have no idea who to nominate.
6. I secretly time travel with unicorns.
7. I can’t think of a fact number seven.
8. Where did I put my notebook, again? I can be very forgetful.
9. I normally procrastinate horribly when tagged or nominated for awards. (Sorry, people. Anyway, forewarned is forearmed!)
10. The last statement was a pun. (If a droid told Grievous, “Kenobi is coming,” Grevious would split his two arms apart each into two halves, because forewarned is four-armed. X-P)
11. I love puns. (Sometimes even horrible ones like that.)

Well, that’s all for this Award acceptance. Seeing as it’s the middle of Camp Nanowrimo, and I’m behind in my novel, I can’t take the time to nominate anyone (besides, I don’t know who I’d nominate… I can’t think of anyone whom I haven’t already nominated) or come up with any questions, except for one:

What does the fox say?!

Bwahahahaaha!

Answer in the comments or on your own blogs, I don’t care. But just make sure to link me back to your answers if they’re blogged. ;-P The song is obnoxious, but the question messes with people’s heads. >:-D

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

A Minor Deviation (Nothing to Worry About)

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deviations, secret life, selay'uu, star wars, star wars week

Good evening, all, and thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to come and read Erin’s blog. Erin says to tell you all that she’ll be back to posting soon enough, if she can ever escape the clutches of that evil mastermind who is her little sister. (Personally, I believe that she is exaggerating. How can an adorable four-year-old girl be an evil mastermind? Unless it was Xanatos who raised her… Never mind. That was an attempt at humor, in case you were wondering. My master always said I was not that good at it…)

You may be wondering who, then, is posting today. You shouldn’t be worrying that Erin’s WordPress account has been hacked. It’s only me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, currently assisting Erin in the capacity of editor. I have regular access to this blog, to ensure that she doesn’t embarrass herself by posting something too badly structured. I have, in the past, taken the liberty of correcting her most flagrant abuses of syntax, grammar, and spelling, normally without her notice, except when I’m forced to read over her shoulder. You really can’t blame the poor girl, though. Fingers slip on the keyboard, Raya slips into Erin’s workspace and pounds on some random keys. Typographical errors happen to everyone.

I should probably tell you why I’m posting today. It’s mostly because Erin can’t be bothered to do it, since she’s currently taking care of Mistress Raya. It’s partly because of a conversation we had last week. We were discussing the effect fans have on a story world… I believe “fandom” is the Internet parlance. I wouldn’t know, actually belonging to one of those worlds myself. Specifically, the conversation centered around fan fiction and fan art, though we began by discussing how various authors discover what they call “story worlds.” Erin and I had never discussed this before. She had recently discussed a book (I don’t know the title, and I’m reasonably sure that she doesn’t recall it,) with her father, in which the main characters had invented a space/time traveling machine–being the avid reader of Madeleine L’Engle that she is, she called it a “tessering device.” The idea that had so intrigued Erin was that every time the characters of this novel entered a separate dimension, they found themselves in the world of a story–and the characters had actually read the stories they found themselves in. Erin speculated that the authors of said stories had somehow gotten into various dimensions by accident and wrote about the things and people they had met there, the better ones without including obvious self-inserts (which is, she said, is strictly verboten.) She wondered if all authors have an innate ability to breach new dimensions, or if they actually create the dimensions by writing about them in this “master dimension.” She seemed to favor the first view, that we characters have always been here, waiting, in our own worlds, just to be discovered. I told her that I would not know, being either a) the denizen of a separate dimension, or b) the figment of someone’s imagination, myself, in the first place. She laughed. That was when the conversation turned to the effect fans have on a story dimension.

She said that the story often evolves with the fans, though it does also happen, conversely, the other way around, listing the extreme popularity of alternate-universe fan fiction and the tendency authors have to want to please their audience to prove her point. I said that it was most likely so, but our lives really aren’t determined by one set “canon”, they’re evolving all the time, as long as the authors really want to work (and play) with us. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then both delighted and triumphant and said that it was true.

“Do you have lives outside of your stories, though?” she asked. “The stories that you live in, I mean.”

“Our lives are continuing, evolving, all the time,” I said, “but you don’t really think I’d tell you about them if we did? There is a reason why I don’t have Facebook.” She found that comment amusing.

“So, what do you think of fan fiction in general?” was her next question. “I may be good at telling what you think and feel in a set situation, but reading you here is out of my league.” And thank heavens for that, too. I happen to like my privacy, just like anyone else.

I told her that it was a pleasure to work with a really good author, and that in my experience she generally knew what she was doing. Even if she sometimes writes horrible situations for me to find myself in, the poor lass is generally very contrite the whole time and for a long while afterwards; once, she sobbed all the way through a very difficult scene. I’ll be tactful and keep her secrets for her. You won’t get a word out of me about what that scene was until she posts it. And even then I just might not tell you. (Anakin would call that secretive streak of mine a result of being named to the Jedi Council, but I think it really came of trying to keep him from driving me insane.)

She wasn’t surprised to learn that some of us aren’t really willing to work with authors who put us in certain situations. We tend to desert them if they really do horrible things to either our families or our honor. And when the author tries to go on without us, it generally results in the phenomenon known as OOCS–Out Of Character Syndrome. I’ve been confronted with it a few times over the years–mainly in the area of romance (which, as Erin has already doubtless told you, she avoids like the plague because there is so much bad romance, probably due to the sheer volume of romance written)–and stories where I’m supposed to inadvertently turn to the Dark Side. What am I to do? Turning Dark is not in my character, at least not really embracing evil. I may have my moments when I’m pressed to my limits–I am human, after all–but having me turn evil instead of Anakin? That is just… insipid.

But I digress.

Erin was surprised to learn that Xanatos redemption fics were really right at their very core. Xanatos never really was evil. He resisted the temptation of wealth and power, and though Crion’s death drove him to the brink, he still overcame his own inner darkness. He’s been a good friend of mine for years. The only reason why he was depicted as evil in the young reader novels that have been published was because the author needed a villain who would ratchet up the tension, so to speak, and also give Qui-Gon a good reason not to want to take me on as an apprentice (in the books), so there would be more tension still, and Xanatos was the only one tolerant enough and willing enough to play the villain. I was actually scared of him, then. I had nightmares for weeks, even though I really knew it was only a sham. I didn’t tell him or Qui-Gon for years, and both of them found it hilarious when I did. (For those who are wondering, the years of my apprenticeship were far too confused for young reader novels, tense, occasionally dark, and very, very convoluted. There was more than just one villain to the story, as in the books, and often the “villains” were not clear-cut. The author needed an actual plot, and many of my real adventures with Qui-Gon were never fully resolved until Palpatine was revealed as the Sith Lord, which explained quite a bit but never really tied up all the loose ends. For obvious reasons, the Sidious reveal could not take place for many years yet, and stories without a legitimate ending, happy or sad, do not make very good reading.) Erin caught me out there–I had inadvertently admitted that we do have lives and stories apart from the ones that are published. I still don’t intend to tell anyone about our personal lives, though. Let us have at least a few secrets, please.

Erin’s next question was about the Star Wars movies proper. How did I feel about my life as depicted therein? Was it very different from what actually happened? The answer is, no. The movies are what actually happened. How did I feel about my actual life then? I think the only answer I can give is that I’ve come to the conclusion that it was inevitable for things to run the way they did. True, there were things I could have done better, and things I regret, but I don’t think I could have actually changed anything–at least, not without the help of others, and knowledge of what was going to happen, and even then I might have only succeeded in making things worse.

At that, the conversation turned back to fan fiction. I commented that, in some stories, we actually live–we really come to life–while in others, we merely exist. It depends on the ability and talent level of the author in question. Then the conversation turned to fan art. For the record, I really do not care much for some depictions of myself out there. Even in fan art, there is such a curse as out-of-character syndrome. She thought it was amusing.

Apparently, there is a drawing circulating which is supposed to be me, but looks more like a character from a vampire romance. I hope that it was merely mis-labeled. However, I fear that whoever did it might have really intended for me to look like… ahem. That’s frankly disturbing, and Anakin teases me about it. I’d rather pose for a portrait while covered in mud.

Erin asked if we, the characters from various story worlds, can actually interact with people from other “fandoms.” We can. I have been friends with Horatio Hornblower for years, and was actually allowed to participate in one of the raids that the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel made on a French-Revolution political prison, outside the books. Master Qui-Gon nearly had a heart-attack at my re-telling, and Master Xanatos found it extremely funny. Also, I have been known to visit Camelot on occasion, and Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and co. once spent April Fools’ Day with us. (For those who were wanting to know, Merlin called Anakin a “prat”, and we did not invite Kilgarrah. The dragon would not fit inside the Jedi Temple, for one thing. For another, he’s slightly creepy and I fear he might be a bad influence on Anakin.)

Of course, Erin had to ask then if I was envious of Merlin, since we seem to have almost identical abilities, but his eyes “glow gold”, which is apparently “cool”.

No comment.

I also am not much of a romance reader, in case you were wondering. There’s really not much that point to it, as I doubt that most of the authors really have any idea of what they’re writing about. I prefer historical fiction, as is probably obvious, and honest, faithful re-tellings of historical events.

And, since this post is already well in excess of a thousand words, I should probably stop now. Make sure to check out the upcoming “Archives of Selay’uu” stories, upon which this post has a great deal of bearing, and Erin’s other works.

Have a wonderful day, and may the Force be with you.

[Erin’s Note: Hello, everyone! I found this and added the tags, but that’s it. Actually, I’m pretty excited to post this, since Obi-Wan is normally so reticent. 😉 Hope you enjoyed this brief deviation!]