What does it take to write fantasy? Why do we enjoy reading fantasy? There are so many questions about fantasy and how it has grown as a popular genre so let’s explore.
Ah, the gloaming. Twilight…the moment when the day dims its brilliance and welcomes the early shadows of its friendly rival, of sorts, the night.
It’s far more than twilight, dusk, or the setting sun. There’s something more mystical about the moment known as the gloaming. I would say that this peaceful transition of power in nature is even magical. I’ve experienced it, have you?
Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina
Experiencing The Gloaming
First you must be outside and it can be just about anywhere. I prefer where you can observe nature. It costs nothing, but if you’re willing, it just might open a door—a magical door.
First, clear your mind, or the door of enchantment remains closed. Be open to what your internal voice tells you. Your imagination will become heightened. You may even feel “as one” with your surroundings. As we grow older, we lose our natural sense of wonder.
The Gloaming Begins…
When does the gloaming begin or end? Pinpointing those exact moments isn’t easy. I would say that when the day’s clarity becomes muted and loses its luster, and displays for only a few moments blends of blues, purples, and reds, you know it’s the gloaming. It’s a feeling, too, and not a calculated moment that can be recorded.
I love when the sun’s rays lose their intensity, and its light melts into the earth. This is the moment when only what we imagine comes alive. It is a magical moment, that is, if you permit it to be.
After all, that’s what magic is…if you believe in it, you will be part of it.
The magic of the gloaming is poetic…it is lyrical. The moment is enchanting as the fading light dances on the rocks, trees, or a pond, it stirs a sense of awe. The “what ifs” freely enter your mind.
The moment teems with the spirit we all possess as it tugs us into introspection. What we long for comes to mind as we look back on the path the day had to offer. Like that very day, we now loosen our hold of both the good and the bad that the day detailed and eases us into a smooth wholeness of the evening, where the once sharp edges are now softened.
Lightening Bugs
Where I am, in June and only during this month, I am joined by lightning bugs. Just think of their existence. I heard they have been around for 100 million years. It’s really pretty cool. Their flickering presence is unique, and it is dreamlike. Theyare a welcome guest as they are nothing less than magical.
To their potential mate their luminescence is clear and attractive and is the door to future generations. To their predators, however, their light is a signal that if eaten, it will not fare well for the aggressor. Nature is wonderful.
Our Thoughts are the Magic
The gloaming sparks possibilities—some mundane and sensible, while others may be wild and untamed. Our thoughts are the magic. Our feelings float like a mystical aura, and we know there is much we cannot explain, and we are reassured that this is a good thing.
In this vast universe, our knowledge is but a small sliver of what life is all about. As the years progress, we learn more, but we have a long road to travel before us if our goal as humans is to unravel every mystery.
There’s still time to enjoy the magic and mystery in each of us. I hesitate to attempt to dispel all that is magical in our lives and encourage others to consider the same. We just need to slow down and allow our minds to wander. We need the clarity of our future like the lightning bug, and subtly let it be known to our detractors that we are not to be messed with.
I do write fiction, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Note: An Old English word, gloaming, originated with the Scottish and has been used since the Middle Ages in English and Scottish literature.
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.
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.
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.
Writing a 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 fantasy trilogy, should all the stories be clearly connected…a continuation…or just the hero’s next quest?
As a 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 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.”
Please read Chapter 1 of The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok. 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 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.
“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.
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.
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 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.
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
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.
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.
“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, 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.
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.
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 wascrushed–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.
The Hero’s Journey, originally called monomyth, is a story structure where the main character, or the hero, reluctantly goes on an adventure from an “ordinary” or everyday world to a “special” or different world.
“The journey of the hero is about the courage to seek the depths; the image of creative rebirth; the eternal cycle of change within us; the uncanny discovery that the seeker is the mystery which the seeker seeks to know. The hero journey is a symbol that binds, in the
original sense of the word, two distant ideas, the spiritual quest of the ancients with the modern search for identity, always the one, shape-shifting yet marvelously constant story that we find.”
― Joseph Campbell, The Hero’s Journey: Joseph Campbell on His Life and Work.
The hero must overcome challenges and if successful, they come home a changed person.
There are typically 12 stages of the Hero’s Journey, but they may vary and differ to some degree. Occasionally they are combined. This manner of storytelling is not just good for plot points in a story but an excellent way to develop characters.
It blows my mind that humans have used the Hero’s Journey to tell stories for thousands of years and humans have done this in every corner of the globe. How did humans who lived thousands of miles from each other and who were separated by oceans come up with the exact blueprint to tell a story? Could it be that humans are hardwired to tell stories? It shows that deep down, we all think and feel in similar ways.
The Hero’s Journey overlaps cultures simple as that.
Some of the earliest recorded myths, legends, and folklore from cultures around the world, date back a few thousand years which suggests that the monomyth has been a part of oral traditions well before Joseph Campbell coined the word in the twentieth century.
In recent times, books that follow this model include The Alchemist, Jane Eyre, The Fault In Our Stars, The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Hunger Games to mention a very few.
The pattern is not only a format for books, myths, or fables, but the Hero’s Journey is a common model for movies. Star Wars is an example as I understand that Jim Lucas spent time with Joseph Campbell to ensure that the films followed the pattern perfectly. Other movies include the Harry Potter movies (and books) as well as Moana and many animated films such as Lion King. Come to think about it, it is more difficult to find movies that don’t use some version of the Hero’s Journey.
The Hero’s Journey –Here’s a look at how it works:
These are the most commonly used stages or plot points identified by Joseph Campbell of The Hero’s Journey:
Departure
The Ordinary World
The Call to Adventure
Refusal of the Call
Meeting the Mentor
Initiation
Crossing the Threshold
Tests, Allies, and Enemies
Approach to the Inmost Cave
The Ordeal
Return
The Reward
The Road Back
Resurrection
Return with the Elixir
Here’s my take on each of the stages of the Hero’s Journey:
DEPARTURE
Ordinary World: One way to look at this stage is ordinary people doing ordinary things in an ordinary life. The “hero” really isn’t a hero just yet but then something falls into their lap—that’s coming up soon, but first, we need to get to know our soon-to-be hero. Sometimes we find out that they are a lot like we are and the more we relate, the better.
Call to Adventure: As our character goes about their daily business they receive some sort of message, or they stumble onto something, or they find themselves being called to do something unusual. All of sudden things are getting more exciting as the character struggles to make sense of the change they are experiencing. The reader is being pulled in too.
Refusal of the Call: In my mind, this is more of how the character reacts to being thrust into a new and scary situation. At this point, the character is reluctant to go further. Many times the character makes excuses for why they need to put blinders on and continue to go about their own business. Don’t we do this when confronted with the unexpected?
Meeting the Mentor: Business as usual, however, has gotten very complicated for the hero, so they seek out a wise and experienced person for help. They may be a professor, their grandma, or the low achieving high IQ friend. Whoever it is, the mentor gives our character what they need to respond to the “call” with some confidence. Many times we may hear the mentor simply say something like, “Go for it, what do you have to lose?” I usually need to run things by someone I think is smarter and wiser than me.
INITIATION
Crossing the Threshold: After some preparation, the hero is ready to go and step into a different world. Many times this is an enchanted world, like when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley run their trolleys into the brick pillar to get aboard the train headed for Hogwarts.
The hero doesn’t have to be headed to an enchanted world as it could be any major life change for instance something that prompts them to move from the city to the country, the first day at Boot Camp or being “discovered” by a Hollywood agent—that would be pretty cool. The world they are about to enter is far and away different from what they are used to.
Tests, Allies, and Enemies: The hero finds out pretty quickly who their friends and allies as is the hero is tested along the way. These are not life and death tests, but they can be grueling events giving the hero some pause and regret that they chose to answer the call. Think about the last time you second-guessed a big decision.
Approach to the Inmost Cave: As the hero gets closer to the most dangerous part of the journey, true and loyal friendships are solidified. The hero knows who to trust as they approach the uncertainty of their calling. Many times, however, the hero is on their own but knows their allies have their back. Now that’s a good feeling.
The Ordeal: This isthe part of the story that we often think is the climax, but it’s not the “real” climax after all. Our hero has much more to do—and prove later in the story. The hero may confront a life-or-death situation, or they may be facing the greatest fear they had in the ordinary and now it appears in this new or special world. They might come face to face with the hideous power that has stalked them throughout the journey. This “hideous power “can be found in other characters as well. It can be found in situations or events too in both real and symbolic ways.
As the hero goes toe to toe with the villain, they find out that they are not exactly ready to take on this evil force. This challenge is like no other and the hero plummets to their lowest ebb. Their spirit is broken. Don’t worry, it’s not the end—it’s upward and onward and the hero finds a way to mend their broken spirit. By doing so, our hero is reborn, but that’s coming up.
RETURN
The Reward: The hero now finds that missing piece that could have made the difference earlier in the story when they were crushed by their nemesis. How do they find it? The hero is somehow rewarded with information, a special weapon, or something they previously overlooked—this reward or the “missing piece” will propel them to victory.
The reward is not something new to the story, but it has something to do with the story. It could be knowledge, profound insight, a powerful gem, a book, or another object that will be needed as they confront their enemy one more time before heading back to the ordinary world.
With the reward, they are now ready to conquer the dark force that had stripped them of their power during the Ordeal. This is the hero’s rebirth and is key as this transforms the hero into a better version of themselves and ready for anything that comes their way.
The Road Back: The hero must, once more, approach the Inmost Cave—the most dangerous part of the journey—to face the villain. This time, however, our hero has all they need to accomplish the call. The hero defeats their archenemy and holds in their hand the elusive treasure. Again, this can be something physical like the Holy Grail, or it can be the treasure that the hero has internalized—a superpower, or maybe even knowledge that will create world peace.
Resurrection: When the hero is victorious they are symbolically reborn and at that moment the hero emerges transformed. At this point, the hero journeys home to their ordinary world with their treasure. The Resurrection represents the ultimate transformation of the hero both physically and spiritually.
Return with the Elixir: Joseph Campbell termed the treasure as the “elixir” where the hero shares his bounty with his ordinary world. They return home but life is now different—it’s better and the hero has been forever changed.
Whether fiction imitates life or life imitates fiction, I am convinced that we are all seeking the meaning of our own lives. In the stories that were told thousands of years ago or written yesterday, we are trying to make sense of who we are to our core, where we belong in the world, and if our lives make some kind of difference. The hero’s journey is a spiritual quest and our search for identity.
I love this quote as it sums it up…
“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.” Joseph Campbell
As you read your next book or watch your next movie, think of this pattern. Not all stories have each plot point outlined above. Some may be combined, but generally, the stories we love, follow this pattern.
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.
Paulo Coelho wrote The Alchemist and published it through a small Brazilian publishing house in 1988. The initial print run produced only 900 copies. Few copies were sold, and Coelho went on to find a larger publisher. The book took off due to word of mouth and Coelho’s innovative approach to marketing. I don’t know the specifics, but in a short time, the world wanted to read the book. It is, indeed a story of magic in a simple message.
Since he and his book were gaining momentum, HarperCollins became interested in the book and struck a deal with Coelho. They decided to publish the book in 1994. Soon thereafter, it became a global phenomenon and an international bestseller. By some estimates, it has sold nearly 250 million copies and is among the top books ever sold. Incredible!
What’s it About?
The Alchemist is a fantasy and adventure quest. Some think of it as a myth or fable. Santiago, a young shepherd boy living in the hills of Andalucia, Spain travels the world for his treasure. He travels to Egypt and encounters the old alchemist. His adventure and specifically what and who Santiago encounters along the way allows him and the reader to grow. We learn the wisdom of listening to our hearts, learning from the omens along our way, about our own “personal legend” and following our dreams.
If only all of us could listen to the wisdom of our hearts…we may find that our dreams are not so elusive.
Masked in Magic
Coelho’s simplicity of storytelling inspires the reader to search for the wisdom that will lessen the burden of the complexities of life and potentially make our lives a masterpiece. This is why I think the book has found reader after reader for thirty-six years. Coelho’s “truth” gives the story life.
We all aspire to something greater …
Santiago’s quest is masked in magic and fantasy but is very much like our daily journey. Coelho uses the format of the “Hero’s Journey” to tell a story that resonates with our human spirit. We all aspire to something greater in our lives, but we may have difficulty getting there. Instead of only envisioning the end, like Santiago we should continue to keep an eye on the road as well. If we do, we may see the potholes or help someone who may need a lift along the way. There are times that we all need that lift… or get the nudge to take that next step.
The reason this book rose from humble beginnings is not only because of Coelho’s persistence to create awareness of his work but also because of the magic in a simple message. It is soul-searching and beautiful.
Have you read The Alchemist? Thoughts? What other books contain magic in a simple message that is meaningful to you?
“A Journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
–Chinese proverb.
About E.G. KardosI
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.
