Category: Blog Of Writing +1

The Art of Not Writing

A dark room lights up as the screen of a laptop wakens from its slumber. A pair of hands dangle loosely above the keyboard and in the silence, a deep breath of despair falls on phantom ears. The silence is then shattered by the methodical clicking of the keys, until the blue screen changes to an image of a man and woman. They appear happy, yet this is the sole joy brought from this infernal machine.

It is time to write.

In the dim light a man slides the chair from under the desk, and it makes not a sound. He sits, slightly hunched, and hangs his head in shame.

He’s been here before.

It’s two in the morning and the screen beckons to him. He stares hopelessly into the white abyss of the text editor. Like a sculptor with a large slab of marble, he ponders where to strike next. His hands dangle back to the keyboard.

Facebook.

After a few moments of shameless friend stalking, the man leans back and scratches his head. He wonders how that happened, but dismisses it for it is already done. He closes the window and returns to his blank slate, his giant slab of marble, his…

Email.

The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He can check his email on his phone. He can check it anywhere. Why here? He runs his fingers through the remnants of what was once a full head of hair. The desolate wasteland upon his highest peak is near barren, but beneath the roots grows something. An image. An idea. The window closes and the man returns to his blank slate, his giant slab of marble, his ball of clay, his…

Wikipedia.

Time has indeed flown, but hardly any fun has been had. The man glances at the clock, keeper of his productivity, or lack thereof. A window closes. A slate rises, marble beckons, clay rolls, a drop of water pierces the tranquillity of a sink of dishes…

Focus.

Dishes beckon, marble shines, clay moulds, fingers crack, a blank slate awaits like a guard standing at attention…

Shiny.

Distractions abound. The man twists in his chair as if he were in agonizing pain. The chair groans under his movement, the cheap wood and metal grating together creating a symphony of silence piercing shrieks. He pauses, only for a moment, to listen for the rustling of his girlfriend. She continues sleeping, undisturbed by the banshee like shriek of his four legged torture device. His hands extend the foot and a half and lets his fingers dangle above the keyboard.

Life.

The first taps echo slowly in the darkness. Then more. Followed by a rhythmic tapping. The space bar no longer taps, nor clicks, but thumps. A heart beat. The lifeblood of creation, the godlike power of making something from nothing, consumes the man. His heart beats in unison. Is this the one?

Complication.

The tapping slows, as does the heartbeat. The rhythm fades and the man stares into the screen. The screen meets his gaze tauntingly, staring into the dry-yet-oily face of creation. As the staring match continues, the man realizes there can only be one victor. There are some marks upon the slate, some chips from the marble, some dents in the clay, some fingers upon the…

iPhone.

The chair groans as the man leans back in frustration to stare through the ceiling and into the sky. His arms dangle slightly to the sides of the chair and he stares longingly into nothingness. His fingertips dance along the carpet’s surface and he closes his eyes.

He’s been here before.

In the dim light the man hangs his head in shame. He stands and stretches, then slowly slides the chair back beneath the desk without a sound.

It’s time to sleep.

The windows close until only the image of a man and woman remains. They appear happy, yet this is the sole joy from yet another failed attempt at productivity. A finger descends across the image and plunges into the heart of the infernal machine. The light flickers dimly and and in the silence, a breath of despair falls on phantom ears. A dimly lit room plunges suddenly into darkness.

Memoirs of an Assassin: Silentborn

Why did you decide to become an assassin?

This is the single most asked question of my entire life. Who am I? I will get to that. Eventually. I wish to start this journal off by saying no one ever makes the decision to become an assassin. Sometimes the choices are made for you. Other times you are born into it. Then there are the rare cases; You are just born.

I do not know what I did in a past life, nor do I wish to know. However I, as a rare few, can remember everything as far back as the womb. Some of the memories are jumbled, as at the time I had very little understanding of the world outside, but I did not come into the world as most. Warriors of old wished for their sons to be brought into the world kicking and screaming, the way their glories dictate they will leave this world. Any brute can pick up and swing a sword or axe. It is the children who come calmly into this world who people need to fear most. The ability to let go of the familiar, the lack of fear in the face of the unknown and the calm temperament are simply a pathway to bloodshed. Remember this as you birth your children, peaceful is deadly.

I remember the day I was pulled from my mother. From the piercing brightness of the torches in the room to the woman using a towel to wipe me off. At first their reactions are grim, I suppose they thought me stillborn. Then the woman lowers herself to my mouth and then presses an ear to my chest. She hears either breathing or a heartbeat, to which everyone rejoices. My father stands behind her, almost completely ensconced in the shadows from the pillars in the room. As the woman rushes to tend to my mother, my father leans over to get a better look at me. He is clearly disappointed. I am no warrior.

Was that why I became an assassin? Absolutely not. I am saying I was innocent at birth. I certainly had some traits that would be helpful, however it is the events that follow which shape who I would become.

You see my father had been a protector of the Emperor for several years. I learned this before I hit the age of five. I also began sword fighting and horse riding and things were mostly going well. My father was away a lot and I assumed it was due to his service to the Emperor. I figured out this was not the case as he and my mother frequently fought about his latest payment.

He was now a common thief, banished from the kingdom by the Emperor himself. He had hit the Emperor in a drunken rage and he was spared his life for all of his years of service. My father decided the kingdom still owed him payments and it would be his job to take them.

My father became a folk hero. The man who hit the Godly Emperor and lived. The man who steals from the gods and gives to the peasants. The man who was hardly a father or a husband. Sorry, that last one is not a folk tale. Just the truth.

As his thefts became wide spread knowledge, eventually the Emperor decided to stop the man he allowed to live. This would be a decision that would affect any who would cross him in the future. My father was unsuspecting and pulled off his latest theft and returned home to his loving wife and me, his ever hopeful son. The tracks lead a group of armed warriors to our doorstep.

Some people say moments like these change people. The door bursts into splinters as warriors rush in, disarming my father and knocking him to the ground. Moments like these might change ordinary people. Other warriors drag my mother kicking and screaming into her bedroom. But for me, I’m not ordinary. My father’s blade rests at my feet. Ordinary may have run away. I look down to the sword. Ordinary may have lost control of their bodily functions. I grab the hilt and enter the bedroom. Ordinary doesn’t blend into the shadows so easily. One warrior falls victim to a stab wound at the base of his spine. The shadows don’t shield just anyone. The next warrior doesn’t get a chance to react as his body falls lifeless across my mother. I’m sure if someone were to read this. I leave her scrambling with the lifeless body and make my way to the front door. They would say “How couldn’t this have changed you?” I watch as two warriors force my father to his knees, while one executes him. I say, how could it have changed me? I calmly despatch the warriors in a flurry of swipes and jabs. Especially when it felt completely natural.

I stand, slightly confused over the bodies of three well trained warriors. Three protectors of the Emperor, and my father. He had it coming, however I always had imagined it being away from us. I turn back to our home and can still vividly remember the look on my mother’s face. She was slightly battered and bruised, some of the blood hers and some of it not. Her eyes were not staring at the husband she lost, but they were filled with fear at the child she had brought into this world. Her lips quivered as if trying to utter some words, but only silence filled the air.

I was five years old.

Writer's Block? More Like Writer's Indolence.

Some days you’re on top of the world but every once in awhile you end up taking a look in the mirror and asking yourself the same questions many others have asked before you. What am I doing with myself? Recently I took a break from writing in my two blogs in hopes I would be able to focus more on my own writing. What followed was a complete lack of focus and the result is I haven’t written anything in over two weeks. I am always thinking about my writing, always adding more to the varied characters and lore of the world I am building, but the problem I am finding is a complete fear of finishing the task. I’ve been there once before, and nothing came of it. What’s that? You’ve never heard of my first creative endeavour? Well, it couldn’t hurt.

Much like many budding and aspiring writers, I have been writing for a very long time. I’ve accomplished many a decent short story and once upon a wonderful time I had actually written a story I wanted to submit for publication. I haven’t told many people of the content or even of the event itself, but it consumed me. I went from being a child who loved the outdoors to one who sat inside writing, drawing and gaming. The story was aimed at tweens (as that was the age I was at while writing) and was about a boy who was bullied into many situations until he eventually had no friends. The boy is then recruited by a secret society who are called Immortals. The twist was that everyone in the world could live forever if unhindered, but it was the Immortals’ job to maintain a low population count. This meant they had to function outside of society and ensure people died “randomly”.

The whole concept of living forever intrigued me, what things would people see? What could they learn? Also at the time, I had turned on my so called friends and stopped stealing for them. I very much wanted to leave my life behind and start new, as a different person. I knew I had changed dramatically, yet those around me wouldn’t change. In fact they still haven’t. The idea for the story was personal to me as I wanted to be the character I had created. One day he was alone and the next, welcomed into a secret society. I hoped if I couldn’t be him, at least I would get rich off this story.

Enter the editor. Imagine writing just over three hundred pages and submitting it before heading off for year seven. I worked as hard as I could to earn extra money to send the story in. The problem was, well… I was young. My writing was only as good as I had been taught up to this point and I can imagine the editor on the receiving end. I chose a small, virtually unknown publisher as my target. I figured my chances would be better there. Well, surprisingly me and the editor actually wrote back and forth a few times as the novel went back and forth. One of the major issues with it was I had written it all by hand and in ink. It was a tragedy to see it come back with so many replacements and edits. I added descriptions, took some out, changed so much; Eventually it wasn’t mine any more. Finally, I was getting somewhere when fate took a turn for the worse.

I came home one day to find that the hallway leading to my room was actually a shallow river. I can remember the breath being stolen from me as I marched down the hall and peered under my bed. I suppose I should explain a few things here. First thing’s first, my room was six feet wide by roughly eight feet long. With a closet taking up roughly a foot and a half worth of corner space, my room was a tight fit with a bed, a television and a wardrobe. The storage space I had also included beneath my bed, which is where I haphazardly stored my writing. Another thing worth mentioning is that my room shared a wall with the washroom and on that wall in my room was the entrance to the hot water heater. Now we’re back to me kneeling beneath the bed, in roughly an inch of water. I see it, and I realize that at that moment, that story will never be published.

I pull it out and try to find a single page in the mass of soggy paper. The ink I used with trust has betrayed me and run through to the many pages below them. A blue, soggy cube of despair. That is the final memory I have of the first story I ever tried to get published. I didn’t cry for it, no. But I got rid of the evidence and other things beneath my bed before letting my parents know the hot water tank had flooded my room. It was fixed promptly enough and I later asked for a typewriter for my birthday. For anyone out there who hasn’t written on a typewriter, I envy you. For anyone who has written things worthwhile on a typewriter… you have my utmost respect. It wouldn’t be long after that when I would ask for my first computer.

Ever since then I’ve had a mild fear of submitting for publication. In year twelve I managed to get a poem published that was written from a photo I was given. I attempted to start a business, which I panicked and pulled away from. I stressed myself out so much for university I developed some form of insomnia and ended up dropping out of Computer Science. I have yet to finish a story from beginning to end despite writing consistently from a young age. In a sense I feel as though I am beginning to fear success more than failure. Many a person has told me this is entirely a lack of confidence. I would actually disagree with them, I am quite confident.

I was making extremely good progress with my story planning and the concept was coming together nicely. Also, my idea to transform any new ideas into concepts and ideas for the current story was both rewarding and enriching. So what went wrong? I stopped writing one night as I was getting tired. Sounds like a simple enough thing, but when I woke up, the mood was gone. I could have kept writing, but I really wasn’t feeling it. Even today, I chose to write this blog post over writing a thousand more words toward my story. Also, working nights has turned me sloth-like in many ways. I feel myself imagining new story ideas but not even bothering to write them down. I frequently figure out new scenes for the story I am working on but have no idea how to incorporate them into the story as a whole. The scene literally sets itself as the score ramps up with the intense action. The war for hope begins and…

I simply long for sleep. That is all.

Writing Wiki: Not Wiki Writing

So if you’ve been following along with the madness that comes with my obsession with writing, you’ll know that I took the jump from excel spreadsheets to a writing wiki to organize my writing. If you haven’t been, well, today is a fantastic progress update so I’ll explain the methods behind the latest stint at the wheel of a ship called creative madness!

As you can see in the title, I am talking about creating a writing wiki. You may wonder why that is any different than writing for a wiki. There are indeed many parallels, and I have enjoyed learning the wiki syntaxes alongside my writing. It gave me the perfect reason to take a break and think about something other than the world I am creating. Also writing an article for a wiki is fun, but using it for a story to organize your thoughts is an incredibly powerful tool.

The wiki page is simply that of a text editor, but through valid and important linking you create actual notes and links from one section to another. Planning foreshadowing and adding layers of depth to the story has been easier than just writing. Normally I do what I would call “free writing” where I have an idea where I want the story to go and start off almost on the adventure myself. As I write, new ideas present themselves and I begin to get distracted. This is the first time I have ever managed to plan an entire novel (just completed the chapter summaries). The fun thing is making the beginning of the story have significant relevance to the end of the story while both tie into the title of my story: Fabled.

As the hero, Brennet Vanniston, stuggles to understand why his brother left him before his eighth birthday, his mother reads him the story of the three monsters of creation (A lore I adapted to my story from stories from history). Within a few years, he quickly finds his life spiralling upwards and beyond his control. Finding himself travelling the lands of Ethos and uniting the kingdoms against Death himself, Brennet quickly finds himself the protagonist of his own story.

The story at the moment has a few possible endings (One definitive for a one off novel, one to set up a single sequel and one to set up a trilogy), I have been focusing on the trilogy ending in hopes of writing another story in the same world. After all, I’ve done lots of planning in this world, why wouldn’t I want to make more stories in it? Also the Vanniston lineage is a history rich blood line with a rags to riches story. The evolution of the name from as far back as the little known Nistons to the destiny changing Vlad Van Niston shows how one moment can completely change a family’s course forever.

To give you a bit of insight into the great ancestor of Brennet Vanniston, Vlad Van Niston was actually originally a blacksmith by trade. A man who saw forging weapons and wielding them as one and the same, he quickly became known through tournaments in the King’s name. He practised often with the weapons he crafted, and this lead to his advantage with many different types of arms. Also he was secretly ambidextrous, but he was afraid to use his left hand as it was considered a sign of evil lurking within. Vlad found himself recruited into the Kingsguard for his skill as a blacksmith, but eventually found himself fighting on the front lines after single-handedly fending off attackers at their camp.

Vlad’s defining moment was in the great battle for the kingdom of Anglia. He had just turned twenty and before they could celebrate, shadows fell over the camp, slaughtering half the men in mere minutes. Alarmed by the ambush, Vlad with sword and shield, leapt haphazardly into the fray. He met a man who met his every swing perfectly, and matched his speed and accuracy. As the two men danced in the flickering light of the camp fire, all eyes turned to them. The blades sung out as they sliced the air perfectly, almost in eagerness for the taste of blood. Suddenly Vlad felt his sword turning unnaturally in his hand, it seemed the other man was about to disarm him. In his panic, Vlad dropped his shield and caught the falling sword in his left hand; his sword sang as it cleaved easily through his opponent’s wrist. The other sword’s slight blue glow landed in Vlad’s right hand, and with both blades, he ended the war.

Vlad’s story continues as he learns from his captive enemies that the sword is ancient, its old master called it Revenant. Adopting the sword as his own, he continued fighting with the King’s armies until he passed the sword down to his son upon his retirement. The sword then was passed down through the ages, usually to the first born son, but only when the father retired from battle. As Vlad’s skill dramatically improved his family’s wealth and reputation, the tradition of naming your son or daughter with the middle name “Van” became a popular practice. This eventually lead to the surname of Vanniston, which brings us to our hero, Brennet.

This is one of the many pieces of history and lore I’ve added into my stories to enrich the experience and through the use of a wiki, added more than I probably should have. You see, whenever you are writing a note, lore, description or anything really; You simply make a link of anything that sounds interesting or important to you. Eventually you create this web of links which build the story and the events for the most part. The history of my story shaped the direction and conclusion of its main plot, while the sub plots describe things I want to tell you about through the eyes of my characters. Some animals are fantastic, and I can’t wait to discuss them!

If anyone is considering using a wiki to start structuring their writing, please feel free to email more or comment here and I will help you as best I can. Not only that, but on my back burner there I can see that I would like to create a tutorial for using one as a writer. I believe this tool has been incredibly useful for making me seem more organized than I am and most likely saving a forest of trees with the amount of notes I usually scribble haphazardly only to require rewriting(read: translating) them. I hope you enjoyed today’s post and feel free to drop me a line! I’d be more than excited to hear from anyone out there!

Fabled Lore: The Three Monsters Of Legend

So I’ve been writing up a storm and I must say, I am feeling good about the world I am creating. I decided awhile ago not to let new ideas hinder me. One of my latest ideas was that of a Knight Templar hunting Behemoths from the game Final Fantasy in a futuristic setting. I did a little research into them and then turned the majority of that idea into some more lore and possible story elements for the world of Fabled. Also, I decided on the name Ethos for my world, I had heard it before, but I only had an inkling of what it really meant.

e·thos   [ee-thos, ee-thohs, eth-os, -ohs]
1.
Sociology . the fundamental character or spirit of a culture; the underlying sentiment that informs the beliefs, customs, or practices of a group or society; dominant assumptions of a people or period: In the Greek ethos the individual was highly valued.
2.
the character or disposition of a community, group, person, etc.
3.
the moral element in dramatic literature that determines a character’s action rather than his or her thought or emotion.

I felt that was damn fitting for my world and the name will be pronounced “Eth-ohze”. After converting some ideas into the world of Fabled I felt excited enough to post them on this thing called the interwebz. The Wiki format for organizing my ideas has actually been an incredibly useful tool and I seriously recommend anyone who has trouble sticking with one idea to give it a try. Every time you get a new idea you can convert it into a whole other Wiki page, or you can begin linking it into your current story idea.

Even as I type this, I feel these words are wasted. Who will see these? Who will care? Why aren’t I writing? Hope you enjoy a bit more insight into the world I am creating and if anyone has any questions about using a Wiki as a writing tool feel free to email or comment. Also I might just go ahead and make an article on how to get started with that. It is not even half as hard as it sounds. Enjoy!

The Monsters of Legend

The Monsters of Legend are the three original creations created by the gods to help them shape the world they had created. After the world had been perfected by the Monsters, the Gods themselves began the Creation of Humans to act as empty shells for them to inhabit while they visited the world. Upon their arrival, the Gods became obsessed with their own creations and acted carnally upon them. Because of the power of the Gods, these Monsters of Legend are the Mothers of all living beings in the world. All three monsters were female, being decided to be a nurturing force for the world they were creating. However due to the involvement of the gods, the nurturing nature of these three creatures had been suppressed in their various offspring.

As the world of Ethos was created, that was considered the first day or Day One of its existence. The stories and lores speak of the creation of these mothers of all the world’s creatures in the proceeding days.

Behemoth

The Behemoth was created on the Second Day to help shape and tend the land. Often depicted in images as an ox, The Behemoth is actually a giant reptilian wolf, with large horns and cupped hooves. It’s fangs were made to tear through trees and its hooves were actually meant to be able to shatter diamond and various other ores. Its powerful body was enough to dig a trench into the world for the next creation from the gods, Leviathan.

Leviathan

The Leviathan was created on the Third Day to produce the water for The Behemoth. The water was meant originally only to help plants and beauty flourish on the main land, but as The Leviathan helped The Behemoth, a bond formed and the two wished to remain together. The Behemoth dug its hooves into the world and dug a trench so the Leviathan could maintain a constant body of water instead of only helping grow the plants. Often depicted as a large serpent, the Leviathan is actually the original dragon in history. As all lizards, fish and water creatures were born from the Leviathan, they all share some of the godlike characteristics of their mother creature.

Ziz

On the Fourth Day the gods needed something more. Eden was a beautiful place, and both of the creatures they had already created had done fantastically. As they surveyed the world from their realm, the Gods decided that the space above the land and the sea was bleak. Neither of the creatures they created could effect it. The Behemoth forged mountains, and The Leviathan forced hot liquid exploding upward, but the gods had created gravity to keep their creatures on the world. Now they needed something to defy that creation. The Gods created together a beast large enough to fully encompass their world. As the blues turned to hues of red, purple and violet eventually turned into a shimmering blackness. The gods pushed onward with this beast who would circle the world for all eternity. They released their creation into the air and named it the Ziz. As the Ziz opened its eyes for the first time, its eyes burned brightly enough to completely light Eden. However its eyes also presented a problem, the Ziz couldn’t control the heat from its eyes, and scorched a part of Eden. The Leviathan offered its aid to the Ziz and used its waters to put out the flames of one of its eyes. The Ziz went blind in that eye, but the Gods agreed that the Ziz would have to keep a watchful eye over the world and to do so would have to circle the world.

Ziz being the final creature made exclusively for the creation of Eden was given the gift of flight. This in turn made the other two creatures of legend envious at its ability to ignore their restriction to gravity, but they grew accepting of their third sister. Although the Ziz represents the night sky as well as the day, the Ziz is often depicted as a bird. Truth lies in a creature that rests in the seas, a Manta Ray is the actual closest relative to the Ziz which is half made up of shimmering darkness and its middle represents sunset. The tips of its wings represent sunrise. The Ziz keeps a watchful eye over the world which had given Eden a day and night cycle due to its burning eye. Once every thousand years the tail of the Ziz can be seen streaking across the sky in all the colours of the rainbow.

After Creation

As the three creatures finally began to work together, Eden began to flourish. When the Gods created the lifeless shells of the humans so they could enjoy their masterpiece, the three creatures were overwhelmed with joy to have their creators among them. However as the Gods became twisted and corrupt individuals, they turned their attention upon their own creations. As the Gods took each other and their beasts alike as lovers, soon the world became populated with “bastard sons and daughters of the gods” As war tore at the world, the Ziz watched helplessly as Gods killed their brothers and sisters, and turned their bastard children against one another. The Behemoth grew upset with the Gods and tore a trench so deep the Gods could no longer harm The Leviathan. Then it too went into hiding, leaving no trace of itself behind except for large mounds of stone for miles. The Ziz was upset that its companions had to go into hiding, however after being lusted after by the Gods for almost an eternity, The Ziz cleverly hid itself with clouds turning the skies dark with gloom and remained there until the end of the War for Eden. Once the war ended it now circles the world searching for The Behemoth and The Leviathan amid the land and the sea.

Fabled World Lore: The Sainthood of Alistaire, The Iron Knight

So I am writing a lot of detail into this story I am working on and this is just one of the many side stories that has become a folk tale in the world of Fabled. Fabled will be taking place in a fantasy setting following a young boy who runs from conscription into the King’s Guard like his older brother did before him. In an attempt to make a name for himself, he heads to the neighbouring kingdom to offer his help in finding the princess.

The Sainthood of Alistaire, The Iron Knight

In the land of what is now Archanglia, a sole ancient dragon swooped down upon a kingdom in a furious attack. As the fire from the dragon’s mouth engulfed many a soldier, the King screamed for peace. The dragon had been making weekly attacks, and the King wanted desperately to know why. As he exited the castle walls alone, the dragon made its descent before him.

“Why dragon, why does someone so great, powerful and wise such as yourself choose to attack my kingdom every week? What harm have we done to you?” The King demanded answers from the dragon, unsure if he was even being understood.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed at the King and he leaned in, his long steaming snout barely inches from the King’s face. You wish to know why young King? Your hunters have taken my younglings, slain them, and kept them as trophies. The dragon’s message came across loud and clear, but it spoke only to the King’s mind. Alas, I am now the last of my kind.

“Well, how can I appease you? An apology will not do, and if it is justice you require, I may grant it!” The King’s pleas echoed in the silence following his offering. The dragon stared at him pensively.

I will accept your form of punishment. However I will require the bodies of my younglings so I may give them a proper rest. In a wagon would do fine, I can carry them that way. The dragon’s eyes narrowed even more, almost to the point of being closed. But I will require one thing from you in return.

The King was already ensuring the cart with the dragons was on its way out when he was baffled by the request. He knew it was best for the kingdom, and if he were to have a kingdom at all, he would have to appease the dragon. “Anything for peace my friend, I will give you…”

Your twin heirs. The dragon’s eyes widened and he snarled as if to say, two lives for two lives.

The King stifled back a grin and bowed low. “Of course I would, but alas I have no children!” As he bowed, the cart with the two bodies on it appeared outside the gate.

The dragon’s snout inhaled deeply as it retreated its head from the King. Ah, but you will. With that, the dragon spread its enormous wings and kicked up a cloud of dust, disappearing amid the clouds with the cart in his clutches.

Years later, the King finally wed into a wealthy family to unite two kingdoms. His political power and their funds made them extremely prosperous. As the King found out his betrothed was with child, he checked with his healer to see if it could be twins. The healer assured him it was not possible.

Weeks turned to months, and finally the day arrived. The King stood by his Queen’s side as she gave birth to his first born heir, a boy. As he revelled in the glory of fatherhood, he forgot about the prospect of twins until his wife suddenly had a sharp pain in her abdomen. As the healer tried desperately to stop the bleeding, the King began to panic. What if he lost his wife? Would she be the other life the dragon was asking for? As the healer worked tirelessly to help her, she found a small hand amid the blood. As she forced the child from the Queen, she unfortunately put the Queen into a shock. As the king was handed a twin daughter, he lost his Queen.

He toiled with the thought of having to give away the last reminders of his beautiful wife. Finally he came to a solution. He would have the hunters slay the dragon! As he sent his guards to every household, no hunters wanted to face death head on. Finally the search expanded, until no more were available. As he broke down to his armourer, he told of how he dealt away his children to the dragon in exchange for peace. The armourer shook his head, but in the background a young man clamoured forward.

“Hello M’Lord, I am the apprentice here, and I have heard your plight.” The young man said, his grey eyes shining like steel. “I have heard it, and I wish to help.” The King hugged the young man and promised him riches and his family wealth beyond their dreams. The young man looked to the ground at the mention of his family. “M’Lord, they all died of plague a few years ago. I have nothing left but this job.”

Despite the King’s offer of the greatest armour and weapons, the young man wanted to forge his own armour and sword. The King sighed heavily and sat, watching the young man forge his sword. “What is your name, hero?”

The young man smiled at the King’s compliment. “I’m no hero M’Lord. My name is Alistaire.”

“Alistaire of what house?” The question from the King seemed to sting his hero.

“I have no house, I was too young to remember our name.” Alistaire shrugged as he dipped the scalding hot sword into a cauldron of water. As the steam rose from the heated metal, he looked upon his blade with great pride. “This is a technique I remember my father writing about, it is called star forging.” As he swung the sword in an arc, the blade sung through the air.

As the King felt the time passing, finally his hero came to see him. “Are you prepared for the battle?” He asked politely, unsure if any man could prepare to face such a creature. Much to his surprise, Alistaire shrugged as if he were fetching some bread.

“M’Lord, I have nothing but my life to lose, and I assure you. It isn’t worth much.” Alistaire got down on a single knee and bowed his head. “But I will give my last breath only after I have defended your heirs good King.” Suddenly, Alistaire rose to his feet and removed his iron helm. “But you must promise me something.” Having learned not to promise anything, the King nodded for him to continue. “You must promise me not to make deals with dragons.” The King grabbed Alistaire and hugged him tight. “Never again will I, my friend.”

Alistaire received a blessing from the counsel of clerics and healers and was bestowed a holy symbol. It was an iron sword, depicted diagonally on a silver and gold shield. As the symbol was draped around his neck, the healer smiled warmly. “The Gods watch over you this day.” As Alistaire looked at the charm, the healer pointed to the various symbols. “The Sword, Governor of War; The Shield, Governor of the Protectors.” She paused a moment and raised the charm to her lips, muttering words Alistaire couldn’t hear. The healer nodded and sent him on his way.

The trip was long and perilous but he had to get to the dragon before word got to it about the children. Finally after a few days of travel, he happened upon a large cave. As he peered back down the mountain side, he could see the kingdom in clear view. Alistaire thought to himself that this must be the place. Arming himself with his iron sword and shield, he advanced from his perch amid the brush.

So, the King had his twins.

Alistaire’s face most likely looked shocked, but lucky for him, he had a helm on. “Can you hear me dragon?”

Aye boy. I can hear you. I hear you and what your heart wishes.

The voice echoes throughout Alistaire’s body, resonating off the very essence of his being. “Then you know I’m not afraid of you, so show yourself!”

The dragon heeds his wishes and clamours out of the cave, staring wearily at the mass of iron before him. I also know you’ve come to kill me, human. As his voice resonates through Alistaire’s mind, the two stare at each other and respectfully size up their opponent.

“Well, you will not have the children! I have vowed it to-” Alistaire’s rant is cut short but a voice shatters the silence in his mind.

I know. You vowed to kill me. But you’ve never killed anything before, let alone a dragon. The dragon lowers his head sympathetically. You are but a youngling yourself. His sad eyes blink slowly as he draws his head back. I am the last of my kind, and it is my duty to survive.

As Alistaire stared at the dragon, he remembered he had come here to slay it, not befriend it. He lunged forward, swinging his sword at it’s belly. The dragon drew back, unscathed and reacted with fire. Alistaire lunged behind some rocks as the trees behind him turned to ash. The dragon glanced around cautiously as his eyes darted to any movement.

You finally decided to get on with my murder I see. Puffs of smoke billowed from the dragon’s nostrils as he readied more fire.

Alistaire was ignoring the dragon’s taunts as he climbed atop the cave opening. As he peered over the edge, the dragon looked left and right for his foe. No. I fight for the innocent children in a deal made between two monsters. Alistaire’s thoughts alerted the dragon to his location just as Alistaire leapt forth from his perch.

The fire blew forth from the dragon’s mouth as if Alistaire was leaping toward the sun. The darkness of the helm turned to sunshine as it melted away in the intense heat. His iron shield melted as if it were made of butter, and his chest piece poured over his legs like mercury. As the metal ran down Alistaire’s skin, it singed every nerve and tore skin from muscle and bone. The flames felt cold on the skin however, most likely from the shock of many nerves being destroyed in unison. Alistaire landed half in the dragon’s maw with a clang, and together the two fell to the ground.

Rising from the ground, Alistaire stared at the dragon. His father’s technique had paid off. The sword had cleaved clean through a few of the dragon’s teeth, through its jaw and the point was sticking out the top of its skull. As the steam rose from his scarred skin, Alistaire looked to his chest. The one thing that didn’t melt away was the holy symbol. He kissed it and drew his sword from the dragon’s skull.

Upon Alistaire’s return to the kingdom, the King stared at the broken and charred knight before him. “I am quite sorry for what has happened to you young knight.” His sympathetic look masked his utter disgust. “I will grant you all that you desire, just name it.” Alistaire pondered for a few moments and then attempted a smile. “I wish for the freedom of your children.”

The guards and noblemen in the castle gasped in disbelief. The King stirred uncomfortably in his throne. “What do you mean, freedom?” His words spat forth with venom. “And choose your words wisely, hero of our kingdom.”

Alistaire looked to the blade his father had unknowingly taught him to forge and considered his next words wisely. “I have come to free the children from your grasp as well.”

The King stood from his throne and scoffed at the suggestion. “I just sent you to kill the dragon, so I could keep my heirs!”

With a stern expression on his scarred face, the young Alistaire nodded. “They will still be your heirs, but you will not raise them. You have gambled their life away and sent another to protect them. You are no father figure.” He scowled while considering his next words. “Let someone else raise them.”

The King was disappointed in his champion, but at least he wouldn’t lose his heirs completely. He nodded begrudgingly and pointed Alistaire to the castle door. “Your request shall be granted. I will put them in the care of… the healer who brought them into this world.” As the King watched Alistaire leave, he sighed heavily.

Outside the castle walls, Alistaire collapses in the street. The young healer who gave him the holy symbol appears from nowhere, but directly to his aid. “Come brave knight, you have saved these lands.” As she ushered him into an alleyway, Alistaire braced himself on the wall. “It is done. The healer who helped their mother will take care of the children.” The young healer smiles politely. “And you are now in the hands of the divines, Saint Alistaire.” As she leaned over and slipped the holy symbol from Alistaire’s shoulders, he slumped down to the ground motionless. “Rest easy fair knight, may the Governor of Compassion take you amid his court.”

As the skies slowly cried for the low born knight, the young healer disappeared into the crowd. However even until this day, Saint Alistaire’s battle with the dragon and the King is known among all the kingdoms. Who has recounted the story no one knows, but it is known among the circles of compassion. Praying to Saint Alistaire is common among the burned for a healthy and speedy recovery.

Can't Stop, Addicted to the Shin… Dig..?

I thought a line from a song would really help me title this post, however upon looking up the lyrics for “Can’t Stop” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers I realized that line makes no sense. Either way, the message was and still is, can’t stop! What I mean by that is I’m on a roll with this whole blog thing as of late and I’ve been finding it easier to write posts. There’s something oddly addictive about people liking my blog, or my post or even just seeing the view count rise. I feel bad because I don’t network the way I should, as it seems the common courtesy in the “blogiverse” is when someone likes/shares/tweets your blog, I guess you do the same? I don’t know, these new fan-dangled “tweeterers” and “facebookians” are just in a different league to me I suppose!

Yes, I realize that makes me sound old. In fact some days I feel it. But as I became addicted to my smart phone (ironic name, but I’ll get to that) I started to get lazy with my thumb typing. Autocorrect does everything for me, so why bother, right? However autocorrect has its own world and I truly believe occasionally Apple throws a random word in even when you spell the damn word right! I mean honestly, I have typed “cringe” and it changed it to “chinchilla”. Yes, that made total sense. Now I “chinchilla” every time I hear Lady Gaga sing for even more reasons. Not only that but I am pretty sure my intelligence is drowning in the sea of supposedly useful apps in the app store.

Luckily my creativity is still running free, but when I say my intelligence has suffered it comes down to the little things. Not having as good a memory as I used to (yeah, for those of you who know me… it has managed to get worse!) and my spelling has taken a hit. Now as a self proclaimed grammar snob I have tried to maintain the best grammar standard I can. But lately there has been lots of questions that have popped up such as: Is organisation spelled with an S or a Z? Ridiculous or Rediculous?! Neighbor or Neighbour? Armor or Armour? For those last two cases, either can work but I guess the greater question is will I get grilled at the editing table for a novel?

That being said, here’s some news for you! I have been addicted to Google News for awhile now, but it has been shocking the number of times I have seen “You’re” mixed up with “Your” and “It’s” mixed up with “Its”. These are not simple blogs like this humble site here, oh no! I am talking an epidemic that has managed to forge its way into supposed reputable news sites as well as t-shirts and even signs. That’s right, official signs! It’s ridiculous! Everyone is worried about the zombie apocalypse, but that is fictional! One guy eats another guy’s face and everyone jumps on the zombie bandwagon, but seriously why can’t people just get these straight! Your welcome means that this welcome is yours. You’re welcome means you are welcome. It’s teeth means that yes, it is teeth (which is terrible grammar!) but its teeth means we are discussing the teeth of the object in question.

Anyway, today I talked about my dream of running a school with some of my colleagues at work and I really enjoy the thought of it. It really sounds like a place I would like to go to school! The concept differs quite a bit from traditional schools as the concept is based around the creation of video games. The school itself would be a four year program no matter what discipline you choose on the road to game creation. The student tuition would go toward their future employment within the school run business for the first year after their graduation. What do I mean? Well the model would go a little like this…

A student would apply straight from high school and hopefully be accepted into the school. No application fees in this case as I could not guarantee everyone a placement. Yes, this means tuition may be a tiny bit higher per year, but I believe no application fees would open the school up to everyone as I felt the need to pick and choose carefully due to fees. After the student is approved they choose their degree and they are slotted in. Assuming I don’t have a million classrooms like a university, I would be restricted at first by size and staffing. That being said, let’s assume that I am already in business. Tuition comes with a breakdown of costs (administration, technology, bills, maintenance, etc…) but the bulk of the tuition would actually be put aside in waiting. During your fourth year at our prestigious college/university/higher learning/altar of awesome, you embark on a mission to help create a video game. The fourth year is like a co-op placement but within the school itself. Teachers are there to guide you, teach to to problem solve, improvise, plan and execute a game title.

Then after your fourth year (with more labs than classes), the fifth year is actually what I call “Student Sponsored Employment”. You see, all the while you’ve been paying the bills for the school, we’ve also been saving your money. Yeah, we could expand, but we’re working on that anyway. Your money comes back to you, as I believe that every school should have a very serious plan to make their staff useful employees. With your fourth year “co-op” you begin to gain that real world experience. In the fifth year, suddenly you are thrust into the real world, but still connected to the school. You have already guaranteed yourself a job for one year by paying tuition. The fifth year is what we call “The Danger Zone”, where you can fail but it won’t cost you your job. However, this year would show everyone how crucial each member of a development team is. “The Danger Zone” is also where our school makes its profits, so the better our graduates do, the better off we are! The fifth year has the mission of creating a full potential AAA title in just a year. This would pressure students to work on time management, and also face the reality of cutting their beloved idea to pieces and sacrificing stability for release. Student projects that do well are granted bonuses and some students may even consider building a team from the people they worked with for their game. But the whole idea is to take a new high school graduate, teach them all they need to know, help them work out the kinks and then watch them fly before letting them go into the world. This is my lifelong dream.

I’m sure I forgot to mention a few things in there, but I am tired and need to get up and do more creative writing in the morning! As much as I love posting in my blog, I love creating and writing and even just planning far more than this! But for now, I hope you enjoyed!

As Promised: Progress!

So I hope many of you enjoyed the last post of my wonderful trip to Melbourne, now that it is mostly behind me (I am still considering seeing what my other options are for this stupid ticket) I push forward back into focusing on my creative writing. I am always writing, but sometimes I focus less on the story progression and more on the idea generation process of writing. Luckily for me, a friend of mine happens to be a writer as well and offered up a blog post for me to dissect and enjoy. As I headed over to her page and read up, I can tell she has gone through something definitely very similar.

So today I told myself, to hell with writing. I decided not to write a single word. Now you’re wondering how I made any progress at all, and I can tell you it probably won’t seem like it to the common blog reader. I have been fighting this large demon called “Organization” and he has been quite the contender. We have been evenly matched, and he frequently pulls out ahead. Damn demons… fighting dirty… Ahem! Anyway, so today was my first victory in the ongoing battle! I took a look at how I write and it is sporadic at best. I write all the time, but I imagine aliens finding my notes long after we are all dead and gone and considering the fact that I may be what ended the world. I swear I’m not crazy! Just a bit… nutty.

Today I armed myself with a new tool before work, I found myself figuring out exactly how I could write as much as I want, never stop and just associate what I wanted. Also, if I die, the USB drive that all this information is on should go immediately onto the internet. You see, I’ve spoken of Excel before and that had its time. But I was still having the issue of other ideas flying in no matter how in the zone I was. Then while I was reading the billions of pages of information on the Wiki of Ice and Fire it all just came together. These fans have created a Wiki about the books, characters, events, and the list goes on. I have no fans to make my wiki for me, however I found out how to create a private one from a USB stick. This may be a temporary fix, but I will be damned if it didn’t feel great! Let me explain why the wiki format has been helpful in my writing thus far.

I started off with Media Wiki and found myself staring at the basis of a writer’s creation… and the bane of our existence. A blank page. I realized (like most men) that instructions probably would be helpful, but who needs those? I searched for something I knew didn’t exist and created my first page. Then I linked that from my main page. And then… I giggled. Not a manly giggle (if one does indeed exist), but a giggle like a school girl who just found out the guy she likes feels the same. Yeah, I think that’s close enough. So after my “Tee-hee!” moment, I began converting some partial ideas into wiki pages. The moment I realized I was potentially wielding the Excalibur of writing tools was when I introduced a new character, then I made a link to a new page in the wiki based off the character’s name. Then I created their back story. And then I kept going, and gave details to the cities that character had visited and the people I mentioned in his biography. And then… I giggled some more. You may have heard me comment that I believe my Muse had “inceptioned” her Muse? Well, now I was following her down the rabbit hole.

Rabbit hole? What the hell am I talking about?! Imagine this for a second. You drop into a completely blank space. A clean canvas completely surrounds you and then you think up, I don’t know, Westell Potts. For me, I imagine him probably different than you do. But now it is you and Mr. Potts. Where does he fit in? For me, Westell sounds like a fat, lazy guard, so we put him in a castle. As the details of who Westell actually is come to fruition, the castle builds itself. Who does he serve? A king? A queen? A… Unicorn? After you make your decision the other details fall into place until finally you have a Kingdom. But is the kingdom on a hill? Near some water? Now you begin filling out the wiki page for the kingdom. Then the king (in my case). Then his devious brother. Then his sullen kingdom of “unworth”. Then why did he get the crappy kingdom? Events unfold. Stories bloom from within the story itself. Finally, I have some manner of organization that works for me. Also because I hate clutter and the such, the clean chaos contained within the wiki allows me a great deal of power at the cost of formatting. Will this be an efficient use of my time? Perhaps not, however if I complete a story because of it… then the investment is worth it indeed!

So as I have told the many who have read my posts before, I will keep you posted. This is meant to be a journal of my works as well as documenting my path to an eventual (and dreamed about) publication. Are any other writers out there using the wiki format? Has it helped? Has the trade off been worth it? I would like to thank the lovely Natalie over at her blog for her continued help and guidance as well as another friend who offered me an email, Ms. Stares, for her helpful hints as well. If anyone would like to leave a comment, or email me feel free! I try and reply to any who take the time to send me a message and it doesn’t even have to be writing related! Thanks for tuning back in to my blog and hope to hear from you readers out there beyond the text box!

Melbourne: Land of the Unforgiving Tourist Trap

This is mostly a writing blog. I sometimes write about my life, my choices and today I have chosen to write a piece of my surprise trip to Melbourne. As you can probably judge by the title, I had a fantastic time… actually, I did. But I think if I had gone anywhere else, it would have been a better time. Not that I am not grateful for the trip, it was a pleasant surprise given to me for my birthday from my lovely girlfriend. She intended it to be a stress free getaway… how little she actually knew.

 

It was Friday, May eleventh and the sun was shining. It was a beautiful day and the heat beamed in through the windows to wake me from my slumber. As I work nights, the inevitable daylight always stings first, and warms later. I rolled out of bed wearing my newest pair of “comfy pants”, sworn never to leave the house. I hate sweatpants with a passion, however these are like wearing clouds, so I finally made the exception. I grabbed my iPhone and checked the time. Damn, I always sleep in. One of the worst parts about working nights is the wind down time after work, which leads into midday starts. I shook my head, disappointed in myself once again that I couldn’t get up before noon.

I staggered zombie-like to the kitchen and contemplated breakfast. Then I considered getting the mail. After all, I’ve been waiting for my security clearance check from Canada for the purposes of applying for my permanent residency visa here. It seems to be taking forever. After bouncing the ideas back and forth finally I turn from the front door and head back to the kitchen. The mail isn’t going anywhere. That is when my day began sliding downhill.

I heard a loud bang and the squealing of brakes. The two combined are never a good thing. My body instinctively turned around, and what I saw was a white car with major front end damage. Without thinking I grabbed my cordless phone (which has almost zero reception inside the house) and forced myself into dialling triple zero against my natural instinct to dial nine one one. As I rushed out I relayed what I saw to the man on the other end. Luckily everyone was okay, but the lady driver of the white car began staggering down the side road and away from the accident. I told him I didn’t think an ambulance was needed, but we definitely needed the police and fire brigade as the large truck the white car had run into was leaking fuel.

I relayed all I could but as I rushed to head the woman off, my phone cut out. At this point my blood is pumping and I find myself trying to convince this lady to return to the accident. She refuses to return, as she tells me that she is too shaken up to be near the car. Her words say nothing of being too shaken to be near the car, but what ever she had been drinking at half past midday may have been quite shaken. The male from her car gets out and begins trying to distract me so she can run, but I stay in front of them. Then the man begins getting aggressive and I’m just not in the mood. He begins yelling at me, asking me why I’m keeping her there. I simply tell him I am first aid trained and she is suffering from shock. She needs to remain at the scene as well, as fleeing the scene of an accident is a crime. He gets really up in my face and screams, what are you a cop or something? My nerves surprisingly don’t back down and I issue him a statement: “Yes, now sit down and shut the hell up. Don’t make this worse for yourself.” He doesn’t slug me, but he has his doubts. Either way, he backs off completely.

Enter the driver of the truck. He comes over to give me his statement. I don’t give a hoot about his statement. I want the police to come, and now. Actually roughly what seems like an hour ago they’d have been handy. The male from the white car is listening more than I am and he begins to voice his opinion. I tell them all to calm down as I am not on duty and as I didn’t see anything I am solely a witness. I’m not there for statements. I send the truck driver to the curb and have to reposition myself back in front of the woman as she staggers further down the road. Finally I see the police car pull up, and the driver jumps out and looks around for the drivers. I flag him down with my ever so useless cordless phone and to my delight, he comes down to us. Things begin to slow down for me now, as he collects the couple from the white car and drives them back to the accident. I give my useless statement as I saw nothing, but I believe she would have run away from the accident had I not intervened. After waiting to see if they need me again, the lady jumps from the police car and begins running down the street. I turn to the officers and let them know she is getting away, to which they chase her down, cuff her and walk her back to the car.

After that ordeal I get home and it isn’t long before my girlfriend gets home. I was supposed to get one thing finished and one thing alone before she got home. The dishes. Now obviously one cannot predict a car accident, so I thought I was in the clear. However, I was in deep trouble. Upon her arrival she freaked out at the dishes around the sink. I told her not to worry about it as we could finish them after supper. She began cleaning them furiously and I shook my head. I’m not going to stress any more about today, I began to plan for a quiet night at home. My lovely girlfriend told me we were going out for a nice dinner and had to pick up my birthday present. I was fine with that, but I had my heart set on a quiet night. After dealing with drunk drivers and an aggressive, unpredictable stranger, I wanted to just crawl back into bed. However, unbeknownst to me… my girlfriend had other plans.

Enter the airport. Exactly the last place I had hoped to be was an area with screaming babies and chock full of people who all seem like their life could end at any moment, so they must blow past you as if you’re not there. I am feeling miserable for two reasons, I simply am not in the mood for a surprise of this magnitude and I just feel bad for my girlfriend. She couldn’t have predicted the accident, so I try hard to grin and bear it. As we sit waiting for the flight to Melbourne my girlfriend notices an ad for flights there being advertised for  forty dollars or so. She hangs her head as she paid a lot more for that. But that is travel, book in advance and miss the deals, but wait and miss going altogether.

The flight is late, but the happens so we laugh about the crazy drunken lady who I stopped earlier and my best police impersonation. We board,  I sit in the wrong seat as informed by the passenger who was supposed to be in that seat. Luckily the plane takes off and lands before I know it. My day is just… awesome. As we land a bit late too, we worry we may miss our connecting shuttle. My girlfriend had booked us a smaller shuttle from the airport directly to our hotel. We land fifteen minutes late, roughly quarter past ten in the evening and our shuttle is nowhere in sight. After everything else, we joke about adding it to the growing list of failures. I wait as she calls to confirm we are being picked up, and they assure us the driver should be there already. Especially considering the plane got in late. We shrug it off, she’s fifteen minutes late supposedly because she had to gas up. Fine, we really just want to get to the hotel. Sleep is calling and I seriously want off this roller coaster of a day. She says she has to pick up the next passenger, but we’d have to wait ten to fifteen minutes. Well, we’ve waited this long, so what is another fifteen minutes?

What is another fifteen minutes? Well, apparently in Melbourne time that translates out to roughly forty five minutes. She comes out to tell us roughly thirty minutes into the fifteen minute wait that he’s just waiting on his luggage. Fantastic. He finally shows and she brings him to the shuttle. She then informs us that we have to wait another ten minutes for the next passenger. My girlfriend nearly breaks down and tells her that isn’t acceptable as we have an early start the next day. I am mortified at the news of an early start, but it is to be expected if we are to get everything in. The lady apologizes but assures us it is out of her hands. The time now nearing roughly ten after eleven. After waiting an additional twenty five minutes, our driver returns sans passenger and grumbles something about him not showing. By this time we had watched roughly fifty of the airport public shuttles arrive and leave with passengers.

We arrive at our hotel at roughly twenty past twelve and by the time we check in and get our card keys, it’s pushing half past twelve. I try my card key. You have got to be kidding me. I try my girlfriend’s key. Both keys fail to open the door. I hang my head in agony as I make my way back to the elevator and down to the front desk. I miss Sydney. The gentleman at the front desk comes up as if we had used them wrong but has to use his master key to let us into our room. He is baffled by the luck we had, but we’re not. In fact, we just add it to the growing list of failures. As I lay down to sleep, she writes an angry email describing our experience to the shuttle company.

Sleep soothes the exhausted soul. I wake up with a slight crick in my neck, but it goes away fast enough. We rush out and make it to our car rental place for opening. The place is already packed with people, but we get through fast enough. The man talks us into an upgrade from a compact to a wagon, and from a manual to an auto. It’ll be better on gas I suspect, so I agree. So does their bank account, an extra thirty dollars. We shrug it off and get into the car. It’s not bad, roomy, clean and purrs like a kitten. Much unlike my bucket of bolts which idles so bad it would rattle your fillings out. We begin our journey, to the Great Ocean Road!

At first the day is mildly windy and a bit cold for Australia. I grow glad that I am Canadian as the cold here feels like nothing. We stop for some scenic views, take some pictures at at a beach and before we make it back to the car, the cold and wind are becoming a bit dramatic even for me. No one controls the weather, but as we pull away we watch as the forceful winds push a storm across the roads. Considering the wind, fog, rain and lack of sun, the drive is enjoyable, but sure as hell less scenic than I had imagined. We add weather to the growing list of failures. Absolutely incredible.

The next time we stop, so does the rain. We arrive in an area called Split Point, at first we’re hesitant to stop for just the lighthouse. But I decide, ah well, if I am a tourist I might as well play the part. We pass by a road with many people parked on the grass and follow a blue P to a small dirt road with a cul-de-sac at the end. We park at the end of the line at noon, right on the money, and we are making great time. We spend some time walking around the lighthouse grounds, and take some photos but the wind begins to whip up again so we had back to our car. As we pull away, we notice some rubbish on our windscreen. I tell the girlfriend to keep driving, until I realize it seems to be a note. We pull over at the end of the road and sure enough we got a ticket. One minute after twelve. The person probably literally watched us park and then walked over to give us a ticket. Very friendly. We add this to the list and a fine well over a hundred dollars really puts a damper on the day. I swear there were no signs saying we were parked incorrectly, in fact, we followed a parking sign to what we thought was parking! I vow to dispute it when we get home as it makes no sense.

The rest of the day is cold and rainy. In fact what we thought was fog was actually horizontal rain. Our pictures make us look like we are in the middle of a monsoon and we end up absolutely soaked. We drop the car back in its original parking spot, which is the only thing that apparently went right that day. Luckily the company makes the journey one hundred times better than it could have been and I can’t imagine surviving this trip on my own. My spirits would have been crushed when the card key wouldn’t open the door, but luckily we didn’t have to do it alone.

The next day we meet my girlfriend’s uncle for breakfast, and he is an Aussie actor. He’s been in many movies and was staying at his friend’s house. His friend was one of the three original agents in the Matrix. This was a cool fact, and one I smile upon still. As we walked to a small sidewalk breakfast bar, we noted the rain was once again kicking up a stink. We order our breakfast and it comes awhile later, a time which seems to be too long. No one is fully happy with the wait, nor their meal, although the spicy sausage in my breakfast meal has me tearing it apart like a lion eating a gazelle. I leave the dissected husk on my plate, much to my girlfriend’s chagrin . He then takes us to a community owned and run garden in the middle of the town. It is an excellent use of space and the area is beautiful. The concept is something most cities wouldn’t consider, so I give it some bonus points.

After that we head back into the town for some shopping and sight seeing. We don’t really find anything too fantastic to buy although walking around the city has been fun. We stop in for some lunch, and then we head to our shuttle bus meeting spot. We are heading to see the fairy penguins! As I had only seen penguins in captivity, this was the big draw for my birthday going to Melbourne. I had been super excited to see them ever since I arrived, almost more than kangaroos and koalas. I mean really, how often does one see a penguin!? So the shuttle drove us from Melbourne to Philip Island. A gloomy drive that I was glad neither of us had to drive for. The wind and rain pelted the bus in waves. We arrived and hurried to get some good seats down by the beach where the penguins were scheduled to come in.

The darkness swoops in, but the rain and wind beats it to the beach. As the rain comes in horizontally, and the wind chills you to your very soul, it was no surprise that we both ended up with colds. However, we watched the penguins come in. This would be ultimately the highlight of my stay in Melbourne (and keep in mind, it was at Philip Island, NOT Melbourne). I mean honestly, how can anyone stay mad when penguins come waddling up over the rocks and stop to clean themselves. There is no noise cuter than penguin sounds, and they sound like a cross between a pigeon and a kitten. Just imagine a purr being delivered as a coo. But not too loud to be annoying, oh and remember, it’s coming from a penguin. As we followed the penguin parade up to the main house we stopped to examine the small groups that were making their way slowly to their homes. I slept fantastically that night, and couldn’t argue that I had a great time. I mean, come on, they’re penguins!

The next day was entirely looking around the city, we toured the jail (spelt gaol if you’re Australian), rode around on the free tram and made our way to some shopping centres and eventually made it back to our hotel. We would be leaving the next day so we made plans to check out a few places and then left our bags at the hotel. The day was fun, but we didn’t actually find anything to buy and we were both starting to get tired. My feet were sore from the dress shoes I had worn (remember, originally I thought we were going just out for a nice dinner) but overall the trip was ending off on a decent note. We managed to get a refund from our shuttle on the first day and the shuttle was directly on time and took only us directly to the airport.

After bidding Melbourne a heartwarming farewell, I was glad to be heading back toward Sydney. Even though I am not a fan of huge cities, it felt strangely like… coming home. We arrived and as we walked through the doors I noticed a car park shuttle driving by. I extended my hand, as if I could somehow force it to stop while yelling, “Noooo!” and suddenly it stopped and he waved us in. As we hopped on he said I just looked so disappointed, but I was grateful and may or may not have called him a legend. We got to our car and drove to pay for parking when the guy realized we had paid to park in a different lot. He shrugged and told us not to worry about it, he’d get it sorted. We were glad we wouldn’t have to argue that one, and decided to stop at MacDonald’s for just some snacks to make the trip home easier. My girlfriend came back with the food and said apparently their debit wasn’t working, so they just gave it to us. What felt like Melbourne rejecting us over and over was completely undone by the sheer kindness of everyone upon arriving in Sydney. It was good to be welcomed back like that!

As for my parking ticket, upon arriving home I began to request an inquiry into the ticket itself. They state that I can contest it, and send me a photo of the car and a car length away was a single sign. The sign apparently has no end, therefore the entire road must be a no stopping zone. In the picture you can clearly see that I am parked next to another vehicle who was also parked at the end of a long line of cars. As we pulled in the sign wasn’t near where we parked, so we didn’t even notice it. Also if the ticket was indeed issued exactly one minute after we got there, why were we not informed, we would have greatly appreciated mention of the damn sign and moved elsewhere or most likely, have continued on.

I contested the ticket and lost. I argued that all “zones” should have a definite end, a no stopping zone on a curb could be as long as the curb, but even that ends. On a cul-de-sac where parking is allowed on one side of the road, why did they choose to place the singular no stopping zone sign right at the end of the road? In a perfect world, everyone should stare directly ahead. But then how the hell would you find a parking spot?! I still do not understand why there is no end to their no stopping zone. Most zones in the city have starting and ending signs and as does parking. The vagueness of the no stopping sign and its placement directly at the end of the road feels more like a trap than an actual traffic sign. I believe if the road was paved, marked or even sign posted better these fines would not happen. However, as I contested it they also say you can only contest it once and now they are demanding I pay up or take it to court. As much as I would have a fantastic case in court, they know that the cost of the ticket is less than legal fees so I am blackmailed into paying up. Thanks for the stupidly expensive souvenir oh and good riddance.

At the end of the day though, I can check heading to Melbourne and seeing the fairy penguins off the old bucket list. Also I know my girlfriend loves me lots to have planned such an incredible trip and manage to keep it a secret for so long. Do I regret going to Melbourne? No. But not because it was Melbourne. No, it was because I have the best girlfriend in the world and together… we survived Melbourne.

The Craft: Writing Is Hard

So you’ll notice that my blog updates sporadically, which is a good thing and a bad thing. Bad thing because there is zero consistency, but a good thing because this means I am mostly focusing on my writing outside the world of blogs. That being said, today I have decided not necessarily to come here and vent, but to try and reach out to some other struggling writers to see if we’re having the same issues. I haven’t found my own personal Writer’s Circle yet, but I hope to. For now, you readers out there are my only hope!

As you can see by the title, I find writing hard. I’m sure lots of you have already judged me accordingly to say: “Well if you find it hard now, get out while you’re still sane.” Let me clarify. I never have the traditional writer’s block. My muse is plentiful and knows no bounds. However, my muse tends to work overtime and I end up with a universe of ideas and no idea on how to organize them. I have written stories from simply thinking while doing dishes. My latest idea has already spanned thousands of words, and spawned more than five other ideas itself. But what the hell? How can I just buckle down and focus on one idea? People say just do it. Maybe I’m greedy, but I will liken my situation to… hmm… oh! An episode of How I Met Your Mother.

For this I will go back to Season Five, Episode Fifteen entitled “Rabbit or Duck”. You see in this episode Barney holds up his phone number on national television and his phone turns into a magical phone. It never stops ringing, and there is always a hot chick on the other end. The only downside is there is always a hotter chick out there. He never manages to actually get any, because the phone keeps giving him a hotter chick. Because of this, the entire episode he fails to actually capitalize on the magical phone because he cannot focus on one girl long enough.

So, I will in turn liken my muse to the magical phone. My muse keeps cranking the ideas out, but as I fight to get them all down on paper, napkins, emails, text boxes, hands, or whatever else I can write on; I find myself unable to capitalize on any one idea. I know exactly how Barney felt in that episode because I am afraid to not focus on the next idea. I keep thinking, but what if this next idea is my Harry Potter? What if my next idea after that is my Lord of the Rings? What if my idea after that is my Game of Thrones?! What if the idea after that beats all of them!?! *Insert mental breakdown here*

But seriously, I am unsure if I lack the discipline to advance past a few chapters now, or lack the planning ability. I mean I’ve heard many authors say they worked on their worlds for years before working on the story itself. The more I read about the world of a Game of Thrones the more I realize that he doesn’t write so much about characters as he does about the world itself. Hell, there is a cook book based off Game of Thrones!

People say just writing is the start, but seriously I never stop. Sure I may passover a day or so here and there for things like household duties or extra work, but I am always thinking about writing. I’m always getting inspired by a new event, a new song, a new experience or even meeting a new person. I really feel like all the “how to plan your novel” and “how to write your novel” articles out there focus on the mechanics of the writing, but none have focused on the discipline of writing. I can make a million folders, and fill them with notes, scans, text documents and crazy planning. But it feels as though the moment I’ve fully prepared a story, I’ve got a new idea to plan.

I guess what I am looking for is some crazy method to “monk-ing” it up writing style. I do not want to move to a cabin in the woods to write, but even if I did, it wouldn’t help me focus on one story idea. In fact, it would probably inspire many more ideas. How does one focus on one simple idea? Should I simply convert any new ideas into the current world I am working on? How does one “shelf” an idea without planning more into it? These are the questions I pose to the universe… now the question is, will any respond to the call?!