Farcequin, Part 6: A civilized moment

In case you've missed the travesty thus far, parts one through five are here. (Click the word, here.)

That evening, Elfreda scrounged through her pitiful wardrobe. NOthing is right, she grumbled to herself. If only I'd had more time to shop... and my savings working three years as a secretary hadn't been so threadbare... finally she donned a rose-colored taffeta gown with silk-ribbon piping and a diamond necklace her grandmother had passed down to her. She ventured down the stairs, stopping every once in a while to consider whether it was a good idea to come to dinner at all.

Finally she entered the dining salon and shuddered a little, seeing him there at the head of the table, wearing his wide-lapeled brown-pinstriped white dinner tux. His hair was quite (unintentionally, she thought) rakish; combed along the top of his head so a curl fell in the middle of his forehead, right between his bright blue eyes.

He stood as she entered the room and gestured rather gracefully and graciously, Elfreda observed with some amazement, for her to take a seat to his right. She did, and sat, looking at her plate, which contained a rather large pieces of meat. She shuddered again, hoping it wasn't more rabid-crock-steaks.

"It's beef," Bobbert commented. Elfreda looked up at him in surprise. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Elfreda quickly looked down again and began cutting into the meat. It was perfect--seared, just a little pink on the inside. But as always, she could only take about seven small bites before she was completely full. Seeing her toy with the rice on the side and the salad, Bobbert commented again. "You have eyes bigger than your stomach."

"Mother's always said that," Elfreda said, then wished she hadn't. Her mother was a sensitive topic. The reason she was here at all... here, marrying Bobbert instead of staying home to be courted by Davian.

"In my case it's rather more about the eyes than the stomach," Bobbert replied, seeming to not notice the tension that had suddenly risen up inside his dinner companion. "You do have extraordinarily large eyes."

Elfreda looked up again, staring at him sadly, perhaps a little beseechingly, with her giant, green, lash-fringed eyes. He looked at her and his expression shifted from amusement to something different--slight concern, maybe. A little sadness of his own.

"Come," he said, standing and nearly knocking over the teakwood chair he'd been overwhelming with his large form. He held out a hand. "You look like you could use some fresh air."

"I've had plenty of that today," Elfreda said wryly.

"Some dancing, then. There's a record player on the patio. I'll put one on, and we can practice for our wedding dance."

Dutifully Elfreda rose, brushed one long, flowing red-gold lock from her shoulder, and followed.

The patio was a beautiful place--planter bowls overflowing with red bougianvilla, narcissus and chrystanthemum clustered in others, as well as some tall iris and tulips. As the music turned on she wondered, fleetingly, what sort of fertilizer the household staff used to get them all to bloom so companionably together, and then Bobbert whisked her up in his arms and, breathlessly, she followed. His dancing was graceful, poweful, flowing, energetic and classily understated. He dipped her several times and even raised her up in a lift over his head, spinning her before he set her on the ground.

"Oh, Bobbert," she couldn't help but exclaim, "You are such a wonderful dancer. And so strong!"

A smile cracked his rock-like features, and he dipped her again, planting a kiss on her brow. When he brought her upright again she raised her face. It was an automatic gesture--a response to the warmth she felt from him, the fun of the dance. Her large eyes gleamed like insouciant emeralds. He looked down on her for a moment, smiled a little, and released her. "You're looking better now," he said. "Would you like a cocktail?"

Elfreda experienced a strange sense of loss--sinking from a cloud to the ground. She nodded and sat, waiting while he mixed and handed her the beverage.

"Tommorrow'll be a long day," Bobbert said. "But at least we won't be in the crocs. We're going out to the herd. Culling the especially sick ones before the season gets cold."

"Herd?" Elfreda asked warily.

"The Emus," Bobbert stated.

Elfreda put a hand to her heart. She remembered the emus--giant, screaming birds. When she'd visited as a child, she'd been terrified of them. She glanced up and saw Bobbert was watching her, and placed her hands back in her lap. "Are you hospicing the birds as well, or is the fact their feathers are worth their weight in gold?"

Bobbert's expression hardened. "Bird flu," he said. "They're dying like flies. THe rangers collect them so we can keep them away from the general population. I have people working on vaccines, using serum taken from the birds we care for until death."

"Very noble of you," Elfreda said shortly. "Well, if I'm to be up early I'd better retire." She turned without waiting for his response and left the room.

Once in her room she flung off the gown, threw herself across her bed and collapsed in sobs. Bobbert was trying to break her. That's what he was trying to do--working her so hard, then being so warm and luring her in at night. Why? What was his purpose? Wasn't he the one who'd insisted she come out to this forsaken place and be his wife, holding her mother's cancerous nose over her as insurance for her obedience?

By the time Elfreda fell asleep, her pillow was completely saturated with tears, and her hair tumbled in a damp heap around her face. She didn't hear the door open, didn't hear him come silently in, didn't know he stood by her bedside for several minutes, looking down on her before he turned and left again.

Apples to Apples

My Kids Are Awesome

When people compliment my kids, I always agree with them. "She's pretty amazing, isn't she," I'll say when someone tells me something great one of my kids has done. Or I'll just simply remark, "my kids are pretty awesome."

I think it takes people "aback" at times. Like... you just bragged about your kids.

Yes. Yes I did.

The thing is, I'm pretty tough on my kids, in the sense that I make them work hard, I work with each of them carefully on behavior stuff they are struggling with or need to change, and sometimes this is quite challenging. My kids are all highly intelligent (see, there's the brag again) and very strongwilled. And this can present lots of challenge. It is difficult to parent strongwilled children. But my thought is, strong willed people, who know right from wrong, who've learned compassion and the importance of obedience, who've developed good habits, can be the most amazing people. So I'm parenting the greatest set of kids. Nothing that turns out really great is usually easy. SO I'm optomistic.

And to the world around me, my message is always, "my children are awesome."

Because they are.

I have a few people I trust and talk to when I'm worried about how to handle something, or worry over a kid's tendency, or feel at a loss for parenting tools. Those are people who I know will understand--who've parented multiple kids of their own and know kids go through stuff and turn out wonderfully in the end, and who I know won't talk about my kids to others. Also Jeffrey and I often (of course) discuss the various challenges in our family and strategize about how to handle them in such a way that our kids feel loved but also understand how they need to act and what they need to change, at times.

But outside of that small clutch of people I trust, I don't say that kind of stuff. I don't talk about my kids' struggles. I figure, kids deserve privacy just as much as an adult does. Would I talk to the entire world about an adult friend's struggles, an adult that I happen to know inside and out because am around them enough to observe & know all their deepest darkest secrets, worries, bad habits? Would i just go spill about all that stuff to anyone who'll listen? No way in heck. Those things are my friend's things. I have no right to talk about them to anyone else. That's called gossip.

I don't "gossip" about my kids to anyone. They are my friends, and I care about them deeply and believe in their right to privacy about deep struggles and difficulties.

When I talk about my kids, my words are: My Kids Are Awesome. Because they are.
And it's not wrong for a parent to say wonderful things about their children. TO accept and agree with compliments. My kids aren't "mine." When I accept a compliment and agree with it, I'm not complimenting myself, I'm agreeing that somebody I love a lot is Awesome.

So, with that as background, I feel like I need to take some time, right now, to talk about why each one of my kids is Awesome. This is part of my job as their mother. They need to hear it from me directly sometimes, not just random people who see their awesomeness from afar. I want my kids to know that I--their mother who sees every tiny little thing, who makes them work hard and learn hard and who corrects them and knows all their difficulties and struggles--know that they are awesome, too.

This is Loli.

That picture is from the Les Miserables play my community put on this summer. As you can see, she played Cosette. Loli has a beautiful voice, and is intuitive about music. She learns it fast and easily. She also has a great memory--she memorized those lines almost the first time she heard them. The director of the play thought I must have been going over lines with her and making her practice... not so. Loli just loves to sing, and loved being in the play. She acted the part perfectly. She is very talented.

She is also very intelligent. She's good at school... she's a little bookworm... she enjoys being challenged. She asks probing questions about the universe. She writes brilliantly--some of her stuff reads better than essays I corrected as a TA in college. She also is a fun person to be around. She has good friends. She's funny. She raises an eyebrow at me when I'm joking... she can tell even when I'm not smiling. She is pretty confident about her opinions. She is obedient and trustworthy. She is, all in all, a pretty amazing kid.

This is Bella.

Obviously, Bella is beautiful. But there's more to it than that. She's graceful, and dignified, and hilarious. She makes her sisters and brothers laugh and brings the boisterous fun. When you first get to know her, she might seem very quiet and very careful and calm, but don't let her fool you. Bella is a hard worker. She is very motivated to achieve well. She does all her jobs well--meticulously, and in school, she went from being somewhat behind because English is not her first language, to being one of the more advanced students in a matter of months. She loves to read. She loves to write me sweet, honest notes and draw pictures. She is very compassionate and responsible with babies and small children. I know when I leave my babies with Bella, they are safe. She is also a good leader. She knows what needs to happen and doesn't rest until it does. She works diligently, practices diligently, and is a good and loyal friend and daughter. She asks all the questions that are hard to answer, and is patient when they can't be answered immediately. She always wants to do what's right.

This is MayMay.

As you can see, MayMay's entire face is taken up by her smile. She has an amazing smile. MayMay came to our family with a lot of challenges to overcome--physical and mental and emotional, because of what she'd gone through before. She has grown fast into a wonderful, smart, bright, energetic, strong, capable girl. I'm indescribably proud of her for what she did in school last year--went from a K+ reading level to just a little above a 2nd grade reading level. She continues to improve, because of hard, diligent work. MayMay is all heart. She loves everybody, even people who aren't nice all the time. She thinks about others feelings a lot. SHe gets sad when others are sad. She gets happy when others are happy. She is often a peacemaker and intercessor in our family; when a kid is sad, she's the one who's there first. If they might be getting in trouble, she rushes to explain for them. At school, she's the one who sits by the alone kid or talks to the sad kid and is brave enough to tell kids who aren't being nice that they aren't being nice, and she even lets not-nice kids have a chance at redemption, in the sense that she forgives and will be a friend and rejoice when someone has gotten better at being nice. Meaza has a lot of friends, but it's not for the surface reasons of designer clothes or cool hair (though her hair is very cool) or owning lots of stuff. She has friends because she is a great friend. The best you could ever ask for.

This is Roo. (formerly known on this blog as "Jaws.")

Roo is just pure sweetness. She's smart, and funny, and thinks about things a lot and comes to some great conclusions. She is the best hugger in the family. Her hugs are heartfelt and tender. Roo inherrited her dad's giant, compassionate heart and tendency to reach out to others in love, even when it's a risk. She is also very musical. She surprises people with her sweet, true voice. She is also very smart. She remembers stuff quickly and learns quickly. And she is patient with the learning process--she trusts that she'll be able to figure something out if she keeps trying. Roo is very imaginative. She makes up all kinds of complex games with layered themes, not shying away from the grittiness of life. Her younger siblings and her older sister MayMay love to play with her. Roo is easily cajoled out of sadness or upset-ness. All you have to do is smile at her, and she'll smile back. That is a talent I would love to have. She really loves people. When her friends are away, she misses them deeply and thinks about them a lot. Roo is very inclusive. She doesn't want to leave people out. She has an infectious smile and laugh, and she's just an adorable, sweet, smart person. I feel grateful to have her in my home.

This is Squirt.

Squirt is very smart. Scary smart. He's learning first grade math right now and he can read almost at a first grade level, and he's only five. And he'd be further along than that if I pushed him, but I want him to enjoy school and feel like it's a fun experience, and he does. He loves school. He'll ask to do sight words and math facts flashcards and to read from science books with me about things like reptiles and amphibians and dinosaurs. He asks a lot of questions. Questions that I often cannot answer in their complexity. We have discussions together and come to some possible conclusions instead in those circumstances. Squirt is a very energetic boy, but he has a big heart as well. He loves his little brother deeply. He enjoys his siblings a lot--especially the ones younger than him, and likes to laugh when they do cute things and tell me about them. Squirt is also a leader. His friends really enjoy playing with him. He brings the fun. Squirt loves his mom and dad and his sunday school teachers. He loves to dress up like his Dad for church. Last Sunday, when we came down from singing a number in the ward choir, Squirt crossed the room of his own accord to go sit next to his primary teacher and he beamed the whole time. He really loves his teachers. Squirt has a sense of humor--he laughs a lot at jokes and when he's being tickled. Squirt loves hugs. Sometimes he needs to cuddle for a while with his mom, who finds this incredibly sweet. Squirt loves tools, and mechanical things, and his favorite thing to do is be with his Dad, fixing or building something. Squirt has an amazing memory-- he retains information others miss, and remembers and makes connections that often surprise. Squirt will do amazing things as he grows and learns more.

This is Baby Rose.

Perhaps the most beautiful baby ever. Rose is sweet and funny and enthusiastic. She loves playing with her siblings. She also has a great imagination, sometimes with hilarious results. Rose loves hugs. She loves her older and younger siblings, who cherish her. She was the first baby born after the adoption so she is "all of ours" in a way that seemed to emotionally seal our family together after all the changes. Loli, Bella, MayMay, Roo, and Squirt all have a soft spot for her. Rose loves her friends. She'll reach over to hold someone's hand or hug them without a second thought. She's got a great smile. She's energetic and plays any game you want to play, and makes a really cute pirate. Roo is articulate and surprising, with some of the things she comes up with--a little three year old girl talking so articulately, like an adult. She sings beautifully--surprisingly strong, clear, and in tune for a three-year-old. And in a way, she is a little adult. She takes matters into her own hands. She is sure of herself and intelligent and expects people to take her seriously, and also love her. And if something doesn't make sense, she'll either call you on it (you're teasing me, that's not true) or ask questions until she understands. Which I think is a great thing. She looks after her baby brother with a level of care and attention that I love to see.

This is Chumba.

Chumba is impossible not to love. He's sweet, he talks all the time (though most of it is still hard to understand) with great emphasis and feeling. He loves to play with his siblings, and willingly joins in all the pretending, playacting, and other games. He needs "cuddle breaks" every once in a while-- he'll come sit on my lap or lay next to me on the bed and just be quiet, while I hug him. He loves to be cuddled by his siblings, too (except when he doesn't) and when anybody's hurt or upset, he'll go over to them, lean over them and stare at them with his large blue eyes and usually, plant a kiss somewhere. He's very intensely interested in everything. From the time he was born, he was reaching for stuff. Honestly, right out of the womb, laying on my chest, he was reaching out and trying to grab things--my hair, my face. He likes to take things apart and then try to put them back together, like his Dad. He loves to have books read to him, especially Ten Little Tadpoles and Olivia's Opposites, where he likes to open his mouth really wide on the page about "Open," and he likes to growl really loud on the page that says "loud," and has a lion growling. Sometimes you can just tell he's thinking very hard, figuring things out... he gets quiet, and intent, and moves two pieces of something together in different ways to try to figure out if they go together or not. He's a sweet baby. I'm a little sad that he won't be the baby of the family for much longer.

I guess while I'm at it, I should write a little bit about this guy:

Jeff is my best friend. At the time I met him, I was amazed that so much awesome could exist in one human being. He is compassionate, handsome, intelligent, artistic, open-minded, talented... holy cow, where did this guy come from? I have a very strong belief that the only reason he didn't marry until age 30 was because Heavenly Father was saving him for me, and I've wondered ever since what I did to deserve him. He plays Chopin and Debussy with so much feeling and artistry. Less, lately, because we're so busy... I miss it. He is a graceful, confident, dashing ballroom dancer. He is coordinated and capable and brilliant at figuring out how to fix things--we've never taken our (20-year-old) vehicles to the mechanic. He figures out what's wrong, goes to a junkyard for a part, and fixes it. And it's fixed. He can walk by things and sometimes they'll fix themselves. (I'm not kidding.) I know that if he's trying to figure out how to do something, particularly if it's something to make our family's life easier or better, he'll end up finding a solution that works well. And he'll continually try to refine solutions so they're easier and easier for me, (less competent at these things) to implement. He cares deeply about politics, about the gospel, and about family and relationships. He loves everyone, but makes friends carefully. I feel very privileged to be one of the handful of people he lets into the innermost places of his heart. He is passionate about certain topics, but not evangelical or pushy like some passionate people can be--he loves people into listening to him. And he is capable of compromise. He is a peacemaker, but he isn't threatened by resolving conflict. He's patient, and loving, and open, and if he's disturbed about something he goes quiet and contemplative, not angry or upset. He does almost everything he does for *me* and for our kids. He is a great husband and father, and it hasn't been an easy road, coming into a family with a kid already there, and blending a family once again through adoption. We've been through things that would test anyone's patience to the utmost, and he's come through each time, supporting me, supporting our kids. He cares for his Sisters and brothers. He's given blessings to them, and to me. What a great guy. No wonder my kids are awesome.


OK, I challenge you moms and dads, now. Tell me why all your kids are awesome.

Greenhouse Project Update

SO we've collected the windows. Got the cinderblocks. Jeff's actually been very busy painstakingly constructing plans to submit to the city, so that's where we were at as of two weeks ago, when we got a "cease and desist" notice from the city.

Which was kind of frustrating to me, because we haven't started anything.

Also we've been getting a lot of notices from the city about our lot. Mainly about the tall weeds (but we've got 5 acres of alfalfa field, Yo.) WE've been working hard on keeping our yard & lawn mown down, and some grass does seem to be coming in, which is good. I've got a feeling we really are going to have to till and re-seed, however. We're doing it this spring. I feel like it needs to happen this year so we stop getting these notices (which are promulgated by complaints from our neighbors... or neighbor. But let's not talk about that.)

(OK, no, let's talk about it. Confession time--when we got the notice, I got upset and called the city guy. & left a message on his phone asking what it was he wanted us to stop doing... mowing our lawn? Because that is the only thing we're really doing with the property right now. And I said we needed to talk about all these notices and come up with an understanding... we want to do lots of wonderful things to this property, but we have seven children and limited resources so people might need to be patient. And remember that, before we moved in, the "lawn" was just a giant, weedy field. With tons and tons of dandelions. So, yeah, I lost it and got kind of assertive on someone. ANd I'm not sorry... I feel like it's time to make sure people know we *live* here and they have to deal with us. Preferably face to face and not with intimidating notes. Gah! Love my city. This is the one bad thing about it--whichever person/people keep sending complaints to the city instead of talking to us face to face, and the city's idea of how property should be. We can't, for instance, have anything but dog, cats or horses according to the zoning on our lot, and it's five acres of alfalfa field in the middle of nowhere. SIgh. We're going to work on that issue sometime in the future. Right now we're just trying to figure out how to grow grass.) OK, Vent over.

Anyway, Jeff went in to ask the city what the cease and desist notice was about, and the city guy said it was because he'd heard we were trying to build a greenhouse. Jeff informed him that, in fact, we're really just glassing in/enclosing our porch, and the guy was like "Oh. Well, that's OK."

So that's OK then.

But it spurred Jeff into faster action on the plans. He took a day off from work to complete them and submit them. City has approved, now it needs to go to the county.

After that, we're looking at concrete and footers. We're laying down concrete & rebar, then putting cinderblock on top of that. The windows will be framed with lumber, of course. We don't have lumber yet. We still need to go get that.

We need to get the cement in the ground soon, however, before there are no days where the ground's not frozen. SO cross your fingers for us, please.

Repairing & Building My Faith in Men

I told you all I'm going to be posting some vulnerable stuff! Hooray, for more vulnerable stuff! Today's post centers around some crud I'm dealing with as regards my perception of male people in my life.

Thing is, I really really struggle to trust men. Especially men who are more typical men. The more manlike a man is on the manly spectrum (earning points in the direction of manliness if they're obsessed with sports, for instance, or dismissive of touchy-feely discussion, or extremely driven to some specific manlike activity such as fishing or hunting or outdoor cooking, or very logical rather than intuitive, or collecting cars or boats, or displaying the sort of leadership or "protective" qualities men are supposed to have) the less I trust them.

(I know, in listing these traits, that many women exhibit them as well. Right now I'm talking about stereotypes.)

All the men I trust are kind of... not typically male, in the sense of what society thinks are man-like traits. Jeff is not. He's not interested in sports. He loves fishing but not to the point where he loves it above all else. He really enjoys being a teacher, not a leader. A mentor. He loves talking. *loooves* talking. I might be more manly that way than he is... I can't talk for as long as he can about dreams, feelings, experiences. He's also a fantastic dancer, a musician...

these are not the traits that society designates as manly, necessarily.

And my own Dad. He's manly in the sense that he's Logical. Very answer-focused, when it comes to problem solving. Very A+B=C. Logical. BUt he's not into sports. He's kinda geeky... into books, reading, music, computer games. He loves to hike, that's pretty manly. He might be more typically male than my husband.

There's my Ida-Dad. He's manly in the sense that he's protective, he is authoritative, he's kind of a guider. He's also pretty strong & enjoys being able to work hard. But He doesn't like sports, or hunting, and he loves talking. And he loves music. And he doesn't take himself too seriously... maybe I'm wrong to think that's not a typical male quality. Maybe it's manly to not take oneself too seriously.

when I think of the men around me that are more "typical" (acc to the definition I'm using) I feel pretty threatened. Even if they're good people, if they have some of theses traits (really into sports and talk about them all the time, speak authoritatively in front of a group & have that sort of attitude of protectiveness toward stuff, not really into emotion-driven conversation, not really into books or music...) I feel like I pretty much don't want to be around them. I feel rejected by them before they've really rejected me.

The thing is, these traits are traits. Period. They don't make people good or bad, or even necessarily more manly or feminine. THey exist in people. By golly, some women are really, really authoritative (see Sheri Dew) and protective (see ME!)

But when those traits exist in a man, I feel pretty threatened by/suspicious of that man.

Why?

Dunno.


And it's lead to some thoughts about how I feel about myself, my body, especially during this pregnancy, and my interactions with various men in my life. I think the reason my body during pregnancy makes me feel so very vulnerable and self conscious has to do with the fact that I can no longer hide that I'm female. When I was a young woman, I had subtle curves. I could wear stuff that made it so nobody really got a good look at me if I didn't want them to. They likely knew I had breasts, but couldn't really see them. They weren't prominent. My hips had a bit of curve, but not an outstanding, undeniably feminine curve like they have now. I walk into a room right now and sometimes I feel extremely conscious of the fact I am a woman and it's pretty obvious.


I think I feel really self conscious about it because I've been used before, and so I walk into a room, feeling overtly and vulnerably feminine, and all these men are sitting around and I don't know what they're thinking. What if they're looking at my body and purposefully allowing it to induce sexual thoughts? I can't do anything about that. What if they're being overpowered by my feminine body & can't *help* but think sexual thoughts? I hate that. That turns me into an assault weapon.

Oh gosh. I'm kinda messed up.

I guess that's what happens when you go through what i have, sometimes, though.


I don't think it's just being married to a porn addict that helped me develop these kind of insecure feelings, though. I think it comes from my mother, too. I'm not at all sure she's comfortable with her own feminine body. I think she's pretty embarrassed by her body. I need to not pass that down any further.


Lately I've been working on feeling like i'm beautiful and endearing, as a woman who can't be anything but woman, the way I'm shaped. Maybe JEff loves me because I have breasts, because I am growing and turning into a different, wider-hipped, more curvy shape. Maybe that shape is beautiful and endearing to him. Maybe he feels tender about me. Maybe he feels protective and full of joy because of my body being undeniably feminine.

I just feel threatened, because I trust him, but I don't trust other men. I want to be that just for him. I'd like to be a secret woman, with secret breasts and secret hips. Not a woman with obvious ones for everyone in a room to see. i'd like to be able to "choose" who looks at me like that. But I can't.


I was having this kind of discussion with my IDa-Dad recently (not nearly so articulate or in depth... I can't speak as well as I can write) and he was attempting to bring across to me the message that men don't necessarily "turn on" as soon as they look at a woman. That's not how it works.

And I said, "But don't men think about sex every seven seconds?"

And his response made me laugh so hard. I had to post it. I hope he doesn't mind. He said "That's a great statistic. Lots of people have used it. But I have to think that anyone who is thinking about sex every seven seconds can't really be a productive citizen."


Ok. Take a moment and laugh.

Now think about it.

In what ways is our world distorting and destroying our faith in each other, in men, in women, in this way? Since when have we been all about sex?

Why do we paint men as hormone-driven, barely-controlled sex machines? If I walk into a room, looking obviously feminine, and some people happen to enjoy looking at me maybe, is the thought on every man's mind "sex," or is it "she's beautiful. I like looking at her." Sort of the same way a sunset is beautiful. Or a particularly graceful quaky aspen is beautiful.

I mean, you can "go there," but how many men actually "go there?" Can I trust that men aren't using me as pornography simply because i'm female?

Oh, gosh. I really hope so.

Responses welcome. Remember that this is me being vulnerable & real and I don't mean to shock at all, just trying to figure stuff out, and this is the easiest way for me to sort these thoughts, so. Thank you in advance.

Interview of R.I. Drembic, author of The Knights of the Caers

Hi.

Today I'm doing something a little different.

I'm interviewing a fantasy author!

About R.L. Drembic:

R.L. Drembic has loved reading from an early age. It wasn’t until shortly after
high school that he got the idea for a book of his own. Inspired by a friend’s
courage to try and get her own novel published, Drembic began writing and has
continued through his college career. Drembic has plans for a dozen more books
and hopes for a chance to share these adventures with avid readers everywhere.

About Knights of the Caers:
An ominous storm brews over The Northern Kingdoms. Edric, a young man, has wandered through the kingdoms alone and forlorn for years, ever since a tragedy forced him to leave his village. A fateful encounter brings Stephen to his campfire with inspirational news; war looms on the horizon of the realm of Osmér and King Herus has called for skilled swordsmen to come to the Knight’s Academy. The news brings Edric some desperately needed hope and he risks everything to escape the past that haunts him.

The novel has been described as gripping, the plot as twisty, and the characters, endearing.

OK. So here's the interview!


1) What is the genre of your book? What has made you choose this genre for your writing?

The Knights of the Caers is an Epic Fantasy. I chose to write in this genre because I have always found it to be the most exciting and enrapturing genre in my years as an avid reader. I believe that reading a good book should be a means to transport the reader to a new, amazing world where they can experience an adventure that they could never have in real life.

2) I noticed from your blurbs that your story has a historical bent. Did you do research?

The novel doesn't actually have much of a historical bent beyond ships and weapons common before the renaissance. Originally, it was set in medieval times, but as I wrote I slowly added fantastical elements starting with orcs, then a little magic, then elves and dwarves, and so on. I quickly decided to set the story in a completely created land because I believed that all the research required to do one in a historical setting would get in the way of creativity; and it is the creativity that makes a story good.

3) Do you love plotting or character development more? Which of those have you had to work on as you grow as a writer? Or are you great at both?

Writing this novel, and working on my others, I definitely focus more on plotting. I love creating a thrilling, twisting plot. There are strong elements of character development throughout the story that are what make the characters real and inspiring, but the focus is on how the events help or harm character development.

4) What do you feel is the most valuable writing skill you have gained in writing this book?

I would say the most valuable skill that developed is the ability to write more fluidly while making the imagery descriptive. As you read the book, there is definite, noticeable improvement in this aspect throughout.

5) Tell me five interesting or strange things about yourself.

I started writing this novel at 18.
By the time I graduated high school, I calculated that I had probably read over 1,000 fictions books.
Although the first novel took me about a year to complete (6 months for the first third), the first draft of the sequel only took me about 4-6 weeks (2 weeks for the first third).
I have six other books in various stages of the writing process as well as ideas for a half dozen others based off characters introduced in The Knights of the Caers.

Thank you, R.L. Drembic!

If you want to know more about this author, here is his facebook page.

And for those interested, here's where you can purchase a copy of Knights of the Caers. And you can have a sneak peek at the first few chapters here.

Bobbert's Good Intentions

Farcequin part 5.

If you missed parts one through four and are morbidly curious and/or horrified but can't look away in the same way you rubberneck on the freeway looking at a five-car pileup, click here.

. Surely it’s suppertime by now, Elfreda thought, eyeing the long shadows cast by the sagebrush along the garnet-colored ground. She couldn’t, however, keep from watching Bobbert as he dove into the pool. She gasped as he wrestled a 20-foot croc up onto shore, dragging it by the tail. The danger had her frozen in horror, and the sight of his muscled back and shoulders as he knelt on the monster’s ridged back, pressing it to the ground, as with one deft stroke he slit the creature’s throat, allowing its gore to spill out over the red mud….
“Good one, Sir,” one of the farmhands said, tipping his hat to Bobbert. “Likely get at least a hundred purses and belts out of that one.”
Bobbert nodded curtly, dusted himself off. He turned in Elfreda’s direction and she immediately began shoveling again, shoveling with real intent—keeping her eyes on her task.
“How are you holding up?” He asked. She shivered, sensing his presence as he walked up behind her.
“Fine,” she said tartly.
“You need different boots,” he observed, watching her slide a little in the crocodile refuse.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, turning to glance at him, running her hand over the damp hair around her face, which stuck to her cheeks annoyingly in perfect, gleaming copper rings. ,
After a moment, a moment in which she was intensely aware of the heat of him, standing so close to her; of his breathing, still labored after dispatching the crocodile, he walked away. As soon as she was sure his attention had returned to the creature—now being skinned and disemboweled and dismembered—she leaned weakly on the shovel and put a hand to her brow.
All day they worked tiring, back-breaking jobs. After Elfreda had cleaned the croc pool, Bobbert asked her to feed them, and she climbed the precarious ladder up to the feeding platform, balancing two large buckets of dead skunks, rabbits and raccoons. Carefully, timidly, she dropped the carcasses one by one and the crocs leapt, snapping them up before they even hit the water. One croc came very close to the platform—within three feet. He was a 30-footer; scarred on the face with eyes that seemed cold, intelligent, and evil. He seemed to eye Elfreda appraisingly as he rose up into the air toward her, snapped savagely at the rabbit she had flung into the air, and disappeared back into the pool with a spectacular splash that left her entire front soaked in muddy spatter.
After her buckets were empty, she descended she sadly regarded her genuine leather, five-inch-heel Louboutin boots. She would never again be able to wear them in decent company. She smelled like crocodiles and skunks. She was terribly hungry as well. Lunch, while filling—crocodile steaks seared to perfection, served with a light rose wine which she’d had rather a little too much of—had been quick and hurried, and she felt like she hadn’t eaten for a lifetime
“Time to turn in for the day,” she was relieved to hear Bobbert say. She hurried toward the house, not really wanting to walk with any of the men, but he caught up and fell into step with her. She ignored him, straightening her back and trying to keep her knees from shaking with the strain of her tried muscles. Again she was intensely aware of his rugged presence, half-covered with blood and other substances.
“Ready to call Uncle?” he finally spoke when they were almost to the house.
She turned to him, her eyes blazing like angry agates. “Never,” she spat. “Though I think your line of work is despicable. Raising those poor brutes in a tiny pool and then killing them for… for their skins!”
Something in his face hardened. He took her arm with a bruising strength and walked faster, forcing her to stumble to keep up. “And what do you know of it, missy?” He growled. “Grown up in a clean little house with a clean little yard. A little different when you see life as it really is, at its root, isn’t it?”
She didn’t say a word, but bit her lip again, wincing when fresh blood flowed and she realized she’d bit it in the same place she had the day before.
“Best take care of that,” Bobbert said, flinging her arm away when they arrived at the doorstep. “Not a good idea to be bleeding around rabid crocs.”
“R-rabid?” Elfreda said.
“That’s right,” he replied grimly. “The rangers bring them to us. We make them comfortable as long as we can… feed them, make the end of their life something better than it would be otherwise, and give them a quick, easy death. We use the skins,” he shrugged, “it’s our way of keeping the operation going. All this,” he stretched his hand out to indicate the mansion, its many dark gables and foreboding arched windows, precarious tottering towers and acres of immaculate flowerbeds, “is, as you know, family money. I don’t have to work, Gayle.” He paused, and his face softened. “And you don’t have to, either.”
But Gayle’s humiliation had turned to stubbornness and anger, blazing and intractable as her beautiful coils of hair rippling like flame in the evening breeze. She turned away from him without answering and marched inside, not caring that she left mud all over the floor—part blood, part crocodile refuse. I’ll stick it out, she told herself. I’ll stick it out and prove to Bobbert I’m not what he thinks I am; I’m not some silly society girl who cares about nothing but purses and belts. I’ll show him. I’ll show him what Elfreda Ardmore is made of and exactly what kind of woman he’s planning to marry, even if it means losing all my boots, and limbs, in the process.