Saturday, October 31, 2020
Essentials of Worldbuilding
Readers will judge your story largely on aesthetics. First they will consider how many apostrophes your names have, and second they will judge how cool your mages are when they cast spells. Wands are mega dorky, fit only for schoolchildren, which makes them the best choice for 96% of fantasy and 134% of YA fantasy. Staves are for old people, suitable for elderly mentors. Using your hands alone or creating luminescent magic circles out of nothing is what brash go-getters do. Using your mind or internal magical processes makes an adaptation less appealing. Casting from a big book is the ultimate in arcane coolness. Bookmark this post and keep it in mind when sculpting your setting.
Friday, October 30, 2020
History of Science Fiction
Some time ago somebody told a story that was not, strictly speaking, true in space. And thus science fiction was born.
Thursday, October 29, 2020
The History of Fantasy
Some time ago somebody told a story that was not, strictly speaking, true. And thus fantasy was born.
Wednesday, October 28, 2020
Industry Trends
Watch out for product placement in fantasy literature. Soon some enterprising author will put the Fanta in fantasy and reap the rewards.
Monday, October 26, 2020
Fonts of Creativity
Wowee! What a story! It was so compelling that there is no chance the author just wanted to use the word "squamous!"
When writers are asked how they come up with ideas for stories, remember that they are lying.
When writers are asked how they come up with ideas for stories, remember that they are lying.
Sunday, October 25, 2020
The King and the Count
Anyone could tell you the feats of Prince Ulrich, so today I will speak of what fewer know, which is the origin of his armor that is unlike any other.
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that was fair, but not fair enough for its king's liking, who was always thinking how to make it better for himself and his people. When he realized what was needed was a pond, there was nothing more to do than to command his knight Manfred to fetch him one.
That knight ran to the nearest lake, which was quite far away, and drank up as much as he could. You would think me a liar if I said he drank the whole thing up, for this was generations after there were men capable of that, and indeed he only lowered the water in the lake by a foot or so. Then he ran back, sloshing all the way, one gauntlet over his mouth.
He reached the spot without losing too much of the water and spat it into the hole the king had ordered dug, filling it up as pretty as you please and forming just the sort of pond the king wanted.
The king discovered then that Manfred had gone beyond his orders and brought a guest. A single fish flew out of his mouth into the pond, and it had something to say about it. "Hey, is this courtesy? Is this manners? I was swimming along as nature insists I do, and now where am I?"
No one stays a king by being surprised, and so King Rudolph answered him straightaway. "Your pardon, but my kingdom must have a pond. I know you will agree with me about the importance of water! A pond is hard to praise without fish, and here you are, so how about this? Be my own fish and nobody else's, and I will make you the count of this pond and put the fish I acquire later under your administration."
That was as fine an offer as any fish ever had, and that fish (whose name was Ortolf) agreed to it. You will think he regretted submitting too hastily and surrendering himself to another, but you live today while this was long ago. King Rudolph kept his count in honor without the slightest breach and found him many subjects of his own, and a wife as well who was from good stock as fish reckon these things. Nor was there a truer vassal than Count Ortolf.
They dwelt there many years, the king in his castle and the count in his pond, until age afflicted Ortolf more than he could withstand for long. He did not despair at it though, for in those days men and fish did right while they were healthy and not only on their death beds in hope of escaping what they had earned for themselves. He requested a final audience with the king and was granted it, whereupon he said, "Your son has grown old enough that he should have good armor. Take these my scales and cover him in them, and the results will be to your liking."
That is just what the king did, and the squamous armor was the finest made in that age. Over the years it was worn by many owners, and now Prince Ulrich has it.
Finis
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that was fair, but not fair enough for its king's liking, who was always thinking how to make it better for himself and his people. When he realized what was needed was a pond, there was nothing more to do than to command his knight Manfred to fetch him one.
That knight ran to the nearest lake, which was quite far away, and drank up as much as he could. You would think me a liar if I said he drank the whole thing up, for this was generations after there were men capable of that, and indeed he only lowered the water in the lake by a foot or so. Then he ran back, sloshing all the way, one gauntlet over his mouth.
He reached the spot without losing too much of the water and spat it into the hole the king had ordered dug, filling it up as pretty as you please and forming just the sort of pond the king wanted.
The king discovered then that Manfred had gone beyond his orders and brought a guest. A single fish flew out of his mouth into the pond, and it had something to say about it. "Hey, is this courtesy? Is this manners? I was swimming along as nature insists I do, and now where am I?"
No one stays a king by being surprised, and so King Rudolph answered him straightaway. "Your pardon, but my kingdom must have a pond. I know you will agree with me about the importance of water! A pond is hard to praise without fish, and here you are, so how about this? Be my own fish and nobody else's, and I will make you the count of this pond and put the fish I acquire later under your administration."
That was as fine an offer as any fish ever had, and that fish (whose name was Ortolf) agreed to it. You will think he regretted submitting too hastily and surrendering himself to another, but you live today while this was long ago. King Rudolph kept his count in honor without the slightest breach and found him many subjects of his own, and a wife as well who was from good stock as fish reckon these things. Nor was there a truer vassal than Count Ortolf.
They dwelt there many years, the king in his castle and the count in his pond, until age afflicted Ortolf more than he could withstand for long. He did not despair at it though, for in those days men and fish did right while they were healthy and not only on their death beds in hope of escaping what they had earned for themselves. He requested a final audience with the king and was granted it, whereupon he said, "Your son has grown old enough that he should have good armor. Take these my scales and cover him in them, and the results will be to your liking."
That is just what the king did, and the squamous armor was the finest made in that age. Over the years it was worn by many owners, and now Prince Ulrich has it.
Finis
Saturday, October 24, 2020
Thursday, October 22, 2020
The Definition of Science Fiction
It's a neverending argument. On the one side are people who say science fiction must be about exploring the social ramifications of plausible technologies (certainly not faster than light travel). On the other side is every scifi story ever written.
Wednesday, October 21, 2020
Spooky Fantasy Story
Once there was a fantasy series . . . that wasn't finished! Boo!
My apologies if anyone out there got a little too spooked.
My apologies if anyone out there got a little too spooked.
Tuesday, October 20, 2020
Monday, October 19, 2020
Timeliness Is Next to Godliness
Spring palace? Shouldn't that have taken place in the spooky autumn palace? Well, mistakes made are lessons learned.
Let's pretend all those characters were ghosts. Woooooo!
Let's pretend all those characters were ghosts. Woooooo!
Sunday, October 18, 2020
A Scene From The Spring Palace
The servants strained their limbs and heaved while the mayor of the palace berated them with all the bitter obloquy he knew he deserved himself. The great table had arrived months ago, and the message the Emperor sent along with it was quite clear that he preferred it to the old furniture. But the Emperor was not in residence at the spring palace, and there was always some other business that needed doing. Something more urgent and less heavy. Now the Emperor was on his way, making the matter as urgent as could be but not at all lighter.
"Put your backs into it! Are you men?"
"Perhaps men aren't enough." The far door swung open and Emperor Parevo strode in, shaking the ground and stirring the wind with every step. His golden mane, for you could not call it hair as if it were something any man might grow, and his starlike eyes presented all the wonders of the sky found in both day and night so that you would think you sported alongside the gods above if you saw him in person. "Step back, men." He grabbed the table with one hand and swung it while the servants scattered to all corners. Without measuring he set it down in the middle of the room, not an inch closer to one wall than another.
"Amazing! How can you be so strong?" one of the attendants blurted out.
"I'll tell you while the mayor fetches our lunch, little page. I expect him to be slow with it as usual." The Emperor picked up one chair lined up against the wall after another and tossed them over to the table, evenly spaced and ready for use. "Sit down and listen.
"It was after we won past the Unyielding Guardian God, my companions and I. Ammael who is now a bishop, Ronilo who is known as the Spice King for the way he won more wealth than any other man, and Vasas they call the Sybarite because his hedonism is unrivaled. We defeated the Guardian God and penetrated the Ethereal Veil where we found a road that split into four.
"The Unknown Guide that appears when and where he will, his motives known not even to me, met us there and told us the branches before us were the Path of Pleasure, the Path of Wealth, the Path of Power, and the Path of Hardship. My companions took the other three while I alone trod the fourth."
The listeners marveled and asked why he chose the Path of Hardship and how it led him to the sovereignty and excellence he had.
"You think you ask two questions, but there is only one answer: Because it gave the most XP."
"Put your backs into it! Are you men?"
"Perhaps men aren't enough." The far door swung open and Emperor Parevo strode in, shaking the ground and stirring the wind with every step. His golden mane, for you could not call it hair as if it were something any man might grow, and his starlike eyes presented all the wonders of the sky found in both day and night so that you would think you sported alongside the gods above if you saw him in person. "Step back, men." He grabbed the table with one hand and swung it while the servants scattered to all corners. Without measuring he set it down in the middle of the room, not an inch closer to one wall than another.
"Amazing! How can you be so strong?" one of the attendants blurted out.
"I'll tell you while the mayor fetches our lunch, little page. I expect him to be slow with it as usual." The Emperor picked up one chair lined up against the wall after another and tossed them over to the table, evenly spaced and ready for use. "Sit down and listen.
"It was after we won past the Unyielding Guardian God, my companions and I. Ammael who is now a bishop, Ronilo who is known as the Spice King for the way he won more wealth than any other man, and Vasas they call the Sybarite because his hedonism is unrivaled. We defeated the Guardian God and penetrated the Ethereal Veil where we found a road that split into four.
"The Unknown Guide that appears when and where he will, his motives known not even to me, met us there and told us the branches before us were the Path of Pleasure, the Path of Wealth, the Path of Power, and the Path of Hardship. My companions took the other three while I alone trod the fourth."
The listeners marveled and asked why he chose the Path of Hardship and how it led him to the sovereignty and excellence he had.
"You think you ask two questions, but there is only one answer: Because it gave the most XP."
Saturday, October 17, 2020
Friday, October 16, 2020
The Three Laws of Speculative Fiction
I. Scifi and fantasy are the same guy wearing different clothes.
II. The clothes make the man.
III. Man is a feeling creature, and because of it, the greatest in the universe.
II. The clothes make the man.
III. Man is a feeling creature, and because of it, the greatest in the universe.
Thursday, October 15, 2020
The Next Step Forward
Now we need to develp prenatal fantasy to prepare the population for a lifetime of reading wizard books.
It's just a guy saying, "Don't expect too much," over and over.
It's just a guy saying, "Don't expect too much," over and over.
Wednesday, October 14, 2020
Tuesday, October 13, 2020
Monday, October 12, 2020
The Judgment of the Ages
Wow! What a story! I didn't see that coming! My favorite character is that one, you know the one, I don't have to say the name.
Looking back, it's a little mean to rodents. I bet the author sure hopes those experiments to give rodents super intelligence don't pan out. An author's reputation depends on nothing other than fickle fate, it seems.
Looking back, it's a little mean to rodents. I bet the author sure hopes those experiments to give rodents super intelligence don't pan out. An author's reputation depends on nothing other than fickle fate, it seems.
Sunday, October 11, 2020
The Lunar Classic (Back Half)
The story so far
At last the lake shore presented itself and the travellers disembarked. The great plains before them extended beyond human vision, but there were no hippogriffs or seagulls dancing in the sky, nor were elephants or rabbits gallivanting across fields of cotton. Instead a tornado raged over the plains like a lion no one dares to approach, prowling where he likes and causing lesser animals to scatter in all directions.
"By the shaking earth! It's some sort of moon hurricane!" Gerald was awestruck.
"There are tornadoes on Earth, you know. Ah, never mind," Varney said. "Anyway, it's a shame the giants let another one get out. You can't pass through until they recover it. Cut left here and you can make it to the Lunar Classic before they run out of balloons."
"Where are the giants?"
"They live on Cloud Peak, of course. You can see it over to the right. No human would dare go there. The steps to the top are too big, for one thing." Varney's words were striking Gerald's back. "Don't fishermen know anything? All right, fine." The pair proceeded to the single mountain rising out of the sprawling plain.
A long flight of steps was carved out of the very mountain. The steps were indeed deeper than any humans used. Gerald had to raise his knees almost to his waist to clear them. "This is a little tiring, but I was expecting worse," he said.
"Hrrrrrwwew," Varney said.
"You seem to be having a little trouble."
"Playwrights." Varney cleared another step. "Don't get much." One more. "Exercise as a rule."
They climbed for hours and then for hours more. At last they neared the summit and saw the workshop of the cloud giants. Rain and snow were being stuffed into cotton clumps and formed into shapes, lightning bugs were having their milk poured into long, branching molds, and winds spun from potter's wheels were stored in huge sacks.
"I'm a little hesitant," Gerald said. "They're so giant."
"You should have acclimated yourself to that fact on your way up those huge steps," Varney said. "I won't blame you if you turn back now, though."
"Hey! You!" a voice roared.
"Never mind," said Varney.
A giant strode toward the pair. "Sorry guys! Usually we have tours going on, but everybody's putting the old nose to the grinder so we can get everything done before the Lunar Classic ends! Hope you understand!"
"Oh, that's too bad," Gerald said. "I wanted to see how you deal with moon hurricanes."
"Huh! I've never heard of a moon hurricane, and I've been the foreman here for centuries!"
"He means a tornado. It looks like one got free while you were working so feverishly," Varney said.
"Whoops! That's too bad! No time to deal with it now, though!"
"You know, the tornado is on the way to the Serene Plains," Varney said.
"On second thought, I'd better take care of it right away!" the foreman said.
"You'll need some help for this job!" another giant said
"I hate to leave things here, but I'd better go too!" chimed in another. Soon enough, the entire peak was divested of giants.
Gerald and Varney descended, fully expecting the tornado to be gone by the time they reached the plain.
"It's still there, Mr. Varney."
"So it seems."
"They went to watch the championship, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"I guess we can just follow their footprints."
"That's the way. We'll be eating cotton candy in no time."
The giant tracks led over hill and crater past grazing gray giraffes and cotton tree branches waving in the wind. The ground between the plains was uneven, but a relief compared to the hardships of Cloud Peak. Finally Gerald and Varney reached the Serene Plains, which were festooned with tents and booths and tables and stalls, banners and pennants and big pointing fingers. Around the playing field itself were rows and rows of stands where even rabbits and foxes sat cheek by jowl, to say nothing of the other lunar denizens.
"It seems very festive," Gerald said.
"Naturally. The contest between the Silvers and Grays has been going on for three days now. The score is 0-0, the most thrilling score of all. Excitement is at its peak. The coaches are wracking their tiny brains to claim some advantage. In fact, there's the Silver coach right over there." Varney pointed out a beaver wearing a silver cap belonging to the Silvers. "How's it going, Spurius?"
"Criminy! A human!" The beaver's nose twitched. "How would you fellas like to be athletes?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Varney said. "I'm a playwright. My friend here will be glad to win the championship for you if you get us two bicycles afterwards, though."
"I will?"
"You will. What do you have to say about that, Spurius?"
"You're a real shrewd negotiator. It's a deal." He held out his tiny hand for Varney to shake. Gerald was not invited.
"I don't even know the rules," Gerald said, picking at his hurriedly resized Silver jersey.
"Here's how you play: Take the ball, run with the ball to the other side, and don't drop the ball," Varney explained.
"That seems too simple."
"This is a sport for rodents. What do you expect? Now get out there and win one for your village. I don't know your village's name, so I'll make one up. Placidshore."
"That's nicer than its real name."
"If you succeed, maybe they'll let you change it. So get out there and hustle."
"Yeah!"
The 478th Lunar Classic was one to remember. Two evenly matched teams struggled for days until a last-minute roster change broke the game wide open. Silver's new star athlete proved all but impossible to tackle despite the best efforts of Gray's league-leading defense. His speed was unmatchable since he could hold the ball in limbs dedicated to the purpose, leaving his legs free to run at full tilt. Worst of all, he was unfazed by the hitherto unbeatable technique that had brought both teams to the championship and kept the score to 0-0: Tossing around nuts and shiny objects to distract the players. In the end, the Silvers took the trophy 35-0.
"That was a great job you did out there, great hustle," Spurius said. "What would it take to sign you for next season?"
"Uh, well, I won't be on the moon that long, I hope," Gerald said.
"That's a real shame. I've got your bicycles right here, and look me up if you ever change your mind. Don't talk to the Grays, they're no good."
"I'll remember that. Goodbye, coach."
"Yes, goodbye, Spurius," Varney said.
"Oh, Mr. Varney. Where have you been?" Gerald asked.
"Collecting my winnings, of course. The palace is that way."
Off they rode toward the conclusion of Gerald's mission.
The Serene Plains went on for a good distance but at last gave way to low hills and shallow craters. Gerald and Varney rode among them until Varney indicated a crater of interest.
Indeed, at the bottom of the crater was a palace that matched the stories Gerald heard, with scenes of gods, nymphs, and dolphins carved into its walls and gardens of coral surrounding it.
"I can't believe I made it," Gerald said. "But shouldn't there be servants and courtiers around? It seems deserted."
"Be reasonable. The palace isn't underwater. Are you trying to kill the staff just so you have someone to announce you?"
"Oh no, not at all. I'm very sorry. I'll just let myself in." As Gerald was opening the door, however, he stopped. "Wait, then how is there coral here?"
"It's artificial coral made for decorative purposes. Now go in," Varney pushed Gerald inside. The rooms were decorated with statues and paintings that depicted not only objects of maritime interest but also cities, forests, fields, and even strange landscapes such as Gerald had never seen before. He had little time to marvel, however, because Varney kept prodding him through the palace until they reached a room strewn with gold, silver, gems, vases, plates, coins, and knicknacks.
Varney tossed a clinking bag on the floor. "All right, now let's see what I can do for you," he said as he reached into a pile. He pulled out a small fish carved from gold and held it out to Gerald. "This will attract fish. Simply drop it in the sea where your village fishes."
"I can't just take the god's treasure while he's not around. There are so many stories about that kind of thing. And how do you know what it does anyway, Mr. Varney?"
"Stop trying to embarrass fishermen everywhere, Gerald. I am the god of the sea, and I am granting your request because you won me so much money at the Lunar Classic. My gratitude is tempered by the trouble I had getting you there in the first place, but that's water under the bridge."
"Really? Thank you, uh, Your Holiness. Hey, why didn't you just win the game by yourself?"
"That would be cheating. There's no cheating on the moon."
"That makes sense," Gerald said. "It's a shame, though. I was going to try to see one of Mr. Varney's plays when I got back."
"When did I say I wasn't Varney, the universally acclaimed playwright? You should definitely watch all my plays. After all that culture and sophistication, you'll feel like a whole new man. In any case, it's time for you to go home." Varney grabbed Gerald's shirt and lifted him up in the air with one hand. He carried the fisherman outside and pointed out a blue and green orb in the sky. "Take a good look," he said before rearing back and flinging Gerald into the star-studded sky. "And have a nice trip!" he shouted at the rapidly retreating fisherman.
"So we just have to drop this fish in the water," Gerald explained. "Also he said Placidshore would be a good name for the village."
"That all sounds fine," the chief said. "We were going to name it Geraldtown, but none of us really wanted to. We must thank the god for this blessing as well."
"Darn," Gerald said.
The End
At last the lake shore presented itself and the travellers disembarked. The great plains before them extended beyond human vision, but there were no hippogriffs or seagulls dancing in the sky, nor were elephants or rabbits gallivanting across fields of cotton. Instead a tornado raged over the plains like a lion no one dares to approach, prowling where he likes and causing lesser animals to scatter in all directions.
"By the shaking earth! It's some sort of moon hurricane!" Gerald was awestruck.
"There are tornadoes on Earth, you know. Ah, never mind," Varney said. "Anyway, it's a shame the giants let another one get out. You can't pass through until they recover it. Cut left here and you can make it to the Lunar Classic before they run out of balloons."
"Where are the giants?"
"They live on Cloud Peak, of course. You can see it over to the right. No human would dare go there. The steps to the top are too big, for one thing." Varney's words were striking Gerald's back. "Don't fishermen know anything? All right, fine." The pair proceeded to the single mountain rising out of the sprawling plain.
A long flight of steps was carved out of the very mountain. The steps were indeed deeper than any humans used. Gerald had to raise his knees almost to his waist to clear them. "This is a little tiring, but I was expecting worse," he said.
"Hrrrrrwwew," Varney said.
"You seem to be having a little trouble."
"Playwrights." Varney cleared another step. "Don't get much." One more. "Exercise as a rule."
They climbed for hours and then for hours more. At last they neared the summit and saw the workshop of the cloud giants. Rain and snow were being stuffed into cotton clumps and formed into shapes, lightning bugs were having their milk poured into long, branching molds, and winds spun from potter's wheels were stored in huge sacks.
"I'm a little hesitant," Gerald said. "They're so giant."
"You should have acclimated yourself to that fact on your way up those huge steps," Varney said. "I won't blame you if you turn back now, though."
"Hey! You!" a voice roared.
"Never mind," said Varney.
A giant strode toward the pair. "Sorry guys! Usually we have tours going on, but everybody's putting the old nose to the grinder so we can get everything done before the Lunar Classic ends! Hope you understand!"
"Oh, that's too bad," Gerald said. "I wanted to see how you deal with moon hurricanes."
"Huh! I've never heard of a moon hurricane, and I've been the foreman here for centuries!"
"He means a tornado. It looks like one got free while you were working so feverishly," Varney said.
"Whoops! That's too bad! No time to deal with it now, though!"
"You know, the tornado is on the way to the Serene Plains," Varney said.
"On second thought, I'd better take care of it right away!" the foreman said.
"You'll need some help for this job!" another giant said
"I hate to leave things here, but I'd better go too!" chimed in another. Soon enough, the entire peak was divested of giants.
Gerald and Varney descended, fully expecting the tornado to be gone by the time they reached the plain.
"It's still there, Mr. Varney."
"So it seems."
"They went to watch the championship, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"I guess we can just follow their footprints."
"That's the way. We'll be eating cotton candy in no time."
The giant tracks led over hill and crater past grazing gray giraffes and cotton tree branches waving in the wind. The ground between the plains was uneven, but a relief compared to the hardships of Cloud Peak. Finally Gerald and Varney reached the Serene Plains, which were festooned with tents and booths and tables and stalls, banners and pennants and big pointing fingers. Around the playing field itself were rows and rows of stands where even rabbits and foxes sat cheek by jowl, to say nothing of the other lunar denizens.
"It seems very festive," Gerald said.
"Naturally. The contest between the Silvers and Grays has been going on for three days now. The score is 0-0, the most thrilling score of all. Excitement is at its peak. The coaches are wracking their tiny brains to claim some advantage. In fact, there's the Silver coach right over there." Varney pointed out a beaver wearing a silver cap belonging to the Silvers. "How's it going, Spurius?"
"Criminy! A human!" The beaver's nose twitched. "How would you fellas like to be athletes?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Varney said. "I'm a playwright. My friend here will be glad to win the championship for you if you get us two bicycles afterwards, though."
"I will?"
"You will. What do you have to say about that, Spurius?"
"You're a real shrewd negotiator. It's a deal." He held out his tiny hand for Varney to shake. Gerald was not invited.
"I don't even know the rules," Gerald said, picking at his hurriedly resized Silver jersey.
"Here's how you play: Take the ball, run with the ball to the other side, and don't drop the ball," Varney explained.
"That seems too simple."
"This is a sport for rodents. What do you expect? Now get out there and win one for your village. I don't know your village's name, so I'll make one up. Placidshore."
"That's nicer than its real name."
"If you succeed, maybe they'll let you change it. So get out there and hustle."
"Yeah!"
The 478th Lunar Classic was one to remember. Two evenly matched teams struggled for days until a last-minute roster change broke the game wide open. Silver's new star athlete proved all but impossible to tackle despite the best efforts of Gray's league-leading defense. His speed was unmatchable since he could hold the ball in limbs dedicated to the purpose, leaving his legs free to run at full tilt. Worst of all, he was unfazed by the hitherto unbeatable technique that had brought both teams to the championship and kept the score to 0-0: Tossing around nuts and shiny objects to distract the players. In the end, the Silvers took the trophy 35-0.
"That was a great job you did out there, great hustle," Spurius said. "What would it take to sign you for next season?"
"Uh, well, I won't be on the moon that long, I hope," Gerald said.
"That's a real shame. I've got your bicycles right here, and look me up if you ever change your mind. Don't talk to the Grays, they're no good."
"I'll remember that. Goodbye, coach."
"Yes, goodbye, Spurius," Varney said.
"Oh, Mr. Varney. Where have you been?" Gerald asked.
"Collecting my winnings, of course. The palace is that way."
Off they rode toward the conclusion of Gerald's mission.
The Serene Plains went on for a good distance but at last gave way to low hills and shallow craters. Gerald and Varney rode among them until Varney indicated a crater of interest.
Indeed, at the bottom of the crater was a palace that matched the stories Gerald heard, with scenes of gods, nymphs, and dolphins carved into its walls and gardens of coral surrounding it.
"I can't believe I made it," Gerald said. "But shouldn't there be servants and courtiers around? It seems deserted."
"Be reasonable. The palace isn't underwater. Are you trying to kill the staff just so you have someone to announce you?"
"Oh no, not at all. I'm very sorry. I'll just let myself in." As Gerald was opening the door, however, he stopped. "Wait, then how is there coral here?"
"It's artificial coral made for decorative purposes. Now go in," Varney pushed Gerald inside. The rooms were decorated with statues and paintings that depicted not only objects of maritime interest but also cities, forests, fields, and even strange landscapes such as Gerald had never seen before. He had little time to marvel, however, because Varney kept prodding him through the palace until they reached a room strewn with gold, silver, gems, vases, plates, coins, and knicknacks.
Varney tossed a clinking bag on the floor. "All right, now let's see what I can do for you," he said as he reached into a pile. He pulled out a small fish carved from gold and held it out to Gerald. "This will attract fish. Simply drop it in the sea where your village fishes."
"I can't just take the god's treasure while he's not around. There are so many stories about that kind of thing. And how do you know what it does anyway, Mr. Varney?"
"Stop trying to embarrass fishermen everywhere, Gerald. I am the god of the sea, and I am granting your request because you won me so much money at the Lunar Classic. My gratitude is tempered by the trouble I had getting you there in the first place, but that's water under the bridge."
"Really? Thank you, uh, Your Holiness. Hey, why didn't you just win the game by yourself?"
"That would be cheating. There's no cheating on the moon."
"That makes sense," Gerald said. "It's a shame, though. I was going to try to see one of Mr. Varney's plays when I got back."
"When did I say I wasn't Varney, the universally acclaimed playwright? You should definitely watch all my plays. After all that culture and sophistication, you'll feel like a whole new man. In any case, it's time for you to go home." Varney grabbed Gerald's shirt and lifted him up in the air with one hand. He carried the fisherman outside and pointed out a blue and green orb in the sky. "Take a good look," he said before rearing back and flinging Gerald into the star-studded sky. "And have a nice trip!" he shouted at the rapidly retreating fisherman.
"So we just have to drop this fish in the water," Gerald explained. "Also he said Placidshore would be a good name for the village."
"That all sounds fine," the chief said. "We were going to name it Geraldtown, but none of us really wanted to. We must thank the god for this blessing as well."
"Darn," Gerald said.
The End
Saturday, October 10, 2020
The Science of Popularity
Does Harry Potter have knights? Probably! That's still 100%, which means this train will never stop.
Just think of another popular series: Magic Knight Rayearth. It's right there in the name, between Magic and Rayearth. Magic also a key ingredient, as is rayearth. We'll have to explore that further in later posts.
Just think of another popular series: Magic Knight Rayearth. It's right there in the name, between Magic and Rayearth. Magic also a key ingredient, as is rayearth. We'll have to explore that further in later posts.
Thursday, October 8, 2020
Popular Elements in Fantasy and Scifi
At this juncture I must remind everyone that Star Wars has knights in it. Arthurian stories also have knights. Is this a coincidence? When it comes right down to it, 100% of those two popular series have knights. Join the knight wave! Get A Bundling of Knightly Deeds on Kindle today!
Tuesday, October 6, 2020
An Unbridgeable Gap
What we're supposed to like: Being dropped in a world with no explanation and following the morally difficult journey of an aged protagonist with no special abilities of any kind.
What we do like: Star Wars.
What we do like: Star Wars.
Monday, October 5, 2020
Ambiguity
Wow! I can't wait to see what happens next! But first let's talk about moons.
Is "the forest moon of Endor" a moon orbiting the planet Endor, or is it a moon called Endor which is forested?
Is "the forest moon of Endor" a moon orbiting the planet Endor, or is it a moon called Endor which is forested?
Sunday, October 4, 2020
The Lunar Classic (Front Half)
The night sky was aglow with the luster of the full moon, and the waters below held their own brilliant reflection of the nocturnal sovereign. The assembled villagers could imagine no better time to accomplish their purpose. "Our prayers have had no effect," the village chief said. "We must petition the god directly. Are you ready, nephew?"
"No," Gerald said.
"Don't talk like that. I know it's a long journey, but we'll get you as close as we can. Men!"
The villagers hoisted up Gerald, ran to the edge of the cliff, and tossed him as far as they could. They tried to watch his progress until they heard a splash. Wishing Gerald good luck on his mission, they returned to the village.
Down below, Gerald was struck senseless for a moment when he hit the water, but instinct kicked in and he started swimming for his life. Disoriented, he saw no guide but a bright round light, and as he swam it grew bigger and bigger . . .
Gerald woke up and looked around. Fields of cotton dotted by cotton trees stretched as far as he could see. Thick herds of rabbits hopped across rises and dips pursued by arctic foxes with javelins, while hippogriffs with gray plumage sported in the starry sky. The elephants were also gray.
Nowhere did he see anything that could be mistaken for any kind of sea god's palace nor any sign or guidepost indicating which way it could be. Even the stars looked strange. With no better ideas, he started walking the direction he happened to be facing when he stood up.
In time he crested a ridge and saw a paved stone road, which he eagerly intercepted and followed. His spirits were high owing to his good fortune and rose higher when he saw, sitting on a rock beside the road, a person.
"Excuse me, sir," he called out.
The man slid off the rock onto the road. "Is that the rarity of rarities here on the moon, a human? I'm pleased to meet you. Who might you be? I would introduce myself, but obviously there's no need."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Well, I'm Varney the renowned playwright," he said. In response to Gerald's blank look, he elaborated. "I write plays. For theaters. People watch them."
"I get that, but I'm sorry to say I haven't heard of you. We don't have a theater in my village."
"That's a shame."
"If you don't mind me asking, what's a celebrated playwright doing here?"
"This is the moon. All playwrights end up here eventually. Are you a playwright or just a poet?"
"Ah, no, I'm just Gerald, a fisherman." In response to Varney's blank look, Gerald elaborated. "I catch fish. In the sea."
"I understand that very well. As a matter of fact, I have eaten fish before. But there are no fish in the Lunar Sea. You'd better go home."
"I'm not here to fish. The village hasn't been doing so well, you see, and they sent me to ask the sea god if he would make our waters more populated. I can't go home until I've seen him." Gerald shook his head. "I don't really know if I can go home after, but it is what it is."
"That's a terrible story. I don't mean that sympathetically. Well, good luck. The sea god's palace is quite far away."
"You know where it is? Could you please tell me? I'm completely lost."
"Anything for a human. Now if you look in this direction, do you see where the road forks?"
"I do."
"Both roads lead to the palace. If you take the left path, you will pass through the pleasant and road-crossed Serene Plains, where at this very moment crowds are gathering for the moon's biggest sporting event, the Lunar Classic. The championship will be decided soon. They have music and puppet shows, not to mention betting has reached extravagant levels. You can buy souvenirs for your village and try the cotton candy."
"You can make candy out of cotton?"
"No, it only looks like cotton. It's a lunar specialty. So of course you want to go that way. The other path leads to the Lunar Sea, past which are broad and vasty plains unknown to infrastructure which you must cross to reach the palace."
"Oh, that sounds much faster. I'll go that way. Thank you for telling me."
Gerald started walking, but Varney put himself in his way. "Wait just a moment. I don't recommend the Lunar Sea at all. It's a bad route to take."
"How so?"
"Well, it's a big sea. You need a boat or raft to cross it. And it's dangerous. You'll be in trouble if you drink from it."
"Pardon me for saying so, and maybe playwrights don't know this, but that sounds like how seas usually are."
"Fine then, take that road. I'll come along so I can see your face when you realize the mistake you've made."
"Really? I sure appreciate it, Mr. Varney."
The road wandered by rows of cotton lavender until it met with a wide, sluggish river and adopted a parallel course. "This is the Millennium River," Varney said. "Within its banks flows not water, but nectar."
"That's good. I'm pretty thirsty."
"Don't drink nectar. Also, if you really think about it, you'll find you aren't hungry or thirsty at all."
"What are you talking about?" Gerald thought it over. "Wait, you're right."
"Nobody's thirsty on the moon, and only the foxes seem to be hungry. Let's keep going." So saying, they continued down the road.
Gerald and Varney reached a stretch of the river where a system of channels diverted the river into dozens of small pools. Around the pools, clusters of squirrels, beavers, and raccoons wearing smocks were washing small, shiny objects in the nectar and placing them in baskets.
Gerald tried to take in the scene."What's going on? What are those sparkling things?"
"Oh, those are souls. They come out of the dead on Earth, tumble into the sea, and rain down on the Pompous Mountains upstream. Then they're carried down the river to this place. They'd go all the way to the sea if the waterworks didn't divert them."
"What are the animals doing to them?"
"The souls that arrive here are covered in so much gunk and grime you would hardly believe it. Their sins, their virtues, their hopes and deeds, fame and infamy . . . people accumulate a great mass of it all during their lives. Obviously that all has to be washed off before the souls can be used again. Once they're clean, the workers set them aside for the seagulls to pick up and distribute on Earth."
"Why seagulls?"
"They can glide all the way to Earth without flapping once."
"Ah, I see. That's efficiency."
"Some rare souls have gained such a dense shell of deeds they sink right to the bottom and roll slowly along the river floor. After hundreds of years they reach the Lunar Sea, and after centuries more enough of the cruft comes off that they rise to the top of the water and then keep going right into the sky, where they become stars."
"So that's why they say the sky is the field of heroes?"
"Exactly. That's from one of my plays, by the way."
"I never knew. Do you think we could borrow a raft or boat?"
"That's easy enough to find out. Hey, is Wulfgar around?"
The animals ceased their fussy little movements and looked at the travelers. One of the squirrels came up to them. "What do you want, Varney?"
"Nothing at all. My friend Gerald here, however, wishes to cross the Lunar Sea."
"Why? The big game's the other way."
"Regrettably, he has a job to do that takes him away from the Serene Plains, much like yours keeps you here."
"Poor guy. Sure, you can use the raft. Nobody here's going to need it anytime soon, and the beavers can make another if they want."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Wulfgar," Gerald said.
"Don't mention it."
Gerald and Varney made their way through the facilities and found a simple wooden raft pulled up on the bank.
"Do you know how to use this kind of thing?" Varney asked.
Gerald shoved the raft and hopped on. "Of course."
Varney joined Gerald on the raft, and down the river they went. "This really isn't water," Gerald remarked. "It's so thick I'm having trouble working the pole."
"That is one of its distinct properties. Nectar replaces water entirely in the body, sustaining the internal organs with a minimum of motion. That contributes to that length of life which is characteristic of the highest creatures."
"Then why did you say it was bad to drink it?"
"First, the nectar will cleanse your insides through its spiritually abrasive properties. Humans are mostly bad, so you're likely to have vital parts scrubbed away. Just surviving that part is a matter of luck. Second, while nectar replaces water, the opposite is not true. You will be forced to stay near this river and sea for the rest of your elongated life."
"I was going to spend my whole life by the sea anyway."
"You will perceive also there are no fish in the nectar."
"By the trident! I didn't think about that. Is it safe for other creatures, though?"
"Not at all. Why, you can see right there the hippopotamuses are wearing snorkels."
"Oh, you're right. Are they as bad as humans?"
"You've never met a hippopotamus, have you? They're easily thirty percent worse."
The raft floated down the river all the way to the Lunar Sea. The nectar spread out over a such a great width that Gerald and Varney could barely see the shore on either side.
"It's more of a lake than a sea," Gerald said.
"Yes. I think they were trying for a pun, but I disagree with it."
"Which way should I go?"
"You should go to the left bank and get off this lake as fast as possible, but the palace is past the far side."
"All right, thanks."
Gerald poled the raft along while seagulls drifted above his head. Wisps of cotton blew in the mild winds above the lake. The stars shining above seemed brighter than they ever did on Earth since there was no sun or moon to rival them.
"Hey, Mr. Varney?"
"Hm?"
"Why do the stars look funny?"
"You're viewing them from a different position. If you want to use them to navigate, you have to learn them all over again. The moon is too small for anyone to bother, though."
To Be Continued
"No," Gerald said.
"Don't talk like that. I know it's a long journey, but we'll get you as close as we can. Men!"
The villagers hoisted up Gerald, ran to the edge of the cliff, and tossed him as far as they could. They tried to watch his progress until they heard a splash. Wishing Gerald good luck on his mission, they returned to the village.
Down below, Gerald was struck senseless for a moment when he hit the water, but instinct kicked in and he started swimming for his life. Disoriented, he saw no guide but a bright round light, and as he swam it grew bigger and bigger . . .
Gerald woke up and looked around. Fields of cotton dotted by cotton trees stretched as far as he could see. Thick herds of rabbits hopped across rises and dips pursued by arctic foxes with javelins, while hippogriffs with gray plumage sported in the starry sky. The elephants were also gray.
Nowhere did he see anything that could be mistaken for any kind of sea god's palace nor any sign or guidepost indicating which way it could be. Even the stars looked strange. With no better ideas, he started walking the direction he happened to be facing when he stood up.
In time he crested a ridge and saw a paved stone road, which he eagerly intercepted and followed. His spirits were high owing to his good fortune and rose higher when he saw, sitting on a rock beside the road, a person.
"Excuse me, sir," he called out.
The man slid off the rock onto the road. "Is that the rarity of rarities here on the moon, a human? I'm pleased to meet you. Who might you be? I would introduce myself, but obviously there's no need."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Well, I'm Varney the renowned playwright," he said. In response to Gerald's blank look, he elaborated. "I write plays. For theaters. People watch them."
"I get that, but I'm sorry to say I haven't heard of you. We don't have a theater in my village."
"That's a shame."
"If you don't mind me asking, what's a celebrated playwright doing here?"
"This is the moon. All playwrights end up here eventually. Are you a playwright or just a poet?"
"Ah, no, I'm just Gerald, a fisherman." In response to Varney's blank look, Gerald elaborated. "I catch fish. In the sea."
"I understand that very well. As a matter of fact, I have eaten fish before. But there are no fish in the Lunar Sea. You'd better go home."
"I'm not here to fish. The village hasn't been doing so well, you see, and they sent me to ask the sea god if he would make our waters more populated. I can't go home until I've seen him." Gerald shook his head. "I don't really know if I can go home after, but it is what it is."
"That's a terrible story. I don't mean that sympathetically. Well, good luck. The sea god's palace is quite far away."
"You know where it is? Could you please tell me? I'm completely lost."
"Anything for a human. Now if you look in this direction, do you see where the road forks?"
"I do."
"Both roads lead to the palace. If you take the left path, you will pass through the pleasant and road-crossed Serene Plains, where at this very moment crowds are gathering for the moon's biggest sporting event, the Lunar Classic. The championship will be decided soon. They have music and puppet shows, not to mention betting has reached extravagant levels. You can buy souvenirs for your village and try the cotton candy."
"You can make candy out of cotton?"
"No, it only looks like cotton. It's a lunar specialty. So of course you want to go that way. The other path leads to the Lunar Sea, past which are broad and vasty plains unknown to infrastructure which you must cross to reach the palace."
"Oh, that sounds much faster. I'll go that way. Thank you for telling me."
Gerald started walking, but Varney put himself in his way. "Wait just a moment. I don't recommend the Lunar Sea at all. It's a bad route to take."
"How so?"
"Well, it's a big sea. You need a boat or raft to cross it. And it's dangerous. You'll be in trouble if you drink from it."
"Pardon me for saying so, and maybe playwrights don't know this, but that sounds like how seas usually are."
"Fine then, take that road. I'll come along so I can see your face when you realize the mistake you've made."
"Really? I sure appreciate it, Mr. Varney."
The road wandered by rows of cotton lavender until it met with a wide, sluggish river and adopted a parallel course. "This is the Millennium River," Varney said. "Within its banks flows not water, but nectar."
"That's good. I'm pretty thirsty."
"Don't drink nectar. Also, if you really think about it, you'll find you aren't hungry or thirsty at all."
"What are you talking about?" Gerald thought it over. "Wait, you're right."
"Nobody's thirsty on the moon, and only the foxes seem to be hungry. Let's keep going." So saying, they continued down the road.
Gerald and Varney reached a stretch of the river where a system of channels diverted the river into dozens of small pools. Around the pools, clusters of squirrels, beavers, and raccoons wearing smocks were washing small, shiny objects in the nectar and placing them in baskets.
Gerald tried to take in the scene."What's going on? What are those sparkling things?"
"Oh, those are souls. They come out of the dead on Earth, tumble into the sea, and rain down on the Pompous Mountains upstream. Then they're carried down the river to this place. They'd go all the way to the sea if the waterworks didn't divert them."
"What are the animals doing to them?"
"The souls that arrive here are covered in so much gunk and grime you would hardly believe it. Their sins, their virtues, their hopes and deeds, fame and infamy . . . people accumulate a great mass of it all during their lives. Obviously that all has to be washed off before the souls can be used again. Once they're clean, the workers set them aside for the seagulls to pick up and distribute on Earth."
"Why seagulls?"
"They can glide all the way to Earth without flapping once."
"Ah, I see. That's efficiency."
"Some rare souls have gained such a dense shell of deeds they sink right to the bottom and roll slowly along the river floor. After hundreds of years they reach the Lunar Sea, and after centuries more enough of the cruft comes off that they rise to the top of the water and then keep going right into the sky, where they become stars."
"So that's why they say the sky is the field of heroes?"
"Exactly. That's from one of my plays, by the way."
"I never knew. Do you think we could borrow a raft or boat?"
"That's easy enough to find out. Hey, is Wulfgar around?"
The animals ceased their fussy little movements and looked at the travelers. One of the squirrels came up to them. "What do you want, Varney?"
"Nothing at all. My friend Gerald here, however, wishes to cross the Lunar Sea."
"Why? The big game's the other way."
"Regrettably, he has a job to do that takes him away from the Serene Plains, much like yours keeps you here."
"Poor guy. Sure, you can use the raft. Nobody here's going to need it anytime soon, and the beavers can make another if they want."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Wulfgar," Gerald said.
"Don't mention it."
Gerald and Varney made their way through the facilities and found a simple wooden raft pulled up on the bank.
"Do you know how to use this kind of thing?" Varney asked.
Gerald shoved the raft and hopped on. "Of course."
Varney joined Gerald on the raft, and down the river they went. "This really isn't water," Gerald remarked. "It's so thick I'm having trouble working the pole."
"That is one of its distinct properties. Nectar replaces water entirely in the body, sustaining the internal organs with a minimum of motion. That contributes to that length of life which is characteristic of the highest creatures."
"Then why did you say it was bad to drink it?"
"First, the nectar will cleanse your insides through its spiritually abrasive properties. Humans are mostly bad, so you're likely to have vital parts scrubbed away. Just surviving that part is a matter of luck. Second, while nectar replaces water, the opposite is not true. You will be forced to stay near this river and sea for the rest of your elongated life."
"I was going to spend my whole life by the sea anyway."
"You will perceive also there are no fish in the nectar."
"By the trident! I didn't think about that. Is it safe for other creatures, though?"
"Not at all. Why, you can see right there the hippopotamuses are wearing snorkels."
"Oh, you're right. Are they as bad as humans?"
"You've never met a hippopotamus, have you? They're easily thirty percent worse."
The raft floated down the river all the way to the Lunar Sea. The nectar spread out over a such a great width that Gerald and Varney could barely see the shore on either side.
"It's more of a lake than a sea," Gerald said.
"Yes. I think they were trying for a pun, but I disagree with it."
"Which way should I go?"
"You should go to the left bank and get off this lake as fast as possible, but the palace is past the far side."
"All right, thanks."
Gerald poled the raft along while seagulls drifted above his head. Wisps of cotton blew in the mild winds above the lake. The stars shining above seemed brighter than they ever did on Earth since there was no sun or moon to rival them.
"Hey, Mr. Varney?"
"Hm?"
"Why do the stars look funny?"
"You're viewing them from a different position. If you want to use them to navigate, you have to learn them all over again. The moon is too small for anyone to bother, though."
To Be Continued
Saturday, October 3, 2020
The Mysteries of Popularity
But what is it that fantasy series lack to attract adaptations? Elegance? Charisma? Mummies? Probably not enough knights.
True Popularity
But as many secret Wheel of Time games as there are, there are even more open Yu Yu Hakusho games. Think about that one, fantasy losers.
Thursday, October 1, 2020
On Melancholy
The Lord of the Rings is suffused with melancholy. It is the story of a fading world. Even if Sauron is defeated, which not many think possible, what comes after him will be less though better. It's full of loss and wounds that never fully heal.
Most of the Tolkien imitators lacked that atmosphere, whether because they didn't notice it, were incapable of replicating it, or simply didn't want it. Nevertheless, few had anything like it and fewer replaced it.
Robert Jordan replaced it. The Wheel of Time is not steeped in melancholy. It is not missing melancholy. It is something else entirely. It is lively and vibrant and action-packed. There are thrilling boss battles, and not just the ones seen directly in the books. There are heroes of legends being reborn all the time and redoing their timeless deeds. There is history told as stories rather than as poems, recalled with excitement rather than nostalgia.
All that makes The Wheel of Time an obvious choice for adaptation into more visceral media, but there was only one videogame made out of it. Meanwhile, The Lord of the Rings has had all sorts of movies and games. Allegedly.
If we consider the atmosphere of those adaptations and on what aspects they concentrate, we might wonder if they are adaptations of The Lord of the Rings at all. We may wonder if they are not in fact The Wheel of Time with the names changed.
I mean, I don't wonder that. I'm saying it. Here. So y'know.
Most of the Tolkien imitators lacked that atmosphere, whether because they didn't notice it, were incapable of replicating it, or simply didn't want it. Nevertheless, few had anything like it and fewer replaced it.
Robert Jordan replaced it. The Wheel of Time is not steeped in melancholy. It is not missing melancholy. It is something else entirely. It is lively and vibrant and action-packed. There are thrilling boss battles, and not just the ones seen directly in the books. There are heroes of legends being reborn all the time and redoing their timeless deeds. There is history told as stories rather than as poems, recalled with excitement rather than nostalgia.
All that makes The Wheel of Time an obvious choice for adaptation into more visceral media, but there was only one videogame made out of it. Meanwhile, The Lord of the Rings has had all sorts of movies and games. Allegedly.
If we consider the atmosphere of those adaptations and on what aspects they concentrate, we might wonder if they are adaptations of The Lord of the Rings at all. We may wonder if they are not in fact The Wheel of Time with the names changed.
I mean, I don't wonder that. I'm saying it. Here. So y'know.
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