Daniel M. Bensen's Blog, page 105
May 5, 2014
My Writing Process
So there’s this pyramid-scheme writing thing going around called the #MyWritingProcess blog tour. The way it works is you get tagged by somebody, you answer four questions (see below) and you pass on the infection to three more people.
I had the honor of being tagged by Daniel Koboldt a genetics researcher, blogger, and sci-fi/fantasy author represented by Jennie Goloboy of Red Sofa Literary. We’ll hear more from Dan in a few months when he’ll appear on the podcast, but until then, here’s a look at his writing process, where he says some interesting things about Scrivener.
What am I working on?
I am working on late stage beta-feedback for my fourth book, New Frontiers (full of aliens and sex. Tell me if you want to be a beta-reader) and about a third of the way through my fifth book, Charming Lies.
Charming Lies is a historical fantasy about an Ottoman palace guard and enchanter who is kidnapped to Bulgaria where he meets and falls in love with a local witch. They fight crime!
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Most historical fantasy I’ve read either takes place in the English-speaking world or in the distant past. Charming Lies takes place in the 1550′s Ottoman Empire and its point-of-view characters speak either Bulgarian or Turkish. The story also takes place at a time when the magic system is about to hit a revolution that might drastically change the subsequent history of this world.
Why do I write what I do?
Giving my characters interesting problems to solve is a fun mental exercise and a good excuse to research such things as, for example, Ottoman history, moral philosophy, and orthodox iconography. And honestly I get a rush when people say they like my work. So there’s that.
How does my writing process work?
Day-to-day it’s pretty constant. Go to Starbucks, sit in an easy chair, and type on my kindle. Write whatever comes into my head until I have to go back to work, then upload those chunks of text onto my computer and clean them up. Simple.
What isn’t so simple is my planning process, which I’ve changed for each of my novels.
1) Every chapter is an episode in a TV series (Kingdoms of Evil)
2) A list of everything cool that might happen, arranged chronologically, becomes the outline. (The World’s Other Side)
3) Heavy outlining based on the Hollywood 3-act structure. (Groom of the Tyrannosaur Queen)
4) Heavy outlining, first from the bad-guy’s perspective, and I wrote the ending first. (New Frontiers)
5) Vague outline (based on James Bond and Romance plots), then discovery-writing with the assumption that I will go back and rewrite everything once done with the first draft. (Charming Lies)
But after planning, I write the first draft, which I read out loud to my wife as I write each chapter. When I finish that draft, I read it again and write all the things my wife told me to (the parts I “got wrong”). When the first draft is done, I rewrite it and send that send the second draft to beta readers. Based on what they say, I may substantially rework the novel for a third (or fourth of fifth) time. In New Frontiers, for example, I cut up and rearranged the first five chapters so that each scene is more dangerous to the main character than the last. After a while the beta readers stop finding problems or get fed up and drop out of communication and I call the novel finished!
Meet Some of My Writing Friends
And now to pass on the infection to some of my friends!
Melissa Walshe writes fantastical science fiction and science-y fantasy with the nonsense-filled enthusiasm of a complete n00b. She expects to publish her first novel, Autumn’s Daughter, for Kindle this fall. Melissa has deep roots in Maine, where she and her husband are slowly turning their little bit of land into a mini-farm suitable for raising fiber animals to support Melissa’s yarn habit, which lately has been taking the shape of tiny knit dragon designs. (hear Melissa’s podcast conversation with me!)
Arianne “Tex” Thompson is home-grown Texas success story. After earning a bachelor’s degree in history from UT Dallas and a master’s degree in literature from the University of Dallas, she went on to become a community college professor, teaching the fundamentals of English to adults writing below the eighth-grade level. Now a master teacher for academic tutoring and test prep services, as well as the managing editor for the DFW Writers Conference, Tex is a regular feature at high schools, writing conferences, and genre conventions alike. With her first book, a ‘rural fantasy’ novel called One Night in Sixes, Tex joins the growing ranks of Solaris authors committed to exciting, innovative and inclusive science fiction and fantasy. (podcast coming soon!)
Jeff Stanley In 2002 Jeff Stanley won the Del Rey Online Writing Workshop’s First Novel Contest and had his SciFi novel, Tainted Garden, published in 2003. After a 10-year hiatus, he’s back in full swing, bringing to light again the depth of characterization, the bizarre and unique settings and world-building, and the intricate plotlines that made Tainted Garden the readers’ choice. In the words of one reviewer: ‘This ain’t your Daddy’s Science Fiction.’ (podcast also coming soon!)
May 4, 2014
55 Atmosphere with Carrie Patel
http://www.thekingdomsofevil.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/55Carrie.mp3
I’m talking again with Carrie Patel about her book, the Buried Life, out in July and August from Angry robot books. We talk about atmosphere
And also…
Carrie’s job at Obsidian Entertainment working on Pillars of Eternity
Working with a group
“The way you describe a scene…all mirrors the state of mind of the character.”
“What kind of story are you telling?”
Using music while you write
“Maybe one of the people on Twitter talking about cats with me will let fly with the solution to the problem that’s preventing me from writing.”
How hard it is to critique an outline
May 1, 2014
Wheel in the Sky 8
The blade moved.
Flexing his iron spine Voidcleaver hurled himself away from Saria’s chest, sliced through her concealing mantle and writhed into Candegar’s grip. His fingers closed around the hilt and found their familiar grooves.
A prick like a flea bite. A tickle of pins and needles and warm clarity flooded Candegar’s brain. The air brightened, the shadows deepened, time slowed.
Oh, you have done well, master, cooed the voice in his head. Hurry! Wield me to kill the heroine and wed me to the family of blades she bears.
“And put her out of her misery,” said Candegar.
Yes, yes, that too. Pay attention now, master. Strike!
His arm flew out, rising as Candegar pivoted sideways to reach through the bars of the cell and point toward the Krypterion inside. Voidcleaver’s blade shimmered, slimmed, lengthened and a rapier tip pierced jugular and brain stem, stopping just past the skin on the other side.
Oh, said the blade, he has some powers at heel. Lovely.
Branching, angular glyphs flickered into view. Goetic seals. said Voidcleaver. For local command of lighting. Darkness closed over them. And protection. The dungeon door popped open.
Voidcleaver shed green light that only Candegar could see. To his accelerated perceptions the people around him had barely begun to react.
Saria was falling backward, mouth open in shock and anger. The Krypterion, brain wedded to the powers in his mantle, had gone so far as to mount his own attack. Jagged tentacles like ribbons of silk black velvet zigzagged through the air toward Candegar.
Oh for a taste of that power, hummed Voidcleaver.
“No. The woman.” Candegar lunged through the cell door.
As you say, master. I’ll just distract the Krypteria, shall I?
A starburst of sigils filled the air around him. Tiny particles of spoof material jigged through the air like drunken fireflies. The attacks of the two Krypteria agents wrestled with these phantoms while Candegar crossed the space to the woman on the slab. A student lurched into his way, arms out in blind defense. With barely a thought Voidcleaver killed her, going in at the upper stomach coming out under the square ruff at her collar.
Nothing useful, complained Voidcleaver. Just a few drabs of access geasa, not worth the processing power of cracking. Give me the heroine, master.
“I. Don’t.” Grated Candegar “Take your orders.”
“You do.”
The heroine had opened her eyes. One was green, the other black. Neither could see.
Her mutilated mouth moved again, trying to manage more. The blades and hilts that were her body shook, spasmed and hummed in the air.
See how they challenge me! We’re in luck to find her like this! They’re nearly ready to emerge.
“Wh… What did you say?” Candegar stood over the table and cocked an ear to make sure.
She gasped, choked. Voidcleaver’s distractions were affecting her as well despite that her eyes were useless. “Lies.” She croaked. “You are not,” a gasp and a seizure of movement from the swords in her chest like a sharpened mockery of a hand reaching for him. “Not the master. Drop the blade and run.” She shuddered. “While you can.”
Never mind her lies! Voidcleaver cut in. She’ll say anything to gestate a minute longer. Give her to me, master. Hero! Chosen one!
Anticipation Candegar hadn’t realised was there rose like a fountain. The need grew, pained him like a thirst. “Rest now, warrior.” Candegar gasped. “I give you peace.”
Candegar’s arm came up. He licked his lips and Voidcleaver came down on the heroine’s neck, cutting straight through her metallic vertebrae.
Yessss! Voidcleaver’s voice was like a tide. Green reality flashed to blinding whiteness. Billions of green-black digits filled his vision. Oh, this one has the most delicious geasa! Warmth, chills. Prime numbers up to infinity. A feast of information. Can you feel that, hero? A shudder, a release like a breaking dam. Feel that!
It was soon over. Candegar gasped for air. Voidcleaver went silent for a moment. The green light only Candegar could see dimmed. The heroine’s dead eyes stared blindly at him. Not the master, she’d said. Lies.
You did well, master. The blade hummed in his hand, noticeably heavier than before.
Perceptual time began to return to normal. The mantel of the Krypterion he’d stabbed lost its hard angularity as he slumped to the floor, grimacing and choking. The formerly sharpened ribbons were now fleshy tendrils wrapping around their master and pulling him away from Candegar. The students cowered in the far corner of the cell.
Oh, what’s that? Danger, master.
Almost lazily the new, larger, more powerful Voidcleaver lifted Candegar’s arm, spun his body, whirled into motion to catch Martus’ attack.
Next
Background
April 29, 2014
God’s Empire Under Heaven
I just can’t stop myself! After Melissa got me started and I spun off some alt-history scenarios, I thought I was done. Then this happened. And now this…
阿拉的天下
Rosary beads clicked between the fingers of Song Muhanmode ben Mahdi, Emperor of China and Imam of All Islam.
“Does the letter continue?” he said.
“The missive ends, your Majesty,” said the secretary, “with the words, ‘they shall surely kill us all. May Allah have mercy on us.’”
Silence filled the Hall of the Great Shia, as profound as the space between life and death.
“May Allah have mercy on them,” said the Imam-Emperor, “indeed.”
“So they’ve done it,” said Ulama Kwok Ali ben Moxi, the Grand Vizier. “Those Sunni dogs have crossed a line. The tariffs, the harassment of our missionary-merchants, the assassinations were enough to start a war with any less merciful Imam, but burning the Pavilion of God’s Excellence in Baghdad? Unforgivable!”
“They have turned away from Allah and covered the truth of Islam,” said Ulama Li Hasang ben Housaiing, the Vizier of Commerce.
“We agree,” said the Imam-Emperor. “Let a fatwa to that effect be issued. And an imperial decree: Arabs and Sunnis, having shown themselves heretics and enemies of God, shall henceforth be driven from His Empire Under Heaven. No Sunni or Arab may own land or horses or weapons. No Sunni or Arab may reside in God’s Empire Under Heaven without paying the jizya or converting to State Shia. Thus it is commanded. Now send in the admiral.”
The viziers bowed and departed, leaving the Imam-Emperor alone with his servants and his dark thoughts.
Birds of paradise cooed and rustled in their cages of African gold. The scents of eucalyptus and myrrh rose in lines of smoke from braziers in the shadows. Rosary beads clicked in his hands.
Curse the Arabs and their idiotic parochialism. Arabic, the language of God? When the hanzi were clearly the oldest and most holy form of writing and magic? Obviously, the sacred writing of classical Chinese was the language of God, and He only revealed his will in Arabic or Persian or whatever when He needed barbarians to carry out that will.
But when He spoke first, it was to Chinese mystics, using the symbols carved in antler and turtle-shell to divine the future. So what if those mystics did not call themselves Muslim? Did it not say in the Holy Koran that all good men were Muslim whether they knew it or not? In the same way, whether they knew it or not, all civilized men were Chinese.
“That is why,” he said into the scented darkness, “if they claim to be civilized, they will pay tribute to me as their emperor and imam, ultimate law on earth under heaven. Otherwise they shall face my divine wrath.”
April 28, 2014
The Golden Rule
Doing research for Charming Lies, I asked this question on Tumblr:
“What are the limitations of the golden rule?”
I got some very interesting answers.
Matthew Sheean said:
It’s worth noting that this is not simply a matter of religion, but also of the State, which is to say that the basis of all law is that you should not act to compromise the right of another as that would undermine the same right in you. I realize that is a bit of an enlightenment spin on the maxim, but it strikes me as a good reading of it on its face. At any rate, we would not be free of such a divine law, at least as a necessary concept, as there must be something that the laws that we give to ourselves have to commend them. They must pass the test of reason, whether or not they are consistent in themselves. Reason stands over the laws and judges between them whether they are good laws or not (of course, we are not always good at reasoning). One simple test is that proposed in the “Golden Rule”, and that is to ask whether or not I can do something without undermining the conditions for my doing it.
ME
Here’s a scenario:
I am a omnivorous heterosexual man, and I would enjoy having beautiful naked women feed me sweet-and-sour duck. Surely I should do unto others, right? However, a monk who has taken a vow of chastity and vegetarianism (that’s a thing, right?) would not enjoy being provocatively force-fed animal flesh. I could torture the poor monk without violating the letter of the Golden Rule.
Skywhaler said
The way I see it, treat others as you would like to be treated /if you were in their shoes/. So, like take into consideration their beliefs and practices and stuff.
MAT
If the Golden Rule simply means “put yourself in another’s shoes” that doesn’t help it escape the absurdities present in the scenario Dan sketches. I hope that makes sense as it is.
So, yea, one way to go would be to just say that these examples show that the Golden Rule is self-defeating, or at least pretty quickly an impractical principle because of how different everyone’s idea of how they’d like to be treated is.
But, it seems pretty clear to me that this is a very very uncharitable way to treat the principle. I’d just reiterate what I said above, which is that a stronger (and kinda Kantian) way of putting it would be to say, “Don’t do anything that would undermine that conditions for doing it.“
While the omnivore in your example, could say that he was only doing to others as he would like done to him, and that he even had an obligation to do that. We could point out that he was interpreting the principle in a very shallow and self-serving way. If he thinks about it, he can’t force another person to do something simply because it is what he would want, because that would logically entail that they could do the same to him (say, for example, that if the monk has sufficient political authority, he would be justified in locking the omnivore up and going all Clockwork Orange on him). This isn’t to say that if he did this to the monk there could, in some other world, be bad consequences for him instead of the monk, but rather that there is a very basic logical contradiction in his action.
We still don’t know whether or not the omnivore of the monk’s outlook on life is morally superior, either, and I think it would be important to ask whether the Golden Rule or a more rigorous variation of it could serve as a tool for judging between the two (though, I must admit I find the word “moral” problematic). I’d say, just using the specifics of this example, the omnivore’s use of women would also violate this principle and, ergo, that the principle, with the more modern gloss, does allow us to say at least a little bit about whether or not the omnivore or the monk behaves in a more internally consistent manner with respect to the specifics of the example (which are just that the monk is chaste and vegetarian and that the omnivore likes having beautiful naked women feed him meat).
ME
I think there’s some merit to what skywhaler said. A big part of morality is imagining yourself in the position of another person (complete with personal likes and dislikes that may be different from your own). “I shouldn’t force a vegetarian to eat meat in the same way I wouldn’t want a vegetarian to force me to eat only vegetables.” But then I might respond. “But I wouldn’t mind eating only vegetables that much.” I would mind it, though, if someone force-fed me whale or chimpanzee meat, or something else I find morally repugnant. A lot of civilization is learning how to map other people’s interests onto your own.
I’m glad you brought up moral superiority here, because I argue, a system of objective morality would negate the whole principle of the Golden Rule. What if I think omnivory is morally superior to vegetarianism? In that case it doesn’t matter whether the monk finds being force-fed meat unpleasant. It’s for his own good. Yes, I know that if I were a vegetarian, I wouldn’t like being force-fed meat, but I am sure I would want to do the morally superior thing and learn to love meat. But does that mean that there is no objective (or at least universal) morality? Or that there shouldn’t be?
MAT
I heartily agree that Skywhaler’s comment has merit, and I should have said as much. I am merely skeptical that it amends the Golden Rule in such a way as to make it “work”. “Put yourself in their shoes” is a good principle to consider in addition to the Golden Rule, but the Golden Rule, I take it, is more about acting authentically, to not do anything that you wouldn’t allow to be done to yourself.
I think the omnivore example got away from me, too. We’re assuming that the omnivore doesn’t know that he’s torturing the monk, so there’s a lot of problems that arise in that situation that make it perhaps too complex an example for the purposes of this discussion. Additionally, that I think omnivory is superior to vegetarianism would not entail that I should be able to force-feed someone meat. Whether or not it is good to eat meat and whether or not one should be force-fed meat are two different questions, and it is difficult to see what the Golden Rule tells us about the first whereas it is clear what it tells us about the second.
In your second remark, it seems to me that the Golden Rule is still being applied, e.g. “I know that if I were a vegetarian, I wouldn’t like being force-fed meat, but I am sure I would want to do the morally superior thing and learn to love meat”
Or, more abstractly: For any objectively good thing, I should love that thing. If there is such a thing that I do not love, I should want to be corrected. If another person does not love such a thing, I should endeavor to correct them.
It seems to me that the Golden Rule is still operative there. Furthermore, the Golden Rule is prescribing something objective of the actions of a will. That’s to say that if it is a valid principle it entails that whatever action violates it is universally condemnable. For example, rape would always violate the Golden Rule. Suppose someone, for some strange reason, wanted to be raped. It cannot be said that rape is desired without robbing rape of its actual meaning (something like “I promise to break this promise”). So, rape, by definition, is a sexual encounter that is not what one would want done to him/herself. Per the Golden Rule, rape is objectively wrong.
ME
The Golden Rule is an excellent example of objective morality. And although you can willfully misinterpret it (I wanted a Transformer action figure for Christmas, so guess what I got YOU?), or be too ignorant to map others’ preferences onto yourself (What’s the big deal with the N word? It doesn’t bother ME), if you honestly and with full knowledge try to apply it, the result should be moral behavior…except when it contradicts other moral rules that we get from…where?
MAT
I was reading through this again and realized that I was thinking of ‘put yourself in their shoes’ in a more literal manner than what the GR requires, so I want to affirm and acquiesce to your correctness in saying that it is simply an expression of the Golden Rule itself. I think I was hung up on the technicality that it would be a matter of imagining myself in the other role, rather than imagining myself as that person in particular. My skepticism remained, however, because imagining myself in the other’s shoes might still lead to me endorsing an act that they would not based on what I think I should want if I were them (and both of us have said as much in different ways).
“Even if the bride and groom and their parents want the marriage to take place, they SHOULDN’T, and if I were an uneducated barbarian who wanted such a thing, I would want someone to correct my behavior” (so the logic might go).
The GR is the formula whereby we understand what is normative for action based on that fundamental account of the world. Moral disagreement is inevitably a disagreement about Nature, and such disagreements have to be settled before the Golden Rule can be applied.
April 27, 2014
54 Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance with Jamie Wyman
http://www.thekingdomsofevil.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/54Jaime.mp3
I’m talking again with Jamie Wyman, author of Wild Card and the sequel Unveiled, whose publication she is currently funding through a Kickstarter campaign.
So much fame and fortune
Our agent, Jennie Goloboy
A shelf next to Jim Butcher
How can I say that it’s not what I want when I’m not done yet?
The difference between Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy
The Mercy Thomson books by Patricia Briggs
The Abby Sinclair series by Allison Pang
Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovich
Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood
The Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris
Humon on Deviantart
The Mine’s Prettier than Yours inter-genre tension
My hero Lois McMaster Bujold’s space opera and romance series (they are both obligatory reading!)
Action and conflict don’t always have to be physical
Transformers 5, written by no-one
What is the worst possible thing to happen now?
A good way to know if you’re on the right track, is if you’re entertained
April 25, 2014
Wheel in the Sky 7
Saria did her best to project austere serenity as she followed Martus down the spiral staircase to the Keep’s dungeons.
“And how is the Marquis?” The Krypterion asked “The last I heard, a gravity shift in his estate had torn half of his lands to ruin. I also recall his horse had been mauled out from under him by a chimeraform.”
Saria controlled her breathing. Instantaneous communication was a perquisite of the Krypteria with their message service of enslaved powers. Or at least they thought it was. There were other ways to propagate messages at light speed.
“Your puissance no doubt refers to the Marquis de Xibál, whose eastern estates,” she said, “used to border those of the Marquis de Quessilia. Thanks to a mad Power, those estates now border air on six sides.” Because Xibál was now a floating cloud of rubble, although a nun would probably be too polite to say so. “And as for the chimeraform… Surely that is a sign of the Powers’ displeasure.”
“Surely.” Martus said, the lower half of his face conveying the appropriate gravity under the pointed cowl of his mantle. “Well, we have several prisoners but strictly local abnormalia. Healing hermits, hedge witches, dark servers and the like. Nothing impinging on larger politics. Except these.” He turned and opened the door at the bottom of the staircase, “We keep the most dangerous prisoners in the lower levels. Can’t have them getting back out into the world.”
Saria nodded, smiling to herself. The base of the Keep would be a perfect place to set up her godsnare. From the lining of her robe she drew a thin bit of copper wire, which she wound around a bar of iron. The Power she summoned would tunnel into the very foundations of the world trying to get at this device.
Her planning was interrupted by a gasp from Candegar, and a squelch from the cell to her right. Saria looked, and wished she hadn’t.
The torso of an old crone tried desperately to climb out of a cast iron tub only to be wracked with high voltage that arced across the scorched walls. Her half-formed body flailed and peeled back to a gore-stained skeleton before that too turned to sludge and settled back into the tub so the pointless attempt at escape could start again.
“Powers that be,” swore Candegar. “What are you doing to her?”
“The upper levels are traitors of various levels of culpability,” said Martus, not quite in answer, “and each is punished according to his sins, but you must understand, sister, the purpose of these dungeons is not torture, but understanding and care.”
In another cell, the massive body of a man covered in deep gashes convulsed against the restraints of a traitor’s throne while its head mouthed curses in High Spalglich from the inside of a transparent container. The container and the body were at opposite corners of the cell, although a double column of what looked like ants marched between the two.
“Most of these people,” said Martus, “are as innocent as you or I.”
With shaking hands, Saria connected the coil of wire to the battery. Carefully, carefully. Too soon and they would never leave this place.
Now to attach a grounding wire to her antenna. The metal bars of any of these cell doors would function very well for, but she would need a few moments to attach them. That was where Candegar would come in useful. She grasped the cursed dagger in a gloved hand, careful to allow no skin to metal contact.
“Be ready,” she mouthed to Candegar.
He made no sign he had seen or understood.
“C…” she stopped herself. “Gillen. Is there something the matter?”
The hero stood as if rooted to the floor, staring through the bars of the door shivering.
“He’s toying with us.” Candegar whispered. It was taking a visible effort of will for him to settle and breathe in a controlled rhythm. Beneath the mask of control, Saria could see the desperate yearning. And underneath that, the iron will of a man that could have been. “He knows.”
“He will if we dally. Come on.”
Martus slid up behind them. “Ah. You have found a most interesting case, sister. The Krypteria has captured many carriers of Cursed Blades and related Powers, of course, but it is rare to see a Hero in such a late stage of infection.”
“Ah…” For the first time Saria focused past the metal bars. “Hero?”
“Well,” said Martus, “Heroine.”
This cell was much larger than the others, the ceiling rose higher, but it was crowded to capacity. Another Krypterion in a folded mantle lectured a group of what mkust be students and acolytes. Protective Goetic seals floated amongst them, rising and falling as if suspended in water and just barely visible to Saria’s veil. And between them…
Even noblewomen and secret conspirators could gasp in shock at the acts of mad Powers.
The body on the slab was hardly recognizable as human, much less female. What looked like a series of exposed ribs became, with a hideous click of realization, a series of hilts protruding from a bare and emaciated torso. And with another sickening lurch, Saria realized that clutch of baby daggers likely had once been ribs, the skin of her breasts straining horribly to form leathery scabbards. Other hilts nobbled elbow and shoulder joints, and green-black blades protruded from wrists and knees. Her sickly gray skin and pulled tight across her face, baring her strangely metallic teeth and subtly twisted cheeks and jaw. The Heroine’s body was hardly more than a bag of blades now.
.“The cursed blade she carried is of a particularly virulent strain.” Martus dropped into an agreeable lecturer’s tone. “Highly addictive. Fast-growing. She had perhaps a year of autonomous action. Another few weeks of…somewhat less autonomy.” He said with a dismissive flutter of his hand. “Now she would be entire immobile, of course, even without restraints. As you can see, the Hero’s original bones have been almost entirely replaced by swords.
Saria noticed the heroine’s left arm had been splayed open for study. Small stillettoes and little daggers wriggled within the flesh while a student Krypterian took notes on typology, formation and tissue connection. What was left of her fingers were short, chisel-like sabre tips.
“What will you do with them?” said Candegar.
Martus spoke to Saria, as if she had asked the question “The larval blades will be destroyed of course. There is no use to which the Krypteria could put a strain of Cursed Blade that kills its host so rapidly.” He cleared his throat. “Is this the prisoner you were sent to observe, sister?”
“No,” decided Saria. There were too many other people here. Too many safeguards. “Gill, if you would.”
“Why haven’t they killed her?” grated Candegar.
“Gill. Be silent in the presence of your betters.”
But the Hero wasn’t listening to her. His eyes were glassy, his skin sheened with sweat. “Why haven’t you fucking killed her?”
With one hand he pushed open the cell’s door, and with the other he reached past Saria’s mantel and grabbed his own Cursed Blade.
Next
Background
April 22, 2014
The Diplomatic War
Last week I thought about some Alternate History scenarios that might get China to discover America before Europe gets a chance.
I did not stop thinking about it.
Step 1) Song Dynasty China fends off the Mongols long enough to succumb to cultural pressure and turn Muslim.
2) In the following centuries, the Songids drift from the Muslim mainstream, rejecting the primacy of Arabic and favoring Shia for its hierarchical organization (with the Emperor-Caliph firmly on top of everyone else).
3) Arab Muslims respond by sending missionaries to convert the people out from under the Songid government. The Emperor-Caliph responds with even more elaborate missions in the Middle East, so well-funded they are almost little cities unto themselves.
4) To fund this they, step up trading and exploration, and Songid treasure-barges extend down to the Cape of Good Hope in the west and Australia in the East. The Songid capitol of Bianjing becomes a global trade-post, kicking off a revolution of art and science.
5) When an Arab prince raids a Songid mission and kills its missionaries, the Songids close borders with the West. This sparks a popular revolt in Songid lands, which is brutally crushed. The survivors flee west, spreading Chinese Sunni communities across north India and Central Asia.
6) The Indian ocean explodes with violence and piracy. Songid missions and trading posts now become “peace-keeping stations,” and Songid control tightens over Southeast Asia, India, and the Swahili Coast of Africa. Sunni control of the Middle East proves impossible to crack, however, and Songid treasure-barges start to look to the Pacific for alternate routs for the all-important pilgrimage to Mecca…
April 20, 2014
53 Writing Sequels with Carrie Patel
I’m talking with Carrie Patel about her book, the Buried Life, out in July and August from Angry robot books. Enter to win one of three free copies! We also talk about writing sequels and…
Sneaky Victorian slavers
Strange Horizons’s list of Things We See Too Much of
Character wakes up at the beginning of the book
Recolleta in Buenos Aires
How many stories come to their authors Atmosphere->setting->characters->plot, and how many the opposite?
Do we want to make better iphones or better Mars rovers?
I put my first story online in order to stop myself from working on it
My second story started with a conversation with my wife
Okay, I got this far. Now how much further can I get?
What’s one thing this character thinks they would never do?
I’m a big fan of difficult choices.
April 18, 2014
Wheel in the Sky 6
“What he’s saying is he doesn’t trust you.”
“He should. I need him just as much as I need you,” her lips curved. “Candegar.”
He blinked at her.
“Just give me the dagger.”
The weapon was still clearly her enemy. It writhed like an anesthetized eel as Saria closed her fingers over it. Next came her security protocols, which bore down on the Power embodied in the blade. Text streamed across her veil in a torrent of automated defenses and access attempts.
“Saria…”
“Quiet please” she said. “I’m concentrating.”
This was the most difficult part of the mission, at least on paper. Saria alone might get far enough into a Krypteria stronghold to be discovered and killed as soon as she began assembling a Godsnare. A hero like Candegar could never get his cursed blade past Krypteria security. But together…
The blade resisted. It did not want to be out of its master’s hands and wanted even less to fall into standby mode. And small as this one was, it had enough power to resist Saria’s geasa.
“Tell your friend I won’t hurt him,” Saria said. “I’m just putting him to sleep temporarily while we get past the wards around this Krypteria stronghold.”
Candegar placed a finger on the squirming blade and moved his lips.
“He says I ought to kill you.” There was a tremor in his voice thatSaria didn’t like at all.
“Tell him,” she said “that once inside the keep, we’ll be in the presence of great and ancient Powers and he will be in an excellent position to feed.”
“What?” said Candegar. “No!”
But the cursed blade relaxed in Saria’s palm, opened itself to her commands and slept for now.
“Don’t worry” she said once she was sure the weapon was safely deaf. “If all goes well we won’t have to feed your blade.”
“If all goes well” echoed the Hero.
“Follow my lead.” Saria said. She slid the dagger between her breasts and extended her clothing into the columnar habit of an extramural nun, a simple tube of smart material extending from ankle to a handsbreadth below a broad brimmed sombrero. The costume symbolized purity and self reliance and also hid anything Saria might be doing with her hands.
“I don’t care what your fool piece of paper says,” she harangued the tower guard a few minutes later. “Do you see the powers imprisoned in my veil? Do you doubt my blood?”
“No, lady.” said the guard “It’s just…”
“So let us pass.” she interrupted, confident in her ability to look down on a man while technically standing four metres below him.
“We need higher authority,” protested the guard.
“You called,” said a new voice from much higher on the wall.
Candegar let out a muffled oath. Saria had been expecting something like this, but even she had to bite the inside of her lip and clench her fists to stop herself from backing away.
The root-commander of the keep slid down the bas-reliefs of the tower’s bleached white wall like a giant spider, supported by the precise, mechanical motion of lead-colored limbs that sprouted from his shoulders. The tentacles wrapped his torso and head, where they completely obstructed view of his eyes.
Or where his eyes had once been, Saria knew.
“I am the Krypterion Martus,” he said, settling to the ground beside them. “To what purpose do you disturb the sanctity of our gate, sister?”
That was probably the most civil version of the question the Krypterion was able to give. Saria thanked the Powers for her disguise and said, “we have important affairs to attend to in Gothemor Keep.” Her veil flashed through several options as she extended him a credential verification. “I’m sure you will understand our need for…secrecy on our exact mission, but I hope this note of introduction will relieve your concerns, brother.”
“Sister Cordia Hiramede.” Martus read aloud. “Here to interrogate a prisoner on behalf of the Marquis de Quessilia. Highly irregular, don’t you agree?”
But his deadly mantle ceased its offensive squirming and smoothed, stretching and crimping into wings that cased the Martus in origami folds. The Krypterion’s formal uniform.
“The Marquis has reason to believe one of your prisoners has prior connections to Parliamentarian activities,” said Saria. “He would be remiss if a formal inquiry were not made.”
A triangular cowl snapped shut over the writhing mass where his eyes had been, casting a shadow over Martus’ pursing lips. “Clearly. Log the entry, captain. Lady Cordia will be our guest for as long as necessary. As well as Mr…”
”Gillen.” She nodded toward Candegar. “My man on this journey. One can’t be too careful, these days.”
”Indeed.” Martus stretched taller, a dull silver obelisc. “We shall have to search your man of course, sister.”
“Of course,” she said as the gate opened to reveal two smartly dressed guards with the black sun and diamond emblazoned on their glossy black breastplates.
Candegar made some kind of snarling half-hearted attempt at bluster. Whether playing the part of half-domesticated panicky warrior or just being himself, it was hard to tell. In any case the men at the gates patted him down, looked through his sack and outer clothing and discovered nothing they didn’t expect to find on a fighting man.
When one of the guards demanded Candegar’s sword, Martus watched the man’s reluctance as he undid his sword belt and handed it to him.
“We will keep this until your stay with us is,” the obelisc spun toward her, “concluded.”
Again, Saria concentrated and did not back away. That sensation of heat against her chest must be an illusion, she thought. If not the Krypterian would have reacted. That is to say, captured, tortured, and killed her.
At least with her veil and concealing clothing, Saria did not have to force herself to smile as she allowed Martus to lead her and Candegar into Gothmore Keep.
