A novel quote
Image via Wikipedia
This popped up when I hit publish for part five of Rocket Fox, and I felt it was very apropos. No other explanation needed.
There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. ~W. Somerset Maugham
Mary Sue, who are you!
This actually was posted originally on my tumblr blog, but I believe it bears repeating here. The discussion involves what exactly is a Mary Sue. There seems to be a huge double standard with regard to how they are perceived.
Male power fantasies, in essence, a strapping young lad, with chiseled good looks, unfailing wit and charm, and can do no wrong, seems to be considered the norm. Take those same qualities, however, and apply them to a female power fantasy (yes, they exist, women have power fantasies as well) and suddenly it becomes a Mary Sue. A trope. Even if one takes all the positives seen in someone who is feminine, translate those into how that person gains their incredible power, and it’s still seen as a trope or a Mary Sue. Take all the male aspects and use the positives to describe how he gains his abilities? Well, that’s just good writing.
Here’s a prime example that I shall pluck from the discussion. This was originally posted by adventuresofcomicbookgirl on tumblr, but I liked this one description she gave of a female character that many would call out as a Mary Sue.
So, there’s this girl. She’s tragically orphaned and richer than anyone on the planet. Every guy she meets falls in love with her, but in between torrid romances she rejects them all because she dedicated to what is Pure and Good. She has genius level intellect, Olympic-athelete level athletic ability and incredible good looks. She is consumed by terrible angst, but this only makes guys want her more. She has no superhuman abilities, yet she is more competent than her superhuman friends and defeats superhumans with ease. She has unshakably loyal friends and allies, despite the fact she treats them pretty badly. They fear and respect her, and defer to her orders. Everyone is obsessed with her, even her enemies are attracted to her. She can plan ahead for anything and she’s generally right with any conclusion she makes. People who defy her are inevitably wrong.
The reactions would be, invariably, that the character is such a Mary Sue. However, if you look closely at the above description, adventuresofcomicbookgirl just finished describing the back story for Batman. For men, this is normal, to have these reaffirming power fantasies set before them, but for women, it’s not normal, and in many cases there are those who say such power fantasies are dangerous. Unhealthy. But why not, why can’t women have their own power fantasies, giving proper role models to young women and girls everywhere. They have just as much right to have such stories as the other half of the human population on the planet Earth do.
To read the entire conversation, just open up adventuresofcomicbookgirl‘s thread and start reading. Below is my own take on it, as added to the thread of discussion.
I actually got an email over a year ago, regarding the serial series I posted called Black Mask & Pale Rider. One of my characters, Pania, got called a Mary Sue. Which, at first I found hilarious, considering the fact that I’m a guy. And from what I am familiar with of the concept of Mary Sue is that such a character is similar to a self insertion. If I were to do that, then I’d be crafting a male character. But anyway, more to the point…
Pania Alow is quite feminine. She’s a singer and a dancer, and the latter she uses to help with her sword play. She comes from a family that is incredibly interested in discovering the history of a culture through their stories. Not to recreate them or write their own songs about them, but to simply learn about them. Pania herself tries very hard to view each person as a unique individual, though there are times she will formulate an opinion on face value. She’s a very attractive woman, curvy and sensuous, with a playful smile and a knowing look in her eyes. She likes fine fashion in her clothing, but attempts to mix it with practicality. She’s also a lesbian, and rather vocal about it, so much so that her partner in crime, Shani Wennemein, has to remind her of the stigma that people in 1863 Earth view on “oddities” they may find. Pania is a helpful person, sacrificing her own needs for the needs of others, more often than not.
There’s a great deal more to Pania than just that. But even with all of that, Pania ended up being called a Mary Sue. As if using that for an insult. Now that I’ve read this, though, the only response I can now come up with is sure. If Pania is viewed as a Mary Sue, what I would consider to be a positive role model for a young woman, then by all means. Pania is intelligent, understanding, helpful, attractive, not afraid of her sexuality, and eager to learn all she can. At the same time, she can be judgmental, quick to anger, sometimes headstrong, forcefully opinionated, and a bit of a tease. She has as many faults as she has positive abilities.
If those are qualities of a Mary Sue, then I guess they just happen to be.
Related articles
- If you knew, Mary Sue, then you’d know why I feel blue (talesfromthemushroom.wordpress.com)
- Things I’ve learned about life and writing (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
What made you smile today?
Cover for Swift Fox and the Pirates of the Jackai. Tentative cover, that is. The second, more recent effort. I'm liking this style more.
Lots of things actually. It was a good morning, but most likely the one thing that made me smile was the fact I’m half way through to the 50,000 mark in my NaNoWriMo novel. I just have to keep plugging away and it’ll be finished before the end of the month.
The entire story of Swift Fox and the Pirates of the Jackai is also posted right here. It’s very, very, very first draft. But, as I said, I’m finding that I’m very much enjoying this experience.
Related articles
- NaNoWriMo and the Proverbial Butt Kicking (thedailywoman.wordpress.com)
- NaNoWriMo: Day 13 (ericswett.wordpress.com)
- NaNoWriMo Day 12 – It’s DONE! OH! Story Excerpt! (gwendolynndedanaan.wordpress.com)
- Losing Time a NaNoWriMo Novel (lifesmaze.wordpress.com)
- National Novel Writing Month – Tips That Have Helped Me (chyrondave.wordpress.com)
- Flash Friday | NaNoWriMo Week 1 (danasitar.com)
- The End of Week Two of NaNoWriMo (thestoryinme.wordpress.com)
A novel kind of quote
There’s been a few things I’ve been following today over on tumblr. One is very political in nature, but the other is about books. The tumblr writingadvice has been posting up a lot of really good quotes about writing and books. I’ve reblogged them on my own tumblr, but I wanted to highlight them here.
“The main question to a novel is – did it amuse? were you surprised at dinner coming so soon? did you mistake eleven for ten? were you too late to dress? and did you sit up beyond the usual hour? If a novel produces these effects, it is good; if it does not – story, language, love, scandal itself cannot save it. It is only meant to please; and it must do that or it does nothing.”
Sydney Smith (via writingadvice)
“Don’t ever panic. Keep in mind that even great writers like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway needed editing. You can always go back and fix what doesn’t work. Nothing is perfect the first time out.
Don’t despair. Some writing days are better than others.
Don’t place yourself in competitive situations while you’re working on a book. Losing a “first-chapter” contest or workshopping a book-in-progress can lead to second-guessing. It’s best to finish your draft before you ask for any critical evaluation. Sometimes when you’re trying to progress through the early stages of a novel, writing groups can be like the blind leading the potentially sighted.”
N.M. Kelby (via writingadvice)
“A publisher of young adult books doesn’t have to deal with the genre prejudice of the adult market. Children’s books are divided on the bookshelves by age, not by subject. (…) Genre definitions mean nothing. You want to write a steampunk post-apocalypse adventure full of cities that drive around eating each other? Or a book about a child passing through alternate realities in search of a weak and feeble God? Or a dystopian sci-fi about an underground city that’s running out of light? Go for it!
Such ideas would be risky prospects at best in the adult market. Books that don’t fit into easily recognizable pigeonholes traditionally struggle in comparison to those that do. Straight-out fantasy and SF are much safer bets than something genre-straddling and unfamiliar. Just look at the big sellers in the field if you need evidence.
Not so the YA market. (…) YA genre fiction isn’t interested in the rules and regulations of the adult world, which is exactly why we need it most. It’s innocent, unjaded, full of possibility and promise. And, just like the readers it represents, it might even have a thing or two to teach the grown-ups.”
Chris Wooding (via writingadvice)
“I also read most of Conrad, which I thought of as verbose adventure stories and conceived a hearty dislike of the narrator Marlow – the prig would keep describing things instead of getting on with the story.”
Diana Wynne Jones (via writingadvice)
“Writing isn’t generally a lucrative source of income; only a few, exceptional writers reach the income levels associated with the best-sellers. Rather, most of us write because we can make a modest living, or even supplement our day jobs, doing something about which we feel passionately. Even at the worst of times, when nothing goes right, when the prose is clumsy and the ideas feel stale, at least we’re doing something that we genuinely love. There’s no other reason to work this hard, except that love.”
Melissa Scott (via writingadvice)
“I’m a young adult librarian, but I didn’t read young adult lit when I was a teen myself. I was a precocious reader and desperate to be treated like a grown-up, so I read books for grown-ups because anything else was just too puerile for someone as obviously mature and sophisticated as I. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties, working on my MLS and realizing that I wanted to work with teens, that I discovered there was a huge, glorious world of excellent YA lit that I had completely missed. Now it’s almost all I read.
Outside of YA circles, I sometimes find myself having to justify my tastes to others. Yes, a lot of why I read YA lit is because I work with teens. But even if I were to switch careers, I would continue reading YA lit because it’s good. That’s not to say adult lit isn’t, of course, but YA lit has a freshness that I really enjoy, and it rarely gets bogged down in its own self-importance. YA lit is also mostly free of the melancholy, nostalgia, and yearning for the innocent days of childhood that I find so tedious in adult literary fiction.
I think the reason some grown-ups look down their noses at YA lit is because they haven’t read any of it recently, so they don’t know how good it’s gotten—or how different it is from what they might imagine it to be. While there are still books that deal with Big Issues, the “problem novel” of the ’70s and ’80s has been eclipsed by more slice-of-life contemporary fiction, romances, fantasies, mysteries, sci-fi stories, and genre-blending tales that defy categorization. For as much attention as the Twilight series has gotten, it’s certainly not all that’s out there.
I think it’s a lack of exposure to contemporary YA lit that makes adults refer to it as a “genre.” (…)
When I say “YA lit,” I’ll be mostly talking about fiction, and fiction aimed at those in late middle school and high school.
There’s a difference, smaller now than in the past, between what is written for teens and what teens actually read. Historically, what might have been called literature for youth was fiction that was essentially an instruction manual intended to create well-mannered young people, didactic tales of what happens to disobedient children, and the problem novel of decades past—essentially what adult writers thought teens should be reading. Fortunately, these days libraries and booksellers are classifying what teens want to read as YA fiction. (…)
YA lit is also different from fiction for grown-ups. There don’t seem to be as many Westerns. The romances are a little different. It’s not hard to find more gentle mysteries, though unlike mysteries for grown-ups, YA mysteries are a lot less likely to include recipes for desserts. Less superficially, the tone of YA lit is often different: there’s less retrospection, less melancholy and nostalgia. Often, though not always, YA lit is more story-focused. All of this, I think, reflects the differences in the minds and lives of teens compared to adults.
One of the biggest differences in the landscape of YA lit is that there’s more genre-blending than in adult literature. It may be because teens’ literary tastes are still developing, while adults are more likely to have very particular reading habits, but I think it’s also because the newness of YA lit allows for innovation.”
Gretchen Kolderup, Are You Reading YA Lit? You Should Be (via writingadvice)
The authors of the new age
Image via Wikipedia
I remember a while back I wrote about dime novels and penny dreadfuls. They were short novels, often in a serial format, published during the late 18th early 19th Centuries and continued on into the 20th Century, where they became known as pulp novels. I recently watched a documentary on H.P. Lovecraft, who’s work almost all appeared in pulp novel and serial series formats. Very much like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his Sherlock Holmes and Lost World stories, the former appeared on a regular basis in the Strand Magazine, these stories would come out in regular intervals to an audience that wanted to know more and more and more about them.
Image via Wikipedia
Books like Weird Tales, Amazing Stories and much more that were all mainstays of the pulp area. Some of those styles of books lived on in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Asimov’s Science Fiction, both of which are still published and reader’s can still order subscriptions to. But they are few in a market that used to be flooded with them, which often times makes one think is the age of the pulp writer gone. Will we no longer see Penny Dreadfuls or Dime Novels?
Perhaps note in book form, though there are anthology books often published which are similar to pulp novels, but there is the new face of fiction in such a serialized format. The community is small, but it has been growing for many, many years. Unlike the penny dreadfuls and pulps of one hundred years ago, these writers aren’t trying to scratch together a living out of writing. Though, one could say that any money they receive can be equal to what many of those authors of the late 19th Century made (it’s said H. P. Lovecraft made $5 from his first story), many of these new age pulp fiction authors write for the pure joy of it.
Image via Wikipedia
Some of the work is original, some of it is fanfiction, but it’s all writing, all serialized. And they have a following.
These new authors have tastes that many fans crave, as mainstream media seems to refuse to place certain characters in certain roles. Urban Fantasy? It’s there. Gothic horror western? Look hard enough and you’ll find it. Looking for strong female characterizations? There’s lots out there. Any genre, any characterizations, any style, it’s out there for the reading public. And most of it is free.
The 21st Century authors are no different than the ones who wrote for Weird Tales or Amazing Stories. They’re filling a desire by the reading public, and with today’s technology, it’s so easy to get written work out there. Maybe, it one hundred years a lot of these online serial authors will be looked at in the same light as many of the pulp and serial authors are from the 19th Century. I guess we’ll have to see.
Until next time…
…keep ‘em flyin’!
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- Pulp Fictions: Rocketeer Adventures from Age of Ravens (ageofravens.blogspot.com)
- Pulp Heroes: the Final Two Silver John Short Stories (glitternight.com)
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I think I’ll need some encouragement
I’m gonna need a lot of encouragement over the next few months. No, nothing’s wrong, there’s no physical or mental ailment that I am suffering. Well, mental in a round about way. The way that involves creativity and getting over those massive stumbling blocks that often are called writers block, procrastination and massive case of the lazies.
I have two major stories that I want to … make that need to write … for The Adventures of Black Mask & Pale Rider. One takes place completely on the homeworld of Shani and Pania. A planet called Terra-Kal, inhabited only by elves. Of course, there is the usual creatures you’d find, such as woodland creatures, domesticated animals and so on and so forth. But this story explores the world they live in and describes the beginning of their own industrial revolution. A revolution of steam power. Plus, the story revolves around the growing tensions between two nations. This first story I call Flight of the Skyhawks.
The second is a tale that sees Shani and Pania return to Earth, but this time with their brothers in tow. Sywyn, Shani’s brother and a reputable Knight in the Stonebridge Court, and Mandrel, Pania’s brother and while a steadfast friend of Sywyn’s and honourable, he is a bit of a Knave. The four have to track down the devil himself, as they chase a demon from their world to Pueblo, Mexico.
So those are the ideas. I’ve had those ideas since I began the second draft of the first book. I’ve even started the process of writing. I’ve jotted down notes in point form for each section. But now I just need someone to sort of give me a poke and a prod and ask me how it’s coming along every so often. I think if I get that kind of question, it’ll drive me to get more and more put down on paper (or into word processor as the case may be).
Related articles
- Jotting down more notes (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
- Writing Poetry is Hard (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
- Shameless Self Promotion part two (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
Yesterday in tumblr
A wrap up of what went on yesterday on my tumblr, mostly being images (it was a picture kind of day).
nineeyedoracle: Harry Potter did this to me constantly.
Reblog and then click the photo. You can thank me later.
It’s actually really fun.
(via Embracing a life in transition)
This is an amazing story, and reported on very well.
“People think depression is about being sad. They think it’s just when you ‘feel down’. It’s not. It’s like a darkness that creeps over you and fills you. It drains all your emotions. It takes everything from you, and leaves you feeling hollow and numb. It’s not sadness, it’s not anger, it’s hopelessness. Imagine waking up and there being no colour. Walking outside and feeling no wind. Eating a meal and tasting nothing. Holding someone and feeling completely alone at the same time. When you’re depressed, it’s not a bad mood. It’s a numb, empty, hollowness that seems to never leave. It’s feeling alone in a room full of people. You feel like there’s no hope left.”
(Source: candysoda)
Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World – Albatross
I like this Romance ebook. Have you read it?
As of MONDAY JULY 18TH 2011 Ladylit.com will publish one lesbian short story per week, one installment per day. The story will be divided in five parts, the first will be published on Monday, the last on Friday.
SUBMISSIONS
We are open to submissions. Please send your story to submissions@ladylit.com. There are no genre restrictions, but this website is for lesbian fiction only so please keep that in mind. You will receive an e-mail to let you know whether your story has been accepted and when it will be published.GUIDELINES
- A minimum word count of 3000 words is expected, the maximum is 10.000 words.
- Please enclose a short biography in your e-mail.
- Make sure your short story is ready for publication. Do check for spelling and grammar mistakes. Stories with too many errors will be rejected.
- You retain full copyright of your short story. We accept stories that have been previously published. Ladylit.com merely aims to promote − and celebrate − lesbian fiction.
- Erotic fiction may be considered but it is not our primary goal. There are plenty of other websites out there that cater to that genre.
Jotting down more notes
Dragonforce- The Last Journey Home (WITH CORRECT LYRICS!!) (bykingshahaman)
Every now and then I’ll be listening to music while I jot down notes for plots with Black Mask & Pale Rider, and another idea will come around. Usually it’s another grand adventure with Shani and Pania as they make their way to Earth from their native Terra-Kal. But this time, it was different.
It’s had it’s flashes before, but one idea I’ve had has been to write the Tales of Terra-Kal. The different stories of the home world that Shani and Pania come from, but with different characters. Though, related in some ways.
The first was the tale of three knaves. Well, not so much knaves. Sywyn Wennemein, Shani’s older brother, is a Knight. But he grew up rather less than knightly. Maybe getting some of it out of his system, that is the trouble he’d get into with his friends, who will also appear in the story, helped shape his view of the world. His title is Lord Wennemein, and he is one who does not take his title with any serious nature. He’d rather associate with commoners, really. Above all, though, he serves justice, being the commissioned knight in charge of all the Patrollers throughout Brytilonia. And he gets aid from his two fast friends.
Mandrel Alow, Pania’s older brother. Like Pania, Mandrel is a bit of a flirt and an excellent tale teller. He is an Alow after all, and the Alow’s were known for their charm and musical abilities. As well as being able to brandish a rapier. There’s always a buckle to swash somewhere.
Waien Argith, the Arch Druid’s son, and by birthrite a druid himself. But he chose a different path. That of a wizard. But after his drinking, carousing and womanizing, he sort of fell from grace. He’s been seeking to regain himself, and it’s been said his two best friends, Mandrel and Sywyn are always there for him.
That first story would follow these three young elven men in their own series of adventures.
The second idea surrounds a different group, they didn’t grow up together and have had very little to do with each other. Each will be appearing at different points in Shani and Pania’s tales. They are as follows.
Avalona Xanthe, the warrior princess of the Nordician tribes that live in the harsh and cold mountains to the west of Brytilonia across the Sea of Seven Bridges. Nordicians are the tallest, and often said strongest of the Terra-Kal elves. They stand in legend as being giants. Avalona is the only daughter, only child of her tribe’s chieftan, Ulgaar Xanthe. She would become the first woman to hold the title of chieftan among all the Nordician tribes, and it is something her father has said that she needs to prepare for. Wisdom must equal strength. She is fierce in battle, but that is only one aspect of her. Many know of her axe and the cry of rage on the battle field, but few know that she speaks six languages, is an avid reader and has a love of children.
Per’Takamos Zezer’Kerasonb is the queen of the elves of the desert. Her seat of power is Semerkhet, and it is more than just a monarchy. It is a druid oasis. She already knows of the differences between strength and wisdom, and often makes decisions based on the practical survival of her people. Many times when the Mystrian elves have waged war across the seas against the desert elves, Per’Takamos has taken her place at the head of her army.
Villith Argith, is neither a warrior, nor is she a queen. But she is the only daughter of the Arch Druid. Waien’s younger sister, she has some of Waien’s playful nature, and some of her father’s wisdom. Though the latter comes out rarely, often times shocking people when she speaks in such tones. She is easily recognized by her flame red hair, more often than not in tatters with hair braided with beads and the odd leaf or two.
T’Lan is a protector of her people. The elves of the jungles, bordering the desert and the sea to the south of the Desert of the Phaorohs. Her tribe is a proud one, and though these elves are new to Terra-Kal, they keep stewardship over the region they settled in. She and her people are very different from the other elves, with skin as black as pitch, but a kindness that is not seen among most elves. But make no mistake, they do not forget enemies and will fight to the death. They also remember their friends, often heeding a call across many miles to aid them.
These four will appear in another story, which I’m still in the process of jotting down notes for. So far, I have them meeting, though the details as to why are sketchy at present. I’ll set it aside for now, but maybe something will spark later. At least now, I’ve got it down what I want to start with.
Related articles
- The House of Wennemein (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
- Writing Poetry is Hard (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
- Music does not have borders (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
- Valley of the Mists (taholtorf.wordpress.com)
Valley of the Mists
I wrote this earlier, but expanded on it now.
There is a legend that the bards do tell,
of a place so dark, there evil must dwell
They mention a place where the mist seems alive,
where creatures of madness live and thrive
A valley of death some would say,
no one knows what it’s like to this day
A place where even the dragons will not go,
such a place must be where evil would grow
But there are those who would venture to the valley,
never seen again, devoured by evil’s ally
Those who survive are driven to madness,
their family left to mourn with dark sadness
The bravest adventurer into the valley would dare not walk,
least his body be found broken on the rock
This valley that borders the greatest of countries,
each offering rewards for their enemies bounties
Armies from both would skirt around this land,
choosing instead to travel close to the sand
No elf would dare enter this foreboding place,
even after Brytalonia and Mysteria sat face to face
For one hundred years a peace has survived,
this valley watching as though it were alive
There were rumours no animals dared draw near,
they stayed away from the mists out of fear
Creatures of darkness and pure evil were said to dwell,
the mists themselves were just like a hell
The elves of the lands never could say,
not one of them set foot in the valley to this day
Even the bravest would speak quietly with fear,
holding themselves back as though darkness were near
But not everyone believes such tales,
some believe they can succeed where an other fails
Though such an elf is often quite rare,
there are those that would take up a dare
Some would go after a tankard or two,
so drunk any tale they’d tell would not ring true
Oh there were stories of those rumoured to go,
never seen again past the fifth fallen snow
Others said it was a haven for dark magic,
where powerful mages would live a life so tragic
Who’s to say what really is there,
when no one comes back or is sober in a dare
But such stories draw out curiosity,
and often an elf will grin with glee
And just to be certain about such a thing,
there is just one elf who would go for such a fling
She is known as the thief and her name will ring,
for she is born of the house Wennemein
From Stonebridge this tale will start, the jewel of Brytalonia
Past Brockton it will be told, the home of the skalds
Further south is the Mage’s Guild, the academy known as Arcanum Bridge
An epic tale more than certain, told throughout the land
One that should be known, even by the farmers of the Brighten Fields
Beyond is the valley, the place that rumours are spread
The Valley of Mists, north of Mysteria
When night falls and the mist rolls in,
the world becomes as dark as sin
The light grow dim and the air grows thick,
it can send a shiver right to the quick
Travellers beware of the road to the mists,
more than one have felt death’s sharp kiss
The stories are as old as time itself,
this valley foreboding has claimed more than one elf
But still there are those that would seek to conquer,
their courage high and their wits stronger
Such is the tale of one such elven maid,
with jet black hair all set in a braid
Her snow white flesh would seem to glow,
her eyes sparkled with excitement for sure
An agile young thing who would seek out her fame,
fortune and glory, that was the game
It wasn’t the wealth of things to steal,
he goal was merely to look and to feel
To get past the locks and disable the traps,
unbind sacred books from their leather bound wraps
The satisfaction of a job well done,
to snatch a small prize and quietly run
That was the life of this young elf,
to conquer a goal and feel satisfaction in self
She’d listen to rumours and keep them in mind,
remember small riddles if she was in a bind
With rapier, short sword and daggers so near,
she learned to defend herself from things that would fear
And so it was the way on one such dark night,
that Shani would venture onto the road without fright
Prepared she was to face the unknown,
and tales she would tell when she returned back home
Filled with such confidence, she felt so alive,
the experience she have, her legend would thrive
So one dark night she set out on the road,
leaving behind her books and abode
She’d travel light and make certain she was ready,
her blades were sharp, her hands were steady
She’d keep close to the road, but deep in shadow,
she knew that others would try to follow
The road is quiet, even in the dark,
there is nary a sound, even from a lark
But there are dangers, sure enough,
bandits, brigands, cut throats, enough
Such knowledge for Shani it did not deter,
she knew what she wanted, she’d take it for sure
So onto the road her feet did quietly walk,
not making a sound on grass or rock
From Stonebridge she’d start, the jewel of Brytalonia
Past Brockton she’d go, the home of the skalds
To the south she’d keep going, to Arcanum Bridge
Knowing she was getting close with each mile she would go
It wasn’t long now, as she entered the Brighten Fields
Beyond was the valley, the place that she sought
The Valley of Mists, north of Mysteria
The road was quiet as she crept along,
not making a sound not even a song
Shani knew the dangers that were there,
to walk the Mysterian border was something of a dare
But a curious maid was what she was,
an elf who knew a noble cause
Cause and effect was how she saw it,
she’d mark her place as she saw fit
She crept along the tightening walls,
not far from the Rock Split Falls
The fog rolled in and it was thick,
her motions slow with each time piece tick
She began to question if this was a wise idea,
when sight was blind and the road not clear
In fact there was nothing to be seen,
The Valley of the Mysts would remain just clean
But she pressed on in her quest,
curiosity had gotten her best
The road grew more rocky as she stepped,
on hands and knees she crept
Her breath was ragged in part with fear,
what was in this fog so near
There was something in the distance that she could see,
what in this world could ever it be
She crawled faster toward her goal,
pushing back the fear that tried to grow
Rocks gave way to grass,
the fog didn’t feel like such a heavy mass
She pushed herself to her feet,
gazing into the mists for just half a beat
A light seemed to shine,
perhaps a lantern from an old mine
She could see it through the fog,
not very far, just a short jog
Her eyes did twinkle with anticipation,
this would be worth all her frustration
She stepped carefully into the clearing,
the call of the night owls nearing
A welcome reply to this valley so dark,
and she lighted her torch with a quick spark
Her eyes grew wide with what she did see,
nothing ever prepared her for a sight to bring such glee
Carved into stone with ancient runes,
nestled into the hills like rocks in sand dunes
She saw the most wondrous thing ever,
something told in history books never
They looked quite ornate and very old,
and Shani stepped forward with feet so bold
From Stonebridge she did travel, the jewel of Brytalonia
Through Brockton she went, the home of the skalds
To the south she had gone, to Arcanum Bridge
Just to see this wonderful sight
This valley, these ancients, not far from the Brighten Fields
In this secret valley, the place that she stood
The Valley of Mists, north of Mysteria
Shani stood in awe in the pale moonlight,
marvelling at this wonderful sight
The texts of the mages never spoke of this,
she had to tell them and share her bliss
The skalds had no knowledge of such a wondrous gate,
and grinned of the tales those bards would create
Not even the Mysterians had such information in their library,
most of their books were drab and quite dreary
This information would be such a revelation,
she grinned and laughed with such elation
She had to tell the scribes of such things,
to hear the tales or the songs they would sing
Shani’s goal was set in stone,
she’d tell the skalds on her way home
And bring them to this mystical place,
hoping to receive their good grace
She gathered her belongs to make the fast trip,
her torch she took into her light grip
With one look back to those magical gates,
she smiled with the thought of what awaits
She thought of the pride she’d receive from her mother,
the adoration that would come from her brother
The news would be welcomed throughout the land,
from the dark swamps of Mysteria to Semerkhet’s hot sand
She took one last look before turning to the north,
a longing gaze that was morth than it’s worth
Caught up in her daydreaming was she,
that for a moment there was something more to see
Her sharp elven ears did hear something faint,
she knew it wasn’t a fae, not something so quaint
It sounded like a blast or a crack,
Like lightning that would make you jump back
An explosion so loud but also most quiet,
hardly enough to cause any riot
But this was Shani and her curiosity did rise,
as she began to creep forward, carefully watching the skies
Maybe the sound came from the distance,
some lightning strike she did not glance
The sound it did ring out once more,
Now she was certain it’s source for sure
Closer and closer toward the gate she crept,
as though she were walking beside someone who slept
Shani tilted her head and listened close,
as though trying to hear someone read prose
All around grew very still,
even the air took on a chill
She perked up her ears when she heard it,
a report of some kind but the source did not fit
From Stonebridge they hear, the jewel of Brytalonia
In Brockton she’d tell them, the home of the skalds
The mages must know in Arcanum Bridge
What lay beyond this magical gate
That lay in this valley not far from the Brighten Fields
Sounds never before heard that she could not explain
In the Valley of Mists, north of Mysteria
Shani drew back from her place,
a look of confusion over her face
“D-d-did I just hear cries?” she did stutter,
“An’ shouts an’ bangs like s-s-someone closin’ a shutter?”
She listened again drawing several feet closer,
“I’m certain I d-d-did, but it could be a cover.”
“Like the wind playin’ t-t-tricks on poor ol’ me,
‘r someone havin’ fun, make me s-s-scared just ta see.”
It was not fear that was in her voice,
her mode of speech was not her choice
And she did continue to listen at the gate,
for a long long time did she wait
And as she did she began to grin,
she clapped her hands and would slap her shin
As she heard the sounds from the gate within,
in this place that was rumoured to be as dark as sin
“I hear cavalry, wagons, an’ more,
I w-w-wonder just what’s the score.
Maybe it’s some kind of new land,
I wonder if them people need a hand.”
She stood back a few feet,
her eyes watching the gate
Looking over the archway carefully
there must be a key that would grant her entry
She ran her hands over the stone,
suddenly the gate did seem to groan
The whirling pool that was filled with light,
began to fill with colour of such delight
She was too busy to notice to change,
she busily searched for some lever or flange
Something that would open this door,
so she could hear and see so much more
She only thought of the coming adventure,
that she did note see the coming forever
A scream of great fright was what snapped her awake,
and she looked to the pool unsure of her sake
She stared into the lights unable to move,
only her eyes did blink as she watched the gate’s grove
The colours did change from swirling lights,
the took on new shapes and new sights
Shani finally let out a long quiet gasp,
as she gazed at the sight just beyond her grasp
As her eyes did gaze upon the scene,
she inspected her gear, preparing to move unseen
For what lay beyond the entrance was grand,
never seen before in the elven land
Her attention was fixed as the hour grew late,
upon what lay beyond this magic gate
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Shameless Self Promotion part two
(via The Adventures of Black Mask & Pale Rider by Tim Holtorf in Science Fiction & Fantasy)
Here’s the lulu.com link for purchasing a copy of The Adventures of Black Mask & Pale Rider. There’s also the digital version here as well.
I’d also like to announce that I’m working on an epic poem, two of them, actually. They are titled The Legend of Black Mask and The Legend of Pale Rider (two poems, two titles). Each will deal with how Shani and Pania arrived on Earth. I’ll let you know how progress is made on both of those.
The Ballad of Black Mask
A swagger in her step, a hand hovering at her hip
She’ll flash a smile, a knowing wink
A calm reserve that can fool the most able
She’ll cut you down faster than you can think
“I am the fastest this world has seen”
She’ll boast with full bravado
“I am the fastest that’s ever been”
Before one can blink she’ll up and go
Quick with her witt and quick on the draw
Her goal is simple and beyond compare
Willing to fight and willing to rumble
Her eyes seem to glisten without a care
Just who is this adventurer, one might ask
A gunslinger by choice, an elf by birth
Roaming the worlds with partner by her side
She lets loose a laugh filled with joy and mirth
Born to aristocracy, she doesn’t seem to fit
In a world built in magic and towers
She became a thief seeking adventure
Planning each move in what would seem hours
Her name became legend throughout this world and hers
A claim she will lay down when opportunity arise
A boast and a brag, one would think she was a bard
Adept with a tale as though she’d change her guise
As the years would move on, she’d take on new challenges
At different times a thief, a sheriff, a marshal
With each one she’d grow, her fame ever changing
Her heart filled with cheer as a challenge would call
Many have tried to find this wild elf
Many have failed to claim her as their own
Hard to catch, even harder to tame
She’ll remain a mystery, in this world and even her home
This tale is legend, or that is true
An elven maid with her eye on a task
The legend known through the rugged west
As the outlaw known as Black Mask.
artwork by Clarissa Renee Hummel
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