Danika D. Potts's Blog, page 4

The Borderlands 2 Tiny Tina Racism Incident of 2013 And Why It’s A Problem

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(Foreword: This post is mirrored from my video game site, Attack Initiative. It has been unedited so that you can consume it in the same fashion.

Sadly, I have also broken my number one rule about NOT posting video game things on this blog. However, I feel that it is justified in that this is specifically referencing BAD WRITING. As this is an opportunity for my readers to learn, I’d ask that you take it. I will make sure this isn’t a habit! ~Oliver)

So, it looks like it’s about that time again to talk about dealing with speech when it comes to video games and writing. As you know by now, when I’m not working on and running Attack Initiative, I’m also a fiction writer. It goes without saying that, especially in this case (I’m a black guy, duh), I’m uniquely qualified to speak on this subject.

It appears that Anthony Burch, the writer of Borderlands 2 has been met with a bit of a firestorm this weekend concerning the character of Tiny Tina.[image error]

In game, Tiny Tina speaks in what some might call “African-American vernacular.” Or ebonics. Ah, fuck it. She talks like she’s a black girl from the hood.

Because of this, people took to twitter (strangely, instead of WAY BACK WHEN Borderlands 2 launched) to tell Anthony Burch what was up. Initially, he really didn’t see the problem. But as others began to chime in, I think he slowly started to understand that there was SOMETHING to be concerned about, although it’s still very vague. I’m writing this post to illustrate WHY Tina’s dialogue is a problem.

Allow me to give you another visual aid to help demonstrate this point. The clip below is taken from a film frequently categorized as being racist, Disney’s Dumbo from 1941.

Did you notice that the use of speech was surprisingly similar? It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering that they’re both…. African-American vernacular. In fact, the head crow (as listed in the credits for the film) is named “Jim Crow.” I shouldn’t have to tell you that Jim Crow also has to do with racism. Specifically, they were the laws that made segregation a thing.  In Dumbo’s defense, however, I WILL say that the voices of the crows WERE done by black people. But that’s not the point; The point is that the characters themselves do not represent black people in a good light, and many black people take a great deal of offense to this.

So why, exactly, is Tiny Tina’s dialogue racist? It’s very simple. There is no logical, rationalized NARRATIVE reason for her to speak in that way. My wife (and writing partner) also chimed-in on this subject:

If they had just mentioned or explained that she was a nutcase obsessed with an alien planet (as she was born on and has always lived on Pandora, and has never experienced Earth) and a culture how many hundreds of years old, I’d have let them have it. If they said she found a crate of blaxploitation films and a VHS player and managed to get it running, then Tiny Tina makes sense.

Really, that hits the nail right on the head. There is no reason for it to occur. The explanation that my wife provided above would frankly be an EXCELLENT and HILARIOUS reason to attribute to her manner of speak. But they didn’t.

There are other instances of media where “white people talking like black people” has occurred, but it was deemed “okay.” Take for example, the 1980 movie Airplane! and its HILARIOUS “Jive Talk” sequence:

The difference between the Tiny Tina, and this sequence is one KEY thing: SOCIAL. COMMENTARY. In this film, they very quickly point out to THE VIEWER the absurd nature of the subject matter. It’s no secret that even after the great civil rights movement, there was (and still is) a schism between what might be viewed as traditionally “black” and “white” culture. It is also fairly well known that people tend to use humor to bridge cultural gaps in this way, to point out how irrational and unjustifiable our actions towards each other are.

The same social commentary clause is what allows the 2008 film Tropic Thunder to get away with Robert Downey Jr. being in black-face for the majority of the film. In the film, Robert Downey Jr. is playing Kirk Lazarus, an Australian method actor that decides to undergo a “controversial” skin darkening procedure to play the part of Lincoln Osiris in the film. Immediately, the story has already told you that “this is weird and not right.” Throughout the entire film, the very ODDBALL nature of what he is doing is constantly brought to light.

Again, simply put, a legitimate story clause has made this acceptable BECAUSE without it, most of the story would fall apart. Ask yourself this:

Would any of Tiny Tina’s purpose be diminished if she DIDN’T talk like that? The answer is no. It wouldn’t. She would still fulfill her purpose within the plot and structure of the game. 

Frankly, all of this reminds me of the same stuff that went down with Resident Evil 5 a few years back. A bunch of people got into an uproar and decided to call Resident Evil 5 racist because the protagonist, white-guy Chris Redfield is shooting black people. Sorry, but I have to blow the whistle here.

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Uh oh, white guy shooting black people! Better pull the race card, quick!

In fact, Resident Evil 5 is NOT racist for the following major reasons:

There are two additional playable protagonists in the game who are, in fact, black.
It is established within the story that the original T-Virus was reverse engineered from a flower that grows in a cave there in AFRICA.
OTHER white people get shot up, thoroughly.

If one were to do their worldly research, you would know that Africa is LITERALLY considered the cradle of civilization, and that all human life began there. It is stated in the story that the flower that they find is the purest, most original form of the virus that would go on to become the T-Virus after being worked with in a lab. Simply put, the entire plot of the game was to trace the T-Virus back to the oldest source and eliminate it.

So,  in short… the writers of the plot of Resident Evil 5 used REAL LIFE FACTS to justify their environment and the hazards of “compromised” black zombies in the story. They get a total and complete pass, because the logic and rationale is sound.

When one sits down to write fiction, you can’t just write WHATEVER YOU FEEL LIKE. There is a reason, there is structure, and there are things that you MUST take into account when you do so. It can really come back and bite you right in the ass, if you’re not careful. In fact, I’ll tell you about a problem that I encountered with “speech” in our book, Rabbit in the Road.

Late in the book, the main character Bevie refers to a character as a “retard.” Yes, the character is mentally handicapped. The reason that I allowed it to stay in the book, is because Rabbit in the Road is a period piece; It takes place through the years of 1966 to 1983.  Anyone who was reasonably alive during that time period could tell you that the word “retard” was still in the common speech lexicon. Because we were shooting for authenticity in describing the world, we felt that it was appropriate for the CHARACTER to use the word, because that is the time she lives in. The word comes from an ignorant, closed-minded and over-all shitty human being. For that character, it was appropriate for her to use that word.

Let me say this, in case you decided to skim through: USING THE WORD RETARD IN COMMON SPEECH IS NOT COOL, AND IS HURTFUL. 

However, the art of writing and creating representations of people from all walks of life is a tricky, TRICKY game and special care should always be taken to ensure that the MEANING of what you’re doing is clear and evident to the consumer of it.

Do I bear any ill-will towards Anthony Burch? Absolutely not. I don’t think that he INTENDED to make his character come off as offensive; In fact, a lot of the dialogue in Borderlands 2 is fucking HILARIOUS. I do think that they should go back and make changes (surprise surprise, we DO live in a time where that kind of stuff can be fixed; Hello BIG PATCH). I certainly do not think that Gearbox Software set out to HURT anyone at all; but then, they certainly wouldn’t know that they are hurting people unless we point it out to them, no?

Knowing is half the battle. The other half is red and blue lasers.

So yeah. Change the dialogue, Gearbox. You don’t have any justifiable reason for it to be there. And if it cannot be reasonably justified, then it has to go.

It’s Not Done

So… remember when I said it was done a little bit ago? That we’d finally finished Part 1? Yeah… It’s not. I have a stack of rewrites as long as my arm to work on, and some of the best scenes in the book just never made it onto the page! I just want to thank my incredibly patient editor, Ryvenna, for putting up with me. Also, our SuperUsers, the test reading group has been very patient and very thorough through all of this, and I appreciate it. It will be done, and soon, but it isn’t. Stick with me. We’re getting there.

Put Up Or Shut Up

I’m the best basketball player there ever was, I’m sure of it. Even though I won’t practice, won’t dress out for games, and won’t study game tapes. Oh, and I don’t actually play. Don’t worry though, I’m totally the best. Just you wait world, you ain’t seen nothing yet!

Hey folks, it’s been a while. Been finishing up with The Dusk Harbinger, started a brand new video game review site with a whole gamut of talented first time writers, and have been hustling every day. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.

I wanted to talk to you about cowardice of many writers, and why you need to knock that shit off. I’m going to give you some sternly and profanely worded truths. And if you can’t handle it, then you seriously need to ask yourself if you truly want to write, and want to be successful at it. Hold onto your butts, and if you think you’re brave enough to go on… then do so.

Look. I’m just going to get down to brass tacks. You say you want to be a writer? Then shut the hell up, and WRITE. This is not some kind of magic trick. You want to be a craftsman? Then craft.

Over the past few weeks, one of the most COMMON THINGS I’ve heard is people going, “I’m scared to write” or “I write but I don’t want anyone to see my work” or “I’ll get around to it.”

Oh boy, those are some classic excuses, aren’t they? Guess what, I’m going to let you in on a few secrets:

1. WE’RE ALL FUCKING SCARED. 

Seriously, every single time I sit down at the computer to write a blog post, or write an article for Attack Initiative, my brain freezes and I lock up. And then you know what I do? I toughen the fuck up, put the plow to the ground and dig. It’s terrifying, every second of it. Writing THIS, right here and now, is terrifying. Do you want to know what courage is? Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is CONTINUING TO ACT in the face of fear. So what are you? Are you someone who lets fear rule you, or are you afraid and continue to act in spite of it?

2. YOU WILL FUCK UP.

News flash: Every single writer that ever existed, has made ridiculous errors in pursuit of his craft. And it can be anything, be it grammatical, or style choice, or picking the wrong illustrator, or even failing to properly save and archive his work somewhere. But you know what?

We LEARN from those mistakes. There is not a single carpenter in existence that hasn’t BASHED THE FUCK OUT OF HIS/HER HAND WITH A HAMMER, or a cook who hasn’t SPLASHED HOT GREASE ALL OVER HIM/HERSELF  at some point.

Error comes with the territory of craft. If you’re a writer, you’re going to commit errors. That’s just the way that it is. The sooner you figure that out, the better. But you can LEARN from those errors.

3. EVERYONE GIVES EXACTLY ZERO FUCKS ABOUT THE MATERIAL YOU DON’T RELEASE.

Yep, I said it. Got a manuscript sitting in a drawer, collecting dust somewhere? Thinking to yourself, “One day I might…”

Wrong. You won’t do SHIT with it. And if you’ve somehow deluded yourself into thinking that I’m wrong, guess what? The very fact that it’s sitting in your drawer still and you thinking about arguing with me about it is PROOF POSITIVE that you won’t. Because if you were going to? You would have done it by now.

Carpe fucking diem. SEIZE THE DAY. This day might be one of the last days you have on Earth, and you’re going to waste that time procrastinating? Brother/sister, I feel sorry for you. If you’ve got shit to say in your writing… DO IT. SAY IT. Your words have meaning to SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE. They just didn’t know that they needed to hear what you had to say, until they read it.

But if you never put it out, you might as well have never written it at all. A speech that is not spoken, a built chair that is not sat upon, and a meal cooked that is not ingested, is a waste to EVERYONE, including you. Because no one benefited from it.

4. SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE DON’T GET AHEAD BECAUSE THEY ARE THE BEST AT WHAT THEY DO, THEY GET AHEAD BECAUSE THEY ARE TOO FUCKING STUBBORN AND HARD-HEADED TO QUIT.

It’s the truth. You ever notice a complete shit actor you might see on screen and think, “What a hack job, how did they even get paid for this?” Maybe it’s because they quit being full of fucking pride, and would take whatever job they could GET. Maybe it’s because even though they suck, they KEPT AT IT. They worked hard, and someone was drawn to them BECAUSE of that dedication.

You want to know how that is true? Because it IS my standard practice with Attack Initiative. Every single writer was handpicked by me, and you know why I chose them? Because they were ALREADY WRITING and they were doing it for NO ONE. I didn’t have to kick them in the ass to write. They already WANTED to, and didn’t have a big outlet for their voice. I merely provided them with one. And why? Because you can see their dedication manifest IN THEIR WORK. Every thing they write seems like it is the last thing they will ever write. They’re going to go far, incredibly far.

Guess what? Thousands of people have already SEEN their material, and they’re all rookies. They put their pride aside, listened to my coaching, and took that chance. Hell, one of our writers is already developing a cult following, and it’s all thanks to the fact that she stopped being scared and started expressing herself.

When I started off, I was a shitty writer. Now? I’m still a shitty writer, but I’m a PUBLISHED and KNOWN shitty writer.  I’ve moved 25,000 units of my book, doing it all MYSELF. When someone comes to look at me, they’re going to see that I’ve moved 25,000 units. That’s not an opinion. That’s a RAW FACT. And I didn’t wait for someone to tell me it was okay to do so.

5. YOU ARE A FUCKING SALESMAN/WOMAN. ACT LIKE IT.

Yep. You’re an unknown, got a little piece of material all ready to go? Can’t find a publisher who wants your work?

Fuck it, publish it yourself. You have ALL THE TOOLS AVAILABLE TO YOU to make that happen. YOU are making the choice of not making money writing. YOU are the one that is keeping you from being “published.” If you want other people to take you seriously? TAKE YOURSELF SERIOUSLY. You might not be the hottest new thing under the sun, but if you act like you ARE, that shit is infectious. People will believe you because you are confident in your ability. That will draw them to you.

Guess what? Don’t have any money to pay for marketing? Then you better get out there and hustle and market that shit on your own. Again, you have all the tools available to you. You’re using the SAME TOOLS that the professionals use. Google Adwords, Facebook  Ads, all that stuff. The only difference is that you’re paying someone to do it for you. Or, you could be smart, save yourself a few hundred bucks and learn how to do it YOURSELF. Not only that, you just picked up a marketable skill in the process.

You are literally the FIRST cheerleader for your writing. It is your baby, your child, your creation. NO ONE should try and represent it harder than you.

You will fail at marketing. DON’T STOP TRYING. Just like I said before, there is at least ONE OTHER PERSON on this planet that needs to read the words that you have to say. If one person benefits from your words, IT IS WORTH IT.

6. IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE THEORETICAL HEAT, DON’T PRETEND TO BE IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN.

If anything I said up above rustled your jimmies and you’re all offended? Tough. Because every major publisher is going to tell you the exact same thing, in much friendlier language. This industry, like any other, is dog eat dog one. Nobody cares about your feelings. Nobody cares about you quaking in your boots. You quitting is ONE LESS CRAB IN THE BUCKET  trying to get out. Get the hell out of the way so the rest of us can try and climb on top of the pile.

If you want to harden up your resolve and stay in the game, then by all means stay. But you better act like you’re going to have to fight, because guess what? It’s a fight to the top, this is the fucking Highlander and there can be ONLY ONE. 

7. OLIVER SAYS FUCK ALOT.

He does, doesn’t he?

You may feel a slight sting. That’s pride, fucking with you. FUCK PRIDE. Pride only hurts. It never helps. You fight through that shit.

Now that you’ve finished reading this, what are you going to do? Are you going to cry about it, or are you going to MAKE A CHANGE? Instead of being whimsical about your alleged dream, are you going to start actively pursuing it? Are you STRONG enough to beat the odds? The ball, just like at the very top of this post, is in your court.

Nobody is going to dribble the fucking ball for you. Get your hands on it and do it yourself. When you’re ready to take your shot, we’ll all be watching.

Now I want you to print this post out. Pin it to your wall, where you can easily see it when you write. And I want you to say to yourself, “FUCK YEAH, I’m going to get some shit DONE now, today, and forever.”

~Oliver

The Arc

Arc: the continuous portion of a circle

Character arc isn’t just about change. It’s about having to come back and face who you were, and see that you no longer fit inside that old life. It’s not a 180°, it’s a 360°. 

When you read “how to write” advice, everyone will tell you to imagine the worst thing possible happening to your character and then put them through it. Boom. Character developed.  Truth is, you’re only halfway there. Your character has just experienced their “transformative event” or “faced the first trial”.

Now you make a choice.

Listen carefully to what I say next. Your character’s behavior does not have to change at this point. Your character’s UNDERSTANDING OF THEMSELVES does. That is the arc. The arc is “There is who I was, here is who I am now”.

Perhaps your character goes right back to doing what they always do; that’s still valid for story purposes. Don’t believe me? Read Factotum, by Charles Bukowski. Read The Dark Tower series. The whole damn thing. Just because a character experiences an awareness of self or a transformative event doesn’t mean they choose to change. They can choose to remain just as they are, on the same path as always. Only now they’re on the backside of the mirror, looking out: “Here is who I am now, there is who I was”.

If you choose to make your character evolve, spurred on by the burdens of knowledge and experience, good for you. It’s vastly more satisfying. It’s a beautiful, simple equation:

Hero + experience = better person

It’s tidy, it’s fun to read. It leaves no one unsettled.

If that word unsettled sticks at you a little, if it unsettles you, then good. Consider this with me. In this season of “this year will be different, this time I’ll change”, what makes a more realistic, relevant character? The hero that changes his ways and pushes right through to the next level of enlightenment? Or the recurring doofus who continues a slow, downward spiral of the best intentions, mixed with a light dusting of self-loathing?

Note: Your job is to entertain. I don’t want you to think I’m advocating dour, downer fiction. My favorites are nothing like that. but to make a character’s progression really, truly resonate, give that arc some loop-the-loops. Give your character a moment to make the change and move forward, and let them turn away. Let them sink a little deeper. Let them wallow in the familiar dismay of self for just a teeny bit. It will mean so much more when they recover. It will feel more like us, your fallible, habitual and oh-so-messed up readers.

Or if you’re really smart, you’ll let another character push them forward instead.

My Kind of Genre

We had a talk last night about genres, and Oliver has this really cool theory about how you can guess a person’s favorite by certain facts about their life. It was hilarious and fun (and a topic for another post). Thinking I was slick, I asked him to tell me MY favorite genre.

 

I want to go to there…

“Adventure,” he says, without skipping a beat. “Because you’re not into taking risks.”

Grumpface.  He’s totally right, of course, even though I really wanted to argue. I am notoriously risk averse. I’m kind of rigid, kind of a homebody, and a little bit of a butthead when it comes to breaking out of my comfort zone (and by a little bit, I mean a LOTTLE BIT). I’m not a huge fan of change and I have a pretty spectacular need for stability.

And he’s right about the genre, too. How can you NOT like adventure stories?

First, the genre isn’t just H. Rider Haggard stories. It’s the widest possible umbrella. It covers so many settings- space, the old West, vast dystopian junkyard cities, huge underground mazes lost to time, created worlds of magic and dirt and despair and excitement- it has EVERYTHING.

Let’s do a roll-call.  Pirates. Ninjas. Robots. Space Geishas. Space Cowboys. Real Cowboys. Dirty Cops. Clean Cops. Time Cops. Spies. Double Agents. Triple Agents. Detectives. Boxers. Gun Molls. Fences. Thieves.

Told you. EVERYTHING GOOD.

There’s usually a little smushy-love side plot that doesn’t turn the whole thing into a feelings-fest, a perfect dose of passion or lust or even love, just enough to keep it interesting.

You’ll usually find some amazing supporting characters  that you wish would come to your house for nachos and beer, some salty, crazy people doing things you could never make yourself do.

You’ll find heroes and heroines so cool as to be ice cold. Brrr.

For me, there’s nothing better. Am I right? Am I wrong? Tell me about it in the comments. Make your case.

Related Articles: My Kind of Hero  My Kind of Heroine

Happy, Grateful New Year (a personal post)

I don’t talk about my life a whole lot, but I can’t properly start this new year without unburdening a debt I owe- a debt of gratitude. My last year was all set to be a disaster. There’s no other way I can describe it. Everything aligned to put my life in the toilet. Lucky for me, I know the right people.

(Last names are omitted as most of my friends are modest sillybutts who will act shy and weird about this. You still know who you are.)

Jayme: If you ever call in all the favors I owe you, I will probably have to rob a  bank or kill somebody. You’ve been there to help with the little stuff, the really huge stuff, and everything in between. You throw all of your time into making my life better and you’ve never complained. There isn’t a word to describe how grateful I am.

Rachel: First of all, watching you evolve over the last year has been mind blowing. You’re an exceptional troll, a savvy conversationalist, and you are so much fun when you’re drunk. The transformation has been amazing. Second, you’re always a soft spot when life got too hard for Oliver. You never turn him away when he needs someone to listen, and you never let him feel bad for needing help. He always comes back stronger for having spent time with you. You saved him when he needed you. Thank you.

Katie and Carl: I can’t talk about you guys separately because you’re such a symbiotic organism. You guys are cheese and crackers, always together. There is no discussion about how lucky we’ve been that does not include talking about you two. Meeting you guys was the first time I didn’t feel lonely here. You welcomed us in like family, took care of us like family, and repeatedly overwhelmed us with your generosity. Your family has gone above and beyond for us as well, and I’m so glad to know all of you. The things you’ve done for us gave us the ability to move our life forward, and that gave me hope. Hope wasn’t in huge supply last year, and I was so fortunate to have you guys offering a constant hope-feed.

Joe and Ryvenna: Another symbiotic organism… Late night hang-outs are a prescription for sanity, and every time I need a refill, there you are. You guys support our work in a way that amazes me. You never waver. When I’m about to lose my shit, I know I can pick up the phone or jump on the computer and you’ll be there to keep me in one piece. Having you guys here for our wedding could not have been more perfect, and the loan of your parents was a joyful accident. It was a beautiful day, in no small part to the unbelievable effort all of you made. I am so excited to start the new year working with you again. It’s something my heart needs. 

Jim and Sara: Symbiotes again. When Oliver reached out and said the shit had hit the fan, your response was immediate and overwhelming. You opened your wallet in a huge way and threw money at my problems until they went away. You opened your home in the HUGEST way and gave us a safe space to recover. Because of your help I have a job I like for the first time in my life. I have back-up for all the big shit, and I have a ton of help with all the little shit. It has been an absurd amount of fun: chasing cats, watching certain people poplock, hassling the little bean, ganging up on Sara and teasing her until she turns red. I’m thankful for the rescue, and I’m thankful I got to know you better. Please don’t call in all the favors I owe you at once- I’ll still be incarcerated for robbing a bank for Jayme.

Dad and Kerry: This might sound stupid, but I’m completely serious. Thank you for being so fucking normal and so fucking nice. Thank you for being dependable and consistent. You guys like us when we’re good, bad, or anything. You just like us. It doesn’t have crazy conditions or rules that I can’t understand. I know I can count on it. At exactly the right moment, you guys were normal, and it made the crazy seem so stupid and petty; it put it all back in perspective. It was precisely what I needed and I am grateful. I hope you guys know I like you in exactly the same way.

Obe: I hope I don’t have to say anything. I hope you already know. I hope you know the sun rises and sets with your smile, and my world doesn’t turn without you. I’m grateful for every bit of you.

You Like Rabbit in the Road? Okay, Show Me.

So, Rabbit in the Road. It’s been out for over a year now. Over 25,000 downloads on Amazon, great reviews and many happy customers. Do you think that Rabbit in the Road deserves a bigger audience? If so, then I’d like to ask you to prove it.

One of the things that has been expressed to me over and over again is, “How come you don’t have a publisher?” Simple. It’s because I believe that in today’s day and age, a publisher is no longer necessary to reach the audience. We now have the tools, and ability as creators to get our work out in front of a larger audience than we would have in the past, because the barrier to entry has essentially been removed.

Harper Collins has seen and recognized this fact, and so they have started a new system a few years ago to address this, called Authonomy. Those of you who are into PC gaming will understand this concept pretty much immediately as I explain it.

Authonomy is like Steam Greenlight; What Harper Collins has done, is they are utilizing the “crowd” (i.e. YOU) to tell THEM what you want to see upfront and center. Through Authonomy, authors (published and unpublished, even independent) are able to post either their works in progress or finished (or even portions of a completed work) material. The crowd, the audience gets to vote on the very best material that they think is worthy of Harper Collins attention. Spread out over a month’s time, the top 5 rated books will make it to the DESK OF A HARPER COLLINS EDITOR for reading and review.

Through this method, new talent is able to be discovered and fostered. If you wanted to see us get someone’s attention with our work, THIS is how it gets done.

So how does it work? Simple. When you go to Authonomy, you simply need to rate the book, and add it to your “bookshelf.” What this does is it shows the rest of the community what you think of the title, as well as why they should pay attention to it. You can leave comments, and much more.

So are you a fan? Do you think that we have what it takes to go the distance? People always talk about “I’m just one person, what can I do?” THIS is that time. Your voice actually counts; it matters.

The first THREE chapters of Rabbit in the Road are up there right now, free to read for whomever wants them. So what am I asking you to do? I’m asking you to TELL a big publisher that you DO love the book, and you want to see MORE of us, and in a bigger venue. Does this mean we’ll get a publishing deal? No, not necessarily. Does this mean that we’ll go with a publisher? No, it doesn’t mean that either. What it DOES mean is that you, THE PEOPLE, are in control and are telling a big publisher what YOU want to see.

“But Oliver!” you might say. “What about my friends who haven’t read the book at all? I say, okay. The book is FREE this weekend on Amazon, like before. I know a bunch of you probably got Kindles for Christmas, so this is a great way to crack that beast open with something good. So that takes away their excuse.

“BUT WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?” you might ask.

Fair enough. Everybody wants a little something for their time, right? Okay, I’ll bite.

Should this campaign over the next month be successful, here’s what I’ll do. Our next book, the first in the three part fantasy epic The Twisted World. What I will do, is IF we pull this off and get unprecedented participation to put us up in the top 5…

I will make sure that the VERY first weekend that The Twisted World: The Dusk Harbinger is available for sale, it will be ABSOLUTELY FREE for everyone. 

That’s it. Believe me when I say that it will be worth your time. The book is finished, so you’re not betting against “maybes.” The book is going through post-editing, and polishing. When I make promises, I make it a point to keep them. If you do me a solid, I will make sure to do everyone the same in return. The only thing I ask of you, is a couple of minutes of your time and a few mouse clicks. Surely you’ve got a few of those to spare, right? Post a link, share with friends and family, let them know they can GET THE BOOK FOR FREE, and for just a minute or two of your time, we’ll all benefit.

Rabbit in the Road on Authonomy 

So, let’s go make some noise.

~Oliver

It’s Done

(the authors, a year ago, still up to their necks in the book)

Some time four years ago, Oliver told me we were going to write a story. He had an ending in mind, a beautiful ending. He had the idea of a couple of fascinating characters in a place like nothing I’d ever experienced.

At first, I felt like it was a fun little diversion. It kept me from getting crabby about not creating, and it kept us talking constantly about the story and what was coming next. It gave me something to hope for.

Then that feeling went away. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t little. It was work. It was a beautiful, charming piece of forcibly applied effort. It called to every skill I would hope to have as a writer. It challenged my patience, and it also completely destroyed my image of myself as a disciplined writer. It made me examine my desire to write and to make some hard choices about who I wanted to be.

I learned the most about priorities. It turns out I’m not the saint I imagined; I’d much rather watch Netflix and eat popcorn than work. I’d much rather make excuses than put everything I have into the dreams I’ve always sold myself. It turns out I’m human, and no better than anyone else.

I also learned to do it anyway. Talent and inspiration have gotten me nowhere in this world. Bullheaded asshole persistence, however, has gotten me to the end of my second book. It’s done. The Twisted World Part 1: The Dusk Harbinger finished just this week.

While we wrote:

Oliver was injured and hospitalized.

We had a cancer scare that lasted a year.

We wrote and successfully published Rabbit in the Road

We moved.

Life collapsed.

We moved back.

I got a new job.

We got married.

Oliver had a scary surgery.

Oliver started another blog to talk about games (which is amazing).

Plus a host of other shit, every day details lost to time. Writing “The End” made me reflect on that time and how much of it I wasted. The incredible satisfaction of  hitting that last page blows everything else out of the water. What a shame to postpone that feeling over such trivial shit.

So here’s to the finishers, to the bullheaded assholes who resist the urge to fuck off and waste time, to those who want the dream more than anything else. That’s who I want to be.

Meet Sadah from The Twisted World

The following is a sample from the first part of our soon to be released fantasy novel series, The Twisted World.

The Aframi are from Afram, also known as the Dark Continent in the world of Su Nobieta. The world of Su Nobieta is interesting because it bears not one, but five moons that orbit it. Because of this strange phenomenon, Afram happens to be positioned in just the right place to where it is cloaked in almost perpetual darkness year round, save for a small seasonal window. Normally the Aframi live in caves deep below the surface of their land as it is safer, but the most vicious of creatures retreat during that seasonal time, and the Aframi come top side.

The Aframi people are very similar to elves in other fiction, with some key differences. First, all Aframi are a very dark skinned people. The continent of Afram has some of the most dangerous creatures in the world. Being trapped in this dark, it is to your advantage to blend into the environment as much as possible. Because the Aframi spend so much time in the darkness, they are blessed with tapetum lucidum, allowing them to see in even the lowest of light conditions.

Aframi come in all different shapes and sizes. Unlike some typical elves, they do not live forever, although they are MUCH longer lived. A 60-70 year old Aframi will appearance wise look to be in their 20′s. To help non-Aframi tell how old they are, they use a piercing system in their elongated ears to remove such confusion. Piercings in one ear denote single years, and piercings in the other ear denote decades. It goes without saying that an Aframi with a lot of piercings is very old!

The women of the Aframi have two unique biological features not found in any other species on the planet. All Aframi women are born with not one, but TWO sets of vocal cords. Originally, this served as a method of self-defense against creatures in the dark of Afram, as they would be able to project their voices in multiple directions at once, in order to make it seem like their numbers were much higher than they were. Over time, they realized that they could use this ability to be amazing singers.

The Aframi have an incredible gift of highly acute memory, and so they tend to be historians. The Aframi pass down their knowledge of history through song, and so the women take up this honorable task.

The second unique feature of Aframi women, is that they only give birth once in their lifetimes, and it is almost always triplets. Births of 4 or 5 have been recorded, but of course are uncommon.

One of the main protagonists of The Twisted World is one of these Aframi, Sadah from the clan of Loc. Once, Sadah was a beautiful singer of Aframi song, and an adept hunter. After a mysterious “accident”, she was left not only without the ability to sing, but even speak. Find out more below!

~Oliver

Sadah’s mother, Maloryn, was the clan’s pride. Sadah had expected to eclipse her this year, to take the lead when Clan Loc added its voice to the whole of Afram. She had expected to cover her like a moon. Now Clan Loc depended on Maloryn again.

The last few months had been difficult, Sadah allowed herself to admit. The accident had been like the coming of the floods. One moment, Sadah was young, in love, and a powerful singer with an amazing memory. She had been taught from birth the history of Afram and of the Overworld beyond. She had been born a perfect, round baby, and even cried in two melodic voices. She had been coddled like a princess, given the best her clan had to offer, the best of everything. She’d been courted like a queen, suitors banking on what she would be, the honor she would bring. She was groomed for beauty and performance, taught to move and look and intone just like her beautiful mother. In her sixty-second year, it was all washed away, like the flood water. She was drowning in the lack of it.

The adjustment was …ongoing, she decided as she looked down at her feet. Between her black leather shoes, the winking jagged glass sparkled up at her. It was change. It was possibility. It was an accident.

Only it wasn’t, and she knew it, and neither had her accident been, and she knew that too. The old beast, rage, peeked its head out and bit her, hard. Lately the only way to send it back to sleep was to break, to rend, to tear.

She closed her wet eyes and breathed slowly through her nose, out through her mouth. She willed her petulant, angry heart to sleep once more. The sensible, quiet heart awoke slowly, slower than she would like. Sadah realized now that she’d been spoiled, and it had damaged her ability to endure. Her task now was to learn how to feel and yet persist, how to endure what she shouldn’t have to endure. Feelings could get you killed, she knew now, and she resisted the urge to touch her scar.

She pushed her wavy black hair behind her long, pointed ears and knelt, picking up each shard and tucking it into her apron. Her hand paused over a long, curving angle of clear glass. A smile twisted slowly across her lips as her fingers tightened on the glass. She finally dropped it in the apron with the rest and dumped them in the waste bin. She swept up the tiny glitter left on the floor, and ran her palm over it again and again, making sure no little bits were left. The pleasure had faded and now there was only regret.

Now that the glass was cleaned up, her hands were restless. She wrung them on her apron, tense and irritable. Her family would be walking from the tunnels into the Chamber now. It would be filled with the warm light of gas lamps. They would be descending the carved steps of the amphitheater, to their row, about halfway down. They weren’t at the base with the poorest of them, and not the top rows that only the oldest and richest families could afford. They would take their seats on the smooth, deep sandstone seats, tucking their finest clothes around them. They would listen while the surplus was announced, while the highest officials of Afram addressed the collected families and clans, while they decided how many would stay and how many would go.

Then the gas lamps would be turned low, and their voices would raise. First would be the singers on the floor, often the infirm or the poor singers, or those afflicted with only one voice. Then the first rows would join in, stronger singers or slightly wealthier families, blending their voices into the mass of sound rising from the floor. The huge cavern, deep underground would fill with sound, palpable and vibrating. The higher rows, with their double voices would fling their tones around the base note, until the whole of Afram had opened its mouth and expelled pure magic, beginning another Song Season while the floods raged overhead.

They would be singing, thought Sadah, and I should be with them. She untied her apron and resisted the urge to throw it, instead folding it neatly and laying it on the sandstone table. She brushed her hair back from her face and wished her fluttering hands to still, to not touch her scar, to not break and smash and rage.

The accident had happened in the early summer. The clan was still on the surface then, gathering and planting, preparing for the flood season. It was easier then. The clans were spread out all over the island, working before the floods. There had been fewer people around, so fewer stares, fewer sympathetic comments and pitying looks. There was, however, her father’s complete lack of acknowledgment, and her mother never stopped the litany of “A woman can live without”. She heard it so often, Sadah soon came to believe that a woman could live without anything, perhaps even her own life.

She pushed through the main room curtain and into the low chamber of her sleeping cell. It was just large enough for her thin mattress and the brass-bound chest she kept at the foot of the bed. Inside was her new collection of short scarves, purchased by her mother from the Overworlders. Her mother never said they were there to cover the hideous, curving scar on Sadah’s throat. She didn’t have to.

A filmy green scrap folded thin and tied neatly in a bow around her neck highlighted the deep color of her skin and eyes. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she felt cleaner somehow with the scar covered.

She smoothed her dress and tried to still herself. The accident could not be undone, nor could she go to the Chamber and dishonor her family or her clan. There was nothing she could undo, and many things as yet undone.

Meet A “Twist” from The Twisted World

 

The following is a sample from the first part of our soon to be released fantasy novel series, The Twisted World.

Twists are… strange things. Some are beautiful, some are peculiar, and others are flat out dangerous. They are localized phenomenon that can appear without warning practically anywhere, and usually cannot be seen, touched, or smelled.

Typically, the only way to detect a twist is to see what kind of effect it has on the local environment, and carefully marking its location to warn others.

As stated, some Twists can be beautiful, such as the town of Flickering where the entirety of the living area is trapped inside of a Twist; it manifests as small almost will-o-wisp type orbs of light that gently light the city. Some can create impossible oddities that change the properties of whatever wanders into it, such as the legendary tree that grows and produces not apples but rubies in the shape of apples, and then finally dangerous Twists that… do things like you’re about to read.

The following is an encounter with a twist of the dangerous variety. Be forewarned, it is a gruesome sequence.

~Oliver

“The sound was slow at first, subtle under the rain. Piotr couldn’t say when he first was aware of the sound of metal teeth gnashing, but his skin erupted in goosebumps. 

Lib wheeled the gelding around, stopping in his tracks. “Stay still!” He called to Piotr. “You know what to do!”

Piotr nodded. Hold still, he thought. Don’t go running off half crazy. Let it come. He tried to look all around at once. The hair on his head blew out in all directions, nearly crackling with tension. The crashing, shattering sound pushed all other thoughts out of his head.

Lib looked back over his shoulder, back at the road where Piotr waited. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout at him. The Twist cut his face in half.

One moment, he was fat, disappointed Lib, annoyed at Piotr and drenched with rain. Then he was meat. The top of his balding head slid loose, just above his eyes, and tumbled to the ground. The gelding dropped to its knees. Piotr realized it wasn’t kneeling at all; its forelegs were shorn off cleanly. The proud head slipped free of the thick neck, spraying ripe, bright blood. It was startling in the dark, all over the ground. The gelding rolled forward. It’s hindquarters were separated neatly, jointed like meat in a butcher’s window. The momentum dropped Lib into the underbrush, scattering parts of him all over the ground. Glowing wetmites rose in the disturbance and then settled, brilliantly illuminating the scene. 

The world shifted, slipped sideways, and Piotr found himself on his side in the road. A piece of Lib’s forearm rolled to a stop before him. The sleeve still clothing it was cut perfectly; there wasn’t a single loose thread or snag. He looked down. Sections of the grey mare lay at his feet, spilling out her lifeblood into the muddy road. A tiny wetmite tumbled in the air, sliced cleanly in half. Each section glowed briefly and then winked out. The glassine shattercrash Twist sound rose in pitch, almost a plaintive wail.”