The Sword of Ixchel- Chapter 1: The Offer

(NOTE: This is an excerpt from my newly released debut novel, The Sword of Ixchel, which is now available in paperback and as an e-book on Amazon)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: The Offer

The day his wife was stolen would haunt Molan Apraxas until the moment of his death. It happened beneath a flawless sky, rare during the jungle rainy season. Six days of unbroken storms abruptly ceased, and the clouds peeled apart to reveal perfect blue, horizon to horizon. Molan took a break from tilling to knead his aching neck as the sun poured over his maize field. 
    Yields are down, the village lord said the day before. If things don't pick up, Molan, we may need a sacrifice. Get back in the gods’ favor.

    Molan mopped his brow with the frayed end of his pati and exhaled slowly.
   "Xuna," he called to his daughter. She glanced up from the hewn dirt and leaned on her mattock. Her lanky shadow spread across the ground between them. "Not too close to the others."
   "I understood you the last time," she huffed.
   "You're doing very well," he added, feebly. She grunted something inaudible and turned back to the work.

Molan prayed in silence. Give life to these seeds, he pleaded the gods. Let them resurrect the holy maize. He listened as Xuna’s mattock chopped moodily through the soil. And let my daughter’s roots sink deep. Help her grow tall and strong, not bent and broken like me.
    It was this precise moment when a distant scream pierced the perfect day and jolted him from his fieldwork. Seren, his wife and greatest love, was in trouble.
    “To me Xuna!” he cried, casting aside his tools. “Hurry!”
   Molan seized his daughter's hand and together they dashed for home as fast as Xuna's young legs allowed. Every terrible scenario swam through Molan’s head as they ran. There were many demons, gods and wicked men in the jungle whose attention they might draw. At last, they crested the final hill and skidded to a halt with dust eddying around them.

       Below, two enormous men surrounded their cottage door, armor and spears gleaming in that flawless sun.

          "Who are they?" said Xuna, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.

    The two warriors were tall and broad-chested. They packed the space beneath the cottage’s thatched awning. Plates of brine-soaked leather armor hung across their broad chests. They had identical, dark-teak skin knotted with muscle and long, sleek hair as black as a grackle. Each held a jade spear in one hand and a shield painted with a coiled snake in the other.

    The emblem was well known. The Kaan Dynasty.

    "Royal guards. Of Calakmul," he answered. Royal guards were only found with royalty. He squeezed his daughter's hand. "The gods will grant us courage."

    Molan eyed the twin warriors as he and Xuna approached. Up close they were huge. Wider than Molan by half and a full head taller. Their faces were identically grim and emotionless. Molan placed his hand on Xuna’s lower back and guided her between them into the cottage.

    A handsome, majestic woman occupied their family table with a cloud of warriors—twins of the two outside—hovering around her. Servant girls immediately attended to her every comfort. Molan had never imagined so many people in their tiny space.

    “Where is Seren?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”

    "Molan Tak'aan," the woman said as she swept to her feet. The richness of her attire juxtaposed harshly against the cottage background. A jaguar-fur quechquemitl spilled from her shoulders, hems and straps embossed with jades, opals, and silver. Gold rings decorated each knuckle. Molan recognized her at once. She was Tunial Kin Mai, famed sorceress and high priestess of Calakmul, one of the two greatest cities in the realm. Molan had despised and feared her from the moment they'd met all those years before. “Do not worry about your wife. She is quite safe.”   

    "I insist to see her!"
          "Or what?" said Tunial. Her dark eyes thinned to poisonous slits. Molan couldn’t stand to look at them. She thrummed with power and he was no match for it.

    "Nothing, my lady," he growled, slumping into a defeated bow and gesturing for Xuna to do the same.

    “As I expected, Molan Tak’aan.”

  "It is just Molan, kin mai.” His back cracked painfully as he straightened upright. “I vacated those titles long ago."

    The sorceress smiled hollowly. "No need to be coy, Molan Tak'aan. We both know all about your past."

    Xuna's head tilted in his direction and Molan attempted to catch her eye. Tunial must have noticed, for she appraised his daughter for the first time and grinned, exposing a full row of gem-studded teeth.

    "The kalomte heard rumors of your offspring." She brushed the back of her hand and its many rings over Xuna's cheek.

    "Kalomte now, is it?" said Molan, steering the conversation away from Xuna. "Ka'b Hix has finally grown a spine! I wonder what the King of Tikal thinks of his rival’s self-applied title?"

    "Insulting the High King of Calakmul in front of his priestess? Your famous runaway mouth continues to sow trouble for you!” said Tunial. She restored her too-cunning smile. In a flash, she seized Xuna's chin and turned her face from side to side.

    "Has your father ever told you that he was once the prized pupil of Naranjo?" Xuna glanced again at her father from the corner of her eye. "Speak, girl!"

    "No, mother," Xuna said meekly.

    A servant gasped. "Mother" was a formal address to an older woman but inappropriate for the high priestess. A commoner could lose a head for such a blunder.

    "Your father has no honor, no courage. So afraid of the gods' judgement that he renounced his own lord, his own people, all to retire to... this?" She gestured at the dusty shack.

    “Perhaps you could get on with whatever purpose you came for,” interjected Molan. “The village lord is threatening sacrifice if we don’t meet crop quotas. I quite value my head. I need Xuna and Seren’s help if I plan to keep it attached to my spine.”

    Tunial glowered at him for a moment then nodded to one of her servants, who extended a folded swatch of red material. Molan accepted it tentatively.

    "The kalomte's oldest son has been stolen. This token was left at the scene.” After a pause she added, “Only someone very powerful could have managed the crime.”

    Molan unfolded the material and stared blankly at the woven symbol of a hawk encircled with gold runes.

    "The emblem of your dead king in Naranjo,” said Tunial. “A sigil that has been banned for what? Fifteen years?"

    "I am sure Ka'b Hix has others much smarter than me to figure out his little mystery," Molan responded. He re-folded the material and offered it back.

    "You misunderstand things, Molan Tak'aan. Ka'b Hix has passed into the Underworld. Ka'an Paktik is kalomte now."

    "Sky Witness," Molan muttered, rendering the name into the commoner dialect. Sky Witness was just a young prince when his father and the lords of Calakmul sacked Molan's home city. Young but already shrouded in infamy.

    "Kalomte Sky Witness believes you are most suited to answer this riddle. You are the only one left of the old, dead Naranjo order, after all."

    "Sky Witness is even more of a fool than people in the taverns whisper if he thinks I had something to do with this."

    "I am tired of your words, Molan Tak’aan,” she said with a bored flick of her hand. “Your choice is to follow his orders or watch pain fall on everyone around you." She stepped closer until their noses were almost touching. She smelled sweet, like spices and cacao. "Produce the kalomte's heir or your wife will suffer. That is Sky Witness’s offer."

    Molan swallowed. For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. He wanted to resist but couldn’t risk harm coming to Seren or Xuna. Or himself.

    "Tell the boy king I will do what I can," he growled in defeat.

    Tunial grinned. “I knew King Sky Witness could count on you.” She nodded to her guards, and the troupe filed neatly from the room leaving only her sweet lingering scent as evidence they’d been there at all.

(Buy me a coffee: view this novel on Amazon, available as an e-book for only $3.99)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

This is It, I'm a Published Author, I Guess...

Well, it happened. My first novel, The Sword of Ixchel, as of midnight last night, has been published. It is now available on Amazon… 

It’s a historical fantasy; a coming-of-age tale of swords, gods and sorcery set during the time of the ancient Mayans. The tale explores the myths and history of the Mayans though the eyes of a father and daughter, simple farmers swept into an adventure they didn’t want, as they venture across the Mesoamerican landscape. 

A (Very) Long Time Coming

It was seven and half years ago that I put the first words on the page. At the time, I wrote the original rough draft in just over three weeks, record speed (for me anyway). I felt so inspired, so solid with my idea, that it felt almost like I wasn't creating the story, simply channeling it from the ether. This was not my first attempt at writing a novel. In fact, the very first time I wrote a novel all the way through a completed rough draft was in 2007. Later, feverishly pursuing this dream, I received a degree in creative writing in 2011 from Colorado Mesa University. I've attempted several other novels since. But there was something about this book, the way it was spilling out of me, that made me think this was the one. It had to be. 

Years passed. I plowed through many draft cycles. It was fun at first, but eventually it grew tedious. Life got complicated. We moved to a new state. We bought a house, then another. We had a baby girl. Sometimes the book would sit in its little corner of my hard drive forgotten for months. 

In 2021, four and half years after "finishing" that rough draft, I decided it was finally ready and began the process of querying literary agents. This method, known in the writing world as "traditional publishing" is still the only way to see your work published by a major publishing house. But after dozens, then nearly a hundred, such queries, the best responses I received were a few form-letter rejections, each an echo of the one previous: "We're sorry but at this time... yadda yadda." It was crushing. And after I had queried almost every reputable agent in the fantasy genre and failed, my dream of becoming a publishing fiction novelist, a dream I'd held for fourteen years, essentially died.

Then, on New Year's Eve 2023, I made a resolution that I was going to "publish my novel or else," even if it had to be self-published. It killed me that all that work would go to waste. If only my friends and family would ever see it, that was okay. At least somebody would read it. I spent another eight months poring through yet another draft cycle, designing the layout and the cover, and uploading it onto Amazon Kindle Direct.  

Do I think it is perfect? No. Could I have kept working on it and improving it? Of course. I'm pretty certain I will always find something to change. But as famous photographer/content creator Peter McKinnon (and many others) likes to say, "done is better than perfect." At some point you have to let go and move on, for better or worse. 

Now this novel is done but definitely not perfect. I think I'm okay with that....

On the Dubious Nature of Self Publishing

There is something dubious about self-publishing. You could, after all, type the letter “z” a few hundred thousand times, upload it onto Amazon and call yourself a published author. That a book full of ZZZ's would literally put someone to sleep is another matter. My point is there is no guarantee of quality with self-publishing, and there are a lot of self-published books that feel more like drafts still needing polishing. While I've worked hard to produce quality work that I can feel proud of, there's a distinct possibility that many of you might feel like this book is unpolished or perhaps even just plain bad.

When I tried the traditional method of publishing, I discovered several harsh truths about fiction writing: only about one in 10,000 manuscripts are ever accepted, and timing and trends are everything. In other words, being merely a “good” writer isn’t even close to enough. You have to be the top 99.99%. And beyond that, not only do you have to be the best of the best of the best, but you have to have impeccable, conceptual timing with literary trends in the eyes of the 100 or so gatekeepers that are the (reputable) literary agents in your genre. Simply put, you could have the right book at the wrong time and fail.

Well, It's Done Now and I'm Scared....

There is something unnerving about putting a work of this magnitude into the world. What if people don't like it? What if it comes across as boring, tedious, poorly developed? Will I feel like a failure? Will it make me want to quit writing forever? It's an intensely vulnerable feeling to hand this baby off, this work that represents so many hours, years actually, of hard work and uses every bit of brain power and skills I spent almost two decades developing. And if it is feebly received, will I be able to handle the criticism? 

The hard truth is that I have to accept these possible realities. The "nothing ventured, nothing gained" adage rings accurate. And even if the novel doesn't break the "friends and family 50" curse (that the only people who buy your book are the 50 friends and family members who buy it mostly because they care about you), I can take pride that I undertook this massive effort and saw it all the way to it's conclusion.

Finally, the Sales Plug

Anyway, I am proud of this work. It may not be flawless, but I believed in it for years and it makes me happy to send it forth into the world. The Kindle e-book is available for $3.99, a price akin to buying me a cup of coffee, and the print version is available for $12.99. Personally, I recommend the print book. In my eyes, that is how it was meant to be consumed. 

For those that believed in me from the beginning and read early excerpts and drafts, your support means the world. And for those that might continue to support me in the future, you also are what keeps that creative flame inside me burning. You are the best. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Publishing Part II: The Perfect First Page

One could argue that the first page of your novel is the most important. Not only is it the very maximum you will ever get from a prospective buyer at a bookstore, but many literary agents, as they wade through mountainous piles of submission, will use your opening words to either shuffle you to the reject pile (alongside 99% of the submissions they receive) or, if you executed it well, give you the chance to fulfill your life dream of becoming a published author.

Online organizations like Writer's Digest offer classes with names like "First Page Bootcamp" where you can get a master lesson and even personalized feedback from established agents about crafting a perfect first page. These classes can run as high as $200. Youch!  I don't know about you but that's a steep ask from me, and an expense I would have a hard time convincing my wife was necessary. However, there is plenty of advice (some dubious) available on the wide web and in my searches I stumbled across a "first page checklist" from established author C.S. Lakin, who has become an authority figure on novel-writing advice, that I found quite helpful. It includes "must-have" items such as a "Opening Hook: Clever writing and image that grabs the reader," and a "glimpse at character’s personal history, personality—shed light on motivation." (You can read/download the full checklist here). I found this helpful in analyzing the ways my first page might not be living up to its full potential.

I've decided to be harsh with my first page, and part of that means laying it out here for you to read and invite your meanest words. Help me beat it up and make it better. It's like a broken arm that healed crookedly: it needs to be rebroken to get it straight. So without further delay, here is my first page as it stands. Please comment below with your harshest, unadulterated, no-holds-barred criticism.

-----------------------------------------

Chapter 1: The Offer

The day his wife was taken haunted Molan Apraxas until the moment of his death.

It happened beneath a flawless sky, the rarest type during the jungle rainy season. Six days of unbroken storms abruptly ceased, and the clouds peeled apart to reveal perfect blue, horizon to horizon. Molan took a break from tilling his maize field to roll out his twisted neck and stretch his tattered muscles.

 

Yields are down, Molan, the village lord’s son had said the day before. If things don't pick up, my father thinks we may need a sacrifice. Get back in the right with the gods.

Molan mopped his brow with the frayed end of his pati and exhaled heavily.

"Xuna," he called to his daughter. She glanced up from the hewn dirt three spans away, leaning heavily on her mattock. Her gangly shadow stretched across the ground between them. "Not too close to the others."

 

"Yes, father," she said, head sagging.

 

She’s her mother’s child, thought Molan. Gentle, passive, as sweet as sapodilla. It was good, her taking more after her mother than him.

 

"You're doing great," he added, feebly.

Turning back to the earth, Molan prayed silently. Breathe life to these seeds, he implored the gods. Let them resurrect the holy maize. Somewhere in the background, Xuna's mattock had fallen silent. Sink my daughter’s roots deep, he added for her. Let her grow tall, proud, and strong, not bent and craven like me.

It was in this precise moment when a scream—one that changed Molan forever—pierced the perfect day. Seren, his wife and greatest love, was in trouble.

 

“To me Xuna!” he said, casting his mattock aside. “Hurry!”

Molan seized his daughter's hand and they ran for their cottage as fast as Xuna's young legs allowed. There were many terrors in the jungle—monsters and demons, gods and wicked men—whose attention they could draw. Molan imagined every dreadful scenario as the two of them ran and ran, the distances seeming to grow rather than shrink. At long last, they crested the final slope and halted, looking down on their home as dust eddied around them.

Below, festooning the cottage door, were two enormous men, their armor and spears glinting in the flawless sun.

(If you enjoyed that page one, the entire novel is now available on Amazon!!)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Publishing Part I: That Perfect First Sentence

Hello everyone! You thought you were rid of me, but I'm back. For the last few years I've leaned on the excuse that platform building took too much time away from actual writing as justification for abandoning my blog, twitter account, Facebook page, etc, etc. Well, after four years of working on it, my WIP manuscript is to the point where I either have to focus on publishing or move on with life. So as I attempt CPR on my blog (I know some of you have heard this before) I'm going to ruminate in a few blog posts on the topic of publishing.

There are, essentially, three avenues for publishing: 1) the old-fashioned, "big 5"  route, in which you court an agent who represents you in a sales pitch for the big publishing giants. 2) The small press route, where you pursue smaller companies who take direct submissions from writers but still provide editors and art departments, etc. And 3) The self-publishing route, where you do everything yourself.

For now, let's examine the traditional route, though much of what I'll talk about is relevant regardless of the publishing route you choose, as you need many of the same components to court a would-be reader as you would a prospective agent or publisher.

Most literary agents require some variation of the following: a query letter, a synopsis, and the first ten pages of your manuscript. I will tackle each, further breaking down the "first ten pages" into a perfect first page and even the perfect first sentence. These opening words are often all you get to impress a busy agent who likely has a slush pile of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of queries.

Let's start gentle... The first sentence. 

The first sentence is supposed to be your hook. It introduces the novel and hopefully draws the reader in so that it's impossible not to keep reading. It may be superficial to judge a book solely by its first sentence, but let's face it, this is how the world works. As "they" say, you never get a second chance to make a first impression, and this is your chance to make yours.

To tackle this topic, let's examine the first sentences from five books on my bookshelf. To minimize pre-conceived bias, I won't identify which books they are from, but I will say that they are all heavy hitters, including a Pulitzer Prize winner, a megaclassic in fantasy, a megaclassic in science fiction, and two contemporary NY Times Bestsellers. Also mixed in is my own first sentence, just to see how it stands up. So dig in and let me know in the comments which you think is best. I'll reveal which book each was from and do a short analysis in a future blog post.

So...in random order, let's dive in:

1) First there was nothing. Then there was everything.

    Okay, so that was actually two sentences, but since they were short and intimately connected, I included them both.

2) "Ninety-eight--Ninety-nine--One hundred."

    This one starts with dialogue. Effective? Let me know if the comments...

3) His wife’s scream the day she was taken would haunt him at the moment of his death.

   A bit macabre. Do you want to know more?

4) "Oh dear," Linus Baker said, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is most unusual."

    Again, technically two sentences. But it just didn't have the intended kick without them both.

5) If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.

    The longest of the opening sentences. Effective? Comment below if you think so (or not).

6) The island of Gont, a single mountain that lifts its peak a mile above the storm-racked Northeast Sea, is a land famous for wizards.

    This one gives a little setting. Is it effective in building intrigue? Comment below.

That's it, ladies and gentlemen. If you have thoughts on which of these works best and why (or any other comments) I hope to hear from you below. Look out for analysis and a reveal of which book each is from to come! 

Read the Next Part of the Series Here:

Part II: The Perfect First Page 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

A New Song

Life as an artist, in all guises we artists come, is far from easy. What market exists is often concentrated at the top, into those fortunate enough to have "struck it big." Those lucky, talented few who have captured the imaginations of pop culture fans seem to live a luxurious, jet-set lifestyle while the rest wallow in the mires of obscurity and financial toil. We "starving artists," however, are always quick to argue that we create our art for the love and passion of the pursuit, for the pure joy of conjuring something completely original and novel seemingly from the ether, and that is true. However, in the hearts of almost all of us, lives a longing to join that rarefied club who clamber up the proverbial ladder to the top. Perhaps not even the highest rungs, but high enough that we can quit our cubicle jobs and meet that threshold of success where we could look someone in the eye when asked what we do for a living and answer, without deceit, "I am a musician. A writer. An artist..."

Anyway, enough digression. Here is a new song I recently recorded and released on Soundcloud. I've been playing with the technique of melding acoustic and electronica music and this song is one of the best examples yet of this new attempt at conjuring something fresh and original (as aforementioned). Please enjoy. Or don't, if it's not to your taste. And as always, I am open to feedback and well-worded, well-intended criticism...

Brian Donald Wright · The Beach

An Ode to the Mountain

What is it about a mountain that so thoroughly ensnares the human imagination? Is it the jagged immensity? The superhuman scale? Or is it the allure of secrets hidden in every fold and crevasse? Perhaps it’s simply the exhibition of nature at its grandest scale. The unmitigated authority of such a colossal body and its total freedom to build, act, and even collapse, in whatever way it pleases. Maybe we just admire the mountain for appearing not only immortal but supremely hardy: donning and shedding mounds of ice like a weekend wardrobe, and letting the severe winds curl around its body like the fingers of a lover. The mountain embodies not only the best, strongest and most admirable of human traits, but piles them to a scale we can never hope to emulate, only admire from a distance….

New Music and Photography Pages!!

As mentioned in a previous post, I have been planning to expand my blog/website to include original music and photography as well. This past week I launched pages for both and I am really excited! If you get a chance click over to see these new elements to my website. I am always happy for comments and questions.

Original Music

Music conveys the ineffable: sensation, emotion, love and fear. If words are the language of our minds used to transmit ideas from one to the next, music then is the language of our souls...

Photography

Photography is painting with light and lines, the artistic effort to capture the beauty of the natural and cultural worlds in clear verisimilitude and provide a perfect window into places far away in space or time.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not spending my time living my dream of being a river bum, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing, photography and music is the original work of Brian Donald Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

Adventure Series Part 3: Conquering Doubt on Sixmile

Six or seven months ago I remember saying it would take "years to build back up to a Sixmile level." I imagined Alaska's Sixmile Creek to be a whitewater run on the same stature as Colorado's Gore Canyon, an infamous regional testpiece for expert kayakers. I've been out of the whitewater scene for a while and it had been many years since I'd ventured onto such treacherous waters.

In the end, I did it and I was proud. Sure I watched paddlers with very little experience bump their way down it at low water right next to me, so the accomplishment is no incredible feat, but it was a goal met and that felt good.

For this blogpost I'm going to try something a little different. My return to whitewater paddling after a considerable hiatus came also with a return of my old passion of documenting my adventures on video and making short, mediocre "films" out of them. So to steal the words from the rest of my essay, I will let my highlight video from my several trips to Sixmile Creek on my packraft serve as my voice to tell this story.

NOTE: This post is part three in my "Adventure Series". Click on the links for part one and part two.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not spending my time living my dream of being a river bum, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

A New Blog

For those of you who follow me (hi mom!), you all know that my blog efforts stalled out a while ago. It's a lot of work! But I think I've come up with a way to do a little CPR on this dusty blog and come up with an outlet for the creative explosions I've been experiencing lately.

Other than my recent efforts composing my "Adventure Series," I haven't visited you here for awhile, but that doesn't mean I've given up on writing or anything like that. It just means that the form, blogging, in the manner I was doing it at least, had tipped towards "tedious" on the work/reward scale. The lengthy monologues I was composing before took time, a lot of time and as many of you who have pursued any sort of creative art, an audience can be hard to find.

Anyway, so I had an idea for a way to open up the blog, get some use out of it and help keep momentum on my creative endeavors.

My creative expression has expanded beyond just writing. I have taken a deeper interest in photography, film and music lately. In other words, moving forward I'm going to use this blog as a medium for sharing my work of all sorts, not just creative writing. You might find travel essays, stories of real-life adventure woe, short films, or music that I have composed and recorded. Some days you might just find a single photograph...no caption or explanation. Who knows? The point is, at least there will be something. And for those of you that enjoy a variety show, maybe you're in the perfect place!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Adventure Series Part 2: Discovering Northwestern

Pick your paradise. 

The first time your eyes fell on it, your breath choked backwards in your throat. It was one of those places so effortlessly sublime it felt surreal. It seemed proof of the divine. Picture this place.

Now, let me tell you about one of mine.

In a remote corner of the Southern Alaska coast. In a bedrock gash between hacksaw granite ridges iced with decadent glacier frosting, lies Northwestern Fjord. 

Leaping from sea to the summit of McCarty Peak (6,500') in about three miles, Northwestern boasts topographical relief on par with the classic American destinations: Yosemite, the Tetons, the Grand Canyon. This nest of  natural splendor hosts myriad waterfalls showering brilliant jewels down stern rock faces, innumerable glaciers spilling over serrated ridgelines, and wildlife by the thousand: harbor seals and seabirds, otters and crustaceans. Even the occasional transient orca pod has been spotted braving icy seas in search of fresh prey. 

And look, at the bottom, tiny and insignificant, a group of sea kayakers, cute in their colorful little toys. One of them happens to be me.

As a sea kayak guide in Kenai Fjords National Park, I got to visit Northwestern more times in one summer than most locals get to in their whole lifetime. I witnessed its many moods: bright and glorious, dark and temperamental. I saw it slashing down rain, I saw it darken with heavy smoke from a massive wildfire. I saw it choke with ice and roar with katabatic williwaws. I saw my two largest glacial calving events of the summer here, one of which scared me.

Every day a different shade.

This place called to me. Rugged and unforgiving yet graceful and serene, something about Northwestern Fjord rooted deep. Of all the incredible places I got to see through my job as a kayak guide, none seemed to fit in this same way. Yes, when it's my time and I'm back to being dust like the old words say, I hope a few of my ashes scatter here so they can swirl around in the ocean eddies and sink to the bottom.

I understand ocean life better now and, since the sea is such an integral part of life in coastal Alaska, my picture of this wild area I call home is a little clearer. My love of and time in Northwestern Fjord helped me to commune with Alaska, and hopefully helped it commune with me.

This was part 2 in my "Adventure Series" of blog posts. To visit/re-visit part 1, please click this link. To read part 3, click here.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not waxing on and on about my favorite places in the world, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Adventure Series Part I: The Summer I Became Alaskan (even if only in my own mind)

Packrafting First Canyon on Sixmile Creek

Awhile back, when I was quite a bit more, ahem, active with my blog, I pondered what it meant to be 'Alaskan'. At the time I had lived in this massive and complicated state for seven months. Now, almost two years after penning that post, I sit today in the same place, pondering the same basic question.

"Alaskan," Strictly Speaking

People are proud in Alaska. Proud of the incredible landscape and unique local color. Proud that, though to nearly everyone else Alaska is a wonderland of superlatives and extremes, to them it is simply home.

Legally, a person becomes a resident of Alaska after living in the state for a calendar year. However, a friend (a fourth-generation Sewardite I should add) recently voiced that she would never accept someone's claim of being "Alaskan," strictly speaking, until they had lived here longer than all other places combined. By that rubric, since I moved here in 2017 at age 33, I wont qualify until 2050.

So no... I'm not Alaskan.

But What is Alaska anyway?

The word "Alaska" for most conjures images of muscled brown bears wrangling salmon from alpine streams with glacier-capped summits lancing skyward in the background, or ethereal aurora borealis dancing over pale snow blankets and frozen lakes. There is a global sense that Alaska has become the western hemisphere's superlative for nature at its most raw and rugged. In short, what makes Alaska Alaska, are mountains, wildlife, and the wilderness.

A Kafka Moment

One day recently, I woke up transformed. The place I'd lived for two and a half years felt different. I no longer felt like a traveler. All of the wondrous extremes a person could witness here were no longer new and novel. They were simply home. Alaska had become a part of me in a essential way, like my body had absorbed it via osmosis. But when exactly had this metamorphosis taken place? And how?

Cake picnic overlooking Godwin Glacier 7/29/19

A Blog Series!

Enter the summer of 2019. For five months I was immersed in the Alaskan landscape as a deckhand and sea kayak guide. I logged fifty sea days bumping through the rugged North Alaska Gulf seeking the most speculator places to sea kayak on Earth. Days off saw me scurrying to the summits of rugged local mountains or hurling my packraft down frothing rivers. When fall fell over the landscape, I could finally relax and digest the collective experience of this summer and what it meant.

To explore this insight, I'm endeavoring on a four-part blog series (the "Adventure" series) to revisit key moments, places and features of my summer that made it so transformative. In other words, I am attempting to capture in words a snapshot of how I transitioned from tourist to traveler, and finally, after over two years, from traveler to resident, even if I'm still not, and perhaps never will be, officially Alaskan ;-P 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not fixating on definitions of being "Alaskan" (and when I wrestle a little time/motivation from my day), I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts (if there are any) and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

2018: A Year in Books

Noon during an Alaska winter. Hard to tell if it's a sunset or
sunrise as the former tends to start immediately upon the
conclusion of the latter

Ah yes, I'm back. You thought you were rid of me. You forgot you signed up for my mailing list. You scratched your head and wondered "who the hell is Brian Donald Wright" when I popped up in your inbox this morning.

Not so, my friends. I am alive and well, still stomping around in the Last Frontier. Still plonking away at the keys of my increasingly battered and outdated laptop. And I'm here to talk about, well, books!

But first....

A quick explanation of my long absence. I promise to keep it brief and get back to the action. 2017 was a great year for me and my blog, together we plopped out somewhere around 50 blog posts, nearly one a week. Me, my computer and my scattered readers (daring brave souls) whirled about the worlds of my imagination, exploring everything from Mayan ruins, writing pedantry, books, medieval shippery, and more.

2018, well, not so much. This is post number two.

So what happened? Well, in short, I got burned out. I poured so much into my author platform in 2017 that I found myself not having time for the actual thing...writing itself. And, because I hate excuses, I just got lazy.

Well, I'm back. And though I don't expect to return to hammering out a blog post every week, I will try to improve. Blog posts take a great deal of time. Perhaps I need to shorten them? Well, anyways, let's get back on topic.

Did I tell you I missed you?

A Journey in Words

When I wrote this same post last year, I said "Each book not only carries me away into a fictional dimension but also fixes my mind in the time and space where I read it....My year comes back to me, each book a signpost on the adventure that was 2017." Although I did not read as many books in 2018, this holds just as true as before.

When I remember Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, for example, I am taken back to the backcountry cabin where my loving wife, Ella, and I huddled through a chilly pair of January nights. It was here that I read that book's final 100 pages, enthralled right to the end. The second night of this trip I experienced my first earthquake, a 7.9 magnitude shaker that would have made for a great blogpost.... Another Ishiguro novel, The Buried Giant, was the book I lugged to Hawaii in April, so imagining that novel puts me back on those sandy beaches and at the toe of those verdant mountains. And so it goes, a story of my year in the form of the books that followed me everywhere I went. 

The Tomes 

As it were, I read 16 books this year, which I am sad to admit is eight less than last year. Not my best effort, though the sheer number is always what counts and several of these books were quite long. Without further ado, here is a brief look at each of them....

Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro)

A literary classic in the dystopia genre. A group of children who grow up at a peculiar boarding school learn the horrifying reality about their culture and themselves. As usual with Ishiguro's works, Never Let Me Go places the focus on the power of subtle-but-crucial interpersonal moments. This is a unique and poignant piece of literary fiction from the 2017 winner of the Nobel Prize or Literature. 

The Lies of Locke Lamora (Scott Lynch)

Part fantasy epic, part heist tale, The Lies of Locke Lamora is a clever and unique fantasy romp in a gritty, gory setting. Despite its long length Lamora was a page turner and one of the better fantasy books I read in 2018.

Master Assassins (Robert V.S. Redick)

The first installment of an upcoming series by a less-known author, Master Assassins is a well-crafted fantasy epic set in some sort of alternate middle east setting. Engagingly written and with highly developed characters, this is a worthy new fantasy series, though for me it lacked something to take it over the top.

New York 2140 (Kim Stanley Robinson)

Just over a century into the future and part of New York City is underwater after sea level rose 50 feet. A complex and lengthy bit of science fiction that works to be as much a tale of finance and politics than a dystopia thriller. I found this book to be slow and tedious despite it being nominated for several major awards.

Red Seas Under Red Skies (Sott Lynch)

The sequel to The Lies of Locke Lamora and continues right along the path of its predecessor. Though perhaps not as fresh as Book 1 of the series, Red Skies does its job as a sequel. I went out and bought book three almost as soon as I was finished.

Sing, Unburied, Sing (Jesmyn Ward)

A National Book Award winner, Sing, Unburied, Sing picks up where novels of the civil rights era leave off. A look at the modern south, and the work still in front of us in race relations in America, with a spice of the literary paranormal akin to the Toni Morrison's classic, Beloved. Despite its well-written prose, I found this book difficult to stagger through.

The Gunslinger (Stephen King)

An outloud re-reading of this classic of speculative fiction. Part fantasy epic, part dystopia sci-fi, part horror, Stephen King's Dark Tower series was what he called his Jupiter in the solar system of his imagination. Although The Gunslinger is perhaps the worst of the seven books in the series, this is where it all begins.

The Buried Giant (Kazuo Ishiguro)

The most recent of Ishiguro novels. Set in post Arthurian Britain, an elderly couple sets out on a quest to uncover an important piece of their history as a strange fog robs them of their memory. Ishiguro straddles the line between fantasy and literary in this book. Though I was largely unimpressed, the ending was one of the most powerful and though-provoking of any novel I have ever read and that is not hyperbole.

To the Bright Edge of the World (Eowyn Ivey)

This brilliant epistolary novel tells the story of a fictionalized version of a post-Alaska Purchase expedition in which the U.S. government was eager to learn just what it was they had acquired in "Seward's Folley" (the pejorative critics used for the Alaska Purchase which was brokered by William Seward). In Ivey's Alaska, the native myths are real and the struggles of the brave explorers and their families back home are visceral. 

Metamorphosis (Franz Kafka)

A mega classic of literature, Metamorphosis was an "eat your vegetables" read for me. Every year I try to swallow at least one or two major classics and this year Metamorphosis was my selection. A short novel, Metamorphosis is an interesting albeit a bit dry read. It tells the story of a man who awakes one morning having been transformed into an insect and the repercussions that follow.

The Sword of Shanarra (Terry Brooks)

A 1970s fantasy epic, many people regard The Sword of Shanarra as a re-telling of The Lord of the Rings. I found the parallels to be a little too similar and the book a little too breathy so I did not finish.

A Wizard of Earthsea (Ursula K Le Guinn)

An absolute classic in the fantasy genre, A Wizard of Earthsea is a story who is can be spotted at the roots of major contemporary tales, such as Harry Potter, The Name of the Wind and others. Succinct but original, this book drew me in and pulled me through to its final pages.

Less (Andrew Sean Greer)

A hilarious, poignant and brilliantly written literary romp about a gay novelist who embarks on a world tour to avoid having to either accept or reject an invite to the wedding of a former lover. The winner of the 2018 Pulitzer Prize for fiction, this novel proved that not all winners of this great award have to be violent or depressing.

Heroes, Gods and Monsters (Bernard Evslin)

This book of mythology covers the major gods of the Greek canon with brief, easy-to-read and remember treatments. For someone like me who enjoys the mythologies and detects their still resonating impacts on modern culture, this book is a great way to familiarize with the basics of the stories without getting bogged down in details.

The Goldfinch (Donna Tart)

A Pulitzer Prize winning novel about the repercussions of a terrorist attack inside a popular art museum and the far-reaching fallout. For me this book was tedious, overly detailed and a massive struggle. I was highly disappointed and didn't finish it.

The Raven's Gift (Don Reardon)

Reminiscent of some of my favorite post apocalyptic novels, The Raven's Gift unfolds the story of rural arctic Alaska in wake of a horrific plague that has wiped out most of the population. Facing isolation and winter, a man and his blind companion struggle to find their way out.

2018 Awards

Best Fantasy

From The Lies of Locke Lamora, The Wizard of Earthsea, and even The Buried Giant, I read quite a few fantasy novels this year. It is difficult for me to select a single one as being the best not because I read so many good ones, but because none of them jump out as being particularly impressive. If I pull back, however, and just go on instinct, the book that feels like it had all the trappings I value in a fantasy novel was Master Assassins by Robert V.S. Redick, a narrow victor over The Lies of Locke Lamora. 

Best Sci Fi

Looking back over my list for 2018, I see a gaping hole in the science fiction genre. In fact, the only two books that might fall in the category would be Never Let Me Go, which I have already listed under "literary," and New York 2140, a book that bogged me down for a month and I was so glad when it was over I made a "yuck" sound when I shelved it. So unfortunately this year, there will be no Sci Fi winner.

Best Literary

Although several of the books on this year's list straddled the line between literary and genre fiction, I ultimately considered five of the books I read this year to be literary. Of these, the one that had the biggest impact on me was Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. This strange but engaging book showcases the significance of the small events in life, and the poignancy of our everyday interpersonal connections.

Grand Prize

As with last year when I gave my "grand prize" to the winner of the Literary category, I am going to do that again. From this year's books there is none that have stuck with me and none that I find myself talking about or recommending more than Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. As mentioned previously, this book is so poignant, original and strange it has "stuck with me" even though it was one of the first books I read this year. If I were to give out a runner up award it would have to go to To the Bright Edge of the World, another brilliant piece of literary fiction that to me is a perfect example of what great writing is capable of at its highest level.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not reading as many books as I can get my hands on, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

Follow Me on Twitter!

Sign up for my Mailing List

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions