G is for Genre Lounges

The Script Frenzy A-Z challenge so far…

I was originally planning to do G for Graphic Novels, which a lot of people write in Script Frenzy, but since I never have, and didn’t arrange anything beforehand with asking people questions, I thought I’d cover something that I do have firsthand knowledge about.

The Genre Lounges are a collection of Script Frenzy forums that cover just about any genre you might want to write a script in – Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Action-Adventure, Comedy, Mystery, Drama, Romance, and more. Many genre keywords are set up to share lounges, so as to encourage discussion between similar genre writers and get fresh perspectives.

And within your Genre Lounge, you can start a discussion on just about anything you like, asking for help or answers to genre-specific questions, or just procrastinating and having fun.

So, that’s about it for this week of the A-Z challenge. Hopefully, I’ll get six sentences of my script up for Six Sentence Sunday, and we’ll be back with the A-Z of it all on Monday!

Falling for Nanowrimo, too literally.

Current word count: 8,006. Yay! At this rate, I’ll be finished too soon, on November 18th.

My main character just made the transition from Science Fiction through to a fantasy framework, after the aliens transferred his brainwaves into their crystal.

Unfortunately, I was a little too wrapped up in the story when I got off the B-line bus on my way to the write-in tonight. There was a loose projection in the sidewalk that I tripped over, and actually had a moment where I thought “I tripped. Can I get my balance back? No, I’m goin’ down. Dammit, I can’t help but land on my bag, I hope I don’t break anything expensive.”

I didn’t break anything at all, as far as I can tell, but I skinned my knee, and also the fabric of the dark blue pants I was wearing. Which suggests that sometime during November I should probably squeeze in a couple hours to go shopping for new clothes.

Have you suffered for Nano over the last few days?

I’m a tired, but productive critter this week

I’ve been reading a lot of pieces and sending in a lot of crits for the critters.org online workshop this week. I decided that I wanted to get a ‘most productive critter’ award, which requires earning a really high number of critique points in a single week for many different stories or chapters, as opposed to a single novel reading.

I’ve sent in 12 critiques since Friday afternoon, for pieces ranging from 400 to 4000 words, and running the gamut from ghost story horror to medieval fantasy to crazy cutting-edge science fiction with people becoming string theory patterns and entering quantum foam.

It’s been kinda fun, and quite a stretch for my critical ‘muscles.’ I’ll hear back tomorrow afternoon on if I got the MPC or not.

Late-breaking update:

Campaigner Spotlight: Nicole Zoltack

Hi, everybody! It’s Campaigner Spotlight time again, and today, the spotlight falls on Nicole Zoltack’s blog: Where Fantasy and Love take Flight.

What has been the greatest achievement of your life?

My family. Family has always meant so much to me growing up (I have 5 siblings) and starting a family of my own means the world to me. I married my college sweetheart (who was also my first kiss), and we’ve been married for 4 years now. Our family is still growing – we have two sons (almost 3 and 13 months) and will hopefully have a daughter in February (although I just want this baby to be healthy too). We want a total of 4 so we’re almost there!

Tell us something that’s frightened you.

Death has always been something that’s frightened me as far back as I can remember. I just have so much to live for and so much that I want to do with my life yet. I guess my fear stems from worrying that I wouldn’t have lived before I die. It just means that I try to live each day to the fullest and to have no regrets.

Are you more comfortable in a large group or talking with just one other person?

I’m definitely more of an introvert so talking with just one other person. I tend to be quiet and shy but once I get to know you, I tend to never shut up!

When she isn’t writing about girls wanting to be knights, talking unicorns, and zombies, she spends time with her loving family. She loves to ride horses (pretending their unicorns, of course!) and going to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire, dressed in period garb. To learn more about Nicole and her work, visit her website at www.NicoleZoltack.com or her blog at http://NicoleZoltack.blogspot.com.

Thanks for your answers and volunteering for the spotlight, Nicole!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First drafts…

We’ve been talking quite a bit about first drafts versus revisions here at the workshop, especially because a lot of the process is critiquing and revising. One thing that I thought was interesting was the notion that a lot of the participants, and apparently a lot of sci-fi/fantasy writers, prefer revising to writing a first draft.

I can’t really understand this. I usually have a lot of fun writing the first draft, and less so when revising – because the revising is where the hard stuff starts. (Not a hard and fast rule.) And Chris M said something to me when critiquing my scene yesterday that maybe I should try to concentrate on writing the best word, and not writing too many words. That’s good advice, but I’m not sure that I’ll worry about it too much in my first drafts. There’s plenty of time to focus on that level of detail with revisions.

Diana Wynne Jones

D is for… (A-Z challenge directory)

(Spoilers for “The Lives of Christopher Chant follow below, ‘after the More…’)

Children’s fantasy author Diana Wynne Jones passed away on March 25th of this year, after a year long battle with cancer.

I only recently started reading her books. There’s a blurb on the back of my 20th anniversary edition of Diane Duane’s “So you Want to be a Wizard”, which reads:

“Stands between the works of Diana Wynne Jones, in its wizardry and spells, and those of Madeleine L’Engle, in its scientific concepts and titanic battles between good and evil. An outstanding, original work.” - The Horn Book

Since I love Diane Duane’s books, and have been a fan of L’Engle’s since I was a child, (another great author who we’ve lost in the past few years,) so I looked DWJ up on audible.com, and bought the audiobook copy of  “A Charmed Life” made by Recorded Books, a little over two years ago.

By this point, I’ve read all of the Chrestomanci series, and am looking forward to still having many of her books and stories to read fresh. She has a wonderfully vivid imagination for witchcraft and enchantment, but what I still find the most amazing about Diana’s writing is the flair that she had with characters. All of her books seem to be populated with eccentric, flawed, and vivid characters. Many of them are lovable, and some are despicable, but even the bad guys are never caricatures, but complex if devious personalities.

And she almost always manages to surprise and delight me with one moment in each book, often involving her characters. The narration is very good at making me sympathize with the point of view of the central character, which heightens the shock when that character is surprised by the revelation too; whether it be the source of Gwendolyn’s amazing powers in “A Charmed Life”, the true story of Conrad Grant’s karma in “Conrad’s Fate”, the puzzle of the prison dining room in “The magicians of Caprona”, or…

Well, here we get to the spoilers part. If you want to remain unspoiled for one of Diana Wynne Jones’ best books, “The Lives of Christopher Chant”, then you can stop here and go to some other blog on the A-Z challenge – or do your best to scroll down to the bottom and leave a comment without looking.

New goals for December

Not too much to report right now. Made it back home safely on Tuesday, been back to work, took a while about adjusting back to Eastern Standard time because I didn’t actually get home on Tuesday evening until 11:30pm, which for me was like 8:30 pm.

But I’m back on my usual schedule, it’s the weekend finally, and I’m still trying to settle on my December goals. Probably nothing too strenuous or wordy, though it’d be nice to get a few crossover fanfics updated.

One interesting item is that I have signed up for National Novel Publishing Year, over at their new free digs. I’m not sure if I’m really determined to get published in a year, but it seems like a good place to get support for editing and critiques and query letters and a bunch of other stuff I want to be working on for this coming year – and this past year too, actually, but I really thought that NaNoPubYe was dead until I checked a link that somebody posted of Nanowrimo spinoffs and saw the ‘we’re moving’ announcement.

I also want to get moving on putting my applications together for the 6-week summer workshops – Clarion, Clarion West, and Odyssey. That’ll involve getting more critiques on some of the shorter original fiction I’ve been working on lately so that I can figure out what to revise and submit for portfolios. I was thinking about that today at work, and realized that I wasn’t even sure how many stories I had that fit the bill. Worked it out this evening, after going through all of my word count tracker sheets since February. (It’s pretty crazy that I can’t even sort out what I’ve been writing without a spreadsheet, huh?)

There’s six stories on the list, two fantasy and four science fiction, which seems like a reasonable number to manage. If you’d be interested in giving something of mine a read, let me know!

Also, I thought today would be a good day to play around with some Wordles from my November writing. This first one is just for the Nano 50k proper that I finished on NOWD night:

And this one is for all of my November writing – still dominated by the same keywords, but not quite as strongly it seems to me. Can’t spot an obvious keyword from any of my shorts though:

Blogisode Seven

There was a moment’s pause before the hobgoblins panicked and ran for the edges of the forest, hoping to escape the terrible curse that Ismay was threatening to loose on them – the one that he didn’t have. Thank goodness they fell for the bluff, he thought, keeping his cross raised in silence until he couldn’t see any trace of the disreputable creatures any longer.

At that moment, Clast turned to him and started to stagger forward, grimacing more with each step. Father Ismay met him as quickly as he could. “Well done, Father,” Clast told him. “I was worried that you’d admit there was nothing further you could do, since we hadn’t rehearsed that bit of trickery before.”

“I almost did,” Ismay admitted. “Until I saw what the only solution to the situation was. How badly hurt are you? I see that slice on your arm, and you have clearly taken another hurt.”

“The hobgoblin clubs have broken a few of my ribs, I’m afraid,” Clast told him. “But don’t worry about me – the captives are too close to the fire. We need to untie them as soon as possible.”

Ismay looked over at the hobgoblin’s cooking fire, still burning hot, and the trussed bundles sitting next to it, and his throat tightened at the thought that those bundles were two of his parishioners. “I’ll take care of that. Give me your blade.”

“My axe won’t be much for this, but two of the enemy that I felled had knives.” Clast gestured to the dead body of a hobgoblin. Ismay rushed over towards it, and picked up the knife that lay near its hand – the bronze was covered with Clast’s dried blood, and there was a coating of dust sticking to the blood on one side, but the edge was still sharp enough to do for cutting rope.

The time from that moment until full dark set in around the hobgoblin camp was blurry for Ismay – freeing the captives, making sure that they were okay, and using the healing gifts that Birgit had entrusted him with for the sake of the others, especially Clast’s battle wounds. The Millers had also taken some hurt during their days with the hobgoblins, unsurprisingly.

“So, what is next for us?” John Miller asked. “Do we stay here all night?”

Struck by the question himself, Ismay turned to Clast, and the wandering errant took only a moment more to decide. “No – there may be some dangers from making our way back to town through the forest in the dark, but the hobs might come back to their camp before dawn, and I don’t like our chances if they figure out that Ismay doesn’t have a great and horrible curse waiting for them. Though they have better night-vision than we do, there should yet be some torches around the camp – we can ignite them in the campfire and have lights to cast upon the way our feet must go, eh?”

And that was the way it went. Tabitha Miller got her foot stuck in the hole of a digging vermin halfway back to town, and it was about five minutes before the menfolk were able to get her free. John ended up digging the hole up wider with his bare hands. But that was all the excitement of their return trip, and before midnight they had returned the Millers to their children at the house of their foster parents. Clast and Ismay stood aside together and watched the happy reunion.

“I’ll be traveling on after a day and night, father,” Clast told him. “There’s an ogre up by the path to Northton demanding tolls of wine and jewels to leave passersby unmolested. Dare I to hope that you might come along to help again?”

Ismay considered that. “I’m afraid not. It’s great that you will go wherever you’re needed, to help the people against such monsters, but that’s not my path yet. But see me tomorrow night, before you leave town, yes? If Birgit allows, I may have some gifts I can bestow upon you before you leave.”

“That would be a great kindness, Father,” Clast agreed. “And your own path?”

“I’m not sure,” Ismay said slowly. “I shall go back to preaching to my congregation in the usual manner – but if any here in my home town need aid of a more direct nature, then I hope next time I will not need a stranger to come and tell me so.”

“So will you challenge the creatures of evil yourself?”

“I may not need to – there are a few other brave souls in the area, that I may be able to recruit when they are needed. Good luck, Clast.”

“Best of luck yourself, father,” the strong errant said, bowing his head. “And God bless you.”

THE END.

Blogisode Six

“Ahhyi!” Ismay exclaimed, putting his rapier up in a guarding position in front of his face by habit, and then realized how useless it was to use a light, edgeless sword to try to parry a heavy wooden club with. At the last moment, he tried to dodge back, and managed to sprawl backwards onto the sparse grass – effectively avoiding being hit by the club for that moment, but the hobgoblin was still orienting on him, chuckling nastily, and Ismay knew that wouldn’t be able to scramble out of the way of the next attack. Birgit’s curse upon the hobgoblins might have helped him slightly there, or it might have just been his own dumb luck, but the priest doubted that he could count upon that again either.

As the tall brute made his way closer, though, Ismay realized that he did have one opportunity. He’d dropped the weapon, but its handle was lying quite close to his right hand still. Choosing his moment, he grabbed the rapier again, and drove the point into the hobgoblin’s upper leg.

For a moment the monster didn’t seem to notice, and even moved forward and forced the shaft further into himself. Then he seemed to notice that something was wrong, looked down, and gestured with his club to brush the rapier away though it was now piercing him too deeply to make this possible.

Desperate to incapacitate this inhuman creature quickly, Ismay pulled the rapier out, stabbing again, lower on the opposite leg, where a stumpy knee could be seen between the heavy clothing that the hobgoblins wore. Suddenly the hob fell – toppling forward, onto Ismay’s own legs, and he began immediately thrashing and punching with bare fists against anything within reach, including much of Ismay. Try as he might, he couldn’t extricate himself from the maddened hobgoblin. Was it in its death throes? Would Ismay be, soon enough?? “Clast, I need your help!” he called.

“I’m busy,” the gruff Errant called back. “Can’t Birgit come to your aid again?”

Somehow Ismay didn’t think that he could concentrate enough to discharge Saint Birgit’s grace now, even if she had left him any blessings or other gifts that would avail in this situation. But since there didn’t seem to be any other option, he racked his brain, and desperation seemed to make his link to the back of his soul firmer, instead of impossible to reach. No, there were few of the new bequests that remained to him – a few works of healing, which might be useful if Clast incurred injuries in his own struggles, or if the prisoners that they had come to save were badly hurt, but Ismay could not ask them on his own behalf – and they would not keep the hobgoblin from striking him again in any event. But there were a few minor signs of the power of his patron Saint that he had held for a while, which Birgit had not withdrawn in preparing him for this trial…

Hoping desperately, Ismay seized a dry pine branch with his left hand, and held it above the hobgoblin’s face. It would serve, if only… “May the flame of the Holy Spirit serve my need in this desperate moment,” he croaked, his voice failing him.

That was enough. The pine needles burst into vigorous flame, and the hobgoblin spooked. Though they used fire, his kind must be primitive enough to still fear it more than civilized people did. The wounded hob had only enough strength to scramble a few feet away before lying still, but that was enough to free Ismay.

When he had finally struggled to his feet, Clast was still trying to fend off three hobs, and he appeared to have taken an ugly gash on his left arm from a bronze blade. When he spotted Ismay, the warrior called out hoarsely. “Do it, father! We have no other choices. Let loose the most dreadful curse of all upon these vermin!”

That sounded good to Ismay, except that he had no curses at all remaining to him, never mind the most dreadful one of all! “Do it now!” Clast called again, more authoritatively. “Before it’s too late.”

Then Ismay thought he saw what Clast was getting at, and dug in the pockets for his silver cross, and raised it high, taking a deep breath.

That was enough for the hobgoblins, who must have also been watching to see what the priest would do next.

To be continued…

Blogisode Three

“Hobs love to keep humans alive for a few days,” the wandering errant Clast told Father Ismay darkly. “They have a special mix that they feed to on our kind to make us tender and pleasant.”

“Ohh,” Ismay moaned, thinking of brutal monsters holding John and Tabitha Miller prisoner, and fattening them up like lambs for the slaughter. “So, what assistance are you asking of me, sir errant? Am I right in thinking that you do not simply need a blessing of strength before you go into battle?”

“No, father,” Clast insisted. “You must come with me to confront the hobgoblins, to serve as the strong right arm of the Lord God, in the service of Saint Birgit. You can curse the hobgoblins in Lady Birgit’s name, and…” He trailed off, uncertain just how much the virtue of a Saint might be able to accomplish in a melee.

“But I am no warrior priest,” Ismay protested, though he was starting to wonder if this was indeed the path that Birgit had laid out before him. “Birgit is a bold woman, fierce in the defense of the innocent, but – but I cannot join you in this enterprise, before consulting her in my prayers, and that is something that I will not be able to do in this hour, or the next. If time is truly short, then you will need to seek some other aid for the Millers.”

“How long will it be before Birgit expects you to meditate and pray for her?” Clast asked, and Ismay looked up, startled that this layman had asked this question. How did he know so much of the ways of priests and their prayers?

“An hour before sunset tonight.”

“And must you pray here in the temple?”

Ismay stared at his visitor, wondering if he was being mocking by referring to the small village chapel as a temple. “No, Birgit will hear my prayers wherever I am. Let me guess, you mean to have us travel out into the woods near the Hobgoblin camp, rest a safe distance away so that I can pray, and if Birgit gives me her blessings, then we fall upon the Hobs in the fading dusk, as they build their cooking fire?”

“That would suit me,” Clast agreed. “Will you come thus far, for the Millers?”

“I suppose I must,” Ismay said, sighing. “How soon must we leave? Is there anything I will need to take with me?”

“If you have any protective gear, or a weapon that you feel competent to use in your own defense, that would be well,” Clast told him. “I have already gathered the rest of the supplies and equipment that we’ll need.”

“Hmm.” For a long moment, that possibility of needing such things stunned Ismay, and then he left the chamber, heading towards the chapel storeroom and gesturing for Clast to follow him. After searching half the shelves, he finally produced a long, sharp rapier.

“I used to fence when I was in the seminary,” he said. “The bishop gave me this for my trip into the hinterlands, in case I should need to fend off robbers.”

“Aren’t priests forbidden from taking the way of the sword?” Clast asked him.

“That depends on the sect. Saint Birgit discourages the use of blades, but a rapier has no edge, so it falls within the rule.” He cast one more look around the room. “I’m afraid I have no armor, though, though I did once train to march in chain mail. You don’t have a spare set?”

“No, I couldn’t afford or carry such an extravagance,” Clast told him.

“Would my heavy winter robes offer any level of protection, do you suppose?” Ismay asked.

“Well, we can but try it, I suppose.”

———–

Neither of them spoke much on the trip through the forest to the hobgoblin’s hideout. Clast had a few questions to ask about Ismay’s ministry in the town that he had made his home for the past fifteen years, and Ismay asked for a few details about the errant’s travels and the adventures he had embroiled himself in, but the pace was quick enough to not leave much breath for idle chatter.

“Well, I think that this is about as close as we should get to the Hobs until we are prepared to challenge them,” Clast said, looking over the clear bank of a stream surrounded by tall trees. “And it remains not much more than an hour until the sun sets.”