Inherent Excerpt: 7/13/09

3 hours of sleep, work, and then off to Mount Holly to start training some horses! So, in lieu of writing I don’t have time to do, here’s another excerpt!

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Waking, Predator found blood on his fingers, knew it was both his own, and that of the woman he now hunted. No longer his own creature, he stumbled to his feet and tasted the blood. An image sprang to mind of a dark woman, black hair and black skin. Silver eyes. Those eyes are nearly the twin of Hers, eyes created to see sideways into that other realm. He shuddered with fear, the desire to kill dampened as the import of the orders sink into him.
She has offered him redemption. She has offered a hand in his terrible darkness. He fell to his knees again, shaking with an alien emotion, with pain that infuriated the demon.
For a moment, an image sprang into his mind of a dark girl and a golden young lord, wrapped together in the gold and silver of divine fury as they stood against the tides of evil.
Aleshan, a voice whispered in his mind. Remember.
Nekes howled in his mind, impotent and rabid. The demon would regain power, eventually.
That strange feeling tugged at him, painting images of sun rising over a hellish plain, of blood rushing through veins, of the glory of his people. An image of a storm-eyed woman pressing his face to her knees as he knelt before her, of her welcome back.
The immortals did not understand hope.
Aleshan did, and it drove him drunkenly to his feet and towards the north at a staggering jog.
Hope.
Forgiveness.
He will do anything his goddess demands.

Inherent: 7/12/09

15 pages away from the end of Kadaraita. A significant amount of words will need to be added in there, and I have to go back and add in 5000 words from another document, but that should be well-handled by the end of this week.

Which means that I am 2 weeks AHEAD of schedule for once, and actually *gasp* enjoying editing! Of course, there is still a LOT to be done. Logrozana is a mess, and I need to go back and work on Abadinur quite a bit, but that really doesn’t add up to too much. So by the time DragonCon rolls around, I should have a decent third draft ready.

The word-count is 107,683. Beginning, ending and chapters still have to be created. Inherent is basically several huge chunks of text at this point.

And I couldn’t be happier with it. When I get ready to submit this story, I will do it with the utmost confidence in the characters, in the story, in the world. I can hardly wait!

The characters of Kadaraita are more emotionally challenging than anywhere else in the story. Sviera is quite certainly mad. Aleshan (Predator) is a broken, insane psychopath with a demon in his head. On top of all of that, there is another witch in Aleshan’s dreams, and she makes Sviera look like a cute kitten.

The plain is perfectly flat, the only sense of unreality in an otherwise perfectly constructed image of the waking world. In the center of it stands a building. Three walls. A roof. He walks closer, sees marks of deadly anger, vicious beasts on the walls. Scars reaching deep. It is something familiar to him, though he forgets why, and so with some fear he reaches out, touches the wall closest to him. It is warm. Living. This is the house of a spirit, a shape-changer. He feels great curiosity, desire to learn what is within.
He leans forward, his tongue flickers against the walls, he tastes a dark spirit and recoils. Rolling on the ground, howling his fury. The taste of Her burns on his tongue, this spirit is kin to his Dark Queen. “Hate you! Hate you! Hate you!” he cries. “Stop tormenting me, I’m sorry, sorry, so sorry.”

Logrozana: War

This is one of the very first scenes I wrote for Inherent, back in December. I was at my home in CA, and sitting at the old dining room table while my family prepared Christmas dinner around me. The sun was shining through the first oak leaves–spring comes early in Northern California–and through the blades of grass.
As an aside, if you’ve never seen the winter sun shining on new green wild-grass, you are missing out. There is no green so vibrant.
I’ve always written better in CA. And if the success so far of Inherent is any clue, it is worth a week of family to start a new story.

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War comes early to the people of Gatika, early in the year, before the snows melt, early in life, before the voice deepens. War comes early to the people of Gatika, and leaves late, a constant guest.

The Priestess has seen such wars as this one before. A nameless host sweeps out of the southern deserts, inhuman man-creatures with clawing hands and twisted hearts, crushing all opposition. Virgal-Goien throws armies at them, what few troops it can spare from the northern front where hungry Kortango nibbles steadily away at its defenses. The army falls, feeds the hoard, spawns new beasts, and the ranks swell. Now they are a danger to Samis, and this is what their masters must have wanted, because the tide turns, and their course sweeps in a ragged line towards the war-plains, the Surruslada.

The Priestess calls her people to council, and to war. Rugged mountain rangers, brawn-heavy farmers, harsh Arbiters, fierce nomads from the desert, silent Rovers. All come to her.

“The King-time has come. Prepare for war,” she says, and they nod in silent acknowledgment.

Hoes and pottery are cast aside, fire blooms in the forges as weapons are honed and armor repaired, a final polish put on the pride of the families. There is not much to do, for war comes early to the people of Gatika, and leaves late, a constant guest.

The southern desert of the kingdom of Samis is prepared for war. Mortathes is at their head, their glorious leader, with the joy of battle burning in his eyes and voice. Above him flies the fierce red stallion on a golden flag, symbol of war and glory and Gatika.

They are too slow. Other eyes, the Queen of Night has seen the danger, and in the cold dawn, the ethereal peace of the desert stirs lightly around the feet of nine hundred warriors, moonlight glints in the wild eyes of the northern horses. A white flag snaps in the winds of their passage, blazed with a rampant black panther.

Another kingdom has sent her children to fight beside Gatika.

Behind them ride the knights of Balakisha, bright in their armor, their standards shining in the sun and moon alike, stained with the blood of a white ox and a green-and-gold flag whispers in the breeze, embroidered with a white ox, symbol of the merchant-kingdom.

The King-time has begun. Some say it will be the last King-time.

For you Sciency Folks…

First off, I printed off the problem child Logrozana today for a closer look. Three pages in, and there is a lot of red ink already. So it is helping.

But I’ve decided to play around with the Marasran in Shadow and Soul a bit more to start getting them solidified. One of the stumbling blocks is their conception of time. Are they obsessed with it? Or–being immortal–does it simply pass them by unnoticed?

I finally decided today that they would be very careful to record its passing. As Guardians and Keepers, they would need to know precisely when things happened. For magic, it would be necessary to observe patterns also. Historians and time-keepers would be honored people.

But, here’s the rub. I’m sort of working on the assumption of a vast, intricate society long ago. The ‘Lost Race’ sort of thing. After that, there would be a series of global disasters. Think the Biblical flood, Atlantis, etc. And yes, it would be within 3000 years of us when the last of the Marasran would have disappeared.

Would it be possible for the earth to be moving more slowly? For the axis to be straight? How would that affect years and seasons? Would a larger part of the earth be completely shadowed?

If anyone has hypothesis or explanations, I would LOVE to hear them!

Bah! Bah I say!

I think I left a TON of the info for Shadow and Soul on my old computer. Along with 100 or so songs that have seemingly vanished into the ether. Looks like another hunt for info is soon to be under way. I don’t have time for this! And I am sick, so I want to sleep in!

On the subject of Shadow and Soul however… This is an idea I came up with a while back, a rite of passage trial basically for the Marasran. Taking into account greater constitutions and the near impossibility of death except through murder, how does this look?

“Their mouths are sewn shut for five turns of the earth. They may not speak, nor indulge in any pleasure that crosses the tongue. When their tongues are loosed, then their eyes are sewn shut for five turns of the earth. And when their eyes are freed, their ears are stopped, again for the same length of time. Last comes the hardest test, as they must go again a year without speaking, without hearing, without seeing, but of their own volition. If they pass that test, they move on to the final challenge. They must sit alone in one of the holy places for one month, without food or drink, their ears and eyes and lips closed, without movement.

“The purpose of this is to enhance the senses. In lack of speech, they learn to listen. In lack of sound, they learn to see. In lack of sight, they learn to feel. In these things, they have no choice. In this last challenge, they have no compulsion. There are no watchers. Only a sense that they will fail, and somehow, someway, they will never be the same.”

Songs! Songwriting!

I used to write quite a bit of poetry. Mostly venting, free-writing, nothing serious. A few of my older friends are actually incredibly talented musicians, and we were talking about lyrics. Anyway, long story short, I sent some of my lyrics to one of them, sort of a ‘use it if you can’ thing.

And he plans to turn some of them into songs! I am happy! I’d consigned them to the closet to rust, and for them to see the light of day again is awesome. So, I am SO looking forward to this!

This is one of the ones I didn’t send. Too long for a song, really, but I like it.

I Am

Love me
Hate me
Exalt me
Debase me

I am desire
I am sin
I am hell’s angel
I am all that you fear
I am your loathing
I am that creature in the corner

I am the dragon you claimed to slay
The image of all you wished to be
And feared becoming
I am the succubus
You condemn me in fear of your desire
Your perverted lusts my downfall
I am the woman
Trod beneath your manly stride
Serving a master I do not claim out of joy
Bound to your perceptions and desires
I am the slave
The one who bows before beggars
And stands proud before gods
I am the queen
Leading you to war
First to war
Last to retreat
I am the nightmare in the corner
Cursed and hated
Afraid to look me in the face
Unable to see your guardian angel

Hate me if you will
You cannot tear me down
You cannot destroy me
Your hate feeds me
Drives me forward
You shatter my heart
A million tiny shards
Never to be repaired or perfect
You scatter me about
Perhaps if I am not whole
Then I am not dangerous
Dream fool, dream

I am indeed not dangerous
I am deadly
You cannot fight me
Can’t see me in your foolishness
I am broken
Of no consequence
I am the kicked spaniel in the corner
Whimpering if you so much as look at me
You do not understand
The power of pain
The perfection of fury
Tear me apart again
And I will feed on my pain
I will take the shattered glass
And with it
I will defy any who seek to rule me

You broke me
You made me
You shattered me
You healed me
Now stand aside
And take a bow
Because your mistress
The one you will bow to forever
She stands here before you now
Feeding on the crushing pain
Drunk on broken hopes
Driven onwards by the knowledge
That she can never fail
As badly as you would have her fail
I am broken
I will be whole
I am wounded
I will heal
I am a slave
I will be free
I am hopeless
I will be the dreamer

I will show you the darkness
I will show you the strength
The thing that comes
When all else is gone
I will show you how to live
How to embrace death
And come alive
I will show you all there is too see
I am a dreamer
A cool shadow on the path
A warm fire on a cold evening
A shield in war
A pillow in the cool night
I am All
I am Nothing

On the Importance of Names

“He no longer calls himself Karamarog, but Amarog,” the woman said.
“Ahhh, then his power is fading,” Predator mused.

Names are of special significance in MANY cultures. A surprising number believe in a ‘true name’ that gives power over the person. In some cultures, telling a person the ‘true name’ is basically putting your life in their hands, showing an amazing amount of trust and respect. Variations of names tell about the person, or tell stories or deeds.

In Inherent, the dragons each have longer, more intricate names that they used at the dawn of time. Although these are not secret names, they are powerful and indicative of position and power. Of the three main dragons, only Mortathes has not shortened his name over time. He is also the only one who has not consigned large portions of his personality, power or history to the scrap-heap.

Aleshan enters Cihigu in a mild approximation of sanity. By the time he leaves, he does not even remember his own name. He is Predator. His name, his purpose, his meaning.

By the end of Inherent, one dragon will have regained his name, one will have died without returning to his name. Predator might become Aleshan again… If the Marasran hunters don’t kill him. See, the Marasran believe that once a name is forgotten, the soul is beyond redemption. So it’s up to Aleshan to remember his name.

Kigen and Corri will also have assumed new names after becoming King and Witch of Jastu, and their demeanor and personality will shift to fit those new names. Kigen must earn Amalain. He must stop thinking of himself as Kigen. For Corri, her acceptance of the name Moreda is easier: the birth of a child changes her entire world-view.

The challenge is in imparting to the reader the significance of a changing name, and in making that name bring the character with it. It’s a delicate balance!

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

The Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell act is quite obviously insane. For a country that prides itself on rights, freedom and acceptance, it’s one thing for gay marriage to be such an issue. It’s an entirely larger issue that one can be discharged simply for being gay or lesbian. But this sheds light on the real issues such soldiers face.

I’m proud of our military men and women. Several of my friends and family are current military, more are ex-military. But this just shames me.

And it shames me more to know that the excuses voiced in that act are supported by family… and by people I used to call friends.

It doesn’t matter if you are gay or lesbian, or if you do or don’t support gay marriage. This is an affront to liberty and to rights. And if you still hesitate… Think of what would happen if your husband or wife was injured or killed in war… and you didn’t have the right to visit them, to be there with them or even to know until much later when a family member or friend is able to call you.

Of Marasran Tribes

The Marasran–the Lost Gods of Inherent’s Cume–are a very old and deeply ritualistic race. Tribes, alliances, families and symbols mean a great deal to them and their power structure.

Here are two of the tribes that are referenced to some degree in Inherent.

CADAVÈU: the non-tribes
The Cadavèu are the Marasran who have never claimed a tribe. These include the Dragons, the First Children, and some Displaced. The Shadow Court tribes are referred to as Cadavèu-yur. Being such an individual and widely scattered group, there is no common appearance or description for them.
The Cadavèu wear a tattoo on their cheeks to denote that they do not belong to any tribe. This is an individualized tattoo with personal/historical significance attached to the personal tattoo in place of a tribal tattoo, or else the skin is left bare.

TALOS: remnants of the Monfuern
The Talos are the remnants of the Monfuern tribe, those who did not fall under the rule of Sertutxa and his consort Txikia. Their lords are the Imordi, and all Talos that lived through the Cleansing—and there were few—eventually gathered either to Saaqur or Arjun.
They are necromancers and death-lords and witches, the darkest and least trusted of the Marasran, even among the Mezhenda.

‘The Hunger’: Review

Browsing Netflix late at night is apparently either a really bad idea… Or a really good idea. After watching Corpse Bride last night, I stumbled across The Hunger, a series I had never heard of before.

The first episode I watched was Menage a Trois, the second episode of the series. Since Hunger bills itself as horror, I wanted to ease in slowly. Menage had less of the horror (in my opinion), but lots of sex. It was actually very well done for a small-budget production.

The Swords, Plain Brown Envelope, Anais, A Matter of Style and Footsteps were the others I watched. Of those, Style was easily my least favorite, but The Swords and Footsteps took the favorite category by storm.

Each episode opens with host Terence Stamp in some form of costume, expounding on different concepts of life, love, lust and depravity. It then slips into a story, often one narrated by one of the characters. Dialog is minimal, imagery is the key of the series. Some of the actors come across a little wooden, others sizzle. This does seem to be primarily character-driven, as plot is often minimal and most episodes are vignettes in people’s lives.

Daniel Craig is the male guest-star of Menage, and he pulls a tortured, lost act very well, possibly the best act of the series so far. The female stars tended to be fairly similar, even those billed as ‘exotic’ were the same small breasted, brunette (or red-head), pale pretty-girls. But one of the better aspect of the show was, to me, the every-man sort of characters. I could see these being real people, real events, even with werewolves and vampires. While the supernatural did make frequent appearance, it was submissive to the story, utilized as another character facet.

The over-all feeling of the show is a nice dystopian grit. The opening and closing sequences are often thought-provoking, the music is perfect. The writers of the episodes are noted horror authors like Poppy Z. Bright, Harlan Ellison and Gemma Files, and they generally deliver. The horror–at least in the episodes I watched–is not particularly gruesome or chilling, but that might be different in other episodes. The sex is soft-core erotica, with a bent for the kinky and animalistic, and really does go a long way to setting the mood of the episodes.

Overall, I like this series a lot. It has moments of being thought-provoking, and since each episode stands alone, they can be watched in any order desired. If you don’t like sex, stay away, there is plenty of that. Blood too, and disturbing images. The Hunger is dark, punchy and beautiful in a very dirty way.

And really, isn’t that what humanity is about? What fantasy, science-fiction, romance and horror writers really write? Lust, blood, brutality, folly, hunger?