Author: TJ Edwards

Passing The Torch

Hello again everyone! Hope your writing is going absolutely swell as November and the fabled NaNoWriMo fast approaches. As for me, planning has been going swell but just recently I was contacted by Mr. Bob Clary over at webucator.com who had apparently stumbled upon my little corner of the internet and enjoyed my passion for writing. Now he’s turned around and asked me to write a post on how I would teach my talent unto others and my personal insight into the subject. This is both more complicated than a post could ever detail and simultaneously more simple than you could ever imagine.

Firstly, a bit about myself for those of you who may just be stopping by. I’m twenty nine and staring down the barrel of thirty. I’ve been bald for many a moon now and perhaps that has something to do with my particular craft. For something that has been with me for my entire life, it never treated me very well! I have worked many jobs and hard work has been something I have always been accustomed to. From company to company, I have been nearly promoted at every turn. I’ve only moved jobs when there has been no room to move up or no room for me where I have moved to. My travels have taken me from humble beginnings in a trailer park in a place called Sackville to living in my own home on the coast of Australia. Things could definitely be worse, I assure you.

As for writing; it has always been with me. No matter where I’ve been, what I’ve been paid to do, who I’ve been working for… it has always been right there, nagging me to explore the worlds in my mind. Perhaps my muse is harassing me. Maybe she’s in love with me as much as I am with writing. But no matter the case, I’ve been to some far away lands and met some incredible beings. I’ve always wanted that chance to make it my career, to spend time in those places and with those beings. This has lead me to read many books, not only on the subject of writing but classics as well.

From my twenty odd years experience in writing, from all the books I have read and from all the blog posts and articles I can tell you a few things. If I were to try and teach someone the art of writing, first would come the art of reading. It is just as important to research your genre as it is to read and enrich your vocabulary! Then, the most important task ever. Write. That sounds easy enough right? No. It’s impossible. It will grind you to dust and crush your very spirit. It will haunt your dreams. You will think about it in your most intimate of moments. It is everywhere, and many days- nowhere at all. 

Oh! You’re still here. I see. Despite all that I’ve said? Interesting. Then I’ll fill you in on a little secret. The most important thing I’ve ever learned about my craft is never lose the passion. Ray Bradbury was a writer I discovered all too late after his passing in 2012. His book, Zen in the Art of Writing, was not about writing. It wasn’t about words or building a story. It wasn’t about inspiration (Not for me at least). It was entirely about how this man, despite his many set backs and people telling him his work was rubbish, came out on top and just kept writing. He wasn’t writing to become a billion dollar man. He was writing simply because he loved it more than anything in the world. You need to have the passion, as it will drive you through the mud when it’s at its thickest.

In short, you want to be a writer? You need to read. A lot. You will need to write. A lot. And you will need more passion than you could devote to anything else. Writing is my mistress and when my girlfriend is mad at me, it is most likely writing’s fault (or mine!). And when I say read? I mean the genre you want to write in. When I say write? I mean start small. Accomplish The End in a short story. Then work your way up. I have hundreds of exceptionally short stories. Then suddenly The End was getting further and further from the start point. My last short story, entitled Circle of Vengeance out there on the internet, was twenty five full size pages. After that? I wrote a novel. Remember though, inspiration is everywhere!

Writing is more complicated than you could ever imagine, but at its most basic… just write. Write for you and people will either like it, or not. I could tell you how I do it, I could give you templates and books to read on the subject. But just write. Then you too can call yourself a writer.

However if you need any help with Microsoft products, I hear Webucator gives away a free course each month. See http://www.webucator.com/microsoft/index.cfm for details!

With that out of the way, I’m lined up and primed for November. My world is coming together and the lore is lining up. Many exciting individuals are moving in and the stories are beginning to intertwine. As we approach NaNoWriMo, I am feeling confident that this year I will destroy the target. Also my girlfriend will be gone during the final week, which frees up my time tremendously to pump out those final words if need be. My hope is to get book one done, with the tentative title: The Immortal Realms. Exciting times are ahead for me and I’m not even sure where to begin for it! I suppose I will have to decide that before November first! Get excited! Get ready! Let’s do this!

So tell me, are you guys ready for NaNoWriMo? How’s the prep work going? Also in regards to the above topic of teaching others how to write, how would you do it? I only ask because it really got me thinking about my own writing and my inspirations! Thanks for swinging by and talk to you soon! Now I leave you with a music video that I think of when I think about national writing month!

The World, As I Write It

A simple idea tore down the dam holding back a world I never knew existed. As ideas flowed forth of demons and magic, angels and war, teleportation and necromancy; I stared at the poor notes app on my iPhone. What had I done? What had come from the simple idea of mashing all my stories into one? A world of beauty and depth, one I didn’t know I had in me.

I made the decision while I was away on holidays to convert all of my story ideas into a singular world. This meant a story idea in which the USA created an enemy the whole world would have to unite against in a science fiction setting had to become fantasy. Short stories set in the modern day were suddenly thrust into the middle ages. Characters who depended on technology now were inventors, dependant on their intelligence. When the notes began to come together, it felt incredible.

I don’t expect everyone (or anyone perhaps) to understand the feeling I have for this world. It is my world, and not everyone will like it. Not that it matters to me. I’ve always wondered how these fantastic writers build their stories and worlds. Do you populate a world and tell a story in it? Or does one write a story and then build the world as they need it? I am in the latter category. I began writing Jefferson with five plot points in mind. As I wrote, I felt some characters would die, so I introduced new ones. I made new towns with new friends and new experiences. The whole time I was being led by my characters through the world as they experienced it. This meant if a character was deep in thought or distracted, you as a reader have no idea of the world around them. Unlucky for the reader, my protagonist spends much of his time fighting to survive and not so much smelling the freshly baked apple cinnamon pies from Floria or sampling the watermelon cotton candy of Villenoire’s famous carnival.

The more I write into the history of this world the more I sense a richness flowing from its veins. Using Jefferson’s story itself as a historical backbone, the tale of magic and its history are built from there. Because of Jefferson we know why magic exists. Through his actions we know how Gods grow stronger. We find the most powerful kinds of magic through his trilogy. Then, suddenly he is built into this new world as a legend. His name is butchered through the years. Jehovah? Jeremiah? Who knows. I don’t yet, but I plan on finding out.

World building is almost more fun than the writing itself as the world grows richer with every short story or idea. Fables grow into fact. Lore becomes reality. A neat concept becomes a required part of the quest. As I write it, the world begins to tell me its own stories. The merchants guild is in with the thieves guild, to not only avoid being robbed but for save passage through hostile areas. The thieves guild has grown their own city. A kingdom is abandoned as undead overrun it. Five realms are united under a single king through arranged marriages, leaving another five ripe for the conquering; whatever will they do?

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling; allowing the world to unfold before my eyes. Perhaps it is time I gave writing the focus it deserves and begs me for. Why am I investing my time into things that might be fun at the time, while I could be creating something not unlike Star Wars. If I were to write three novels right now from my newly compiled world, then I already have three stories about the origins of magic and how the different arts came into being. It wouldn’t be hard to write more after that.

It is good to be back on the computer and typing away. I’ve been asked to write a post and I’ve finally received my inspirational macbook case: a BookBook Rutledge case by TwelveSouth. Maybe these are signs. Maybe they’re not. But I won’t know what they are if I never follow them!

In closing, I need you all to answer a single question for me:

Did your chicken (story) come before the egg (world), or vice versa?

In Transit: Free Writing Time!

Hello airport. Hello internet. I’d like to say it’s been too long, but…

I sit here in Toronto staring out at the tiny people on the tarmac, as they rush around like ants trying desperately to keep the machine that is the airport well oiled and moving. It is here that I finally realise I have a few hours, might as well write something.

It has been awhile since I blogged, or written for that matter, and it feels good to pound on this keyboard of the thousand dollar machine I had hoped would help me write more often and be more organised. I had brought it along for this entire two week trip, and I turned it on for roughly ten minutes at my mother’s house to show her how cool technology is. Now though, I am excited about one fact and one fact alone. Forced writing time.

When I was visiting my best friend in Edmonton, we came to the conclusion we are both absolutely terrible at finishing things. Even if we do, we move on as if we ran it over in a Ferrari. I finished my novel and my lovely girlfriend is still working on the edit. I started the second book, but have finished a single chapter. I have probably planned more of book three than of book two. This aside, he and I discussed the very problem we have and came to a conclusion: We have a problem and we need to fix it. Then we went our separate ways. Now I am emailing him almost every second day bouncing ideas off him and stirring his creative pot. The problem is even with my trilogy a third of the way to completion, I have begun building a new world around the collection of all of my ideas. Not one. Not two. But all!

The concept had come to me awhile ago when I began to get fed up with coming up with new ideas. New stories would present themselves, new characters would interrupt dialogue and new worlds would stand at the end of a pier waiting to be explored. Now, to counteract this rampant idea generation, I’ve begun changing my science fiction ideas into a fantasy setting. I have intertwined stories into lore. Characters have begun interacting with each other instead of existing in totally separate worlds. Now I have a world that gets richer every time I have a new idea. Not only that, but I have managed to tie it into my current trilogy. What this means however, is despite the world being similar to ours, now it is becoming a monster in its own right. Jefferson and crew are now building lore into the world that has apparently been brewing in my head for years. It finally feels like everything is coming home.

Jefferson and the Magician’s Curse will happen centuries before the story I will set in the created world. This has lead me to consider abandoning Jefferson (for now) in the hope that I can use the points I am aware of now to build the lore for the new world. Jefferson and Gabriel will live on as some of the first magic users (especially powerful ones) which opened up the doors for cults, schools, and the whole basis for magic in the future. Not only this but there are ramifications from their actions that still reverberate centuries later, without people realising it. Also the way that magic works in my world has distinct consequences in the Jefferson trilogy that will be branched out upon as newer forms of magic and different schools come into light. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit excited!

I often wonder how long it took to build consistent worlds like those experienced in Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter and how long I should work on my own before writing the story in it. I suppose as with anything it will be finished when it is finished, much to my dismay. For the meantime, I will get back into it so that I can smash that NaNoWriMo target. I am unsure as to which story to contribute to or which lore to write exactly. Something tells me if I start working on that world, fifty thousand words will be achieved within the time frame. The thing will be, forcing myself to make the time.

Until next time lovely ladies and gents! Happy writing!

Also touch base guys! Are you doing NaNoWriMo this year? What are you working on? Are you in the same boat as me? Anyone want to get back in touch for some writing updates!? I did enjoy keeping up with those of you who were interested! Talk to you soon!

The Forced Muse

Lately I’ve been procrastinating everything. Things at work. Things at home. Something has been rubbing me the wrong way and it’s a combination of things. I love my job, but lately there’s been a ton of drama. This drama has forced me to put in more effort than my normal above and beyond and somehow come out behind. Sales are still going well but there’s something bugging me and I can’t put my finger on it.

At home I am ramping up for my trip back to Canada. Admittedly I haven’t given much thought to it, as it sneaks up at ridiculously supersonic speeds. One week? Where the hell did the time go!? Thanks to my girlfriend who has a knack for planning trips, everything is organised. It’s not that I’m not stoked to visit family and friends. It’s just, well… many of my friends have grown distant. Less to be excited about. Going back home is going to be a sobering reminder that the last time I was home was for my father’s funeral. I’ve had better times, but I know I must go and pay my respects.

My mind at the moment has been drawn to the allure of mindless gaming (AKA Diablo III). No thoughts. No cares. Clear goals. Achievable goals. Kill demon. Get loot. Wash, rinse and repeat. It has actually been preoccupying my mind predominately while I am awake. One could say I am addicted, but considering how easy it was to let go when my girlfriend claimed the lounge room tonight, I’d say that’s not necessarily the case. It’s just easy.

That being said, since my mind was suddenly freed from the perils of Sanctuary and the looting of its demons, I decided to get caught up on life. I shaved my rather rough beard, replied to some emails and messages, read some news and eventually sat down to write more into Jefferson’s second adventure. Then my mind wandered. I’m unhappy with the vagueness of the world I’ve created for my poor protagonist. I stared at the poor screen, knowing where and what I wanted Jefferson to do in his bland new world. His last adventure has proven fruitful, but even I am beginning to punch holes in the realm of magic I’ve created. Once I’ve started to do that, it was a lot like plugging holes in a sinking ship with paper towel; End result is, it still sinks. I’ve created a story set in a world not so different from our own. Now I apparently need to go back over the world and flesh it out. Work out the kinks. Then one of my other ideas forced its way into my thoughts and demanded some attention.

Now, it’s twelve in the morning before I work in less than the suggested hours for sleeping. I have just begun work on a new world with new lore. That’s not to say that poor Jefferson is out in the lurch, but what it does mean is I’m growing my creative playground for future me to run amok in. The new story idea pertains to a fragment I wrote a few posts back entitled “Fragment: The Truth About Heaven and Hell” and fleshing out the world surrounding that. Strangely enough my mind flooded with ideas while doing research that it made me consider a possible mythology for my world based around creation.

The Creator had brought the Watchers and the Dwellers into being, one to govern over the other in the Creator’s stead. The Watchers were tasked with noting the progression of the Dwellers in their world and were explicitly not to interfere in Dweller matters. The Creator left the Watchers to their task, and soon, Watchers broke rank and became consumed with the affairs of the Dwellers. They obsessed over their beauty and lusted for them, their frail bodies and short lived mortality. Watchers were powerful, and could shape-shift as they saw fit to enter into forbidden relations among the Dwellers, giving birth to a whole league of various powerful beings. These beings were worshipped as the Gods in their respective lands, leading to sometimes tall and sometimes accurate tales of valor, glory and failure. As these Gods intermingled among each other and the Dwellers, Demi-Gods came into being. As the Demi-Gods mingled among Dwellers and died off, their tales dissolved into myths and legends.

This is the explanation for our own current myths and legends in the world today, or as I hope, in the world I will be writing into soon. The Watchers are an angelic race who are genderless. Their abilities to shape shift come into play in the story as many have fled their realm to avoid persecution by the Guardians who are Watchers remaining true to their initial cause. These beings are trying to buy their way back into their old existence as a life immortal among mortals is torturous. The Guardians rely on the “Angel of Death” for new recruits, but suddenly new recruits stop coming. No one is dying. Death is nowhere to be found. The Demon Gate suddenly shatters, pouring evils into the world of the Dwellers. Forced to act, the Guardians begin their search for a Dweller to take up the mantle of Death before evil overruns everything the Creator tasked them with protecting.

I’m enjoying the concept of Hell simply being a place where evil is locked away. Not people, nor beings; but their actions and memories, personified. As these demons break free, the Guardians virtually fight to the last being until the Second-In-Command sacrifices themselves to allow another Guardian time to relay the message to the others. I’m excited for the twists around the Heaven-Hell mythology and the characters that come with it. Righteous Guardians, Fallen Angels, Murderous Demons, Mischievous Evils and all the while the poor Dwellers are stuck in the middle. Now, even regular people are seemingly invincible and immortal with Death not performing the job’s namesake. Hell has come to Earth, but who will stop it?

I know who. But first, I have a million things to do and a trip coming soon. I am in dire need of a “staycation” where I can clean for the first two days, create a writing nest, disconnect my internet and write! Maybe this year I will end up forcing myself back into NaNoWriMo… which is how I met so many of you lovely readers! Might not be a bad idea! Anyway I shall leave you with that as I work in T-Minus seven hours. Thanks for reading and be sure to give me an update on your own projects! Let me know I’m not alone or celebrate your win with me!

Agony And Ecstasy

A slight whistle hummed on the breeze, growing ever louder as the midday sun shone down upon the crimson desert canyons. The whistle grew loud until a man crashed through the dirt, like a meteor sent from the heavens. He tumbled end over end and skidded until finally finding his footing and sliding to a stop, his left hand bracing him from falling over. The dust cleared as the man glanced up from his perch, his dark eyes imbued with rage.

“Had enough?”

The man turned as his Master stood behind him. She was small in stature, yet strong enough to have overcome an army in her past years. He stared longingly at her, not a passion of beauty, but respect. He lunged, and she blocked effortlessly. As she slid his strike away from its mark, her hand hit like a mallet to his ribs. The soft tissue and muscle buckled over the bone and thankfully, bone withstood the challenge. His elbow returned to pass through some hair that had fallen from his Master’s pony tail and she kneed him clean off his feet. He felt it pass between organs and push on his spine as he lifted from the ground and landed flat on his back.

“Well?” She asked.

Sounds of agony escaped his lips, betraying him to weakness. As he pushed off the ground, he looked to the Master. “Never…” He gasped slightly as his whole abdomen throbbed in pain. He felt her move before she visibly did, and quickly he pushed himself from the dirt. He sneakily grabbed two handfuls of the dust and clapped them together before himself to create a screening effect. He smirked amid the sudden reduction in visibility at his own cleverness. A fist connected hard across his jaw, and a kick landed solidly beneath his right arm. He swung wildly in frustration and a precise strike disabled his left arm from use. The numbness was sudden, and jarring. He blocked a flurry of blows, or a few, as fists pierced the veil of dust and struck many body shots. He could barely see himself, let alone his opponent. With a loud a gust, the Master was standing strong in front of him as she spun on her heel and kicked him square in the face.

***

The sky was blue and birds were chirping as he opened his eyes. He glanced around from his new bed and found his master training another. She moved with grace and precision, a one woman ballet of accuracy and death. Her hands moved as blurs, blocking and striking almost simultaneously. The man she fought began to cower as her hits landed between ribs and rained upon precious internal organs. He collapsed as she shook her head.

“Take him away.” Her voice boomed the command as two women gathered the moaning mass of anguish from the ground. Her attention turned back to her student as he stared back. “Awake are we, Altenir?”

“I believe so. Or you’ve knocked me into a dream like state permanently.” Altenir glanced down at his torso and examined the various shades of purples, greens and yellows. “I see you took it easy on me then.”

His Master stared at him through cold eyes. “I never said this would be easy. Nor did I guarantee your longevity or health.”

“I suppose not.” Altenir groaned as he shifted into a sitting position.

“Then stop whining. We must get back to it.” She demanded.

Eyes wide with shock, Altenir stared at her. “Now?” His whole body groaned in protest of another tenderising.

“Will they wait for you?” His Master pointed to a cage of skeletons who tugged at the bars of their prison. “I think not.”

“Death waits for us.” Altenir mentioned.

His Master’s eyes widened quick as she grabbed him by the arm and launched him from the table and into the dirt. She spat on the ground before him and shook her head. “Death waits for no man, woman, child or animal. Death comes when he does, and there is no stopping that.”

Altenir rolled on the ground in pain, but he had heard the stories. Who hadn’t? A young woman had single handedly dismantled an army and there had been word that she was in league with the devil himself to avoid death. People said that when Death came for her, she had fought and bested even him. Stories mostly, but as Altenir writhed in agony, he considered the truths in it.

***

An effort in action, hopefully it is an enjoyable read and now I’m going to sleep despite only wanting to play Diablo on PS4. If you’d like to add me on there, simply email me your PSN name and I will add you ASAP! Night everyone! (21 Days until Canada!)

A Moment In Time

Work is an odd place.

I work in retail and today, for a small moment, I found myself extremely proud to be there. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but I’ve always introduced the fact I work retail in a depressed sort of light. When people ask where my partner works, I’ve always been proud of the fact that she’s a teacher. She teaches the future generations kindness, patience and knowledge. These gifts are incredible and unparalleled. Then people turn to me. I feel the sweat begin to form beneath my arms. I get nervous. Then they ask the question I fear, “And where you do work?”

Back in Canada, retail has a stigma. Maybe it’s everywhere, I don’t know. Retail is looked at as that place where people who couldn’t get a career settle in. Upon my arrival in Australia, I knew retail was my best hope. I had next to no professional experience in programming and less than zero experience in animation. I did have plenty of experience in management though, so I relied on it. I had managed to get one retail job and managed to get two promotions there within a year. Then I moved across to my current company and managed a similar feat. Despite these accomplishments, I still avoided eye contact when people asked where I worked. I’d say things like, “I only work retail.” or “I’m just a manager.”

In reality, work is where I sometimes feel happiest. I’m not saying my home life is terrible and I’m not saying I’d change a thing. But everyday I feel that sense of accomplishment of getting something done or rallying the team to overcome a challenge. I not only enjoy it, I savour it. Perhaps it is due to my hobby of writing near accomplishing nothing. Maybe the path is too vague. At work the path is clear and the numbers don’t lie. When you’re doing well, you know it, and so do the sales. It’s nice to know that once I have finished something there is a result.

I felt extremely accomplished the moment I wrote the final words to Jefferson & The Magician’s Curse. I reread it and enjoyed it immensely. I passed it onto my partner who had many questions and comments. In fact, she’s still working on her edit. Now that it’s done, it’s almost like… what now? I recently read a story posted by one of the people I have met during my blogging escapades. It was so rich with detail I felt as though I’d been there. Her characters seemed like old friends. I finished the story and almost clapped it was that well done. Then I read her next blog post about how she’s still having trouble finding a publisher. The story was so good, I’d pay for it. Yet here I was, standing in the shadow of her talents, hoping to find my own success. Doom is about as close a word to the true feeling for my poor story.

At work today we rejoiced in the sales of last week, being up over a quarter of our target above the budget. We contributed to many of the goals and targets our region is tracking and we celebrated with the team. I had a load of fun joking around and despite the terrible weather outside and the lack of customers, I found myself just enjoying the day. My boss came off the conference call grinning and I asked him how it had gone. It had gone better than expected and apparently the bosses were happy. Everything has been going exceptionally well. Are there things to work on? Of course. But at the end of the day, this is the best job I’ve ever had. Today, for the first time in my life, I felt extremely proud of what I do for a living. But of course tomorrow is a new day, but for now, I feel like some sort of retail rockstar… so I’ll just ride the high while I can.

As for writing, I’m hoping to find that sense of accomplishment again sometime soon. I’ve also been trying to get up the courage to enter a local writing competition, or submit a short story for publication. It’s only taken a decade for me to be confident in retail… seems I just need some more time and some more completed stories to get there.

As for those of you out there who use Scrivener, do you make separate files for each different idea or do you have all your ideas in one place and have each idea in its own folder? This question relates very closely to the original reason I started using a wiki (which I may try to go back to at some point) as ideas and the such can be outlined for characters easier and story ideas can be worked on without switching screens. At the moment, all of my ideas are in their own “.scriv” files and when I’m working on one idea if I get inspiration into another, it’s very jarring to close one and load another. I’m open to suggestions!

Although I’ve heard plenty about the writings of the people beyond the screen, but what do you do to pay the bills? Who is the daytime author really?

Tool or Tools Of The Trade?

Today I bought a new friend. A friend who hopefully will inspire me to write and enable me to accomplish more.

It’s beyond hopeful, but hey, that’s what I do.

My new friend is in the thirteen inch variety, weighs very little and has Scrivener installed on it. Some might say I’m impulsive. Some might say I’m a moron. That’s why we listen to the voices in our heads (and not the ones that tell us to burn things). After demoing Scrivener and their incredibly generous twenty one days, which I never ran out of, I decided to take the plunge. Upon discovering it was half off in the App Store, I rejoiced and committed my novel to a life in Scrivener. To the people who made that program, I swear when I get published, I will mention you in a separate dedications page!

And now… Apple should thank those same people who created Scrivener for making me run out and buy a portable sexy beast with lit up keys for all those late night writings (like this one) and portability. Now I’m unsure if this is my newest tool of the trade, or if I am the tool of the trade! I mean really, am I fooling myself into believing that a thousand dollar machine will be the thing that gets me published? Will this new machine begin to gather dust after the wonder of looking down upon the keyboard like watching city streets from a plane wears off?

I must admit, the keyboard is a dream to type on and is relatively silent. My poor exhausted girlfriend sleeps right beside me while I write this very post. She’s got extremely long work days for the next week, and with the puppies out with her parents, that gives me all the time to spend with this magical beast. Lucky for me, I also have the next two days off, although at the cost of running into a nine day stretch of work. Tradeoffs.

Although for those of you who’ve read through here before, you may know that I work retail. I sincerely enjoy my job and the challenges it comes with. As a part of a management team, I manage to liken it to trying to assemble the Avengers/Justice League and trying to get all these awesome folk and misfits to work together and accomplish the task at hand. Some days are easier than others, others are like running with your pants down. But sometimes it is the challenge from the other side of the business that throws me for a loop.

I like to think I am a nice, helpful guy. Many people thank me, wave or shake my hand, smile and are generally positive on their way out. But I must say the one thing that shocks me about retail is the lack of customer compliments these days. I’m someone who would love to get promoted and I bend over backwards in my efforts to try and help the customer out while ensuring the business isn’t run into the ground. I have helped with minor issues (This was the wrong color) to the major issues (This five thousand dollar TV was busted when I went to set it up) and just about everything in between, and from my experience I could effortlessly get a million complaints a week. A million. Exaggerated? Maybe. But only on the number of people through our doors each week.

What am I getting at? I’m getting at the fact that somedays (myself included) when the world is going awesomely and everything is perfect, we forget to take the time to give out some good feedback to those who helped make it a great day. Today I helped a customer with their computer who had called the manufacturer and was told to bring it in. Somehow they had set up a password for the BIOS (that load up screen before any operating system starts) and had created a password for the computer and forgotten it. It took some time out of my day (around thirty minutes with a restore), but I managed to get rid of both passwords and set the computer up so everything ran smoothly. I decided as I had spent my time, I would politely ask the customer to take time out of their day to try and get me promoted.

This was where things got interesting.

When I placed them in front of a computer and set them up with the website, all I wanted was an honest opinion on how I had done today. What I got was, “I’m terrible at these things. Can you write it for me?” From a customer service point of view, I was actually a bit crushed. I pressed on and actually had to almost repeat the sales process by asking a ton of questions about how I had helped. In short, the customer was happy to put their name to whatever I wrote. I suppose at least that meant they trusted me fully by then, but still, I now know that it’s extremely hard to get a compliment. Lesson learned.

So for those of you out there who have complimented someone lately, thank you. On behalf of whoever that was, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s so easy to get out there and vent your anger or frustration, but I’d say it takes a bigger person to go out of their way to thank someone for exceptional service and the such. Have you ladies and gents beyond the screen given any compliments lately? Let me know, and try and keep it positive in the comments! Good luck!

The Bridge

“None shall enter this town. Army or not.”

As the words drifted on the summer’s breeze, a lone armored man stood boldly before a hundred or more men. He stood defiantly, eyes as cold as the bloodied steel of the longsword in his left hand.

A man bearing a black and gold helm, with a rather ornate dragon crest, stepped forward and examined the bridge before him. His upper lip trembled as he glanced from body to bloodied body, soldiers and their weapons scattered like leaves in the wind. “You dare deny us the right to this paradise? Who are you to do such a thing?” He stared at the stone bridge, wide enough for five men across, but not wide enough to flank the man before him.

“This… paradise… is not your right.” The man shifted slightly, his crimson armor shifting atop the midnight cloth below. “For you to think that it is, Grand Master, is why I am here at all. Those who believe they are entitled to the world will crash upon me like waves at the shore. For I am Kiralti, the Guardian of Irabagi.”

“Even waves wear away at the shore bit by bit.” The man grunted and spun to his army, his head held high. “And we shall do just that. To the man who brings me his head, I will give him nobility and ensure he does not want for anything!”

A single man stepped forward, slightly shaking.

“Good, go fetch your legacy boy.” The Grand Master said, his flowing red cape drifting as he walked past the boy, opening up the path to the bridge.

The boy stepped carefully over the bodies before him; Knights, thieves, barbarians. He glanced up to his opponent who stood opposite him, a single longsword gleaming with fresh blood in his hand. Swallowing hard, the boy suddenly stumbled over a body, his sword tumbling loudly along the stones of the bridge. As he lay face down, the laughter of the army behind him did nothing to build his confidence. A tear in his eye, he began to pick himself up, when he realised a hand was extended before him. His eyes followed the hand up the arm to the guardian, as he stared down at him.

“You do not have to do this boy.” The guardian’s words were truth, and his voice echoed both concern and authority.

“I-I do…” The boy said, taking the guardian’s hand. “I’ve nothing to go back to… this is my chance.”

Pity filled the guardian’s eyes. “There can be others. It needn’t be this way.”

“If I go back… they’ll kill me for being a coward. If I fight you, at least I have a chance at something.” The boy glanced to his sword which was past the guardian. “I am nothing, who has come from nothing.”

The Guardian smiled. “I knew a boy such as you once. It tends to be the ones who have nothing to lose, are the ones who are most dangerous.” With his sword and a flick of his wrist, the boy’s blade leapt from the ground and into The Guardian’s free hand. He spun it quickly and examined the blade; its dull edge wouldn’t cut bread, let alone his armor. He tossed it to the boy, who fumbled to catch it. “Then I am sorry for what I must do.”

The army stood silent like the red forest behind them, watching with bated breath as the Guardian waited patiently for his opponent.

The boy nervously gripped the sword and lunged once, the two swords clacking together weakly and the Guardian waving his attack off with a simple parry. As the two danced, it was if the Guardian knew the lay of the bodies and weapons below him, his nimble footing always landing solid and on the bridge floor. Lunging, the boy missed his target and the Guardian let another opportunity to end his opponent slip away.

“Stop toying with me! Fight!” The boy yelled in frustration.

With a snort of derision, the Guardian stared angrily through his helm. “Fine.” With a lunge, the boy dodged to the guardian’s right, where a solid punch with an armored fist laid him out flat and motionless.

The Guardian glanced down to the boy before him, as blood trickled from his nose and mouth. “Come on then, one at a time?” He yelled in anger and stepped past the boy. “Or all at once? I care not, this bridge will be your grave!”

Suddenly men were rushing past the Grand Master onto the bridge toward the Guardian in droves. Men fell over the side of the bridge, men fell beneath other men, limbs rained down upon the bridge as the Guardian cut a bloody swath through rank after rank. The Grand Master watched as the Guardian played the role of an artist, painting his army in the blood of their comrades. It seemed as though the Guardian has an unnatural speed and precision about him as the sword seemingly cut through weak point after weak point in his men’s armor.

Kiralti pushed forward, his feet meeting dry bridge and his sword cleaving through armpits and necks as if they were made of water. A sword skimmed through his parry, and he deftly knocked it away with his armored glove, instead guiding it into another man’s visor. Pushing the impaled man over, Kiralti spun his sword effortlessly through the man’s throat. He forced the dying man’s arm down to defend against an incoming low attack, and with his fist, drove the man’s weak visor into his face. Wave after wave came, crashing upon the Guardian in all of his glory. He had been trained to fight up to ten men by his master, and he remembered every lesson. He remembered that sometimes a free hand is more dangerous than one with a sword. He caught a blade mid swing and disarmed the poor soldier holding it; the sword used as a javelin to take out a man in the next advancing rank. Deftly cutting the soldier down, Kiralti pressed onward until no more than seven men stood before him. Six men stood, mouths agape, heartbeats pounding in the sudden silence of the bridge. The Grand Master stood behind them, shaking his head in shock.

“What is it Grand Master? Do you feel fear?” The Guardian smirked beneath his helm.

“Kill him! I demand you kill him!” The Grand Master screamed as his men considered a hasty abandonment of their duties.

One man leapt forward with a battle cry, and Kiralti knocked the sword attack away and spun to split the man down the center of his back. Two others charged only to be dispatched by their own swords in each others throats. The other three turned to rush past the Grand Master who executed them as they tried to pass. As the bodies all slumped to the ground, he stared at the Guardian before him, standing at his end of the bridge. “Fine then… I suppose I must do everything myself.” He boasted with confidence, but his voice cracked as he trembled ever so slightly with fear.

The two men stood opposite each other, the smell of piss, iron and blood heavy in the air. As crows fluttered in to inspect the day’s pickings, the Guardian shook his head. “So much death, and for what?”

“For that which God intended for the rest of us… Eden.” The Grand Master snarled. He pointed his sword at Kiralti and rage drew hateful lines upon his face. “And you, you are the only thing standing between me and that perfection!”

The Grand Master charged, his sword cutting the air hard and heavy. Kiralti grimaced as the weight of the blow pained his wrist, surprising him. The swords sparked as they clashed and the two spun in unison, swords coming to a clash once again. Kiralti pushed into the weight of the Grand Master’s sword in order to force him off balance, but found him to be of sure footing as well.

“Ha, you’re good, but maybe you’re tired.” The Grand Master grinned. “It seems you may have met your-” Suddenly his chain mail was pointing toward Kiralti, through his chest, as blood spurted out and doused his white coat in red. From behind him, the boy withdrew his dull sword from the Grand Master’s back and watched as his master fell lifeless to the stone floor at his feet.

The boy stared down at the body before him, his left eye was swollen shut and face bloodied from where he had been hit earlier. Through his one free eye, his gaze shifted from the Grand Master to Kiralti. “Did you mean to kill me?” He asked quietly.

The Guardian lowered his sword and sighed heavily. “Either that or remove you from the fight. You aren’t meant for men like that.”

“What do you mean?” The boy’s voice had a bit of a lisp, most likely from damage to his face. “What now?”

“You have two options, you’re free… do as you like.” Kiralti said bluntly. He stepped over bodies until he laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Or you could come with me, and I could train you to replace me as the Guardian.”

The boy perked up, and grimaced when he tried to smile. “If you would have me…”

“Then come… and see the utopia beyond boy.” Kiralti said with a smile. “And let your training begin.”

Scrivener: A Lesson In Story Organisation

Follow the white rabbit.

That’s how the Scrivener tutorial should begin. After reading their tutorial and practicing all their little exercises, my mind turned to a fine paste and I required a nap. It’s not as if it were the hardest thing in the world. Although when you are finishing up the tutorial near the witching hour, well… probably wasn’t as focused as I should have been. I did learn a tremendous amount about my story simply because of Scrivener’s folder systems and quickly realised where I thought the chapters ended weren’t always the best place. The majority of my chapters seemed to be between two and three thousand words, and then suddenly one chapter ended off at roughly eight thousand (Mind you, my story is only ninety nine thousand, so roughly one tenth of my book).

I must admit I haven’t been enjoying converting my story from Pages to Word and then into Scrivener, but I do believe it will be worth it. On their website, I stared longingly at their packages for both Mac and PC. Personally, when I spend fifty dollars, I like to have something in return. Buying digitally sort of feels like voodoo to me, unless of course it’s free, but buying something completely digitally at that price feels strange. That day though, my will had broken. After toying with the trial for minutes at a time over the course of many months, my mind was made up. I would never ever commit a story into it while it was in trial mode. Fear of losing my work and organisation kept me at bay. The tutorial was a fantastic sales tool and I could see the value I was getting. After a long staring competition with my monitor, I decided to buy Scrivener from the App Store, a marketplace I had already trusted with my multiple purchases.

As the store loaded up, I found myself browsing the main screen for deals. I’m a sucker for a sale, the more I save, the more my brain believes in the value (even if I never use it). Link after link, image after image, finally my mouse came down upon a small button marked “Explore Your Creativity”. Well of course I’ll explore it, this button was made for me; so I thought. First thing to catch my attention was the Scrivener app, marked at twenty nine dollars. Fifty percent off. The value. Oh the sweet, sweet value. Before I knew what was going on my brain had already directed my hand and wallet into a purchase. Not that I was complaining… after all, I had already resolved to buy it at over fifty dollars! Savings for the win!

Now the gruelling process of converting and organising my novel continues. My lovely partner is still performing some edits on the copy she has, however without her edits I already know that breaking my story into chapters has completely unbalanced the story and pace. While I wrote it as one continuous story, with the only breaks separating the change in character, it seemed to flow properly. Now I’m realising though that the breaks I had placed into the story gave some scenes less attention then they should have. I must say though, even just trying to organise this into chapters through Scrivener, I have learned a tremendous amount about how my story reads and working on balance. I’m actually really excited to dig into the further features such as Character and Location breakdowns. I could also use a Magic dictionary of sorts to keep things consistent.

All in all, Scrivener is one of those tools I’m sure I could live without as the many other successful writers do. Although I will say this as a budding writer who looks for help anywhere he can get it; this is the most helpful tool I have downloaded. It teaches you structure, balance and gives you some general guidelines and helpful organisation strategies in your quest to become a novelist. Not only those but you also get a singular place to keep all of your research, inspiration and insane scribblings (or notes) that are pertinent to your current concept or story. Also, the ability to organise individual chapters by note breakdown or organise your trilogy into one cohesive work is immensely helpful for the beginner or inexperienced writer.

Now for those of you out there who don’t have it, get it! No matter the cost! The rest of you… what do you think? Is Scrivener worth its code?