What first made you study English?
A constant struggle for this position.
The idea of the mind; constructed and expressed through language.
This poet speaks of mankind, is he kind to man?
‘The Burimen Brothers’ is an on-going Fantasy story that I will be writing on my blog. It was going to be my first novel but I thought I would express it to my followers.
I hope you enjoy the first installment and follow the journey I will take you on. Each week I will release a segment. Enjoy!
I stood on the edge of the fiery lake. My village burned in the reflection, and underneath the dawn light. People screamed in agony and animals fled for higher ground. Mother urged me to leave before the chaos begun, she said the Wndith were after me.
Ashes drifted high above the fiery lake, smoke rose with it and I watched the villagers burn. On the opposite side of the lake, the morning dew moistened the short grass. It was a brisk morning but the villagers would disagree; they were underneath burning logs.
‘Hunter!’ a man yelled out, running towards me from the eastern side of the lake. I was ready to pounce. As he got closer I recognized him. It was the village Butcher, Clyd.
‘Leave now!’ He continued, ‘Go to Edenra over the mountains and find a young lady, Deanna.’
Before I had the chance to ask a question, an arrow flung through his neck. His body collapsed to the ground. I scanned the trees to find the bowman. I couldn’t see them and I didn’t want to hang around.
I fled for the cradling mountains. The mountain ridge kept our village secret for many years, hid me from the outside world but that time was up. I had been found.
I speak but noone can hear
I flap but noone lets me out.
I want to fly,
free into the big blue thing,
sometimes it changes to dark.
that’s okay. I’d rather be
up high, away from this black prison.
Big things moving,
Help let me out I squawk
but no help.
Do I stay here till I die?
all I want to do is fly.
It was quiet but not anymore,
school holidays filled the absence.
The whoosing of driving cars,
steam from the hot road.
A stretch of trees – dull colours
dragged through the raindrops.
Birds chirped across the clouded sky.
Cold. Freezing cold.
The winter sky hugged the hills,
yet the moon is hidden
and I could not relax.
While I write I listen to my Pandora station, which is a collection of instrumentals, orchestras, string-orchestras and harmonic melodies.
I was deep in focus with my writing, the music is more of a background noise, then John Butler’s instrumental ‘Ocean’ brought me from my words.
I sat back and enjoyed the 12mins of the instrumental. It was worth every second, every minute but it had to come to a resolution and end. (you can watch/listen to it here)
I sat back with the goosebumps all over my body settling down. John Butler is an artist. He uses his melodies to explain his life struggles, peak moments and to where he is now.
I saw him Live a few years ago and I had the same feelings. John claimed before he begun, ‘Ocean’ is his story, a journey of his life, verses and rhythms that are added and changed over time. On YouTube you can watch all different live shows and there will be differences with each verse but it will always have the ultimate climax.
Last night John Butler’s ‘Ocean’ made me realize, it is a novel.
It has an introduction, it builds up, plateaus, builds up, drops down, spikes to it’s ultimate climax. Then gradually winds down with a few high peaks, but not as high as the climax then ends.
Exactly how a novel should carry their reader through their story.
A novel should have build ups, pleteaus and the ultimate climax. Joseph Campbell would agree and direct the argument towards his theory of ‘The Hero’s Journey’. I won’t go into complete detail of each step and the flaws but I will mention his theory caused a backlash as it neglected the Heroine’s Journey which was formed later on by Maureen Murdock.
Each climax draws the reader closer to the story, more engaged with the characters and the reader care about why the protagonist is embarking on a journey.
Even though they are different mediums, songs and novels serve the same purpose; to carry their audience on a journey.