NPI March 7

It’s quite a habit of mine to write a little note here before I start writing, heh. Well, today is special, I’ve not been in such condition for a while now, so i’m curious myself how I’ll do. I’ve spileld more words in my personal journal than I’ll probably write for the story, but personal life has also to happen some time. So yes, I’m off to it.

Okay, now this is simply ANNOYING. I’ve been researching the story of Jean Grenier for months. And I thought I found all there was to find. Yet today I google it once more and what DO I find? Almost the exact location of where the village lies that I need, the name of the franciscan monastery and ALL the dates: date of the arrest, date of the court and such. Now, I’m not sure that this is even true. Who knows. Some reports are shorter, some are more detailed. Thing is, I’ve already cut and smoothed my story into the geography I made up myself and into the dates I made up myself. So I have two options: screw all the preparations I’ve made and make new ones. It would basically mean I’d have to scratch all I wrote about Château Margaux, because apparently the village lies somewhere else. Or I could stay by what I have so far and let the made up facts be the new truth. Damnit, what do I do? Researching a true story from 400 years ago is a hell of a job, believe you me.

 

Okay, I was apparently annoyed enough. I sat down and wrote one of the best scenes I’ve got so far. 1094 words. Total word count: 7118. I do rock. I really do.

From the outside to the inside

I’m gathering some facts.

Planet Earth, hehe. France. The reign of the king Henry IV. Do we all remember what his time was famous for? St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 24. August 1572. Serious tension between Huguenots and Catholics. He is the king from 1594 till 1610, which sums up the time of my story perfectly. He was killed 1610.

Moving in closer. Bordeaux lies in Aquitagne, on the Garonne River and is to reach by ships from the Bay of Biscay, Atlantic Ocean. So it’s a city of ships and merchants.

Also, we are in the times when Shakespeare lived in England, just so we know. Due to some university courses I know a lot about English theatre from that time now, but I don’t know anything about France and culture. I will have to find out more about that.

So if I take this new way into my story, namely by a ship to the harbour, from the decks into the city, I can see some different parts of the story than if I take the entry Jean Grenier does, namely from the hills, distant villages, forests and less civilized parts of the land. The city has a city wall, obviously, and is pretty small at that time. Wonder how many citizens. And I desperately need to find something on the french nobility around Bordeaux in that time. I don’t know what to look for because google doesn’t give much for the search of french nobility. Nor does my uni library.

I’ve got no other choice.

I tried to find out what villages there were in France around 1600, but it seems impossible. There is no such literature anywhere I can look, and I have the whole Vienna at my service. So I have no other choice. I will have to make up a couple of village names and go on with that. Also, if I burn the village down by the end of the book, it will all be right again, explaining how there is no such name in the history now. Except it’s not that easy to make up a couple of names for places in a real country. I mean, it’s much easier to make up stuff for my own fantasy world.

But anyways, I think I need, as a writer, to bring myself back on the track. I’ve had the places already, i’ve had the characters, but something is still missing. Maybe my fascination is missing, maybe I’m too damn distracted by other stuff these days…

And since that seems to be the case, I need to remind myself why I love werewolves. Why I love them enough to write stories about them.

A werewolf is a beast, a large, vicious beast with big fangs and terrible claws. A werewolf’s paws are bigger than those of a normal wolf, they’re wide and mighty, and the werewolf can break a dog’S neck with one blow of that paw. A werewolf does look like a wolf, at least the primary werewolf does. (one that was born a werewolf). Usually a normal person among other normal people, a werewolf sometimes leaves the house to go into the forest, strip all clothes and turn into a beast. And when he does, his bones move, skin changes, fur grows within a few moments. And soon enough there is this incredibly strong, majestic creature standing there. I probably have the sense of beauty of one Rubeus Hagrid, even though I hate spiders. But I find the image of a werewolf incredibly beautiful. WHy is it that in my imagination I always run with the werewolves and not away from them? So to make my imagination fly, I give myself this little picture: it’s a very cold winter night, patches of snow here and there, the ground frozen, brown leaves that didn’t rot in autumn crisp under my feet. The moon is full and the forest is spooky quiet. This is one of those nights when you just know that there is a mystical creature on the run. Or maybe many of them. And then I hear it, a never-ending howl from somewhere far away. It’s high-pitched, like a soprano, and the owner of that melodical voice must have really big lungs to make such long noise. He sings and sings, changing the melody, falling down, climbing up again, twisting and turning… I feel a strange urge to approach that lonesome voice. But it isn’t lonesome. ANother wolf answers from somewhere far away, this one much lower, singing in shorter melodies, that is the alpha-male. He comes nearer, his voice sounds nearer, and the first wolf changes his song into lower tones as well. I want to see at least one of them, so I make my way towards the soprano. I find him sitting on a cliff, his head thrown backwards, flews curled around his fangs. He’s grey and surrounded by silver aura of the thinnest fur in the moonlight. He is beautiful. His long ears are pressed back, strong paws resting on the frozen ground. I feel someone watch me from behind and turn around. There he is, the other one. He is an alpha all right: very big, like a full size mastiff. He’s so black, that his fur shines blue in the moonlight. His ears stand up and I see he has tiny fur tails on the tips of his ears. The fur around his neck falls gracefully into a kind of a collar. He has a scar on his nose, he’s not an alpha for nothing. He stands there, proud and tall, his eyes measuring me lazily and wandering up towards the other werewolf. He has piercing eyes of silvery yellow, they shine in the dark like two priceless stones, however they aren’t stones, they feel almost liquid when he turns his head and they change colour in the light. His tail is up, front legs spread for better halt to the ground, as he is ready to jump.

The one on the cliff knows he’s being watched, too, but he keeps howling. My black alpha measures him with a strange glance and tilts his head. He is so majestic that I can’t stand the urge. I bow, sing to one knee and touch the ground with my hands. He looks at me and snarls lazily. Then he slowly and royally walks up to the cliff. That is when another voice jouns my soprano, and then another and another one! They come from different directions and they also seem to be approaching. The alpha rubs his black shoulder against the soprano and they sit down together, howling shortly now and then. I sit down at the foot of the cliff and wait, just like they do, for others to approach. They would never harm me, that is sure, but I am also never their lady. They accept my presence and don’t bother. I can sit there all night and listen to their endless songs. I don’t have to understand them, I just enjoy the feeling they give me.

Places.

Due to a lot to do in my private life I somehow haven’t been really able to dive into my book here. But it’s Friday and I decided that I won#t do anything else today, and I have an hour spare, so I wanted to spend it with pleasure. ANd since the story hasn’t come to me yet, I decided just to deepen my last subject and to go look around those places I described.

And the one place I liked most so far was the Prudhomme house. Fabien Prudhomme, the leader of the pack, lives there alone with his 25 year old son, Emmanuel. So I’m talking a walk in that house, looking in the secret places and asking the owners for comments. I want to get to know the place.

So the house stands next to the smithy. It’s got the ground floor, the first floor and the attic. Also, there is a basement with a secret second level. So all this makes that house really HUGE. For only two people. It stands by a small river. There are tall bushes around the house on the river side, and the forest isn’t far away either. It’s towards the end of the village, rather far away from the centre. The house is made of wood, which is dark with age, and there is a lot of metal work, because the men are smiths. The front door and the kitchen door are two entries to the house. The kitchen door was actually built there for the nights when the werewolves are coming back from a hunt and don’t want the neighbours to notice them walk up to the fromt door. Now, the front door has got a beautifully crafted handle, which looks like a lion head. The corners of the door are also decorated with metal decorative work. The wood itself is solid and probably wouldn’t even crush right away if a werewolf attacked. Fron the inside you can barricade that door with a heavy piece of wood. The hinges make no sound. When you step in, you get straight into the “living room” with a stove in the middle. The fire side of the stove is in the kitchen, but the big warm side is in the living room. There is only a need for the living room because the members of the pack come often to visit and they need a room to gather. Now, the kitchen would be a more provate place. The Prudhommes eat there, spend evenings there, it is their private living room with some beer or wine and nuts. Fabien loves nuts, so children in the village always get him some from the forest and he pays them a few coins. Okay, so far so nice. By the way, they both have their favourite chair.

I walk upstairs now. There is Fabien’s room. A king sized bed which he uses all alone since his wife died. The room is simple, but there are a fewstrange objects. Of course there is his father’s and his grandfather’s favourite hammers on the walls. But there are also some books, a chest in the corner (I will yet have a look into that chest), writing utensils, an urn, a few tiny caskets with yet unknown contents. Interesting.

Now, Emmanuel’s room. I almost expect to find porn magazines under his bed, but remind myself it’s 1602. So I ask him: Manu, what about women? You’re 26 already, isn’t it time? He shrugs. I have to ask: Are you gay? Are you asexual? Impotent? Are you maybe transsexual? Now he gives me a look. Some of these words have no meaning to him, not in his century. And I get it. The answer is so simple it’s almost ridiculous. Manu is simply shy. There is nothing more behind it. Just shy with women. People like that do exist. In this room I find nothing of Fabien’s strangeness. Manu has a few books as well, but his room is simpler. On the bottom of his chest with clothes there is a dress his mother used to wear, he keeps it as a memory. However, this room is almost always dark, that’s the specialty of it. It’s always cold and dark, because it’s on the dark side of the house. Manu likes it this way. Wow, this is the first thing I notice about him that he relaly likes. However, now that I can speak to him, I find it more and more difficult to keep that secret crush he has on ANouk a real secret. He really is very much into her. So if I look under his bed, will I find a ribbon he stole from her? Or a piece of bread she gave him? Or a dried flower that he plucked for her but never gave to her? Yep. I find all of that, but not under the bed. It would be too obvious there. His father, being a werewolf, would have picked up a strange scent of Anouk’s things were under the bed. Manu keeps such tokens hidden under a lose board of the floor. Oh, and there is a mirror in his room, the only mirror in the house.  Why he has a mirror? Used to belong to his mother. Oh, so we are a senrimental one! That’s sweet. There is another room on that floor but it’s empty and covered with cobwebs.

The attic is really nothing special at all. Only a chest with Manu’s old playthings there and a couple of wooden boards.

Now, the basement. The normal basement is filled with vegetables stored for the winter. Popatoes, everything is there, along with meat, flour, wine. Also there are weapons. Yeah, not only the Comte has weapons. The Prudhommes have a collection as well, just in case. Behind the shelf with jars and old tools there is a hidden door which leads to the second level of the basement. Now THAT one is an emergency room, where a werewolf can turn, can be locked in, can hide. The door is strong enough to hold even a beast like a werewolf. It is the only such room in all werewolf houses. Not everyone is rich enough to have a panic room in their houses in that century, but the pack knows the necessity of that room. This room also serves as a small private prison in case some werewolf was acting naughty.

Well, so far I like what I see. This house is very cold, they practically never really heat it, but they love it this way, and somehow so do I.

I need to let my mind go.

Wow, it looks like I haven’t really been up to much in the last week, at least creativity-wise. I’ve certainly been up to a lot in daily life, and today I’m so tired of that life that I needed to come here and let my mind swim in some creative idea. Yep, I need some creative healing right about now.

Last time I decided to talk a bit to André. I will have to adnit that I didn’t really. But somehow I do get a feeling about him that allows me to tell what he is all about. He’s funny, that I can tell. And he’s a cheeky little bastard. He says: You wrote my story, did you expect me to be a real franciscan monk? I’m a werewolf, sister!

Well then, I say. So instead of creating characters in my mind – my mind has a lot on it already – I may as well talk about something else that needs a lot of creativity. Places.

There are several journeys, and so there are a few chains of places. Not more than two or three, though. The first chain of places is the one of Jean Grenier. Jean Grenier ran away from home, he is a 13 year old beggar who is too filthy and hungry to be eben considered a human being at the time. Also he has the beginnings of mental illness based on cruelties he had to endure from his father. So the first place Grenier appears is a village A (name come later) where he was hiding in someone’s barn trying to catch some sleep in the hay. And this is when the most unexpected thing happens: some man storms inside, barricades the door and begins to pray in panic. Grenier only looks at him from where he’s hiding, when suddenly heavy blows knock out the barn door and in the door stands the strangest creature Grenier has ever seen. A brown wolf, or not a wolf, it’s hard to tell, but one thing is sure: it isn’t acting much like a wolf. It is bigger, heavier, has wider joints and stronger paws. And that creature jumps at the praying man and kills him with one single bite in the throat. Grenier hides, shaking with feat, when the hay catches fire from a fallen torch and the beasty creature, satisfied with its work leaves the barn. Once it’s gone, Grenier leaves his hiding place and runs away from the barn because people are already coming to put out the fires. So this was the first scene in the barn in the village A. After that Grenier, very much shaken and impressed with what happened, moves from one place to another begging for food or for a job. On one of the dark winter nights he accidentally comes to what appears to be an ancient ruins of some temple or monastery, it#s impossible to tell. And while he approaches the ruins from one side, he sees a whole pack of the creatures like the one he had seen run into the woods on the other side. So Grenier learns the secret of the Ruins B: they’re the gathering place of the werewolf pack. Greniers wanders some more around Bordeaux and lands in a village C. In this village the most of the pack lives. It’s a place where the most of the story is probably happening. So fat I’ve got the house of the Prudhommes and the smithy in that village. Anouk and Nicolas live a little bit outside the village. On the main place of that village C my poor little Anouk will be lynched. Here Grenier will be arrested and brought to Bordeaux before the court. After that he goes to the monastery in Bordeaux.

Actually, this is about it. Jean Grenier has seen it all from what I can tell. The other characters will be moving from one of thos eplaces to another or inhabit them. The judge, de Lancre, though, he will have his own little path, though only having different appartments in Bordeaux than the others. So here we are: Village A, Village C, Ruins B, Bordeaux court and Franciscan monastery in Bordeaux. That monastery I only have in my mind so far, even though it is a place that really exists or existed and I would love to find something about it, if possible. But so far it’s just a big building of grey stone, quite monumental. I see there is a river in Bordeaux, so I suppose the monastery is NOT by the river. If anything, it’s rather facing the forest. And from that forest a wolf howling comes very often.

All right, it will be all for today, I think.

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