The Importance of Characterization

I'm bad at backstories.

Notoriously so.

I've come to realize that there are two parts to any character, their history, and their personality. Both have a massive influence on who they are, how they act and dress, what drives them, what their goals and dreams are. But I seem to be far better at pinning down a particular look, feel and persona for a character than what happened to them in their past to get them where they are now.

I can imagine up countless details of their costume, hairstyle, eye color, the way they walk, what weapons they carry, how they talk, and on and on. But ask me where they were born? What defined their childhood? What their job was before this? I have no earthly idea. And coming up with a complicated or even just layered backstory when I create the character in my mind is seemingly beyond me.

That's not to say my characters are all history-less personas with no past whatsoever, I simply tend to create backstory as I go, filling in events and past meetings as needed for the plot. A character needs to sympathize with another? Add in some past shared experience. The protagonist needs a good-talking to learn a lesson? Boom. Side character had a father who told stories, and she proceeds to give him one.

I'm pretty sure this isn't the best way to go about this, for a number of reasons. Continuity... Oh, of course these two characters have met before! Wait... they can't recognize each other later... Never mind. Progression of character arcs, clear ideas of goals and dreams, knowing how a character would respond to a given situation... the list goes on.

So I don't know which way is better. And I doubt I'll get any better without actually doing it, which I seem unable to do, so I don't know if the problem will ever solve itself.

Who knows? Maybe someday, but for now, I'll stick to what I do best. Picking out hairstyles and trench coats.

A Change of Pace

With the transitions outlined in my last post, it became apparent that my novel needed both a change of title, as well as a slightly different direction to aim for. So, unless I find a more aptly suited name in the future, the title is now Fair too Far. We'll see how long that sticks.

And as for the change in direction, perhaps a change of theme would be a more accurate description. I try to let everything I write have a purpose. I.e. I try not to write something simply for the heck of it, or simply because its awesome or hilarious. I write because there's a story that needs telling, and hopefully a truth that can be investigated or made clear.

One of my ultimate goals in writing is to create a vacuum of space where I can make a darkness so deep that when it cracks, the light shines through with stunning brilliance. That's why I love writing, because I can create awful scenarios, horrendously dark moments, and put my characters through more than they rightly deserve, so that the reader sees the truth with the same clarity that my characters do.

Sometimes that truth is simple. Or straightforward. Other times it is not. Sometimes it is very clear before I begin writing what the end goal will be. Other times it is not. This time is one of the not so clear times. But at the story gains more strength in my mind, and as words add to words, it will become more and more clear to me what exactly I need to bring to light in this particular tale. Perhaps hope. Or justice. Or patience. Most likely something more complex than that.

I am reminded of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. There is a deep message in that book, behind all the wonderful action and science, but it is sometimes hard to put in words that will not make the story seem cheap and fake. The best way to understand what I am talking about is of course to read the book itself.

Hopefully that is what Fair too Far will end up being like.

Gaining courage,
Farjag

On Existential Crises and Ninjas

So after the good start on day one, day two found me suffering from an existential crisis.

I had no idea where my story was going to go. Which is bad. Because I thought I knew that already.

It turns out, the plot I had outlined prior to November 1st didn't have enough forward impetus to be properly labeled a plot. It had character development by the buckets, danger and mystery by the tons, but nothing to dictate what happened next, no forward catalyzation.

Which evidently isn't a word.

Anyways, that was the main problem, but there was a second problem hiding behind it. And that was a lack of setting. I had characters, but nowhere particular for them to inhabit. Which quickly caused the story, already lagging from a lack of forward motion, to stagnate in a undecided place somewhere between Transylvania and the southern half of Virginia.

I.e. nowhere particular.

So all this is running through my head on day two and into day three. The setting was a relatively fix, and helped me push through the existential crisis of wether or not I should even continue Nano.

And then, late on day four, I remembered the old Nano adage: "If your story stalls, add ninjas!" Or something similar. While ninjas aren't exactly suitable to my story, it definitely started me thinking on what I could inject in the plot to completely create a new story. I realized that the plot I had was very thematically similar to 2011's Nano novel, The Trust Hole. I.e. A young, innocent character enters a dark place, meets colorful characters with dark secrets, and turns the place around, learning in the process their place in the world.

So while by day four I was really warming to the characters and setting, I realized the plot had to go.

So I added ninjas.

Or more properly an armada of death-dealing dirigibles breaking out of a cloud-filled sky to the sounds of hundreds of gatling guns.

I'm pretty sure this is going in a far more interesting direction than previously. :)

The Tale worth Telling

Two-thousand years ago, on a quiet night in a small country town, with the lights of the big city shining in the distance, several homeless men sat silently around a tiny fire, content to let alone and leave alone the world around them.

That was before the sky above them ripped open as a window into another dimension split across the starry skywall. And framed in the glorious light spilling from the crack stood a powerful being the likes of which they had never seen. Fear clutched at their hearts and terror shot through their knees. But the words this being spoke calmed them as easily as oil calms a turbid wave.

"Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."

And no sooner had he finished than the entire sky disappeared behind a sheet of blinding light as an army thousands upon thousands sprang in existence and began to chant with a noise like rushing waters:

"Glory to God in the highest! And on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"

With that they were gone, and the darkness of the night settled slowly back over the hills, leaving those awestruck men in silence. It only took a hurried conversation for them to decide what they must do. And leaving behind all that was familiar to them, they set out to find what had been told of.

And they found it, several miles away, in a tiny cave tucked into a rocky hillside. A donkey and a few sheep huddled in the back, their stalls taken over by an exhausted couple and their feeding trough by a newborn baby. 

The humblest of beginnings for the greatest of all kings.

The smallest of abodes for the most powerful of all rulers.

The lowest among men witnessed the birth of the Highest.

God rest ye merry, gentlemen! (and ladies)!

Mission: Abort

My readers and friends,

I have decided, after much consideration, to call off my NaNoWriMo attempt this year. The reasons are multiple, but being too busy with schoolwork or simply not feeling the story do NOT rank among them, I can assure you.

The problem is far simpler. It is impossible to edit a movie and write a story at the same time. One will naturally preclude the other. And seeing as I have only completed final editing on one out of three episodes for a December slated release, I'm in a pickle.

To misquote,
“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve Film and novel."

Har har.

But seriously, I haven't been able to get much of anything done on either because I haven't the time or energy to work on both and be a full-time architecture student and still get sleep.  :) So I must choose.

And as the film has a considerably higher number of people waiting expectantly on its December release (as opposed to my one for the novel), it takes precedence.

So, my November will be novelless, but who knows? I might do the last three-quarters in December! Or January... Or maybe never. But I won't stop writing, that's for certain.

As soon as Ironwing shows in theaters near you (not really :P), I'll switching from iMovie back to Pages and hitting the keyboard a lot harder.

Until next we meet (or I guilt myself in posting something here),

Farjag

Splashes of Color- The Beginning

Seeing as I am knee-deep in college (and hence, architecture) blogging and writing has been few and far between. But this tiny corner of the web is not just for advertising my feeble attempts at greatness.

It's a window. A window into my world, both for my readers from across the sea and my family back home.

So today I'm starting a series of posts. Consisting of a few lines of text and a picture, they will be brief glimpses into the world I live in.

Here at the wall; being a wall with various and sundry bits of work and inspiration. I've got a feeling it will get considerably more crowded as the semester continues :)

Shadowland

Shadowland

Footsteps on the lonely beach

Fading marks on shifting sand

Incoming tide will wash away

I am walking in the shadow-land

Sojourning somewhere not my home

Traveling across the barren strand

Wandering where I don't belong

I am walking in the shadow-land

Smoke on the crying wind

No one around but the damned

There's fog on the barrow-downs

I am walking in the shadow-land

It's raining ash instead of tears

And all at once I understand

I'm meant for so much more

I am walking in the shadow-land

There's a place I'm meant to be

Just beyond the curtain spanned

Pull back the gray and look

I've been walking in the shadow-land

There He stands, just inside the glass

And He's reaching out his hand

I'm going home at last

I will say goodbye to the shadow-land

How Goes the Carving?

Ah, yes, the million-dollar question. That glorious ambition you set for yourself, Farjag? That write-every-night-till-it's-done thingy? That will-not-get-distracted-by-plot-bunnies idea? How's it going for you?

Quite well, actually. All things considered, very well.

Every night? Not exactly. But not distracted? Quite! Work is proceeding steadily forward!

I am currently on page 13, which may not seem like a lot, but it's the furthest I've at the deepest I've been working. If that makes no sense, don't worry. Maybe this will.

My furthest point of editing is page 28. And that was a fairly skimming editing to start with. It was only as I got further in the story that I realized how drastic some of the changes need to be.

For instance, the name of this land, Quartorlen, was one of the last names I created when drawing the map. It was the only place name at the time not formed of two actual words. (Flamehope, Thunderfell, etc.) I then went on to name the land of the shieldsfell similarly, calling it Dyrmlen. When I came up with the differing title system for the shieldsfell, I used the suffix -len as the basis. Patrollen, Magelen.

You see the problem yet? The land of the freeborn is named in the same vein as the names of the invaders.

Despair.... must rename single most used word in the book, must go back and retcon every single blog post, must wipe memories of all readers....

Light bulb! Quartorlen is named so because of the invaders. Think about it.

You and I come, as conquerors, to an island inhabited by a rustic, barbaric people, who divide land into so many tiny parts that it becomes impossible to tell where one begins and the next ends! One island should have one name! Additionally, if there no longer exists a homeland for the natives to fight for, they will not longer wish to fight! So, we shall name this place of provinces... Quartorlen, for when aligned with our compass, it can divided nearly into quarters along the cardinal points. There, problem solved!

Except for the fact that the folk of the four provinces, of Thunderfell, Flamehope, Deepdale and Whitefall, will never forget their own homelands. And the fact that Quartorlen combined is too big an empire to rule over as a united whole. The distances are too far, the landscapes too vast, and the shieldsfell army too small to effectively enforce their rule. And in the far reaches of the four provinces, freeborn wait.

The name of Quartorlen will live on far after the shieldsfell have been banished and many generations have come and gone. But it will be the name of the alliance of the four provinces, a reminder that they must never again refuse to come to the aid of another province, or they will all fall, one by one as they did in the Blood-Invasion.

That was a long for instance. :) But it shows the depth of what I need to do, and what I've already begun to do. Just in writing this, I realized as to why the Blood-Invasion was so successful in the first place. See that part one paragraph up about the provinces standing separately and not together? I hadn't even considered that before.

See, these blog posts aren't just for you readers, they're for me too. :) Long bits of mulling where I can run off my mouth and not get called boring for it.

Cause if you did think I was boring, you wouldn't finish the post and comment on it! Ha, ha I'm genius!

Have a wonderful day ya'll!

P.S. If anyone somehow manages to get the reference in the title, do let me know!

Home... is where the Heart is

I've noticed an interesting trend in my soliloquies on Quartorlen. As I wax eloquent on the colorful landscape painted across my imagination, I've come to realize the image in my mind is a lot like what I imagine Heaven will be like.

Which is good and bad. Because Quartorlen is not heaven. Nor even an allegory for heaven. The folk who dwell there are flawed, evil is dangerously present, and darkness often threatens to blot out the deep colors the land is made from.

But the realization brings up an important point. See, Quartorlen is a place I would love to live. It is the perfect combination in my mind of different landscapes and climates. From icy white mountains to thick green forests, rolling blue downs to rocky red cliffs, the world of the freeborn is everything amazing here on earth, all rolled together, doubled, and painted in brilliant colors. And I'm pretty sure that that's what heaven's going to be like. Just infinitely, eternally, imagination-defyingly better.

So why does all this matter? Because it means that deep down in my soul is set a longing for a home that I have never seen; a home that is perfect in every way for me; a home that is heaven.

And when I get there, I can say, like Jewel the Unicorn of Narnia;

"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now."

Plot Rabbits

Or bunnies. But I prefer to not have that word featured anywhere in my vocabulary. :P

But seriously, these little creatures collectively known as the infamous, deadly, plot bunnies, have been eating me alive lately. So far, I have luckily been able to shake them off, merely making note of their existence; and I hope to continue doing so in the near future.

See, I'm trying to stick to one project at a time right now (well, one in each type of media :P), and right now plot bunnies are being given the boot. Cause no matter how enticing, this writer is currently occupied.

But, since they're clamoring for attention, we'll at least give them the look-over. Let's see here...

A young boy wakes up in his own dream to meet his dream lord, a guardian of his imagination who wages constant war on the fears and nightmares of the night. Across the infinite meshes and merges of time and space that occupy the mind he rides, battling the darklings of fear. But in the end, it is the boy himself who must challenge his fears and use his own powerful imagination against them.




A small town finds itself home to a rift in reality through which fall all manner of strange creatures and men, most of them dangerous. And so a club is formed; the gun fanatic, the librarian, the physicist and the junkyard man. Using their combined wits, knowledge, and sense of humor, they set out to track down every last bit of weirdness that's fallen through.




Sometimes, the right things fall into the wrong hands. When an artifact that shows the truth about the holder and the world around him falls into the hands of a power-scheming lord, it nearly breaks him. He comes away embittered with the brokenness of the world and hopeless of ever finding good again. So he begins using the artifact on those around, crushing them into his service with hopelessness and despair. The world's fallen state and their own depravity is shown is startling clarity, and they cannot bear the weight. But when he tries to use it on those who believe in Christ, there is no visible effect. Children of God already know the truth about themselves; how sinful they truly are, how unable to ever seek pardon on their own, and how in need of a savior. What's more, they know that there is a savior, that there is hope, and that the saving of this world has already begun.




Among all the pirates of the South Sea, none were as merciless as Ralj. He was known as the man who never took prisoners. Every man, woman and child who survived his initial attack was thrown overboard, but not before wanted they told him what he to know. Some tried to resist, but they were merely killed sooner as an example for the rest. Folk feared him, but they feared dying more, and Ralj used that fear however he pleased. His reign of terror continued for years, until the day he met someone who wasn't afraid to die. A young girl, who stared him back in the face unflinchingly and simply asked if he would kill her quickly when he did. He let her live a day longer, just to see if he could find out what was different about her. And the day after that, and the day after that. And that young girl, not quite a woman, started something so unheard of, that for years afterward, folk would use it as an example of the impossible becoming possible. 


So, those are the little fellers that have been nipping at my heels. I'll get to them eventually. :)

To Rewrite that which is Written

'Tis a strange feeling, completely rewriting the sentences that I've been reading every time I've opened up Freeborn for the past three years.

Before:

The captain of a solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall looked out across the bay, the dark water lit only by the rays of both moons. It was a quiet night, so still that the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the stone tower.

After:

The smooth stone of the solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall glimmered cold under the rays of both moons. The captain who stood atop its walls looked across the dark bay, peering out to where the water met the night sky. It was a quiet night, so still the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the tower.

This particular portion, and the small snippet directly after, I had actually written well in advance of November 2010, though I edited them to fit the world I had created. Still, they had remained mainly intact until last Monday, when I began the challenge I had set myself. 

Maybe they're better for the change, maybe they're worse, but they definitely needed a change, if only to help me break still more the antiquated 'matter-of-fact' voice that still sometimes creeps in whenever I'm having trouble writing. 

Most of it comes of from the extreme amount of description I was trying to put into my first stories; I had to tell what the walls were made of, what color they were, and how they felt when the hero brushed his hand against them. Then do the same with the door, and the room beyond, and the courtyard beyond.... etc, ad nauseum.

Now that I've arrived at the pinnacle of writing, of course, such things no longer trouble me. :)

No, every sentence is a fight. A fight to shape black marks on white paper into the multi-colored, 3D landscape, characters, and stories that fill my head. A fight to make the rhythm of each sentence and the sound of each word match the song that is the story. A fight to sing poetry into prose, day into night, and text into images so sharp and clear they will stay with you forever.

If I can touch your imagination just a little, and give you the necessary ingredients, then you can conjure a spell of your own that will take you far away to the little world called Quartorlen, where the colors are deeper, the folk are simpler, and there is always a song or tale to be heard. 

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Philippians 4:7-9 (ESV)

A Challenge

Well, it's time to face the music.

I haven't been writing.

And this is a writing blog.

So... no blogging has happened. (Revelation!)

But what has happened is in the past. And all I can do is decide what to do with the time given me.

There will be a day when I give up, a day of unfinished stories, blotted ink, and deleted files, when the work of years comes crashing down. But it is not this day!

This day, I write!

Here's the idea: I'm going to go back to the beginning. Back to November 2010, when my writing changed from the standard 'masterpiece-of-an-amateur-writer-that-he's-been-working-on-forever' to something... different. I fell in love with writing all over again. I actually wrote something worth reading. And my writing has never been the same since.

So that's where I'll go, to Freeborn and Freegiven, and give it the edit it deserves. Now, the plan is to continue on to the next book I wrote, and so on until I've caught up with myself, but of course there'll be a break for this year's NaNoWriMo, and some other plot bunny will catch my attention... But that's the plan.

But even the most well-thought out plan can fail without a drive to complete it. And so many resolutions and goals have failed because there was nothing pushing from behind. So, here's the clinch.

Every week I must edit/write at least one full chapter, and have to show proof here. That's where you all come in. Your job is to keep me accountable; keep pushing me onward.

Sound clear enough? Good. Now let's see if I can do this. :)

The Story of My Life

Get up. Take brother and his friends swimming. Take 4-hour driver's test online. Pick up pallets and other junk wood for set building. Head to church property to start work. Run out of pallets, drop by Lowes and Walmart for more. Realize I didn't bring any shovels or axes. Head home. Sleep.

Wake up. Go to beach with friends. Hook up trailer to van. Pick up kayaks. Unload kayaks at home. Load shovels, axes, and other necessary equipment. Head back up to property to work on set. Run out of nails, send friend to get some. Go pick up bed for college and try to back up 15-passenger van with a trailer in the pouring rain. Fail, let friend do it for me. Hut still needs work. Come back home. Think of character to come as for friend's birthday party. Sleep.

Get up early to reload kayaks. Take brother and friend kayaking. Get back home, and realize I need to write a blog post. And mail a tax letter thingy for college. And work on the score of a friend's movie. Still need to finish the driver's test. Tonight, work. Tomorrow, filming. Remember to make sure I'm off work.


It's my birthday.

I have such a wonderful life. And that's not sarcasm. I have a family who loves me, a God who watches over me, and friends who support me every step of my crazy, wonderful, story of a life.

May God remind me of that more often.

*cough, cough*

Is it bad when you check your own blog, hoping someone commented or something, and then realize that you probably should just post that something?

Har har. Anyways, this isn't an apology post, nor yet a full explanation post. Cause basically both of those can be summed up like this:

"Hey all! Sorry about not posting, I've been busy!"

Boring!

But, as you can see, if you look up at those first few lines of text, I have not only already succeeded in not giving either an explanation nor an apology for my absence, but have also managed to make you smile at least twice (or at least I hope so!).

Anyways, let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up:

College fast approaches, filming continues apace, writing has dropped to nill, summer grows ever hotter, and I've so many gatherings to attend I've lost count.

In addition, I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped!

However, there will a few posts popping up shortly, (God and weather permitting), concerning filming and the like.

Until then, have fun storming the castle! Goodbye!

A Comment to the Comments

Well, since I had a little too much to say in answer to all the comments on my last post, I decided that instead of stuffing it all in the comments section and hope everyone checked back there, I would put it here.

To answer all the questions about viewing the movie; due to many of my actors' differing privacy preferences, (including my own), I doubt this movie will ever reach public viewing on the internet, though I might be able to fashion a trailer or scene preview at some point which will allow a glimpse of our work. I will get back to ya'll on that.

But seriously? 36 A's, and a collective dozen each of exclamation points and question marks; all for a junky photoshop of a sword with darkness sprayed around behind it and a fairly basic (read: unoriginal) plot line synopsis? Over excessive, much?

Keep thy cool, folks. :) Save your fanaticism for Legolas, Twilight and The Hunger Games. They need it. :P

Now, that's not to say I don't enjoy you all drooling over seemingly whatever I post, but it does get old to hear everything I do praised as if it was the latest Harry Potter movie. Just remember, as I have said before, and will continue to say, everything I apparently create has been given to me by God. And He should get the glory, not me.

So go ahead and scream with excitement every time the word "Excerpt" appears on this blog, but do refrain from putting said excitement into text. Trust me, you'll live longer for it. :)

Now, please don't take this for what it's not. I'm not asking anyone to stop commenting. I'd just rather not be the subject of uber-excitement. But here's what you can do. See, I'm just like you. The only difference is here I'm on the other end of the blog. I write, you read. But what if my writing is doing what this kind of commenting is doing, only the other way around? In other words, am I sticking myself and/or my writing on a pedestal to be admired and above reproach? Am I asking (not in so many words, of course) for all the attention and praise I 'say' I shouldn't have?

So keep me accountable. Let me know if I'm being stuck-up, or asking for praise and approval for my work. This blog should point to God, but if all it's doing is pointing to me, then it's failed in its purpose.

And finally, thank you all. Thank you for every single wonderful comment you've ever posted here. I truly appreciate them.

Sincerely, Farjag

Mother's Day

To all Moms everywhere, but especially mine, we all love you so much. And while the second Sunday in May should be no different than any other day when it comes to our love for you and how we express it, we'll take any excuse to make this day even more special. So here's to you, dearest mother, may your presence grace our homes till the stars rain down from the heavens.

Mothers

Lady of the home estate
Queen of the kitchen faire
Countess of the budget royale
Mother of loving care

Madame of the watchtower
Mistress of the sister clan
Wife of the warrior
Damsel of the brother band

Protector of her children
Keeper of her beloved home
Shieldmaiden for her husband
Guardian of her hearthstone

Faithful to the end
Loved by those she bore
Let us never forget her
Let her name be passed to lore

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
Let everyone sing your praise
You have all our hearts
Until the last of days

Not Mine

Well, this is a shameless plug for my new "About the Author" page located here *points up*

Why? Well, a while back I was reading one of those "Top Ten Blogging Tips" posts somewhere, and they mentioned the importance of putting a face to the writer. So there's my mug. But it's not me that's important, and that's the real reason for this post.

See, I started writing, and what came out wasn't another one of those "All About Me 'Cause I'm Awesome" pages. It was what any introduction to myself should be, a whole-hearted re-direct to the Most Awesome God I serve.

And as just as it so happens, the last poem I wrote was exactly on the subject. May it further explain what I'm trying to say.

Not Mine

What words flow from my mind
What lines seep from my pen
What haunting melodies do flit
On the ether around my head?

Whence come these bits of prose
These errant poems and songs
From where comes this feeling
Of words unspoken too long

These wisps are not truly mine
I cannot claim them as my own
My mind could not conjure such things
Nor my pen to write them alone

Yet still they come, fountaining on
Bubbling up in a rapid stream
I cannot stop up this steady flow
No more than a sleeper can stop his dream

But my life is not my own
I've been bought with a price
And no more are my words mine
Than is my purchased life

So may these words I've been given
Never stop their flowing
May my pen continue to spill
Out praises to my holy King

May every poem, story and song
All sing together of the One
May every sentence and every rhyme
Glorify the Father and His Son

What now?

So... now that finals are over... and summer is here... I must decide...

What should I work on for writing?


And this is where I need your help, dear readers. Since I have multiple novels/stories underway (all in various stages of completion), I am at a loss as to which project to focus my attentions on. My options are thus:

Freeborn and Freegiven: Deep in the land of shieldsfell-ruled Quartorlen, the last of the freeborn must conquer their fears and journey into the heart of enemy territory to break the invader's hold on both their country and their countryfolk once and for all.

Stats: NaNo 2010 Novel
Genre: Fantasy
Word Count: 51,342
Project: Rewrite

Feather and Fang: Twenty-two years after the events of Freeborn and Freegiven, the freeborn of Quartorlen have split into factions, each vying for supremacy in the vacuum of power left when the shieldsfell withdrew their forces. When an assassin from one faction and a bounty hunter from the other are trapped together in the deadliest place in Quartorlen, they must work together or perish. And if they make it out alive, they will bring information that could change the face of the war.

Stats: Sequel to Freeborn
Genre: Fantasy
Word Count: 18,319
Project: Finish

The Truth/Trust Hole: In the heartland of a country much like ours, there is an arena. An arena where criminals with special abilities work out their life sentences fighting robots for public sport. These Games attract citizens of all ages, races, and walks of life, all come to see their favorite fighters cheat death again and again against a pitiless enemy. But when a young boy named Alen is thrown into the Hole, by chance, it would seem, everything begins to change.

Stats: NaNo 2011 Novel
Genre: Sci-Fi
Word Count: 52,973
Project: Rewrite

Deep Red/Crimson Streak: Somewhere in the Cluster an out-of-work headhunter sets out on a mission to find the greatest commodity in the markets of the Core: something he has heard is called 'Hope'. But when he enlists the help of a young boy who can apparently see the past and future, things go in a direction he wasn't planning.

Stats: Short Story
Genre: Sci-Fi
Word Count: 3,272
Project: Finish


What do you think? All of them have a lot of potential as far as ease of completion goes (unlike the other dozen or so which I could have listed), all of them get me excited when I think about them... so I'm in a pickle!

Help me out, and give me your opinions! And rest assured, one day I'll get to all of them, I just need to know which one to work on first.

Thanks in advance!
Farjag

Fullscreen Writing and other

Well, I guess this post needs no explanation; the title says it all: I have (re)discovered fullscreen writing. I had dabbled with this amazing idea back during NaNoWriMo 2010, but hadn't really been hooked.

Then, last week, while forcing myself to write, I remembered. A few google searches and disappointing tries later, I found one that worked.

And let me tell you; getting your desktop to disappear is amazing. When it's just you and the words, they come SO much easier. I started writing, and before I knew it, I had written a thousand.





This is a really lame post, if you hadn't noticed. Oh well. Maybe a beautiful picture of a far-away, imaginary place will help with the lameness.

 Maybe not. My brain's fried right now. Finals are next week, I just got back from a visit to the college I'm transferring to in the fall, and I've got a fair bit of homework to do.

Oi.

Until my brains become Un-fried,

Farjag

Why Can't I Write Screenplays?

Oh, mine readers, alack and alay! 

I cannae write meself a screenplay!

Bogged down afore three pages are writ,

Caught up in th' format, lines, an' bloomin' script,

Th' images be in me own expandin' head,

But I cannae write them if I be dead,

Kilt by Courier font, a true an' deadly beast,

O' all my problems, the plot is th' least.

Arrg. Tis true. I have had at least five screenplay ideas over the past two weeks, all of them fully filmable* with the resources I and my fellow filming friends** have . But I can't write a single one of them down to save my life! The dialogue and characters are floating around in my head, shiny and resplendent mallorn leaves falling softly to the ground, but when I try to put them down on paper, all that comes out are a faded handful of crumbled remains.

It's disheartening to say the least.

Perhaps I'll just have to try writing only the dialogue out, back and forth banter, with minimal action descriptions in between. If that doesn't work, I don't know what I'll do.

I mean, I write entire novels easily! Why can't I write a short little screenplay? Annoying. Anyone have any ideas to help me in my sad state***?

*I really got to stop using alliteration so much. 

** See what I mean?

*** Oi.