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The Graphic Classroom & The Bard in Two Parts
This week, Chris Wilson's and my reviews come together at The Graphic Classroom as "The Bard in Two Parts," where we make a sizable dent reviewing Shakespeare adaptations.
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In the Dim Grim Library
Spend any given time in a particular library system and you’ll become well acquainted with the ghostly undercurrent of patronage. A book misplaced on the shelves is lost; there is an abyss nearby where doomed socks go that is an aisle, tattered and never-ending, where wayward volumes sit. The patrons of this necropolis can come above, too. A shadow ( Read more... ) -
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I haven't meant to ignore you, LiveJournal; I have just been preoccupied with my WordPress. But I will pay more attention, I swear! I have to remember to crosspost my WP with my LJ. -
A Bit Diverting, This One
I wanted to write briefly just to exercise the right. For a liberating week and a half, I went - (was forced to go) - without internet. While I fully intend to continue my pseudo-series on [predominately] Writing [fantasy], I thought I might declare proudly and without shame that I am throwing “As I Read Them” to the wind. First - tediom: reading a ( Read more... ) -
Writing Fiction - and not Travelogues
Eliza Wyatt, in her blog Tales of a Fantasy Scribbler, brought-up an incredibly worthwhile concern to science-fiction or fantasy writers - or, well, of any sort honestly - inherent to the nature of questing and epics: traveling-in-writing. More than anything I have considered J.R.R. Tolkien an historian - or in the same vein: he is a linguist and a ( Read more... ) -
A Problem with Tone & an Obstacle in Writing Fantasy
While I am relieved that I have finally drafted the first chapter-in-five-parts of Doranchorn, I worry about its place in the story. While this is the jurisdiction of the Second Draft, I can’t help but wonder how chapters two through however-many will develop if the first veered so far from the outline. What I am telling is a story of the beginning ( Read more... ) -
The Drought-Drowner
We used to be afraid of the rain, it used to be unwelcome: it would put end to all plan and get-together and reception. Today, the plainslands split open the underbelly bloat of the sky and wetted in the spill-out, drank-up the gush. The stuff of the heavens just broke and splattered us and scattered our drought. And instead of retreating into our ( Read more... ) -
An Abrasive Hour-Write and Humility before Novelists
I try every morning regardless of my mood to write for just an hour; one hour, that’s all I ask; an hour’s point of inner-argument to smooth out any wrinkles of guilt I suffer about being unproductive: watching the Ghost Hunters marathon, the extra downloaded episode of Dr Who - at least I wrote for an hour. And today’s hour-write was just abrasive ( Read more... ) -
The Grim Sour Wind was Howling (The Gunslinger, Ch. 1)
I met the Gunslinger in the desert, and the grim sour wind was howling, the switchgrass afire, the weathervane cricking to the west. SK paints us the bleak portrait of a sparse world, bright and cold, where bleaker men are holy men: superstitious, adaptable, and alone. [Read More]
