B-4 - Erulisse - Fear, Sorrow and Compassion

[engarian.livejournal.com]

B2MeM Challenge: B-4 – Five Books/Five Characters – Námo, Botany – Eleanor
Format: Short Story
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Námo, Aulë, Vairë, OFC
Pairings: None
Word Count: 2666

Summary: Námo remembers Aulë introducing him to a young elven craftswoman who became one of his best friends because she showed no fear of him.






Fear, Sorrow and Compassion



The Lord of Mandos sat across from his Lady wife, looking at her lovingly, his eyes caressing her form. Her aspect today was dark and sultry, black eyes snapping, tan skin catching the lamplight and looking like soft velvet. He was entranced.

Her elaborately braided hair was caught up behind her head, held in a golden clasp featuring colorful glass enamel depicting small yellow Elanor flowers. His mind slipped back to when he had commissioned the hair piece and met one of the few elves who had never shown fear of him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“What thought crosses your mind, husband? Is there ought that I can do for you this evening to ease your strain or lift your burden?”

“Nay, beloved,” his baritone voice responded. “I was merely thinking about Helyanwë, she who made the hairpiece you wear this evening.”

“Oh yes, Fëanáro’s granddaughter, she made truly exquisite things. The hair clasp is still one of my favorite items made by the Children.”

Námo smiled and lost himself in memory for a short time.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He had decided to visit his brother Aulë, a longstanding invitation that he had kept turning down.

“Come to my forge,” Aulë had said in his booming voice. “I have some apprentices right now who are doing compelling work.”

“I find that the Children are unsettled when they see me,” I had responded.

“I suppose that many of them are. But I've got one young female who won't be, I'll bet.”

My siblings knew that I have always found it difficult to turn down a bet. “Oh? What would you be willing to wager? I have yet to meet any elf who is not even slightly unsettled in my presence..”

Aulë had smiled. “I know you want a new set of gates and that I've been putting off designing them for the sake of more interesting things. I will wager you this. If Helyanwë is indeed frightened in any way when she meets you at my forge, I will begin the design of your gates and you will have them installed before the end of the yeni.

"If, however, I am right and she is unafraid, you will join me for dinner once a month for the next five years. Your Lady is welcome to join us, and Yvanna or others of our brothers and sisters may also decide to attend, but you at least must be there.

"You need to get away from your Halls more often, dearest brother. Although you spend time with Irmo and Nienna, the rest of us rarely see you any more.”

Námo had nodded then asked “Why would she not be afraid of me when all others seem to be?”

Aulë laughingly had said, “For the simple reason that she sees deeply, brother. And deep down, you are not to be feared; rather you are to be pitied.”

Námo had glanced sharply at his brother, but then he shrugged and agreed to visit the forge and test Aulë’s apprentice. Perhaps he would finally get his new gates, and at worst he would get several entertaining meals.

Three weeks later he appeared just outside the walls of Aulë’s forge complex in the far south of Aman. Striding through the archway into the courtyard, he saw his brother coming over to meet him, a broad smile of welcome on his face.

“Brother, welcome to my forges.”

Námo had been interested in this visit, in spite of himself. Although he was familiar with Aulë and Yavanna’s mansion in Valmar, he had never visited Aulë’s workshop and forge before. The complex was quite a bit larger than he had thought it would be. There were several large buildings surrounding a central courtyard, some larger housing for the workers situated behind the workshops, and he could also see the hint of small individual cottages even farther away towards the mountains.

“Let me show you through the workshops,” Aulë had said, and the two of them had proceeded to tour the various activity centers.

First they visited the metals forge. There, Aulë’s workers poured molten metal and forged it into a variety of shapes, discussed varieties of alloys and their properties, and tried to discover new alloys that would expand the tensile and malleability parameters of the currently available metals.

Although Námo wasn’t a metal smith, he, like all of the Valar, had knowledge of chemistry (organic and inorganic) and physics, and had a great appreciation for discovering new facets of knowledge. Although each elf was polite when Námo spoke to them, there was an undercurrent of uncertainty about the Doomsman’s presence running through each of them as well.

As they were leaving to go to the next building, Námo mentioned this to Aulë. “So far each person has reacted as I speculated. Each one, although polite, has been fearful about coming close to me.”

“Worry not,” his brother answered. Helyanwë will be the exception to your rule.

The next large building was dedicated to stone work. The large room was divided into smaller areas by translucent cloths strung up between the walls and from the ceiling beams. Sculptors of varying skill levels were carving and polishing stone into fantastic forms and commissioned works. Here, many years before, a young apprentice named Nerdanel had come to hone her skills. Upon achieving her Mastery, she had returned home, only to meet Fëanáro shortly thereafter and embrace a different destiny.

But again, to Námo’s disappointment, the elves were all hesitant to approach him closely and fearful of looking into his eyes. ‘Oh well, even if I cannot be welcomed as any other Vala would, I may get a new set of gates out of all of this.’ he thought to himself as he brushed at his dark tunic in a futile attempt to rid himself of stone dust.

They walked through some smaller studios, and finally approached the final large building. Chimneys indicated that fires were lit although it was warm outside, telling Námo that the media being used must require heat.

Walking in, Námo noticed three glass furnaces with a number of teams blowing shaped vessels and clear globes of glass that would be shaped into sheets for window coverings. Between each furnace was a door leading to smaller attached studios.

“Your Apprentice works with glass?” he asked Aulë.

“Yes, she loves the medium. Although she is at home at the furnace and the grinders, her love is for decorative glass, most specifically enamel. The far room on the right is for precision grinding for lenses, and for making shapes for measurements of fluids and other scientific usage. The enameling room is here, to the left.” Aulë led the way to the doorway.

There was a small, short passageway with a door to the exterior, allowing the glassworkers to enter and exit without walking through the larger furnace area. At the end of the passage another doorway opened into a large, well-lit room with workbenches on opposing walls. The far back wall had shelving featuring hundreds of containers of colored glass. Some of the glass was ground into fine powder, but most of it was in lump form. In the center of the room were two smaller fires and firebrick kilns for larger vessels and plates and each work bench was equipped with an alcohol blow-torch for spot-firing smaller pieces of enameled metal. There was a low murmur of conversation between a few of the elves on the right side that came to an uncomfortable halt when they noticed Námo among them.

“So, which one of these is your apprentice?” he asked Aulë, seeing that once again fear was palpable among the elves.

“None of them,” Aulë answered. "She is over there,” and he pointed to the far left corner of the room. There sat a young elf with long, platinum blonde hair pulled back into a single braid. She was wearing a device on top of her head that allowed her to augment her vision, and was painting a small disk in front of her with a fine paintbrush. Below her workbench was a small platform holding a pillow and a thrown-back blanket on top of a thin mattress.

“A bed under her workbench?” Námo asked, curiously.

“Fëanáro gave me warning. He told me that she sometimes gets so caught up in a design or project that she will forget to eat or sleep. At times like that he would usually bring food out to her, but he also built her a sleeping platform so that she wouldn’t fall asleep with her head on the workbench.”

“Helyanwë, child, you haven’t put away your bedding,” Aulë said as he walked towards her, gesturing Námo to accompany him.

“Oh, Lord Aulë, I’m so sorry. I awakened with the perfect idea and just had to start work on it immediately. Come and see. I have the …,” she suddenly stopped in mid-word. “Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t realize you had a guest.”

She placed her work carefully on its stand, putting a cover over it to protect the powdered glass from breezes or bumps, and removed her lenses from atop her head. Placing everything on her bench top, she turned and bowed deeply. “Forgive me my rudeness, Lord. I tend to get overly focused and intended no insult.”

Námo looked carefully at her, then at Aulë who nodded and motioned him forward. Approaching the young girl, he extended his arm, “Please, rise. I would be very interested in seeing what it is you are working on.”

The glassworker grasped his hand without hesitation and rose from her bow. Her gaze met his unflinchingly, assessing him while he weighed her. Then she turned to her bench.

“My Lords, I was working on a method to be able to show depth in the glasswork without requiring the multiple layers that I currently do in all parts of the design. I thought, overnight, that perhaps if I actually grind into the fused surface in selected parts, then layer glass in small layers with pinpoint heating and careful control of the overall heat; then I can put in more shading and it will begin to look almost as if it has three dimensions.

“I did this test yesterday.” She reached over to her shelving and pulled off a disk featuring yellow Elanor flowers on a black background. “Today I was trying to see how much glass I could compact into a space and the effects of spotted heating instead of full heating. I expect that today’s work will be shattered all over my bench by the time of the mingling.”

She offered Námo the prior day’s small test disk of flowers that she had designed. He carefully took the disk from her, turning it over and over in his hand. He found it beautiful and quite unique.

“This is lovely, child,” Námo said. “Do you accept commission work?”

“You would have to work out details with my Lord Aulë, since I am just an Apprentice in his workshop. But if he agrees, it would give me great pleasure to make something for you, Lord Námo.”

“I did not mention my name to you, yet you know me?”

“I am sorry if that discomforts you, sir. I only know you through the basic descriptions of your appearance. Yet I would have recognized you no matter what you looked like because sorrow and compassion shine from you. There is no-one else you could be.”

“I could be my brother, Irmo or sister, Nienna,” Námo offered. He was curious to find out more about her reasoning.

“No, Lord. Your brother Irmo I met once, when he came to visit my Great-Grandfather Finwë. He did not seem forthright in my eyes. It was as if his honesty was as clouded as the dreams he weaves in Lórien. I did not distrust him, but felt I could not fully trust him either.”

“And my sister, Nienna?”

“Both you and your sister are compassionate. Yet I feel strongly that for you compassion is the dominant feature, yet for her it is sorrow and by the acceptance of that, the cleansing of tears. However, I also feel that the two of you are very close.”

Námo’s eyes closed for a moment. Her assessment of him was hitting a bit closer than he had thought it would.

“Please forgive me, my Lord,” and she dropped to her knees. “I did not mean to cause you any distress.” Looking up at him, she continued, “I feel that although you offer compassion and love to all who pass through your Halls, that you rarely have it offered to you in return. Allow me offer it to you, Lord. Let me offer you the love and compassion that you deserve as much as any other Vala.”

She got back to her feet, slightly embarrassed by her outburst. “And now, on a lighter note before we all get too maudlin, could I offer you some tea on the porch? If you truly want to commission an item from me, we should probably discuss the particulars.”

“Yes … yes.” Námo said, allowing his thoughts to catch up with him again. “Some tea …. Some tea would be very nice.”

Giving a soft smile to him, she reached over to the vase of small yellow flowers that she had been using as her reference. Breaking a small stem away from the rest, she reached up to Námo’s hair, placing the flowers resting on his right ear, nestled in his black hair. Nodding, she turned and walked to the hob to fetch the tea kettle. As she was walking away she said, “Why don’t the two of you go along and get settled. I’ll bring the tea and my sketchbook and we can talk.”

Námo was bemused. As he settled himself on the large porch in a comfortable chair, he looked at his brother. “She has no fear, this one. I think I’ve lost a set of gates and gained a dinner date.”

“Yes, you have lost the bet, brother. But I think she will prove to be a good friend to both you and Vairë. I might have her design your gates at the same time as she does your commission. It would be good practice for her to work with the metal apprentices.

Námo got a distant look on his face. “Fear is something that she will learn to her sorrow, and gravely hurt will she be ‘ere she and I discuss fear again. Yet her compassion and love will save her.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

He and Aulë had spent a pleasant afternoon with the small glassworker, and several preliminary sketches were quickly drawn out for the hairpiece that his Lady was now wearing. She had also designed his new gates with tendrils of green, a riot of colorful flowers and vines, and the sun in eclipse on the center split panel of the wings.

Helyanwë developed a strong friendship with the Vala over the years. They would sometimes meet to walk and talk philosophy, and sometimes when the strains of his job were too much, he would appear in her studio and just sit in the corner watching her work. She would nod to acknowledge him, but never disturbed him unless he showed he wanted to talk. She was content to just let him sit there comfortably. She never knew how much that small escape meant to him.

When her fëa entered his Halls many years later, he remembered her with great affection and carefully watched over her as she slowly healed from the torments of her death and her deep sorrows. Many were the tears of compassion he shed over her while she healed.



A/N
The Sun in Eclipse sigil belongs to Fiondil and I am using it with his permission.

Comments

[harrowcatliz.livejournal.com]

I love this analysis of Namo. Great description.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I love Namo. I think he has one of the hardest jobs of all the Valar and rarely gets the positive strokes for all he does. He's quite the Vala, and a natty dresser as well - LOL. I appreciate your words.

- Erulisse (one L)

[surgicalsteel.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is quite the homage to Fiondil - you've really captured his style!

Teensy grammar issue - 'media' is plural. The singular should be medium. :)

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Ack! And I knew that! Thank you so much for catching that. It's the difficulty with self-beta work, but I just haven't found anyone who can work well with me within my time frames, so I'm stuck. I always appreciate it if you or others point out where my brain shut off :-)

If I came anywhere close to capturing Fiondil's style then I am in 7th heaven. We have been good correspondence friends for several years and I adore everything he writes. I suspect that we are diametrically opposed in our religious beliefs, but also think that if we ever sat down and talked about them we would end up respecting each other's platforms of belief.

Thanks again for both the pik and the comparison :-) You just made my night.

- Erulisse (one L)

[surgicalsteel.livejournal.com]

Also, from Fellowship of the Ring:

Here ever bloom the winter flowers in the unfading grass: the yellow elanor, and the pale niphredil

Your elanor flowers are the wrong color.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Kewl, that's an easy fix and I think will look even better against Namo's dark hair.

- Erulisse (one L)

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

I always remember Elanor because of Sam's daughter.

Frodo thought for a moment. ‘Well, Sam, what about elanor, the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass of Lothlórien?’

‘You’re right again, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam delighted. ‘That’s what I wanted.’

Little Elanor was nearly six months old, and 1421 had passed to its autumn, when Frodo called Sam into the study." --The Return of the King.

This kind of thing is why I am not crazy about galloping through a large number of prompts as fast as I can write. Just me, I guess, but I get a flaming red face when I make little mistakes like that. I suppose one can always go back after the end of the month and clean up. But the school of crash it out now and clean it up later has never felt remotely comfortable to me. I am still working on my third story of the month! I am a real spoil sport.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I just found it highly amusing that I mixed up the two flower colors, but had the quarries for Maglor's Egyptian adventure (as well as the senators for his Roman one that I am currently working on) correct. I don't mind stumbling - I'm human and I'll do that sometimes. That's one reason why I'm only posting them to B2ME right now. When I'm ready to archive these and organize them, then I'll have the little tidbits corrected and I'll have at least one more chance to edit and revise before I make them final.

- Erulisse (one L)
I like galloping through a large number of prompts, although these really are only single prompts in the most part,

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

I know I should not be reading so many of these ficlets and drabbles. I try not to, but it's hard when there are so many and they are swamping my f-list. I've made an effort not to comment on the less than perfect ones, because I know a lot of people are rushing. I am no expert on ancient Egypt, although I find it fascinating, but I really do know my LotR canon pretty well.

It is a conflict of style and manner of working. Things have to marinate for me; before I can polish a story and declare it public usually. I've accepted that in practice, but find myself complaining when these mass writing events take place (self restraint is not one of my virtues). I think my problem is I read these submissions like I read anything else year 'round. I don't make allowances for the pressure under which they are written.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I guess I'm diametrically opposite to you in that I do try to read all of the items submitted for B2ME, and I try to comment on each one, even if it is something as quick and easy as "great use of the prompts" because I think that comments are a kindness to an author. It is rare that I won't find something positive to say about a piece.

I research, but do sometimes get things mixed up. It's OK, I'm not writing for my thesis, my living, or my great-grandchildren, therefore, I can change things.

I actually am a fairly decent expert in Ancient Egypt and other esoteric fields of knowledge, even to the point of being able to read standard hieroglyphics, although not hieratic which is much more complex. I have aheavy education in history, and my father raised me with tales from history or from Greek Mythology instead of fairy tales. Fortunately my mother was a fairy tale fan, so I got those also.

Anyway, your abilities for excellent research are enviable, and that's why your biographies are so marvelous. I love Tolkien, I appreciate having canon oopsies pointed out to me, but I'm not going to spaz out when I make a mistake. I just am happy when someone is kind enough to point my oopsie out to me :-)

- Erulisse (one L)

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

You are absolutely right that we write fanfiction from different places.

I'm not writing for my thesis, my living, or my great-grandchildren, therefore, I can change things.

I could stretch a little and say that I am doing all of those things.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I think you are. And if I ever write truly original work, I'll probably have that as a goal also. But while I am playing in someone else's playground, it's fanfiction and is unlikely to have any long-lasting effect on literature as a whole.

*hugs*

- Erulisse (one L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

I must say, Námo does not seem at all frightening.
Who is the OFC, again, E? She's kind of familiar. Have you written of her before?
I am only occasionally glancing at the flood of stories, too busy, and things are blurring. I'll have a look and see what my favourite authors are doing at the end of the month.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I'm very fond of Namo.

My OFC is Helyanwe, my glassworker. She is the younger sister of Celebrimbor, granddaughter of Feanor and is half Noldo and half Teleri. I write about her every now and again and she is my major character in my novel. I've been using her for a year now.

- Erulisse (One L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

half Noldo and half Teleri.

I did think she didn't sound at all Fëanorion.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Hmmm, now that's interesting. How does one 'sound' Feanorian?

- Erulisse (one L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

By 'sound' I mean character voice.
The character voices of the House of Fëanor in the Silmarillion are incredibly strong, even though the Silmarillion is written from a 'distance', as it were. Those character voices just ring down the Ages with fire, with passion, with brilliance.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

She's still very young here. She apprentices with Lord Aule when she isn't even 50 yet. And there is definite tamping of the more strident parts of the Feanorian personality which comes from her mother's people. I wouldn't expect her to have the same force as Maitimo or even Ambarussa. She is very much her own person, but she can be every bit as stubborn as her Uncles and brother. That part of the Finwean heritage breeds true.

- Erulisse (one L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

That may all be true, but every story (even a short one) needs a strong character voice. (And this is not just me talking; I read profic author blogs, and publishers. It's what people want to see).

By a strong voice I mean whatever the personality of the character, it needs to jump from the screen or page, and make people interested in knowing more about them. Often that can be achieved by emotional or physical conflict, which is also something every good story needs. Now here, there's no strong voice and no conflict.

Námo seems surprised that H is not afraid of him, but there's nothing to be afraid of. He acts like a kindly uncle. There's no reason for the Elves to fear him at all, since his province is the souls of the dead and he is Doomsman of the Valar, he does not have a death touch, or death-glare.

The only person who's died in Valinor is Miriel at this stage, and if Elves are dying in Middle-earth the Elves of Valinor don't know. I doubt death is something they think of very often or at all. Námo is not concerned with their bodies, because that's not part of his 'job description', so why would they worry if he walked past them?
So H's being special due to the fact that she doesn't fear him makes no sense. Also he exudes no aura of being ominous in this. If he were the Námo of the Silmarillion, or a Hades figure, then her lack of fear would make an interesting story, but as it is, Námo is not in the least scarifying. Thus there's no conflict, and no strong character voice. They all sound placid and 'nice.' I can't differentiate your OFC from you, when you write your daily blogs. Strong character voice and a sense of conflict are vital in good stories.
You have said many times you want to improve as a writer, and mentioned that you want to write o-fic. But fanfic or o-fic, I think it's vital you really spend time building your character 'voices', so that they are unique and interesting, and the reader wants to follow their stories. If you really want to write o-fic find a writers blog where they discuss it (and many other aspects of writing).

Also, telling: there's a lot of telling in this. There's a place for telling, but it gets boring very quickly.
I am not going to argue with the quoted author below because I agree with him, and because of who he is.

“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” – Anton Chekhov.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Interesting viewpoint here, Spiced. It's odd, but in the majority of instances and stories, a fear of Namo, not necessarily as tied up with the dead as much as his foresight and his other job as Doomsman seems to cause unease. You get warm and friendly relationships between the Vala and the First Born with almost all of them except Namo and Nienna. There is a lack there.

I see your point about strong character voice, and I'll be putting some serious work into H during NaNoWriMo and will work on that then. She just wanted to play a bit during B2ME and I decided to let her.

Thanks for your input, I found it quite valuable. I like this story as it is - a little fluff is good in everyone's life now and again. But the points you raise are well worth my thought and I shall do so.

- Erulisse (one L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

There is a lack there.

Possibly because Námo shows himself to be a pitiless character who does not understand what it is to be human. That kind of personality does tend to show, and I am sure the Elves felt it.

- a little fluff is good in everyone's life now and again.

Only if it is balanced. In a good story you will get times of gentleness and softness and at the other extreme, horror, grief and death. I'm not sure I have enjoyed any story, published or fanfic that does not include a wide range of events from the sublime to the terrible.

If you find my input 'quite' valuable, I suggest you investigate the world of profic more deeply. You'll probably consider their input 'extremely' valuable, because they're 'real' writers and some are publishers also, but they'll give the same advice.

When you work on your OFC, don't fall into the trap all new writers do, which is to self-insert. Every character we write has something of us in them, because it is hard to write about people who we cannot empathize with in some way. If characters are utterly alien, there's no way for us to connect. But they could not be exactly the same as us. Very few authors can get away with a total self-insert, as it is too obvious, and seen as very lazy writing.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Good line by Chekhov, I'll add it to my storyboard. I've never been fond of him as an author, but the quote is excellent.

The distinction between show and tell is a hard one to grasp sometimes, and it just takes practice. H is one of those characters that may very well end up with a life, death, several chapters between, but never make it to long stage. It's hard to say how far she'll go. She's a good character and a strong one in her own right, but she just doesn't really strike me as novel material.

Whoops - gotta get into the shower and get moving or I'll end up late for work.

- Erulisse (one L)

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

Showing rather than telling.

Have a look here: (http://www.susancanthony.com/resources/writing/show.html)

I'll quote.

The best writers show rather than tell. The reader must make inferences, or "read between the lines."

For example, a "telling" sentence might be, "The room was empty." A "showing" paragraph about an empty room might be:

The next show didn't start for another hour. As I repositioned the spotlight in the upper balcony, the squeaks of the rusty screws seemed to echo throughout the desolate building. I walked down aluminum stairs that resounded throughout the auditorium with the sound of rain beating on a tin roof. I opened the curtains to the large, lonely stage, dark and forbidding.

~~~

All the boats, swaying level with the quays on the high tide, were moored at one side, leaving a clear rectangle of water marked out with strings of bobbing white floats. As they came down the road they heard the faint thud of a starting-pistol, and six brown bodies flung themselves into the water and began thrashing in a white flurry of spray across the marked course. The crowd began to cheer.



Susan Cooper in Over Sea, Under Stone

What is happening? (swimming race) - It's obvious it's a swimming race, but the author never 'tells' us that it is.

Instruction manuals 'tell' things, and no-one reads those for pleasure, neither will they win awards for wonderful writing.

~~~

she just doesn't really strike me as novel material.

Any character can be novel material, as long as the author works hard to make them novel material.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

Instruction manuals 'tell' things, and no-one reads those for pleasure, neither will they win awards for wonderful writing.

Maybe that's where my tell comes from. Most of my professional writing life was spent doing exactly that - writing technical manuals or editing technical manuals for instructions on a variety of equipment and machinery. Telling was important, indeed imperative. I suspect I will have a difficult time for a long time divorcing myself from more than 20 years of legal documents and instructional manuals.

I'll keep working on it because I want to. When it becomes something other than fun, I'll move to something that gives me more enjoyment because as I get older I want to look back on my life as having been a great ride. But I enjoy writing and, because I am a competitive person, want to improve and continue writing things that make people think and laugh and cry.

As for a novel - we'll see. Right now it is more of a commitment than I am willing to make. Right now I'm just looking at the end of March as my current goal :-)

Your examples are helpful, above.

- Erulisse (one L)

[pandemonium-213.livejournal.com]

Maybe that's where my tell comes from.

"Maybe?" I'd say that's definitely the area from which your tell derives.

Most of my professional writing life was spent doing exactly that - writing technical manuals or editing technical manuals for instructions on a variety of equipment and machinery. Telling was important, indeed imperative.

In my case, the "telling" comprised 20 plus years of writing peer-reviewed scientific publications, my contributions to patents, and now documents that must follow a highly formulaic structure and language for regulatory purposes. These are about as far from tripping the light fantastic in Lothlórien as one can get. What I write for fan fiction and what I write to make a living are entirely different beasts (or I'd like to think so).

I suspect I will have a difficult time for a long time divorcing myself from more than 20 years of legal documents and instructional manuals.

It's not easy, true, but it's certainly possible if one listens and learns...and opens up those veins and bleeds (remember that adage)? It requires a significant switch in the approach to writing, a way of entering a world or a fictional character's head. The folks who write engaging fan fiction are not all English majors, after all.

So, for me, a large part of the fun of fan fiction has been (and continues to be) learning to write in a different style than the technical stuff, rather than falling back on the latter. I'm not wholly successful at the avoidance of "telling," but hope to keep working toward a good balance between show and tell. And I don't think I am being presumptuous is saying that is exactly the critique that Spiced offers you.

[engarian.livejournal.com]

I just keep telling myself that you, Spiced, Surgical, Oshun and others wouldn't waste their time away from their own writing if I just wrote pure drek, so the possibility exists that somewhere, after lots of practice, I might be able to write something worthwhile. For me it's worth the effort, just as my artwork is worth the effort. I won't be the next Dali or Picasso, I won't be the next Margaret Mitchell, but maybe I can be me. The difficulty is in breaking the protective mirrors, surface coatings, and shields.

- Erulisse (one L)

[nelyo-russandol.livejournal.com]

...so the possibility exists that somewhere, after lots of practice, I might be able to write something worthwhile.

Yes, 1L, you are right. The possibility is somewhere. The probability, however, depends on how much effort you're prepared to invest. Same applies to all of us. No pain, no gain.

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

I have to say this is true. It's not enough to like writing, although of course people wouldn't write if they didn't, but I remain surprised by the amount of authors I admire who find some parts of it grueling. Oh, some of it will come fairly easily, but virtually every positive and in-depth review I've had are for chapters that made me literally sweat, and seriously consider taking up cake decorating, because I sure as hell am never going to be able to write. Either I had to push the words out as if through a rusty mangle, or they were emotionally draining, or both.

I think this is the quotation Pandë mentioned.

The lesson I most mercilessly bludgeon the classes with (besides clarity, clarity, clarity) is to write from the heart and project themselves into the characters whose lives they want to chronicle. To open up their goddamned veins and bleed into the keyboard and MAKE. ME. FEEL.

Mark Waid.

It's hard to make me feel. I'm not exactly a cynic, but I have read far too many good books (and far too many poor ones) to be easily moved either to tears or admiration. (I've also gone through too much to be easily moved, to be frank).
I will encourage authors by finding something I like, if they're at all good, but I recc very few people, and I read far more critically than any-one would imagine.

Never forget that stories are about people; how they shape events, influence them, live through them. Stories are not about *things*. In the earliest times when people sought to understand the world, birth, death, they told tales of gods and goddesses, as you know. They wanted to give the forces of nature, the sun, the stars, the world itself human attributes because that is what people connect with.

Perhaps because of your work, you write about things in great detail. I don't want to know every detail of glass-making. If I did, I would read a book about it. There is no emotion in it. It is not speaking to me. If you feel you must write of your characters making things, then infuse the person with the 'doing.'

Have you read Pandemonium's 'The Glitter of Swords' (http://www.lotrgfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=1941&warning=3)? specifically the chapter where her character Mélamiré, Sauron's daughter, and a Fëanorion reforges Narsil into Andúril. It is written from Aragorn's viewpoint.

She reheated the blade in the furnace, drawing out the hot metal and folding it again and again, refining the sword's form and smoothing its surface. Red-gold light illuminated her face alternately set in concentration or grimacing with her exertions to reveal her teeth in an almost feral snarl. Her aspect was that of a vanished world: a goddess of fire.

And again.

For a moment, he hesitated. Who is this woman? What is she? But then he responded, “Yes, I trust you.”

She laid her hands on top of his. “Then take the tang. Now.”

He grasped the end of the sword with both hands. The metal was hot to the touch, but not unbearable. A tingling heat coursed through his arms and ran up his neck. His vision blurred, and he no longer saw the furnace, but only her presence: a wheel of golden fire at the gates of his mind.

The wheel of fire sang to him. Aragorn. Son of Lúthien. Son of Melyanna. Open yourself to me.

...She spread into his thoughts like a fire that consumes dry grass. He perceived her strange language at once: long strings of ornate words as sharp as the rattle of spears, as clarion as the ringing of many bells, and as lofty as the winds off the mountains.

The foreign words became comprehensible and made their intent known. She beckoned him to come with her, calling upon his courage. He gave himself over to her, and she pulled him into wheel of fire that spun through the liquid metal of the sword’s blade.

Now there is a making that has magic, human emotion, mystery and grandeur. Yes, it's nothing like making glass, but it could have been written boringly. Pandë wove together two characters and a process of 'making', so that it's completely enthralling.

The only interest 'objects' have, even ones as iconic as the Silmarils and the One Ring, are in how they affected people. People, not 'things'.

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

Oh, my. I hadn't thought of that passage in a long time. Magical on every level. That's why I write fantasy and not mystery novels based in Brooklyn or Mexico City. The epic truths for me about people and relationships and the creative process are often easier to tell through the fantastical and magical. I don't tell the reader that the wondrous things in life are magic; that would be the stuff of a Hallmark greeting card. I approach those things through the back door and try to show the wonder in another way. Not saying other genres of storytelling are not legitimate, just saying why I personally like to read and write fantasy.

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

It's an amazing story, and an incredible chapter. I could feel and see everything that was going on. It's one of those pieces of writing that gives me a frisson.

The epic truths for me about people and relationships and the creative process are often easier to tell through the fantastical and magical

I think they have much greater impact when told in fantasy, perhaps because in fantasy, we can writer larger than life characters (which Tolkiens Silm characters especially certainly are) and focus a lens on what they do without it seeming unrealistic.

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

Telling was important, indeed imperative

In stories it's not. The reader (if they are intelligent) want to use their imagination. It involves them more deeply in the story. Their mind works to give them an image of what it being shown. There is then a greater sense of being in that created world, of coming to know the characters and the events, and of traveling on a journey with them.
Telling certainly has its place. if your character(s) are on a journey where nothing untoward happens, there is no need to show all of that. This is where telling comes in.
They crossed the mountains with winter on their heels like a white wolf, and arrived in Imladris as the first flakes fell. Journey in winter, done. But for characters, for emotions, showing is incredibly important, as it gives a depth that telling cannot.

I am a competitive person, want to improve and continue writing things that make people think and laugh and cry.

Writing isn't a competition, but it should be about reaching the limits of what you can do, and then knowing that there is much more beyond it. If a writer wants to evoke emotions in the readers, especially tears, (if a story makes me cry, I applaud the author) they must create characters of depth, and put them in situations that they themselves would not want to be in, but have perhaps experienced, such as terror or grief.
That takes courage, because to do it well, a writer rips away the barriers they live behind, the face they show the world, and draws on the trauma we all try to bury. To make people laugh requires a talent, but people like laughing. People flinch from hurt. But to write hurt, grief, fear, pain and to write it well, an author has to go into that part of themselves where those emotions live, let them free, and write them. It's not easy, and shouldn't feel easy, but most of us have known those feelings, and so they speak to us.

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

You put it beautifully. When I first started writing fiction I thought the bleeding was finding the typos without a trained editor jumping right on the piece! Ha!

My first effort sits on ff net unread, as a reminder to me of how little I knew and how much I have learned--it has no typos, no grammar errors, no vocabulary horrors, but it is not good fiction! I'm never gonna delete, because it sits there as a cautionary tale to what fiction looks before one has suffered to create it and/or learned the tool of the trade.

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

it sits there as a cautionary tale to what fiction looks before one has suffered to create it and/or learned the tool of the trade.

I doubt it is as bad as you think!

I've learned more by writing fanfic and reading good writers, and what they say about the process of writing, than for years before that.
And one day I will put it into practice!

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

This has a lot of truths in it. I had a head start when I first began writing fanfiction because I had written and passionate non-fiction for years. I saved one couple of the first novel I started. Carefully hidden on ff net. No one would ever read it there. When I get discouraged at my work, I go and read it and remind myself of how much I have learned in about six years of relentless grunt work.

I already knew that, of course. But most people who read a lot and believe they might have talent hope to be the exception--the one-day wonder. It does not happen. No one expects to be a concert pianist without work. Fanfic or not.

[spiced-wine.livejournal.com]

I had written and passionate non-fiction for years.

Me too. I still have some (in longhand) it's 98% awful, and the 2% that isn't is description :\ I am trying to nudge up the 2%!

It does not happen. No one expects to be a concert pianist without work. Fanfic or not.

It doesn't happen, and never in writing. I have seen two or three young authors who have definitely got the talent. You can see what they'll be if they keep writing. But I am drawn to older and more experienced writers because theirs is the work I am looking to read.