Aaron Dennis's Blog, page 5
November 1, 2016
A Word
Most of the questions I’m personally asked are about specific details regarding the editing process of a novel or story during or after the writing process.
Today, I will cover the word.
A single word can make or break a story. How? Well, let’s see….
What if you read the word lanky? What image comes to mind? What if you read the word thin or wiry? Do different images come to mind?
Let’s look at a single sentence now.
The lanky man walked down the street.
What do you see?
How about: The thin man walked down the street.
Or: The wiry man walked down the street.
Different imagery comes to mind, right?
Generally, my advice to writers of all levels of expertise is to just get the story down, get it all down, get it all out of your mind and onto paper, or a screen, or whatever. Once everything is done then it’s time to edit, and this is where it gets complicated.
Writing the story is the easy part. Writing is really just getting out the sequential account of events, which transpire, but editing is turning those sequential accounts into an enjoyable story for people, and I assure you, readers read differently than writers, and this is why editors are a great go between; they read as both writers and readers; they understand what a writer is trying to say, and they turn it into something that readers understand.
So, let’s take a quick look at those words again. Thin, lanky, and wiry can all mean something similar, but a lanky person isn’t generally thought of as strong or tough. A thin person is usually thought of as attractive; TV tells us we should be thin. Wiry tends to connote strength; a wiry person is thin and maybe lanky, but they’re usually also a tad muscular, or tough, or stringy, and so all in all, each of those words brings unto a reader a different image, a different meaning.
Now, let’s try something a bit different.
The lanky man shuffled down the street.
This is different from a lanky man walking. Shuffling connotes a different meaning even though walking and shuffling are synonyms. Suddenly, a reader is locked into a new image; a man is shuffling, why?
It’s a common mistake that writers make; they choose a synonym only because they used another word of similar meaning on too many previous occasions. They think that because someone else walked earlier, they must use a similar but different word on the next passage, but this can be a mistake as it will make the reader wonder why someone was shuffling when there seems to be no cause for shuffling, which means that everything before and everything after the shuffling must be tied together, which is why it’s important to make these changes during the editing process and not the writing process; the author can then have a better idea of the imagery they’ve already introduced.
So, let’s take a look at a more complicated situation.
It was a hot day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided. From his living room, he caught sight of a lanky man walking down the street. Whoever the person was, John didn’t recognize him.
Nothing wrong with the above paragraph; it provides the reader everything they need to know; it’s hot, which is why John is indoors, and that’s why he saw someone, who is lanky.
Now, a writer must consider many things; what happened before? What happens next? Why is any of this important? Is this a novel? Is this a short story? What is the genre?
Now, you’re asking, “What does this have to do with changing a single word, and how does it make or break a story?”
Well, buckle up.
If the preceding paragraph has already tackled the weather, John’s setting, or the man then it’s important to avoid being redundant, and changing a single word can have that effect.
If the following paragraph follows up on the man rather than John, the setting, or the weather then it becomes important to choose the right words in order to lead into the next idea, and again, a single word can make all the difference.
If this is a novel then a reader will want to know as much as possible about anything germane to the story, but if this is a short story then there are probably a great many things, which require no explanation. In other words, if this is a novel, the writer should probably focus on creating a more complex paragraph, but this also depends on the scene; will it be an action scene, or is it a form a foreshadowing, or this just a framing device to set up another chain of events?
What genre is this? Is this horror? Is this a fantasy? Is it scifi?
Let’s play with the paragraph.
It was a blistering day….
By changing hot to blistering, the reader has a different notion of how hot it is, but that word is also different from hot in another way; we can no longer continue the sentence as it was originally provided.
It doesn’t make sense to say: It was a blistering day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided.
Until what subsided? The day? No, the heat, which we knew as readers when we read the original paragraph, so by changing a single word, if we don’t change another word later in the same sentence, we break the story.
We have to write instead: It was a blistering day, and John decided to stay inside until the heat subsided.
This first sentence has now taken on a whole new life. Yes, we still know that John is inside because it was hot, but now we know how hot; we’ve all experienced summer days so hot, we had to stay inside until the heat subsided. Changing a single word, which forced us to change another, has now made this sentence far more relatable and meaningful.
Now, let’s play around some more. What if this is a horror short story about zombies?
It was a hot day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided. From his living room, he caught sight of a lanky zombie walking down the street. Whoever the person was, John didn’t recognize him.
Obviously, I changed man to zombie, but that’s not important because everything else is exactly the same, however, since the reader will know it’s a horror short about zombies, they expect to read a horror about zombies, so let’s change a word.
From his living room, he caught sight of an emaciated zombie walking down the street.
Whoa, emaciated is way better than lanky. Now, you say, “Lanky and emaciated don’t mean the same thing; they aren’t synonyms.”
You’re right, sort of; emaciated is a synonym for thin or skinny, which are synonyms for lanky, but since this is a horror, it’s important to use a more terrifying word that elicits a fearful image, and lanky doesn’t scare anyone, but is emaciated the right word?
How about: From his living room, he caught sight of a cadaverous zombie walking down the street.
Now, we’re on to something; cadaverous makes us think of something already dead, but doesn’t cadaverous zombie sound redundant? We know it’s dead, kind of, I mean, it’s a zombie….
Here, we have another case of a single word breaking the story, whereas emaciated made the story better, but it doesn’t end there.
If a writer really wants to tune up that sentence, they might try: From his living room, he caught sight of a cadaverous creature shuffling down the street.
Yes, a total of three words have been changed, but it’s a chained effect caused by changing that one word, lanky, and following it up to make a sentence more palatable for an audience, and more appropriate for the genre in question. It cannot be denied that the later sentence is far and away more horrifying than the previous one.
If all this sounds complicated, it is; editing is no picnic, and a competent editor has to do a lot of work to make a story worth reading, and it’s also why editors aren’t hired until after a story is completely written; we can’t edit without knowing what happened before, during, and after a set of events, and neither can the author choose the correct words, neither can the audience understand the writer’s meaning, but taking some time to understand the art of writing rather than just jotting down a sequential account of events will really help to make a story a far better read to the audience.
Today, I will cover the word.
A single word can make or break a story. How? Well, let’s see….
What if you read the word lanky? What image comes to mind? What if you read the word thin or wiry? Do different images come to mind?
Let’s look at a single sentence now.
The lanky man walked down the street.
What do you see?
How about: The thin man walked down the street.
Or: The wiry man walked down the street.
Different imagery comes to mind, right?
Generally, my advice to writers of all levels of expertise is to just get the story down, get it all down, get it all out of your mind and onto paper, or a screen, or whatever. Once everything is done then it’s time to edit, and this is where it gets complicated.
Writing the story is the easy part. Writing is really just getting out the sequential account of events, which transpire, but editing is turning those sequential accounts into an enjoyable story for people, and I assure you, readers read differently than writers, and this is why editors are a great go between; they read as both writers and readers; they understand what a writer is trying to say, and they turn it into something that readers understand.
So, let’s take a quick look at those words again. Thin, lanky, and wiry can all mean something similar, but a lanky person isn’t generally thought of as strong or tough. A thin person is usually thought of as attractive; TV tells us we should be thin. Wiry tends to connote strength; a wiry person is thin and maybe lanky, but they’re usually also a tad muscular, or tough, or stringy, and so all in all, each of those words brings unto a reader a different image, a different meaning.
Now, let’s try something a bit different.
The lanky man shuffled down the street.
This is different from a lanky man walking. Shuffling connotes a different meaning even though walking and shuffling are synonyms. Suddenly, a reader is locked into a new image; a man is shuffling, why?
It’s a common mistake that writers make; they choose a synonym only because they used another word of similar meaning on too many previous occasions. They think that because someone else walked earlier, they must use a similar but different word on the next passage, but this can be a mistake as it will make the reader wonder why someone was shuffling when there seems to be no cause for shuffling, which means that everything before and everything after the shuffling must be tied together, which is why it’s important to make these changes during the editing process and not the writing process; the author can then have a better idea of the imagery they’ve already introduced.
So, let’s take a look at a more complicated situation.
It was a hot day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided. From his living room, he caught sight of a lanky man walking down the street. Whoever the person was, John didn’t recognize him.
Nothing wrong with the above paragraph; it provides the reader everything they need to know; it’s hot, which is why John is indoors, and that’s why he saw someone, who is lanky.
Now, a writer must consider many things; what happened before? What happens next? Why is any of this important? Is this a novel? Is this a short story? What is the genre?
Now, you’re asking, “What does this have to do with changing a single word, and how does it make or break a story?”
Well, buckle up.
If the preceding paragraph has already tackled the weather, John’s setting, or the man then it’s important to avoid being redundant, and changing a single word can have that effect.
If the following paragraph follows up on the man rather than John, the setting, or the weather then it becomes important to choose the right words in order to lead into the next idea, and again, a single word can make all the difference.
If this is a novel then a reader will want to know as much as possible about anything germane to the story, but if this is a short story then there are probably a great many things, which require no explanation. In other words, if this is a novel, the writer should probably focus on creating a more complex paragraph, but this also depends on the scene; will it be an action scene, or is it a form a foreshadowing, or this just a framing device to set up another chain of events?
What genre is this? Is this horror? Is this a fantasy? Is it scifi?
Let’s play with the paragraph.
It was a blistering day….
By changing hot to blistering, the reader has a different notion of how hot it is, but that word is also different from hot in another way; we can no longer continue the sentence as it was originally provided.
It doesn’t make sense to say: It was a blistering day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided.
Until what subsided? The day? No, the heat, which we knew as readers when we read the original paragraph, so by changing a single word, if we don’t change another word later in the same sentence, we break the story.
We have to write instead: It was a blistering day, and John decided to stay inside until the heat subsided.
This first sentence has now taken on a whole new life. Yes, we still know that John is inside because it was hot, but now we know how hot; we’ve all experienced summer days so hot, we had to stay inside until the heat subsided. Changing a single word, which forced us to change another, has now made this sentence far more relatable and meaningful.
Now, let’s play around some more. What if this is a horror short story about zombies?
It was a hot day, and John decided to stay inside until it subsided. From his living room, he caught sight of a lanky zombie walking down the street. Whoever the person was, John didn’t recognize him.
Obviously, I changed man to zombie, but that’s not important because everything else is exactly the same, however, since the reader will know it’s a horror short about zombies, they expect to read a horror about zombies, so let’s change a word.
From his living room, he caught sight of an emaciated zombie walking down the street.
Whoa, emaciated is way better than lanky. Now, you say, “Lanky and emaciated don’t mean the same thing; they aren’t synonyms.”
You’re right, sort of; emaciated is a synonym for thin or skinny, which are synonyms for lanky, but since this is a horror, it’s important to use a more terrifying word that elicits a fearful image, and lanky doesn’t scare anyone, but is emaciated the right word?
How about: From his living room, he caught sight of a cadaverous zombie walking down the street.
Now, we’re on to something; cadaverous makes us think of something already dead, but doesn’t cadaverous zombie sound redundant? We know it’s dead, kind of, I mean, it’s a zombie….
Here, we have another case of a single word breaking the story, whereas emaciated made the story better, but it doesn’t end there.
If a writer really wants to tune up that sentence, they might try: From his living room, he caught sight of a cadaverous creature shuffling down the street.
Yes, a total of three words have been changed, but it’s a chained effect caused by changing that one word, lanky, and following it up to make a sentence more palatable for an audience, and more appropriate for the genre in question. It cannot be denied that the later sentence is far and away more horrifying than the previous one.
If all this sounds complicated, it is; editing is no picnic, and a competent editor has to do a lot of work to make a story worth reading, and it’s also why editors aren’t hired until after a story is completely written; we can’t edit without knowing what happened before, during, and after a set of events, and neither can the author choose the correct words, neither can the audience understand the writer’s meaning, but taking some time to understand the art of writing rather than just jotting down a sequential account of events will really help to make a story a far better read to the audience.
October 15, 2016
Enter for a chance to win
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sh...
Otherside
So, you all remember I had trouble with Caliburn Press, and that I got my rights back for books such as Lokians and Shadowman, and that I just rewrote and re-released Lokians 1, which has been retitled as Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1, rather than Lokians, Book 1, Beyond the End of the World, but anyway….
I rewrote Shadowman, and changed the title, too. There’s enough stuff called Shadowman, so now, I call this voodoo, urban fantasy, Otherside.
A man witnesses a murder. The deceased speaks in riddles. Vertigo settles in….
Adja wakes to learn he’s got the mojo. The old woman teaches him the ways of Voodoo. He must stand alone, under the guidance of Bear, against Snake, a villain, a murderer, an innate force, but there are other forces amidst the crack between the worlds.
Are you brave enough to journey…to the otherside?
Here’s an excerpt:
I felt something moving me, kicking me. I woke up sprawled on the ground. My eyes rejected the sunlight coming in from the window. I looked at the old woman. She was wincing and kicking me in the hip. Slowly, I rose to my feet.
“Time to take them cast off,” she said.
She left and returned with another bowl and another concoction. Using a brown cloth to dab some brown liquid on the cast caused it to bubble and crack. Next, she peeled layers off then placed that cloth and bowl down to grab a second cloth, a green one, and another bowl with clear liquid. She washed my previously injured joints. The stiffness vanished.
“Eat,” she ordered while handing me a plate of dried fruits and nuts.
I tore into it ravenously before drinking a glass of water in one gulp. I felt that same, watery, effervescent euphoria of a week or so ago. It felt good. I felt right.
“You must done good, Adja, or you not be so happy,” she chirped.
“I guess,” I chuckled.
She handed me a knapsack. I opened it to find all my stuff inside; my two original mojo bags, and a new one. Half the bag was green cloth. The other half was blue flannel. I also found the knife. A fuzzy, brown, fur handle had replaced the old, snakeskin handle. Bear fur? I assumed. That brought back the image of Iboga, and I remembered turning into a bear. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed at me. This was the first time I had heard her belly laugh. It was contagious.
“You see them ghost?” she joked.
“Nah. Was I a bear,” I asked, sheepishly.
“No, but maybe one day. Iboga was showin’ you something.”
“So, I can’t turn into a bear?” I was disappointed.
“No. You can use Bear’s strength. Bear has much power. Use it, Adja. Your task come to an end now. Collect what you need then go face Snake. Plunge the knife deep into him.”
“Doesn’t he have a gun?”
“Them bullets no match for you, you a Shadowman now. You know what to do,” she said to me. “Finish it.”
She held my shoulder and shook it gently. Her smile gave me confidence. I was going to go exact revenge upon the man who killed her grandson. I was going to kill Snake and earn the respect of Bear.
If you like the excerpt, and you haven’t already entered the free, Goodreads giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy of this voodoo, urban fantasy, please enter now. Thanks.
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sh...
Entry closes Nov. 20, 2016
Otherside
So, you all remember I had trouble with Caliburn Press, and that I got my rights back for books such as Lokians and Shadowman, and that I just rewrote and re-released Lokians 1, which has been retitled as Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1, rather than Lokians, Book 1, Beyond the End of the World, but anyway….
I rewrote Shadowman, and changed the title, too. There’s enough stuff called Shadowman, so now, I call this voodoo, urban fantasy, Otherside.
A man witnesses a murder. The deceased speaks in riddles. Vertigo settles in….
Adja wakes to learn he’s got the mojo. The old woman teaches him the ways of Voodoo. He must stand alone, under the guidance of Bear, against Snake, a villain, a murderer, an innate force, but there are other forces amidst the crack between the worlds.
Are you brave enough to journey…to the otherside?
Here’s an excerpt:
I felt something moving me, kicking me. I woke up sprawled on the ground. My eyes rejected the sunlight coming in from the window. I looked at the old woman. She was wincing and kicking me in the hip. Slowly, I rose to my feet.
“Time to take them cast off,” she said.
She left and returned with another bowl and another concoction. Using a brown cloth to dab some brown liquid on the cast caused it to bubble and crack. Next, she peeled layers off then placed that cloth and bowl down to grab a second cloth, a green one, and another bowl with clear liquid. She washed my previously injured joints. The stiffness vanished.
“Eat,” she ordered while handing me a plate of dried fruits and nuts.
I tore into it ravenously before drinking a glass of water in one gulp. I felt that same, watery, effervescent euphoria of a week or so ago. It felt good. I felt right.
“You must done good, Adja, or you not be so happy,” she chirped.
“I guess,” I chuckled.
She handed me a knapsack. I opened it to find all my stuff inside; my two original mojo bags, and a new one. Half the bag was green cloth. The other half was blue flannel. I also found the knife. A fuzzy, brown, fur handle had replaced the old, snakeskin handle. Bear fur? I assumed. That brought back the image of Iboga, and I remembered turning into a bear. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed at me. This was the first time I had heard her belly laugh. It was contagious.
“You see them ghost?” she joked.
“Nah. Was I a bear,” I asked, sheepishly.
“No, but maybe one day. Iboga was showin’ you something.”
“So, I can’t turn into a bear?” I was disappointed.
“No. You can use Bear’s strength. Bear has much power. Use it, Adja. Your task come to an end now. Collect what you need then go face Snake. Plunge the knife deep into him.”
“Doesn’t he have a gun?”
“Them bullets no match for you, you a Shadowman now. You know what to do,” she said to me. “Finish it.”
She held my shoulder and shook it gently. Her smile gave me confidence. I was going to go exact revenge upon the man who killed her grandson. I was going to kill Snake and earn the respect of Bear.
If you like the excerpt, and you haven’t already entered the free, Goodreads giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy of this voodoo, urban fantasy, please enter now. Thanks.
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sh...
Entry closes Nov. 20, 2016
October 11, 2016
Attention lovers of sci fi and fantasy
Hello, lovers of all that is speculative. There's nothing better than reading sci fi and fantasy, except maybe listening to it.
http://talltaletv.com/
Tall Tale TV is a new site, and is currently under construction, but soon, Christopher Herron will be showcasing short stories. Authors write ’em, he reads ’em, and everybody wins.
As the site states: it’s all free. Tall Tale TV generates revenue from ads, so they absolutely want writers to submit short stories, and they definitely want fans of the genre to stop in and give a listen.
As soon the site goes live, there will be readings of up to 3,000 words performed for millions of potential new fans and readers.
People love to listen to a talented performer read stories and excerpts, so for you writers out there, drop by the site and sneak a peak. For you readers out there, just hold on little while longer, and the site will be live before you know it. Follow @Tall Tale TV on Twitter.
http://talltaletv.com/
Tall Tale TV is a new site, and is currently under construction, but soon, Christopher Herron will be showcasing short stories. Authors write ’em, he reads ’em, and everybody wins.
As the site states: it’s all free. Tall Tale TV generates revenue from ads, so they absolutely want writers to submit short stories, and they definitely want fans of the genre to stop in and give a listen.
As soon the site goes live, there will be readings of up to 3,000 words performed for millions of potential new fans and readers.
People love to listen to a talented performer read stories and excerpts, so for you writers out there, drop by the site and sneak a peak. For you readers out there, just hold on little while longer, and the site will be live before you know it. Follow @Tall Tale TV on Twitter.
October 8, 2016
Novel Writing Winner, Gods and Dragons
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2...
By visiting the link above, you can listen to an excerpt of Gods and Dragons. The novel reading won back in August.
Gods and Dragons is the first book in The Dragon of Time fantasy adventure series.
Gods and Dragons is currently free, so grab a copy from Barnes and Noble.
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-d...
In a world where Dragons pose as Gods, one man with no past unearths their lies in the ruined kingdom of Alduheim. Gods and Dragons is the story of Scar, a mercenary with amnesia, who finds himself fighting the Kulshedrans on behalf of Zoltek, leader of the Zmajans. After receiving promises of answers regarding his origin, the mercenary sets off to slay Zoltek's opposition in the territorial wars all over Tiamhaal.
After botching a mission in the country of Satrone, a general from Zoltek's army has an assassin make an attempt on the mercenary's life. When the assassin fails, and Scar flees into the desert, he is accosted by a knight in black armor claiming the he follows one of the real Gods, Mekosh, the Severe. An unseen ally helps Scar defeat the Paladin of Severity, an ally, who turns out to be a Kulshedran Captain with answers regarding Scar's forgotten past.
I'm still working on the sequel, Dragon Slayer. My goal is to release the second, fantasy, adventure book by January 1st, though I am hoping to get it out before Christmas.
Thank you for dropping by, and thanks to all those who made Gods and Dragons a winner.
By visiting the link above, you can listen to an excerpt of Gods and Dragons. The novel reading won back in August.
Gods and Dragons is the first book in The Dragon of Time fantasy adventure series.
Gods and Dragons is currently free, so grab a copy from Barnes and Noble.
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-d...
In a world where Dragons pose as Gods, one man with no past unearths their lies in the ruined kingdom of Alduheim. Gods and Dragons is the story of Scar, a mercenary with amnesia, who finds himself fighting the Kulshedrans on behalf of Zoltek, leader of the Zmajans. After receiving promises of answers regarding his origin, the mercenary sets off to slay Zoltek's opposition in the territorial wars all over Tiamhaal.
After botching a mission in the country of Satrone, a general from Zoltek's army has an assassin make an attempt on the mercenary's life. When the assassin fails, and Scar flees into the desert, he is accosted by a knight in black armor claiming the he follows one of the real Gods, Mekosh, the Severe. An unseen ally helps Scar defeat the Paladin of Severity, an ally, who turns out to be a Kulshedran Captain with answers regarding Scar's forgotten past.
I'm still working on the sequel, Dragon Slayer. My goal is to release the second, fantasy, adventure book by January 1st, though I am hoping to get it out before Christmas.
Thank you for dropping by, and thanks to all those who made Gods and Dragons a winner.
October 2, 2016
An Enchanting Tale excerpt
An Enchanting Tale was written back in April of 2012. I forget when exactly I finished it, but it was before The Dargonborn DLC had been made available.
While tying in the history of Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim, I came up with my own version of Tamriel, one where Ulfric rose to High King, the Forsworn still ran rampant, and the Dawn Guard were too stupid to kill a vampire.
An Enchanting Tale is about a dark elf named S'maash. He's tired of working for the Mages' Coalition in L'Thu Oad, a town in Morrowind, so he sets off to unravel the mysteries of enchanting.
It's extremely odd that after I wrote this story, the Dragonborn DLC included things like bone mold armor, a Hermaus Mora quest, and other references to Morrowind....
Now, I originally wrote this story by capitalizing certain words, words that are capitalized in Skyrim like; Skull, Sneaking, Dark Elf, etc., and they are still capitalized in the excerpt, but for the sake of literary art, I will be fixing those issues for the new release.
Anyway, check out the excerpt!
S’maash always had an affinity for magick—Enchanting especially—his natural talent was rivaled only by his love for the art. In his days as a child of Morrowind, he ran about with his friends and siblings stirring up all sorts of trouble. While they mainly tried to stow away on Silt Striders, large insects utilized for the purposes of traveling long distances, S’maash normally found himself in trouble for different reasons; he generally skulked into a mage’s workshop to catch a glimpse of a master spell craftsman at work. Most of his endeavors ended with a slap to the back of the head followed by the derogatory you s’wit, but that did little dissuade him.
Upon reaching adulthood in the year 4 E 221, S’maash, a striking, young Dark Elf with a shock of gray hair on his head and a gray-blue complexion, took a job as an inventory manager for a local union of mages in the town of L’Thu Oad. It was a small settlement southwest of Narsis. His job with the Mages’ Coalition consisted of little more than taking notes on their studies and cataloguing their findings. Other menial tasks involving the organizing of reagents, Soul Gems, and magickal equipment kept him busy enough.
Although he did learn a great deal about enchantments, S’maash’s curiosity was never satiated. His knowledge of over fifty enchantments was a testament to the fact that knowledge led only to more curiosity, and that led him to speak to one of the elder mages, an old Altmer—or High Elf—named Rosoleola; he was the head of the Mages’ Coalition in L’Thu Oad. Ancient and surly with a shimmering gold hue to his skin, he was not an easy person to approach.
“Master?” S’maash called.
The old Altmer was stooped over an Arcane Enchanter, a vicious looking table adorned with the skull of a three-eyed beast, several candles, and a misty, green bauble. Rosoleola turned to the young S’maash while flipping through the pages of a journal.
“What now?” Rosoleola barked.
“I couldn’t help, but notice you’re attempting to enchant that Steel Dagger with Fire Damage,” S’maash stated the obvious. Rosoleola winced as he returned his steady gaze to his journal. He said nothing to the young Dunmer, so S’maash stirred nervously before breaking the silence. “Why is it that we can imbue a weapon with Fire Damage, but not a shield or gauntlets?”
“S’wit…must you ask such a foolish question?” The Altmer’s voice was raspy and full of arrogance.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir. I’ve been watching and taking notes for these past seven years. Along the way, I have realized many truths, but some of them seem to have to no logical base.”
The old Altmer turned to S’maash. After eying the Dunmer with contempt, he pushed an errant strand of silver hair behind his ear.
“What are you babbling about now, boy?”
“Sir, a Flame Cloak spell can be cast by a mage. This provides him the ability to damage an opponent by merely standing adjacent him without so much as warming his own skin. Why not can a piece of Iron Armor be enchanted as such?”
Rosoleola was taken aback. He stared at the youth for a moment. The boy stood under torchlight with his feet firmly planted on the stone floor. The fires of passion and knowledge burned brightly in his red eyes. Rosoleola adjusted his burgundy robes before answering.
“Well now that is a question, isn’t it….” he said as he looked up to the high ceiling.
His tone had changed. It carried a hint of ancient wonder, of memories long forgotten. The torch fires wavered with the forces of magicka in the workshop, casting shadows of the banners and tapestries depicting the progressions of arcane studies. S’maash kept his gaze on the old Altmer, still awaiting a response. After a moment of silence, S’maash adjusted his own faded, blue robes. Rosoleola took a pensive inhalation before providing his insight.
“I can’t really answer that,” he said and paused. The furrow in his brow was indicative of wonder, something rarely experienced by the aged. “Get back to work. You have better things to do than question magickal theory. Go make sure all the reagents are accounted for. Last time I looked for Comberry it took me twenty minutes to find where Naralia put them,” Rosoleola barked.
S’maash nodded to his master. The response given was somewhat less impressive than he had anticipated, or more accurately, it was less inspiring. Rosoleola eyed the boy as he left. The truth was the old Altmer was impressed, but Altmers were not given to showing such things, especially not to non-Altmers, so Rosoleola returned to his enchantment, and S’maash returned to his menial tasks.
After reorganizing the reagents, the Argonian, Barters-with-Whispers, walked into the large storage room with a new task for S’maash. “Dunmer, fetch me the tome, The Studies of Wards,” the green, lizard-woman hissed.
S’maash stood from his crouching position as he turned a jar of Bone Meal so the label faced outwardly. He looked upon her. Barters-with-Whispers was an ancient, decrepit Argonian. Her faded, yellow robes draped off her wiry figure. Still, her demeanor was rather imposing.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
S’maash traveled through the short hallway over bronze carpeting to the study. While the floor of the workshop was of cold stone, its walls were gorgeous mahogany with darkened hues of deep brown. Massive, wooden shelving lined the walls of the library. Each shelf was filled from one end to the other with timeworn tomes. A mental segue took S’maash from his intended task. Dwemer Magick of Old, he thought to himself as his eyes caught glimpse of a leather bound book. He slowly and carefully took it from its place. The leather creaked as he opened it. While scanning over the pages, he saw the name Volendrung, an ancient war hammer. The Dwemer knew quite a bit about forging magick items.
“What are you doing, you lazy layabout?” Barters-with-Whispers shouted from across the room.
Startled, S’maash dropped the book. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He gave a weak smile, picked the tome from the floor, and replaced it on the shelf before grabbing what he was supposed to have grabbed in the first place. He handed the book over. It was difficult to read Argonians. Their scales made it nearly impossible to detect emotional cues in their faces; although, that day it was obvious she was not pleased.
“Apologies,” S’maash said.
“S’wit.”
The Argonian took the tome with narrowed eyes. She blinked once then left the young man to his own devices. A new curiosity brewed inside S’maash. He immediately ran out of the study, down the hall, and back to the Arcane Enchanter where Rosoleola was picking Soul Gems for his next task. The magickal gems were shades of blue and purple.
“Master,” S’maash called.
“Mmm? What now?” the Altmer asked without looking from his work.
“Which is the closest Dwemer ruin?”
“Oh, let’s see, should be Damlzthur. Why?”
“I need to study their artifacts. I have to know how they were able to create Volendrung.”
Rosoleola sighed as he shook his head in desperation. The boy’s inability to focus on his prescribed tasks was irritating the Altmer beyond belief.
“What nonsense are you spouting? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“With respect, Master, no I don’t. I need to understand,” S’maash replied.
The old Altmer stood as straight as his creaky body allowed. Finally, he turned to eye the Dark Elf.
“Mmm,” Rosoleola muttered as he stroked his long beard. “Well… it isn’t safe, you know?”
S’maash was slightly surprised. Not only did Rosoleola’s voice lose the twinge of aggravation, he had not expected understanding, much less the concern for his safety.
“You really care about Enchanting don’t you? I’ve watched you, you know? You’ve come a long way in a short time,” the old elf said as his head bobbed up and down a bit. “I undertook a few quests of my own around your age. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you an advance on your pay. Hire some men from the Reyda Tong. Maybe you can find what you’re looking for.”
Again, S’maash was astonished. “Thank you, Master!”
“Yes, yes. Here, this should be enough,” the Altmer said with a smile as he handed S’maash a small Coin Purse. “Don’t get yourself killed. You have a brilliant mind, but I fear that some things simply are what they are, so don’t get your hopes up. You hear me?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you again,” S’maash replied taking the gold.
Rosoleola replied with a simple waving of his hand, shooing the boy away. S’maash smiled from pointy ear to pointy ear while running out of the workshop. He crossed the stone paved road to a large, stone building, the home base of the Reyda Tong, which was a sort of guild for fighters in Morrowind. Its appearance came about after the dissolution of the Empire’s grip.
It was a warm evening in L’Thu Oad and a bead of sweat ran down S’maash’s face as he knocked on the wooden doors. A sign above read: Reyda Tong Fighters. The door opened seconds later, revealing another Dark Elf who looked much like S’maash.
“Oh, it’s you. Come in, brother,” the Elf replied.
“S’maath, Rosoleola gave me an advance on my pay. I need to hire a few of you to travel into Damlzthur,” S’maash said, excitedly.
S’maath was a few years older than his brother and much stockier. His thick, gray hair grew sharply and unkempt all about his head.
“Sounds dangerous. What has he got you searching for?”
“You misunderstand. The research is mine. I was reading through a tome on Dwemer magick. As you well know, I’ve been enthralled with the mysteries of Enchanting for some time. I believe there may be some answers stowed away in their old ruins.”
The brothers walked through the foyer, passing a rack of swords. Much like the mages’ workshop, the Reyda Tong’s office was bedecked with amazing tapestries depicting its own history, a much more violent one. It, too, was built of stone floors and beautiful woods.
Further inside, the two found themselves among mixed company; an Imperial lad, a Redguard woman, and another Dark Elf. The warriors all recognized S’maash and greeted him with a simple nod of the head. The Dunmer brothers took seats in a large room practically filled with mead and weapons. A fire burned in the stone pit at the far end of the room. The gentle crackling kept them from total silence.
“Fara, my brother says he wants to hire us for a trip into Damlzthur,” S’maath announced.
Fara, the Redguard, adjusted the straps of her Iron Breastplate as she fidgeted in her seat. Her dark face crinkled a bit while she considered the proposition.
“We have plenty of work here,” she snipped.
“I have payment,” S’maash interjected.
“How much?” The Imperial asked.
S’maath turned to his brother.
“Well,” S’maash started as he pulled the string on the Coin Purse. He poured the gold coins onto a round table by the Imperial. “Twenty five gold.”
The three warriors laughed at the paltry sum, but S’maath was sympathetic. Once the laughter died down, he took his glare off his comrades to look at his brother.
“How long would this trip be?”
S’maash took a moment to think before answering, “A week….”
“We’re not riskin’ life an’ limb for twenty five gold, boy,” the other Dark Elf replied.
S’maash looked at his brother questioningly.
“Why don’t you go home for now? I’ll see what we can do,” S’maath instructed his sibling.
S’maash took the gold into his Coin Purse and left for home slightly ashamed, but not defeated. The walk home was a rather slow one. Night had just settled in before he arrived at his own, front door. He heard the chirps of insects for a moment then entered his family’s abode. The shutting of the door behind him shut out the noise as well.
With their parents deceased, S’maath and S’maash lived in the modest home together. The young elf busied himself with dinner for the two. Not long after, S’maath entered the house finding Rat Stew warming over the fire.
“I had a long conversation with Fara,” he yelled out from the common area.
S’maash entered from the kitchen to find his brother standing proudly. “What did she say?”
“So long as the Reyda Tong can lay claim to any profitable artifacts, they’ll back your endeavor,” S’maath replied.
“Good news, then. I’d like to set out as soon as possible.”
“We can leave first thing in the morning. Numerius, the Imperial, will join us as well as Fara. It will just be the four of us, so we’ll need to be cautious”
“Of course.”
Thank you for reading. I'll be doing one final round of editing before I release this fanfiction. Then, I need to edit and release Dragonslayer, the sequel to Gods and Dragons. As always, Gods and Dragons is free, so check that out.
https://plus.google.com/b/11170227018...
While tying in the history of Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim, I came up with my own version of Tamriel, one where Ulfric rose to High King, the Forsworn still ran rampant, and the Dawn Guard were too stupid to kill a vampire.
An Enchanting Tale is about a dark elf named S'maash. He's tired of working for the Mages' Coalition in L'Thu Oad, a town in Morrowind, so he sets off to unravel the mysteries of enchanting.
It's extremely odd that after I wrote this story, the Dragonborn DLC included things like bone mold armor, a Hermaus Mora quest, and other references to Morrowind....
Now, I originally wrote this story by capitalizing certain words, words that are capitalized in Skyrim like; Skull, Sneaking, Dark Elf, etc., and they are still capitalized in the excerpt, but for the sake of literary art, I will be fixing those issues for the new release.
Anyway, check out the excerpt!
S’maash always had an affinity for magick—Enchanting especially—his natural talent was rivaled only by his love for the art. In his days as a child of Morrowind, he ran about with his friends and siblings stirring up all sorts of trouble. While they mainly tried to stow away on Silt Striders, large insects utilized for the purposes of traveling long distances, S’maash normally found himself in trouble for different reasons; he generally skulked into a mage’s workshop to catch a glimpse of a master spell craftsman at work. Most of his endeavors ended with a slap to the back of the head followed by the derogatory you s’wit, but that did little dissuade him.
Upon reaching adulthood in the year 4 E 221, S’maash, a striking, young Dark Elf with a shock of gray hair on his head and a gray-blue complexion, took a job as an inventory manager for a local union of mages in the town of L’Thu Oad. It was a small settlement southwest of Narsis. His job with the Mages’ Coalition consisted of little more than taking notes on their studies and cataloguing their findings. Other menial tasks involving the organizing of reagents, Soul Gems, and magickal equipment kept him busy enough.
Although he did learn a great deal about enchantments, S’maash’s curiosity was never satiated. His knowledge of over fifty enchantments was a testament to the fact that knowledge led only to more curiosity, and that led him to speak to one of the elder mages, an old Altmer—or High Elf—named Rosoleola; he was the head of the Mages’ Coalition in L’Thu Oad. Ancient and surly with a shimmering gold hue to his skin, he was not an easy person to approach.
“Master?” S’maash called.
The old Altmer was stooped over an Arcane Enchanter, a vicious looking table adorned with the skull of a three-eyed beast, several candles, and a misty, green bauble. Rosoleola turned to the young S’maash while flipping through the pages of a journal.
“What now?” Rosoleola barked.
“I couldn’t help, but notice you’re attempting to enchant that Steel Dagger with Fire Damage,” S’maash stated the obvious. Rosoleola winced as he returned his steady gaze to his journal. He said nothing to the young Dunmer, so S’maash stirred nervously before breaking the silence. “Why is it that we can imbue a weapon with Fire Damage, but not a shield or gauntlets?”
“S’wit…must you ask such a foolish question?” The Altmer’s voice was raspy and full of arrogance.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir. I’ve been watching and taking notes for these past seven years. Along the way, I have realized many truths, but some of them seem to have to no logical base.”
The old Altmer turned to S’maash. After eying the Dunmer with contempt, he pushed an errant strand of silver hair behind his ear.
“What are you babbling about now, boy?”
“Sir, a Flame Cloak spell can be cast by a mage. This provides him the ability to damage an opponent by merely standing adjacent him without so much as warming his own skin. Why not can a piece of Iron Armor be enchanted as such?”
Rosoleola was taken aback. He stared at the youth for a moment. The boy stood under torchlight with his feet firmly planted on the stone floor. The fires of passion and knowledge burned brightly in his red eyes. Rosoleola adjusted his burgundy robes before answering.
“Well now that is a question, isn’t it….” he said as he looked up to the high ceiling.
His tone had changed. It carried a hint of ancient wonder, of memories long forgotten. The torch fires wavered with the forces of magicka in the workshop, casting shadows of the banners and tapestries depicting the progressions of arcane studies. S’maash kept his gaze on the old Altmer, still awaiting a response. After a moment of silence, S’maash adjusted his own faded, blue robes. Rosoleola took a pensive inhalation before providing his insight.
“I can’t really answer that,” he said and paused. The furrow in his brow was indicative of wonder, something rarely experienced by the aged. “Get back to work. You have better things to do than question magickal theory. Go make sure all the reagents are accounted for. Last time I looked for Comberry it took me twenty minutes to find where Naralia put them,” Rosoleola barked.
S’maash nodded to his master. The response given was somewhat less impressive than he had anticipated, or more accurately, it was less inspiring. Rosoleola eyed the boy as he left. The truth was the old Altmer was impressed, but Altmers were not given to showing such things, especially not to non-Altmers, so Rosoleola returned to his enchantment, and S’maash returned to his menial tasks.
After reorganizing the reagents, the Argonian, Barters-with-Whispers, walked into the large storage room with a new task for S’maash. “Dunmer, fetch me the tome, The Studies of Wards,” the green, lizard-woman hissed.
S’maash stood from his crouching position as he turned a jar of Bone Meal so the label faced outwardly. He looked upon her. Barters-with-Whispers was an ancient, decrepit Argonian. Her faded, yellow robes draped off her wiry figure. Still, her demeanor was rather imposing.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
S’maash traveled through the short hallway over bronze carpeting to the study. While the floor of the workshop was of cold stone, its walls were gorgeous mahogany with darkened hues of deep brown. Massive, wooden shelving lined the walls of the library. Each shelf was filled from one end to the other with timeworn tomes. A mental segue took S’maash from his intended task. Dwemer Magick of Old, he thought to himself as his eyes caught glimpse of a leather bound book. He slowly and carefully took it from its place. The leather creaked as he opened it. While scanning over the pages, he saw the name Volendrung, an ancient war hammer. The Dwemer knew quite a bit about forging magick items.
“What are you doing, you lazy layabout?” Barters-with-Whispers shouted from across the room.
Startled, S’maash dropped the book. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He gave a weak smile, picked the tome from the floor, and replaced it on the shelf before grabbing what he was supposed to have grabbed in the first place. He handed the book over. It was difficult to read Argonians. Their scales made it nearly impossible to detect emotional cues in their faces; although, that day it was obvious she was not pleased.
“Apologies,” S’maash said.
“S’wit.”
The Argonian took the tome with narrowed eyes. She blinked once then left the young man to his own devices. A new curiosity brewed inside S’maash. He immediately ran out of the study, down the hall, and back to the Arcane Enchanter where Rosoleola was picking Soul Gems for his next task. The magickal gems were shades of blue and purple.
“Master,” S’maash called.
“Mmm? What now?” the Altmer asked without looking from his work.
“Which is the closest Dwemer ruin?”
“Oh, let’s see, should be Damlzthur. Why?”
“I need to study their artifacts. I have to know how they were able to create Volendrung.”
Rosoleola sighed as he shook his head in desperation. The boy’s inability to focus on his prescribed tasks was irritating the Altmer beyond belief.
“What nonsense are you spouting? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“With respect, Master, no I don’t. I need to understand,” S’maash replied.
The old Altmer stood as straight as his creaky body allowed. Finally, he turned to eye the Dark Elf.
“Mmm,” Rosoleola muttered as he stroked his long beard. “Well… it isn’t safe, you know?”
S’maash was slightly surprised. Not only did Rosoleola’s voice lose the twinge of aggravation, he had not expected understanding, much less the concern for his safety.
“You really care about Enchanting don’t you? I’ve watched you, you know? You’ve come a long way in a short time,” the old elf said as his head bobbed up and down a bit. “I undertook a few quests of my own around your age. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you an advance on your pay. Hire some men from the Reyda Tong. Maybe you can find what you’re looking for.”
Again, S’maash was astonished. “Thank you, Master!”
“Yes, yes. Here, this should be enough,” the Altmer said with a smile as he handed S’maash a small Coin Purse. “Don’t get yourself killed. You have a brilliant mind, but I fear that some things simply are what they are, so don’t get your hopes up. You hear me?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you again,” S’maash replied taking the gold.
Rosoleola replied with a simple waving of his hand, shooing the boy away. S’maash smiled from pointy ear to pointy ear while running out of the workshop. He crossed the stone paved road to a large, stone building, the home base of the Reyda Tong, which was a sort of guild for fighters in Morrowind. Its appearance came about after the dissolution of the Empire’s grip.
It was a warm evening in L’Thu Oad and a bead of sweat ran down S’maash’s face as he knocked on the wooden doors. A sign above read: Reyda Tong Fighters. The door opened seconds later, revealing another Dark Elf who looked much like S’maash.
“Oh, it’s you. Come in, brother,” the Elf replied.
“S’maath, Rosoleola gave me an advance on my pay. I need to hire a few of you to travel into Damlzthur,” S’maash said, excitedly.
S’maath was a few years older than his brother and much stockier. His thick, gray hair grew sharply and unkempt all about his head.
“Sounds dangerous. What has he got you searching for?”
“You misunderstand. The research is mine. I was reading through a tome on Dwemer magick. As you well know, I’ve been enthralled with the mysteries of Enchanting for some time. I believe there may be some answers stowed away in their old ruins.”
The brothers walked through the foyer, passing a rack of swords. Much like the mages’ workshop, the Reyda Tong’s office was bedecked with amazing tapestries depicting its own history, a much more violent one. It, too, was built of stone floors and beautiful woods.
Further inside, the two found themselves among mixed company; an Imperial lad, a Redguard woman, and another Dark Elf. The warriors all recognized S’maash and greeted him with a simple nod of the head. The Dunmer brothers took seats in a large room practically filled with mead and weapons. A fire burned in the stone pit at the far end of the room. The gentle crackling kept them from total silence.
“Fara, my brother says he wants to hire us for a trip into Damlzthur,” S’maath announced.
Fara, the Redguard, adjusted the straps of her Iron Breastplate as she fidgeted in her seat. Her dark face crinkled a bit while she considered the proposition.
“We have plenty of work here,” she snipped.
“I have payment,” S’maash interjected.
“How much?” The Imperial asked.
S’maath turned to his brother.
“Well,” S’maash started as he pulled the string on the Coin Purse. He poured the gold coins onto a round table by the Imperial. “Twenty five gold.”
The three warriors laughed at the paltry sum, but S’maath was sympathetic. Once the laughter died down, he took his glare off his comrades to look at his brother.
“How long would this trip be?”
S’maash took a moment to think before answering, “A week….”
“We’re not riskin’ life an’ limb for twenty five gold, boy,” the other Dark Elf replied.
S’maash looked at his brother questioningly.
“Why don’t you go home for now? I’ll see what we can do,” S’maath instructed his sibling.
S’maash took the gold into his Coin Purse and left for home slightly ashamed, but not defeated. The walk home was a rather slow one. Night had just settled in before he arrived at his own, front door. He heard the chirps of insects for a moment then entered his family’s abode. The shutting of the door behind him shut out the noise as well.
With their parents deceased, S’maath and S’maash lived in the modest home together. The young elf busied himself with dinner for the two. Not long after, S’maath entered the house finding Rat Stew warming over the fire.
“I had a long conversation with Fara,” he yelled out from the common area.
S’maash entered from the kitchen to find his brother standing proudly. “What did she say?”
“So long as the Reyda Tong can lay claim to any profitable artifacts, they’ll back your endeavor,” S’maath replied.
“Good news, then. I’d like to set out as soon as possible.”
“We can leave first thing in the morning. Numerius, the Imperial, will join us as well as Fara. It will just be the four of us, so we’ll need to be cautious”
“Of course.”
Thank you for reading. I'll be doing one final round of editing before I release this fanfiction. Then, I need to edit and release Dragonslayer, the sequel to Gods and Dragons. As always, Gods and Dragons is free, so check that out.
https://plus.google.com/b/11170227018...
October 1, 2016
Otherside, a fictional voodoo title
A man witnesses a murder. The deceased speaks in riddles. Vertigo settles in….
Adja wakes to learn he’s got the mojo. The old woman teaches him the ways of Voodoo. He must stand alone, under the guidance of Bear, against Snake, a villain, a murderer, an innate force, but there are other forces amidst the crack between the worlds.
Are you brave enough to journey…to the otherside?
You might remember a title I released first through Xlibris and then through Damnation Books called Shadowman. It was a story about a young man who learned to wield crazy powers like hexes, transformations, and control of dreams. Well, I had so many issues with Damnation Books and even more issues after they were purchased by Caliburn, but I got my rights back, edited the story properly, and re-released it at a reasonable price.
The story is now called Otherside, and it sells for $.99
Check out the excerpt below!
I felt something moving me, kicking me. I woke up sprawled on the ground. My eyes rejected the sunlight coming in from the window. I looked at the old woman. She was wincing and kicking me in the hip. Slowly, I rose to my feet.
“Time to take them cast off,” she said.
She left and returned with another bowl and another concoction. Using a brown cloth to dab some brown liquid on the cast caused it to bubble and crack. Next, she peeled layers off then placed that cloth and bowl down to grab a second cloth, a green one, and another bowl with clear liquid. She washed my previously injured joints. The stiffness vanished.
“Eat,” she ordered while handing me a plate of dried fruits and nuts.
I tore into it ravenously before drinking a glass of water in one gulp. I felt that same, watery, effervescent euphoria of a week or so ago. It felt good. I felt right.
“You must done good, Adja, or you not be so happy,” she chirped.
“I guess,” I chuckled.
She handed me a knapsack. I opened it to find all my stuff inside; my two original mojo bags, and a new one. Half the bag was green cloth. The other half was blue flannel. I also found the knife. A fuzzy, brown, fur handle had replaced the old, snakeskin handle. Bear fur? I assumed. That brought back the image of Iboga, and I remembered turning into a bear. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed at me. This was the first time I had heard her belly laugh. It was contagious.
“You see them ghost?” she joked.
“Nah. Was I a bear,” I asked, sheepishly.
“No, but maybe one day. Iboga was showin’ you something.”
“So, I can’t turn into a bear?” I was disappointed.
“No. You can use Bear’s strength. Bear has much power. Use it, Adja. Your task come to an end now. Collect what you need then go face Snake. Plunge the knife deep into him.”
“Doesn’t he have a gun?”
“Them bullets no match for you, you a Shadowman now. You know what to do,” she said to me. “Finish it.”
She held my shoulder and shook it gently. Her smile gave me confidence. I was going to go exact revenge upon the man who killed her grandson. I was going to kill Snake and earn the respect of Bear.
Thanks for reading. This is one of only two stories that I've ever written in first person. I don't usually like writing from such a perspective, but it worked for this story.
At any rate, grab Otherside from Barnes and Noble.
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/other...
You will not be disappointed.
Or, download a free sample from Smashwordshttps://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
Adja wakes to learn he’s got the mojo. The old woman teaches him the ways of Voodoo. He must stand alone, under the guidance of Bear, against Snake, a villain, a murderer, an innate force, but there are other forces amidst the crack between the worlds.
Are you brave enough to journey…to the otherside?
You might remember a title I released first through Xlibris and then through Damnation Books called Shadowman. It was a story about a young man who learned to wield crazy powers like hexes, transformations, and control of dreams. Well, I had so many issues with Damnation Books and even more issues after they were purchased by Caliburn, but I got my rights back, edited the story properly, and re-released it at a reasonable price.
The story is now called Otherside, and it sells for $.99
Check out the excerpt below!
I felt something moving me, kicking me. I woke up sprawled on the ground. My eyes rejected the sunlight coming in from the window. I looked at the old woman. She was wincing and kicking me in the hip. Slowly, I rose to my feet.
“Time to take them cast off,” she said.
She left and returned with another bowl and another concoction. Using a brown cloth to dab some brown liquid on the cast caused it to bubble and crack. Next, she peeled layers off then placed that cloth and bowl down to grab a second cloth, a green one, and another bowl with clear liquid. She washed my previously injured joints. The stiffness vanished.
“Eat,” she ordered while handing me a plate of dried fruits and nuts.
I tore into it ravenously before drinking a glass of water in one gulp. I felt that same, watery, effervescent euphoria of a week or so ago. It felt good. I felt right.
“You must done good, Adja, or you not be so happy,” she chirped.
“I guess,” I chuckled.
She handed me a knapsack. I opened it to find all my stuff inside; my two original mojo bags, and a new one. Half the bag was green cloth. The other half was blue flannel. I also found the knife. A fuzzy, brown, fur handle had replaced the old, snakeskin handle. Bear fur? I assumed. That brought back the image of Iboga, and I remembered turning into a bear. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed at me. This was the first time I had heard her belly laugh. It was contagious.
“You see them ghost?” she joked.
“Nah. Was I a bear,” I asked, sheepishly.
“No, but maybe one day. Iboga was showin’ you something.”
“So, I can’t turn into a bear?” I was disappointed.
“No. You can use Bear’s strength. Bear has much power. Use it, Adja. Your task come to an end now. Collect what you need then go face Snake. Plunge the knife deep into him.”
“Doesn’t he have a gun?”
“Them bullets no match for you, you a Shadowman now. You know what to do,” she said to me. “Finish it.”
She held my shoulder and shook it gently. Her smile gave me confidence. I was going to go exact revenge upon the man who killed her grandson. I was going to kill Snake and earn the respect of Bear.
Thanks for reading. This is one of only two stories that I've ever written in first person. I don't usually like writing from such a perspective, but it worked for this story.
At any rate, grab Otherside from Barnes and Noble.
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/other...
You will not be disappointed.
Or, download a free sample from Smashwordshttps://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
September 30, 2016
Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1 rereleased and free
Beyond the End of the World is the first book in the Lokians scifi series. This series was originally released back in 2012, but it has since been rewritten.
Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1
Intelligent races travel through wormholes to explore the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Thewls inform Humans of a looming threat. Lokians are a ravenous race of space bugs. They harvest technology from advanced civilizations and integrate with it to mass produce living ships, dangerous vanguards, and formidable legions.
Captain O’Hara of Phoenix Crew travels with Thewls to retrieve an ancient vessel from a mysterious race simply known as travelers. Can a single craft be the key to saving the galaxy? Why do Thewls believe the travelers once visited Earth? Does O’Hara and Phoenix Crew have what it takes to obliterate the space bugs?
Check out an excerpt
The ground team watched a streak appear in the purple sky. A silver object was coming in from the southeast. As the crew steeled themselves, it drew closer. A moment later, the silver object was in full view, something shaped like the bottom of a shoe; a large circular area in front, a thinner elliptical center, and a small circular area at the rear. An odd silence prevailed as it drew closer and closer.
The captain thought it large for a shuttle. Maybe, it is a vanguard, he thought. It was possible that they had been misrepresenting themselves as Nandesrikahl suggested. O’Hara wanted to draw his gun and take aim or contact Miss Day and tell her to aim the Phoenix’s weapons. No, he knew jumping the gun had devastating impacts. If they had come in peace, the following, galactic blunder would henceforth be called pulling an O’Hara; he didn’t want that on his head.
The shuttle slowed to a halt in midair. It was like a great whale suspended in the ocean. There were no sounds at all. Then, a puff of wind hit the ground, blowing dust everywhere. The crew covered their eyes momentarily and a deep, droning sound rumbled for a second. A large panel opened from beneath the ship. A loading platform slid out until the edge touched the ground. A strange vehicle rolled out, something like a bulky all-terrain with tracks covering six wheels.
The enormous rover was shiny chrome with several, blue windows. It calmly pulled up a few yards from the crew. Shapes of men showed through the windows, and the windows themselves were the oddest part of the vehicle.
They weren’t made of glass. They weren’t made of any material. They were a force field with a light, blue tint. When doors opened upwards from both sides, like an old DeLorean, O’Hara about wet his britches. The vehicle hummed monotonously, and the strangest beings imaginable stepped out.
First, a tall figure worked its way off a seat. One leg clad in black armor then another protruded. A hand grabbed the side of the doorway, and a creature, this Thewl, pulled itself free. It had two arms, two legs, and a head, and it certainly moved like a bipedal being, but one, major difference in the legs was the extra joint; they were more akin to cat legs or frog legs with, long stocky toes, and the heel of the foot extended at an angle towards the calf.
After exiting, the Thewl extended a massive hand to help out more from the vehicle. Five in total gathered around the rover, looking towards the Humans and their vessel. That’s when O’Hara noticed another, bizarre difference; their skin.
At a distance, Thewls looked to be red, or mishmashed shades of red. Fitzpatrick had a better look through her binos, though; she saw their skin was actually translucent, like jellyfish men. It was their structure beneath the skin that was all shades of red, pink, purple, and orange, and she saw their faces quite clearly.
Their heads were similar to Human heads except they swelled out behind the face. They didn’t have eyelids, either; the eyes were completely covered by the thick membrane, which presumably covered their whole bodies, allowing slits for nostrils, and one for the mouth. Other than their hands and heads, they were all clad in black, armor plated suits, and were all very tall, perhaps eight feet.
As they started marching for the captain, who was flanked by Swain and Martinez, he raised his right hand in peace, before taking a step. The remaining crewmembers were on their guard, awe stricken though they were. Once everyone was within speaking range, O’Hara figured the ambassador was the one in red and black garb. His suit—for lack of a better term—was the only one with any color other than black. It had fewer, armor plates and seemed more comfortable, lighter than the others’.
“Ambassador Weh? I am Captain Riley O’Hara. Admiral Lay has asked us to receive you under a banner of peace. We welcome you,” he said, slowly.
The ambassador raised his right hand as well. The fingers were long, there were five, but with an extra joint. His skeletal structure was evident among a plethora of ligaments, tendons, and muscles. Their veins were shades of purple, pulsating beneath translucent skin. The tendons and ligaments were orange, and the muscles were shades of pink and red, and everything moved with an eerie fashion, not that it was any different from the way Human bodies moved, but no one ever caught a glimpse off the operating table.
“I am Weh, and it is a great honor to meet the men capable of securing their future through travels in space. There is much to discuss,” Weh proclaimed.
O’Hara and the others were taken aback by the guttural droning of his voice. It was monotone, but somehow musical and gurgling like the warble of a bird that sang only one note. During the greeting, several, other beings came walking out of the alien craft.
They carried chairs, and tables, and other objects. The Humans and Thewls worked together. Soon, an outdoor conference was in session.
The crew was shocked to see the size of the tables and chairs. They were much larger in order to accommodate Thewlian anatomy. Once everything settled down, the captain spoke loud enough to drown out the voices of the aliens, who were likely conversing about the oddities of Humans, and the chatter of Humans, who conversed about the aliens.
“Ambassador, I’m impressed you’ve mastered our language in such a short time. I’m also in disbelief that your kind can travel so quickly. I assume this means your people have mastered faster than light speed.”
“As far as language is concerned, we all find it simple to learn. We have existed for over four, million years and have learned many languages. We have also traveled space and time for three, million years, so it is not difficult for us to acclimate to our surrounding, social environment,” the ambassador replied.
The captain was astonished, though his reports had stated incredulous facts about Thewls, it was another thing to see them, hear them in person. He remained flabbergasted a moment, saying nothing. The ambassador’s hue then changed. It was like his face brightened.
“As you well know, Captain,” the ambassador continued. “The beacons you discovered were left behind four, thousand years ago. Their arrangement on this planet was meant to be a signal to any passing travelers, so they might rest or meet on neutral ground. Was there a need, the beacons were also meant to be used in unison to signal for help or relay some sort of message, and there was a need….”
“So…no one has attempted to colonize Eon,” the captain asked.
“Ah, Eon, you say; before your time, many of us were in agreement that this planet remain neutral territory. No one race dared to seize it, not that we blame you or your people for erecting a colony. You could not have known such details.
“Alas, there have been no meetings here in many centuries. There are other such planets, but this is trivial at the moment. We Thewls are in the throes of a crisis,” the ambassador said.
O’Hara stirred in his large seat. It was not the ambassador’s voice that was earnest, but his words, somehow, seemed genuine, and again, his face changed; it had grown darker, grim.
“The Lokians,” the captain finally said.
“Yes, the Lokians,” the alien nodded. “This insect-like breed; over our long existence we have encountered them on numerous occasions. The first was long before my time. They landed on our home world just after we began space travel. Our Element-115 is a very valuable resource, and the Lokians coveted such treasures.
“They came in relatively small numbers, but we were a peaceful people. We had no real weapons at the time. They came unannounced and attacked us. Most of them didn’t use weapons, but their superior, physical attributes nearly destroyed us.
“Fortunately, we drove them back with our superior numbers. After that encounter, we suspended space travel for a time to fortify our defenses. We engineered weapons. They came a second time, centuries later—still before my time—but we were prepared, or so we thought.
“You see, we were not the only ones who had prepared. We were not the only ones who had advanced. The Lokians are a strange race. They do not cogitate as you or I. They do not adapt or acclimate as you or I. No, these Lokians harvest other races, their technology, mainly. When they attacked the second time, they had augmented themselves physically by using some form of robotic technology. They were stronger, faster, and nearly indestructible. We fought long and hard, but they could not be driven back,” the ambassador took a pause.
O’Hara didn’t note any facial expressions. Thewls conveyed emotions differently, it was something in their faces, a chemical reaction, he thought, that made their color change, and darker seemed to connote darker emotions, sadness, anger, perhaps.
“So, the Lokians are on your planet now?”
“No, no, if you’ll allow me to give you the history, it will all become clear,” the ambassador said.
“I apologize, Ambassador, this is all so overwhelming.”
“Certainly, but we would like to enlist the help of your people, and so it is only proper to explain the situation,” he calmly continued. “We were staring extinction in the face. Everything seemed lost. One night, another volley of ships penetrated our skies.
“These ships were radically different than those of the Lokians. These vessels weren’t alive, yet danced across the horizon. Some of them landed, others fired energy based weaponry at our enemies. Then, strange men clad in suits of light demolished our opposition.
“It took less than a day to turn the tide. Our benefactors were impressive. In a week, the Lokians were banished to space, and once the threat ended, our saviors left as mysteriously as they had appeared, yet a few stayed behind. Twelve of them remained and helped us advance our civilization beyond our dreams. They stayed until we were able to stand on our own again, and then, they, too, left.
“Since then, we’ve encountered the Lokians again. On occasion, we fight a small fleet in the expanse of space. Once, we followed them to a small colony and helped another space faring race secure victory. This brings us to the present state of affairs.
“As I have said, the Lokians harvest technology. They amassed around our sun over two hundred years ago. The interference from the sun kept them hidden from our scanners and satellites. The Lokians are now not only able to bring their ships close to a sun, but they have the technology to create and utilize subspace, compactor photons.”
Get it free on Barnes and Noble online
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beyon...
And check out some of the artwork on the Lokians Google+ page
https://plus.google.com/b/11057497110...
Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1
Intelligent races travel through wormholes to explore the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Thewls inform Humans of a looming threat. Lokians are a ravenous race of space bugs. They harvest technology from advanced civilizations and integrate with it to mass produce living ships, dangerous vanguards, and formidable legions.
Captain O’Hara of Phoenix Crew travels with Thewls to retrieve an ancient vessel from a mysterious race simply known as travelers. Can a single craft be the key to saving the galaxy? Why do Thewls believe the travelers once visited Earth? Does O’Hara and Phoenix Crew have what it takes to obliterate the space bugs?
Check out an excerpt
The ground team watched a streak appear in the purple sky. A silver object was coming in from the southeast. As the crew steeled themselves, it drew closer. A moment later, the silver object was in full view, something shaped like the bottom of a shoe; a large circular area in front, a thinner elliptical center, and a small circular area at the rear. An odd silence prevailed as it drew closer and closer.
The captain thought it large for a shuttle. Maybe, it is a vanguard, he thought. It was possible that they had been misrepresenting themselves as Nandesrikahl suggested. O’Hara wanted to draw his gun and take aim or contact Miss Day and tell her to aim the Phoenix’s weapons. No, he knew jumping the gun had devastating impacts. If they had come in peace, the following, galactic blunder would henceforth be called pulling an O’Hara; he didn’t want that on his head.
The shuttle slowed to a halt in midair. It was like a great whale suspended in the ocean. There were no sounds at all. Then, a puff of wind hit the ground, blowing dust everywhere. The crew covered their eyes momentarily and a deep, droning sound rumbled for a second. A large panel opened from beneath the ship. A loading platform slid out until the edge touched the ground. A strange vehicle rolled out, something like a bulky all-terrain with tracks covering six wheels.
The enormous rover was shiny chrome with several, blue windows. It calmly pulled up a few yards from the crew. Shapes of men showed through the windows, and the windows themselves were the oddest part of the vehicle.
They weren’t made of glass. They weren’t made of any material. They were a force field with a light, blue tint. When doors opened upwards from both sides, like an old DeLorean, O’Hara about wet his britches. The vehicle hummed monotonously, and the strangest beings imaginable stepped out.
First, a tall figure worked its way off a seat. One leg clad in black armor then another protruded. A hand grabbed the side of the doorway, and a creature, this Thewl, pulled itself free. It had two arms, two legs, and a head, and it certainly moved like a bipedal being, but one, major difference in the legs was the extra joint; they were more akin to cat legs or frog legs with, long stocky toes, and the heel of the foot extended at an angle towards the calf.
After exiting, the Thewl extended a massive hand to help out more from the vehicle. Five in total gathered around the rover, looking towards the Humans and their vessel. That’s when O’Hara noticed another, bizarre difference; their skin.
At a distance, Thewls looked to be red, or mishmashed shades of red. Fitzpatrick had a better look through her binos, though; she saw their skin was actually translucent, like jellyfish men. It was their structure beneath the skin that was all shades of red, pink, purple, and orange, and she saw their faces quite clearly.
Their heads were similar to Human heads except they swelled out behind the face. They didn’t have eyelids, either; the eyes were completely covered by the thick membrane, which presumably covered their whole bodies, allowing slits for nostrils, and one for the mouth. Other than their hands and heads, they were all clad in black, armor plated suits, and were all very tall, perhaps eight feet.
As they started marching for the captain, who was flanked by Swain and Martinez, he raised his right hand in peace, before taking a step. The remaining crewmembers were on their guard, awe stricken though they were. Once everyone was within speaking range, O’Hara figured the ambassador was the one in red and black garb. His suit—for lack of a better term—was the only one with any color other than black. It had fewer, armor plates and seemed more comfortable, lighter than the others’.
“Ambassador Weh? I am Captain Riley O’Hara. Admiral Lay has asked us to receive you under a banner of peace. We welcome you,” he said, slowly.
The ambassador raised his right hand as well. The fingers were long, there were five, but with an extra joint. His skeletal structure was evident among a plethora of ligaments, tendons, and muscles. Their veins were shades of purple, pulsating beneath translucent skin. The tendons and ligaments were orange, and the muscles were shades of pink and red, and everything moved with an eerie fashion, not that it was any different from the way Human bodies moved, but no one ever caught a glimpse off the operating table.
“I am Weh, and it is a great honor to meet the men capable of securing their future through travels in space. There is much to discuss,” Weh proclaimed.
O’Hara and the others were taken aback by the guttural droning of his voice. It was monotone, but somehow musical and gurgling like the warble of a bird that sang only one note. During the greeting, several, other beings came walking out of the alien craft.
They carried chairs, and tables, and other objects. The Humans and Thewls worked together. Soon, an outdoor conference was in session.
The crew was shocked to see the size of the tables and chairs. They were much larger in order to accommodate Thewlian anatomy. Once everything settled down, the captain spoke loud enough to drown out the voices of the aliens, who were likely conversing about the oddities of Humans, and the chatter of Humans, who conversed about the aliens.
“Ambassador, I’m impressed you’ve mastered our language in such a short time. I’m also in disbelief that your kind can travel so quickly. I assume this means your people have mastered faster than light speed.”
“As far as language is concerned, we all find it simple to learn. We have existed for over four, million years and have learned many languages. We have also traveled space and time for three, million years, so it is not difficult for us to acclimate to our surrounding, social environment,” the ambassador replied.
The captain was astonished, though his reports had stated incredulous facts about Thewls, it was another thing to see them, hear them in person. He remained flabbergasted a moment, saying nothing. The ambassador’s hue then changed. It was like his face brightened.
“As you well know, Captain,” the ambassador continued. “The beacons you discovered were left behind four, thousand years ago. Their arrangement on this planet was meant to be a signal to any passing travelers, so they might rest or meet on neutral ground. Was there a need, the beacons were also meant to be used in unison to signal for help or relay some sort of message, and there was a need….”
“So…no one has attempted to colonize Eon,” the captain asked.
“Ah, Eon, you say; before your time, many of us were in agreement that this planet remain neutral territory. No one race dared to seize it, not that we blame you or your people for erecting a colony. You could not have known such details.
“Alas, there have been no meetings here in many centuries. There are other such planets, but this is trivial at the moment. We Thewls are in the throes of a crisis,” the ambassador said.
O’Hara stirred in his large seat. It was not the ambassador’s voice that was earnest, but his words, somehow, seemed genuine, and again, his face changed; it had grown darker, grim.
“The Lokians,” the captain finally said.
“Yes, the Lokians,” the alien nodded. “This insect-like breed; over our long existence we have encountered them on numerous occasions. The first was long before my time. They landed on our home world just after we began space travel. Our Element-115 is a very valuable resource, and the Lokians coveted such treasures.
“They came in relatively small numbers, but we were a peaceful people. We had no real weapons at the time. They came unannounced and attacked us. Most of them didn’t use weapons, but their superior, physical attributes nearly destroyed us.
“Fortunately, we drove them back with our superior numbers. After that encounter, we suspended space travel for a time to fortify our defenses. We engineered weapons. They came a second time, centuries later—still before my time—but we were prepared, or so we thought.
“You see, we were not the only ones who had prepared. We were not the only ones who had advanced. The Lokians are a strange race. They do not cogitate as you or I. They do not adapt or acclimate as you or I. No, these Lokians harvest other races, their technology, mainly. When they attacked the second time, they had augmented themselves physically by using some form of robotic technology. They were stronger, faster, and nearly indestructible. We fought long and hard, but they could not be driven back,” the ambassador took a pause.
O’Hara didn’t note any facial expressions. Thewls conveyed emotions differently, it was something in their faces, a chemical reaction, he thought, that made their color change, and darker seemed to connote darker emotions, sadness, anger, perhaps.
“So, the Lokians are on your planet now?”
“No, no, if you’ll allow me to give you the history, it will all become clear,” the ambassador said.
“I apologize, Ambassador, this is all so overwhelming.”
“Certainly, but we would like to enlist the help of your people, and so it is only proper to explain the situation,” he calmly continued. “We were staring extinction in the face. Everything seemed lost. One night, another volley of ships penetrated our skies.
“These ships were radically different than those of the Lokians. These vessels weren’t alive, yet danced across the horizon. Some of them landed, others fired energy based weaponry at our enemies. Then, strange men clad in suits of light demolished our opposition.
“It took less than a day to turn the tide. Our benefactors were impressive. In a week, the Lokians were banished to space, and once the threat ended, our saviors left as mysteriously as they had appeared, yet a few stayed behind. Twelve of them remained and helped us advance our civilization beyond our dreams. They stayed until we were able to stand on our own again, and then, they, too, left.
“Since then, we’ve encountered the Lokians again. On occasion, we fight a small fleet in the expanse of space. Once, we followed them to a small colony and helped another space faring race secure victory. This brings us to the present state of affairs.
“As I have said, the Lokians harvest technology. They amassed around our sun over two hundred years ago. The interference from the sun kept them hidden from our scanners and satellites. The Lokians are now not only able to bring their ships close to a sun, but they have the technology to create and utilize subspace, compactor photons.”
Get it free on Barnes and Noble online
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beyon...
And check out some of the artwork on the Lokians Google+ page
https://plus.google.com/b/11057497110...
June 29, 2016
Free Books Through Smashwords
For the entire month of July, Smashwords has provided writers the opportunity to give their books away for free. While one can always permanently set their books as free, not all writers do this, and not for every book.
Well, for the entire month of July, all of my books on Smashwords will be free for download in whichever format you prefer.
Visit my Smashwords page to grab free copies of The Adventures of Larson and Garrett, Cayneian, and various other titles.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/sear...
This free promotion will end after the 31st of July, so now is the time to stock up on a bunch of free e-books.
Also, please review the books whether you like them or not, so that other readers will know what you think. Also, Also, please share this post with everyone, so all of your friends and family can also grab some free e-books.
Thank you.
Well, for the entire month of July, all of my books on Smashwords will be free for download in whichever format you prefer.
Visit my Smashwords page to grab free copies of The Adventures of Larson and Garrett, Cayneian, and various other titles.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/sear...
This free promotion will end after the 31st of July, so now is the time to stock up on a bunch of free e-books.
Also, please review the books whether you like them or not, so that other readers will know what you think. Also, Also, please share this post with everyone, so all of your friends and family can also grab some free e-books.
Thank you.
May 26, 2016
Why Doesn't America Read?
Why doesn’t America read?
Well, it isn’t a simple answer. Certainly, there are still many out there perusing internet articles for current events or scanning various sites for information, but where are all the Americans who read for entertainment?
Anyone who does actually read will claim that there are large communities of readers on sites like Goodreads, that there are plenty of places to download e-books like Smaswhords, and that the big boom in books released through Amazon and to e-readers would prove that there plenty of readers in America, but in truth, it’s a very small fraction of the country that engages in the lost art of reading.
Here’s a quick quote from the L.A. Times
The study found that overall, 72% of American adults have read a book in the past year, while the percentage for millennials, ages 18 to 29, was higher: 80%. The percentage of overall book readers dropped from the previous year, when 76% of American adults reported having read a book, either all or part of one.
Do you see? These are people who have read a book in a year, and not even a whole book; lot’s of people try to read and then give up after a few pages, but why? Furthermore, the study doesn’t discuss what kind of book was read and why; some people glance at a non-fiction book for information, but does that count as reading?
The major presses are releasing tons of books for entertainment in America and other countries, but the presses are way out of touch with today’s audience; they don’t post book releases and reviews to social media outlets, they don’t really show any commercials for new releases on television, and unless someone is already a subscriber to Reader’s Digest, there isn’t anyone out there reading magazines containing book releases, but is marketing the problem?
No, it isn’t. The problem is that today, everyone and their grandmother can sit down at their computer, type out 50,000 words, buy a cover from some photoshop artist, and release it through Amazon, Smashwords, and Lulu. These people are often called indie authors, but that’s incorrect; indie authors are published through indie presses like Baen, actual presses with editors, marketers, and printers. The correct term is self published author, and these authors release their books through POD companies like Friesen Press; it’s a flurry of unedited mush, and, all too often, self published authors also release e-books, which flood the market, through Amazon and Smashwords.
But why is that a bad thing? Is it inappropriate to write a book and release it? Would not the readers and the market decide if the author and book are worth buying? In a free trade system, yes, but these authors get together through social media and trade books with each other, so that they can all give each other 5 star reviews on book sites. The result is a poorly written, cliched, stagnant piece with 100 5 star reviews enticing readers to buy a book, and then readers purchase it to find the writer wasn’t able to string together five words, much less reveal a cogent plot, and so they feel shilled, and they give their 1 star review, but it doesn’t end there. That doesn’t solve the problem.
You see, these self published authors get together on social media and tell each other to support other self published authors because they write for a living and need to pay their bills, so they all congregate and talk about trading good reviews in order to boost their sales, and there doesn’t seem to be anybody out there trying to dissuade them from this practice, which fools unsuspecting readers into buying trash.
Now, not all self published authors are terrible writers. Some of them hire professional editors, others buy manuals to learn how to properly edit, some find beta-readers for feedback before a release, and some have degrees in literature or composition, but it’s so overly difficult to know which author has an inkling of editing when tons and tons and tons of e-books are flooding the market, and as I said, they all have hundreds of glowing reviews.
Another problem is the book reviewer industry. When a major press, or even a true, indie press, releases a book, they hire professional reviewers from companies like Kirkus to read and write a real, professional review on the book; these are paid professionals who take their careers very seriously, and they will describe in detail the good and bad points of the book. Furthermore, if the book is terrible, they will explain why and provide their rating for everyone to see. Self published authors don’t do this; they claim that paid reviews are biased, but it’s the paid reviewers that tell and post the truth!
Here’s the kicker, since these self published authors have been destroyed by real reviewers, they resort to each other for fake reviews, and they will even find blog sites and review sites to post reviews, but too often, these non-professional reviewers promise that they will NOT post a bad review. Instead, if they don’t like the book, rather than shaming the author, they opt out of posting the review, but reviews are not for authors, they are supposed to be for READERS.
So, why doesn’t America read anymore? Because every time an American tries to pick up a book and start reading, their eyes are assaulted by uninspired dialogue, unbelievable characters, convoluted, nonsensical plots, and feel so disgusted with the world of reading, that they become jaded, thinking that books are simply terrible.
What can be done?
No one is saying that people should stop writing; it’s great that so many Americans have decided to put their thoughts into words, but they should do their due diligence and make their work a professional masterpiece; it doesn’t matter if the concept within the story is any good, everybody has different tastes, what matters is the quality of the writing, and the only way to let readers know whether a book is worth reading is by posting a real review. If a book is bad, people need to say so. If a book is good, people need to say so, but what’s killing the reading industry is the masses of self published authors trading these fake reviews and these non-professional reviewers deciding NOT to post bad reviews; they must post bad reviews because reviews are for readers, not authors.
The Brian Griffins of the writing industry have been taking over. Someone needs to curtail this horrendous practice and restore reading and writing in America to its former glory.
Not only do readers deserve to know if a book is readable, but the authors deserve to hear why their book was bad, so that they can sit back and improve on their next novel. So many self-published authors write and release a book every month; there’s no way a book written that quickly is ready for release, and these clowns have no idea that they can’t write because they’re surrounded by their own ilk, raving about how amazing their book is, even though it lacks any kind of punctuation, all the characters talk the same, the plot makes no sense and wanders off like a drunken horse, and offers no lesson whatsoever.
Do you want America to start reading again? You can help to solve the problem. Before you buy a book, take a look at the reviews; look at the 5 star reviews, look at the 1 star reviews, and then, on Amazon, you can click “look inside” and actually check to see if the writer was able to keep an idea within a paragraph; there’s an art to writing; it isn’t just words on a page. Each word has to fill the sentence with life. Each paragraph has to drive the essence of the story forward. Each piece of dialogue has to sound like people conversing, and if an author fails in these concepts, readers will drop the book and walk away, enraged at the fact they just blew 2 dollars.
Please, America, read again; read reviews, good and bad, take a look inside the book, you have the opportunity, and on Smashwords, you can often download a free sample of the book.
And readers, you wonderful, American readers out there who still love finding a diamond in the rough, please review all the books you purchase; reader reviews are by far more important than professional or author reviews. If you want America to read again, give them a reason; talk about how good a book was; talk about how bad a book was; inform your fellow readers, so that all of you might band together on social media like the self published authors who are trying to trick you into buying a 50,000 word train wreck.
And be wary, be very, very wary; lots of self published authors will maliciously post negative reviews for writers if the other writer gave them an honest, bad review on their book. I’ve seen it; one author trades a book, he or she posts a review of the other author, and then, when they get their bad review in return, that author will remove their first review, and write a scathing indictment instead only to try and make themselves feel better, so it’s up to you, the American reader, to fix the book industry. If you love to read then you must review for better or worse, and you must tell your friends and family as well.
Help me make reading fun again. Please.
Well, it isn’t a simple answer. Certainly, there are still many out there perusing internet articles for current events or scanning various sites for information, but where are all the Americans who read for entertainment?
Anyone who does actually read will claim that there are large communities of readers on sites like Goodreads, that there are plenty of places to download e-books like Smaswhords, and that the big boom in books released through Amazon and to e-readers would prove that there plenty of readers in America, but in truth, it’s a very small fraction of the country that engages in the lost art of reading.
Here’s a quick quote from the L.A. Times
The study found that overall, 72% of American adults have read a book in the past year, while the percentage for millennials, ages 18 to 29, was higher: 80%. The percentage of overall book readers dropped from the previous year, when 76% of American adults reported having read a book, either all or part of one.
Do you see? These are people who have read a book in a year, and not even a whole book; lot’s of people try to read and then give up after a few pages, but why? Furthermore, the study doesn’t discuss what kind of book was read and why; some people glance at a non-fiction book for information, but does that count as reading?
The major presses are releasing tons of books for entertainment in America and other countries, but the presses are way out of touch with today’s audience; they don’t post book releases and reviews to social media outlets, they don’t really show any commercials for new releases on television, and unless someone is already a subscriber to Reader’s Digest, there isn’t anyone out there reading magazines containing book releases, but is marketing the problem?
No, it isn’t. The problem is that today, everyone and their grandmother can sit down at their computer, type out 50,000 words, buy a cover from some photoshop artist, and release it through Amazon, Smashwords, and Lulu. These people are often called indie authors, but that’s incorrect; indie authors are published through indie presses like Baen, actual presses with editors, marketers, and printers. The correct term is self published author, and these authors release their books through POD companies like Friesen Press; it’s a flurry of unedited mush, and, all too often, self published authors also release e-books, which flood the market, through Amazon and Smashwords.
But why is that a bad thing? Is it inappropriate to write a book and release it? Would not the readers and the market decide if the author and book are worth buying? In a free trade system, yes, but these authors get together through social media and trade books with each other, so that they can all give each other 5 star reviews on book sites. The result is a poorly written, cliched, stagnant piece with 100 5 star reviews enticing readers to buy a book, and then readers purchase it to find the writer wasn’t able to string together five words, much less reveal a cogent plot, and so they feel shilled, and they give their 1 star review, but it doesn’t end there. That doesn’t solve the problem.
You see, these self published authors get together on social media and tell each other to support other self published authors because they write for a living and need to pay their bills, so they all congregate and talk about trading good reviews in order to boost their sales, and there doesn’t seem to be anybody out there trying to dissuade them from this practice, which fools unsuspecting readers into buying trash.
Now, not all self published authors are terrible writers. Some of them hire professional editors, others buy manuals to learn how to properly edit, some find beta-readers for feedback before a release, and some have degrees in literature or composition, but it’s so overly difficult to know which author has an inkling of editing when tons and tons and tons of e-books are flooding the market, and as I said, they all have hundreds of glowing reviews.
Another problem is the book reviewer industry. When a major press, or even a true, indie press, releases a book, they hire professional reviewers from companies like Kirkus to read and write a real, professional review on the book; these are paid professionals who take their careers very seriously, and they will describe in detail the good and bad points of the book. Furthermore, if the book is terrible, they will explain why and provide their rating for everyone to see. Self published authors don’t do this; they claim that paid reviews are biased, but it’s the paid reviewers that tell and post the truth!
Here’s the kicker, since these self published authors have been destroyed by real reviewers, they resort to each other for fake reviews, and they will even find blog sites and review sites to post reviews, but too often, these non-professional reviewers promise that they will NOT post a bad review. Instead, if they don’t like the book, rather than shaming the author, they opt out of posting the review, but reviews are not for authors, they are supposed to be for READERS.
So, why doesn’t America read anymore? Because every time an American tries to pick up a book and start reading, their eyes are assaulted by uninspired dialogue, unbelievable characters, convoluted, nonsensical plots, and feel so disgusted with the world of reading, that they become jaded, thinking that books are simply terrible.
What can be done?
No one is saying that people should stop writing; it’s great that so many Americans have decided to put their thoughts into words, but they should do their due diligence and make their work a professional masterpiece; it doesn’t matter if the concept within the story is any good, everybody has different tastes, what matters is the quality of the writing, and the only way to let readers know whether a book is worth reading is by posting a real review. If a book is bad, people need to say so. If a book is good, people need to say so, but what’s killing the reading industry is the masses of self published authors trading these fake reviews and these non-professional reviewers deciding NOT to post bad reviews; they must post bad reviews because reviews are for readers, not authors.
The Brian Griffins of the writing industry have been taking over. Someone needs to curtail this horrendous practice and restore reading and writing in America to its former glory.
Not only do readers deserve to know if a book is readable, but the authors deserve to hear why their book was bad, so that they can sit back and improve on their next novel. So many self-published authors write and release a book every month; there’s no way a book written that quickly is ready for release, and these clowns have no idea that they can’t write because they’re surrounded by their own ilk, raving about how amazing their book is, even though it lacks any kind of punctuation, all the characters talk the same, the plot makes no sense and wanders off like a drunken horse, and offers no lesson whatsoever.
Do you want America to start reading again? You can help to solve the problem. Before you buy a book, take a look at the reviews; look at the 5 star reviews, look at the 1 star reviews, and then, on Amazon, you can click “look inside” and actually check to see if the writer was able to keep an idea within a paragraph; there’s an art to writing; it isn’t just words on a page. Each word has to fill the sentence with life. Each paragraph has to drive the essence of the story forward. Each piece of dialogue has to sound like people conversing, and if an author fails in these concepts, readers will drop the book and walk away, enraged at the fact they just blew 2 dollars.
Please, America, read again; read reviews, good and bad, take a look inside the book, you have the opportunity, and on Smashwords, you can often download a free sample of the book.
And readers, you wonderful, American readers out there who still love finding a diamond in the rough, please review all the books you purchase; reader reviews are by far more important than professional or author reviews. If you want America to read again, give them a reason; talk about how good a book was; talk about how bad a book was; inform your fellow readers, so that all of you might band together on social media like the self published authors who are trying to trick you into buying a 50,000 word train wreck.
And be wary, be very, very wary; lots of self published authors will maliciously post negative reviews for writers if the other writer gave them an honest, bad review on their book. I’ve seen it; one author trades a book, he or she posts a review of the other author, and then, when they get their bad review in return, that author will remove their first review, and write a scathing indictment instead only to try and make themselves feel better, so it’s up to you, the American reader, to fix the book industry. If you love to read then you must review for better or worse, and you must tell your friends and family as well.
Help me make reading fun again. Please.
May 22, 2016
The Adventures of Larson and Garrett, A People Defiled
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
Check out the 10th installment of The Adventures of Larson and Garrett and download a sample.
After the defeat of the White Wraiths in Stormguard, Larson and crew join a trade caravan as mercenaries in order to infiltrate Glenmoor, where Minister Parish, the man behind it all, is twisting the minds of citizens.
A brutal attack in the middle of the night causes dissension, and Larson's crew makes for Glenmoor on their own. In the town, under the cover of rain, they finally bring the fight to Parish.
The Adventures of Larson and Garrett A People Defiled
Check out the 10th installment of The Adventures of Larson and Garrett and download a sample.
After the defeat of the White Wraiths in Stormguard, Larson and crew join a trade caravan as mercenaries in order to infiltrate Glenmoor, where Minister Parish, the man behind it all, is twisting the minds of citizens.
A brutal attack in the middle of the night causes dissension, and Larson's crew makes for Glenmoor on their own. In the town, under the cover of rain, they finally bring the fight to Parish.
The Adventures of Larson and Garrett A People Defiled
