Paddy's Wanderings

Still Here, Still Scribbling

You know you are in trouble when the first sentence of a blog post is an apology for not posting in awhile. I will refrain from that so we start off on the right foot. However, allow me to make a few observations for today, then we can get back to the normal stuff tomorrow, I hope.

It has been six days since I posted a blog piece. I miss blogging about stuff. I have been busy elsewhere in the wacky world of writing. No, I have not been screwing off, at least not any more then normal. This month has just been a month for novel busting.

But is that not in November you ask? And, and did you not post a blog entry every day in November whilst scribbling like you were possessed? No it is not November, and yes I did post like crazy, everyday back then. This is different. But, but why?

I don't know why. All I know is that there is a certain amount of time I devote to writing every day. Sometimes I can write longer, sometimes it is shorter. The amount of energy needed fluctuates. Hence, my output fluctuates and my focus sometimes gets lasered in on one thing. Take the novel for example. I am trying to make order to that first draft, to come up with a second draft. This is harder then the first draft, or so it seems.

So I may not be around here as much as I would like, because that blasted novel will take precedence, every time. Fear not wanderers, I will be here, posting crazy stuff, maybe just not as much as normal. Then again, who knows?

Back to the misty lake and the trials and tribulations of my cast of characters...

The Village

A rough draft excerpt from the blasted novel. It is a story Krish is telling that takes place before the main story line, before Carnac dies. Krish is the storyteller, and as such, he tells Carnac's widow, Larissa, about the role they played in the war. This is the beginning of one of those stories..

They had been traveling for two days after the disaster of the battle by the river. A band of warriors that had arrived late were now holding the enemy, allowing the tattered remnants of the fort to retreat north to relative safety. Krish drove the wagon team hard across the uneven track, pushing everyone to their limits, trying to reach the small grove of Alyn. They were weary from battle, but Krish had hoped that the Elders would be able to help Riggs.

Sam tended his head wound the best that she could with the limited amount of supplies she had on hand. Storm prowled back and forth through the line, his arm still hanging at an awkward angle, the bandages showing fresh blood. They were all battered to some degree, none as bad as Riggs. In the hasty retreat, Sam cleaned the head wound, but Riggs was still unconscious and they were all worried.

As the afternoon of the second day wore on, they crested a small hill and could see the grove for the first time. What they had taken for cooking fires was the remnants of burned out buildings still smoking in ruins. The scouts joined them at the top hill, having secured the back trail and they stood in shock at the scene below. The small grove had been hacked apart and only a few chickens and an old woman slumped in a doorway were visible.

Krish cracked the reins and steered the wagon down the hill, the rest fanning out in a protective formation. Tired but wary, they entered the outskirts of the grove. The old woman was breathing heavy and looked exhausted as she stared at the newcomers.

'Where is everyone?' Carnac asked the old woman.

'Most of em, what is left, are in the Elder's house,' she said, 'you're too late to help.'

'We will do what we can,' said Krish looking around the commons.

With a quick shake of his head, Logar sent the warriors to the surrounding hills, setting up a defense. Krish got down from the seat and helped Carnac out of the saddle. The friends, bent from fatigue and wounds, set up a camp on the common ground.

Raif and Sam carefully lifted Riggs out of the wagon and put him into the one remaining tent they owned. The old woman watched and waited, not moving from her stool, she seemed lost. Little faces peeked out from the Elder's house, but fear was heavy in the air.

'We are going to the grove, to see what we can do,' said Vaughn.

'It looks bad, but we will pay our respects and honor these people' said Carnac.

'I will stay with Riggs, go to talk to the them,' said Raif.

Sam and Krish left the patched tent and walked slowly toward the Elder house. As they approached, a small, dirty boy rushed from the doorway holding a broom handle, swinging wildly at the two of them. Krish went down on one knee and grabbed the little guy and the broom handle.

'You go away,' screamed the boy, struggling to free himself.

'Are you the protector of this clan?' asked Krish.

'I am warrior and you go away,' he said,' give me my sword back.'

'Well then, warrior,' he said,' I am Krish from Clan Wenona and I ask that we may stay with you.' Krish said the formal words of greeting as he stood up an offered the broom handle to the little boy. He looked at Sam who nodded.

'You are Clan?' asked the boy.

Showing the tattoos on his arms, Krish formally bowed, 'I am indeed little warrior, and this is my companion Sam, she is a healer.'

Surfing the Solstice

Of all the places this happy wanderer wants to visit in his lifetime, Stonehenge tops the list. It seems, appropriate, to bring this up on the summer solstice. The solstice, the equinox, the seasons themselves are something I am very aware of and more so now that I am getting, older. It is the way of things.

Stonehenge has fascinated me since I was a wee lad. There is a documentary, I watch it. I read about it in magazines and now on the 'net. I think my first article I read over and over was in National Geographic, many, many summers ago. It fascinates me more then any other ancient place, more so then the pyramids or stuff like that. The only thing that comes close is the Inca civilization, thinking maybe Machu Picchu comes close. It could be I was a sun worshiper in a previous life. Regardless, Stonehenge is the place.

Now that the sun is already lower in the sky and heading away from my location, it is time to prepare for the better part of the year, at least for me. This time is my most creative time, the time when I learn more, and do more. This is the time to shine. Funny how that works out. I wonder if that would be true if I lived in the southern hemisphere? Hmm.. maybe I could spend half the year at Stonehenge and half the year at Machu Picchu. Now wouldn't that be grand?

Professor Fate got a Bad Rap

When I was a we lad, I loved watching old movies, I still do to this day. One of my faves, that I first saw around 30 years ago, is The Great Race. The local independent station WKBD Channel 50 out of Detroit showed a lot of afternoon movies and I got my first, albeit abridged, viewing of this spectacular movie. I can hear you laughing, but really, this is a great movie, this is farce of the highest order. I watched it again, for probably the 12^th time last night, and I still laughed. That is good movie making..

Released in 1965, The Great Race had some pretty big movie stars in the cast, Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis, and of course, Natalie Wood, to name but a few. With Blake Edwards, who later would be known for the Pink Panther movies, writing and directing, it was bound to provide a few laughs. Have Henry Mancini doing the music and you have a star studded lineup. But, it is a comedy after all, and a farce in the truest sense of the word.

Based on The Greatest Auto Race of 1908, the movie is about six entrants in an automobile race from New York to Paris. You have The Great Leslie(Tony Curtis) and his arch nemesis Professor Fate(Jack Lemmon) in the race of the century! Leslie, daredevil extraordinaire and all around good guy in white, we boo him. Our real hero is Professor Fate, daredevil wannabe and the man in black, as dastardly as they come, we cheer for him!

Of course, Miss DuBois(Natalie Wood), reporter and suffragette is a fine counterpoint, not only funny, but attractive in her quest to be one of the boys. How can one not like her character! She has spunk! Who could blame The Great Leslie for falling for her, even if he is a big jerk! Boo!

Professor Fate, inventor of a rocket on rails, a bicycle dirgible, a torpedo, and a submarine, all of which fail in spectacular fashion. But no my friends, he does not give up, oh no. He builds a car to take on Leslie in the race and it is ultra cool. With a horn out front to melt the ice, the ability to rise up to pass through flooded roads and a canon to fight off the pesky bandits, why, it is a technological masterpiece! Unlike Leslie who has his car built by the Webber Car Co., the great inventor Fate takes matters into his own hands.

Well then.. off they go and it is one disaster after another for Fate. Naturally, it is his bumbling assistant's fault, but still, the good Professor soldiers on. Now I love the brawl in the saloon, true slapstick comedy and a great scene. 'I need some fightin' room!' cracks me up. The pie fight near the end? Priceless comedy. Fate and his assistant, Maximillan Mean, are Laurel and Hardy in their antics.

Of course critics were not too found of the movie but it was in the top ten grossing movies for 1965. Of course Tony Curtis is good and Jack Lemmon is brilliant. If you like slapstick comedy and a bit of outrageous stunts and story, why then this is a movie you just have to watch. I streamed it last night and chuckled right along with the antics of Professor Fate.

While the good Professor Fate may have lost the race, Jack Lemmon stole the show. Stop being so serious and watch it, have a laugh or three and just enjoy a good comedy. If you are lucky like me, you have already seen this fine flick and can go back and laugh again. Worthy of five shamrocks.

Synchronicity Dance

I am a Scorpio. Pretty simple really. I am friends with a lot of Scorpios, better 1/2 is one(our b-days are 4 days apart!). I also am friends with and know a lot of Gemini.. See there is a strangeness there. I have a lot of Gemini traits ~ don't tell the Scorpios okay?

Duality, dichotomy, whatever you want to label it, it is there, in spades. That kind of stuff shows up constantly in day to day stuff..

I paint model toy soldiers, been fascinated with that kind of thing forever. It started as a wee lad's fascination with WWII and building tank models, still do to this day, on occasion. I have a lot of military friends, although I never served, I am a big supporter. And yet.. I am a hippy as well. No, I am not a tree huggin fanatic, but there is a lot of that.. in there. One day, when we owned the game store, I was painting a tank and listening to John Lennon ~ there is duality for ya.

In high school I was a jock, played football, wrestled, did the shot put/discus in track. I also hung out with the geeks, the D&D players. Those tech geeks, rpgers were and are my friends. Back then I was in band, played the sax, love classical and jazz. And yet.. I loved punk and new wave. Still like all that stuff.. there is a bit of duality there eh?

This shows up in my artistic endeavors, such as they are. In the blasted novel, that duality of man is there on a few different levels. Oh, it is not as simple as good versus evil, that is too easy for me. The Scorpio says shut up and write and maybe you will share it. But that other side of the coin.. it is a calling me, and it is such a subtle siren call to whisper, to tease, to talk softly and put a tentative toe out there.

I may have been a Gemini in a previous life, the Scorpio inside says bah! shut up and scribble.. I do try to listen to that voice, it gets peevish if I don't.

Happy Dualities Wanderers!

The Power Tour

That, my fellow wanderers, is my dad's 1965 Mercury Comet Cyclone, and next to that is his friend Jim Vermeesch and his 1933 Dodge. This pic is from Hot Rod Magazine's 2010 Hot Rod Power Tour. Now that is cool, check out the website for some awesome cars. If you are a car nut, you know why that rocks, if you are not, well then.. this is why..

My dad has been getting Hot Rod Mag for as long as I can remember. I always pick it up and read his copy, those folks rock at Hot Rod Mag. It is true, I am not as a big a car nut as my dad, but I dig classic cars and can appreciate how hard it is to restore a car. It takes a lot of time and money and you have to love doing it, no doubt about it.

I am not mechanically inclined, not one bit. I can break a bolt or wrench pretty well. Oh I try, but I am a putz when it comes to tools. I make Tim 'The Tool Man' Taylor look like a genius. So I can appreciate the hard work and the talent it takes into customizing or just restoring a car.

Another fine pic of dad's '65 Comet. It has factory air! Oh and it is fast, fast, fast. Gets pretty good fuel mileage too, about 22 mpg on this trip, not bad at all.

This is a nice pic of Jim's '33 Dodge. This tour was it's maiden voyage after restoration. Nice, nice car. There is a pretty good story behind this too.

Last fall, they started working on the Dodge. They worked all winter and really pushed to get it done in time for the tour. As a matter of fact, they put in an alternator at midnight and left the next morning at 6 a.m. to drive out to Newton, IA for the start of the tour. Folks asked Jim what he did to break it in for the tour. Jim says I drove out here, does that count?

Yeap, those guys packed a lunch and went on the tour. The tour was from Newton, IA to Mobile, AL over 7 days. My dad took the Comet last year so it was tested, but that '33 Dodge was fresh from restoration. Ya know what? They did not have any problems at all. Total mileage on tour was just over 1300 miles, but with driving to the start and then home, total was just over 3200 miles for the whole trip.

Not bad for two retired guys and their classic cars. They sure don't make em like that anymore.

Surfing Dark Journeys Collection

The Gentle Sound of Tapping is the latest in the Dark Journeys Collection by Jennifer Hudock. Not only is she on the blog tour, but she is putting out more and more good short work in the collection. I liked this creepy story, it had just the right feel to it. The mood, the setting, yeah.. it does it for me, it has that Outer Limits feel.

You can check out Jenny's website and get in on the goodies and where you can get your copy at Amazon or Smashwords. Here is an excerpt!!

There came the gentle sound of tapping, tap-tap-tap-tap, while Walter Winthrop lay restless in his bed, and he believed if he rolled over in a huff and formed the pillow around his head, the soft cushion would muffle out the noise. Inside the padded safety of his pillow Walter sought peace, but then the tapping sounded even louder. It reminded him of his mother on Sunday mornings.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Walter, time for church. God waits for no man, and least of all the idle man!”

He hated that remark, as though his getting a decent night’s sleep on the weekend made him some kind of tool of the devil.

His mother had been dead twenty years, and he had always believed the lofty dead did not suffer the company of the living. Of course, others believed differently. Some even claimed the veil between worlds was thin as spider web one night every year, All Hallows Eve. Lost souls wandered through the darkness in search of what had once been familiar in life. Some wailed and moaned over the loss of their bodies, while others pranked the living. The malicious spirits called for attention and sacrifice from the living, and many set extra plates at the dinner for their dearly departed. In memory of the deceased children dressed as ghouls and begged candy from strangers.

Walter never celebrated the foolish, fabled holiday known as Halloween. His mother had called it Devil’s Night and refused to let her son participate in any activity that might expose his soul to the devil. Once he was old enough to forget his mother’s disillusionment, Walter developed his own reasons for boycotting Halloween. Back then he considered himself a practical young man, driven solely by reason. The dead coming back for one night each year went against logic. The very idea of a devil didn’t even make sense.

For fifty-seven of his sixty-three years, Walter studied the calculation and reckoning of numbers and formulae. Mathematics was a safe and reasonable activity. There was nothing magical or unpredictable about numbers. They either added up, or they did not, and in situations that called for drastic measure, the uncooperative could be easily fixed with a simple adjustment or the inclusion of an imaginary number. Now before the thought of imaginary numbers could disrupt the weary and predictable self image of a man like Walter Winthrop, he learned rather quickly there was nothing magical or exciting about imaginary numbers either. They were not the same kind of imaginary that described an invisible friend or exciting adventure in one’s own mind. They were simply necessary in the computation of formulas and nothing more.

Walter never had the kind of head wrapped easily around inexplicable things. The fact that he had no father never made much sense to him, and because the other children made fun of him in the cruelest way imaginable, he kept quiet and to himself. The simple recitation of numbers became a game in his mind as he walked to and from school. Over time he discovered the importance of formulae in everything from building a tree-fort to planning a trip into outer space.

Science relied on numbers, which meant the entire fabric of the universe came down to numbers in the end. There was no clandestine purpose for geometry, no enchantment in calculus, and there was certainly nothing miraculous about algebra or physics. No matter how the numbers came together, they either worked, or they did not, and Walter wouldn’t have it any other way.

So when the sound of gentle tapping bothered just outside his window, Walter told himself it was nothing. Just a tree branch, not brittle bone-tipped fingers, only bending boughs in the howling wind. Yes, the wind did howl that night, in such a way Walter never heard before. Low moans, like those of a dying man, constant in his agony, but Walter would not be afraid.

It was only wind.

“All Hallows Eve,” he humphed and flopped around in his bed again, so the blanket coated lump of his backside faced the window indifferently. “Tip-tap on someone else’s window, bunch of superstitious fools!”

The Vigil

another work in progress excerpt from After the Fall of Darkness

     Vaughn walked out into the garden and across to the stable where they had placed the body of Carnac. The full moon cast shadows across the doorway, inside a shaft of moonlight outlined the body. Leaning against the door he let out a deep sigh, Carnac needed to have the roof fixed thought Vaughn. So much needed fixing that a roof hardly mattered anymore

      He sat on a bale of hay next to Carnac and rubbed his temples. Reaching into his robe he pulled out the flask and took a drink. The voices quieted to a whisper and leaning back, he closed his eyes. The vigil was going to be a long night if he had to deal with the nightmares.

      Remembering the vial Sam had given him, he poured the rest of the powder into his flask, swirled it around for a bit and drank the rest. His head cleared and the voices stopped. He laughed out loud like a child chasing leaves in the grove. The pain was almost bearable and for a time, with the elixir running its course, he was able to sit in quiet company with Carnac.

      But the pain and nightmares never really went away. Slowly, after a couple of hours of Vaughn daydreaming of the better days, they crept back into his head. The old familiar friends came calling once again. He shuddered and fought the darkness, but as always, he could only come to a stalemate.

      Mauler appeared in the doorway, laughing his big booming laugh and pointed at Vaughn. 'I am sorry,' whispered Vaughn. The ghost stopped, pain creased the forehead of Mauler and he fell forward into the stable. The pain seared through Vaughn's head and the vision passed. The waking nightmares were returning and the flask was empty. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes and temples.

      Breathing hard, he caught a movement to his left and turned. Martek and Brandor were crouched down, throwing bones in the corner. They looked over at Vaughn and the room chilled. Blood dripped from Brandor's hand as he scooped up the bones. Martek grabbed his head, blood flowing from the wound. With pleading eyes and out stretched hands, they faded.

      His hands shaking, Vaughn slumped and reached out to the body of Carnac. Desperate for release, Vaughn cast back into the pleasant memories of his time spent with Carnac in the Grove. Those few years were filled with the wonder of youth as they learned the Way of the Clan. It was a good time, a peaceful time. With all the strength he could muster, Vaughn willed his thoughts away from the nightmare of the war to the days of peace. He sat there through the night until the rise of the morning, mumbling to his old friend.

A Complete Heroine

For those of you who don't know, that is Kahlan Amnell form the TV series Legend of the Seeker. Yes... I am fast becoming a huge fan. Late to the party I know, but I have been watching the episodes and just finished season one. Now I am a big fan and will start season two shortly. To think that the show has been canceled and there will probably never be a season three is.. crap.

Now I am a long time fan of television and I have a real love/hate relationship with it. That started when I was ten and found out that cool SF show I watched, was reruns, and had been canceled for five years! Since my discovery of the weirdness of TV ~ how could you cancel Star Trek, or.. Buck Rogers, or.. the list goes on right? ~ I have been struck numb by network television.

So I don't watch a lot of network TV anymore, I am a cable junky. So I am late to the Seeker party, but man, do I love this show. Of course, it is in the throws of fans trying to keep the show alive, but I know that when I am done with season two, that will be it. It is just the way it is. It is sad too.

Prime time network TV is crap in my opinion, for the most part. Shows that I really like seem only to survive on cable, if they are lucky. This is a good show, worthy of a few more seasons. You may ask why? Well then, I am glad you asked.

The characters, the stories, the production in general, is all very well done. The end product is much better then a lot of other shows on the air right now. But, I understand that the money flows toward reality shows and other stuff that I just don't like. Such is the state of television. And really, a show needs to graduate into a third and fourth season to really get rockin'. Need I give examples?

I never got into the Sword of Truth novels. I will now and I will at least have that. It is still a bummer though.

Oh and why do I like Kahlan? Because I like my heroines just like her. She has the feminine side as well as the tough side. She is complete. Any character that can slice a bad guys throat and stare into their eyes as they collapse is bad to the bone. Any character that can show the depth of emotion from a woman's perspective like the Kahlan character is bad to the bone. Mix those two together and that character rocks, big time. She can weep over the death of a child and turn on a dinar and slice a bad guy down.

That is why I am a fan. Good characters.

Happy Seeking!

Fighting Dragons on Mars

Some of my compatriots at The Creative Alliance have been discussing their writing and how much they draw from real life. Sometimes, even questioning how much or if they even should, put personal, or real life characters or circumstances/events into their fiction writing. I think it is a good question, and I even have an opinion, but no real answer.

I think it is up to the writer as to how much they draw from real life, how much of themselves they put into their fiction writing.  I think it is a personal decision of the writer, and a private one, if they so desire. How much and if they even tell folks, is up to that writer. I don't really even need to know. As a reader, I just want a good story. 

From a personal standpoint, I am not sure it is possible for me to write without having real life experiences, even to some extent people, color my fiction. That is not to say that I write about the people I know, or events in my own life or friends and families lives. No, I am not recording what people do or putting someone I know directly into a story. I am however, influenced by all that stuff.

Even my sheeple stories about the family camping, while drawing heavily on personal and family experience, are fictional. There is some truth about the places and the events but it is not all factual. In all of those types of stories, there is that added fictional element and blurring of the line. That is about as close as I will ever get. Folks will know when I write those stories that it is part truth, part funny story.

In my fictional writing, as in short stories and the blasted novel, that is fiction. Sure, some of the characters have similar traits to people I know, and to me as well, but only a tad bit. The places, well they are purely fictional as well as events. Real life will color those things, maybe shade them, but only a wee bit. I have never been to Mars,or fought a dragon, but I have done both in short stories.

That is me. What others do, well that is up to them, and their choice if they want to share their source of inspiration. I think all writers draw on real life to some extent. Some choose to share the what and the how, some do not. I told you I did not have an answer, just my own opinion on what I do.