Long Form

Preemptive warning: this blog post is basically just me thinking into a word processor. By the time I post this my wife will be away at camp meeting. I handle the distance better than she does. Still it means I won't have her here to help me wrestle my demons.

As I have come to believe is typical for most writers of my pedigree (that is folks who grew up doing it and have trouble imagining doing anything else with their lives) I have a bounty of old unfinished projects, many of wish I probably erroneously considering still to be "in progress." I may have mentioned a few of them on this blog in the past. Certainly Talks Ke looms large both in word count and personal mythology.

I have also mentioned that I have quite a few projects heaped on my plate. It is enough to make me wonder if I give myself these projects just to feel like I'm doing something with my life.
Then I remember these are stories I want to tell. They capture my mind and I want to share them. Ideally, I want the natural outpouring of my writing to support me. I'm even willing to work hard at it.

One of troubles with having novel or series-length projects is that, while I want to share the stories, it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort to devote to their telling, not to mention the hard part: going public. Book signings. Elbow rubbing. And that's after convincing someone to pick you up.

It seems to me that I also face the inverse problem with my Writing Circle. In terms of time and effort the pieces we generate have minimal requirements, but I have virtually no passion for the material and frankly that shows in every soulless piece I put out week to week. I'm good at writing short stories. Not great. Just good. But that's only when I care about what I am writing. All too often I slog through because it's ostensibly improving my writing. I am still uncomfortable with the short story structure. I can't get pacing right and I prioritize the wrong techniques. Many weeks I rush through the writing to get to projects I give a hoot about.

These projects apparently include complaining on this blog, which is easier than tying my shoes.
For these reasons I am probably going to cut this blog short to make time for other things. Like short stories and poetry. But at least you know where my head's at, should you care about such things.


I'm still working on song reviews. They haven't gone a way. See you next week.

Heroic Apology and Virol vs Doctor part 2

Well this post is at some point going to contain an embedding of the video I have on my phone but can't figure out how to post from mobile. So while I'm waiting on that I figure I'll do that other thing I said I would do.
First, a text version of the apology:
It came out late and wasn't even done
My next apology should use a pun

Edit: here's the video

Now. When I left off Virol and the Doctor were both established as being very old and very clever. Smart fogeys. They also both happen to appear young. Or at least not nearly as old as they really are.
This could look bad, but there are several reasons no one is going to make a stink about it.
The first reason is that it is highly unlikely than Virol will ever be a character known to more than one hundred people and so there will be no exposure. The second, tiny reason is that I came up with him long before I had ever encountered Doctor Who.
That second ties into the third reason, which is the one I'm aiming this week's blog for. Most people are aware that two people can think of one creative idea separately and without influencing each other. It's a fairly common occurrence as coincidences go. This is because of archetypes, symbols embedded in our cultural makeup. The Doctor is himself made up of a few archetypes sort of spliced together.
One of these is the wise elder. There's a reason that one exists. Old people have seen more than you have, and it's good stuff to know about (not always pleasant mind you). There are some characters that take this archetype straighter than Virol or the Doctor. Gandalf and Merlin are prime examples. These elders are both wise and powerful, and just a little eccentric.
What the Doctor adds to this is the old-as-dirt pipe dream of eternal youth. Of course in his early incarnations he appeared as an old man, but in this day and age he's young and active. There's also a bit of rebirth thematics to it since he gets a new face every time he regenerates from death/near-death. These are key features of his character but don't get quite as much play as the central tenets (almost wrote Tennants there) I introduced him with.
Virol also plays into the ideas of the wise elder and eternal. Like the Doctor, he also has a jocular facade covering a much darker center. However, Virol never changes his face, and he has to live in cycles of youth and decrepit old age, prolonged over centuries.
It might also be good to note that Virol, like the Doctor, is close to the last of his kind. The difference there is he knows there are more out there somewhere, where the Doctor believes there are none. It is also pretty explicitly not much of a hang-up for Virol. He has lived most of his millennium-long life in this state. The Doctor, in the New series, recently cam into his bereavement. He hides it well considering, but you know.
One of the larger differences between the characters is that the Doctor is from science fiction, and Virol is entrenched deeply in fantasy. He's closer to a snarky well-dressed Merlin than to the Doctor.
The other important difference is that Virol is no time traveler. His power doesn't come from a space ship. It's just him for the most part. And the stuff he knows.
At this point it's pretty easy to see how different the characters are, but without the full context it looks a little sketch. But maybe it shouldn't. The Eternally Young but Ancient Wiseguy serves a certain purpose. The idea fascinates people. Of course the Doctor is the more well known and better executed, but I made Virol because I thought it would be interesting to see him interact with the rest of the world my cousin and I created.
I think that's enough for now. Talk to you on Monday with something else.

Virol and the Doctor part 1

So for my first(ish) post back  I wanted to talk about character archetypes. I had an idea in mind and it was just waiting for me to write it. Then I spent the weekend visiting family because my niece was born and Monday I squandered in typical first world internetian behavior. So. There's gonna be a poetry video. Also, I might post a more truncated post before Monday officially ends if I can.

So about character archetypes, I am going to be talking about two circumstantially similar characters. This may be an exercise I have performed before but it's happening nevertheless.

The more recognizable character is of course the Doctor of Doctor Who.   The other is a man called Virol, my own creation whose public existence only perpetuates in my self-published novella Ashes of Silver.

For those people who aren't familiar with the Doctor (and they do exist) there are two basic aspects of his character you need to know about him. One, that he is very clever. Two, that he is very old. It gets more complicated than that obviously, but that is a boiling down of things that make the Doctor the Doctor, more so than his face for sure.

Just so happens these are the two same important things to know about Virol. That he is both brilliant and ancient.

Now that I've established that I have to go. Next half goes up tomorrow or else very soon.

Pax.

The Journal of Gregory Nime, entry 2

Nilbog made a mistake.  I suppose it was only a matter of time before he did something overwhelmingly stupid.  We let it happen.  He was so adamant about it, and we weren't about to force him to wait at the inn.  He struck out in the night to try the prison on his own.

I will have to wait until tomorrow to learn whether he survived this foolishness, but I know from the noise of the guards that he did not accomplish our mission.  It's going to be a terrible three days.

I know that I should not care so much about this.  Nills has never made overtures of friendship to me, despite having saved my life on nearly half a dozen occasions since we set out from Bach's inn together.  But he has saved my life more times than I can ignore, and—perhaps I'm overly idealistic—I still feel he's a better man than he knows he is.

I cannot leave him to rot in that prison.  I have to know if he still lives, and if he does, I have to give him freedom again.  Even if Ansley and Dreyfuss and Cobbermark decide to move on, I will stay.

I'm a mad fool.