P.C. Hodgell's Blog, page 9
May 6, 2015
Endgame
I'm starting/continuing to think ahead to where this all ends. These are my major goals so far, listed in the order I expect them to occur. Can you think of any others?
1. To give Jame, Tori, and Kindrie real homes = something to fight for
2. To create the Tyr-ridan, which means the three Knorth all accepting their roles and each other.
3. To defeat Perimal Darkling and the Master
4. To punish Rawneth, Caldane, Keral, and various others
5 . To free the Kendar from their bond to the Highborn
6 To establish a working relationship between the Kencyrath, Rathiliien, and the Four
7. To come to terms with the aftermath (i.e. what happens next)
1. To give Jame, Tori, and Kindrie real homes = something to fight for
2. To create the Tyr-ridan, which means the three Knorth all accepting their roles and each other.
3. To defeat Perimal Darkling and the Master
4. To punish Rawneth, Caldane, Keral, and various others
5 . To free the Kendar from their bond to the Highborn
6 To establish a working relationship between the Kencyrath, Rathiliien, and the Four
7. To come to terms with the aftermath (i.e. what happens next)
May 2, 2015
Music
I was just listening to Enya's Boadrica and it roused a strong, long standing mental image of Jamethiel Dream-weaver first brushing her hair, then walking with a measured, smiling, dream-like tread to the Master's Hall to precipitate the Fall. I see Jame walking after her, herself first tracing the Dream-weaver's movements, then waking up in the cold hall long after. Was that in Seeker's Mask? Can't rememeber. Anyway, it made me wonder what other music is a powerful trigger for what scene.
There's one -- heavens, I can't remember the composer -- that I associate with Jame and Tori armoring for battle, especially Jame. She's rather hesitatantly putting on the ivory armor while Kendar try to lead Death's-head to her tent. He breaks free of the chains with which they are trying to control him. She mounts. She and Tori spiral in on each other, he riding Storm, and on to the battle field.
Then it changes to Flight of the Valyries. Jame and DH are on a rock over looking rolling hills. (Think Pharoah and his chariot above the Red Sea in the Heston movie). The Kencyr charge down around her. She has trouble controlling the rathorn, especially after her sawing on the bit draws blood in his mouth. He cocks and leaps. The charge parts to allow him space to land. As he lunges forward, the way clearing before him as horses catch his scent. They are all holding back. When he surges to the front, lances come down on either side and the charge focusses on him as the spear-head. Up hill, down hill, as the enemy rushes toward them. Clash. Melee, with the rathorn rearing and lunging forward and Jame holding on for dear life.
All of this made me wonder if anything triggers music for you in my work. It really is a potent stimulous.
There's one -- heavens, I can't remember the composer -- that I associate with Jame and Tori armoring for battle, especially Jame. She's rather hesitatantly putting on the ivory armor while Kendar try to lead Death's-head to her tent. He breaks free of the chains with which they are trying to control him. She mounts. She and Tori spiral in on each other, he riding Storm, and on to the battle field.
Then it changes to Flight of the Valyries. Jame and DH are on a rock over looking rolling hills. (Think Pharoah and his chariot above the Red Sea in the Heston movie). The Kencyr charge down around her. She has trouble controlling the rathorn, especially after her sawing on the bit draws blood in his mouth. He cocks and leaps. The charge parts to allow him space to land. As he lunges forward, the way clearing before him as horses catch his scent. They are all holding back. When he surges to the front, lances come down on either side and the charge focusses on him as the spear-head. Up hill, down hill, as the enemy rushes toward them. Clash. Melee, with the rathorn rearing and lunging forward and Jame holding on for dear life.
All of this made me wonder if anything triggers music for you in my work. It really is a potent stimulous.
April 15, 2015
Soul-images
I wrote the rogue sour dough scene yesterday. It came out pretty well, I think, with some unexpected (by me) twists. I love fantasy. It lets you play with such neat ideas, including the soul-image of a baker.
A sudden thought: do Kendar even have soul-images, or just the Highborn? I think Kendar must, but they tend to be less complicated. I'm not even going to think at the moment about the Arrin-ken.
And it just occurred to me that I don't know what Rawneth's soul-image is. That might be important. She tells Jame in the soulscape, "My name is legion, as are my forms and the eyes through which I see." I take that as an expression of her power more than a reflection of her essense although, of course, power and essense are related. Rawenth is all about power and control. I think, though, that what she's done should also be reflected on the soul's level, rather like the Portrait of Dorian Gray. Perhaps hers is an image within an image, the mask of control over the horror within. At the same time, I don't get the feeling that she regrets anything. What does the soul of a perfect psychopath look like?
Thoughts?
A sudden thought: do Kendar even have soul-images, or just the Highborn? I think Kendar must, but they tend to be less complicated. I'm not even going to think at the moment about the Arrin-ken.
And it just occurred to me that I don't know what Rawneth's soul-image is. That might be important. She tells Jame in the soulscape, "My name is legion, as are my forms and the eyes through which I see." I take that as an expression of her power more than a reflection of her essense although, of course, power and essense are related. Rawenth is all about power and control. I think, though, that what she's done should also be reflected on the soul's level, rather like the Portrait of Dorian Gray. Perhaps hers is an image within an image, the mask of control over the horror within. At the same time, I don't get the feeling that she regrets anything. What does the soul of a perfect psychopath look like?
Thoughts?
April 8, 2015
Snippet Redux
Oops. I posted the previous snippet directly to a poster who pointed out that I kept calling the current Lord Jaran Jedrak rather than Kedan. This was my way of wriggling out of the mistake, plus a bit:
They had met in Mount Alban’s library, surrounded by niches full of priceless scrolls reaching from floor to ceiling. Night pressed against the windows, held at bay by a chandelier full of guttering candles. Molten wax dripped on Kindrie’s wild mop of white hair. He ignored it. The muted noise of the college rose from below.
“I see you!”
“No, you don’t.”
A rush of ascending footsteps followed, and an elderly man burst into the library – a singer, judging by the intricate gold embroidery on the cuffs and collar of his belted robe.
“Shhh …” he said, raising a gnarled finger to his chapped lips, and scrambled for cover behind the room’s largest desk.
A pudgy, panting scrollsman burst into the room on his heels.
“Which way did he go? Which way did he go?”
When neither Jame nor Kindrie answered, the little scrollsman said “Tsk!” in disgust and rushed away, his robe flapping.
The singer emerged from cover and slunk after him, pausing to give Jame and Kindrie a mischievous, gap-toothed grin.
Jame remembered climbing the twisting ironwood stair that lead through the college’s irregular levels. Scrollsmen had been tip-toeing across landings, peering into rooms and around corners. In their wake, there had been a scurry of singers seeking new hiding places.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
The answer came from the doorway as the Jaran Lordan Kirien entered the library.
“The singers have hidden various scrolls throughout the college,” she said. “If a scrollsman catches a singer, he or she has to tell them where a specific manuscript is. It’s their somewhat hare-brained response to Caldane trying to destroy certain valuable scrolls this past spring. Index is beside himself.”
So the old scrollsman would be, thought Jame; his reputation was based on his knowledge of where every scarp of parchment was.
Candlelight caught the delicate bones of Kirien’s face as she emerged from the shadows, her profile as fine as any engraved on an antique coin. Although both a Highborn lady and a scrollswoman, she wore neither dress nor mask nor robe but rather pants and a plain, belted jacket of good material. At first glance, one might have taken her for a handsome boy. She ignored Kindrie despite his involuntary step toward her.
“We heard that you were coming,” she said to Jame, echoing Holly.
“The entire Riverland seems to know,” said Jame ruefully.
“Of course. Whatever you and your brother do is of interest to the rest of us.”
She still hadn’t even glanced at Kindrie, who subsided looking perplexed and unhappy.
“I suppose Matriarch Trishien has kept you up to date.”
Kirien touched a pocket distorted by the slate on which she and her great-aunt communicated by far-writing.
“Aunt Trishien is worried,” she said. “The Highlord’s behavior lately has been … mystifying. My impression is that he is trying to act properly, but under great stress and no, I haven’t any idea what is wrong.”
A scrawny old man bustled into the library and thrust a rolled parchment into Kirien’s hands.
“Hello, Index,” said Jame.
The ancient scrollsman glared at her.
“Here again, are you?” he spat. “So, what falls apart or down this time, eh? Or maybe a nice fire … no.” His gaze wandered up the shelves of frighteningly flammable parchment. “Don’t you dare.”
Not waiting for an answer, he scurried out again.
Kirien returned the parchment to its a niche.
“No,” she said to the singer who arrived on Index’s heels. “This was fairly returned and so is out of the game. Really,” she added to Jame as the singer departed, disappointed, “it’s like dealing with a houseful of children. Still, I will miss them when I become Lady Jedrak.”
“Wasn’t that the name of the former lord, your great-great-grandfather?”
“So we call every leader of our house. It’s High Kens for ‘lord.’ I suppose that we’ve always tried to distance ourselves from the concept of leadership. ‘The Jedrak,’ we say, sometimes. My great-uncle can’t wait to become simple Kedan again.”
“Will you have to leave Mount Alban?”
“Not altogether. After all, Valantir is just across the river. But the head of a house has other responsibilities than scholarship, which is why no one else wants the job.”
Jame thought ruefully about her own duties as the Knorth Lordan, which in the past she had barely met.
Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Kindrie twisted a handful of his blue robe nervously. “I should have gone with Cousin Torisen back to Gothregor,” he said. “I’ve stayed here too long.”
Kirien regarded him for the first time, with exasperation. “D’you really think you can help him? Aunt Trishien had the right of it: first, he has to help himself.”
“Nonetheless …”
“Then go! What good d’you think you’re doing here?”
With that, she turned and stormed out.
Kindrie looked helplessly at Jame.
Jame shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
They had met in Mount Alban’s library, surrounded by niches full of priceless scrolls reaching from floor to ceiling. Night pressed against the windows, held at bay by a chandelier full of guttering candles. Molten wax dripped on Kindrie’s wild mop of white hair. He ignored it. The muted noise of the college rose from below.
“I see you!”
“No, you don’t.”
A rush of ascending footsteps followed, and an elderly man burst into the library – a singer, judging by the intricate gold embroidery on the cuffs and collar of his belted robe.
“Shhh …” he said, raising a gnarled finger to his chapped lips, and scrambled for cover behind the room’s largest desk.
A pudgy, panting scrollsman burst into the room on his heels.
“Which way did he go? Which way did he go?”
When neither Jame nor Kindrie answered, the little scrollsman said “Tsk!” in disgust and rushed away, his robe flapping.
The singer emerged from cover and slunk after him, pausing to give Jame and Kindrie a mischievous, gap-toothed grin.
Jame remembered climbing the twisting ironwood stair that lead through the college’s irregular levels. Scrollsmen had been tip-toeing across landings, peering into rooms and around corners. In their wake, there had been a scurry of singers seeking new hiding places.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
The answer came from the doorway as the Jaran Lordan Kirien entered the library.
“The singers have hidden various scrolls throughout the college,” she said. “If a scrollsman catches a singer, he or she has to tell them where a specific manuscript is. It’s their somewhat hare-brained response to Caldane trying to destroy certain valuable scrolls this past spring. Index is beside himself.”
So the old scrollsman would be, thought Jame; his reputation was based on his knowledge of where every scarp of parchment was.
Candlelight caught the delicate bones of Kirien’s face as she emerged from the shadows, her profile as fine as any engraved on an antique coin. Although both a Highborn lady and a scrollswoman, she wore neither dress nor mask nor robe but rather pants and a plain, belted jacket of good material. At first glance, one might have taken her for a handsome boy. She ignored Kindrie despite his involuntary step toward her.
“We heard that you were coming,” she said to Jame, echoing Holly.
“The entire Riverland seems to know,” said Jame ruefully.
“Of course. Whatever you and your brother do is of interest to the rest of us.”
She still hadn’t even glanced at Kindrie, who subsided looking perplexed and unhappy.
“I suppose Matriarch Trishien has kept you up to date.”
Kirien touched a pocket distorted by the slate on which she and her great-aunt communicated by far-writing.
“Aunt Trishien is worried,” she said. “The Highlord’s behavior lately has been … mystifying. My impression is that he is trying to act properly, but under great stress and no, I haven’t any idea what is wrong.”
A scrawny old man bustled into the library and thrust a rolled parchment into Kirien’s hands.
“Hello, Index,” said Jame.
The ancient scrollsman glared at her.
“Here again, are you?” he spat. “So, what falls apart or down this time, eh? Or maybe a nice fire … no.” His gaze wandered up the shelves of frighteningly flammable parchment. “Don’t you dare.”
Not waiting for an answer, he scurried out again.
Kirien returned the parchment to its a niche.
“No,” she said to the singer who arrived on Index’s heels. “This was fairly returned and so is out of the game. Really,” she added to Jame as the singer departed, disappointed, “it’s like dealing with a houseful of children. Still, I will miss them when I become Lady Jedrak.”
“Wasn’t that the name of the former lord, your great-great-grandfather?”
“So we call every leader of our house. It’s High Kens for ‘lord.’ I suppose that we’ve always tried to distance ourselves from the concept of leadership. ‘The Jedrak,’ we say, sometimes. My great-uncle can’t wait to become simple Kedan again.”
“Will you have to leave Mount Alban?”
“Not altogether. After all, Valantir is just across the river. But the head of a house has other responsibilities than scholarship, which is why no one else wants the job.”
Jame thought ruefully about her own duties as the Knorth Lordan, which in the past she had barely met.
Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Kindrie twisted a handful of his blue robe nervously. “I should have gone with Cousin Torisen back to Gothregor,” he said. “I’ve stayed here too long.”
Kirien regarded him for the first time, with exasperation. “D’you really think you can help him? Aunt Trishien had the right of it: first, he has to help himself.”
“Nonetheless …”
“Then go! What good d’you think you’re doing here?”
With that, she turned and stormed out.
Kindrie looked helplessly at Jame.
Jame shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
April 7, 2015
More this and that, plus a snippet
I've really enjoyed all the recent feedback on various ideas. I can't always remember who said what, but if I use one of your ideas without thanking you, please accept my gratitude anyway.
Speaking of borrowing/adapting, I just got off the web-site Pinerest, which is a wonderful photographic source of images/textures/colors. There are so many that would adapt beautifully into fiber art -- wall hangings, wearable art, etc. -- and I have over 4,000 different yarns to play with. Once again, I'm open to commissions if anyone has anything special they would like to see transformed.
One thing about Pinerest I don't understand: what does it mean when someone repins you? That keeps happening.
And a snippet, which immediately follows a previous one. This is Jame, Kirien, and Kindrie at Mount Alban:
“Will you have to leave Mount Alban?” [Jame asks Kirien]
“Not altogether. After all, Valantir is just across the river. But the head of a house has other responsibilities than scholarship, which is why no one else wants the job.”
Jame thought ruefully about her own duties as the Knorth Lordan, which in the past she had barely met.
Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Kindrie twisted a handful of his blue robe nervously. “I should have gone with Cousin Torisen back to Gothregor,” he said. “I’ve stayed here too long.”
Kirien regarded him for the first time, with exasperation. “D’you really think you can help him? Aunt Trishien had the right of it: first, he has to help himself.”
“Nonetheless …”
“Then go! What good d’you think you’re doing here?”
With that, she turned and stormed out.
Kindrie looked helplessly at Jame.
Jame shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
Speaking of borrowing/adapting, I just got off the web-site Pinerest, which is a wonderful photographic source of images/textures/colors. There are so many that would adapt beautifully into fiber art -- wall hangings, wearable art, etc. -- and I have over 4,000 different yarns to play with. Once again, I'm open to commissions if anyone has anything special they would like to see transformed.
One thing about Pinerest I don't understand: what does it mean when someone repins you? That keeps happening.
And a snippet, which immediately follows a previous one. This is Jame, Kirien, and Kindrie at Mount Alban:
“Will you have to leave Mount Alban?” [Jame asks Kirien]
“Not altogether. After all, Valantir is just across the river. But the head of a house has other responsibilities than scholarship, which is why no one else wants the job.”
Jame thought ruefully about her own duties as the Knorth Lordan, which in the past she had barely met.
Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Kindrie twisted a handful of his blue robe nervously. “I should have gone with Cousin Torisen back to Gothregor,” he said. “I’ve stayed here too long.”
Kirien regarded him for the first time, with exasperation. “D’you really think you can help him? Aunt Trishien had the right of it: first, he has to help himself.”
“Nonetheless …”
“Then go! What good d’you think you’re doing here?”
With that, she turned and stormed out.
Kindrie looked helplessly at Jame.
Jame shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
March 26, 2015
Relations
... oh there's this too: I can't remember if I've named any of Gran Cyd's other children. I think Sonny and Sonny-boy both had different mothers. Prid's mother should have been her daughter though, shouldn't she?
This and That
First of all, many thanks to all of you who sent condolesences about poor Countess. She was a sweet girl. I miss her. This is the first time since I started riding 15 years ago that I don't have a horse of my own, but I'm not sure I can afford the upkeep any longer, not having any income to speak of since I retired from teaching to write full time. Well, we'll see. At least there's usually a horse at the stable I can ride in exchange for doing chores (which I would do anyway). I'm not giving that up.
I'm about one third through the next novel, at least going by word count, and have just introduced Gran Cyd's new baby, now about 18 months old. She (I think it's a girl) seems rather small. As soon as Jame saw her, I knew that there was something special/different/strange about her, but I don't yet know what. Nominally, she's Jame's too. Chingetai is probably the real father, but he seems reluctant to claim her. What's going on? Any suggestions?
Oh, and this was my Xmas card last year. I've just discovered the joys of quilt fabric, although I don't yet know how to quilt. I'm currently thinking about a fabric/yarn/bead 6'x3' wall hanging based on nautilius shells. Small projects for me? Oh no.
I'm about one third through the next novel, at least going by word count, and have just introduced Gran Cyd's new baby, now about 18 months old. She (I think it's a girl) seems rather small. As soon as Jame saw her, I knew that there was something special/different/strange about her, but I don't yet know what. Nominally, she's Jame's too. Chingetai is probably the real father, but he seems reluctant to claim her. What's going on? Any suggestions?
Oh, and this was my Xmas card last year. I've just discovered the joys of quilt fabric, although I don't yet know how to quilt. I'm currently thinking about a fabric/yarn/bead 6'x3' wall hanging based on nautilius shells. Small projects for me? Oh no.
March 12, 2015
Countess
Marc called this morning to say that it was time to put Countess down. The medicines weren't working anymore, the infection had spread to the bone, and she was in great pain, barely able to stand. I saw her yesterday. Her legs were shaking under her and she looked truly miserable. So I said to go ahead. Half an hour later he called back to report that the vet had done the deed. Poor girl.
February 8, 2015
tagmeth @ 2015-02-08T21:23:00
Here's another quick question: has Timmon ever been in Tori's soul-image or dreamscape? Specifically, would he recognize the Haunted Lands' keep if he saw it?
January 23, 2015
Florida etc
Back from Orlando, which was a lot of fun -- mostly. We started out with a swim-with-manatees tour, which was exactly that. Manatees winter at King's Bay where several natural springs keep the water at about 72 degrees all year. It's a built up area with lots of vacation homes and canels, but there are the manatees, many with their babies, half-hibernating on the bottom, coming up to breathe about every 15 minutes. This should have been marvelous, but I got a leaky snorkel and half drown. Nonetheless, a manatee did surface nearly underneath me, a leviathon rising from the (sort of) depths, and that was thrilling. It put me in sympathy with Jame and the Eaten One.
We also rode out into a nature preserve (Forever Florida) on Crackers (descendents of horses brought to Florida in the 1500's by Ponce de Leon), in the process fording several chest-high, fast flowing creeks and passing a panther bone-pit. The guide thinks it's a female panther, which is very rare so far south. They have yet to catch and tag her.
Otherwise, the theme parks were about what you would expect. My impression is that Disney still does it best. Universal had a few comparible features, mostly in Harry Potter land, and Sea World was distinctly lame, except for its marine inhabitants.
Here at home, Countess is about the same. While she gets neither better nor worse, it's hard to know what to do. I saw her rolling in the snow with gusto the other day and getting up without difficulty, but she's still so lame.
And finally, a call for ideas: Jame is obviously a threat in the kitchen. What besides rudimentary internal organs in rising bread might she incur?
We also rode out into a nature preserve (Forever Florida) on Crackers (descendents of horses brought to Florida in the 1500's by Ponce de Leon), in the process fording several chest-high, fast flowing creeks and passing a panther bone-pit. The guide thinks it's a female panther, which is very rare so far south. They have yet to catch and tag her.
Otherwise, the theme parks were about what you would expect. My impression is that Disney still does it best. Universal had a few comparible features, mostly in Harry Potter land, and Sea World was distinctly lame, except for its marine inhabitants.
Here at home, Countess is about the same. While she gets neither better nor worse, it's hard to know what to do. I saw her rolling in the snow with gusto the other day and getting up without difficulty, but she's still so lame.
And finally, a call for ideas: Jame is obviously a threat in the kitchen. What besides rudimentary internal organs in rising bread might she incur?
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