With boiling temperatures every day, who needs a better excuse to stay inside (in the shade) and write? While having to move my study nook from upstairs (extremely hot until about 9 in evenings) to downstairs (not fun dragging oodles of books down a flight of stairs, but at least it’s a lot cooler below), and not having done much in the writing of fiction, I can at least say that I have a piece published in November. Yes, the long awaited article for The Speculative Grammarian has been published under the pen name of Sir C J Cockspur. Find it at: http://specgram.com/CLX.2/11.cockspur.npicml.html
I’ve spent some time on the earlier history of the Midlands of Airthai and ended up with two good ideas for two short stories and half an idea for a third. The rest of the half-ideas fluttering around still need to be pounded into something useful before I can post it. Now if I can just finish those maps!
Otherwise I’m knee-deep in Nineteenth century Dutch poetry, which is a lot more interesting than it may sound!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Food for the Soul – Some Musical Inspiration
I nearly always have some kind of music playing. Whether I’m studying, writing, quilling and, yes, even sometimes while I’m reading. I came into the habit of studying with music via my sister. If I remember correctly, I was in grade 4 or 5 and trying to study to Bon Jovi. In time I found my own kind of music that helps me to focus while studying – Celtic.
When writing, I often have music as background. Mostly I choose something that will fit the kind of scene that I’m busy with. The music that I play can range from epic and Classical that inspire the sweeping vistas of the Midlands and their plains, to the mournful sounds of the sea and upbeat ditties and alternative.
Early music brings the world of Airthai to life and Chant brings to mind the libraries and studies of the Ealda and the Keepers.
Of course, what with listening to a lot of folk songs, some of them start to seep into the subconscious of Airthai (for instance the tale of the River of Gold)…
Folk song of the Midlands: The Maiden of the Stars
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the east,
When Elven knight left the woods of green, and wandered forth to war.
The mist it decked the mountain side and singing filled the vale,
By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
She sang a song of olden thought, unknown throughout the vale,
And drew to her power to calm the beast t'was raging there.
The fiery breath of dragon stilled, and calmed was his heart,
When she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, when she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
The evil there was thwarted thus, by her sighing voice,
Its words were pure, remembered still far west, where fire ‘fore moon dies.
And there they met, two lovers crossed, by stars of heaven named,
And stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
But years of mortals short are cut, by illness or by sword,
And maiden young was slain in youth and her song grew silent then.
The Elven knight was damned to live, and wailed at his lover’s side,
And all knew love had died that day, with the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and all knew love had died that day with the maiden of the stars.
And years of elf-kind long do last, and heartbreak will surely slay,
And wandered lost the elven knight and bewailed his lover’s loss.
The Elven knight was to grow old before his bones be dust,
And meet again, the maid and he to sing among the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and meet again the maid and he, to sing among the stars.
When writing, I often have music as background. Mostly I choose something that will fit the kind of scene that I’m busy with. The music that I play can range from epic and Classical that inspire the sweeping vistas of the Midlands and their plains, to the mournful sounds of the sea and upbeat ditties and alternative.
Early music brings the world of Airthai to life and Chant brings to mind the libraries and studies of the Ealda and the Keepers.
Of course, what with listening to a lot of folk songs, some of them start to seep into the subconscious of Airthai (for instance the tale of the River of Gold)…
Folk song of the Midlands: The Maiden of the Stars
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the east,
When Elven knight left the woods of green, and wandered forth to war.
The mist it decked the mountain side and singing filled the vale,
By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
She sang a song of olden thought, unknown throughout the vale,
And drew to her power to calm the beast t'was raging there.
The fiery breath of dragon stilled, and calmed was his heart,
When she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, when she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
The evil there was thwarted thus, by her sighing voice,
Its words were pure, remembered still far west, where fire ‘fore moon dies.
And there they met, two lovers crossed, by stars of heaven named,
And stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
But years of mortals short are cut, by illness or by sword,
And maiden young was slain in youth and her song grew silent then.
The Elven knight was damned to live, and wailed at his lover’s side,
And all knew love had died that day, with the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and all knew love had died that day with the maiden of the stars.
And years of elf-kind long do last, and heartbreak will surely slay,
And wandered lost the elven knight and bewailed his lover’s loss.
The Elven knight was to grow old before his bones be dust,
And meet again, the maid and he to sing among the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and meet again the maid and he, to sing among the stars.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Strange Ribbon and a Book Keeper…
Some good news! (Other than getting Riverdance tickets for the opening night!) Jou Wêreld have published "Die rooi lint", a sci-fi tale that plays out in my hometown.
Here's the link for the Afrikaans:
http://www.jouwereld.co.za/jf_rooi_lint.html
I'll also put up the English soon. In the meantime, here's another flash piece.
The Book Keeper
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors. One of the young, new employees led two others with trolleys into his office.
“You can start loading it up.”
Bernhardt shot daggers at the little man. Had he no sense? You don’t spend forty-two years in one place and pack it up in a day. He would never be able to pack all his memories anyway.
The cold hand around his heart did not want to let go. He gulped, and blinked and cleared his throat, but nothing helped. He had to ask the question he dreaded.
“What about the books?”
The young man looked puzzled.
“This is the library – the books will be here.” He smiled the smile that young people give to their elders when they thought they were being silly.
“You said there will be a new computer room.” Swallow, gulp, blink.
“One room.” He smiled the same smile. “We’re knocking a wall down. Building a new wing.” He sighed. “The books will just be moved to the top two floors.” Grin.
“I was referring to the books kept in the basement.”
The young man mumbled something.
“Excuse me?”
“Pulped. We will pulp them. They should fetch a couple of bucks at the recycling depot.”
Bernhardt lifted his hand to slap the man, but stopped himself, an idea popping into his head. “I’ll buy them.” The voice was bereft of the emotion he felt, as if it was not truly him that had spoken so brashly. “I’ll pay by the kilogram, or ton. I don’t know. However the recycling depot would have paid you. I’ll match them,” he rambled. He started figuring out what his pension was worth. He would still have some money put away for a rainy day.
The young man stood at the window, hands crossed behind his back. The stark summer sun fell on his face, bathing it in a yellowish light. Again he smiled that arrogant, young man smile. Bernhardt wondered if he had also looked like that the day that he moved into this office.
The days he spent placing books back on the shelf, rearranging books, unpacking the new books with their heady scent of crisp paper and glue, seemed but a day old. Definitely not forty-two years. Maybe he was also arrogant once.
“What’s the difference if I take them or if you pulp them? Either way you’ll be rid of them and have the money.”
“It’s just a bunch of old books –“
“And I’m just an old man.” There he had admitted it. Yet, with those words, something changed in the eyes of the young man.
“I also love books, you know,” he said apologetically. “But we need to make money if we’re to survive.” He turned back to the window. Small drops of rain started to patter on the glass. He smiled. “Fox is marrying wolf’s wife.”
He suddenly looked very young for the task at hand.
“You know, I made it a point that they will not close this library while I can help it.” Swallow. Blink. He turned and left, heading for the basement.
The books arrived at his house three days later. They unloaded the boxes and unpacked the books for hours on end. They started stacking the books in his study, then the bedrooms and the hall before moving on to the lounge and filling the dining room. And the icy grip around his heart lessened as he picked a volume up.
Travels in the Petrified Forests of the Northern Highveld, he read the fading title. This was one he had rescued early in his career when they wanted to sell off the books no one borrowed. In the front there was even a signature and a photo of the author next to a giant baobab. Some piles constituted the libraries of whole families. One book case was totally filled with family Bibles, the names written in the front smudged, the pages scorched from surviving many wars. No, he would not forget them.
He sat down at his desk and took up a piece of paper. He licked the tip of his pencil and started writing.
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors.
Here's the link for the Afrikaans:
http://www.jouwereld.co.za/jf_rooi_lint.html
I'll also put up the English soon. In the meantime, here's another flash piece.
The Book Keeper
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors. One of the young, new employees led two others with trolleys into his office.
“You can start loading it up.”
Bernhardt shot daggers at the little man. Had he no sense? You don’t spend forty-two years in one place and pack it up in a day. He would never be able to pack all his memories anyway.
The cold hand around his heart did not want to let go. He gulped, and blinked and cleared his throat, but nothing helped. He had to ask the question he dreaded.
“What about the books?”
The young man looked puzzled.
“This is the library – the books will be here.” He smiled the smile that young people give to their elders when they thought they were being silly.
“You said there will be a new computer room.” Swallow, gulp, blink.
“One room.” He smiled the same smile. “We’re knocking a wall down. Building a new wing.” He sighed. “The books will just be moved to the top two floors.” Grin.
“I was referring to the books kept in the basement.”
The young man mumbled something.
“Excuse me?”
“Pulped. We will pulp them. They should fetch a couple of bucks at the recycling depot.”
Bernhardt lifted his hand to slap the man, but stopped himself, an idea popping into his head. “I’ll buy them.” The voice was bereft of the emotion he felt, as if it was not truly him that had spoken so brashly. “I’ll pay by the kilogram, or ton. I don’t know. However the recycling depot would have paid you. I’ll match them,” he rambled. He started figuring out what his pension was worth. He would still have some money put away for a rainy day.
The young man stood at the window, hands crossed behind his back. The stark summer sun fell on his face, bathing it in a yellowish light. Again he smiled that arrogant, young man smile. Bernhardt wondered if he had also looked like that the day that he moved into this office.
The days he spent placing books back on the shelf, rearranging books, unpacking the new books with their heady scent of crisp paper and glue, seemed but a day old. Definitely not forty-two years. Maybe he was also arrogant once.
“What’s the difference if I take them or if you pulp them? Either way you’ll be rid of them and have the money.”
“It’s just a bunch of old books –“
“And I’m just an old man.” There he had admitted it. Yet, with those words, something changed in the eyes of the young man.
“I also love books, you know,” he said apologetically. “But we need to make money if we’re to survive.” He turned back to the window. Small drops of rain started to patter on the glass. He smiled. “Fox is marrying wolf’s wife.”
He suddenly looked very young for the task at hand.
“You know, I made it a point that they will not close this library while I can help it.” Swallow. Blink. He turned and left, heading for the basement.
The books arrived at his house three days later. They unloaded the boxes and unpacked the books for hours on end. They started stacking the books in his study, then the bedrooms and the hall before moving on to the lounge and filling the dining room. And the icy grip around his heart lessened as he picked a volume up.
Travels in the Petrified Forests of the Northern Highveld, he read the fading title. This was one he had rescued early in his career when they wanted to sell off the books no one borrowed. In the front there was even a signature and a photo of the author next to a giant baobab. Some piles constituted the libraries of whole families. One book case was totally filled with family Bibles, the names written in the front smudged, the pages scorched from surviving many wars. No, he would not forget them.
He sat down at his desk and took up a piece of paper. He licked the tip of his pencil and started writing.
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Tiriane and the Tellerassar – A Glimpse of a Larger World in "A Dragon's Freedom"
The Tellerassar came into the world of Airthai quite early on. The first story I wrote about Airthai included one of the Keepers being a person that could turn into the form of an eagle and back to their human form at will. Soon I delved into their history – they had this gift (that they could also lose) and were a new race of people. Yet, they were part-human as well, which got me to thinking that they were normal humans once, which received the gift of shape-shifting from the Creator. They were also the "good guys" from the start, so they did not change their shape by using magic. It was a natural state of being for them.
The people of the Midlands called them "Heimfeie" according to the name that was given to their country. They, however, were not happy to stay on the fringes of the stories. In a set much later, an Elf referred to them as the "Tellerassar", a name which I felt had a lovely ring to it. It turned out that, in the Tellerassar's own tongue, they refer to themselves as such. "Heimfeie" is mostly used by those that are less educated in the peoples of the Midlands. Nasja, for instance, would only have learned to use the word "Tellerassar" from Tiriane.
The Tellerassar have their own tongue that was gifted to them when they received the gift of changing their shape. This tongue is mostly fictional, though there are some influences of the other tongues of Airthai, including the language that is used in "A Dragon's Freedom" to communicate with the dragons (Gothic). The Tellerassar language looks like this:
"A Agrai tellarias or s’agrélar silássa."
Which is translated as:
"May the Light of the One shine on your road" // “Mag die Lig van die Een op jou pad skyn.”
Note: The apostrophe is used to denote a glottal stop. "Tellar" means "Light" and "Tellerassar" means "People of the Light". "Agrai" means "One" and refers to the Creator. The Light of the One/Creator refers to a blessing
The people of the Midlands called them "Heimfeie" according to the name that was given to their country. They, however, were not happy to stay on the fringes of the stories. In a set much later, an Elf referred to them as the "Tellerassar", a name which I felt had a lovely ring to it. It turned out that, in the Tellerassar's own tongue, they refer to themselves as such. "Heimfeie" is mostly used by those that are less educated in the peoples of the Midlands. Nasja, for instance, would only have learned to use the word "Tellerassar" from Tiriane.
The Tellerassar have their own tongue that was gifted to them when they received the gift of changing their shape. This tongue is mostly fictional, though there are some influences of the other tongues of Airthai, including the language that is used in "A Dragon's Freedom" to communicate with the dragons (Gothic). The Tellerassar language looks like this:
"A Agrai tellarias or s’agrélar silássa."
Which is translated as:
"May the Light of the One shine on your road" // “Mag die Lig van die Een op jou pad skyn.”
Note: The apostrophe is used to denote a glottal stop. "Tellar" means "Light" and "Tellerassar" means "People of the Light". "Agrai" means "One" and refers to the Creator. The Light of the One/Creator refers to a blessing
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A Dragon's Freedom is published!
You can now find my short story "A Dragon's Freedom" at the Cross and Cosmos e-zine (http://www.crossandcosmos.com/), in Issue 5.
Also, the translated flash piece "Tournament" is up at Woes as "Die Toernooi".
Also, the translated flash piece "Tournament" is up at Woes as "Die Toernooi".
Monday, October 4, 2010
Woes Posts & Airthai Map News
Ek het begin om van my Afrikaanse skryfwerk by Woes te gaan plaas. Die skakel na my profielblad is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm.
Een van die stukke is die vertaalde weergawe van Eldarion Whargahn, met aangepaste spelling om by die Afrikaanse skrywyse te pas. Ek gaan voortgaan om kort stukkies daar te plaas, en dink dit is veral 'n goeie plek vir die vertaalde dele wat hier verskyn. Hopelik is dit dan makliker om tussen die verskillende tale te beweeg.
I have started to put some of my Afrikaans works up at Woes. The link to my profile page is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm .
One of the pieces is the translated version of Eldarion Whargahn, with the spelling fitted to that of Afrikaans. I'm going to keep on putting some pieces up there, and I think it is a good place to put the translated pieces that I put up here. I hope that it will then be easy to move between the different languages.
In ander nuus is ek steeds besig om die kaarte vir Airthai oor te teken en vind dit vat bietjie langer as wat ek gedink het. Om die hele gedeelte van die wêreld in een (A4) kaart te sit wat in "A Dragon's Freedom" verskyn is ook nogal moeilik – dit begin in die Suidelike Lande en eindig in die Middellande. Dit beteken dit strek oor 'n woestyn en 'n paar lande. Aangesien ek die Tellerassar insluit in die verhaal, moet mens ook darem kan aandui waar hulle land is! Wel, vanaand is dit ek en 'n paar penne om die kaarte klaar te teken! Dan kan ek dit hierdie week plaas.
In other news, I am still busy drawing the Airthai maps and finding that it's taking a bit longer than I have anticipated. To put the whole part of the world that is featured in "A Dragon's Freedom" into one (A4) map is quite difficult – it starts in the Southern Lands and ends in the Middle Lands. That means it stretches over a desert and a couple of lands. Seeing that the Tellerassar also plays a part in the story, you have to be able to show where that is! Well, tonight it's me and a couple of pens to finish drawing the maps! Then I can still post it this week.
Een van die stukke is die vertaalde weergawe van Eldarion Whargahn, met aangepaste spelling om by die Afrikaanse skrywyse te pas. Ek gaan voortgaan om kort stukkies daar te plaas, en dink dit is veral 'n goeie plek vir die vertaalde dele wat hier verskyn. Hopelik is dit dan makliker om tussen die verskillende tale te beweeg.
I have started to put some of my Afrikaans works up at Woes. The link to my profile page is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm .
One of the pieces is the translated version of Eldarion Whargahn, with the spelling fitted to that of Afrikaans. I'm going to keep on putting some pieces up there, and I think it is a good place to put the translated pieces that I put up here. I hope that it will then be easy to move between the different languages.
In ander nuus is ek steeds besig om die kaarte vir Airthai oor te teken en vind dit vat bietjie langer as wat ek gedink het. Om die hele gedeelte van die wêreld in een (A4) kaart te sit wat in "A Dragon's Freedom" verskyn is ook nogal moeilik – dit begin in die Suidelike Lande en eindig in die Middellande. Dit beteken dit strek oor 'n woestyn en 'n paar lande. Aangesien ek die Tellerassar insluit in die verhaal, moet mens ook darem kan aandui waar hulle land is! Wel, vanaand is dit ek en 'n paar penne om die kaarte klaar te teken! Dan kan ek dit hierdie week plaas.
In other news, I am still busy drawing the Airthai maps and finding that it's taking a bit longer than I have anticipated. To put the whole part of the world that is featured in "A Dragon's Freedom" into one (A4) map is quite difficult – it starts in the Southern Lands and ends in the Middle Lands. That means it stretches over a desert and a couple of lands. Seeing that the Tellerassar also plays a part in the story, you have to be able to show where that is! Well, tonight it's me and a couple of pens to finish drawing the maps! Then I can still post it this week.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Clearing Out The Attic
It is very interesting to go through your computer's attic (or that handy 'to file' folder), especially if you find some forgotten bits and pieces. Here are two of my first flash pieces. I'm still practicing at getting a whole story into 1 000 words (or less), but really hope I'm getting better at it as time passes!
I've mentioned before that www.sffworld.com has a monthly flash fiction contest, which is a very good way of stretching your mind to think up a new story with just one word or phrase as inspiration. More importantly, it is not a phrase that you, yourself, chose!
Both of these pieces were written from the first concept that I came up with when I read the theme, and Laudanum was the first flash piece that I wrote for SFFWorld.
Jeremy stared at the table standing on the beach. It was quite a pleasant day, or would have been if the sky was blue and not grey even though there was not one cloud in the sky. The table was bare, its two chairs having inappropriate frilly cushions on them. He realized it was the same cushions as those his grandmother had had in her kitchen. The cushions were tinted in grey as well, as if the pinks and greens had washed out of them leaving only their shadows. He looked behind him. The palms forming a distinct line between sand and forest looked like it was taken from a black and white holiday catalogue. The salt water was a clear grey. A voice next to him said: “Choose a game.” The figure was dressed in black – the only pure black he could see anywhere. His mind raced.
“Trivial Pursuit – no,” he stopped himself. He would not know the answers. He thought and thought. Chess? Checkers? Poker? Bridge, for goodness’ sake?
“Choose, human, or I will choose for you.” The voice was louder, impatient. He tried not to look at the scythe it held in one grey, bloodless hand. “You wanted to play, so let us play.”
Jeremy swallowed hard. “Dice, we will play at dice.”
Two dice appeared in his clenched hand. When he opened his fist, he saw one was of the purest white, the other pure black. When he looked up the figure was already seated at the table.
“Come,” it said, cracking its fingers. “Time for a game.”
Jeremy took a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air and walked to the table, placing the dice in the centre before lowering himself into the chair.
“You first. Highest out of three wins.”
Jeremy took the dice, shook them in his hand and let them fall. Two sixes. He let out a breath. So far so good. The figure did the same. It landed. Two ones. It was Jeremy’s turn again. He threw. Two and three. The figure threw. Two sixes. Jeremy threw. Four and one. The figure threw. Two sixes.
“Well then,” it said. “Come along.”
“Wait.” Another hand pushed the dice towards the black-robed figure. “Best one out of one.” The figure took the dice, threw. Two sixes. “He’s still mine.” The other figure threw. It landed. Two sevens. “He is mine," the voice boomed as colour returned to the world.
**** The two sevens at the end came as just a surprise to me. I wanted to write a tournament between a mortal and death where the mortal won. When I reached death saying "Come along", I thought that was that for Jeremy. The dice landing on seven, the "voice" saying "He is mine" and the colour returning to the world added so much more to the tale, especially in a Christian perspective. This is now one of my favourite pieces. ****
Laudanum stared at the blank page in front of him. Below him, in the kitchen, he could hear muffled voices that only sometimes rose too high or too loud for a few syllables to act as if it was a normal conversation. Nothing here seemed normal. You just had to look at his name to know that he was not normal. No normal person would name their child Laudanum. It was a wonder his newly born sister was named 'Rose' like any other normal child and not something like ‘Latrine' just because his parents liked the way the word sounds.
He kept his eyes on the page and stared intently at the darkness that lay behind them until he could see nothing but the darkness. Then, after the darkness had come, the other world came. The world that was created in the darkness behind his eyes. He knew not if he had been the creator, he was quite sure he wasn't. A few people here and there, a couple of dragons, a mythical quest or two. Those he did create. But the rest he was not so sure of. He remembered the first time he visited the place. It had no mountains then, but was simply grassland as far as the eye could see. Then he thought ‘mountains’ and the next moment they were there, on the horizon. One even had snow on top. He had never even seen snow. He also changed the weather patterns that day with his gigantic mountains. And crushed a few villages. After that he tried not to think too much while he visited. But, sometimes, a thought or emotion did slip through. And, today, it rained although rain did not seem to be the right word to describe the amounts of water falling from the sky. It was more like a monsoon rain, more like torrential rain that fell and turned all the ground to mud. And it was cold, so cold. Up in the mountains an avalanche started and slid down the great mountain.
Laudanum thought as hard as he could about sunshine, rainbows, and the absence of water. The mud sprouted into flowers as far as his eyes could see. But the sun was too warm. Just enough water, he concentrated, and could feel the water rising to the surface. The sun not too warm, he thought and could feel the sun's rays fading, although sudden flashes of light streamed from the mountains like northern lights gone berserk.
The lights he did not understand and tried not to look at them lest they blind him where he stood between the sprouting flowers, but the lights kept on flickering until he looked at them briefly and then they went away only to start again once he concentrated on the ground and the living things there.
“Not too warm,” he mumbled again, staring at the world behind his eyes.
“He’s been like this for days now doctor,” Laudanum’s mother said. “Is there nothing we can do?”
The doctor took his small torch and shone it into Laudanum's right eye. Then he shook his head.
“Not until we can figure out what is going on in there,” he said. “There is a response, but so slight…” his words trailed off as the boy mumbled again.
“Not too warm.”
The nurse sadly shook her head and removed one of the piles of blankets covering the boy.
***** My first piece's inspiration came while I was drawing an early map for Airthai. After drawing a river's course, I saw that it was completely wrong to what I had already written. Out came the eraser and I drew a new line. The sight of a whole river drying up and vanishing in seconds before appearing in another place suddenly formed in my mind.
When you stop to think about world building, you find that you can think of a few characters and a geography that just 'works'. What if the boy was so part of his secondary world that he almost had to die in the real one to give enough energy to just one part of his created one?
And, yes, I chose the name 'Laudanum' mostly because I like the sound of it. *****
I've mentioned before that www.sffworld.com has a monthly flash fiction contest, which is a very good way of stretching your mind to think up a new story with just one word or phrase as inspiration. More importantly, it is not a phrase that you, yourself, chose!
Both of these pieces were written from the first concept that I came up with when I read the theme, and Laudanum was the first flash piece that I wrote for SFFWorld.
The Tournament
Jeremy stared at the table standing on the beach. It was quite a pleasant day, or would have been if the sky was blue and not grey even though there was not one cloud in the sky. The table was bare, its two chairs having inappropriate frilly cushions on them. He realized it was the same cushions as those his grandmother had had in her kitchen. The cushions were tinted in grey as well, as if the pinks and greens had washed out of them leaving only their shadows. He looked behind him. The palms forming a distinct line between sand and forest looked like it was taken from a black and white holiday catalogue. The salt water was a clear grey. A voice next to him said: “Choose a game.” The figure was dressed in black – the only pure black he could see anywhere. His mind raced.
“Trivial Pursuit – no,” he stopped himself. He would not know the answers. He thought and thought. Chess? Checkers? Poker? Bridge, for goodness’ sake?
“Choose, human, or I will choose for you.” The voice was louder, impatient. He tried not to look at the scythe it held in one grey, bloodless hand. “You wanted to play, so let us play.”
Jeremy swallowed hard. “Dice, we will play at dice.”
Two dice appeared in his clenched hand. When he opened his fist, he saw one was of the purest white, the other pure black. When he looked up the figure was already seated at the table.
“Come,” it said, cracking its fingers. “Time for a game.”
Jeremy took a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air and walked to the table, placing the dice in the centre before lowering himself into the chair.
“You first. Highest out of three wins.”
Jeremy took the dice, shook them in his hand and let them fall. Two sixes. He let out a breath. So far so good. The figure did the same. It landed. Two ones. It was Jeremy’s turn again. He threw. Two and three. The figure threw. Two sixes. Jeremy threw. Four and one. The figure threw. Two sixes.
“Well then,” it said. “Come along.”
“Wait.” Another hand pushed the dice towards the black-robed figure. “Best one out of one.” The figure took the dice, threw. Two sixes. “He’s still mine.” The other figure threw. It landed. Two sevens. “He is mine," the voice boomed as colour returned to the world.
**** The two sevens at the end came as just a surprise to me. I wanted to write a tournament between a mortal and death where the mortal won. When I reached death saying "Come along", I thought that was that for Jeremy. The dice landing on seven, the "voice" saying "He is mine" and the colour returning to the world added so much more to the tale, especially in a Christian perspective. This is now one of my favourite pieces. ****
Laudanum
Laudanum stared at the blank page in front of him. Below him, in the kitchen, he could hear muffled voices that only sometimes rose too high or too loud for a few syllables to act as if it was a normal conversation. Nothing here seemed normal. You just had to look at his name to know that he was not normal. No normal person would name their child Laudanum. It was a wonder his newly born sister was named 'Rose' like any other normal child and not something like ‘Latrine' just because his parents liked the way the word sounds.
He kept his eyes on the page and stared intently at the darkness that lay behind them until he could see nothing but the darkness. Then, after the darkness had come, the other world came. The world that was created in the darkness behind his eyes. He knew not if he had been the creator, he was quite sure he wasn't. A few people here and there, a couple of dragons, a mythical quest or two. Those he did create. But the rest he was not so sure of. He remembered the first time he visited the place. It had no mountains then, but was simply grassland as far as the eye could see. Then he thought ‘mountains’ and the next moment they were there, on the horizon. One even had snow on top. He had never even seen snow. He also changed the weather patterns that day with his gigantic mountains. And crushed a few villages. After that he tried not to think too much while he visited. But, sometimes, a thought or emotion did slip through. And, today, it rained although rain did not seem to be the right word to describe the amounts of water falling from the sky. It was more like a monsoon rain, more like torrential rain that fell and turned all the ground to mud. And it was cold, so cold. Up in the mountains an avalanche started and slid down the great mountain.
Laudanum thought as hard as he could about sunshine, rainbows, and the absence of water. The mud sprouted into flowers as far as his eyes could see. But the sun was too warm. Just enough water, he concentrated, and could feel the water rising to the surface. The sun not too warm, he thought and could feel the sun's rays fading, although sudden flashes of light streamed from the mountains like northern lights gone berserk.
The lights he did not understand and tried not to look at them lest they blind him where he stood between the sprouting flowers, but the lights kept on flickering until he looked at them briefly and then they went away only to start again once he concentrated on the ground and the living things there.
“Not too warm,” he mumbled again, staring at the world behind his eyes.
“He’s been like this for days now doctor,” Laudanum’s mother said. “Is there nothing we can do?”
The doctor took his small torch and shone it into Laudanum's right eye. Then he shook his head.
“Not until we can figure out what is going on in there,” he said. “There is a response, but so slight…” his words trailed off as the boy mumbled again.
“Not too warm.”
The nurse sadly shook her head and removed one of the piles of blankets covering the boy.
***** My first piece's inspiration came while I was drawing an early map for Airthai. After drawing a river's course, I saw that it was completely wrong to what I had already written. Out came the eraser and I drew a new line. The sight of a whole river drying up and vanishing in seconds before appearing in another place suddenly formed in my mind.
When you stop to think about world building, you find that you can think of a few characters and a geography that just 'works'. What if the boy was so part of his secondary world that he almost had to die in the real one to give enough energy to just one part of his created one?
And, yes, I chose the name 'Laudanum' mostly because I like the sound of it. *****
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