Keita and Savanna

Keita Sage, main character of the Keita's Wings series, is reunited with her little sister Savanna (Avie for short) who has found a new home in the urban kingdom of Lectranis. This scene appears in The Spectra United (Keita's Wings book 2).

Avie’s smile was sad, but her eyes were blazing with the same zealous light that had shown when she’d first brought Keita to Lectranis. Keita and the other royal remnants had lived like frightened mice, huddled behind stone walls, ignorant of the fates of their families, drowning in their loss. Avie’s appearance had been a lifeline. Though the innocence in her face had died, her eyes shone with the enthusiasm and energy of someone who had found their life’s work. She begged Keita and her friends to help her restore Lectranis, and Keita had jumped at the chance to escape. The only hard part had been leaving their brother Glen behind.

Keita sighed. “I don’t want to leave you again.”

For a moment her sister only looked at her. Then, softly, she said, “Maybe you don’t have to.”

Keita blinked. “But the letters, and the true heir…”

“The others are going. You don’t have to go with them. You could stay here with me.”

For a moment Keita could only stare as thoughts swiveled around her mind. Could she leave Carli, Zuri, and Sienna? She’d been friends with Carli and Zuri since before the takeover, and looked on Sienna almost as another sister. Back in Nomelands, she’d chosen to help Sienna instead of hurrying back to her sister. Did that mean she owed Avie now, or did it prove that her sister could manage without her? And the Pensier boys—would leaving them be a good thing or a bad one?

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Avie said. “Your friends will be talking strategy for hours.”

Keita chuckled. “True enough.”

“Well, come on then.” Without another word, Avie turned around and began weaving through the sharp metal shards. Before Keita could ask where they were going Avie stopped again, this time in front of a storage building that was mostly still intact. She tugged the door open and gestured for Keita to enter.

The room inside was dark and dusty. Avie’s feet echoed through a large space. A lightning box flared into life in her hands, revealing a lane of shelves stretching as far as she could see, burdened with bundles and boxes of all sizes. “What on earth is this?” Keita whispered. It seemed the sort of place for whispering.

Avie chose a shelf and began sorting through packs. “The other kingdoms keep supplies at the summit, in case of danger. The Tesla family—well, probably their councilors—kept this place instead. There’s all kinds of gear, food… whatever they might have needed to stay alive.”

But they failed, Keita thought, trying to peer through specks of dust in the beam of Avie’s light. Quentin and Taima Tesla were dead, and the rulers they’d snubbed with them. What would they think of Avie’s rummaging?

“Is this how you’ve been feeding everyone?” Keita asked.

“Yup.” Avie lined her chosen packs across the floor and began rummaging through the the other shelves, occasionally tossing a bundle into one of them. “This stuff’s not helping the last rulers, but it’s sure being useful for their subjects. Can you look through these for me?”

Keita reached without looking, and then yelped and jumped back. She had grabbed an open box of shiny knives. As she watched, a bead of blood arose from a cut on her finger, and faded away again.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Avie cried. “I should have warned you.”

“No problem.” Keita looked into the box again. “What on earth do you want knives for?”

Avie’s voice quivered. “Camping. They make a good camping tool.”

Keita wanted to argue, but her sister’s eyes were big and frightened, so she bent over the box without a word. How was she supposed to judge? By size? Sharpness? Handle color? In the end she grabbed five at random and dropped one into each sack. Her sister was already there, dropping an innocent-looking black stone into each pack. “Fire starter,” she explained.

Flinching, Keita looked away. “What are these for anyway?”

“Your friends, on their journey. They’ll be in the cities for a lot of it, of course, but there’s also the farmlands and the prairie, and I don’t know how much money they’ve got for inns…”

Your friends, Keita noticed. Not you. That explained why Avie had grabbed only five packs, and why she was now stuffing a little first-aid kit into each one. “Avie…” she began.

Her sister whirled around. “What? Don’t you want to stay with me?” She stood there among the dust and the old supplies, and somehow she looked more at home than she ever did in Spritelands. No longer would she linger in Keita’s shadow, peering into the trees and hills of the Spriteland mountains as though something would swoop down and carry her away.

“I don’t think you need me anymore,” Keita said.

Avie scowled and threw a tight-folded blanket toward the packs. She missed by several feet. “I like Lectranis,” she said, “but I don’t want to forget home… or you. You’re like a piece of home.”

Letter from Amber Sage to her grandfather

 Letter from Amber Sage to her grandfather Ambrose Tesla, year 213

Contains backstory from The Spectra United, Keita's Wings book 2

Dear Grandpa,

 

Remember when you would tease me for saying I was going to be queen? I got so mad when Dad told me about fifty people were ahead of me in line for the Lectran throne. Well, it turns out I was right, just not in the way I thought. I am now the Sprite queen. It still doesn’t seem real. I never met the last Sprite queen, but people say she was very imposing. I am not imposing. The Sprites still aren’t really comfortable around me, being from a different clan and everything, and I don’t know what to do to change their minds.

 

Drake and I didn’t know for sure until the very end he’d be the new king. King Talon just died in a sprite tribe skirmish (they are ALWAYS fighting). They wanted a new king right away, before the other tribes caused trouble. Talon’s grandson Felix would have been a better choice, but he’s only thirteen. Drake is Talon’s adopted son, you know, and the other children are all girls.

 

So they’ve decided now, and the coronation will be coming up as soon as they’re ready, which doesn’t seem to take them nearly so long as I’d expect. Back home they’d spend weeks getting ready, with the invitations and the party and the so many hundreds of things the people here just don’t think of. I doubt this letter will arrive before it takes place, but I wish you could come. If nothing else, so you could watch the twins. Drake’s sisters are supposed to watch them but they have their own families, and I just know they’re going to cause a fuss.

Well, the messengers are leaving so I need to finish. Tell our family I love them and miss them. We’ll have to meet soon.

 

Love, Amber

The Great Stygian War

This information, written in the style of a history book, formed some of the backstory for the Keita's Wings series. 

Kieran Sclera was a counselor to the Muse king, Cato Pensier. In the year 145 he married the king’s young daughter Tracy. After a few months, Tracy disappeared into the neighboring kingdom of Merlandia. Driven by anger, Kieran joined forces with a Stygian called Adrian Blake. Under Adrian Blake’s tutelage, Kieran became a Stygian and killed his brother-in-law Crowther Pensier.

 

Two years later, the two Stygians attacked. Kieran killed the rest of the Muse royal family, eliminating that line. The next year, Kieran left the Muse kingdom and attacked Spritelands, where he believed Tracy had gone. He destroyed the royal family and claimed that crown. At the same time, Adrian killed the Lectran royal family, except for the two youngest, Ambrose and Antony. Those two boys escaped to the central summit where Stygians cannot enter. Adrian took control of the Lectran army and sent it to battle the Nomes. The Nome queen was killed, but the king Clayton VI escaped to the summit with his infant son, Clayton VII. He also sent messengers to the other clans.

 

While the Stygians overtook the other clans, the other royals were able to escape: the young Cole king Brand and his sister Embry, and King Seward Neried of Merlandia, and his family. Two clans were lacking: Sprites and Muses, and without them the royals could not create a full spectrum, with all six clans represented, in order to defeat the Stygians. In the year 148, the two kings, Seward and Clayton VI, left the summit and entered the Spriteland mountains. Seward was killed, but the king Clayton VI was rescued by a Sprite boy called Orson Sage, who helped him return to the summit.

 

The royals still lacked a Muse, but they all knew that entering Castalia would be fatal. Instead, they entered Merlandia and enlisted the help of a Mer guard named Dorian Fiske. Out of duty, the Cole princess Embry agreed to marry him, knowing that their children would be Muses. She bore a daughter and called her Brynna. In the year 150, Orson Sage joined the others at the summit, bringing his new wife and infant son, who he wanted to keep safe from the searching Stygian soldiers. Over the years, some of the more impetuous royals left the summit, but eventually all returned safely.

 

In 156, young Princess Brynna gained full control of her Muse abilities. The royals emerged from the summit. They travelled in secret to the Lectran capital, Telosa, and killed the Stygian Adrian, setting King Antony on the throne. From there they moved on to battle the other kingdoms. In the Battle of Gadwall Hills, Kieran was defeated and replaced by young Brynna, watched over by her father Dorian. Osron Sage took the Sprite crown, beginning the Sage dynasty, and young Torrent became king of Merlandia.

 

No Unnecessary Words

Sometimes I read books that I feel could be written better, and I want to run to the nearest computer and fix it, or at least write the author a very long, detailed letter. I had been thinking about this, and even started writing up an article of writing tips I’d gleaned from people smarter than me. Then I got a review that mentioned one of my faults, and I realized I needed my own advice as much as anyone. So, for me, and for anyone who might be reading, here are some compiled tips and quotes from some of my favorite sources to explain how to make good books better.

As I was collecting, I soon noticed a theme. Most of the things I wish other authors knew could be framed around a single quote, published in that Bible of writing books, “The Elements of Style” by Strunk and White. It is this:

Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary lines, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.”

Here are some of the things I have learned…or at least heard… about making every word tell.

What’s the story about?

How many of you want to read this story?

Jenny was getting married. She loved her fiancé, and he loved her. She picked the flowers that she wanted. Grandma gave her the necklace she had worn as a bride. Mother chose the veil, and she herself found the most amazing dress. Everyone agreed that it was perfect.

If anyone keeps reading, it’s because they’re hoping the next line is:

She should have known something would go wrong.

The character defines the story. The plot defines the characters, and the stakes define the plot. What does the character stand to lose? If nothing is at stake, you have no story, and your character cannot grow. In Writing Magic, Gail Carsen Levine puts it this way: “Why do you keep reading a book? Usually to find out what happens. Why do you give up on a book and stop reading? Often, you don’t care what happens. What makes the difference between caring and not caring? The author’s cruelty. And the reader’s sympathy.”

On the other hand, having the stakes too high, for too long, is a problem I often find in the last book(s) of a series. From page one, the world is in jeopardy, the heroes are about to die, evil seems to be winning… If it starts out this way and never stops, the reader stops caring. Christopher Booker, in The Seven Basic Plots, explains, “As [the hero or heroine] face ordeals, or come under threat, so we feel tense and apprehensive. As the threat is lifted, we can relax. Our own spirits are enlarged… We feel a sense either of constriction, or of liberation. And in a story which is well-constructed, these phases of constriction and release alternate, in a kind of rhythm which provides one of the greatest pleasures we get from stories.”

Do you remember the graph that almost every Language Arts teacher draws in middle school? The one that shows the action of a story starting slowly, then gradually increase in intensity, spiking with a climax, and come crashing down for the resolution? It’s funny how many writers forget.

Dialogue

“Dialogue should reveal character or further the plot,” says author Tim Wynne-Jones. Dialogue should not do the grunt work of a narrative, fill in backstory, or tell the reader something that the characters already know. It also should not include ordinary conversations for the sake of “reality”. He explains, “Write dialogue that allows for a character to say what they might say if they had an extra twenty seconds before replying.”

Anne Lamott adds, “You’re not reproducing actual speech—you’re translating the sound and rhythm of what a character says into words. You’re putting down on paper your sense of how the characters speak… [What you record] should be more interesting and concise and even more true than what was actually said.”

All through elementary school, I was taught to never use the word ‘said’. It took until college before I learned that this isn’t true. Said is a perfectly good word. All of the other tag words are like spices—they add flavor, but use them sparingly.

The quote is not the only important thing in dialogue. Gail Carsen Levine says, “There’s more to dialogue than just speech. Body language can communicate as eloquently as words, and sometimes more truthfully.”

Non-example:

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Oh, hello,” she answered.

“I saw you at the supermarket yesterday. I saw that you were buying a lot of food,” he noticed.

“Yes. I am having a dinner party tomorrow. We are having pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans,” she explained.

“I know that you have dinner parties every month. That sounds like a lot of work,” he commented.

“It is a lot of work, but I think it’s worth it,” she replied.

Example:

“I saw you at the supermarket yesterday,” he said. “What’s with all the food?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I decided to cook extra,” she answered. “It’s always good to have leftovers…”

He slammed down the cell phone he was holding. “Are you holding another dinner party without me?”

“I wouldn’t call it a party.” She tried a laugh, but it came out shaky. “I just invited a few close friends.”

“A few close friends,” he repeated. “And none of them are me.”

 

Fight scenes, which are basically violent dialogue, follow the same rules.

Non-example:

Mack punched the man in the face, and then ducked. Jack’s fist swung over his head, missing his nose by inches. Mack kicked Jack’s ankle and felt a satisfying thud. Then he grabbed Jack’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Jack yelped, struggling to break free. He got a hand loose and flailed. His hand bumped Mack’s arm with no effect at all.

Example (abridged from “The Storm Testament III” by Lee Nelson):

Again Storm instinctively reached for the whip end. Again the wiley snake was withdrawn before the young man could grab it. Beneath the bandana it was difficult for anyone to notice that the grin had finally vanished from Storm’s face….

As the dust settled, each man trying to tighten his grip on the other, Blackjack began to laugh again.

“What’s so funny?” hissed Storm through his clenched teeth.

“Just seems kind of crazy,” replied Blackjack after a brief pause to tighten his grip on Storm’s arm, “You and me killing each other just to put on a free show. Seems funny. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel stupid too.”

Beneath the bandana, Storm’s grin returned.

Description:

Who’s willing to admit that they skip over the big long descriptions of the setting? Or shuts a book that begins with the description of a sunrise? Or ignores the paragraph describing how a character looks and imagining them however they want?

In Word Painting, Rebecca McClanahan explains, “Description isn’t something we simply insert, block style, into passages of narration or exposition. Yes, sometimes we write passages of description. But the term passage suggests a channel, a movement from one place to another; it implies that we’re going somewhere. That somewhere is the story.”

Her book contains many excellent examples on the use of description. I’ll mention one: the power of description to set the mood and the emotion of the scene. This is a paragraph from my short story, The Stone Hand:

 Later, Reece said that both of them had done it. She didn’t believe him. In any case, her memory of the next few minutes was clouded with heat and noise, bright lights and acrid smoke. Then she and Reece were standing side by side in the yard while the house burned. Heat seared her face, and popping sparks screamed nine years of fury.

Tiny details make the difference, and the word choice can reflect the mood. A cloudy sky could be gloomy, pretty in swaths of purple, confining, swirling in frenzied anger, hovering near like a suspicious neighbor.

Non-example:

Sunny was short and willowy, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was self-confident and usually happy but she had a mean streak, and a bad habit of spying on people.

Example:

A pair of bright blue eyes disappeared from the window. “All right, Sunny,” Keita called. “I see you.  You may as well stop sneaking around.”

The girl popped into sight without a trace of embarrassment. “Hullo, everyone,” she said, running a hand through her short blonde hair. A smirk was hiding in the edges of her smile.

 

Every Word Tells

I could go on. Backstory, flashbacks, themes, explaining the world and its rules… the same principle applies to all of them. If it moves the story forward, use it. If it does not advance the plot or reveal character, change it or take it out. This is something I’m still working on; I suspect I always will be.

References:

These are some of my favorite writing books, which I highly recommend to anyone wanting to make their stories better:

The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker

Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (some mature content)

Writing Magic by Gail Carsen Levine

Word Painting by Rebecca McClanahan

The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White

An Interview with Keita Sage

I’ve invited Keita to my living room for a character interview. I wait for her to sit down so I can start asking questions, but she’s walking around the room and I’m not sure I should interrupt. At last she stops, to examine the leopard geckos in their tanks, and I look up from my desk and grab my list of questions.

“So,” I begin, “What do you consider your greatest achievement?”

She looks at me blankly for a moment. Then her face lights up, and she says, “Beating my brother in a tree-climbing contest!”

“Really? After everything you did to help…”

“Yes.” Her tone makes it clear she’s not going to answer any further.

“Okay, great. Um… What is your idea of perfect happiness?”

She doesn’t answer. At first I think she’s pondering the question. Then I see that my three-year-old has entered the room. “This is my alligator toy,” he says.

“I like it,” Keita says.

“Don’t encourage him,” I say, but it’s too late. Soon both boys are running back and forth, bringing whatever they can grab and presenting it like it’s their most precious possession. Ah, that reminds me…

“What is your most treasured possession?”

She looks up from the dishrag the boys are holding up. “You’re asking me?”

Yes, I know perfectly well she’s not very materialistic. I drop the list of questions, but the boys have given me an idea. “What was your favorite toy as a kid?”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “I had a few I really loved. My dad gave me this shirt once—just an ordinary shirt, but made out of cotton. I can manipulate plants, you know. I had so much fun shaping that thing! Every time my sister wanted me to play dolls, or whatever, I could get it out, change its shape, and I could join in her game.”

“So what was your favorite shape to keep it in? When you weren’t with Avie, I mean, so you could pick whatever you wanted?”

Keita shrugs. “Some sort of animal. I changed my mind every few weeks.”

“All right, thanks. What other toy did you really love?”

“My other favorite was a stone duck carving my mom gave me,” Keita answers. “It’s kind of the opposite of the cotton fibers. It’s one thing I couldn’t change. I loved the detail of it, how you could see the individual feathers. A stone carver made it in Lectranis, and she bought it there.” She thinks a minute, and adds quickly, “It was a carving. It wasn’t a real duck that a Nome petrified.” The thought makes her look physically sick.

“Yeah, that would be awkward. So, if you got to choose your occupation… or your niche, I guess you Sprites call it… what would it be?”

“I have a Quiet Book. Look! I see a horsie!” My two-year-old yells.

“Hey, that’s pretty neat.”

Keita crosses the room to look over my son’s shoulder. He’s naming shapes. “That one’s a rectangle. A oval. A triangle!”

“We’re supposed to be learning about you, not the kids,” I remind her, as my older son pops out of a cupboard, trying to surprise us.

“Oh, right. You were asking about my niche?” She thinks a moment. “I guess it would depend on my abilities. I always thought it would be something with trees… my uncle Corbin does that. He takes his family and travels all over the Sprite kingdom, helping sprout seedlings, making sure there’s a good balance of species…”

“You like travel?”

“Yeah, I like seeing new things. Why is that surprising?”

“Because we’re a lot alike, and I don’t—or at least, I like staying home better.”

“Staying home,” she says, with a note of real longing in her voice. “I do wish I could… I mean, home’s not home anymore…” She stops to frown at me. “So, yes, I like staying home, and someday I’ll have a really nice one I won’t want to leave, but I’ll still want to go see other things, sometimes.” A thought strikes her, and she leans over my shoulder to look at the computer. “Can you see my future on that thing?”

I slam the lid down on my laptop. “What makes you say that?”

“You do then. Can I see? Even a little?”

“Oh, look at the boys. They’re pretending to call a dragon on the phone…”

“That won’t work. I want to see what’s on your computer.”

I sigh. “Sorry. It’s against the rules. Anyway I might change it. You wouldn’t want to think you know what’s coming, only to have me change it, would you?”

She nods, but I can tell she’s hurt. I figure I’d better wrap up before she convinces me and I get in trouble. “So,” I say, “how do you feel about Brian?”

For a moment she just looks at me. Then she scowls, whirls around, and charges through my front door.

Drat. I hope my husband can help me put the hinge back together.

A Meeting: The Rives and the Overground

This short story became part of the backstory for the first two Keita's Wings books. Two small groups of minor characters, one from each book, meet in secret out in the desert...

Nomelands, near Misia village, year 223

Four pairs of already gritty hands thrust into the sand as their owners giggled and told stories. Ruby was the first to discover that the sand could be shaped, and so, naturally, she was in charge. Lucy, deemed old enough to help shape the castle, was doing most of the giggling and story-telling, while Ruby’s little sister Amber was relegating to moat digging. Her clever hands scooped and piled, creating bridges and lookouts, wide ponds for fishing and narrow channels that would have held the water, if they had any to spare on these things. Clarence was not invited to help, but he was more interested in dumping sand on his own head, where his blonde curls clung to it and refused to let go.

Under the shade of a nearby cottonwood tree, two mothers kept watch. Opal, too young to be their mother but trying anyway, scanned the empty desert for tale-tell dust plumes that would give away enemy patrols. This was second nature to the 16-year-old, so much so that she could keep watch for enemies and observe the children at the same time. Ruby and Amber had had few enough joyful moments, as Opal and her friends sought some way to keep them and other abandoned children safe.

Helena, once princess of Lectranis, leaned against the tree’s trunk, her eyes fastened on her children as she and Opal talked about nothing in particular. Hands that had once been fair were spattered with calluses and small burns and scrapes, yet they waved with enthusiasm as she spoke. Her homespun trousers and short hairstyle would have shocked her parents, but Helena was always good at doing things her own way.

A step further away, where distance muted the shrieks and laughter of the children, two men conducted business. Sandy, barely out of boyhood, wiped unkempt hair from eyes that shone with newborn hope. Luke Rives smiled with his whole face, a perfect match to his little daughter Lucy, now adding a creosote stick for a castle flag. The men shook hands, Sandy with a hand brown and leathery from exposure to the harsh desert sun, Luke’s broad with crescents of dirt under each nail.

A scream louder than the rest grabbed all attention. Clarence was stomping on what had been a carefully sculpted sand castle, and three girls circled around, howling, unwilling to forgive but not quite ready for retribution among so many witnesses. The theatrics demonstrated to the women that the gathering was over. They separated into two groups, bid farewell, and disappeared into the dusty landscape.

 

Brian's Game

Brian and Keita, the main couple from Keita's Wings, meet for the first time in this prequel to The Spectra Unearthed. 

Brian could have sensed the three girls’ emotions even without his abilities. They fidgeted, kicked at the ankle-deep meadow grass, looked anywhere but at him. Their brothers, who had come to the annual meeting in the previous years, called the Summit the dullest place on earth, even after Brian told them that boredom was a sign of a dull mind. The girls were not bored. They were uneasy, angry, even scared, but not bored.

 

Brian grabbed a coin from his pocket and flung it into the grass between them. The nearest girl, Keita Sage, leapt backward. Her bright green eyes fastened on his face, and for a moment she looked like she might attack—or just bolt into the grass and never be seen again. But the look faded, and she quickly turned away again.

 

“Would you like to play a game?” Brian asked.

 

Zuri, who he’d met last year, met his gaze. “I’m willing to try,” she said.

 

He pointed to the coin. “The person who best lifts that into the air and holds it steady wins.”

 

The new girl Carli, who had been staring wistfully at the surrounding walls, turned toward him. Her expression was still dangerously angry, but a hint of a competitive smile haunted the corners of her mouth. She raised her arms, and the tops of the grass began swirling, pointing this way and that. A sudden wind broke off blades and sent them swirling in circles, faster and faster, until the coin was swept upward. It rose to shoulder height, tumbled about by the wind. Carli gave a satisfied smile. The winds dispersed, and the coin dropped.

 

“Does that count as steady?” Zuri asked.

 

Carli scowled. “You do it then.”

 

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” Zuri said, but she stepped forward. Like Carli, she raised her arms before she began, but instead of rushing wind, a stream of water shot from the ground, launching the coin into the air. Brian didn’t flinch as droplets sprinkled his legs and arms—he’d seen her brothers do the same. The coin floated for a moment, held up by the water, and then it fell.

 

Brian looked at Keita. “Want a turn?”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You go first.”

 

He hesitated, but saw no way out of it. He bent down, picked up the coin, and held it flat in his palm.

For a moment the girls stared. Than Zuri began to laugh. “That doesn’t count!” Carli cried.

 

“Why not?”

 

She sputtered but couldn’t seem to come up with an answer.

 

“So, Brian wins?” Zuri asked.

“Not yet.”

 

Keita’s expression was as hard to read as all Sprites, but something in her eyes was twinkling. She dug her bare toes into the earth. For a moment nothing happened. Then the grass stems began to change. Brian stepped back as they thickened, stretching toward the pale mountain sunshine. Keita stepped forward, took the coin from his hand, and set it on top of the hardened grass stalks. It stayed, unmoving.

 

“All right,” he said. “You win.”