Now, throughout each and every hall of the temple, the pounding steps and shouts of Yyral and Reave could be heard. They resounded onward and echoed into the farthest reaches and the smallest caverns within the stone building. "Reziehl is burning to the ground! Reziehl is burning to the ground!" the two cried at the top of their voices. Not a moment were they not enveloped in terror, not a single second passed where it did not feel as if the essence of pure fear did not course through their veins in place of the red blood that kept them alive. "Come out of your rooms, every able bodied caster or the fire may spread to the entire valley! Come out! Come out!" the boys ran through the dark, not a light to guide them besides the burning image of Rezeihl in their minds.
Not long had passed before the two young casters collapsed, having coverd the three master hallways where the most bedrooms were. With lack of breathe they tried to explain the happenings as casters, half asleep and half dressed who began to file out of their rooms. Initially there was disbelief amongst the drowsy men and women who gathered to see who or what had woken them. "Just go up the tower to see!" begged Reave, his eyes began to well up but he fought back the tears. The torrents would not flood forth, he refused to be vulnerable in this situation, not even to himself.
"Fine, fine. I'll check, and if nothing is there you two are sure in for the scorn of those whom you have disturbed." The voice for a few moments was lost in the crowd until it's body stepped forward. Cyelle, the most experienced of the female casters had been the one to give them a chance. She turned on her heel before summoning up the boys, "I of course expect your accompanyment up the tower you two." he voice was powerful without a raised volume. No matter how soft it demanded attention, one of the key skills of being a powerful caster.
The two boys jumped at her command and fell into ranks behind her as the crowd partered for their procession. "You two better be right. Tell me now if you are lying or have any doubt in what your have seen." The two boys shook their heads, implying that they were more than possitive that what had been seen and shouted through the halls was the strongest truth that either had ever told. "Then let us hurry, for if you are true, then a grave tragedy has come upon us, more grave than exile."
From here on the three walked in absence of sound other than their feet padding down the walkways. Stone was cold upon their bare feet. For the first time that night, Reave felt the chill. He had been in such a frenzy until now that he took no notice of the less important things around him, like the fact that he had forgotten to dawn his shoes. His tender feet gradually became numb from the cold and the gentle pace that Cyelle kept. Reave looked down to see niether Cyelle nor Yyral had thought to put on shoes either and in some sense it lifted his fear and anxiety albeit only for a few moments.
"Here we are." Announced Cyelle in a tone that suggested that she was still in disbelief of the two boys. "You know what happens if I go up there and see not a single flicker of flame don't you?" Her motherly tone began to show. the kind that would surface when she spoke to any of the young males there at the temple. The boys both knew what they had seen was no illusion and therefore nodded their heads in response. "For the deities sakes I hope the two of you had no more than a nightly spook."
Cyelle began to accend toward the top of the tower, Reave and Yyral flanking her so that they night be able to point out that they had been serious, that they had not been lying, they were going to let the world know that they were right, or at least, each and every member of the temple. This night, to them, had become somewhat adventurous to the two, but once at the top of the staircase and staring out at the luminescent demise of much held dear the troop becan still. Cyelle's eyes reflected the burning homes and her eyes hear not a sound, similar to Reave's first sight. Her face went as white as a ghost and in not more than the gentle breath of a stunned woman, "We must run to the others and herald this news." She paused to swallow and breath, looking to Reave, "This should not have been possible how is this possible."
"I don't know..." Reave trailed off blankly, unsure of how to answer the most grave question of his life.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Screenwriting: Doing the Dirty Work
Screenwriting to me has almost become something painful to do, or at least in this short format. I cannot see myself at all able to shorten what I have written to the one or two scenes that was suggested to me in the workshop on friday. I cannot stress enough how hard it is for me to chop up the story I am wishing to portray. I do think that Steve's points are valid and that his advice is quite helpful to me as a writer in general, it just seems to be the format within which we are expected to write. In perfect honesty, it surprised me how short the other scripts were and how much they were just a clip and not a story. I think this is my biggest problem. I have always written in long format. My poems take up pages and pages, my stories evolve into idea for novels and despite learning a lot about screen writing, I can hardly bring myself to hack up the story from what it is.
The story itself is a personal story with names changed and the ages advanced, and even that was hard, all of the names reference the original names and the advancement was awkward for me to write. Im not saying that this was something that I disliked, I enjoyed retelling something that I had been yerning to write for quite some time. I simply wish I had not been limited by time and by length to tell this story. In hindsight I should have chosen another story but I do feel that maybe with some tweaking and some getting used to I can fix my story to fit the format.
I need to reach a level in my writing where I am comfortable in many genres or style as opposed to one. The shortness and conciseness of Jack's story as well as Molly's was quite impressive and I feel that is something I need to get used to. I think I need to change myself in some way. I know there is a point that I need to get to, I'm just not sure when or by what means of getting there are necessary.
The story itself is a personal story with names changed and the ages advanced, and even that was hard, all of the names reference the original names and the advancement was awkward for me to write. Im not saying that this was something that I disliked, I enjoyed retelling something that I had been yerning to write for quite some time. I simply wish I had not been limited by time and by length to tell this story. In hindsight I should have chosen another story but I do feel that maybe with some tweaking and some getting used to I can fix my story to fit the format.
I need to reach a level in my writing where I am comfortable in many genres or style as opposed to one. The shortness and conciseness of Jack's story as well as Molly's was quite impressive and I feel that is something I need to get used to. I think I need to change myself in some way. I know there is a point that I need to get to, I'm just not sure when or by what means of getting there are necessary.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Screen Writing: Take 2
Gosh, I never knew there was so much that could be done with screenwriting that I fear my head may explode!
Steve's workshop was phenominally helpful to me, but I feel that it helped a lot of the others in the workshop simple because when Steve worked with us as a group, it was not only those who got their work looked over that benefitted, but his advice to one person really hit home with a lot of us, or at least that's what I saw. When he went over mine I was a little choked up, everyone who went before me sounded, at least in my opinion, a little if not astronomically better than mine. Writing the script was uncomfortable. I am not someone who likes to work in short genre. My talents are in creating large and elaborate stories. Mine felt like I tried to shrink a large story while theirs were concise and to the point. I was quite embarassed in hearing others read my work, but getting a vocal on it gave me a little more stablility.
The best part of th workshop to me was though, when we were analyzing my piece, everyone kept shouting, oh cut this I don't get this why did you do this make this this and it hurtmy head, but Steve asked me specifically on his confusions as to my piece and was not as aggressive to alter my work as the others had been. It was a piece that needed careful analysis to him, not something to tear appart, and I felt good because my piece was being taken care of. My piece was beig looked at not for mistakes or problems but for points that could really bloom if they were looked at and executed correctly. This I liked. I also liked listening in for the advice on the other scripts. It just stunned me some of the things that could be pulled out of a script. Cassie's script was two pages long but we talked on and on about the implied, on and on about what could happen and how we could make it happen and tried to retain as much as I could to use in my own piece. I was always looking fo' better my work in any possible way.
I feel like I really learned something in this workshop, and for me, I feel like this is a really big thig when I actually learn something, not have it drilled into my head or be mentioned as it hits my brain as though I had nothing but solid bricks in my head. I want to be the one hit by the brick, not the brick being hit, for lack of a better word. I do infact feel like I was hit, HARD, and cannot wait to have a brick hurdled at my head again.
Steve's workshop was phenominally helpful to me, but I feel that it helped a lot of the others in the workshop simple because when Steve worked with us as a group, it was not only those who got their work looked over that benefitted, but his advice to one person really hit home with a lot of us, or at least that's what I saw. When he went over mine I was a little choked up, everyone who went before me sounded, at least in my opinion, a little if not astronomically better than mine. Writing the script was uncomfortable. I am not someone who likes to work in short genre. My talents are in creating large and elaborate stories. Mine felt like I tried to shrink a large story while theirs were concise and to the point. I was quite embarassed in hearing others read my work, but getting a vocal on it gave me a little more stablility.
The best part of th workshop to me was though, when we were analyzing my piece, everyone kept shouting, oh cut this I don't get this why did you do this make this this and it hurtmy head, but Steve asked me specifically on his confusions as to my piece and was not as aggressive to alter my work as the others had been. It was a piece that needed careful analysis to him, not something to tear appart, and I felt good because my piece was being taken care of. My piece was beig looked at not for mistakes or problems but for points that could really bloom if they were looked at and executed correctly. This I liked. I also liked listening in for the advice on the other scripts. It just stunned me some of the things that could be pulled out of a script. Cassie's script was two pages long but we talked on and on about the implied, on and on about what could happen and how we could make it happen and tried to retain as much as I could to use in my own piece. I was always looking fo' better my work in any possible way.
I feel like I really learned something in this workshop, and for me, I feel like this is a really big thig when I actually learn something, not have it drilled into my head or be mentioned as it hits my brain as though I had nothing but solid bricks in my head. I want to be the one hit by the brick, not the brick being hit, for lack of a better word. I do infact feel like I was hit, HARD, and cannot wait to have a brick hurdled at my head again.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Reave: Chapter 1
This is the Draft of the first chapter of my novel entitled Reave I am looking for Critique and feedback as well as consistent readers. The next chapter will be posted weekly, please recommend me to friends and give me advice. This is by no means the final copy. Reave is my child, my discovery, and with your help, maybe it can grow.
Night Fell over the valley, a shade of comfort an sleep enveloping the small village of Reziehl in a warmth, a chilling one. The valley offered not much as to protection from wind as it did protection from anything else. In the night, the valley became a sink hole, you could not see a thing from atop the hills and mountains that surrounded, at least, not with inexperienced. The blackness of the valley was a repellent. Fear would build with each step towards, anxiety would mount and with it, a sense that this was the threshold of no return. One step forward would become a journey through the infinitely empty.
The villagers, with time, had become adept at spotting the dark clay and stone, showing no reflection of the dull moon glow. The walls had become the key to seeing the village. From afar the outline was opaque and almost without visibility. Following the line created the village. See it often enough, and Reziehl would be more vibrant than the autumn trees. The brick houses, exposed in a resounding red, roads became a dark brown, small gardens, a pale green, like that of the persistant leaves that refused to join others in the transition forward, one still lingering within its summer glow. It was a grand and beautiful sight to admire, that is though, to those who could see it.
Of course, knowing nothing of Reziehl would reveal a wasteland of cold and baren field, not a bit of life to be seen. Even what looked like grass would be stripped of every bit of life. Harshness among the likes of which none would dare venture into created another barrier to Reziehl. Winds swept in and out of the valley with such a force that often a man would be swept into the darkness, not to show up again, but rather lost in the legend. The day was when one would have to travel. Whilst some might say, in travel, the high sun is something to avoid moving during, here, it was quite the opposite. Had one wanted to travel, the highest point of the sun would be the ideal time to.
The people of Reziehl knew how to protect themselves from the bitter cold. The sheep bore wool so strong that not even the coldest of nights could lift the feel of a warm hearth and a good meal. This was made into cloaks, each villager wore the black wool. This too prevented them from being seen at night. With time would come the innate sense of where the village was, this of course was if you had ever been to Reziehl. The village was quite unknown, even to the traders and merchants who passed by. They would do their bidding at the temple at the peak of the south west hill. The temple was scarcely visited despite it's uses and it's convenience as a trading center. The villagers had a strict belief. If you alter anything natural, you had no place in the village.
Everyone at the temple had once been, or were descendants of villagers. They were outcasts, law breakers, magicians. To practice magic, to bring forth that which was not there before was punishable by exile. Those found to practice were sent up the road to the temple, where they would be taken in, like refugees they were cared for and helped to recover from the path to exile. This made the temple a place most avoided, despite the convenience of trade. All throughout the spring, the summer, and the fall, merchants would come with their pricey relics, their shiny jewelery, and whatever other foreign items could be sold for a profit, but not now, not this season. It was winter, dark, cold winter, but safe.
News came daily of Vherkain soldiers advancing southward. The neighboring country was large enough in origin, but now, with it's expanding borders, fear swept into all but those of Reziehl. Winter months kept them safe, as did the absence of sun.
"They travel by the moonlight." said the whispers, "They make sure that the blazing flames jump towards the abyss of night. They have not a lust for blood, only ash in the pale light of the moon." These myths could be heard walking through the square, the stories of undying soldiers and the myths of the night backed flame were commonplace amongst the gossiping women, but none were afraid of being struck at night.
* * *
"Yyral?" came a voice in the pitch, "Yyral are you still awake?" the voice was gentle, yet urgent enough to evoke some kind of reaction from the heap of flesh and grunts that shifted in it's place.
"Reave?" came a second voice. This one belonging to Yyral, now woken up. Had a candle been lit, his face would be contorted into a mixture of confusion, anger, tiredness, and general disinterest. His pale brown eyes would be half open, surrounded by bags of a light purple. His hair, short and the same color as his eyes would be sticking out in all different directions. It would suit Yyral, to look so sleep deprived. When he did sleep it was often in a wrecked state anyway. His pale skin would be shining with days of not washing. After hours and sometimes days in the library Yyral would come back, looking sickly all over, even his face seemed to have less angles than any other time. "Reave what the hell are you doing? It must be passed the first hours of morning. What can be so urgent?"
"Listen!" Reave shouted in a hushed tone.
"To what?" cried Yyral, now lighting a candle and getting to his feet, clad in not more than a few tattered robes. Reave was no much more kept in his appearance. His long black hair fell back in a messy braid, starting at his shoulders, and stretching in a thick, single weaved braid down to the small of his back. The hair frayed out, giving him a similar impression as Yyral. The long hair framed Reave's gentle face, not curved, which would make it looks as if he was quite young, but not sharp, like that of Yyral. It had edges, soft ones that fell back into his hair.
Standing up, Reave pulled on his thin black cloak over his slim figure, fitting it snug around him and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The walls of the temple shone a brilliant copper color in the light of Yyral's single candle. The intricate carvings of images from tales of old, tales of great magicians and sorcerers, tales of feats beyond imagination's invention. Them walls were lined with these images, and had always been, at least, as long as Reave had been there.
"The wind!" Reave grew impatient with Yyral, as did Yyral grow so with Reave.
"I hear not a thing!"
"Exactly!" in Reave's voice there was an urgency none like Yyral had ever heard before, "Come with me to the tower, something must be wrong." And as if another candle had been lit, this one within Yyral's head, the severity of the situation overwhelmed his body and without delay, thew his cloak of Reziehl sheep wool, as did Reave. Within minutes the two were running silently to the tower at the center of the temple, "Yyral?" Reave asked again, getting his attention this time without more than a first try.
"Yes?" replied the frantic boy beside Reave.
The both crept out of their room, slinking through the halls as fast as they could without waking the other spell casters. "We are either both out of our minds, or something awful has just happened. That is what's going on right?" whispered Reave as they rushed toward the tower. Yyral nodded, not willing to donate any more energy to speech. "I do so hope we are both out of our minds..." Reave trailed off, now reaching the landing of the tower stairs.
Silently the two raced up the stone steps, each one ringing out with the padding of their bare feet, each step up getting louder with more urgency to reach the summit. Within moments the both were at the top, gasping for breath, each near tears when they looked out and towards the valley to see what was thought to be the impossible. Reziehl, the village that the both had once called home, the village where their families resided, the village that should have been regarded as the untouchable was burning to the ground in the black of night. Ignited. Livelier than ever. Engulfed within scorching and terminating flames. The entire village was burning to the ground with not a wisp of wind to blow out the smallest of flames.
To Reave, it was not the lack of wind nor the flames, that were the most frightening factors. The lack of screams was. There was not a day when the village was ever empty, not a moment when every inhabitant was not milling around the square, bargaining in the shops, or safe within their own homes. Reave knew that despite the distance, the valley should carry the calls for help, but with none brought to his own ear the worst was to be assumed. The village yielded no more than the crackle of life taking flame. Each and every man, woman and child had burned to death in their sleep.
Night Fell over the valley, a shade of comfort an sleep enveloping the small village of Reziehl in a warmth, a chilling one. The valley offered not much as to protection from wind as it did protection from anything else. In the night, the valley became a sink hole, you could not see a thing from atop the hills and mountains that surrounded, at least, not with inexperienced. The blackness of the valley was a repellent. Fear would build with each step towards, anxiety would mount and with it, a sense that this was the threshold of no return. One step forward would become a journey through the infinitely empty.
The villagers, with time, had become adept at spotting the dark clay and stone, showing no reflection of the dull moon glow. The walls had become the key to seeing the village. From afar the outline was opaque and almost without visibility. Following the line created the village. See it often enough, and Reziehl would be more vibrant than the autumn trees. The brick houses, exposed in a resounding red, roads became a dark brown, small gardens, a pale green, like that of the persistant leaves that refused to join others in the transition forward, one still lingering within its summer glow. It was a grand and beautiful sight to admire, that is though, to those who could see it.
Of course, knowing nothing of Reziehl would reveal a wasteland of cold and baren field, not a bit of life to be seen. Even what looked like grass would be stripped of every bit of life. Harshness among the likes of which none would dare venture into created another barrier to Reziehl. Winds swept in and out of the valley with such a force that often a man would be swept into the darkness, not to show up again, but rather lost in the legend. The day was when one would have to travel. Whilst some might say, in travel, the high sun is something to avoid moving during, here, it was quite the opposite. Had one wanted to travel, the highest point of the sun would be the ideal time to.
The people of Reziehl knew how to protect themselves from the bitter cold. The sheep bore wool so strong that not even the coldest of nights could lift the feel of a warm hearth and a good meal. This was made into cloaks, each villager wore the black wool. This too prevented them from being seen at night. With time would come the innate sense of where the village was, this of course was if you had ever been to Reziehl. The village was quite unknown, even to the traders and merchants who passed by. They would do their bidding at the temple at the peak of the south west hill. The temple was scarcely visited despite it's uses and it's convenience as a trading center. The villagers had a strict belief. If you alter anything natural, you had no place in the village.
Everyone at the temple had once been, or were descendants of villagers. They were outcasts, law breakers, magicians. To practice magic, to bring forth that which was not there before was punishable by exile. Those found to practice were sent up the road to the temple, where they would be taken in, like refugees they were cared for and helped to recover from the path to exile. This made the temple a place most avoided, despite the convenience of trade. All throughout the spring, the summer, and the fall, merchants would come with their pricey relics, their shiny jewelery, and whatever other foreign items could be sold for a profit, but not now, not this season. It was winter, dark, cold winter, but safe.
News came daily of Vherkain soldiers advancing southward. The neighboring country was large enough in origin, but now, with it's expanding borders, fear swept into all but those of Reziehl. Winter months kept them safe, as did the absence of sun.
"They travel by the moonlight." said the whispers, "They make sure that the blazing flames jump towards the abyss of night. They have not a lust for blood, only ash in the pale light of the moon." These myths could be heard walking through the square, the stories of undying soldiers and the myths of the night backed flame were commonplace amongst the gossiping women, but none were afraid of being struck at night.
* * *
"Yyral?" came a voice in the pitch, "Yyral are you still awake?" the voice was gentle, yet urgent enough to evoke some kind of reaction from the heap of flesh and grunts that shifted in it's place.
"Reave?" came a second voice. This one belonging to Yyral, now woken up. Had a candle been lit, his face would be contorted into a mixture of confusion, anger, tiredness, and general disinterest. His pale brown eyes would be half open, surrounded by bags of a light purple. His hair, short and the same color as his eyes would be sticking out in all different directions. It would suit Yyral, to look so sleep deprived. When he did sleep it was often in a wrecked state anyway. His pale skin would be shining with days of not washing. After hours and sometimes days in the library Yyral would come back, looking sickly all over, even his face seemed to have less angles than any other time. "Reave what the hell are you doing? It must be passed the first hours of morning. What can be so urgent?"
"Listen!" Reave shouted in a hushed tone.
"To what?" cried Yyral, now lighting a candle and getting to his feet, clad in not more than a few tattered robes. Reave was no much more kept in his appearance. His long black hair fell back in a messy braid, starting at his shoulders, and stretching in a thick, single weaved braid down to the small of his back. The hair frayed out, giving him a similar impression as Yyral. The long hair framed Reave's gentle face, not curved, which would make it looks as if he was quite young, but not sharp, like that of Yyral. It had edges, soft ones that fell back into his hair.
Standing up, Reave pulled on his thin black cloak over his slim figure, fitting it snug around him and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The walls of the temple shone a brilliant copper color in the light of Yyral's single candle. The intricate carvings of images from tales of old, tales of great magicians and sorcerers, tales of feats beyond imagination's invention. Them walls were lined with these images, and had always been, at least, as long as Reave had been there.
"The wind!" Reave grew impatient with Yyral, as did Yyral grow so with Reave.
"I hear not a thing!"
"Exactly!" in Reave's voice there was an urgency none like Yyral had ever heard before, "Come with me to the tower, something must be wrong." And as if another candle had been lit, this one within Yyral's head, the severity of the situation overwhelmed his body and without delay, thew his cloak of Reziehl sheep wool, as did Reave. Within minutes the two were running silently to the tower at the center of the temple, "Yyral?" Reave asked again, getting his attention this time without more than a first try.
"Yes?" replied the frantic boy beside Reave.
The both crept out of their room, slinking through the halls as fast as they could without waking the other spell casters. "We are either both out of our minds, or something awful has just happened. That is what's going on right?" whispered Reave as they rushed toward the tower. Yyral nodded, not willing to donate any more energy to speech. "I do so hope we are both out of our minds..." Reave trailed off, now reaching the landing of the tower stairs.
Silently the two raced up the stone steps, each one ringing out with the padding of their bare feet, each step up getting louder with more urgency to reach the summit. Within moments the both were at the top, gasping for breath, each near tears when they looked out and towards the valley to see what was thought to be the impossible. Reziehl, the village that the both had once called home, the village where their families resided, the village that should have been regarded as the untouchable was burning to the ground in the black of night. Ignited. Livelier than ever. Engulfed within scorching and terminating flames. The entire village was burning to the ground with not a wisp of wind to blow out the smallest of flames.
To Reave, it was not the lack of wind nor the flames, that were the most frightening factors. The lack of screams was. There was not a day when the village was ever empty, not a moment when every inhabitant was not milling around the square, bargaining in the shops, or safe within their own homes. Reave knew that despite the distance, the valley should carry the calls for help, but with none brought to his own ear the worst was to be assumed. The village yielded no more than the crackle of life taking flame. Each and every man, woman and child had burned to death in their sleep.
Friday, November 13, 2009
To create the perfect fantasy...
Magic the Gathering, Dungeons and Dragons, Viking movies with men who think that they are bears! This is how I have spend my last few weeks, enveloping myself in all that is unfathomable in this day and age. When I write, I can think of no other genre I like better than a Fantasy. If dragons aren't flying this way and that while magicians cast spells of fire and ice, then you probably aren't reading my writing, or you are reading an assignment. My recent working is a novel to which I have no title for, at least yet, but follows the life of a spellcaster named Reave (if you want more I will soon be posting a weekly excerpt for critique) who's involvement in a faction of war quickly becomes more than the boy can handle.
With each day I try to piece together another bit of the puzzle as to how I am going to create this fantastical story. First, one of my obessions, magic the gathering, a game based heavily on, well, MAGIC is where I get a lot of inspiration, not necessarily specific spells or creatures or even names, it just gets that part of my brain steaming and ready to write this. It's invigorating to play magic all day and then go home to type away at a keyboard or burn down a pencil in creating Reave's world and life.
As much as I'd like to have learned the majority of things for my novel in the outside world, the unstructured, unregimented world, I have lately gotten a lot of it in STAC. One character I had trouble with creating was Dormine, a female character who would take on a motherly role in Reave's life, but I did nit know how to convey a character that was not related yet still was a close and motherly or even just parental figure. This is where STAC came in. When we watched control, I instantly hooked onto Bela. Bela seemed to be like the parental to everyone who knew him, especially Bulscu. This was it, this was the relationship I needed to see in order to create Dormine. I needed a caring character but not one that hinders the protagonist. I needed her to guide him rather than tell him how to do things. This was beyond revolutionary for me, the character just clicked into my head and from then on I could simply not wait for the time to come when she Dormine made her first entrance.
Next came structure, again in STAC. As we studied mythic was of stoy telling and related them to movies, I saw how I could fix my work to ensnare more readers. I needed to hook them in without changing much of my story and this was perfect. I layed out my storyline along the ideas of what Luke had showed us on Tuesday and it almost fit without change, which led me to believe that I was on the right track to creating a wonderful story. This was going to be phenominal. I was so excited I could hardly breathe. From there I have been vigorously writing each day.
There still are some kinks that need working out, but I have close friends and close teachers who I'm sure can be nothing but an asset to this project of mine, and I hope to get all of my Fellow STACies as well as some others hooked onto my story. First chapter will be posted tomorrow before midnight if more than five people want it then, otherwise, Saturday night. So if you want to read it, let me know!
With each day I try to piece together another bit of the puzzle as to how I am going to create this fantastical story. First, one of my obessions, magic the gathering, a game based heavily on, well, MAGIC is where I get a lot of inspiration, not necessarily specific spells or creatures or even names, it just gets that part of my brain steaming and ready to write this. It's invigorating to play magic all day and then go home to type away at a keyboard or burn down a pencil in creating Reave's world and life.
As much as I'd like to have learned the majority of things for my novel in the outside world, the unstructured, unregimented world, I have lately gotten a lot of it in STAC. One character I had trouble with creating was Dormine, a female character who would take on a motherly role in Reave's life, but I did nit know how to convey a character that was not related yet still was a close and motherly or even just parental figure. This is where STAC came in. When we watched control, I instantly hooked onto Bela. Bela seemed to be like the parental to everyone who knew him, especially Bulscu. This was it, this was the relationship I needed to see in order to create Dormine. I needed a caring character but not one that hinders the protagonist. I needed her to guide him rather than tell him how to do things. This was beyond revolutionary for me, the character just clicked into my head and from then on I could simply not wait for the time to come when she Dormine made her first entrance.
Next came structure, again in STAC. As we studied mythic was of stoy telling and related them to movies, I saw how I could fix my work to ensnare more readers. I needed to hook them in without changing much of my story and this was perfect. I layed out my storyline along the ideas of what Luke had showed us on Tuesday and it almost fit without change, which led me to believe that I was on the right track to creating a wonderful story. This was going to be phenominal. I was so excited I could hardly breathe. From there I have been vigorously writing each day.
There still are some kinks that need working out, but I have close friends and close teachers who I'm sure can be nothing but an asset to this project of mine, and I hope to get all of my Fellow STACies as well as some others hooked onto my story. First chapter will be posted tomorrow before midnight if more than five people want it then, otherwise, Saturday night. So if you want to read it, let me know!
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