Tag: fantasy writing

To write short fiction

Short novels and novellas are a pleasure. There’s a weight to them, paradoxically. Short fiction seems to punch us in the gut stronger than long fiction. Maybe it’s just me, but I often feel like the shorter the piece, the stronger the impact.

I’ve written before about brevity being a strong point in horror. But I have a deep respect for short works in any genre. Though I’ll admit that some genres lend themselves more to the form, you can find great short stories in any of them. Fantasy might not seem like something that can work well in a short time, but one of the best fantasy books I’ve read is This is How You Lose The Time War.

To write a short piece of fiction takes a different set of skills than writing a long piece of fiction. It’s one that not all authors have the ability to do. Stephen King comes to mind, much as I love him. Even his short stories are bloated, as far as short stories go. But if you want to write good short novels, short stories and microfiction, here are some things to keep in mind.

Every word matters

When you have a tight word count, every word matters. Elements of Style begins with the advice to omit needless words, and that is good advice. It’s also part of the fun of it, for me. When I write microfiction, it’s almost like a puzzle. How do I say all that I want to say within the word count? How do I convey all of the emotions? How do I tell the whole story?

One tip I love is using every bit of word count you can get. This means incorporating the title into the storytelling.

Short fiction has no room for fluff. No room for over-explanation. You have to cut it down to only the words that matter.

Subplots need to do double duty and be scarce

We all love a good subplot. Bits and pieces that add fun and flavor to a story but aren’t essential to a plot.

This one doesn’t exactly impact microfiction, as there’s no room for subplots there at all. But short novels will certainly have a few.

Think of it as the difference between an old-school TV episode, and the season-long stories shows have now. An episode of a show will have an A plot and a B plot. They might or might not impact each other. But a season of a modern show will have at least a handful of storylines. Maybe too many, depending on the show.

With short fiction, of course, you want to have as few subplots as you can get away with.

Maybe you have a romantic subplot that also foreshadows a backstory for the antagonist. Maybe a lost pet leads to a comedic story and gives more character development to a secondary character. Or maybe the main character. We’ll talk more about that in the next portion.

Fewer characters

In short fiction, you’re not going to have a huge cast of characters. It’s not like Wheel of Time or The Stand. Long fiction has lots of space to grow many, many characters.

Short fiction feels more intimate, and part of why is the smaller cast. Consider This is How You Lose The Time War, which only had two characters.

When you only have space for a handful of characters, it’s like the difference between attending a big party and an intimate dinner. You have more opportunity to get to know the people at that dinner. For better or worse. You’ll be more likely to learn secrets about others in that setting. Who went off their meds. Who cheated on their partner. Who has a dark secret about something hidden in their basement. Something that makes them afraid to go down there.

Something that might reach out through the shadows.

Having fewer characters to focus on means you can know those characters inside and out.

Writing a short novel, or any short piece takes practice. It’s not easier than writing a long piece. It sometimes might even take more time than the longer pieces because they require so much attention to detail. But a good piece of short fiction can be a gut punch in the very best way. And even if you don’t intend to write short forever, it’s a good skill to have.

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What dragons say about us

We are obsessed with dragons. And by we, I mean all of humanity. As we discussed when I talked about Beowulf a few weeks ago when I still had hope and joy in my life, we have been telling stories about dragons for most of humanity and certainly for as long as we have written stories down. Some of my favorite fantasy books revolve around dragons, like Dragonriders of Pern. When I wrote my own fantasy series, I knew I had to include dragons. Hell, it’s even part of my tagline.

I write speculative fiction. That means I write about dragons, ghosts and spaceships. Sometimes I write about the ghosts of dragons on spaceships.

Dragons are unique when compared to other cryptozoological creatures. We tell different kinds of stories about them. Compare this to something like a unicorn. We all love unicorns, too. But they almost always have the same sort of tales told. They’re majestic, magical, pure. Trolls are almost always stupid and at best a nuisance. Giants are almost always evil and eat humans. But dragons run the spectrum from brainless beast to diety. So let’s look at some examples, and then discuss why this might be.

The monster

This is easily my least favorite way to write dragons, as evil and terrifying beasts that devour people and destroy livestock. They hoard gold they have no actual use for and light up anyone close to their dark and dreary caves.

We see this mostly in older fiction, but in some modern tellings as well. Though, thankfully, this depiction has fallen out of fashion. Dragons that are nothing more than gold-hoarding bottomless eating machines just aren’t much fun.

The ally

The next depiction of dragons we often see is more of an ally animal. Like a horse, dog, rat, or any other animal that we’ve formed a partnership with. Think of Lockheed in X-Men. We also see this in Dragon Riders of Pern, where even when the riders are psychically linked with their dragons, they are still treated the same as deeply loved animal allies. Clever, for sure, but not really on our level.

The Equal

Finally, we get to the sort of dragon I prefer, and the one I wrote in Woven. The dragon is just as intelligent, if not more so, than humanity. We see this a lot in modern fiction. Or, at least fiction that’s come out in my lifetime. Dragon Heart is a great example, as are most D&D dragons. I love this sort because it seems to take humanity down a peg. It reminds us that maybe we aren’t as clever as we tend to think we are.

The god

Finally, we see dragons as diety. As above humanity, with superhuman abilities. My favorite example of this is in Avatar The Last Airbender, where fire bending is taught to humanity by the dragons.

Why?

Now, this is just my opinion. But, since I have been reading the genre for my entire life and writing in it for over ten years professionally, I happen to consider this at least an educated opinion.

I think how we write dragons is a reflection of how we view nature.

Consider some of the dragon types we talked about. The monstrous dragons lived deep underground, protecting treasures. Living in coal country as I do, that feels like an apt analogy for mining. The ally dragons are likely written by people who have close and loving relationships with their pets, or who admire support animals. Those who see dragons as having at least humanlike intelligence, if not more, probably have a deep respect for nature and don’t necessarily think we’re the smartest creatures on this planet. And of course, those who are a bit more pagan leaning would likely see God in the face of a dragon.

Overall, I think it’s a theory that works. We write dragons and how we see nature. We read about dragons that remind us of how we see nature. And I think that’s pretty awesome. Fiction is essentially using lies to tell the truth. We can’t always put into words what scares us, what makes us furious, or what brings us joy. We can’t always write about the mines, our connections with animals, or our fear of the natural world in a way that others can understand. But we can write about dragons, and that seems like something that we can always get behind.

But I want to know what you think. Do you agree with my theory? Do you think it’s ridiculous? Let me know in the comments.

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Shared elements of fantasy and horror

Fantasy is scary. Fantasy is the closest genre to horror, and the one that blends most naturally with it. I believe this with my whole heart, as a speculative fiction writer. I also believe that the best of each genre borrows heavily from the other.

Some of the best horror I’ve read this year (which we’ll discuss next week) have strong fantasy elements. My best fantasy work, Woven, has strong horror elements. My best horror work, Quiet Apocalypse, has strong fantasy elements.

I think this is because some of the most often-used elements of each genre are the same. And it is those elements that I want to talk about today. Each one is a coin with two faces. We’re going to talk about how each of those faces can look.

The fey

Fairy, fair folk, the good neighbors. As a practicing witch, I won’t say anything bad about the fey. For reasons that should be perfectly obvious.

Fairies are most often seen in fantasy. They’re depicted as beautiful, cheerful dancing creatures alight on gossamer wings who like to play light-spirited games on people. They love children, honey, milk and dogs. Especially corgies.

In horror, they are often still small-winged beings. But their hands become a little longer. Their teeth and fingernails become a little sharper. Their songs are just as alluring. But are most likely going to trap you in a brightly colored world you will never escape from, in which you might become a feast or simply dance until you die. Their games and pranks become less joyful and more sinister. They love children, so much that they might steal yours away and leave a changeling in their place.

Cryptids

We all love fantasy creatures. Griffins and gargoyles. Dragons, drakes, sasquatches and any number of winged animals. There are countless joyful stories of experiencing these creatures who come into our dull human lives and spread magic just by existing.

But cryptids have a darker side. Mothman, the Dover Devil, chupacabras, yetis, and flesh pedestrians. Also, giant rats. There always seem to be a few giant rats wandering around in both genres.

Humans have forever seen creatures that no one else has seen, that may or may not have been real. These sightings have either filled us with wonder or terror, depending on the creature in question. And while those stories are often laughed off, or simply considered works of fiction, there’s something a little frightening to consider.

We thought narwhals, platypi, gorillas, and giant squids were cryptids, too. Until we didn’t.

Magic

Magic is a mainstay of fantasy. I love magic. A wave of a wand or some well-chosen Latin and the monster is defeated, the famine is over, the bitter wound is healed and the house is cleaned. I especially love tricky magic, that requires skill and knowledge. Learning an incantation, knowing the herbs and words to say. It’s like catnip for me.

But magic is a tool. It can be used to heal, create abundance, bring order, and protect. It can also be used to bring illness, famine, chaos and death. A curse can wrap itself around someone’s neck and force them to watch everything they love melt away in front of their eyes. A spell can let lose a demon or darkness. Magic can make someone bleed.

Family loss

Why do so many heroes lose their parents or parental figures? This is something I plan to explore in a blog post at some point.

Losing a parent is something most of us will experience. Unless we die first, that is. It is one of the great tragedies of our lives that the people who love us the most, the ones who love us unconditionally from before we’re even born will someday leave us.

In fantasy, this is a scar that the hero carries with them. Because they felt alone, they wanted to protect others from feeling that way. Or, their parents died saving them. This is a noble and honorable weight they bear.

In horror, things shake out a bit differently. In my opinion, it’s more honest. Losing someone you love hurts. It can make you stronger, but it can also make you weaker. It can lead to PTSD. It can take away any feeling of comfort or safety you have. Especially if you lose your parents young, you tend to feel like the world is a very dark place. Some people don’t rise to that occasion. Some just sink into this dark world. Or, they become the darkness themselves.

War

War is a big thing in the fantasy genre. An epic battle between two armies, one full of goodness and light and one full of monsters. We see elves and orcs facing off. Demons and angels. Armies of light and goodness hold back armies of darkness from destroying innocent people.

But war isn’t like that in the real world, and it sure isn’t like that in horror. Real war, horror war, reminds us that nothing is ever black and white, cut and dry. There is no such thing as a pure army. And in war, even if someone has the best intentions, dark and terrible things happen.

Young men and women, little more than teenagers, die. They die on blood-soaked grounds, adding their own blood to the mass. They die screaming for help that cannot come. They burn and bleed after causing other people they will never know to burn and bleed. They starve, get sick, get injured, get broken. Even those who come home physically whole are often broken inside. I’ve lost people to that breaking.

War is hell. There’s a reason so many ghost stories are about fallen soldiers. And while the individual people who fight and die are often noble, including those members of my bloodline who have done so, the people making the decisions at the top are all too often not. Anywhere you look in war, you can find a horror story.

I hope this post has given you something to think about, especially if you are a horror or fantasy writer. And I’d love to hear from you! Do you write a blend of horror and fantasy? Leave links to your stories below.

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Missing Stitches Chapter Three

Victor looked down at his breakfast plate. There sat three soft-boiled eggs, sausage, toast with honey and butter. There was a hot cup of rich tea steaming next to his plate. There had been a time, when he was a poor boy growing up in Montelair, that a meal like this would have seemed an incredible feast.

He dug into his food with relish, ignoring the tutting sounds from his mother-in-law.

“I’m surprised that Stella isn’t with you, Sultiana,” Lenore said.

“She’s gone back to Coveline to visit her family,” Sultiana said, glancing up from her plate. “It was long overdue, I think.”

“Lenore,” Devon said, leaning across the table. “Can I ask you something strange?”

“What kind of strange?” Lenore asked, scratching something out on her date book vindictively.

“Well, Sultiana and I have been feeling something since we arrived,” Devon said, “something familiar.”

“You remember that we had a strange black substance attacking our border with Kussier,” Sultiana said.

“Hard thing to forget,” Lenore said.

“Well, whenever we would stand near that Black, we’d feel something,”

“It made me feel, cold. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you wake up from a nightmare that you don’t remember,” Devon said.

Victor sat his fork down. “Almost like you’ve lost someone, but you’re not sure who, and you can’t find them?” he asked.

“Like that, yes,” Devon said.

“I’ve had that feeling,” Victor said. “Usually at night, when I’m preparing for bed, or waking in the morning.”

“I’ve felt that way, too,” Lenore said. “But it’s always gone by the time I dress. I thought it was just the stress of everything going on.”

“It is probably just this whole mess,” Victor said, taking another bite of his eggs. “It’s hard to feel right about anything.”

But Sultiana shook her head. “It’s not that. This is too familiar to discount. I think we should all keep track of when we’re feeling this darkness. Look for patterns.”

“We can do that,” Lenore said.

The dining room door opened and a palace runner slipped in. “Prince Victor,” he said, setting a tightly rolled scroll next to his plate.

“Thank you, Lad,” Victor said, opening it.

Come to my office, soon as you can, it read.

Victor crumpled the paper, shoving it into his pocket.

“Is something wrong?” Lenore asked.

“Nothing,” Victor said, getting to his feet. “Just a note from the gardener. Slugs are getting into the olive trees in the garden, and he needs me to approve something or other to kill them.”

“And you’ve got to run off from breakfast to deal with slugs?” Lorna asked.

“Well, the head gardener is out sick, it’s just his assistant right now,” Victor said. “Anyway, killing slugs sounds like a fun game this morning.”

Lenore arched her eyebrow. The code word game was often used between the two of them. He hoped that it implied that he’d tell her what was going on in truth later. “Oh, go on, Love. The last thing we need is slugs getting into the orchard.”

Victor plucked her hand from the table to kiss her knuckles before leaving.

He made his way to the lower levels of the palace. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard raised voices down a hallway that led to servant dormitories. Hoping that whatever the spymaster had for him could wait, he turned to head in the direction of the disturbance.

Much to his surprise, he found Butrus face-to-face with a palace servant, shouting at each other.

“Hey!” Victor bellowed, hoping just to be heard over the men. “What in the view of the Sky do you think you’re doing?”

“Prince, this man just started shoving me!” the guard said. “He’s gabbling away in that foreign language, and I can’t understand a word of it!”

“Prince Victor, this man was screaming at his wife,” Butrus said in Calistarian. “Am I permitted to discipline him, or do you wish to handle it yourself?”

“Do you speak Septan, Butrus?” Victor asked, also speaking in Calistarian.

“A little,” Butrus said.

“And what led you to believe that he was yelling at his wife?” Victor asked.

“I, well I heard shouting, and he was with––”

“So you just barged in on who knows what? Where is this woman, anyway?” he looked past the men, into the room. There was a woman sitting on the bed, someone he recognized.

“Daisy,” Victor said.

The woman was pulling a cotton dress over her petticoats. Once she was dressed, she smiled at him. “How are you? You haven’t come to see me in a long while, Victor.”

“Well, my lady might frown on it,” Victor replied. “Everything all right? My friend seems to think you were in some trouble.”

“No,” Daisy said, “I had a nice time. All that happened was that Jimmy couldn’t find his boots, and he was scared of being late. We stayed up a little late last night. He was being loud, but not at me.”

She came to the doorway and fluttered her eyelashes. “You know none of Lulu’s girls let ourselves get treated wrong,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said, “Sorry your morning was disturbed. Give Lulu and her old man my best, will you?”

“If she won’t spit it back at me,” Daisy replied.

“James, find your damned boots. And let’s have no more scenes on work mornings, all right?”

“Yes, Prince,” James replied before hurrying back into his room, presumably to continue the search for his boots.

“Butrus, come with me,” Victor said. “Right now.”

Butrus followed after Victor as they headed toward the noble visitor’s wing. “You don’t speak Septan, and you thought it all right to barge into a man’s room and start making a fuss,” Victor said.

“The woman seems to be a friend of yours, did you want her ill-treated?” Butrus asked.

“You did not hear her explain that he was not even yelling at her, because you don’t speak Septan!” Victor said. “Butrus, I cannot imagine that Sultiana needed extra muscle, so why did she bring you along?”

“I am to be the new ambassador,” Butrus said, looking defiant.

“Because you are so levelheaded and diplomatic,” Victor snapped. “I will not tell Sultiana and Devon about this, and you will never let it happen again. If you think that a man in my palace is mistreating a girl, get a guard.”

Without another word, he walked away.

* * * *

Talmadge Grace was sitting at her desk, sipping tea while she read over a stack of parchment. The office was barely recognizable since she’d taken it over. The desk was smaller than the old one, painted over with lacquer that made it glow red. The seats were plain but comfortable. The floor was swept clean around a blue rug that lay underfoot. A good lamp lit the room as there were no windows.

Talmadge herself was different. Her hair, which had been held back before in a messy braid had been cut. It was held away from her face with a steel clip in the shape of a bird. She wore breeches and a tunic with a cream vest, and good boots.

The most surprising change, Victor only saw when she looked up from her papers and stood to curtsy to him. After her bow, she stood straight and looked him in the eye.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Victor said.

“No need to apologize, Prince,” Talmadge said, “This is nothing crucial. I just haven’t had a chance to sit down and talk to you since you’ve returned.”

“My fault as much as anybody’s,” Victor said.

“Well, it’s good that you’re back,” Talmadge said. “Both you and the princess.”

“I have gotten some idea of that, yes,” Victor said. He took a seat at the desk. “What is going on with this noble uprising?”

Talmadge shook her head. “Prince Joseph is the trouble, not anyone else. I know that Lord David is angry about his bastard brother’s lordship, but James has been a lord for quite some time.”

“Since King Lyonal’s days, from what I understand,” Victor said, naming his grandfather-in-law.

“Yes,” Talmadge said. “Lord Constantine siding with the prince is easier to understand. He’s always been one too fond of power, and if his daughter is married to Hank, he’ll have power aplenty. But still, it seems strange that so many of the common people have sided with them.”

“When I hear that someone has gained influence so quickly, I hear the sound of gold clicking,” Victor said.

“Generally I agree,” Talmadge said, “and it’s a possibility. I know that the head of the merchant’s guild is unhappy about the changes Princess Lenore’s been pushing for. The last thing he wants is foreign merchants flooding his markets. He’s not too happy about the women inheriting businesses either. I wouldn’t put it past him to throw some gold at the problem.”

Just then, what had appeared to be a solid wall behind Talmadge opened in the center, revealing a small door. A young boy, a chimney sweep judging by the soot in his hair, popped into the room. He froze when he saw Victor.

“It’s all right, Lad,” Victor said.

The boy hesitated for only another second before saying, “Miss, Prince Joseph’s at the front steps of the palace. He’s wanting an audience with Princess Lenore.”

“Lenore?” Talmadge asked, getting to her feet, “What does he want with her?”

“Perhaps he is going to apologize and swear his fealty,” Victor said, causing Talmadge to release a mirthless laugh.

“You’d better get up there and keep an eye on the princess. She’s bound to be too trusting of her uncle,” she said.

“But, Miss, that’s the other thing,” the boy said, “Princess Lenore and Queen Sultiana left. They went into the city.”

“They did what?” Talmadge cried. “Bobby, why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now, Miss,” the boy said, giving her an incredulous look. “I only heard that the other prince was here when I was already on my way.”

“Send someone to tail her,” Talmadge muttered. She was reaching for her cloak.

“I will go meet with Joseph,” Victor said. “I grow tired of this family squabbling.”

He hurried to find the king.

Samuel and Devon were in the family sitting room. “Does anyone know where those girls ran off to?” he asked.

“Lenore got an urgent message from the temple just after you left,” Devon said. “Sultiana went with her.”

“I find myself missing Anthony, just now,” Victor said.

“What do we think Uncle Joe’s here for?” Devon asked.

Samuel laughed. “You know your uncle. He’s probably going to come right in as though nothing was ever wrong.”

A guard came to the door. “Prince Joseph Mestonie,” he said, holding the door open for Victor’s uncle-in-law.

Like his older brothers, Joseph was a big man, with a small goatee and mustache, well-trimmed. He wore his dark hair to his shoulders and was dressed entirely in Mestonie blue, save his boots.

He also wore a sword on his belt. Victor wore no weapons, neither did Samuel. The only blade in the room, aside from Joseph’s, was on Devon’s belt.

“Joe,” Samuel said. “Get in here next to the fire, Man.”

Joseph stayed by the door, with two of his own guards flanking him. They both wore the same red owl on their breasts that Victor had noticed through the city. “Samuel,” Joseph said. “I came to see Lenore, not you.”

“Lenore’s indisposed,” Samuel said.

“You mean you’ve hidden her away,” Joseph replied. “What have you done to that girl, Sam?”

“What in The Creator’s name are you talking about?” Samuel asked. “Come in and say hello to your nephews. Lenore will be here when she can.”

Joseph cast a dark look at Victor and Devon. “These men are not my nephews. If you don’t release her, I’ll turn this palace upside down.”

Victor took a step toward him. “I do not think we have met. I am Victor Mestonie, Lenore is my wife.”

“My niece is not your wife, Peasant,” Joseph spat. “Samuel, I am at the end of my patience. You stand there, with your wife’s bastard son as though he’s yours. You allow this Montelarian commoner to hurt our Lenore. You allowed your true son to die, and for what? Did Octavian find out something you didn’t want him to know? Samuel, what are you hiding?”

Devon was on his feet. “What did you just say about me?” he growled. Victor was surprised. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Devon stirred to anger.

“I said that you are a bastard, the son of some commoner your whore mother entertained,” Joseph said, “Now you’re sitting on the Calistar throne. You’re nothing but a farce. And you,” he turned to Victor. “You animal. I’ll see you gutted for what you’ve done to my niece.”

“You should be glad Lenore is not here,” Victor said. “The things you are saying about her brother may make her forget that she is a noblewoman. Let alone your insinuations about me.”

“You are speaking like a madman,” Samuel said. “Joe, have you been drinking?”

Joseph smirked. Victor felt cold. There was something wrong about Joseph, even more than his actions suggested. There seemed to be a coldness coming from him. Korhzik must have felt it as well, because he clung to Victor’s shoulder, crouched down with his ears laid back.

“If you’ve nothing to hide, let me speak to Lenore. Alone, so that she may speak freely to me.”

“I’m sure Lenore will be happy to speak with you when she is available,” Samuel said.

“No,” Joseph said. He turned from them, his guards hurrying to open the door. “Search the palace,” he said to them, “Everything from the tower to the cellars. I will find her, Samuel. And if you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you where you stand!”

Victor stormed after them, praying that Lenore was safe at the temple.

 

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Fantasy fans in the 21st century

Today’s cover art is from Free-Photos

Speculative fiction has been seeing a lot of love over the last decade. I’ve lost count of the number of cult classic books and modern loves that I was sure I alone knew about, that are now considered mainstream works. Fantasy and science fiction, in particular, has been going strong. (Horror is always doing good, it seems. Especially in times of hardship. Stephen King has a great essay about that in his book Danse Macabre. If you haven’t read it, read it.)

As a lifelong speculative fiction fan myself, I couldn’t be happier that everyone is finally seeing what I see in my favorite stories and characters. It is amazing to see all these little teenagers going nuts over the latest Laini Taylor book. 

On the other hand, being a fantasy fan these days kind of blows. Like with everything, there are pros and cons to cult favorites hitting the mainstream. 

Why we have it so good

Let’s get this one out of the way right now, I love e-books. Yes, I still love me a good thick hardcover, but for ease of use, you just can’t beat an e-book. I can carry around my whole library with me wherever I go. How many times have you had to carry two books with you because you were just about to finish one? How many times have you had to carry a bigger bag because you’re reading the hardcover version of Dances With Dragons? No more of that!

I also love that I can get e-books on the launch day even if I’m too busy to make it to the store. Especially right now, when I can’t get to any store without fearing for my damn life. That would have saved my life if I’d had it when the last Harry Potter book came out. Instead, I was stationed in front of my local book store when they opened the door, waiting.

I also really love that so many of our favorite things are showing up on the screen, and most of them are good! I’ve talked a lot about quality adaptations on this site, so I won’t go into it again. But it’s been a while since anyone had to shush me in a movie theater because I launched into a geek tirade.

Speaking of the geek, we are for sure living in the age of the Geek. (At least in culture. I sort of wish our politics here in America still thought it was cool to be, you know, smart. But that’s another topic for another day.) We’re not seen as losers now for liking things like comic books and D&D. They’re all the rage. People know who Tolkin is now!

Of course, because there are so many people interested in fantasy and science fiction, the market is catering to us. There’s a ton of new stuff and most of it’s good! The best example I can think of right now is The Orville. It’s like Star Trek for a modern audience. And it’s not the only thing for fans to be cheering over. The new Twilight Zone, Star Trek Picard. All the good things are coming back.

Why we sort of don’t

There is nothing that is purely good or purely bad. I do love e-books but there are some books I want to have a physical copy of. There lies the problem, books are freaking expensive to buy! They’re expensive to produce, too. Listen, I write and sell this stuff as well as consume it. Trust me, no one but Amazon is getting rich off that $20 and up price tag for new releases. It’s real easy to spend over $100 on books in a month if you want to get the physical copies. And as much as I think it’s worth it, I also know I can’t afford it. 

There are other issues, of course, with things we love going public. People who don’t understand our world are invading it. I have just one too many times overheard conversations about comic book characters that are so off the mark that I’m loth to keep walking. I do because I don’t need to be that crazy person in town. Screaming at strangers for not understanding the complexity of Tony Stark and his struggle with alcoholism is not a good look. But it should be!

Hey, remember when we were talking about books and how expensive they are? That’s not the only way marketing teams are getting our cash. Our beloved worlds are being marketed to Hell. All of our beloved characters are being sold to us on water bottles, action figures, and posters.

This isn’t to say I’m not as big of a sucker as they come. I had a pair of Jack Skellington Vans that I wore until they had holes in the heel. I also had a Gryffindor hoodie that I lost somewhere. (I’m a Hufflepuff anyway.) I have a Harley Quinn poster and a Daddy’s Little Monster t-shirt. But at some point, it all becomes too much. At some point, we’re just being sold cheap crap for too much because it happens to have the Cheshire Cat on it.

Finally, with great stories come great rip-offs. Or not so great rip-offs, usually. Or just real shit trying to pass for quality storytelling. For every Orville, there’s a Star Trek Discovery. For every ‘Salem’s Lot, there’s a Twilight. There is so much science fiction and fantasy coming out because it’s popular. We can’t get enough of it when it’s good. But we can sure get a gullet full when it’s created without love or thought, only a desire for a quick sale.

I’ll never stop being a fan of science fiction and fantasy. I imagine you won’t either if you’re reading this. For good or bad, we’ll always be here to explore any new worlds available to us. 

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Things to remember when writing different classes

Today’s cover art is from Anastacia Cooper.

As an author, no one is more critical of my work than me. No one is a bigger fan than me, either. But we all know how fantasy fans are. We only truly rip apart what we love most. And when it comes to Woven, I’m always thinking of things I wish I’d done better. I’ve written other books since then, and I’m sure I’ll find a thousand faults with them over time. 

One thing I’ve struggled with in Woven is that three of the four main characters were noble from birth. While not a single character was supposed to be running things, everyone but Victor was a princess or prince.

That was fun and all, but it was also really limiting. How someone sees the world differs dramatically in different social classes. So when I was writing Grace, her point of view was far different than Lenore’s. Honestly, it was a lot closer to my point of view. 

Today I wanted to share with you the four things I had to shift my writing perspective when writing for Grace.

Dialog

The first change is almost cosmetic, but it’s important. It was how people talked. A princess is going to talk far differently than a common woman, and honestly, it’s a lot more fun writing for the latter. A lot more telling people off and swearing up a storm.

Work

Another big change was the work each character did. Grace goes through many changes in this book, as her responsibilities change. She goes from keeping a house and feeding her family to running a castle. What she even considers work changes from the start of the book to the end. Things that once were chores seem like a vacation now.

What’s important to remember is that what a character does every day is always going to seem easier and more boring than something new. Someone who is used to washing, mending, cleaning and gardening is going to consider a day of meetings, decision making and paperwork freaking exhausting! This was a real shock to me when I transitioned from retail to a desk job years ago. I didn’t think using my brain would be so tiring but man! 

Appreciation

This is something I’ve experienced in my own life. What you appreciate and what you take for granted depends largely on what you’re used to. And as much as we all try not to take things for granted, we all do it. I took for granted that I was healthy until my cholesterol got all messed up. But I’ve never taken my next paycheck for granted. I’ve never taken my home or the health of my loved ones for granted.

Grace will never take a meal for granted. She’ll never take the safety of her home or family for granted.

She does take for granted that her oldest friend and protector, Calvin, will always be there to protect her. That she can depend on him so long as he can depend on her. 

Like most of us, the things she takes for granted are often the things she losses. 

Fears

In a related note, what scares us is often tied to what we take for granted. What we’re certain we won’t ever lose. 

In Woven, Lenore fears largely for her people. She’s not often scared for herself because she’s always been physically safe. She’s never skipped a meal, never had to scape and suffer. But she fears that she’s going to fail her people. And that she cannot abide. 

Grace is afraid that she won’t have food for her family. She’s afraid that soldiers are going to kill them. She’s afraid that they will simply not survive. And it’s likely that no matter how many years of comfort she may or may not have, those fears will probably never go away. 

After writing for nobility and writing for average people, I do have a preference. And if you liked me writing about princesses, I might have some bad news for you. I think I like writing about regular people more. The reason is pretty simple and I hope you’ll agree. 

I love writing people who don’t have the overt power to make changes, but they do it anyway. I mean, isn’t that what we’re all trying to do, change our communities and worlds for the better? My real-life heroes are not usually destined for greatness. They’re everyday people who decided to make a difference.

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