Failure is Always an Option

While I've already talked about abandoning stories, there are more ways to fall short of the goal than that.

Take this blog, for instance. It was created to expand my audience, but it seems to have done just the opposite. I get relatively consistent feedback from two people, both of whom I knew before starting this blog. I haven't had a comment from another passerby in months. My overall hits have more or less increased since the blog started, but the vast majority of these hits/referrals come from spam sites that hope to make me click their links in the Stats page so they can give me a computer virus. Not exactly what I would call popularity.

So, in all honesty, this blog is a failure. I was going to give it time, but it's been a year, and my monthly hits aren't even increasing. If anything, they've gone down due to the slower update pace—but I'm too busy to do much about that. I've already eaten through my three-post buffer, and I'm running low on post ideas, too.

That's not to say I intend to shut this down. I'm just trying to figure out what I'm doing here. If at first you don't succeed, redefine success, right? Maybe I can't get any new readers with this. I'm still letting a few that I have know what's going on, and I'm still keeping track of ideas. Writing prompts are a nice challenge sometimes (in fact, it took the last post for me to write anything after I finished Phoenix Wright: Ace Tribute). And rambling about writing has its advantages, too. I'm not entirely sure what, but I've never been one for a lot of introspection, and at least I'm writing something instead of playing video games or other such things that aren't productive in a straightforward way. Perhaps this blog itself isn't really that productive, but... It's still worth something, right?

Really, I'm not sure. I just hope that the few of us involved in this enjoy it enough to justify its other failures. I'm sure we can figure something out.

Prompt Writing #5

Here, have a little emo excerpt. It's about the only interesting thing Cora has going for her before she was in circumstances where she wouldn't be able to show up at her house for this prompt.

Prompt [Yeah Writers blog]:

"Your character opens the door to their house to a stranger claiming that they are siblings. What happens next? You decide."

Randomly Selected Story and Character: Chemists, Cora

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cora had only just dumped her bookbags on the living room floor when she saw the boy on the couch. With bowl-cut hair a little lighter a brown than hers, he gripped the bottom edge of the cushion and kicked his short legs, making himself bob on the springs.

"Oh, hey, Cora!" he chimed, waving with his left hand. The orange cloth of his oversized jacket slunk down to his elbow. "How was your day?"

The worst one I've ever had.

"Get out of my house, punk. No idea how you got in or what you think you're doing here, but—"

"Hey!" He pouted. "That's no way to speak to your little brother! I'm gonna tell on you."

"Excuse me?" She let her cold stare rest on him. "You're the one trespassing. If anybody's 'gonna tell on' someone else, it sure isn't going to be you. Now get out before I kick you out."

The boy leapt to his feet. "But, Cora!"

"Shut up!" She ground her teeth, hunching and forcing her fists into the front pocket of her black hoodie. She hadn't taken it off since she'd found it that afternoon, so she knew well enough there wasn't anything in there. "I have had it with everyone today, and I am not going to be whined at by some psychotic little boy, too!"

Still snarling, she took a step towards him. "Now, get out."

He shrank back. "A-are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! And you're not going to be, either, if you don't beat it!"

It took a second of glaring at the boy before she registered the tears running down her face. Swearing, she pulled up her hood a little more and looked down.

"C-Cora?" He timidly tugged at the wrist of her hoodie. When she didn't respond, he choked. "I-I'm sorry! I'm Vash's little brother—I-I was just joking around... Don't cry!" He wrapped both hands around her wrist. "I-I wasn't trying to be mean or anything..."

Taking a deep breath, Cora shook her hand out of his grasp and wiped her face. "Good for you. Don't try to be mean when you grow up and get a girlfriend, too, huh?"

She folded her arms, frowning down at him. Vash's brother, was it? Why had she thought he'd only had a sister...? Well. It was hardly important. 

"Run back home, all right?" She kept her voice stiff. "I have homework, and I don't need anybody's little brother distracting me."

Now, a certain someone's older brother distracting her... was unavoidable. 

No—no, it was. He was done with her. She would be done with him. The end. No more Moe. No more stupid bull**** about her looks and getting jealous and—right. No more of it. Homework. She had homework. Some pretty nasty thermochemistry junk, to boot...

"Cora?"

She didn't drag her gaze away from her backpack. "What?"

He was hugging her from behind before she knew he was even approaching.

"Do you want a little brother?" His voice was muffled in her hoodie, the dummy. "Just for today? You look lonely."

She stiffened, shutting her eyes and letting out a long breath. "I don't need anyone. Go back home before it gets dark."

He let go. "Okay..." Trudging along in front of her, he went to the still-open front door and stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her and then turned back towards the outside.

"...Can you make tea?"

"Huh?" He whipped around.

Cora lowered herself onto the couch, dragging her bookbag with her. "You can stay long enough to make me some tea if you really feel the burning need to do so."

"Okay! I can do that!" He ran up behind the couch and leaned over it, putting his face near hers. "Where's the kitchen?"

She sighed and pointed him to the right door. "Don't break anything."

"Yes, ma'am!" He scurried towards the entryway. "I mean, no, ma'am. I won't break anything!"

"Okay." Setting her book in her lap, she paused. "What was your name?"

Already in the kitchen, he peeked around the doorframe. "Noah."

She grunted in response. "Well, the less you say to me, the longer you get to stay, Noah." She pulled out a pencil and twirled it between her fingers. "If I'm going to have a little brother, he's going to be well-trained."

"Okay!" He stepped back in the doorway. "I—" He suddenly froze up, wide-eyed. Cora checked the door—it was still open, but it hung open all the time without anyone barging it—before looking back at Noah. He made a motion to zip up his lips, smiled, and hurried for the kettle sitting by the stove.

Ah. If only all boys would do that.

New Fiction Idea #43

You know they're good names when spellcheck doesn't know any of them.

Working Title: They That Swim

Genre: Fantasy

Protagonist: Chlodovech, A young man who is undergoing some training to be a a metalworker. He's prone to pick fights, though only with those he deems to be at a similar level of prowess.

Other Main Characters: Folcher, Chlodovech's constant companion. More impressive in stature than the protagonist, he's meek, easily embarrassed, and loyal. He's a tanner by trade.
Hulderic, the mentor figure. He's going grey and looks older than he is, but he's still strong and a strategist. A refugee from a war with the neighbouring nation (from which most people have moved on), he has a personal grudge against They That Swim and is, coincidentally, a widower.
Hildegard, the object of Chlodovech's affections. She's pretty but heavyset, and, since she comes from a richer family, he doesn't have much hope in pursuing her. She's a talented seamstress and witty but not terribly good at anything else.

Antagonist: Braith, a TTS with a serious (and typical) grudge against humans. She is behind a recent string of disappearances, and, while she doesn't do a lot of her work personally, she'll never just sit back and manage the TTSs under her.

Setting: Standard fantasy-type medieval Europe such and such. The main magical creatures are They That Swim (mermaid-like), They That Fly (human-like with feathers for hair and winged arms), and They That Dig (like anthropomorphised moles). Humans have serious issues with all of them, but TTF mostly keep to themselves, and TTD are actually quite helpful when given the chance. But, due to the extraordinary powers of TTS (such as fountain-of-youth type effects that can be harnessed), humans have had a long history of exploiting them, and they have become quite an enemy, few as they are by now.

Plot: A recent string of disappearances along the coastal area is finally linked to TTS, but Chlodovech doesn't see sufficient reason to involve himself until Hildegard and her family go missing. He sets off to find the TTSs responsible and save her (and the others, too, if he has to).

Point of View: Third person, either omniscient or limited to Chlodovech.

Also, happy 200th post!

The World of Man in the Blade

While it's more or less an abandoned idea at this point, Man in the Blade has really entertained me in its run, and I'd like to share a bit of the worldbuilding with you.

As far as basic location goes, the story takes place in The Territories, an area similar to the American "Wild West." Overall, population is sparse, but most settlers are in small towns. A bounty system is maintained by the head government off in the east, and Hora's town is basically taken care of justice-wise by an organised group with Arck at its head and The Gentleman as his second-in-command (although they're prone to inventing a few murderers and such to meet their quotas when crime drops). Gangs are an issue, but they're not particularly big on recruitment in Hora's town.

And now for the fun stuff.

The word "Blade" technically refers to an inhabited weapon and its inhabitant, but it's often casually used to refer to the spirit alone. In order to be inhabited, a weapon must be at least 75% iron, sharp enough to draw blood from the average human forearm, and a volume of at least 8 cubic centimetres. (They've been well-studied, in part due to the cooperation of Blades like Cahokia.) Aside from that, it can be in any form—sword, dagger, sickle, something sharp but not typically thought of as a weapon. The weapon does not have to be under any particular circumstances of location, blessing, or any other things in order to become a host for a spirit.

When a weapon is inhabited, humans may communicate with the Blade by assuming a "Blade Stance" (feet spread a bit, back straight, Blade held horizontally at eye level). After entering this stance (if the Blade is willing to let others in), the weapon user will be transported into the Blade World. Blade World are different according to the different style of the weapon—Ur's is desert-like, while Cahokia's is forest-like—and a larger weapon corresponds to a Blade World with a greater area. The Blade spirit takes up residence here, although it can still view the outside world.

In battle, each combination of Blade and weapon (if a weapon is shattered or somehow made to longer be able to house a spirit, the spirit will flee to another weapon) can use a unique Veneficus spell. The usefulness of more typical spells varies depending on the style of weapon and strength of the Blade.

Blade and wielder can also undergo a process called Internalisation. While the Blade technically remains attached to its weapon, it also fuses with the wielder. The wielder gains access to any physical (chi) or magical (aura) strength that the Blade had as a human. The two also gain the ability to communicate in all situations, and the wielder often experiences appropriate hallucinations of the Blade standing/sitting nearby as they converse.

That's at least a good outline, but, if there's anything else you'd like to know, go ahead and ask.

Fragments VII

And so the many instalments continue.

• A short story based on a ticket giver at the front of a pay-to-park car park, focusing on the glimpses into lives he sees
• A fantasy world where the main magical creatures are (appropriately) deemed They That Swim, They That Burrow, and They That Fly
• Time travel
• "Wicked prophets kill by speaking his name" (from "One More" by Journey)
• An underground/cave setting
• A character named Billy Rubin
• "Boy, that was fun, being left in the trunk." (overhead in my area of residence)
• A character named Cupric
• Something mystical or whimsical dealing with the timbre skeletons of houses under construction
• A fantastical equivalent of a dog show
• "Death moves in with you as your roommate. You can ask Death to kill anyone. But Death will rarely do any work. He is very eccentric. He will listen to heavy metal extremely loud at the most random of times." (seen on a website)

He Said, She Said

Speech tags are quite the troublesome creatures. Some people say not to use them at all; some say to only use "say"; some say to use whatever as long as you don't add adverbs.

I'm still a little conflicted on this point myself. I would do a study of books I read to see what techniques they use, but... I've never actually noticed. I don't know whether that means it's the right way of doing it or it just doesn't matter to me as a reader, though.

Although I do admit I have somewhat of a stance. I don't remember what story it was, but some time ago I decided to never use the word "said." Not by replacing speech tags with more sideways attributes, but by using "growled," "muttered," and so on. That did not go well. I agree with the idea that these sorts of tags should be used sparingly, and only if the tone of the speaker isn't obvious in the words themselves. Sometimes I have to debate between using such speech tags or using italics, exclamation points, etc. in the quote. I'm still not sure how to resolve those.

I don't like the idea of never using speech tags, though. I do try to avoid them sometimes, when I'd rather break up some dialogue ("I don't know." He leaned back, his head thumping against the wall. "I've just about had it, myself."), but I don't think this needs to be a golden rule. It's nice to have "beats" like that, as I've heard them called, but sometimes it leads to noting every time someone rearranges his legs or something, and it's just a lot of words without meaning. I'd rather throw a few "say"s in there than put out such boring beats all of the time.

How about you? Do you take much notice of speech tags in your reading or writing?

New Fiction Idea #42

Although the character was floating in my head for a while after hearing a waitress say "I'm [name], and I'll be taking care of you today," her first line didn't show up until a while later: "I sign things Jennifer, I go by Jenny, and everyone calls me Dinah. Take your pick."

Working Title: Midnight at the Iston Diner

Genre: Mystery/Fantasy

Protagonist: Jenny, a 27-year-old woman with frizzy red hair she keeps in a loose bun. She smokes—although never during work hours—and is a little haggish in a sweet way, if that makes any sense. She runs and works at the bar of the Iston Diner, and she takes her responsibility to her customers and her staff very seriously. She has some ice-manipulating powers, although she keeps them well-hidden.

Other Main Characters: Charlie, the chef. He's a pretty big guy, both because of fat and muscle, and he's not very sociable. He does stick by his friends, though, and he makes a mean chicken fry. He has the ability to thoroughly disguise one person for about eight hours at a time.
Les, a waiter who will occasionally help with food preparation if there's a lot going on. He's sweet but has a guilt complex and spends a lot of time daydreaming about a certain girl back home. He doesn't really have any "powers," but he isn't quite human and relies on Charlie to keep him undercover.
There are a few more on the staff and some customers to be noted, although they haven't shown themselves yet.

Antagonist: Unknown, but assumed to be one of the customers.

Setting: A particular night at the Iston Diner, a small restaurant in a small town that gets a little business from agritourism but not much else. It's modern day, though, so there's plenty of communication if, say,  someone who doesn't fit in with the humans needs to get a job.

Plot: The late evening/early night patrons of the Iston Diner—residents and passersby alike—have been inside the building for a while when one tourist wanders off to the restroom area. A few minutes later, Les discovers him dead from a stab wound. The local police being somewhat of a joke, Jenny decides to freeze the occupants inside until she and her friends can find the culprit and keep him or her from harming any more customers. But it won't be easy for them to do so without blowing their covers...

Point of View: Third person, limited to Jenny.

I'm still a little unsure—it seems like this won't be long enough for a whole novel—but we'll see what happens when I get to it.

I'm also starting to think a version of M might sneak in, and maybe a character or two from Suture.