MasterDex does Writing

[MasterDex]

This thread is where I'm going to throw anything that I write outside of PXOD articles. It may include shoddy drafts, poetry, never-to-be-published articles, etc. Essentially, anything that I'm either not ready to publish or plan on never publishing officially.

 

First off, I'd like to give an excerpt from a recent novel I've begun writing, Before I do, I'd like to give a bit of a background to the novel.

 

For ages, I've wanted to write a fantasy steeped in the history and folklore of Ireland. I've always felt that it's one of the richest to exploit for fantasy yet so often ignored. Up until the monks, Ireland had no written history and what was written of it is circumspect at best. From the Partholón to the Tuatha Dé Danann and beyond, the history of how the Irish came to be is mysterious and ready to be exploited by any budding fantasy writer. In this novel, I do what I've always wanted - Take Irish history and mythology (along with Iron and Dark age reality) and have fun with it all. What you'll read next is a very early draft (literally written this week) of my first attempt to do so. There may be grammatical errors and the flow of language may not be great but it's the early formation of the aforementioned ideals applied to the framework of a story I've wanted to write for years.

 

Please feel free to express your thoughts, both good and bad about all that you see in this post and, subsequently, in this thread.

 

P.S If you think it's all a load of crap, blame Saturnine and his novel, Within Ruin, for reawakening my desire to write fiction.

 

 

“You will never be king! You will wallow in the depths of poverty and servitude and you shall never, so long as I draw breath, receive so much as a fief in my kingdom!”

The voice bellowed through the courtyard, drawing the attention of the already rambunctious crowd gathered within.

“With the gods and demons, and all gathered here today as my witnesses, you are banished henceforth from my lands. Not ever again will you stand here. Not ever again will you proliferate your vile lies and promulge your imaginations. BE GONE! BE GONE FROM MY SIGHT AND DO NOT RETURN!”

 

The crowd had quietened but whispers teemed.The day had began auspiciously. King Sarán Conaill of Namethia was to be wed once again. Having lost his previous wife, the fair Queen Egrenya, to sickness a year past and suffering politically as a result, today's marraige had been one of great haste. His new queen was to be Leesha the White, the princess of the neighbouring kingdom of Duvalya. Intended primarily to satiate the cries of a yet mourning populace, the marraige to Princess Leesha also promised to ease the tensions between the two kingdoms. Though war had never been formally declared, captured spies and growing military power on both sides had created great friction betwixt them. Duvalya was sired by King Gelmung the Fierce and the nation of Skarand over the sea stood at its defense. It was a nation that few on the island of Banvar trusted. For two centuries, their people had raided the coastlands and in the year of the great dirge, they conquered the people of Artal and made them their own. Now the kingdom of Duvalya, two-score years established, was opening its gates to the Banvari, seeking co-operation in the light of scant trade with Skarand.

 

Leesha was not a popular choice among the peasantfolk of Namethia. Though they had little trust for the Duvalians to begin with, they harboured a great disquiet for the pale princess. Bearing witness to their trepidation before the wedding was Ruark Conaill, son of Sarán. Strong of mind but naive of soul, the fair-haired Ruark was beloved by the peasantfolk. Attesting on this day that he had seen Leesha lie with a royal stallion and overheard the princess intimate to her Duvalian consul of the strength of the city walls and the spirit of the king, Ruark had hoped for an entrustment from his father.It had not been forthcoming however and in his dismay, he bound for the princess with skean in hand. His bounty for such an act? The sudden and unbidden tearing of his right arm by one of his father's men.

 

At the stairhead to the castle doors, the king slumped back upon a quaint oaken throne, his head hung low in his hand. He was a burly man of fiery hair and great stature yet today, for the first time, his people saw him shrink. At his feet lay Ruark, yet to reach his fifteenth name day. With a hand to his arm, he stumbled slowly to his feet. He too hung his head low today.

“I will” he whispered.

“You will what?!” barked the king as he threw his gaze upon the boy.

“I will leave.”

The king’s gaze did not falter. As the boy stood there, blood trickling down his arm and between his fingers, the king remained transfixed on his tear-filled eyes.

“I will leave and I shan’t ever return. If my life is forfeit in the eyes of my father then I shall start anew. I shall start anew and rise up. And I will return. I will return with fire in my eyes and blood on my teeth. I will return to this gods forsaken hole and claim my birthright. I will not leave Namethia to the dark ones. I will not allow the Tudannan curse my home for the whims of a horsewife spy!”

Derg, the guard who had opened Ruark's arm, stepped forward once more. He was a small man but everything about him aside from his impeccable iron armour screamed savagery and danger. His mouth warped into a wry grine. Lifting his still-bloodied blade, he placed it firmly against the boy’s neck.

“Ya’d do well ta shu’ i’, ‘ung ser.”

The guard’s mouth straightened but in his eyes could still be seen that wicked smirk.

“I’d ‘ate ta ‘av ta ooze this ‘ere blade on yer pretty little person agin”

“Enough! Leave him be, Derg.” King Sarán interjected. “I have said my piece and he, his. Get him out of my sight. I hear the piglords of Westermar are forever seeking more shovelers of shit”

King Sarán arose and left the chill of the courtyard with the princess; unmarried, infuriated and dishonoured. The crowd could restrain themselves no longer.

“Ooze ta be d’air nows then if not ar prince?!” rose a voice above the rest.

“You plebeians need not worry” came the lucid tones of a nobleman.

“Indeed!” exclaimed another, “The new queen will bear fresh fruit soon enough.”


“Aye! I’m sure m’lady will! Only question be if it of 'orse or lord!”

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of laughter and protestation until little by little, the noise dissipated and all that could be heard was the bark of the stable master berating the hands. The excitement was over and the crowds were moving on, heading this way and that, back to their duties.

“Alone now, m’boy.” jeered Derg, sheathing his sword. “Naught ken save yer little arse now! C’mere, lezee ‘ow easy ya rise wen yer stuck ’n d’mud”

With his hand gripped tightly to the boy’s injured shoulder, Derg began walking. The boy had no choice but to follow suite.

 

“I bin ‘opin ta be rid’ve ya after a time, little ‘un. Ooh was ta know ta be so soon? M’lord’s a real man, so ‘e is. ‘E don’t take no shitting from a spoiled pup like yerself, ‘specially wen da target of da shitting be ‘is dear sweet new lady.” He let out a throaty laugh. “Now I knows ya bin 'atin poor ol' Derg but I 'as plans for yer banishing, boy! I're ganna rise, 'ung master. Ya le' me show me loyalty t'day. Yer good aul' da ganna trus' Derg wit 'is life now! 'E ganna raise me ta knight, I tell ye!”

Ruark kept silent and continued to trudge forward, clutching his arm with all the might he could muster.

As they left the city and crossed the bridge defending the gates, the smell of manure and sweat filled the air. All around them, men prepared for war. To their right, a hastily constructed pallisade was being erected. From it, at every foot or so, sprang forth long, thin, wooden spikes. On the left, where a deadly pallisade had already been constructed, trenches were being dug out behind them and from the great forest to the east came the belaboured dray horses with fresh wood for the walls. The king was preparing for war. The king was always preparing for war. To him, war was sport. It was a game of risk and chance and folly and one that the king gambled upon freely.

“Lord Berrin does not stand a hope in hell! His forces are as wild dogs with collars upon their necks. No slave army of Laigann could hope to challenge my knights and dream of standing victorious. His death at my gates is inescapable! Then his lands are mine for the taking! Gwahahaha”

The laughter of his father echoed loudly in the boy’s mind.

“His lands are mine.” He repeated quietly, “His lands are mine.”

As he repeated this vow to himself, he felt his body getting weaker. By now the blue tunic he wore was a deep crimson. He realised then that he could no longer feel his arm, and as he contemplated the fate that lay before him, his vision blurred and his head filled with static. The ground beneath his feet opened up and within moments, he was staring into an abyss.

Edited January 8, 2012 by MasterDex

[Saturnine Tenshi]

Don't shift the blame! I like the concept, and it helps that I've recently been reading a smattering of Scottish and Irish history. It also helps that I haven't ventured too in-depth wrt Ireland beyond their resistance versus the Scots. Press on, you.

 

As an aside: you're a PXOD writer? This is news to me!

[MasterDex]

Don't shift the blame! I like the concept, and it helps that I've recently been reading a smattering of Scottish and Irish history. It also helps that I haven't ventured too in-depth wrt Ireland beyond their resistance versus the Scots. Press on, you.

 

As an aside: you're a PXOD writer? This is news to me!

 

I am! I'm the guy that looks like Jesus - http://pressxordie.com/meet-the-team/

 

The best thing about Irish history is that it's so easy to change as a fantasy writer. For example, The myth behind the irish name of Ireland - Éire - tells of three women (the wives of three Tuatha Dé Danann Kings) Eriu, Banba and Fodla, who each asked the Míl Espáine to name the island after them should they conquer it. Once they did - through the stipulations of the three kings, Amergin the bard named the island after Éiru. In my story, the name of the island is Banvar, after Banba.

 

Then there's the legends that some Irish settlers came from Scythia, were the decendants of the biblical Noah, came from Gaul or in the case of the Milesians, from Spain; having found it from the Tower of Hercules, the oldest lighthouse in the world (still standing strong) - all this is nigh on impossible to factually prove however and much of it comes from the Book of Invasions, a pseudohistory written by christian monks. So yeah, plenty of untapped source material to dive into.

Edited January 8, 2012 by MasterDex

[Kovach_]

I love Irish names. I have no idea how to pronouce them correctly, so i always do it in a Serbian way, which is more often than not hilarious. Well, at least for me. As long as your novel has 3 most important things any fantasy novel should have*, (swords, booze, and boobs) i shall support it forever.

 

*as decided by me

[Hot Heart]

I like the concept and the set-up you have going at the start. Besides the easily rectified things (begun not began, 'marraige') I think it leaps into too many new names and places all at once. It's probably a problem with which most fantasy contends, and perhaps avid readers soak up all that easily anyway, but it seems a bit overwhelming, personally.

[MasterDex]

Thanks for the feedback. I never spotted the begun/began bit while checking over it and I have no idea why marraige wasn't caught by the spellchecker.

 

In regards to the volume of names being thrown at the reader so early on, what would you suggest? I know Brain or 6264 mentioned that paragraph two and three were too much description all at once so do you think editing that section down or spreading out the information contained therein would help with what you're talking about? Originally, those two paragraphs weren't present and Ruark was only ever called 'the boy' but then I felt there was too little information. I guess I overcompensated.

[Saturnine Tenshi]

I had no problem keeping up with the information, and I am absolutely terrible with names.

[Kovach_]

I had no problem keeping up with the information, and I am absolutely terrible with names.

[Hot Heart]

In regards to the volume of names being thrown at the reader so early on, what would you suggest? I know Brain or 6264 mentioned that paragraph two and three were too much description all at once so do you think editing that section down or spreading out the information contained therein would help with what you're talking about? Originally, those two paragraphs weren't present and Ruark was only ever called 'the boy' but then I felt there was too little information. I guess I overcompensated.

 

I gather from what Stenshi has said that perhaps regular readers of fantasy have no problem, but if Brain and 6264 share my sentiment it may want cutting down. I mean, I'm sure it is valuable information but I felt it takes you right out of the story. You've got a strong enough opening that it's possible to leave a little 'mystery' and fill in a bit more as you go. Again, it may depend on what style you're going for (since it is based on history) but I prefer the sense of intrigue with a slow burn of exposition.

[P4: Gritty Reboot]

Props for putting in the effort to write a full story. Seeing a narrative to a conclusion is a daunting task, as I'm sure Saturnine can vouch for. A few notes on the excerpt:

• I would tone down Derg's dialect. It's hard to read.
  
• As HH pointed out, there are basic spelling and grammatical mistakes--while I realize it's a draft, make sure to fix these as if you send it to a publisher they will not even read it if they see those early on or very often. (Not sure if you're planning on shopping the manuscript or not)
  
• Some of the dialogue & prose reads a little too typical "fantasy" I feel. Stuff like this: "Lord Berrin does not stand a hope in hell! His forces are as wild dogs with collars upon their necks. No slave army of Laigann could hope to challenge my knights and dream of standing victorious. His death at my gates is inescapable! Then his lands are mine for the taking! Gwahahaha" or "You will wallow in the depths of poverty and servitude and you shall never, so long as I draw breath, receive so much as a fief in my kingdom" It doesn't sound as someone would really talk, fantasy or no. Many of Ruark's lines are more grounded and believable.
  
• With regards to what HH is saying about the flood of information, it may help to just unpack that kind of info over more paragraphs. Also, consider showing the reader these things rather than just backing up the Dump Truck of Background Info into his lap and and unloading. For instance, "Leesha was not a popular choice among the peasantfolk of Namethia." Then show us the peasantfolk of Namethia cursing her and calling her all sorts of horrible Irish slurs! It would be more enjoyable; plus, when you have a concrete scene like that, the information tends to burn itself into the readers' brains rather than forcing them to juggle a list of factoids.
  

On the positive side of things, your prose is good and certainly with some cleaning up could tell an interesting story over the course of the novel. The narrative, while early on obviously, has all the dramatic pieces in place to set up an intro that will hook readers. I'd also ask whether you'd considered trying to get some short stories published--those in the know often say that going straight for the jugular with a full-length book doesn't work for most authors (though not saying it won't for you.)

 

Note: Not trying to be overly critical or anything. Hope I didn't come off that way. Just want to lend a hand so your writing can be the best it can.

[MasterDex]

I would tone down Derg's dialect. It's hard to read.

Yeah, I had a feeling I was going a bit overboard with Derg's dialect. "'ung" in place of young, in particular, acts as a bit of a wall on first sight.

 

As HH pointed out, there are basic spelling and grammatical mistakes--while I realize it's a draft, make sure to fix these as if you send it to a publisher they will not even read it if they see those early on or very often. (Not sure if you're planning on shopping the manuscript or not)

I want to see how the story turns out before I decide whether to shop it around or not but I hear ye on the spelling and grammatical errors. The spelling should have been ok since I ran it through a spellchecker but I'm afraid I'll never get the grammar right -anyone that's read the first drafts of my articles can attest to that weakspot.

 

Some of the dialogue & prose reads a little too typical "fantasy" I feel. Stuff like this: "Lord Berrin does not stand a hope in hell! His forces are as wild dogs with collars upon their necks. No slave army of Laigann could hope to challenge my knights and dream of standing victorious. His death at my gates is inescapable! Then his lands are mine for the taking! Gwahahaha" or "You will wallow in the depths of poverty and servitude and you shall never, so long as I draw breath, receive so much as a fief in my kingdom" It doesn't sound as someone would really talk, fantasy or no. Many of Ruark's lines are more grounded and believable.

 

I wanted to make King Sarán come across as very grandiose, almost cartoonishly so but I hear what you're saying. He might end up seeming completely out of place in the end.

 

With regards to what HH is saying about the flood of information, it may help to just unpack that kind of info over more paragraphs. Also, consider showing the reader these things rather than just backing up the Dump Truck of Background Info into his lap and and unloading. For instance, "Leesha was not a popular choice among the peasantfolk of Namethia." Then show us the peasantfolk of Namethia cursing her and calling her all sorts of horrible Irish slurs! It would be more enjoyable; plus, when you have a concrete scene like that, the information tends to burn itself into the readers' brains rather than forcing them to juggle a list of factoids.

On the positive side of things, your prose is good and certainly with some cleaning up could tell an interesting story over the course of the novel. The narrative, while early on obviously, has all the dramatic pieces in place to set up an intro that will hook readers. I'd also ask whether you'd considered trying to get some short stories published--those in the know often say that going straight for the jugular with a full-length book doesn't work for most authors (though not saying it won't for you.)

 

Balancing between descrption, action and dialogue is probably the greatest problem I have with writing stories. I always feel like I either have too much information like in this case, too much dialogue or not enough action. It's certainly something I'll be working on. I'm not sure how long the story will be yet. I have a vague roadplan in my head which at its simplest boils down to boy gets exiled, grows as a person through adventure then returns to his home. Beyond that, I have some of those adventures planned but it would be very easy at the moment to bring the story down to novella size. The biggest issue I face at the moment, I think, is that it's been so long since I've written anything but internet comments or articles so it's been hard to get back in the rhythm of it all.

 

Note: Not trying to be overly critical or anything. Hope I didn't come off that way.

 

Not at all! The more critique, the better. If I wanted people to just tell me how great I am, I wouldn't have thrown it up...well....I probably would have, but I want the negative and the positive.

[MasterDex]

It's been a while since I updated this thread and I think it's about time I do so.

 

I've continued writing the first draft but I'm starting to consider changing from a second-hand perspective to a first-hand one, or at least a combination of both. Considering how focused the story is on one character and how frustrating it's been for me to get the strength of characterisation I want for that character, I think it might be the best course of action.

 

I've whipped up an early draft of the marriage from Ruark's point of view and I think I prefer it to the second-hand perspective of the event. It doesn't reach to the point my first excerpt did but I wanted to get some more opinions before I went any further with the idea.

 

Without further ado, here it is. There's probably a heap of grammatical errors as I haven't went over it too heavy with the editing brush.

 

 

The Marriage at Cannis Court

-A Recounting by Ruark Connail, The True Lord of Cannis-

 

It was hot. No, it was sweltering. The air was stale and my body, naked though it may have been, was sticky with sweat. Today was a day for revelry but it was certainly no day for me. For my father, it was a different story. My father, Fiachra Connail; King of Cannis, Lord Protector of the Amber Lands; idiot. King is too regal a title for such a man as he, even Lord seems too high a title to grant to a man with such meagre holdings; Lord Protector even more so. My father protected little beyond his own interests. Over the past ten years, the kingdom that my grandfather had built was whittled away until only its core remained intact, and even then, for how long? On all sides, our enemies encroached. Once they were allies, most of them at least. Then my father decided to play war and piss all over every treaty our kingdom had agreed to.

 

Today was a day for him to forget all that. My father was to marry once more. His queen to be was the sultry, white-haired Princess Leesha from across the North Sea. Guileful and sly she was, and surely a cancer upon our little kingdom. No sooner had the marriage been agreed to, than rumours had come of her shrewdness. The peasants talked of bankrupt lords and midnight affairs, of treacherous tales involving pennyboys and prostitutes. It's no wonder then that such claims never reached the ears of the court. No self-respecting nobleman would dare to let it be known that they were in dire straits and few slaves and slags had the ear of one of higher birth. I would never have heard such accounts myself were it not for my fondness of loose women and lousy beer.

 

My own experience of the woman thereafter left little doubt to the veracity of the reports.The first night she arrived, she set her eyes on Stallion, the dark-skinned stablemaster of our keep. On the second night, she lay with him - a vision I had only chanced upon when coming back from The Burly Maiden, a tavern in the lower town. She glimpsed me too, and showed little concern for the carnal act I had caught her in. Of course she did. She already knew where I stood with my father, everyone else did. Why did it infuriate me even so? The sheer audacity of the women annoyed me to no end. Princess Leesha, such a deceptive name for such a deceitful bitch. I rue the day she put foot on this land.

 

Yet I had to act jovial. Such a glorious occasion was to be rejoiced by my father's family. It was only right, only natural. Right be damned! "A true heir!" thought my father, "A right sucker!" thought she. Feck the both of them, I thought. I'd have sooner pissed on my mother's grave than have given credence to this sham. Damn that heat! It boiled my blood as much as the thoughts of the day's events.

 

I arrived to the throneroom later than most of the guests. The hollering outside grew louder. The hour was nearly upon us. My father sat expectant upon his oaken throne. Beside him had been placed a second, smaller version of his. The bitch had her claws in deep. Not even my grandmother, gods bless her soul, was granted such an honour. Yet the love my grandfather held for her was immeasurable. The pact was sealed then. I wanted to scream. This was a contract of death for Cannis, signed with cum and cowardice. You see, as beautiful and fair as Leesha may have been, this espousal was little more than political manoeuvring. It was a way to get in with the the Nordmen, the traders that took the lands of the High Lord on arrival. It's a shame my father couldn't see, or chose to ignore, their own machinations. He believed the Nordmen brought strength. He imagined that the enemies on his borders would put tail between legs and run home upon hearing news of the alliance. Little did he know they were making alliances of their own.

 

Leesha arrived, as radiant as the sun in her golden dress and braided hair; as dark as the night beneath it all. Our guests arose, applauding the princess with the sort of false exuberance only a noble can muster. My father rose also. I remained seated. Behind him, my sisters stood by my side, glowering over me as if all hope for future happiness rested on whether I, the hated heir, sat or stood. I had made no secret of my feelings before today, why should I do so now?

 

"Princess Leesha!" exclaimed the royal crier "And her father, Lord Vargund, honoured trader of the black port!"

 

Honoured, my arse! That monster had driven wives and children from their homes while they watched their husbands and fathers burn inside. That monster had set his rabid dogs loose on every woman they came across. Hell, that monster let them loose on the children - that was what really pissed me off. Rape was a commonality of war in these parts, as depraved as that truth may be. Yet there were rules; unspoken ones, yes, but there were rules. Our soldiers certainly didn't diddle the cradles.

 

Leesha walked down the path created by the nobles as they gave way for her approach. Arm in arm with her, Lord Vargund took heavy, slow strides. The man was a giant and the thick black furs that wrapped him made him look more beast than anything else. My father looked a child under his shadow. He fumbled with his crown and swept greying ginger hair from his face. Patting the dust from his silver sequined tabard, he coughed and looked dead ahead, unblinking. I wonder what he thought at that moment. Was there some part of him that fought for better judgement or did the slow stride of Lord Vargund merely impress upon him his own inadequacies?

 

 

Edited May 28, 2012 by MasterDex