Michael Kanuckel's Blog

Permanently 99 cents.

Only 99 cents for an 800 page fantasy novel that has 16 5-star reviews on Amazon? I say yes!
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00F0N5HEQ

getting your name out there...

in the efforts of trying to establish myself as a fantasy writer, i'm just giving my work away!
11 5-star reviews on Amazon. 9 short tales of the fantastic, currently free. Grab a copy today, and get to know the fiction of Michael Kanuckel.
http://www.amazon.com/Small-Matters-M...

free today!

Free today! Come and find out for yourself why Michael Kanuckel is a name that fantasy lovers are going to be talking about.
http://www.amazon.com/Quatro-Michael-...

An excerpt from Agent White.

Agent White is out now, and I'm proud of it. It's a damn fine book, in my humble opinion. Here's a sample:

Boggle and Carolann walked on toward Rock City’s gate, hand in
hand. Ezra wondered how the girl couldn’t feel that dark presence, didn’t
seem to know that their deaths were coming up that rusty track.
“Run, girl!” he screamed, and both of them jumped. Boggle
whirled with a curved blade in his fist, eyes flaring. Ezra waved him on.
“Take her! Get her safe!” He looked beyond them, to the gatehouse, and
saw a figure in the shadows there. A pair of glowing white eyes met
Ezra’s. A small head bowed.
The girl will be safe here, Ezra Beckitt, a voice said. It had all of
the force of a cotton slip dragging along in the high grass, but he heard it.
We honor our promises.
Carolann, Ezra thought. He turned to the Incline.
“The girl’s safe, Elf!” Ezra said. There was an old man’s tremor in
his voice. “You’re too late!”
Laughter washed over him from down the mountain.
Keep him busy, old man, he told himself. Make him dance.
He didn’t bother looking for a target. He emptied both guns along
the path of the abandoned Incline, reloaded clumsily, and did it again.
Thirty years ago he hadn’t been able to tag this creature in an alleyway
too narrow to allow a car, but maybe he’d get lucky. Flame leapt from his
barrels. Bullets bit dirt and gravel and dug unreadable runes into the
trunks of the lonely fall trees.
A dull roar filled his ears. Ezra, dumbstruck, realized that he was
hearing the sound of air parting, making room for a mass that had not
occupied that space until just now. He fell back a step, dropping his guns,
and reached for the sword on his hip. He drew the blade awkwardly and
managed to bring it up just in time to meet the elf’s own through nothing
but sheer luck.

http://www.amazon.com/Agent-White-Mic...

Coming This Week!

It's almost time, friends. By Thursday or Friday, Agent White will be here. Ezra Beckitt is on the case...

A few colorful curses and several minutes later, Ezra managed to load the vidchip into Jim’s player, a device about the size of the DVD’s people used to watch their movies on. When he was sure that it was going to play he went back to his chair, turning around just in time to face his old friend just as he must have looked in the days before death took him.
“Ezra, boy,” the Liam on the screen said, grinning with only the left side of his lined face. “If you’re watchin this, it means I’m dead- an it’s about time, you ask me. I’ve been almost dead for more years than I care to think about.” Liam paused, reached off-screen for something, and then lit a Chesterfield with a match from the tin Ezra now held in his hand.
“I been keepin an eye on you, Ezra,” Liam said. “You done good. A good Guard and a pool hustler have a lot in common, you know. You learned how to read the table, to see what could happen next if you go one way instead of the other. You learned to guess how your opponent would make his play. Only problem is, you don’t know who you’re playin against on this table, Ezra.
“I’m not the only one who’s been watchin.”
Ezra looked over at Jim, who said nothing and only nibbled at the ragged nail of his thumb.
“I never knew much about the whole thing anyway,” Liam said from the screen, propped up on his bed the way he’d been propped up in his coffin the last time Ezra saw him in the flesh. “I’m just a talent scout of sorts, you might say. I listen to the wind an tell the bigs which way it’s blowin. I’ve got an eye that sees a little sharper.
“But now my time is done.”
Liam grinned again, the right side of his mouth twitching slightly. “Almost everyone’s time is done, boy, an that’s why I’ve left you this message. I hope ya make it to the funeral so Vondell don’t have to drive his ancient ass all the way to the Green City- he’s always hated to travel, kind of makes his name a joke, you ask me.”
Ezra leaned forward in his seat, lighting a cigarette without even thinking about it. Jim sat transfixed by the old hustler on the screen, and didn’t think to say anything about it- probably didn’t even notice just then.
“It’s time for you to do what you were made to do, boy,” Liam said. “Time for you to bend all of your will to yourself and unleash your full talent. The dice have been thrown, the war is coming. You have to find him, Ezra. Find Owen, and set the White against the Black while there’s still time left.”
Stillfield Liam smiled. The screen went black.

More of an announcement than a blog...

My new novel, Agent White, is coming soon from my new home, J Ellington Ashton Press. I'm very excited about it! And I wanted to share this really cool interview I did with you. If you're an author or an artist, you should check this guy out!

http://youareentitledtomyopinioninter...

Stepping out of bounds...

As a writer, I'm most comfortable when there is a hero with shining sword in hand, facing off against some monster that threatens the peace of the land. That's an overly simplistic example, but fantasy is my comfort zone.
As a writer, I should be uncomfortable with the idea of getting comfortable. So should we all. When you get comfortable, you end up like my old couch- there's only one possible way to lie comfortably in that thing, because it's so old and worn down that that one groove, that one RUT, is the only place to be. Actors worry about getting type-cast; writers should fear typecasting themselves.
And so, I've taken a step back from the fantasy world I've been weaving for a decade to try something new. I'm writing a horror story.
Will it be any good? Will the anthology I'm going to submit it to like it? That's really not the point. The point is stepping out of bounds, moving away from the familiar old sentences and slinging some new ones out there. The point is to stretch. It might turn out to be absolute garbage. I might end up not even submitting it. I won't know until it's done, and that's the whole point.
Not knowing.
Not being comfortable.
Turning into a blind alley just for the pure sake of the strange.
Life's an adventure, friends. And so is writing.

That Sweet Siren....

I was just about to go to sleep. There I was, last cigarette of the day crushed in the ashtray and glasses set aside on the coffee table, getting SO comfortable- and then BOOM! Idea.
I had been looking for the way into this short story idea I've been kicking around for a couple of days, without success. And then, right when I was shutting down for the day, there it was.
And this is one of the simplest ideas in the world really- when that happens, you can do one of two things. One, you can get back up and work that idea, get it started, get something down. Two, you can let it go and just go to sleep. Maybe the idea will still be there when you wake up- maybe. Or maybe it will be gone, off to that landfill of ideas that almost happened.
My suggestion would be that you get up.

Fantasy and the Force

The Original Star Wars Trilogy was my first introduction to the fantasy genre. And I say fantasy, because this is so. Underneath all of the flashy trappings of science fiction, this story is one of the grandest examples of High Fantasy that I have known.
I was born the year after the release of Episode IV, and saw all three movies, in order, after the release of Episode VI. I would have a hard time thinking of another story from that time in my life that held the power, or the magic, of those movies. Long before I knew of Camelot, or Middle-Earth, or even Wonderland, I knew the vast dunes of Tatooine, burning beneath the gaze of her twin suns. Before ever I wept as Gandalf the Grey fell with the Balrog into the shadows of Khazad-Duhn, I wailed inconsolably when Obi-Wan Kenobi was struck down by Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. When I read of Arthur, son of a king but raised in secret as a page, pulling the sword from the stone and claiming his destiny, I couldn’t help but think of a young farm boy named Luke, and his fight for the fate of an entire galaxy. Merlin, wizard and advisor, came to me after already hearing the wisdom of Master Yoda, and so seemed to pale in comparison. For it was there, in a galaxy far, far away, that my sensibilities, taste, and desire for fantasy were forged. Sting, glowing in the darkness when orcs were near, driving away the evil Shelob when her victory seemed at hand, seemed in my mind to be the blue blade of the fallen Anakin Skywalker’s light saber, grasped by his son as he faced Vader in the billowing fumes and frozen air of Cloud City. Obi-Wan, kind, and just, and strong underneath the guise of a wandering old man, will always stand above Gandalf the Grey. And the Dark Lord himself, master of all evil, will to me forever be the Emperor Palpatine first, Sauron second, and all others trailing off below them, imitations as weak and fleeting as the millionth clone of Jango Fett.
Perhaps you don’t agree. Perhaps you started arguing with these words as soon as I had the audacity to call Star Wars an example of High Fantasy. Perhaps I can change your mind. Come with me, you will. Teach you, I will.
Yes.


Long, long ago, a Grand Republic ruled over all the lands. For a thousand generations of men it stood for peace and justice, protected by a mystic Order of knights. Through the power of a magic known as the Force, they stood as a symbol of wisdom and strength, a shining light in any darkness. But then came the dark times. Through treachery and deceit, in disguise a new Lord of the Sith rose to power, eventually holding the entire Republic in his fist. Turning the most powerful of the knights to the Dark Side of the Force with his lies, they hunted down and destroyed the knights of the JedI Order. The Old Republic was no more. Now was the time of the Empire. And yet, hope still remained…
Sound familiar? It could be Star Wars, but it could just as easily be the synopsis for a novel by Patricia McKillip, Dennis L. McKiernan, George R. R. Martin, or even Tolkien, the Master himself.
As a child, seeing Episode IV for the first time, I found myself completely pulled in to this fantasy world, this seemingly hopeless struggle of Good against Evil. I didn’t care about the ships, or the laser guns, or the space battles. I never even took a second look at the widely varied (and mostly cheesy) aliens lounging in the Mos Eisley Cantina. In my mind, a slideshow of images remain to this day, and I would share them with you. Young Luke Skywalker standing alone on the edge of his Uncle’s farm, watching the setting of the twin suns and dreaming of destiny. Obi-wan Kenobi coming out of the sweeping dunes of the Jundland Wastes, the Tusken Raiders fleeing before him. Darth Vader, reaching out with the Force to choke an insolent General. Obi-wan unleashing his blade for the first time in the Cantina, disarming his opponent with no change of expression on his old, wise face. Luke rushing back to his Uncle’s Farm to find it burning, destroyed by the forces of the Empire, and agreeing to come with Obi-wan and learn the ways of the Force. Obi-wan standing alone against Darth Vader, a gleaming blue blade set against a fell red one.
“The circle is now complete,” Vader says, a nightmare vision all in black, his voice the booming tones of a cave troll that has learned to speak. He towers over Kenobi, who only stands, calm and reserved, his light saber held before him at the ready. “When last we met, I was but the learner. Now I am the Master.”
“Only a Master of evil, Darth,” Kenobi says. And then they clash, while Luke looks on from across a fathomless drop.
Years later, immersed in The Fellowship of the Ring, I immediately thought of this when Gandalf stood upon the bridge, an old, worn man wrapped in simple robes, barring the way of the Balrog. Sword of flame against blade of light. “I am a servant of a secret fire,” Gandalf says, as Frodo, helpless, watches on. “You cannot pass.”
And so he fell, that Frodo might carry on, beyond even hope. Gandalf, of course, would return, and become even more powerful: no longer Gandalf the Grey, but Gandalf the White. When Vader mocks Obi-wan, telling him that his powers are weak, the old Jedi only smiles. “If you strike me down now,” he says, “I shall grow more powerful than you could possibly imagine.” And so it was. Through his death, he achieved much that otherwise could never have been. Luke and his companions escape, when escape would have been impossible. And Luke’s resolve is hardened, his desire to become a Jedi now a thing written in stone.
Luke, a simple boy, as yet untrained and unproven, manages to strike a terrific blow against the Empire by destroying one of the Emperor‘s most powerful weapons. His natural affinity for the Force, and the spectral voice of Obi-wan Kenobi, living now in the Force, sees him through this first trial. But there is still much to do.


The Hero’s Quest has always been the pillar on which all of fantasy stands. Even in sword and sorcery, the main characters are adventuring for something, be it a treasure, a lost city, or a kidnapped love. But we are speaking of High Fantasy, and there the stakes of the Hero’s Quest are much more profound. The fate of a kingdom, or a world, or all of the worlds that ever were and ever will be, hangs in the balance.
Many times in such a story, the hero already knows that he is a hero- perhaps, even, the child of a god, like Perseus, or Hercules, or Achilles. When Beowulf comes to the halls of King Hrothgar and declares that he will defeat Grendel, he is already a mighty man, assured of his power and his victory. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, knows that he is destined to strive with Sauron for the mastery of Middle-Earth. He has been aware, for all of his long life, that the high throne of Gondor is his.
But the Hero’s Quest is at its most powerful (and most popular) when the story revolves around a character who is not counted among the great and mighty. It has been seen countless times, and it will be seen again, because people, and especially people who are lovers of the fantasy genre, love an underdog. When Bastian Balthazar Bux stumbles into a used book shop and finds a story that actually takes him to another world, he cannot believe that he, and he alone, has the power to save that world. He refuses to believe it, until all that was Fantasia is nothing but a single grain of sand. When Frodo Baggins, through great danger, manages to bring the One Ring of Power to Rivendell, he believes his quest is over. After all, such a thing should be given over to the powerful and wise, not left in the hands of a Hobbit from the Shire. Little does he know that his Hero’s Quest is just beginning, or that it will be his fate (but not his alone) to go all the way into the Land of Shadow himself, and there destroy the Ring in the fires of Orodruin, Mount Doom, where long ago it was forged. In Charles deLint’s Eyes Like Leaves, Tarn is a poor beggar until the tree-wizard Puretongue takes him on as an apprentice, training him to one day face the Lord of Ice, who wishes to end summer in the Green Isles forever.
The list could go on, but I am only mortal. My time is fleeting.
Among the ranks of these renowned heroes, you will find Luke Skywalker. And no better example could you hope to find. Luke has never known his parents, who are dead. He lives with his aunt and uncle on their moisture farm, deep within the shifting sands of Tatooine. All he wants is to get away. When asked where they are by the droid C-3PO, Luke says, “Well, if there is a bright center of the galaxy, you’re at the point farthest from.”
The other new droid, the feisty R2-D2, accidentally shows Luke part of a holographic message while it is being cleaned. In the message, a beautiful princess is begging for the aid of a great warrior named Obi-wan Kenobi. Luke immediately thinks of Old Ben, a crazy hermit who dwells far out in the Jundland Wastes, but can’t imagine that a droid or a beautiful princess could have anything to do with “that crazy old wizard”, as his uncle calls him. Later that night, as the twin suns set over the farm, C-3PO tells Luke that R2-D2 has run off into the dessert. They jump into Luke’s land speeder, and the young farm boy’s heroic quest has begun.
In the beginning of the Hero’s Quest there is often ignorance of the stakes, denial of the hero’s role to be played, even self-depreciation. When Obi-wan Kenobi rescues Luke in the wastelands, and sees the message of the princess in full, he reveals to Luke that he was once a Jedi Knight, as was Luke’s father.
“My father didn’t fight in the wars,” Luke says. “He was navigator on a spice freighter.”
But that is only what his uncle told him. Anakin Skywalker, Obi-wan reveals, was a powerful Jedi, and a good friend. When Luke asked what happened to his father, Obi-wan tells him of an apprentice, named Darth Vader, who he trained. But Vader fell to the Dark Side of the Force, and betrayed and murdered Anakin. Obi-wan then searches through an old chest, and brings out Anakin Skywalker’s old weapon, saying that he wanted Luke to have it, when the time was right.
In Luke’s hands, the light saber, weapon of the Jedi Knight, ignites in blue flame. “Not as clumsy or random as a blaster,” Obi-wan comments. “An elegant weapon, from a more civilized time.”
Like Arthur with Excalibur, like Aragorn with Anduril, the sword broken and reforged a living flame in his hand, Luke holds not only a great weapon now, but a great and powerful destiny.
Obi-wan tells Luke that he must learn the ways of the Force, if he is to accompany him and aid the princess from the hologram. Luke seems shocked. Leave? Him? But there is so much to do! The harvest needs brought in. He and Uncle Owen were going to begin work on a new system of Vaporators for the next season. He can’t possibly get involved. Presented with the opportunity he had before claimed to desire, Luke is afraid. Perhaps he can sense destiny looming over him, and fears it. Home, detestable as it may be, is at least a known quantity. But to leave, with a shining blade and a crazy old man who claims to have known his long-dead father? It just isn’t possible.
Obi-wan merely leans back and strokes his beard. “You must do what you think is best, of course,” he says.
And here is another common factor of the Hero’s Quest. Call it fate, or destiny, or, as Stephen King does in his Dark Tower series, Ka. An unstoppable, immovable force of the Universe, it cares little for the wants and desires of the few, or the one. Ka (the term I prefer) is bound up in the greater goods and evils- those are its business.
Luke returns home, to find that home is gone. His aunt and uncle are dead, the homestead in flames. Soldiers of the Empire have come, searching for the two droids that Uncle Owen had just purchased. Ka has had its way with young Skywalker. He will go, and learn the ways of the Force, and become a Jedi, like his father before him.
I could go on, but I think you see my point. For everyone who writes, there is one piece of fiction that, deep down, made you believe what you believe and feel what you feel. Star Wars was mine- silly but true.

New year, same me.

I'm a terrible blogger. My last entry was almost exactly a month ago. It just seems like I never have anything to blog ABOUT. And when I do have a random thought to write down, it's usually not enough of something to bother writing a blog about it and I post it on Facebook.
It has been exciting times, though, this last month or so. I had a promotion day for Winter's Heart when more than 1,500 copies went out in one day. I signed a contract with an actual publishing house for my next book, Agent White, which I'm really excited about. And I'm deep into the rough draft of my next book after that, Trollbreaker, which is the first book in the series that will be my life's work. All in all, things are going quite well.
But I'm still a terrible blogger.