Into the fray

It's snowing in Nebraska, but I'm off visiting Etruscan places--in my imagination, anyway. A perk of fiction writing: daydreaming is part of the job.

Right now I'm writing Tales of Malstria, Book 4. It's set in tumultuous 3rd and 4th century BCE, when many Etruscan cities were facing off against Rome's expanding power. Here's a sneak peak excerpt from the work in progress:

My troops followed the river south and east along the base of the hills. Bog reeds, willows, and birch clogged the marshland on the riverbank, but farther out the valley opened in broken oak groves and pastureland. An hour's march in bough-strained moonlight brought us within sight of our enemy's camp. 

We formed up. The light infantry--men with swords and throwing spears--took the far right flank near the river and amongst the dense-growing trees. My own guard, Aplu's chosen, lined up four rows deep, and on our left the remaining hoplites filled the valley to the hill's base, forming a wall of spear-wielding men. Silent, we waited only moments before our archers rained fire on their tents. 

The enemy scrambled, men half-dressed grabbing swords and shields; trumpets blaring and signaling formations. A ragged band, they might have been twice our number but had less than half our skill. Men charged uphill in imperfect lines as their cavalry mounted.

"Forward!" I shouted, and our trumpeter blew the call.

We ran into Vetluna's half-formed lines, and as my spear hit the shield opposite me, I lost sight of the larger battle. Tents burned, making one dark silhouette of the phalanx facing us. Somewhere beyond them, horses screamed and men bellowed like beasts.

I'm using NaNoWriMo as encouragement to keep the rough draft rolling. So excited to see this story unfolding. (I always encounter surprises as I write. Comes from using a broad outline, I suppose.) Now back to work for me!

Tapestry tales

The Unicorn is Killed and Brought to the Castle (from the Unicorn Tapestries, Met Museum)

Tapestries tell stories. Beyond the primary image, small details add layers of meaning. Violets might symbolize saints. Wild strawberries indicate desire. A rabbit, fertility.

While writing The Taking, I was studying medieval iconography. I became so caught up in the symbols I was learning about that I created an entire series of tapestries for Amarys' walls--each one filled with plants, animals, and figures that revealed hidden aspects of the novel. In the course of edits, most of the tapestries were cut out, but symbols inspired by medieval art appear throughout the text.

To explore these inspiring images, take a look at The Lady and the Unicorn and The Unicorn Tapestries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met's site is one of my favorites. It includes clickable detail views, providing information on the symbolic meaning and practical function of each item.

Plowing ahead

Photo by h. koppdelaney

Activities I've long enjoyed have taken on the luster of chores.  Writing, working out, gardening, cooking--the small moments I found joy in have become an endless list of things to be done.  The past year has wrung me dry.  But, I'm not giving up.

The novel I'm working on now is set primarily in Nebraska, around the time of the civil war.  It's the first thing I've written that my dad showed any interest in, and when I began working on it this spring, he would talk to me about native prairie plants, the hedgerows settlers planted, the grasses they brought with them.  We had long discussions on local history and the plains.  The last day I saw Dad, I told him about the scene I'd just written--the novel's end, which had come to me though my draft was nowhere near the end.  I felt he should know how things turned out, since the details he gave me built so much of the framework.  Did he like the ending?  He didn't say, and I didn't ask.  We went on to talk about other things--the drought in Texas, Dad's cows, the birdfeeder outside his window.

It's tougher now, working on this novel, when the places and experiences and tone of the story are so closely woven with my memories of Dad.  I've had to change my approach to keep myself going.  I'm handwriting pages--writing and writing without reviewing or critiquing or shaping what comes.  I'm trusting there will be a worthwhile harvest when all the words are on the page.

I'm working like my homesteading ancestors did--head down, trudging forward.  You can't stop breaking sod because you don't feel like plowing.

Bringing the Devil to His Knees

From time to time I like to share books about writing that I've found especially useful or interesting.  The latest one I've been reading,  Bringing the Devil to His Knees: the Craft of Fiction and the Writing Life is comprised of essays originally presented as lectures in the Warren Wilson College MFA Program for Writers.  The book is not an assemblage of how-to-write rules, but instead, an exploration of writing approaches.  The essays are divided into three categories:  Techniques, Devices, and Strategies; Maps and Legends; and Facing Up to the Reader.  As in any collection, some essays stand out as more relevant than others, but which essays a reader finds useful will no doubt vary with the reader's own needs as a writer.  The chapter with the greatest impact on me, "In Defense of Omniscience" by Richard Russo, inspired me to step away from my usual first-person narrative style and begin writing my current draft in third person omniscient.  Within the essay, Russo also touches on balancing showing with telling, which is something I'm constantly evaluating in my own writing.

The closing of the book's introduction states: "This book does not mean to provide--cannot provide--a set of answers.  At best it will be suggestive (in the best sense), informative, and inspiring".  It delivers exactly what it promises.

Games We Play

I've started playing pinochle with a group of co-workers on Wednesdays.  My grandpa taught me to play when I was a kid, and family holidays and Saturday afternoons used to be prime pinochle time.  Grandpa was the best partner.  He had an instinct for taking chances, and he didn't mind my occasionally reckless bidding.  With him for a partner, it seemed impossible to lose.

I haven't played in the decade since he died.  Starting over, I feel rusty.  The rules are different, and I miss Grandpa's banter.

Games and play are essential to our devolopment, our relationships, and our lives.  Look back through history, and you'll find people playing, competing, co-operating.  It seems a part of human nature.  Look back on your own life.  What games did you play?  Wtih whom?  How did playing games make you feel?  How did you feel about those with whom you played?
 
Today's exercise is devoted to character development.  Take a character you've been working on (or invent a new one).  Find out what games he or she likes and hates.  Is your character good at games or an utter failure?  Does he cheat?  Is she competive or uninvested in the game's outcome?  Do the answers change depending on whom the character is playing against/with or depending on the game?

If you come up with some interesting insights, feel free to post them in the comments! 

Soldiers Playing Cards, c. 1657-1658, by Pieter de Hooch