Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, does not know about Taco Bell® … because if he’s never heard of second breakfast, he certainly would not have heard of fourthmeal.
And now, for a small example of how dry bones literary research can be stewed up into something that conveys setting, exposes character, and teases the reader with the first hints of plot.
First I will show the original citation from an early 19th century legal reference, and then show how the information made its way into a pre-industrial noir.
So, I walked to work today.
Those of you who know me RT might be saying, “Why did you walk so far?!” Well, it’s only eight and a half miles, and I had several good reasons — all of which can help improve your writing.
What better to post late on a Saturday night in November but an expository excerpt from one’s novel-in-progress?
The story below about Commander General Ava Ashcraft and the origins of the Commonwealth’s Grand Caucus was once part of The Observer’s Gloss, intended to be an appendix to one of the Observer novels. (An early, truncated version of the Gloss is available in the menu above.)
But then, after realizing that one of the core themes of The Lemaigne Casebook would be the relationship between the Observer, Diana Ashcraft, and Commander Lea Ashcraft, I decided to incorporate details about the history of the Ashcraft family into the story. The following account of the “Amberton Crisis” or “Amberton Compromise” is a part of that history.
Key to understanding this anecdote is the organization of the various republics of the Commonwealth into political Coalitions: the Redlands, the Midlands, and Newmark.
REPOST BY REQUEST
While working out the larger story arc behind the novel I’m pitching, I thought it might be fun to blog a little about writing itself, as I experience it. Sort of telling the story behind telling the story.
I have written a lot of stuff over the years: tons of (mostly bad) poetry, a handful of short stories, and hundreds of thousands of words of non-fiction prose.
But, for this little series on writing I want to focus on The Ligan of the Disomus, and the larger world that is still growing from its seed. It is now a novel, with three sequel novels outlined for the long-term story arc.
When it began, however, it was just a short story assignment in a college writers’ group, an assignment the narrator — a fictional character — ran off with in directions I had not anticipated. But, he was not alone in commandeering what I considered to be “my” story…
RE-POST BY REQUEST
While working out the larger story arc behind the novel I’m pitching, I thought it might be fun to blog a little about writing itself, as I experience it. Sort of telling the story behind telling the story.
I have written a lot of stuff over the years, including tons of poetry (mostly bad), a few short stories, hundreds of thousands of words of non-fiction prose, and one really terrifyingly nawesome* fantasy novel which I will discuss later.
But, for this little series on writing, I want to focus on the hopefully not-nawesome novel for which this blog is named, and the larger world that is still growing from its seed.
A friend of mine pointed me toward a website that analyzes text to determine which famous author the sample sounds like based on word choice. The idea reminded me of the online gendered language analyzers that measure how typically male or female a piece of writing sounds.
(By the way, for writers looking to break out of their own voice and write for a character of the opposite gender, reading a little research on gender differences in language can really be an eye-opener.)
Using samples of my own writing as test material, I decided to try out the I Write Like site to see what I thought of its analytical power. Read more »
Since the latest “short story” in the Observer Tales quickly developed into a novelette, I have decided to publish its four parts in short story-sized installments.
In Part I, our disgruntled narrator — known only by his office, Observer — had only recently been posted to the port of Lemaigne by the Security Corps. Wasting a Sunday morning dockside trying (and failing) to catch some fish, he was sought out by the monk Frer Jacob, who tells him that…
The Sheriff and his men shot a madwoman in the chest last night. She brandished an axe at them, or so they claim. They hit her maybe seven times, point-blank. Then, she just ran off.
The Observer decides that this qualifies as something of interest to the Security Corps, so he heads off to get his pistol, badge, and uniform with the monk still in tow. In Part II, he interviews three witnesses — a retired Colonel, an old man, and a boy who works as a deck talker — and learns that this crazed woman has been attacking children and tasting their blood. The girl most likely to be her next victim is Diana Ashcraft, recently acquitted for trafficking in pirated goods.
This leads us to third installment of The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die.
From The Ligan of the Disomus, Chapter 5 – “Researches,” Part V – Watching Reider. (Following up on the previous teaser.)
CONTEXT: One of the Reiders is locked away in Lemaigne’s jailhouse for stabbing a sailor to death, and the Observer has chosen to watch him overnight to prevent escape. Reider tries to engage him in conversation, and the Observer brushes him off, saying, “I’m not going to read you a bedtime story, if that’s what you’re wanting.”
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Since the latest “short story” in the Observer Tales quickly developed into a novelette, I have decided to publish its four parts in short story-sized installments.
In Part I last week, our disgruntled narrator — known only by his office: Observer — had only recently been posted to the port of Lemaigne by the Security Corps. I call this the “latest” story because it is the latest to be written, but it is the earliest in chronological order, happening well before the events in The Dun Cat of Mill Bridge, and shows us how The Observer met Diana Ashcraft during his first truly strange case.
Wasting a Sunday morning dockside trying (and failing) to catch some fish, he was sought out by the monk Frer Jacob, who tells him that…
The Sheriff and his men shot a madwoman in the chest last night. She brandished an axe at them, or so they claim. They hit her maybe seven times, point-blank. Then, she just ran off.
The Observer decides that this qualifies as something of interest to the Security Corps, so he heads off to get his pistol, badge, and uniform — with the monk still in tow. This leads us to second installment of The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die.
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Stories that are in the submission process will be password protected. Apologies.
If you are eager to read something based on the title, genre, and graphic please email johnnelsonleith at gmail and I may share the password.
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