Happy New Year!

There's no Shepard without Vakarian.

                            

2015 was a pretty great year for me, writing-wise. I sold my first story and saw it in print, participated in an international writing class, and started this blog.

A part of me still can't believe it happened.

Here's hoping that 2016 will be equally awesome.

The drinks above are Mass Effect themed. The Shepard is cranberry juice, whiskey, and Red Bull with a persimmon slice, and The Vakarian is tequila, blue curaçao, and lime juice. Mix at your own risk. (These two are my own concoctions, but for more video-game inspired cocktail ideas check out www.thedrunkenmoogle.com.)

 Happy New Year!

P.S. SpeckLit accepted some more of my drabbles for publication. Super happy about that:) (One of last quarters' was up on the 26th, if you want to take a look.)

Writing Exercise: Crafting Metaphors

This week I'm skipping Etymology Expeditions in favour of trying this exercise from Rebecca McClanahan's Word Painting.

The idea is to take about thirty words, a nice mix of sensory adjectives, strong verbs, and abstractions, mix them up, and then draw three at random. Then you have to attempt to make up a metaphor using those words. This is supposed to help your mind make unexpected connections during your writing.

Here's my list:

tangy                     whisper            abyss
gossamer               ruin                  spectre
brittle                     reflect              talon
frozen                    knit                  gold
murky                    wander            dragon
gaudy                     squeak            shade
secret                     blush               sky
swift                      command        persimmon
ossified                  rot                   scale
obsidian                 yawn              wilderness


I didn't want to actually put these on paper, so I used a random number generator to pick my words.

Here's what I got:

brittle-wander-abyss -> All must wandered the brittle abyss.

frozen-squeak-talon -> Fear the frozen squeak of its talons.

secret-ruin-scale -> Like the whisper of ruined scales on obsidian.

Hey, that almost works!

Quite fun, this.

Go ahead, give it a try. You can make up your own list or use mine. Did you come up with a really good one? Do share with the rest of the class in the comments.

Fury of Dracula

                                       

We played Fury of Dracula yesterday. It's a co-op boardgame with four vampire hunters going up against one person playing Dracula.

                                       

The only trouble was, the Dracula figure was missing from the box; instead we had two Van Helsings. So Dracula ended up wearing a Christmas sweater for the duration. He also had a cross in one hand, but we decided he was wearing mittens so it wouldn't burn him. Problem solved.

                                        

I played Mina, who can sense if Mr. D. Is in the area, but can't take any bite wounds, because she already has one. You can only do the scanning thing if you're in the same city with another hunter, which led to a certain amount of nudge, nudge, wink, wink type of silliness... "Hey, handsome, wanna meet in Vienna and do the 'Special Action'?"

                                       

            Here he is, with only one health remaining. It took us four hours, but we finally got him. Fun game, if a bit slow at first. Definitely give it a try if you like co-ops.

Writing Book: Word Painting by Rebecca McClanahan

Image from amazon.com

                                        

I've read a lot of writing books. The good ones give you solid advice and pointers, but the great ones open up concepts that you thought you understood and give you a new viewpoint into the subject at hand. 

Word Painting is one of the great ones.

Any time you read a writing book, they talk a whole lot about finding your voice, but I think that by voice they mean your own way of doing description. For me, learning about description was a major turning point in my writing. The Elements of Fiction Writing series books Description and Setting  helped me understand the basics, to start thinking about the world differently. Metaphors and similes started to come to me as I walked to work or waited in line at the grocery store. I started noticing the little things, the telling details about people, their habits and quirks. I also stopped walking through the world with blinders on, only focused on getting where I was going, mind full of work woes or shopping lists. There’s a lot to see if you just slow down and really look. Ask any three-year-old.

 Word Painting covers the basics and a whole lot more. There’s a chapter on using all the senses, on setting, on character descriptions, point of view, and plot. I especially liked the chapter on the big picture, an attempt to pin down that elusive thing called theme and explain how your description can help bring it forth. Every chapter also has a number of useful and fun exercises at the end of it.     

Here are a few things I learned:

Good description should be carefully worded, specific and accurate, but also take into account the musical quality of language. It should be sensory, concrete rather than abstract, and in motion when possible. Figurative language is important. Description should be appropriate for the story you’re writing: flowery prose can ruin a story that calls for simple clarity.

Language is musical; harsh consonants give a different feel than liquid vowels. Word choice matters; even if a word is accurate, is it significant, appropriate, musical? Does it fit the story? Is your language active or passive, cluttered or direct?

Observation is important. You have to notice the little things, to be accurate. But you must also use the eye of imagination to bring your descriptions to life. The eye of memory is useful, as is insight and the eye of dreams. You mustn’t judge the object of your gaze, but be accepting. Finding beauty in the grotesque or flaws in perfection can yield effective and unique imagery. Things in motion are more interesting than something standing still. Try to regain the child’s eye of looking at the world, that seriousness of play.

Sometimes it’s more powerful to describe what you don’t see/hear/feel than what you do. (McClanahan calls this the back-door technique.)

Remove the filtering devices: you don’t need to use words like “feel,” “see,” “notice,” or "taste." You can just state image directly.

Synesthesia (the phenomenon in stimulation of a sensory pathway evokes sensation in another) is good.  (You know, something like: The apple tasted of midnight walks under the harvest moon, of first loves lost, of autumn’s cinnamon kisses, and the bitter bite of frost.)

I learned a new term: implied metaphor. It means just what it says: the metaphor is implied rather than stated outright.  For example, you can say “her eyes are like dark forest pools,” or you can imply it: “you could drown in the loamy darkness of her eyes.”

Extending your metaphors is a good idea.

Don’t go totally bonkers with your metaphors though, there’s original and then there’s just plain confusing.

You can use your setting to describe a character, or their inner landscape. (The chapter on describing characters is gold.)

  McClanahan teaches at Queens University and the Rainier Writers workshop, but she also does workshops all over the US, so if you're lucky enough to have a chance to participate in one, go for it. (I'll be right here, waiting for an online course. No, not jealous at all, Okay, I'm lying.) 

Here's a link to Amazon if you want to get the book.

 

What To Do Over the Holidays

Any holiday plans?

I'm going to take a trip to Middle-earth with a The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings marathon, then go save the universe with Garrus (I've about a third of Mass Effect 3 left for this playthrough), and if I have time, I'll start on The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, or maybe Bloodborne. And hopefully make a dent in my to-be-read pile as well.

I also got a huge pile of German silent movie classics for Christmas, so maybe I'll watch a few of those. (Nosferatu's a great Christmas movie, right?)

There's chocolate to eat and Irish coffee to drink, too.

Well, better get started . . .

Once Upon A Midnight Clear

                              

                            

                            

                            

A full moon on Christmas eve is a rare thing; the last time it happened was 1977, and we'll have to wait until 2034 for the next one. No snow this year, but spectacular, isn't it?

Merry Christmas!

To everybody celebrating Christmas today, have a good one, and happy holidays to those who don't.

My friend Heli asked for a story for Christmas, and here it is. I don't think she'll mind that I shared it with you guys, too.  So this one's for you, Heli. I hope you like it.

Ghosts for Christmas

  

The ghosts arrived promptly at midnight, Earth Sector Three time.  They crowded around the table and examined the offerings set out on it, ignoring the young woman and toddler asleep on the bed in the corner of the room.

Granny Sanelma pushed her tarnished spectacles onto her forehead and brought a gingerbread cookie close to one eye for closer examination.

“This isn’t right, not right at all,” she said, giving the cookie a prim sniff.

Aunt Terhi rolled her eyes, making her cat-eye glasses slide down her nose. “Stop showing off, Grandma. Just because you can move objects--”

   Old uncle Talneli dropped the ghost of a raisin bun he had been gumming. “But she’s right. Worse than cardboard, this is. In my day we used to have proper Christmases, fresh straw on the floor, salted ham, creamy rice porridge with plenty of butter . . . These youngsters have no respect for tradition.”

“Not even a Christmas tree!” Granny Sanelma said, dropping the cookie to the floor. “And just one candle. Oh, I used to have dozens and dozens of them, and the ice lanterns . . . “

“What is this place?” Aunt Terhi asked, examining the strange, humming walls of the room. “There’s no kitchen, and what are all these blinking lights? Just look at those overalls. Do you suppose they’re some kind of pajamas?” She peered out from between the half-closed curtains.  They were of a heavy, slippery material, like the dresses she used to wear in the sixties. “How strange. Granny, can you open these?

When Sanelma slid the drapes open they both gasped.

“Stars! Stars everywhere! What is this place? Oh, I feel faint,” Sanelma said, backing away from the porthole.

Jasmin appeared, her surly teenage face twisted in a scowl. “Jeez, you’re old.” She strode over to the porthole and snapped her ghostly, grey gum with a loud pop. “We’re obviously in space, you old retards. Haven’t you seen Star Trek?”

Sanelma pulled out a fan of black lace and sank on something resembling a couch, fanning herself with quick, trembling movements.

Aunt Terhi still looked out the porthole, staring into the void. The velvet darkness fascinated her, invited her to fall towards the distant suns like silver sparklers in the deep. She forced herself to turn back to the others.  She was the responsible one; she should take charge. “You mean we’re not on Earth anymore? How will we get back?”

Jasmin was busy digging through the drawers that slid out of the wall. “I don’t care.  I don’t want to go home. Just look at this stuff.” She held a maroon jumpsuit up against herself, making her face appear even paler than it was. “This is so rad. I wish I had my iPhone.”

Maybe Jasmin was right? What harm would there be in exploring a little? Terhi sat next to Sanelma and tried to help her calm down. “Come, let’s have another look. It’s beautiful out there.”

“No. I am staying right here.” Sanelma crossed her arms, tucking the fan into her armpit.

 “What about them? You always want to get to know the relatives.” Terhi pointed at the woman and child.

Sanelma’s expression softened and she smiled, revealing a pearly-white set of false teeth.  She bustled over to the bed. “Oh yes, my great-great-great-grandniece and her son.  Your lot were always too adventurous for their own good, Taneli.”

Old Taneli’s face scrunched up like he had just bitten into a lemon. “At least my relatives are here now, the last of us. Looks like your line’s died out. Maybe they were too careful. Died of boredom, I gather.”

“Why you old coot--”

“The child looks just like you, Taneli,” Terhi said, trying to stop the argument. She smoothed a lock of hair off the child’s reddened cheek.

The toddler stirred, opened one eye, then the other, and yawned. Watching the ghosts curiously, he slid off the bed and crawled towards them.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Uncle Taneli croaked, backing away as the boy approached, brandishing his gnarled cane at the toddler.

“He’s kinda cute,” Jasmin said and tickled the boy’s nose with her black feather boa. The boy giggled and then crawled toward the table, where he proceeded to tug at the tablecloth.

“I remember Christmases at your mother’s house. You used to do that, too,” Terhi said, smiling at Jasmin.

“You could have stopped me. That’s how I got the scar on my shoulder.” Jasmin pulled down the sleeve or her lacy top and revealed three shiny, round scars like teardrops.

“Oh yes, you pulled down the candle.”

“The candle! We gotta stop the kid. Fire’s really dangerous in space!” Jasmin said.  She grabbed at the kid, but her hand went right through him. It happened a lot when she was too excited or nervous to concentrate.

“Sanelma, get him!” Terhi yelled. What would happen if their last relatives died? Where would they go to celebrate Christmas? Or would they be stuck in their graves forever? An eternity without anyone to talk to. She’d take Sanelma’s complaining over that any day.

The candle wobbled, and wax spattered on the cross-stitched tablecloth. Sanelma struggled to pick up the child, but she couldn’t. Jasmin screamed.  Puffing like a steam engine, Old Taneli stood at the other side of the table, brow furrowed in concentration. Just as the candle toppled, a swoosh of cold air blew over it and the flame went out.

“That’s done it, Taneli!” Terhi said, almost fading out of sight with relief.

A blob of hot wax had fallen on the child’s cheek, and he pawed at it, getting wax on his fingers, too. He began to wail. The woman on the bed started awake. “Tani? What is it?” She rushed over to the child and picked him up. Frowning, she wiped the cooling wax off his cheek. “Oh, sweetie, what did you do? Let’s get a coldpak for that.” The toddler’s soft curls stuck to her spiky, red hair.

The toddler’s wails abated as she pressed the coldpak to his cheek “You’re okay, hon. Mommy’s sorry. No more candles.” She gave him a gingerbread cookie, an astronaut with a smile of pink frosting.  Slowly, she walked to the porthole and grasped one of the curtains as if to close it, but then let it fall. ”Do you think they’re eating ham and rutabaga casserole by now? Or opening the presents?” She smiled at the child in her arms, but the smile was tinted with sadness. “You don’t even remember her, but I bet your grandma is really missing you. I wish she were here; I wish they all were.” She pressed her hand to the porthole. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

The ghosts gathered around her, exchanging glances.

“Guys? I’m glad to spend Christmas with you,” Jasmin said.

“Me too,” Terhi said and hugged her. Taneli patted her shoulder, and Sanelma gave her a stiff one-armed hug.

 Silent, they stood around the mother and child.

At last, they could feel morning coming, a tugging in their stomachs. Young Tani waved at them as they disappeared.