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Author Topic: Fooz's Fiction Fracas  (Read 9482 times)
foozzzball
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« on: October 10, 2007, 09:46:58 PM »

So.

Am I going to do this?

I am going to do this!

I plan to rewrite hunks of my story, The Wounded Heart, if not more or less the entire thing using what I've currently got as a 'first draft', and then extend it to the point where my total efforts meet and/or exceed fifty-thousand words!

Just one problem! I have to finish 'Lab Mouse' first. And I have to redesign the 'look' of the Kith Athara. And I need to put together their religion properly. And I need to find time!

Okay. More than one problem! But hopefully when November rolls around I'll have huge word-count updates to post in this thread.

Right then. Now that I've announced it, I suppose I _have_ to do it.

... Uh oh.
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Everace
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« Reply #1 on: October 10, 2007, 10:38:24 PM »

    Tsk... you'd only perform if somebody expects it of you?  How lazy!  How self-conscious!  How...!  How exactly like me.  I hadn't typed a single word until I let Shaed leak that I would.  And then, of course, I simply had to.
    Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of throwing a celebration.  One of my favorite authors recently released a statement that he would be putting out new material soon, so I'm breaking out the kegs and cutting loose!  (P.S.  Don't take any shortcuts, ah?  I'd be dissappointed if I had to give you a bad review for once.)
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foozzzball
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« Reply #2 on: October 11, 2007, 08:05:33 AM »

Well that's what Nanowrimo is about! Getting peer-pressured into.... uh, I mean. Supported by your peers in writing. Right? Right!

As for taking shortcuts... D: We all hope not to have to, but that fifty-k grail... she's a big one.
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Osfer
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« Reply #3 on: October 11, 2007, 08:40:55 AM »

Shortcuts are the way!

'Better' is the enemy of 'good'. And 'good' is the enemy of 'done'. Your NaNo has to be long, and it has to be done, and after all that you can worry about the minutiea of literary significance, plot consistency or even spelling. That's what editing's for Smiley
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« Reply #4 on: October 11, 2007, 03:56:10 PM »

*An expression of utter shock is present on his face.  It takes nearly a minute to clear.*  H, Heresy!  This is heresy, I say!  *He paces back and forth in his fervor*  By the hells!  Shortcuts may be a friend to 'done' but they are most certainly an enemy of 'quality,' and any enemy of quality writing is an enemy of mine!  What good is this Nanowrimo if it encourages nothing but lazy, boring length!?
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« Reply #5 on: October 11, 2007, 05:50:31 PM »

nothing like going through your work at a fast pace in order to succeed at gaining the length you want it to be, rather than the technical difficulties. Somewhat a challenge for me, but I WILL have my story finished and be ready for publishable detail. Now, time for my hands and fingers to type away at that insane manuscript that I've been working on for five months or so. Haha!
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« Reply #6 on: October 12, 2007, 01:24:16 PM »

Precisely. Quality requires insight, talent and dedication, but productivity is a skill on its own, which required discipline and an ability to separate yourself from other goals. It's wonderful if you have the patience and devotion to produce a masterpiece, but that's utterly useless if you never finish it!

NaNoWriMo's Herculean goal requires you to focus your attention simply on moving forward. Not comfortable with the current plot? Tough, you've got to move forward. Fix it later.

You'll learn to write anywhere, anytime, under any conditions. On the train, in class, at work, or in your sleep. If you have routines and requirements for your writing (particular kind of music, particular time of day) you'll soon learn to abandon those. The experience will toughen you up.

Afterward, you'll look at your NaNo and find it a decent effort, with lots of room for improvement. And then you work on it, and learn the art of editing.

What you get out of it is the confidence that your first draft doesn't have to be perfect, and if you're writing a story and you get stuck, you can feel confident going forward, because you trust your skills as an editor to improve it later.
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foozzzball
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« Reply #7 on: October 12, 2007, 09:54:07 PM »

Keep in mind. I'm pretty good at writing stuff that people like. ... What I need to work on is, uhm. Writing more of it. XD So. I think the trick is, personally, to learn some tricks for being prolific that fit in with my writing style. Which, I am the first to admit, has some horrible amounts of rivision-whilst-in-first draft... but it works for me.

And I think the real thing about nanowrimo, personally, is finding out what works for the given writer. Slow, or fast, if you edit on the fly or edit after leaving your draft in a desk drawer for a year... Knowing what works is just, well. Hugely invaluable.

And the only way you find that out... is by flinging yourself at writing. Which can be scary, yo.
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« Reply #8 on: October 12, 2007, 10:33:42 PM »

Yeah, somewhat Nanowrimo is pretty much a test drive for those who are doing it for the first time. not to mention that it works well for those who have been doing it for a while. WRiting is probably the best bet and worry about things later. Finding your own style too is also important.
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Everace
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« Reply #9 on: October 13, 2007, 02:48:39 AM »

I suppose I can understand how simple berserk word production might improve one's work ethic, but this still isn't a concept I can be comfortable with.  I've always lived by the ideas of careful planning and meticulous revision, so the thought that doing the exact opposite might have just as much merit is a bit unsettling to me.
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« Reply #10 on: October 13, 2007, 08:31:36 PM »

In theory, doin g a little of everything has merit. at least, in terms of skills development. Taking oen sip precisely off every bottle that comes your way, including those under the kitchen sink, probably has... uhm. Not so much merit.

But toying around with methods and all, well. Never know if it doesn't work unless you try it the once. And never know what works for other people, y'know?
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foozzzball
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« Reply #11 on: October 25, 2007, 01:30:55 PM »

Some snippets from my nanowrimo project, which is definitely looking like a rewrite of 'The Wounded Heart'.

Also, a half-assed map.

Because what is a fantasy project without a map, if not doomed to failure?



--

Mother will sing to you. She will sing of ancient things, and ancient days. Of the people of Askazi.

Of the Wild Hounds, who had not yet learned the magics of the civillized people. The magics of placing seeds in the ground so that things might grow, of owning the beasts that can grow fat upon the grass and provide meat for their families.

Of the Mus, rabbits and rodents, who knew those magics, and many others. The great civillization led by the great kings who called themselves Askaathi who could make their fields and farms sip from the great river.



History knows two times. The time before the clever scribes of Askazi were given the strange magic of knowledge from the Gods and learned to turn it into the black marks they call writing, and the time after the peoples of the world began to learn this art.

Before the time of writing, it is known that the first peoples who became the gods roamed the world. Among their numbers were the first members of all the peoples, Ekoshi the wild hound whose strides carry him from one horizon to the other. Qhur-Al, the khatul father, greatest of traders, whose wisdom holds all the world within its grasp.

Their stories were still known, were written down. Some could half-remember tales of the first of the Mus. The three rabbits who together put the sky and earth and oceans back together. The mouse who whispered secrets from the gods in the ear of the lion, the squirrel who learned to fly.

But some, their stories are barely remembered, and their peoples are missing. Where is the first of the Entomo, Queen Falaa, who has ten thousand times ten thousand children who all work beneath the surface of the earth? Where is the first of the Avis, Thairel, who flew so high that his back touched the sky and his wings brought the wind?

Where are the Entomo people, who must have been made from the ants and the beetles and all the smallest creatures? Where are the Avis, made from the birds? Where are the Wyrms, made from the reptiles and serpents which crawl upon their bellies? Where are the peoples that had been made from fish?

Have they died? Did the gods forget to make them, did Alaim forget to give the gift of voice and wisdom to every living thing, sparing it only for those who gave live young and fed them from the breast?

But how could the gods forget this thing? And if they did forget this thing, on whose back does the world rest, if not Karkan who sleeps forever? Why must foolish men make up stories about where the mountains came from, so that both Ekoshi and Qhur-Al claim the feat?

There are many questions about the time before the days when writing was learned. And perhaps those who know how to write also know how to lie. For why else would the Askaathi kings be more than other men? Why else would all the peoples in times gone by call them the greatest of all kings, even though many others dared - and still do - to call themselves rulers of all the world?

And indeed, who does own all the world? For it can only be a god, and the Askaathi kings were only chosen by Alaim, they are not gods themselves. But far to the south, ahh, beyond the great desert, they say that there is a god called Kaah who sits upon a throne of gold. They say that he is made of gold himself, down to every last hair upon his mighty mane, and that he stands taller than almost all the other peoples of the world, bar the giants. The giants with either a horn or an arm upon their nose, the giants who bend their knee only to the god called Kaah.



The land of Askazi is a great one, but in mother's whisperings and songs, she calls only a few places very important.

The most important, of course, shall forever be Suthatis, the city where copies of all the writings of the world are kept. Suthatis, the city where the Askaathi kings speak with Alaim's own voice. Suthatis, where great temples seek to reach the sky and in the days and weeks before you reach it you will find its citizens, farming the lands endlessly to feed the bellies of all who live there.

Suthatis, the greatest city, the city that shall grow and grow until it covers all the world. Where the Mus banded together and made their nation great under Alaim's law.

It lies upon the great river, the first river, the river that spans all the world and has no beginning and flows even through the oceans to begin anew on the other side.

Where the river meets the ocean, there live the Khatul in their own city, Baqhur. Baqhur is not so grand as Suthatis, not so many people live there, they have no grand kings. But the Khatul who live there, they are the greatest traders. It is said that they take after their own great father, Qhur-Al, and seek to hold all the world within their wisdom, so that they might find and trade with peoples from all corners of the world.

And there are more cities, of course. There always are. Cities like Mara, where the Askaathi took the Kith Athara, Alaim's own warriors, when they were young. Mara, which lies broken. Osura, where the Kith Athara went, and the Askaathi turned its people to slaves. Kaurin, where the strange peoples who carry their children in bags would one day arrive.

Many cities, but none so important as Suthatis and Baqhur, mother thinks.

And at the other end of the river, where it curls south and west, so that it can hide from the rising sun and keep its waters from being dried away in the morning, there is Khaba. Khaba, the place that was once greenest and lushest when it still rained.

Khaba, where the soil is rich and even without water plants spring forth from the ground to dry in the sun. It is Khaba that Suthatis once wished to own, before the great drought. It is where the wild hounds lived, and in many wars, where they were driven away. Khaba, where the secret of sipping from the great river will forge a new nation of peoples.

It is said the last rains fell in Khaba, and since then, the desert has quickly become hungry. The great desert, which stretches from one side of the world to the other, many say. At first it was only to the far south, but then it grew in hungry bites, taking away the grasslands where once the conquered kingdom of Lauren grew fat. Taking away the mountains and the rivers and drinking them dry.

But, even if the desert stretches from one side of the world to the other, it still has an end, far, far to the south. The Far South. Where many of the wild hounds fled to from Khaba. Where there is still water, sometimes. The wide plains.

And beyond that, there is where the god Kaah lives on ihs golden throne. The god Kaah who none of the peoples of Askazi know, for even Kaah could not cross the great desert.

But mother is wise in the history of Askazi. She knows that this would not always be so. She knows that the wild hounds held a great secret, once. A secret of the desert, a secret of their exodus from Askazi into the south.

The secret of the Oasis Road, the long path through the great desert where there is water to drink. The long path where even young children could be taken safely. That secret of the Oasis Road that one day the Khatul bought, and the secret that one day Kaah stole from the Khatul.
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foozzzball
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« Reply #12 on: October 31, 2007, 11:14:20 PM »

Alright.

Nanowrimo starts in a little more than an hour over here, being that's when we switch over from 'October 31st' to 'November 1st'.

I have a lot of writing and setting revision ahead of me. I did manage to finish 'Lab Mouse' before embarking on this, but only barely, with a kind of half-hearted ending, and it's going to need some serious working on later...

But I can't let myself think about that. What I have to think about right now is Nanowrimo. Fifty-thousand words, or more. Ideally a hell of a lot more. I didn't manage to quite crack a third of the story the last time I worked on it, and I poured something like twenty-seven thousand words into it that time.

In short. I am scared. But I also think I have a nifty story, and one that's going to benefit a lot from the revisions I have in mind.

Am I actually going to pull it off, though? I have no freaking idea.

I can't remember who said it, but someone once said when a real artist gets up in the morning, he or she does not know whether or not he or she can still perform their art. I think this may have been part of an interview witha  given artist... but anyway.

My nebulous memory aside.

You don't know if you can still perform your art when you wake up in the mornings. You don't know if, when you set out to express yourself, you'll go anywhere near the mark. You just can't know if the story you have in your mind and in your notes is the one you're going to end out writing. You don't know if you'll capture the nuances of a character you love, or if you'll inadvertantly stumble and turn them into a monster you never want to write about again, they've become so shallow.

It's terrifying. Electric. The maddest adrenalin fuelled ride you'll ever get sitting lazily whilst pecking at a keyboard.

Yeah, I might turn out to be wasting my time. And that's scary. But then again, I might turn out to be doing something worthwhile. And that, that is hugely exciting.

Babble babble babble.

Time for me to rest. Tomorrow, NaNoWriMo awaits. My story awaits.

... I can't wait to find out what it's going to turn out to be.
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Everace
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« Reply #13 on: November 01, 2007, 01:25:35 AM »

Fooz, you need a word from my avatars in a bad way.

***
An all too familiar feline, in all his demonic glory.  His usual good humor has given way to an expression that seems to meld irritation and impatience.

"The hell is this?  Doubt?"  He snorts.  "There ain't nothin' more useless!"  He holds a clawed hand out and clenches it into a fist.  "The power ya got is the power ya got, and ya sure as hell won't get any stronger frettin' over whether or not yer good enough!"  He moves forward, walking with a curious sort of masculine grace.  "Fact is, the future's comin'.  You can worry about it, or you can just assume that you'll do the best damn job there is."  He stops and adopts his characteristic grin.  "That's how I always see it.  And ya know?  I'm always right."
***
***
A young lion fur in worn jeans and a T-shirt.  His brow is furrowed with intensity.

"I don't really get it... you've always done a great job in the past.  What would make you worry about messing up now?"  He blinks and vents a moan of frustration.  "This is stupid!  I just don't get it!"
***
***
A large panther fur, wearing dark flowing clothing and bearing a tachi blade on his back.

"As I understand it, the merit of NaNoWriMo lies in the fight rather than the victory.  Is it not foolish to worry about the destination when the journey itself is more meaningful?"  He lowers his head to hide a sudden smile.  "Yet somehow I think you will come to the destination you set out to find, even if you stop straining after it with such fervor."  A pause.  "Or, perhaps, because of this."
***
***
A short dark-grey wolf fur with a tuft of white dotting the end of his tail.  He shakes his head.

"You are... foolish.  I can understand how you might have doubts about any a single person, but to think that an entire group has suddenly gone soft in the head is not reasonable."  He points at you.  "You're not sure you have what it takes?  You've so little faith in yourself?"  His hand drops back to his side.  "That's fine.  Then simply put your faith in my own author.  You think all the 'flowery praise' for your stories is given lightly?  It is given simply and only because you earned it.  There would never be any other reason."  He closes his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.  "And even if that's not good enough for you, I'm aware of other rather intelligent beings that quite enjoy your work.  Perhaps I can get an amen from those I describe?"
***
***
A human male, roughly 5'11" with long blonde hair and soft blue eyes that seem to smile out at you.

"I don't care what you say... I believe in you, foozzzball."
***
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foozzzball
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« Reply #14 on: November 01, 2007, 03:04:48 PM »

Snippet from the beginning

---

He was the first of all the hounds. Before, there was a time of running, of teeth and meat and hot breath. A time without meaning. Afterwards, there were words in his head. A word for the good life, the life of running, of teeth, and meat and hot breath.
The word was 'hunt'.

That is what he did, and that was the name he took for his people. The hounds. And he was their father. Their great father, who strode from horizon to horizon. Great Ekoshi, first man-hound, whose sons were the wolves and the dogs and the foxes and the jackal and thousands more.

Yes, even the jackal.

Ekoshi remembers his two banished sons, Kuru and Irulu. He remembers them well. Why they were banished, and how Irulu slept with the she-demon, and so making the laughing people Ekoshi's sons also.

It was all so much easier in the time before. Before words. Before the breath of spirit. Before his sons had grown weak and content.

When Ikopi the traveller had sat by Ekoshi's fire and told him that one day his sons would run from the rabbits, Ekoshi had laughed. Laughed and laughed, thinking that Ikopi had wanted to make his daughter change her mind after having fallen in love with Ekoshi's eldest son.

It was easier in those days.

So much easier, long ago.

The time before morning must end. And so Ekoshi grips the sun in his hands. He draws his arm back, into the east, and so he hurls the sun into the sky, chasing away the night again.

And as the sky turns red, then yellow, then blue, Ekoshi knows that Ikopi was right.

His sons were going to flee from the rabbits.

And if they did not, they would die.

Shame tore at old Ekoshi's heart, and he fell to the ground, weeping. Weeping for all he has lost in his long life. Weeping for how foolish he has been.

Weeping, for he has failed his sons.


---

Oh crap I'm getting ganged up on by imaginary people!

Where the heck is my secretary?! AAAARGH!~

***

"Boys boys boys. Jaysis. Poor guy is running helter skelter tryin' ta figure out what goes where and gettin' distracted by stupid stuff like what shapes maces are and if rope can be used as armour."

The secretary taps her foot. "And then y'all just gang up on him like that! Yes the man is needlessly worrying. You don't tell him that! Then he worries about worrying, and if this whole thing gets out of hand he'll worry about worrying about worrying."

"And if that happens I'm gonna have to work late, putting his poor psyche together. And dangit, the commute from a guy's imagination to San Iadras is a killer, even without missing my train of thought!" A grim look crept onto her muzzle. "Now if you'll excuse me the rabbits are bitchin' that they haven't been described properly, and if they keep wasting the Fooz's time this whole show ain't gonna get on the road to begin with!"

***

AKA.

StopFutzingWithTheDescriptionFoozYouGottaGetTyping


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