Revisiting Imbuers Local #451

Feeling I need to write much more good now that I’ve read that Scene and Structure book bogs me down to the point of not writing at all. O, irony.

One of the themes I float around here is the idea of a company of mages.  Group, guild, gang, board, company, something organized.  Something nearly corporate and business-like.  The solitary magician (plus mentor) thing is an old pair of jeans: comfortable but so worn out that I’d rather not wear them in public.  I’m not talking Harry Potter either.  That was a bunch of solitary magician’s in the same place.  I’m talking like a team of software developers or a gaggle of engineers or even a house framing crew.  The caliber of organization that built the pyramids or Empire State Building.  Magician’s working in concert to create a single substantial product.

I want to write the union of folks who make the magic swords and rings and boots and cloaks and carpets.  I’d like to semi-institutionalize the whole thing.

  • Riffing from my newly uncovered tool of thwarting the main character’s self-concept I’m going to define some thoughts on the self-concept of such a group first them I’ll dig out an individual or two.
  • A profit over product mindset
  • Promoting a status quo internal process while trying to grow revenue
  • Protecting a quality public image
  • Appeasing or impressing investors|benefactors
  • Dealing with contracts, customers, regulatory agencies, and competition
  • Keeping up with grueling release and innovation cycles
  • Sales people

That first round came out a little more negative than I’d have hoped.  All those things have places, but I’d rather our hero organization not be too monolithic or too tainted.

More stuff in my head than ways to write it out with words.  Think I’ll take this to the whiteboard.

Day 406

Today Fifteen Equals Twenty

Following the completion of Jack M. Bickham’s Scene and Structure book I’m so filled with the desire to do good writing all I can muster is half-baked argument that reading suitably replaces writing.  It does not.  And, it will not.

I’m going to tweak my 20 minute drill to accommodate Jack’s hammered in, bent over, straightened back out, and then hammered in again point of stimulus begets response.  This drill should read as couplets of such a concept.  The first part poking you in the eye the second part bleeding all over your clean white shirt.

  1. Drapell poked Snodgrass in the eye.  The spew of blood back at Drapel whetted his face and cause him to gasp in surprise.
  2. The author’s words dully parroted what he said they would.  Readers yawned in sleepy reply.  And then groaned.
  3. Caleb flinched forward like an attack or a joke.  Reese dropped his hand to the gun at his hip with the careful ease of a 20 notch gunslinger.
  4. Bresten fingered the buttonhole of his new tweed jacket nervously.  His Mother snatch his hand away and smoothed out his arms and shoulders.  She pushed hi hair back and smiled at her son.
  5. Rain slathered the streets and the cars running along those narrow slick ways.  Drivers’ ducked low above the wheel peering out from wipers set to high.
  6. The orange leaf marbled with still-green streaks lit on the still water.  Ripples circles out from the impact and grew toward the edge of the tiny mountain pool.
  7. The M1-R67 dropped low over the tall grass of the high mountain prairie.  Startled crows lifted to the sky not eager to leave not willing to be killed.
  8. Inside the machine Ronald shrugged back his shoulders slowly.  The mechanized armor he wore settled comfortably back on its center of gravity and waited for more violent instructions to follow.
  9. The the drawn back sword lodged solidly in the wooden post of the smokey church.  Both combatants, the priest and the thief, paused in amusement.
  10. Fireflies burned on then off then on again in Daphne’s backyard.  She readied her jar with a few expert twists: leftie loosey.
  11. Under the full moon’s blaze the blued snow of Mt Fronne something happened.  Because of that something happened.
  12. The blued snow of Mt Fronne shown weirdly with the blackened sky as a backdrop. Tesper paused from his chase, smelled the world, and thought fondly of the moon above.
  13. Our author snagged by the interesting beauty of the image he wanted to make hung up in the execution of making it.  Fortunately he recovered int he next round.  And kinda the one after that. And then wondered if he’d not set the timer.  But was afraid to got check.  Nope set.
  14. The campfire cracked out and ember that went straight up into the night sky.  Everyone jumped then oooo’d in quiet enjoyment.  NO one saw the one that didn’t go straight up.
  15. The door creaked.  Timmy, five, willed his heart to stop beating.  It was loud and the murderer at the door could easily hear it and then quickly find him.  If only he could stop the loud sweating of his brow.

Days 404