Musings, On People, On Writing

Musings: Music Without a Sound

I’ve been working on preparing a display for National Poetry Month in April. Preparation entails the usual: curate books from our collection to feature, select fonts and colours and images that will help the display stand out to our patrons: plan, gather, print, cut, and paste.

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Musings, On Characters, On People, On Writing

Musings: Nausicaa’s Lullaby

I’ve been experimenting with a mindset that is sort of new to me. I mean, sort of. More like applying what I discovered in fictional worlds to real life. It is interesting, gotta say. One thing that Mae and I agreed when we first decided to start writing stories is that there will be no side characters. We were annoyed, growing up, to see how frequently and often carelessly creators killed off characters in their movies and books… and more often than not, en masse. “There are no side characters in real life,” Mae said. And we decided that every single character we introduce to our worlds will be well thought out and fleshed out. Some of them will only get a line or two. Some of them will stand in the background. Some of them will die before the reader gets a chance to really know them, that’s true, but every one of them is the main character of their own story and we want to reflect that, even if only subtly, in our works.

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Musings, On Animals, On Science, On Writing

Musings: If Wasps Could Dream…

The elders told Starphira that the sun was a guardian, created by the Queen to keep the Frost at bay. But, like all of her creations, it too is subject to death. The life of the sun is the shortest of all living things, for it can only survive a single work cycle. Then it succumbs to the will of the Frost and dies. When this happened, the light faded and the world became colder. It made Starphira’s body heavy and slow. The elders called it “torpor”. They said that it was only a taste of the full destruction the Frost would bring when the Hundred Years came to their close.

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Musings, On Writing

Musings: What Makes Me Love It?

So, I was thinking today…

“A dangerous pastime, I know.”

— LeFou and Gaston

What makes me enjoy a story? Like, for instance, today I was reflecting on my experience reading The Yellow Dwarf. That story is, in my opinion, horrible. It’s like a salted train wreck (a combo-phrase of “like watching a train wreck” and “pouring salt on the wound”), as my dear sister Catie would put it. But I not only enjoyed laughing at how bad it is, I honestly enjoyed reading it. Why?

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