As My Whimsy Takes Me

Sky and Georgie and Finvarra have been hosting a giveaway on their blogs for the past week or so and have posted several writing-related questions on their blogs. I don't intend to enter the giveaway because I'm not much of a contest person (thus improving others' chances of winning). But the questions looked like they would be fun to answer anyway and, as I am not in a position to tell you any updates on Plenilune but would still like to keep you all informed as to my movements, I thought I would yoink the questions and answer them for the mere whimsy of the thing.

Which author do you aspire to be like?

Well, myself. Naturally, I suppose I will be like other authors - Sutcliff among the foremost of these. If a writer is worth his ink he will not be too proud to take lessons from others. There is a kind of constant conversation going on between authors across all ages, an unspoken conversation, which covers reams of pages and numerous languages. I am a part of that conversation, but though I am perfectly willing to listen to the voices of others wiser than myself, I hope my voice will always be my own.

If you could meet any author from any time period, who would it be?

Oddly enough, it would probably be Jane Austen. I say 'oddly enough' because she is not my favourite author, but I somehow think she and I would get along more companionably than other authors I read. I feel as though we could talk about more than merely writing (which gets dull after awhile), and perhaps converse on more humane things, like clothing and the smell of books and the state of the social mind. I have a vague idea which might, if allowed to be a reality, be detrimental to me, and that is to get all the Inklings together (honorary et al) and be allowed to listen to their discussions. I fear for myself, however, because I rather think Chesterton would accidentally kill me with one of his violently excited gestures in the middle of a particularly heated speech.

Who is your favourite literary character, and why?

To answer self-centredly, I might have to say Rhodri. I have never written a character I liked so well as he, and though he is my own character I think plenty of people understand well enough the independent existence of characters to allow me to be that fond of a character I made. Less self-centredly, and in, perhaps, the true spirit of this question, the answer to date would probably be Tiberius Lucius Justinianus - Justin for short - and Marcellus Flavius Aquila, because the two are one and the same in everything. Yes, I dare say the hero-cousins of The Silver Branch are probably still, after all the books I have read, my dearest and most familiar literary characters.

There was a golden aura about Eikin where he sat in the last patch of light, but Rhodri had not moved in all the time they had been sitting, and there was a faint greenish hue in the shadow where he sat, his wings limp about himself. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his head back, and he seemed to be asleep. It was strange, Adamant reflected, gazing at him, how ill at ease he could appear,
even when he was unconscious.


As for why, that is a difficult - almost an impossible question to answer with any adequacy. For Rhodri, I fear I would give too much of his story away. And besides, Rhodri is not an easy man to know. He does not make himself an easy man to know. There is a moody grey mystery and dependability about him, but that is hardly a satisfactory summation of him. As for Justin and Flavius, they too describe themselves best by their own actions, their dual quietude, loyal nature, fire and determination. To describe them would make me sound sentimental, and them like pieces of poetry. But if anything is worthy of high sentiment or worth being the subject of poetry, I suppose true men must be. Funny odd thing, isn't it, how those men who are closest to the long-lived, elemental patriarchs of our race are those which words fail to describe...?

'So. It is good,' Constantius said. He looked from one to the other. 'I am told that you two are kinsmen; but I think you are also friends, which is a greater thing. Indeed, that was told me by the Primus Pilus here. Therefore I hope you may not be ill satisfied to find yourselves once again posted together.'
The Silver Branch

I am told, by people who were closer to the beginning of the world than I, that Atlas was in the habit of holding the world up on his shoulders. My giddy Athena! I have worlds in my head! I think the Titan, child of those patriarchs though he may have been, has nothing to boast about.

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