swordBeatsPaper

Today I finally started tackling the project that is cleaning out my room. When I leave for Scotland, my mom is planning on renting out our house and going to Arizona. So, when I leave, I have to pack everything in my room, either in the suitcases that are going with me, or into boxes to be stored at my dad’s. I’m hoping to get rid of a lot of stuff. Clothes, crafts, papers, trinkets-turned-junk. But one thing I am not ready to part with is my small library of books. They are in boxes, waiting for me to find my own place one day, where I have room for a bookcase. I’m only bringing my absolute favorite books with me in September. Probably American Gods, my favorite book, plus The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Maybe The Hobbit, since it belongs with the trilogy, and maybe The Silmarillion, which I’ve been meaning to read and which could be writing inspiration. But nothing else. For now. I want to be simplistic and take as little as possible.

On the subject of writing, I have an exercise I’m going back to. I kind of talked about this before in my blog, but I feel the need to share it again. I found the notebook I started doing “morning pages” in, where you write three pages, longhand, first thing in the morning. I had started it thinking I might fill it in a month, and here it is, three years after I started it (first entry was August ’07), only half-full. I went back and read the first few entries and realized I started this notebook around the time I seriously started writing my novel. I wrote about how excited I was for my writing mentor to read my first chapter. I’m definitely keeping it, for nostalgic reasons.

So I decided to finish the notebook, since I tend to half-fill notebooks. It’s therapeutic, and a good outlet for the rambling that goes on in my head (that’s normal for writers, right?), for the strange urge I have to fill blank pages with words. Seriously, I’m a sucker for new notebooks, and clean, blank pages. When I was younger, I never knew what to write, but I was tantalized by blank pages. Now, I’ve practiced “freewriting” enough that I can ramble on about anything, any stray thought that comes to mind.

Long story short, I recommend journaling, freewriting-style. To anyone and everyone, whether you think yourself a writer or not. Let the words flow, don’t take the pen off the page until your chosen time or number of pages. For me, a simple 70-page notebook like this one is perfect. If I go out and buy some fancy, leather-bound, gold-foiled notebook, I feel like I can only write leather-bound, gold-foiled things. It hampers my creativity. Simple notebooks let me write anything at all, whether it’s crappy writing or not. Besides, then you can decorate the covers with sharpies and stickers, and you’re left with good memories.

Photo: Lame, I know. Not my own photo. But this is what I bought the other day, a 6-pack of cheap notebooks (better for you than beer, easier to fill out than abs). Red, orange, green, blue, purple, and black… I’m already considering which one I’ll use when the one I’m writing in is used up. Orange, maybe. You don’t see many orange notebooks.

I finally feel like I’m back in the swing of things. I suppose Mondays can do that. But mostly, it’s cause I’m finally getting over this cold, and this bad sunburn is starting to fade and heal. I got it a couple days ago when I stupidly forgot my skin nearly never sees the sun, and didn’t put on sunscreen, and ended up looking like a lobster. It was like having a heating pad that starts to get uncomfortably hot, but you can’t take it off.

Since I’m feeling better, I started working on my novel again. After an hour or so, I caught up to where I was at chapter seven, where I had stopped to go back and change things about my character Shea. Now I feel back on track in that regard too. Maybe I can get more done on it this summer than I think. And by the way, I’ve gotten over that minor freak-out I had in my last post about “copying” Tolkien… things are staying the way they are, for now. I just need to think up a little more history so things feel more real to me. I get a little insecure about my writing every so often. That’s normal, right?

I’m also trying to read about ten books before September, all of which you can scroll through on the left, on my Shelfari bookshelf. I’m not sure if I can get through them all, but I’m going to try. The one I’m reading now is The Old Silent, by Martha Grimes. I thought I might tell you a bit about it, since I’m really enjoying it. I got introduced to this mystery writer through my aunt. All of Martha Grimes’ books, at least in her main series, are about a detective named Richard Jury, who works for Scotland Yard in London. He goes all over England to solve muddled crimes, and they’re written with a fair bit of wit. His partner, Sergeant Wiggins, is reminiscent of Watson. Wiggins’ endearing quality is that he’s a bit of a hypochondriac, constantly thinking that he’s coming down with something, and can usually be seen opening a packet of lozenges, complaining about the weather (any weather), or eating digestive biscuits. Richard Jury’s superior, Chief Superintendent Racer, always thinks Jury’s work isn’t good enough, and is constantly trying to outwit the orange cat that hangs around his office. But he never wins. The author gives each of her characters a few quirks, which makes it very entertaining to read, and balances out the darkness of murder. This particular book in the series has quite a few tangled motives and storylines, and it might be my favorite so far. If you’re interested, the first book is called The Man With A Load Of Mischief. I highly recommend it.

Photo: The cover of The Old Silent. It’s not exactly the cover I have, since I buy Martha Grimes books for $3 or $4 at Half Price Books, and they’re usually worn old ’80s and ’90s editions, which is enjoyable in itself.

I watched a documentary about Tolkien and the adapting of the Lord of the Rings from books to film, and a realization dawned on me. For a while now, something like this has been wandering around my brain, but I haven’t yet given it serious thought. Before Tolkien, the culture and history of dwarves, elves, goblins, etc. weren’t anywhere as thought-out. They were in folktales, but there was no standard. Nowadays, ask someone what an elf looks and acts like (the tall ones, not the short Keebler ones) and if they are even slightly interested in the fantasy genre, they can tell you. Tall, elegant, graceful, peaceful, nature-folk. Tolkien essentially created these races and their histories himself  (while basing them off various peoples in history). Along with wizards and magic, they’re what people picture when you mention “fantasy.”

The trouble is, these days when someone is trying to create their own fantasy world to write about, perhaps not on the scale of Tolkien but with hope that their story can have even a taste of the depth of middle earth, there’s a big question to answer. It’s impossible to not base your creatures on something already in existence, in reality or in fiction. But is it wrong to use peoples like elves and dwarves in your world, if Tolkien created them? Is it necessary to put your own spin on them in order for your world to seem realistic, and so it doesn’t seem like you’re copying Tolkien? Or is it even better to create whole new races yourself, that have very little to do with Tolkien’s world?

Writers have taken different stands on this. In the book Green Rider by Kristen Britain, there is a race of people which humans have not seen in many years, called the eletians, which I think are very much like elves, but clearly are not called “elves” and are not exactly the same thing. Another writer, David Eddings, uses mostly humans in his stories, but they are so varied in culture from region to region that it’s like they’re different species, and it’s a very rich world.

The world I’ve created so far in my own novel has people from middle earth, like elves and dwarves and goblins, which are very close to what Tolkien envisioned. But also, I have races based on Tolkien’s but are essentially my own creations, such as craetons (based on orcs, but much different), and a sub-race of elves I call moon elves (slightly different culture and magic). I’m wondering, now, if I shouldn’t have elves and dwarves, and call “moon elves” something else. Perhaps I should have some other forest-dwelling people, maybe similar to elves, maybe more man-like, just not so clearly based on Tolkien’s world. And what about fairies, centaurs, other creatures like that? Should they be changed?

Changing my world this much will mean more altered scenes and a longer time writing. I’m already not getting as far as I wanted this summer on my second draft, even though I’m working for at least an hour every weekday. But it’s essential enough to the story that I think if I’m going to make major changes like this, it should be sooner than later, instead of waiting for a later draft. I think adding more of my own creations, more of my own created history of this world, will bring a depth and originality to my story that’s not quite there yet.

Edit: I know it’s ultimately up to me and what I feel like writing. I just wonder if it would make the story richer if I had more original world-building, and whether it’s worth the work. Probably.

What do you think?

Photo: Alan Lee’s depiction of Mirkwood. His art, along with Brian Froud’s, Amy Brown’s, and Jessica Galbreth’s, is very inspirational to me.

I don’t know about you, but my July 4th was spectacular. For the first time in many years, I was in Seattle on Lake Union to see the fireworks. I think it was the best fireworks show I’ve ever seen. Sure, there are good ones on TV; they’re even set to music. But nothing can compare to the fireworks exploding all across the sky above you, the booms so loud you can feel them. And they definitely have improved fireworks technology from the last time I saw a live show. There were some pretty incredible ones. I was very lucky to be invited with my dad to a friend’s houseboat, and at the end of the pier, we had the best front row seat. They lit the fireworks from a barge on the lake, and our view was exactly perpendicular to the barge. We could see Gas Works Park in the distance, where people were gathered and they were playing music to the fireworks, but we could barely hear it over the noise of the explosions. I sadly had decided to not bring my camera, and at times I wish I’d brought it. There’s something to be said, though, for not having to deal with a camera. To fully experience things without worrying about a mechanical device, or how the picture looks.

This Independence Day was special to me for various reasons, apart from the fireworks. I watched them with a few kids around, and that really changed the feel of things. One little boy kept asking his dad questions: “How do they make it do that?” and, “How long are these going for?” in surprised excitement. It helped me remember what it was like to be a kid and watch fireworks, how magical it was. The other thing that mad me feel warm inside was the singing. When the fireworks show was about to begin, you could hear people from other houseboats drunkenly singing the national anthem. It didn’t matter to them that it wasn’t in key. They sang with gusto. Then after the show, I could hear people singing “Happy Birthday,” inserting “America” for the name of the person. I hadn’t been around this much patriotism on the 4th in a long time, and it did make me a little more proud of our American customs. I’m not usually that much of a patriot, but that night I was. Barbecues, friends and family, big shows and pretty lights. It’s what we’re all about.

Photo: I didn’t get any shots this year of fireworks, so I dug through my pictures and found one I took last year on the 4th, over Lake Sammamish.

The color purple has been on my mind lately. Not the book, the color. My new luggage is purple, and two of the four t-shirts I bought the other day are some shade of purple. For the longest time, it was only my mom’s color, as if she owned it. Every day she wears something purple, and many days, her whole outfit is that color. She could definitely be described as “the purple lady.” If you ever see her, you’ll know why. Shoes, blazers, scarfs, you name it. For the longest time, I must have felt that wearing or using purple myself would seem like I’m copying her. I don’t have too many purple things, and I’ve affirmed many times that my favorite color is blue. I’m pretty sure it still is. But now, I’m okay to use purple. Perhaps I’m seeing purple as an awesome color in its own right, no matter what my mom thinks of it. Or, perhaps I’m subconsciously realizing that soon I will be having my big move away from home, and I want to have reminders of her around me. Probably a combination of the two.

I don’t really know why, but suddenly, three of my friends have started blogs! I feel like a trend-setter (but it’s possible this coincidence has nothing to do with me). Bear with me, I want to give each of them a short introduction. From Aardvarks to Zygotes is a sort of opinionated blog, with entries that aim to spark conversation and argument about anything and everything, not without a bit of humor. Of Masks and Martians is a blog by a friend who is very interested in actors, movies, and British TV shows, which the entires will mostly be about. Last but not least, in love and war doesn’t really have a theme, but is by a friend currently deciding between majoring in biology or English, and I expect it will be an interesting read. I send them all good wishes, because I know how hard it is to continue blogging after the coolness of beginning one wears off. I look forward to posts from all of them, but go check them out yourself!

Now, off to try to get more writing done today, alas without a coffee shop to put me in the right mood…

Happy Canada Day, and Happy July!

Photo: Between floats at the pride parade. Converse is another trend that I hope will never go out of style.

These past couple weeks I came across a snag in my writing. At first, Shea was a Knight of the Guard. Boring, right? So I changed him into a Knight of Callaghan. I gave them a backstory, and it’s not all nice things. I realized Shea is going to act differently around people because of this. This fact set me back to almost the beginning again, and I started feeling overwhelmed, like this rewrite would never get done. After meeting with my writing group last weekend, I started brainstorming a little more, understanding which questions I needed to be asking. Why does he join this group? What age is he when he joins? What role does the death of his father play in all this? What sort of tension does this create with his relationship with the main character? I realized some of my characters don’t have enough depth, and that this whole thing isn’t really a setback; it’s a deepening of character. Which always makes a good story better.

Yesterday I was able to sit down for a couple of hours and decide on my answers to these questions. More questions came up as I wrote today, but it was much easier to work through them. I just have to realize these things take time, and be glad I’m not on some kind of deadline.

I’ve been steadily plugging away at revising my novel. It hasn’t been a chapter a day like I’d hoped, more like one or two chapters a week, but I’m still getting stuff done. Yesterday I realized I didn’t like the name of the wizard in my story so I went to my trusty name website and looked for a good one. I also didn’t like the name of the magical door, so I tried looking for a name for that one, too. I’ve found a wizard name, but not one for the door yet, among other things that need new names. Names are difficult, in that I could spend hours deliberating over one. The best I can do is pick one that moderately works and keep it until someone says it sounds funny.

There’s something about baking cookies. Getting out your old favorite recipe. Buying fresh ingredients at the store. Turning up tunes you can sing along with–namely, the Beatles–while you work. Mashing the butter into little bits because you forgot to leave it out to soften. My favorite part: using a spoon to eat the rest of the dough after you put the cookies on a baking sheet. Waiting for them to bake, and smelling them when they’re ready. Finding out you accidentally put them too close together, so you have to use a knife to cut them apart, and realizing that made them gooier. Which is good. Then, of course, the hot cookie with the melty chocolatey goodness. Mmhmm. Hopefully that made you want to bake some yourself. Everything seems better after a home-baked cookie.

Yesterday I took a trip to West Seattle to be a tourist for a while, with mom. On our wanderings around town, I came across a music shop called Easy Street Records. From the outside, it felt like one of those places you don’t fit in unless you know someone or look and act a certain way. But the minute I went inside, it felt like I belonged there. It wasn’t one of those new, shiny places, but a real haven for music lovers, a place that would have “regulars” but wouldn’t cater to one particular crowd or another. A woman that worked there told me the used CDs were upstairs, and along with shelves upon shelves of some of the greatest rock and indie artists, there were all sorts of people, brought together by music. Everything from a mother and her kid to the music junkie from down the street. To top it all off, in the background they were playing my favorite CD by the Strokes, Is This It. They didn’t end up having anything I was looking for, but they did have another album by the Strokes that I’d thought about getting, Room On Fire, so I bought it. Partly to help support a great local business.

I was going to blog about volunteering for my local PAWS animal shelter, but this was on my mind… I follow Patrick Rothfuss’ blog, though I’ve never read his debut fantasy fiction novel, The Name of the Wind. It’s next on my pile of things to read. Today I read his blog entry that contained a link to a video interview of him at a London convention (I stopped after about 25 minutes, when they started giving out spoilers about his new book). I got a serious case of author envy. It took him 14 years to complete his first book, and a lot of that time was world-building, which honestly I haven’t done a lot of. From how it looked in the interview, from the first time he set out to write his story, he knew the main character. He knew that all the books in the series was a telling of his main character’s life story, and he really knew who Kvothe was. Me, I’m not so sure I know Rain very well, even though I’ve completed my first draft. How did that happen? Feeling overwhelmed now…