And it’s Friday! Time to close out your week with a bang and a mind-blowing puzzle. (Since you’re obviously not already exhausted enough at the end of a long week.) Pray excuse me a devious chuckle. We’re talking about chosen ones again today … and humble beginnings. 
Whenever I think about humble beginnings, I can’t help remembering what Dr. Erskine tells Steve Rogers in Captain America: The First Avenger on why he was chosen to become a super-soldier. “Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength and knows compassion.” Perhaps this is why so many of the Chosen Ones in fantasy novels tend to come from humble beginnings. Perhaps it’s simply because we love watching someone rise from the dust, shake off the ashes, and step out into the spotlight wearing the victor’s crown. A Cinderella story … of sorts. As for me? Well, I would probably start out as something terrible ordinary … like a stable-hand. Mucking out stalls. Grooming horses. Cleaning tack. Trudging through muck and mire in all sorts of inclement weather and bedding down at night on a pile of musty straw in the corner. Sounds about right, doesn’t it? Until the call for adventure arrives at which point I would saddle the best horse in the saddle and dash off for parts unknown! Heroic deeds await! How about you? What humble beginnings would you come from?
Fire Inside the Mountain—Dragon Awareness Day
A Special Bulletin from the Warriors-in-Hero-Training School of the Round Table, issued via carrier tern from the desk of renowned Headmaster Sir Galgadin.
It has come to my knowledge that many among the so-called “learned” in the modern world have a dangerous tendency to scoff at “legends” of fire-breathing beasts. To this, I have but one thing to say: “Never laugh at live dragons.”
J.R.R Tolkien To which of course they would reply, “But there is no such thing as live dragons.” After which, they would burst into another fit of mocking laughter … right before perishing in a fiery blast. I do not intend to attempt changing mainstream views on dragons in general. Short of shoving a few dozen world-acclaimed so-called scholars into the dragon’s den, I cannot think of any way to convince them that dragons do in fact exist and have a sweet tooth for barbeque. (I hear slow smoked scholar is considered quite the delicacy in dragondom.) Instead, I shall let the wise speak for me. Brilliant scholars have been writing about dragons for quite a bit longer than my pen has been scratching a page. Perhaps their words—and not mine—shall help awaken this sleeping world to the knowledge of the peril it lives in. After all … “ … it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them.”
Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea Among the many scoffers, there are also many who think dragons are the easily-befuddled, easily-slain creatures of bedtime lore. Nothing could be further from the truth. They are cunning, powerful, devious, masters of deceit and treachery, and for all the fire burning within their chests, they are utterly cold hearted. “A dragon should never be engaged in conversation as they are inveterate liars and tricksters, though if you’re actually talking to a dragon, you’re pretty much toast anyway.”
John Stephens, The Fire Chronicle Toast? Not sure that’s quite a strong enough a word for it. Think barbeque. Seared steak. Shishkabob. And dragons unfortunately aren’t the sort of things you can ignore either. If one moves in nearby, you can expect death and destruction to follow in its wake, as notable dragon-scholar J.R.R Tolkien noted in The Hobbit. “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”
J.R.R. Tolkien So just what should one do if a dragon moves in nearby? There are many varying suggestions: Double check your life insurance policy … Head for a top secret bunker in the hills … Offer your livestock as sacrifices to appease the fiery beast … Or if all else fails, you can always send for a dragon slayer. This ad was discovered posted on craigslist. 
Any takers? In general, it is wise to remember that dragons are fearsome beasts … proud … arrogant … and with good reason. “My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!”
“Smaug” J.R.R Tolkien, The Hobbit And yet even the fiercest dragons have a weak spot. “I have always understood,” said Bilbo in a frightened squeak, “that dragons were softer underneath, especially in the region of the—er—chest; but doubtless one so fortified has thought of that.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit Find the dragon’s weak spot and strike hard, my friend, lest you and your family be counted among the growing number of deaths attributed to dragon-related accidents every year. I should like to leave you with one final piece of dragonish wisdom. If at all possible … “Meddle not in the affairs of dragons for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.”
Anonymous Sir Galgadin
Signing off Do you have a favorite dragon-ish quote? Share it in the comments!
Fantasy Reflections: Job Fair
Hear ye, hear ye! Gather ’round. All lads and lasses are hereby cordially invited to attend the fantasy job fair. Bring your resumes, unique (and sometimes remarkably strange) skill sets, weapons, and references. Oh, and don’t forget your sense of adventure. If there’s one thing fantasy occupations have in common, it’s that no matter how dull they seem at the start, adventure is always waiting just around the next corner. Today’s fantasy reflection question: 
For me, this was a bit of a no-brainer. Don’t get me wrong, there are scads of awesome, exciting fantasy occupations out there. Assistant Pig Keepers. Dragon Slayers. Chosen Ones. Ringbearers. (Actually, let’s not become one of those …) But for me, there’s no contest. I would want to be a Dunedain Ranger. Admittedly, it can be a bit of a thankless job at times. Few people were as misunderstood and mistrusted as the Rangers were in Eriador. Yet the very people who called them “Long-shanks” and “Strider” were still breathing free air because of the sacrifices made by the Rangers. *sigh* You just have to admit. They are pretty cool. Who wouldn’t want to be a ranger? How about you? What would be your chosen fantasy occupation? As always, free free to respond in the comments. You are also welcome to share this post on your blog, please just link back to my original post. Thanks! :)
Brothers, Side by Side
Born on the plains, a farmer’s sons
and brothers the same, raised on promises…
we’d stay that way.
As boys we believed, summers at the sea
we were free to become men of good will…
side by side. “By Your Side” House of Heroes Sunset falls over the battlefield, blood red streaking the sky in mimicry of the bloodstained, flame-ridden plain below. And as the shades of night descend, two armored figures meet amidst the dead and the dying, cast battered swords from weary hands, and grip one another’s shoulders. It is done. The battle is won. And they are both still alive. The halls of unforgettable story telling are filled with epic battles, hard won fights, and brother tales. Whether the main players are actually brothers, or simply brothers-at-heart, there’s just something about a good brother story that grips us by the heart and won’t let us go. Just off the top of my head, I can list a good half dozen tremendous brother pairs from novels, films, history:
-
Merlin and Arthur, BBC’s Merlin TV series
-
David and Jonathan, the Bible
-
Dean and Sam Winchester, Supernatural TV series
-
Sherlock and Watson, many awesome interpretations over the years
-
Thor and Loki, Marvel-verse
-
Legolas and Gimli, The Lord of the Rings
-
Steve Rogers and Bucky, Captain America
-
Fred and George Weasley, the Harry Potter series
I could keep going for at least another ten minutes. Daresay I could pull another half dozen out of The Lord of the Rings alone. One of my favorite books, Enemy Brothers, is a tremendous brother tale set in Great Britain during WWII. (Actually, what makes it even more spectacular is the author penned the novel before the end of WWII was anywhere in sight! Knowing that just makes every awesome heart-wrenching scene in the book that much more incredible. If you haven’t read it … you should.) I rediscovered my love for brother tales recently while writing a short story, Shattered Ice. Despite its shortness—clocks in right around 1,000 words (an earth-shattering feat for me)—I fell in love with Ren and Tal and would be thrilled to explore their story more at some point in the future. I suppose I just love sibling tales in general. The bond between siblings, the complexities of their relationships, and the protectiveness they feel for one another are near and dear to my heart. So I find brother tales, brother-sister tales, and even sister tales especially enjoyable. Somehow though, sister tales rarely possess the same power that brother tales do. I won’t say a sister tale can’t be done well—I’ll admit to enjoying Disney’s Frozen as much as the next person—but somehow there never seems to be the same raw depth, heart, and strength to the story. So what is it about a good brother story that strikes so deep? I pondered this question over the past few days, racking my brain for the answer. To be honest, I don’t know. But I can speculate. I wonder if it in part has to do with the fact that if there’s one person you know—or think you know—better than yourself growing up, it’s your sibling. The little quirks and idiosyncrasies you’d let slide in others, somehow seem so much bigger in the person you’ve known since you—or they—were born. You know their faults … and they know yours too. And sometimes, they tell you the painful truth. You can pretend to all the world … but a sibling? Well, they’ll see right through your thickest mask. But despite the conflict that occasionally sparks when y’all rub crossways, you still manage to love one another. Even if you show it in strange ways at times. Somehow, I think good brother tales seem to capture this bond in a deep, heartfelt, “I’d die for you” kind of way, without coming across as cheesy or contrived. Even when the brothers are not brothers by blood. Sure, it’s a bit of a tall order. But I can think of dozens of tales and brother pairs that fit the bill. And I can’t wait to discover some more. What do you think? What are your favorite brother tales and sibling pairs? Do you have a favorite brothers’ moment?
Fantasy Reflections: Step Aside Samwise
Welcome, ladies and gents! Step right this way for another mind-boggling fantasy reflection guaranteed to get the old brain cells moving … and stop hair loss. Disclaimer: this post was penned in a spurt of mad creativity fueled by an overabundance of coffee and Dr. Pepper. Consider yourself warned. 
No, I’m afraid I can’t tell what the quest is beforehand. Top secret and all that. Must take precautions. Obviously how you decide to go about said death-defying quest will influence your decision on which fantasy creature to choose as a companion. If you prefer stealth mode, I can almost guarantee Smaug is not the best choice. Good try though. A- for effort. I plan to start my quest in stealth mode and see how far I get before my cover is blow—because, let’s face it, covers are almost always blown. One that happens, I’ll race in with guns blazing—swords flashing—to finish the quest and save the day … Mounted on Shadowfax. Yes, I would choose him for my companion. Who wouldn’t want to ride one of the Mearas? A horse swift as the wind, capable of covering vast distances with a speed that would kill a lesser beast. The lone steed to stand undaunted before the arrival of the Witchking. Aye, Shadowfax is the companion for me. Wind in my hair, face to the sky, faithful steed beneath, I’d gladly face any perils the road has to offer. How about you? Who or what would you choose as your fantasy creature companion?
I am an artist
Wordcrafting has always been my chosen course of study. From a young age, I would stay up late into the night carving fantasy worlds from the bedrock of imagination and transforming them with each stroke of the keypad into words on a computer screen. There are few things more satisfying that untangling the knotted mass of plot threads in your head and slowly unraveling them on the page in just the right order . . . so when you look back, you can see the many colored strands drawing you to the glorious resolution on the final page. I love the written word. And yet, although nothing could ever make me wish myself free of the call of the pen, there are times when I’m heartily—woefully—jealous of a completely different talent. I wish I was an artist. There are so many incredibly talented people out there who can take the images in their heads and faithfully reproduce them in magnificent explosions of color and ink. Beautiful. Orderly. Breathtaking. My own attempts frequently resemble explosions of a far less pleasing sort.
I am in awe of the artist’s ability. It’s a talent all its own. Oh I can get by with a sketch pad and pencil … and a horde of erasers at my beck and call. Whenever the mood takes me, I’ll pluck out my old sketchpad and work to keep my hand and eye in “practice.” Mainly characters or scenes that I’m working on. This past week, in a fit of mad courage, I started experimenting with watercolors. And amidst the wild mass of colors and scattered brushes and splattered paint, I realized at last … That I am an artist. Oh I may not possess the skill with a paint and brush that some do … nor the ability to capture life on a pad with a few strokes of a pen. Nor can I compose melodies or lyrics that will set your heart on fire and your soul yearning for what is to come. I am an artist of a different sort. Words are my paint and my song. As a writer, I etch a little piece of my heart into every page. I strive to capture both beauty and truth, reality and hope in print. 
Books are so much more than rigid lines of black and white ink marching endlessly across the pages. They are things of wondrous color and beauty. The wildest dreams of a wild imagination … grounded in reality.
Whenever I think of the writing process, I cannot help recalling this scene from William Goldman’s The Princess Bride about artistry at work:
Domingo slept only when he dropped from exhaustion. He ate only when Inigo forced him to. He studied, fretted, complained. He never should have taken the job; it was impossible.
The next day he would be flying; he never should have taken the job; it was to simple to be worth his labors.
Joy to despair, joy to despair, day to day, hour to hour …
One night Inigo woke to find his father seated. Staring. Calm. Inigo followed the stare. The six fingered sword was done. Even in the hut’s darkness, it glistened.
“At last,” Domingo whispered. He could not take his eyes from the glory of the sword. “After a liftetime. Inigo. Inigo. I am an artist.”
I may not have reached the level of artistry Domingo reached when he created the six fingered sword. But if nothing else, I am an artist in the making, and I can be content with that. How about you? Do consider yourself an artist, whether you paint with words or a brush, or create music with lyrics or instrument?
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- …
- 15
- Next Page »
