Divinity and accountability in Fiction

When writing I have often pondered the futility of leaving God out of the story. His presence, whether embodied or as a distant spirit-being, omnipresent and omniscient, is necessary even in fiction. Without an ultimate accountability characters lose their punch.

All stories need a level of good versus evil. Characters make choices between right and wrong. Humanism would have us believe that we do not need God to explain the choice between good and evil, whereas the standard of morality we know is completely dependant on Him.

Western society is founded on the moral system passed down by Judeo-Christian values. Without a Common Standard of morality society is left to the whims of its individual members. One person may say that stealing is wrong, but another may say it is not because they believe in survival of the fittest.

Why is sin always sin? Why believe in truth and falsehood? Because we do have a standard in the laws passed down by God through Moses and the prophets and Jesus Christ.

This is pivotal in writing. Literature needs to reflect that God is the same always, whether in the past or in the present or in the future. An eternal being whose standards are not dependant on our desires, whims, or failings.

Without that standard a story becomes dependent on the characters’ perspectives. But when that standard is used the story gains coherancy because all actions, whether good or bad, have consequences temporal . . . and eternal.

Freedom of choice does not mean your characters can escape the fact that they are created beings.

Question: How does accountablity to God factor in the fiction you read and write?

Sneak preview! The Phantom’s Blade

First draft of The Phantom’s Blade is done! Coming this Fall 2015 this novel is the highly anticipated fourth installment in The Sword of the Dragon series. I am pleased to present this sneak peak at the novel, its opening chapter. Enjoy!

ThePhantom'sBlade coverThe Phantom’s Blade (The Sword of the Dragon series) book 4

Chapter 1: Despair beyond the Sea

Caritha gazed out over the inlet’s deep blue water to the sea beyond, and she sank to her knees on the sand. Despite the clear sky on this cool afternoon, the sea boiled around the splintered hull of the Maiden Voyage. Sea serpents raised their heads as the coils of their slimy dark bodies squeezed the ship and foamed the water. Somewhere beneath the waves sank the bodies of the captain and the crew. Bravely they had fought to ensure that the last Warrioress made it to dry ground.

Sweat had dripped from the captain’s thick nose as salt water sprayed his face. He had driven a pike into one serpent’s body, drawing its attention away from her. “Get to land, lass! The ship is lost,” he had said.

“No! My sisters and I can fight with you.” She had aimed her sword at another of the creatures as it twisted its length around the ship’s bow. The sword glowed dull orange, but no matter how hard she tried she could throw no energy from it.

“No!” She knew then, knew all too well that her gift to Ombre had cost her more than she had imagined it would.

The deck had buckled, throwing her against the rail. Water had rushed beneath decks and the captain had braced himself, his large feet wide apart. “Fight? You cannot fight in the water. This ship is going down. You have only minutes to make up your mind.”

Another serpent had leaped out of the sea, smashing its length over the prow of the Maiden Voyage, and Caritha had glanced at the monster. But the captain had somehow moved across the splintering deck and grabbed her in his thick arms.

“When this ship goes down the serpents will make short work of all of us, my lady. With God as my witness I’ll not let you die when I could have saved your life.” He had heaved her over the ship’s side. When she had floundered from under the water and her head had broken the surface, a serpent had swum under her kicking feet. But it had ignored her and rammed the wooden ship. “Get to shore while there’s time,” the captain had yelled at her.

She had felt tears stinging her eyes as she, with difficulty, sheathed her sword and swam toward an inlet surrounded by mountains of ice. Her last glimpse of the captain, he and a member of his crew were desperately clubbing a serpent’s body as it coiled around the main mast and snapped it.

Now, standing on that unknown shore with her sisters, she felt hope sink with the Maiden Voyage. Not only had they failed to find a land suitable for relocation, until now they had found no land at all, and now that they had . . . They had landed in a place of apparent desolation and the cold wind whispered down the slopes of the sharp peaks that glistened like diamonds in Yimshi’s light. They were cut off from civilization, far from home without means of returning. It had been a long sea voyage. She couldn’t even guess how far they were from home.

Laura stepped up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Rose’el trailed Levena and Evela as they too joined her.

Rose’el growled as she grabbed fistfuls of her dress and wrung water out the material. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced over her shoulder at the frozen world of white. “I don’t care what’s in that sea. I am going to swim back across, find a little house in the Hemmed Land, force a nice gentleman to marry me, and then settle down until I am old and very, very gray.”

“Be serious for once, Rose’el.” Caritha turned toward the ice mountain that rose a couple hundred feet away from the water. She studied its jagged form, the smooth polish of its surface, and she dropped to the ground and punched the sand.

Laura knelt beside her and rubbed her back. “It will be all right, Caritha. Do not fear. Remember what Father said to Evela when we started our mission to find Kesla?”

Caritha remembered. She recollected the powerful white dragon turning his pink eyes on her and her sisters, as they faced the portal to the Eiderveis River. She had been merely seventeen years old at the time. “I will be watching over you even when you cannot see me,” he had said.

She shook Laura off and rose. “Don’t you see? Things are different now.”

“No they are not!” Laura said.

“Look around, my sister. Better yet, take a look at the sea and tell me if you see anyone alive. Where are the captain and the crew of the Maiden Voyage? Do their lives matter to you? And what of Ilfedo, Oganna, and Ombre? They are waiting for our return before they set out to find the dragon Venom-fier. We have failed and they have no way of knowing.”

Laura and Evela hung their heads. Levena sniffed.

“Feel glad that we are alive,” Caritha said and covered her face with her hands. “But weep that so many have died on our account.”

She withdrew her hands from her face. Why hadn’t she noticed before that the shore on which she stood and the mountains of ice . . . they were familiar somehow? White clouds rose over the ice mountains, sailing over the peaks and filling the sky. A frigid wind caressed her arms, threatening to turn her wet dress into ice.

The sandy ground trembled and the mountains of ice crackled, sounding like miniature releases of thunder. Something living warbled in the distance. Between the mountains before them a long-necked creature slid into view. As it drew closer, Caritha caught her breath, for the creature was enormous with four flippers for limbs. It was as white as Albino, with a bulbous blubbery body.

From the creature’s nostrils water shot forth and struck her. Her sisters fell back and rolled into the inlet. But she drew her sword and closed her eyes, with all her might focusing on deflecting the water. The sword fed off her dragon blood, splitting the water to either side of her. The creature kept up its deluge until Rose’el and Levena stumbled to Caritha’s side and joined their blades with hers. Blue energy blasted from the united blades, knifed through the water and struck the creature’s head.

The creature warbled as the water ceased to flow from its nostrils. It lumbered back a hundred feet and warbled toward the mountains. Suddenly the mountains filled with innumerable warbles and another of the creature’s kind slid into view. Only, when it approached, it loomed even larger than its companion.

Its head rose far above them and it smiled down upon them. Needle-like teeth ringed its enormous mouth. It dwarfed even the great albino himself.

“Daughters of the great white dragon, how foolish of you to come to my lands. Do you not know that all who come here are never heard from again? Not even your dragon father could save you from the fate you have brought upon yourselves, for he dares not touch me. I am Cromlin, king of the water skeels, and today your lives are at an end.”

His nostrils cast water upon them and, as they threw their swords up to block the deluge, beams of light shot from his eyes. The beams cut through their defenses, and struck them to the ground.

They ran toward him, swords aimed for his thick body. They reached him and stabbed. The blades sank up to their hilts, yet drew no blood. Cromlin gazed down upon them and warbled, while his companion did the same. The sound rang into the mountains, into their ears, and built its intensity.

Pressure built in her ears. Caritha saw first Evela and then Rose’el drop to the ground, putting their hands to the sides of their heads. Soon she, too, succumbed.

Cromlin lumbered toward the inlet and smashed his fore-flippers together. A wave of sound struck Caritha’s chest, forcing air out of her lungs.

Addressing them in a voice that rang around them and into the ice mountains, Cromlin said, “You have fought worthy of a Water Skeel.” He lowered his neck, bringing his head within ten feet of their heads. “But you are no match for me!”

Caritha felt exhausted. She tried to summon her dragon blood. It warmed, then cooled inside her. She glanced at her sisters, but their faces froze in terror and tears formed in their eyes. Cromlin pulled back his head and a stream of water from his nostrils slammed into Caritha’s chest. The impact threw her and her back crushed against a boulder. The water continued to storm upon her, unending and unyielding. Every bone in her body conformed to the stone against which she was pressed, painfully stretching and bruising her body.

Beside her, Rose’el was pressed into the sand beside Levena, unable to move from under the water’s force. On Caritha’s other side Laura and Evela raised their swords into Cromlin’s onslaught.

Painfully raising her own sword, Caritha touched her sword tip to theirs. “Join with me, my sisters!” A wall of energy formed between the swords, a wall that surged against the water and turned it away.

Cromlin laughed and bore down upon her. His gargantuan body slammed into the beach. He slapped a flipper atop Rose’el and Levena, and struck Caritha, Laura, and Evela with the other. She might as well have attacked a wall as defend against so large a flipper. It rammed her against the boulder, and then withdrew.

“Your puny powers cannot compare to the might I wield!” Cromlin slid to the inlet and dug his flippers into the water. Five large cubes of ice formed between his flippers and he effortlessly plucked them out and chucked them at Caritha and her sisters.

Caritha glanced to either side, but her sisters had been separated too far from her to intercede. As a cube shot toward her, time seemed to slow. She watched it somersault through the air and felt, as it were, ice darts precede the object. Stabbing pain peppered the front of her body. She could barely move.

Tears that she longed to cry refused to come as she struggled with her sword. At last she managed to sheath it. She reached with a trembling hand into her pocket and untied the precious ring that Ombre had given her, slipping it onto her finger. Her body temperature dropped and icicles formed on her hair, hanging in front of her face—she was freezing alive!

But with her last moment of consciousness, as the end embraced her, she laid her hand against her chest and looked down at the engagement ring. The diamond glistened as ice covered it. She should have said yes to Ombre a long time ago. Now it was too late. “But I do love you,” she whispered. “And if God had allowed me to see you again, I would have been fully yours.”

How to Create Memorable Villains

Most good stories that stand out in my mind as extremely memorable involve an extraordinary villain. One of my favorite films is The Black Hole, an old Disney science-fiction film. All of the characters in that movie are dramatic actors and the villain (as played by Maximilian Schell) is extremely memorable. He is a brilliant scientist and brooding. Every moment on screen he manages to drive deeper into your mind the threat he poses.

I remember when I was a kid sitting at my grandfather’s house and watching Star Wars: A New Hope for the first time (back then it was on VHS tape). The duel between Vader and Ben Kenobi fixated my attention like nothing else. I was intrigued. Who was this Vader? Why had he changed into a “master of evil” as Kenobi put it? These questions are the type that any good villain will raise in the mind of a book reader or a movie viewer.

Often a fiction writer focuses on finding ways to make the reader relate to the hero in the story. They show the character’s weaknesses and show how he/she overcame them in order to mature into the protagonist you’ll love. But too often the antagonist is a “cookie cutter villain.”

In the Harry Potter books Voldemort was glimpsed from his youth and shown as a ruthless man. In Tolkien’s The Silmarillion Melkor was revealed as being a corrupter of all good things… My point? There are many ways to approach villain creation as long as you take the time to develop that villain’s history.

When approaching the villains in my stories I try to remember that the characters’ histories will enable the reader to care about what happens to them. For example, when I wrote the opening for Swords of the Six I had to make the reader care about the villains so that they would want those villains to pay for their crimes, but I wanted the reader to be intrigued and ask questions as to why and how the villains had become the characters seen in the story.

It is imperative that you ask yourself:

  1. What kind of childhood did this villain have? An orphan, an only child, or one of many children. A happy home or a depressed one. All of these considerations make us care about the villain even if we are rooting for their destruction.
  2. Who mentored this villain, or whom do they look up to? Parents or the lack thereof and the mentors they look up to will shape the person you become. Understand how your villain thinks by understanding what mindset those around him have encouraged.
  3. What motivates them in their villainous deeds? Often the motivation is power, yet the quest for supremacy is not motivation enough. There is an ideology behind each villain and reasons that they have forsaken a moral code. Know what motivates them and you will understand how they can change through the story in their encounters with other characters.

In The Black Hole the villain is an insane but genius scientist. He is both indispensable to the protagonists and at the same time they cannot allow him to continue.

In writing a villain we need to understand the personality’s impact on the fictional world and also what drives that personality. Adding depth to the character enables greater risk and greater reward when said villain is defeated or converted. Creating memorable villains is hard, but oh so worth it! In Swords of the Six I had the opportunity to show several types of villains, each with different motives, and the result was a story that leaves me the writer eager to explore the villains in depth and be more creative in determining their demises.

Q: Which villains stand out to you and why? 

Sleep, Reflection, and the Writer

My mind is like an engine running overdrive. Ideas are pouring in all the time and I’m running with them. The visions I have for the future are pending realities I’m striving to bring to pass. This last few months has been crazy busy. Work, writing, website maintenance, travel, and now moving. Like it does every time after I run on burnout for so long, my mind has crashed. It reminded me how important balance of sleep and work is in the life of a writer.

Push, push, and push harder! It seems I fall into this trap again and again. Yet one thing is certain, that drive to achieve has been a great asset in my life. When my wife and I were first married I was working a decent-paying job at a factory. Then I finished my first novel and we spent, it seemed, every free hour driving to some bookstore or library to promote and sell my novel. I wanted it to succeed and, it did, but only after I quit my job and we hit the road for about five months. We hit around eleven states from New Hampshire to Georgia and I signed so many books that my hand cramped on multiple occasions.

That trip was a leap of faith. We had a vision for what God could do with my writing and we followed it. It was a scary thing to do at first, but the longer we stuck at it the greater the impact we had. When that first book tour was finished I remember feeling rather burned out.

This month we moved from Connecticut to South Carolina. Again, following the vision God has given me for our family. I feel burned out now. My creativity is a bit drained. Yet I know that I am reminded that I can return to that same productivity level if I persist and create a routine that achieves my goals.

It is easy to stay up until all hours working on various projects, but without sleep the mind reaches a state of exhaustion. When that happens we lose our ability to produce our best work.

Reflection is also important to the process. When I was a kid I had no responsibilities outside of the home. The result was that I had time to sit and read, time to ponder life and its intricacies. Reflection as to what kind of stories I wanted to write, what kind of man I wanted to be.

It is often in the silence, often in the stillness that we refresh our creativity. Our present society rushes from one thing to the next. Little if any value is placed on sleep, reflection, stillness. We can either become casualties of our own drive, or we can look at our future over the long haul. If we consider the effect it will have on our relationships and our physical needs we will prioritize proper rest and strive to take quiet time to reflect.

The writer cannot afford the cost of working overdrive non-stop. Take value in slowing down your life. Enjoy the moments. Enjoy the memories. Step back and let your engine cool before you take it on the road again.

Q: Do you give your mind the rest it needs in order to maximize creative flow?