The Magic Stone: Synposis of a Work in Progress

Assuming you read the last post, about me entering a writing contest, You might enjoy a look at the synopsis I had to send in with the entry.  The actual one sent is from this one, but even more abreviated.  Anyway, this is what I've been working on for the last two years.

                                            The Magic Stone -- Synopsis

      Davey Hart is a skinny, pimply choirboy who is teased constantly and unmercifully by his 14 year-old brother Danny, an athletic football player. After singing a solo for the Christmas Eve church musical, Davey and Danny get into a fight in their mom's car on the way home, which of course, Davey loses. He wishes just once, he could get the upper hand.

      Their mom upholds her own tradition of reading the Christmas story from the Bible, but the two boys are bored. They want an adventure story. Their mom explains that there is much adventure in the Christmas story-- pirates and sword fights-- that they haven't heard the whole story.

Later, as Davey is getting ready for bed, his mom visits his room and brings a strange object to sit on his night-stand. It is a hand-high statue of an old, fat, balding angel with tattered wings. He is the Christmas angel; his job is to make Christmas perfect. He is magic, his mom explains.

Because of a wish that Davey makes earlier in the evening, the statue comes to life and spirits Davey away on a magical journey back in time, and he finds himself in a vast barren tundra with only an odd, irascible old angel named Gabriel for company. It is several weeks before the first Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, Gabriel explains. They are somewhere near the Silk Road, the main trade route from the Far East to the Holy lands. Soon, a caravan will pass by, led by Balthazar, one of the three wise men, whom Davey had wished he could meet.

      After fighting off raiders and wolves, Gabriel loses his magical powers. He can lift no more than a knuckle-sized pebble. But Davey and the demoted angel manage to connect with the caravan where Davey is put to work doing heavy, backbreaking chores. He also begins training in self defense, including the sword and sling, as the caravan wends it way west. But he is a poor student. Soon, a gigantic star appears in the western sky.

      But Balthazar, not a believer in any particular god, does not want to follow the star. He is carrying silk to Antioch, and much gold awaits him there. He is curious what lies beneath the star, but does not want to alter his journey. Gabriel explains that unless Balthazar travels to Bethlehem, Christmas will cease to exist. And also, unless that happens, Gabriel cannot take Davey back home.

Roman soldiers force Balthazar's caravan to keep on traveling toward the star. Balthazar, Davey, and Gabriel all must cross the most arid desert in the entire region, guarded by Romans. The Romans have horses instead of camels, and soon they are afoot. Davey gives them water against Balthazar's wishes.

Eventually, they reach Jerusalem 12 days after Christmas, and they present King Herod with the silk he has demanded the Romans fetch for him. Balthazar now has his gold and is free to investigate what lies under the star. King Herod is angry when he learns of the prophecy surrounding the star, and sends six Roman soldiers to follow the caravan to Bethlehem and slaughter the Holy Family.

      There is a clash of swords with the Roman soldiers in which Davey, now with more muscle, fortitude, and sword training, plays a pivotal part. Davey is no match for the Roman soldiers, but because of his kindness in the desert, A Roman centurion with them in the desert saves Davey's life. When the other Romans ask him why he saved the boy, the centurion replies, “He gave me water.” The other Roman soldiers retreat, but vow to return with the whole garrison.

      Balthazar realizes that God's will is manifested by kindness and compassion and not by strength and sword play, and finally believes in the One True God. He agrees to offer the Holy Family sanctuary and safe passage to Egypt. Gabriel is finally able to take Davy home.

      Davey is amazed to find himself back in his bedroom, and it is Christmas morning. He has been gone only a few hours! But he is strong and tanned and wind-burnt, and in dire need of a shower. When Danny tries to push Davey around, things don't go well for him. Davey is too strong.  Danny is no longer any kind of problem for him, and Davey finally has the upper hand.

Life Rules

This is just a recent journal entry.  

                                                            Life Rules

2/28/15  I have another life rule. You may remember that my life-rule number one is Don't assess your life when you are sick. That includes depression and failure. This rule has kept me sane through much tribulation, although I've had it relatively easier than most. My friend Steve has just moved into an old double-wide with a hoarder. Still, asking yourself the question, What has my life amounted to? when you feel like shooting yourself in the head, is, well, not a very wise combination.

        I have been trying to enter the Genesis competition, sponsored by the American Christian Fiction Writers group, or association, or something. I fell into this by accident. The group was mentioned on the back of a book I came across, and liked it enough to read it all the way through. The author, C.E. Laureano, was either a finalist or a winner of that contest. She is also a martial artist. Anyway, I'm still trying to enter, but the entry form won't accept my data. So I emailed the contest coordinator, and she put a technician on my case, a Becky Yauder. I was waiting to hear from her as to why my data isn't acceptable. I've attached both the files for my picture, and the entry pages for her to examine. I thought she had already responded, but it was just a Welcome to our organization. Her are some contacts you can make: Bible studies, churches, prayer groups, and writing circles. I'm under-whelmed. And it is about this time of night that I wonder if my writing is any good, or that my entry is good enough. I've already had to shorten it to format it to their submission specs. I am sorely tempted to bring the entry material up and re-write it. Which brings me to my second rule: Don't work on your art when you are stoned, or tipsy, or bloated with cinnebons. I'm already a fool often enough. Garbage in, garbage out. It's like the best artist rule. Theoretically, I'm speaking.

         I took my flash drives to my daughter Heather's house, to use her computer, because,

obviously, mine was diabolical, and mad at me.  It wasn't the computer.  I went through the process of uploading all my data, and then took my flash drives out of her computer.  She stopped me, saying, "You should probably leave those in until after you send in the entry form.  That's a lot of data, and the form will probably want to draw on those again during the uploading."  Wow.  Why didn't I know that?  Because I'm an old fart?  The form went through perfectly.  I felt so stupid.  But that brings me back to rule number one.

Samurai Writing

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 Z A N S H I N 

                                                         Samurai Writing

        I subscribe to a lot of magazines, and read many of them cover to cover. I used to read more books, but they're way long. Then I found the New Yorker, and the articles, while long as magazine articles go, are way shorter than books. Spirituality and Health is a fun read, and I always read my new ones cover to cover. And the articles are way shorter than the ones in the New Yorker. I also take National Geographic, Newsweek, and Reader's Digest, and the AARP sends this newsletter that's fun to read. And the articles are, like, paragraph length. Lately, I've been enjoying the Quotable Quotes on the back page of Reader's Digest; they're only one line. I don't know where my attention span has gone, but it's no wonder I don't read as many books as I should.

        In my defense, I proudly admit to finishing a book last night. I humbly admit that I started it way before Christmas. I proudly state that it is the author's longest and most ambitious book; I humbly admit the author is Louis L'Amour. I proudly admit I have to choose between my two next-to-read books-- Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn, and The Last Bad Man, by Miranda July. I humbly admit, I've already started another Louis L'Amour book.

        I don't care. And here's what contributes to that. I also take Writer's Digest and read it cover-to-cover as soon as I receive it in the mail. I've just read articles about fiction writing, contrast and conflict, controlling the speed of the story, and character development. Every month I learn something new about how to better produce my craft.

I get so overwhelmed with new information that I tense up with the overload and can't write.

        I think there comes a time when you must realize that reading about your craft is not actually doing the craft. At some point, you have to just sit down and write, You have to put out of your mind any thought of success or failure, being published, or formulas of approach. Forget the persuasions of the experts, the center-stagers and the literary giants. They won't help you write anything new. For that, you just have to immerse yourself in the world you are creating, and capture it in words. You are the best judge of those. Not your magazines, or your books, or your experts.. You. Cruising down the stream of your story.

         The ancient samurai of feudal Japan went into battle already resigned to the fact that they would probably die. They had made a vow of loyalty to whatever cause or overlord they were fighting for, and their own lives were not as important as their loyalty. I am coming to a place where I write that way.

       Here's my advice; get the damn story out, and do not fret about what others think of it, or what the magazines tell you it should be, or whether it will ever be published. Get it down on paper while the Muse is whispering in your ear.

         Rewrite later. And save those Writer's Digests. They may come in handy then.

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