Poetry Days

Some days just feel like poetry sort of days when all you can do is pick up your pen and follow “the muse” to jot down your thoughts in rhythm and song. Today has definitely been one of those days!

(The Vagrant’s Treasure)

Dim eyes turned toward the night sky,
Taking in the starlight
Like a desert camel soaks in the sight of an oasis.

The twinkling planets reflected in eyes
Of blue and green flecked
With gold like the threads on the tapestry of a palace wall.

Kings could not have hoped to possess
The great treasures seen
Only through the eyes of the lost and wandering vagrant.

 

Character Mimics

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: I love Sherlock Holmes. The adventures of Holmes and Watson are some of my go-to reads for a rainy or snowy (or any kind of weather that makes you want to curl up inside) kind of day. They are also my inspiration as I dip my toes into the pool of the mystery writing world.

This is all fine and dandy, until I realized that my main character sounds an awful lot like the character of Sherlock Holmes. This (as any writer worth their salt realizes) is a big no-no! Sure, there will always be a certain level of overlap between your story and someone else’s work (what’s that verse? “There is nothing new under the sun”?), but to conscientiously copy someone else’s style, characters, or storyline makes for very messy (and possibly legally troubling) results.

Now, having a character simply act in a certain way and have a similar career to an iconic figure like Sherlock Holmes won’t really get me into legal trouble, but I’m trying to find my own writing voice here, not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s. I also see this as a problem (as if that weren’t enough) because the further I go (whether I’m unconsciously writing my character as Sherlock or trying just a little bit too hard to make him not Sherlock) the blander and flatter this character becomes. Why? I’m not allowing this character to come alive in his own right. Instead, I’m pushing and pulling, and trimming and pricking to get him to fit into a mold that’s different than the character that initially captured my interest in the first place. 

So, what to do? Well… I’m not one-hundred percent sure yet…. I’m still in this process after all! So far, I have found some success by going back and remembering the character who first showed up at the idea door of my brain. I have now started unraveling bits and weaving together new pieces, and finding ways to bring out those little quirks and characteristics that I first fell in love with.

Sure, my character is still a brilliant, somewhat anti-social private detective. But, he’s starting to step out from behind the shadow of “the great detective” and learn to stand up on his own two feet (or more accurately, I’m learning how to place him on his own two feet). 

Below is one small (unedited) scene from the story Letters From Blackney (this chapter is part of a letter addressed from my character A.L. Blackney to his friend, Harold):

It was at this point in my meditation that I heard movement coming from within my laboratory and Stanley–that blessed parrot–began a great ruckus, flapping his wings and crowing “Thief! Thief! Thief!” for all the world to hear. Quite suddenly I realized my err in not securing the boy with a rope to a chair, or even the table, before I had left the room.

I rushed back just in time to see the farmhand perched on the cill of my open window. He glanced but once over his shoulder at me with eyes wide in terror and then dropped out. Three quick strides and I was across the room to the window, but he was already in the street and running quite wildly down the walkway.

As I was much taller than the farmhand, there was no possible way that I could be out of the small window in time to catch him before he could disappear in the maze of Boston streets. I cursed my misfortune for not thinking to tie him up sooner, or at least to have stood better guard instead of wandering thoughtlessly into the other room as I had.

Stanley was no comfort to me as he flew to my shoulder and proceeded to screech “Thief!” into my ear. It took me a good two minutes to calm the creature down enough for his feathers to lay flat again.

I know how you feel about my bird, Harold, but perhaps you do not remember all the times that Stanley has proved an invaluable partner in my adventures. For instance, I would never have found my neighbor’s–Mr. Arnold’s–missing daughter had Stanley not overheard her speaking to her kidnapper on the docks and mimicked the conversation for me. And then later, it was Stanley who spotted her sparkling hair clip on the deck of a ship set to sail the next morning for North Africa. So you will try to understand why I took Stanley’s accusation that the farmhand was a thief somewhat seriously.

I set about putting my laboratory in order and paid special heed to what items I was not able to find. Once this was finished and I had made inventory of everything there, I found that–aside from what had been broken in the scuffle–there were but two things that were nowhere to be found…. First was the handkerchief I had found on the farmhand’s neck and which must have held some importance to him, for him to leave behind the sixty-five cents in favor of the thing. Second, was my bottle of CN¯.

Cyanide in the hands of a mad boy is not something one likes to hear about.

I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek of one of my works in progress as well as the process that I am going through to write it.

I would love to hear about any projects that you are working on and what lessons you have been learning throughout the process!

Research: Where Fun Meets Practical

One of the (many) great things about writing is that almost anything can be done under the name of “research.”

Just one example is my sword-fetish.

Most of the time, swinging around a sword in your backyard or living room would be called childish and silly. But after finding a legitimate group called the Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA) Alliance and reasoning that learning swordplay could only benefit my writing, I am now a student of an online sword school (you subscribe to be able to view videos that they post on techniques, exercises, drills, and class sessions from their actual HEMA academy) and can frequently be found swinging around either my practice longsword or my practice one-handed arming sword. I’m sure the neighbors think I’m nuts (their horses definitely do), but it’s great exercise, a good self-defense skill
(HEMA also incorporates knife fighting/defense maneuvers and wrestling), and I’m technically doing research for my next novels at the same time. Plus, I’m going to have KILLER  muscles in my forearms and calves!

So basically, why wouldn’t I be learning HEMA?

But that’s beside the point, which is: I have found that writing is a field in which you have to know at least a little bit about a whole lot of different things. This is perfect for someone like me who can have a vast and varying selection of interests at any given point in time. It does make it difficult to master any one thing aside from writing itself, but that’s the aim, isn’t it? Writers should try different things, follow little pursuits and hobbies such as sword fighting, language learning, hang-gliding, or basket weaving if for no other reason than to build up our reserve of ideas, information, and memorable moments. 

 

The Curse of the Everyday

The seeming curse of a writer is to be forever lost in a world of daydreams.

Somedays these dreams are merry and cheerful. Other days, these dreams are sad and bring tears to your eyes.

But most days these dreams inspire feelings of longing… nay, yearning, and great desire for something that it just beyond your reach….

For each writer, I am certain, that longing is inspired by something different or uniquely fitted to the passions that lie deep within their soul. For me, I find that on these days my soul yearns for adventure, for grand and daring deeds, for love and the thrill of the chase; Even for tales of magic, knights, and dragons to be real.

Through much time spent in prayer and internal speculation as I struggle to make the most of every present moment instead of getting lost in my daydreams as much as I do, I have come to realize part of the reason for this:

Sometimes the most difficult battles we fight aren’t the ones fought with guns, fists, or swords. The most difficult battles are the ones we don’t see… the battles of mind and of spirit; the battle between light and dark, heaven and hell. For when you can’t see your enemy and can’t feel the nearness of his weapon, that is when you forget that he is there.

It is one thing to meet the enemy on the field of battle with an army behind you and an army behind him. It is a very different thing to wake up every morning and go to work and then come home and fight against boredom and the feelings of being incomplete as you clean your house and make your food, watch a little Netflix and then go to sleep in order to awake the next day and go through the exact same routine all over again.

…Tell me you’re not bored of that life, and I will ask you your secret….

This yearning can be perceived as a curse most of the time, as I desire something so strongly that I ache, and yet that thing is impossible to have. And yet, in so many ways it is also a blessing! It forces me to turn to writing as an outlet: to write out the stories and adventures that fill my daydreams. If I do not write them out in some form, express them in some way, it feels as though I might explode. I cannot easily speak these emotions, certainly not in a way that other people can understand, so I start becoming tense and easily irritable. And so it compels me to pick up a pen, or open up my laptop and jot down my thoughts and my emotions.

But more than that, these yearnings are a constant reminder to me of what C.S. Lewis wrote:

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world… I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death.”
– C.S. Lewis

I am reminded of the unseen battle that rages on. I am reminded that my soul was created to live in close relationship with God in Heaven. Until that day, I must depend upon God’s guidance to live a full life and reach my full potential while still here upon the Earth. 

Only then will I be complete. Only then will my soul stop yearning for something more.

Perhaps one day, beyond those great pearly gates I will get a chance to go on a grand quest to find a dragon, or venture boldly across wild seas into new and exciting lands…. A girl can only dream!

Practical Fantasy

Section of map ©Elizabeth Kauffman

Maps.

What is it about maps that captures a persons imagination so? 

Starting from the age of little kids creating treasure maps leading to their favorite hiding places in the backyard, most people seem to experience a certain thrill when they get their hands on an old map (especially one with a giant ‘X’ on it).

One of the many things that I absolutely love about writing fantasy is the chance to design and draw maps. From the moment you draw the first squiggle that will become a coastline, to naming towns, forests, and mountain ranges, I could be happy spending all of my time just dreaming up different countries and cultures to bring to life on paper.

However, you can draw a shape and add some mountains and trees and little dots for towns and call it a country, but I am learning that there is a good deal more than that to consider when creating a  fantasy realm.

This term I took on an Earth Science class to fulfill my required science credit for my online degree, and it got me thinking about plate tectonics and river and stream flow/erosion, and how they apply to these maps I create. Because, certainly, if I want to create a believable world, science must be taken into consideration. (Now, there is certainly the place in the fantastical for worlds that live outside of the scientific sphere, however even a floating castle must have its own rules or else the poor reader will be lost and confused.)

So as I have been progressing through this course I have been taking a long second look at the map that I drew for my new fantasy series and have been doing some adjusting here and changing river patterns there, etc., etc.. I was pleased to find that the majority of the features aligned pretty well with the theories of Earth Science, but there were a few things that simply were not scientifically plausible…. This is why I am taking my time on this series to continue learning and develop the lands, cultures, and languages to the best of my ability.

Now I need to work on the language of the land…. I fear that this will be much more difficult!

Too Many Emotions

There’s this thing that I’ve noticed with artists of any sort: we are a very emotional bunch. This is not to say that we are always in despair, or that we are always prone to over dramatization; however, we feel things a little too much.

Artists understand that feeling emotion is part of what makes life so grand and so special. We realize that in order to best utilize our artistic talents, we must delve into the deepest, darkest parts of our souls and ferret out a description of what we find lurking there.

When we artists are happy, we are very happy, but when we are sad, we feel that we are in the depths of despair (and we might just phrase it that way, because that is how our minds work). Sometimes people get frustrated at our glumness, startled and/or embarrassed by our outbreaks of joy, or slightly terrified by our anger.

Now, I feel I must interject that I do not believe that we need to be (or should be) controlled by our emotions. No, as Christians we must discipline our minds and our bodies to make our emotions submit to not only our better judgments, but also to God’s laws. This may seem impossible, but with the freedom gained through a relationship with Christ, and by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, I assure you that it is completely possible.

That being said, emotions are not in themselves evil, and, within the constraints of what is Godly, true, good, and beautiful, they must be cherished as a wonderful gift.

Tears can be beautiful, as they remind us to be compassionate, to share empathy, to cherish precious moments… and they awaken us to injustice and inspire us to take action.

Righteous anger can be beautiful, as it stands up for the weak and the helpless, fights tirelessly against the Devil, and reflects the righteous cause of Christ.

Joy that is so full that you can’t stop smiling is beautiful, as it spreads love and happiness wherever it goes, and brings peace and the light of Christ into situations that are dim with hopelessness.

I think that artists, creatives, and the visionaries of the world feel these emotions–and many more–most of all (or at least are aware of them more than most). We don’t try to hide our feelings, but explore them, experiment with them, and describe them so that we will not forget; so that later, when we are searching for inspiration, we might look back and remember how it felt to be lonely, how it felt to be giddy with joy, or how it felt to be scared of the dark.

I have long loved poetry for the very reason that it is a form of writing that is particularly well suited to depicting emotions. However, I can’t just sit down and write a bunch of poems on the spot: I have to be feeling something even more deeply than normal in order for me to be able to express a poem that I can read with satisfaction and without a lot of grimacing and shaking of my head.

Over the past few years, God has been doing a lot of work inside of me, and this process has been particularly conducive to writing poetry. Sometimes, when my heart is just too full of all of the emotions, and I can’t find anyway to vocally express how I feel, I turn to poetry. These poems become my prayers. Although most of them aren’t worded in a typical prayer format, they are my heart poured out upon paper and offered as a sacrifice, a question, and/or a plea before the throne of God. Sometimes they are straight forward, but most of the time poetry lends itself best to the metaphorical and/or the fanciful (providing me all the more reason to love poetry).

Sometimes the words that come are dark, filled with fear, grief, and questions:

The Broken Heart

“Let the wind fall,
Let the waves crush
The stones beneath their icy grip.

“May the storm come,
May the clouds seethe
And hide the changing hills from light.”

The maiden’s hands,
Raised to the sky,
Salt tears painted her pale cheeks.

Red lips pursed,
Brown eyes moistened,
The outward effects of a broken heart.

The wind did fall,
The waves did crush
The stones beneath their icy grip.

The storms did come,
The clouds seethed
And hid the changing hills from light.

But none did mend
The rent ’twas made
By the thoughtless acts of a callow man.

Other times my poems are filled with longing and passion:

What’s Your Name, My Love?

What’s your name, my Love?
Dare I touch your face,
Hold your hand,
For fear you are only another dream?

Where do you live, my Love?
Can I give my number,
Ask you to call
On some summer’s evening with coffee for two?

God only knows how I can miss someone I have never met.

Hold me close, my Love.
I dream of this time.
There you are;
We will meet and be together always.

Look in my eyes, my Love!
See how I long for you,
Only for you,
To love and to cherish from this day forward.

God only knows how I can miss someone I have never met.

At still other times, I write as a battle cry or as a reminder to myself of what I know to be true:

Light a Candle

When you dream the world is darker than it should be,
Light a candle.
When you hear the whispers of night calling,
Don’t be afraid.

For the dark will fade in the daylight,
And the dawn will bring a new day.
And when the morning has risen,
The monsters in the shadows will run away.

So there you have it: a brief glimpse into my own personal, poetic, prayerful emotional turmoil. 🙂 I hope you enjoyed.

Elementary, My Dear Reader

I wasn’t always a fan of the mystery genre. Although I’ve always been intrigued by small mysteries along the lines of the Boxcar Children or Nancy Drew, when I was a kid anything that bordered on a murder mystery scared the living daylights out of me! No joke. There were few things that scared me more than a creepy gloved hand holding a gun creeping in through an open window and doing away with some poor soul inside.

Thankfully, I have since outgrown that fear and have discovered the wonderful world that is Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes! Indeed, I now rank the Sherlock Holmes stories among my favorite books of all-time.

However, even after I had developed a love for the genre, I never thought that I could write such a story with all of its twists and cleverly hidden clues and red herrings. “No,” I thought, “Although it would be fun to write such a book, I certainly couldn’t pull it off.” And so I went quite happily back to my fantasy novels.

That was, until one day a gentleman named Alfred Lexington Blackney (or A.L. Blackney for short) came knocking on the “idea” door of my brain. He seemed such a clever character: with a cocky personality and a tall, black hat, walking down old Boston streets with a wolf-like dog at his side and an African Grey parrot perched on his shoulder. I could not let his story go untold.

Since then I have been working on creating and developing the world and the adventures that A.L. Blackney will be a part of.

Like I said, this is a very new genre for me to attempt and so it has been a process of learning, researching, and trying out different techniques. I decided that this story would be best presented as a short story/blog series that I will be putting up on a website later on in the process. Because of this series/blog style that I am going for, I have found one technique particularly useful to date. That is, pinning up all of my notes on a billboard. I have yarn connecting various mysteries and/or ideas together. My board consists of many triangles: each point being a person, a place, or an object which that particular mystery will revolve around.

One large triangle of yarn consists of the overall theme, or mystery, that will string through all of the others. Overlapping this main triangle are a number of smaller triangles. Within these triangles I have pinned notes with further details about how the smaller story fits into the larger picture, etc..

I am having lots of fun with this genre so far, and I will post status updates as I go along.

In the meantime, have any of you written mystery stories? If so, what is your best tip/technique that you can share with me?

Entering the Woods

These past few days I have been doing a lot of reflecting upon days past and future adventures longed for, desired travels and setting roots. As a missionary kid who, while growing up, never lived in one house longer than four years, letting my roots grow deep is a frightening idea. Lately I have been confronted with this fear is some very real ways.

So, I decided to transfer my feelings into a short poem that I quickly typed up last night (when I really should have been working on some class assignments…).

It’s nothing fancy, and not even the best of rhymes, but I thought I would share it in any case.

Entering the Woods

When the road calls your name
There is nothing can be done
But surrender to the whim of the woods.

When winds knock on your door
And pull the strings of your heart
Then surrender to the whim of the woods.

For the woods hold the trails
That will lead you near or far
From your doorstep at the edge of the woods.

Take one step down the path
And the next thing that you know
Is that you have left the edge of the woods.

Go away now, my child,
And someday you might return,
To your home that lies outside of the woods.

I can’t say you won’t change
But your home will stay the same,
As you left it just outside of the woods.

Write What You Know… Like, Dragons

 

Dragon in the Woods by Simon Fetscher

So you know that  famous saying, “Write what you know”? This saying is really helpful as a writer and has given a lot of young writers the boost that they needed to find that one story idea that they just clicked with and were able to expand upon and really make their own. But, as a writer of fantasy, this saying can sometimes present a problem…. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never stared into the eyes of a dragon, or wielded a magical sword, or even crossed paths with a grumpy wizard.

How does this work then?

Fantasy is such a wonderful and fun genre to write in. (I mean, c’mon, who doesn’t want to have the power to create a floating castle, or spend all of your time dreaming up how your hero is going to find the courage to cross the deadly, monster infested waste-land in search of the magic that will save the kingdom!) However, if you put aside the fun of the genre, it can be very hard to find an unique angle to come at this style of writing with. I have read so many books, by so many fantasy authors, that all seem exactly the same…. Now, every now and again I stumble across one that just sings to my heart as I read its pages. It is like the author has somehow owned his or her voice, and, in doing so, has created a story that is not only original, but that truly captured the magic of fantasy that initially made me fall in love with the genre.

That is what I want my stories to be like. I want the people who read my books to fall in love with worlds of magic and fantasy and adventure all over again.

But how can you reach that point?

Are there steps that can be taken?

I’m sure that there are some general patterns or steps that can be followed, but ultimately, I feel (from what I have heard, read, and experienced myself) that each writer is going to have a journey all their own (their own quest, if you will) which they will embark upon before they reach that coveted end.

One step, perhaps, might be learning how to embrace the realm of fantasy writing (and how to do so, when you have had no personal experience with elves or other mystical creatures).

So, back to the question I posed earlier: how do you write about a realm that you have no experience with?

Perhaps you have not ridden a dragon or explored the mountain caves of a dwarf city, but have you been scared of something, so scared that it took your breath away? You certainly can channel that into a character who is holding onto the neck of a dragon for dear life. Have you ever felt love for a person you were close to, courage when climbing a very tall tree, or what about that feeling of jealousy that you tried to push down when someone did something better than you? You see, I believe that the power of your fantasy story is not going to be in the expansive world you create, or the new creatures you design, or even the elvish language you dedicate years to developing. Those things are incredibly fun to write, but the power of your story is going to be in your characters and in the emotions that they feel, and that is something that you can certainly pull from your experiences to write. Not only is this something you know, but it is also something that your readers will be able to relate to.

So spend a little time away from your computer climbing trees, watching people, and studying emotion. It will do your writing good; I promise you!

Hello, Mister Merdon

Last year my parents surprised me with one of the best birthday presents of my life! (Possibly second only to my William Wallace replica broadsword, the horseback riding lessons, and Christmas when I was like seven or eight and got a GIANT stuffed dalmatian that I would ride around the house like a horse.) This gift was a beautiful antique Remington portable typewriter.

I have dreamed of owning a typewriter for a long time, but it’s always seemed something more of an expensive luxury than something I would actually be able to conveniently use. But the moment my fingers first met the keys, I was in love! (You can see my first “typewriter typed” words in the picture above…. As you can see, it’s not as easy to write on a typewriter as one would think!)

Of course, since I am no experienced “typist” my efforts are slow with lots of missed spaces and blurred letters where I accidentally hit the wrong letter and then tried to go back and fix it. However, what I have discovered is that it is a whole other experience to sit down at a typewriter and intentionally put down each and ever word. It is not so easy to delete and rewrite a sentence that you don’t particularly like upon rereading. (Even now, on this blog post, I have probably gone back over that last sentence five or so times: thinking and deleting and retyping some more. We writers are really a very particular sort when it comes to words and what order they should go in.)

Perhaps it is this forced conscientiousness, or perhaps it is simply the whole mood and feel that sitting at a typewriter brings with it, but I have discovered a delightful new voice to my writing that has seldom showed before. I have already fallen in love with a few of the quirky characters that have leapt onto the page–seemingly of their own accord. Most notably, one Mister Merdon.

I will include an excerpt of his story that has come out of the typewriter:

It all started upon one fateful day when Mister Merdon was standing at the station preparing to board his usual train–the 5:25 to North Umpton. He had just handed the station master his ticket and was readying to climb the steps into the train when his eye was caught by a pretty young woman carrying a peculiarly shaped package aboard the train a few cars down. Of course he was curious, but he thought it none of his business, so he decided to keep his nose where it belonged and went ahead and found his seat.

But Mister Merdon was a man who loved mysteries, and so, since he rode the train to the very end, he kept an eye out of the window to see where the curious young lady got off. But she did not. So upon exiting the train at it’s final stop in North Umpton, Mister Merdon waited discreetly to see her exit.

He waited until all of the passengers had left the station, but she had never stepped foot upon the platform.

“By George,” Mister Merdon exclaimed. “I do believe she has lost herself somewhere between the stations!”

And so his hunt for the girl began. “A noble mission,” he said, “to save the fair damsel.”

Writing on a typewriter is so much fun and, I believe, using it will help me to become a more deliberate writer.

So, I have made it a goal to write a novel solely using my typewriter (except for the editing… editing needs lots of backspacing, deleting, and such).

I hope that you enjoyed that piece of the Mister Merdon story (I don’t have a name for it as of yet). And, if you have a chance, I would encourage all of you wonderful writers out there in blog world, to utilize a typewriter and just have fun with the characters and plot-lines that you are inspired to create!