Inspiration

Something that, at some point in time, always gets asked of an author is, “What are your sources of inspiration?” For some, it’s a simple answer. For me... well, it’s a rather long one.

            You see, for me, inspiration comes from all over the place – quite literally. For as long as I can remember, I've been an observer. Some of my most vivid childhood memories (I can place the one of the earliest at age four) are of standing apart from the other kids and watching. Just watching. I didn't want to join them; I wasn't lonely. I was perfectly content to stand aside and observe how they interacted with each other.

            I didn't know it at the time, but somewhere in the subconscious of my brain, a file was opened. I started to log away information and, I believe, from then on everything I've observed has gotten sorted in there, to be taken out when needed – completely on a subconscious level, of course. Nevertheless, when I read my own work, I'm fascinated to see how many bits and pieces have come out of things I've observed.

            Beyond that, there are, of course, other authors I've read. The most influential ones for me have been Terry Pratchett, J.K. Rowling, Margaret Weis, Brian Jacques, Anne McCaffrey, R.A. Salvatore, and, of course, J.R.R. Tolkien. There have been many others, some of which I've been re-reading recently and discovering similarities to my writing, and I look forwards to discovering more!

            There are also countless movies and TV shows that have bits that stick in my mind and show up in my books – sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Games, too! The concept of my series’ overarching plot was inspired by a video game and, currently, I'm working on adding creatures to my encyclopedia of my world by looking through a D&D Monster Manual, cross-referencing the information with mythology and deciding what my version the creature will be like.

            As I said, inspiration comes from everywhere! I even have creatures and plots that came from dreams. Imagination is a wonderful and amazing thing. It’s almost as if it takes everything you've seen and experienced in your life, mashes it all together into dough and hands you something new.

            There, I've probably gone on long enough for this week. Now I get to hope that next week’s blog will be more inspired.

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.

Words

            Have you ever taken a moment to stop and think about words. I mean, really think about them. Not the meanings of words, so much as the existence of them. They’re amazing!

            It’s so fascinating that we have this in-depth method of communication. Humans wouldn't have accomplished anything close to what they have without it. Yet, if you stop to think about it, words are downright weird. We make nonsensical sounds with our mouths and vocal cords and, somehow, when we hear them, they have meaning for us. How did this come to be?

            I've thought about this a lot, as I've worked on writing my own languages. Most (if not all) spoken languages these days are built on the blocks of previous languages. Words and grammar have evolved and become so natural to us that we take them for granted – at least until we find ourselves wandering in a foreign country where no one understands what we’re saying. How did it start, though? What was the very first word?

            My theory is that the first word would have been an order, such as “Go!” or “Get!”. That seems the most likely place for a primitive language to start. You want someone else to do something, so you create a word that, when accompanied by a gesture, can convey your meaning. A language has started.

            But, by telling someone else what to do, we recognise that we are different than them. We start calling them “You.” Then, since we have a way to address someone else, we come up with “Me” to refer to ourselves.

            From then, it snowballs onwards, with the language getting larger and larger. We come up with more commands and, for clarity, we come up with words for objects as well. That way, we can tell “you” to “get” a “tree”. Poor you will have a hard time of that, but at least he understands what we want.

            Then, of course, names for people come into existence, so we can distinguish all these “you”s from each other. Plus, if everyone is “me”, we feel like just another “you”, so we want a name to use for referring to ourselves.

            Armed with our new language, we charge into the future, teaching these odd sounds we've made up to our children, and they to theirs, until the vocalisations become second nature and no one even thinks about how remarkable words are. In fact, we even have squiggles to visually represent words.

            The squiggles are taught to us as sounds that string together into the words we know, but eventually they take on a life of their own. We see a word and, even if it’s spelled wrong, we know what it means just as well as if we heard it. It truns out taht as lnog as the frsit and lsat letetrs of a wrod are in the rhigt pacles, it deosn't eevn meattr waht odrer the rset are in! W3 c4n e3en r3pl4c3 c3r74in l3773r5 wi7h numb3r5 4nd 57ill b3 4ble t0 r34d. I wouldn't be surprised if I ardshfu tunboef slinwy guwisju and you still understood what I was talking about.

            Yet, all this time, it is still just random sounds we make or generate in our heads. Sounds that, more than likely, would sound incredibly stupid if we didn't know what they meant (some sound stupid even when we know what they mean). Somehow, there is a transition in our brain where the sounds and squiggles that represent a “tree” turn into a tree.

            Aren't words incredible?

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.

The Editing Process

            I haven’t had a blog about my writing recently, so I thought I ought to change that. Since I finished writing my latest book last week (throw confetti!), I thought it would be appropriate to share what happens next.

            While I budget myself a year to write each of my books, that clock stops ticking when I write the last word of the book (usually with a couple months to spare). The process, however, does not stop there. That is when the editing starts.

            First, naturally, I read through the book myself, fixing all the typos I can find, smoothing out awkward sentences and such. Sometimes I need to rewrite sections that aren't good enough and occasionally there’s a minor plot hole to fix (for a while, in my second book, there was an object in two places at once). Once that’s done, I hand the book off to my wife, Colleen.

            Now, Colleen has a very special job while editing. Not only does she have to watch for the same flaws I did, but she also needs to fill in a few... blanks that I left for her. Blanks that tend to look like [INSERT DESCRIPTION], [DESCRIBE PRETTY SUNRISE] or [DESCRIBE DAY AT FAIR]. Plus she has to report back to me on her thoughts on the book (incidentally, two chapters into the latest one she has emphatically declared that this is my best book yet. Be excited).

            Then the book comes back to me to go through once again. I read the whole book again, making the same edits as before and making Colleen’s suggested changes, as well as editing her new parts (sometimes – although rarely – I send some back to her to be rewritten with, usually with specific requests). Oh, and I get to read her delightful comments, particularly on some of the references I made.

            Once I'm done that edit, the book goes off to my parents. I know this might seem cheesy to some people, but my parents (along with being awesome) are very talented and, while most parents will shower their children’s work with praise, mine have always been fantastic at providing wonderful feedback.

            My dad has done a fair amount of writing himself, and – back when he had more free time – he used to tell his great stories at schools and events. He is also a library technician and he reads a lot. Like me, he is the type of person who analyses a book while he’s reading it, picking up on the foreshadowing and guessing what’s going to happen next. He’s my best source of feedback on the book’s overall content. He’s stopped bothering with doing technical edits because my mom will catch all of those.

            My mom is one of those (despicable) people who are amazing at everything they do. She knows her grammar exceptionally well and, if she’s not sure on something, she takes the time to look it up. She also reads at a snail’s pace, making her an ideal line editor. By the time she’s done reading my book, I'm confident that there are next to no technical errors remaining. It’s definitely worth waiting the six (or more) months it takes her to read the whole book.

            With my feedback from my parents, I go through the book again, making even more changes. Then, it’s time to get down to business. I sit down with Colleen and we go through the book together, making it as perfect as we can. This is where the greatest conflicts in our marriage come from – we once spent over an hour arguing over the wording of a sentence. It was great.

            At long last, the book gets declared done and I get to work on getting it published, which will involve even more editing.

            Blogs, on the other hand, are much simpler. I usually skim through them once after writing them, then don’t bother with any editing until someone sends me a text of Facebook message to let me know I've got a bunch of typos. Thanks, editing types! All literature would be a lot messier without an outside eye to whip thins into shape.

            (P.S. I'm taking the liberty of not reading a single word I wrote in this blog. How did I do?)

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.

Respect: Given or Earned?

            I don’t know about the rest of you, but I grew up with this phrase (or variations of it) being said: Respect isn't given, it has to be earned. I believed it, too, for a while. It seemed only logical. How can respect be given to someone who hasn't earned it?

            There is one problem with that method, though. Often the lack of respecting someone prior to them earning respect leads to disrespecting them. The result is that some people are never even given the chance to earn respect.

            This is most common in large businesses. New employees are next to worthless, so it’s very hard for them to get anywhere, let alone move up. The same goes for social circles – the new person entering a group is likely to be looked down on until they earn the respect of others. There’s a good chance that they’ll leave the group before that happens because of the inherent disrespect towards those who have not earned respect yet.

            This is why I came up with my own way of handling respect – by “came up with” I really mean “I was thinking about it one day and realised that this is what I do”. Rather than give respect (which can lead to severe disappointment and other problems) or requiring it to be earned, I loan people my respect.

            How do I do that? Well, it’s really quite simple. When I meet someone new, I treat them with the utmost respect. I take it on faith that they have qualities worth respecting, so I give them the benefit of the doubt and allow them to earn their respect without having to fight upstream. It’s far easier on them and I get to skip over suspiciously eyeballing them, wondering if I really want them around or not.

            That may sound a bit like giving respect, more than loaning it, apart from the respect still needing to be earned. You may be wondering how the loan gets paid back, but the answer is quite simple. When you treat someone with respect, they are more likely to respect you. The end result is that we both skip over the judgemental part of meeting someone new and everything gets off to a great start.

            What if someone doesn't earn the respect I loaned them? Well, I should start by telling you it’s exceedingly rare. So far, just about everyone I've ever met has deserved my respect – never underestimate the number of remarkable people who are out there.

            What the few people who don’t earn my respect have done is more easily described as losing my respect. In fact, it takes so much to lose my respect that I don’t think anyone who’s lost it has ever earned it back. That’s the consequence of defaulting on the loan. Do I somehow cash in on the respect I loaned? No. That is made up for by all the good that comes out of all the people who deserved my respect and might not have gotten it if I hadn't given them a chance.

            In the end, there’s no harm (at least to you) that can come from loaning out your respect, rather than demanding it be earned. You get to respect people faster and earn their respect faster in turn. And, since one good turn deserves another, you could always pass on this philosophy and help our society become more respectful and respected.

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.

The Life and Times of Duel Love

            Today I shall share with you the tale of the only play I've ever written and how, after sitting dormant for seven years, it managed to find its way onto a stage.

            The story starts in 2006 when I was in my fifth and final year of high school, during my grade 11 drama class (I came to drama late in my school career, as my optional courses went to music classes first). It was at this point in time that we were assigned a play to write. I don’t remember all of the parameters we were required to follow, but the play had to be one act (30 minutes or shorter), have 3 scenes, 4 actors, take place in a realistic setting and convey some sort of message. We were also encouraged to not attempt to write a comedy because of how difficult humour is to write.

            Well, I've always been one for following the rules, but I've also always been one for bending said rules to suite my needs. Being told I needed a realistic setting was the first thing I needed to work with – after all, even then everything I wrote was fantasy. So, I got as close as I could and set it in medieval times.

            As for making the play a comedy, well, the plot that jumped into my mind required it. Thus, Duel Love, a play about two knights having a sword duel over a woman (the fairest in the land) was born, written with a very British style of humour.

            After all the plays were written, one scene from each of them was read to the class and we voted on four of them that were to be performed. Duel Love came out on top and, as a result, I ended up directing it for a summative assignment.

            The play came together wonderfully – even though I had at least one of my actors absent from all but two of the rehearsals. Then, on the day of the performance (which had been delayed by a couple snow days) one of my actresses didn't show up until a couple minutes before we had to go on stage. And, of course, the one time an actor forgot his line, I had managed to lose my copy of the script on the opposite side of the stage, and the two knights just stood there with their swords crossed, staring blankly at each other until I managed to remember the line and call it out.

            In spite of the hiccoughs, the performance was wonderful – everything I could have hoped for with my play, or so I thought. Then the play was put aside, only to be read periodically when someone in my house stumbled across the script.

            That might have been the end of Duel Love – I hadn't even read it in three or more years when, last summer, I received a message on Facebook from someone I’d never heard of before. It turned out to be the sister of one of my play’s actors, who happens to be the director at Maybles’ Productions – a small theatre company. She told me that she’s been fruitlessly searching for the playwright who went to school with her brother and had written Duel Love. The script had been accepted as part of a one act play festival, but now she needed permission to use it – if I was the playwright, of course.

            Well, how could I possibly say no to that? I informed her that she’d found the right person and she was welcome to use the scrip. I was thanked profusely and she told me that she’d loved the script from the day her brother brought it home and was excited to finally be able to perform it. She also asked if I’d be able to come to see the play – as if I’d miss it.

            In the months leading up to the play, I began to get a little nervous about a few things I was being told as the rehearsals progressed. First was that my script had been edited – something no writer likes to hear without having a say in it. Then the play started getting promoted as Monty Python and Princess Bride inspired – something that I took as a compliment, but didn't really see until I was told that the cast had workshopped the script and added a bunch of references.

            At this point, I only had one thought in my head: “What have they done to my play!?” I could have stepped up and said something – requested that they send me a copy of their improved script for approval – but I chose to hold my tongue. I knew there was a chance that they’d turned the play into something I wouldn't like, but I also knew that their changes could be fantastic. So, I waited until the performance (a week and a half ago) to find out.

            Now, one thing that is important to know about writing comedy is that, by the time you’re done, your jokes aren't very funny to you anymore because of how often you've "heard" them. An additional tidbit of information is that I'm not much of a laugh-out-loud person. Those, together, should tell you how well the play went when I say I was doubled over laughing for the entire performance.

            It was fantastic! The changes I was so worried about only made the play better, and the actors played their roles far beyond my expectations of how the characters had been written. It was truly incredible to see my words come to life as they did, and to hear the surrounding audience laughing along with me.

            When the awards were announced, I was thrilled to hear that Duel Love had earned Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor and Best Production. Congratulations, cast and crew, and thank you for taking my words and crafting a masterpiece.

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.

Something to Remember

            Or at least something to think about. After all, I'm not here to tell you what to think. I'm here to tell you what I think. It’s entirely up to you to decide if you agree with me.

            Remembrance Day has been a bee in my bonnet since (I believe) 2007, when I discovered that the day no longer meant what I was brought up to believe.

            I'm not familiar with what November 11^th represents in other countries, but here in Canada we call it Remembrance Day. Regardless of the country, though, the day marks the end of the first World War in 1918. I was taught – by my parents, in school and in church – that this was the day where we paused to remember how terrible war is. Even though we had never seen the war, we were taught about all the death, pain and suffering caused by the world wars. We were taught to be thankful to those who fought and lost so much.

            The reason we were taught all of this was to pass on one message to us: Don’t let it happen again. Remember. Remember what happened and don’t make the same mistakes. Do not let it happen again.

            That’s what I was taught, or at least how I interpreted it, and it’s what I still believe. The whole point of Remembrance Day is to pass on the stories so that we know to avoid wars in the future. It’s especially important as, more and more, we’re able to destroy the planet with our weapons.

            So, in 2007, my mother (a minister) was doing a joint Remembrance Ray service with another church. Normally I wouldn't have been there, as I'm not a church regular, but this time I was singing a solo – “Last Night I Had the StrangestDream” by Simon and Garfunkle. It is a song that supports the view of November 11^th that I described above: celebrating and remembering the end of wars. That was also the theme of the entire service with the exception of one thing. A poem.

            Now, as it turned out, my mother was sick on the day of the service and unable to attend – otherwise she probably would have stopped this poem. She told me afterwards that no one had known the theme of this poem in advance; someone had just asked if they could read it. She also learned at her weekly ministers’ breakfast that this poem had been read at every other church in town, always presented in the same way without anyone knowing what it was about.

            This poem said the exact opposite of everything the service was about. It was about the glories of battle and how heroic and wonderful it is to fight in war. It was outright propaganda.

            The same year, a street not too far from my home was renamed to “Veterans’ Memorial Parkway” and I've heard that this also happened across the country.

            From that day on, just about everything I've heard about Remembrance Day has been about hero-worshipping veterans. Telling people how glorious it is to go to war. I've even read that the Canadian Legion, which holds a trademark on the poppy, have been pressing charges against people using it to support peace.

            Now I have to ask myself, how has this happened? This is Canada. We’re known throughout the world as being nice, polite and peace-loving. Yet, suddenly, our day for remembering the atrocities of war so we can promote peace has become a day about the glories or war.

            We’re told over and over again to be thankful to the people who fought for our peace and freedom. I’ve always felt that the best way to thank them is by not throwing away more lives. I also have to wonder, how many of the veterans who are still alive from the World Wars are in favour of this hero-worship? Because it seems to me that, by making the day about them, we belittle what they fought for.

            It’s such a great disappointment to me that this day has degraded so much. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Remembrance Day became entirely about promoting peace? Especially if that ideal spread world wide? It may not end all wars, but it would sure cut down on them.

            Oh yeah, I forgot that it won’t happen because war is good for the economy. And money is far more valuable than lives.

            There, my real-world issues ranting is done for a while. Next week, we shall return to the usual happy-go-lucky randomness.

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.

Blog for Vendetta

            “Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.”

            That’s right! Tomorrow is Guy Fawkes day, or as I like to call it, V for Vendetta day. Ever since I discovered the movie, I have watched it every year on the fifth of November. Why? Because it’s a great movie full of wonderful messages and the fact that the story takes place surrounding the fifth of November gives me the perfect excuse to watch it on the same day.

            Not that I need an excuse.

            What’s it about, then, this movie? Well, if you haven’t already, I’d suggest you watch it yourself. I will, however, try to give you the general idea as spoiler free as possible for those of you who haven’t seen it. For those of you who have, who knows? Maybe I’ll point out something you missed.

            The most obvious thing V for Vendetta is about is revenge (it may as well be in the title), but I hardly need to mention that. I doubt there are any revenge messages out there that we haven’t all heard in dozens of stories.

            What else is it about, then? Human nature, power, freedom, love, manipulation, fear, politics.... The list goes on. When I first watched the movie, I was largely drawn to it because I've always been particularly drawn to heroes (or anti-heroes, in most cases) who fight for ideals I believe in – Robin Hood, Zoro, the Dread Pirate Roberts – and V fit the bill perfectly.

            In recent years, however, the movie has had a new pull for me. It’s a warning. I can’t watch the movie without seeing the political system – one where the government rules by fear – as a very real potential future for our world. And that scares me.

            I know that, right now, it seems a little laughable that the world could be taken over by fear-driven tyranny, but look closely at the sort of political campaigns we have these days. They’re mostly based around telling us all the bad things about the opposition. It’s a war to see who can be made to look the worst – and it works. The result is that we vote based on who we’re afraid to have in control of our country, rather than who we think will do a good job running the country.

            That’s the first step into the world becoming that of the one in V for Vendetta.

            Enough of my political tirade and back to the movie, which, through writing this, I have discovered a new way to appreciate. It is a perfect example of something I believe is important in all fiction: the reflection of reality. It’s a story that is enjoyable simply as entertainment, but if you look deep enough you can apply it to our own world. That is artistic expertise right there.

            So, I invite you to do as I have done. Make the fifth of November a day to remember by sitting down and watching V for Vendetta. Perhaps if we spread the word, people will see how they're being manipulated and we’ll avoid the day when the world is controlled by fear. In the very least, you’ll get to see how incredibly expressive Hugo Weaving can be from behind a Guy Fawkes mask. It’s impressive.

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.