Welp, here is a chart I found to help classify. Don't worry, these aren't the rules, and some may go by different measures, but I thought it could help.
Sunday 28 December 2014
Classification of Stories
The normal classification of Novels, short stories and the like are often uncertain, which is good, but how do I know I've written a Novel (in word count) if my story has 34,000 words?
^.^ -Sam
Novel: over 40,000 words
Monday 22 December 2014
Book Review: The Skin Map, by Steven Lawhead
Imagine Celtic mythology and medieval Europe meeting Doctor Who without the Doctor. That's pretty much what this story is like. Some people may not like this kind of Science Fiction, because it may come across as being too random and out-of-the-ordinary, but if you give it a chance, you may be in for a surprise.
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
The Plot
Imagine rain pouring from the sky, thunder booming right above you. You look down the street and it's bright and shiny down there, not much of a long walk away, while you have rain showering down on you. Why don't you leave that spot? Your great-grandfather has appeared. You thought he was dead, but he's obviously not, because he's standing right in front of you. He wants you to come with him, and when you do, you find yourself in a place that you can't explain - a part of town that you thought you would have known had existed. It's like a place where people are reenacting a scene from a hundred or so years ago. To make it even more odd, they act real, as if the way that you see them living is actually how they live.
This is what happens to Kit Livingstone, a young, well-to-do bloke who doesn't think much of the supernatural or anything of that sort. It isn't until his great-grandfather appears to him and brings him to experience things beyond the ordinary that Kit realizes that there is more to life than what we see with the naked eye.
The ancient Celts believed that there were places in which a person could enter, and he could emerge on the other side in a completely different universe. While we might hear a notion like that and shrug it off as nonsense, this story asks the question, "What if you find that such a belief is somewhat true?" What if you could find a place or an object - a portal, if you will - that could allow you to travel from this universe and into another one? Not only that, but you might be able to travel to the past, if not also the future.
But how do you find these portals? That's the key, and that's the mystery. What if someone made a map of the portals, allowing you to find them and use them properly? What if the person who made the map, instead of charting it on paper, tattooed it upon his own skin?
Positive Elements:
Although the protagonist characters show no sign of perfection in virtue, there is a strong sense of loyalty to one another. Although characters such as Wilhelmina may be disliked, her new-found love of life is something for which many of us may wish to find. Honour is key, and the virtue that the characters do show provide a glimmer of hope in the middle of a hopeless scenario.
Spiritual Content:
The involvement of Celtic beliefs and medieval/renaissance Europe inevitably brings up spiritual topics. There is no in-your-face Christianity to be found, but there is certainly a spiritual undertone. If you're not looking for it, you won't find it - or, at least, it may not appear to be very strong - but if you are familiar with religious topics, you might find a glimpse as to where the story will go.
Violence:
The Skin Map is nowhere near being as gruesome as that of other stories, but it doesn't shy away from the fact that people do get physically hurt. A couple of people get slugged across the face. There is at least one fight scene. Nothing incredibly explicit is described.
Inappropriate Content:
There are mentions of beauty and flirting, but nothing beyond that.
Foul Language:
While there is the possibility of "d--n" being used once or twice, nothing further of such nature is spoken.
Technical Issues:
Some people might consider the writing style to be boring and the characters flat. The writing style is more British than American, due to the fact that the author is British. The story may not seem very intriguing to everyone, and to those who dislike this kind of story, there may not be much to compel the reader to continue reading, but for those who do like this kind of story, although the story could have begun in a more interesting way and there may be some painfully boring parts, readers will find it rewarding when they do read through the entire book.
Though the characters may be flat, the plot tends to be interesting enough to keep the reader reading.
If I explained much more, I'd give too many spoilers.
Conclusion:
While there may be somewhat of a disliking for this novel, the concepts and story-lines will be thought-provoking. An obvious theme throughout the work is the idea of otherness. Imagination is key, and the possibilities are endless. There is no easy way to explain the depth of this book to those who have not read it, and although it may not be a perfect work, it still opens the imagination to ideas "outside of the box," so to speak, and some people may not want to miss the adventures that this story has to offer.
~ Fintan
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
The Plot
Imagine rain pouring from the sky, thunder booming right above you. You look down the street and it's bright and shiny down there, not much of a long walk away, while you have rain showering down on you. Why don't you leave that spot? Your great-grandfather has appeared. You thought he was dead, but he's obviously not, because he's standing right in front of you. He wants you to come with him, and when you do, you find yourself in a place that you can't explain - a part of town that you thought you would have known had existed. It's like a place where people are reenacting a scene from a hundred or so years ago. To make it even more odd, they act real, as if the way that you see them living is actually how they live.
This is what happens to Kit Livingstone, a young, well-to-do bloke who doesn't think much of the supernatural or anything of that sort. It isn't until his great-grandfather appears to him and brings him to experience things beyond the ordinary that Kit realizes that there is more to life than what we see with the naked eye.
The ancient Celts believed that there were places in which a person could enter, and he could emerge on the other side in a completely different universe. While we might hear a notion like that and shrug it off as nonsense, this story asks the question, "What if you find that such a belief is somewhat true?" What if you could find a place or an object - a portal, if you will - that could allow you to travel from this universe and into another one? Not only that, but you might be able to travel to the past, if not also the future.
But how do you find these portals? That's the key, and that's the mystery. What if someone made a map of the portals, allowing you to find them and use them properly? What if the person who made the map, instead of charting it on paper, tattooed it upon his own skin?
Positive Elements:
Although the protagonist characters show no sign of perfection in virtue, there is a strong sense of loyalty to one another. Although characters such as Wilhelmina may be disliked, her new-found love of life is something for which many of us may wish to find. Honour is key, and the virtue that the characters do show provide a glimmer of hope in the middle of a hopeless scenario.
Spiritual Content:
The involvement of Celtic beliefs and medieval/renaissance Europe inevitably brings up spiritual topics. There is no in-your-face Christianity to be found, but there is certainly a spiritual undertone. If you're not looking for it, you won't find it - or, at least, it may not appear to be very strong - but if you are familiar with religious topics, you might find a glimpse as to where the story will go.
Violence:
The Skin Map is nowhere near being as gruesome as that of other stories, but it doesn't shy away from the fact that people do get physically hurt. A couple of people get slugged across the face. There is at least one fight scene. Nothing incredibly explicit is described.
Inappropriate Content:
There are mentions of beauty and flirting, but nothing beyond that.
Foul Language:
While there is the possibility of "d--n" being used once or twice, nothing further of such nature is spoken.
Technical Issues:
Some people might consider the writing style to be boring and the characters flat. The writing style is more British than American, due to the fact that the author is British. The story may not seem very intriguing to everyone, and to those who dislike this kind of story, there may not be much to compel the reader to continue reading, but for those who do like this kind of story, although the story could have begun in a more interesting way and there may be some painfully boring parts, readers will find it rewarding when they do read through the entire book.
Though the characters may be flat, the plot tends to be interesting enough to keep the reader reading.
If I explained much more, I'd give too many spoilers.
Conclusion:
While there may be somewhat of a disliking for this novel, the concepts and story-lines will be thought-provoking. An obvious theme throughout the work is the idea of otherness. Imagination is key, and the possibilities are endless. There is no easy way to explain the depth of this book to those who have not read it, and although it may not be a perfect work, it still opens the imagination to ideas "outside of the box," so to speak, and some people may not want to miss the adventures that this story has to offer.
~ Fintan
Monday 22 September 2014
Fear of the Unknown - Part 1: An Example Story
Imagine a man named George who was walking one day through a
crowded street. All was normal, and he was not thinking of anything that would
be out of the ordinary. However, when ahead a part of the street was clear of
most people, he saw five little animals walking about the place on all-fours
and had their faces to the ground. Curious, he got a little closer. Before
getting dangerously close, he stopped. One of the animals raised its head to
look at George. Their eyes met. George stared at it, stunned. It had a face
like a pug dog, but this thing was taller than one of those kinds of dogs, had
big eyes with pupils like a goat’s pupils, three little horns poked out of its
forehead, and right below the horns, between the two disturbingly strange eyes,
a little light from an unknown source flashed red, green, yellow, and blue. The
little thing, standing about three feet high, approached George, came too close
for his comfort and stopped. They stared at each other for a longer time, then
a low, gurgling growl came from the animal. It bared its tall fangs which
looked red from blood, whether it was its own blood or something else’s blood,
George could not discern. George backed away, looked at the person next to him,
who, amazingly, acted as if nothing strange was happening, and looked back at
the animal, from which he had not kept his gaze more than a second. However,
when George brought his eyes back to where the animal was, all five of the
creatures had vanished.
George did not know how long he had been staring at those
things. Maybe he was hallucinating, he thought. He went to a man nearby who was
selling out water and asked the water-man if he had seen the things, describing
them to the man and telling him how they had vanished. The water-man became concerned for George and
gave him a couple of water bottles for free. George accepted it, went to sit on
a bench, and tried to not let himself think about it anymore.
He walked home alone, which was not far from the place. It
was getting dark, and he hoped to get home before sundown, because he did not
bring a flashlight with him. He heard a noise on the side of the road which he
assumed was made by a squirrel or something of the like. He thought little of
it until five dark shapes started appearing ahead of him, coming from both
sides of the road. Four of them had
their heads facing the ground, just as he had seen them do in the town. The
fifth one looked around a bit, almost as if to see if anyone else was watching,
then approached George. It got even closer than it had before. George dared not
move. The thing looked him up and down, then it opened its mouth and, instead
of barking like George expected, it let out a low, rumbling noise like thunder
in the distance. The five other creatures looked up and slowly walked toward
George. They surrounded him, all with their strange, disturbing faces looking
at him, motionless. George trembled in fear. The odd faces the things had were what
kept George from doing anything in self-defense. These things were not dogs,
and they certainly seemed much more ferocious than any dog he had ever seen.
For all George knew, these animals could do anything to him, and they did not
seem to want to do a nice thing. George and these animals stood there seemingly
for an eternity, until the five things moved closer and closer to him. Another
low, thunder-like rumble sounded, and the creatures vanished.
George did not know whether or not he could move. If they
could instantly become invisible at will, then he did not want to move, touch
one of the invisible things, and make them angry. He stood there for a while,
not knowing whether to think of himself as an idiot for believing a silly
hallucination or to really believe what he saw. Finally, he built up the courage to take a
step forward. Nothing happened. He took another baby step. Still, nothing
happened – no sound, nothing touching him, no odd smells, nothing invisible
reappearing to scare him again. He remained motionless once more, heart
pounding, breathing heavily despite his trying to be quite. He clenched his
fist and ran down the road until reaching his home, locking all of the doors,
closing and covering the windows, and ended up sleeping with several lights
still on in the house.
He never saw those animals again.
~ Fintan.
Tuesday 5 August 2014
Stories Told Through Video Games
"Vidyuh gums?" a lot, in fact most of you, might be thinking, "Those don't have stories! Or at least decent ones!"
Personally, I disagree, but that's just me. The ratio of how many video
games I play to how many books I read might be involved with this, but
if the goal of a story is to create emotion, then video games work much,
much better for me.
However, I have to admit that games don't really use their full potential. It seems like you have to balance quality of gameplay and quality of story, that both can't be good. Heavy Rain is what you get when you focus on story; the gameplay is decent and interesting, but it's more of an interactive movie. On the other hand...well...most of us have played a Mario game at some point, and we all know the extent of the plot. But the gameplay is (usually) fantastic enough to compensate.
The "full potential" of video game stories is easy to point out, but next to impossible to achieve, hence the reason there's only about two games in existence that are praised for their stories. (That number might be an exaggeration, but you know what I mean.) Imagine the difficulty of writing a novel, but add the element of dropping the reader into the novel. Congratulations, you've imagined a video game.
Firstly, a lot of video games, in my opinion, fail to include the world in the story. Sure, you got a fancy wooden sword from an old man in a cave, but is there anything else about the old man? The sword? The cave? Are they relevant in any way? (I realize I'm talking about an early NES game, it's just an example. Chill pill.) Yay, another weapon vendor. I guess that's the extent of ambition in everyone ever in all the universes.
Skyrim is a good example of this. On your quest to slay Alduin, the dragon prophesied to end the world, you decide to collect a few random bounties, kill the occasional dragon which has no bearing on anything but a mountain peak, become a vampire, get married, buy a house, build another house, become a thane, sacrifice your housecarl on a demon altar, become a male priest in an all-female religion dedicated to matchmaking, and stumble upon a talking dog with an out-of-place New Jersey accent that you follow into a cave just because you tend to follow talking dogs who tell you their master is a demon god. Alduin is just a boss that you can decide to fight at your leisure.
That would be like if Frodo decided "I will do it! I will take the Ring to Mordor. When I'm bored of doing everyone else's jobs and I happen to be passing by." Which only gets worse when Sauron is content with his decision and courteously waits until he comes to destroy the Ring to do anything. On the other hand, if Alduin did eventually destroy the world, the sense of urgency would be so high that you couldn't enjoy the side quests, or anything else for that matter. The game would be much more linear, and wouldn't be Elder Scrolls anymore. It would be Call of Duty: Skyrim.
This all makes it seem that maybe a good story isn't possible in Skyrim, but Majora's Mask seemed to do an apocalypse plot while still allowing exploration and an open world, albeit on a smaller scale, just fine. In Majora's Mask, if you don't save the world in three game days, the moon crashes into it and...you know. But since it's incredibly unlikely to actually do it in three games days, when the moon hits Hyrule, or you do this of your own accord, time reverses to day one. Time travel in Skyrim might be too out-of-place, but it's still possible to include SOME sense of importance to being the world's savior, rather than just being a hobby you do on the side.
Linear games seem to do this better, though not much. Dishonored uses gameplay elements that both are important to the story and reflect the world itself. You can use magic now, yay, big whoop. Except magic is banned and the state cult is hunting it down Salem Witch Trials style. Occasionally, rat swarms will attack anyone that gets near, which is almost a video game cliche. Except these rats are why you left the city to plea for aid and returned just in time to be framed for murdering the Empress in the first place. Whale bone runes aren't just points to score another magic ability that are littered around; merely with scrambled notes and the pitiful environment you find them in, a whole new aspect of the already-dystopian world is added, you start having second thoughts about trusting the weird god man who tells you to collect them, and you get a little more depressed each time you find them in a room filled with body bags and sad diaries. Then you actually feel like you improve the world when you progress the story. Exploding barrel cliche? These exploding barrels are just another detail for world immersion, as they're filled with the city's very source of power.
This all isn't even in regards to the relationship between the gameplay and the story - what the story does to the gameplay and vice versa. It's something a lot of games can expand upon, and even makes room for a theme to be expressed solely with the gameplay.
The goal of the silent protagonist is to get revenge on a handful of conspirators. You can do this several ways, but how you do it affects everything else. Lethally or non-lethally are the two basic methods. Lethally is centered more on revenge - but doesn't help the world at all. Things only deteriorate further both for you personally and for the rest of the city of Dunwall. Avoiding killing concentrates on ironic justice instead. Brand the cult zealot a heretic, broadcast a confession of the Lord Regent's sins to the city, spare the assassin at gunpoint. All of this makes Dunwall that much of a better place.
The theme might not be clear in this game, (especially since "Revenge solves everything" is plastered on the back, yet revenge only makes things worse for you) but it's a concept that a lot of other game writers can learn from. Themes expressed through gameplay is something that almost defines indie games as well.
But that's just what I think. Not that video games simply don't have good stories, but that most - maybe all of them simply don't use every asset to make it something great. If a game can combine its gameplay, soundtrack, and art, (okay, graphics, whatever) to complement the story, it could become one of the best mediums of storytelling. No longer is it about sympathizing with the Man Who Learned Better, you learn better.
However, I have to admit that games don't really use their full potential. It seems like you have to balance quality of gameplay and quality of story, that both can't be good. Heavy Rain is what you get when you focus on story; the gameplay is decent and interesting, but it's more of an interactive movie. On the other hand...well...most of us have played a Mario game at some point, and we all know the extent of the plot. But the gameplay is (usually) fantastic enough to compensate.
The "full potential" of video game stories is easy to point out, but next to impossible to achieve, hence the reason there's only about two games in existence that are praised for their stories. (That number might be an exaggeration, but you know what I mean.) Imagine the difficulty of writing a novel, but add the element of dropping the reader into the novel. Congratulations, you've imagined a video game.
Firstly, a lot of video games, in my opinion, fail to include the world in the story. Sure, you got a fancy wooden sword from an old man in a cave, but is there anything else about the old man? The sword? The cave? Are they relevant in any way? (I realize I'm talking about an early NES game, it's just an example. Chill pill.) Yay, another weapon vendor. I guess that's the extent of ambition in everyone ever in all the universes.
Skyrim is a good example of this. On your quest to slay Alduin, the dragon prophesied to end the world, you decide to collect a few random bounties, kill the occasional dragon which has no bearing on anything but a mountain peak, become a vampire, get married, buy a house, build another house, become a thane, sacrifice your housecarl on a demon altar, become a male priest in an all-female religion dedicated to matchmaking, and stumble upon a talking dog with an out-of-place New Jersey accent that you follow into a cave just because you tend to follow talking dogs who tell you their master is a demon god. Alduin is just a boss that you can decide to fight at your leisure.
That would be like if Frodo decided "I will do it! I will take the Ring to Mordor. When I'm bored of doing everyone else's jobs and I happen to be passing by." Which only gets worse when Sauron is content with his decision and courteously waits until he comes to destroy the Ring to do anything. On the other hand, if Alduin did eventually destroy the world, the sense of urgency would be so high that you couldn't enjoy the side quests, or anything else for that matter. The game would be much more linear, and wouldn't be Elder Scrolls anymore. It would be Call of Duty: Skyrim.
This all makes it seem that maybe a good story isn't possible in Skyrim, but Majora's Mask seemed to do an apocalypse plot while still allowing exploration and an open world, albeit on a smaller scale, just fine. In Majora's Mask, if you don't save the world in three game days, the moon crashes into it and...you know. But since it's incredibly unlikely to actually do it in three games days, when the moon hits Hyrule, or you do this of your own accord, time reverses to day one. Time travel in Skyrim might be too out-of-place, but it's still possible to include SOME sense of importance to being the world's savior, rather than just being a hobby you do on the side.
Linear games seem to do this better, though not much. Dishonored uses gameplay elements that both are important to the story and reflect the world itself. You can use magic now, yay, big whoop. Except magic is banned and the state cult is hunting it down Salem Witch Trials style. Occasionally, rat swarms will attack anyone that gets near, which is almost a video game cliche. Except these rats are why you left the city to plea for aid and returned just in time to be framed for murdering the Empress in the first place. Whale bone runes aren't just points to score another magic ability that are littered around; merely with scrambled notes and the pitiful environment you find them in, a whole new aspect of the already-dystopian world is added, you start having second thoughts about trusting the weird god man who tells you to collect them, and you get a little more depressed each time you find them in a room filled with body bags and sad diaries. Then you actually feel like you improve the world when you progress the story. Exploding barrel cliche? These exploding barrels are just another detail for world immersion, as they're filled with the city's very source of power.
This all isn't even in regards to the relationship between the gameplay and the story - what the story does to the gameplay and vice versa. It's something a lot of games can expand upon, and even makes room for a theme to be expressed solely with the gameplay.
The goal of the silent protagonist is to get revenge on a handful of conspirators. You can do this several ways, but how you do it affects everything else. Lethally or non-lethally are the two basic methods. Lethally is centered more on revenge - but doesn't help the world at all. Things only deteriorate further both for you personally and for the rest of the city of Dunwall. Avoiding killing concentrates on ironic justice instead. Brand the cult zealot a heretic, broadcast a confession of the Lord Regent's sins to the city, spare the assassin at gunpoint. All of this makes Dunwall that much of a better place.
The theme might not be clear in this game, (especially since "Revenge solves everything" is plastered on the back, yet revenge only makes things worse for you) but it's a concept that a lot of other game writers can learn from. Themes expressed through gameplay is something that almost defines indie games as well.
But that's just what I think. Not that video games simply don't have good stories, but that most - maybe all of them simply don't use every asset to make it something great. If a game can combine its gameplay, soundtrack, and art, (okay, graphics, whatever) to complement the story, it could become one of the best mediums of storytelling. No longer is it about sympathizing with the Man Who Learned Better, you learn better.
Sunday 3 August 2014
A Fairly Common Grammatical Misunderstanding
There is a grammatical misunderstanding
which people use in both colloquial and written English which I find a bit
annoying, partly because I find that I cannot always know what is the person’s
intended meaning behind the statement.
Read the following sentences:
- What if everyone is not at the park?
- What if no one is at the park?
- What if not everyone is at the park?
I call the first sentence a
grammatical misunderstanding, not a grammatical error, because the first
sentence does make sense and follows correct grammar. However, the person’s
intended meaning behind the sentence may not be what his/her listeners
understand.
- “No one is...” means that there is not anyone, not a single person, in the given instance.
- “Not everyone is...” refers to the fact that there is a part of “everyone” which is not in a given instance.
- “Everyone is not…” is simply a different wording of “no one is,” putting emphasis on the fact that the whole – the “everyone” – is not in a given instance. A speaker or writer may intend to communicate that “not everyone” is in a given instance, but because they say that “everyone is not” in the given instance, that gives the indication that “no one” is in the given instance.
Does this make sense?
~ Fintan
Tuesday 22 July 2014
The Making of Languages, Part 2: Phonology
Languages are made up of two things: the usage of words, and the construction of words. The usage of words is a very complicated little beast, and I covered it very lightly in the introduction of this "series", found here.
The more overlooked of these two concepts is decidedly the second. The construction of words is not a very intriguing question. Either that, or you consider it hard and have no idea how to begin. So, let us first consult English - it is the one ground that I am positive you have some familiarity with, and familiar ground is essential for understanding these concepts.
English's syllable structure is more or less C(C)(C)V(V)(C)(C)(C) ("C" stands for Consonant, "V" stands for Vowel, here). Strengths is an excellent example - it has three separate consonants (S, then T, then R) then a vowel, (e), then three more consonants (NG, then TH, then S). Truant shows how English can have more than one vowel in a syllable, as well. In this, English is either the flat-out Most Complicated Syllable award-winner, or very nearly so. On the other side of the spectrum, there are some languages whose syllable structures are literally (C)V (the Meso-american Nahuatl, for instance). Considering syllable-structure, even for a brief moment, can help flesh out the language. Some languages, I should also note, only allow specific sounds in slots - Japanese features the (C)(y,w)V structure, if I recall correctly. Go nuts with this! A particularly notable syllable structure will mean that the language always has a slightly alien feel, because the sounds it allows aren't allowed by English. For instance, the name "Ndraan" has an odd feel because "N"s aren't allowed there for most languages (the exceptions I know of being exclusively African, in this case).
English's sound-set (aka, its "phonology") features a large number of sounds of very differing Places and Manners. "T" features the same Manner as "K", merely a different Place. "R" features the same place as "T", merely in a different Manner. This is one place where the International Phonetic Alphabet is invaluable in creating a language. A good language's phonology will only have sounds which are similar (in whatever possible way) to at least two other sounds, preferably more. If a language has the sounds M,N,P,B,T,D,F,V,Īø, and Ć°, (those last two being the two different forms of the English "TH") it will simply Not Have the French "R" (IPA Ź) - there is no sound it shares either Place with or Manner with. It could be a more normal Trilled R (IPA r), since there are multiple other consonants in that same Place. Alternatively it could be another "stop" (like the P, T, and K, and their voiced compatriots), the Arabic Q (IPA q). But if it is "floating" off to the side of the chart with no relation to any other sound, then the sound has no reason for being that far out of the way - it could easily be crammed in with the rest of the consonants with plenty of distinction. Consonants are only happy when they need to be fairly exact. Vowels are slightly different, in that there are three levels of difference (forwardness, closedness, and roundedness), and they want to be spread out over the entire range (if still more or less relatable to the other vowels, and even if the front vowels tend to be unrounded and the back ones rounded). Play with the relative numbers of these, too. Some languages have stupid numbers of vowels and very few consonants. Some of them have only two vowels and 40-odd consonants. Some (like English) are fairly high in both counts. A few (Hawai'ian, notably) are very low in both counts.
Phonologies are weird little things. The sheer number of different sounds the human mouth can make is astounding, and almost every single one has been used in some language, somewhere. This is an excellent place to go a little bit crazy, and is probably one of the most accessible parts of properly Scientific Linguistics. Wikipedia can give a very good idea of what a given sound sounds like, and how to make it, and how often it is found in languages. Armed with this alone, you can do all sorts of cool things. Phonologies form the core of every single language, no matter how well-planned or detailed they may be. Without a well-planned phonology, a language will be left feeling lacking. But, armed with a phonology, even a simple naming language can shine.
gŹd lŹk, fɹĪµndz, and nĪµvĪµÉ¹ stÉp lÉɹnÉŖÅ!
Oh, sorry - IPA went into overdrive. *headdesk*
Good luck, friends, and never stop learning!
~Theoden
Terminology:
"Place" is more commonly called "Place of Articulation" with consonants - these can range from "bilabial" (two-lipped, i.e., lip-only), all the way to "glottal" (English's "H" is a Glottal Fricative, for example).
"Manner" is more commonly called "Manner of Articulation", which can range from Nasal (think M, N, and NG), through the Stops or Plosives (T, K, and the elusive Glottal Stop), and into the Trills and Approximants, and not least, the Laterals (like L, and the Welsh "LL"). On top of that, there is also the distinction of "Voicing", which is the difference between P, and B; T, and D; TH, and, well... TH (though that second one is sometimes written as "DH" in low-level phonologic texts (or at least, those which do not use IPA). Tolkien did it like that, in his appendices to the Lord of the Rings).
This is the land of weird terminology, though, and I'm sure I'm missing something important - so post questions in the comments below! Questions mean learning, and if I'm managing to teach someone here, I'll be happy. :⟩
The more overlooked of these two concepts is decidedly the second. The construction of words is not a very intriguing question. Either that, or you consider it hard and have no idea how to begin. So, let us first consult English - it is the one ground that I am positive you have some familiarity with, and familiar ground is essential for understanding these concepts.
English's syllable structure is more or less C(C)(C)V(V)(C)(C)(C) ("C" stands for Consonant, "V" stands for Vowel, here). Strengths is an excellent example - it has three separate consonants (S, then T, then R) then a vowel, (e), then three more consonants (NG, then TH, then S). Truant shows how English can have more than one vowel in a syllable, as well. In this, English is either the flat-out Most Complicated Syllable award-winner, or very nearly so. On the other side of the spectrum, there are some languages whose syllable structures are literally (C)V (the Meso-american Nahuatl, for instance). Considering syllable-structure, even for a brief moment, can help flesh out the language. Some languages, I should also note, only allow specific sounds in slots - Japanese features the (C)(y,w)V structure, if I recall correctly. Go nuts with this! A particularly notable syllable structure will mean that the language always has a slightly alien feel, because the sounds it allows aren't allowed by English. For instance, the name "Ndraan" has an odd feel because "N"s aren't allowed there for most languages (the exceptions I know of being exclusively African, in this case).
English's sound-set (aka, its "phonology") features a large number of sounds of very differing Places and Manners. "T" features the same Manner as "K", merely a different Place. "R" features the same place as "T", merely in a different Manner. This is one place where the International Phonetic Alphabet is invaluable in creating a language. A good language's phonology will only have sounds which are similar (in whatever possible way) to at least two other sounds, preferably more. If a language has the sounds M,N,P,B,T,D,F,V,Īø, and Ć°, (those last two being the two different forms of the English "TH") it will simply Not Have the French "R" (IPA Ź) - there is no sound it shares either Place with or Manner with. It could be a more normal Trilled R (IPA r), since there are multiple other consonants in that same Place. Alternatively it could be another "stop" (like the P, T, and K, and their voiced compatriots), the Arabic Q (IPA q). But if it is "floating" off to the side of the chart with no relation to any other sound, then the sound has no reason for being that far out of the way - it could easily be crammed in with the rest of the consonants with plenty of distinction. Consonants are only happy when they need to be fairly exact. Vowels are slightly different, in that there are three levels of difference (forwardness, closedness, and roundedness), and they want to be spread out over the entire range (if still more or less relatable to the other vowels, and even if the front vowels tend to be unrounded and the back ones rounded). Play with the relative numbers of these, too. Some languages have stupid numbers of vowels and very few consonants. Some of them have only two vowels and 40-odd consonants. Some (like English) are fairly high in both counts. A few (Hawai'ian, notably) are very low in both counts.
Phonologies are weird little things. The sheer number of different sounds the human mouth can make is astounding, and almost every single one has been used in some language, somewhere. This is an excellent place to go a little bit crazy, and is probably one of the most accessible parts of properly Scientific Linguistics. Wikipedia can give a very good idea of what a given sound sounds like, and how to make it, and how often it is found in languages. Armed with this alone, you can do all sorts of cool things. Phonologies form the core of every single language, no matter how well-planned or detailed they may be. Without a well-planned phonology, a language will be left feeling lacking. But, armed with a phonology, even a simple naming language can shine.
gŹd lŹk, fɹĪµndz, and nĪµvĪµÉ¹ stÉp lÉɹnÉŖÅ!
Oh, sorry - IPA went into overdrive. *headdesk*
Good luck, friends, and never stop learning!
~Theoden
Terminology:
"Place" is more commonly called "Place of Articulation" with consonants - these can range from "bilabial" (two-lipped, i.e., lip-only), all the way to "glottal" (English's "H" is a Glottal Fricative, for example).
"Manner" is more commonly called "Manner of Articulation", which can range from Nasal (think M, N, and NG), through the Stops or Plosives (T, K, and the elusive Glottal Stop), and into the Trills and Approximants, and not least, the Laterals (like L, and the Welsh "LL"). On top of that, there is also the distinction of "Voicing", which is the difference between P, and B; T, and D; TH, and, well... TH (though that second one is sometimes written as "DH" in low-level phonologic texts (or at least, those which do not use IPA). Tolkien did it like that, in his appendices to the Lord of the Rings).
This is the land of weird terminology, though, and I'm sure I'm missing something important - so post questions in the comments below! Questions mean learning, and if I'm managing to teach someone here, I'll be happy. :⟩
Friday 18 July 2014
Of Worlds and Stories
What makes a story world worth it?
Worldbuilding (as it is called) can be as simple or as
complex as the author wants it. You don’t need five thousand years of history
prior to your novel, you don’t need to know the orbital route of your earth,
you don’t need to understand the exact number of miles between your planet and
its white dwarf star, or if it can even orbit a dwarf star at all! You don’t
need any of those things. And yet, the stories feel complete with them. I can
tell when a story’s world is well developed. The story doesn’t start with the novel;
it simply begins where it begins, whether or not that’s when the story itself
starts. The events in the novel might be caused by something that happened centuries
ago (Lord of the Rings, anyone?) Your world needs to be real, and different.
Everyone builds their world differently, so I won’t suggest how to do it, but everyone likes
pointers (unless you don’t, in which case everyone but you does). So here’s what to build:
- · A map – every world should have a map, even if you never let anyone see it because it’s horrible. Even using Paint to give yourself a general idea of what goes where is better than nothing. Not only does a map keep you from losing your rivers and forests, but it also helps determine directions to the cities your hero might travel to. It can give you a mental picture of what goes where, and why. The shape of a country can give you enormous amounts of backstory: why is it so small? So large? And of course, knowing your world has more than just one or two countries makes it feel complete to you, as the author. You don’t need to plot out latitude and longitude and find the equator and all that unless you really want to. Chances are no one’s going to see these, unless you’re really good at drawing. The map is for you, the writer.
- · History – I’ve heard from writers who have planned the history of their world for five thousand years, with complex timelines to prove it. I've done it myself, in fact. As cool as that is, you don’t need five thousand years. It’s cool, but you don’t need it. Ask yourself ‘what happens before my novel?’ ‘What’s important?’ ‘What historical figures and wars and achievements affect my story?’ Plot them out. Give your story a simple timeline. Also, what kind of dating method is used? B.C. and A.D. are rather limited to our world. Some cataclysmic? Perhaps the conquering of a nation? Simple things, even without a dating system, can give your world depth.
- · Politics, Government, and laws – sound boring? For some people it might be. But we’re talking any amount of complexity. How many people write about the king’s daughter? Son? How many of those stories are flat, because there’s no interesting politics? How similar are all those governments? The laws? Give yourself and your world the permission to dabble in the boring, and it will make other things exciting.
First, politics:
o
Who has power where? Which countries hate the
hero’s native home? What undercurrents might affect your hero? Rebellions? Past
offenses creating tension? Are assassins a threat?
Next, government:
o
Is it a monarchy? Oligarchy? Democracy?
Tyrannical and hostile? Who’s who? What customs govern the succession of the
throne? Do the people hate the government, or are they content?
And lastly, laws:
o
Are there strange laws? Are customs so strong
they are enforced as law? Are they just? Cruel?
- · Religion – religion is everywhere, it makes up everything we do and say. Even atheists have religion – atheism. It’s their worldview, how they see the world and make decisions. Your world will seem authentic if the people have something to believe. What kind of God(s) do they believe in? What sort of myths and legends do they tell around the campfire?
- · Culture/Societal norms – Every country has its own unique culture and society. What makes yours so special? Every medieval world has a market with merchants and fishmongers and shops. What makes your world different? Is it a matriarchal or patriarchal society? Are certain types of people outcast? Are other elevated? What different classes and castes separate the people? Every sci-fi world has huge buildings and aliens and spaceships. What makes your world so special I want to read about it? Are certain species despised? Do people live in fear of the government or do they praise it? What about family? Are they closely knit, with dozens of extended relatives? Or perhaps they parents ship their children off to school so they can have easier lives? How does society function? What sort of moral and ethical codes do the people follow? Why?
- · Races/nationalities – this might seem a ridiculous one, but so many people have different races: elves, dwarves/dwarfs, dragons, fairies, etc. What makes your race unique? Everyone does dragons, why should I be more interested in your particular kind? Why are your elves so special? Or, if you’re the kind of person who makes your own race that’s not any of the usual, what makes them intriguing? How are they different from humans? How does this affect them? Are other races honored or discriminated against?
And what about nationalities? Obviously,
some people have darker skin, and some lighter. What does this mean to them?
How does it affect their social status? Where
do they come from?
- · Technology/Magic – Some worlds have magic, and some have technology. What kind is it? If you have a sci-fi world, what sort of technology do they have? Nuclear? Or perhaps they've gone all clean energy like solar or wind power? Or is it more steampunk, with steam and gauges and pistons? What sort of weapons does this create? Missiles, lasers, flak, full auto with tracking? Do some research.
As for magic, what sort of magic is it? Who
can wield it? Does it come at a cost? Are people born with it, or is it
teachable? Is it elemental (fire, earth, water, etc.), potion-based (elixirs,
vials of liquid, etc.), or something else? Are there ‘relics’ with power or can
only people hold magic? What rules govern this magic?
It might seem like a lot, and it is. There’s
a lot of stuff that goes into a world, and what I've suggested doesn't even
scratch the surface – language, flora and fauna, number of moons and their
affect, clothing, law enforcement, social relations, cities and towns,
geography, architectural styles, natural resources, food, occupations, health,
and more. However, if you spend a few minutes on those things I suggested, even
just twenty minutes, your world will come alive. Apply them to your novel(s),
and it will feel like you’re giving us a taste of what it’s like to live in
your world.
~Shilim
Wednesday 16 July 2014
The Little People
Powerful stories are not just made of the known, but also of the
unknown.
In the West, elves, fairies (or faƫries), gnomes, goblins, trolls, leprechauns,
and other such creatures are relatively common icons of folklore. Some people
adore anything about them, others fear them, while many others are indifferent
to the idea.
The Little People, as they may be called, are an example of
controversial legend that gets told so many times that anything about them
becomes so ridiculous no one wants to hear anything about them told in a
serious manner. The people who believe that they exist, and maybe even fear
them, are viewed by most people as superstitious, if not also loony.
By the Celts, however, the Little People have been feared for
countless years. The power of this idea in the Celtic mind is undermined
nowadays, both by skepticism and by watering down the original understanding of
the Little People. When someone brings up a fairy, what is your first thought:
a little girl with wings and a magic wand, or a strange, little, mischievous
creature that intends to do you harm if you mess with it?
If you talk to someone who really believes in the Little People
with the original understanding of what they are, you will hear strange or
fearful tales instead of stories about tooth fairy-like things hiding under
rose bushes. In the Celtic mind, fairies are associated with fear; they are
other-worldly, magical, and powerful enough to kill someone not cautious enough
to care. In other words, they are not to be duplicated as children’s toys.
I am not intending to imply that fairies are reality. Instead, I am
trying to draw attention to the fear of the Little People that is very real in
some people’s minds. Years ago, before alien abductions were popular sci-fi
topics, the great fear among the Celts was changelings – human children were
abducted by some kind of Little Creature, and a similar-looking Little Creature
was placed in the human child’s stead. While that may sound ludicrous, it
really lies on the same level as alien abductions.
We can let our imaginations go wild, can’t we? Human beings fear
the unknown, while at the same time, many people in the world place their trust
in the supernatural – one of the greatest unknowns, our understanding of which
being based on faith more than experience. People can have such trust in the
involvement of the supernatural realm with the natural that when misunderstood
natural phenomena occur, some people may, in their minds, associate the
experience with the supernatural, whether such association is legitimate or
not. Even those who are not so supernaturally-minded, human beings fear what is
unknown, what is unexplainable, what is contrary to immediately observable
occurrences. The things we cannot know and understand, we cannot control. We
may be subject to the very things we cannot control, and that is certainly a
frightening thought. (http://www.springhole.net/writing/mythbasis.htm)
Yet, it is the fear of the unknown that drives so much of a story.
People constantly want to know more and the exploration of the feared often
gives people a thrill. This thrill can be unhealthy if not kept in check, but
think about how much of one’s life is devoted to discovering what has not yet
been discovered.
In not knowing the future, a person constantly asks, “What if?” A
story may begin with a “what if” and offer possible consequences, but then the
story may give consequences beyond any expectation the audience could have
imagined. Whether talking about invisible Little People, or a journey into the
human soul, or traversing a dark cavern, or wandering in a thick forest, or
getting lost in an abandoned house, a story can offer many “what if’s” and
provide the audience with fear – fear for the person who is lost and/or in
danger – and resolve the story with dread, horror, joy, peace, tears, and
wounds from the long journey.
A story is a dangerous thing. The characters who are placed in
peril will receive wounds, if the story is good enough, but the wounds can push
them to a greater end, even if that “greater end” means death. Too much harm to
a character can make us hate the character just as much as a spoiled, unharmed
character who knows nothing about life and expects life to work for him or her
all the time, but the danger of the unknown in a story can provide the story
with such power that emotion will become inevitable –if the character acts like
any average human being.
Stories can be even more dangerous, because stories can bring about
reality by speaking to the minds of men – humans, who are creatures that can
create realities based on their thoughts. What you feed a person through a
story can change a person’s life. A story, whether true or fictitious, is
powerful enough to spark a person’s imagination and breed brainstorming
possibilities for reality.
What will a person do with your story? Can you know
what your readers will do with the imaginary ideas you’ve given them?
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