At last! After months of planning and pondering, my new fantasy book is underway. Under the working title The Unexpected Traveler, the story follows Rainier, an elf who doesn’t want to become king. The unexpected traveler is photographer Peter Wright, a human who thought he was completing one last photo shoot when he runs into Rainier. The first chapter, “The Curious Little Man,” sweeps both our elf and Peter into the land of Orgon and into a heap of trouble. Things have changed while Rainier was away.

As a five senses exercise, think through walking along a deep mine drift (tunnel). It’s a “wet” mine, meaning water drips from the ceiling and down the walls, creating a small stream underfoot. The drift inclines sharply. It’s lit by electric lights every ten feet. What does it look like? Drippy. Light reflected in the water. Shadows. Wood beams laying helter-skelter. What does it smell like? Damp. Dirty. Rotting wood. The plastic smell of your waterproof jacket and pants. What does it feel like? Wet. Cold. Rough rock that leaves bits of sand on your fingertips. Your own sweat. The hardhat pressing into your forehead. Cramped. Claustrophobic. No breeze. What do you hear? Water drops and splashes. Loose rock crunching underfoot. Your breath. The waterproof gear rubbing against itself. Machinery running in the distance. What does it taste like? Well, don’t taste this water–it’s too full of toxic minerals to be healthy!

Fantasy, Writing: Style

I recently received yet another request from Poets & Writers to reconsider my request to drop my subscription. It got me to thinking.

Why did I drop my subscription in the first place?

Every writer’s workshop I attend recommends Poets & Writers. The reason given—every time— is that it’s the only true magazine that gives you real insight into real writers and real writing.

Uh, huh.

I duly subscribed. All I can say is that it’s a rather depressing read. Look at the photos. Every writer tries his or her hardest to look terribly solemn. Read more…

Writing: Style

It started out simply enough. After work I hopped on my dirt bike and headed up Owl Creek Pass Road. The county has the road closed a little way beyond the vista point shown in the photograph (38°10’49.77″N 107°37’13.75″W), so I retreated back to the Vista Point. Everything was just right—not too hot, not too cold, gorgeous views, no insects. So I lay down on some grass in the midst of the wildflowers and placed my gloves over my eyes to keep out the bright sun.

And decided I should use the time wisely.

With sight blocked out, I concentrated on smell, touch, taste, and sound. And what a rich panoply to (not) see! I used my cell phone voice recorder to track what I noticed. I’ve jotted them down here as an example of how you might do a five senses exercise yourself.

Sound. Here’s the order I heard things. A jet, far overhead on its way to some important city—yes, it was that quiet that I could hear the jet. A multi-engine propeller aircraft (this one made me Read more…

Writing: Style

Well, not quite, but it’s coming up. Set aside June 11th, 2009, to celebrate! English, the most comprehensive language on earth, the great sponge that soaks up ideas from everywhere, that wondrous conglomeration of everything pronounceable (and some things that aren’t), will soon hit the 1 million mark.

That’s 1M words. 1,000,000 words.

At least according to the Language Monitor, a blog that’s in love with the language. Or at least it’s in love with the words. I guess real language has to have lots of words, but there are other things here and there, such as parts of speech, grammar, pronunciation, and all those little details, to get to a real language.

But it is still nice to think that we have about double the number of words of any other language.

According to the Language Monitor (which has a countdown clock to when we hit 1M), we add a new word to the language, such as “greenwashing” or other such trendy things, every Read more…

Writing: Style

My last post sure sounded rosy, didn’t it? Spring, flowers, fun, games, way too many strawberries (a quart or two just for me). Well, Mother Nature had other ideas. You see, I normally get colds on Tuesday. The standard-issue cold virus has about a two-day incubation period. That means I catch my colds at Church.

Oh no. Not this time. I came down with the cold on Friday. That means I caught it Wednesday, which is the day we flew from Montrose to LAX. Thank you, dear traveling public.

Well, we were due to return Sunday. The worst was probably over, but I hacked and coughed through breakfast. We made a command decision. We abandoned our airline reservations (they were free anyway—frequent flyer miles), called Hertz to extend the rental, and started the drive home.

There were two issues. First, TSA is looking for sick travelers. They would’ve Read more…

Writing: Style

Loretta and I are in Southern California to visit my parents. I thought I’d write a few things about seeing “home” through a writer’s eyes. Certainly Ridgway and LA are different!
 

I’ve been away from LA for several years. As the United Airlines Boeing 757 descended into LAX, I watched a familiar/surreal landscape unfold below me. The Tehatchapi Mountains that form the northern border of the LA Basin are just the same—covered with chapparel (low trees, juniper bushes, various other hardy things that don’t need much water) and the usual firebreaks scraped along ridge lines. The weather was partly cloudy with very low clouds (below the tops of the mountains) broken into little cotton balls, none very big. The air underneath the cloud layer was blue rather than brown—not yet smog but more than fog. After awhile I could pick out landmarks. The Harbor Freeway, downtown Los Angeles, the San Diego freeway, and then landing on the south runway.

The airport was built when I was a child. I remember attending its grand opening. The airport authority had picked a spot well away from LA—in farmers’ fields, in fact—there was no little controversy over Read more…

Writing: Style

Loretta and I are ensconced in a hotel room at the Powderhorn Ski Resort near Mesa Colorado, preparatory to participating in a Middle School / High School writing workshop tomorrow morning. Collbran, Colorado, the school’s location, is best described as not near anything. Truly, it’s a town atop Grand Mesa at the end of a rather long and twisting road. If you have 4WD, you can go further—I’ve done it on a motorcycle.

Why the workshop? I credit a dynamic teacher, Leslie Nichols, with organizing this event. It draws students from nearby schools (nearby being a relative term) both to the workshop and the associated competition. I was told that in addition to teaching a workshop on “The Essentials of Fiction,” I (along with other workshop presenters) would judge “some” student writing. You can therefore imagine my surprise when I opened the mail and out poured dozens of submissions. A stack over an inch thick! Several evenings were devoted to crawling through each piece.

A few observations: First, writing talent knows no grade. My favorite piece was by a 7th grader who wrote about the hunting trip on which he bagged his first elk. Now I’m no hunter (and, being bipolar, should stay away from firearms), but his enthusiasm burned through. His piece had “voice” and was well-written to boot. Another favorite piece was from a similarly-aged girl, who wrote about tagging along with her father on a trip to revisit Viet Nam—this time without the war.

Now, based on what I saw, I thought I’d jot down a few things I’d love to pass onto all the kids: Read more…

Mt. Sneffels Press, Writing: Style

How’s this?

I pushed open the door, walked to the car, drove a few miles past farmer’s fields, and found myself at Myra’s house.

Well, I suppose it gets the job done. And perhaps you want your reader to concentrate on something else. But what about this?

The old screen door squeaked and protested as I pushed it open; it slammed shut behind me. I jumped the three steps to the gravel path and swished through the unraked leaves downed during yesterday’s thunderstorm. My poor little MG, so impractical on Nebraska’s many dirt roads, sat muddy and forlorn; I hopped in and turned the key. It never does like to start. Just as the battery was almost dead, it coughed into life, complaining loudly through the hole in the muffler. The road, still muddy from the storm, was not kind to my MG, splattering mud everywhere, and I slid a little more than I liked around the sharp 90-degree bend near the massive oak. Thumping up and down over the washboards, all that remained of the corn crop was stubble, not yet plowed under. After a few more equally sudden turns, I caught sight of Myra’s farmhouse, mightly lonely on these flat western Nebraska plains. The outbuildings had long given in to nature, but Myra had worked miracles Read more…

Writing: Style

How do you like to describe events in your novel? By event I mean something that happens to further the plot. Let’s take an example.

Your outline (you do have an outline, don’t you?) says that Jack, Mary, and Jane meet each other at the Post Office. Jane is excited about her new movie role. Mary is upset because she didn’t get the role. Jack is courting Mary, so wants to advocate for her. The scene begins stiffly as Mary offers her grudging congratulations to Jane. Jack tells Mary she should’ve had the role. Mary starts to cry. Jane, embarrassed, tries to leave but Jack starts explaining why Mary should’ve won.

Okay, how can you describe this? I can think of three ways. You may think of several more (if so, please comment and describe them). First, you can play the scene live. You set the scene and record each line of dialog just as it was spoken. Second, you can summarize Read more…

Writing: Characterization, Writing: Dialog, Writing: Style

I’m reading a non-fiction book on William Tyndale, an early advocate for an English translation of the Bible from the original Hebrew and Greek; in fact, his own translation serves as the basis for the King James Bible. It’s a topic that interests me. But I groaned and winced through the first few chapters. In fact, the only reason I’m sticking with it is that a friend loaned me the book with his recommendation.

So what’s my problem? The writer, clearly in awe of Tyndale, seems unable to leave out adjectives. Here’s the first sentence:

In God’s panoramic vision of the history of the earth, some significant events have been singled out for seers’ eyes to preview and prophetic pens to record.

Uh, I thought I was reading a history book. And it goes on. Here’s another: Read more…

Writing: Style