Sand And Houses And Also Rather Important News

I felt unsatisfied with the capitalizations of this post....so I capitalized everything. ^_^

Now, down to business!  I'll keep this short.

Things have been busy in a slow kind of way.  That means I've been procrastinating up a storm, unfortunately.  However, we did sign a lease on a house - which means we're moving in tomorrow.  And as of right now, we don't have any plans for internet.

That doesn't mean I'll disappear entirely.  I'm still not sure how much I'll be on, though.  I might be gone for months.  Or I might be back in a week and say, "Hey! We got internet!  Hullo there again!"  So don't get your shirt in a knot.

However, it should mean a decrease in blogging.  I have one post I'll hopefully write before I "leave", so there.

The house we're getting is really nice, actually.  It's owned by a missionary, and we'll be leasing it from him; it has four rooms and it's really close to the beach. However, the reason that we're getting it for an affordable price (because houses of this sort, on the beach, are normally expensive) is because the only way to get to the house is to either walk to it along the beach or cross a long walking-bridge across a lagoon.  It's really picturesque, actually.

Things are also moving slowly in my revisions of The War Horn.  I cut another three hundred words of chapter one and haven't added a single word.  However...I think I'm getting close to actually rewriting the beginning.  We'll see. <_<

In short, I'm alive, I'm trying to write, and I have one more post coming up.  And I'm procrastinating.  Right now, all of the other posts I have planned - the continuation of "Ninja" and my sequel post about writers - are on hold.  Sorry about that.  Perhaps I can sit down and pre-write them when I don't have internet.

And while you're reading this, if you haven't already, check out my poll on the sidebar and the excerpt I have up on one of my pages—Prologue: Assassins.

So keep your eyes peeled.  I'll be back.

Hopefully.

A Christmas Present From Me To You

Right now, you're probably just waking up - and it's Christmas Day!  How wondrous! You probably won't even read this until Christmas is done and over, with your stomach full and presents galore seated 'round you.

However, to celebrate this time of giving and the celebration of our Lord's birth, I figured I'd give you a present. And being a writer, what more can I give you but the gift of words?

Temporarily up on my blog is a new page, titled simply "Prologue: Assassins".  This is the prologue from The Prophecy of Einarr, and it'll only be available until sometime in early January, when I'll take it down.

Merry Christmas, and try not to eat too much!

Christ is born, hallelujah!

What is the True Meaning of Christmas?

Today is Christmas Eve.

Christmas, in America, is THE most popular holiday.  Billions are spent on it.  (I'll address that later in this post.) And all sorts of people are asking - what's the true meaning of Christmas?  It's probably the most cliche seasonal question there is.  And many things have addressed it; from Charlie Brown to Santa.

"It's about presents!"

"Goodwill!"

"It's all about Christmas spirit!" (Ever heard that one before?  "There's just no Christmas spirit anymore."  That's another popular cliche.)

The cartoon Charlie Brown, oddly enough, hits the peanut on the mongoose, though. Linus stands up in A Charlie Brown Christmas and quotes the Bible, reminding everyone of the true meaning of Christmas.  Good old Linus, eh?

In our heads, we know that Christ is the meaning for Christmas.  And we even try to make everyone know that.  We post on Facebook ("Remember the CHRIST in CHRISTmas!"). We write blog posts about it.  We tell our dogs and our mongooses.

But still, even though I knew this in my head, it didn't really hit me until a little bit ago.  Up until this point, I had been saying "Merry Christmas!" and "Have a fantastic Christmas!" and all that, but I had yet to think, "Wow!  Christ is born!"

Maybe that's an advantage to being in Liberia on Christmas.  I'm missing my relatives in the U.S. right now and fondly remembering all of the Christmas traditions we used to have and will have again.  But I am (more or less) removed from tradition this Christmas.

Because sometimes tradition can keep us from things that are really important.  (Although it can be wonderful, too.)

So I guess the point of this post is this: readers, don't know it in the head and not feel it in the heart.  Remember.

Christ is born.

This miracle is proclaimed everywhere on Christmas, but somehow, it doesn't affect us.

Christ is born.

GOD came to MAN and the Word became flesh.  And dwelt among us.  How can we even begin to wrap our heads around this?  The creator of the universe, in all its terrible beauty, the God that created us became one of His created.

And when we don't remember this - when America splurges on gifts and lights and presents (that are not inherently bad...in moderation) - this is what happens.

Because last year, Americans spent $450 billion on Christmas.  Clean water for the whole world, including ever poor person on the planet, would cost about $20 billion.  And people are dying every day because they don't have clean water.

So, readers, remember.  Like Linus said, and like so many others have said, Christmas is about Christ.  It's a celebration of the miracle that happened when Christ became flesh.  Because when we truly focus on Christ, things change.  It's because we focused on Christ that we moved to Liberia in the first place, if that's any evidence to you.

Remember.

How to Meet Me in Five Easy Steps

Step One: Buy The War Horn.
Step Two: Buy the One Year Adventure Novel (OYAN) curriculum, if you don't own it already.
Step Three: Do the OYAN curriculum.
Step Four: Sign up for the OYAN Summer Workshop.
Step Five: Go to the OYAN Summer Workshop.

The reason step one is there is because The War Horn is funding my quest to go to the Workshop. ^_^  If I can somehow get two thousand dollars...I'll be there!

So!  I've got news.

First and foremost, I received an email from Amazon shortly after I published my last post on The War Horn. In short, they gave me the go-ahead for The War Horn.  (In length, they said that *I* couldn't publish it on my parents' account, but my parents could publish it on my behalf.  Which is the same thing. XD)

So I've been working on The War Horn, and I'm hoping to have my parents and also pre-readers be reading it by mid-January or sooner, so we'll see.  Right now I'm doing some research to make my historically inaccurate novel more accurate.

I have, however, come up with a few plot kinks that need working out.  Because I had received numerous critiques of my opening scene (and I rather agreed with them) I cut it and I'm working on finding another one. But it's difficult, since the novel (after the scene I cut) opens with my character waking up.  Which is not a good place to start a novel.  It's positively boring.

See, the problem with my novel is, it gets steadily better in terms of plot/excitement/stakes as the novel goes on.  If my readers stop at the first chapter, they won't realize what they're missing.  So I need to do something to really catch their attention - BUT, I *need* to start at the beginning.  Which is normal life.  So I'm going to work on two things.

1) Questions.  I'm going to raise a few questions in the first chapter and work with my monologue so that, even though the questions aren't particularly intense, they'll want to keep reading.

2) Prose.  I'm hoping to establish an easily-readable writing style that draws the reader in.  Because there's certain books you read that just draw you in if only for the writing style, right?  Mark Twain's work, for instance, is epic because he writes in such a clear voice that it's a joy to read the most boring of things.

However, I think I've pretty much gotten my research covered, so I'll be moving on from that to working on the first chapter.

So, writers, how's your writing coming along?  Written anything you're particularly proud of lately?

And, on a completely different note:

^The official trailer for "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey", coming out in December 2012.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

2012 is far too long to wait!  I can't stand it! D:  It doesn't help that I'm rewatching Lord of the Rings, either.  This trailer is, in one word, EPIC.

What do you think of it?

Talk to you later, and remember to check out the rather important poll on my sidebar.  And thank you to those who have already voted!

Before You Get Too Excited About Santa and Christmas Presents....

...take a good long look at this post.

Ever heard that one Santa Claus song?  The really popular classic?  Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Just listen to the words.

"He sees you when you're sleeping.  He knows when you're awake.  He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!  He's checking his list, checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty or nice."

Creepy, no?  I mean, seriously, the whole thing is fishy.  Are you sure that's a song?  It sounds more like a warning to me...

And then he breaks into your house.

So do the smart thing.  Do what a friend of mine suggested:

"So...when Santa 'comes down the chimmney'....light a little fire to warm the house...and our hearts!"

On a completely different (but still holiday-themed) note, I've been chuckling over this video for several days. Turn the volume all the way up and try to last to the end.  If you can't watch it to the end, I don't blame you.

Have a fantastic Christmas, and enjoy your snow!  In the meantime, I'll be sweating. ;)

The War Horn - Plans and Schemes

Of late, I've been scheming.  Plotting.

I posted about this on my other blog, but in essence, I want (very badly) to go to the 2012 OYAN Summer Workshop, which I went to this past year.  Problem is, plane tickets cost mucho money, eh?

So...I had an idea.

It was midnight.

I was staring at the ceiling.  Again.

And then I had the brilliant idea to publish The War Horn as an eBook and make thousands of dollars and be rich and have enough to go to the Workshop.

Right.

So I started on my quest - I went to CreateSpace and looked into their Kindle Publishing options.  If I would publish The War Horn, it would be self-publishing.  It's such a weird little book that no one would even touch it.  At 25,000 words, it's a short little novella, and the genre is very hard to define.  It's supposed to be somewhat historical, but, as I've said before, it fails in that respect.  It does, however, have fairly good writing quality (by my standards) and one of my greatest endings.  (I only have a half-dozen endings to choose from, anyhow. ^_^)

Turns out, Amazon has this thing called Kindle Direct Publishing.  It's really straightforward: upload your book, upload a cover, select a few options and set a price, and BOOM! you're published!  And they have a fantastic 70% royalty rate.  That's seventy cents out of every dollar. $700,000 out of every million.

Problem is, they have an 18+ age rule.

However, I'm fairly certain that I could use my parents account to publish without violating their rule, since I would have parental permission and an account for payment methods.  I emailed them about it, but the only reply I've gotten so far basically said, "We're busy right now, we'll email you later."  Except, much longer and more diplomatic.

So, what do you think?  Good idea, bad idea?

Also, I may - just maybe - be looking for people to pre-read the novel.  And critiquers.  Not before my family, of course ;) they'll read it as soon as I'm done with my own edits.

Thoughts?

Oh, and one more thing.  If I published the War Horn as an eBook, would you buy it?  Speak truthfully.  The price would be somewhere below four dollars.  I'm setting up a poll on the sidebar - take a look and vote, and/or comment below.

Until we meet again,

Review: The Land of Darkness

"It is not the land that is dangerous, Callen. The danger lies in your heart. Others have lost their lives searching for the bridge. Are you certain you are prepared to pay that price?"

Jadiel is twelve and things couldn't get much worse—or could they? Not long after her mother is killed in a tragic accident, her father, Kar'el, marries a vile and abusive woman named Huldah, but Jadiel sees how he simmers under Huldah's intoxicating enchantment. Jadiel's wicked stepmother means to get rid of Jadiel, and sends her off with a threat and an impossible task: bring back the leaves from the Eternal Tree by the next full moon or her father will die. Heartsick and hopeless, Jadiel sets out alone and afraid.

Callen, a wordworking apprentice for Jadiel's uncle in Wolcreek Vale, discovers some weathered drawings of an exquisitely detailed bridge made entirely of wood and embellished with mysterious symbols that appear to be ancient script. Obsessed with finding this bridge, he sets off seeking clues to its possible existence, unknowingly beginning a perilous and mystifying undertaking. On his journey, he rescues Jadiel from brigands and learns their quests are linked—as the elusive bridge Callen seeks is crafted from the rare tree Jadiel must find. The trail of clues leads them to the forbidden Land of Darkness, where they must face the greatest dangers of all—what lies in their hearts. (From the back cover.)

The Land of Darkness is the third book in C. S. Lakin's Gates of Heaven series: modern fairy tales with an allegorical twist.

Each of the books are different in their own ways and styles, and only loosely linked, so my review may differ from my reviews for the rest of the series.

The Wolf of Tebron (the first book) was as fairy-tale as fairy tale can be, with beautiful prose and vivid description, with a fairly slow-moving plot. The Map Across Time, in contrast, was a fast-moving, time-travel story with a fairy tale flavor and high stakes.

And the Land of Darkness is neither, unique in its own way and tied to the other books by its world and its genre.

It balances plot and fairy tale, and, unlike the others, was heavily allegorical to the point of obviousness. I'm one of those fellows who likes to dig for the meaning, and I both read and write books that have hidden meanings and good plot. The Land of Darkness, I feel, was my least favorite in the series for this reason. The plot was held together by the strength of the allegory alone, whereas the fairy-tale aspects of The Wolf of Tebron was what enabled the plot to move. But by the weight of the allegory, the plot slowly built up and then concluded itself quite nicely.

And the little strands of continuous plot that are weaving themselves through the stories (such as the Keepers) are building up to something. I can't wait to see what it is. :)

The characters, I felt, didn't quite live up to their potiential I was quite attached to Adin (the main character of The Map Across Time), actually, so even though I "liked" these new characters, I didn't quite love them. And, to be honest, Callen (one of the main characters) really annoyed me at times. But it IS really hard to write such a character. Overall, the characters had good depth, although I would have liked to have the characters of Jadiel and Callen developed a bit more. The development of the minor characters was fantastic, though.

While this book was my least favorite in the series, it's still a great book. The writing quality is top-notch, and the description is beautiful. I'm sad to say that the simple description of a cave put many of my own "scary parts" to shame.

The worldbuilding is quite good, and it would be even better if we had a map to follow, for there are a lot of different locations and references and histories that were hard to keep track of. But that's a good thing; I really enjoyed the worldbuilding.

All in all, the Land of Darkness is a good, clean read, with some rich allegory behind it. Recommended. Rated 8 out of 10. :)

(Many thanks to the author, who provided this an advance reader's copy of this book for free in exchange for a review.  I was not required to write a positive review.)

(You can also see my review of the previous book in the series here.)

Until next time,

We Are The Writers

Maybe you're looking for another funny post. Maybe there'll be a few funny bits in here, but I can't guarantee anything. This post is born from philosophical writerly musings at midnight, and who knows how it'll end up. These are the deep musings of Jake of the Sadaar, and, like a wandering pen, they might just wander into something meaningful. I'm writing as me, in a Chesterton-esque manner.

But I assure you, it's the whole and honest truth as I see it. The true form of a writer. And to those of you who actually know me and saw that video that I made with Millard, these are the words to accompany the face.

All right. So, my last two posts may have put my sanity in question. And, by the reception of the latter post, it wasn't taken seriously. That's okay; I'll write a counter post anyway.

Let me set you straight.

Fiction writing is, quite possibly, one of the most amazing careers one can take on this earth. Especially for Christian writers.

So many of us call ourselves insane, I've noticed. And, perhaps, by the rules of logic and imagination alike, I can show you the truth of this statement:

I'm convinced that those that call themselves insane (namely, Christian fiction writers) are some of the most sane people in the world.

Let's go.

1) Writers are Sane

All right; all things considered, many people would probably argue with this statement. From an outside viewpoint, Christian writers have some of the weirdest personalities and occupations in the world. Torturing characters with sadistic laughter. Making weird videos. Writing posts on philosophy to follow up a post about why you shouldn't write.

But there are so many paradoxes in the world. Christ died so that we could live. The things that make us happy make us cry. The intangible can cause tangible things.

And I have a sneaking suspicion that writers are walking paradoxes.

Forgive me, but I'm going to repeat myself and quote G. K. Chesterton.

"The poet only asks to to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits."

Writers and poets are very much similar. Some writers are poets; some poets are writers. We are interlinked. So, on that basis, I think it's reasonable to say that you could replace "poet" with "writer" and get the same result.

We are people of imagination: we imagine things, and write them down. We want to get our heads into the heavens.

And, conversely, those that try at logic are, very often, insane. As Chesterton said, "The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason."

Could it be possible - dare I say it - that WE are not the people who are insane, but rather, the rest of the world is insane?

We call ourselves insane, but WE are the ones that are sane.

Another Chesterton quote: "To be sane is more dramatic than to be mad." And, are not writers dramatic? We have to be. We write romances and adventures and fantasies. Drama is an integral part of that.

Remember that post? Writing is a trap, get out? See, I thought I was losing my sanity. As I wrote more and more, I thought I was losing it.

But, as it turns out, I wasn't losing my sanity. I was losing my insanity. As soon as I reached insanity, I realized that I was the sanest I've ever been.

2) The Paradox of a Writer

Paradoxes are wonderful things. Being warm in cold weather, cool in hot weather: wouldn't that be a gift?

And, as I will show you in a moment, writers seem to be paradoxes in themselves.

We write away our insanity through the drama of the written word. And yet, the very best writers are logical AND imaginative.

For those of you who edit and revise a lot: doesn't telling just kill you? Don't weak verbs make your head hurt? Synonyms? Internal monologue? It takes a lot of mindpower to work on writing mechanics. And somehow, the writing mechanics are what make the drama of words possible.

The very thing we rebel from - I'll call it "sanity" for the sake of keeping the traditional words - is the very thing we need to convey our insanity. Or, if you'd like, we must use insanity to keep us sane.

We may use structure to make the unstructured more meaningful.

We are paradoxes. And maybe that's what makes us awesome.

3) The Meaning

All of these musings, this point is what it builds up to. We are not only insane, we're sane. And, on top of that, we use insanity to keep us sane, and thus create a paradox.

And I think this somehow unlocks something else.

Because there's another paradox I see.

As Christian writers, we are striving to make our writing beautiful. Meaningful. Christ-filled; glorifying our Lord so that all can see the light. We're pouring all of this into our writing, and I think that, in pouring out ourselves, we fill up again.

I've been musing over this a lot. Here and there, there are little things that are different. When I was younger, it was hard for me to be moved. When I heard the news that my great-grandfather had died, I didn't shed a tear. (That may sound callous, but it's not. I genuinely missed him, but I didn't cry. As it was a long while ago, I don't recall if I cried later on or not.)

And it hit me, that I can be moved. Maybe it's just because I'm growing stronger as a Christian; and I know that's a good part of it. I think, though, that part of it is being a writer.

Because my heart soars when I listen to Jon Maiocco's "Ever After" Celtic song. I want to have an adventure, to fight on the side of good, when I listen to "All The Strange, Strange Creatures" (a Doctor Who soundtrack). When I read the stirring climax of "Return of the King", I feel as if I'm riding with the Rohirrim, and my pulse accelerates.

Because we strive to move others, perhaps it gives us a greater opportunity to be moved. When we strive to make a reader cry, maybe it lets us cry ourselves.

To let a reader live a rich life through a novel is to make life all the richer.

And that's why a writer's life is so brilliant and colorful. We're not afraid to laugh and do silly things; but we're not afraid to be passionate about things, either. We pray for one another and we debate one another: we write alone and war together.

And, out of it all, are forged friendships as strong as steel, and truly meaningful novels that set out to change the world.

(Thank you very much to G. K. Chesterton for his writing style and some of the material in this post, even though he's dead; and a huge thank-you to Pathfinder, who talked with me late into the Liberian night and gave me much of the inspiration for this post.)

So, to sum it up:

Writers are awesome. Period. Exclamation point. More specifically, you guys are awesome.

Over and out.

Blog Revamp

Hey all!  After more than a year of having the same-old, same-old, I've finally revamped my blog.  And when I update my blog, I REALLY update it.  If you take a look around, I've redone the size of the blog, the style, and added a header.  I also updated my pages, and added new ones.  Read around; you may find some of it to your liking.

So, what do you think?  Is the layout good?  Is the header good?  Does the blog in general look good in new clothes?

Let me know what you think of the change.  And stay on the lookout for my blog post on writers; it's scheduled to post tomorrow at noon CST.  I consider it to be one of the best posts I've ever written.

Over and out,

Review: The Errant King

"Deep in the caves of the distant Hinderlands, an ancient menace stirs. Townsfolk shudder at violent memories of The Red Queen and even dare to whisper the name Raudrim. At the same time, word comes to Alastair that Cythraul has at last resurfaced, seeking a devastating weapon in the ruins of Grayvalon. Blood-soaked clues lead Alastair into a confrontation from which only one warrior will return alive. Meanwhile in Anglinore, young Lochlan Stormgarden, the new High King of Myriad, leaves the pomp and politics of the throne once too often. While blending in with the people of his kingdom, Loch suddenly realizes that he's put them all at risk. The fate of his new found love Arianna, his best friend Telwyn, his family, and indeed the world of Myriad all depend on the decisions of the errant king." (From Amazon.com)

I was ecstatic when I received Wayne Thomas Batson's newest book, The Errant King. Just in time, too; and it had an incredible cover that taunted me all through NaNoWriMo. As soon as I could, I pulled it out of my backpack and devoured it. In some ways, it fulfilled my expectations: in others, not so much.

The prose, as always, was fast-paced and easy to read. The book immediately dived into the questions that Sword in the Stars (the previous book) had left, and definitely hooked the reader into reading more.

The quotes at the beginning of the chapter were delightful, and helped give detail to the world. The world-building in general was some of the best that Batson has done. Really great stuff.

And this book also saw the return of Alastair Coldhollow, who is one of my favorite characters of all time. I loved the scenes with him: such a wonderful, conflicted character. I can't begin to describe how awesome the Iceman is. :) And his scene near the end with Telwyn was just...fantastic. I love it.

The plot was fast-moving, definitely one of Batson's best. It began with two subplots: that of Lochlan and Arianna. It introduced some great characters, such as Millard the Mark (named after a friend of mine: loved that he was a fairly major character!), and, later on, Frank.

However, it's not all sunshine. There were several aspects that disappointed me in this book: one of which was a slightly suggestive scene. It wasn't much more than a gal cozying up to Lochlan, and him basically shoving her away (not really, but that's the gist of it), but I really wish Batson hadn't included that. Up until now, I had regarded Batson as one of the cleanest authors in Christian speculative fiction, certainly much cleaner than Ted Dekker. And while I still think of him in that way, I'm a little disappointed in him for having such a scene in one of his novels.

The aspect of romance in this novel was also very disappointing (to say the least), almost enough by itself for me to drop a rating a whole star. In essence, two characters fall in love in a week. That whole area of the novel was damaged because of the unrealistic romance. That destroyed my "illusion of reality" that I had in the Errant King, and it irritated me.

The character of Frank is also a strange one. In one way, it's really interesting and rather funny, and in others, kind of just....weird. It's like putting something from a magical fairy tale in a brick-and-mortar epic fantasy novel.

And a few things towards the end—a "weird" thing here, a slightly unrealistic scene there—felt odd to me, as if the author hadn't had enough time to really polish his novel and rewrite the scenes that needed it. Or maybe that's just me.

The end of the novel, however, left many questions and a great sense of anticipation for the next book. And since it's supposed to be a seven-book series, I predict much epicness to come.

In short, The Errant King a really good book; a quick, fun read with some really beautiful moments, and a bit disappointing in some areas. Very much recommended: rated 8.5 out of 10.

(And, on another note, don't you love scheduled posts?  I have posts scheduled for the next few days, thus, my sudden blogging-spree.  My post about writing should be up tomorrow, and I think it's one of the best posts I've ever written.  Wait in suspense until then. ;))

Why You Should Be A Writer

You still there?

You know that post I wrote before? Well, it's hard to explain, but one way or another it found its way to my blog.

In The Silver Chair (one of C. S. Lewis' Narnia books), a person has a moment like that. He says that, when he's tied to the Silver Chair, he'll say all sorts of things that they (the protagonists) shouldn't believe.

Well, it's sort of like that. I'm tied in a metaphorical Silver Chair right now, and I must have tied the bonds rather tight. But I assure you, I'm in my right mind. And writing's not all that bad. It's actually pretty amazing.

You see, I was spouting those things off BEFORE I tied myself to the chair. And now I'm in my right mind.

So will you let me go now? Please?

Maybe?

I'll write a counter post, I promise. Just to let you know that I'm "sane" again.

So...uh, I'm still tied here. Hold on, wait! Where are you going? I'm tied to a—chair!

Hello?

Why You Shouldn't Be A Writer

I suppose there's only one place to begin to talk about writing: how terrible it is.

Because really, if you're considering writing as a "hobby", or maybe you're a new writer trying a hand at things, stop where you are. Drop your pen or your computer or whatever. And run. Do as much as you can to get away from it, because once it has you, it'll never let you go.

It's ruined my life. It'll ruin yours.

You know those ridiculous medicines that have a list of side effects as long as the Mississippi River? Writing is one of them. It's almost a kind of dope. And the list of side effects includes:

Dreaminess, lack of attentiveness, obsessive bouts of staring at a blank computer screen, possible stress symptoms, cramped fingers, headaches, nausea (from the chocolate), lack of sleep, trouble sleeping, long showers, possible back problems, eye deterioration, possible social issues, and it's very possible to catch a psychological disease only known by its acronym: NaNoWriMo.

So get away while you still can. Never, ever write. Why? Why even ask? Why would you ask "Why not?" before jumping off a cliff or running to hug some random lion or throwing yourself into the penguin pool at the zoo? Writing will ruin your life, I assure you.

I've lost DAYS of my life because of writing. No doubt I'll die at the age of twenty, blind as a bat, without the hearing benefits, because I've blown out my ears with soundtracks.

It's an addiction. You need to get away from it. I'm already mired, there's no hope for me. I'll probably end my days with a pen in my hand, head on a computer keyboard.

Just keep going, they'll tell you. Voices of friends, bah! I can tell you which shoulder the voice is coming from, and it isn't the angelic one.

Just keep writing, you're doing fine, you'll end up fine, you'll love it. That's the sick thing, you end up loving the very thing that has you enslaved. I can still see through it, but I'm slowly going down. My day is approaching, the day when I won't have this mental clarity. I'll be a speculative-fiction-writing zombie from the movies. Night of the Living Writer. It's a scary thought.

You see me as Dr. Jekyll, but Mr. Hyde is on his way.

You'll be stuck to your couch, your wrists superglued to the computer so that you'll never get away. Heed my warning. You're still young and innocent, you can get away.

It reminds me of that Doctor Who episode. But those stupid people were like me. They went in when the walls had GET OUT scribbled all over them. Silly people. But now I'm mired: my head is above water, but I'm about to go under and be reborn as some dripping, sadistic writer.

Please, blog readers, I beg you. There might be hope for you.

GET OUT.

Ninja: a Tale (Part II)

With deep questions like "Where have my socks gone?", humor to flavor the pot, and epicness like you've never seen it before...sneakiness and also certain dark-clothed characters are back in the next installment of Ninja: a Tale.  Part Two.

(If you haven't read the first part of Ninja, you can find it here.)

So, without further ado, I present to you:

A Tale

(Part II)

In Which I Become a Ninja and Wear a Fedora

"So," I said, walking behind Baldersot. "Can I come with you?"

He didn't look back. "Why?"

"Because..." I hesitated for a moment. "Because I'm nice?"

Baldersot snorted, stopping and looking back at me. The cloth around his head wiggled again. "And what will you do if I say no?"

I grinned. "I'll follow you anyway."

"Fair enough!" Baldersot resumed walking, adjusting his fez. "Come along, and try not to lag behind. The caterpillars will get you otherwise."

I followed him down the brick road.

It was a half-hour before I spotted anything. Far ahead of us was a bump. And the bump grew bigger, like an itchy mosquito bite (or not), and soon became the figure of a large stonewalled city, with a single spire jutting out over the walls, glaring down the brick road.

"Oh, katana," Baldersot said. He stopped and dropped his bag. "They're on blue alert."

"And blue alert is?" I questioned. I peered down the road. Two blue flags hung on either side of the gate.

"It's an acronym," Baldersot said. "And blue's a good color."

"Never mind the acronym," I said. "What does it mean?"

"No non-ninja people allowed." Baldersot opened up his bag. "The Reds are coming, so we'd better get inside. Or become jelly."

"But I thought you said...?"

"I have an extra pair of ninclothes. They'll have to do." Baldersot tossed a wad of black clothing at me. "Put 'em on over your clothes."

I started putting on the clothes. "So you just carry extra clothing around? To change into?"

"According to the Official Ninja Handbook," Baldersot said, "it's one of the essential things to have if you ever encounter someone who needs to be ninjatized or if you have an emergency."

I poked my head through the top of a dark, rough shirt. "What sort of essential things?"

"Instant coffee, a battle and/or cooking pan," Baldersot recited, digging through his bag, "three socks, a stick of dynamite, and a spoon. Except, I misplaced the spoon. A caterpillar ate it."

"Socks?" I had heard some weird things in my life, but...

"Yup," he said. "Three left socks. 'Cause sometimes, creatures steal your socks, but only the left ones. So I have a stock of 'em locked up in a metal can." He took out a can and opened it, peering inside. "Oh, blast it. They're gone.  I'll have to restock in Sneaking."

I finished putting on my clothes and sized myself up. Not bad. Except, it seemed to be missing something.

"Here," Baldersot said. He threw a long piece of black cloth at me. I caught it. "That's to wrap around your head."

Oh. I tried wrapping it around my face, but it unraveled itself.

Baldersot made a face. "Oh, never mind, let me do it. We ninja have special schools for this sort of thing. And I got an A+ in Head Wrapping Class." He wrapped it tightly around my head, until my entire head was covered, except for my eyes and the very top of my head. The cloth was thin enough to breathe through, thankfully.

"And, to finish it off," Baldersot said, taking out a pair of black gloves and a hat, and handing the gloves to me, "The touches of an artist."

I put on the gloves. They appeared to be some sort of black leather. They were a little rubbery on the inside, which would be good in case I had to climb a wall. Or a pole. But they looked cool, anyway.

"And last," Baldersot said, "the hat!" He gave me the hat he had pulled out of his bag. I looked it over.

A black fedora. Epic. I had left mine at home, something I did far too often.

I put it on and struck a ninjalike pose, imagining myself wielding a deadly ninja pole or a double-edged sword. "How do I look?"

"Like an Elf pretending to be a ninja," Baldersot said. "And Elves don't understand the delicacies of ninja grammar.  Or why we wear black. But if you don't do anything but walk and talk, you'll do. Try not to stare too much, and always say 'I ate too much pineapple today' if people talk to you."   He turned back to the road, putting his bag over his shoulder. "All right, onwards we go!"

"Allons-y!" I said.

Concerning Chesterton and The Prophecies

Well!  It's been an interesting few days.  How's it all going for you?

Currently, I've just finished reading two books by Chesterton, and I've also been musing about my writings.  Shall I begin?

First things first.  Chesterton is amazing.  I've just finished rereading Orthodoxy, and now that I'm a bit older, more intellectual, and not skim-reading it, it's really a treat of paradox and imagination.  Here's a few quotes that I found particularly meaningful and/or funny.  (Feel free to skip ahead to the writing.  Few share my love for Chesterton XD and I completely understand.)

"The word 'good' has many meanings.  For example, if a man were to shoot his grandmother at a range of five hundred yards, I should call him a good shot, but not necessarily a good man." (G. K. Chesterton)

"Actors who can't act believe in themselves; and debtors who won't pay.  It would be much truer to say that a man will certainly fail, if he believes in himself." (G. K. Chesterton)

"The poet only asks to to get his head into the heavens.  It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head.  And it is his head that splits." (G. K. Chesterton)

"A madman is not a man who has lost his reason.  The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason." (G. K. Chesterton)

"The commonest kind of trouble is that it is nearly reasonable, but not quite." (G. K. Chesterton)

"To be sane is more dramatic to be mad." (G. K. Chesterton)

"Seriousness is not a virtue." (G. K. Chesterton) 

"For the only courage worth calling courage must necessarily mean that the soul passes a breaking point - and does not break." (G. K. Chesterton)

"There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied it was His mirth."  (G. K. Chesterton)

Also, the honorable Whisper the Spy introduced me to another of G. K. Chesterton's books, this one fiction: a tale known as The Man Who Was Thursday (A Nightmare).  It's a fantastic story of spies and plots and humor and philosophy and....weirdness.  The end is so deep/weird that I didn't really get it. XD  But the first three-fourths were fantastic.  Here's one quote I found rather humorous:

"What are we going to do?" asked the Professor.

"At this moment," said Syme, with a scientific detachment, "I think we are going to smash into a lamppost."

Now, on to writing!

A few nights ago, I decided (on a whim) to look at some books.  Only, these weren't ordinary books.  These were the books about which I had told my sisters, "I will never look at them again."

In other words, my first three novels.  Some of Ye Olde People can remember the days when I wrote those: the days when my writing was young, my technique inexperienced, and my plot a terrible mess.  Thankfully, I've improved.

But, back to the story.

I broke my own promise and took a look at the books.  (It was a nightmare, I assure you.)  One thing led to another, and I decided to count up all of the words I had written in my entire life.

Of course, I didn't have "all of the words I had written in my entire life" on this computer, so I sufficed to count up MOST of the words.  It includes all six of my novels, my poems, and my short stories.  However, it doesn't include the stories I had written on other computers and the handwritten tales of my childhood.

So, in total, I've written

284,712

words

in the last few years.  Which means that I've probably written over 300,000 in my life.  Over 200,000 words of that is in completed novels.

Much more than I expected.  It's no one million, but it's almost a third of the way there.  (They say it takes a million words to write a great novel.  Or a publishable one.  Whatever the quote was. >_>)

In the past few weeks, I've also determined that, after I finish the Prophecy of Einarr, I want to go straight ahead and write the last book in the series, instead of continuing with my rewrite of the Book of Shaldu.  So many things changed in the Prophecy of Einarr that need to be included and forshadowed in the Book of Shaldu; so I want to knock out two birds with one stone and make sure that, if any more plot twists come along, I don't have ANOTHER rewrite to do.  I'll also have a better perspective of what the Book of Shaldu needs to be like after I actually finish the series. 

And once I finish the series AND the rewrite, I'll revise all three books.  And after that...who knows.  But "after that" is a long time coming.  I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

How are your writings going, folks?  Good?  Bad?  If you're not a writer (and even if you are), have you read any good books lately?

If you aren't a writer or a reader, how in the world did you find my blog? ;)

And also, if you wanted me to write a blog post about one writing topic, what would it be?

Ninja: a Tale (Part I)

Today, I set down my Kindle and said, "I need to write a story about ninjas.  And it's going to be epic."

Thus began my quest for ninja epicness.  And a quest for grammatical correctness in the term "ninja".  (Also, thanks to Eldra and her brother Goose and especially Leauphaun, who edited and filmed the video, for their own thoughts about ninja and grammatical correctness in their epic video about ninja.)

In the style and spirit of A Battle Fought At Midday, I am pleased to present to you the first installment of:

A Tale

(Part I)

In Which I Am Out of this World and Meet a Ninja in a Fez

It was a dark night, but not a stormy one. Horns honked in the distance, people talked, and far-off I could hear the sound of street music.

I was sitting on my bed, as I often did. The time was nearing eight o'clock in the evening when the bedroom vanished.

And in its place stood a man in dark clothes, with black cloth wrapped 'round his face (leaving only his eyes visible) and a fez perched atop his head.

Of course, the first thing I asked was not 'Where am I?' but this: "Why are you wearing a fez?"

"Of all the things to ask," the man replied, his voice muffled through the black cloth. "It's the height of discourtesy to poof in front of someone, you know."

I looked about. I stood in the middle of a long brick road. To either side of the road were long stretches of flat land that was filled with a whole lot of nothing; that is to say, the most delightful form of nothing. Weeds and wild flowers and lizards and the odd toad.

A thought occurred to me. "Where am I?"

"Not where you're supposed to be, I gather," the man said. "If you had appeared in front of me on purpose, I might take offense and chop off a finger or two. Or throw a brick at you."

"Sorry," I said. "But really, where is this?"

I already gathered that I had been transported in some way; then again, it wasn't terribly alarming. It had happened before. I had once dueled Procrastination on a literal mountain made entirely of sand, after he had transported me there.

But that was a different story.

Speaking of Procrastination...I jammed my hand in my pocket and felt around for the Pen of Doom, in case I needed it.

Yup, it was there. Good thing, too. It's no fun being stuck in an alternate dimension without your favorite pen. You can't even do signatures.

"You must really be out of your way." The cloth shifted queerly about his forehead, and I concluded that he must be raising an eyebrow.

"Do you have problems with answering questions? I've asked two, and neither has had the slightest of an answer." I gave the man a second glance, observing his heavy clothing in the warm sun. "And who exactly are you?"

"I'll answer your questions backwards," the man said, "since you seem to be of a backward sort. Firstly, I am Third General Lieutenant Robby Baldersot of the Urban Conglomeration of Ninja Being Impressive and Ninjalike. Also known as UCONBIN. You're currently three-fourths of the way to the City of Sneaking and also one-fourth of the way to New Barcelona, depending on which way you're headed. And I'm wearing a fez because they're cool."

Interesting.

"Which way are you headed, then?" I asked. Perhaps he'd let me tag along. "New Barcelona or Sneaking? And who named the city Sneaking?"

"You're a fellow of many questions," Baldersot said. "I'm headed to Sneaking. It's the world capital of ninja. And they're meeting for the forty-third time to discuss whether or not the title of UCONBIN is grammatically correct or not."

"Why wouldn't it be?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Ninja," was all he said.

Heroic Teddy Bears, Unite!

I'm teddy bear at heart.

I saw this on Whisper's blog and couldn't help but repost it.  XD