Tag: how does a Dets write?

Sansukh – Ch38 Sneak Peek

okay, I do these? Now and then. When I am feeling vaguely guilty about not getting the chapter finished as quickly as I would like, lol.

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Ch38 wordcount update: 10K

Have a couple of thousand words – I hope you like!

…

Lóni’s lovely face was worried. Frár gripped his hand tightly, running his thumb over the knuckles. “Are you all right, love?” he murmured.

Lóni sent him a quick, wry smile. “Just not all that pleased about being in a forest again.”

“Well, that’s understandable enough.” Particularly after what they had seen. “At least this one isn’t Fangorn. No Ents here.”

“No.” Lóni wrinkled his nose. “Just more bloody Elves.”

The small group of Elves were heavily armed and hard-faced. Unlike most of the Elves Frár had seen, these did not sing, nor laugh. They gave off an air of danger as they loped through the silence of the trees, congregating around an old, gnarled oak. All of them bore scratches from the whipping branches, and many were wounded. All were panting hard, and there was blood on their blades.

They did not speak, but bound their cuts in silence and with swift movements that spoke of long practice. Finally the little band was joined by one last Elf. All eyes immediately swung to him as he strode in, cleaning off his sword with angry, jerky motions.

“Who’s that,” Lóni said, his lovely dark face screwed up speculatively. “Seems sort of familiar…”

“Seems sort of fierce, too,” Frár murmured.

Lóni squeezed his hand. “We’re dead, darling one. He can’t get us.”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Frár retorted dryly. “Being dead has its moments.”

Lóni sent him a mischievous look. “As many as I can contrive.”

“Stop it.” Minx.

“Regroup,” the new Elf said shortly to the one beside him. “We cannot repulse them. Not with our current numbers. We must fall back and attack again, in strength.”

“But… highness, the trees…!” the Elf protested, and he cut them off with a look.

“Do you think I do not hear their cries?”

“They won’t have the numbers to take the Greenwood,” the other predicted.

“The gloom of the canopy lends them strength,” said the fierce Elf, and he held his sword up before his eyes. It shone with deadly light, before he slid it into the scabbard at his side. He was a shorter Elf, as these things went. Frár hadn’t ever seen one so short before. His hair was silver, nearly white, and he had a stern, unrelenting stare that seemed to pierce the very soul. He wore full armour, glittering like folded leaves of steel, and his voice was soft and grim. “They need not wait for the fall of night to make their attacks. Dol Guldur is emptying. The southern forest will be lost to darkness once more.”

Many of the party gasped, and some cried out in horror.

“I need a drink,” said the other in a weak voice. “Highness. Are you sure?”

The fierce Elf then said a few words in the elven-tongue, and a young, proud buck came sniffing to his hand. He stroked its nose. “We return to the palace,” he said, and looked up. “My father must be warned.”

“We should send to Lothlórien,” said the other Elf, who seemed to be second in command. The fierce Elf scowled.

“Galion. Did you not see the tower emptying as I did? The bulk of the orc-host marches west, not north. The Golden Wood will not help us. They will be under siege themselves, before long. Would that we had not sent so many of our archers to that thrice-cursed pile of Dwarf-rock! Now we need them more than ever.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake! If it weren’t for that pile of Dwarf-rock, as you call it,” grumbled a querulous voice, “you’d have a lot more on your plate than these Dol Guldur orcs!”

“Who…” The fierce Elf whirled, and his sword flew from his scabbard like a leaping fish. He held it before him. “Show yourself, skulker in the shadows!”

“Skulker! I like that!” the voice exclaimed. “Now, where was I… oh yes, I had something to say to somebody. Yes, important. Important…”

“That… is that the brown Wizard?” said Lóni in astonishment.

“I suppose it must be,” said Frár, and he scratched at his head. “Regular marketplace, this forest. Never know who you’re likely to meet.”

“Oh, yes!” Radagast the Brown clapped his hands, and beamed at the small party of grim Elves. “I needed to talk to Thranduil. Wanted to warn him about the Orcs – but it appears you’ve spotted them for yourselves, jolly good. There was something else as well…”

And then the Wizard drifted off, his body stilling like a Man turning to stone. His eyes unfocused.

“Your highness, trespassing is against your father’s law,” whispered an Elf, but the fierce Elf shook his head and lowered his sword.

“Aiwendil,” he said. “Return to the present. You have a message?”

Radagast blinked. Then he said, “oh dear, oh dear, oh dear – I appear to have forgotten it. It’ll come back to me. Does anyone have any hazelnuts? Reginald here loves hazelnuts.”

A chittering sound came from within the filthy mismatched brown robes, and then a sleek little red head poked out from a pocket. “Is that a squirrel?” said Lóni, squinting.

“Oh, by Durin’s beard,” Frár said, rolling his eyes. “Does he ever get to the point?”

To his absolute astonishment, Radagast tutted crossly. “And all dead people present can keep their opinions to themselves, thank you very much.”

Frár’s breath caught in his throat, and he ended up coughing.

“Wizards,” Lóni breathed, and his dark face had paled somewhat. “Unpredictable. He may seem flighty, but he’s of the same kind as Gandalf after all.”

Radagast sniffed.

The Elves apparently had no idea what to make of this exchange, but were polite enough not to draw attention to it. “I am Prince Laindawar,” said the short, stern Elf with a bow. “Gîl síla erin lû e-govaded vín. I would be pleased to have you journey with us back to my father’s halls. Perhaps your news will return to you by the time we arrive.”

“Legolas’ brother?” Frár said, and peered closer at him. Yes, there was a slight resemblance – though this Elf seemed far harder and more severe than Legolas, who loved singing and laughed easily. Something in the shape of their faces.

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes. Perhaps. No hazelnuts, then?” Radagast looked hopefully at the band of warriors, who all gazed steadily back at him with stony faces. “I think that’s a no on the hazelnuts, Reggie.”

“How came you to this place?” Laindawar said, and glanced back through the enveloping trees. “We are some distance from your home.”

Radagast scowled, and for the first time, the Wizard looked somewhat dangerous. “Spiders,” he said, and Laindawar hissed softly in response. “They’re back. I fled before they could overwhelm me, though I left a nasty surprise or two for them. They won’t meddle with my things, I promise you that.”

“I am sorry,” the Prince said, inclining his head. “I offer you refuge.”

“Lovely, thank you, thank you, so kind,” Radagast said, distractedly patting at his pockets. “Oh yes, here – it’s only a bit of bread, I am so sorry about that, Reggie. Oh yes! Now I remember!”

The Prince’s face did not move.

Radagast turned slightly, facing the south. His eyes glittered strangely. “Shadows moving,” he murmured, and there was a deep knowing power in his voice – so utterly at odds with the querulous scatterbrain he sometimes appeared to be. “An unseen evil, shifting beyond sight. He reaches out and moves his pieces. Dol Guldur, Dol Guldur… it was thrown down, it was abandoned. But now it seethes and writhes again, the spiders cloak it in their webs of shadows… dark hosts pour forth, armed with flame and steel, to lay waste to the last remaining strongholds of the Elves. For Elves he hates, always… always… with their bright eyes and their long memories and their endless defiance… Elves he hates… and now his arm is grown long. He reaches… out.”

“What in Mahal’s name?” said Lóni, drawing back. Frár shivered.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Hush!”

Radagast then shook himself, like a dog shaking out its coat. “I caught myself an Orc,” he said, and the corner of his mouth crooked. “Pleasant fellow. I learned much from him.”

“Tell me,” Laindawar said quickly.

Radagast gripped his staff and peered out from under his hat. “Most of these Orcs go to Lothlórien, which even as we speak, is repelling its second attack,” he said. “The power of the Elven-rings is too great to be allowed to stand before the might of Mordor, even in secret. A small force is to remain here, and stop the Elves of the Greenwood from going to their aid.”

“Rhaich,” breathed Laindawar. “I see from your face there is more. Will you go on?”

“You won’t like it,” Radagast warned them gloomily, and he sighed. “They are meant to join up with another, greater army. It will sweep through the Greenwood and reduce it to kindling – tree, branch and leaf.”

Several of the Elves sucked in breaths of pure horror. “Tiro ven Elbereth,” faltered Galion, eyes wide. “Now I really need a drink.”

Radagast seemed oblivious to the stir he had caused, and he pulled off his hat. Pursing his lips he twittered to the trees, his whistle indistinguishable from birdsong. A little wren came swooping to alight on his hair, which as always, was a matted nest.

“What army?” Laindawar demanded. “From which direction do they come? We must fortify our borders against them!”

“Oh, that’s the good part.” Radagast smiled. “They currently have a… well, a previous engagement? I suppose you could call it. They’re sitting camped around that ‘lump of Dwarf-rock’, as you so kindly put it. Easterlings of Rhûn, Orcs from Gundabad, trolls and wargs and worse – they’re all stuck fast in the North, still staring at the Dwarves’ front-door. That army is meant to be steaming through the Northern Greenwood to meet up with these Dol Guldur forces, but they’re pinned to the spot as neatly as though someone had glued them in place. They cannot leave so strong a fortress as the Mountain behind their lines – and the birds tell me that Erebor still stands. So you see, it is only because Erebor still stands that the Greenwood still stands.”

Laindawar’s eyebrows knitted, and he simply looked at the Wizard. Then he said, “I repent of my hasty words.”

“Does nobody here have any hazelnuts?” Radagast said plaintively. Then he sighed. “Bad luck, Reginald.”

“We make for my father’s halls,” Laindawar said then, and bowed again. Then he sprang, lithe as a squirrel himself, onto the young buck’s back and grasped at his reins. “Le hannon. I thank you for this news, and for its timeliness. You are welcome to join us, if you are able to keep up. We are in haste. We make no camp.” Then he nodded to his small band of Elves, and wheeled the buck around and urged it into a fleet-footed canter. “To the north! Aphado nin!”

“Excuse me – able to keep up?! Able to keep up?!” Radagast huffed, and he crammed his hat back onto his head. “Me! The cheek! Just you wait til I find where those rabbits have got to with my sled!”

Frár could only shake his head again as Radagast hitched up his robes and scurried after the Elves. “Wizards,” he sighed.

“I thought I told you to keep your opinions to yourself!” the cross reply came floating back through the trees.

Frár gulped. “Right.”

…

Chapter 38 wordcount update: 4K 

(also I spent freaking AGES tweaking a new composition’s playback options – like, does anybody care if they are sleigh bells 1 or handbells does it really matter)

Hi Dets! Hope you’re having a lovely day. I was wondering if you had any advice for those of us who have trouble finishing stories? I’ll have an idea that I feel really good about, enthusiastically plot it out and write a few thousand words, then abandon it due to losing my confidence or interest in the idea. At this point, I’d be delighted to finish anything. Any tips on how to keep moving forward?

Hey Nonnie!

Ahhh, I can try? As with all advice I try to write, this is absolutely ONLY what works for me. It might work for you!

Sometimes I find that after I have plotted something, i lose interest. That’s because I have already solved all the mysteries that might be in store for me as I write it! I like to be surprised when I write – now and then, something pops up that I never planned to incorporate, and following that vein can lead to all sorts of goodness. If I have plotted everything out down to the last nut and bolt, I have no room to explore all those themes and tracks that might crop up… so now and then, I throw my notes out of the window, begin a new scene and see where it takes me. That generally invigorates my enthusiasm for what I am doing.

Character studies! There are HUNDREDS of them here on tumblr alone you can use to really delve into who they are – and once you have, writing a brief drabble or slice-of-life peek into a moment of their lives prior to your story can give you an even better ‘feel’ of them, their voices, and their reactions. 

Another technique I use is to go back and read. I read my own work a lot, really (I have to! Otherwise I’ll lose track of everyone, GOD THERE ARE A LOT OF CHARACTERS). Sometimes a line will jump out at me saying, ‘remember me? You had some ideas for this particular thread that haven’t yet been followed up on!’ And so off I go, hurtling down a new pathway.

Sometimes a change of POV really helps too. Something a friend helped me with, when I was writing Chapter… 34? I think? was shifting to Bilbo’s POV, one we haven’t seen yet. I had initially written that whole scene in Thorin’s POV, and it worked okay, but it felt flat. A new perspective and a new frame of thinking can work wonders.

Time jump! Skip ahead a few scenes and write that, write what happens after you have gone through bullet points A to C. Write point D. It will give you some ideas as to how to fill in the intermediary steps. I often write the beginning of a chapter, then the conclusion, and fill in the middle bit at the very last. This happened with Chapter 36, in fact – the final scene I wrote was Sam, Nori, Fili and Kili all storming the Tower of Cirith Ungol. Remember, the reader has no idea which order you wrote in! You don’t have to stick to linear progression if it doesn’t suit you.

Okay, that is all I’m coming up with right now… I really hope it helps!

hi dets! i’ve recently reread From One Age to Another, and i’m kinda curious about Legolas’ brothers in that fic. like, are they similar to Laerophen and Laindawar, what’re their relationships with family members like, stuff like that… any thoughts you’d like to share?

LOL, I didn’t go into the kind of detail on those brothers as I have for Sansukh’s Laindawar and Laerophen – those Elves were basically me playing with the idea of having Legolas as not-an-only-child. FOATA was me testing the waters in a lot of ways: it was my first LOTR fic ever, and I was experimenting a bit with style and narrative and characterisation. Those two Elves are the proto-Laerophen and the proto-Laindawar, really. They barely turn up for more than a couple of sentences, so I didn’t need to go to the in-depth lengths of character-building I spent on the Sansukh characters. Sorry I can’t give you more detail on them!

Hi! I’m looking for a bit of writing advice: I haven’t written fic in years and recently have gotten back into it. I have a bit of problem with tenses: I keep switching between ‘ random did this’ and ‘random does this’. Since english is my third language I find it hard to choose one. Is there a “right” tense for fics? One that sounds better?

Heya Nonnie! Uh, okay! I’ll do my best. This is just my (totally subjective) observations – others may feel otherwise, and that’s awesome.

To me, there’s no “right” tense. I have used both. Sansukh is in past-tense, and ‘They Know’ is in present-tense. It all hinges on the effect you want to produce. 

Most fics do, however, use past tense. That’s because past tense is comfortable to read and naturally reflective in nature (which means it is far easier to examine past events as they affect the present). It’s worth considering that your target audience is very used to reading in past tense and will find it accessible. So, that means ‘Random did this’ is your go-to tense 🙂

Present tense is trickier, depending on the effect you want to give. Present tense can either give a sense of urgency, or a sense of timelessness. 

Shifting tenses is even more precarious! It is mostly very frowned on: if you start in past-tense, it is very jarring to suddenly swap to present halfway through a scene.

However, if the change happens between scenes rather than during? It can work quite well for stream-of-consciousness writing, or in non-linear narratives. I used present-tense stream-of-consciousness for some of my fics, most in ‘The Long Road’ (which also uses shifting non-linear tenses).

So, here’s a short passage from Sansukh Chapter 36 that I have rewritten in present tense:

“You ridiculous Dwarf,” he tuts, and the worry in his voice is even clearer. “You’re dead on your feet!”

“Clearly.” Thorin says, and gives his Hobbit a rather flat look.

“I didn’t mean that,” Bilbo says, and he lets out a gusty sigh of exasperation. “Well, there’s nothing for it, I’m going to have to help you.”

“Help me?” Thorin pushes open his chamber door, and nearly groans aloud at the sight of his bed. It seems years ago that Bilbo had appeared upon his dresser. “Bilbo…”

“You do need my help, look at the state of you,” Bilbo says, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows. “This single-mindedness of yours is dreadfully bad for you.”

“And you, Master Baggins, are so free of any unhealthy obsessions,” Thorin mutters. Then he lets out a growl and flops down onto his bed and buries* his face in his pillow. “I apologise for my sharpness, Bilbo. I am not in any state to bandy clever words today. I have watched too many die. I have seen too much grief.”

Bilbo is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, he sounds closer. “Do you want to tell me?”

Thorin rolls over to see Bilbo perching upon the foot of his pallet. He seems about as comfortable as a Dwarf in an Elven talan, his knees pressing together primly and his hands clasped in his lap. But his face is, for once, soft and sympathetic.

“My cousin died today,” he says, and feels at his nose again. Still a little sore. “He gave his life for my home, and now my sister grieves once more.”

“Your cousin? Which one?”

“Dáin,” Thorin sighs.

“Oh, the one who…” Bilbo’s eyes widen, and Thorin nods tiredly.

You can see that the feel of the passage changes: it becomes more immediate and personal, but it also has a slight air of ‘announcing’ the action rather than reflecting on it. 

So there we are – I hope all that was helpful, though I’m not an authority and you might want to investigate other avenues as well. I tried! Basically, I would stick with past tense (and don’t shift out of it at any point) for a while, until you’re comfortable. Then you can start to play about with some of the other options I have laid out here! Good luck to you in your writing, Nonnie!