In C3. Leo, the Water-Pipe I describe some drug paraphernalia. Next Friday Faith and Jay will smoke centipede powder and hallucinate. Drugs aren’t anything new to fiction: folk lore and myths from around the world can be interpreted as describing altered states of consciousness due to drug use. Let’s review drugs in ancient and modern writing as a defense for the drug use in my book!

Although Hinduism “generally disapproves” of drug use (says this article from the BBC), the early Vedas describe a drug called Soma involved in the worship of a deity with the same name. Some say the Oracle of Delphi fell into prophetic trances with the aid of hallucinogenic vapors. You’ve probably heard of the Rastafari, who see cannabis as a connection to Jah. The idea of an Entheogen—a drug which causes God to manifest within an individual—is well-established in religions around the world and the study thereof. This connection between religion and drugs inspired the “Hippie Movement,” which this Wikipedia article mentions but leaves tantalizingly blank. (Edit: Michael Pollan’s latest book, How to Change your Mind, describes this history in detail. Traditionally known for his writing in botany and agriculture, Pollan’s take on hallucinogens is unexpected, thorough, and fascinating.)

In Homer’s Odyssey, pictured above, Lotus-Eaters eat—you guessed it—lotuses, a powerful narcotic. Odysseus sends three men to talk to the Lotus-Eaters and they start pigging out on lotuses, too. It’s so addicting the men don’t even care about getting home anymore, which you may recall is the whole point of the Odyssey. (Speaking of the Odyssey, Odysseus ties himself to a mast to hear the sirens’ song and live. It’s not a drug, per se, but it connects the ideas of addiction, desire, and human transgression of nature’s laws.)

Adolf Huxley’s Brave New World contains the drug Soma, whose name we remember from the Vedas. Soma dulls the minds of the future-society’s population so they don’t mind all the eugenics. In the climax the main characters spray Soma over a crowd of people. It’s been a while since I read BNW, but I recall Soma being ‘an opiate to the masses,’ enforcing submission and servitude.

In the Cronenberg movie The Naked Lunch (based on a book by the same name, but I’ve never read it, so I don’t want to talk about it and get something wrong) an exterminator discovers his insecticide is an addictive drug. He takes a surreal, dreamlike journey guided by his typewriter, a secret-agent insect. He investigates a drug ring in which thick, black centipedes are turned into narcotics. I love how The Naked Lunch becomes less comprehensible the more drugs are involved. It’s a descent into madness and bug-drugs are the motifs that drag us deeper. This movie obviously influenced Akayama DanJay, where crickets and centipedes connect people to a bizarre religion.

Anyway, there’s literary precedent to my characters smoking crickets and centipedes. I hope when Faith and Jay toke up next Friday it’s not decried as a public morality issue, or whatever. The perceived spiritual, metaphysical link between drugs, the subconscious mind, and the wholly/holy “other” is the playground of writers, and has been for millennia.

Next Section
Table of Contents

In C2: Jango Skyy, Faith smokes her first cricket, a gift from Virgil Skyy. The two discuss the Islands of Sheridan, setting up plot points and displaying their character to the reader along the way. I believe dialogue should be balanced along two axes:

First, the realism-to-instrumentalism axis. Dialogue should be realistic, seeming like something someone might actually say. Simultaneously, we as artists must artificially construct the dialogue to take the reader on a tour of character traits and plot points. Otherwise, the story just circles the drain.

Here’s some dialogue which might be realistic but serves no purpose:

“Hey, Jangster. What are you doing?”

“Faith. I was looking for you.”

“I like your robes.”

“Thanks. I only have one set.”

Well actually, that non-canon exchange sort of conveys some character, so it’s not totally purposeless. But compare it to something with no realism, no spark of character, and just pure functionality:

“I’m dating Beatrice, so I want to tell her about those birds. She likes birds and I want to tell her something nice about birds because I am dating her.”

“I won’t tell you the thing about birds. I’m offended at the thought. Later in the story, this will be important,” he said, winking. “Also I will be offended if people photograph the birds. Take note!”

Really, when we write dialogue, we must write it twice. We must understand it on the level of the characters, their feelings, and their interactions, while also managing the plot, introducing settings, and reminding readers of important details. In the final text, my take looks like this:

“Is that where the birds live?” Faith leaned on the fence and fished the brochure from her purse. She showed him the picture of the little flightless birds. “They’re adorable!”

Jango shivered and stuck one finger in his mouth.

Faith put away the pamphlet. “Is something wrong?”

“Those fledglings are supremely sacred,” he said. “Their photography is absolutely forbidden. It’s not your fault; you did not take the picture, and it is a superstition in any case. But when tourists visit our islands, we take great pains to remind them to photograph anything except the birds.”

“Gosh, sorry. I just have this friend who loves birds. I’d love to know more about them.”

This also demonstrates the second axis, the vocal-to-physical axis. Characters say some things and show others. In the section above, Jango responds to Faith’s bird picture using only body language. Then he explains verbally why he performed that action. Pixar’s Wall-E had no dialogue for almost the first half, using only body-language. Shakespeare’s plays are written with little stage direction, forcing actors to understand their characters through dialogue. There are lots of options, is what I’m saying.

But those Shakespearean actors use body language to emphasize the dialogue they’re given. Physical actions are paramount! Even if you are quite good at leaving lines of stark dialogue, these lines must stand against a background of action. Look at this:

“We live on the Islands of Sheridan—we knew a trip to Sheridan, Wyoming was inevitable. It was destined by the Mountain.”

Faith nodded but turned away. She watched a deer bounce over rivers and rocks. “I don’t want to burst your bubble but there are a lot of places in America called Sheridan. It’s a common city name, like Springfield.”

Without Faith’s action splitting the dialogue her statement could come across as harsh. Her “I don’t want to burst your bubble” could seem sarcastic. Breaking eye contact and focusing on something else softens the statement and makes her concern seem earnest. It also gives me a chance to throw more animals into the prose, because I want to associate Faith with animals and nature and stuff.

That’s all for today. Next time let’s see how Faith, Beatrice, and DanJay react to centipede dust. Until then, keep eating your worms!

Next Section
Table of Contents

In C1: The Sheridanians we meet a character who might seem familiar. The monk who speaks at SCSC has “tanned, leathery skin and robes like a clear sky” and carries a “curious” cane taller than himself which is smooth along the shaft and has ten black spots around the top. Virgil Blue, from A1: Dan is Immolated in a Furnace, had the same cane, robes, and leathery skin. I used the same phrases to describe both of them.

In fact this monk is not Virgil Blue—yet. In C2 we will learn “Virgil Blue” is a title, not a name. In C1, Virgil Blue is the wheelchair-bound person with a silver mask. In A1 (which is in C1’s future because Jay was reincarnated back in time), Virgil Blue is the monk with the cane. The parallel description, using the same phrases again, is a heavy-handed wink to the reader. “Hey! This guy is supposed to be Virgil Blue! You remember him!” it shouts.

Repetition is a powerful force. In the Odyssey and the Iliad Homer repeats the same descriptions over and over. The “rosy fingered dawn” and “sparkling eyed Athena” make multiple appearances depending on the translation. These epithets make the poems easier to memorize, or easier to fumble through if you forget a line. Oral traditions are tricky to maintain because of the limits of memory; writers turned to repetition to protect their work from forgetful bards through the ages. Today we can use the tactic to make characters stick in the readers’ minds. Even if a reader has not consciously memorized Virgil Blue’s A1 description, the description in C1 should nab their attention.

On a subtler note, alliteration and other repeated sounds can help readers connect characters to their traits. Faith Featherway is care-free and loves foxes and her uncle wears tinfoil in his fedora. Beatrice Baxter likes birds and carries a bible. Dan Jones is dainty, but he dies and wakes up in a desert. I try not to be too obvious in the text itself, but alliteration creates a tight seal in the readers’ minds. That way none of the information leaks out.

In regular sentences a little alliteration can improve flow. In the second sentence of C1 I wrote “introduced an image of a Hurricane Planet” because “introduce” and “image” sit well next to each other. “Introduced a photo” and “introduced a drawing” have almost the same meaning, but neither melts in the mind’s mouth like “introduced an image.” I also could have written “introduced a picture of a Hurricane Planet” for the powerful Ps, but the three-syllable “Hurricane” divides them and weakens them. Check out the whole first paragraph, it’s full of nice sounds:

The LLSTA theme played over the end credits. A minor chord introduced an image of a Hurricane Planet. This enemy of humanity, a space-orb of biological and mechanical parts, swallowed stars and smacked battle-stations out of the sky. Scarlet spots speckled the black background of space—another trillion Hurricane Planets like it, or larger.

Another line from C1: “He tapped his temple and flashed Faith the tinfoil in his fedora.” Compare this to “He tapped his forehead and showed Faith the aluminum lining in his trilby.” That hardly flows at all! Adding too much alliteration is just as jarring: “He put a finger to his forehead and flashed Faith the foil in his fedora” spoils the effect. It’s so noticeable that it stops the reader in their tracks. Repetition is a powerful force and must be used carefully.

Of course, as writers, we must write new words instead of just repeating ourselves. But when we write something original, let’s make it sound good, too!

Until next time!

Next Section
Table of Contents

In Chapter S. Lucille Pulls the Chain the Galaxy Zephyr continues fighting the Enemy Hurricane. When the Enemy Hurricane surrounds them like a bubble, Commander Lucille pulls the chain on her Wheel, which, through strange cosmogonic processes, gets Beatrice hit by a bus.

Why do bad things happen? Akayama DanJay‘s position is that unfortunate random events are necessary and preordained in a grand, cosmic sense. Call it physical determinism; call it God’s will; or just call me crazy.

In Akayama DanJay the reality behind realities is a fight between giant anime robots, which I hope brings to mind mythological wars between gods. Lucille wears skulls and body-parts around her waist a la Kali, while her weapon is a chainsaw discus a la Vishnu. I’ve already discussed how Lucille’s giant robot is my take on Satan building a cannon to kill God in Paradise Lost. I try to mix and match so many mythologies that my writing isn’t so much appropriation as appreciation. Still, with the surreal imagery I’m pumping in, I occasionally reference stuff I didn’t even know about.

I recently read The Fox and the Jewel by Karen A. Smyers. The book explores worship of Inari Okami, a Japanese deity with huge range of devotees. Inari straddles Buddhism and Shintoism; Inari has male and female forms; and Inari brings prosperity in both agriculture and business. The only commonalities Smyers notes across the majority of Inari depictions are associations with jewels, foxes, and rice.

Meanwhile, Professor Akayama grows compound eyes which I compare to jewels. She takes Faith the fox as an assistant. In this section, she spews white powder from her robes to accelerate Earth’s regeneration.

Inari’s jewel “sometimes [has] the power to restore the spirit of life,” says Smyers. “The jewel has even stronger associations with new life when it functions as a kind of womb or egg.” Akayama is a giant bird associated with eggs who endeavors to reconstruct all Earth’s life. I couldn’t have planned better parallels.

I’m almost concerned Akayama reflects Inari so closely it looks intentional. But Akayama also reflects Quetzalcoatl (she’s a feathered serpent who sets herself on fire) and she creates Sheridan, Akayama DanJay‘s Garden of Eden, so I think I’ve spread my religious influences thin enough to get away with it.

Still, in hindsight, it’s almost hard for me to deny referencing Inari on purpose. Look at typical depictions of Inari’s jewel, which is said to grant wishes (generally either material wealth, fertility, or spiritual clarity):

The jewel is the red thing between the fox and the lady, and the gold thing in the black corner. It’s often called a “flaming” jewel. To me, the wavy, spiky jewel symbol is vaguely reminiscent of how I draw hair, especially Lucille’s…

…among other things:

Retroactively finding meaning, I’d say this advances Akayama DanJay‘s position that salvation is internal. The jewel is our skull. The sacred is inside us. Akayama’s emerald eyes don’t grant her omniscience; they represent the knowledge she already has.

I wrote Faith as a white fox because I was inspired by kitsune, the Japanese fox common in folklore, but I didn’t write her like that to tie her to Inari; rather, I found Inari while Googling kitsune to research Faith. Likewise, I had plans for Akayama’s white powder since the first chapter and never thought of it as representing Inari’s association to rice until writing this section, where I lean into it.

But parallels to Inari nestle perfectly into Akayama DanJay. Karen Smyers tells us how the diverse methods of worshiping Inari present a unified whole despite irreconcilable differences: “there is no single center for the whole world of Inari,” says Smyers, “no space sacred to all worshipers, not even one image of the deity that is common to the whole. There are multiple centers, and the centers themselves are multiple.” In the same way, the irreconcilable differences between Dan and Leo must be reflected in the Wheel rebuilding Earth. The whole is the sum of all parts, even parts in opposition. Leo, the asshole with a swastika tattoo, cannot be swept under the rug when rebuilding humanity.

In hindsight, I couldn’t have purposefully chosen a better deity whom most Americans have never heard of, but whose diverse modes of worship appropriately comment on divisions in modern American politics. I just sort of bumbled onto it, like Beatrice bumbling in front of a bus. Call it tapping into the cultural subconscious; call it Inari’s fox messenger intruding on my narrative; call it a coincidence; or call me a crackpot.

Mark Rosewater, a designer of Magic: The Gathering cards, has a lovely phrase he uses when fans observe neat relationships between cards and asks if they were intentional. “I don’t deny things which are cool.” That’s great advice; if someone discovers something  inadvertently awesome, pretend you did it on purpose and commend them for noticing. But I write these commentaries because I worry readers imagine everything in their favorite books is on purpose, and I disagree. Writing is mostly bumbling; good writing is bumbling with style.

Thanks for reading my bumbling.

Table of Contents

PS: On a lark I watched the first few episodes of Puella Magi Madoka Magica, an anime about magical girls fighting witches. It’s not really my thing, but one character jumps out at me: Kyubey is a white-fox-creature who makes middle-schoolers into magical girls using a jewel.

If this isn’t an intentional nod to Inari, it just shows how deeply Inari imagery is ingrained into Japanese culture. (Wikipedia notes 1/3 of all Shinto shrines in Japan are devoted to Inari.)

PPS: In this chapter Lucille’s Galaxy Zephyr heals its wounds with rivers of liquid gold. Besides referencing the practice of kintsugi in which broken wares are repaired with gold, invoking wabi-sabi‘s appreciation of each object’s individual journey…

…I’m trying to reference Dante’s vision of The Old Man of Crete. In Dante’s Inferno, the rivers of Hell are the tears from a statue. Says University of Texas’ Dante-worlds,

Dante invents the story of the large statue of an old man–located in Mount Ida on the Island of Crete–for both practical and symbolic purposes ( Inf. 14.94-120). Constructed of a descending hierarchy of materials–gold head, silver arms and chest, brass midsection, iron for the rest (except one clay foot)–the statue recalls the various ages of humankind (from the golden age to the iron age: Ovid, Met. 1.89-150) in a pessimistic view of history and civilization devolving from best to worst.

…Although the statue is not itself found in hell, the tears that flow down the crack in its body (only the golden head is whole) represent all the suffering of humanity and thus become the river in hell that goes by different names according to region: Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, Cocytus (Inf.14.112-20).

To me, this statue totally sounds like a giant anime robot. It’s a giant human whose parts are different-colored metals and materials; it’s perfect!

Lucille’s Galaxy Zephyr re-contextualizes the image: rather than crying tears which flood Hell, the robot bleeds gold which seals its wounds. Humanity’s suffering is not hellish oppression; our ability to feel remorse is humanity’s redeeming feature which emboldens our future efforts.

Next Chapter
Table of Contents

In B3: The Art Museum I use birth/death imagery to skip most of the school year. It ties the section to the ever-present idea of reincarnation, but more importantly it keeps the plot moving. “Don’t worry,” it says, “this isn’t a high-school slice-of-life.” When my mom read the rough drafts of the early chapters (hi, Mom) she said B was the boring one; I’ve rewritten it entirely. The draft of B3 I posted today is more interesting and efficient.

In the first three paragraphs we know the setting and which characters are involved. Dan and Jillian remind readers who they are by contributing potent images: Dan brings up the Harrowing of Hell, which parallels his eventual descent to the underworld; Jillian talks about two mirrored pillars housed in different countries, echoing her own separation from her past life Dan. We even meet Princess Lucy, a title star of LuLu’s Space-Time Acceleration, on Dan’s shirt. I’ve introduced LLSTA slowly over B2 and B3 to acclimatize the reader for B4, when we finally watch an episode.

The next paragraphs create tension: Dan is caught between a painting he’s too scared to look at and the girl he’s too scared to talk to. Jillian builds the tension by encouraging Dan, but the situation is deflated when the reader sees Faith and Beatrice are together. There will be no romantic confrontation today. Nevertheless even this threat of a conflict encourages the reader to continue, contributing to the momentum of the story by exploring the relationships between our established characters. I hope.

I did the same thing last section. In section B2 Jillian was worried about finding friends in a new school. Then she met Dan and Faith and Beatrice, which really just raises more questions than it answers. That was the book’s last heartbeat—our hearts go lub-dub, lub-dub, but a book’s heart goes tension-resolution, tension-resolution. I try to make the most of anticlimax.

As a bonus we’ve increased the tension between Dan and Beatrice. This section avoids one conflict but adds to an overarching conflict, Dan’s unrequited love for Beatrice. Over the course of the novel the tension will rise until the conflict finally comes to a head.

By this point Dan’s self-destructive tendencies are well-established. He confronts the painting he doesn’t want to look at, a Bosch rendering of Hell, and describes images he is clearly uncomfortable witnessing. Dan’s conflicts were internal.

Besides, you didn’t think I would introduce a Bosch and then never come back to it, right? Use every part of the antelope. If you set up a domino, knock it down. And other metaphors.

Over the Summer, Faith and Jillian smoke a cricket while watching LuLu’s Space-Time Acceleration. I’m considering making this into it’s own section because a lot of things happen in B3, but since I want to leave the high-school setting ASAP this scene can stay here for now.

Before the penultimate episode of LLSTA Jillian reveals she remembers being Dan in Chapter A. She comes out as trans and asks Faith to call him Jay. DanJay. This integrates their gender identity into the story and setting (and title), which may make it easier for some readers to swallow. After all, readers already accepted Dan turning into Jillian. They’re used to name changes and pronoun swaps by now.

After another time skip (which readers should also be familiar with by now) Jay will have fully transitioned and he’ll be ready for an adventure. We’ll keep the story moving and I don’t have to embarrass myself by getting basic facts about transitioning wrong. Not all trans people want to have any kind of surgery or hormones, but it would be nice if Jay happened to look a bit like Dan down the line. I hope all this comes off as respectful, because I’m trying my best; let me know if anything is off.

Faith and Beatrice aren’t dating because I had a lesbian quota, and Jay isn’t trans just to be inclusive (though I am happy it’s come out this way). The relationships between characters fell naturally out of the story I wanted to tell. Jay being trans gives readers insight into the nature of the afterlife. We’re reading DanJay’s two lives simultaneously, and the more we read the more the pieces fall into place.

In the next section we’ll meet Professor Akayama. See you there!

Next Section
Table of Contents

If you’ve read B2: Late for Class, you know I’ve thrown away all artistic integrity by talking about an anime. Secretly Akayama DanJay is just fanfiction for Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, but we’ll get to that later. For now let’s talk about Dante’s Inferno.

Jillian Diaz-Jackson has been reincarnated conterminously with their past life, Dan Jones, who loves Dante’s Inferno. This is the second book I’ve name-dropped after The Hitchhicker’s Guide to the Galaxy, but referencing famous 14th-century epic poetry is more respectable than contemporary humor/sci-fi titles, so I’m sure to keep this one. Especially because Dante’s Inferno is so instrumental to the images I want to convey!

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, a trilogy of epic poems of which the Inferno is first, Dante is led through Hell and Purgatory by an ancient Roman poet named Virgil. Near Heaven Dante meets his dead courtly love Beatrice and she leads him through the pearly gates. In writing parallels to the Divine Comedy we might perform a thorough investigation of the afterlife, but I think this approach is overdone. In Chapter A Virgil Blue sends Dan to the afterlife where he meets Anihilato (a stand-in for Satan). That’s enough to get the message across.

Instead, the relationship between Dan Jones and Beatrice will echo the relationship between the real Dante and Beatrice. In real life Dante was infatuated with a woman named Beatrice Portinary, but she married another man and then died. Even after her death Dante was so devoted to her he had a dream God made Beatrice eat his flaming heart. That’s some intense shit. It’s where we get the phrase “Beatific Vision,” meaning an ultimate direct message from God. Wow.

In Akayama DanJay Dan can’t stop looking at Beatrice. In coming sections he will love her and she will be unattainable. He will build her up in his mind until she is taken forever, and then he will idolize her. Faith will be his only remaining connection to Beatrice until she, too, leaves him. Then Dan Jones will be lost in a dark wood until he finds his Virgil.

By focusing on this relationship instead of touring the afterlife, I get to use the Divine Comedy as context for my story instead of just retreading old ground. Lots of people know about Dante’s Inferno but barely anyone knows the obsession Dante had for Beatrice, so their story is ripe for stealing and fictionalizing. Sometimes writing is like poaching stories from the wild and mounting their bodies in exciting poses.

Since Dan has been reincarnated as Jillian backwards in time, readers have seen the conclusion of Dan’s story already. They saw him cleaning out the furnace, touching soot with his bare hands—he might be Dainty in High School, but when he’s in his mid-thirties he won’t mind getting his hands dirty. Readers saw him gamble his soul to save others and lose, done in by his desire to do good. Presenting this resolution first signifies to the reader that Dan—that is, the Dan that Jillian is observing—is a story of secondary importance. When we brush it aside later to focus on Jillian’s story the reader won’t mind. While Dan, Beatrice, and Faith act out an allegory, Jillian will get to the bottom of this whole ‘existence’ business.

Next Section
Table of Contents

If you’ve read B1: Dan Wakes Up, you might be intrigued—or just confused. At the very least I hope you understand this wasn’t just a “Surprise! It was all a dream!” scenario. In the draft published today I used an unreliable narrator to help the reader understand Dan Jones has been reincarnated as a four-year-old girl named Jillian Diaz-Jackson, remembering his encounter with the King of Dust as a nightmare.

When we read a story we often have to take the characters’ words at face value. There is no other source of information other than the words as written on the page, so writers can misdirect their audience. Lots of short stories make use of this, like those sci-fi pulps where it turns out the mysterious planet was earth all along, or the two survivors of the apocalypse are named Adam and Eve. Movies do it too: Remember in the Sixth Sense (spoiler alert) it turned out that dude was dead the whole time? He didn’t think he was dead so he didn’t act dead, and we viewers believed him. Well, in writing, we can pass off even more bold-faced lies, like making your main character secretly be a tomato or something. It’s great when done well, as I hope I’ve done here.

To ease readers into the transition between calling the character ‘Dan’ and calling them ‘Jillian,’ I refer to Jillian Diaz-Jackson as Dan in the text repeatedly. Even the title of the section, Dan Wakes Up, tells the reader they are following Dan Jones. While Jillian’s parents call her Jillian the narration says Dan. I only call the character Jillian when her mother specifically says her full real name, because I hope by then the reader has caught on. Transitioning to ‘Jillian’ outside the dialogue also hints that Dan’s self-image has changed. Now they’re Jillian even in their inner monologues!

There are subtler lies, too. I describe Dan as being in his mid-thirties in section A1, but I don’t warn the reader that he’s a toddler now. Instead I made Dan pick up his Teddy Bear, be afraid of the dark, speak in simple language, and get distracted by his cat. Jillian’s mother picks her up in one arm, so we’re clearly not dealing with a full-grown, thirty-something-year-old man. By showing these details I hope to create a cognitive dissonance in the reader which warns them something is amiss. I want to keep them on their toes, analyzing everything the characters do and say, so they understand the narrative trick I’ve pulled on them.

As a little bonus, the cat’s name is Django. The silent D hints at the transition from Dan to Jillian. (Also my childhood pet was named Django and I wanted to include him. Mrow.)

Anyway, thanks for reading! Until next time, keep eating your worms!

Next Section
Table of Contents

Now that we’ve finished Chapter A with A4: The Little Blue Bird, (which you should read before this), let’s look it over. These first four sections establish the conflicts we’ll be seeing for the whole novel even while offering a self-contained story which I hope holds up in its own right.

We established two major settings, the monastery and the Mountain in a desert. By surprising the reader with the transition we build a sense of mystery into the setting itself. Did Dan die? Is the Mountain in the afterlife? What happened here? These questions aren’t answered, so the reader must continue.

We introduced four characters: Dan, Virgil Blue, Faith Featherway, and Anihilato. For each pair of characters we presented the relationship between them, and those relationships provided conflict. Dan and VB have an obvious student/master relationship; it’s the first relationship the readers see so I want it to be easily understood. Dan and Faith are friends but their friendship presents another mystery: why do these two know each other? Dan tests their friendship by seeking out Anihilato, who has their own beef with everyone involved. These relationships are not terribly complicated, but that’s a good thing: as the novel goes on, readers will come to understand the characters and their interactions more fully.

Dan alluded to two more characters, Beatrice and Jay, in section A4. I think it’s a good idea to mention characters before they appear so you avoid introducing everyone’s best friend that everyone knows in, like, Chapter Eight. When I rewrite these early sections I might mention Beatrice and Jay in A1. Jay is in the title, after all.

Finally, even while setting up the pieces for the rest of the novel, we tell a story. The first section sets up the conflicts as Dan and VB discuss Dan’s journey to the Mountain and Dan’s obsession with Beatrice. Dan’s immolation in a furnace is the inciting event which sets off the rest of the chapter, the threshold crossing. In the second section Dan meets Faith, a helper for his journey, but tensions are still high because he is in a strange environment and only digging deeper after Beatrice. In the third section we meet antagonist Anihilato, who presents an obstacle to be overcome. All hope is lost as Faith is annihilated and Dan is left alone. In the fourth section Dan triumphs over adversity to save his friend Faith—but then throws away his victory to challenge Anihilato again for Beatrice, an act of hubris which acts as another inciting event setting off the rest of the book.

We’ve also set up the makings of an allegory: there’s a character nicknamed Dainty who travels across the afterlife for a character named Beatrice at the behest a character named Virgil Blue, guided by a character named Faith. Maybe in Chapter B’s commentary we’ll talk about my plans for this allegory.

I’ll have Section B1 up next Friday, the 5th of May. Until then, eat your worms!

Next Chapter
Table of Contents

Before I posted A3: The King of Dust (which you should read before this) I edited it. I cut out some unnecessary paragraphs, rearranged some dialogue, clarified the action, and kept it punchy. Let’s look at excerpts from the shitty first draft (pardon my french) and compare them to the second draft.

First, instead of these cool worms in the current draft:

Worms fled sand and sought moisture, eating into the deep. Larger worms left tunnels in their wakes. The largest worm carved caverns with twenty arms and twenty legs. When it exhaled it filled its labyrinths with frost.

I had this angst-filled teenage poetry:

The cold earth invaded every aspect of the dark silence. Icy pangs leaked into crevices and corners. The bite of chilled sand fell in every opening and scraped every inch. The heat from each limb and fingertip evaporated into the cruel depths.

The creature moved. It forced two hundred fingertips through hard-packed sands, undulating its long torso to shift tons of cool earth. Forty feet kicked against the dark.

—

After eons and eternities, the movements carved subterranean tunnels and burrows. Empty rooms filled with frozen air, and when the creature exhaled, he filled his network with impenetrable white fog.

When you write a lot you can cut out as much as you want—you know you’ll be able to fill the space back up if you need to. That’s why I didn’t flinch when I deleted these paragraphs (and occasionally tens of pages, if I don’t like where a story has ended up). The new intro focuses on some wormy imagery which builds up to Anihilato, a giant worm guy. As I wrote Section J2 (which should be posted on this website in a few months I guess) I noticed that worms were appearing more and more often, so I decided to edit them into the early sections for a sense of cohesiveness. Motifs are only motifs if you remember to use them!

Next, let’s take a look at how I described Anihilato in my first draft:

The creature ambled to a dark corner of its cavern, forty legs shifting and undulating like roused millipedes. It carefully placed each egg into holes in the wall, whispering quiet gibberish to each one.

“Anihilato, my name is Dan Jones. This is my friend, Faith Featherway.”

The egg holes leaked clear, protective jelly.

The creature turned to face them.

“I am. The King of Dust.”

For a minute it stared. He was twenty feet long, pairs of legs attached to twenty consecutive pelvises, his forty pairs of arms cramped on a human torso eight feet long, but ordinary thickness. Six eyes blinked, each bright like the watery reflection of stars in a deep well. Its face was dry and cracked.

“Anihilato, right?” said Dan. “We were looking for you.”

Compare this to the second draft, posted today:

It crawled on twenty legs to a dark corner of its cave. It whispered gibberish as it stuck each egg in the wall.

“Anihilato, I’m Dan Jones. This is my friend, Faith Featherway.”

The worm blinked its six eyes. “I am the King of Dust.” Its face was cracked and dry. It had ten pelvises connected in series, Dan noticed, and ten stacked human torsos. It was held upright with snake-like musculature.

The egg holes leaked jelly.

“Anihilato, right?” Dan held out the cricket. “Do you have a lighter?”

I have to be careful with phrases like “for a minute,” or “for a second.” I use them too often and when I edit they slip by me. In the second draft I don’t have to say that Anihilato stared for a minute because the description fills the space, and gives the impression that time is passing. The imagery is less flowery in this draft, because Anihilato is a complicated creature. The worms took care of the cool imagery; Anihilato’s description must be clear and concise.

Adding “Dan noticed” lets this description pull double-duty: it’s not just a description of Anihilato, but of Dan. He’s the kind of person who counts how many legs the monster has. You and Dan also might notice that Anihilato used to have forty arms and forty legs and I reduced it to twenty of each.

Next, let’s look at the first draft again (when the Mountain was called Mala):

“Everything in that box belongs to me.” Anihilato smiled. The teeth had no gums. “From formless dust, the Great Lord Mala created you. As the King of Dust, ruler of Nihilism, you belong to me.”

Dan flipped the paper over. There was no writing on the back. Only a few complicated symbols cluttered the front. “Well, I’m afraid that as a celestial, I’m supposed to merge with Mala as a Zephyr. So I’ll be taking my Eternity Card, if you don’t mind.”

Anihilato paused, then smiled. “I don’t think you quite understand. When you attained earthly enlightenment, you understood your place at the godhead–you became a living celestial. But your soul belongs to me until Mala claims your Eternity Card and declares you as a Zephyr. And having fallen into my domain, you remain in the realm of death and dust.”

“Mala hasn’t claimed my Eternity Card?” Dan delivered the question with a tilt of his head, as if in disbelief.

“Mala declares Zephyrs by claiming their Cards,” said Anihilato, driving the point home with ten jabbing fingers. “If the Great Lord Mala has not claimed your card, perhaps you are less enlightened than you anticipated.”

“There’s something wrong here,” said Dan, tapping the paper with two fingers. “You don’t have my Eternity Card in your box of soul receipts.”

Blah blah blah. Readers are smarter than this; cut it down, make the details into a joke so they’ll remember it.

“The Eternity Cards are my deed to creation.” Anihilato smiled. Its teeth had no gums. “The Mountain made you from dust. I’m the Master of Nihilism, King of Dust. I own you. I tire of bureaucratic nonsense. I have the right to obliterate you.”

“You sure would.” Dan folded the paper. “If you had my Eternity Card.”

Anihilato’s jaw hung open. “…I do.”

“Then what am I holding?”

The King of Dust shook its head. “You saw me take that from my box moments ago.”

“I sure did.”

Last but not least improved, let’s look at Faith being sucked into Anihilato’s mouth. Here’s the old version:

“Do not make small talk. You are still mine, wisp,” said Anihilato. “If you are not a Zephyr, then your soul belongs to me now.”

Anihilato inhaled. From every corner of the endless caverns, the winds blew towards him.

There was a crack in the air like shattering glass.

Dan grabbed the arctic fox in both hands, snow falling through his fingers. The humble happiness fell from his face, leaving sheer panic. “Anihilato, stop now.”

As the King of Dust inhaled, Faith’s fog drifted towards him. “What the hell? Help!” She turned to Dan. “What’s he doing?”

He had ceased inhaling. Instead, the caverns themselves seemed to produce the wind, horrible howls pulling at Faith from deep within the network of catacombs. Anihilato spoke over the irresistible forces. “Whether ordered here by Mala or not, your soul is in my box, and now it is mine.”

“I’m so sorry, Faith, just–” Dan watched her eyes fill with terror as each limb vanished into thin air.

“Do something, please!”

“I’m sorry, I’m panicking, I’m–”

She was gone.

Dan spoke with seriousness in every muscle of his face. “She’s a friend. Let her go.”

Even just comparing the white space in the two drafts tells you how much verbiage could be compacted:

“Don’t speak like you’re leaving, wisp,” said Anihilato. “Your soul still belongs to me.” The worm’s next breath sucked wind from every corner of the endless caverns.

Faith yelped as her airy tail drifted towards the King of Dust. “Help! Dainty! What’s it doing?” She tried to run but slipped backward each step.

Dan grabbed the fox in both hands. Snow flew through his fingers. “Anihilato, stop! Now!”

Faith fought the wind that ripped her snowflakes away. “Help, help!”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Dan watched her body vanish until finally her terrified eyes flew into Anihilato’s lipless mouth. “She’s my friend. Let her go.”

This draft makes it clearer who’s talking when, and I think Faith’s reaction is a little more genuine. Also, why could Anihilato speak while inhaling like that? That’s just confusing.

Someday, when the bones of this story are all out of the ground, I’ll come back and edit these early sections again. Maybe I’ll rewrite them entirely, making these edits pointless. That’s just the nature of the beast; we can’t let it discourage us. Until next time, enjoy your worms!

Next Section
Table of Contents

Let’s talk about A2: Faith, that White Fox, posted today and which you should read before coming here.

In this section I introduce a new character, and thank goodness, because we can only listen to monks set up exposition for so long. Faith Featherway is a cloud-fox-thing wandering the desert and taking ‘lost souls’ to that Mountain we heard so much about last section. I’m hoping her casual attitude is a breath of fresh air for the reader after those stuffy, orderly monks.

Dan and Faith recognize each other, apparently, and used to be friends. Now the reader can relate to them because they’re the kind of people who have friends. That might sound simplistic, but building likable characters is important. Who would care what kind of mystical quest Dan and Faith had ahead of them if they were just jerks? By establishing positive relationships between characters we reassure the reader that these are protagonists worth rooting for. In addition, their interactions through dialogue allow me to show their personality to the reader. It’s easier to get characters to open up to friends; then readers have context for conflicts with antagonists later.

The characters recognizing each other is, I hope, funny. At this point the reader might be completely lost. What alien world is this? Is this the afterlife? The characters celebrating a relationship the reader didn’t know of is a sort of punchline defusing the rising tension I’ve built. As a bonus, if I can make the reader laugh I can make them remember anything, even when the timeline gets more complicated.

Also notice that Dan said he was worried about Anihilato in the last section, and Faith reinforces this concern, but Dan wants to meet Anihilato anyway. We learn about characters through their decisions and this decision is made to get the reader’s attention. Why is Dan seeking out Anihilato? In the next sections we’ll come to understand this decision as indicative of one of Dan’s character flaws.

So what’s up with the cricket? Strange things, I promise.

Until next time! If you have any comments, questions, or criticisms, put ’em in the comments.

Next Section
Table of Contents