Aaron Dembski-Bowden's Blog, page 15

Godblood

The Dead God danced in the sky. Thiah lay alone within the forest, on a bed of wet grass, watching the emerald mist spill and curl across the evening heavens.

She’d left the village six hours ago, so time was surely growing short. Her father’s hunters would track her down soon enough, but for now she enjoyed the solitude. She needed the silence, the peace away from her father’s warriors, to dwell on her choices.

She wasn’t going to marry No-Foes-Remain. That much, she knew for sure.

“It will bring peace,” her father had insisted, a hundred times and more. Thiah still wondered if he actually believed that. He was a vicious man, and a rough one, but not without intellect. It seemed strange for him to cling so fervently to such an obvious lie.

Peace, she thought. Peace with the Maur. And on that day, the Dead God would walk the world once more. No, come the turning of seasons, when winter gave way to spring’s thaw, she wouldn’t be getting married. Especially not to one of the Clan That Fled; her father’s wishes be damned.

The Dance of the Dead God shimmered in the sky above the woods, winding and drifting faster than any clouds could fly. She told herself she wasn’t scared, that she was of the blood of warleaders, but silent bravado was cold comfort. This was only the third dance she’d seen in all her nineteen years, and the first she’d witnessed while alone. While the wind toyed with the trees, the rustling of leaves and branches never came in time to the heavenly display. The dance obeyed its own rhythm, swirling in the sky, as the Dead God’s ghost writhed in remembered pain.

She wasn’t surprised when she heard footsteps. Thiah made no attempt to run, nor did she bother to move. The limit of her interest was to wonder which of her father’s hunters had found her this time. The figure trod lightly upon the ground, its passage unmarked by the telltale creak of leather and hide. Instead, she heard the rustling whisper of silk and cloth.

Thiah smiled. “Hail, Wastelander,” she called out.

A figure crouched next to her, dark against even the surrounding darkness. She didn’t glance at him, but she saw from the corner of her eye how he touched his fist to his heart, then his lips, before opening his fingers in mimicry of speech. His voice was gentle without being soft. He spoke as if forever trying to be careful.

“Greetings, little pagan princess.”

She wasn’t a princess, and he knew it well. Still, the name always made her smile.

“I’m surprised my father sent you.”

“He didn’t send me.” The Wastelander made himself comfortable at her side, one knee down on the grass. His concession to the cold was a thick cloak of heavy wool, which he always preferred to the furs of Thiah’s people. He didn’t speak of what brought him out here to find her. Instead, he followed her gaze heavenward, at the misty light weaving across the sky.

Thiah turned her head to him. Beneath the hood, his dusky skin was charcoal-dark in the evening’s half-light.

“Does the Dead God’s ghost dance in the skies above your homeland?” she asked.

His smile was a flash of white teeth in shadow. “No, Thiah. We see them far, far to the south some nights, but there’s nothing divine about them.”

“If you say so.” She looked back, where the great spirit shone in the sky – an avatar of pale mist, formed of green and gold and white. “If this isn’t the Dead God’s ghost in the heavens, then how do your people explain it?”

The Wastelander’s gaze fell to her. “It’s difficult for me to explain in your tongue. Our philosophers and scholars speak of such things.”

She scowled at the words. “Your what?”

“Sages,” he said. “Wise men who spend their lives in deep thought.”

“Oh. Are they crippled? Can they no longer make war?”

The Wastelander smiled again. “No. They merely have no interest in making war.”

“They sound crippled.”

“Please let me finish.”

With an amused dignity belying the fact she was lying on her back in the wet grass, she gave him a magnanimous wave of her gloved hand.

“Please,” she said, “do go on.”

“How generous of you. Our scholars speak of these lights as natural things, born from a different dance, as our own world turns in the Great All. We name them the aurora, the northern and southern lights, and they ride the skies due to the force of the sun’s fire meeting our world’s grip. It’s a matter of magnetism.”

Thiah understood none of what he was saying. She wondered if he was making it up. He was gifted at telling stories.

“Your people are very foolish, Wastelander.”

He chuckled at that. “We have our moments, My Lady.”

My Lady. Another of his many titles for her. When he first used it upon his arrival in her father’s village five years ago, she’d wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not your lady,’ she’d replied, as a girl of fourteen.

‘A sign of respect,’ the dark-skinned man had assured her. ‘Nothing more.’

The chill wind pulled her back to the present. “Are my father’s hunters far behind?”

The Wastelander settled his slender weight. “I’m sure they will reach us soon enough. I wasn’t travelling with them, for I wished to speak with you alone first.”

“We are speaking.”

“You barbarians are so delightfully literal. I meant that I wished to speak of something specific.”

She grinned as she went back to watching the lights drift across the sky, veiling the stars. “I know what you meant. I’m listening.”

Despite half a decade in the north, the Wastelander still shivered at night, and he still carried more than his fair share of curses against the wind.

“How can it be this cold?” he asked now, as politely as he ever asked anything.

“Here comes the familiar lament,” Thiah said, still watching the heavens.

“Your Dead God must hate me. Mark my words, a wind this harsh will leave a man infertile. I think my teeth have turned from ivory to ice, and when spring finally comes, they’ll melt from my mouth.”

Thiah shrugged. It felt no worse than usual, and her furs kept her warm. “If your mad dream ever becomes truth, we have a new surgeon in the village. He can give you new teeth.”

“What you have, Lady Thiah, is a failed carpenter who hammers wooden pegs into people’s gums and declares himself a dentist. I try never to even yawn in his presence, for fear of what he might do upon seeing an open mouth.”

Despite herself, she chuckled. “Enough, Talmey. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

“Ah, how rare it is, to hear my name. One becomes so used to Wastelander.” He took a breath, seeking the right words.”The arrangements for your coming betrothal make no sense to me. I will never understand the way your people treat the maidens, mothers and crones among you. Have I ever told you, among the Taleesh it’s a sin against morality to sculpt the feminine image in anything less than marble or gold?”

Thiah raised a blond eyebrow. “You have great quarries of marble and gold in the desert? That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s no lie,” the Wastelander smiled again. “Not all Taleesh settlements stand astride the Dry Sea. We do, however, have many more statues of men than women. They’re all made from base metal or cheap stone, in keeping with old customs.”

Thiah watched the misty colours dancing above, not sure what to say. “No more lectures about the great wisdom of the Taleesh. It doesn’t make me feel any better to think there are countless other people living better lives than me. Whatever your people do in the Big Dust doesn’t matter. They’re there. We’re here.”

He abandoned his crouch to sit next to her, angling his curved sword so it didn’t touch the ground. “You’re in grim humour this eve,” he said.

She finally glanced his way again, noting how he held his sword. “Why do you always do that?” she asked.

“Do what, My Lady?”

“That. With your sword.”

His dark eyes flickered down, as if noticing the habit for the first time himself. His hesitation was subtle but telling. Many of his people’s customs shouldn’t be shared with heathens.

“A blade,” he said, choosing his words, “must only ever touch the earth with the death of the warrior wielding it. It’s considered the foulest luck to let a weapon grace the earth, and is one of many Taleeshi traditions you just said you had no desire to hear.”

“It’s very hard to hate you,” Thiah eyed him carefully, “but you’re making me want to try.”

The Wastelander froze, his reply unspoken. Even his breath stopped steaming in the night air. His eyes met hers, a question in their depths.

Thiah nodded. She’d heard it, too. With the silent grace of one born in the wilds, she rose to her feet and drew the iron hatchet hanging at her belt. The Wastelander stood with her, his hand on the pommel orb of his sheathed tulwar. The sound came from the east, while Thiah’s village lay to the west.

“Someone comes,” he said.

Thiah narrowed her eyes as she watched the treeline. “Not someone, something. You’ll always be a shit hunter with ears like that, Talmey. Four paws on the snow. Listen.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Should we run?”

She grinned in the night. “You can, if you like.”

Some Brief Advice on Fatherhood

Surprisingly, I’ve been asked a lot recently if I have any advice on fatherhood. Like, because I’m such a veteran or something.

The answer is no. I have none. What I do have is one of the great truths of my first 2-3 months being a dad, and it’s not ‘advice’; it’s just something my friend John French told me to do when I was mailing him in frustrated tears. But I’ve started sharing it, as it’s solid gold.

Void Stalker Reviews

I just remembered (after being told by someone, so "remembered" is sort of the wrong word) that Void Stalker is released in eBook in the next few days. Or even now, depending on whether you believe the liars, mongrels and charming souls on my beloved Facebook page.

I think the dead tree version is only about a month away, too. This all kinda crept up on me.

"Dear Diary. Today I killed many, many nice people and skinned them and ate bits of them and then told Uzas he was a cunt. It was the best day ever."

Here are 2 very detailed – but spoiler-free – reviews, for anyone who gives a fuck:

1. The Founding Fields:  "For its amazing story, fascinating and engaging characters, visceral battle scenes and endings that will have any fan of the Sons of Curze cheering in midnight clad, I give Void Stalker a score of 11/10, this is a story that breaks the mould and deserves a score that breaks the scoring rank."

2. Civilian Reader: "I've said it before, and I'll say it again – Dembski-Bowden blows all tie-in fiction conceptions out of the water. Fifteen years ago, Dan Abnett reinvented WH40k fiction with his Gaunt's Ghosts novels. With the Night Lords series (and also The First Heretic), Aaron DB has perfected it. He's easily among my top five favourite authors. He is a genius at writing nuanced, complex characters. I will read anything he writes. Very highly recommended, Void Stalker is a masterful conclusion to a superb series."

Woah. I mean… woah.

Y'know, the problem with seeing stuff like that is I always think "Oh, man. How the fuck do I beat that?"

No pressure, right?

Alexander – 1.5 Months

Yeah, yeah, I'm sure this is boring for you. But my friends and family read my blog, too. IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT SPACE MARINES AND ME HATING STAR TREK, YOU KNOW.

Here are some photos of Alexander as he leaves his first month behind, and continues to have no respect at all for Katie's sleeping patterns and my deadlines.

I'm too tired to think of funny captions.

Behold, my son and heir.

This was only a couple of hours ago. The lighting is shitty and I took it on my iPad, but it's a keeper.

Here's my Mum and Alexander, a couple of weeks ago. Very happy with this one, which is evidence someone else took it.

I don't even remember this happening, but it looks dangerous. Note also the baby puke on my arm, which for some reason I decided to leave there and take a nap.

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Some days he looks golden-blond. Sometimes, it's mousy brown. Other days, vastly ginger. The great debate rages on.

One of my faves. Here, we see the little squire meeting his Auntie Kat for the first time. And, apparently, really, really, really liking Blondes.

Between the hours of 6am and 10am, when he's at his most restless and his hugest risk of being sold by his father on eBay, he settles best when he sleeps on Katie.

Fatherhood at 5:30am

Yeah, no, this looks like great fun to clean up. This is totally what I wanted to be doing at half-five in the morning.

Thanks, son.

Also…

…you kinda look like…

Heh.

Teehee.

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So you want to write Warhammer 40,000: Part II – See?

Here's a related example, to my post earlier today.

Look how they'll talk to you. Look at that tone. The sneering, condescension-rich nonsense that froths from their mouths. You'll have to deal with that. You can never prove them wrong. You're wrong to them. Worse, they'll invent reasons why you do your job, because they're pure of heart trueblooded fans, and you're just some filth who's daring to Badtouch the sacred cow. It doesn't matter that they don't understand the situation and are attacking you on assumptions. Why would reality and facts have any relevance? No, no, best to leap to the worst-case scenario. Yes, they're right, and everyone else is wrong.

Look at this, and remember that I'm one of the ones with the best reputations for cleaving to the lore. Now imagine why so many other creators and artists in any licensed media avoid their settings' fans online.

EDIT: To slow things down, I just wanted to be 100% clear, here. I don't hate this guy (you shouldn't, either) – these two blog posts are purely a jokey stab at "So you want to write for 40K?"-style questions,  because I couldn't be bothered to do a real guide, and this side of it never comes to light. The timing was perfect, with the cover out yesterday.

A five-minute argument online is hilariously undignified (the lack of dignity being the source of The Funny, for both sides), but I don't judge the dude on one Facebook opinion. It wasn't an "I have a boo-boo from a bad fan, please kiss it better" post. (Actually, if I do ever do one of those, please kill me.) That said, I do appreciate all the support. OH SHUCKS, YOU GUYS.

But seriously. Be nice to him, especially if you see him on Facebook. This is so, so not something worth going to war over. I'm trying to make The Funny, not beat the drums of battle.

So you want to write about Warhammer 40,000?

I wanted to blog a little today, in order to keep typing through my lunch break and keep the focus going, but I needed a decent topic to eat up 20 minutes of time. Luckily, I found it.

I get this kind of thing a lot: "Do you have any advice for…?" "I'm about to submit my first…" "Any tips for a budding…"

And so on.

There are plenty of writing guides out there. I've linked to them before. Other authors also published by BL are free with their writing tips, and – in all honesty – I find tedious as shit to talk about. If you're good enough, you'll get in. If you're not, you won't. If you suck and you're lucky, you might get in anyway. Them's the breaks.

What I can do, however, is prepare you for the bullshit you have to deal with in licensed fiction.

Anyone reading this probably knows I'm pretty fortunate when it comes to my reputation in the fandom, and I rarely bump into any "AD-B doesn't know the lore" criticisms. My attitude to 40K is usually mentioned as one of my major strengths in my reviews and on various forums. So this isn't a blog post about how I'm personally treated. That's largely useless as advice, because it's so individual.

So what can I offer as advice? My advice is simple. Remember the Betrayer cover from yesterday? Well, only write professionally for a license if you're perfectly okay with the kind of fucking nonsense like this:

Here we clearly have a fan in desperate love with some very serious punctuation.

Some people won't read the whole series. Many of them just won't know the lore all that well, or consider one of the many contradictory sources of lore from the past to be more worthy than any other. That's fine, and it's to be expected. But what you sometimes get is rage and ignorance in such excellent measures, that a genesis of purest madness is born.

Clearly, he saw that artwork, and his brain didn't do any of the following:

"I know from Aurelian that Lorgar and Angron are up to something elsewhere in Ultramar." (That's fine. It's limited edition. Not everyone read it.)
"I know from The Butcher's Nails that Lorgar and Angron are up to something elsewhere in Ultramar." (That's cool. It's a very new release, and not everyone likes audio dramas.)
"This is a new event in the many years of galactic warfare that the series is showing in detail for the first time." (That's less cool; to still not get that shows a level of ignorance beyond what you'd expect, but whatever. All good.)
"This couldn't possibly be about the Siege of Terra, as it makes no sense for one novel to leap ahead like that. Also, as I know my lore, in addition to there being no Ultramarines at the Siege of Terra, Angron and Lorgar were Daemon Princes by then. So this is clearly not a representation of the Siege, as there isn't a single detail about it that would make it accurate. Everything, in fact, is wrong. So it's probably not about that."

Instead of all that, he actually – somehow – decided it was the Siege of Terra. Okay… uh, fine. So he saw the Betrayer cover and was clearly annoyed it was a retcon. Fine, right? Some retcons annoy me, too. I'm sure you – you budding 40K author – would say "Whatever" and move on. No big deal.

But then, when he realised it wasn't the Siege, there was this:

Here we descend into something you, as a 40K author, will have to deal with all the time. And that, quite simply, is the setting's own fans getting it wrong.

As we all know, from the very novel he's claiming to have read, he's dead wrong. Know No Fear clearly states that many thousands of Ultramarines didn't join the muster at Calth. They were stationed elsewhere in Ultramar at the time.

This is a minor thing, but take it to its eventual closure. These are the kinds of fans that, in their ignorance, downrate novels for being incorrect. They're the ones that just lurve their Caps Lock crusades, despite arguing bullshit from a position on the shakiest ground. While I know many come around or get corrected over time, I've seen plenty of reviews (again, thankfully not too many of my own) where people give the novel a low score almost entirely on the basis that it's done something wrong, when it's the reviewer himself or herself that has no clue what they're talking about. And I'm referring to the tiniest details, sometimes.

I couldn't help a snide grin as I was reading his anger based on his own, uh, we'll say "incomplete understanding" of the lore. Because this, ladies and gentleman, was time travel for me. This was looking into the future. This was a glimpse into a forum comment, or an Amazon review, in X months time, when someone will doubtless say something similar, wailing about "RETCONS" and "the HOLE of the Ultramarines" in Know No Fear being at Calth, when they very much weren't. Indeed, there was a specific reference saying they weren't.

EDIT: For the record, I suspect English isn't his first language (and I'm willing to bet his Portuguese or Spanish is a lot better than mine…), so I'm not taking the piss out of his spelling of "whole". The punctuation, however, is fair game.

Being published by Black Library is awesome. Writing 40K is awesome. Contributing to the setting and lore is awesome. You'll find, though, when you're sat at your desk in the same position as me, that it's the stupidly annoying things that get to you with all this. Not when you get stuff wrong. But when they do, and they blame you for it.

So my advice is this: If you are, in any way, the kind of person that finds being misrepresented/lied about online or in your workplace to be something that makes your blood boil, don't do it. If you're the kind of person that cannot let an argument die with someone who refuses to admit they're wrong, then don't do it. If you're the kind of person that cracks when accused of getting stuff wrong when you're plainly and demonstrably correct, then – again – don't do it.

Because you will meet readers like this. Away from any complaints of actual retcons, story quality, or genuinely getting lore wrong (if you get it wrong, that's your call), there will always be the people that accuse you of it anyway, without evidence, and for the wrong reasons. Some people won't know as much as you, some will know much more, and some will know different parts of the lore. That's unavoidable. But when they're dead wrong, and citing recent sources they're dead wrong about…

Of all pluses and minuses with writing licensed fiction, this one is my truest ball-ache.

I don't know this guy. I don't hate him, or want him to explode into tiny bits. He posted in public on the BL Facebook page, so I considered his comments fair game as an example for this. Hell, I even agree with his first post; that would be a weird and pointless retcon. But he was the perfect example for this petty, petty point, by a petty, petty writer.

Because I very much shouldn't be doing licensed fiction. I'm the kind of person I warn you all not to be, whose eye twitches at the first sight of those kinda posts.

But I like writing it, so there we go.

Betrayer Cover (for real this time…)

Here are some words you're not reading.

Here are some more.

I'll post the prologue soon, but I want to finish The Prince of Crows first (for the Shadows of Treachery anthology later this year). Posting the cover and prologue to Betrayer was supposed to be my reward for finishing it, but there was a cosmic combination of me writing too slow, and you all clicking Like on my Facebook page too fast.

So here you go. Click to zoom in, obviously, for all the little details Neil is so famous for.

I'm sure you'll really, really struggle to guess what it's about – or who is fighting who (and who, uh, looks like they're losing).

 

Betrayer Cover

So my Facebook page is at 1,998 Likes, and I said once it hit 2,000 I'd post the artwork and prologue for Betrayer – as well as some cool other stuff going on.

Unfortunately, none of that stuff is ready, as rather than "This will hit 2,000 Likes in a few weeks", it became "Let's all click Like now".

Yes. I understand this is my fault for trusting you assholes.

But I figure I can at least give you this.

Beautiful.

So very beautiful.

My God… it's full of stars.

40K on the BBC

So, as many of us know, 40K got a spot on the BBC News website for its 25th Anniversary.

This kind of thing has happened before, and we (the hobby "we", not the royal We) rarely do well out of it. The dual negative natures of the hobby's obsessive and geeky overtones are amped up to 11, while (to trot out the old trope) football fans are allowed to spend hundreds of pounds every year on match tickets, kits, and to spend hours and hours watching games with various degrees of obsession, and to play fantasy football, which is (to trot out a second trope) "just D&D for jocks".

I've never reeeeeeaaaaaally agreed with the traditional hobby defences mentioned above, mostly because they feel so very, very defensive and the hobby isn't something I really get ashamed about – not since I turned 24 or so. But I can understand the usual reactions. It's annoying and false that we're always painted up like clownish, unpalatable cunts – except, of course, the many among our diverse and multinational breed who are indeed already clownish, unpalatable cunts. But they exist in every community, culture, subculture and fandom. So… whatever.

Anyway, this time, the BBC treated us pretty nicely, and a lot of that comes down to who they interviewed, and how he handled it.

Here's the video link: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-17344366. Definitely worth watching.

And here's the main article (also with the video) on the main site (complete with slightly inflammatory, but adorable title): http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-17274186.

Andrew Ruddick – the guy being interviewed and speaking for the hobby – brought us across in a really nice and realistic light, essentially an avatar for most of the people I know in the hobby: Just guys and girls who happen to like Warhammer. I wanted to track him down just to say thanks for his presentation of 40K's real face, which required some incredible detective skills that would've made Sherlock Holmes shit his jeans in awe.

As soon as I did that, I found his Twitter page.

And as soon as I found that, I found this:

…he already follows me.

(I tend to forget Twitter. Out of the cosmic clash of forums and Facebook, Twitter is the one I tend to interact least on, and have the least followers (or likers/whatever-on-Site-X-ers), though I'm making a concerted effort to lock it down and get on board.

Anyway.

Thanks, Andrew. I owe you a drink. If you see me (no doubt in my natural state of standing around somewhere in a beanie hat and looking faintly confused) feel free to hit me up for a round at the closest bar.