How to Write a Fantasy Story

Some people have very interesting lives: Dave Eggers, Greg Mortenson and Barack Obama, to name a few. When these gentlemen sit down to pen a novel they rarely have to look beyond their own experiences to find engaging material. Then there are the rest of us: Oxford graduates, Mormon housewives, Disney Channel staff writers, college students and Trey Parker. Those of us with boring, sometimes multi-million dollar lives need to imagine ourselves in strange, foreign worlds of the backs of vampires, lions or unicorns, to spice up our mundane existences. Thus, I have created a step-by-step guide to creating imaginary lands and alter-egos for those anti-tragedies which make up everyday life. By following these simple methods you will be able to create the perfect world-outside-the-world to escape into when you find yourself in the middle of life’s monotonous drudgery.
The first step in any fantasy story is to identify the forces of good. Now, of course, this is always you. But, who are you? Are you a whiny, seventeen year old girl? Are you four cherubic, British children? Are you a princess in a faraway land which closely resembles many European nations? Or, are you an animated eight year old boy? Now, since you are always human, and often young or naïve, you must always have an older, wiser guide to counsel you through your epic struggles. These guides may be majestic, Christ-like lions; African American chefs; vegetarian vampires; or gentle yet powerful queens, depending upon who you are. Now of course, you must be careful not to mix and match here. For example, if you are a princess in a faraway land, your mentor could be the golden lion or the gentle queen. But, they could never be the vegetarian vampire and could only be the African American chef if he is an omniscient member of your noble staff and, ideally, your legal guardian. Before moving on to the next step, you must always make sure you have paired your characters appropriately. After all, this may be fantasy, but it still needs to be realistic.
The next step for any fantasy writer is to create a foil for the good guys. These will, again, depend upon whom you have chosen to be good and who you are. For example, if you are an animated eight year old boy, your natural enemy is the know-it-all fat kid who always has an idea which never turns out well. If you are a whiny, seventeen year old, the options are seemingly endless; parents, curfews, educators, the man, etc. However, if you are a whiny, seventeen year old girl and your chosen ally is a vegetarian vampire, then the only logical enemy is a man-eating vampire. Similarly, for four cherubic, British children and their Christ-like lion, the enemy must be an Eve-like witch who has knowledge of all of the world’s Dark Magic. And, of course, every princess tale must have the evil dictator from the neighboring country, or the jilted relative of the former king. In order to make this man truly evil, he must always have a spinning globe, behind which he can laugh his evil laugh.
Next, the good guys and bad guys need a stage on which to conduct their epic struggle for power. If your story is a real-life-with-a-twist type story, this stage may be a real place such as Forks, Washington or South Park, Colorado. It could also be a fictional place that sounds as though it should be a real place like Genovia or Cost Luna. Then, there is the place that is completely made up, like Narnia, which is modeled after real places, but is disguised so you don’t realize that you are actually reading the Bible.
Finally, once you have established the good, the bad and the location, you can populate your imaginary world with all kinds of wild characters. These are the bystanders to the epic struggle. These are the people that you, as the good guy, are trying to protect. They make your world look realistic and multi-dimensional. They make the world the kind of place where readers want to go. This should be the fun part. Go crazy here. You can populate your world with giant werewolves, talking badgers, friendly fauns, flamboyant dressmakers or Barbara Streisand. This is the part where you call all your friends and frenemies and tell them they are going to be in your story. Then, when they read your story and recognize which character is supposed to be them, you can turn off your phone and pretend you never received their angry voicemail message.
If your follow all of these steps your will either have a hit novel or a plagiarized version of Twilight, South Park or The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. If the former is true, you should do everything in your power to publish your story. If you do, it will be on the bestsellers list within weeks, you will be rich and, before long, a hot, unknown actor will be playing your hero. However, if you have, in fact, recreated an existing story you can either make a few slights modifications and sell it as a screenplay to Lifetime or ABC Family; or you can cover it with a nondescript binding and sell it in the streets of New York City next to the guy who sells knock-off purses. Whatever you decide, you will be hopelessly rich, famous and date a Jonas Brother or Megan Fox before you know what’s happening. And, if that doesn’t happen, you have just learned how to use your imagination, so now it’s time to write your next story: What I Did and Who I Dated after My Novel Made the Bestsellers List.

On The Edge

The river cut a gorge through the greens, yellows and oranges of the changing birches that carpeted the Alaskan hills. Behind these lesser hills loomed mountains, already white with snow. Ribbon clouds made them seem as though they were rising out of the depths of a dream.
Jenn and I drove down the Glenn highway through the expansive Alaska landscape. This portion of the state’s only highway was cut out of the side of a mountain and overlooked the gorge. Vertical lines where the dynamite had been dropped still scarred the slate cliffs which formed the road’s left boundary. I hoped the picturesque landscape of the Matanuska Valley would go on forever.
Before long, our destination spread out before us. I had always pictured glaciers as smooth, flat, sheets of ice hanging between two mountain slopes. The Mat-Su glacier, however, seemed like an endlessly white topographic model, marked by hundreds of icy protrusions and deep crevasses. We were there to climb those icy protrusions. It was the deep crevasses, however, which filled me with dread.
Alex, our fearless leader, hadn’t wanted to take us climbing that morning. He was hesitant about taking amateurs to such a dangerous terrain with only three experienced climbers. The year before, he’d taken a friend climbing and she’d behaved carelessly. As a result, she rolled her ankle in one of the glacier’s ravines. All the men in their party had to take turns carrying her off the glacier.
Jenn, however, was determined to join their climbing expedition. After all, we had rented ice boots and crampons. We rose early from our cozy tent, for the chance to try ice-climbing. We wouldn’t be careless, she swore. She assured Alex that we understood the dangers of climbing and that we took it very seriously. Alex still looked skeptical, but he agreed to talk it over with Lane and Steve, his long-time climbing buddies.
I, for one, couldn’t blame Alex for being concerned. He had watched me tumble down a muddy hillside on our Indian River camping trip. He had bandaged my bloody finger when I cut it with a knife on the train, where we waited on Princess Cruise passengers. He, single handedly, towed my kayak back to shore after my partner broke our rudder and we’d almost floated into the whirling motors of the departing Princess ship. Alex and I both knew that I was a liability on this trip.
Yet, here we were, an unlikely group of experienced and beginning climbers, at the mouth of the Mat-Su glacier. Before we could attach our claw-like crampons to our boots, we had to hike through a rugged path of rock and silt, to the glacial face. The trail curved around small gorges, filled with blue-green water. This uninhabited region was silent except for the excited and nervous chatter of our group. I lagged behind, watching every step I took in my heavy ice-boots. Finally, we reached the glacier. A sign warned us that to proceed beyond the end of the trail was to do so at our own risk. I swallowed the lump of fear that had risen in my throat.
We attached our crampons to our boots and Sherri, Lane’s girlfriend, gave us a quick lesson on how to walk on ice. While we waited for everyone to attach their claw-like crampons into place, Jenn and I each took turns posing for pictures with our ice axes. In her picture, I noticed, she looked like an adventurer who was about to conquer a mountain. Mine was missing a bowl hat to complete the Charlie Chaplin stance I had assumed.
Before long, we set out. The snow crunched beneath our feet as we plodded past sloping ice ridges. Azure pools formed in the ravines created by the ice flows. Ribbons of black silt broke up the immense white landscape. I took off my jacket as the sun’s rays reflected off the frigid landscape and warmed my body.

After exploring for about a half hour, the boys finally found the perfect ridge for a beginning climb. Lane scaled the ridge’s face, and secured the ropes to which all subsequent climbers would be harnessed. I watched as everyone took a turn. Alex, Lane and Steve were professionals. They made it look easy. Laura and Sherri had only gone ice climbing once before this, but they summitted the ridge with hardly any difficulty. At last it was Jenn’s turn. As Alex clipped her harness to the ropes, I noticed Steve and his girlfriend, Kira, moving away from our group. Steve had been our biggest opponent that morning when we’d begged to join their expedition. He was a life-long climber who didn’t want to be responsible if Jenn or I injured ourselves.
Jenn let out a euphoric shout as she reached the top. Meanwhile, I held Lane’s peanut butter and jelly burrito, so he could fix my harness. I had almost changed my mind and decided against attempting a climb. I had been terrified of embarrassing myself by tumbling down the side of the ice face. My friends, however, refused to let me back out. Lane was getting me ready for my climb before I could change my mind again. I handed Lane his burrito and crunched through the ice toward Alex. His brightly-colored, diamond-patterned bandana stood out against the endless glacial landscape. I laughed at his ridiculous headpiece as he buckled my harness to the ropes. “Just take it easy,” he advised, and I turned to face my icy obstacle.
I made first contact with my ice pick, a few feet above my head. From there, I tore up the initial slope of the ridge. All around me, I could hear astonished laughter. I had been so determined to prove that I could handle this climb that I’d raced up the ice face until I reached the crux. Here, just a few feet from the top, the slope changed from inward to outward. I, essentially, had to climb backwards to stay with its curve. My face turned red and beads of sweat formed above my brows. I struggled to maintain a hold on my ice axe, lodged in the ice overhead, despite my frigid fingers.
“I want to come down,” I shouted to Alex. His bandana now looked more like the checkered flag of surrender.
“No, you can do this Jamie,” he answered. Lane free climbed up a side of the ridge beside me, and dictated my next move. Sherri, Laura, and Jenn cheered me on from below, as I pulled myself up with the handles of the axe.
“Just one more and you’ve got it,” Lane instructed in his calm Southern drawl. I sunk my pick into the top of the ridge and pulled myself over its summit where I instantly met breathtaking views of the bordering mountains.
“I did it!” I thought.
Later that night, there was a celebration back at our campsite. It was the fall equinox and belly dancers had taken the stage. Hippies twirled all around me, while others were spinning fire and tethered balls of colored light, called poi. Behind me, a man spit huge geysers of fire.
I was celebrating more than just the changing seasons; I was celebrating the perfect end to a perfect summer. I had arrived in Alaska, scared and alone, except for two former Fort Myers Beach co-workers whom I hardly knew. But, I had gone on many adventures during my four months there, which all lead up to that moment on the Mat-Su glacier. In that moment, I recognized, for the first time, a strength I never knew I had.
Armed with this new awareness, I decided to learn how to spin fire. I took the make-shift poi, composed of weighted balls in the toes of green, spandex stockings, which served as practice instruments for fire spinners. On my first attempt, I whacked myself in the head. I didn’t give up, however, until I had learned the basic motion from which all fire spinning begins.
Two days later, I set out on a road trip to San Diego, to begin a new chapter of my life. I left Alaska armed with the knowledge of my accomplishments; knowledge I carry with me to this day.

A Rose For Oscie

My perfect mate is also An Ideal Husband author, Oscar Wilde. Oscie, as I’ve affectionately nicknamed him, is a perfect example of the type of man to which his play’s name alludes.
If Oscie knew me, I am almost certain we would be best friends. He is notorious for his witty dialogues, so conversation would never be dull. Furthermore, I already know that I can appreciate his social circle: Bram Stoker, Henry Irving, Walt Whitman, and Henry James, to name a few. We also share similar interests: writing, men, fashion, theatre and beauty. Oscie’s appreciation of the aesthetic qualities of life, as well as his exceptional fashion sense would undoubtedly land him on the cover of GQ magazine, and I have always been attracted to GQ models.
Ordinarily, I prefer men who are not only my best friend, but also who have good credit history and job stability. However, Oscie’s literary success allows for some flexibility of these requirements. A writer from this century is not ideal because he would offer no financial security. Oscie, on the other hand, has an established writing career, which provides him with the type of stability I look for in a man.
The aforementioned traits make Oscie a wonderful mate; however his Irish upbringing and last name make him the ideal mate. I have always wanted to go to Ireland, which is, conveniently, Oscie’s birthplace. Also, if we were to marry, my name would be Jamie Wilde, and there are, arguably, few names better than that. Oscie, to my knowledge, is not allergic to dogs. As an avid dog lover, myself, that is the icing on the cake.
On our perfect first date, Oscie and I would take a long ride in his carriage. We would read our poetry to each other and engage in witty political debates. Afterwards, we might take a long ride on horseback through the Irish countryside.
Essentially, the only thing Oscar Wilde lacks is a pulse, and that, unfortunately, is an insurmountable obstacle. Thus, the only logical solution is to name my future child Dorian, in honor of the father he should have had.

Sustainability in a post 9/11 world

When I think about September 11, 2001, my heart breaks. Not just for the victims and families of those who perished in the deadly attacks; but, for hundreds of thousands of Muslim families, who, overnight became enemies of the United States as well. These were families whose religion teaches peace, tolerance and charity. Yet, to many angry Americans they were marginalized and treated as monsters set on terrorizing innocent Americans.
This kind of hate is self-destructive and corrosive to society as a whole. It breaks down the trust between the many cultures which share this finite planet. In the wake of September 11, surveys and bumper stickers showed that a number of Americans supported bombing Muslim countries such as Afghanistan and Pakistan and letting "Allah sort out the rest." How could the peaceful, religious citizens who populated these regions, alongside the small sects of extremists, whose lives were ripped apart by our bombs not grow to hate America for the way we responded? And, so it goes: hate breeds hate and the cycles goes on until the political landscape of the world is one of independence and division.
In order for the world to live sustainably, this kind of political disunity cannot exist. The hate, which divides societies, makes finding global solutions to environmental problems impossible. The bombs, themselves, which light up the night skies over the sparsely populated wild regions of countries like Afghanistan, only add to the problems by destroying habitats in seconds. Even these seemingly inhospitable mountain regions have wilderness that is killed or displaced by these destructive blasts.
However, just as hate breeds hate, so also does love breed love. Most Americans want their country to be seen as one of respect, tolerance and generosity. Those who have travelled abroad, however, have seen that, in many countries, the opposite is true. And, little effort has been made by Americans, as a whole, to understand the histories and cultures of those beyond our borders. There are several possible reasons for this, which I will not go into here, but the bottom line is that most American's are unaware of where they fit in the greater picture of the world as a whole. And, thus, we exist as an island of beliefs and habits, disconnected from the rest of the world.
We, as a country, need a cultural awareness of other countries. We need a feeling of interconnectedness with the belief systems of the rest of the world. Where we demand respect of the world, we should instead offer it and we will then earn the respect that we crave.
In other words, if the world adopted the Golden Rule-- treat others as you want to be treated-- tolerance would be learned, and the difference which tear us apart would, instead, bring us together.
That is the only way that sustainability can be acheived. We can't have a smattering of sustainable communities operating independently around the globe while the rest of the world carries on with business as usual. That won't work. These unsustainable societies would continue to deplete the world's resources, until even the "sustainable" communities are no longer sustainable.
The bottom line is this: sustainability is a global issue and can only be solved by a united global community. The political boundaries established by centuries of conflict and division are hardly relevant when it comes to sustainability. Tearing down these boundaries begins with a lesson that most Americans learn as children-- that of the Golden Rule.
We like to think of ourselves as leaders of the "free world." And, as leaders we are responsible for starting this cycle of tolerance and respect. Leading by example has a far greater impact than militant imposition. Therefore, it is our perogative, as a country, to "be that change we wish to see in the world."

Allow Me To Introduce Myself

Hi there! My name is Jamie and I am currently an English major at Florida Gulf Coast University, hoping to add a double minor of creative writing and psychology to my program. I have been out of high school six years, and just decided on this major program at the end of last year, and I am super excited about it.
I hope to use my major/minors to be a writer. Now I know that is a broad word, but I plan to fully explore the whole spectrum of writing throughout my career. There is no facet of writing that does not appeal to me. I just love words. I love reading words, I love hearing words. I love when certain words echo in my head inexplicably for days at a time. I love "surreptitious" and "clandestine" and words that aren't quite as slutty also.
However, as far as my career goes, I would like to write for magazines. I am going to be that girl in the romantic comedy who goes to my interview with the big fashion magazines and begs my editor to take me seriously and let me write socially conscious articles. She will tell me that first I need to spend a few years writing about mani/pedis and the fall/spring/summer/winter look. And that's if I'm lucky.
I took my career path from one of my favorite authors, Oscar Wilde, after "The Portrait of Dorian Gray" changed my life a few years ago. He wrote for a women's magazine for many years, and Oscie (as I call Mr. Wilde) scholars say that his best fiction works were written while he wrote for the magazine. Similarly, my best fiction writings have come when I've been innundated with writing assignments for school.
My life is a puzzle and for the last few years I've been collecting the pieces, and I've only just begun to put them together.
I want to save the world, or at least one little part of it. This is that corner of the puzzle that you know you can put together if you can just find the rest of the border pieces in the huge pile of similarly patterned pieces. I know that I feel drawn to Africa, where my lifelong dream of riding a zebra may finally come true :). And, I know that I am drawn to lions. So, I am thinking about maybe dedicating my life to writing about lion conservation in light of the societies struggling to exist alongside these regal creatures, who have become prey for the lions. But, most likely I will just let myself fall into the natural flow of chance and see where it takes me. I have been reading about inspirational people like Greg Mortensen and Rupert Isaacson, who have given so much of themselves to help their little corners of the world, and I can only hope to be a hundredth of the inspiration that they are.
The thing that draws me to men like Mortensen and Isaacson is that they are so respectful of other cultures, and eager to learn the ways of other people without imposing their personal lifestyles upon them. This cultural worldview is something that is noticably absent in American Society today, and it is kind of a shame.
On a lighter note, I also love riding horses. I have a budding interest in photography and the Tampa Bay Rays. My black lab mix dog is my world. I have an unnatural obsession with the disney channel. I don't eat meat, but I do eat fish occasionally.
I just got over the biggest heartbreak of my life, and that experience has colored, and will continue to color my writing and my perspective on the world for sometime to come. But, not in a miserable way. He is an amazing person who has taught me so much about love, life, and everything in between. And though it took me two years to finally let him go, I wouldn't have traded a moment.
I spend my summers working on a train in Anchorage, Alaska, and plan on continuing to do so until I can come up with the funds to extend my travel plans beyond what is technically considered the United States. Although, anyone who has ever been to Alaska for an extended period of time knows that it is kind of a world apart. It took me two summers to realize it, but I love Alaska. I love working for the train, where I have met some of the most amazing, inspirational people of my life. Even the less amazing, inspirational people have been fantastic, because they will make wonderful characters for some future novel, screenplay or short story.
That's not to say that the people I've met living on Fort Myers Beach won't make good characters, because they, too, are crazy dynamic people whom I love writing about.
So, that, in a rather lengthy nutshell is who I am. Today. Tomorrow is a whole other story. . .

My quest to save the world

I want to be a missionary. Not in a religious way necissarily. Those people, I am told, are called humanitarian. So, I have decided that I am going to use my gift of words to reach people and save the world. I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to do that yet. But, that's where I am at right now. I am going to use this blog as much as I can toward this goal of becoming a travel writer with a humanitarian focus. But, I am also going to blog on mycare2.com, and focus primarily on global/conservation issues. However, mycare2.com is a brilliant website that everyone should check out, because simply by clicking on links to causes, their advertisers will donate a given amount of money to said causes. So, everyone who loves the world go to this site! Oh, and I am NOT a hippie. :)

I am not ashamed to say this. . .

. . . but I LOVE Selena Gomez. She is the coolest 16 year old chick ever. I'm just saying. My whole blog won't be like this. I promise. Oh, and she has amazing hair!

"The only difference between people who are successful and people who aren't is
excuses"

Ok, so I am not making excuses anymore. This is my first blog, and hopefully the beginning of a beautiful friendship.