savage_jason

... how awesome this is.

Scott

Damn, dude. This is all I get? That's messed up.

A rough intro scene for a new story. I'm trying to get the supporting character's (Gerard) personality established quickly, but credibly. Right now, Tristram seems to suffer for it a bit, but that can be fixed with editing. I'm also trying to introduce the world at the same time.

Before the Seven

“Do you feel it, Gerard?” Tristram panted as he sought to keep up with the older paladin, who was marching through the basilica’s dust-shrouded hall. His dark hair was matted against his forehead, though not from the exertion. “It’s like oil running in my veins, behind my eyes.”

“It will not be the last time you feel the touch of the Despoiled, Tristram.” Gerard stopped and half-turned to face the younger man. His lantern, the symbol of office for the order, was the only source of illumination in the cavernous hall. The walls of the basilica seemed a thousand miles away, the blackness seemed to stretch out forever. It was the first time Tristram had ever felt threatened by the yawning dark. “The Despoiled are so tainted by Sammael’s blood that they exude it, it is an aura of ruin. Plants wither in their shadow, animals sicken and die. But it will not touch you so long as you are faithful. Follow close, we must hurry.”

Tristram’s brow furrowed, but he fell into step none the less. “What are we going to do?”

“There are things you must see, things you must be told. Hush now, and follow me child.”

They stole through the basilica as quick as Gerard dared, as if they were thieves in their own home. The ruins of the temple had been Tristram’s home for nearly a decade, since the day that Gerard had come across him in that muddy village street. Angry, bull-headed and young. He was courageous enough to try and protect the smaller village youths from a cadre of oafish bullies; foolish enough to think he could win the fight alone. His parents were only too happy to accept the gold purse the strange man offered, and Tristram was sure Gerard had bought him to realize some vile impulse.

Instead, Gerard had pressed a blade into his hands and taught him how to kill the vile things in the night.

They circled down into the heart of the structure, accompanied only by the sound of their boots echoing back against them, and into the council chamber. Gerard raised his lantern higher and the flame inside, a pure white blaze with no trace of fuel or smoke, intensified. Marble angels’ wings glimmered under the light; the lovingly crafted faces of the Seven Above gazed down on them.

“I have been coming to this chamber for fifty years,” Gerard smiled wistfully as he spoke. “And I am still awed by its majesty.” The elder man pulled his hood back, revealing his bald head and wrinkle-streaked face. He set the lantern down near the statue of Aftiel, the angel who stood at the center of the council, and groaned as he knuckled his back. “Curses and damnation but do I hate this back pain.”

“Gerard, what are we going to do? If one of the Despoiled is here we have to do something, a plan, or… or…”

“Sit with me a moment, Tristram, here at Aftiel’s foot. It seems only fitting.” Tristram obeyed grudgingly, his sighs betraying his irritation. Gerard smiled indulgently. “Look upon Aftiel for a moment, what do you see?”

Tristram frowned, brow knit in confusion. “I see… his face. His wings, his lantern.”

“You are looking at the obvious, you know better than that. What do you see.”

Tristram stood, took a few steps back to get a better view of the figure. “I… he’s not looking down on us. Not like the rest.”

“Good boy. Aftiel looks ahead because he stands at the crossroads, at the cusp of light and dark. He is ever vigilant of the dangers that await him. He also reminds us that we cannot divorce ourselves from our baser natures.”

“Is this another lesson about my temper? I’m trying, Gerard, really I am.”

Gerard laughed, low and soft. “You would not be you without your temper, Tristram. Just indulge me while I ramble.”

“While the enemy is closing in on us?”

“All things in due time, boy.” Gerard rested one hand on his lantern, which brightened subtly. “It is a shame you were born into this age of ruin, Tristram. We were so much more, once, we Lightbearers. Even as weak as we were before Sammael’s ascension, there was more to us. We separated light from dark, we gave men hope and inspired them to righteousness, all at Aftiel’s behest. Because he knew mankind, he knew man was better than he seemed to be.”

Gerard stood and raised his lantern again so Tristram could see the assembled faces of the Seven. “But now Sammael has poisoned the world and the hearts of men and we stand upon the edge of extinction. The most likely fate I can offer you is a lonely death.”

Tristram hesitated, unsure of how to respond to Gerard’s suddenly pessimistic mood. “Gerard, why are you telling me this? Why now?”

Gerard smiled and pressed his lantern and its chain into Tristram’s hands. “Because, dear boy, this is where we part.”

# SCENE BREAK #

I'm trying to evolve an older idea that's been sitting for a while. The world isn't coming to me yet, but the feel is. It's a hopeless place, the good guys threw their best at it and they lost. Now there's only a few of them left, hunted by the servants of the bad guy and hated by the people they were supposed to save.

Since I'm between working on submissions, I should have a while to let this simmer and formulate.

"I'm also troubled by, not what Senator McCain says, but what members of the party say. And it is permitted to be said such things as, 'Well, you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim.'

"Well, the correct answer is, he is not a Muslim; he's a Christian. He's always been a Christian.

"But the really right answer is, 'what if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country?' The answer's 'no,' that's not America.

"Is there something wrong with some seven-year-old Muslim-American kid believing that he or she could be president?

"Yet, I have heard senior members of my own party drop the suggestion, 'He's a Muslim and he might be associated terrorists.' This is not the way we should be doing it in America.

"I feel strongly about this particular point because of a picture I saw in a magazine. It was a photo essay about troops who are serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

"And one picture at the tail end of this photo essay was of a mother in Arlington Cemetery, and she had her head on the headstone of her son's grave. And as the picture focused in, you could see the writing on the headstone. And it gave his awards -- Purple Heart, Bronze Star -- showed that he died in Iraq, gave his date of birth, date of death. He was 20 years old.

"And then, at the very top of the headstone, it didn’t have a Christian cross; it didn't have the Star of David; it had crescent and a star of the Islamic faith. And his name was Kareem Rashad Sultan Khan, and he was an American. He was born in New Jersey. He was 14 years old at the time of 9/11, and he waited until he can go serve his country, and he gave his life."

– Colin Powell on Meet the Press, October 19th, 2008

Not exactly music to write to, but sometimes music to inspire.

So, I'd really like to get a vampire story off the ground, and in fact have been working on one, on and off, for several months. They're non-standard vampires, they can go out in the sun (no, they do not sparkle) and they don't have to drink blood regularly (I'm still working on the rules, older vamps need less blood), but when they do drink they become noticeably stronger and faster. It's in a fantasy setting with touches of the Roman empire serving as the basis for the nachzehrer's empire, which they suborned from humans, including the church which they changed to serve their own purposes and to give religious legitimacy to their domination of "lesser races". I don't want people to like the vampires, necessarily, but I want them to be awed by them as a apex predator. The way you have a healthy respect/fear for a Great White or a Bengal Tiger.

I've edged dangerously close to some popular and thoroughly offensive "vampire" stories in that my vamps don't burst into flames when exposed to sunlight and don't have to drink blood, I know. But I like the idea of vampires having suborned an entire empire, and more importantly a church, and I couldn't see them maintaining a hold over a cohesive government if they couldn't be active half the time.

In any case, I want this story to be dark without delving into being juvenile, and to this end I've added this passage where our protagonist Levin is in his tent in camp, before a battle with the rebel human general Getorix:

She was still, after a moment. Though she’d struggled at first, when Levin’s fangs slid into her skin she could do nothing. It was not drinking, in the traditional sense, though it looked much alike. The blood coursed into Levin’s veins rather than his belly, burning like the strong drink he’d enjoyed so much when he was alive.

Her heart faltered, her struggle weakened. He grew stronger, his heart shuddered to life. The girl shuddered with one last breath and became limp. A gift from Magnus’s sister, the decadent Amandine, for Levin’s pleasure before the battle with Getorix. She had been a striking thing, for a mortal, with hair colored like hay shining in the sun. Her blue eyes, moments ago alight with life, had dulled somewhat. Better this way than the slow decent into decay and death. With her blood now singing in Levin’s heart and her memories hiding behind his eyes she was beyond fear and suffering, her beauty was eternal.

Levin allowed the alabaster-skinned corpse to slump to the floor of his tent. It lay only a moment before a servile thrall entered, mumbling apologies for his intrusion as he dragged the girl away.

This is a rough, obviously. I just looked away from the screen and let my hands go on the keyboard instead of over-thinking it.

Comments are welcome.

The Empty Chair
Eulogy for a Gamer

There is an empty chair,
at the table this day.
A hallowed place where,
a friend once played.
The roll of his dice,
my ears long to hear.
Or perhaps it would suffice,
if he should suddenly appear.
With character sheet in hand,
and a bag of Cheeze-doodles to share.
All his friends would stand,
as he sat in the empty chair.
I hear his voice a-callin’,
and it ties my heart in a knot.
For he cries, “Though a comrade has fallen,
You must play for those who cannot.”
We conquered worlds on the run,
he and I in the name of fun.
And as others may come and go,
I make both both friend and foe.
But what I long for most,
is our past now long a ghost.

Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks) - "On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and He asks me why did I kill one of his true miracles, what am I gonna say? That it was my job? My job?"

John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan) - "You tell God the Father it was a kindness you done. I know you hurtin' and worryin', I can feel it on you, but you oughta quit on it now. Because I want it over and done. I do. I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we's coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?"

Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks) - "Yes, John. I think I can."

Something Old, Something New is off to the editor at Graveside Tales. They're promising a 2-3 week response time.

In the mean time... while I was in the shower I looked out the window and saw a clump of leaves that looked like a mask, hanging from a tree's branches. I figure there's a story in there somewhere... but I don't know where yet.

... except when I accidentally write my precis on the wrong article. Oh well. Study guide for history mid-term is done, along with revisions to my AP style article, so I figure I can go back to the precis tomorrow.

Goddamnit.

Maybe someday I'll go a day without thinking about it.

Oh, that's me on the right, Jon Hart, my former boss and mentor, on the left.

One of my favorite Sinfest strips

A video of my friend Mayaj playing her new song "The Closest Thing". It's very good despite the cam's limitation. I had the privilege of hearing it firsthand. She has another video up on Youtube, "America", where she's singing in Hebrew.

Out of work. Back in school. First story comes out soon. Writing more, trying to concentrate on one thing and finish it. In the gym four nights a week. New girl... maybe. We're feeling it out (heh, heh).

Hic svent leones, without a doubt.

Sincerely, 
~~~
Jason M. Waltz
Rogue Blades Entertainment, http://www.roguebladesentertainment.com/
RBE Twitter http://twitter.com/RogueBlades


I wish I had some clever comment to make. But I don't. I'm wandering around my house, laughing triumphantly.

Dear Mr. Irrgang,
 
Thank you for submitting "Sevenstones" to Heroic Fantasy Quarterly. The
story caught our attention but after consideration we’ve decided not to
accept it for publication.  
 
Please consider Heroic Fantasy Quarterly again.  We wish you luck placing
your story elsewhere.
 
Sincerely,
 
Adrian Simmons

The story caught our attention but after consideration we've decided not to accept it for publication? Man. Talk about a kick to the nuts.

A writing challenge from freelancer Debbie Ridpath Ohi, who does the Will Write for Chocolate webcomic.

Let's give this a shot.

Dear Jason Irrgang,

Thank you for your interest in being a part of Demons: A Clash of Steel Anthology. I am advancing your story "The Sacrifice" in consideration. This means that, once I have gone through all submissions, I will be selecting final acceptances from those stories I advanced. I aim to make these acceptances by June 15th, so you should have a final reply from me by then.

Sincerely,
~~~
Jason M. Waltz
Rogue Blades Entertainment, http://www.roguebladesentertainment.com/
RBE Twitter http://twitter.com/RogueBlades

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

FUCKIN' A!

YEAH BABY!!!!!