#fallen oak

Still screaming over these two. 

“Come back to bed.”

“The day is come, dear husband,” Aisling grinned and gestured to the window. “There is much to be done.”

“We have won a war, wife, and I am lord of this domain: if I will that this is a day for lying in bed and being generally useless, so it shall be.”

“Hmmmm,” Aisling tapped her chin thoughtfully. “As you say, my lord. But, as Lady of the House of Oak and Crown Princess, I do believe that my will of equal merit. And I will not spend such a beautiful like a sloth upon its tree.” 

Many thanks to @typeaadventures for letting me use Fallen Oak and Legends of Lazlor as references for this post. Now, a lot of people will say they like a particular game, show, movie, song, book, or whatever (there really needs to be a good collective word for those things) precisely because they’re bad. I’ve never really understood that line of thought; maybe it’s because I have absurd standards for things but, if I like something, I find it’s because there are parts of it I think are good.

Hence why I bring up Type A’s 80,000 words of “regret”, Legends of Lazlor, as well as Fallen Oak. No one can deny her technique has only improved between the two stories; there’s a more coherent sense of place and movement in Fallen Oak and the descriptions are more vivid, not to mention less laden with errors.

But I’m mainly here to talk about Legends of Lazlor. I’m sure a lot of people are thinking “Man, this is so bad it’s good”. Granted, Type A’s experience of the time definitely shows and she has her reasons for referring to it with the words she does. But I’d argue it has its good, captivating traits. @brynprocrastinates and myself found plenty of amusement in it. I would never presume to know bryn’s reasons for liking something but I can at least talk for myself.

Legends of Lazlor is paced very quickly. The characters are loud and vibrant. The action is exaggerated and dynamic. I consider all these positive traits for the writing. It enthrals the reader’s attention but in a way that joyously invigorates it rather than deadens it into addiction. It’s immensely amusing when the villain smashes a pot in clear sight of the royal guards because he is extremely petty and angry at the princess, who says “The L in your name must stand for LIAR!”.  It has all the excitement and entertainment value of a Saturday Morning Cartoon that we’d watch as kids.

I suspect this is where the notion of it being “bad” comes from. A lot of people are stuck with the sentiment of wanting to “grow up”, which inevitably leads to the discarding of “childish” things. It’s no secret that film producers will add profanity or something to avoid a G rating that’s unmarketable to older audiences. Personally speaking (and sorry for the anecdotal evidence), I avoided playing Kingdom Hearts as a kid because I thought Disney was “kiddy” and I thought myself grown up at the weathered age of 12.

I do think Legends of Lazlor is poor quality and in dire need of an editor if Type A has any aspirations whatsoever to get it out into the light of day for all to say. But I don’t think the points I mentioned above are faults. In fact, I think they’re strengths to be enjoyed. Hamminess is enjoyable, like the milkshake bit from There Will Be Blood and anything Brian Blessed dips his hands into. Stories are less of a sliding scale and more of sweets bowl with M&Ms, Skittles, and coloured rocks in it; rather than classify an entire one by good or bad, look at the components individually.

Tagged by @raiswanson for ball and stump

Fallen Oak

They both knew this was something different; this was the first time she had called the power to her rather than it just appearing. Freyja sighed deeply and through the shard into the fire. It popped and hissed and was consumed in a ball of green flame.

His face was smeared with ashes, his clothing shredded to ribbons, and his feet looked like swollen black stumps. He stumbled into the throne room like a prophet seized with a vision, stammering madly and taking great lurching steps towards Aisling.

Funny enough, these are both the ONLY instance of either word. 

Also, just for you ;) 

Space Invalids

The Screecher gave its name-sake cry as it pulled itself up onto its stumpy feet and prowled forward with the gait of drunk toddler. It may not have been able to see them, but it had felt their body heat and knew it was being cheated of a meal.

Tagged by @zekethegm for couple and bolt

Ghost and Spectre

I heard a groan come from behind it, and part of me immediately wanted to bolt over to Spectre like she had told me. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even stop her; I could only watch as she walked and her steps seemed to leave little cracks in the pavement.

“Suit yourself—we all die anyway. Makes no difference to me how you choose to do it.” There was a cold certainty to Merlin’s voice, one I had never heard and never would have thought possible coming from my kid brother. But his tone was steel, and that coupled with the rough shape Spectre seemed to be in chilled me.

And it only took my forever to do this, soooooooo let’s tag ya’ll with the word lazy and slow:

Tagged by @raiswanson and @sincerestaffect again. It’s like you guys think I’m a writer or something with all these games. 

The Rules:

1. Post a quote or short excerpt from your early days of writing. (I’m talking old fanfics, slash fics, original fics, etc., that are barely edited and have a ton of technical errors and misspelled words.) This is the cringe part. Don’t edit anything! Let it be horrendous. Don’t Panic.

Oh flipping heck, I forgot about this story. I forgot about this story so hard, but now I remember and I’m dying. This was my first proper novel, where I apparently reached 80,000 words??? what the hell ten-year-old-me??? I’m dying tho. This is from “Legends of Lazlor” about a young warrior who must go around finding five other warriors to hold legendary, elemental swords and stop a bad guy blah blah blah you get it. 

Now to begin my tale we must go to the main gate of the capital city, where we shall find one of the many characters in my tale. This young boy can normally be found daydreaming- what’s his name you ask? His name is Jonathan but we shall call him John. John is about fourteen and has shoulder long blond hair and green eyes with fair skin for he was usually sleeping in the shade. He normally he wore a red tunic with a light blue cloak over that had a golden crown on it. He had leather boots that his mother made and a sword of copper for the hilt and steal for the blade. John is the kind of person who dreams of better things in this case being the best knight in Lazlor and we have found him dreaming just that.

“John, John quick get up buddy it’s me Luke”

“ Luke uh what time is it?” John asked.

“ It’s time for your shift, you know 8:59” replied Luke.

“ WHAT! 8:59 why didn’t you come sooner I can’t get there in 1 minute!” screamed John.

“Well considering the fact it takes half-an-hour to walk over…” Luke was cut off.

“ THAT’S IT! I’ll ride Lightning there!” John was screaming once again when he said that.

“ Man, not even your horse can do that you’ll…” ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.  

“ 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9; 9! I’m late tallyho” and with that John was out the door, in the stables on Lightning bareback screaming

“ HI HO LIGHTNING, GO FOR-OR-ORTH!” and they were of.

“ Good luck buddy you’ll need it.” Luke said with a final look at the clock in the hall. It showed that it would be a fool’s errand, but John always seemed to pull through

2. Post a quote or short excerpt from one of your most recent works/WIPs. Something that you’re proud of. Something that you’ve written that makes you smile when you read it.

**SPOILERS**  K, I’ve definitely stuck this excerpt somewhere else before, but from Fallen Oak, Aisling fighting the Dragon is just forever something I think I’ll be in love with. It reminds me of my favourite kind of stories. **SPOILERS**

She looked up, and the dragon was suddenly before her: it’s eyes glittering, it’s jaw’s spread wide and its wings so monstrously large they blocked the very light from the sky. But she could no longer hear the dragon’s thunderous voice in her head; rather there was silence, much the same as she had felt when Caoimhe had visited her campsite. She could think of nothing and of no one, although she carried the vaguest sense that she had once had a dream which might now aid her. She felt no terror as she gazed up at Nrgwen, the beast who could swallow the world, and she did not think of how strange it was that something so much larger and more powerful than herself should look so very alarmed at her charred body and clumsy little sword raised in the darkness of the dragon’s shadow.

She thought only that if something miraculous could not save her, than something cursed could do no worse.  

 She saw the flashing of dragon fire, but it was dull in comparison to the sudden brilliance of her sword crackling in a great white arc as she drove it heavily into the mountain. There was a great rumbling—one which was not the dragon’s laughter—and the dead earth was suddenly pierced with great splinters of white light which raced up the mountainside like lightning bolts. There was another long, pain-filled moment in which Aisling stood in awe of as the mountain was turning into a spider web and the cracks illuminated the dragon’s silhouette as its mouth fell shut and it stumbled on the shaking ground. Aisling clung to the hilt of the sword with both hands, the scent of burning flesh reaching her distantly, as rocks began to fall all around them and a whirlwind was whipped up by the frenzied flapping of the Nrgwen’s great leathery wings. As the sound of the wind intensified and the rumbling of the mountain shuddering and crumbling all around them grew louder and the dragon’s roar filled the air once more, Aisling shut her eyes tight and focussed only on keeping hold of the sword as the pain from her tight grip on the hilt and the forest burning behind her and the strike of stones from the avalanche threatened to knock her unconscious.

 She heard Nrgwen’s last roar of rage cut unnaturally short before she herself collapsed, drifting blissfully into the arms of unconsciousness to the sound of a sweet voice singing a gentle lullaby.

3. Tag a writer you admire, anyone you think is amazing, new friends, followers, writeblrs, anyone who you’d like to know more about. If you think someone is a great writer and you want to see how they’ve developed their skills, tag them! Everyone started somewhere.

Heeeeeeeeey, look I’m not dead. 

Tagged by @raiswanson and @sincerestaffect, so I’ll give you two!

Let’s pick the two non-main WIPs, since you all have access to the seventh page of Ghost and Spectre in the first chapter here. 

Fallen Oak

“No, Freyja, I could never ask it of you—“

 “I’m offering, my lady!”

 “—and I’m refusing,” Aislingsaid with finality, a funny echo ringing in her ears as she sliced the blade cleanly through her skin. Blood bubbled up immediately, and with her good arm, she pulled back the heavy blanket and let the deep red liquid drip onto the pristine white sheets. When Aisling was satisfied it was enough, she returned to the fire place and allowed Freyja to bandage her while she toasted cheese with her good hand.

Space Invalids

Knees under her chin, she took up maybe less than two square feet of space, and only a few stray strands of hair would have been visible to the outside world. And still the boots stopped, directly in front of her hide place, and the ratty cloth under which she was hidden was pulled away.

She kicked at the stranger’s face, but his hand easily caught her small foot. She twisted away, struggling to get herself upright but knowing there was nowhere to go if she did. So she simply stood up, peering back the man face. Os felt herself shiver as she looked up at him, the warm browns of his skin almost identical in colour to the dark bronze of the metal arm that held her make-shift blanket. He looked at her too, but it was a different kind of look. He did not dwell on the unusual slope of her upper torso as much as he seemed to count the number of ribs visible under the tattered toga-like shirt she had tied with her teeth.

“What is your name?” he asked, speaking low and soft as though she were a frightened animal.

I have only one guess as to what the context of the first excerpt could be and I have an even greater feeling that I’m wrong, but I’d love to know. xP

Guess, and I'll tell you if you're right or not ;)

I should be working on Chapter Nine, but I’m tired and re-reading this fluffy, high-fantasy nonsense instead. 

“It was an awesome thing; men whose faces were more scar than skin cowering at the strike of lightning without a storm. Not that I can blame them; a goddess is a terrible thing to behold.”

“I am not a goddess,” Aisling protested. Garron barked a laugh.