A look back

Posted a while ago, but I would like comments, if you have any.  I still haven't come up with a complete story to go with this scene, yet.  Writing Exercise #2

Deus ex Machina, which I'm still not comfortable pronouncing aloud

I've been pondering a BLOG ENTRY I read a couple of days ago, by an author I haven't actually read yet.  His name is Peter V. Brett.  My sister-in-law recommended his books, beginning with "The Warded Man", and I went to Amazon.com and read the first few pages they have posted as samples.  It is very good, Wheel of Time-ish fantasy.  I think I'll enjoy them when I get my hands on the books.  Anyway, I was reading his blog on Goodreads.com, and he was discussing a book by a new-comer that he had been asked to read and comment on (or "blurb") for the back cover.  Read the blog, you'll see what I'm saying.  That other book sounds really good, too... I'll be reading it one day, as well.

In the blog entry, he mentioned that he will pass on "blurbing" new books if he finds literary taboos such as deus ex machina, flat characters or flaws in the story.  This is the second time in a month that I've gone looking for the definition of deus ex machina.  The first time was while watching "Lost", which I chat about in my other blog, found HERE. There is an episode titled "Deus Ex Machina", and I didn't think I had ever heard that Latin phrase before, so I looked it up.  This is what I found on www.dictionary.com :

De-us ex ma-chi-na
[dey-uh s eks mah-kuh-nuh, dee-uh s eks mak-uh-nuh]
1. (in ancient Greek and Roman drama), a god introduced into a play to resolve the entanglements of the plot.
2. any artificial or improbable device resolving the difficulties of a plot.

Origin:
1690–1700;  < Neo-Latin  literally, god from a machine (i.e., stage machinery from which a deity's statue was lowered), as translation of Greek apò mēchanês theós  (Demosthenes), theòs ek mēchanês  (Menander), etc.

So, all you fellow would-be authors, keep this in mind as you are writing.  A good example of deus ex machina is how Glinda magically appears (twice!) to save Dorothy's hide in "The Wizard of Oz", first with the snow to wake them in the field of poppies and again at the end to free Dorothy from Oz, by telling her simply to click her heels together and she'll go home.  There are a long list of other cinematic, as well as book and comic examples if you are interested, HERE is a good site.

New blog title and address

A few days ago, I moved my "wanna-be author" blog to this new link and title.  I think it reflects a more positive attitude about my future as a writer to say that "eventually I will be a published author" than to say "I sure wish I was a writer!"

So here we are.  I am trying to wrap my head around a new way of thinking that will open my mind and free my creative juices a bit.  I tend to get a little discouraged when I think about wanting to get something published.  Not because of the intimidation of submitting something to a publishing house (I'm not there, yet, you have to FINISH something before you can submit it, I'm fairly sure!) or because I don't feel like I am skilled enough.  I feel confident in my abilities, and I am a fast learner so if I got to learn from mistakes or bad writing decisions, that would be great.  It's because everywhere I go, constantly, I meet other people who consider themselves yet-to-be-published authors.  Some surprise me, some astound me and others, I'm not surprised, I just have one of those sarcastic voices in my head saying, "everyone's an author", the same way my photographer husband says, "everyone's a photographer...". 

I need to not worry about the sheer volume of manuscripts, books and authors there are out in the market.  I need to not feel competitive about this.  I need to just write for the love of writing and when something gets finished, clean it up, submit it and keep writing.  That's what I need to do.  I can't reduce the number of people (women, mostly, but men, too) who also think they are good enough writers to do it professionally.  I don't have control over when/where or even IF I ever get published, not directly, anyway. But "Failing to try is the same as trying to fail", right?  Right.

I'm trying to accept that there is a lot of competition.  A LOT.  But that's okay.  If what I write is good enough, it won't matter that there are 45 million others like me.  And the main thing is that I love writing.  I just love it.  I need to write for the joy and the mental release and the addiction of writing.  The rest is just gravy, anyway.

Just a little exercise...

I think what I'm good at is ambiance, at writing scenes.  I haven't yet figured out how to flesh out a full story from my scenes, though. They pop into my head and flow out my fingers, but then it ends and I'm stuck with about a dozen good story beginnings...

Here's one I wrote recently.  Comments are welcome, in fact, if you can think of a unique story to go along with this scene, share it and we'll collaborate!  I think that's what I need.  I'm good at writing it out, but the "big picture" seems to escape me...  Enjoy! 

It wasn’t raining.  It wasn’t overcast.  It wasn’t even dark.  But it felt like it should be.  I glared up at the cheerful blue sky, scowled at the clouds in their fluffy white perfection and pressed my heels a little deeper into the flawless green grass.  I imagined it whimpering in submission.

“Whump!” the first shovelful of dirt seemed to echo off the coffin.  “Whump!” Again.  Not quite rhythmic, the repeated sound bounced around my head.  It was an ugly sound.  The sound of good-bye.  The sound of emptiness: hollow and howling. 

Cursing the fluttering breeze in the maple leaves over my head, I walked away.  “Whump!” The sound faded slightly as I moved to the other side of the ancient church.  The path I was walking meandered into a grove of trees, where a hill sloped down to a trickling stream.  It couldn’t have been more picturesque.  I hated it.  I hated that the world just moved on, birds flew, rabbits jumped, trees dropped leaves and acorns, completely unfeeling. Their callous indifference surrounded me, suffocating me.  I walked into the glade and cursed, loudly.  I cursed the Earth beneath me, the trees, the sky, I cursed it all, falling to my knees, tears pouring down my cheeks to drip onto my dress.  I cried until I was numb, then lay on the soft Wildgrass and closed my eyes. 

When I awoke, it was dark. Not the oppressive dark that lurked in my chest, but a bright, star-filled summer darkness with a cheerful moon peeking at me between the tree branches.  Grimacing, I stretched, standing.  It was time to leave.  I muttered an apology to the trees, the glade, the glittery heavens for the cursing earlier.  My chest ached, but otherwise I felt better. 

Home was a short walk from the churchyard, and I resisted kicking the cat as I stepped over him lying on the wooden steps.  My father was standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the back window at the darkness.

Asleep at the wheel...

I have not done any writing all summer.  I am loathe to admit that, because I really love it and would even more really love to make a career of it, but (alas, alack!) the summer is nearly over and I haven't written anything but a few blog entries, grocery lists and chore assignments.

Oh, and I know, summer lasts long into September, when the Pagan autumnal equinox rolls around, but my summer lasts from the final day of school to the first day of school, so it will be over in less than 3 weeks.  Gasp!  Not enough time... but... maybe I can start a daily habit of writing for just an hour a day, anything and everything, just writing.  I wonder if I have it in me... I think I do.  I'd like to think it's more than possible, that it's even probable.

21 days to a habit, right?  So for the next 21 days, I could get out of bed at 6:00, exercise, then eat breakfast and hit the laptop.  I could be all done by 8:00, when most of the family is just getting going.  Maybe... I'll have to weigh the benefits of extra sleep with the benefits of habitual writing time... hmm...

Revised Rumpelstiltskin

Rumpelstiltskin

A readers theater

Parts:

Narrator

Rumpel

Miller’s Daughter- Lulu/Queen

Miller

King

Narrator:  Once upon a time and very far away, there lived a Miller and his beautiful daughter.  One day on his way to town, the Miller happened to pass the King in his coach.  Wanting to impress the king, the Miller rode up and spoke to him.

Miller:  Good morning, your majesty!  Might I interest you in my fine corn flour? 

King:  My servants buy my food, Miller, I don’t have time for you.

Miller:  Of course, majesty.  Pardon me, but have you ever seen anyone as beautiful as my daughter?  There she is, standing in yonder field.

Narrator:  The king glanced over and smiled. 

King:  She is lovely, Miller.  Now we must be on our way.

Miller:  She is not only lovely, my King, but she has a secret talent. 

King:  What is that?

Miller:  She can spin straw… into gold!

King:  What?  She can spin straw into gold?  I don’t believe it.

Miller:  It’s true, your highness!  She spins the most beautiful golden thread.  I know your highness has been seeking a beautiful bride, and my daughter would be the most wonderful wife.  And with this talent of hers, she would also make you the richest king in all the land!

Narrator:  The Miller hadn’t really stopped to think about what he was saying.  He was very excited to be speaking to the King, and he really did have a beautiful daughter, but she did not have that magical talent. 

King:  If what you say is true, I will marry your daughter.

Miller:  gulp!

King:  Bring her to my castle this evening and we shall see if she can spin straw into gold.  If she can, she shall be my wife!

Miller: (BOWING) Of course, your majesty.  Of course.

Narrator:  The King rode away and the Miller turned back toward home to speak with his daughter. 

Lulu:  You told the King I could spin straw into gold?  Father, he’ll kill us both when he finds out you lied to him!  Oh what shall I do?

Narrator:  The daughter was frightened and the Miller was too, but they had no choice. She had to go to the castle.  She packed their bags and left home. 

Lulu:  Goodbye, Father. 

Narrator: When she arrived at the castle, she was shown to a little room, filled with straw from the floor to the ceiling.

King:  You have until morning to spin all of this straw into gold.  If you cannot do it, you will be put to death.  If you can do it, though, I will make you my Queen.

Narrator:  The King left Lulu in the room and she heard the door being locked from the outside.

Lulu:  Oh my! (CRYING) What shall I do?  I cannot spin straw into gold!  Boo hoo!  Boo hoo!

Narrator:  Next to the girl suddenly appeared a little old man wearing brightly colored clothes and little shoes that curled upward.  He was the strangest thing Lulu had ever seen.

Rumpelstiltskin:  Good lady tell why

you sob and you cry

The hour it is late

tell me,

what is your fate?

Lulu:  Gasp!  Where did you come from?  Who are you?

Rumpel:  Who I am does not matter

But you I will flatter

If you tell me your tale

I’ll help without fail

Lulu:  Well, you see, my father told the King I could spin straw into gold, and if I don’t do it, I’ll die in the morning and I just don’t know what to do! Boo hoo!

Rumpel:  Magic spinning indeed?

It is me that you need!

I will spin it to gold,

Pure and bright to behold.

What will you give

In order to live?

Lulu:  What about my ring?  It’s very pretty and would look nice on your long, thin fingers.

Rumpel:  Perfect!  We will trade,

A good deal we have made.

Narrator:  Rumpelstiltskin pulled a pile of straw over to the spinning wheel and sat down.  Lulu lay on her cloak and watched the wheel spin and spin, faster and faster, until she fell sound asleep.  In the morning, she woke to hear a rooster crowing and to her amazement, the room was filled, floor to ceiling with shiny golden thread.  The little man was gone.  A smile came to her face as she heard the door being unlocked.

King:  Good morning, Miller’s daughter.  I see you have completed the task!  Come with me, I have another, larger room filled with straw.  If you spin it to gold tonight, I shall let you live to become my Queen!

Narrator:  That night, the King locked Lulu in large room filled floor to ceiling with straw.  Again, Lulu sat down and cried.

Lulu:  Oh, poor me, poor me!  What shall I do?

Rumpel:  More straw to be spun?

I’m here for some fun!

I will spin it to gold,

Pure and bright to behold.

What will you give

In order to live?

Lulu:  What about my necklace?  It came from a land far away across the sea.

Rumpel:  Perfect!  We will trade,

A good deal we have made.

Narrator:  Rumpelstiltskin again spun and spun and Lulu fell asleep.  In the morning, the King came into the room

King:  I see you have spun this straw into gold, even finer than the first!  I will take you to one last room, the biggest room in the castle.  If you can spin all the straw in the room to gold, in the morning, I shall marry you and you will be Queen.  If you cannot, then you will die.

Narrator:  That night, when the King locked Lulu in the room, the little man was waiting for her. 

Lulu:  Oh, little man, will you help me one last time?  If the straw becomes gold tonight, tomorrow I will become Queen!

Rumpel:  More straw to be spun?

I’m here for some fun!

I will spin it to gold,

Pure and bright to behold.

What will you give

In order to live?

Lulu:  Oh, me.  Oh my.  I have nothing left.  I have given you my ring.  I have given you my necklace.  I have no other treasures.  But tomorrow, I will be Queen and I will give you anything you desire.

Rumpel: You have nothing to trade,

No deal can be made.

Unless…

Your first child you will give

In return, you will live.

Lulu:  Hmm… (TO HERSELF)  Who knows if I will ever have a child? If I don’t promise him, he won’t help me and I will die.  If I help him, I will live and marry a King.  I will worry about the trade when the time comes.  (TO RUMPEL) I agree to your price.  If you will spin for me tonight, I will give you my first child.

Narrator:  That night, Lulu slept again as Rumpel spun, and in the morning, the King kept his promise. Lulu’s father barely had time to get to the castle in time for the wedding.  Years passed and one day, Lulu had a baby.  A beautiful baby.  A baby that she loved very much.  She had forgotten all about the little man.  But he had not forgotten.  One night as she tucked her new baby into his cradle, she heard a little voice behind her.

Rumpel:  Today is the day!

I’ll take him away!

I spun gold so fine,

Now the child will be mine!

Lulu: (CRYING) Oh, dear, oh dear!  I remember you now!  Oh, you mustn’t take my child, for I love him so!  I am Queen and I can give you anything in the kingdom, won’t you take something else? Sob!

Rumpel: 

Oh how the tears of the lady fair

Touch my heart and make me care.

By and by a game we’ll play,

‘Ere I take the child away.

If my name you can guess

In three days or less,

Your child will stay

And I’ll go away.

Lulu:  Oh, I agree, I agree!  We’ll start right now.  But you must give me three guess each night.

Narrator:  The little man nodded his head and the Queen wiped her eyes and began to think of all the names she had ever known.

Lulu:  Is it Charles? 

Rumpel:  no!

Lulu:  Is it Mortimer?

Rumpel:  no!

Lulu:  Is it Bartholomew?

Rumpel:  (GIGGLING) no!

Once and twice and three times more

My name you’ll try to guess before

At last the game will ended be

And the child will belong to me.

Narrator:  And the little man disappeared.  The Queen immediately sent three of her most trusted servants on horses to the far corners of the land to search out names for her to guess.  The next night, she tried again:

Lulu:  Is it Frederick?

Rumpel:  no!

Lulu:  Is it Alexander?

Rumpel:  no!

Lulu:  Is it Antonio?

Rumpel:  (GIGGLING) no!

Once and twice and three times more

My name you’ll try to guess before

At last the game will ended be

And the child will belong to me.

Narrator: On the third day of searching for names, one of the Queen’s servants came upon a little clearing deep in the darkest forest outside the castle walls.  Quietly, he crept up and discovered a tiny little man, dancing around his campfire, and singing:

Rumpel: 

Oh la-dee-dah and lucky me

The Queen’s own son I soon will claim.

For no one knows on land or sea

That Rumpelstiltskin is my name!

Narrator:  The servant raced back to the castle to share the good news with the Queen.  The next evening, when the little man appeared, the Queen was ready.

Lulu:  Is your name Boris?

Rumpel:  No!

Lulu:  Is it Humphrey?

Rumpel:  No!

Lulu:  Is it… Rumpelstiltskin?

Rumpel:  (SCREAMS) Aaagh!  How did you know?  Who told you? AAAHHH!!

Narrator:  And the little man turned bright red with rage, stamped and stamped and stamped his feet until the very Earth beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole.  The Queen and King and their little baby lived happily ever after.

The White Rabbit

I am living like the white rabbit in "Alice in Wonderland".  Well, sort of.  I don't always feel late, but I do feel like I just have no time...

I'm rushing around from one activity to the next, eyes on my watch.  I wish I could bustle like Mr. Rabbit does.  If I could move that quickly, maybe I create more time in which to write... or read...