How can I preserve my authenticity and creativity while trying to produce “Industry Standard” work?

Transcript (mostly) of a LinkedIn message exchange:

Hi Joseph,
I hope this meets you well. Would you mind taking a minute to give me your opinion on something I’ve been curious about for some time now. I’ll really appreciate it.
Here goes: How can I preserve my authenticity and creativity while trying to produce “Industry Standard” work?
I’ll be looking forward to your reply

This came out of the blue from a fellow author and took me by surprise. I’m happy to do what I can, and replied: Continue reading “How can I preserve my authenticity and creativity while trying to produce “Industry Standard” work?”

Throughlines

a recurring character/setting/element anchoring the reader in the story that keeps the reader interested

I use throughlines in my own writing and mentioned them previously in Using One-Line Summaries to Write Better Stories and Writing Mentoring.

Recent conversations demonstrated confusion; some people thought a throughline is the same as a plot line, some thought a throughline was an expanded TOC (Table-of-Contents), some thought…

I appreciate the confusion.

I also appreciate Einstein’s “If you can’t explain it to a six year old, you don’t understand it yourself.”

Therefore, I’m either about to explain throughlines to a six-year old or demonstrate I don’t understand it myself.

Let me know which I achieve.


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Tag – Part I Verduan of Nant – Chapter 2

Here’s chapter two of the rewrite of the rewrite of the…

Read the original chapter 2.
Read Tag…One More Time – Part I Verduan of Nant – Chapter 1.


Tag – Part I Verduan of Nant – Chapter 2

Patreo motioned Verduan inside. Verduan’s eyes grew wide as he scanned Patreo’s workbench with its balms and salves and powders and distilling vessels placed within easy reach, his shelves of open and stoppered flasks, drying herbs, books; Patreo’s cottage held more of study than of sleep. His nose twitched at the pungent aires coming from Patreo’s mortar and pestle and he focused his attention there.

“What can I do for you, Verduan of Nant?”

“You are Father Patreo?”

“Patreo of Tomeka, yes. And anointed in the Occitan Order, yes.” Patreo waved a hand over his workbench. “Does this disturb you?”

“I expected an older man. This is your rectory?”

“This is my home. Where I study.”

“Where is your church?”

“I’m in disfavor with the bishopric.” Patreo kept his eyes on Verduan’s face. “At present.”

Verduan looked up and met Patreo’s gaze. He smiled weakly and swallowed.

Patreo motioned to a stool in front of his workbench. “Perhaps some wine after your long journey. It must have taken you, what, seven days to get here?”

Verduan sat mechanically. “Five.”

Patreo lifted a pitcher and poured wine into a goblet. He uncorked a flask on a shelf and dribbled some liquid into the goblet before handing it to Verduan.

The big man sipped. “Thank you.” He swallowed a mouthful. “Your wine is good. Sweet. Flowery. It’s taste is unfamiliar. What fruit bears this wine?” He downed a second mouthful.

“Poppy juice. To help you relax after your trip.” Patreo held the flask under Verduan’s nose. “What story hurries you from Nant to Tomeka in five days time?”

Verduan let his pack slide from his shoulders and lowered his staff to the hard planked floor. “My son. And his espoused. They are cursed for chopping off the hand of witch.”

Patreo took Verduan’s goblet, refilled it, and handed it to him. “Tell me more.”


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Lucinda

Ah, another raccoon lass makes her appearance.

As you watch this, you can hear the construction on the other side of the woods.

We are seeing a greater diversity of wildlife and few individuals as of late, largely in part to the construction. There are three multi-unit (with the emphasis on “multi”) buildings now. Plus storage and community center. Parking.

Our woods were so peaceful for so many years.

We can see their lights through the trees now that most of the leaves have fallen.

And a greater diversity of The Wild come to us.

Perhaps for comfort.

Perhaps for peace.

Definitely for peanuts, cookies, and dog food.

And we are happy to give.

Because the return is too great to do without.

 

Tag…One More Time – Part I Verduan of Nant – Chapter 1

Okay.

I shared a couple of chapters of Tag, a work-in-progress, last month and you can read the backstory there.

Well…I got about 80 pages written and realized I was rushing the story, not letting it develop the way it needed to, so I started over.

And here’s the rewrite of the first chapter.

Do let me know what you think.

Before I rewrite it again.


Tag – Part I Verdant of Nant – Chapter 1

Father Patreo looked up from his workbench. Well-soled boots crunched dry earth as someone made their way to his small cottage. A book lay opened to Patreo’s side, the pages illuminated with strange beasts. He used a leather strip to mark his place and closed it. Gray, yellow, and ochre powders lay in separate, small piles on his workbench and he covered them with a white, muslin cloth.

He closed his eyes and focused on the footsteps.

Male. Heavy. Healthy heavy, not sickly heavy.

Patreo frowned. Most visitors to his cottage came sickly.

A horse clomped and cart wheels squeaked from the opposite direction. The footsteps, horse clomps, and squeaking cart wheels combined into a strange rhythm, music from an unknown land; step step clomp clomp squeak, step step clomp clomp squeak, step step clomp clomp squeak. It made an interesting contrasts to the birds singing in his gardens.

Patreo glanced at the sunlight coming in his far window. Baron Konstigian’s mistress would be by soon. She carried the Baron’s child and Konstigian wanted no bastards in his court. If she did not rid herself of the child, the Baron would slaughter her before the child quickened.

He shuffled his stool to a clear space on his workbench and winced at the screeching sound it made on the hard wood floor, pulled over his mortar and pestle, and reached for pennyroyal and fenugreek. He crushed the leaves and stems by hand into the bowl then ground them into a fine powder, the cupping of the mortar and the turning of the pestle familiar, comforting motions, like the stars and planets, the sun and moon in their orbits.


Greetings! I’m your friendly, neighborhood Threshold Guardian. This is a protected post. Protected posts in the My Work, Marketing, and StoryCrafting categories require a subscription (starting at 1$US/month) to access. Protected posts outside those categories require a General (free) membership.
Members and Subscribers can LogIn. Non members can join. Non-protected posts (there are several) are available to everyone.
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