What to Write About

So, I'm not sure what to post to this blog right now. My life has so much going on (but so little of it meaningful) that it's hard to know what to write.

The problem has to do with being "published". Technically, anything I post to this blog is "published". (Don't you just love reading things in quotes? Or parenthesis?) That poses a problem with anything I would like to be paid for later.

I suppose it doesn't matter. After all, I haven't been paid for anything I've written since I worked at the newspaper.

I would like to continue posting short story-poems here. They write quickly, and they convey what I'm feeling at the moment. Unlike a full novel, in which I have to recapture feelings because it's been weeks since the thing was begun.

Of course, most of my story-poems are same topic, and I suppose they get kind of samey after a while. But not for me. They're all different people. Different stories. To me, these are real people. I enjoy writing about them.

There are also nearly 7,000 characters in my Swords of Fire Saga. I've only dealt with a handful of stories. I could spend a lifetime writing about these lifetimes. Wish I could paid to do it.

Perhaps what I should do is spend some time writing about how The Great Sea became such a complicated place. Write about the process, instead of the result. I don't know. What do you think? Don't get many readers here, so I expect it doesn't matter at all.

Urelvent and Nagasil

Not all of the tales from The Great Sea involve women and love. Here is a tale of a fifth-born P'Lei Dragon. P'Leis were spikey, and of purple color. They were not formidable as dragons went, but any dragon made for a difficult opponent. As a fifth-born, Urelvant lacked the intelligence of older siblings, and he was a non-breeding dragon. Their lust for gemstones often put dragons at odds with Dwarfs.

Urelvent and Nagasil
by Bevie James

The dragon known as Urelvent was a mighty beast of yore
A giant thing of purple hue upon the winds did sore

It settled in the mountain tops near Valdid Village East
And soon made war and faced an army set to kill the beast

Urelvent laughed and killed at will and feared no mortal dart
Until the Dwarf named Nogasil came and pierced his heart

Nogasil was then renown, his name spread far and wide
He said he did not kill the beast, what killed the beast was pride

Oloara

Oloara
by Bevie James

Oloara was a pretty girl, as flowers in a field
The boys would try to lay with her, but ne’er did she yield

Fresh Lips like roses on her face, and breasts so soft and plump
Boys went wild to watch her pass, and see her tight formed rump

She knew that any boy was hers, she had just but to say
But ne’er a word Oloara said, and kept the boys at bay

I was a friend of hers back then, we often talked and played
And when too dark it was to walk, at her house I stayed

Sometimes I’d ask her how it was, she’d resist all the boys
She’s laugh and smile sweet at me, and say there’s better joys

Then she would turn to me and say, you have no boys with you
How is it you should be alone, and that your loves be few

No words had I for her to give, I could not let her know
That love for her was in my heart, how could I tell her so

One evening when a storm raged strong, a book Oloara read
Then later when the lights blew out, she took me to her bed

While outside rain and wind blew hard, in bed all was calm
And kisses that Oloara gave, soothed my heart like balm

For two full years we shared our love, and ecstasy we had
While others in the village scoffed, and said our love was bad

Then came one day to our village home, a boy from far away
He fell in love with Oloara and took my love away

Alone I lived as years flew by, no boy came to my door
And love it faded from my life, I’d know it nevermore

Then after many years had passed, when I was old and grey
Someone at my door did knock, needing a place to stay

When my door swung open I did see, standing in the night
Oloara looking worn and spent, she looked a sadly fright

Into my arms she fell with tears, asking for forgiveness
I held her tight and kissed her brow, my love had not grown less

She ate my food and slept that night, warmly in my bed
Her husband had run off from her, fell and now was dead

Her children they were three, she said, all grown and moved away
For the village where they had grown up, required them to pay

Oloara, though, did not go with, she came home to me
For now she knew she loved me best, and with me she’d be free

That night I let her sleep alone, though my heart had desire
I let her sleep upon my bed while I lay by the fire

Amidst the night I heard her call, I went and kissed her face
She held and pulled me down with her, this now was my place

And so with gentle hands and lips she granted me my flames
I cried and wept within her arms, she was mine again

It’s been three years since she’s come home, we’re happy in our home
And joy is mine forever more, I’m no longer alone

Chalva

Chalva
by Bevie James

When Chalva came to Harbiss, little could I know
That what began as friendship, would grow and grow and grow
She had come from Aliss Harbor, a village by the sea
A dashing girl of twenty, she meant so much to me
We walked together often, and she would tell me tales
Of ships set out on oceans, hunting mighty whales

Then came the night that Chalva, walked me home at night
She put her arms around me, and I began to see the light
Her lips touched mine so gently, and her hand cupped round my breast
I let her come to bed with me, and with her did the rest
I had not dreamed it possible, to love a woman so
But Chalva owns my heart of love, and Chalva is my beau

I like the way she teases me, I like the way she talks
Sometimes I’ll hold her hand in mine, while we take our walks
At whiles she’ll stop and hold me close, in her gentle arms
She’ll giggle and play with my blouse, asking for my charms
And I never can say no to her, she fills my heart with joy
To know that I am Chalva’s love, not just some rough boy

Others in the village, will criticize us two
They say we are not natural, and it’s wrong what we both do
Perhaps they’re right, I do not know, I do not even care
For I love Chalva with all my heart, my life with her I share
And so we two young women, grow older every day
And love each other warmly, in every single way

Tescha

It's been a while since I've posted to this blog. These poems I have been writing are the foundations for actual stories, which is my concern. By publishing the poems on this blog, have I actually published the stories? I don't know. But I like telling these stories. They're all about love, and there's a healing element to them. I think so anyway. They are all written in sudden inspiration. I hope you like them.

Tescha
by Bevie James

Tescha’s love for Willah Spent was steeped with passion and so it went
She tried to court the girl each day, but Willah sent Tescha away
Alone she cried herself to sleep, wanting Willah Spent to keep
She once brought flowers to her door, and was told by Willah, “Return no more”
So Tescha’s heart was broken then, and vowed she would not love again

Willah Spent grew fast and wild, and then one day she had a child
Her pregnancy was all the talk, and followed her when’ere she walked
The other women called her names, and even men would do the same
But the men would come with bold desire, asking Willah to quench their fire
When it came that she could take no more, Willah came to Techa’s door

Tescha let the outcast in, and said no word of Willah’s sin
She fed her love and made her warm, keeping her all safe from harm
The child, too, she took her own, saying, “This is my flesh. This is my bone.”
Together they endure the stares, of others who had other cares
But Tescha lives with Willah her love, they fit together – hand in glove

Kadassa, Tahk and Brills

Kadassa, Tahk and Brills
by Bevie James

Kadassa lived in the lowland hills, with her husband, Tahk, and his sister, Brills.
Her husband worked in the forest deep, while the cabin she and Brills did keep.
Kadassa worked a garden plot, while Brills she hunted and was gone a lot

Villagers seldom came that far, for the lowland hills were very far
Sometimes the women came to town, but Tahk he never came around
Some felt sorry for the women there, alone in the cabin with all their cares

But Kadassa said she was just fine, ‘cause her and Brills could toe the line
Two years later I chanced to come, to their cabin at the setting sun
I told them I was heading west, and they gave me food and a place to rest

I was told about her husband, Tahk, who hunted now and was gone a lot
Kadassa fixed a bed of hay in the barn where she said I could stay
In the morning I was first to rise, and through their window I saw their lies

There was no husband as she’d said, it was just those two who shared the bed
I understood why they should lie, to even me, a passerby
So I pretended I did not know, and spoke no word and prepared to go

But as I turned to walk away, Kadassa had something to say
She thanked me for my manners well, and that she knew I would not tell
I smiled and kissed both her and Brills, and walked off then into the hills

Sometimes I see them in my sleep, and when I do I often weep
How sad that lovers hid must be, it’s like a prison when they should be free
And so they live there in the hills, Kadassa and her lover, Brills

Shabba

Shabba
by Bevie James

Shabba was a farmer and he had a fat old cow
He had a hog and chickens and a horse to pull his plow

He rose before the sunrise and got his morning milk
He wiped his brow of sweat with a handkerchief of silk

He fed his flock of chickens and slopped his lonely hog
Made sure the cat had cream, and fed his loyal dog

Only when his stock had eaten did Shabba get his food
Bacon, eggs, and toast, all tasted very good

When fields needed tending he was right out there of course
With a plow or with a wagon, pulled by his mighty horse

He mended leather harness, and kept his fences strong
His tools were kept well oiled, for rustiness was wrong

Shabba never had much money and so he bought few things
Mostly things for farming, but there was the diamond ring

The ring was for Melahda, the woman that he loved
Who’s beauty was as starlight, who’s voice was like a dove

She was shapely, young, and pretty, a girl for his desires
A woman filled with passion, who would light his inner fires

He went to her one morning, after feeding all his stock
Walked right up to her door, and proceeded then to knock

Her brother let him in, he was just a little lad
Who knew nothing of love’s passion, knew nothing that was bad

So Shabba saw Melahda, who’s breasts were full and bare
And the words he had then left him, to speak he did not dare

He stared and then he fled her, embarrassed to the core
She would think now that he’d shamed her, and want him never more

He returned to his own farm, Melahda in his thoughts
He thought of nothing else, except the look he got

But later in the day, when the sun was going down
When all the stock was fed, Melahda came around

She smiled and she kissed him, and told all was right
And that if he agreed, she’d like to spend the night

She had but one condition, that Shabba take her brother
For the boy was not her sibling, she was in fact his mother

Shabba looked beyond her, where the boy stood far away
And put his arm around her, and said that he could stay

Now Shabba rises early, and takes with him his son
They work the farm together, until the day is done

Melahda tends the house, and things around the yard
They three of them are there, all working very hard

At night when things are peaceful, and the boy is taking rest
Melahda gives to Shabba, the comfort of her breasts

Tortan and Lolura

TORTAN and LOLURA
by Bevie James

Tortan was a farmer in the land of Chira Lee
His brothers all had left him, sailing out to sea
His sisters married quickly, all except Lolura Ann
Who stayed and lived with Tortan, farming in the sand

Now Lolura had no husband, and Tortan had no wife
And so the two they argued, their house was filled with strife
Lolura said to Tortan, we should not argue so
I will be your woman, and you will be my beau

At first he cried against it, and said this can’t be done
But desire pushed back reason, and Lolura bore a son
Their children now are many, and all help work the farm
The family lives in happiness, so tell me where’s the harm

More farmers came in time, to the land of Chira Lee
They knew not that they were siblings, so they let the Tortans be
The children grew and flourished, and married those that came
And Tortan and Lolura, kept hidden all their shame

Then chance one day there came, back from sailing on the sea
One of Tortan’s brothers, who’s real name was Gree
Gree said, “She’s your sister!” But Tortan said, “My wife.”
“I will not give her up. She has become my life.”

So Gree he left in anger, and swore not to come again
But Tortan and Lolura, assured they had no sin
The people of the village, now see them with dismay
For brothers wedding sisters is not the normal way

Tortan and Lolura, have long since died and gone
Their children are the legacy, of what the two had done
But for those who still remember, when the was only the two
To marry and to prosper, what else could those two do

Potential

One of the beautiful things about the creation of The Great Sea is that it allows for a myriad of stories which have absolutely nothing to do with the Main Saga, which is Madatar's struggle to take possession of what was promised him.

There is a Troll story I want to tell, but that is probably going to become part of the Saga. There are tales from the Kingdom of Azua, but they indirectly point to the Saga, too.

But there are other worlds. Other creatures. Did you know that the Deltumler live in the ocean, and that their most hated enemy are the Sharogues? Both actually made an appearance in the original sequel to The Prophecies of Madatar, which was one of the Saga's earliest manifestations.

There are the Centaurs, the Pennans, the Nomads, and the orginal Men who populated the first giant world. And what of the Dragons and the Unicorns? At one time I thought about doing stories for all of these beings. Only I put it all on hold because I deemed the stories without a base if I could not get the Saga published.

The truth is, Apprentice and Quest could very easily take place on The Great Sea. Neither story has anything to do with Madatar.

Renaming this blog has reminded me that I have a host of stories to tell which are not based in any fashion or form upon the epic fantasy of my life's work.

The problem I have is I don't really understand online publishing at all, and that appears to be where short stories are going to have to be submitted in order to receive publication. Perhaps I should continue my Kiahva stories in hopes of finding a place for her. At the same time I could include a story or two about Dragons, Dwarfs, communities of Men on other worlds. All of this would build a base from which even the Saga could rise.

It's something to think about.

It's a Complex Place

Converted the blog to a new template and then added a left sidebar. It's a better utilization of space.

Swords of Fire is an amazing saga. To me, anyway. Not only do I have a main story which covers an entire solar system, but I have a hoard of spin-off stories, too.

You already know of Tavaar's Backstory. But what about the backstories of other characters? What about Khirbah and Korbah, the founders of the Compound 333 years before my main character, Khirsha, was born? How did that come about?

The Kingdom of Azua. Who are those people? How vast is their kingdom?

What about Barbarians and Trolls? Why are they so hateful? There has to be a reason. People just aren't born that way. (I do know the reason, by the way.)

Where did the Giant Cats come from? How did Fire Mountain come to be?

What's great is that I have answers to all of these questions. After thirty-seven years it only makes sense.

Why is the Sea there? What is its real purpose?

I know it all. And yet I continue to learn more. Isn't that amazing? That's the wonder and beauty of world building. It never really ends until we do.

A Blog Advertisement

I need to take classes in marketing. I should have posted this hours ago.

The Stories Have Begun Arriving at
The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes!

Today, tomorrow, Sunday and Monday will all produce first entries by four different Authors

Read works from Internationally Known Authors such as:

Writtenwyrdd - the famous Speculative Fiction Writer in the east
Blogless Troll - the dashing Writer from Kiribati
Whirlochre - the clever King of the British Isles
fairyhedgehog - Castle Windsor's Lady in Waiting
freddie - the midwest's Star of Music and Wonder
Lisa - the Poetic Mistress of Feline Purrs
Ms. Sparrow - Famed Minnesota historian

and, how could we forget

Bevie James - ambiguous, paranoid, but good-hearted

If you have time, give the blog a look-see.

Well worth the 500-word reads

A New Mythical Creature

My son has been writing his own fantasy story over the past week. Every so often he gets inspired and writes. Only now that he's older, his stories are no longer just a few paragraphs. His current work is over 10,000-words. I haven't read any of it because he hasn't presented it yet. But clearly it is a fantasy work.

I know this because he asked for help in scanning a drawing he made of one of the creatures in his story. I won't post it now because I don't have his permission, but I will describe it.

It kind of looks like a lion, except it has ridges like a komodo dragon along its back, and the end of its tail is spiked like the stegosaurus?. Not sure which dinosaur had the spiked tail, but you've seen it, I'm sure. It has a mane that looks like fire and sharp claws on each of its four feet.

The creature is called, A Wulgad.

The Muses have been having fun with Son of late. He's been inspired to learn keyboards without any help from a teacher. (We just don't have the money.) But he's getting good. He can play reasonably quick with few errors. He does know how to read music. And playing the tuba gave him an inside track on learning the bass cleft.

He also draws, although not so often anymore. But he drew the Wulgad himself. He also created a comic series of stick people which now encompasses several notebooks. I try to get him to draw on drawing paper, but he likes the spiral bound notebook paper. Well, I'm not going to discourage him.

Music. Drawing. Writing.

I'm kind of proud of him. I'd like to believe he inherited at least some of that from me.

A Million Worlds Means a Million Stories - and more

My thought all along was that, after finishing the Swords of Fire Saga, I would continue with Stories From the Great Sea. These stories could take the form of trilogies and sagas, but more often simply be stand alone tales of their own merit. My short story, Apprentice, could fall into this category. As well as others.

The Great Sea consists of so many worlds. I have not counted them, but references in my notes indicate there are at least thousands, if not tens of thousands, or even millions. Most of the worlds would either be devoid of Free People representation, or inhabited by humans. There would be worlds devoid of any real fauna. Not much of a story there. But there are so many tales to be told.

The difficult thing about these others stories is that they must also adhere to the general laws which govern The Great Sea, and which are spelled out in the Swords of Fire Saga. For instance, Swords of Fire states there are twelve dragon breeds. It further identifies them. This means any story which involves dragons would have to conform to this knowledge. The existence of Windows can be used, but the manner in which they function cannot be altered. The presence of the Children of Fire cannot be altered. Nor can their involvement.

The fact that a story might be interesting if certain things were true which Swords of Fire states are not is not the point. In order for the story to belong to The Great Sea, it must conform to The Great Sea. Otherwise, it has to take place some place else.

If Swords of Fire ever becomes successful, I shall put together all of these rules into a single volume. That way anyone who becomes inspired to write into this place will have a working knowledge at their disposal to write a believeable story for it.

I think that would be the greatest thing of all.