The Music of the Light

Let me tell you a story. Or, rather, let me retell you a story.

The year is 1881, the place the Opera Populaire. A young girl named Christine has just replaced the Opera's leading lady and enchants the proprietors with her beautiful voice. But someone else hears her too, a mysterious figure with a masked face known only as the Phantom. He is enthralled with her music, but cannot bring himself to speak to her. The weeks pass and Christine continues to see him peering from the shadows, always watching, always afraid. Finally her curiosity gets the better of her and she follows him down beneath the opera to his wretched abode, a ramshackle dwelling among cast off set pieces and abandoned furniture. Even though his shame is so great that he drives her away, she pities him and continues to venture down to the dark underbowels to visit him in his dark existence. When she discovers that the only way he will ever listen to her is through song, she begins to sing, pouring out her heart in a beautiful melody of hope and light. And this is what she sang:

Night time fades and, waken each sensation
Darkness flee, and stir imagination
Silently commence to abandon your defense

Slowly, sturd’ly, dawn unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, reach it, powerful yet tender
Turn your face away from the shadows oh so gray
Turn your thoughts away from cold and silent night
And listen to the music of the light

Come away and leave behind your darkest dreams
Wash yourself of the life you knew before
Come with me, let your spirit start to soar
You will live as you've never lived before

Strongly, sharply, music shall empower you
Hear it, grasp it, let it now awake you
Open up your mind, leave those nightmares behind
Draw closer to the flame you cannot fight
The fires of the music of the light

Let your mind start a journey in this strange new world
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before
Let your soul take you where you long to be
Only then can you truly be free

Leaping, running, sweet intoxication
Hold it, trust it, savor each sensation
Let your life begin, let your older self dive in
To the power of the music in your sight
The power of the music of the light

He alone can make your song take flight
Let Him sing the music of the light!

Meet Ash Skarslard

When Ash Skarslard ran away to join the circus in Chicago, he knew it would change his life forever. What he didn't know was how much it would. Realizing he was deathly afraid of tigers was only the beginning.
When an accident on the main track sends the Tyrus Bros circus train on a five hour detour, they are forced to stop in Arskone to refill their coal. But the train will never leave. As the train slows to a stop at the sleepy station, hell itself erupts around them, swallowing performers and animals alike. And the creatures of darkness have plans for all of them.

Twisted and warped into his own greatest fear, Ash became one of them, no longer alive, not quite dead, eaten and hollowed out by his terror and anger. Terror at what he had become, anger at the ones who had done it to him. Terror at their retaliation, anger at the ones who had caused it all in the first place; those praying folk across the tracks.

Light fades, sundown comes; the time to strike is now

Slip across the battlelines; assassin on the prowl

Darkness will reign, chaos clutches deep

The price for life is steep

Meet Chase Forthen

*First of all, let me apologize for the apparent youth of the characters in the drawings. Apparently I can't draw age very well yet. Assume, for the present, that these were vignettes taken when they were a few years younger.

Meet Chase Forthen, a young man who had to grow up far too quickly when his hometown of Arskone became a battleground overnight. The son of the town's preacher, both his parents were killed in the first attacks, leaving Chase with the responsibility of caring for the hundred or so souls who had come to his father's chapel every Sunday. And doing so meant taking the fight to the enemy. 

For these attackers were not men of flesh and blood, but far darker things of the night and of death; foul things sent from the very bowels of hell. 

Against this undead menace Chase and the men of Arskone rose up, quickly learning the ways of a war where a blade might give more protection than a gun, and a prayer more power than a calvary charge. They became shadehunters, warriors against the night, and very real defenders of their faith and homes.

As the war drew on, quickly turning into a stalemate along the front lines of the old railroad tracks, Chase became known for his skill, fortitude, and unshaken trust in his God. But something was coming, something that would shake the already upside down Arskone to its very core, and Chase along with it. For God never forsakes His children, yet never stops teaching them. And the son of the preacher still has much to learn.

Night falls, the specters rise; the war beings once again

Hope fades, darkness sighs; who can see the end?

Stand fast, hold your ground; let them not win this night!

Be strong, listen to the sound; dawn will bring the light!

Thunder Riders

And I'm back! Hopefully :) This one is for Charley, who wanted mo' metaphor!

Thunder Riders

There you stand and here stand I

Looking out across the sky
Stormclouds are piling high
Thunder riders, hear them cry

"Chase them down; sound the horn!
Our prey must be caught by morn!"
Wisps of fur from the skyrim torn
Wolves charging forward windborne

Flaming steeds streak across the black
Lightning horses never turn back
Riders o' the clouds, whips they crack
Chasing down the wolfkin pack

Hooves of fire rumble on the cloud
Paws of white speed along the ground
Trees and grass before them bowed
Riders and their stallions, standing proud

Hunt eternal, speeding ever on
Riders of thunder, mounted high upon
Steeds of fire, here, now gone
This is the hunt of the stormspawn

Fell wolves of wisping white
Jagged jorses of electric light
Thunder riders, black as night
All imagined in this stormsong fight

There you stand and here stand I
Looking out across the sky
Deep in clouds beyond our eye
Imagination soars out high

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

The Ironwing

A bit of metal caught on a string

A feathered scrap of cold hard steel

A weathered bit of history and pride

Caught the light on its furrowed keel

A strange shape for such a metal

A thing of the day shaped with blackest night

A token hung on leather ties

Gleams in the dark like a faerie light

A symbol of those who have come before

A bringer of hope, and joy, and pain

A witness to wars long since come and gone

Glistens with the fire and cries with the rain

What is this scrap of steel so bright?

Whence comes this pendant worthy of a king?

Who has worn this mixing of strength and flight?

Who forged this masterful Iron-wing?

The Music of War

For every war ever fought in history, for every battle imagined on the page, for every clash of arms captured on screen, for every heroic deed and glorious end, for every victory and every defeat, for the invisible war that is fought every day of our lives for our souls; for all those do I write.

Dawn comes slowly 

Red light spilling out 

Sound the horns 

And ring forth the shout

 At the ready now!

 Draw your swords 

Anticipation

 As we lean forwards 

Sunrise comes faster

 Shadows away do fly

 Thunder of hooves 

And our war cry

 Skirling of music 

Death will die

 Light into the dark 

Lift the standard high 

The charge carries on 

Drums begin to beat 

On to the north! 

Fear not defeat! 

Time will slow 

As armies collide 

Angels and demons 

Turn of the tide 

Choirs unseen 

Drumroll of victory 

Horns of war

 Ring triumphantly

 Quiet now 

Silence once again

 The battle is done

 Still the music and pen

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

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.

In the Garden

In the garden silence cries soft
For the innocent has been slain
Laid to rest in the weeping stone
The earth sobs in pain

The streams laugh no more
The trees their sorrow hears
The rain has come twice again
As the heavens let fall their tears

Can the dawn even come this day?
Should we not be left in the night?
For who would care to begin
Another day without the Light?

But, hark! Listen to that sound!
And turn your eyes to the place
Where his body lies at rest
Wrapped in cloth, covered his face

See, the stone has moved!
The door has been rolled away!
And inside, no body to be found
For our Lord has risen today!

He's alive once again
Risen and glorified
Death could not hold him
Our sin's been sanctified

The Prophecy

When feather and fang do clash in war, 

Much is forgotten, remembered no more, 

Darkness comes upon us again 

This time, from within 

When our country needs us most 

We turn away; unity is an empty boast 

Now a darker evil lurks near at hand 

A shadow soon will fall upon the land 

The dragon-fell, cloaked in black 

Despair comes soon, death no lack 

Quartorlen shall meet its doom 

We have dug our own stone tomb

Criminal's Death

I wrote this after this morning's message. May it affect you as it affected me.


Criminal's Death

The winds sweep cold across the hill
Noon draws quickly near
A man is hung in public shame
Let all who pass by see and fear

Three criminals strung up high
Come out and see their fate
Agony binds their limbs in pain
The crowds hurl stones and hate

Does no one feel pity for them?
Tried and guilty as they are?
Thieves and blasphemers all
For them, death is not far

High noon has come at long last
But dark spreads instead of light
As if the earth itself protests
When it's people mock and spite

Shall we leave this awful place?
Leave these criminals to die in peace?
Let us turn our eyes away
Before the crows begin to feast

But wait! The one in the center speaks!
And what he says, can it be true?
The words come low but ring out
"Father God, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Then he cries out in pain and suffering
As His spirit leaves this space
He has died, and with his death
The world seems a poorer place

Then the entire universe screams in pain
As the earth itself begins to shake
The wind begins to cry in grief
And the rocks their silence break

And so it becomes painfully clear
The center man was free of guilt
Perfect, blameless, the Son of God
Saving the world as He was killed

Jesus Christ, ruler of this world
Crucfied as a common thief
But even death could not hold Him
And he rose again from grief

Ressurected, ascended to on high
King over this world forever more
Saved me by his sacrifice and death
He holds my heart, my life, my soul

Our Outcry

This morning's service at church was a prayer meeting. We as a body got on our knees before our Heavenly King and prayed together. And as I prayed, my thoughts took form and meter, and this is what emerged. May it encourage you as it encouraged me.

Our Outcry

We stand in the dark
As chaos lies all around
We cannot stand on our own
We wait for Your Voice to sound

We cannot understand
And so we doubt in fear
We cannot see Your master plan
Oh God, draw ever near

Roll back the clouds, oh God
Let Your glory shine
Turn back the approaching dark
Draw Your dividing line

Stop up the waves of despair
Smash in pieces the encroaching fear
Protect your chosen people
Cast away our sins from here

Pour out instead Your loving grace
Spill out Your wondrous love
Wash us in Your holy power
Turn our eyes to You above

Keep our eyes fixed on You
Let Your people feel your peace
Kings may fall and countries tremble
But Your mercies ever increase

We tremble in Your presence
We fall on our knees in praise
We wait upon Your tender mercy
We rely on Your saving grace

Our outcry rises to Your listening ear
You reach down with loving care
You will always and forever hear
Oh God, draw ever near

A Dusty Chest

Sometimes a writer's work is a like a dusty chest hidden away in an attic. You come back to it again and again, filling it with things that are important, but you never sift back through what's there already.
As I've been working on Feather and Fang, I've been rereading what I've already written, checking for consistency, making sure my character's arcs are doing what they are supposed to, and fixing any small problems I find. And problems I found, trust me. If the story is a chest, then there cobwebs in certain corners that need cleaning out; nasty pieces of prose and dialogue that need reworking. But what I didn't expect to find were the gems hidden under the cobwebs.
When you've been working on a book for as long as I have (since early 2010), you tend to forget a good deal of what you've put in there. Today, as I was lengthening my timing from two days to a week (Another problem of being sporadic in writing; you forget you're still in the same day as the one you started in), I reached the fight with the bladesfell.
These bird-like creatures are feathered with metal instead of, well, feathers, and their scream carries terror with it. They hunt by freezing their prey with fear, and then swooping down to finish the job with razor beaks and talons. But when Redpaw and Crestlen become the prey, they keep enough presence of mind to run like scared rabbits for shelter. Maybe 'presence of mind' is the wrong way to say it. 'Self-preservation'? Anyways, they flee. But when the bladesfell come again, there is a very different outcome.

Then together the two monsters opened their fierce maws and roared, a roar filled with terrifying thoughts, fear and coming death. The night air whipped into a frenzy, driving towards Redpaw and Crestlen. All around them rotten roots snapped and exploded, leaves tore themselves from their branches, and the forest floor shot up in a torrent of dead leaves and branches as the twin roars blasted into the surrounding jungle.

But in the center of the whirlwind Redpaw stood slowly, the wind of the roars whipping past him like a wave receding from a rock. The fear that he had felt before was suddenly gone as a sense of peace broke through the noise and chaos. A quiet voice within was telling him to be strong, to face the evil that now crouched in the clearing. No more would he cower in the dark. No more would he let fear rule his actions. Before he had fled, but no more. Now was the time to fight, to stand strong. The terror of before reached out for him again, but the freezing claws skittered away on the iron armor of determination and will Redpaw had been given.

Words came unbidden to his lips, tumbling forth like rain. First a mutter, then a battle cry; a song of defiance and courage in the darkest of hours.

Chaos all around,

But a Voice breaks through

Death will surround,

But these words are true

Let the evil flee!

Though terrors do roar,

We will have the victory!

Dark will come no more!

When life and it's chaos surrounds you, may the Voice of the great Peacemaker come whispering in your ear, telling you to be strong, to face the danger, to run with endurance the race set before us.

Sincerely,
Farjag

Blue Ink

Written for The Director's "Blue Ink" screenplay seed back in January.

Blue Ink

There’s a smudge of ink upon the page
A dot of blue on the writer’s stage
There’s a plant tucked nearby, sage
Still vivid though faded with age

The ink is blue, deep and cool
Seeping through both line and rule
Indelible, permanent the ink pool
A writer’s everlasting tool

Once penned, everlasting
Once written, ever clasping
Blue ink cannot be undone
None can erase, not one

For blue ink is forever
And it fades, never
What will you pen?
For it cannot be taken back again.

Quietude

Quietude

Water trickling down
Moss growing dark green
Sun shining down
Snow lies serene

White lies around
Quiet reigns as queen
Pure beauty around
Perfect and pristine

Marveling in silence
Landscape pure and clean
Peace follows silence
Beauty can be seen

Mountains tall and cold
Sunlight bright and pure
Snow lies soft and cold
The silence a wondrous cure

Peace settles softly down
Quieting my anxious heart
God's words come floating down
My worries float apart

In silence, peace
In quiet, calm
In beauty, repose
This is my psalm

The Promise

Promise

Snowflakes softly fell
The night sky dark and cold
In Bethlehem all seems well
The wind is quiet and lulled

A tiny stable carved into the hill
The home of cows and sheep
A tiny baby lies quiet and still
Let the animals their silence keep

Upon the hills gathered round
Shepereds keep silent watch
Flocks of sheep dot the ground
Stars across the sky march

Then light came springing out
Beams of radiance shining forth
The sky splits open with a shout
Heaven beyond in all it's worth

Angels line the clouds
A choir of awesome majesty
Their holy voices raised aloud
Heaven's glorious pageantry

"A Savior has been born this night
A child of men born today
God Himself bringing light
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy!"

The Promise fulfilled
The Messiah on earth
Just as God had willed
Tonight is the Savior's birth

The Heart War

Inspired by Sunday's message...

The Heart War

Upon a battlefield colored red
Much blood has yet to be shed
The power of the enemy was broken long ago
But he continues to fight, a present and powerful foe

The heart is this battlefield red
Sin our enemy, not yet dead
Set free from that power in Christ's death
We must battle on until life's last breath

For how can we who died to sin
Still lie subject to it's evil grip within?
The law of Christ has set us free
Let us fight, can you not see?

The battle's already won
The victory's been done
The sword of the word, doubled edged and sharp
Is more powerful than any enemy's poisoned dart

Sin lies at our door, quite near at hand
And it's desire is for our embattled heartland
Stand strong you Christians bold!
The Holy Spirit has wrapped us in His fold

Walk in His power and might
He protects us from the dark of night
Sin has been thrown down
Won is the heart's sacred ground