A Male-Centered Opening

I’ve been aware, almost since day-one, that having a female main character severely limits my potential audience. Attempts like these (as an alternative to a Linnea POV opening) have been the result.

“Don’t do it Captain.  I’ll report you.  You’ll lose your post.  You’ll be demoted.”

Another choking sob filtered through the heavy oak door, followed by the unintelligible garble of a woman’s voice. Tykone laid his free hand on the doorknob.  The knuckles of his left hand were nearly as white as the ivory knife-hilt his fingers gripped.

“Do you doubt me, soldier?” Rickard’s face was frosted with sweat.  “I’ll kill you myself if that thing in there doesn’t.”

“Do you think it is fear of you that stays my hand?” whispered Tykone, hating himself more with every moment he hesitated.

“Ignore him, Captain.” The voice beside Tykone reminded him of the new recruits standing watch with them.  “You are Hjalmar, and no mere soldier.  I, at least, with follow wherever you lead.”

Tykone’s eye barely registered the fury this defiance had raised in Rickard before a shattering scream dissolved his indecision.  Tykone threw his shoulder at the door.

The grunts of the men instantly beside him let him believe the crack he saw was actually widening that fast.  He dove into the room before any of the others could have fit.

Before him was the stuff of nightmares.  The body of a gargantuan snake nearly looped the room, black except for the strip of dirty yellow where its belly showed.  There was no sign of the woman.

“Sanna!” yelled Tykone.  “Sanna! Can you hear me?”

Sword drawn he lept over the shifting body, looking for the head.  Then he saw it, black and yellow, tipping up to the ceiling.  Tykone saw the feet of a young woman—one still wearing its white bridal slipper—disappearing behind the creature’s dragon-teeth.

With a scream that nearly gagged him, Tykone stumbled over black coils toward the head.  Swinging his sword as he went, Tykone was aware of a bruising ache in his shoulder, and the exclamations of the soldiers that followed his example.  None of their efforts seemed to be noticed by the great serpent.  None broke through its scales.

And then the bit I love, but haven’t decided where it belongs.  Also between Tykone and Rickard, and designed to hint at their history/subtext.

“That was always your problem, wasn’t it, Rickard?  You tried not to see what a monster might be doing—because even you are man enough to know you shouldn’t leave a woman alone to face him.”

Tykone believes his co-captain’s brother, Magnus, attacked his good friend (the protagonist), while Rickard insists she was a willing party to her *Ahem* un-planned pregnancy.

Magnus’s story is unavailable because he disappeared right after killing the girl’s father in an honor-fight over the issue.

Honoring my Mother

Well, in case you missed it, I was invited to give a 5-minute (re- and re-emphasized: Five-minute) talk about my mom at her church today. Mother’s Day.

I called the pastor to clarify his goals and was able to organize the following talk. It was really hard to begin, looking right at her and knowing how she dislikes being the focus, but once I started in with the actual words of the poem I was in control of my voice for the most part. Though I did have to pause a few times.

I’m here today to honor you.

I’m blessed to have this poem apply to my husband and dad, too, but this morning it’s for my mom:

These words are from the poem, “Love” by Roy Croft.

I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

[And then I must change it a bit to say,]

You have done it
With a touch,
With a word,

You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

© Roy Croft (1907 – 1973).

I am proud to say my mother is my friend, and I hope she is too. Beginning when I was young, my mother’s availability, acceptance, and ability to challenge me, shaped my assumptions of how friends take care of each other.

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Maybe it is a series?

Still don’t really think so.

It’s just that I’ve started “composting” the idea of whether I could break up my current story into self-contained elements.

i.e., I need to poke around and decide if there is enough story to make the opening “Beauty and the Beast” section it’s own story, and if so whether the later adventures are also possible to disentangle from one another.

At this point I think they would still be pretty intertwined and dependent on one another. Kind of a Spiderwick series, highly interdependent, not a Redwall or Narnia type.

It would mean I’m looking at an utterly different animal, but maybe that could help work out some more kinks.