Category Archives: writing sample

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Another story idea

Procrastination. Really, that’s where I’m at. I have so little left before I finish the first draft of War of Shadows, and I’m avoiding it at every turn – stupid really, but I just can’t help myself. Today, I spent most of my writing time with a new and different story idea. I don’t know where it’s going, the characters hopped into my mind, and I’m already in love with them. Someday I’m going to turn this into something, but maybe not right now. Anyhow, here it is in all its drafty glory (what do you think? Is it going somewhere or were you done before you got to the end?):

 

Thittlebod the Great

She looked at the little old man, bent over some unknown conglomeration of cogs, gears, springs, and flywheels. Thittlebod the Adventurer he was called or Thittlebod the Maker, Thittlebod the Secret Stealer, and sometimes Thittlebod the Great. Once she had even heard Thittlebod the Terrible. He wasn’t any of those things. As she stepped fully into the room, he looked up and removed his goggles, blinking at her with small eyes, watery from concentration. He ran his hand through his wispy white hair.

“My dear Bel,” he said with a toothy smile. “You’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”

Bel-atter was her proper name. She hated being called Bel, she was not one of those prim and brainless bimbos that flitted about the courts of the moneyed. No, that wasn’t her, never would be. Their story was always the same. There was no fairytale ending for them.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I don’t care for the name.”

“Ah, yes, of course, my dear. You prefer Att. Might you see fit to forgive an old man in his dotage.”

Thittlebod’s eye sparkled at this. Whatever he was, he wasn’t dotty. Att knew he thought of her as a Bel, always had. She had been a princess in his home even since she was a small child.

“Oh, my dear,” Thittlebod said, embracing her tightly. “It is so good to see you. I am glad you have come down all this way.”

“I am pleased to have the excuse,” Att said, taking a step back and looking him over more closely. She was disappointed to see that age was beginning to catch up with him. “To what do I owe the honor of your invitation?”

“Your help, my dear, your help.”

Att raised her eyebrow. “What sort of adventure are we on now?”

Thittlebod waived his hand. “No, my dear, I’m too old for that now. Too old. No, I’ll show you.”

After fiddling with the mass of gears and what-not on his workbench, he turned crank, counting aloud to ten, then he dropped a brilliant blue gem into the mess, and clicked a panel into place over it. He took a few steps back.

“A dozen heartbeats, my dear,” He said.

True to his word, a dozen heartbeats later, the mass began moving. This time Att took a step back and reached for her pistol.

“No, no, my dear, he’s safe,” Thittlebod said, holding his hand out to stop her.

Att could feel her eyes growing wide. “He?”

They watched as the mass, sat up on the bench, stretched, and turned to face them, just as if it were getting out of bed. Att actually un-holstered her pistol and pointed it at the thing. As much as a mechanical thing could, it took on a look of surprise and held up it’s hands in a clear sign of fear.

“That’s not necessary, my dear, you’re frightening him,” Thittlebod said.

“What is this Thits?” Att said.

“It’s okay Rundis. She means no harm,” Thittlebod said to the thing, Then turning To Att. “Please, my dear, put that away. It’s not necessary here.”

Att complied, slowly lowering her weapon. “Please tell me what you’ve done now.”

“Rundis here is the world’s first auto-winding automaton.”

“Perhaps you mean the world’s first automaton?” Att corrected him.

“Details,” Thittlebod said vaguely.

“Why have you made it?”

Rundis stared at them with unblinking, glass eyes. Two little flaps, Att took to be eyebrows were raised in an expression reminiscent of surprise or curiosity, she couldn’t tell which.

Thittlebod frowned. “Why have I made him? Well, that’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

Att’s mouth fell open in an effort to find words to respond. These kings of enigmatic statements were one of the peculiar things about Thittlebod.

“I suppose you’ll be wondering what that is my dear?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Have I a role?” Rundis said in a metallic, echoing voice.

Att jumped back. “It talks.”

Thittlebod looked from Rundis to her, squinting. “Well, of course it does, my dear.”

Att took a deep breath, then another. “I need a very stiff drink Thits.”

“Of course you do, my dear,” Thittlebod said kindly.

“May I do a drink?” Rundis asked, cocking its head slightly.

“Two, actually,” Att added.

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Flash-in-the-pan fiction; Eight donated words

As I was perusing twitter today, and looking for new ways to procrastinate, I came across a gem of a tweet from @EmilyFRussell (https://pisscoffeeandvinegar.wordpress.com/), the author of Aurian and Jin: A love story. She donated to the twitterverse the following eight words: Kerfuffle, shibboleth, axiom, seraglio, hexerei, sanguine, and squeen. I have taken up the totally unnecessary challenge of using all of these in a sentence (not really possible). The further challenge was to do it in fewer than 800 words. Well, my distinguished challenger (of sorts), I have done this in fewer than 800 characters, with some bonus vocab. Enjoy.

 

Amoleqi tugged nervously at the sleeve of his thawb and squeaned at the door to the seraglio of the prince’s women. Just striding past caused a shortness of breath and light-headedness. He firmly believed in the old axiom that seraglios were dens of hexerei. A whiff of pungent incense from under the door put a vision of the lurid hangings of sanguine, incarnadine, and puce that must furnish such a place. More than anything, he wished to petition the king to eliminate such places, where the minds of men were molded like soft clay, but he was among the shibboleths of the court. No man, no matter how noble, from a different district could bring up such a topic without starting another contentious kerfuffle.

 

Definitions, from the OED where possible, and yes I’m taking some liberties, but I think I was true to the intent and general meaning.

Incarnadine – Properly, Flesh-colored, carnation, pale red or pink; but also used for various shades of crimson or blood red. (OED)

kerfuffle – commotion / disturbance, particularly involving conflicting viewpoints. (This word not in the version of the OED I have)

shibboleth – This one seems to have no easy translation, I’ve checked a couple of sources. Basically it’s a manner of speaking or habit that sets a class apart or distinguishes foreigners. (My version of the OED doesn’t give a particularly good definition of this)

axiom – self evidently true.

seraglio – The part of a Mohammedan dwelling-house (esp. of the palace of a sovereign or great noble) in which the women are secluded; the apartments reserved for wives and concubines; a harem. (From the OED)

hexerei – witchcraft (I hella like this word BTW. IMF use it at some point, the sound of it evokes some really great imagery.)

sanguine – Using definition 1 in my version of the OED – Blood red

squean – to look askance (Squeen appears in the Urban dictionary. I opted for the OED version)

BONUS WORDS

thawb – The robe traditionally worn in middle-eastern cultures

puce – Purple/brown color

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Proof of writing #1 – flavor text

This blog was intended to be about my process, rather than the specifics of what it is I’m working on. That said, it sometimes feels like I’m just banging on about writing without any evidence I’m doing anything of the sort -Especially after complaining about how much progress I’m not making. More than that though, I feel a certain bit of reluctance about posting my writing in this format. However, I have an outrageous amount of pride in what I’m writing just now, and I’d like to share it. I spent today writing a bit of, what I like to think of as ‘flavor text’ for the chapter I’m working on. The flavor text is a few paragraphs at the beginning of each chapter giving some history and fore-shadowing of the chapter. At dinner, I was telling my wife about it in ‘story-teller voice,’ and my children were taken with what I was talking about. They made me read them the text more than once, and my youngest complained it wasn’t long enough. It made me realize that if I were to share any of my story before it is ready, these bits at the beginning of each chapter would be the best. So, I’ll post one of these from time to time as something of a proof of writing. That said, these bits aren’t in the same voice, style, or perspective as the story itself.

From chapter 1.

In the wide world, forests cover much of the land with trees as varied as they are numerous. Men fell them for shelter, fuel, tools, crafts or simply to make room for crops. Though strong and unmoving, trees cannot defend themselves. The tree protectors, dwaerfrorem in the common Swarem tongue and also loberín fílla amongst the ancient Jai, dryads, or tree spirits, other names as well, were made as defenders of the forests.

In the hidden corners of deep woods, or sometimes just off the road, one might find a mighty oak, elm, chestnut, or birch so large it could be the king of all trees. Within and as part of these trees lives a spirit that can take shape apart from the tree. Sometimes as a beast or man or woman. These spirits wield great power and protect their tree fiercely.

These spirits are like in temperament to men. Most are harmless enough if their tree is unmolested. Often they watch the creatures and men in their part of the forest. Their life is bound to the tree and when the tree is in decline or dies, so too does the tree spirit.