Tag: Writing

Hack And Slash: Editor's Edition

In my last post, which was too long ago, I wrote of how Ray Bradbury inspired me to begin writing 1000 words every day. I took his advice, wrote with zest and gusto, and before I knew it I had a short story that is roughly 60 pages on the iPad in eBook format. Well played Mister Bradbury, well played. But before I ran out in front of the reality bus that is the world, I decided to gather some critiques both biased and unbiased. Thus far it has been both exciting and disappointing.

The story I wrote was nothing of ground breaking, in fact, it roughly bordered on cliche. The tale I told was a story of one girl’s plan for revenge. Her father had been taken from her family when she was eight, and for ten years she trained. Now, on her eighteenth birthday, she leaves her home in the Southlands to find the swordsman who killed her father and claimed the title of greatest swordsman in the entire realm. The plot had been done, but it was the characters that I hoped would allow it to shine apart from the rest. I was working on honing my craft rather than story depth and intricacies. I believe I allow enough foreshadowing to be interesting and my dialog is hopefully not dollar store drivel. But those are my opinions!

I then decided to post my story on a website for critique as I couldn’t find a writing group nearby. I would rather a “first session free” kind of deal as if I didn’t find it helpful, I wouldn’t want to pay for ten sessions upfront. Despite my objections, I found a decent website that allowed posting, editing and critiquing. It was free too! I decided this would be the beginning of my editing journey. I had gone over my story a number of times and felt ready to unleash the internet hoards upon my very heartstrings.

I submitted it and waited.

I waited some more.

Finally an email prompted me that a review had come through! Fantastic!

Overall rating: 6/10. *Insert the sound of my heart shattering here*

I took a deep breath and stared at the screen. A six? Really? I decided not to believe the reviewer. However as my eyes drifted across his review and the inline comments, I realised I was being petty. I took his criticism and made the changes accordingly. Thanking him for his time, I also informed him that I had made the edits and hoped to hear from him again. It stung, having something you wrote judged harshly. Although at least it was above five!

My anticipation for another review had me nearly frothing at the mouth. I then discovered a button for a kind of “forced critique”. The system works so that they assign you four reviews, and then they owe you three. I needed something to do anyway and they guaranteed the reviews within twelve hours, so I figured, why not? I read, edited and critiqued a story that was well written and the plot was decent. Hey, this wasn’t so bad I thought.

Then, it drifted downhill.

The next story I read lacked impact… or grammar… and sometimes spelling. I felt terrible rating the story a three as it was hard to follow with so many errors. I gave as much information as I could without trying to sound as though I thought she was terrible. I mean after all, if she was a ten year old writing that story, I’d be impressed! But it still needed a lot of work. I reviewed and edited two other stories and then checked my email.

My reviews had arrived.

As I eagerly checked each one, I felt as though I had made huge strides from that first review! It felt great to know that I had already improved upon my work, my confidence was soaring, A nine! A ten! Wow! I was getting some great reviews and productive feedback! One review left, let’s see…

Overall Rating: 3/10.

My heart skipped a beat.

Umm, I had made progress. Or so I thought. As I read through her comments, I could feel the very soul being drained from my being. I felt I had a grasp on writing, or at least the english language… why was she so harsh? Did I critique her? Her daughter maybe? I stared dumbfounded at the screen. Ouch.

I finally snapped out of my daze and decided to write back to her. She stopped reading my story halfway through and it felt like a slap in the face. Imagine your puppy running up to a stranger, just wanting love, attention and maybe even to play, and that stranger lighting your dog on fire. I picture that is close to how I felt. We writers put our hearts on the line every time we write something and ask someone to take a look at it. It’s as if we are trusting them a piece of ourselves.

She was kind and later apologised for her review. She admitted she was tired and under time constraints, and said she’d get back to it eventually. I felt vindicated, but at the same time I still took some of her harsh criticisms and turned them into edits as well. I mean, she wasn’t entirely wrong. The dog should have been on a leash, but still no reason to set him on fire.

Since then I’ve been aiming for a goal of 20 individual critiques, since the three I’ve had many fantastic reviews and criticisms. Strangely enough people were asking for more detail into the setting, which from when I started writing I always had the problem of giving too much. I suppose I have gone too far in the opposite direction now, but that is alright. I’ve been considering publishing my short story through Lulu and into the iBooks store to get more feedback on how I’m doing. The critiques on there would be more general than from fellow writers, but it has been overall a great experience for once I eventually begin penning the one novel to rule them all.

Anyway if anyone out there has read the story, fantastic! I’d love any and all feedback (grammar correction, spelling, plot holes, things you loved, hated, etc…) the email is at the top right!

If you haven’t, click here to give it a go! (Please note, the layout is a bit brutal now as their text editor on the website is crude and simple. It will look much better once I put the correct formatting in!)

Thank You Mr. Bradbury.

For any budding writer, there comes a point when you simply stop and ask yourself:

“Can I go on writing?”

For me this question comes every time I attempt the illusive novel I’ve been working so diligently on. I can create a thousand stories and histories for a world, but to create a single novel feels like trying to climb a mountain while towing a mack truck. With the right tools, maybe.

Nevertheless, I had actually stopped working on it for a few days and began to feel my muse creeping up on me. Well I decided to devote to the other side of writing, reading.

With the new household iPad in tow, I gathered a number of the books I own in PDF form and some I didn’t. One of the books that caught my eye was actually a book by Stephen King. On Writing seemed like exactly what I wanted, one writer’s journey into success.

I could not have been more wrong.

I read in about seventy five pages, then skimmed roughly thirty more. What I realized? Stephen King was a terrible writer. The one thing I gathered from his book however, was he was an excellent editor. Not a bad note to take from a book, but I had wasted some time reading it. I could have spent it coloring or writing my own work.

After I rinsed the words from my eyes I decided to give Ray Bradbury’s book, Zen in the Art of Writing, a go. I mean after reading Stephen King’s memoirs, nothing except Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey could be worse. I sat down and started reading. Then I kept reading. Then I had to do dishes… yet I continued to read. Then I sadly had to go to work.

I had only managed to read a third of the book, but I realized that Bradbury’s love for writing matched my own. Even at his age his imagination ran wild, frolicking in the meadows of his mind, arm in arm with his muse. Reading his word play and seeing his passion come to life in these humble pages, it completely rejuvenated me! I spent my evening thinking of ideas I would immediately put into play as soon as I could.

But first…

I continued reading, completely entranced by this man’s words. I realized many things while reading his book.

One, I’m no where near publication ready.
Two, write more short stories… and then write more.
Three, write one thousand words a day.
Four, ignore the temptations of wealth.
Five, read more.
Six, do not search for the ultimately unique idea, that is nearly impossible.
Seven, embrace all the senses when writing.
Eight, everyone should read this book.

I continued through to the end and felt more satisfied in the conclusion than in any fiction I’ve read recently. The man stood and delivered from his soapbox, a message that should never be lost. I’m still absorbing what he crammed into those tiny pages, but he gave me exactly what I needed.

Inspiration.

You see, I’ve been overwhelmed with the creation of an entire world. I think I may not believe in God now because one being simply could not create so much without getting distracted by their own creations. One man has two children and suddenly there are hundreds of stories of them separated from each other, together and then in pairs. Then, they arrive at an inn with a blind barkeep who has large scars across his face.

What’s his story?

Well he was attacked by a werewolf and now after taking a sideshow cure, he must remain indoors as he only transforms if he is bathed in the light of the sun.

But what of this sideshow?

Calcorious Malinex, the leader of the circus, began the show when he happened upon a free elephant and a bearded lady. Thinking his luck too good to be true, he continued on until one night he was viciously attacked by a wolf. After slightly curing himself, he now infects others so that he may then sell them the vaccine which may cause death, dismemberment or some random transformation alteration.

What about this glorious cure for werewolves?

Well, when Calcorious began experimenting he found that he had somewhat cured himself, gaining control over most of his transformations. That is until any lunar or solar eclipse, when he uncontrollably transforms and releases the pent up aggression. Other symptoms include daylight transforming, hairless transforming, were-human (always wolf, except human on full moons), control over transforming (except on full moons), weekly transforming and finally weather transforming.

So, I find myself going crazy trying to focus on the story I am trying to write. A long time ago I told a friend of mine that if we wanted to make a game, we couldn’t start out with something huge. We should start small, so we could work as a team and hone our individual skills before embarking on an epic quest to create the one game to rule them all.

It’s ironic that despite being the one who gave the advice, I never followed it either.

I’ve been trying desperately to write the “one novel to rule them all”, and in doing so, began to despise the one hobby I truly love: Writing. As I read of Bradbury and his almost obsessive compulsive writing habits, I realized that his short story writing habits would help me greatly.

So, that brings us to this week.

I finally decided upon an ending I wanted to write and after that, the rest began to fall into place. I imagined the ending I had being the very top brick in a pyramid and from there I began to almost build backward and forward. The story quickly ran away, with me trying to hold on for dear life.

In five days I easily wrote over 8500 words, only really stopping to work, clean, live and edit. This made me consider many things. In five days, I had written one tenth of the first Harry Potter book worth of words. Also, I didn’t stumble over my own creations. I only added what back story was necessary and kept only the main characters with interesting names. I also cut down my word count by changing the main character’s mentor to Jason instead of The Mentor or Her Mentor.

Anyway, without further ado, here is my latest short story. I’m not a praying man, but please, if you read it feel free to leave me any feedback either through the website, my email or even facebook. Any sort of feedback both positive or negative would be extremely appreciated as my plea on facebook fell on deaf ears!

The aptly named “Circle of Vengeance” is a story about an eight year old girl who’s father leaves with a mystery man, only never to return. Ten years of training later she is ready to confront her father’s killer, the self proclaimed greatest swordsman in the realms, and sets out on the journey to his mountain top castle.

It may sound like the typical story of revenge, but please, read it and get back to me! Thanks so much and I hope you’ve enjoyed today’s post!

One final note, this story exists thanks to Mr. Bradbury helping me get past my own hurdles. Thanks Mr. Bradbury. I wish I could have met you when I had the chance!

Writing Across Platforms: iOS to OS X and Back Again

Alright ladies and gentlemen, I am writing this at an ungodly hour and I am hoping to the gods that my brain holds up just thirty minutes longer. Of course, that will make it four in the morning, but nevertheless. Tonight I come to the masses like a prophet, yielding undying knowledge upon the lesser men and women. Well at this point in time, I’m most likely the crazy one. However! In my never ending search for the “Ultimate Writing Dream” I have finally crafted it. Not the app I tried desperately to make, however a completely (for now) free solution to which I pass on to you.

Do you own a Windows PC? Or Phone? Or Tablet? Or all of the above?!

May you also own an iMac? Or iPhone? Or iPad?! Perhaps you also own all of those?!

As for me, I am living in a household which I am sure makes the local power grid flicker when we turn on our setup. My girlfriend and I both own iPhones (3G and my 3GS), we have an iPad 3 and I am writing this on an iMac. Before this I was a Windows man and my laptop now sits in the shadows, the ever so dull hum of its hard drive methodically pleading for attention…

This brings me to my point… I am a writer! And I wanted to be able to work on the same story from every device I own! I am also a nerd! Thus, I will make it so!

My original idea was a USB stick, which failed at iPad and iPhone. The Wiki, however, is still on there.

Idea number two was the App Store! After getting my iPhone I became a free app well… promiscuous gentleman. I would download anything and everything… no matter how dirty or ridiculous it was. Especially if it was free! After searching across both the OS X and the iOS stores, I found a few which used iCloud and Dropbox. Most of these solutions costed money, which Apple has ruined me… I mean made me thrifty. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk even a dollar if the app wasn’t what I wanted and didn’t work across all of my platforms. Enter XCode.

XCode is Apple’s development system and after tinkering around for a bit had an app that would allow you to simply write in it. Three years of a Computer Science degree and I couldn’t come up with more, I suppose if I had actually taken the time to learn Objective C, I may have gotten further. I have other ideas for apps, so I’ll save the frustration of coding for another day.

Now, for you patient people out there, I came to a solution I used awhile ago and simply never checked up on.

Google.

The team over there have been busy innovating the world and I haven’t been paying much attention. I mean, I use Chrome and sync all of my bookmarks and open tabs across my five devices, why pay attention?! Now Google was working on some kind of drive thing… Whatever. Also this is not a fancy method, you will get a free editor with a selection of choices, but the smartphone site is minimalist.

Now, pay close attention to the wonderful process here. If you want to write some stories or anything across all of your devices, I hope this helps!

Step One:
First off, sign up for a Gmail account. This is your passport between all of your devices.

Step Two:
Download Google Drive for your main computer, at this point you can also download it to your tablets or smartphones (for me, they have a Google Drive App in the iOS app store).

Step Three:
Once they’ve all downloaded and installed head to your main computer, ensure all documents you create are also editable offline. That’s grand for your desktop. For the mobile ones, only select the file you want to take on the go for editing offline. This just keeps everything from checking for updates all the time and focus on the one you’re working on.

Step Four:
Realize that Google Drives only allows you to edit things offline on your smartphone. What I mean by this is you should always have a Google Docs window open for use. I have Chrome on all of my devices, so I leave one Chrome tab open on each device for this. Otherwise on iOS you can make use of the Google Drive app’s “Open in Safari” button, but you still need to be able to load the document editor before losing your wireless connection.

Step Five:
Watch on your desktop as what you write on your mobile transfers over to the Google Drive version! It updates in real time (with lag) But you can edit your documents wonderfully like this! Enjoy! Also to note that if you want to be able to edit completely without preloading the Google Docs page, they do have a Docs App on the iOS app store but I won’t link it because it appears to be getting some bad reviews.

Some notes on this method:
Number One – Offline means you can edit this without an internet connection.
Number Two – Offline on anything mobile will require an internet connection to load the Google Docs Editor, Unless you have preloaded it.
Number Three – It organizes by time edited. If you edit on your iPhone while in airplane mode, then make edits after that on your iPad, they will be arranged properly once everything is synced.
Number Four – On your iPhone, DO NOT use the desktop site for Google Docs. You might be tempted to for word count, but just don’t.
Number Five – You can use the iPad for the desktop version of Google Docs. If you are using the on screen keypad the words will go straight under it. Use a bluetooth one if you like the desktop site.
Number Six – Buy a cheap roll up capable bluetooth keyboard, they are rechargeable and portable. Also if you spill coffee on it, it will survive.
Number Seven – You’ll notice on your mobiles the font changes from each person editing. Don’t fret, on the desktop it all looks the same.
Number Eight – Use Chrome + Google Drive Web App to be able to use their document editor offline. (That should be higher, just going in the order of my notes).
Number Nine – Chrome for iOS will report it cannot handle some of the features for the desktop site of Google Docs, it is right on for iPhone but the iPad only has the keyboard issue.
Number Ten – When you get published because this worked for you, be sure to toss me out a thanks as well as Google!

Okay, so now it is unconscious o’ clock and I have a full day of writing to do tomorrow! If you have any questions, please feel free to email me or comment here. If you’d be so kind, please pass this along if you read it! I’m hoping to help as many writers as I possibly can and the more feedback I get the better I can fine tune this article as well as my own writing! Thanks for reading and now…

Zzz…

Daydreaming At Night

The night is silent except for my heart, its beat drowning out my every breath. I wonder why I continue to try my hand at writing. Why? Do I believe I have the necessary skills to be a successful writer? Or do I have a story to tell? Perhaps I am not the greatest of writers, perhaps not even a decent one. Yet stories, of those, I have many. Some people grew up with imaginary friends, some imagined they were on a great adventure while exploring the woods. Me? I’d survive well in solitary confinement. I close my eyes for but a moment and I can picture anything.

I feel the slight moisture in the morning air as I stare out across the ocean. The sand slithers between my toes with the tide and my perspective changes ever so slightly. The waves bring much white wash ashore, it pays me no attention. I raise my hands to the sea, beckoning for greatness. My breath grows short and my muscles tense. The waters reject my wishes as I force my will upon them. My efforts are not in vain. A thin tower rises forth from the turbulent waters, followed by a staircase of sand. It stretches toward the sky and my body relaxes. I begin the long ascent but the stairs seemingly dissolve beneath my feet. The door to the tower is the only hope, and I burst toward it with every ounce of adrenaline the body can muster. The door handle slides through my fingertips as staircase and tower collapse back toward their watery resting place. I fall with them, the breeze whistling through my ears as I plummet toward the ocean. I close my eyes as water engulfs me.

The water is hot on the skin and steam twists and contorts like the spirits of the damned. I brace myself and the tiles are colder than I could possibly have imagined. My hand recoils in shock and I turn from the heat. Through the glass, I see half a man. He is naked and featureless, but from the waist up I can tell he is staring at me. I daringly wipe the condensation from the glass in front of me and the man returns my gaze. I recognize him, but his face seems different than I remember. As we stare at each other, I realize the mirror is beginning to steam up and I end the flow of warmth with a spin of the knobs. I step into the cold and stare at myself. Is this who I am? Where am I? The cold embraces me, and the heat of my skin rebels. Steam rises forth and it looks as though I am smouldering in the night’s bitter chill.

I take a deep breath and exhale. The jet of steam shoots forth and rises into the sky, dissipating before it gets too far. I turn to my companions who are huddled around the camp fire for some venison stew. I would join them, but something stirs in the night and in the freshly fallen snow. I can feel it watching me as I shift my gaze through the moonlit forest. I step forward and listen for any sign of movement. Nothing. I draw my sword and swallow my fear. I see it and it sees me, the damned White Wolf of Everwinter. I stare into its icy blue eyes and it stares back into mine. For a moment we admire the foe we face, but I have a task. Winter has brought famine to our lands, the animals are dying almost as fast as the people and we came to hunt the cause of the Everwinter. The wolf reads my intentions as if I made the declaration myself. I stand prepared as hundreds of pounds of wolf descend upon me from its rocky perch.

I fall to the ground and the flowers cushion the impact. I hear their tiny stems crunching beneath my weight. I stare out upon the universe and ponder our very existence. It is vain to think that in the infinite number of planets beyond our skies, we are the only ones who exist. Through light and time, I see another, laying in a field staring into the sky. She doesn’t realize it, but her and I are exactly the same. We will never meet. I close my eyes and envision the dimension of time and I see not only our planet, but others that have passed through this point in space at one point or another. Barren planets, advanced civilizations, scavengers of the universe, meteors, suns, a shuttle, a moon, a storm and that is merely a few things worth mentioning.

I open my eyes, blind to the world. The gods have a sense of humour and give a blind man the gift of foresight. To see the future but not be able to recognize the signs is more of a foreboding curse. I see a young girl, with auburn hair and fair skin, and she alone holds the ability to destroy the future or preserve it. “What do you think?” I ask wryly. I listen closely for any reaction. The voice I hear is young and melodic, as if an angel were speaking to me. “I don’t know, I think fortune telling is for the weak minded.” She stands and I feel her lips on my hand as she kisses it. The hairs raise on the back of my neck as she bids me farewell. I stand to protest her departure, but she is gone. Only the scent of her perfume hangs in the air.

In a blink I am back, staring at the journey today has taken me through. Every person in these thoughts are real; They have lives, families, histories and futures. I do not write because I want to, I write because I must. I write so they can live and their stories can be told. I write because despite the infinite number of worlds where a version of me may exist, I want to be the one to tell the story. I want to be the one who grants the girl the ability to overcome overwhelming odds to preserve the future. Who else will tell the story of my extraterrestrial doppelgänger? How else will the Everwinter end? Will I follow myself into the looking glass, or am I already there? Will Atlantis rise for its forgotten prince? Will I finish a story?

Something tells me that I grow closer to that everyday.

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.

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.

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?!