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I just returned home, after a long, stress filled week away from home.

Anyway, sitting in the garage with my two younger kids and my wife {she retires to the garage to smoke – a horrific habit, but at least she doesn’t pollute the house, that’s love for you!}  We’re all busy ragging my youngest daughter about a boy friend who is shorter than her…

“He’s just a friend, and a boy!”

Methinks thou dost protest too much…  I made the observation that all my girls seem attracted to males they can dominate.  As she often does, Julia immediately turned the tables on me by smiling conspiratorially at her mother, and saying “Why did you pick dad, Mom?”

I turned toward my wife with an arched eyebrow.  After a deadpan minute, she says “Because I thought he was going to die soon.”  {Since she was my nurse, and I was indeed expected to die, there is a significant truth in her words.}

WELL, WELL, WELL…  🙂 – it turns out I had the last laugh on her!  I somehow managed to survive – we recently celebrated our Silver Wedding anniversary.

Ever been called a “bird brain”?  Well, though the person using the phrase might have intended it as an insult let us look at it from a different perspective.

Birds do indeed have rather small brains.  Yet into those minuscule craniums, they have some rather impressive processing power packed…

Can you even imagine the control needed to successfully fly?  No, we can’t blow flying off as “instinct” – baby birds have to be taught how to fly by their parents.

And then there is their amazing ability to find their way back to their nest.  Let’s put that into perspective as well.  Imagine yourself in a city with no road markings, no street signs, no neatly mapped out grid lines where everything is painted the same color.  Got that?  OK, now add hundreds of levels, with paths interconnecting levels in a truly haphazard fashion, along with everything changing from day to day.  Still comfortable with your chances of finding the cubicle you call home?  OK, now let’s add scale to the story – this multi-level maze extends for miles.  Still think you could find your way home – if you do you’re a lot brighter than me, or an even more delusional than I am – and that is saying something!

In case you’re wondering what circumstance in a bird’s life I have just described – it is this…  Many birds make their nests in trees, which are filled with branches going in all directions, as well as constantly growing, forking into new branches, breaking, dropping and changing color.  Yet somehow these creatures, with a brain often significantly smaller than a pea, can somehow find their way home.  I call that impressive!

Bird brained?  In my dreams, maybe…

This is from a reply I made on the ABNA 2012 Forum, entiled “Why can’t we switch POVs every other sentence?”.  It attempts to explain my inter-character dialog Point of View shifts.

I almost invariably present dialog from the perspective of the person speaking, or thinking. I have a couple of reasons for doing this.

First, it shows the reader what the speaker is seeing, why they think they are seeing that, and how they feel about it – all without any need for extensive exposition, or explanation.

Second, it shows the “action” from multiple different angles – something I consider vitally important in any work about individual character (which is what I choose to write).

The veracity of eyewitness testimony is a fallacy, most witnesses tell what they “think they saw” – while stating it as fact. What they are actually describing as indisputable fact is seriously corrupted – by faulty memory, faulty understanding, personal agenda, and a desire to tell something exciting and relevant.

Many term this technique (if it can be called that) “head hopping”. That is an inappropriate description. In my opinion, it is better described as “head borrowing”, or possibly “head burrowing” since it lets the reader get inside the characters minds. A huge benefit to this, for the reader, if that the reader gets to see the “real truth” from every characters perspective while the characters themselves are limited to only their own point of view.

Finally, as I have most likely stated before, writing is an art – not a science. If writing was a science… well then, computers would do a better job of it than any of us wouldn’t they?

Art is at the discretion of the artist, not the audience – who are entirely free to dislike it.

If you’d like to experience my writing first hand, or first head, hop on over to Beltamar’s War – where you’ll find yourself in the head of Adelmar as he relives his memories.

Who am I, and perhaps more to the point, who is C.G. Ayling?

Since people are generally inquisitive, here is a little information about me.

First, and possibly most important to some, C.G. Ayling is the pseudonym of a real person.  Charles Gilbert Ayling was a real man, and I – the person using his name as though it were my own – am also a real person.  Though I happen to be male, I hesitate to deem myself a “real man” since that is a topic deserving of its own post…

Why am I writing under a pseudonym, you ask?  For a number of personal reasons, a few of which I’ll detail here as they might give you an insight into what makes me tick.

C.G. Ayling was my Godfather, and one of the most important people in my life for many years.  My father passed away when I was very young, my Godfather took the place of father figure and perhaps as importantly, that of a true friend.

Uncle Charles, as I called him from the day I first met him till the last time we communicated over twenty-two years ago, was a truly honorable and selfless man.  He never married, and thus was denied progeny of his own.  His branch of the Ayling line ended with his death.  There are no children who bear his name, and few surviving people who will remember him now.  Frankly, he deserves far more than that.  This is my main motivation for taking his name (believe me it is not in vain, but with intent).  Even if my work is never a success it is now digitized and has been done so with his name affixed as its author.  In a way that grants him immortality in another way than my thoughts.

My Godfather passed away in 1990 after losing the fight to tobacco.  Tragically, I never had a chance to say goodbye – he was living in the UK, I was a continent away.  He never told me he had throat cancer, and though I know he kept that information to himself in order to save me anguish, it took me many years to forgive him for denying me the chance to bid him farewell.  To be denied, by kindness.

I miss him terribly, and always will.

To any of you who think you’re protecting your loved ones by keeping dire knowledge from them, I beg you – reconsider.  If you die today, will they be content?  Or will they be overcome with guilt, knowing they could have said goodbye – if only they had known?  When you die, you’re done – they, however, are left to go on.  Don’t make them walk that lonely path filled with regret.

A quote from Beltamar’s War captures my feelings on this sad topic, “Words of love withheld, soon to be forever unvoiced.”

It goes both ways, let them love you, and show your love to them.

If you’d like to see more of my shorter thoughts, also known as tweets, you can find them here.