Star Wars- I was introduced to it at such a young age that it feels like it has always been part of my life. The Original Trilogy held a time honored place in the pantheon of Most Important Movies, especially Return of the Jedi. The first notes of John William’s score would wail and shake as the worn VHS played through the quiet beginning, a hooded Luke approaching the Hutt den to free Han. I can remember the thrill as both Lando and Leia revealed themselves, the triumph of Boba Fett dropping into the sarlaac and the Princess killing Jabba. The end was just as spectacular, the battle of Endor played out in the redwood forests my family would visit almost every summer. Speeder bikes screaming through the undergrowth, Ewoks fighting back against the interlopers who sought to occupy their forest. And Luke, his loneliness a weight as heavy as his father’s body, watching Anakin burn.
I won’t talk about the prequels (everyone else already has), and I can’t claim to have read any Star Wars novels before this or any other works by Chuck Wendig. So there are probably many things I’m missing out on with my initial reading of Aftermath, but I enjoyed it regardless, and really appreciated what Mr. Wendig attempted to do here.
Onward, to the review!
If you’re one of the ones who grew up loving Narnia, then there is always a small part of you looking for the light in Lantern Waste, peeking into coat-filled wardrobes, and studying paintings of old ships. And there’s always that odd feeling of being slightly displaced, for you touched another world, let it sink it’s claws into you- and now you’re never truly home.
Loneliness makes tracks through our souls like feet on virgin snow, hollowed and soft and shadowed…
Books from the Past Edition
All right everyone, I’ll admit it, I’m behind on books. Of course everyone is- but it’s starting to make me feel guilty. So far I’ve finished six books this year, but there are so many great series out there I haven’t touched because I have an irrational fear of not loving them as much as things I have loved in the past. Look, I never claimed to be logical- OK?
I am especially referring to the fantasy genre- the one I write in and want to be published in. It’s a challenge though, because in times of revolution and change and in grappling with becoming more self aware I have been leaning towards fiction and nonfiction that I feel will widen my world view. But this world is exhausting and depressing, and sometimes I want a break- preferably on the back of a dragon. So, while everyone has already made their lists of things they are most looking forward to being released this year, I am making a list of things to catch up on. Fantasy things, maybe a few sci-fi things as well, but magic is usually what I’m looking for, in life and in writing.
Just a little essay I whipped up while trying to resist the urge to light everything on fire. I am almost thirty and I think I’m failing at adulthood. Also I am afraid- of everything. I get more time to write and suddenly the “publish” button becomes a creature of nightmares. Here is an analogy about writing, looked at through the lens of baking- two things I usually love but on occasion make me want to die. Or at least get melodramatic. Or get tequila even though I don’t drink, but sometimes I feel like iiiiit. More on that later.
Writing your first novel is sort of like baking a cake from scratch.
And you’ve never even set foot in the kitchen. You’ve seen it from a distance, possible touched things within, but the inner workings are as complicated as your friends home- brewed D&D/Dune crossover campaign that’s lasted five years.
So, you start with the idea- you know you want cake, but you aren’t even one hundred percent sure what sort of cake you want. This leads to research, books read, blogs scrutinized, Chuck Windig cornered, kidnapped, questioned, then Neuralized by Agent J and released, and three weeks of making a Pinterest board; slowly, you narrow it down. You eliminate the sort of cakes you don’t like, which, if you’re like me, is not many, and you are left a with a bunch you do. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that funfetti box mix and frosting combo though- that stuffs legit. Continue reading
This berrybox full of foxes
Cry moonsong to the light
With the crack and smash
Of the axeheads song
Singing through the night
Robins on the windowsill
Their wingbeats a lullaby
Sing a song of black birds
When the wind is in the rye
Carry the firewood through emerald grass
And passed the green ivy wall
Up to the oaken eagle door
Which speaks of the coming fall
There is Rosemary under the doormat
Mint and Lavender too
Calling to the Fates of Good Fortune
That dance where the West Wind blew
The altar waits in the tall grass
Where cats-paw will lead the way
Passed Blackberry and Roses
To something wild and fey
Stay there, safe in your own world
Unbroken and armor-clad
Call the rain, call the starfall, the dazzling light
And remember the dreams that you had.
We’re missing home…
Technically, Fort Bragg California isn’t home- except that it has changed less over the years then my own childhood home has. I’ve been going there for as long as I can remember; stretched out on rickety hotel beds with my sister watching Back to the Future while my parents figured out where we’d go for dinner. Then years later, on my honeymoon. My husband and I go back every year now, usually multiple times; it gets in your bones, in your blood. Makes you ache for quiet streets and grey mornings, the sun shining off the sea, the cry of gulls over the harbor.