This is a writing blog. I haven’t written (much) in the past few years, so this blog has fallen by the wayside. And I’m about to pick it back up. It only makes sense that I don’t load a new pic for the post, since it’s a writing blog and not a mullet (Business in the front. Party in the back). I want it all to be a party, and bangs would just look emo.
I’ll start by greasing my rusty writing hinges; Hello, World! I’m ready to shaaare myself again!
The primary focus for this blog is professional updates on how I understand writing to be, in all its forms: literary and artistic reviews, updates on my work, and helpful hints along the way. I grew away from this professional blog due to (excuses) and now that I’m able to focus more on the often complex and changing needs of novel writing, I can also step back into this place.
I’ll start this post by saying I had a whole entry written up about being spoon-fed stories, and how tired I am of baby-stepped storytelling. I figured I *expletive deleted* too much, so I slept on it and decided to ruminate on the subject.
I found the best way for me to distill and digest my thoughts would be to read (or watch) something that doesn’t spoon-feed me a story. So I turned to a movie I’ve wanted to see for a long time: Jupiter Ascending. Given the Wachowskis don’t play by the rules when it comes to telling a story, I figured I couldn’t los anything by watching.
It galvanized my thought process on the matter, and allowed me to step into a place to properly compare and dissect. The movie also got so little attention once released, and I heard so little about it, I figured it’d be a great, beautiful, luscious movie. I wasn’t wrong.
Spoilers contained within. Do not read if you want to watch and enjoy it as new. Continue reading
I’ve been reading a lot more of late. Having begun Mark Twain’s Autobiography, Leviathan Wakes (Now A Major Syfy TV Series, The Expanse), The Six-Gun Tarot and the second of the Wheel of Time Series, The Great Hunt, I’ve had ample opportunity to cross check the writing styles.
For me, great writing stands alone. Back when Tolkien’s LOTR novels were being made into movies, there was an outpouring of novels with the phrase “Like Middle Earth but better!” on the backs, or “Greatest fantasy adventure since Tolkien!” The spinoff books–some very successful–all playing off the idea of his works (Like Terry Brooks’s Sword of Shannara series and Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series) had the same feel of Tolkien, only light. In fact, I’d call them Tolkien Lite. As a disrespectful term.
Now I see “Think Game of Thrones with Bocci Ball!” or “John Doe, and his family, has a coolness factor so high, it’s like Harry Potter had John McClane as a father, AND THEY WERE ALL LANNISTERS!” While this isn’t exactly what I’m reading on the back of boring old fantasy novels, I’m not being hyperbolic. I did see a similar phrase somewhere.
These people, while possibly successful, are not great writers. You can’t take a powerful writer and say, “This writer is JUST LIKE another writer, ONLY BETTER,” and get any respect. If ever I get picked up by a big publisher, and they say anything of the sort on the back of my work, I will straight-up drop the publisher. One of the books I’ll discuss today is touted as a Martin Lite, even though he’s nothing of the sort.
I haven’t been around for a while, and for that I apologize. I’m trying for a resurgence to this site, and writing in general. So hello.
This post has everything to do with my very, very amateur status in the world of Dungeons & Dragons. After studying the 5th Edition rulebooks, I recognize a deep vein of development that has been present since, well, I was born.
I’m falling into the D&D Dungeon Master development in a way I didn’t expect: I find studying a campaign actually improves my inspiration toward writing, and understanding a well-developed story, more adequately.
This is both a good and bad thing. The good is I am forced to develop peripheral aspects in a unique and new way, and in applying this to my book-writing, I find the world more saturated with individuality. The bad is I’m forced to cast aside my previous style of writing, which was unconventional, different, unique.
Le Sad Clown Quixote
I don’t write much here anymore. But I will write more soon. Much more. If you read me often, you’ll know it’s because of my job: it takes up all my thoughts and energy, and by the time I get home in the afternoon/evening, I don’t have much left to dedicate to other thought. I’m one of those strange people who need to live a balanced life: up time and down time. So instead of writing, I make dinner, or unwind some other way. Go on dates.
One of those dates incorporated watching a recent release, Seventh Son, with a Don Quixote-lookin’ Jeff Bridges mumbling into dragon mouths and the guy from Stardust proving he could wrestle witches with the best of them. Spoilers aside, I give it a five. I think it’s two movies smashed into one. The bad guys are ten times cooler than the good guys.
It highlit a trend I’ve been seeing in movies, TV series, and books of late: the evolution of the antihero. I like it. I want to talk about it.
I’d like to think everyone’s talking about this book. It’s probably not the case, but from the writing sphere of this world, this book is a very, very important read. It’s short, sweet, and most avid readers can finish it in, oh, two hours. If you read slow, like me, it’ll take you around four. With breaks to run to Facebook and quote random bits. Because it’s awesome.
Patrick Rothfuss is known for his hugely popular Kingkiller Chronicle, which follows the great gypsy bard/mage Kvothe as he brazenly fights through childhood trauma, homeless street-urchining, magical college, girls, royalty, and (hopefully) the Chandrian blue-flame demons with his own style of cleverness and stupidity, in turn. The books are brilliant.
But this isn’t that story. Continue reading
Artist and glassblower Chihuly, as shown at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.
I try to surround myself with inspiring things, people, conversation. I try to also surround myself with moments of conflict and moments of peace. When it’s in balance, I find an overwhelming love of existing, of simply walking through this world in balance. I find few things more rewarding. I have a need to live a fulfilling life (as we all do).
If not for my dreaming, I’d be a completely different person. My imagination isn’t so great, while waking. It’s corny, cheesy, lame. I must work really, really hard to create. It has a penchant for the ridiculous. But while sleeping? It’s as if I developed a whole other person that sometimes orchestrates whole novels in a single night.
I dreamed last night. Like I used to, so long ago, I dreamed a great big vast dream that laid out several passive questions I’ve been asking myself, and answered them. But before I talk about the dream, I must talk about what inspired it.