Merry Christmas! Including Fantasy

Firstly:

Have you ever wanted to slap someone so much?

Secondly:

I cannot resist making posts on Christopher Paolini. More and more things enter my speculation these days–I don’t even mean for them to. But yesterday, I came across another Paolini quote. He said:

“All fantasy is derivative.”

You have no idea how much anger is welling up inside me right now. Firstly, is under the assumption that mythology is the same as fantasy, it is not. He points us to works such as the Odyssey and the Iliad, far works of Homer, as his backup for this point. Mythology is a set of themes and story, based around a culture, offering explanations to certain aspects. It is, if you like, religion meets Sci-Fi. In this respect, Tolkien’s works may well be considered mythology, as he so intended them.

Fantasy on the other hand, involves simple imagination. This can be anything from a story about a flying apricot, to a world in which there is no ground and all its inhabitants are bigger on the inside, with wands as swords. Do not confuse this with Sci-Fi, in which Science is offered as explanation, or the reverse, in which an effect of Science is created.

Fantasy, therefore, can be an use of imagination. One does not define fantasy on its holding of elves and dwarves. Take the flying apricot, for instance. As stupid as the instance might appear, it does not happen in the real world, and themes can be drawn around it. “High Fantasy” as Paolini supposedly writes, explores other worlds. It doesn’t mean have a bazillion fantasy races. And if you do, why not create your own? I mean… why not? Why copy someone else’s?

Having said that, I’m not even sure if the Inheritance Cycle can be classed as derivative; it’s just plain copying. Why are there elves? Why are they tall? Why are they slim? Why do they have pointy ears? Why did they come from the sea? Why must they go back? I’m sure the first few of theses define an elf, but that’s only a name–it’s like a ready-made meal. Throw in some different features and you can easily create  another race or two.

I am writing a fantasy novel, in my opinion. Why? Well, it’s not set in this world. It has next to nil fantasy elements attached to it, but the themes are offered as symbolism. It delves into the coding of society, but also at bigger things, like the human construction of moral concepts such as “right and wrong”. All that with only a small bag of pretentiousness, so far.

Thirdly:

I’m doing great with Ever Wayward. Yeah, that’s its name again. Not that it matters, really. I’m pleased with my efforts–I have a writing plan, but not a story plan. I believe spontaneity happens best when you write up your targets, but not how to fill them. I know kind of what’s happening, but it’s turning out very successfully. That’s 11,000 words in under a month, fantastic for me. By the time I’m 16, I will have the first draft at least completed.

Fourthly:

Merry Christmas, everyone! And a happy New Year! It’s come round so quickly, but I don’t feel all that ready for it. My birthday last weak. Just to update you on my life, type of thing.

Any regrets? Just a few. Too many, in fact.

So,

Joyeux Noël!

Outlines; Just an Update

I haven’t written on this blog for so long. School has sort of taken hold of me, and I wish I had the time to, you know, move on. I’ve been rewriting Beggar’s Utopia, since about November. What is this new novel, I hear you say?

Well, it’s Ever Wayward. It’s not just about Logan being wayward anymore, it’s about who he is and who he shall become. Once a beggar, always a beggar. And I have a great idea for an ending. So I guess that I am in fact starting a new novel–no longer Aedomir, but Logan. No longer cliché fantasy, but literary. As it stands, I have only done 5,000 words, which by some integrity, is alright for me!

I would like to post a bit, because I’m like that:

‘Tell me, Amaury, what were those villagers to you?’

‘Well, savages. Wildmen. Why? Are you going to tell me that they were really exceptionally nice people?’

Logan shook his head, and rubbed his temples. ‘No,’ he muttered, ‘but they all were devoted to a common cause, like us. It just so happens that they should clash with our own, and so we fight them, and so we kill their families for the protection of our own. Why did we even go back there if when we conflict, lives are taken? We went there under the misguidance that we might light their hearts or wake them to reality, our reality, that there could be peace. But the irony is that to do so we killed innocents as we paved to the courtyard. What were we expecting? A welcoming, hearty reunion?’

‘Listen to—’

‘Sooner or later, we will be cut down, the ice we clutch us or illness should devote us to the grave. Either way, it’s pointless our carrying on; nobody wants us here.’

‘We do, old chap!’

I don’t.

‘Goodbye.’

Not sure who had really said it, Logan clambered down the bank and steadied; the river smashed onto his legs, choking them.

A voice came hurdling after him, as he crossed to the other side. ‘Is that it? You failed us, Logan! And you promised! Where is your oath now? Eternal hellfire awaits—that is your sunset; hell!’

Logan felt the beating in his heart fade. The noise of an icy river fought beyond it—there was nothing left.

Drawing his fists to his eyes, he let slip his legs. The river carried him away.

Pretentious? Hell yeah. But it gave me pleasure to write it. I tried to be meaningful, and if it fails, I’ll enjoy it on the second and third drafts even more.

Oh, and what else? Well, I bought Oliver Twist on Sunday, and I’m loving it. I just finished reading 1984, by George Orwell, and I have to say it’s the best book I’ve ever read. Simpliy beautiful, I’m telling you. The means were spot on, and well, incredible. Even the ending, though depressing, was wonderful. I might need to use a thesaurus soon

Now, onto the derivative context to this standard, pointless entry.

Outlining

It’s sheer evil, is it not?

I have to say that outlining makes it too forced–you’re worrying about word count, in the belief that one minor alteration could compromise the entire novel.  Also, I find novels are destroyed if they are planned; where’s the spontaneity? Can your message really come across if it’s hidden behind a titanium plot?

A house without a frame would be a stupid splodge, but a novel without one can go either way–brilliantly or pathetically. But, why not take a chance? You can just rewrite it, and the message is still there, no?

It’s in my head. The vague ideas and characters are jotted out. They will do the talking.

Also: My birthday next week. Wednesday. Oh yes.