Writing life: A celebration of thirty years of The Three Lands
I pressed my Muse hard and persuaded him to finish writing Law Links (The Three Lands) today, November 8. I began writing that novel fourteen years ago, almost to the day: November 15, 1995.
By coincidence, this year happens to be the thirtieth anniversary of the original draft of the first Three Lands story I wrote, Blood Vow. In honor of that, I thought I'd show three versions each of two scenes from the novel, so that you can see how my writing hasceased being absolutely dreadful progressed.
o--o--o
DRAFT ONE: The Chara
[The beginning of my fantasy short story "Blood Brothers," written in 1979. Don't let your eye skip too quickly over the last sentence in the first paragraph. The part in the curly brackets was my later interpolation, when I evidently decided that the sentence begged for an explanation.]
Chara's first name is hereditary. Not Anthony, his second name, but Chara, meaning "Emperor." I often wonder who will carry on the empire when he is gone, for he is several years older than I, and {like many military men} shows little interest in women.
It was barely a year after he had freed me. I had been his slave for ten years, since fourteen, when I was taken prisoner by the old Chara's guards. Chara hadn't freed me before, possibly afraid I would return to Creita, my homeland, but affection for me won over, and by this time, I loved him so much that I decided to stay rather than to return home.
I came upon him one morning with a map spread out in front of him. Marked in blue were the provinces of the Empire: Ramjan, Pleiant, Thuul, and Tlak, the last with the Empire's capital, Emor, marked in red. The provinces the Empire had only partially conquered were marked in green: Loongai and Creita. In yellow were the nearby provinces that had only been invaded once or twice; they extended off the map. Chara had none of his father's strange goals of capturing the entire world; he knew, as the scientists had proven, that the world had no end.
He looked up as I entered. "Greetings, Andrew. How old are you?"
I was used to Chara's unusual questions; it's true that he's a genius, and as a genius, he has a different level of thought. "Twenty-four, m'lord."
"That means you've lived in Emor for ten years."
"Yes, m'lord." I wondered what he was getting at. Not the years of my servitude - Chara shies away from the subject.
"How would you like a vacation, Andrew?"
"M'lord?"
Chara beckoned me out of the doorway. "Come sit by me."
I walked over and drew a chair up to the table, staring at the map. I had seen maps before, of course - there is a mosaic map of Emor across the entire Great Hall floor - but they are a continual fascination to me; Creitians have no such things.
"Where's your home, Andrew?" Chara asked.
"If you mean where I was born, it's here, Kikou." I pointed to a small town on the map. "But Creitians are migratory people; they rarely stay longer than one year in a place - certainly not long enough to call any one place 'home.'"
"'They'?"
"I'm an Emorian now, Chara."
Chara leaned back. "Oh, then you wouldn't be interested in what I was going to say."
"What were you going to say?"
Chara continued as if he hadn't heard me. "Emorians are a lazy lot: they never stir out of their own city, and certainly never go to unconquered provinces - especially not such a beastly place as Creita."
"Are you going to Creita, m'lord?"
"What does it matter to an an Emorian?"
"Typical Emorian humor," I said dryly. Chara grinned lazily . . .
o--o--o
DRAFT TWO: The Chara
[The same scene re-written one year later.]
My master was at a black marble table, studying several maps. (Maps, after nine years, were still a novelty to me. I spent much of my time in the Grand Courtroom, where a mosaic of the Emorian Empire constituted the floor.) His hair, eyes, and skin, like that of any [member of] his family, were light, but black lines scarred his face: dark rivers of responsibility gained at an early age - he was barely seven years older than I. He pushed his hair back in that controlled, decisive gesture that governed all his movements, then, sensing somebody, looked up.
"Good morning, Chara," I said.
He smiled as he relaxed from his diplomatic posture. "Good morning, Andrew. Ah, you have the map. You hid it well."
"So I surmised from the state of your room," I said, coming forward and handing him the paper. "You should have woken me."
He looked down rapidly at the maps before saying, "You seemed to be having a bad night. I thought it better to let you sleep."
There is only one thing I ever dream about - my childhood in Creita - and that's the one thing Chara never wants to discuss. I said, "Dreams this morning too; perhaps you should have woken me. What is this map, anyway?"
Chara thrust forward another map. "Take a look at this. This is our occupation of Creita ten years ago."
I glanced at the map for three seconds before pushing it back to Chara. "Well?" he said.
"Getting rid of all the red might produce a more conservative answer of your occupation," I said.
He laughed, sitting back in his chair. "Forever a Creitian nationalist." He glanced at my face, and added, "Sorry. Draw up a chair."
"I'm Emorian."
"I know. It was a stupid joke. Sit down, for Delmm's sake." He got up and pushed a bench toward me.
I dragged it over to the table and sat across from the Chara. "And the new map?"
o--o--o
PUBLISHED VERSION: The Chara
[The final version of that scene, age 45.]
The Chara was standing a few spear-lengths from me, looking out one of the southern windows. He was dressed formally with his silver tunic and his Sword of Vengeance; his cloak was tossed onto a chair nearby. He was only twenty-six, but his face had the look of an older man: severe responsibility had gouged deep rivers of age into his skin. As the door closed behind me, the Chara turned his head and said, "I was just wishing that I could wander over the black border mountains right now. It seems a shame to stay inside on a warm day like this." I made no reply, and he added, "I see that you brought the map. I couldn't remember this morning where I had put it."
"So I surmised from the state of your sitting chamber, Chara," I said, coming forward and placing the map in his hand. "You ought to have woken me."
He turned and put the scroll down on the table nearby, which was already cluttered with a dozen maps. Without looking up, he said, "I thought that you might need the extra rest."
There was a pause as he unrolled the map and began examining it. I said, "I did not mean to disturb you, Chara. Perhaps I ought to sleep in other quarters."
"Don't be foolish." He leaned over, traced a line on the map with his finger, then sighed and allowed the map to roll up once more as his gaze drifted back to the view at the window.
I followed his gaze toward the tiny slice of scenery. I could see a portion of the capital city surrounding the palace, a sliver of the river-threaded fields beyond, and a patch of Emorian sky – which, for a change, was blue and cloudless. Towering above them all were the black border mountains that separate Emor and Koretia.
The Chara said, "I seem not to be able to keep my mind off the mountains. Perhaps I have acquired some of your Koretian blood."
I said rigidly, "Chara, I am Emorian."
A smile crept onto his face then, erasing the lines of worry and making him appear even younger than he was. "That fact," he said, "had not escaped my notice. I was joking. Now stop being so stiff and formal and come sit with me."
He waved his hand toward two chairs sitting under a small patch of sunlight falling through one of the northern windows. I felt the seldom-used muscles of my mouth turn up, and I bowed in obedience, before seating myself where he had indicated.
o--o--o
DRAFT ONE: Lord Carle
[The first appearance of Lord Carle, in a passing reference, as part of a flashback. This is from the age-16 draft.]
"You're from Creita? What part?"
Longing to kill him, yet not daring to move for fear of his guard's sword, I made no reply.
The Chara smiled. "Never mind. We'll get to know each other soon enough. Can I at least know your name, so I won't have to call you 'boy'?"
"Andrew," I replied shortly.
"Come here, Andrew."
I stepped forward obediently. Suddenly he frowned and said sharply, "Turn around."
I did so, puzzled. Thus far I had been allowed to wear my own clothes, so my back and the newly formed stripes on it were bared to him.
"All right, turn back," he said quietly. Then: "When did that happen?"
I made no reply. The guard offered, "This morning, m'lord."
"How?"
"The boy--"
"No, I want to hear his version."
Stumblingly, I explained, "I forgot to lower my eyes when Lord Charles passed."
The Chara didn't even look to his guard for confirmation. He said to me, "Go over to that room over there, and tell them I sent you. They'll have medicine to put on your back."
As I left, I heard him saying to the guard, "Go to Lord Charles. Tell him he's to come here immediately. . . ."
DRAFT TWO: Lord Carle
[The second appearance of Lord Carle. This is from the age-17 draft.]
As I pulled the curtain back, I heard a cry - almost a scream - and looked down the hall to my left.
It was Lord Charles, breaking in a new slave. The young girl he was breaking in must have been new, for Charles' slaves know he delights in screams. As I turned, he looked up, and a look of animosity flew across his face before he regained his composure and asked curtly, "Where's your master?"
His tone was as courteous as a muskrat's, but I said, my face as expressionless as the first day I met him, "In the Study, I should imagine."
"You imagine? Why aren't you with him?"
The blood in my head was pounding so hard I barely heard my own answer. "I'm not his slave - as you know."
Charles blinked, then gave a subtle smile. I realized it was the second time that week I'd lost my temper - and that had never happened since I had come to Emor, not even with Charles. I turned away abruptly, to a satisfied mutter by Charles . . .
o--o--o
PUBLISHED VERSION: Lord Carle
[The final version of that scene, age 45.]
The girl's cry was so piercing that, without thinking, I pushed my way through the door. The door opened only to a passageway that led to further rooms, so I did not expect to see anyone. But I found myself facing Lord Carle, who was in the midst of disciplining his Koretian slave-girl.
The girl had fallen to her knees weeping. I could see the red mark on her cheek where Lord Carle had hit her. He was bent over her as I entered, and as he looked at me, I saw a fire spark in his eyes.
He barely managed to contain the fire in his voice. "What do you want?" he asked abruptly.
Having no good reason to be in his quarters, I said, "I apologize for disturbing you, Lord Carle. I was searching for the Chara; I thought he might be with you."
He stiffened up and assessed me for a moment, leaving the girl sobbing at his feet. Finally he said, "You ought to know where your master is. Why are you absent from him?"
Something about the crouching girl, whose presence the council lord was ignoring, caused me to say coolly, "Because, Lord Carle, I am not the Chara's servant and so am not required to know his every movement."
Lord Carle stepped forward. As he did so, the girl stopped crying and began looking between her master and myself, as though she expected to witness a duel. Lord Carle stopped a few feet from me. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he said with malevolent softness, "If you are a loyal Emorian, Andrew, then you are his servant, as I am his servant and all Emorians are. If you do not believe this, then disobey the Chara's commands again and see what follows."
I made no reply, and found a moment later that my gaze had drifted away from Lord Carle's eyes. He turned away then, as though in disgust that he had wasted such a deep dagger-thrust on so unworthy an opponent. I took the opportunity to slip back to the corridor.
I stood there for a moment with my eyelids closed and my head tilted back, as though I had just emerged from red-hot fire. Then I walked the remaining distance to the Map Room.
o--o--o
JOURNAL ENTRIES ABOUT "BLOOD VOW," 1979-1995, with major spoilers.
27 April 1979 (Friday)
I haven't the slightest idea of where I'm going with the Chara story (except for a little undercover work for John), but I like the main characters, so I'm slogging it out.
13 June 1979 (Wednesday)
I hate it when I'm in a writing mood, and there's nothing to write. I'd like to restart "Chara" or "Sword," but I can't seem to get past where I am.
10 July 1979 (Tuesday)
I finally got "Chara" rolling Thursday, and got seventeen pages written before I got stuck at the climax: I couldn't figure how to get my characters out of their mess. Death lies in the last scene, and there are a couple violent episodes earlier on. My failure to finish "Chara" so depressed me that I immediately set out to find another fantasy project to work on.
26 May 1980 (Monday)
Another weekend wasted. Couldn't get anywhere with "BB," and got practically none of my homework done (everything in my locker came home). With "BB," the problem is simply that I don't feel like writing - haven't since "Wizard [of the Sun]," with the exception of "Ad Infinitum."
6 August 1995 (Sunday)
Last night, tired of spending my insomnia-ridden nights contemplating the same old dark fantasies [a reference to some daydreams with highly unethical plotlines that were drifting through my mind at that time], I reread some of my old stories. Previous to my junior year of high school, all of my stories are dreadful. However, I did write one story during my sophomore year, "Blood Brothers," which I think has possibilities. The main character, Andrew, is a native of Croetia (can't imagine where I came up with that name [2009 note: I guess Croatia must have been in the news in 1979]), a country under the control of the empire Emoria. Like all Croetians, he has a great hatred for Emorians. (I don't know what got me into writing about empires and oppressed nations--was I reading Mary Renault at the time? [2009 note: No, I first encountered Renault's novels in college.] Then one day Andrew is made a slave and taken to Emor, where he eventually becomes friend to the emperor himself, the Chara, and begins to consider himself an Emorian. The plotline of the story is that the Chara decides to take Andrew with him to Croetia, where the Chara is hoping to strengthen his empire's hold, and Andrew stumbles across his old blood brother and finds his loyalties in conflict.
The story is only nine thousand words long, and the rest of the plot is dreadful--the only good part was the beginning, which I rewrote at age eighteen--but I think it's an interesting premise. Perhaps I will work on it after I finish "Wizard of the Sun" [another 1979 story, which I began rewriting in July 1995].
After is the key word--I had told myself before that I mustn't reread my old stories till I was finished with "Wizard," lest I be distracted by another story, and this indeed has happened. It would be too easy to go through my life thinking up story after story, but never getting any of them completely down onto paper. I mustn't do that; surely I have learned a little self-discipline during the past few years. As for "Wizard," my initial inspiration has drained away, but I continue to plug away at it each day. I need to train myself to harness that ninety-nine percent perspiration if I'm ever to become, if not a genius, then at least a published novelist.
9 August 1995 (Wednesday)-10 August 1995 (Thursday)
Sunday evening, in a desperate attempt to chase away the dark fantasies which had been obsessing me every night for days, I tried writing the first couple of chapters of "Blood Brothers"--only to find that story turning pretty dark itself. It was as though my fantasies, after being kept effectively under lock and key for five years, were now determined to conquer new territory.
18 August 1995 (Friday)
Despite my best efforts to stave it off, ["Blood Brothers"] took over my life last week. I am now up to 40,000 words and the book is still half-written, so this is definitely an adult novel. I was frustrated at not knowing from the start what the full theme of the book was--it is very difficult to write a book when you don't know what every image and phrase needs to relate to--but I knew that it would kill the story dead if I tried to artificially create a theme, so I ended up writing the last three chapters first, and thus discovered that the story wasn't simply about loyalties to brothers and to lands and figuring out what to do when these come in conflict, but rather about an overarching loyalty above all these loyalties--in other words I brought in Religion. (Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.)
15 October 1995 (Sunday)
Just wrote the final words to what has turned into a four-volume series called Chronicle of the Three Lands. Not, of course, that that means I'm actually finished with any of the books. Blood Brothers is three-quarters done, Touch Fire is just started, Law of Vengeance is three-quarters done, and Breached Boundaries is one-fifth of the way through. At this rate, I can't hope to finish the series by the end of the year, though, if I get my wits together, I can finish off Blood Brothers.
I'm pleased with the final paragraphs--it's great when the Muse just hands me a whole passage, lock and barrel. Would that I could write the whole series in that manner.
By coincidence, this year happens to be the thirtieth anniversary of the original draft of the first Three Lands story I wrote, Blood Vow. In honor of that, I thought I'd show three versions each of two scenes from the novel, so that you can see how my writing has
DRAFT ONE: The Chara
[The beginning of my fantasy short story "Blood Brothers," written in 1979. Don't let your eye skip too quickly over the last sentence in the first paragraph. The part in the curly brackets was my later interpolation, when I evidently decided that the sentence begged for an explanation.]
Chara's first name is hereditary. Not Anthony, his second name, but Chara, meaning "Emperor." I often wonder who will carry on the empire when he is gone, for he is several years older than I, and {like many military men} shows little interest in women.
It was barely a year after he had freed me. I had been his slave for ten years, since fourteen, when I was taken prisoner by the old Chara's guards. Chara hadn't freed me before, possibly afraid I would return to Creita, my homeland, but affection for me won over, and by this time, I loved him so much that I decided to stay rather than to return home.
I came upon him one morning with a map spread out in front of him. Marked in blue were the provinces of the Empire: Ramjan, Pleiant, Thuul, and Tlak, the last with the Empire's capital, Emor, marked in red. The provinces the Empire had only partially conquered were marked in green: Loongai and Creita. In yellow were the nearby provinces that had only been invaded once or twice; they extended off the map. Chara had none of his father's strange goals of capturing the entire world; he knew, as the scientists had proven, that the world had no end.
He looked up as I entered. "Greetings, Andrew. How old are you?"
I was used to Chara's unusual questions; it's true that he's a genius, and as a genius, he has a different level of thought. "Twenty-four, m'lord."
"That means you've lived in Emor for ten years."
"Yes, m'lord." I wondered what he was getting at. Not the years of my servitude - Chara shies away from the subject.
"How would you like a vacation, Andrew?"
"M'lord?"
Chara beckoned me out of the doorway. "Come sit by me."
I walked over and drew a chair up to the table, staring at the map. I had seen maps before, of course - there is a mosaic map of Emor across the entire Great Hall floor - but they are a continual fascination to me; Creitians have no such things.
"Where's your home, Andrew?" Chara asked.
"If you mean where I was born, it's here, Kikou." I pointed to a small town on the map. "But Creitians are migratory people; they rarely stay longer than one year in a place - certainly not long enough to call any one place 'home.'"
"'They'?"
"I'm an Emorian now, Chara."
Chara leaned back. "Oh, then you wouldn't be interested in what I was going to say."
"What were you going to say?"
Chara continued as if he hadn't heard me. "Emorians are a lazy lot: they never stir out of their own city, and certainly never go to unconquered provinces - especially not such a beastly place as Creita."
"Are you going to Creita, m'lord?"
"What does it matter to an an Emorian?"
"Typical Emorian humor," I said dryly. Chara grinned lazily . . .
DRAFT TWO: The Chara
[The same scene re-written one year later.]
My master was at a black marble table, studying several maps. (Maps, after nine years, were still a novelty to me. I spent much of my time in the Grand Courtroom, where a mosaic of the Emorian Empire constituted the floor.) His hair, eyes, and skin, like that of any [member of] his family, were light, but black lines scarred his face: dark rivers of responsibility gained at an early age - he was barely seven years older than I. He pushed his hair back in that controlled, decisive gesture that governed all his movements, then, sensing somebody, looked up.
"Good morning, Chara," I said.
He smiled as he relaxed from his diplomatic posture. "Good morning, Andrew. Ah, you have the map. You hid it well."
"So I surmised from the state of your room," I said, coming forward and handing him the paper. "You should have woken me."
He looked down rapidly at the maps before saying, "You seemed to be having a bad night. I thought it better to let you sleep."
There is only one thing I ever dream about - my childhood in Creita - and that's the one thing Chara never wants to discuss. I said, "Dreams this morning too; perhaps you should have woken me. What is this map, anyway?"
Chara thrust forward another map. "Take a look at this. This is our occupation of Creita ten years ago."
I glanced at the map for three seconds before pushing it back to Chara. "Well?" he said.
"Getting rid of all the red might produce a more conservative answer of your occupation," I said.
He laughed, sitting back in his chair. "Forever a Creitian nationalist." He glanced at my face, and added, "Sorry. Draw up a chair."
"I'm Emorian."
"I know. It was a stupid joke. Sit down, for Delmm's sake." He got up and pushed a bench toward me.
I dragged it over to the table and sat across from the Chara. "And the new map?"
PUBLISHED VERSION: The Chara
[The final version of that scene, age 45.]
The Chara was standing a few spear-lengths from me, looking out one of the southern windows. He was dressed formally with his silver tunic and his Sword of Vengeance; his cloak was tossed onto a chair nearby. He was only twenty-six, but his face had the look of an older man: severe responsibility had gouged deep rivers of age into his skin. As the door closed behind me, the Chara turned his head and said, "I was just wishing that I could wander over the black border mountains right now. It seems a shame to stay inside on a warm day like this." I made no reply, and he added, "I see that you brought the map. I couldn't remember this morning where I had put it."
"So I surmised from the state of your sitting chamber, Chara," I said, coming forward and placing the map in his hand. "You ought to have woken me."
He turned and put the scroll down on the table nearby, which was already cluttered with a dozen maps. Without looking up, he said, "I thought that you might need the extra rest."
There was a pause as he unrolled the map and began examining it. I said, "I did not mean to disturb you, Chara. Perhaps I ought to sleep in other quarters."
"Don't be foolish." He leaned over, traced a line on the map with his finger, then sighed and allowed the map to roll up once more as his gaze drifted back to the view at the window.
I followed his gaze toward the tiny slice of scenery. I could see a portion of the capital city surrounding the palace, a sliver of the river-threaded fields beyond, and a patch of Emorian sky – which, for a change, was blue and cloudless. Towering above them all were the black border mountains that separate Emor and Koretia.
The Chara said, "I seem not to be able to keep my mind off the mountains. Perhaps I have acquired some of your Koretian blood."
I said rigidly, "Chara, I am Emorian."
A smile crept onto his face then, erasing the lines of worry and making him appear even younger than he was. "That fact," he said, "had not escaped my notice. I was joking. Now stop being so stiff and formal and come sit with me."
He waved his hand toward two chairs sitting under a small patch of sunlight falling through one of the northern windows. I felt the seldom-used muscles of my mouth turn up, and I bowed in obedience, before seating myself where he had indicated.
DRAFT ONE: Lord Carle
[The first appearance of Lord Carle, in a passing reference, as part of a flashback. This is from the age-16 draft.]
"You're from Creita? What part?"
Longing to kill him, yet not daring to move for fear of his guard's sword, I made no reply.
The Chara smiled. "Never mind. We'll get to know each other soon enough. Can I at least know your name, so I won't have to call you 'boy'?"
"Andrew," I replied shortly.
"Come here, Andrew."
I stepped forward obediently. Suddenly he frowned and said sharply, "Turn around."
I did so, puzzled. Thus far I had been allowed to wear my own clothes, so my back and the newly formed stripes on it were bared to him.
"All right, turn back," he said quietly. Then: "When did that happen?"
I made no reply. The guard offered, "This morning, m'lord."
"How?"
"The boy--"
"No, I want to hear his version."
Stumblingly, I explained, "I forgot to lower my eyes when Lord Charles passed."
The Chara didn't even look to his guard for confirmation. He said to me, "Go over to that room over there, and tell them I sent you. They'll have medicine to put on your back."
As I left, I heard him saying to the guard, "Go to Lord Charles. Tell him he's to come here immediately. . . ."
DRAFT TWO: Lord Carle
[The second appearance of Lord Carle. This is from the age-17 draft.]
As I pulled the curtain back, I heard a cry - almost a scream - and looked down the hall to my left.
It was Lord Charles, breaking in a new slave. The young girl he was breaking in must have been new, for Charles' slaves know he delights in screams. As I turned, he looked up, and a look of animosity flew across his face before he regained his composure and asked curtly, "Where's your master?"
His tone was as courteous as a muskrat's, but I said, my face as expressionless as the first day I met him, "In the Study, I should imagine."
"You imagine? Why aren't you with him?"
The blood in my head was pounding so hard I barely heard my own answer. "I'm not his slave - as you know."
Charles blinked, then gave a subtle smile. I realized it was the second time that week I'd lost my temper - and that had never happened since I had come to Emor, not even with Charles. I turned away abruptly, to a satisfied mutter by Charles . . .
PUBLISHED VERSION: Lord Carle
[The final version of that scene, age 45.]
The girl's cry was so piercing that, without thinking, I pushed my way through the door. The door opened only to a passageway that led to further rooms, so I did not expect to see anyone. But I found myself facing Lord Carle, who was in the midst of disciplining his Koretian slave-girl.
The girl had fallen to her knees weeping. I could see the red mark on her cheek where Lord Carle had hit her. He was bent over her as I entered, and as he looked at me, I saw a fire spark in his eyes.
He barely managed to contain the fire in his voice. "What do you want?" he asked abruptly.
Having no good reason to be in his quarters, I said, "I apologize for disturbing you, Lord Carle. I was searching for the Chara; I thought he might be with you."
He stiffened up and assessed me for a moment, leaving the girl sobbing at his feet. Finally he said, "You ought to know where your master is. Why are you absent from him?"
Something about the crouching girl, whose presence the council lord was ignoring, caused me to say coolly, "Because, Lord Carle, I am not the Chara's servant and so am not required to know his every movement."
Lord Carle stepped forward. As he did so, the girl stopped crying and began looking between her master and myself, as though she expected to witness a duel. Lord Carle stopped a few feet from me. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he said with malevolent softness, "If you are a loyal Emorian, Andrew, then you are his servant, as I am his servant and all Emorians are. If you do not believe this, then disobey the Chara's commands again and see what follows."
I made no reply, and found a moment later that my gaze had drifted away from Lord Carle's eyes. He turned away then, as though in disgust that he had wasted such a deep dagger-thrust on so unworthy an opponent. I took the opportunity to slip back to the corridor.
I stood there for a moment with my eyelids closed and my head tilted back, as though I had just emerged from red-hot fire. Then I walked the remaining distance to the Map Room.
JOURNAL ENTRIES ABOUT "BLOOD VOW," 1979-1995, with major spoilers.
27 April 1979 (Friday)
I haven't the slightest idea of where I'm going with the Chara story (except for a little undercover work for John), but I like the main characters, so I'm slogging it out.
13 June 1979 (Wednesday)
I hate it when I'm in a writing mood, and there's nothing to write. I'd like to restart "Chara" or "Sword," but I can't seem to get past where I am.
10 July 1979 (Tuesday)
I finally got "Chara" rolling Thursday, and got seventeen pages written before I got stuck at the climax: I couldn't figure how to get my characters out of their mess. Death lies in the last scene, and there are a couple violent episodes earlier on. My failure to finish "Chara" so depressed me that I immediately set out to find another fantasy project to work on.
26 May 1980 (Monday)
Another weekend wasted. Couldn't get anywhere with "BB," and got practically none of my homework done (everything in my locker came home). With "BB," the problem is simply that I don't feel like writing - haven't since "Wizard [of the Sun]," with the exception of "Ad Infinitum."
6 August 1995 (Sunday)
Last night, tired of spending my insomnia-ridden nights contemplating the same old dark fantasies [a reference to some daydreams with highly unethical plotlines that were drifting through my mind at that time], I reread some of my old stories. Previous to my junior year of high school, all of my stories are dreadful. However, I did write one story during my sophomore year, "Blood Brothers," which I think has possibilities. The main character, Andrew, is a native of Croetia (can't imagine where I came up with that name [2009 note: I guess Croatia must have been in the news in 1979]), a country under the control of the empire Emoria. Like all Croetians, he has a great hatred for Emorians. (I don't know what got me into writing about empires and oppressed nations--was I reading Mary Renault at the time? [2009 note: No, I first encountered Renault's novels in college.] Then one day Andrew is made a slave and taken to Emor, where he eventually becomes friend to the emperor himself, the Chara, and begins to consider himself an Emorian. The plotline of the story is that the Chara decides to take Andrew with him to Croetia, where the Chara is hoping to strengthen his empire's hold, and Andrew stumbles across his old blood brother and finds his loyalties in conflict.
The story is only nine thousand words long, and the rest of the plot is dreadful--the only good part was the beginning, which I rewrote at age eighteen--but I think it's an interesting premise. Perhaps I will work on it after I finish "Wizard of the Sun" [another 1979 story, which I began rewriting in July 1995].
After is the key word--I had told myself before that I mustn't reread my old stories till I was finished with "Wizard," lest I be distracted by another story, and this indeed has happened. It would be too easy to go through my life thinking up story after story, but never getting any of them completely down onto paper. I mustn't do that; surely I have learned a little self-discipline during the past few years. As for "Wizard," my initial inspiration has drained away, but I continue to plug away at it each day. I need to train myself to harness that ninety-nine percent perspiration if I'm ever to become, if not a genius, then at least a published novelist.
9 August 1995 (Wednesday)-10 August 1995 (Thursday)
Sunday evening, in a desperate attempt to chase away the dark fantasies which had been obsessing me every night for days, I tried writing the first couple of chapters of "Blood Brothers"--only to find that story turning pretty dark itself. It was as though my fantasies, after being kept effectively under lock and key for five years, were now determined to conquer new territory.
18 August 1995 (Friday)
Despite my best efforts to stave it off, ["Blood Brothers"] took over my life last week. I am now up to 40,000 words and the book is still half-written, so this is definitely an adult novel. I was frustrated at not knowing from the start what the full theme of the book was--it is very difficult to write a book when you don't know what every image and phrase needs to relate to--but I knew that it would kill the story dead if I tried to artificially create a theme, so I ended up writing the last three chapters first, and thus discovered that the story wasn't simply about loyalties to brothers and to lands and figuring out what to do when these come in conflict, but rather about an overarching loyalty above all these loyalties--in other words I brought in Religion. (Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.)
15 October 1995 (Sunday)
Just wrote the final words to what has turned into a four-volume series called Chronicle of the Three Lands. Not, of course, that that means I'm actually finished with any of the books. Blood Brothers is three-quarters done, Touch Fire is just started, Law of Vengeance is three-quarters done, and Breached Boundaries is one-fifth of the way through. At this rate, I can't hope to finish the series by the end of the year, though, if I get my wits together, I can finish off Blood Brothers.
I'm pleased with the final paragraphs--it's great when the Muse just hands me a whole passage, lock and barrel. Would that I could write the whole series in that manner.
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