Sometimes a writer’s muse will do unexpected things with a
character or a storyline, but that’s a good thing. Don’t ignore the
gentle prodding. Follow. I give you two examples of how this has
worked well for me.
First:
I’ve been asked if I use an outline when I write. The
answer is: “No.”
I don’t know why, but I’ve never been able to outline events
well before they occur in my fiction. When a great idea pops into my
head, I immediately write it down. That’s my writer instinct. I may
not know where the idea will lead, but I’m willing to follow.
That’s how the Darkness Series began. In January 1996,
when I laid down to go to sleep, the opening sentence came to me:
“Dropping a cat from the top of a ten story office building was not the best
way to remain hidden, but it was necessary.”
I was intrigued. I didn’t know where the story would
go or why someone dropped the cat off the building, but I got up and wrote it
down. A few minutes later when I was trying to go to sleep, the next two
paragraphs came to me. So, again, I got up and wrote down the words.
The next day I sat at my computer and hammered out twenty
pages in a few hours. At the end of those pages, I found myself in a new
dilemma. I couldn’t add anything else to the storyline. Anything I
attempted to add didn’t fit, sounded too corny, or took away from the
characters and the building plot. I was stuck, and I didn’t know
why. I printed it out and set it in a box to work on later.
Two years later, during my final year at Morehead State
University, I registered to take two creative writing classes in the coming
fall. During the summer I took out the twenty pages and thought I would
see if any new ideas stirred to breathe life into this story. Rereading
the piece I realized something. I didn’t have twenty pages of the
novel. What I had was the skeleton of a novel that needed depth,
description, and more urgency to push the plot forward.
I took a yellow notepad and made a lot of notes. When
I was content with how I would flesh the book out, I sat at the computer and
spent a week working and revising with the new ideas. The last sentence
of the original twenty pages now ended on page 100; but still, I couldn’t add
anything else. Frustrated, I set it aside.
Once the fall semester started, we met the new creative
writing professor, Dr. Chris Offutt. He stated that his class would be
treated like a writer’s workshop, and on our designated days, we could bring in
a short story or the chapter of a book we were working on to have the class
evaluate it. When my day came, I brought the first chapter (~32 pages) of
Predators of
Darkness: Aftermath in and gave each student a copy. The next
week they came back to critique and offer suggestions about what did/didn’t
work.
After everyone in the class made their suggestions, the
professor walked to the chalkboard. He drew out a diagram on the board and
said, “Leonard, you don’t have one chapter here. What you have is five or
six chapters.” In a matter of minutes he mapped out five chapters.
I feverishly wrote down his suggestions. The best part is that something
clicked. The fog lifted. And I suddenly visualized my characters,
their uniqueness, and their voices were audible in my head.
Eventually, Predators of
Darkness: Aftermath grew into 340 pages, and there are four complete
novels in the series. Had I not written that sentence down, I do wonder
if the series would have occurred. After all, I didn’t have a plot or any
characters. All I had was the one sentence. I never imagined the
opening sentence would spawn four more novels afterwards (Yes, I’m working on
the fifth book), which is why I suggest that writers follow their muse, carry
notebooks, and don’t get chained to an outline. If a character takes an
unexpected turn into a dark alley, don’t stop him/her. Follow.
Second:
A couple of years ago I published Devils Den.
Due to the characters in the fantasy realm of the novel, I thought that writing
a novella backstory would be a good idea. However, my muse had a much
different idea.
The fantasy characters in Devils Den
I’ve known—in my mind, at least—for more than twenty years. The first
novel I attempted was based on these characters, but the plot was too weak to
develop, so I killed the story. But the characters never died. They
didn’t speak a lot, but they were there in the back of my mind, maturing.
As I started the “Prequel” for Devils Den,
something strange occurred. The characters wanted their voices to be
heard, and they weren’t shy about letting me know. What I thought would
be 40-50,000 words, came to life on a much larger scale. Twenty years of
maturing in my mind, the characters suddenly brought their world to life.
And thanks to Millard Pollitt, who drew an outstanding map of the realm, so
many places can be explored. The plotlines are endless.
The new novel is a 148,000 word epic fantasy novel (Name and
cover soon to be announced). Since the events in this novel are twenty years
prior to Devils Den,
and so much occurs between the two, the new book has become the first book in
its own series.
So, you see, my muse took me in a different direction and
definitely farther than the novella I had planned. Most often my muse
knows more than I do, so I follow, take notes, and I write down what I hear and
see. If there’s a better formula than that, I don’t know it.
Shawndirea
34 songs, 2.5 hours, 292 MB
This is the soundtrack that I
used a majority of the time while writing Shawndirea.
Leonard D. Hilley II
|
Name
|
Time
|
Album
|
Artist
|
1
|
Dusk Of A Northern Kingdom
|
4:35
|
The Witcher
|
Adam Skorupa
|
2
|
Breton Medley
|
3:35
|
Dark Age Of Camelot
|
Cheryl Ann Fulton
|
3
|
Spanish Point
|
4:10
|
Dark Age Of Camelot
|
Declan Masterson
|
4
|
Star Of The County Down
|
3:07
|
Dark Age Of Camelot
|
Henson Conant, Deborah
|
5
|
Earth
|
3:59
|
Assassin's
Creed 2 (Original Gam…
|
Jesper Kyd
|
6
|
Venice
Rooftops
|
3:18
|
Assassin's
Creed 2 (Original Gam…
|
Jesper Kyd
|
7
|
Ezio's Family
|
3:58
|
Assassin's
Creed 2 (Original Gam…
|
Jesper Kyd
|
8
|
Florence
Tarantella
|
1:52
|
Assassin's
Creed 2 (Original Gam…
|
Jesper Kyd
|
9
|
Tristram
|
7:41
|
The Music of Diablo 1996
- 2011
|
Matt Uelmen
|
10
|
Dungeon
|
4:23
|
The Music of Diablo 1996
- 2011
|
Matt Uelmen
|
11
|
Catacombs
|
5:50
|
The Music of Diablo 1996
- 2011
|
Matt Uelmen
|
12
|
Caves
|
4:57
|
The Music of Diablo 1996
- 2011
|
Matt Uelmen
|
13
|
Hell
|
4:08
|
The Music of Diablo 1996
- 2011
|
Matt Uelmen
|
14
|
Song of the Lonely Mountain (Exte…
|
6:01
|
The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journ…
|
Neil Finn
|
15
|
The Voyage
|
2:54
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
16
|
Gossamer
Mist
|
2:40
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
17
|
The Black Coach
|
2:36
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
18
|
Into The Shadows
|
2:59
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
19
|
Castle Dracula
|
2:56
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
20
|
Lair Of The
Vampire
|
6:29
|
Transylvania
|
Nox Arcana
|
21
|
River Of Life
|
5:22
|
The Witcher
|
Pawel Blaszczak
|
22
|
Returning
To The Fortress
|
1:31
|
The Witcher
|
Pawel Blaszczak
|
23
|
Evening In The Tavern
|
0:57
|
The Witcher
|
Pawel Blaszczak
|
24
|
New Tristram
|
5:16
|
Diablo III Soundtrack
|
Russell
Brower, Derek Duke, Glen…
|
25
|
Bastion's
Keep
|
7:31
|
Diablo III Soundtrack
|
Russell
Brower, Derek Duke, Glen…
|
26
|
Caldeum
|
7:11
|
Diablo III Soundtrack
|
Russell
Brower, Derek Duke, Glen…
|
27
|
A Tenuous Bond
|
4:50
|
Diablo III Soundtrack
|
Russell
Brower, Derek Duke, Glen…
|
28
|
Garden of Hope
|
3:25
|
Diablo III Soundtrack
|
Russell
Brower, Derek Duke, Glen…
|
29
|
Hibernian
Village Dance
|
0:30
|
Dark Age Of Camelot
|
Various
Artists
|
30
|
Main Title From Dark Age Of Cam…
|
2:51
|
Dark Age Of Camelot
|
Various
Artists
|
31
|
Dead City
|
8:04
|
The Witcher
|
Various
Artists
|
32
|
The Princess Striga
|
6:52
|
The Witcher
|
Various
Artists
|
33
|
The Dike
|
7:05
|
The Witcher
|
Various
Artists
|
34
|
New Beginning
|
9:13
|
Trapt
|
Trapt
|
Shawndirea
Chronicles of Aetheaon
Book I
Leonard D. Hilley II
Genre: Fantasy (Epic, Adventure, Sword/Sorcerer)
Publisher: DeimosWeb Publishing
Date of Publication: June 27, 2014
ISBN: 9781310304965
ASIN:
Number of pages: 536 printed pages
Word Count: 148,000
Book Description:
Often the smallest unexpected surprises garner the most demanding dilemmas, which proves to be the ordeal that entomologist Ben Whytten faces. While netting butterflies to add to his vast collection, he mistakenly sweeps what he thinks is the most spectacular butterfly he has ever seen into his net. Upon examining his catch, Ben is horrified to discover he has captured a faery and shredded her delicate wings into useless ribbons.
Devastated, Ben vows to take Shawndirea back to her realm, Aetheaon; but he discovers that doing so places their lives into immediate danger. To get to Aetheaon, they must pass through a portal rift deep inside the haunted cavern, Devils Den.
Once they cross the rift, Ben enters a world where mysteries, magic, betrayal, and power struggles await. He must adapt quickly or die because Aetheaon is filled with enchanted creatures and numerous races where chaos often dominates order. And since Shawndirea’s destined for the throne of Elvendale, opposing dark forces plot to prevent her from ever reaching her kingdom again. The faery's magic isn't enough to fully protect them, so he must trust other adventurers to aid them during their journey.
Available at Amazon
Chapter
One
The early autumn sun blazed over the
freshly cut hayfield in Cider Knoll, Kentucky.
Ben Whytten rested his butterfly net against the rusted barbed wire
fence and then wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Sweat soaked his shirt and blue jeans. Although fall had officially begun, the
outside temperature didn’t indicate it. Sporting near ninety degrees, summer
refused to let go of the climate and turned what should have been a pleasant Saturday
afternoon into an intimidating taunt, daring anyone with partial sanity to
remain outdoors in the sweltering heat.
After he unscrewed the canteen cap,
he tilted it back and took a long drink of cold water. Beads of water dripped down his short brown
beard. He sighed and twisted the cap tightly. His piercing brown eyes studied the sky. Not a cloud in sight. No breeze to help combat the hellish sticky
heat.
Ben combed his sweat-matted brown
hair from his eyes with his fingers. He
picked up the butterfly net and looked across the straw-colored field at the
small grove of pastel leafed maples that lined a winding stream. The shade was inviting, and he guessed a good
ten degrees cooler than the open field.
He took a deep breath and trudged across brittle grass stems that
crunched beneath his hiking boots.
Collecting butterflies during autumn
was better than spring or summer because the diversity of species
increased. The fall forms of butterflies
were generally brighter, larger, and fed in greater clusters on the ironweed,
milkweed, and clover. Brilliantly
colored swallowtails puddled along the creek beds. Plump moth larvae were also easier to find as
they searched for places to spin cocoons or burrow beneath the soil to pupate
before the colder temperatures set in.
“If
colder weather ever settles in,” Ben
thought, “Hell will have truly frozen
over.”
Long narrow grasshoppers jumped and
took to flight as Ben crossed the field.
Their wings buzzed as the alarmed insects glided and drifted downward,
landed, and propelled themselves into the air again.
Reaching the shade beneath the maple
branches, Ben leaned against a thick tree trunk and closed his eyes. The shallow stream trickled softly. Cicadas hummed. In the distance a woodpecker rapped the bark
of a massive dead pine. Weather had stripped
away sections of the rough pine bark, revealing the smooth yellow wood
underneath. The soothing sounds of
nature relaxed him, and he was thankful to be outside, alone.
Dr. Isaac Deiko had planned to
collect insects with Ben this particular Saturday, but at the last minute, he
called and said that he couldn’t go.
Deiko had to help set up tables for a gun show in a neighboring town.
The news didn’t disappoint Ben. He’d rather collect butterflies and other
insects alone. The outdoors was a place
where he gathered his thoughts and meditated about life. The forests, bluffs, and meadows were the
best places where he felt at peace.
Leaving the fast-paced, bustling technological-craving addicts for a
calmer, slow-paced life without all their distractions was worth more than
millions of dollars to Ben. He’d give up
all the instant gadgets for the tranquility that his grandfather and
great-grandfather experienced while working on their farms.
Ben kept a serious outlook on life
while Dr. Deiko spent more time playing practical jokes on their colleagues and
students, which often irritated and infuriated Ben. He knew if Deiko came on this field trip, the
collecting possibilities would be little or none simply because Deiko was
clumsy-footed and boisterous.
Ben had never extended an invitation
for Deiko to join him in the first place.
In fact, Deiko had invited
himself when he found out about Ben’s collecting plans for the weekend. Although Deiko was a biologist like Ben,
Deiko was more concerned with uncovering a discovery to make him famous,
whereas Ben loved science and didn’t care if anyone other than his students
knew he existed. Of course when final
exams rolled around, most of his students would rather he didn’t exist. Other than
giving his students field trips from Hell, his tests were considered harsher
than rigorous ten mile hikes through steep mountainous terrain.
Ben looked back across the field and
chuckled. He had traipsed hundreds of
acres through forests, caves, and fields when he was still in middle
school. He had done so voluntarily,
without a word of complaint, and yet, today’s college students voiced disdain
over the least thing. The challenge
wasn’t getting them to learn; it was getting them to do anything that didn’t
require the pacifying need for their technology.
His inner frustration brought more
heat to his face. He was seconds from
rehashing how he wished computers and cellphones weren’t so controlling until
the soft bubbling creek caught his attention.
The gentle soft sound of water allowed his mind to leave the tensions of
the classroom and return to the natural calm surrounding him. He expelled a long sigh and refocused
himself.
Tall narrow blades of grass covered
the sandy banks of the shallow stream.
Small drab satyr butterflies fluttered lazily from grass blade to grass
blade. Ben shook his head. After two hours of walking the fields and
woods, he had hoped to capture a few new specimens to add to his
collection. But with each species he
encountered, he already had at least a half-dozen of those pinned inside
glass-top boxes at home. In many ways,
he believed he’d have done himself a greater service by staying home.
But regardless of what he deemed bad
luck, his life was about to change.
Forever.
He removed his backpack and set it
down. Slowly he lowered himself and sat
back against the tree trunk to rest. He
set down the canteen and placed the net handle across his lap and watched the
gentle stream flow. A few minnows darted
back and forth beneath the water as water striders skimmed like polished
skaters across the water’s surface.
Ben was drenched in sweat and
drained from the heat. A cool breeze
stirred along the stream, which seemed an invitation to relax a while
longer. His eyes ached to close for a
nap. He fought the urge to doze even
though the place was so comforting and peaceful. But, if nothing interesting presented itself
soon, he was going home. He dreaded
walking across the dry pasture to his SUV.
Ben took his hunting knife from the
sheath attached to his belt and then picked up a dried oak branch. He whittled and shaved away bark.
Perhaps it was the extreme heat that
kept the most brilliant butterflies in hiding, but he still didn’t see any
within the grove or along the sandy banks.
Later in the evening he might have better luck, but he refused to stick
around that long. He slid the knife back
into its sheath and rubbed his tired eyes.
Sunlight filtered through the leafy
canopy. Several birds flew low across
the stream and through the trees. Seconds
later two yellow butterflies glided to the edge of the far bank and
landed. A larger butterfly caught his
attention. At first glance he thought it
was a giant swallowtail, but instead, it turned out to be an oversized tiger
swallowtail.
Ben’s fingers tightened around the
net handle. He pushed himself to his
feet. He stepped lightly and headed
toward the stream to get a better look at the butterflies. Near the bank, a blur of metallic
bluish-green streaked past him.
“Damn!” he said, watching the zipping
wings catch the breeze and glide.
With incredible speed, it darted up,
down, left to right, and along the stream’s edge. Perhaps the sweltering heat or near
dehydration was playing tricks on him, but he was almost certain glittery dust
trailed behind it.
Ben hurried after the butterfly, a
prize unlike any other in his collection.
Few butterflies in this part of
Kentucky had such metallic colorings.
One he thought of immediately was the White M Hairstreak, but this one
was too large and flew much swifter.
Another butterfly with similar colors was the long-tailed skipper, but
the sheen sparkling off the butterfly following the stream was too bright. Its flight was also more erratic. The skipper stayed near gardens, and he
doubted any strayed this far into the woods since the larvae food plant was the
leaf of various beanstalks.
Ben realized he had just discovered
something new. Excitement shot through
him.
He hurried along the stream and
jumped over a fallen tree. His sudden
pursuit had not gone unnoticed. The
iridescent creature darted downward and swept through the tiny branches of a
shrub. But Ben moved faster.
As the beautifully winged specimen
shot through the other side of the bush, Ben arced the net sharply and captured
his prize. The end of the net pulled and
stretched while his captive struggled to fight free.
Quickly, Ben clamped his fingers
near the end of the net, but by the time he did, the struggling ceased.
He opened the net and looked
inside. His eyes widened.
“What the hell?” he asked.
At the bottom of the net lay a
gorgeous creature, but not what he had expected to capture. Her wings were tattered, frayed. Unconscious, he hoped, but he feared she
might be dying or already dead. Broken
scales and wing fragments covered her nearly nude body.
His excitement of the chase suddenly
turned to regret and dread.
A faery?
Ben dropped to his knees and gently
set down the net.
“God,” he whispered. “I hope I didn’t kill you.”
He carefully placed his left hand
beside her unmoving form. He nudged her
into the palm of his hand with the tip of his finger. She breathed, but her eyes remained
closed. Her radiant face was more
beautiful than any woman he had ever met.
A door slammed and echoed near the
pasture gate where he had parked his SUV.
Ben looked over his shoulder but
couldn’t see who had driven up.
“Ben!” Deiko shouted. “Where are you?”
“Dammit,” Ben grumbled under his
breath, looking back over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He hurried to the tree where his
pack lay. He curled his left hand gently
around the faery’s limp body while reaching into the pack.
“Ben!”
Ben took a wide-mouthed dark plastic
bottle, set it between his knees and unscrewed the hole-punched lid. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw
Deiko’s lanky figure jogging toward the grove.
Deiko smiled and waved when their eyes met. His jog turned into a sprint as he headed
toward Ben.
Ben placed the faery into the jar,
turned the lid, and wrapped the jar inside a white cloth before setting it back
into his pack. No sooner had he placed
it there and zipped the pack shut, Deiko’s thundering footsteps stopped beside
him.
“Catch something nice?” Deiko asked.
“No,” Ben replied, looking up but
not making eye contact with Deiko. “Not
much activity out here today. I blame
the heat.”
Deiko smiled broadly. “You caught something. Something special.”
Ben shook his head, picked up his
pack, and stood. “Look around,
Isaac. What do you see?”
Deiko glanced around but then his
eyes focused on Ben’s backpack again. “I
agree. Not much flying around. But you got something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your eyes. It’s the same with poker players who have a
great hand and haven’t conditioned themselves to suppress their excitement or
like kids that find money on the ground after someone drops it. Hell, I noticed people at the gun show who
bought guns from people far cheaper than the owners knew the guns were worth.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed, and he chose to
change the subject. He said, “How was
the gun show? I thought you’d be there
all day.”
Deiko shrugged. “That had been the plan. Not much going on there, either. Got a couple good deals though. Like this Ruger.”
He pulled a handgun from the back of
his belt.
“Nice,” Ben replied. Carefully he slipped his pack over his
shoulder and headed toward the hay field.
“Well?” Deiko said. He tucked the gun behind his belt and stepped
in front of Ben. “Aren’t you going to
show me?”
Sweat dripped from his Deiko’s black
hair and beaded on his brow. Ben studied
the determination set in his colleague’s dark eyes and his firm muscular jaw. Within seconds, Deiko’s boyish face had
hardened into that of a fierce murderous villain. Physically, he had no weight to put behind
his facial threat. He was tall and quite
bony with slender arms. And although
Deiko was probably fifteen years younger, Ben had no doubt if he was forced to
fight that Deiko would be the one sitting on the ground looking up and rubbing
his jaw. But, then, there was the gun
issue. Isaac was armed and all Ben had
was his knife. Even those odds didn’t
stand in Isaac’s favor.
“Show you what?” Ben asked.
“Your prize. It must be something nice since you still
refuse to show me.”
“How many times have I told you that
I haven’t found anything?”
“You and I should play poker
sometime,” Deiko said. “I’d make a
fortune.”
“Being as I don’t play cards, you’re
probably correct with that assumption.”
“Oh, come on, Ben,” Deiko said. Hostility loomed in his voice and darkness
narrowed his eyes. “Why are you afraid
to show me what you found?”
Ben studied him for a moment. Never had he seen Isaac behave like a
demented spoiled brat. He had his
moments, but Dr. Deiko generally didn’t keep a quiet and intimidating tone. But out here, away from others, Ben suddenly
saw the violence that hid deep within the botanist, and it was creeping to the
surface. Knowing that Deiko lusted for
fame, for a discovery beyond what man had seen or could fathom, Ben knew he
could never show the faery to Deiko. The
second he did, something horrible would happen.
To Ben and the lovely faery.
Deiko had not only shown the gun as
his grand prize from the gun show, he had established his subtle threat by
revealing he had brought it into the field.
Hunting season was still a few weeks away, and no one needed a gun to
collect butterflies. He had shown the
gun for a reason—either as a bullying tactic or simply to exhibit dominance.
“I think the heat is getting to you,
Isaac,” Ben said, shaking his head and stepping around his colleague.
“Put down the pack,” Isaac said.
“What?”
Ben froze when Isaac inserted the
magazine into the gun and snapped the gun’s chamber back and forth.
“Put down your pack. I want to see what you’re hiding inside.”
Ben turned. He looked in Isaac’s eyes, then to the gun.
Isaac shook his head. “Uh-uh.
Just set it down.”
Ben frowned and slowly lowered his
pack to the ground. He held his hands
before him in surrender. “You’re making
a big mistake.”
“So you did find something.”
“And if I did? You going to kill me for it?” Ben asked.
Isaac chuckled. “Depends on how good a find it is.”
“Seriously?”
About the Author:
Leonard D. Hilley II currently lives in the mountains of Kentucky with his wife, Christal. He is a biologist that has also earned his MFA in creative writing. Having a passion for books at an early age, he knew he wanted to author his own creative works. He wrote his first novel at the age of eleven and has never lost his love for books.
Twitter: @ Deimosweb
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Leonard-D-Hilley-IIauthor-page/157289854329916
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