K.V. Johansen's Blog, page 14
November 28, 2011
Assorted Blackdog Samples (and Torrie too)
There are a couple of Blackdog excerpts online, for people who like to taste a book beyond the back cover before they buy it. One is on my website, here. It's not the start of the story, but the first appearance of the hero, Holla-Sayan. The other excerpt recently appeared on Amazon as a preview of the Kindle edition of the book in the US and in the UK; it is the first part of the first chapter.
And just for fun, here's a link to another excerpt, although this has nothing to do with Blackdog and is for a somewhat younger audience. It's an alternate chapter from Torrie and the Dragonslayers, which didn't make it into the book, though it stands on its own as a vignette telling how Torrie and Cossypha first met. You can find it through the page about Dragonslayers. It's a largish pdf, but in its defence, it's illustrated with faux-engravings of the Wild Forest.
November 15, 2011
Interview on Functional Nerds Podcast
Mister Wicked made his podcast debut on Functional Nerds today. They were, in fact, interviewing me about Blackdog, but a certain white dog, hearing me suddenly say "Hello" while sitting at the computer, leapt up from his virtuous napping and began his deep, "I have German Shepherd in my genepool and I am officially On Guard" alarm bark. When I failed to dash to the door to repel intruders, he came back to glower and bark at me from a few feet away. "Hey, you, the human, the one with thumbs — you're the one who thought we had visitors. You're supposed to do something." It was quite deafening from my end. With perhaps a flashback to my days as a campus radio host on CHMA and visions of Patrick and John having to mess around with reel to reel tape and razor blades if I interrupted the interview to discuss the matter with the beast and dash off to the door to reassure him nobody was there, I carried on. (I know it's all so much easier these days, but …) As it turned out, my little headset mic wasn't picking him up all that loudly, and he's a mere distant woofing on the podcast. The interview itself, once Mister Wicked sank into gloom at my failure to assume responsibility and went back to brooding on his bed, was quite fun. You can listen here.
November 7, 2011
Why dogs don't get to go adventuring
There aren't that many dogs in fantasy novels. When I was a kid, I liked the sort of stories where there's always a dog sidekick, not the horrid kind where the whole point of the dog is to die and turn Boy to Man, but things like Blyton's The Famous Five and the Five Find-Outers, or Berna's Hundred Million Francs. I liked Lassie-Come-Home and Bel Ria, where the dogs had the adventures. Rosemary Sutcliff had Owen and Dog in Dawn Wind (yes, Dog dies, but it's part of the story, not a mere coming-of-age device) and Marcus's Cub in The Eagle of the Ninth — though Cub doesn't get to go on the adventure, left at home like Cottia, and isn't, technically, a dog. In fantasy, there was Ahab in Blaylock's The Elfin Ship and The Disappearing Dwarf, Huan in The Silmarillian, and, I suppose, Farmer Maggot's Grip, Fang, and Wolf in The Lord of the Rings, though nobody invites them along for the journey. Now we have Nix's Lirael and Abhorsen, where finally a dog gets to be one of the adventuring characters, though of course the Disreputable Dog isn't your everyday canine sidekick. There's a dog of the Blyton type in my Cassandra Virus series, which is "kids foil spies" science fiction, not fantasy. Annot in The Warlocks of Talverdin is always accompanied by Blaze, but as Mister Wicked and I were plunging along a path through the alders a while ago, I thought, that's still not a lot of fantasy dogs, and I wondered, why not?
Whereupon Mr Wicked froze, stared at nothing, and began barking furiously. Then he cunningly dove into the alders barking, weaving himself in and under and over and around into a sort of Gordian leash situation.
Right.
Holla-Sayan would never do that, you know. (Not that anybody could ever get a leash on the Blackdog.)
Let's picture the first stage of The Lord of the Rings with Dog. Merry and Pippin are both of the rural landed gentry, the doggy class, one might say; one of them could easily have always had a dog at heel. We'll even assume a dog that's had more practice with "come when called" than Mr Wicked, who falls into the "comes when called unless there's something really interesting he wants to look at/sniff/eat/chase first" category, although we're working on this and he's improving. This lets us leave out the leash.
So, where do we start? Bilbo makes his speech and slips on the Ring, sneaking back to Bag End to set off on his final visit to Dain's folk. Gandalf releases his flash and bang. Dog, sleeping full of tidbits by Merry's seat, leaps up out of a happy dream barking hysterically at the thunder. Then, amid the clamour, which of course he feels is all in response to his heroic alerting of the guests to the bang, sniffs, lifts a lip, and growls at nothing. Something weird going on here, Dog thinks. He slinks over, sniffing. Growls a little more. "What?" thinks Merry, and goes over to investigate, colliding with Bilbo, who trips over the dog, trying to dodge him, and a crate of empty bottles is knocked over. Dog begins to leap about and bark . . .
Next, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin setting out in the evening on their cross-Shire hike to Crickhollow. Dark shadow slinking about down the lane, asking impertinent questions of Gaffer Gamgee about Baggins, whom the Gagger fortunately thinks has already left. Dog smells something strange and suspicious and scary. Dog bristles and growls and cringes and quite possibly works himself up to that fearful, staccato bark that is meant to both intimidate the threat and, I think, summon higher authority to help. Black Rider comes up from next door to investigate . . .
Hmm.
And on the way . . . hiding just off the edge of the road when the Black Rider stops to sniff? Well, again we have the cringe and the snarl, that low snarl that grows in volume and burst into baying that overcomes fear and the launch at the Black Rider's bobbing hood.
They haven't even got to Buckland yet.
Mr Wicked, on the alert for Evil. If none shows up, he'll provide his own.
And that, Mister Wicked, is why you probably have to stay at home with the girls, when adventures are afoot. We can both heave a sigh of mingled disappointment and relief together. (On the other hand, as I generally say, dammit, it's fantasy and I'm going to ignore the whole division of labour due to edged weapons and babies not going well together thing, why not also say, dammit, the Hero is a Hero and possibly dog-training is one of his or her Heroic Skills? One of these days, one of my heroes is going to have a proper, natural and well-trained dog. And Mr Wicked, when its master says, "Stop growling at those glowing eyes in the night and come back inside right now!" — it will.)
October 27, 2011
October 21, 2011
Five Things You Shouldn't Do …
My blog post on five things you shouldn't do when writing epic fantasy is now up at Adventures in SciFi Publishing's site.
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October 20, 2011
Interview on Adventures in SciFi Publishing Podcast
Just a short entry this evening: a week or so ago I was interviewed about Blackdog by Shaun Farrell of Adventures in SciFi Publishing. You can listen to it here. I'm listening to it as I write this, which is kind of weird. Well, very weird, actually. Did I say that? Ooh, that was a good answer, that sounds interesting …. (I expected Mr Wicked to react more noisily to my voice coming out of the computer, but he's lying down Being Good rather pointedly. I think he wants less computer and more Fun.) I was a bit worried after the interview was over, but I seem to have been more coherent than I thought; it was a tad on the late side, the interviewer and I being on opposite sides of the continent, and I'm not at my best late at night. It was a fun conversation, and a spin-off from it is a rather long essay/guest-post (or rant about baled hay), which I wrote for Shaun and co. about "Five Things You Shouldn't Do in Epic Fantasy". It will be linked to from the interview, once it's up.
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October 9, 2011
Blackdog on Kindle
September 27, 2011
Mr Wicked's Seaside Adventure
One rainy Friday, the humans loaded all the bags and baskets and bundles and computers, without which humans cannot go on an Expedition, into the car. 
Centennial Park, St. Andrew's. Not a small child.
"We're going to the Seaside!" they said.
Mr Wicked did not know what a Seaside was. They already lived beside the sea, which was a sort of vast muddy plain, except when it was a vast salty puddle that was not good to drink. However, the humans seemed to think it would be Educational for him. He was used to that. Humans are programmed to educate smaller humans, and when they have none, they take it out on the dogs. This accounted for Mr Wicked's large vocabulary, which contributed to his ability to worry, as a large vocabulary divorced from the ability to understand "tomorrow" or "next week" is an Anxiety-Inducing attribute.
Anyway, off they went to the Seaside. Mr Wicked felt this was rather like going to the River, except that it involved more driving. 
At the Seaside
Eventually, they got there, and the humans carried all their bags and baskets and bundles and computers into a small house that only had one room. This was interesting. It had no couch, but it did have a large soft dais, obviously designed for lying on, unlike a couch, which is designed for humans to sit on and dogs to put their paws on while barking out the window at their friends, even though they shouldn't. The humans told Mr Wicked, "No, no dogs on the bed." Mr Wicked had not realized that it was a bed. He thought beds involved more tartan. He had not realized that humans had beds, though if he had given it much thought, he would have deduced that they probably did have some heap of bedding similar to his own, to curl up on when they went up the Forbidden Stairs to the primate loft at night. It was not really likely that they sat up writing novels all night, every night, after all.Then they walked down to the Seaside. It smelt rather like the Marsh, except with fewer cows and less mud, and more interesting seaweed. The water was clear like proper water, not mud-brown like salt water, so he drank some. It did not taste like proper water, though it had a different flavour from Marsh-Sea water, possibly due to less mud and more seaweed, so he drank some more. He tried every different tidepool. Mr Wicked was a connoisseur of exotic waters; he knew that even every puddle in the street had its own subtle bouquet, after a rain, even though the humans always told him, "Stop drinking puddle-water!" Tidepools were just the same. Each one had its own flavour.
"Stop drinking seawater!" said the humans.
They walked up and down the shore on rocks that were slippery with bladderwrack and rocks that were slippery with dulse and over shingle that was crunchy with shells. 
By the blockhouse, St. Andrew's
"Someday," said the humans, "this will all be limestone."
Mr Wicked felt that that was too much Education for a mere dog. They climbed up a big curvy knee of rock and looked at an island, and a weir, and four loons, and some fog. Mr Wicked looked at the forest and some trees and a squirrel, until three crows chasing one another swooped down out of a tree over their heads, so close that they could hear their wings ripping the air, and the humans ducked and put their hands over their heads. The crows seemed a little surprised too.
Having the entire pack sleeping in one room was very convenient, in Mr Wicked's opinion. Though the humans had, as usual, brought several computers along, they did not seem to do much writing. They did keep him up past bedtime by sitting up with the lights on reading Jennings' Little Hut, but their ears were conveniently at nose-height in the morning when, having thoughtlessly closed all the blinds the night before, they didn't notice that it was dawn. Mr Wicked instinctively understood that the thing to do for sleeping humans who were missing the sunrise was to insert a cold and dampish nose in the ear. This, after all, is not at all the same thing as barking in the house, which is permissible after lights-out only in digestive emergencies or in case of burglars, flood, fire, rats, vandalizing commerce students marauding orc-like through the neighbourhood, or Acts of Malevolent Deities. Feeling that it is time to go and look at loons is not, really, an emergency. But since the humans were up now anyhow . . .
They went to look at the loons again before breakfast.
Going to the Seaside also meant going to the aquarium — the Huntsman Marine Lab. 
Short-nosed Sturgeon - Huntsman Marine Lab, St. Andrew's
"It's too bad Mr Wicked can't come in to see the seals," said the humans. Mr Wicked was disappointed. It sounded like seals were some kind of fish-eating water-dog, and as Mr Wicked's official dogfood contained mostly fish, he thought they would get along. But Mr Wicked was a Good and Noble Beast, despite his name, and he understood that it was necessary for someone to stay behind to guard the car. So he did, while the humans went to look at Skates and Sturgeon and Amazing Giant Lobsters and Salmon and Seals. He decided to take a nap. It was a cool and drizzling day, and the cool drizzle that came in all over him through the window carried many interesting smells. Perhaps some of that smell was the fishy breath of seals, or perhaps it was his own. The humans, while looking at the short-nosed sturgeon from above, noticed that out in the parking lot, Mr Wicked had become an exhibition himself, and was being admired by some small children who appeared to be awe-stricken by his noble profile.
The humans spent a great deal of time going into interesting shops that did not allow dogs, but in one they bought Mr Wicked some liver biscuits, so that was all right. And then there was more Seaside, and it turned out that this Seaside had tides, too, and they walked out almost all the way to Navy Island on a long ridge of rocks and seaweed, and by trying very hard, Mr Wicked found some squishy black mud, which is just the thing a white dog needs to frolic in, to make his Seaside Holiday complete.
So he did, and it was. 
Muddy paws - a successful mission
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September 17, 2011
Blackdog Reading at Tidewater Books
Tidewater Books had organized a reading from Blackdog to coincide with Sackville's Fall Fair (not a real agriculture fair, but more a town festival), so this morning found me heading downtown, all dressed up and realizing that, suddenly, it was fall. The weather turned today: bright and crisp and autumnal, with a frost warning for tonight. It was cold! I needed my long woollies.
One of the main thoroughfares downtown is blocked off all weekend for this festival; today the small farmer's market spread out into the street and various international students' groups from the university were there with assorted culture displays and items for sale. The reading took place between performances by a band, so there was a good sound system set up — very nice when trying to read over the din of traffic on nearby Main Street. Deborah Wills, from the university English Department, introduced me and another friend took over the camera so I had some good pictures. (Thanks, Karen!) All in all, a very enjoyable reading (it didn't rain!) with an attentive audience and a chance to talk to people and sign books afterwards.
Reading Blackdog in a Tantramar wind
Talking to people at readings is always interesting. "Oh, it looks like Harry Potter," was not really the reaction I was looking for from someone wandering by, nor (both of these from adults) "I couldn't read a book this long in my entire life," but I had a chance to talk to one long-time reader about some of the unexpected Scandinavian folkloric connections between Blackdog and my long-ago second book, The Serpent Bride, and signed a couple of copies for friends of Ivan the Wicked along with their owners, which I don't think I've ever done before — sign books for dogs, that is. Pippin did once autograph a Pippin-book for someone with a muddy pawprint, though — at their request, I mean, not by merely leaping about in a puddle.
September 10, 2011
First Crop in the Orchard
This is the first year that I've had a crop in my tiny orchard (which is pruned savagely to keep it small and, I hope, capable someday of being moved, for when I own my own land). The trees that have now come into bearing are a Bishop's Pippin I budded myself (my only success in something like ten years, sigh), and a Cox's Orange Pippin and a Bramley's Seedling I bought from Cornhill Nursery. It's not a large apple crop, and the trees are too crowded — the orchard is intermingled with the pocket arboretum — for best fruit health. It's a soggy, foggy location anyway. But, I have apples, and here they are:
Bishop's Pippin
The Bishop's Pippin is a very prolific tree with big, conical apples. I find it a bit coarse, tasty right off the tree but there are other apples I'd rather eat; I like it best for cooking.
Cox's Orange Pippin
The Cox's Orange Pippin flowers later than all my other apples, and later than any other tree in the neighbourhood. Like most apples, it's not self-fertile. I'm glad it even set this one fruit, which, if the hurricanes don't knock it off, we will eat with due ceremony when the time comes. Cox's Orange Pippin is, I think, my absolute favourite apple. (Other ones I really like are Russet, Baldwin, and Northern Spy. I am desperately trying to bud or graft the Baldwin, without success thus far, because no nursery seems to sell them.)
Bramley's Seedling
The Bramley or Bramley's Seedling is reported to be the favourite cooking apple in England. I don't know what it's like, as mine aren't ripe yet, but I really liked the description of it. They're certainly a large apple, even under the adverse conditions in my orchard. (Which grows bullrushes as weeds.)
The above links to more information on the varieties are from this site, by the way — Appleman; it's a commercial orchard and cider producing farm near Gagetown, NB, with a lot of very nice products. His full encyclopedia of historical apple varieties is here. I think mostly they just sell ciders and wines, though.
