Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 15, 2006 15:34:08 GMT -5
My writing is fairly decent when I'm writing for class. I can dash off a first-draft essay for an A or A- and make a few corrections for the plus. I also wrote one short story (Poe style) this year, which I thought was utter nonsense but which earned a high grade. The thing is, for each of these assignments I had length and content requirements, plus a due date and a grade.
None of my longer stories have progressed beyond three handwritten pages. I have no stamina. So I could potentially write short stories with enough guidance, but what I want to do is write longer books (though I am gaining more appreciation for the short story). I just have no idea how I will find the time if it's just my own project. Any thoughts on how I can motivate myself?
Here's my Poe story, if you want to read it.
King’s Evil
Several weeks ago it came into our mind to venture among the commons and observe their manners and customs. It was no mean feat to escape the throngs of ministers and courtiers, but suffice it to say that on a quiet afternoon we donned our disguise and exited the castle by the scullery. Moving through unfrequented streets, we found my way to a more populous square, where we put our design into action.
We squatted between a crumbling wall and the main causeway, where we held out our cup and so disposed our rags as to reveal the falsened marks of scrofula, or kingsevil as the commons call it, on our body. We then leaned my back against the rough wall and awaited the passage of events. Meanwhile, observing our people passing, we noted the different dress exhibited by each, but, as it was the end of the working day, were gladdened by the notes of happiness in each voice. Some dropped coins into our cup; they were chiefly of middling station, plainclothed, neither poor nor rich. The very poor tended to give pitying glances from the faces hunched between their shoulders, but the bejeweled, beribboned wealthy men glared at this eyesore on the cool grass. After a short time, we espied a noble passing from the palace to his own rich house in the city. We will not give his name, for his adherents are more loyal than they should be. We smiled to see him, for he had always been flattering and obedient. But when he glanced at us, deeming our smile out of place on a beggar, he dared the unforgivable—he dared to spurn us with his foot.
“Mind your place, vagabond,” he grunted.
We drew ourself up in spluttering affront. “You-you dare- you scoundrel! you dog!” we ejaculated, before we choked on our fury.
“Ah-ah-ah,” the popinjay replied. “I believe the correct answer is, ‘Thank you, your honor, for the lesson.’” He had adopted a whining tone.
“Why should w-I thank you?” we asked. “Are you more deserving of honor than u-me?” You see, we were determined to give him every chance to repent. He was a powerful man at Court.
“Have a care, my man,” he said softly. “You ought to thank the almsman for your begging license, for I should put you to work directly. Out at sea, perhaps, where mishaps are common…” With a contemptuous half-kick, he strode on.
We had no mind to allow more insults to our royal person, since we were already quivering in rage. We rose and ducked again into the circuitous, malodorous back-alley way to the palace, where we had miraculously not yet been missed.
Having resumed our place, we meditated on redress for the contumely that had been offered us. Lord B---‘s faction was powerful, which made it necessary to proceed cautiously. First, we saw, he must be reduced to a private gentleman. Then—we are a modern ruler—his punishment would match his crime. Moreover, we purposed that this should take place by degrees, so that he would try to assuage our wrath, which would, seemingly, only increase day to day. Unless, of course, some way could be found to speed up the process.
Two days hence we summoned him to our audience chamber in the presence of all the court. We had let it be rumored that he was to receive a special honor. So in he marched, all in gleaming crimson and gold, his livery colors, and with far too many jewels about him. The herald announced him as Lord Privy Seal, a distinction we had but lately conferred on him. As he made the three required bows, we observed keenly. It seemed that they were a little less abased than they should be, as was proven by the shocked whisper traveling through the ranks at each, all courtiers being able to judge such things at a glance. At the last bow, we gave him no permission to arise. He remained perforce in his humble position while we announced:
“Lord B---, you are divested of this moment from your office as Lord Privy Seal. You are dismissed.”
We had not anticipated the effrontery of his response: he stood upright without permission, his face ugly with rage, and choked out, “By what right?”
A horrified silence swept the chamber as the realization spread. Lord B--- had just denied the sovereignty of the crown. All there were aware of his position, which was fairly unique, for his claim to the throne could have stood in court. It was only our wits and the greater right that delivered the throne to us.
“By right of sovereignty, as you well know, my Lord.” We replied sweetly as we nodded to the men-at-arms next to the throne. “We now arrest you for lèse majesté.” The audience was over. A swirling mass of laughing, glittering courtiers (false!) swept around us as the upstart lord was dragged out.
“Lèse majesté” is a crime in all civilized nations. Parliament was pleased to banish Lord B--- (after confiscating his estates and appropriating them to us) at our suggestion. That pernicious false prince should trouble the poor no longer.
We sent a trustworthy messenger to a groghouse, ordering him to accost the scurviest, foulest captain there. We are told the meeting went as follows:
The page said, bowing, “Upon entering the tavern, my attention was arrested by a bluff, tattooed seafaring man, who was drinking riotously, cursing good-humoredly, and entertaining several admiring ladies next to him on the bench. I observed that he had not washed for some time, as well as the fact that his crew threatened to slit my throat—in jest, I believe—before allowing me into the tavern.
“Approaching the captain, I had to shout loudly many times before my voice could be heard over the din. ‘Greetings, small one!’ was his contemptuous salutation. ‘What would you have of me, a fight, a friendly drink, or a berth on the most feared ship of the seven seas?’
“ ‘Captain,’ I replied, ‘may I speak with you privily? I bring a commission from the King, with accompanying reward.’
“At this he became almost sober and, for a wonder, lowered his voice. ‘Name the price,’ he whispered in his grating boom.
“I mentioned the agreed sum, with the promise of doubling for trustworthy service, and the bait was easily taken. He undertook to provide any service, and I ventured to provide him a description of the desired service. He was most eager.
“I hope I have done well, Your Grace.”
“Most well, my lad. We thank you.” We dismissed the page with a small reward for discretion.
We accompanied Lord B--- to the ship. It was a foul tub, barnacled, bedraggled, and entirely unlikely to survive the voyage—Lord B--- had been exiled to Africa. And instead of being lodged in such state as the vessel could command, once the leaky boat cast off the captain was to declare his true colors (he was loyal to the Crown) and force the great lord to work for his keep, as he had threatened us. And should he demand rest, all ships have a bo’sun with his knotted rope. Then, once the ship should be approaching Africa, the captain would obey specific orders. Mishaps are frequent at sea.
None of my longer stories have progressed beyond three handwritten pages. I have no stamina. So I could potentially write short stories with enough guidance, but what I want to do is write longer books (though I am gaining more appreciation for the short story). I just have no idea how I will find the time if it's just my own project. Any thoughts on how I can motivate myself?
Here's my Poe story, if you want to read it.
King’s Evil
Several weeks ago it came into our mind to venture among the commons and observe their manners and customs. It was no mean feat to escape the throngs of ministers and courtiers, but suffice it to say that on a quiet afternoon we donned our disguise and exited the castle by the scullery. Moving through unfrequented streets, we found my way to a more populous square, where we put our design into action.
We squatted between a crumbling wall and the main causeway, where we held out our cup and so disposed our rags as to reveal the falsened marks of scrofula, or kingsevil as the commons call it, on our body. We then leaned my back against the rough wall and awaited the passage of events. Meanwhile, observing our people passing, we noted the different dress exhibited by each, but, as it was the end of the working day, were gladdened by the notes of happiness in each voice. Some dropped coins into our cup; they were chiefly of middling station, plainclothed, neither poor nor rich. The very poor tended to give pitying glances from the faces hunched between their shoulders, but the bejeweled, beribboned wealthy men glared at this eyesore on the cool grass. After a short time, we espied a noble passing from the palace to his own rich house in the city. We will not give his name, for his adherents are more loyal than they should be. We smiled to see him, for he had always been flattering and obedient. But when he glanced at us, deeming our smile out of place on a beggar, he dared the unforgivable—he dared to spurn us with his foot.
“Mind your place, vagabond,” he grunted.
We drew ourself up in spluttering affront. “You-you dare- you scoundrel! you dog!” we ejaculated, before we choked on our fury.
“Ah-ah-ah,” the popinjay replied. “I believe the correct answer is, ‘Thank you, your honor, for the lesson.’” He had adopted a whining tone.
“Why should w-I thank you?” we asked. “Are you more deserving of honor than u-me?” You see, we were determined to give him every chance to repent. He was a powerful man at Court.
“Have a care, my man,” he said softly. “You ought to thank the almsman for your begging license, for I should put you to work directly. Out at sea, perhaps, where mishaps are common…” With a contemptuous half-kick, he strode on.
We had no mind to allow more insults to our royal person, since we were already quivering in rage. We rose and ducked again into the circuitous, malodorous back-alley way to the palace, where we had miraculously not yet been missed.
Having resumed our place, we meditated on redress for the contumely that had been offered us. Lord B---‘s faction was powerful, which made it necessary to proceed cautiously. First, we saw, he must be reduced to a private gentleman. Then—we are a modern ruler—his punishment would match his crime. Moreover, we purposed that this should take place by degrees, so that he would try to assuage our wrath, which would, seemingly, only increase day to day. Unless, of course, some way could be found to speed up the process.
Two days hence we summoned him to our audience chamber in the presence of all the court. We had let it be rumored that he was to receive a special honor. So in he marched, all in gleaming crimson and gold, his livery colors, and with far too many jewels about him. The herald announced him as Lord Privy Seal, a distinction we had but lately conferred on him. As he made the three required bows, we observed keenly. It seemed that they were a little less abased than they should be, as was proven by the shocked whisper traveling through the ranks at each, all courtiers being able to judge such things at a glance. At the last bow, we gave him no permission to arise. He remained perforce in his humble position while we announced:
“Lord B---, you are divested of this moment from your office as Lord Privy Seal. You are dismissed.”
We had not anticipated the effrontery of his response: he stood upright without permission, his face ugly with rage, and choked out, “By what right?”
A horrified silence swept the chamber as the realization spread. Lord B--- had just denied the sovereignty of the crown. All there were aware of his position, which was fairly unique, for his claim to the throne could have stood in court. It was only our wits and the greater right that delivered the throne to us.
“By right of sovereignty, as you well know, my Lord.” We replied sweetly as we nodded to the men-at-arms next to the throne. “We now arrest you for lèse majesté.” The audience was over. A swirling mass of laughing, glittering courtiers (false!) swept around us as the upstart lord was dragged out.
“Lèse majesté” is a crime in all civilized nations. Parliament was pleased to banish Lord B--- (after confiscating his estates and appropriating them to us) at our suggestion. That pernicious false prince should trouble the poor no longer.
We sent a trustworthy messenger to a groghouse, ordering him to accost the scurviest, foulest captain there. We are told the meeting went as follows:
The page said, bowing, “Upon entering the tavern, my attention was arrested by a bluff, tattooed seafaring man, who was drinking riotously, cursing good-humoredly, and entertaining several admiring ladies next to him on the bench. I observed that he had not washed for some time, as well as the fact that his crew threatened to slit my throat—in jest, I believe—before allowing me into the tavern.
“Approaching the captain, I had to shout loudly many times before my voice could be heard over the din. ‘Greetings, small one!’ was his contemptuous salutation. ‘What would you have of me, a fight, a friendly drink, or a berth on the most feared ship of the seven seas?’
“ ‘Captain,’ I replied, ‘may I speak with you privily? I bring a commission from the King, with accompanying reward.’
“At this he became almost sober and, for a wonder, lowered his voice. ‘Name the price,’ he whispered in his grating boom.
“I mentioned the agreed sum, with the promise of doubling for trustworthy service, and the bait was easily taken. He undertook to provide any service, and I ventured to provide him a description of the desired service. He was most eager.
“I hope I have done well, Your Grace.”
“Most well, my lad. We thank you.” We dismissed the page with a small reward for discretion.
We accompanied Lord B--- to the ship. It was a foul tub, barnacled, bedraggled, and entirely unlikely to survive the voyage—Lord B--- had been exiled to Africa. And instead of being lodged in such state as the vessel could command, once the leaky boat cast off the captain was to declare his true colors (he was loyal to the Crown) and force the great lord to work for his keep, as he had threatened us. And should he demand rest, all ships have a bo’sun with his knotted rope. Then, once the ship should be approaching Africa, the captain would obey specific orders. Mishaps are frequent at sea.
