First off, I’d like to apologize for not posting much in the last month. I’ve been busy trying to get my group moving a little more than usual.
I’ve also been diving head-first into MYTH, developing the other characters further. I’ve figured out that either I’m going to write the next lord of the rings, or I’m never going to write the fucking thing. One of the two… I’m personally pulling for the first choice.
Secondly, and related to the first, I want to introduce you to a new poster I’ve created for the first book of MYTH:
Before you ask… yes, I did make it. Yes, it was from scratch (except the background which was a stock HDRI panorama image I set as an illuminated environment). And yes, I am ridiculously excited about it!
The content depicts the gear used by Andial, the leader of the Golden Guard and chaperone to the young Priestess, Claire. He’s a regal born Aelphi given the conflicting honor and punishment of leading the most heralded group of abominations in existence.
You’d want to hide your face behind a scary golden mask too, huh?
Well, that’s not why he has the mask…
I’ll leave it at that.
(p.s. this is actually a direct scene taken from the book…)
So, it’s out. James Cameron and the production team that brought Avatar to the big screen are in talks to bring out a new movie, ‘MYTH’. It was pitched to Fox as a premise and is yet to be written
Holy shit! That’s great, man! You’ve been working on Myth for 16 years! I can’t believe they’re making it into a movie before you write the books!
No. No, it’s not MY myth. It’s another myth. No one has any idea about the story yet, I’ve just been following the breadcrumbs laid by the companies.
So, it’s not your story? Aren’t you worried?
First and foremost, what do they say it’s about? Is there any news on that?
Yeah, sort of. They’re calling it a science fiction epic with lots of action.
… And you’re not worried?
Why should I be worried?!
Because it’s a science fiction action epic named MYTH… for god’s sakes, man, wake up and smell the coffee. They ripped you off!
Bull. There’s no evidence that anyone involved has heard anything about my story. I keep my premises hidden. Even what’s up on this site has little or nothing to do with the bulk of the story. My Myth has depth and layers. No one’s seen anything quite like it. My Myth isn’t just sci-fi. It’s drama and fantasy and gothic and a deep psychological look at what truly makes someone evil and if evil can ever really exist.
So, they ripped off what you put up. I didn’t say they’re going to do a good job with it.
It’s ridiculous to think that someone took MY idea. Who am I right now? Why would they be trolling through other people’s stories? It’s not my story.
Ok, ok. It might not be your story. But what then? It’s going to be a major blockbuster. If it keeps the same name, it will taint your story forever.
… Why the fuck do I keep talking to you?
Here’s my personal philosophy…
Measure twice, cut once.
This does work for writing. Not everyone breezes through their first draft with little regard for pacing, sentence structure, paragraph breaks, readability, grammar, punctuation, etc. It’s the same for consistency in story-telling. For sci-fi and fantasy works, the mantra has to be refined.
Create a system of measurement, measure twice, create a cutting tool, then cut once.
The concept is done, the worlds are fleshed out, the peoples and places have been described. Maps have been drawn for continuity’s sake. My system of measurement has been set in stone and the eyeballing gave way to absolute relativism long ago.
I am at the point of creating a cutting tool and this is the fun part.
Developing characters’ method of action is giddily enough like playing god. Their voice, their personalities are the best part of everything.
I’ve gotten it in my head to do a character interview for Myth:OMAM which I will post here as soon as it is finished.
Thought you guys might enjoy this. It’s an excerpt of what I’m working on right now.
Light filtered through her closed eyelids, washing the darkness in a warm ruddy pink. She held still as long as she could. A lingering sleepy thought crept through her slowly waking mind, convincing her that if she gave the others no reason to notice, she’d be left alone.
She had not slept well. Read the rest of this entry
Which will be edited as soon as I can use more than my phone…
Oh, what’s that?
With what did I make the image?
I’ll give you a hint… it sorta rhymes with bone.
Alright, stop giggling at the word ‘bone’.
This is for myth, per my usual concept desgin train of thought.
Since I can’t edit the image caption on my phone, it is © Aaron Shively, 2011.
Posted from WordPress for Android
Aaron would like me to tell you that, to fully comprehend this story, you must read all the ones that came before. Doing so is not necessary to enjoy it, but there are a bunch of Easter Eggs and this is the conclusion to the ‘Reapers’ miniseries… and it directly ties in with another, previous unrelated story…. So, basically… He’s fucking with you.
The knob turns easily enough but, as your mind was trying to tell you, music doesn’t work in this place. Not only is there a lack of radio waves, a lack of towers outputting beats to the masses, it’s worse; records, tapes, cds, nothing plays. You miss the rhythms and harmonies.
Besides the silence, there’s an undeniably calming effect to sitting in the front seat. You’d forgotten exactly how much of a difference there is. You had convinced yourself a while ago that sitting in the back, hiding from the red and the horror of this realm was the best for you. But now, with the breeze on your face and a little more connection with the new driver, you feel in control. As much as you can, at least. Read the rest of this entry
The story continues. Why did Babette scream? What happened during the mysterious murders? Why am I speaking like an old soap opera narrator? Find out all this and less from the perspective of Gilbert Mines’ sheriff!
Nobody never saw much of me. I’d heard tell of some lawmen ‘cross the states, pride and joys of their towns. They’d patrol the streets in broad daylight, ridin’ top a great stallion, two six guns at their side and a long rifle in their pack. They was showmen. Least that’s what they’d have in the travelin’ shows. That’s what I heard was in them books people was readin’ out east. We’d have tourists comin’ in and asking for the sheriff during the day. My deputy’d have to tell them to come back after dusk.
Nothing ever happened in Gilbert Mines during the day. Even the accidents had been at night, each time under the biggest and brightest full moon you could see. I found that sleeping in spit of the son and haulin’ my tired behind in at nightfall was the only way I could keep going from dusk to dawn. I was never needed before that, or after. And, even then, the calls for my actions were few and far between. Of course, when they did come, they were dire. There’d been three or four brawls over the last month. First one ended in a young man’s death. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and just couldn’t climb a safe distance back. I couldn’t count the murders. They’d happened between a patrol. I heard the screams and the… whatever that other sound could have been… and I came runnin’. I grabbed my rifle first. I followed the sounds, no screamin’ then, just an animal eatin’ whatever it’d caught. Led me straight outside the inn.
Yeah, I saw it. Swear to all things holy, it was a strange type a bear I’d never seen before. I got a few shots off. Hit it’s side twice, then it got outta range right quick almost as if it knew that’s where the danger lessened. It headed out to the old mines. I know I hit it twice, both bullets landing not two inches from each other. You never forget a night like that. The littlest details stick for the longest time. Read the rest of this entry
For those of you acquainted with Mommy’s work, you’ll be right at home. For those of you who aren’t, don’t worry… You don’t absolutely need to be. And yes, I am still on this Mommy thing.
The pain spreads from his ear to his jaw and further down the nerves of his neck and shoulders. His fingers twitch. The small arms, covered in old dark scars, tug against the impossibly heavy restraints. He refuses to scream, forcing his mouth closed against reflex. His sharp canine teeth pierce his own tongue. The sensation is nothing to what they’re doing but it gives him some control. It lets him accept the degradation. It distracts his mind.
Jagged metal stops halfway through the cartilage. The boy tries to move his head but a solid vice restricts him. He presses against the barrier, straining the connections. It’s not enough. He’s weak. They haven’t allowed him food. Muscles in his neck grow to definition. He can hear the metal groaning. The massive forces put against it might have freed him had a jolt of new sensation not been sent through his bare chest. Two needles pierce him, jolts of radiated energy communicate with his cells. They are told they are dying. In unison, the tiny organisms release a burst of chemicals and electrical signals. The boy’s brain interprets them and he is finally forced to make a sound. A low roar speaks of the agony. The loose parts of his body, the right arm and leg that aren’t losing circulation from the restraints, seize Read the rest of this entry
For those who know about Myth… this gives too much away… But Aaron likes it anyway. I think he’s destroying any mystery his large novel series is going to have… But he’s an idiot. What can you do?
It was clear and cool and calm.
I laid on the on the giant piece of celestial rubble that was once an acre of my world. It had been a monument, made of the hardest stone we could mine. The swirled patterns etched into the wall that was now my floor shepherded the winds and the smoke. It’s all I could think. It’s all I knew.
It’s so calm. So beautiful. Read the rest of this entry
Jax opened his eyes. He saw Thorin. He technically felt her first. When they fell, she had toppled on top of him.
“Thank you, Jaxial.”
That voice was there again, pulling him along, inviting him somewhere he couldn’t imagine going.
He leaned up, forgetting where she was. Their lips met. It wasn’t a kiss. There was more surprise than action. They both separated. She slid across the hall and he bumped his head on a column, hard.
He saw the Interviewer throwing Firan off of her. He’d tackled her. He gave a wink before she jabbed him with her reordiner. He convulsed back in a strange moving mass of limbs. She hadn’t given him a mouth guard so the great shock of pain caused him to bite his lip. Blood trickled out of his still smiling mouth. He managed to stand and grab her hand while she was still pressing the large blue button. He wrestled her thumb from it’s place, relieving the jolts.
The Interviewer threw him on the ground and stuck him in the side again. Firan began to laugh. He was laughing! The woman stopped, more angry now than she had been. She whispered something to him. He stopped giggling.
She stood and stuck her sharp-pointed finger at Jax.
“Go. I don’t have time for you anymore.”
Jax scurried across the floor until he could rise to his feet. Firan waved to him, tears dropping down over a renewed smile. Jax didn’t know which emotion was the mask but he could guess the drawn back lips weren’t going to be given a reward for honesty.
He walked slowly, looking down at Thorin. She averted her eyes, staring at the heaving Interviewer lifting Firan into the room.
“And take the Low-Zoner with you. You’ll both get this some other day.”
Jax didn’t wait for the last of her words. He grabbed Thorin’s hand and scuffed the floor, running.