Never Throw Anything Away #OurAuthorGang

Never Throw Anything Away  

Joe Bonadonna

Not long ago a friend remarked that I’m very prolific, citing that since 2011 I’ve published 6 novels and 7 short stories, with two more stories and another novel on the way. I don’t know. Is that being prolific? I don’t consider myself to be prolific. I know people who publish 2 or 3 novels a year. I can’t even begin to tell you how long it took me to write Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser. But I can say that it took me 3 years to write the sequel, Mad Shadows II: Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent, and three or so years to write my forthcoming novel, The MechMen of Canis-9. Hell, it took me 6 months one time just to write a 25-K word novella. Prolific? Not really. But I’ll tell you a secret.

Never throw anything away.

I started writing in 1973, and I wrote a short story each month for over a year. Every one of them got rejected for various reasons. In retrospect, they were pretty awful. But I hung onto them anyway and filed them away. I knew there was a seed or a spark in each of them that could evolve into something else, something different and better, as time went on.

The only story I wrote and tossed into the trash, other than things I’d written in grade school and high school, was the original version of Mad Shadows. This was not the story that starred Dorgo the Dowser. No, this was an entirely different tale, with different characters and a totally different plot. Around 1977 or I submitted it to a number of professional magazines, such as Analog, Fantastic, and The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Everyone rejected it: old-hat; just another sword and sorcery tale; all plot based around cardboard characters. Mind you, for all the criticisms there were also helpful tips, suggestions, and plenty of encouragement to keep trying. Now, I didn’t throw the manuscript away out of anger and disappointment  . . . I tossed it into the trash because I rewrote it over and over again, changing the plot, changing the “McGuffin,” and finally settled on Dorgo as the main character.

For over ten years I also labored over a 1000-page fantasy epic: Courier font, 12 characters per inch. That’s about 300 words per page, I think. Finally, I knew it was too unwieldly for my meager talent, too unmanageable; the damn thing had become my own Frankenstein’s monster. I then moved on to trying my hand at writing screenplays, which was a great learning experience I recommend every writer try. But I never threw away that 1000-page monstrosity. Nope. I mined that sucker as if I was mining for gold. Two long chapters eventually evolved into the novellas, In the Vale of the Black Diamond and Blood on the Moon, both of which appear in Mad Shadows 1. One other story I’d written during that year-long writing binge also ended up in MS 1: The Man Who Loved Puppets. Another later appeared in Mad Shadows II: The Girl Who Loved Ghouls. Another story became The Blood of the Lion, which was published in Griots II: Sisters of the Spear, and one more turned into The Dragon’s Horde, for Janet Morris’ Heroika I: Dragon Eaters. Pieces and parts from various unfinished projects ended up as chapters in Dave Smith’s and my sword and sorcery pirate novel, Waters of Darkness.

As for the screenplays I wrote? I penned five during a 5-year period?

My space opera, Star Trooper Doon became the novel Three Against The Stars. Then I turned my silly satire, Sinbad’s Summer Vacation into the more serious and dramatic novella, Sinbad and The Golden Fleece, which was also published in Sinbad: The New Voyages #4. Another screenplay became the Dorgo the Dowser novella, The Order of the Serpent, which is part three of Mad Shadows II. A fourth screenplay turned into the three-year project, The MechMen of Canis-9, and another unpublished novel, The Last Warlock, not only was mined for MechMen, but for a number of other stories, as well.

As for the fifth screenplay . . . well, that’s a somewhat interesting story.

In 1997, years before the zombie craze exploded like a nuke, I wrote a screenplay called Twilight of the Dead. Naïve me . . . I intended it to be a sequel to the late George Romero’s third “living dead” film, Day of the Dead. I even managed to get in touch with Romero’s agent, who kindly replied that Romero already had a number of films on the drawing board. The agent told me that, as Romero holds no copyright over the use of zombies, and as long as I didn’t use any of his characters or referenced any of his films, I should shop the script around because he and Romero believed a “zombie boom” was about to break big. So I shopped it around, as I did with all my scripts, but nothing happened. Later, I read that Romero was thinking of calling his fourth flesh-eating epic Twilight of the Dead. So I changed my title to Children of the Grave, taking it from an old Black Sabbath song. (Since then there have been one film and at least one novel with that same title.) Someday, hopefully, if I can come up with a good hook, something not yet done, I’ll turn my zombie script into a novel, too.

So what has all this to do with anything?

Nothing. Everything, as Saladin (Ghassan Massoud) says to Balian de Ibelin (Orlando Bloom) in Ridley Scott’s masterpiece, The Kingdom of Heaven.

My point is — my novels, short stories and many of my novellas might never have been written, had I not mined my “writing past” for the sake of my writing future. And that 1000-page, heroic fantasy magnum opus? It will be mined again and again for material until there’s nothing left of it. In fact, about 25-K words of it, perhaps more have already been used for Mad Shadows III: Dorgo and The Heroes of Echo Gate. Only a few Dorgo the Dowser tales, Erika M Szabo’s and my 2-volume Creepy Hollow Adventures, and the stories I write for Janet Morris’ Heroes in Hell series have been written from scratch.

What I’m saying is — your words are precious. They come from your heart and soul, from the very core of your being. They’re born of your blood, sweat and tears. Save everything you write. Store it away for the future. While today’s words may not glitter right now, tomorrow they just might turn out to be gold. So don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.

Oh, how I wish I had saved that very first version of the Mad Shadows. That’s why now I never throw anything away.

My Amazon page: https://www.amazon.com/Joe-Bonadonna/e/B009I1KYIK

#heroicfantasy  #swordandsorcery  #spaceopera  #swordandplanet  #horror  #supernatural  #newpulpadventure  #children’sbooks 

A Search Down Inspiration Lane by L. L. Thomsen

Where has my muse gone? And how do I get her back?

http://llthomsen.com/

I know I am not the first (nor the last) author in history to stare at that blank screen/paper, feeling hollow and somewhat bewildered that the next line just won’t come to me.  Nonetheless, right in that moment, it feels as though I am the first, the only, the most useless, that’s for sure. 

How did this happen? I mean, it should write itself, right? I was on a roll! I even know what I am supposed to write – goodness, my outline is clear and everyday I’ve been working towards hitting a few thousand extra words, vigorously tugging them under my belt so that I’ll be in a position to write ‘The End’ on the final page of my WIP sooner rather than later…  

Well, the idea that I will one day harvest the benefit of all this effort and plotting seems like a pipe dream right about then. And as I fail to type a single word, I can feel that coveted goalpost of personal achievement shift beyond my reach. 

I am impatient and frustrated; it’s irrational – I know - and then comes the mini black hole and it sucks me right in.  Again.  

See, it’s not the first time my goal post has moved – I mean, such is life, but now it seems further away than ever; impossible to achieve even, and then comes the first-class, full-flight of self-doubt.  I am probably never going to finish this. I am silly for even thinking I could do this, but not to worry - it probably isn’t very good anyway.  My story sucks. I suck.  In fact, if I cannot find inspiration to write this next chapter, why even be a writer? Others wheel them out, but clearly that kind of productivity is beyond me!

(Are you nodding now? I think you might be, because you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Well, bear with me…)

It’s when that feeling of hopelessness tags you that it really hits you just how lonely a writer’s life can be. It doesn’t matter that you cannot live without it or that you chose it; wanted it. The fact remains that it’s pretty darn similar to sitting cross-legged in a cave on a desert island with only your imaginary friends (AKA the characters from you story) for company. They chat to you… but only sometimes – and of course never when you need them to, lol.

So what do you do? Throw in the towel for good? Watch some telly? Read a book? Go shopping? Browse Social media for commiserations and solutions? Walk the dog? Peel potatoes? Chat to your friends about anything but writing? Chat to your friends about nothing but writing? Go to the gym? Eat cake (yum)? Escape to your kitchen - or if you’re lucky: the local coffee house – where you can promptly proceed to consume copious amounts of hot drinks that you swear will help you see the light?

Well, I am going to tell you that I do all of the above – and more.

Yup. I really do.  Cross my heart…

And I even ‘throw in the towel’ occasionally, as well – at least, for a little while. See I know we are all different and everyone works in different ways.  And so, what works for me, may not work for Peter and John, and what works for them may just seem plain stupid to Sarah and Jean, but that is not really the point here.  The point is that when you hit the slump – oh the darn dreaded slump! – it might be for various reasons and these are usually tied to other things that go on in your world. Loneliness, worries, depression, too much work, not enough work, kids, animals, bills, etc… and the point is that these can all get to you sometimes, but this does not mean you don’t have it in you to finish your WIP and produce a book, nor that you are not good enough, or that your story is pants!

What you need is a break. Or if you have just had a break and cannot seem to get back into it, you need a shift in focus.  And that means you need something that will help you rekindle your joy for the WIP and something that will stop you from growing rusty, too. 

Now at this point, if you enter the 1000 yard stare contest with your WIP, neither the screen, nor the blank paper will inspire you. It’s simple. It will continue to suck you dry if you let it - and so you need to escape its clutches and re-direct your attention.  And so, here we go back to the points above…

Whether burned out, just back from a break, or simply uninspired, the thing that always works for me is to walk away from the WIP itself.  For the lunch hour – or for weeks – it really doesn’t matter, but very importantly, this is not the time to wallow in a hole (though you might want to) – and weirdly it is also not the time to stop writing either – at least not altogether. 

But what? How?

I’m sure you’ll have heard many of your fellow writers say, ‘Never stop writing’ - and for good reason! Because you may not be able to work on your WIP but there are other ways to stay sharp and put your skills to good use so that when you get your mojo back, you will still feel ‘in touch’ and centered around the routine of writing.  After all, one step forwards and two to the side is often to be preferred over two steps forward and halt. 

So you cannot work on the WIP?

Well if so, just write regardless. Write something that keeps you in the game; something that keeps you focused – work on a different story you been thinking of exploring, or write a short story, fanfiction, maybe write a blog about your WIP, or about your experiences, or hopes, or dreams, or fears. Write something serious, write something banal, write a letter to the President - you name it – you can write about a book you recently read; review it… do what feels unforced and easy, but keep writing because this will help you develop your skills and that is super handy for when that muse glides back into your life with a goofy smile of apology. 

But of course this will not fill your day the way working on your WIP does.  It might even also be that your heart is not in it, because this is after all not what you want to write about, so I suggest that you mix it up a little bit.  Browse Pinterest or Deviant Art for inspiration, chat to your author mates on social media, share snippets of you WIP, ask for feedback on ideas; on characters, go back and read your notes, get reacquainted with what got you burning to tell your story in the first place, stay in contact with like-minded people who share your path and know the troubles you might face (be they friends, family or FB mates).  Allow yourself this time ‘off’: read a new book, watch some telly – anything - and you might find that you once more begin to spot glimpses of your muse.

Now when she/he/it does return to your side or shoulder or wherever she sits, you will soon know, and that’s when you pick up the reigns, go back to your WIP or you grab a notebook to instantly write down all those new ideas that suddenly pop into your head!

As for the time scale on this ‘come back’ – ah well who can say? I have stepped away from my WIP for months before; I have procrastinated, drunk too much coffee, watched too much telly, but eventually something sparks an idea that pulls me back in. It is meant to be. Be patient. The muse will not let you off the hook indefinitely: sooner or later the WIP will call you back, and you will answer because you feel compelled, and it’s right.

Ah, but gah! The muse almost got back but now she’s on holiday again – or somewhere: delayed on an overnight flight, or sightseeing in Manhattan, or something like that. So then what? Dang it!

Okay, you were almost ready. You caught the whiff of former glory but now the muse keeps flirting and disappearing, and you still cannot work on the WIP.  So now what?

Well, if I get truly and badly ‘stuck’, I simply: rinse, sleep, eat, and repeat.  Never stop looking for inspiration, but not to the point of exhaustion. It’s not easy – not always – but then again, few things are. You are in this for long haul, right? So just think of it as a work hazard and learn to roll with the waves. You will feel less hassled and calmer – and guess what? When you don’t force it too much, it seems to glide all the better and you will be all the stronger as a writer and person. Indeed, often you will find that the hated break has given you new perspective.  In fact, it may perhaps even have helped you figure out a cooler, more exciting plot for your story, or a subplot, or you might have ended up thinking up a new exciting character, and (Yay!) that is never a bad thing.

So there.
Now stop panicking and take a breather. You got this. Do not punish yourself.
You are not the first writer in the world to feel like this. You will not be the last either. But you will get your muse back. And you will write your book and finish it. 
There indeed! 
(By L. L. Thomsen)
http://llthomsen.com/

Christmas in Camelot ~ Part 2 #Christmas #Arthurian #Legends #OurAuthorGang

By Mary Anne Yarde

Gustave Doré's illustration of Camelot from Idylls of the King 1867 ~ Wikipedia

In Part 1 of Christmas at Camelot I took a look at the food that you may well have found on an early medieval table, but today I want to look at what they did for entertainment in those long winter nights.

In the 14th Century, a poet — whose name has been lost over time, but is now referred to as The Pearl Poet — wrote an epic Arthurian poem. This is how The Pearl Poet described Christmas at Camelot.

“…then they brought the first course, with the blast of trumpets and the waving of banners, with the sound of drums and pipes, so that many a heart was uplifted at the melody. Costly and most delicious foods were carried in. Many were the dainties, delicacies and fresh meats, so great was the plenty they might scarce find room on the board and table-cloth to set all the silver dishes. Each helped himself as he liked best, and for each of two guests were twelve dishes served, with a great plenty of beer and bright wine…”

According to The Pearl Poet, Arthur knew how to throw a party! One would expect a feast at the Midwinter/ New Year celebrations, but perhaps not on such a grand scale.

There would have been music and entertainment at such a feast. I should imagine there were jugglers and those with what we would call Circus Skills!

Tom 1068 ~ No attribution required ~ Pixabay

 Bards would tell wonderful stories to entertain the guests — perhaps they told stories of Arthur and his Knights — and as the evening wore on, old men would become philosophical, as they contemplated mortality.

But there is one story about a Christmas feast that every Arthurian enthusiasts will of heard of, and that is...

Gawain and the Green Knight.

by The Pearl Poet

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (from original manuscript, artist unknown) ~ Wikipedia

 

If you not familiar with the story, then read on for a very abridged version with a little of my own poetic licence thrown into the mix!

New Year's Day, Camelot

The Knights of Camelot were celebrating the New Year in Arthur's Great Hall. Food was a plenty, and the mead was freely flowing. Friends and family gathered around the fire pit to listen as a bard wove the most fantastical tale.

Sir Gawain was content to sit and listen to the bard. There was nothing that needed his attention. This was a time to relax and rejoice. The New Year promised to be a good one. The Kingdom was at peace, for the most part, and everything was as it should be.

But this tranquillity was soon quashed when someone pounded against the great oak door of the Hall. The door rattled on its hinges. The bard fell silent, as did everyone else. All eyes turned towards the door and everyone held their breath.

The door opened and there, on a horse the colour of spring grass, was a giant of a man. The giant's skin, like that of his horse, was an unnatural shade of green. Without a by-or-leave, the giant rode his horse into the Hall and dismounted. In his hand was a monster of an axe. This Green Knight narrowed his eyes and looked around him with a contemptuous sneer.

"Is this Arthur's court?" the giant asked, his voice was so loud that some of the women shrieked. "Are these his Knights?"

"It is," Arthur said, rising to his feet. "They are. What can we do for you?"

The Green Knight smiled, showing a perfect set of green teeth. "Your knights are the bravest in the land, or so I am told, and the most chivalrous. Well, we will see about that. I wonder if there is any knight amongst you that would be brave enough to accept a challenge from me."

All the Knights looked to Arthur… But one.

"I will accept your challenge," Sir Gawain said, rising from his seat.

"Gawain, no,” Arthur ordered under his breath.

"Brave boy," the Green Knight snarled. "Or a foolish one. Take my axe, Sir Knight, and chop off my head."

"Why? Do you not like life?" Gawain asked, taking the axe from the Green Knight. The axe was so heavy that Gawain had a job to lift it.

"I do not fear for my life, but perhaps you should fear for yours."

A block was brought forth, and the Green Knight knelt.

 "Aim true," he stated.

Shaking his head, Gawain lifted the axe and then with a sickening thud, he took the head from the Green Knight’s shoulders.

The silence that followed was deafening. But then something strange happened. The Green Knight’s headless body stood, and his hands reached for his severed head.

"Meet me at the Chapel Green this time next year, so that I can return the favour," the decapitated head said, and then he left.

Gawain watched as the door closed behind the Green Knight. He turned to face his King with a look of horror. What had he done? There was no way he could survive such a strike.

The year that passed was uneventful, but each day Gawain knew he was a step closer to his death. As the leaves turned from green to brown and the first snow began to fall. Gawain tacked up his horse and, with a heavy heart, he set out for the Chapel Green.

God's Speed by Edmund Blair Leighton 1900 ~ Wikipeida

After many weeks of traveling he happened upon a castle, and there he was greeted by Bertilak de Hautdesert and his beautiful wife. Berilak asked Gawain why he was here and Gawain told him only that he had promised to meet someone at the Chapel Green on New Year's Day. Bertilak assured him that the Chapel was just two miles away. Bertilak then, very kindly, invited him to stay with them. Gawain thanked Bertilak and took him up on his generous offer.

The next day Bertilak went hunting. But before he departed he told Gawain that he was more than welcome to stay as long as whatever he might gain during the day, he gave back.

Gawain frowned at such a riddle, but later in the day, all became clear.  Bertilak's beautiful wife began to tease him. Gawain had never met anyone like her. She was intoxicating. So very beautiful. Gawain found himself clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching for her. One kiss, he finally allowed, when he could not take it anymore. Just one kiss. I will take nothing more, for Bertilak is my host.

Lady Bertilak at Gawain's bed ~ from original manuscript, artist unknown ~ Wikipedia

 When Bertilak came back cold and muddy from his hunt, he asked Gawain if he had gained anything this day and if so, he must remember to give it back. So Gawain kissed his host. Sir Bertilak looked confused by the kiss, but he did not comment upon it.

The next day, Bertilak went hunting again. And once again Bertilak's wife began to tease. This time, Gawain allowed two kisses and just like the night before, when Bertilak returns he gave back what he had gained.

On the third day, like the previous days, Bertilak went hunting. This time Bertilak's wife gave Gawain a girdle of green and gold silk. She told him that if he wears it, he would stay safe from harm. They then shared three kisses. That evening he gives Bertilak the three kisses, but keeps the girdle for himself.

The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse,1880 ~ note the girdle around her waist ~ Wikipedia

 The following day Gawain, with a pounding heart and the girdle wrapped around his waist, set out to meet the Green Knight. He found the giant sharpening his blade outside of the Chapel.

"So you have come?" The Green Knight stated with a look of surprise.

"I accepted the challenge," Gawain stated with a bravery he was not feeling.

"The kneel and place your neck upon the blog, young Knight of Camelot."

Gawain closed his eyes briefly and prayed to God for courage. He knelt and bared his neck. The Green Knight raised his axe. And despite himself, Gawain flinched in fear.

"I should have known," The Green Knight jeered. "You are a coward, and you bring shame to your King."

"Swing again," Gawain growled, "And I will not flinch."

The Green Knight raised his axe and feigned a strike.

"Be done with it," Gawain ordered. "Do not tease."

"I was merely testing your resolve," the Green Knight stated.

The Green Knights raised his axe again, and Gawain closed his eyes. The blade cut through the air, but instead of taking his head it only scratched his skin, although it drew blood.

"That was for the lie you told me, for you are wearing my wife's girdle. Rise, Sir Knight," the Giant stated. "The challenge is over."

With unsteady legs, Gawain rose to his feet and turned to look at the Giant, but the Giant was not there. In his place was his kind host, Bertilak.

"What is this?" Gawain asked, thoroughly confused.

"A test, young knight, from Arthur's sister. She thought you would fail. I am pleased to say you passed, for you are indeed chivalrous, brave, and for the most part... Honest."

Sir Gawain and Sir Bertilak parted on good terms. When Gawain finally made it home from Camelot, he was greeted with a hero's welcome. And from that day on the Knights of Camelot wore a green sash around their waist in recognition of Gawain's quest and a reminded to always be honest.

Copyright © 2017 Mary Anne Yarde

The Vigil by John Pettie, 1888 ~ Gawain represented the perfect knight, as a fighter, a lover, and a religious devotee ~ Wikipedia

It beats a game of Cluedo and Guess Who? I suppose. Although, I think I will celebrate Christmas and see in the New Year with a couple of board games and a verse of Auld Lang Syne.

War is coming to Saxon Briton…

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