Quick shoutout to my brother and sister whose birthday just passed.
Happy birthday Goh Go and Jeh Je!!
Here’s the short story, The Third Dragon, that I wrote for my elder brother to mark the occasion. Jeh Je there’s a cameo in there for you too.
More ado to come later. For now it’s time for bed. It’s been a long couple of days.
Mistborn: The Final Empire, Mistborn: The Well of Ascension and Mistborn: The Hero of Ages by Brandon Sanderson
Well, where to start? I’m having trouble sleeping so rather than waste the times tossing and turning I’ve decided to blog about something I’ve been meaning to tackle for some time. Goodness knows I haven’t been devoting much time to my blog recently. I’ve been too busy writing but that’s probably not a bad thing.
I finished reading Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn trilogy and what can I say about them but wow. I loved it. Detailed magic system. Its own mythology. Great action. In fact, it is the way that these all come together that is truly superb. And Vin kicks ass.
I, like many others, came to Brandon Sanderson only after hearing the news that he would be taking on the monumental task of finishing Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series. This of course is old news. I personally think he’s doing a great job. That the story is finishing (and hopefully will finish) fantastically is of course due to Jordan’s imagination but it will be Brandon’s hard work that will get us there at the end. That hard work is something that, I humbly submit, I am coming to appreciate. Still when this was still new news, I checked out Sanderson’s credentials on the web. And so I was introduced to the works of Brandon Sanderson.
His website, www.brandonsanderson.com, features sample chapters for several of his works. I haven’t read Elantris properly yet but Mistborn is there too. Those samples were enough to get me enthused about this author. I think I tracked down The Way of Kings first, a huge book, the first in a forthcoming gargantuan series to rival Wheel of Time. I won’t say much about it here but it’s a page turner too. In it Sanderson takes a common fantasy trope involving prophecy and puts a sick twist on it. Fantastic.
It’s something that Brandon seems to like to do. In the Mistborn trilogy he takes stereotypical fantasy elements and turns them on their heads. The dark lord wins. Prophecy. Heroes. He innovates by challenging the status quo and he pulls it off satisfyingly well. I haven’t read the short story yet but ironically even his own laws aren’t sacred. In Mistborn: The Alloy of Law he breaks his own rule that guns don’t belong in fantasy.
The series is great. If you like the books I do, then read this one.
What I really want to talk about though are the annotations to be found through the Mistborn portal on his website. These annotations give chapter by chapter commentary on the books. They are a fabulous insight into his writing process. Personally, they demonstrated to me that books don’t come fully and perfectly formed. Sanderson shares with us what his thoughts were as he wrote, what he was trying to achieve, what he changed, what options he had. Sometimes he wrote one thing one way but somehow came to change it to the complete opposite and it ended up perfectly. This could be on things of small consequence but one notable example was that originally, Vin, the female lead character, began her existence as a boy. Did I mention she is awesome?
His notes give me an idea of the sheer volume of work that goes into writing a book. There are all sorts of useful and interesting notes about how the stories were built, shaped and reshaped. He speaks frankly about structure, pacing, tension, character development and screen time; a veritable treasure for anyone looking to see how a story gets made. It was reassuring to see that it’s not all about divine inspiration but that hard work for mere mortals like me can put together an excellent story. It’s god-hard work for sure but there is hope.
I feel privileged to be able to access the thoughts and reflections of such a successful (and honest) writer. Readers check out the books. Writers check out the notes. Good night.
Hard work ahead. I think I’ll head to a cafe.
Tinkering with words. Yay
Dear Lordy, you know what they say about needing a holiday from the holiday. I just got back home after two weeks adventuring in New Zealand and the list of tasks awaiting me is daunting. Over one hundred emails. One thousand plus photos to sort and then post to Facebook. Laundry. Also need to catch up on guitar, vegies and exercise. Most of that took a backseat to two Diana Wynne Jones books that I’ve been looking forward to reading; Castle in the Air and House of Many Ways. It just goes to show that I can only focus on one thing at a time. Once I start a good book I can’t get anything else done.
All of this of course means that I’ve been neglecting my writing and my blog. It’s time to begin remedying that. I did get taken by the urge to write one night early in my holiday where I spent the evening scratching away in an empty Vietnamese restaurant in Auckland. But that was all.
Many of us would be familiar with the jaw-dropping scenery of New Zealand featured in the Lord of the Rings movies. While I determinedly avoided LOTR tours, I did indulge in all manner of other wallet-burning activities. Caving, white water rafting, black water rafting, skydiving. Also a Milford Sound cruise, a Maori culture and hangi night, a geothermal tour. New Zealand may be the adventure capital of the world but it doesn’t come cheap.
That's me at the bottom
Ironically, two of the best experiences I had cost nothing. The first was witnessing the giant Kauri trees on the northern island. I say ‘witness’ because they really are a phenomenon you have to see firsthand to fully appreciate. That first glimpse of a wall of whiteness through the thin dark trees and the moment of realization that it was a single specimen, a god among trees, dwarfing all others into insignificance. Ten more metres along the forest path and I was presented with an unimpeded view that swiftly filled my mind with awe.
Tāne Mahuta. Lord of the Forest. Estimated to be between 1,250 and 2,500 years old, its existence may very well stretch back to the time of Christ. Mind blowing. To simply be in its sunlit presence filled me with peace and an awe of nature. It’s no wonder that man would deify these giants of the forest. They now put me in mind of George R.R. Martins weirwoods; god trees that witnessed and remember all the doings of the small creatures that lived and passed away before their long lived eyes.
The second freebie was our visit to the Hot and Cold River in Rotorua. This area is famed for its geothermal activity and this particular river gets its name from the mix of hot and cold water making a wonderful (and free) place for a relaxing dip. The place is something of a local ‘secret’ that not too many tourists know of. Big Risa and I adventured out to the site after dark not knowing quite what to expect, only that the place was located twenty minutes out of town under a bridge. Sounds dodgy right? Fortunately there were other people enjoying the amenities and they had set up some tea candles amongst the rocks to provide mood lighting. With a few directions on how to get down to the water safely in the dark we were able to join in the fun of a night time dip and a relaxing soak.
New Zealand is a gorgeous land, full of things to see and do. Perhaps it is missing the food to complete the holy triumvirate but I guess you can’t have it all. Hmmm that just got me thinking of a place that may just score the triple; my next holiday destination. But more on that later. New Zealand is a traveller’s paradise and the trip provided plenty of inspiration for me. Now to get to writing it!
Friday 16th December, Devonshire Tunnel, 08:00 -10:00, Martin Place, 11:30-12:30
In my quest to try to earn some larger sums of dosh I thought I’d try rush hour in the Tunnel. More people equals more money, right? Trying to remember the times when I’d been packed like a sardine on the trains I thought 8am might be a good time to get the rush of people.
When I arrived at the tunnel, however, I was dismayed to see other buskers already in action. Walking down the tunnel I passed a boy sleeping with his head between his knees, little bits of art for sale in front of him, an electric guitar-playing clown, another guitarist playing the didgeridoo and finally some chanters sitting together on a mat laid out on the floor, no doubt hoping to spread their alternative lifestyle.
Walking back down the tunnel I decided to that there was room for one more right on the edge of the tunnel. I doubted that the boy would mind unless it was because I disturbed his slumber. People seemed to be more generous today, unlike Melbourne Cup day. Once again a kind woman donated a $5 note. I kept waiting for her to take her change out but no, off she went.
One thing that I didn’t notice was a rush hour. The ebb and flow of people was pretty much the same as any other time, crowds of people being dumped by the trains interspersed with gaps. So I passed the time, quite comfortable with performing in the Tunnel now.
As I’ve mentioned before the acoustics are quite good down there. It was easy to hear the guitar-toting clown thirty metres down the tunnel. I quickly noted that he was singing to a Christmas theme. In fact, it seemed he was on repeat, continuously singing ‘Hark the herald angels sing’. Again and again and again. Perhaps it was the only carol in his repetoire.
Now, the beauty of the Tunnel is that you screw up as often as you like since your audience is constantly moving on and being renewed. The corollary of this is that you can also sing the same song over and over again and they’ll never get bored of it. Only your fellow buskers will.
I’m not sure how he didn’t drive himself insane (or maybe he was) but he would have me. Luckily all I had to do was play my own song to drown him out. A benefit of playing the one song, I suppose, is that you don’t ever have to pause to think about what song to play next. Very efficient, that clown. But then again he’s probably making more than I am.
After my two hours, I wandered on up to Martin Place where I was to meet a friend for lunch. Having time to burn I thought I’d try busking near the Lindt Cafe. The open space was not so much a problem this time as it was the paucity of people. All the office workers flood the area at lunch time but in the hour before that there really isn’t much foot traffic to speak of. Couple that with the spacious walkway that is Martin Place and anybody walking by tends to give you a wide berth. I think that is the advantage of busking in the tunnel; people are funnelled right past your face.
I made absolutely no money at all there. It was just me singing to the wide blue sky. I noticed a group standing outside the Channel 7 building for a while and one of them came up to ask if she could play my guitar. I obliged and May played something she’d composed for her sister’s wedding, singing along almost under her breath. Props to her. Maybe I’ll be composing my own stuff some day too. After that my friend came and I donned my cap again. Still I’d made plenty enough from the Tunnel to cover my lunch.
2 hours earnings (Tunnel): $10.30 (I’ve now made enough to cover my busking hat!)
1 hours earnings (Martin Place): $0.00
I was just googling some books, trying to find the proper order in which to read a series by Diana Wynne Jones when I glimpsed that dreadful word tacked onto the end of the search results: Obituary.
Now many a book’s author has passed away by the time you may pick up their book for the first time, but most of the books I read are in fact by authors who are still producing work in this same era as I’m living in.
Diana Wynne Jones is one such author. I’d had the impression she came from the same writing era as the great Tolkien, but that she was also still writing away with the best of them. Indeed I’ve seen some books published as recent as 2008.
So it was a bit of a shock when I found out just now that she passed away recently, March last year. She is the author of Howl’s Moving Castle, which I latched onto after watching the anime version; I fall in love with it more each time I watch it. Simply enchanting, it leaves me feeling wistful every time. It is magic. It is my favourite anime and the book holds up its end of the bargain.
There are other works of hers that I was planning to read and it’s no more imperative now than before but now when I pick them up I will remember.
RIP Diana Wynne Jones.
It’s been a long time coming but it seems that summer has finally arrived in Sydney. Watching the cricket on the telly, consecutive days of blue sky, sun and blessed summer heat. We’ve had uncharacteristically cool weather, more changeable than usual, more like Melbourne than Sydney weather really. Skies that have been clear in the morning have yielded to rain in the afternoon with the clouds sweeping in between one look and the next, only to clear off with the evening.
The days have been steadily getting longer though and the sky dawned bright and clear this morning. Perfect for a trip to the beach. And I had a specific beach in mind. Trying to beat the back-to-work traffic I jumped into the car, heading to Vaucluse for my morning run. Ten minutes into the drive it occurred to me that I’d left my runners at home and had to turn around. So much for an early start.
After the false start I eventually found myself navigating the winding roads that lead to the eastern suburbs. I don’t often head out this way and every time I drive New South Head Road I fondly remember Heartbreak Hill and the poor souls who toil up it each year on the City2Surf run. Such a joy to drive but hell to run.
I set myself no such gruelling challenges for my run, keeping a leisurely pace past some of Sydney’s most glamorous and expensive real estate with views of the city back over the waters of Port Jackson. Arriving at the top of the steps leading down to Lady Bay Beach I pause before descending. To the right, down the beach are two men: one in boardshorts; one in a blue body suit. To the left, lying on the boulders is another man. Wearing nothing.
This early in the morning there is no direct sunlight on the western facing beach; the only sun is on those big rocks. Nothing else for it, I started clambering over the rocks. This was my first time to a nude beach but I figured communal shower etiquette applied: Eyes above the waist. Since I had to jump from rock to rock my focus was on my feet which I think is also acceptable.
Making my way to an empty boulder I lay down my towel and again I pause. Well, when in Rome. Having participated in the No Pants Train Ride, the sensation of removing one’s shorts in public was not entirely new to me. If anything that was more daunting given the location and the audience. I immediately came to new appreciation, however, of the Scottish attraction to the kilt and its breezy construction.
A couple of boats fished just offshore, while on the path above, the occasional morning runner made their way past with a decent view of the beach goers. I was reminded of seals sunning themselves on the rocks.
I got a bit of a shock when I glimpsed the flicker of a shadow coming over my shoulder. Looking over I saw a new arrival on my rock. Casting my eye around to the other fellow he seemed content to mind his own business. It seemed etiquette did not include casual greetings even when coming into close proximity. It seems that nudists carry an invisible box around them. Personal space. No entry.
Ever mindful of Australia’s harsh sun I only wished to even out my tan a little while chalking up a new experience for the New Year. Lying on the rock I eventually realised the source of an itching sensation and managed to kill a few mozzies but in the end I was prompted to gather my things.
Picking my way back across the rocks I passed an amusing branch of wood carved in the image of a phallus. How very appropriate. I strolled down the beach and took a quick dip; after all it’s not a trip to the beach if you don’t right? After that I dried off and rejoined clothed society.
It’s still a beautiful summer day and getting hotter. I might start regretting that wish for a blazing summer but that will still be better than one where you can’t depend on a day of sun for a trip to the beach.
I just returned from a short trip home to Dubbo. I have been lazy and hadn’t written anything for more than a week but got the urge to pick up my pen. I was trying to bash out an additional scene to ‘White Mist. Red Evening’ (I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be not working on that) and I was regularly interrupted by customers entering my parents’ takeaway shop.
Although lacking in inspiration it simply felt good to be writing again, to get the creative juices churning. In fact, what I was writing was a mess, things bubbling up in my mind and threatening to run away. I had to get them down as quickly as possible and to be torn away to some other task was frustrating in the extreme.
I think it’s important in this early creative stage just to try get down all that primordial goo down on to paper and worry about it crystallising into something structured and polished later. I’m certainly not at the genius stage where everything that flows from my pen is gold and stardust. Write enough words and there’s bound to be a gem in there somewhere.
Serving customers is what a restaurant is all about so that was all to the good. I can put down a thrilling novel or my guitar mid-song but the act of creation is different. I feared to lose whatever words were bubbling up and what momentum I had with them. Obviously this kind of multitasking is asking for trouble and now I’ve experienced firsthand the frustration of having the flow interrupted. The tough question is whether to start writing in such conditions in the first place.
Well that’s it for now and for this year. People seem to be getting in the New Year celebrations mood and it’s catching. It’s been a good year, 2011.
Happy New Year!
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I notice as we get older we get into dress up parties more. As a child of limited budget I certainly dreaded them as I always looked lame. I would pick a totally normal looking character, some guy in t-shirt … Continue reading
William Sue 