Three is NOT the magic number

In theory, I hate trilogies/series and everything they stand for. Why couldn't the author just make one super thick book so I could read the story in one go? It would be so much easier on me, and I could even build up my biceps from lifting the 20kg novel. Smiles all around, no?

No. I know why trilogies are necessary. Sometimes a story is just too big to fit into one book, and has to be split up. There's a bigger picture building up from the first story, leading on to more chaos and action and awe. But....

Sometimes it's nice just to have it all wrapped up in one go. I get to sit down, dedicate hours of my time to one book and then I'm left with feelings of satisfaction, knowing that everything has been concluded. Then I can move on into a completely different universe and start the process all over again.

With trilogies however, the first book is just a prelude to a grander design. And this frustrates me, because once I've finished it I'm left wanting more, which means getting out and buying the next one (err, by 'going out', I mean 'shopping online'). Then I have to wait even longer for it all to be concluded. Or - even worse - wait a year or more for the bluddy writer to actually finish WRITING the story.

A trilogy that embodies this perfectly is Patrick Rothfuss's KingKiller trilogy. It supposedly took the author 14 years to write the first draft, which understandably would lead to a lot of necessary editing. I came across his first book three years ago by chance: someone's profile on FictionPress had funny quotes from it, prompting me to have a look on Amazon and find out what it was about.

Stretching

Last week's post got lost in the space-time continuum. Honest. I don't even know where the days went. One minute it was Friday, and I was thinking to myself "Ah yes, I must update the blog and explain about my exams". The next thing I knew, I was waking up on Monday morning thinking "Shit. The blog."

And you know it's serious when I start swearing.

So I shall take this time to say a big fat

to my reader(s?). I had my final exam for the year on Tuesday, so now I'm back on the writing scene with a vicious vengeance, baby!

Theme: identity

In my previous post, I mentioned (okay, really banged on about) this supposedly amazing story I wrote for a competition two years ago. Here it is:

Life of a Wannabe Pirate

I've often wondered how others view me. I know how I view myself: brave, strong, loud and at times caring. It's always puzzled me that I have so few friends.

I know what Massimo would say: I'm fierce, arrogant, loud and at times a violent friend. At least we both agree I am loud. I learned at a young age to turn up the volume of my voice since no-one could hear it and haven't quite managed to turn it down since. Teachers used to complain they could hear me long before they ever saw me.

Some people think children take after their parents in terms of personality and I think there might be something in that. My mum is also a strong woman; she had to be in order to carry on with her life once my biological father left her pregnant with me. She's also good at planning: she married my stepdad Jeremy before I was born so we could have some stability, I think. Jeremy openly loved Mum ever since they were at school together and though Mum rejected him many times, Jeremy's persistence produced positive results for everyone.

I don't know anything about my biological father other than he didn't want me. It was through Jeremy that I learned to love everything about pirates, from the way they dressed to their pilfering lifestyle because Jeremy committed himself to reading me a story every bedtime. Thanks to him I know all the greats like Captain Hook, Long John Silver and Sinbad. I feel drawn to the world of sea, ships and swashbuckling. I can recall asking for a pistol and cutlass on my sixth birthday and being disappointed with the plastic models Jeremy produced.