Sometimes a peculiar notion arises from a character’s name. I found a delightful suggestion in the name Ellen Fremedon. A smidgeon of story told itself after I spoke her one true name. I may allow the rest of her roots to shape the whole of the short story in which she has been cast. Yeah – footnotes: but can I do a whole book with footnotes when they may exceed the text in volume?
The woman helping manage his run for office was Ellen Fremedon, famous for her photographic posters that presented a candidate, in pose dramatic, perched on various notorious structures and notable statutes about the campus, all the while carefully avoiding any clue as to their policy positions. Tall, freckled, and sporting a bob of orange hair, her opponents had dubbed her Boudicca of the Heroic Campaigns and, after one especially especially mindless election that had sunk to American levels of idiot imagery, the losing slate of candidates had taped cardboard scythes to the spokes of her bicycle while she was taking a celebratory drink in Heorot, the student’s union bar. A note demanding that she be made to drink Hemlock, and her body be buried under platform ten of King’s Cross station was stuffed into the rat trap pedals. This delighted her; She merrymade in their bleating, and took to wearing a chunky gold neck chain given to her by a Student Union president after his recall for his financial foibles.
In Beowulf: the old English expression Ellen Fremedon is translatable as Heroic Campaigns. Hrothgar presided over the great mead hall of Heorot, in Denmark. The Golden Torque that Wealhtheow gives Beowulf was a symbolic object in the story: Hygelac died in battle wearing it. Boudicca led the Iceni in revolt against the Roman invaders of Britain in about 61 BCE, and is portrayed in a bronze statue adjacent to Westminster bridge as riding in a war chariot sporting scythes on the wheels. Some legends suggest she was forced by the emperor Nero to drink Hemlock, a poison. Other folk-tales report that she was buried under the current location of platform ten of King’s Cross station, which maybe the basis for the departure point of the Hogwart’s Express in JK Rowling’s Harry Potter books.
Who am I? I’m not very good at this, so I asked a friend.
He said I was sincere.
Yes, I have been known to be sincere. But he doesn’t see me on the other days, when my confidence is not soaring. It is then that I become that dreaded other person, struggling to feel worthy. Putting on a show. Trying to fit in. Sincerity so apparently lying crumpled in a corner.
I asked a co-worker and she said I am a hard worker. Driven. Unstoppable! I smiled and nodded. Then she turned her head and I fell asleep. Bet she didn’t see that.
I asked my mother and she said I was an angel. Mothers! I won’t even tell you what she hasn’t seen.
Another friend thinks I am funny and loves how I make her laugh; but she doesn’t see me when I get off the phone, exhausted from the effort.
Another thinks I am dark and sad; yet another knows me as the girl who always smiles.
Someone else likes me because I love to learn. They don’t see the books I read when I have the choice. There’s nothing like vegging out under the cover of a fantasy!
So who am I? I am all those things and more. Dependable and unreliable. Life of the party and a loner. Cheerful and depressed.
One day, one meeting, one emotion does not define me.
If you love me because of what you have seen, then you may want to walk away now. Everything else is most likely everything you hate.
If you hate me because of what you have seen, give me a chance to show you the other glimmering facets that are sure to win you over.
Like I’m supposed to write something that is not an excruciatingly long epic poem about the Rukesayer, but should write something more about . . .
like who i am
Manjag 437 ~ Metamystic Metaphysician
Equipoi Zhi ~ Keeper of the Balance
Fusion-Fire Dancer of Starforge
Azeral Aranath ~ Astronavigator of the Seventh Sacred
Cahya ~ Sylchie
Jydur ~ Eleventh Level Servant/Defender of the Lady
Bluzare E’Kylar ~ Artificer and Strange Matter Ferrier
in the service of the Archons of Light and Dark
Xenji ~ Trickster and Fool
Chygon ~ the Dark and Stormy Knight
Chyfrin ~ Keeper of the Secret
pretty much non starters . . .
so what level are you?
An open letter to the workers of the the Upstate Fiction Factory:
We write, right? In these days of wine and roses yet to bud and yet to mature, we are tested daily. So off to the test track I go and in these testing times, I test. As I test, I am tested. Not found wanting for anything except chocolate, I define my right to write as being right, all right. But seriously (as if ever), UFF is about becoming a writer. This group is a catalyst and motivator for those who write or would like to write or would like to write more. Our habitat is the Upstate: that north-eastern outcrop of South Carolina that, if the state were a slice of pizza, would be the place that drooped and the pepperoni fell off.
What is the purpose of the fiction factory? Ah, funny that you should ask. By a quirk of writing first and then not editing, I have already told you our location and goal. My personal blog entries here are probably going to look at the form of stories–what shape are they, why, and why not. There are all sorts of formatting tools on this blog but it is too much like a meal in a fancy restaurant for my liking; They lay out two or three sets of cutlery and three glasses around your plate. I choose the tools that work and ignore the rest. That should serve as a warning to not expect fancy bits of bold, italic, colored, indented, or quoted text in my blog posts.
Since UFF is a tool to promote the writing of fiction (narrative, poetry, plays, and those interstitial things that have no name as yet) in our third of SC, I plan to limit my blog topics to writing methods, creativity, publishing, and things that are, well, about writing I suppose would be the best description. That means no commentary on the views or subject matter in the work of any writers in UFF, and no off topic blathering — though I may give some leeway on matters that peripherally relate to writing, such as choice of munchies to be brought to the UFF meetings. I may agree or disagree with what you are saying, but I support and encourage you in your efforts to become a better writer because that is what I am asking you to do for me.
For your inspiration to write today, here’s what I was forced to get up early and type before it wandered out of my brain: a section of dialogue in which one person replies, “Mmhm.” to every question and comment from the other person. If there is a better way to spell that noise that means, “I agree, please continue.” please share it.