Child's Gateway

I've done a blog post before based on an image.  Doing some browsing, I came across another image with a tale to be told.  Something about the look on the child's face tells me that he has no fear of what is before him because whatever is behind him is so much worse.

It was a typical day at school.  Pretty much the same as every other day I've had for years.  The same jerks calling me the same names.  The same giggles from the girls as they walked past me.  The only saving grace was the fact it was Friday.  I wouldn't have to tolerate any of this for the next two days.  There would only be may father to avoid.  Since this Friday was also his payday, he would be easy to avoid in his drunken stupor all weekend.

With my mind on caring for myself and other plans, I failed to notice anything different about the side alley I usually took on my walk home from school.  That is until I noticed a shuffling sound in front of me.  The sighing of cloth against cloth seemed to fill the alley.  Stone ground against stone under my feet.

A light popped on the ground.  It was like a campfire, but, instead of reds and oranges, it was pure white.  A large figure with horns, one broken, emerged from the darkness as the white flames grew in size and brightness.  Around the big, horny dude stood a growing number of what I could only think of as mummies.

I didn't move.  I stood completely still.  First due to fear, then from the shock of the unreality of what I was seeing.  Something in the back of my mind was telling me they couldn't see me if I stood completely still.  To this day, I don't know if this was true or not.

As I stood there, a voice spoke.  I didn't exactly hear it.  The words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.  They entered my mind without bothering to go through my ears first.

"Welcome traveler.  Before you is a gateway.  A passage to other realms and realities."

As the voice spoke, the fire continued to grow.  However, the top of the flame never got any higher.  The ground below it began to sink lower and lower.

"Beyond is more than you can imagine.  There will be women that will adore you.  Riches worth more than anyone could spend in a lifetime.  Your plate will overflow with enough food to feed entire countries.  All that you desire is yours to claim."

"Will there be pain?"

The large guy with the horns almost seemed startled.  "I'm sorry.  What?"

"Will there be pain?  Will there be challenges to overcome before I receive any of the rewards you mentioned?  Will there be a risk to my immortal soul?"

"That is a question your kind has never asked before.  I cannot say I know the answer.  It is something you will have to step into the purifying fire to discover."

"I don't believe I will get all the wonderful things you described without some kind of price.  Some kind of toll paid."

I looked over my shoulder at what was behind me physically and metaphorically.  To escape it all.  The teasing.  The giggles.  The eyes smiling, not at me but at my expense.  The silence from those that were supposed to protect me.  The drunken beatings I have witnessed and been given.

I knew any price to be paid to get away from it all would be worth it.  Even without the rewards the horned figure promised, getting away from this place would be worth any price.

I stepped in to the flames and the world vanished.

If you were to give a name to the creatures in the picture, what would you call them?

Shameless Plug

Another page of the calendar has been turned.  It is now November.  Fall is in full swing.  The baseball season has ended and football is roaring forward.  Piles of empty Halloween candy wrappers are growing by the day.  Lawnmowers are mulching more leaves than trimming blades of grass.  All of this can mean only one thing.  NaNoWriMo is in full swing.  Thousands and thousands of writers are attempting to write 50,000 word novels in 30 days.

People all over the world are sitting down to notepads, typewriters, and laptops to express themselves through words.  They are receiving support from other writers through pep talks and write-ins.  Most importantly they are all creating in a way that they want to.

This is my fourth year attempting the NaNoWriMo challenge.  I have yet to reach the 50,000 mark in any one attempt, but my first two tries are now published novels.  My first book, Dangerous Stars, taught me much about how a book is written and made.  Post Exodus was picked up by an independent publisher, Amazing Things Press.

Now, I am a little behind in my word count and there are some characters waiting to see what will happen to them next.

Post-Creation Coma

Another November has come to a close.  The National Novel Writing Month has finished for another year.  Thirty days where every free second is filled with writing, composing, and creating.  A month of reviewing outlines, defining characters, setting scenes, and creating just the right mood.  Mornings shift into afternoons, which then change into evenings and nights without notice.  Nights pass without sleep as ideas form and are molded and shaped before being put into place.  The deadline passing by means the steady writing can be put on hold, but the process is far from finished.  With the arrival of December 1st, a brief breath can be taken before the hard work truly begins.

The small number of days and large number of words in the challenge force an author to write at a pace that doesn't allow more than basic editing on the fly.  Many critical questions must be left for later consideration.  Does this scene work?  Should the affections between these characters be more overt or subdued?  Would it be more effective if the readers loved this person more before I kill them off?  What words or phrases can I use to increase the emotional impact of this passage?  All of these factors can take weeks or months of reading, tweaking, and rereading to get a novel to come out just right.

The holiday season is a great time to get out and remind myself what the outside world looks like.  It will be relaxing to participate in activities that don't require too much mental strain.  I can gaze at lights and admire decorations while refilling my creative juices.  It will certainly ease my exhausted mind to sing along with joyous songs heard so many times the lyrics are practically ingrained in my DNA.  Now, where did I leave that remote control?

Different Strokes of the Pen

NaNoWriMo is in full swing.  A month full of writers summoning forth characters from the endless worlds that occupy their imaginations.  Lives are created.  They begin and end with the stroke of a pen or press of a letter on a keyboard.  Worlds are created and environments come into being.  There are adventures to be had and enemies to be defeated.  Broad fields of story and plot lay before the creative mind.

There are any number of obstacles that must be hurdled when writing a story, whether it be a short read or a multi-chapter novel.  How do you define characters and give each of them a unique voice?  How do you choose a time period for your story and how does it affect the plot and lives of the characters?  Do you reveal histories at the beginning of the story, in little pieces as the story moves along, or leave some mystery for later stories?  How do you get the proper impact of various events across to the reader so it effects them the same way it effects you as you write?

One of the biggest challenges for me is writing just one story at a time.  Over my lifetime I have been struck by the thought of many ideas that would make good stories to tell.  Some of them are similar enough that they can be molded into one story.  Others are so vastly different they must each have their own tale.

For my current NaNoWriMo attempt I am writing a sequel to my first published book.  There are story elements I have been wanting to use in these and other sci-fi stories.  Relationships to develop, locations to discover, and things to happen in general.  Also taking up space in my mind is a story that comes from a world of magic and spells more than one of spaceships and lasers.  In order to clear out some of the extra clutter, I'm going to put some of the opening of the fantasy story here.  Maybe it will be my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel.

A robed figure slowly moves through a dark cavern.  The only source of light is a gentle glow from a large crystal in the center of the room.  The figure's features are hidden under the shadows of a deep hood.  He walks with a tall staff clutched in one aged hand.  Ancient runes seem to glow up and down the staff, reflecting the clear light from the crystal.  As he walks by the crystal, he reaches out his other gnarled hand to caress it as one would a longtime lover.  His voice, despite being as rough as a poorly maintained gravel road, clearly carried a degree of affection.  He speaks with certainty and conviction to the otherwise empty space.

"It is nearly time for us to rise again.  For centuries you have been building your reserves, growing in power, collecting the raw energy of life itself.  The eight recipients have been selected.  When the time is right they will be given access to you in order to bring about a new age.  They will be the beginning of real power returning to this world.  Power that is based on strength of mind and will instead of simple brute force and conniving manipulation.  Power the use of which can drain the user for a short time or eternally, depending on how it used.

"The chosen eight will gather others together and teach them to use this power.  Its use will quickly spread around the world.  Some will have a great talent and use their power for great things, others will only be capable of impressing small audiences with their simple flashes of skill.  Like other powers humanity has come across, some will use it for the betterment of those around them and others will use it only for themselves.  Some will us it for good, others for purely evil purposes.

"The power you have inside you was used many centuries ago.  Now it will be used again.  Magic will rise again on the Earth.  The modern age of electronics and technology will see the return of sorcery and magic.  Spellbooks will take their place alongside e-readers.  Teleportation will join driving and flying as a method of personal transportation.  The Digital Age will give way to The Age of Power"

The crystal's glow shifted as the man spoke.  It gives off a bright flash of light that fills the cavern as the man slowly ends his caress and removes his hand from the crystal.  He raises the staff and speaks an ancient word.  The robed figure vanishes from the cavern with no sign he was ever there.


With that piece of story out of the way, I have more room in my mind for my current tale.

That Time of Year

It is just over a week until the annual National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, challenge begins.  The challenge is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.  Every November 1st writers across the country do their best to hide from the outside world and write their next, great novel.    

Phone calls go unanswered, emails go unread, FaceBook and Twitter posts drop off, DVRs get filled with unwatched episodes.  At the same time characters come to live, worlds are created, events occur on personal and interstellar levels, and stories are told.  Editing is ignored as writing is done in a near stream-of-consciousness method.  All of this in an effort to reach that elusive word count before time runs out.

The National Novel Writing Month website has many tools to help prospective authors wishing to undertake the challenge.  They have forums that allow authors to connect and share advice, story ideas, and offer up abandoned plots for someone else to run with.  There are also schedules with write-ins where writers can meet other local writers in person.  

The most important tool is the word counter.  This tool shows the total number of words written so far, the number of words remaining to reach 50,000, and how many words per day must be averaged to reach the target number.  Word counts can be submitted manually at the start of the month.  For full verification, an automatic counter is used by pasting story text in a counter on the site.

This year will be my third attempt.  During each of my previous tries I broke through 40,000 words, but was unable to reach 50,000.  This year may be no different, however I will still do my best to tell my story as completely as possible.  Here is a sample from my first NaNoWriMo attempt which I self-published as a book titled Dangerous Stars.

Hours later, Christian was returning to his quarters after another uneventful shift in the pilot's cabin. As he lay down on his bunk a light, tapping comes from his door. Samantha is standing there wearing only her jumpsuit and none of the usual clothing under it. In a sultry voice she asks, “Might I come in? The majority of my clothing is being cleaned and these halls are a little cold. Your quarters as so much closer and warmer than mine.”

Christian steps to the side of the doorway and gestures for Samantha to enter his quarters, excited anticipation lighting up his face. “By all means, please enter. We certainly can't allow the guests on our ship to become cold and uncomfortable.”

Samantha slinks into the room, Christian detecting a hint of an exotic perfume as she passes close to him. Christian is unable to take his eyes off Samantha as she slowly settles herself into his work table chair, her sensuality obvious in every movement and gesture. “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important.”

Christian then returns to his bunk, stretching out leisurely, and picks up the printouts he had been studying when Samantha knocked on his door. He feigns interest in the pages before him, his mind clearly wandering to a figure other than the one represented by the numbers in front of his eyes. “Nothing important, just reviewing some notes on a personal project.”

Samantha speaks in a sultry voice as she gets up from the chair. “Then maybe you wouldn't mind a little bit more of an interruption. Recent ...occurrences have the ship in a dreary mood and I have an urgent desire to feel alive and full of pleasure.” One hand slowly unhooks the shoulder straps of her jumpsuit and allows the top to fall slightly. Only smooth, bare flesh is revealed underneath. She covers the short distance between the chair and Christian's bunk with two seductive strides. The motion of her hips causes the top of her jumpsuit to fall further, coming to a rest around her waist. Her entire upper body is now bare, the notes Christian had been studying gradually falling forgotten from his hand.

Samantha slowly climbs on top of Christian, her legs straddling him to either side. Leaning down and pressing her chest to his, she breathily whispers into his ear, “There is something I've wanted to do to you since I saw you on the research vessel.” He simply lays there, grinning, as she uses one hand to start pushing his shirt up his chest. She stops removing the shirt after his head is out but his arms remain in the short sleeves, effectively pinning his hand behind his head and leaving him at her mercy.

In his relaxed state, Christian fails to notice the sharp knife in Samantha's other hand as it emerges from behind her back. Once she has the blade pressed against his throat, he can no longer help but be aware of it. He is unable see the entire blade, but can see enough to know it is a simple knife stored in the galley for the rare times someone cooks by hand. Christian is very aware of the sharpness of the knife's blade, a deep swallow on his part would draw blood. He isn’t truly afraid, but he has never been quite this nervous in his life.

You can find Dangerous Stars in digital and print formats on Amazon.

Challenge Accepted

A few days ago I posted a writing challenge on Twitter.  Being a fair-minded person, I felt I couldn't make a challenge without undergoing it myself.  Here is my simple story.  The words from my game with a friend are highlighted.

It was the greatest day of the solar cycle. The entire village was celebrating. The thumps of dancing feet mingled with the pounding of ceremonial drums. Musicians blew into their flutes and strummed their strings in a joyous ballad that lifted the hearts and raised the spirits of everyone around the large campfire. Hunters marked their chests and faces with bold colors drawn in intricate designs. All of this was to call forth the ancient gods to judge us and see if we were worthy of continued existence. If we were deemed unworthy, how quickly or extended our deaths would be depended on the god that decided we were no longer worth their attentions.

The bleating of goats was silenced as they were sacrificed on the altars of each of the gods. The village's shaman entered the light cast by the ceremonial fire. The glow from the flames reaching deep into her hood only when she drank from her tea. Ceremony and tradition demanded a brew that was made from haws that she alone could harvest and dice fine enough for this one night. The musicians reached their envoi as the village chief greeted the shaman to the ceremony. As the shaman passed the half full cup to the chief, her hands appeared to shrink to the size of a baby's as they nestled inside his large palms.

The shaman stepped up to each altar and offered a prayer to each god separately. She asked the mother god whose ova spawned us and the stars above for continuing new lives to be born from the women of the tribe and the species of the animals we hunted. She asked that our heavenly protector heft his axe above us in order to protect us from those that would harm us. Her request to the god within the mountain below us was simple. She requested that he keep his sloping grades gentle enough for our hunters to remain surefooted and his soils fertile enough for the trees in which we lived to continue to grow.

The final altar was for the god we all respected as well as feared. It was a god that we all wished to never meet, but were also aware of how necessary his presence was. She prayed to the god of death. She asked that he keep his scale balanced. She asked that he not let it tilt too far in his favor and kill us all. She also requested that he not let the balance go too far the other way. Too little death would put a drain on the resources around us and force the herds we relied on for food to move to more plentiful feeding grounds.

Finished with her pleas and requests, the shaman returned to the chief to collect her emptied cup. Only time would indicate whether or not she had been heard. Only when the sun once again rested on the tip of the correct peak four seasons form now would we know if this ceremony had achieved its goals.

Most of these words were easy enough to incorporate into a story.  I will admit that I had to look a couple of them up in order to know how to fold them into the narrative.  Ultimately I look on this as a way to expand both my vocabulary and flex a few more creative muscles.

If you happen to hear about or know of any other writing challenges, please let everyone know in the comments or drop me a note on Twitter.