the novel in progress

The novel in progress does not yet have a name.

Some days I will post a new part of the story. Some days I'll chronicle what's going on with the writing or lack of writing process. Other days I will ask for specific feedback, help, or critique.

You can click here to go to the beginning of the story. Each post has a link to the next segment.

One more note: As you read along, some of the facts of the story may seem amiss, or you may notice other oddities. This is because I am editing as I write, as the story takes clearer shape in my mind. I will not be able to edit all the previous posts to make them align with the new form on my computer.

Of course, this bodes well for me financially. If this thing gets finished, and somebody wants to publish it, online folks will have to buy it to read the finished, coherent story. :)

3

Nathan looked at Yavonne with frustration. “Why do you insist on torturing yourself, and Chinedu? How could this be good for Jule? How could this be good for you?”

“Uncle, you know that Chinedu is the most loyal, compassionate, and caring man in this village. Who could be a better father to Jule than he? Who could be a better husband? I do not rejoice in my widowhood, but I do thank God for the opportunity to do what should have been done many years ago.”

“Which god do you thank, Yavonne? They have all turned their backs on us.

“I do not speak ill of Chinedu’s character, I watched him grow to be a man under my own roof. I am his adopted father.

“No, I ask you what kind of a life would you have for Jule? You are gifted with the ability to see beyond Chinedu’s skin, and you are not alone, but so many Kanna look at Chinedu with fear and distrust; they think he is a crow!

“Yavonne, your love is strong, but Chinedu cannot be for you. I am too old to stop you, but not too old to warn you. He often sees himself as bent as the bent people, as his father called them. He is not comfortable in his skin. Until he can stand up straight, and accept his place as a Kanna, he must remain in his hut outside the village, alone.”

Yavonne said nothing. Her heart betrayed her to such a cruel fate. Nathan was stubborn, but he was also wise. How could she trust Chinedu if he did not trust himself? She would wait to see what became of his promise to talk to Nathan, and cried herself to sleep cursing the injustice of the world, and all its gods.

In his sleep, Chinedu dreamt of unrest. He had heard the rumors of wide spread feuding in the north and in the west. As clans were displaced, they disappeared, or so the rumors went. Supposedly, the bent ones were growing in number.

In his dreams, the rumors were all true. Old disagreements were stirred with new hatreds, fueled by a growing fear. Villages burned. Dark, hideous faces hid in the shadows. Death struck at random.

And then, he remembered his father, his mother, his brother and sister. They had all fallen victim to the same fears and hatreds. They had fled Tukt in hopes of finding peace. He dreamt of a dark shadow following at his heals across a barren landscape, through dark forests, and a across flowing water. He saw Nathan’s eyes red with weeping--sons swept away by the shadow.

Chinedu awoke slowly. The decision he had to make was beyond his strength. He loathed the coming of day.

He made his way to the stream that ran just a few yards from his hut. His parents were buried here near the place where the crow arrow struck him that fateful night. He grieved for his parents nearly every day. They had made Yevalde feel like home. This morning, kneeling by their grave markers, he felt more alone than before.

Rising, he groaned in pain. His left hip and leg had healed well as a child, but not quite straight. As he grew older, arthritis had set in. He groaned, again thinking of the many years of increasing agony that lay before him.

Thinking aloud he said, “If I am to return to my people, there is no better time than now. I am still able enough to make the journey, and Nathan has enough health to complete Sebastian’s training…”

Why was it so difficult to know which decision was best?

“I gave Yavonne my word. I must follow through. Nathan will speak wisdom. I will follow his guidance.”

Installment 2

In his small thatched-roof hut, Chinedu knelt and prayed for understanding and courage. It was a short prayer, as his mind was too distracted to truly focus on an unseen deity. His thoughts wandered back to the beginning of his sojourn among the Kanna…

35 years ago, Chinedu traveled the long miles from Tukt with his father, Chimwa, and ailing mother, Anu. His village had been under constant attack by pillaging tribes and the bent people. When Chinedu’s elder brother and sister were killed, and his mother was seriously injured, Chimwa decided it was time to leave. Chinedu was 10 years old when they arrived on the borders of Kanna country. Anu had healed of her wound, but was not well.

A young man named Anthon found them seeking water from a small stream, and brought them home to his wife, Salara, who was nursing a baby girl. Chinedu’s family had spent two weeks circling around the limits of Kanna land, constantly chased away from wells and towns because of their dark skin.

Anthon and Salara took the family into their home, and began to teach them the heavy tongue of the Kanna, and neighboring clans. They also convinced the village leaders, including Nathan, Anthon’s elder brother, that the family was safe, and deserving of share in the common lands to raise food.

Chimwa quickly learned to farm, but continued to teach his son to build drums, to play the flute, and to sing the tales of the Tukt. He had been the tribe’s chief singer before coming to Kanna. In Yevalde, their new home, life was difficult. They managed to eek out enough to eat from their small share in the common lands; very few were willing to share space with them. And, they were able to build a small hut on the outskirts of town with the help of Anthon, and even Nathan.

Chinedu was a quiet boy who excelled in his father’s musical instruction. He found that he was good with animals, and was hired as a shepherd’s assistant when the talent was discovered. He lived in fear of the other boys in the village, and treasured the quiet times with the goats, sheep, and rams. His peers still saw him as a bogie, some dark outsider, and he longed for the ability to bleach his skin pale like theirs.

Nearly three years passed with peace throughout Kanna when a clan feud to the north forced many to move into new lands, lands inhabited by the bent people; the Kanna called them crows. When these people were pressed off their land they began to raid small villages for food. The crows continued to raid, as it was the only mode of survival they knew.

One night, they attacked Yevalde. The village was nearly taken by surprise, but Nathan’s two sons saw the crows approaching, and gathered the men to defend their property and families. Chinedu was too young to fight, and was sent to heard the livestock away from the raiders.

The townsmen fought bravely, but had little to defend themselves from the arrows of the bent people. Nathan’s eldest son was killed leading the first charge, and many men fell with him. Most of the crows were beaten back, but about a half-dozen broke through to the center of the village where they stole what food they could carry, beating down all who got in their way. Anu fell before their crooked blades, as did Salara.

A stray arrow found the hollow of Chinedu’s hip as he was leading the livestock into the cover of the woods. He stumbled and fell into a ditch breaking his femur. He immediately lost consciousness.

As the battle wore on, the crows became desperate, mounting one final assault in hopes of breaking the resistance, and finding a way of retreat. Three dark, hunched beasts with hideous faces surrounded Nathan. He was not trained for battle, but fought as best as he knew how. Chimwa came to his rescue from the left, taking one of the crows down from behind. His momentum carried him into a second. They tumbled into a heap, wrestling for a killing position. Nathan took the opportunity of distraction to attack his last assailant who fled at the sight of his fallen comrades.

Chimwa finished his opponent, but did not stand in victory. Nathan knelt down to see that Chinedu had fallen on the crow’s blade. It was impaled deep into his left lung; there was nothing to do to help him. Gasping for breath, Chimwa charged Nathan to care for his son.

Seeing that the enemy had fully retreated, Nathan called his youngest son, sending him to seek Chinedu and the livestock in the woods. The young man found Chinedu unconscious, and surrounded by scavenging wild dogs. He fought them off, and brought the boy to his father’s house. By the time Chinedu was able to leave his bed, Nathan’s son had died from a diseased wild dog bite.

next segment

looking for the right name

I've got another segment written, but I've got a problem. This is a pseudo-fantasy novel--more reality based than a traditional fantasy novel, but still keeping some of those elements. There is a 'race' in the story that fills the role of the traditional orcs. They are not orcs, though, and I don't know what to call them. I can't tell you much about them, as that would spoil the story: everyone's afraid of them, some think they're demons, etc...

In the current draft, they are called 'bogies'. It's a silly name, so I'm looking for suggestions. Let me know what you think.

I'll post the next segment, one way or another, in the next day or two.

It Begins

Chinedu sat cross-legged in the dusty semi-circle in the center of the village. He knew the tale Sebastian sang better than the young bard—a good tale at that—but could not keep his mind from wandering from the song, as though it were a chore to listen. He glanced nervously around at the rest of the villagers, hoping he was merely distracted by personal affairs. As he glanced around the circle, he was diverted from his task by the strong gaze of Yavonne, sitting toward the front of the left end of the semi-circle.

Yavonne was holding her two-year-old son: he bore the name of his father, Jule, who had been killed in a quarrel over land just before his first son’s birth. Yavonne was the niece of Nathan, the old man reclining next to her; the village’s first bard—his face reflected the fears Chinedu tried to fight. When he finally broke his gaze from Yavonne, cursing his weakness, he saw Nathan’s discomfort. The old man’s face comforted Chinedu in more ways than one—he was not losing control over his mind—but confirmed his fears at the same time.

When the tale was finished, the townsfolk meandered off towards their homes rather quickly. No one stayed around; no one was moved to stay. Sebastian put away his lyre, nodded toward Chinedu, and left, as well. Chinedu wondered to himself how the young man could appear so calm in the face of such…failure, was the only word that came to Chinedu’s mind. He shuffled off towards his small hut at the south edge of the village, his head hanging low, his lips mumbling the tale Sebastian sang.

“Chinedu!”

He was so startled he nearly fell. When he realized it was Yavonne standing near the door of his hut, he did stumble, but managed to maintain his balance.

“You nearly stepped on Jule.”

The toddler was shuffling around on his untested feet just a foot and a half in front of Chinedu, and Chinedu had not even noticed. Yavonne’s dark hair framed her sun-tanned face in a way that made Chinedu feel 20 years younger. A man of 45 should not feel these things, he told himself.

“You are not a failure, Chinedu,” she said matter-of-factly, yet with clear empathy.

“How can you say that, Yavonne? The whole village hurried away from the telling, tonight. The heart of the tale was missing! When the people gather for a telling, it is not a chore. It is to be a delight, and a renaissance of our communal spirit. We cannot afford to lose our…I mean, the village cannot afford to lose their soul in such uncertain times…” He trailed off, looking lost.

Picking up again, he said, “35 years, I have sojourned among your kinsmen, and still, I cannot connect to their hearts. Sebastian learns all that I teach him; he memorizes every scrap of information with hardly any effort. But, he sings a tale as if he’s recounting a list of herbs. It’s a chore to him. There is none of his heart in the telling. I have failed to reach his heart with the stories of this people.”

“Chinedu, you carry the heart of the Kannah people as deeply as Nathan. And, you have always communicated to my heart. When will you sing me the love songs of your mother’s tongue, again? Jule has been gone for more than two years. My son needs a father, and I want no one but you. I hold you responsible for my widowhood. You backed down once, I beg you not to do so again.”

He was stunned. How dare she speak with no concern for propriety! How dare she accuse him of responsibility for her widowhood!

After a moment, he closed his mouth, and lowered his gaze. “You speak the truth. I was a fool and a coward to not stand for my claim to your hand so many years ago. I will speak to Nathan tomorrow. You should leave now. It is not proper, and I am no suitable company tonight. I must rest. I will redouble my efforts with Sebastian.” And, he turned towards the door flap on his hut with a great sigh.

Yavonne bowed slightly and let him pass. Her eyes beamed with intense energy, yet creased with a tear. She smiled with joy, but her lip quivered in concern. She gathered young Jule in her arms, and turned back toward the center of the village where her stone house stood next to Nathan’s.

Click here for the next segment.

hotel rwanda

Why is Christianity in America struggling with questions of Relevance?

Have you gone to see Hotel Rwanda yet?

If you have not, and it is still showing in your city, you must see it!

I went to see this movie with a handful of XA students last night. Several of us wanted to learn more about the genocide that occurred in Rwanda after developing a great friendship with Paulin (Rwandan MPH student at Tulane) last semester. I did not expect to be moved as I was, as I had just recently done some more thorough research, and have been fairly knowledgeable about the massacre.

I watched most of the movie slightly on edge (it is a well acted and written movie) from the tension, and in mild shock. I was moved to tear a little at one point, but felt basically numb. Then the movie ended with the end of the genocide, and a picture, ever-so-brief, of hope and love. At the time, I did not understand why I broke into sobs. I have not cried like this since reading Cry The Beloved Country in highschool, and then in 2000, when my friend Matt VanRyn was killed in a terrible auto accident. My head still hurts from sobbing and shaking.

I prayed things like "Please take me out of this world that can do such things." I am terrified by the realization that I am a part of the world system that fosters, and turns a blind eye such things. I feel powerless, but powerlessness can be a consolation. I see now that what broke my emotions was the face of hope. I believe that I can make a difference, and that I must make a difference, but I don't know how. I hope for the Kingdom of God to come in peace and justice, but I am lost for what to do in that hope. Hope can bring rejoicing, but hope can bring sorrow. I wept in the face of humanity's evil, because I have hope that it can be defeated. If I had no hope, I would remain consoled and numb in my powerlessness.

blogII moves to xanga

blogigo was annoying, so i moved my other blog to xanga

http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=nolakid