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Come with me to northern Virginia, and you will find a girl named Galadriel Coffeen. She writes. And she writes well. Galadriel is seventeen, and when I asked her why she writes, she answered, “God has given me a gift, and I can't imagine not using it. I just write, incessantly, compulsively. Take away my paper and I'd write on the walls. I can't stop myself.”

 

A senior, Galadriel is the oldest of seven. Of these, four go to the school where her father teaches, and three homeschool. She describes her family as “literary. All of us who are old enough can't stop reading.” She also said that “you can tell a lot about a family by dinner table conversations:  we often have discussions on topics like predestination, Plato, dragons, and faster-than-light space flight.”

As far as school work goes, Galadriel is taking six classes, three of which are through TPS. These three are World Lit, Lewis/Tolkien, and Spanish 2, but she also takes a history and literature course, anatomy, and calculus elsewhere. Her favorite class is without a doubt Lewis/Tolkien.

 

I asked Galadriel about her favorite things - books, movies, foods, color... I even asked her to make a category up and tell me about that! She replied that, in order from most favorite to least favorite, her favorite books are, “Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength by C. S. Lewis, Dune by Frank Herbert, Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card, The Iliad by Homer, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis, Republic by Plato, Divine Comedy by Dante (but only Dorothy Sayers' translation), An Ecclesiastical History of the English People by Bede."

Galadriel doesn't like “Mexican food or shellfish". Other than that, when she is eating her mother's baked goods she is usually “convinced that that particular bread, cake, pie, etc. is my favorite food.” Though she admitted to liking books more, Galadriel said that her favorite movies included, “Apollo 13, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the original Star Wars trilogy, and Princess Bride.” She can quote Princess Bride most of the way through. As for colors? “I feel equal attachment (or lack thereof) to brown, green, grey, and black.” Finally, Galadriel chose 'animal' for her category-of-choice when I ran out of ideas, and shared that she likes dragons. Do dragons come in brown, green, grey, and black? A topic to consider.

 

Moving on to the good stuff - writing. Galadriel writes prolifically, and primarily "political and military fantasy, but sometimes I venture into science fantasy and science fiction.  The setting and technological level don't matter to me as much as the focus on politics and war; whether the story is about magicians and knights or interplanetary colonists, many of my main characters are high-ranking figures involved in government.”

 

Galadriel, at heart, is a story teller. She's written since she was six, when she concluded that, “if I didn't relieve the pressure, the stories would keep building up until I couldn't hold them anymore, and then either I'd go insane or I'd burst open to let all the stories out anyway.  So I started writing them down.” Someday, Galadriel hopes to publish a book - "whenever I actually manage to finish anything and polish it to the point where I'm willing to let people read it.”

 

Next, I asked Galadriel to tell me more about what she is currently writing. Although we could have delved into her writing for hours, I'll have to stick with a brief synopsis.  Galadriel tells stories in three separate worlds: Tirgalon, Keldane, and Traimea. Tirgalon and Keldane are well-developed and house major plotlines, while Traimea for the moment is, “more for fun and writing practice than anything else,” though it does have, “the beginnings of a plot about a war on two fronts.”

 

Tirgalon held most of the attention. Tirgalon is “a small equatorial continent full of volcanoes, rain forests, swamps, and hurricanes.” Tirgalon is divided into three countries: “to the west lies Eldon, the griffen nation; to the east lies Restai, the drakon nation; to the south lies Falonth, the human nation.” The plot - projected to be eleven books long - revolves around an ancient and recently resumed war between the cultured nations of Eldon and Restai, and how the younger nation of Falonth fits into the picture. “Most of the main characters are either politicians, military leaders, or both.  It is primarily a war story, and there isn't any shortage of action, but the politics dominate the story.  This series will probably last me for a very long time: it has twenty point of view characters, fifteen books, covers thousands of square miles of land, five years, and four nations.”

 

Her story set in Keldane is about a war between the faeries and the nation of Keldane.

“The main characters of the trilogy are all members of the Queen's Guard, which is essentially a small private military that works for the queen of Keldane: soldiers, security forces, bodyguards, spies, assassins, commandos, and any other useful personnel.  The Guard is completely independent of the main army.  While the Keldian army fights on the front, the Guard remains in the capital and contributes to the war effort more quietly.

When the story opens, the war is not going very well for Keldane.  [...]  It follows the progress of the war as both sides use a combination of brute force, subterfuge, and politics.”

 

 Galadriel has two different styles of writing, depending on the type of plot. These plots are either character-based or world-based plots, and she writes accordingly. Character-based plots --  for example the one set in Keldane --  entail no preparatory work or outlining; she just hits upon a character and goes. Though the first draft of the story of Keldane took “less than a month” to write, her character-based stories have also waxed long in the editing, because “the characters are the only part of that book that have survived the editing process.”

 

World-based plots are a whole different ballgame. These require extensive outlining - Tirgalon was almost five years in the building. Only now has Galadriel “developed the world to the point where I can actually write the story.” In making Tirgalon, she's studied a wide variety of subjects: “politics, economics, agriculture, architecture, military strategy, mythology and superstition, medieval medicine.  I learned the anatomy of cats, bats, lizards, and birds in order to create feasible anatomy for my drakonu and griffeni.”

 

Next, we moved to advice - more specifically, whether Galadriel had advice for other writers. Considering her extensive writing background, it's no surprise that she did.

 

“First drafts are always rubbish.  You may be proud of your lovely, finished first draft right now, but when you go back to read it again a month or a year from now, it will make you want to delete it or bang your head on a wall or both.  Or maybe it will just make you laugh hysterically for ten minutes and read it again in order that you might marvel and giggle afresh at how badly you used to write (this is my usual reaction).

Never delete anything.  I mean never.  You will regret it.  No matter how rubbishy that first draft is, and no matter how much you want to delete it, don't do it.  If you're reading an old story and it makes you want to barf, carefully move the story out of harm's way before barfing.  If you're going through a two-foot-deep stack of papers that have been sitting in the bottom of your closet for who knows how many years and you come across a battered folder full of lame stories written in the painstaking double-spaced cursive you used when you were ten, don't throw it away!  I did that, and I've regretted it ever since.  The writing itself may have been garbage, but when I threw that folder away I lost a lot of good story ideas as well as the record of two years of my writing progress.”

 

As we drew to the end, we moved on to the staple poll questions. Results:

 

Notebook or computer? “Both.  I prefer writing on the computer (much easier to edit, switch between documents, etc.) but it's rather easier to carry around a notebook and pen than a computer.  So I take my notebook with me everywhere I go (even to the pool) and type up all my thoughts and notes and story scraps when I get home.”

 

BE verb or no BE verb? “In essays, down with BE verbs.  In creative writing, I use them a lot, although not nearly as much as I used to.  TPS has taught me to flinch at the sight (or even at the sound) of a BE verb.  I've caught myself correcting myself and my siblings in conversation.”

 

Narnia or LOTR? “LOTR.  But Lewis's non-Narnian fiction is generally better than Tolkien's.”

 

Pen or pencil? “Pen for writing most things.  Pencil for math, sketching, and translating.”

 

 

And last of all, I asked Galadriel for an excerpt - and what an excerpt! She explained to me that this was from book four of her Tirgalon series.

 

“Remember not to let the lords anger you,” said Lord Norport quietly as he entered the wide meeting hall with King Rauk.  Their footsteps echoed across the red tiled floor and up to the sloped rafters.  “None of us will dare insult you, of course, but you know how easy it is to let someone pull you into an argument.  Remember, you are king.  Don't get distracted or angered, and don't let the meeting get out of control.”

Rauk nodded.  “Thank you, Lord Norport.  You may take your place now.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Norport, bowing and circling around the room to his place in the circle of chairs.  His seat, upholstered in the gold-trimmed red of South District, faced the door, and as always he watched the other lords enter and take their places.  His sharp eyes darted around, taking in everyone's expressions and attitudes. 

King Rauk stood.  “I now convene the council of the District lords,” he announced.  “The legitimate ruling lord of any District may now present the grievances, requests, or opinions of the District which he represents.  All will be heard, witnessed, and recorded.  Let us begin.”

Lord Ross of Endell immediately stood.  Norport knew what he was about to say; he voiced the same objection every time the council met, and Rauk always gave him the same answer.

“Perhaps we ought to amend those opening statements,” Ross said in his oily voice, and smiled insincerely around the room with a mouth full of bad teeth.  “As it stands, your invitation to speak does not extend to the Lady Analise.”

“I represent Lord Logene,” said Analise calmly, without standing.  “You know that quite well, Lord Ross.  Your constant bickering over the point grows tiresome.”

Ross leered at her.  “We all know that Lord Logene has no intention of returning to Valder District any time soon.  His sister's extended membership of this council is most irregular.  Aren't there any rules for how long a lord can let his steward attend the council in his place?”

“No, Lord Ross, there are not,” said Rauk,  “Lady Analise remains on the council until Lord Logene returns from Eldon or requests that another member of his household take her place.”

“Those griffeni have been threatening me again,” rasped Lord Delatire of Border hoarsely, hobbling to his feet.  He thrust his chin forward defiantly so that his thin white beard waggled at them.  Most people expected Delatire to drop dead one of these days, but Norport privately thought the old lord would live a long time yet.  He was too stubborn and far too paranoid to let anything or anyone kill him.

“Oh, the griffeni, is it?” snorted Lord Fisher of Port.

“Yes, the griffeni,” Delatire growled.  “I've told you all that the griffeni are a threat, but you never listen, none of you.  They've been crossing the border into my District!”

“They fly above the mountains, Delatire,” said Fisher.  “How in all Tirgalon do they threaten you by using the thermals above your mountains?”

Delatire shook his thin finger at Lord Fisher.  “My mountains, that's right!  They have no right to fly over my mountains.  One mountain range is as good as any other, so clearly they have some specific reason for wanting to fly over my mountains!”

“Maybe it's the fastest route,” suggested Lord Cransten irritably.  “Can we move on to more important matters, please?”

“You're not listening to me!” said Delatire.  “There's something going on in Eldon.  The griffeni never fly up and down the border this much.  I tell you, they're planning something.  Maybe they've gotten tired of Eldon, have you thought of that?  What if they want to invade?  I think they have those nasty beady hawk eyes of theirs set on Border District.”

Norport stood, smiling frigidly at the lord of Border.  Enough was enough; nobody wanted to hear Delatire's paranoid ravings.  “My dear Lord Delatire, I hardly think the griffeni want Border when they could take any other western District.  And have you forgotten that they're fighting Restai in the north?  They have neither reason nor resources to invade Border.”

“You've been plaguing the council with conspiracy theories since most of us were babies,” Lord Cransten grumbled.  “You've never been right yet, you old fool.”

“Oh, questioning my sanity, are you?”  Delatire turned on Cransten, stabbing his bony finger toward the younger lord.  “Is that it?  I'm a fool?"  ...

“Lord Delatire's so old, he's lost his wits.  He doesn't know what he's talking about.'  Is that what you think?”

Uncomfortable shifting in chairs and a few frank nods told Norport that that was exactly what most of the people present had been thinking.  He held out his hands to calm the lords.  “Lord Delatire, nobody questions your sanity.  However, the fact remains that you warn us about impending danger at least twice a year, and most of the time nothing happens.”

“Fine,” snapped Delatire.  “Don't listen to me.  But I'm warning --"

“Lord Delatire,” said Ross sleekly, standing up and flashing his rotting teeth again, “If disaster fell every time you predicted it, Tirgalon would have sunk into the sea a hundred times by now.  Believe what you like, as long as you don't waste our time with it.”

This was getting nowhere.  Not that the council meeting usually accomplished much of anything.  Norport glanced sideways at King Rauk, who sat staring uncertainly at the arguing lords, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.  “Do something, my lord,” said Norport softly.

“There's no way to make them stop arguing,” Rauk whispered.  “What am I supposed to do?  I can't control them, not like my father could.”

“Speak, and they'll listen.  Stay silent, and they'll argue until the sun turns cold or they've all killed each other, whichever comes first.”

Rauk nodded slightly, and stood up.  “Silence!” he shouted, and his voice echoed off the tiled floor until the entire circle fell quiet and looked at him.  “Are you squabbling children or lords of Falonth?” he demanded.  “You did not come to this meeting to insult each other.  Say something useful or do not speak at all.”

“I have something useful to say,” Lord Sarna announced.  “The segment of the King's Road that passes between Kasir and Lepsan has fallen into disrepair.  Wagons can hardly travel between the two cities any more.”

“Wagons, coming from Kasir?” Ross sneered.  “What in all Tirgalon do you export from Kasir, twigs and leaves?”

“You should know,” retorted Sarna.  “You import goods from Kasir.”

This time, Lord Dale cut through the argument:  “The King's Road between Lepsan and Close also needs repairs.  In particular, I've gotten reports that the bridge over the Kass River was damaged so badly during the last rains that wagoners have been forced off the road to the ford eight miles downstream.”

“I'm surprised you don't just repair the bridge yourself,” said Lord Sander of Junction, speaking for the first time.

“It's part of the King's Road, Lord Sander,” said Dale sharply.  “That makes it the king's responsibility to fix it.”

“Of course it is,” said Sander.  “Excellent idea, saving yourself the expense of building a new bridge by laying it all on King Rauk.”

“That's not--”” started Dale angrily, and cut himself off.  “I was certainly not trying to escape my duties,” said Dale coldly, after a long and uncomfortable moment of silence.

Sander shrugged.  “I didn't say you were.  It is the King's Road, as you said.  Of course King Rauk should pay for it.”

“You're twisting my words,” Dale snapped.

“No, I'm not.  Anybody can tell you I'm not that clever.”

“I wasn't trying to get out of anything or lay anything on the king,” insisted Dale, glancing frantically at King Rauk.

“No, you were just trying to keep your own coffers full,” said Sander.

“How dare you imply such a thing?” Dale said.

Sander spread his arms wide.  “I didn't imply anything.  I said it straight out.”

“I'm loyal to the king!” shouted Dale.

“I never said you weren't.  Loyal to his gold, anyway.”

Dale took a long step forward, thrusting his finger out accusingly at Sander and simultaneously shooting another look sideways at Rauk.  “Do not insult me like that!” he bellowed.  “I am loyal to king and country, whether there's gold or not!”

Everything was dissolving into chaos, as usual.  But this was dangerous chaos, edging too close to Norport's own motives.  He scowled, wondering if he should step in.  No; at this point another voice would do more harm than good.  It had to be Rauk.  He looked at the king, at Rauk's tight, betrayed expression as he stared at Dale and his hands clenched so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.  Rauk was useless at the moment.

“Maybe you're looking for more power, then!” shouted Sander.

“Are you calling me power-hungry?” Dale roared.

Sander laughed derisively.  “Why do you bother to deny it?  We can all see you cozying up with King Rauk!”

“I'm his friend!”

“His friend?” sneered Sander.  “Maybe so, until you decide you've gotten all you need from him.  You wouldn't need to leech off King Rauk if you were half the man your father was!”

“Is that so?”

In an instant, the argument shattered into total mayhem as Dale swept out his sword and swung at Sander, who flung up his arm to block Dale's slash, staggered back with a grunt of pain, and grabbed his chair to keep his balance.

“Unfair!” shouted one of the lords.

“No challenge!” yelled someone else.  “You didn't call a challenge!”

But by that time Sander had regained his balance and drawn his own blade, easily parrying Dale's wild slashes.  In the space of five heartbeats he disarmed Dale, knocked him to the floor, and set the edge of his blade against the younger lord's throat.

“Hold!” cried Norport, his voice slicing sharply through the babble of voices.

Silence fell almost instantly, and finally Rauk regained his composure and stood.  “Hold, Lord Sander!” he shouted across the still room.  “Put away your sword!”

“My lord,” Sander acknowledged stiffly, and sheathed his weapon.

“Get up, Lord Dale,” said Rauk coldly, without looking at his erstwhile friend.

Norport watched quietly, impressed with how well Rauk handled the situation.  If he had reacted sooner, not stopped to feel betrayed by Dale but simply taken control, it all would have turned out much better.  Still, Rauk's lordly manner commanded respect, even from Norport.

Dale clambered to his feet and retrieved his sword, glaring daggers at Sander.

“This meeting is over,” said Rauk.  “Tomorrow morning we will reconvene, if you still have issues you wish to discuss.  Tomorrow there will be no arguments.  All of you are dismissed.”

Dale stormed out first, and Norport watched his retreating back, gauging his response to the duel.  He'd attacked first, without calling challenge, so he should have won.  His loss showed all the lords of Falonth his lack of skill.  No doubt Dale felt a complete fool.  Norport smiled thinly.  He hadn't expected a duel during the meeting, but it served his purpose well enough.  No doubt Dale felt too exposed to ask Rauk's pardon and Rauk felt too wronged to accept Dale back into his group of friends, which placed Norport even closer to the king.

As Dale vanished from view Norport looked at Sander, who made a point of letting several other lords leave before he followed, cradling his injured arm.  Now, he could be a problem.  Sander's bluntness and quick temper made him something of a wild card; it was hard for Norport to predict his actions.

Finally, the meeting hall fell silent, leaving Rauk and Norport alone.  Rauk sank wearily back into his chair.  “That was a disaster,” he murmured.

“I've seen far worse incidents,” Norport said lightly.  “Two lords have died during council meetings in the past twenty-five years.”

 

 

This excerpt only proves Galadriel's abilities -- I loved the writing in this scene. None of the parts stagnated on description, yet the passage was descriptive. I could quite easily imagine the tones of each person speaking and also got what seemed to be a distinct portrayal of each one.

For example, I definitely got the impression that Lord Ross is a bit of a trouble maker. Even without Norport's one line of thought I knew that Delatire is paranoid. From a combination of the action and dialogue between Dale and Sander, as well as Norport's thoughts, I'm guessing that Sander was twisting Dale's words, and that Norport is not necessarily on the side of the king.

Finally, Galadriel did well with the point of view. I was thrown off for a few paragraphs, as I expected to hear Rauk's thoughts, but this I would probably have understood from context that this scene is Norport's thoughts. Once I figured it out, I enjoyed the narration of what happened and the occasional line of commentary, which added details about Norport that would have been hard to convey otherwise. Fantastic job!

To read more of Galadriel's work or comment on her excerpt, see her blog http://littlegreydragon.wordpress.com/.

 

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