Watching The Swallows Fly ...
Jul. 21st, 2004 09:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiat_knoxThrough the bedroom window, I can see swallows flying past in the fading daylight. If I leave my window open, I can hear their little trilling calls, as well as watch them circling overhead: agile, tireless and unbelievably fast.
Just below the level of the bedroom, I'm pleased to say that the little extension my Dad is erecting is finally starting to take shape. The roof's not entirely complete yet, but enough of it is present that it makes a pleasing sound when the rain falls upon it.
We're hoping it'll be finished by this time next week, in time for Mum's birthday. This is Dad's birthday present to her. As always, and rightly so, he wants to make it special.
I'm sitting here, wondering about dreams, about being able to fulfil them, or whether I'm ever going to live to see even the smallest of my dreams realised.
I wanted to be a published writer by now. I desperately wanted to make it in publishing, so that I would never have to worry about benefits, about paying bills, any of that tripe, because I will have found the calling which will sustain me until I die.
You'll note, I didn't mention "retirement."
Mum told me that if ever I get a big wodge of cash, I ought to put it into a holiday: some exotic and wonderful place, such as Japan.
Perhaps I could head for the States, visit Hollywood, see the Paramount Studios where they make Star Trek; or perhaps take in Seattle and Washington State, the future site of the Sea-Tac Sprawl of the Shadowrun RPG setting.
Even drop by the White Wolf Games Studio in Clarkstown, GA, and shake hands with Justin Achilli and the staff who have provided me with so much sovereign entertainment over these years.
And, Mum said, I should do this without hesitation, before I'm too damn old to do anything about it.
But there is one place in all the world I would dearly love to visit some day, should the grace of the Great One favour me.
That place is Corpus Christi, TX; birthplace and current residence of one nyghtshayde.
You want to know what my fantasy is?
One day, I get published. My books sells hugely, worldwide. Over here, I get invited to drop by the Andromeda bookshop in Birmingham, which I do - to sign books, and also to collect the latest RPG stuff to drop in to the Dungeons & Starships store above.
Afterwards, I do more signings at Nostalgia & Comics nearby, mostly signing the comic adaptation of my story; and the following day, it's a similar deal in Waterstones in the same town, the first of many signing sessions in Waterstones in Britain.
And then, the Big Tour. The States.
In my fantasy, I get to visit Houston, TX, and perhaps look at the Space Centre, or perhaps that could be reserved for Florida instead. Either way, a small visit to Corpus, and say hi to nyghtshayde and other members of the Circle of which I am a part.
Not long afterwards, a trip to GA, and a visit to the WWGS studios for the aforementioned handshaking thing.
And so on, roaming across the States, doing signing sessions, bumping into the people I've known for years, finally dropping by Washington State, getting some coffee in Seattle, taking a few photos of Puget Sound, the Space Needle etc, and hoping that another friend of mine, Katrine "Kami" Maples, will be able to find her way there so we could meet face to face at last.
And then back to Europe, via Japan, Australia, wherever. But definitely visiting Japan. I really want to go there before the end of this cycle of my existence.
I know; it's a fantasy. But I'm entitled to one.
I have dreams of success as an author. It's what I want to be, more than anything else in the world. My dreams sustain me, prompt me to carry on. For example, I'm writing a story right at this moment. It's a retelling of a story I wrote back in 1989.
The characters are more or less the same; the setting has not changed substantially, and the plot is, more or less, the same.
And yet it's unrecognisable from the first telling of the story, because I'm biting the bullet here and adding perhaps the vital spark that turns mediocre novels into bestsellers.
And it's a story of high fantasy, told from a completely different, even novel, slant - something I don't believe has been tried for the Fantasy genre before. Or maybe it has, but certainly not in the style I'm trying to achieve.
Why am I writing High Fantasy, a tale of magic and adventure in some land not of the Earth we know from our history?
Why not? It's worked for the big LOTR movies.
And why magic?
Why not? After all, it worked for J K Rowling's books. The success of Harry Potter has given the lie, once and for all, to the assertion made by one publisher ten years ago that "there's no market for it."
The first real attempt at writing a full novel for publication, my first attempt to be a writer, began about this time in 1986. If my story ever gets to see the light of day, I will explain, here, where I got my idea from; but suffice to say that, in 1986, the germ of an idea for my first story was planted, on a warm, sunny evening in Chester, UK.
Shortly thereafter, I dreamed of the setting: and it was a place that felt so real that I could have gone there in person.
It was a setting I wanted to keep alive, and I have done, from that day to this, bringing it up to date in this potent retelling and keeping the faith of the original vision.
Dad has his house, and his extension, and the desire to make the place special and to finish it in time for next Wednesday.
I have my dream, my desire to make my story special. I want to write a story where you find yourself buried so deeply in the thing that you can dream of finding yourself in the Gardens of Astribel, to hear the gentle trilling of swallows in the long, lazy summer evening, to look up and see the flash of sleek curved wings overhead, ducking between the poplars over by the far wall; the poplars through which the setting sun shines, casting long, sharp shadows over the lawn ...
One day, I want you to feel the same thrill I felt writing that last paragraph. I want you to hear the music, to feel Torcinian grass beneath your feet, to see the swallows.
And I want that tour deal.
One day.
Just below the level of the bedroom, I'm pleased to say that the little extension my Dad is erecting is finally starting to take shape. The roof's not entirely complete yet, but enough of it is present that it makes a pleasing sound when the rain falls upon it.
We're hoping it'll be finished by this time next week, in time for Mum's birthday. This is Dad's birthday present to her. As always, and rightly so, he wants to make it special.
I'm sitting here, wondering about dreams, about being able to fulfil them, or whether I'm ever going to live to see even the smallest of my dreams realised.
I wanted to be a published writer by now. I desperately wanted to make it in publishing, so that I would never have to worry about benefits, about paying bills, any of that tripe, because I will have found the calling which will sustain me until I die.
You'll note, I didn't mention "retirement."
Mum told me that if ever I get a big wodge of cash, I ought to put it into a holiday: some exotic and wonderful place, such as Japan.
Perhaps I could head for the States, visit Hollywood, see the Paramount Studios where they make Star Trek; or perhaps take in Seattle and Washington State, the future site of the Sea-Tac Sprawl of the Shadowrun RPG setting.
Even drop by the White Wolf Games Studio in Clarkstown, GA, and shake hands with Justin Achilli and the staff who have provided me with so much sovereign entertainment over these years.
And, Mum said, I should do this without hesitation, before I'm too damn old to do anything about it.
But there is one place in all the world I would dearly love to visit some day, should the grace of the Great One favour me.
That place is Corpus Christi, TX; birthplace and current residence of one nyghtshayde.
You want to know what my fantasy is?
One day, I get published. My books sells hugely, worldwide. Over here, I get invited to drop by the Andromeda bookshop in Birmingham, which I do - to sign books, and also to collect the latest RPG stuff to drop in to the Dungeons & Starships store above.
Afterwards, I do more signings at Nostalgia & Comics nearby, mostly signing the comic adaptation of my story; and the following day, it's a similar deal in Waterstones in the same town, the first of many signing sessions in Waterstones in Britain.
And then, the Big Tour. The States.
In my fantasy, I get to visit Houston, TX, and perhaps look at the Space Centre, or perhaps that could be reserved for Florida instead. Either way, a small visit to Corpus, and say hi to nyghtshayde and other members of the Circle of which I am a part.
Not long afterwards, a trip to GA, and a visit to the WWGS studios for the aforementioned handshaking thing.
And so on, roaming across the States, doing signing sessions, bumping into the people I've known for years, finally dropping by Washington State, getting some coffee in Seattle, taking a few photos of Puget Sound, the Space Needle etc, and hoping that another friend of mine, Katrine "Kami" Maples, will be able to find her way there so we could meet face to face at last.
And then back to Europe, via Japan, Australia, wherever. But definitely visiting Japan. I really want to go there before the end of this cycle of my existence.
I know; it's a fantasy. But I'm entitled to one.
I have dreams of success as an author. It's what I want to be, more than anything else in the world. My dreams sustain me, prompt me to carry on. For example, I'm writing a story right at this moment. It's a retelling of a story I wrote back in 1989.
The characters are more or less the same; the setting has not changed substantially, and the plot is, more or less, the same.
And yet it's unrecognisable from the first telling of the story, because I'm biting the bullet here and adding perhaps the vital spark that turns mediocre novels into bestsellers.
And it's a story of high fantasy, told from a completely different, even novel, slant - something I don't believe has been tried for the Fantasy genre before. Or maybe it has, but certainly not in the style I'm trying to achieve.
Why am I writing High Fantasy, a tale of magic and adventure in some land not of the Earth we know from our history?
Why not? It's worked for the big LOTR movies.
And why magic?
Why not? After all, it worked for J K Rowling's books. The success of Harry Potter has given the lie, once and for all, to the assertion made by one publisher ten years ago that "there's no market for it."
The first real attempt at writing a full novel for publication, my first attempt to be a writer, began about this time in 1986. If my story ever gets to see the light of day, I will explain, here, where I got my idea from; but suffice to say that, in 1986, the germ of an idea for my first story was planted, on a warm, sunny evening in Chester, UK.
Shortly thereafter, I dreamed of the setting: and it was a place that felt so real that I could have gone there in person.
It was a setting I wanted to keep alive, and I have done, from that day to this, bringing it up to date in this potent retelling and keeping the faith of the original vision.
Dad has his house, and his extension, and the desire to make the place special and to finish it in time for next Wednesday.
I have my dream, my desire to make my story special. I want to write a story where you find yourself buried so deeply in the thing that you can dream of finding yourself in the Gardens of Astribel, to hear the gentle trilling of swallows in the long, lazy summer evening, to look up and see the flash of sleek curved wings overhead, ducking between the poplars over by the far wall; the poplars through which the setting sun shines, casting long, sharp shadows over the lawn ...
One day, I want you to feel the same thrill I felt writing that last paragraph. I want you to hear the music, to feel Torcinian grass beneath your feet, to see the swallows.
And I want that tour deal.
One day.
