Layers Upon Layers: Revising Tips

I’ll get to the topic of this blog post shortly but I wanted to speak a little to the Shoals to the Hallowed flash fiction pieces posted at the end of each month.  To clarify, these are not connected to the Ravanguard series and have remained a writing exercise/foundational laying of the future series.  I apologize to anyone who wishes there was more.  I’m exploring the best way to give you more, which leads to a thought I had but will require an adjustment of sorts to the newsletter cycle.

In a previous post, I had created the main protagonist of the next Ravanguard-related short story for the second newsletter slated to be released at the end of August.  I think I will put that on hold for now (apologies to those who contributed to the character building exercise we shared).  I will come back to it but I think I’d like to use the newsletter as a means for writing a short story for the Shoals to the Hallowed.  You, the subscribers, will receive more context into the world and it will hopefully connect some dots as well.

Also, my previous plan to have 12 POVs is now being cut to 6 so that means in July, we will be returning to one of the characters you’ve all previously been introduced to.  I may even try to squeeze in two flash fiction posts from time to time but it all depends on my schedule.  Thank you for reading and continuing to support me.

<>

Onto the post!

The more I do it, the more I think a first rough draft of a story is simply pushing from beginning to end.  There’s so much that can happen along the way and the writer can plan and outline and still come away after that last page is finished and be surprised by some twists and turns.  I actually enjoy starting a story and not knowing where it will end.  It allows for growth and space.  When I’m surprised by something that happens, I know the reader will be too.

I could easily go on and on but I wanted to bring to light revising tips I’ve accumulated over the years.  There is no true rule or standard for revising.  It’s simply polishing the rough edges of the manuscript.

One thing I look for as I revise the flow of words.  Is there one?  Or does the paragraph or dialogue read congested or even constipated (bad imagery I know).  There’s a rhythm to language that can and should be utilized in storytelling.  Sometimes, it can be rough but that usually falls in line with a particular character, mood, or tone set before.  Sometimes (in my experience), this requires some adding or removing of words or even rewriting the paragraph or dialogue altogether.  Either way, it’s about not putting the reader in a place where it’s difficult to keep reading.

Another thing I look for when I revise is detail.  Is there too much or too little?  This is a bit of a chess game between me and the page to be honest.  It’s not a simple, “Oh, I forgot to say what color that woman’s dress is.”  No, it has more to do with whether or not the scenery/character/conflict is lacking in any way.

I’ll often find that I use words improperly that I mean to have a specific connotation in relation to the colors or sounds in the scene.  Appealing to the senses is essential as a writer.  We want the reader to be immersed in the action taking place in front of them.  If I fail to provide a detail even as minuscule as the sound of footsteps approaching or the creak of a door when someone unexpected enters a room, I’m denying the reader an experience.

These are just a few of the things I look for and are mindful of when revising.  It’s difficult but when I look back at the early scenes/chapters I wrote for “So Speaks the Gallows”, I have to remember that much of the world and characters were not fully fleshed out at that time.  I wrote the first chapters almost ten years ago now.  So much has happened since then and I’ve grown as a writer, able to look at how I write now to those first rough drafts of chapters and it’s truly gratifying to know I’ve grown and not been stagnant.

Call to Action: I haven’t said it in awhile but you should sign up for the newsletter when prompted on the website.  Maybe the promise of a Shoals to the Hallowed short story will be more enticing to some who have resisted so far.

Pressure Tester: Meeting the Content Quota

posted in: Fantasy, Flash Fiction, Life, Writing | 0

I took the Memorial Day weekend as an opportunity to conduct a little experiment.  Since I started this blog and launched my website, I knew I needed to up my game and produce content.  I knew I needed to have more of a presence on social media (Twitter primarily because of its format, features, and links to other writers).  What I didn’t know though was the amount of time this required of me.

I’ve done enough research to understand how marketing myself as a writer on the interwebz is important as I pursue my dream of publishing my stories.  The blog was a great opportunity for me to write and share.  The benefits have been great (I’ve already shared that to some extent and won’t regurgitate it at the moment).  I’ve tweeted and interacted with other writers as opportunities allowed.  Overall, the experience has been good but… To put it bluntly, I’ve run into a bit of a wall.

Let me explain (No, there is too much.  Let me sum up).  Being that active on Twitter has been time consuming.  I got into a habit where I always had a tab open to Twitter and would continually keep an eye on my feed.  I wouldn’t tweet something every hour on the hour but I tried to so throughout the day because all the research I did told me I had to be a continuous presence in addition to adding content.  Other than tweeting, my blog posts every other day have been the majority of my content.

A little vulnerability I’d like to share with everyone: it has been a bit a let down but only because I think my expectations were too high.  I get way more spam comments (all of these I have to go through and mark as spam behind the scenes of my website) and I see no real evidence that I am gaining consistent followers.  This could be for a number of reasons (everyone’s got a blog nowadays, especially writers, so I get that there are a lot of options) and the one I keep coming back to is I’m still at the beginning stages of this season of being “present”.

This is not to say I do not appreciate the comments I do receive from real people.  I love being able to read them and respond.  If I don’t respond, I apologize.  I am trying to be better about it.

Even on Twitter, I’ve come to this hovering number of followers and wonder what I’m doing wrong.  Am I tweeting the wrong things?  Am I hash tagging wrong?  Am I focusing too much on writing and not other interests I have?  If I tweeted more about sports, music, food, etc. would I risk losing the followers I do have?  These are questions I continually wrestle with and have yet to find an answer.

Please don’t take this blog post as a rant or complaint.  It’s not.  I’m processing my actions and the steps I’ve taken over the last five months of going all in.  I trust that I am very much in the early stages of this leg of the race and need to merely slow to a steady pace whereas I was sprinting and have started to hit the wall (I carbo-loaded on the Twitters).

In my mind, the experiment during the last holiday weekend was to see what it “felt” like to unplug.  I decided to step away and not have my laptop in front of me with a Twitter tab open the entire three days.  It was difficult at first because there’s this odd sense that I will miss something by not staying connected.  But then, I have to ask myself, why do I feel the need to stay connected at that level?  It was ultimately draining and I suffered from something I truly don’t want to fall under the pressure of and that’s always being connected through social media.  I can easily let my posting habits become more organic than forcing myself and putting myself on a strict schedule.

If not, then I will burn myself out.  I’ve done so in other areas and through different seasons.  Trying to constantly put out content and interact through social media is too much for me.  I have so many other interests and priorities that I don’t want to let slip away.  These “others” are what fuel me and give me joy.  Constantly tweeting and trying to come up with content that would attract readers and followers is exhausting and it’s not how I want to live my life.  What I want is to write and share the stories I have in me with the world.  Writers have done that for centuries before we ever got to this place of instant-connectivity.

This is not to say technology and our current culture of content intake is bad but I think I need to take a step back and refocus.  I can do both but I cannot sacrifice my relationships, writing, and interests for the sake of building my brand when I’m not quite there.  At least not at the rate I have been trying to.  It’s too much weight and I’ve been putting it all on my shoulders.  I think once I have “Dim the Veil” ready for release or leading up to the release, I need to step back.

Call to Action: No, I’m not going to encourage you to step away from your devices today, lol.  We get that from all over now.  While I do think it’s healthy, I want to encourage everyone to simply consider what they’re putting out there.  What’s your involvement?  What content are you pouring out?  Is it about sharing your life and being encouraging or dumping your trash for the world to see?  We should strive to be better than the negative ninnies out there.  Let’s be better.  Let’s be uplifting, honoring others wherever they are at in their journey.

The Benefits of Writing Flash Fiction

My experiment of writing flash fiction since January has been one of invaluable joy.  While it started out as a way to flex the writing muscles and provide additional/different content through the blog, it has turned into something that I believe will thrust me into a sea of possibilities in the future.

I hope you all have enjoyed the flash fiction posts at the end of each month.  The next is fast approaching and I truly enjoy writing these little glimpses into the Shoals to the Hallowed world.  (Side note: My goal is to provide several viewpoints–a new one each month–and then continue on in those viewpoints by next year.  So that means you’ll have twelve distinct viewpoints introduced this year and next year, I’ll be continuing from those twelve.)

My never delving into flash fiction was a result of not really having a platform to explore and release those kinds of stories.  The blog opened the way for me and I’m glad I took those steps.  The benefits have helped me in many regards but I want to focus on one single benefit for this blog post.

Flash fiction forces the writer to value each and every word, choosing only the ones that matter most for the current story told.  What I mean by this is, I try not to exceed 550 words in a flash fiction story.  Some that I have written over the last few months have been too long and I had to whittle those down.  Parameters aren’t always a bad thing when telling a story.

This practice forced me to pick and choose, editing finely, so that the story could be told in full without what I like to call “fluff”.  This makes the story in its glimpse form edged and to the point.  Too often when writing in larger word counts, the propensity for fluff leaks through.  I chalk this up to the desire to add detail in a first draft more for the sake of the writer, setting reminders for themselves, more so than for the readers to need at that time.

As you can probably imagine, I notice the fluff as I go through the revision process with the longer works like book 1 of the Ravanguard series.  Both good and difficult at times, I definitely struggle with knowing what is sometimes fluff and what is important to the details of the narrative (that’s the continued process of becoming a better writer).

The flash fiction stories serve multiple purposes for myself as I continue to write and gain experience.  You all are involved in the experimental process I’ve set in front of me.  I know there are other lessons I’ve learned but being able to take notice of detail in word count forces my hands (ha!) to be patient and considerate whereas in past cases I’ve acted very loose in how I frame the narrative and each scene within.

Call to Action: It may be years down the road, but I do plan on compiling all the flash fiction stories for the Shoals to the Hallowed.  I’ve even started planning and thinking about the bigger picture for the series though it may be many many years down the road.  I’m curious to know what people think so far.  Let me know because I’m interested in getting feedback.  Thanks!

Flash Fiction: “The Bloody Dove”

Chasiel stopped and stepped backwards to look down the narrow street deep in the Weavers Ward in the city of Khamda.  Night cast shadows all about the mottled-stone corridor but she could see the two men easily enough.

Smoke from her exhale curled around her face, pipe bowl glowing as she sucked in soon after.  A hum of sound in her throat followed.

The men faced each other, one slapping at the other in obvious intimidation fashion.  Chasiel would never think to intervene in such a common scene in the gloomy wards of Khamda but the slapping man’s attire drew her attention upon recognition.

Smoke continued to drift from her mouth and caress her face as she approached the abuser and his victim.  The sweet scent of the sigda leaf filled her nostrils.

“Help!” the bloody-faced man cried, hands raised to protect his face from further injury.  Common by his appearance, he did wear at his waist one of the leather kits used by runners to keep writing supplies on hand and ready at a moments notice.

With a twist, the other man turned to see who approached, as Chasiel did not change her footing to a quieter step.  Dark hair and beard hid his features but the three intersecting silver rings sewed into the sleeves of his jerkin marked him a mercenary belonging to the Silver Way Band.  “What’s this–”

His question could not be finished as Chasiel lashed out with a combination of punches to his lower back, aiming for the kidneys, and finishing with a grab and throw technique she had recently learned from Fenroe who would receive a well-deserved “thank you” the next time they saw each other.

The bruised runner trembled in shock at witnessing his attacker being bested by a woman no doubt.  Once he came to his senses, he began to sputter thanks.

Chasiel waved him off.  “Give me whatever contract he had been offered.”

The man winced.  “What?”

She blew smoke in his face, ignoring his coughing.  “The contract.  Give it here.”  She snapped her fingers at him.  The humming sound in her throat followed and the runner’s eyes widened before dropping to her throat where he finally noticed her choker and the pendant that rested cold against her skin.

“Damned whore,” the Silver Way mercenary growled as he rose to his feet, still in pain but reaching for a dagger at his waist.

Chasiel reacted in kind, pipe stem pinched between her teeth, as her hands shot for the hooked blades sheathed behind her back.

Dead men screamed, grunted, and/or pissed themselves when the clutches of the Hallowed seized their soul.  Men of the infamous Silver Way were no different.  Blood flew from her slashes and pooled on the old cobbles at her feet.

“The Bloody Dove,” the runner whispered.

Chasiel nodded.  “I’ll have that contract.  Then you can go.”  Placed in her outstretched hand, she unrolled the thin paper and read, finding the details both interesting and enticing.  “Hallowed be Praised,” she said through smoke and leaving the runner alone with the dead.

Flash Fiction: “Separate From the Sorrows”

 

Gasping breath invaded his stinging lungs, feet slipping on the glass-formed ground where the Shoalway opened for him to exit the harsh environment of his Shoal, Qorum.  Always, the elements of the other realm challenged his body and mind–still in ways the scholars and Wielders did not fully understand.

His wounds required attention.  Cuts stung, slashes needed sutures and burns demanded salves.  The Wielder, Damrin Graeves, surveyed his body wherever the pain emitted from, revealed by the rips and singed parts of his once fine clothing.  The fight had been unexpected.  His hands shook, fingers clenched into hard fists.  Tears streamed from his eyes down his cheeks, stinging throughout their trails.  Not from the pain–no–but from the betrayal he had just survived.

There in the abandoned courtyard of stone and overgrowth in the dead city of Hasselor, Kesree baited him repeatedly like a man mad with deceptive intent.  His vile words, lined with poison, echoed in Damrin’s mind.  His friend…one of many years since they first encountered one another in the Wielder’s Congress.  How had it all unraveled like frayed rope?

Damrin dug his fingers into the dirt of the field outside the capital city of Talloe of the Hold, Teras.  Birds sang beautifully around him, mocking his heartbreak.  Kesree had managed to slip away to his Shoal but he could not have lived.  The wounds he had suffered were far worse–fatal to the body.  Passing through the Shoalway to wherever he ended up in the world was a desperate risk.  The Shoals did not coddle or pity the Wielders able to bridge the world by their power.

Losing his dear friend would leave a wound that would never heal but the confrontation between them was a slow-moving agony.  The betrayal drove his thoughts to consider the turn of events.  If Wielders were turning against one another, then war was surely churned up in the garden of peace.  He had to seek out allies, but knew the chance of further deception was likely.  He needed his mind and body to be healed completely, forcing himself to be ready in an instant.

A small opening to his Shoalway appeared before him, earth melting to glass underneath.  He gazed into the portal, able to look through the haze of power to an atmosphere of peril.  Even a small opening was large enough to let out some of the most dangerous threats that dwelled within Qorum.  But he needed it open.  Only then could he draw out the current of power, healing his wounds.

Flash Fiction: “God’s Bones”

The smoldering corpse lay just outside the center of the destroyed thicket.  The melted ground a foot from the body’s collapsed position revealed it to be a man or woman possessed prior of great power.  The Ajjuun had no name for these things but the whispers of “gods” did come from time to time.

Hijeneva ground her teeth while waiting in the humidity.  Signs of the early morning duel could not be ignored.  The trees and vegetation bore singed ends and deep cuts from unfamiliar weapons. She watched the young man–brave and bold–begin his attempt forward.

Imko’s first few steps boasted courage, produced by confidence none of the young warriors in the thicket lacked.  Why would they not?  The bodies of their dead brothers, sisters and friends who had tried to approach the corpse at all different angles did not find death until they crossed an invisible threshold some few feet away from the looting opportunity.

Nine had died so far.  Imko would be the tenth though none would warn him to avoid the fatal fate.  To do so was against the ways of the Ajjuun.  Bravery was never questioned aloud but in her head, Hijeneva begged him to stop.

Perhaps it was bravery that made Imko refuse to stop at the line and consider another option.  Perhaps it was his desire to impress them all and secure a wife for his next name day.  Perhaps, it was the will of the fallen god.

Imko stopped in mid-step and his body jerked violently until he spasmed so hard an audible snap of bones drowned out his scream.  Far before he fell to the ground, the tenth of them died.

Hijeneva’s heart tweaked in pain, the loss of another–a friend–was never as simple as the death itself.  Her aversion to look upon the fresh corpse of Imko drew her gaze upwards where she could see the overhanging branches of the hosta tree.  Strong and able to hold a grown man’s weight, they extended all the way to where the god lay.  A wall could not be pushed through but it could be cleared.

The fathers and mothers who waited back in the tent grounds did so in anticipation.  Did they know or fear their children died within the crucible?  Would there be crying?  Or would the way of stone be practiced even then?  She could hear the names of their own gods being cursed for their cruelty, unafraid of being stricken with sickness or drought.  The Ajjuun may be considered primal by many in the world of the civilized Holds but they were not denied the capacity to challenge the highest of powers that governed their loyalty and worship.

Hijeneva spoke a prayer in the waning silence.  Someone would announce their intent to follow Imko and she knew it had to be her.  To save the lives of those remaining, to scavenge what could be potentially invaluable to their survival in the days to come and–least important to her–to attract the eyes of a suitable husband.

“I’ll go,” she declared, plan barely formed but knowing her attempt might be what was needed to collect the god’s bones.

Flash Fiction: “Binding Slight”

The strolling occupants of the corridors and stairwells separated at the sight of the general–a salmon swimming against the current.  His cape flowed like a whipped flag in the high winds of the Mestansa Sea.  All eyes avoided his, not daring to touch upon the war-battered irises of a Battle Lord.Oran Ki’Tanil barely took notice of the man struggling to stay beside him.  The flow of traffic did not pay him any mind.

“It’s true then?” asked Dhamsho Hivin, a treasurer to the Hold of Breshtk.  “You spoke to the sole survivor.”  Not a question–a realization.

Oran frowned, saying nothing, refusing to until he stood in the Observum atop the capital conservatory.  His mind flooded with each step, forming plans along with responses and questions.  Scenarios of the most dire brood hatched from their shells of fear and worry.  Duty called him to action but he feared what that entailed both for the people of Breshtk and his thousands of soldiers.

The Observum’s domed architecture spun with the powers manifested from the Shoal to the Hallowed called Fensaeng.  Its Wielder, Delya Glassene, wrapped in her green robes pinned tightly by silver crystals turned to him as he entered but said nothing.  Somewhere along the way, the treasurer had broken away, not daring to enter the room filled with Shoal power.

In front of the Wielder shone a suspended viewer with its twelve glass sides, able to be rotated at will by her alone in order to look upon other places in the world.  An orb for spying on their would-be allies.  Had news reached the other Holds?  How long before messages would be received to offer condolences?

Oran did not trust the use of such power but put aside his prejudices, settled now for the first time in his life to seek the aid of a Wielder.  The shivering across his teeth could be ignored for the time being.  That could not be avoided by anyone unless they were a Wielder themselves.  “It’s true,” he told Delya.

She watched the current side of the viewer where a bird’s eye view of the capital city of Charun, pressed in to the compound grounds of the Hold’s military.  Hundreds of men stood in perfect lines at attention while an imposing figure sat upon a warhorse addressing his soldiers in vigorous speech.  Sound did not come through the viewer, something that Oran would have preferred.  Alas, he had little knowledge and understanding of the Shoals and their power.

“Wielder Glassene,” Oran said, attempting to gain her full attention.  “The heirs of the Breshtk Hold are dead.  Such acts…  Another Wielder has broken the Hold’s Treaty–”

“You should seek allies, General Ki’Tanil.”  She moved her hands in front of the viewer, rotating it slowly so Oran could bear witness to multiple Hold armies assembled in what appeared to be war preparations.  “We will need the best defense possible if the other Holds move against us.”

Knees close to buckling, Oran Ki’Tanil, Battle Lord of the Breshtk Hold, whispered a prayer to the Hallowed for help he doubted would come.

Flash Fiction: “Dousing of the Bonds”


Hail peppered the wet earth along the country highway, afternoon light dismissed by the thickened fog wall ringing the guards and carriage.  Past the barrier, a sun-soaked path teased what could be.  Pine and birch alike stood at the outer edge of the cold mist, forced to bear witness to the attack.

The falling ice pinged off the battered armor of the five remaining guards, their breaths fast and hard, waiting for the next onslaught of their hidden foe.  Puddles rippled, blood and mud mixed in a sickly color, where the bodies of the fallen lay in wait for a burial unlikely to come.

Barston checked his leg but knew it was either fractured or a clean break.  He thanked the Hallowed that the bone did not jut from his flesh.  The deep cold of the circle stung his skin, steel of his chain mail biting.  Clouds of his breath seemed to crystalize in the air in front of him.

Whimpers from within the carriage, front wheels shattered to splinters, pulled him back to the fray.  The desire to tell the boys inside to flee the scene pecked at him but that just promised a sooner death for both.  His fingers brushed frost from the mark on the carriage door.  Blood froze in long trails against the sigil of House Fellel.

He would have asked Jaers what they should do but his friend lay three feet away, having bled out minutes ago.  Who still lived?  Every movement was a struggle.  “Krin,” he chattered through the deepening cold.

“Shut your teeth!” came a desperate, fearful response.

The bridgeway from the Shoals to the Hallowed had opened near them so quickly and without warning that none of the twelve guards could have reacted in their favor.  Whoever the attacking Wielder was, they knew a war would follow in direct response to his or her treachery.

A shiver spread through Barston’s teeth starting at the molars to the front before the strikes came.  Screams followed as he twisted around, propped against the carriage, sword hilt frozen in his gauntleted hand.  One by one, needles and corkscrews of ice pierced frost-bitten flesh, finding the gaps between steel and mail.

The twist of fear, urged him to run away but the pain searing through his leg drove him to unconsciousness after two steps, falling face down into the puddle of Jaers’ blood.

Breath came like an icy wind, his chest heaving in pain.  His bones and muscles numb, skin near blue.

The Wielder stood over him, pleased at his atrocity–an artist convinced of a masterpiece.  Arcane armor covered him from head to toe.  Etchings of symbols twisted throughout while quiet prayers broke from his lips, hidden by helm and visor.  Dark eyes turned to regard Barston.  “You will remain alive to tell the tale,” he said before Barston fell unconscious again, wishing only to die.

Quarter-turn Style Guide: A Newsletter

posted in: Flash Fiction, Newsletter, Writing | 2

Afternoon, my friends!

I apologize for the bit of redundancy in my first few blog posts.  I’m finding my groove (like Kuzko not Stella).  Thanks for returning!

Todays’s post will cover my plans for a newsletter (yes, this a bit of a sales pitch to get all of you to sign up for it.  Don’t judge).  That means I have to make it worth your while.  What follows will be my early thoughts for the content offered.

1. Introduction

This will be pretty standard with maybe a pic or two to showcase life in the Mojave Desert or events I participated between Jan and March.  Probably some fun facts just so you can get to know me a little better.

2. Current Status of Projects

You’ll get an up-to-date status of all of my current projects.  The Ravanguard is the primary work in progress but I have others that I’ll be working on from time to time.

3. Ravanguard Backstory

I’d love to get some background details out to my readers.  The world of the Ravanguard is immense and explored in such a way through my writing that is not all at once but almost a slow burn.  By the end of Book 3, much of its borders are revealed but with a few more surprises (I don’t give the whole cow for free).  The key to this will be to be spoiler free.  Once I release Dim the Veil (Novella 1), I can loosen the draw strings  a bit.

4. Currently Reading and Recently Read

This will direct you to my goodreads profile where if you want, you can see what I’m reading.  I’d like to provide some top picks and recommendations in this section as well.  I’m not practiced in critiques or reviews of other works but I may put myself to the test.

5. Flash Fiction

Here’s the juice.  Fresh and sweet.  I will be providing some flash fiction writing that does not make the blog.  I have some ideas I’m mulling around and will experiment with but I’d love to do a flash fiction series that gives you glimpses into a shared world with fresh characters.  Most of all, this will serve as an example of my writing.  These stories will more than likely be fantasy in genre but there could be surprises from time to time.

6. Conclusion and Call to Action

More standard things here but with some extra goodness to top off the newsletter.

Call to Action: Sign up for the newsletter!  It’s free!