Mark Power-Freeman's Blog: The Face Value Blues
February 10, 2014
My Guest Post on Momsoap
A good friend of mine invited me to write a guest post on her wonderful blog, so I did:
http://www.momsoap.com/2014/02/guest-...
Check it out: it's a brief piece about how my daughter's growing embrasure of speculative fiction led me to reflect on the way women of color have been treated in various mainstream franchises over the past 30 years or so.
Cheers!
http://www.momsoap.com/2014/02/guest-...
Check it out: it's a brief piece about how my daughter's growing embrasure of speculative fiction led me to reflect on the way women of color have been treated in various mainstream franchises over the past 30 years or so.
Cheers!
July 18, 2011
Taiko and the Good Company, Part 2
(Sorry for the delay, folks! Hope you enjoy it!)
The eyes of the passer-by would have noted nothing out of the ordinary in the encounter between The Good Company and the two men who had stepped forward to confront them. There were enough smiles among the seven to incline a casual glance to read the affair as a reunion, or, at the very least, a meeting of experienced professionals. The latter, of course, struck close to the truth of the thing.
William wore the widest and brightest smile of all. He glanced adoringly at the two. “This,” he said, bringing his hands together as though he were a child catching first sight of his filled stocking on Christmas morning, “this – this! – is what I love about Harold Darling. Two to our five! He never spends a penny more than is the absolute minimum to buy and keep votes.”
William's smile grew wider, and he moved toward the two on light feet. Darling's men exchanged a glance, but gave no sign in speech or posture that would have suggested to an onlooker anything other than a peaceable encounter.
William rose onto the toes of one foot, again evoking scenes from a previous career, spun and faced his four friends in The Good Company. He winked at them, then twirled back around to face the two men, reaching into his jacket as he spun.
At that, Darling's men dropped into combative shapes, reaching into their own jackets to retrieve revolvers, but William brandished only a bouquet of flowers as he completed his turn toward them. With all the stagecraft a man could muster, he let his smile fade into a frown and shook his head. “Sirs, surely this occasion demands amity rather hostility?”
“Your love of deceit is well known, William,” said the man who had first spoken. “I have the past-sight, and if it were possible to employ that talent on the dead, in graveyards from our ocean here to the Atlantic, I'd see more than a few men sent down to Hell after accepting 'innocent tokens of amity' from you.”
William replied with protestations, but beneath his words he sent thoughts to Taiko. What can you tell me about them, dear friend?
Taiko sent an image of herself laughing. They subscribe to the belief that wrapping magnets around their skulls obscures their thoughts to my kind and to the handful of humans with similar talents. Beneath their hats, each wears three, one at one they call the third eye and one at each temple.
Excellent news, William thought. I wonder how long we should allow them to hold that belief. What else?
There...is a third man. He is observing all of us from a window high up in a building on the opposite side of the street. He has a rifle. He will likely attempt to kill Hiram first, then Victoria, though these two believe that order should be reversed. Taiko shared those thoughts with all of The Good Company.
William, Hiram, and Miriam each thought, nearly all at once, These two are more intelligent than they look.
(It should be noted here that had the three given voice to their thoughts, they would have chosen different expressions. But such was the nature of the mind and its emotions as read by a Laikan: part of the communication was Taiko herself choosing words to associate with the roil of ideas and feelings that rumbled across the uppermost region of the humanoid brain. By contrast, in addition to suggestive images, she could send the very words and expressions she desired to those within range. Laikans of a certain social class received training in sending and reading from a very young age, but the biological and psychological mechanism of this ability entirely eluded the grasp of the science of the late nineteenth century.)
Victoria could not suppress a laugh, and Darling's men looked at her with real fear in their eyes. Taiko sensed their panicked thoughts: ...not paid enough to have to account for one of these things...wish O'Hare would shoot her and be damned and done with this.
As if called to action by the desires of his fellows, O'Hare fired a shot, but it failed to find its mark. The five members of the Good Company knew of his attempt only by the flying splinters of wood it gouged from the post it lodged in after sailing past them.
These damnable runed rifles. Silent indeed, but so very unsporting, Taiko thought to her friends.
Mr. O'Hare's second attempt had an even more diminished chance of finding a target: The Good Company had already dashed toward the building from which he had aimed at them. Given their companion's less than impressive aptitude for marksmanship, Mr. Darling's other two enforcers also opted to seek cover.
“I wonder whether those bullets were intended for me or Victoria?” Hiram said as he burst through the door of the building in which O'Hare had established himself.
“I hate to tempt Fate – well, not truly, no; I don't mind tempting her every now and then – but if this fellow had been the one behind the gun, Sedgwick would have finished his sentence,” William said. He was wiping his hands with his handkerchief, and in response to Victoria's quizzical look, he replied, “I like to have clean hands before and after doing work.”
Miriam nodded. “I do believe you intend to propose a division of forces.”
“Oh, he is, Miriam,” Victoria said. “Adding insult to injury to Mr. Darling. Darling the non-human hater, Darling the woman hater.”
William nodded. “Hiram, sir, if you would accompany me to dispose of our would-be assassin?” Hiram twirled his club and began whistling a work song.
Victoria put a hand on Taiko's arm. “If you would be so kind, could you keep the people William and Hiram are about to disturb as they handle the man upstairs and the policemen who are sure to arrive shortly calmed and away from us while Miriam and I handle the two men outside and send a message to Mr. Darling? I know it's a terrible strain, dearest, and I know you've not seen direct action in a while, but the way this encounter has fallen out calls for your talents being put to use in here.”
Taiko agreed, though she partnered the thoughts she sent with a sigh. My much neglected flail has no mind to sense, but I am certain it would send me a sensation of gravest disappointment if it could talk. We may have to quit San Francisco for a time after this, but perhaps a future occasion will see me employ my martial abilities.
Victoria gave her dear Laikan friend kisses on each cheek and then motioned to Miriam. Up the stairs went Hiram and William; through the door went the women of the company.
When Miriam and Victoria returned, they found Taiko leading the bystanders – who had indeed come rushing out of their rooms at the sounds of roughness from the upper floors – and the police officers who'd arrived in a rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Victoria smiled at Miriam. “How splendid. Every church should have a Laikan as its choir director. No one would forget words or sing off-key.”
Miriam nodded. “I can see merit in learning songs from a Laikan implanting the sensation of the sung words in one's mind.” She laughed. “But I suspect many in the choir would not like their director to be aware of the true thoughts bubbling to the top of their brains as they sang. You've heard of the phrase some like to append to the titles of hymns, I'm sure.”
Victoria grinned and wagged a finger at Miriam. “You are a wicked woman to have followed your train of thought to that particular destination. Which is why I like you so much.”
One of the people Taiko had more or less detained while the others in the Company had gone to work spoke up after the song ended. “Ma'am, are we free to leave now?” he said as he looked at her with no small amount of anxiety. Taiko sent a rueful thought to Victoria: Some days, I find myself wishing I could wager a tidy sum of money on whether public opinion tilts more strongly against my race or yours.
To the man and, though it tested the boundaries of her abilities, all the others save the policemen, she thought Yes, you are all free to go about your business. The private matter that compelled me to keep you here for your safety has been resolved.
Both of the police officers scowled at Taiko as the crowd of bystanders and the curious melted away. An illustrator might have used either one as a model for a dime novel's lawman: it would have been hard to miss the sharpness of their uniforms or the roughness of their knuckles.
The senior officer approached Taiko with one arm stretched out to grab her by the neck, but before he could draw closer to the Laikan, Victoria slid over to block his path. He blinked, thinking that the movement of his eyelids had caused him to miss her striding from out of nowhere to stand before him of a sudden and believing that, therefore, another instant's closure of his eye would erase her.
She smiled at him when he opened his eyes again. “Dear officer, I trust you were not intending to accost my beloved Taiko?”
“Well, ma'am...we've got laws against unasked for brain things like that, haven't we, and I, ah...” he sputtered. At that time, few, if any, police departments in any American city – even New York or Boston – instructed their patrolmen in resisting glamors. This man, then, stood little chance against someone as skilled as Victoria. The encounter entered with him offering the ladies his card as Miriam showed him and his partner to the door and promising to attend to them at once should any further troubles befall them.
With all onlookers removed from the scene, Miriam took the opportunity to remove her veil and wipe her face. “Victoria, I envy you. I have no doubt you were giving thought to some vexing problem that confounds even the brightest of the learned in the natural sciences as you were flummoxing that poor man and his partner. Oh, to employ multiple focusings of the will like that again....”
Taiko and Victoria regarded their friend with nothing less than the fondest of hearts. Only a patient eye – or a loving eye – could see the beauty that still existed in her face despite the scars; but only a wise eye would have seen that, far from being products of chance and accident, the jagged lines represented attempts at runes.
While either of her female companions could have pieced the story behind the scars over time by delving lightly into her mind, neither was inclined to do so. Hiram was not in the habit of asking about such things. William kept his own counsel on that particular matter.
Victoria embraced Miriam and whispered to her, “Sweetest Miriam, believe me when I tell you that you will regain your abilities and faculties to their fullest extent in time. Patience.” Miriam nodded, and, at the heavy echo of Hiram's feet upon the stairs, fixed her veil into place.
Hiram nodded at the women as he descended. He kept one hand clapped to his left shoulder and in his left hand was just over half of his cherished weapon. “This O'Hare was a degree more handy in close quarters than he was a crackshot. He possessed an ornate Bowie knife, the likes of which I've not seen since the time I rode with the rangers of Texas many years back. Now, there was a man I served with who...”
Before Hiram could launch into his tale, William came sliding down the rail clutching a large leather bag containing the missing votes. He hopped off just in front of the big ochre, smiled and bowed to the women below, and examined his friend's wound. “Hiram, here you are about to bleed to death, and you bore the ladies with your tales of the frontier.” William reached into his jacket and removed a runed handkerchief. With swift, economical movements born of long practice, Mr. Able dressed the big ochre's wound. The bleeding stopped at once.
“That will want a serious look once we have time,” Victoria called up to him. “And that time will want to be soon if you're to retain use of that arm.”
“You have repaired greater damage to me, madam,” Hiram said. “I trust that, with the two men outside properly handled, and with William and I having recovered the ballots from Mr. O'Hare, we are done here?”
“I believe so,” Victoria replied, taking William's arm as he reached the ground floor. All five filed through the door and into the streets of San Francisco again. They passed the two men who'd first opposed them as they walked. Taiko grinned a fine canine grin as she saw that they had been frozen into place, victims of a special web rune known only to Victoria. The men's eyes flashed a kind of pure hatred and anger as they watched Victoria stroll away.
Dearest Victoria, will you ever share the nature of that rune, or will you take its secret with you when you go...wherever it is that your people go when they pass on?
We are riding the same wheel as you and everyone else, love, Victoria returned. As the men at the fair say, where it stops, no one knows. But, no, one day I'll write it down or, more likely, share it with someone who seems interesting enough to deserve it.
Taiko sent – and received – a wry smile.
No one greeted the Company as returning heroes when they delivered the ballots to their supposed rightful polling place. Taiko saw weary and resigned faces, and she caught more than a few wishes that she and her four friends would disappear into a crack in the earth: they had, beyond repair, worn out any feelings of conviviality they might have expected to receive from people who were, after all, fellow employees of the man who'd sent them after Darling's men. William handed over the ballots and received the very slightest nod of acknowledgement from Bartholomew.
No one spoke at all as the Good Company filed out of the building, and Taiko shut her mind to the flood of feelings and thoughts that came from within. She took Miriam's hand for a reassuring squeeze, and the five went back to their rented rooms.
By the time the newspapers reported their employer's victory on the following day, the Good Company was already well on its way out of town. Their next employment saw them traveling far northward of California, beyond even the frozen wilds of Canada. But as many a chronicler has stated throughout history, that is a story for another time.
The eyes of the passer-by would have noted nothing out of the ordinary in the encounter between The Good Company and the two men who had stepped forward to confront them. There were enough smiles among the seven to incline a casual glance to read the affair as a reunion, or, at the very least, a meeting of experienced professionals. The latter, of course, struck close to the truth of the thing.
William wore the widest and brightest smile of all. He glanced adoringly at the two. “This,” he said, bringing his hands together as though he were a child catching first sight of his filled stocking on Christmas morning, “this – this! – is what I love about Harold Darling. Two to our five! He never spends a penny more than is the absolute minimum to buy and keep votes.”
William's smile grew wider, and he moved toward the two on light feet. Darling's men exchanged a glance, but gave no sign in speech or posture that would have suggested to an onlooker anything other than a peaceable encounter.
William rose onto the toes of one foot, again evoking scenes from a previous career, spun and faced his four friends in The Good Company. He winked at them, then twirled back around to face the two men, reaching into his jacket as he spun.
At that, Darling's men dropped into combative shapes, reaching into their own jackets to retrieve revolvers, but William brandished only a bouquet of flowers as he completed his turn toward them. With all the stagecraft a man could muster, he let his smile fade into a frown and shook his head. “Sirs, surely this occasion demands amity rather hostility?”
“Your love of deceit is well known, William,” said the man who had first spoken. “I have the past-sight, and if it were possible to employ that talent on the dead, in graveyards from our ocean here to the Atlantic, I'd see more than a few men sent down to Hell after accepting 'innocent tokens of amity' from you.”
William replied with protestations, but beneath his words he sent thoughts to Taiko. What can you tell me about them, dear friend?
Taiko sent an image of herself laughing. They subscribe to the belief that wrapping magnets around their skulls obscures their thoughts to my kind and to the handful of humans with similar talents. Beneath their hats, each wears three, one at one they call the third eye and one at each temple.
Excellent news, William thought. I wonder how long we should allow them to hold that belief. What else?
There...is a third man. He is observing all of us from a window high up in a building on the opposite side of the street. He has a rifle. He will likely attempt to kill Hiram first, then Victoria, though these two believe that order should be reversed. Taiko shared those thoughts with all of The Good Company.
William, Hiram, and Miriam each thought, nearly all at once, These two are more intelligent than they look.
(It should be noted here that had the three given voice to their thoughts, they would have chosen different expressions. But such was the nature of the mind and its emotions as read by a Laikan: part of the communication was Taiko herself choosing words to associate with the roil of ideas and feelings that rumbled across the uppermost region of the humanoid brain. By contrast, in addition to suggestive images, she could send the very words and expressions she desired to those within range. Laikans of a certain social class received training in sending and reading from a very young age, but the biological and psychological mechanism of this ability entirely eluded the grasp of the science of the late nineteenth century.)
Victoria could not suppress a laugh, and Darling's men looked at her with real fear in their eyes. Taiko sensed their panicked thoughts: ...not paid enough to have to account for one of these things...wish O'Hare would shoot her and be damned and done with this.
As if called to action by the desires of his fellows, O'Hare fired a shot, but it failed to find its mark. The five members of the Good Company knew of his attempt only by the flying splinters of wood it gouged from the post it lodged in after sailing past them.
These damnable runed rifles. Silent indeed, but so very unsporting, Taiko thought to her friends.
Mr. O'Hare's second attempt had an even more diminished chance of finding a target: The Good Company had already dashed toward the building from which he had aimed at them. Given their companion's less than impressive aptitude for marksmanship, Mr. Darling's other two enforcers also opted to seek cover.
“I wonder whether those bullets were intended for me or Victoria?” Hiram said as he burst through the door of the building in which O'Hare had established himself.
“I hate to tempt Fate – well, not truly, no; I don't mind tempting her every now and then – but if this fellow had been the one behind the gun, Sedgwick would have finished his sentence,” William said. He was wiping his hands with his handkerchief, and in response to Victoria's quizzical look, he replied, “I like to have clean hands before and after doing work.”
Miriam nodded. “I do believe you intend to propose a division of forces.”
“Oh, he is, Miriam,” Victoria said. “Adding insult to injury to Mr. Darling. Darling the non-human hater, Darling the woman hater.”
William nodded. “Hiram, sir, if you would accompany me to dispose of our would-be assassin?” Hiram twirled his club and began whistling a work song.
Victoria put a hand on Taiko's arm. “If you would be so kind, could you keep the people William and Hiram are about to disturb as they handle the man upstairs and the policemen who are sure to arrive shortly calmed and away from us while Miriam and I handle the two men outside and send a message to Mr. Darling? I know it's a terrible strain, dearest, and I know you've not seen direct action in a while, but the way this encounter has fallen out calls for your talents being put to use in here.”
Taiko agreed, though she partnered the thoughts she sent with a sigh. My much neglected flail has no mind to sense, but I am certain it would send me a sensation of gravest disappointment if it could talk. We may have to quit San Francisco for a time after this, but perhaps a future occasion will see me employ my martial abilities.
Victoria gave her dear Laikan friend kisses on each cheek and then motioned to Miriam. Up the stairs went Hiram and William; through the door went the women of the company.
When Miriam and Victoria returned, they found Taiko leading the bystanders – who had indeed come rushing out of their rooms at the sounds of roughness from the upper floors – and the police officers who'd arrived in a rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Victoria smiled at Miriam. “How splendid. Every church should have a Laikan as its choir director. No one would forget words or sing off-key.”
Miriam nodded. “I can see merit in learning songs from a Laikan implanting the sensation of the sung words in one's mind.” She laughed. “But I suspect many in the choir would not like their director to be aware of the true thoughts bubbling to the top of their brains as they sang. You've heard of the phrase some like to append to the titles of hymns, I'm sure.”
Victoria grinned and wagged a finger at Miriam. “You are a wicked woman to have followed your train of thought to that particular destination. Which is why I like you so much.”
One of the people Taiko had more or less detained while the others in the Company had gone to work spoke up after the song ended. “Ma'am, are we free to leave now?” he said as he looked at her with no small amount of anxiety. Taiko sent a rueful thought to Victoria: Some days, I find myself wishing I could wager a tidy sum of money on whether public opinion tilts more strongly against my race or yours.
To the man and, though it tested the boundaries of her abilities, all the others save the policemen, she thought Yes, you are all free to go about your business. The private matter that compelled me to keep you here for your safety has been resolved.
Both of the police officers scowled at Taiko as the crowd of bystanders and the curious melted away. An illustrator might have used either one as a model for a dime novel's lawman: it would have been hard to miss the sharpness of their uniforms or the roughness of their knuckles.
The senior officer approached Taiko with one arm stretched out to grab her by the neck, but before he could draw closer to the Laikan, Victoria slid over to block his path. He blinked, thinking that the movement of his eyelids had caused him to miss her striding from out of nowhere to stand before him of a sudden and believing that, therefore, another instant's closure of his eye would erase her.
She smiled at him when he opened his eyes again. “Dear officer, I trust you were not intending to accost my beloved Taiko?”
“Well, ma'am...we've got laws against unasked for brain things like that, haven't we, and I, ah...” he sputtered. At that time, few, if any, police departments in any American city – even New York or Boston – instructed their patrolmen in resisting glamors. This man, then, stood little chance against someone as skilled as Victoria. The encounter entered with him offering the ladies his card as Miriam showed him and his partner to the door and promising to attend to them at once should any further troubles befall them.
With all onlookers removed from the scene, Miriam took the opportunity to remove her veil and wipe her face. “Victoria, I envy you. I have no doubt you were giving thought to some vexing problem that confounds even the brightest of the learned in the natural sciences as you were flummoxing that poor man and his partner. Oh, to employ multiple focusings of the will like that again....”
Taiko and Victoria regarded their friend with nothing less than the fondest of hearts. Only a patient eye – or a loving eye – could see the beauty that still existed in her face despite the scars; but only a wise eye would have seen that, far from being products of chance and accident, the jagged lines represented attempts at runes.
While either of her female companions could have pieced the story behind the scars over time by delving lightly into her mind, neither was inclined to do so. Hiram was not in the habit of asking about such things. William kept his own counsel on that particular matter.
Victoria embraced Miriam and whispered to her, “Sweetest Miriam, believe me when I tell you that you will regain your abilities and faculties to their fullest extent in time. Patience.” Miriam nodded, and, at the heavy echo of Hiram's feet upon the stairs, fixed her veil into place.
Hiram nodded at the women as he descended. He kept one hand clapped to his left shoulder and in his left hand was just over half of his cherished weapon. “This O'Hare was a degree more handy in close quarters than he was a crackshot. He possessed an ornate Bowie knife, the likes of which I've not seen since the time I rode with the rangers of Texas many years back. Now, there was a man I served with who...”
Before Hiram could launch into his tale, William came sliding down the rail clutching a large leather bag containing the missing votes. He hopped off just in front of the big ochre, smiled and bowed to the women below, and examined his friend's wound. “Hiram, here you are about to bleed to death, and you bore the ladies with your tales of the frontier.” William reached into his jacket and removed a runed handkerchief. With swift, economical movements born of long practice, Mr. Able dressed the big ochre's wound. The bleeding stopped at once.
“That will want a serious look once we have time,” Victoria called up to him. “And that time will want to be soon if you're to retain use of that arm.”
“You have repaired greater damage to me, madam,” Hiram said. “I trust that, with the two men outside properly handled, and with William and I having recovered the ballots from Mr. O'Hare, we are done here?”
“I believe so,” Victoria replied, taking William's arm as he reached the ground floor. All five filed through the door and into the streets of San Francisco again. They passed the two men who'd first opposed them as they walked. Taiko grinned a fine canine grin as she saw that they had been frozen into place, victims of a special web rune known only to Victoria. The men's eyes flashed a kind of pure hatred and anger as they watched Victoria stroll away.
Dearest Victoria, will you ever share the nature of that rune, or will you take its secret with you when you go...wherever it is that your people go when they pass on?
We are riding the same wheel as you and everyone else, love, Victoria returned. As the men at the fair say, where it stops, no one knows. But, no, one day I'll write it down or, more likely, share it with someone who seems interesting enough to deserve it.
Taiko sent – and received – a wry smile.
No one greeted the Company as returning heroes when they delivered the ballots to their supposed rightful polling place. Taiko saw weary and resigned faces, and she caught more than a few wishes that she and her four friends would disappear into a crack in the earth: they had, beyond repair, worn out any feelings of conviviality they might have expected to receive from people who were, after all, fellow employees of the man who'd sent them after Darling's men. William handed over the ballots and received the very slightest nod of acknowledgement from Bartholomew.
No one spoke at all as the Good Company filed out of the building, and Taiko shut her mind to the flood of feelings and thoughts that came from within. She took Miriam's hand for a reassuring squeeze, and the five went back to their rented rooms.
By the time the newspapers reported their employer's victory on the following day, the Good Company was already well on its way out of town. Their next employment saw them traveling far northward of California, beyond even the frozen wilds of Canada. But as many a chronicler has stated throughout history, that is a story for another time.
June 16, 2011
TV Tropes: The Face Value Blues, Part 1
TV Tropes is:
A) One of my favorite sites on the Web
B) A way to lose several hours of your life
C) A repository of a vast store of human knowledge about narratives in a number of different media
D) A valuable tool for authors provided they're confident enough to read through the articles and realize that many of the ideas they credit themselves as having originated have already been done dozens, if not hundreds, of times before -- sometimes centuries ago
E) All of the above
(For those new to the idea, tropes are, per the wiki's own words, "devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations.")
I can't overstate how much I love that site and how many hours it's cost me. (I apologize in advance to those of you who click the link and find yourself reading a WMG page for your favorite movie...5 hours later.)
In my very first post to this blog, I wrote that a major motivating factor in my drive to become known as the most electrifying author in literature-entertainment was a desire for a large fandom. One of the things I imagine this future fandom doing is creating a page on TV Tropes for The Face Value Blues.
But I'm an impatient man.
So I've decided to start coming up with a list of tropes that apply to FVB all on my own. Maybe one day my readers will take this list and run with it. Be warned: Spoilers ahead if you've not yet finished the book.
Aerith and Bob: Artanis, Damaris, Moksha, and...Joseph. (Although it's worth noting that many -- though not all - of the names that seem to come straight from Fantasy Novel Central Casting are actually from the Bible or non-Western cultures.)
Bury Your Gays: Averted. Not only does Joseph make it to the end, he's the only one of the four main characters who's present at the last fight to make it through completely unharmed.
Fantastic Racism:Plenty of it, right alongside "good old-fashioned" hue-based racism. Lots of non-goblin folk hate the goblins; everybody hates Jesana's people. But also lampshaded (i.e., the trope is explicitly pointed out in the story): Artanis notes that the sign outside of Bellamy's is very much ignored once you walk inside.
Our Monsters Are Different: FVB takes place in a world with goblins that resemble Standard Fantasy goblins to some degree, a race called "ochres" that resemble Standard Fantasy Ogres to some degree, and a group whose degree of resemblance to Standard Fantasy elves the author has left open to interpretation. (However, Word of God states that you shouldn't take at, ahem, face value anything one of those people* does or says or that is done to them or said about them.)
That's all for now, since I don't want you all to get too lost in the woods that is TV Tropes. Look for more in the future -- likely after I provide part 2 of the Taiko short story.
As always, thanks for reading.
* "Those people" is linked to "Genius Bonus" because that particular phrase is a multi-level reference and play on words as used in my novel's setting.
A) One of my favorite sites on the Web
B) A way to lose several hours of your life
C) A repository of a vast store of human knowledge about narratives in a number of different media
D) A valuable tool for authors provided they're confident enough to read through the articles and realize that many of the ideas they credit themselves as having originated have already been done dozens, if not hundreds, of times before -- sometimes centuries ago
E) All of the above
(For those new to the idea, tropes are, per the wiki's own words, "devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations.")
I can't overstate how much I love that site and how many hours it's cost me. (I apologize in advance to those of you who click the link and find yourself reading a WMG page for your favorite movie...5 hours later.)
In my very first post to this blog, I wrote that a major motivating factor in my drive to become known as the most electrifying author in literature-entertainment was a desire for a large fandom. One of the things I imagine this future fandom doing is creating a page on TV Tropes for The Face Value Blues.
But I'm an impatient man.
So I've decided to start coming up with a list of tropes that apply to FVB all on my own. Maybe one day my readers will take this list and run with it. Be warned: Spoilers ahead if you've not yet finished the book.
Aerith and Bob: Artanis, Damaris, Moksha, and...Joseph. (Although it's worth noting that many -- though not all - of the names that seem to come straight from Fantasy Novel Central Casting are actually from the Bible or non-Western cultures.)
Bury Your Gays: Averted. Not only does Joseph make it to the end, he's the only one of the four main characters who's present at the last fight to make it through completely unharmed.
Fantastic Racism:Plenty of it, right alongside "good old-fashioned" hue-based racism. Lots of non-goblin folk hate the goblins; everybody hates Jesana's people. But also lampshaded (i.e., the trope is explicitly pointed out in the story): Artanis notes that the sign outside of Bellamy's is very much ignored once you walk inside.
Our Monsters Are Different: FVB takes place in a world with goblins that resemble Standard Fantasy goblins to some degree, a race called "ochres" that resemble Standard Fantasy Ogres to some degree, and a group whose degree of resemblance to Standard Fantasy elves the author has left open to interpretation. (However, Word of God states that you shouldn't take at, ahem, face value anything one of those people* does or says or that is done to them or said about them.)
That's all for now, since I don't want you all to get too lost in the woods that is TV Tropes. Look for more in the future -- likely after I provide part 2 of the Taiko short story.
As always, thanks for reading.
* "Those people" is linked to "Genius Bonus" because that particular phrase is a multi-level reference and play on words as used in my novel's setting.
May 4, 2011
It's Not You, It's Me?
Among the stranger responses I've gotten from agencies are the ones that say something along the lines of Sounds interesting, but we're not the right agency to represent this novel. Good luck! or This book just isn't a good fit for me. Good luck. (Note:these are not direct quotes.)
Lately I've been wondering if This isn't a good fit is the literary agency equivalent to It's not you, it's me that you hear when someone wants to break up with you.
We all know that It's not you, it's me really means Are you kidding? Of course it's you! There might not be enough words in all the languages humanity has ever uttered or written or signed to tell you how much of this is you. It's at least 233% you. You you you you you you you you you you. But, uh, you know, have a good life.
I'm only half-joking of course. I know full well that most of the people who write me with those kinds of letters actually mean that while they don't dislike The Face Value Blues, they really do have too many other things going on that do in fact light a fire under them to give it the attention they think they should give to any project they take on. And I understand that. Whenever I do get an agent, I want someone who is consumed by a relentless desire to see FVB take the world by storm, not some random person who says, "Eh, I guess I'll give it a shot, got nothin' better to do."
But it's still weird.
Whenever I get one of those rejection letters, I imagine the agent taking me out for coffee, starting out our date by chatting about nothing in particular, and then holding my hand, sighing and saying, "I've been doing some soul searching, and, well, I think I should represent someone else. It's not you, you haven't done anything. You're a sweet guy, and we've had some great times together. But I need to move on. It's me."
As always, thanks for stopping by.
Lately I've been wondering if This isn't a good fit is the literary agency equivalent to It's not you, it's me that you hear when someone wants to break up with you.
We all know that It's not you, it's me really means Are you kidding? Of course it's you! There might not be enough words in all the languages humanity has ever uttered or written or signed to tell you how much of this is you. It's at least 233% you. You you you you you you you you you you. But, uh, you know, have a good life.
I'm only half-joking of course. I know full well that most of the people who write me with those kinds of letters actually mean that while they don't dislike The Face Value Blues, they really do have too many other things going on that do in fact light a fire under them to give it the attention they think they should give to any project they take on. And I understand that. Whenever I do get an agent, I want someone who is consumed by a relentless desire to see FVB take the world by storm, not some random person who says, "Eh, I guess I'll give it a shot, got nothin' better to do."
But it's still weird.
Whenever I get one of those rejection letters, I imagine the agent taking me out for coffee, starting out our date by chatting about nothing in particular, and then holding my hand, sighing and saying, "I've been doing some soul searching, and, well, I think I should represent someone else. It's not you, you haven't done anything. You're a sweet guy, and we've had some great times together. But I need to move on. It's me."
As always, thanks for stopping by.
April 26, 2011
Taiko and The Good Company
Finally, it's here!
This story came about old school RPG style: I came up with a list of 15 potential topics, then I used a random number generator to pick the story.
It delves into some of the history of Taiko whom you may remember as Artanis' landlady. Funnily enough, the 7 pages it took up in OpenOffice didn't seem to be very much, but here on the web, it seems somewhat long.
Hope you enjoy it!
Taiko and The Good Company
American Democracy in the 1800's was a hell of thing (and you might be able to have a long discussion comparing and contrasting Then to Now). It wasn't merely enough to run for an office and campaign with signs and speeches and handshakes if you wanted a realistic chance at having your name on Official State Stationery: to get, hold, and wield power, even the most well-oiled of the machines that operated in City Halls across the nation at that time had to rely on civic-minded and battle-hardened outfits who could go down among the people, get the necessary votes and turn them over to officials who could be trusted to tally the votes properly.
In the late 19th century Bay Area, those who would rule relied on The Good Company...
Part One
Hiram Greene had the neck of most men of his race, which is to say that he had not much of a neck at all. He'd lived a long time. If he'd ever had the skin of a young male ochre in the prime of life, the sun and sea and battle had stripped the gold from it. Taiko, who sat across the table from him in the Democratic Party's headquarters, found it beautiful still, and she let him know.
“Listen, you, cease that prattle. If you insist and persist,” Hiram said, “I will pat your head and say, 'Good girl' while waving a soupbone before your nose.”
You'd do no such thing, Hiram, she thought to him. Or if you did, you know what they say about teasing a hungry dog. You'd draw back a nub. Maybe not all dogs can grin, but most Laikans can, and Taiko's friends in The Good Company had grown used to seeing her lips pull back and upward to reveal strong white teeth when she was in a good humor.
Even a specialist in canines would have found it difficult to tease out the breeds that gave Taiko the shape of her head. It was possible to see some of the husky and at times some of the terrier; perhaps some of the Australian cattle dogs came through in the hint of the spots around her neck. Hiram and the others in her band of enforcers would have advised all but the strongest people to avoid using the word “mongrel” in her presence – and that meant saying it or thinking it given her race's ability to see into minds a little way. In any event, a head such as that on the body of a young woman of excellent health and vigor made for a striking figure. So, when they could help it, most men thought of her in terms that would flatter rather than insult.
Hiram answered Taiko's grin with one of his own and fell back to examining his club for flaws, tracing each rune with care. Some glowed and grew warm at his touch; others flared for a brief moment and faded into a dull silver after his fingers trailed across their loops and arcs. “There is a rule,” he said without looking up at his Laikan companion, “that nearly every soldier in every campaign that has ever taken place has heard. 'Take care of your weapon, and it will take care of you.' I heard it in the Late Unpleasantness--”
One seldom hears people out here call it that. I thought that more of a Southern term, Taiko interrupted.
“More than a few Southerners came out this way, after. I am not a Southerner, and I did not hold with certain of their beliefs, but I fought with their side, for a time. And I found that phrase described that war better than many others. Now, as I was saying, I heard it in the Late Unpleasantness, and I heard it during some of the Indian-Goblin skirmishes in the eighteen hundred and fifties, particularly among the Ch--”
“Oh, Taiko, have you yet not learned to stop him before his tongue wags itself right out of his head, Lord bless him?” said a veiled woman who stomped into the room. This was the famous Miriam Holtz, sometimes called “The Once Lovely.” Her voice and face both did their part to earn the epithet. From beneath the gravel of her timbre, a happier young female tone emerged on occasion. Only a patient eye, however, could, whenever she lifted the veil, see the pretty face that had existed before a net of scars had marked her from crown to chin.
Hiram touched the brim of his hat. “Ma'am. Taiko knows to have patience with an old fighter whose bones and sinews tell him in tones increasingly too loud to ignore that this should be his final campaign.”
“Nonsense. You still pursue each assignment energetically. You hold The Good Company together more than anyone else, even Victoria,” Miriam told him.
With whom we should now rendezvous en route to the polling place, no? Taiko thought to both of her companions. She pulled a pocket-watch from her vest and nodded. We're in fact a little late.
Hiram rose from his chair, and the chair spoke its gratitude at the lifting of the weight with a loud creak. “Miriam, you said I pursue these things we do energetically, but I confess I'm losing the desire to do this particular thing.”
Miriam laughed. “We are only doing our civic duty, dear Mister Rivers. Taiko, grab your pistol and your flail.” She checked her own pistol as she spoke. “All of the soldiers you have spoken to through your many years of battles said the truth, Hiram. No runes on this one, but I have treated it well for some time now, and it has returned the favor.”
Taiko favored a small-caliber black pistol, and she inspected it with a practiced eye. The coloring of her animal and human parts contrasted, and each brought out the best in the hue of the other: dark fur on her canine head, white skin on the woman's body. Long fingers that might have been put to better use on the neck and strings of an instrument carefully holstered the gun on a black leather belt that also bore a variety of tools for the Good Company's trade. She covered it all with a cloak, and the flail went into a rucksack she handed over to Hiram who smiled as he watched her.
“Ladies, I trust you are ready for the evening's misadventures? Yes? Then let us go,” he said.
They made their way to the front door, walking, without deciding to do so, in an order that reflected their years of experience in the field: first Taiko, followed by Miriam, followed by Hiram.
At a tavern in their assigned voting district, they acquired the two other members of their outfit.
Long and lean William Able stood at the bar, placing an empty wooden cup next to his hat. He used a magicked gust of wind to lift the hat into the air, and then he stood beneath it to let it fall onto his head, smiling for the benefit of his imagined admirers.
“It took a fellow some five years to learn that trick. The fakirs of India showed it to me, and byth'Lord, I was the first white man they divulged the secret to, I swear it.” It was true that his actual admirers were outnumbered by those who existed in his head, but only a mean person would have failed to credit him for flashing the occasional charm.
One faithful admirer stood next to him, making no secret of her feelings for him. When she drew herself up to her full height, she could look down at the top of his hat, but at that moment, she leaned into him with her unbound red hair falling across his shoulders and back. She was Victoria, of the race some named “The Elevated”, the financier and strategist for The Good Company.
“William, you have done more with five years than quite a few of my people have done with tenfold that amount. More than I've done, certainly,” she said.
William took her hand and kissed it. “When all's said and done, I will have lived enough for a hundred men or more. And, look now, here are our companions, about to offer me an opportunity to increase the quality of my share of this limited cosmic quantity we call Life.” He gave Hiram a firm and solemn handshake (he would have claimed to have learned the grip and length of it from a forgotten or hidden tribe in South America), and to both Miriam and Taiko he bowed ever so slightly.
Victoria greeted each of the three with a nod. She paid for her gin and William's beer, then stepped out of the bar onto the busy San Francisco street.
Taiko looked around and sniffed the early evening air. Truly, she thought out, this area has begun to come into its own since the completion of the cable car line.
“When we first arrived in this city, I did not think we would stay long enough to see the line completed,” Hiram said. “I preferred it when it was but sand dunes and farms, I have to say.”
William laughed. “You old grumbler.” He said it with affection. “As for me, I like change. I would dearly love to see what becomes of this section of the city as the decades go by.”
“Dear sir, with the nature of the hazards you subject your body to, you might well consider yourself truly blessed to see this decade come to a close, let alone far distant ones,” Miriam chided him. He doffed his cap in reply.
The five companions made their way down the road, and they fit well with the other men and women going about their business. Not too many would have cared to cross paths with them, even had it not been well known for whom they worked and what mission had them plotting a course to the polling place.
Little newspaper boys ran down the street dodging the occasional car, wagon, mule-drawn cart, rickshaw (known to range far from Chinatown on occasion), and they proclaimed that they mayoral race was likely still too close to declare. That brought a bitter snort from Miriam. “Friends, I suppose this is a sign we have been remiss in our duties.”
Yes, Taiko thought, I think we should have been more active in the days leading up to the election, not content merely to retrieving the ballot boxes and taking them to the appropriate counters.
“Oh, nonsense,” William and Victoria said in unison. They laughed at each other, and her hand found hers for a meaningful squeeze. Victoria continued with the opinion they'd both sought to express. “A little bit of excitement about the political process is a good thing, keeps the people occupied. Just imagine if we had busied ourselves before this and seen to it that the outcome was an assured thing far in advance. Why, the good voters would have lost interest, and many would have stayed at home. In a close race, each man can feel as though his vote truly counts.” With that said, she turned on her heel and strode ahead of the others.
Each human male, that is to say, Taiko thought. Then she frowned, realizing she had shared the sentiment with the rest of the Good Company. A not uncommon mistake for young Laikans and Taurans, though they were loathe to admit it.
“Lord, do not give Miriam an excuse to assume her suffragette persona,” William said with a laugh. “As for me, I say 'Patience!' Patience, friends! Soon enough, you four will all be like me and enjoy the privilege of marking a piece of paper that may or may not be counted for a man who may or may not actually serve in the capacity of the office to which you think you may have voted him!”
“If we but had salesmen like you promoting the principle, dear William, suffrage would have been universal long ago,” Victoria said as she walked ahead of them. Like all of her people, she had sharp ears; and her voice carried well when she wished it to.
“Again I say 'Patience.' Most things happen when they are supposed to happen, and not a minute before byth'Lord.”
No sooner had William finished speaking than a man, all a-jumble in clothing and step, approached the five friends. “It's old Bartholomew,” Victoria said. “And what is it, dear man?”
“Lady Victoria, Miss Miriam, all the rest of you, come quick! The ballot boxes is gone!”
The amiable and confiding William disappeared, replaced by a deadly serious man. “What do you mean? They shouldn't have gone anywhere until we got there and escorted them to a friendlier, well-defended counting place.”
“I mean that they's been taken by someone not you. Before we could even finish filling out all the ballots for those who did not or could not vote. And when I say taken, I mean, three men came into our polling place, flashed guns at us and left with them.”
“Describe them.”
Bartholomew gave a description of three men who, in his account, behaved and moved like people who expected to be obeyed and who had any of several different remedies to turn to in the event of non-compliance. He gave a slight start when he noticed Taiko, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, struggling to keep his eyes away from her.
Victoria turned to Taiko. “Do his words and thoughts match?”
As nearly as I can tell, Taiko thought to her four friends. I can be fooled, you know. I am young yet. But what he imagines as he speaks of the three men fits his words.
“They do not sound like any of the men I know who do this sort of work,” Hiram said.
“And they bore no symbols of any sort of affiliation?” Victoria asked the poll worker.
“No marks on their clothing,” he said, looking at only four of the five members of the Company. “And they used but just enough words to get their point across. No claims of having done it for any of the honorable mayor's opponents as they left. And they didn't break nothing.”
“It would appear we've got a mystery on our hands. Mystery and a chance for a donnybrook: Is there a finer way to spend an evening in a city by the bay, my friends?” William said. He locked arms with Victoria, and they set a pace walking that had the already-winded Bartholomew pumping his legs for all their worth to stay with them.
I can't say I share William's love of mysteries and battle, Taiko thought to Hiram and Miriam as they followed. My preference for an evening here is a fine steak – cooked according to Starbuck's recipe – and a bottle of wine and a view of the water . In fact – she broke off wincing, sending something that Hiram and Miriam experienced as a flash of light.
Hiram stopped and looked around. A few meters away, a man with the body of a dock worker and the head of a bison stood engaged with a police officer.
Miriam frowned. “I thought you Laikans attuned yourselves to the same vibration of thought when you were in proximity.”
We Laikans hold ourselves apart from the Taurans, who really have no sense of civility and decency, Taiko sent to her friends – including the sensation of a haughty sniff with her statement. Hiram chuckled. No, Hiram, it's not bigotry. It's simply a matter of how the Lord arranged things. Now what's got you laughing?
“I am amused by how people can fail to see the similarities in things that are similar. But this is neither the time nor place for a discourse on such matters – look, even poor, slow Bartholomew, who didn't know whether to be repulsed by your canine features or attracted to your womanly proportions, and who likely found some bothersome delight in the combination of the two, and I don't need to be a Laikan or an alienist to discern that, has gotten far ahead of us. Come.” Hiram put an extra stretch into his steps, with Miriam and Taiko matching him, the latter thinking, to herself, that she was grateful that the parts visible above her collar bone could not blush and that the parts below were well-covered.
Bartholomew and The Good Company found the polling place in shambles – with regard to its people rather than its arches and beams. Many of the workers stood with weighted shoulders and tight expressions. Some offered hastily created and properly filled out ballots as proof of their commitment to the winning cause, and Victoria assured them that her Company had arrived not to punish but to aid.
“None of you is to blame. We have time yet to find the boxes and set things the way they ought to be,” she said, moving among them with a calming smile and comforting touches. Where she passed, mouths turned downward in frowns eased into less severe lines.
“I love to watch her work,” William whispered to Hiram, Miriam, and Taiko. “I've often wondered why she just doesn't run for Mayor.”
“I'm sure the Devil and the Lord alike would be amused by the bitter irony of her running for an office and being unable to vote herself into that office,” Miriam said.
“Oh, hush, you,” William
said with a smile that was a good mate for the one wielded by his lover. “Taiko, what manner of mind images are appearing to you?”
It's difficult. So many people, with emotions running so high.
“Poor thing,” Miriam whispered. “How do your people reach adulthood without being committed to sanatoriums?”
By not doing ill-advised things such as trying to read surface thoughts in a room of agitated people. Her ears lay flat against her head and her eyes narrowed; a growl rose in her throat unbidden. My apologies, Miriam. One of the problems with this setting is that the thoughts I read can become my own thoughts. Miriam nodded her acceptance of Taiko's apology. I'm starting to pick up on something. Most thoughts here corroborate William's story. But it appears our thieves were wearing insignia. Or...no, they were not,but there's a man here who is strongly associating them with a symbol I cannot pick out from his thoughts.
“Who is it?” Hiram asked, flexing his grip on his club. His words and his actions were both enough to frighten the man in question into revealing himself before Taiko could point him out.
With a yelp, a tall and lean man in an suit of poor condition made a dash for the door, trying to make a wide run away from the ochre. He paid no mind to Miriam, and so failed to notice her outstretched leg. William picked up a shaken man with a busted lip from the floor. He slipped an arm around the fellow's shoulders and treated him like an errant friend. “There now, my good man. What's all this?”
“Beg pardon, beg pardon, beg pardon...” the man stammered.
“Yes, yes.”
“I knew I was done in when this dog-woman started doing her mind witching! I don't care what they say, you can feel it when they dig into your brain. It's just like when you got the beginning of the brain fever.”
“That may be.”
“And then when this used to be yellow boy here grabbed his club, I knew I had to run for my life.”
“Because you'd done something wrong.”
“Well, I...” the man began. “I won't waste your time. You must have heard it all before. I've got four children, a sickly wife, and all men alive want more money. So, I told some men the way around the warding runes and when to come, and...”
Victoria turned to Taiko as the man wheedled, and the Laikan responded with a nod. With a sad sigh, Victoria whispered into William's ear. William in turn gestured to Hiram, and they started toward the door along with the man, who turned to regard everyone with a look of contrition before exiting.
Taiko let out a deep breath. I need to sit down for a moment, my friends. Miriam took the Laikan's arm and guided her to a chair. One of the poll workers brought her a glass of water. Miriam and Victoria had, of course, seen their friend drink from a glass many times before, but several of the poll workers ignored all pretense at propriety and gawked as Taiko raised the glass to her mouth. She drank from it the way a human with a numbing ointment on his lips would negotiate a drink from a cup: head tilted back, the contents poured with care straight down her throat.
Miriam shook her head in admiration. “I can feel their eyes on you,” she said. “I can scarcely imagine what it would be like to feel their thoughts as well.”
With this many pressing in on me, it is difficult to ignore them, though not impossible.
“I'm reminded again why you tend to take your meals in your room...and also why you tend to become intoxicated before the rest of us when we lift glasses of cheer,” Victoria said.
Hiram and William walked back in without the man they'd taken outside.
“Now, Taiko, don't go spoiling the surprise, let me speak before you reveal what's on my mind,” William said. With movements that spoke of his past career, he reached into his coat pocket, drew out a white, monogrammed handkerchief, and wiped his hands. “Nasty business, that,” he mumbled. “Now, as I was about to say,” he continued, “we coaxed all the information we required from that fellow. Harold Darling is the source of our troubles on this day.”
“I did not know that Harold Darling had changed his insignia,” Hiram said. “I do dislike people deviating from the accepted practices. There are ways to do these things....”
“If you start to ramble on about hallowing and consecration, dear friend, I shall slap you,” Miriam said. Several of the poll workers switched their stares from Taiko to once beautiful Miriam at that: on the whole, three women acting in an unusual manner was yet another disturbance beyond the usual mayhem most of them had come to expect on an election day. Hiram twirled his club and assumed an innocent expression.
Victoria took the opportunity to return The Good Company to the task at hand. “In any event, friends and companions, we must away into enemy territory. Shall we?”
In the hansom on their way to Harold Darling's chief place of business, very near to Chinatown, Taiko reflected on the circumstances of the evening while the other members of the company kept their own counsel.
If I could draw a tree or perhaps a path connecting Darling to all the men below him and all the men above him, doubtless I'd stop at the governor when I reached the top. Or could I go even beyond that? What web connects all these men?"
“Why are you putting images of spiders into our minds?” Hiram asked. Taiko sensed Miriam grimacing behind her veil.
After all that we've been through, Taiko thought to Miriam alone, and all that I've seen you brave and brazen your way through, the thought of spiders sends a cold finger creeping down your spine?
“I only like fighting what I can see,” Miriam said. “A spider will creep upon you while you sleep or stand unaware. They aren't very sporting, are they, being so small but still so deadly?”
I suppose they aren't. But what if they were big enough that they could not creep upon you? Wouldn't that make them worse?
“Now now!” the driver called from the front. “It's bad enough your big yellow in there like to kill my horse on account of all that weight, I don't need no dog witch gal filling my head with pitchers of spiders – especially spiders as big as my horse! You settle down back there, or I'll report you for unlawful use of magic.”
My apologies, dear sir, Taiko thought to him, though not with obeisance. When they reached the end of their ride, she considered, for a moment, sending the horse images of an especially sweet sugar cube that was always just out of its reach after they exited the hansom.
Victoria whispered to her as Hiram helped them down to the street, “Dear, I needn't be a Laikan to know you're considering repaying the man for his threat. Think of how often his hand strayed toward his whip while driving us here. What fate do you suppose you would be leaving the horse to if this man found himself in a still fouler mood?”
Taiko nodded. You are correct, Victoria. And I've suffered worse, in silence.
Victoria put an arm around the Laikan's waist. “You're no religious, sweet Taiko. None of us are, not with the things we have in our pasts. But I like to take a cue from the religious on occasion and forgive others even when it would satisfy some call from the id to punish them.”
“Whereas me, I stay my hand only when I don't stand to benefit in a pecuniary sense,” Miriam said. “That's my--”
“If you say 'Golden Rule,' dear friend, I shall disassociate myself from you,” Hiram told her. The Good Company had nothing but smiles for each other as the hansom drove off, with neither horse nor driver bothered by Taiko.
After the hansom had gone, two men who could had to have been the greater part of the trio Taiko and her friends sought stepped forward. The larger of the two addressed them as he twirled a club that matched Hiram's.
“If you are all finished with your play at words and meanings familiar only to yourselves after long years of companionship through numerous ordeals, perhaps we can get, at last, to the business of the evening?”
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
This story came about old school RPG style: I came up with a list of 15 potential topics, then I used a random number generator to pick the story.
It delves into some of the history of Taiko whom you may remember as Artanis' landlady. Funnily enough, the 7 pages it took up in OpenOffice didn't seem to be very much, but here on the web, it seems somewhat long.
Hope you enjoy it!
Taiko and The Good Company
American Democracy in the 1800's was a hell of thing (and you might be able to have a long discussion comparing and contrasting Then to Now). It wasn't merely enough to run for an office and campaign with signs and speeches and handshakes if you wanted a realistic chance at having your name on Official State Stationery: to get, hold, and wield power, even the most well-oiled of the machines that operated in City Halls across the nation at that time had to rely on civic-minded and battle-hardened outfits who could go down among the people, get the necessary votes and turn them over to officials who could be trusted to tally the votes properly.
In the late 19th century Bay Area, those who would rule relied on The Good Company...
Part One
Hiram Greene had the neck of most men of his race, which is to say that he had not much of a neck at all. He'd lived a long time. If he'd ever had the skin of a young male ochre in the prime of life, the sun and sea and battle had stripped the gold from it. Taiko, who sat across the table from him in the Democratic Party's headquarters, found it beautiful still, and she let him know.
“Listen, you, cease that prattle. If you insist and persist,” Hiram said, “I will pat your head and say, 'Good girl' while waving a soupbone before your nose.”
You'd do no such thing, Hiram, she thought to him. Or if you did, you know what they say about teasing a hungry dog. You'd draw back a nub. Maybe not all dogs can grin, but most Laikans can, and Taiko's friends in The Good Company had grown used to seeing her lips pull back and upward to reveal strong white teeth when she was in a good humor.
Even a specialist in canines would have found it difficult to tease out the breeds that gave Taiko the shape of her head. It was possible to see some of the husky and at times some of the terrier; perhaps some of the Australian cattle dogs came through in the hint of the spots around her neck. Hiram and the others in her band of enforcers would have advised all but the strongest people to avoid using the word “mongrel” in her presence – and that meant saying it or thinking it given her race's ability to see into minds a little way. In any event, a head such as that on the body of a young woman of excellent health and vigor made for a striking figure. So, when they could help it, most men thought of her in terms that would flatter rather than insult.
Hiram answered Taiko's grin with one of his own and fell back to examining his club for flaws, tracing each rune with care. Some glowed and grew warm at his touch; others flared for a brief moment and faded into a dull silver after his fingers trailed across their loops and arcs. “There is a rule,” he said without looking up at his Laikan companion, “that nearly every soldier in every campaign that has ever taken place has heard. 'Take care of your weapon, and it will take care of you.' I heard it in the Late Unpleasantness--”
One seldom hears people out here call it that. I thought that more of a Southern term, Taiko interrupted.
“More than a few Southerners came out this way, after. I am not a Southerner, and I did not hold with certain of their beliefs, but I fought with their side, for a time. And I found that phrase described that war better than many others. Now, as I was saying, I heard it in the Late Unpleasantness, and I heard it during some of the Indian-Goblin skirmishes in the eighteen hundred and fifties, particularly among the Ch--”
“Oh, Taiko, have you yet not learned to stop him before his tongue wags itself right out of his head, Lord bless him?” said a veiled woman who stomped into the room. This was the famous Miriam Holtz, sometimes called “The Once Lovely.” Her voice and face both did their part to earn the epithet. From beneath the gravel of her timbre, a happier young female tone emerged on occasion. Only a patient eye, however, could, whenever she lifted the veil, see the pretty face that had existed before a net of scars had marked her from crown to chin.
Hiram touched the brim of his hat. “Ma'am. Taiko knows to have patience with an old fighter whose bones and sinews tell him in tones increasingly too loud to ignore that this should be his final campaign.”
“Nonsense. You still pursue each assignment energetically. You hold The Good Company together more than anyone else, even Victoria,” Miriam told him.
With whom we should now rendezvous en route to the polling place, no? Taiko thought to both of her companions. She pulled a pocket-watch from her vest and nodded. We're in fact a little late.
Hiram rose from his chair, and the chair spoke its gratitude at the lifting of the weight with a loud creak. “Miriam, you said I pursue these things we do energetically, but I confess I'm losing the desire to do this particular thing.”
Miriam laughed. “We are only doing our civic duty, dear Mister Rivers. Taiko, grab your pistol and your flail.” She checked her own pistol as she spoke. “All of the soldiers you have spoken to through your many years of battles said the truth, Hiram. No runes on this one, but I have treated it well for some time now, and it has returned the favor.”
Taiko favored a small-caliber black pistol, and she inspected it with a practiced eye. The coloring of her animal and human parts contrasted, and each brought out the best in the hue of the other: dark fur on her canine head, white skin on the woman's body. Long fingers that might have been put to better use on the neck and strings of an instrument carefully holstered the gun on a black leather belt that also bore a variety of tools for the Good Company's trade. She covered it all with a cloak, and the flail went into a rucksack she handed over to Hiram who smiled as he watched her.
“Ladies, I trust you are ready for the evening's misadventures? Yes? Then let us go,” he said.
They made their way to the front door, walking, without deciding to do so, in an order that reflected their years of experience in the field: first Taiko, followed by Miriam, followed by Hiram.
At a tavern in their assigned voting district, they acquired the two other members of their outfit.
Long and lean William Able stood at the bar, placing an empty wooden cup next to his hat. He used a magicked gust of wind to lift the hat into the air, and then he stood beneath it to let it fall onto his head, smiling for the benefit of his imagined admirers.
“It took a fellow some five years to learn that trick. The fakirs of India showed it to me, and byth'Lord, I was the first white man they divulged the secret to, I swear it.” It was true that his actual admirers were outnumbered by those who existed in his head, but only a mean person would have failed to credit him for flashing the occasional charm.
One faithful admirer stood next to him, making no secret of her feelings for him. When she drew herself up to her full height, she could look down at the top of his hat, but at that moment, she leaned into him with her unbound red hair falling across his shoulders and back. She was Victoria, of the race some named “The Elevated”, the financier and strategist for The Good Company.
“William, you have done more with five years than quite a few of my people have done with tenfold that amount. More than I've done, certainly,” she said.
William took her hand and kissed it. “When all's said and done, I will have lived enough for a hundred men or more. And, look now, here are our companions, about to offer me an opportunity to increase the quality of my share of this limited cosmic quantity we call Life.” He gave Hiram a firm and solemn handshake (he would have claimed to have learned the grip and length of it from a forgotten or hidden tribe in South America), and to both Miriam and Taiko he bowed ever so slightly.
Victoria greeted each of the three with a nod. She paid for her gin and William's beer, then stepped out of the bar onto the busy San Francisco street.
Taiko looked around and sniffed the early evening air. Truly, she thought out, this area has begun to come into its own since the completion of the cable car line.
“When we first arrived in this city, I did not think we would stay long enough to see the line completed,” Hiram said. “I preferred it when it was but sand dunes and farms, I have to say.”
William laughed. “You old grumbler.” He said it with affection. “As for me, I like change. I would dearly love to see what becomes of this section of the city as the decades go by.”
“Dear sir, with the nature of the hazards you subject your body to, you might well consider yourself truly blessed to see this decade come to a close, let alone far distant ones,” Miriam chided him. He doffed his cap in reply.
The five companions made their way down the road, and they fit well with the other men and women going about their business. Not too many would have cared to cross paths with them, even had it not been well known for whom they worked and what mission had them plotting a course to the polling place.
Little newspaper boys ran down the street dodging the occasional car, wagon, mule-drawn cart, rickshaw (known to range far from Chinatown on occasion), and they proclaimed that they mayoral race was likely still too close to declare. That brought a bitter snort from Miriam. “Friends, I suppose this is a sign we have been remiss in our duties.”
Yes, Taiko thought, I think we should have been more active in the days leading up to the election, not content merely to retrieving the ballot boxes and taking them to the appropriate counters.
“Oh, nonsense,” William and Victoria said in unison. They laughed at each other, and her hand found hers for a meaningful squeeze. Victoria continued with the opinion they'd both sought to express. “A little bit of excitement about the political process is a good thing, keeps the people occupied. Just imagine if we had busied ourselves before this and seen to it that the outcome was an assured thing far in advance. Why, the good voters would have lost interest, and many would have stayed at home. In a close race, each man can feel as though his vote truly counts.” With that said, she turned on her heel and strode ahead of the others.
Each human male, that is to say, Taiko thought. Then she frowned, realizing she had shared the sentiment with the rest of the Good Company. A not uncommon mistake for young Laikans and Taurans, though they were loathe to admit it.
“Lord, do not give Miriam an excuse to assume her suffragette persona,” William said with a laugh. “As for me, I say 'Patience!' Patience, friends! Soon enough, you four will all be like me and enjoy the privilege of marking a piece of paper that may or may not be counted for a man who may or may not actually serve in the capacity of the office to which you think you may have voted him!”
“If we but had salesmen like you promoting the principle, dear William, suffrage would have been universal long ago,” Victoria said as she walked ahead of them. Like all of her people, she had sharp ears; and her voice carried well when she wished it to.
“Again I say 'Patience.' Most things happen when they are supposed to happen, and not a minute before byth'Lord.”
No sooner had William finished speaking than a man, all a-jumble in clothing and step, approached the five friends. “It's old Bartholomew,” Victoria said. “And what is it, dear man?”
“Lady Victoria, Miss Miriam, all the rest of you, come quick! The ballot boxes is gone!”
The amiable and confiding William disappeared, replaced by a deadly serious man. “What do you mean? They shouldn't have gone anywhere until we got there and escorted them to a friendlier, well-defended counting place.”
“I mean that they's been taken by someone not you. Before we could even finish filling out all the ballots for those who did not or could not vote. And when I say taken, I mean, three men came into our polling place, flashed guns at us and left with them.”
“Describe them.”
Bartholomew gave a description of three men who, in his account, behaved and moved like people who expected to be obeyed and who had any of several different remedies to turn to in the event of non-compliance. He gave a slight start when he noticed Taiko, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, struggling to keep his eyes away from her.
Victoria turned to Taiko. “Do his words and thoughts match?”
As nearly as I can tell, Taiko thought to her four friends. I can be fooled, you know. I am young yet. But what he imagines as he speaks of the three men fits his words.
“They do not sound like any of the men I know who do this sort of work,” Hiram said.
“And they bore no symbols of any sort of affiliation?” Victoria asked the poll worker.
“No marks on their clothing,” he said, looking at only four of the five members of the Company. “And they used but just enough words to get their point across. No claims of having done it for any of the honorable mayor's opponents as they left. And they didn't break nothing.”
“It would appear we've got a mystery on our hands. Mystery and a chance for a donnybrook: Is there a finer way to spend an evening in a city by the bay, my friends?” William said. He locked arms with Victoria, and they set a pace walking that had the already-winded Bartholomew pumping his legs for all their worth to stay with them.
I can't say I share William's love of mysteries and battle, Taiko thought to Hiram and Miriam as they followed. My preference for an evening here is a fine steak – cooked according to Starbuck's recipe – and a bottle of wine and a view of the water . In fact – she broke off wincing, sending something that Hiram and Miriam experienced as a flash of light.
Hiram stopped and looked around. A few meters away, a man with the body of a dock worker and the head of a bison stood engaged with a police officer.
Miriam frowned. “I thought you Laikans attuned yourselves to the same vibration of thought when you were in proximity.”
We Laikans hold ourselves apart from the Taurans, who really have no sense of civility and decency, Taiko sent to her friends – including the sensation of a haughty sniff with her statement. Hiram chuckled. No, Hiram, it's not bigotry. It's simply a matter of how the Lord arranged things. Now what's got you laughing?
“I am amused by how people can fail to see the similarities in things that are similar. But this is neither the time nor place for a discourse on such matters – look, even poor, slow Bartholomew, who didn't know whether to be repulsed by your canine features or attracted to your womanly proportions, and who likely found some bothersome delight in the combination of the two, and I don't need to be a Laikan or an alienist to discern that, has gotten far ahead of us. Come.” Hiram put an extra stretch into his steps, with Miriam and Taiko matching him, the latter thinking, to herself, that she was grateful that the parts visible above her collar bone could not blush and that the parts below were well-covered.
Bartholomew and The Good Company found the polling place in shambles – with regard to its people rather than its arches and beams. Many of the workers stood with weighted shoulders and tight expressions. Some offered hastily created and properly filled out ballots as proof of their commitment to the winning cause, and Victoria assured them that her Company had arrived not to punish but to aid.
“None of you is to blame. We have time yet to find the boxes and set things the way they ought to be,” she said, moving among them with a calming smile and comforting touches. Where she passed, mouths turned downward in frowns eased into less severe lines.
“I love to watch her work,” William whispered to Hiram, Miriam, and Taiko. “I've often wondered why she just doesn't run for Mayor.”
“I'm sure the Devil and the Lord alike would be amused by the bitter irony of her running for an office and being unable to vote herself into that office,” Miriam said.
“Oh, hush, you,” William
said with a smile that was a good mate for the one wielded by his lover. “Taiko, what manner of mind images are appearing to you?”
It's difficult. So many people, with emotions running so high.
“Poor thing,” Miriam whispered. “How do your people reach adulthood without being committed to sanatoriums?”
By not doing ill-advised things such as trying to read surface thoughts in a room of agitated people. Her ears lay flat against her head and her eyes narrowed; a growl rose in her throat unbidden. My apologies, Miriam. One of the problems with this setting is that the thoughts I read can become my own thoughts. Miriam nodded her acceptance of Taiko's apology. I'm starting to pick up on something. Most thoughts here corroborate William's story. But it appears our thieves were wearing insignia. Or...no, they were not,but there's a man here who is strongly associating them with a symbol I cannot pick out from his thoughts.
“Who is it?” Hiram asked, flexing his grip on his club. His words and his actions were both enough to frighten the man in question into revealing himself before Taiko could point him out.
With a yelp, a tall and lean man in an suit of poor condition made a dash for the door, trying to make a wide run away from the ochre. He paid no mind to Miriam, and so failed to notice her outstretched leg. William picked up a shaken man with a busted lip from the floor. He slipped an arm around the fellow's shoulders and treated him like an errant friend. “There now, my good man. What's all this?”
“Beg pardon, beg pardon, beg pardon...” the man stammered.
“Yes, yes.”
“I knew I was done in when this dog-woman started doing her mind witching! I don't care what they say, you can feel it when they dig into your brain. It's just like when you got the beginning of the brain fever.”
“That may be.”
“And then when this used to be yellow boy here grabbed his club, I knew I had to run for my life.”
“Because you'd done something wrong.”
“Well, I...” the man began. “I won't waste your time. You must have heard it all before. I've got four children, a sickly wife, and all men alive want more money. So, I told some men the way around the warding runes and when to come, and...”
Victoria turned to Taiko as the man wheedled, and the Laikan responded with a nod. With a sad sigh, Victoria whispered into William's ear. William in turn gestured to Hiram, and they started toward the door along with the man, who turned to regard everyone with a look of contrition before exiting.
Taiko let out a deep breath. I need to sit down for a moment, my friends. Miriam took the Laikan's arm and guided her to a chair. One of the poll workers brought her a glass of water. Miriam and Victoria had, of course, seen their friend drink from a glass many times before, but several of the poll workers ignored all pretense at propriety and gawked as Taiko raised the glass to her mouth. She drank from it the way a human with a numbing ointment on his lips would negotiate a drink from a cup: head tilted back, the contents poured with care straight down her throat.
Miriam shook her head in admiration. “I can feel their eyes on you,” she said. “I can scarcely imagine what it would be like to feel their thoughts as well.”
With this many pressing in on me, it is difficult to ignore them, though not impossible.
“I'm reminded again why you tend to take your meals in your room...and also why you tend to become intoxicated before the rest of us when we lift glasses of cheer,” Victoria said.
Hiram and William walked back in without the man they'd taken outside.
“Now, Taiko, don't go spoiling the surprise, let me speak before you reveal what's on my mind,” William said. With movements that spoke of his past career, he reached into his coat pocket, drew out a white, monogrammed handkerchief, and wiped his hands. “Nasty business, that,” he mumbled. “Now, as I was about to say,” he continued, “we coaxed all the information we required from that fellow. Harold Darling is the source of our troubles on this day.”
“I did not know that Harold Darling had changed his insignia,” Hiram said. “I do dislike people deviating from the accepted practices. There are ways to do these things....”
“If you start to ramble on about hallowing and consecration, dear friend, I shall slap you,” Miriam said. Several of the poll workers switched their stares from Taiko to once beautiful Miriam at that: on the whole, three women acting in an unusual manner was yet another disturbance beyond the usual mayhem most of them had come to expect on an election day. Hiram twirled his club and assumed an innocent expression.
Victoria took the opportunity to return The Good Company to the task at hand. “In any event, friends and companions, we must away into enemy territory. Shall we?”
In the hansom on their way to Harold Darling's chief place of business, very near to Chinatown, Taiko reflected on the circumstances of the evening while the other members of the company kept their own counsel.
If I could draw a tree or perhaps a path connecting Darling to all the men below him and all the men above him, doubtless I'd stop at the governor when I reached the top. Or could I go even beyond that? What web connects all these men?"
“Why are you putting images of spiders into our minds?” Hiram asked. Taiko sensed Miriam grimacing behind her veil.
After all that we've been through, Taiko thought to Miriam alone, and all that I've seen you brave and brazen your way through, the thought of spiders sends a cold finger creeping down your spine?
“I only like fighting what I can see,” Miriam said. “A spider will creep upon you while you sleep or stand unaware. They aren't very sporting, are they, being so small but still so deadly?”
I suppose they aren't. But what if they were big enough that they could not creep upon you? Wouldn't that make them worse?
“Now now!” the driver called from the front. “It's bad enough your big yellow in there like to kill my horse on account of all that weight, I don't need no dog witch gal filling my head with pitchers of spiders – especially spiders as big as my horse! You settle down back there, or I'll report you for unlawful use of magic.”
My apologies, dear sir, Taiko thought to him, though not with obeisance. When they reached the end of their ride, she considered, for a moment, sending the horse images of an especially sweet sugar cube that was always just out of its reach after they exited the hansom.
Victoria whispered to her as Hiram helped them down to the street, “Dear, I needn't be a Laikan to know you're considering repaying the man for his threat. Think of how often his hand strayed toward his whip while driving us here. What fate do you suppose you would be leaving the horse to if this man found himself in a still fouler mood?”
Taiko nodded. You are correct, Victoria. And I've suffered worse, in silence.
Victoria put an arm around the Laikan's waist. “You're no religious, sweet Taiko. None of us are, not with the things we have in our pasts. But I like to take a cue from the religious on occasion and forgive others even when it would satisfy some call from the id to punish them.”
“Whereas me, I stay my hand only when I don't stand to benefit in a pecuniary sense,” Miriam said. “That's my--”
“If you say 'Golden Rule,' dear friend, I shall disassociate myself from you,” Hiram told her. The Good Company had nothing but smiles for each other as the hansom drove off, with neither horse nor driver bothered by Taiko.
After the hansom had gone, two men who could had to have been the greater part of the trio Taiko and her friends sought stepped forward. The larger of the two addressed them as he twirled a club that matched Hiram's.
“If you are all finished with your play at words and meanings familiar only to yourselves after long years of companionship through numerous ordeals, perhaps we can get, at last, to the business of the evening?”
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
April 5, 2011
Joseph
I think anybody who ever feels crazy enough to write a novel will realize about half the way through the process that a handful of the characters have their own plans and ideas.
In the early drafts of The Face Value Blues, Joseph, also known as Dreamer, had little to say, and he did even less. I originally had Artanis and his friends take their sweet time getting to New Orleans. In fact, I had Aresphon capture them and transport them by train to Washington DC at one point. In those versions of the story, Joseph was just one of the gangsters in the background who got collared along with Artanis and Damaris.
Then I decided that Artanis needed a rival for Damaris' attention and affection, and I first chose Joseph to serve in that capacity. I tried to write some scenes that showed him having the edge over Artanis early in the novel, and there are traces of this in the forest after they escape Aresphon and the two lawmen: notice Damaris warming up to Joseph when she discovers commonalities in their backgrounds, and Artanis' jealous reaction.
The more I played around with the idea though -- and when you start writing, your characters are on your mind all day every day -- the less it felt "right."
"This ain't really working, boss," Joseph said to me, pushing his hat back and blowing smoke through his nose.
"Yeah. Joseph is more than half good-looking and a decent fella and all, but something about this doesn't ring true," Damaris added.
"You two are right," I told them. "Joseph, I didn't plan on you doing much at all when I started this, but you're growing on me. I want you to feature more prominently, and I still feel the need to pair you up with somebody. But who? Do I need to make up another gal for you to step out with?"
"Nah, fella. Think about it some more, but don't force the issue or anythin', and the right way'll show itself to you," the little goblin said with a smile that managed to be both smug and shy as he turned to go.
Damaris winked at me as she walked off with him. That girl can say a lot without using words: she inspired me to work hard at figuring Mr. Joseph out.
And I did. Well, to that extent that we ever figure someone else out. There's a movie I love that Everyone of Quality should love with an excellent line about such things: "Nobody knows nobody -- not that well." I don't know all there is to know about any character in my book, but I figured out enough about Joseph (among other things, his Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox, just like his author) to pair him up with "that guitar player" once Artanis and company reached New Orleans.
But I left in the idea of another character having feelings for Damaris. Astute readers will have determined who it was, but I won't reveal the character here for the sake of those who are reading this blog in parallel to -- or before -- reading the year's most electrifying fantasy novel.
As always, thanks for stopping by.
In the early drafts of The Face Value Blues, Joseph, also known as Dreamer, had little to say, and he did even less. I originally had Artanis and his friends take their sweet time getting to New Orleans. In fact, I had Aresphon capture them and transport them by train to Washington DC at one point. In those versions of the story, Joseph was just one of the gangsters in the background who got collared along with Artanis and Damaris.
Then I decided that Artanis needed a rival for Damaris' attention and affection, and I first chose Joseph to serve in that capacity. I tried to write some scenes that showed him having the edge over Artanis early in the novel, and there are traces of this in the forest after they escape Aresphon and the two lawmen: notice Damaris warming up to Joseph when she discovers commonalities in their backgrounds, and Artanis' jealous reaction.
The more I played around with the idea though -- and when you start writing, your characters are on your mind all day every day -- the less it felt "right."
"This ain't really working, boss," Joseph said to me, pushing his hat back and blowing smoke through his nose.
"Yeah. Joseph is more than half good-looking and a decent fella and all, but something about this doesn't ring true," Damaris added.
"You two are right," I told them. "Joseph, I didn't plan on you doing much at all when I started this, but you're growing on me. I want you to feature more prominently, and I still feel the need to pair you up with somebody. But who? Do I need to make up another gal for you to step out with?"
"Nah, fella. Think about it some more, but don't force the issue or anythin', and the right way'll show itself to you," the little goblin said with a smile that managed to be both smug and shy as he turned to go.
Damaris winked at me as she walked off with him. That girl can say a lot without using words: she inspired me to work hard at figuring Mr. Joseph out.
And I did. Well, to that extent that we ever figure someone else out. There's a movie I love that Everyone of Quality should love with an excellent line about such things: "Nobody knows nobody -- not that well." I don't know all there is to know about any character in my book, but I figured out enough about Joseph (among other things, his Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox, just like his author) to pair him up with "that guitar player" once Artanis and company reached New Orleans.
But I left in the idea of another character having feelings for Damaris. Astute readers will have determined who it was, but I won't reveal the character here for the sake of those who are reading this blog in parallel to -- or before -- reading the year's most electrifying fantasy novel.
As always, thanks for stopping by.
March 19, 2011
Thoughts on Damaris, Part 1
I'd previously written about the risk of people identifying me with my main character because the novel is written in the first person. And if people were to identify me with Artanis, there was also the risk that they'd figure Damaris, the lead female in the story, is either some woman I know or my "dream" woman.
Well, the thing about good ol' Damaris is that she started life as a man.
In the early versions of the novel -- rough drafts that no one but me ever saw -- Damaris was a male character named Malik. Malik was Artanis's best friend, rival, and foil.
So how'd we go from Malik to Damaris? It was one of those bolts from the blue: as I read the first draft, the idea that the Malik character would have more impact as a female just struck me out of nowhere.
I kept much of the character's actions and dialogue exactly the same and saw that as a female, the character could still be Artanis' best friend, rival, and foil. (Joseph in some ways acts as a foil to Artanis as well, but Mr. Dreamer shall be the topic of another post.)
Then another bolt struck me when I realized I could do all sorts of wonderful things for the story and for Artanis' life journey by making her a love interest in addition to being friend/rival/foil.
As with several of the folks in the Face Value Blues, people have asked where the name comes from. I tried to do something a little clever with many of the character's names. Taking a cue from both the Bible and Shakespeare, there are many puns and allusions in FVB if you know where and how to look....
But not in Damaris' case.
No, Damaris is a name I first encountered way back in the first grade. She was a little dark-eyed, dark haired classmate of mine. And although I can't recall whether or not we were friends, and although I certainly didn't know I wanted to be a writer back then, I kept her name in my mind from the moment I first heard it.
Fast forward 27 years, and there I am bestowing it on one of my most important characters in my first novel.
And here's something that will throw you for a loop: after writing FVB, I met another Damaris. It ain't exactly what you'd call a common name. And Damaris 1 and Damaris 2 were from different cultures: the Damaris I met in the 1st grade was from the Middle East; the Damaris I met a couple years ago was a blonde, blue-eyed young woman of Italian descent.
But the thing is, the parents of the Damarises I've met and I all chose well in picking the name: according to some sources, the Indo-European root from which the name comes means "dominant", making the name mean "dominant woman."
How's all of that for "coincidence", huh?
As always, thanks for reading.
Well, the thing about good ol' Damaris is that she started life as a man.
In the early versions of the novel -- rough drafts that no one but me ever saw -- Damaris was a male character named Malik. Malik was Artanis's best friend, rival, and foil.
So how'd we go from Malik to Damaris? It was one of those bolts from the blue: as I read the first draft, the idea that the Malik character would have more impact as a female just struck me out of nowhere.
I kept much of the character's actions and dialogue exactly the same and saw that as a female, the character could still be Artanis' best friend, rival, and foil. (Joseph in some ways acts as a foil to Artanis as well, but Mr. Dreamer shall be the topic of another post.)
Then another bolt struck me when I realized I could do all sorts of wonderful things for the story and for Artanis' life journey by making her a love interest in addition to being friend/rival/foil.
As with several of the folks in the Face Value Blues, people have asked where the name comes from. I tried to do something a little clever with many of the character's names. Taking a cue from both the Bible and Shakespeare, there are many puns and allusions in FVB if you know where and how to look....
But not in Damaris' case.
No, Damaris is a name I first encountered way back in the first grade. She was a little dark-eyed, dark haired classmate of mine. And although I can't recall whether or not we were friends, and although I certainly didn't know I wanted to be a writer back then, I kept her name in my mind from the moment I first heard it.
Fast forward 27 years, and there I am bestowing it on one of my most important characters in my first novel.
And here's something that will throw you for a loop: after writing FVB, I met another Damaris. It ain't exactly what you'd call a common name. And Damaris 1 and Damaris 2 were from different cultures: the Damaris I met in the 1st grade was from the Middle East; the Damaris I met a couple years ago was a blonde, blue-eyed young woman of Italian descent.
But the thing is, the parents of the Damarises I've met and I all chose well in picking the name: according to some sources, the Indo-European root from which the name comes means "dominant", making the name mean "dominant woman."
How's all of that for "coincidence", huh?
As always, thanks for reading.
March 9, 2011
About Artanis and me
Way back in high school, I learned that one of the risks an author runs when writing fiction in the first person is that people will equate her or him with the character relating the story.
In other words, when the character says something like, "I sure do hate people who stand still on busy sidewalks," a fair percentage of readers will assume that the character is voicing the author's own opinions.
(But, yeah, I dislike people who stand still on busy sidewalks. Don't you?)
I've already had more than a few of my readers tell me that they picture me as Artanis or that they wonder if certain episodes in the novel are drawn from my life. It'd be dishonest of me to claim that my own trials and tribulations have nothing to do with the events in my main character's journey, but I took great pains to avoid doing one of two nearly unpardonable things:
1) Make my main character an Author Avatar as explained in the link above.
2) Make my main character my opposite as a way to either exorcise my demons or indulge in things I wouldn't dare to do or say in real life.
It takes a highly skilled author to make Thing #1 come out sounding something other than preachy or like wish fulfillment, and while Thing #2 can be a great deal of fun in some cases, it can also be deeply disturbing -- for both writer and reader. Artanis is not a bad person, but I would be aghast if I looked within myself and saw that I had a secret desire to do some of the questionable things he's done.
Even though I consciously tried to avoid falling into either pit, I nursed a worry that maybe I'd unconsciously conflated myself with my main dude. Around the 3rd draft or so, I took this test to see if I was inserting myself into the story. I'm happy to report Artanis and I passed with flying colors: he's a wholly different person than the man who created him. (Or to whom he communicated, if you buy that theory of authorship.)
I would like to meet him someday though, and I'm certainly eager for more people to get to know us both.
As always, thanks for reading.
In other words, when the character says something like, "I sure do hate people who stand still on busy sidewalks," a fair percentage of readers will assume that the character is voicing the author's own opinions.
(But, yeah, I dislike people who stand still on busy sidewalks. Don't you?)
I've already had more than a few of my readers tell me that they picture me as Artanis or that they wonder if certain episodes in the novel are drawn from my life. It'd be dishonest of me to claim that my own trials and tribulations have nothing to do with the events in my main character's journey, but I took great pains to avoid doing one of two nearly unpardonable things:
1) Make my main character an Author Avatar as explained in the link above.
2) Make my main character my opposite as a way to either exorcise my demons or indulge in things I wouldn't dare to do or say in real life.
It takes a highly skilled author to make Thing #1 come out sounding something other than preachy or like wish fulfillment, and while Thing #2 can be a great deal of fun in some cases, it can also be deeply disturbing -- for both writer and reader. Artanis is not a bad person, but I would be aghast if I looked within myself and saw that I had a secret desire to do some of the questionable things he's done.
Even though I consciously tried to avoid falling into either pit, I nursed a worry that maybe I'd unconsciously conflated myself with my main dude. Around the 3rd draft or so, I took this test to see if I was inserting myself into the story. I'm happy to report Artanis and I passed with flying colors: he's a wholly different person than the man who created him. (Or to whom he communicated, if you buy that theory of authorship.)
I would like to meet him someday though, and I'm certainly eager for more people to get to know us both.
As always, thanks for reading.
February 28, 2011
What Does Success Look Like?
My fellow children of the Nintendo Age know that after the completion of a difficult task, we sometimes discover that the princess is in another castle.
In the first Super Mario game for the NES, it's your adversary who keeps moving the princess you've been tasked with rescuing to another location. (Don't worry, she doesn't stay a hapless damsel for long: there are very nearly as many Mario games as there are stars in the sky, and in many of them, the princess in question is a perfectly capable protagonist in her own right.)
I've come to understand that with this novel, I'm the one who keeps moving the goal.
After completing the first draft: "This isn't really anything to celebrate, because I still have to edit it and fix a bunch of problems."
After completing the fourth draft: "Okay, it's looking better, but I've still got a long way to go."
After completing the final draft: "Great...but all I have is a finished novel, I've still got to get it out in the world."
After getting it on the shelf at Book People: "I still can't celebrate, the next step is to get it on Amazon and in the iBookstore."
After getting it on the Kindle and available for iOS: "This is good, but I've still got to get a book deal, and I've still got to write the sequel, and I've got to become a bestseller, and..."
And, and, and; still, still, still -- always.
So lately I've been asking myself "Well,what does success look like? When are we breaking out the champagne and saying 'I did it'?" I do think there's some value in always seeking the next challenge. It's the only way we'll get off this rock and reach the stars, after all.
On the other hand, this restlessness can make it difficult to appreciate what I have already done. Q-Tip was right: Joni Mitchell never lies, and I know that I need to look at what I've already conquered and take pride in that while I have it, not when it's gone.
But I'm still trying to figure out what success looks like.
Thanks for reading.
In the first Super Mario game for the NES, it's your adversary who keeps moving the princess you've been tasked with rescuing to another location. (Don't worry, she doesn't stay a hapless damsel for long: there are very nearly as many Mario games as there are stars in the sky, and in many of them, the princess in question is a perfectly capable protagonist in her own right.)
I've come to understand that with this novel, I'm the one who keeps moving the goal.
After completing the first draft: "This isn't really anything to celebrate, because I still have to edit it and fix a bunch of problems."
After completing the fourth draft: "Okay, it's looking better, but I've still got a long way to go."
After completing the final draft: "Great...but all I have is a finished novel, I've still got to get it out in the world."
After getting it on the shelf at Book People: "I still can't celebrate, the next step is to get it on Amazon and in the iBookstore."
After getting it on the Kindle and available for iOS: "This is good, but I've still got to get a book deal, and I've still got to write the sequel, and I've got to become a bestseller, and..."
And, and, and; still, still, still -- always.
So lately I've been asking myself "Well,what does success look like? When are we breaking out the champagne and saying 'I did it'?" I do think there's some value in always seeking the next challenge. It's the only way we'll get off this rock and reach the stars, after all.
On the other hand, this restlessness can make it difficult to appreciate what I have already done. Q-Tip was right: Joni Mitchell never lies, and I know that I need to look at what I've already conquered and take pride in that while I have it, not when it's gone.
But I'm still trying to figure out what success looks like.
Thanks for reading.
February 20, 2011
The Face Value Blues
Dames and fellas, The Face Value Blues now has a website: The Face Value Blues. Check it out!
Many thanks to my friend and co-worker Derek Rosenstrauch for all his work in creating the site.
Many thanks to my friend and co-worker Derek Rosenstrauch for all his work in creating the site.
The Face Value Blues
The latest and greatest news about the trials and travails and tribulations of getting a Blues Fantasy published.
- Mark Power-Freeman's profile
- 5 followers
