Reunited

The novel ‘The Eyes of the Wind’ tells of how the Jewels of the Elements were reunited after centuries of separation, but not how each came to be where it was found. It is to be noted each found its way to a location suited to its nature: the Sky Stone in the mountains, the Fire Stone near a volcano, the Earth Stone in the court of a king, and the Sea Stone in the possession of pirates. How each got there has not been explained.

My current novelette-in-progress remedies that for the Sea Stone. It is the tale of how Tes — later renowned as Qala the Pirate Queen — found it and fought for it, carrying it back to Pirate King of the time. As to where it was before, none can say. Unless, to be sure, I write a story about it.

The novelette is titled ‘Storm Stone.’ I should have it fully polished shortly and may post it somewhere. Or save it for a collection or both! I may write more tales of Tes but there are also many other projects requesting my time.

As for the Fire and Sky Stones, we have not explored their whereabouts through those missing centuries. The Earth Stone, however, had long been held by the rulers of Sharsh as an emblem of their dynasty. But I can’t say how they got hold of it originally.

Ride, a poem

 Ride

The last bike ride of summer
carries me once more into my youth.

Then I had places to go; each stroke
of the pedals carried me toward new destinations.

Now I have only the sun
and the memories I pass along my way.

Stephen Brooke ©2025

As more than a few of my poems, composed in my head as I took my morning ride. The longer they get, the harder it gets to remember them! 

Kipling and Dynamic Description

This is a passage from Kipling’s KIM, and an example of what I would call ‘dynamic description.’ This, I feel, is far superior to the sort of static description one more commonly reads. It immerses one. I admire the way it is done and have attempted to learn from it, but recognize I have my own style.

The hot and crowded bazars blazed with light as they made their way through the press of all the races in Upper India, and the lama mooned through it like a man in a dream. It was his first experience of a large manufacturing city, and the crowded tram-car with its continually squealing brakes frightened him. Half pushed, half towed, he arrived at the high gate of the Kashmir Serai: that huge open square over against the railway station, surrounded with arched cloisters where the camel and horse caravans put up on their return from Central Asia. Here were all manner of Northern folk, tending tethered ponies and kneeling camels; loading and unloading bales and bundles; drawing water for the evening meal at the creaking well-windlasses; piling grass before the shrieking, wild-eyed stallions; cuffing the surly caravan dogs; paying off camel-drivers; taking on new grooms; swearing, shouting, arguing, and chaffering in the packed square. The cloisters, reached by three or four masonry steps, made a haven of refuge around this turbulent sea. Most of them were rented to traders, as we rent the arches of a viaduct; the space between pillar and pillar being bricked or boarded off into rooms, which were guarded by heavy wooden doors and cumbrous native padlocks. Locked doors showed that the owner was away, and a few rude—sometimes very rude—chalk or paint scratches told where he had gone. Thus: 'Lutuf Ullah is gone to Kurdistan.' Below, in coarse verse: 'O Allah, who sufferest lice to live on the coat of a Kabuli, why hast thou allowed this louse Lutuf to live so long?'

Words

There are always words going round in my head; some people think in pictures, some in ideas. I think entirely in words. By the time I come to stick my pen in my ink pot these words have reached a stage of order which is fairly presentable. ~ Evelyn Waugh

 

Waugh may have been exaggerating just a tad, but I very much understand this. I primarily think in words myself. I have never visualized a scene and then written it down. And I most definitely do not write the oft-advocated ‘sloppy’ first draft. I need the proper words to build the proper picture.

 

If there is a picture at all. I do not see a movie in my head, as some readers and authors claim. At most, maybe a few still shots, and those more akin to illustrations than photographs. I do hear what is being said. I may walk about, talking dialog out to myself before ever setting it down. That may be one reason I do not like any music in the background when I write. It interferes with my internal soundtrack.

The Short and the Long

More of my novels fall into the sixty to seventy thousand word range than any other. That is my personal sweet spot, I suppose. I am well aware publishers (these days) prefer a bit more length than that. I am also aware that many classic novels fall into that same range — or shorter. Some even slip into what some define as novella length.

I do not consider any of my stories to be novellas, at least as published. ‘Donzalo’s Destiny’ is, admittedly, divided into novella-length parts that are somewhat self-standing, though making up an overall story. My shortest novel otherwise is around forty-three thousand words; definitely above the novella cut-off.

Though a novella is, essentially, just a short novel — unlike a novelette, which could be considered a long short story. The border between the two is nebulous; by word count, somewhere around the fifteen to twenty thousand point. Depending just on numbers, however, is a mistake. The two feel different. The novella will be more complex in plot and character.

I just finished a story of some seventeen thousand and four hundred words. I consider it a novelette. There are two fairly straightforward plot elements intertwined and little more. Yes, I threw in some brief words toward a subplot romance but they are not at all essential to the narrative. Nor is any character other than the narrator really explored in any depth.

Kipling’s ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ is one of the great novelettes, at a little over fourteen thousand words. Again, essentially two plots — or one plot, as seen by two main characters. The conflict between their views of things pretty much makes the story. Everyone else who appears is not explored beyond their contribution to that story; we don’t know much of who they are, otherwise. Not even the guide, really, who is the strongest character beyond the two leads. His subplot is definitely subordinate to theirs. He could be discarded without changing the overall plot.

What am I likely to do with my own newly-minted novelette? Haven’t the slightest idea. It is set in the universe of my Jack Mack science fiction novels (written under the Oliver Davis Pike pen name), perhaps five or six years after the events in the one most recently published. I could just offer it as a stand-alone freebie. I could write another — or two — and put them together to create a longer book. Maybe both.

Either way, I should probably get to writing on something else.

______

Incidentally, the movie of ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ is one of the few that truly does credit to its source material. Definitely recommended (and I’m generally not much of movie fan at all).

Also (not so incidentally), I put together a PDF ebook of Kipling’s novelette than can be downloaded for free at Arachis Press (arachispress.com). Or one can obtain a free epub from Project Gutenberg.

Be Yourself, a poem

Be Yourself

‘Just be yourself’ is lousy advice;
you have loads of choices—invent yourself twice!
More if you wish, it’s all up to you—
nobody can keep you from starting anew.
If you are asked, tell folks that you grew
and you’ll become others before you are through;
this day a villain, tomorrow quite nice—
if you can’t decide, then just roll the  dice!

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Skies, a poem

Skies

Ghostly moon, in skies of day,
who notes your passage, asks your way?
Only children, who delight
in such—to them—a novel sight.

Let me ask then, if I might,
what if the sun crossed skies of night?
Would we gaze up in dismay?
Fall to our knees, begin to pray,

asking God to set things right?
Or laugh, as children, in its light?

Stephen Brooke ©2025