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Joshua Alan Doetsch

~ Author & Scrivnomancer

Joshua Alan Doetsch

Tag Archives: witches

Adventures in Winter Vacationing #1: The Wand!

08 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Christmas Vacation, etsy, etsy shop, ghost tour, hand crafts, Harry Potter, Magic Dreams Wood Lore, magic wand, magic wands, magician's wand, magicians, Ollivanders, pound of flesh, rotten core, spooky basements, the wand chooses you, wand, wand shop, Winter Vacation, witches, wizard's wand, wizards

My intrepid Christmas vacation journey is a blur of events. Since linear time does not actually exist (a wizard peddling goblin mushrooms in the subway showed me so), chronology…there shall be none. Post-by-post as sense stimuli occurs to me…

So!

After the pirate ship, after crashing the rich peoples’ party, after the little girl threatened me with a doll and a sword, but before I drank my novel in beer form and lost a pound of flesh off my elbow, half-naked on the ice, there was the wand.

Wand 1 A dinner party at the awesome home of my good friends Matty and Sarah, and Matty says, “There’s something in the basement I want to show you.”

Like a good horror movie protagonist, I say, “Alright.”

They have a nifty basement, parts of which would be welcome on a ghost tour, or good for turning night-cams up at your face and screaming on Discovery channel footage of yet another episode where you almost find something. In a little workroom, Matty points to a table full of magic wands. He’s recently taken to the craft of carving them by hand, the unique properties of the sticks he finds guiding their creation (and we get into a little discussion about how creativity is often enhanced by restrictions and complications forcing the mind to problem solve).

“Pick one out,” he says.

Suddenly, I’m in a magician’s shop, in a novel! I give lots of careful, esoteric consideration (the uninitiated would call it indecision). I at first avoid the black wand — it’s just too obvious! — but, as they say, the wand chooses you.

Wand 2

Matty explains how he originally envisioned making the length of this wand a smooth, tapering sort of cone, but a black, rotten vein in the center of the wood caused it to come away unevenly, so he was forced to adapt and give it a more organic texture. I like that better anyway, and a wand with a black-rotten core…well that’s just feeding the mythology my brain is already building around it.

DO YOU, DEAR LOVELING, DESIRE SUCH A WAND WROUGHT BY HAND?

Matty has begun selling them. CHECK IT OUT! There are a few up there now, including one that very nearly chose me. Perhaps it will instead choose you…

Wand 3

Twisted Fairytwitters

22 Thursday Sep 2011

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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Tags

fairy tales, goblins, halloween, hicory dickory dock, horradorable, micro-fiction, nursery rhymes, peter piper, pickled punks, princes and the frog, princess, pumpkin patch, pumpkins, red riding hood, the big bad wolf, twitter fiction, witches

I like twitter fiction. It’s a good exercise for packing in lots of story in tight spaces (which is important at my job, writing video game dialogue in tiny boxes). Also, arbitrary restrictions are the mother-hubbard of creativity. Give me an infinite vacuum and my eyes dilate, and I float about the room with no purpose. Give me restrictions or complications and my creative problem-solving skills get primed. The itchy-itchy sand grain forms the pearl. Find an irritant, and it will make you write things you might not normally have written. A 120 character coffin to cram in is a nice irritant. Here are some bits of twitter fiction I’ve written, on the theme of fractured fairy tales, nursery rhymes, and the like:

  • The clock ate the mouse. Patient is the clock. Waiting is the clock. Churning gore greased gears. Hickory. Dickory. Dock.
  • Peter Piper picked a penny to pay to peek upon a pack of pickled punks and promptly puked at the presentation of misspent spunk.
  • “I swear my first born to thee.” The goblin trades me the glowing key. I then go to my second errand of the day: a vasectomy.
  • Little Dead Wolf-Head Hood walks to grandma’s house, stained axe in hand. Nobody calls her by her old name. Not anymore.
  • They gather once a year at the pumpkin patch, pick goblins in embryo, trade grimoire recipes and gourd-hatching tips. Then, fly away.
  • “Have to go or I’ll turn to a pumpkin,” she said. We laughed. Made out. Then she cried, rolling down the hill, leaving me alone. Again.
  • Wanted a prince. Kissed a frog. Transformation. Consummation. I can feel our thousand young grow under the mucous-slick of my new body.

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