Eric Dontigney's Blog, page 3

Interview and Updates

Okay, first things first, I got interviewed! It was theoretically about The Midnight Ground, but the conversation was pretty wide-ranging. Among other things, I talk about the oddest job I ever had, J.R.R. Tolkien’s influence on fantasy literature, Covid’s impact on the bucket list I posted earlier this year, and my new Patreon page. You can check it out below.

 

Okay, on to updates. The big update is that I’m closing in on the end of the first draft of Jericho Lott. I got a little behind my planned schedule, but I’m hoping to wrap it up in the next couple of weeks. That means that I’ll have to decide what I’m writing next. I’m leaning toward the sequel to The Midnight Ground, but I’ll have to sit down and figure out if I’ve really got the major beats in the plot figured out. If I don’t really have it figured out, I’ll probably push it off for a few months and work on Stormbreak while I get the plotting sorted out for Favors Given.

I’ve posted my first short story over on Patreon, and I’m expecting to post a second sometimes around third week of June.

I think that’s it for now, but stay tuned. You never know when I’ll abruptly add some new project to the pile of things I’m actively working on.

I Am Now on Patreon

Hey everybody. I’m happy to announce that I am now live on Patreon. Head over here to check out my profile page.

For anyone who isn’t already familiar, Patreon is a modern version of the patron system built around modern realities. In ye olden times, nobility and the wealthy would bestow their largesse on writers and artists they appreciated. This helped said writers and artists do things like keep eating. While the practice of patronage by the wealthy has largely fallen by the wayside, writers and artists continue the not so grand tradition of struggling to make ends meet. That’s where Patreon comes in.

It’s a pretty straightforward system. The creator, as Patreon calls them, sets up tiers of sponsorship. Each tier comes with a monthly donation, such as $1 or $5. In exchange, the creator commits to producing some kind of work. In my case, I’ve committed to writing a short story each month. The more expensive tiers also come with other bells and whistles, such as a monthly webcast or early access to new materials. In my case, that’ll probably be preview book chapters and the like.

So, if you feel like seeing fresh Eric short stories every month, head on over and choose a tier. You’ll get some fun speculative fiction each month and maybe some other kind of bonus content. Even better, you’ll get to see it before anyone else ever does.

The Once and Future Star Trek

Photo by Stefan Cosma on Unsplash

In a recent blog post, Guy Stewart called out some things that he sees as problems in the overall direction the Star Trek franchise has taken in recent years. Here’s a brief summation of those objections:

It’s stuck behind a paywall, essentially denying low-income families the opportunity to watch
It now caters to an older, white, affluent, male audience
It’s abandoned the original “Boldly go,” Wagon Train to the Stars mission Roddenberry gave it
It’s abandoned the utopian hopefulness of the original Star Trek Series

(A note: I have not seen Star Trek: Discovery, so I won’t be discussing it much here.)

Let’s start with the first two objections because they’re more easily addressed. I agree, in part, with Stewart’s annoyance that ALL Trek is now hidden behind paywalls of one kind or another. Up until Star Trek: Discovery, all Trek shows aired on broadcast TV either directly or via some manner of syndication. Putting it behind a paywall does deny low-income families easy access to the Trek franchise. No argument on that point. But there are financial realities at play here as well.

Science fiction programming is some of THE most expensive programming to create. Whether you do it digitally or with practical effects, science fiction shows need special effects. Shows set in space need a lot of special effects. That costs money both during production and in post-production. The last report I saw put Discovery’s per-episode budget at $8 million.

Earlier Trek series, such as TNG and DS9 handled financing by operating as first-run syndicated shows. In essence, the shows were made with the expectation of selling the episodes to lots of and lots of stations across the nation and then internationally. That worked pretty well for TNG and DS9 (along with shows like Hercules and Xena) because it was the late 80s and early 90s, when stations often clambered for syndicated shows to air on weekends or in late-night programming blocks. Voyager survived on a combination of first-run airing on UPN followed by syndication of those episodes.

By the early 2000s, however, first-run syndication of scripted series was winding down as a practice. That may help explain why UPN footed the entire bill for Enterprise and ran it as an in-house production. The show only went into syndication after the series ended. That also helps explain why the ratings decline, meaning advertising revenue decline, signed the show’s death sentence at the end of season 4. There was no external syndication money coming in to help justify its continued existence.

Let’s fast forward to 2014/2015, when CBS was considering and approving Star Trek: Discovery. By then, first-run syndication of scripted series was functionally dead. So that wasn’t an option. The show was going to cost a bundle to make. CBS already has a full prime-time slate that includes ratings monsters like The Big Bang Theory and three NCIS shows, along with proven entities like Elementary, Survivor, The Good Wife, Thursday Night Football, Hawaii 5-0, 60 Minutes, 48 Hours, and Blue Bloods. Everyone is saying that streaming is the big thing. What do you do? You put this high profile show behind a streaming service paywall to help bring in subscribers and pay for this REALLY expensive series.

Does that mean that Discovery and later Picard cater to a more affluent, white, and presumptively male audience? Yep, it probably does because those are the people who are willing to pay to keep the show in production. Whether there’s a moral dimension to this is questionable, since television is a business that has to make money to stay in business.

Plus, ViacomCBS is a publicly-traded company, which means it has fiduciary responsibilities to its stockholders. If this move to put all Trek behind paywalls also keeps new Trek shows in production by keeping them profitable, I’d argue that’s a modestly better situation (ethically) than zero new Star Trek in production. Not to mention that I can’t even remember the last time I saw a Trek show airing anywhere on broadcast TV.

Okay, now we move on to the stickier objections. These objections are, I believe, interconnected, but I’ll do my best to tease them apart.

Stewart specifically decries that “…NO TEENAGER WILL EVER BOTHER TO WATCH STAR TREK…” (caps are from source) because, essentially, Picard is about an old man whining about his regrets. There is some truth to this complaint, but it raises a basic question. Were teenagers ever really the target audience for modern Trek?

Sure, I watched TNG and DS9 as a kid/teen, but those shows weren’t especially geared for teens. I watched TNG because my parents tuned in to watch. I watched DS9 of my own volition, but I didn’t grasp a lot of it until I saw it again years later as an adult. Voyager was only teen-friendly in the loosest sense. Enterprise was squarely aimed at adults. Of all the Trek series, I think that only the original series could really be considered teen-friendly fare.

So, the criticism that Picard doesn’t appeal to a teen audience isn’t especially strong. It wasn’t ever meant to appeal to teens. It’s just the latest in a string of Trek series meant to be consumed and enjoyed by adults. Electing to focus on a former Starfleet officer past his prime and with a guilty conscience isn’t a failure, in my opinion. It opens the doors to a lot of interesting questions. The real sin was the failure of the show to ask those questions in a good, narratively-compelling way.

The whole “Boldly go” Wagon Train to the Stairs mission that Roddenberry pitched all those decades ago sounds good on the surface. Yet, it’s always struck me as some kind of weird byproduct of a decidedly Manifest Destiny cultural world view. The original wagon trains headed out to help “settle” the Wild West. Yet, this all came after bloody conquests for territorial control, during a civil war, and coincided with a lot devastating, paternalistic actions on the part of the government and military of the time toward the native peoples who already lived on that “unsettled” land.

The original series strikes me as happening not too long after similarly bloody territorial conquests with Kirk and Co. heading out to do a land survey for future settlements. Kirk certainly adopts the attitude of a representative of a paternalistic society that knows better than the locals what should be done. He routinely interferes with the cultures they find, even the peaceful, stable ones, while making moral speeches about right and wrong…you know, immediately after or concurrently with violating the most important ethical guideline the Federation has.

Roddenberry cherry-picked a time in societal development where the Federation was seemingly post-expansionist, ostensibly democratic, and had outgrown basic stupidities like racism, sexism, fascism, and nationalism (which is maybe possible), but also – in contradiction to everything we understand about human nature – had apparently evolved out of more basic human failings like greed, unchecked ambition, and innate human violence (which is deeply implausible). This highly specific scenario let him sidestep all of those murky moral questions about how the kingdom was built before the republic was established.

Something we also need to bear in mind is that the Enterprise is, before all else, a military vessel. As Starfleet’s flagship, the Enterprise is presumably one of the most powerful warships in the fleet. No matter how benign their intentions, every mission carried out by Kirk and his crew was backed by the implicit threat of all that firepower floating in orbit. It’d be a little like the U.S. Army parking an M1 Abrams tank on your lawn and then having a lieutenant colonel knock on your door to talk about establishing friendly relations with the Household of Bob and Susie. It might seem benign to the lieutenant colonel because the tank was his ride, but it wouldn’t seem that way to Bob and Susie.

As viewers and fans, we let most of that slide and just say, “Yeah, sure, okay. It’s a utopia,” because Roddenberry and the writers set up the conflicts with such obvious bogeymen. The Klingons and Romulans were monolithic, hostile cultures. The crew squared off against intolerance in multiple shapes, as well as a gangster society, and a burgeoning Nazi regime. In that context, yes, we’ll take the benign, paternalistic, but not obviously homicidal or stupid Federation as the good guy.

Most of us ignore the profoundly weak scaffolding on which that utopia stands because we all know that Roddenberry was engaged in a semi-covert war on the social ills of his time. Plus, the television landscape was a very different animal in those days. The kind of highly-serialized, thematically complicated fare we’ve come to expect just didn’t exist then because it could never have gotten to air. So, we forgive the original series its many, many flaws and say that it was utopian and hopeful. It holds those descriptors pretty uneasily though.

More contemporary Trek shows have been persistently, if slowly, chipping away at the unearned label of utopia and replacing it with a more realistic society. A society where bad things happen to people in the Federation. Military operations go wrong in unexpected and spectacular ways. Failures like arrogance (here’s looking at you Jean-Luc Picard) can derail a career or even a life. Does that come at the expense of the hopefulness of the original series? It does, but the original series offered a false hope based on an unrealistic promise of a human society free from essential human failings.

It doesn’t mean that Trek has abandoned hope entirely. The whole of Star Trek: Picard is about hope. It’s about the hope that one might be able to right, at least a little, the wrongs of the past. It’s about the hope that individuals can make each other’s lives better through word and deed. It’s about the hope that flawed but important institutions can be redeemed. That is a more honest kind of hope that responds to very present social ills that we face today. That Picard didn’t deliver that hope through better storytelling is a problem, but one that can only be solved behind the scenes in the writing.

Expecting contemporary Trek shows to hew religiously to the vision and approach set out by Gene Roddenberry nearly 60 years ago isn’t practical or productive. If Trek is to survive and inspire, it needs to do it in ways that speak to people now. That means tossing the false utopia and acknowledging that societies have problems, but showing those problems can be surmounted. The solutions may be as imperfect as the people who devise them, but progress is feasible, achievable, and hope is part of that process.

“New” Release Free this Weekend

The current pandemic has left a lot of people stuck at home and looking for things to do. Since there is just so much television that most people can stand, I’ve decided to put together something to help people pass the time. I’ve bundled together the first three Sam Branch books into one volume and made it available through Kindle Unlimited for everyone who has that service.

For anyone who doesn’t have that service, the book is also free until Monday. Get The Samuel Branch Omnibus today here.

Coping with Coronavirus Isolation

Photo by Dustin Dagamac on Unsplash

So, in the midst of this coronavirus pandemic/non-zombie apocalypse, I was chatting with a friend of mine over Facebook Messenger. As we chatted, it became pretty clear that she was looking for a reason, ANY reason, to leave her apartment and go somewhere. So, I naturally went into guy mode and talked about flattening the curve, the healthcare infrastructure, and why social distancing was so critical. I also said if the isolation was getting to her that she could call me and I’d happily bore her with obscure factoids. She said that talking on the phone wasn’t the same as being there with someone.

Yes, of course, I missed the boat entirely. I was thinking about the situation from the perspective of an emotionless robot. My friend is smart and no doubt understood all the things I said to her before I said them. Hashtag accidental mansplaining. The metamessage that I utterly failed to pick up on was that this whole social isolation thing had an emotional cost/mental health toll for her that I wasn’t considering.

In my defense, I’ve done the work from home as a writer thing for most of the last 15 years. I’m used to limited human contact. A couple of minutes of conversation with a random stranger at the grocery store or with my mailman can keep me going for days.

Now that my brain and severely limited EQ has finally caught up with that conversation, I realize that my friend is probably having the normal reaction. We are social beings by biological programming. There’s physical safety in the warm embrace of a solid social support system. Of course, it goes deeper than that. Socializing with people supports mental health, physical health, and overall well-being.

So, while going out and physically visiting with friends and family may not be advisable, total isolation probably isn’t helping your brain. My friend is right that talking on the phone isn’t the same as being there, but it’s better than nothing. You can also take advantage of options like Facetime, Skype video calling, or other video call programs. Seeing the other person can help remove some of the feelings of isolation.

You can jump into shared movie nights with Netflix Party. I won’t go into a lengthy explanation since this article does it just fine. Basically, you watch the same thing at the same time and chat about it in real-time.

For the love of God, turn off the news. Yes, you need to stay informed, but a constant barrage of pandemic news isn’t going to help your sense of well-being. This may mean you need to disconnect from social media as well. I just went on Twitter and it was like the All Coronavirus Channel. (I’m only slightly exaggerating. I follow writers, so there was also writing talk.) Find lighthearted things to watch instead, like old I Love Lucy episodes or a comedy film that you enjoy. Pro tip: you can watch all of I Love Lucy on Hulu. CBS.com offers a random selection of episodes from the first season for free.

Listen to a funny audiobook. I recommend Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker books and Dirk Gently books are highly amusing. If you’re not on Audible or don’t have any credits left right now, you should see if your library offers Overdrive. Overdrive is basically a collection of ebooks and audiobooks you can borrow for free. You’ll probably need to download the app to your phone or tablet of choice and get signed in, but it’s pretty straightforward after that.

Most importantly, be nice to yourself. If you find the isolation depressing, it’s not a character flaw. It means that you’re probably normal and crave a normal amount of social interaction. Call your family. Chat with your neighbors from a safe distance. I’ll also be checking the comments section of this post, my Facebook author page, and my Twitter feed on regular basis. If you don’t have anyone else, reach out and I’ll do my best to respond in a timely manner.

If, for any reason, you feel like you might harm yourself in this time of isolation, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

2020 Bucket List

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

I’ve never really done a bucket list because they always felt somehow detached to me. There’s too much wish and not enough specificity about the when. So rather than do a bucket list of things I’d like to maybe do someday, here’s my bucket list for this year. If it makes you feel better, you can call it my goals list.

Be a better friend. This age of digital distraction, coupled with my natural homebody-ness, and a somewhat selfish nature make it really easy for me to not be a very good friend. I’m not sure exactly how one fixes this problem, but it’s a priority for me.
I currently have six books in various stages of completion. One of them has been more than half done for far longer than is acceptable. So, bucket list item number one is to complete 2-3 novels this year.
Get the machinima finished and posted on YouTube. Another project that I’ve talked about for years and never delivered on. Well, it’s back on the front-ish burner and you should expect progress reports soon.
Visit Crater Lake. I’ve been talking about doing this for years now. It’s time to start making plans and working out the logistics. Besides, it’ll make for some great Instagram opportunities. Also, there’s something inherently beneficial about travel. Writers are notorious for being anti-social, though it’s mostly because most writers need solitude to concentrate. Unfortunately, that can also damage your mental resilience when it comes to change. You become intolerant of change or unwilling to embrace it. Travel forces you to cope with a wide range of uncertainties. It’s also good for refreshing your perspective. If you generally travel by car – the way I do – you become deeply aware of the sheer size of this country and to the world to a lesser extent. That can only make you/me a better person.
Get in shape and trim fat. Notice I did not say lose weight, although that’s likely to happen at first. Losing weight too often means losing muscle mass. I don’t care about the number on the scale, except how it relates to my overall body fat and BMI. I’ve gotten really sloppy about my eating habits in the last few years. I’ve also gotten really lazy about exercise. So, I’ve started working on both. My BMI is around 25, which puts me right at the tipping point between healthy and overweight. To combat this, I’ve started leaning heavily into grilled chicken (thank you George Foreman Grill), steamed veggies, salad and fruit. I’ve also put myself on a near-absolute takeout moratorium, which was easier than it sounds. On the getting in shape front, there’s no big secret to that. Like most people, I need a steady combo of cardio, flexibility, and strength training. So, jogging, yoga, basic bodyweight exercises and some light resistance training with dumbbells. Yes, I ache a lot right now, but I’d rather ache a bit now than find I can’t do that kind of training ten years down the line.
Do more in-person promotion. I’ve largely shunned the prospect of doing live events, readings, and book signings for a couple of reasons. One is that I don’t especially love large groups of people. The other is that there’s generally a lot of work involved in tracking down venues and opportunities. It’s high time I started putting in the effort to support my books that way. They deserve it.
Start a blog chronicling my local adventures. I spent years living in Memphis without really experiencing the place. I don’t want to repeat that mistake where I’m living now. There are a lot of cool/niche places around here that I plan to try to visit. If I’m going to do that, I may as well blog about it.

So, there’s my 2020 bucket list.

Prince of Sands – Chapter Three

Potential cover for the book

Chapter 3

Antemenus sighed to himself when he heard the knock on the door. Nearly six months since he’d come to this dreadful city to act as Gelik’s steward and the fools still hadn’t learned. Barely a day went by without a messenger from a great house arriving with an invitation to some function or event. While the details of the local politics were still lost on him, it didn’t take a genius to understand that all of them were trying to drag Gelik into their machinations. He seen similar games carried out on a smaller scale among his own people. The tactics were different, but the price remained the same for any who fell short. His own father had become an unwilling master of the game. So, Antemenus wasn’t shocked at all that some invitations came from houses that were antagonistic to the royal house. A few invitations had come from families that Gelik himself identified as hereditary enemies of his family. After writing the first handful, Antemenus hired a scribemaster to craft a hundred generic, if politely worded, letters that declined such invitations. He was beginning to wonder if he should have another hundred made.

He was also beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake coming here. Granted, he’d come both because his friend had asked him to do so and because honor demanded it, but he was not a creature of city walls. He no more belonged here than the nightwraiths or the mythical sand dragons. He yearned for the hidden places of his own people. He yearned for his wife and children. Ampella’s fourteenth birthday was mere weeks away, he realized with a start. A sharp burst of self-hatred seared him at the idea of not being there. After one last night with her family, she’d leave behind the trappings of childhood and enter into formal training.

He both dreaded and hoped that she’d be accepted into the Emchelan. Acceptance among those women would honor Ampella. She’d carry a status independent of her family. One that no one could ever take from her. On the other hand, Antemenus knew all too well what brutal training waited down that path, having undertaken similar training as one of the Kemsani. It was a prospect no father could entirely wish for a child. That self-hatred burned in him again. Yet, there was no other path he could follow. Abandoning Gelik to face this awful city alone was unthinkable. His daughter would have denounced him as a coward or, worse, a faithbreaker. He didn’t dare wonder what his wife would have done. There was no escaping it. For the moment, he would act in his chosen role. He stepped into the entryway and opened the door. He frowned slightly at the man who stood in the doorway. Marsas was one person on an exceedingly short list of people that Gelik had said should be allowed entry at any time. A beefy man with a goatee and a slender woman flanked Marsas, both in new looking uniforms and both heavily armed. All three of them looked uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Antemenus said in the driest tone he could manage.

“I need to see, that is to say, I’d like to see Prince Gelik. It’s royal business.”

Antemenus counted to five in his head, mostly to make it look like he was thinking very hard on the request, before he issued a sigh and stepped aside. “Your guards must remain outside.”

Marsas seemed confused for a moment before glancing over his shoulder at the beefy man. “Oh, yes, that’s fine. Wait here for me.”

The pair nodded in unison before they took up station on either side of the door, scanning the street with focused attention. Curious, thought Antemenus. He closed the door after Marsas stepped inside and gave the man a considering look. It seemed to Antemenus that Marsas had undergone some kind of promotion since Gelik first pointed the man out to him. His clothes were of too fine a cut and material for a simple city guardsman, even the captain. They were most certainly new because the man kept adjusting the collar in what looked like an unconscious gesture.

“Follow me, please,” said Antemenus.

Marsas fell into step beside Antemenus and glanced his way. “How did you come into Prince Gelik’s service, if I can ask?”

“He asked,” Antemenus replied in a neutral tone. “I accepted.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” said Marsas, his tone a mix of mild annoyance and tension.

“I know. It is, however, unseemly to ask into the employment arrangements of another man’s servants.”

Marsas blinked rapidly for a moment before he nodded. “You’re right, of course. I apologize.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Antemenus pushed open a door in the rear of the house and led Marsas into the back yard. Prince Gelik crouched near the back wall, tending to a garden filled with a number of small plants. Antemenus could name them all, but he doubted that the guardsman had ever even seen most of them. He admitted to himself that he envied Gelik’s seemingly magical ability with the plants. It was a gift he didn’t share. He cleared his throat and Gelik looked up.

“Prince Gelik, you have a guest.”

“Marsas,” said Gelik.

There was an echo of warmth in Gelik’s tone that piqued Antemenus’ curiosity. He had often wondered who Gelik had been before the desert changed him. He supposed he was seeing a ghost of that man in the scraps of warmth he displayed toward the city guardsman. The steward didn’t relish his next words, knowing it would drag that warmth back down into whatever grave it had sprung from.

“He’s here on royal business.”

Gelik’s eyes went flat and his expression became one of blank indifference. “I see. Am I commanded to make another appearance at the palace?”

Marsas looked deeply uncomfortable, but he shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Your parents, The King and Queen, they think you’re too exposed here.”

Gelik stared at his old friend, saying nothing, expression fixed in that awful, blank indifference.

Marsas waited for far longer than necessary before continuing. “They made me your protector, Gelik.”

A real expression cracked through the indifference. Gelik looked confused. “My protector? You aren’t a…”

Antemenus watched in rapt fascination as Gelik trailed off, his face shifting from confusion to shock and, finally, to dawning horror. It was more emotion than the man normally displayed in weeks.

“Tell me they didn’t,” said Gelik, his voice low and angry.

“They made me a knight,” admitted Marsas.

Antemenus eyed the newly minted knight and felt his own unease surface. While he might not understand all of the local politics, yet, politics was always inherently dangerous. Court intrigue was venomous and often lethal, even for those who imbibed it with mother’s milk. Those who found themselves elevated by marriage or deed into the nobility worked at a brutal disadvantage. Marsas struck him as a straightforward man. That would leave him doubly disadvantaged against noblemen and noblewomen who wielded words like weapons.

“Damn them,” said Gelik.

“Your highness,” said Marsas in stunned objection.

“Damn them to the burning sun and pitiless winds,” Gelik seethed through clenched teeth, his fists closing into hard balls.

Marsas didn’t notice, but Antemenus had to force down a warning as he saw what was happening at Gelik’s feet. A warning would only serve to draw attention. Antemenus eased a hand around the hilt of a small blade he kept hidden up an intentionally voluminous sleeve. He watched Marsas’ eyes for even the slightest downward flicker. If the man looked down, Gelik’s friend or not, Antemenus would have to take matters into his own hands for the good of all. After a few tense moments, Gelik mastered himself and the unusual burst of emotion. The disturbance at the man’s feet subsided as he regained control. Antemenus heaved an inward sigh of relief as he released the hilt. He hadn’t wanted to kill Marsas. Nor had he relished the idea of devising some plausible tale that might explain why Prince Gelik’s steward had murdered the new royal bodygaurd. Antemenus wasn’t sure that such a story existed. Gelik resumed his neutral expression as he regarded Marsas, though Antemenus thought he detected a hint of compassion in the Prince’s eyes.

“Very well, Marsas,” said Gelik. “Assign your people as you see fit. Provide Antemenus with the details and I’ll see to their pay.”

“The Queen has already seen to that,” said Marsas, his expression a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

“No, old friend. I won’t tolerate divided loyalties. Their pay will come from me and they’ll know it. Use my mother’s money to outfit them, arm them, or provide them additional training. There must be a few bored weapons or combat masters somewhere in the city who want a new challenge. Secure their services. If I must endure the presence of guards, they can at least be well-trained guards.”

“I helped train those people. My men and women would die to protect you,” barked Marsas. “Don’t mock them!”

Antemenus found himself reaching for the hidden blade again on instinct, but arrested the movement when he saw Gelik’s calm demeanor.

“You misunderstand me, Marsas. I don’t doubt that they’d bravely sacrifice themselves for me. I just don’t ever want any of them to need to do it. The more training they get, the fewer of them will die when one of the Houses inevitably send their killers. Sooner or later, one of the High Lords will decide that my death will open up an opportunity for a new line of succession. I don’t want your people getting killed when that fight begins.”

Marsas digested that speech in silence before he nodded. “I expect you’re right. I’ll provide your man the details and see about hiring on some new trainers.”

“Very good.”

“I’ll see myself out. I’ve left two on guard for the moment. They’re solid. You can trust them.”

Gelik nodded and then watched as Marsas left. Antemenus pondered the conversation for a moment before he snorted in mild amusement.

Gelik cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

“I think I’d pay actual money to see you fight with these House assassins. It’d be entertaining.”

“It wouldn’t be. They’re too dangerous for anything but an immediate, lethal response.”

“You’d know best. What about Marsas? Will he be a problem?”

“No,” replied Gelik with a hard look. “He and his people are a minor complication. We’ll work around them as necessary.”

“Isn’t complication another word for problem?”

“Don’t you have linens to count?”

Antemenus shrugged and said, “Why in the world would I do that?”

Prince of Sands – Chapter Two

Chapter 2

Six months later…

“What is your report, Captain?”

Marsas tried to swallow down his apprehension. He’d known Queen Elyen for much of his life. More than a decade ago, when Gelik had chosen a much younger Marsas for friend and companion in minor trouble making, the Queen had treated him well. She’d invited him into the world of the royal family as much as any man of low birth could be invited into the company of his betters. That had been long ago and time had not softened the Queen. He’d seen her only on a handful of occasions since, at formal functions for the most part, and she’d been courteous to him, but not friendly. When he was honest with himself, Marsas could admit that he was afraid of this woman. Whatever softness that once let her treat him kindly was long since chiseled away by time and loss. Gray eyes nearly the exact shade of her hair regarded him with cool calculation and Marsas wondered, not for the first time, who really ruled the city.

In her youth, Elyen had been courted by most powerful scions of noble houses before settling on the then Prince Quenlis as her future husband. Rumor held that it was a protracted decision and the High Lord Semer had never forgiven her for the slight. Marsas suspected the Elyen and Quenlis had come to an arrangement that, behind the scenes, the queen would get a strong hand in guiding the city. The King was a man who preferred hunting and military exercises to politics. It would make sense if he chose someone who not only liked, but excelled in such matters as his wife.

“Well, Captain,” said the Queen, losing patience with the silence.

Marsas took a steadying breath. He hated delivering bad news.

“There’s been no change, your majesty.”

The Queen rose from her chair and walked over to a window. She stared out over the city before turning her head slightly, exposing a partial profile.

“Six months since he returned and he’s only set foot in the palace twice. Both times he came only at the end of royal commands. He ignores his duties. Instead of taking up residence in chambers here or at least in one of his own properties, he purchases that tiny hovel. He refuses all royal attendants, employing those foreigners as staff. He could be assassinated at any moment. You’re his friend, Marsas. What is he playing at?”

Marsas said nothing, assuming the question was rhetorical. The Queen turned fully and stared at him in annoyance.

Marsas hesitated for a moment before he rolled the dice. “May I speak freely, your majesty?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, waving a hand.

“I can’t pretend to know his mind, but I don’t believe he’s playing at anything.”

The Queen narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

“He may believe that he has no duties to the city.”

“He is a prince,” said the Queen.

“He was, your Majesty. He’s also a lawbreaker, condemned by the court to twelve years in the desert. He may believe or choose to believe that his conviction strips him of any obligations.”

“Choose to believe?” Asked the Queen, raising an eyebrow.

“Your majesty, after all those years in the desert, alone, he may believe himself,” Marsas hesitated again.

“Out with it, man.”

“He may think himself unfit. Your majesty, he may be right.”

The Queen’s face betrayed none of her thoughts. She walked back over to her chair and sat. “Even so, he’s still too exposed. Any of the houses might have him killed to strike at us for perceived slights.”

“Your majesty, he survived the desert. Which of the houses would be mad enough to tempt the wrath of such a man?”

“I suspect, good captain, that it is that precise fear which has stayed their hands this long. Yet, memory is short and eventually someone will try. No matter how dangerous my son may or may not be, it only takes one lucky strike, one moment of lapsed attention for someone to end his life. No, I will not trust in unsubstantiated fears to protect him. I certainly won’t trust a small handful of foreigners to protect him. You will protect him.”

Marsas blinked a few times before words finally came to him. “Your majesty, I can’t be his protector.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not a noble. Royal bodyguards must be nobles.”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” she said, holding out a rolled parchment that Marsas took from her hand.

He unrolled it and tried to make the words on the paper make sense. “Your majesty?”

“Marsas, son of Selman, in recognition of your many services to the city, stalwart loyalty to the crown, and defense of the law, we do hereby raise you to the rank of knight with all of its privileges and duties. We hereby also appoint you the royal bodyguard of Prince Gelik.”

The whirl of emotions inside of Marsas left him feeling unbalanced, as if he might topple over at any moment. This is bad, he realized. Beyond bad. The Queen had laid all of the responsibility for keeping Gelik alive on his shoulders.

“Your majesty, I’m,” he started.

She waved off his words. “I’m not a fool, Marsas. I know I’ve saddled you with a title you probably don’t want and a job absolutely no sane person wants. I also don’t expect you to do it alone. Choose ten of your city guard, men and women you trust, and appoint them as your squires.”

“Ten squires?”

“It gives them just enough noble standing to serve as bodyguards.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marsas mumbled.

“Marsas, keep him alive. I don’t care if you have to slit the throat of a sitting high lord to protect my son. Do it. You’ll never face the tribunal.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marsas repeated, a little more firmly.

The Queen looked away before she spoke. “I take it he still receives no callers.”

“He declines all invitations and refuses all visitors, save one.”

The Queen glanced at him. “Who?”

“The Lady Margreva.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, he could hardly turn her away, all things considered. Does she visit often?”

“Only the one time.”

The Queen looked thoughtful. “Pity. She might have brought him back to us, if anyone could. Thank you, Marsas, that will be all. Viker is waiting outside. She’ll show you to your new home.”

“New home, your majesty?”

“You’re a knight now, Sir Marsas,” said the Queen with a slight smile. “It’s not all duty and obligation.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” said Marsas, bowing and backing out of the room.

A no-nonsense woman in black pants and a gray vest embroidered with the Queen’s crest waited in the hall. She studied him with bright blue eyes. Black hair hung around her oval face in a cascade of gentle curls. Marsas noted the pair of daggers she wore on each hip. They weren’t ceremonial daggers and the hilts were worn. Marsas’ instincts screamed that this woman was all sorts of dangerous.

“Sir Marsas, I assume,” she said.

“Yes. Viker, I assume.”

She gave him an amused half-smile. “Follow me, please. You’ve got an obscene amount of nonsense to deal with today.”

“What nonsense?”

“Paperwork,” she said. “A lot of it, I’m afraid.”

Marsas sighed. “Paperwork makes me want to drink.”

“If you make it through the day without killing anyone, I’ll buy you a bottle of something good.”

© 2019 Eric Dontigney

Prince of Sands – Chapter One

“When we first began sending men out into the desert, it was not meant as a banishment but an execution. The desert beyond the walls of the Great Cities is unforgiving to even the best prepared of men, as you well know. Yet, occasionally, inexplicably, a man returned from the desert when his sentence was over. A man who survives a year in the desert should be respected, for his strength is unparalleled. Fear the man who survives five years, for only a creature of single-minded, ruthless determination could do so. A man who survives ten? There are only two ways to treat that man. Either make him a general or shower him with property and wealth and then leave him alone. For a man who survives ten years in the sands is a man who has had all mercy, compassion, and hesitation burned out of him forever.”

~Idram Korsary, High Magistrate of the Ithanen Tribunal, personal correspondence with King Lenisek the Wise

Chapter One

Adra shivered as the winds picked up, blowing her city guard’s cloak around her. She was always baffled by how quickly the temperature dropped at night. She’d been told that it was perfectly natural and that professors at the university could explain it. Yet, such temperature extremes seemed innately supernatural to her. As though a god of blazing fury ruled during the day and one of icy indifference ruled at night. She could shake off such thoughts when she was at home, surrounded by light and comfort. On the nights she found herself guarding the city gates at dusk, though, she could swear she felt the gaze of that icy god watching her. She squinted out into the dunes, trying to force her eyes to see with greater clarity. It was the third time she thought she’d seen…something moving out there in the sands.

“You’re imagining it,” she muttered to herself.

“Imaging what?” Asked Marsas, the captain of the guard.

Adra glanced over at the man as he stepped up beside her. Marsas was an imposing man, a full head taller than Adra, and heavily muscled. He was the sort of man Adra imagined could end a tavern brawl by the simple expedient of beating everyone in the place into unconsciousness. Yet, she also knew that he was a basically fair and decent man known more his calm than his fists. He made a point to do some of the training with every recruit and knew everyone’s name. If the cold bothered him, it didn’t show on his face, which made Adra more than a little envious. She was fit and strong, but too slender to simply ignore the cold. She’d even worn an extra shirt beneath her uniform.

She sighed a little to herself, shivered again, and then answered. “I thought I saw something moving out there.”

To his credit, the captain peered hard out into the darkness, his eyes sweeping back and forth across the dunes. He pursed his lips before shrugging. “Maybe you did imagine it. Been a long many years since the last of the desert creatures came close enough to the walls to be seen.”

Adra nodded and then froze. She pointed. “There.”

Marsas followed her pointed finger and then sucked in a short breath. “By the high sun, is that a man on horseback? Alone?”

Adra nodded as a kind of numbness settled over her. No one traveled the desert alone and never after sunset. It was simply too dangerous. The nightwraiths haunted the deserts, to say nothing of many predators said to prowl the dunes. Adra had heard stories of snakes twice as long as a person is tall that could bring down war horses with a single bite. To travel the sands at night wasn’t simple folly, it was madness. Yet, there before her own eyes, she saw a figure on horseback steadily approaching the city at calm walk. Adra jumped when Marsas bellowed orders over his shoulder. It only took a few minutes before half a dozen of the city guard stood at the gate. Adra wasn’t sure what they would do. There was no law forbidding entry at night during times of peace. Perhaps the law didn’t exist because no one imagined it would prove necessary. The guards all stood transfixed by the approaching figure for twenty minutes as it closed the distance with the gate.

The person on the horse made a single quiet noise and the horse drew to stop mere feet from the guards. The horse appeared healthy, if a little on the lean side. The figure who sat on it was swathed in a dark cloak, a deep cowl pulled far forward, obscuring the face beneath. It rested one gloved hand on the saddle’s pommel. She couldn’t know it, but she was sure that the figure stared at her for one long moment. The icy feeling she got from it was so similar to one she felt from the night that she nearly stepped back. Marsas took a small step forward and let his hand fall none too subtly by the hilt of his sword. The cowl twitched slightly as the figure regarded Marsas.

“State your business and intentions, traveler,” said the captain of the guard.

There was a long pause before the figure finally spoke and a steady male voice issued from beneath the cowl. “I invoke the right of return.”

There was a long moment where all the guards tried to process the words, right of return. They all knew them from training. It was when a criminal sent into the desert returned after their sentence was completed. Of course, it hadn’t happened in the four years Adra had been a guard. No one had invoked the right of return since her grandmother’s time. The desert was pitiless that way. They all just stared at the man while he, well, who know what he was doing beneath the cowl.

“Let me see it,” Marsas finally said, breaking the silence.

The man swung down off the horse and walked over to the captain. Adra hadn’t realized it while he was up on the horse, but he was tall. Taller than even the captain, if not quite so bulky. The man pulled the glove off his right hand and pushed up a sleeve. He showed the captain the inside of his forearm. Adra could see the discoloration from the tattoo. If she remembered correctly, it was a falcon’s head in profile with two dates beneath it. One date was the day a prisoner was banished to the desert. The other was the day a prisoner’s sentence was over. The captain stared down at that tattoo for a long time before he looked into the shadowed depths of the cowl.

“Is it you?” The captain whispered.

There was a brief pause before the man answered. “No. That man is dead. The desert killed him.”

A look of pain crossed the captain’s face before he schooled his face into rigid neutrality. “Adra, come here.”

Adra walked cautiously over to the two men, “Yes, sir.”

“Please examine the tattoo.”

Adra peered down at the tattoo. She supposed it must have been a crisp black at some point, but it looked faded now. She remembered right. It was a falcon’s head in profile. She looked at the dates and her mind went momentarily blank. This man had been in the sands for twelve years. It seemed ludicrous. No, she realized, it was impossible. No one could have survived out there for that long. The tattoo sat there in start counterpoint to her disbelief. Whoever he was, this man had done the impossible. She looked at the captain.

“It’s,” she took a deep breath and continued, “it’s the right day, sir.”

“Thank you, Adra,” he said before addressing the other man. “Your right of return is valid. Open the interior gate and let him pass.”

Adra stood next to the captain as they watched the man put his glove back on, remount, and ride into the city. Adra looked at the captain who wore a far off expression, as though his mind were hundreds of miles in the distance or, Adra realized, twelve years in the past. She steeled herself and turned to the captain.

“Sir, who is that man?”

The captain’s eyes snapped back into focus. He looked at her and seemed to make a decision. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. Everyone will know soon enough. He was Prince Gelik, heir to the throne.”

“Was, sir?”

“Twelve years, Adra. Twelve years in the heat, sand, and monsters. Twelve years unable to enter any of the Great Cities. His only contact with other people coming from caravans or the occasional passing army. Yes, I meant was. I knew Prince Gelik, but only the winds and gods know who that man is now.”

© 2019 Eric Dontigney

I’m Tired of Dark Sci-Fi Television…So, I’m Ready to Help

There’s a lot of talk out there about how we’re in a “Golden Age” of television. In some respects, that’s true. There is more high-quality television programming being produced now than at any other time that I can recall as an adult. Yet, despite that, I’m largely dissatisfied with most of what I see, even when I think I should like it.

Take GoT, for example. That should have been a show that I would love. Excellent production values. Top shelf casting. High fantasy. That’s historically been exactly my cup of tea. I watched one season of it with a lingering sense of dislike and stopped watching after the first few episodes of Season 2. Why? I hated absolutely every character on screen for one reason or another. Despite everyone’s assurance that some of the characters would become less despicable or at least less one note over time, I wasn’t willing to slog through seasons of hating everyone on screen to get to that point.

In other cases, the tonal quality of the shows gets on my nerves. I’m not someone who shies away from some darkness, as anyone who has read one of my books knows. Bad stuff needs to happen to characters to drive any narrative arc. The bad stuff can be huge or it can be small. What really matters is how well you contextualize and represent that bad stuff on the screen. However, no one lives in a permanent vacuum of despair/awfulness/failure.

This kind of grimdark ethos/aesthetic is so omnipresent on TV these days that you can’t escape it. You can see this on The Blacklist, Arrow, Into the Badlands, virtually every zombie show, Wynona Earp, most police procedurals, Supernatural, medical dramas, and even shows that should know better, like The Flash or the newest entry in the Star Trek franchise. You couldn’t pay me to live in the disaster-magnet Seattle of Grey’s Anatomy. The new Trek is so dark it may as well be called House of Starships. It’s a relentless tide of gray amorality and violence.

(Looking over that list, I’ll admit there’s a heavy leaning toward science fiction and fantasy because that’s what I like to watch. It’s what I like to read and write as well.)

So, faced with that relentless tide, I look back at the shows that I really loved. Things on that list include Firefly, Eureka, Burn Notice, Leverage, White Collar, The Librarians, Castle, Doctor Who, and Stargate SG1. Most of these shows have something in common. They’re dramedies that struck a very specific tonal balance between drama and comedy. They all put forward very serious episodes now and then, but they don’t take themselves too seriously as a rule. They know how to smile or give the audience a wink and nod.

That’s a quality that is getting tougher and tougher to find on television, which means I watch less and less new scripted television these days. By my reckoning, if I want darkness, unhappiness, and moral ambiguity, I can just read a newspaper. Of course, as I write all of this, I’m reminded of the old adage that you shouldn’t complain about things you aren’t willing to work to change. Well, I’m willing to work on this problem. This is an open invitation to anyone out there who wants a story consultant/writer for a sci-fi dramedy. I don’t care if you’re an indie producer, YouTuber, or work in more traditional TV production, I’m ready to do my part. Leave a comment, hit me up on social media, and we’ll talk.