#r.s. gwynn

[pendraegon]

[ID of the poem "Audenesque for the Sixth Decade" by R.S. Gwynn for Leon Stokesbury:

More effort spent to function / Or even to get by — / Extreme is the unction / To which the moments fly.

Do sundials seem depressing / When the light grows less? / Do you lean towards confessing? / What will you confess?

Superannuated children, / See us jump and run / Into Time’s teeming cauldron / To simmer until we’re done.

Beauty remains attractive / And makes the forehead burn / But is not interactive — / Watch it pass, and yearn;

And for mere satisfaction, / Neither way nor will / Quite claims the name of action. / Swallow the bitter pill.

Exeunt, bright Dreams of Glory. / Enter, Youthful Taunt / To drive the sad old story / Stumbling to denouement.

Sic transit gloria mundi. / Say it everyday. / Say it twice on Sunday / While Sunday slips away.

Time to live by the letter / If you want to live, / Which, all things said, is better / Than the alternative.

END ID.]

[rhetoricandlogic]

REVIEW: The Last Blade Priest by W.P Wiles

July 25, 2022 By Fiona Denton

One of the latest publications from independent SFF house Angry Robot is The Last Blade Priest by Betty Trask Award winning author W.P. Wiles. The Last Blade Priest is Wiles’ fantasy debut. It is a brilliant epic multiple point of view novel with an original and inventive story that uses some of my favourite fantasy features exceptionally well. I think that The Last Blade Priest would be an excellent choice for fans of John Gwynne, R.S. Ford, or Daniel T. Jackson.

Unlike a lot of multiple point of view novels, Wiles only has three perspectives in The Last Blade Priest. However, the first third of the novel follows two of the trio. Firstly, there is Inar, a Master Builder with the extraordinary skill of ‘feeling’ stone. He is drafted to work for the League, a group who invaded and conquered his homeland. Then follows Anton, a pacifist mountain dwelling Blade Priest who is reluctantly part of a bloody religious order. This order has performed human sacrifice for generations to honour massive corvus demi-gods, so in the unlikely event that chapter one of The Last Blade Priest did not grab your attention, then chapter two most certainly will.

I was very impressed with the novel’s opening, but with the first hundred or so pages only switching between the narratives of Inar and Anton I did struggle with the pacing at the start. I love jumping straight into a story that grabs and runs away with you as a reader. However, a slower pace was actually essential here. Wiles’ world building is outstanding, but with the absence of any tools to assist a reader (such as the oft used map, glossary, or dramatis personae) all of this complex world must be conveyed through the narrative. There is a huge realm being introduced in The Last Blade Priest, with an intricate religious hierarchy, numerous factions, and an expansive geography. It is a testament to Wiles’ skill that this opening part of the novel is a successful slow burn that maintains the reader’s interest and does not overwhelm or confuse them.

Once the narrative perspective starts to follow Duna, a young woman whose magical skills hold terrifying possibilities, the pace of The Last Blade Priest significantly increases. When it does, the slow immersion in such a thoroughly established world is proven well worth the wait. Any plot predictions I had made were wrong, so Wiles’ writing ended up being superbly surprising at every twist and turn. I also really loved that the two main characters felt like relatively ‘normal’ people without world altering qualities or messiah-like roles to play. It gave the story a relatable humanity which can sometimes be missed in epic fantasy. Additionally the fact that The Last Blade Priest only follows a few points of view meant that tertiary characters were also well developed and all felt essential to the story. I am hoping that this may mean that some of these minor characters have a bigger role to play in later novels.

The Last Blade Priest is billed as ‘Book One of The Holy Mountain’ and Wiles has created a brilliant foundation for what I can only hope is the first in a series of novels. This has turned out to be one of my favourite new releases of this year, and I am incredibly excited to read what happens next. I am very grateful to both Angry Robot and W.P. Wiles for sending me an advanced reader copy to provide are view for Grimdark Magazine.

[septembersung]

[hjertetssunnegalskap1]

1. Introduction Neil Gaiman’s Masterclass in The Art of Storytelling

I figured I could “live blog” a little as I take this writing class. In the Intro, Gaiman talks about why he loves to teach and how he wants to encourage you to tell stories that matter. He mentions that humans are fundamentally storytelling creatures. Good point.

By the way, I love the music and the art in his videos, and in the PDF’s, too, it’s beautiful and feels so right for this author. 

In the PDF download for the intro, there’s a list of recommended reading (not required, but can benefit me, as it says).

The Sandman Vol. 1: Preludes and Nocturnes (1988) 

The Sandman: Dream Country (1991) 

Neverwhere (1996) 

Stardust (1999) 

American Gods (2001) 

Coraline (2002) 

The Graveyard Book (2008) 

The Ocean at the End of the Lane (2013) 

Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances (2015) 

Norse Mythology (2017)

Well, that’s the first time ever that I’ve read all the books on the recommended reading list before the class has started for real, lol. Yay to that! :) 

There’s also a tip about additional reading, that I haven’t been able to get yet:

Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting by Robert McKee (1997) 

The Art of the Short Story: 52 Great Authors, Their Best Short Fiction, and Their Insights on Writing by Dana Gioia and R.S. Gwynn (ed.) (2005) 

The Making of a Story: A Norton Guide to Creative Writing (2007) by Alice LaPlante

I gotta see if I can find those books, I’m sure they can be helpful. 

Anyway. The intro of this class has me fully immersed, no doubt about it. I get this feeling that Neil Gaiman will hold my hand and lead me through it all. Very nice. 

So. Here we go! 

[colubrina]

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

Slow for the sake of flowers as they turn      Toward sunlight, graceful as a line of sail            Coming into the wind.

~  R.S. Gwynn

[newyorknewyorkbrooklynqueens]

Misleading-how would you take it?

The internet also holds a wealth of information in the form of individual websites devoted to authors.

-R.S. Gwynn-POETRY: A Pocket Anthology 7th Ed.

P. 50

[lizshine74]

The Art of the Short Story

The Art of the Short Story , edited by Dana Goia and R.S. Gwynn contains one or more stories by fifty-two different authors. Each author’s section is followed by a section called author’s perspective that includes some reflections by the writer on the craft of writing. The back of the book has an extensive glossary, discussion on the elements of fiction and approaches to criticism. This is a book that will scare your reluctant reader because of it’s—even in paperback—massive size. I had started reading this book some time before I chose to finish it for graduate work, so yes, I did read the entire thing. The collection was refreshingly diverse in style and author background. In trying to decide what to write about, knowing that I should only choose a couple of stories to focus on, I first went through and circled all the stories listed in the index that moved me. You know, the kind of story that leaves you awed and inspired, a little tug behind your navel suggesting, this is it, this is it, this is what it’s all about. There were twelve. I’m going to write about two here, because I think that there are some similarities between them that make them a good pair. “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin and “The Swimmer” by John Cheever both use irony and symbolism to invite the reader into the experience of the story and characterize their protagonists. Cheever’s Neddy outwardly seems uninhibited and happy from the very first scene where he “slid down the banister that morning and [gave] the bronze backside of Aphrodite on the hall table a smack.” And from there we see him inspired with this idea of swimming across the county from backyard pool to backyard pool, and he is delighted with himself for thinking of it. Thus he swims from the Grahams to the Hammers to the Lears, and on and on, a seeming never ending journey from house to house. At first, he slides in easy and is welcomed, seems so at ease wherever he goes, even taking off his trunks and swimming nude in the Hallorans pool, because that’s how they did it. As Neddy swims closer to his house, there are increasing indications that under this surface delight, there is a powerful disorder, and we are not shocked, but not entirely expecting either when at the end of the story we find him standing in front of an empty house to stare at his own delusions. Chopin use this technique as well when she sets us up in the first line for a protagonist about to be crushed by the news of her husbands death, “Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the new of her husband’s death.” The story is nearly over before we get her true reaction of “Free! Body and soul free!” The story ends with yet another irony, the surprise of finding out that the fact that her husband is alive, not dead like the first line suggested, is the thing that puts her life in danger and in fact, kills her. Chopin and Cheever use symbolism throughout to lead us to their ironic endings. Chopin uses the imagery of the sky our of the open window, the window itself, and the flight of the bird, to represent the opening up of Mrs. Mallard’s inner life and her desire for freedom. Cheever uses river symbolism in an interesting way here in that his main character makes his own river, even naming it, in his swim through the county. We know that the river symbolizes life and choice and direction, and are immediately cued into the fact that this protagonist is embarking on a quest. So, we have to ask ourselves, where will it lead? The houses he visits, all families, all named—and there are so many—symbolize the possibilities for family life. When in the end, we find that for him there is no longer any possibility, we are sorry for him, we’ve seen so many varied possibilities. As he gets closer to home, the families he visits seem to know his story, give hints to the reality that his wife left and something is wrong with his daughters, and as this begins to happen, the weather, that has so far been as pleasant as he has been delighted, begins to sour, symbolizing what he must face in the end. So, how can I take this thing that I noticed in these two stories and apply it to my own work? In cultivating an appreciation for surprise, for playing on reader expectation, on using imagery to compliment larger themes in the story. I’m left with these questions to ask myself about my own writing: Do the images in the scene all contribute to something larger? Are there places where going against expectation would be more effective?

Buy my books here.

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals? Find free resources and information here. Some past posts to keep you making time:  Adjust your pace accordingly. It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine There are things you will have to give up See it to achieve it Washing the dishes Write slowly A celebration of the pause Monday, a run through the driving rain Zen accident Get out of your comfort zone

The Art of the Short Story was originally published on Make Time.

[berezina]

"Fried Beauty"

Glory be to God for breaded things—   Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,         Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim With french fries, fritters, life-float onion rings,    Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,            That in all oils, corn or canola, swim

Toward mastication's maw (O molared mouth!);    Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry             On paper towels' sleek translucent scrim, These greasy, battered bounties of the South:                            Eat them.

~R.S. Gwynn [buy]

[freewhispersmaker]

College essay writing service Question description 4-5 PAGE PAPER – NO PLAGIARIZING Pick one of the following poems (sonnet): R.S. Gwynn – Skaspearean Sonnet A.E Stallings – Sine Qua Non Mark Jarman – Unholy Sonnet: After the Praying Kim Addonizio – First Poem for You William Meredith – The Illiterate Robert Frost – Acquainted with the Night Edna St. Vincent Millay – What lips my lips have kissed, and where and why Michael Drayton – Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part

Now choose any short poem from our reading list and write an explication of its meaning. Analyze it line by line to demonstrate how the author has created its total effect for the reader. Don’t simply paraphrase the meaning—though you will need to do some paraphrasing—but examine and comment on the particular details of imagery, tone, sound, diction, and themes that help shape its meaning. Remember to:

• Start with the poem’s first line and analyze it to the end. • Read it closely with attention to the poem’s details. • Show how each part of the poem contributes to the meaning of the whole This paper should be 4-5 pages. Welcome to MyCourseworkHelp.com. Hire one of our writers to write a paper for you based on the above instructions. Click on ORDER NOW, give us your deadline and get your custom essay. It only takes minutes.

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[pendraegon]

[debupahit]

Snow White and the Seven Deadly Sins by R.S. Gwynn reprinted with the author's gracious permission from No Word of Farewell: Selected Poems 1970-2000

Good Catholic girl, she didn't mind the cleaning. All of her household chores, at first, were small And hardly labors one could find demeaning. One's duty was one's refuge, after all.

And if she had her doubts at certain moments And once confessed them to the Father, she Was instantly referred to texts in Romans And Peter's First Epistle, chapter III.

Years passed. More sinful every day, the Seven Breakfasted, grabbed their pitchforks, donned their horns And sped to contravene the hopes of heaven, Sowing the neighbors' lawns with tares and thorns.

She set to work. Pride's hundred looking-glasses Ogled her dimly, smeared with prints of lips; Lust's magazines lay strewn--bare tits and asses And flyers for "devices"--chains, cuffs, whips.

Gluttony's empties covered half the table, Mingling with Avarice's cards and chips, And she'd been told to sew a Bill Blass label In the green blazer Envy'd bought at Gyp's.

She knelt to the cold master bathroom floor as If a petitioner before the Pope, Retrieving several pairs of Sloth's soiled drawers, A sweat-sock and a cake of hairy soap.

Then, as she wiped the Windex from the mirror, She noticed, and the vision made her cry, How much she'd grayed and paled, and how much clearer Festered the bruise of Wrath beneath her eye.

"No poisoned apple needed for this Princess," She murmured, making X's with her thumb. A car door slammed, bringing her to her senses: Ho-hum. Ho-hum. It's home from work we come.

And she was out the window in a second, In time to see a Handsome Prince, of course, Who, spying her distressed condition, beckoned For her to mount (What else?) his snow-white horse.

Impeccably he spoke. His smile was glowing.  So debonair! So charming! And so Male. She took one step, reversed, and without slowing Beat it to St. Anne's where she took the veil.

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

My Agent Says by R.S. Gwynn

My agent says Los Angeles will call. My broker says to sell without delay. My doctor says the spot is very small. My lover says get tested right away.

My congressman says yes, he truly cares. My bottle says he'll see me after five. My mirror says to pluck a few stray hairs. My mother says that she is still alive.

My leader says we may have seen the worst. My mistress says her eyes are like the sun. My bride says that it's true I'm not the first. My landlord says he'd think about a gun.

My boss says that I'd better take a chair. My enemy says turn the other cheek. My rival says that all in love is fair. My brother says he's coming for a week.

My teacher says my work is very neat. My ex-wife says I haven't heard the last. My usher says the big guy's in my seat. My captain says to bind him to the mast.

My master says I must be taught my place. My conscience says my schemes will never fly. My father says he doesn't like my face. My lawyer says I shouldn't testify.

My buddy says this time I've got it bad. My first love says she can't recall my name. My baby says my singing makes her sad. My dog says that she loves me all the same.

My pastor says to walk the narrow path. My coach says someone else will get the ball. My God says I shall bend beneath His wrath. My agent says Los Angeles may call. 

[whiskeyslick]

Shakespearean Sonnet (With a first line taken from the tv listings) A man is haunted by his father's ghost. A boy and girl love while their families fight. A Scottish king is murdered by his host. Two couples get lost on a summer night. A hunchback murders all who block his way. A ruler's rivals plot against his life. A fat man and a prince make rebels pay. A noble Moor has doubts about his wife. An English king decides to conquer France. A duke learns that his best friend is a she. A forest sets the scene for this romance. An old man and his daughters disagree. A roman leader makes a big mistake. A sexy queen is bitten by a snake. By R.S. Gwynn

[slore-queen]

Good Catholic girl, she didn't mind the cleaning. All of her household chores, at first, were small And hardly labors one could find demeaning. One's duty was one's refuge, after all. And if she had her doubts at certain moments And once confessed them to the Father, she Was instantly referred to text in Romans And Peter's First Epistle, chapter III. Years passed. More sinful everyday, the Seven Breakfasted, grabbed their pitchforks, donned their horns, And sped to contravene the hopes of heaven, Sowing the neighbors' lawns with tares and thorns. She set to work. Pride's wall of looking glasses Ogled dimly, smeared with prints of lips; Lust's magazines lay strewn, bare tits and asses Weighted by his "devices"--chains, cuffs, whips. Gluttony's empties covered half the table, Mingling with Avarice's cards and chips, And she'd been told to sew a Bill Blass label Inside the blazer Envy'd bought at Gyp's. She knelt to the cold master bathroom floor as If a petitioner before the Pope, Retrieving several pairs of Sloth's soiled drawers, A sweat-sock and a cake of hairy soap. Then, as she wiped the Windex from the mirror She noticed, and the vision made her cry, How much she'd greyed and paled, and how much cleaner Festered the bruise of Wrath beneath her eye. "No poisoned apple needed for this Princess," She murmured, making X's with her thumb. A car door slammed, bringing her to her senses; Ho-hum. Ho-hum. It's home from work we come. And she was out the window in a second In time to see a Handsome Prince, of course, Who, spying her distressed condition, beckoned For her to mount (What else?) his snow-white horse. Impeccably he spoke. His smile was glowing. So debonair! So charming! And so Male. She took a step, reversed and without slowing Beat it to St. Anne's where she took the veil.

Snow White & the Seven Deadly Sins -R.S. Gwynn

[poem-locker]

R.S. Gwynn, "Shakespearean Sonnet"

A man is haunted by his father’s ghost. A boy and girl love while their families fight. A Scottish king is murdered by his host. Two couples get lost on a summer night. A hunchback murders all who block his way. A ruler’s rivals plot against his life. A fat man and a prince make rebels pay. A noble Moor has doubts about his wife. An English king decides to conquer France. A duke learns that his best friend is a she. A forest sets the scene for this romance. An old man and his daughters disagree. A Roman leader makes a big mistake. A sexy queen is bitten by a snake.