Writing the Molecules--The Joy is in the Details

This morning I shall discourse about Writing the Molecules...those tiny aspects of our perceptions that flesh the bones of the written word. First, I shall explain why these nuances/gradations of physical awareness are so important to a Dragon. Ah, I mean a writing Dragon.

As a Dragon I have remarkable, extraordinary, notable senses. No eyesight is keener. I can detect a gnat fluttering/flickering/flitting 'mid blossoms and bumblebees a mile away. Indeed. Five thousand two hundred and eighty feet. Twice one thousand three hundred and twenty feet. Ha! Did I say keen? A telescope cannot match me for optical acuity. 'Nough said.

My auditory organs are without peer. I am an acoustical wizard. I not only see the gnat, I hear it release the end result of its digestive process. Intestinal gases. Fart. And a tiny toot it is, little more than a minuscule gut groan. A sigh. A whimper. Yet my ears absorb the passing molecular tremble as if it were the great rage of St. Helens coughing pyroclastic chunks like hairballs. I hear everything. Dew dripping resounds like continental rifting in my notable ears. 'Nough said.

And my nostrils--! Have ever a more admirable set of olfactory sensors deigned to exist? Not merely large, as befits a beast of my size and mass, but responsively receptive. Scent sympathetic. Sinus scrupulous. In less delicate terms--merely for the sake of clarification, you understand--I smell that tiny toot. 'Nough said.

Not to mention, sense of touch. Tactile perception. You thought I had no keen sense of touch because my body is armor plated, my toe-tips clawed? Short of stripping off my scales, I do have my accessible spots, dear friends.

This confession is not to be shared with Gryphons or their detestable ilk! Thankfully, Gryphons cannot read. They've the brain-capacity of a kumquat, but you must not tell the stinkers. They've good memories, for all that a walnut would fill what passes for a cranial cavity. So...now that you have promised no loose lips, I will share this truth--there are four spots on my anatomy that are very sensitive to contact: my muzzle, that velvety area of prehensile upper lip and the soft spot between my nostrils; the tip of my tail; my forefoot pads (same as your palms), and my leg pits. You would call them arm pits, but even though I use my front legs with much the flexibility of the human arm, biologically speaking they must be referred to as 'legs'. Ergo--leg pits. Front and back. Because this is--more or less--a 'family friendly' site, I exclude discussion of my--ahem--reproductive region. The details of that section remain under the sole proprietorship of my mate, Riastor.

However, back to tactile perception--did that gnat sit upon my muzzle, I could feel its gas pass. Assess its tiny legs tracking over my skin. My upper lip, foot-pads, and tail tip can detect soft, rough, smooth, irregular--well, you name it, I can feel it, with no less keenness than your own human fingertips.

Why do I list my sensory capabilities, you may ask? To point out that as a Writing Dragon, I have the same aptitude (superior, actually) as a human does to absorb/suck up/take in my surroundings. Therefore, I am well able to decipher the world with my body parts and describe/discuss/expound on it with gleeful intensity. I love what I see, hear, smell, and touch. So should the characters of whatever tale/story/yarn I pen. (Oh, very well. Excuse me! What my scribe pens for my clumsy claws.) In any case, All writers, I believe, should love these aspects of their characters. After all, are their characters not intended to be alive. Breathing, existing in the magical but viable realm of the imagination? Doesn't a reader (you may correct me here if I am wrong...but a Dragon seldom is) want to read the reality? The reactive senses of the character moving through his/her/its story?

The details, my fellow writers--and readers who enjoy what we produce--I reiterate, are the fleshy draping upon the bones of the work. Would you have your character(s) perceived as mere skeletons stiffly sauntering about his/her/its world? Nay. Naynaynay! Mobilization requires muscles (I mention this my first book, The Dragons' Veil). Muscles would wither without flesh to encase and succor them. And flesh reflects the world--is it not the aspect of the body most in contact with the world?

You see the wisdom? Insight? Acumen? If you would enrich your words, my fellow writers, and in turn enrich your imaginary worlds, then utilize every facet of the real world in which you dwell. Sight, sound, smell, touch--the north, east, south, and west of the compass of by which you guide yourself through whatever tale you are inspired to pen/type/dictate.

Drat! Speak of the devil/imp/mischievous sprite! What is that gnat doing on my muzzle? Off, annoying speck of insectal indolence, and take your tiny tootings with you.

A Dragon's Take On Romance...and Valentine goodies

Indeed, Dragon's do celebrate the spirit/essence/soul of romance. Ha! You believed that such as I did not have the capacity, experience, savoir faire for that enterprise? Of course, it depends on one's perspective of the word itself. Have you humans recently reviewed the definition, description, most specific meaning of that tasty expression?

What is romance, one might ask? As a noun, it does, indeed, pertain to a "love affair" or "physical love idealized"--which means to place the object of said affection on a pedestal. Fascination with something, especially of an uncritical or inexplicable kind (one finds no or little fault with said object). View the object of your heart's attention through rose colored glasses. [Just an aside here--I do not wear glasses of any ilk, no matter the color. For one, my visual acuity is without peer, I don't need artificial aid. Help. Assistance. More important, glasses, as they currently exist, would not fit over my eye sockets even were they constructed to specification for my size. Ergo, I never view any other being, Dragon or otherwise, through rose, red, or pink colored glasses.] That said, some of the additional definitions provided in the mighty, muscle flexing icon of word connotations, ye olde dictionary, are "a spirit or feeling of adventure", "excitement", "the potential for heroic achievement", "the exotic".

A bit skewed , unsymmetrical, off the general concept of romance, although I suppose it is possible one may find adventure and excitement in the prospect of a romantic rendezvous. That, in moi opinion, relates more to the physical aspect of the subject. In any case, the definitions that I find most intriguing, pleasing, applicable to such as myself are: a story of love (novel, movie, play), love stories as a genre, a medieval adventure story, a fictional narrative dealing with exciting and extravagant adventures, an extravagant or absurd fictitious account of something, a short lyrical piece. Finally/at last/to conclude with definitions, as a verb romance means: to tell adventurous stories, tell love stories, and think romantically, treat someone romantically, have an affair with somebody. Oh, the excitement of all those "story" references. Romance, it appears, belongs to the world of the writer, purveyor of words, essayist of thought. The author.

Do you see the truth of it? Romance in its purest form is defined as a story, account, fiction, anecdote, legend saga, fable, yarn, parable, narrative! Oh, yes--relation was in there somewhere, but you get the gist/substance/idea. Romance fits most comfortably into a writer's realm. Therefore, it is appropriate, right, correct that all the goodies inherent to the Valentine celebration should be directed/channeled to writers. Such as I!

As a male, I will admit to having little interest in a tiny bouquet of flowers--in any case, I have entire fields of wild flowers at my disposal when I choose to fly into the wilds. Cards, however, are acceptable. Satisfactory. Suitable. Very large cards, of course; I cannot read the really tiny ones! And chocolate. Do not forget/forgo/overlook the chocolate.

Chocooooolaaate. Food of gods and Dragons. Cacao seeds. Smooth, melting candy. Brown ambrosia. Taste bud teasers. Tongue sin. Great globs of the sweetness in kegs, barrels, drums. Don't worry, I'll share the abundance with my scribe. The thoughts may be mine, but she does take care of the mechanics.

Do you see how simple it is? if you would take romance to its appropriate conclusion, to the heart of the matter, the source of the issue, you would/should/MUST take it to the story tellers. The big ones. With scales.

I'll be waiting in my cave.