James Funfer's Blog, page 6

September 29, 2012

Consignment, Career & A Preview

I hide behind my words


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


Well, the journey to Calgary, Alberta is over and done, and I’m back home on Vancouver Island. My book signings at Indigo and Chapters were very successful, and I’m grateful for the assistance I received from good friends and the amazing staff at both locations.


You may be wondering…what now? Will it be a quiet year or two until the sequel is ready?


Currently I’m working on some consignment options here on the island, as well as expanding online interest in Crystal Promise. The Funferblog will still be active as I plug away at the sequel, and I’m still mulling over what to do with Chasing Lucifer.


It’s a long road, working on becoming a career author.


I was going to write a long-winded essay about the importance of characters & motivation with regards to plot, but it kept coming out sounding like a rant, so instead I’m just going to give you a fun preview of what I’ve been working on: an excerpt from The Shattered Crystal, Book II: Crystal Empire (working title)


***


It was no bigger than his hand, but at that moment it was Boy’s entire world. Its legs were proud and straight, knees together. Its body was smooth and well-worn, but it held a resolute grip on the tiny black longwand in its hands, brought to shoulder level and ready to dispatch any threat. The paint had worn off most of its face, leaving a pair of black eyes that spoke of grim determination, of old battles hard-won.


Its uniform was an old one – not the blood-red of the imperial soldiers or the dull grey of the new republican army, but a sun-faded New Kingdom blue. Boy didn’t know anything about uniforms or Noven politics, but he spotted a tiny painted medal on the tin soldier’s left breast, and he knew that he was holding a man of exceptional courage.


The tin soldier marched across the warped wooden floor, to a drum beat that nobody else could hear. He was drilling, preparing for battle. Boy decided that the soldier’s name was Leo. Leo meant lion, Bruno had told him once, and lions were brave.


He could feel the eyes of the other children watching him as he played with Leo. They were talking about him in a gaggle of voices, but he kept his eyes on the tin soldier marching across the floor. He didn’t want to look at them, because then they might come over. Boy wanted to play by himself.


Leo was shooting at imaginary soldiers coming up over the crest of the bump in the floor. In Boy’s mind they had green-and-mustard uniforms and funny metal helmets, and they yelled threats in a strange gibberish language. Leo remained undaunted. He stood his ground and aimed carefully, shooting them down as they came.


“Oh no, there’s more of them.” Boy had to speak for Leo because Leo didn’t have a mouth. “Better use my crystal grenade. Boom!”


“Hi, soldier,” a girl said. Boy froze. Standing beside Leo was a cloth doll covered in dirt smudges, wearing a red summer dress. Most of her hair had fallen out, and the stitching was loose on one foot, letting a bit of puffy cotton stuffing poke through.


Leo didn’t speak, so he had nothing to say to the doll. He continued shooting at the oncoming soldiers.


“Quick, let’s escape to my house,” the girl said as she made the doll prod Leo with a filthy, fingerless hand. “You can protect me with your gun.”


Leo backed up. He didn’t talk to girls. He didn’t talk to anybody. Boy shied away and pressed his back to the wall. Bad things happened when he spoke to girls.


“Are you going to live here?” the girl asked. Boy bit his lip and chanced a glance at her.


Her round, rosy-cheeked face was dirty and she wore a ratty old patchwork dress. She looked remarkably like her doll, except that she had hair – lots of it. The dark curls were almost down to her waist. Boy stared at her wordlessly. Leo took a bold step forward on the floor and bowed to the doll.


“What’s your name?” she asked.


“Leo,” he said. He didn’t want to admit that everybody just called him ‘Boy’.


The girl’s eyes widened suddenly. “Drop the toy,” she said.


Boy frowned and tightened his grip on Leo. She wasn’t interested in him; she just wanted to steal Leo away.


“Drop it now,” she urged. “Bernardo is coming.” A shadow passed over Boy and he turned his head to see a taller, older boy staring down at him.


“That’s my toy soldier,” the other boy said as he pointed with a fleshy finger. Boy clutched Leo to his chest protectively. He’d never owned a real toy before. He looked to the girl for support but she was staring at her shoes.


“Give it back,” the taller boy insisted. He clutched at Boy’s wrist and tugged. Although Boy was not as big as the other child, he kept a firm grip on Leo. Boy shut his eyes tightly and an angry moan escaped from his lips as fat fingers dug deep into his wrist. With his other hand, Bernardo tried to pry open Boy’s fingers.


“No, it’s mine!” Boy screamed. The tug-of-war continued.


“Stop it, Bernardo!” The girl had to shout to be heard over Boy’s screaming. “If Matilda hears, we’ll all get a beating.”


Bernardo wasn’t convinced. Instead he turned his attention to the girl and sent the back of his fist across her face. She fell to the floor and wailed.


Leo had to protect her. Instead of pulling away, he suddenly lurched forward. Bernardo was caught off-balance and lost his grip as he fell. Boy landed on top of him. Clutching the tin soldier like a weapon, he bludgeoned Bernardo in the face. Bernardo punched Boy in the mouth, but he barely even felt it. All around him, children were screaming, crying or staring – in his peripheral vision he could see them all, an audience to Leo’s righteousness. A good soldier protected the weak.

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Published on September 29, 2012 19:05

August 31, 2012

Songs I Never Get Tired Of #2


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VF0BlXP-0Y



Ghost Love Score


By: Nightwish



What’s better than heavy metal power chords, double bass drum pedals and wailing flanged guitar solos? Add a classically trained lyric soprano, a brilliant composer who often uses full orchestration and a bass player/lead guitarist bromance. Call it ‘Opera Metal’ and watch bands all across Europe and America follow suit, leaving behind guttural screeching for something much more melodic, powerful and epic that probably started with .


Nightwish, the Tarja years


A lot of people tell me that they don’t like heavy metal music. To them I say this: have a listen to any of these albums, and then tell me that you still feel the same way. This isn’t your dad’s heavy metal (Black Sabbath, etc.) … having followed them for years and seen them live (with new singer Anette Olzon), I can tell you that you’re going to see and hear something more akin to an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical than the kind of thing that makes Christian right-wingers hurl accusations of satanism.


I could talk about their fantasy novel-inspired lyrics, or the internal drama that led to the split with the incredibly talented Tarja Turunen, or their ultra happy and energetic stage presence (yeah happy isn’t a typical heavy metal trait either – they really are trail-blazers) but let me boil it down for you: you know the part in action movies where there’s epic ‘modern classical’ music with operatic chanting and it sends shivers up your spine as the hero engages in a climactic battle scene? That’s what it feels like every time I listen to Nightwish.


Ghost Love Score still makes me feel that way. I listen the whole ten minutes through every time it’s on my playlist – and it’s the most-played song on my iPod. It can instantly summon an epic movie montage into my imagination.


I might not wear a heavy black trench coat in the middle of a blazing summer anymore like I did in my high school years, but I still have a little bit of an inner goth deep down somewhere…and he loves the simplicity and thrill of electric guitars and orchestration (kind of like this), epic stories of angels and demons, elves and dragons, and something that is just a little unabashedly unapologetic and over-the-top.


So give Nightwish a listen, and see if you get a chill up your spine.


Open your miiiiind

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Published on August 31, 2012 16:40

August 28, 2012

Islands in the Grass


I see glimpses of what I’m running from


In rows of houses all shaped the same


Stretching further every year


Trying to catch up with me


 


Fences in between


Say ‘stay out of my Eden’


Islands in the fresh-mowed grass


Nations of white collars


 


I pass a youth with sullen eyes and a lip ring


He is embarrassed by the man with the toe shoes


Embarrassed to be seen with his parents


He walks apart from them, feigning isolation


 


I feel his jealous gaze as I dash past


A boy who yearns to break free


As I have


Tearing away from the endless avenues of 2.5 storeys and 2.5 children


 


Freedom is the hill on the edge of town


A stack of topsoil, the kind made for bikes and sleds


The kind that summons nostalgia


The kind that will soon be swallowed by a themed community


 


It is a place where I can survey the town that I escaped from


And look to the beckoning mountains beyond


Where houses don’t grow like weeds

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Published on August 28, 2012 17:17