First off, a couple of weeks ago I had a scathing blog where I vented, I try not to do such things, my apologies. Times are rough at present, if any understand, thank you. If not, not my problem. You’re free to not do so.

Anywho…oh, thanks monkey minion. Yeah, I’m letting them wear minion costumes today, I suppose that today, November the 20th is a Monkey holiday, something to do with their trickster god and goddess and misfortune coming from on high and wearing costumes to disguise who you are from the trickster deities. I asked what they called this holiday and, oddly enough, they call it ‘politics’. Seems apt, I suppose. Anyway, my friend here, number 243, passed me my talking points. So let me begin.

There was one section that really stuck out at me and poked me in the eye from this piece. The site of a total eclipse and the crazed reactions people had to it standing out on the ridge overlooking the valley. I have no clue as to what the author was intending for the piece, because my mind was so focused on what his/her event from 1979 caused me to think of as I read it.

It made me think of the end of the world. He/she does mention the word cataclysm more than once so this might have prompted my rather dark musings.

As I’ve said before, times are tough as hell for me right now (no I won’t go into it…) so my thoughts, and my writing, tends to mirror my mood. I’m working on something for genuine publication. It’s a dark fantasy, sort of in the veins of George R.R. Martin in the sense that it’s a big, epic, political-military centric story but I am also throwing in an element that isn’t often visited in speculative fiction and that’s religion. I’m not writing with an agenda, not at all.

The overall idea is the encroachment of a type of Christianity (Christian analogue religion) and an Islam analogue religion upon a pagan culture and what that does to the society. Needless to say, seeing as how it’s not really worth writing about unless things go to hell in a hand-basket at some point, it leads to a murder of a King, a war and chaos. Really, bloody, awful bloody chaos. And the war is not single sided. In other words its not one versus one, no its far more complicated than that.

This piece, ‘Total Eclipse’ reminded me of a section I’ve got going. The pagans, pretty much a Norse culture, have launched a crusade of their own of sorts and they are in the process of ransacking a neighboring country. Now this isn’t a raid as in your typical Viking longship fare, no this is a total, hands down, bloody conquest with mal intent to do extreme harm. They’re plundering and torching a major city. One of the characters finds some orphaned children trying to flee with some nuns. Showing compassion he protects them from the predations of his comrades. The dialogue that occurs after the cities destruction shows my character that despite religious differences, that these are good people just trying to survive. Hell, I know it’s cliché, but it is worth mentioning as the cataclysmic scene of the eclipse talked about by the author of ‘Total Eclipse’ didn’t kill the world, they all survived. Life continued. Our whole world can burn down around us, but often times we pick ourselves up and find that life, does indeed move on. No matter our own trials and tribulations there is always life to be lived.

I have no idea if any publisher would be even remotely interested in what I have to offer, probably not, just steeling myself for the worst and I am realizing that I suck at blog writing and so I can’t convey what the writing is really like without showing some which negates it’s usage in bringing it to a publishing company…(deep breath, sigh)

SO there it is. Regardless, my mind is still filled with imagery that is dark and mystifying so I have to go now and work on a 40K story I’m posting on The Bolthole.org, it involved the Crimson Guard Chapter of Astartes, some daemons and a splinter group of Word Bearers, I think this calls for a bit of darkness.

Have fun, enjoy your day, happy reading, blessings to you.

 

I have no clue why this one stuck in my mind, I’m not even much of a naturalist, but for some reason this one stuck with me.

The ability of the authors in these short little pieces to make one feel a little bit of what they were feeling is an easy to see proof of their abilities as a writer. However, I suppose even then this is all subjective as for all the pieces I chose to remember the one about a frakking bird…go figure.

Anyway this piece reminded me of growing up in the country and watching for hawks and eagles and things of such nature. I’ve always loved birds of prey, I find them comforting rather than frightening as most people do. Hunters, whether animals or even higher beings, display a sense of independence, intelligence and ability to adapt to surroundings that lesser creatures cannot. They simply lack the intellect to do so. Reminds me of social gatherings: find the loner, and there’s your hunter. He/She is a loner because the herd (and that’s what large groups are after all, merely herds) has nothing to offer the hunter except fresh prey somewhere down the road. The herd is only as strong as the weakest member while the hunter has the ability to be as strong as they chose to be. Made me think for  awhile about that.

 

There isn’t much to say about the piece I read, late, as I wasn’t able to make it into class due to an unfortunate, recent event. Anyway, I read it and here it is: Goldberg is inviting us, future writers, hopefully, to use our feelings and the inner workings of our emotional/psychological state in order to better express things in our stories. Also, if I read that right and wasn’t overly distracted, he was inviting us to write the mundane. I do believe I touched on that on an unrelated earlier blog, so no need to rehash that. Though beating a dead horse can be, at times of extreme boredom, a great time killer.

THWACK! THWACK! KLOP! ‘Screw you horse! This is what you get for dying!’ THUNK! THWACK! SPLIFF! ‘Ewww…he broke open…’

SO anyway, this week has been a hell of a rough week for me. It’s not really the class load. I am almost done with my undergrad and I am having a severe case of the ‘Idontgiveafuckopillia’ which tends to come over seniors towards the end of their college tenure. No, I’m more bothered by a few things other than my work load. Though it is intense: I am working on an Honor’s Thesis (Operation Barbarossa), writing a novella for (possible, though maybe not) consideration for submission to the Black Library (science fiction/fantasy publisher of fiction related to the Warhammer 40K and Warhammer Fantasy universes) as well as working on an independent solo created dark fantasy for publication elsewhere. (Maybe Tor, Pyr Books, Angry Robot, Abaddon, Solaris, I have options. I don’t wanna go down the road of self publishing, I’d actually prefer to make a living as a writer and help publishing companies stay alive to ensure more people get to read cool books. I know the arguments, I know. But I really do want a more guaranteed paycheck. Let’s be honest, my dream is to MAKE A LIVING as an author, not starve as an author. I support you indy guys and gals, really I do. But for me I don’t want to travel down that road.) All of that on top of two science classes as well as this creative writing class where I’m still a little bummed that I haven’t got to spend the whole time working on my own creations…which is why I signed up in the first place, I wanted some input on my own writing honestly. No, no…something else is bothering me.

I am bothered a lot by people and what I see them do. Namely the exclusionary nature of modern Mid-Western American society (this is social commentary on the US, my slice of it, and I can’t say anything about other folks’ areas.) I’m deeply troubled by the extreme cliquish nature of the people around me and how terribly they treat people not in their little group. Since when did we turn into the fucking Soviet Union that everyone has to be part of a goddamned little commune in order to be observed to see that you aren’t pissing on pictures of Uncle Joe? If you can’t get the reference, I weep for you. I happen to love Russian history and you should be ashamed of yourself. In fact, read history, it’s good for you damnit!

If you’re not part of the right religion (being Christian isn’t enough, of course, you have to be the RIGHT kind of Christian, the kind that gets rid of your independence and allows other people to live your lives for you, also you have to hate women, their rights and gays.) Ok, that might be unfair, but this is a venting blog so whatever… anyway, if you’re not part of the right religion you’re ostracised. Since when did Jesus or Muhammed or Moses ever say: ‘And verily I say unto thee: He that not hangeth out with thou, is an asshole and should be treateth with the greatest of scorn and maketh them to feel miserable.’ Book of Butthurt, Chapter of Being a Dick, v.33

Pretty sure that’s not in the Bible, Quran, Torah or Odin’s Holy Writ. If it is, then I quit religion forever because it just turned evil. I’m also sick of the backstabbing that these groups cause: oh so you dared to leave our group huh? How fucking dare you learn to think for yourself you son of a bitch! Now we’re going to spread rumors about you and make you want to commit suicide because you dared to be a (GASP!!) Independent thinker!!!!

Also I am not a fan of the anti-intellectualism that I see every damned day. I was under the impression, obviously false that college was supposed to be a place of learning, not trying to psychologically rape those who enjoy to read, enjoy science, history, engineering, philosophy anything intelligent and intellectual. But, apparently I was wrong. It seems as though if you’re the least bit intelligent you’re not just ostracized you’re basically socially punished and cast out like a damned leper. And then people around here wonder why they can’t retain any smart graduates to stay in the area. Because you drive us out, not to mention if we can’t find someone to be with, which if you’re the least bit different the damned GROUPS will ensure you can’t, then we won’t stay. Period. And not to beat the religious horse again, but when in the hell did it become acceptable to stand atop a table and start condemning people to hell in the cafeteria, student center what have you, and NO ONE DOES ANYTHING about it? I can’t stand you jackasses, you’re human waste. Period.

I won’t say what I experienced, it’s in the past so better left to be learned from on my own without dwelling on it. How does this relate to writing? Easy:

When I write I place my own pain, fears, hurt, passion, anger, love, hatred, loyalties, crusades, you name it into my writing. It makes up my characters, it fills them, informs them, and forces their hands when it comes to making decisions. And I feel a lot of writers do the same.

All for me for now, later.

Zai Jian.

Auf Weidersehen.

Do svidaniya.

     The caveat was the story had to be 500 words or less, sadly I went 76 words over…but it’s damn good as far as I’m concerned. A definite beginning, middle and end.

            “Do you fear death Northman?”

            Hidden behind his circular, wooden shield, his right hand gripped the haft of his axe tighter.

            “No,” he replied, calmly which was odd considering the circumstances. With a snort the smaller, clean shaven Christian in glistening, silver scale armor gave a mirthless laugh.

            “Truly?” the Christian asked, taking a practice swing with his long sword.

            “Truly. If you can kill me,” the Northman placed the emphasis on the qualifier, “Odin will come down and take my soul to Valhalla. And there I will feast and drink with the gods.”

            The armored man hocked a gob of phlegm onto the ground at the Northman’s feet.

            “Your pagan god can take that and use it to wet the crotch of the goddesses.”

            The Northman merely gave a sad sigh.

            “Does that anger you pagan? Does the thought of Odin fucking his goddesses insult you?”

            Taking a step forward the Northman merely shrugged. With a cry the Christian leapt forward, slashing downwards with his sword. Releasing his inhaled breath the Northman raised his shield, catching the sword stroke on its uppermost edge and jabbed forward with his axe. The top of the axe head jammed into the Christian’s stomach and the Northman then spun the axe by its haft on its axis. As the Christian edged backwards, grunting in pain, the Northman slashed upwards. The axe head bit into the Christians neck, blood sprayed violently out of the opening in the Christians torn neck and the Northman stepped to the side to avoid the spray of the man’s life fluids.

            As the Christian dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with pain, and surprise, the fountain of blood gushing down his armored front and painting the fallen, dried autumnal leaves in a crimson bath, the Northman knelt close and whispered in his ear.

            “Despite your irreverence, Odin is considering you.” The Christian tried to speak as he slumped slowly onto his back, but his voice only came out in a blood soaked gurgling.

            The Northman glanced up as a shadow fell across him. An old, long bearded, grey headed man, his head covered by a wide brimmed, black hat looked down at the dying Christian. He wore a long black cloak that covered his body down to his feet, he held a long gnarled staff in his large and liver spotted right hand, a black raven sat perched atop each of the old man’s shoulders.

            The old man, briefly, made eye contact with the Northman. The old man gave him a small smile, and mumbled something that the Northman could not understand. Then the old man, slightly stooped in posture, looked down at the prostrate and now deceased, armored Christian and gave a curt nod.

            Both ravens squawked and alighted to the Christian’s shoulders, as they gripped with their talons, and as they began to climb into the sky, their wings beating the heavily around them, they gripped the shocked, surprised and shimmering soul of the fallen Christian warrior. Together soul and ravens disappeared into the sky.

            “Soon. For you son, soon.” The old man said and then, with a clap of thunder, he was gone.

            The Northman, spattered with blood not his own, knelt by the still warm corpse of the Christian and, gently and almost tenderly, closed the man’s eyes with his large, scarred hand. Then he let out a long sigh, resting his hand on the Christian’s shoulder.

            “Not soon enough.”