Behind the Scenes

Posted on March 31, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

It’s fun learning the writing habits of my favorite authors. One is a “just in time” creator – that is, she doesn’t build a specific detail in her story’s world until the plot demands it. Another hears the voice of her muse so strongly and clearly that when logic and the muse collide, the muse always wins. A third outlines her plots using calendar pages, because timing is the essential element in her stories.

Every writer is different. Some write 1,500 words in an hour’s sprint, others feel their way at a thoughtful 200. Some rise at dawn and crank on their stories then; others slumber past noon and write all night. Some draw on their sleeping dreams for inspiration, some on personal history, some from old folk tales (raising my hand here), and some from the quirky intersection of events such as a broken furnace and a children’s game with swimming laps at the gym.

As a writer myself, I take both reassurance and inspiration from my colleagues.
So . . . it’s fine that my own writing speed varies from 200 to 600 words in an hour. Really? Phew! Relief! And writing 5 hours a day is a lot according to the voice of experience. Who knew? Not me! And maybe I should try role playing a difficult scene, if sleeping on it and journaling about it isn’t working. Okay!

As a reader, I respect and revere the titans among the creative tribe. (Okay, as a writer, I do too!) I wonder . . . what genius, what method, what experience gave rise to her brilliance? Will a peek into her habits yield a clue? Will knowing that she sings in the choir or walks around the lake or loves horses afford a view of inspired intelligence at work?

Probably not. The creative process of others often seems opaque to me. But I love trying to espy it in the shadows, seeking fire trails of that magical spark. I love discovering the secrets behind the scene.

It’s true that “the play’s the thing.” It’s the thrill of story that makes me eager for an author’s next book. But glimpses of her life, of her, are interesting. I enjoy author blogs that reveal the thought process behind an intriguing plot, the daydream that birthed a dynamic character, the serendipitous events that yielded a world. I’m guessing that you might too. So future posts will include tours behind the scenes of my North-land tales and through the life experiences that led to the tales. Stay tuned!

Legend of the Beggar’s Son

Posted on March 23, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Here is a tale of ancient Giralliya for the loremaitresses and loremasters among us.

In the terrifying days of Gohgohl the Relentless, four brothers stood against the troll-mage, not with armies – although they had those – but in all the vulnerability of their royal persons. Each night the sky rippled with hungry curtains of red light, gnawing at the land and all who dwelt upon it. Then it was that the brothers stood guard, weapons raised to the roiling energies above, weaving a gossamer shield to hold descending death at bay.

The eldest was Phillox, King of Istria, and son of Claudeo and Juniya. He bore the mighty axe Vahtayvan, and his antiphonic voice was more powerful than his weapon. It was he, the Imprecator, whose shouts harmonized their defense, each of the four standing on the low ridges some distance from their beleaguered city.

The next younger, full brother to Phillox, was Theon, King of Eirdry. His antiphonic chant bore more subtlety than that of the others, and it was he who sensed the anomalies in the death overhead and moved to counter its sudden jabs downward with the musical enchantments of his chalemel, weapon and instrument both.

Horato, King of Ennecy, and son of Ondreyus and Juniya, was the most enduring of the brothers. On the longest night when ribbons of blue light sparked upward from the river to join the red draperies shifting in the sky, birthing violet waves of unspeakable weight, the brothers folded one by one. Only Horato remained upright, holding off the lethal tide alone. He lasted until dawn and the rising sun brought safety.

Amadeo, full brother to Horato, and merely Lord of Ebior until the day of his ascension, was the nimblest of the four – both in mind and in body – but his contribution seemed the lesser until the dusk when he brought a beggar’s son before Phillox.

“This is Luciyo, born of Cayo, and he is the least and most miserable in all our realm, but he is our salvation. Give him the mantle of Saint Sofiya and let him stand unshielded beneath Gohgohl’s curtain of death. Then shall victory be ours.”

Phillox was astonished. He looked directly at the beggar youth. “You will do this?”

Luciyo nodded.

Now the mantle of Saint Sofiya was sacred to the Istrians. They preserved it on the altar in the inner sanctum of their temple. Thrice yearly those in need made pilgrimage to Bazinthiad to touch the hem of the garment and be healed or inspired or forgiven. Such a treasure could not be lightly risked.

Yet such was the desperation felt by the kings and their subjects that all was done as Amadeo directed. The brothers took their stations as the sky darkened and then filled with perilous crimson light. And Luciyo, the beggar’s son, stood on the temple isle in the center of Lake Argiyad, wearing the ancient cloak of the saint.

Phillox bellowed his commands: Theon, Horato, and Amadeo raised their weapons in synchrony with his, and the transparent gauze of green and silver floated up from them, generating crashing flashes of black and gold where it withstood the crimson writhings.

Phillox shouted again. A gap pierced the enchanted protection and death drifted down, a slow rippling roil of blood and wine, to touch the cloaked man awaiting it. Luciyo lifted his arms palm up, and lifted his face too, as though to embrace what descended to him. The skin of his hands, of his brow, blazed suddenly blue-white. Would he burn, as had the other victims? The sparking fire on his visage and palms spread, enshrouding his entire figure. Then the mantle of Sofiya unfurled itself like a cavalier’s banner in the wind, and the fierce inferno of Luciyo gouted upward like lightning in reverse to stab the sky, bursting asunder the dread red draperies and shattering the glistening sky-ship that was the fortress where Gohgohl dwelt.

Fragments of crystal rained down along with the ash of charred ivory. A vast flock of doves flew out from Sofiya’s mantle, streaming across the sky and sweeping the air clean with their wings. The birds disappeared over the horizon. Then all was silent. The stars shone in the dark velvet of the upper reaches. Victory was theirs. The long defense was done.

Theon, Horato, and Amadeo begged Phillox to remain Imprecator over them all to the end of his days – and then to pass the office on to his first child – while they took up the kingships of Istria, Eirdry, and Ennecy. He agreed only on the condition that they establish the Chamber of Princes and Kings to advise him in his rule. That and one other thing: that Luciyo would become First in a Chamber of Paucitors and elect others to his side.

“For the bounty of the least and most miserable has won this day, and future Imprecators will not always be so lucky as to have a brother Amadeo, who will bring hidden poverty forward to the attention of the mighty!”

Thus were three of the great Giralliyan institutions – Emperador (Imprecator); Princes and Kings; and Paucitors – created. The tale of the fourth – the Exemplars of Orthodoxy – is a tale for another day.

* * *

More stories of old Giralliya:
Ravessa’s Ride
The Thricely Odd Troll
The Old Armory: Blood Falchion

Sol

Posted on March 17, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

photo of solar flare This winter I read The Sun’s Heartbeat by Bob Berman and found it fascinating. I’m going to share three tidbits I learned, in hope that they will pique your interest. Old Sol seems so steady and unchanging as he crosses our skies, but there’s a lot more to him than I dreamed.

Evolved by Sunlight

Across the entire electromagnetic spectrum – from ultraviolet through visible light to infrared – the sun’s peak emission is green! And the reason our eyes see visible light
and not, for example, x-rays is because visible light is the vast majority of the sun’s emissions.

If I were trying to find my lost keys by perceiving x-rays, I’d be a long time searching. There aren’t many x-rays bouncing off of anything. And that’s how we see: by photons bouncing off of things. There are lots of visible light photons bouncing off of everything.

Our eyes are essentially sun created!

Photons Have a Long Journey

The nuclear fusion powering our sun releases energy mostly as gamma rays and x-rays, deadly radiation. So how is it that Earth receives mostly lovely light and heat, not lethal ultraviolet?

Well . . . as the photons of the gamma rays (and x-rays) leave the sun’s core, they smash into the rest of the sun’s atoms. The first layer of smashed atoms absorbs the energy and then re-emits it as more photons. Those photons bump into the next layer of atoms. Those atoms do the same thing as the inner ones: absorb and re-emit. It’s a cascade, beginning deep within the sun and radiating outward through the plasma. Of course, with each BUMP, some of the energy stays behind, meaning that by the time a photon reaches the surface, its energy has been ramped ever downward, from ultraviolet down to visible light or even lower
to just heat (infrared).

No one knows the truth of how long it takes a photon to travel from the sun’s core to its surface. (I think the scientists are just guessing!) Some say a “mere” 15 thousand years. Others say 1 million! Either way . . . a photon has a long journey!

Once a photon reaches the surface and blasts off into space, it shows its true dashing nature, racing along at the speed of light. It takes only 8 minutes and 19 seconds to reach Earth.

The Little Ice Age

The dark, cooler patches – known as sun spots – that appear on the sun are accompanied by brighter, hotter spots. Thus when the sun has lots of sun spots, it also has lots of bright spots and emits its maximum energy.

Normally sun spots come and go on a regular 11-year cycle. Their numbers rise swiftly to a peak population, then slowly fall. But sometimes this rhythm
is disrupted.

From 1645 to 1715, there were virtually no sun spots. (Yes, the scientists of the day were already studying sun spots!) Europe got colder, the winters grew more severe. There were crop failures and famines. Disease was rampant. The northern lights disappeared for 50 years.

Who knew that Old Sol rules Earth so thoroughly?! One seemingly small wobble, and our neighborhood changes dramatically!

There is much more than these morsels in The Sun’s Heartbeat, however. Check it out for yourself.

(The links below are for your convenience. Do consider looking in your local library. That’s where I found the book I read.)

The Sun’s Heartbeat at B&N

The Sun’s Heartbeat at Amazon

For more about our sun and how facts about it inspired one of my stories, see:
The Heliosphere

For more cool science trivia, see:
Our Universe Is Amazing
Water

Curiouser and Curiouser

Posted on March 10, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Why? How does it really work? Is this actually true? Or is it just a collective illusion we’ve mistaken for truth? I ask these questions, often randomly, but the answers matter to me. Perhaps they matter to some of you too. I’m always interested in digging beneath the conventional, the superficial, and the accepted to learn if something different – opposite? tangential? – lies deeper.

Foundations enthrall me – the foundations of the physical world, those of the psyche, the basis of knowing, the interface between the corporeal and information, the dance between knowing and feeling. I’m fairly certain the questions that draw me most cannot be answered. At least, not yet. Maybe not ever. But entertaining such questions seems worthwhile.

And amusing. I confess to pleasure in the hunt for knowledge. I am a curious monkey. And I thrill in the playground of ideas. I must also plead guilty to being a dilettante. I follow no course of study, but frolic on the non-fiction side of the shelf of new books at the library.

I read about string theory and quilting. The sun and grifters. George Washington and the history of ballet. All of it holds my attention. And some of it is so fabulous, I stray into impromptu lectures to friends and family. Oh, dear! Even you, respected blog reader, will not be immune to my desire to share fascinating morsels. I’ve already finished two posts in this vein for future Sundays. You shall have them in good time!

But, don’t worry. Just as I won’t lay these “who are we?” posts on you back-to-back, neither will I do so with “my curiosity is provoked” ones! Like a savory soup, this blog will be well-mixed.

I’ll close with a pair of questions for you. If you could have one unanswerable question answered – existential, practical, quirky, whatever – what would it be? And, if you collect intriguing clues to the essence of the cosmos and of being, which one fascinates you most?

North-land Magic

Posted on March 6, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Last Sunday’s post provided a perfect example of how I interact with my outline when I’m writing a story. I always have an outline, and I do follow it. Except when I don’t! That is, as my story unfolds, I usually discover that I need an extra scene or that I need to flip flop the order of two scenes, and so on. Plus my outline is merely a skeleton outline. Such as: Lorelin plays a trio with Kaye and Saune. (Not, emphatically not, Lorelin plays music with Kaye and Saune, then discusses right livelihood with them, and then learns that an imperial herald has arrived in Birkliden. Actually the news about the herald was planned for a later scene and got moved to this one.) I discover the details of a conversation as I write it.

In just this way, my outline for the blog post on Sunday was roughly: discuss magic of the North-lands. But when I found myself at my keyboard, I really wanted to explore the magic of Silmaren specifically and to tell you about it. Since I write from the heart rather than the head, that’s what happened. But I feel I still owe you the more comprehensive post, so I’m making another stab at it!

Safe Magic

Civilized people in the North-lands use a gentle energy magic that is practical, but not flamboyant. It requires study and practice to achieve the upper levels of skill. Most are content to incline sick people toward health, to nudge crops into lush growth, and to adjust the worst storms into heavy downpours. It’s rare to heal someone near death, to grow fruit trees in non-arable land, or to disperse a hurricane. Even among the elite, such unusual feats are possible only if the underlying structures (the radices and the arcs) permit small repairs or adjustments to achieve spectacular results. Practitioners merely help the natural processes along in a favorable direction. They do not change the energy configuration significantly. That would be incantatio or troll-magic, which is both dangerous and illegal. Practitioners avoid large alterations to energy patterns. It’s perilously easy to drift across the line separating the safe from the forbidden when too much is attempted.

The varied peoples of the North-land realms speak of magic using different words. And understand it differently as well, through the lenses of their own cultures.

Silmaren

Silmarish keyholders are usually women, not men. The country phrase is that she holds the Keys of Sias, being specifically blessed by the Divine Mother. City folk say that she studies theurgia, and that she is a theurgist or a theomancer. Keyholders and theurgists alike use their powers largely for healing the sick and the injured, seeming unaware of theurgia’s greater potential.

Erice

The people of Erice worship the twin gods of Theon and Ionog (local variants – one male, one female – on Sias’ handmaidens Thiya and Iona) and believe that the divine twins bestow healing power on a few fortunate devouts. Country folk say that a healer has the Hands of the Twins, that he or she is a twinhand. More educated people merely say that such a practitioner is a healer or a physician. And that he or she practices healing or physic. Like the Silmarish, Ericeans emphasize the medical aspects of magic.

Fiorish

In Fiorish, Ionan (yet another variant on the handmaiden Iona) is worshipped and believed to be the source of magic. Rural people say a practitioner has the Sight of Ionan. She or he is sighted or a seer. Town folk call their magicians visionaries or visioners and hold that they have the Wisdom of Ionan. Miracles of healing occur with some frequency in the lady-chapels of the countryside, but ignorant and educated alike look for guidance in decision-making more than medicine from their seers and visionaries.

Auberon

Rural folk and city dwellers alike speak of pattern-maitresses and pattern-masters, or patterners. Only the professors in the capital city of Caranda lecture on odylogists and the practice of odylogy. Auberoneans believe that patterning or odylogy is a natural ability of humans, not a gift granted from their god Teyo (yet another variant – male – on Thiya). Perhaps this is why their practitioners have broadened the use of patterning to create safe protocols in their mines and shipyards. They’ve begun exporting this expertise to Silmaren, which is why Reice ni Bayaude (in Troll-magic) spent many months out of the year in Andhamn, the mining city in Feldholm.

Pavelle

The laypeople of Pavelle speak of seekers or riddlemasters. The more religious talk of enigmatists who practice enigmology. Like their neighbors, the Giralliyanese, they understand that practitioners perceive the deep structures beneath surface appearances. Uniquely, they believe that the deep structures determine not only an entity’s nature, but the way it comes together with others to produce events, history, and reality itself. The focus of Pavanese enigmology is divided between a scholarly probing into the puzzle of the cosmos and enhancing the worship experience of cathedral congregations.

Giralliya

The people of the empire believe that all life is a vibration of energy, a tide of giving and receiving, a pulse of question and answer. Knowledgeable and ignorant alike call magic antiphony. A practitioner of antiphony is an antiphoner or an antiphonist. Giralliyans conflate spiritual health with physical health and view antiphony as the noble road to both. Nearly the entire population visits their local retreat for counsel from a personal antiphoner and for guidance in the posture sequences regarded as the foundation of happiness.

Despite this individualistic interpretation, or perhaps because of it, the imperial Ministry of Inventions is alone amongst the political powers in the North-lands in attempting to directly harness antiphony to technology. Success in the endeavor has not yet arrived, but when it does . . watch out!

Perilous Magic

Troll magic, or incantatio, is flamboyant, immediate, and acute in its effects. A troll-mage might pull a sick person back from the brink of death, grow watermelons in the desert, disperse a typhoon, and other such magnificent feats. Unfortunately, it is the practice of troll-magic that turns humans into trolls. It corrupts their bodies, starting with the ears and nose, which enlarge a little with each use of the power. It also unbalances their intellectual and emotional abilities. A troll-witch who has practiced troll-magic for years will have a nose elongated like a curled thumb, ears the size of normal hands, swollen hands and feet, a severely curved spine, coarse skin with a yellow tone, bloodshot eyes, and much ill health. In his or her mind, insanity reigns.

Troll-magic is forbidden in all civilized places, because its use essentially creates powerful villains. Even beneficiaries of a troll-spell cast by someone else (a troll-mage, of course) can suffer corrosive effects, so few seek it. The side effects are often so detrimental as to cancel out any benefit.

Most folk call this perilous practice troll-magic and its practitioners troll-mages or troll-witches. Only a few intellectual types use the terms incantatio and incantor or incantress or incantatrix. Nobody really wants to separate the idea of the magic from its effect: to make trolls.

Insane trolls do crazy and hurtful things with their power. Newer trolls usually flock to older and more powerful trolls in the wild lands. They have no place in the civilized world. The authorities arrest them, because they cannot be left at large, and sentence them to death. (Incarceration is impractical. How do you imprison someone who can break any cell?) Trolls don’t live long, because the troll-disease, once started, progresses. When it progresses too far, the troll dies. Even potent trolls who elude capture live short lives.

For more about magic, see:
Radices and Arcs
Silmarish Magic

Silmarish Magic

Posted on March 4, 2012 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

In Silmaren, magic and the mother goddess are thoroughly intertwined. It’s a given that Sias, the Divine Mother, grants certain holy women special powers; and a woman who desires to hone her gift turns naturally to either the ecclesia (the religious hierarchy) or the two lay sisterhoods outside the ecclesia.

A woman with a calling for healing might join the Sisters of Remedy and train as either a lay keyholder or an apothecary, depending on whether she wishes to work directly with the sick and injured or whether she prefers compounding medicines. If she hopes to use her gifts to magnify Sias, she would apply to the Order of Malady within the ecclesia with the goal of becoming a holy salver, a phylaxor (a specialist in obscure disorders), or a nutricia. All of these religious professions are essentially keyholders – that is, they scan and manipulate the “keys” (radices) and “bridges” (arcs) of their patients – but their healing rituals contain a different emphasis than that of their lay sisters.

Healers are not the sole recipients of Sias’ bounty. Within the ecclesia, the Order of Sage-wifery offers women with a scholarly bent the opportunity to study a wide array of subjects – from the arcane discipline of mathematics to the more practical life sciences or earth sciences – and to devise ways in which magic might benefit these disciplines. Such women are called theurgists. Within the Order, there exists the Society of Theomancers, which accepts men.

The Sorority of Euna is the third order within the ecclesia to which gifted women turn. It also accepts women lacking the boon of Sias. Celebrants preside in the chapels where the Silmarish population worships. Gifted celebrants perform the high rites requiring magic, while mundane celebrants lead everyday services. Oath-sisters (both gifted and mundane) officiate at baptism, accordance, marriage, reconciliation, vows of vocation, and unction.

Outside the ecclesia, the Sisters of Hospitality offer justice to those wronged or forsaken by the royal judicial courts, contemplative atonement to repentant sinners, prophecy to petitioners chosen by the goddess, and ordinary hospitality to wayfarers. Their respective titles in these roles are: justiciar, confessor, oracle, and hostelier. Each has its own unique disciplines and magical teachings.

The vast majority of gifted women in Silmaren practice their vocations under the auspices of the Sisters of Remedy, the Sisters of Hospitality, the Great Orders of Malady or Sage-wifery, or the Sorority of Euna. A very few set up as independent theurgists, usually mentored by a man. Most male theurgists are independents, since gifted men have few options for sponsored practice. The gift of Sias is rare, however, so independent theurgists number but a handful and usually cluster in Silmaren’s capital city. Without the protection of the ecclesia or one of the lay orders, they risk being accused of incantatio by the less educated folk of the countryside.

For more about magic, see:
North-land Magic
Radices and Arcs