dannieunderhill

So, I'm still packing (and yes, ripping my CDs so I have the files on my laptop and can send the originals in storage does constitute as packing!). My bookcases are looking very empty indeed. Do you know, the hardest part was dividing my books into which go with me to my mum's (not a lot of space, but where I'll be spending most time), which will go to my room or the guest room at Dad's (more space, and still accessible) and which will go into storage in Dad's addic. Honestly, I feel bad for some of the books getting sent up there, but I had to ask myself which books I saw myself rereading withing the next couple of years, and yeah...

In other news, I've come to the sad decision to ground Jester until I know what to do with it. I thought I had the story figured out, but then the POV issue caught me blindsided, and I need to get it straight in my mind before I go on with it. It's about time to start revisions on Order soon, though, so I doubt I'll be bored. Another idea is starting to grow on me too, and who knows... maybe that will end up being written first. Yeah, I don't quite get my mind either.

Yesterday I went to the cinema with Rachel to watch PERCY JACKSON AND THE LIGHTNING THIEF. I loved it. The effects were brilliant, the jokes were great, the characters likable, and it built enough on actual Greek mythology to make me feel a bit smart. I still find it disturbing that Percy seems to have a crush on his great niece, though. A bit ew, and way too ancient Greek.

How do you mix superheroes and Scandinavian folklore and push it all into a contemporary American boarding/high school setting? I'm trying to answer that question at present. And the answer is turning out to at least entertain myself. Let's see what ends up coming of it, shall we?

I hate doing this two days in a row, but moving really is taking its toll on me. I have too much stuff! At least some of it is going in my dad's attic until I get a place on my own where I'll actually have room for all my stuff.

I'm still no further along on finding out whether first or third person POV will fit 'Jester' best, but I plan to make that my priority once I'm done moving. My subconscious keeps turning it into a first person, but my aware brain keeps yelling 'third person'! You don't write first person very well! Oh, and you despise it! Should be fun to see how this turns out. For now: shut up brain (subconscious included)!

We made meat sauce and pan breads for dinner and ate it while we watched X-Factor down in the house's living room. Was loads of fun. Really, between trying to get the most out of my last few days here and packing, I'm surprised I get anything done at all.

Have a nice weekend, and tune back in on Monday!

-Dannie

I'm ayawning and can barely keep my eyes open right now. I'm moving back to my mum's place next week, and I've been busy packing and doing laundry all day before getting conned into a move by my housemates. It got done some ten minutes ago. And now I'm absolutely knackered. Which means, yeah, no post today, at least not if you want it to be coherent. So, Dannie out and off to bed. Hopefully I'll have a better post for you tomorrow.

I'm finding myself in an odd place of doubt where I haven't been for years. All right, I'll backtrack a little bit to some of the things I mentioned when I rambled about FOREST OF HANDS AND TEETH. First person narrative tends to put me off. Sorry, I-narrators, I'm sure you're great - if somewhat egocentric - people. Some of you I love. Most of you just don't do it for you. Four years ago I wrote almost nothing but first-person, but somewhere along the way I developed an aversion to it. I didn't like reading it when others wrote it, and so I stopped writing it. (No point writing something you wouldn't want to write, eh?)

This leads us directly to my current problem. Once upon a time, when I set out to write a story, I always sat down, first, and answered myself what person I wanted to write in, and what tense. Other than the plot and the main character's name, these were the most important questions to answer before I got to writing. Then first person narratives began turning me off something horrible, as did present tense. Third person, past tense became my default. I love it. It's the easiest and most comfortable basic style to read, for me at least. And my stories haven't called for anything else.

Until now. 'Jester' (working title - don't ask me about that, I'm not sure how it came about) seems to be challenging that default. Every few pages, an 'I' will slip by me where it should say 'Mara'. Nothing's challenging the past tense, fortunately, but the 'I' is sneaking in enough, both when I'm writing and when I'm plotting that I'm beginning to think I might be on the wrong track. I've often heard that certain stories called for first person and wouldn't work nearly as well in the third. I don't know about that. A few weeks ago, I'd have said that any story worked better with a third person narrative. Now, well, now I'm beginning to think there might be something about it.

What does this all mean? No 'Jester' writing for me tonight. I'm too confused, and I don't want to keep writing in the third person if it ends up being in the first. Yeah, lazy me, but I'll only uselessly waste so much effort.

So, how do you tell whether a story is meant for the first or the third (or *shudder* the second) person narrative? I have no idea. I've forgot how I used to make those decisions, honestly. The only thing I can really see for it right now is to take what I've written and write a second version of it in first person, then show both to my mum and sister and ask them what works best. I reckon there's nothing for it. Wish me luck and patience as I get to it. And if I ever figure it out, I'll come back to tell you how you tell a first person story from a third.

Off to bed now, packing to do in the morning.

You know those books and movies where the setting is practically a character in and of itself? I'm talking about things like Hogwarts in HARRY POTTER, Mustafar in STAR WARS: REVENGE OF THE SITH, the wonderland in ALICE IN WONDERLAND, Never Never Land in PETER PAN, Notredame in Disney's version of the HUNCHBACK (minus the living gargoyles). There are tons of others, you name them.

I love it when authors and directors really manage to do that. To me it's just incredibly powerful and makes everything that much more real and powerful and touching. It's world building, but it's a whole other fish at the same time. In my experience the setting!characters (let's just call it that for now, shall we?) that are most powerful are the ones that aren't quite realistic, the ones that are a bit off and never fully let you figure them out. And it's an active participant, either as a plot device or more obviously (Mustafar practically plays the third duelist in the fight between Obi-Wan and Anakin/Vader, for one).

Why am I talking about this right now? Because I'm attempting it. After finishing the first draft of Order, I realised I needed to write something else for a bit to get Order out of my mind - only way to be in the right mindset when the revisions come about. I also realised I wanted to write something as drastically different from Order as Order is from Exile. Order is very minimalist. Only two characters are more than 'appearances', and they're the narrators. Only three countries are named, and about as many cities, at most. Many of the things in Order is subtext, the world-building included. It builds on opposites: cold/warm, gentle/brutal, flamboyancy/politeness, selfishness/self-sacrifice, north/south, and many more. These opposites allow people to draw their own conclusions, allow them to stereotype and build on that from there on out. This freed up a lot of space/words and thus allowed me to make a very action-driven, character-driven fantasy novel, which can sometimes be difficult to do what with all the world-building involved.

I don't tend to like excessive world building. I like it up to the point of understanding what I need to and knowing the points that impact the story, but in general I prefer good, fast action and well-rounded characters. But this time I needed to write something calm where the tension is inside (emotional) rather than outside (physical/action). And something calm and a bit quiet tends to need more world-building. For some reason holes are much more visible when there's not a lot of action. And my prose is not beautiful enough to hide an incomplete world. So what can a girl do when she needs excessive world-building, but doesn't like excessive world-building much. In my case, I am going to attempt the setting!character.

What ingredients do I already know are crucial to make a setting come fully alive, at least to me? Well, I know the place needs to be a bit odd, a bit off-beat. Basically, it has to follow the pace of its own heart, even if it means falling out of sync with the rest of the universe. I especially like it if it's a bit odd, just flirting with the macabre (Alice's Wonderland, Notre Dame, Never Never Land). So what could I come up with to fit that description?

Easy. It might just be because I grew up in the generation that was exposed to King's IT too early, but I have a bit of an aversion to clows. So I thought circus, and then I thought carnival. A moving village of wagons and tents that looks faded and decrepit in the light of the day, but comes alive as a land of dreams at night.

My next requirement is that the place be mysterious, that it has its secrets, whether it's keeping the secrets of its inhabitants or has some of its own. The circus/carnival theme lends itsel perfectly. An outsider will never know if what she just saw was real magic or sleight of hand. Do the potions sold in a small stand really work, or is it all placebo effect? And, in this case, is this really where the brewing rebellion is hiding? I don't think all the questions should be answered. If a setting gives up all its secrets, it becomes as two-dimensional and boring as a character who does the same thing.

Once again speaking in regards to my own case, I'll also be using the slightest hints of steampunk. I love the genre, not least because something about it makes it delightfully creepy to me. In the end I don't know whether I will accomplish what I set out to - I think the power of the setting is probably one of the most difficult things in writing to predict - but all I can really do is try. So far I'm having great fun doing just that.

No Votofto present will be given out this year, since someone thought she could circumvent the rules and ask for a present orally when I had specified LJ comments. Tisk tisk.

So, earlier tonight I opened YouTube and found an Avenged Sevenfold playlist, which I've been listening to most of the night. Their music never made me melancholic before, but it's so odd, and so sad, to know that the beat is dead, so to say. These guys are not even ten years older than me. The band is 'current', not some old news that broke up ages ago. When I first read the news, I thought for a long while someone was playing a sick joke. Then the official website confirmed it, and there was nothing for it. Avenged Sevenfold has been one of my favourite bands since the gymnasium, and a constant on my wishlists for as long. It's incredibly odd to listen to them now and know that one of the people on these (fairly recent) albums is no more.

Excuse the ramble.

I just wanted to say, as so many others have, that although I never knew Jimmy Sullivan, never spoke to him, never even got to go to a concert, his death still touches me. And his music touches me as much in death as it did in life. It's always sad when a creative genius dies, but never more than when he dies before he hits thirty. My heart goes out to his family, his friends, the rest of the band. And although I selfishly wish that they'll keep making music, I know it won't be the same. And I understand and appreciate all reluctance on their part to keep going.

Rest in peace, Rev.

Tomorrow, I promise, I'll get back to the writing side of things. I was just reminded, by the song, that I have wanted do my tiny part, in this case a post in his honour, to make sure Jimmy 'the Rev' Sullivan is remembered. Happier topic tomorrow.

A while ago I promised Votofto would end in a present. And since the less than public status of this blog means contests are right out, it will go to my sister. If, and I mean if, she managed to comment on this post before my next post on Monday. Want to see what the surprise is, Rach? Then do something about it.

Happy Votofto!

Dannie out.

Once upon a time, in the Eastern Plains, a young sheepherder was watching his sheep. At home his wife and small children were working in their humble field, and the sheepherder despaired of being able to feed them once winter came. His daughter was sickly and required medicines that were almost too expensive for what his master paid him.

There wasn't a time in memory when his people had been properly on their feet. No one could remember when they'd come upon this land, or why, but the barbarian tribes around them had never welcomed them. They were enslaved and forced to fight for mere survival. The sheepherder was well off, considering. His small plot of land was more than most of his brothers could claim to their names.

Wiping his sweaty face, he fell back and shooed the stragglers along, getting closer now to the riverside where they'd quell their thirst. It was only when he got there and counted the flock that he realised one of the sheep were missing. Tired and aching, he set the padraigs to keeping the sheep under control and backtracked along the rocky path he'd followed all day. With his hand shading his eyes from the sun, he looked in every direction, searching the nooks and crannies and little nooks hidden away amongst the stones.

The sun was setting when the young man heard a braying sound, and he immediately set off to follow it. His hands and feet blistered on the still scorching rocks, and thorns tore his clothes, but at last he arrived in a small spot in the middle of the hills, hidden away from the world. And there, in the middle of the small haven, a lamb was grazing, unconcerned with his ails. The sheepherder went forth and bent to pick up the animal, but as he was kneeling on the ground, sharp Light burst out of the heavens. Awed, the man bent his head and shielded his face with his arm.

"Son of misery!" cried a Voice that sounded unlike any human. It was strong and gritty as the mountains, gentle as the wind, kind as the freshwater streams, and as green with life as the grass in which the man knelt. "I shall make you the father of grandeour!"

The sheepherder, in disbelief, voiced his denials, and the ground beneath him rumbled in something that could have been both anger and fond amusement.

"Once you return home, you will find your daughter hale and well," the Voice promised, and the sheepherder didn't believe It. Soon the Light receded, and the sheepherder picked up the lamb and returned to the flock.

The next evening he returned to his home to find his daughter in perfect health, and he fell down and praised his God, and sacrificed to Him in gratitude. Three years later the great Keso initiated the Pact between Himself and the sheepherder's people, and the young man did, indeed, become the father of us all.

That I finished it! The first draft of Order of Chaos is now done. It needs tweaking and editing and many more hours of work, of course, but the basics are now down!

I didn't write it as quickly as I had figured out I should mathematically be able to, but I will still one day write a book in two months. In the meantime, at least I can be proud that I didn't exceed my tentatively set 80k words max line!

So, in other words, I have no coherency today, and if I try to say anything more, it will be all about how much I've loved Dana and Daire and what a long way they've come from the utter brats they were to write in the beginning. I won't submit anyone to that, so I'll end today with a large

HURRAY!!!

*pats self on the shoulder*

You can't just eat bread all by itself, of course, so here's the rest of the meal.


Vegetables

Four carrots
Two red onions
One scalion
One yellow pepper
Salt
Paprika
Olive oil

Slice everything up into thin bits. Heat a pan. Pour on olive oil. Add vegetables and a good amount of salt and paprika. Stir every once in a while to prevent burning. It's done when the carrots are no longer crunchy.


Meat and sauce

Chicken breast filets
Three spring onions
50 cl milk
Olive oil
Salt
Paprika

Heat a pan. Pour milk and a bit of oil on it. Cut the spring onions finely and put them on the pan with the salt and paprika. When the mixture is sizzling/boiling, add the filets. Turn every once in a while. They are done after approximately ten minutes, but will remain white. Once you've taken the chicken from the pan, the sauce remains (for dipping the bread into).


So yes, all of this is made on a pan. All of this is also incredibly easy and very delicious. Have fun with it ;)