Favorite Quotes from Cyrano de Bergerac

As promised, here's a post containing some of my favorite quotes from Cyrano de Bergerac. Many of them are too long to post, however, and I took out the ones that have spoilers. (As a disclaimer, I used a translation by Gladys Thomas and Mary. F. Guillemard. I hear that the Hooker translation is the best, but this was the one free on Kindle.)

–

CYRANO:

Oh! [My nose] disgusts you!

THE BORE:

Sir!

CYRANO:

Its hue

Unwholesome seems to you?

THE BORE:

Sir!

CYRANO:

Or its shape?

THE BORE:

No, on the contrary!...

CYRANO:

Why then that air

Disparaging?—perchance you think it large?

THE BORE (stammering)

No, small, quite small—minute!

CYRANO:

Minute! What now?

Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!

Small—my nose!...

'Tis enormous!

Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know

That I am proud possessing such appendice.

'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative

Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,

Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such

As you can never dare to dream yourself

Rascal contemptible!

–

THE VISCOUNT:

Sir, your nose is...hmm...it is...very big!

CYRANO (gravely):

Very!

THE VISCOUNT (laughing):

Ha!

CYRANO (imperturbably):

Is that all?...

THE VISCOUNT:

What do you mean?

CYRANO:

Ah no! Young blade! That was a trifle short!

You might have said at least a hundred things

By varying the tone...like this, suppose...

Aggressive: Sir, if I had such a nose

I'd amputate it! Friendly: When you sup

It must annoy you, dipping in your cup;

You'd need a drinking-bowl of special shape!

Descriptive: 'Tis a rock!...a peak!...a cape!

—A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!

Curious: How serves that oblong capsular?

For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?

Gracious: You love the little birds, I think?

I see you've managed with a fond research

To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!

Truculent: When you smoke your pipe, suppose

That the tobbaco-smoke spouts from your nose—

Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher,

Cry terror struck: “The chimney is afire”?

Considerate: Take care...your head bowed low

By such a weight...lest head o'er heels you go!

Tender: Pray get a small umbrella made,

Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!

Pedantic: That beast Aristophanes

Names Hippocamelelephantoles

Must have possessed such a solid lump

Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!

Cavalier: The latest fashion, friend, that hook?

To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!

Emphatic: No wind, O majestic nose,

Can give THEE cold!—save when the mistral blows!

Dramatic: When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!

Admiring: Sign for a perfumery!

Lyric: Is this a conch!...a Triton you?

Simple: When is the monument on view?

Rustic: That thing a nose! Marry-come-up!

'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!

Military: Point against cavalry!

Practical: Put it in a lottery!

Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!

Or...parodying Pyramus' sighs...

Behold the nose that mars the harmony

Of it's master's phiz! blushing its treachery!

—Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said,

Had you of wit or letters the least jot:

But, O most lamentable man!—of wit

You never had an atom.

–

THE VISCOUNT:

Hear his arrogance!

A country lout who...who...has got no gloves!

Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace!

CYRANO:

True; all my elegances are within

…

I show no bravery of shining gems.

Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes.

'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim,

But brace my soul with efforts as with stays

Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots,

My spirit bristling high like your mustaches,

I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups

Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!

–

CYRANO:

I in a labyrinth

Was lost—too many different paths to choose;

I took...

LE BRET:

Which?

CYRANO:

Oh! by far the simplest path...

Decided to be admirable in all!

–

CYRANO:

A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed!

CUIGY:

A hundred!....

CYRANO:

Less, to-night—would be too few!

–

CYRANO:

If I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it.

–

CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons):

Gascons! Ho, Gascons! Never turn your backs!

(to Carbon, whom he is supporting):

Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge:

My friend who's slain;—and my dead happiness!

Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name!

In Which I Do the Jake Equivalent of Fangirling, Over a Nineteenth Century Play

Yes, there are times where I (for lack of a better word) “fangirl”, although the objects of said fangirling tend to be old and the authors tend to be dead. (For some reason the word “fanboy” which certain friends of mine have tried to convince me to use, sounds simply odd and faintly creepy.)

The edition of the movie that I own.

In this case, I recently re-experienced the play “Cyrano de Bergerac” by Edmond Rostand. I've read it several times before, but I reread it last week. Then, yesterday, I acquired (huzzah!) and watched the 1950 movie, which was almost as stunning.

You may be familiar with the play. If not, go read it now.

Because after rereading it, it placed Number Four on my list of greatest stories in the history of ever.

Let me explain. (The following and rather lengthy dissertation does contain some spoilers for the play. I'll try not to spoil major plot points, but for those who have not read the play, read on at your own risk.)

The reason why the play is so incredible is mostly because of the development of the main character, Cyrano de Bergerac, who has the curse of a proverbially large nose.

While the play starts out very slowly—the entire first scene is basically random actors running about in a theater and has little to nothing to do with the rest of the play except to introduce the setting and some of the characters—it gets interesting once the main character happens upon the theater.

The first time we're introduced to him, we get the feel for his character right away: first, that he's extremely brash and somewhat arrogant, and second, that he's extremely witty.

As the play goes on, however, we see more and more that this arrogance is an expression, not of conceit, but of his fierce independence. And if that independence makes others angry, then so much the better. As he says in the play,

“I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully,

And cry,—What, ho! another enemy?”

And, in reference to another publishing his play with the condition that it must be changed,

“Impossible! My blood congeals to think

That other hand should change a comma's dot.”

The other expression of his character is when he speaks to the woman he loves, Roxane. She confides in him that she loves another, which is a blow to him. Furthermore, she asks him to protect the man that he loves, to take the fellow under his wing, so to speak.

This is one of the strongest parts of the play: because he accepts. The nature of his love is unselfish, to where he puts her happiness above his. And when Roxane comments on a recent battle Cyrano fought, he replies that he had “fought better since” - the battle within himself to uphold her happiness at the cost of his.

This theme is reiterated again and again throughout the play, until the bitter end. But I won't spoil anything for you. It's hard and beautiful and moving. The poetry is brilliant and vivid and passionate.

Read it yourself and find out, people. The beginning is slow, but it's worth it.

(Return in a couple days for part two of this post. The combination of these two posts was too long for me to post all at once, so I put all of my favorite quotes in the second one rather than have one massive post for you to deal with.)

The Fifteen Greatest Stories of All Time

I think it was last week when I had the insane idea to find out what my favorite stories of all time were. On top of that, once I had the list written out, I had the doubly insane idea to actually choose between them.

Needless to say, it was torture, but at the end of it all, I came up with fifteen stories that I considered to be the best of the best, the cream off the top of the bucket.

There are two things I have to tell you before I actually start the list, however.

First, this is my opinion, and there are a lot of stories I've never read or watched. Don't be too outraged if your favorites aren't on there or if you don't particularly like the ones I picked.

Second, when I say “stories”, I mean stories of any medium. This list includes movies, TV shows, books, and plays, with any number of installments. There are a number of stories on the list in which I consider both the book or series along with their motion picture adaptions.

And so, without further ado...I present to you, the fifteen greatest stories of all time! (In reverse order. Y'know, to build things up.)

15. REDWALL by Brian Jacques

(Referring to the Redwall series as whole.)

The Redwall series has had a place on my shelf for a long time. At first it barely missed making the list, but because of some of the classics such as The Long Patrol, The Bellmaker, and Martin the Warrior I decided to include it.

The main reason I included this was because of the colorful cast that generally comes with a Redwall book and the often bittersweet endings. The Legend of Luke is particularly depressing in a heartbreaking way. And, of course, they're just good stories well told.

14. THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND by Jules Verne

This is one that is included for nostalgia, if anything else. It's a good tale, to be sure, and one I've loved for a long, long time. Something about shipwrecked Americans just appeals to me—and the fact that the main characters build a civilization out of nothing is just fantastic.

Plus, it's got a little bit of a creepy feel to it, in addition to the return of Captain Nemo from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It's a solid story.

13. CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY by Alan Paton

Cry, the Beloved Country muscled its way up to 13 through sheer emotional punch. It's a story set in South Africa during apartheid, and there are few novels that have prose more poetic. It's articulate and vivid and wonderful. Bittersweet, emotional; and the themes of the novel are unmistakably Christian and just swimming in symbolism.

12. THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO by Alexandre Dumas

(This placement refers to both the book and the movie adaption.)

The Count of the Monte Cristo is an epic of a book about a man, Edmond Dantes, who was in prison for years. Escaping from prison and stumbling upon untold riches, he set off on a quest to exact revenge on those who made him suffer. It's a fantastic story, and although it drags in the middle, the progression of Dantes' character is so well done.

I must say, though, I actually like the movie adaption better, and that's a good part of the reason that it's on my list. Both the book and the movie are amazing, however, especially in sheer scope.

11. THE WINGFEATHER SAGA by Andrew Peterson

The first “modern” Christian fiction choice of the list! I love this series so much, both for the whimsical and wry humor, and for the wonderful characters and themes. The reason that it's not higher up on my list is partially because the series isn't finished, and partially because there were just so many good choices.

10. THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA by C. S. Lewis

Narnia hardly needs an explanation. It's magical and firmly entrenched in my childhood, and the sheer allegorical depth is just incredible. And the last paragraph of The Last Battle—oh, yes. This is definitely one of those stories that leave you with that divine depression. The really awful thing is that there aren't more Narnia books.

The movies are also included under this placement, although it was mostly the books that caused Narnia to make my list.

9. AND THEN THERE WERE NONE by Agatha Christie

If Cry, the Beloved Country made the list through sheer emotional punch, And Then There Were None made the list through sheer adrenaline. 

 This, in my opinion, is Agatha Christie's finest work. Although the characters do have some level of depth, the main reason this book made the list was the brilliance of the “impossible” ending. And also because the book freaks me out. I read most of it after midnight...it was deliciously scary.

8. RUNT THE BRAVE by Daniel Schwabauer

Surprised? This may seem like an unlikely contender, especially this high up on the list, but I stand by my choice. Runt the Brave has a lot of good things going for it (not the title, perhaps), but I think the main reason it made it this high was the character-theme combination. You can read my review for more of a rant about how awesome this book is, but I think it'll suffice to say that the book is deeply moving.

7. THE TROPHY CHASE TRILOGY by George Bryan Polivka

Because these books don't get around much, there's not a single banner for these books, so a picture of my own copies will have to suffice.

This includes the trilogy and the prequel, Blaggard's Moon. There are two reasons I love this series: one, it has a more old-school writing style; two, it has one of the strongest and unashamedly Christian themes of any book I've read. Besides that, there's the character of Delaney (one of the most awesome characters there ever was) and the fact that the series is like a pirate-fantasy with some deep thoughts on pacifism.

One of the most awful things about this series is that very few people have heard of it.  It's out of print and not very well marketed.

6. THE WHITE LION CHRONICLES by Christopher Hopper

Okay, the first book drags for awhile and the prose is a little rough and sometimes the dialogue is stilted—so why is this number six on my list?

One word: theme. This has, perhaps, the strongest theme of any of the other Christian fiction books I've ever read. For that reason alone, this series is one of the epitomes, for me, of great Christian fiction. If I ever wrote a novel half as meaningful, I would consider my writing life fulfilled.

It's got an intriguing premise and some great characters besides. And when Hopper hits you with a plot twist, it really hits.

5. THE DARK KNIGHT TRILOGY

So why did I choose the Dark Knight Trilogy for Number Five?

BECAUSE I'M BATMAN.

In all seriousness, though, Batman is my favorite of the myriad of superheroes. The Trilogy is gritty and violent at times, but they go places where other superhero movies never go. Especially The Dark Knight. They plumb the depths of human nature and aren't afraid to push the limits of theme. In addition to that, the character of Bruce Wayne (Batman) is simply fantastic. He's constantly changing through the trilogy. (And, of course, there's the Joker. If I ever made one of these lists for villains, he'd be on it.)

And then, can I just say, the ending of the Dark Knight Rises is incredible? So, so good.

4. CYRANO DE BERGERAC by Edmond Rostand

Cyrano de Bergerac is the bittersweet story of a passionate poet-swordsman with a proverbially large nose. I have some posts coming up soon on the play, so I'll keep this brief and just say that this story deserves the number four placement.  It's incredible.

3. SHERLOCK HOLMES by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

(Refers to both the books and the BBC adaption.)

And here we come to one of the greats: Sherlock Holmes. Besides having some completely fantastic stories, he's also one of the most unique characters to ever grace the page—or screen. And his character is far from flat—from A Study in Scarlet to His Last Bow, he's constantly changing. But he's iconic, too, one of those immortal characters that far outlast the author. I think that's the power of Sherlock Holmes.

As for his screen adaptions, BBC Sherlock is by far my favorite and captures the characters and plots of the original stories more closely than any other adaptions I've seen—ironic, considering BBC Sherlock is meant to be a “modernized” version of the old stories.

2. DOCTOR WHO

This year Doctor Who is fifty years old. There's a reason it's survived so long. More so than the stories that came before it on this list, Doctor Who has some really fantastic storytelling.

Today I rewatched an episode called Asylum of the Daleks, and I think it demonstrates many of the reasons why Doctor Who made it to Number Two on my list of greatest stories of all time. Stellar plot, theme layered on thick (touching on love and hatred and divorce), and a fantastic, brilliant plot twist that slammed the incredible ending to a close.

And the most immortal part of Doctor Who is, of course, the Doctor. He has the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes, except in space, fighting aliens with a bow-tie and a screwdriver. There's a certain appeal to this “madman in a blue box” that runs about having adventures and saving the universe—a “legend woven throughout history”. His struggles, both physical and moral, resonate with us.

But despite all this, it is not number one.

Number One is...

1. THE LORD OF THE RINGS by J. R. R. Tolkien

(Includes The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, and the movie adaptions.)

I mentioned quite a few extraordinary characters in this list. But I think the most extraordinary thing about The Lord of the Rings is how ordinary it is. Frodo Baggins is not a Sherlock Holmes or a Doctor or a Batman. His greatest power is his goodness, his ability to resist evil...his ordinariness.

I think that the Lord of the Rings, more than any other, has united the different facets of good story. It has the immortality of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Who, in that it feels like a myth as old as the bones of the earth; it has the wonderful word-smithing of Cyrano de Bergerac and Cry, the Beloved Country; it has the scope of the Count of Monte Cristo; it has the themes of Runt the Brave and the magic of Narnia.

It's an epic struggle of good versus evil. And no other story really comes close to touching it.

So there you have it.  My opinion on the fifteen greatest stories of all time.

What stories would YOU consider to be the greatest?  Why?  Shoot me a comment.

Is it possible to overthink your ending?

My life is complicated, but sometimes I wonder if there's anything more complicated than the ending of my novel.

I keep telling myself that I'm "marinating it" - which means that I'm procrastinating and pretending I'm brainstorming at the same time.  And in some ways, that's good.  After rushing to finish my key chapters before the OYAN Workshop, a bit of a break is a good thing.

But a couple days ago I completely overhauled my outline's ending for the third time, and I'm wondering just how long is too long.

What freaks me out about this novel is that the ending has to be perfect, and I know I can't write it perfectly.
Stories have to be born ugly, but after writing over eighty thousand words building up to this climactic ending, I don't want it born ugly.  Ehhhhhh.

The picture in my head is so sad and so beautiful and hard, and if it doesn't come out that way then I'll be plunged into a dark pit of writer's purgatory for at least a week.  So apparently I think that revising the outline 293 times will help prevent this disturbing end.  Maybe it will, maybe it won't.  But I think in the end I'm just going to have to tighten my belt, straighten my fedora, and write it.

It still gives me butterflies.  I don't want to get it wrong.

But I guess that's what revision is for.

And this, my dear reader, is your random Jake moment for the day.  I felt a little guilty about not blogging for a month, so you get a chaotic monologue instead of something deep and insightful.  Happy day.

[Five Star] Review: Runt the Brave

[Note: this review is of the original 2004 edition of the novel.]

Driven by its merciless leader, an army of rats has besieged Tira-Nor. The city's last hope lies with a mouse so small and so young that even his family calls him “Runt.”

But it is not just the rats who want JaRed son of ReDemec dead. A cold shadow stalks the war-darkened tunnels of the underground mouse city. A bodiless evil threatens to bring the myths of the Ancients suddenly comes to life.

Betrayed by a hatred as thick as blood, surrounded by enemies too terrifying to comprehend, JaRed is about to encounter a power beyond even that of the Great Owl...a power that will fling him into a destiny wilder than anything he's ever imagined! (From the inside flap.)

Talking mice, evil rats, cities and civilizations...you think you've seen it done before. Think again!

Daniel Schwabauer is a master storyteller – and you think you've heard that one before, too. Think again! Mr. Schwabauer has entered a well-established sub-genre of fantasy and created a totally original tale. Combining a hauntingly beautiful mythology with a tale set in a mouse city preparing for war, Runt the Brave is a wonderful tale of loss and jealousy and bravery.

Originality is not having a new story idea, but putting a new twist on an old story idea, and Mr. Schwabauer does this masterfully. Inevitably, stories like this get compared to Redwall or Watership Down, but I think Runt the Brave can stand on its own quite well, and of the three, Runt the Brave is probably my favorite.

The plot is fast and keeps the pages turning, and the world-building is excellent. Like I've already mentioned, Mr. Schwabauer has created a unique world and a “rodent” mythology that works very well for the storyline. And as for characters, I've rarely seen them better. Each character is layered and well-written. The two “main” characters, HaRed and JaRed, both have incredibly real character arcs, and the supporting characters are also very well-done.

The style of the prose is likewise unique. It took a little getting used to at first, since the style is heavily narrative and sometimes relies on “telling” in order to keep it narrative. However, after the first few chapters I stopped noticing it and let the story carry me away.

And finally, the theme. Let me pause for a moment here to say that this was a deeply moving and wonderful novel. I've said it again and again; I'm a sucker for a good theme, and Mr. Schwabauer has created a novel with themes straight from his heart. And those are the best kind, because those are the ones that will touch other people.

I'll say it in a sentence. Runt the Brave is a fantastic and moving novel that goes straight from the heart, to the heart. I love it.

Really and Truly.

I rate it 9.5 out of 10.

And here's a bit of advertising: Daniel Schwabauer is the creator of the fantastic One Year Adventure Novel (OYAN) curriculum. Runt the Brave has recently been republished with AMG Publishers, with the new cover to the right. Here's a link to it on Amazon.

Here's the best part: the royalties for this book go towards making a creative arts center, referred to by the OYANers as Hobbit Holes. I talked about this incredible vision in my blog post about the OYAN Workshop.

So whatever you do for this book contributes towards Hobbit Holes. So buy it, share it, tell other people about it. Daniel Schwabauer (always and affectionately “Mr. S” in the hearts of OYANers everywhere) has shared his vision with us, and we want to pass it on. Consider doing a small part.

Happy Endings

Fiction novels these days have mood swings.

As with a lot of other things in life (predestination and free will, for instance), people tend to swing one way or another on happy endings.  There are two mistakes novelists make when writing endings, and that's either to make it too happy or not happy enough.

This particular subject was brought to my attention by a person named Hana who commented on my post about fantasy cliches.  She wrote this:

" I, personally, adore writing teen fiction, so long as I never finish with the all too familiar 'happy ending.' Life has loose ends, odds that won't match up, people that end up alone, afraid, and without hope. You can't tie a story up with a pretty red bow and and call it a masterpiece. Often, things are left unfinished, words remain unsaid, and regret lingers in the air. If we are steering from cliche its not the subjects I stress to look out for, more-so the endings. "

I agree wholeheartedly that things aren't as easy as many books portray it to be. There needs to be grit. Too many novels make everything tie up in the end, easily and without cost. There needs to be cost, otherwise there won't be meaning. The world doesn't work like that.

But here is where I differ, very strongly.

I never have the excuse to write a completely realistic novel. As a writer, I have a vision of a sort of world that is different from our own, a better sort of world, the sort of world that is sanctified - even if we never get there.  But you cannot change the world unless you show what it could be, not what it already is.

Maybe fathers leaving their kids is realistic, but it's certainly something we want to change.  Maybe there's a story where the dad comes back - or never leaves at all.

Say somebody got lost in the wilderness. He's starving, he hasn't had water for hours. What good would it do to come up to him and describe to him his story, front-to-back, thirst and all? It would certainly be realistic. That is, after all, the way his life worked.

But say I sat down and told him a different story, one that was less realistic. Say I told him that if he had the strength to cross the wilderness, there was a lush oasis on the other side. Say that I told him that there was water there, and fruit he could eat, and a way to get back to civilization.

Realistic? Maybe not. But it gives him something a "sober realistic novel of to-day" (as Chesterton would say) never could. It gives him hope. It gives him vision. It gives him the motivation to change.

As a novelist, I'm not in the business of showing the world as it is. I'm in the business of changing the world into what it could be.

And, as a disclaimer, this involves showing the world as it is, but not stopping there.  The first three-quarters or Tornado C show the world as it is - the fantasy world, anyway.  But as things rise to a climax, that is where my story departs from our perception of what is "realistic".  My story has a happy ending.  Not one without pain or loss, but a happy ending.  Because even if unhappy endings are realistic, that's not what each of us wants in our own lives.

That doesn't mean I'm going to write perfect characters and completely happy endings and god-from-the-machine climaxes. But that does mean that I'll never write a book that is completely realistic - because realism is a portrait of depravity.

I'm not going to write a Brave New World. I'm going to write a Lord of the Rings.

What do you think?  Happy endings or not?  Do you agree with how I defined realism? Why?  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Vision: OYAN Summer Workshop 2013

“All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.” —G. K. Chesterton

On Monday, the seventeenth of June, at four-thirty, I arrived at MidAmerica Nazarene University for the OYAN Summer Workshop.

And never have I had a week simultaneously so long and so short. It seems that so much had happened in so little time. There were so many people, so many people I knew already, so many people that I learned to know. It passed with the speed of Almost-Flash, and yet small instants here and there remain riveted in my memory like a vivid picture.

This is me, trying to articulate these chaotic memories and process them. I've done this before, and I'll probably do it again: I'm going to think on paper and let you in on what's going on in my mind. It's going to be confusing (especially all of the inside jokes), and it's going to be unorganized. But I sincerely hope that it interests those who didn't go to the Workshop and helps those who did.

If I could describe the Workshop in one word, it would be this: vision.

OYAN gave me a vision. Not just for my novel, but for OYAN itself, and especially for that brief glimpse that Mr. S gave us the last night, of hobbit holes, a Rivendell for writers, an impossible thing that he wanted to make possible. That's what vision is, like hope.

At the Workshop, I remembered that I had forgotten. I caught a glimpse, a vision, of what could be. That maybe we writers could actually make a difference telling stories. I knew this in my head, but at OYAN I saw it. I saw that vision, I saw the passion in others for storytelling, for Christ, for trying to change the world. We were an army of ordinary heroes.

I've never seen anything like it. Not even remotely. For the first time, I was among writers I actually knew, that actually did the things I did, liked the things I liked. The first time I went to a Workshop I only knew one person. This time I knew dozens before I went, and even more afterward.

One of my memories comes to mind from Monday, the very first day: I'm leaning far back in my seat and talking to all of the other people I'm sitting with in the lounge. Queen Jane is dozing and telling people she's “not asleep” every other word with her hilariously British accent, Eagles laughs even though half our jokes aren't funny, Sandy is sitting on the table because there aren't any chairs nearby, Gunstrav is grinning, my sisters laugh. I don't even remember what we were talking about, but it was after eleven o'clock and everything was funny.

And there was so much good about the Workshop. My critique group was wonderful and lively and so funny, and actually liked my novel. I got into a theological discussion with some friends (someone evidently playing telephone changed the word to “debate”) for several meals and had a great time of it—we talked on controversial topics from predestination to Mormonism to evolution and never got angry or heated at one another despite a wide range of opinions. Jill Williamson was fantastic (and knew my name!) and I had a wonderful mentoring session with her. Jeff Gerke was one of us—he even dressed in two different costumes! The fluffnark still lives and Jeff's new shirt is proof of it. Mrs. S was herself and that's all we could ever ask for.

It's hard to articulate to people how exactly the Workshop felt. Sure, people can understand having lots of fun and being geeky with other people, like what I just described above. That part is easy. But what a lot of people don't understand is the level of emotion and the depth of friendship that develops between people you spend all day with for four days in a row.

I've talked with a couple non-OYANers about the Workshop in the last few days. They asked how it went. I said it was incredible good and sad at the same time. Sad? How was it sad? That was what they asked. Really.

I'm not sure exactly how it could not be sad. I was sad since the second day. You see, the worst part about OYAN was that it had to end. As Mark Wilson said during one of his lectures, you can't stay in Rivendell forever. The Workshop was a wonderful place of teaching and people and laughing and singing, but it couldn't go on forever. In fact, it could only go on for four days: “a far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable OYANers.”

The Workshop was our Rivendell. It was our place of rest and restoration on our long and hard journeys. It was a place of community, of love and grace and a lot of laughing. And we knew that once we left we had to go to Mordor.

But the Workshop wasn't just that. The Workshop wasn't the end: it was the end of the beginning. Rivendell was a place for rest, but it was also the launching pad for so many great things. And that's what the Workshop did: it launched us back into our lives to march on, through all of the dangers of life, to persevere and maybe even change the world. It gave us rest, spiritually: physically we stayed up way too late and got up way too early. But after you rest you have to work.

We had remembered that we had forgotten, but we couldn't forget again. We had seen a vision, I had seen a vision, and we couldn't just file that away.

So that was the Workshop, a terribly and terrifyingly wonderful gathering of men and Time Lords and elves and Ithilien Rangers and writers...ordinary heroes.

I want to pause for a moment to talk about something I mentioned earlier. It's about Mr. S's last lecture, the one where he talked about vision.

Mr. S had a vision. OYAN was a Rivendell for writers, but only for a few days out of the year. But what if it actually existed? What if we could create a real haven for writers, where we could come anytime for rest and healing and restoration? What if we could make...hobbit holes?

The extent of what Mr. S talked about is too large and scoping and wonderful for me to cover here, but I'll try to summarize.

He wanted to really and truly build a place here on Earth for writers, a permanent residence where smaller groups of people could come for workshops, or to simply stay and write. They would be hobbit holes, amplified ordinariness. They wouldn't just look like them, they would literally be hobbit holes, with real wood and round windows and doors and holes in the ground.

He wanted to really and truly build a library, and in his mind's eye it has a spiral staircase and a real growing and living tree, and a place entirely devoted to every book the OYANers have ever published.

He wanted to really and truly build a creative arts center, a place for graphic design and filmmaking and so many other things.

Mr. S showed us his vision. And there wasn't a person (that I know of) that wasn't deeply moved by it. (If you're an OYANer and you were there and you weren't deeply moved, then you're a Dalek.)

Now we're carrying that vision on with us, not only to change the world through our writing, but to help others to do so by creating a real, physical place where writers can go, a real Rivendell.

And really, it looks impossible. But Mr. S was undaunted. OYAN remains undaunted. Because God has done the impossible before. And you know what? You can't change the world unless you try. We can't say building hobbit holes is impossible until after we've done all we can.

And after the lecture, we met outside and we prayed with Mr. S, and we sang (I sang hardest when we sang “It Is Well With My Soul”), and we laughed, and we said goodbye, and it was hard. And people cried.

I cried.

I did. I really did.

Leaving people is hard. Especially when they're writers like you, and you've spent the last four days laughing and eating and talking and learning with them. Especially when you're going back to Africa and you don't know if you'll ever see any of these people again.

It was hard.

But it was worth it.

David Platt once said that all mission is separation. You can't be sent out unless you're leaving. It involves sacrifice. And each and every OYANer has been sent out, and we've been separated, but we're spreading our vision.

We have a vision to change the world for God, and we won't let it die out. It'll hurt, but it'll be worth it. We have a community utterly unique.  We're OYANers.

Ordinary heroes.

On Breaking the Rules of Writing

As you ought to know, there are some rules to writing, and all of them are rules for a good reason. Most of the time, they exist to make your novel better.

However, there comes a point where following the rules may make you lose an opportunity to improve. I came to that point recently while working on Tornado C.

You see, in the novel, I have one main character and a semi-major character. I use both of their POVs. This arrangement has worked nicely so far to speed the plot along, especially when there's a bit of a lag in my main storyline.

However, there are three spots in my novel where I use two different point of views from the two normal ones, making four altogether. One is from the point of view of an old man (Ne'ram, if you've read the excerpt I posted a long while back), and the other two are third person omniscient.

Technically, that's bad writing, especially since the different POVs don't even occur for more than five hundred words. And third person omniscient POV is especially bad writing when the rest of the novel is in third person limited.

However, I wrote them anyway, because sometimes you have to break the rules to make your novel better.

Take the first omniscient scene. It is a few words of prose about an inscription my main character didn't notice. This helps the novel for two reasons. One, it heightens the sense of foreboding and foreshadows what is to come later. Second, it adds an “epic” and “narrative” scope to the novel.

The second omniscient scene has a similar purpose; it's simply a few words of description and dialogue between some very minor characters that would become relevant later on. More so than the previous scene, it foreshadows that something very bad is coming soon, heightening the suspense. And keeping the suspense high is crucial in keeping the reader's attention.

And the Ne'ram scene? Like the omniscient scenes, it adds to the dramatic impact of the story. It foreshadows something that is to come. Unlike the first scene, however, it has a definite emotional impact that would be missing if taken out. It gives the rest of that chapter the aftertaste of that emotive flavor, like adding salt to a burger.

While cutting these three scenes would make my writing more “mechanically sound” and uniform, I would do so at the cost of the dramatic impact of the story. It would be decreasing the suspense, making the scope of the novel smaller, and losing some of the reader's emotion—not good things.

Sure, they're just little scenes, but every word counts when you're writing a novel. So I'm leaving them in. We'll see what happens. If I can find a way to cut them and increase the impact of the story at the same time, then perhaps I will, but until then...they're staying.

There are perks to writing short novels.

Such as, that you can actually remember what you've written so you don't contradict yourself in the middle.

And it's easier to stay interested in the plot.

And it's not repetitive.

And best of all, it doesn't take very long to write them.

Unfortunately I'm not writing a short novel. Stinks to be me. On the flip side, there is a certain amount of pride in seeing the word count grow higher and higher with each passing page. I'm sitting pretty at 70,660. (That means, by the way, that this is the longest work I've ever written, complete or incomplete.) I should write another chapter later, if I stop procrastinating and, more importantly, stop writing this blog post. Neither of which have happened so far.

On the flip side of the flip side, I just finished chapter sixteen (of twenty-four). I need to get to chapter twenty-two at least before the OYAN Workshop. (So far my pace is okay: I've finished four chapters in the last week. But they were short chapters.) I'll be lucky if I get to twenty, I think.

And while luck is at the job, maybe I could wake up at eight tomorrow and write till noon. I think that's simply a dream of a dream—but we'll see.

Also, I wish I had written more in my outline before starting my novel. When it's midnight and I'm all out of ideas, I need my outline to give me a little more than a vague sentence with an uncertain parenthesis or two. (A while back I looked ahead to chapter fifteen and was horrified to find a line of question marks in the middle of a paragraph.)

What about you lot? Writing much lately? Are any of you OYANers out there busy preparing for the SW yet? (Yeah, me neither.)

Oh, and have you read any good books? I just finished one. The Ravaged Realm by D. Barkley Briggs, which was excellent and reminiscent of Lawhead, except more character-driven and not quite as focused on the dusty-history-scholarly stuff, which is a good thing.

Ah, right. I'm supposed to be writing. Gotta fly.

On Tornado C and the OYAN Summer Workshop

Today is my last day of school.

That means a variety of things, among them being jubilation and a tangible sense of freedom from slavery.

Probably one of the most important things is that I'll finally have time to focus on Tornado C.  I've been writing in it here and there as the weeks have gone by.  The current word count is somewhere north of fifty-five thousand words, and I'm about halfway through.

This poses a problem, however.

Much to my delight, last month I registered for this year's OYAN Summer Workshop (referred to by OYANers as the "SW").  The Workshop will be graced by the presence of some famous authors (among them being Jill Williamson and Jeff Gerke), and numerous internet friends.  If my count is correct, there are just twenty five or twenty four days left until the SW begins.

How does this pose a problem?

Well, the good news is, I'm halfway through my novel.  The bad news is, I'm halfway through my novel.  It's taken me a year to get there, and I've got roughly twenty-four days to get to the end—or at least the beginning of the end.  The Workshop involves bringing copies of your manuscript, four pages from each of your "four defining scenes".  Unfortunately two of those scenes haven't been written yet.

So if I don't blog at all, you'll know why.

On the flip side, if you're going to the SW, perhaps we'll meet in person!  That would more than make up for the silence, wouldn't it?

I'll try to periodically update and perhaps even write something interesting (for once), but like always - there are no guarantees!  (That sounds familiar, doesn't it?)

Review: "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey"

(Note: this is a fairly exhaustive review. Rather long and meandering – kind of like the movie, come to think of it. ;) There are probably some minor spoilers, but I stayed away from revealing major plot points.)

As hard as it might be to believe, until very recently I had yet to see the Hobbit movie, despite having been in America for some time.

Being a writer, the best way I process things is by, well, writing. So write I will! Here are my hasty and sincere thoughts on Peter Jackson's adaption of Tolkien's “fairy-tale”.

The Book and the Movie

The best way to approach the movie, I think, is to view it as an entirely different story than the book; or, as I put it to a friend of mine, two different adaptions of the same essential story. One in words, and the other in pictures.

But before I do that, how did the movie compare to the book?

Peter Jackson had a tough issue, and that was marketing the Hobbit to a Lord of the Rings audience while simultaneously “setting up” the saga that follows, something the original story didn't do at all. This required several things, such as removing some of the “whimsical”, fairy-story feel and adding in more “epic fantasy” elements. This is a hard job, and he's bound to make both purists and Lord of the Rings movie fans mad in the making.

Overall, I think he did well. Jackson compromised between a purist standpoint and an epic fantasy standpoint in finding elements that were not in the Hobbit itself but were part of Tolkien's story-world nonetheless. This would include the White Council (taken out of order), Azog the White Orc (who really was from Moria but had actually been killed), Radagast (who had a very minor role in The Fellowship of the Ring book but did exist), the Necromancer (taken out of the Return of the King appendices and other sources), and giants (who were hardly as colossal in the book). This allowed Jackson to use Tolkien's own works in a way that would work better on the big screen.

Okay, now that I've finished with that, I'll address the movie itself, purely on its own merits, not how it measures up to the book.

1) Plot.

As could be expected from a three-hour movie made from one hundred pages of a children's fantasy novel, the plot meandered from place to place. The introduction of the White Orc and the Necromancer helped move the plot along some, but the main reason why they didn't propel much was because there was little to no resolution of their plotlines at the end of the movie. Really, I think that was the most disappointing thing about the Hobbit: zero resolution. We jumped around some, had some adventures and whatnot, but the only resolution was in the relationship between Bilbo and Thorin (more on that later). Everything else was left open-ended.

This is a trilogy, however, but even with that excuse the end of the movie failed to completely satisfy. In comparison to the ending of the Fellowship of the Ring, it was stale. (Perhaps that was, in part, due to the fact that The Fellowship of the Ring followed the plotline of the book and ended in the same place.)

This isn't to say, however, that I wasn't interested. Sure, the plot meandered, but I had a lot of fun meandering with it. Sure, it could have gone faster, but I didn't mind going slowly. So that lets Peter Jackson off the hook, a little bit.

2) Dialogue and Quality.

I must say, one of my favorite parts of the Hobbit was the dialogue and overall quality of the work. The dialogue is easily as good as the original three LotR movies, and perhaps, in some places, better. Certainly it's a lot lighter. The movie was peppered with humorous quips and one-liners, something that was lacking in LotR. And, as I discovered the day after I watched the movie, it's just as quotable as LotR, especially in the troll and Gollum scenes respectively. (“Teefes! We has nine!”)

And by “quality”, I mean the little things throughout the movie that don't get their own “category” like plot or character, but enrich the movie in innumerable ways. Gollum's facial expressions, for instance, were priceless. The filming was simply beautiful. The soundtrack was incredible. (Howard Shore's mix of old and new themes was excellent.) The sets were tastefully done, the costumes were fantastic, the dwarves were distinctive—you get the point. There are a lot of little things that make the movie great.

The only thing I thought was off was the Goblin King. He was kind of...weird. A little cheesy. He would have gone down better if he hadn't had such a strange voice. I mean, normally goblins and orcs are hoarse and brutal-sounding, but this guy had no voice editing at all. And he was kind of sarcastic and weird and had a massive double chin.

3) Character.

Something that was distinctive about The Lord of the Rings was that, despite the action/adventure feel, the character development was incredibly good. How did it work out in the Hobbit?

Let's start with the main character, Bilbo Baggins. He starts off as a quiet well-to-do hobbit who doesn't want any adventures—thank you, good morning. He ends up as a volunteer on a quest to take back the dwarf kingdom of Erebor, where he could get roasted or skewered or be late for dinner. Is it done well?

I think so. While I think the spotlight was on Thorin a little too much, Bilbo's character evolved fairly well, with some really shining moments—his last scene with Gollum, for instance, or his scene with the White Orc. I was afraid that I'd think of Martin Freeman, the actor for Bilbo, as 'Watson' the whole time (he acts as Dr. Watson in BBC's “Sherlock” TV show), but I think he did a good job. Perhaps a little too skittish, but that should resolve itself in the coming sequels.

While most of the dwarves didn't get enough screen time to really “show” their character (other than Balin, I think, who was very well done), they were distinctive enough that you could tell them apart. (Except for Fili and Kili. I always get them mixed up.)

Gandalf is his old grey self—the acting was superb. 'Nuff said.

Gollum was in top form in the Hobbit. He's funnier and, in some ways, even better than he was in LotR. The events that would happen later, in LotR, were foreshadowed well.

And I feel I must mention the White Orc for a moment. Zero characterization there, even for an orc. Basically, his only motivation for trying to kill Thorin is that he “swore to wipe out the line of Durin”. He might have cause for revenge on Thorin, but that was barely noted. He might be a character necessary for plot, but at least they could make him more interesting.

The last major character was Thorin. I have mixed feelings about him. While he's a brash character and very pigheaded, he's likeable in some ways as well. Two scenes really helped endear me to him, I think—the “flashback” where Balin is telling Thorin's story to Bilbo, and the final scene of the movie.

Overall, while the character wasn't quite as stunning as the original trilogy, it was adequate enough for the first movie.

4) Theme.

My favorite subject. It's usually tied to characters, so how did it do this time around?

There was really one theme in the Hobbit, but it was expressed in various ways. The main one was the relationship between Bilbo and the Company, mostly played out with Bilbo's interactions with Thorin. Did Bilbo belong? Why should he stay?

I was a little surprised by Bilbo's answer when asked why he stayed with the Company. “Because I have a home, and you don't have a home.” While it's a nice theme, it had the potential to be a lot stronger, especially when contrasted with the main themes of Lord of the Rings. I think a better motivation would be tied to the need for justice and the cause of good.

But really, the main theme of the Hobbit was said by Galadriel: “Why Bilbo Baggins?”

And Gandalf's answer to that question makes that scene my favorite in the entire movie. The soundtrack (beautiful), the acting, the placement, all of it supplements the words that Gandalf says at that part and sums up the theme of the Hobbit. And really, the theme of the entire “Lord of the Rings” saga, the Hobbit included.

I won't spoil anything. (And part of it is that I can't remember the exact quotation off the top of my head.) But it is definitely a fantastic theme. I hope it comes out a lot more in the later movies!

It's Not The Book

The Hobbit movie is not the Hobbit book. Some people hate the movie because of that. Some people think it's a money-making franchise.

Taken apart from the book, however, and being seen as a prequel to the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, the Hobbit delivers. The plot meanders, but the same themes and characters are woven throughout the movie. It's witty, it's well-made, it's a continuation of the well-beloved saga. More importantly, it promises a lot more epicness to come.

And my goodness, I could quote it all day.

Concerning My Long Absence

I'm sure apologies are in order, but I hate repeating myself, and you have all heard it before.  So I'll jump right in.

To put a very long story short, I am again in America, and GOODNESS, how can you stand how cold and dry it is?

(Despite my complaining and my numb fingers, I really am enjoying the cold.  I arrived last week, just in time to see the last of the snow melt from Kansas soil.  The wheat is looking beautiful and green in the fields!)

I have done an awful job at keeping you all updated, but quite a bit of what has been happening is under wraps.  At least, what has been happening in my "real" life.  (My writing is coming along nicely.  Tornado C has been relaunched and is now standing above 40,000 words.) I hope, however, that by mid-April I should be able to give you the whole story, from start to finish, of the great drama that God has been unfolding in Liberia.

I should be able to blog before then, but I'm learning from my mistakes - not promising anything besides that post.  But that update is set in stone.  I will update you all later this month.

How have you all been?  I heard the winter has been crazy!

Till then,

Adjectives and Adverbs: Why You Shouldn't Use Them (And Why You Should)

When I first started doing the One Year Adventure Novel curriculum, I was flabbergasted to see that Mr. S (wise as he was) wouldn't let me use adverbs and adjectives – at least, not many of them.

As time has passed, I've come to understand why it's not advisable to use them. Though it seems at first to be a direct attack against description, avoiding the two really is a good way to strengthen your novel.

As a quick review, adverbs are words that modify verbs, and adjectives modify nouns. Thus, in the green fish, “green” is the adjective. It modifies the noun; it makes the fish green. In he laughed sarcastically, sarcastically is the adverb; it modifies the laugh, making it a sarcastic laugh.

So why shouldn't you use them?

Because, while they are useful, they often clutter prose. The two things that drive your prose are your verbs and your nouns. Those must be as good as they can be. Too often we rely on adverbs and adjectives to help “move” our prose along, making the verbs and nouns weak.

Take these two examples:

The colorful bird flew gracefully downwards.

The brown-striped cat walked stealthily down the hall.

Both of these examples rely on both adjectives and adverbs to make the prose move. That makes them a prime example of what not to do.

I said earlier that nouns and adverbs drive your prose. Let's strip these two sentences of everything except those “driving” forces.

The bird flew downwards.

The cat walked down the hall.

Not too impressive, are they? That's because they relied on their modifiers to get them moving. They're rather dull and unspecific.

So how do we fix it? We start by changing the verbs and nouns themselves, compacting the most specific information as possible into one word. Let's change colorful bird into parrot, and brown-striped cat into tabby. Not only does it condense prose, but in the case of the first sentence, it makes the description more specific, not less!

Now that we've dealt with the adjectives, take a look at the adverbs. Flew gracefully can be changed to glided – again, this gives more information than the original sentence – and walked stealthily can be changed to snaked. (This isn't the only word you could use, however. Slunk, padded, and ghosted are all words that could have been used as well.)

All right, so we've strengthened our nouns and verbs and gotten rid of the adjectives, let's put everything back into our “stripped” sentences.

The parrot glided downwards.

The tabby snaked down the hall.

You can see that the prose is now much more vivid and descriptive than our original examples. And there isn't a single adverb or adjective!

Getting rid of adjectives and adverbs helps your prose immensely. Normally they cloak weak verbs and nouns, but once those are stripped away, the weaknesses are evident to see and can be modified accordingly. (Pun intended. Or was that pun too vague for anyone to get it?)

Before I move on, I must note one exception to this rule: the word “said”. As I've said before, “said” is essentially invisible as a dialogue tag. No one notices it when the author writes “he said” simply because it's so common. Dialogue tags are merely a means to an end; they indicate who is speaking. Now, if you wrote “expostulated” or “interjected” as a dialogue tag, it tends to jerk your reader out of the dialogue.

Thus, rather than use a “specific” dialogue tag, I often use “said [adverb]”. He said dryly is more interesting and less noticeable (in my own humble opinion) than he deadpanned, even though the latter is more specific.

Now, there is one problem that may come out of this: a paranoid extermination of adverbs and adjectives altogether. This is one thing I've witnessed myself. In fact, when I let a OYANer critique my stuff, I give this disclaimer: “All of those adverbs are there on purpose.”

Because, as long as your verbs and nouns are strong, adverbs and adjectives can strengthen your prose even more.

Take this passage from Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, for instance.

“The wastes of his weary brain were haunted by shadowy images now—images of wealth and fame revolving obsequiously round his unextinguishable gift of noble and lofty expression.”

Take a look at those verbs and nouns: haunted, images, revolving, gift, expression. Those are powerful, specific words. But look what happens when you take out all of the adverbs and adjectives.

The wastes of his brain were haunted by images now—images of wealth and fame revolving round his gift of expression.

Not half as powerful, is it? The adjectives as well as the nouns, adverbs as well as the verbs; they were all powerful. Weary, shadowy, obsequiously, unextinguishable, noble, lofty; those modifiers made the prose sweeping.

This illustrates my final point: adverbs and adjectives can actually help prose when used right. That's why wholesale extermination of modifiers can be detrimental to your novel.

In fact, you could say that the entire point of this post is this: adverbs and adjectives, when used with a strong verb or noun, strengthen the prose; but when used with a weak verb or noun, they clutter the prose.

The key is to make sure your central, essential words – your nouns and adverbs – are powerhouses. Once you've achieved that, your prose will be a powerhouse too – and sweep your reader off of their feet.