Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Why I Write Light Fantasy

   First of all, let me say that I have nothing against people write and read dark fantasy or any of the horror style stories. Different strokes for different folks and all that. It's just not for me.
   Battling depression for most of my life, reading a depressing story is the last thing I want to do. Having watched my mother slowly die when I was fifteen and then later in life finding myself in the position of being given up for dead by doctors, death is not a topic I treat lightly. Rarely will you find death in my stories and if you do, I handle it with as much compassion and respect as I can give it. You will never see me use the death of a character in a frivolous manor or just to add some un-needed darkness to the story.
   If I find myself getting angry while reading a book, whether because of the actions of a character or for injustices being highlighted, I will stop reading. We are bombarded daily with anger and injustice on the news and online. Why read about it in a book?
   I read and write fantasy that will transport me into another world or reality different from my own. I want characters I can identify with, empathize when things go wrong and share in their joy when things finally work out. Adding humor into my stories is also very important to me even though it is extremely hard since I haven't actually laughed in years. At my age, the depression has progressed to the point where I am either down a little or a lot, never on the upside. Again, this is all in an effort to create a world totally unlike my own.
   If you're looking for a story where the main character is abused, ridiculed and beat down through most of the book, sorry, you won't find that here.


   I may have shared this scene from my fan/fic a while ago but it's one of my favorites so I'm sharing it again. Thanks for reading.






Her thoughts soon turned sour again. Blasted mood swings! She would find a way to make bloody Rand al’Thor pay for the difficulties she’d been experiencing because of her pregnancy. It wasn’t totally his fault but she would make him pay regardless. It was also entirely possible that her mood was being influenced by the pain and despair seeping through the bond from Birgitte. Something was eating at the soul of her friend and Elayne cared too much not to try and help.


“Bloody ashes Birgitte! Will you please sit down and talk to me. I haven’t been able to get more than a few words out of you all day. I can feel the conflict inside of you and it will destroy us both if we can’t find a resolution.”


Birgitte snorted as the faraway look fled from her eyes. “Such language from a Queen. You’ve been spending entirely too much time around soldiers Elayne.” Then in a quiet voice she continued, “Especially a soldier like me.”


Elayne said nothing. The look she gave Birgitte spoke volumes as she pointed to a chair opposite hers. She had assumed the mantle of Queen now and would brook no more nonsense.


“You will not like what I have to say Elayne,” Birgitte murmured.


“I don’t like seeing my dearest friend suffer like this either, so I will just have to find a way to deal with it,” Elayne replied.


She waited patiently as Birgitte struggled with what she needed to say. A flicker of fear began to dance around in the back of Elayne’s mind as the suspicion of what her Warder wanted flared to life.


“You want me to release you from the Warder bond,” she whispered. “Why?”


Taking a ragged breath, Birgitte slowly walked over and sat in the chair facing Elayne. Hands tightly clenched in her lap, she looked up and saw her tears reflected in the eyes of her beloved friend.


“In all of my previous lives, I have never had a sister. You have shown me what I never knew I’d been missing. You have given me a precious gift Elayne. Not only by saving my life but also the gift of the love for a sister. You will always have a special place in my heart.”


“I don’t understand,” Elayne cried softly. “I need you now more than ever. Please don’t ask me to do this.”


“I must.”


Springing up out of the chair, Birgitte began pacing back and forth. She had never been comfortable sitting while trying to marshal her thoughts.


“Do you understand what I am Elayne?”


“Of course. You are Birgitte Silverbow, heroine of the Ages. She who never misses what she aims at.”


“No Elayne. That is who I was and as long as I’m your Warder that is all I’ll ever be. But that is beside the point. What I am is a hero tied to the Horn of Valere. I must be available to answer the call when Mat blows the Horn at the Last Battle.”


Unable to hold back her tears, Elayne struggled to control her voice. “What are you saying Birgitte? Do you want to die?”


“No one wants to die,” Birgitte murmured as past memories of death rose up to haunt her. “But I am afraid. I shouldn’t be here Elayne. Moghedien ripped my soul out of the World of Dreams and thrust me into the world of the living. Her intention was to see me die the final death and I would have if you hadn’t bonded me, giving me a link to this world. I have felt the Pattern twisting itself around trying to fit me in.”


Stopping at the side table where one of the servants had thoughtfully left a pitcher of wine and a pitcher of goat’s milk, she poured herself a cup of wine and after a moment of indecision, poured another one for Elayne. The Queen wasn’t supposed to have anything other than goat’s milk during her pregnancy but Birgitte felt they both needed something stronger.


Returning to her chair, she handed the cup of wine to Elayne and at her questioning look Birgitte smiled, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”


“Why now?” Elayne asked.


“It seems that one of the requirements for being a Hero of the Horn is sensitivity to the needs of the Pattern. Maybe that is why so many of us are born over and over, each time accomplishing something important. Gaidal and I have lived more lives than any other because we are the most sensitive to the Pattern. Yesterday I became aware of what the Pattern requires of me. Somehow I am now tied to Mat. If I am not with him he might die and the Last Battle will be lost before it ever begins.”


“Birgitte, I know that Mat blew the Horn of Valere and he seems to have a certain flair for fighting but Rand is the one who is destined to battle the Dark One and save the world.”


Birgitte leaned forward and gripped Elayne’s knee, her braid of golden hair falling from her shoulder. “Think Elayne. Even if that too handsome man of yours manages to seal the Dark One back up in his prison, what then? Will the hundreds of thousands of Trollocs just roll over and die? Will the Seanchen shake their heads, disappointed that they missed the Last Battle, climb back onto their boats and head for home?”


“Of course not. We have one of the largest armies ever assembled along with the greatest military minds of this age. We will deal with the Trollocs first and then push the Seanchen back on their ships whether they want to go or not.”


Bounding out of her chair, Birgitte resumed her pacing. How to make Elayne understand? Her need to find Mat had become almost painful. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. The worst part was she knew she couldn’t do anything until he returned from his insane quest into the Tower of Ghenjei. That would have to stay a secret for now but maybe he would forgive her for revealing just one of his many secrets.


Her eyes glazed over as she remembered the desperate, blood soaked battles many generations in the past. “I fought and died several times during the Trolloc Wars Elayne. It took many lifetimes before they were finally defeated. Your armies are impressive but from the number of Trollocs rumored to be massing at the border, they will roll over your armies like a storm flattens a field of young wheat. Your armies are too fragmented with different loyalties and agendas. You must have one Marshal-General in command of all the armies to have a chance. Who will you choose? Toward the end of the war when all looked lost, one man stepped forward. He rallied the nations together and fought with cunning and a certain amount of luck until they finally drove the Trollocs back across the border.”


Coming to a stop in front of Elayne, her body quivering with emotion, their eyes locked.


“That man was Mat.”

No comments:

Post a Comment