The Onion Seller's Key

CHAPTER 1

OF PEBBLES, MOONLIGHT AND GATEWAYS

Giles Barnes lived together with his family in the little village of Lonsglade. The Barnes family loved each other greatly but unfortunately, they were poor. Mr Barnes was a carpenter in the village where they lived and although he worked hard and was an honest man, he never met with great success. Mrs Barnes stayed at home and looked after the children Molly and Giles.

His sister Molly was an obedient little girl, but sadly there was never much work to be gotten out of Giles. Although his mother would set him to work on his chores, he preferred to spend his time lolling under the trees or walking through the long grass of the fields catching field mice and lizards. When he could, he would escape to the little ponds that bordered the village and fish for crabs, frogs and fish.

Above all else, Giles loved listening to his Grandfather’s stories. During the cold, snowy winters the old man would come to stay with the family and after supper would build up the fire until it blazed and then slowly light his ebony pipe. Within the billows of aromatic tobacco smoke, he would regale the family with the most fantastic stories ever told. Many was the night when Giles would drift  off to sleep to the sound of Grandpa Barnes’ raspy voice and awake briefly as his mother and father tucked him into bed with light kisses.

One fine day in early spring, Giles got home to see his father talking with a very somber looking gentleman. The man was dressed in an expensive black suit and he held a long coat over his arm. Not wanting to disturb the men, he slipped into the house through the back door and washed up for supper. When he arrived at the dinner table, he was surprised to see that his mother had been crying and carried a very worried look on her face. Sitting down at his place, the family held hands while his father said grace. They ate and discussed the day together and after the plates had been cleared, their father told the children that Mr Greyvenstein, from the bank, had popped by today with bad news. The family had been struggling to keep up with the repayments on their home for some time now and had fallen into arrears. Unless Mr and Mrs Barnes could bring the payments up to date within the week, the family would need to move.

Molly suggested that they go stay with Grandpa and Giles offered to build a fort in the woods where the family could move. At hearing this, their mother began to cry quietly. Father gently took her hand and gave it a tender kiss. 

That night as the children said their prayers Giles asked God to send one of his Angles to help the family gather the money they needed so that they could stay in the house and that his parents would not be so sad anymore. With that done, he kissed his Mother and Father goodnight and tumbled off to sleep, unconcerned now because God would look after them.

The next day, just after lunch, the strangest man Giles had ever seen knocked at the door. He had large gold hoop earrings in both ears and a colourful banner wrapped around his head, out of which four beautiful feathers hung. His skin bore an olive tinge and his teeth showed themselves to be white and straight when he smiled, which was often. 

‘Greetings, young master’ the gypsy greeted. ‘Is the lady of the house perchance home?’

It took only an instant for his mother to arrive at the door and gently enquire how she might be of assistance.

Lifting a heavy string of onions, the man said, ‘Fresh onions Madam. Fresh and aromatic onions for only ten cents.’

‘Oh my!’ Exclaimed Mrs Barnes, ‘That is cheap and I was meaning to go to the green grocer this afternoon to buy some. You will have saved me both time and money. Please hold on while I get my purse.’

She left Giles gawking up at the Gypsy as she went into the bedroom.

No sooner was she gone when the man turned to the boy. ‘Well you’re a strong young lad. What is your name?’

‘Giles’, the boy replied.

‘Well lad, no doubt you are as likely an adventurer as ever I met isn’t that so?’

Feeling a burst of importance, the boy agreed heartily that he was indeed a terrific adventurer at which the merchant laughed and ruffled his hair.

‘What if I could sell you an adventure Master Giles? An adventure that you will never forget, though you lived a thousand life times, would you buy it from me?’

‘Yes sir, I certainly would.’ Suddenly the boy’s face dropped, ‘Although I don’t have any money… How much would such an adventure cost me?’

With a gentle wink the man said, ‘Why all I ask is that you give me whatever you happen to have on your person right now.’

Immediately the boy put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small white pebble. He had picked up that morning thinking it would be perfect for his sling. Having slipped it into his pouch he had promptly forgotten about it until now.

A look of greedy delight shot across the man’s face, ‘A stone chosen for a sling but never shot! My word, what a treasure! I dare say dear boy, it is a deal and I have made the better bargain for it.’

Without hesitation, he drew a very ordinary looking key from out of his waistcoat.

‘This, Master Giles is a key into the world of the faerie creatures. The doors to the magical realm can be found on every hill in the world. However, they can only be seen in the light of the full moon by those who believe. I tell you truthfully, tonight is full moon and if you were to go outside to the hill on the field there yonder, you will see a sturdy rock door on the north side of it. This key will unlock the gate and grant you entrance. If you have courage enough, you will meet with adventures that will astound and delight you. Have a care though, you will only possess the power to use it until you cease to believe and become a man. After that time, the doors of the kingdom will be barred to you.’

Hardly believing his luck, Giles gave his pebble to the man and in return accepted the key.

It was at that exact moment when his mother rushed back into the room and purchased a number of the delicious looking brown onions.

Their business concluded, the gypsy said farewell and after winking at the boy left with a whistle on his lips.

Giles could not wait for bedtime that evening. After he had said his prayers and the lights had been put out, he quietly put on his gown and slippers, opened the window and slipped out into the night. At first, he was a little bit scared but finding his courage, he clasped his key tightly and headed out towards the small hill on farmer Spencer’s field.

By the time he reached the hill, his slippers and the bottom of his gown were drenched with dew. He had no idea that adventures could be such uncomfortable affairs. Nonetheless, he squeezed the key once again, and moved towards the north of the hill. He arrived there just in time to watch the wind gently blow a cloud, which had been hiding the moon, away. Its soft light trailed downwards and it did not take long before it had illuminated the whole world in its’ gentle glow. As it shone upon the little knoll, the boy let out a gasp. There, just as the onion seller had promised sat a perfect little stone door.

Giles’ heart was beating like a drum and although he always tried to be a brave boy, he felt frightened. Nonetheless, he reminded himself that an Englishman never gives into fear and forged onwards. Before long, he stood before the entrance and placing the key into the keyhole, he deftly turned it and heard the lock click open. For a brief moment, nothing happened and then with a gentle whoosh, the door swung open.       

Leading from the door was a small passage, lit cheerfully with little mounted lamps. It looked so warm and clean that without any further hesitation Giles stepped through the door and walked a pace or two along the glittering path. When he looked back, he saw the open doorway and deciding that he was as safe could be, began to do some exploring.

As he moved through the winding passage, he caught snatches of friendly laughter from up ahead. At the same time, wafts of the most delightful smells ever teased his nose. Presently, he rounded a corned and to his utter surprise, he saw, seated underneath a dusty archway, two small creatures that made him gape. The little people had very pointy ears and sharp little noses. Their hair was long and small sparks floated from it every time they moved their heads. For clothing, they both wore brown pants and crisp white shirts. Their shoes curled up at the front and hanging from their shoulders were course brown cloaks that looked remarkably warm and comfortable. Giles thought them very handsome indeed.

As the boy approached, they interrupted their conversation to stare at him. One of the little men took his long pipe out of his mouth, stroked his long white beard and pointing the mouthpiece at the boy said, ‘Hello there. Why I believe we have a visitor. What’s your name dear boy?’

‘Um… I’m Giles Sir…’

‘And so it is, and a finer name I don’t believe I have ever heard. It has been some time since we’ve had a human visitor in these parts. Why, I was quite convinced we had been completely forgotten by the big people who live in the outside world. How ever did you happen to find your way here?’

Giles, who feeling quite tired from his long walk, sat himself down on the floor and answered politely, ‘I bought a key from the onion seller, Sir. He explained to me where I might find the door into your land. I do certainly hope I am not intruding on you wonderful gentlemen.’

The other little man who sported no whiskers whatsoever, piped up, ‘The onion seller you say? Why yes of course, we know him quite well around these parts. Might I ask what you paid for your key?’

He was a bit shy to tell the two little men as it seemed a very cheap price to have paid for such an extraordinary item. Nonetheless, he told them about the stone he had traded. Both looked at him in amazement and the little man with the beard let out a long whistle.

‘Make no mistake, the onion man certainly has made the better deal. My dear boy, why did you not rather give him a small piece of string or a dead beetle? That would have been a much fairer price to pay, make no mistake. That stone was far too valuable and far too dangerous to trade, far too valuable and dangerous indeed.’

Giles explained that he had not known it was so valuable and had thought it quite useless when he had given it to the strange man.

The two had taken to puffing on their pipes again and the tobacco smoke, which floated down to their feet, smelled of apple pie fresh out of the oven. Once again, the bearded one spoke, ‘That’s the problem with you out-worlders, you have no concept of the value of things. Never have and never will. You will have to learn the value of important items if you ever hope to get by in this world, you hear?’

Giles nodded eagerly, ‘Why yes indeed! I will try to do much better next time Sir, I promise.’

Looking very smug with himself at having done something to further the boy’s education he introduced himself and his companion. ‘I am Fionn the bearded and this here, is my brother Fiann the fair. And you needn’t sir us so much you know.’

‘Why yes Sir, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Sir’, said the boy politely.

‘Might I be so bold as to ask what you two gentlemen are doing here at this gate?’

‘You might be so bold and we have no trouble telling you that we are the gatekeepers of this archway.’

Fiann chipped in excitedly, ‘Appointed by King Sigurd himself we were.’

Not to be outdone Fionn stuck his chest out and proudly gave it a hearty thump, ‘Mentioned by name in front of all fairieland we were...’

Fiann cut in again, ‘…We had just finished our supper when you happened along. Here now, there are some left-overs if you would care to take a small midnight snack.’

As he spoke, the friendly gnome reached into the arch and pulled out a small wicker basket. Setting it down he happily poked his stomach, ‘I myself, still have a small little hole right here which could do with some filling. What about you Fionn? I know talking always makes you hungry.’

His brother’s eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly saying that he could certainly do with a small bite.

It did not take long to unpack the contents of the basket. Giles clapped his hands at the spread of food that lay before him. Cold beef, pickles, fresh, spicy sausage, a whole assortment of cheeses and fresh biscuits, fig preserve sticky and so sweet that little goblets of crystalised sugar lined the rim of the jar, freshly baked bread, crispy duck and plum sauce, green apples, golden pears and a few bottles of ginger beer to wash it all down with.

Without ceremony, the three attacked the feast with gusto. The brothers had such healthy appetites that Giles found it hard to believe that his hosts had just finished supper. For a while, all that could be heard was the happy sound of eating. From time to time one of the brothers would point and ask, with mouths crammed full of food, to be passed something. The sounds they made was unintelligible and although a generous amount of food would be sprayed across the blanket, nobody seemed to mind too much.

At last, full to bursting point, Fionn let out a little burp and asked the boy to pack what was left over back into their basket. While Giles cleared the blanket, the two men packed their pipes and smoked contentedly.

Having finished cleaning up the boy asked the two, ‘Who do you gentlemen guard this archway against? I would imagine it can be a tricky business guarding archways if one didn’t know what they were about.’

‘Indeed, young Giles’, answered Fiann, ‘To be sure, it’s not just anybody that can guard these doors. We must ensure that none of the folk of the dragons’ dark dreams enter our domain.’

Letting out a little shiver the boy said that those creatures sounded very scary.

‘To be sure, they are a vile lot but no match for us. Isn’t that right Fionn?’

His brother made no answer to this question since he had slipped into a contented sleep and even now was gently snoring.

Not wanting his brother to singe his beard, he took his pipe out of his mouth and slipped it into his pocket.

Giles was also feeling incredibly sleepy and with a great big yawn he lay himself out on the blanket, thinking to close his eyes for a brief moment before heading on home.  

With a bit of a start, he woke the next morning with dappled sunlight on his face. The birds sang brightly in the trees while the squirrels chased each other through the boughs of the trees. He had spent the night between the roots of a gigantic tree, nestled on a soft mossy patch. Everything was green and in the distance he could hear a little brook bubbling cheerfully as it crashed over the pebbles on its’ bed. Beautiful ferns grew up everywhere and small insects buzzed about gathering pollen. Standing up he let out a loud yawn and stretched. He was just beginning to wonder what to make of his surroundings when from behind him he heard a familiar voice.

‘Well hello there sleepyhead.’ Coming up from the river was Fionn, carrying a wooden pale of water. ‘Now that you’re up, you’ll be wanting your breakfast, I suppose?’

Giles hadn’t been thinking of his stomach up until that point but suddenly he realised that he was very hungry.

‘Well follow me then, Fiann’s up at the gate and we might as well go join him there. No point in eating alone, I always say.’

As they walked through the tall ferns, the boy and the guardian fairy spoke amiably about nothing in particular. It was not far before Giles saw that they were heading towards an old ruined wall, of which only the archway remained. It was covered with thick moss and bright flowers and the boy could see the foliage happily swaying in the breeze, through it. All in all, Giles thought it looked very pretty and was bit surprised to see that they were set to pass through it. Without pause, the two walked through the ancient gateway and with a startled yelp, Giles discovered himself back in the passage from last night. The stone arch lay before him and Fiann sat comfortably on a wooden bench in front of the opening as he had last night.

‘Ah, well now, good morning dear boy. Sleep well I dare say and famished for your breakfast?’

With great excitement he nodded and set about folding out the blanket while Fionn stepped up to the gateway and drew out the whicker basket. This morning, it gave up a pot of hot creamy porridge, thick rashes of bacon, poached eggs and golden brown toast drenched with salty butter.

Insisting that it would be terrible manners to let their guest eat alone, the two brothers enjoyed their second breakfast of the morning. Towards the end of the meal, spicy, black coffee was poured into large tin mugs. While they sipped at it Fionn explained, ‘The gateway is magic of course, what here isn’t?’ It is the only ways to get from the forest to the passage leading into the outside world and vice versa.’

‘The onion seller said that there were doors on every hill in the world, where do they all lead to.’

Fiann laughed, ‘Here of course! Where else?’

‘So before anyone can get into the land beyond, they must get your permission?’

Both brothers puffed their chests out proudly, as was their habit, and nodded importantly.

It was right about then when, with a sudden pop, another little man appeared. He was short and stocky and unlike the boy’s new friends, his ears were not pointy, nor were his features sharp. He had large ears that hemmed in a large square jaw peppered with black stubble. A thick leather apron covered over his clothes and at his belt sat a sturdy little axe.

‘Well hello, look its Oison, stopping by for a visit no doubt!’ exclaimed Fionn with delight.

The little dwarf’s visage broke into a large toothy grin at the warm welcome. He told the brothers how glad he was to see them again and then very politely greeted Giles, ‘Glad to know you old son. My but it’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of a little boy’s visit round these parts.’

In reply the young visitor told the Dwarf how pleased he was to be there.

At last, the introductions out of the way the three little fellows began to speak of the news of the world beyond the gate. By the sounds of things, it was a busy place and the three had a lot to say pausing only for some tea and a mid-morning snack. Mostly Giles sat and listened with awe. At one juncture, he was asked to recount his tale of how he had come by the key and Oison agreed with both brothers that the price had been ludicrously high and the risk too high. He cautioned the boy to keep alert and learn the true value of things. Once again Giles humbly promised to do all he could, to do so.

At length the conversation began to wind down and Oison said to the brothers, ‘Well best we get the boy some proper clothes to wear. We cannot have him traipsing around in his gown and slippers. Shame on you two for not looking into it sooner. Why, I believe his gown is quite torn from the shrubbery.’

Giles protested that this was not necessary but the others wouldn’t hear of it and in a flash Fionn had taken a neat little bundle of clothes from out of his whicker basket and handed them to Giles apologizing profusely at his lack of bad manners..

So as not to be rude, Giles accepted the bundle and was soon dressed. The clothes were comfortable and consisted of a neat brown pair of leather boots, brown pants, a crisp white shirt and a soft woolen traveling cloak.

All of his new friends were in the process of commenting on how grand he looked when there was the sound of another pop and suddenly in their midst appeared a new creature. She was about the size if Giles’s hand and hovered about as her beautiful wings kept her aloft.

‘Well, well look here now if it isn’t Esmarael.’ exclaimed Fiann, ‘What a busy morning we seem to be having.’

The little fairy gave those before her a little bow, sprinkling fairy dust all around as she did so.

‘Oh dear me, oh dear, dear me.’ The beautiful little creature uttered.

‘Tis no social call I’m afraid dear Fiann. I am sent to summon Oison, one of you brothers and the boy child before King Sigurd. We have ill tidings from the onion seller. He was waylaid by one from the shadow lands and had the pebble stolen from him.’

The mood immediately became somber.

‘These are ill tidings indeed,’ said Fionn.

‘Foolish onion seller!’ Cried Oison, ‘How silly to walk around with such a powerful item in his pockets. But for his greed, this would never have happened.’

Giles was feeling very confused and a little nervous as it appeared that the little pebble he had sold had caused some sort of trouble.

Esmarael was fluttering around furiously, ‘We dare not tarry. We must leave at once!’

Fionn and Fiann were busy whispering furiously as to which one of them would leave their post to attend before their king. Both knew that the one who remained would be in grave danger and as such both were trying to convince the other to go. Eventually, after both had solemnly promised not to employ the use of magic they decided the matter by casting lots. The dice determined that it would be Fiann who would attend their king’s request and that Fionn would remain to guard the gate.

As the party gathered at the gateway to leave, the brothers stoically shook hands. In less than five seconds they had lost all reserve and taken to hugging each other with tears in their eyes.

‘Nothing to be done about it I’m afraid,’ said Fionn with a cheerful voice, ‘Off with you Fiann, I’ll be fine and dandy. You wait and see, stone or no stone, nothing will pass through this gate without my leave. Now off with you.’

Fiann, pulled out a bright red hanky, dabbed his eyes, blew his nose and said, ‘Right then, let’s be off shall we.’

The others who had been politely waiting all nodded their heads in agreement and together holding hands the little party stepped through the gate together.

On my book.

www.waroftheelements.com

My first attempt at writing a book was when I was about six or seven years old. As I recall, the project was begun on an old fashioned type writer. It had a ribbon and went clack, clack, clack every time you pushed a key.

The story was about a haunted house and ghosts and high adventure and I worked on it for about an hour before abandoning the project.

Since then I have embarked on a number of writing projects and like my haunted house story, they all somehow managed to fall by the wayside. How then is it that I finally managed to get a book written at last? Well, what follows is a brief account of the process...

It so happened that I attended a wedding back in 2002. Although for the life of me I can't remember who it was that was getting married, the wedding stands out for two reasons.

The first is that I was completely in love with one of the bride's maids, who I'm not ashamed to say looked breathtakingly beautiful on the day (and for that matter on every other day). She however, was not in the least interested in a shabby looking fellow, who at the time had a pony tail and regularly sported Beavis and Butthead t-shirts. It was a tough wedding.

The second reason was that I met one of the most remarkable gentleman at that wedding, who although of a middle age had such inspirational desires for the rest of his life. He had no qualms about talking to a shabby looking fellow, who at the time had a pony tail and regularly sported Beavis and Butthead t-shirts.  We struck up a conversation and I remember him telling me that he would rather go to jail than work a nine to five job. As he related the plans he had for the rest of his life, I was filled with a deep sense that I too should dream to do fabulous things and so set about dreaming. It was a great wedding.

Inspired by this interaction and by the pain of young love spurned, I was on the cusp of quitting university and setting off to the Middle East to do my bit to save the world. With great difficulty, however, I allowed common sense to prevail and abandoned this romantic desire. Instead, I undertook to finish the degree I had started and promised myself  that I would start and finish a book, no matter how long it took me and no matter how bad it turned out to be.

I began two projects. The first was about a young, heart-broken, law student, who inspired by a chance meeting with a mysterious stranger (at a wedding no less) went off to a magical world (which inexplicably mirrored the Middle East to a great degree) where he embarked on a number of adventures.

The second project was a comic book. The idea for which was inspired by a nightmare I had had, where an evil man with white hair and fire in his veins, stabbed me to death. I hoped for it to be the modern version of, A pilgrim's progress. I will go ahead and acknowledge that the concepts contained in this paragraph are diametrically juxtaposed and leave it at that. I promise you that an explanation will not cure the confusion.  

Of the two, I imagined that the comic would eventually fall by the wayside. The opposite proved to be true. Rest assured and for the love of whatever rags of dignity still cling to this mortal frame, I will say no more about what transpired as a result of the first idea.

As for the second idea... I did a rough draft of the first few comics, with terrible sketches. By this time all traces of my being stabbed to death and having to crawl through dark, slimy tunnels had been removed from the story. I still thought the white haired, fiery veined murderer was cool, so he stayed. I came up with a grand hero called Enoch, gave him a few creatures to kill and thought I was golden. Armed thus with my terrible sketches and a story line weaker than an episode of a b-grade soap opera I began to look for an artist to assist me. Unfortunately nobody seemed to share my enthusiasm for such a grand project. I had many, many frustrating meetings and eventually in desperation I decided to turn the comic into a book. I won't lie, I was deeply disappointed. In my mind comics were cool and books a dime a dozen.

Not one to capitulate easily, I hoped to capture the grainy feel of a comic in the book. My characters were to be splendid, strong and god-like, succeeding in whatever they set their hands to. My primary concern, however, was to try make the good guys cooler than the bad guys. It irritated me that the baddies are always so much cooler than the good chaps and yet for all of this, the goodies always win. In my opinion, that is cheating. Those who deserve to win must win and to heck with the moral lessons involved. My story demanded that if the goodies were to win, they would need to earn it or else suck it up and take their hidings like men. In short I wanted to write a story that I would want to read, no cheating, fast paced and offering an opportunity to escape on an adventure worthy of my participation.

So it was with these aspirations that I sat down on a cold winter's afternoon in 2002, to the sound of Russel Watson, and typed the first words of the book, 'The cruel wind howled furiously as it blew the snow through the icy wastelands of Nilheim.'  Like magic, it just came out and this is probably the only sentence in the entire book that has not been changed or edited. I cannot tell how many times I have read this one sentence over the last ten years or so as I have edited and re-edited the book ad nauseum. (At this juncture I absolutely have to digress. The Russel Watson CD has still never been recovered. We all know that the Karamite had something to do with its' strange disappearance but have no proof. The Karamite, like all the guilty of the earth pleads innocence and will no doubt take his dark secret to the grave together with a Jason Donovan poster.)


After the first chapter had been written, I sent it to a friend of mine who reads voraciously. He told me that he liked it and that I was on to a good thing. At the same time, my ex-girlfriend and her much younger sister told me they thought it was good too. This was a massive boost to my confidence. Especially so, since the younger sister was not prone to flattery and would as soon tell me I was a childish goofball as look at me. Incidentally, the fanciful young thing, did in fact call me childish on many occasions... Anyway, bolstered with these omens of goodwill I forged on ahead with chapter and verse...


I continued to work on my little project through the years, determined to finish it and as time and discipline allowed I would tinker at it. The story developed and changed significantly over time and indeed the only two things that remain of the original is the white haired villain and the name Enoch. Although, this being the case, I still would like to believe that the first few chapters do have a hint of, 'comic' about them.


My ex-girlfriend, (whose younger sister continued to call me childish and probably still does) was an indispensable support and would patiently listen to me telling her about my latest idea for the book. She would gently ask me on many occasions how it was going and at times, despite her incredibly hectic schedule, would proof read parts of it for me. Now, as always, I remain forever grateful to her not only for her assistance but for infinitely much more besides.


Apart from her, another two wonderful friends helped significantly. The first, tragically (for us) passed away in 2007 and went to be with Jesus. When she had first  heard that I was writing a book, she had been very excited and would often prod me on to finish it in her jovial manner. Her passing, reminded me that life here is temporary and our time short. I found inspiration to really apply my mind to the book and over December 2007 locked myself in my room and broke the back of most of the story.  


The second friend is a jerk I met back in 1996. When he first met me he hated me!? Don't worry though, he warmed up to me eventually and somehow we have stayed friends for the last 16 years. He really is a chop though!! At the end of  2010 he challenged me to get the thing published. Not wanting to back down to a challenge from the likes of him, I began the long process of finishing the book, getting it properly edited and published. I thought it would take a month or two, boy was I wrong! It took another year...


And so it came to pass that at long last in April 2012, just before the Easter weekend, I released my book. It has been hard work but I can honestly say that writing, The Lore of the Elements, has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. If those who read the book derive even a millionth of the pleasure I have derived from writing it, I shall be well pleased. As a fellow reader, I understand the quest of looking for books that you just can't put down. If there is only one person in this big world of ours that puts my story down, sighs with pleasure and wishes they could read it all over again from fresh, then I shall be content and  happy, secure in the knowledge that by my standards I have succeeded as an author. By my standards, I firmly believe that the success of an author is not in the number of books he has sold, but rather in the number of people who close the book with that feeling of sadness at finishing a great tale!! To hear people who have read it or are busy reading it, give me their views makes it all so worthwhile. Shall it become popular enough to eventually be labelled literature? Time will tell and one can only hope... 


Like a drug addict, I find myself needing my next fix and so I have begun work on the second book. My new promise to myself is that it will not take ten years to produce and time will judge the integrity of that promise! 


Where to from here? I hope to work more on developing my characters as I deepen the plot. I no longer wish to keep them so safe behind their god-like qualities. I want my readers to develop a deeper emotional tie with the story and the creatures who act the parts assigned them. I hope to deliver a profound reading experience to those who choose to read my work and to provide people with a form of entertainment that enriches the enjoyment of their lives. Until that time, all your comments are welcome on the book's facebook page which can be found at - www.facebook.com/waroftheelements or feel free to pick up a copy at www.waroftheelements.com 

Keep dreaming!


   

On why choosing music might be the same as making friends

In the mid-nineties, I discovered Crowded House. Right off the bat, I fell in love with them. Their tunes were catchy, their lyrics light and all in all, I was hooked. It was back in the days when if you wanted music you had three options;

1)  Buy the tape;
2)  Buy the CD;
3) Wait for a song to come on radio and tape it on your cassette player, all the while hoping that the stupid DJ didn't interrupt the song.

I was fortunate enough to be earning a wage at that point so I opted for the expensive choice and bought their CD.

It was absolutely fantastic and for a week I was in seventh heaven. Crowded House and I were on to a good thing. However, as quickly as it had started, my love affair with the band died. To this day I hate the lyrics, 'There's a small boat made of china, going nowhere on the mantle piece...' blah blah... Who cares whether you always take the weather with you? Certainly not me!
I think I gave the CD away and to this day believe that my life is all the richer for having done so.

Now at about the same time, a friend of mine was raging on about a band called Pink Floyd. I had no idea who these fellows were. So off I went to my local music store, found the CD and asked the sales guy to let me listen to it. I think he was a Satanist. He wore docs and had pierced a heck of a lot of his face. His lip, tongue, eyebrows and ears were all studded with a lot of earrings, and I do mean a lot. He also sported an assortment of tattoos. Over and above this, he had a very big pentagram on his black t-shirt. For all of this he was soft spoken and friendly. I had no idea that Satanists were so polite.

In any event, I remember him nodding his approval at my choice and naturally I felt apprehensive. However, it's not every day that one get's to impress a devil worshiper and so I let him play it for me.

What was strange was that I remember not really enjoying the music but, and it is a very big BUT, I thought that it had potential. So completely out of a desire to impress the servant of the dark lord I bought the album.

Some fifteen years later, I still listen to the, 'Division Bell' and I swear that as the years go by, my appreciation for the music grows. Subsequent to this, I have used the exact same technique to purchase all of my music. If I love it, I will not buy it. Instead I will wait for radio to kill it for me. But... if I don't really like it, yet get the feeling that it may grow on me, I buy it without a second thought.

This strategy has served me very well. I am happy to say that the music collection I own, although clearly not everyone's cup of tea is, in my opinion, second to none. I listen to all of my music on a regular basis and as the years go by, I develop a deeper appreciation for it.

So what is the point?
I think the point is that sometimes things and people just need to be given time to grow on you. We are all finite beings and can expect to die. Our desire for instant and lasting gratification is completely understandable. I mean, if I only have seventy years to live, well then let the good times roll and let them roll quickly please.

But what if we don't have to always choose that which has the greatest appeal? What if, like my music collection, we allow people who don't immediately please, but who have potential to grow on us, into our lives? What if we exchanged instant gratification for lasting and increasing contentment?

Now I am not blind to the fact that the relationship between me and my music collection and relationships between two or more humans are not in the same ball park. Heck, it's not even the same game. But what I'm suggesting is using a somewhat variant mental process to give those we normally wouldn't, a chance to build a relationships with us.

Who knows, maybe the album that goes platinum is waiting for you, dressed in docs and sporting a large pentagram on a black t-shirt...

On quitting my job

So I resigned from my job yesterday!

It has been on my mind for some time now but for some odd reason, I have just not had the courage to knock on my boss's door and tell him I'm leaving. Who knows how long this state of affairs would have lasted, but for an impromptu meeting with my directors yesterday. No doubt I would have left there some thirty years hence with a gold watch and a wasted life!!

It was so liberating saying the words, 'I'm handing in my resignation', which got me to thinking as to why it has been so difficult to leave a place that makes me miserable for eight hours every single day. I mean, it should be a no brainer, right? Coming here every day makes me nauseous, being here makes me unhappy and the best part of my day is when I leave this dungeon... Indeed, when you find yourself waking up disappointed because you are not feeling ill and hence have no legitimate excuse to stay home, it's time to leave...right?

Sadly, for the most part, the answer to that question, in this instance and for me, has been no. It is certainly not the first job I have hated and not the first job I have resigned from either. I have walked out of a number of jobs only to embark on projects of my own. So I certainly know that it isn't fear of the unknown that has kept me bound to this bleak island of despair for so long. I guess, this time things have been different because this was supposed to be THE JOB. The one I studied five years for, the one I did two years of slave labour (in the form of articles) for, it is the one I wrote four gruelling board exams for. Over and above this, I landed a place in a very respectable firm and was told by the directors that I have a future there, who knows, perhaps even a place amongst the top vultures in due course. Maybe therein lies the problem. For the past year or so, I have felt trapped and stupid at the same time. I mean, by all counts I'm on to a good thing, a steady pay cheque, a respectable job blah blah blah... The reasonable man would count his blessings and stick it out.

And yet... despite putting a brave face on it, in the quiet of night, whilst alone, I have known, just known in the depths of my being that I am not in the right place. What does one do when trapped, a closet career hater, scared to death of what society, your family and friends will say if you give it all up, come out and say, "I hate my job and I am going to leave"?

I tell you what you do my friend, you quit the freaking job, sell your bakkie (the doors of which cannot be locked), publish your little fantasy novel, do a bit of legal work on the side and then you go on a six month tour through Spain, Greece and Turkey... And that gentle reader is exactly what this irresponsible blogger intends on doing!!

On why I don't think it's a good idea to lock car doors...

I distinctly remember the telephone call. My Dad had locked the keys in the bakkie and between him and a very good friend of mine, (whom we shall have to call "Bob") they proceeded to completely dismantle the locking mechanism of the drivers side door. The vehicle had originally had an immobiliser, a gear lock and two functioning locks fitted to each door. The immobiliser had, had to be dismantled (at my cost, I might add) since my father had supposedly lost the keys that had the mechanism which allowed you to start the car. Then the gear lock had been destroyed by a locksmith after Bob had lost the other set of keys, which contained the key to open said gear lock. Naturally, his children took the blame and though it was them who had sinned, in a gesture worthy of the noblest of gods Bob paid for half of the locksmith's fees. I, of course, paid the other half. In a bizarre twist of fate, soon thereafter both my Dad and Bob found the keys which they swore had been lost. To this day, however, they vehemently blame each other for messing up the car door lock.

Be this as it may, the truth of it was that I was no longer able to lock the bakkie and so the situation remained for two and a half years thereafter. Part of the problem was that in a gesture of extreme goodwill my Dad had used steel putty to glue the window winder to the little thingy that it turns when the window goes up or down. This, of course made taking the door panel off to fix the lock impossible because let me assure you, steel putty live up to its' name.

It was against this backdrop, then, that my adventure unfolded. My work as an articled clerk took me to some of Johannesburg's dingiest spots. At least two or three times a week I would have to attend at the Johannesburg Magistrates Court and/or the High Court, where I would be obliged to park on the street. Now for those of you who have never visited either of those grand bastions of justice, I can assure you that they are not housed in the type of areas where one would feel safe raising a family. Also being somewhat of a cheap fellow and a very poorly paid one, the R10.00 parking areas were never an option. That then, is how I began and continued parking the van on the side of the road, unlocked, at every single destination I visited, for two and a half years. I would simply close the door, say a prayer and go about my business.

I will admit that it was incredibly liberating. The bitter yolk of suspicion and fear which almost every South African is forced to carry on a daily basis was dealt a grievous blow. You see, I had come to terms with the fact that the vehicle was as good as stolen and that being the case, why worry about the inevitable. Every time I returned to the car, I would think, 'Well at least today I get to drive myself home and not walk.' I often left the car windows open at night and more often than you would believe possible I would forget the keys in the ignition too! Yup, I'd get back to the vehicle, open the door and there they would be hanging. It became a joking point amongst my friends and passengers would stare aghast as I simply closed the door, and with a shrug of my shoulders explain that I never locked my door.

I have been held up at gun point, my life has been threatened more than once and I have been at the receiving end of more than my fair share of petty crime. Indeed, I am not blind to the fact that crime is a painfully real phenomenon in South Africa. Why then, such apparent folly in the face of this great threat? It is simple, I agree with the hypothesis proposed by the great Dr Viktor Frankl. Mankind's ultimate freedom lies in our ability to choose. I have no power over the choices other people exercise. I will not choose for others nor will I allow them to choose for me. God respects all free will and so will I. If someone has decided that they will steal my property or cause harm to my physical being, then that is a decision they have made and there is not too much I can do about that. High walls and locks do about as much to deter a criminal as a wrapper around a chocolate deters a hungry snacker.

I will use my freedom to choose a life of open doors, carefree living and walking with that cheeky little swagger that comes with knowing I am not scared to be stolen from. Since, if you do, I will simply forgive you for having done so. If the price of that comes at losing my stuff, then so be it! I will gladly wager every possession I own against enjoying an existence without fear and though it cost me all I have, I know that having enjoyed this freedom, I am receiving the better deal.