Danika D. Potts's Blog, page 8

Between Him and Her Fireside Chat #1

So last week, we queried folks to send us questions for our regular writing discussions, under the pretense that we'd record it and share these dialogues with the lot of you. People actually showed up and delivered, so we did too!

The discussion clocks in at just a little over an hour and a half and it's a good time. You should listen to us. Warning: The content is not safe for work, because we both cuss like drunken sailors in our regular dialogue. We talk a little bit about everything, from Star Trek to The Time Machine to The Lord of the Rings, to working with test readers and working on The Dusk Harbinger, to things we love to things we hate, and we say some funny shit every now and again.

Alternatively, You can download it HERE through mediafire! It's an 88mb mp3, so I hope you have some space!

~Oliver

I Now Have A Public Figure Page On Facebook

That's right, I decided to go ahead and bite the bullet and put up a public figure page on Facebook. Why? Because I like interacting with you guys outside of blogposts where I lecture you most of the time. You should go like it. Obviously, as you can see, there's a like button added to the right side of the blog now, but you can ALSO either click my pretty mug up there or click this sentence right here and that'll take you there too.

You should come hang out with me. I'm very friendly. Also, I'll talk about more things in a less formal setting on that page, concerning games, writing, and more. I always said this blog was not about gaming, and that is still true. My page, on the other hand… well, that's when we let our hair down a little bit and get into slightly silly town. But only a LITTLE bit.

I reckon Danika's should be coming along soon enough. Maybe with enough convincing, I could be convinced to get a twitter account and run amok.

~Oliver

Dear Mr. Pilcher

Timm Pilcher, Publications Adviser Des Moines Public Schools

Hello folks. I decided to do something a little different today and wanted to introduce you to one of the two most influential men not only in my life, but also my career as a writer.

This man right here, Timm Pilcher, is responsible for my ethics as a game journalist. If you'll jump into the Wayback Machine with me, I'll take you back about 15 years ago to when I was a wee little nerdy pup in high school. Oh wait, I'm still a nerd. I just got cooler.

Way back in the days of yore, I took journalism at Abraham Lincoln High School. It was definitely a class unlike any other. First and foremost, we were in the basement. And when I say basement, I mean we were WAAAAAAAAAAY down in the basement. I remember descending the stairs all the way down to the bottom of the Roundhouse (fancy word for a gymnasium) to get to his class.

Mr. Pilcher was a bit of a renegade when it came to his education methods. Namely, he didn't care if we ate food or drank in his class. To him, it wasn't important because us being comfortable in his classroom made it easier for him to teach, and it really did show. People paid attention. Mr. Pilcher would use light swearing around us as well (as long as it was CONTEXTUALLY APPRORPRIATE  to the subject matter) as part of his teaching methods, if he was telling an anecdotal story.

There has been one particular lesson that have stood out for me over the years in regards to journalistic integrity: Dealing with censorship, and the truth.

I can't remember all the details fully, but the lesson was discussing how much trouble a particular journalist got into way back when the press more or less began. During this lesson, Mr. Pilcher was explaining to us the importance of the First Amendment and the right to free speech. He explained to us that  the journalist in question had written a piece about a particular individual who had a bad reputation for being a jerk in the community. Even now, I can remember what Mr. Pilcher said in the classroom:

Essentially, he wrote that the guy was an asshole.

We all got a kick out of that. After we settled down, he continued. He spoke about how this journalist was sued by the angry gentleman for libel. But the real kicker was the result of the case.

So what ended up happening is that although this guy's feelings were hurt, the journalist in question was found not liable for damages because of one key thing; the journalist wasn't writing his opinion of how HE felt about the guy. He was writing about what other people had reported to him, and how the overall community had felt about him and was able to cite as such. The judge ended up siding in favor of the journalist because of one simple thing: The guy was, in fact, an asshole.

This lesson has stuck with me for 15 years now. Mr. Pilcher was teaching us the importance about dealing with facts. When you're reporting, it's about more than just telling a story. You're not allowed to embellish the truth or make changes to things to suit your feelings or push an agenda. That's not what journalism is. Journalism is collecting all those facts together, putting them in a tangible spot, and letting the READERS form conclusions based on those facts.

Even then, when you're putting together a column of news, you're just there to deal with the facts. Who, what, when, where, and why. An editorial though, is so much different. You're allowed to interject your own thoughts and opinions about the facts presented, without compromising the INTEGRITY of those facts. Even in an editorial, your opinion shouldn't overshadow the facts being presented.

As a game journalist, I always held this close to my chest as I sat down to cover a story or to write a review on a game. The interesting thing about game reviews is that they are, essentially, small editorials about a particular title. During my time as a game journalist, I always made it a point to make sure that the facts of the matter always came first, and then how I felt about those facts came second.

The beautiful thing is that I didn't just take those lessons into journalism with me, I took them into my regular daily life as well. The truth can be a beautiful thing, but it can also be very ugly. But nevertheless, no matter how we FEEL about facts, the truth must come out first. Because with the truth in front of us, we can move forward.

So, thank you Mr. Pilcher. I'm now all grown, and the lessons you taught me in high school not only made me a better writer, I also think they made me a better human being. Why do I still call him Mr. Pilcher, even though I'm grown now and he's considered a part of my peer group?

Because at the end of the day, I knew him as Mr. Pilcher, a person who I was supposed to respect because he was an authority. But now, I call him Mr. Pilcher because I respect him as a great man and great influence over my life, and he has earned it.

So no matter what, just in case you always wondered or wasn't quite sure if the things you said were sticking… They did. Thank you for being a great influencer, educator, and incredibly sage figure in my life. I was paying attention.

~Oliver

An Introduction to the Twisted World

Picture unrelated, but I thought it was fitting. Totally not the world in the Twisted World.

So previously, we shared an incredibly small snippet of a single character from The Twisted World fantasy series. Looks like people have already taken a shine to Kurt Kathan (as expected; he's kinda fucking cool, and that's not tooting my own horn. He just seems like an interesting guy).

But where did all this come from? How does it all relate? Where does it all connect? Twisted World? Erons? Fantasy? What the shit is this shit, you ask? Ease down my little tigers, I'll tell you. First, lets go over the facts BEFORE we go over the fiction. Settle in for a lengthy little read here and you tell ME whether you're excited or not.

The Twisted World is, in fact, our FIRST book project. Just flipping through my notes and what not here, it'll have been in development for going on two years come October. Yes, we've been working on it that long, quietly. I ended up making the call on putting The Twisted World on temporary hiatus, because I believed in the potential of Rabbit in the Road that much, that I wanted to see that come out first. Simply put, Rabbit got you familiar with us to see that we're not a blank shot in the dark. I wouldn't want you to invest your time into us if it didn't seem worth it.  You've seen what we can do under pressure, and like UPS, we deliver. Now that Rabbit has been out for a few months, we've been slowly but surely edging back to it, getting into discussions about fine details concerning the world again.

So let me answer the first and most immediate of questions: Fantasy?

Yes, fantasy. Currently, I'm still not sure what to classify it as, be it low or high. It doesn't fit completely cleanly into either of those (there are creatures, obviously leaning it towards high, but simultaneously magic is pretty damn uncommon, pushing it towards low), so… mid-fantasy, I suppose? I don't know, I reckon I'm making shit up at this point that sounds interesting. I was never one for labels anyhow. Nevertheless, fantasy is a good middle road to call it for now.

The next question would probably be why. Originally, I was going to do a separate post on just this topic (and I still might in the future, it definitely can be expanded upon), but I think I can sum it up fairly well here, especially in regards to this genre:

I fucking HATE fantasy.

Now, before you get all in a twist (heh), let me explain. I have found that in roughly the past 15-20 years, the fantasy genre has just stagnated beyond belief. And let me stop you right there before you mention "You should go read 'popular series x'! It's SOOOOOOOOO good!" No. I'm not interested. If I were interested in it, I would be reading it already, wouldn't I?

That's the thing. I've found there's just been no real good growth in the written genre. In other mediums, that's a different story altogether. I have seen some amazingly brilliant things happen in the film, comic, and game spaces in regards to this genre (such as Berserk,  Everquest 2, and Demon's Souls to name a few examples), but in the writing world absolutely nothing worth my time reading.

So rather than sit around and gripe about the genre, it's better to put your money where your mouth is, so I decided to do just that. If I have problems with the genre, then I need to be willing to step up to the plate and fix what I think is wrong with it. Now, there are two possible outcomes: I will either succeed daringly or fail miserably. But no one will ever be able to say that I didn't try.

So what is the Twisted World?

The Twisted World is dark. And when I say dark, I don't mean cloudy. There is blood. There is violence, there are ethically and morally questionable things that happen in the world. But sometimes, in those magical moments between the hardship of life, it is very beautiful.

This is a world of creatures, of men, monsters, and unexplained phenomenon. Sorry vampire and dragon lovers, they're not here.

What makes the Twisted World unique?

One of the identifying features of the world is the unique eco-systems that are in place for the world of . You will see creatures that you have never seen before in fiction. You will see magic used in a completely non-traditional way, with real consequences and true cost.

What doesn't the Twisted World have?

I'm glad you asked. Here's a bullet point list:

Dragons.
Vampires.
Bikini chainmail armor.
Glass cannons (i.e. Wizards throwing all kinds of magic all over the place)
Instant travel. Sorry folks, horses and boats are slow, just the way we likes 'em!
Idealized Mary Sue characters.  Nope, the people here are pretty messed up, just like the rest of us.

How many books are there?

Initially, we planned for there to be 4 books. However, the scope of the first book (which interestingly enough is chronologically the LAST one) was so big, that we've decided to split it into 3 books, bringing it to a total of 6.

How long until the first book?!

When it's done. Oh wait, I'm not a game designer, I actually have to give better answers than that! The first book already has a clean 60,000 words laid into it already, almost double than the word count of Rabbit, and it's BARELY even started. Yeah, now you can kind of see why we had to split it into 3 books!

Why should I bother reading it when it's finished?

I don't know, to be quite honest with you. I can say that it is very different. It will explore the concepts of love in its multiple incarnations, be it romantic, familial, and even of the self. The Twisted World deals heavily in the consequences of actions taken by people with a narrow scope of view and failing to see the big picture, and much much more.

All that being said, I guess I can say this with the Twisted World: I can promise you that you will find a character that you can identify with. If you thought Rabbit was good, honey? You ain't seen nothing yet.

~Oliver

Meet Kurt Kathan from The Twisted World

So it's about that time again, I think, to show our work. We've stated several times that we've been working on a series of fantasy novels (and if you have Rabbit in the Road, you'd know that the overall arching name of the series is the Twisted World as told per the back pages).

So rather than continue to say, "Oh yeah, we got some stuff coming", I figured it was time to show a little bit of it. So, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to one of the three main characters in the principal novel, Kurt Kathan. I particularly like this section of the story because it gives you an idea of what his personality is like. Kurt has been a fascinating character for me to develop, from the start.

Please bear in mind that this is stuff straight from the raw; There have been no edits, no rewrites, nothing. After all, half of the fun is showing a work in progress, isn't it? Please keep that in mind as you read.

~Oliver

Camdel was still preaching about trade with Sollerus, in his thin, quavery voice. He pounded on the table, making silverware clatter and plates jump. His supporters pounded the table along with him, or stomped their feet.

The wives and Erons on Kimbroll's side of the table were less enthusiastic. Eron Kimbroll's beautiful young wife had a screeching, animal laugh, rough and over-bright at the same time. She tittered awkwardly every time Camdel tried to make a point.

Unfortunately, Camdel was a rather accomplished speaker, even dripping drunk. Valla Kimbroll's derisive laugh had gone from silly to obnoxious quite some time back.

Kathan cast a warning look at Kimbroll. He wanted to tell him to rein his wife in, but he was pretty sure Donovan would object.

Kimbroll answered the look with an elegant, twisting sneer. He laughed as loud as his wife then, cutting Camdel off neatly.

"You should have been a priest, Camdel. Do you intend to preach all evening?"

Camdel sat back, regarding him coldly. "So you have a better proposal?"

Kimbroll raised his empty glass, asking for it to be filled. "I simply think you're solving the wrong problem."

"Such as?"

"You are concerned about how our representative-" he said, flicking a glance at Kathan, "- would arrange trade with our closest civilized neighbor. I am concerned with how our closest civilized neighbor will receive our representative, such as he is."

Valla Kimbroll squealed.

Camdel looked between Kimbroll and Kathan. "Do you take issue with our representative, Eron? The Law of Rule-"

"I don't take issue," Kimbroll sneered. "I merely have concerns. It's a delicate matter for someone so new to our way of life. So many pitfalls and traps, so many things to remember…"

Kathan rolled his eyes. Pompous prick, he thought. If we were any other place, and you any other man…Instead, he gestured for the servants to bring the next course. There would be another, and another. These dinners went on for ages. Clive stood silently behind him, eating nothing, drinking nothing. Only watching.

Robben roared back to life, bellowing over everyone. "Again, I say, Sollerus is no friend of ours." He slapped the table with a palm the size of a dinner plate. Wine glasses toppled. "Sollerus will expand it's borders without a second-" he coughed, sputtering. He slapped at his chest, eyes watery and red. He waved the serving girl over, his glass clutched in his trembling hand.

Camdel patted his old friend's back, sharing an embarrassed smile with the rest of the guests.

The young serving girl in the borrowed uniform from the balcony ran to his side. She raised her half-empty carafe, trying to track the glass the Eron waved back and forth.

He coughed again, directly in her face.

She recoiled, disgusted. Wine soaked the length of Robben's sleeve, down his side.

Valla Kimbroll barked a laugh.

Eron Robben snarled, looking at his ruined shirt. His hand flew, cracking across the girl's plump cheek. "You lousy waste," he rasped.

Valla Kimbroll laughed harder.

Donovan watched him closely, sitting with the minor Erons at the far end of the table.

Kathan's head was suddenly very clear. Each candle flame focused down to a tiny, hard point. Even Valla Kimbroll's inane laughter faded. There was only the snap of Robben's hand, the pinked up cheek, the look of mixed horror and expectation on the little girl's face.

The girl cradled her cheek in her tiny palm. She had dark, wide eyes.

Kathan saw his youngest sister Sommae in there. Saw her in the round face, the dark hair. Saw her in the barn, by lamplight, threatening a horse thief with a pitchfork and her will. "Stay back," she'd said, her voice too high and scared. "Stay back 'cause I don't want to kill you." He saw the same mixed up look in her eyes.

"Again, you idiot, and keep it off my clothes this time," Eron Robben grabbed the carafe and poured it into his glass. He shoved it back into the little girl's hands.

Kathan didn't remember when he'd gotten to his feet, or sat down his fork.

He tangled his fist in the Robben's soggy collar, jerking him sharply forward. The Eron's face smashed down onto his plate, splattering food.

Valla Kimbroll's laugh pealed like a bell.

Robben leaned back, dazed. His forehead was red where it hit the plate. Sauce dripped from his bushy eyebrows.

Kathan stood over him, anger dark and hot in his face. "This is my house," he said. "Do you understand? You're my guest, all of you are." He turned his gaze on the rest. "No one lays a hand on someone here without my say so. They belong to me," he growled.

He threw his napkin down on the table and looked at Valla Kimbroll. "And you, madam, are much prettier with your mouth shut." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Valla Kimbroll didn't laugh at all.

Okay, Let's Talk About Talkin'

Happy Terrible Monday morning to you all. This is also what we look like when we don't look like crazy hobos. Anywho! Let's talk shop. So apparently, we like writing this useful blog about writing. Also apparently, you guys like READING this blog about writing. So, we're going to talk about that.

It should be fairly obvious by now that Danika and I talk a lot about story. Not just with other people, but between us. That's the title of the blog, geddit?

When I say talk, I don't mean idle chit-chat either. We're not in the business of making noise for the sake of noise. No, we'll get into 3-4 hour long discussions because they're pretty damn enlightening, I think. Highly unfortunate for you lot, because you totally missed the amazing discussion we had about the problems of the new Star Wars trilogy narrative wise, and how a few minor tweaks, WITHOUT cutting out scenes, could have turned that entire trilogy on its ear to rival the original trilogy.

This is actually interesting, because when I sat down to create this blog originally, it was my intention that we'd have these chats in some capacity and share them with you folks, but I just hadn't gotten around to figuring out how I wanted to go about doing it. So, it was fairly surprisingly when one of our most important lurkers actually brought it up to me in conversation. Specifically, he asked "So like, when are you guys going to do something like a fireside chat and we can listen in?"

Ergo, here we are.  Youtube was suggested, and we certainly do have the equipment to record and share those chats with you guys. There's only one problem, and that's where you, yes YOU, come into play.

What the hell do you want us to talk about?  

So, I highly suggest that you tell us down in the comments below. Any question you can think of regarding narrative, Rabbit, the next few books, us, or whatever. Questions for me, questions for her, anything. Just throw them in there, and we'll talk about it and upload it for your ear pleasure.

Rumors state that I have a pretty amazing speaking voice (that is, when it's not cracked and broken from crying or I'm sick as a dog), so you should get on that. I'll add in a bonus treat: If you guys actually ask things, I'll be sure to say something ridiculously inappropriate and funny during the chat. Contrary to popular belief, I am notoriously silly.

So what are you waiting for? I want that comment section filled right up. And if there's nothing there, I will be the saddest kid in grade number two. You don't want that, do you?

~Oliver

Putting The Wise Sage Man To Work: Example #1

Detective time again. I lectured about the Wise Sage Man recently, a dude who holds tons of info and keeps kicking your protagonist back into play. He's a great character to keep things moving. Just like our other examples, here and here, I'm going to illustrate a different way to use the usual archetypes. We can all spot a Wise Sage Man when we're looking at fantasy stories. Easy as pie. Here he is in the gritty city, with our sleazy detective, Mr. Hood. Relevant Wise Sage Man traits are bolded, just like before. And just like before,  Hood's in a heap of trouble.

"Been a while, Bert," Captain Rice said. He looked up and down the misty street. "Anyone see you?"

I shook my head and followed him inside.

"What the hell happened to you?" Cap shut the door with his cane and led me into the kitchen. There was a lonesome bowl of soup on the wobbly table. A cigarette smoldered in an ashtray next to it.

"Nice to see you too, Captain." (The WSM shares a history with the hero, not all of it happy)

The old man glared at me, gesturing with his cane. "Interrupt my dinner, looking like shit." He sat down and offered me the other chair. "No more soup," he said by way of apology.

I took off my hat and sat down next to him. I lit a cigarette with shaky hands and slowly shrugged out of my coat. "I didn't know where to go." (When the hero is overwhelmed by the situation, he goes straight to his mentor, the guide to the New World)

Captain Rice slurped up some steaming minestrone. "That's the only time I ever see you, Bertie."

I looked at him with fresh eyes. He hadn't been my boss in six years. He hadn't been whole for a lot longer than that. He was retired, widowed now, half-crippled and alone. Now here I was, dragging in a fresh mess.

"Your father would be rolling over in his grave if he saw you," he said.  "Go on, then. Get yourself a drink, get yourself together."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I waited for him in the living room. When he finally joined me, my jangling nerves had piped down and I felt calm enough to talk. I told him everything.

"Two Shoes, huh?" Rice nodded slowly. "I knew his father, you know that? Leo Tuschen. First generation, fresh off the boat. He was savvy, you get me?  Not smart, not bright. He could tell which way the wind was blowing. Knew how to make people work for him. I managed to get Leo sitting in front of a jury twice. Two times in twenty years of doing wrong. Each time, I knew we were lost. We were just idiots in blue suits. He was too slick. They always let him off with a slap on the wrist. The law couldn't touch a man like Leo. Savvy."

"And Arnold?" I asked. I refilled both our drinks.

"Psh, that idiot." Rice put his glass down with more force than was necessary. "You know why they call him that, right?"

I nodded, but waved him on.

"Clumsiest kid I ever saw.  That kid walked like he was a drunk in a funhouse, just trying to get down the avenue. They said that for a kid with only two shoes, he sure made it look like a lot to manage. He embarrassed his father. Watching him try to play football was hysterical. He was like a marionette with half the strings cut. All the neighborhood kids gave him shit, just constantly." Captain Rice laughed and polished off his drink. He waved me away from a refill.

"His pop, though. He knew about people. He told Arnold in front of everybody, he said, 'Your weakness tells you where your enemies will strike. Make your weakness your strength.' Just like that. Cold as ice. Everybody heard it. So Arnold Tuschen stops crying when kids call him Two Shoes. He starts smiling. And when a kid tries to trip him in the hall, make him stumble? Two Shoes puts him in the hospital. Smiling.  Creepiest damn kid, you know?  His father was a brute, but he had class." Captain Rice offered me a cigarette.

My hands had stopped shaking, so I could take it without embarrassing myself. "But then?" I asked.

"Arnold thought he was the prince, just waiting for the king to die. It never crossed Arnold's mind that Joey Francis would take it all from him." (The WSM fills in the missing bits of the picture for the hero, giving him the information he'll need for the final confrontation)

I looked at the Captain, seeing just a flicker of the man I remembered there. "Did it cross yours?"

He clucked his tongue. "Jesus, Bertie, you're thick. How do you think Joey Francis knew where to find Leo? How do you think Joey knew he'd be alone?"

I remembered something Kitty-Angel had said to me at the bar. Joey Francis may be a monster, but he's our monster, she'd said.

"What the hell, Charlie. You sold out a gangster to another gangster?"

"You think you're clean?" He snapped. He was red in the face, florid. Hurt.

I said nothing. There were pictures on the wall of the captain and my father, back when they were beat cops. They looked like silent-film stars, young and fiery and ready to rumble. There was one with both of them and my mother, the late Mrs. Rice too, both of them dressed to the nines, everyone looking like a picture from a magazine. I looked away from those pictures. (Even if Captain Rice hadn't been Hood's boss back when he was a cop, he was already invested in Hood by way of his father)

"We couldn't touch Leo, we couldn't get anything to stick. He was like ice. We had to do something. Joey, at least he was old-fashioned. He moved a little horse, some women, nothing too dirty. He kept it away from the good neighborhoods, away from the kids. He kept the bodies from washing up on our beach."

The lesser of two evils, I thought. "So here we are again," I said. "The DA can't get anything to stick to Two Shoes, and everyone wants to keep their pet gangster in business."

Captain Rice nodded. He looked tired, worn out.

"I don't know what to do," I said. "The DA's daughter wants me to help Joey, but Two Shoes made it look like I killed Joey's girl. I can't get near Francis without getting peppered with lead. The cops are after me for the murder. Hobbes, my old partner, he's on Arnold's payroll and he's gunning for me, too." (At this moment, the hero is ready to turn away from the quest. This is the moment where anyone with any sense would run. The WSM can't let that happen, or your story will fall apart)

"You think you're the first guy in a bad spot? Think it's new to have the whole world against you?" Captain Rice turned to me slowly, his eyes wet and faded. "Or maybe you're just the first guy to have to deal with a crooked cop. It doesn't matter who's crooked, who's bought, who's bent, you big baby."

I looked at the carpet between my shoes instead of meeting his eyes. "I know, I know." I didn't want to talk anymore.

"You're not special. You're not quick, you're not smart, you're just not.  But let me tell you what you are.  You're a good guy. And good guys always win in the end. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're too fuckin' dumb to quit. When the chips are down, when there isn't any single good reason to keep trying, good guys don't quit. When only bad shit will fall on your doorstep, when everybody will hate you if you win, good guys don't quit. They're too dumb. Too in love with the idea of a world where any of this shit really matters. A world where good and evil still matter. Good guys are too fuckin' dumb to know that the monsters are real and they have huge fuckin' teeth and they bite."

The Captain looked away, shaking his head. "I dunno, Bert. You tell me. How fuckin' dumb are you?"

The Motherf*cking Contextual Appropriateness of Swearing And More In Narrative

If somebody hit you in the head with a pink ball and you had an ant eater snout for a mouth with two crazy feet and orange skin, you'd probably cuss like a sailor too.

Welcome back, readership. I know we've been quiet over the past week or so, but Mr. Oliver here has been very very under the weather and not feeling well at all. I am feeling better than I was, at least enough to make a post, so here I am. And that foul-mouthed son of a bitch up top there is going to help me.

Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you with that swearing? Too bad, because that's what this post is about today. If you can't handle actual mature discussion on the topic of swearing within a story, I suggest you stop reading this post now. If you're grown-up and can handle it, then continue on!

This would be your spoiler alert (I will dance around the plot as much as possible here, but there are some things I need to speak about so it makes sense for you).

Although this was an expected, quite a few people were actually NOT offended by the amount of swearing in Rabbit in the Road, save for a small, angry little minority. Truth be told, there's actually not a lot of swearing in the book… until you get to the second to the last chapter, and that is pretty much contained at the beginning of it. Oh, and it's a lot of it. Let me say that again for emphasis.

That chapter has a LOT OF FUCKING CUSSING. 

So, the next logical question would be, "Well, why is it there, and is it appropriate for the narrative?"

The answer to your question would be, "Yes, it's appropriate." Let me tell you why.

The book itself is written from the perspectives of 3 different characters. The first 6 chapters are written from the perspective of one person, the 7th chapter (the profane filled one in question) from another, and the final chapter written from the perspective of a journalist. Needless to say, even the main character (whom the first 6 chapters follow) does her share of swearing, but most of it is internalized and not actually spoken verbally. Sure, she has her line every now and again but it's mostly few and far between.

The character perspective shift in Chapter 7 deals with the idea of a person who is trapped inside themselves, not unlike a coma where it has been well documented that people are still very much conscious during it. Needless to say, the circumstances are much more dire, ugly, and personal. In a sentence, they're pissed the fuck off and the chapter opens up with their profane filled internal rant about the situation.

Now, what's REALLY going to bake your noodle… is that I wasn't the one who wrote that. Danika did. In fact, I had to make her REEL IT IN some, because the message of the situation was getting lost. She sat down and wrote that section, I looked it over and made changes to make sure it flowed correctly into our crescendo, and then approved it. I'm pleased with the work, and I won't be changing it to suit someone else's tastes.

So, let's bring it around to the root of the matter. Why was it contextually appropriate? Because the character was PISSED THE FUCK OFF. The character was angry, and ultimately trapped with no escape. The story is very much a game of chess, and this character had been placed in the ultimate checkmate scenario. Except the difference was that it wasn't a game, this was life and the character just lost. Badly.

Dealing with swearing in narrative isn't a tricky situation as people want to make it out to be, especially if you're writing realistic characters with realistic (and often times, STRANGE) motivations. Early on when we were writing the book, we went through a few different character behaviors, to which Danika said, "Well, this part here doesn't make sense to me, I would never do that." My response to that was, "It doesn't have to make sense to you and your logic. These people, these characters, are not us. I would NEVER do any of the things that the characters in this story do. But to THEM, it makes complete sense. That is where story comes from… not about the things that you would do yourself, but whether or not you can believe that someone ELSE would do those things." That was when it clicked over for her, fully.

Context is king in all things in fiction. Whether or not a particular course of action is believable in regards to the circumstances surrounding it. Even then, behavior can be contextually INAPPROPRIATE and still fit within a narrative. Take for example, the actions of a mentally deranged or disturbed character; their actions are almost never contextually appropriate. But why do we allow this to happen within a story? Because it is BELIEVABLE. Crazy people do weird shit. So what does that mean? Brace for your mindfuck.

The contextual inappropriateness of a character can in fact, be CONTEXTUALLY APPROPRIATE. 

So what does it all mean? It means that so long as it correctly serves the aim of the story and is not wish fulfillment or gross amounts of fan service, it's probably okay.

Sometimes, the contextual inappropriateness of a situation and the reactions to it are the POINT. If you've ever seen Mr. Show with Bob and David, you might be familiar with the character Pit Pat and Ding Dong Burger. Rather than tell you, I'll just show you. Click the image below.

With the price of beef going through the fucking roof? That's a deal!

As you can see here, the joke is that their response is NOT appropriate to the services being provided, or the situation. This is what made it funny. If the characters in the skit were not reacting that way, it would actually be very boring and people would say, "Okay, what exactly was the point of this?"

One thing that you're going to have to learn, is one of the dark ugly truths that no one has bothered to tell you until now:

The world is a fucked-up, dark scary place overall. There's a few good parts here and there, but for the most part? It's a giant clusterfuck. Truly, civilized society is hardly civil at all. 

Context rules everything, even out here in the real world. Here's a fun fact for you, in case you didn't know. Did you know that the killing of a human being in a violent fit of rage, isn't always murder? Sometimes, it's manslaughter. Ultimately, someone has to make the call on whether or not that particular course of action  was appropriate "if it would cause a reasonable person to lose self-control."  Just because a person kills another person, doesn't make them a murderer. You see, murder requires two things: Malice and Intent.

With that being said, swearing doesn't make something a bad read, nor does a lot of violence make it a bad, either. Now, if you can't handle that, that's too bad for you. But many times, these two things are reasonable and appropriate given the circumstances within a given work.

Now, as I wrap things up, allow me to wreck your childhood instantly with this thought:

With what we've learned today, you should realize this: Mr. Rogers, given the correct circumstances, would probably blow your fucking brains out of your head. Everyone has a trigger for actions, some just have more triggers than others. And before you go "NUH-UH!" and clap your hands over your ears and refuse to believe it, think about this: What if someone were trying to seriously hurt a child and he was the only one there who could try to stop them? I bet he'd call them some really not nice names while he was curb-stomping the shit out of them, too.

Behind that smile lies a potential motherfucking killer.

Enough fucking said.

In closing, sometimes you're going to have to deal with that in order to enjoy a good story. Does every story need it? Of course not. Take for example, there is going to be fairly light violence and light swearing in the next novella we're working on. As for our fantasy series? A hefty amount of violence and almost no swearing at all. It all depends on the circumstances surrounding your material on whether those things are appropriate or not.

~Oliver

P.S. If you didn't realize it, the majority of the goddamn swearing contained within this post was for the sake of sarcasm. Most of it.

Have a Clear Vision For Your Work

Would you trust this man?

I posted this on Facebook last night with quite a few more curse words (Add me there! There's more swearing and talk of cats!). But it's relevant, even without all the #@$*. You must have a clear vision for your work.

If you have to ask what your own book is about, go back to the drawing board. YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING. You cannot lead a group of readers if you don't know where you're going. If you aren't sure if there's a romance in your book, start over. If you don't know how many main characters it "needs", start over. You're the one that has to know. Your book has a romance if it needs a romance. Your book has more main characters if it NEEDS more main characters. Every word you put down should serve the story, not what's commercial, or popular now. The story comes first.

Let me say that again, in bold, in caps, just in case you didn't hear me.

THE STORY COMES FIRST.

Humans are so funny. We communicate constantly. We communicate through action, through inaction, through body language, through spoken language, through grunts and groans and words and shouts. Writing is just one of the ways humans seek to communicate, and that shit is TOUGH. Writing well is hard work. Why would you labor so hard to communicate if you don't even know what you're trying to say?

I'm not talking about surprises here. Twists and turns are essential. Sometimes, in writing, you'll find connections and angles to explore that you didn't expect at outline or idea phase. That's fine. But don't get derailed.  If it works for your story, exploit it. If it doesn't, set it aside. THE STORY COMES FIRST.

-Dani

Indie Snippets…

Check this out! We're on Indie Snippets today!   The featured bit:

 

 By the time the cab pulled up alongside me, I had already started to sniffle.

 "Get in," Ray said, as he opened the door.

 I slid in next to him and cried. It was warm in the cab, but even warmer wrapped up in Ray's arms. I hated him. I needed him. He needed me. The link was stronger this time. I could feel my heartbeat change its rhythm to meet his.

 "Don't cry," he said quietly, his chin resting on the top of my head.

 "But I hate you," I said. I bathed in the glow of our link.

 "Oh, I know."


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