@Amber_Scott are you not supposed to just write the book for yourself to enjoy? Aiming for an audience is always dangerous... You could miss...
...
I think I would read and enjoy any book you would enjoy... so...
...
This aside. Can't decide on a theme.
My ideas floating that need anchorage are...
Judgement in principle. Story based loosely on its a wonderful life. A selfless headteacher of a school finds himself aided by a demon ofsted inspector, trying to earn his horns, to win the girl of his dreams... He has to be bad to get the goods... That's right, that's right! You hear a bed creak, and a demon earns his horns...
... nah...
A hundred moons, a thousand stars. Sci-fi universe building epic where there are no aliens just humans spreading and fighting and searching for that elusive earth like planet, where to breathe under an open sky is beyond worth and price.
... nah...
Fingers of the forest. Based loosely on Theseus and the minotaur. Children are sent into the woods to calm the terrible beast and the gods. Tricking his father to be picked, one man enters the labyrinth of the forest and discovers its dark secret (cannibalistic mushroom eating antler wearing naked pagans... need more time on this...) However will he be able to get out alive...
@Amber_Scott are you not supposed to just write the book for yourself to enjoy? Aiming for an audience is always dangerous... You could miss...
I think I would read and enjoy any book you would enjoy... so...
I actually love YA I've just never written it. That's why I think it might be fun to try! If the synopsis is already giving off a YA vibe it might feel natural to write it that way. Hmm hmm we will see...
All your ideas sound really good, really original! I think I like the sound of the third one the best, fwiw.
I go back and forth between wanting to write the idea below, and wanting to actually finish the game concept I've been working on. I'd write both ideas in prose, but...yeah.
The idea I'm toying with, which would be written in the style of an online blog:
All Davis wants to do is finish her novel, A Pinch of Dragon's Tails. But that is difficult when she faces an onslaught of distractions from the actual dragons and goblins that have suddenly invaded her home in the hills of western Massachusetts.
With friends too far away to come help, and a story that no one will believe, Davis takes to the internet, armed with a WordPress account and an iPhone 6 Plus, to chart her journey to stopping the monsters from escaping to wreak havoc on the rest of the world, to close the mysterious portal in her house's basement, and to finish her novel in time to submit it for publication.
The idea I'm toying with, which would be written in the style of an online blog:
All Davis wants to do is finish her novel, A Pinch of Dragon's Tails. But that is difficult when she faces an onslaught of distractions from the actual dragons and goblins that have suddenly invaded her home in the hills of western Massachusetts.
With friends too far away to come help, and a story that no one will believe, Davis takes to the internet, armed with a WordPress account and an iPhone 6 Plus, to chart her journey to stopping the monsters from escaping to wreak havoc on the rest of the world, to close the mysterious portal in her house's basement, and to finish her novel in time to submit it for publication.
I love this idea! How would you handle the visual parts?
I haven't figured that out yet, but I'm thinking it would have to be described sparsely as if from memory. That's one thing that occasionally bugs me about first person narration (even my own), is that the narrator often remembers more vivid details than they probably should. So it would involve a lot less description and a lot more reaction.
How do you guys do names? I have a Death Priest named Azrael but I feel that's too. . . Cliché, y'know?
"The kid" in mine is just going to be called that. I am also going to attempt to not describe him/her in any way and let the reader fill in their own blanks, much like when you play an RPG like BG or Fallout.
For minor characters, I may just do the same. If someone doesnt introduce themselves, then the readers shouldnt have that information either. Generic titles can drive and keep the story moving more quickly than random names that do not mean anything.
If I want, or need, to introduce a name, I will usually just pick three letters and make a name from those in order and use he first thing that comes to mind. FWD would be Fawlicid for example. Any short hand notes I keep on the character will have FWD attached to it instead of the full name. I don't like it, I can always change it later with word look up, but I don't dwell on names.
That's my writing style though and you should just find something you are comfortable with.
The Fortress, for centuries, has kept its walls safe through warriors, diplomacy and pacts with the many gods.
But the Fortress and the community that call it home are under threat. The waters have been corrupted. The harvest blighted. The forest folk silenced. And dangerous new ideas have taken root.
And the gods... As always... Require blood.
Go back 3 millennia, to the beginnings of the Iron age, to the hills now known as the Malverns, and join Cardew on an epic adventure to save his people from destruction.
...
Sounds like the blurb you would find at the back of the book... But I am still in flux. So...
Know this...
My book contains human sacrifice, an Egyptian, human genocide, murder, cannibalism, mushrooms... And is based on real locations and factually accurate archaeological evidence...
Thought you might want to read this... Bit stuck though... Do you actually just write the novel for yourself?
Not a problem. But I would like a chance for others to read it... Posting it in chunks here doesn't seem a viable or sensible option (with copyright 'n' all, I did read about that)
Thought people would like to read my author's intro anyhoot...
A note on locations, names, facts and beliefs
‘Fingers of the forest’ is set approximately 3 millennia ago on a volcanic outcrop, within the heart of the Britain. The Malvern Hills, as they are known today, contain two early Iron Age hill forts, namely Midsummer Hill and British Camp. Other archaeological evidence points to, but not fully substantiates, that Cairns and burial mounds are located on other peaks in the chain of hills. The river Severn, one of the great navigable rivers of pre-industrial Britain is a mere 6 kilometres away, (although I have placed it nearer to the Dark Fort in my story, it is still well within the floodplain, and it is not outside the realm of possibilities for its exact course would have been different to that of today.) Also there is a distinct lack of stone circles in the Malvern Hills, especially odd, as the route taken for the famous blue stones at the most famous stone circle of them all, Stonehenge, would have passed close by. However the discovery of wooden henges neatly explains this, and wood was plentiful in the area.
As for names, I have kept to keeping the modern nomenclature as far as possible for the sake of clarity. Malvern for instance derives from the Celtic Moel-Bryn, roughly translating to ‘the bare hill’, however the reader (and most likely the characters in the story) will not be aware of this, and extra explanation seems unnecessary. The Iron Age forts however are named anew, and named after, as with many towns and cities, after the person who founded them. The names of the characters also have names of Celtic origin. The principal player, Cardew, name implies ‘from the black fort’.
The actions of many of the characters, however bizarre or unnatural to modern senses are all based on factual archaeological evidence. Why they did it however is unknowable, and can only be guessed at or surmised. I am not the first to put forward wild or fanciful ideas, John Mitchell summed up similar notions when writing about the purpose of Stonehenge in 1981.
“One might suppose that it was specially designed to accommodate every notion that could be possibly projected onto it.”
As for what the ancients truly believed, we may never know.
I have mirrored somewhat how people use belief today, as a continuous source of reason to commit acts of great cruelty, malice, kindness and self-sacrifice.
Enjoy.
...
Just got to the bit were two tribes are arguing about who gets the boat... I tell thee... It writes itself!
I tapped out 989 words ON MY PHONE today since my tablet that I ordered hasn't arrived yet. I started writing during my breaks at work at then on the bus ride back.
It is a start at least. Just 49,000 and eleven more words to go.
I'll start writing after dinner. I've been at work all day... No time to write between breaks when you're starving either; you spend it all just replenishing your energy with food and water.
Retail freaking sucks for writers, yo.
Update: Welp, started writing at 9 o'clock at night, and I finished my goal of the day: finish my damn combat scene I'd been stuck on for months. Chapter's almost done. Not quite 1666 words, but over 1000. I call that a win.
First draft of the first part of the second chapter:
Captain Bailisse was a gambler and believed he could overcome any risk to come out ahead. He survived vicious storms, mutinies and pirates as well as the political landscape that was the mainland.
He was a rambunctious man, short in stature but stocky. A sense of adventure drove him which distinguished himself from other sea captains of the era. He pushed his men hard, but treated them with respect and never placed himself above them.
He was employed by The Bonniville Trading Company. The BVT for short, was one of the most profitable trading companies of the mainland, employing over a hundred ships at their peak. Captains that worked for the BVT, however needed to supply their own ship and crew and contracts were awarded both on merit and a captain's price.
Fully owning his own ship, The Earnest, allowed Bailisse to undercut many other captains from obtaining luxurious contracts with the company. Adventure though, and not greed, was what drove the man to work the high seas, and would usually take contracts other captains would not touch due to the length at sea or threat of piracy.
Every man on his ship was treated equally with a higher pay than other ships. This mutual respect made the men under his command take the risks he craved with little questioning or push back.
During slower times, the captain and his crew even took up piracy, especially against contracts they lost out on. Armed with six cannons (unheard of for merchant vessels), they would seek out their competitors out at sea and offer a compromise of splitting the contract in a sixty-forty split in he original holders favour.
If the captain of the other ship refused, The Earnest would unleash a couple of warning shots across the bow of the boat until hey reconsidered. Rarely did another captain value the cargo in the hold over his own life or the well being of their ship.
Many captains usually offered a sum to Bailisse before embarking on a trade route to keep the captain out of their way. Bailisse accepted these as a sign of respect, and not extortion.
He would be respectful of other captains needs however, and would turn down, and even hand over contracts if he felt another captain needed the finances more.
He would also come to the aid of any ships being harassed by pirates, fending them off with The Earnest's six cannons and if adventure permitted, boarding the pirate's craft to reclaim any stolen merchandise other ships might have given up.
He also enjoyed racing other ships from port to port, testing both The Earnest and his crew in dire situations. It was one such race, in which he undoubtedly lost, when he discovered the island.
While anchored in New Port with a fully stocked hull of bundles of silk and ceramic pottery that was becoming popular amongst the noble elite, he set sail against an approaching storm to deliver the fragile goods before two of his competitors whom were carrying the same stock in the same port.
He would claim later that it was the worst mistake of his life, however, the outcome made him one of most famous people in history.
I don't have the file on my work computer but I can post a snippet when I get home tonight. I met up with a friend yesterday for an inaugural write-in at a coffee shop. 1950 words, felt good!
Had to go back and fit in a chapter to explain and fill out a character. Plus to darken the mood.
It could be heard all along the battlements and across the fortress town of Duth. It was a wail of torment, and set Druce to grinding his teeth. It would be over soon enough, and then they could drink, celebrate, thank the gods.
It was his turn to guard the embers of the sun, so as to kindle it anew and bring morning, an easy task, of which he had yet to fail. The folk of Duth were grateful. Druce smiled before listening to the other sounds of the fort; a dog barking, the sound of guards padding around the earthen ramparts, the gentle serration of eight hundred people breathing, snoring, groaning, sleeping. Another wail filled the night. Druce winced.
A new sound filled the gloom, a murmur followed by swift feet. Druce sighed heavily and looked down allowing the hood of his cloak to hide his face. He knew what was coming. He hated it.
Briaca appeared, breathless, from the darkness around the hearth, she paused “I cannot he-“ Briaca grabbed his arm and tugged him upright. “Please, we need Kilian” She tugged at his cloak and turned to go. Druce stood his ground and considered reprimanding the women for her lack of respect to one who could fathom the wants of the gods, spirits and ancestors. Briaca turned to look back and Druce saw the look of desperation in her eyes. “Ah... He is asleep, I will wake him.”
Druce turned and lit a torch, before leading Briaca to a roundhouse near to the Cairn that stood at the centre of Duth. Pushing the leather drape that served as a doorway aside, Druce illuminated the hovels inhabitants with his light.
Feelings of pride, consternation and worry battled within him. Worry won.
“Master Kilian, you are rumoured to be over sixty summers old; you must not... partake in such strenuous activities. Your vital energies will surely be... sapped.”
“I worry about you boy. Your sap never gets used! And you know nothing about my vital energies!” snapped Kilian’s reply.
Druce lowered his gaze as the wrinkled, loose skinned pile of bones, named Kilian, un-entangled himself from the knot of bodies. Kilian pulled on his cloak, stretched his arms towards the roof until his joints audibly cracked, before hobbling towards the light.
“Let me guess.” smiled Kilian toothlessly. “Judoc is having problems spitting out Orin’s son?” Briaca stepped forward and fell to her knees.
“Please Kilian, Judoc needs help.”
“I will do what the gods wish...” Druce stared into the milky orbs that were Kilian's eyes and saw only mirth and kindness. “And the gods wish I had some sleep... But I can always have that later. Lead on. Lead on.”
Druce lent his arm to Kilian and followed Briaca closely as she weaved between the countless roundhouses before stooping and entering the hut of Orin. The fire burnt brightly and smoke churned and wisped through the roof in a blaze of warmth. The sound of Judoc’s sobbing drowned out the whisperings of encouragement the midwives gave.
Orin swept into the hut behind them. Fretful. Desperate.
“There you are! I have been searching. Please, what do the gods want Kilian. I Orin will give it!”
Druce noticed he repeatedly grasped and pulled at an orb of amber tied around his neck, the heirloom of his family. Perhaps this was an opportunity to make it an heirloom of the gods? “I -“
“Shut it boy. The gods have not removed my tongue yet. The gods want nothing from you Orin. You have nothing to give.” Kilian reached up and tugged Druce’s ear towards his mouth. “I need your eyes boy, nothing more... Now tell me. How is Judoc looking? Is she still fighting and looking about or is she tuckered out and falling asleep?”
“She is closer to falling asleep but I do- Ow!”
“I’ll stamp on your foot harder next time boy; I only need your eyes not your questions... Is there blood, how much blood? Tell me.”
Druce looked at the crimson monster spreading from the straw bed. “Too much.”
Orin groaned in dismay. “Please, Danu, please...”
“Right, Briaca, good girl, pretty girl. I want you to tell the midwives to pull out Orin’s son. They need to do it now. They did the right thing bringing me. I will attempt to bargain for the life of Judoc and her son with the ancestors. Perhaps they will listen. Oh... How I wish old Padriga was still with us. She could coax babies out with a song and a whistle...”
Kilian removed a leather bag from within the folds of his cloak, and hastily poured its contents onto the floor. Kilian knelt and hovered his arms over the bones, a rivulet of blood slowly worked its way in-between them.
“What do you see?” whispered Druce.
Kilian smiled and replied truthfully. “I see nothing.” Druce continued to watch his masters face, as the mirth flowed away into sorrow. “The gods, the ancestors and the spirits are not with us tonight.”
With a last shudder, the midwives pulled the blue and misshapen mass free.
The hut was desolate in its silence.
The midwives placed the baby in Judoc’s arms, kissed her eyes closed and filed past Orin, heads bowed, defeated.
Orin clenched his fists, his face screwed tight against the pain, from the tears, as the sorrow engulfed him. “No. No. We did everything right. We did everything. Everything”
Druce, stepped up, and placed his arms around Orin’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort. The amber would not be taken for the gods tonight. They didn’t deserve it. Orin shrugged him off and knelt beside his wife’s head and began stroking her hair, weeping gently.
“Your wife will be interned into the house of the ancients, where she will join her family, our people and rest peacefully.” intoned Druce.
Orin looked up with tears in his eyes. “What about the baby?”
“The baby cannot be interned because-“
“It is too strong of spirit!” Kilian spat. “Burnt out the spirits abode, the flesh before you, in the process. I can still sense it. Its presence is here. Can you feel it Druce?”
Druce open mouthed, slowly regained his composure. “I... Yes. Yes I can.”
“Take the bones and bury them under the doorpost of the hut. It will guard against any evil spirits entering your home. Now then, Druce, I want you to sing the hymn of the mothers of lost warriors.”
“But master, no battle has been fought? No warriors have been lost?”
“Oh. I think there has. Go now. Do it. I will begin to ready things for the morn Orin, Briaca, if you would take me to the house of the ancients please.”
The light of morning began to illuminate the settlement, as Druce began walking between the roundhouses, “It was a stupid girl anyway.” He sighed, before starting to sing the doleful hymn. Murmurs of conversation from within the hovels, followed him as the news spread.
Briaca, dutifully took Kilian by the arm and led him in the twilight towards the stone cairn. The silence was a pain to endure, so Briaca broke it.
I'm beginning to write tonight. I'm just finishing up work and then have to write a small paper for class but after that I shall begin! It will probably be a few hours from now, unfortunately. I may stay up late just to get some writing in n_n
Edit: Writing now, it's coming out fluidly! I think I'm a tad description heavy but it is my first narrative writing that's longer than a page or two. This story has been developing in my mind since when I was in elementary school and was larping with my best friend of the time. I have a lot of material and history to work with as the setting is my homebrew D&D setting. I think I've adequately prepared to begin writing the story. After today's session I'll post what I think my favorite scene is.
Just in case anyone missed it, I have the synopsis and Chapter 1 of my NaNo Draft to read on my NaNoWriMo Novels page.
As for snippets, here's some of what I wrote today:
Chapter 4
“Marcus, I said wait!” Saira screamed somewhere behind him, but of course he didn’t slow down. Not now. Bushes slapped him as he barreled forward and roots threatened his every step, but he pushed everything aside without falter. No doubt realizing that he’d ignored her once again, Marcus heard Saira groan through the trees, followed by Carl’s laughter. Marcus stopped once to look over his shoulder, but all he saw were trees, no sign of his friends. But that was okay. He heard their voices, so he couldn’t be too far ahead of them, right?
They’ll catch up, he assured himself for maybe the twentieth time. I’m almost there. Just a little bit more…
He thought he caught a white glimpse of their uniforms, but he didn’t wait for them. Again, he stared ahead at the seemingly never-ending forest, a maze of earthly trunks and pillars both infinite and hypnotic. Anyone else would have gotten lost a long time ago. Marcus, however, was not like anyone else.
The closer he grew to the Circle, he began to notice it: an almost invisible trail of light meandering through the trees. He only saw it when he stared in front of him, and he always stood on its one end. The trail stretched and disappeared before him until it disappeared through the trees, the way minute details disappeared further along a horizon.
Not that Marcus really needed the visual guide; he still felt the Circle’s pull, and his second-soul pulsed ever strong the longer he went. But if he was seeing it now, he couldn’t be too much further away.
The brush began to thin. Beams of sunlight cut the forest’s shadows and spilled onto the mossy ground in patches. Marcus's heart pounded in his ears, and not just from his long run.
Until, at last, the forest opened up to him, and Marcus’s jaw dropped. He skidded to a stop at the edge of a perfectly circular valley surrounded by a ring of trees. Almost taking up its center, the Elemental Circle gleamed and shimmered in the sun, as awe-inspiring and beautiful as Marcus remembered.
“Ugh… H-Hey!” Saira’s voice grumbled behind, along with the hiss and whack of moving branches. “There you are! When were you going to slow down, you…you…”
Marcus felt her presence and heard her footsteps approach beside him, but he gazed only at the Circle before them. A polished stone circle in the ground, as large around as a house, perfectly flat save for the five-pointed star etched into its surface. Each arm of the Star pointed to a depiction of the five elemental gods, carved within five smaller circles.
Facing north, the sun of Thgil presided over all, marble white and glittering with diamonds and flecks of gold. To the east was Therya’s flower, blooming crimson with emeralds and topazes in its stem. South of that lay Fyra’s flame, a mosaic of rubies and ambers that flickered like crystalline embers. Beside it to the west was Deniwa’s wing, adorned with swirling lines and peridots. And last, between wind and light, was Seara’s raindrop, a sparkling blue sapphire larger than any they’d ever seen.
A sixth circle lay at the heart of the star, empty. That was where the chosen soulholders, on the day of their Recognition, would stand and offer themselves to their inner gods.
I feel bad because my writing is very basic, I mean I know it's my first time but still. I have this issue of "telling what things look like" as opposed to "showing what things looke like" >_<
I feel bad because my writing is very basic, I mean I know it's my first time but still. I have this issue of "telling what things look like" as opposed to "showing what things looke like" >_<</p>
Honestly? Learning the difference between the two just comes with practice and reading what others write. Most everyone starts out that way, and there's nothing wrong with that! Don't feel bad. Just keep trying and you will get better.
June hesitated at the entrance to the bar. She knew the solution to her problem potentially waited inside, but entering the dimly lit room took more will than she was sure she had.
It wasn't just the meanness of the place. Life in the X Zone was dirty and dangerous and she'd long ago gotten used to the atmosphere. This bar seemed like a micro representation of the X Zone. Grime covered every surface. The few unbroken lights gave out a pitiful yellow glow that struggled to cut through the haze of smoke from cigarettes and vape cords. Patrons huddled in packs around wobbly aluminum tables stained with beer and blood. A sink behind the bar dripped constantly and erratically.
It wasn't June's age that kept her out of the place either. Sixteen was technically below the drinking age, but no one ever enforced those laws. Plenty of the bar patrons looked to be about her age. There was even a toddler sitting on the floor, playing with an empty pint glass at her mother's feet. At least June presumed the thin, hollow-eyed woman talking in a low, urgent voice to her companion was the child's mother.
It was the sense of finality that kept her lingering at the threshold. The sense that, once she walked into this room, nothing would be the same again. Until now she'd been able to pretend that these circumstances were temporary and someday she and the Family would go back to normal. Back to the way things had always been. Entering the bar meant giving up that last bit of false hope and accepting that things would never go back to normal. That this was normal.
“Hey! You're blocking the door.”
June started and stepped to the side. Beady eyes under bushy black eyebrows glared at her as a man pushed past and through the door. He had the look of someone who lived in the X Zone: unkempt hair, worn leather jacket, pistol worn openly at his hip.
“Sorry,” she tried to call, but the man was already inside, the door swinging closed behind him.
June stepped forward again and crouched to peer through the greasy pane of glass set in the door. The room looked no different than before. She straightened and clenched her hands into fists, pressing them against her stomach.
“This is for the Family,” she whispered to herself. “For Father.” She took a deep breath and strode into the bar.
Comments
...
I think I would read and enjoy any book you would enjoy... so...
...
This aside. Can't decide on a theme.
My ideas floating that need anchorage are...
Judgement in principle. Story based loosely on its a wonderful life. A selfless headteacher of a school finds himself aided by a demon ofsted inspector, trying to earn his horns, to win the girl of his dreams... He has to be bad to get the goods... That's right, that's right! You hear a bed creak, and a demon earns his horns...
... nah...
A hundred moons, a thousand stars. Sci-fi universe building epic where there are no aliens just humans spreading and fighting and searching for that elusive earth like planet, where to breathe under an open sky is beyond worth and price.
... nah...
Fingers of the forest. Based loosely on Theseus and the minotaur. Children are sent into the woods to calm the terrible beast and the gods. Tricking his father to be picked, one man enters the labyrinth of the forest and discovers its dark secret (cannibalistic mushroom eating antler wearing naked pagans... need more time on this...) However will he be able to get out alive...
...nah... maybe the first one?
All your ideas sound really good, really original! I think I like the sound of the third one the best, fwiw.
The idea I'm toying with, which would be written in the style of an online blog:
When it comes to writing it is the starting that is the hardest. I always need a nudge.
*looks at the many incomplete stories sitting in her documents folder*
*sighs*
I've already been scheduled to work for the full first week of November with zero days off. My worst fear is coming to light...
For minor characters, I may just do the same. If someone doesnt introduce themselves, then the readers shouldnt have that information either. Generic titles can drive and keep the story moving more quickly than random names that do not mean anything.
If I want, or need, to introduce a name, I will usually just pick three letters and make a name from those in order and use he first thing that comes to mind. FWD would be Fawlicid for example. Any short hand notes I keep on the character will have FWD attached to it instead of the full name. I don't like it, I can always change it later with word look up, but I don't dwell on names.
That's my writing style though and you should just find something you are comfortable with.
Crag
Bran
Yuan
Artur
Dave
The Fortress, for centuries, has kept its walls safe through warriors, diplomacy and pacts with the many gods.
But the Fortress and the community that call it home are under threat. The waters have been corrupted. The harvest blighted. The forest folk silenced. And dangerous new ideas have taken root.
And the gods... As always... Require blood.
Go back 3 millennia, to the beginnings of the Iron age, to the hills now known as the Malverns, and join Cardew on an epic adventure to save his people from destruction.
...
Sounds like the blurb you would find at the back of the book... But I am still in flux. So...
Know this...
My book contains human sacrifice, an Egyptian, human genocide, murder, cannibalism, mushrooms... And is based on real locations and factually accurate archaeological evidence...
Actually... It is already writing itself...
Not a problem. But I would like a chance for others to read it... Posting it in chunks here doesn't seem a viable or sensible option (with copyright 'n' all, I did read about that)
Thought people would like to read my author's intro anyhoot...
A note on locations, names, facts and beliefs
‘Fingers of the forest’ is set approximately 3 millennia ago on a volcanic outcrop, within the heart of the Britain. The Malvern Hills, as they are known today, contain two early Iron Age hill forts, namely Midsummer Hill and British Camp. Other archaeological evidence points to, but not fully substantiates, that Cairns and burial mounds are located on other peaks in the chain of hills. The river Severn, one of the great navigable rivers of pre-industrial Britain is a mere 6 kilometres away, (although I have placed it nearer to the Dark Fort in my story, it is still well within the floodplain, and it is not outside the realm of possibilities for its exact course would have been different to that of today.) Also there is a distinct lack of stone circles in the Malvern Hills, especially odd, as the route taken for the famous blue stones at the most famous stone circle of them all, Stonehenge, would have passed close by. However the discovery of wooden henges neatly explains this, and wood was plentiful in the area.
As for names, I have kept to keeping the modern nomenclature as far as possible for the sake of clarity. Malvern for instance derives from the Celtic Moel-Bryn, roughly translating to ‘the bare hill’, however the reader (and most likely the characters in the story) will not be aware of this, and extra explanation seems unnecessary. The Iron Age forts however are named anew, and named after, as with many towns and cities, after the person who founded them. The names of the characters also have names of Celtic origin. The principal player, Cardew, name implies ‘from the black fort’.
The actions of many of the characters, however bizarre or unnatural to modern senses are all based on factual archaeological evidence. Why they did it however is unknowable, and can only be guessed at or surmised. I am not the first to put forward wild or fanciful ideas, John Mitchell summed up similar notions when writing about the purpose of Stonehenge in 1981.
“One might suppose that it was specially designed to accommodate every notion that could be possibly projected onto it.”
As for what the ancients truly believed, we may never know.
I have mirrored somewhat how people use belief today, as a continuous source of reason to commit acts of great cruelty, malice, kindness and self-sacrifice.
Enjoy.
...
Just got to the bit were two tribes are arguing about who gets the boat... I tell thee... It writes itself!
It is a start at least. Just 49,000 and eleven more words to go.
Retail freaking sucks for writers, yo.
Update: Welp, started writing at 9 o'clock at night, and I finished my goal of the day: finish my damn combat scene I'd been stuck on for months. Chapter's almost done. Not quite 1666 words, but over 1000. I call that a win.
He was a rambunctious man, short in stature but stocky. A sense of adventure drove him which distinguished himself from other sea captains of the era. He pushed his men hard, but treated them with respect and never placed himself above them.
He was employed by The Bonniville Trading Company. The BVT for short, was one of the most profitable trading companies of the mainland, employing over a hundred ships at their peak. Captains that worked for the BVT, however needed to supply their own ship and crew and contracts were awarded both on merit and a captain's price.
Fully owning his own ship, The Earnest, allowed Bailisse to undercut many other captains from obtaining luxurious contracts with the company. Adventure though, and not greed, was what drove the man to work the high seas, and would usually take contracts other captains would not touch due to the length at sea or threat of piracy.
Every man on his ship was treated equally with a higher pay than other ships. This mutual respect made the men under his command take the risks he craved with little questioning or push back.
During slower times, the captain and his crew even took up piracy, especially against contracts they lost out on. Armed with six cannons (unheard of for merchant vessels), they would seek out their competitors out at sea and offer a compromise of splitting the contract in a sixty-forty split in he original holders favour.
If the captain of the other ship refused, The Earnest would unleash a couple of warning shots across the bow of the boat until hey reconsidered. Rarely did another captain value the cargo in the hold over his own life or the well being of their ship.
Many captains usually offered a sum to Bailisse before embarking on a trade route to keep the captain out of their way. Bailisse accepted these as a sign of respect, and not extortion.
He would be respectful of other captains needs however, and would turn down, and even hand over contracts if he felt another captain needed the finances more.
He would also come to the aid of any ships being harassed by pirates, fending them off with The Earnest's six cannons and if adventure permitted, boarding the pirate's craft to reclaim any stolen merchandise other ships might have given up.
He also enjoyed racing other ships from port to port, testing both The Earnest and his crew in dire situations. It was one such race, in which he undoubtedly lost, when he discovered the island.
While anchored in New Port with a fully stocked hull of bundles of silk and ceramic pottery that was becoming popular amongst the noble elite, he set sail against an approaching storm to deliver the fragile goods before two of his competitors whom were carrying the same stock in the same port.
He would claim later that it was the worst mistake of his life, however, the outcome made him one of most famous people in history.
It was his turn to guard the embers of the sun, so as to kindle it anew and bring morning, an easy task, of which he had yet to fail. The folk of Duth were grateful. Druce smiled before listening to the other sounds of the fort; a dog barking, the sound of guards padding around the earthen ramparts, the gentle serration of eight hundred people breathing, snoring, groaning, sleeping. Another wail filled the night. Druce winced.
A new sound filled the gloom, a murmur followed by swift feet. Druce sighed heavily and looked down allowing the hood of his cloak to hide his face. He knew what was coming. He hated it.
Briaca appeared, breathless, from the darkness around the hearth, she paused
“I cannot he-“ Briaca grabbed his arm and tugged him upright.
“Please, we need Kilian” She tugged at his cloak and turned to go.
Druce stood his ground and considered reprimanding the women for her lack of respect to one who could fathom the wants of the gods, spirits and ancestors.
Briaca turned to look back and Druce saw the look of desperation in her eyes.
“Ah... He is asleep, I will wake him.”
Druce turned and lit a torch, before leading Briaca to a roundhouse near to the Cairn that stood at the centre of Duth. Pushing the leather drape that served as a doorway aside, Druce illuminated the hovels inhabitants with his light.
Feelings of pride, consternation and worry battled within him. Worry won.
“Master Kilian, you are rumoured to be over sixty summers old; you must not... partake in such strenuous activities. Your vital energies will surely be... sapped.”
“I worry about you boy. Your sap never gets used! And you know nothing about my vital energies!” snapped Kilian’s reply.
Druce lowered his gaze as the wrinkled, loose skinned pile of bones, named Kilian, un-entangled himself from the knot of bodies. Kilian pulled on his cloak, stretched his arms towards the roof until his joints audibly cracked, before hobbling towards the light.
“Let me guess.” smiled Kilian toothlessly. “Judoc is having problems spitting out Orin’s son?”
Briaca stepped forward and fell to her knees.
“Please Kilian, Judoc needs help.”
“I will do what the gods wish...” Druce stared into the milky orbs that were Kilian's eyes and saw only mirth and kindness. “And the gods wish I had some sleep... But I can always have that later. Lead on. Lead on.”
Druce lent his arm to Kilian and followed Briaca closely as she weaved between the countless roundhouses before stooping and entering the hut of Orin. The fire burnt brightly and smoke churned and wisped through the roof in a blaze of warmth. The sound of Judoc’s sobbing drowned out the whisperings of encouragement the midwives gave.
Orin swept into the hut behind them. Fretful. Desperate.
“There you are! I have been searching. Please, what do the gods want Kilian. I Orin will give it!”
Druce noticed he repeatedly grasped and pulled at an orb of amber tied around his neck, the heirloom of his family. Perhaps this was an opportunity to make it an heirloom of the gods? “I -“
“Shut it boy. The gods have not removed my tongue yet. The gods want nothing from you Orin. You have nothing to give.” Kilian reached up and tugged Druce’s ear towards his mouth. “I need your eyes boy, nothing more... Now tell me. How is Judoc looking? Is she still fighting and looking about or is she tuckered out and falling asleep?”
“She is closer to falling asleep but I do- Ow!”
“I’ll stamp on your foot harder next time boy; I only need your eyes not your questions... Is there blood, how much blood? Tell me.”
Druce looked at the crimson monster spreading from the straw bed. “Too much.”
Orin groaned in dismay. “Please, Danu, please...”
“Right, Briaca, good girl, pretty girl. I want you to tell the midwives to pull out Orin’s son. They need to do it now. They did the right thing bringing me. I will attempt to bargain for the life of Judoc and her son with the ancestors. Perhaps they will listen. Oh... How I wish old Padriga was still with us. She could coax babies out with a song and a whistle...”
Kilian removed a leather bag from within the folds of his cloak, and hastily poured its contents onto the floor. Kilian knelt and hovered his arms over the bones, a rivulet of blood slowly worked its way in-between them.
“What do you see?” whispered Druce.
Kilian smiled and replied truthfully. “I see nothing.” Druce continued to watch his masters face, as the mirth flowed away into sorrow. “The gods, the ancestors and the spirits are not with us tonight.”
With a last shudder, the midwives pulled the blue and misshapen mass free.
The hut was desolate in its silence.
The midwives placed the baby in Judoc’s arms, kissed her eyes closed and filed past Orin, heads bowed, defeated.
Orin clenched his fists, his face screwed tight against the pain, from the tears, as the sorrow engulfed him. “No. No. We did everything right. We did everything. Everything”
Druce, stepped up, and placed his arms around Orin’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort. The amber would not be taken for the gods tonight. They didn’t deserve it. Orin shrugged him off and knelt beside his wife’s head and began stroking her hair, weeping gently.
“Your wife will be interned into the house of the ancients, where she will join her family, our people and rest peacefully.” intoned Druce.
Orin looked up with tears in his eyes. “What about the baby?”
“The baby cannot be interned because-“
“It is too strong of spirit!” Kilian spat. “Burnt out the spirits abode, the flesh before you, in the process. I can still sense it. Its presence is here. Can you feel it Druce?”
Druce open mouthed, slowly regained his composure. “I... Yes. Yes I can.”
“Take the bones and bury them under the doorpost of the hut. It will guard against any evil spirits entering your home. Now then, Druce, I want you to sing the hymn of the mothers of lost warriors.”
“But master, no battle has been fought? No warriors have been lost?”
“Oh. I think there has. Go now. Do it. I will begin to ready things for the morn Orin, Briaca, if you would take me to the house of the ancients please.”
The light of morning began to illuminate the settlement, as Druce began walking between the roundhouses, “It was a stupid girl anyway.” He sighed, before starting to sing the doleful hymn. Murmurs of conversation from within the hovels, followed him as the news spread.
Briaca, dutifully took Kilian by the arm and led him in the twilight towards the stone cairn. The silence was a pain to endure, so Briaca broke it.
“What did you see in the bones?”
Kilian’s answer did not put her at ease.
“Bad omens, child. Bad Omens...”
Edit: Writing now, it's coming out fluidly! I think I'm a tad description heavy but it is my first narrative writing that's longer than a page or two. This story has been developing in my mind since when I was in elementary school and was larping with my best friend of the time. I have a lot of material and history to work with as the setting is my homebrew D&D setting. I think I've adequately prepared to begin writing the story. After today's session I'll post what I think my favorite scene is.
As for snippets, here's some of what I wrote today:
“Marcus, I said wait!” Saira screamed somewhere behind him, but of course he didn’t slow down. Not now. Bushes slapped him as he barreled forward and roots threatened his every step, but he pushed everything aside without falter. No doubt realizing that he’d ignored her once again, Marcus heard Saira groan through the trees, followed by Carl’s laughter. Marcus stopped once to look over his shoulder, but all he saw were trees, no sign of his friends. But that was okay. He heard their voices, so he couldn’t be too far ahead of them, right?
They’ll catch up, he assured himself for maybe the twentieth time. I’m almost there. Just a little bit more…
He thought he caught a white glimpse of their uniforms, but he didn’t wait for them. Again, he stared ahead at the seemingly never-ending forest, a maze of earthly trunks and pillars both infinite and hypnotic. Anyone else would have gotten lost a long time ago. Marcus, however, was not like anyone else.
The closer he grew to the Circle, he began to notice it: an almost invisible trail of light meandering through the trees. He only saw it when he stared in front of him, and he always stood on its one end. The trail stretched and disappeared before him until it disappeared through the trees, the way minute details disappeared further along a horizon.
Not that Marcus really needed the visual guide; he still felt the Circle’s pull, and his second-soul pulsed ever strong the longer he went. But if he was seeing it now, he couldn’t be too much further away.
The brush began to thin. Beams of sunlight cut the forest’s shadows and spilled onto the mossy ground in patches. Marcus's heart pounded in his ears, and not just from his long run.
Until, at last, the forest opened up to him, and Marcus’s jaw dropped. He skidded to a stop at the edge of a perfectly circular valley surrounded by a ring of trees. Almost taking up its center, the Elemental Circle gleamed and shimmered in the sun, as awe-inspiring and beautiful as Marcus remembered.
“Ugh… H-Hey!” Saira’s voice grumbled behind, along with the hiss and whack of moving branches. “There you are! When were you going to slow down, you…you…”
Marcus felt her presence and heard her footsteps approach beside him, but he gazed only at the Circle before them. A polished stone circle in the ground, as large around as a house, perfectly flat save for the five-pointed star etched into its surface. Each arm of the Star pointed to a depiction of the five elemental gods, carved within five smaller circles.
Facing north, the sun of Thgil presided over all, marble white and glittering with diamonds and flecks of gold. To the east was Therya’s flower, blooming crimson with emeralds and topazes in its stem. South of that lay Fyra’s flame, a mosaic of rubies and ambers that flickered like crystalline embers. Beside it to the west was Deniwa’s wing, adorned with swirling lines and peridots. And last, between wind and light, was Seara’s raindrop, a sparkling blue sapphire larger than any they’d ever seen.
A sixth circle lay at the heart of the star, empty. That was where the chosen soulholders, on the day of their Recognition, would stand and offer themselves to their inner gods.
Where Marcus would soon stand and offer himself.
(Gaaaaahhhhh it reads so rough!
I feel bad because my writing is very basic, I mean I know it's my first time but still. I have this issue of "telling what things look like" as opposed to "showing what things looke like"
>_<
June hesitated at the entrance to the bar. She knew the solution to her problem potentially waited inside, but entering the dimly lit room took more will than she was sure she had.
It wasn't just the meanness of the place. Life in the X Zone was dirty and dangerous and she'd long ago gotten used to the atmosphere. This bar seemed like a micro representation of the X Zone. Grime covered every surface. The few unbroken lights gave out a pitiful yellow glow that struggled to cut through the haze of smoke from cigarettes and vape cords. Patrons huddled in packs around wobbly aluminum tables stained with beer and blood. A sink behind the bar dripped constantly and erratically.
It wasn't June's age that kept her out of the place either. Sixteen was technically below the drinking age, but no one ever enforced those laws. Plenty of the bar patrons looked to be about her age. There was even a toddler sitting on the floor, playing with an empty pint glass at her mother's feet. At least June presumed the thin, hollow-eyed woman talking in a low, urgent voice to her companion was the child's mother.
It was the sense of finality that kept her lingering at the threshold. The sense that, once she walked into this room, nothing would be the same again. Until now she'd been able to pretend that these circumstances were temporary and someday she and the Family would go back to normal. Back to the way things had always been. Entering the bar meant giving up that last bit of false hope and accepting that things would never go back to normal. That this was normal.
“Hey! You're blocking the door.”
June started and stepped to the side. Beady eyes under bushy black eyebrows glared at her as a man pushed past and through the door. He had the look of someone who lived in the X Zone: unkempt hair, worn leather jacket, pistol worn openly at his hip.
“Sorry,” she tried to call, but the man was already inside, the door swinging closed behind him.
June stepped forward again and crouched to peer through the greasy pane of glass set in the door. The room looked no different than before. She straightened and clenched her hands into fists, pressing them against her stomach.
“This is for the Family,” she whispered to herself. “For Father.” She took a deep breath and strode into the bar.