How real is your fantasy?

I’ve seen a few posts recently about names – especially character names – in fantasy novels, and how they can either draw a reader in or repel them….and how varied readers’ responses can be, to names carrying a fair swag of diacritics, or at the other extreme, to names that can feel over-simplified.

I thought and felt long and hard about names in my novels. Adjustments have been made along the way, which have included paring back the two invented languages scattered throughout, leaving a trace of both only in spell-words. The other area of naming I’ve paid special attention to is words that ‘set the scene’, that create the environment of the story-world. In the ‘show, don’t tell’ model, there are two main aspects I use to give the world of Siaris a feeling of internal realism. One is context; using only the context of a naming noun. The other is creating an unfamiliar word that has real word associations or suggestiveness in its soundforms. Even more effective is to combine the two; then the need to ‘tell’ drops away.

For instance, if I write, “Sitia leaned on the balcony rail, and gazed out over the iphemile spread like snow across the mountains. Its clear, sweet scent settled her mood,” the reader will (I hope) be picturing a carpet of white flowers in an alpine setting. The flowers interact with the senses of the character, which gives them a specific context and purpose ie; they have soothing properties. That is the basic level. The next level will work for readers who have some knowledge of plants and/or herbal medicine. The ‘mile’ in ‘iphemile’ is a pointer to chamomile, the tiny white real world flower, originally found in hilly/mountainous areas, used as a tea to calm unsettled nerves and treat insomnia. The ‘iph’ in this flower name is suggestive to ‘eph’ in ephemeral, meaning something transient, in this case a seasonal plant. So the fusion of the two should suggest a delicate, seasonal white bloom that carpets mountainsides.

Here’s another example: “The long, sonorous notes of a kulu drifted through the trees, signalling another dawn.’ The combination of ‘notes’ and ‘dawn’ give the word ‘kulu’ its contextual clues, that it is a type of bird, in dawn chorus mode. But what type of bird? This is where the double clues become important;  long, sonorous notes and the similarity of the sound ‘ku-lu’ to ‘cuckoo’ are designed to trigger an association, yet still have an exotic feel.

Despite this element of construction, most of my name creations are in the first instance unconscious. I’m an intuitive writer, and it is often when reading back what I’ve just written that the associative wordplay becomes clear….and it’s a real source of delight to observe what auto-suggestions my mind in ‘writing flow’ has come up with!

If you’re a fantasy or sci-fi writer and world builder, how do you create your names? Do they seem random? Do they ‘appear’ from your unconscious and magically suit their purpose? Or are you a meticulous constructor with an over-arching sense of order? How do you ‘flavour’ your world?

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To sample more of my world-building, the first novel of The Siaris Quartet, Daughter of Hope, is available from Musa and Amazon. The second novel, Reunion can also be found at Musa and Amazon and other online stores.

Character Column: Meet Emma Lane and her ‘three sisters’

Today, we are joined by romance author, Emma Lane, and not one, but three of her favourite characters from her Regency Romance series, The Vicar’s Daughters. Fortunately, the character lounge is extendable! Welcome, and squeeze in those pretty frocks, Frances, Belinda, and Melanie. Don’t worry, there’s room for all of you. 

The Vicar’s Daughters  is a collection about young sisters, each leaving home in their turn to find their place in society as adults. In My Passionate Love, the eldest sister, Frances, meets her mate on a dusty country road. She’s an over achiever who thinks she can never live up to her saintly mother. Richard, who courts Frances, doubts he is able to take the reins of a country baron and succeed. Both learn to live and love with self confidence.
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A Scandalous Design pits  beautiful Melanie Robinson against society’s rules as she tries to achieve her ambitions as a designer of women’s clothing and take her place in society while engaged to a handsome lord. Temptation from a dangerous rogue creates more conflict.
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Belinda, My Love introduces the sweetest of the sisters. Belinda has never doubted her role in society as she follows her late mother’s success as a healer of the sick,  naming it firmly “God’s work.” The smitten lord who loves her goes to elaborate pains to smooth his way into her heart without damaging her reputation. It’s delicious to see a rogue meet his match.
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In Beloved Soldier Returns, while learning of the adventures of a displaced soldier, we see a slice of the lives of our three sisters as they gather for a Christmas reunion. How many children are running about at Frances’ house? Did Belinda give up her still room for a handsome lord? Has Melanie stopped designing beautiful gowns and left the dress shop to her friend?
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Emma Lane lives and writes in Western New York. She has two adult children and two superior grandchildren, plus a very patient husband. She writes Traditional Regency as Emma Lane at Musa Publishing  and Cozy Mysteries at another publisher as Janis Lane. Look for a new release in June as a strong and managing female is confronted by a typical male attitude in a rugged lord in The Duke and Miss Anabel Hawkins
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Emma, thanks so much for giving us a peek through your Regency window today! Wishing you and your young ladies (and gentlemen) every success.

How do your fictional mothers fare?

Oh, it’s been a gorgeous Mother’s Day here, bountiful with flowers, chocolates, hugs, playful kiddies, goofy dogs, bunny cuddles, relaxed lunching, soft sunny weather and early morning serenading by a quail (too complicated to go into why I was sleeping overnight in a chair eight feet from our newest ‘rescue’, Aquila-the-Quail).

At this end of the day, I am left reflecting not only on my own familial relations, but on that of my numerous ‘fictional mums’, especially Riana, heroine of The Siaris Quartet.

Riana comes into her own in Reunion, second book of the quartet, with a complex and evolving connection to her lifelong love. At the start of this book he is bound by a dark spell and far from friendly, but spells can wane, and Riana’s intuition is awake to the tiniest glimmer of change. The last thing she expects is for motherhood to find her again. Her two daughters perished twenty thousand years ago, and the circumstances she finds herself in now would not be considered ‘ideal’ for another conception, in any world. But life can take strange turns, and the makers of Siaris take a very big view of their creation and its players.

Riana has a mighty strong will, but how will she face the ultimate test: to do whatever it takes to protect her child, even if it means putting herself at risk, without betraying her responsibilities as a Guardian of Siaris?  Part of the ‘epic’ in the second book of this fantasy is the primal force of motherhood, which will dare all to safeguard its young, in real life as in myth and legend. As in real life, Riana’s mothering does not happen in a vacuum, nor in ‘Paradise regained’ (yet), but in a world of contrasting pulls and demands. In this excerpt from Reunion, Riana surfaces from a tangle of reflections to follow the dictate of her heart:

***

“Mi’ama?”

The sourness lifted from Riana’s mind. “Sorry, darling.” She pulled Daimen closer, until his head was resting on her breast. One of his wings stretched down, its tip brushing her knee. His pinions were starting to lengthen, and she’d hardly noticed. She blinked back a sudden rush of tears. Daimen nestled in tightly, as if he couldn’t get close enough to her.

“Mi’ama, are you leaving?”

Riana took in a breath. Daimen’s eyes were raised to her, layer on layer of shadows wheeling in their depths. She stroked his arm, following its longer, less childish contour. Watching where her hand passed, her stomach knotted. Daimen was growing, yes – but his spellsheen was riddled with weaknesses, unable to form properly under the constant violence. At his age, it should have at least three separate constructs – silken comforters, radiant healers, sharp-edged protectors. Instead, she was looking at patches of broken patterns that floated on a fragile web of spell-threads, so destructible.

She’d been putting off a final decision, caught by the thought of what her family had risked to get her out of Mortaidh, dreading Aeron’s reaction. Now, looking at her son, she knew what she had to do, that she couldn’t hesitate any longer.

“Can I come too?”

Daimen’s words broke into her crystallizing train of thought. She kissed his forehead. His scent filled her, reminding her of Deep Corewane, that day at the end of every summer when veils shrouded the Core’s brilliance, leaving the sky heavy and rich. Daimen’s moods, his passions, his sensitivities, would become as intense as the dying summer with age – she already saw the man he would be. But his extremes would be threaded with sweetness, if only he was allowed a space to grow as he should.

If only.

She folded a hand around his wing-crest. “No, that you mustn’t do. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

Daimen’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m not safe here.”

Riana pressed her face into his hair. “You will be, sweetheart. I promise.”

Daimen’s lids drooped. He snuggled down further, and fell into a sleep deeper than he’d been permitted for weeks. Riana let her own eyes close, savoring this moment of tranquility. Of release. She didn’t let her mind focus for even a second on Mortaidh, and what the lull meant – no thought on her part must darken Daimen’s dreaming.

The outline of Aeron’s face sharpened in front of her. His thought was turning this way, and Riana could guess why. It was time to speak with him of what she intended to do. He was struggling, and she needed him to stay steady – to look after Daimen in her absence.

However long that will be.

She had to inform someone else first. Goosebumps ran across her skin. She pulled her focus in tight and threaded it south on a line of flickering gold.

***

Riana, I wish you the best of fortune. And to all the mothers out there in this world, may happiness and peace shine on all your pathways. Happy Mother’s Day!

To my truest friend

Reunion:The Siaris Quartet Book Two can be found at Musa Publishing, Amazon and Barnes&Noble.

Guest post at ‘Friday Firsts’

Yes, I know it’s not Friday any more, one of the perils of stepping into the odd space/time-fold.  However, if you would like to join me over at the Friday Firsts column on Rebecca J. Clark’s blog here, you are more than welcome!

What was your ‘first love’ among novels?

Character Column: Meet Laura E. Goodin and the Crooked Mouse

Today we welcome Laura E. Goodin to the Character Lounge, along with – if you look closely – a little mouse (little only in size) lurking between the cushions. Laura is a breathtakingly multi-talented writer, whose published and performed works range from short stories and poetry to plays and operas! Here, she introduces her favourite, villainous character, short on stature, big on will. Meet the Crooked Mouse…
One of the biggest challenges for many writers is to create a convincing villain.  Even Tolkien had only uneven success at it:  while Gollum is a jaw-droppingly fabulous adversary – complex, skilled yet flawed, with his own perfectly reasonable (to him, at least) desires and plans – Sauron is a dud.  He’s not interesting, he’s not scary, and he’s not well-written.  All he does is sit in that tower by himself, brooding and glaring at people.  World’s most tedious adolescent, really.

With that object lesson in mind, I was more than a little daunted when I set out to create the villain for my tale “The Dancing Mice and the Giants of Flanders” (published in the Canberra Speculative Fiction Guild’s anthology Masques in 2009).  I needed someone who could successfully beguile an innocent, terrorize her own son, and give orders to the savage and utterly evil powers she lets loose on the world.  I knew that the only way she could do all these things was if she, herself, implicitly and unshakably believed she was doing the right thing.  Not necessarily a *good* thing – even villains usually know the difference between good and evil; it’s the difference between right and wrong they have trouble with.  And so does my Crooked Mouse.  She reasons that evil is not the same as wrong when evil gets you what you want; and she wants what we all want:  security, safety, some vestige of control over our circumstances.

The Crooked Mouse is a sad, sad creature.  By the time the story takes place, she’s watched first one of her babies, then another, and another, perish horribly to predators both human and animal, until only one is left:  the soft and biddable Augustin.  In her grief and rage, she has figured out that power will give her both the security she craves and her chance for revenge.  Even a tiny mouse can cause havoc, even to the huge and oblivious humans she hates and fears, if she has the right help.  And she has a plan to get that help.

The original story has been adapted now into an opera (with music by Houston Dunleavy and libretto by me!), and we’re planning on a performance in the first half of 2014.  In the hyper-emotional metier of an opera, it’s so easy for histrionic characters to flatten to cardboard placeholders:  this one is the good guy, that one is the bad guy.  The challenge to make sure every character – particularly the villain – has *reasons* for what they do becomes even more intimidating.  When we produced a workshop performance of the opera last year, I was gratified to see that the Crooked Mouse’s rationale for her own actions held up through this adaptation process, and that the audience could see she was a true character and not just a plot device.

For those interested in following the progress of the opera adaptation of “The Dancing Mice and the Giants of Flanders”, there is a Facebook “like” page that we update at every point in the adventure of creating and performing it:  https://www.facebook.com/TheDancingMiceAndTheGiantsOfFlanders.  The rest of the team and I are eager for as many people as possible to join us along the way as supporters, audience members, and well-wishers!

Laura, thanks to you and the Crooked Mouse for joining the Column, and sharing your rationale for villain-making, not only in writing, but how that translates on-stage. Fascinating! Wishing you and the Dancing Mice every success, along with your studies and other enterprises. 
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About the Author

Laura E. Goodin’s stories have appeared in numerous publications (both print and on-line), including Michael Moorcock’s New WorldsAndromeda Spaceways Inflight MagazineThe Lifted BrowAdbusters,Wet Ink, and Daily Science Fiction, and in several anthologies.  Her plays and libretti have been performed in Australia and the UK, and her poetry has been performed on three continents.  She attended the 2007 Clarion South workshop, and is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in creative writing from the University of Western Australia.  She lives on the South Coast of New South Wales with her composer husband and actor daughter, and she spends what little spare time she has trying to be as much like Xena, Warrior Princess, as possible.

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Character Column: Meet Helen Venn and ‘Seri’

A warm welcome to my writing buddy, Helen Venn, and the silvery, elfish Seri. Helen has taken a different, up close, tack in introducing her favourite character, by taking us into her own process of ‘love at first meeting’….on a beach, far, far away…here is Seri…

Seri is a main character from my as yet unfinished fantasy novel set in the mid 21 century.

We first met (as I do with so many of my characters) when I was doing a writing marathon with Karrinyup Writers Club. This is an awesome group (and I use awesome deliberately because they do inspire awe in me) of writers, ranging from multi-published to rank beginners, who have supported and inspired me for many years. Writing marathons with timed segments are a popular way for us to jump start new writing. I still have the fragments of where Seri first appeared to me, although I’m sparing you by mostly summarising here.

Before I go any further, perhaps I should say what happened here was fairly typical of how a story comes to me. It can come over hours, days or weeks but usually a scene forms around a simple image of a place or a person and, while the background or story slowly builds with more and more detail, the character is there, whole and clear in my mind from very early on. I know what they look like and their life history – relationships, interests, the good and bad about them. What comes next though is often a mystery. I generally have an idea of two or three major events and the ending but as to how they get there … that is the story she or he is about to live through with me after all.

But back to Seri. We were writing from trigger sentences and, although I now have no idea of what the actual trigger was, I found myself describing a scene where a group of men were carrying someone from the sea. It was a sandy beach with long, rolling surf and the men were tall and muscular – and somehow not quite human. Running towards them across the sand was Seri. Tall, slender with short silver gilt hair, she was obviously young and female. The five minute timer jarred into my thoughts and I had to stop writing but I couldn’t let go of her.

Another trigger sentence and, with no plan at all, I found she was a healer and a three hundred year old Fae. She had the man set down on the sand.The rescuers, who I now realised were also Fae, gathered around while Seri knelt beside him only to look up in shock. He was human. The timer went off.

A new trigger – ten minutes to write this time – and an older male Fae carrying a staff hurried across the sand to where Seri was working on the the victim. He slammed his staff into the ground in front of her. She jumped, looked up, then ignored him, going back to her work. The man stirred, coughed. Seri spoke softly to him. The older man dragged her to her feet.

“You fool!” he shouted. “Don’t you realise he’s human? He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be able to pass the barrier.” He jerked his head at the prone figure. “Take him out beyond the reef and throw him back.”

The rescuers hesitated and Seri swung around and glared at the older male. “You call yourself a healer? You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said. She pointed to the man. “Take him to the Healers’ House. He is in my care.”

The timer went off again and the marathon was over. I didn’t care. I knew all I needed to continue the story. Seri was young, intelligent, impetuous and caring – and, most importantly, willing to stand up for what she thought was right. There was obviously a mystery too and things were not all sweet and light in the land of the Fae. I had the beginning of a story.

 Helen, thanks so much for joining us at the Column today, and giving us a ‘taste of things to come’ for the vibrant, strong-willed Seri and her world. The vividness of that first spark you’ve shown us is bright and clear, and I look forward to reading Seri’s full story.

Helen Venn

Helen Venn

 

Helen Venn began writing literary short stories and poems. Now, no matter how hard she tries, she seems to end up with speculative fiction. Published in several anthologies, she has placed in various 
competitions (including being a finalist in one Quarter of Writers of the Future). In her spare time she is an occasional reviewer, originally for the now defunct Specusphere and now on her blog. She attended Clarion 
South in 2007 and was an Emerging Writer in Residence at Tom Collins House Writers’ Centre in 2009. She is currently working on the second novel of a trilogy. She lives with her husband, dog and cat in Western Australia.

She blogs at http://imaginemeatclarion.blogspot.com and http://egoboo- wa.blogspot.com

Character Column: Meet Satima Flavell and ‘Nustofer’

Today, we welcome Satima Flavell, my writing and critiquing buddy from Egoboo WA, to take a seat on the Character lounge with the favourite character from her high fantasy novel series, The Talismans. Having critted Satima’s first novel and knowing the characters, I thought we might meet Elvish queen Ellyria, or a prince of the kingdom, or a questing hero. Instead, taking his stealthy spot on the lounge is…Nustofer. Here’s why….

My characters tend to appear fully-developed. I know their names, what they look like, what interests them, what their health is like, when and where they were born, what their current situations are – just as I know those things about my own children. After all, what are characters but the children of our minds? But unlike real children, my characters have a pre-ordained fate that is known to me, too. So I know my heroes from my villains and how they will end up when the tale is fully told.

While my characters appear with complete backstories and a known fate, I rarely know what is going to happen to them in the course of the story. I’m an inveterate ‘pantser’ or ‘flimmerer’; a writer who has to write to learn what the story is about. What happens to my characters is often a surprise to me! I’m trying to learn the art of plotting before I start, because writers who do that seem to be able to work faster than those who fly by the seat of their pants, but it’s not an easy skill to learn if you don’t have it naturally.

Many different characters have sprung to life on the page as I write, and it’s hard to pick a favourite. Maybe it’s better not to, in case the others get jealous and go on strike! But there is one who is quite intriguing because of the backstory that has made him what he is.

The lynchpin character of my yet-to-be-published Talismans trilogy is Ellyria, Elvish queen of a mortal king. Like any queen, she has a sizeable entourage, and predominant in that assembly is the chamberlain of the royal household, Nustofer.

I feel sorry for Nustofer. He had a hard time as a boy. His father wasn’t interested in him – he had two sons already and Nustofer, as the third, was earmarked as a cleric from the start. What was more, his mother resented him. She’d wanted a daughter. When Nustofer was little she dressed him in girly clothes, and she used to get him to help her choose her wardrobe. That made him feel special, because his mother was special. Beautiful clothes made her feel important, and he came to identify rich garments with personal worth. He especially admired the officials at the Temple with their rich vestments, so he was happy to join their ranks, so he would be special, too.

But sadly, he did not climb up the Temple hierarchy, and never got to wear those rich vestments. Instead, he was shunted off into the service of Prince Fairstad, heir to the throne, who was a good decade younger than Nustofer. Yet they became close, and Nustofer was devoted to his young master. When Fairstad married Ellyria, Nustofer was jealous of her at first, but she was so kind and beautiful that he couldn’t help be won round and soon he found himself obsessed by her. Guiltily, he lived out his sexual fantasies with a series of mistresses, each of whom looked like Ellyria. Despite his vows of poverty, he siphoned off a few coins here and there by taking bribes from petitioners to the King, for by this time he was Chamberlain to the royal household and in a position to allow people into the royal presence through putting the hard word on court officials. Nustofer had sharp eyes for weakness and a nose for intrigue – and blackmail, he found, was profitable. The money he gained meant that in private, he could dress in the latest fashion if he wished. And he had enough ready cash to keep his mistresses faithful.

But deep down, Nustofer feels guilty. Somehow, he manages to keep his far from blameless private life in one box, and his religious life of service to the royal family in another. This double life can only be maintained at great expense to his equanimity, and when his mind finally cracks he loses everything he’d been working for.

But that’s just in book one. Nustofer will be back later, bent on revenge. Because, you see, according to Nustofer, it’s all Ellyria’s fault, isn’t it? If she had not tempted him with her beauty, he would never have broken his vows, would he?

And now he has an ally. An other-worldly being who also hates the queen. Watch out, Ellyria! Nustofer hasn’t finished with you yet!

Thanks for joining the Column, Satima, and giving us a window into the vengeful, twisted being that is Nustofer. Now I feel sorry for him too (but excuse me while I disinfect that corner of the lounge)! Wishing you the best of success with The Talismans trilogy.

Satima Flavell

Satima Flavell

Satima is a freelance writer, editor and reviewer. From a background in the performing arts, she began writing on the arts in 1987, and her reviews and feature articles have appeared in The Australian, The West Australian, Music Maker, Dance Australia and many other journals. She was Reviews Editor for The Specusphere, a recently-deceased webzine for the speculative fiction community. She now writes for the arts website Artshub.

Although her background lies in non-fiction she has had several poems and short stories published and she is currently seeking a home for her fantasy trilogy, The Talismans. As a freelance editor, she specialises in high fantasy, historicals, memoir, genealogy and academic papers. Her website is at http://www.satimaflavell.com and you can also find her on Blogger, Facebook, LinkedIn and other social networks.

Poetic wandering….

With a bit of a nudge from a friend (thank you, Nicole), I’m going to post a few poems…beginning with those that have been voice-recorded. The first one, Orpheus, in the Desert, was recorded for ABC radio in 2011 after winning the open poetry section of the Banjo Paterson Writing Awards. Very timely, as I’ve just sent off a poem for this year’s award, at the eleventh hour (entries close tomorrow)!

This was recorded over the phone, with one hour’s notice, on a single take…whew,  more than few deep breaths taken beforehand. The ABC set it beautifully to music – a real treat.

For my non-Aussie friends, Banjo Paterson is honoured as a long-time local hero in his hometown, Orange (and Australia in general). He wrote verse prolifically in the late C19, most famously ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and ‘The Man from Snowy River’.

I’ve had other poems win and place in this award, and will post them soon.

Here’s the audio file for Orpheus, in the Desert – scroll down the page to the first audio track:

http://blogs.abc.net.au/nsw/2011/06/banjo-patterson-awards.html?site=centralwest&program=central_west_mornings

Here’s the text version:

Orpheus, in the desert

Morning light, the first day of his crossing

red dirt striped to soft maroon

he walks into dry land, remembering

the precise curve of her cheek;

sees it everywhere, in rounded granite

at his back, in cumulus drifts banked

against days of azure, now softened

to pearl-shell dawn.

 

Sand ripples out to the cloud-line, as if

the ocean crept here in the night

and dried to dust, waves frozen in grit

until the next hard easterly should sweep

it’s sculptor’s hand across the land,

etch new dips and ridges, like the line

of her lips opened on breath; he thinks

of Styx and Acheron.

 

Night water, velvet under ferryman’s oar

but here riverbeds are empty, waiting

on melodies of rain, notes of droplets,

fast-stoked torrents, a finer music

than gold-strung wires beneath his touch.

Harp of his longings; in this country

artesian underworlds spread vast silence

over her reflection.

 

Sun rays scrape his knuckles, not soft

in the valley of silt and spinifex. Spirits

start to fade, tall wandjina, stately, graceful

in their floating strides; late evening

they’ll return, heads rimmed in constellations

Southern Cross at their fingertips, searching

he catches a glimpse of his love’s pale shape

among the ghosts.

 

Dark shadow on the sand, wedgetail

circles in the light, watchful amber eye

the colour of a harp’s polished curve. Heat draws

serpents from dark dreams, their scales

brown or yellow-striped, too close an echo

- that bite – her slender finger punctured

he still sees her tumble down the path, so deep

the well of Hades’ sleep.

 

In this land he might start fresh, change

his name, rewrite his travel-worn lament,

decide to call her ‘swallowtail’ or ‘xenica’

watch her new wings flash their gift, released

from the prison of his heart.  Might file

for migrant status, invoke Aegean blue

and oracles, myth’s long, unwinding thread

washed by wider skies.

 

He stoops, scoops up sand, lets it trail

thin ribbons on the wind. Even here, rains

will fall, paint countless blooms

to dusk’s horizon, nectar bowls for her

uncurling tongue, southern land’s ambrosia.

His footstep’s rhythm sets the beat, hand describes

an arch of hills, plucks from sunbaked air

tendrils of sweet liberty.

 

I wove the tapestry below while writing a sequence of ‘Orpheus’ poems. The figures in the tapestry are based on those in a painting by Edmund Jeanes, Orpheus and his Muse, late C19.

'Orpheus II'; handwoven tapestry, 130cmx95cm, wool, cotton, silk.

‘Orpheus II’; handwoven tapestry, 130cmx95cm, wool, cotton, silk.

I see shades of Orpheus in The Siaris Quartet, especially from the second novel, Reunion, onwards… (for those who know the myth…or who don’t…Orpheus lost his love Eurydice to a snakebite, and followed her soul into the Underworld, in an attempt to win her soul back from Hades’ keeping. A bargain was made for her release, but Orpheus failed to keep it).

In Siaris, this theme takes a gender reversal, and a rather different bargain, the long-term consequences of which I am currently sorting out in Book Four.

Reunion is available from Musa here or from Amazon here.

Character Column: Meet Keira McKenzie’s ‘Ned’

Today, we’re joined on the CC lounge by my writing pal, Keira McKenzie (member of critiquing group, Egoboo WA) and her favourite character, Ned. If we keep very still, Ned may join us on the lounge…sshh, he’s the timid type….

Let me introduce Ned.

Physically, he is a small man, spiritually he seems small as well: a downtrodden, woe-begotten, unhappy, unfortunate character, a thousand years the prisoner of a terrible man he only knows as The Painter.

Ned is a traveller in time and space, but he’s no Dr Who.  He is one of the two major characters of my Work in Progress: A Fabulist’s Alternity, and it is these two characters who reveal the world, but their perspectives are from opposite ends of the dichotomy that is the one world: what Sin (the other major character, a young woman) sees as strange and terrifying, Ned sees as normal (possibly just as terrifying but still more or less expected), but for him, her everyday world is tragic and bizarre.  What they have in common is that have been cast as outsiders, neither are ‘squeaky clean’ in regards the social morays of their times, but to contemporary eyes, neither have committed major crimes.  But Ned is definitely the darker of the two.

This is Ned, in the dark, in the coat of leather he always wears, leather from some great beast on some world in some universe he doesn’t recall.

Little Ned Little

Little Ned Little

Little Ned Little ( he had the misfortune not to  outgrow his name) is, or was a convict, transported to the Swan River Colony in the late 1850’s for either shoplifting,  pickpocketing, or straight out stealing – he can’t remember and therefore, neither can I.  But it was minor.  He would’ve become a ‘ticket of leave’ man, being freed after a few years of penal servitude to help build the young colony, perhaps to marry and have children.  It was his dream.  But that dream was polluted when he was partnered with a horrible convict who carried with him a sack.  He never found out what this man was convicted for, only learns his name: The Painter.

The Painter has a massive book with him and spends all his time reading aloud from it in a language Ned doesn’t know, but when the Painter vanishes from an island where she ship has anchored while undergoing repairs after a savage storm, Ned is left with the book and the certain knowledge that the Painter is – was – a powerful sorcerer.

Ned can’t read, but the book has pictures – terrible and wonderful paintings that transport him from his brutish existence, first aboard the ship, then as a convict labourer, messing with his mind.  One night, Ned is snatched out of existence by the same demon that took the Painter, leaving the terrible book in the cold, damp cell.  Not what the Painter has planned – he wanted it the other way around and therefore, Ned has to stay with the Painter while the old sorcerer searches for the book.

This begins Ned’s life of one thousand years to when the novel begins, but he remembers almost none of it.  He is the Painter’s constant companion except for a century where the Painter left him in another place (detailed in another novel, working title: The Tree Thing Box).  Ned’s life is now filled with non-humanities, his only certainty, his only continuity is the Painter who drags him across universes, through worlds, trampling entire civilizations into ruin while he searches for the Book, and something a man stole from him.

It is only when they enter this world that Ned learns the paintings in the terrible book didn’t only mess with his mind – the entities in the paintings live in his mind somehow, and the Painter is now using Ned to find the book and to restore something he lost in a long ago Ned doesn’t fully recall.

Ned is crushed by guilt – guilt for the things he can’t remember as well as those he does.  He feels culpable for so much, but in fact, he takes on more than he should.

He feels he is no longer human, and perhaps he is right.  I will leave readers to judge.  But I am fond of Ned.  His essential goodness shines out, even though he is mired in the inhuman doings of the Painter.  He has empathy and compassion even for those least deserving and can also be wryly humourous and casts an ironic eye on the Painter’s antics.

He is always afraid.  He never backs down, but is always afraid.  He trembles through his long, long life, cowers in the Painter’s shadow, never stands up for himself, takes on the Painter’s sins until the pettiness that drives the Painter becomes too much.

Ned is flawed, neither light nor dark. Despite all his doubts, he is fully, woefully and wonderfully human.  In some ways, he becomes the true hero of the novel, sacrificing much without apparent gain, allowing others to survive.  He doesn’t know his own strength, looks blackly on everything yet always gets a laugh, so perhaps the blackness is a camouflage that enables him to survive.

Thanks to Keira and the artfully complex Ned for stopping by the Column!  That last sentence does leave me wondering…who is Ned behind the camouflage, and will we ever find out? I hope he does…

Dragon's Nest

Dragon’s Nest

About the Author:

Keira McKenzie is a little published author with undying dreams.  This isn’t her first novel and will probably be as difficult to publish as many of the others, but it won’t be her last either.

As well as novels, she has written short stories, poetry & a couple of academic articles as she works on finishing her PhD.

She dabbles in painting and photography, concentrating on (but not limited to) the natural world and sunsets.  She also has a love of drawing and illustrates her own and others’ ideas/stories, some of which are also published.

Keira and her many creative talents can be found at:

http://fortyadjectives.blogspot.com/
http://mtlawleyshire.wordpress.com/

Portrait of Keira...or is it Fattee Cattee??

Portrait of Keira…or is it Fattee Cattee??

Character Column: Meet Lizzie T. Leaf and ‘Dovey’…

Today we welcome multi-published and awarded author Lizzie T. Leaf and her favourite character from the DEAD series, Dovey, to the Character Column Lounge! Make yourself right at home, Dovey, but…um..maybe don’t sit quite that close please?

Creatures of Darkness Can Make You Laugh Too….

I like humor in my life.  I also enjoy reading and writing humor.  So when asked to do a Halloween story, no surprise my mind went in that direction.

I took the bull by the horns and did it “my way.”  In DEAD Awake, the heroine (thanks to a Jewish friend who suggested the idea) is a socialite (who becomes Dovey Diving) from a Jewish family that keeps a kosher kitchen.  Our gal is a little on the wild side (think Paris Hilton) as well as a paparazzi darling.  Her hook-up with a “hot” guy in a vampire costume at her annual Halloween party, changes her life…forever.

She wakes up smelling pine and discovers, thanks to the helpful stranger lurking outside the funeral home, she’s now one of the living dead.  And, her new main food supply is blood.  Yuk!  She doesn’t eat food that has snuggled against blood, let alone drink the stuff.  But a girl can get hungry and real hunger can cause values to slip.

Next, the idea to have Dovey make her own changeling started to play in the back of my mind and thus BJ came to be and her story DEAD Faint.

Okay, things did go a little darker with DEAD Hunter, but hey, we’re talking evil demons out to convert our heroine from her true calling of demon hunter into gal to take out their enemies…vampires.  Nothing a little brainwashing won’t fix…right?

DEAD Memory produced the question…what would happen if a vampire woke up and didn’t remember he was a blood sucker?  Would the female that nursed him back to health catch on to his true being?  Not as dark as the prior book, but still a little less of the fun created in the first two books.

Then the humor came roaring back with DEAD Hot.  Shifters that are blends as our stars, attitude from the evil female out to help destroy the vampire king, and of course, hot sex between our two main characters.

And though I love all my lead characters, Dovey is special.  She’s the one that kicked off the series and appears in each book.  In some stories her roll is more in the background and in others, she interacts strongly with the main characters.  I love her snarky attitude and how she grew from a Pampered Princess in her mortal life to an immortal with flaws that developed strength and compassion she didn’t know she had in her.

The point is, vampires and other creatures of the night don’t always have to be scary, blood hungry, beasts.  They can have “attitude” that will make you smile.  And when they connect with a soul mate, they need love too.

Thanks for joining us, Lizzie and Dovey. Whew, that girl is a heroine with attitude, for sure! Keep growing those immortal qualities, princess, they suit you well.

deadhot-500

Will family secrets let Sharla find love with a guy that cats around?

Sharla Gomez’s dream encounter with the man she’s lusted over for months turned into rain-soaked nightmare. Her hopes of love and passion have gone to the dogs. Being a shifter is hell, especially when you’re a Pug/Chihuahua mix, or as some call the breed, a Chug. Even dogs don’t want to be told they’re so ugly they’re cute?

Dorsey Smith wants to get to know the exotic number-cruncher in charge of the strip club’s books. Just his luck she disappeared before he could ask her out for coffee. Instead of taking home the woman he lusts for, he takes home the small, drenched dog shivering in the rain. When he discovers the animal missing the next morning and he senses magic in the air. Has his safe haven been discovered and will his secrets be revealed?

Can two people with deep secrets discover the truth about each other and still find love. Or will the secrets and the evil lurking drive them apart?

EXCERPT:

“Hey, beautiful. Want another drink?”

Sharla glanced down at the hand covering hers. Chills ran down her spine, and she looked into Dorsey’s eyes—eyes that always fascinated her. Strange eyes that changed from gray-green to varying shades of green, but the thing that spooked Sharla was the reddish tinge in the whites that appeared sometimes. “Why not? I’m going to be here for a while it seems.”

“Good. At least I’ll have sane company at one end of the bar.” Dorsey flashed a smile as he moved off to make her mojito.

As he muddled the mint and poured the rest of the ingredients into a shaker, she wondered what he really was all about. At their first meeting she’d detected that he was a shifter, but when he’d touched her hand the next time she came into the bar, the chills that surged through her didn’t agree.

He set the drink in front of her and leaned over to say something when a summons came from the other end of the bar. “Dorsey, I need a refill.”

His smile said sorry, but Sharla figured he had good manners and only nodded. The reality was that he was heading back to greener pastures and the kind of females who probably warmed his bed, not some odd looking, big-butt gal.

DEAD hot is available at Musa Publishing.

See all of Lizzie’s books at her website.

WARNING: Lizzie’s books include possible exposure to sexy heat or bouts of laughter.

Connect with Lizzie:

http://lizzietleaf.blogspot.com/

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=826769827

http://twitter.com/lizzietleaf

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