Currently in Earphones: King Kong soundtrack by James Newton Howard
After reading the humorous and truthful article on maintaining Platonic relationships between male and female, found here, I came up with an additional observation, that kinda fits in with No. 10, but probably is in it's own catagory all together.
Males, by their nature, are competetive beings. In the reptilian portion of our brain, we know that it all narrows down to who is the biggest and best of us, because those guys (on a primal level) will be gettin' all the chicks, as it were.
Although we now have far more complex and varied criteria for instinctive mate selection, there's still some of that basic thinking underlying the whole thing.
Now, when it comes to inter-sexual friendship, we've also advanced, or at least I can say as much for the male portion. We guys can be friends with you ladies because we enjoy your company, and on some level or another, know that if we were to get serious things probably wouldn't work out. But, additionally we still have this idea that we're potential boyfriend material. Let's face it, we're friends because at some point or another we were hoping to be more than friends with you.
Again, guys are all different and depending on who he is, he could have that all behind him, or still be wishing for a lucky break, or what have you. No matter what, there will still be that grain in him, active or dormant, that wonders on such things.
With that in mind, we don't mind a whole heck of a lot when you start talking to us about your boyfriends/potentials/etc. because we want you to be happy. We're friends, also, because we care about you, and as No. 14 says in the article, we "fucking adore you."
However, do know that when you do talk to us of such things, you will always be triggering the primal spot that gets our competition going. Since we're friends with you, we won't let it get us down, but every time you mention how charming/cool/ripped/amazing another guy is to you, a little bit of us shouts out "What, and I'm not?"
Don't take it personally, because it's nothing against you, but our instinctual logic places us below the guy you're gushing about on the "fitness" ladder, and we start to wonder why it is that you're wasting your time with us, when this obviously superior guy is out there.
We know that you are friends with us for a reason, that we have redeeming qualities and that you like us all the same, but just know that our brains go off on that tangent if you start talking about the other guys. Once again, this is only the case in varying degrees, depending on the guy and the friendship, but I think it holds true in most cases.
As No. 10 says, "I am not your girl friend; I am your [...] man friend who officially hates all men that you date now or in the future."
Enough, More Later.
- James
Friday, December 29, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Cruzin' right along (100th post!)
Currently in Earphones: "O Cecita de misero mortale" Oratorio by Luigi Rossi
The new beta version of Blogger is nifty in that it tells you upfront how many posts you have, and this one will be the 100th. Happy number...reaching...thing, then.
Christmas was a good haul, I now have a FRIKIN' HUGE external hard drive (500 gb) to store all of my musical goodness and then some. Also got recordings of the above mentioned (and hard to find) Oratorio and the Levin Completion of Mozart's Requiem. Some good books as well, the informative (but dry) "Latin Sexual Vocabulary" and two of Ian Fleming's 007 novels (Casino Royale and Thunderball).
Hope to hang out with some more old friends before I leave. I'm a little saddened that a few of my friends haven't returned my calls, and hope that I'll at least be able to catch up over the phone while I'm still in the bay.
I haven't touched my Story of Swords for a while; I seemed to have lost the drive after drafting the initial duel for the final chapter. Rest assured, my creative juices will flow again, but I'm caught between wanting to finish a first draft and wanting to fill all the holes in what I have. Plus, I've got a mess of presents to play with/listen to/read, so my mind probably won't be on the story for a few days yet. I'll see if I can't flesh out the next chapter in the next few days, but don't be surprised if I don't have it up until the end of the break.
In terms of my own emotional well being, I find that merely having opportunities is enough to lift me from my foolish stupor. It's good to know there are still those who are interested in you, or at least are willing to talk with you after extended periods of no communication. Suffice to say, I've equalized a bit since my last post, but I'm still unsure where all of this will lead.
As a final thought, I've realized how much of a double-edged sword being cryptic is. On one hand, one disguises their words in order to not be blunt, and to not communicate to hidden eyes and ears that which you don't want spread around. On the other hand, in ensuring that your message is obscure enough to be discarded by the masses, you run the risk of it being misinterpreted, confused or discarded by the party you intend it to be for.
In the end, however, it is usually as Virgil says, "Audentes Fortuna iuvat" - Fortune favors the brave.
Enough, More Later.
- James
The new beta version of Blogger is nifty in that it tells you upfront how many posts you have, and this one will be the 100th. Happy number...reaching...thing, then.
Christmas was a good haul, I now have a FRIKIN' HUGE external hard drive (500 gb) to store all of my musical goodness and then some. Also got recordings of the above mentioned (and hard to find) Oratorio and the Levin Completion of Mozart's Requiem. Some good books as well, the informative (but dry) "Latin Sexual Vocabulary" and two of Ian Fleming's 007 novels (Casino Royale and Thunderball).
Hope to hang out with some more old friends before I leave. I'm a little saddened that a few of my friends haven't returned my calls, and hope that I'll at least be able to catch up over the phone while I'm still in the bay.
I haven't touched my Story of Swords for a while; I seemed to have lost the drive after drafting the initial duel for the final chapter. Rest assured, my creative juices will flow again, but I'm caught between wanting to finish a first draft and wanting to fill all the holes in what I have. Plus, I've got a mess of presents to play with/listen to/read, so my mind probably won't be on the story for a few days yet. I'll see if I can't flesh out the next chapter in the next few days, but don't be surprised if I don't have it up until the end of the break.
In terms of my own emotional well being, I find that merely having opportunities is enough to lift me from my foolish stupor. It's good to know there are still those who are interested in you, or at least are willing to talk with you after extended periods of no communication. Suffice to say, I've equalized a bit since my last post, but I'm still unsure where all of this will lead.
As a final thought, I've realized how much of a double-edged sword being cryptic is. On one hand, one disguises their words in order to not be blunt, and to not communicate to hidden eyes and ears that which you don't want spread around. On the other hand, in ensuring that your message is obscure enough to be discarded by the masses, you run the risk of it being misinterpreted, confused or discarded by the party you intend it to be for.
In the end, however, it is usually as Virgil says, "Audentes Fortuna iuvat" - Fortune favors the brave.
Enough, More Later.
- James
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The Riddle of Steel: Why the hell is it between my ribs?
Currently in Earphones: Gone with Leaves and In the Chess Court by Tan Dun, from the Hero Soundtrack.
We're Sorry, you were unable to connect to James at 128.161.1.9
He is currently under maintainance and should be back up shortly, if more affairs of the heart don't keep knocking him down. Rest assured, we have initiated the "Tubthumping" protocol to keep him semi-functional when he is intermittantly on his feet, so when you are able to connect, he will be mostly all there.
We apologize for the inconveniance and ask that you try again in a few minutes/days/weeks/years, or whenever this whole mess is behind him.
P.S. - If you are a female friend or interested female, contact with James will most likely speed his recovery and keep him up and about for longer periods. We, his personality and endurance, have had a hard time of it since his hope chickened out.
Thanks again for your patience!
Enough, More Later.
- James
We're Sorry, you were unable to connect to James at 128.161.1.9
He is currently under maintainance and should be back up shortly, if more affairs of the heart don't keep knocking him down. Rest assured, we have initiated the "Tubthumping" protocol to keep him semi-functional when he is intermittantly on his feet, so when you are able to connect, he will be mostly all there.
We apologize for the inconveniance and ask that you try again in a few minutes/days/weeks/years, or whenever this whole mess is behind him.
P.S. - If you are a female friend or interested female, contact with James will most likely speed his recovery and keep him up and about for longer periods. We, his personality and endurance, have had a hard time of it since his hope chickened out.
Thanks again for your patience!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 1 (Revised)
Currently in Earphones: "The Venture Departs" from the King Kong Soundtrack, composed by James Newton Howard.
Righty, then, here's a second go round of Chapter 1 of my Story of Swords. Let me know what you all think!
Chapter 1: Justice (Revised)
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside in the cool morning air while watching the sun rise, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, conflict had been slowly brewing almost since the snows began to fall, and he was no less involved in the culmination that would come to the surface later on in the day.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the cool morning wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight those many months ago, he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, and it was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention.
“Who’s there?” said magician, as Touchstone had approached the fire.
“I….seek safety,” The young Fool stammered, his voice raspy with disuse, “may I rest here?”
The magicians’ eyebrows met together in a frown over the strip of cloth, and he rested his hand lightly on the black hilt at his side. Touchstone, though too tired even to ready himself for combat, thought he saw the sword vibrate ever so slightly. He blinked, and the effect was gone. The frown disappeared from the wiry man’s forehead and he relaxed, “Come, boy, there’s room around the fire for another, and we have enough food for three, do we not, Lo-Yang?”
The other man nodded, and though suspicion still was evident on his face, he began filling a third wooden bowl with stew from the small cauldron they had on the fire. Handing it to Touchstone, the three sat equidistant from each other and ate.
The meal was carried on in silence, and Lo-Yang gradually relaxed as it became clear that the young Fool really was seeking only shelter and not conflict. As they finished, the blind magician turned to Touchstone.
“My name is Keyes. Normally I wouldn’t be so open, but the Sword of Justice here is amply named. Its reaction tells me you are in a bad way, and I don’t need Doomgiver here to tell me you mean us no harm.”
“I’m Touchstone,” said the young Fool, “But…Sword of Justice? What do you mean?”
Keyes scoffed, “You haven’t heard? After we told that loudmouthed Bard about our little misadventure I figured the whole country would be filled with talk of the Swords.” At Touchstone’s confused look, he continued, “Here is what has come to pass…”
He told the young fool of the Twelve Swords of power, forged by the Gods as a game amongst them, and how he and Lo-Yang had thwarted the divine use of them and how the blades had scattered across the world. He also told of how Doomgiver had protected him further after their adventure with the Gods and as his eyes healed; a result of his experimentation with it. Touchstone asked many questions and clarifications along the way, and Keyes became impressed with the young Fools attentiveness, becoming more talkative and relaxed as the conversation continued.
When the story was finished, Touchstone asked, “If Doomgiver deals in justice, would it ever work against the user if his or her intentions were less than savory?”
Keyes smiled, “An apt question, but one I’ve not yet tested. I do know, however, that it won’t protect you from acts of stupidity. Though it kept me safe if my intention was to travel without the use of my eyes, it wouldn’t save me if I intentionally tried to walk off a cliff.”
“Indeed, master,” said Lo-Yang, one side of his mouth curving wryly upward, “had I not been around your experimentation with the blade might have fallen rather short.”
Keyes’ smile twisted to mimic his apprentices now mischievous grin and, addressing Touchstone more than Lo-Yang, said, “I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, otherwise my story might have ended sooner than that, say at the mercy of Mars in that forsaken cave.” Lo-Yang chuckled and Touchstone smiled in spite of himself.
“Stonecutter is simple enough,” said the young Fool, looking towards the two black-hilted swords strapped to Keyes’ load beast, “But the Tyrant’s Blade…it would seem that that should be destroyed as quickly as possible, or given into wiser hands.”
Keyes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. I don’t plan to possess that Sword for much longer.” He then stirred the fire with the toe of his boot, and continued, “But what of you, lad? What exactly is it that you’ve left behind?”
Touchstone became more somber, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t suppose I need to illustrate much when I say it was an affair of the heart.” The two men nodded in agreement, and the young Fool continued, “I lost something…someone…very dear to me. I don’t know if I will ever see her again. That element being gone, I had no real reason to stay where I was, and so you see me as I am now.”
“Such stories find their way into every man’s life,” said Lo-Yang, who then looked sheepish. “I would have been a Bard myself, if my Master hadn’t been the man he is. I’m afraid it was mostly my doing that the Song of Swords now exists.”
“Now that it is mentioned, I do recall hearing a verse of two of this Song of yours,” said the young Fool, eager to talk of other subjects, “I shatter swords and splinter spears, / None stands to Shieldbreaker…?”
“…My point’s is the fount of orphans’ tears, / My edge the widowmaker,” finished Lo-Yang, “Yes, that is the one.”
“And a particularly dangerous one, at that,” said Keyes, gruffly, “The Sword of Force is one to be reckoned with.”
“Could it destroy another Sword of Power?” asked Touchstone.
“In theory, yes, though once again we haven’t been able to experiment with it,” Keyes replied, and a thoughtful look began to cross his face, “but what do you think, boy? Which Swords pose the most threat, or the least?”
Touchstone thought for a moment, and then replied “Shieldbreaker, followed by Soulcutter and the Mindsword as the most dangerous. Shieldbreaker trumps all, while one could decimate many people with the Tyrants Blade or gain great power with the Sword of Glory. On the other hand, Stonecutter doesn’t have much of an effect on mortal mind or body, and Dragonslicer only works on those great beasts, so those two could be the least dangerous.”
Keyes leaned back, a satisfied smile growing on his face, “And what of Doomgiver?”
“Well, if it draws from Justice, then little would matter of its wielder. If the bearer were a good person, he could be in possession of the blade with little detriment, and if the bearer used it maliciously, I imagine it would turn back on him and deal Justice as it saw fit.”
Keyes nodded, and said, “Since that seems the case, it would matter little who was in possession of it. I’ve sensed you looking at this blade, lad, you like it?”
“I’ve loved swords since I was little,” Touchstone admitted, “And its power intrigues me.”
“Then perhaps you would like to have it,” Keyes concluded, and he held up a hand to quiet an objection coming from Lo-Yang, “You’ve got a good mind for this knowledge, and from what I’ve seen of you, you have good qualities enough for being the Swords bearer.”
Keyes undid the scabbard from his belt and held out the sword in both hands. Awestruck, Touchstone received it. When his hand touched the black hilt, he felt the slightest thrum travel through the blade, and a small part of him suddenly felt lighter.
“I imagine you’re now feeling a bit calmer,” said Keyes, “Doomgiver does indeed balance the pans. Though the extent of that power may yet be discovered, I believe it is safe in your hands.”
Belting the Sword to his side, Touchstone could only find a few words for the magician, “Thank you, for everything.”
Keyes bowed his head, and said enigmatically “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be (eventually) Continued in Chapter 2 (Revised)
Enough, More Later.
- James
Righty, then, here's a second go round of Chapter 1 of my Story of Swords. Let me know what you all think!
Chapter 1: Justice (Revised)
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside in the cool morning air while watching the sun rise, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, conflict had been slowly brewing almost since the snows began to fall, and he was no less involved in the culmination that would come to the surface later on in the day.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the cool morning wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight those many months ago, he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, and it was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention.
“Who’s there?” said magician, as Touchstone had approached the fire.
“I….seek safety,” The young Fool stammered, his voice raspy with disuse, “may I rest here?”
The magicians’ eyebrows met together in a frown over the strip of cloth, and he rested his hand lightly on the black hilt at his side. Touchstone, though too tired even to ready himself for combat, thought he saw the sword vibrate ever so slightly. He blinked, and the effect was gone. The frown disappeared from the wiry man’s forehead and he relaxed, “Come, boy, there’s room around the fire for another, and we have enough food for three, do we not, Lo-Yang?”
The other man nodded, and though suspicion still was evident on his face, he began filling a third wooden bowl with stew from the small cauldron they had on the fire. Handing it to Touchstone, the three sat equidistant from each other and ate.
The meal was carried on in silence, and Lo-Yang gradually relaxed as it became clear that the young Fool really was seeking only shelter and not conflict. As they finished, the blind magician turned to Touchstone.
“My name is Keyes. Normally I wouldn’t be so open, but the Sword of Justice here is amply named. Its reaction tells me you are in a bad way, and I don’t need Doomgiver here to tell me you mean us no harm.”
“I’m Touchstone,” said the young Fool, “But…Sword of Justice? What do you mean?”
Keyes scoffed, “You haven’t heard? After we told that loudmouthed Bard about our little misadventure I figured the whole country would be filled with talk of the Swords.” At Touchstone’s confused look, he continued, “Here is what has come to pass…”
He told the young fool of the Twelve Swords of power, forged by the Gods as a game amongst them, and how he and Lo-Yang had thwarted the divine use of them and how the blades had scattered across the world. He also told of how Doomgiver had protected him further after their adventure with the Gods and as his eyes healed; a result of his experimentation with it. Touchstone asked many questions and clarifications along the way, and Keyes became impressed with the young Fools attentiveness, becoming more talkative and relaxed as the conversation continued.
When the story was finished, Touchstone asked, “If Doomgiver deals in justice, would it ever work against the user if his or her intentions were less than savory?”
Keyes smiled, “An apt question, but one I’ve not yet tested. I do know, however, that it won’t protect you from acts of stupidity. Though it kept me safe if my intention was to travel without the use of my eyes, it wouldn’t save me if I intentionally tried to walk off a cliff.”
“Indeed, master,” said Lo-Yang, one side of his mouth curving wryly upward, “had I not been around your experimentation with the blade might have fallen rather short.”
Keyes’ smile twisted to mimic his apprentices now mischievous grin and, addressing Touchstone more than Lo-Yang, said, “I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, otherwise my story might have ended sooner than that, say at the mercy of Mars in that forsaken cave.” Lo-Yang chuckled and Touchstone smiled in spite of himself.
“Stonecutter is simple enough,” said the young Fool, looking towards the two black-hilted swords strapped to Keyes’ load beast, “But the Tyrant’s Blade…it would seem that that should be destroyed as quickly as possible, or given into wiser hands.”
Keyes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. I don’t plan to possess that Sword for much longer.” He then stirred the fire with the toe of his boot, and continued, “But what of you, lad? What exactly is it that you’ve left behind?”
Touchstone became more somber, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t suppose I need to illustrate much when I say it was an affair of the heart.” The two men nodded in agreement, and the young Fool continued, “I lost something…someone…very dear to me. I don’t know if I will ever see her again. That element being gone, I had no real reason to stay where I was, and so you see me as I am now.”
“Such stories find their way into every man’s life,” said Lo-Yang, who then looked sheepish. “I would have been a Bard myself, if my Master hadn’t been the man he is. I’m afraid it was mostly my doing that the Song of Swords now exists.”
“Now that it is mentioned, I do recall hearing a verse of two of this Song of yours,” said the young Fool, eager to talk of other subjects, “I shatter swords and splinter spears, / None stands to Shieldbreaker…?”
“…My point’s is the fount of orphans’ tears, / My edge the widowmaker,” finished Lo-Yang, “Yes, that is the one.”
“And a particularly dangerous one, at that,” said Keyes, gruffly, “The Sword of Force is one to be reckoned with.”
“Could it destroy another Sword of Power?” asked Touchstone.
“In theory, yes, though once again we haven’t been able to experiment with it,” Keyes replied, and a thoughtful look began to cross his face, “but what do you think, boy? Which Swords pose the most threat, or the least?”
Touchstone thought for a moment, and then replied “Shieldbreaker, followed by Soulcutter and the Mindsword as the most dangerous. Shieldbreaker trumps all, while one could decimate many people with the Tyrants Blade or gain great power with the Sword of Glory. On the other hand, Stonecutter doesn’t have much of an effect on mortal mind or body, and Dragonslicer only works on those great beasts, so those two could be the least dangerous.”
Keyes leaned back, a satisfied smile growing on his face, “And what of Doomgiver?”
“Well, if it draws from Justice, then little would matter of its wielder. If the bearer were a good person, he could be in possession of the blade with little detriment, and if the bearer used it maliciously, I imagine it would turn back on him and deal Justice as it saw fit.”
Keyes nodded, and said, “Since that seems the case, it would matter little who was in possession of it. I’ve sensed you looking at this blade, lad, you like it?”
“I’ve loved swords since I was little,” Touchstone admitted, “And its power intrigues me.”
“Then perhaps you would like to have it,” Keyes concluded, and he held up a hand to quiet an objection coming from Lo-Yang, “You’ve got a good mind for this knowledge, and from what I’ve seen of you, you have good qualities enough for being the Swords bearer.”
Keyes undid the scabbard from his belt and held out the sword in both hands. Awestruck, Touchstone received it. When his hand touched the black hilt, he felt the slightest thrum travel through the blade, and a small part of him suddenly felt lighter.
“I imagine you’re now feeling a bit calmer,” said Keyes, “Doomgiver does indeed balance the pans. Though the extent of that power may yet be discovered, I believe it is safe in your hands.”
Belting the Sword to his side, Touchstone could only find a few words for the magician, “Thank you, for everything.”
Keyes bowed his head, and said enigmatically “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be (eventually) Continued in Chapter 2 (Revised)
Enough, More Later.
- James
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Finals, which I should be studying for...
Currently in Earphones: "Non e gran causa," "Dum pater familias" and "Lux optata claruit" from Sinners and Saints
Quick interim post during finals week, yo.
For those of you interested, I've got a one-two punch classics on Tuesday (Tuesday, Tuesday TUESDAY!!) of Classics 3 and Latin 111. Then Philosophy 21 on Weds, then Geo 2 on Saturday, of all things. I've got a fair-to-middlin' amount of studying for the first two under my belt, but I need to go through the rest of Martials epigrams and give my notes from Classics and second over. It would probably behoove me to at least glance at the review sheet for Philo, but I don't know if I'll get to it before Tuesday night.
Chapter 5 of A Story of Swords is on it's way, I've re-written the first chapter so it's more connected temporally and flows a bit better. It looks like the first completion of the story will be about 6 chapters long, but count on it growing by about a chapter or two. There's definitely going to be some gear shifts on the currently posted chapters as well once I get the final installment penned. The main thing that I feel the need to include is a clearer reason for the big altercation at the end, and I'm guessing all you smart people out there can figure out what's going to happen.
One last note concerning my tale, for all those wondering. This story is not my life, as it might seem. It is drawn from my life, in that I've picked and chosen certain facets and altered them to fit. I will come right out and say that our main character is mostly me, as if it isn't painfully obvious already. Every other character is bits and pieces of people I know, so the clever ones will probably be able to find similarities. Rest assured, none of this story has any resemblance to my life, and if it may have seemed so in the past, the story has fast overtaken any concurrent parallels smart people may be able to draw from it.
And that's enough of that, back to the books!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Quick interim post during finals week, yo.
For those of you interested, I've got a one-two punch classics on Tuesday (Tuesday, Tuesday TUESDAY!!) of Classics 3 and Latin 111. Then Philosophy 21 on Weds, then Geo 2 on Saturday, of all things. I've got a fair-to-middlin' amount of studying for the first two under my belt, but I need to go through the rest of Martials epigrams and give my notes from Classics and second over. It would probably behoove me to at least glance at the review sheet for Philo, but I don't know if I'll get to it before Tuesday night.
Chapter 5 of A Story of Swords is on it's way, I've re-written the first chapter so it's more connected temporally and flows a bit better. It looks like the first completion of the story will be about 6 chapters long, but count on it growing by about a chapter or two. There's definitely going to be some gear shifts on the currently posted chapters as well once I get the final installment penned. The main thing that I feel the need to include is a clearer reason for the big altercation at the end, and I'm guessing all you smart people out there can figure out what's going to happen.
One last note concerning my tale, for all those wondering. This story is not my life, as it might seem. It is drawn from my life, in that I've picked and chosen certain facets and altered them to fit. I will come right out and say that our main character is mostly me, as if it isn't painfully obvious already. Every other character is bits and pieces of people I know, so the clever ones will probably be able to find similarities. Rest assured, none of this story has any resemblance to my life, and if it may have seemed so in the past, the story has fast overtaken any concurrent parallels smart people may be able to draw from it.
And that's enough of that, back to the books!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 4
Currently in Earphones: Casino Royale soundtrack by David Arnold
(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)
Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.
I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.
I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.
And now, without further ado, Part 4.
Chapter 4: Pastimes
The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.
During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.
The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.
During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.
After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.
Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”
“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”
Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”
“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.
Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.
“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.
Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”
The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.
Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”
“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”
Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”
Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”
“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.
“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.
At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.
“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.
“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”
The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”
“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”
“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.
The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.
“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”
“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.
“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”
Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.
To Be Continued in Chapter 5
Enough, More Later.
- James
(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)
Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.
I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.
I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.
And now, without further ado, Part 4.
Chapter 4: Pastimes
The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.
During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.
The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.
During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.
After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.
Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”
“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”
Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”
“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.
Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.
“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.
Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”
The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.
Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”
“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”
Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”
Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”
“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.
“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.
At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.
“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.
“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”
The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”
“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”
“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.
The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.
“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”
“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.
“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”
Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.
To Be Continued in Chapter 5
Enough, More Later.
- James
Sunday, December 03, 2006
With our powers combined...
Currently in Earphones: "Stella Splendens" from Sinners and Saints, The Ultimate Medieval and Renaissance Music Collection (a pilgrim song from the Llibre Vermell)
A Quick thought before returning to my Latin Paper:
Last night we watched one of My movies, on Phil's TV, through Toe's DVD player, with James M's 5.1 sound system (and if it had been Sophia's couch that we were all sitting on, it would have been a whole house effort).
For the Baroque Ensemble: Noli tonicum pulsare!
Enough, More Later.
- James
A Quick thought before returning to my Latin Paper:
Last night we watched one of My movies, on Phil's TV, through Toe's DVD player, with James M's 5.1 sound system (and if it had been Sophia's couch that we were all sitting on, it would have been a whole house effort).
For the Baroque Ensemble: Noli tonicum pulsare!
Enough, More Later.
- James
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