Editing (Oh how I hate it)

Yes.

You guessed it.

It's editing season. Dreadful, hated, editing season. Well--I correct myself. For the members of the One Year Adventure Novel forums who wish to enter the end-of-year novel contest, it is editing season. I am a member of OYAN, therefore I am in the middle of editing season. And I hate it.

I am currently sitting at the table of one of my dearest friends, typing up a blog post on how much I hate editing while she is plowing her way through my novel, declaring it exciting.

To me, it is an atrocity that should never again see the light of day, but apparently she and several other people have, well, different opinions.

I honestly don't know what makes me think my writing is so terrible. If I look at it subjectively, just as another piece of writing, then it's not so bad after all. The writing is good, decent even.

If I look at it as the author, I hang my head in despair and slam my head against the nearest hard surface. It's awful. My characters are bland, dry, two-dimensional. I hate my novel.

Now, I suppose that at some point I will retract my words of pure hatred and decide I love my novel again; however, that moment is far in my future. So what, you ask, was the point of this blog post? I was merely ranting out my insecurities as an author and offering encouragement to those who are also stuck in the throes of rewriting--you are not alone.

~Mercia Dragonslayer

A Truly Great Story

I read a story today.


It was just an online story, and though it was well over 100,000 words, it was fanfiction. I won't tell you what fandom it was, or where I read it, because that's completely irrelevant. If the author sees this, I think she'll know what I'm talking about.


Dear Fanfiction Author,


I'm Mercia Dragonslayer, and I want to tell you how your story has changed my life.


First of all, I know it's been, literally, YEARS since you finished this, but I ran across it today and read it, and came out sobbing. It is truly magnificent, and I think you did [author] justice.


And I want to thank you, because you've taught me something about stories that I never should have forgotten. Sure, we should strive for entertainment, and fun, and just for the cause of loving to write. We should write for our neighbors to have something to read. Heck, we can even write to become famous and make money, if we want.


But most of all, we should write to move people. We should write to make a difference and change people.


A truly great story will take humanity and twist it, showing the reader his own hateful self. Because, honestly, there is no hope for humanity. We are all so terrible, horrible, hateful, rebellious. Everything that can be done that is evil, we have done it. A good story takes his hopelessness and magnifies it. We look at ourselves, our evil, hated selves, and want to hide away. Tears flow as we realize that all throughout history, people have tried again and again to purge the human race, but have all failed. We cannot make ourselves better. We will fail.


But a truly great story doesn't stop there. It takes the hopelessness of man and shows the light of hope. There is always a ray of hope--Someone watching down on us, who knows of our depravity and wants to make us better. Someone who CAN make us better. A truly great story points us to this Someone, even if it never mentions Him by name.


I don't know if you know Him, but I think that your story points to Him anyway, whether you want it to or not. Because I believe that a truly great story has to point to the Maker and Savior of all things, because otherwise it wouldn't have a purpose.


I don't know if you'll ever get this, but if you do, please let me know. Your story, fanfiction or no, is a truly great story, and it has completely changed my life. Thank you so much for writing it.


~Mercia Dragonslayer

Tribute to Elisabeth Sladen

Today, a wonderful and well-loved actress and writer, Elisabeth Sladen, left this world as a result of cancer. To some, she may just be another name in the sea of those lost to death--but to fans of Doctor Who, she is so much more.


Elisabeth Sladen played the role of Sarah Jane Smith, journalist, in both the old Doctor Who series and the new Who. She stayed alongside the Third Doctor (played by Jon Pertwee) and the Fourth Doctor (played by Tom Baker) for three and a half seasons before signing off. She appeared in several episodes later in the series, as well as a number of audio books.


In 2006, Sladen made a new entrance into the revived Doctor Who series in the episode "School Reunion" with the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant). Following this, she became the star of a show focused around her, the Sarah Jane Adventures, a spin-off of Doctor Who.


And now, I give you a tribute to Elisabeth Sladen, AKA Sarah Jane Smith:


The psychic paper didn't tell him everything. Just three words-- "Sarah Jane Smith." That was all.


The Doctor leaned across the consol and pondered the message. Was Sarah Jane in trouble? Was she happy? Getting married again, for real? Well, only one way to find out. He slammed a lever down and clung to the railing for dear life. The TARDIS spun about the Time Vortex, wheezing and groaning, until she finally settled down with a bump.


"Oi, now, where are we?" He glanced at the video feed on his screen. From the far corner, he could just make out a nice, family home further on down the street. "Perfect! Amy, Rory? Come along, Ponds! I'm taking you to see an old friend of mine!"


Two sets of footsteps clambered down the hall, one of them sounding slightly drunk. "Doctor?" Amy's voice came from the depths of the TARDIS. "What was that?"


"Just landed. Come on!" He straightened his bowtie and opened the TARDIS doors.


They all marched down the street, the Doctor in front, and Amy and Rory poking at each other behind him. The Doctor's hearts fluttered with the prospect of meeting Sarah Jane again. Last time--last time, they had almost died, again. "Now," he said, glancing back at Amy and Rory, "we're going to see a dear friend of mine. Her name is Sarah Jane Smith. She's a journalist."


Amy raised an eyebrow. "Ooo, a journalist? Doctor, you're branching out."


"Amy! It's not like that! It's just that she used to travel with me, that's all. I want to see her again. Been a while." He stopped in front of her house and gazed at the massive number of cars in the driveway. "Does anyone else have a bad feeling about this?"


"What? No, maybe she's having a party," Rory suggested.


"Right." The Doctor scampered up to the front porch and rang the doorbell.


A young man with a tear-stained face answered the door. He stared at the little group for a second, then flung his arms around the Doctor and sobbed. "You came! You came!"


The Doctor paused, gulped. "What's wrong? Luke, would you tell me what's wrong?"


"It's Mum! She died!"


His hearts skipped two beats each. Sarah Jane--no, it couldn't be. "What? No, can't be. That's not--"


Luke grabbed his arm and practically dragged him into the house. There, sitting right in the front room, was a large casket. An open casket.


"Oh, my dear Sarah Jane Smith," the Doctor whispered, approaching the casket. He reached out and touched her cheek. It was cold, so cold, and he felt tears dripping down his own cheeks. "I'm sorry. So sorry."


Without conculting him, his mind launched into a recap of all the adventures they'd had together. His regeneration, the ark in space, Gallifrey, the school... It all came rushing back to him. "Sarah... Sarah..."


He found he couldn't say anything else.


There wasn't anything left to say.

Nick's Blog

One of my dearest friends and adopted siblings, bookwyrmnick (or just Nick!), has a blog! It's called The Bookwyrm's Den. I've copied his very first post, as it explains a bit about his blog.

Welcome to the Bookwyrm’s Den, where I, the Bookwyrm, will share my literary-ness with the world, both my own and my reviews of others’. I don’t talk much, so bear with me if I seem a little a-social.

Not only does Nick share his literary-ness with the world, he also shares book reviews, bits of writing, and more. I urge you to check out his blog!

bookwyrmnick.wordpress.com

Happy reading!

~Mercia Dragonslayer

Forgiven, Love, Revenge

How did you get your novel idea?

This isn't just for all your stories, this is for your NOVEL. THE novel. The one that was inspired by a song or a dream and the one that you obsess over.

This question was posted on the OYAN forums and I answered it with a history of the Fallor/Jeline trilogy.


I have several books I'm in LOVE with. First and foremost (at the moment, mind) is Revenge. But I can't really start with that. Honestly, I can't. I really have to start with Fallor, the hero, because the story has changed so many times that it really just focuses around him.

I first 'came up' with Fallor five years ago, only he wasn't Fallor--he was Robin Hood. I wrote little dabbles of him and his daughter Brinian. They fought magicians, teamed up with sorcerers, went to the Renaissance Festival (twice!), and had various other adventures. Some of them involved Samii's characters, some of them didn't. I actually have a few of those stories lying about... I should find them.


Samii and I then started a story about an elf named Jeline and a thief named Kahil. At some point in the story, Kahil was stumped by Jeline's problem with the EOR and took her to see his cousin... guess who? Robin Hood! Of course, instantaneous romance ensued between Robin and Jeline, and they defeated the EOR and got married at the end. (What can I say? I was 11 at the time!)


I left him alone for a while and moved on to Belerion, Viggo, Mercia, and others. Of course, he was still inside my head and frequently appeared in conversations between Samii and me, and eventually sparked an idea. How in the world did he become an outlaw in the first place? I thought about the traditional Robin Hood, and talked to Samii about it. She yelled at me and told me that he needed a better "outlaw" name. I kept his first name, but changed his Great and Terrible Outlaw Name to the Fox.


THEN I set about writing down Robin's past. His name was Robert Huntingdon the Tenth, a prince of Hareem. His father let him do archery, and he was older than Kahil. Fallor's brother was named Corin, and he had an unmentioned sister... Rayon came with his son Scarlett at one point, and taught Fallor more archery. Then Corin killed their father for no reason, blamed Robin, and Robin ended up in jail. He escaped and robbed people. When he finally met Jeline, they actually threatened each other.


So that was an interesting little short story, and Samii and I continued to write about Robin and Jeline, and their daughter Brinian, in a huge project we called The Brie Saga. I still have all of it lying around on my computer and in notebooks... It's awful, but maybe I'll type it up sometime and read it just for laughs.


Then two summers ago, Samii and I decided to rewrite the initial Robin/Jeline story (originally titled The Adventures of Robin Hood: The Untold Saga). I changed Robin's name to Fallor and we took off, finishing Love in a mere week. I loved it and poured over it with much love. I loved it so much that I ended up writing Fallor's full backstory for NaNoWriMo '09. Surprisingly, it didn't deviate too much from the short story. I changed names, of course, and added a few random things. So that's how Forgiven and Love came about.


Revenge was born right after we finished Love. We had a full page of random notes and we started writing, but only got to about Chapter 7 before we stopped. I picked it up a couple months ago, applied the Snowflake method to it, and came out with the fourth novel I've ever written.


I feel like the ideals and themes in Revenge are ones the whole world needs to hear--revenge never pays. Forgiveness gives freedom. Great love has no man than this--that he lays down his life for his friends. Forgiveness is something I've struggled with forever, and I feel like God is teaching me lessons even as I write and rewrite these novels. They are very special to me and I want to use them to change the world.

~Mercia Dragonslayer 

Song Fiction

Have any of you ever written a 'song story'? I define it as a story that is either based off a song or written in sync with a song, so that what you read fits in with the song as you read it.

Well, I've written one. Several, actually; however, this one goes hand-in-hand with my novel Revenge. Think of this as a deleted scene of sorts from the novel. Don't worry, this isn't how the actual scene works out! This particular part didn't work after I revised my outline, so now it's just a random, useless, depressing short story.

Warning: if you don't like angst, don't read.

For some reason, I'm really, really good at writing angst.

Here is the song that inspired me (Everything by Lifehouse):

He sat in the crotch of his favorite tree, the one where she always sat. The one where she lay now, neither living nor dying. Just waiting. What could he do?

“All of those years… I wish I’d never found her that day,” Fallor muttered. His mind wandered back to the day that he met Jeline—an ambush on a lonely stretch of road. How absurd that he thought her a man, when she could hardly be mistaken for anything other than a girl of nineteen.

What were his first words to her? “I’m so glad you passed by today. We’re sorely in need of winter clothing and I’ve picked you to donate to our treasury for the cause.” Certainly nothing noble, not by any standards.

Then when she’d touched his cheek. She said he looked so much like his cousin. The cousin who died sacrificing himself for them to have a life together someday.

Her beautiful voice clouded his mind. The way she sang, the way she spoke, the way she looked at him when she laughed filled his heart with longing to hear her again. Oh, what he would give for that!

“Jeline, I’ve lost sight of the light,” he whispered. “I’ve fallen into darkness. I can’t take care of you or—or Brie. I’ve failed you as a husband. And as a father.”

You need to save Brie. You haven’t failed her until you let her go. But in order to save her, you have to let Jeline go.

“I can’t!” Fallor kicked at the porch railing and sent one of the spindles flying. “I love Jeline!”

I know you love her. That is why you must save Brinian.

“Will this bring me peace?” Fallor leaned on the railing and rested his head in his hands.

It depends on your definition of peace. Will having the daughter instead of the wife satisfy you? Will you be able to live with the fact that you left your wife to die and went gallavanting off to save a life not worth saving to you? Is it worth the risk of Brinian not surviving the rescue attempt?

“No!” Fallor screamed. The voice mocked him and everything he stood for—his undying love for Jeline, his devotion to her.

He plunged his knife into the wood of the tree supporting his hut. “I won’t leave her! She is too precious to me!”

Precious is relative. No one even knows Jeline is still alive. Your men have all but forgotten her, and some of them don’t even know she exists. But they all know Brie, and they love her. Is it not a better thing to preserve one life for the good of all than to preserve one life for your own selfish purposes?

It wasn’t for selfish reasons, Fallor cried silently. He kept her alive, praying, hanging onto that thread of hope, that he could keep her alive, that his love for her would someday wake her back up.

But she kept him alive. Without her, he had nothing else worth living for.

She was everything.

He remembered the rain pouring down, the way he swept her off her feet and carried her through the downpour. Their special dance, just for them, symbolic of their secret relationship. She thought him so noble then, so big and strong, able to bear her through everything.

What would she think of him now?

And what if she did wake up? How could he stand before her like this, knowing he’d wasted his life away because of her? She would hate him. Any decent human being would.

No, she wouldn’t. She would be disappointed, yes, but she would just gather him into her arms and let him cry out his sorrows to her. She’d understand.

He had let her down. If only he’d been able to protect her, to warn her, to take her with him that day. When he carried her back in his arms, wavering on the brink of death, he couldn’t catch her.

You must save Brie.

She’d always stolen his breath, and now he took hers.

“Jeline…” Fallor collapsed on the porch deck and sobbed into the wooden floorboards. “I can’t believe I let you down… Disappointed… Hurt…”

His hand reached up and yanked his dagger out of the tree. “Maybe it would end if I didn’t live,” he murmured. “Maybe it would be best for everyone.”

You must save Brie.

“No! Jeline…”

Fallor tried to sit up. “Why?” he roared. “Why did this happen to me?”

His cynical, mocking voice remained silent, for once. Maybe it abandoned him same as everyone else did.

Then he knew. He knew what he had to do—he knew what he wanted most.

Fallor flung the dagger across the porch and swung off the platform onto a rope. A light rain fell as he ducked into the stables. His horse nickered to him. With sweat and rainwater trickling down his brow, Fallor dropped the saddle on and fastened the straps. The bridle came next, then he was back out in the pouring rain.

Only one thought ran through his mind when he emerged into the now torrential downpour: Must save Brie.

“Hiyah!” Fallor slammed his heels into the horse’s side. It reared and plunged forward into the dark night.

If he was going to abandon Jeline, might as well make it worthwhile.

My Favorite Equation

Oh, and one more thing: I've come up with the perfect equation.


Mercia + Dragonslayer = MD


M + . + D + . = M.D.


M.D. = doctor


doctor = Doctor


I just now thought of this. Congratulate me on the only spark of brilliance regarding math that I will probably ever have...


~Mercia Dragonslayer