Freedomain Radio

I think my point in my last post was just that you can save yourself from unnecessary criticism.  For example, if you were going to check grammer and remove redundant material anyway, if you do that before posting it publicly, you dont have to hear some jerk on the inet tell you that you might want to do something you were going to do anyway, if that makes sense.  Also, in reference to your next post, I am starting to think that process is the most important part of any creative project, so if it is the actual writing that is difficult for you, it is perhaps due to lack of "exercise" or fear of making mistakes.  If that is accurate, then writing all the time will make those problems go away, even if the content isnt appreciated by other people.  The more important aspect of it is the relationship between you and the writing.  Well, that's my opinion.  I hope you keep working on it.

 I have been, I think, negotiating with my inner critic to allow me to write this novel I'm working in my head.

I've got the characters pealled out, most of the plot and already a few thousand words written down. It is in a very very early stage and you'll find many spelling errors and gramar mistakes. Please put them aside for a while. Focus on what the words produce in your imagination. If I'm able to steal you into this world, I'm satisfied.

Motivation has always been an issue with me, so I chose this novel because it is the closest story that has occured to me to what FDR is about.

It's a Fantasy story about the anarchy of the self in methafofical terms aimed at young adults and teenagers.

I'd like to see churiosity from you, so that I can get to write sooner, instead of sabotagging me at every turn.

Thanks.

 

 

Groolers can’t be Free

By
C. McPheed

Intro.

–
In the lands of Archivento a new cry was carried by the riverwinds. It was a dangerous cry. It was a desperate cry. It was a tremor that broke through the deff ears and absent minds, shaking the very foundations of Grooler society; and every Grook on every island awaited a battle for his life and his reign against his own Groolers.
“Freedom for Groolers,” this cry called, and the ancient veil that protected the darkest magic was ripped away by the angry mob.
Up on a tower over the central castle on the island of Rooland, the most powerful Grook that ever reigned lands touched by the six winds hid away from the wave of anarchy and disolution. His fortress was the last refuge for the old order of things and it was now surrounded by chaos. Its robusts walls were being struck with rage. Its guarded entrance was being forced open with determination. It was only a matter of time before the Groolers reached his study on the top of the tallest tower, overlooking the fury below.
Up on the tower, beyound the spiraling stairs, a small wooden door separated a very lighted room from this dark abyss. A pair of thick darkened hands gripped the screeching door and lowered it to close the only entrance to that upper hideaway. On the other side, the single ocupant of the candle lighted study pulled all kinds of furniture, bookcases and all heavy things he could find to block the single entrance from opening.
The Grook who ruled so many so wise opened his window and allowed the riverwinds to flood his study. His yellowish scrolls, that perfectly had awaited for so long to serve those who seek instructions on forgotten secrets, abandoned nervously their calmness and blew out the window in a rampant rush. The many instruments of mysterious colors and shapes fell to the floor as if asking for forgiveness, knowing in advance the wall of destruction that was coming. His robes threatened to leave him alone to face the danger from below.
A fine dusty trail of white powder trailed the riverwind around the study. The powder was leaking out of one of the small bags the Grook carried under his robe. He reached inside this little bag and pulled out a hanfull of this sparkling powder, sprinkling some over his breath and into the heavy wind.
“My name is lord Theb,” called the Grook with his thundering voice into the tounges of cold air rushing past his cheeks. “This is the story of how our world of peace and order; our world of honor and valor came to an end.”
“May my words reach Grooks in all lands of existance, and help prevent this cronic infection of malignant anarchy from spreding anymore. I will tell you all the wrong we did in the hopes that you don’t do the same. I will show you how it was our love for Groolers that brought us down. I will tell you all the secrets to rule wisely and hapily in a land of savage ideas and twisted warriors.”
“He who walks apart from the path I’m marking is doomed to live a life of mediocre servitude. He who forgets the mistakes comited here is doomed to a rapid decapitation and an abismal fall into darkness.”
“May the riverwinds reach you in time.”

 

Chapter I
The balance of lies.

If only Crystalia had not built the Upwaters accueduct. But one cannot stand in the way of progress. Or can we?

Lord Gromel followed the pace of his host, lord Gronadan. It was all tricky business for him; Gromel could never walk behind Gronadan at any moment. It would look as if he was less than his homologus, and that was unnacceptable for such a keing *** ruler as Gromel. He imagined the rumors that would ignite among the people of Crystalia if they thought that their Grook was more powerful than him. It might make his plans even harder than they were begining to turn.
Gronadan walked a little to the side to a balcony that presented a view of the castle city of Crystalia. It almost took Gromel by surprise and he had to stretch a bit to keep up and not get left behind. Even a simple step behind would send the wrong signal.
The view in front of him was very encouraging. The castle city was a big prize indeed. The protected towers and the entrenched walls were surely as safe as his own most protected secrets. From there any Grook would lead legions of Greelins with the strongest confidence. It was only a shame that it had been so costly to build.
“As you can see,” started Gronadan. “My palace serves as a guardian and an inspiration to the artesans responsible of our biggests accomplishments. All they have built in these hills has been in fact coordinated from my own study, deep inside the castle and far away from any possible distraction. I was able to dedicate my entire being to the developement of this city and our reign.”
Aplauses from their followers interrupted any reactive comment Gromel might have grunted out. He laughed inside, knowing how dumb the Grook Granadan really was. He remembered how he had miscalculated by a tenfold the amount of watercarriges needed to move him and his partty through the city. And how he was unable to even arrange for the airs to be cleared in time for the carriges to fly undisturbed. If simple hosting activities have proven too much for his entire being, how dared him to steel the credits of such magnificent constructions upon himself.
No, Gromel was sure. That wonderous city was built by others.  The high buildings balancing from the sides of the steep hills; the multileveled gardens hanging from long arching bridges; something dangerous and murderous was being cooked among Groolers who could defy convention in such large scales. “Congratulations,” offered Gromel as the small crowd calmed down. He raised his right hand in gesture. “To such magnificent artisans and their good taste and adherence to standards of perfection.”
“Congratulations indeed,” Gronadan responded in kind. “Come with us now, please,” he continued. “I will show you the wonder that allowed all this to be.” He waved the escort of dozens of Greelins and Groolers to follow. They walked through a narrow suspended bridge that hunged from thick rock arches elevated high above their heads. The arches supported a small canal of crystaline waters that ran fast towards the city. The hanging bridge rose over many small houses below, and lead into a thick forest, darkened by its own eternal shadows.
“Behold,” marveled Gronadan gazing at the canal above their heads. “This is our upwaters accueduct. The first ever to be built in all the islands of Archivento and the grandest engineering achievement in Grooler history.”
The water in the canal flew inverted. Instead of falling down, it fell up. The Canal started low and rose as it directly approached the city. The arches were taller and taller one after the other. Gromel could not see the last of them in the far distance and in the middle of Crystalia city.
“Interesting,” said Gromel, after carefuly studing his preferred reaction. He had to tactically choose his every word from then on. The trick was not to appear too impressed by what he saw; but instead to find faults that might break the ilussion of grandeur his counterpart was aiming to create. “And how durable are these arcs? Are you sure these positions are defendable?” He asked. He almost congratulated himself for his cunning words.
Gronadan gave a half smile. It was too obvious for both Grooks that the arches, and much less the accueduct or the pond started, were fatally exposed to any kind of attack. Such a large and fragile structure was almost impossible to defend. But Gronadan was desided to fight tooth and nail to keep his inner thoughts hidden. “They are as strong as we want them to be, of course. And even better. With all that Upwater we collect daily, replacing a fallen arch can be done in minutes.”
Gromel kept his eyes fixed on Gronadan as he spoke. It was clear for him that the terms of the negotiation were already set in those harmless words.
“Please, my friend,” asked Gromel taking evading the confrontation for the moment. “Show me the pond. I’ve been told it’s a magical place where miracles happen.” Gromel separated from his escort with a short wave of his hand. Gronadan followed hin leaving behind his guards and advisors.
The two Grooks walked under the lower archs and narrower path. The noise of the up rushing watter stole the words of the two from the left behind chords ***. Both groups, Gromel escorts and Gronadan advisors and guards, separated and regrouped apart. It was only natural that they held eachothers in contempt.
“Tell me, dear friend. It was not to request my esthetic approval that you asked me to visit your lands.” Gromel looked at Gronadan and gave him a complicit smile.
“Indeed, my young friend. I have much more to offer than a informative walk through marvels, and you are not here in condition of tourist.”
The path took them to a steemy stretch through rocky walls completety covered with a cloud of fine fresh waterdrops. Above wide green leaves of tall trees from below collected and channeled the droplets into many tiny streams that all fell into the stone accueduct. The moist from the droplets made the fabric of the robes both Grooks were wearing lighter. As the robes got wetter, the parts that were not properly held began to rise.
“We should cut to the point,” said Gromel. “Or we’ll end up naked. That will surely spark controversy.”
Gronadan laughed a short and nervous laugh. He was surely taken by surprise.
“I want to offer you a the oportunity of a lifetime,” said Gronadan after he recomposed himself. “I offer to share our technological advancements with your people, for a small price.”
Gromel looked at him defiantly.
Gronadan did not betray his feelings. Instead he pushed his offer a little further. “Imagine being able to use our upwater to lift larger rocks, transport material much farther than you’ve ever done so. Imagine the kinds of constructions you’ll be able to make. You can have your own fortified castle, even bigger than mine. Imagine the fleet of water carriges you can build and command.”
Gromel sharpened his stare. “You’ve grown stupid and careless. You’ve allowed your Groolers to become artisands instead of Greelins. They’ve played in the sand for too long and now you’re left with a city full of week dreamers. Without Greelins to protect your wonders, your city will soon fall upon the might of an invading army. I’m sure the Grook from the island of Rooland is preparing right now plans to take over your precious castle.”
Gronadan did not change his expression. Instead he reached into an upfalling stream of upwater and dipped his hand. When he brought it out, he watched the drops racing up his fingers and jumping up from the tips.
Gromel ignored Gronadan’s actions. “Your spies have probably told you already that the troops are on their way and you’ve brought me here in hopes that you get my Greelins to protect you.” Gromel paused to let his words sink.
“Of course you are prepared to offer me all kinds of treassures to get me to risk my Greelins for your upwaters. I will only listen to your best offer. Do not waste my time anymore.”
Gromel waited motionless for a reaction from Gronadan. He had played most of his cards in that bold move and he now was running the great risk of having insulted the Grook of a reign beyond wat was tolerable for his self-respect. After all, he was a guest in his lands and as such could be eliminated in thousands of excusable ways.
“You are brave indeed, young Grook. I don’t want to waste time in answering your insolence in kind. I am prepared to offer you ownership of a third of all the upwater our accueduct brings to our city, plus we’ll share all technilogical advancements our people have come up with. Soon you’ll be able to build your own upwater accueduct in your own reign of Sandanaelia.”
“In exchange for?”
“Half your Greelins, armed, trained and fed. Plus you incorporate my generals into the command line.”
“Impossible,” answered Gromel. “Half my Greelings, alright, but command lines intact. You provide carriges and feed them. I’ll train. I also want my own tower.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gronadan enraged. “You want my castle? Are you insane?”
“I don’t want your castle. Just one of the towers. I want to also be able to separate and consentrate my entire being in protecting your reign.”
“For how long?” asked Gronadan after a long pause and now less agitated.
“You tell me,” replied Gromel. He gave Gronadan a second to show hesitation if he felt it, and then extended his darkened clawlike hand. “For as long as there is a threat,” proposed Gromel.
Gronadan pulled his hand towards him and held his shoulders. He brought his cheeks together. “If you ever cross me...” he wispered into his ears.
Gronadan stepped back and let go after a few seconds of eye to eye examination.
Gromel did his best to hide his emotions as far as he could. He was not sure that Gronadan could not read his eyes as well as he was reading his. “You should let my group come in. I want to tell them of our arrangement as soon as possible.”
“I should do the same. We do not have much time to waste. You’ll have the privacy you require here.”
“I’m sure of that,” replied Gromel.
Gronadan walked back through the passage and the hanging bridge. The moist soon made him fade into a shapeless moving stain.
He did as he told he would.  The entire escort from Sandanaelia walked along the passage towards Gromel. Not a single Greelin from the personal Grook guard Gronadan had carried followed them here.
“Follow me into this chamber,” ordered Gromel keeping his tone low. “I need you to keep your voice down. The waters will hide our words, but riverwinds might rush by unanounced. I have a big anouncement to make.”
One of the Groolers from the escort, an old wrinkled Grooler in his last years, leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratial tone. “What did he offer?”
“Old man,” replied Gromel. “Are you not going to ask me for what he wanted?”
“That is itself obvious, my lord. There are not enough Greelins around to hold claim of this city. Most Groolers here just want to build and trade. Our army is many times larger, and that is exactly what he needs. So the question is what are we to gain?”
“You are correct Reporos. I noticed that myself as we were paraded around the city. And Gronadan was prepared to offer half of his reign for half of our troops. But that is not enough.”
“A Grook who allows cowardice to fool the hearts of his Groolers; a Grook who endangers the future for the confort of the present; a Grook who consedes his participation in the destiny of his raigh to poets and dreamers cannot be permited to reign.”
“One week from now we begin the invasion. I will hunt myself a Grook for dinner that day. We’ll go back to our reign to inform our people of the danger of invasion from Rooland these people of Crystalia face. This will let us mobilize two thirds of our Greelins without raising suspission.”
“We’ll then bring the entire might of our corageous forces upon this disordered place. We’ll make order out of chaos. And we’ll stop this cancer of modernity from jeperdizing the future of our lands.”
The Groolers present wanted to cheer in exitement. Many of them would see their imediate spheres of influence doubled inmediately if Crystalia was counquered by their Grook. Others would benefit from controling Crystalian inventions. Everyone had more than enough powerful reasons to stand behind an invasion. Even if Gromel himself backed down from his position then, the momentum the ambition was creating in the hearts of these powerful Groolers was enough to drive the machine of war.
Once these wheels start turning, only death allows an end.

 

 

 

Hey Victor. I can empathize with you greatly with the woes of writing - and wanting to. I don't particularly like writing, but I love telling stories. I wish writing gave me instant pleasure and I could just relax and let it spill - but its not like that at all for me, and it can be aggravating and instill quite a bit of anxiety.

I think whats gotten me as far as I have, and has made the experience much more enjoyable - is to be realistic, in all aspects of the game.

I write to tell stories - and I like to tell my stories to people, and hey, if I am going to put this much effort and passion into it - I wanna get paid one day! If I simply wrote for myself well, I wouldn't write a word. Id be more than satisfied with the imagery in my head. That's the first thing I had to admit - I am writing for other people. The second was to identify my innate strengths - what are you already skilled at? Plotting, building suspense, imagery, invoking emotion ? This is also crucial in identifying your weaknesses.

Usually I'd say the part of story telling you enjoy the most is probably what your best at. I happen to be good at plotting and sequencing. My weakness is sitting still and writing the damn story.  I've come to enjoy it a lot more tho as my skills increase and I find different ways that make the job easier and more fluid. I find orating the story is easier for me then sitting and writing. I can go faster - and I am less prone to try and edit what I've just wrote. When I go to rewrite from the recorder - its more pleasurable, I don't get writers block and I can be more colorful.

Anyway - I found that for me, I had to have a story worth telling, something I just knew would be successful. Now, I obviously don't or couldn't know such a thing, but I felt I had to be utterly convinced regardless. Once I stumbled on that "great idea" I started flushing it out - the theme, the plot, the universe, and I really tried to sum it up as best as possible to myself. Then I started bouncing the idea off of people I could trust to be honest with me, and whose opinions I respected. I got enough good and motivating responses that greatly helped with my dedication to the story and my motivation and passion in writing it. Soon enough you just know you have to.

Anyway - do I want to be a full time writer? As long as I have a good enough story to tell. Writing just to write sucks for me otherwise and I rather do many other things instead.

Also, on an ending note, It isn't about whether you can do it. You can, anyone who as an ounce of decent self-criticism and can look at their work and progress objectively. The fulcrum of writing is believing enough in what you have to say and the story you have to tell. Writing CAN be learned, it can be mastered by anyone with the patience and perseverance to hone and perfect the quality of there writing.

Hoped that help - I used to doubt myself at first to. Now - I am on a mission and there's no turning back, and I feel great. Good luck ! If you ever want to chat, let me know.

 

 

 

Thanks. That is great advise. In a way, that describes much of what goes on in my head as well. I too am very skilled in ploting and now, thanks to FDR, in fleshing out characters. My problem is in writing th damn thing. First you've got the challenges of the language, the constant compulsion to edit as you go, and the self-critic always complaining of the worth of what you're doing.

I too think that the story has to be very good and meaningful for me to want to write it. And I'm sure that it needs to be bounced off a couple of people you trust in order to get the relative worth of it and some encouragement. I guess that's why I'm posting on the board.

I won't quit this time. I'll write this one. I need to know if I can, if it's any good. I need to get this out of me, so I can move on. I was writing the other one, Tim Lockheed, but quit when I realized its message was not powerful enough. this time I think I have something positive to share with the world, I've put time into what I think is an exiting plot, and think the universe is unique.

If I could just write daily a few hours a day, I would get it done in a couple of months.

thanks for your words. I'd love to chat sometime.

Victor:

 

Thanks. That is great advise. In a way, that describes much of what goes on in my head as well. I too am very skilled in ploting and now, thanks to FDR, in fleshing out characters. My problem is in writing th damn thing. First you've got the challenges of the language, the constant compulsion to edit as you go, and the self-critic always complaining of the worth of what you're doing.

I too think that the story has to be very good and meaningful for me to want to write it. And I'm sure that it needs to be bounced off a couple of people you trust in order to get the relative worth of it and some encouragement. I guess that's why I'm posting on the board.

I won't quit this time. I'll write this one. I need to know if I can, if it's any good. I need to get this out of me, so I can move on. I was writing the other one, Tim Lockheed, but quit when I realized its message was not powerful enough. this time I think I have something positive to share with the world, I've put time into what I think is an exiting plot, and think the universe is unique.

If I could just write daily a few hours a day, I would get it done in a couple of months.

thanks for your words. I'd love to chat sometime.

I think it's extremely cool that you're attempting to write solely in a second language, and I'm insanely jealous of your ability to do so.  (I'm having a hell of a time writing in Japanese, even though speaking and translating from Japanese are no problem...)

That said, I think the part I highlighted is an irrational worry, given your situation.  Unless you live for decades in an English speaking country, you will always have mistakes in your language, and maybe you'll have the same problems even if you DO live in an English speaking environment for the rest of your life.  It's just the nature of second language.  That said, even English authors have independent editors, and an editor could easily fix the language mistakes you make.

Anyhow, I extremely enjoyed the first part of this fantasy and look forward to how it turns out.

nexalacer:

Anyhow, I extremely enjoyed the first part of this fantasy and look forward to how it turns out.

 

 Ok, Nexalacer.. I'll put it in simple terms. Would you like to work with me on this or any other projects? I don't think I can do it alone. Would you be interested in co-authoring?

This goes out to the entire comunity. I've got many ideas and like to write, but I know it is hard to get published and even harder when you do not own the language.

If anybody has published anything and feels like we can get to have something good and positive out there, please let me know.

THanks.