Me in front of the camera, till this day, leaves me a bit unsettled. I guess that’s why directing always whispered my name and not acting. LoL This is a short documentary about my writing and I, by a good friend of mine.
Me in front of the camera, till this day, leaves me a bit unsettled. I guess that’s why directing always whispered my name and not acting. LoL This is a short documentary about my writing and I, by a good friend of mine.
As most writers know, nanowrimo will soon be upon us this year, in 6 days in fact?! And as soon as one remembers this hardening fact, the heart and mind begins to flutter with gruesome anticipation! This will be my second attempt at nano, and hopefully my last in doing so without completion. But then the hows, and whys start to flood the brain, and you begin to really contemplate on truly making this nano DIFFERENT. I’m at that point in age, life, and understanding that leaves me to think that the time is now, the moment is right, and if not NOW, then never. It truly feels, all or nothing, and perhaps truly is!
I must, have to, and will send something out before the end of this year… well that was the thought anyway. I’m the type of writer and person who simply puts infinite effaces on the beginnings of things. Without the right start, well proper to my perceptions anyway, all else that follows is null and void, plan hearsay. I want to be PUBLISHED! Put the first is pivotal to my mental well being! With the 200%+ rise in published works in the market place since 2007, mostly in ebooks, it has become even more difficult to stand out amongst the crowd. So how then?! It must be a book that is not just well written, a splendid story, an enjoyable read, it must simultaneously be a work of… art, I’m thinking. And in that concept, something fresh, new and appealing in a completely artful way. And I think I have it! *SECRETS, SECRETS* But a new issue has arisen from this lovely 10 minute old insight. In order to have such control over my book thought, as I believe will be needed, my first project may need to be self published. And now this is where I stand. For nano this year I will be writing a fairy tale, that will be of 200,000+ words in it’s final length. I will self publish the book in a only special edition hardcover version, solely in independent books stores of the NYC area in 2013, and in an ebook form. No particulars I’d like to share now, but not only has nothing like what I plan ever been done, but the way I plane to market it will also be new! Wish me luck!!!
Lidia, a novel by A. N. DeBerry. (Opening lines v.001)
Once, long ago, this place was a city. A place of countless marvels, seemingly alive to some. Of towers belted with clouds; an endless sea of shimmering shards reflecting the skies that bound them. And yet to others, a vile thing that seemed to exhale poison. A creature of glass and stone teeth, steel bones and veins of road, clothed in a catching filth.
~The Secret World of Louis Lambert~ Each idea begins with a single image, followed by the dialogue of nameless characters, who strangely enough, already bear strong individual voices! From there, the story builds around their words. For me, that’s how it’s done. And for your enjoyment some RAW dialogue!
~The Secret World of Louis Lambert, A Novel by A. N. De Berry~
“Tell me, do you love her?” Lambert asked, as he sat down next to him in the garden.
James looked up into the branches of the trees, searching for an answer he need not search for. Of course I do, he thought as he watched the day’s dyeing twilight dance across the leaves; kissed so softly by a wind from the west.
“I do, more then anything,” James said, raising from his seat with a frustrated breath. “I fear how much I do,” he said as he began to pace. “Nothing has ever felt so right, and yet so undeserving. Since first kiss, my very breath seems but tribute that I would lovingly give,” he said, coming to a stop. “I now have knowelege of a thing I would deem beyond beauty, beyond love, and yet feel ever so damned and cursed for it’s very knowing.”
“And why is that?” Lambert asked, meeting his troubled eyes.
“Because it is unreturned.” He said with a defeated shake of his head, “I admit it, I tried dearly not to fall so, as she had admitted to me of trying likewise, but before a second breath I found my body aching in agony, and only realized then that I had already met earth.”
Lambert looked away from him and up to those same trees, watching the sun’s setting light, seemingly chase and flee the shadows, there numbers growing by the second. “It has be said,” he started, “that a love unreturned, is no lesser love, and no less important,” he told him, finishing just shy of a whisper. “You love her, fine. Now you must bear it, never doubting it. Emotions are ghastly things, but when one is lucky enough to understand the one’s that rule them, never betray them!” He said as if bewildered by his own words. “Do so and you betray yourself, and in the end of all things, all we truly ever have in this world, is self. Never forget that.” He said with a shake of his head, as he raised from his seat and turned to leave, “Never forget.”
The Secret World of Louis Lambert
A Novel by A. N. DeBerry
A story about a young man, said to be a genius, who is hired by one of the great minds of his day, to dictate notes for his latest work, who is also considered mad by most. The young man becomes consumed by Louis’s ideas and even his madness as the world of the imaginary mingles with reality. The young man sets out to reveal the wonders known to Louis and prove to all that he is not indeed mad but privileged to a world without end, only for Louis to put an end to it.
Written January 24, 2012
January 24, 1923 - London
Odin Press was a small rickety shack of a publishing house, but James knew this is where he had to be.
Sitting almost center of London, the narrow building, of wood and nail, seemed to slither up the sides of the two large marble and granite stone buildings, that sat to it’s right and left. Even at five stories high, the building looked squeezed thin by the weight of the stone megaliths to it’s either side.
James stood stagnate on the other side of the street, looking up at the building as if simply stepping within would cause him some great pain. And then, with a great labored exhale of a breath he remember the promise he made.
"I just can’t sit here standing, I look a fool!"
After a shake of his head he looked slowly left and right. The streets here where far more dense with motor cars and people then back home, yet some how they still managed to go much faster, even with the streets crammed with pedestrians.
"Their crazy!" But then again, you’d have to be to live in a city so packed, he thought as the way finally became clear.
With a quick canter of steps, he managed to cross the mad street, and found himself thanking the saints that he had managed to do so and remain all in one piece.
Looking up at a weathered plank of wood, painted white, and depicting a strange eye housed within a five sided box, shaped like a crud house, he found himself unfortunately assured that he had the right place. For some reason, he was hoping still, dearly that he had perhaps come to the wrong building, or even the wrong street, God willing maybe even the wrong city.
With a loud sigh, James stepped lightly on to the first step up to the door, “what’s done is done! Dad was right. Might as well use this pricey education of mine, and make —-“
He yelped in shock as his foot crunched through the step, stopping only as it thankfully met the buildings stone foundation, which also thankfully began at street level.
"Good," James finished as he shook his ankle free of the steps grip. "even if the good looks like this, I suppose." He finished looking up at the building, that now toward over him, as if ready to fall.
Part of him wished it would, killing him and any hope he had of ever being a real writer. Already in a dark mood, the fact that he contained such cowardly thoughts only made his current mood, that much more darker.
In shame he looked down, down to the ruined step and the black void that slumbered just below it, “I’m a coward, a man of excuses,” looking up he took a deep breath, “no!” He said before rushing up the stairs, opening the doors, dashing in and slamming them behind him.
James stood motionlessly, with his head turned toward the door. To caught up in the moment, he didn’t have the time to contemplate his crazed entry until a breath after he had slammed the door. And there he stood, stone still, scared to even breath. Dear God, I’ve proven I’m an idiot before even opening my mouth. Well at least I tried”
"Out of the way stiff!" A man’s voice said from behind, before shoving him out of the way of the door, and leaving through it.
James stumbled out of the way, attempting to catch himself on a coat rack, that only proved as sturdy as the buildings step construction.
With a snap, the coat rack broke into pieces before spilling onto the ground, shortly followed by, an already very ashamed James.
Finding him self tossed onto the ground covered in heavy coats, a part of him wanted to simply sit there, hidden beneath the thick articles of wool and fur. And that part of him, to his greatest shame, was winning grossly the argument to continue as he was, that is till he heat of the combined coats and jackets made it unbearable for him to continue.
With effort, he tore the coats off his head and face, and found himself in great need of fresh air. As he gasped he looked about the room and to his shock, discovered a room so busy with it’s own dealings that not a single person had noticed that he had ran in, slammed the the door, or even was sent flying into a coat rack and then the floor.
Against all understanding he found himself smiling, “It’s not often one is given a second chance at first meetings!”
Though housed in a tall scrawny excuse of a building, Odin Press bustled with the hectic comings, goings, movements and chatter of dozens. Which was commonly mistaken by those outside of the profession of commercial literature, as nothing short of mad!
Each long narrow room, wisely making up for the buildings unfortunate shortcomings in width, was lined with desk after desk after desk, along it’s walls, making best use of the slim space.
Now that James ears no longer where blooming and pounding with embarrassment, he realized that it was quite possibly louder inside then it was outside.
Phones ringed constantly as some talked, others discussed, and more then a few even argued aloud across the room, only adding to the already lively symphony.
Feeling a bit out of place, james gingerly walked up to the main desk, finding a young women who he discovered was discussing an extremely fragile matter by phone.
“Look hear you scuzzy shiter, and realize that I don’t care dearie! That’s the last kiss you’ll nab from me, you mouth shitting bastard!”
At that she slammed the receiver on the hook, muttered a few more curses, some of which James had never heard of, then looked up to him with a unimaginably kind and saintly face.
Reflexively James took a step back, what he had just heard, had surly left this young lady’s - though looking at her now he… “My, you are beyond pretty.” He said reddening instantly as he realized the words left his lips, and not another’s.
“You really think?” She said with a laugh, “and look at you blushing.” She cleared her throat, looking honestly a bit abashed, “sorry you had to hear that, but a girl can only take getting lied to, so many times. Remember that won’t you?” She asked him with a shy smile.
Snapping out of his own smile, James wrestled with his pocket for a moment, at last pulling out a small leather bound note book, “no, no I won’t.” he said as he began to write her words down.
“My name is Lisa,” she said with another warm smile, “what’s yours handsome?”
“Handsome,” He mumbled as he finished his writing, then looked up in wonderment, “handsome.” He said again, looking about him to make sure there was no one else there she could possibly be referring to, “me? I’m handsome?” He said, pointing to himself in disbelief, “me?”
“Yes you, silly boy. Very,” Lisa said with a mirthful shake of her head, “what’s your name love?” She asked him again, locking her eyes with his.
James stood there, chained by her eyes, “name?”
“Yes, name. You do have a name don’t you?” Lisa joked.
“Name? Name! Yes I do have a name!” James said with excitement.
“And, it would be?” She asked with a snicker.
His brows wrinkled with concentration, his eyes wondering here and there, as he desperately tried to solve Lisa’s impossible riddle.
“James, James John Darling!” He said, full of joy at solving her grueling task.
“Well Mr. Darling, how may I help you?”
Raising his hand to his head, he nodded slowly with each word as he remembered his supposed purpose.
“I have a meeting with Mr. Howard, concurring employment.” He said, breathing heavily as if he had been sprinting.
“Oh, you’re the 9:00. Well go on up, he’s waiting for you. Those stairs, right there behind you, will take you up to his office. I’ll ring him and let him know you’re on your way up.”
Finally back to his senses, “thank you very much Misses Lisa.” He said with a bow.
“No Misses, just Miss.” She corrected him. “Right up those stairs, can’t miss him.
“Thanks again,” he said.
Turning from her, he walked for the stairs.
“Though, Lisa Darling,” She whispered just loud enough for him to hear. James stumbling at her words as proof of the fact, “that would sound rather nice.”
As he made his way up the stairs, James found it delightfully difficult for his feet to agree, tripping several times over what seemed to be, very dense air.
The door of wood and glass read, ‘Mr. Howard, Chief Editor.’
What Lisa had said was true, there really was no way he could have missed it. The thick door sat at the very top of the stairs, and after a calming breath, James knocked three times.
“Come in. Come in!” Mr. Howard said from the other side of the door, perhaps even cheerfully.
James wasn’t quite sure, as he opened the door. It was perhaps the deepest voice he had ever heard and was only sure that anger, would be the only for sure sound of emotion that one could hope to get out of Mr. Howard. And seeing the size of Mr. Howard as he walked into the room, he hoped he never heard a single whisper of anger from Mr. Howard, in his entire life.
The man was not fat, or bulgy in any way, just massive. Easily six feet tall, he looked like a man forged of only muscle. The kind of man to be found in a seedy boxing ring down some dark alley, and not behind some desk, working as an editor. But looking up at him again, James was sure that not a soul had ever voiced such opinions aloud to Mr. Howard before, and wisely he thought that he would defiantly not be the first.
“Good day Mr. Howard, how are you? My name is James John D—-”
“Young Mr. Darling!” Mr. Howard boomed with a giant smile, as he jumped up to shake James’ hand. “Why I haven’t seen you since you were but a babe!”
James looked down in disbelief as Mr. Howard’s hand completely surrounded his own, as if his own hand was but a child’s.
“And now look at you!” Mr. Howard said, grabbing James by both shoulders. His hands swallowing his tiny arms. “God, I guess that means I’m getting old!” He joked, slapping James on the shoulder, managing to knock every stitch of air from his lungs, as he turned back to his desk.
“And how is that rascal of a father of yours, still teaching?” Mr. Howard asked taking his seat.
“Yes, yes he is sir.” James managed between coughs, and breaths.
“Oh we did have he best of times, me and your father. You know it was he who wanted to be an editor and writer some day, and me who wanted to be a professor.” Mr. Howard said before filling the office with a booming laughter.
“So close we were, that we wound up living the other’s dream!”
James tried his best not to cover his ears, as Mr. Howard again, sounded with a thunderous laugh.
“I did not know that. I thought father always wanted to be a professor.”
“No, your father was a mad man!”
“Father? A mad man?”
“Aye! The ‘Scourge’ the mothers of oxford called him. The things that man could do with a smile! No, writing and editing was his dream, until he was sobered up a bit. By two things.”
James had never heard of his father being anything but subtle and kept, but here he was hearing that his old man had the type of excitement he wished he had always had. He was hooked on Mr. Howard’s every word.
“What two things?” James asked desperately.
“Well the first was your mother. My God, she was like a dream that had escaped from sleep!”
“And the second?
“Why the second was you lad!” Mr. Howard said with another large laugh. “An editors life, let alone a writers life, isn’t necessarily designed for the needs of family. But knowing your father you wouldn’t of known. He took to teaching like a fish in water, and who could blame him. With your mother’s beauty as motivation, a man could find himself able to bare anything!”
“I. I did not know.” James said, slumping in the chair, in front of Mr. Howard’s desk. “I never would have imagined that father had wanted to be a writer. Never. He always tells me it’s a waste of time, a fools errand.”
“That perhaps, lad. Is your father fearing that you would fail, where he had also. It’s truly not easy to make it as a writer.”
James nodded in knowing agreement.
“Why, the only one of the three of us to make it was Louis!”
“Three? Who is Louis?”
“Come now lad! You have a Master’s in English and you don’t know Louis Lambert?”
Slowly James stood up, rubbing his eyes with both hands, “Lambert? You mean Louis Lambert? The writer?”
“Yes lad, I’m not to sure there’s another Louis Lamber worth mentioning really!” Mr. Howard joked, before becoming concerned. “Are you ill son?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, lowering his hands, “a complete fool apparently, but fine!”
“Oh I see, your father did not mention him. Oh my, I think I just committed a serious blunder!”
Mr Howard’s frown that followed was a frightful thing, yet even still, james could have sworn the ghastly sight blossomed from a tiny smile.
“What do you mean, blunder?”
“Well as you know, some time ago Louis became, sick. His mind was shattered, from reasons I’m still not sure of. But around that time your father was marrying your mother, and Louis refused to come to the wedding. Well we were best blokes before that, and your father took it, well rather hard really. From then on, he held a good bit of hate for poor old Louis.”
Mr. Howard shook his head, and held a sad look on his face, that for some reason just didn’t look genuine. He couldn’t place it, perhaps sadness just looked strange on such a large face.
“Father can hold a grudge,” James admitted. “But he should have told me.” James said pacing the room, “I told father countless times about how I wanted to be a writer, perhaps even better then the great Louis Lambert. And now I find every time I mentioned such, would have surly caused him some kind of pain. The pain of a dream lost, or worst a friend lost. I feel terrible!” James said, again slouching down in the seat before Mr. Howard.
“It’s not your fault lad, you did not know,” Mr. Howard said before jumping in sudden realization, “lad! Did you say you wanted to be a writer?”
“Yes. I graduated from Oxford, early last year.”
“Graduated with the highest marks of your class, is what I hear!” Mr. Howard boomed with pride.
“Yes. I went back home to the states after, to work on my book, but. Well lets just say, a free mind proved harder to tame, then one chained and guided by school. I lost all inspiration for my book, and I had promised father that if I had not finish by years end, that I would finally go and find work. When year’s end came, he found me and gave me a ticket for London, and a job appointment, here.”
“And here you stand.”
“More or less.” James said with a flourish of both hands, that made his depressed slouch in the chair, all the more noticeable.
“You know Mr. Darling I have perhaps a problem that you may be able to help with.”
“Yes, you see I have a writer who like your self has hit a bit of a, road block with his latest work. And word has it, perhaps his greatest work to date.”
“But how could I help?”
“Well by helping him, I think perhaps you can help yourself, find exactly what you need to find. You know, inspiration!” Mr. Howard said, rounding the table to stand behind James.
“Inspiration? That would be warmly welcomed. But what would you need me to do?” He asked, looking up to Mr. Howard.
“Well this writer, over the years, has become quite particular about his writing, and now only does so by dictation. Yet even more bothersome is that he trust no one, not even enough to give the dictation needed to finish the book. What you would do for me is earn his trust, serving as his secretary. Keeping his dates in order and such, and perhaps in time he would even provide you with the rest of his book to be transcribed.”
“I guess I could do that sir, but what makes you think this writer would open to me?”
“Oh, just a gut feeling we editors in great need, some times get. So what do you say?”
“But I don’t even know who it is.”
“I’ll pay you $50 dollars a week!”
James jumped from his seat in shock, “$50 dollars a week!”
“And not a penny more! Here,” Mr. Howard said, picking up a large envelope from atop his desk, “Here’s your first week’s pay, tickets and further instructions.” He rushed out, all a bit strange to the ear because of his immensely deep voice.
Pushing James to the door with the envelope, before he could even reply he continued, “and you must hurry now, your train leaves in a hour. My daughter Lisa will take you to the train.”
“Train? But?” James squeaked out.
“No buts, I know you’ll do me proud! Now on your way!” Mr. Howard said, opening the door to his office and shooing James out.
“But sir,” James pleaded.
“What is it now lad?”
“But I don’t even know the writers name sir.” He said in confusion.
“The writer’s name?” Mr. Howard said with a impossibly broad smile, “The writer’s name is Louis Lambert! Now be off!”
And with that, Mr. Howard shut the door on the confused and now very frightened Mr. Darling.
“Your the first yank I’ve ever met, you know that.” Lisa was saying as swerved through the busy streets of london by motor car.
“No. No I did not know that,” James stuttered out, with eyes locked shut with fear.
“Aye, you are. And for some reason I expected yanks to be more, I don’t know, lively,” she said almost careening into a old women and her fruit wagon.
“Sorry to disappoint,” James said, braving to open a single eye. But seeing what he saw soon eradicated any remnants of bravery in him.
“No, no need to apologize,” she said before kissing him on the check, “you don’t disappoint me one bit!” She finished with a wicked smile.
Eyes open, but utterly blind to the speed and easily obtained, possible death and mayhem around him, he saw only her.
“You are a very dangerous young women!” He said with a smile of his own.
“Why thank you. You finally noticed!”
Finally realizing again where he was, James looked forward, his eyes automatically clinching shut, “How could I’ve not!” He said with a shaky laugh.
“Ah, here we are,” Lisa finally said, after what seemed an eternity.
The motor car came to a stop.
“You can open your eyes now love,” Lisa joked.
Slowly James opened one eye, then the other. Blinking at the now, midday sun.
“That’s Paddington Station,” Lisa said, pointing to a long iron structure of a building,. “When inside, find Platform 7.”
“And where will Platform 7 take me?”
“I haven’t the foggiest, but if I know father, he would of given you a list of some kind.” Lisa said with a shake of her head, “Oh how father does love his little list.”
James brought up the envelope and stared, “I guess he did.”
“Well, I do hate good byes, but I shamefully do find my self wanting you to come back sooner then later,” Lisa said with a decisive sniff.
“I’ll do my best,” he promised before she hugged him. Shocked he stood frozen, and before he had the nerve to hug her back, the moment was gone.
“You just go and be safe! Father also has a knack for getting others in trouble!” Lisa said before shooing James off towards the ship, “others, namely me. But others none the less.”
After the confusion of first finding Platform 7, and then settling into his compartment car, a very comfortable compartment car at that, James made his way up to the observation car to sit and think.
“What just happened?” He found himself asking, no one in particular.
“Well I guess at least I should find out where I’m headed,” He said, opening the envelope Mr. Howard had given him.
Dear Mr. Darling
I am very pleased that you have agreed to help me in my little endeavor. At this moment, and for the past four years, the great Louis Lamber has been trying to complete a manuscript, that is quite possibly his best ever. All you must do to assist him, is to keep him on track. Not wanting you to go blindly into the lion’s dean, I have set up a few appointments with good acquaintances of Mr. Lambert’s, so that you may learn more of his troubling condition, and perhaps what to do in certain times, and more importantly what not to do.
Your first stop will be to the house of Lambert’s good friend Mr. Rodger S. Garrson. Your second stop will be to the offices of Misses Rachel Moore. Who has collaborated with Lambert on several works. And lastly Mr. Lee R. Tone, who was truly the closest before Lambert’s tragic breakdown.
The Contents of this envelope is, as follows:
*A train ticket. With stops in Bicester, Stafford, Rochdale and finally Leeds.
P.S. I knew I could count on you. Good luck, and for heavens sack have a bit of fun while you’re at it!
Sincerely, Mr. Howard
Odin Press Publishing
In disbelief James sat back in his chair.
“Not only Lambert,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “but Misses Moore!”
In school James had fallen for her words as strongly as he did for Lambert’s.
He read Mr. Howard’s letter again.
“I’m going to meet Rodger S. Garrson?” He said aloud, hoping that doing so would some how snap him out of the strange dream he found himself snared by.
“Greatest living poet, and I’m going to meet him,” James said in frightful realization, “for tea?”
“And to make matters worse, Lee R. Tone!”
The man had single handedly defined, what it was to be great! He could have an idea Monday, have a layout by Tuesday’s breakfast, and have a pulitzer for the same work by Friday evening, just in time for dinner!
“They’re all master of the written word.” James said, his eyes growing large. “I haven’t even finished a single work! How can I even think to rub shoulders them?”
“They do what I wish I could, as easily as I breaths air!” James said, finding his breathing at that moment not very easy. “I’m nothing. How can I face them?”
Shacking his head he read the last of the letter again.
P.S. I knew I could count on you. Good luck…
James barely knew Mr. Howard, but strangely the idea of letting him down, made him feel even worse.
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to pull this off,” James thought aloud, “but Mr. Howard does clearly. Maybe he knows something I don’t.”
“And I promised father I’d try my best,” James said as his shoulders dropped considerably, “I suppose I must!”
This is a work of mine I decided late last year, would be my fist ever novel that I would complete! I wanted to finish it sooner this year but life pleasantly got in the way! So I’m taking this week out to finish it up and complete it, I’d love any input anyone has to give.
I don’t know how it is for others, when judging the feel and rightness of their own work, but I find I’m never really sure how my stuff truly sounds to others, let alone my self. To me it doesn’t sound right or wrong, great or terrible, it simply sounds as it should, and perhaps what I need to learn is that that is not only enough, but far beyond it!
So take a read and let me know what you think! Thanks again for the help!
'Youngest' A Novel by Akil N. DeBerry. Chapter1 (UNEDITED)
Chapter 1: Summons
“Stay true Mr. Gallen,” Toliver shouted over the storm.
“Aye sir!” Mr. Gallen yelled back, “worry not Captain, worry not!” He said as he wrestled the helm.
They stood only a foot apart, but Toliver could still only barely hear his First Mate.
The sea around them had become a monstrous thing without out cause.
Toliver looked up into to a clear sky. The sun in the distance just beginning it’s climb into the day, and as far as he could tell, the tempest effected only their ship in the straight.
This is mad! Toliver thought as another wave crashed onto the deck of his ship.
As the new day grew into midday, ‘The Wayward Dream’, a war vessel of even her size and girth, was thrashed about by wind and rain as if a toy.
“Latch down those lines!” Toliver shouted out to the few men he allowed to brave the storm.
The storm had shown no sign of weakening since it began, and so thinking it best, refreshed his deck hands as often as he could, wanting only alert men on his deck in this chaos.
A fatigued man in this, Toliver thought as another cold wave washed over him, is a dead man.
As the storm raged on, time became a strange memory. He couldn’t tell what hour it truly was.
Between the freezing spray and blinding wind, aglow with the light of the sun from the clear sky above. He no longer trusted his senses.
Not in this, Toliver thought, as a strange smell lingering in the the crazed air hooked his attention.
As the world around him boiled in turmoil, Toliver calmed him self and concentrated on the peculiar scent.
Toliver’s eyes shot open, salt water running across his unblinking eyes, as his jaw clenched in rage.
He knew who sent this evil storm. And he was sure he even knew why.
This is how you fetch me? Toliver wanted to shout, but the straining muscles of his neck and jaw would not permit.
“Captain?” Mr. Gallen asked, noticing even in the brewing storm, the the dangerous light in his Captain’s eyes.
Working his jaw Toliver managed only a whisper. “Stay true.”
“Aye Sir!” Mr. Gallen said nervously as Toliver’s whisper continued to echo in his ears, almost deafening.
The storm had lasted a day and a night.
Toliver stood in the dim morning light, as his men where already busy checking the ship for damage and fixing what could be fixed.
With a sneer he watched the horizon, just north of the just now rising sun.
“The stars have moved considerably, Captain.” Mr. Gallen stated calmly.
“Aye,” Toliver said looking up to the still visible stars, “have the men repair only what must be. I want all ranks, in honor dress, on the deck in formation within the hour.”
The never questioning Mr. Gallen, nodded his head and went off to make sure his Captain’s orders where carried out.
Toliver shook his head in guilt, they all trust me far more then they should.
Before the hour was out, the deck of the Wayward Dream, was brimming with mirror polished half plate. Shimmering swords, inlayed with gold and silver reliefs, and towering long spears, whose naps wavered with crisp white banners, depicting in gold tread, a winged horse with talons and claws, rearing and ready for flight.
A full legion of men stood ready upon the deck, as still as statues, waiting patiently for Toliver’s words.
Toliver took a deep breath.
The smell of lavender had peaked during the hight of the storm, and now only drifted in the air lightly. But a few had noticed it still.
First a violent storm without clouds, then a sea that smelled of Lavender, and yet not one of his men grew shaken, and for good reason.
In their time with Toliver they had seen far stranger, and now expecting the impossible as if common place.
Toiver also did not see it fit to fill his ranks with men who could not adjust to the unknown.
They had all chosen an impossible task, and only men use to the impossible would stand victorious in the end.
“We have been summoned.” Toliver told his men loudly, “To a Hall far more dangerous then any before.”
Pointing northeast to the distance horizon, “soon a group of Isles will appear,” Toliver continued. “The Isles of Bailfray.”
That last earned a quite rustle from his men. They knew of the likes that called that forbidden chain of islands home.
“What business has the Council with us Captain?” Mr. Gallen asked.
“I don’t think it was the Council that sent that storm.” Toliver told him.
“Then who Captain?” Zane asked calmly.
“The High Lady I expect.” Toliver said.
Another rustle sounded through his men.
“Have we wronged her perhaps?” Jobe pondered aloud.
“That’s always possible with our lot.” Zeres joked.
“Aye.” Toliver admitted with a smile.
“Maybe she seeks hire?” Young Gin asked.
Toliver nodded, “Who knows why the High Lady Lillanna has called us.” He lied, “she has, and all we can do is prepare.”
A wave of nods spread across his men.
All eyes watched the Isles of Bailfray as they crept towards them from the horizon.
The tails of the islands, the homes of wizards, where as strange and bizarre as the rumors that surrounded Toliver and his men. Any of them could be true.
As they neared, Mr. Gallen ran to Toliver’s side.
“Captain I’m not sure what I’m seeing,” Mr. Gallen said motioning for Toliver to follow him to the edge of the boat, “but there,” he said pointing his massive hand at a strange break in the waters ahead.
Toliver clapped him on the shoulder, “You never cease to amaze, Mr. Gallen!” He said with pride.
Mr. Gallen’s back straitened as he smiled, “thank you Captain,” he said, then becoming confused asked, “but why Captain?”
Toliver placed three fingers to Mr. Gallen’s temple, “Because even without seeing, you manage to see.”
Mr. Gallen’s eyes grew wide as a massive dome appeared before him. Sprouting up from the strange break in the ocean, it’s surface, somewhat transparent, moved and swirled like water, while sparkling with tiny shards of violet light.
“Captian?” Mr. Gallen said with with dry lips, “what is that?”
“That Mr. Gallen, is a blessing wall,” Toliver said looking up a the giant dome. “Only those with permission or those summoned by the council, can pass through it, alive. Cast long ago in history by Bailfray himself.”
Mr. Gallen turned from the dome in thought, “Alive? But then Captain,” he said looking to Toliver, “was it we, or only you that was summoned?”
Toliver smiled again, “only me.”
Mr. Gallen jumped with realization, “But we can’t let you go ahead alone! We are your guard!” He demanded.
Toliver shook him by the shoulders, “my dear man. I have no intentions of going alone.” He said as a memory flooded his mind.
“‘Never do as expected.” Toliver cited, “Uncertainty breeds fear in the strongest of men, and fear is the strongest of weapons against unkind odds.’” He finished.
“We are about to enter a world of unkind odds, Mr. Gallen.” Toliver told him, “And I will not be leaveing, not a single one of you behind, to miss out on all the fun.” He joked warmly.
“But how Captian?” Mr. Gallen probed.
“Have the men link,” Toliver said turning from him to the isles in the distance, “all of them to you.”
“Me?” Mr. Gallen asked, nodding with a flowering undersanding of his Captian’s plan.
“Yes,” Toliver said turning back to Mr. Gallen, “and then you will like with the ship.”
“The ship?” Mr. Gallen asked, all again confused.
“Don’t worry man,” Toliver said stricking Mr. Gallen friendly arcoss the shoulder, “it’s the same as a normal link. And you’ll be abe to manage it better then any else.” Toliver boasted.
Still not sure Mr. Gallen nodded, “as you command Captian.”
As Mr. Gallen turned to give orders to the men, Toliver turned back to the Isles, and up at the spell that encircled it, remembering.
When last he passed through it, he could only feel it, being far to weak to grasp it’s presence with his eyes.
A strange sensation, he could clearly still remember. A tingling of both hot and cold, as if his skin was confused as to what it felt, passing over him heavily.
And there it was. As he was now, he could see it.
A sphere of air that shimmered in the light. Half of it rising from the waters surrounding the main Island and soaring up, endlessly into the sky where at some point all sides met. While the other half sunk beneath the oceans waves, coming together and finishing the spheres‘ field of protection, down deep in the icy depths.
“From back ranks to forward ranks, link!” Mr. Gallen shouted.
Turning around to watch, Toliver smiled with pride.
Even a simple linking was considered High Magic.
It evolved the manipulation of one’s own essence, their very soul. Drawing it out at a single point, from the the heart being the most stable, and joining it with the essence of another. Becoming one at the base of your very existence.
At which all was shared, all but memories, with skills and knowledge only available through reflex or great need.
Beginning at the end of ranks, from the center of their polished plate, a stem of wispy white light, only visible to those linking or linked, grew and stretched forth, connecting to the center of the man’s back to their front.
With each connection a wave of of euphoria washed across the eyes of all connected.
The web of lights jumped from man to man, creeping up the ranks to the first man, where Mr. Gallen stood ready to receive them.
All at once, from each of the thirty lines of ranks came a ghostly, now rope, of light that reached out and pierced Mr. Gallen’s heart.
From the shock of so many emotions, wants, and hopes he staggered, but only for a moment.
He’s grown quite strong, Toliver thought.
Gritting his teeth, Mr. Gallen centered him self, and once sure of his step, walked to the ships main mast.
From his heart came a stretch of pure white light, a hand’s span wide, that entered the wood of the mast, and ignited every board, nail and rope of the ship with the same white light. The eyes of his men looked in wonder at the ship as it glowed with their combined essence.
“Well done Mr. Gallen!” Toliver said turning back to the spelled sphere, now very close.
“Thank you Captain.” Mr. Gallen said looking in awe with the other men.
“Now, every man take a knee, and brace your selves!” Toliver commanded.
Everyone of them fell to the deck with their left knee and awaited.
Toliver stood near the bow of the ship, and from his chest a light began to bloom.
But unlike the others, his was not a wispy thing, ghostly in presence, his was unimaginably solid. Like a beam of steel ready for shaping, white with heat, the world seemed to shy away from it, or perhaps was absorbed by it, as the two hands wide length of light snaked to the very tip of the ships’ bow.
At it’s touch, the emotions of his men burst into being, in his mind.
So many, Toliver thought as he breathed slowly to steady himself, “everyone alright?” He asked, turning to his men.
Half of them laid face down on the deck, breathing raggedly, as the other half still held a knee, if only barely.
“Thank you” Toliver whispered to the Wayward Dream. It had served as a buffer in the linking, and had preformed beautifuly.
All of them are still alive, Toliver tought thankfully.
“Aye Captain,” Mr. Gallen said raising with sure footing, breathing deeply and slowly.
Toliver smiled with pride, “good man Mr. Gallen. Now take us through the spell.”
The Wayward Dream, at full sail came fast at the protective shield.
Every man on deck, now recovered, waited confidently for the unknown.
Toliver, at the Bow, was the first to past through.
His skin tinglinged with heat and shuddered with cold, all at once. As he and ship pierced the dome.
Turning, he watched as his men and rest of his ship pass through the spell unharmed.
Toliver released a long breath, he hadn’t noticed he was holding.
Sailing up to an the main island, they docked at an ancient stone dock, void of any movement.
As his men finished docking, Toliver looked out to the empt dock, irratated.
“All lines secure Captain. Shall we…”
“We aren’t even enough of a bother,” Toliver pouted, “to even send an escort, are we?”
“No Captain, ‘you’ are not.” Mr. Gallen joked. “Remember, you were to arrive here by your self,” Mr. Gallen said, then taking notice of the mischief grin on his Captain’s face, “I know that look.” He said with laugh, “Dear Gods Captain, what are you about to do?”
“Not me, ‘we’.” Toliver said with a sly grin. “Let’s stir things up a bit shall we,” Toliver said turning to his waiting troops, “Men,” he said, addressing the deck,”how about we start a little trouble.”
The nervous expressions that spotted a few of his men’s faces, soon vanished as they all grinned boyishly.
“Spears at the ready, Shields at the ready!” Toliver yelled, not a soul moved, only their eyes becoming vague with a distant stare, “Spears target the castle,” Toliver said, pointing in the distance to the barely visible tops of a grand castle. “Shields worry not of strength, only size. I want your largest field! And worry not everyone, with us linked, your range and power will be,” Toliver said as his grin deepened into a broad smile, “very surprising.”
He turned back to look at the tower tops of the castle in the distance, “now!”
The home of the Great Council, the Castle Bailfray, buzzed with life.
It’s halls filled with the movings and comings of hundreds.
Great Wizards and Sorceress, to new apprentices went about their important business with purpose and diligence.
The Great Halls boomed with chatter. Over history or science, of news or faith.
The Dining Halls sounded with the scrape and rasp of hundreds of forks and knifes, as the Castles’ inhabitants filled themselves with the Castles’ unparalleled cuisine.
The Library Halls vibrated with the quiet sound of turning pages and mumbled words.
While the he Practice Halls echoed with rigorous instruction, as teacher taught student about the wonders, hidden in the world around them.
The Castle as always roared with the sound of knowledge and the pursuit of it; until that is, a clear wall , like visible heat washed over and through it’s halls.
Through brick or bone, spell or ward, it mattered not. The wave pierced all, and at it’s touch each soul saw their end. Dealt almost lazily by a man most did not know, and yet a small few did.
Silence filled the castle like water, for impossible moments till the cries of the weak and unhindged replaced it with the wales of fear and dread.
The invisible wall of killing intent, coninued on past the castle, coming to the other end of the island, and then moving even further.
Venturing over the stretch of ocean between the main island and the next. The wall came to an island, nearly as big as the main island. And as the wall moved through the forest, it brought the natural chatter of the beast that lived there to an errie still.
As the wall of vile intent moved for the center island, it came to a small circular hut, of bark and wood.
The wall smashed the hut with the same force as it did the castle, and seemed to have reached it’s limit as it diffused and fluttered away into nothingness.
The door of the small hut opened, and from within walked a women of great beauty in a flowing gown of dark violet.
“At last,” she said with a loving smile.
To call my self a writer is like calling a man who doodles, an accomplished artist! But EVERYONE, no matter who, has started out just the same. With some horrible itch, sharp and heavy on their shoulders, only curable by the rapid succession of word after word. And now it’s become so acute that it has literally become my only grievance in life! I don’t care if I sell it, I don’t care if people read it, I just want it out of me and on paper because it feels such a horrible sin to do otherwise! I think there’s nothing better then the right words, elegantly placed and perfectly timed! To love something so much and yet feel so defeated by it at every glance, it’s heart breaking yet I wish it my only salvation… I am a man brimming, whose own relief of burden lies solely within the fathoms of his own spring. Maddening it is to be the fool who wallows ill, while cure waits beyond all reach; lovingly between fingers… We need, must, and have to write, and so we are WRITERS!
Haven’t slept much since yesterday, perhaps only managing an hour, with eyes closed since 10am. At around 5 or 6 this morning, as I wrote about blood and awesome gore in a few tantalizing scenes of my book ‘Youngest’, I became all… And please excuse my gorse misuse of the adjectives, but a bit FUZZY WUZZY?! For no particular reason I began to write a completely different novel, one I have not even really planed out yet. But as one chapter went by, then the next, I discovered I was truly in sync with the main character. Now I’m just trying to decide wether I should stick with the grueling path I’ve chosen, or the delightful path my current sense of self has placed before me. The new material is from a planned book of mine called ‘The Secret World of Louis Lambert.’ A fictional novel about a, would be writer who is swept up in a deluge of madness, provided generously, by his most favorite author. I feel it’s my ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ about life! The only real question I have is, “is the state I’m in strong enough to last the week, till it’s completion?” And strangely the crippling flutter of butterflies, just may be indeed! Hahaha
— A. N. DeBerry
Some are born with ends of such heights. Born to cure, born to save, born to ask and others to answer. Some where born to collide atoms at sub-light speeds, travel to lands forgotten by time, or to discover histories we stand poorer for forgetting.
And sadly there are they, ORDINARIES. Born to be, simply to breath. Content with the smallest possible portion of the wonders around us, happy in the ignorance of their own self defeat.
I, I was born to tell stories, a humble maddening fate I hold in the highest light. For there is no might greater then that of the written word! It can bind, break or save. It is formless energy conceived by thought , given breath, and like so, pure and never ending!
Day 3! Novel Title: Youngest Genre: Epic Fantasy Total words: 9,401 Words left: 40,599 Novel Title: Lidia Let’s not talk about it! I’m not giving up on it though! I still think this might be, perhaps one of the best Science Fiction stories yet to be told! So I’ll just write away on ‘Youngest’ and when inspiration hits, I’ll write like a MADMAN!
Novel Title: Youngest
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Total words: 9,401
Words left: 40,599
Novel Title: Lidia
Let’s not talk about it!
I’m not giving up on it though! I still think this might be, perhaps one of the best Science Fiction stories yet to be told! So I’ll just write away on ‘Youngest’ and when inspiration hits, I’ll write like a MADMAN!
The end of day 2, and the beginning of day 3. Only a hellah of a bunch of days left! o_O Yay?!
Novel Title: Youngest
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Total words: 6,501
Words left: 43,499
Novel Title: Lidia
Genre: Sicence Fiction
Total words: Zip, Zero, Ziltch!
Words left: Might as well be a Zillion!
Thank the Gods for that beautiful gift, seemingly handed down from their very finger tips! Yay for ENERGY DRINKS!
Just iced like a gazillion dust bunnies! That’s right, Mr. ‘I R MAN’ just cleaned his room in hopes the physical removal of clutter might free up a few of my spare chakras, allowing me to write and contemplate a bit better for this up coming NaNoWriMo! LoL I know right… I don’t clean my room for nothing! LoL Only for you NaNoWriMo! LoL Off to shower, then down an energy drink, and around that time it should be a ‘GO’ for NANoWriMo!
Today’s word count: 3,416 of Sorry, We’re Dead — which brings the current total for it up to 55,930. In the midst of the climactic confrontation,...