Tag: writing

Mercy

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

Mercy.

Have you ever thought about that word, Servant of Light?

What it really means?

It means you are greater than I. That you forgive me, that you spare me — that you deem me suitable to exist. That you alone are equipped to know what is Just, and Right. You are the arbiter of the universe, and anything that you do not understand, or fear is worthy of destruction, but through your infinite mercy you will allow me to draw another breath in this world. That anything that is not like you is wrong, is contemptible, is evil.

Is it any wonder we want to destroy you?

That you, a child in this world – given only a few spare years of thought and life, can stand there before a being that has known and experienced more time than you could dare to even conceive, and have the temerity to judge me?

Long ago, before we came to this world, before the world before that, and the world before that — when we were first created in the very cauldron of the Beginning. Each being was given a choice. Will you Serve, or will you Destroy?

I think you know what me and my brethren chose. We are the Hounds of Necessity, the Storm Undying. We are required, we are in the bones of creation — I serve a far greater purpose in this universe than you could possibly imagine, I am EVIL, Servant of Light. And I am old, and I forget nothing and regret nothing. Do you know what Hell is, little thing? Hell is never forgetting, Hell is enduring, and Hell is dreaming of the day when you can break every piece of your disgusting little world, and all of the self-righteous false mercy that it holds.

To prove you false, to show your true selves – stripped of all your lies and empty hopes.

You are all animals, and I will not be judged by the mouse who offers me a crumb of his precious cheese.

So, no. I don’t want your mercy. And I promise you, there will come a day when you will understand the deepest well of my heart.

You all will.

–The King of Open and Shut

DragonCon

G. Derek Adams13 Comments

 

Once upon a time, I had certain delusions. Delusions that I would finish my book, and have nice shiny copies to hand out to random people at DragonCon. I had this really elaborate ARG I was going to set up, and it would become a viral sensation — securing my place in publishing, and I could quit my job and eat Hot Pockets on my couch forever.

So yeah, I’m still editing, so that isn’t going to happen.

But, I will be at DragonCon! Who else is going to be there?

If you can find me, and mention Spell/Sword I will be fucking shocked — and immediately anoint you as the first Slaughter Wizards of the nascent swordpunk fandom.

Bad Idea

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

The adventurers stood around in stunned silence, as the illusory image of the Red Wizard faded from view. The strange machine chuffed quietly, working it’s unknown program through the pipes and gears that extended into the stone ceiling out of view. The simple glass decanter sat on the desk, a third full of a blue liquid that glowed slightly – a shade of blue that no one could ever remember seeing before.

The words of Korthan Zul seemed to hang in the air, repeated in the stunned memory of the Lodestar crew.

“My disciples, how glad am I that you have made your way to my inner sanctum. Only

Artist – Killian Eng

you have proven worthy to glimpse the greatest expression of my power — my mastery over Time Itself.

I stand now on the brink of total domination of the world. The Scepter is in my hands, my armies are strong and vicious, and the pitiful forces of Good are a spineless rabble. But…there is always a but. Even I cannot plan for all the strange storms of the Future, so here I have prepared a doorway into the calm seas of the Past.

If the worst should occur, and I should fall – take this liquid that you see behind you. I have built a machine, that distills the very essence of Time. Drops stolen from the river. One swallow will take you anywhere in Time you choose. Go. Go back before the moment of my defeat, and bring the knowledge I will need to triumph.

Do not fail me. Evil never forgets. It Begins Again – It Endures Forever”

The loris, Mr. Wuzzles crawled down from his place on Carbunkle’s shoulder and wrapped himself around the gnome, pinning his arms with fuzzy insistence.

“Do. Not. Touch.” the loris said sternly

With friends like these…

G. Derek Adams4 Comments

Two more of my Alpha Readers gave me their criticism on the book, and I’m still picking the shrapnel out of my ego. I picked my first readers well — they’re good enough friends to call me on my shit. And called it was indeed. INDEED.

Beyond the psyche-bruising, all this feedback is making me really excited to get back to work on editing. So far, all of my readers have overall enjoyed the book — and the problems they’ve called my attention to are concrete. Maybe not easy to fix — but definitely doable. I can see multiple ways to change things to evade their criticism, but I’m going to let all of it settle a while longer. I’m still waiting on feedback from a third of my readers, and I don’t want to over-react to the first criticism I’ve received.

Admittedly, a fair amount of the criticism are ‘no-argument’ types. Grammar flubs, word repetition, confusing passages, jokes that didn’t work, etc. Those will be fixed — -it’s the things that deal more with overall structure and style that I’ll need to carefully ruminate on.

Sorry I can’t be more specific yet! Still drafts out in the wild.

Alpha Readers Responding: 4 out of 12

Putt-Putt Potential

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Two lines, drawn by mortal hand

drawn on a globe must perforce

intersect. No careful ink or

edge of steel can avoid this

casual truth, the imperfect

always converges.

 

So it was, and so it will be on

the street of elms, the street of

circumstance. Two forces,

winds of a bifurcate purpose

did meet in a way most spectacular

and strange.

 

A frog, a simple amphibian, making

its way from pond to leaf, unaware

and gullet full of river-minnow.

And a car, a humming mountain

of steel and motion.

 

In a pond, most plain

on the edge of a green field, filled o’er

with garish faces and spinning wheels,

and the quiet clink of metal against

white balls, slapping their way

down their predestined course.

 

The car jumped the curve, as the

frog jumped the leaf.

A collision most strange, even

though unremarked by most.

 

For the frog did not die, yet was spun

into the heavens by a black wheel

and came to rest on the gleaming

crimson hood of the car

goggle-eye staring into blank stare

of its pilot.

 

The frog and the man did not exchange

names, or titles or the

memories of the quiet little lives.

 

They both hopped away,  thankful

for their lives

and hopeful that their lines

would never again

intersect.

 

[Story on Demand for Jackie Jones. This is a weird one.]

Back of the Book

G. Derek Adams4 Comments

boy/girl

squire/mage

comedy/tragedy

hero/villain

beginning/end

murderer/guardian

madman/sage

friend/slave

true/false

hunter/prey

jonas/rime

spell/sword

witch/is which?

[Just playing around with some text – potentially for the back cover of Spell/Sword. As a young nerdling I used to spend quite a lot of time in bookstores and libraries.  I’d spend hours reading the inner jacket, and the back of every book — deciding if it was what I wanted to read next. In bookstores most of all, five bucks for a new paperback was a serious investment. Of course, I immediately became a critic. I was flabbergasted at how many ‘back cover summaries’ were totally misleading, and were clearly written without the author’s knowledge. I was still a little too young to understand about marketing, publishing, etc.

But I vowed, that when I wrote MY book, then I would make sure I didn’t have a crappy summary on the back cover. And since I’m self-publishing, I can have whatever wacky text I want.]

 

The Quiet Prince’s Contract

G. Derek Adams5 Comments

I need a vessel. A mortal form to hold my power and my mind, to allow me to influence and shape your world. Those are the rules, and unlike that rapscallion Fairchild, that means something to me.

They must be willing, and accept me into their mind. I would prefer someone attractive.

The host’s mind will be shut away while I walk the world. A strong mind will survive, and be improved by our time together. A weak mind will most certainly go insane. I promise to leave the vessel as soon as Fairchild is defeated.

I cannot guarantee their safety. We are at war, and I do not know the future.

When you are ready, have them go to sleep with a fresh, red apple in their hands. That is the sign that the deal is struck.

In return, I will use my considerable power and knowledge to help you defeat my tawdry brother. My armies will rise and march against his. And when the war is over, and I am King of Hell Entire — then all within my power will leave this place until the death of Talitha’s grandchildren. Two generations free from devils and demons, both.

Not an inconsiderable payment.

If you betray me, you will have many long eternities to wish that you hadn’t.

Delay too long, and you begin to smell of betrayal.

I know you have a certain appointment to keep, a moonlit stroll through the Sarmadi sands. It would be most unfortunate if you were to miss your rendezvous.

Dally not. – Time is the cruelest enemy.

The Only Ink

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

“You don’t know me.” Quintus stood up. “You question my worth, and you question my devotion — and when I challenge you, you fuss like a barnyard rooster.”

The duelist stalked a few paces away in a cold fury.

“Fine. If words are what you want. If words will make you believe that I am ‘worthy’ of your trust, of your grand ideals — then hear me. I will die for Simon Garamonde. I will kill for Simon Garamonde. This entire world could burn and go gray with ash, and if he could walk free and unspoiled I would consider it a worthy trade. Every moment that his heart is under a devil’s hand, mine breaks anew. There.”

Quintus face looked down on the sleeping gnome with utter contempt.

“Is that acceptable, librarian? Now that I have used your precious words, is my pain – my love more real? Can you feel it now? Are my words true — am I worthy? Words are air, my heart is full of blood and steel. Those are the only ink worth writing with. Now speak.”

Man-Horse

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

The first responses from my Alpha Draft readers are trickling in — mostly positive, but with a stern helping of jack-booted constructive criticism.  I’ve already said “Well, here’s what I was going for — but oh god, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I AM FILTH.” about seventeen times, and I’ve only heard from two readers.

I’d like to be more specific, but there’s still a lot of Alpha Drafts out there in the wild — and Science is my watchword on this process. I don’t want to pollute the other readers, gotta keep the sample clean. If I say that my readers are having problems with that centaur poetry in Chapter 11, then it’s sure to make all the other readers gaze at my sensual equine haiku with a more critical eye.

Just let yourself feel it. The rhythm, the majesty.

That’s all I ask.