Declining, The Better Way? Disinclination - Worrying Factor? - IWSG

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and sequel CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.


No cartoons this time, humour may or may not make an appearance. I started writing again 1 1/2 years ago. Happy to post my best pieces (you can beg to differ, no sweat) on my blog, being new to the chances in the publishing world, especially online. I realised albeit 5 months back, in Nov 11 that the tiny (OK, huge, colossal...I get the point) lack of knowledge meant that 75% of my work is now unfit for online publication, even if less than a dozen souls have read each of the works. 
Then I wrote some more,  submitted, followed by the rejections. Most were standard - we can't use it now, doesn't fit  in our style and so on kinds. The first one in Dec 11 made me cry for an hour...but the thick skin developed over time. 
Until two things happened, back to back.
 A poetry of mine got brutally dissected by three editors of an Ezine with comments like too general, can't understand the point, unreadable style.

Silent prayers for

success that eludes.
Journey back and forth
on an ever changing road.
Doing whatever it takes

to make time stop still,

if only for a few moments
to gather baggage and quilt.

Trudge across the finishing line,
the one, that loves playing vile tricks,

further down the road, it forever, spins.

Proclaim myself victorious,

to find, obstacles strewn across, 

newer, stronger, unexpected

Blasphemous messages to ancestors gone,

Unheard.

The mocking Gods roll over in mirth,

pointing at this "puny human" in distress.

Then a unfamiliar blogger writer added insult to injury by not just calling out to my punctuation (that's fine, I look out for genuine critique anyway) but dissed my self respect by sending me, without the courtesy of prior intimation, a 'not asked for' ebook on punctuation along with a left-handed compliment.
 I may be a struggling writer even a bad one but I can buy my own books, thank you!
Free books, good ones, I love them, who doesn't? - but that's what giveaways, contests, review forums, author approved/publisher or site sponsored  'free book' promotions are for.

Strangely, both have made me question my writing skills. As of now, I write because it's literally my lifeline in a lonely world, but publication is no longer my goal. 

 Which brings us to the title, is it better to get standard rejections? Is disinclination a death knell for my passion?


On the bright side, I am still going to create a free Smashwords chapbook of some my poetry pieces in June as a birthday gift to myself.
Much brighter, I am slowly getting out of the anaemic phase with my haemoglobin count going up. Hopefully, the clean bill of health, the magical 11.5 will come in a couple of months. Till then, my parents will have to bear the tired, irritable, forgetful Rek.
 Till then, my sensitive stomach will have to put with the iron and folate pills...sigh.
The brightest, next month's  IWSG will see a positive post, even a humourous one if I can pull it.


For the ones who still visit , a self created joke - do pamper the sick even if it isn't funny...
Why would vampires avoid the 'synthesised blood' banks?
 They prefer the organic variety to plastic.

RandomMusings For The Day #46

Is addiction really such a bad thing? Dark chocolate for weight loss, red wine in moderation for the heart, brain puzzles to stave off dementia, writing memes to keep the creative juices flowing, ezine rejections for staying humble(poor) and the A-Z for an excuse to bring the old Olympus out. ;)

p.s. I am rejoining the A-Z but only with my 'ready to post' pictures on my photo blog, well, so far have 20 of them.

The Dance - New Beginnings

 This piece is for the blogfest at Unicornbell.

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.
Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space.Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the Swiss knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.
I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on even Stefanek, the village bully. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fleeting courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward. She was still breathing. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her in my arms as tenderly as I could and fled through the back door.

***

I have been standing for more than an hour in the abandoned house on the hillock, watching with tired eyes and limbs the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way. The flood waters would take a week or more to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.

This has been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him, "Make them pay."

They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, violated the elder sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 

A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining,  "Let's go. It's cold here."

I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. Our clan control the elements, a gift passed from the mother to her first born. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the the ones who accused him of black magic.

I stood silently for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.

Harman* loves the rustling sounds around us. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more.The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories for our survival.

The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.

We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 

"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"

"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 703

*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.

A Ring Of Finality

*Used the phrase, with a necessary change in adaptation given the cultural setting*

'She wears my ring', the lingering smile on his face announced to all the attendees at the wedding reception.

His fidgety movements betrayed his impatience over her delayed appearance.

"Relax. These ladies always turn up late, must be busy with her makeover." said his cousin shrugging his shoulders casually.

His movements eased but barely so. His relatives had echoed similar sentiments, using different words at various stages of the wedding.

"Stop asking these silly questions. Brides are nervous on their wedding day."

His nosy aunt had stated, overhearing the words exchanged by him and the best mate.

"We girls are excepted to be shy and modest, at least on such days." The sister had butted in with her wise tuppence patting his arm for added effect.

Maybe they were right, they were experienced after all. Her quiet, solemn look, her rare glancing his way could be explained thus, couldn't it?

His heartache lessened and he went back to standing at the entrance to the lobby.

***

Through the final touches of make up, she twirled the diamond engagement ring.on her hand. Glancing at the mirror in front of her, the black and gold beads among other jewellery on her neck glinted back, signalling her married status.

She touched them gingerly with her finger tips eliciting a gentle admonishing from the beautician.

"Madam, please keep your hands down, the nail paint will get blotchy."

Inspecting her fingernails, the young girl sighed,

"See, I have to redo it." looking around for a bottle of remover.

She apologised with a smile and stared at the ring instead. Little joy there, rather the feel of it on her finger felt like a heavy weight on her soul. Her heart still beating for another. The charming boy with the impish grin who had wound his way into her heart, only to break it into countless pieces years later.

Her husband was a good man deserving more than she could offer. They were family friends, her parents adored him as his loved her. He had always encouraged her, made her laugh.

*** 

Her transfer would take time. This year of separation would turn out to be a blessing. Looking into his adoring eyes as he took her hand in his, she promised herself, he would never know that their marriage had begun as a compromise for her.

wc 388 .

 For Romantic Friday writers

A Race To Live Or Ruin - A Book Review

The Curse Of Gremdon - Ciara Knight

Crescent Moon Press  

Genre - Speculative Fiction - Fantasy/ Adult Fiction
Novel - 282 pages, Price $ 7.99
Available at Amazon Kindle Store

Blurb:

In a world where marriage is forbidden, sex is only granted to male warriors, and the outer realm is full of murderous creatures, Arianna fights to protect the life of her only living relative, her brother.Tardon, an elite warrior, is granted anything he desires by the Elders, but finds little joy in the voluptuous women presented to him. Born for the bloodlust found only in battle, complicated emotions emerge when he discovers his equal in the alluring warrior, Arianna. Charged by the Elders with saving the castle from  attack, Tardon and Arianna risk the curse when they traverse the vast outer realm to retrieve serum from the Tree of Life. If successful, the Elders have promised Tardon the right to marry and Arianna the cure for her brother’s death fever. Will their love carry them through or will the discovery of a great deception be their ultimate demise

This is a fantasy set in the kingdom of Gremdon, basically a sword and sorcery style of story telling. The magic is not visible in daily life and yet is very much there in the background, playing a crucial part.

I liked the author's focus on the two main characters, elite warriors Arianna and Tardon allowing the readers to explore their interaction, romantic and otherwise. The world around them is created with painstaking detail and clarity that one feels a part of the narrative.

 The secondary characters are well developed and some of them linger on after the ending. Ex Warrior Saldor's feelings for Arianna vacillating between friendship and love, her brother's natural affinity towards the deprived and troubled, the enforcers and the apprentice's penchant for using their powers to control and subjugate enhance the progression of the story.
Despite the romantic tension, its not all rosy and their task to retrieve the sap from the tree of life is beset with obstacles and live threatening dangers.
 Though it does drag a bit in the beginning, it picks up pace fast enough. The twist and turns keeps one engrossed and at the edge of the seat unable to predict what comes next.
The superb twist in the end really catches the reader unawares, though the author leaves subtle hints throughout the book.
Some may find the dark, shadowy world a bit sexist with the male warriors being pampered by the Elders. Arianna is the only female warrior  where most of the women are engaged in other activities. But  this only makes the Elders ruled world that much more realistic.
There are strong romantic scenes which fall in the spicy category of romance rating - Sweet -> Hot -> Spicy.
I give this a 4.5/5 rating.
I recommend this enjoyable read to all fantasy lovers looking for a tale well told and surprisingly different.


I received a copy for review through the group Knights of the Round Table on Goodreads. 


Personal Disclaimer: Though this book was a free copy received for the purpose of review, the post in entirety is my basic impression after reading the book twice. It is not based on intervention by the author, publishing house or the book forum.