READ,WRITE & LIVE YOUR TRUTH

Author: E.G. Kardos

  • Mentors in Young Adult Fantasy 

    E.G. Kardos

    Mentors are crucial in storytelling, especially in the genre of fantasy. Aside from the “hero” in the story, the mentor is my favorite character. A good villain, for me, comes in third. The mentor and the protagonist’s relationship is special, and that is one reason I chose to share the following excerpt of The Elixir: Journey On. The Elixir is Book III of The Elias Chronicles.

    Mentors Carry a Heavy Burden

    Good mentors do many things: they guide the protagonist through an evolutionary process by providing experience and knowledge and encourage resourcefulness and independent thinking. They support our hero in any way they can. Wisdom, a characteristic overlooked in the “real” world, is cherished in the fantasy world. Sometimes mentors merely encourage and show they care

    All Mentors Posess the Power of Empowerment

    Mentors empower the hero to make decisions, and sometimes it may be the wrong choice, but our hero learns from mistakes, and mentors know this.

    Ultimately, our hero achieves personal growth even if they can’t save the world—this time.

    Some Mentors of Note

    Think of Gandalf and Frodo: Dumbledore and Harry; Aslan and Peter, Lucy, Susan, and Edmund; and in each of the three books of The Elias Chronicles, Zoltan and Elias.

    I’m sure you have a few mentors in mind as well.

    “The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light”

    Joseph Campbell

    In The Elias Chronicles, a reader can start with any book as each is a stand-alone story. Saying that, I think to appreciate Elias’ journey and his development, I’d start with the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, and then read the second and third in order, The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok and The Elixir: Journey On. In each you will find the mentor, Zoltan and the hero, Elias as well as many other colorful characters that will help guide or thwart Elias from his quest.

    Enjoy the excerpt…and let me know what you think. Who are your favorite mentors?

    5

    Climb The Stem

    Weary from his encounter with the Sea Serpent, Elias stretched out squarely in the middle of the boat’s deck. His thoughts wandered at best, but without notice, they pulled him back to some frightening moments. He, however, felt gratified for untangling the scary event and helping a mom. Images of her huge bony head that disagreed with her graceful cylindrical body were imprinted in his mind. Worst of all was her shriek, and he winced as he brought it to mind. What did it all mean? The serpent—the journal—his exile? Of all places, why was he here? While wondering where land could be hiding, the faces of his friends and family overpowered all his thoughts. All he could think was, will he ever see them again?

                Restless, he fiddled with a thick, coarse rope coiled to one side as he looked to the sky. Drained by his rocky voyage, he remained listless on his back as he, biding time, picked up the dagger and examined it closely. Squinting, he focused on every scratch or nuance on the cold metal blade. He delicately touched the tip of his index finger on the tiny point, and as he did, he mouthed the sound ‘ow’ while his nose twisted up on one side. Still on his back, he grabbed the hilt with two hands, and with outstretched arms, he pointed it to the blur of the heavens, ruminating about his first night on Sirok. That’s when he plucked a powerful sword from a secret vault told to him by Nattymama. The sword, he mused, saved his life on a couple of occasions when he skillfully severed the heads of the Sarkany—the three-headed, shape-shifting dragon. “Existo verus ut vestri,” he whispered, followed by, “Be true to yourself. Think of that…that was written on the blade itself, and I didn’t even know it at the time…can’t complain, as it served me well, but this oversized pen knife has done right by me too.”

                WHOOSH. At that moment, jarring him from his comfort, he heard a gigantic splash only twenty paces or so from the bow of the boat. The wave it made jostled the little craft as he jumped to his feet. With a wrinkled brow and his jaw hanging low, he peered from side to side. Keeping one eye on the white-capped waves, he reached back to grab his dagger. Bubbles jetted to the surface of the choppy water, and he waited to see if anything would pop up. Only a second later, bobbing before him, the back of a man’s head emerged, gasping uncontrollably for air. Ardently treading water, he turned, and Elias saw who thrashed about before him. He could barely believe his eyes.

                “ZOLTAN. Is that really you?”

                Zoltan, now exhausted but surprisingly calm, answered Elias. “It is I,” he gasped. “…and I came so very close to landing on the dry planks… of your vessel…right beside you.” Water splashed a few times in his face.

                “…but…but I can’t believe it,” Elias said, reacting in amazement.

                “Not to be rude, my boy, but I’m not interested in conversing at this point. Be a good man and put down your weapon to throw me a line to welcome me aboard.”           

                “Oh yeah…sorry.” With a cold slap, Elias was brought back to reality as he hurriedly tied one end of the rope to an iron ring attached to the floorboards of the deck and tossed the bulk of the looped hemp to Zoltan. He wrapped it around his arms, and like a vice, he held on securely with both hands. With somewhat of a struggle, like reeling in a blue marlin, Elias was able to tow Zoltan up and over the edge of the side of the boat. He delivered him safely to the dry deck of the lifeboat. Both Zoltan and Elias collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

                “Zoltan, are you alright? What are you doing here? Why is…”

                “Not all at once,” Zoltan said, pulling himself up to a seated position, clearing his throat between words and poking his pinky finger in one ear. “I’ve come chasing you, Elias. I sent you here…do you have a blanket in there?” he asked, pointing to the large wooden box.

                Elias froze. “Wait, what? You sent me here?” His jaw jutted forward, and he scowled at his guest.

                Zoltan kindly smiled and exhaled. He shrugged his shoulders and joined his hands together in a prayerful fashion.

                “I knew it. I don’t know why I reacted so surprised. I knew something was up, especially since I found my dagger here, but…why?” Elias said, folding his arms against his chest.

                “My good boy, I could see no other way. You have the gift, the donum…now the blanket, if you will.” Zoltan stretched out his shivering hands.

                “The donum…the DONUM…this gift is a curse! What else…what else can you tell me?” Elias retrieved a moldy moth-eaten blanket from the box and gently wrapped it around Zoltan’s shoulders.

                “If you settle yourself down one iota, I will tell you—you temperamental artists are something else,” he kindheartedly said under his breath.

                Elias’ shoulders sank, and he let out a sigh as he sat next to the old man.   

    “I detected something sinister as the smoke of the kingdom wafted our way,” Zoltan said with an easy monotone. Now for a cup of coffee. Do you have one?”

                “What? Coffee? Are you serious? We’re on a banged-up boat in the middle of nowhere. What are you thinking?”

                “I see your point,” Zoltan said as he placed his hands one over the other and quickly clapped his upper hand to his lower, at which time a hot pot of steaming coffee and two mugs hovered before them.       

                “Awesome, Zoltan. You’ll have to teach me that one,” Elias said as he briefly forgot about his frustration with his new and unasked-for adventure.

                “Oh, you will learn how and quite a bit more. Now pour the

    coffee, and let’s talk,” said Zoltan as a soft, salty breeze gave him a slight stir.

                Elias poured the coffee and looked with admiration at his old friend. “So what can you tell me?”

                Using both hands to sip from the mug, Zoltan said, “I can tell you very little at this point. I have a morsel of information to share, but not much. Believe me when I say I know very little.”

                Short-fused, Elias blurted out, “A morsel. A morsel! You send me here, and YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHY?” You know I was just attacked by a sea serpent and…”

                “Good for you, Elias,” Zoltan interjected gleefully, cutting Elias off mid-sentence. “You must have fared quite well as I do not see any hideous blemishes on you, and I don’t see the serpent anywhere,” Zoltan added while looking out to the vast gray rolling waves.            

                Collecting his thoughts, Elias knew his frayed nerves would lead him somewhere he’d rather keep to himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Zoltan…I’m tired and so… alone.” Elias looked down at his hands, sniffed a few times, and then rubbed his nose. He looked out to the sea as a breeze caught his floppy hair and tousled it in a few directions. “Like I was abandoned until you showed up. I just don’t know what to make of all this. It’s time for me to go home and do what I want to do. I earned it, after all. That’s why I traveled to find you in the first place—to find out who I am and do what I love. And traveling to the Under World to find you and all I did there. I’ve done enough—I’ve earned it.”

                “You earned it? Yes, I can see your point. First of all, thank you as you saved me from the clutches of Ordak, and you are quite humble as you set the oppressed folks of the kingdom free. But my good boy, I am sorry to say that, now, those things matter not, at least not for the short run.”

                “Huh? I feel my life is out of control.”

                “Elias, life is full of the unexpected, but we seem to forget that and think life SHOULD be full of the ‘expected,’ Zoltan said in a very calm but exacting tone. “You are in the middle of, shall I say, a twist and, for that matter, a turn—and perhaps another twist. I must say you are who you are whether you like it or not, and you should think of it as a privilege to be you and grab hold of every moment of your life. It is up to you to make the most of it. Let me pour you another cup of coffee.” 

                “Okay, okay, but I don’t like it, and I’m not talking about the coffee,” Elias said, sitting back and looking at the sea. It was now quiet as the endless waves that relentlessly wrapped themselves around the boat seemed like a warm embrace as they continued to lap lower against the sides. It was still. 

                “I know you are unhappy with me, and you have every right to be so, but in the end, you will understand. You will. Trust me.”

                Ignoring Zoltan’s words, Elias asked, “So tell me, how is everyone—Kelsa?”

                “She is just fine. I managed to redirect both her and Cimbora safely to a place where you will see them soon. Don’t ask me why, as I had to act quickly when Ordak was breathing down our necks—before our dear friends, the Bee People, whisked him away. Oh, that was such a special moment just hearing the hum.” They both laughed and sipped from their cups.

                “I think I know the moment—yeah, the exact moment. He almost picked up on what you were doing. I could tell you were doing something, but I had no clue,” said Elias. 

                “To tell you the truth, I was not so sure myself.” Zoltan winked.

                “And the others?” Elias asked abruptly, changing the subject.

                “Nattymama and your family are fine. Oh yes, and before I forget, you must understand that time counts differently there versus here. It may seem like only a minute to some but an eternity to others, but this will all be clearer to you later.”

                “You haven’t even told me where I’m going.”   

                “Oh yes. In a moment,” Zoltan replied with a light chuckle. “As far as the others, Lantos and Gaspar are back in their homes, I presume, and Akota is being celebrated by the Seraph people and the former Inhabitants of The Kingdom of Gold. And by the way, passing the ring to him has made all the difference for his people. You have shared the donum, and you have yet to realize your brilliance in doing so.” 

                Elias smiled, but he quickly looked down at the splintering planks below. Zoltan felt his angst and wanted to comfort him.

                “Oh yes, you may long for them and feel you are missing out—but you are not truly missing out as you are where you are supposed to be—that’s the difference. Elias, do not pine for what was or what you think is, nor reach for what you think might be. It is today that matters as we may, most assuredly, count the days we have lived, but we cannot even attempt to count the days ahead of us. Life does, indeed, have a starting point for all, but the endpoint is a mystery. But I dare say, life has a habit of going on whether we like it or not—even if we are in it or not,” said Zoltan.

                Elias said nothing but looked fondly at Zoltan, then turned and stared at the horizon. As he nodded, a wide smile came across his face as Zoltan sipped from the mug. At that moment, a sparkling aqua and sapphire-colored dragonfly landed on Elias’ knuckle. Without moving his head, he gazed down at the quiet and majestic creature.

                “We must be near land,” Elias’ eyes lit up as he kept still and looked intently at the dragonfly.

                “Elias, I believe you are correct. That little fellow reminds me of a story I was once told. A story that others have passed down over many years and, as time so masterfully can do, has gobbled up the author’s name. Would you like to hear a story?” 

                Elias faced Zoltan and looked into his eyes. He couldn’t help Zoltan’s allure as he looked into the recesses of his pupils. The eyes that have seen a thousand years. The eyes that have looked deep inside of him. Elias nodded and smiled.

                “A time not so long ago, there was a pond like any other pond—perhaps like the ones around your home or mine. Do you know the kind

    of pond I speak of?”

                “Sure, Zoltan, go on.”

                “Okay then… in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little neighborhood of water bugs—cute little things. This tiny community lived a simple and predictable life in the murky water. Little concerned them, for the most part, so they were happy creatures. As it is with any community, sadness would come at peculiar times. On occasion, and without warning, a water bug would journey up the stem of a lily pad. To an onlooker in the water bug community, this was not a good sign.”

                “So the water bug crawled up the stem of a water lily—how is that sad?” asked Elias.

                “Well, Elias, all the water bugs knew was that when they saw one of their own make the climb, their friend or family member would never be seen again.” Zoltan paused and looked away.

                “That’s not much of a story. So the water bug climbed up the stem, and a hungry bird ate it. Great story, Zoltan,” Elias said, shaking his head.

                “Elias, my boy, that is not the end of the story—far from it. Would you allow me to proceed?”

                Elias nodded. “Sorry.”

                “Okay then. The water bugs knew they would never see their friend again. They, like you, thought the worst. They thought their friend was dead. 

    As it so happened one day, and with no warning to his family or friends, the littlest of water bugs felt an overpowering yearning to journey up that stem. However, he was determined to return to the community and tell his family and friends what he found on the other side. They pleaded with him not to go, but he did anyway. He began to climb the stem. When he reached the surface of the water, he journeyed out of the water onto a lily pad. Because of his climb, he was very tired, and the sun felt good. So the little water bug decided he must close his weary eyes and sleep. 

                During his nap, he changed. When he woke, he had turned into a beautiful aqua and sapphire dragonfly with graceful wings and a slender body created for flying. Therefore, that’s exactly what he did. He soared high above and looked at all below him. He skirted downward and skimmed the surface of the water. He saw new worlds in all its beauty. His perspective was new and fresh—one he thought never existed before that fateful day. 

                One day, while resting on the arm of a boy, he thought of his friends and family and how they must think he was now dead. It reminded him that he desperately wanted to tell them otherwise and share with them the joy he had found. He hovered over the surface of the water where his family and friends lived, and he could barely make out the little community below. The water was murky that day. He attempted to fly through the surface of the water, but when he tried to reemerge into the water, he could not. He tried and tried and tried to break the surface of the water to no avail. He could see the water bugs below as they continued their simple life. He wanted to explain how he was alive and how wonderful life really was. He wanted to talk about the fulfillment he felt.             

                Attempt after attempt, he thought differently about telling them and began to understand he was now in the place where he should be. He hoped that their time would come and they, too, would realize that they have wings and one day they would join him. With one last look, he knew what he had to do, and he took to flight, never to allow the past to hold him back. He knew he had to taste the wonders of what today brings.”

                 “So, I’m the dragonfly?” Elias smugly asked.

                “You? Maybe the both of us—our friends, too, perchance. But the story, albeit simple, tells more. Think about it.”

                “I see where it is about living and becoming, but it is also about death. Right?”

                “Oh, Elias, it is for you to grapple with—let us speak of it no more.”

                A huge smooth swell, the size of a modest house, mildly rolled under the lifeboat, placing them high above. As soon as they were at the pinnacle, they descended to a level where all they could see around them was a wall of water. As they evened out, the clouds vanished, and the placid wave slowly moved further away. Many smaller ones rapidly made their presence known as they slapped the boat in all directions. Elias and Zoltan held tight to the sides of the craft until all was calm.

                “What was that all about?” Elias said.

                “My boy, look over your shoulder, and you will see.”

                Elias turned, and a good five or six sea miles before them was an iridescent glow the size of a small island of purples, blues, and red. It twinkled in the bright sunlight. Like the waves, the oddity seemed to be covering something as its hues swayed and fluttered to greens, yellows, and orange. It was a magnificent sight.

                “Wow! I’ve never seen anything like it before,” said Elias.

                “Nor I…nor I.”

                “What do you think it is, Zoltan?”

                “There’s nothing like a good mystery than one that is about to unfold in front of our very eyes. Let’s wait and see.”

                As they got closer to the spectacle, they noticed that around the edges of the colors and lights seemed to unravel. Specs, as they thought, were drifting away, and as they did, the two saw rocks, trees, and a mountain.

                “Zoltan, they’re dragonflies. Millions of dragonflies.”

                “So they are. Very interesting,” Zoltan said, leaning toward Elias. “There is something I must tell you.”

    I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Let me know what you think below.

    You may also enjoy: The Fantasy Trilogy: Saving the World One Book at a Time; Be True to Yourself: The Amulet: Journey to Sirok; “A Hero Ventures Forth…” Life May Be Imitating Art; Why Fantasy is a Good Read

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

    Most Viewed Posts

    All Posts

    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • YA Fantasy Trilogy: Saving the World One Book at a Time

    ,

    E.G. Kardos

    Writing a YA fantasy trilogy can be tricky. Writers and readers of fantasy think through many questions. Here are a few: does the reader have to start with the first book to make sense of the second and the third? Should I write the series so, if a reader chooses, they could start with the second, or even the third book before the first one? As a YA fantasy trilogy, should all the stories be clearly connected…a continuation…or just the hero’s next quest?

    These are valid questions for a writer –and a reader. In my fantasy trilogy, The Elias Chronicles , a reader can start with any book as each is a stand-alone story. Saying that, I think to appreciate Elias’ journey and his development, I’d start with the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, and then read the second and third in order, The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok and The Elixir: Journey On.

    As a YA fantasy trilogy, each book is connected as the stories follow the one before. Saying that, I include just enough of the previous storyline so the reader can easily get into the story and begin to connect with the main character, Elias.

    What’s this YA Fantasy Trilogy About?

    Without giving away any spoilers, in The Amulet, Elias learns all about himself by way of a journey he must take to truly understand who he is.

    In The Rings he realizes a friend is in danger but before he can find him, Elias must harness the powers he uncovered in the first story to not only save his friend, but he learns he must alos save a community that has been ravaged by false promises.

    In Book III, The Elixir, Elias has been called to protect the elixir that if it lands in the wrong hands could bring destruction to the planet. What is the elixir?

    As each book is truly a stand-alone story, Elias goes from self, to community to saving the world and….

    …after all, it is fantasy…but aren’t we all trying to save the world in our own way?

    This story best described by this quote by  Joseph Campbell.

    “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.”

    Here’s Chapter 1 of The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok, Book II of the fantasy trilogy, The Elias Chronicles. Enjoy!

    “…Elias is a character we can all connect with, as he has a good soul and always strives to do right… things like choosing kindness and good over evil…the storyline is a bit unpredictable, which is a welcome relief from a lot of fantasy writing out there right now…I would recommend this book to people who like fantasy stories with lots of fun characters and cool settings…”  

    ThisKidReviewsBooks.com

    1

    From the Crevasses

    The moment had changed time and space forever. The serpent no longer slithered inside, but for now, Elias knew how it had lived and died. 

                Alone, he stood atop the mountain of Sirok. His crusade had been long, but it was now over. As he stood tall, he savored his sweet victory for only a moment as it was time to return to what was familiar. It was time to move on, but he knew his experience with the serpent was now a part of him forever. 

                With only the sounds of a breeze that kicked up the sand where he stood, he looked at the dark and infinite early morning sky. Ribbons of faint light picked up the colors of the Earth and began to fan out. It was like a magnificent painting. The shades of night tinted the light of the morning and then pulled apart so that the darkness faded softly out of sight. 

    He bowed his head and slipped the amulet back around his neck. He knew all too well what it meant when he felt it against his chest. Smiling, he had thought of the exact time he had realized its worth—when it had saved him. 

    Elias scanned the area and let out a sigh. He saw the dragon’s sword on the ground, partly covered by debris, and

    then he grabbed its grip. He looked it over. Suddenly, the wind whipped up, and it forced him to look away. That’s when he saw his sword. Unlike the other blade, his sword stood upright and pierced the Earth. He gripped the hilt and pulled it from the ground. He held it high and looked at the long metal and thought about the force it commanded. These twin swords that once had unleashed an incredible power were nothing more than two cold steel blades. He sealed them away in the compartment at the base of the arch just as his grandmother had instructed him when he prepared for his journey.

                With the toe of his boot, he poked at the dying embers of the campfire. He scooped up the sandy soil of Sirok, covered the coals, and stomped out the edges of the fire. Still feeling the surge of confidence that came with his victory, he felt grateful the fight was over. Elias knew it was time to go home.    

    As he sucked in a heavy breath, he began to descend the crooked path on the rough terrain to journey home. His faithful dog, Cimbora, was at his side just as he had been during his adventure. Elias no longer feared the Sarkany, the evil dragon, as his fears he would find now lay elsewhere. He hoped never to return to this mountain. Elias’ head was full of thoughts of his family. He had left them many weeks ago when he felt he had no choice. His Papa had made it clear to him that there was no place for artists on a farm. Elias’ grandmother, Nattymama, had prepared him to search for the sorcerer, Zoltan, to help him uncover a peace that he would find only in his heart.    

    No sooner had Elias turned and walked away; than the ground trembled. Elias stopped. He looked back, and he saw nothing, but still, he paused. Something was there. He just knew it. He looked around but saw nothing unusual. He turned and continued his descent on his path toward the village. Cimbora, however, stood frozen about fifteen steps behind Elias. He stared at the smoldering campfire. He jerked his head, and then he trotted to catch up with Elias. He stopped once or twice and turned to look behind him. Cimbora sniffed the air. Before long, they were far enough down the mountain and could no longer see the camp.

                The crevasses in the ancient stones that surrounded the campfire tore open and made each gash deeper and longer. A cold wind whipped from them and swept over the dying embers. Too cold to be of this Earth, more wind streamed out from the rock fissures at the top of Sirok, where Elias had been just moments before. The wind spun itself, caught dirt and grit, and pulled in the cinders from the almost-dead fire. 

                The wind now lofted gently around the warm coals as the charm was now in play. Once again, the embers sparked into a flame. The flame hesitated briefly, but it flickered in reds and

    blues as the wind all but diminished. 

                The flame became a fire, and the fire became an inferno.

    ♦ ♦ ♦

    I hope you want to read more…

    You may enjoy these posts: Be True to Yourself: The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, “A Hero Ventures Forth…” Life May Be Imitating Art, Why Fantasy is a Good Read

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

    Most Viewed Posts

    All Posts

    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • “A Hero Ventures Forth…” Life May Be Imitating Art

    E.G. Kardos

    “A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered, and a decisive victory is won.”

    This quote by Joseph Campbell has meaning to all cultures over thousands of years…and that’s a long time.

    It’s so true and easy to see. Think of the last book you read or even the last movie you saw. Didn’t the main characters find themselves in a situation that blindsided them or one that they just couldn’t refuse—no matter what? They may not have “ventured” from the common day into the supernatural world—or maybe they did—but they left a place that was safe or familiar to a place that was unpredictable, scary, or even so horrifying with no seemingly good way to escape…but they do.

    They escape, make a difference, reshape the world, or better yet, they reshape themselves.

    Life Imitating Art or …

    These are the stories we as the reader or viewer resonate with the main character—the hero. We actually feel we have become the hero. We relate to the “good guy”, or his/her “treasure” is also our treasure. If we don’t feel that way, however, the story goes thud and it doesn’t sit on top of our list of best stories of all time that we’ve read or movies we’ve seen.

    Good storytelling, and some not-so-good storytelling, has been around forever—forever. When you think for a moment, most stories are allegories, unless it is, of course, non-fiction. An allegory is a story in which the character or situation symbolizes something greater than the actions taking place. These symbols tell us something about our life or our community. 

    Fiction Interprets Life

    I literally cringe when I am told something like, “I don’t read fiction, especially fantasy. I only read what’s real.” Oh really? What’s real? Our best stories and best storytellers of all time over the centuries were/are all about interpreting life, or what is real, in new and reimagined ways. Think about it. Even non-fiction accounts and biographies are embellished. Fiction gives us more than the black-and-white of facts, accounts, or events. It gives us the texture, color, brightness, and clarity we seek in life.

    Whether our day is mundane or extraordinary, we are the hero of our own journey—yep, our story can be pretty cool too. It doesn’t matter if you are 16 or 66, we all have something to share.

    Sometimes our story is all about our very private quest to live a life of our own making and to follow our own truth.

    We Face Challenges

    Sometimes, as Campbell insists, we must let go of the life we are building for ourselves to find the life we are meant to live. That’s our story—that’s you and me. Don’t we venture forth and find a world full of surprises? Life is full of challenges whether we like it or not. It’s all in how we approach that modern-day dragon that makes us truly a “hero” or not.

    Nevertheless, we must champion what’s right for us and stand up to the villains and beasts in our own quest. Sometimes that’s a neighbor, a boss, a system, or a belief. When we do this, however, we begin to harness “fabulous forces”, and unfortunately, a “decisive victory” is won—or not. There’s always the next chapter.

    Make Believe or Truth?

    Fiction in all its pretense and make-believe actually tells us the truth, that is, if you’re open to it. Since the beginning of time, humans have told tales about what they know best—themselves and their struggles. Whether we read about it or live it, you are the “hero”, and every story told or written over the years is about you. It is how humans have overcome tyrants, natural disasters and the voice within that is not always so kind.

    Fiction adds a perspective that with some distance, gives an extra light that’s just enough to give us the clarity we seek.

    Stories passed down for thousands of years are all about who we are. We are the heroes of every journey in every story over generations. I’m just not sure if life imitates art or if it’s the other way around. I do know, however, that fiction is all about the truth.

    In future posts, I will share my thoughts on the Hero’s Journey and its 12 stages to tell a story.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Stepping Into Worlds that I am the First to See

    E.G. Kardos

    Stepping into worlds that I am the first to see before all others and being the first one to meet those living there is a joy unlike anything else I’ve experienced. This, to me, is inspired writing, and I want to share this joy with an invitation to readers. 

    Reading fiction opens a gate to other worlds, whether in the distant past, the here and now, or light years from now. 

    Fiction creates a path that unites us with a story’s characters; in best-written fiction, those characters resonate with us. Why?

    Somewhere in our lives, we have felt the same deep emotion as the character, shared some quirky behavior, wondered the same thought, or had the same experience. Perhaps we identify with the character’s misgivings or flaws and feel a connection.

    Reading fiction makes us think and feel differently.

    This is why I read. Why do you? If you don’t read so much anymore, pick up something you’re interested in and start today.

    Stepping into Worlds of Writing

    As a writer, I dig into a part of me that many folks seem to have misplaced over the years—my imagination. As we get older, it seems to me that our creativity wanes. I’m not talking about “old age”, I am talking about when we grow up and become overly serious. Maybe you are like me and cherish your imagination and lean on it throughout your day, and I think this is a very good thing.

    When I write, I pull from inside of me a new land or a place never thought of by anyone else. Maybe it’s a place that seems real or one found in an enchanted forest but the bottom line—it’s new and different as we see this place through our own filters. Our mind makes sure it is.

    This, to me, is inspired writing, and I want to share this joy with an invitation to readers. 

    You’ve Got to Have a Reason

    What’s my reason for writing? Simply, I am drawn to illuminate the human condition. Without judgment, light pierces the darkness and is freeing. It allows us to explore what it is to be human. I weave these themes into my works of literary fiction and fantasy.

    This is why I write. Why do you? If you don’t write, start today with a journal, a note, or a sentence that captures a moment in your day. It can be a text to yourself! Write anything that means something to you.

    Words Spark a Whole new World Inside

    If you are here reading this post, you probably appreciate the written word at some level. I’m fascinated with books as they transport us, give us an escape from the out-of-control world, or give us a moment to ourselves to stir up our imagination.  Maybe you’re here to gain a different perspective, or to learn something new to spark something inside you—hope so.

    So Where Does this Idea of “Living Your Truth” Fit In?

    To me, it’s like your fingerprint–your truth. The only person we are with 24/7 from the day we are born until the day we die is, obviously, ourselves. Who we are—who we really are—is our truth. Deep down there is no escaping our truth as it is unique, beautiful, and soulful. It is why you are you and as unique as your fingerprint. If you strive to be true to your core and are trying your best to live authentically, reading and writing is a kind of fuel that moves your personal journey forward.

    If you read or write from this point of view, you become the story.

    The books we enjoy are written by authors who live their truth. Each word is selected with care. It’s easy to see this in each sentence and paragraph they choose. They capture the soul of a character and share them with us. I count myself among the lucky. They allow us to see, hear, taste, feel, and smell the story.

    It’s easy to get sidetracked, but that comes with being the “flawed character” in my own story.

    If you appreciate fiction, you will agree with me that the “best” characters are flawed. I happen to be the “best” character to lead my own personal quest.

    Cutting of Harp Strings is a literary novel and is all about living your truth. My fantasy series, The Elias Chronicles asks the questions we all think about- who am I? What should I do with my powers? What’s ahead for me? Whether it is literary fiction or fantasy, my books are about what it is to be human with all the emotions that make us who we are.

    Stepping into Worlds – More Worlds!

    This blog may include reviews and mentions of books that inspire. As an author, I will share more about what I have learned and still learning. I will share thoughts, observations, reflections, musings, and stories that help me on my own journey to live my truth. This informs what I read and write. You may find it helpful or entertaining as well. If you value the idea of living your truth as well as reading or writing, I hope you find a flash of inspiration in my reflections.

    You may also like: It’s Created by the Mind: Why Read Fiction?

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

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    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • Be True to Yourself: The Amulet: Journey to Sirok

    E.G. Kardos

    Be true to yourself. It is only when we follow our hearts that we may truly know who we are and how we should live our lives. As Socrates said, “know thyself”. It’s not so much about having a dream as we all have them. But those dreams may be misguided.

    But by listening to our hearts, it can make all the difference.

    The Amulet: Journey to Sirok is Book I of the trilogy, The Elias Chronicles. I wrote this with young AND older readers in mind. Rich in symbolism and life themes that resonate with all ages, I wanted to share a story about the heart. When I received the following testimonial, I was deeply touched as this is what I set out to do.

    ABOUT The Elias Chronicles:

    In the spirit of C.S. Lewis, the fantasy is never about the fantastical; it’s about deeply human and moral concerns: identity, voice, virtue, family, and conflict. A joyous, satisfying, life-affirming read!”

    Dr. William R. Muth, Editorial Advisory Board: Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy

    Below, I am sharing the first seven pages of The Amulet: Journey to Sirok. I hope you enjoy it and join Elias on the rest of his journey. You will find it is YOUR journey too!

    PROLOGUE

    Legend of Sirok

    When the serpent is slithering inside, you will know it, but only with the gift you will understand how it lives and how it dies.” That’s where she always began.  

    Like many women before her, Nattymama passed the legend down to  all who would listen. There were those, of course, who would hear but  would not heed her words. Good fortune, however, came to most who  listened. 

    On the spring equinox at the precise time that winter turned to  spring, Nattymama dusted off a tattered, yellowed scroll and read aloud  to the children in the center of the village. Her account began where the  castle now lay in ruins just to the north of the village on a small rocky  mountain.  

    She told her tale as if it happened only yesterday—or for that matter,  she told it as if it might just happen again. 

    Her story was known to many as The Legend of Sirok. 

    As a young boy, Elias sat front and center and listened to Nattymama,  his grandmother, who brought to life the events that she traced back a  thousand years. He hung on to her every word and getting through the  scary passages took all the courage he could muster. Keeping one eye closed  during some scenes, he patiently waited for his favorite parts. He couldn’t  get enough of the battle that played out in his head or the amazing way  the story ended. For many years to come, he would hear her voice in his  head telling the story just as if he was listening to her for the first time.  Oftentimes he thought of what the legend truly meant. He had all but  committed the ending to memory. 

    “…centuries ago, a lightning bolt hurtled upward from the center of the  Castle of Sirok. The beam split the clear sky. It was then that the thunder  rumbled like a stampede of a thousand water buffalos as bloated clouds,  the color of dried ox blood, gobbled up the open sky. All was dark— 

    motionless. One moment passed and then another, but on the third tick  of a clock, sheets of rain began to pelt the kingdom. This storm was like  no other as something mystical must have been in each and every drop.  

    “Hours passed and  the  rain subsided. Within moments it was certain  that the downpour had washed away what contaminated the gilded  kingdom. Not long after the rainstorm, curls of black smoke billowed  from somewhere near the core of Sirok where huge flames casted an eerie  glow on the naked kingdom.  

    “Still masked by smoke, the sun  eventually  shone through misshapen  holes in the black blanket of clouds above. With little warning, what  was left of the suffocating smoke all but vanished allowing more threads  of light to reveal the stone structures high on the mountaintop. Without  so much as a smoldering ember, Sirok was reborn. Unlike its old, garish  facade, it now stood in simplicity and beauty. 

    “A bird sang followed by another. The water was clean, and the air was  fresh. The buildings were bright, and the roads led freely in and out. The  people saw each other in a new way. The people smiled.

    “Filled with joy, the warrior mounted a horse and rode down the rocky  path that few dared to travel. At the foot of the mountain, a hundred or  so villagers looked on with blank stares. They said little as they witnessed  such chaos that only minutes earlier turned the kingdom into something  new—something altogether different from what had stood before. 

    “Galloping down the rocky path, the villagers focused on the mysterious  young man. The only sounds one could hear were the pounding of the  hooves drubbing on the rocky soil. Thump, thump, thump! The warrior,  who they discovered was a mere boy, raced up to where the villagers  gathered. He yanked on the reins much to the displeasure of his faithful  steed and spoke to the crowd. 

    ‘“What the evil one seized, the people of the kingdom have reclaimed.  With this newfound will, we are now free and have washed our hands of  our needless guilt. We have nothing to fear as we now know who we are.’”

    Nattymama continued, “The villagers standing before the warrior were  a field of statues who said nothing, much to the young warrior’s surprise.  He spoke again. 

    “‘Don’t you see? Our misguided ways in Sirok had become a way of life.  We believed in the wrong things. We lived behind a veil, but it is a new  day for us—and you— as we are the victors.’ 

    “‘So where is he? The evil one?’ a man shouted from the crowd. 

    “‘He is victim of his own undoing and sealed his fate in the eternal fire  of his own making,’ said the warrior. ‘Our resolve is golden. We are the  victors,’ said the boy warrior. 

    “‘An old woman shouted. ‘But what on earth will become of those poor  souls who lived in the Kingdom of Sirok?’ 

    ‘“Oh, dear woman, you do not understand me. They are free. Free! Their  very spirit will make them whole. Sirok will never be the same again; all  those who come to know Sirok, to really know it, will be forever changed.  Sirok is at our very core.’

    “The warrior looked down to his finger that bore a ring that sparkled in  the morning light. He thought of the boy who gave up one treasure for  another and he lifted his chin with confidence and raised his open palm  to the crowd. 

    “He gazed out to the souls who stood in silence and abruptly tugged on  the reins. The stallion reared back on its hind legs and then galloped at top  speed up the rocky mountain.”

    Chapter 1

    Elias

    Like a breeze sifts through the morning mist, his brush strokes barely  touched the canvas. The bristles of his well-worn brush were thin as  many had been lost on previous paintings. This made no difference as his  paintbrush was an extension of his fingers. With his right hand, he dabbed  a speck of magenta and with his left, reddish-brown. 

    With a wisp of a stroke his imagination erupted as he envisioned a  coiled snake on the other side of a fallen tree. Not far away from the rotting  trunk, he created another tale of gypsies who plodded down the narrow  trails below the hill. He was bringing meaning to a deep forest as it was  taking shape on the scuffed-up canvas. His images were fresh as he blended  what he saw in front of him with what he could see in his mind’s eye. It all  lived in that moment and began a life of its own on the flat surface.  

    Elias tilted his head from side to side and inhaled the pure mountain  air as he measured his progress. Looking away at the rolling Mátra  Mountain range, he could smell and taste a mix of deciduous beech and birch trees that sat on a draft coming from the east. One day I’ll catch this  scent in a painting…yeah, I need to figure that out, he thought. 

    When he had arrived a few hours earlier, the sky was a deep blue with  only the faintest veil of clouds on the horizon that played with the smooth  and rolling mountain crests. The heavens were now a smear of amber as the  spectrum of colors gradually cloaked the sky. This moment was altogether  different as he noticed the new colors sharpen above.  

    Perched high upon a cliff, he was alone as he swapped a blank canvas  for what was becoming a kaleidoscope of the Hungarian landscape. This  was his haven. He entwined himself with the beauty and love of nature.  This was nothing new. From a young age, Elias knew what stirred his heart. 

    He made his own canvases by stretching remnants of an abandoned  gypsy tent over a frame he made from a discarded wooden crate.  Nattymama, who was an herbalist, mixed and blended his paints using her  own recipe. His brushes were horsehair affixed to slender but sturdy sprigs  from a nearby cypress tree. Elias used old forgotten wooden dowels and  hinges he found and made them into a sturdy easel. This was all he needed. 

    Elias’ long brown hair grazed his shoulders. His light brown eyes  were striking and ominous to some but opened a gateway to a peace from  deep within him. Lean and average height, he could be pensive and appear brooding at times. Although he was private and a little shy, Elias seldom  kept his thoughts to himself if others pushed, teased, or tested him in any  manner. Like his paintings, he was an original. He was an old soul who  was true to his feelings. He, became frustrated from time to time because  others didn’t take their time to even try to understand him. 

    Pausing for a moment, he surveyed the vast and beautiful terrain, and  he wondered what he could find if he went deep inside the forest well  beyond the trees and rocks that were in plain view. He loved what he  painted and allowed his imagination to fill in the blanks, but he wanted to  know and experience more.  

    The forest looked dark, dense, and cold, but that was just an assumption  or a guess—he wanted to know for sure. He had never traveled the paths  within. Papa cautioned him about the dangers, telling him he could enter at his own risk, but it would be far better to leave the forest alone as there  was much to do right around home. 

    At ease with his own thoughts and feelings, Elias was happy and  fulfilled, but he had a darker side too. An inner voice gnawed at him,  reminding him that he was different from the others in his family and  those in and around the village. What he felt, he shared with only a few, so  he expressed himself in his artwork. As he pieced together in his mind who  he thought he was and wanted to be, it was clear what caused the special  beat in his heart and what created personal joy deep within him. 

    ♦ ♦ ♦

    Elias’s home and family farm were close to where he liked to paint.  They lived about three kilometers from a small village. With four large  rooms and a loft, Papa built their house of white stucco and a thatched  roof. Various supporting buildings, including a small barn and a few sheds,  completed their home.  

    Inside their house, the walls were pure white. Large exposed and rough  beams separated the living area from the loft, where the children slept.  The furnishings were colorful, like his palette, as were the meticulously  crafted quilts and wall hangings Mama and other women in the family  had embroidered. They delicately stitched them with intricate detail over  many generations. One of Elias’ paintings hung over the hearth at Mama’s  insistence. It was a warm yet functional home. 

    They grew wheat. Livestock on the farm included a cow, a few oxen,  some sheep, chickens, and a rooster. Mama and Papa were raising three  boys and two girls, and Elias was the second oldest boy at fifteen. 

    Wiping her pale face with floury fingers, Mama stood on tiptoes to  reach a bowl from a cupboard. Grabbing the bowl with one hand and  tucking it… 

    I hope you want to read more. The trilogy awaits!

    You may enjoy these posts too: The Hero’s Journey, “A Hero Ventures Forth…”, Why Fantasy is a Good Read, From A Struggling Reader to Writing Fantasy, and The Time We Have.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • Self Discovery Books – an Excerpt from Cutting of Harp Strings

    E.G. Kardos

    We’ve all met new people and wondered what might happen next. Will we become friends, or will we remain acquaintances? We may not think about it at the moment, but we have all meet people who will mean nothing to us, or worse, they may become our enemy; that’s life. Like in “real life” self-discovery books explore much more than the character’s relationship with “self” but their relationship with others and society.

    I love the chapter I’m sharing below. It’s when Eli meets Aiden. Even when I re-read it, I pick up something new.

    Like the characters we meet and journey with them, many times we just don’t have any idea where a relationship is going until it organically unfolds. There have been times that I wished I could check my proverbial crystal ball. Sometimes I have thought “why now” or “why this person”?

    We carry baggage to every introduction of every new person we meet and so do they. In good fiction, so do the characters we come to love.

    Fate?

    Is it fate? I mean who we meet and who we don’t? If we showed up early, late, or not at all what may have we missed out on without even knowing it?

    If you’re like me you’ve asked more than once, “what if?”. Do people enter our lives for a reason? Is all this fate?

    If you enjoy books that explore the complexities of relationships and the journey of self-discovery, Cutting of Harp Strings should be your next read. Well, at least I hope you to read the excerpt I included below.

    First, a little about the story…

    Eli’s life is in limbo. He’s searching for a sense of peace but can’t seem to find it. That all changes when he returns many years later to the place where he first met Aiden. 

    Back those many years ago, Eli and Aiden were polar opposites, but despite their differences, a rare friendship blossoms. A friendship that neither had ever experienced before—or since. Caught off guard, their relationship deepens but like a gut punch, a promise that Aiden made to himself changes everything. Eli is left to pick up the pieces. 

    In Cutting of Harp Strings Eli artfully weaves together a narrative of friendship, living in the moment, and love. 

    Self-Discovery Books

    It’s a story of self-discovery and will take you on an emotional rollercoaster of joy, heartbreak, and ultimately, utter bliss that, I think, is sure to stay with you long after turning the last page. 

    Why?

    Readers have told me that the story is full of engaging characters and has an evocative and visual plot. They have shared with me that Cutting of Harp Strings is an unforgettable coming-of-age self discovery book that leaves them reflecting on the beauty of true friendship and the power of love. 

    I’m happy with that…so please read….and let me know what you think.

    TWO

    August 1973

    I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I was sure that Father Meinrad told me this room number. Double-checking, I pulled out of my pocket a small crumpled-up piece of paper where I had written the room number.

    “Yep,” I said, aloud.

     Turning the knob, I didn’t know what to expect or whom I would find. With hesitation, I wrapped my head around the unwieldy oak door to take a look. No one was there. Creeping in, I dropped my duffel bag and knapsack on the bare tile floor and took a deep breath. Thinking I was intruding, I just then considered going down to the TV room to wait a while but, with a rare moment of certainty, I thought otherwise. After all, this was my room too.

    In both oversized windows were two enormous box fans buzzing and gusting winds in different directions. I turned them down one notch and began looking around but disturbing nothing. I began to size up this guy, after all, I would be living with him in this space for the next two school terms. Tacked up on the wall behind his dresser were pictures from magazines of sports stars. I saw Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain among the collage. Tucked partly behind his mirror was a recent news clipping of Mark Spitz highlighting his seventh Olympic gold medal. Fluttering to one side was an obscure obituary of someone named Sir Francis Chichester who at sixty-five, I found by scanning the clipping, sailed around the world alone in his ketch called Gipsy Moth IV. 

    “Hmmm. How odd,” I mumbled to myself.

    I didn’t want to disturb anything, but I wanted to know everything. On his stereo was a new album. “Aerosmith—Dream On…he can’t be too bad—maybe.” 

    Mountains of books were everywhere except the bookcase in this twelve-by-something room. Zen, art history, and architectural design,

    you name it, he had books for all his interests. Unusual bookmarks poked out from the pages. Spoons, Popsicle sticks, and a sock accounted for a few. A tee-shirt, gym shorts, and an assortment of tennis shoes were scattered and strewn about. His knotted school necktie hung from a lamp, and his blue blazer and khaki pants draped from an ancient gray radiator under the windows—I could only wonder what he kept in his closet.

    At first glance, the cell, as the monks called them, was a whirlwind of chaotic prep school life, but I sensed there was a kind of order to things. It was an order that, perhaps, only the caretaker might know the code. I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it. Maybe I would care some other day. 

    On a stack of books on his desk, was his journal. Peeking behind me at the door and then back at the notebook, I laid my hand on its cover. Flipping it open, a sinking feeling came over me and closed it with a slap. Peering back at the door, I shook my head letting out a puff of air. Beginning to act a bit like a voyeur made me feel strange and didn’t like the feeling. Even so, I was intrigued with him and speculated if we would get along. If what he collects, and what he reads, and how he keeps his space was any indication, it would seem this year would be dreadfully long. 

    Among the mayhem, much to my surprise, he had both beds impeccably made, so I had no clues as to which bunk was his. Feeling like a stranger heightened my anxiety. Wasn’t so sure I wanted to deal with a new way of living, considering I would be spending this year working my ass off to get into Georgetown next fall. Maybe weird, but not knowing where I would lay my head tonight was bothersome. Sleeping was important. With confidence, I chose one and sat down. I slowly leaned back on my elbows just thinking about this hiccup in my life.

    BAM!

    Without warning, the door flew open nearly blowing off the hinges. I sprang forward. My uneasiness escalated and my heart raced faster than Spitz’s Olympic record times. Like the hinges on the door, I sensed things were not going to be secure the way I was used to, like it or not. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me that I had better take my steps cautiously.

    He was dripping with sweat and wearing cutoff jeans and black Chuck Taylor sneakers. Without uttering a word, but with a glance, he shot past me to one of the fans to cool himself.  As they were before, he cranked up both fans to their highest setting. With his side and back toward me and with his hands on his hips, I had to notice his chiseled definition. Through the skewed windowpane and the flickering fan blades, strange patterns made by the sun played on his torso. He didn’t seem real. He was about my height of six feet, and that was where the similarities ended. His brown hair was thick with a luster and accents of the summer sun. Seemingly molded with a sculptor’s plan, he had a natural outline of long lashes that framed his blue eyes. I later learned the girls at our sister school loved his eyes and thought he was so adorable. His jaw and cheekbones rolled together in absolute harmony. If there was ever a classic nose, it was his. He, of course, had an even tan. As we all have flaws, his were not visible—that’s enough to piss off anyone. 

    Rolling his head in fluid rotation, his actions shifted from his self-focus to that of me. As he guided his neck from side to side, he said something that I could not make out. 

    “What did you say? The fans are too loud, I – didn’t – hear – you,” I said drawing out each word and cupping my ear with my hand. 

    In a single motion, he switched off one fan and turned toward me. Poking fun, he said, “My – name – is – Aiden. You’re late. The semester started ten days ago. I thought the place was all mine until Father Meinrad stopped me five minutes ago. What a bombshell.” He shook his head.

    His choice of words aggravated me, and I responded the way I felt. “Oh, yeah, I’m Eli, and sorry if I’m spoiling your little plans, but are you always an ass?”

    “Geez, hold on. Get a grip. I didn’t mean anything by it. I figured it was just too good to be true—that’s all. If you want to know the truth, I was hoping they’d move someone in here.” He totally switched gears and looked at me with a smile. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Let’s start over—hey roomie. I’m Aiden.”

    I couldn’t change my mood that fast and muttered with disinterest something like. “Yeah, yeah—hi I’m Eli, whatever.”

    “Okay, that’s a lot better wouldn’t you say?” Aiden asked.

    “Yeah, I’m all for fresh starts anyway. I’m here, aren’t I? So, if I may ask, what happened to your last roommate?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

    “Absolutely, you may ask. Go ahead and ask,” he said crossing his arms.

    “All right already,” I let out a sigh.

    “Okay, okay, just trying to add some levity.”

    “Uh-huh,” I said rolling my eyes.

    “So, anyway, my last roommate was this guy named Brody. He’s still around. He flunked a few classes, and the monks didn’t like that. He went ballistic, but that didn’t have anything to do with his grades because he hates me anyway. He’s got issues and he made me the reason.”

    “Oh really—issues?”

    “Yeah—issues.  I’m over all that and don’t care one way or another,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “Hey, I hope you get good grades—and don’t have issues. I don’t want you, the monks, or your mom or dad coming after me.” 

    Aiden began to tidy the room and nonchalantly said, “Looks like I did take over the place, but I just didn’t figure on a new kid coming in…anyway, what’s mine is yours. Yep, I know how hard it is to be thrown into strange situations.”

    “Don’t worry about it. So, tell me more about Brody.”

    “Huh? Nothing more to tell.” He stiffened up and looked away, so I knew he wasn’t going to budge. He changed the subject. “So, Eli, what’s your story? I mean, why are you just getting here now?”

    “My mom, well, my mom passed away a few years back…”

    “Oh man—didn’t have any idea. Sorry for the crack about irate moms and dads.”

    “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, Dad had this thought that to better prepare me for college, I needed to spend my senior year away from home. Literally a week ago we, I mean he, settled on St. Augustine’s. In the last year, he’s hardly been at home, so I think that’s the real reason. 

    “Cool. It’s all good. You’re here now.”

    “Dad says I should be away from distractions. He presumes coming here would help me, you know, with the Fathers watching out for me. He says it would give me an edge getting into college. Yep, he thinks this is my ticket to Georgetown.”

    “Well, it sounds like he’s got it all figured out,” Aiden said.

    “Yeah, well, you don’t know my whole situation.”

    “Oh?”

    “They appointed him ambassador to Belgium, and he is going to spend a lot of time out of the country. When he is here, he’s going to be pretty busy—even busier than before. He decided that it would be best if I went to a school like this one. I always wanted to be a lawyer—like him. So, if this place helps me to get into Georgetown, then this is a good place for me to be.”

    “Yeah, a boarding school,” Aiden interrupted. “But old Father Meinrad may have put you in the wrong room. I mean, I’m a distraction and I know it. I look for distractions. Like, distraction is my middle name. To me, that’s a good thing. Anyway—you’re here now.”

    There was a long and awkward silence. I ran my fingers through my hair and felt myself tense up starting with my toes shooting upward. 

    “Well, I’m not planning to be around much on the weekends. We’re

    only a couple of hours from D.C. so I plan to go home on the weekends when Dad’s there.”

    “Hmmm. I think you’ll be here most weekends…anyway,” Aiden said. “There are some cool things to do around here. Lots to explore…and the Shenandoah River is pretty excellent this time of year. That’s where I just came from.” 

    “No—no. Thanks, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to get my diploma and move on.”

    “Yeah, yeah yeah—I hear ya. You’re not some kind of a dork, are you? If we’re going to live together, we may as well try to hang out and have a good time. There will be plenty of time for studying. Didn’t mean to scare you with all that distraction talk.”

    I was getting aggravated, and a sigh seeped out. “Hey Aiden, I just don’t need all this right now. Okay?”

    “Yeah, man. I hear you. I gave you your first distraction,” Aiden said sarcastically. “You should know, Eli, the Robes might not say it, but they want us to have some distractions. Saturdays are made for distractions. That’s the way they want it. That’s the way we want it too. We don’t see them, and they don’t see us. Today is Saturday and I’m making the most out of it.” 

    Aiden was more interested in thinking of other things and offered his own perspective. “You may never want to go home on the weekends—or ever.”

    “Oh really?”

    “Let me tell you…Saturdays…it’s our day. Everyone needs a day off. Even the Robes.” 

    “You keep saying Robes, what’s a Robe?”

    “They’re a who not a what. They’re the good Fathers, you know, the monks—the guys wearing black robes who run this place.” 

    “Yeah, yeah, I got it. But you don’t call them that to their face, do you? I mean you say, Father, right?” 

    “Eli, yes call them Father—for a smart dude, you may be a bit slow on the uptake. The kids here have called them Robes forever, you know, behind their backs. Sometimes they overhear us, and they really

    hate it. So, watch out when you use the word because some of them have a fierce backhand slap.”

    “Oh, okay. Thanks for the tip,” I said facing my palms out his way and shaking my head.

     “Anyway, what I was trying to say was that the coaches, who are not Robes, rotate to keep track of us on the weekends. It’s like one coach per class and we have seventy or so in each class so it’s loose, very loose. I spend time running in the woods. It’s much better than on the track or on campus somewhere. It’s just better.”

    I didn’t think he would ever shut up. When he did, I wasn’t sure what to do, but at least now, I knew the slang for priests. Yep, I didn’t think this arrangement was going to work out. 

     “Well, that sounds great and all, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve never been much for hiking or exploring, so count me out.” 

    “Once I get you off-campus, you’ll see.”

    “No, I don’t think so. Don’t think it’s going to happen. Being close to the dorm is fine by me, and anyway I think I’ll be spending time in the library getting ready for college.”

    “Sounds like your dad, I mean you have a plan, but I don’t know… the Robes won’t just let you study all the time. I’m telling you.”

    Aiden seemed to have an answer for everything, so I thought I should change the subject. “Well, I’m going to try out for the basketball team.”

    “Cool. All right. We do have something in common. Yeah, b-ball—cool.”

    Somehow, we managed a moment of quiet. Thank God. Aiden leaped backward onto a bed. He landed squarely in the middle of the mattress while clasping his hands behind his head. Finally, I got my answer and now knew which bed was mine. So, I began to collect my

    duffel and knapsack, threw them on my bed, and unzipped all the compartments. Out of the corner of my right eye, I could tell he was interested in what I was doing. Using my body to shield my belongings, not that I had anything to hide, I unpacked. Just wasn’t ready to offer the same courtesy Aiden had extended to me earlier. 

    Seeing all I needed to see, I decided that this arrangement was awful and was ready to talk to Father Meinrad. He told me earlier in the day that if I didn’t think my roommate would work out, switching rooms was not a problem. He said that several students were without a roommate. A guy named Luis, I remembered him telling me, who lived right down the hall didn’t have one. Yep, Father and I needed to talk.

    After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Aiden lost interest in what I was doing and blurted out, “Okay, didn’t mean any harm. Sorry to intrude.” 

    He bolted up from his bed, yanked off his worn sneakers, and peeled off his shorts. He grabbed a towel hanging from a closet doorknob, sniffed it, and he left the same way he entered. He headed down the long hall to the bathroom for a shower. Just in time, as I was ready to punch someone.

    …this is the end of Chapter TWO. Enjoy Cutting of Harp Strings from the beginning.

    So, what do you think? Let me know in the commments section below. Check out this review on Seven Sisters Blog.

    You may be interested in these posts too: Love is a Strange Thing or Coming -of-Age or Bildungsroman or Both?

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

    Most Viewed Posts

    All Posts

    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • Eddie Zen: a Zen Master Next Door

    Read an excerpt…

    E.G. Kardos

    Without seeking it, profound spiritual growth can arise in the most unexpected places—from a child’s reaction, a stranger who enters our lives, or even our neighbor; thus, the Zen master next door.

    Zen stories and philosophies transcend all spiritual belief systems. Our belief systems are quite similar; however, some individuals don’t always recognize this. I’m not sure why. However, because of these similarities, connections, and integration of philosophies we share, I decided to write about them. I wrote short stories called parables for enlightened everyday living. Each story focusing on seventeen significant philosophies that capture Zen in our everyday lives and are present in most belief systems. You may see yourself or someone you know in these parables. I hope so.

    During the publishing process, Daniel Pink, author of A Whole New World and many other books, said:

    “What an inspiring way to learn about our very soul, The modern parables in Zen Master Next Door are captivating and left me wanting more.”

    I can’t review my own book so I will leave that up to others, but I certainly enjoyed writing it. Here’s one Zen story from Zen Master Next Door (3rd and latest edition).

    Enjoy!

    EDDIE ZEN

    The energy of the mind is the essence of life.

    Aristotle

    Listen to the voice of nature, for it holds treasures for you.

    Huron—Native American

    When knowledge becomes tattered, wisdom springs.

    Eddie Zen

                Start with the truth.  At least that is what he told Judd, his neighbor of nearly a decade.

                “Answers to questions most important to humanity always lie within us.  Come on, certainly you’ve heard that before,” Eddie said with a frothy tone.  He started conversations this way, bypassing any normal greeting.

                On a warm breeze that filtered through the trees in Eddie’s front yard, arrived the rich fragrance of juniper from Judd’s garden next door.  Eddie’s yard, now speckled with boxes, chairs, tables and bookcases, was once a pristine postage stamp-sized lot but now resembled a yard sale without the swarms of bargain hunters. 

                Judd dropped by on a lark, not knowing that his elderly neighbor was moving that very day.  But that was common practice for both men.  Judd was unaware of much around him, while Eddie was unpredictable at best. 

                Replying to the older man, Judd nodded his head.  “What’s going on here?  Where are you going?”

                “I’m moving on…just moving on.  But don’t worry about that, because I’m trying to give you something to think about.  Think about it, the answers you search for come from wisdom that’s passed down through the ages.  I repeat, in case you aren’t catching on, it’s about wisdom—w-i-s-d-o-m.” 

                Giving in as he usually did, Judd said, “All right already— so where does it come from?  This wisdom.” 

                “Good question,” Eddie said, drawing in a slow breath while scratching his day old stubble.  “It started with our first ancestors and flowed

    on year after year, decade after decade and century after…well you get my point,” he said squinting as he looked to the gray, hazy sky, thick with summer’s humidity.  “Anyway, although this wisdom has been fermented like a good chardonnay many times over for many years, it is now tucked away.  Seldom does modern man give it much weight.” 

                Eddie sat down on a dusty, wooded trunk and yanked off his horn-rimmed glasses.  He held them up, and he peered through the lenses, and put them back on.  Taking a long, deliberate breath, he continued.  “Today we rely more on science at one end of the spectrum or blind faith at the other.  Wisdom is overlooked and seldom part of our decision-making.  Don’t you think?”  Judd obliged nodding his head.

                As the movers in the house packed Eddie’s belongings, it dawned on Judd that he was always drawn to Eddie’s musings and now seeing him leave the neighborhood, an instant sense of emptiness plopped in his abdomen.  With downcast eyes, Judd told him that he wished he had taken the time to get to know him—really know him. 

                Eddie was a rather imposing but gentle man.  Standing a hair over six feet tall, he was slender and looked like a man ten years his junior.  He always donned frayed oxford shirts that draped on his torso like bed linens on a grandmother’s clothesline.  His silver hair was thick for a man of any age, impeccably combed and parted to the side with the straightest of parts. 

                With an easy smile and radiant disposition, Eddie unwittingly drew Judd to him and always did.  Despite his incessant ramblings, Judd knew Eddie was a singular sort.  A ready smile punctuated Eddie’s discourse.

                “Ah, you know me well enough.  Don’t worry about that.  Get to know yourself!  Get to know others and learn from them.  Get to know the guy next door.  This is what I’m talking about,” he told Judd, springing from his seat and walking to a lopsided pyramid of boxes. 

                He began fumbling through a crumbling, corrugated container.  For a moment, Eddie said nothing.  He looked perplexed as he shuffled papers in the container.  Losing his concentration from moment to moment, he paused as he examined an ancient fountain pen and a softball-sized sphere of rubber bands.

                “Are you looking for something?”  Judd asked.

                “Yes.  Why, what does it look like I’m doing?” he said with a sigh.  “It’s in here somewhere.  I want to give you something I started and I insist you finish it.  What I’m looking for will show you what I mean.”

                Eddie continued to rummage through boxes.  As he did, dust emanated from each box flap, filling the immediate area with a ripe tang. 

                Eddie stopped for a moment, looking up without his signature gleam and paused.  “You’ve always been kind to me and listened as I’ve spouted off at the first moment you’ve gotten home from work.  You have been kind enough to speak with me while you’re out in the yard.  Even at last year’s Fourth of July block party, I pulled you away from the beer cooler to throw you a thought, and you were there with a catcher’s mitt to snare it.  Whatever I threw out there, you were willing to give it the kind of attention I was looking for.”  He smiled and nodded as if proud of a son.

                Judd, always neatly dressed and clean-shaven, was in his late thirties, had a muscular physique and short-cropped blonde curls with steely blue eyes.  His usual look was a golf shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. 

                Married to Ashley for nine years, they had two children.  Rarely taking time to think beneath the facade of many issues, Judd spent time taking care of his young family with little time for introspection.  He wasn’t so different from most folks.  Eddie knew this.

                Judd could not imagine what he was hunting for, and as Eddie rifled through dusty boxes, he suddenly felt empty-handed, wanting to reciprocate.  He thought of nothing of worth that he could conjure up to give the old man.  This worried him.  Judd told him that. 

                Preoccupied while looking through his belongings, Eddie gently gestured to him, waving his hands in the air while saying, “You’ve given me plenty.  But, I guess you don’t realize that, now do you?” 

                Before Judd could utter a syllable and from calm to excitement and without warning, Eddie blurted, “Ah, yes.  Eureka!  Here it is!”

                Before rescuing the gift from the box, Eddie peered down at the prize.  There was a glow about his eyes.  He took a breath and pulled it up and out.  As if it was a gold brick, he handed Judd a ream of yellowed paper, tattered and dog-eared at many of the edges.  Tinged with a scent of mildew, what Eddie held, Judd knew, must be significant.  As Eddie flipped through and peered at many of the pages, Judd saw that what he was handing him was a collection of handwritten stories.

                Taken by the gesture, Judd asked, “Why are you giving these to me?  I mean, this looks like a lifetime of work.  You ought to keep it.”  At best, he was bewildered. 

                Eddie put his hands in his pockets and, leaning forward on his toes, explained, “I don’t need them where I’m going.  Besides, my hands can no longer tolerate holding a pen for very long.  Perhaps you can read them and put them to good use in some way.  Maybe it will get you off your duff and get you to write something too.  You know it is in you.  It’s a gift…by the way, they’re parables.” 

                Overheated from his search, Eddie sat in a recliner under a maple tree in his front yard, waiting to be loaded onto the moving van.  He looked up intently at the massive tree boughs, as his thoughts accompanied the expression of resolve on his face.  He motioned to Judd to pull up a kitchen chair from the mountain of boxes on the other side of the slate walkway, and to join him. 

                In the fashion of Socrates dispensing philosophies under an olive tree, Eddie began to expound.  “When we read stories, you know, it is natural for us to pull personal meaning from them.  This in itself is a good thing.  Don’t you think?  Writers like it when this happens.  As I like to think, it may lead to introspection—I like that word.  But at the very least stories help us think.  Are you with me?”

                Judd was a trifle confused.  “So what is it all about?  I mean, you always tell me that the answers are inside of each of us.  I bet that’s all here.  The answers you have found in you?”

                With his long, thin finger pointing to his own chest, Eddie answered.  “Precisely.  I did say that, but it doesn’t mean I know all the answers.  In complexity, there is simplicity.  In simplicity, there is complexity.  Answers are not always the result of equations or any logical order—if so, we would unfetter all the mysteries, be superhumans, and not, well, just humans.  There is nothing perfect about any one of us.  I however, think that stories, not just mine, are like beautiful sunflowers.  They hold beliefs and values that somehow creep and root themselves into most civilizations.  Like a tall sunflower staring us in the face we sometimes still ask—so where’s this flower?”

                The workers were moving his life’s possessions with such disturbing ease.  “This move shouldn’t be this easy and this fast,”Judd thought.  Eddie saluted the movers as they filed by him.  Except for Eddie’s recliner, all of his belongings that once covered his yard were securely in the truck. 

                In spite of the commotion around him, Judd began to think of all the times he and Eddie had talked and he was only now beginning to connect the dots like the excuses Eddie made by walking over to Judd’s house, ringing the doorbell to borrow a dictionary.  “Eddie needs a dictionary?  How come I didn’t think that was odd,” Judd scolded himself.  He thought of the times that Eddie would show up with a beer in hand when Judd cooked burgers on the grill, or wanted to borrow a snow shovel in May.  These were times that Eddie had something to say.  Sometimes Judd listened and other times he was preoccupied.  “I wish I had listened all those times,” Judd thought.

                Eddie continued, “We’re all the same.  The mores and ways of life are probed and pondered today just as they were by those who resided at Stonehenge or by the ancient Greeks, or the Bushmen of Africa or the contemporaries of Confucius, or the greeter at Wal-Mart or the neighbor over the fence, or me or you.  Did I leave out anyone?  These truths are worthy of another look, don’t you think?  Perhaps two or three more looks.  That’s all I’m saying.”

                As Judd looked away for a moment and turned back to answer, Eddie seemed to have vanished.  Scanning the yard, Judd noticed that Eddie was slowly climbing the front steps of his home to determine the progress of the workers.  Judd stayed, enjoying the warmth of Eddie’s lingering presence.  Although it was getting close to noon and hotter than ever, he was content as he imagined what the old man was all about.  He began flipping through the ragged paper and found himself easing back into the recliner.  He thumbed through the musty pages, reading snippets of different stories and passages.  He found himself mesmerized. 

                Judd, put the bundle of papers on his lap, took a breath, got up, and began to search for Eddie.  More questions swirled in his head. 

                Eddie walked to the rear of the house, orchestrating the movers.  Judd caught up with him and followed.

                After a moment, Eddie pulled himself away from the mundane and in awkward silence, walked to the main staircase six feet from his opened front door.  He sat down on the eighth step.  He crossed his legs at his bony ankles and placed his graceful hands to the back of his head.  Sunbeams shot through the door.  He watched the workers as they swiftly moved in and out of his house.

                Eddie’s home was empty.  He stood and then moved with a lightened gait, as if a burden melted away.  He walked outside and down the brick stoop one last time. 

                Judd picked up his pace to join him in the front of the house.  The movers were busy repositioning the recliner in the recesses of the truck.  It was done.  With a yank of a canvas strap, the back door of the truck slammed shut.  Just like that, his belongings were stowed away, never to return. 

                Eddie shouted, “Remember to deliver the furniture and boxes that are marked in red and send the rest on to the Salvation Army.”  The men nodded and Eddie waved them on.  He turned back to Judd.

                “My parables, if you can call them that, are an attempt to show that there is meaning in all the ordinary things we do.  Life lessons can be learned wherever we are, whether in a bustling city, on a farm in America’s heartland, or in a suburban neighborhood.  There is much we can learn from the taxi driver, the stock broker, the dairy farmer and the neighborhood hairdresser…oh yeah, I learned a thing or two from her over the years,” he said smugly.  He sighed, placing his hand on Judd’s shoulder.  “In a way, they teach us who we are.  Wisdom is not only right in front of us—it is within us.  The truth that evades us lies within.  It always has.”

                The moment fell silent.  Eddie turned to look at his house one more time.  He faced Judd and with a toothy smile he said, “I’m ready.”

                A moment later, he walked to his car and got in.  Still smiling, he waved to Judd.  Judd reciprocated.

                “I’ll visit,” Judd said.

                “No you won’t.  You don’t know where I’m headed.  Do me one better.”

                “What’s that?”

                “Look inside and add the next chapter.”

                With that, Eddie drove away, not waiting for his neighbor’s response.  Judd’s mind was empty and he said nothing.  In solitude, he was motionless.  But when Eddie was out of sight, his mind was now replete, and silently bade him a farewell with a promise.

                “Goodbye Eddie.  I will.”

    The Kingdom of God is within you.

    Jesus

    Be a lamp to yourself.  Be your own confidence.  Hold to the truth within yourself, as to the only truth.

    The Buddha

    In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness.  Our life is a long and arduous quest after the Truth.

    Gandhi

    Seek not good from without; seek it within yourself, or you will never find it.

    Epictetus—second century

    Ask questions from your heart and you will be answered from the heart.

    Omaha—Native American

    *****

    Sometimes it takes storytelling to convince any spiritual being what he or she should already know.  Truth comes from within. Simple?  Maybe, but truth leads to wisdom, which is the tenuous center amid science and faith.  What is truth?  Who is truth?  We must pause to discern how truth is real and part of our daily lives.  But it is not enough to know oneself.  As truth lies beneath our bones, so it lies beneath our neighbor’s bones as well.  Simple? 

    *****

    Want to read more parables of enlightened everyday living? Here’s the book.

    What did you think of Eddie Zen? Let me know in the comments below.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

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    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • Love is a Strange Thing

    E.G. Kardos

    The sun is setting over a field of tall grass

    “Love is a strange thing, and I yearn for it once more. I don’t need to give it much thought, I just need to give it sunlight and space to grow–to run in a field of tall grass and be free.”

    Photo by Victoria Prymak

    This is a quote from my novel, Cutting of Harp Strings. It is perhaps my favorite quote from all my books. Apparently, it is appreciated by others too.

    As a writer, it’s incredibly rewarding when others share a quote or excerpt from my book. They, of course, cite where they found the quote and name me as the author. Sometimes people will mention this in a discussion or post it on their social media. This shows me that others, and not just me, appreciate the quote. Among the throngs of authors, I see this as a major “win.” 

    Quite frankly, it’s exhilarating.

    A few weeks ago, however, I discovered that this quote was used on a social media account, and not only did they not cite my book or me, but they used it as a personal quote – verbatim. Sure, I know this wrongfully goes on all the time, but it was a real shocker for me—at least give me some credit I thought. I was steamed. 

    I mean this is my work and it depicts the soul of my novel—my soul.

    It felt like someone reached into my chest and pulled out my heart. Was I overreacting? Maybe. But I don’t think so because a writer chooses their words carefully. Words matter as does their arrangement. It’s like the notes of music. This novel, too, was thirty years in the making.

    I politely contacted the person and asked them to credit me with the quote. I didn’t ask them to remove it but to merely cite me. That was about four weeks ago, and it is still up as if it is their quote.

    But you know what?

    The very day I contacted the person, I decided to think differently. I decided that it was okay— not that I wanted to continually encounter this situation, but because this person was so captivated by my words that they wanted to use them for themselves. 

    Because of this shift in perspective, I immediately felt good. It was weird – like magic and I felt a surprisingly warm feeling wash over me. I imagined they might have read the book, and this passage had landed in a spot in their heart where they wanted it to remain close. They wanted it to be part of who they were. Then I thought…

    Doesn’t every writer love when their readers become one with their story? I do.

    In a way when I read the quote in light of this event, it grew a hundredfold. It became my elixir – and the reader’s as well. 

    Here is the full quote found in my novel. If you use it in some way, and I hope you do, please let folks know where you found it.

    “It’s a maze—life that is. Sometimes, for moments here and there, it appears otherwise with clean lines and crystal facets. Not often. Life is more than what I thought. And I knew this all along but wasn’t willing to believe in myself—to believe me. Aiden showed me, but it was for me to act. Love is a strange thing, and I yearn for it once more. I don’t need to give it much thought, I just need to give it sunlight and space to grow—to run in a field of tall grass and be free.” 

    … to believe in ourselves….

    You may like: A Little Known Zen Story on Friendship

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

    Latest Posts

    Most Viewed Posts

    All Posts

    Please notify me when you publish a new blog post.

  • Coming-of-Age or Bildungsroman or Both? A Separate Peace Comes to Mind

    E.G. Kardos

    Coming-of-age or bildungsroman? When you hear the word “bildungsroman” what’s your initial thought? You probably have a good idea of what “coming-of-age” means in literature. For most, bildungsroman is not a term we use or hear regularly. If I had to guess, very few people know much about it. I was among this group until a few years ago as I used the term coming-of-age broadly. However, there are distinct differences between coming-of-age and bildungsroman novels.

    The origin of the genre is German, where the word “bildung” means “formative” and the word “roman” means “novel”. Since bildungsroman novels are among my favorites I know plenty of others appreciate this genre. However, it is safe to say that most of us might not recognize the term so I thought I would share some thoughts. 

    So what is a Bildungsroman? 

    A bildungsroman is a coming-of-age story highlighting a young person’s psychological and moral development. Typically written in the first person, the protagonist shares their journey to maturity. 

    You might say that sounds like just another coming-of-age novel. A bildungsroman is always a coming-of-age story whereas not all coming-of-age novels are bildungsroman. A bildungsroman delves into themes of self-discovery and the search for identity. A protagonist’s inner journey including their values, spirituality, and understanding of the world is always a part of the bildungsroman.

    A bildungsroman delves into themes of self-discovery and the search for identity.

    Coming-of-Age versus Bildungsroman

    A coming-of-age novel is a broader designation that oftentimes refers to any novel in any genre that explores the experiences and challenges of a character’s journey from childhood to adulthood. Coming-of-age stories emphasize growing up or coming to terms with the world. The operative phrase is coming to terms with the world. The way I look at it, in a bildungsroman, the protagonist is coming to terms with their view of the world that is found deep within them. As an actual genre or sub-genre, depending on who you talk to, these stories specifically focus on the protagonist’s psychological and moral development.

    Although there are others, the major difference between a coming-of-age and a bildungsroman novel is that the protagonist mostly grapples with external challenges. In a bildungsroman the protagonist’s challenges are deep inside of them regardless of where they are in the physical world. Although in some coming-of-age stories, the protagonist struggles with internal issues, their loss of innocence may center more around relationships, sexual awakening, death and mortality, family issues, or social justice concerns.

    The Structure of a Bildungsroman

    • Loss – the protagonist endures a profound emotional loss
    • Journey – because of their loss, the character embarks on a journey. The journey can be physical in nature, metaphorical, or both. They search for answers to what gnaws at them with hopes to better understand the world and how they fit or must navigate in that world.
    • Obstacles/conflict and growth – But as the story continues, like forcing a square peg in a round hole, the protagonist makes decisions that are not always the best. They eventually, willfully or not, resolve themselves to accept society’s ways. 
    • Maturity/enlightenment – Psychological growth and change lead to, maturity. Many times the protagonist helps others who are on the same journey.

    Although I have found the same books on lists for both bildungsroman and coming-of-age novels, the following, I feel, seem to be good examples of bildungsroman novels:

    • Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
    • A Separate Peace by John Knowles
    • Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
    • The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
    • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee 
    • Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman
    • The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

    What do you think? Are all of these books bildungsroman? Coming -of-Age? What books would you add to the list? Which ones would you remove?

    A Review of Sorts – some of my brief thoughts: A Separate Peace by John Knowles

    One of my favorite books in this category is A Separate Peace. I first read it at age fifteen and it made an indelible impression on me. It inspired my novel, Cutting of Harp Strings many years later. 

    The novels I love evoke strong emotions and provoke thought. A Separate Peace does this for me as I experienced each moment alongside Gene during a poignant period of his life. He navigates a friendship—a love—that is difficult for him to understand. I know he would do anything for a “do-over” and I empathize with him and Finny.

    Gene, the protagonist, tells the story of when he was a boy full of jealousy and self-doubt to an adult who learns from his mistakes and finally accepts the consequences of past actions.

    With World War II as a backdrop, Knowles compares and contrasts both societal and personal loss of innocence. Gene struggles with his complex relationship with his roommate, Finny, as the immorality of war casts a shadow on all they do.

    A good book is worth reading many times, and I have done just that. Each time, I learned something new about this once-in-a-lifetime friendship. Like all relationships, it is full of joy and pain. Knowles was a master at lulling us into what seems to be a simple and innocent adventure but is, in truth, a deep and dark journey within. It reminded me that we must always search for the truth. Finding it, however, can be elusive; we may hear the voice within, but listening to it is another matter.

    I hope your next read is a bildungsroman. I hope to hear from you.

    NOTE: This is a great source for more information on writing – Master Class

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • The Meaning of OUR Life

    E.G. Kardos

    Over thousands of years, many of the greatest minds have grappled with the meaning of life. Questions abound regarding life’s origin, reason, purpose, and value. Still other questions persist, such as why we exist or what is life’s significance.

    So Many Questions

    A person standing on top of a sand dune

    We’re here already, so why the question of origin? All the “greats” over the millennia haven’t provided an answer to this or any of the questions that have plagued humanity about the meaning of life. 

    Why do we exist? Again, I’ll take the easy way out and say, does it matter? If we knew would we be doing things differently? Would we think differently? Maybe, but probably not. A brief history lesson will show that humans haven’t changed much over the years in this regard.

    Photo by sander traa

    We develop new tools – from a slingshot to automatic weapons or a printing press to a PC, but a slug moves faster than our progression of thinking and feeling about things how we treat others and ourselves.

    What would we do if we knew?

    Say we find out that we exist to help others of our species live a better life. Knowing that would we automatically do it? I’m talking about everyone since this is “why we exist”. We eat and drink to sustain life and everyone will do that, but wold everyone be in sync to do other things? I’m thinking no.

    As far as life’s significance, well this seems arbitrary. That’s like wondering why we desire love. I’m not sure we need to analyze the significance of life or love. How about we just explore it? Life and love deserve it.

    What about the many questions about life’s reason, purpose, and value? Well this is up to us. S this leads me to a far better question for each of us to ponder and that is: 

    So what is the meaning of OUR life?

    With the question I pose, perhaps we can look at our past for clues, but spend most of our time looking at our present. Our present may then, in turn, inform our future.

    “The unexamined life is not worth living.” – Socrates

    We learn about ourselves through our experiences and attempt to find meaning. We are reflective by nature, but we often overlook or are unwilling to find meaning in our introspection. Just look at history and how we, humankind, seldom heed its message. We seem to like our olpitical existence.

    We Decide

    Like the skin of an onion, if we peel back the layers of man’s interpretation of how others should live, we may see ourselves as we truly are. It is up to us to do this as no one will do it for us. We shouldn’t expect anyone else to give us OUR answers, nor should we accept their decrees of other that tell us what’s meaningful to us individually.

    What I find meaningful to me should be celebrated and not fit into some ancient scheme or blueprint.

    Acceptance, affirmation, and intimacy are all strong needs we all have. Our existence is about the many connections we all experience. As an example, we have memories that are unique to us. Seldom does another soul value, or even remember, certain memories that we hold dear. They are ours and live in our very core. They are a record of our life. Among other aspects of our life, memories help create meaning in our life.

    The moments of our lives, when collected and strung together like the choice words of a poem tell the tale of our lives and give it meaning. It’s not just the big moments but the tiny ones to

    You Naturally Smile

    Think of what you value, and an experience attached to that value. You naturally smile. We are made up of fun, somber, intimate, scary, insightful, bizarre, and mystical moments that all enliven who we are. That’s where we derive our own meaning.

    Some folks think we must engage in some noble purpose, and this gives our life meaning. I like to keep in mind that, again, I decide what is “noble” and do not need others to judge the way I decide to give meaning to my life.

    I am the only person who I have been with for every second of my life from the moment I was born until the moment I die. No one knows me or you better than me and and no one knows you better than you. 

    We create the meaning of OUR life. 

    You may also like these posts: The Time We Have, It’s Created in the Mind, Follow Your Heart & Live Your Truth

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Why Fantasy is a Good Read

    E.G. Kardos

    I don’t say that fantasy is a good read because I wrote a fantasy series, but because it just is, and I’ll share with you why I say that.

    But first we should take a step back…

    Back in the day, whenever that was, there were only four genres in literature: fiction, nonfiction poetry, and drama. Now we have so many variations that you’d be hard-pressed to come up with a true number of literary genres. I’ve seen lists well into the fifties.  

    In my research, there appear to be eleven popular genres, and they are: Romance, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Paranormal, Mystery, Horror, Thriller/Suspense, Action Adventure, Historical Fiction, and Contemporary Fiction. Poetry and Drama don’t even appear on this list anymore. 

    Eighteen Fantasy Sub-Genres

    ocean, milky way, wallpaper 4k, boat, sailing, reflection, sea, water, sailing boat, nature, stars, sky, starry, fantasy, night sky, free background, mac wallpaper, nature background, evening, night, scenic, peaceful, mood, panorama, background, desktop background, wallpaper, 4k wallpaper, laptop wallpaper, cool backgrounds, zoom background, beautiful wallpaper, 4k wallpaper 1920x1080, wallpaper hd, windows wallpaper, ocean, ocean, sea, sea, stars, sky, nature wallpaper, sky, free wallpaper, sky, fantasy, night sky, full hd wallpaper, sky background, beautiful nature, hd wallpaper, night, background, background, background, desktop backgrounds, background, background, wallpaper, wallpaper

    According to Masterclass, there are eighteen Fantasy sub-genres. About thirty-six to forty percent of all genres are fantasy. Clearly folks like to read fantasy! My series includes elements of both High and Low fantasy with that of Sword and Sorcery and some Crossroads fantasy.

    Photo by jplenio

    “Don’t like Fantasy?” I Just Can’t Believe It

    When folks share with me that they don’t like fantasy, I’m always a bit puzzled. Fantasy at its core is the reflection of us–of them. Stories of the supernatural, the horrific, and ones that focus on a hero or superhero have sustained, bedazzled and taught humanity since the beginning of time.

    Belief systems mirror fantasy and fantasy mirrors belief systems.

    Belief systems mirror fantasy and fantasy mirrors belief systems. I, of course, respect that they don’t “like” fantasy, but I often respond that if they want to learn more about themselves and all of humanity, they might just do so reading fantasy as well as finding a sense of wonderment and awe.

    But Many Find Fantasy a Good Read

    Fantasy readership has exploded in the last few decades. According to a recent study I found on New Book, a significant portion of fantasy readers span the generations.

    Fantasy readership statistics show that a significant portion of readers are young adults, with many over 18 years old. Many started reading fantasy at around 15. The average age, however, is 42 and a slight majority (55%) is female. No matter what age a fantasy reader is, no reading level is out of bounds. Trends show a growing adult audience that is reading young adult fantasy. That’s good for me as I like reading and writing fantasy that may be geared to younger readers. 

    Around 46% of those surveyed favored fantasy as their preferred genre. Many who read fantasy enjoy elements of escapism and adventure.

    Don’t Older Folks Read Fantasy?

    I’m an older reader and writer of fantasy and it bothers me that my demographic doesn’t appear in this study or others. I can’t believe folks around my age don’t read any sub-genre of fantasy. It amazes me that I grew up in a time of lots of fantasy and sci-fi in books, on TV as well as in the movies. Dune, The Lord of the Rings, Brave New World, the Lion Witch and the Wardrobe, Out of the Silent Planet, and A Wrinkle in Time were some of the popular reads. On TV and film there was Star Trek, the Twilight Zone, The Planet of the Apes, Willie Wonka among mnay others.

    So why do older readers shun fantasy? I sometimes think that the older we get we grow further apart from admitting we need a superhero or appreciating the magic that at one point was firmly secure in our imagination. Escaping int a story or going on a mystical adventure has been replaced with stressing out over current events and worrying about the future or regreting the past. This has a way of draining our soul. That’s the last thing we need. We need more fantasy!

    Fantasy is a Good Read as it Does it All

    Fantasy does it all. It entertains and by doing so, we see our reflection in the characters. We relate to their values, and we are there with them on the adventure. The story gives us pause as we think if that could be us one day. Sometimes we see that it is us already good or bad. In fantasy there is always an element of hope–of something greater.

    Fantasy at its very core is a very human story. That’s why fantasy is a good read.

    For the older reader, learn from the youger reader. I say that we yearn for magic, mystery and marvel and we shouldn’t let it slip away. Fantasy at its core is a very human story. It gives us an adventure of a lifetime. It has a way of teaching us something about humanity, our universe and our very existence even when we don’t look for it. 

    Note: I wrote The Elias Chronicles

    You may also like these posts: From a Struggling Reader to Writing Fantasy, The Time We Have, The Hero’s Journey, Magic in a Simple Message

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • The Time We Have

    E.G. Kardos

    “I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

    ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

    The Time We Have

    If you have read any of the books or watched any of the movies, you may agree that The Lord of The Rings is a powerful saga. Yes, I said it—saga. Tolkien was masterful with the entirety of the story but what I find wondrous is that all the bits and pieces along the way are full of flavor and are stories in themselves. They are powerful all on their own. 

    The quote above is part of a brief conversation between Gandalf and Frodo. If you haven’t read the books or watched the movies, you may still appreciate its depth as it is rich with meaning whether in or out of the story.

    These fifty-one words are all about humanity’s age old divide between those who seek power and those who seek to live the life they were meant to live.

    The powerful, many times, feed off the destruction of their own making only to disrupt humanity to, well, gain more power. I’m in the camp that power based in love, compaaion and insight lifts humanity.

    Each sentence in this quote is revealing. this is how I look at it.

    Frodo says… I wish it need not have happened in my time

    Although Frodo is a Hobbit, he expresses a very human feeling we all, at some time feel. Every so often this feeling results from a natural phenomenon like an earthquake or a hurricane, but most of the time, it results from man and his intentional actions. War would be a big one as would dehumanizing those who are not like us.

    History is full of men who overreach to claim power and control. By doing so, those who seek to live their lives the best they can and how they see fit are whipped into colossal, turbulent waves. They get caught in the wake of the murky froth of the power-hungry and their dark and self-serving decisions. 

    Humanity and everything about how we live is dualistic. We have good, so there is bad; we have love, so there is hate; we have the rich, so we must have the poor, and so on. Power without love, compasion or insight exists to prey on the weak…the poor…or those deemed as unworthy.

    What is imagined in the mind can become a reality.

    The above neutral statement is easily corrupted when the cunning manipulator is searching for a “treasure” that benefits the few. If only those who sought power also sought good.

    Gandalf follows his statement and says…So do I

    These three words show empathy. The experienced and wise wizard has seen much in his long life, but it is with his experience that his empathy flows naturally. More importantly, it is soothing—it is healing.

    He is reafirming in these three words. He offers, as all good teachers do, a broder view with what he says next.

    …and so do all who live to see such times. 

    We search for answers — for perspective. As long as humans have roamed the planet they have, from time to time, created devatation. The wise teacher reminds young Frodo (and us too) that we are not alone. 

    But Gandalf goes on to say…But that is not for them to decide. 

    When we realize that most of us feel the same way, our imagination, too, may shape what is next. With the hard truth, Gandalf moves Frodo away from taking a turn into self-despair as self-despair is exactly what the powerful want from those they wish to control.

    He helps Frodo to focus when he says,

    …All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

    When outside forces suffocate us, will we find the spark within us to take charge of our next step…and then the second step… and then…

    Simply, we are not alone. We always have help. We always have hope. And with that, it is us who decide what to do with the time that is given us.

    …you may also like, It’s All Created In the Mind

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Who is the Zen Master?

    E.G. Kardos

    I remember a day many years back. It was probably 2005.  The sun shone bright as I was driving somewhere.  The volume on my car radio was up a few extra notches.  Totally at ease, I belted out the song on the radio. I approached a traffic light and continued singing as an onlooker on one side in another car smiled while those on the opposite side poked fun at my expense.  But at all the traffic stops along the way, most, I observed, didn’t even notice my performance as their cell phones appeared to be permanently affixed to their ears. They weren’t there.

    By the time I arrived at my destination, I determined that this was now the norm. People were yakking on their phones pretty much all the time. I assumed they all wanted to be somewhere other than where they were at that moment.

    A butterfly rests on wildflowers in a tranquil natural setting in Türkiye.

    Thinking like a Zen Master

    I reflected more on this situation. Why do we attach ourselves to things? They are terribly unimportant. Just think about it; if we would only listen to ourselves, we might begin to realize what is truly important. I concluded that folks, me included, who rely on so many external devices to get through the day need something more.

    Photo by Objektifin_gordugu

    If we paused for a moment now and then and listened quietly to the story within us, we might surprise ourselves. 

    Then again, what if we listened to others too? I mean really listen to what they say and what they are all about.

    Answers We Seek

    I’m sorry to say that tuning our people because we are busy on our devices is not so unusual these days, but if we stopped what we were doing and paid attention to others, we might find the answers to our questions, even those questions that are firmly in us, but we don’t dare ask. 

    If we let go of things and replace them with people, and we listen, wouldn’t we be on the path to a more fulfilling life?  I think so.

    This is why stories are so important. They help us realize that humanity strives for the same things. We see that we are all connected and spiritual beings, regardless of our faith tradition.  

    The Zen Master is in our Stories

    It’s all in stories. In stories, we discover that we understand ourselves a little more, and by doing so, we understand others.  We find that we are a compassionate people—we must be.

    Ancient but Relevant

    In 2008 I decided to write stories about everyday people doing everyday things that led them to more.

    Parables, Zen stories, and other tales explore age-old ideas but remain relevant as we detach ourselves from what is undoubtedly unimportant, distracting, and troublesome. 

    What may seem obvious to some may be quite tricky to grasp. My stories are relevant and timely, as many of us long to live inspired lives. You know I’m right about this.    

    My writing, which became Zen Master Next Door, serves as a tool worth sharing. 

    Why a tool? 

    Between the truth and us lies a dense thicket of thorns and brush. But with the right tools, it is much easier to navigate. One way to make it through the brush unscathed is to recognize the “Zen Master” who may be closer to us than we think.

    Although first publihsed seventeen years ago, these stories could’ve been written today. What we find in ourselves and those around us has endured and will continue to live as long as humans dwell on this planet.

    We can look within ourselves and see our reflection in these parables.  Zen Master Next Door: Parables for Enlightened Everyday Living aims to show us that we can discover similar stories of inspiration within ourselves.  In each parable, I hope the reader reflects on how each character and circumstance relates to their own life.

    We all possess great stories to share.  I am sharing mine.

    Based on truth, these parables are the epitome of fiction, as the guts of storytelling are the essence of truth. 

    They –

    are gentle but strong. 

    embrace but let go. 

    are simple but complex. 

    They are, of course, parables.

    You may also like the post: A Little Known Zen Story on Friendship

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • It’s Created by the Mind

    E.G. Kardos

    The reality that we navigate daily appears to be, well, real. On the surface, wouldn’t you say that we can count on it? It’s here to last, right? We certainly can’t mistake what’s fake for reality. Oh really? Man certainly does mistake “what is fake or made up” for what is real. It’s hard to miss this one as it is a daily occurance, but that’s for another post. As far as “counting on reality” or reality is “here to last”, I’m just not sure of that either. Suffice it to say, humans shape reality like it or not. I think Plato hit it on the nose when he said, “The reality is created by the mind.

    My leaning on the subject is that “… Nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky… “ as the rock band, Kansas, wrote and sang in their hit, Dust in the Wind. Great song. So that’s the way I lean. Unless it is the Earth or the sky, I’m not so sure we can count on it or that it’s here to last. After all, very few physical and nonphysical realities that man has originated have truly lasted. Humans are pretty good at making new tools over time and those in power create social constructs–some last for a while.

    Photo by Michelle LeBlanc

    Created by the mind

    Reality, both in physical and nonphysical reality (like social constructs), is the product of the minds of humans over the millions of years. Other than what comes from the natural world, everything else started as an idea in someone’s head—good or bad. It’s all fantasy until we take an idea and build it.

    Cell phones don’t grow in the wild.

    Just an aside…man has been an expert on how to create a war, but not so good at creating a reality that eliminates them. Perhaps we are still lacking in some areas. This is a little heavy for this post, but it is a clear example that man creates his own reality–for himself and everyone under his control.

    My family and I like to go to the mountains and escape from the craziness of life. On a recent trip I remember sitting on the cabin’s porch in an old rocking chair. I was looking out to the mountains, the stream and a setting sun. A thought popped into my head. I thought that everything that was in front of me was truly real and untainted. As that thought became louder in my head so did another.  Where I sat and all behind me (the cabin and everything in it) was only “real” because man had a thought and did something about it. For example, he might have said, “I want to sit on something other than the ground.” From that, came the first chair. It suddenly became real – it is now part of reality. Fast forward to cell phones–same thing.

    I still think that the sky, the mountains, and the stream are my reality of choice but I assume they don’t measure up for some folks. It’s what I value. The stuff we own, not so much.

    Taking a stake in what’s created by the mind

    The communities we live in didn’t just happen. Someone or some group thought about what they wanted to do, and they built it—urban, suburban, and rural. This all seems very obvious. I remind myself it’s fine for others’ reality to enter our life as that is how it is and our hope is that others’ intentions are good. But we should have a stake in our reality. In other words, we don’t have to be penned in by others’ reality everytime we turn around.

    One way to give us some control of our reality is as easy and as enjoyable as reading and writing. Both of these are solitary activities. So take control of what is real for you, and one way to do this is when we read or write.

    What?

    When we read fiction—any kind of fiction—it transports us. We to to another land—could be London in the 1880s, the Congo in the 1940s, a million light years in some other time or in a different parallel world to right now. 

    Wherever it takes us, it is for sure, taking us away into a reality of our choosing.

    If we allow ourselves, we are immersed into the author’s version of those places, times and situations. But best of all, through their eyes we now live in this fictional space. We become part of the fabric of the tale. We are given freedom to interpret what we read. It is us who give the words shapes, color, sounds, smells, taste, and know how it feels in our hands or beneath our feet. What a gift the author has given us.

    Our self expression is created by the mind

    I encourage people to not only read but to write—or to express themselves in the manner that best suits them. There are many wonderful options for expression. Dance, painting, sketching, photography, digital art, and the list goes on.

    When we express ourselves, we become the master of our own reality as we are in control and we’re calling the shots. 

    When Plato said, “The reality is created by the mind”, I think he meant that the world is best lived when we seek its meaning. We have the capacity to shape what’s in front of us—not just to passively let it go by. It’s less about making a chair or a cell phone but it’s about using our imagination to help us understand what is happening around us, and to find the meaning in our own lives.

    There’s something about knowing that nothing lasts forever except the earth and sky. I say let’s try to understand where we live and those who live here. That reality speaks to me.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • A Little Known Zen Story on Friendship

    E.G. Kardos

    Among many, a single Zen story grabbed my attention. Many years ago, I received a book full of Zen stories entitled, Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. Paul Reps and Nyogen Senzaki compiled this book of stories that were first told in the 13th century by Japanese Zen master Mujū (無住) (“non-dweller”).

    At the time, this was all new to me so finding them all in one book was a treat for me.  As I mentioned, one story stood out.

    Zen Story

    Giving the reader or listener pause, a Zen story conveys profound insights about our existence and stimulates new perspectives. They are simple but deeply filled with rich symbolism. As we read they draw us in to the moment we are living in and encourage us to question our path in life.

    In particular, Zen story number 84, True Friends, stood out and was, and continues to be my favorite. As most Zen stories go, it is succinct and to the point, but it is powerful beyond all measures.

    More about the Zen Story, True Friends

    Of the many Zen stories, True Friends is unique among 101 tales. However, I wanted more on the sugject. I researched the “ultimate friendship” or “intimate friendship” in literature, especially among men, but what I found was surprisingly sparse. This seemed very odd to me, as friendships are vital to our existence.

    Yes, there is no formal union or vow for a friendship, but having the fortunate but infrequent occasion to connect with someone on a deeper level and create a bond is life-altering. The opposite, unfortunately, is equally profound.

    When writing my novel Cutting of Harp Strings, I searched the internet for more information about the Zen story True Friends. There too, I found very little. I wanted to dig deeper and gain as many perspectives as I could both in literary works and other Zen stories but I came up short. If you know of another Zen story about true friendship, let me know in the comments section below.

    It was then that I realized that my story, the one I wrote, is the deeper view on friendship I was looking for. Of all places, it came from my pen and keyboard.

    Because this Zen story, as far as I can tell is just about unknown, I receive many questions about the title of my novel and its symbolism. I’d like to share this excerpt from the story as I think it answers those questions.

    “I would like to tell you a story, Eli. A very special story that an old Buddhist monk told me when I was just a little older than you. Not many know this, but I spent three years in a different sort of monastery.”

    “A Buddhist monk? What? That’s awesome Father.” We both smiled, and he continued.

    “A long time ago there were two friends, one who played the harp skillfully, and one who listened skillfully. When the one played a song about the mountains, the other would listen and say, ‘I’m on top of that mountain.’ And when the one played a song about the river, the other would say, ‘Here, right before us, is the running river.’ 

    One day the one who listened became ill and died. Out of love, the first friend cut the strings of his harp, and never played again.”

    I said nothing. Catching my attention, a squirrel scampered by and scurried up a tree. As my eyes followed him on his climb, the mountains appeared in full view.

    Much symbolism may be found in the above eighty-eight words, but I am especially moved reading,

    “…Out of love, the first friend cut the strings of his harp, and never played again.”

    If you like this post, you may be interested in Following Your Heart

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Keep Reading

    E.G. Kardos

    Keep reading. Whatever it is you read–keep reading. I have written and published literary fiction, fantasy, and short stories, but I’ve read books from various fiction and nonfiction categories. Most of the time, I confess, I read literary, general fiction, and fantasy and sprinkle in some nonfiction. I love variety. Don’t you?

    My mantra is whatever you like to read, keep reading it. At the same time, be open to new genres

    What You Read is Open to Interpetation

    fantasy, love, sea, child, nature, rocks, beach, sunset, interpreting fiction, magic behind reading, reading through a lens, reading across genres, stories as art. Importance of story, relationships between readers and characters

    As a writer of fiction, I believe all works of literature are open to interpretation. I completely encourage this. There’s magic behind reading, and it comes from taking the time to reflect on what we are reading.

    My best reads are those that give me something to think about.

    Non-fiction vs Fiction

    Non-fiction, for the most part, is less about interpreting the prose but about accepting or, sometimes, questioning the facts that are laid out in front of us. But nonfiction has broad categories as well. I’m thinking of self-help, how-to, historical accounts and biographies, and books on belief systems among many others.

    Even if you read non-fiction, you just can’t believe everything you read. It’s good to read a variety of non-fiction books about the same subject matter and by doing so, we gain rich perspectives. What’s important in my mind, is, however, whatever you like reading, keep reading.

    More about Fiction

    When you pick up a book, each story is new and fresh to us, and when we immerse ourselves into each paragraph, sentence, and word it is, of course, through our personal lens—and all the many relationships we have. This is among my favorite reasons to both keep reading and writing fiction.

    Fiction is about Relationships

    We are all about relationships. Not just relationships with humans, but relationships with animals and any living being including plants, trees, and insects – if you don’t believe me, many belief systems revere many different kinds of living beings. But we also have relationships with our earth, and our God, or not — depending upon what we believe.  We can’t forget our relationship with ourselves which I think is sometimes overlooked. 

    What did I miss?

    Given just this short list,  building, and sustaining relationships is a full-time job! It only goes to show that when we read literature, depending upon which relationships we value most, certain parts of a story mean different things to every reader. Reading fiction is a very personal undertaking unless you are on some kind of mission to read 500 books a year! But that’s a different sort of reading altogether.

    We are unique in every way and, perhaps, it is because of the way we view our existence.

    Just think about the reviews you’ve read. Some readers love a book while others hate it. Some readers identify an obscure part of a story and latch on to it while others miss that part altogether. We owe it to ourselves to invite differing opinions on the written word and if we do, perhaps more people will keep reading.

    Humans and our Love and Need of the Written Word

    There is nothing more human than the written word that we created many centuries ago. Yes, drawings, paintings, sculptures, and other forms of expression are vital and should be appreciated, but the written word does more and allows us to live among those in the story.

    Words allow us to tell the story of what it is to be human, to interpret it, and to realize that every emotion we feel today has been felt by millions before us, whether we were queens, farmers, or factory workers. This makes our relationships with each other all the more important.

    It is how the characters respond to what comes their way and our response to the character.

    When we think of all the genres in fiction, such as horror, mystery/crime, science fiction, thriller/suspense, romance, fantasy, western, historical, or young adult, every story depends on how the characters respond and react to their various relationships in their lives. This opens the magic door for us to eavesdrop and get drawn in. Yes, the plot is important, especially for specific genres, but even so it is all about how we interpret the relationships in the story.

    No matter what, keep reading.

    What do you think?

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Why Read Fiction?

    E.G. Kardos

    read fiction, fiction takes us to new worlds, cosmos, universe, space, woman, tree, starry sky, galaxy, milky way, fantasy, dream, sleep, happiness, pleasure, dream trip, thoughtful, melancholy, nature, stars, night sky, moon, full moon, night, background, ai generated

    Why read fiction? I have a few ideas. If you know someone who dislikes to read fiction, I bet they never really gave it a chance. There are many benefits to reading fiction that I bet even the most avid fiction reader has yet to consider.

    I look at it this way. Non-fiction is mostly about learning something new. We pick up a “how to” book or a book about WWII andhope to learn something new.

    Photo by Terranaut

    But most who read fiction, and those who don’t read fiction, may not think of it as a learning process.

    But like non-fiction, believe it or not, there’s much to learn when we read fiction.

    My reasons to read fiction

    I’ll begin with my favorite reason to read fiction—and this concept may be a real lightning rod for some folks—but here it goes. Fiction WILL enhance empathy.

    Yep…it will.

    Empathy is our ability to make sense of the feelings of another person. When we are empathetic, we share what the person is feeling. We feel the emotions of others and relate to them on a whole new level. We feel joy when they win the race of their life, or they escape a burning building. Or we feel misery when they just lost their job, or they are diagnosed with cancer, or when their dog died.

    Good writing means good characters so when we get to know them and immerse ourselves in their emotions and their lives, we develop the ability to relate with others outside of the fictional world. Just think, perhaps if we read more fiction we will see our personal relationships enhanced. Maybe we might think differently about our fellow humans across the planet. Enhancing our empathy is a top reason for me to read fiction

    Creativity

    When we read fiction it will heighten our creativity and we may be more receptive to new and unique ideas.

    When we read fiction we uncover an endless supply of new ideas and new ways to think.

    Our perspective is broadened. That’s what being creative means—to think in new ways and be open to other’s ideas as well.

    It transports us

    We can go anywhere in the world, in the universe and parallel universes, and do it all by staying in the comfort of our favorite place to read.  It can transport us back in time, in the future, to another planet or under the sea–the list goes on. We see new worlds develop right in front of our mind’s eye. The author gives the reader enough room so they, too, are part of the world-building.

    That’s pretty cool. We are reminded that the world is not black and white, and fiction urges us to color our own lives. 

    Another favorite – our imagination

    Our imagination takes off when we read fiction. Unfortunately, as we age most of our imagination becomes stagnant but when we read fiction, like magic, it reappears. We become immersed in unique adventures, taking journeys and going on quests we will never take in “real life”. But we can do so much more when reading fiction. When we read fiction it ignites something in our mind. Our imagination grows. We gain a spectacular and new perspectives and this spills out to our real life.

    How we think

    Reading fiction improves how we think and improves our cognitive skills. All eight genres, as well as literary fiction, can be complex whether the novel is a horror, mystery/crime, science fiction, thriller/suspense, romance, fantasy, western, historical, or young adult.

    As we think through the complexities of the plot as well as each character we meet, we improve our memory and our critical thinking skills.

    We start to get in the heads of the characters, and we think through the situation with them. We may ask, “Why did you do that?” or “Don’t even think about it.”

    Entertainment, escapism and emotional well-being

    It’s obvious! We read fiction for entertainment or for escapism. Many books take us to our “happy place” or meet us where we feel today, right now. Sometimes we need a good romance or be whisked away is a good suspense or young adult story.

    With millions of books, every kind of story is only a click away.

    When we read fiction, it is like talking to an old friend who brings us a smile when we need it. We can turn off the real world and enter a fictional world, and we are better off for it. Good fiction is worth multiple reads as we learn or feel something new each time. We find another gem that the author is sharing with us. 

    Similarly, fiction helps improve our emotional well-being. We can cry, laugh, or feel sorrow, but then we can put it aside—it can be very cathartic. Fiction allows us to feel every emotion and can be releasing and cleansing.

    Engaging with others

    How you engage others will grow with reading fiction. Just being exposed to different authors from all over the world, or from just down the street, we learn of the many cultures that make up the world. Maybe we’ll pick up something new that helps us when we reach out to others. Maybe we will add words to our vocabulary as well.

    By the very nature of “fiction”, many folks think, is it made up…it’s all pretend. But I don’t think so. It gives us the truth but just in different ways.

    Humans have always learned from stories and we need as many stories as we can get our hands on especially today.

    Can you think of other reasons? I want to hear from you.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • Developing the Protagonist 

    My two cents worth

    E.G. Kardos

    Being a writer goes hand in hand with being a reader. Nothing is better for developing the protagonist than this combination, which provides a strong foundation for fleshing out your protagonist or any of your characters.

    Capturing the reader’s perspective is crucial. Character development is a creative process and not a science. Adding “ingredients” from a checklist will get you only so far as there is a true art of developing the protagonist. Don’t get me wrong– I’m not saying I’ve got it down pat, but as a practitioner, I have a few thoughts to share that may help.

    Before your character slays a dragon, who are they? Are they scared? Maybe they’re boastful or even fearless. How did they get that way? What motivates them? How do they behave when they aren’t slaying dragons? Would you like them? Would they be your friend–your enemy? Do you think readers would connect with them? Why?

    As I begin to write, I believe the characters are what enliven the story, so I “create” the protagonist first. Sure, I have an idea of the plot and some basics around it, but when I write I’m focused on breathing life into my characters. I always think about the reader and how they will receive the character. It is, however, a fine line between what I want in a protagonist and what I think the reader wants or expects. I enjoy a give-and-take as it makes the creative process challenging and fun.

    Developing the Protagonist

    Because writing is an art it is anything but mechanical. There are rules, yes, but as the creator of your story, I feel that appreciating and enjoying your time in the process and expressing your creativity in a way that follows your own truth is a pillar of “your Parthenon”. 

    …a gigantic sense of awe and humility…

    There is both a gigantic sense of awe and humility when creating your characters. They have to be real to me before I think a reader may relate to them. The reader is always part of my character development process. 

    When creating my characters, I ask the questions: 

    • what resonates with me about this character; 
    • do I know someone like this or would or would not want to know them; 
    • what are their vulnerabilities; and what are their redeeming qualities? 

    I ask these question from a reader’s perspective as well.

    For antagonists or even villains, this is also important to use these questions, or ones of your choosing, to develop all your characters.

    Emotions are a big part of developing characters

    Unlike other living creatures, we as humans are defined by our emotions—and we have ALL of them and so should your protagonist. The most masculine or feminine character embodies all emotions.

    The protagonist must express emotions other than a token one or two sprinkled in 70,000 to 100,000 words. Dialog and action are important but good characters must possess more.

    I think some basic emotions such as anger, surprise, enjoyment, fear, disgust, and sadness should find a place in most stories. 

    If appropriate characters could exhibit pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, attachment, and jealousy. These are very human feelings and behaviors. When reading or telling stories, we should expect humans to be humans.

    Flaws and all

    When developing the protagonist, I think they should have a flaw–or several This is crucial. Does anyone really relate to the perceived “perfect” person? We have read very poignant stories of the perceived perfect person only to discover how their flaw(s) shaped them in the long run. Flaws can be almost anything but here are some to name a few.

    • Anxious
    • Impulsive
    • Stubborn
    • Insecure
    • Awkward
    • Hot-headed
    • Afraid of “something” like spiders, the dark, or a crowded room

    What are their beliefs?

    What do the protagonists (and other main characters) believe in? Their beliefs may be what motivates their behaviors throughout.

    Do they believe in:

    • A higher power–or not?
    • Do they believe in the power of nature?
    • How about the “American Dream”?
    • What about the “rules of the street”?
    • Do they believe in the power of love? Do they believe in themselves– a little or way too much?
    • What human construct guides their lives or what do they want to change either in society or within?
    • Who are they?

    What they believe in or want to believe in makes them who they are.

    How about their backstory?

    Unraveling the protagonist’s backstory throughout the story is a great way to slowly give your reader just enough information to keep them interested and turning pages. 

    • Are they the middle child of a large family,
    • Are they an only child, or, perhaps, an orphan?
    • Do they come from a loving home or not?
    • Rich, poor, or somewhere in the middle? Why?
    • What obstacles did they face?
    • What was freely handed to them whether or not they accepted it or not?
    • Did they do something they are ashamed of or were they heralded as a champion of some kind?
    • What experience painted their life to this point?

    “We are the sum total of our experiences. Those experiences – be they positive or negative – make us the person we are, at any given point in our lives. And, like a flowing river, those same experiences, and those yet to come, continue to influence and reshape the person we are, and the person we become. None of us are the same as we were yesterday, nor will be tomorrow.”

    ― B.J. Neblett, an American author

    Well-developed characters cannot escape the life they have led before the moment they are introduced to the reader. But great characters emerge in front of our eyes as we join them in their journey.

    Quirks – Everyone has them

    This might be just me, but I think the protagonist should have some personality traits or quirks that have no apparent reason why they have such a trait

    Why someone is fair when they have had an unfair life, or they are humble when they have sunk the winning shot, or they are insightful beyond their years all contribute to who the character’s being.

    These are a few quirks that will make a character unique:

    • wears a funky hat/glasses
    • flips their hair a lot
    • has a special diet or favorite food
    • has a strange tatoo
    • winks at weird times
    • bites their lip in a stressful situation
    • juts out their chin when thinking
    • hums classical music at odd times
    • has a peculiar habit or pastime

    Last thoughts

    Developing the protagonist is above all things, an art. The creative process goes from the introduction to the last thought of a story, and the complexities of the protagonist and other characters take us there. They urge us to take their journey with them.

    Writing well-developed characters involves exploring our own truths to create individuals with deep roots and profound insights that can move us. This process should be enjoyed and savored.

    Keeping the reader in mind, developing good characters is an exploration of our own truth. The process should bring to life characters who are profound and have something to share. They should have the ability to move readers in some way as it is a delicate process unlike anything else. 

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • If You Can Text You Can Journal 

    E.G. Kardos

    The average text is 20 words, and the average sentence is about 10 words. The average person sends about 40 to 50 texts daily, and that’s something like 800 to 1000 words a day! Not everyone is the same, I know, but texting is a part of life. If you can text you can journal. 

    Why we should journal

    Since we’ve gotten pretty good at conveying our message with very few words I say, apply this to writing a journal. To start, go for what would be a long text and shoot for 20 to 30 words for your first journal entry. Type it—or write it—somewhere for only your eyes to see.

    So what are you waiting for?

    Here are some outcomes that could come from journaling:

    • It can help bring some clarity to our life. 
    • It can be a trusted place to share our deepest thoughts and emotions.
    • You’ll love it.  Enjoy recording your life and go to it often for self-reflection or to make plans based on it.
    • It can help you understand yourself more fully.
    • It’s a place where you can “try out” your ideas without anyone judging them.
    • It’s a place where you can be completely open and honest with yourself.

    Why we don’t journal

    We hesitate to write down what’s important to us because it can be daunting—not our life necessarily, but all the rules and guidance that come with journaling. I did my research, and I have found what seems to be a whole matrix to guide folks to write anything from novels and poetry to to-do lists.

    Rules are important, but not with journaling. I encourage a bit more freewheeling approach. The idea, in my mind, is to make it easy and enjoyable. I would love to see more folks write—and read. 

    A journal is about jotting down our moments, our thoughts and feelings. That’s a good place for us to start.

    Back to texting/journalling…here’s an example of what I mean:

    Monday, January 6, 2025

    Today started with high expectations. Then my car didn’t start and was stuck at home. So bummed out but ended up starting my journal instead.

    Or

    Tuesday, January 7, 2025

    My day started with dreading each hour. Later Nathan asked for my help with redecorating ideas for his apartment. Our ideas just popped up from nowhere. So much fun!

    Or

    Wednesday, January 8, 2025

    Thinking about asking Nathan out but maybe it’s too soon. Got to think about it. I got my car to start and went out with friends and had a blast.

    WARNING: Do not think your entries in your journal need to read like Sylvia Plath, Franz Kafka, John Green, or any of the other thousand famous writers, scientists, explorers, or famous people we have heard of who have written journals. This is your life—give it some love.

    Evolution of our Entries

    As we write about whatever we want to write about from our day, we will see our entries evolve. How? That’s up to you. You may find that you go from 30 words to 60. Also, you may find begin to focus on only one part of your day. You may decide to write only how you feel about your day. It could lead to ideas and thoughts about your future. 

    It’s about the moment- your moment

    In addition to the outcomes I shared above, I think it is an opportunity to document moments of your life: the good ones, maybe the ones we spent with others, and even a few not-so-great moments. It is who we are.

    Our lives are seldom about one gigantic event, but it is about the stinging together of moments, both significant and ordinary. Your journal may be more helpful to you in the future than today as our minds get more cluttered by so much that isn’t really important, however, what you have to say and the moments that help define you are of ultimate importance.

    Aiden, a character in my novel, Cutting of Harp Strings, put it this way:

    “… Hey, no one’s perfect. I just look for the perfect moment, not the perfect person, and that includes when I’m looking at myself.”

    I say go for the freewheeling approach to journaling. You know what’s best. Let your texting be your guide. If You Can Text, You Can Journal 

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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  • From a Struggling Reader to Writing Fantasy

    Third Grade Me and How I Never Forgot

    E.G. Kardos

    I was a slow reader when I was young. Full disclosure: I’m still a slow reader—no big deal.  But back in third grade and earlier, as a struggling reader, no matter what I did, I could not move up from the “Group 3” readers to Group 2 and certainly not Group 1. For an eight-year-old, that was a very big deal.

    I know many teachers still use reading levels, and this is now under great debate, but it was nothing but a horrible experience for me and was a deterrent to my progress as a reader in many ways—anyway, I am digressing from the start so let me get back to my story.

    As I said, I tried everything to advance to Group 2. Group 1 was my ultimate dream—weird, but that’s how my eight-year-old brain worked.  My mom brought home books, and she would work with me, so I had wonderful support. Though I probably made more strides at home than at school, it just wasn’t enough for the teacher to notice my improvement. I liked reading as I knew, even as a little kid, that I could be a part of an adventure by reading books–and I liked that. But as a slow-reading little kid, this was painful time, but I kept plugging along.

    When I was in third grade the bottom fell out for me.

    I remember that day so clearly. The teacher, who I will only refer to only as Miss Cringeworthy told us, in her usual harsh tone, to open our readers. Our readers were full of forgetful stories that were anything but what third graders may read today: Matilda, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Captain Underpants, Stuart Little, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to mention a few..

    The book we read was a collection of archaic and unmemorable stories. What we read was the only part of that day that I can’t fully recall. I just know the stories were NOT interesting. Maybe if they were, I wouldn’t have struggled as much.

    Our desks were arranged in rows. Miss Cringeworthy always started our reading lesson by having the first kid in the first row read the first paragraph. they would be followed by the second kid who would read the second paragraph and so on down the row to start again with row two.

    I was the twelfth kid and near the end of the second row. I looked ahead in the story to find “my paragraph” that I would be reading. Reading it over and over again I hoped I would read it perfectly when it was my turn.

    That was my plan – struggling reader or not!.

    The Worst Silence

    My heart began to beat faster and faster as the eleventh kid was finishing her paragraph. I cleared my throat and I began to read. I thought I was doing fine. But the next thing I heard came from Miss Cringeworthy. At the top of her lungs she bellowed, “STOP!”

    It seemed like the worst silence I have ever experienced, as I felt my heart thump and thought the rest of my classmates could hear the “thump” too.

    From where she was standing at the front of the room, she began to slowly walk down the aisle to where I sat. The only sound in the air was the click-click of her pointy high heels that she stuffed her feet into that morning. Each short step she tookgnawed at me until she stopped and hovered over me. Looking up, her face reminded me of a bowl of quivering Jello and her eyes bulged out. 

    I swallowed and looked right at her.

    “I taught your older sister,” she said softly.

    Pause.

    “And I believe your older brother as well.”

    Another pause that was much too long for any eight-year-old to endure.

    “And you are nothing like them.”

    Still looking at her bulging eyes in a pool of jiggling Jello, I was crushed–I was mortified.

    My eyes welled up and I was ready to bust out and cry. But I don’t know how I did it, but I held it in. 

    But I cried inside. Thankfully the class looked down at their books and said nothing. 

    She click-clicked her way back to the front of the classroom. That was that…until I told my mom…but that is another story.

    Here’s me speaking to a college-level course in 2023 about writing fantasy.

    Photo by Lisa Cipolletti >>

    So…From a Struggling Reader to Writing Fantasy...Years Later

    I never dwelt on this moment but I never forgot it either. Leap forward to 2011. As a lifelong daydreamer and lover of fantasy, I looked back at that moment and decided I wanted to write a story that I would have loved as that kid—and as an adult.

    One that would captivate the reader that was full of mystery, marvel, and magic.

    My story had to be about a young boy who was searching for answers; a story where the mentor was an encouraging guide. I wanted to write about following our heart and our truth. I wrote the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, of a fantasy trilogy. I called the series The Elias Chronicles.

    Miss Cringeworthy was long gone before I wrote and published Book I of the trilogy, otherwise, I would have delivered her a personally signed copy–with a smile..

    Have you ever had an experience like this one? What did you do about it? Let me know.

    About E.G. Kardos

    I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write.  Here’s more about me and my books.

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