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

Writing to the world

I recently let one of my coworkers read the preliminary draft of Trust Hole, and just the other day she finished. I didn't get a chance to ask her what she thought of it that moment, but a few days later I worked up enough courage to ask, "So? What did you think?"

Now, The Trust Hole is blatantly Christian, (though hopefully not in a bad way). In other words, I preach Christ Jesus and Him crucified pretty hard, but in a way that makes sense to the story. I.e. my main character does not go to a church where he hears a pastor talking... etc. He hears about Christ through those around him, and slowly realizes his need of this Savior his closest friends seem to rely on so much. The way I see it, I exaggerate things in my stories, blowing up small things into bigger things. And when dangers become bigger, worlds stranger, surviving harsher, Christ shines through all the more. People feel no need for a Savior when their lives are going pretty well. It it only when they realize their own inability to cope and their great and utter need for someone to rescue them that they begin looking for someone to turn to. So I blast my characters through the worst I can imagine, sucking my readers (Christian and non-christian) into this roller coaster of a story, and then tie them so strongly to the characters and their journeys that they cannot put the book down, even if I am saying something they do not agree with. In the end, God-willing, it will have effected them in a way they weren't expecting.

So, naturally, I was a bit nervous about hearing what my non-christian co-worker had thought of the book.

"I really liked it! Couldn't put the book down when I first started reading it. Your writing is really clean and moves along nice. I kept thinking as I was reading it what a good movie it would make."
"Any suggestions?"
"Well, the pacing was really fast up to about the last third, then there were about four chapters of Christianity, and then it picked back up again. So maybe work on the pacing there."
"Thanks! That's really helpful"
"Well, you're welcome. Oh, and someone else was wondering if he could read it too. I told him, 'There's the words Jesus Christ in it! You might get saved!'"

We both laughed. But her critique was true, and I went back and checked the story. It could definitely use some pacing around those four chapters; it's a lot of character development, Gospel, and not much action. So I'm going to work on that. I want to "Show, not tell," but at the same time I don't want to be afraid to hold back the truth. It's a fine wire to walk, just as most everything in this life is.

I pray to God that He grants me the ability to craft a story worthy of telling His ultimate Story.

Since you insist...

Well, since everyone seems to be demanding more excerpts from Feather and Fang, and since I have forgotten the deep and mind-stimulating post I was going to write (I really should write these ideas down when I get them), and nothing new has come to me during the last ten minutes of staring at my blog header... I guess I'll post an excerpt!

But, there is reasoning involved here. Seeing as I have given you the set-up for Freeborn and Freegiven, it stands to reason that I should do the same for Feather and Fang. However, doing so in the straightforward, no-secrets-kept sort of way I did before would spoil a good deal of the last part of Freeborn. But to understand Feather, you need a least a little bit of backstory. So what I'm going to do is inform you in the same way any other reader would be informed: straight from the book. So you'll know exactly what you need to know, and not a cent more. *evil chuckle*

Anyways... the excerpt


The Blue Beard had the best ale for miles, or so it many patrons swore. Be that as it may, its warmly-lit windows and spacious common room looked especially inviting on a night such as this. The stranger strode up the wooden steps that led to the abandoned porch, knocking his boots against the railing to rid them of most of their mud. Then, pulling his wide-brimmed hat down closer over his eyes, he entered the building.
It was fairly quiet at the moment, only a few folk were out of their homes on a night like this. The stranger looked around carefully, taking stock of the room and its occupants before choosing a table in a corner next to the stone fireplace and sitting down with his back to the wall.
On the far side of the large room sat a low bar, with a portly man sitting behind it polishing spoons while four elderly men sat at table telling tales. Two young boys sat at a second table, playing a game of fourlens, and a third held two middle-aged men talking politics over their ales.
“They say the Featherwen faction’s planning to assassinate Flamehope’s Fanglen leader.”
“Scaeldren, Lynx-lord?”
“Aye, the very one.”
“Bah, you listen to every rumor you hear, Scratch. There isn’t an assassin good enough to even get close to the Lynx-lord! Why, he’s won the Fistfire matches every year for nigh on four years now!”
“Aye, but that’s why they’ve got the best assassin since before the Blood-Invasion.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Tell me, did ye ever hear of Crestlen, Hawk-assassin?” 

(More after the break!)

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

How Primorlen Began: Pt. 3

The one freegiven. Who is he? Well... let's just say his name is Rogchaen. That should give a clue as to his heritage. And the fact that he is their guide should let you know a little more about his character. But to fully develop who he is, we have to go back one hundred and three years to the Blood-Invasion.

One summer day in the year 1342, red-sailed ships crossed the horizon at a dozen points around the Quartorlen coast. And when they landed, they spat an army of massive, armored invaders onto the beaches and shores of the four provinces. These were the shieldsfell, a trained army thousands strong.
Reptillian in nature, their creature forms were hulking beasts with armored backs and clubbed tails. Their leader's name was soon whispered in fear across the length and breadth of the island; the Titan-mage. No one who ever saw him lived to tell the tale, but everywhere once could hear his name cursed and vows of retaliation for his deeds.
Resistance did not stand for long, however. Within days the ordered ranks of the shieldsfell army had swept fire through the four outer provinces, and were marching on the Lightpeak; the natural and political center of Quartorlen. Here, in the Hope-Chamber set in the peak of the dormant volcano, the Conclave met daily. Delegates were sent from each of the provinces, and together they formed the government of Quartorlen.
But the shieldsfell invader has different ideas, and the Hope-Chamber was stormed. That day the blood-red of the invader's cloaks matched the blood of Quartorlen's people as it was spilled in her defense. But all was in vain, and Quartorlen fell.
The Lightpeak was renamed Arcpeak, and the surrounding town leveled to make way for a permanent settlement built in the shieldsfell fashion. The lands that had once been Brightdown became Darkdell, a walled plain encircling the Arcpeak.
As soon as the shieldsfell had cemented their hold on the capital, they turned their attention back to the other lands, and the Containment began. The folk of Quartorlen would no longer be able to alter between forms. They were given a choice, live as a slave, or live as a beast. Many chose to live the free but dangerous life of a beast, but most kept their humanity and were forced to serve the invaders. Still others fled to the hills, forests and swamps, out of reach of the shieldsfell armies. However, this number slowly dwindled as the shieldsfell Containment patrols continued to sweep the land for years after the invasion, still searching for those who had managed to hide their ability.

One hundred years pass. The lands beyond Darkdell have fallen into decay and waste. A few slave-born still live in tiny hamlets and villages along the main roadways, peddling their wares to the patrols as they march through. Blackforge, the city that had wrapped itself around the Arcpeak, and a few port cities have become thriving metropolises sustained by trade with Theorlen. The slave trade, in particular has become profitable.
The shieldsfell have grown in number as more have crossed over from the crowded Dyrmlen. They live longer than the folk of Quartorlen, and so while the most of the slave-born are the third generation of those who were alive at the time of the Blood-Invasion, many of the older shieldsfell still remember those days. And some have begun to question the reasons of their leader. Conquering new lands for an expanding nation, and subsequent subjugation of a rebellious people made sense to their war-like minds, but a continual grinding underfoot of a folk long since defeated... that was going beyond war.

But no dissenters against a strong leader live long, and the Titan-mage quickly stomped out any mutterings against him. The rebels were sent on suicide missions, tried for crimes they did not commit, executed after mock trials. It was a doomed attempt from the start. But some escaped into the wilds. One such outlaw was a Macelen who abandoned his military title in favor of the Quartorlen naming system. Rumor spread among the villages of Deepdale of a vengeful shieldsfell ghost who wreaked havoc on patrols and had been known to snatch prisoners from under their noses.

And thus we meet Rogchaen, shieldsfell-outlaw, the one freegiven for the four freeborn. And thus we come to the beginning of the story. How all five are pulled together by unlikely means and set on their quest of finding their way into the heart of Arcpeak and slaying the Titan-mage.
If they fail, the shieldsfell armies will continue on, seeking out new countries to conquer, and beyond that, new worlds.

"This tyranny is only the beginning. There is a much more at stake here than your own petty pride! In the end, not only Quartorlen will be enslaved, but all the world!   ...and not only this world." 

Thoer, Otter-elder

Blogger Interview!

The Director over at Castles, Quills and Cameras is hosting blogger interviews, and I got picked as the first one! Go check the post out on her blog, or read the interview here after the jump!