Snippets

Backpage Pass: Ky Huntyr

October 17, 2014 by Gillian Bronte Adams 9 Comments

“There were three simple rules in the Underground: be invisible, look out for yourself, and no going back. Ever. They all added up to the same thing: Keep up or get left behind.” – Orphan’s Song

Ky Huntyr—thief, runner, member of the Underground—began as one of those surprise characters that pop out of nowhere and force their way onto the page. I had no more clue beforehand that he was planning on entering the story, than Bilbo had about the party he was hosting for thirteen dwarves and a wizard before the unexpected knock at the door. But once Ky arrived, I soon realized that he had come to stay and was going to provide an integral part of the story that became Orphan’s Song. With his aptitude for the sling and his penchant for jumping into trouble to save others, Ky occasionally reminded me of David the shepherd boy from the Bible. Not entirely sure why, but who among us can really explain the random paths our brains take? Care to know a secret? (In a very early draft, I even included a David and Goliath-esque scene in which Ky’s slingstones felled a much larger and highly dangerous opponent. It made me happy. Sadly, said scene no longer exists…) Ky is one of my favorite characters—right up there with Birdie and Amos—and I enjoy writing in his point of view because he tends to look at things a tad different from other folks. He’s humble. He’s not always convinced that he’s in the right—because let’s face it, that can get downright annoying—and even when he is, he struggles just like the rest of us with going against the flow of popular opinion. But when push comes to shove, he’s not afraid to stand up for what he believes or for those who are in danger. Despite the hardness of the world he lives in, Ky still cares. There are a lot of numb characters in fiction today. Characters who are so broken and beaten and bloodstained that they can’t feel anymore, let alone truly care for anyone else. And that’s realistic. When you go through something so challenging, you can begin to feel like every ounce of energy has been consumed and you don’t have anything to give anyone else. But what I love about Ky is that he’s not afraid to keep caring, fighting, and doing what he thinks is right against all odds. And that—I think—is what made Ky real and heroic to me.

Backpage Pass—Birdie

October 10, 2014 by Gillian Bronte Adams 9 Comments

“Soft as a whisper, the melody crept toward her, banishing the midnight fears and easing the ache of loneliness. It wrapped around her, the comforting embrace of a friend. Dangerous, Amos had said. Unnatural. But dangerous or not, it was all she had. Birdie slipped into the mysterious melody and allowed it to carry her to sleep at last.” – Orphan’s Song

When I first started writing Orphan’s Song, I had little more than a name—Birdie—and the barest smidgeon of an idea. I knew Birdie was an orphan, that she lived at an inn, and that she heard a melody that no one else could. But beyond that I had no more idea where the story was going than the next random citizen on the street. Out of all the characters populating the by-ways and back-roads of Leira, Birdie probably changed the most over the course of the many drafts and revisions the novel went through before the end. But there were some things that didn’t change. From the beginning, I knew who Birdie is—even if it took me a while to figure out how to best portray it. She’s got a heart bigger than Dunfaen Forest, and a sweet spirit matched only by her courage and the ability to keep on keeping on. She is teachable, but not a push over. When she believes something is worth the fight, her backbone grows harder and straighter than a zoar tree—something that frustrates poor Amos to no end. Birdie is all these things and so much more. But at the heart of it all, she is a lost little girl just searching for a place to belong. Most of us aren’t orphans doomed to a life of drudgery at the local inn. Most of us know our own history … know our parents … have a name we can call our own. But at the same time, I feel like most of us can relate to Birdie’s desire to know where she fits in the world. We want to know our place, to feel at home, to know where we belong, and how we can contribute. This is what made Birdie feel real to me as I wrote her, and I hope it will help make her feel real to you as well.

The Fiddler’s Tune – A Short Story

May 17, 2014 by Gillian Bronte Adams 14 Comments

“The ragged man lifted his fiddle, cradled it beneath his chin, and laid the bow on the strings. A deep note rang out—an agonized groan. It struck Maria to the heart and left her gasping for breath. On and on it wailed, that single note encapsulating pure pain, suffering, and loss.” (Read more …) Some of you may recall this short story. I had an earlier version posted on my blog last year, though I took it down for editing a little while back and ended up submitting the new and improved story to a contest. In fact, if you would like to read the rest of the story, you can head over to the contest page and read it there. And if the story strikes home—and you’re feeling especially kindly—give the story a thumbs up or share it with your friends, family … even your enemies. I would certainly appreciate it. You see, The Fiddler’s Tune has a sort of death grip on my heart. I jotted down snippets of the story for about a year before I dared to write it. And it’s only a thousand words long! It may not be my usual type of action and adventure story, full of perilous battles where brave deeds await, but it’s a story with heart—my heart—written into it. It’s about what happens when you allow others to direct your life instead of Christ; about who we listen to and what we allow to influence our actions. But more than that, it’s the story of a girl. A girl who pursues her gifts and passions purely for the love of doing … until the accolades she receives begin to go to her head and she strives instead to please those around her. And slowly, the joy and beauty fade from her work. As a writer, I find I face this same problem when the temptation comes to write to please others, to write for the market, to write what I expect others will want to hear, instead of writing for the joy of writing, or using my gift well in order to bring honor to the One who gave it. In a way, The Fiddler’s Tune is my story. But it’s not mine alone. It belongs to everyone who has ever felt the crushing pressure of the world to become something different, to conform to a different image or pattern, or to use their gifts to achieve honor and fame until they feel more like curses than blessings. This story can be your story too as you, like Maria, dance to the fiddler’s tune. “Eyes closed, arms lifted, hair and scarf flying in joyous abandon, Maria danced upon the village green like a morning wind breathed upon the world.” Follow this link to read the short story … and if you like, cast your vote in favor of The Fiddler’s Tune: A Short Story.

Epic of Aedonia – First Lines

September 10, 2013 by Gillian Bronte Adams 18 Comments

I recently started a new novel. A fantasy, of course, first in a series. And this one is looking like it will be one of those novels where each word is a drop of blood wrung from the heart of the writer.

At least that is my wish.

I’m quite excited about this story. And just a little nervous too, of course. Because this is going to be my largest book, grandest concept, most complex storyline, and most fascinating world yet.

It is the Epic of Aedonia.

Here are the opening lines of the book–one section from both of the main characters’ first chapters–just to whet your appetite.

Ronan’s Chapter — Cry of the Sea

The cry of the sea-demon awoke him. Shrill—more of a scream than a cry—the sound
pierced the thatched roof and walls of the fisherman’s hut and brought Ronan to
his feet, gasping for breath.

He swayed and clutched his hammock with one hand to steady himself. The scream
rang in his ears, a high-pitched wail keening across the lonesome shore. Always
the sea-demons called to him.

Always he tried to forget.

He clenched his fist, until his arm shook with the force. A stab of pain brought a
cry to his lips. Blood trickled down the sides of his hand, spattering his bare
feet with dark spots.

Ronan gazed uncomprehending at the blood and then at his hand. He was holding his
harpoon by the blade while the metal bit into his palm. He yanked his stiff
fingers apart and released the harpoon. It clattered against the stone floor.

Ceridwen’s Chapter — Outriders

The stench of death fouled the air. It filled her nostrils, seeped past the gloved
hand she instinctively held to her mouth, and clogged her throat. She could not
escape it.

Death was near.

Mindar, her horse, danced a nervous jig beneath her, hooves pawing at the forest loam.
A puff of black smoke burst from his nostrils. Ceridwen tightened her grip on
the reins, restraining the excited hylshum steed, and pulled her hand from her
face to stroke his neck.

Even through the thick leather of her gloves she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. If he didn’t calm down, the flamebreather was liable to hold true to his name … and the prospect of extinguishing a forest fire started by her own steed was even less desirable than investigating this stench.

Well, that’s it for now! Pretty rough still, though there’ll be plenty of time to sort it out later. Time I crack on though and finish writing the rest of the story. I’ve got over twenty pages of outlines and world building notes to help me out. And thank goodness! There’s no way I’d be able to keep all of it straight without them.

Backpage Pass: Ky Huntyr

Backpage Pass—Birdie

The Fiddler’s Tune – A Short Story

Epic of Aedonia – First Lines

free short story: Of Shadow and Rust

Preorder: Of Sea and Smoke

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