More Work in Progress
February 20, 2012
So I don’t have anything more to post that’s anywhere near complete, however, I do have some more work in progress. This is for another myth rewrite that I’m still working on designing. And I believe this is just the opening. The voice is going to be much different in the rest of the story. ‘Cause I love confusing my readers, you see.
Had a great day for visits yesterday, almost 50. The most I’ve ever had! On a Sunday! And a great comment from M about my writing and what I can do to improve it, all things I plan on keeping in mind while I edit and go through my work again. As well as writing new things.
A few things; still trying to get covers together to start putting stuff up on ebook markets (and now that I need to do some more editing passes, it’ll be easier to pass that time). I do have the blog here syndicated on the Kindle now, though. If you search for The Writing Engine under blogs you’ll find it. Searching for it lead me to find out that I accidentally used the name of a book about writing, as well, which makes me kind of sad. I may consider changing the name here to be less…the same. So if you have any writing-oriented steampunk style suggestions, let me know!
In the mean time, enjoy the beginning of The First and Forgotten Hero.
“These eve, dear men of sword and women of song, I shall sing you a tale as old as our father’s father’s father’s first stories. Perhaps even older still, a time when the world was young and the mountains shook and took breath, a time when gods walked the earth among men and all things were both closer and farther a way. A time before magic died and went beneath the earth, a time before the church-men and their white-lord and their dead-god. A time before the summer-lord came upon our land, a time before the fair-folk came upon our land, and a time before the bronzed men of Rome strode across the earth and locked us under their heel. A time even still before Alexander and his conquest of the world. This, my dear friends, is a story from when all lands were one land and all people were one people and all stories were one story. This is the Song of our First and Forgotten Hero. The song of Farla, daughter of Hersina and Shiva the God.”
At first there was much cacophony around the mead-hall, shouting and cursing and men claiming that Farla was but a myth and phantom for no woman could do what Farla did. Some had never heard the ancient tale before, not knowing the joys and follies of Farla, the great hero of the Old Earth, the time before time. The priests along the High Table balked at the callous reference to their white lord upon the cross and bristled at the insulting dismissal the bard had treated them to. The women, both powerful and not powerful, cackled and chided the men-folk wanting to hear a story of a woman that paved a road for them, a proper road where they too were heroes.
But none, not a single one, would say no to Taliesin. He came when he wished, sung what he wished, and was set along the path again as he wished. For he was the last great Druid and the only immortal known to walk the high roads of Ireland.
Taliesin raised his harp again, striking the chords softly at first, silencing the room, and raised his voice to the rafters. Luminous and trembling, he summoned from the threads of magic left in the world a vision in everyone’s mind, a strong and powerful vision, of a young woman – dark of skin and firey of hair, round of face and thick of body, rippling with muscle and determination. She was built as those of the North are, strong and stout, but she was taut like the soldiers of Rome who marched for months without cease. She carried but a small dark green tunic and a sword as long as her arm, belted to her side in a clapped-together wooden sheath covered with designs similar to those from far off India but old and hoary. She ran in their mind, her world growing as her feet struck the virgin earth, still young in the history of myths and stories, still seeming both real and unreal, as Taliesin sang.
All were lost in his words as he ended the very first verse, the verse that told of Farla and who she was. Which told of her triumph over the Dragon, which told of her defeat of Posiedon’s child, which told of her travels across the World That Was. The hall was silent as Taliesin’s strings stilled and he smiled softly.
“Once, long ago, on an archipelago that stretched from the old coasts of India there was a castle, the king of that mountain had a daughter and she was beautiful, called most beautiful by those who knew her, and by name she was Hersina. Her father, King Parva, was brother and friend to the king of Atlantis and when his daughter came to him it was but scant days after the destruction of the land of Atlantis with the God’s-Fire. In fear that their hubris and beauty had angered the great gods, he stole his daughter away in a great tower overlooking the ocean, above the heat and glory and press of the kingdom below the mountain over which he was king. It is there she grew and it is there she became beautiful and it is there, above the clouds, that the oldest son of the great Maker saw her. It is there, in that great tower, that Shiva saw her beauty and was enchanted by it.”