 Hello, all! This month we Quills are back to one of our favorite types of posts. That is, we will share some new flash fiction tales with you. (Here is a quick link to a page identifying where you can find our prior stories.) This time, P.S. Broaddus, aka Parker, author of A Hero's Curse, chose the picture for which we each created a story. Entitled Learning to Fly, it is the work of Adrian Baluta, found on ArtStation. When I first saw the pic, the word "whimsey" came to mind. You'll see how I made use of it. In the meantime, let's see what Parker and Robin have for us ...   Parker? Off you go! Welcome to Sky |
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. |  |
I chose this line because it so completely captures the spirit of the early 19th century (1813, to be exact) in which the marvelous title, was published. Also, the line seems so far from the early 21st century thinking for the younger crowd, that I imagine it must tickle the fancy of contemporary readers of that age. You see, I find that today’s young often seem to favor living a single life. That said, the pendulum may be swinging once again, as some young ones are discovering that perhaps it is good to have a life mate with whom one can share duties, responsibilities, difficulties—and the celebrations, accomplishments, and joys, that come with a life lived fully. (Perhaps this is the consequence of the parents of these young ones finally coming to appreciate that they’d like a bit of their own independence back, which is easier to come by when their children choose someone with whom to spend their future … Maybe?)
For my second line, I’ve chosen what might well be the most famous opening line of all time. Yes, it is an oldie—but these mere 60 words say a great deal about what passed before the beginning of this story, as well as of what is to come in the next pages. So here is the opening for a marvelous reading (and one well worth your time I might add!) .
For my second line, I’ve chosen what might well be the most famous opening line of all time. Yes, it is an oldie—but these mere 60 words say a great deal about what passed before the beginning of this story, as well as of what is to come in the next pages. So here is the opening for a marvelous reading (and one well worth your time I might add!) .
 | It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. |
I’m profoundly interested in the history of the French revolution(s) and the vast differences between that history and the history of the U.S. revolution. Insofar as Dickens may have referenced the French history as a season of Darkness here, I think he was spot on.
Now, for my third opening line, which as I mentioned, is from one of my own stories. (For fun, I’m actually going to give you the first two sentences.) Here goes!
Now, for my third opening line, which as I mentioned, is from one of my own stories. (For fun, I’m actually going to give you the first two sentences.) Here goes!
 | It almost tickled, the way it ran down from behind her ear and across her neck before dripping from her hair, its crimson warmth collecting in a puddle before her. The pain nearly unbearable, and unable to move, as a weight pinned her to the floor, she watched the glistening ruby pool grow. |
I watched in my imagination, the scene that played out with this opening, over months and even years. When it finally came time to write it, my fingers set out before me, the highlights of what I had seen. From there, I painstakingly reviewed, played with, and revised, the line, repeatedly. The process was a long one, but in the end, I believe the opening captures the flavor I sought. What do you think?
If I had not included my own line here as my third choice, I might well have included either of the following quotes, also from terrifically good stories.
If I had not included my own line here as my third choice, I might well have included either of the following quotes, also from terrifically good stories.
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
— Ana Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
— David Copperfield, Charles Dickens.
Finally, for the fun of it, I thought I’d share a couple opening lines for tales I’ve not read, but that I want to read because of these opening lines.
Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person.
— When We Were Grownups, Anne Tyler
What???
I begin with writing the first sentence—and trusting to Almighty God for the second.
— The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentlemen, Laurene Sterne
Don't you want to know what comes next?
What do you think? What are your favorite opening lines?
It is almost impossible to believe, yet true, that August is upon us. The days are growing shorter, the nights longer, and for the most part, also cooler. I am looking forward to a much needed get-away before summer's end, but for now, I'm excited to bring you the August post for A Drift of Quills. We are back to what has quickly become our favorite kind of post, and it seems to be yours, too. What kind is that? Why, flash fiction, of course!
This time around, Robin Lythgoe, selected the picture that we used for inspiration. It is always great fun to read the wildly different stories the three of us come up with to go with the chosen picture for these posts, so prepare yourself!
Below is the photo.
We Quills all seem to view the parameters of flash fiction a bit differently. My personal goal is to stay within 1000 words - if at all possible. Today, I've managed to do just that - coming in, I believe, at 998 words, title and all! But before I share my flash fiction story with you, I'm anxious to read what my fellow Quills have for us all. (Make sure you follow the links for each of Parker and Robin to get the full story for each.)
This time around, Robin Lythgoe, selected the picture that we used for inspiration. It is always great fun to read the wildly different stories the three of us come up with to go with the chosen picture for these posts, so prepare yourself!
Below is the photo.
We Quills all seem to view the parameters of flash fiction a bit differently. My personal goal is to stay within 1000 words - if at all possible. Today, I've managed to do just that - coming in, I believe, at 998 words, title and all! But before I share my flash fiction story with you, I'm anxious to read what my fellow Quills have for us all. (Make sure you follow the links for each of Parker and Robin to get the full story for each.)
P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, is sure to have a great read for us, and no doubt it will be loaded with wit and charm. Take it away, Parker!
The Standing Stone
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2019
The guardian standing at water’s edge hadn’t always been there. At one time no shadow from the pillar of rock crept across the long salt-grass, as the western sun sank into the wine-dark sea. The path that ran along the coast from the capitol of Plen toward the high timbered trees of Greatwood Forest didn’t always have the patch of stone shade that marked the half-way point. There hadn’t been a section of the monolith rubbed smooth by thousands of hands, touching the rock and then touching the forehead for good fortune.
As mentioned, Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, selected the pic for us this time around. I can't wait to read her story. So . . . here goes!
The Judgment Stone
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2019
There’s a town near the Rhogan coast that has a unique way of dealing with undesirables. Their “undesirables” consist of murderers, rapists, and arsonists. Thieves—unless their theft ruins a citizen’s livelihood or affects the entire town—are generously permitted a second chance. Upon conviction, the criminal is immediately taken to the Stone of Judgement, bound there, and left to the whims of the local dragon. If he or she is still breathing at the same time the next day, freedom is restored. Apparently the almighty dragon decide whether or not they are innocent, no matter what other proof previously stood against them.
You can safely imagine that those who escape leave the surrounds and never return. You might also imagine my astonishment at being arrested, tried, and found guilty of something called “High Thievery.” I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, unless you count a nap now and then. Well, I have helped myself to apples in the orchards I pass on my way between towns… But a face? How does a person steal a face?
You can safely imagine that those who escape leave the surrounds and never return. You might also imagine my astonishment at being arrested, tried, and found guilty of something called “High Thievery.” I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, unless you count a nap now and then. Well, I have helped myself to apples in the orchards I pass on my way between towns… But a face? How does a person steal a face?
And now, it's my turn. Ready?
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Left Ahead
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2019
A musty odor greeted Lorna as she awakened, stiff and cramped. She groaned. Her head hurt; her body ached.
A clicking sounded out, as something brushed her cheek.
Lorna’s eyes flashed open. She bolted upright, then turned to the source of the touch. Although semi-dark, there was no mistake.
“Onyx!” she cried, recognizing her long time companion, a snowy owl that had adopted her shortly after her father’s death. She wrapped her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his soft fur-like chest feathers.
Onyx hooted.
A clicking sounded out, as something brushed her cheek.
Lorna’s eyes flashed open. She bolted upright, then turned to the source of the touch. Although semi-dark, there was no mistake.
“Onyx!” she cried, recognizing her long time companion, a snowy owl that had adopted her shortly after her father’s death. She wrapped her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his soft fur-like chest feathers.
Onyx hooted.
“Where are we, boy?”
He cocked his head.
“Wait.” Lorna got to her feet. Looking about, she found herself in a room roughly the size of Archwarden Elowen’s shoe closet. Bare of any furnishings, through its single large open window, a sliver of grey light shone. Whether predawn, or eventide, Lorna could not tell.
As she stepped closer for a better look, Onyx perched on the sill.
Looking out, Lorna found herself several stories high. Below, and spread nearly to the horizon, sat a forest. At its outermost point, glimmered a blue light, instantly recognizable as the Codex Capital where the Archwarden resided. To its north, sat Avoncaster Sea. There was no mistake then. Lorna was in the Arcane Tower, home of the evil Wizard Odell, best known for his shenanigans at playing games with time.
He cocked his head.
“Wait.” Lorna got to her feet. Looking about, she found herself in a room roughly the size of Archwarden Elowen’s shoe closet. Bare of any furnishings, through its single large open window, a sliver of grey light shone. Whether predawn, or eventide, Lorna could not tell.
As she stepped closer for a better look, Onyx perched on the sill.
Looking out, Lorna found herself several stories high. Below, and spread nearly to the horizon, sat a forest. At its outermost point, glimmered a blue light, instantly recognizable as the Codex Capital where the Archwarden resided. To its north, sat Avoncaster Sea. There was no mistake then. Lorna was in the Arcane Tower, home of the evil Wizard Odell, best known for his shenanigans at playing games with time.
Rubbing the back of her neck, Lorna contemplated her situation. The last she remembered clearly, she and the rest of the Archwarden’s freedom fighters, had set out to arrest Chamber Dawson. In serving Wizard Odell, Dawson had run afoul of the law on one too many occasions. But, Lorna recalled, things had not gone according to plan. As her second in command, Kit Trescott, led a group to approach Dawson’s hideout from the front, she and Margrave Taffy made their way to the back so as to insure that Dawson didn’t escape via that route. To her surprise, someone stepped out from the darkness, grabbed Margrave, and held him in a chokehold. Then Lorna found herself face-to-face with the man she sought. Before she could cry for help, Dawson’s blow struck.
Lorna tried to conjure up more details, but few came to mind. She did remember being carried away, and dropping in and out of consciousness for a time thereafter. She also vaguely recollected having been left in the very room in which she now found herself, and she recalled how immediately after that, Onyx flew in through the window. But from that moment, she’d lost all consciousness. For how long, she knew not, but she surmised that her pet had not left her side all the while.
Onyx hooted, interrupting her reverie.
Lorna tried to conjure up more details, but few came to mind. She did remember being carried away, and dropping in and out of consciousness for a time thereafter. She also vaguely recollected having been left in the very room in which she now found herself, and she recalled how immediately after that, Onyx flew in through the window. But from that moment, she’d lost all consciousness. For how long, she knew not, but she surmised that her pet had not left her side all the while.
Onyx hooted, interrupting her reverie.
Lorna sighed. Her head ached, but she knew she had to reconnect with her fellow freedom fighters. She expected they’d look for her at Brackenclutch. A mere stone pillar, the outpost served as a common meeting place for the Archwarden’s supporters.
Turning to the opposite wall, Lorna found an arched door. Hoping she wasn’t too heavily guarded, she decided she’d have a look.
Unsheathing her knife, she tentatively approached the door, then reached for its handle. To her surprise, it turned.
She cracked the door open and peeked out.
Turning to the opposite wall, Lorna found an arched door. Hoping she wasn’t too heavily guarded, she decided she’d have a look.
Unsheathing her knife, she tentatively approached the door, then reached for its handle. To her surprise, it turned.
She cracked the door open and peeked out.
Yet another surprise met her: the hall was empty, but for a lone, crackling pitch torch, settled in a wall sconce. Its flames cast eerie shadows across the damp walls.
With Onyx at her side, Lorna wasted no time. She made her way out of the castle, then sprinted off, into the night.
With Onyx at her side, Lorna wasted no time. She made her way out of the castle, then sprinted off, into the night.
Two overcast days and nights later, as dusk approached, Lorna arrived at her destination. The earliest evening stars peeked out in the, at long-last, clear sky.
Lorna stood at a distance. She sensed something out of order, but couldn’t place what.
Quietly, she made her way through the brush that surrounded the outpost. Approaching the stone pillar, in hopes her comrades had left a message there, she looked skyward at Onyx, gliding overhead. Then, what had troubled her earlier, suddenly became clear.
The night sky was all wrong. She, Kit, Margrave, and their cohorts, had set out for Dawson’s hideout in the early spring. But the constellations told her that autumn approached.
Lorna stood at a distance. She sensed something out of order, but couldn’t place what.
Quietly, she made her way through the brush that surrounded the outpost. Approaching the stone pillar, in hopes her comrades had left a message there, she looked skyward at Onyx, gliding overhead. Then, what had troubled her earlier, suddenly became clear.
The night sky was all wrong. She, Kit, Margrave, and their cohorts, had set out for Dawson’s hideout in the early spring. But the constellations told her that autumn approached.
At that moment, a chuckle sounded out.
She spun toward the sound.
Before her, stood Wizard Odell.
“So, the great Lorna Rinn, the Archwarden’s chief defender, finds herself in a spot,” he mocked.
“I see you’ve been up to your games again,” Lorna said, “toying with time.”
The wizard grinned.
She frowned. “Look, the last I remember before awakening in Arcane Tower, it was early spring. But I see that autumn approaches.” She sighed. “I suppose that explains why my pals are not here to greet me. They could hardly wait a half year for me to show up.”
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, my dear,” he cooed, “you are not a mere six months off.”
“No?”
“No, my dear, you are sixty years off—give or take. Your Archwarden Elowen is newly born—an event her father celebrates with a festival.”
Lorna’s heart pounded. If what the wizard said was true, she didn’t know another living soul. Even her parents didn’t yet exist.
“Undue this!” she cried.
“Mmmm … I think not. But you’re lucky, you see. Since your pet here,” he gestured toward Onyx, “stayed with you in my tower, he also was ensorcelled. So, you are not wholly alone. And of course, one day, you will return to the loved ones you left … ahead.”
Without more, the wizard, smiling, stepped away and disappeared into the night.
Lorna sat quietly for a time. Then, finally, she addressed Onyx. “He didn’t win, you know. Evil never does. His mistake? Sending me back in time, not forward. Now I can undermine his plans, circumvent the efforts of those who would help him, perhaps even before they come into existence.” She stood. “Well, come on then, Onyx. We’ve work to do.”
She spun toward the sound.
Before her, stood Wizard Odell.
“So, the great Lorna Rinn, the Archwarden’s chief defender, finds herself in a spot,” he mocked.
“I see you’ve been up to your games again,” Lorna said, “toying with time.”
The wizard grinned.
She frowned. “Look, the last I remember before awakening in Arcane Tower, it was early spring. But I see that autumn approaches.” She sighed. “I suppose that explains why my pals are not here to greet me. They could hardly wait a half year for me to show up.”
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, my dear,” he cooed, “you are not a mere six months off.”
“No?”
“No, my dear, you are sixty years off—give or take. Your Archwarden Elowen is newly born—an event her father celebrates with a festival.”
Lorna’s heart pounded. If what the wizard said was true, she didn’t know another living soul. Even her parents didn’t yet exist.
“Undue this!” she cried.
“Mmmm … I think not. But you’re lucky, you see. Since your pet here,” he gestured toward Onyx, “stayed with you in my tower, he also was ensorcelled. So, you are not wholly alone. And of course, one day, you will return to the loved ones you left … ahead.”
Without more, the wizard, smiling, stepped away and disappeared into the night.
Lorna sat quietly for a time. Then, finally, she addressed Onyx. “He didn’t win, you know. Evil never does. His mistake? Sending me back in time, not forward. Now I can undermine his plans, circumvent the efforts of those who would help him, perhaps even before they come into existence.” She stood. “Well, come on then, Onyx. We’ve work to do.”
As always, we look forward to your comments. What do you think?
It's July, and time for A Drift of Quills to bring you a joint post. This month our theme is to share one or more pictures that illustrate a person, place, or thing from our work. I'm anxious to see what my fellow Quills have for us. Please be sure to follow the links to find the "rest of the story" for each of them!
Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, is first up today. What have you for us today, Robin?
Robin's site is here.
Robin's site is here.
This recurring theme is one of my favorites! I love sharing with you the images that have inspired my stories (or the images I’ve had to hunt for, trying to match a description!).
I’ve come back to Sherakai’s story—I figure it makes sense since his first book, Blood and Shadow, is currently part of the Self-Published Fantasy Blog Off (SPFBO). Hosted by Mark Lawrence, author of The Broken Empire series and other books, a total of 300 books are judged by 10 bloggers. Am I nervous? (Gulp!) Mostly, I try not to think about it. There is some serious competition in the running!
Since we already caught a glimpse of things in my previous post about him, I thought I’d share some images from the second book of The Mage’s Gift. In Flesh and Bone, Sherakai receives…
I’ve come back to Sherakai’s story—I figure it makes sense since his first book, Blood and Shadow, is currently part of the Self-Published Fantasy Blog Off (SPFBO). Hosted by Mark Lawrence, author of The Broken Empire series and other books, a total of 300 books are judged by 10 bloggers. Am I nervous? (Gulp!) Mostly, I try not to think about it. There is some serious competition in the running!
Since we already caught a glimpse of things in my previous post about him, I thought I’d share some images from the second book of The Mage’s Gift. In Flesh and Bone, Sherakai receives…
P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, is sure to have some great stuff for us. Well, Parker?
Parker's site is here.
Parker's site is here.
I love illustration and I think it works well for the young reader genre and age. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was to flip through a book looking for the pictures, and things haven't changed.
I'm a particular fan of simple sketches. I have a collection of them, some commissioned, some that were done by readers. I think that's something I wish I could do as well, but my sketch art is little more than a series of stick figures ...
I'm a particular fan of simple sketches. I have a collection of them, some commissioned, some that were done by readers. I think that's something I wish I could do as well, but my sketch art is little more than a series of stick figures ...
And now ... for my thoughts.
I’ve chosen to sprinkle a few pics throughout my post today, all relating to the same part of the storyline from Oathtaker, The Oathtaker Series Volume One.
I’ve chosen to sprinkle a few pics throughout my post today, all relating to the same part of the storyline from Oathtaker, The Oathtaker Series Volume One.
Before sharing any pics, let me open by saying that while perhaps a bit odd, I’ve always been fascinated by the words we give for groups of animals. Here are just a few great ones:
To the above, I would add a couple I’ve made good use of in my stories, including the words used for a group of vultures, namely, kettle, committee, or wake, depending on what they are up to at the time. Then there is my favorite, which is the word used for a group of crows: a murder. (What a great name for this group of animals!)
In Oathtaker, when Lilith is on her mission to kill the infant twins, she arrives in the City of Light. A murder of crows accompanies her. The following is an excerpt that is edited with the use of ellipses (...) instead of blank spaces, but so that I don’t give away any key details:
Making their way through the streets and byways of the City of Light, the travelers slowed their pace as they neared sanctuary. Crowds meandered from one street vendor’s stall to another, all the while trying to steer clear of the thousands of crows that had descended on the city. Food smells, both savory and sweet, filled the air: roasting lamb, fresh bread, cinnamon sprinkled almonds, sweet fruits, and fresh herbs.
Lilith … rode ahead, seemingly oblivious to the black varmints flying overhead.
Velia frowned at the flock. It seemed to grow by the minute. It called to her mind an old childhood verse:
Black and loud
Like a cloud,
Come the crows
Murdering rogues.
Occasionally one swooped down to snatch food from the hands of a babe, or pecked someone who tried to keep his food away from the winged thief so hard, that the person’s hands bled from the assault.
Lilith glanced at the crowds. Dressed in nondescript brown, and with her hood up, no one recognized her. She motioned for Velia to pull up.
“Where to?” the Oathtaker asked.
“Just there.” Lilith designated with a nod, an inn situated on a corner. The Home Place, read its welcome sign. Already crows lined the ridge of the roof and sat on the veranda’s railings that ran the full length of the building. When she lifted her arm, one of the flock landed on it. The creature looked her full in the eye. She stroked the animal, then raised her arm into the air to push it off again. With a caw sounding distinctly like a scream, the vagrant flew away. It landed, seconds later, at the apex of the building.
Mara and her friends discover the presence of the murder of crows in the city, and of the dangers they pose, as follows:
“Say, I’m curious, have the crows been over this way?”
“Crows?” Ezra asked.
“Yes, it’s the strangest thing. A murder of them invaded the city earlier today. I saw them causing no end of problems in the main square when I made my way through there a short time ago.”
“Now that you mention it, I saw a few earlier today.”
“I hate those birds,” Nina said.
Me too,” Erin agreed.
“Well . . . use care when they’re around,” Jamison cautioned. “They’ve attacked a number of people in the city. It might just have been rumor, but I heard that one guy lost an eye.”
Later, Mara travels through the city streets. This is what she saw:
In the center of the city, the vendors remained on alert. Many in the crowd carried things overhead to keep the crows from their faces. Mara couldn’t recall ever having seen the creatures behave quite so aggressively before, but she felt she had a new understanding for why a group of them was known as a murder.
Still later, Velia encounters the creatures yet again:
As she stepped off the veranda, a crow chased at her heels. She danced around it. When she couldn’t get free of the beast, she kicked it with all her might, finding intense satisfaction when it hit the side of the building and fell to the ground. She hoped it never moved again.
She rushed to the stables as more birds darted at her.
It may be wholly wrong of me, but I admit that crows seem evil to me. I'm not sure where that comes from, but I don't even like them hanging around my property. Perhaps they remind me of the old Alfred Hitchcock movie, The Birds. When I saw that film for the first time, I was just a kid. It was haunting. In any case, I wouldn’t say that I’m exactly afraid of any group of birds, but if I saw a murder of crows coming toward me, I might rethink that position …
We Quills would love it if you shared your thoughts on our pics and stories.
| I find language fascinating. Don't you agree? Have you ever spent time just reading about the origin of particular words or phrases? One of my favorite things to do with one of my daughters is to read idioms from other languages and cultures. We find the venture good for a laugh, as the sayings can be extremely funny while also providing keen insight into the workings of other cultures. For example, you've heard "it's raining cats and dogs," and that you should not "cry over spilled milk," and you know what it means when something "cost you an arm and a leg," but here are a few you might not have heard before: "Not my circus, not my monkeys." This Polish idiom means, in short, "Not my problem." Consider this German one: "Everything has one end, only the sausage has two." Apparently, it means, "Everything comes to an end." I like this Japanese idiom: "Even monkeys fall from trees." Apparently it translates to: "Everyone makes mistakes." For the most part, the above make sense to me. That said, I can't begin to imagine where the Icelandic idiom, "I took him to the bakery," might have come from. Apparently it means something on the order of, "I told him off." Have you any ideas? In addition to idioms, another aspect of language I find fascinating, is the sheer number and variety of ways people have found to communicate. For example, I recently read up on whistling languages. Frequently, they are used to convey messages across wide expanses, such as in mountain villages. Oh, how I would love to find a way to incorporate a whistling language into a story! Have you any ideas as to how I might do that? |  |
It is already late spring, the time of year when I start watching more closely, the sunrise and sunset times each day, because I know that within a few short weeks, our daylight hours will already begin to shrink. Yes, it will be some time before we appreciate how much the minutes add up per day, but by keeping watch, I'm reminded to make as much as I possibly can, of each and every day of spring and summer. (I suspect this is due to the fact that I live where it seems that winter drags on for six long months. In truth, it isn't quite that long, but at times it feels like it ...)
Now, with June upon us, we Quills are gathering once again to bring you a joint post. This time each of us will share with you, five of our favorite antagonists.
Before digging in further, it only seems right to take a closer look at the terms “protagonist” and “antagonist.” “Protagonist” is defined as “the principal character in a work of fiction.” Note that the definition does not say that the protagonist is the hero of the story. “Antagonist” is defined as “someone who offers opposition.” This definition does not say that the antagonist is a villain. So it is conceivable that the principal character of a story is a villain, while the antagonist of the story is actually the hero. Hmmm … I’m trying to think of a story in which that idea plays out in just that manner ... Can you help me out here? Maybe my fellow Quills can do that. Parker? Robin?
Now, with June upon us, we Quills are gathering once again to bring you a joint post. This time each of us will share with you, five of our favorite antagonists.
Before digging in further, it only seems right to take a closer look at the terms “protagonist” and “antagonist.” “Protagonist” is defined as “the principal character in a work of fiction.” Note that the definition does not say that the protagonist is the hero of the story. “Antagonist” is defined as “someone who offers opposition.” This definition does not say that the antagonist is a villain. So it is conceivable that the principal character of a story is a villain, while the antagonist of the story is actually the hero. Hmmm … I’m trying to think of a story in which that idea plays out in just that manner ... Can you help me out here? Maybe my fellow Quills can do that. Parker? Robin?
Let's first see what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us.
Here we go! (Don't forget to follow the links to my fellow-Quills' sites for more.)
Here we go! (Don't forget to follow the links to my fellow-Quills' sites for more.)
Bad guys. Villains. Antagonists. That's what we're writing about this month. Each of our trio of writers is forwarding our top five baddies for you to consider. And we challenge you to prove us wrong by submitting your own compilations. Let the listing begin!
Mine is a list of truly evil baddies, fantastic villains, complex antagonists, and lovable toad. In the style of FilmFisher's "Undefended" articles, I'm putting these forward with only minimal comment.
Thank you, Parker!
Now, Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, will share some of her favorite antagonists with us. Take it away, Robin!
Mine is a list of truly evil baddies, fantastic villains, complex antagonists, and lovable toad. In the style of FilmFisher's "Undefended" articles, I'm putting these forward with only minimal comment.
Thank you, Parker!
Now, Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, will share some of her favorite antagonists with us. Take it away, Robin!
Oh, dear, so many villains, so few spaces in the list…! Granted, antagonists are not always villains, per se, but someone or something manifesting opposite actions, thoughts, or motives than the protagonist. Still, I’ve chosen to lean toward the villainous in my list. I enjoy the motivations and thought processes of characters over, say, weather or landscape. Weeks of mulling over various evil qualities and their deployment (Ho! Launch the greed! Commence the revelation of dark secrets!) gave me a list.
And now for my thoughts!
Since the antagonist in a story is frequently a villain, the first antagonist/villain that comes to my mind is … Now, don’t laugh. It’s Cruella deVil. There are goods reasons for this. Well, good reasons to me, anyway. You see, Cruella, as played by Glenn Close (who I had the great pleasure of seeing on Broadway a couple years ago) gets to wear the most amazing things! I’d like to try some of the things she wore—perhaps with a bit less in the shoulder padding department, to be sure—but aside from that, who wouldn’t have fun dressing up like Cruella from time to time? Seriously though, Cruella is deliciously naughty, and thoroughly egocentric. It would be so much fun to play her character. (I’ll have to see if I can get a local theater group to do it. Is that even possible? I suppose it could prove difficult to cast the dalmations, so I’m thinking "no" … Hmmm. Curses.)
I think I have a theme going here, because my next antagonist is from a role I find to be a bit similar to that of Cruela deVil. This is one that Meryl Streep played, in “The Devil Wears Prada.” Call me shallow, but my reasons are similar: Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly got to take advantage of a terrific wardrobe. But the best part about this character is that she is so completely into herself. Are you laughing yet? Yes, well, my reasons may be a bit silly, but I can explain. You see, it wasn’t that long ago that my youngest left the nest after my husband and I had spent three decades raising our children. I am so proud of my three young ones. Each is an amazing person. Still, just now my goal is to put a new theme into play before I’m too old to do so. It goes like this: “It’s my turn now.” So maybe that accounts for my finding such joy in these thoroughly self-absorbed characters. They actually put into action something that I envy at least a little bit, although I don’t think I could under any circumstances, do what they do as completely as they do it.
 | Next—and to consider our theme for this post more seriously—I return to a work I’ve mentioned repeatedly over the years. It is my favorite work of all time: Les Miserables. (It is a work against which I seem to measure all others. In fact, I’ve considered re-reading it annually. It is so worthy.) From Les Miserables, I’ve two—make that three—favorite villains. The first two are the Thenardiers. To avoid going too long for this post, I’ll just say what great theater those two make. They are horrible, horrible people, but on stage … Well, get ready to laugh!) |
My fifth and final choice is Javert, also from Les Miserables. Javert is a genuine antagonist—even if not exactly a villain. He is obsessed with pursuing and convicting Jan Valjean. I think that in his deepest heart, Javert wants to do what is “right,” but his mission blinds him. Perhaps this quote best sums up this character:
His mental attitude was compounded of two very simple principles, admirable in themselves but which, by carrying them to extremes, he made almost evil – respect for authority and hatred of revolt against it.
Javert is unable to appreciate how Jean Valjean could be guilty of an offense (minor though it may be and notwithstanding that it causes no genuine harm to others), while Valjean can also be a good man on a day-to-day basis, and one who makes the lives of others, better.
Victor Hugo provided the rationale for Javert’s conduct. Having been born in a prison to criminal parents, Javert became an officer of the law because of his hatred for the very group from which he came. Hugo tells us that Javert’s life is/was one of “privations, isolation, self-denial, and chastity—never any amusement.” Perhaps Javert is one of my favorites because Hugo made him so understandable. So once again I say—and I say it every chance I get: if you have not yet read Les Miserables, I cannot recommend it highly enough. Your introduction to the antagonist, Javert, is just one of the many, many reasons to check out this great, great classic.
Victor Hugo provided the rationale for Javert’s conduct. Having been born in a prison to criminal parents, Javert became an officer of the law because of his hatred for the very group from which he came. Hugo tells us that Javert’s life is/was one of “privations, isolation, self-denial, and chastity—never any amusement.” Perhaps Javert is one of my favorites because Hugo made him so understandable. So once again I say—and I say it every chance I get: if you have not yet read Les Miserables, I cannot recommend it highly enough. Your introduction to the antagonist, Javert, is just one of the many, many reasons to check out this great, great classic.
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AuthorCheck out Patricia's blog articles, interviews of other authors and book reviews here. |
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