We are failure…

I haven't posted anything in ages.

Fail. No excuse.

Though, the fact that I couldn't think of anything interesting to post here about says much about my life right now. I haven't gotten any work done on any of my current writing projects, I haven't baked anything since last week, I haven't really improved on my parkour training… Wait!

Yes. There. I has subject—training.

(clears throat) Not long ego, I sustained some sort of injury to my wrist—a minor sprain, I think—whilst doing diving cartwheels. This has provided yet another obstacle to overcome. It hurts whenever I put weight on it, which means that hand is pretty much out of commission when it comes to vaults. Also, I made the injury worse by continuing to practice. Now it gives out when I try quadrupedal movement as well.

Unfortunately, it impedes sword training even more than it does the parkour. Whereas in parkour I can still do one handed moves, such as safety vaults and speed vaults, the only longsword practice I can do effectively is footwork.

So, for the foreseeable future, I'll be doing a lot of running and footwork. In a way, this is good. I need vast improvement in those areas. I guess the injury, then, might be looked upon as a blessing in disguise? That's how I'm looking at it anyway. Sings: always looking on the bright side of life!

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Editing

is tedious. And annoying. If you're like me, then editing is the hardest aspect of writing. BIC? Easy, if I have time. Rejections? I'll live. But editing?

NOOOO!!!!! Spare me.

What is it I dislike so much about editing? Is it because I think everything I've written is golden and doesn't need cleaning up? Ha!

No, editing is difficult for me because… well, because it's difficult. Digging into the novel and finding the flaws, the things that don't work, and then correcting them, is a mountainous task.

Some are frozen with fear at the sight of said mountain, but that's not the case with me. I find it easy to make the first steps; I attack the first draft eagerly. However, as the task draws on I get worn down.

Stamina is a trait that I just don't have when it comes to editing—or writing, for that matter—so I have to take frequent breaks. Flurries of progress are followed by bouts of do-nothing. And the longer I push myself, the longer the lapses seem to last, the more demoralized I become. By the time I draw close to the end of a round of edits, there's nothing I want to do more than throw the entire MS into next week (or the garbage, as the case may be).

Somehow, I know, I have to find the strength to go on. I need help.

"Help? Never!" Oh shut up.

Sure, playing the Fate Spider of your fictive world is fun (at least, I think so), but some obstacles are so great one cannot overcome them on his own.

This help can come in a variety of forms. Simple things like prayer, staying active, and taking time off to think can do wonders. Also, keep friends informed of progress, including the lack thereof. Even if they don't care, and they should if they care about you, the shame of not getting enough done can keep the motivation flag flying long after the winds have passed.

Finally, if you need to take breaks (like me), then take them before you burn out.

These are just a few methods I use. What do you do to combat editing/writing fatigue? Or are you one of those people for whom writing and editing is as easy as breathing? (do those people really exist?)

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Writing — I Can't Move On

Recently I've experienced doubt as to whether or not I'll ever be a REAL writer. I've never been published, I've hardly even finished anything. I feel that if I pursue this dream, then the thought police will show up in their dark glasses, dark expressions, and all black SUV's.

I fear I'll never make it… But I still can't give up. This is something I have to do, because it's part of me.

And here's something else that's part of me.

"The Book of Aelus" was my first major writing project. I spent years on it (5ish?), while writing other things, but this story I was determined to finish. And finish it I did, finally, late last year. With around 110,000 words, much of it rewritten or scrapped completely. Then I sat back, looked at what I had created, and was disappointed. It was a mess, and my aimless re writing, I felt, had cut the heart out of it.

So I tried to move on… But it wasn't that easy. Time and again, something kept me coming back to it. The characters called to me, the story cried out to become something beautiful.

I planned and attempted a major revision this past February, but lost steam. This was due to 2 things: 1,  unreasonable goals that I couldn't possible keep (once you fail a goal, it makes it easier to fail the ones after it.); and 2, I'd lost the heart of the story, I'd forgotten what it was, what I'd intended it to be.

I decided the story was dead. I forced my bloody, guilt ridden hands away, and tossed it in a file to collect dust. I moved on to other things, other projects. I wrote a couple flash pieces, a short story, and got several thousand words done on several different projects.

But today something changed again. Another reversal. The call back to "The Hot Gates" and her crew has again reached my ears. I know what I'm getting into is a long and dark tunnel (one that will probably be filled with pain), but that will not keep me from searching for the light.

I want this story to be told. I want it to be something I can point to, to say: "you should read this." Because this story was more than a learning experience, it is a part of me—and I don't want it to die.

That's not to say that I'll abandon my other projects in the process—I don't have the kind of one track mind required for that. Nor will I try to rush through it like it did in my previous attempts. I'm taking it slow, knowing that it's more important to do something write than to do something fast. Ideally one does the job both fast and right; but hey, I'm still learning.

Maybe I'm just crazy, maybe I'm wasting my time. But I've tried to move on, an that's something I just can't do. I truly do think this tale is worth the telling. I'll never give up hope.

Am I deluded? Is this just story just holding me back? Perhaps, but that is a risk I'm willing to take. You have to take risks for what you love, don't you?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

New Music!

Music is awesome. I love music, especially new music—by which I mean music I've recently discovered, not music that's come out recently. (Not that there isn't a lot of good music coming out recently. There is.)

Last week I stumbled across an excellent cd at my local library: "The Road…" by Keiko Matsui. I'd never heard of the artist, but it looked interesting so I checked it out. An aside: I discovered Méav and her gorgeous album "Silver Sea" in a similar manner a couple years ago. These discovers really make me feel blessed.

"The Road…" is, in my most humbled opinion, brilliant. It's smooth jazz and new age and just amazing to listen to while writing, cleaning house, taking a drive, or anytime. Like magic, it has the power to melt away stress and take me on an mental journey to lands far—

Okay, I'm gushing, which means I should probably stop. But If you're interested in jazzy stuff or new agey stuff, then give it a listen.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

The Fact Is Fiction

History is far from certain. This is true whether you take cynical views or not. The further back one goes, the more one has to rely on opinions and guesses. Because history is either written by the winners (in which case it's prejudiced), the losers (in which case it's still prejudiced), an independent source (rarely, and who's to say the source is truly independent?) or it isn't written at all (in which case you can only guess).

The more accounts one looks to, the more clouded history becomes. Almost everyone seems to have their own beliefs to support, their own spin to put on the past, and the farther back something happened, the more people there were to muddy the waters. But the reverse is also true: the closer in time one gets to the actual event, the harder it is to see through one's cloud of personnel experiences and beliefs. And it takes time for all the facts to be gathered and come to light —if they ever do.

If this is true, then everything is clouded. Only a true scholar would be able to root through everything to find what little truth there is. And how does one tell a true scholar apart from writers with degrees merely following political or religious agendas, writers who only show you the part of the tapestry they want you to see (if they even bother looking at the full tapestry themselves)?

It's hard. I read as much as I can from as many different sources I can get my hands on, taking everything with a spoonful of salt. And I look at the sources that are referenced, and the sources of the sources if they have any. But still there's no guarantee that what I learn is the truth. It's a long and tedious process, and sometimes I wonder: is it worth it?

The cynic in me says: no, you'll never know the truth. But the writer in me says to look at all the story possibilities! History is riddled with interesting characters, cultures, and situations which can be used in fantasy even if I don't know the truth.

Go mbeannaí dia duit,
M. S.

Here, Blog, have some content!

For some reason, I got to thinking about the Lord of the Rings. I realized how my perceptions of the characters have changed as I've matured.

When I was much younger, my favorite character was the lovable side character, Tom Bombadil. I enjoyed his silly songs, his infectious happiness. Also, the One Ring had no effect on him. While he's no longer my favorite character, I still like him much.

Then Sam became my favorite, without whom Frodo would've failed and Sauron would've reclaimed the ring. Much can be said about his loyalty and bravery.

Now, though, my favorite character is Boromir.

Why?

Because Boromir was an ordinary human. Honorable, brave, and good hearted he was, but also easily corruptible by evil. He tried to rely on his own strength, as many of us do, which is why temptation was able to sneak inside his heart and cloud his judgement.

And what happened afterwards, after he realized what he'd done? He was repentant, sorry for his actions. So sorry, in fact, that he gave his life trying to defend others. His death affected the other party members, and helped Aragorn to be the king he eventually became

He was perhaps the most flawed member of the party, but also the most human. And he died a hero. That is why he is my favorite.

Go mbeannaí Dia Duit,
M. S.

From the Storm

I love a good storm. There's just something about the wind, the rain, the lightning that just sparks the imagination and calls to one's soul. Something peaceful is to be found in the turbulent skies—it is an example of God's glorious majesty. Storms are better than foggy mornings, better than sunny days… well, maybe not better, but they're at least equal to them.

If anyone ever needed proof that I'm crazy, I like to walk the streets barefoot with neither coat nor umbrella. I never worry about lightning, I never worry about catching pneumonia; at least, not until after the fact. (Slippery little guy, pneumonia, my child self could never find where he was hiding.) If I lived in the world of Final Fantasy X, I'd probably make my home near the Thunder Plains, if not on them.

What about power outages? Eh. I've never really minded being without electricity. Sure, I'm without computer and internets, but I think that makes me more productive. Besides, candlelight is awesome.

Even if you dislike storms, remember: farmers need the rain.

Do you like or dislike storms? Why? What's your favorite weather? Why?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,

M. S.

Skill

is what separates the master and the novice. Wikipedia defines it as "the learned capacity to carry out pre-determined results." Skill is learned, and it is honed with the sharpest wheel of all—Time. The more hours you pour into something, the better you'll become.

This is seen quite clearly in mock sword fights between my siblings. My eldest brother, handily beats me whenever we clash practice blades—only rarely do I score a hit on him. Many hours spent in training have given him the ability to deconstruct my defenses with ease.

Yet, there's one brother I'm able to defeat when wielding a sword in my off hand and munching an apple with my primary. Why? Because he doesn't practice, his swings are wild and uncontrolled; his form almost nonexistent.

When you're new to something, you aren't going to be good at it (unless you have natural talent, you lucky person). You can fail easily, and those failures either strengthen your resolve to learn, or they break you. Sometimes, you don't even begin for fear of failure. Your greatest enemy is yourself.

But if you can muster the strength and passion to begin, if you can clench that strength and persevere— then you'll acquire skill. Anything can be achieved with time. You might never become a grandmaster, but you don't know how high you can rise until you try.

I think this is true in everything we aspire to, whether it be martial arts, writing, baking, acting, parkour, gymnastics, drawing, painting, carving, etc. So don't let the fear of beginnings, the lack of skill stop you. Go forth, and know that skill will come with time spent in practice.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

P.S. Wow, is it really midnight? No wonder I'm so loopy :)

Baking Bread

happens to be one of my favorite activities, especially shortly after I awake. Working the dough provides something to do with the hands, a slow introduction to activity in the early morning hours. It's meditative as well, requiring me to relax, to get inside the dough and feel when it's ready to rise.

There's a quote, I'm not sure who said it,  that goes: "Clean out a corner of your mind, and creativity will instantly fill it." This is exactly what happens when I make bread. During the kneading process, thoughts of stories fill my head. Whenever I'm stuck, it helps me to work out plot problems, build backstory and character, even realize flaws I didn't know were there.

Then, when it rises, I sit down and write until it comes time to work the dough again. I write again when it enters the often, only stopping when it's time to come out. But even after it comes out of the oven, it isn't done helping me write. It provides me with a reward, a delicious treat at the end of a work period that soothes my mental muscles. It reminds me that I am truly blessed.

As I try to write more often, I also bake more often—it has become an essential part of my writing process.

Well, internets, what activities have become essential for you? What do you do that helps creative thoughts flow?

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Call to Wander

Sometimes, one gets the call to wander. It might be the sunshine slanting through the windows, or it could be the rain dancing on the roof; it may be a simple song, a memory, a feeling. You get the urge to shod your feet—or not, as the case may be—and hit the streets, the sidewalks, the dirt trails, the pathless ways. You want to put soft grass under your feet, to feel rocks and sand and bark tearing at your hands, to taste crisp clean water and misty air. To find a secluded place and just observe…

Well, I do, anyway. I want to run and scream, to dance and swing, to climb and fall. The door to my imagination opens. I want to enter.

I want to see something new everyday, if only a new angle of the old. I want to wander, if only in my mind. I want to dine with adventure worn heroes in smoky taverns, swap stories with bards, share bread with beggars, train with knights, serve.

I want to write.

Maybe I'm just crazy, but I don't have time to dwell on that. Adventure calls, and I must  heed it.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Saturday Swords

Medieval/Renaissance Weapon of Choice: Longsword

Here's a video by people more skilled than I:

The longsword was an extremely versatile weapon. It sliced, it diced, it did everything. No, really. It could be used in either one hand or two, cutting or thrusting. It could be gripped half-sword and used as a spear, it could be used as a war hammer. You could grapple with it, using it as a tool manipulate your opponent's body, to disarm, trap, or throw him.

It is a weapon of both elegance and power, simplicity and depth.

Johannes Liechtenhaur said that "there is only one Art of the sword" and it is "the basis and core of all the arts of fighting." 

John Clements wrote an interesting article which I have recently rediscovered: Centrality of the Longsword in Renaissance Martial Arts

Anyway, I love the longsword. Specifically, I like hand-and-a-halfers.

Many people in today's society seem to like to compare it to the katana, often touting the katana's superiority. These comparisons are often more "East vs West" than they are "Longsword vs Katana." They offer false mental pictures of hulking europeans in bumbling armor vs graceful samurai. These people are idiots. Now, I'm not going to claim the longsword is necessarily better—they are two different animals, reflecting the armor and technology of their respective cultures—but I do prefer the longsword.

If you like the katana; fine, tell me about it. But please, don't bring up the east vs west argument mentioned above. If you do, I'll simply mention planes, tanks, and nuclear weapons (western inventions all), and walk away.



What about you, vast internets, what is your favourite (why am I using the brit spelling of that word?) weapon?

It doesn't have to be M/R. Fantasy and Eastern weapons are welcome here, too. All are welcome! (Though, I'd prefer it if guns stay at the door. Yes, they're awesome and totally deadly, but they're kinda like the planes, tanks, and nuclear weapons—they don't exactly fit the theme.)




Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
Gorby

A Breakfast Experience.

Day old scones make an excellent breakfast, if I do say so my self (I've never understood the purpose of that phrase, it seems redundant) especially with good, and by good I mean decent, orange marmalade and a cup—or two—of strong black tea. It wasn't anything special, but it was delicious, refreshing, and filling. (why did I make them so massive?)

And to think, I came so close to killing those scones yesterday—thank God I didn't make any fatal mistakes. First, I added way too much milk (an easy fix—just doubled the dry ingredients); then, I forgot to rotate them in the oven, so the ones on the bottom rack burned on their…bottoms.

Anyway, they're still very much edible, and butter or marmalade makes the burnt ones equally yummy, maybe even more so. Perhaps it's a square-tailed cat. Again, thank God.

I think I'll bake ordinary bread today. I can't stand store bought stuff, and I feel like having a sandwich tomorrow.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
Gorby