How To Rewrite (The Easy Way)

 

I tell you what, finishing a novel does wonders for a person. I learned things about writing and about my own "voice" that I never realized before. Foremost of all, I got into the habit of letting the characters tell the story. It's not something I have entirely succeeded at in anything else I have written, but like I said, I had never actually realized the difference until I actually started doing it. That, plus the story I was writing that will become a screenplay and then a web series (hopefully! Stay tuned!) which taught me something I call "The Art of The Flip"—

These two, I think, are most instrumental in enabling me to rewrite "A Writer's Tale." If you're a writer, you know how much of a pain rewriting can be. If you've ever seen The Shelf, you know that rewriting is pretty much Bottom Shelf stuff, that I actively avoid doing just because of how distasteful it is.

The biggest problem in rewriting comes when you're faced with the reality that the original is terrible—but you take one look at the story and you automatically can't think of it any other way than the crap that it is! Most writers would then execute a complete overhaul: start the plot again from scratch and write a completely fresh story.

If it sounds like a butt-load of redundant work, completely rewriting something you've already "completely" written... It is. And it is awful.

A Writer's Tale

 

In the case of this current project, though, I have actually managed to complete six chapters out of ten (maybe eleven... We'll see how this goes) in a relatively short time, like the last couple weeks. The new version is considerably longer than the old, and yet the new details function seamlessly with the old plot. So much so, in fact, that I am able to actually preserve the best bits from the original and paste a whole paragraph here and there.

So how do I do it? What is the secret to simplifying the rewrite process in a way that works with both your writing style and your ever-maturing "writer voice"?

Step 1: Figure out the plot

 

As it turns out, rewriting is not all that much different than writing, except that I am not coming up with fresh points, I am picking out events and things from what is already there.

At least for "Dragon's Quest", I had already divided the original section into ten chapters (because I am still trying to use the "formula" system* with which I wrote it) so to rewrite it, I simply looked at the part of the story under the chapter heading and made the usual bullet-pointed list that I always use in writing. (As in "Art of the Flip") *The Formula System: Basically, when I wrote "A Writer's Tale," I developed a system by which I could write the whole 50K in the shortest time possible, while still heeding my penchant for "chronological storytelling"; ergo, I developed the simplest plot formula possible: Intro, conflict, mission, failure, success/transition, and applied it to each setting, thereby enabling me to write essentially the same plot arc in multiple settings at a time. It worked, by the way, and I would highly recommend it as an exercise!

For example, I start with a section like this:

 

            We trekked all the way across that long field in the blackness. As we neared the fire, enough to make out the burly creatures that looked for all the world like crumpled masses of flesh-colored clay, one of them stood and placed himself between us and the fire.

            “What be you doin’ ‘ere?” he demanded in a gravelly voice. The firelight glinted off the gold ring in his triangular ear.

            “Hold off,” Galen cried, stepping forward, “we mean no harm. We are only weary travelers looking for a place to rest till moonrise. I met the unicorn and the human on my way to town.”

            All the buzz of conversation that had been happening between the trolls ceased. The burly one reached around and planted a hand on my back, pushing me closer to the light of the fire.

            “A human, eh?” he looked me over, pulling at my clothes (covered in dust from the road and slime from the vines) and running the ends of my hair through his pudgy fingers. “Well…I ain’t never seen the like! She’s a rare creature, all right!” He turned to Galen, “Can she talk?”

            “Of course I can!” I answered for myself. “May I sit down, please?”

            I didn’t like the way the burly troll leered at me; perhaps they were not evil, but they certainly didn’t strike me as friendly! He gestured toward an open seat behind me, “Yes, we’d be delighted to have you join us.”

            I sat between two squat trolls. They grunted in greeting and continued slurping huge bowls of strong-smelling soup.

            “My name is Griggum,” the big troll said, resuming his seat. “Welcome, strangers.”

            I glanced at Jerak, wondering if it would be proper to return the favor and introduce ourselves, but the unicorn remained silent. After the meal, the troll on my right pulled out a squeezebox and began playing a slow tune. For the first time in a while, I was actually comfortable, the fire was warm and bright, and the music was gentle…

            I blinked at the realization that I was suddenly chilled to the bone. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself, but my hands had been mysteriously tied behind my back. I remembered how Galen had said the trolls were magical folk; no doubt the music had contained some sort of charm to lull me into a trance. Now I found myself bound yet again, for the second time in two days. This time, it was rough troll-rope rubbing my skin raw. I saw Jerak, miserably hobbled, himself. In fact, the only free creatures were the trolls—and the dwarf who had brought us there. I glared at him.

            “Galen!” I cried, “How could you do this?”

            Galen only shrugged, “Sorry, human; I enjoyed your company while it lasted, but—“ he broke off and stroked the large bag of gold Griggum had given him.

Lame, right? Ugh, so many run-on sentences and interruptions, not to mention plot holes and other annoyances... Jeez! When I make it into a list, it might look like this:

-encounter troll camp

-warm welcome

-eat soup, pass out

-wake up tied

-Galen gets paid

Not the most detailed, but I am familiar enough with the original scene that I know the key elements of each point: the troll is big and burly with a deep voice, the soup is thick and makes Laura woozy, she wakes up suddenly, and the betrayal is revealed when it's too late to do anything.

 

Step 2: Get your head in the scene

Since I was already used to writing in this fashion, I simply took the list and began "listening" to my imagination, as I had done when writing "The Last Inkweaver." This helps the scene to flow smoothly, and it is also an effective method of bringing out my natural "voice" in the writing, instead of resorting to slapping words on a page in an effort to achieve a word count, which more often ends up turning into a rip-off of whatever I am reading at the time. (This was a NaNoWriMo project, incidentally, but I "failed" that year in that, "on accident", I wrote it over the month of October, not November... Oops...) 

Anyway, what I really wanted to do in the rewrite was ignore the word count (except keeping the chapter length at a reasonable average), and just focus on getting the story in, without so many long, drawn-out sentences. The resulting segment ended up like this:

 

We had just passed the first few tents on the outskirts of the camp, when a huge figure loomed in the middle of the path. Its floppy, triangular ears bore tiny golden rings, and its warty, bulbous face looked for all the world like a folded mass of putty. I had only a moment to register this before the creature lunged for us, wrapping the massive arms around me in a bear hug so tight, I could feel his belly jiggle as he laughed.

"Well, I'll be a hump-backed resia! Welcome, welcome friends!" He let me drop and thumped Galen on the back, meanwhile executing an elegant bow before Jerak. "Good sir, how kind of you to join us! I am Griggum, and I bid you welcome to our humble camp!"

I was still trying to get my breath back after that hug. My nose caught a wonderful smell as Griggum led us further in.

"I am Galen," our dwarf companion introduced himself, "and these are my friends Jerak and Laura."

I felt a pulling at my sleeve, and another squash-faced troll loomed behind me. They stared—as nearly everyone else in this world—as if they had never seen my kind before.

Griggum expressed as much. "Now, unicorns I am familiar with," he said, "but, if you don't mind my saying, what kind of a critter is she?" He regarded me with twinkling eyes. "Looks like a mermaid with skin on!"

Having never actually seen the Phantasmian version of a mermaid, I could not discern whether it was an insult or not.

"I'm a human," I explained, as we arrived at the place where the smell originated: a rag-tag troll stirred a small pot of something thick, brown, and simmering. "Is that soup?" I asked.

Griggum slapped his bald head with a wide hand. "Where are my manners? Forgive me for acting like a plain old grumpy troll! Please, eat! It's not much, but it'll fill ya!"

He placed a steaming bowl in front of each of us. A burst of laughter erupted behind me, and I turned to watch a troll juggling no less than a dozen items. On my other side, another troll pulled out something that looked like somebody tried to cross a lute with a squeeze-box. It played all right, but somehow the music didn't quite match the motions. As I swallowed more soup, a delicious warmth spread over my whole body... I tilted backward...

I flinched hard—and felt a round, knobby stone digging into my back. I blinked for a moment, wondering what I was doing out in the open. The night had lasted only seconds, and dawn had already broken over the land. My lips were stuck closed. I tried to sit up—then I realized that it wasn't a stone I lay on; it was my own hands, tied behind my back. A troll waddled over and hooked a hand under my arm to lift me to my feet, wrenching my shoulder painfully.

All that remained of the troll camp was a solitary bonfire. The tents, pots, props, and all the rest had already been loaded back into the wagons—but how could it happen so quickly?

Griggum stood next to the fire, conferring with Galen. The troll hauling me came to a stop, just in time for me to witness Griggum handing over a large sack that jingled with coin! I lunged forward with a cry—but my hands were still bound, and my mouth wouldn't open. I immediately recalled the last memory before passing out: the troll stew! They were both in on it! I thrashed and tried as hard as I could to pull my lips open, but no amount of effort worked. Griggum stumped over to me, lifting my chin with his hand.

"See, human," he mused, "everyone knows that 'troll stew' is never something you should eat, even if it is offered by a gracious host!" He laughed.

I kept my gaze fixed on Galen. I nailed him with my renown Babysitter Death Glare that would squelch the most belligerent child. It worked; he shuffled nervously and gulped. Of course, he regained his composure when he remembered that I was still bound and gagged.

"Sorry, human," he mumbled disingenuously. "Traveling with you has been more than fascinating, but, well, you were asleep, and Griggum offered me money to let him keep you, and—" he shrugged and held up the bag.

 

Much better, don't you think? A writing buddy I am reading this to, chapter by chapter, recently expressed how much she loved it because of the whimsical style (which is the first time anyone has described my writing to me in exactly the terms I was going for!) whereas the first time I read the original, the listeners reacted with a measure of incredulity. (Which is the absolute worst reaction in my mind! Hence the ensuing months of soul-crushing disillusionment... but I'm over that now) 

Step 3: Adjust the transitions

Rewriting is tough when you are still attached to some of the old stuff, but it doesn't fit in the new stuff. (Which is my problem with "Laurel of Andar") Even the process of making a "plot list" one chapter at a time isn't completely foolproof; sure, it breaks the long project into manageable chunks... But at the same time, what if the new segment ends up way "off base", and you end up with separate, disjointed, jumpy chapters?

Sometimes the transitions need to be adjusted. I find myself ending chapters in a different place, merely because it is too long in itself, so what was once the end of the old chapter gets shuffled to the top of the next chapter. This is okay. It works this way, and the result is still a significant improvement. 

So that's what I'm working on right now, and it seems like a pretty effective method. Getting through this first novella will definitely be a plus, since I haven't gotten to the point of being able to consider any of the other ones... FINALLY IT'S HAPPENING! Color me motivated! Catch you further Upstream!

 

 

Do you write? Have you had to struggle through the rewriting process? What are some words of advice you can leave for others going through the same experience? Leave a comment to let me know your helpful tips for rewriting!

The Suggestion Box, Vol. 3: "One Thousand Words" List #6

"... [T]he day she learned of the Rift contained in the forest behind her house..."

Suggested by: R. R. Virdi

The List:

title: the faeries keeper

a name: Gorman (dont ask me why...)

a place: enchanted forest behind a little old ladies house

a time: 11:11 at night under a blanket of stars, in modern day today

An object: The half moon and full sun ear rings the old lady which the house belongs to, is wearing

The Result:

Title:

The Faeries' Keeper

Agnes Gorman sighed as she settled into her weathered old rocker on the back porch after supper that night. The summer season was at her zenith, and the air hung warm under the blanket of stars. Sixty years she had taken up her post, faithfully whiling away the night hours till the bells chimed and she could return to bed. Sixty long years of waiting—for what? Agnes could hardly remember anymore; at eighty-one her mind was not as spry as it had been at twenty-one. The important fact of the matter was that she watched the Rift carefully, and if anything were to happen, she had a message to deliver. Agnes fingered her birthday earrings nervously. The wide discs depicting a half moon cradling the full sun hung heavy on her lobes, but wearing them was part of her responsibility.

They were a gift on her twenty-first birthday, the day she learned of the Rift contained in the forest behind her house. She had gone drinking with a group of friends, and come back heady with the success of finally achieving adulthood (and buzzing with alcohol). In the midst of a rather tipsy attempt at “sneaking” into the back door, Agnes had caught the sound of light chimes coming from the trees. Stumbling over to the bridge at the back of the yard, she stared as the sound seemed to emanate from silvery bell-shaped flowers dangling from tall green stems. Among those flowers lay a box, tied in ribbon and bearing her name. Agnes opened the box and found the earrings, accompanied by a letter detailing the duties she was now expected to fulfill.

Her parents didn’t seem to know anything about any fairy realm, but every time Agnes attempted to ignore the duty, little things happened: objects moved or went missing, wilted flowers sprang back to life overnight—and most of all, every attempt at getting rid of the earrings only resulted in their immediate return. When her parents eventually passed away, Agnes had attempted to sell the little house, but could never manage it. It would seem circumstances conspired against her—or could it be the fairies?

Agnes stirred as a stiff wind swelled around her, tossing the treetops to and fro. Something was happening—she looked toward the Rift.

For the first time since she’d begun watching it, the shadows seemed to ripple before her eyes. A bright beam of light streaked down, as bright as a lightning bolt, and Agnes cringed and put up a hand to shield her eyes. When the light disappeared, two figures emerged from the thicket. One was a man, tall and lean, following a small brownish figure less than two feet high.

Agnes stumbled to her feet. It finally happened! This was the moment she had been waiting for! A human and a Wood Sprite traveling together—they could have only come through the Rift! Agnes noted the time on her watch: eleven minutes after eleven o’clock. Right on cue, the silver bells rang, and the wind died as the Rift closed again. The two strangers still hesitated; very likely they had only just noticed the little old lady standing on the porch staring at them.

“Hello,” Agnes called. She waved them forward. “Come in; I have been waiting for you.”

She did not hesitate, but turned immediately to totter her way into the house. She made straight for the antique roll-top desk where she had kept the box and the strange letter safe. By the time she had retrieved the precious paper, her two guests had entered the house.

The man stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Hello, I’m Ken—“

“Shush!” Agnes waved his hand away. She pointed to the sofa in the living room. “Sit!” she commanded. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper and fumbled for her glasses to read the slanting, faded handwriting.

The man obeyed silently, and the Wood Sprite scrambled up to sit next to him. They watched Agnes carefully.

The elderly woman skimmed through the beginning part talking about the grand legacy she had been granted, arriving at last upon the words she needed to say.

“Greetings,” she quoted. “I am Agnes Gorman, the Keeper of the Fairy Rift. You have come seeking Y Rhoddion?” She lifted her eyes to peer at him over her spectacles.

The man recognized this as a signal that he may now speak. He coughed awkwardly. “Um, er—yes… I think. My name is Kenneth, and the Wood Sprite and I are looking for something called the Collar of Cuimhne.”

Agnes glanced at the small creature sitting next to Kenneth. “Nakoma has guided you well,” she read from the letter. “I am to give you aid in whatever way I can, even to offering you shelter in my own house—“

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Ken interrupted, glancing around. “I see that you’re very busy, we can just go back—“

“Until such a time as the Rift opens again.” Agnes set the letter aside. There was a bit more, but that wouldn‘t come till later.

“Please,” Nakoma the Wood Sprite spoke up. Her accent sounded thick, as one whose native language was something other than English. She hopped down to the floor and looked up at Agnes. “What you know of the Collar of Cuimhne?”

Ah, here it was. Agnes picked up the letter and read the riddle recorded at the bottom:

“The one who needs it doesn’t want it,

the one who wants it doesn’t need it;

The one who has it cannot use it,

the one who will use it cannot have it.”

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” Ken demanded.

Agnes finally laid the letter aside. “Your guess is as good as mine, sonny,” she muttered. “I didn’t write the words, I only had to say them.”

“But how does that even help us?” he complained.

Agnes shrugged. “To be honest, I’ve spent the last sixty years wondering what ‘it’ was. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Ken stood up. “Well, thanks anyway; we’ll just be going—“

“Wait,” Agnes put out a hand to stop him. “You can’t leave; you must stay here, the letter says so.” She pointed to the paper she’d dropped onto the desk.

Ken squinted at it. “I don’t believe this; you’re saying that somebody sixty years ago knew that something like this would happen?”

“I’m saying that there is a plan to all that is going on, and we cannot know all the pieces. Now, it’s late, and I don’t know about you, but I am dog-tired. I’m going to bed, and then tomorrow morning we can figure out the mystery together. Or,” she placed a hand on her hip and stared at him sternly. “You can leave now and take your chances.”

Kenneth studied her for a long moment before he finally broke down and sighed. “Very well. Where is the guest room?”

Agnes relaxed into a smile. “The whole downstairs is a small apartment: Kitchenette, bedroom, open space. You are free to set up down there.”

Kenneth nodded and walked toward the stairs, Nakoma in tow.

“Kenneth,” Agnes said abruptly.

He stopped. “Yes?”

She tilted her head and studied him. “Where did you two come from, by the way?”

Kenneth wagged his head, “I was part of a group searching for a mythological Druid Circle on an uninhabited forest island off the coast of Ireland.” His eyes dipped to the little sprite at his side. “I guess I found it.”

“Oh,” Agnes replied. “Good night.”

The three slept soundly, little knowing what the morning would bring.

Soul Mates, Part 4 >>>>>

Previously in This Series:
#5 "Soul Mates" (Part 2)
#4 "Inside The Impact Zone"
#3 "Soul Mates" (Part 1)
#2 "The Artist's Wife"
#1 "Red of Morning" 

Flash Fiction Friday: "The Glow" (Part 3)

Jessica (as played by Kristin Kreuk)

 

Jessica popped awake the next morning, heady with expectation. She might not be Glowing just now, but it definitely had happened, and she had every confidence that it would happen again. She swept her hair up into a twist and nodded firmly to her reflection. She would not let the opportunity pass her by a second time. She traipsed down the steps of her apartment as light as a feather. The six-block walk gave her ample time to calm her giddiness.

Entering the office building, she snagged a blank notepad and jotted a note.

"We need to talk. Meet @ park for lunch? -J"

She had her suspicions as to who happened to make her Glow, but she had to be sure. If nothing happened, nothing happened; but if something did...

Jess took a few deep breaths to settle herself, and handed her note to the lobby receptionist with explicit instructions to deliver it to its intended recipient as soon as possible. Then she hopped in an elevator and rode up to the Human Resources floor.

When she arrived, it was just like any other normal day at work—except one thing: Jess was happy. 

She waved to Lily as she passed the desk, and smiled at Tiffany coming down the hall towards her.

Tiffany grinned back. "What's got you in such a good mood, Jess? I haven't seen you this happy in a while." She leaned in close, "Did you have a date last night I didn't know about? Did you Glow?"

Jess couldn't stop grinning. "Not a date... But—"

"Ladies." Marcia poked her head out of her office and gave the two clerks a withering look.

Tiffany gave Jess a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Jess nodded and headed for her cubicle. The day's projects waited in the tray at the front... But there was a coffee sitting on her desk. She recognized the cup as one from the cafe on her street. A note rested on top of the cup, written on the same kind of notepad she had used. Jess knew what it said before she opened it.

"We need to talk. Meet @ park for lunch? -J"

Jessica set the note aside and sipped the coffee. She was right! Jack had said in his note yesterday that she should find something to bring the smile back... Well, this certainly did the trick!

She finished updating the stack of files just in time for her lunch break. The coffee had given her a jolt of energy that promised to carry her through the rest of the day. For now, Jessica settled on a nice calm walk to a burger joint right across from the park. On her way out of the building, she looked down at her blouse. No Glow yet, but it didn't mean it wouldn't happen at just the right moment. She glanced around to see if he happened to walking by, but she saw nothing.

Paper bag in hand, Jessica made her way to the park and sat down at one of the tables. No sign of him yet...

"I see you got my note," said a voice from behind her.

Green eyes met blue ones, and Jess smiled. "I see you got mine," she said.

Jack took the seat opposite. Like street lamps at dusk, two Glows flickered to life.

"I thought that—"

"I always knew—" Jack stopped when he realized they had started talking at the same time. "Er, sorry," he coughed. "You go first."

Jess giggled, a small ripple of a laugh. "I saw all my friends getting The Glow at ages younger than me, and I thought that if I got too old, The Glow might never happen, or I'd get someone horrible for a soul mate." She glanced at Jack's Glow while fingering her own collar. "I never thought he would be someone I saw every day!"

Jack wagged his head. "Isn't that how it always is? You wouldn't be soul mates with a total stranger." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Me, I could never figure out what was making my Glow turn off and on and I couldn't stop it."

Jess nodded. "I would get little Glimmers sometimes, but they would only happen at work."

"Same here," Jack agreed. "That's the only reason I kept such a crummy job as a 'glorified mailman'—" he smirked at the moniker, "because I knew I wasn't getting The Glow anywhere else."

Jess smiled and curled her fingers against her lips. "If it wasn't for that Glimmer, that little bit of hope, I would have moved away a long time ago."

"Ha!" Jack's outburst scattered a brace of pigeons. "Yeah, no kidding! But now that we've met..." He slowly reached out and took Jessica's hand. "Are you ready for this?"

Jessica didn't have to think about her answer. They were soul mates; this was destiny.

"Ready when you are," she replied.

They left the park hand in hand.

THE END

<<<<< PART 1   

MORE FLASH FICTION:

"The Prince and The Rose"

Throwback Series: "Day of Reckoning" Chapter 1 Part 2

"She nodded to her friends and departed up the low, narrow staircase...."

Previously: Chapter 1, Part 1

The next thing Laurel knew, sight and sound and light and color returned all at once with the worried, sweating faces of Carsius and Augustus over her.

"Laurel, what happened?" Carsius asked, glancing over her. "Why did you leave the alcove?"

"Did you do it?" Augustus wanted to know, "Were you able to reach the mother-mind?"

Gorrmunsa stood behind Carsius, examining the stylus. "She used the analthraxine," he informed the men. "Judging from the psychic shock, I'd say she had to take it while under extreme duress from the althraxine exposure."

Renata hung at the back of the group, worry and fear plain on her face, and Laurel felt her mental faculties returning to normal. She wagged her head.

"I couldn't do it," she finally gasped out, "there was too much going on; I almost got lost in the influences." She gazed around the circle. "Did one of you administer the analthraxine?"

"What, you didn't do it yourself?" Augustus inquired.

Laurel shook her head, "How could I? I was too deep to have any control of my body. Somebody did, though; I would have thought it was another part of the psychosis, but she helped me off the floor—"

"She?" Carsius looked at her strangely. He glanced around the room. "The only other lady here is Renata; did she help you?"

Laurel answered immediately, "No; this girl had pale hair; she almost looked like a boy, actually.” She waved her hand dismissively, “Anyway, she was the one who helped me, or I don’t know what I would have done.”

Carsius sighed, “At any rate, this experiment has failed.”

Laurel frowned, “Not entirely; I can do it, I’ve done it before. I just need—“

“What else could you need?” Augustus asked.

Laurel pondered, “The first time I was able to take down the mother-mind, I was standing directly in front of her. Now, we don’t know exactly where she is, but perhaps if I got up higher, I would not be so—overcome with smaller influences.”

Augustus looked up at Gorrmunsa. “What is the highest point in this house?”

Gorrmunsa pondered the dimensions of the building. “That would be the tower, up above the attic.”

“All right,” Laurel leaned forward and tried to push herself into a standing position. “Let’s go there.”

Carsius caught her shoulder and helped her to her feet. “Easy, now,” he warned.

Laurel continued to struggle to her feet, “I can do it, I can—“ she took one step and stumbled a bit. Carsius reached across and caught her.

The Elf-maiden sighed. “How much time do we have?”

Carsius checked the clock in the hall. “You were out most of the morning,” he said, “It’s just after midday right now.” He surveyed the paleness of Laurel’s face, the fatigue in her limbs.

“She won’t be able to withstand another infiltration like the last one,” Gorrmunsa spoke abruptly, “not unless she rebuilds her strength with nourishment and rest.”

“Let us all convene in the dining room for luncheon,” Carsius announced.

Laurel frowned, but she was too weak to protest.

The six friends sat around the large table, eating in silence.

Finally, Augustus burst out, “Are you sure a taller structure would work?”

Laurel, feeling much better after the wholesome meal, nodded and pushed back her plate.

“The influence I was getting had to do with my immediate area—the library—and things associated with it or near the house: a neighbor throwing a party, the bookstore across the street, and the florist shop down the way. I think that’s one of the ways a wyrt takes over a host, is through immediate thoughts first, and once a thought is decided upon, well, that’s almost like opening the door and allowing the wyrt to take up residence. I think if I get up as high as I can, in the tower Gorrmunsa mentioned, the stream of influences will not be as thin, and I can perhaps latch onto the one I need.”

“The Scholarship Pillar, correct?” Deej asked.

Laurel nodded.

Once everyone had finished, Laurel, Gorrmunsa, and Carsius went up the stairs, past the second floor, and into the attic, where the man and the Kytarr stopped. Gorrmunsa handed Laurel a fresh stylus, not needing to remind her how it worked. Carsius pointed to a small door in the right wall of the attic.

“That’s the door that leads to the tower,” he said as the wyrts milled about them, even up here where the likelihood of a host was slim to none.

Laurel stared at the door. "So I am going alone?"

Carsius replied, "Yes; Gorrmunsa and I will wait at the landing down here."

Gorrmunsa again stepped forward with a syringe of althraxine.

"Are you sure you want this a second time?" Carsius asked her before the Kytarr injected her.

Laurel took a deep breath; it trembled quite a bit.

"I'm ready," she stated softly.

Gorrmunsa nodded and plunged the needle in.

Once again, Laurel felt the sensation of her mind tugging away her like a horse pulling at the reins, champing at the bit.

She nodded to her friends and departed up the low, narrow staircase that lead her to a room no bigger than the alcove of the library. She had left the door open behind her, allowing a sufficient amount of wyrts to follow her.

Finally, she took a seat at the side of the room and allowed them to crawl on her.

Below, Carsius and Gorrmunsa waited patiently. The Kytarr sat on his haunches, watching every wyrt blindly wandering toward the flux of althraxine.

Carsius listened carefully. He could not hear Laurel, but the hairs on the back of his neck elevated as he sensed something was about to happen.

Gorrmunsa's ears flicked forward and he raised his head.

Then the moaning began. Carsius and Gorrmunsa remained where they were as Laurel's voice, moaning, weeping, and occasionally screaming as she fought with the wyrt influence. Carsius gripped a strap on his cape as he listened, and it was not until the cries began subsiding that Carsius felt an object in his hand; he'd torn the strap right off it's stitches.

Carsius listened for several minutes.

"She is quiet," he remarked to Gorrmunsa.

"That's not all," the Kytarr murmured. "Observe the wyrts."

Carsius glanced around the room. The puff-balls were still.

"Something's happened," Carsius muttered as he reached immediately for the door.

Gorrmunsa followed his fellow operative up the stairs.

Carsius drew his knife as he climbed, and when he reached the room at the top he yelled, "HOLD!"

Standing over Laurel's unconscious form was a dark-haired figure wearing dark clothes, with dark-tinted skin, just drawing the stylus out of her arm. The stranger looked up as Carsius yelled, and immediately put on the attitude of surrender as if there was no escape. The silver-colored eyes widened as Gorrmunsa stepped around Carsius and crouched over Laurel.

The Kytarr sniffed and his sensitive whiskers detected slow, steady breath issuing from Laurel's lips.

"She lives," he informed his friend without taking his green eyes off the stranger. "How did you get in here?" he demanded. "Is there an alternate route? Who are you?"

Carsius laid a restraining hand on Gormunsa's shoulder. He saw the fear in the silver eyes. He stepped forward and tried to invite with a gentle smile.

"Hello," he said, "you must be the girl who helped Laurel earlier. I see you have helped her again."

The dark-haired stranger looked down over the Elf-maiden.

Ra'dith

"She was in distress," the voice was husky, the accent foreign, and the delivery very quick. "She could not find what she sought, and it would have killed her, so I helped."

"Thank you," Carsius replied, trying to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. The shrouded girl shrank away and would not let him touch her. "What is your name?" Carsius asked.

"Ra'dith," the girl murmured in the same husky voice.

"Where do you come from?" Gorrmunsa demanded tersely.

Just then, Laurel stirred. Ra'dith bent down and supported her head and shoulders with strong, steady hands. Laurel reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Ra’dith,” she whispered, speaking the name the silver-eyed stranger had told her that morning. "I knew you weren't a phantom."

Ra'dith said nothing.

"Laurel!" Carsius slipped his hand under Laurel's shoulders, and Ra'dith backed away. "We thought something terrible had happened to you. We knew something had happened when the wyrts stopped moving. What went wrong this time?"

Laurel sighed and her eyelids drooped briefly. "It can wait till we're back downstairs with everyone else."

Carsius nodded and turned back to Ra'dith, "Would you be so—"

The girl had vanished. Gorrmunsa was on his feet instantly, scanning every crack and crevice for some secret door. He found none.

"That was only a few moments," Carsius mused.

"I thought I had been watching her the whole time," Gorrmunsa growled in frustration, "But the one time I turn my eyes away, she escapes!"

"How strange," Laurel agreed weakly.

"No matter," Carsius dismissed the mystery to concentrate on the more pertinent present task, "Let's get you downstairs. Can you stand?"

Unlike before, when Laurel could rise to her feet after resting, this time she found her body too much fatigued to move.

Carsius moved to lift Laurel's body, calling the Kytarr to help him.

"Gorrmusa!"

The feline being still prowled the vicinity, looking for some sign of Ra'dith. "I cannot believe that dark shade could just—"

"Gorrmunsa!"

The Kytarr responded immediately. Together the two operatives carried the Elf-maiden in an arm-sling down the stairs to the parlor.

NEXT>>>>> 

"The Dragon's Quest" Excerpt: "The Hunt Before Nightfall"

"I got a clear view of the predator: the tawny golden body, rippling with muscle, the long tail flicking out like a rudder, and the spackled head of a golden eagle shrieking in victory..."

 As the path twisted closer to the mountains, a herd of white puffballs caught my eye.

"What are those?" I said, as they seemed to be wandering near us. The animals looked a little like sheep, and they grazed like them too.

"Those are called resia," Jerak answered. "They are perhaps the dumbest animal on Phantasm. They have only enough mental capacity to eat and sleep, but they breed rapidly and are about the only source for those creatures that eat meat."

I had to smile as an inquisitive resia ended up just beyond arm's reach for me. It blinked at me with round golden eyes like those of a sheep, yet when I coaxed it close enough to stroke its back, I saw that the "wool" was more like a short, coarse hair. It flinched under my hand, and when I stopped, it scurried away.

Jerak snorted, and I could almost read the disdain on his long, horsey face.

"See what I mean?" He muttered, "dumb animal."

I attempted to ignore his attitude. "What sort of creatures eat the resia?" I asked.

Jerak raised his head to look at grey, winged shapes that wheeled in the sky.

"Gryphons, mostly."

I flinched as a screech echoed from the sky… and suddenly a winged beast dropped down and sank its claws into the back of the resia I had just befriended. I got a clear view of the predator: the tawny golden body, rippling with muscle, the long tail flicking out like a rudder, and the spackled head of a golden eagle shrieking in victory as it claimed its mark. Instead of claws, each lion’s paw had wicked-looking talons that firmly gripped the flesh of the fat, heavy resia. The poor animal lowed pitifully as it sailed away to certain doom. The air was filled with the cries of gryphons and resia as the dive-bombing continued until what few terrified prey remained had successfully reached the cover of the trees.

Jerak trotted down the path as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Come along, Laura,” he called.

I couldn’t get the images of the diving gryphons out of my mind.

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked the unicorn.

Jerak tossed his head. “Oh, the gryphons will hunt only about every two dozen cycles or so. It gives time for the resia to breed, you see. Don’t worry,” he noted my baffled expression and sought to be reassuring. “There will always be more. It’s just food.”

Just food, I reminded myself.

By the time we reached the woods, the daylight had dimmed to a soft golden hue. The sun hung in a perfect half-circle at the horizon. Jerak stopped and pawed the ground with his hoof.

“Well, it looks like we’ll have to stop and rest here for the night,” he said.

“Here?” I looked around at the grassy clearing. There didn’t seem to be any of the Little Folk around here, as there were in other forests. That didn’t mean there weren’t imps hiding in the fallen log there, or watching me from the vines above—

“Yes, well, we’re not going to get much further before nightfall,” Jerak remarked.

Right on cue, the world plunged into absolute darkness.

“Jerak!” I squeaked involuntarily, my arms flailing to find him.

My fingertips brushed his flank, and I heard him snort. “Ahem! I’m right here, what are you shrieking about?”

I had never been in such complete darkness outdoors before. There wasn’t a moon, there weren’t even any stars.

“Doesn’t this place have a moon or something?” I whined, fighting to orient myself when I couldn’t so much as see my hand in front of my face.

“Of course there’s a Moon—the Beems should raise it any moment now.”

“Beams?”

A piercing stream of light cut the darkness. I watched in awe as a huge shining orb slowly elevated over the mountains, spreading its glow over the landscape. It certainly was the shape of a moon… but it was at least twenty times bigger than I had ever seen Earth’s moon. It was so large, in fact, that I could clearly see that it’s surface wasn’t dusty grey rock covered in round craters. Instead, it was smooth, striated, and almost oblong. I squinted at the golden sheen.

“Jerak,” I muttered, “Why is it moving?”

The light wavered, swelling and sinking in places. It was almost as if—

“Those are the Moon-Beems, working in their hive,” Jerak answered.

A thrill ran over my skin. The Moon as a hive for astral insectoids—what a phenomenal concept! I was beginning to understand how much I had missed in developing this world—now here it was, expanding before my eyes!

After eating our fill of the hanging yellow fruits growing wild around every tree (Jerak called them edkidna) I dug into the satchel Perissa had given us and found a tiny stack of blankets—at least, I thought they were small.

When I unfolded them, they expanded to a size large enough to wrap around me. I couldn't quite figure out what kind of fabric it was, but it felt both smooth like silk and thick like wool. At any rate, it made a very comfortable bed on the soft grass of the ground, with one blanket balled up under my head for a pillow. I kept watching the moon as I waited to fall asleep. The harder I stared, the more I could actually make out the fuzzy, winged dragonfly-like things crawling in and out of tunnels in the hive. Their movement would cause pieces of its surface to flake off, but the flakes hung in the sky, twinkling like the hive. Under this canopy of stars, I fell asleep.

In my dreams, I awoke in an open field, with monstrous gryphons circling overhead like vultures over carrion. I jumped to my feet and began running, but their massive wings sped faster than my feet, and there wasn't any kind of cover to be had. I kept running until a tremendous weight shoved me to the ground. With one swipe of a lion's paw, the gryphon rolled me over on my back. I could not resist as it pounced on me, its talons digging into my shoulders as it shrieked in my face and glared at me with those evil eagle eyes. It launched into the air, with me still trapped in its grip. The gryphon carried me higher and higher till we were almost level with the tops of the mountains—and then it dropped me.

I fell...

And I fell...

And I fell...

And I fell...

I jumped awake so hard I almost made it to my feet in a single motion. For one euphoric minute, I forgot where I was.

The last thing I remembered was going into my house after meeting with Gregson. Now I sat in a grassy wood where sunlight streamed through the trees. I could hear a faint humming, like flies or bees. It almost looked like the thicket in the green space four blocks down from my house; had I decided to sleep outside as an extreme method for getting new ideas? I glanced around; the ground was very wet, as if it had rained the previous night, but underneath the large blanket I was sandwiched in, my own clothes had stayed completely dry. I was wearing clothes from the day before—but now they were badly rumpled and streaked with a strange-smelling black goo. I couldn’t think where it had come from.

Hoofbeats approached behind me. Before I could turn around, I felt a wide, soft nose prodding the back of my head, like that of a horse. I turned as I reached up to pet it—and scurried back with a little yelp.

The horse had a white horn; it wasn't a horse.

“Good morning,” said the unicorn.

Reader's Review: "Dawn of Steam: Rising Suns" by Jeffrey Cook

Synopsis from Amazon:
1817 sees the first signs of recovery from the Year Without a Summer – and the beginning of the end of the journey of the airship Dame Fortuna. The crew first accept a unique offer from the Shogun of Japan, traveling with the Dutch contingent from the island of Dejima into the isolationist nation. From there, their travels will take them through the English colonies in Australia and India, into darkest Africa, and eventually home to England. Along the way, confrontations loom, and both personal secrets and national conspiracies are uncovered. By the time a future queen is born, nothing less than the fate of England and the direction of world events are at stake.
>>>>>>>

My Review:

Cook and Symonds have undoubtedly created what can only be termed as a symphony of literature.

The first "movement" was a pleasant introduction, full of new and mysterious motifs and grand themes of sweeping refrains moving through the different sections of the "orchestra."

The second was slightly slower, deeper, containing some intensity, with the "refrains" becoming more familiar and the audience following deeper into the emotions of the music.

This third movement is the grand finale that brings everything back together in one epic conclusion that will give you ALL OF THE FEELS!!!!

The thing that I think Cook has excelled at here, where genuine Victorian-era literature (as in, from the authors of that age) falls sadly short is that he took care to ensure that the readers are well and truly acquainted with the characters, and that those characters progress and develop at a reasonable pace over the course of the action. What began as a simple matter of exploration to uncharted corners turns into a race to stop a murderous traitor and save their homeland from unscrupulous enemies. Even though the perspective is limited, both by the epistolary format, and the fact that the "letters" are predominantly written by one character—the multiple correspondences, some even from other members of the crew, are like soaring lines in a musical score: together, they make a complete idea, amplified by both repetition and differing perspectives.

I loved this whole series. It's a bit thick and the style is relatively antique, but the storytelling is absolutely worth the time it takes, and there is plenty to slake the thirst of even the most voracious reader. Hardening back to the days when even reading adventure novels was an informative, intellectually-stimulating diversion, Cook's "Dawn of Steam" is a fresh treasure trove of a bygone era, fashioning a historic period into a timeless classic all over again.

Dawn of Steam: Rising Suns earns a full-blown *****5 STARS***** from The Upstream Writer, and a Definitely Recommended as well!

Further Reading: (Also By The Author/Steampunk/Brilliant Ensemble Cast)
Dawn of Steam Trilogy--Jeffrey Cook
      -First Light
      -Gods of The Sun 
      -Rising Suns (*This book)
Punk Anthologies--Writerpunk Press Group
      -Sound & Fury: Shakespeare Goes Punk, Vol. 1 
      -Once More Unto The Breach: Shakespeare Goes Punk, Vol. 2 
      -What We've Unlearned: Classic Literature Goes Punk 
The Fair Folk Chronicles--Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins
        -Foul is Fair 
        -Street Fair 
        -A Fair Fight 
        -All's Fair
The Red Dog Conspiracy--Patricia Loofbourrow
       -The Alcatraz Coup 
       -Jacq of Spades 
       -Queen of Diamonds

Starstruck Saga--S. E. Anderson

       -Starstruck 

The Children of Dreki--N. R. Tupper
       -TYR 

The Suggestion Box, Vol. 3: "One Thousand Words" List #5

"At the foot of the tree huddled a figure swathed in a cloak of many-colored butterfly wings..."

 *Suggested By: Autumn Siegel

The List*:
Arielle
An Island
Modern Day/sunrise
A necklace that brings back lost memories

The Result:

Title:

"Soul Mates" (Part 2)

Excerpt from Part 1: He spoke again. “I thought I saw you run in there. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, and the others are long gone. Please, will you come out?”

Nakoma waited. So did the man. She saw him sit down on the log across from the one she hid within. He would probably wait there the whole night. The fire spirit in the orb danced and flickered—only it wasn’t exactly a spirit, she now saw, just the flame of it. How had the giants managed to separate the element?

“Frankly, I don’t blame you.”

Nakoma shrank back into a frightened little ball at the sound of the voice. The giant continued talking--but to whom? Nakoma knew of no one else besides herself in the area; could he mean to speak with her?

“You’ve probably never seen a human in your life, and here we are, invading your island, looking for treasure—at least,” he sighed, “the others are.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that Nakoma could not see—but she saw the gentle smile that played over his face when he looked at it. “Me, I came here looking for something a little different—and infinitely more precious.”

She wasn’t cowering anymore—but she still remained in the shadows of the log. This man—this human—was unlike anything she ever expected. He wasn’t trying to capture her, or kill her. He just kept talking.

“You see, my wife, Arielle, was an explorer like me. She came here many years ago, with another team.” He paused for a very long time.

Nakoma took another cautious step forward.

“Their camp was attacked by wild beasts, they said, and a couple of them were killed—but my wife—“ His voice stopped, and when he next spoke, his voice sounded different, round and open like the log she stood in. “They never found her body.”

Nakoma stood at the mouth of the hollow log. The man had ceased talking—but the strange gasping noises made her wonder exactly what he was doing. Carefully, inch by inch, she peeked around the edge of the log.

The man’s hands covered his face. His body quivered. The next time he made the sound, Nakoma timed her movements exactly and scurried across the ground toward his log.

His head snapped up as if he had heard the sound. He looked toward the log, as if he assumed she had run away. Looking back down, he saw her standing at his leg, and his body stiffened. Not daring to move, lest she prove to be some kind of illusion that would disappear, or something incredibly skittish that would vanish at the mere thought of alarm, he watched her.

Nakoma stared up at the man. Slowly, she tried forming words that the man would understand.

“You… come… to… find… her?” she asked.

The man’s mouth opened in surprise. “Yes,” he said quickly, as if he worried that saying anything more would scare her.

The man held very still as Nekoma climbed onto the log next to him. She stood eye-to-eye with him now. His head was turned away from her, but he watched her with his eyes.

“Me… Nakoma,” she said, pointing to herself.

“I am Kenneth,” he said, turning to face her.

Nakoma examined Kenneth closely. He wore strange clothes that were not the coverings of any animal she had ever seen. His eyes were brown like his hair. She saw something glint in his hand. It looked like two halves of a shell, but one side held a little black creature with antennas that clicked around and around in a circle, while the other held a face.

Nakoma gasped; she knew that face!

“What is it?” Kenneth asked.

Nakoma grabbed his hand; or rather, she could only grasp two of his fingers. “Must come with Nakoma!” she cried, running toward the deep part of the forest where the Druid Circle was hidden.

“What? Why?” Kenneth bounded to his feet, but already lost sight of her. “Where are we going?”

Nakoma returned to his side. “Must come!” she insisted.

“All right,” Kenneth sighed, “but not so fast! I can’t keep up.”

“Come with!” Nakoma tried to slow down her pace so that Kenneth could follow. All the while, her mind spun with the discovery she had just made.

Who could have predicted that Nakoma would be trapped outside the Circle on the very night a human crew would invade the forest—and one of those humans happened to be the mate of someone Nakoma had seen many times without once ever wondering where she came from? All this time, a human in their very midst—why had the Elder Sprites allowed this to happen, if they were indeed so concerned about any beings from the outside world discovering their existence?

Nakoma came to a stop just outside the shining border. Kenneth crashed through the underbrush behind her. He leaned against a tree, panting heavily.

“Why did we stop?” he asked. “Where are you taking me?”

Nakoma winced as she tried to find the words to tell him. “Circle… is here.”

“You’re kidding, the Druid Circle?” He gazed all around him in wonder. “Where?”

Nakoma realized Kenneth could not see the gauzy curtain that separated the world of the Fae from that of the humans. She marked a line in the dirt where the boundary met the ground.

“Here,” she pointed. Kenneth squatted down next to her, staring keenly at the space above the line. He moved his hand toward the barrier.

“May I?” he asked the little sprite.

Nakoma nodded, too overcome with the quandary she was getting herself into.

Kenneth stuck his hand over the line. Everything that crossed the mark seemed to vanish into thin air. He gasped, withdrawing his hand to make sure it was still there. Everything remained intact; a perception shield! It was as if magic existed in the real world!

Dawn gleamed at the edge of the horizon; sunrise, which meant the barrier would lift and allow them entrance. Her heart weighed heavy with dread as Nakoma stepped forward and took Kenneth’s hand. “Come,” she said, crossing the border into the Druid Circle.

Kenneth crossed the barrier and gasped. All around him, glowing figures danced and clambered around plants that seemed to emit their own light. Everything sparkled and gleamed in the new light of the sun. At the center was the largest tree he had ever seen, with many branches. Little brown wood sprites like Nakoma scurried around its many branches. Ethereal blue water sprites lifted their heads from the little pond at the foot of the tree to stare at him in wonder.

At the foot of the tree huddled a figure swathed in a cloak of many-colored butterfly wings. As Nakoma and Kenneth approached, the figure stood and threw back her cloak. Her dark hair hung down her back, adorned by a crown of brilliant flowers. She was nearly as tall as Kenneth; among the small sprites, it was very obvious that the two were the same species.

Kenneth stared in shock. “Arielle?” he gasped, confirming what Nakoma had feared.

The woman stared at him imperiously. “I am Allyra,” she announced. “Warden of the Fae; who is this Arielle you speak of?”

“What?” Kenneth frowned, and stepped forward, reaching for Allyra’s hands; she drew back from him. “Arielle, it’s me, Kenneth! I’m your husband!”

“Stay back!” Allyra barked, and a crowd of winged Air Sprites imposed themselves in front of her. “I know not but you are human! Do not feign to be so familiar with me, when I have never seen you before in my life! Take him from my sight!”

“What? Arielle! Wait, please!” Kenneth could not evade the wall of tiny spears brandished at him. He turned away, and they cleared. Lady Allyra had withdrawn.

Nakoma watched Kenneth sit on a rounded stone and pull out the golden shell with the image of Allyra—whom he knew as Arielle, his wife—inside it.

“I don’t understand,” he said softly, as the tears formed in his eyes.

“She has no memory,” Nakoma explained softly. “She come into the Circle, wounded, scared, seeking shelter. We give shelter, we heal—but she not remember what come before. Chose to stay and become Warden of the Fae.”

Sadness became anger as Kenneth scowled. “So that’s it, then?” He said despondently. “I’m just supposed to leave her behind, after I finally found her after all these years?”

Nakoma knew that this was not the end; she could not imagine if Kharrie forgot her and began to treat her as an enemy. She would help Kenneth, whatever it took.

“There is legend,” she offered the human. “Of a treasure, a necklace; it name Collar of Cuimhne.”

“Cuimhne,” Kenneth snorted, “The Irish word for memory.”

“Yes,” said Nakoma. “Legend say, those who forget, put on collar, remember everything forgotten.”

“So,” Kenneth said slowly, “If we were to find this collar, and somehow convince Ari—I mean, Allyra to wear it… she would remember me?”

Nakoma shrugged; who knew? “Legend say,” she said.

Kenneth considered this for a long moment. Finally, he looked at Nakoma. “Where can we find this Collar of Cuimhne?”

Soul Mates, Part 3 >>>>>

Previously in This Series:
#4 "Inside The Impact Zone"
#3 (See "Part 1" above) 
#2 "The Artist's Wife"
#1 "Red of Morning"