A Fanfic Celebration

It's been a whole month since I posted - and one of the busiest I've ever seen.

You probably remember that I launched my first attempt at NaNo, with not 50, not 30, but 20,000 words as my goal - and just baaaarely squeezed in a win. Not that I stopped there, because the plot decided it wasn't finished with me and I bashed out another 4,414 words. Meaning I have to trim down the draft 4,414 words. I sent out the first draft of it to my readers yesterday evening and am refreshing my inbox obsessively. *cough*

This is a cover I made for my short story. I may or may not have been procrastinating when I made it.

It kind of counts as fanfiction because it's a retelling of Cinderella for this contest: http://anneelisabethstengl.blogspot.com/2013/05/five-glass-slippers-writing-contest.html
Yes, I probably have too much on my plate. Do I care? No.

December is going to be pretty busy too, because I have promised Certain People that the draft of my first novel will be to them by Christmas. So don't expect the posting rate to pick up again right away. I'll be guest posting in a couple places in the near future, though, so look out for that!

As a sort-of celebration of my sort-of return, I'm going to post my very first piece of fanfiction that I wrote for Stacia's contest over at her blog: http://sjaisling.com/2013/07/01/artwriting-contest-when-imaginary-worlds-collide/

Yes, it involves Iri, who is very glad to be back and is already waiting to soak up the fangirls' accolades. It also involves Stacia's character Rykel, of whom I have been a fan for some time.

(That is Stacia's sketch of le Rykelface. Gah, I wish I could draw my characters like that.)

I had the time of my life writing it, nibbling peppermint chocolate in my bedroom floor and toasting my toes in front of a space heater. (To those of you who are inevitably wondering, this falls right after my prologue.)

Without further ado - Iri-Rykel fanfic!

            Iri’s fingernails whitened round the edges of a snow-white scale as his other hand pressed a rag to the rift in his dragon’s colorless hide. A phantom pain throbbed in his left forearm and Snow whimpered, hanging her great head down in a fervent desire to lick the wound. ‘No,’ Iri snapped, glaring up at her.

            She swung away, eyes screwed shut. ‘Iri, it hurts!’

            ‘Be still.’

            Something nagged him about his bad mood. Maybe it was because he wished he hadn’t used his magic up and could heal her instantly instead. Maybe because he’d assassinated a princess yesterday and left her body to rot in that abandoned temple. Or maybe he was just tired from the battle.

            Tiredness. That was it.

            “Sir!”

            Iri turned and felt the swift, immediate movement behind him as Snow pulled the wound out of sight to nurse it. Damon, a fair elf and one of the few other Carseldians in Klista’s service, bowed in deference to Iri’s new status as head of the Riders. A bit of the pleasant glow from his promotion reignited in his tired limbs. He straightened, stretching his cramped fingers. “What is it, Damon?”

            “There is a…stranger at the gates asking to see you. Seems to know you.”

            “I can’t take visitors now.” Iri let his head sag to the side in exasperation. “Besides, practically everyone knows me.”

            Damon’s eyebrows seemed to hunch forward in confusion. “He’s asking quite…forcefully. When the guards apprehended him, he threatened to…blast us. Or something of that nature.”

            “Magic?” Iri scowled, wrapping the bloody rag round his palm. “Is he a Rider?”

            “He – he – doesn’t look like any Rider I’ve ever seen.” Damon glanced down as if to check his information against something and found his empty hands to stare at. “He also mentioned” – his voice fell to a near-whisper – “a world called Earth.”

             Iri tucked his chilled fingers into his palms. Earth.

            He brushed past Damon and strode toward the gate.

            The Riders moving through the courtyard bowed to him, greeting him briefly in the Andunian language, but no one wanted to get in his way. Even the dragons coiled up stray wings and tails from his path.

            He realized at the gates that Damon still trailed him and waved the Rider off with a flick of his fingers. His sword hung on the rack in his rooms – he thought to have no need of it today – but his dagger still sat firm and cool in its sheath against his thigh. His finger arched over the top of the curved pommel, back and forth, as the guards parted at the door of a room adjoining the gates. Usually their captain shared this room with an absurdly small desk, but today an altogether bizarre young man lounged against the edge of said desk, tattoos cascading over his crossed forearms.

            When Iri entered, the stranger flicked a ragged edge of hair out of his eyes and levered to his feet. The guards’ spear shafts clacked together in front of his chest. The stranger lifted a pierced eyebrow. “Tell them to buzz off, would ya?”

            Iri shifted weight from his sore leg, enjoying his advantage a little bit longer and using the delay to study his visitor. The eyebrow wasn’t the only piercing – he had some kind of rings in his ears, though Iri had only ever seen women wear them there – and he wore a curious tunic with ragged tears at the shoulders where the arms should have been. Blocky markings crossed the front of it. Letters, but they spelled no words that he could make out. Ac, dc. Aack duc. Who put words on their clothing, anyway?

            Despite all his oddity, Iri’s first thought was that he knew him.

            His second thought was that he would like to see whether the muscled youth would put his solid-knuckled, calloused hands to good use. The weight of the rank pin at the breast of his uniform checked him. He had responsibility now; he couldn’t start fistfights for no reason. But still…

            Pay attention. Act like the leader you are. “Threats aren’t the best way to put them at ease.”

            The stranger shrugged. “They messed with my Indian.”

            “Your – what?” There went the poise. It reminded him too much of his father, anyway.

            “Oh, don’t tell me.” The young man raked scarred fingers through his mop of overhanging hair. “Dangit. You don’t have those here. Yeah, I know – some of the kids at Poly read fantasy novels. Pretty freaky stuff if you ask me. But I had to get here somehow. Not my fault if you’ve never seen a motorbike before.”

            Iri frowned, curling his first finger round the dagger pommel. Familiar or not, what Iri knew of Earth and the people there gave him more than enough reason to be wary. “Who are you?”

            “Jack Rykel. You can call me Rykel. Now can you tell ‘em to buzz off?”

            Iri hesitated only for a moment. Strangeness aside, this Rykel seemed well-connected to Earth, and ill treatment of a representative could lead nowhere but trouble.

            Besides, he seemed already far too comfortable in a world different from his own, and Iri wanted to see what he thought of dragons.

            “Stand down,” he ordered. The guards lowered their spears, their narrow eyes sharp with interest. Iri shot a smile at his visitor as he turned to the door. “Whatever magic you may have, you’re in the Riders’ headquarters now. Watch what you do.”

            “Dude, it’s not magic,” Rykel said to his back. Iri grinned and led the way out into the courtyard.

            The first dragon they met was relatively small – a blue belonging to an Elvarian desert-dweller named Nyvien – but she was impressive enough as she reared her angular head up out of the recessed pit lined with rushes for padding. The courtyard bustled with dragons and their Riders – larger fighting beasts resting from the takeover three days ago, small couriers coming and going, the two or three broody females rustling their wings protectively over their eggs as others passed.

            Iri glanced back at the stranger sauntering behind him – sauntering truly was the best word – to gauge his reaction. Rykel’s mouth had narrowed to a pucker which presently let out a low whistle. His eyes followed the path of a green courier as she circled the courtyard and dived out of sight behind the walls of the compound. “Don’t have those where I come from.”

            Snow raised her head guiltily when Iri stepped to the top of the recessed pit where she sprawled, her impressive, serpentine bulk set off by the dark rushes patterning the light stone beneath. He jumped to the bottom, turned back to face Rykel, and leaned against her side. She curved slightly to accommodate him, her tail flicking between him and the newcomer, a motion that said mine, mine. Rykel stood at the top of the steps, hands on hips, feet set wide.

            Rykel had the high ground, but Iri had a dragon.

            “So you haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” Iri crossed his arms, letting the weak sunlight glance on his gold armbands.

            Rykel shrugged again and settled into a comfortable crouch, digging a packet of something out of a pocket in his tattered pants. “Your author’s had my info on her laptop for ages.” He methodically placed a slender paper tube between his lips, lit the end of it with an odd blue device, dragged a breath on it, and said in a puff of acrid smoke, “I figured I’d come meet you.”

            “That can’t be the only reason.” Iri tapped his fingernails on the armbands; he knew it was a mannerism most people hated, but it helped him think.

            “No, you’re right.” Rykel rested one elbow on his knee and waved his hand, trailing a streamer of smoke across the watery blue sky. “So I thought I’d do a little snooping while I was here. I have no restraint. It’s a curse.”

            It wasn’t, Iri thought, watching the upward tilt of his square chin, a curse he was particularly eager to remedy.

            “Your author leaves stuff everywhere. Notes, plans, timelines.” He placed the cylinder in his mouth again. The end glowed with fragments of fire. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

            “You don’t want me to decide that you’re wasting my time.” Iri examined his fingernails, blue-crusted as they were with his dragon’s dried blood. “I have an evening scheduled with a courtier who’s a lot prettier than you.”

            “You really don’t listen well.” Rykel bounced once on his toes, his hair flopping up and down again. “Fine. In plain language, I’m trying to warn you.”

            “Warn me?”

            “Whatever you’re doing, believe me, you want to stop.” Rykel’s startlingly blue eyes narrowed for an instant, in something like concern. “I read ahead, man. It doesn’t end well.”

            “And why do you care?” Iri stifled a thought that was beginning to sound a lot like Why would anyone?

            “Because.” Rykel’s knuckles paled on the white cylinder. “You don’t.”

            Iri was suddenly, inexplicably angry. “It’s not as easy as you seem to think,” he snapped.

            “Changing? Oh, I know.” Rykel huffed a short breath and leaned forward so the white letters wrinkled across his chest. “Heck no, it’s not easy.” He rose in a smooth motion, shrugging the shoulders of his odd tunic straight again. “But –”

            “Go back to your own blasted story!” Iri shouted, blind with an anger that struck faster and hotter than lightning. Snow, reacting, rolled half to her feet and hissed a cloud of chill air, ruffling the edges of Rykel’s tattered sleeves.

            “Easy, snowflake, I’m not gonna hurt him,” Rykel said in an offended tone, backing a step. “Gosh, you people take things so seriously.”

            “Take your warnings and your motor-bike and go back to Prolly –”

            “Poly.”

            Iri gritted his teeth. “Wherever you came from!”

            “Dude, I can take a hint.” Rykel raised both hands in surrender. “Don’t overreact, okay? Just – for what it’s worth.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll, uh, see myself out.”

            Iri watched him swagger away, winking at a female Rider who had no idea who he was. His eyes narrowed.

            ‘Iri?’ Snow’s wings spread over the floor, enclosing him in a blanket of warm, scaled leather. ‘Who was that?’

            Iri caressed his dagger hilt. ‘An enemy.’

So, what do you think? Does fanfic suit me? ;) Are you happy to see Iri back, or should I do a different character next time? Who should it be?

Runner-up: Seahorse by Jonathan Garner

The sea, if Jim had to guess, was salty only because the world held so much sadness. Millions of tears fell, running in rivers of sorrow, until all the oceans in the world were salty instead of sweet.

Many of the tears were his.

His daughter had stopped smiling this morning. The doctor said Miri wouldn’t last the day. It was time to say goodbye, but he couldn’t do it yet. He needed to compose himself, and to do that, he had to get away from her and the many seahorse decorations that filled her room.

So he left the cottage and went down to the sea, where his little angel couldn’t see his tears. His wife had long since cried herself dry, but his tears came slower, and he still had a few left.

When the tears were gone, he remained sitting in the sand, staring at the waves crashing onto the beach, thinking. Everything he tried, from dancing about to saying her favorite jokes, had failed to bring a smile to his daughter.

When Miri talked of heaven, the pain left her face, but still no smile came. He wanted to give her one last smile before she left him and went to play on heaven’s beaches, but had no idea how to bring a final ray of joy to her face.

Jim stared into the water, his burning eyes seeing nothing but a blur of green. Then a brown blur got his attention, and he focused on it. A little seahorse swam in a salty wave.

It reminded him of Miri’s room, and that thought caused him to leap to his feet. Miri loved seahorses, and had always dreamed of seeing a real one, but had never got a chance to. She thought she never would.

Praying that he could change that, he ran up the sandy hill to the cottage and grabbed a jar off a windowsill. When he returned to the water, he expected the seahorse to be gone, but it was swimming through a new wave.

He splashed into the water, not caring that his clothes got wet. Dipping the jar into the sea, he pressed it downward until it was filled with water, then moved the mouth towards the seahorse. The little creature avoided his jar during several swipes, but he persisted until it was sucked in and caught.

With a violent splash, he lifted the jar out of the water, holding it up and watching it sparkle in the sun. The seahorse swam around peacefully in the jar, as if content to be in such a tiny sea.

He proceeded carefully out of the water and across the beach, not wanting to accidentally drop the jar and ruin everything. When he reached the cottage, he entered it with his treasure.

As Jim came into his daughter’s room, he saw that her eyes were closed, but her chest was rising and falling. His wife gave him a blank stare that turned quizzical as she saw the jar and his wet clothes.

When the realization of what was in the jar sunk in, a bit of life rushed into her eyes. She gently shook the little angel next to her awake.

Jim knelt next to Miri’s bed, watching the little girl’s eyes slowly come to rest upon the jar.

“Oh, Daddy,” she whispered. “A seahorse.” For one very brief moment, she smiled, and he smiled back.

Hours passed as he held the jar there for her to watch, knowing that his wish would not be granted a second time. Her breathing grew shallower, and her eyes closed, never to open again.

The doctor came and went, confirming what the young couple already knew. When they could no longer look at their daughter, they stared at the jar with the seahorse.

Somehow, even in a salty sea, beautiful things lived. As he and his wife found new tears, he hoped that good would come of these tears as well.

They left the cottage and went down to the edge of the sea. He poured the jar into an incoming wave, watching the little creature swim out into the ocean.

“Farewell,” he whispered.

Find Jonathan Garner at: http://jonathangarner.blogspot.com/



My thoughts:

Overall: 3.5 stars
In hindsight, I'm not sure why this story grabbed me so much. Perhaps it was my mood. Perhaps because I'm discovering how much bittersweet stories please me. Whatever it was, this story has a little something extra, despite its plain exterior. It seemed a shame not to include it, at least in the runners-up. Congrats to the author for creating something I just couldn't let go of.

Concept: 3.5 stars
Kudos, as well, for not cluttering up the story with a lot of other plot points. It's simple, clean, easy to follow. The "sea of sorrow" theme ties in well at the beginning and the end. Again, there are only two names. Jim and Mari. The doctor is not named, neither is the mother. This helps put the focus where it belongs - on a little girl's dying wish.

Plot: 3.5 stars

The arc is one of the most beautiful things about this story. It proceeds exactly as you expect it to. No miracles, no magic, no sudden bursts of inspiration. Yet by the end you're left with a gently unexpected feeling, like the first touch of waves on your toes.

Characters: 2.5 stars

This is one reason this piece didn't place in the top three. The characters needed more filling out, more outward and inward description. Unlike the third-place story, you're not drawn in to Jim's head. He seems merely a vessel from which to observe the events. I realize it's meant to be short, but details as to their personalities, hopes and dreams, biggest fears, could have made it even more potent. Since they're characters in a short story, you can afford to include improbable things (for instance, if Jim was afraid of water, if his daughter hoped to sail a sailboat someday, if his wife had stopped canning when their daughter got sick and he had to scramble to find a jar, et cetera), whereas in real life or in a novel, the characters' personalities and such tend to be more widely spread.

Execution: 3 stars

For the most part, though, I can class this with Grace Pennington's All My Tomorrows and say that the writing doesn't get in the way but lets the story flow naturally. The opening is another of my favorite things about this story. It's personal. It grabs you, but not too hard. It fits the tone and sets the stage very nicely.

Technical: 3.5 stars

Technically, this story is very clean, with well-crafted sentence that vary in length and structure. It didn't require any editing and I commend the author for taking time to make sure it was polished before submitting. This is another story that could have benefited from stronger writing, though. Replacing the weak verbs with stronger ones or using more inventive language would have beefed it up a bit, maybe placed it higher.

I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!

Yes, you heard me. After deliberations and exhortations and affirmations and quite a few confrontations....I am going to the conference.

I never in a million years expected everyone to be so supportive. Nevah-evah. And then things started happening...like my dad never even questioned that I should go, when I expected to have to explain things favorably to him. And it turned out that I wasn't going alone after all. And God kind of intervened.

I debated about posting this here, but I finally decided to. It's an excerpt from a notepad file I spill all my guts into when I feel like I can't hold them in any longer or I'll yell at someone. So I go yell in text. It works.

    So here I am again, because I need to think.
    Play the heroic music. Type whatever comes to mind. I would do this more often, if it didn't depress me so much.
    So. The conference.
    There's so much tied up in it. So many emotions, so much promise.
    There's not really anything to be afraid of. There isn't.
    Oh, that feels good. There's nothing to be afraid of, Elizabeth. E. My beloved.
    Is this my answer?
    Oh, God. Before I even ask. I'm going to cry. Before I can even bring out all my fears, untangle them and leave them in neat piles, You comfort me. I guess You don't need things neat and tidy, do You? Look at me. I'm a mess. And You love me.

That was when I really did start to cry. This is copied directly from that file, where I typed it as it came to me. It's not been touched by my red pen.

        My hands are shaking. I can't see the screen now but I touch-type, instinct guiding me. Instinct. My first instinct was to go. Isn't that what You gave them to me for? Trust your gut. Trust Me.
    My face is slick, tears and sweat. I wipe the dust off my keys in one shaky motion and reach for a kleenex, then almost laugh. I'm out of kleenexes.

    Let not your heart be troubled.
    That sounds like a choice.
    I choose. I choose.
    I choose not to worry about this. I choose to trust.
    What if the peace leaves me? I can remember. I can still remember.
    Even this could be a message. This gift I have for putting things into words, neat black characters across a neat white page, with all my emotions spilled across them like a shimmer you can see if you tilt it the right way. I have a talent. And I'm pretty sure I'm using it right. But this could be - this could be big.
    So.
    A decision here seems so final. I can't write it out. I can't.
    Can't I?
    I'll go.
    I'll go to Realm Makers.
    Don't think about it any more. Don't stew or fret or worry. Dinna fash yourself.
    I'll go.

As for not going alone...not only do I get to go with THIS lovely person (Kaitlyn/Airianna from The Rainbow in the Storm:

But THIS amazing person is coming as well (Meaghan from over at Within the Writer's Wardrobe, formerly from The Patriot's Call)!

So I'm still alternating between terror and feverish excitement, but since it's all set and final now, I'm going to celebrate with my first giveaway. Yes! A real one! With a real book you can hold in your hands! None of that e-book garbage. ;)

Turns out Jeff Gerke is going to be the keynote speaker at said dreaded and highly anticipated conference. In honor, I decided to give away a copy of his writing book, Plot versus Character, sure to appeal to any fellow writer. But this isn't any lazybones giveaway - you'll have to work for it.

I have here a link to a Pinterest board. Not just any Pinterest board - my Pinterest board, with all my writing prompts on it.

To enter, go to the board and choose a picture. It can be anything on the board. You don't even have to follow me (though you might get extra points if you do. Then again, maybe not.) Then write about it. It can be as short as 100 words or as long as 1,000. Even longer if you like. It should be prose, fiction, and can be any genre, as long as it's about that picture. You may enter up to five times, using five different pictures.

Now before you protest that you're not a very good writer, let me say that won't be the only criteria. For the final pick, I will choose three stories I like best - I'll be looking for good writing, good characters, originality, uniqueness, and all that jazz - but I will also randomly pick three stories to go in with them. I will then choose the final winner out of that pool.

But wait! There's more! Each entree will also get a critique from me on an entry of his or her choice, and the three best will have their stories published right here on this blog.

Just send your story/ies and attached picture/s to elizabeth liberty (at) hotmail (dot) com - no spaces - by Friday, August 2nd. Please include "Contest Entry" in your subject line and your name (or pen name) in the email.

I cannot wait to see what you all come up with!

A Knight from Dein - Peter R. Stone: A Review

A Knight From Dein - Peter R. Stone: A Review

 

A Knight from Dein on Amazon

Disclaimer: I was given a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

Overall: 3.5 stars

A Knight From Dein is the story of Carl Hardcourt, native to the island nation of Dein, traveling in the war-torn country of Tenham. Tenham's nobles are struggling against the amaleqhs, a strong but evil race bent on adding Tenham to its conquests. Carl is given the quest of rescuing the Heart of the elves, the Princess Taeisia - betrothed to the amaleqh king - and regaining the support of the elven nation, which is helpless to interfere on the humans' behalf for fear of endangering their Princess. Along the way he meets Ella, an impetuous, revenge-driven half-elven maiden, and learns to trust the Living One for strength and victory.

I found it quite similar to the Kingdom series by Chuck Black, only closer to the Lord of the Rings in scope and slightly better written. I would recommend it for mature pre-teens up to older teens and twenties, for violence and occasional language (which was unexpected but more realistic than a whole cast of unsaved characters who all have clean mouths.)

Concept: 3.5 stars

The concept of this book is a well thought-out and intriguing allegory. Several components are identical to those in our world, such as the Garden of Eden, the Fall of Lucifer, and the death and resurrection of Christ. The new parts fit in well and add to the story instead of detracting from it - the un-fallen elves, the amaleqhs, the Immortal Brotherhood. I support the overtly Christian theme of the book and found it refreshing. The world is meant to co-exist with ours, which makes me feel better about the Christ figure and the original Garden having the same names as ours.

Plot: 4 stars

The plot of this book was mostly what kept me reading it. It is not particularly fast-paced to begin with, but speeds up significantly as it nears the climax. It includes classic elements such as quests, prophecies, princesses, and orc-like creatures, but has enough twists and turns to keep you guessing. It's slightly rambling, but that only resulted in it feeling more like real life than a contrived story out of a can, and in me wishing I had read it in a less extended period of time. I'm sure I would have been able to follow it better if I hadn't set it down for weeks on end, but as I warned the author when he asked me for a review, I am extremely sporadic in my e-book consumption.

I liked the way the author switched between situations to keep up the tension - I nearly groaned in frustration when Carl was thrown in the dwarven dungeon, and then the perspective switched to the Tenhamese holed up in the city of Longford with an army of amalehqs outside their doors. I liked both almost equally well, unlike some books where I want to skip through one part to see what's happening with the character I just left. It might have been better, though, if he had stuck with one or two or even ten characters, instead of head-hopping between characters I didn't know very well, such as Felix, Cosington, and the Princess. I have little room to talk, since I have a total of seventeen perspectives in my novel, but you know.

Characters: 3 stars

The characters are the other reason I kept reading. Ella was my hands-down favorite. She had the clearest arc out of them all and was probably the most relatable. I was also quite interested in how she was going to reconcile herself to being only half-elf and an outcast. Others included the impulsive Terrance, the steady Carl, the ambitious Arno, and the fierce Felix. (Alliteration - how can I resist?)

Carl didn't seem to have a discernible arc, however, besides his growth in power from an emmisary of his father's to a figure of almost legendary proportions. I wished that had been a little clearer. Also, there were so many princes, barons, relatives, and squires that I had a time trying to keep them all straight. When it came to battles, I just gave up and tried to picture what Prince So-And-So was doing with his troops. Again, this might have been helped if I read it in a solid chunk instead of spreading it out over several months, and it didn't hinder me much, so it's not too big a problem. My other problem with the characters was the Princess - she felt a little too perfect. I wish she would have had a weakness so I could identify with her, but she - and most of the other elves, besides Ella - ended up feeling more like gods. Which is a pet peeve of mine - if I could call Tolkien down on this too, I would. xD

Execution: 2 stars

Here is my big beef with this book. The writing most of the time read like a ballad instead of a modern story, with all the demands of relatability and impact hanging over it. It's written in an old style, more like Naomi Novik's Temeraire series, but with less detail, which upset me. I eventually adapted and filled in a good deal of it with my imagination, but all the same I kept feeling like there was something missing. By all means, Mr. Stone, keep your archaic style - don't dumb it down as so many YA books are today - but give it more punch. More sensory input, more slippery fingers and throbbing heads instead of "it gave him a shocking headache" and "causing him to see stars". Don't tell me he saw stars, make me see them. This is what I say to everybody, so don't take it too seriously, but I really felt like if it had been filled in, I would have enjoyed it much more.

Technical: 2.5 stars

This is my other big beef. The multitude of typos, passive tense, and other small grammatical errors had me shaking my head. Practically every time a character was supposed to have spun around, he span. I don't know what that is, but it sounds painful. Also, too many exclamation points. I've been worried that I use too many, but I think I know why editors warn you against them now. By emphasizing so much, very little was actually emphasized. After reading this book, I would like to tell all exclamation-point-users: Throw them away. Take them all out of your prose, at least - if you must use them in dialogue, do so, but find other ways to emphasize. However you can. Just throw them away. xD

In conclusion: An entertaining and refreshing read, with solid characters and a plot epic in its scope, but a few errors to be corrected. If the author was to re-publish or write more, I would encourage him to research the craft of writing further, and hire a proofreader. All the same, it left me smiling.

Also, a sequel about Taeisia would be interesting.

Describing People

A common problem I see in novels is the inability to describe a character so that I can envision them. It's easy enough to imagine and describe a tall, rugged Ranger or a tiny glowing pixie, but when up against the complexities of real people, many authors fall short. This is a collection of tips and tricks I've picked up and learned about describing characters.


Verbs
I once heard verbs described as the engines that drive a story, and this is very true. You have to be choosy when using verbs to describe a person, however. A string of whimsical verbs used to describe a serious character will only make him seem whimsical himself. I like to call verbs in description active description. Rather than using verbs to convey motion and actions, I use verbs to describe things that are usually still. Use carefully chosen verbs to describe physical attributes of the character; rather than "her hair was short" use "her hair swung jauntily at her cheekbones".

Swirling tattoos cover his arms, climbing up from the collar of his shirt to twist around his throat, the ends hidden by his tousled dark hair. I try not to look at him. He could make me happy. ~Bethany Griffin, Masque of the Red Death

Selective Adjectives and Adverbs

There's so much controversy over adjectives. You'd think this would be a simple topic, but the fact is, deciding how much of something is beneficial is almost never simple. You have to factor in the pros, the cons, the way beginners do it, the way the experts do it, and on top of all this is a hearty dollop of conviction that may or may not be misplaced. My personal opinion is that adjectives and adverbs are there to be used. Use them well and sparingly, but use them. I probably use far too many, but I'm still not sure how much that weakens my writing. Adjectives in a character description are almost unavoidable. Still, select them in the same way you would select verbs - spend enough time finding the right ones so that the description is tailored to the character. Another something I've learned is that you should almost never go with the first word that comes to mind. Your brain is lazy, and I can almost guarantee you that with a good thesaurus and a little time, you can find something better.

She's slight and tawny and smooth-skinned, like a nut. An inverted pyramid of hat frames a face effervescent with delight and her tattooed hands cradle a bit of green pulled from the damp Andean soil. Her simple clothes and mud-smudged body all cry I am plain, I am poor but that bright face cries otherwise. ~Me, written just now for this post

Word Choice
Think carefully about the impression you want to convey about the character you're describing. This goes hand in hand with Point of View or POV. Figure out how the POV character talks and thinks and their attitude toward the person being described. For instance, if they're angry at the person or something they're associated with, their view is going to be skewed. Then choose your words accordingly. Also, think about the POV character's level of education and his social class. This should be important in any part of a novel, but it features prominently in the way your POV charrie describes others. My advice for this: get yourself in character (wear a skirt or clutch a dagger if you must) and read it out loud, in your character's voice. Alone, of course.



Movement
Think about the shyest, quietest, sweetest person you've ever met. Think about how they move, how they hold themselves. Now think about another shy, quiet person, but this time they're grumpy and a bit rude. I bet they're much different in the way they walk, their posture, their facial expressions. Even within stereotypes, individual quirks can affect movement, however slightly. Incorporating these subtleties can give insight early on into your character's mood and personality. In the below example, even though there's a lot of motion around Corlath, the motions he makes himself hint that he is a king and will be treated like one.

Harry turned around in time to see the heavy door thrown violently open, so that its hinges protested; and out strode a man dressed in loose white robes, with a scarlet sash around his waist. Several more figures darted out in his wake, and collected around him where he paused on the verandah. He was the axis of a nervous wheel, moving his head slowly to examine the lesser people who turned around him and squeaked at him without daring to come too near...But there was a quivering in the air around him, like the heat haze over the desert, shed from his white sleeves, cast off by the shadows of his scarlet sash. Those who stood near him looked small and pale and vague, while this man was so bright he hurt the eyes.~Robin McKinley, The Blue Sword

Continuity
I think it's happened to all of us - you're reading along, and the author is describing a character. You're nodding, getting it so far, and then the author sticks a pair of lush sideburns on the skinny glasses-wearing nerd. What? you're thinking. Wasn't expecting that. While I think we all know the importance of avoiding stereotypes and cliches, stepping out of them too far can get you a confused blink or two or even than infamous "O.o" look. This also tends to happen with settings in fantasy novels, especially. They just get too weird to be believable, and ever after my image of the place or person is ruined. So when you think you've come up with an interesting twist to add to your barrel-shaped tavern owner or your slip of a violet-eyed girl, run it past some fellow writers too, and see if you get "that look".




Surroundings
Draw attention to the surroundings to reveal character physically by asking "How does the character fit in? How do they stand out?" Using contrast and unity, you can draw very handy parallels between the character and the people around them, the character and the setting, or the character and the emotional atmosphere. For instance, if you set your scene in a room full of throbbing music, flailing bodies, sparkling clothes and spinning light and you throw in a man in a black cloak lurking in the corner, you have an instant image and instant intrigue concerning the character and what he's doing there. Now imagine a fisherman, worn and leathery, his hair bleached by the sun and his clothes full of holes, hauling in rope on a wind-weathered dock. This character fits where he is. He's been shaped by his environment, and that makes a statement. If we can imagine the environment the character fits in, we can see the character. Can you guess which the below example is - contrast or unity?

We got to the dirt road, and there, fifty yards back toward the railroad and headed toward us, was a stalled automobile. While we were looking at it, a chunky little man in a neat, but dust-covered brown suit and a derby hat with the top dented in, crawled out from under it, took one look at us, and began yelling and waving his arms frantically.~Leonard K. Smith, Fourteen-Mile Hike

Comparisons

Metaphors and similes. We all know and love 'em. Similes are my favorites, but I'm going to lump them all together and call them "comparisons" for now. This can tie in to surroundings if you compare the character to items from the setting. For instance, if you have a pale-as-death sorceress in a meadow full of daisies, you could compare her face to the flowers. They're about as different as can be, but it's a strong image because of that. That said, please be careful with your metaphors. Create them with originality and sensibility in mind. Visit The Bookshelf Muse and browse through the colors, textures, and shapes thesauri for some metaphor examples. In the excerpt below, the book is largely about the sea, so the comparison of Kir's face to pearl and foam is yet another touch of that sea.

A ring on his finger held a stone that trembled with the same twilight shadows in his eyes. His brows were dark, slightly slanted over his eyes. The bones of his face made hollows and shadows that seemed, in spite of the hearty sunlight, as pale as pearl, as pale as foam. ~Patricia McKillip, The Changeling Sea

Gradual Reveal
This is a subtle and beautiful way to introduce a character without dumping a bucket of description on the reader. I find that a combination of this and other techniques often works best. Work in details gradually, through dialogue, actions, and word choice (especially word choice, since the fewer words you have, the more they have to count.) In the example below, no description is given of Grandpa Beebe, but I bet by the end of the excerpt you have a pretty clear picture of what he looks like.

Grandpa Beebe squinted at the sun. "It's nigh onto noontide," he said, "and your Grandma is having sixteen head to dinner tomorrow. We got to get back home to Chincoteague right smart quick! I promised to kill some turkeys for her." He sighed heavily. "Seems as if the devil is allus sittin' cross-legged of me."
But he made no move to go. Instead, he squatted down on the beach, muttering, "Don't see why she's got to parboil 'em today." Then he took off his boots and socks and dug his toes in the sand, like fiddler crabs scuttling for home.~Marguerite Henry, Misty of Chincoteague

So tell me. What techniques have you found and learned to introduce your characters?