Joshua Bader's Blog: How I Learned to Love the Bomb, page 2
November 17, 2016
It's Been A While
Every body gets busy during the school year. It's just how it works. For a while, I was pumping out content way faster than most of my faithful readers could keep up... and I may have slowed it down too much. So, what could I possibly due to make it up to Constant Reader? How about an excerpt from Two Wizard Roulette from the near final stages of the editing process.
I needed to find a payphone.
I won’t go into the technical details of why it needed to be a payphone, but like paper maps, those were a dying breed. Still, this was a part of Colfax Avenue that prided itself on being retro. I was sure I could find one if I just kept walking around in the area near Isis Books. I went a little farther than intended and my Catholic guilt kicked in as I walked past one of the adult bookstores. I was pretty open minded about other people’s sexual preferences and habits. My preference had been hardwired to guilty. I blushed at the thought that I may have tried to sneak in there once upon a time as a pre-teen. An odd piece of karma dictated that the first payphone I saw had direct line of sight to the bright red dirty bookshop.
I used it anyway, beggars can’t always be choosers. I picked it up, checked to make sure it had a dial tone, deposited two quarters, and dialed. I hated using this number, but I didn’t see a whole lot of other options to make sure I didn’t have a CRT team out looking for me.
“Unless they already are and you’re leading them right to us.”
The line rang three times, then clicked to a staticky silence. I punched in 0710, both my personal code and birth date. It rang once more.
I was quickly greeted by Duchess’ silky smooth voice. “Why, if it isn’t the badboy himself! How are you, Mister Fisher?”
“In Denver, actually. Doing pretty good other than blushing like a schoolgirl.”
“Mmm.” Her voice hummed back in my ear. “I do seem to have a talent for that with you. Fortunate, since you seem immune to the rest of my abilities.”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for your skills. Speaking of which…”
Her tone was immediately professional. “What do you need, Mister Fisher?”
“My wallet got lost in a car accident. Any way you can cancel the debit card and get me a replacement?”
There was only a momentary pause. “Would you like your new wallet in brown or black leather?”
I shook my head, always amazed by her unflappable nature. “It doesn’t matter.”
A few clicks came through from her end. “I have a bike messenger ordered and on their way to you. Stay by the phone till it arrives.” Another pause. “Is the car accident anything that Mister Valente should be concerned about?”
“No, umm,” I panicked not entirely sure of what was okay to say on a public telephone and what wasn’t. I had heard all lines in and out of Valente International were under constant wiretap by at least three different alphabet agencies. “The car got lost in the desert?”
Silence greeted me. Then, “Mister Fisher, every time I think you cannot possibly surprise me again, you manage it. Then it does not relate to your friends in the suits?”
“No. Nope. Just little old me.”
“Do you need any more assistance than just a wallet? A new vehicle? Your car shipped to you?”
I almost jumped on that offer. I was missing Dora, my vintage Mustang, something fierce. But given I was about to face off with a guy known for massive property damage, she was probably better off in Boston. “I think the wallet will do. Am I really the badboy now?”
“You’re still in Mister Valente’s good graces, if that’s what you mean. He suspects what you’re up to, but…” Her voice drifted back towards the sensual alto that always conjured images of her Marilyn Monroe body in my mind. “Your rebel spirit is part of what he admires about you.”
“Thank you, Duchess. I’ll wait for the messenger.” I hung up the phone quickly.
I did learn something else from the call, other than that Valente and I were still good. I would never, ever, ever admit to Duchess that I was blushing again.
Two Wizard Roulette will be out May/June 2017. Book 1, Frostbite, is available now from fine booksellers and libraries everywhere.
I needed to find a payphone.
I won’t go into the technical details of why it needed to be a payphone, but like paper maps, those were a dying breed. Still, this was a part of Colfax Avenue that prided itself on being retro. I was sure I could find one if I just kept walking around in the area near Isis Books. I went a little farther than intended and my Catholic guilt kicked in as I walked past one of the adult bookstores. I was pretty open minded about other people’s sexual preferences and habits. My preference had been hardwired to guilty. I blushed at the thought that I may have tried to sneak in there once upon a time as a pre-teen. An odd piece of karma dictated that the first payphone I saw had direct line of sight to the bright red dirty bookshop.
I used it anyway, beggars can’t always be choosers. I picked it up, checked to make sure it had a dial tone, deposited two quarters, and dialed. I hated using this number, but I didn’t see a whole lot of other options to make sure I didn’t have a CRT team out looking for me.
“Unless they already are and you’re leading them right to us.”
The line rang three times, then clicked to a staticky silence. I punched in 0710, both my personal code and birth date. It rang once more.
I was quickly greeted by Duchess’ silky smooth voice. “Why, if it isn’t the badboy himself! How are you, Mister Fisher?”
“In Denver, actually. Doing pretty good other than blushing like a schoolgirl.”
“Mmm.” Her voice hummed back in my ear. “I do seem to have a talent for that with you. Fortunate, since you seem immune to the rest of my abilities.”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for your skills. Speaking of which…”
Her tone was immediately professional. “What do you need, Mister Fisher?”
“My wallet got lost in a car accident. Any way you can cancel the debit card and get me a replacement?”
There was only a momentary pause. “Would you like your new wallet in brown or black leather?”
I shook my head, always amazed by her unflappable nature. “It doesn’t matter.”
A few clicks came through from her end. “I have a bike messenger ordered and on their way to you. Stay by the phone till it arrives.” Another pause. “Is the car accident anything that Mister Valente should be concerned about?”
“No, umm,” I panicked not entirely sure of what was okay to say on a public telephone and what wasn’t. I had heard all lines in and out of Valente International were under constant wiretap by at least three different alphabet agencies. “The car got lost in the desert?”
Silence greeted me. Then, “Mister Fisher, every time I think you cannot possibly surprise me again, you manage it. Then it does not relate to your friends in the suits?”
“No. Nope. Just little old me.”
“Do you need any more assistance than just a wallet? A new vehicle? Your car shipped to you?”
I almost jumped on that offer. I was missing Dora, my vintage Mustang, something fierce. But given I was about to face off with a guy known for massive property damage, she was probably better off in Boston. “I think the wallet will do. Am I really the badboy now?”
“You’re still in Mister Valente’s good graces, if that’s what you mean. He suspects what you’re up to, but…” Her voice drifted back towards the sensual alto that always conjured images of her Marilyn Monroe body in my mind. “Your rebel spirit is part of what he admires about you.”
“Thank you, Duchess. I’ll wait for the messenger.” I hung up the phone quickly.
I did learn something else from the call, other than that Valente and I were still good. I would never, ever, ever admit to Duchess that I was blushing again.
Two Wizard Roulette will be out May/June 2017. Book 1, Frostbite, is available now from fine booksellers and libraries everywhere.
October 20, 2016
What If
What if a hitchhiking ghost asked you to solve the mystery of how she died?
What if you could live on a space station in orbit around Earth?
What if the presidential election was all a hoax, arranged so that no thinking populace could possibly do anything other than elect candidate A?
What if magic was real for you for a day?
These are what I write for, to explore the boundaries of my world, to imagine what could be, if I just squinted right. The first question is the basis for a story I wrote called The Last Gumshoe and, hopefully, I can share more about it soon. The rest I've yet to explore directly on paper... but they're there and I'm sure stories will come crawling out of me eventually. That second question is having it's heyday right now in the wake of the Asgardia announcement. Everyone is suddenly curious what it would be like to colonize space. I'd like to think writers like Heinlein and Asimov are responsible. In a lot of ways, their works got us to the Moon... maybe they'll take us back there to live someday.
Not to be too political, but I do wonder if Trump didn't run just to help his old friend Hillary win. They look awfully chummy in some of those photos from the 90s. The fact that he is doing irreparable damage to the Republican Party is just gravy.
Magic being real for a day, of course, implies that it's not normally real. I'd like to think I'd be a responsible wizard, but let's be honest... my standard of living would greatly improve. I think we do live in a very magical universe, but control isn't something we're meant to have for more than a little bit at a time.
My two year old talks to invisible things and I'm laying here at night, hoping the invisible things aren't real. But what if....
What if you could live on a space station in orbit around Earth?
What if the presidential election was all a hoax, arranged so that no thinking populace could possibly do anything other than elect candidate A?
What if magic was real for you for a day?
These are what I write for, to explore the boundaries of my world, to imagine what could be, if I just squinted right. The first question is the basis for a story I wrote called The Last Gumshoe and, hopefully, I can share more about it soon. The rest I've yet to explore directly on paper... but they're there and I'm sure stories will come crawling out of me eventually. That second question is having it's heyday right now in the wake of the Asgardia announcement. Everyone is suddenly curious what it would be like to colonize space. I'd like to think writers like Heinlein and Asimov are responsible. In a lot of ways, their works got us to the Moon... maybe they'll take us back there to live someday.
Not to be too political, but I do wonder if Trump didn't run just to help his old friend Hillary win. They look awfully chummy in some of those photos from the 90s. The fact that he is doing irreparable damage to the Republican Party is just gravy.
Magic being real for a day, of course, implies that it's not normally real. I'd like to think I'd be a responsible wizard, but let's be honest... my standard of living would greatly improve. I think we do live in a very magical universe, but control isn't something we're meant to have for more than a little bit at a time.
My two year old talks to invisible things and I'm laying here at night, hoping the invisible things aren't real. But what if....
October 4, 2016
Treehouse of Terror
No, it's not spoilers for an upcoming Simpsons episode... it's the beginning of that most wonderful time of the year. The temperature is dropping, the nights are getting longer, and skulls, bats, and cats are suddenly acceptable decorations. October and Fall are most definitely upon us.
There is something about this season that encourages me to linger on the topic of fear. What do I fear? Why? The answers change over time. My biggest nightmare as a kid was the thought of hiding from a large intruder in the laundry room (by far the darkest room in my childhood home). It's been a long time since I worried about such things. When I wake up in the middle of the night in a veil of sweat and terror, I no longer think the monsters are coming for me... but I do step swiftly and silently to my children's doors to make sure no ill fate has visited them. The fear is similar.... but different targets scare me now.
From a writers perspective, I have to be aware of the myriad possibilities of what scares my audience. I need the cheap thrills, the fun scares... and a handful of those visceral terrors for different generations and walks of life.
Frostbite, where it dabbles in fear, tends toward the jump-scare and the "monster is after me" thrills. Two Wizard Roulette had to explore new territory: the growing horror that the monster is me and I may not have it as contained as I like to tell myself it is.
There is something about this season that encourages me to linger on the topic of fear. What do I fear? Why? The answers change over time. My biggest nightmare as a kid was the thought of hiding from a large intruder in the laundry room (by far the darkest room in my childhood home). It's been a long time since I worried about such things. When I wake up in the middle of the night in a veil of sweat and terror, I no longer think the monsters are coming for me... but I do step swiftly and silently to my children's doors to make sure no ill fate has visited them. The fear is similar.... but different targets scare me now.
From a writers perspective, I have to be aware of the myriad possibilities of what scares my audience. I need the cheap thrills, the fun scares... and a handful of those visceral terrors for different generations and walks of life.
Frostbite, where it dabbles in fear, tends toward the jump-scare and the "monster is after me" thrills. Two Wizard Roulette had to explore new territory: the growing horror that the monster is me and I may not have it as contained as I like to tell myself it is.
September 14, 2016
Jaws
I'm guest blogging over on this website but that's no excuse for not writing here, too.
I was watching Jaws the other night with my wife. It's easy to forget just how good of a movie that was. It's a complete break from the modern formula. Rather than state of the art special effects, the terror is built by not showing the shark. We see his effects on midnight swimmers, lounging youths, two rednecks on a pier, and a fishing boat before we ever see him. We see a dead tiger shark, large and foreboding, only to be told that it's far too small to have made the bite marks we've seen. Even after we've seen more of the beast, the terror of the shark hunter's war story about a ship so secret no distress signal was sent hits home at our fears. Like the terrified sailors of the Indianapolis, we are alone with the shark as the movie builds to its finale.
I did not consciously write this way, but I realized that Frostbite builds in similar manner: the unseen terror known by its aftermath, the red herring of close, but not quite, all leading to the terrifying hero versus monster alone in the wild moment. It's such a great thrill ride of a classic horror build. I hope Hollywood eventually remembers that formula... sometimes a huge special effects budget detracts from the story.
I was watching Jaws the other night with my wife. It's easy to forget just how good of a movie that was. It's a complete break from the modern formula. Rather than state of the art special effects, the terror is built by not showing the shark. We see his effects on midnight swimmers, lounging youths, two rednecks on a pier, and a fishing boat before we ever see him. We see a dead tiger shark, large and foreboding, only to be told that it's far too small to have made the bite marks we've seen. Even after we've seen more of the beast, the terror of the shark hunter's war story about a ship so secret no distress signal was sent hits home at our fears. Like the terrified sailors of the Indianapolis, we are alone with the shark as the movie builds to its finale.
I did not consciously write this way, but I realized that Frostbite builds in similar manner: the unseen terror known by its aftermath, the red herring of close, but not quite, all leading to the terrifying hero versus monster alone in the wild moment. It's such a great thrill ride of a classic horror build. I hope Hollywood eventually remembers that formula... sometimes a huge special effects budget detracts from the story.
September 7, 2016
Joker
So I've been slowly gathering everything I need for a Joker costume for Halloween this year. I'm shooting for a cross between Heath Ledger's Joker if he was doing the Killing Joke storyline: messy makeup, scars, scraggly hair, and bad Hawaiian shirt. I'm even trying to stop biting my nails so that I can have some options in that department. I'm excited... even going so far as to make the shirt myself and dye the shorts and hat.
This dive into cosplay has me wondering why people do it.... it's a lot of work for little to no pay. The short answer is because Halloween is awesome. I love the energy, the kids, the candy.... Halloween is one of the coolest days ever.
Beyond that, cosplay has the same appeal as acting. I get to step outside myself and play pretend for a few hours. As I get closer and closer to ready, I find those points of intersection between myself and the character. In an election year, it's not hard to identify with an "agent of chaos" who believes everyone is just one bad day away from the edge. That linking in provides a certain freedom from the everyday routine. For a little bit, the cosplayer can be Marilyn instead of Norma Jean.
There's something of all of this in the writing process as well. Writing fiction allows me to indulge what its and viewpoints that I know are too dangerous to entertain by the light of day, too unstable for daily living.
This dive into cosplay has me wondering why people do it.... it's a lot of work for little to no pay. The short answer is because Halloween is awesome. I love the energy, the kids, the candy.... Halloween is one of the coolest days ever.
Beyond that, cosplay has the same appeal as acting. I get to step outside myself and play pretend for a few hours. As I get closer and closer to ready, I find those points of intersection between myself and the character. In an election year, it's not hard to identify with an "agent of chaos" who believes everyone is just one bad day away from the edge. That linking in provides a certain freedom from the everyday routine. For a little bit, the cosplayer can be Marilyn instead of Norma Jean.
There's something of all of this in the writing process as well. Writing fiction allows me to indulge what its and viewpoints that I know are too dangerous to entertain by the light of day, too unstable for daily living.
August 30, 2016
Two Demon Roulette
Okay, ok, I know. The next book is really called Two Wizard Roulette. But in this world premiere sneak peek, it might as well be Two Demon Roulette, as the distantly demon blooded assassin Veruca and a very actively chaos demon succubus, Dizzy, square off in a Las Vegas hotel corridor.
“The Hand of Eris is made up nonsense. It’s a story made up by anarchists on the Internet so that they don’t have to pick anyone to be in charge of their made up religion. All it means is that anybody can be the leader of Discordianism at any given time.”
“Oh, really?” Dizzy let go of her fist. “Someone should really tell that to the boss. Boy, I can imagine that conversation now.” The redheaded valley girl proceeded to play both sides of it, bouncing between her left and right sides depending on who was talking.
“Dizzy: Boss, did you know you are the figment of the Internet’s imagination?”
“Eris: Dizzy, what have I told you about reading memes?”
“Dizzy: No, no, really, you’re high exalted chaos-ish-ness. I heard this one from Jacob Darien’s fiancé.”
“Eris: The one that dumped him and turned lesbian as soon as the going got tough?”
“Dizzy: Yeah, that one, though I’ve seen her and I think dyke is a bit of a stretch. In the right light, she looks okay”.
“Eris: I’ll take your word for it. Tell her she can have him back soon enough. I’m getting bored with this whole Vegas gambler routine. He was so much more interesting before you led him there.”
At this point in the conversation, Dizzy went from looking stern and solemn while in the Eris position, to panic stricken when she returned to her own stance. “Boss, no, please don’t, he needs you, he’ll be interesting again, but he needs to be The Hand just a little bit longer…”
She looked ready to switch stances, but the monologue was cut short by the toe of a boot to her jaw. Dizzy spun past Lily and landed crumpled on the carpet behind her. In front of Lily, stood the other girl from the elevator lobby. Lily noticed her this time: leather jacket, black steel toed boots, and long black hair with a lone scarlet bang dangling in front. She was so small, even compared to the skinny redhead. The girl locked eyes with Lily. “I take it you know her.”
Before Lily could respond, Dizzy dove past her, spearing the new girl in the stomach. Both toppled to the hallway floor, bouncing off both side walls as they landed. Black leggings wrapped around the throat of the redhead. The pair spun and Dizzy was on top, then the stranger, then Dizzy again. Even in heated combat, Dizzy rattled on. “Oh wow, you’re really good.”
The gothic assailant had Dizzy in an armbar.
Nothing seemed to shut Dizzy up. “Nice technique, but really…”
Dizzy reversed the grip and it all blurred into red hair versus black, a mist of violently flailing strands. “You’re really good, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Most people have to know me to want to hurt me.”
Their heads crashed together, jarring Dizzy’s words. “Okay, when I placed that craigslist ad for a new dominatrix this is totally not what I had in mind.”
The silent assailant finally silenced her with another solid kick to the head. The raven haired newcomer stopped to wipe a drop of blood from her lips before looking back at Lily. “You mind coming with me to talk to someone? We’ve got a few questions and this can be done the easy way or the hard way.”
“Umm, who are you? And…” Panic interrupted Lily’s reply. “She’s getting back up.”
Dizzy was on her feet, her head hung low, allowing the mess of hair to cover her face. “Oh, there’s a hard way, alright. You picked on the wrong consort.” As effortless as a flex, a pair of wings, wreathed in flame stretched out behind her. Lily noticed a tiny pair of red horns sprouting up from under Dizzy’s hair.
As impossible as the wings, Dizzy swung fast with newly clawed hands. Lily stumbled back as far as she could, collapsing to the floor in her haste. The other girl dodged and danced with a practiced ease. Dizzy was limited by the narrow hallway, her wings dragging on the walls, smoldering and smoking the paint off.
“Fine. You want to play?” The girl’s voice, and its lack of fear, stopped Dizzy. The girl whipped off her elastic, letting her black ponytail flow free. Her hair dangled to her waist. It should have dangled, by the laws of gravity. But the hair itself started moving. The strands twisted into groups, virtual tentacles, each snaking up the back of the girl’s jacket and pulling free a clutch of daggers. The silver metal, black hair, and fire red gleamed and blurred in front of Lily into an impossible mess.
“Demon’s blood? See, Goddess, I told you things would get interesting again.” Claws smacked against daggers in attack, counterattack, parry. The din and the smoke danced together.
“Call me Goddess all you want. I’m still going to kick your ass.”
And that, reader faithful, is all you're going to get out of me for today. Don't worry... I'll be back soon with more. The entire book is at the editor now. For those that need more Dizzy and Veruca sooner, both appear in Frostbite, available now at fine retailers (and probably some less the reputable ones) everywhere.
“The Hand of Eris is made up nonsense. It’s a story made up by anarchists on the Internet so that they don’t have to pick anyone to be in charge of their made up religion. All it means is that anybody can be the leader of Discordianism at any given time.”
“Oh, really?” Dizzy let go of her fist. “Someone should really tell that to the boss. Boy, I can imagine that conversation now.” The redheaded valley girl proceeded to play both sides of it, bouncing between her left and right sides depending on who was talking.
“Dizzy: Boss, did you know you are the figment of the Internet’s imagination?”
“Eris: Dizzy, what have I told you about reading memes?”
“Dizzy: No, no, really, you’re high exalted chaos-ish-ness. I heard this one from Jacob Darien’s fiancé.”
“Eris: The one that dumped him and turned lesbian as soon as the going got tough?”
“Dizzy: Yeah, that one, though I’ve seen her and I think dyke is a bit of a stretch. In the right light, she looks okay”.
“Eris: I’ll take your word for it. Tell her she can have him back soon enough. I’m getting bored with this whole Vegas gambler routine. He was so much more interesting before you led him there.”
At this point in the conversation, Dizzy went from looking stern and solemn while in the Eris position, to panic stricken when she returned to her own stance. “Boss, no, please don’t, he needs you, he’ll be interesting again, but he needs to be The Hand just a little bit longer…”
She looked ready to switch stances, but the monologue was cut short by the toe of a boot to her jaw. Dizzy spun past Lily and landed crumpled on the carpet behind her. In front of Lily, stood the other girl from the elevator lobby. Lily noticed her this time: leather jacket, black steel toed boots, and long black hair with a lone scarlet bang dangling in front. She was so small, even compared to the skinny redhead. The girl locked eyes with Lily. “I take it you know her.”
Before Lily could respond, Dizzy dove past her, spearing the new girl in the stomach. Both toppled to the hallway floor, bouncing off both side walls as they landed. Black leggings wrapped around the throat of the redhead. The pair spun and Dizzy was on top, then the stranger, then Dizzy again. Even in heated combat, Dizzy rattled on. “Oh wow, you’re really good.”
The gothic assailant had Dizzy in an armbar.
Nothing seemed to shut Dizzy up. “Nice technique, but really…”
Dizzy reversed the grip and it all blurred into red hair versus black, a mist of violently flailing strands. “You’re really good, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Most people have to know me to want to hurt me.”
Their heads crashed together, jarring Dizzy’s words. “Okay, when I placed that craigslist ad for a new dominatrix this is totally not what I had in mind.”
The silent assailant finally silenced her with another solid kick to the head. The raven haired newcomer stopped to wipe a drop of blood from her lips before looking back at Lily. “You mind coming with me to talk to someone? We’ve got a few questions and this can be done the easy way or the hard way.”
“Umm, who are you? And…” Panic interrupted Lily’s reply. “She’s getting back up.”
Dizzy was on her feet, her head hung low, allowing the mess of hair to cover her face. “Oh, there’s a hard way, alright. You picked on the wrong consort.” As effortless as a flex, a pair of wings, wreathed in flame stretched out behind her. Lily noticed a tiny pair of red horns sprouting up from under Dizzy’s hair.
As impossible as the wings, Dizzy swung fast with newly clawed hands. Lily stumbled back as far as she could, collapsing to the floor in her haste. The other girl dodged and danced with a practiced ease. Dizzy was limited by the narrow hallway, her wings dragging on the walls, smoldering and smoking the paint off.
“Fine. You want to play?” The girl’s voice, and its lack of fear, stopped Dizzy. The girl whipped off her elastic, letting her black ponytail flow free. Her hair dangled to her waist. It should have dangled, by the laws of gravity. But the hair itself started moving. The strands twisted into groups, virtual tentacles, each snaking up the back of the girl’s jacket and pulling free a clutch of daggers. The silver metal, black hair, and fire red gleamed and blurred in front of Lily into an impossible mess.
“Demon’s blood? See, Goddess, I told you things would get interesting again.” Claws smacked against daggers in attack, counterattack, parry. The din and the smoke danced together.
“Call me Goddess all you want. I’m still going to kick your ass.”
And that, reader faithful, is all you're going to get out of me for today. Don't worry... I'll be back soon with more. The entire book is at the editor now. For those that need more Dizzy and Veruca sooner, both appear in Frostbite, available now at fine retailers (and probably some less the reputable ones) everywhere.
August 23, 2016
Strange Vistas
I haven't seen much of a view beyond the TV screen in the last week. I had a vasectomy last Thursday and have spent most of the weekend doing as close to absolute nothing as possible. For those who have not had a vasectomy, it basically amounts to paying good money to feel like I have been kicked between the legs.
That being said, while I can't physically move, my mind has been using the miracle of a free Amazon Prime trial to relive some great shows... and explore a few new vistas. My eldest daughter is delighted that I finally caught up with RWBY (If you like anime, it comes highly recommended). I rewatched much of the old Batman animated series from the early 90s. Mark Hamill has got to be one of the greatest voice actors of all time. His Joker is just phenomenal!
Part of what's so great about his Joker is that, even if you know Mark Hamill's voice, you'd never know that was him behind the clown. He creates a whole new persona with his voice and it criminally frolics down Gotham alleys where Luke Skywalker would never tread. There's something to be said for that approach in writing as well: to let the character's voice run wild beyond the author. My books can only hold so much of my normal voice before they grow stale. But if I'm willing to throw back my head and practice laughing maniacally before I start writing a scene.... well, the sky is the limits.
If you haven't read Frostbite, I can't recommend it strongly enough. Catch up in the series... and get ready for the oncoming maniacal laughter in Two Wizard Roulette and beyond.
That being said, while I can't physically move, my mind has been using the miracle of a free Amazon Prime trial to relive some great shows... and explore a few new vistas. My eldest daughter is delighted that I finally caught up with RWBY (If you like anime, it comes highly recommended). I rewatched much of the old Batman animated series from the early 90s. Mark Hamill has got to be one of the greatest voice actors of all time. His Joker is just phenomenal!
Part of what's so great about his Joker is that, even if you know Mark Hamill's voice, you'd never know that was him behind the clown. He creates a whole new persona with his voice and it criminally frolics down Gotham alleys where Luke Skywalker would never tread. There's something to be said for that approach in writing as well: to let the character's voice run wild beyond the author. My books can only hold so much of my normal voice before they grow stale. But if I'm willing to throw back my head and practice laughing maniacally before I start writing a scene.... well, the sky is the limits.
If you haven't read Frostbite, I can't recommend it strongly enough. Catch up in the series... and get ready for the oncoming maniacal laughter in Two Wizard Roulette and beyond.
August 16, 2016
Southern Magic Guest Spot
I've got a special guest writing for me this week, Em Shotwell, author of Blackbird Summer, talking about magical systems and the challenge of writing "realistic" urban fantasy.
Making Magic
Hi guys! The amazing Joshua Bader is letting me take over his blog today to talk about where the magic happens. No! I am not talking about that. Get your mind out of the gutter!
I am talking about magic on the page. I am talking about wizards, like in Joshua’s FROSTBITE. I am talking about unexplainable “gifts” like in my BLACKBIRD SUMMER. I am talking about the many other magic systems crafted by your favorite authors that flow seamlessly into the worlds they create.
Fantasy is a huge genre with a lot of sub-genres. Magic plays a big role, and each book has its own set of rules for its story to follow. Even the word wizard can (and does) mean something completely different from book to book.
So what makes it work? Why are we as readers, so willing to suspend our disbelief?
Let’s take a look and see what makes good magic.
There is only one unbreakable rule writers must follow when it comes to creating a believable magic system. You can do whatever you want, but you cannot break the rules you set in place. In other words, consistency is key. In BLACKBIRD SUMMER, eighteen year old Delia has the “gift” of charm. If she can get a person to look her in the eye, then they will want nothing more than to make her happy. However, Delia’s gift doesn’t work on people who possess their own powers (including her older sister Tallulah, who is very thankful for this fact). Eye contact and limited use are two of the rules for Delia’s magic system, and as long as I don’t break them, then I can use Delia’s powers to get her into all kinds of trouble.
Magic should serve a purpose for the story—or at the very least make it more interesting. It shouldn’t only exist as a quick fix or to plug a plot hole. No saying “Well, this makes sense because magic.” That doesn’t work. If I am reading a book and suddenly everything is wrapped up neat and tidy because one character abruptly has the power to make everything better—this will throw me out of the story faster than anything. At the very least, it is jolting. The magic should flow through the writer’s created world—so natural that it is almost becomes a character itself.
Sometimes plot holes are unavoidable. No matter how much an author tries, how many notebooks they fill, or how many post-its they stick on the wall above their desk, sometimes when creating a magic system there will be a contradiction. As the story grows, it becomes nearly unavoidable. (Even real life is full of plot holes and contradictions, if you think about it.)
BLACKBIRD SUMMER has a very large cast of characters who each have their own gift that comes with its own rules. Keeping them all straight while crafting the plot was an event! I worked diligently, adding rules and refining them to make sense for each character, and you know what? There is still one tiny part that one reader asked, “Why didn’t ___ just use her gift?” Guys, it slipped right by me! (But that is okay—there will be an explanation in the sequel, lol). For the most part, if the system is well developed, the characters believable, and the story intriguing, a small misstep can be forgiven. (This happens often in super-hero stories).
What are some of your favorite fantasy stories? What makes their magic system work for you? Is there a book whose use of magic really doesn’t cut the mustard? Let me know in the comments!
About Em Shotwell
Em Shotwell is the author of Blackbird Summer (City Owl Press, 2016). She lives in South Louisiana with a husband who spoils her and two mini-superheroes who call her mom. Em think the most interesting characters are the ones who live on the sidelines, and that small towns often hide the biggest secrets. She is inspired by tall tales and local legends.
When she’s not writing about magical misfits and oddballs, Em enjoys spending time outdoors hiking, and debating Doctor Who facts with her obsessed ten-year-old.
Check out her website!
Making Magic
Hi guys! The amazing Joshua Bader is letting me take over his blog today to talk about where the magic happens. No! I am not talking about that. Get your mind out of the gutter!
I am talking about magic on the page. I am talking about wizards, like in Joshua’s FROSTBITE. I am talking about unexplainable “gifts” like in my BLACKBIRD SUMMER. I am talking about the many other magic systems crafted by your favorite authors that flow seamlessly into the worlds they create.
Fantasy is a huge genre with a lot of sub-genres. Magic plays a big role, and each book has its own set of rules for its story to follow. Even the word wizard can (and does) mean something completely different from book to book.
So what makes it work? Why are we as readers, so willing to suspend our disbelief?
Let’s take a look and see what makes good magic.
There is only one unbreakable rule writers must follow when it comes to creating a believable magic system. You can do whatever you want, but you cannot break the rules you set in place. In other words, consistency is key. In BLACKBIRD SUMMER, eighteen year old Delia has the “gift” of charm. If she can get a person to look her in the eye, then they will want nothing more than to make her happy. However, Delia’s gift doesn’t work on people who possess their own powers (including her older sister Tallulah, who is very thankful for this fact). Eye contact and limited use are two of the rules for Delia’s magic system, and as long as I don’t break them, then I can use Delia’s powers to get her into all kinds of trouble.
Magic should serve a purpose for the story—or at the very least make it more interesting. It shouldn’t only exist as a quick fix or to plug a plot hole. No saying “Well, this makes sense because magic.” That doesn’t work. If I am reading a book and suddenly everything is wrapped up neat and tidy because one character abruptly has the power to make everything better—this will throw me out of the story faster than anything. At the very least, it is jolting. The magic should flow through the writer’s created world—so natural that it is almost becomes a character itself.
Sometimes plot holes are unavoidable. No matter how much an author tries, how many notebooks they fill, or how many post-its they stick on the wall above their desk, sometimes when creating a magic system there will be a contradiction. As the story grows, it becomes nearly unavoidable. (Even real life is full of plot holes and contradictions, if you think about it.)
BLACKBIRD SUMMER has a very large cast of characters who each have their own gift that comes with its own rules. Keeping them all straight while crafting the plot was an event! I worked diligently, adding rules and refining them to make sense for each character, and you know what? There is still one tiny part that one reader asked, “Why didn’t ___ just use her gift?” Guys, it slipped right by me! (But that is okay—there will be an explanation in the sequel, lol). For the most part, if the system is well developed, the characters believable, and the story intriguing, a small misstep can be forgiven. (This happens often in super-hero stories).
What are some of your favorite fantasy stories? What makes their magic system work for you? Is there a book whose use of magic really doesn’t cut the mustard? Let me know in the comments!
About Em Shotwell
Em Shotwell is the author of Blackbird Summer (City Owl Press, 2016). She lives in South Louisiana with a husband who spoils her and two mini-superheroes who call her mom. Em think the most interesting characters are the ones who live on the sidelines, and that small towns often hide the biggest secrets. She is inspired by tall tales and local legends.
When she’s not writing about magical misfits and oddballs, Em enjoys spending time outdoors hiking, and debating Doctor Who facts with her obsessed ten-year-old.
Check out her website!
August 9, 2016
Two Wizards Foreshadowed
I hinted yesterday that I was going to talk about Two Wizard Roulette (Book2 in the Modern Knights series) today. The following should be familiar to readers of Frostbite, but let's revisit it together.
The gas station convenience store could have been a twin to the one outside Lake Thunderbird, Oklahoma: snacks, hygiene, dry goods, automotive accessories, and refrigerated items. At that other store, something very bad had recently happened. At this one, something very bad was in the process of happening.
Jacob Darien held the revolver casually, comfortably, but it was pointed at the clerk all the same. His tone of voice suggested this was old hat for him. “Two strips of beef jerky, five lottery tickets, and all your money. You want anything, Dizzy?”
The scantily clad redhead draped over his left shoulder picked up at the mention of her pet name. “Umm… bubblegum. Can I get some bubblegum, Jakey-poo?”
He looked at her and the clerk thought hard about the shotgun under the counter. “Really? My name in front of our guest?”
“You used mine first, my consort,” Dizzy replied, only half chastised.
”I doubt they have a birth certificate on you.” Jacob’s tone softened, his accent changed. “Go forth and get thy gum, my child.”
She kissed him on the cheek and went prancing off down the candy aisle. “Thank you, Reverend. Jakey was getting a little boring.”
The clerk slowly lowered his hands to the register. “Alright, alright, I don’t want any trouble. You can have the money.”
The robber’s face had relaxed, gotten older, the voice more fatherly now. “Bless you, my son. It is the will of the goddess that you doeth thus. Do as thou are told and all will go well with you.” He turned his head to the girl again. “My daughter, I shall require a Doctor Pepper to quencheth my thirsteth.”
He turned back just when the clerk had gathered the confidence to go for the gun. “I’m a doctor, too. My degree is in sophistry, young man. An excellent field of study for any man of the cloth, don’t you think?”
The clerk shoved the money into a plastic sack, unable to think of how he should reply to that. “There you go.”
The robber known as Jakey-poo and Reverend glanced down at the bag. “I believeth my host specifically requested beef jerky and lottery tickets as well. I do not bear false witness in this, do I?”
“Right, right,” the clerk turned to the jerky jar. “I just… I’ve never been robbed before.”
He put two sticks of dried meat on the counter, then reached underneath as if going for the scratch tickets. His right hand wrapped around the stock of the gun when the man spoke again. “Where is the rest of it?”
The man’s voice had changed again. This time it held neither the casualness of the first nor the joviality of the second. Now he sounded like a cold-hearted British movie villain. The clerk’s nerves froze at his tone.
Dizzy yelled from the coolers. “Hey, Mister Osborne, you’re not supposed to be out during a creative acquisition. Jakey-poo said so.”
“He’ll thank me later.” The man’s eyes never left the clerk. “This young man was just thinking about trying out his boss’s gun.”
The clerk whipped it out and leveled it at Jacob-Reverend-Osborne. “Maybe I am. Get the fuck out.”
“Pull the trigger and you’re a dead man,” the robber growled.
“Ooo,” Dizzy clapped, dropping three bottles of Dr. Pepper on the floor. “A real wild west showdown.” One of the bottles began spraying brown foam in every direction.
The voice returned to its initial bored coolness as he tilted his head down to his shoulder. “I’ve got this, Osborne.” When he turned back to the clerk, there was no threat in his voice. “Put it down, Stephen. It’s not your money, it’s the store’s. They’ll never miss it. Insurance will repay them for every dime we take and then some. The only ones getting screwed over here are the insurance companies.”
“I’m telling you man, get the fuck out, and take your freaky girlfriend with you. I don’t want to call the cops, but I’m not…”
He lost his voice when Jacob gestured with his free hand. The clerk had been so fixated on the gun hand, he barely noticed the motion. The shotgun leapt from his hands and sailed across the front toward the magazine rack. The robber never touched it, but it had been torn from his fingers all the same.
The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the girl, giggling with ecstasy. “Eek, we’re showing off our magic. Yay, Jakey-poo… I mean, stranger I’ve never met before.” As she jumped up and down, the clerk made note not only of her firm breasts, but also of the pair of fiery wings sprouting out of her back and the tiny curved horns appearing on her forehead.
Jacob hopped the counter, took five tickets off the Lucky 7’s roll, then walked back around, stopping to pick up the shotgun. He cracked it open like a pro. “No ammo.” He tossed the gun toward Dizzy.
She caught it and moved up to kiss him. “Could come in handy anyway. Maybe goddess is telling us we need more firepower.”
“More?” Jacob cocked an eyebrow at her. “Baby, you’re already travelling with the three most powerful wizards on the planet and that’s just what I’m packing in this body. What do you think we’re here to do: start Armageddon?”
A dark voice answered Jacob from the depths of his subconscious.
*Pretty much. Shouldn’t be too much longer before we can get the party started.*
The first interlude of Frostbite gives us a look at a very disturbed young wizard (or trio of wizards) who regard personal property laws as optional. Worse, their magic seems to lend itself to combat purposes a lot more than Colin's mixture of love, luck, and divination spells. Good thing for our hero Colin that he didn't have to face the insane triumvirate Jacob-Reverend-Osborne.
Except Colin is in trouble, because Two Wizard Roulette is totally about putting Colin and Jacob in a Vegas casino and making them duke it out with a slew of Faceless assassins waiting for the winner. I'm really excited about it. Who will win? Who will lose? Or will the house take everything? Only one way to find out.
Frostbite is doing AMAZING on Amazon and I couldn't be more grateful to everybody keeping it in the top 100 in witches & wizards... and for its regular flirtation with top 100 mystery! If you haven't read it already, check it out. As I write, it's still on sale for 99 cents. Get caught up so you're ready for Two Wizards (or is it four?) bringing down the house in Sin City.
The gas station convenience store could have been a twin to the one outside Lake Thunderbird, Oklahoma: snacks, hygiene, dry goods, automotive accessories, and refrigerated items. At that other store, something very bad had recently happened. At this one, something very bad was in the process of happening.
Jacob Darien held the revolver casually, comfortably, but it was pointed at the clerk all the same. His tone of voice suggested this was old hat for him. “Two strips of beef jerky, five lottery tickets, and all your money. You want anything, Dizzy?”
The scantily clad redhead draped over his left shoulder picked up at the mention of her pet name. “Umm… bubblegum. Can I get some bubblegum, Jakey-poo?”
He looked at her and the clerk thought hard about the shotgun under the counter. “Really? My name in front of our guest?”
“You used mine first, my consort,” Dizzy replied, only half chastised.
”I doubt they have a birth certificate on you.” Jacob’s tone softened, his accent changed. “Go forth and get thy gum, my child.”
She kissed him on the cheek and went prancing off down the candy aisle. “Thank you, Reverend. Jakey was getting a little boring.”
The clerk slowly lowered his hands to the register. “Alright, alright, I don’t want any trouble. You can have the money.”
The robber’s face had relaxed, gotten older, the voice more fatherly now. “Bless you, my son. It is the will of the goddess that you doeth thus. Do as thou are told and all will go well with you.” He turned his head to the girl again. “My daughter, I shall require a Doctor Pepper to quencheth my thirsteth.”
He turned back just when the clerk had gathered the confidence to go for the gun. “I’m a doctor, too. My degree is in sophistry, young man. An excellent field of study for any man of the cloth, don’t you think?”
The clerk shoved the money into a plastic sack, unable to think of how he should reply to that. “There you go.”
The robber known as Jakey-poo and Reverend glanced down at the bag. “I believeth my host specifically requested beef jerky and lottery tickets as well. I do not bear false witness in this, do I?”
“Right, right,” the clerk turned to the jerky jar. “I just… I’ve never been robbed before.”
He put two sticks of dried meat on the counter, then reached underneath as if going for the scratch tickets. His right hand wrapped around the stock of the gun when the man spoke again. “Where is the rest of it?”
The man’s voice had changed again. This time it held neither the casualness of the first nor the joviality of the second. Now he sounded like a cold-hearted British movie villain. The clerk’s nerves froze at his tone.
Dizzy yelled from the coolers. “Hey, Mister Osborne, you’re not supposed to be out during a creative acquisition. Jakey-poo said so.”
“He’ll thank me later.” The man’s eyes never left the clerk. “This young man was just thinking about trying out his boss’s gun.”
The clerk whipped it out and leveled it at Jacob-Reverend-Osborne. “Maybe I am. Get the fuck out.”
“Pull the trigger and you’re a dead man,” the robber growled.
“Ooo,” Dizzy clapped, dropping three bottles of Dr. Pepper on the floor. “A real wild west showdown.” One of the bottles began spraying brown foam in every direction.
The voice returned to its initial bored coolness as he tilted his head down to his shoulder. “I’ve got this, Osborne.” When he turned back to the clerk, there was no threat in his voice. “Put it down, Stephen. It’s not your money, it’s the store’s. They’ll never miss it. Insurance will repay them for every dime we take and then some. The only ones getting screwed over here are the insurance companies.”
“I’m telling you man, get the fuck out, and take your freaky girlfriend with you. I don’t want to call the cops, but I’m not…”
He lost his voice when Jacob gestured with his free hand. The clerk had been so fixated on the gun hand, he barely noticed the motion. The shotgun leapt from his hands and sailed across the front toward the magazine rack. The robber never touched it, but it had been torn from his fingers all the same.
The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the girl, giggling with ecstasy. “Eek, we’re showing off our magic. Yay, Jakey-poo… I mean, stranger I’ve never met before.” As she jumped up and down, the clerk made note not only of her firm breasts, but also of the pair of fiery wings sprouting out of her back and the tiny curved horns appearing on her forehead.
Jacob hopped the counter, took five tickets off the Lucky 7’s roll, then walked back around, stopping to pick up the shotgun. He cracked it open like a pro. “No ammo.” He tossed the gun toward Dizzy.
She caught it and moved up to kiss him. “Could come in handy anyway. Maybe goddess is telling us we need more firepower.”
“More?” Jacob cocked an eyebrow at her. “Baby, you’re already travelling with the three most powerful wizards on the planet and that’s just what I’m packing in this body. What do you think we’re here to do: start Armageddon?”
A dark voice answered Jacob from the depths of his subconscious.
*Pretty much. Shouldn’t be too much longer before we can get the party started.*
The first interlude of Frostbite gives us a look at a very disturbed young wizard (or trio of wizards) who regard personal property laws as optional. Worse, their magic seems to lend itself to combat purposes a lot more than Colin's mixture of love, luck, and divination spells. Good thing for our hero Colin that he didn't have to face the insane triumvirate Jacob-Reverend-Osborne.
Except Colin is in trouble, because Two Wizard Roulette is totally about putting Colin and Jacob in a Vegas casino and making them duke it out with a slew of Faceless assassins waiting for the winner. I'm really excited about it. Who will win? Who will lose? Or will the house take everything? Only one way to find out.
Frostbite is doing AMAZING on Amazon and I couldn't be more grateful to everybody keeping it in the top 100 in witches & wizards... and for its regular flirtation with top 100 mystery! If you haven't read it already, check it out. As I write, it's still on sale for 99 cents. Get caught up so you're ready for Two Wizards (or is it four?) bringing down the house in Sin City.
August 8, 2016
Contests and Comments
A big congrats to Keeva Cogburn, the winner of an autographed author's copy of Frostbite. I'll get in touch with her later today to work out the details. In the meantime, for anyone still wanting a copy of Frostbite...
Amazon e-book giveaway!
See y'all tomorrow for a new blog post and a sneak peek at Two Wizard Roulette.
Amazon e-book giveaway!
See y'all tomorrow for a new blog post and a sneak peek at Two Wizard Roulette.
How I Learned to Love the Bomb
A blog talking about how life forced me to be a writer and I couldn't be happier about it. Topics should include writing with children, mental health issues, discrimination, and science fiction.
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