However, mainly to prove I can write fantasy and it's wayyy easier than it looks, I started writing a fantasy novel. The beauty of fantasy is I can say whatever I want you have to take it as truth. You're already going in knowing it's ridiculous, because it's fantasy. In a "real world" novel you have to consider the real ramifications of actions and life. If you don't people get angry; think it's too Hollywood, or get like me and say "that would never happen." That doesn't happen in fantasy as far as I can tell. The impossible is the reality so just write whatever you want.
Anyway, so here's what I got so far. It's not much but I got it all planned out. Just need to take the time to do it. As a side note, my wife enjoyed it and said she'll laugh at me when it's actually good and that because it's good she wonders if all fantasy writers started out making fun of fantasy. Who could blame them?
I never know what to make of
nights like these. The lands outside are damp, for it storms here often, has
for years. I’m told it didn’t used to be that way but I suppose if you never
experienced it any other way you don’t mind. The night air is humid with a
smell that’s at once familiar but always takes you by surprise: rain mixed with miles and miles of dirt. We
see trees in the distance, like we see ants on the ground. They’re in the Salt
Lands and quite simply, it’s just too far away. Don’t get me wrong, we have
bushes, and even small trees and an array of different plants for different
purposes but nothing like what the Salt Lands must possess.
Anyway, what makes tonight so strange is the silence. It’s never silent. Every night I lay here I hear lignats, those
dirty poisonous lizards, who, if you’re lucky enough to see them, will fly from
tree to tree with the webbing that stretches from the front legs to the hind
legs. They make a sound that’s
unmistakable, and unidentifiable. All I know is that it only makes the sound
when it’s killed something; the sound of death.
Though it sends chills up my spine when I hear them they are hardly the
worst creatures out there. There are draffles, trihorns, and slingerdorfs. If
my little sister was not sleeping beside me peacefully I would tell you the
horrors of these creatures but I’m just not that cruel. Plus, she is a light
sleeper and makes terrifying noises of her own when she’s woken up.
Of all the
noises that are absent tonight the one that brings hope, but also scares me, is
the absence of the War.
“Caleb?” Apparently my sister was not asleep. She’s good at pretending.
“Yeah,”
“When did it start?”
“When did what start?”
“The One War,” She must have
noticed the silence, too. “When did the One War start?”
I took in a deep breath. “Oh,
Tessie, it’s been going on before I was born.”
“Before mom and dad were born?”
“No it wasn’t that long ago.”
Another voice invaded our
conversation. “What are you trying to say, Caleb?” It was my mother, standing
in the doorway to our room. She smiled that old smile, the one that told me my
foot shaped mouth had done it again.
“Just that the War is not that
old..."
“And we are?” And again.
“You know what I meant,” my face
was turning red now. “I know it started the year I was born and I’m only seventeen."
My mom sat down on Tess’ bed across
from me. She played with Tess’ black hair and said, “ Seventeen years is a short
life, but a long war.” Somehow, I thought she wasn’t talking about the War
anymore.
“What started it, mama?” Tessie
was always curious. At only ten she had the right to be but mom always told her
that ‘curiosity killed the kalawhacker.’ None of us had ever seen a
kalawhacker; we just knew we’d kill one if we got too curious. This revelation
didn’t faze my sister.
“Like most wars, honey, it was
over something others couldn’t have. Sometimes it’s oil, food, land or
sometimes even a fight over the Creator but in our case it’s a tunnel.”
“That’s it?” Tessie was as
confused as I was. I had never asked about the war, like most people I just
accepted its reality.
“Unfortunately,” She looked
outside, a glaze coming over her eyes. “It’s supposedly not an ordinary tunnel.
It’s never been proven it exists but some have claimed to have seen it and even
walked through it.” She stopped for a moment. I had questions I wanted ask like
‘where were those people’. There was a
clear debate in her eyes of whether to continue. “The tunnel,” she continued,
“is said to lead into another world; one that far surpasses the beauty of this
one. No one quite knows what that means, though. No more war? No more death?
Colors we haven’t seen? Knowledge we can’t obtain? It’s all very silly,
sweetheart.”
I chimed in now: “Do you think
it exists?”
“Does it matter? If the Maker
wanted us in that world, we’d be in that world.” As simple and beautiful as her
faith was, that wasn’t a sufficient answer for me so I asked again. Her smile
faded and then she said, “Sometimes I’d like to believe it does. I’d like to believe
that we’re not it; not all He made. If we are… then we’re in a lot of trouble.”
I stared at her, and then asked where
the people were that walked through the tunnel. “We never saw them again. We
all wanted to believe they were right. That they were in the other world.”
“The truth though is that
they’re—“
She cut me off: “Still
searching.”
I locked eyes with her. “Right.”
Tessie hadn’t said a word, only
looked from mom to me. She broke the tension. “Can you tell us a bedtime
story?”
Mom smiled, “I thought I just
did. A secret tunnel to another world isn’t good enough for you? C.S. Stolken
couldn’t make that stuff up.” Tess made a huff
sound. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I know he’s your favorite author. How
‘bout you go pick out one of his book and we’ll read a chapter?” Tess liked
that idea and went and picked out the second of his three books: The
Chronicles of the Ring: Who has it now?
