Chuck Wendig's Blog, page 250

Oooh! Me! Me! Call On Me!

Another "Where's Wendig?" update comin' atchoo.

• I spoke with Kelly Carlin (daughter of, yes, the nation's greatest comedian) at her Smodcast show, Waking From The American Dream. I talk about writing and Blackbirds and hallucinogens and vaginas and all kinds of crazy stuff. Give a listen here.

• Looks like I'll be rocking a Blackbirds launch party on April 24th (Tues) at 7:30pm at Mysterious Galaxy in Redondo Beach (Los Angeles). Where my LA peeps at? Who's out on the West Coast? Hope you'll swing by! I'll be in the City of Angels for just shy of a week, I think.

• I talk a bit about how having a kid changes a writer's life in unexpected ways over at The Qwillery. Go there, and leave a comment — you then get a chance at winning a paperback copy of Blackbirds!

• "Chuck Wendig has a reputation for being insightful, foul mouthed and as American as long dusty roads, apple pie and presidential assassinations, so it comes as no surprise that his latest novel Blackbirds is clever, vile and firmly set in the heartlands of the USA." Blackbirds nets an 8/10 at Starburst Magazine!

• "…in the coming months you'll be seeing a lot of what I'd like to call 'sandpaper reviews' of this book. There will be a metric ton of words like gritty, abrasive, rough, harsh, and edgy. Yes, this book would make a sailor blush. Yes, horrible, terrible, awful, no good, very bad stuff happens to almost everyone. And yes, you'll be a little shocked if you're like seventeen year old me. But honestly, by the time I was twenty pages into this book I wouldn't have put it down for $50. By the time I was 80% of the way through, I wouldn't have taken $250. Understand, I'm not a rich man, and $250 would do a lot for me. But I HAD to know what would happen to Miriam." My Awful Reviews gives a glowing high-five to Blackbirds! *happy dance*

• "Reading Blackbirds feels a little like you're riding a rollercoaster; after tipping over that first crest you're pulled forward with a momentum that is paralyzing and a force that is unstoppable." Fantasy Fiction gives the book five stars! *spins around violently until throwing up with sheer dizzying joy*

• "Read this book. Trust me. Blackbirds takes you for a late night cruise down a dark and twisted road without the benefit of headlights. Something bad is just around the bend. You can feel it coming and there's not a damned thing you can do to stop it." Woo! Another rave review, this one from Sean Cummings (Poltergeeks). *guzzles whiskey and punches a stuffed pheasant*

• I chat with Mighty Matt Forbeck over at his website: we talk Kickstarter and Angry Robot and all kinds of good stuff. He's a great writer in his own right (do read Carpathia).

• Speaking of Kickstarter! Bait Dog's Kickstarter event has only a week left! And we are (at the time of this blog writing) at $4730, which means we are a) completely funded for the first novel and b) underfunded by $1270 to unlock the next novel. Spread the word! If you've pledged: thank you! If you've shared this with others: thank you! If you gave me a cookie: thank you!

• And Smallsmall Thing, a documentary about the tribulations of a young Liberian girl (on which I did some script work) — has crossed the halfway mark at Kickstarter! Very excited to see this come to light.

• Finally: OH HELLO DINOCALYSPE NOW COVER. *strokes you lovingly*

Mac Zealots! Quickly! To Me! To Me!

So, I asked a while back about Macs.

I bought a Mac Mini.

I used that Mac Mini as a home theater component. It worked pretty well like that.

Then, yesterday, my PC pooped the bed and fell down the stairs and ate a gun.

I think it's the video card — but could be anything. I used to know my way around the guts of a computer but it's been a handful of years now since I really paid attention to that sort of thing.

Anywho — that's not the point. Point is, at present, I am now a brand new bonafide Mac user! And it's been fairly nice so far. This little keyboard lets me fly on it. I love the magic trackpad thing — the gestures are really sweet in terms of letting me zip through screens and open the dashboard and whatever.

Just the same, I'm all a bit lost.

So, I once more turn to you:

What do I need? What do I need to know? What are essential apps?

Further, I'm going to need to do some word processing on this bad-boy real soon, so I'll need to know about that, too. What're my best options? I want — nay, need — a word processor that will let me read and utilize Word's TRACK CHANGES option, so does that mean I'm stuck with the Mac version of Word? Talk to me about Scrivener, too, and how well it talks to Word and… y'know, all that crizzap.

Help a brother out, Mac people.

And if anybody comes in here making a ding at PCs or Macs, I will punt your perineum through your brain pan. This is not the time or the place to take bullshit sides in a made-up tribal tech war. Stuff it.

Thanks!

Flash Fiction Challenge: "I've Chosen Your Words"

Last week's challenge — Song Shuffle! — is alive and absorbing your gaze.

Forgive the lateness of this — but yesterday, my PC took a shit-bath and now I've gone and pulled the Mac Mini from off the television and am using that as my current 'puter.

Here's the challenge:

This past week, I talked about word choice, so it seems only fitting I choose words for you.

I have, in fact, chosen 20 words.

You must choose 10 of these words and use them throughout your ~1000 word flash fiction story.

Might be tricky, but hey, that's why this is a challenge and not, say, me tickling your privates with a feather.

The ten words:

Beast, brooch, cape, dinosaur, dove, fever, finger, flea, gate, insult, justice, mattress, moth, paradise, research, scream, seed, sparrow, tornado, university.

You've got a week. Friday, 15th, by noon EST.

Post your stories online (not here in the comments, please) and link back here.

Now go and gnaw on the words I have chosen.

Paul Elwork: The Terribleminds Interview

So, here's Paul Elwork. He's someone I don't really know but, when I pinged for interviews, there he was. And I thought, okay, let's take a look at his book and — well, from that point forward, I knew it was a good idea to get him here. Plus, he's a Pennsylvania citizen, and that means he gets special privilege. And a hat made of cheesesteaks. Anyway. The paperback edition of his novel, The Girl Who Would Speak for the Dead, is available now. Visit his website at: www.paulelwork.com. And check him on the Twitters (@paulelwork).

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

There once was a man from Nantucket. Nice guy, but a little self-indulgent.

Why do you tell stories?

Because it's what my inefficient brain does best. And because I feel most myself when doing it, as opposed to doubting myself, making excuses about why I should be doing something else, etc.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Write as often as you can. Form that habit—fit it in wherever possible—just write and write. I'm a really big offender on this point, in that I often "can't" write unless the conditions are ideal, and it has cost me untold hours of mistakes and discovery and great stuff I couldn't have imagined I had in me. I have to teach myself this lesson over and over again, for some reason.  Damn inefficient brain.

You live near Philly, yeah? What's your favorite—and least-favorite—thing about the city?

I think the noise and bustle of the city—of any city—are both my favorite and least favorite things, depending on my mood. That's why it's great to live so close on the outskirts, only a short drive even from downtown Philly. But I can turn around and hurry back to where it feels like I'm living in the woods out in the hinterlands.

What's great about being a writer, and conversely, what sucks about it?

The best thing is probably the excitement of a new idea, one you know has legs. It's like Friday evening driving home from work—full of possibility. That sense of renewed hope, as if all your battered wishes could be fulfilled with this shining thing, this idea. What sucks is the inverse; the feeling that you'll never have a good idea again, and that it may as well have been someone else who had the past ideas. And the waiting. All of the waiting inherent to the writing life sucks.

The Girl Who Would Speak for the Dead—where did that book come from? What's the originating point for you?

The idea for the book came from two places: the true story of the Fox sisters, the claimed spirit mediums who started the Spiritualist movement in the nineteenth century, and a historic riverside estate at the edge of Philadelphia, Glen Foerd on the Delaware. I borrowed heavily from Glen Foerd as the setting—taking the garden playhouse pretty much straight from the estate—and in using the germ of the Fox sisters' story, I recast it, moved it in time, and fictionalized everything.

What does this book say about death?

The book definitely proceeds from the idea of death as an end. The story concerns itself with how the living deal with each other and those they've lost in the face of mortality, and the roles of grief and belief in doing so. It's also about secrets, or maybe more precisely, about the secret lives people lead.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

"Ridiculous" seems to be my favorite word. Over the years I've been made fun of for using it a lot. My favorite curse word is easily "motherfucker." Those consonants kick.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don't drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

I love India Pale Ales. I love beer in general—and wine and the occasional single-malt Scotch or vodka martini—but if we're talking about favorites, I have to say a nicely textured IPA. There are so many great ones, but I'll throw Stone Brewing's Arrogant Bastard Ale on top of the pile. Make of that what you will.

You don't get away with just one IPA recommendation. Recommend three more good IPAs folks should try.

Ah, IPAs—so many good ones. Dogfish Head's 90-Minute IPA (sometimes called an imperial IPA) clocks in at 9% ABV and is absolutely fantastic. Each one packs a little wallop, though, so careful about knocking them back. Victory Brewing's HopDevil IPA is very rich and complex—definitely one to try if you like such things. I also have to mention Yards Brewing's IPA, now an old favorite of mine. And all of this beer talk is making me thirsty…

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

I'm going to sound like your middle-school English teacher, but I recommend Great Expectations. The pure storytelling of Dickens's novels still astounds me, and this one has got to be my favorite. If this book seems like kid stuff in your mind (and boring kid stuff, at that), consider this passage: "And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful it would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude." Oh man, I really am like your middle-school English teacher.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable zombie war?

I've never fired a gun, I'm not very handy, and I don't have even a Cub Scout's wilderness skills. Really hoping they'll need someone delivering smartass asides amid the horror and gore.

You've committed crimes against humanity. They caught you. You get one last meal.

Salmon stuffed with crab and covered in Béarnaise sauce. That would be a high note at the end of a murderous career.

What's next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

My sons have asked me a number of times if I'll ever write a book for kids—especially my older son, who's eight. I love so many children's books, and it is a dream of mine to write one. So right now I'm doing that—writing a creepy book for my sons and for the kid that was (is) me. We'll see how it goes.

You're writing a kids' book? What's the trick to storytelling for children?

I think the literary/storytelling values are pretty much the same. It's still about Faulkner's line regarding the "human heart in conflict with itself" for me. You want to infuse the work with your best conception of truth in a thousand ways, even while providing excitement and adventure, even if supernatural elements are at play (as they are in the book I'm writing). If you're writing for 10–12 year olds, say, you don't want to write too far over their heads. I've found that this makes me strive even harder to say things simply, which I can't help but see as a good thing. My prose is sort of stripped down, anyway, so I don't find this to be too confining stylistically.

On the other hand, maybe the bigger danger is dumbing the work down too much because you think kids can't handle it. Obviously it makes you think differently about adult issues in whatever you're writing—and any violence gets special handling, as well—but it can't be condescending. The classics for children we keep returning to—in books, movies, anything—don't present themselves as if for little imbeciles. Kids have complex emotional lives, too. They share the strange compulsion of adults to lose ourselves in narrative even while grappling with the complicated and confusing elements of our lives within these narratives, however they are staged or play out. And it seems to me, if we're not striving to achieve both effects—in any kind of fiction writing—then why bother?

Why You Should Be Watching "Awake"

I had little interest in watching Awake on NBC.

I was like… ennh. Okay. Another cop show. This time — with a twist! He's split between two realities! Or something! I don't care! I want ice cream and tacos! Fuck yeah! Woo!

Further, I was still a little butt-chapped by NBC's decision to shelve Community.

Except, then they unshelved Community. Earning a little good will.

Then they started showing promos for Awake.

Jason Isaacs as a detective who loses his wife and/or his son in a car accident — every night he goes to sleep and wakes up in a reality where one or the other survived. But it wasn't the premise that sold me. The promos revealed a thoughtful, mature show that possessed a gimmick but did not rely upon it.

I knew something was up when my wife saw the promo, said, "Oh, that looks good."

Suddenly, my interest was piqued.

And last night, I finally got around to watching the DVR'ed pilot episode.

You need to be watching this show.

A Show Written By Writers

That sounds strange, I know. "Chuck, aren't all TV shows written by writers, you smeg-mouthed dope-donkey?" First: how rude. Second: technically, yes, writers write all shows. But that doesn't mean they're the ones in control. Or that what they wrote ends up on the screen. Hollywood offers an ecosystem whereby a great many individuals with absolutely zero sense of good storytelling get to call the shots.

This is not that show.

The show steps out of the gate and in the dialogue makes clear that it's paying attention to the laws of good storytelling. The one shrink in the one reality tells Michael Britten (Isaacs) to start at the beginning. But the main character says "No, let's start right now." Meaning, we're not going to get a dumptruck of back-chatter and exposition dumped on our heads. We're going to move through the story where it is now, and get details when we need them — and never before.

Sharp dialogue, strong plotting, damaged characters? This is a writer's show. (And here my bias as a writer is made clear: any show with quality components and strong story is, to me, a writer's show.)

The Lost Vibe

I remember watching the first episode of Lost and finding myself more and more transfixed — and pleasantly bewildered — by what was going on. Up until that point where Charlie utters that famous line: "Guys… where are we?" Then, DOOSH: the Lost logo hit and there I was left blinking and wondering just how a show this sublime snuck past the bouncers in TV-Land. (How Lost ended up is a discussion for another time.)

When I watched Awake, I got the same vibe — the same freaky frequency drew me closer. All these little twists and uncertainties and slow reveals. I saw there thinking, "What is happening? What's really going on?"

They took a very simple concept — plane crash on an island, cop pinballs between two realities (one of which may be a dream) — and gave it to us with subtlety and grace. With a focus on character and story above the contrivance of plot or the cleverness of the logline and yet while still promising that what you're seeing is (as the therapist played by B.D. Wong puts it) just the tip of an iceberg.

Could it go off the rails?

Sure. Any show could.

But I like having a show so firmly on the rails first, and this is very much that.

Jason Isaacs

Isaacs is, to me, the devil. He plays bad very well. It's not just Malfoy. It's Admiral Zhao, or the guy from The Patriot. Isaacs is a chilly, scary dude. So to have him come out of the gate with this protagonist — who feels equally chilly here but yet contains a core of warmth and soul — who you care about so strongly from the get-go, well, it's a win for me.

Rare To Find A Show That Demands Patience

I've no idea if the show will reward that patience — I'm not a haruspex, tearing the intestinal wire from forth my television to examine it for glimpses of the future — but I do know that the show is demanding my patience, which to me is a feature and not a bug. I like a show that wants me to sit down and go for the ride. I don't want a story to pander to me, to shake its moneymaker in a desperate grab to keep my attention between commercial breaks. This is a show that's subtle, that's got nuance, that is asking me to chill the fuck out while it tells me the story it needs to tell.

Again, will it reward? No idea.

But if the pilot is any indication, we're at least in for an earnest attempt.

You can catch up on the pilot (if it's still live at the time of this linking) here.

And the show airs tomorrow night (Thurs) at 10pm. Check it.

25 Things You Should Know About Word Choice

1. A Series Of Word Choices

Here's why this matters: because both writing and storytelling comprise, at the most basic level, a series of word choices. Words are the building blocks of what we do. They are the atoms of our elements. They are the eggs in our omelets. They are the shots of liquor in our cocktails. Get it right? Serendipity. Get it wrong? The air turns to arsenic, that cocktail makes you puke, this omelet tastes like balls.

2. Words Define Reality

Words are like LEGO bricks: the more we add, the more we define the reality of our playset. "The dog fucked the chicken" tells us something. "The Great Dane fucked the chicken" tells us more. "The Great Dane fucked the bucket of fried chicken on the roof of Old Man Dongweather's barn, barking with every thrust" goes the distance and defines reality in a host of ways (most of them rather unpleasant). You can over-define. Too many words spoil the soup. Find the balance between clarity, elegance, and evocation.

3. The "Hot And Cold" Game

You know that game — "Oh, you're cold, colder, colder — oh! Now you're getting hot! Hotter! Hotter still! Sizzling! Yay, you found the blueberry muffin I hid under the radiator two weeks ago!" –? Word choice is like a textual version of that game where you try to bring the reader closer to understanding the story you're trying to tell. Strong, solid word choice allows us to strive for clarity (hotter) and avoid confusion (colder).

4. Most With Fewest

Think of it like a different game, perhaps: you're trying to say as much as possible with as few words as you can muster. Big ideas put as briefly as you are able. Maximum clarity with minimum words.

5. The Myth Of The Perfect Word

Finding the perfect word is as likely as finding a downy-soft unicorn with a pearlescent horn riding a skateboard made from the bones of your many enemies. Get shut of this notion. The perfect is the enemy of the good. For every sentence and every story you have a plethora of right words. Find a good word. Seek a strong word. But the hunt for a perfect word will drive you into a wide-eyed froth. Though, according to scholars, "nipplecookie" is in fact the perfect word. That's why Chaucer used it so often. Truth.

6. No One Perfect Word, But A Chumbucket Of Shitty Ones

For every right word, you have an infinity of wrong ones.

7. Awkward, Like That Kid With The Headgear And The Polio Foot

You might use a word that either oversteps or fails to meet the idea you hope to present. A word in that instance would be considered awkward. "That dinner fornicated in his mouth" is certainly a statement, and while it's perhaps not a technically incorrect metaphor, it's just plain goofy (and uh, kinda gross). You mean that the flavors fornicated, or more likely that the flavors of the meal were sensual, or that they inspired lewd or libidinous thoughts. (To which I might suggest you stop French-kissing that forkful of short ribs, pervhouse.) To go with the food metaphor for a moment ("meat-a-phor?"), you ever take a bite of food and, after it's already in your mouth, discover something in there that's texturally off? Bit of gristle, stem, bone, eyeball, fingernail, whatever? The way you're forced to pause the meal and decipher the texture with your mouth is the same problem a reader will have with awkward word choice. It obfuscates meaning and forces the reader to try to figure out just what the fuck you're talking about.

8. Ambiguous, Like That Girl With That Thing Outside That Place

Remember how I said earlier that words are like LEGO, blah blah blah help define reality yadda yadda poop noise? Right. Ambiguous word choice means you're not defining reality very well in your prose. "Bob ate lunch. It was good. Then he did something." Lunch? Good? Something? Way to wow 'em with your word choice, T.S. Eliot. To repeat: aim for words that are strong, confident, and above all else, clarifying.

9. Incorrect, Like That Guy Who Makes Up Shit When He's Drunk

Incorrect word choice means you're using the wrong damn word. As that character says in that movie, "I do not think it means what you think it means." Affect, effect. Comprise, compose. Sensual, sensuous. Elicit, illicit. Eminent, immanent, imminent. Allude, elude. Must I continue? Related: if you write "loose" instead of "lose," I cannot be held accountable if I kick you so hard in your butthole you choke on a hemorrhoid.

10. Step Sure-Footedly

Point of fact: the English language was invented by a time-traveling spam-bot who was trapped in a cave with a crazy monk. Example: The word "umbrage" means "offense," so, to take umbrage means to take offense. Ah, but it also means the shade or protection afforded by trees. I used to take the second definition and assume it carried over to the people portion of that definition. Thus, to "take umbrage" meant in a way to "take shelter" with a person, as in, to both be under the same shadow of the same tree. I used the word incorrectly for years like some shithead. If you're uncertain about the use of any word, it's easy enough to either not use it or use Google to define it ("define: [word]" is the search you need). Do not trust that the English language makes sense or that your recollection of its madness is pristine. It will bite you every time.

11. The Barbaric Barf-Yawn That Is Your First Draft

This is not a hard or fast rule (hell, none of this is), but in my highly-esteemed opinion (translation: debatable bullshit mumbled by a guy who thinks "cock-waffle" should be a part of our collective daily vocabulary), you don't need — or want! — to refine your word choice in the first draft. That initial draft is, for me, a screaming weeping blubberfest where I just want to cry all the words out without any care in the world how they get onto the page. Second and subsequent drafts, however, are a good time to zero in on problems big and small. Don't spend your first draft scrutinizing word choice.

12. Verbs: Strong Like Bull

For every action you'll find a dozen or more verb-flavors of that action. You can drink your coffee or you can gulp, sip, guzzle, or inhale it. You can run down the street or you can jog, bolt, sprint, dash, saunter, or hotfoot it. You can have sex with someone or you can fuck 'em, hump 'em, make love to 'em, or ride 'em like Seabiscuit in a gimp mask. (Do they make gimp masks for horses? To the Googlemobile!) Use a strong verb that clarifies the action and makes sense in the context of the scene. A hostage escaping his kidnappers isn't going to scamper away — he's going to barrel, hurtle, bolt, or if you're a fan of not-fixing-what-ain't-broke, he'll run like a motherfucker. If the base-level verb gives you maximum potency and clarity, then use it.

13. "I Like Playing With My Cats!" John Ejaculated From His Mouth

Mmmyeah, one caveat to the "strong clarifying verb" thing — it doesn't apply to dialogue tags. No, no. Don't resist. Hold still. Stop trying to chew through the duct tape. I know you want to your characters to yelp, blurt, scream, gibber, shriek, murmur, mumble, babble, explain, exhort, plead, interrupt, erupt, exclaim, and ejaculate constantly, but don't do it. Do. Not. Do. It. Rely on "say/said" 80-90% of the time. You can, when seeking variety and clarification of action, use another dialogue tag.

14. The Verb "To Be"

Am. Is. Was. To Be. Will Be. Whatever. I'm not one of those who will tell you to cut out every instance of the verb "to be" in all its simple-headed forms because sometimes, simplicity is best. And yet, overuse of that verb may weaken your writing. Look for instances where the verb can be replaced by a stronger one or where it adds needless roughage to a sentence. "Barry is playing with himself in the corner" is better as "Barry plays with himself in the corner." If you say, "It is my opinion that Rush Limbaugh should be stuffed with dynamite and exploded like a beached whale," you'd be better off with, "I believe Rush Limbaugh…" instead. Oh, and if a sentence starts with "there is" or "it was," you should attack that sentence with lasers.

15. The Word "Specificity" Is Really Fun To Say

No, really. Try it, I'll wait. … Are you done yet? Specificity. Specificity. Spehhh-siiiihh-fiiiihh-sihhhh-teeee. Anyway. Moving on. Words help us define reality — nouns doubly so. Creature? Animal? Mammal? Cat? Panther? Housecat? Tomcat? Russian Blue? The North Canadian Spangled Bobtail? There I charted specificity to the point where it became useful and then crossed over into absurd bullshit. If I tell the reader that the cat is a "housecat," we all get it. But if I say that the cat is a "Lambkin dwarf cat," only a handful of cat geeks are ever going to grok my lingo. Aim for specific, but realize you can get too specific.

16. The Strong Spice Of Adverb And Adjective

Sometimes, a verb or noun just doesn't tell the whole tale. I can say "housecat," but I mean, "calico kitty with a sprightly attitude and a penchant for meowing loudly." Calico. Sprightly. Loudly. These all modify the verbs and nouns present in order to paint a picture. Adverbs and adjectives provide both a deeper sense of specificity while also providing flavor or color to the world. They're a strong spice. Use when you need, not when you want. Say what you mean and no more.

17. Adverbs Are Not Your Mortal Foe

Writers often bandy about that old crunchy nugget of of penmonkey wisdom — NO ADVERBS — as if it is bulletproof. As if a gang of adverbs shanked that writer's mother in the kidneys as she stooped over to water the hydrangeas. Adverbs are not birthed from the Devil's hell-womb. They're just words. Did you know that "never" is an adverb? As is "here?" And "tomorrow?" You can rely too heavily on adverbs (and amateurish writers do). You can also use adverbs that are unnecessary or that sound clunky when staple-gunned to the end of a sentence. And adverbs paired with dialogue tags will often chafe one's taint, but that doesn't mean you need to hunt down every last adverb with a spear-gun.

18. The Thesaurus Is Not Satan's Own Demon Gospel

The thesaurus is not a bad book (or, these days, website). I love the thesaurus because I have a brain like a rust-eaten bucket — shit slips through all the time. I'm constantly snapping my fingers saying, "There's a word that's like this other word but not quite and OH SHITDAMNIT I CAN'T REMEMBER IT WHO AM I AND WHY AM I WEARING LADIES' UNDERWEAR?" So, I turn to the thesaurus not to look for a better, fancier word but instead to find the word my feeble mouse-eaten brain cannot properly recall. It is not the thesaurus that is the root of all evil but rather the love of the thesaurus that urges writers to commit the sin of pompous word choice. It is not a crutch; do not lean upon it.

19. Big Words For Tiny Penises

Smaller words are nearly always better than big ones. Big words put distance between you and the reader. Each added syllable is a speed-bump. Don't use word choice to sound smart. Don't talk circles around the reader. Your job is communication. Is your story a bridge between you and the reader — or is it a wall?

20. The Jingly Jangle Of Jargon

Jargon is when you rely on technical or area-specific terminology to get across your point. Jargon uses a limited vocabulary to speak to a small circle of people, and this is true whether you're talking about some aspect specific to knight's armor, a scientific theory, or the manufacture of space-age dildo technology. The test is easy. Ask yourself, will most people know what the fuck I'm talking about? If yes, carry on. If no, either use plain-spoken language or take the time to explain that shit you just slung into my eyes.

21. The Plumber Versus The Aristocrat

Certainly you have some leeway in terms of choosing the correct words for your expected audience. If you're writing a novel about baseball, nobody would fault you for using a metric crap-sack of baseball terminology. You'll certainly write different prose if you expect your audience to comprise plumbers instead of an aristocrats. Still, you'll find value in reading to be read widely, not just by a subset of potential readers.

22. Junk In The Trunk

I'll admit it: I love junk words. They are the greasy hamburger of prose, delicious to me and plump with empty calories. Effectively! In theory! Very! Happen to! Point is! You know? They offer minimal — if any! — functionality. Hunt them down with merciless abandon. Stomp them with cleated shoe until they squeal.

23. From The Department Of Redundancy Department

The repetition of one or several words can have a potent effect — but what happens a lot of time is, you repeat words accidentally. "The day was hot and heat vapors rose off the ground. The heat sapped Quinn's energy." Hot, heat, heat. A reader will trip on such repetition. And then he'll fall down some steps and break his coccyx. Man, "coccyx" sounds like some kind of dinosaur bird, doesn't it? THE MIGHTY COCCYX SWOOPS TO FEAST ON THE BABY TURTLEBUGS. I dunno. Shut up. Don't judge me.

24. The Sound Of Words Matter

Words play off other words. Together they form rhythm. Choose words that pair well together, like red wine and steak. Or Pabst Blue Ribbon and hipster shame. Or heroin and delicious urinal cakes. Shakespeare knew that rhythm mattered and so chose words that slotted into iambic pentameter. The way you hear the rhythm of the words is to read your work aloud. Do that and you'll find the flow — or, more importantly, find what's damming the flow so you can fix it with proper word choice and sentence construction.

25. You Will Be Judged On The Words You Choose

Consider word choice to be a test posited by the audience. Make errors (lose/loose), they will see you for the rube you are. Write by relying on big words, heavy jargon and purple prose and they will see you as sticking your literary nose in the air. The result is the same: they will close the book and then beat you to death with it. They are also likely to violate your pallid carcass with various kitchen implements.

Write to be read. Choose words that have flavor but do not overwhelm, that reach out instead of pushing back, that sound right to the ear and carry with them a kind of rhythm. Write with confidence, not with arrogance. Don't be afraid to play with words. But be sure to let the reader play with you.

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Fantasy Fiction At The Fringe

I'm reading Saladin Ahmed's Throne of the Crescent Moon right now and I'm loving the unholy fuck out of it. Arabic myth with a protagonist who's a fat, old ghul hunter? Oh. Oh. Oh yeah.

(Needless to say, you should go and read it posthaste.)

It's kind of scratching an itch I'd forgotten I had, which is for fantasy fiction that goes well beyond that Tolkeinist purview to be brave and bold and do something unexpected with the very notion of fantasy.

So, talk to me. Make some recommendations. What would I like? What fantasy is out there — now or from the past — that operates outside the comfort zone and does something new instead of regurgitating all the same old tropes and archetypes and hero-plot piffle?

Further: what do you want to see in fantasy that's just never represented? What niches need filling?

Flash Fiction Challenge: Song Shuffle, Part II

Last week's challenge — "Tell a story in five sentences" — is all tied up and cinched with a bow. Those looking for a winner to that challenge, keep your eyes peeled on that blog post. I'll announce at some point today. It's a toughie, as usual, because, fuckadang, so many good options.

I loved this challenge so much, I'm bringing it back a second time.

As they say, second verse, same as the first.

Here we go:

Go to Your Favorite Music Player. Dig out your digital music collection.

Maybe this is iTunes or Spotify, or use Pandora if you'd rather go that way.

Hit SHUFFLE, then "Play."

Translation: pull up a random song.

The title to this song is the title to your story.

Use the song for inspiration, too, if you feel so inclined.

Word count is the full-bore double-barrel 1000 words, as usual.

You've got a week. Get your stories in by noon EST, March 9th. Just to be a little bit of a dick, I'm going to close the comments after that point — I don't set a deadline for gits and shiggles, after all.

Post at your blog. Link back. You know the drill.

Now queue up some tunes and get thee to some wordsmithy.

Seanan McGuire: The Terribleminds Interview

Seanan McGuire is Mira Grant. Mira Grant is Seanan McGuire. Both write kick-ass novels like FEED, or the INCRYPTID series. I can only assure you that you want to be reading her brand of urban fantasy meets horror meets, well, urban fantasy all over again. You will find her at either the site of Seanan McGuire or Mira Grant, and you can– and should! — totally follow her on Twitter (@SeananMcGuire).

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

I was that stereotypical little girl out of a Ray Bradbury story waiting to happen: my family didn't have much money, my bedroom looked like a magpie's nest crossed with a junk store, I had big blue eyes and curly blonde hair, and best of all, I lived right at the edge of a swampy marsh forest filled with crawdads, scrub grass, wild birds, and snakes of all varieties. I spent my summers running around in the sun until I was almost as brown as the dirt in our apartment building's yard, and promptly turned the color of chalk when the autumn came. My hair would bleach in the summer, and stay bleached well into the winter; I was a ghost-girl by the time Halloween rolled around, with no color left to my name but that unrelenting white.

I very well may have grown up in the golden age of trick-or-treating. Halloween was a big enough deal in the 1980s that everybody did it, and every house and apartment in sight gave out candy, but it wasn't yet the modern era of paranoia and refusal to let kids out after dark. Halloween was magic. Every October 31st my mother zipped me into a costume made by my grandmother, handed me my equally homemade (and equally awesome) trick-or-treat sack, blazoned with glow-in-the-dark pumpkins that would lose their glow before I was halfway through my rounds, and shoved me out the door. My mission? To collect as much candy as humanly possible in the short hours between dusk, when trick-or-treating became acceptable, and nine o'clock, when the porch lights started clicking off. (Running up against that unspoken curfew was an art and a science. You could double back to houses you'd visited earlier, and not only would they have forgotten you, there was a good chance you'd be able to score the remainder of the bowl from tired adults who just wanted to go to bed. Or you might get ignored, or yelled at, or placated with things that were distinctly not candy. I got silverware once. I think that guy was drunk.)

The year I was ten, I was dressed as one of the little dead girls from the Nightmare on Elm Street movie series. I had the right "look" for the part, and all I had to do was add some dark circles around my eyes and a white dress I didn't care about. I haunted the streets of Concord and Clayton, filling my sack with all the sugary goodness it would hold. I knew the shortcuts and the back ways and the best neighborhoods to target, the ones where you could get full-sized candy bars from people whose own children could afford store-bought costumes (still a rarity in those days, and something to be envied). What's more, I knew the fastest routes from neighborhood to neighborhood, which meant that I could skip the boring commercial blocks and get straight to the good stuff.

And that is why, from the perspective of the man driving too fast around the curve on Bel Air, I suddenly materialized–a dead-white girl in a tattered white dress, with white hair and eyes sunk deep into her skull–from beneath the old creek bridge. There were no other trick-or-treaters on that block, which may have added to the shock of my appearance; he had no other monsters to compare me to. He swerved hard, away from the bridge, and slammed into a tree.

I went back under the bridge and resumed trick-or-treating. I was, after all, not supposed to talk to strange men in cars.

According to the paper the next day, he lost control of his vehicle because he saw a ghost. My mother asked if I'd seen anything strange. I shook my head "no," and ate another pack of candy corn.

Why do you tell stories?

Because I am incapable of not telling stories. According to my mother, I started roughly five minutes after I started talking (she still recites one of my earliest claims, that the aliens had stolen her real baby and left me, on a regular basis). I think that, were I to take a vow of silence that extended to the written word, I would actually explode. On the other hand, I speak some ASL, so maybe I'd just get more fluent in a hurry…

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

If you want to be a writer, you need to read, and you need to write. Everything else is varying shades of bullshit, and what works for me is not absolutely going to work for you. I know people who find my combination of tight structure and absolute chaos to be incomprehensible, while I find their particular setups to be equally bizarre. But you have to read, or you won't know what works on a page, and you have to write, or you won't know what works on your page.

Reading and writing as critical components to a writing life, agreed. What one novel would you recommend to serve as a master class on writing and storytelling for aspiring professional authors?

Yay, questions with no right answer!  But seriously…this is a hugely personal question, and it's going to be different for every author in the world.  For me, that book was Watership Down.  You know.  With the rabbits.  It was the book where I realized you can have lots of characters and lots of situations and a major quest and not be talking down to your reader and that's okay.  I was eight when I read it, so it was sort of a step up from the rest of what I had access to.  And it changed my world.  So for me, that was the book.  But you probably have a different book, and that's cool.  I think this answer changes with cultural background, age of the reader, and what genre that person wants to work in.  And maybe gender, a little bit, especially in science fiction, since so much older science fiction is male-dominant.

I'd say that short stories, though…everyone, regardless of genre leanings, should read Tiptree's "The Only Really Neat Thing to Do," Matheson's "I Am Legend," King's "The Mist," and Bradbury's "A Sound of Thunder."  That will build a foundation that lets everything else find the place it needs to stand.

What's great about being a writer, and conversely, what sucks about it?

I get email from people who feel that they have a close personal relationship with my imaginary friends. That's pretty awesome. I love that people who actually exist can suddenly engage with the people who exist only in my head. It's just incredible to know that these stories are getting out there, and that I can tell them to people, and that people will listen.

As for what sucks about it…a lot of people don't understand that it's work, it's hard, and it doesn't happen as fast as they read. So I start getting "when's the next one?" the day after a book comes out, and it just makes me so bone-tired that I want to crawl under my bed and stay there for a year. And these are some of the same people asking why I don't do a book tour, why I don't come to their town for a signing, why I don't spend more of my limited writing hours not writing. It makes me so tired. I need a nap.

You are Seanan McGuire. But you are also Mira Grant, author of the most-excellent Feed. I get a lot of authors asking about pseudonyms, so enlighten us: why write with a pseudonym? How did yours come about?

So my stock answer for this is basically "Disney created Touchstone when they wanted to show tits in the movies."  And that's basically true.  My Mira Grant stuff is a lot darker than my stuff under my own name. and actually dives into the huge pools of geeky, geeky science that occupy a large percentage of my brain.  Distinguishing the two seemed like a really good idea.  I continue to believe that it was a really good idea, since periodically, my fans discover Mira and go "OH HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS SHIT," and sometimes Mira's fans discover me and go "WHAT GIRLY FAIRIES TINKER BELL COOTIES WHAT THE FUCK."  And I like to avoid that.  (Mind you, there's a huge overlap between my fans, and a lot of people read both of me.  But the outliers can sometimes make my head hurt.)

I was originally going to be "Samantha Grant," but there's someone who owns the .com, and my publisher wanted me to have a pseudonym where we could get the .com.  So the shuffle of possible first and last names was run again, and I came up Mira.  It's a complicated horror movie pun which requires knowledge of two languages to get.  I am very proud of that fact.Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

My favorite word is probably "abattoir," which yes, unpleasant meaning, blood on the carpet, I know, but it's just so much fun to say. My favorite curse word is the uncreative "fuck," but I'm very creative with my swearing, and just as likely to call you a meatsack or a cockwaffle if I'm mad at you.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don't drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

Without question, Woodchuck Special Reserve Pumpkin Cider. They only make it in the fall, they only make it for one night, it tastes like Halloween in a bottle, and I think I wound up buying or receiving a full hours'-worth of the production from 2011. I wanted more. I have one beautiful bottle in my fridge, waiting for me to finish my current project and reward myself with the Great Pumpkin's blessing.

My favorite non-alcoholic beverage is Diet Dr Pepper. I could fill a swimming pool with what I drink annually.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

Book: After the Golden Age, Carrie Vaughn. Comic book: Unwritten, Mike Carey. Film: Slither, directed by James Gunn. Game: Kingdom Hearts 2, STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable zombie war?

I know how to gut and butcher a deer; I can shoot a longbow, although it's been years, so my aim may suck (on the other hand, a zombie war is a naturally target-rich environment); I know what plants and animals will kill you along the California coast; and I have a large collection of machetes and baseball bats.

You've committed crimes against humanity. They caught you. You get one last meal.

I like to think that, were I to commit crimes against humanity, there would be no one left to catch me, since the slatewiper pandemic would have taken them all out. Maybe the aliens have caught me? I don't know. Anyway, if this is my last meal, it would consist of whatever I damn well wanted, so…

Appetizers: A plate of sliced heirloom tomatoes, a bowl of potato leek soup made with my recipe, and a cup of fresh candy corn.

Main course: Two roast beef sandwiches and two brisket sandwiches, both from Maverick's in St. Paul.

Dessert: A pint of Riesling poached pear sorbet from Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams, and an assortment of cupcakes from Cups and Cakes.

Drinks: With the appetizers, Diet Dr Pepper. With the main course, Christian Brothers ruby port. And with dessert, Woodchuck Pumpkin Cider.

I have just discovered Jeni's Ice Cream and it is phenomenal. I must know — what other flavors do you like?

My favorite is absolutely the Riesling Poached Pear (hence it being in my last meal), but I have honestly never had any ice cream from them that wasn't amazing.  My favorites–beyond the pear–are probably Rockway and Apricot, Brambleberry Crisp, Dark Chocolate Peppermint, and their amazing seasonal Heirloom Pumpkin.  That shit is like religion in a waffle cone for a Halloween girl.

What's next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

Hopefully, a nap.

More seriously, a new series, InCryptid; lots of new books and stories and thoughts and characters and now we're back to that whole "nap" idea. I'm hoping to move to Washington state within the next year, so I'm writing as fast as I can now to build myself a buffer for those days when I can't find my desk and the cats have hidden my spare laptop battery. It's an exciting life!

Discount Armageddon. First Incryptid book. Coming out next week. Get cocky. Get bad-ass. Tell us in no uncertain terms why everyone should go nab a copy ASAMFP. Kick us in the face with your sales pitch.

You know what I fucking hate in urban fantasy today?  I hate that all the women have to have these huge, improbable super powers, or we're expected to dismiss them as Mary Sue self-insert author daydreams.  We used to have bad-ass chicks with big guns and great hair, and now we have super models in leather pants who can magic up everything but self-esteem and a fulfilling love life.  It's the genre, it's the standard, it's the can-you-dig-it way things have gotta be.  And you know what?  Fuck.  That.

I want girls with guns whose only super power is spending a few thousand hours at the gym.  I want physics that work.  I want worlds that work, where the underlying science may not matter to the story, but still makes fuckingsense.  I want pixies that can fly because they have hollow skeletal structures coupled with a musculature developed for short-pulse lift, not because ZOMG PIXIES ARE COOL LET'S HAVE SOME PIXIES.  And I want as much ass kicked as humanly possible.

Discount Armageddon is my huge "fuck it, let's do this."  It is my I WANT AND I SHALL HAVE.  Because it is built on science and gonzo cryptozoology and biology that actually works if you cock your head and squint.  It has chicks with guns and no super powers but the ability to tango in high heels.  It has functional families and dysfunctional families and people who are people, not an excuse for leather pants.  And it's a honey trap.  It's light and fluffy and it has a pink cover, for fuck's sake, and if you come in, it's going to get dark, and grim, and bloody, because I am still me, and the second act of trick-or-treating is murder in the corn.  And it's going to be fucking awesome.

Also you should buy my book because I want to move to a creepy old house in the woods and it's going to cost a lot to surround the place with barbed wire, suspicious-looking scarecrows, and pit traps.  Plus I have cats the size of small dogs, and if I can't feed them, they're going to eat me.

Discount Armageddon.  It's so fucking awesome it can end the world and save you money at the same time.

(Discount Armageddon at Amazon.)

What of your word-babies (aka "novels") is most emblematic of you, and why?

Whatever I finished most recently, because I am not a stationary target.  I am constantly changing my approach to damn near everything except for chainsaws and corn mazes, and that means that if you're looking for "me," you need to look at the freshest tracks.  So right this second, it's actually the second InCryptid book.  And in a few months, it'll be the first of the new Mira Grant duology.

Life moves pretty damn fast.  Try not to blink.

Wuzza Wooza Wendig?

So, first things first, I have to show you that. "That" being that image up there. That's right, cats and kittens — another jaw-dropping eyeball-popping Joey Hi-Fi cover for yours truly. This time, for the next in the Miriam Black series, Mockingbird. (Cool interview with "Mister Hi-Fi" right over here.)

I'm the luckiest book boy in the world.

What else is going on?

Well. Lessee.

• The Bait Dog Kickstarter has 20 days left and we have crossed over the $4500 threshold. Which is crazy delicious. But, as yet, we have not yet crossed over into the "second book a-coming" bracket, which is set at a $6000 milestone. So, if you want to make me write another Atlanta Burns novel beyond Bait Dog, well, you know what to do.

• Shotgun Gravy (the novella that comes before Bait Dog) has been picking up a ton of very loving reviews lately. Producer Paul says, "I continue to be more and more impressed with author Chuck Wendig, and Shotgun Gravy is no exception." Josh Loomis says, "It's a tense read, crackling with nervous energy and dread anticipation of what will happen next." Jess says, "[Atlanta Burns is] human, vulnerable and yet ballsy in a way most people just wish they were." Oh, and finally, 58 smashing reviews hanging out at the novella's Amazon page.

• Another Kickstarter is doing well, and it's also one to which I contributed — Smallsmall Thing is a documentary about the rape of a little Liberian girl and what that means for her family, her community and her country. I did some script work on it, and it's a very powerful story. It's already over 33% — worth taking a peek (click here).

• Blackbirds rocks another very kind review — "This is a relatively small price to pay though when you've got Wendig throwing you into any number of violent and chilling encounters with what is becoming his typical abrasive attitude. The guy has only written two books and already I can't get enough. If you're after some urban fantasy that is by no means typical then 'Blackbirds' is probably already on your wish list. For everyone else, give it a go anyway and have your mind blown. Wendig takes you on a journey, down the forgotten highways of America, that you won't soon forget." From the review at Graeme's Fantasy Book Review!

• Oh! Another great Blackbirds review (at the World Writ Small) says: "Probably the best thing about this book is that it never leaves you time to feel sorry or second guess any of the characters. They are so clearly drawn that everything about them feels realistic, and hate them or not, you know they're just going to keep on keeping on. The worst thing about this book is that it ends."

• Dang, the hits just keep coming! From Dead End Follies: "There are many plot twists to Blackbirds that will make you stand up and yell 'OH MY FUCKING GOOOOOOD. NO WAY' but they are strategically placed in the story, so you never know when you'll be slapped across the face. Keeps a reader tense, believe me. All in all, it's a crazy story I could very well see on film in the new few years."

• A very kind review of Double Dead by writer pal Eddy Webb, where he refers to me as a "subtle storyteller." And then, surprisingly, does not admit to having just eaten a faceful of acid.

• Holy crap! Bad Blood cover! (Sequel to Double Dead, in case you didn't realize.)

• Holy crap! I just saw the Dinocalypse Now cover! But you can't see it! Yet! Soon! I'm sure! Exclamation point!

• Some of my #fakeoscars tweets were agglomerated at the Washington Post culture blog.

• Am in the process of unfucking my own YA cornpunk novel, Popcorn.

• Our son took his first step — like, he was holding onto the couch, he pivoted, took a full step on his own, and then tumbled into his mother's arms. It's not walking, not yet, but I think we're getting closer now. He's nine months old and he's been standing up like crazy (15 second record!). And he also built an F-14 out of our couch and flew it to the moon where he established a lunar colony for lost puppies. Okay, maybe not so much that last part.

• Finally, the good news is, terribleminds is getting to be very popular. The bad news is, that popularity costs. My web fees have gone up again in response to "increased compute cycles," which is I guess the same as saying, "The robots are having to work harder to manage the strain your blog is causing on the rest of the robot universe." Or something. May need a new host soon, or may really need to start considering new ways to fund this site.