The Bibliotheca

How to Cure Writer's Block

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 04:13:20 +0000

The bane of any writer is the dreaded staunching of the creative energies. The cause of this disease is hard to place. Some say it is indolence. Some say it is tied closely with diet and appetite, and the same things that affect both. Whatever the cause may be, I have developed a surefire, failsafe, foolproof, certifiably success-guaranteed cure to this onerous disease.

You will need:
- One bed
- One pillow
- One rope (a sturdy twine will do)

Directions:

Step 1. Lie on the bed, face up.

Step 2. Put a pillow over your face.

Step 3. Using the rope or twine, tie the pillow around your head tightly. Ensure that you are sufficiently smothered, allowing no oxygen in or out.

Step 4. Scream into the pillow. Scream your lungs out. Scream to your heart's content. By this time you will have used up most of the oxygen remaining in your lungs.
Note: You may sing if you prefer.

Step 5. Asphyxiate.

Ta-da! You will no longer have writer's block!

WARNING: Noted side effects include, and may not be limited to, loss of life, and a potential of undead vengeance.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Play it Again, Sam (Second Death in Print)

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 00:05:34 +0000

You told me never to play this song again.

If promises were LEGO they could seldom be broken, but most promises are composed of that cheap stuff they use to may Happy Meal toys.

Besides, I kept my promise not to mention it any time soon. This isn't soon. Worry not; I will keep it brief.

The Second Death
is now available in paperback from Createspace (preferable) or Amazon for $11.99. Add in shipping and handling, and if you've got about sixteen or seventeen bucks to burn and no Kindle to buy the eBook, or just prefer the feel of a print book (amen to that), every reader is a blessing and your business will always be appreciated.

"As time goes by . . ."

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Quoth Don Quixote

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 20:30:00 +0000

One of my favorite quotes from the novel:

To write books of any kind, there is need of great judgment and a ripe understanding. To give expression to humour, and write in a strain of graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The cleverest character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him for a fool, must not be one. . . . But notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books broadcast on the world as if they were fritters.

Writing requires understanding, if not comprehension; to feel if not to know; and that most important faculty of the human mind, born of understanding and comprehension and feeling and knowledge and experience and intuition and much else: great judgment--but better to say, prudence.

I don't know if I would say that writing requires genius; granted there are many geniuses in the history of literature, no doubt. The only requirement, however, is cleverness: he who would make people take him for a genius, needs not necessarily be one.

Most importantly, writing takes time, for haste makes waste; art should not be rushed. In this modern era of celerity, we suffer a dramatic lack of proper pacing. It is not enough to stop and smell the roses, for from that we gain nothing but fleeting pleasure; but if we stop, and take the time to watch the roses grow . . . then we learn something. It is for readers to smell the roses we writers tend, but it is for us to watch them grow.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Poetry

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 22:03:00 +0000

So somebody's been gossiping behind my back, saying I should write something like this. =P Well, I'm not much of a poet, but as far as I could tell there was no rhyme nor reason to that, nor any metrical structure. I'm probably wrong, but I know precious little of poetry anyway, and so I will leave it up to you to tell me whether this is a poem or not. Fifteen minutes of trying something like the previously mentioned poem, and this was the result:

Pain and sorrow let loose to kill,
Joy and bliss left free to roam;
Dark and night, light and day,
Value, justice, apathy.

To tell the truth or tell a lie?
To believe or to deceive,
To see false for false or real for real,
Madness, waste, insanity.

The strength to endure the harshest blow,
The weakness to fall.
The vigor to rise, the dread to turn back,
Panache, terror, equipoise.

Cry to the night, weep to the stars,
Lament your losses and your gains.
Feel the poignance to exist,
To love, to lose, to fight and win.

The flower's bloom, the sun's warm glow,
The happiness of emptiness,
Inane joys rotting in our souls;
Comfort, peace, banality.

Logic and rationality,
Sound reason to do, to live, to die.
Euphoria in just purpose, despair in cogent cause.
Wherefore, why, validity.

Emotions, feelings, vagaries,
Justice, madness, equipoise,
Love and loss, joy and ease, farce, reason, tragedy;
Where lay the world's true alchemy?

Somehow I feel like there should be more to poetry.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Quoth Carl Sagan

Sun, 27 Jan 2013 19:55:00 +0000

Beautiful; and very eloquently put. This is very much how I feel about literature. It is a magic indefeasibly real. Is fiction as fictional as the word suggests? I think not. It may be intangible--yet, in some ways, it is now. It is the world that exists beneath ours, the mirror that reflects the truth of our lives.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

The Second Death: Yours Free Forever!

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 18:39:00 +0000

Last time I'll plug this, I promise.

The Second Death, Kindle eBook, is free now through January 30th. Get your hands on it now and it's yours to keep forever, yours to read any time your Kindle is handy, and yours to review if you happen to feel munificent and eloquent. ;D Just be sure to let me know so I can give you proper thanks.

All right, I'll say no more on the subject. At least not any time soon. Thanks again!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

A Promotion Reminder and a Dissertation entitled "To Say or Not to Say"

Fri, 25 Jan 2013 01:30:00 +0000

To get the former out of the way first, The Second Death will be yours free forever if you download it between January 26th (two days to go!) and January 30th.

Now then, I would like to discuss the issue of whether 'tis nobler to say something, or to utter it, or perhaps to state it. Is it better to ask or to inquire? Bring adverbs into the equation, and the field becomes open to even greater argument. The simple fact is that every writer and every reader, too, has their own opinion about it. This is mine.

Examining a novel as if it were a cadaver, we'll say the plot is the core skeletal structure; the prose can be the flesh that covers it all; but dialogue becomes the muscles that hold it all together. Everything else is vital, but it's the dialogue that does the real work. It's the life and vigor of the story, the human element that most enraptures readers. It's one of my rules in writing that dialogue should always be able to stand on its own; it doesn't always need to, and there are times when it just plain can't, but if at all possible dialogue should literally speak for itself.

It is my opinion, however, that sometimes say is the right choice and sometimes it is not. Sometimes another verb should be used--or sometimes, none at all!

One example of a use for a verb other than say is merely to emphasize the tone of the dialogue. Even if the words sounds like a shout, s/he shouted serves as an underline. But the verb should be carefully selected. In this case, shout implies a different tone than cry, exclaim, or bellow might.

I usually prefer a powerful verb to an adverb in such cases, but again, it's a matter of discretion. Sometimes the one is more prudent, sometimes the other. And here's another instance in whic they can both be very useful. Every now and then a quotation arises where the words are too few or too simple or otherwise inexpressive; where a human voice would add a meaning the words do not contain. A human inflects their speech in a way that is difficult, though not impossible, to suggest in written dialogue; sometimes a telling verb or an adverb is the best way to add that inflection.

And then there's another method that is often used to avoid the s/he said entirely. But I have often seen this abused. If the movement is not significant in some way, if it serves no other purpose than to tell us who is speaking, it is rendered entirely meaningless and makes the writer look lazy. If the character strokes his mustache or twirls a finger in her hair, it indicates the speaker with the extra purpose of physical expression. But when a character removes their shoe to get at an itch during the conversation--sure, it's a natural action, but it's nothing more than a trivial, bothersome distraction. Some actions tell enough alone, some could use an adjective or some other form of additional description, and some should just be avoided. Again, it's all dictated by discretion.

On the whole, when I only have two characters speaking, I prefer to drop anything outside the dialogue, unless where emphasis or definition is prudent, or when a character makes an expressive movement. When you get three or more characters talking together, of course, it takes a degree of dexterity to juggle them all clearly and effectively.

The last point I would like to make becomes a part of that aforementioned rule, that dialogue should always be able to stand on its own. Not only does this mean that dialogue should speak with its own tone, but with the tone of the character. His or her "voice" should be audible when they speak. It can never be solely relied upon to identify a character, but the character should nonetheless be identifiable by the words they say.

　
And sometimes, I think, the very purpose of verbs or adverbs is artistic embellishment. Far too often modern authors concentrate too much on the functions of words, and not enough on their beauty. We forget that writing is an art. There is a science behind every art, but we must remember that the science is the supplement, not the focus. The gears in the mechanism of writing do not turn for their own sake, but for the sake of the art

I can think of no better way to phrase it than in the very words of Dolores Douglas, of The Second Death.

"It’s balance," Mrs. Douglas observed, "that people need to find. Balance in all things, I think, is what we lack the most."

Perhaps you observed my verb choice. I used it for embellishment but also to lend a subtle inflection to the tone of her words.

"It’s balance," Mrs. Douglas said, "that people need to find. Balance in all things, I think, is what we lack the most."

Didn't that sound a little different?

　
One thing that, when it comes to dialogue, I shall never forgive is this:

"This is ridiculous," he smiled.

The mental image evoked compels me to smile myself. With the primary exceptions being door-to-door salespeople, used car dealers, and politicians, few people talk through a smile. Even if your character is a ventriloquist, just don't go there.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

The Second Death Now Available!

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 17:15:00 +0000

Is it January 12th yet?

All right, well, there were formatting issues that delayed matters. Amazon recently altered their system without updating their guides, and that led to complications. But all is well now; and The Second Death is now for sale!

It can be purchased here. It is for sale exclusively through Amazon right now, and for Kindle alone; which means that if you don't have a Kindle or an iDevice with a Kindle application, you won't be able to read it--yet. But it will be available in physical paper before long!

Remember that the current price--.99 cents--is a temporary deal which ends on the 26th, from which date until the 30th it will be free to buy. Buy it free and it is yours to keep forever. After the 30th, the price will become $2.99, which will only apply to future purchases, of course. So tell all your mystery loving friends to get their hands on the eBook while it's free.

And I hope that, after you've read it, you will share your elocution in an Amazon product review. =D But whether you do or not, just the reading part is appreciated. Enjoy!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Coming Soon to a Kindle Near You . . .

Fri, 11 Jan 2013 01:45:00 +0000

I have an announcement that's going to make Kraggh vomit a modicum in his mouth, tear out his hair, and weep uncontrollably for the lamentable prospects of the written word. And while this bit of news may strike terror into the hearts of some, I could probably name a greater number who will be pleased, perhaps a few who would even be thrilled.

What am I leading up to?

Nuile wrote a novel.

And he's publishing it.

(Coming 1/12/13)

Pattrick Clayton is a farmer in a somnolent Lancaster town, affable, charming, loved by all. Since his father died, and since he came out of the Great War alone, he has struggled to come to terms with the death that plagues him. It only becomes worse when, to add to his grief, his aunt is found dead in her home. Not a year has passed since the armistice, and the beloved town gossip has been poisoned--and to all appearances, she poisoned herself.

Pattrick can't believe it any more than the rest of the Claytons, whatever the police say. Investigations continue, but before anyone can make up their mind, another death strikes the family, this time even closer to home. And, this time--it's murder.

From the nearby city of Philadelphia comes retired private inquiry agent, Leo Westmacott. At first he's only an old family friend come to pay his respects; but duty is a difficult thing to avoid, and soon he's playing the role of sleuth once again. Now he has to readjust himself to the detection game and get to the bottom of these murders. The complaisant Pattrick Clayton agrees to help, and soon they are joined by Leo's dependable secretary, the charming Miss Slaytor. The deeper they inquire into the lives and minds of the people of Mockingbird, the more they realize that life is no more innocent, no more docile, and no less dangerous in the country than on the backstreets of Philadelphia.

Filled with vivid characters, flavored with heart, and steeped with wisdom, The Second Death is more than a study in murder and mystery but in loss, family, friendship, and death itself. A vivid cast of characters will light your way along an ingenious maze of secret and deception while the secretive Leo Westmacott will leave you completely in the dark until the final moment.

And this is but the first in a series of detective novels. You can expect to see more of Leo Westmacott and his assistants in the nigh future. In the meantime, I hope that you'll all take advantage of the .99 cent trial period, read and enjoy the book, and then lend me your advocatory but critical rhetoric in some objective reviews. If you can be patient, however, I encourage you to wait for the five-day promotion during which you may "purchase" the novel absolutely free, January 26th through the 30th. And I won't lie and say that I don't hope some don't notice this until the 31st or later, when the price will stabilize at $2.99.

(Sales, of course, will be through the Amazon Kindle Store.)

Be sure to tell all your friends, relatives, hairdressers and sanctimonious literature teachers [s]after the 30th in time for the promotion!

And hey, have any questions? Ask away!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Sanguine Goodbyes

Mon, 31 Dec 2012 22:57:00 +0000

And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012:

Sanguine Goodbyes

I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today.

I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did.

But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long.

Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it.

I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut.

And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times.

And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think.

And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end.

When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now.

So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed.

So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her,

"At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!"

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith