Kevan Dale's Blog

How I write the books

Little behind the scenes video, plus I hurt myself.

Audiobooks on my YouTube channel

I heard there’s a growing community of audiobook aficionados on YouTube, so I put my audiobooks up there.

It’s YouTube, so they’re free to listen to.

Not quite the same functionality as you’d find in your standard audiobook app, but it’s YouTube, and if you’re logged in, it’ll remember where you left off. Couldn’t be easier.

And I realize that not everyone can drop ten bucks on an audiobook, and I don’t that stopping anyone from checking them out.

My channel is here. 

It’s kind of fun to put them together. 

Because of the format, it needs to be one giant movie. The Magic of Unkindness, which I put up this week, runs over 12 hours—which meant stringing together all the individual chapter .mp3s in Logic Pro X, then putting that file (in that case, two files because Logic can only process 12 hours worth of audio at once…) into iMovie along with an image.

Then that took about 4 hours to export.

Then that took about 4 hours to upload.

And then I realized I needed to split that into two separate videos, because YouTube also has a 12-hour limit.

Lots of set it and forget it when I stepped away from my computer for the day.

Enjoy them, if you like. If you know someone who might like them, point them that way.

And you can also still buy the audiobooks directly from me if you prefer the convenience of using a dedicated audiobook app (and getting savings from the major online retailers.)

Novel update

Since late April, I’ve been deep in the revisions of my my new novel, Ghost at Dawn.

I’m hoping to have it available by early autumn. Here’s the cover:

Ghost at Dawn came about in similar fashion to it’s companion novel Ghost at Dusk: in one explosive burst of unlooked-for creativity. One minute, there was nothing in my head but a tiny little spark—and literally one minute later, I saw all of the structure, the premise, the characters, the twists, and vibe, and the ending. 

Those are some pretty great minutes when they happen, by the way. 

Which they hardly ever do.

The technique for bringing the two novels to life, however, has been notably different. Dusk was straightforward: a solid first draft of the manuscript (with an interruption of two years at about the two-thirds mark as I wrote The Books of Conjury trilogy…), then a series of subsequent drafts refining that first one.

Dawn came out first as a massive draft that I dictated over the course of four months or so. Even as I was doing it, I realized I was over-writing it—by design. 

The revision process took me a minute to wrap my head around: what do I do with all of this material? How is it supposed to feel? Look? Read? Move the reader?

But over the past couple of months, I’ve figured out what makes this story this story, and it’s coming along better than I’d hoped.

Though slower than I’d hoped. 

Well ‘art demands,’ as August Swaine taught Kate Finch.

I’ll keep my progress updated here, so check back. Or join the Readers Club, for the inside scoop on upcoming coolness.

Book time

One of the habits I picked up during this past year of lockdown: a 35-minute morning walk, usually at sunrise.

I started it to burn off the extra calories I wasn’t burning off going to and fro to work. It became much more, soon enough. I’ve written on my walk (I’m a big dictator, heh), though mostly I’ve listened to books. This extra time reading has been beautiful. Not just because it helps me hit my Goodreads goals for the year, but because listening to a story while the sun rises is an amazing experience. What better way to start the day?

Anyways, here are some pictures I’ve taken over the fall and winter.

Looking forward to spring!

Writing Update (or, Oh, the Horror)

As regular readers of my Readers Club newsletter have known for a while, I’m deep in the throes of a new manuscript.

The book is Ghost at Dawn and is the companion novel to 2019’s Ghost at Dusk.

While the bulk of the events in Dawn take place before the events in Dusk, it’s not technically a prequel. Like Dusk, it’s a standalone novel. Neither requires the other. Reading both enhances the resonance, in any order.

What I’m finding interesting about Ghost at Dawn is the approach I’m taking. With most of my novels, I’ve striven to streamline my process. More steak, less sizzle; unless you’re vegan—you may have more seitan, less sizzle. Working hard to know where I’m going. Avoid over-writing. Lots of scaffolding while I’m drafting.

This time, I’m using a very different approach: almost improvisational. I know the story arc, the characters, the tone.

But there’s a certain emotional truth I’m after, and the way I’m getting there is through dictating the story, and going until I hit a vein of emotion—then following it. Every morning, I start each session by looking at the constraints I’ve put in place for the scene I’m heading into: the narrator’s strong want or need; the conflict she faces; the emotional change she experiences; the love/fear choice she faces. I have those sketched on in a notebook.

Then I just go. Look for the emotion. Dig into memory. Try angles out. Shift direction.

It may sound odd, I’m just now realizing. Method-ish? Pretentious? Artsy-fartsy?

But it’s not.

What’s coming out has a texture to it, a vibe to it—something unique to this story. Perfect for this story.

If all goes well, I’ll hit the last scene before the end of this month.

The revisions—I already have half a dozen pages of notes taken along the way—will be about taking all this material and distilling it into the most potent version of this story.

How long will that take?

Not sure. A couple of months, at least. I wish it could be faster. But getting it done right trumps getting it done fast.

I will keep you posted!

Why I ditched social media.

Last week, I finally yanked the ripcord and bailed out on my remaining social media outlets: Twitter and Facebook.

My primary motivation: making healthier choices regarding my attention. Along with that comes a desire to improve my information diet, to streamline my creative focus, and to take more responsibility over how I relate to the world.

Yes, I’ve watched The Social Dilemma. I’ve listened to Jaron Lanier on various podcasts. And I get all that; the significance of those viewpoints influenced my thinking.

The more proximate causes came out of how I navigated the turmoil of 2020.

First, I came to appreciate the view of my life I got when all the normal razzamatazz was stripped away. I missed the normal routine, true. The options. A change of scenery. But as the year wound down, part of me was grateful for the clear division between ‘nice to have’ and ‘what really matters’ forced on us all. My outlook shifted, and I’m listening to my intuitions about what it means.

Another effect of 2020 came in how I put more emphasis on reducing stress. I’ve practiced vipassana meditation since the early 1990s. Nothing crazy: no months-long silent retreats, no hour-long sits. But steady, daily doses of 15 - 20 minutes. This past year, I took it a little further, adding in a morning walk of what became a sort of moving meditation. I also made a shift in the autumn to practicing qigong meditation in the mornings, with a shorter vipassana sit mid-afternoon. (I won’t get into the details and distinctions here, but they’re interesting. Several years of kung fu and tai chi study introduced me to the qigong meditation styles, but I never hit them hard until this fall.) This renewed commitment to meditation added a clarity to my awareness I’ve found noteworthy.

Put all of that together—along with the carnival madhouse that’s been the daily news cycles here in America for longer than anyone thought possible—and it became hard to miss the negative effect on my attention of even a ‘short dip’ onto Twitter.

The difference between my awareness when I’ve been meditating, writing, or working out versus when I’ve spent even a brief spell on social media became impossible to miss—and harder and harder to justify.

Why get instantly annoyed—because of someone’s business model?

Why allow myself to get caught in the addictive pull of scrolling for more and more—because of someone’s business model?

Why chase likes? Get caught up in the performative, shallow marketplace of hot-takes? Bear the unrelenting pressure of coming up with some clever nugget of—whatever? Because in the hyper-competitive information industry, these are the incentives: hijack my awareness, time, and emotions so that I increase someone else’s profit margin.

All for the price of reducing the quality of my awareness and mood.

Can a person use social media mindfully? Maybe, sure. Can a person eat a bag of chips mindfully? Probably—but it’s still not healthy.

That last hurdle I had to get over: as an author, I need to be on social media. To connect to readers, to connect with other writers, to promote my books—or, more vital, my brand.

But—do I, really?

I’m not sure being on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook did much (anything?) for book sales. Sure, now and then I’d have a wonderful interaction with someone—but was that even 1% of the time?

And the most interesting relationships with readers I’ve formed have come through email. People responding to my newsletter. People reaching out through my site after reading my books. It’s more direct, more nuanced, and more authentic communication. By a country mile.

When all is said and done, I’m confident that whatever I lose by leaving social media behind will be more than made up for in the benefits to my awareness, creativity, and mood.

Will I lose out on some visibility, discoverability, and potential readers?

Probably.

But my books will always be out there. This website will always be here. Email always works. My newsletter comes out every month.

Ultimately, I get more out of the conversations and relationships stemming from those channels than I ever have on social media.

Simplicity. Streamlining attention. Authentic connection.

Hello, 2021.

Why I write.

The challenge is the goal.

I was thinking about this: the way the pursuit of a craft starts off with one goal, but that goal over time changes to something else. A goal you might not even have expected at the start.

I spent the better part of the 1990s as a guitar builder. It’s a skilled craft, and I’ll be the first to admit I hardly plumbed the depths of luthiery as far as I might have, if I’d kept at it.

The reason I got involved with it in the first place was because I loved music. I loved electric guitars and acoustic guitars. So when I’d reached the point in my life where I didn’t know what I wanted to do career-wise, when nothing satisfied that I stumbled into, I sat back and realized that I love music and guitars: and somebody builds them somehow. So I went out to Phoenix, Arizona to the Roberto-Venn School of Luthiery and I spent five months doing twelve-hour days introducing myself to the craft of instrument making.

And from there I turned that into working at two different genius guitar companies. At first, what motivated me was just the coolness of it. I was building guitars! Every day I won, compared to everybody else I knew. I learned what I needed to, and I did all the things I needed to do — practiced and focused and honed the skills I was using. But as the years went by, I understood more about the unique facets of the craft. By the time I was voicing the tops of the acoustic guitars at the Santa Cruz Guitar Company, I’d developed a deeper appreciation. Sharpening a chisel the right way, using wet stones. Flexing pieces of spruce bracing, sanding Adirondack or German spruce, shaping it, tapping it, listening. Fashioning the braces, carving them, listening, carving more, listening more, taking away just enough to bring out the voice of a particular set of wood.

In the finish sanding, working my way up through the grits, letting the depth of the figuring of the mahogany or the maple or the Indian or Brazilian rosewood shine through and come to life, every minor scratch sanded away. It was an art, how much all those elements contributed to a beautiful instrument.

It’s much the same with the craft of writing. I started writing just because I loved books. I loved reading. And I thought: someone has to make these. As with luthiery, when I started out, I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. But the rewards of pursuing a craft year after year reveal themselves. That’s where the joy is. That pursuit of instrument making honed throughout my 20s helped me understand how to open up the craft of writing.

And while I’m working with words when it comes to my books — and not wood, chisels, scrapers, and glue — there’s a lot more similarity than you might guess. Testing an idea, listening to see if it has that tone. The characters, the dialogue, the themes, settings, all in play. Removing just enough for the right balance, unifying all these disparate elements to create a single piece of art. One that’s put together well enough that a reader can play it with their imagination and have a satisfying encounter.

It's the challenge that keeps me going. Because the heart of any craft is forever elusive. I try to make each book the best I can, and I always think I can do it better.

My goals — no matter how refined my craft has gotten over these past 2 1/2 decades — still exceeds my reach. There’s always a better idea, a smoother turn of phrase, the more resonant palette of emotions I can wring out of my characters.

That’s the challenge. Getting better at the craft is how I try to conquer myself.

A different goal than I started out with, but one that’s far more meaningful.

The audiobook for The Governor's Witch is coming soon.

The audiobook of The Governor’s Witch is coming along, and should be available soon.

We’re lucky to have the amazing Victoria Boulton narrating as Kate Finch again, bringing characters new and old to life. I’ve heard the first 17 chapters so far, and Victoria is knocking it out of the park!

Over the past two years, I’ve become addicted to audiobooks. When a great narrator lends a nuanced performance to a book, it takes it to a new level.

Maybe it’s because I’m jogging when I’m listening, but I find my memory of audiobooks remains more vivid in my mind. Or maybe they’re just that good.

My favorites of late, in case you’re looking for your next great audiobook listen:

1. Harrow the Ninth & Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, narrated by Moira Quirk. BRILLIANT BEYOND ALL MEASURE.

2. A Brightness Long Ago by Guy Gavriel Kay, narrated by Simon Vance. A magnificent, layered story given texture and shading by Vance’s superb performance.

3. Pet Sematary by Stephen King, narrated by Michael C. Hall. The darkest of all King novels gets an award-worthy narration by Hall. Everything about Hall’s performance nailed it, making this audiobook THE ultimate expression of King’s tale.

Keep an eye on my social media feeds and/or here for a release date on The Governor’s Witch audiobook.

Victoria’s voice is Finch’s voice in my head now.

It’s that good.

K.

Save 25% on ebooks and audiobooks

I’m an indie author.

For me, that’s carrying on a tradition: do-it-yourself, put your sweat into it—and sell it out of the trunk of your car.

That’s how the coolest stuff finds its fans. One person at a time. Straight from the artist.

So that’s what I’ve done.

You can now buy my ebooks and audiobooks directly from me. And you can save 25% off my usual retail price while doing it!

Everything is still available on all the major online retailers, of course. I have no gripe with them; in fact, I couldn’t have found the readers I have without them, so I’m always thankful. But I wanted to open up an avenue for a more direct channel, one where I can offer a lower price.

It also gives me more opportunities to give members of the Readers Club special savings, so if you’re not part of the Club, sign up today.

Be well,

Kevan

Behind the Scenes: Off For Copy Edit

Keeping you all looped in. Probably more looped in than you need. But I have InShot. And a phone.

So, here. Watch.