 Fantasy: May 04, 2011 Issue [#4375] |
  Fantasy
This week: Well-versed in Fantasy Edited by: Ben Langhinrichs  
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Greetings! I am a guest editor for the Fantasy Newsletter, and I hope to share some of my thoughts on writing fantasy. I suggest you treat these not as pearls of wisdom dropped from on high, but rather musings of a fellow writer, written to inspire, provoke or stimulate your personal muse. I welcome your thoughts, feedback and suggestions.
~ Ben Langhinrichs
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Well-versed in Fantasy
Fantasy is very popular these days, in books, movies, television and video games, but it has a distant and storied past. Long before the invention of the television, or even the printing press, people sat around fires and told stories about faeries and leprechauns, trolls and dragons, wicked witches, hapless maidens and brave knights.
A fixture in fantasy from early on has been the use of verse, either for the entire story or as an adjunct to the story. Many of Grimm's fairy tales include short verse, and epics such as The Lord of the Rings would hardly be the same without the stirring poems and chanted songs:
Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.
- J.R.R. Tolkien, from "The Lord of the Rings"
As you set out to capture your fantastical imaginings in print, don't ignore the unique ability of poetic verse to create a feeling or atmosphere. Whether you choose to write your entire story in epic verse or simply sprinkle a few short poems into your novel, it pays to explore the ancient and special connection that poetry has with our hearts and souls.
I'll leave you with a few verses of a poem I wrote a while back. Let me know if the sparse words kindle an image or feeling of fantasy that works for you.
Beneath the shady, fragrant leaves, she wandered, lost in dreams.
Her face was smooth and innocent, untouched by human schemes.
No other soul had ever graced the bower where she dwelt,
Nor any hand had reached to lift her up from where she knelt.
The king himself had sent her for her when she was barely nine.
Imperious and stony-faced, he told all of a sign
The heavens roiled mightily, the gods must be appeased.
She was the virgin sacrifice; her parents should be pleased.
Her mother wept and begged him find another maiden pure
The king just sneered disdainfully and said his choice was sure.
Then loudly he proclaimed that she would stay within that glade
Unblemished by the worldly sins and strife that others made.
Around her sanctuary, walls rose high into the sky.
She longed to scale their mighty sides, but never dared to try.
Kept company by birds and squirrels, and fed by hidden hands,
She had no words, nor needed them, to get what life demands.
But recently, her dreams had shaped a vision strange and new,
Another person, much like her, but blond with eyes of blue.
Her heart beat faster when she saw this figure in her sleep,
A heat rose up within her, and his touch made her heart leap.
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