If you've been following along, you know that I've been releasing stories piece by piece over the last several weeks. I hope you've enjoyed reading "The Boy & The Sea," it was the first story of this type that I ever wrote, and I know I enjoyed writing it and reading it to a cabin full of campers piece by piece.
The story this Friday is much newer, and, I hope, of a little better quality. At this point this is the only story I have written about Bandylocks, a town you'll meet if you read the story this Friday. The way these stories work, however, is not a one way street. You can help direct the story and "aim the camera," so to speak, with your feedback. Serials - like "The Boy and the Sea" and the story coming out this Friday - are stories written piece by piece. Each chapter is released as it is written, allowing readers to give feedback and influence the path of the story. Have an idea? Don't like the direction the story is going? Let me know in the comments! -J. Christopher Earl P.S. For those still waiting for my first novel, I am still working on it, but due to a few recent life events - my wedding, for instance - I have had less time on my hands than I had hoped. I am still aiming to release it by August, but it may be closer to the end of August than the beginning. Want to see it sooner? A donation could help free up some of my time. :)
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Just a taste of the novel I'm working on for everyone who's interested. Don't forget to pledge if you haven't already, though there may be some changes if I find an actual publisher before August. Either way, I will definitely try to have some benefits for pledgers.
-J. Christopher Earl From: Light and Shadow - A Tale of Averelia She fainted. Her body crumpled to the ground with a thud, and there was a brief moment of silence as the nearby crowd took in what just happened. A ring of confused spectators circled about Sam and the girl on the ground. Without pausing to think, Sam knelt down and felt her forehead. She’s burning up. He thought. It looks like she’s been in the woods, but what’s a girl like her doing out and about in the forest, wandering into town so early in the shine? Has she been out there all fade? “Oi,” came a thick voice, “is that lass a’right there off’sah?” Sam looked up into the eyes of a large greasy man in an apron. “No, she’s not.” He said. He felt along her neck for a pulse, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the gentle thumping of her heart. “Any’fing I can do ta’ help ‘sah?” Asked the big man. “Water, cold as you can find, and a towel.” He snapped. “Right o’ ‘sah.” The man lumbered off in search of the requested items. The ring of spectators kept closing in. Odd peering faces of various shapes and sizes, all with little true concern, stared in at the interesting sight. “Space, please!” Sam called. The crowd took a step back. He pointed at a boy with long legs and a truly concerned face. “You there, do you know where the Healer’s Hall is?” The boy nodded, still wide-eyed. “Run there as quick as you can and tell the sisters that a young lady is badly bruised and has fainted. She looks like she’s been lost in the woods.” The boy gave a curt nod and ran as quick as his legs could carry him. Sam did his best to lay the girl flat on the ground without twisting her about too much. She had a pack, and strapped to it were the odd sword and shield. A knife hung at her waist as well. Who are you? He wondered. Her arms were cut and scratched. Bruises splotched her olive skin. Her hair was sweaty and tangled. She smelled sour and musty. He noticed through her ripped clothes that her knees and elbows were covered in scabs and dried blood. The tattered green cloak felt damp. “Water, ‘sah,” came the voice of the big man. Thank Aver someone is being useful. He thought. “Thank you,” Sam said, and took the cool pitcher from him. He wrung out the cloth that was soaking inside, and wiped the girl’s face gently. The cloth removed some of the dirt, but the discoloration of her bruises remained. He set the cloth on her hot forehead. “D’ y’ see the poor lass’s ankle, ‘sah?” He put his hands on his hips and squatted for a closer look. “It looks right the size o’ a melon next t’ her othah’.” Sam noticed her ankle, but he was more concerned with her head. She was continuing to sweat. The face he just wiped clean was once more smeared with salty perspiration. She needs to wake up. He thought. He snapped his fingers next to her ear, but there was no response. Tapping her temple a few times produced a quiet groan, but she did not, could not, open her eyes. Take a look at my new page!
http://jchristopherearl.weebly.com/serials-and-short-stories Over the last year I have taken up the hobby of writing serials and short stories. A serial, for those who don't know, is a story that is released piece by piece over a long period of time. The final product was usually a much larger novel that could involve many characters and sub-plots all weaving together into one grande finale. Currently, I do not have any serials of that length, but what I do have are several short stories and mini-serials sitting around. I primarily write these little tales for fun, but sometimes an idea for a story gets stuck in my head, and I cannot work on my larger projects without sketching out the smaller ideas from time to time. I've decided to publish these stories on a weekly basis on this site, just so you all have something to read while I'm working on larger projects. I hope you enjoy them! And, as always, I welcome feedback and would love to hear what you think of my work. -J. Christopher Earl A few days from now families will sit around tables overflowing with food and remember everything good in the world. Around warm fireplaces they will enjoy the company of their loved ones, even those who haven't been seen in ages. The new-borns will be passed from cousin to cousin, each relishing the chance to hold the precious little life, and the oldest members of the family will enjoy a place of honor, perhaps saying a blessing over the meal, or themselves having the most time to hold the young ones.
Family traditions will continue, in their hilarity, fun, joy, and awkwardness. Old recipes will be made once again, no matter the fact that only one bite is ever taken of Great Aunt Elizabeth's olive and artichoke stuffing. For this is a time to remember! Is it not? We remember what has passed, and we give thanks for the hard work that has brought about a plentiful harvest. How I look forward to that day! But before we give thanks for the peace and comfort in our own lives, can we remember those who suffer, or will we choose to forget them, so as to avoid, "putting a damper on the fun?" If I remember carefully, the tradition was started long ago, by those who were barely surviving. Having endured the hardships of the sea, European settlers arrived, soaked and sickly, on the shores of a strange land. Death was their constant companion in the tiny camps, and it came in cruel ways. Yet those who survived, when the harvest was brought in, the shelters were built, the wood was cut, and the sickness had past, gave thanks. They thanked God, they thanked each other, and they thanked the strangers, the native people, who helped them. For on their own, they would not have survived. Times are not so different. A prosperous multitude of people live in the land, enjoying life and living as they please, and suddenly strangers arrive on the shore, fleeing their native lands in hope of something better. Do we dare accept them? They could take our land, impose their law, kill our people, and some day forget about us. Our peace, our lives, and even the memory of us could vanish if we allow them to live among us. Perhaps all that will come to pass. But is that not the very nature of this world? Flowers wither, babies grow old, streams dry up, harvests fail, houses fall down, governments collapse, and life, ultimately, ends. But I do not fear all of this, for if I do, my peace is robbed already. How can I avoid death? Even if I live a long life I will grow old, my joints will hurt, my thoughts will slow, my eyes will dim, my tastebuds dull, and my very body will begin to feel like a living death not worth preserving. If this is the case then let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die! Let's enjoy our youthful days, for they are all we have! Why should I save a penny if I might die tomorrow or tonight? And the mad chaos of selfish consumption becomes all we know. Cast off the stranger, for they may shorten our peace! How frail then is our peace? That we must guard it so carefully as to destroy the hope of others? Disgusting! Let me choke on my feasting if I deny food to the starving! I have seen a picture describing the Syrian refugees as a brood of vipers. How narrow and cruel! Of course some of them are terrorists trying to slither into the nation and kill us! But four million people do not leave their homes and fly to the seas to kill those who would try to save them! And if they do then how dare they claim to serve a good and just God? But here is what my God has said, Deuteronomy 10:19, "You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt." Matthew 5:43-44 "You have heard that it was said, ‘you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy’. But I say to you, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you." And in Matthew 25:35 Jesus tells the disciples that at the final judgment He will look at His followers and tell them, "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me." The only peace we have is not of this world, not of rich harvests and friendly faces, safe homes and respectable neighbors, but it is found in the God Who created this world, and who promises His people new life, even after death. A life without end, without pain, without suffering. I give thanks for the joys of this life, for they point to the joys of the life to come, where old and young, brother and sister, will dwell together forever in the peace and presence of their God, but I dare not preserve those joys at the cost of life, upon life, upon life, bodies strewn on the shore, unloved by the very ones who they needed most. Do not let the fear of being hurt cause you to truly hurt others. On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head." - Romans 12:20. I do not envy the wrath of God that will be poured out on those who harm their helpers. But I fear for those who would deny food, water, and clothing to the starving, thirsty, and naked. But I'm still here! Still writing, still tapping away at the keys and getting closer and closer to a finished book!
I suspect part of my lack of posting on here is due to the fact that I am now engaged and, on top of two jobs, being an R.A. at Multnomah University (GO LIONS!) and the normal class load of a college student, I'm planning a wedding as well... Hmm... I am stretched in quite a few directions. But I'm still here! All the Pre-Orders are still available, and every day I'm getting closer to being ready to ship. I've even gotten a few supporters already! ( Thanks Mom! ) Thanks for reading! -J. Christopher Akiane Kramarik is a young Christian painter who has created, in my opinion, one of the most awe-inspiring paintings of Jesus I have ever seen. In light of her youth and the strangeness of her tale many have tried to call her work a fanciful fiction, and truth be told it has been some time since I've tried to catch up on her story. Regardless, the image itself remains astounding.
Green eyes of living water stare into the heart of the beholder, and I, with all my weariness and burdens heavy on my mind, must pause a moment to stare back. There is something in those eyes, in the calmness of his face, that leaves me breathless. Is this the Jesus who lived among us? Is this the Christ who bore our sins on the cross? And the answer is no, it is only a painting, but the painting points to the Christ Who did. Two believers, an artist and, according to the story, a reluctant carpenter, came together to make this worshipful piece of art. And here is the place of art in the life of the Christian, whether it be painting, writing, music, or any other art. The purpose of the work is not to bring glory to itself but to point rather to the God we worship. "Come to Me, and I will give you rest." Ladies and Gentlemen! Gather round, for there are stories to hear! Tales of mystery, adventure, romance, and swordplay await! I am pleased to announce that within the next month I will be releasing a collection of short stories, some of Averelia, and some of another land.
Keep an eye out, as there may be surprises along the way! -J. Christopher Earl What can be said about a dream, captured with ink and tied to old parchment? Only the author knows in full the every fluid detail of what he has seen. Here is my puzzle of Averelia, for it is a dream enslaved to pen and paper.
Here, as in our world, all was created by the breath of the Maker. Light and water danced in the great nothing, until life was made, and in the beautiful unmarred lands mankind was born of the Creator's will. Yet a story is nothing without strife, and strife was born of pride. The greatest of lights, a created thing, longed to be greater even than the Creator. In his rebellion his light was taken, for light in Averelia is the Maker's mark. He became a shadow, slithering in the darkness of a newly broken land. The south of the world was burnt black and thrust into a permanent night. There the Shadows dwell. Yet in the beautiful North live men and women of all kinds. The Keepers watch over the four clans of Aranok, Tesel, Yaval, and Medaln, and peace has at last come to the once warring peoples; the first peace since the Shadows rebelled. And so the first few hectic days of moving to a new site settle down, and only one simple question lingers on my mind. "What now?"
The businessman in me wants to focus on expanding sales and getting interest in my work to steadily grow. I'm thinking deals of the week, custom mugs, fund-raiser banquets! Or maybe not yet. Instead I do believe it would be best for me to hog-tie the inner businessman, stuff a sock in his mouth, lock him in the closet, and let the writer do the work. After all, he has nothing to sell without me, and while I am writing in part for the money, I am writing primarily to write, to tell stories that cause books to be thrown at walls (gently please!), to breathe life into characters that live now only in my mind, and to teach the world what it means to follow the light. In the year 2011 I took part in a great challenge called NaNoWriMo. That is, National Novel Writer's Month. The aim of this brilliant lunacy is to write 50,000 words in one month. It was November, I was in high-school, I was involved in after school activities, and on top of it all I was freshly in love with a wonderful girl. With all that in mind, I wrote 50,000 words in a month. Not only were they words, they were words that were built together into something of a story. There was a beginning, an end, and a wibbly bit in the middle. Light and Shadow was born. To be fair, it was not a great story. I've edited it quite a bit since then, and now, four years later, I intend to finish it. So thank you for joining me on this grand expedition. I look forward to seeing the sights together. And if you'd like to be an encouragement along the way I would love to hear from you! And don't forget to send in a pledge! Some of them are pretty good deals! And tell your friends! (Ok, ok, that was the businessman again. I'll find some tougher duct-tape.) As I sit in this plush couch for my 15 minute break, I wonder, "How can I possibly work on writing when I have next to no time to spare? I have bills to pay, food to cook, a lovely girlfriend to spend time with, and a host of other necessities that battle for my time, often catching my sanity in the crossfire. This simple 15 minute break isn't even enough to write a blog update! Come the school year I'll have homework to work on as well.... What I need is motivation to write, and to write well."
So here's the deal, and I think you'll like it. I've added a page to the site called Pledges. Here's how it works. There's a simple form over there that sends an email to me. Fill it out with your full name and email address, along with your pledge. When I finish the book, you fulfill your pledge by sending in the payment, and I send you the prize! There are a few different types of Pledges. Here's how they work. -Completed Book Pledge. When the book is finished, you pledge to pay me an amount of your choosing. -Chapter by chapter pledge. You pledge to pay me an amount of your choosing for each chapter of the book that is completed. -Critic's Pledge. You pledge to pay me a given amount should you actually enjoy the book, but if you do not enjoy the book, I would appreciate an honest critical analysis of my work. All critic Pledges will receive a free eBook, and will receive other prizes upon fulfillment of the pledge. -The Gambler's Pledge. You pledge to pay me any amount of your choosing. For every week the printing of my book is delayed, the amount you owe me goes down by 5%, and yet your prizes rely only on that original amount. You may find yourself with the best prizes for the lowest price. PRIZES Any Pledges that total over $5.00 will receive an eBook of the final copy of the book. Any Pledges that total over $20.00 will receive a hand signed paperback copy of the final novel. Any Pledges that total over $50.00 will receive a (very rare) hardback edition of the book, hand-signed by the author, and an 11x17 poster map of Averelia. The single highest pledge will receive an eBook, a hand signed paperback edition, a hand signed hardback edition, and a hand signed 11x17 poster map of Averelia! Again, no payment is due unless I deliver on the book. :) Let the games begin! |
NewsAuthorJ. Christopher Earl is a beginning Christian author living in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. Archives
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