Zornhau

Please remember that the adults reading your books aloud may be hung over or sleep impaired.

"MRS CLUTTERBUCK" IS NOT A GOOD CHOICE OF NAME FOR A CHARACTER IN A CHILDREN'S BOOK!!!

The wind howls outside the holiday cottage, and Beowulf nails Grendal's arm to Hereot's roof beam.

As the hero makes his way home across the foam-flecked whale-road, all to the soundtrack of Jethro Tull's "Broadsword" album (on to drown out Morgenstern's War Against Sleep in the next room, rather than to provide mood), Kurtzhau becoems restive:

"I'm bored Daddy."

"Oh. OK. I'll stop for now," I say, closing Rosemary Sutcliff's "Beowulf".

Like the original poem, it's a work of genius. She's done what I would do for the Battle Abbey Sword; pared away the Christian accretions and given us back the authentic original. In this slim volume, a pagan Beowulf bestrides a pre-Christian north, invoking the All Father and Wyrd more fittingly than he would ever have invoked any deity of Mediterranean origins.

Shorn of a more civilized viewpoint character – her usual gambit – Sutcliff still manages to capture the unremitting otherness of the milieu, and carve out a tale of mighty-thewed warriors that would sit well between the best of Robert E Howard and Harold Lamb – a hell of an achievement, given she was a wheelchair-bound Telegraph reading English lady, trained to paint miniatures, rather than a Texan brawler, or a real-life Indiana Jones.

(It's also a book I recognize. I must have read it – but when?)

However, the language is rich and difficult, and Kurtzhau is only six and –

"No, Daddy. I don't mean stop. I just mean I Want To Play while you read."

"OK." I'd rather he didn't because it seems disrespectful, and "I am not a TV", but he seems to follow whatever I read and parrot it back with unerring accuracy if I spot check.

Before he can leave the bed, I start the next chapter and the narrative skims 50 raiding seasons and suddenly Beowulf is an old king and a dragon stalks the land.

The rain hammers the window, loud enough to be heard over Jethro Tull.

Kurtzhau stops with one foot on the floor. "What happens next, Daddy? Does he kill the dragon? Does he survive?"

I smile. "You only get to hear this story for the first time, once. So, I'm not telling."

He squirms, but he knows the rule. Me, I'm envious. Imagine experiencing Welch's "Sun of York" and not knowing how Tewkesbury will turn out? Or, his "Knight Crusader" and not knowing whether anybody will survive Arsuf, given how badly the Horns of Hattin went?

And the finale of Beowulf, in all its forms, packs a punch on the first reading, and Kurtzhau somehow can't quite make it to the floor where his Playmobil knights and galloglasses are at war.

The white-bearded king dons his ringmail war-sark and his boar-crested helmet and prepares to go alone to what will be his final battle. As they arm him, he sings his death song. Kurtzhau huddles closer—

--and just then the track changes to "Broadsword".

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.

The story resonates with the song's theme of fighting for hearth and home, and – damn me - now there's a lump in my throat and I struggle to read on.

The two of us together live through the dragon fight, the flight of Beowulf's thanes, all except Wiglaf who tips the balance in his lord's favor. Now Beowulf lies dying, poisoned by dragon venom.

Kurtzhau and I both hold each other, sharing a blast of emotions from our ancestors' cold Dark Ages.

Abruptly, Kurtzhau slips off the bed and rummages with his plastic figures.

 "Oh well," I think. "He's done pretty well for a—"

 He bounces back to join me and thrusts a Playmobil barbarian at me. "This guy can be Wiglaf from now on. Now read the end!"

Afterwards, he's outraged that the story is so short, and we talk about how lucky we are to have the story at all, and about bards and praise singers, and the irony that the two episodes of Beowulf's life to come down to us are the ones that emphatically did not happen.

"What happened to Wiglaf?"

I shrug. "Was there a theory he lead a Germanic tribe to Britain? Sorry - I can't remember and we've no Internet access here. But if there were any poems about him, they're lost."

Kurtzhau considers. "Somebody ought to write a sequel."

Information, just like my mum's neighbour's sheep, wants to be free. However, like the sheep, there are people whose livelihoods rely on erecting fences and charging money.

Unfortunately, most of the arguments that the IP-ranchers field, whatever their moral validity, fail as rhetoric.

"It's mine, so copying is stealing it, just like stealing a sheep" invites the pirate to feel as edgy and roguish as a real sheep thief.

It also triggers the wilfully tangential retort that nothing has actually been removed, that the cloning of your sheep does not prevent you from enjoying it. Then we get into; Well, it’s more like I've got this rare breed that took ages to refine and you sneak a ewe into the field with my ram and...

And I'm afraid persuasion doesn't work this way.

Some bug in human reasoning means it usually plays out as "argument chicken" where the more complex argument always loses (unless – god help me - it's pseudoscientific or theological).

Then there's the, "You're hurting the IP owner(s)", which earns responses like, "So what, most of the money just goes to a megacorp...", "Not very much... what's a fiver to a megacorp?" and "Actually, I couldn’t afford it otherwise". And suddenly we're arguing moral relativity and... and... and our chicken just got run over by the juggernaut... AGAIN.

Ultimately, people can always find an argument to justify their own self interest.

Strangely, however, there is one powerful example of people being persuaded to choose their long- over their short-term interest, and to act in the interests of a wider community. I am, of course, talking about the Green Movement.

Leaving the lights on, binning packaging and kitchen waste, and taking that jet to go on a driving holiday; each act of eco-sin has a tiny impact on the planet. However, we are painfully aware that our aggregated actions damage the ecology of the planet, for us, and for future generations. So, we switch off lights, recycle bags of rancid packaging, wrestle rat-infested compost heaps, take carbon neutral holidays....

In a similar manner, copying artistic information – especially books and music – damages the Creative Ecosystem. Like littering and patio heating, each act is arguably justifiable, but the total effect of all our actions – whatever the justifications – is to destroy the thing we love.

If creatives and their support system – which is really what agents and publishers are – don't get paid for their work, the system will collapse and then mutate into something we won't like.  

In a future or free-range information, people who will consistently produce music and literature will fall into the following categories:

• Sponsored – Yes, all that freedom-loving piracy effectively hands over the creative world to the agenda-pushing hand of big business and government. (I'm afraid that a Public Lending Rights model of siphoning off an Internet tariff, sniffing downloads, and handing out dosh accordingly still hands over control to government).
• Rich – Nice to know that leisured young men and women will be able to hole up in daddy's summer house to push out darling tales of mystery and romance.
• Crazy – Enough said.

So, next time I find myself in this kind of argument, I'll say:

"That's all very well, but your actions help to damage the very creative ecosystem that feeds your mind."

So, I polished off a draft of Chapter 1, and then I'm confronted with this...

Bugger!

It's all stuff that needs to happen.  (All, that is, except the last clause which no longer fits the story logic; Sergius is a spy for the Good Guys, but the Ninjas of Doom (not their real name), are able to intercept his reports. No way they'd off him.)  However, I can't quite see how a series of scenes would explode out of that rather unpromising summary.

The first thing is to take what I have and see if it fits any sort of rhythm of move and counter-move:  

NOD attempt to steal the eye, but the temple defences defeat them. >>> They decide to let Conrad steal the Eye for them. >>> TAVIA the Temple Archivist is now suspicious of the Eye.

CITY CAPTAIN goes to arrest Conrad on suspicion of the attempted heist x he has a good alibi.

Tavia asks Conrad about the eye, but he demands access in return. >>She says she can lead him to the next best thing.  

Yes, strangely, it's already expanded. Characters and threads that feature later in the outline now appear - quite properly - here. There's still something missing in the cause and effect. For a start, why is Conrad a suspect?  

Conrad applies for access to the Eye, but the Temple rebuffs him. Sergius wants him to steal it, but Conrad thinks its not worth the risk for a mere clue. >> They will see what other information they can pick up.

NOD attempt to steal the eye, but the temple defences defeat them. >>> They decide to let Conrad steal the Eye for them. >>> TAVIA the Temple Archivist is now suspicious of the Eye.

CITY CAPTAIN goes to arrest Conrad on suspicion of the attempted heist x he has a good alibi.

Tavia asks Conrad about the eye, but he demands access in return. >>She says she can lead him to the next best thing.

Sergius reports to his masters that Conrad is not going for the Eye. NOD intercept this and decide to arrange for the City to be sacked so they can make a 2nd attempt.  

This looks better now; a good chain of move and counter-move; if you like, the roleplaying narrative However, not all of it belongs on screen. Do we really need to see Conrad getting the rebuff from the temple bureaucracy? This is Sword and Sorcery, so I'm not entirely sure. If the pacing turns out to be too manic, then I migth go back and put it in. However, Sergius writing a report doesn't really deserve a scene.

So, this gives me the provisional scene outline: 

Returning to the chapter summary, I now have: 
 

I like to keep the chapter summaries up-to-date. It'll help me keep my drafting focussed, and also make it easier to revise and expand them later. 

Now all I have to do is expand each scene outline into beats, and then into text....
 

Thanks to a satisfied client, I have some free licenses for Zemana AntiLogger - lightweight security software that doesn't bother with sig files etc, just looks for bad stuff happening and sits on it... kind of like really good nightclub security. I've been using it for  a year, as has my dad.

Anway, PM me if you want one.

"What's he?" Kurtzhau points at an illustration of a half-naked Viking warrior with a wolf's head for a helmet.

It's bedtime and I've just read him his first Harold Lamb tale - "Longsword" from Swords from the Sea, the only one I could find that was remotely age-appropriate for a 6-year-old - and now we're looking at  maps of the Viking world, and browsing an old Wargames Research Group Dark Age handbook.

"He's a Berserker," I say, with an echo of the enthusiasm of my youth.
 
I know all about Berserkers.

They were my adolescent wish-fulfillment alter ego; rage incarnate transcending into red-raw power... an end-run around responsibility, training and discipline to arrive at a significant place in the adult world. Mary Sue, if you like, but with less clothing and more steel.

"They go crazy in combat," I say. "Gnaw their shields... tear off their clothes, throw away their weapons, sometimes. Everybody was scared of them because they didn't care if they got wounded."

Kurtzhau's eyes widen. "WHAT? Even With a Spear?"

"Yep. You stick him with your spear, and he runs right up the thing and rips off your head with his bare--."

Kurtzhau interrupts. "What about in the throat?"

"Um.. yes..."

His eyes narrow. "Or the heart?"

And then I remember an episode from the saga of Gretir the Strong... and when the cool-headed Gretir takes out the berserkers one-by-one, Kurtzhau's eyes narrow and he nods approval.

Next week he'll be presented with yet another Judo belt...

Martin's Vikings have razed your farm buildings, slaughtered and eaten your animals, and set fire to your vehicles and crops. Everything they could not carry away has been destroyed. But - hey - Vikings aren't all bad! Some of them are merchants as well as pirates, so if you're lucky, you might be able to buy back some of your stuff.

I( assume the arsonist broke his ankle while trying to make his get away.)

What arsonist? Gosh, was he still in?

"Yes, we're only just starting to find them," says Astronomer Dad, talking about earth-like alien planets. "Did you see that picture by Carl Sagan?"

"No?" I say, very interested - gotta love the catchment area of the local school! - but half distracted.

It's school Sports Day, and Kurtzhau -age 6 - is there in his long shorts and house T-shirt, waiting to take part in the egg-and-spoon race.

He keeps raising his fists above his head and kind of squinting at me significantly.

"Oh, that's what he's doing..."

( Read more... )
I can't disappoint him, so I mime a quick - understated - Krumphau.

"The one where he got the Voyager probe to look back at the Earth?"  continues Astronomer Dad. "It's just this blue speck, with atrail of dust."

"Awesome," I say. "But if we could find a trace of life on just one planet, it would..."

Kurtzhau drops his hands. Now his imaginary sword pommel rests on his back hip.  He's in a perfect Pflug, and he's looking at me the way a dragon does when it wants you to eat  a piece of fish it just regurgitated.

"Kurtzhau's doing German longsword guards at me," I confess and mime a Schielhau. "Don't mind me." And the conversation turns to my hobby, and quickly back to stars and planets, and how scientists should communicate with the world.

Meanwhile Kurtzhau angles his hands so that his invisible blade points down into Alber.

And I mime a quick Scheitelhau....

Had a day to myself and devoted it to writing. Managed to polish off the new chapter one, from outline to first draft and totalled just under 3,000 words for some six hours work - took breaks at various times, of course.

If I extrapolate to the 100K mark, it's a little daunting. However, in my defence, openings take more work - introducing characters and finding ways to write about the speculative elements - and fight scenes tend to be low on conversation.

Ho hum.