Dabbling in my Journal

Good afternoon! Glad to see you drop by and tell us what you are working on. Or maybe you are just taking it easy. Is your mind as actively creative that won't shut off even when you are relaxing? Even when I take it easy, my mind wanders and dwells on the current project in progress. I even dreamt of a scene last night of the character, a sorcerer causing all the mayhem. 

Sitting on the porch under the shade of the red umbrella and the oak tree is nice on a spring day.

Let us know what inspires you.  Listening to nature feeds the soul.  For this process, I prefer the handwritten in pencil method.  It's not so permanent on the screen yet.  

Hope to get through some scenes today,

one that creates the pivotal moment of the story my character is going to endure. Going to take a bit of research as well. Make the story credible, lure the reader in.

A Niche Kind of Place

 

Happy Friday!   It's been a horrendous week.  Too much to do and little time for writing or anything creative.  What is your system on gearing up to write or cerate a work of art?  Maybe it's sketching or freehand.  I like a variety and it all depends. I write much more than working on art projects but easily switch hats as it comes. Try out some natural sounds with music. Dan Gibson is superb if you have not heard his music.  I recall many Sunday nights when Hearts of Space would come on.   Just great to listen to or write or create to.

Do you dabble in writing, journaling, creative writing, editing or any field of the arts? From painting, photography, drawing to graphic arts. My BA degree is in graphic communications. What programs do you use? This is the place to join to inspire and share expertise on a project, a technique that works for you that one may struggling with.  Perhaps you are an aspiring writer or artist.  Maybe you want to sell your artwork and need advice how to do so.   Feel free to join us as creative minds work together.   This place is for anyone who loves art and writing. 

If this is your first visit with us, enjoy and look around. There are many stories to look at and we have a great bunch of good people happy in their creative worlds. 

Take a nice diversion from your usual routine and try something new. 

   

The Long Road Back

 

From the journal of Arcanus

I entered Eolca under a spell of illusion. It wouldn't do to be caught here. I was the empire's greatest enemy. Never had I envisioned strolling the Via Circuita with its stunning view down the terraced extinct volcano, not without compelling reason.

That reason was curiosity. The invitation came from none other than Wayacth, the empire's greatest sorceress. I had clashed with her before over the desert skies of Guyeveh. Her fellow Red Claws hit hard and fast, much to our detriment. This could be a clever trap--save for that legendary Red Claw honor. If she assured my safety, it would be so. 

I ascended the busy steps up Mount Nuerca. The heights were dominated by lavish villas, which clung to the mountain beneath the lofty fortress of the Sybils. Once admitted through the gate by an elderly maid, I dropped the illusion, much to her horror. "Announce me to your mistress. I am the archmage Arcanus."

The scurrying maid cast back fearful glances, bringing us into a cool foyer lined with antique weapons. Presently Wayacth entered from a side chamber, hair regally piled, dressed in gauzy lavender. She led us to a study with a glorious view of the Pedale Sea. We faced each other on matching white divans. 

"You rate," she began, "at the seventh tier. Do you know mine?"

"Of course: the sixth tier, highest in the empire."

"No longer. I am back at tier one."

Shocked, I awaited the story as the maid brought in a platter of rose custard and baso wine, that bitter test of Red Claw stoicism. 

Wayacth was the victim of a high-level sleep spell in the senate. On awakening, she felt something was wrong, a fear borne out by failure to conjure a simple mage light. She paused, testing me. 

"Your magic link was severed," I said. Practitioners of the psionic arts are capable of it, and are frequently employed by the anti-magic Inquest fanatics."

"I have restored it," she said bluntly. 

I clutched my staff. "Impossible. Unheard of!"

"It happened thusly: I have my grandfather's ability to sense magic links in academy candidates. Unlike him, I can visualize links--even my own."

"Astonishing!" I must learn the secret of this. It would be my price for whatever she wanted of me. 

She went on. "I ordered my maid Sapillia to turn away all visitors, and see that I was not disturbed during the long night. Partly in the dream state, I repaired the link with agonizing slowness."

"Whom do you suspect of the crime?"

"Yisrilla."

Again I reeled in surprise. "The imperatrix?"

"I believe her responsible for her husband's death. She now fears the Red Claws, and has ordered our base here relocated to Daumastia." 

The imperator's dragon flight had been ambushed over the frozen Yaglukk region by dark realms raiders. 

"And what," I asked, "has this to do with me?"

"I must re-learn all my spells, and in record time. I need someone to spar with, one who will truly challenge me."

"You speak truly about the punishing challenge, girl. And if you regain your tier six?"

"Then I will settle with Yisrilla." She gave me a moment to digest this. "You have no more liking for her than I. Her reckless courting of the dark realms endangers both our eastern borders."

I laughed, releasing the pent up backlog of surprises. "I know you for a determined woman, Wayacth. You have already achieved the impossible. We will begin your comeback at Khot, City of Thieves, as neutral ground."

She grimaced: an aristocrat in such a slag pile?

"Agreed, Arcanus. But don't expect me to call you 'master'." 

The Creative Way and God

 

Keeping on the creative wave lengths.  Being creative is also a spiritual as well personal development.  Sometimes we have a creativity block or our personal censor tells us we are not good or our work is meaningless.  Julia explains ways to override that negative censor.    Trying out morning pages or freewriting in the journal helps tremendously.  How this works is write whatever comes to mind.  

For those with kids and busy routine, find the time in the morning, at least five minutes to write in the morning.  Try it for a week and it will help you break through that creativity block and put aside that censor. It will make your profession better and have a better inner spirituality. Her works have helped me write and create better works of art and have inner peace within. My gift to everyone when my books are published is to be a gift, an escape from the hectic world we are in.  

Grammar Series: Parallelism in Writing

 

We are launching a new series to encourage and inspire writers of all kinds.   One of the best techniques in writing is parallelism. It makes us remember certain points in the manuscript.  It's sort of like getting across a meaning or emphasis a sentence.  It adds balance to smooth out the sentence and flow.  

Parallelism is the use of components in a sentence that are grammatically the same; or similar in their construction, sound, meaning or meter. Parallelism examples are found in literary works as well as in ordinary conversations.
This method adds balance and rhythm to sentences giving ideas a smoother flow and thus can be persuasive because of the repetition it employs. For example, “Alice ran into the room, into the garden, and into our hearts.” We see the repetition of a phrase that not only gives the sentence a balance but rhythm and flow as well. This repetition can also occur in similar structured clauses e.g. “Whenever you need me, wherever you need me, I will be there for you.

It is used in a variety of literary works.

Poetry

John Donne’s

“Good we must love, and must hate ill,
For ill is ill, and good good still;
But there are things indifferent,
Which we may neither hate, nor love,
But one, and then another prove,
As we shall find our fancy bent.”

Charles Dickens

Tale of Two Cities

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

It creates a harmony of ideas in a literary work.   One of the most invaluable tools that will strengthen your work. 

Assignment:  Write three parallel sentences.  

Math, the Son of Mathonwy, tale 4 — Part 1

Math, lord of Gwynedd, could not exist if not his feet rested on the lap of a virgin, unless he were needed in war. Thevirin now was Goewin. Math's nephew Gilvaethwy was morose because he had fallen in love with Goewin. Gilvaethwy's brother Gwydion noticed the change in him, and got him to tell him the cause of his sulkiness. Gwydion devised a plan. He told Math that Pryderi's people had a new animal, very tasty; and called swine or pig. They were given him by Arawn, king of Annwvn. It was agreed that the brothers and ten more would disguise themselves as bard, and entertain Pryderi; then ask for pigs as payment. This was carried out, but there was a prohibition against letting go the animals until they doubled their number. But the next day an exchange was made for what were actually illusiory beautiful gold harnessed horses and greyhounds conjured up by Gwydion.

They ride off with the pigs, and later the horses and greyhounds disappear. Pryderi and his men go off in pursuit. Knowing they were pursued, the men of the north caged the pigs; and went to tell Math, who set out after Pryderi. This gave Gilvaethwy the opportunity he wanted with the maiden, and the next morning he went to Math's camp. After a slaughter on both sides, and hostage taking, Pryderi requested Gwydion and he fight, since the latter was the cause of the violence. By magic and charm, Gwydion killed Pryderi.

When Math learned that Gilvaethwy violated Goewin, he recompensed her, and punished the brothers by transforming them into animals three years in a row. At the end of each year, he took their offspring. The first year they were deer, the second wild hogs, the third year wolves. In each case, Math struck the offspring with a wand, and the beast was changed into a boy, and was baptised. Math requesting a new virgin, Arianrod, his niece, was brought to him. When told to step over a wand, two babies appeared. Before the second one could be seen, Gwydion concealed it. Math named the first one Dylan. He died young, by a blow from an uncle.

One day Gwydion heard the baby he put in a chest crying. He had it nursed. After the child has grown a few years, Gwydion brings him to Arianrod, who learning the child is hers, is shamed; and refuses to name him. Gwydion, through trickery, has her name the boy. When a wren stood on the deck of a ship and the boy hit it with a shot, Arianrod calls the boy a lion, to describe the feat. For this he was named Llew Llaw Gyffes. The same after she refused to give him arms. Another time, illusory attack is created, and Arianrod has the boy armed to meet the enemy; but then the enemy vanished. She then proclaims he will never have a wife of this world. So a woman is created for him from natural sources; and she was named Blodeuwedd. Math gave Llew a territory to rule. 

Queens of Studio B

 

Being the chief meteorologist for weather station W-AMOK meant a certain prestige for Glenda Mason. Except for that one day each month when the segment aired on the set of the horror show. The diva, to make matters worse, had brought aboard a number of equally crackpot sidekicks. But the show had a profitable cult following the stockholders liked. 

Glenda's protest ended with the manager thumping his copy of her contract. Resigned, she ventured into the second-floor studio, where her producer had set the monitor for a map of California. She forced a smile for the cameraman. "Good morning from the set of the. . . .Wicca Horror Show. Today's weather report is courtesy of Ashbury Conglomerates. Here to introduce our sponsor is the show's host."

"Hostess." No one would argue that, given Wicca's vampish black stage dress. "Don't buy your conglomerates--whatever that is--from anyone else. Before we get into that, Brenda, didn't I see you flirting with Mr Assberry? Buttering up the old boy, are we?"

"It's Glenda." Clenched smile. "I don't flirt with our sponsors."

The second occurrence of the word opened a door for the cyborg character. "Flirtation: teasing with the possibility of illicit sex."

"I'd never cheat on my husband," Glenda huffed.

"Counter-intuitive," said the gold plated wannabe from Metropolis. "The escalating nature of this activity must lead to eventual mating." 

"Now, Queenie." Wicca waved it aside. "This you find a problem, when you have the world on the road to Ragnarok?" 

She had to be shilling for her own show. Glenda feigned interest. "Is that one of your horror titles?"

A deep voice interjected. "Tragically,  no." The bearded, helmed dwarf called Hecabano entered the fray. "I told the diva it was a bad idea bringing in the queen of the Bot Star Empire. Despite precautions, Queenie managed to shoot a barb into the station tabby, which proceeded, in her words, to 'target select individuals'. Now the world is hopelessly bottified." 

Wicca flung out bejeweled arms. "Oh well! What do I care? Just give me more time to stockpile goodies in the Outworld before it all blows up." 

The Outworld already. Glenda called her out. "Now I know you're talking about your show."

But the host wasn't listening. "Queenie, I'm going to find an iron rod and spank your--"

"My database," said the cyborg, "indicates this as flirtation."

Wicca smacked a frustrated hand across her eyes.

"She's good." The dwarf shook with silent laughter.

"Then I'm confused," Glenda protested. "This is one of your comedy routines. Don't you people ever come out of character?"

Wicca steered her aside. "There's something you should know, Linda. Watch out for anyone with needles coming out their fingertips. But there's a safer way to spot them."

"I'm almost interested."

With a knowing wink, Wicca put a finger to the side of her nose. "If it's woke, it's broke." She sashayed back toward the set. 

After mixing up with these kooks, Glenda had quite forgotten to do the weather.