Tara Maya
Author Archives: Tara Maya
Tara Maya
- by Tara Maya
Just One Leaf
One of my favorite Tolkien stories is “Leaf by Niggle.”
It is about an artist who aspires to paint a beautiful forest, only to find his talent insufficient to the task. So he tries to focus on painting just one tree — perfect the tree, and then maybe, he will grow enough in skill to paint the forest. But the tree is too hard too, so he ends up concentrating on just a leaf. If he could only paint just one single leaf right!
He hasn’t much time because his pesky neighbor keeps bugging him (life) and because he has to take a trip (death). Life interferes with art. Death interferes with life. Art must be squeezed in between.
Like Niggle, I wish I could paint the forest, or at least a tree, but it is a struggle to even capture just one leaf.
I’ve been thinking about High Concept, and my Dindi series, and the desperate feeling that it falls far short of the forest I originally envisioned. I’m down to grasping at leaves.
It’s interesting to look at books which become bestsellers. What do they have in common? Actually — not much. Some of them are short and simple, about just a few characters; others are door-stop epics with a cast of thousands; some are beautiful, lyrical, literary and tragic; others are wham-bam action with 2D characters but 3D explosions. And on and on.
I’d say the one thing all bestsellers have in common is One True Thing. They don’t have to capture the be-all and end-all of human experience, only One True Thing about what it means to be human. One leaf’s worth of life — that’s enough.
Ah, but it is hard to capture One True Thing. It’s the hardest thing there is.
If only, if only, I could paint just one leaf.
- by Tara Maya
Chapter One
I want to post Chapter One, but I’m having trouble pasting things in Blogger.
UPDATE: I’ve figure out how to paste in Blogger (for now) but I’m having trouble with Chapter One. 😉
- by Tara Maya
High Concept Interrogation
The buzz is going around about High Concept stories again. So I’m looking my story in the face and asking it, “Are you High Concept?”
“Yes,” says my story. “I’m about Immortals fighting Death. Can’t get more High Concept than that.”
“Yeah.” I bounce my head in a shrug-nod. You know the kind I mean, where your shoulders are hunched and your nose is wrinkled. Your head bobs up and down, but the bob means maybe not more than maybe.”But — don’t get offended — is that obvious in the first couple chapters of the book?”
Pause.
“No…” admits my story.
“Is it even obvious in Book One at all?”
My story shuffles its feet. “Lots of other cool stuff happens in Book One. It’s Dirty Dancing meets Dances With Wolves!”
“What is that even supposed to mean? C’mon, story. You can do better than that.”
“The hero catches the heroine dancing without magic. He must choose between killing her or teaching her.”
“But what does that have to do with the fight against Death? Or the corn cob doll? Do you tie it together as tightly as possible, so the ending, when it comes feels both shocking and inevitable?”
“Hm,” says my story. “Not sure. Maybe it’s not clear in Book One how Dindi’s struggles tie in to attempts of Lady Death to drive the immortal Aelfae to extinction. At least not starting in Chapter One.”
“Is there any way we could fix that?”
“What if..the struggle between Lady Death and the Faeries appered right there in Chapter One, Book One? What if the Black Lady were fighting with one of the Faery Ladies — and Dindi, unaware of who they were — saved the wrong one? What if she saved Lady Death? Then, in a sense, the rest of the series would follow her trying to undo what she’d done.”
“Story, that sounds pretty good. I’ll go write it–“
“Oh, no you don’t!” My story steps between me and my computer. “You promised to finish me before you do any more revisions to Book One. You still have the other books to complete.”
Now it’s my turn to be sheepish. “You’re right. I’ll jot down notes on this idea, then get back to Book Two.”
- by Tara Maya
Lonely Planet for Fantasy
I confess. I used to be one of those fantasy readers who browsed bookstores by flipping through a fantasy book to find a map.
No map, no purchase.
If the book had a map, I would definitely buy it, rush it home to copy the map onto a larger piece of paper, add little castles and pictures and then put it in my notebook of other maps. It was my own personal Lonely Planet of all the worlds I planned to visit in my imagination.
Here’s the irony.
I suck at reading maps. In the real world, I’m dyslexic. I can’t tell left from right, north from south, sometimes I think I even confuse up and down.
Maybe that’s exactly why it’s necessary for me to have a map of my worlds. Otherwise, I can’t keep straight where my characters are going.
Chris Coen blogged about this question recently. Do you make maps for your story worlds and if so how detailed are they?
What level of mapping do you use? Do you draw your own, or do you have a program do it for you? Or do you just steal a real place’s topography and use that, as I did with Cavalier Attitude?
Originally, I drew all my maps by hand. For my map of Faearth, I cheated — stole appropriate topography from Google Maps and then composited my own land.
- by Tara Maya
Revised Opening
I revised my opening based on feedback from the Secret Agent contest. Several reviewers felt the 250 word version felt rushed, so here I’ve re-inserted some lines I had cut to meet the word count cut-off. 😉 Hopefully, the additions also explain a few of the questions people had about why Kavio was out in the woods himself, why he wasn’t immediately suspicious of Dindi, and why the taboo is so important.
On the other hand, I hope it doesn’t *over-explain* or drag on too much.
Kavio glimpsed a solitary dancer, graceful and pale as new maize. She danced in honeyed light filtered though sequoias soaring up from languorous, bear-sized roots. Who was she, and why did she dance secluded and all alone, far from the kiva and tor?
He wove through the wood to spy on her, though he told himself he should not. Perhaps she had come to the woods to practice alone, as he had. The possibility intrigued him – who else besides he had no need of the guidance of the troop? Who else besides he would dare?
Never had he seen a style quite like hers. She must have had magic, for she was human and not fae. Humans without magic danced only to hex, and would be killed in turn, if caught. She wore no ritual costume – neither wooden mask, nor cornhusk cape – only white doeskin hemmed with a maze of rainbow beads. Her hair flew about her, unbraided and wild. Though her aura showed no light, he had the odd sense she sparkled, shimmered, with some power deep, some power bright, which warmed the cool December wood with hint of hidden Mays.
She circled the stump of a fir tree, as if it were her partner in a fertility dance. He knew the dance of course – it was meant for two, not one.
Kavio debated himself briefly. His mischief won.
He crept up behind her. Stealth he had honed in hunting and battle served him well, and the broad trunks of sequoias and pines provided ample cover. The dance soon called for her partner to lift her, and she leaned toward the tree stump, in the best approximation she could. He made his move.
In rhythm with her sways, he placed his hands about her waist and lifted her into the spin, above his head and down again. She responded as if she had expected him, and followed his lead into the next exultant sequence, toss and twirl, shimmy and turn. Fancy foot work followed on, sweetly easy. In this sequence of the fertility dance, both partners faced forward, so he could not see her face. The top of her head just reached his chin. Her hair smelled of flowers.
They flowed together like partners who had practiced days in each other’s arms. She amazed him.
He dipped her back, and only then met her gaze.
“Dindi!” He choked on his dismay.
Dindi had been tested during Initiation, he knew, and proven without magic. For her to dance was taboo – so decreed the ancient ways. The law left him no choice.
He must kill her.
