To introduce or not to introduce - that's the question.

i guess this would be the 5th version of the foreword. it still kinda annoys me; sometimes i'd just like to leave it out completely. but i always saw a frame around the story, and i really don't want to explain what nightelves and dapps are IN the story... mh.

the beginning of a story is so important.
but i guess this is the version i like best until now. it's a witch's POV, which is actually more appropriate, considering that most of the story's weight jumped from vampirism to witchcraft (the word vampire, by the way, is completely missing by now. not a big loss). it lacks the undertone of sadness that was typical for the nightelf's forewords - the witch's foreword actually has the exact tone that i'd like for the introduction... and the part before the necessary explainations is merely half a page long, which is great. maybe i just have to cut down the explainations and shift the deeper part into the appendices. it's just such a long foreword, this is what annoys me... mh, mh, mh.
ocean.souls am 4.2.12 16:36


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...and let it pass.

"If I don't recover
Sell this house and find something lost outside your window
Not Forever
On the night I die I swear I'll sleep outside your window

Emy, should I stop?
Do you think I'll make it to the morning if it's written?
Stitch it up - the kind of song I know cause mother, sister, lover worry

I feel the knife going in
I'm feeling anxious
Not enough to kill me
I thought it'd happen fast
But I'm feeling it now
And I feel anxious
Sleeping inches from me
I let it pass."
   - Tegan and Sara



Order is restored. The cheer-up is on the other blog, the madness is here.
Yep, the feeling of going mad again. I can't concentrate, and I must because I still have bloody much to learn. But my thoughts just drift away. Jump. English - German - English. Or disappear and leave only feeling. Feeling slightly high, laughing in the scary, desperate way. Or having trouble breathing, like now, and feel like there's a stone on my chest. And one hour ago, everyhing was fine.

I don't dare to continue working on the Amber Flame, because I know I wouldn't be able to stop. I don't have the time. But sometimes I scribble some parts of the ever-growing legendarium in the corners of the paper- and read them afterwards and wonder why I still write such sad stories. The good thing about fantasy is that you can balance everything out. And the beauty of magic definitely pwns sadness.

Sometimes I'm so moody and annoyed that I'd like to move out, as my doctor tells me for a year now. "Don't get stuck at home!". I know he's right and I want to, but I'm so scared, and not only because my last try was a fiasko.
Some years ago, I desperately wanted to move out. Now hardly anything scares me more than the thought of living alone in a flat.

It's cold. Not only outside. It's cold where winder's fingers should never reach out for.

All the abstract things - the flame thing, the raven, the faerie oracle - it's all so obvious. It's so damn obvious what I need to do, and I'm working on it.

And then comes the next hole and the anxiety and a gleam of the toxic whisper: What's it all for? Why still bother to struggle on?

I know what's it all for, and I'm not willing to give up on it. It's just so damn hard to get there. The path likes to hide beneath the leaves. Sometimes you lose it and get lost and it takes you ages to find it again. And at the moment the path is not sheltered with rocks or trees and the wind is cold and bites.

But at least it's not raining.

And sometimes the sun comes out. And soon spring approaches.

EDIT:
Ah, ok. Cartharsis through tragic theatre? Aristotle, maybe you're right. But writing doesn't hurt either.  Even if I wasted time writing this entry - maybe I can concentrate now that I can breath again and that I am a bit more calm.

ocean.souls am 1.2.12 20:15


Man, I love Ta'Om the Poet. He just had a really bad timing! I'm supposed to learn about the theoies of poetry and fiction and epics and I can barely concentrate because my head is filled with poetry and fiction that I want to write down instead of dealing with the dry theory. I cannot completely keep myself from writing, and I do it in English and about the backstory of the main story so I can make excuses for myself that I'm "practising" because I'll have to write free texts in the exams... mmmmh... *whistle*

Ah, once Friday is over, I'll head back to Alawis. But until then... I fear my head is filled with, like, the 6th version of Spirit Creation and one of the most important stories, the Tale of Aili and Nemrau.

"From her dreams within the silence, Tilar-ya, mistress of time, wove her children.
The fairest, tallest and strongest among her children was Imbria. And when Tilar-ya felt the life force rushing through her daughter’s veins, she said: “You shall be the base for all my creations.”
But Imbria foresaw her mother’s dreams and replied: “I shall be the base for your many great and splendid creations, mother, and I shall gladly nourish them. But it will cost me more strength than I have. I cannot make your works last, and none of it will remain forever. Whatever you create on me will be bound to your moody spirit and change and may decay one day.”
“Change is in our nature, in yours and mine”, said Tilar-ya.  “Such is the fate of the world to come.”
So Tilar-ya and Imbria began their work. From Imbria’s flesh they formed a world to lie beneath the spirit world, and Tilar-ya called it Imbra, "the world that remains", in honour of her daughter. Of her limbs, Imbria formed mountains and hills, of her belly the deserts and the paining dephts that would later become the oceans. 
And Imbria’s brothers came – Frinur, the lord of waters, Cinnur, master of flames and Ancar, lord of wind and air, to tend their sister’s wounds.

[...]

[...]

[...]


And in this unforeseen twist of fate, Aili and Nemrau fell for one another in secrecy, and the fruits of their love were not spirits but innumberable souls. No such things had ever been seen in the Spirit World. The souls were beautiful and strange, similar to the hearts of faeries and dragons down on Earth, but yet entirely different. Where a dragon’s soul was filled with the fire of Cinnur and the wildness of Famun; where the faeries were filled with Tiri’s kindness and Imbria’s calm and rage, these souls were a storm of light and shade, the very essence of Aili and Nemrau. And light and shade would grow from one another and go down in one another and could not be seperated. Inspired from the beauty of the souls, Galbreth began his greatest work and created his children: The elves - the first to carry these souls - and later dwarves and later magicians and at last, when he knew his fast-grown, hot-tempered firstborns well enough, he gave Famun the spark to create men and made sure they developed in a slow and moderate manner, hoping to prevent further damage. But as Imbria had said, all creations on her palm would be perfect in the moment of their creation, but then they would be target of change and decay."  


Mhpf. Now back to the analysis of poetry...

ocean.souls am 30.1.12 09:52


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