Words to the Wise: Book Three (Sirrenvaag: Part One)

Well here it is.  I've finally managed to publish the third book!  Just a few things, though, before I go: 
   
1. Made the curry.
2. Still waiting to hear from the Czech Republic about the 'h' recommendation.  It doesn't look good, though.
3. I managed to remove a plastic finger from a child's doll.  I've stuck it to my own hand.  The child wasn't happy about the toy.  The child cried.  I ran.
4. It was published a little later than expected, but it's published all the same.
5. The man in the moon... mooned.
6. Scrapped the old 'to do' list.
7. Made another list and then scrapped it.
8. Didn't grow up.
9. Grew up and made this list.
10.  I'm still eating the curry I made in point one.  What do you think I am, a pig?!

Things to do

1. Make a curry.
2. Inform the Czech Republic that the 'z' is wholly unnecessary.  Use a 'h' instead.
3. Grow an extra finger so that I can hold larger cups.
4. Publish Book Three (part one) of the 'Words to the Wise' saga on September 28th.
5. Tell the man in the moon to find a hobby.
6. Scrap this 'to do' list.
7. Make another list.
8. Stop making childish lists and grow up!
9. Grow up and make another list.
10. Make another curry.

Cornelius Harker: Fugitive

   For these past few weeks I've been hugging the shadows, occasionally leaning out into a looming wilderness of breeding menace in which resides both the impossible and improbable.  They found me! The Wordshippers are pursuing me as though I were a cross-breed of monster and man.  They discovered my penchant for paragraph pounding, you see; they observed me from their linguistic niches and remained silent, brooding and vengeful... until now.  Already I'm 140,000 words into the editing of 'Sirrenvaag'. I've cut, sliced and pummelled my way through the text; I've waged war upon the page, trodden upon the larynx of language and struck the syllable with precision.  Consequently I've incurred the wrath of these baleful booksters.  

   However, and in my favour, The Wordshippers are remarkably stupid for beings whose lives have been dedicated to preserving the written word.  Last Tuesday one of them tracked me down during the pre-dawn hours and began booming its accusations before drawing its quill-shaped sword.  It stood ready to strike.  I said: "Look, a Giraffe wearing a lumberjack shirt!" As it turned around I simply hid behind a tree until it left.

   The hunt for Harker continues...

Cornelius Harker: Sentence Slayer

   They scream, they cry, they bleed inky blackness from their wounds.  All around me are the fallen, the once hopeful band of warrior words that strolled across plains of page and punctuation with mettle and cheer.  They imagined themselves as saviours, as deliverers of description; they once thought as all words think, that they alone are the product of genius, the footnote to reflection and the messengers of mind and soul.  They mocked me, they chided, they sauntered about the pages of 'Sirrenvaag' as though they themselves had fashioned its eerie milieu.  They were obviously too big for their boots, so I've taught them a lesson. I edited, hacked and slashed until they whimpered and apologised.  They even got together and baked me a cake, which was nice... not enough icing, though. 

   I'm now taking a break for a week; I'm off on holiday!  At least the words will be left in peace for a short time.  Upon my return, however, there will be fury, there will be chaos; the heavens will split and then, well, I'll probably just edit some more.

   I shall return, ladies and gentlemen.
 

'Sirrenvaag'. The first page.

“Weep for me, that I might witness the remorseful tears of mankind rather than a maturing mere from monsters.  Is it possible that I sense you in some way, that sometimes I feel your thoughts merging with my own as my portentous tale unfurls amidst this broken land?  Will you walk with me across plains of sweeping shadows; will you hear humanity’s screams drive the very sanity from my despairing soul; will you know me when the light of the world has been blackened by the soot of scattered suffering? Weep for the world and nothing more, for we are indeed nothing more than dark intrigue smeared across its meadows.” 

The Wanderer returned to the cabin and closed the door slowly.  He appeared meditative and remained still for a time as though he were on the precipice of some prophetic announcement, but instead he produced an unexpected smile and retook his position before flames that seemed less vibrant than before. 

Rayner turned his attention away from the fire and cast a glance into the untouched areas of the cabin.  The Wanderer watched him closely and pursued his line of sight towards the shadows, but Rayner no longer steered his attention towards anything in particular.

“Can they smile?” asked The Wanderer once he had tired of Rayner’s vacant expression.

“Smile?” he replied instantly as though snatched suddenly from reverie.

“Those that await my attention out there in the wilderness; can they smile? Can they frown?”

“I have never known them to do so,” came his solemn response.

“Perhaps you have never studied them closely enough,” The Wanderer proposed.  “To you they are just creatures.  There is much to be said in a single frown or a smile; a thousand words can be inherent within a solitary movement of the flesh, a blink of the eye, a discernible shiver in the bones.  That is how it was when Rickard and I approached the town,” he said as he smiled again.

“Over the years I have often revisited the instant of our arrival with a mixture of amusement and unease.  Rickard’s expression was a combination of inextirpable fear and childlike confusion, and were it not for the macabre spectacle that faced us, then I would have undoubtedly immersed myself in the dark charm of the moment.  Instead, however, my very soul winced at the realisation that I was finally there; I was in Sirrenvaag.

-----------------------------

 

"As the surrounding mist began to disclose its unearthly secrets, the first structure to assault my eyes was one of such hideous configuration that I shuddered at the sight of it.  Dark in hue and seemingly scabrous in texture, at first it bore some strained likeness to a withered oak-tree whose branches had lent themselves to years of uncultivated chaos..."

Sirrenvaag update the first.

   I shall set aside the nonsense for a brief update on the edits for Book Three of the 'Words to the Wise' saga.  The book is set over a three day period in the dark town of Sirrenvaag, within which many of the questions raised in Books One and Two are answered.  I have just finished the edits for the first day.  More to follow.

Patrick Stewart: A genuinely nice man

I feel the need to share a dream with you all.  Last week I was snoozing away and found myself interviewing the above mentioned star.  During the interview we discussed his career and good fortune. Above all else, however, we discussed his luck.  He genuinely deemed himself lucky to be living such an enviable life.  He claimed that there are so many talented actors out there who never get that one chance to prove themselves, and that much of the time it really is a case of nepotism or, basically, the right place at the right time.  This, by the way, has nothing to do with why I consider him to be a genuinely nice man.  It being a dream, I suddenly found myself being chased around a shopping centre by two somewhat infuriated security guards; I couldn't shake them.  I ran about the place in a frenzy and ended up back with Patrick Stewart, who proceeded to trip one of them up for me.  I shook the man's hand and thanked him.  While I was fleeing the scene I thought to myself: "What a genuinely nice man."

More freebies!

   Another quick post just to let everyone know that 'Words to the Wise: Book One (The Awakening)' and 'A Dish Best Served Cold' will be free from Monday 30th until Wednesday 1st.  As a result I'll spend the next few weeks eating the roof of the cardboard box in which I'll most likely be living. I'll be destitute; I'll have no shoes; I'll be cold, so very cold.  It isn't funny, you know.  Don't think for a moment that I can't hear you all laughing.     

Freebie!

Just a quick post before I go blind after staring at this computer screen for hours.  Tomorrow (20th) my novella 'A Dish Best Served Cold' should be free for the day on Amazon.  Take a look.

Note to self: write shorter books

I've started editing Book Three (Sirrenvaag) and I don't mind sharing the fact that I have quite a task ahead of me.  This particular entry into the saga is somewhat huge.  Already my fingers have been gnawed to the knuckle resulting from anxiety.  I began work on the nails some three hours ago when I realised the amount of work there was to do.  It wasn't intentional, of course, since I rely on my fingers for typing, but there you have it.  I'm currently writing this blog using a stick of celery that I have positioned between my teeth, and I hate celery.  I feel as though I've ventured into the garden with a dinner plate and scooped up the surrounds; humans are not supposed to consume this stuff! That said, I'm also writing Book Four at the moment, which probably means I'll have to switch over to cucumber for typing, since it's a well known fact that cucumber is more durable than celery.  Anyway, I feel as though I may have lingered far too long on the subject of celery and cucumber so I'll be brief ... I hate cucumber as well!