“Peace Hostage” story so far
1
The boar was so close I could taste the stench of it. I pressed the butt of my spear into the rocky ground and shouted a challenge.
The bleeding pig squealed and charged right onto my spear. It hit the crossguard and broke it off. I held on, staring at my death.
Tem covered my body with his. He screamed as the pig gored him. I crawled away, pulling him with me. Dad cheered as the pig bled out.
2
Dad and I lay bloated with pork at the door of our hut. Dad said, “That boy, he’s too stupid for you. Getting gored like that.” I blushed.
Dad turned serious: “Truly, Sawi, it can’t be. Tem returns to his tribe next month, or those Yah will kill us – like they killed your Ma.”
“I know, Dad.” He laid his hand on mine: “If Tem doesn’t heal up and go home, your brother’s life is forfeit – and all our lives too.”
3
“Chief!” screamed my best friend, Iv. Dad stood. Iv wept: “Your son! The Yah have murdered their peace hostage. We are at war.”
Dad ordered Tem and I inside. We sat silently, holding hands. Tem kissed each of my fingers. I said, “My tribe must kill you now.” “I know.”
Tem said, “Everyone dies. My life switched with your brother’s life bought our tribes ten years of peace. That is enough for me. I am full.”
4 – do day 5 very late tonight!
Dad stood guard while the village waited for him to decide the blooding hour, and who would make the kill. Tem and I didn’t leave the house.
“Sawi? Will it be your Dad who kills me?” “Don’t speak like-– why are you smiling?” He grabbed my hand and pulled me awkwardly, so I fell.
Tem kissed me, knocking our noses together. I gasped. “You fiend! My Dad’ll kill you—oh!” We dissolved into helpless giggles.
5
Dad saw me staring into our fire and said, “I will stop the blooding as long as I can.” I looked into his eyes, and bowed my head.
“Tem! Wake up!” He blinked at me. I said, “I’m going to go into Yah land – and save you.” He said, “Don’t get killed.” “Same to you.”
Tem said, “My Mum loves me. She’ll help you.” I held his hand, and kissed him carefully. We didn’t knock noses. I crept away into the night.
6
I found the ruined stream where my mother’s bones still lay, with many others from both tribes. The Yah bank was black with shadows.
No-one stabbed me as I crossed the naked grass. I stepped into the freezing water, dislodging old skulls so they rolled on down the river.
Monsters versus pirates
Monsters versus pirates is the plot hook for my book. It’s a good plot hook. But my main character, Dance (though smart, very physically coordinated, rebellious, and a little insecure) isn’t interesting enough to cut it. Even though she saves her island twice.
I’ve thought about it, and realised that one of the options I have is to change her dad into a baddie. I don’t like it – but he IS featured in the opening scene, and there’s already tension between them I can exploit. Plus he’s quite heroic towards the end, so I can make him turn good during the story.
I think I’ll make him a hitter. That ruins the mum’s character too (although they are stuck on a tiny island, so it’s not like there’s anywhere to run to). Urg. Hopefully I can think of something else – something better.
#140: Antique Shop in a Small Town
CJ and I went exploring in “Grandpa’s Shed” in the small town of Fitzroy Falls (yes, the one with the waterfall).
They’re really serious about their stuff. And there’s a lot of it.
Because having thirty rusty saws isn’t suspicious at all.
Remember those things?
Tins. Who doesn’t feel strangely compelled to buy dozens of tins? Tins are cool.
I have a feeling I should recognise the typing machine above.
Giant bellows.
And. . . a pulpit. I confess a part of me so wants to buy it. And the typing machine. And at least six tins. And the piano thingy.
But never, never the safari hats.
Here’s today’s Flickr.com picture:
Three-Ingredient Thursday: Christmas Salad
Fine! I confess. There are four ingredients. I snuck in the sesame oil on the basis that although it isn’t USED as a cooking fat (which’d make it a freebie ingredient according to the rules), it COULD be.
This is why I’m not a master criminal.*
The ingredients are baby roma tomatoes, baby spinach leaves**, and fetta. With sesame oil.
How to play along at home:
Wash/wash and cut/cut/mix in. Note: do not wash the sesame oil or fetta.
Now, time for further confessions.
Due to the fact that I cordially dislike baby spinach and tomatoes, and I don’t think fetta is enough protein to satisfy a human, I added more ingredients – specifically mint (huge taste difference), mushrooms (which I actually do like, though they’re not quite as bold in colour as the first three) and cold ham. My justification for today is that you can eat the Christmas salad if you like, OR you can use it as a base, and add whatever else suits you (apple and peanuts are particularly good). It’s called the Christmas salad because of the colours.
What I actually ate (and enjoyed):
This is the only salad I don’t refuse to eat. I’m hopefully getting tested this week to find our if I am ALLERGIC TO FRUIT AND VEGETABLES. Seriously. There’s a condition called fructose malabsorption which would explain why apples make me feel sick. Which is ironic, since in my case “an apple a day keeps the doctor in pay.”
And here’s another pretty pretty picture from Flickr.com:
Yes, I know, it’s not Papua.
*not yet
**mmm, tasty babies.
S#52: Have some delicious delivered to your house
Food is good. Food at home is better. Food at home with no dishes is one of the great pleasures of the modern age. I had Chinese this time.
Mmm. . . duck and mushroom sauce. . .
Here’s a link to a short story I wrote called “The Misbehaving Mountain”:
http://www.onthepremises.com/issue_05/story_05_4.html
And here’s a link to my other blog, where I talked about the four greatest modern books for children (trying to figure out how the writers made their work so awesome in order to improve mine):
https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com/2010/08/03/the-first-ten-pages/
In other news this month’s twittertale, “Peace Hostage” is set in a real historical setting – warring tribes in West Papua (now called Irian Jaya). Papua has literally hundreds of distinct languages, so some Christians have decided to live with various tribes (assuming the tribes want them there), learn their language, and write an alphabet for it. They then teach people to read and write, and they translate the New Testament into that language.
One particular translator, Don Richardson, believes that every culture in the world has redemption analogies – echoes of the Jesus story – hidden inside it. He worked with the Sawi tribe, who valued deceit as a virtue, and was horrified when he translated the bit in the Bible about Judas betraying Jesus through friendship. All the Sawi cheered at such a great act of deception. He tried to talk to them about the idea that deception ruins friendships, but they were unimpressed.
In the meantime, the Sawi fought with other tribes in the area, and the violence was worsening. Don asked the chief repeatedly to stop the fighting, but the chief said Don didn’t know what he was asking.
At last it became so risky that Don and his family decided to leave the area. The chief stopped him, and said he would stop the fighting. That was when Don learned the price of peace – the chief’s son.
Each of the chiefs involved gave up their first-born son into the other chief’s custody. This was the only way to ensure peace. The child was called the peace child. If the peace was broken, the child would be killed.
As a Christian, Don immediately saw the peace child as an analogy for Jesus – God’s son coming to live with us, so we could be reconciled to God. When he said as much to the Sawi, they were shocked.
They understood exactly what such a sacrifice meant – and the absolute worst thing a person could do as a Sawi person was to deceive or kill a peace child.
The Sawi tribe is now 70% Christian.
I first heard that story when I was ten years old.
This picture is from Flickr.com
The first ten pages
Hello!
Soon I’ll be leaving on an epic voyage to two writing conferences – the Melbourne Writers’ Festival and the CYA Later, Alligator Conference in Brisbane (CYA stands for Children and Young Adult). I’ll be connecting directly with Publishers C and I in Melbourne, plus attending the launch party of Going Down Swinging magazine’s 30th issue – an issue which I’m in.
At the CYA con I’ve paid for a face-to-face pitch with Publisher J, who will be reading the first ten pages and synopsis before we meet.
Which means it’s editing time, hurrah!
It’s great when a lot rides on just ten pages, because it means I can totally obsess over every plot point, paragraph, and word.
I’ll be sending “The Monster Apprentice” even though it’s still at Publisher B (everyone will be informed, and I’ll probably put off submitting the full book until Publisher B replies).
I just wandered down to the “modern C/YA” section of our books and picked the best four in the right age group so I can pick apart exactly how true geniuses hook young readers.
Here’s the books and some little samples – these are all G-rated, and HIGHLY recommended for your ten-year old (or 8 or 12 or whatever).
In no particular order:
“Dragonkeeper” by Aussie Carole Wilkinson (who I’ll be listening to at Melbourne)
“A bamboo bowl flew threw the air, aimed at the slave girl’s head. She ducked out of the way. . .”
Action and sympathy, plus the bamboo detail adds to the setting.
“Samurai Kids: White Crane” by Aussie Sandy Fussell
“‘Aye-eee-yah!’
I scissor kick high as I can and land on my right foot. I haven’t got another one. My name is Niya Moto and I’m the only one-legged samurai kid in Japan. Usually I miss my foot and land on my backside. Or flat on my face in the dirt.
I’m not good at exercises, but I’m great at standing on one leg. . .”
Action and sympathy again, plus some slapstick humour/sympathy, and humour about his pain, which makes us like him.
“Larklight” by Philip Reeve
“Later, while I was facing the Potter Moth, or fleeing for my life from the First Ones, or helping man a cannon aboard Jack Havock’s brig Sophronia, I would often think back to the way my life used to be, and to that last afternoon at Larklight, before all our misfortunes began.”
Full of mysterious promises (and sympathy) to come.
“Artemis Fowl” by Eoin Colfer
“Ho Chi Minh City in the summer. Sweltering by anyone’s standards. Needless to say, Artemis Fowl would not have been willing to put up with such discomfort if something extremely important had not been at stake. Important to the plan.”
Sensory setting details, and mysterious promises. And characterisation (interestingly NOT sympathetic).
So the best things to find in the opening paragraph/s are: action, sympathy, humour, and a clear goal (even if it’s not explicitly stated).
Here’s mine at the moment:
I awoke from a dead sleep. My bedroom was pitch black and silent, but my heart was racing. Then the sound came again – the sound of a man shouting at the top of his voice. It came from my front door.
Just action so far – but there’s setting/sensory detail, sympathy, characterisation (with mild humour), and a goal (to find out what’s going on) within the page. I’ll make sure I don’t lose any of those things as I edit.
I’m going to pause and read the first ten pages of each, and give you a quick synopsis and analysis.
“Dragonkeeper”
The slave girl is mistreated by her master. She feeds farm animals and two very old, dirty dragons that she rather dislikes. She scrounges and steals her dinner, then sneaks into the deserted palace to explore.
There’s a lot of setting detail, and a lot of reasons to feel sympathy for the girl. The dragons’ pathetic state is unique (and thus interesting), as is the girl’s dislike of them.
“Samurai Kids: White Crane”
Niya continues to train while filling in details of his past and how he came to train at the Cockroach school (all the other kids are unusual too – blind, albino, etc). Their teacher announces they’ll be competing in the Samurai Games and the kids all react unenthusiastically since they lost badly on previous years, and were teased. The teacher tells them a story about how mighty cockroaches are.
There’s a lot of humour and really nicely done characterisation. It’s good to know already exactly what the main plot is so early on.
“Larklight”
Art and his trying-to-be-ladylike sister Myrtle live in a lonely and ramshackle space house with their absent-minded father (their mother died on a voyage). They receive a delivery of the mail via spaceship.
This is very, very funny in almost every line. It’s also a wonderfully detailed and fun setting. Plus there’s delicately-written sympathy.
“Artemis Fowl”
Artemis, an unpleasant but terrifyingly intelligent son of a criminal mastermind, and his deadly (and very respectful) bodyguard, use technology, intelligence and threats to find a fairy, with whom they make a deal to see her Book.
Artemis may be unpleasant, but he is SO cool (there’s sympathy later). As is the combination of high-tech modern stuff and the fairy plot. There’s a lot of setting detail, and very good characterisation – all done through their words and actions. The best part is the originality.
In my own first ten pages, Dance eavesdrops on a conversation between her father (the village Elder of their isolated and unprotected island) and the village watchman, who has seen pirates approaching. She is determined to get caught up in the action, and is nominated as a runner to wake the village. She takes a dangerous shortcut over a rooftop populated with sky cows.
I want excitement and emotional involvement, so I’ll focus on that.
#175: Was it REALLY that bad?*
My brother is almost two years older than me. I have many childhood memories of sitting around bored, begging him to play “Risk” with me, and then enduring a long and torturous defeat. And then repeating the whole familiar pattern, over and over and over.
There are two curious things about these memories. First is the strange appeal of all those tiny pieces moving about on the pretty pretty board. Second is the sheer debilitating horror of drawn-out defeat.
Sadly, it’s the first part of my memories that stuck with me. So, after begging various people to play with me, CJ caved and said yes.
This is him reading the rules. (Is it fun yet???!!!)
This is him turning to drink (is it fun yet?!?!?!?!) before we actually started (my drink – who else would put a margerita ring of pink sugar on a frangelico and milk cocktail?)
And this is him (blue) conceding defeat to me (yellow). Is it fun NOW?!
No it is not!
Even though I won the game (very possibly for the first time ever; certainly for the first time in almost two decades), I still walked away sick to the stomach with despair.
What is it that’s so awful about Risk?
1. You never gain anything without the other person dying (unlike, say, Setters, in which you mostly just build stuff and say, “Yay”). Also, it’s surprisingly disheartening to lose an entire country and/or continent. Just ask Hitler.
2. Dice are mean. Life is arbitrarily awful enough without games to make us feel helpless to control our own fate.
3. And of course, the thing everyone remembers (even me, if I’m honest): The winner is decided pretty early on, and 90% of every game is spent slowly grinding one’s friend into the barren sands of defeat.
The unique geography of the board is also strangely off-putting.
It’s good to know my horrific memories of this depression-inducing game are 100% on the ball.
In happier news, Sawi has survived yesterday’s boar attack, and is probably looking at a view similar to this one, from Flickr.com:
Coming soon: Alphabet! Three-Ingredient Thursday! Go shopping in an antique shop in a small town! Silliness with a pirate ship! Other stuff!
*yes
#173: Love and Pirates
How many emails do you have in your inbox right now? I have three.
Yep, three.
Down from over four hundred. I only needed half a dozen folders (three just for writing – legal data, backups, and conversations with publishers).
I also discovered a few old favourites (now in the “sentimental” folder). Here’s a photo taken after a truck ran into my bathroom (fortunately no-one was sitting on the throne at the time):
And here’s another photo of my parents’ house, taken less than a month earlier (yay for insurance!) This was taken at the far end of the house from the actual fire. The “spiderwebs” are toxic solidified plastic from the burning microwave.
But the most sentimental email of all is the one I sent to my sister the night I met CJ (at a pirate ball – the photo on the right hand side of the blog was taken that night). Here it is (I have cut a lot out of the middle, changed names, and fixed spelling, but nothing has been added):
S#17: Midnight Snackage
I took the chance to have midnight snacks with my sister and her husband while they’re here in Canberra. Unfortunately, she’s pregnant and sleepy so the fondue I prepared so carefully needed to be served at nine before she passed out.
It was, however, the best serve of fruit EVER.
Thanks to the magic of the day, and the unpredictability of pregnant-lady energy swings, we did end up staying up until midnight after all. Luckily, my sister had also prepped some cheesecake. Which we ate right on twelve.
Midnight snacks are, and always will be, awesome.
DEFINITELY play along at home on this one.
Guess what! This is your very last bookshelfporn.com pic, since a new tale (and a new realm of pictures. . . you’ll see) begins tomorrow. This is someone’s private library.
#174: Visit a waterfall
Water + gravity = awesome.
Through a convoluted series of events, some of my family ended up at Fitzroy Falls last weekend. The falls are astonishingly well maintained and well run. Some of you antipodeans may have heard that it’s currently Winter, noun, the middle of. The falls were still worth seeing – arguably, more so than ever.
It was a peculiar day because we reached the falls around midday, but due to light rain and heavy cloud (and mountains), we found ourselves in a strange fantasy world of mist and moss and dripping water. The falls area has a lot of brilliant walking tracks, but we took the direct route to the waterfall viewing platform, which is so short and flat I could have done it with no legs while carrying a recalcitrant badger.
The short track is roughly parallel to the river, and surrounded by lush forest – all of which was glimmering with moisture as it had finished raining moments before.
I admit that even while admiring the rainforest I was beginning to wonder what I’d committed to – the river didn’t look that impressive. Very soon we could all hear the rushing water – but it didn’t sound especially impressive either, muffled as it was by trees and mist. I was horrified when we rounded a corner and saw the railing of the viewing platform – and a wall of white. Too much mist! But no-one else seemed to be screaming and cursing, so I walked up to the edge and – pow! Nothing but air below me for 81 metres (yep, I looked it up) of sheer cliff. We stood and gaped for a while, and then we gaped some more. The mist cleared a little to show the other side of the gorge – and these mountains (I swear they weren’t there before).
You can’t see the bottom of the falls here, but I assure you it was a long way down.
Clearly, geology was left unsupervised at some point in the past, and it decided to mess about.
Speaking of messing about, here’s my impression of Great Cthulhu (small children should look away now):
