Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Middle Earth dragons go hard

Sorry for the long break guys, I’ve been quite busy these last couple months. I am assuming of course that there are people out there who check this blog on a semi-regular basis.  Who am I kidding? As I warm back up to WordPress, I want to start posting more of my own writing. Thus far, I have hardly gotten my feet wet. To start off, I have a poem for you today! *people applaud wildly* Yes I know, amazing. This is a poem I wrote a few weeks ago, and it’s narrative. Maybe I’ll put it somewhere in Evernight, who knows? Well, I do.

Dragon Hunters

Let me tell you a tale,
o’er a good pint of ale,
of my friends: Spick and Baerú.
In days of old,
we made some good gold,
as Hunters without fail.

Fire rises on the mountain,
said my friend “Look, turn your head.
Like a blazing sun, the dragon comes,
to reap a toll of dead.

And I said to he
“You just come with me,
let us arm against this threat.
For by force of steel
and courage we’ll
make the dragon pay its debt”.

Water falls upon the downs,
iced with frost of winter’s chill.
Yet it melts away, ‘neath the dragon’s flame,
the beast’s intent: our blood to spill.

Armed and ready we,
sturdy warriors three,
lay in wait to trap that devil.
With our hearts set to kill,
there’s not a group with more skill
than Spick, Baerú, and me.

Wind whistles through the canyon,
bearing two great scaly wings.
And the evil gaze falls on us, a waste,
shielded by our magic rings.

His weapon denied,
our bolts pierced his hide,
and down like a rock he fell.
The tension was lifted
by we who were gifted,
and joyously I cried.

“With the hunting done,
now let’s have some fun,
I could do with food and soon.
A mighty feast we’ll make,
and the carcass bake;
I’ve grown fond of dragon steak!”

Mmmm… Dinner!

This is the prologue of my current work in progress, which I am almost certain will be called Evernight. It’s pretty cryptic I know, but I intend to reveal more about the story and characters in future posts. Enjoy!


In the darkened room, silence hung everywhere in great black sheets, deadening even the slightest sound. However, an even stranger sensation captured the attention. An acute sense of waiting, of expectancy, permeated the air like a thick fog just waiting for a gust of wind to banish the uncertainty. It was an almost palpable pressure, pressing in from all sides like water at great depth. In it, there was something else, something—

Venezio awoke with a start, the fog dissipating. It had been only a flicker; a faint light just beginning to grow in strength. He had been so close; he had actually felt it, felt him, for he was sure now that it was a male child. He had the vaguest sense of his location; just enough to know that he was close, Manhattan, probably somewhere in the upper west side. That would have to suffice, because he had sensed something else. They had felt him to, and they were closing in. He knew it would be a race now, a race to find him, to keep him from them. He had sensed power, great power in him; there could hardly be a mistake as to the fact that he was the One, the one they had sought for so long. They would be bold now, now that he was almost within their grasp. Venezio knew that the child would almost certainly shift the balance of power in the war, the balance of power in the world, indeed on many worlds. There was no time to lose.

Standing up from the bed, he drew the silence back into himself, and the room lightened. The usual city ambiance resumed as normal: the hum of engines, crunch-slosh of tires and boots in the dirty snow, and the distant beep of a truck in reverse, backing into a loading bay drifted in through the open window. Venezio frowned, shutting it. He turned, his dark leather coat splaying out behind him as he did so. Then he descended the dusty hotel stairs and drove into the night. It had begun.

Tolkien 2

What really happens is that the story-maker proves a successful ‘sub-creator’. He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is ‘true’: it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside. The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed. You are then out in the Primary World again, looking at the little abortive Secondary World from outside.

I love this quote, even though it’s a bit technical. J.R.R. Tolkien (John Ronald Reuel Tolkien) is my favorite author, and if there’s one thing he understood about writing, it was how to create a world. In your writing, you are the master and creator of the world the characters are in. Anything you reveal to the reader about that world is the truth about that world, because you decide what is true for that world. The trick therefore, is to keep this world believable and interesting enough that it can entice readers to enter and accept it. If your world fails in this, the spell, as Tolkien says, is broken.

What worlds will you create? Tell me in the comments!