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 |  This is a continuation of my blogging here at WdC |
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This will be a blog for my writing, maybe with (too much) personal thrown in. I am hoping it will be a little more interactive, with me answering questions, helping out and whatnot. If it falls this year (2024), then I may stop the whole blogging thing, but that's all a "wait and see" scenario. An index of topics can be found here: "Writing Blog No.2 Index"  Feel free to comment and interact. |
| Novels #1 & #2 So… this is the first entry in a series that will appear at random times, looking at the long stories I have written and which I have kept. This is to catalogue my “writing journey” (as much as that term makes me want to gag), so readers can see how these things develop over time. In general, novels will be those of 40k words or more, but we will start with two somethings shorter because I still think of them as “novels.”. And because we need to start at the very beginning. I’ve been told that’s a very good place to start. To begin a journey through too many longer stories, we should start at the worst of the lot. The very first long story I ever wrote was when I was in year 6 at school, aged about 10 or so. My memory of it is rather hazy, but it involved a bunch of people who managed to get into a spaceship that took off before the Earth exploded or something. I don’t know what happened to it, though, but it was, most likely, really awful. The second was the following year, in year 7, at age 11. A little back story first, though. Our teacher wanted every member of class to show the class something they could do well. We had cooking, we had art, we had people bringing in sports trophies, the works. I told the teacher I didn’t do anything well. She said I was academic, but I hardly felt that was something to talk to the class about. Well, I had written a “book” and, without my knowledge, mum (who volunteered in the school) gave it to the teacher, who decided to read to the class. Again, my memory is hazy, but it involved me and a bunch of friends from that class in a matriarchal society based in Adelaide, going off to kill the evil queen. Seriously. And the teacher read this out over a period of a couple of weeks – I think it was about 25 pages long. The feedback was interesting to say the least. She never gave me any indication about it, my friends liked the fact they were in it, but I think it was essentially crap. A friend took it to read, and I never saw it again. And so that brings us to the stories I have copies of. In 1985 (age 14) I wrote a story called Crossed Swords. 29000 words long. It was based on the fact that at over a year earlier I had discovered the joys of Advanced Dungeons And Dragons, and so this started off as, essentially, fanfic. But it went beyond that to take on a life of its own. The whole thing reads like a 14 year old boy’s version of high fantasy, with some appalling sex scenes and more clichés than you ever knew existed. Oh yeah, this is not a good start, but a start is indeed what it is. Excerpt: It was a few moments before either man could formulate an answer. “We will pay you whatever you request to kill one man,” Barbarian stated without tone or facial expression, staring intensely at her. She could feel his eyes burning into her very soul, and it was not a pleasant feeling. “Who?” she asked quickly. “He must be pretty bloody important.” She swallowed hard. The prince licked his dry lips, closed his eyes, then said one word: “Lyrnn.” Silence descended on the shop like a dark shroud. No-one even moved; it was as though some evil magician had turned them all to stone. “You can’t mean... we can’t kill the king of Sistoso. He’s one of the most well-protected things on Holdé. He’s even got better protection than the sacred relies of Vultus!” Michael gasped, breaking the silence. “He always has that beast-man, uhh, Ox and that fat guy, Crunch, with him at all times, not to mention a contingent of crack, elite guards.” “And don’t forget Phantom, that cursed magic skeleton!” added Amora loudly. “Therefore, you must be crazy. Only a madman would even suggest it.” She conveyed all their feelings, though the others would have preferred her not to. Retus was taken aback by her outburst, but Barbarian admired it. And her. “Please do it,” said Retus in a sad, hopefully convincing voice. “Or else I’ll have you all put in chains for treason and assassination, as well as anything else I can think of.” He had no real intention of imprisoning the DOVs, but under the circumstances he thought he had no choice but to threaten them. Barbarian remained expressionless. “That’s blackmail!” Again the DOVs were shocked. And Retus was supposed to be the only good king on Holdé! “If that’s the way you want to put it. And I’d probably do it, too.” A snarl curled the king’s lips. Let’s fast forward a year, 1986 (15 years old), and a tale called Stuff Of Friendship. At 28300 words, a little shorter, but a much more satisfying story. Horror, with characters based on those I was going to school with at the time. You could pick them a mile away if you were at the school. In this one, a guy is seduced by a succubus while his friends try to save him. And for the first time – subsequently revisited many, many, many times – a lot of the action takes place in country South Australia. Again, poorly written, clichés abound, but there is a small underlying charm to the whole mess. The characters are also more realistic, but that’s because they were real people. Excerpt: I reached back for the last plank of wood and found a foot with smooth skin, no shoes and no hair instead. I turned abruptly and looked up. Outlined against the lights from the distant party and the moon stood Simone, the board floating in front of her face. I don’t think I showed any surprise visibly, but my mind started to wander on crazy paths about witchcraft and death. “G’day,” I said, then quickly, almost automatically, added, “sexy.” “Hi,” she returned. “Are you being nice to me because you like me or because you fear me?” Her eyes narrowed and her tongue sat in her cheek. “Because I realise now that I have to live with you,” I replied as calmly as I could, my mind screaming out at me about the impossibility of the situation. The board slowly floated down and landed in the exact place I wanted it. Trying to ignore this breaking of a major Law of Nature, I began hammering the wood into place. “I am not a witch,” she stated when I was almost finished. I stopped and stared up at her. Her eyes were filled with sadness. “I am not a witch,” she repeated softly. “What?” I asked stupidly, pretending I didn’t understand what she was talking about. She sighed heavily. “Look, I’ll tell you about me because you were my first choice and because I know no-one will ever believe you if you tell them.” She smiled sweetly as she crouched down in front of me. “I am greater than any mere witch. Even greater than a common, mortal sorceress.” I just stared indifferently at her, wondering if she was crazy or if I was crazy or both. “Actually, I am greater than any mortal that exists today. I am a creature of the infernal depths. I am a succubus.” She pulled off her top while I wracked my brains trying to remember what a succubus was. Very, very brief overviews and very short excepts of the first long stories I wrote that I still have. Yes, they are on my computer; no I have not read them in way too long. Nothing great – as can be seen – but everything has to start somewhere. And for my adventure in writing the long form, this is my start. My first novels/novellas were crap… but that’s okay. Because I could really only get better from here. Allegedly. |
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