A Special Writing Place

    I never realized how important an unchanging, familiar writing space was until I tried to write in an unfamiliar space. Before my writing came to a screeching halt years ago, I usually wrote outside where I could smoke. If the weather was nice, I sat on the porch. If it was nasty, I sat in my car. No matter where I was, I always had soft music in the background. I can't concentrate or write in dead silence. The house is gone, the car is gone, and I quit smoking the night before my open heart surgery (go figure). 

   Along with the battle to restore my memories and ability to write, finding a new place to write added to my struggles. I can't get too comfortable in a recliner or sofa as I will fall asleep (age). It also can't be too uncomfortable or it distracts me from writing. I've been unable to find a spot in the house we live in now, and the car isn't comfortable, at least for writing.

   A couple of years ago, I bought an old cabin cruiser at auction as a project to keep me busy. It's moored at our local marina, and is about the size of a small camper on the inside. I don't smoke anymore, but killing the desire to light up while writing took years to overcome. The inside of the boat has a couple bench seats with a small table between them. It fits me perfectly. It's quiet with no distractions and has a small radio for background noise.

  It's been a tough road finding my memories and rebuilding my writing grove so finding a writing space that fits me is a god-send.

   I'm including a snippet from a chapter I just wrote. Let know what you think.

   Thanks for reading.

Unused to being fussed over, the young mage savored every touch and encouraging word as it strengthened his belief in himself and his humanity. The spirit below would be totally bereft of even a memory of her humanity. This was his only advantage and he needed to make the most of it.

After a farewell bow and smile from Nathan, Aldan spun, the magical sigils embroidered into his robe flashing. He walked steadily towards the phantom palace. As he moved through the passageway, Marcus lit up the staff in an encouraging glow to send Aldan on his way.

As they got closer, details began to emerge. The entire image rippled like flowing water while all the edges appeared to melt and drip. The coppery stench of blood grew stronger with every step.

“Amos, the palace is dissolving. I don’t know if that means she no longer has the strength to maintain it or she is purposefully drawing the blood to her to boost her power.”

“Since we are obviously walking into a trap, I hope she has enough power left to complete the spell. I hate to think what might happen to us if the spell fails half complete.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Aldan placed his hand against a wall and opened a door where none existed before.

Renewing the Mind

 

This is another attempt to once again ride the writing horse that bucked me off years ago. The fact that people still read my blogs is humbling and has driven me to try and renew the habit.

My life has changed so much in the last couple of years, and not for the better. Maybe some of you might remember that I had open heart surgery five years ago. Due to the length of time with minimal blood flow to my brain, slight brain damage occurred removing my ability to write or remember any of the story lines I had stored in my head. I lost all confidence in my ability to critique others and actually started to hate reading. I wrote a few blogs in an attempt to kick start my writing it was so difficult that I gave up. The fact that I'm reduced to living on a meager fixed income doesn't help.

A little over a year ago, the light in my life went out when the woman I'd loved for over fifty years passed away with no warning in the middle of our conversation. That almost broke me. The grief and trauma of her death have lessoned so at least I can finally talk about it. The tears still flow, but I need to find another purpose for my life.

Not long ago I was telling my doctor how I felt and that I wished I'd never lost the memories of my stories. I really wanted to continue and finish the stories I'd started. What she said surprised me. She said that my memories were probably still there. Recent research has shown memories still exist after an injury to the brain, it's the pathways used to access those memories that are damaged. With work and patience, those pathways can be rebuilt or renewed. She encouraged me to try.

I spent weeks with my old notes and the books already written. I would read passages from the book and then write them out on a sheet of paper. I copied the names of the main characters over and over and then added their personalities. I was finally able to read the first books without getting frustrated as the story came back to life. I don't know how many of the memories have completely returned, but enough for me to feel confident in continuing the story. I returned to my critique group and they're glad to have me back. Beginning the habit of blogging again is another step in my goal of finding meaning in my life again.

I hope my story will give someone who's lost memory due to trauma of some kind the hope that their memories may still be there. It wasn't easy and gave my one hell of a headache for a couple days, but it was worth it.

Thanks for reading!

I'll Never Quit

    It's been years since I've published anything, years since I've written anything of substance, and almost a year since I've attempted to write another blog. So why am I writing one today? Cause I'm a writer.

   Many times over the last couple of years I've thought, I should just pull all my books and stories from Amazon, close down my writers group, and just play video games. Something I'm good at. But something inside me always railed against that idea. I've never been a quitter, and I'm not about to start now.

   So about six months ago I decided no more excuses, start writing and stop whining. I choked out a couple thousand words over several weeks and hated it. Now I've always enjoyed my own writing because I write what I like to read, but this crap was terrible. I needed help! I sat down again a few months ago and wrote another chapter featuring a different character. I still didn't like it, so the characters weren't the problem.

   I posted the first nine chapters I'd written almost four years ago plus the two new chapters to my critique group and asked them to compare the old and the new. Hopefully they could point out what I was doing wrong and how to fix it. I was convinced my writer's voice had changed and the flow was non-existent.

   I'm still trying to wrap my head around what the group said. The majority saw no difference between them and some even thought the newer chapters were better written than the old. How is it possible that I could still write fairly well after all these years and why do I hate it so much?

   It's like the part of my brain that enjoys doing things has died. I no longer enjoy reading or writing or any of the things I liked to do. At least now I know I know that my ability s still there, thanks to my group. Don't know if I'll ever truly enjoy writing again, but I won't give up. At my age and level of health, I've nothing else left.

   Here is a little something from the last chapters. As always, thanks for reading.

   
After questioning the servants and searching the castle, the Commander found Odessa high up in one of the towers. Without a word, he removed the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. He led the Princess back to the warmth of her own rooms and bid her a goodnight. He would never know his single act of kindness was the one thing she needed to tip the scales back to humanity.

The Destination

   An important part of any story, especially a fantasy, is the journey to a destination. There can be many destinations or just one, as long as there is movement. Characters that sit around waiting for something to happen, or trouble come to them is boring. There are so many different ways to travel, by walking, riding, spaceship, or you could make up something totally new.
   Traveling opens up uncounted opportunities for the writer to show a little bit of the world, show how their characters react to obstacles, and show how they treat others if not alone on their journey. Which brings up another point. Characters rarely travel alone. Some may start out that way, but soon gather up companions to help them or secretly hinder them.
   These companions may be human, animal, or maybe even an unseen spirit. But please don't give them someone who just functions as a place holder. Every companion should have a story of their own. They will have likes and dislikes, strong opinions about the world, and a personality that blends well with the MC. Most important of all, they should be able to aid the MC in some way, such as a protector or a teacher, someone to help them gain confidence.
   The destination and the importance of it should be revealed early in the story. Readers will soon lose interest if the characters are just traveling, but no one knows where they're going. For a stand-alone, arriving at the destination should coincide with the climax of the story. If you're writing a series, have secondary destination that can be reached at the end of each book. Readers will probably be turned off if the story ends and the characters haven't made it to the final destination.
   There are so many possibilities for destinations and they don't have to be physical. It could be a new plane of existence or spiritual level. Even death could be the final destination. Send your characters out into the wild unknown and have fun writing your story!
   As always, this is my opinion. If you disagree, I'd love to hear your ideas.
   Thanks for reading. Sorry I don't have any writing to share this week.

The Writer I used To Be

   Apparently I'm one of those strange animals who really enjoy stories I wrote many years ago. Especially now that I've lost so much and have re-read all of my previous books in an effort to reestablish those worlds in my mind. I feel I'm once again a part of the worlds I built, but it's the characters and their motivations I'm still not sure of.
   I see so many writers out there bad-mouthing their own writing and complaining of, "Impostor Syndrome", what ever that is. Seems to me if you don't enjoy reading your own writing, no one else will either. First and foremost, write to please yourself. Believe it or not, there are plenty of others out there who enjoy the same stories as you. Ignore the 10% who will dislike you and your stories no matter what.
   I've gone back and read some fan-fiction written many years ago that was the catalyst for making me want to learn how to write. Those words still hit me emotionally. Granted, the grammar is atrocious and punctuation is non-existent, but the emotions of the characters still comes through. I wrote the story I wanted to read at the time. I enjoyed it then and still do now.
   I'm so afraid, since the surgery, my writing no longer has the depth to it as before. I can still turn a phrase or develop a scene, but my characters fell flat. What I've written in the last few weeks is okay, but still feels like something is missing or not right.
   Any thoughts or suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and I'd just love to hear from you.
   Thanks for reading.
   If you're interested, here's a small sample of the fan-fic from years ago.

   “Please tell me more about those memories,” she asked. “I don’t understand how memories of past battles could be of much benefit to you.”

   “I didn’t just get a few memories of battles, Moraine. I have the complete day to day memories of close to a hundred men. Oh, not any memories of childhood or growing up, but starting in adulthood. As near as we can figure, they start around four to five hundred years before the Trolloc Wars when I was a general for Maccine, King of Eharon, and end around the time of Artur Hawkwing. I’ve been a First Lord of Manetheren and an Eharon High Prince. I led armies during the Trolloc Wars and fought against Hawkwing numerous times as different men, rarely with any success. I remember attending balls at the palaces of kingdoms that are now only piles of rubble. Those ballads you sing Thom. Some of them are about me and a few I wrote to mourn the loss of someone dear to me or to celebrate a victory in battle. Those memories used to be all separate men but now they are all a part of me. I am those men.”

   Moraine glanced up at Mat when he paused and was surprised to see him shaking. She saw that Thom’s eyes were locked on Mat in a way that told her some of this was new to him also. With a profound shiver and a clearing of his throat, Mat continued.

   “Some of the memories are short because those men made mistakes and died young. Some last for years of men who were very successful. Unfortunately, every one of those men died in battle. I remember every death. I remember choking on the blood from an arrow in my throat or chest. I remember all the sorrow, anger and hopelessness as darkness came. You have no idea what it feels like to die over and over again.” Mat paused. “And here I thought Rand was the one who was going to go crazy.”

   Moraine and Thom both stared, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Mat just shared. How could any man deal with something like that and remain sane? Now she understood why Matrim had been shaking. This was what she had seen in his eye but was unable to fathom. How could she? The pain and sorrow of a hundred men’s deaths lay smoldering in the depths of his soul. For what he had done for her today, she vowed to find something or someone to ease that pain.

It's Official

                                                           The Arches of Rineron


   I can finally say I'm officially writing again. I told myself I wouldn't post another blog until that time so here I am. It's been happening off and on for about a week now. I'm sure it'll take a while before I can be consistent again, but I'm almost finished with the next chapter in the second book of the "Queen of Darkness" series. There are still days where I set up my notebook, grab a pen, and then just stare. The blank page simply a reflection of my mind. Now if I can just continue and finish this WIP, that'll be great!
   Over the last year of not posting, a number of folks have continued to check my blog maybe hoping to find something new. I certainly appreciate your dedication and promise I will try to give you something new every week like I used to. Please hang in there with me as I try to re-order my life.
   One thing I'd like to mention is the results of my free e-book giveaway several weeks ago. The few places I posted always contained the link and a picture of my epic fantasy, "The Pain of Compassion". However, my novella, "The Princess and the Apprentice" out performed the epic 2 to 1. I wish I had some idea why folks chose the novella over the full length epic.
   The results of the giveaway did bring me a pleasant surprise. I don't normally check my numbers on Amazon, but when I looked to see how my promotion was going, I saw that someone was reading my short story, "Arizona" on their Prime account so I checked Amazon and found that someone from the UK had read the story last summer and left a wonderful 5-star review. That has always been one of my favorite short stories, and I wish I could figure out a way to get more people to read it. No new reviews on the other stories yet, but hopefully I'll see a few in the coming weeks.
   After I have written more new material, I'll start sharing snippets again
  Thanks for reading and stay safe!

   The picture is a drawing I made of what I think the arches look like that Navon has to enter in "The Pain of Compassion"

Holiday Memories

   Some of my fondest memories are from growing up in the mid to late fifties. In the early fifties, after his discharge from the Army Air Corps, and completing a four year degree, my dad bounced around from one temp job to another. Low income made it difficult for him to find us decent places to live. In 1956, he finally landed a permanent position at Westinghouse in Baltimore.
   Half-way between Baltimore and Annapolis was a new housing development aimed specifically at returning GI's. The homes were being mass-produced using surplus steel and cement. The only wood used in construction was on the roof to attach the shingles. With one floor plan to choose from, the only option was to have one built in a mirror image. They came with a wood-burning stove in the utility room next to the kitchen, and an enclosed room in the middle of the house designed as a shelter.
   The early years were tough for my family yet I never felt lacking. Dad had to work a lot of overtime to make the house and car payments, but always tried to make time for me. Sometimes that would have to happen after I'd been spanked for a wrong-doing while he was gone. I was a pretty wild kid! LOL Most of my presents in those days were home-made, and I made toys out of scraps in the garage. Luckily for me, my dad was an engineer and could make almost anything. Sometimes I wonder just how many millions of dollars made off of his inventions. Anyway, I'll never forget the rapid fire, rubber-band rifle that held up to ten bands, or the hobby horse he and my mother made. She sewed together a realistic looking horse head with ears, eyes, a mouth and a mane. Dad stuffed it and mounted it to an old broom handle. That horse and my cap-gun saw many adventures over the years.
   I could go on forever remembering the wonderful things my family and folks in the neighborhood would do to make the holidays special for all the kids. My presents became progressively more advanced every year. I even remember a chemistry set that contained a vial of real uranium and a roll of film negatives for experiments! It's too bad the world will never experience community spirit and solidarity like that again.
   Thanks for reading.

In the morning, the inn was abuzz with activity. Not only were the companions leaving but several villagers decided this would be a good time to bring some of their early produce to market in the capitol. They also felt that the Princess and her friends would be better received if members of the village were there to vouch for them.

The only quiet moment occurred while they were eating breakfast and a group of women approached the table, two of them holding bundles.

“We stayed up all night a’maken this for ye. A mage be needin a mage’s robe and m’lady a nice gown to be meetn’ da King. Tis a gift from the women of this village for what ye done.”

Speechless, Aldan stood with tears in his eyes as the women gathered around and placed a robe on him made of the softest, bleached leather he had ever felt. Even with flowing sleeves, a hood and reaching almost to the floor, it sat lightly on his shoulders. Pockets of various sizes and shapes filled the inside while golden thread accented the seams and displayed whimsical but faint patterns on the outside.

“Our village is well known throughout the Kingdom for the soft leather and the fine linens we produce,” another woman explained. “We save up the material to bring to market once a year but its value is nothing compared to the lives you have spared.”

Odessa held up her new gown and marveled at the quality of the fabric and the expertise with which it was made. It was simple yet elegant and the color complemented her eyes perfectly. Unable to voice her gratitude, she could only smile and hug the women surrounding her.

Arms flung out and a big smile on his face, Aldan spun around a few times to the boisterous cheers of all gathered there. The women were urged forward to receive a hug and kiss from the mage which made the young ones giggle and blush and the older ones tried to stretch out the kisses as long as they could.

Jealous husbands and concerned fathers rushed forward on the pretense that they were saving Aldan from their amorous womenfolk. Odessa settled the issue by wrapping her arms around him and planted a kiss that brought forth a chorus of hoots and whistles. As they returned to the table she shared a sad but knowing look with Jon, the compassion clear in his eyes.