Tesi

The Barefoot Author

Walking Gently Where This World and Imagination Meet


In the ebb...and in the flow...

Published by Tesi under on Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Because this is what I was reading today, and I found it to be amazing. I find myself enchanted by cycles and rhythms of all kinds, and the sea is one of the most compelling there is. Everything, I find, turns in a rhythm. Call it a cycle, or the Wheel of Time, or whatever you like; what is, has been before, what is past will come again. The question is--will you fight it? Or embrace the beauty of it?

"So beautiful is the still hour of the sea's withdrawal, as beautiful as the sea's return when encroaching waves pound up the beach, pressing to reach those dark rumpled chains of seaweed which mark the last high tide.


"We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanence, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity -- in freedom, in the sense that dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hopng even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what it was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now."

-Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea


Posted by Tesi

Another example...

Published by Tesi under on Monday, May 23, 2011


Yet another re-write I'm pretty proud of. This morning, this is how the paragraph read:


Sabas didn't disappoint. He lifted gently, rising above the trees, moving toward the circling sarkan, ready to return. A touch and a word from Devyn turned him and sent him back to the wreck of the camp. It reeked of drying blood, but Sabas didn't hesitate as he dropped into the space between the trees. Carefully, as if he knew the need, he wrapped his great talons around the men and lifted them with him to the sky. The weight was awkward, slowing him, but he took his place at the front and the others fell into line behind him, flying into the darkest part of the night.






And now:




The clearing was a shrine to carnage. It reeked of fresh blood, putrifying as it soaked into the thirsty dirt. Twisted bodies lay where they had fallen, pieces torn away and thrown aside or missing entirely. Devyn wanted to close his eyes, to pull Sabas away and return without seeing. On raids, he was always one of the first to call his sarkan back--back to the emptiness of the sky. The men thought it was so he could keep watch.


His empty stomach turned and he tasted the acid of sickness in his throat. This is your fault. Your fault. Your fault. It was no longer his father's voice, in his head. Now, in the dead darkness, it was his own.
Swallowing down the burning in his throat, Devyn gently guided Sabas lower, until he was close enough for his voice to carry to the ground.


"Go back to your sarkan! Stay clear of the trees!" Shadowy movement within the copse told him he'd been heard and he let Sabas swing away and pull up again, circling. The other sarkan were high above them; Devyn thought he could feel their riders' eyes on his back, watching. Waiting. Hoping they weren't about to see their companions slaughtered.


The men had moved into the clearing, the corpse of their sarkan a wall between them and the dead. Devyn shifted Sabas' reins to his left hand and leaned forward as far as he could, his hand running gently along Sabas' neck. It was still tacky with blood.


"We need to bring them home, Sabas." Did the sarkan cock his head back to listen? Or was it Devyn's imagination? "Will you help me bring them home?"


A light touch on the reins drew Sabas into the drop. Wings open to slow his fall, he drifted toward the men with a cautiousness Devyn had never seen him use. Carefully, as if he knew the need, he wrapped his great talons around the men and lifted them with him to the sky. The weight was awkward, throwing him off balance, but he compensated quickly and was more than ready when Devyn signaled their return home.


Of course, it's longer now, but...I'm pretty sure it's worth it. :-)


Copyright 2011, by Tesi

Rewriting

Published by Tesi under on Sunday, May 22, 2011
So, I'm in the re-write stage of my WIP. Some days this is just frustrating, because what I really want to be doing is making new story, but I'm stuck making an "old" story better. Other days, I find myself relieved to get to fix bad writing. It's sort of like sweeping my carpeted stairs. I hate doing it, I put it off for weeks, but when I do it--when they're clean, I wonder why I didn't realize earlier what a difference it would make to clean them up. 


(I would use mopping my floors as an analogy here, but I'm currently in the midst of a frustrating can't-find-soap-that-doesn't-leave-a-film-on-my-wood-floor experience, so the analogy would just fail miserably.)


But as a taste, here's two paragraphs--before and after. I'd be interested to know what you think of the difference three re-writes make. 



Before:
Devyn's band left with the moonrise, dropping into the darkness below the plateau before lifting far above the camp. Sabas met the sky with eagerness as they turned toward the moon, swollen and red with its own new life. His wings cut through the air in heavy strokes, the deep whump of their motion reverberating through Devyn's bones. Reaching up, he adjusted the leather goggles Captain had brought back from a recent trip to the market. Devyn wasn't sure if he liked the goggles, but fiddling with them served as a distraction from the voice in his head. It was a familiar voice, one he attributed to his father, though he wasn't sure any more if that was true or just a story that gave him comfort.
"Red moon," it said, quietly. "Blood will be shed this night. Blood will be shed."


After:
The moon hovered above the black horizon, swollen and red with new life against the ash grey sky. Sabas rose into the sky eagerly, his muscles tight with anticipation. His wings cut through the hot air in heavy strokes, their beat pulsing through Devyn like a heartbeat. Devyn closed his eyes and let the rush of air run fingers through his hair and over his body, wishing it could pull away the voice in his mind, too. His father's voice, he had always thought, though he wasn't sure, anymore, if it or he just wanted it to be. Either way, he didn't like what it was saying tonight.
"Red moon," it was whispering, over and over. "Blood will be shed this night. Blood will be shed."

I find it interesting that, frequently, re-writing consists greatly of removing words. Trimming the fat, I guess--saying more with less. I think I managed that here but, as I said, I'd be interested in your thoughts. Meanwhile, I'm going to bed. 

After I finish sweeping my stairs.

 

Lipsum

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