Hunting Wild as a Novella

Posted on May 23, 2014 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

A year and a half ago, I wrote a short story and posted it on my blog here.

I’d intended it to be flash fiction – under 1000 words – like the other flash fiction histories I’d created about the empire of Giralliya (in my North-lands).

“Hunting Wild” went long – to 6,000 words – but I posted it anyway. It was a cool story. I wanted readers to see it!

And readers did see it!

At least one urged me to continue writing and posting these “fairy tales” from the past of my fictional world.

I wanted to do so, but I must confess that the 6,000-word length of “Hunting Wild” daunted me. With another dozen of flash fiction titles on my to-be-written list, I certainly had the inspiration.

But what if they all went long?

In fact, I could sense that the next three – at least – would go long.

What to do? What to do?

I pondered the matter off and on. And wrote a lot of other blog posts. Then, last December, I realized that my dilemma was really not one.

“Hunting Wild” was long enough to publish as an ebook on Amazon and with other online booksellers. (Unlike the flash fiction pieces, which were too short for that.) Why not do so?

Why not, indeed!

I could publish “Hunting Wild” and “Fairest Trickery” and “Aegis” as ebooks.

After the holidays, in January, I pulled out my manuscript and looked it over.

Well, it was still a cool story, but – to my now more developed storyteller’s eye – it looked like it was missing a scene or two.

No problem. I could easily write the “missing” scenes and weave them into the story. I set to work. It was fun!

But after writing two new scenes and meshing them into the existing manuscript, it was clear that I needed to write two more scenes.

Can you see where this is going?

I’m closing in on my revision now, but in all I’ve written 7 new scenes, requiring 11,000 new words. Whew! That took a little more time and energy than I’d planned!

I’m pleased with the new Hunting Wild, and eager to share it with my fans. First it must go to my beta readers for their feedback. That’s an important step. There are always a few small glitches (sometimes large glitches) that I can’t see, because I’m too close to it. Luckily, my beta readers see such problems just fine. They point them out to me, and I fix the trouble spots.

However, I have a snippet – a poem – that I wrote as I further developed the religious beliefs of my “medieval” Giralliyans.

Writers end up with these background notes all the time. Things the writer needs to know in order to write the story, but that don’t belong in the story.

This particular fragment of text derives from an old Giralliyan religion – the Gedier Creed – that had been losing followers for centuries until, finally, its practice was forbidden by the crown.

The Gedier Creed involves belief in a god with three aspects: Gwirionedd in heaven, Cummenos on earth, and Eoin in hell.

Enjoy!

With blood, in death, the sacrifice of our king draws truth – Gwirionedd – down from heaven to manifest on earth.
In death, with sacrifice, in the harvest of our ripeness dost our king suffer his holy rite.

Stag-horned, beast-headed, our Lord chases the earth.
Steed-mounted, hound-hunted, he courses to pursue his sacred hunt.

Named Cummenos, named wild, he hunts the Hallowed Eve.
From the farthest to the nearest, he hunts monsters unseen.
From the outmost to the inmost, he hunts evils unfelt.
Driving them before him, he descends into hell.

Enthroned, enslaved, in hell he is Eoin.
Judge and demon, meter of fates, he is chained until freed by mortal gift.

With blood, in life, the surrender of our lady frees judgment – Eoin – from hell, to mount to heaven.
In life, with surrender, in the pregnancy of deep winter dost our lady embrace her blessed rite.

Named Gwirionedd, named truth, our Lord presides in heaven.
Breath of spirit, light of seeing, he glorifies and sanctifies, awaiting the sacrifice of the king.

Gwirionedd, our source.
Cummenos, fell and fallen.
Eoin, our maker.
Gwirionedd, our truth and haven.
Hosanna to our Lord.

* * *

For more about Giralliya, the setting of Hunting Wild:
A Great Birthing
Bazinthiad’s Fashions
Bazinthiad, A Quick Tour

Draco the Dragon

Posted on March 21, 2014 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Several constellations receive mention in my novella, Devouring Light. Cygnus the Swan soars across the eighth sphere. The Great Bear lumbers along its vast curve. And, embracing the freedom of fiction, I created a few constellations unknown to Earth’s history: the Simiae and the Winged Bulls.

But one constellation alone features prominently in my story: Draco.

Older by far than the planetary spirits, Draco is a wily, jaded creature who’s forgotten the pleasures of living in his neck of the universe. His capricious response to his boredom pushes first Mercurio, and then Haden, toward action that summons catastrophe.

Of course, many an ancient legend about the dragon preceded my own Devouring Light.

According to the ancient Greeks, a dragon named Ladon guarded the garden of Hera, queen of the gods. Within Hera’s garden grew a grove of trees with golden apples that bestowed immortality upon their eater. Nymphs – the Hesperides – tended the garden and occasionally stole the apples. Ladon was given the task of preventing such theft, whether by the nymphs or by other intruders.

Despite Ladon’s watchful ferocity, two renowned trespassers managed to steal apples. Eris, the goddess of discord, inscribed her stolen fruit with the phrase “to the most beautiful.” When she rolled the apple into a wedding (from which she had been excluded), she started the Trojan Wars.

Hercules was the other interloper. Of the twelve labors given him, the eleventh was the theft from Hera’s grove. He didn’t attempt the feat himself. Instead he offered Atlas a break from holding up the world, if Atlas were to do the deed. Atlas possessed the advantage of being the father of the Hesperides, and he liked the idea of a rest for his shoulders. In fact, he liked it so much that he refused to exchange the stolen apples for the world. He didn’t want it back.

Hercules agreed to take Atlas’ place permanently, so long as he could first rearrange his cloak. Naturally, once Atlas again bore the world on his own shoulders, Hercules did not keep his promise. Not much honor amongst those Greek gods and heroes!

In one version of the myth, Ladon is rewarded for his long vigil by being enthroned in the sky as a constellation. Certainly, the two constellations – Draco and Hercules – are near one another in the heavens.

The ancient Romans told a different tale about the dragon. Draco was one of the Titans, monsters who fought the Olympian gods for dominion over the earth. The war was grievous and long. In the final battle, when the Olympians prevailed, the goddess Minerva confronted Draco. She won and tossed the defeated dragon into the sky. Frozen by the cold northern Celestial Pole, he stayed there for eternity.

In addition to its mythological importance, Draco also possesses elements of interest to astronomy.

The star Thuban – head of the serpent – shines within Draco. It’s a blue-white giant and occupied the position of pole star from 3942 BC to 1793 BC. The ancient Egyptians noted this and built their pyramids with one side facing north and an entrance there that permitted Thuban to be seen within. Because the Earth wobbles on its axis – a cycle that takes 26,000 years – Thuban will become the pole star again in 21,000 AD.

The Cat’s Eye Nebula is located in Draco. It possesses one of the most complex shapes ever seen through the Hubble Space Telescope. Created 1,000 years ago by an exploding star, the nebula features knots, jets, bubbles, and arc-like structures.

The quasar Q1634+706 also inhabits Draco. 12.9 billion light years away, it’s so bright that it’s the most distant object that can yet be seen through an amateur telescope.

And, finally, Draco hosts the meteor shower known as the February Eta Draconids.

On the cultural side of things, I am not the only artist inspired by Draco.

The film Dragonheart presents the constellation as a heaven to which the spirit of any dragon ascends after death, if it has upheld an ancient dragonish oath to guard mankind. The Russian chess master master Fyodo Dus-Chotimirsky named the chess opening of the Sicilian Defense the Dragon Variation, after the constellation. And J.K. Rowling named her antagonist, Draco Malfoy, in the Harry Potter series after the starry Draco.

For more about the world of Devouring Light, see:
The Celestial Spheres of Sol
What Do Celestials Wear?
The Graces
Roman Dining
The Heliosphere
The Oort Cloud
Mercury the Planet
The Simiae

Gongs

Posted on March 13, 2014 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

When I wrote the story Resonant Bronze, I needed to know more about gongs.

The type of gong most familiar to Westerners is the bullseye gong or tam-tam. A tam-tam is made of brass (copper and zinc) or bronze (copper and tin). It’s nearly flat with a very shallow curve. And the rim is turned to be perpendicular to the gong’s surface.

Tam-tams yield a crashing sound when hit. They were originally used in China to signal the peasants working in the fields. They could be heard up to 50 miles away!

But the gong featured in Resonant Bronze is not a tam-tam. It’s a nipple gong.

Nipple gongs possess a central raised boss that is often formed of a different metal than the rest of the gong.

Such is exactly the case for the gong in Resonant Bronze. Its central boss is made of meteoric iron, while the rest of its wide circle is formed of arsenical bronze (copper and arsenic). Thus its silvery color.

Nipple gongs have a clearer, more resonant tone than tam-tams, with less “shimmer.” Small nipple gongs are often suspended horizontally (rather than vertically) and played together as you might play a xylophone.

The gong in Resonant Bronze is large – roughly 3 feet in diameter – and hangs vertically.

One of the most interesting things I learned in the course of my research involves the unique forging properties of bronze.

Most metals – copper, steel, silver, brass, etc. – when heated and slowly cooled to room temperature in still air become more ductile, more workable at cold temperatures, and less prone to internal stresses. This is called annealing.

Bronze does not behave like this when slow cooled. In fact, it becomes excessively brittle and difficult to work.

Bronze must be heated to cherry-red and then quenched in water. This quick cooling makes it so soft that it can then be hammered. Thus a gong is first heated, quenched, and shaped. Then it is heated again and slow-cooled to harden it.

While modern bronze is composed of copper and tin – from 8 to 22 parts of tin for every 78 parts of copper – the ancients used arsenic instead of tin. This resulted in several advantages.

The arsenic acted as an de-oxidizer, causing the extra oxygen sometimes present in liquid copper to evaporate as various arsenous oxides, yielding a more malleable bronze.

The presence of arsenic also produces a greater work hardening of the metal without causing embrittlement. (Especially important for cutting and chopping tools, not as important musical instruments.)

And, finally, the arsenic creates an attractive silver sheen to the metal’s surface.

Arsenic is present in many of the copper ores in the ground, but the ancients also added arsenic themselves.

Unfortunately, arsenic within an alloy also possesses some serious disadvantages. Arsenic vapor attacks the eyes, lungs, and skin of the smith, as well as causing neurological damage that results in weakness in the legs and feet. It is speculated that this fact of neuropathy lies behind the archetype of lame smiths such as the Greek god Hephaestus.

This is one of those times I was super glad I’d done my research! It would have been so easy to get this wrong. My natural inclination is to research topics I don’t know much about. I just don’t feel comfortable writing my story when there’s an important element in it and I’m ignorant. Of course, it’s not just wanting to get the details right that propels me. I’m also insatiably curious! 😀

For more about the facts behind my stories, see:
Origin of Canning
The Accidental Herbalist
Roman Dining

The Heliosphere

Posted on December 6, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Devouring Light started from the idea of spectacle. Somebody – Mercurio – was creating a grand display involving the constellations. Draco, the dragon. Ursa Major, the great bear. And so on.

But what would this spectacle celebrate?

No mystery there. That was part of my initial inspiration as well: our sun’s birthday.

The next question was trickier. How would our sun – Sol – mark his birthday?

Possibly he did so in Earth years. Earth being the only planet in the solar system with humans on it lends these “Gaian” years a certain distinction.

But the universe of Devouring Light features many other beings: the spirits of stars, those of comets – all the celestial bodies of the cosmos, in fact.

And Sol is so very old when measured in Earth’s years. Using them as birth markers would be like humans using seconds.

My decision: Sol wouldn’t use the movements of anything within his own system to signify his anniversary. What about outside the solar system?

Posing that question yielded an immediate answer. Or, rather, another question which generates its own prompt answer.

What does the sun revolve around?

Our galaxy, of course.

There was Sol’s “year.” The time it takes for him to travel once around the Milky Way.

And how long is that? In Earth years? Being human myself, not celestial, I think in terms of Earth. And I had some research to do.

We know the age of our sun: 4.6 billion Earth years. An odd measure, when you consider that Earth herself was likely still a part of the dust cloud around Sol when he ignited. But that is how we measure long spans of time.

Our knowledge of the number of times that Sol has swung around the galaxy center is less precise. One circuit requires between 225 and 250 million Earth years. Sol has made the trip anywhere between 20 and 25 times.

Since I envisioned Sol as a fully grown “young man,” not a youth barely emerged from his teens, I chose the longer figure.

Sol was turning 25. Excellent!

With this important question answered 😀 , I could call this blog post complete. But you know I’m not going to do that! In the course of my solar research, I learned a bunch of cool things about our sun. And, while I’m perfectly capable of sharing them all with you, I won’t do that either.

Instead I’ll tell you the one cool thing that was utterly new to me and that proved to be important to my story.

The heliopause.

What, you may ask, is the heliopause.

I certainly didn’t know what it meant when I first encountered the term.

It has to do with the solar wind.

Now, I’d heard of the solar wind, and I thought I knew what it was. But I didn’t. Not really.

Because the solar wind is plasma.

What? Plasma? I thought plasma existed only in conditions of great heat and pressure. Like in the body of a star.

Well, that is a common place to find it. Although it also occurs in the instant of a lightning strike.

But what plasma is . . . is a mass of ions. That is, atoms stripped of their electrons, so that the electrons swirl through the plasma solo with their negative charge, while the nuclei – protons bound with neutrons – also swirl through the plasma with their positive charge.

And the solar wind is this plasma hurled off the surface of the sun and out into space.

Wow!

Obviously, the solar wind is very “thin,” with only a few particles within a lot of vacuum. Almost like a vapor or a gas. But it’s plasma, not a gas, because the particles have a charge. And it packs some punch. Think of the solar yachts posited in SF stories, with sails catching the solar wind.

Luckily, because the plasma particles have a charge, they get bounced by Earth’s magnetosphere. But that’s another topic! Maybe a future blog post? 😉

So . . . the heliopause.

The solar wind blows a long, long way. All the way past Pluto to nearly 100 astronomical units (100 AU).

To refresh your memory, one AU is the distance from the sun to Earth.

At 100 AU from our sun, the solar wind runs out of steam and ends, contained by the pressure of the interstellar medium and the stellar winds that roam the galaxy.

The bubble created by the solar wind is known as the heliosphere. It has a ripple in it, shaped like a pinwheel or a ballerina’s swirling skirt. It’s caused by our sun’s spinning magnetic field. And the heliosphere has turbulence at its edge, where the stellar winds press inward, while the solar wind presses out.

That area of turbulence is known as the heliosheath. And the great curve where the turbulence ends, the solar wind ceasing completely, is the heliopause.

Why did I care?

Because my dragon constellation, Draco, does some “flying” at the heliopause. I needed to know what he’d encounter there!

Not being a scholar, Draco calls the entire end zone the heliopause, rather than using the precise terms: termination shock, slow-down region, stagnation region, and depletion region. But his wings feel the strain of the turbulence regardless!

For more about the world of Devouring Light, see:
The Celestial Spheres of Sol
What Do Celestials Wear?
The Graces
Roman Dining
The Oort Cloud
Mercury the Planet
Draco the Dragon
The Simiae

For more about our sun, see:
Sol

Roman Dining

Posted on November 29, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

When Mercurio throws a banquet in my novella, Devouring Light, his guests dine Roman style.

I’d always envisioned the ancient Romans as reclining while dining, propped up on couches with low tripod tables at their elbows. But when it was time for me to write the feast scene, I needed details. So I dove into research!

And discovered that my vision was somewhat mistaken!

The video below is what I’d imagined.

Certainly there are museums with replicas that look somewhat like that. One even features the individual tables I’d envisioned. While that may be accurate for meals with three people only, the scene looked rather different when more people were gathered.

Before we go further, let’s note two terms.

A klinē is a sort of slanting couch, with the foot ten degrees lower than its head.

A triclinium, the ancient Roman dining room, meant “three klinai” or “three couches.”

The houses of the ancient Romans usually had at least two triclinia. Elite households might feature four in a triclinium maius .

But, here’s the thing that confused me.

The ancient Romans commonly invited between nine and twenty guests to their feasts.

How on earth would they squish three reclining diners on each of those narrow couches? They would have to sit, not recline. And I knew they didn’t. Or I thought they didn’t.

Once I’d located some more scholarly works, I discovered there was more variation among Roman dining styles than I’d supposed. Specifically, the ancient Romans were people with individual habits, just as you and I have our own idiosyncrasies.

Sure, the reclining habit was a mark of status. Undoubtedly, most eaters started off that way, just to show they could.

“Yes, I’m rich and privileged. See!”

But what about the child who couldn’t lie still? Or the lady with a bad back? Or the senator with a dyspeptic stomach?

Well, the likelihood that people shifted their position a fair bit while eating was only common sense.

But it still didn’t explain how they fit three reclining diners on those couches.

Finally I found another visual, and it all made sense.

Aha! The head of the couch pointed toward the table, and the foot of the couch pointed away. Those klinai for three people were much bigger than those for a solo diner.

I couldn’t find an image in the pubic domain that I am free to post here. But check this link, if you want to see the visual for yourself.

Mercurio gives each of his guests a unique klinē garnished with flowers, rather than grouping them on shared couches. The major “celestials” in Devouring Light happen to number eighteen, perfect to exactly fill two triclinia. How convenient!

This was Mercurio’s seating plan for them until . . . he realized he needed to accommodate an unexpected guest!

Mercurio's seating plan

For more about the world of Devouring Light, see:
The Celestial Spheres of Sol
What Do Celestials Wear?
The Graces
The Heliosphere
The Oort Cloud
Mercury the Planet
Draco the Dragon
The Simiae

The Graces

Posted on November 21, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

My newest work, Devouring Light, will release soon. I’m excited! Eager to make the story available for readers!

To tide myself over until the release – and because I can’t resist – I’m sharing some of the tidbits I’ve learned while doing research for the book.

This week, I’m talking about the Graces of ancient Greece.

And why am I presenting the Graces? Because they were the archetypes I drew on when dreaming up Lixy’s handmaidens.

“Who is Lixy?” you ask.

The beautiful celestial wanderer who fetches up at the domicile of Mercurio, my protagonist. Lixy is lovely, mysterious, and utterly lost – both in memory and in space. She doesn’t know who she is or where she came from. Quite the intriguing puzzle for Mercurio, who gives her shelter.

Lixy does remember her handmaidens, especially Eupheme, her nurse when Lixy was young.

So what about the Graces?

They were female spirits personifying the feminine attributes of grace. The most famous, the “Three Graces,” were Splendor (Aglaea), Mirth (Euphrosyne), and Good Cheer (Thalia).

But there were also “lesser” Graces. These were the ones who caught my attention. So who were they?

Philophrosyne personified welcome, friendliness, and kindness. Her name means “friendly-minded,” and I envision her as a spirit of hospitality. She became a cupbearer in Lixy’s home star system. Cupbearers in ancient times were particularly honored, since they ensured that the food and drink of a ruler was pure and unpoisoned. Hebe and Ganymede, cupbearers in Greek mythology, took that role in the solar system (ours) where Devouring Light takes place.

Eupheme personified words of good omen, praise, acclaim, shouts of triumph, and applause. Wow! She sure appealed to me! And I could see why Lixy remembered her. Who wouldn’t remember the person who steadfastly offered genuine and enthusiastic praise? Her name means “well-spoken,” and she was nursemaid to the Muses of Greek Mythology. It seemed appropriate that my Eupheme served as Lixy’s childhood nurse.

Euthenia personified prosperity, abundance, and plenty. Her name means “well-being.” Like her sisters, she was believed to be the daughter of Hephaestus and Aglaea. I envision the Euthenia of Devouring Light as possessing healing skills.

Eucleia personified glory and good repute. In Greek mythology, she served as Aphrodite’s handmaiden and was also associated with Artemis. She represented the loveliness of the bride approaching her wedding. I imagine the Eucleia of my story as modeling and encouraging integrity in Lixy. Her name means “renowned” or “celebrated.”

I’m almost tempted to write a story in which these four Graces get some “stage time,” rather than serving as a part of Lixy’s background!

For more about the world of Devouring Light, see:
The Celestial Spheres of Sol
What Do Celestials Wear?
Roman Dining
The Heliosphere
The Oort Cloud
Mercury the Planet
Draco the Dragon
The Simiae

What Do Celestials Wear?

Posted on November 7, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

The characters in my soon-to-release Devouring Light are celestial beings charged with the guardianship of heavenly bodies.

Some of them share a name with a Greek or a Roman god. Thus Ares protects the planet Mars. Artemis Diana cares for Earth’s moon. While Gaia watches over Earth itself.

Other celestials bear unique names. My protagonist, Mercurio Veloxus Ludificor, tends the planet Mercury.

All of the celestials wear the garb of the ancient Romans and the ancient Greeks.

Everyone knows what a toga is. (Or thinks he does! 😉 ) But what about the peplos? Or the strophium? I had to research the topic in order to describe Mercurio’s garments accurately—when he’s striping them off after a long, hard day! As well as those of Lixy, his unexpected visitor.

Of course, I’m going to share what I learned! Let’s take it garment by garment.

The Tunica

The tunica is your basic undergarment, often worn under another tunic or peplos. It usually hangs to the knees, but sometimes falls to mid-calf, or even the ankles. Children typically wear only a tunica at home, but don an outer garment in which to go out. Adults prefer more layers.

The tunica is a rectangular garment sewn into a tube. Pins (fibulae) or buttons secure the shoulders when it is worn solo. A sewn seam is more usual when it is worn beneath other clothing.

The Strophium

Another undergarment: the breast band. It’s a long, narrow strip of cloth bound tightly around the chest to support a woman’s bosom.

Obviously, Mercurio does not wear one of these. But Lixy does, as do Juno and Star and other female celestials.

Spoiler: As it turned out, I never did mention the strophium in Devouring Light. So often we writers do the research and only a tiny bit makes it onto the page. But we need to know.

The Subligaculum

This word was too long, with too many syllables, for me to use it in Devouring Light. Yes, I did need to refer to it in the course of my story! But I called it a “loin brief,” because that’s what it covers: the loins.

The subligacula of the ancient Romans took the form of either shorts or a cloth wrapped around the loins. It was a standard part of the dress for active folk like soldiers, gladiators, and athletes. Sometimes it was made of leather.

The Peplos

Reading about the peplos was an aha! moment for me. So that’s why those ancient Greek statues look the way they do! Ha!

So what’s the trick?

The peplos is essentially a long tunic, worn by women, that stretches from shoulder to ankle. Like a tunica, it’s sewn along the sides to make a tube. But it’s so long that the top third is folded over and drapes to the waist. That’s what makes that blousey over garment on all the statuary.

A sash or belt gathers the peplos at the waist.

Pins or buttons secure the fold at the top over the shoulders. And there you have it: the peplos.

The Tunica

This is where the garb of the ancients gets confusing. Because while the tunica is the basic undergarment, it can also serve as outer wear for children and for men.

Thus Mercurio might wear a short tunica next to his skin, with a longer tunica over it. Especially when he wants to be most formally dressed!

So is the tunica underwear? Or is it a formal robe? Only context makes this clear!

The Stola

The stola is a woman’s version of the men’s toga, but it’s a lot more convenient!

It’s a long, pleated linen dress – generally sleeveless; sometimes sleeved – worn as an outer garment.

Clasps secure the shoulders. Two belts confine the garment to the torso: one immediately below the breasts, the other at the waist. The belts create many folds and layers. The more layers, the higher the woman’s status.

The Toga

The toga is the outer garment for males, worn both for warmth (in cool weather) and for propriety when leaving the home. Going without, in ancient Rome, would have been shocking. Not quite so shocking for my celestials.

Being a casual guy, Mercurio doffs his when he can get away with it, because the thing is so unweildy!

Togas are huge! And heavy! Made of a rectangular piece of wool, they measure 20 feet in length, and were wrapped around the body, under the right arm, and over the left shoulder.

Pure white togas dignify ceremonial occasions, but my celestials wear them in all hues.

For more about the world of Devouring Light, see:
The Celestial Spheres of Sol
The Graces
Roman Dining
The Heliosphere
The Oort Cloud
Mercury the Planet
Draco the Dragon
The Simiae

Celestial Spheres

Posted on September 26, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Mercurio, the protagonist of my current work in progress, Devouring Light, serves as guardian to the planet Mercury, as well as running messages between his fellow immortals. Like his prototypes, the ancient Greek Hermes and the ancient Roman Mercury, Mercurio’s a bit of a Peter Pan, possessing a liking for pranks and an aversion to responsibility. The one responsibility he does not shirk is his care for his planet, the closest to his primary Sol, and the coolest celestial body in Sol’s demesne (as far as Mercurio is concerned). But events are about to demand more from the young planetary than heretofore.

Haden plots to retrieve his absconding wife Proserpina. The constellation Draco sates his jaded appetite with mischief more lethal than any Mercurio ever dreamed up. And the dark forces outside Sol’s heliopause follow whim and caprice to bring destruction in their wake. Will Mercurio succomb to the role of cat’s paw designated for him? Or will he save the solar system?

Devouring Light blends astronomy with Greco-Roman mythology and Dante’s Paradisio to create looming disaster on a cosmic scale. I hope you’ll enjoy the story when it releases sometime this winter. In the meantime, I’ve been doing some fun background research for the work, and I’d like to share bits and pieces of it with you.

First stop: where does this story take place?

Well, our solar system, but not purely our solar system. Permeating the physical reality is the essential inner reality, rather like the “real” forms generating the shadows in Plato’s allegorical cave. For Mercurio and his fellow planetaries, the physical reality and the “essential” reality are equally real. They speak of each planet’s orbit and its “sphere” almost interchangeably. Devouring Light’s celestial spheres owe their inspiration to those of Dante’s Paradisio, but I adjusted their numbering and content to suit my own more modern notions and my story.

Just to be clear, Devouring Light is fantasy, not science fiction, despite its outer space setting. As I say in a comment below (this paragraph is an update – the comment came first – thanks, Mira, for the excellent question), the astronomy is inspiration, not prescription. I’ve attempted to adhere to the facts as they are currently known, layering the fantasy atop. And, yes, I know that Pluto is no longer a planet. At the beginning of my story, it is. At the end . . . well, you’ll have to read it! 😉

I’ll share more about Devouring Light in future posts, but here I give you…

THE CELESTIAL SPHERES OF SOL’S DEMESNE

First Sphere
The Sun tended by Sol

Second Sphere
Mercury tended by Mercurio

Third Sphere
Venus tended by Star

Fourth Sphere
MAIN ELLIPSE
Earth tended by Gaia

DEPENDENT ELLIPSE
The Moon tended by Artemis Diana

Fifth Sphere
INNER ELLIPSE
Mars tended by Ares

OUTER ELLIPSE
The Asteroids tended by Plurima
Ceres tended by Ceres

Sixth Sphere
Jupiter tended by Basileus

Seventh Sphere
INNER ELLIPSE
Saturn tended by Saturnus

MIDDLE ELLIPSE
Uranus tended by Ouranos

OUTER ELLIPSE
Neptune tended by Neptunus Equester

Eighth Sphere
The Zodiac Perspective inhabited by the Constellations

Ninth Sphere
Pluto tended by Haden

For more about Devouring Light, try What Do Celestials Wear? or The Graces.

Behind Troll-magic

Posted on August 15, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

Talented fantasy author, Stuart Jaffe, invited me to write a guest post for his blog several months ago. He’s recently migrated his blog to a new web site with stunning visuals. Pay him a visit. It’s worth seeing. And he’s collected quite an interesting bunch of thoughtful posts on how writers create – both his own and those of others.

My post for Stuart featured my perceptions of the artistic influences behind my novel Troll-magic. I thought you might enjoy a break from the story openings of the last few weeks, so I’m reproducing that guest post here on my own blog.

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The Twelve Dancing Princesses? Superb, but no.

Rapunzel? Lovely, but . . . also no.

Beauty and the Beast? Getting closer!

Were they favorites? Very much so!

I imagined jewel-themed bedchambers for the twelve princesses and enchanted castles for the Beast. I wondered how the tale might have changed if Rapunzel’s wisewoman never did transform into the wicked witch. Or what if the woodlands of copper, silver, and gold in the underground realm transformed into writhing metallic hydras when the crystal palace shattered?

As beguiling as I found the classics, it was the Norse folk tales in East of the Sun and West of the Moon that evoked my greatest wonder. My copy of the 1914 edition belonged to my grandmother. My mother enjoyed its stories in her own childhood. Eventually the book came to me: a family prize passed down through generations. How bizarre were its villains! How alien its culture! Grotesque crones challenged resourceful young women and men to pursue adventures weird and wonderful. Fascinated, I read and re-read it. If only there were more!

The illustrations by Kay Nielsen were an integral part of the book’s charm. Their strange beauty and elongated style presented a cool landscape of alpine flowers and glacier-scraped rock. I wished I could step right into the paintings to wander the quirky meadows, to encounter the knights on their magnificent horses, to liberate the imprisoned sun from the castle dungeon.

illustration by Kay Nielson Like C.S. Lewis, ravished by a cold clear magic of “northerness” that embodied the sacred for him, I too was seized. I did not chose my re-telling of East of the Sun and West of the Moon (the title story from the collection). It chose me! Troll-magic’s opening scene cascaded into my imagination and out through my pen (I wrote the novel longhand) like a geyser, its flow challenging my ability to keep up.

The landscape, as much as the capable protagonists (and troll crones), was a source for my creative energy. Storm-tossed waves – from “The North Wind goes over the sea” – crashed against the spire of basalt thrusting into a frigid sky where a turreted castle surveyed the arctic expanse surrounding it. Who lived there? And how did she come there? The places captured me first, and then showed me their inhabitants and histories.

In spite of my fascination with setting, it’s the characters that drive my tales. I wrap their lives around me and see what they see, think their thoughts, feel their choices. The moments that really matter – when heroic compassion emerges or grievous mistakes are made or deep wisdom coalesces – arrive as I write the scenes, surprising even me at times.

The first such surprise in Troll-magic occurred with Helaina. She’s an herbalist trapped by a curse in the insubstantial body of a ghost, and she experiments with the wrong remedy to cure her malady.

I knew the results would be poor. But the intensity of her reaction was an astonishment to me. In ghost form, Helaina can see, hear, and touch the world around her almost normally. But her hands pass right through her own body as though it were not there. Her only certainty that she is more than a dream or a figment of imagination comes from her ability to touch things. After inducing a migraine headache, her herbal remedy erodes her sense of touch, starting at the feet and edging upward.

Helaina panics. Totally logical, when you analyze it, but I didn’t arrive there through analysis. I was Helaina, feeling the sensation in her feet disappearing, feeling it fade from her legs. I felt her dread. I felt her mad run for the swimming grotto nearby, where she flung herself into its pool. The water counteracts the disaster wrought by her herbs, and her relief is as strong as her previous terror.

Then Helaina notices that her ghostly body is visible beneath the water, its boundaries delineated where the liquid ends and her incorporeal self begins. She revels in it, ecstatic. And I reveled in the wholly unexpected scene. This was creativity at its most exciting. I’d almost say, “This is why I write,” except that the first inklings of a story are equally fun. And pursuing my characters all the way through their adventures satisfies something deep inside me.

Ancient folk tales, art nouveau paintings, and the magic evoked by the writing process itself all inspired Troll-magic. Other wellsprings of inspiration contributed, but instead of exploring more of what generated my tale, I’ll invite you to experience the story itself. Here’s the opening passage in which we meet Helaina’s foster son, Kellor.

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In darkness he touched his nose, felt his ears. Oh Sias! They were larger. More deformed. Horror shook his fingertips. What should he do? What could he do?

Chaotic memory gripped him. Stabbing tangerine light and agonizing pain. His body taken by unfathomable force and twisted, reshaped.

What was this? Where was this? None of it made sense. And the absolute blackness didn’t help. He took a deep breath. And another. There. He was steadier now. Some sort of solution existed. He could sense it, just out of reach. Closing his eyes against the dark, he stretched his mind. He’d done . . . something . . . last . . . night? It didn’t matter when. What was it he’d done? He tried again to call it to mind, pressing against the blankness in his thoughts. Breathing was part of it; patterned breathing. Which reminded him that holding his breath wouldn’t help. Someone . . . a teacher, had told him that tension inhibited . . . something. He sighed. Patterned breathing. Fine, he would do some. He breathed out to a slow count of three, then in for the same.

And then he had it. Patterned breathing and patterning. He was a pattern-master. Or, at least, an apprentice one. And he’d done . . . not patterning, last night, but a forbidden version of it. Something other. He should try it again. It had worked. Maybe it would work again. Could he do it?

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There’s more, of course. Most online bookstores, such as Amazon or Kobo, make many pages available for sampling so that prospective readers can decide whether a story is to their taste. And then there’s the whole book! If Norse folk tales intrigue you, if fabulous worlds excite you, and if surprises delight you, give it a look.

Troll-magic at Amazon I B&N I Diesel I iTunes I Kobo I Smashwords I Sony

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For more about Troll-magic, see:
Silmarish Magic
What Happened to Bazel?
Bazinthiad’s Fashions

What Happened to Bazel?

Posted on July 11, 2013 by J.M. Ney-Grimm

I met Bazel – while writing a work of fiction – decades before I wrote Troll-magic.

His appearance was beyond brief. Depicted in a stained glass window, he knelt with his sisters and brother before a tombstone, their heads bowed in grief. The graveyard was green and bowery. The light was golden, yet sad. Who were these children? Why had their mother died?

I couldn’t answer my questions then. The stained glass window was mere décor, window dressing indeed. 😉 But I wondered.

And my wondering eventually bore fruit, when Bazel burst on the scene in Troll-magic. We meet him there playing a game the Aubronese call hide-and-bide. He’s relieved to be outdoors after a week indoors, but he’s also cranky. Here’s a snippet of the scene:

watercolor painting of child reading in a window seat “Forty eight, forty nine, fifty! Lurk and bide, sneak and hide, be ready and steady, for now I ride!” Bazel opened his eyes, spun away from the pilaster next to the windowed doors, tore across the terrace, and took its shallow steps in one leap. The sodden ground, after a week of rain, gave under his buttoned half-boots, but no water splashed up. Today’s clear sun and high, windblown skies had dried all the puddles. He drew in a long breath of the late autumn air, scented with decaying leaves, and flung his arms wide as he ran. To be outdoors at last, after all those long afternoons of skittles, backgammon, and charades in the play room, was delicious.

He had grown so tired of staying indoors. Quiet activity didn’t screen out the anger and grief. The longing for Mama. The wishing Papa would come home. Tryne had finally sanctioned leap frog in the halls and even bannister sliding races on the stairs. Bazel grinned. Tryne more usually harped on not using “outside voices” or doing “outside activities” when he and his siblings grew too boisterous inside. And then sent them out. It was a different experience to watch her promoting energetic pursuits indoors.

Yet racing and jumping in the garden was better. Bazel tipped his head back . . .

* * *

I was delighted to encounter Bazel, thrilled that I would learn his story at long last. Yet Bazel proved to generate the character arc that required the most revision of all in Troll-magic.

(If you prefer not to watch the sausage being made, you might want to stop reading this blog post here. I’m going to dive into my story recipe with a vengeance! :D)

watercolor illustration of child climbing a tree So, what happened to Bazel?

I introduce him during the children’s game, and we learn that he and his siblings lost their mother several months ago, and that their father is strangely absent. Next Bazel encounters what seems to be his father’s ghost. What’s going on here? Bazel doesn’t know, but he solicits the advice of his sister. Together they decide to approach their mother’s old teacher for help. We – reader and author – follow the children to the herbalist’s cottage on the moor and learn a bit more about the situation. Since we’ve already learned some about the curse from the scenes with Kellor and Helaina, we know more than Bazel does.

From that point, Troll-magic focuses on the adventures of Helaina, Lorelin, Kellor, and Gabris.

And that’s where I went astray. We do see Bazel confronting his deepest fear, but his next appearance is when he arrives at the enchanted palace in the north, on the verge of solving his problem.

My first reader caught the issue immediately. “Isn’t there more? I think it needs to be harder,” she said. And she was right. It’s not easy for a 10-year-old child, protected and cherished, to run away from home to rescue his father. So Bazel had already surmounted a difficult obstacle. And choosing to face his most horror-struck fear provides another real challenge for him. But not only did there need to be more, there was more. I could sense it, just below the edge of my awareness.

When I sat down to write the revisions, the scenes required no brainstorming. They were right there, waiting only for my attention and intention to write. Indeed, I hardly did write them. They wrote me. In all, I made four additions: Bazel on the boat crossing the Merivessic Sea (and remembering a second encounter in the spectral corridor where he met his father’s ghost); Bazel in the city of Andhamn (close to the enchanted palace); an extra paragraph to Bazel in the garden of the enchanted palace; and one last challenge inside the palace itself while walking toward his happily-ever-after.

The revision was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my writing life! If only all writing were like that!

Here’s a snippet from one of the revision scenes:

But he couldn’t catch up. Not really. Sometimes Bazel drew nearer, but he never got within touching distance. And, inevitably, the ghost would lengthen its lead, sometimes disappearing from sight altogether.

During one of these stretches when Papa was nowhere to be seen, Bazel remembered the other presence he’d encountered in this sorcerous corridor: something rotten, corpse-like, hungry. Oh, Teyo! It was there behind him now. This time it was more than a damp, chill aura overtaking him. He heard something: the whisper of a cobweb gown brushing the spectral floor, the deadened footfall of a heel wrapped in grave cloths. He sprinted, chasing Papa – there he was! – fleeing his pursuer.

watercolor painting of child walking in a candlelit hallway The race seemed to go on forever. He began to feel that he was standing still, despite his pumping legs, while the hallway moved under his feet. Like poor Hammie in the running wheel Tryne had placed in the guinea pig’s cage. Recalling his buried pet’s skeleton, cloaked in rotting flesh, he recalled his fears about digging Mama out of her sepulcher. Would she be like that? Putrescent skin sliding away from yellowed, brittle bones? She hadn’t, but – oh! no! He almost wailed aloud. That was the horror behind him, hunting him.

He tripped in his terror, going down hard on his knees, then scrambling up in desperate haste.

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And now you know what happened to Bazel, both off the page and on it. Unless you haven’t yet read Troll-magic! In which case . . . you know what to do! 😀

Troll-magic as an ebook:
Amazon I B&N I Diesel I iTunes I Kobo I Smashwords I Sony

Troll-magic as a trade paperback:
from Amazon or ordered from your local bookstore:
ISBN-10: 0615702546
ISBN-13: 978-0615702544

For more about Bazel’s world, the North-lands, see:
Bazinthiad, a Quick Tour
Landscapes of Auberon
Mandine’s Curse
Legend of the Beggar’s Son