Litters

So I was going along, minding my own post-Nano business, finishing off architecture finals, when I noticed something.

There was a tiny bunny following me. Now, this bunny was of the rare Ploteus Bunnius species, the kind that won't stop following you till you turn and give them attention.

So I did. I stopped, filled half a page with scrawled notes on the interesting creature, and moved on. However, much to my surprise, I soon found another, possibly related to the first, following me as well.

Accordingly, I filled up the rest of the page with illegible scrawlings on the exact nature of this one, and moved on once more.

Imagine my surprise, when a third bunny hopped out of the bushes and joined the gathering crowd. At this point, I realized that not only had my brief foray into writing reawakened normal writing tendencies, it had only produced a litter of plot bunnies.

And bunnies tend to breed with surprising rapidity.

I shall have to fill up my wall with these if they continue to come.

On Arson

Now, some of the very astute readers here will notice that the name "Arson" has been used once before here on the blog. Back in March of this year (so long ago!) I waxed lyrical about a plot bunny that momentarily distracted me from my other current literary projects.

That trail went nowhere particular in the end, I wrote about another half page before the trail dead-ended. The reason was very clear, I had no plot. I had two very distinct characters, without a true trail for them to follow. So they were forgotten.

But I very much liked the name, and so I resurrected it from the grave of unfinished tales, dusted it off and set it back to work. And while female protagonist's name stayed buried, the character itself soon found its way into my pre-Nano scribblings and plot prep.

So, in a way the story is finding new life. I took characters with no plot and placed them in a plot that had no characters, and hopefully I shall find a happy marriage between the two before the end of November!

Writing on,
Farjag

November? Ah!!

NaNoWriMo? Ah, yes, that lovely part of the year where I write like a maniac. I love November! And...



IT'S ONLY TWO WEEKS AWAY!! AIEE, I'M NOT READY!!

AHH!

*frantic running around my 10x10 room, hopping over the bed every three steps*

Wait...
I do have something...

Combine:

Just-for-fun 3d model of anachronistic town....

Doodling-in-class character sketch...

Selected parts of a never-completed short story...

Potential Halloween costume...

That normal NaNo craziness...

And Viola!

I give you Railway*; my pretty much totally unplanned, steampunk/fantasy adventure I shall embark on a little over a fortnight.

We shall see how it goes. :) Some time ago I would have frowned at myself for doing something this crazy... but I'm in college now.

Just kidding.

See, the first time I did NaNo, I had a pretty good plan, and stuck fairly well to it. The next year I whipped up a magnificent plan that was even better than the last... and scrapped it three days in for a insistent idea involving an abandoned circus, a talking tiger, fighting robots, a bunch of 'gifted' ex-convicts who battled those fighting robots in death matches every night, and a completely normal young man called Alen.

The story that came out was one of the best I had ever written.

So I've since come to discard many of my beliefs in doing things 'by the book' (pun very much intended) when it comes to writing. In many cases, letting the book write itself (especially in those cases where you're not allowing yourself to forget about it) is the best possible option. At least for me :).

So there's my two bits of wisdom tacked on to a unorthodox NaNo 'announcement'. Hope it makes you smile. Or at least quirk an eyebrow.

Anyways, if you're looking for "mo' info", head over to my NaNo page and check out whatever I happen to have up! And while you're there, buddy up with me! I enjoy seeing how good my friends are doing! (or bad >:) he he)

Now then.... to make up some sort of cover without photoshop....



*If you've been around a while, you might have seen the title Railway pop up elsewhere here; it was a placeholder for that short story I mentioned above. I really liked the title, but didn't have a story it fit with. Now I do. :)

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. :)

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.

Plot Bunny!

I know every aspiring author's had one. That cute little rascal of a plot rabbit that slips out of the game bag of your mind and just starts running. Well, one escaped last Tuesday, started running, disappeared behind a bush, and reappeared this morning. And I think I'm going to have to chase him down... which is unfortunate, considering the three or four more mature rabbits I am currently trying to grow with large helpings of caffeine cabbage and creative carrots. But he's just too interesting to let go!

So I started out on his trail this morning, and pretty soon found signs enough to begin tracking him down. This is what I found:

My name is Arson. But only a few folk call me that. To most, I am simply the Stallion-burn. And though this tale is not about me as much as it is about another, it began with me, and I was there when it ended. The place was the Levelcourt, the time late summer. My trial before the Conclave had just begun.

“Arson, sometime called the Stallion-burn, you are brought before the Conclave today, on the third of Summerfall, to answer charges brought against you by the people of Cloudford. These include arson of public and private buildings, thievery of private goods, destruction of private and public property, and the assault of three freeborn. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

The court erupted in angry shouts and cries.

“Say for himself? The criminal can say nothing for himself!”

“He does not deserve the right to speak at all!”

“He is guilty, there is proof enough!”

“Silence!” thundered the judge, bringing his gauntleted fist down with a crash on his podium. “Let the accused speak!”

I said nothing. There was nothing to be said. I was guilty.

“As the accused has nothing to say, I hereby charge him guilty, and sentence him to twenty-nine lashes in the public square.”

A muttering filled the open-air court. Evidently most folk thought my sentence far too light.

“Your honor, if I may speak?”

The clear voice cut through the low murmurs in a way that could not be denied.

“Name, master freeborn?”

“Marcel, Fox-brave.”

I made no movement to see the face of the speaker, but the voice was young.

“As is written on the walls of the Hope-Chamber, it is the right of any freeborn to take the punishment of a criminal on himself. I now exercise that right, and ask that the twenty-nine lashes be placed on my back instead.”

The crowd gasped, and any attempt at remaining stoic on my part fled as I whirled around to face the speaker. It was a young girl.

Coincidentally, this is the first time I've ever used first person. Well, at least since my very first story... which I try to forget usually... :)