Author Archives: Amy Jane

Images of Evil

Posted on by

One thing I struggle with as a writer is how much evil to show.  Yeah, I’m someone who wants your skin to crawl with the right image of evil, but I don’t feel gore is the means to that end.

And it’s not my intent to be merely creepy.

So I’ve been trying to remember times when I reacted intensely to a character and thought of two examples:

  • The mother in the His Dark Materials series (though not the focus of this post), especially
    • Her first appearance in The Golden Compass and
    • her calm torturing scene (in the second book, I think it is)
  • Zohak (an early king from an Iranian epic poem), and how he became evil
    • This I wanted to present here (almost in the old TT format) because it’s so striking and I guess there are reletively few who’ve heard it.

~

There was not yet any meat-eating in the world, and a demon spirit wanted to change that.  In disguise he became Zohak’s cook, and began to cook him eggs, until Zohak was so enamored with the specialty he would eat nothing else.

The glib cook brushed off the praise and insisted he had even better things to offer if the king wished it, and began serving him a new dish each day: quail and pheasant, lamb and chicken, then veal, cooked in wine and spices.

After greedily devouring this last meal Zohak bade the demon ask a favor.  Still in his disguise the demon asked permision to kiss the young king on his two shoulders, which the king granted.  The demon vanished as soon as he had kissed the young man.

[Zohak] had barely recovered his wits after the astonishment of seeing his cook disappear… when he became aware of an unaccustomed sensation on his shoulders.  He looked, and there, on either shoulder, where the demon’s lips had touched his skin, the heads of two black serpents were appearing.  Zohak watched, appalled, as the serpents grew larger and larger until each was the size a large snake would have been if its tail and half its length had been hidden within the flesh and bones of his shoulder.  Then, at last, the black bodies ceased to grow and remained, swaying gently from side to side, hissing and darting forked tongues in and out.

From Tales of Ancient Persia retold by Barbara Leonie Picard

Nothing would remove the serpents, and cutting them off did not keep them from re-growing.  Eventually the demon returned in another guise to offer counsel.  He suggested that if the serpents were fed according to their desire, they may grow satiated and fall asleep, leaving Zohak to live his own life.

When asked, the demon informed the young king that the serpents each required the brain of a strong man daily.  In this way the workers of evil ensured there would be two less men in the world each day.

From then on, with each day that passed, as the black serpents grew stronger, nourished by their ghastly food, so Zohak grew ever more hardened, becoming more cruel and ambitious.

Three Revealing Blog posts

Posted on by

Yes, these are political.  And, no, I don’t like it that we don’t have another continent to run away to.

i.e., to get away from having to figure out all this junk between people and ideas.

If you’ll only read one, read the big one.  I don’t really have anything to add to what Sallie says.

Now you know where I stand, if you couldn’t guess before.

In my husband’s words, Obama’s America is not a place I want to live.

Chewing on Food for Thought

Posted on by

Someday I would love to sit with a group of fiction-writers in a discussion on free-will vs. sovereignty.

I find being an author colors so much of my interpretation of the issue.

(And other writers don’t need me to tell them that there are certain things non-writers just don’t *get.*)

Ironically, that reality only highlights our limitations as communicators…

Don’t miss it!

Posted on by

October is Pastor Appreciation Month.  And even though it’s almost over doesn’t mean it’s ever too late for a thank-you card.

~

I just finished making the cards I’ll be giving out at church tomorrow, so if you’re itching for something nice to say to a church-leader (or his/her long-suffering spouse) I might have a suggestion for you.

As the daughter of church musicians I feel very strongly that they too should be included in this time of acknowledgment and thanks, along with their families.  All that time pastors spend preparing for sermons, counseling, and being “on-call” is time taken away from their families.

Yes, it’s a calling, and we trust God to provide strength in all situations, but no leader is immune to the encouragement of a genuine thank you.

Please don’t forget.

WFMW– Frozen Strawberries

Posted on by

This is the best way I’ve yet found to cool (overly) hot cereal.

Naturally the whole thing is tied to a story.

We used to use ice cubes, but one morning when we’d not been long back from a travel there was no ice in the freezer.  It had been a one thing on top of another morning and I griped at my husband as he passed through the room.

“Put something else cold in it,” he said placidly.

“Like what—Peas?”  Then I remembered the bag of frozen strawberries in our big freezer.

Jay returned as I was adding one to Melody’s cereal.

“Look at this and tell me I’m brilliant,” I said.
“Oh I’ve never doubted you were brilliant,” he said, easily. “Only your higher math and organizational skills.”

I had to laugh.

A little bit later he came back into the room and said, “Now me, I’ve got the higher math skills, but I’m just as ‘Organizationally challenged.’”

(I think it’s this sort of speaking-the-truth that I’m referring to when I talk about not being able to make characters like me.)

It is something rare and (frequently) precious to have a peaceful relationship where this kind of exchange is natural.

More fun-and-random tips at Rocks in my Dryer.

The Art of Concealment

Posted on by

Call me slow if you must, but my inherent desire for clarity and openness has been one of my biggest stumbling blocks in learning one of the core elements of novel-writing: the art of concealment.

I’ve been creeping toward this realization little by littles, but it wasn’t until I was re-reading a (cut!) conversation between the prince and his retainer (Torb was telling Rickard exactly what he thought of R’s lady-friend) I realized, Prince Torbjorn would *never* talk this way.

The reality is very few people talk this way.

Not only do few people take the time to analyze what they think or why they’re doing something, even fewer verbalize their conclusions.

And while I’ve recently resigned myself to a main character that is similar to me in some ways (it is just a first novel, after all), this particular tendency of mine is one way that I feel none of my characters could believably behave.

“Why shouldn’t truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense.”

–Mark Twain

(yet another) Summary

Posted on by

I’ve mentioned before I’m always trying to get the short-summary coherent.  Here’s the latest incarnation that’s on my Infant Novel page.

A young woman risks marrying a “beast” in order to escape her abusive step-mother.  She disenchants a good man, but her happily-ever-after is interrupted when her new husband must undertake a quest, leaving her alone to face new monsters.

Makes the guy sound a bit like a jerk, but I haven’t thought of a way around that yet.  He leaves knowing other friends will be looking out for her when they can, but since it really does come down to Linnea alone, that detail didn’t seem relevant for the short-summary.

And to answer another question: no, I’ll not be doing NaNo this year.  I will be spending my writing time closing the holes in this story.  There are sections, closer to the end, where I haven’t worked the original manuscript since NaNo 2006.

I have whole attitudes and motivations that have changed since then (primarily because the time-frame telescoped from 3+ years down to months) so I have a fair bit of updating to do.  Fortunately I am blessed with a patient friend and husband who will let me “think with my mouth open,” so I already know where I want take the update when I get to it.

Random

Posted on by

You ever injure some random part of your body, then become involuntarily and intensely aware of how much you use that part in daily living?

I creamed my forehead last night.  Stood up into the corner of a shelf on the wall.  Normally there’s a couch there, so I’ve never trained myself to be careful of that sadistic space.

It slammed my teeth together, and for a while that hurt as much as the obvious injury (thank God my tongue wasn’t in the way).  But now it’s just the forehead.

I joked with Jay that the red stripe is a nouveau bindi.

Question

Posted on by

Why is “fixed-income” both spoken and received as “extremely-low-income”?

Weepy old lady in Incredibles: I can’t pay for this, I’m on a fixed income!

Aren’t most (or at least many) of us on “fixed incomes”?  I know we are.

The Joy of Being Defended

Posted on by

I’m really not into “girl power” and all that “I don’t need a man” jazz.

But I do operate a bit under similar assumptions, I’ve noticed.

On one level this is simple practicality: I’m away from Jay most of our waking hours.  I was 19 before I met him.  I can handle myself just-fine-thank-you.

When I imagine someone being defended when s/he doesn’t need it, it seems either comical (“thanks anyway”) or a new threat (“What exactly is your motivation here?”).

This happens in my novel, which could be why I’ve thought about it as much as I have

I didn’t think of “being defended” as actually useful until it sort of happened to me.

~

This summer I was in an informal class about the cannon of Scripture (how it was established, etc.), and at one point we were discussing something and I brought up the idea of time as a filter.  I was going to use my beloved folktales as my example, but realized the inappropriateness in this context and clammed up.

The teacher encouraged me to finish and I began again with the disclaimer that “this isn’t going to sound very spiritual, but” here you go.

Most of the small class seemed to understand and accept my point, but one fellow (we have a history of confrontation, so maybe we pick on each other more?) began to attack my use of fairy tales in a discussion about the validity of scripture.

Never at a loss for words with this man, I was ready to defend myself as soon as he stopped to breathe, but it proved unnecessary.  The teacher himself stepped into the debate and killed it, pointing out I’d acknowledged the inequality before launching my comparison.

The argumentative guy yielded graciously to the teacher’s authority and class moved on.

I don’t know if the teacher even would have thought of that as defending me (it could just as easily been an experienced teacher redirecting the class so we could stay on-topic).

But the fact that I was both absolved and didn’t have to expend my emotional energy (on someone not likely to listen) was surprisingly delightful.

This kind of defense, I’ve found, is what my parents and Jay have been so good at with/for me.

They don’t fight my battles, but they give me insightful counsel and frequently help me get around the troubling issue entirely.

One example related to my last post:

The second week of August (!) I went to a thrift store’s $1 tag day and rolled my eyes at all the Halloween stuff already being brought in.  We brushed it off with an anatomy review (what’s the longest bone in the body?  What do you call this one at the top?).

In a week I’d forgotten and we went back for the next sale.  More stuff out.  Grosser stuff.  The kids were beginning to act a little creeped.  While checking out I told them we wouldn’t be back until after Halloween.

Later Jay asked me why I hadn’t just left when I saw what was there.  I replied that it honestly hadn’t occurred to me; I was “on a mission.”  I told him now that he’d planted the idea I’d probably remember better to use it.

Later, before snow-fall, I drove the kids to a park to eat and play.  It was empty except for a man who, in Melody’s words, was “acting so silly.“

I guessed he was drunk and my mind raced through implications and scenarios.  We had just arrived and acknowledged him politely.  I hated the idea that he’d think we were leaving because we were judging (what other word can you use?) something about him.

Then Jay’s line of Just leave. rang in my mind.  This wasn’t about him.  It was about me being a mom and listening to my own intuition and being prudent.

So we left.

And it made for some interesting (and awkward) conversation in the car, but I still think we did the right thing.