Resurfaced

Wow, there's a lot of dust here. 2014, my last post? Really?

A lot has changed. I mean, a fucking *lot* over the years.

Let's see: I finished my MA (some bloody use that was); I've taken up engineering (I'm done messing around in my arrogance and ineffective creativity - long, long story and argument, that one); I discovered that I like, well, unconventionally erotic things, and I don't mind admitting it; I met a woman I love very much (she's reciprocated that type of fondness very convincingly, even though I probably don't deserve it due to being a bit more of a cynical bastard than I already am); I've moved out of my childhood home again, and permanently; I still draw things, and really horrible ones at that, which is purely for my own pleasure (and everyone else's despondency).

And I am *writing* again. I'm writing big-big, now. I've written chapters. You know what that means? Thousands of fucking words. Novel-sized writing. It's becoming a pure joy as well. The thesaurus has become my bible. Books I have read are simply food to me as I gobble up their words and regurgitate them into my own paragraphs. Not writing words has become a bit of an itch I have every day now.

The book I am writing now was initially a fantasy set in a vast world that I had made some years back. I'm still working on the map and its locations, but I have managed to nail down the broad layout and actually attach names across the world. It *is* still a fantasy, but it was only yesterday that I decided to give this book I am writing over to the steampunk variation. 

Why not fantasy? It's a very popular genre now. You've got George R.R Martin and Joe Abercrombie giving fantasy the most visceral medieval grit one could read in a book. Terry Pratchett (may he rest in peace) with his hugely loved satire that still captivates audiences across all age ranges, David Gemmell (another one taken from us and missed) and his unequalled works of heroic fantasy, Neil Gaiman and his hugely relevant look into mythology and the human imagination, the immortally quintessential tales of Middle-Earth by Tolkien, as well as the everlasting sword & sorcery that came from Robert E. Howard. 

Hell, I'm currently reading Stephen King's seventh book of the Dark Tower series, which is now coming to a powerfully dramatic conclusion. It's emulating the same feeling of Frodo and Sam traversing the plains of Gorgoroth, and closing in on Mount Doom.

The thing is, as Stephen King has been pointing out more and more in this series, fantasy has all the authors it needs; both dead and alive. 

So, this is why I've begun to lend this particular book to steampunk. It started out with reading a particularly funny series named after a dismally cynical character: Johannes Cabal. 

You could say this is a book series with many elements: fantasy, Lovecraftian horror and humour and steampunk all blended in to a darkly comical series. And it's one that revolves around a near-terminally pessimistic and amoral necromancer, who is heavily armed and usually one step ahead of his foes. I loved reading every word of it.

And I have a love for anything with the slightest hint of gallows humour, or something with a poignant statement yet conveys it through caper means. My book, hopefully, will turn out to be such a work. I'm not mistaken, though. Writing is hard, but I'm getting used to it.

Anyway, it looks like I'll be using this spotblog thing a bit more often again. The only reason why it's occurred to me now is because I've ran out of lined paper to make lists and would-be author notes in relation to the literary endeavour at hand. 

For a reminder, an extract of freshly written material:

Well now, that’s a new smell.

It had only been a full night and a day, yet the smell of the dead cleric in the now-opened sack of elder sprouts had filled the room of crates he was left in.

“I know one truth for certain, Seekers: whoever killed and left him here did so as a mark of contempt towards the Divine Order,” said another cleric, who was very much alive and offended.

Whoever killed him isn’t the only one, Gyles thought as he stood and looked at the body of the cleric that was partially pulled out of the sack, as he squeezed out a quiet fart in the direction of the cleric that stood behind him and blathered on about respect and insults and blah blah blah etc. Gyles almost wished the combined smell of fresh corpse and elder sprouts wasn’t there to mask the repugnance he left behind so that they would notice his own contempt towards the Order.

That's all I'll put on this blog for now.

The Banner Saga - Austin Wintory

Look. LOOK! I mean, LISTEN! It was enough to make me weep when I played Journey, but the soundtrack itself was stunning. Now, Austin has made another, equally stunning soundtrack that isn't only epic, but massively relevant to my writing. I'm unsure at this point as to whether I'll play The Banner Saga (mainly because I have, as expected, become exceedingly busy), but for now, the soundtrack is enough.

Wholeheartedly recommended!

(told you I'd post something about Austin Wintory)

Age of the Sturlungs

Apart from indulging most of my free time into endless reading (currently reading Thud! by Sir Terry Pratchett) and not exactly being inundated with postgraduate project work at this point, I've been reading up on some historical essays regarding the internal political disorders of Iceland in medieval times. One period I've found particularly striking revolves around the Sturlunga Sagas. This was a period of internal strife during the 13th century; the time of King Haakon IV of Norway (otherwise known as Haakon the Old, due to the long period of his reign). It was widely considered as one of most violent and radical times of Iceland's history.

This paper by Jesse L. Byock, however, suggests that the period of change might be exaggerated and calls into question our understanding of Einar Ólafur Sveinsson's influential study into these years. Basically, it could have been a lot worse for Iceland back then, according to Jesse.

However, it's likely that I'll be making a violent fantasy version of these events in my first story, based in my own fictitious world (ever a work in progress). From what I gather with the Age of the Sturlungs, it was ultimately a time of shifting change, and the best thing to do was to submit. But these changes, even though they weren't as bloody as initially perpetuated, weren't easy.

A reflective blog for dumping everything about my fantasy word emissions...

People may know me as "the very unheard of student majoring in fine art and interaction design," mainly because I haven't bothered to promote my IxD blog - often referred to as my "reflective journal," especially after the presentation I did today after three hours of sleep beforehand. That presentation, like 99% of student presentations, was essentially about how pedantic I could be to get a good mark by telling others What I Has Learned! and Look At This Dishonestly Stupid and Overly Glossed Thing I Did etc.

That blog is mainly for my tutors, examiners and every now and then, close friends. No biggy.  

This blog, however, may serve as a personal and far more prolific journal into my reflective accumulation of useless knowledge in history; critical analysis - either bumming or slagging off - into the works of contemporary writers as well as definitely dead ones, and sources of inspiration which can be anything from the liberal arts to the sciences. I'll probably submit odd snippets of fantasy fiction chapters that I eventually pull out of my head (at least after this MA course is done and I sod off somewhere for a couple of weeks in the summer).

Right now, I'm extremely busy with my course, so this blog will initially not be very active. But the next posts you'll see will most likely have something to do with Icelandic sagas, or the latest eargasms by Austin Wintory. Whatever floats my way and fancy!