Janine Donoho's Blog, page 8

Shadow Coyote by Janine M. Donoho

Lapped by vapor—

An islander on high ground.

Step, together, step in a

Dance of nuanced solitude–

Isolated.

First above the flowing sea,

Then confronted by amorphous mist.

To enter?

Or not…

Giant sage cold-sculpted by

Frozen drizzle.

Shadows parallel our track

Along shrouded ridge lines—

Four legged.

Climbing back into sunlight,

Manga spiked hair drips moisture.

Complex yips

In an untamed tongue

Follow.

Shadow Coyote

Lapped by vapor—

An islander on high ground.

Step, together, step in a

Dance of nuanced solitude–

Isolated.

First above the flowing sea,

Then confronted by amorphous mist.

To enter?

Or not…

Giant sage cold-sculpted by

Frozen drizzle.

Shadows parallel our track

Along shrouded ridge lines—

Four legged.

Climbing back into sunlight,

Manga spiked hair drips moisture.

Complex yips

In an untamed tongue

Follow.

The Half Life of Connor Owen by Janine M. Donoho

You might think we’d be better at this—

Goodbye to a beloved.

Gone our foxy rodent hunter—

Brilliant gaze, nimble mind, sleek beauty.

Torn from us too young,

His lively heart reduced

To two chambers

From the necessary three.

Reckless the breeder

Of this sublime hound—

She who chose form

Over substance.

Goodbye, beloved hound,

Strong-willed young fighter,

Who battled the inevitable

Too long.

You might have thought

We’d be better at this.

Connor Owen, beloved whippet –  January 23, 2006 – December 30, 2013

The Half Life of Connor Owen

You might think we’d be better at this—

Goodbye to a beloved.

Gone our foxy rodent hunter—

Brilliant gaze, nimble mind, sleek beauty.

Torn from us too young,

His lively heart reduced

To two chambers

From the necessary three.

Reckless the breeder

Of this sublime hound—

She who chose form

Over substance.

Goodbye, beloved hound,

Strong-willed young fighter,

Who battled the inevitable

Too long.

You might have thought

We’d be better at this.

Connor Owen, beloved whippet -  January 23, 2006 – December 30, 2013

Night Falls on Solstice by Janine M. Donoho

A singular event—

Our sun hovers over lush Tropics.

The coy North Pole

Tips away.

Luminated hours shrink to an octet in

Our boreal climes.

Weather forecasters assess

Winter an infant,

Newborn upon December’s inception.

The bewildered prepare for end times while

Ancient rituals evoke

Natural connections—

Brief day

Morphs into prolonged night.

Night Falls on Solstice

A singular event—

Our sun hovers over lush Tropics.

The coy North Pole

Tips away.

Luminated hours shrink to an octet in

Our boreal climes.

Weather forecasters assess

Winter an infant,

Newborn upon December’s inception.

The bewildered prepare for end times while

Ancient rituals evoke

Natural connections—

Brief day

Morphs into prolonged night.

My Bliss Meter

Let me admit that vortices of ‘why bother’ have been known to draw me into their gyrations. With a throbbing knee keeping me from decades-long walking meditations over the last month, my outlook has swung wildly into Danger-Will-Robinson-red before bumping into cautionary yellow.

Even so my thanks-o-meter has begun to migrate into the sweet green zone again as I enjoy moments of gratitude so richly textured that the sky actually opens and celestial beings pour through, although decidedly not of the religiosity variety. Instead my unnatural immobility focuses me on what registers with both normal and extrasensory perceptions—an indulgence and a categorically unscientific way of viewing the world. It does speak to an integrated brain, however.

Today I’m enthralled by the fire in our soapstone stove. Within the temperature registers a balmy 60+ degrees Fahrenheit rather than the double-digit minuses outside. Our basking hounds sigh and groan, adding a joyful dimension. Beside me are stacks of books to read. Bliss.

A handwritten letter from a best friend included these inspiring stickers of maps you might expect to see on old steamer trunks—along with beautifully rendered birds. Then there’s my Wacom tablet, which required a year of scrimping to buy. The tablet works brilliantly with Corel Painter 12—a promise of exhilarating skills to gain and visions to liberate.

Can I even joke about the uninhibited delight I find in MS writing programs? Especially when compared to typewriters with carbon copies and the ancient Commodore 64 on which I wrote my first novel, losing chapters at a time when the system burped. I simply love my artful pens, too—gifts received with each completed novel. Another two for CHOSEN BY MIST (Book 3 of MISTBORN CHRONICLES) and SOUNDINGS (Water Elemental) will be joining the medley of five this month. What writer can resist a fabulous pen?

Finally this Tuesday I look forward to getting both cortisone and hyaluronic acid injections into my aching joint. By the end of next year, I may while away the winter months recovering from a more permanent fix. Exuberant dancing, extreme hiking, and other endorphin-crazed activities could fill my life again. On, on!

Another gift? Some communities translate well into electron clouds, especially when you connect with those wild ones who will howl at the moon with you. They can loft you into the stratosphere when other means fail. So thank you to those unconventional, big-brained creatives on Google+, Twitter, LinkedIn and Facebook. You expand my horizons from isolated to ecstatic herd member.

Let’s start a conversation. What gets you over the bumps and pegs out your gratitude meter?

How Natural Settings Double as Character

The boundless wild has always called to me. Growing up in, then choosing to live in rural high desert brings primitive territories into focus. With critters ranging from scorpions to rattlers to black bears, I’m reminded that we humans are only one among a vast suite of species—all subject to catastrophic events

Daily serenades by coyotes punctuated by rarer wolf howls add to the sense of being a part of this greatness. That awareness leads me into ongoing studies of biology—literally ‘study of life’. Thus when I write, the natural world takes precedence.

While finishing yet another edit, this one epic fantasy, I noticed again how nature intrinsically evolves through story. Then I strengthen those components through sensory detail beyond the visual. What does granite smell, taste, and feel like? When you crush a jaffafruit, what do you smell, taste, and feel? Confronted with a clowder of mekesh, how do they smell, feel, and look? For me the quality of setting begins with detailed natural elements as filtered through my characters’ emotional responses.

For instance, Elishandra ser Dancheʹ serves as a trained observer in an unfamiliar world. When voids spring up from the rift between, she recognizes their wrongness, then extrapolates what causes them and how this incursion affects natural systems. She takes personal responsibility for the degradation and commits to stopping further invasion. Most other inhabitants simply see ruin where thriving systems once lived. Fear, anger, and confusion drive their responses with nuances specific to each.

Gauging these changes over cyclic time also informs story. For instance, out-of-sync seasons reveal Morchem’s effects in two ways. First otherworldly beings rush through the widening rift. These exotic beings have no natural predators in this world and many find the existing natural systems ill-equipped to meet their needs. They cause havoc. Then Morchem corrupts life energies, exposed by huge shifts between extreme conditions and growing pockets of devastation. Again perceptions and emotional reactions differ according to which person’s point-of-view carries the scene.

Understand that each character’s history colors their view of their surroundings. The warrior Galena ben Inees is more likely to kill a predatory lifeform first, then ask questions later, while the Zinolian Culturist attempts to accommodate lifeforms unless they place her charges at risk. Having retained clarity throughout her studies of various worlds, Lisha tends to analyze before acting. For others, the choice is simply the difference between yum and yuck.

Taking this deeper yet, setting in terms of time and place varies dramatically with each viewpoint. Multiple viewpoints actually strengthen setting, since each imbues the environment with that person’s emotional memory. While Ambassador Anmir reacts with deep shock and mourning at his civilization’s ruin, Galena chooses culturally prescribed defensive strategies first, then progresses to offensive mode when that proves inadequate. Lisha attempts to understand the destructive mechanism even as she searches for a remedy.

To my eyes, the natural world displays a layered richness missing in human contrived settings. What may appear to characters as chaotic often equates with too narrow a view—or lack of knowledge. Besides when it comes to raising the stakes of your story, what works better than placing entire worlds at risk?

Sending love deviant artists

Irresistible Magic

Even when you grasp the science,

Magic persists.

Light and shadow bending through a natural spectrum as

Crepuscular rays illuminate a snag.

A deer’s skull–

Past meets present.

Brocken spectrum casts silhouettes against a fogbank–

The legerdemain of branches like fingers.

Ridgeline trees materialize. 

 What lies before you?

Egyptian Goddess Ma’at in prismatic light–

Winged to balance feather

Against soul.

Take her into yourself.

Medusa snags reach out to

Sustain you in

Wholeness.

Embrace the enchantment of

Circadian glamours.

Highland Autumn

Okay, I admit to going all geeky on you last week with not one, but two posts about points-of-view and how to incorporate them into story. So this week—a respite.

http://www.pinterest.com/zephyrsaerie/highland-autumn/

As we put our gardens to bed for winter and I finish my edits on CHOSEN BY MIST, the 3rd and final installment of MISTBORN CHRONICLES, you’re invited into this pictorial journey of our highland fall. I hope you come away refreshed. As you might guess, I draw my inspiration from this wild beauty. Where do you find yours?