Kinda says it all, doesn't it? ^___^
Mood: Utterly Exhausted
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Aphorisms, Associates, Zones, & Teleologies (& Wordmeter)
Reading: The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
Redraft: Chapter 5 of 32
"An artist is he who feels that the last word of creation hasn't been spoken yet: and that he was sent into the world to utter it."
Redraft: Chapter 5 of 32
17075 / 139570
"An artist is he who feels that the last word of creation hasn't been spoken yet: and that he was sent into the world to utter it."
-- Hermann Bahr, literary critic (1863-1934)
So reads an aphorism attributed to Mr. Bahr in Geary's Guide to the World's Great Aphorists, one of the best collections of aphorisms I've come across. Instead of a hodgepodge of different aphorists cobbled together under rough headings (Love, Art, Death, etc.), Geary's organizes by the calling of the aporists, with a suitable index for subject-based searches. Bahr's quote is one of the best encapsulations of my perspective on creative writing: in many ways, it's as close to playing God as we creative types can get.
(You may note the link above contains an interesting referral code: talefromasoft-20. Yes, I've finally broken down and joined the Amazon Associates program. So if you do ever happen to find yourself interested in a product that I link to, please feel free to purchase it through the provided link; it costs you nothing, and I end up reaping a small percentage for it. Or, if you're feeling charitable, shop at Amazon through this link.)
(You may note the link above contains an interesting referral code: talefromasoft-20. Yes, I've finally broken down and joined the Amazon Associates program. So if you do ever happen to find yourself interested in a product that I link to, please feel free to purchase it through the provided link; it costs you nothing, and I end up reaping a small percentage for it. Or, if you're feeling charitable, shop at Amazon through this link.)
*
One of the subject blogs that I occasionally visit is Moleskinerie.com--essentially, a blog centering around that famous little black notebook, new and exciting iterations of it, and the various uses different people find for it. Moleskinerie linked to another blog called The Writer's Bag, on which I disovered an article about getting into the writing "zone."
Essentially, the "zone" is where you become so involved in the piece you're writing that time seems to stand still: one moment, you're setting down to write after lunch, and several pages later, you realize the sun's gone down, and your stomach is growling for some dinner. Despite being somewhat distraction-prone, I've eased myself into such a state a few times while writing my first draft (though not as often as I would have liked), and I last touched upon that zone while revamping the second half of Chapter 3. Since then, my other summer obligations proved too much of a distraction for me to find my way there again.
My solution? Well, I'm actually writing it right now. Putting down these words is a great segueway for me; once I have a rhythm here, it's rather easy to transpose that momentum to the fiction writing front. Another tried-and-true source of writerly momentum is reading a really good book; in fact, the zoneful progress on Chapter 3 was due in part to my reading the Nightrunner series at the time. Nothing seems to whet my appetite for my own imagined milieu like submerging myself in the milieu of another, and the better the experience, the more powerful the drive. In my estimation, Flewelling is something of a master when it comes to pacing, so much so that often times within a hundred pages of the book's end my plan actually backfired, in that I couldn't bear to tear myself away from the story to go and work on my own. Jordan's book has a more bucolic opening, which has at the same time allowed me to sip the story rather than chug it, but also kept me from reaching the zoneful state that I want to.
Which brings me back to this entry. If inspiration won't come to you, then you'd better be prepared to track it down yourself.
Essentially, the "zone" is where you become so involved in the piece you're writing that time seems to stand still: one moment, you're setting down to write after lunch, and several pages later, you realize the sun's gone down, and your stomach is growling for some dinner. Despite being somewhat distraction-prone, I've eased myself into such a state a few times while writing my first draft (though not as often as I would have liked), and I last touched upon that zone while revamping the second half of Chapter 3. Since then, my other summer obligations proved too much of a distraction for me to find my way there again.
My solution? Well, I'm actually writing it right now. Putting down these words is a great segueway for me; once I have a rhythm here, it's rather easy to transpose that momentum to the fiction writing front. Another tried-and-true source of writerly momentum is reading a really good book; in fact, the zoneful progress on Chapter 3 was due in part to my reading the Nightrunner series at the time. Nothing seems to whet my appetite for my own imagined milieu like submerging myself in the milieu of another, and the better the experience, the more powerful the drive. In my estimation, Flewelling is something of a master when it comes to pacing, so much so that often times within a hundred pages of the book's end my plan actually backfired, in that I couldn't bear to tear myself away from the story to go and work on my own. Jordan's book has a more bucolic opening, which has at the same time allowed me to sip the story rather than chug it, but also kept me from reaching the zoneful state that I want to.
Which brings me back to this entry. If inspiration won't come to you, then you'd better be prepared to track it down yourself.
*
While I'm in a reflective mood, I thought it might be a good time to mull over some of the reasons for my recent change of heart regarding the practice of law. I think of life changes as a change in teleologies: swapping one final end for another in the midst of one's journey. I've made a few admissions up to this point, but a few others should join them.
One, I've been hearing (and ignoring) a call toward fiction writing for a long time now. My law school experience has taught me that one should pursue the things that one is passionate about, rather than those things that one finds tolerable or mildly interesting. Mildly interesting is how I would describe my relationship with the law; I find its intricacies intreguing on an intellectual level, but it does not move me, spiritually or emotionally, in the way I've seen certain areas move others at the law school, professors and peers alike.
It would be one thing if nothing moved me; that would mean that I'm still searching, and some people have to search for their passions longer than others. But it is quite another when I find my attention drifting to storywriting in every unguarded moment, when I realize that I could writing for twelve hours a day (as some others gladly toil on their passions) and never consider it work (though at it's core, good writing always is). That is where your passion lies: where you would gladly do what others consider to be "work" every day for the rest of your life. Not because the task is easy--in fact, passion and ease strike me as two diametrically opposed concepts; it is in agon that our truest passions are full-born. Such conflict rarely arises in a life devoid of challenges--a life of ease.
Two, I forsook the path of a writer because I too greatly feared the archetype of the starving artist. Many who attempt to make a living as an artist fail in the attempt, if not for lack of artistic talent then for the inability to generate a proper income. In this light, I always viewed legal practice as a kind of safety net; even if my writerly pursuit refused to bear fruit, at least I'd still be able to pay the bills. In this, I neglected the biblical adage that one cannot serve two masters; one will inevitably spurn one, and adore the other. Beyond that, each master deserves his servant's undivided attention; in seeking to compartmentalize writing and practice alongside one another, I inevitably would have neglected both. It wouldn't have been fair to my clients if I labored on my writing in place of work product. Nor would it have been honorable to join a firm who welcomed me as a potential new partner, only to spurn their interest and investment the moment that writing alone proved itself viable. As I waited for the last of the OCI employers to make their decisions last fall, I wondered if I would have to place myself in the awkward position of turning down a summer offer not because I had already accepted another, but because my heart was no longer in it. (No refusal is quite the slap to the face as "No, thank you, but I no longer have the heart to become what you already are.") But perhaps the firms saw something in me that I myself didn't until many weeks later, as none of them chose to place me in that awkward position. (Now that I think about it, I did pray, prior to the OCIs, that I would receive no offers but the one that was right for me. Of course, at the time when I prayed it, I assumed that my rightful place lay among the firms I met with.)
Although it pains me to admit it, a third reason for my change in outlook is what I discerned laid among my motivations for pursuing a legal career in the first place. I am by nature a very insecure person (though I suppose such is true of everyone, to one extent or another), and so part of my reasons for seeking to become a lawyer lay in the prestige and accolades that come with establishing oneself as a pillar of the legal community. Such impetus does not a meaningful career make, and it horrified me to realize that, once I stripped this prize away, the remaining rewards of private legal practice seemed, at least to the bias of my eye, paltry indeed.
I note with regret that I have rarely taken much wisdom first hand from sermons in my time, despite a life-long faith in Christianity. Much of my personal theology was forged in silent communion with my Creator, so perhaps it should be no surprise that many of the lessons that strike other parishioners as epiphanies are often to me things heard at least once before. Nevertheless, in my recent decision the testimony of one pastor stood as a cautionary tale for me, one that barred a path that I, if not forewarned, might have taken, never realizing that it was a detour until many years down the road. He was once a lawyer himself, and a judge after that, before he was called to serve as a pastor. Once of the greatest vices he had to overcome was his own hubris, his pride in the vestments and authority of his position. They say that Wisdom teaches gently, though her lessons can only be gleaned by those who are willing to listen. Experience teaches those who cannot, and though she is a harsher instructor, she is equally effective. By that pastor's testimony, I like to think that my ears were perked up just enough to hear Wisdom's gentle whisperings, before Experience could step in to take her toll.
Pride and the other Seven Sins--and in truth, all of human emotion, both good and ill--are strangely conflicted things. The most timid and doubtful among us are, paradoxically, often times just as prideful as those who boast of their virtues like crows cawing in the chill of the night. To a great extent, it is the secret pride harbored within our hearts--the belief that we are better than others, and the associated desire to live up to those expectations--that impels us to keep silent sometimes when we alone know the answer, for fear that, once uttered, our convictions will be proven wrong. In this way does pride often abide strongest in those who seem the most abject; it is pride that shames them in the most casual of missteps, a belief that they should be far better that makes them obsess over the mistake. In the same way, pride itself is born of insecurity: intrinsic to the belief that one is better than another is the doubt, the fear that one in fact is not. Pride, then, is not an end in of itself, but a byproduct of a desperate, voracious need for validation.
It is the same for the other Seven: Sloth is born of a need for convictions; without them, one collapses in on oneself. Lust, in turn, is born of desperation for love. Greed, for sufficiency. Gluttony, for satiation. Envy, for fulfillment. Wrath, for understanding.
Even my newly chosen path is not devoid of dangers. Pride can enter the heart of any writer who muses that his prose could bring Shakespeare to his knees; envy festers at the heart of every author who covets the success, financial or otherwise, of the fortunate and gifted few like Stephen King and J.K. Rowling. But passion--love for the craft itself, and the creations that spring forth from it--can conquer even the mightiest of the Seven, if one pursues it for a purpose greater than one's own.
For me, that purpose is inextricably bound with the great intention I perceive in every stitch of the manifold tapestry of existence, the gentle touch of the Creator imbued in every living moment. For others, it need not be couched in the same religious or metaphysical terms. But I suspect the underlying conviction is largely the same. As for me, as I cast my mind's eye over the sum total of creation, I know that I am but the tiniest cog in a monumental machine whose ultimate end I may never fully see. Nevertheless, there is a place appointed for me within the construct; there is a role that I must fulfill.
And I, a cog gifted with the power to decide whether to turn or not, choose to do so willingly.
One, I've been hearing (and ignoring) a call toward fiction writing for a long time now. My law school experience has taught me that one should pursue the things that one is passionate about, rather than those things that one finds tolerable or mildly interesting. Mildly interesting is how I would describe my relationship with the law; I find its intricacies intreguing on an intellectual level, but it does not move me, spiritually or emotionally, in the way I've seen certain areas move others at the law school, professors and peers alike.
It would be one thing if nothing moved me; that would mean that I'm still searching, and some people have to search for their passions longer than others. But it is quite another when I find my attention drifting to storywriting in every unguarded moment, when I realize that I could writing for twelve hours a day (as some others gladly toil on their passions) and never consider it work (though at it's core, good writing always is). That is where your passion lies: where you would gladly do what others consider to be "work" every day for the rest of your life. Not because the task is easy--in fact, passion and ease strike me as two diametrically opposed concepts; it is in agon that our truest passions are full-born. Such conflict rarely arises in a life devoid of challenges--a life of ease.
Two, I forsook the path of a writer because I too greatly feared the archetype of the starving artist. Many who attempt to make a living as an artist fail in the attempt, if not for lack of artistic talent then for the inability to generate a proper income. In this light, I always viewed legal practice as a kind of safety net; even if my writerly pursuit refused to bear fruit, at least I'd still be able to pay the bills. In this, I neglected the biblical adage that one cannot serve two masters; one will inevitably spurn one, and adore the other. Beyond that, each master deserves his servant's undivided attention; in seeking to compartmentalize writing and practice alongside one another, I inevitably would have neglected both. It wouldn't have been fair to my clients if I labored on my writing in place of work product. Nor would it have been honorable to join a firm who welcomed me as a potential new partner, only to spurn their interest and investment the moment that writing alone proved itself viable. As I waited for the last of the OCI employers to make their decisions last fall, I wondered if I would have to place myself in the awkward position of turning down a summer offer not because I had already accepted another, but because my heart was no longer in it. (No refusal is quite the slap to the face as "No, thank you, but I no longer have the heart to become what you already are.") But perhaps the firms saw something in me that I myself didn't until many weeks later, as none of them chose to place me in that awkward position. (Now that I think about it, I did pray, prior to the OCIs, that I would receive no offers but the one that was right for me. Of course, at the time when I prayed it, I assumed that my rightful place lay among the firms I met with.)
Although it pains me to admit it, a third reason for my change in outlook is what I discerned laid among my motivations for pursuing a legal career in the first place. I am by nature a very insecure person (though I suppose such is true of everyone, to one extent or another), and so part of my reasons for seeking to become a lawyer lay in the prestige and accolades that come with establishing oneself as a pillar of the legal community. Such impetus does not a meaningful career make, and it horrified me to realize that, once I stripped this prize away, the remaining rewards of private legal practice seemed, at least to the bias of my eye, paltry indeed.
I note with regret that I have rarely taken much wisdom first hand from sermons in my time, despite a life-long faith in Christianity. Much of my personal theology was forged in silent communion with my Creator, so perhaps it should be no surprise that many of the lessons that strike other parishioners as epiphanies are often to me things heard at least once before. Nevertheless, in my recent decision the testimony of one pastor stood as a cautionary tale for me, one that barred a path that I, if not forewarned, might have taken, never realizing that it was a detour until many years down the road. He was once a lawyer himself, and a judge after that, before he was called to serve as a pastor. Once of the greatest vices he had to overcome was his own hubris, his pride in the vestments and authority of his position. They say that Wisdom teaches gently, though her lessons can only be gleaned by those who are willing to listen. Experience teaches those who cannot, and though she is a harsher instructor, she is equally effective. By that pastor's testimony, I like to think that my ears were perked up just enough to hear Wisdom's gentle whisperings, before Experience could step in to take her toll.
Pride and the other Seven Sins--and in truth, all of human emotion, both good and ill--are strangely conflicted things. The most timid and doubtful among us are, paradoxically, often times just as prideful as those who boast of their virtues like crows cawing in the chill of the night. To a great extent, it is the secret pride harbored within our hearts--the belief that we are better than others, and the associated desire to live up to those expectations--that impels us to keep silent sometimes when we alone know the answer, for fear that, once uttered, our convictions will be proven wrong. In this way does pride often abide strongest in those who seem the most abject; it is pride that shames them in the most casual of missteps, a belief that they should be far better that makes them obsess over the mistake. In the same way, pride itself is born of insecurity: intrinsic to the belief that one is better than another is the doubt, the fear that one in fact is not. Pride, then, is not an end in of itself, but a byproduct of a desperate, voracious need for validation.
It is the same for the other Seven: Sloth is born of a need for convictions; without them, one collapses in on oneself. Lust, in turn, is born of desperation for love. Greed, for sufficiency. Gluttony, for satiation. Envy, for fulfillment. Wrath, for understanding.
Even my newly chosen path is not devoid of dangers. Pride can enter the heart of any writer who muses that his prose could bring Shakespeare to his knees; envy festers at the heart of every author who covets the success, financial or otherwise, of the fortunate and gifted few like Stephen King and J.K. Rowling. But passion--love for the craft itself, and the creations that spring forth from it--can conquer even the mightiest of the Seven, if one pursues it for a purpose greater than one's own.
For me, that purpose is inextricably bound with the great intention I perceive in every stitch of the manifold tapestry of existence, the gentle touch of the Creator imbued in every living moment. For others, it need not be couched in the same religious or metaphysical terms. But I suspect the underlying conviction is largely the same. As for me, as I cast my mind's eye over the sum total of creation, I know that I am but the tiniest cog in a monumental machine whose ultimate end I may never fully see. Nevertheless, there is a place appointed for me within the construct; there is a role that I must fulfill.
And I, a cog gifted with the power to decide whether to turn or not, choose to do so willingly.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Wordmeter & Tamir
Read: Lynn Flewelling, The Bone Doll's Twin, Hidden Warrior, & The Oracle's Queen
Reading: Lynn Flewelling, Luck in the Shadows
Redraft: Chapter . . . 4 of 32 (There's a reason for this. See below.)
After two years, it's officially back:
The blue bar represents the number of words in my novel that have passed from first to second draft. The current word count represents the first three chapter's worth. The second number was the final word count of the first draft--without a doubt, the word count will shift as I bring the book from first to second draft.
(Incidentally, if you look at the picture of my desk in the last post, you'll see a large stack of paper on the shelf beside the laptop, bound by three very large rings. That's the manuscript as it was at the time.)
Between the last post and this one, I actually worked my way into the beginning of the new Chapter 5, but quickly fell into a quagmire. The set up I'd used in the first draft was holey to begin with, but I'd sloshed through it simply to get to the good parts, and also to get the bloody thing finished. With the redraft, it's time to pay the piper, and had to bash my head against the first bit of writer's block I've had since starting the redraft. It seems that my abilities have grown a bit since the last time the block and I met, because it only waylaid my progress for a single evening. The price of my solution, however, was rewriting much of my redraft, starting with middle of Chapter 2, and the whole of Chapters 3 and 4. I put the final period mark on the new Chapter 3 this weekend, and work had me occupied until this evening, so I'll set pen to paper (OK, fingers to keyboard) tonight. I'll post another wordmeter once Chapter 4 is squared away again.
As I've mentioned before, my goal is to have a second draft complete by this October, so I write a fresh 50,000 words' worth of the second book as a part of NaNoWriMo 2008 in November. Law school, work, and other non-noveling responsibilities be damned. I'm adding another goal to the pile, however: by the end of Summer 2009 (which will include the bar exam, happy happy joy joy), I'll have the first book in as good a shape as I can manage myself, and then it'll be time to call upon my early readers. (You know who you are; and if you want to be, just drop me a line.)
I've told only one other person so far, but these books are a part of a currently three- to four-book series, with two prequel novels also planned. Each will be stand-alone (though truth be told, for what I envision the 3rd book to be, that may not be easy), so hopefully, if I can get any one of the group published, the others will have a fighting chance as well.
Reading: Lynn Flewelling, Luck in the Shadows
Redraft: Chapter . . . 4 of 32 (There's a reason for this. See below.)
After two years, it's officially back:
13474 / 139570
The blue bar represents the number of words in my novel that have passed from first to second draft. The current word count represents the first three chapter's worth. The second number was the final word count of the first draft--without a doubt, the word count will shift as I bring the book from first to second draft.
(Incidentally, if you look at the picture of my desk in the last post, you'll see a large stack of paper on the shelf beside the laptop, bound by three very large rings. That's the manuscript as it was at the time.)
Between the last post and this one, I actually worked my way into the beginning of the new Chapter 5, but quickly fell into a quagmire. The set up I'd used in the first draft was holey to begin with, but I'd sloshed through it simply to get to the good parts, and also to get the bloody thing finished. With the redraft, it's time to pay the piper, and had to bash my head against the first bit of writer's block I've had since starting the redraft. It seems that my abilities have grown a bit since the last time the block and I met, because it only waylaid my progress for a single evening. The price of my solution, however, was rewriting much of my redraft, starting with middle of Chapter 2, and the whole of Chapters 3 and 4. I put the final period mark on the new Chapter 3 this weekend, and work had me occupied until this evening, so I'll set pen to paper (OK, fingers to keyboard) tonight. I'll post another wordmeter once Chapter 4 is squared away again.
As I've mentioned before, my goal is to have a second draft complete by this October, so I write a fresh 50,000 words' worth of the second book as a part of NaNoWriMo 2008 in November. Law school, work, and other non-noveling responsibilities be damned. I'm adding another goal to the pile, however: by the end of Summer 2009 (which will include the bar exam, happy happy joy joy), I'll have the first book in as good a shape as I can manage myself, and then it'll be time to call upon my early readers. (You know who you are; and if you want to be, just drop me a line.)
I've told only one other person so far, but these books are a part of a currently three- to four-book series, with two prequel novels also planned. Each will be stand-alone (though truth be told, for what I envision the 3rd book to be, that may not be easy), so hopefully, if I can get any one of the group published, the others will have a fighting chance as well.
*
After I vowed to reread a bunch of the best books that I read last year, I went back and read a book that I bought in 2006 but never got around to: The Bone Doll's Twin, by Lynn Flewelling. Three days later, I'd gone back to the bookstore, and finished the following two books in the "Tamir Triad," Hidden Warrior and The Oracle's Queen.
Bone Doll finds Flewelling at a transitional phase in her writing prowess, I think. The first few chapters are passable, interesting, with a well-fleshed out milieu, but lack the polished prose that I've come to expect of first-tier speculative fiction. By the middle of the book, she seems to find her stride, and, though I picked up the book with the intent of redeeming myself for my Mistborn binge and learning Stephen King's lesson about reading both in big gulps and little sips, I couldn't put the book down, and rocketed to buy the other two books the moment the store opened. Reading the other books back to back, it was an exhausting but transcendent experience, highly recommended to anyone, fantasy fan or otherwise.
The premise is an interesting one: "For three centuries a divine prophecy and a line of warrior queens protected Skala. But the people grew complacent and Erius, a usurper king, claimed his young half sister's throne. Now plague and drought stalk the land, war with Skala's ancient rival Penimar drains the country's lifeblood, and to be born female into the royal line has become a death sentence as the king fights to ensure the succession of his only heir, a son. For King Erius the greatest threat comes from his own line--and from Illior's faithful, who spread the Oracle's words to a doubting populace.
"As noblewomen young and old perish mysterious, the king's nephew--his sister's only child--grows toward manhood. But unbeknownst to the king or the boy, strange, haunted Tobin is the princess's daughter, given male form by a dark magic to protect her until she can claim her rightful destiny. Only Tobin's noble father, two wizards of Illior, and an outlawed forest witch know the truth. Only they can protect young Tobin from a king's wrath, a mother's madness, and the terrifying rage of her brother's demon spirit, determined to avenge his brutal murder . . ."
The trilogy sees Tobin-cum-Tamir grow from a frightened, isolated boy to the warrior queen she was destined to be, and is filled with memorable and wonderfully rounded characters. But the interaction between Tamir and Ki, the low-born knight's son chosen as her companion, is where the story truly shines. As boys they are the fastest friends, brothers in all but blood, but once her true self is revealed, the nature of their relationship necessarily changes along with it. A beautifully written tale, the only thing I can really cite against it is that the first book ends without real resolution, almost necessitating the purchase of the following book or two.
There is much I can learn from Flewelling, so she now joins the pantheon of other authors whose works serve as much-needed lighthouses for me as I navigate my own work to its intended port of call. Because I still haven't had enough, I'm working through her Nightrunner series, which is thankfully set in the same world as the Tamir trilogy, though several centuries later. I'm currently on the first book, and have two more to tide me over until the fourth is released at the end of this month. After that (or in the interim between third book and fourth), I've broken down and purchased the first book of Rober Jordan's The Wheel of Time epic, The Eye of the World, and have queued George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series as well.
Bone Doll finds Flewelling at a transitional phase in her writing prowess, I think. The first few chapters are passable, interesting, with a well-fleshed out milieu, but lack the polished prose that I've come to expect of first-tier speculative fiction. By the middle of the book, she seems to find her stride, and, though I picked up the book with the intent of redeeming myself for my Mistborn binge and learning Stephen King's lesson about reading both in big gulps and little sips, I couldn't put the book down, and rocketed to buy the other two books the moment the store opened. Reading the other books back to back, it was an exhausting but transcendent experience, highly recommended to anyone, fantasy fan or otherwise.
The premise is an interesting one: "For three centuries a divine prophecy and a line of warrior queens protected Skala. But the people grew complacent and Erius, a usurper king, claimed his young half sister's throne. Now plague and drought stalk the land, war with Skala's ancient rival Penimar drains the country's lifeblood, and to be born female into the royal line has become a death sentence as the king fights to ensure the succession of his only heir, a son. For King Erius the greatest threat comes from his own line--and from Illior's faithful, who spread the Oracle's words to a doubting populace.
"As noblewomen young and old perish mysterious, the king's nephew--his sister's only child--grows toward manhood. But unbeknownst to the king or the boy, strange, haunted Tobin is the princess's daughter, given male form by a dark magic to protect her until she can claim her rightful destiny. Only Tobin's noble father, two wizards of Illior, and an outlawed forest witch know the truth. Only they can protect young Tobin from a king's wrath, a mother's madness, and the terrifying rage of her brother's demon spirit, determined to avenge his brutal murder . . ."
The trilogy sees Tobin-cum-Tamir grow from a frightened, isolated boy to the warrior queen she was destined to be, and is filled with memorable and wonderfully rounded characters. But the interaction between Tamir and Ki, the low-born knight's son chosen as her companion, is where the story truly shines. As boys they are the fastest friends, brothers in all but blood, but once her true self is revealed, the nature of their relationship necessarily changes along with it. A beautifully written tale, the only thing I can really cite against it is that the first book ends without real resolution, almost necessitating the purchase of the following book or two.
There is much I can learn from Flewelling, so she now joins the pantheon of other authors whose works serve as much-needed lighthouses for me as I navigate my own work to its intended port of call. Because I still haven't had enough, I'm working through her Nightrunner series, which is thankfully set in the same world as the Tamir trilogy, though several centuries later. I'm currently on the first book, and have two more to tide me over until the fourth is released at the end of this month. After that (or in the interim between third book and fourth), I've broken down and purchased the first book of Rober Jordan's The Wheel of Time epic, The Eye of the World, and have queued George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series as well.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Dereliction of Duties, Stupidity Surpluses, and Can You Speak English?
Reading: First Among Sequels, Jasper Fforde; The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss; By Cunning & Craft: Sound Advice and Practical Wisdom for Fiction Writers, Peter Selgin
Read: The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, Sandra Scofield; Hooked: Grab Readers at Page One, Les Edgerton; The Princess and the Hound, Mette Ivie Harrison
Listening to: Sayonara Mo Ienakatta Natsu, Mikuni Shimokawa
Watching: Cool Japan, Eigo De Shabera Naito, Salaryman Neo, Jamie At Home, Glutton For Punishment, Chef At Large
Finally, Salaryman Neo is the most ambitious of my NHK lineup, since it is completely in Japanese. Neo is a kind of Saturday Night Live, Japanese salaryman style, transfixingly watchable (and, surprisingly, understandable) even if half of what is said flies right over my head.
(In case anyone was curious, Jamie at Home, Glutton for Punishment, and Chef at Large are not Japanese TV shows; they're from Food Network Canada. Jamie at Home is Jamie Oliver's take on the Chef at Home concept; Glutton for Punishment is a new series by the "Surreal Gourmet," Bob Blumer; and Chef at Large is Canadian chef Michael Smith's flagship TV show, where he goes about North America and present a particular place or event in each episode. I'm just as addicted to cooking shows as I am Anime and Japanese culture!)
Read: The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, Sandra Scofield; Hooked: Grab Readers at Page One, Les Edgerton; The Princess and the Hound, Mette Ivie Harrison
Listening to: Sayonara Mo Ienakatta Natsu, Mikuni Shimokawa
Watching: Cool Japan, Eigo De Shabera Naito, Salaryman Neo, Jamie At Home, Glutton For Punishment, Chef At Large
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Eigo De Shabera Naito works under the premise of helping viewers to learn English, so I suppose it is ironic that I'm watching it to brush up my Japanese! Hosted by a number of Japanese personalities and one American transplant (who, interestingly enough, forms one half of the Japanese comedy team Pakkun and Makkun), the mixed language format of the show helps immensely for Japanese-challenged viewers like myself to understand the exchanges.Yes, I realize that despite my previous vow to post as often as possible, it has been two months since my last post. Moreover, I notice that I set the lofty goal of having my first set of substantive revisions to Book One by July 1st--to which I say, as I am embroiled in the process of rewriting chapter 1 for the fourth time, "Hah!" My recent writerly readings have opened my eyes to the weaknesses in my previous writing, and so the task falls to me now, with roughly five weeks of my summer remaining, to get as much revision as possible done before the Fall semester. Those who I asked to be first readers: your patience is greatly appreciated! I hope you'll still be willing to read the polished product when it finally leaves the assembly line.
A lot has happened since the last post, so perhaps some can be forgiven. I'm still waiting to learn whether or not I made law review or the Asian law journal; and at the eleventh hour, I managed to swap out my plan to take two courses at the law school for a summer externship with a judge at the First Circuit courthouse. Working in a criminal court has opened my eyes to both the litigation process and the role of the judiciary in dispensing with criminal offenders. And the fact that I'll be getting four juicy credits to shave off of my dreaded 2L Spring semester only sweetens the deal.
A lot has happened since the last post, so perhaps some can be forgiven. I'm still waiting to learn whether or not I made law review or the Asian law journal; and at the eleventh hour, I managed to swap out my plan to take two courses at the law school for a summer externship with a judge at the First Circuit courthouse. Working in a criminal court has opened my eyes to both the litigation process and the role of the judiciary in dispensing with criminal offenders. And the fact that I'll be getting four juicy credits to shave off of my dreaded 2L Spring semester only sweetens the deal.
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As was the case with Something Rotten, I enlisted the help of Amazon.co.uk to get the British printing of First Among Sequels roughly half a month earlier than its US release--and with the vastly superior UK cover art to boot! My only regret is that I had to purchase the book at a time where the British Pound was at an all-time high against the US dollar--7 quid and 78 p plus shipping ended up costing me nearly $29! But dear old Jasper appears to be at his usual game in Sequels (or so the first few pages would have me believe), so all's well that ends well, I suppose. I'll give a spoiler-free review when it's finished.
Jasper has managed to waylay my progress on the monstrous tomb entitled The Name of the Wind, a book highly recommended by OSC, and, given the quality of the opening pages, rightfully so. As long as the book is, I'm seriously concerned that the moment I start investing concerted amounts of time into reading it, it will take hold and not let go until I've finished it--a dangerous prospect, when I have court-related duties, ELP projects, and my own rewrites to perform. I'll use Thursday Next to test the waters; if I can manage to go through Sequels without compromising my other responsibilities, then I'll feel more confident about taking on this behemoth.
Mette Ivie Harrison--the author behind the delightful Mira, Mirror--showcases her strong grasp of the storytelling art in The Princess and the Hound, a splendid first book for what appears to be, at least at the moment, a duology. I was deeply interested in reading the book as OSC described it as having an unexpected ending that was nonetheless completely true to the characters and events in the story, a feat that I hope to achieve in my own writing. And the best method of learning a skill--be it cooking, litigating, or fiction writing--is by observation and rote practice. In this regard, The Princess and the Hound is not only a fine example of well-crafted fantasy, but a signpost for the growing writer, reading "This way: the proper way to conduct an ending." Utterly accessible and extremely addictive--this was a book with the fore-mentioned can't-put-down quality--it is highly recommended.
Jasper has managed to waylay my progress on the monstrous tomb entitled The Name of the Wind, a book highly recommended by OSC, and, given the quality of the opening pages, rightfully so. As long as the book is, I'm seriously concerned that the moment I start investing concerted amounts of time into reading it, it will take hold and not let go until I've finished it--a dangerous prospect, when I have court-related duties, ELP projects, and my own rewrites to perform. I'll use Thursday Next to test the waters; if I can manage to go through Sequels without compromising my other responsibilities, then I'll feel more confident about taking on this behemoth.
Mette Ivie Harrison--the author behind the delightful Mira, Mirror--showcases her strong grasp of the storytelling art in The Princess and the Hound, a splendid first book for what appears to be, at least at the moment, a duology. I was deeply interested in reading the book as OSC described it as having an unexpected ending that was nonetheless completely true to the characters and events in the story, a feat that I hope to achieve in my own writing. And the best method of learning a skill--be it cooking, litigating, or fiction writing--is by observation and rote practice. In this regard, The Princess and the Hound is not only a fine example of well-crafted fantasy, but a signpost for the growing writer, reading "This way: the proper way to conduct an ending." Utterly accessible and extremely addictive--this was a book with the fore-mentioned can't-put-down quality--it is highly recommended.
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My online sources have directed me toward three pieces of Japanese television (all from NHK) that have become weekly indulgences of mine: Cool Japan, Eigo De Shabera Naito, and Salaryman Neo.
Cool Japan has something of a conceited premise to it: it seeks out to discover "cool" aspects of Japanese culture as viewed by foreigners. Each week a multinational panel is assembled to discuss their findings on the weekly theme ("communication," "lunch time," and "Owarai" have been three recent themes). The common language between the foreigners is English, while the hosts and others speak in Japanese, so it's a bit easier to follow than a purely Japanese-speaking talk show, and occasionally it has something truly cool to show for itself. Other times, I can see quite clearly that the conscripted foreigners apply the "cool" label to a particular finding only under a certain level of friendly Japanese duress.
Cool Japan has something of a conceited premise to it: it seeks out to discover "cool" aspects of Japanese culture as viewed by foreigners. Each week a multinational panel is assembled to discuss their findings on the weekly theme ("communication," "lunch time," and "Owarai" have been three recent themes). The common language between the foreigners is English, while the hosts and others speak in Japanese, so it's a bit easier to follow than a purely Japanese-speaking talk show, and occasionally it has something truly cool to show for itself. Other times, I can see quite clearly that the conscripted foreigners apply the "cool" label to a particular finding only under a certain level of friendly Japanese duress.
Finally, Salaryman Neo is the most ambitious of my NHK lineup, since it is completely in Japanese. Neo is a kind of Saturday Night Live, Japanese salaryman style, transfixingly watchable (and, surprisingly, understandable) even if half of what is said flies right over my head.
(In case anyone was curious, Jamie at Home, Glutton for Punishment, and Chef at Large are not Japanese TV shows; they're from Food Network Canada. Jamie at Home is Jamie Oliver's take on the Chef at Home concept; Glutton for Punishment is a new series by the "Surreal Gourmet," Bob Blumer; and Chef at Large is Canadian chef Michael Smith's flagship TV show, where he goes about North America and present a particular place or event in each episode. I'm just as addicted to cooking shows as I am Anime and Japanese culture!)
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Well, that's it for this post. I might take the time to adapt some of my externship journal entries for future posts. As always--stay tuned!
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