Feeds:
Posts
Comments

On the heels of Mother’s Day, it seems like an agreeable topic, no? Done right, there is no greater foundation and no greater strength than the family…

“Family traditions counter alienation and confusion. They help us define who we are; they provide something steady, reliable and safe in a confusing world.”

~Susan Lieberman

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”

~Bernard Shaw

“Friends are “annuals” that need seasonal nurturing to bear blossoms. Family is a “perennial” that comes up year after year, enduring the droughts of absence and neglect. There’s a place in the garden for both of them.”

~Erma Bombeck

The White Rabbit from the Alice Adventures in ...

Okay, okay so…maybe I sport less flashy threads. Not everyone can pull off that many hearts. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Imagine me for a moment, if you would, as that little rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. I’m not late for any date, but I’m certainly at that feverish level of busy. If I bounce around and spring off anymore walls my head just may explode.

Not literally, of course. I’m probably exagerrating.

Hopefully.

But the point is, it’s a busy week, and I, a busy boy. Man. Man-boy writer.

Okay, so that just sounds bad. But there’s a bit of the kid left in all us writers no matter the age, right? I have to believe it’s part of where our creativity comes from.

So here’s a run-down of why the Den has been lagging a bit, and its master running circles about the place:

1. Job hunting. For those of you that don’t know, the writing game doesn’t particularly pay very well, and as such, like many younglings in the world, day jobs are required. While I have had one for several months now, it’s a contract position–and one that will be running out next month. Head is in the game, eyes are to the ground, and I’m hoping I don’t get run over by a FedEx truck in the process. JOURNALIST/WRITER FOR HIRE!–a common phrase these days.

2. This past weekend was move-in time for my shiny new apartment. Between hunting down items to furbish it with and getting all accounts/necessary details transferred, it made for a rather hectic time of things. Amazingly, I somehow found the time to catch Avengers. It was good. Dealing with energy companies? Much less so. I deserve an award for not senselessly bludgeoning at least three support personnel this weekend. Also see addendum: BILLS.

Yes, (company that shall not be named), for the last time, I do know how to spell my own name. I assure you that was not the reason I could not access my account.

The Hollow March book cover image

The Marches. They are Hollow.

3. New review! If a new apartment is shiny, this has me practically glowing: a Ms. Tara Fox Hall of the UK’s Fantasy Book Review completed and went live with a new (and two-thumbs up) review of The Hollow March. It’s a positive review on the whole of things, and she tackles both the good and the bad quite succinctly. Admittedly, I can’t very much disagree with her one real criticism. Take a gander at the full review here.

4. Writing. Editing. Poetry. LITERARY EXPLOSIONS.
For more on the poetry front, at least, check the post right below this one. Just click the home page and scroll. You can do it. I have faith in you.
Or if you’re feeling lazy, you could just click this link. I won’t judge you–much.

5. Birthday dramatica. Okay, so it’s not terribly dramatic, but this weekend is ye olde author birthday. Not a particularly big year–23, for those of you going, “How young is this weirdo?”–but it’s still a magical time that always leaves on drained, confused, and mildly on edge. Alright, fine, more than a bit energetic as well. Wait–that’s just me? But the real point is, it’s the first real birthday away from friends, and away from family, and wandering through a foreign land (yes, for the purposes of drama, Colorado is a foreign country–sorry Colorado). Makes a writer oddly wistful.

Birthday Cake

I will have my cake. I may even eat it too. Tasty metaphorical cake, that is. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Fallow Lands

Hands

Hands. (Photo credit: Mrs Logic)

Behold the salted land of plenty,

raped and pillaged by its own devoted grace

now stalked by storied banshee

no lines by which to draw a brace.

 

What bounty once divined,

what passion might have lain

now blinded and maligned

before the dusty plow could feign.

 

We are cracked

callow and divinely sallow—

yes, youth has lived to see the fated act:

these writers’ hands grown fallow.

(And for an update on why this crazy writer’s life has been crazy this past week, and the blogging sporadic, see my lively life update–complete with a new review of The Hollow March!)

Ariwara no Narihira

Ariwara no Narihira (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Are you ready for a real time warp? Heading back perhaps farther than we yet have before on the Waking Den’s scope of literary history, today all things poetic are revolving around a poet from the 9th Century–Japanese Waka (tanka) poet Ariwara no Narihira, a man of many works, and many titles.

I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.

He was a noble of the highest order, the son of Princes and connected to Emperors. Though he appears not to have been terribly prominent on the political stage–it seems affairs, even back then, could do that to a person–what we do know of him indicates a man highly prone to the affections of the heart. In fact, he and his affairs are often believed to be at the heart of the Tales of Ise–a collection of Japanese tanka poems and narratives, of which Ariwara has been suggested as the otherwise nameless central character. Many of his waka poetry–tanka, a form generally subscribed to this structure: 5-7-5-7-7, typically done without rhyme–were included therein.

Is this not that moon?
And Spring: is as the Spring of old
Is it not?
Only this body of mine
Is as it ever was…

What we know for certain of Ariwara is that he has been included among the Japanese Six Best Waka Poets, and holds a place among the Thirty-Six Poetry Immortals. These lists, composed for imperial knowledge, still allow us to track some of the Japanese greats today.

Even when the gods

Held sway in the ancient days,

I have never heard

That water gleamed with autumn red

As it does in Tatta’s stream.

~Ariwara no Narihira

When last we left our insipid heroes…

Wait, wait, I have that all wrong.

What I mean to say is, when last we left our discussion of faith under the banner of Idasian intricacies—humble, god-fearing folk that we are—I spoke of the two most prominent faiths on the face of the continent Marindis: the Visaj, and the reformer Farrens. We talked of rings (cue quips of “one ring to rule them all” and “One does not simply walk into Walmart…” Yes, yes, you’re all very witty, and I know it’s what you were thinking), and war, touched even briefly on the notion of blasphemy.

Which, mind you, is always a fun bit to prod in writing. Everybody has their own notion of blasphemy, after all, and it’s just such a fun word to say. Not as fun as shouting “Burn in righteous fire,” of course, but we can’t all be torch-wielding mobs…

…yet.

Persecution of witches

We humans have had some eh…rather disturbing periods. Persecution of witches. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But I digress. This week, we continue the religion-minded train of thought with a wheel to the southern heat, where the scorching jungles of all Holy and all mysterious Zutam lie. While faith marks the cornerstone of most medieval cultures, the Zuti are curious even by these standards, for theirs is an Empire governed by the spiritual—and yet, at once, deprived of the fanaticism oft-seen within the boundaries of Marindis.

An area of the Sierre Madre jungle

Hot, wet, and sprawling. Hurrah for the jungle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Holy Empire of Zutam, which has come to encompass an entire continent (as a consequence now also called Zutam), and begun to press even into Marindi lands, follows the path of Vashra. They follow no gods, nor do they believe in an afterlife, per say.  Instead they follow spirits—the embodiments of all things, less personalities in their own right and more facets of the world given name. Ancestors, too, are often looked to for advice, or aid—but they are not worshiped. For in Vashra, all creatures are equal in spirit, living or dead. Even Uhnashanti–”the greatest one”– who birthed and protects both man and the world alike, is not heralded as a god; merely a piece of the universe that surrendered his self to give the masses form.

Death, for the Vashran, leads only to a joining of the spirit with the soil. The shackles that form the flesh are removed, and the spirit roams free at last, at peace with those around it. Life, to them, is the teaching, and the learning—the path that allows our minds to open to the fullness of the world. This is the reason life, in their tongue, is called “kujifunza”—learning.

Though they take the emperor of Zutam to be their holiest figure, Vashran do not see him as descended from the gods, or the spirits, or even a god himself, as some cultures might. Rather, the emperor of Zutam is expected to be the most enlightened figure—the guiding light, as it were. He is revered as such. Unfortunately, this also means that for those emperors proven to be reckless, and lecherous, and cruel, there has been plenty of precedent for removal. Historically, this has often enough ended in a fiery coup, culminating in the elimination of much (if not all) of the reigning royal family.

One could never say Zutam is not a turbulent place.

Various sects exist within Vashra, of course, owing to its essentially polytheistic routes. Numerous shrines litter the empire, in fact, dedicated to spirits of fire, and water, or even to the great mother spirit itself—the earth. Though some are more militant than others, as the equality of these sects is preached almost from birth, there are few squabbles between them—though human nature of course makes some conflict inevitable.

Dreamcatcher Español: Atrapasueños elaborado c...

Vashran believe the followers of Visaj, as well as the Farrens (a distinction of religion lost on them, by the way), to be something of misguided children, rather than outright heretics. While their path is no less valid than Vashra itself, it is the methods of its pursuit the Vashran frown upon: the praising of idols, the constant in-fighting, the forcible conversions. Faith as they see it is a matter of the individual—a stark contrast to the Visaji belief in the oneness of society.

If there were any one symbol of the Vashran—beyond the Emperor himself, of course—it would likely be the dream catcher. For the Vashran hold the dream realm above all others—a place where the mind is free to roam, and the spirit is able to break its bonds with the chaining flesh, however temporarily. Dream catchers and the “sterre spice”—a potent drug often used by shamans to induce deep and hypnotic slumbers—are, as such, some of the most spiritual assets at their disposal.

Bitter Tastes

Salt is the taste

upon my liar’s tongue–

the bitter-bitter of indecision

where ebon seagulls will not fly.

Charon–I should say he waits–

but the feathers drift

to bubbled life

the world twisted overhead

no hands to the flotsam

brighter lips once cast.

They always said to take my jacket

yet still ensconced

I never saw the need,

never saw the waves that bore me down

into the drink, the horror

dive into the inky loan.

Time for a Change

“He who rejects change is the architect of decay.  The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.” 
~Harold Wilson

Change is pretty much the word of the week for this little writer. Shiny new apartment change begins on Saturday. Expenses are soon to be changing. Plus, new reviews on the book are supposed to be coming in–a nice bit of the warm fuzzy (hopefully) to balance out the expenses part of the change equation. The sum? The continued shift into reality continues…though I must say I’d prefer to continue living in my fantasy world.

Because more bills are never fun.

And in a fantasy world, you can probably ride a gryphon. You know, if it doesn’t eat your face off.

A Heraldic griffin Passant.

Yeah. I want one. (Heraldic Griffin. Image credit: Wikipedia)

Food for thought.

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”
~Anatole France