Do you become emotionally attached to the characters in the stories you read and/or write?

   A number of children, while growing up, develop imaginary friends. My imaginary friends were in the books I read, but to me they were real people. I would fantasize being in the adventure with them and doing my part. I would laugh when they laughed and cry when they cried. I remember having nightmares every time we would just barely make it out of a situation alive. In my nightmare, we would both die.
   I no longer need imaginary friends but I still become emotionally attached to characters, both in the stories I have fallen in love with and in the stories I have written. I have never seen myself as a leading man so I usually identify with one of the supporting characters. Over the years, several authors have killed off the supporting character halfway through the story. When that happens, I lose interest and rarely finish the book. When I was young, occasionally I would write the rest of the story keeping the character alive.
   As you can probably tell, the stories I like to read and/or write are all character driven. Sometimes this makes it difficult for me as a writer because I will start to tear up at an emotional scene and can't continue. I will have to step away for awhile before I can come back and finish the scene.
   I have always been a fairly un-emotional person who rarely laughs or cries. It's not that the emotion isn't there, it's uncomfortable for me to display emotion in front of others. Books give me a safe outlet for my emotions.
   I sometimes wonder if I am alone in this or are there others who have to live their lives in a similar fashion?
   Thanks for reading!

I Love Writing Characters In Supporting Roles.

   In my story "The Eyes of the Deluti" I put together a team made up of a 'light shifter' and an 'ogre' to protect Navon, one of my main characters. Emma is descended from a race of tree dwellers with the ability to shift the light around them rendering her invisible. This ability enhances her profession as an assassin. Sebastion is a mountain ogre with a natural defense against magic. He relies on his size and mastery of weapons to get the job done. Sebastion is twice as tall as Emma and easily four times her weight.
   In this scene, Navon has disappeared and Emma is forced to contact their master. See how she handles it.

All eyes turned to her. Once again, silence filled the clearing except for the quiet whimpers of the pups and a low rumbling growl from Bright Star that Emma could feel.

Sebastion stood, then sat again, hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. Slowly and carefully he spoke. “Little one, somehow we have failed. This is beyond any of us and we need direction. Only you have the power to contact the Old Man.”

Emma nodded and reluctantly reached inside her tunic to pull out the talisman she kept on a chain around her neck. The Ancient One had given it to her many years ago to contact him in an emergency. She had only used it once before and the experience had been unpleasant. This time would be worse. At the touch of her finger along with a small release of power, a misty figure formed in the center of the clearing.

A deep, powerful voice filled the clearing as High Lord Demitrios faced Emma.

“This had better be important, little one.”

“What, did I wake you from a nap?” she bristled. “Of course it’s important, Your Ancientness.”

Sebastion let his fangs show in a smile, and then quickly put on a serious expression as the image of the Ancient One turned to him.

“Sebastion, I am disappointed in you. I had hoped you would have her under better control. Now, I see all of you gathered here except young Navon and what is most disturbing, I can no longer sense his spirit. What has happened?”

Sebastion could only shrug while holding his hands out to the side.

Emma approached the glowing figure, hands clenched at her side. “That’s the problem. We don’t see him either. According to the wolf pups, he and Moonlight have been taken away by your Deluti Spirits. You should have warned us.”

“What do you mean? And who is Moonlight?” He stared off into the forest before turning to the elder wolf. “Bright Star, may I question your young ones?”

With a bark of command, the pups moved forward to sit at the feet of the old Deluti High Lord. He stared into their eyes for a short period of time, and then released them. They rose and returned to their parents, no longer whining.

The Ancient One paced back and forth with a look of concentration on his face as he pondered. “Which one of the Councilors inhabit the amulet that Navon wears? He is not ready. What is the purpose of the bond to the she-wolf? This changes everything.”

“Stop babbling, old man, and explain to us what is going on,” Emma demanded.

He turned to the ogre, as if he hadn’t heard. “Sebastion, I must ask that you travel to the capitol city and present yourself to the King. Princess Sofia of Dahlian will arrive soon to fulfill an agreement between the two nations. My vision is unclear but I sense that the Princess is next in line to receive an amulet. One of the Barons is planning something and I have to assume he is an agent of my brother. He will do anything to get his hands on one of the amulets. Tell the King I have sent you to be her personal bodyguard.”

He ignored the fuming Emma and turned to the elder wolf. “Bright Star, my old friend, the fate of your daughter and young Navon is now out of our hands. The Deluti spirits have activated the Arches of Rineron. We cannot interfere or aid them in any way.” The Old Man paused as he raised his eyes and gazed to the south. “They must have passed through the first arch. I now sense Navon’s spirit far to the south in the land of the Shadron Nomads. If he and Moonlight survive their trial they will return to the north through the Shadow Mountains. Wait for them there.”

Finally he turned to Emma with a look that caused her to step back. “And you, my favorite little tree climbing assassin, will accompany Sebastion to the capitol, find out what the Baron is planning, and then contact me again. Stay out of sight and stay out of trouble if you can.”

Before she could respond, the image of the old man returned to her talisman, leaving her and Sebastion to stare at each other in apprehension.

“That went well, don’t you think,” Emma beamed. “Did you hear him? He said I was his favorite! C’mon Sebastion, let’s take care of the wagon and get going. The sooner we can arrive at the capitol, the sooner I can find out what the Baron is up to.”

Sebastion shook his head and chuckled as they broke camp.

Writing fan/fiction for practice from a story I can't get enough of.

Just for background on this story, Elayne has the power to bond someone to her so that they share feelings and strength. Sort of like an over the top bodyguard and friend. Birgitte’s soul belongs to an ancient hero who comes back from the dead to fight whenever the Horn of Valere is sounded. 

Do the strong emotions of this scene come through? If not, any suggestions on how to make it better? 

This is part of a fan-fic I am writing just for practice. 

Roland

 

 

The coolness and familiar surroundings of the Pavilion helped to settle her thoughts. The servants had attempted to pattern the inside of the Pavilion after her quarters in the Palace, even placing a dummy fireplace against one wall that would hold a brazier if needed for warmth. The bed was certainly not as impressive as the one in the Palace but was probably the only bed in camp. Someone had been thoughtful enough to bring some flowers and arrange them in a vase on the table.

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.”

 

A scene from Eyes of the Deluti

Princess Sofia accepts the possibility that she has inherited a power left over from a race of immortals who haven't been seen for hundreds of years.

Sofia stood with her eyes closed, arms folded across her chest as if in a hug. A barely perceptible change in her expression caused her face to look softer and slightly wilted. Opening her eyes, and in a voice minus the usual arrogance, she admitted. “This is very difficult for me Ronald. For the first time in my life, I am unsure of myself.”

“We have both been thrust into a situation that neither of us has had to face before, Princess. Why don’t we take care of the horses, see what there is in the coach that we can make use of and then eat something. Afterwards we will talk.”

The Princess was uncommonly quiet as they went about their individual tasks. No caustic remarks were made when he took charge and started giving orders to her just as he would to any of his men. Ronald was seriously concerned, not only for her but for himself as well.

They settled down on a couple of overturned buckets in a corner of the barn. A small brazier provided some light and comforting warmth as the rain on the roof could be heard over the moaning of the wind. Ronald glanced over at the Princess and knew he would have to initiate the conversation.

“I think the first thing we need to talk about is your new found power.”

“Power? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Her eyes never left the glowing coals but Ronald recognized the signs of fear on her face. He had seen it enough times on the faces of the young guardsmen he commanded.

“What are you afraid of Princess?”

“Even if there was something to be afraid of, I won’t let it deter me. I am afraid of nothing, Ronald.”

“Princess, the absence of fear is death. When we feel fear, it reminds us that we are still alive and gives us the strength to stay that way. You cannot deny the fact that you healed Gilfor and myself with something more than herbs and stitches. And what about this afternoon? It was you who stopped my horse dead in its tracks and nearly killed us both, wasn’t it?”

For a moment, Ronald felt his own fear as her eyes locked onto his and was surprised he couldn’t feel the heat from the fire burning within them. The flames flickered and died only to be replaced by shame.

“By the Eyes, Ronald!” she cried.”I didn’t want to hurt you. I was angry and just wanted you to stop. I acted without thinking. I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted. At least you have finally admitted to yourself and to me that there is a power in you to do things that others cannot. It is enough for now. What I would like to know is what is so significant about your handmaiden? I agree with you that those men probably had orders to kill everyone, yet she still lives and you have given up your crown to rescue her. Why?”

Sofia leaned forward to add more coal to the brazier, her eyes once again focused on the glowing embers before she answered. “I don’t fully understand it myself Ronald. She carries an item of great power. I cannot describe it since I have never seen it but I have felt its power. Somehow it made me swear to guard her life with my own. I must find her.”

Ronald jumped up and started pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself. “By the Eyes, it must be one of the lost Deluti Amulets of Power. That means the Princess … I never dreamed …” At which point he stopped to stare with apprehension at the Princess.

“Ronald, what are you babbling about? Sit down and talk to me.”

He slowly returned to his bucket, eyes still locked on the Princess, trying to gather his thoughts. How could he convince her that what he suspected was true?

“Princess, I may be a simple soldier but I love to read history, especially the history of the Deluti wars. As you may remember, the High Lord Demitrios ruled the world through the Council of Five. Each of the councilors wore an amulet that helped to focus their power, as a symbol of their position. Toward the end of the war, the councilors gave up their lives by forging their spirits and power into each one of the amulets.”

Sofia was never interested in history, but when Ronald began to speak of the Deluti, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she felt something stir deep inside of her. “Why would they do such a horrible thing?”

“None of the Five were as powerful as the Dark Lord, even with their amulets. If he had defeated any one of them and gained the power of their amulet, it would have given him an advantage over his brother Demitrios. After they died, the amulets were scattered and hidden throughout the land. He must not be allowed to gain possession of even one of those amulets.”

“But how would that be possible, Ronald? The Deluti War is hundreds of years in the past. Surely, Scorpios must have passed away a long time ago.”

“Princess, the Deluti are not human. They are immortal beings and can only die at the hand of someone who wields the power of a Deluti. It is said that the High Lord still lives in the far northern reaches of Marlinor and I have no doubt that Scorpios lives far to the south of us in the Stagwood Marshe. Even the pirates avoid the evil that surrounds the South Shore.”

Ronald went to check on the horses and look for more coals for the brazier. He also wanted to give the Princess time to absorb what she had just heard before he shared his conclusions on the source of her power. When he returned to their corner, the confusion was still evident in her expression.

“I must admit that what Floane carries could very well be one of those lost amulets, but what does that have to do with me?”

“The last thing written in the history I read was a foretelling by the High Lord himself. ‘Many generations from now, the blood of the Deluti will return through the line of humans even stronger than before and our time on this world will come to an end.’”

Once again he stood, pulling his sword and holding it point down as he knelt before the Princess who shivered while searching his face for any sign of deceit.

“The power of the Deluti is in you. As long as there is life left in me, I will stand by your side to support you and be your friend, if you’ll have me. In memory of my father who gifted me this sword, this I swear to you Princess.”

“Never call me that again, Ronald,” she whispered. “The Princess is dead.”

Just then a bolt of lightning and the corresponding thunder shook the barn to its foundation. As the thunder continued to echo off into the distance, the two of them shared a look filled with apprehension and no little fear, then smiled.

 

Do I Have To Write Every Day To Be A Writer?

   Over the last several weeks, I have seen more and more posts from writers complaining that they haven't been able to write every day. Some haven't been able to write anything since November or have tried to write but it's all garbage. They ask the question; 'What is wrong with me?' or 'Can you help me'. The underlying statement they are afraid to post is; 'I can't write every day so I feel like a failure'.
   Now I have nothing against NaNoWriMo, since it is a positive experience for many writers, but for some, it can be a nightmare. Maybe you just could not achieve the number of words required to win, so immediately the word "failure" comes into play. Maybe you did actually surpass your word goal, but have spent the last month trying to make sense out of the whole thing and have finally thrown up your hands in disgust. You ask yourself the question; "Am I a failure as a writer?"
   The simple answer, is no. We are all different. What works for some writers will not work for all. Some writers can generate a readable story in six weeks and some will take six years. They are both writers. A grandfather may write down his memories of war or experiences growing up to pass along to the next generations. He is a writer. A young parent will make up stories and write them down for their children. They are a writer. My grand-daughter has a closet full of spiral notebooks she has been writing in for ten years. Is she a writer? Of course she is.
   A writer writes, but a successful writer sells. Will my grand-daughter ever be a successful writer? Only time will tell. To reach that point, you not only have to write, but be willing to let others help you by providing feedback. Listen to comments from a critique group and others you have let read your work. Above all, edit and/or re-write based on those comments.
   Write what you can, when you can, and enjoy the experience. Be willing to let others help you and eventually you will be successful.


   If you can't write x number of words every day, are you a failure? Absolutely not! 

A Time For Reflection - The Journey Continues

   With the new year upon us, I felt the need to reflect on the changes in my life over the past year. Some of you, who have read my previous posts, know that I have had to deal with bi-polar depression most of my life. The early years were tolerable because out of the many kids I grew up with, there were always a few who would be my friend no matter how I acted. That continued on through my years in the Navy and afterwards during the years I worked in a large shipyard. Being surrounded by so many people, there were always a few who wanted to be my friend. However, after I retired, all that changed. When I left the shipyard and went into business for myself, the only people I came into contact with were customers or employees. Friends drifted away as I became more involved with my business. Eventually, the economy forced me to shut down, my wife was no longer able to work and we had to sell everything and move into a small trailer in a mobile home park. Throughout my life, reading had always been my only escape. I spent the next several years reading books from the library but mostly re-reading books I had from my favorite authors. You know how sometimes when you finish a book, you wish the story wouldn't end? Well I decided to write my own stories based in those worlds, that I later found out were called fan fiction. A little over a year ago, my daughter asked to read some of what I had written and convinced me I needed to take it more seriously. I bought a few writers magazines and saw that you could actually enter contests. I wrote a short story that was all mine, entered several contests and had some minor success. I then attended a writers meeting at the local library put on by an independent e-book publisher who was looking for more writers. After several meetings, I felt comfortable enough to ask her to read one of my short stories. She came back with a contract offer to publish my first book but told me I needed to develop an on-line presence. Not wanting to appear stupid, I waited until I got home and then asked my grand-daughter what an online presence was since I knew she spent a lot of time on the computer. She told me about blogs and that there were communities I could join on Google+. So I joined and set up a blog, which I am still trying to learn how to use.
   Once again, thanks to the internet and joining several local writers groups, I am developing some friendships again. Now when depression rears it's ugly head and tries to tell me this is all a waste of time, I can look at the wonderful words of encouragement that my followers have written and it gives me the strength to continue writing. Hopefully in the coming year I will be able to post more meaningful content on my blog and get my first book published. For those of you who have helped me improve my writing, thank you. For those of you who decided to follow me because you love my stories, God bless you.
   Happy New Year everyone!

I feel like a cat. I'm dying of curiosity.

Why is it that people will take the time to read something and not take a minute to leave a comment? Are they afraid of being disliked because they left a negative comment? Or do they feel they are not qualified to comment? Do they just not care?
I don't know if there is a way to track how many people read what I post here on G+ but on Wattpad I can track the number of people who read my WIP. Each chapter is posted separately so I can track how many read each part.
According to the numbers, about 30% of the ones who read chapter 1 continue to read the next chapters. Of those, 90% go on to read all of them. The problem is that out of the total number of people only 5% leave a comment.
As a writer, I am left floating in the clouds. How can I improve? What are my weak spots? I would like to become the best writer I can be but without feedback I have no direction.
I understand that there are plenty of writers out there who write because they have to. The stories are in their heads and they don't feel right until they can get that story in writing. However, some of us have to fight with our inner demons on a daily basis to be able to write. We are constantly hearing a voice in our mind that tells us we are never going to be any good. Nobody cares if we ever write another thing. Why bother?
The story is still there and I desperately want to write it but the physical act of picking up a pencil and putting it to paper is sometimes beyond me.
What brought this whole thing about was several weeks ago an established author somehow stumbled upon my WIP on WattPad. I had been in a slump, not being able to write or even post anything here on G+. This author left a very encouraging comment and decided to "Follow" me. That was nice since I have several other followers, but when I checked out his profile, I found that he had dozens of followers himself but I was the only one he was following. That was enough to duct tape shut the mouth of my demon and I've been able to write almost every day since.