I have a four year old daughter. She’s fast turning into a gamer like her mother and father before her. She is currently playing Journey and has finished Tengami and Monument Valley on the iPad about a hundred times each. She likes to get on Super Smash Bros. Melee and hack and slash at her two year old sister holding the other controller (and getting some surprisingly good moves in for someone performing the essence of button mashing.)
I didn’t question any of this as not being ok until she saw me play half an hour of Assassin’s Creed Black Flag a few weeks back. Then I decided, as I watched Edward gut guards with beautiful ease, that maybe… just maybe… this wasn’t something she should be watching.
Two weeks later she pulls the game out of the drawer and hands it to me. ‘We haven’t watched you play this forever, mum! Do you remember how your man sworded all those bad people?’
One’s heart could tear over such cuteness as she goes on to use the term ‘sworded’ another few times. I’m oddly proud of her, because we are unconventional in pretty much every way it’s possible to be, but at the same time the old society voice kicks in and BAM I’m thinking ‘letting them watch violent video games is going to turn them into violent little killing machines’.
So I start to over analyse (or perhaps it’s the right amount of analysis and other people just don’t like to think beyond the opening statement) and I wonder if I encouraged her to show empathy for those undergoing the violent acts – pain, death, loss, etc – would that make her a more well rounded person? Who does that? Who watches a Disney cartoon and feels bad for the bad guy? Or do all forms of media encourage us to suspend empathy for the undeserving as well as our disbelief.
I’ve long been an advocate for self-censorship. If you don’t like something, don’t watch it. It’s a human instinct. Turning away from the screen during Game of Thrones, putting down a book when you can’t bear to read any further. The same four year old that asks to watch me sword people in Assassin’s Creed, also cries and can’t finish watching Up and even The Lorax, because she’s genuinely emotionally invested in something and is afraid it’s going to end badly. She isn’t emotionally invested in Assassin’s Creed, and definitely not in the bad guys.
This is still a subject on which I’ve got a lot of thinking to do, because I’m one of those people who thinks about EVERYTHING. What amount of violence is acceptable for understanding modern society? Is it really better for them to live in a sheltered bubble? What about having empathy for cruelly farmed animals? We are animals ourselves, and we’ve sheltered ourselves for a long time to things like where our food comes from. Are we going to censor everything and make these rules for the masses? Where does that stop?
I’m not quite ready to pull out Assassin’s Creed and get swording people while my four year old cheers me on, but I’m thinking about it.
So I’ve decided I’m going to do a series of throwback posts looking at old writing of mine.
1) Because it’s funny
2) Because you can learn a lot from it
3) Because it’s interesting
4) Because it’s funny
In light of the fact that I’ve been working on The Vengeance Trilogy non-stop for the last two years, it seemed the best place to start. Not the new stuff, but the old OLD OOLLLLLDDDD stuff. Endymion and Darius have been around for quite some time. I think I started writing them in 2008, the second major series of books I ever worked on. Back then they didn’t have Katashi or Kin, although Malice existed, as well as a very very different version of Hana merely called Regent and owning a penis. (That is one attached to his body, not merely one he carried around in a bag or something…)
So, here goes. I’m hoping I don’t need to disclaimer this in more detail than saying this work is more than six years old. Do not take it as any measure of what my published works are like.
Enjoy!
~
“I’m sorry to wake you, Laroth,” a calm voice said beside me, sounding genuinely apologetic. I looked around sharply, afraid that someone had witnessed my uneasy night. A pair of unruffled brown eyes were watching me out of an interesting, if not precisely attractive, face.
“Oh, it’s you,” I muttered, putting a hand to my head. “Why did you wake me, Marek?” I sat up, waiting for his reply. He had been my secretary for long enough to know never to wake me after nights like that. We never spoke about it, but he had learned through experience that sometimes I wasn’t quite my usual self. It had been a very bad storm. “What time is it anyway?”
“It’s just after noon,” Marek replied. “Your breakfast is on its way, but I woke you because a messenger just arrived at haste from the town of Yolbrun. He says he’s been travelling all night and is under orders to give the message into your hands only.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hope you disabused his mind of its unfounded feelings of importance.”
“You don’t pay me for nothing.” As he spoke Marek held out a sheet of heavy parchment that had been folded back on itself and sealed with more wax than could ever be considered necessary.
I took it from his hand. “It seems that the inhabitants of Yolbrun are overenthusiastic.”
Breaking the seal with my forefinger I spread the sheet across the silken covers of the bed, staring down at the tiny scrawl covering the sheet from edge to edge.
“Definitely overenthusiastic.” I handed it back to Marek without reading so much as a sentence. “I do wish people would learn to limit important missives to as few words as possible. Tell me whether there is anything worth knowing in that effusive ramble.”
Marek took the sheet back without comment, his dark eyes swaying back and forth as he read each line in turn, occasionally squinting at a small and poorly formed word in an effort of comprehension. Half way through he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and went to let in the servant who was bearing my breakfast tray.
“Nothing but platitudes so far,” he said, going back to the letter while I lazily began slicing an apple with a silver fruit knife.
Before the maid left she placed a large pillow behind my back. I leant against it while I ate, feeling the last strains of my headache resolutely refuse to disperse. It was nothing if not pathetic, being so affected by pain throbbing through one’s temples, but no matter what I did I could not escape it. Distance, time, indifference – everything seemed to change except for this.
“Ah!” Marek lowered the parchment and grinned at me over the top. “Overenthusiastic they might be, but–”
“Just tell me what it says,” I interrupted, holding up a hand to stem his enthusiasm too.
Without displaying even a flicker of annoyance Marek cleared his throat. “Commander Ovael of the Yolbrun town guard has written to inform you that he has a man in one of his cells who bears a peculiar marking on his left forearm. He goes on to say – among other things – that it exactly matches the drawing which was sent out with your last orders.”
I paused with a slice of apple halfway to my lips and stared up at him. “Then for once you did right to wake me,” I said, taking a bite. “Call my dresser. I will go see the queen.”
“I believe this morning she is negotiating the possession of that young man who arrived with the Marscian rebels,” Marek commented, folding the parchment and holding it questioningly over the coals smouldering in the grate. “You know, the one with the long curls?”
“I know.” I nodded, and Marek dropped the parchment, waiting until it had caught alight before turning away.
“Very well, Laroth. I’ll send for Rhys. Is there anything else you wish?”
I shook my head, taking another bite of apple as he left.
~
I read through that but I shuddered at the early flutter of adverbs and nearly bailed. Looking back at old work often makes me want to curl up and die a little inside… Looks like a fun year of Thursdays coming up!
And yes, that is me playing on my brother’s toy car. I only know it was his because he labelled the photo with the words ‘my toy car’ when he sent it to me…
The Grave at Storm’s End is DAYS away from making the journey to my editor’s inbox, which means we are close close omg so close to having it all finished – THE WHOLE THING. That blows my mind.
That’s the good news – not the mind blowing, because if my head asplode then there are no more books and that would be sad. The words being in the ending stages is the good news. The bad news is that we are still waiting on cover art. I’m not going to go into it and get all detailed and shirty, because it is entirely out of my control, but safe to say the lack of movement on this has caused much of the general URGH around this place for the last couple of months. There has been nothing exciting to move on with, nothing exciting to show for all the work.
Well… there are WORDS, which I suppose is what a story is made of. So here are some words. The first lines of The Grave at Storm’s End. The Blood of Whisperers and The Gods of Vice both started with a poem, and The Grave at Storm’s End is no different. So without further ado – enjoy!
When gods walk, the ground trembles
When gods cry, the skies bleed
When gods love, the world sings
When gods fight, empires fall
The Grave at Storm’s End
Book 3 of The Vengeance Trilogy
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.
I have forty-three friends on Facebook. I used to have more, but I cut back. I’ve seen people with hundreds. Thousands. And always I ask myself why. I don’t even have time to properly interact with the measly forty-three people I have, I don’t have time to give a damn about hundreds more.
So let’s rewind. My ten-year high school reunion just happened. I didn’t attend, what with having recently moved to the other side of the world (it’s a good excuse when really I would have found it difficult to work up the courage to go anyhow – I was one of the “uncool nerds”, so I can’t say I enjoyed my time there). A friend of mine did go and reported that it was exactly like being seventeen again, because ABSOLUTELY NOTHING HAD CHANGED. This is rather depressing. Cool kids in the cool kid corner, nerds in the nerd corner, no one crossing the floor. Pathetic for adults two years shy of thirty, or perhaps I just have high standards.
The whole event might have passed without further interest if I hadn’t received a Facebook friend request the same day from a girl I’d had no positive interaction with during the many years we’d spent at school together. There I sat at my computer, rather stunned, muttering ‘what the…?’ as I stared at the name. And twenty-four hours later I still haven’t replied. This got me thinking. Why was it causing me so much grief?
Had she sent me a request to chalk me up on her Facebook list like a completionist hunting for the final flag in Assassin’s Creed? (Even with the maps I never could find that damn thing!) Or could there be genuine interest in connecting with me. The latter seemed vastly implausible and humorous, especially when coming out of the blue. I don’t want to be nothing more than a number. I don’t want to be a conquest – the nerd who couldn’t decline the invitation of the cool girl in case it meant acceptance at last. Ten years ago I would have accepted it straight away, my enthusiasm embarrassing, hoping this might finally be the gateway to popularity. Five years ago… most likely. Two? I don’t know when I changed, when I began to analyse myself and my responses to the world, but somewhere in these last few years I’ve become a stronger person.
All this angst over a damn friend request? Really? You bet, because social media is the new socialising, clicking the like button the new smile, commenting the new conversation. Emoticons instead of emotions – the distance the internet gives us both a blessing and a curse.
Eventually I went to click “decline”, buoyed up by my strength of my own character, only to be foiled by Facebook itself. I had never declined before and so hadn’t realised there is no such thing. Ignore or accept. Really? Those are pathetic options. I could ignore it on my own, what I wanted was the chance to say “no”. You see being an author and having to make my living on the internet is stressful enough. Living in a world where reading through an article’s comment section is like wading through human vitriol is already depressing. I’m a woman. I’m picky about what food I eat. I don’t send my kids to school. I’m a nerd. And I’m self-published. I’ve picked a hard road. I can’t control what people say to me. I can’t control what people write about me or about my books or about what I look like and how I dress. But one thing I can control is who I accept to be part of my personal Facebook space, where I can be myself and know I will only ever receive positive support.
It looks like the lack of a “decline” option is just another thing over which I have no control.
I’m still here. I haven’t fallen through thin ice or been eaten by a moose (don’t know if moose/meese/moosi actually eat people) in fact I haven’t even seen a moose or gone skating. I have just been slowly coming to terms with the fact that I have to start everything all over again and the slowly dawning horror that I left two of my very best friends behind and despite progresses in technology, it just isn’t the same. I can’t just pick up the phone. I can’t just drop in. It’s at least a twenty-hour flight to drop in and even with Skype I have to think about differences in time zone.
But, like everything in life, I take it as an experience I can put into my work. I like silver linings on dark clouds, and almost always that silver lining boils down to ‘well at least this is a good experience’. When the broken bone or the broken heart heals I will be a better person for it. I hope. At least a better writer, and that’s almost the same thing, right?
So here I am, a little sad, a little out of place, sometimes wondering why the hell we decided to do this. And in the midst of all the self-pity and doubt, an epiphany saves me. I came here to further my career, so I had better bloody well get on with it!
To that end I am back blogging and existing on social media and all that jazz because, hell, if a busy person can’t get it done then no one can.
Onwards and upwards! You’ll be hearing from me all too much soon…
Have some phoenix rising to make your day. I love this for waaayy too many reasons to count. I feel like a phoenix slowly coming out of a pile of ash … slowly.
Right, well… I’ve been absent and I apologise. Life on the other side of the world is difficult to say the least. It is taking some time to get adjusted and when I have energy it goes into working instead of blogging. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.
In the meantime I have been tagged in the Writing Process Blog Chain by my lovely editor, Amanda J Spedding. She asked if I wanted to do this and in my usual enthusiastic style I agreed before considering how crappy I’ve been feeling. But BLAH… here it is – my writing process…
1. What am I working on?
I am working on the final drafting stages of The Grave at Storm’s End, the third book of my Vengeance Trilogy. It is in the painful stage – that bit in the middle where you know exactly what you need to do and write and change, but you still have to get the words down. I love early drafts and I love the finicky final editing passes where every word comes under scrutiny, but these middle bits… not so much.
Because of that I’m also in the brainstorming stage for a new trilogy that is a bit different. And I really really can’t wait to be able to work on something new.
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
This is a really tough question, because every writer is unique in some way. For me I concentrate on characters. I make them real and then put them into difficult situations and sit back to see what they do. I once heard the theory that every author is writing to solve a problem, to answer a big question that consumes them. I haven’t figured out exactly what question I am still hunting for an answer to, but broadly I write to find out what people will do when put into situations beyond the average world we know. Plot is characters in action, so without great characters, you have no great plot. It is a theory I will continue to live and write by.
3. Why do I write what I do?
I’m not sure that any author sets out to choose a genre. I think they just fall into it because we write what is natural to us. The day I discovered fantasy I was hooked for life, and it immediately altered my writing habits. To be able to put it into words, I write a genre that allows me to put characters into situations that are unable to be found in a ‘real world’ setting. It is a way of exploring the human psyche, of pushing the envelope to see what we are capable of as a society and as individuals. And I write character based stories because characters are everything to me. People are fascinating and they create their own stories.
4. How does my writing process work?
I write every moment I can. I have two little kids and so I write whenever they are temporarily being quiet. As for HOW I do it – I’m a pantser. I have no idea what’s going to happen when I start writing, I have characters, I get to know them, and then they tell me a story. I write it down. Then I rewrite it. Then, when I’m happy with how it’s going, I get it beta read. Then I make changes. And I re-write it. Then I re-write it some more and get some more people to read it. Eventually, when it’s finally ready, it goes through editing passes (which are awesome fun) and out the other end of this pops a book.
Sometimes I write notes. Sometimes I write A LOT of notes. Sometimes I listen to music. Sometimes I talk at people while I figure it out in my head. Sometimes I daydream in the shower or write scenes in my head while I’m trying to go to sleep. The more into it I get the more obsessed I am and the faster and better the work is that emerges. It is draining, but I love it and can’t imagine doing anything else.
So that’s me done. I’m supposed to tag three other writers in this, but what with being not really in the game at the moment, and the fact that so many writers have already done this, I am just going to tag one special author. Poet and author, Ashley Capes, whose thought-provoking blog always has something interesting to read. I’m going to tag him as a poet today, because poets get so little credit in the modern literary world, when once they ruled the world.
Get to it, Ashley! Can’t wait to read your answers.
The Lies of Locke Lamora needs another review like I need a truckload of outdated desktop computers, but hell, I’m an opinionated girl so here we go.
I don’t usually like to read reviews of popular books before I read them, as it can colour your experience of them, but it’s hard to avoid the general industry enthusiasm for this book. Those who love it really really love it. They call it the love child between Ocean’s Eleven and any number of other awesome fantasy comparisons depending on whose review you read.
For me, I wish I hadn’t read the Ocean’s Eleven comparison, because it left me constantly waiting for the point where Locke Lamora and his gang were going to pull the epically complicated and convoluted cat (heist) out of the metaphorical bag, when this is an altogether different kind of story, although admittedly containing a heist. But that is where the similarities end.
In its heart, The Lies of Locke Lamora is a simple story (not a bad thing at all, this makes it very focused), a story of survival against all odds. It contains the greatest dialogue I have ever read ever in any book… ever. Hands down.
It also has the greatest opening hook I can recall ever reading. If you read the first page and a half you’ll keep reading.
I read this book VERY SLOWLY. This is often the case for me, as it’s been over a year since I found a book that had me reading non-stop start to finish as fast as possible. More often I find that my critical approach to reading (thanks to being an author myself, damn it) makes it hard to get absorbed in the books I’m reading. It is a curse, but one I am learning to live with. It took me a few months to get through The Lies of Locke Lamora, but there was never a point where I thought about putting it down for good. I found some of the early descriptive paragraphs difficult to wade through, and found that I never REALLY connected with the characters enough to cheer for them, but The Lies of Locke Lamora is beautifully written and unique and I have the second book on my shelf ready to go.
With spoilers I could write a lot more about this book, but I’ll keep it short and sweet. I would recommend this book to any fantasy fan and even a few non-fantasy readers, as it isn’t heavy on the magic swords and wizards business.
After this post, anyone who has been following me for awhile is going to think I’m all over the place. But bear with me…
The Blood of Whisperers is back on the table. Maybe… just maybe, I am looking for a traditional publisher.
I KNOW! I know what you’re thinking, the staunch self-publishing advocate is turning tail, so let me explain myself. My family and I have just moved to Canada. My husband is Canadian, so it’s not so way out there, but I have lived in Australia all my life. That being the case, let’s just say the move has been… a bit of a shock. We did it for numerous reasons, the only one that is any concern to this subject being that living in North America would be better for my career.
We arrived. I freaked out at the snow. We got over jet-lag… And then everything began to change. Suddenly our priorities were different, our plans flipped on their heads, and every decision we had already made needed to be reassessed.
I still believe in the strength of self-publishing. I believe that it is possible to create an amazing product that can rival anything produced by a traditional publisher as long as you never let go of your professionalism. And I believe in supporting self-published writers who are doing the right thing.
BUT…
Right now, at this moment, at this stage in my life, I cannot keep doing it. I haven’t got the funds or the drive for the business part of the job. I love the writing, love the social media and talking to fans and all that stuff, but I cannot find the energy in myself for the stress of the business when I make nothing out of it. So that is why, right now, I am putting The Blood of Whisperers back on the table. It’s up for grabs and today, I have queried my first agent ever.
To anyone who has been following me in any capacity over the last few months, it is not news that I adore my editor. She is the single most amazing person to have affected my work ever. I’d say she is the best thing that ever happened to me, but I’d be short-changing the greatest husband in history.
Enough quibbling. This is the virgin post of the award-winning Australian horror author, Amanda J Spedding (my editor and best friend) and I can’t wait to see where she takes her ramblings. Check it out, follow her. She’ll make you smile, make you think and make you swear all in the same moment, that’s how brilliant she is.
So it’s been quiet around here again, due to the fact that the rest of my life is ridiculously noisy and stressful. In one week we are getting on a plane to move across the world permanently, swapping a beautiful, if ridiculously hot, Australian summer for an OMGSOCOLD Canadian winter…. what were we thinking!?
With two kids and ten years of stuff to wrap up, it’s been a headache and a half, not to even mention the flight dramas with the US snowed in at the moment.
Fortunately the lovely Ashley Capes came along and took my mind of some of it with a request to interview me for his blog. I must admit I like being interviewed, though not for the reason a lot of people like to be interviewed (so they can feel important – although that would be awesome if I actually thought it was true)… but I like how some interviewers ask questions that really make me think. This was one of those interviews, covering everything from the protection of a writer’s voice, Japanese influences, being an author publisher and my future plans.
