August 8, 2012

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?

August 6, 2012

Filming

Filming continues apace on Ironwing, with only two days of principal photography left!

Sets have been made...


Props gathered...


And more sets made!


Lines have been memorized...


More stuff gathered...


And haversacks clothes-pinned with infinite care by yours truly.


We're almost done!




August 4, 2012

Me, Myself, And I

When your job involves hours of driving (pizza delivery), and there's nothing good on the radio, and your new ipod won't charge with your old car jack...

It gets real quiet in the car. And my friends, when Farjag is alone, and it's quiet...

He talks to himself.
Extensively.
In different accents.

Here is a portion of the conversation he had with himself last night.


Brains (Dr. Erskine accent): Is this on? Ok, here we go. There are three of us, three voices if you will, that inhabit this mind. There is the brains, that's me, there is the psychopath, and the poker face. The psychopath, he is the crazy ideas one, the one who skips around, and changes accents, and makes people laugh... then there is me. I am the intellect, the knowledge, the caution in this mind, and then there is the poker face. He is the normal, average, human person, the person most people see. He is not particularly crazy, or smart, he just is. But he is the one that gets things done. I for one, think that me and him could get along just fine by ourselves, but *cough, cough* Pardon, the psychopath is coming out....


Psycho (French accent): Well, what are we doing here? Has the Brains been spewing crazy talk about me? He think I am the crazy one, but that is not... not... right. I am the force of.... rightness! I make things happen! Without me, nothing would ever get done! (accent change to Russian) Ah well, you know how it is.


Poker (No/American accent): Um, Psycho, you just changed accents.

Psycho (Schwarzenegger accent): No, I didn't!


Poker: Yes, you did. You were French, and then Russian, then you sounded like a kid trying to imitate Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Psycho: Wha's the matter with dat? I'm the Pyscho! I can do dat!


Poker: Just shut up, were pulling into Pizza Hut.

Psycho: Oh ho! Zis is a problem? (accent change to Churchill) I will not be moved! I stand on... *muffled speech lines*

Brains: There, he is subdued. Can we continue the interview when you return?


Poker: Yea, I was listening. Be back in a min.



It went, for several trips. I'm starting to think that it's all in my head. :)

August 1, 2012

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!

July 31, 2012

I'm Alive!

I have successfully returned from the grave, after being smitten down by that awful and mortal disease known as the... common cold.

Seriously?

A little fever and I'm flat on my back for two days solid, alternating between freezing my toes off and burning the chest hairs off my... well, chest.

As it is, I am still recovering, so tomorrow will bring the post I had hoped to write on the weekend, the post about my editing Freeborn and Freegiven. Suffice to say for now that things are looking well on that front. So none need worry about me calling quits for some random plot bunny who happened along.

Well, now, if you'll excuse me, I must go lay down on my freshly washed sheets and catch the first good night's rest I've obtained since... Friday?

July 25, 2012

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."