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Friday, November 15, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Playful homage to The Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling
The Demon doesn't know much about small towns in England. Neither have I the foggiest notion of what an English idyll might be, but mindful of the gaps in my understanding of the Brits, I will proceed to take on the The Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling.
Here's the original:
'nuff said!
Here's the original:
When Barry Fairbrother dies in his early forties, the town of Pagford is left in shock.
Pagford is, seemingly, an English idyll, with a cobbled market square and an ancient abbey,
Pagford is, seemingly, an English idyll, with a cobbled market square and an ancient abbey,
but what lies behind the pretty façade is a town at war. And the empty seat left by Barry on the parish council soon becomes the catalyst for the biggest war the town has yet seen.
Here's the Demonized version:
When Barney Fartbother mysteriously vanishes, the town of Padfoot hardly notices.
Sure, they will need a special election to fill his vacancy on parish council, but it seems
a piddling matter, at most. But soon, a series of very un-Padfootian occurrences,
horrifying incidents, verging on the occult rocks the village to its very core. Mysterious,
perplexing, unfathomable. What could be behind it all? Is it possible that a single vacancy
is the causal element in the unraveling of the once proud and unflappable town of Padfoot?
Is this proof that nature, as well as small towns, abhor a vacuumn? Or is it, once again, proof
that readers of this blog are too easily amused by the Demon's lame sense of humor?
'nuff said!
Sunday, April 14, 2013
When Characters are Just a Dream
How would you feel if you were a character in a book and it was nothing more than a dream? That's a topic two of my characters discussed:
“Well,” said Ottomotto, “shall we go down the Rabbit Hole?”
“That’s not a rabbit hole," replied Hotaru.“I know it’s not. It’s just an expression from the book Alice in Wonderland.”
“Oh, that book!” scoffed Hotaru.
“Sounds as if you don’t care for Alice in Wonderland.”
“Truth be told,” came her tart reply, “I don’t.”
“How can you NOT like Alice in Wonderland? It’s a fantastic adventure filled with wonderful characters.”
“I’ll admit it’s a fun read.” Hotaru turned to face Ottomotto. “But it was pretend, not real. At the end of the book Alice wakes up from her nap and tells her sister, ‘Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream.’”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Ottomotto.
“How would you feel if you were a character in a book and discovered your great adventure was nothing more than a dream? Wouldn’t you feel as if you’d been ripped off? If it happened to me, I’d be totally bummed!"
How would you feel? Wouldn't you be bummed?
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Misery Is...Thought for the Day
I found this old sketch I did a number of years back. Worth thinking about...
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Is there an Archangel of Stories?
In an earlier post, Story is NOT the by-product of magic!, I cited the following quote from Elie Wiesel:
"God made man because He loves stories."This leads me to wonder: If God so loved stories, could be there one angel who happens to be the Archangel of Stories?
Sunday, March 17, 2013
The Time Before Stories
Where do stories come from? This question led me to write the following short, short story.
Fabula returned home with his acolytes, who called themselves the Fab Five,
to plant the Tree of Tales. Just one year later, the tree’s silvery
white buds burst open to unleash creativity upon the world and, much
like its blossoms, characters and storylines started unfolding in the
imaginations of Octavia, Accipiter, Damh, Otarian and Omorose. There,
beneath the canopy of that glorious tree, the Fab Five labored, creating
the craft of stories. Word of the miracle spread and in just a few
years’ time, storytellers and authors could be found in every corner of
the world. Scores of individuals flocked to the Tree of Tales, drawn by
the sweet scent of imagination, and around the tree a village grew – the
one we now know as Storyhaven.
The Time Before Stories
A long, long time ago there were no stories to tell and no books to read. It was an age we now call, The Time Before Stories.
In
those dreary times, children tossed and turned, struggling to fall
asleep, their restlessness fueled by some nameless desire, unspoken yet
uncomplicated, whose name was simply the title of a bedtime story
waiting to be imagined. The question, ‘Child, what did you dream about
last night?’ was never asked for there were no dreams worth remembering.
How could there be in a world without fairy tales?
Untold
were the legends of courageous men and women going off to fight the
good fight. Unread were the fables by which life’s lessons are learned.
Young people did not stay up late to read of dragon versus dragon slayer
and nary a myth was whispered about the ancient gods.
In The Time Before Stories,
there were no Alices tumbling down the rabbit hole to explore
Wonderland; no Peter Pans refusing to grow up in a place called
Neverland; no Winnie the Poohs hunting the Heffalump; no Hobbits, be it
Bilbo or Frodo or otherwise, undertaking perilous journeys to places
such as Mt. Doom; and no young wizards, with or without lightning bolt
scars, standing strong against the purveyors of dark magic.
The world sorely lacked for imagination.
However, all that changed with the arrival of a man known as Fabula, whose name means story in Latin and from which comes the English word, fable. He was neither wizard nor sorcerer; magician nor conjurer; enchanter nor warlock: he was a thaumaturge or ‘one who works miracles.”
It
was Fabula who planted the seeds of the Tree of Tales, thereby giving
us the miracle of stories. From where these seeds came, or how the
thaumaturge found them, is not known – he told no one. Throughout the
ages, rumors and theories have abounded – even today, it remains one of
the great ironies that the story behind the Tree of Tales has yet to be
told.
Though
we do not know the origins of the seeds, we do know their discovery
required a journey lasting ten years. During that time, Fabula met with
and spoke to countless individuals, many who were interesting and a few
who were extraordinary, but only five were blessed with an eloquence,
empathy and wisdom beyond any of their kin. They were: Octavia, the
Silver Fairy of the Northlands; Accipiter, the Red-Chested Hawk of West
Africa; Damh, the White Stag of Rhydenfyre; Otarian, The Elfish Lord of
Cryptomeria; and Omorose, The Beautiful Child of the Nile.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
How would I describe myself as a writer?
I am a distinctively unique, inimitably odd, one-of-a-kind author. My heroes start out with big dreams only to find themselves waylaid with the curse of zero confidence. Somehow, in spite of the latter, they find a way to accomplish great things.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Playful Homage to FUSE by Julianna Baggott.
The Demon enjoyed Pure by Julianna Baggott (nothing like a good dystopian novel on a rainy day to cheer me up!). The second book in the trilogy, Fuse, has just been released and I am looking forward to reading it. It also means it's time for the Demon to do what he always does when he likes a book, offer up a playful homage...
Instead of:
Let's imagine:
Book Description
What's all the fuss about?
Up til now, Pressia has had quite the adventure. She met some really gnarly, yet cool people like El Capitan, Helmud and Bradwell. She even found her long lost brother, Partridge! Then the jealousy kicked in. It was inevitable, actually. Partridge was a Pure, he got ALL the attention.
"What am I," seethed Pressia, "chopped liver?"
"No need to get so snippy," snapped Partridge.
"Well, aren't you the special one in the family? Listen up, Bro: you may be Pure on the outside, but you're nothing but a Putz on the inside!"
"Hey, this is supposed to be a dystopian future," a mirthless smirk distorted Partridge's face, "not a disstopian future."
"Good one!" Helmud grunted approvingly.
"Stay out of this," warned El Capitan.
Okay, enough of this. Quit wasting your time on my blog and get yourself a copy of Fuse.
'nuff said!
Friday, February 8, 2013
Green Pine Trees, Cranes and Turtles
In 1955, twenty-five young Japanese women who had been badly scarred by the atomic blast at Hiroshima were sent to New York City for reconstructive plastic surgery. They became known as the Hiroshima Maidens. Almost all returned to Japan afterwards. However, one remained in the United States, moved to Los Angeles, married and had four children.
In this story, I try to imagine what happened when a young daughter becomes curious about the scars on her mother's face.
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