Tag: Fantasy

A Prompt Prompt

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

I’m at my parent’s house this weekend, in the Elven Forest — and the internets are a weeeee little trickle, so probably no posting today or tomorrow.

Despite my unglamorous descent into fanfiction last weekend [thanks for the trolling, Jonathan.] – I still really dig the Story on Demand each weekend. So, throw a comment on this post with a bit of micro-fiction you’d like me to write. Setting, characters, genre, any other weird little wrinkles you want to throw on top.

I had been writing the story for whoever commented FIRST. But, this time, I’ll leave it open for 12 hours or so, and just pick the one that seems the most fun.

Tear Jerker

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

EMOTIONS. DID YOU FEEL THEM?

Hiroyuki Sakai felt nothing...as expected.

It’s done, my attempt at conveying emotion. I put it all together on one page, for your editing pleasure.

Tear it apart!

Simon Garamonde and the Lady Forechance

Simon Garamonde and the Lady Forechance III

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

And then it was over.

A brace of nights, a lace of days. And the night she met him at the window, kissed his forehead and laid two fingers on his chest.

Her true lord was fair and wise, her true lord was bright and strong, her true lord was a good man.

And he had returned from the fields of battle – through pain and death, through doubt and fear.

Simon knew this man. He knew her words were true. He made himself nod, and climb back down the ivy wall.

He should have made himself smile for her. It would only have cost him everything.

A month later she was married. Simon stood in the back of the temple, and knew the agony of stone. Silent, bleak stone that can only stand.

Her husband walked her out into the sunlight, and she glanced. She smiled for him one last time, and was gone.

Simon made a promise. Simon was a promise.

Years and days and roads and mountains of stone, in the dark shadows of Iax his lips moved and spoke it again.

I will remember.

[END]

Buddy Holly

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

Reading about “fair use” and copyright law is depressing.

I completely understand the concern – as someone who wants people to give me money for my intellectual

"That'll be the day -- waoo-hoo...."

property at some point — but it’s so clutching, and grasping — little fences hammered in everywhere, and zealous wardens sharpening their blades.

And it means I can’t have Buddy Holly lyrics in my fantasy novel.

Which is a deep, abiding tragedy.

 

Simon Garamonde and the Lady Forechance II

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

These moments found him, in every corner of the world. Not every day. But some.

Turning a corner, or opening a door, or with a fork halfway to his mouth. There she would be.

Not her precisely. Just a feeling, sun-warm on his face. And he would remember the squint in the corner of her eye, and the smell of her hair, and the time she.

Artist: Sir-Fish

The time she.

Cavalier and crass, he’d pulled himself through her window. The moon burned through white curtains.

Simon Garamonde was a well-made young man, and she had laughed at his boasting – laughed at his jibes – laughed at the wine running down his chin, covering her own with a slender hand. The drink burned, and the feast hall dimmed as he promised the night.

This was not the first ivy wall he had climbed, or eager bed he had tumbled into. But this time was different.

She had expected him, pushing the curtains away with a grin. Earnest and unimpressed, she scolded him like the family cat — even as she pulled him closer.

Gold. Like gold pouring over him. Her smile and gold.

In later times, in drunken rhymes, he’d tried to explain to a few comrades. The gold. The moon and the gold. Pouring over him, and burning — but cleaning, the meaning, the cold, the gold, and the moon.

Ah, it broke him. Broke him right in two.

Empathic

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

GAH. Having quite a time working on my “emotional” piece. Normally, I’m just looking for the quickest route to a cool image, or ninja fight scene.

I don’t trust emotions in my real life — wrangling them into my writing is proving to be a hurdle.

I’ll keep working on it, and should have the next chunk up later today.

Simon Garamonde and the Lady Forechance I

G. Derek Adams1 Comment

The black halls of Iax stretched on out of view, sunflower torches seeming to absorb more light then they cast.  Simon pressed himself hard against a column, and waited for the quiet footfalls of the patrol to pass him by.

He breathed shallowly, and tried to ignore the condensation sliding down the inside of his goggles. Their

Realm of the Forest King by `lone-momo

tourmaline lenses magnified the ambient light, allowing him to move easily in the near-abyss of Iax – but the leather strap was itchy, the sweat pouring down his forehead abominable. Simon desperately wanted to rip them off, wipe the lenses and mop his forehead with a free sleeve – but the movement would instantly alert the Tyr-Elves of the passing patrol. Their eyes glowed a clammy blue in the distance. He leaned his head back against the pillar, and felt the sharp edges of the stone.

Then he thought of her.

Really, Simon? Now? You are four miles below the earth, tangling with Shadow elves –show some decorum.

Simon grinned. A magic grin with a broken piece in it.

He turned his head slowly away from the patrol, so they wouldn’t see the shine of his teeth, or the light in his eyes.

 

Emotions are hard.

G. Derek Adams10 Comments
Catbus dislikes your prose.

My beloved gave me some constructive criticism on my writing recently, and of course I handled it maturely.

Which is to say, I was dismissive, hurt -and jerked my knee REAL HARD. Rejecting what she said out of hand, and refusing to accept any remote validity to her statement.

Fifteen minutes later I realized she had a point.

Then I pouted for a day or so.

Then the crying.

And now that I’ve processed, I’m ready to obliquely admit that she had a point, a small point.

[Read: She was completely right.]

Her criticism was:

Since you write in third person exclusively, you have a tendency to not show character’s emotions. I understand that you’re trying to “show, not tell” — but I’d like to get more inside the character’s heads, and get a sense of their emotions. [Heavily paraphrased, she’s the one with the eidetic memory.]

I read back through a few pieces, and I can totally agree with this assessment. And while I’m always going to err on the side of allowing my audience to make their own conclusions about characters — I feel this is a tool I need to be able to master, because it can be extremely effective.

So, my question is: How do I do this, without my stuff sounding like a Harlequin romance?

I can’t just write “The mage was sad. Her sadness was strong, and full of more sadness.”

Can I?

Opinions, suggestions, and examples if you got ’em!

Worldbuilders: Auctions for Professional Critiques

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

One of my nerd-crushes, Pat Rothfuss, runs an excellent charity every year –raising money for Heifer International. Here’s the homepage for the Worldbuilders charity itself.

As I’m sure you all know, Pat wrote Name of the Wind and smells like cinnamon rolls at all times. He does a lot of work collecting donations from lots of published authors, and putting them up for lottery and auction via his blog — SHOW OFF.

However, one of the tastiest set of auctions every year is a brace of actual, honest-to-goodness professional critiques. All of the reviewers [including Pat himself] are industry legit – and I know there are probably several people here on WP who would be interested, and could benefit from an opportunity like this.

Remember, it’s all for charity — and if I had some scratch and a metric ton of more confidence in my unfinished manuscript of That Thing, I’d be jumping in on this hardcore.

Here’s the link: Auctions for Professional Critique.