Today, by your calendar is July 16, 2013 — But in my calendar, it is the 16th day of the Mid-Year Fest. in the 13th year of the Age of Troubles.

Let me re-introduce myself. My name is Lumadian and I am a dragon. Never talked to a dragon before?

I can understand that, your world isn’t kind to them, changing our majestic form to something quite primitive. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to communicate with you unless you were bonded with me, but the same portal that brought me here, allows me to talk to you.

We have much to discuss, for it is important you know about Elilith, and the people in it. After all, part of my world already exists in yours.

There is time for all of that though. For now, I want you to get excited over something new coming from the one who “discovered” us all. Yes, John, John DeJordy that is, will share that world, and he’s agreed to let me tell the tale.

So, get ready, for updates will be coming, and you will discover an immense world ahead.

Lumadian flies around your body a few times before landing in a branch.

So you have returned. I should let you know that John has been very busy with edits on Transformation, in which, you’d learn all about me!All right, to be fair, you’d learn about the entire group, but I am among them. So what is taking so long? Well, sometimes, when you fi one thing, other fixes need to be completed. And those fixes means you have to fix more things. It is an on-going process.”

Lumadian sniffs the air. “You didn’t bring me a treat?” He frowns and flies into the air. “I will be back soon.”

Lumadian expands his wings and stretches. Just what I needed, a long rest from a mild winter. You might be asking what John has been doing–well–i will let him tell you himself.

 

Greetings everyone, John here. So many things to do still. Recently, the next step of the journey has started. I sent Transformations off to the editor. I am hoping she rips me to shreds. Why? Because it is the best way to improve–and I do want to improve.

I am hoping that by doing this, I can make it the best it can be. Then the real work begins.

I need to send it off to publishers to try to get one to take the chance on me. That will be the test.

 

Lumadian, a miniature red and brown dragon, circles overhead for a while before diving through the dense brush, disappearing only for a moment. After a few moments of awkward silence, you get a sense of pleasure coursing through your body.

“So, it appears that you have returned. Perhaps the good news has reached your ears and you came to discover what projects John is currently working on. First, let me–for those that haven’t heard–state you can get John’s first book, Picayune, at Amazon or Smashwords in multiple formats.

“Currently, John is working on his first novel, Transformations, which is book one of five from the series Transfigurations.

Like I mentioned before, editing a novel is very tedious. In this case, entire chapters are being written over to match an overall feel the book has in later chapters. It was like he had two different versions of himself working on the book.”

Lumadian flies over and lands on your shoulder adjusting, himself until he is comfortable.When one writes, they tend to see things differently than when they read.That is an important reason as to why anyone who writes, needs an outside editor. Even editors need editors!”

In the coming weeks, more updates will be forthcoming at a quicker pace. For now, let’s just walk around the forest together until he has something more to show us.”

 

Today, I start a new post with a new look. I will probably go through many stylish changes, but in the end I want to have a fresher look, and a closer feel for what I like to do.

Writing, it seems, is much harder than one would imagine. Putting words down on paper is easy. Type away and voila! You have something that you wrote. But is that writing? Or better stated, is it interesting writing.

I’ve discovered too that editing is a pass in the ass. No, really, it is a hassle, because no matter how many times I revise, re-revise and re-re-revise, I either miss something that took another person 10 seconds to spot, or I changed the concept so drastically that later on in the story – the part that I didn’t change – makes no sense.

That is why everyone needs someone to read their stuff.

But, enough on that, I need to work on polishing this place up a bit.

More to come soon.

 

Well Day 2 arrives and with some minor tweaking, we’ve come up with the following:

 

From Salem 1692, transported to a fantastical realm, 5 teens must find the key to saving the world from disaster, before it finds them first

 

Just a minor tweak to make sure there is no confusion. Hopefully this will be the one I submit – but time will tell.

Today, my “alter ego” was tasked with coming up with 140 characters to describe his book.

That is a challenge! Image summarizing some of your world’s greatest novels in that span. Would would people say about War and Peace or 1984?

But a challenge is a task that should not go unchallenged. Thus, without further delay here is the entry:

Salem 1692: Transported to a strange realm, 5 teens must find the key to saving the world from disaster, before it finds them first

 

And why post anything at all? When it is for a contest: Is it hot in Here — If anyone finds they cannot post comments, please either twitter me or send me an email at:

jdejordy AT gmail DOT com

Lumadian circles around your head, watching your movement. As there is no communication between you and him for a while, you hear him yawn in your mind, which in turn makes you yawn.

You know,” he thinks, “I am sure some people wonder how stories are created by John. Well, since I know, I figured I’d share. First, the main guts of the story are hashed out. In the first version, the only thing that matters is the blunt story. The the story goes into a revision process, getting refined – sort of like a gem cutter cutting a raw stone into a priceless gemstone – you don’t happen to have a gemstone now do you?”

He tilts his head to one side, as the look of confusion comes across your face. “You want an example? Here is an except from another tale about a Halfling called Haplo Brandletuck:

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Slowly the small Halfling approached his target, making sure his own footsteps on the cobblestone were silent. He could hear the noises of the sleeping town – the occasional drunk, the night watch, an occasional animal fight – but he was quite certain he was not adding to the activities. He had always liked his town in the past, since it seemed that something was going on, no matter what time of the day it happened to be. This time, however, the noises only added to his anxiety.

Looking around to survey everything in his surroundings, he assured himself that he should go through with his plan. The faint light from the street fire lamps barely illuminated his small, rotund form. His hairy hands trembled as he pulled out his custom made metal tools. He stepped into the shadows and strained to see in the dim light just which pieces he needed to start the job. Waiting for the night watch to pass, he knew exactly the time he’d have to complete the job, having planned his mission for many months, watching with zest anyone or anything that was on a routine for that time. Just as the guardsman moved past his goal, he acted swiftly making it to the massive oaken door in a speed that defied his form.

Carefully, he placed the metal parts into the lock, counting in his head the seconds that were ticking away. He wiggled his straight-edged metal part defeating each spring one by one, until he reached the back of the lock. With his bent metal tool, he placed it alongside the other and began to twist, when the sweat from his hands caused him to lose grip on it, sending the metal bit to the cobblestone. To him, it sounded like an explosion; the sound of metal on stone echoing throughout the town. He froze in sheer terror, listening for the footfalls that he was sure would be coming, but silence was all that was returned. Slowly he bent over to pick the piece up still eavesdropping to the sounds. The pounding of his heart beating in his ears made it difficult. His fright caused him to lose track of his count, and he cursed himself silently for it, debating whether he should just stop.

After placing the bit back into the lock he twisted the parts and was rewarded with a satisfying click. He chuckled to himself as he removed a bendable wire that possessed a small bluish glow. Slipping it pass the side of the door, he lifted up, the wire holding the beam that braced the door from inside. “I shall never lose you my friend. You were well worth the effort to get,” he thought to himself. He lifted the wire high above his head, until he felt the wooden blockade slip a little, and he knew that is was enough to try the door. With one hand still held over his head, he slowly opened the door, the creaking of the wood sending another volley of shivers down his spine.

Peering into the room, he saw the dying embers from the fireplace warming a well-furnished sitting room. He could see the many wondrous golden items that were on the mantle alone. In front of the fireplace was a large, hand-woven rug imported from someplace he didn’t know. Many plush chairs were about the room, with small tables next to each chair. On several of the tables were glasses half full of a fine wine, its aroma so strong, he could pick it up from where he was, even at the distance he was from them.
Suddenly, he heard approaching footsteps, causing him to panic. He quickly moved the beam with his hand sliding it back up on the wire. Stepping out the door, he let it down, pulled the wire out and stored it just as the guard came into view. He spun around quickly to face the watch, leaving the metal pieces still lodged within the lock.

“Good eve’, young chap,” Sargent Hillomon stated. “What brings you out so late on this night?”

“I was just thinking,” he stated, “and I wanted to get a breath of fresh air. I didn’t plan of going far.”

“Well, just be careful,” the guard cautioned, “there are many thieves about, and I’d hate to see what they might do to the likes of someone like you.”

“I think I can take care of myself, but I appreciate the concern. Besides,” he continued, “I have the guard to keep me safe.” He had always had a gift to communicate with others, no matter the situation, often gaining information that someone else might never get.

“Aye, that is true but,” he paused as his eyes darted left and right. He leaned in real close to the small figure, like a father addressing his misbehaving son. The young Halfling was certain he’d see the metal in the door, considering how much the guard towered over him. The guard whispered, “I don’t trust all my men either, so be careful.” With his warning stated, he continued down the cobblestone path on his watch.

The would-be thief watched the guard as he slowly walked away, following his usual path. When the guard disappeared around the corner, the young Halfling let out a sigh of relief and he retrieved his tools from the door. He smiled to himself at the ease to which he was able to gain access to the house when he had a surge of adrenalin and made a mental note of the encounter. Walking slowly, he went around the back of the home he had just unlocked and opened the back door, going straight to his bedroom. He went over the scene in his mind, and even when the guard confronted him, he thought it was exhilarating.

Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out a small, red leather book. Etched in gold lettering on the surface was his name, Haplo Brandletuck. It was a gift from his mother to record his memoirs. Up until now, he hadn’t had anything to record. Taking a moment, he quickly jotted down ways he could improve upon his performance, before returning the book to its hiding place. He fell asleep dreaming of other adventures, knowing just how much he enjoyed the previous one.

——————————————————————————————————————————————–

“And here is the revision of the same tale:

——————————————————————————————————————————————–

The small Halfling approached his target stealthily, making sure his footsteps on the perfect cobblestone were silent. The noises of the sleeping town were alive as always – the occasional drunk, the night watch, the screeching echoes of a cat fight in a nearby alley – but he was quite certain he was not adding to the activities. The charm of the town was that something was always happening, no matter what time of the day it happened to be. This time, however, the noises only raised his anxiety.

With his eyes darting left and right to the empty street, he assured himself that he should go through with his plan. He rubbed his small, rotund form out of nervous habit as he stared at the immaculately kept exterior of the house. He knew every vine, every sill, everything that made the house unique. His hairy hands trembled as he pulled out his custom-made metal tools. He stepped further into the shadows and strained to see in the dim street lamp illumination just which pieces he needed to start the job.

Waiting for the night watch to pass, he closed his eyes as he counted to himself, as he had done every night for weeks. The images of everything he had seen started flashing in his mind, almost throwing off his count. Just as the guardsman moved past his goal, he bolted to the house, making it to the massive oaken door in a speed that defied his small form.

Pausing at the door to run his fingers over the familiar lettering that spelled out ‘Brandletuck’, he smiled. Inserting the bladed tool into the lock, he defeated each spring until the tip hit the back of the chamber. While still counting the seconds, he was about to use the hook, when the sweat from his hands caused him to lose grip on it, sending the metal bit to the cobblestone.

To him, it sounded like an explosion; the sound of metal on stone echoing throughout the town. He froze, listening for the footfalls that he was sure would be coming, but silence was all that was returned. With caution, he bent over to pick the piece up still eavesdropping to the sounds. The pounding of his heart beating in his ears made it difficult. His fright caused him to lose track of his count, and he cursed himself silently for it, debating whether he should just stop.

He placed the bit back into the lock, twisted, and was rewarded with a satisfying click. He chuckled to himself as he removed a flexible wire that possessed a small bluish glow. Slipping it pass the side of the door he murmured, “Cha`ta,” as he lifted it up. The enchanted wire became hardened and straight, easily able to support the weight of the beam that braced the door from inside. I shall never lose you my friend. You were well worth the effort to get,” he thought to himself. He lifted the wire high above his head, until he felt the wooden blockade slip a little, and he knew that is was enough to try the door. With one hand still held over his head, he slowly opened the door, the creaking of the wood sending another volley of shivers down his spine.

Inside, the dying embers from the fireplace warmed a well-furnished sitting room. Everything was in its proper place. He could see the many wondrous golden items that were on the mantle alone. In front of the fireplace was a large, hand-woven rug imported from someplace he didn’t know. Even the lavish, plush chairs screamed of wealth. Crystal goblets half filled with wine were on red pine tables next to each chair. The aroma so strong, he could pick up the bouquet from the door.

His ears picked up a familiar sound. At first, the noise didn’t register because of being enraptured with the room. But when his mind finally equated the disquieting noise as approaching footstep, he panicked. He fumbled with the beam in his hand, sliding it back up on the wire. Stepping out the door, he let it down with a thud, pulled the wire out and stored it. Shutting the door awkwardly without any regard to the noise he was making, he cursed just as the guard came into view. He spun around quickly to face the watch, leaving the metal pieces still lodged within the lock.

“Good eve’, young chap,” Sargent Hillomon stated. “What brings you out so late on this night?”

“I was just thinking,” he said with a shaky voice, “and I wanted to get a breath of fresh air. I didn’t plan of going far.”

“Well, just be careful,” the guard cautioned, “there are many thieves about, and I’d hate to see what they might do to the likes of someone like you.”

“Well, like I said, I wasn’t planning on going far.” His looked left and right, hoping no one else was going to approach as he felt his heart pounding in his chest again. “Do you think any are about?” Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he added, “I am sure the guard would keep me safe.”

“Aye, that is true but,” he paused as his eyes darted left and right. He leaned in real close to the small figure, like a father addressing his misbehaving son. The young Halfling was certain he’d see the metal in the door, considering how much the guard towered over him. The guard whispered, “I don’t trust all my men either, so be careful.”  With his warning stated, he continued down the cobblestone path on his watch.

The would-be thief watched the guard as he slowly walked away until he disappeared into the darkness. When the Halfling was certain the guard was gone, he let out a sigh of relief as he retrieved his tools from the door. He smiled to himself at the ease to which he was able to gain access to the house, making mental notes on how he could improve his encounter. Walking slowly, he went around the back of the home he had just unlocked and opened the back door, going straight to his bedroom. He went over the scene in his mind, and even when the guard confronted him, he thought it was exhilarating.

Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out a small, red leather book. Like he had done at the door, he ran his fingers over the gold etched lettering on the surface that spelled out his name: Haplo Brandletuck. Opening the book with care not to rip the gold leaf pages, he read aloud the first message every written in the volume.

“To my wonderful son so you can always record your future adventures, Love Mom.” He flipped through the many blank pages that the diary had. Up until now, he hadn’t had anything to record. Taking a moment, he quickly jotted down ways he could improve upon his performance. Jumping off the bed, he walked over to his bookcase. Putting his diary down on one of the shelves, he looked left and right for some invisible stalker. Pulling out the massive codex, The Quintessential History of the Port City of Bardox with both hands, he opened to the pages that contained a secret compartment, placing his book perfectly within the chamber. He closed the text to its resting place with a grunt, before leaping back into bed. As he pulled the silken bedspread over his form, a large smile emerged on his face. “More adventures to come for sure,” he said with a chuckle. He remained there on his back with his eyes opened wide, but his tiredness caught up with his excitement as he fell asleep.

——————————————————————————————————————————————–

Yes, we will return to the main path of our tale soon, but there are many paths in the forest, and each are interesting in their own way. And over time, we will discover them all.

Weaving expertly through the luscious foliage of the forest, you see a blur of a small figure looking around for a larger branch to settle on. As it slows to settle, you see what appears to be a miniature dragon with some type of motionless animal in its claws. Just as it is about to enjoy its meal for the day, its head snaps up swiftly. Darting its gaze back and forth, you see it transfix its gaze in your direction.

Might as well come out now,” you hear in your mind. The voice is strong, masculine and feral. “My name is Lumadian. When I am not with my companion John and Diane, I protect the forest from would be poachers.” Pausing for a moment the small drake takes a bite of its prey. Your mouth suddenly fills with a gamy, bitter taste. You hear something laughing in your mind as the voice continues, “Sorry about that, I often forget that I relay much more than my thoughts. I am known as a pseudo-dragon, probably by some human that thought the term would be amusing. And since I like to amuse, I won’t dispute it.

“This place just was created, and you are here at its start. I will be your companion, as we explore this realm and many others. As your guide, I expect certain things; to be cared for and pampered with tummy rubs, food, and an occasional gem. In exchange, I will show you around, tell you of upcoming events and let you explore and ask questions.

“If you are hearing these words, though, you are ere even before the birth of what is to come. You must be special to earn a place like that. You see, these are the creations of John DeJordy, an upcoming author.

Closing your eyes, your mind clears as you see yourself flying over the forest to the ocean and beyond. The vision continues, but blurs as your speed continues. You see just images flashing in your mind, a Halfling in brown and green leathers, a sinister tower, a dormouse wearing clothing standing like a human next to another clothed creature, this one being a squirrel. You feel a bit faint until you see the forest again and feel at ease opening your eyes. There before you is Lumadian, his meal long since consumed, the only tell-tale signs of it ever existing is the bulge in the dragon’s stomach.

My purpose here is to be your guide. Obviously you will have questions. Those are good. You might wander around yourself, taking in the sights of my home. Those are also good. You will be safe here. These are my trees, and John will quietly remain silent and let me discuss with you his goals.”

“By the end of the year – the year as you know it – of 2009, he hopes to have finished the final draft of his first novel, Transformations. You can read about it on his home site, by the tale involves five friends – John Dent, Diane Duchant, Jean-Luc Peyret, Charles Avery Thomlinson the third, and,” his voice stops for a moment and you hear a growl coming from his area, “Robert Humne. It involves their incredible journey from a town just north of Boston, Massachusetts in the last decade of the 17th century to a place where magic and creatures of the fantastic exist. To be more precise, to a place where we are now.”

“So sit back and relax. As I said, this place is waiting for its official ‘birth’. I will be your guide through it all.”

Lumadian breaks off contact with your mind and fly over to your shoulder. You feel his weight on your shoulder as he settles in like a content feline after it has had its meal. His nose tickles your ear for a moment as he closes his eyes for a nap, allowing you to explore at your leisure.