I would like to begin the post with an apology not only to my undisclosed readers, but to myself and this blog/journal as well. Its been neglected for a out a week now, though I assure you all it was not in vain. I have been deep within the production of my novel as of late, actually making real progress regarding the dialogue and flesh of my characters. Since Day 1 of this journey into Mattè and writing my novels and stories within it, my most difficult challenge has lied within that itself. I have all the details and imagery in my head: I can see it as clear as my own home and backyard. I’m just a new writer with a litany of excuses as to why I can’t put these details and images on paper. All the same, this pool of excuses have begun to run dry and I’ve finally started to make progress with my weaknesses as a writer. I guess part of the progress can be attributed to this blog and my ongoing short story about O’Shaughnessy-16 and The Myth of the Monte Carlo, as it has helped substantially with my practicing narration and scene depth etc. and its not even a lot of writing. Regardless, I’m proud of myself and ashamed all for the same reasons. To the point though, lets get back to Mattè. We shouldn’t keep our beautiful world waiting..
Today lets talk about The Grove, known in the olden days as none other than Grovyllon..
I would like to begin by noting that The Grove is not the same as a grove. The Grove is not your typical small group of trees settled down within a valley. The Grove is not something you walk to, through, or around in a matter of hours or days even, no. The Grove, my undisclosed readers, is a vast, seemingly endless aggregation of trees and forestry stretching farther than the eye can see. Although virtually none other than the (omitted) themselves have seen any part of The Grove outside of the city of (omitted), one can reason without a doubt that it is quite a large territory. It is said that when viewing the city of (omitted) from the very center, atop its grandmother tree named (omitted), one can only see the tops of trees ranging of all shapes and species to and fro – horizon to horizon. Alas, it is also said that the very same grandmother tree has never actually been scaled entirely without said scalee falling to a grisly death of utmost “natural” cause. So who truly knows, my undisclosed readers?
Find out when I finally write my book. It’s coming, Fall 2016…..
Jokes. Maybe within 4-5 years. It’s honestly an entire anthology I’m working with here, not a simple novel in less-than-poetic prose – oh no. This is true beauty I’m attempting to sculpt and mold here. And I’m using hand-me-down tools with rickety handles, innit? So let’s do this. Majic ensues. <— And that isn’t a typo. Oop, teaser teaser.