The new world

It has taken shape, this new world of which I write.

It exists now, has borders, vegetation, inhabitants, cultures, life.
Its name is still undecided for now (it originally went by Solis, but I believe that name will change).
There are four continents.
This land began as a small seed, planted in a small expanse of earth that resided in a world of water.
This seed, the Deep Seed, was planted by the 3 Sawani (3rd syllable gets the stress, sa-wan-EE), the beings that cultivated and nurtured the seed as it blossomed, creating life.
The Deep Seed was formed by the Great Spirit (still unnamed) and sent down from the heavens along with the Sawani to form the land.
From the Deep Seed came all that is, and all that could be.
The seven Sages were born of the seed, along with all other races, vegetation, land, animals, and all life.
All is still unfolding on the pages, but this is where it will take place.

Just an update. Seth knew some of this, but there is new stuff as well.
Any questions, let me know.

Pools

Pools of light poured through the windows of Mazlow's thirty-second story office. He squinted against the glare, forcing himself to look at the blueprints laid out in front of him. He tried to focus.
His view shifted to the picture of his family on the desk, their cheerful smiles bringing one across his own face. They were the reason he kept working - day in, day out - assembling some of the finest architecture the world had ever seen. It never seemed enough.
He loosened his tie. The sunlight's rays forced the air conditioning into a battle for dominance.
Mazlow's brow began to sweat, but it wasn't because of the heat. He took one last look at the photo, and stood up.
Walker would be here any minute.

What makes you cringe?

I am, as well, attempting to write a novel.
And it is, in true Kong fashion, a fantasy.
But not like unicorns and magic and pixie dust.
I'm attempting to make it more tangible type fantasy.
Well, as tangible as fantasy can be I guess.
But, what I'm trying to find out is, what elements of fantasy fascinate the reader and what elements make the reader cringe?
Obviously, some types of fantasy have flourished (Harry Potter, LOTR), and some are crap.
What is it that makes one like fantasy?
Is it the setting? The characters? The fact that it takes place in a world different than our own?
Obviously, this is a question that can have many answers.
The main struggle I've been having right now, which affects pretty much the whole storyline, is how old my character should be. I initially planned on having him be a recent college graduate (obviously easier for me as the author to relate to) but have been having second thoughts on placing his age at about late middle-school or early high school.
So, I guess I'm trying to determine if this should be a young adult book or an book geared towards an adult audience.
Help!

Where I Am

So, I should post to say where I am with my writing n' such. Since I started grad school last fall, I've taken fiction writing and creative non-fiction writing (preferring the latter, but thinking I had at least one moment in fiction that was valuable). I'd like to post some of the things I've already written here, for comment/critique, etc. These pieces are by no means "finished" (is writing ever finished, but rather arbitrarily concluded?). I am MOST interested in pursuing creative non-fiction, probably memoir writing, and I'll post bits from the memoir piece I started writing this past January-May.

I'm taking Poetry Writing right now (scary!!)--I've never done poetry AT ALL. Maybe I'll post some of my attempts here for your thoughts.

I'll kick it off with a piece of super short fiction, called "Riding Tandem." I meant it originally to be only 500 words, but it's grown a bit. Maybe I should try to reign it back in?

Feedback I need: I have had problems with: developing a balanced presentation of both protag and antag, as well as creating a clear climax. I also stray from concrete detail at some points.

What do you think of the second person narration?

Is the first line confusing? What's your understanding of the two characters?

Riding Tandem

When we were young, you thought I was the older sister because my birthday was in April and yours was in May.
Really you’re almost two years older, but age only mattered on our birthday cakes. “If you get all the candles, you get to make a wish.” I even got my ten-speed bicycle before my tenth birthday because you had yours. I fell in behind your dust-dulled pink and gray Huffy, and you taught me the neighborhood. You showed me how bikes could be rockets and we could blast to the moon.
When a motorcyclist wiped out on the gravel on the backside of our block we had to give up our rocket rides. They cleared the body that day, but it took two weeks for you to convince me to ride around the block again. I feared I’d see blood or a tuft of hair from his unhelmeted head gripping the black rocks. You laughed at me for worrying. “There’s nothing there, silly.” When we took the corner again, I fixed my eyes on your blowing brown hair.
We moved from that block and you let your bike get dusty. You were about to start high school. I still rode sometimes, until the day I steered my bike too close to a speeding car full of teenagers. “Watch out, you stupid kid!” At home, your bedroom door was closed.
“What do you want?” You stuck your head out. The collar of your t-shirt was wet.
“Some kids yelled at me for riding my bike.”
“What do you want me to do? It’s just a bike. It’s not like it matters.”
That evening, I leaned my bike against the broken lawnmower in the back of the garage. The next day, I joined the school debate team. A girl from the speeding car was the captain. She noticed my skill for argument and we became friends. I stopped knocking on your door, and you stopped coming out.
I went to college after graduating. You never planned to go, school wasn’t natural for you. When I came home for Christmas you were smiling again. “Tell me about college.” I tried to explain my love for Virginia Woolf and Dostoevsky and how I wrote for the campus newspaper. You wanted to talk about our childhood. “Remember when we pretended our bicycles were rockets?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It was fun when we did that. We did things together, like real sisters. I wish it was like that again.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. It won’t be. It can’t be.”
We didn’t speak till New Year’s. And when I left again, you stayed in your room.
Then you discovered an Internet love and you left. You went all the way to Georgia to prove you meant it, and you got married. I got married too, but my marriage didn’t need to prove anything.
Today we are speaking on the telephone. You call to tell me about the swallow tattoo your husband bought you for your birthday. “Every time I look over my shoulder I can see it.” Even though I hate tattoos I listen to you explain how it represents your new, freer self. You say that you are ready to let go of the past. “I won’t go on about how we used to ride bikes and do stuff together. You can just be who you are, and I’ll be who I am.” She’s making a wish. I am too, but I sit silently and wait for the conversation to end.

GONZO NOVELISM <---not a word :-)

Have any of you ever had the cajones to try and write a novel? I was going through some of my old works last month and discovered/remembered that I have written four different novels that have a chapter or two completed, and then they just stop. (Terrible grammar in that last sentence. I think a participle is dangling? Helen?) I'm thinking it's because I just started writing, and never put together an outline. Sort of gonzo novelism; not really knowing where the story was going or even if where I began writing was the beginning. Needless to say, the moment fizzled and they were tossed by the wayside. Or rather, the hard drive. I was thinking about maybe posting one here and have The Guild toss some ideas around, and then I remembered I wrote a novella in high school with two other people in this gonzo vein. Each of us would write a chapter, and then pass it on to another author. They would read over what went on, and continue the plot, so it unfolded with each new entry. While the book was rather juvenile in content, the concept was and is still intriguing to me. Maybe we could write one of those? Just getting the ol' ball rollin', as Seth would say. Wouldn't he? THOUGHTS! NOW!

The Guild

This blog is for reconnecting with guild members from Concordia University in Ann Arbor, Michigan. This blog is open to people interested in writing short stories, poems, and any other type of post they wish.

Posts are open to response, whether praise or criticism. Respond constructively, or don't respond.

Welcome to The Guild online.