Enthusiasts are Awesome

            I just got through a rainy weekend vending at Oxford Renaissance Festival and, I have to say, the event attendees were incredible. Saturday it rained all day, making for a particularly miserable outdoor event, with much of the entertainment needing to be cancelled (such as the international jousting tournament). Still, there was a good turnout. Not amazing, but good.

            Sunday was less rainy and the joust was back on, along with the rest of the outdoor entertainment. The weather still wasn't great, but a slightly larger crowd was still drawn, with some crossover from the previous day.

            We were one of the lucky vendors with an indoor location – one of the luckiest, because I also wasn't in the area with the leaky roof. I was really disappointed when the forecast changed from sunny to rainy for the weekend because this is the best show of the year for us to sell our chainmaille at, but rain and outdoors don’t mix. With the crowd that was drawn, though, we still did quite well, pulling in a third of the business we did last year.

            It just goes to show that the people who are truly enthusiastic about things won’t let a little think like rain get in their way of enjoying an event. Those people astound me and deserve recognition. Here’s to all you enthusiasts and fans out there who don’t let anything get in their way! A lot of hard work and time goes into these events and you’re the ones who make it worth the effort.

            ... And in other news... Celebrate!:)

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Letters and Words

            What are these things? These letters. Shapes. Symbols. Alone, they are meaningless. Nothing more than ink on paper. Paint on a wall. The temporary manifestation of light upon a screen.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

            See? Nothing. Just symbols. Each one is assigned a meaningless sound. We put them in order so we can learn and memorize them. So we can teach them and pass them on. We call it the alphabet because we have to call it something.

            Then we multiply them and mix them up. We lay them down beside each other and their combined sounds take on meaning. They form words. Those words, made up of odd symbols and sounds, mean something to us. They have power. The power to put images and thoughts in our head.

            Tree.

            Monkey.

            Pink rhinoceros.

            We string many of these words together, giving them more meaning. A sentence. We put together some sentences to make a paragraph, with even greater meaning. The more we add, the greater the meaning. With enough paragraphs, you have a book.

            Books contain much meaning.

            The same can be said of the rest of the world. One atom is meaningless. The more atoms that get added, the more meaning they have. They could become a tree. Ink on a page. A person.

            Why, then, do so many people try to tackle the world alone? Why, when grouping together can help us find meaning, is so much effort put into defining others as different and driving us apart?

            Together we could find so much meaning.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

So You Want to be a Writer?

            There are two tips that you will come across repeatedly while doing research on writing, usually in conjunction with each other: read a lot and write a lot. More than anything, these are the two things that will shape all writers.

            The later is self-explanatory. “Write a lot” walks hand in hand with “practice makes perfect”. No one in the world can just sit down and write a perfect book the first time. Like any art, it takes time to learn not only skills, but how to tap into your innate talents and develop your unique voice.

            I, myself, am amazed at the drastic improvement I see in my own writing. Each time I complete a book, I find it hard to believe I wrote the previous one. A more tangible example is the best-selling author Terry Pratchett. All you have to do is read The Colour of Magic and compare it to any of his later titles. It’s hard to believe they were written by the same person.

            As for reading a lot, it seems to be obvious, yet at the same time it can often feel counter-productive. During the creative process, our brains naturally regurgitate what they've absorbed and it sometimes feels like we’re accidentally imitating someone else’s work. It does happen to a certain extent; I remember reading Christopher Paolini’s Eragon for the first time and being able to pick out some of his favourite authors (I looked it up later to be sure I was right). However, imitation is the first step in learning. When learning to speak, we imitate sounds before we understand the meanings of words. When learning to write, we learn the letters prior to understanding how they’re used.

            The benefits of reading when you’re a writer are endless. It’s important to know what else is out there, plus it’s a great source of inspiration. More than that, though, it is how writers learn and improve. As you begin reading books as author, you learn to look at them a new way. You take a step back from simply enjoying yourself and analyse deeper. If you find yourself drawn into a book, you ask yourself, why? What has this author done to affect me so? You look more closely at the characters to see how they’re made to seem realistic, at the plot to see how it progresses and twists, at the words to increase your vocabulary, and at the style to see what you like and dislike.

            Much of the time, the learning is on a subconscious level. Other times, you find yourself searching for the secret that makes a good book so good.

            I've recently started reading Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time series and I came across something I've never seen before (or, at least, never noticed). A lot of authors build tension by keeping secrets from the reader. What’s that lurking in the shadows? Where is the villain? Who is the villain? Jordan did the opposite: he gave, what I felt, was too much information. It wasn't quite enough to tell exactly who the traitorous allies of the protagonists were, but it was enough to make me reasonably certain – while still leaving just enough doubt. It wasn't until characters were trustingly being led into what I was sure was a trap that I realized what he’d done. He’d given me enough information to guess the truth, but held back enough that I had to read on to be certain.

            And so, my repertoire of writing tricks grow, and I become a better author through reading. For those others out there aspiring to be writers, I shall reiterate the advice you will hear over and over again. Read lots. Write lots. You’ll amaze yourself at how much you improve.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk? (ODaG Ep 2)

Of Dice and Glen is a story being written following D&D 5th Edition rules and using Minecraft as the battle mat (and to set the scene). Each of the two writers control their own characters and share the job of Dungeon Master (controlling the environment, story, monsters and background characters). As a result, neither of us has any clue of what's going on or where this is going. So, let's have fun!

This story is split between episodes being posted on the second Monday of every month. You can find the first episode here.


Of Dice and Glen Episode 2: Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk?

Shaddar, wishing he could understand the conversation between the raven and the tiefling, was suddenly more interested.

“Where?” he asked.

Flinging the raven off her arm with a graceful motion, Luna gestured for the dragonborn to follow and plunged off into the forest.

“Hold up!” Shaddar said, charging after her. “Do you actually know where you’re going?”

“What do you think?” came the cheerful calling answer. Then, suddenly, the mud-smeared, grinning face of the tiefling popped back out from the underbrush. “Oh, and my name is Luna, friend dragonborn. What are you called? Golden Lightning? You’re pretty fast with that bow of yours.”

Pulling back an arm in imitation of his attack, she made the characteristic whooshing sound of an arrow in flight.

Shaddar pulled up short, nearly crashing into her.

“My name is Shaddar,” he said with a slight, but formal, bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Luna.”

“Is it?” she blinked. “So, no more mouth incineration?” Bouncing on the spot she grinned up at him. “Wow, you’re tall! Can I climb you?”

Shaddar’s golden eyes narrowed. “No. Where did that bird say the goblin went?”

Pouting in disappointment, the tiefling nodded her disheveled head in the direction she had been travelling.

“That way,” she said, moving to pick up the trail again, much slower this time.

Lead by Luna, they wound their way through the forest for several hours. As they walked, the rain slowly receded until it petered out, leaving the sky a gloomy grey. At last, they reached a tall oak tree that the raven had said the evil goblin had been heading for. But there was no goblin in sight.

Though much smaller than the powerfully built dragonborn, the tiefling was able to keep pace with him well. She didn't know he was small for his kind; to her he appeared a giant. As they walked, she continued to keep tabs on his movements and on all the escape routes around her, all the while laughing and joking.

“We’ll be on even footing from here,” she said, her customary childish grin slipping slightly to reveal the nerves she felt at reaching the end of her comfortable home territory.

Climbing the small rise to the base of tree, Luna sniffed around it with interest. Then she disappeared around the wide trunk and the unmistakable sound of a thin stream of water hitting bark could be heard.

“Nothing interesting about this tree,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Maybe Writing Desk was confused.”

“What do you mean, even footing?” Shaddar asked, running his practiced eye around the area.

He noticed the now familiar slash-marks on a number of surrounding trees, made for no purpose other than venting rage. The goblins had been leaving this sort of mess all over the place, although he hadn't seen them during the latest leg of their trip. Apparently this goblin had been covering his tracks and finally decided he was safe enough to stop. A little ways away, there was also a footprint in the mud.

Shaddar was suddenly grateful for the odd tiefling and her avian friend - they’d probably saved hours by coming straight here rather than trying to track a covered trail.

Luna reappeared around the other side of the trunk, looking relieved and happy. She hopped to a point just beyond a protruding root of the tree she had so ill-used a moment before.

“This is my forest,” she pronounced with quiet confidence. “This,” she hopped backwards, “isn't. Mine. Not mine. Mine. Not mine.”

Growing bored of her latest game, the small, horned head fell to the forest floor, nose going frantically, as though she would suck information from the air through sheer force of will.

“Stinking goblins,” she muttered, sitting back on her haunches, like a dog. Her bright face fell as she glanced over the footprint without seeing it and settled on the slashed trees. “They’ll pay for what they did to my friends. Yes, they will pay.”

There was a dark promise in the words, spoken by such a comparatively innocent voice.

“They will,” Shaddar agreed. “Come along, small friend, it seems it is my turn to lead the way. He went south-east.”

At the word “friend” the seated tiefling cocked her head curiously to one side, but remained silent, for once.

“How fast can you run?”

There was devilish glint in her black eyes.

“I can’t track while running,” Shaddar said, shaking his scaly head.

“Ferret farts,” she said, dejectedly. “Oh well. Slow then. Slow is boring but it’ll get us there in the end.”

Rising, she lashed her tail once to rid it of stray leaves and nodded mutely to indicate he should lead on.

Shaddar led the way, following clear markers of the goblin’s passage. There were many more slashed trees, occasional footprints and, once, an unfortunate pile of toxic droppings the goblin had left behind. The green-brown pile reeked and had the odd half-digested bone poking out.

Stumbling upon the horrible pile unawares, Luna leapt back with a screech of disgust and began wiping her feet on the damp grass forcefully, her tail pointing directly out from her body, rigid and shivering.

“...I'm going to be sick.”

“Decent creatures bury their mess,” Shaddar said, by way of agreement. He moved as close as he dared, holding his breath. When he returned to Luna’s side he had a report to share.

“Still green. He headed east two hours ago.”

“It’s also stupid not to bury it,” she added, watching him investigate with no small measure of pity on her dirty face. “A deaf and blind kobold could track the walking pustule who made that.”

Nodding briskly, she turned in the direction he indicated.

“Malar’s claws, I wish there was a way to speed this up. I want to kill them!” She glanced back at him with wide, pleading eyes and a petulantly pouting expression.

“All in due time,” Shaddar said, continuing their journey.

They had not gone very far when Luna’s voice from a tree up ahead said, “I want to kill them.”

Another nearby tree replied in Shaddar’s voice. “All in due time.”

“I know you think me a foolish and helpless monkey,” the tiefling said, sounding hurt as she turned to her companion. “There’s no need to mock my words.”

“That wasn't me,” Shaddar said slowly, coming to a stop and drawing his two short swords.

Discover what happens next in Episode 3: Mimicked Messages

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

What is Evil? Really?

            The other day, Colleen asked me how I define evil. My reply was that I don’t, because evil implies someone who does harm through malicious intent. I feel that most people who cause harm do so unintentionally – or, at the very least, think they have the best intentions.

            It did get me thinking, though. If I really had to define evil, how would I do it? What causes people to cause harm?

            Greed was what I came up with first. Greed for wealth or greed for power or greed for anything, really. That’s where evil, if it truly exists, is most visible. It causes people to stockpile money, harming the economy by making less money available to go around. It causes politicians to lie so they can get elected. It starts wars over land or resources. Almost all evil can be linked back to greed.

            Yet, even most of those people don’t view themselves as evil. They feel they’re doing what they must, or perhaps what everyone else is doing.

            That got my mind on the track of how people can cause so much harm and either be unaware or think it’s okay. It brought me to the essence of what motivates people: what they believe. Someone who lives on the streets and must steal to survive might view those who do not help them as evil, and would they be wrong? Is it not more evil to allow someone to starve to death than to help them survive? At the same time, the people being stolen from would view the thief as evil, and would they be wrong? After all, stealing to feed oneself without concern for those being harmed is more evil than choosing to starve to death.

            Both sides have merit, yet neither will budge from their positions. Their views and beliefs are set in stone. They each know with certainty that they are good, and the other is evil.

            So it was that I arrived at the best definition of evil I could come up with.

            All it takes to be evil is to believe you are right and that there is no possibility you are wrong.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.