Welcome to Fiction Forge Indy! We are a group of four writers in Indianapolis that love to talk about anything that has to do with writing. We all met at the Indiana Writers Center and come from four very different backgrounds with interests in Fantasy, Mystery, Humor, Romance, and Historical Fiction. Prepare to be informed and entertained! Oh --and by the way, we hope you share your thoughts on the craft of writing, too.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
I'm afraid, dear readers that I will have to dispense with my usual salient and well reasoned diatribe of the inner workings of the authorial process. The demands of career and family have left my mind mind in a dysfunctional state, such that I am unable to procure a viable discussion. In short, my brain is tapioca and I can't come up with a decent topic. Therefore, I will do what all great middle managers do in such a situation.
I will punt.
The following is a snippet from my novel. This is a much older version, but what the hell.
A low mound of earth greeted him at
the top of the hill. It was a desolate sight that dampened his heart and
quelled his emotions. True to his word, Ladra had not erected any marker. Darby
stood at the foot of the mound simply staring unable to bring himself to do
air was still. Unidentifiable insects chirrupped in the deepening twilight. Odd
flying creatures, no larger than a fly, glowed sporadically with a luminescent
magic all their own. Dark winged shapes darted through the air snapping up the
glowing insects with determined ease. Twilight sank into night signaling a
chorus of frog songs to commence. Darby briefly wondered if they really were
frogs that were singing into the night.
raised his hand, palm upturned, as his mind reached out to Aodh trying to begin
the Dance. He called out to Aodh trying to will a small globe of light to form
in the palm of his hand. Nothing happened. He called out again, but his appeal
went unanswered. He opened his eyes, letting his hand fall to his side. He had
failed again. Several times since he had awoke in Maeta’s house, he had tried
to enter the Dance with the Sidhe. He sighed in resignation, shaking his head
as he turned his attentions back to the mound before him.
had offered him an axe before he had left the house this morning, which Darby
had quickly refused. He hoped he had hid his distaste for the crude instrument,
though Ladra’s wry smile had told him that he had not been completely
successful. He did gratefully accept the lantern that Ladra had offered next.
He also borrowed a flint and tinder as without the Dance, his abilities were
seriously limited. He rummaged around the tree line for a moment or two
gathering twigs and some dried moss in order to start a small fire. He built a
small cone of twigs and set steel to flint showering the dried moss with
sparks. A few strikes and the moss began to smolder. Carefully he placed the
glowing bits of tinder under the twigs and blew gently. Within moments, flames
were licking up through the cone of sticks. When he was satisfied that the fire
was burning steadily, he pulled a burning twig out and lit the lantern. Raising
it above his head, he began looking about the hilltop looking for something
with which to fashion a suitable marker. He quickly rejected the strange, moss
laden trees for there was no telling what manner of nymph or dryad resided
within them. Stone was eliminated next as he had not the power to coerce its
shape. Finally, his eyes came to a small clump of flowers just beyond the sphere
of lantern light.
white petals ringed a sulphurous yellow center. The stems and leaves were
darkly green defined sharply by the dew which had collected on them. The first
of the two moons, Dongara, had risen above the swamp shining its pale light.
The light collected on the dew and was refracted outward while the petals
themselves seemed to glow faintly in the ethereal light. Dimming the lantern,
he set it down at his feet. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the
darkness, then walked carefully around the mound to an outcropping of rock that
he had noticed earlier. The rock was layered together like so many sheaves of
paper, solid to the touch, but Darby was convinced that it would break apart
easily if properly struck. Hefting a smaller round rock with both hands, he
struck it against the base of the outcropping where in delved into the earth.
It cracked mutely, but remained intact. Another strike and the top layer of the
rock fell away and landed at Darby’s feet. He discarded the smaller stone then
bent to retrieve the shard. With this in hand, he returned to the head of the
grave. Using the shard as a spade, he mounded earth two hands high and two
hands wide just beyond the grave itself. When he had finished making this new
smaller mound, he rose and strode over to the flowers. Using his makeshift
shovel, he managed to dig free a large clump which he quickly transported over
to the mound he had just made. Working quickly and deftly with his hands he
planted the flowers there at the head of the grave.
he was finished, he sat back on his haunches resting his hands on either side
of the plant. He remained still. Quietly resting, he let the night settle about
him. He breathing slowed as his thoughts dissolved one by one from his mind. He
focused solely on the plant before him searching patiently for the delicate
lacework of its life. Within that pattern, there would be the threads that,
when touched, would cause the plant to grow and to thrive. It was a small
talent. One that he hoped was still left to him.
painfully slow, the pattern glimmered into his sight. It was faint, barely
perceptible, but it was there.
Surprise threatened to crush his concentration, but he held to it with stubborn
will. The pattern before him was far more intricate than he would have believed
and definitely far more exotic than anything seen in the Thundrean. His eyes
strained as they tried to follow all the threads at once. He had to squint
slightly to force himself to concentrate on just on at a time. His mind was so
consumed with tracing the threads of the flowers life that he nearly stared
right through a tiny winged nymph hovering just inside the lattice. She circled
about the flowers glowing like a miniature star. Darby gasped softly when he
finally realized what the figure was, practically losing his concentration as
his awareness of her crashed through his mind.
bubbled in his mind rising into his consciousness in a gurgle of hope, fear,
and confusion. These things threatened to overwhelm him, but he ruthlessly
shoved them back into the dark places of his mind. This creature could not
answer his questions. Her world revolved around the plants that she tended. The
only thing he could do was to lend something of himself to her. He focused on
the nymph freeing what energy there was in him and giving it over to her.
aura around the nymph changed colors immediately. It flared ruby as her
movements became more rapid. Darby feared briefly that the nymph had taken
offense to his intrusion into her existence. His fears were waylaid, however,
as her movements slowed and her hue passed from ruby to pale yellow. Her
movements began to trace the impossibly intricate pattern around the flower.
Slowly, at first, she began to glide through the lattice. Gradually her
movements became more rapid. Her aura shifted to deeper shades of yellow then
into greens and blues. Faster and brighter she flew tracing the pattern over
and over until the nymph herself was merely a blur of light the color of molten
Abruptly, she stopped.
The pattern flashed brightly then
faded as does summer lightning. Darby’s sight went completely dark with only
the afterglow of the pattern fading in his eyes. Moments later his sight began
to return. Faint glimmers of afterglow still lingered but the hilltop slowly
began to return to him. The second moon, Morobe, had risen adding its light to
Dongara’s. Morobe’s face was that of liquid garnet and being the nearer of the
two moons was the most intense. Darby stood up looking around him with eyes
that were becoming increasingly adjusted to the night. As he looked over the
grave he found that the flowers he had transplanted had grown to cover the
entire mound. Morobe’s light reflected brightly off the petals turning them
crimson while the dew droplets on the leaves shone like darkling stars.