Note: I’m actually writing this post before I’ve written today. I just haven’t had time to write yet, and I’ve got to go out soon to babysit, but I’ve got a few minutes now and I wanted to make sure I posted the weekly report. I’ll update it Monday morning with the missing info. I can write while I’m out babysitting, but by the time I get home I’ll be too tired to get back on the PC to spend 30-40 minutes writing this post, hence doing the bulk of it now with updates tomorrow morning.
So, the week’s total at the moment is 3,731. This does not include today’s writing, as I’ve not done it yet, and it also doesn’t include Friday’s writing as I did that longhand and haven’t counted it yet. I’d say a rough estimate of between 400 and 450 words would be about right, though, bringing the week’s total to about 4,131 plus tonight’s writing.
I have, this week, passed the 3% mark for the challenge. The total is 32,135/1,000,000, not including Friday’s uncounted wordcount and today’s unwritten wordcount.
It’s Monday, I’ve counted and I’m updating! The week’s total is 4,782 words total, which is an average of 683 words a day this week.
The challenge total is 33,186/1,000,000, or 3.32%.
Day by day summary
Monday: 529 words
Tuesday: 910 words
Wednesday: 782 words (491 on a prompt-inspired story; 291 on the Kell story)
Thursday: 1205 words (838 on a worldbuilding-related story, 367 on the Kell story)
Friday: Update! 494 words (on an event ten years before the Kell story)
Saturday: 305 words
Sunday: Update! 557 words (continuing Friday’s story most likely)
What really struck me when I researched my Phoenix article was the way the myth changed over time. When I started researching it I had a pretty good idea of what I expected to read – a physical description, plenty about burning into ashes and being reborn, maybe a story involving some mythical hero helping or being helped by it. So when I read first the Greek and then the Roman sources and found no reference to the bird actually being on fire at any point, and that these ideas only started to emerge in the later Roman and early Christian writers, it suddenly became a lot more interesting.
I think it’s hard to remember, when working on a world, that myths can and do change over time. They aren’t static. They change as the priorities of the society to which they belong change. To the Greeks and the early Empire Romans, the phoenix represented important aspects of their world: the cyclical nature of it, and the importance of deference to the gods and of carrying out appropriate funeral rites for one’s predecessors. It speaks of the stability of the world and the duties of its inhabitants.
But as the world changed and a new religion rose – a religion with resurrection at its very heart – and the Roman empire started to tear itself apart as emperor after emperor died violently after a short rule, that stability was no longer there, and filial piety was no longer at the heart of imperial rule as it had been during the Julio-Claudian and Flavian dynasties. Instead the key idea of the phoenix became transformation from something decrepit to something young and strong and full of hope – a motif that was perhaps very necessary in such uncertain times. At the same time the pagan elements – the central position of the sun god and his temple – were set aside to keep this pre-Christian pagan myth in line with church doctrine, and enable the church to use that message of hope borne from destruction without invoking pagan gods at the same time.
Then this motif of hope from the ashes of destruction was carried forward and embraced by those to whom it most resonated, who in turn added to the myth with complementary imagery and ideals.
In a fantasy world, each culture should have its own myths and beliefs, and while in a fantasy world a phoenix could well be real – or a dragon, or fairies, centaurs, gryphons and so on – that doesn’t mean that what people believe about those magical creatures, and the way a society views them, isn’t going to be informed by the society’s beliefs, its priorities and its core conflicts. And there’s not necessarily an “end point” to that – a point at which the myth can no longer change. It might seem today as though the core essence of the phoenix is fixed – widely embraced within our global society, so deeply embedded in our society it couldn’t change. But after some five hundred years of there being one singular image of what a phoenix is and what it represents to people – maybe Pliny the Elder felt the same.
As part of my 2015 reading challenge, I am currently reading 1177BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed by Eric H Cline (and yes, as a Brit, writing “civilisation” with a Z physically hurts me). I’m not far thorugh yet but something that struck me in my reading so far is the reach of the networks between the cultures that existing in the centuries prior to the titular collapse. Rulers whose capital cities were hundreds, even over a thousand miles from one another were sending each other gifts of things like leather shoes. Craftspeople from the Minoan culture on Crete travelled to the major cities of cultures all around the Mediterranean and beyond to create fresco wall paintings because it was fashionable.
This was 3,500 years ago, before advanced shipbuilding techniques existed, before the road infrastructure of the Roman empire – or indeed the city of Rome itself – existed. It’s difficult not to think of them as primitive, because of how long ago this was and how different a world it was to what I am familiar with, but really it is still human culture. The people of this ancient time were no less ambitious, no less curious, no less vain than their descendants in classical Greece, with which I am more familiar, or the Roman Empire, or the Middle Ages or the Age of Exploration or indeed the modern day. They had different circumstances to deal with, sure, but every generation has different circumstances than their parents.
It seems to me that when I am working on stories I often think in very constrained geographies and economies. I think of trade as happening between two neighbouring countries, maybe between two countries separated by one other country in between or by a small sea. I struggle to think of alliances and diplomacy and trade and the movement of skilled craftspeople over long distances between vastly different cultures. I manage to think “oh yes, this country exports this metal” but I don’t ever get to the point of thinking, “this particular region is the only known source of this metal, so it gets exported to everywhere”.
Economy is something I need to work on. I tend to think in terms of what gets exported, what’s high quality, what needs to be imported, but I don’t think about the human level when I’m looking at economies. I don’t think about skilled craftspeople moving to where they think there are opportunities. I don’t think about rulers interacting with one another through the sending of gifts and envoys, or restricting the export of materials they don’t want their enemies getting their hands on. I don’t think of the different merchants through whose inventories individual items will pass on their way from one culture to another, and what those merchants have or haven’t seen of the cultures where these items originated or are destined for.
It’s a whole new layer of complexity I have missed until now. A whole new area of human interactions that could provide me with stories to tell.
The BBC has recently started broadcasting a new history series, called The Inca: Masters of the Clouds, presented by archaeologist and British Museum curator Jago Cooper. I enjoyed Jago’s previous series, Lost Kingdoms of South America and Lost Kingdoms of Central America, which looked at lesser-known cultures in one-hour episodes, so I was excited by the arrival of more great TV from him. And that excitement was well deserved, because the first episode was fascinating.
The thing that stuck out for me from the first episode was the bowl terraces. The Incas used circular terraces at this site at Moray, Peru, to create massive bowls of agricultural land with their own microclimates. The thick stone retaining walls absorbed warmth from the sun and radiated it back out at night, preventing the ground from freezing. The terraces were constructed with loose stones at the bottom for good drainage and fertile topsoil on top. And the overall structure, shaped like a bowl, reflected warmth down to the bottom so that while (during Jago’s visit) it was 16°C at the top, it was 23°C at the bottom – meaning that different levels could be used for different crops according to what kind of climate each crop preferred. It’s masterful manipulation of the land.
(You can read more about these terraces, and see more great photos of the feature, here if you’re interested.)
It made me think more about how we humans use the land to our own advantage. These days there’s a push to preserve the natural order of things for the sake of biodiversity and stable ecosystems, in order to protect the environment and prevent climatic changes which will have a net negative impact in the long run. But past cultures didn’t have much of an idea of how their manipulation of the land could impact the global or even local environment. A lot of cultures, particularly in areas with geography that makes agriculture difficult, used terracing to make the most of available land. Chinese rice terracing is one well-known example. Where land has been arid, people used irrigation, with massive irrigation ditches from hundreds or even thousands of years ago still visible in landscapes today in regions all over the world.
All of this is to create food security. If the same land can produce more crops, and higher quality crops, it can support more people and those people can be healthier, with a surplus created to help those people weather the bad times, the droughts and famines.
So how can I apply this to my stories? Food security, and manipulation of the landscape to increase food production, isn’t really something I’ve considered when worldbuilding. I’ve thought about national boundaries and religions and militaries. I’ve thought about the spread of the neolithic revolution, and of the progression technological ages – the bronze age, the iron age – from where they first developed outwards. I’ve thought about magic, and social structures and forms of government.
This inspiration from the Inca civilisation has been a spur to think more about how the cultures in which I set my stories produce food and ensure that short-term climate change isn’t going to leave them starving. Do they have numerous massive storage barns, like the Incas, to supply their need in times of shortage? How do they make sure that their food production can support an urban population of craftspeople, traders and administrators in addition to the farmers? How do they change the land to increase production – and what impacts do these changes have, on the people working the land, on society overall, and on the local climate?
These are the questions I’ll be thinking about as I continue to develop a particular world I’ve been working on. And as The Incas: Masters of the Clouds series continues, I’ll be looking out for more lessons to learn. If anyone has any good book recommendations, I’m very open to adding them to my A Year for More Reading challenge!
While my writing focus has mostly been in prose, it’s important to remember that there are a lot of different media by which to tell a story beyond the novel and short story formats – movies, TV serials, plays, radioplays, and comics. Today I’m interviewing a webcomic creator Jonathon Dalton about his latest project, writing for the comic format and running a Kickstarter campaign.
Hailing from the vicinity of Vancouver, Canada, Jonathon splits his time between making comics and teaching primary school. He has been posting comics on the internet since 2002. His first graphic novel, Lords of Death and Life (which I loved and highly recommend), was printed in 2010 with the help of a Xeric grant. He is the vice president of Cloudscape Comics, the British Columbia comics society, and has been working on his recently completed project, A Mad Tea-Party, for over nine years.
In my previous post, I explained where the story I’ll be writing for this year’s NaNoWriMo came from. In this post (written a bit later than planned due to real life getting in the way), I’ll tell you about the setting and background to my story, and where the elements of it came from.
For the purposes of the core theme – determining what constitues justice in a society which doesn’t have clear fixed legal or judicial systems in place – I knew I needed a society that was recently disrupted and was either ignorant of previous judicial systems or had chosen to reject those they were familiar with. I wanted a certain degree of isolation to give my characters the opportunity to work things out for themselves rather than have a system to adopt – or a potential neighbour to invade them. So my main setting is an island penal colony, where most of the inhabitants are convicts; the isolation comes from a magical plague that saw the governor and his staff flee the island and put it under quarantine to prevent spread of the plague.
The prologue debate is one that sticks its head above the parapet in writing circles every now and again, and since I’ve come across that debate again recently, I thought I’d take the time to sketch out my thoughts on them.
If you’re a new writer, just don’t bother with a prologue.
Don’t get me wrong, prologues done well can work, but the vast majority I’ve read don’t. And even when they work by themselves, within the context of the rest of the novel they often mess something or other up. Some people don’t even read prologues – assuming that they’re either irrelevant, info dumping, or just plain badly written.
The topic of diversity in sci-fi and fantasy has been making the rounds recently. They are genres dominated by white casts with maybe token non-white characters – and these usually male. It’s hardly inclusive. And that’s a problem.
Fantasy is a genre where anything can be possible. It’s a medium by which messages, challenges and debates that would otherwise cut too close to the bone can be addressed. So why do so many people claim that having a character with black or brown skin would be tokenism or unrealistic? Excluding groups of people from your cast on the basis of “realism” in a genre that is defined by its being set in a world that is not our own is just stupid.
I have written another article for the Mythic Scribes front page, called Adding Depth to a Fantasy World. It’s about considering different aspects of worldbuilding beyond the standard framework topics like magic systems, maps and politics, and looking at the kinds of details that bring a world to life.