Character Preview- Andur

Anyone who has never wished for death has never truly lived.

 

Does that sound harsh to you?

 

It is. But it is true. I wish it weren’t so but it is. The universe is harsh; those who thrive it more so.

 

However, that doesn’t mean joy can’t be found.

 

As I put these thoughts down I am a woman of considerable age.

 

I have flown from one side of the Galaxy to the other. I’ve killed men and women of all races.

 

Often in defense, often for money. Occasionally, for vengeance.

 

By the values of all the Galaxy’s peoples and the tenants of all religions I am considered irredeemable.

 

I understand this. Being a thug, a war criminal, a religious fanatic, a pirate, an assassin, a bounty hunter, a turncoat and a thief- any of these are horrible vocations. I was all of them at one point in my life.

 

I was pushed into many by circumstance. Still, my actions are mine and the bad deeds far outweigh the redeeming ones.

 

Yet I have known joy and love. I have gained and lost them and come close to turning my own lethal hands against myself.

 

Still, I am here to put these words down and share my story for those who care to know it.

 

I think perhaps, I am rambling a bit. Let me start with the basics.

 

Who am I? What am I? Where do I come from? What have I done?

 

Who am I?

 

My name is Andur. Many peoples of many races in our Galaxy have a surname. I do not, though I am sure my ancestors did at some point.

 

What am I? This is a complex question to me.

 

There are many answers I could give. Many answers you could give.

 

So I will tell you the two aspects of myself most others notice when they first meet me.

 

I am human. This is how Jideenians, Boroshians, Voshens, Centuri, the Bezon and all the other non-teren races of our Galaxy define me when I first meet them.

Some say we humans are judgmental, gruff, or if you follow Earth’s frequent conflicts with her neighbors, militaristic.

 

I will only say this in response: We are, but so is everyone else.

 

So, for better and worse, I am human. 

 

I am also a woman a female. This is usually the second thing noticed about me by non-humans. The first if I am among my own kind.

 

I have always been female. In body and spirit. I do not identify with any other gender, though sometimes I wish humans had more than one as other races do.

 

So now you know I am a woman.

 

There are many other aspects of what I am but that will be elaborated on later.

 

Now to the last two questions.

 

Where do I come from and what have I done with my terrible life? 

What it Means to Publish- Thoughts on Releasing Part of Yourself to the World

'Vulnerable Heart' by Angela (pixeldust007)

I remember the first story I ever wrote. I was around nine and like many little boys in the 90s I loved Star Wars. One day, I decided to take a pencil and paper and write a story about how the rebels found their base on Hoth. The plot of this early fan-fic revolved around Luke Skywalker being shot down by a star destroyer. He crash landed on the ice planet and after wandering around trying to avoid snow troopers he found the massive cave complex that would provide the rebels with their haven.

Like so many kids, my initial enthusiasm for this passion waned and I never finished what I started. So many of my projects followed the same path over the next sixteen years. I finished some pieces. Sometimes I would take care of the first-draft, occasionally I would make it through an edit or two and there were a number of short Facebook notes, and blog-posts that I would share for the wider world. Yet there were so many other works that just sat half-baked and completely forgotten in a folder on my computer. And, until I finished the last edit of my Native American Fantasy novel, 'Only the Sky is Forever', I had never reached the stage of publishing a piece of fiction.

It's one thing to share what you've written with those close to you. That in and of itself is courageous in my opinion. Many of those who write never reach that stage and I understand why. Writing always comes from the soul. It's a segment of what goes on inside you. Showing part of the real you is never easy. However, putting your official stamp on something and telling the world 'Hey, this book I wrote, I want you to buy it.', that's even more daunting, at least to me. You're telling others, your voice is worth something. You're proclaiming that your soul, the piece of yourself that is etched in those words, is worth buying for three dollars.

As the author, you're intimidated. You have a much larger expectation to live up to. You're worried. You ask yourself many different questions: Is this story really worth sharing? Will anyone buy this part of me? Will anyone care? Will anyone absolutely despise it?

These thoughts went through my head at different times throughout the past few weeks as I thought about the imminent publication of my book. I have a feeling most authors have similar doubts at different times. Yet, the heart of why writers write, is never fame and fortune( plenty of us dream of it even if we won't admit it). It's because we are addicted to the act of creation. We are consumed by the desire to stir the caldron of potions in our head, add the right ingredients at the best times to make it as fine a brew as we can and finally pour what we've concocted out for the sake of watching it flow out onto the page or screen in front of us. This is the act that keeps us going even if what we write never wins a Pulitzer Prize or reaches anyone beyond a few friends.

It is gratifying to be read. I hope people do read this book I've written and are willing to pay for it. Yet the canvas I paint with my words is meant, first and foremost to be something I can look upon and smile at. And if others wish to smile at it with me, dismiss it or walk by without a glance they are welcome to. I'm just glad to be able to say to the world, 'it's here! it's finished!'