The Hidden World

I'm not what you'd call a populist. Murder, rape, incest, infanticide; Sick, twisted and cruel characters suffering similar fates. Monsters — human and inhuman — haunting desolate spaces. A world controlled by misanthropes, torn asunder, reduced to bodily fluids. And still people keep reading. Says a whole lot about the state of the world, doesn't it? My head isn't a good place for a visit, but you read one of my novels, that's exactly where you're going. I've got a mean streak a mile wide, and the things I've seen make me loathe mankind. If we were to be wiped out tomorrow, all of us, I'd say not a minute too soon.

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Chen Yang was a girl like no other. As she walked down the quiet streets of her village, crowds parted in respect of her beauty. No man dared gift her flowers, for even the most beautiful rose would pale in comparison to her beauty.

And yet she was of an age where she should soon marry. This she knew fully well. But her father rejected suitor after suitor, unwilling to part with the gem of all gems to someone as common as as even the greatest men in this village. Words of her beauty spread, and soon noble men from the capital itself came before her, bringing gifts of the finest silk, of gems brought from faraway lands, and the greatest art known to man. This too paled in comparison to her beauty, and her father decreed that she would only marry a man who's gift could rival her beauty. Chen Yang's heart fell at this. For she knew well her beauty, and what gift could possibly compare to it? And what man could afford such a gift? Even the Emperor himself had not the means to find a gift that could rival her beauty, although he had certainly tried. She went to the forest and the mountains, as she often did when she felt alone. She pulled out her Dizi flute, and the sound was so beautiful that the birds felt ashamed to sing in it's presence. The soft and haunting song, in which she poured all her dreams of love, and all her heartache and fear rose up through the wilderness, and melted the hearts of all those who heard it. It rose to the high heavens and the Emerald Emperor himself, and down to Diyu, to King Yan, the demon king himself.

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The strange statue in his hand eluded all description. The words that came to mind was words of war and pleasure. Of twisting vines with human faces, caught in eternal bliss. He shuddered as the jolt of sickening sweet wine forced it's way down his brain with every moment of contemplation. His words shuddered across paper and skittered hastily past space and time as he tried to put words to his find.

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The thing that looked nothing like a human bled from a place no bleeding was possible, and the color of the solid liquid was nothing at all like blood. Johnathan laughed tears and swallowed pain as he twisted his crooked fingers around what may never have been a gun as he pointed to the place in space and time that may never have existed. "Please," he said. The void spilling from his mouth like words of a half-forgotten lore entwined in prayer. The thing that was no thing, and yet all things came closer, and Johnathan felt his feet give away and he fell like angels fell. "Please..."

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Jim stalked through the halls of the school like a shark through a steam of fleeing fish.

He was wearing a leather jacket and a deep frown. And everywhere he went the crowd parted for him --even the teachers tread cautiously around Jim Jones.

Everyone did.

Everyone but Cindy.

Cindy.... Even her name evoked the vision of the stars in her bright eyes and golden hair. Eyes downcast and shy as she smiled to him over the cover a book.

Cindy....

The day to his everlasting night. The softness to his sharp edge.

Jim almost cracked a smile.

Almost.

He did have an image to maintain.

[ryanlanz]

Writing Authentic Battle Scenes

If you write historical novels, you may end up having to handle battles, and the question is, how to do it? The simplest way is to focus on one or more persons on the front line. You may be able to write some important character aspect of the protagonist, and this is good, but if so, the battle is merely an excuse to do that and is not an important part of the plot. Continue reading Writing…

Writing Authentic Battle Scenes

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How to Write a Twist Villain

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Plot Holes and How to Fix Them

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Setups and Payoffs

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"I don't know, Jeff..."

"C'm on! It'll be fun!"

"What if my uncle catch me?"

"We'll tell them you're sleeping at my place tonight. My parents won't care. They never care."

Harry looked at his boyfriend and bit his lip. He wasn't sure he was ready for this yet, but...

"Okay, Jeff," he said.

The big grin on his boyfriend's face made his heart flutter. He'd do -anything- to see that smile.

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A Reasonable Man

John Jones was a reasonable man.

He married his long time friend whom he loved...if not passionately, then at least sensibly.

He had a nice house in a reasonable distance from the metro, and a nice and safe job as the editor of a small newspaper. It was not his dream job, but he took great pride in providing for his family, and supporting his wife's brand new business venture.

He had to stop by the video-rental store, he remembered. It was movie night, and a chance to bond with his teenage daughter --something that had become harder to do over the years.

He dodged under a ladder, and rushed to catch the metro in the nick of time.

He chucked to himself as he noticed the rabbit-foot dangling the backpack of a girl with a pentagram around her neck.

'Teenagers', he chuckled to himself.

Stepping off the subway he almost tripped over the bum begging in the streets.

The sirens howled in the far distance as he averted his eyes and looked checked his watch. He had time. Good. Good.

He shuddered a little and pulled the cheap jacket closer around himself.

Angry voices floated out from a side-street, and he picked up his pace.

'Not my business' he thought as he hurried along.

Then he spotted the store and smiled.

A small bell tinkled as he opened the door, passing by the gum-popping girl playing with her phone behind the desk.

Horror movies had not been something he'd watched until his daughter caught an interest in them. But after watching a few of them with her, he'd come to love them --however unrealistic they may be.

The warm air made him loose his coat as he walked towards the right shelves, as he had a thousand times before.

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Show AND Tell

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"Better pay up, chump! The boss ain't too patient!" The knife felt good in his rough hand.

"P-please. Give me some time, I'll get it... I'll get it soon!" the man whimpered as Johnny pushed him against the wall.

"Times up, chump. You have the money or not?"

"I-I will... Just a few more days... UGH!"

The man dropped to the floor, his blood staining the pavement as he clutched the stomach.

"Next time, pay up!" Johnny told the dying man, his eyes hard and cold.

"Fuck!" he cussed as he tripped over a shivering ally cat, who let out a pitiful mewl, but didn't move.

As he leaned closer he realized why. The cat must have been hurt before he had a chance to stumble over it.

"Fuck, didn't see you there," the grim man said.

"You okay, kitten?" Johnny leaned down to pet the cat, only for the hissing animal to scratch him.

"Feisty, aren't you?" he smiled and wrapped his jacket around the wounded cat.

"Don't worry, I know a broad who'll fix you right up."

With the murring cat in his arms, he continued on his path, leaving the cooling corpse of Jimmy Jones cooling in the gutter behind him.

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"You're just like one of my characters... You looooove evil. You don't run away from it, you don't try to avoid it. You welcome it, you -crave- it! You invite the pain and cherish the suffering. You dive right into the filth and make -no- atempt to wash it off. You bend over and spread your legs and let the darkness inside. And when you finally climb back out, it doesn't matter how bad it smells, how the stench in the taint clings to you; You can't -wait- to dive back in. Like a dopefiend hankering for a fix, you want it to never end.  You need it. Your entier identety, your raison d'êntre, is at stake. You're just like every single character I've ever written; Fucked from page one!" --Sam Krieg.

[ryanlanz]

Do You Really Know How To "Show, Don't Tell"?

Yesterday marked my deadline for completing the pre-edits for Marred. “Pre-edits” seems like it would be an easy task. It wasn’t. Once the track edits begin in two weeks, I’m not allowed to change anything other than what the editor points out. So I wanted to go through the manuscript…one…more…time…and improve it to the best of my ability. Continue reading Do You Really Know How To “Show,…

Do You Really Know How To "Show, Don't Tell"?

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Show, Don't Tell: How to Write it Right

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How to Write Good Dialogue, and how to avoid writing bad ones

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"The day the fog rolled in, I stood up here in this ivory tower and watched it all. It came like an avalanche, like a tsunami, obscuring everything in its path. First the shoreline, then the fields, the forest — the town. It lingered for a while, before receding. There was no one left. The fog took them, all of them. At least, that's what I thought at first glance. Turned out there were others who escaped the fog - somehow. Me — and the sheriff, she was paying a friendly visit — I was above it all. It didn't touch us. That night, it was deathly quiet. The fog around the island obscured everything, sight and sound. One or two people tried to leave. They walked into that thick mist, and all we heard were the screams. The next morning — with the dawn — came the townsfolk, returning from the sea, like one of my stories. Followed by what the Wabanaki once called "the pale men." The Draug. That's when I decided to stay put and keep writing. There's a strange inspiration to be found in imprisonment."

-Sam Krieg