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16
Week 1 posts / Re: We Who Paint The Trees
« on: August 08, 2020, 04:09:01 PM »
Oooooh, very vivid! Visceral, even! Very nicely done 
17
Week 1 posts / Re: Untitled: first steps towards a finished 1st draft, rhyming included!
« on: August 08, 2020, 09:39:21 AM »
Thank you Erin and SKaeth! Such lovely comments already!
I've tried to be as transparent as I can about how I approach writing, and as you can see it's a bit of a jumble. Even if I have a lot of ideas, they don't always make it into the first draft, and that's okay. I believe it's important to showcase that, too: all the oodles of creativity that never makes it into the story, from day one.
I hope you'll enjoy the next "instalment" of my ramblings.
I've tried to be as transparent as I can about how I approach writing, and as you can see it's a bit of a jumble. Even if I have a lot of ideas, they don't always make it into the first draft, and that's okay. I believe it's important to showcase that, too: all the oodles of creativity that never makes it into the story, from day one.
I hope you'll enjoy the next "instalment" of my ramblings.
18
Week 1 posts / Kindred: first draft, rhyming included!
« on: August 04, 2020, 10:20:07 PM »
Monday night: Sitting down to start this thing. I have my first impressions, https://writerinmotion.com/WIMForum/index.php?topic=204.0. I have all these shiny little ideas in my head -- do I want the main character to be a regal fairy type creature, such as an elf? No, not really. Trolls are made of different stuff. Do I want him to be something like H.C. Andersen's ugly duckling? Yes, please. Something boring, completely mundane, in brogues and pressed slacks and black wireframe glasses (all things I love).
An accountant!
But where to start? Not a clue. So: put on some Rob Zombie, and start typing, see where we end up -- me, myself, and my mountain-dwelling trolls. I don't usually listen to music when writing, but this feels more like an exercise in brainstorming. It works.
---
Once upon a time, not long ago at all, a changeling son returned to the halls of his Queen and Her King. Beneath the lush, flowing green of a hill, there lay a vast kingdom that reached as far as the horizon and burrowed into a great mountain. White flowers adorned the hilltop, framing an unassuming cottage with crisp, white walls, and within it, a fire that never went out. This humble cottage was the doorway through which stepped all manner of folk, to go before the Mountain King and tell him of the past year.
Queen-Mountain sat beside her King, both clad in moss that glowed from within. Along the cavernous walls there grew mushrooms that cast the halls with a crisp, untethered light that hung like gossamer about the gathering of fae. The gnomes brought many a bowl of porridge as tribute to the trolls, though by any measure of magic or blood they were on equal footing, one to the other. The elves saluted their cousins with wreaths of ivy and bluebells, being on their best behavior. But the changeling, knowing not the customs of his kith and kin, came before his parents empty-handed.
"What tribute, this, what travesty?" asked the Mountain King, staring at his firstborn from under a brow weighed down by cumbersome horns. "My son and heir--?"
"Expecting amnesty!" His Mother-Queen gestured with her taloned fingers. "Clothed as such: what is that?"
"A dress shirt!" Up-piped a goblin,
"A necktie for hanging!" Cried another,
"A consummate bureaucrat!"
The worst part of it all: they weren't wrong. "An accountant, actually," the changeling decreed. Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat. "But I see what you're getting at. I mean no disrespect, to return without a...boon?"
A boon! The congregation of fairies went up in a murmur.
(wordcount: 302)
---
This is how far I got before my cat, Humpty, told me it was midnight, and I'd better get my butt to bed. He's bossy like that.
I like it so far. As for edits, I haven't really changed stuff around or edited typos and such.
I wasn't entirely happy with the rhyming, which sent me on an excursion on the World Wide Web (yes, I'm That Age). What rhymes with travesty? Or 'that', for that matter. Me and 'that' have a love/hate relationship. It's mutually unrequited.
*
Tuesday: coffee break at work, this happened - notes! https://twitter.com/CollideWords/status/1290597213144522753. More direction, more of a clear idea of the three acts of the story. Not entirely sure about the stakes, but I know it has to do with belonging, home-coming, self-acceptance. All the good stuff. I do want to fit some courtly backstabbing in there somewhere, but not sure where just yet.
Have to think of something suitably gruesome. "Do X, or fail on pain of death" doesn?t really float my boat: there are worse fates than death. I would imagine it's the same for the fae.
Another thing I might end up changing is the Mountain-parentals. I think it could be more interesting if they swap places. If the mother troll demands to know what travesty it is to have her son returned in such a human guise, while the papa troll is more like "oh my gourd, that outfit". Papa Troll can be a total queen, shh.
I don't want to "waste" too many more words on the introductory act. It's already at 302, and I want to leave some wiggle room for the exposition. I tend to get wordy, so this is a definite challenge. Scary but fun!
Now the question becomes, how to continue?
Let's see what happens if I just start typing.
---
With every box his heart swelled, and would not fit.
"Must be inflammation."
(Wordcount: 13)
---
...this might fit in. Somewhere else. Start typing:
---
"Yes," boomed the King, sharing sharp grins with his throne'd equal. "We shall set forth a challenge."
The Queen laced fingers with her mate's. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.
"Quite: (RIDDLE STUFF GOES HERE)"
The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You've got to be joking!"
But, as is the wont of well-meaning parents, neither King nor Queen spoke in jest, sending him on his way with the raucous revelries of the fairy Houses ringing in his ear. It was a wonder he hadn't been turned to stone yet, as put forth by some...uncle twice or thrice removed and promptly forgotten.
(wordcount: 139, including the RIDDLE STUFF thing)
---
Thoughts on whereto next: Changeling tries and fails to build a box for his heart, see tweeted jottings, as every time he attempts to place it there the box is too small. What foul fairy magic is this? In one word: morbid - but I'm rolling with it for now. Changeling should realize that this Means Something(?), but I have to figure it out, first. Three stages: bewilderment, wonderment, and Eureka Moment. Remember the number 3 being important. Three trolls, three acts, three parts of the challenge, etc.
Why does he go along with it? Is it out of a need to belong, or find his roots? Is that what he's lacking?
...what if there's a hole in his heart that fills with doubt for every new attempt at finishing the damnable box? Is it that simple? Changeling will realize he doesn't need his parents' approval, because their expectations of him will always be too high - is that it? Hmmmm. More importantly, that realization doesn't necessarily have to come from within. He could be influenced by someone else's POV. A friend, or a lover? A tether to the supposedly substandard Human world, someone who acts like a looking glass through which he can see things more clearly.
It's almost midnight, time to post this. Next update to this thread, Thursday.
*
Thursday rolled around, finding me stressed out at realizing I'd overlooked a crucial bit of editing my novel manuscript: one of my Achilles' heels type words. "Just". This after sending out a query with a now-incorrect word count. Woe was me!
Even though I didn't actually end up updating (sorry!), I hereby present to you, my Wednesday-Thursday-Friday progress. It isn't much, but it goes to show even if you don't sit down and type anything, you can still be creative/productive.
https://twitter.com/CollideWords/status/1292028322059255818
*
Friday. TGIF! Luckily, Friday is the one day I'm off work early, which means more writing!
I CAN SO FINISH THIS STORY BEFORE DINNER!
---
Changeling plucked the glasses off his sizable nose and used his paisley pocket square to polish them. Fastidious. Precise. Like his favourite song.
Once home, he sat overlooking the concrete jungle, and wondered how to craft a box for his heart, or; how to remove it. From his chest.
(wordcount: 49)
---
I have to pause here, because inspiration struck me like a proverbial lightning bolt. I'm sitting there, half thinking about the riddle I've yet to magic into existence from the depths of my imagination; then thinking about what kind of role the human changeling would have (he could be a compass more than a looking glass, or a secret ally. I doubt he told his Troll parents he's there, helping their princeling child. He'd tell the troll prince "The riddle is a trap, it's a lie!")
And then something clicked at the forefront of my mind, going "A box is a box, but a chest?"
If he's been (wrongfully interpreting the riddle as if he's) tasked with building a box for his heart, and a key to lock it -- why build a box for it when it's already in a chest? Chest, as in container. As in ornate, handcrafted receptacle in which to put things.
Okay. Moving on.
---
The first day, he set out to the hardware store, returning with a bundle of tools and materials. Plywood for its sturdiness, metal hinges and bolts; tape measure, safety glasses, and a hammer. A toolkit for beginners, and a mountain of sharp little things. The first box he made was an eyesore, and much too small for his heart.
The second day, he made a second box, which was much improved both in craft and aesthetics. Changeling was pleased, but grew wary of cutting his own heart from his chest, knowing it would be a gruesome business.
The third day, his box was finished: resplendent despite its humble components, complete with a hinged lid and ornate clasp, and a lock befitting its key.
There was only one thing left, to carve out his heart, place it in the box, and lock it up, ready for presentation before his King. He shrugged out of his shirt and readied his knife, and just as he was about to set to it, mumbling "Third time's a charm," a desperate rapping came from his front door.
It was the other changeling, stood on his doorstep clad in regal moss and flowers like a wreath in his hair. (Wording, and thinking of John Bauer's trolls and other fae, and Elsa Beskow's iconic depictions of fairy creatures. If Troll is mundane and "boring", then Human should be ethereal and wispy and "pretty". Soft, wavy hair braided around the wreath of flowers?) He seemed as out of his element as a troll without its cave, but there he was, the flush of indignation painting his cheeks a raspberry pink.
"Three days it took me to find you, princeling! Three days, for you to almost kill yourself! Are you mad?"
The troll scratched his neatly coiffed head with the tip of his carving knife, unsure whether to be insulted. "Not as I'm aware." He turned on his heel, his tail trailing behind him, having slipped free of its confines. It was a hassle, to always hide the thing most eager to leap at the outside world and give a friendly swat. "I thought they ate babies," the troll went on, measuring his chest by the rolling of his eye.
Behind him, the human marched to his side and took the knife away. "For to be a prince, you'd need an inkling; three boxes on your shelf you never had! I tell you: that riddle's a trick, and you too dumb to see it!"
"I'm too dumb?" The troll guffawed, reaching for the blade, the human interjecting himself; for every verbal blow the distance closed between them:
"Thrice over, believe it! Daft and dithering!"
Troll scoffed. "I'm not the one who's rhyming."
The moment held, as did their eyes, a flush sparking in each chest. Like opposing magnetic poles they leapt apart, knife clattering on the table. The human cleared his throat, the troll much the same.
"What d'ya mean it's a trick? I'm not s'posed to build a box and lock it up with my heart in it?"
"Of course not!" The human hissed. "You dick--! Pardon. You think it not-- funny, the one son and heir be tasked to put knife to chest?"
"Well?"
The human slumped in a kitchen chair, the troll doing much the same, one chair creaking more than the other. Troll elaborated, "I guess I'm not good with riddles."
"You've your flaws, as I have mine: riddles not being amongst them. I've spent too much time among the fair folk not to gain an understanding."
Troll arched his eyebrow, brown eyes twinkling. "Not an 'inkling'?"
"Quiet," grinned the human. "The riddle: take a stab at it. You're to build a chest to fit your heart, and find a key for it."
"A lock and key, for safekeeping."
The human reached across the distance, placing his hand atop his fellow changeling's knuckles. "And what contains your heart, at present? Where does it lie in wait for greater things?"
The answer was easy. "Right here," said the troll, and tapped his breast with his closed fist.
The human, not yet satisfied, arched his brow and widened his green eyes in expectation. It was then it came to him: the answer to all his ponderings. The human's vibrant eyes a twin-mirror for his own miscalculations.
"I don't need to cut my own heart out! I'm not gonna do the job for them!"
Their nods were echoes, equally resolute. The King and Queen, without a legitimate heir, could reign forever more.
(wordcount: 772, counting the parentheses. Exceeded my limit, oops! I know I'll be editing a lot next week!)
---
I'll take a break here. Time for dinner + a kitty that demands my attention = not the best environment for typing. Time to ruminate, and finish this beast. Next update, TODAY! BECAUSE IT'S SATURDAY, WHOOO!
*
Saturday. Last day of the first week, the big reveal day, and I still haven't wrapped this baby up. I still have to come up with the resolution (I have an inkling, to paraphrase the human changeling), have to come up with a suitable riddle (or the wording thereof. I have an idea of its contents, but not the structure, as it were), and get it all done.
I have coffee. My second cup since breakfast. Scorpions blaring through my headphones: Here I am! Rock you like a hurricane!
Well. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Mission objective: last bit, return to Troll Court, let Troll princeling be smart (Trolls are otherwise known for not being too bright. I want this to be different. Might go back and portray that better in the first round of edits. So much editing to do. :3)
What else? I don't want it to be too dark. Must think of a happy ending. Ponder, ponder.
---
The faerie court was still in session when Troll and Human went as one before the Queen and her King. Troll was dressed in his finest, realizing his previous mistake, now adorned with all the baubles and pretty things in his possession: a nose ring set with turquoise, and earrings of 18 karat gold, and a pin for his tie that sparkled even in the otherworldly glow of the great hall.
"My son returns with his boon," announced the Queen. "A sight for sore eyes!"
"And the man-child at his side," noted the King. "In proper guise, the pair of them. What have you for us, children? Other than blatant mockery?"
"Hold your tongue," chastised Mother. "To make of them changelings was your idea: to scoff and scorn them now is folly! Show me, my darlings, what have you crafted?"
The princeling presented his box, and inside it lay his previous attempts: a box within a box within a box. His mother looked at him, demanding an explanation. "There's no heart, child. Why?"
"I was too literal about your task, Mother, that I tried and failed at it thrice over. It was only in meeting the human whose life you stole for my sake, that I saw through it. My heart is mine to give, not yours to demand, and there's no finer chest for it than my own. If anyone should unlock it, it's you. It is you who should find the key what fits."
The human's words rang in his mind still, the caution to tread carefully, lest he be right in his suspicions. Why else would they have sent their son away, and kept another as a surrogate, if not for their own, grim amusement? But all of a sudden the hall rang with claps like thunder, as the King put hand to hand in resounding applause.
"I told you he was cleverer than his looks suggest!" He boomed. "And the man-child isn't just a pretty face!"
The Queen moaned, publicly outed. "Never would I ascribe daftness to beauty, nor a lack of brains on one's father's side! And whose idea was it, but yours, to put him to the test!?"
Troll and Human looked at each other, as their parents?of sorts kept bickering. "I admit I was wrong," whispered the human, who wasn't a man-child in anything but heritage.
"I'm glad," said the troll prince. "Or we'd 've been starting a war over my heart."
"Not a good start: when your parents' sole crime was missing you, all along."
Troll reached between them, brushing the human's hand, pleased when their fingers twined. "If we're to be friends, you've got to stop with the rhyming."
Human chuckled, all a-twinkle like a faun. "If you're asking me out on a date, you've terrible timing."
And so it was, that a troll prince was set a challenge and failed, but came out a winner all the same.
~The End~
(wordcount: 501!!!! XD)
---
Alright! First draft is almost done!
I just have to go back and think of the riddle! Let's see?
---
((The Mother Queen laced fingers with her mate?s. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.))
"Quite: Key words: heart, box, carpentry? Lock and key. Should be ABAB structure, if four stanzas.
For every heart what needs a box,
For every lock, a key.
Present to me this paradox,
Make use of your degree.
((The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You?ve got to be joking!"))
---
I already know what I want to focus on over the next week, and it's not all to do with cutting down the wordcount -- although that's a must. If I leave out the parentheses etc, it's at 1711, so I'll be doing a lot of hacking away at the structure. Rewriting bits here and there, but more importantly, I want to work on my descriptions:
1) Up the bling for my troll clan. John Bauer's trolls are so utterly charming, and often done up with jewellery and fancy buttons. That's the aesthetics I'm going for. Darkness as well as light.
2) Play with the concept of trolls being stupid compared to humans, flip that trope.
3) Should Human Changeling look his age, or be magically youthful or ageless? Eh. Boring. He should look his age, but be a gorgeous fifty-year-old all done up in flowers and pretty mosses, like Sphagnum magellanicum.
4) See about reversing the King and Queen in the introductory scene. See what fits best.
5) More consistent rhyming from mama and papa troll.
And now, I give to you, the first draft itself, as it should be read. I'd love to know what you think!
~***~
Once upon a time, not long ago at all, a changeling son returned to the halls of his Queen and Her King. Beneath the lush, flowing green of a hill, there lay a vast kingdom that reached as far as the horizon and burrowed into a great mountain. White flowers adorned the hilltop, framing an unassuming cottage with crisp, white walls, and within it, a fire that never went out. This humble cottage was the doorway through which stepped all manner of folk, to go before the Mountain King and tell him of the past year.
Queen-Mountain sat beside her King, both clad in moss that glowed from within. Along the cavernous walls there grew mushrooms that cast the halls with a crisp, untethered light that hung like gossamer about the gathering of fae. The gnomes brought many a bowl of porridge as tribute to the trolls, though by any measure of magic or blood they were on equal footing, one to the other. The elves saluted their cousins with wreaths of ivy and bluebells, being on their best behavior. But the changeling, knowing not the customs of his kith and kin, came before his parents empty-handed.
"What tribute, this, what travesty?" asked the Mountain King, staring at his firstborn from under a brow weighed down by cumbersome horns. "My son and heir--?"
"Expecting amnesty!" His Mother-Queen gestured with her taloned fingers. "Clothed as such: what is that?"
"A dress shirt!" Up-piped a goblin,
"A necktie for hanging!" Cried another,
"A consummate bureaucrat!"
The worst part of it all: they weren't wrong. "An accountant, actually," the changeling decreed. Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat. "But I see what you're getting at. I mean no disrespect, to return without a...boon?"
A boon! The congregation of fairies went up in a murmur.
"Yes," boomed the King, sharing sharp grins with his throne?d equal. "We shall set forth a challenge."
The Mother Queen laced fingers with her mate?s. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.
"Quite: For every heart what needs a box; for every lock, a key. Present to me this paradox;
make use of your degree."
The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You?ve got to be joking!"
But, as is the wont of well-meaning parents, neither King nor Queen spoke in jest, sending him on his way with the raucous revelries of the fairy Houses ringing in his ear. It was a wonder he hadn?t been turned to stone yet, as put forth by some? uncle twice or thrice removed and promptly forgotten. Changeling plucked the glasses off his sizable nose and used his paisley pocket square to polish them. Fastidious. Precise. Like his favourite song.
Once home, he sat overlooking the concrete jungle, and wondered how to craft a box for his heart, or; how to remove it. From his chest.
The first day, he set out to the hardware store, returning with a bundle of tools and materials. Plywood for its sturdiness, metal hinges and bolts; tape measure, safety glasses, and a hammer. A toolkit for beginners, and a mountain of sharp little things. The first box he made was an eyesore, and much too small for his heart.
The second day, he made a second box, which was much improved both in craft and aesthetics. Changeling was pleased, but grew wary of cutting his own heart from his chest, knowing it would be a gruesome business.
The third day, his box was finished: resplendent despite its humble components, complete with a hinged lid and ornate clasp, and a lock befitting its key.
There was only one thing left, to carve out his heart, place it in the box, and lock it up, ready for presentation before his King. He shrugged out of his shirt and readied his knife, and just as he was about to set to it, mumbling "Third time's a charm," a desperate rapping came from his front door.
It was the other changeling, stood on his doorstep clad in regal moss and flowers like a wreath in his hair. He seemed as out of his element as a troll without its cave, but there he was, the flush of indignation painting his cheeks a raspberry pink.
"Three days it took me to find you, princeling! Three days, for you to almost kill yourself! Are you mad?"
The troll scratched his neatly coiffed head with the tip of his carving knife, unsure whether to be insulted. "Not as I'm aware." He turned on his heel, his tail trailing behind him, having slipped free of its confines. It was a hassle, to always hide the thing most eager to leap at the outside world and give a friendly swat. "I thought they ate babies," the troll went on, measuring his chest by the rolling of his eye.
Behind him, the human marched to his side and took the knife away. "For to be a prince, you'd need an inkling; three boxes on your shelf you never had! I tell you: that riddle's a trick, and you too dumb to see it!"
"I'm too dumb?" The troll guffawed, reaching for the blade, the human interjecting himself; for every verbal blow the distance closed between them:
"Thrice over, believe it! Daft and dithering!"
Troll scoffed. "I'm not the one who's rhyming."
The moment held, as did their eyes, a flush sparking in each chest. Like opposing magnetic poles they leapt apart, knife clattering on the table. The human cleared his throat, the troll much the same.
"What d'ya mean it's a trick? I'm not s'posed to build a box and lock it up with my heart in it?"
"Of course not!" The human hissed. "You dick--! Pardon. You think it not-- funny, the one son and heir be tasked to put knife to chest?"
"Well?" The human slumped in a kitchen chair, the troll doing much the same, one chair creaking more than the other. Troll elaborated, "I guess I'm not good with riddles."
"You've your flaws, as I have mine: riddles not being amongst them. I've spent too much time among the fair folk not to gain an understanding."
Troll arched his eyebrow, brown eye twinkling. "Not an 'inkling'?"
"Quiet," grinned the human. "The riddle: take a stab at it. You're to build a chest to fit your heart, and find a key for it."
"A lock and key, for safekeeping."
The human reached across the distance, placing his hand atop his fellow changeling's knuckles. "And what contains your heart, at present? Where does it lie in wait for greater things?"
The answer was easy. "Right here," said the troll, and tapped his breast with his closed fist.
The human, not yet satisfied, arched his brow and widened his green eyes in expectation. It was then it came to him: the answer to all his ponderings.
"I don't need to cut my own heart out! I'm not gonna do the job for them!"
Their nods were echoes, equally resolute. The King and Queen, without a legitimate heir, could reign forever more.
The faerie court was still in session when Troll and Human went as one before the Queen and her King. Troll was dressed in his finest, realizing his previous mistake, now adorned with all the baubles and pretty things in his possession: a nose ring set with turquoise, and earrings of 18 karat gold, and a pin for his tie that sparkled even in the otherworldly glow of the great hall.
"My son returns with his boon," announced the Queen. "A sight for sore eyes!"
"And the man-child at his side," noted the King. "In proper guise, the pair of them. What have you for us, children? Other than blatant mockery?"
"Hold your tongue," chastised Mother. "To make of them changelings was your idea: to scoff and scorn them now is folly! Show me, my darlings, what have you crafted?"
The princeling presented his box, and inside it lay his previous attempts: a box within a box within a box. His mother looked at him, demanding an explanation. "There's no heart, child. Why?"
"I was too literal about your task, Mother, that I tried and failed at it thrice over. It was only in meeting the human whose life you stole for my sake, that I saw through it. My heart is mine to give, not yours to demand, and there's no finer chest for it than my own. If anyone should unlock it, it's you. It is you who should find the key what fits."
The human's words rang in his mind still, the caution to tread carefully, lest he be right in his suspicions. Why else would they have sent their son away, and kept another as a surrogate, if not for their own, grim amusement? But all of a sudden the hall rang with claps like thunder, as the King put hand to hand in resounding applause.
"I told you he was cleverer than his looks suggest!" He boomed. "And the man-child isn't just a pretty face!"
The Queen moaned, publicly outed. "Never would I ascribe daftness to beauty, nor a lack of brains on one's father's side! And whose idea was it, but yours, to put him to the test!?"
Troll and Human looked at each other, as their parents?of sorts kept bickering. "I admit I was wrong," whispered the human, who wasn't a man-child in anything but heritage.
"I'm glad," said the troll prince. "Or we'd 've been starting a war over my heart."
"Not a good start: when your parents' sole crime was missing you, all along."
Troll reached between them, brushing the human's hand, pleased when their fingers twined. "If we're to be friends, you've got to stop with the rhyming."
Human chuckled, all a-twinkle like a faun. "If you're asking me out on a date, you've terrible timing."
And so it was, that a troll prince was set a challenge and failed, but came out a winner all the same.
~The End~
An accountant!
But where to start? Not a clue. So: put on some Rob Zombie, and start typing, see where we end up -- me, myself, and my mountain-dwelling trolls. I don't usually listen to music when writing, but this feels more like an exercise in brainstorming. It works.
---
Once upon a time, not long ago at all, a changeling son returned to the halls of his Queen and Her King. Beneath the lush, flowing green of a hill, there lay a vast kingdom that reached as far as the horizon and burrowed into a great mountain. White flowers adorned the hilltop, framing an unassuming cottage with crisp, white walls, and within it, a fire that never went out. This humble cottage was the doorway through which stepped all manner of folk, to go before the Mountain King and tell him of the past year.
Queen-Mountain sat beside her King, both clad in moss that glowed from within. Along the cavernous walls there grew mushrooms that cast the halls with a crisp, untethered light that hung like gossamer about the gathering of fae. The gnomes brought many a bowl of porridge as tribute to the trolls, though by any measure of magic or blood they were on equal footing, one to the other. The elves saluted their cousins with wreaths of ivy and bluebells, being on their best behavior. But the changeling, knowing not the customs of his kith and kin, came before his parents empty-handed.
"What tribute, this, what travesty?" asked the Mountain King, staring at his firstborn from under a brow weighed down by cumbersome horns. "My son and heir--?"
"Expecting amnesty!" His Mother-Queen gestured with her taloned fingers. "Clothed as such: what is that?"
"A dress shirt!" Up-piped a goblin,
"A necktie for hanging!" Cried another,
"A consummate bureaucrat!"
The worst part of it all: they weren't wrong. "An accountant, actually," the changeling decreed. Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat. "But I see what you're getting at. I mean no disrespect, to return without a...boon?"
A boon! The congregation of fairies went up in a murmur.
(wordcount: 302)
---
This is how far I got before my cat, Humpty, told me it was midnight, and I'd better get my butt to bed. He's bossy like that.
I like it so far. As for edits, I haven't really changed stuff around or edited typos and such.
I wasn't entirely happy with the rhyming, which sent me on an excursion on the World Wide Web (yes, I'm That Age). What rhymes with travesty? Or 'that', for that matter. Me and 'that' have a love/hate relationship. It's mutually unrequited.
*
Tuesday: coffee break at work, this happened - notes! https://twitter.com/CollideWords/status/1290597213144522753. More direction, more of a clear idea of the three acts of the story. Not entirely sure about the stakes, but I know it has to do with belonging, home-coming, self-acceptance. All the good stuff. I do want to fit some courtly backstabbing in there somewhere, but not sure where just yet.
Have to think of something suitably gruesome. "Do X, or fail on pain of death" doesn?t really float my boat: there are worse fates than death. I would imagine it's the same for the fae.
Another thing I might end up changing is the Mountain-parentals. I think it could be more interesting if they swap places. If the mother troll demands to know what travesty it is to have her son returned in such a human guise, while the papa troll is more like "oh my gourd, that outfit". Papa Troll can be a total queen, shh.
I don't want to "waste" too many more words on the introductory act. It's already at 302, and I want to leave some wiggle room for the exposition. I tend to get wordy, so this is a definite challenge. Scary but fun!
Now the question becomes, how to continue?
Let's see what happens if I just start typing.
---
With every box his heart swelled, and would not fit.
"Must be inflammation."
(Wordcount: 13)
---
...this might fit in. Somewhere else. Start typing:
---
"Yes," boomed the King, sharing sharp grins with his throne'd equal. "We shall set forth a challenge."
The Queen laced fingers with her mate's. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.
"Quite: (RIDDLE STUFF GOES HERE)"
The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You've got to be joking!"
But, as is the wont of well-meaning parents, neither King nor Queen spoke in jest, sending him on his way with the raucous revelries of the fairy Houses ringing in his ear. It was a wonder he hadn't been turned to stone yet, as put forth by some...uncle twice or thrice removed and promptly forgotten.
(wordcount: 139, including the RIDDLE STUFF thing)
---
Thoughts on whereto next: Changeling tries and fails to build a box for his heart, see tweeted jottings, as every time he attempts to place it there the box is too small. What foul fairy magic is this? In one word: morbid - but I'm rolling with it for now. Changeling should realize that this Means Something(?), but I have to figure it out, first. Three stages: bewilderment, wonderment, and Eureka Moment. Remember the number 3 being important. Three trolls, three acts, three parts of the challenge, etc.
Why does he go along with it? Is it out of a need to belong, or find his roots? Is that what he's lacking?
...what if there's a hole in his heart that fills with doubt for every new attempt at finishing the damnable box? Is it that simple? Changeling will realize he doesn't need his parents' approval, because their expectations of him will always be too high - is that it? Hmmmm. More importantly, that realization doesn't necessarily have to come from within. He could be influenced by someone else's POV. A friend, or a lover? A tether to the supposedly substandard Human world, someone who acts like a looking glass through which he can see things more clearly.
It's almost midnight, time to post this. Next update to this thread, Thursday.
*
Thursday rolled around, finding me stressed out at realizing I'd overlooked a crucial bit of editing my novel manuscript: one of my Achilles' heels type words. "Just". This after sending out a query with a now-incorrect word count. Woe was me!
Even though I didn't actually end up updating (sorry!), I hereby present to you, my Wednesday-Thursday-Friday progress. It isn't much, but it goes to show even if you don't sit down and type anything, you can still be creative/productive.
https://twitter.com/CollideWords/status/1292028322059255818
*
Friday. TGIF! Luckily, Friday is the one day I'm off work early, which means more writing!
I CAN SO FINISH THIS STORY BEFORE DINNER!---
Changeling plucked the glasses off his sizable nose and used his paisley pocket square to polish them. Fastidious. Precise. Like his favourite song.
Once home, he sat overlooking the concrete jungle, and wondered how to craft a box for his heart, or; how to remove it. From his chest.
(wordcount: 49)
---
I have to pause here, because inspiration struck me like a proverbial lightning bolt. I'm sitting there, half thinking about the riddle I've yet to magic into existence from the depths of my imagination; then thinking about what kind of role the human changeling would have (he could be a compass more than a looking glass, or a secret ally. I doubt he told his Troll parents he's there, helping their princeling child. He'd tell the troll prince "The riddle is a trap, it's a lie!")
And then something clicked at the forefront of my mind, going "A box is a box, but a chest?"
If he's been (wrongfully interpreting the riddle as if he's) tasked with building a box for his heart, and a key to lock it -- why build a box for it when it's already in a chest? Chest, as in container. As in ornate, handcrafted receptacle in which to put things.
Okay. Moving on.
---
The first day, he set out to the hardware store, returning with a bundle of tools and materials. Plywood for its sturdiness, metal hinges and bolts; tape measure, safety glasses, and a hammer. A toolkit for beginners, and a mountain of sharp little things. The first box he made was an eyesore, and much too small for his heart.
The second day, he made a second box, which was much improved both in craft and aesthetics. Changeling was pleased, but grew wary of cutting his own heart from his chest, knowing it would be a gruesome business.
The third day, his box was finished: resplendent despite its humble components, complete with a hinged lid and ornate clasp, and a lock befitting its key.
There was only one thing left, to carve out his heart, place it in the box, and lock it up, ready for presentation before his King. He shrugged out of his shirt and readied his knife, and just as he was about to set to it, mumbling "Third time's a charm," a desperate rapping came from his front door.
It was the other changeling, stood on his doorstep clad in regal moss and flowers like a wreath in his hair. (Wording, and thinking of John Bauer's trolls and other fae, and Elsa Beskow's iconic depictions of fairy creatures. If Troll is mundane and "boring", then Human should be ethereal and wispy and "pretty". Soft, wavy hair braided around the wreath of flowers?) He seemed as out of his element as a troll without its cave, but there he was, the flush of indignation painting his cheeks a raspberry pink.
"Three days it took me to find you, princeling! Three days, for you to almost kill yourself! Are you mad?"
The troll scratched his neatly coiffed head with the tip of his carving knife, unsure whether to be insulted. "Not as I'm aware." He turned on his heel, his tail trailing behind him, having slipped free of its confines. It was a hassle, to always hide the thing most eager to leap at the outside world and give a friendly swat. "I thought they ate babies," the troll went on, measuring his chest by the rolling of his eye.
Behind him, the human marched to his side and took the knife away. "For to be a prince, you'd need an inkling; three boxes on your shelf you never had! I tell you: that riddle's a trick, and you too dumb to see it!"
"I'm too dumb?" The troll guffawed, reaching for the blade, the human interjecting himself; for every verbal blow the distance closed between them:
"Thrice over, believe it! Daft and dithering!"
Troll scoffed. "I'm not the one who's rhyming."
The moment held, as did their eyes, a flush sparking in each chest. Like opposing magnetic poles they leapt apart, knife clattering on the table. The human cleared his throat, the troll much the same.
"What d'ya mean it's a trick? I'm not s'posed to build a box and lock it up with my heart in it?"
"Of course not!" The human hissed. "You dick--! Pardon. You think it not-- funny, the one son and heir be tasked to put knife to chest?"
"Well?"
The human slumped in a kitchen chair, the troll doing much the same, one chair creaking more than the other. Troll elaborated, "I guess I'm not good with riddles."
"You've your flaws, as I have mine: riddles not being amongst them. I've spent too much time among the fair folk not to gain an understanding."
Troll arched his eyebrow, brown eyes twinkling. "Not an 'inkling'?"
"Quiet," grinned the human. "The riddle: take a stab at it. You're to build a chest to fit your heart, and find a key for it."
"A lock and key, for safekeeping."
The human reached across the distance, placing his hand atop his fellow changeling's knuckles. "And what contains your heart, at present? Where does it lie in wait for greater things?"
The answer was easy. "Right here," said the troll, and tapped his breast with his closed fist.
The human, not yet satisfied, arched his brow and widened his green eyes in expectation. It was then it came to him: the answer to all his ponderings. The human's vibrant eyes a twin-mirror for his own miscalculations.
"I don't need to cut my own heart out! I'm not gonna do the job for them!"
Their nods were echoes, equally resolute. The King and Queen, without a legitimate heir, could reign forever more.
(wordcount: 772, counting the parentheses. Exceeded my limit, oops! I know I'll be editing a lot next week!)
---
I'll take a break here. Time for dinner + a kitty that demands my attention = not the best environment for typing. Time to ruminate, and finish this beast. Next update, TODAY! BECAUSE IT'S SATURDAY, WHOOO!
*
Saturday. Last day of the first week, the big reveal day, and I still haven't wrapped this baby up. I still have to come up with the resolution (I have an inkling, to paraphrase the human changeling), have to come up with a suitable riddle (or the wording thereof. I have an idea of its contents, but not the structure, as it were), and get it all done.
I have coffee. My second cup since breakfast. Scorpions blaring through my headphones: Here I am! Rock you like a hurricane!
Well. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Mission objective: last bit, return to Troll Court, let Troll princeling be smart (Trolls are otherwise known for not being too bright. I want this to be different. Might go back and portray that better in the first round of edits. So much editing to do. :3)
What else? I don't want it to be too dark. Must think of a happy ending. Ponder, ponder.
---
The faerie court was still in session when Troll and Human went as one before the Queen and her King. Troll was dressed in his finest, realizing his previous mistake, now adorned with all the baubles and pretty things in his possession: a nose ring set with turquoise, and earrings of 18 karat gold, and a pin for his tie that sparkled even in the otherworldly glow of the great hall.
"My son returns with his boon," announced the Queen. "A sight for sore eyes!"
"And the man-child at his side," noted the King. "In proper guise, the pair of them. What have you for us, children? Other than blatant mockery?"
"Hold your tongue," chastised Mother. "To make of them changelings was your idea: to scoff and scorn them now is folly! Show me, my darlings, what have you crafted?"
The princeling presented his box, and inside it lay his previous attempts: a box within a box within a box. His mother looked at him, demanding an explanation. "There's no heart, child. Why?"
"I was too literal about your task, Mother, that I tried and failed at it thrice over. It was only in meeting the human whose life you stole for my sake, that I saw through it. My heart is mine to give, not yours to demand, and there's no finer chest for it than my own. If anyone should unlock it, it's you. It is you who should find the key what fits."
The human's words rang in his mind still, the caution to tread carefully, lest he be right in his suspicions. Why else would they have sent their son away, and kept another as a surrogate, if not for their own, grim amusement? But all of a sudden the hall rang with claps like thunder, as the King put hand to hand in resounding applause.
"I told you he was cleverer than his looks suggest!" He boomed. "And the man-child isn't just a pretty face!"
The Queen moaned, publicly outed. "Never would I ascribe daftness to beauty, nor a lack of brains on one's father's side! And whose idea was it, but yours, to put him to the test!?"
Troll and Human looked at each other, as their parents?of sorts kept bickering. "I admit I was wrong," whispered the human, who wasn't a man-child in anything but heritage.
"I'm glad," said the troll prince. "Or we'd 've been starting a war over my heart."
"Not a good start: when your parents' sole crime was missing you, all along."
Troll reached between them, brushing the human's hand, pleased when their fingers twined. "If we're to be friends, you've got to stop with the rhyming."
Human chuckled, all a-twinkle like a faun. "If you're asking me out on a date, you've terrible timing."
And so it was, that a troll prince was set a challenge and failed, but came out a winner all the same.
~The End~
(wordcount: 501!!!! XD)
---
Alright! First draft is almost done!
I just have to go back and think of the riddle! Let's see?
---
((The Mother Queen laced fingers with her mate?s. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.))
"Quite: Key words: heart, box, carpentry? Lock and key. Should be ABAB structure, if four stanzas.
For every heart what needs a box,
For every lock, a key.
Present to me this paradox,
Make use of your degree.
((The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You?ve got to be joking!"))
---
I already know what I want to focus on over the next week, and it's not all to do with cutting down the wordcount -- although that's a must. If I leave out the parentheses etc, it's at 1711, so I'll be doing a lot of hacking away at the structure. Rewriting bits here and there, but more importantly, I want to work on my descriptions:
1) Up the bling for my troll clan. John Bauer's trolls are so utterly charming, and often done up with jewellery and fancy buttons. That's the aesthetics I'm going for. Darkness as well as light.
2) Play with the concept of trolls being stupid compared to humans, flip that trope.
3) Should Human Changeling look his age, or be magically youthful or ageless? Eh. Boring. He should look his age, but be a gorgeous fifty-year-old all done up in flowers and pretty mosses, like Sphagnum magellanicum.
4) See about reversing the King and Queen in the introductory scene. See what fits best.
5) More consistent rhyming from mama and papa troll.
And now, I give to you, the first draft itself, as it should be read.
I'd love to know what you think!~***~
Once upon a time, not long ago at all, a changeling son returned to the halls of his Queen and Her King. Beneath the lush, flowing green of a hill, there lay a vast kingdom that reached as far as the horizon and burrowed into a great mountain. White flowers adorned the hilltop, framing an unassuming cottage with crisp, white walls, and within it, a fire that never went out. This humble cottage was the doorway through which stepped all manner of folk, to go before the Mountain King and tell him of the past year.
Queen-Mountain sat beside her King, both clad in moss that glowed from within. Along the cavernous walls there grew mushrooms that cast the halls with a crisp, untethered light that hung like gossamer about the gathering of fae. The gnomes brought many a bowl of porridge as tribute to the trolls, though by any measure of magic or blood they were on equal footing, one to the other. The elves saluted their cousins with wreaths of ivy and bluebells, being on their best behavior. But the changeling, knowing not the customs of his kith and kin, came before his parents empty-handed.
"What tribute, this, what travesty?" asked the Mountain King, staring at his firstborn from under a brow weighed down by cumbersome horns. "My son and heir--?"
"Expecting amnesty!" His Mother-Queen gestured with her taloned fingers. "Clothed as such: what is that?"
"A dress shirt!" Up-piped a goblin,
"A necktie for hanging!" Cried another,
"A consummate bureaucrat!"
The worst part of it all: they weren't wrong. "An accountant, actually," the changeling decreed. Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat. "But I see what you're getting at. I mean no disrespect, to return without a...boon?"
A boon! The congregation of fairies went up in a murmur.
"Yes," boomed the King, sharing sharp grins with his throne?d equal. "We shall set forth a challenge."
The Mother Queen laced fingers with her mate?s. "A task."
"A task fit for a princeling."
"A riddle to be solved?" Asked the Queen, and the courtiers cheered.
"Quite: For every heart what needs a box; for every lock, a key. Present to me this paradox;
make use of your degree."
The changeling blinked, owl-like behind his glasses. "Wait, hang on- You want me to do what? Make a box for my heart, and a key to lock it? You?ve got to be joking!"
But, as is the wont of well-meaning parents, neither King nor Queen spoke in jest, sending him on his way with the raucous revelries of the fairy Houses ringing in his ear. It was a wonder he hadn?t been turned to stone yet, as put forth by some? uncle twice or thrice removed and promptly forgotten. Changeling plucked the glasses off his sizable nose and used his paisley pocket square to polish them. Fastidious. Precise. Like his favourite song.
Once home, he sat overlooking the concrete jungle, and wondered how to craft a box for his heart, or; how to remove it. From his chest.
The first day, he set out to the hardware store, returning with a bundle of tools and materials. Plywood for its sturdiness, metal hinges and bolts; tape measure, safety glasses, and a hammer. A toolkit for beginners, and a mountain of sharp little things. The first box he made was an eyesore, and much too small for his heart.
The second day, he made a second box, which was much improved both in craft and aesthetics. Changeling was pleased, but grew wary of cutting his own heart from his chest, knowing it would be a gruesome business.
The third day, his box was finished: resplendent despite its humble components, complete with a hinged lid and ornate clasp, and a lock befitting its key.
There was only one thing left, to carve out his heart, place it in the box, and lock it up, ready for presentation before his King. He shrugged out of his shirt and readied his knife, and just as he was about to set to it, mumbling "Third time's a charm," a desperate rapping came from his front door.
It was the other changeling, stood on his doorstep clad in regal moss and flowers like a wreath in his hair. He seemed as out of his element as a troll without its cave, but there he was, the flush of indignation painting his cheeks a raspberry pink.
"Three days it took me to find you, princeling! Three days, for you to almost kill yourself! Are you mad?"
The troll scratched his neatly coiffed head with the tip of his carving knife, unsure whether to be insulted. "Not as I'm aware." He turned on his heel, his tail trailing behind him, having slipped free of its confines. It was a hassle, to always hide the thing most eager to leap at the outside world and give a friendly swat. "I thought they ate babies," the troll went on, measuring his chest by the rolling of his eye.
Behind him, the human marched to his side and took the knife away. "For to be a prince, you'd need an inkling; three boxes on your shelf you never had! I tell you: that riddle's a trick, and you too dumb to see it!"
"I'm too dumb?" The troll guffawed, reaching for the blade, the human interjecting himself; for every verbal blow the distance closed between them:
"Thrice over, believe it! Daft and dithering!"
Troll scoffed. "I'm not the one who's rhyming."
The moment held, as did their eyes, a flush sparking in each chest. Like opposing magnetic poles they leapt apart, knife clattering on the table. The human cleared his throat, the troll much the same.
"What d'ya mean it's a trick? I'm not s'posed to build a box and lock it up with my heart in it?"
"Of course not!" The human hissed. "You dick--! Pardon. You think it not-- funny, the one son and heir be tasked to put knife to chest?"
"Well?" The human slumped in a kitchen chair, the troll doing much the same, one chair creaking more than the other. Troll elaborated, "I guess I'm not good with riddles."
"You've your flaws, as I have mine: riddles not being amongst them. I've spent too much time among the fair folk not to gain an understanding."
Troll arched his eyebrow, brown eye twinkling. "Not an 'inkling'?"
"Quiet," grinned the human. "The riddle: take a stab at it. You're to build a chest to fit your heart, and find a key for it."
"A lock and key, for safekeeping."
The human reached across the distance, placing his hand atop his fellow changeling's knuckles. "And what contains your heart, at present? Where does it lie in wait for greater things?"
The answer was easy. "Right here," said the troll, and tapped his breast with his closed fist.
The human, not yet satisfied, arched his brow and widened his green eyes in expectation. It was then it came to him: the answer to all his ponderings.
"I don't need to cut my own heart out! I'm not gonna do the job for them!"
Their nods were echoes, equally resolute. The King and Queen, without a legitimate heir, could reign forever more.
The faerie court was still in session when Troll and Human went as one before the Queen and her King. Troll was dressed in his finest, realizing his previous mistake, now adorned with all the baubles and pretty things in his possession: a nose ring set with turquoise, and earrings of 18 karat gold, and a pin for his tie that sparkled even in the otherworldly glow of the great hall.
"My son returns with his boon," announced the Queen. "A sight for sore eyes!"
"And the man-child at his side," noted the King. "In proper guise, the pair of them. What have you for us, children? Other than blatant mockery?"
"Hold your tongue," chastised Mother. "To make of them changelings was your idea: to scoff and scorn them now is folly! Show me, my darlings, what have you crafted?"
The princeling presented his box, and inside it lay his previous attempts: a box within a box within a box. His mother looked at him, demanding an explanation. "There's no heart, child. Why?"
"I was too literal about your task, Mother, that I tried and failed at it thrice over. It was only in meeting the human whose life you stole for my sake, that I saw through it. My heart is mine to give, not yours to demand, and there's no finer chest for it than my own. If anyone should unlock it, it's you. It is you who should find the key what fits."
The human's words rang in his mind still, the caution to tread carefully, lest he be right in his suspicions. Why else would they have sent their son away, and kept another as a surrogate, if not for their own, grim amusement? But all of a sudden the hall rang with claps like thunder, as the King put hand to hand in resounding applause.
"I told you he was cleverer than his looks suggest!" He boomed. "And the man-child isn't just a pretty face!"
The Queen moaned, publicly outed. "Never would I ascribe daftness to beauty, nor a lack of brains on one's father's side! And whose idea was it, but yours, to put him to the test!?"
Troll and Human looked at each other, as their parents?of sorts kept bickering. "I admit I was wrong," whispered the human, who wasn't a man-child in anything but heritage.
"I'm glad," said the troll prince. "Or we'd 've been starting a war over my heart."
"Not a good start: when your parents' sole crime was missing you, all along."
Troll reached between them, brushing the human's hand, pleased when their fingers twined. "If we're to be friends, you've got to stop with the rhyming."
Human chuckled, all a-twinkle like a faun. "If you're asking me out on a date, you've terrible timing."
And so it was, that a troll prince was set a challenge and failed, but came out a winner all the same.
~The End~
19
Week 0 posts / First impressions in free-form. Footloose and fancy. ;)
« on: August 02, 2020, 10:38:45 AM »
As first impressions go, my process is to let the imagery sink in. Really sink in, and percolate inside my brain like freshly ground coffee: nice and dark.
The landscape is both familiar and somewhat exotic, the mountains and the vegetation reminding me of home while the white-washed cottage speaks more of faraway, Mediterranean Europe. However, if you?re myopic like me, and your first impression of the prompt was through the metaphorical lens of a tiny touch screen, you can almost see a procession of beautiful fairy creatures marching through the undergrowth rising up like a miniature jungle. All those pristine white flowers, swaying in the wind -- what if they were something else entirely, but still intrinsically linked to the land from which they grew?
I grew up on a steady diet of Scandinavian folklore riddled with stories of littlefolk and dangerous critters; of trolls and dwarves and elves; of a naked man playing the fiddle in the brooks and rivers of the forest (much like the Huldra of Viking lore, but where the Huldra would seduce young men so she could feed off their souls, N?cken would lure children to a watery grave).
There?s always a hint of darkness to folklore, and Norse myth is no different, be it subtle or very blatant... And I do love a good, suitably gruesome fairytale. Perhaps I?ll run with the idea of various congregations of fae emerging from the surrounding landscape to descend onto the cottage. That sparks questions:
It could be a portal to the underworld (another theme of Nordic folklore: many of the fairy folk dwelled underground). Every year, the Troll King summons his subjects, that they, being his eyes and ears aimed at the human world, can report their observations. It?s a big feast, a celebration of the plentiful gifts offered to the fae by the humans. Human babies are brought to the feast -- stolen by the fairies, a fairy child left in its place.
This isn?t the story of the Troll King. This is the story of his Changeling son, the princeling left in a Human household some fifty or hundred years ago. Raised by Humans, like so many of his kith and kin -- misunderstood and feared and scorned for his Otherness -- and now he returns home. Home: to the cavernous halls of the underworld lit up by bioluminescent moss and fungi. Home: to cutthroat politics and greed and the narrowmindedness of old bloodlines. Home. To the very things he wished to escape.
Sounds like it could be an allegorical fairytale on the LGBTQIA+ condition.
Yes. I can work with that.
The landscape is both familiar and somewhat exotic, the mountains and the vegetation reminding me of home while the white-washed cottage speaks more of faraway, Mediterranean Europe. However, if you?re myopic like me, and your first impression of the prompt was through the metaphorical lens of a tiny touch screen, you can almost see a procession of beautiful fairy creatures marching through the undergrowth rising up like a miniature jungle. All those pristine white flowers, swaying in the wind -- what if they were something else entirely, but still intrinsically linked to the land from which they grew?
I grew up on a steady diet of Scandinavian folklore riddled with stories of littlefolk and dangerous critters; of trolls and dwarves and elves; of a naked man playing the fiddle in the brooks and rivers of the forest (much like the Huldra of Viking lore, but where the Huldra would seduce young men so she could feed off their souls, N?cken would lure children to a watery grave).
There?s always a hint of darkness to folklore, and Norse myth is no different, be it subtle or very blatant... And I do love a good, suitably gruesome fairytale. Perhaps I?ll run with the idea of various congregations of fae emerging from the surrounding landscape to descend onto the cottage. That sparks questions:
- Why the cottage?
- Is it actually a cottage, or something else entirely?
It could be a portal to the underworld (another theme of Nordic folklore: many of the fairy folk dwelled underground). Every year, the Troll King summons his subjects, that they, being his eyes and ears aimed at the human world, can report their observations. It?s a big feast, a celebration of the plentiful gifts offered to the fae by the humans. Human babies are brought to the feast -- stolen by the fairies, a fairy child left in its place.
This isn?t the story of the Troll King. This is the story of his Changeling son, the princeling left in a Human household some fifty or hundred years ago. Raised by Humans, like so many of his kith and kin -- misunderstood and feared and scorned for his Otherness -- and now he returns home. Home: to the cavernous halls of the underworld lit up by bioluminescent moss and fungi. Home: to cutthroat politics and greed and the narrowmindedness of old bloodlines. Home. To the very things he wished to escape.
Sounds like it could be an allegorical fairytale on the LGBTQIA+ condition.
Yes. I can work with that.
20
Writer & Editor Bios / Anthony Eden : LGBTQIA+ themed spec fic, dark SFF, literary-leaning
« on: July 31, 2020, 04:32:54 PM »
Name: Anthony Eden
Preferred Pronouns: They/them, but I'm not too bovvered if you forget.
Bio: Not much to tell. I'm a self-proclaimed "happily queer writer" (although I'm often evil to my poor characters), a proud catparent. I've finished my first novel (CODE-NAME: PROMETHEUS) and I'm trying to unlock the querying mystery. Me, present a sales pitch about my literary SF baby? It's a process. XD FRANKENSTEIN x FRINGE x X-FILES? Update: I'm currently editing my second novel, the steampunk mystery one with vampires. No blood magic, but other types of magic - such as clockwork-run automatons.
What type of stories do you write?
I tend to lean towards stories that may seem otherworldly, but are really a thinly veiled narrative of our contemporary world. I'm also a huge geek for all kinds of folklore. I write love stories that aren't technically romance novels, and I love flipping an old, tired trope on its gay little head. That actually sums me up kinda good: tropes galore, but make it gay.
What are you working on right now?
I'm fiddling with my second (or third? technically?) novel, also sci-fi, but with steampunk elements and blood magic. In one sentence, it's about vampires and humans on their first, joint venture into space -- and things go horribly wrong, as they are wont to do.
Update: the second-technically-third novel turned into something entirely different, but I'm very proud of it. My new projects are a potential sequel to the steampunk mystery, as well as a Nordic Fantasy with robots.
Connect With Me:
@CollideWords
Preferred Pronouns: They/them, but I'm not too bovvered if you forget.
Bio: Not much to tell. I'm a self-proclaimed "happily queer writer" (although I'm often evil to my poor characters), a proud catparent. I've finished my first novel (CODE-NAME: PROMETHEUS) and I'm trying to unlock the querying mystery. Me, present a sales pitch about my literary SF baby? It's a process. XD FRANKENSTEIN x FRINGE x X-FILES? Update: I'm currently editing my second novel, the steampunk mystery one with vampires. No blood magic, but other types of magic - such as clockwork-run automatons.
What type of stories do you write?
I tend to lean towards stories that may seem otherworldly, but are really a thinly veiled narrative of our contemporary world. I'm also a huge geek for all kinds of folklore. I write love stories that aren't technically romance novels, and I love flipping an old, tired trope on its gay little head. That actually sums me up kinda good: tropes galore, but make it gay.
What are you working on right now?
I'm fiddling with my second (or third? technically?) novel, also sci-fi, but with steampunk elements and blood magic. In one sentence, it's about vampires and humans on their first, joint venture into space -- and things go horribly wrong, as they are wont to do.
Update: the second-technically-third novel turned into something entirely different, but I'm very proud of it. My new projects are a potential sequel to the steampunk mystery, as well as a Nordic Fantasy with robots.Connect With Me:
@CollideWords
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