T.P. Archie's Blog, page 5
May 2, 2013
Time, Space and things
Big on my personal horizon is managing time. Many years ago I said (to myself) when I get the opportunity, I'll sit back and work out what it's all about. I've tried that. It's taken me to many places that don't exist (and some that do).
As you study, other things creep into view and priorities change. You find you have things to say and time is running out.
I measure my work; not in a qualitative sense but purely as the number of words put into narrative form. When I decided to start writing, I ensured that I monitored overall progress. I still do. I've seen splendidly extravagant figures quoted for levels of output - I've no idea how authentic these are; I like to produce around 600 words per day. Once I'm up to speed that figure can get higher.
My first novel didn't start as a novel; rather it began as follows:
I'd had some writing software sitting on my shelf for several years and decided once and for all to test it. 'Three chapters' I said to myself, 'then we'll see what it's all about'. I had no idea what a realistic level of output was. My literary background amounted to a big fat 0; the 0 you get when you fail your English Language 'O' level. That didn't seem a bar to me; all I had to do was put one word in front of another until I had enough. Just like walking. Easy. Some back of a fag-packet calculations suggested that it might come to a few thousand words.
Starting from word zero on 04/05/09, I got to word 8,000 on 21/05/09. My chapters were getting a bit long but that didn't matter; I now had data from which I could determine my level of output. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to monitor my activity - I have a manufacturing and accounting background! I was producing at about 500 words per day.
Accounting Heaven!!
- I didn't know where it was going, but that's another story -
A bit of mental calculation told me that if I could up my daily wordage rate to 600, I could get to 60,000 words before the Premiership Season began.
Why's that significant? Well I was a season ticket holder with Burnley Football Club who had just been promoted from the Championship to the Premier League.
Why 60 thousand words? I read somewhere that Robert E Howard's sole Conan novel Conan The Conqueror came to that amount. My Sphere edition of it ran to about 200 pages; so it seemed a respectable target to have.
How I write is an entirely different matter.
April 18, 2013
Epic Fantasy
After I rested 'Guide', which was about 9 months back, I began to work on SF and Fantasy proper. My first task was to see if I could assemble narratives that pleased me. I tested the waters with self contained episodes. The result was 4 very different stories, each about 5k in length. Three were SF and one Fantasy. All pulled me along - I liked them all, but which storyline should I focus on next?
While I pondered this, I came up with a story set in Norman Sicily The Central Sea. This looked like it would keep on growing - I'd easily enough material to push it to 20k+ words - a novella. Bur I'm primarily an SF writer so I canned it at around 9k.
Four narratives...
Well, Lucky has been submitted to Asimov's Magazine; I'm not tinkering with that.
That left three:
Joe and the Xenophids - First Contact goes badly wrong (SF / Horror)
The Adventures of Matter Grabba - 'Star Trek' meets 'Alien' (SF / 4X)
Brant, A Fantasy (Heroic Fantasy / Epic Fantasy)
In the end I based my decision on the line of least resistance - how well developed was the next piece and how easy would it be to write?
Fantasy won out. For now.
April 17, 2013
A Walk in Irwell Vale
So we set off – down past Helmshore Textile Museum, turn left at Ogden Water and follow Holcombe Road for half a mile, past Musbury Tor. It seemed to go well – then my guide found a hill to go up. We turned right; up, up and up again.
No, we were nowhere near the clouds; it’s just that I’m used to walking on the flat. Anything further than the car (which is currently in its second half-life) is too far. Angles are bad for my ankles (okay that was awful).
Eventually we found snow. We could have found it by using binoculars – or simple watching the news – but this was Good Friday; to hell with comfort – on with the walk!!
At first the going is up but steady.
Then it gets tough -
More of this walk is on my blog
April 10, 2013
April 9, 2013
Lucky done
Just made my second attempt at bringing my Goodreads blog under control.
Hope it sticks.
April 6, 2013
Combining Blogs
Setting up this blog (06/04/13) has resulted in overlap (from My Telegraph blog and from Wordpress). I'll edit these out in due course.
Football first.
:-)
[edit Burnley 3 - 1 Bristol City
to do list
Lucky is three quarters done. Do it.
make headway with A History of the World Conqueror ]
April 3, 2013
Easter 2013
23/03/2013 My Telegraph Blog There’s Snow Up North
25/03/2013 My Telegraph Blog Nine Princes in Amber – Roger Zelazny
26/03/2013 Begin to research Lucky. Here's where I started:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interstellar_medium
27/03/2013 Writing – Begin Lucky.
I expect this will be about 2,000 words long.
28/03/2013 Writing – Continue Lucky
Looks like it might exceed my 2,000 target (I’m at 2,350)
29/03/2013 Writing – Bring Lucky to a continuable state
At the moment Lucky is over 3,000 words. I’m guessing that I’ll get to 5,000 words - which suggests the law of 250%. Plan a story, think of a number – that’s how many words it’ll come to. multiply by 2.5 to the actual word count.
But I have to stop atm. My story Adriana needs to be finished by the close of play 31/03/13 and it’s only a quarter done.
30/03/2013 Writing – Crack on with Adriana
1,000 words done
31/03/2013 Writing – Finish Adriana
1,000 words done. Get Adriana into what I (laughably) call a finished state. Adriana is just under 2,900 words long and wraps up my Norman Sicily / Maltese trilogy.
01/04/2013 My Telegraph Blog Google Treasure Map
02/04/2013 Join Goodreads
Post the three Central Sea stories + Star Crossed there.
Research Ta’ rīkh-i jahān-gushā (History of the Conqueror of the World)
This is about Genghis Khan and concerns the slaughter of approx 20 million people in a land that no longer exists – the Khwarezmian Empire.
The Penguin Press were trailing the idea of a new kind of bookshop.
03/04/2013 Back to Lucky
Plus chat with the Craven Herald – my story "is of interest", now will they use it?
April 1, 2013
Google Treasure Map
April Fools Day
Time for some nosing around. So I decided to check out Google’s Treasure Map and see if there was treasure. Imagine my delight at finding a strange shape where the Himalayas should be.
Googles-Treasure-Map – centered on the Himalayas
Aha I thought; this looks interesting. Lets zoom in.
Google’s-Treasure-Map zoomed in onto Himalayas
What was in my mind? I’m not sure now – maybe visions of a hidden city – olde mappe style – maybe even pictures of treasure or artifacts. One more time I zoomed in:
Google’s-Treasure-Map hidden city is completely hidden
And my hidden city was completely hidden.
Where’d it go? Maybe it was just a mapping artefact.
Damn those artefacts.
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March 31, 2013
Adriana
Hi. Here’s my entry for the March 2013 CW competition to an Orchard theme. It comes to just under 2,900 words and is titled: Adriana.
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December is harvest time. The sun streams through open windows. Flowers and plants stream their late bloom outside our villa. The scent of cutting and pruning fills the cool air. Our harvest has been good for some years. The ordering of harvest is much to my taste; a far cry from my origins.
Julian plays with Gaedric while I ensure that meals for the day are made ready. Matters of the household are normally details for the castellan but he is otherwise engaged – and there are some duties I reserve for myself. This is one.
I call to Gaedric, “Can you and Julian be ready?”
But they are here before I finish calling. Gaedric is ten years old, six years the senior of Julian. They play, they fight, they sulk and then are best friends. I might be overly proud of them, but isn’t that every mother’s right?
To be fair, the castellan ensures they are ordered and presentable.
“Today,” I say to them both, “we look to the land.”
They both smile, but know better than to chatter in my presence. They save that for later – the castellan will assign a retainer to watch over them while we tour the estate.
This will give me time to put my thoughts in order. Gaetan has sent another message; doubtless he’d merely recited it as he’s no patience with the art of writing. His news was important – to him – and it puts me in mind of that time, so many years in the past, when Juliano was first taken from us.
I remember it so clearly.
My world was changed forever. I am no violet to shrink at the sight of blood or combat. Neither am I a ghoul to feast on the flesh of any that fall.
Blood is necessary – to make the heart sing. In the old ways, blood is used to rouse the spirit. The Christians have crushed those as heresies. It is the same under the Caliph. But we; we are in the flux between warring civilisations – the Caliphate and the Emirates lie to the South and the East, the Christian Kingdoms lying to the North and the North West; both feasting on the blood and soft innards of the Romans before them and gnawing still on the bitter bones of Byzantine Rome.
Għawdex has always been an easy target for raiders. Just two generations past it was part of the Fatamid Caliphate, an empire that stretched from the Holy Land through Egypt but now they are reduced to preying on their former dominions. How can I know this? My family were long established in Sicily. After the coming of the Normans, though fierce and relentless in battle, they have let us live, trade and worship without compulsion. This is unusual. Even the most advanced peoples play the favourite; but these barbarians wish us to be industrious and prosperous together; Jew, Christian and Mohammedan. They say they that if it had been written that they lay waste to their own domains, God would not have sowed the world with so many enemies. It would demean them to make war upon their own.
Blood. As a goad.
Make a man of him – provoke him to action. I wanted to see what became of him. Give Gaetan focus and you never know – if Juliano had made his way in the world, he might have been a good provider – know what is important and judge accordingly.
The blood, the fire, what became of Xewkija – this would become his focus and kick him out and away from a life of petty ambition. It would also ensure I didn’t become tied with an unnecessary brood.
Was it good that Gaetan had a far thing to aim at? It might never be achieved but with a fair wind from the Central Sea and the grace that comes with noble aim, who knew what opportunities might open before us?
And there were other reasons. These will become apparent at the proper place and time, suffice it to say that I no longer saw Għawdex as part of our future.
We stood there in the deserted village. I had no desire to stay there – but like a cur unable to leave his cruel master, there was nowhere to go. Also there were compelling reasons that we remain here for the nonce.
He turned to me amidst the destruction of our village to suggest,
“We must go down to the harbour and await the fishing fleet. They will know what to do.”
Was Gaetan – cut free from the flock – now trying to be a sheep?
I told him, “Let us find a high place. The danger may still be near and I have no desire to pay the price for foolish decisions.”
Gaetan saw well the value of my thought. I suspected that the raiders may have holed those boats to prevent any alarm; and then picked clean those that had what they wanted.
In the event, four days later saw the arrival of a manned vessel such as our Sicilian overlords were wont to deploy in these waters. I knew this, for I listed well to these matters; not that my family were high in any council, but these islands were small and any with sense could put matters together and arrive at the most likely conclusion. So it was my conclusion that the County of Sicily applied the bulk of its navy to the matter of the Komnenian Greeks and their allies, the Genoans; and we were often an afterthought in that reckoning.
The castellan appears – he coughs slightly, polite. Memory is pushed to one side. I tell him to take the boys in charge, and I walk alone to the carriage; slowly, formally. When I arrive, four horses are harnessed, ready to go. Gaedric and Julian are seated under the covering. Two sets of eyes implore me to let them sit by the driver. I sit across from them and pay them no heed – wind, rain and sun will seek them out soon enough.
We set forth. In due course we arrive at orchard sud. The steward here tells me that this harvest goes well and he shows the best of the lemons. The castellan, who accompanies us, engages the steward in discussion. It grows animated – the steward relishes the opportunity to talk of this harvest. The castellan is deep in conversation so I acknowledge the retainer, who waits patiently. My two boys are allowed from the carriage; the retainer will accompany and protect them, on pain of death.
I look to the orchard. Growth and harvest, neat and efficient. Lemons. They grow here in Vizzini as if they had been here forever, but I know they came with the Arab; as did my family. My family worked the land before they went to Għawdex. Would that they saw me now, but new life supplants old. My eyes look to bitter, yellow fruit; but inside I remember the day the galley finally arrived from the County of Sicily. My confidence in that long ago time had perhaps been overdone….
I knew that Gaetan and I could and would leave Għawdex. A number of schemes crossed my mind to achieve this. Gaetan could be a hired hand set to accompany me to a convent. Or perhaps I was to be a male cousin under an oath of silence and, of course, under robes. The latter seemed the more plausible as I was not developed sufficiently to be of interest to more than pederasts.
My fall back plan had been: in return for passage off Għawdex, to offer myself as a captain’s doxy – it had the advantage of preparing me an alternative career – but carried the inherent risk of getting with child. I’d no compunction about snuffing out any mewling brat, but carrying it for nine months? Well I had my limits.
All this may seem like foolishness but the greater foolishness would be to stay alone here – putting us at the mercy of any passing sailors – a happenstance that would make a few nights with the captain seem a pleasant dream.
Fate played us a different hand and the choice of scheme was never to be thrust upon me. The captain of the vessel that came was seeking survivors and it happened that we were significant purely through their general paucity. We were warned we would be interviewed on arrival in Syracuse. This occasioned much surprise in Gaetan, but it put me in mind to think things through to their conclusion.
As we sailed to Syracuse, I explained matters to Gaetan.
“Gaetan, my love,” (this was for those who might listen and yet it was not untrue), “I fear that our closeness will not be tolerated once our journey ends.”
The wind over the Central Sea was not quiet; that and spray made a sorry sight of us both.
He thought a moment and replied, “And how might it be otherwise?”
“You may wish to part from me, and that will be that, but should you wish otherwise, consider.”
Gaetan now was all ears, for whereas I came to a place where there was family, albeit distant; all Gaetan had, having lost Juliano, was me.
“You must tell them that we have been promised to each other. Our difference in rank means that they may consider our union unwise; so to make matters practical tell them that I am suspected to be with child. Our marriage will be as good as complete according to custom.”
He asked, “But what if they should wish us to be kept separate?”
I answered, “Apart we are two problems, together, we are one; and I do love you, you know this, even though you are only a mule headed ass at the best of times.”
He didn’t know whether to dig me in the ribs or hug me, so I whispered in his ear,
“Should the absence of child be noted, I am certain we could put matters aright.”
In days we arrived – to some ceremony and in due course we received an interview. It was determined that Gaetan’s education be improved. He was of course impatient but at least in this made a wise choice by insisting that I attend this schooling. Although an unusual arrangement, it ensured that I wasn’t spirited away, on one pretext or another, while he was otherwise engaged.
He made it perfectly plain from the outset that he had little liking for any discipline other than that which would allow him to chastise those that had slaughtered and ravaged our island. Thus he pursued the more martial arts and was disinterested in any talk that did not have this at its heart. I knew what moved him and this fact soon became apparent to those who sought to finish our education. Why did we receive this treatment? Gaetan was, or would be a bargaining chip. That the organiser of the raid on Għawdex, Igaidi, was Gaetan’s father was a fact that Gaetan refused to hear. That fact was also a wider secret.
After his second year of education, when it was plain his fire and fury needed action to be vented, he became an apprentice soldier on one of the galleys and soon rose through the ranks. His pay was such that we no longer depended on the charity of benefactors, yet my education continued. This was as well for I was able to ensure our resources weren’t squandered, while keeping Gaetan focussed.
In due course I conceived and Gaedric was born. Our wealth increased and matters developed so that Gaetan became more than a pawn. Now a captain, he was as successful in predating on enemy ships as his father. Yet Igaidi, who still prowled the Central Sea, managed to avoid engagement.
In our small villa, with Gaedric les than one full year, nestled on his father’s knee, I said to Gaetan,
“He will not come to you unless you offer him a thing that he prizes greatly.”
Gaetan answered, “He might prize his life, but even that I would not offer.”
“Yet,” I answered, “I see another way. Listen to me and if you see merit, you must present this as from you. Igaidi knows not his son exists, yet you do for you are he.”
“But why must I haggle?”
“Have you not thought that Juliano may still be alive?”
“I have dreamt it, but how can it be known?”
“You can be offered as ransom. The conditions are up to you – you can make one that requires all his slaves be paraded – or sold….”
“Why would I do this?”
“If Juliano yet lives, think well. Slaves are not immune to slaughter should you locate Igaidi and sink his vessel.”
“Although I do not like the idea of bargaining with that monster, I see that it may place him where we can observe him.”
“It is good that you do not like or agree with it. You will find its flaws the better. If you pull this off, I promise I will marry you properly.”
“If this comes off, I will bring his head mounted on a pike and I will make you marry Juliano for surely he will make you an honest woman. I certainly can’t.”
“Igaidi will have you watched. He will study your mien and look for weaknesses. If you wish a rescue of Juliano, at least be certain of this.”
The sun has moved a little; the castellan has finished his discussion with the steward of orchard sud. My boys are back, breathless but quiet. We mount the carriage and four powerful andalusians take us to orchard este. Here, the steward is tallying a count. He pauses and their conversation develops in a similar manner to that in orchard sud. I motion to the retainer and in moments my boys are again out of sight. I wait under an old lemon tree; its fruit are small and withered.
The scheme was well received and Gaetan’s standing rose. After much negotiation, a sum and other terms were settled on. A ransom was paid over instalments. Igaidi was probably buying his own death warrant. At times I worried that Gaetan might not return, although loath to express these fears, I made him swear to do nothing foolish. The estates that my family used to work, indentured to Arab overlords, I added to Gaetan’s possessions. He was now quite wealthy.
In due course, Gaetan went to the city of al Jaza’ir Bani Mazghana, or Icosium as it was known to the Romans, and after a period of time, with much secrecy, a ragged Juliano was presented to us. Unfortunately, the terms of his release became known to Juliano before he could come to us. May the Lord preserve us from loose tongued sailors. His ragged finery was taken away – not destroyed but held on Gaetan’s return – he was washed, decked well and presented. His first words on seeing me were,
“Do I deserve rescue?”
I replied, “It is Gaetan’s only desire.”
Juliano then said, “I do not doubt this, but it is better that I stayed and Gaetan were here with you.”
How did his mind work? I do not know. That he could not keep his eyes from me was plain – I was in full bloom – yet there was a distant look to him. He was still lost in the old scheme of things.
Over dinner we talked; or he talked and I listened. He talked of the moon glimmering on the water, of faith in the Lord, of how the body is captive that the spirit be free. The he sang a wordless song, beautiful enough to shine hope into the most wretched heart. Evening became night and with the windows wide open to let out our heat, we swived under the stars. I could say that I was assayed by a silvered tongue, but why deny the truth, this had been my plan long before his return – even, dare I say, before our precipitous departure from Għawdex. In the morning he was gone as I knew he would; but I had his rags.
I pondered Juliano’s message
‘I go to find the Walled Garden of Truth’
and eventually sent word to Gaetan – knowing his response. So he was certain of my support, I added, ‘Do not return without him’ for I knew that that is what Gaetan wanted to hear.
A cloud darkens the sun. Sitting on the carriage, waiting for my boys to return, I think upon Gaetan’s letter:
‘I am in Gazni and have found Juliano. There is greater chance of bringing he who wrote ‘The Walled Garden of Truth’ back to life than persuading Juliano to return. In accordance with your thoughts, I will assign a stipend before I return.’
So Sania, the Persian poet, was dead? Death is a feature of life. That is Juliano’s answer, if he will listen.
Gaetan has his answer, yet he cannot make Juliano’s choices. Still he becoming more mannered and now even writes his own letters
And I had my answer nine months after Juliano left.
It is warm here in Vizzini. I do not consider myself cold; yet life would be more complete if we three could live and laugh and love together a little longer.
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All Rights Reserved
Orchards
I could have written of other orchards, but with diluted enthusiasm. This is what was in my mind.
Does it all hang together? Probably only if you read it alongside Central Sea and Xewkija
Sanai’s poetry had a tremendous influence upon Persian literature. He died about the time the Normans were cementing their control over the former Emirate of Sicily. He is considered the first poet to use the ode, lyric, and the rhymed couplet to express the philosophical, mystical and ethical ideas of Sufism (think: Islamic life support system). So what was poetry doing before then?
Is it fatwah time yet?
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March 25, 2013
Nine Prince in Amber – Roger Zelazny
Not in the office today (not well enough) but here’s a blast from the past for those who’ve read any Roger Zelazny.
He awoke in a hospital – remembering very little – only that he had been in an accident. He discovered that his name was Corwin, and that he was stronger than any human had a right to be…
Later, on a journey that began in New York and ended in a world of forests and mountains, monsters and fantasies, he discovered who he really was – Corwin, Prince of Amber… Corwin, whose colours were black and silver – who had been exiled to the shadow world of Earth and who had now returned to claim his throne…
So ran the blurb to the first paperback edition of Roger Zelazny’s science fantasy novel Nine Princes in Amber. Roger often themed his books on religion or history. This became an epic and was themed (I believe) on the Wars of the Roses. It certainly had plenty of twists and turns, deals, double deals, revelations and reconciliations between the members of a brawling, feisty family. An enjoyable mix of high fantasy and science fantasy.
This first volume was published in Corgi, in the UK, and went on to straddle 10 volumes. I hunted high and low to grab each installment as it came out – hence the different publishers. The artist to the first two volumes (Nine Princes in Amber and The Guns of Avalon) was Patrick Woodroffe.
Publisher
Copyright
This ed.
Price
Series – Corwin of Amber
Corgi
1970
1974
35p
Nine Princes in Amber
Corgi
1973
1975
45p
The Guns of Avalon
Avon
1975
1976
$1.50
Sign of the Unicorn
Avon
1976
1977
$1.50
The Hand of Oberon
Avon
1978
1979
$1.75
The Courts of Chaos
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Nine-Princes-in-Amber
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The-Guns-of-Avalon
‘
Sign-of-the-Unicorn
‘
The-Hand-of-Oberon
‘
The-Courts-of-Chaos
‘
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The series was broken into two. The first set focuses on Corwin of Amber, the second set (below) upon Merlin of Chaos.
Publisher
Copyright
This ed.
Price
Series – Merlin of Chaos
Sphere
1985
1986
£2.50
Trumps of Doom
Sphere
1986
1987
£2.75
Blood of Amber
Sphere
1987
1988
£2.99
Sign of Chaos
Avon
1989
1990
$3.95
Knight of Shadows
Avon
1991
1992
$4.99
Prince of Chaos
‘
Trumps-of-Doom
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Blood-of-Amber
‘
Sign-of-Chaos
‘
Knight-of-Shadows
‘
Prince-of-Chaos
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This series went on to explore motifs such as the myth of Avalon and how we pattern reality (shadow worlds are patterned on the one true reality). I can see the Simile of the Sun smiling at me from those self-same shadows – of course I hadn’t read any Plato when I first read these.
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