Monthly Archives: July 2012

Epigraphs – Introduction

5 Comments

Epigraph (n) – Literature: an introductory quotation at the beginning of a book, section or chapter, usually one that sets or matches the theme to follow.

Several months ago I mentioned on social networks that I might have a question about epigraphs, or at least that I might not be sure of the epigraphs I wanted to use in my first novel.

Well, that’s changed.  I’m quite sure now about the epigraphs I want to use.  So as means to share a bit about my first book without telling too much, I’m going to share the epigraphs: eight (8) total, two for the book and two each for the three major sections.  I intend to share them one at a time and not in the order they are used.

The novel, Book I of The Breaking of Worlds: Dreamdarkers, is already in the hands of those who can artistically and editorially make more of it than I can, for an author is the worst reviewer for his or her own work.  The human brain disallows us from seeing the flaws because we know the story we want to tell, therefore we fill in blanks and correct mistakes without realizing it.  And because I have a series of artists who I trust to do justice to the cover art for each book—a different artist for each novel—and because my childhood artistic talent fell prey to science and math and photography and writing and other endeavors, I both need and want others to utilize their talents to bring the series to life in the individual ways each of them possesses.

While I share the epigraphs for the first book and while others help make it better with their various and honored talents, the second novel, Book II of The Breaking of Worlds: End of the Warm Season, already grows rapidly, its essential elements formed simultaneously with the first story.  For the series, The Breaking of Worlds, is but one large story with several chapters, a mythology formed from science fiction and action and suspense and a plethora of other genres weaved together with religious and political and human stories.

But lest I ramble ad nauseam about the whole of the series and how excited I am to have it moving forward and how much I hope others enjoy it, let me finish by saying I want these epigraphs in the first book because they not only help set a tone and support the narrative, but because this novel introduces the series, thus these quotes help introduce the series, not just this work and not just the sections to which they apply.

So what follows in this brief series will tell you things, even if surreptitiously, though they likewise will tell you nothing more than ideas, perhaps imminently critical or perhaps important for the larger whole.  I leave that for you to decide once you read this book as well as those to follow.

Meanwhile, the first epigraph will be posted shortly with the remaining seven to follow no more than a day or two apart.  Best of luck piecing together a whole from the parts.

Close encounter

4 Comments

I said before that “I focus on in situ nature photos—things in their original locations and states rather than posed or captive.”  While the latter variety of images can be stunning and entrancing, they simply don’t represent my personal view of nature photography, at least with regards to my own photos since I’m not a tyrannical purist when it comes to the photography of others.

Despite and because of this proclivity of mine, I won’t—wouldn’t dream of—controlling what wildlife does on its own.  Just a few days ago a large dragonfly landed on my chest and stared at me eye to eye.  It would have made a great photo had the encounter lasted more than a few seconds, long enough for me to frighten it away by moving.

But that recent event reminded me of another close encounter, this one from March.  It involved an early morning, a male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus), and a collision.

Because the family farm is located deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas, insect life is more prominent than was the case in Dallas.  It’s not unusual to run across a large variety of insects throughout the day.  Mornings often provide a veritable laundry list of beetles, moths, katydids, and other nocturnal creatures looking for a place to sleep away the day.

After finishing chores—feeding animals and the like—I grabbed my camera and spent some time roaming about searching for goodies.  And while I focused on several moths loitering on my car, something hit my arm.  Something big.  Something that clung to me after the impact.

A male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) clinging to my arm (IMG_0205)

With a wingspan of at least six inches/15 centimeters, the large male Polyphemus moth was a welcome visitor, even if he chose to hold fast to my arm in a position that made photographing him rather difficult.  Holding the camera with one hand and without seeing the viewfinder, I happily clicked away hoping at least one or two photos would turn out presentable.

A male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) clinging to my arm (IMG_0201)

All the while the beautiful insect shifted its legs only insofar as was necessary to maintain its perch.  My odd positions trying to photograph it caused more than a few jostles, thus he had to respond by solidifying his hold each time I almost knocked him loose.

A male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) clinging to my arm (IMG_0202)

When the sun made a brief appearance on an otherwise cloudy morning, I snapped a few pictures of what gave the moth its name: the eyespots on its hindwings, most visible on the dorsal side.  Polyphemus was a Cyclops in Greek mythology, Poseidon’s one-eyed giant son.

A male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) clinging to my arm (IMG_0199)

Increasing numbers of parisitoids have decreased the number of Polyphemus moths, as have omnivorous and insectivorous mammals.  Of course, ecological changes by humans have likewise impacted their numbers.  It seems a crime for such a beautiful moth to be endangered, yet the fact makes our encounter all the more captivating, for the drop in their population has been quite evident here at the family farm these past many years.  Where once they were numerous, now they are surprise visitors, usually only a dozen or so seen throughout the year instead of the hundred or more seen just a decade ago.

Close-up of a Male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) clinging to my arm (IMG_0199_c)

Though I prefer photographing nature in a… well, in a natural setting, I felt no shame taking pictures of this moth as it clung to my arm.  The close encounter brightened an otherwise dreary morning, and technically the moth was in situ when I took the pictures.

Among the missing

4 Comments

The words are forgotten, lost in a drive just three hours long, misplaced somewhere along 170 miles/270 kilometers of road.  Ancient names known for a city lifetime of decades, now the words hide behind months of rural living.  How familiar they were, how missing they have become.

A rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia) standing on a sunny pier (2008_12_27_003660)

My lips tremble when I try to speak them.  It is as if I ask them to verbalize an unfamiliar language, phrases borne of another land, yet I ask only that they remember the words that go with the mind’s pictures, the names once common but now rare.

A fox squirrel (a.k.a. eastern fox squirrel, stump-eared squirrel, raccoon squirrel or monkey-faced squirrel; Sciurus niger) lying atop a tree trunk (2009_02_02_005789)

Dropped into memory’s abyssal hat and plucked out one by one, I read from the mental slips of paper names of the absent, of the once ubiquitous, of those long called neighbors.  What alien text is this?  From what removed existence come these unremembered names?

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) perched on a limb (2009_02_21_010424)

When a few short weeks ago I journeyed back those three hours, back that long distance, unbidden the words came back to me, names once more as comfortable as the threadbare sweater worn each winter for its personal value rather than its fashion statement.  I knew each name that matched each face, knew the words too quickly lost.

A male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched in a tree (2009_03_21_013137)

Yet back to my new world I had to return, and again the names hide among the missing, the faces lonely for the words that call them, the world outside my door barren for their absence yet abundant for their replacements.

An American coot (Fulica americana) swimming toward shore (2009_03_21_013166)

For they have indeed been replaced, the once familiar now forgotten, their collective presence full of new words, words like Texas coral snake, Inca dove, southern black widow, eastern bluebird, white-tailed deer, northern rough-winged swallow, flying squirrel, alligator, cougar, fish crow and black bear, along with many others.  How delightful these new words, how appealing the newfound familiarity of such names.

A male superb cicada (a.k.a. green harvestfly, green cicada or superb green cicada; Tibicen superba) clinging to the side of a tree (2009_07_06_026143)

Nevertheless I miss the old words, the old names, those now among the missing.  In another lifetime they shared my life, found each day right outside my door.  But now they only live in other places, not here, not with me, though near me, short drives away, or once more rediscovered at the end of that three hour journey, at the destination resting 170 miles/270 kilometers away.

Still, now I shall stutter the gibberish that goes with each mental picture, shall feel the unfamiliar words stumble upon my lips, shall pluck the words from memory’s deep hat with hope I shall remember those who remain among the missing.

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos:

  1. Rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia)
  2. Fox squirrel (a.k.a. eastern fox squirrel, stump-eared squirrel, raccoon squirrel or monkey-faced squirrel; Sciurus niger)
  3. Male house sparrow (Passer domesticus)
  4. Male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus)
  5. American coot (Fulica americana)
  6. Male superb cicada (a.k.a. green harvestfly, green cicada or superb green cicada; Tibicen superba)