Andy Peloquin's Blog, page 4

Do Serial Killers Actually Make Society Better?

Disclaimer: I in no way endorse the actions of serial killers or criminals in any way! It’s simply a perspective that I found interesting enough to discuss here.

Serial killers have long fascinated us as a human race.

TV shows, movies, video games, books, and podcasts galore explore the strange and bizarre rituals of serial killers, diving into the mysteries of what makes these killers tick.

There is a certain element of excitement when discussing the Zodiac Killer or the Alphabet murders—not because we condone the actions, but because of the inherent mystery and bizarreness of such aberrant behavior.

I ran across an article in Psychology Today that took an unusual view on serial murders. Specifically, that they might actually provide a FUNCTION in society.

Strange, right? But as intriguing as the serial killers themselves…

The article mentions functionalism, a tradition of sociology that believes our society is “held together by social consensus, or cohesion, in which members of society agree upon—and work together to achieve—what is best for all of society”.

But this agreement doesn’t always work. There will always be criminals and people who deviate from the social consensus.

According to functionalism, crime and deviance might end up being “functional for society”.

Why is that?

A 19th Century sociologist by the name of Emile Durkheim believed that “because there cannot be a society in which the individuals do not differ to some extent from the collective type or average member, it is also inevitable that among the deviations there will be some individuals with criminal character.”

What’s fascinating about this theory is that it states that crime and deviance might actually be NECESSARY!

“Because criminal behavior promotes clarification of the moral boundaries that define society,” is the reasoning cited by this sociologist.

As humans, we’re hard-wired to want more of everything. Lust and greed are two of the cardinal sins for a reason, right?

Well, it’s not uncommon for us to become enslaved to the pursuit of that “more”, whatever it is. Success, money, power, love, fame, and so on—the more we have, the more we want, and the more we’re willing to do to obtain it.

Get where that’s going? Without some way to rein in that desire for more, some clear delineation of moral boundaries we shouldn’t cross, there’s nothing to stop us from doing whatever it takes or whatever we want to continue to get more.

Simply put, “crime helps society to define and delineate its collective consciousness and establish proper limitations.”

When a criminal is identified, apprehended, and punished, it shows the rest of us that their aberrant behavior is not to be tolerated. Thus, it sets limits on what is acceptable and unacceptable behavior, helping us to better conform to the social consensus.

But not only that!

“Crimes that are punished most severely by society are generally those which violate the most deeply cherished values of the community.”

Murder gets the highest punishment (the death penalty), and by this act, it proves to all of us that we as a society place a high value on human life. Compare it to the punishment for other minor crimes—like vandalism or battery assault—or the punishment for more serious crimes—like terrorism or kidnapping—and you get a clearer idea of how much these various values matter.

Serial killers take things a step further.

They are basically the living example of what happens when our wants and desires—in this case, the very human urge to kill other humans—get out of control or aren’t kept in check.

They are also an example of people without moral bonds and restraints, thereby helping us to understand the importance of developing those restraints and bonds of our own.

Basically, these outliers are what help us to firmly find our place in a “moral” society, teaching us by their bad example not only what NOT to do, but how we can fit into society better and become better human beings.

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It’s Okay to Fail—Just Fail Smarter!

 

Last month, I was struggling with something that came as close to “failure” as I have in my writing career.

For the first time EVER, I’m did something I never thought I would: I paused a project mid-book and changed stories.

Working on The Last March (The Silent Champions #6–a prequel standalone that closes out the world nicely) felt like pulling teeth a bit, and it was VERY hard to get the story out.

It felt like trying to wring water from a stone.

For those of you who’ve been following me for a while, you know that writing started out as something I loved to do. I LOVE bringing stories to life. I’ve written all these years it became something both therapeutic and an outlet for my innate creativity. I’ve turned it into a career, one I intend to keep at until I can no longer craft stories.

I don’t want to lose that love.

I don’t want to lose the passion that makes me tell the best possible stories–the stories you readers connect with.

So for the first time, I had to shut up my anxieties and fears for the future, the worries that come with being an artist, and I went with my gut.

(Yes, I’m a chronic over-thinker…)

Let’s be real, the last couple of years have been INTENSE!

I’ve worked hard for the last 10 months to bring The Silent Champions to life. Before that, I slaved away for 6 months to write the Heirs of Destiny. Before that, I sunk another 5 months into the last Hero of Darkness books.

That’s 21 months of pretty much non-stop writing!

I’m incredibly proud of those stories. I don’t think for a minute I half-assed any of them. I put every bit of myself into making them come alive.

I want to keep doing that. I want to NOT dread sitting down to write because I don’t have a clear path forward and not really enjoying what I’m writing.

The Silent Champions is currently hovering around 850,000 words. Most of them were written this year. The Last March will put the series at over 1 million words.

INSANE!

So instead of putting The Last March on hold indefinitely (like I felt I needed to), I continued to make slow and steady progress at it, but I didn’t binge-write it like I usually do (30+ hours of full-intensity per week).

Instead, I stepped away from the norm and wrote something totally new in a totally different genre. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and it’s left me SO inspired. Now that I’m sitting back down to finish up The Last March (currently around the 50% mark), it feels so much easier to tell the story, and it’s just flowing a lot more.

At the beginning, it felt nerve-wracking to think that I was going to stop something mid-project. It felt “unprofessional”, like I was somehow doing the wrong thing by not powering through and making it happen.

But since that time, I’ve come to realize that I had the wrong mindset.

Being a writer is about the daily grind (it takes work to put down all those words), but being the best writer I can be takes time. If I’m stressed and anxious all the time about not making progress, THAT ends up being my focus. I get so wrapped up in how I’m feeling or what I’m worrying about that it consumes my mind, occupying valuable mental real estate that should be spent focused on the characters’ feelings and worries.

So now, since I’ve stepped away and come back, it’s helped to put things into perspective.

I think the biggest lesson I’ve learned is to stop letting anxieties and fears of the future control my actions. Instead of worrying about what might happen if I don’t work my absolute hardest all the time, I need just be focused on what I’m doing—and how I’m feeling—right now.

And to remember that what I’m doing is CREATING. Art. Art isn’t always something you can summon on demand, and it’s vital as an artist to keep refilling the creative tank and finding inspiration. That’s not to say that it’s not work—it’s a damned lot of it!—but it can’t be all work. “Forcing it” like I have in the past is eventually going to lead to burnout.

I know these don’t feel like huge revelations—after all, creative types have been saying the same things for years—but for a hard-headed, stubborn, goal-oriented person like me, it’s progress!

And it may have felt like failure at the time, but now I realize it was the “smart” failure to make.

 

 

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The First Shields in Shadow Reviews Are In…and Readers are LOVING It!

It’s been a week since the release of Shields in Shadow (The Silent Champions #1) and it’s been such an amazing experience!

The book got its orange #1 Bestseller and #1 New Release tag on its FIRST DAY, and has retained it ever since:

It has been ranking with some of the authors that inspired the creation of the story in the first place—Glen Cook and Joe Abercrombie:

It hit a higher ranking than most of my other series:

But the real thrill is reading the reviews and finding that people enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Amazon Reviews:

“Once I started reading I couldn’t put it down. The characters are all defined, yet there is room for more backstory as the series continues. The action sucks you in and before you know it you’re left waiting for the next book.” – Kindle Customer

“With almost uninterrupted action, a very detailed universe, very complex characters and an excellently developed plot, this book deserves to be among the best in Epic and Military Fantasy!” – B.A. Leon

“Books that are filled with epic battle scenes are among my favorites and Peloquin did one helluva job! The small elite force reminds me of the band in Nicolas Eames’ Kings of the Wyld.” – Angel Haze

Goodreads Reviews

“You will get so involved with the characters that you become one on them, going along for all the action and suspense. You really need to read this novel, you will not be disappointed!” – Frank Geimer

“Well, the first book in a swashbuckler of an adventure and it did not disappoint. Started off with a battle and finished with one. I have to say engrossed all the way through. Roll on book two.” – Silver Surfer

“As I devoured page after page reading and wondering what was going to happen next , I realized that at times I was holding my breath. This tale of a soldier fighting for life and those of his comrades let alone their world, against all odds. The strange group of soldiers/warriors and a creature of myth… this is a must read tale. The strategy of war and the battles fought…this is my kind of book! Blood, guts, war, save the world and do it all with one group of legendary warriors.” – Carolyn

Even some of the lower-starred reviews are pretty positive:

(3 Stars) “A very well written military series. While I would say military novels are not my cup of tea I have to say the authors characters are well drawn and there is plenty of battle scenes to satisfy the most ardent military reader.”

(3 Stars) “Carefully written with sharp attention to minute details, Peloquin has created a treat for fans of the Military Fantasy sub-genre. If you’re looking for strategy and beautifully executed action, then Shields in Shadow is what you’re looking for.”

I’m thrilled to know the story of Aravon and his Silent Champions are connecting with so many readers. It was truly a pleasure to write, and it’s amazing to find it resonating with people who find something in common with these fascinating, complex soldiers.

If you haven’t yet, now’s the time to get in on this epic new adventure. The special discounted launch pricing of 99c will only last a few more days before I raise it to full price at $2.99.

Join the adventure now!

 

 

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Get a Sneak Peek Inside Shields in Shadow

Shields in Shadow (The Silent Champions Book 1) is officially live!

I’ve been so excited for this release, because it’s a whole new flavor of fantasy to add to my world.

And yes, it’s set in my world…

Across the southern ocean–the Frozen Sea–from mainland Einan, is the continent of Fehl. Colonized 500 years(ish) earlier by mainlanders, it has known centuries of war between the colonizers, the local Fehlans, and the giant Eirdkilrs determined to reclaim their lands.

I haven’t posted too much about it here (sorry for not keeping up with things!), but here’s the opening scene to give you a taste of what it’s all about:

 

“Ambush!”

The cry from the rear of the Legion’s column was drowned out by the thrum of a hundred bowstrings being released. A moment later, a hail of arrows streaked from the thick trees bordering both sides of the Eastmarch road.

Captain Aravon acted on instinct honed over fifteen years of drills and training. Sliding off his horse’s back, he threw himself behind the nearest Legionnaire and his shield.

Something sliced the air a finger’s breadth from Aravon’s ear. The Legionnaire in front of him grunted as an arrow punched into his back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he grunted, gurgled, and collapsed at Aravon’s side.

Aravon fought down the instinctive horror and sorrow as the man slumped. Grieve later, he told himself as the man, and so many more around him, fell to the hail of arrows. He ripped the shield from the dying Legionnaire’s grasp and stood in the first line.

“Close up!” he shouted. His heart hammered in his chest, sweat soaked his palms, and his mouth had gone suddenly dry. Yet his training asserted itself in his mind, pushing back the icy fingers of panic.

The Legionnaires’ discipline kicked in before his order made it down the line. The eighty men still standing rushed to close ranks, forming a line four rows deep and twenty men long. Those in the front row presented shields to the enemy, while those behind angled their shields upward, like a tortoise’s protective carapace, to ward off the plunging fire.

Arrows rained all around him from east and west, clattering in a hailstorm against the Legionnaires’ shields and armor, far too many finding Princelander flesh. The grunts, screams, and wails of wounded men filled the air, echoing in time with the unceasing thrumming of Eirdkilr bowstrings. Arrows banged and clattered against the Legion shields. All around him, the stink of nervous sweat thickened the air. Yet Aravon’s men held firm, shields held fast, steel in their hearts.

At the rear of the column, the shrill cries of terrified and dying draft animals filled the air. The armorless drivers of the company’s baggage train were scythed down beneath the hail of arrows.

One quick-witted cartman managed to scramble to safety beneath his cart, fear and horror twisting his bone-white face. A moment later, an arrow punched through the flank of one of his harnessed draft animals. The horse reared up, twisting in its traces, its shrieks of agony high-pitched and grating. Panicked by the smell of blood and the screams of its harness mate, the second horse reared as well and tried to bolt. The sudden movement snapped the wagon’s front wheels and brought it crashing down with skull-crushing force atop the driver.

Wood splintered and casks shattered on the paved stone, spilling gold—the Legion’s pay—across the Eastmarch. The sight brought a renewed howl from the Eirdkilrs.

A hand seized Aravon’s collar and dragged him backward into the middle line. He immediately raised his shield and the gap he’d left in the front line was filled by the soldier he’d replaced.

“Good to see you made it, Captain!” Lieutenant Naif shouted in his ear. The man cradled his left arm against his chest, the broken-off shaft of an arrow still embedded in his forearm.

“How bad is it, Lieutenant?” Aravon asked. The need to command, to keep a clear head and give commands to keep his men alive, was all that stopped the nervousness from overwhelming his mind. His soldiers counted on him, and he’d be damned if he let them down.

Naif looked down at the wound and shrugged. “Won’t be playing the lyre anytime soon, but I can still swing a sword.”

The cacophony of arrows clattering off Legion shields was occasionally interrupted by a grunt or cry as a missile found flesh. Men screamed and fell, or snarled curses as they snapped off shafts stuck in their helmets, pauldrons, or shields. The hailstorm of shafts slowed and ceased, the sky brightening.

The enemy had changed tactics.

“Prepare for a charge!” Captain Aravon cried. He dropped his voice. “Looks like you’ll get your chance,” he told Naif.

Howls echoed through the forest around them—a fierce animal sound that chilled even Captain Aravon to the bone. He’d heard it before from across the battlefield, but never like this. Alone with his company, what remained of it, twenty miles from Anvil Garrison, the nearest Legion outpost. Just Sixth Company against however many Eirdkilrs hid in the woods.

His heart plummeted as scores, then hundreds of fur-clad barbarians burst from the dense tree cover. Seven feet tall, with long, braided hair and beards that streamed in the wind, faces stained a hideous blue. Over their iron-studded leather vests they wore the filthy, off-white pelts of Wasteland ice bears. Their gut-twisting war chant filled the air. “Death to the half-men!” Words every Legionnaire beside him had learned to fear.

With a final howl, they raised their massive axes, clubs, and spears and charged.

The enormous barbarians pounded across the cleared space between the Eastmarch road and the forest, a wall of steel and death that closed the distance in seconds. Aravon leaned into his shield, the wood and steel strong against his shoulder, the grip of his sword solid in his hand. His teeth gritted and he prepared for impact.

Boom!

A hundred simultaneous clashes echoed up and down the Legion lines as the Eirdkilrs struck. Steel and fur-covered flesh slammed into Legion shields, and the foremost rank of Legionnaires was hurled backward beneath the impact of huge bodies. Even with the middle ranks to brace them, the force of the charging barbarians was too much for their thinned lines to absorb. Soldiers slipped on ground made slick by the blood of their fallen comrades. The front rank struggled to repel the enemy, stabbing their short swords between their shields. The men in the second rank used their short spears to bite back at the enemies locked with their comrades, filling the gaps as more Legionnaires fell.

One, just in front of the Captain’s position, stumbled as a barbarian club smashed into his rectangular shield and drove the steel rim into his face. He slammed into the man behind him, and an Eirdkilr rushed into the gap. A Legionnaire in the second rank thrust between the shields to chop at the barbarian’s knees. The huge man fell, and the Legionnaire beside the Captain finished the fallen savage with a quick stab of his spear.

The grim song of battle filled the air: Legionnaires screamed, cried, and cursed; steel clashed with iron and wood. The howling of the Eirdkilrs added an otherworldly, inhuman dissonance to the symphony of death.

Captain Aravon gripped his short sword in sweaty palms, fought against the burning ache in his left arm and shoulder. The shield suddenly seemed an immense weight, yet the only thing that stood between life and death. His breath came so fast it felt he couldn’t fill his lungs before the air exploded from his lips. In that instant, the clash of weapons on shields, the thumps of weapons striking flesh, the crack of shattered shields and bones, and the screams of the wounded and dying filled his world. He could see nothing but the barbarians howling in front of him, hurling themselves at his men, snarling guttural curses in their desire to slaughter every Legionnaire.

Aravon was barely aware of Lieutenant Naif on his left, Sergeant Bytin on his right, and Corporal Older immediately before him. With effort, he pulled himself back from the narrowing battle vision, forced himself to scan the foremost ranks between him and the barbarians. They were being hammered by the Eirdkilrs, yet managed to hold their ground. But with the attack coming from both sides of the road, their lines were stretched dangerously thin. Two rows of desperate, hemmed-in Legionnaires were all that stood between him and the Eirdkilrs.

Then the Legionnaire in front of Corporal Older screamed and staggered backward, his face shredded by an Eirdkilr spear. Blood spattered Aravon’s face, neck, and hands as the soldier sagged. Crimson soaked the man’s burnished breastplate, and his collapsing weight bore down the man behind him. For a single instant, a gap opened in the ranks. The Legionnaires hurried to re-form, close the opening before the enemy punched through.

Too late.

A massive Eirdkilr barreled his way through the lines, whirling his axe about like a hurricane of steel and death. He brought the double-headed blade crashing onto the nearest Legionnaire’s shield. The metal rim bent, wood splintered, and the impact hurled the man into the soldier at his side. The whirling Eirdkilr swung his axe around in a devastating blow that sheared through a man’s neck and sent a Legion-helmeted head flying. Aravon flinched as more blood sprayed hot and warm along his upraised sword arm, dripped down his helmet into his face, yet he drove his short sword into the barbarian’s exposed stomach. The Eirdkilr fell with a scream, but the damage had been done.

Howling in triumph, more Eirdkilrs drove into the gap. Legionnaires fell back before the savagery of the attack. Many fell, never to rise again.

Aravon scooped up a shield and pressed forward into the breach. He found himself face to face with a huge barbarian. Though he wore the same leather tunic, mail shirt, and steel skullcap as his comrades, he stood apart. Not just his long, braided blond beard and his eyes, an azure deeper and harder than his blue-stained face. He stood taller than the rest, the breadth of his shoulders hulking. And instead of the dirty white ice bear pelt worn by all the other Eirdkilrs, his fur cloak had been dyed a deep red—dyed or stained with blood.

With a howl, the blue-painted barbarian raised an enormous club overhead and brought it crashing down. Captain Aravon tried to dodge, but Legionnaires pressed too close on either side. He could do nothing but raise the shield.

Agony seared through Aravon’s arm, spiking from wrist to elbow as the blow splintered the shield and shattered his elbow. Crying out, Aravon fell back, barely retaining a grip on his sword.

The barbarian loomed over him, raising the club once more. For an agonizing heartbeat, pain rendered Aravon helpless. He could do nothing but stare his sneering, blue-painted death in the pitiless face.

Then Lieutenant Naif materialized beside him. The Legionnaire shoved Aravon backward and drove his sword into the enormous barbarian’s side. Chain mail links parted beneath the blade’s razor tip. With a growl, Lieutenant Naif buried his short sword to the hilt.

The Eirdkilr’s howl turned into a cry of horrible agony. His club fell from his fingers, and he clamped his hands over the blood gushing from the wound. Lieutenant Naif tried in vain to twist his sword free. After a moment of struggle, he released his grip on the hilt and drove a dagger into the barbarian’s eye.

All around them, the line buckled beneath the onslaught, and the barbarians charged into the gaps. Legionnaires fell beneath the stampede. Try as they might to hold their formation, they could not stem the tide of Eirdkilrs.

Lieutenant Naif turned to Aravon. “We’ve got to break fr—!”

An Eirdkilr spear cut off his words. The two-foot blade punched through the back of his head, the tip driving out his neck, spraying blood over Aravon. Spine severed, Naif sagged like a dropped sack of rocks, his body clattering on the stony Eastmarch.

“No!” Horror and fury surged within Aravon, a fire that burned in his belly and drove him to fight.

He lashed out at the spear-wielding barbarian, his short sword shearing through the man’s wrist. The Eirdkilr stared stupidly at the blood gushing from the stump of his right arm. A vicious slash of Aravon’s heavy blade opened his throat.

Every movement sent pain flaring up and down his shattered arm, but he couldn’t let his men fight and die alone. Gritting his teeth, he sought his next opponent. He would kill until the Eirdkilrs laid him low. He’d fight until his last breath, give every drop of blood to protect his men.

Yet the state of Sixth Company filled him with alarm. The Eirdkilrs had broken their ranks. All around him, Legionnaires fought the massive barbarians in squads of threes and fours, back to back. Their faces bore the expressions of true fighting men: grim snarls, rictus grins of desperate terror, or the coldness that came with recognizing impending doom. They absorbed the battering of the Eirdkilrs’ wrath on their heavy shields, returning the punishment with short swords and spears. In vain, they attempted to re-form ranks.

Cold dread settled in Aravon’s stomach. His men had no chance, yet their discipline held even in the face of annihilation.

He had to find a way to turn the battle. If he could buy the Legionnaires even a few moments, perhaps enough could escape. A desperate hope, but he had to try.

His eyes locked on a tall, heavy-shouldered Eirdkilr a short distance away. The barbarian’s beard was shot through with grey, and yellowed bones hung among the leather-bound braids. Atop his dark blue tunic, the ice bear pelt slung over his shoulders had been dyed a deep crimson. He alone wielded a sword: a massive two-handed weapon that far outweighed any Legion shield.

That has to be their leader.

Aravon slipped between the knots of fighting men. He ducked a savage swipe of an axe and hamstrung the towering man, finishing him with a thrust to the throat. A club struck the ground a finger’s breadth from him as he darted around an Eirdkilr. The Legionnaire next to him put a spear into the back of the barbarian’s skull.

Something slammed into Aravon, spinning him around. An arrow protruded from his right shoulder, and numbness coursed down his sword arm. Righting himself, he forced his feet to keep moving toward the leader.

The huge barbarian held a bow easily six feet tall, made of wood as black as his vest. He had the string drawn back to his ear, an arrow nocked, the steel tip gleaming in the sunlight. The archer’s eyes locked on Captain Aravon—the arrow came for him. A smirk twisted the Eirdkilr’s lips a moment before he released the string.

Aravon tried to throw himself out of the way. Too slow. The arrow caught him in the left side, punching through chain mail, only stopping when it struck his backplate. Pain raced through his torso—the broad head had to have cracked a rib.

He caught himself and stumbled onward. His left arm hung useless by his side and every movement sent agony flaring through his ribs, but he’d somehow managed to retain his grip on his blade. He forced himself to raise his sword, though his right arm responded languidly.

With mocking slowness, the Eirdkilr drew another arrow from his quiver and set it to his bow. Ice seeped into Aravon’s spine. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the wicked steel point aimed at him. Every muscle in his body tensed in expectation of the impending agony, yet he poured strength into his legs to cover the distance before—

The string twanged. A dark streak hurtled toward him and punched through his right thigh. The impact tore his legs from beneath him. He screamed as he landed on his shattered left arm.

He tried to struggle upright, but an immense bulk collapsed atop him. His head rang. Blood filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes. His arms refused to cooperate, refused to heed his commands to get up. He had to get up. Had to stand and fight beside his men.

A tingling numbness spread through his limbs. Shadows hovered on the edge of his vision. The pounding of his heart sounded like a torrent in his ears.

Have…to fight!

His struggles weakened, exhaustion claiming him, his determination drowned beneath the pain. Like a man sucked beneath quicksand, Aravon succumbed to agony and blood loss.

 

I’ll be doing a live reading of ANOTHER scene on The Fantasy Fiends Podcast tonight.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I’ll be sending out bonus prizes to anyone who picks up the book TODAY (the end of the special launch window):

A recorded scene of me reading a THIRD snippet live
A sneak peek of all six covers in The Silent Champions series

Pop over to Amazon and check it out:

Burdened with legend. Hardened by battle scars. Hellbent on bloody revenge.

As the son of a famous general, Aravon is proud to captain his own company against his people’s enemy. But the experienced veteran’s march toward glory dissolves into pain as ruthless barbarians massacre every last one of his soldiers. Burning for vengeance, he leaps at the chance to spearhead a specially-trained company and pay back his tragic defeat with blood.

Desperate to not repeat his tragic past, Aravon trains his new warriors relentlessly. But the captain fears that all the tactical drills in the world may not matter when they’re forced to defend a helpless village against overwhelming odds. As his quick raids sow chaos amongst the enemy, the bloodthirsty savages threaten to make Aravon’s nightmarish history repeat itself…

Can the captain take command of his fighting spirit before the kingdom falls to barbarous invaders?

Shields in Shadow is the first book in the action-packed Silent Champions military fantasy series. If you like square-jawed heroes, well-oiled military action, and epic world-building, then you’ll love Andy Peloquin’s gripping novel.

Buy Shields in Shadow to stand at the frontlines of a hero’s revenge today!

 

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Five Rules for Killer Luck

I’m a firm believer that luck plays a HUGE role in success!

Think about it: there are so many ways that things can go wrong, but only a few that can go right. For things to be successful—crazy-big, out of this world successful—it has to be a combination of right place, right time.

Luck, serendipity, karma, the grace of God, or whatever you want to call it, it all comes down to the same thing: circumstances outside of your control affecting things in a big way to influence the outcome.

But I think there are also a few hard and fast rules for good luck. You can’t manufacture luck, but you can definitely put yourself in the right place to be ready when it strikes. THAT is what transforms a random positive happenstance into your ticket to success.

So here are my five rules to be ready for when good luck comes your way:

Always be looking for opportunity. Some people consider this part of the “Law of Attraction”—the more you think on good luck, the more likely it will be drawn to you. I’d say always be looking for new opportunities, as it will help you be in the right headspace to capitalize on it when the time comes.
Listen to the little voice in your head. Or in your “gut”, or whatever you call your instincts. Sometimes, it’s all you get to help you make a choice that could change your life!
Hard work gets you ready for good luck. The more you work at whatever you’re doing (in my case, writing books and learning the craft of marketing and advertising), the more you’ll be ready for when that good luck strikes. You’ll have everything in place to take full advantage of your good luck.
Know what you want. Opportunities will often arise that you might never have recognized as such if you weren’t looking for it! When you know what you want, you’re ready to turn anything into what could be THE opportunity of a lifetime.
Go looking for it. You never know what “the next big thing” is unless you go hunting for it. If you want that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, you’ve first got to go looking for that rainbow’s end.

 

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When Worry is Actually Good for You

We all know that worrying is bad for our health!

Worry amps up our anxieties, increases stress, exhausts our brain, and sends our nervous system into overdrive.

That twisting in your stomach and knotting of your muscles definitely can’t be good for you, right?

Well, that’s not always true…

It’s very clear that chronic worrying (like chronic anything, really) is bad for you.

But did you know that worry is actually VERY useful?

Worry keeps us alive. At least, it definitely did during the caveman days, when something as simple as an afternoon stroll could end with you being eaten by a predator.

Worry is hardwired into our minds—it’s survival instinct at its simplest, and it’s what helps us remain aware of the many threats around us.

Worry makes us more efficient. We worry certain things—IMPORTANT things—aren’t going to get done, so we do them first to make sure they actually get done.

Worry helps us to prioritize all the tasks that need to be accomplished in the day, so we are more effective at checking items off our to-do list because of it.

Worry leads to problem-solving. “Necessity is the mother of invention” is absolutely true—even more so when you’re afraid for your life, health, safety, and comfort!

Worry kicks off our problem-solving brain, and it’s the first step down the path to finding the answer. It sets our analytic minds in motion and helps us to be more effective at reaching the desired solution before the dreaded outcome comes to pass.

Worry kicks us up a notch. If you never worried, you’d never feel that rush of energy you get when you’re reaching a deadline.

It’s only because of worry that you feel the burst of adrenaline to finish that homework assignment, write that last sentence, or complete that project just before the deadline.

Worry gets a bad rap, simply because most of the time, we never get past the worrying stage.

We spend so much time worrying and fretting that our anxieties can paralyze us, and we never move on to the problem-solving stage.

That’s what chronic worrying really is!

You spend all your time worrying about and trying to avoid trouble that you don’t actually do anything about it.

And that’s when worrying is bad.

But as you’ve seen above, worry can actually be a good thing—it’s our brain’s way of telling us, “All right, here’s a problem in front of us.”

Once you see the problem, you can take steps to solve it.

So next time you start worrying, don’t shut down the worries! Instead, use them to help you take those first steps down the problem-solving journey.

Worry your way to a better outcome.

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Make Self Doubt Your New Best Friend!

Sounds silly, right?

After all, everyone knows that self-doubt is a BAD thing!

Self-doubt leads you to question yourself, your actions, choices, and outcomes.

It’s usually linked to low self-esteem and a lack of confidence, both of which can hinder your personal and professional life.

When you doubt yourself, you second-guess everything you do, and it can cause crippling anxiety and stress.

So why the heck would anyone want self-doubt in their lives?

Self-doubt keeps you from ‘settling’. When you do the same thing over and over again, it becomes routine. You get comfortable in that groove and you do things by rote, unconsciously repeating familiar actions without giving much thought to what you’re doing.

When you settle, you stop trying to be more efficient and effective. Thus, there’s a very real chance your efficiency and effectiveness decrease because you’re no longer looking for new and better ways to do things.

Self-doubt, on the other hand, keeps you questioning yourself and your actions.

You’ll always be looking for more efficient and effective routes to achieve your goals. That cognitive flexibility—the opposite of settling into a routine—is what will help you to expand your mind and find creative solutions to your problems.

Self-doubt helps us realize there really are problems. None of us want to admit all our faults and failings—I certainly don’t!—but we’ve all got them. Instead of hiding from them, it’s time to accept that they’re a part of us and something we need to work on.

Self-doubt gives us a chance to bring those flaws to the fore, and we accept that they have an influence on our decision-making process.

Instead of being blindly unaware or willfully ignorant of our problems, we harness the power of self-doubt to help us evaluate every choice we make, every action we take, and every outcome we achieve—not for the sake of wallowing deeper in doubt, but to analyze everything critically to find ways to do and be better down the road.

Self-doubt taps into the unconscious and subconscious minds. We are creatures of both rationale and instinct. A balance of emotion, logic, and intuition. Or, as it’s better known: conscious, unconscious, and subconscious.

We give our conscious mind a lot of attention, but we rarely pay attention to what’s going on beneath the surface.

Until we give in to self-doubt a little…

Once we permit that bit of self-doubt, we start to probe deeper, to find out what’s really driving our choices.

We look to find what fears, insecurities, weaknesses, anxieties, or mental and emotional roadblocks are stopping us.

None of our decisions are free of internal influence—our self-protective nature, fears, psychological obstacles, and the list goes on.

Every choice we make is affected by our conscious, unconscious, and subconscious minds.

With self-doubt, we start to look deeper into the corners of our mind where the unconscious and subconscious lurk, and we find the ways that they affect our decision-making.

That’s when we really start to uncover the hidden truths about ourselves, and that’s when real emotional and psychological process begins!

Self-doubt can build us up and make us stronger. Destructive self-doubt causes you to question everything you do, then paralyzes you with fear and anxiety that you’re going to do everything wrong.

NOT your best friend!

Constructive self-doubt, on the other hand, builds you up. You start off by doubting yourself, but instead of engaging on an emotional level—feeling all the worries and fears—you treat it as an intellectual exercise. You pull that thread and follow the doubt until you find what’s causing it or what needs to change.

But instead of letting self-doubt paralyze you, you harness it. You find what’s wrong and take steps to improve. You work on yourself—and by doing so, walk away all the better for your self-doubt!

This is what I mean when I say “Make self-doubt your best friend”!

Next time you find yourself questioning—and I hope it happens often—give in to those questions.

Think about how you could be doing better, or what you could do to improve efficiency and effectiveness. No matter what it is—your relationship, your writing habits, your time with your family, your social life, even your diet or exercise habits—use self-doubt to help you find the areas where you’re not quite meeting up.

And then change them!

Sure, that’s easier said than done, but the truth is that anything can be changed if you work at it. It’ll take time and effort, but any flaw or weakness that triggers your self-doubt can be turned into a strength.

Don’t engage with the doubts. Don’t let them make you feel bad, worthless, or afraid to try.

Use them on an intellectual level, analyzing them critically and letting them guide you to the areas in your life where you need to improve.

The day you start settling into an inflexible mental groove is the day you stop being effective at whatever you’re doing. With self-doubt, you’ll never settle!

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A Simple Guide to a Less Shi**y Life

It’s amazing how many things can make us feel stressed, worried, or “less-than”.

Life’s full of all kinds of negativity, stressors, and anxiety triggers. I know I’ve had far too many days that I felt I was just barely holding things together when really all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.

Other days, I’ve felt like a fraud, trying to fake being someone or something I really wasn’t all so I could fit into society.

I have spent so much time walking on eggshells and worrying about making mistakes around others—social interactions, conversations with friends, hangouts with family, and more—and boy is it exhausting!

Being diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome a few years ago has made me painfully aware of how inexperienced I am in certain things, and how wrong I often am simply because my brain makes me think differently than others.

This has led me to being self-critical, perfectionistic, and over-the-top anxious on far too many occasions.

But who can live like that? Always worrying about what I’m doing wrong or how I could do better—that sounds like misery incarnate!

An article on Psychology Today put things into interesting perspective, giving a list of what I’m going to call “Rules for a Less Shitty Life” for people like me to follow:

Realize others don’t see you the way you do. I’ve got perceptions of myself, but not everyone shares them. Sometimes, the over-negative, hyper-critical thoughts I’ve got about myself will never even come up in the minds of those who see me.
Realize that others can’t see your feelings. This one’s great for me, because I tend to keep things bottled up until they explode. Most of the time, people don’t even know I’m feeling a certain way, and that just makes things worse because I feel like I’m invisible and don’t matter. But when I straight-up say how I feel, I find people tend to respond positively—all that worrying was for nothing!
Lower your expectations. Of both yourself and others! That doesn’t mean I can slack off and let my life, health, work, and relationships go to crap, but it does mean I can be just a bit less perfectionistic and critical of myself. No one’s perfect, so I need to stop holding myself up to standards of perfection and accept that I’m going to screw up. Over and over! All I can do is keep trying—that’s what matters most.
Be proactive. If I allow myself to “settle” into my mindsets and habits, I tend to get pretty dug in, intractable, and inflexible. But as long as I keep working on improving myself and going out of my way to push my limits, I’ll make progress in the direction I want to go.
Recognize and lower anxiety. Yes, easier said than done, I know. But if I’m aware of the negativity and anxiety in my life and on the lookout for it, I’ve got a chance of coping with it before it overwhelms me.
Be patient. I’ll call this the “Golden Rule”. Being patient—with yourself as well as others—means being compassionate and understanding when things don’t turn out the way you wanted or hoped they would. Those demanding voices in my brain don’t actually control me, and I don’t have to live up to their impossible standards. With that in mind, I know I’ve got time to learn, grow, and become better even if it feels I’m screwing up royally today. It takes the pressure off me of me to “be perfect now”—life’s a growing and learning process, and I’ve got to be patient with it.

Simple rules, often damned hard to follow, but they’ve got a real chance of helping me to feel more at ease with who I am in a world of people so unlike me.

One step closer toward inner peace, and isn’t that what we all want in life?

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Darkblade Avenger is HERE and NOW!

This is a happy day for me—my very first box set!

Yes, I’m finally in with all the “cool kids”, the other fantasy authors who have bundled their books up in box sets.

Once again, I’m delighted to share this absolutely spectacular cover by the amazing Felix Ortiz:

Just breathtaking, all those little details, and the balance of colors blows my mind.

But the real reason I’m so over the moon is because of the story behind the story…

The tale of the Hunter of Voramis is, in a way, my own story.

No, I’m not secretly a killer-for-hire (not that I’d tell you if I was!)…

But growing up, I was always an outcast among my peers. Middle child syndrome hit hard, and I always found myself alone on the outside, looking in at a world and people where I felt I didn’t really belong. I struggled for years—heck, I still do—to be at ease around others, to “fit in” among the people in my life.

The Hunter is much the same. As an assassin, he’s got to protect his real identity, so no one really knows who he is. But the fact that he’s not really human just cements that “outsider-ness” all the more.

His atypical psychology (schizoaffective disorder) is a mirror of my own Asperger’s Syndrome. Granted, his hearing voices in his head is pretty different from my own ASD, but the atypical neurology is the same.

The Hunter is set apart by this voice in his brain that tells him he’s different, and that’s something I think all of us with mental and neurological conditions hear as well. We struggle to fit in, and we feel isolated and alone because we don’t find others like us.

I started writing the Hunter’s story thinking I was just writing an adventure, but slowly more and more of myself became a part of this character.

His loneliness.

His feelings of isolation, feeling out of place in every social situation.

Looking for connections in the most unlikely places.

Always knowing he was different from those around him. 

That is my story.

Through the Hunter, I found a way to put part of myself onto a page, and I’m honored that so many of you have connected with him–and through him, me.

So thank you for helping me bring this amazing character to life, and keeping his story going in my heart and mind.

I hope you continue to enjoy his adventures, just as we find out own connection through this strange bond we’ve formed as author and reader.

May this bring you many happy hours of reading. And, through the Hunter’s journey to find his place in the world, may you find yours as I have been fortunate enough to find mine with you.

Have an amazing day!

Read Darkblade Avenger Now

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Anxiety vs. Panic: What’s the Difference?

Anxiety is something I’d say we all struggle with to varying degrees.

I know that I’ve got my share of anxieties to wrestle with: worries over financial stability/instability, concerns for my teenagers (growing up way too fast), fear that the book I’m working on or releasing next won’t be good enough, and the list goes on.

To a certain extent, everyone in the world copes with anxiety on some level.

But panic is quite a different beast. While anxiety is worrying that something bad might/will/could happen, panic is believing that something bad IS HAPPENING. Worse, they’re in the middle of that something bad, and there’s no escaping it.

Anxiety isn’t usually rational; it often persists even when that thing we fear doesn’t rear its ugly head. It’s all in our brains, where our amygdala is releasing stress hormones as a result of our fears. We end up in a state of “alarm” when our anxieties are allowed to grow.

Thankfully, most of the time, that state of alarm is down-regulated by our brains to a state of interest. We’re no longer as afraid of whatever caused that fear before, so we have a chance to examine that fear and recognize that it’s not as realistic as we initially believed. That sort of logical examination and rationale helps us to get past the fears.

But when you don’t down-regulate your fears (either consciously or unconsciously) and the fears keep growing, that feeling of alarm persists. Thanks to our vivid imagination—the ability to see the worst in every possible situation—the fear becomes more and more real the longer we remain in that state of alarm.

Until finally, BOOM: panic!

Anxieties become panic when we believe the terrible thing we feared isn’t just about to take place—it’s here and happening now. We end up panicking because we feel trapped in the situation and unable to escape our fears.

When we’re in panic mode, there are really only a few things we can do to regain some sense of control:

Controlling and regulating your breathing
Tensing and relaxing your muscles, one limb at a time
Exercising

The key to panic is always PREVENTION.

By realizing that our anxieties will turn into panic when not controlled, it gives us the power to prevent those fears from growing and spreading. We can take steps to manage anxieties and fears that, though they will never go away fully, don’t have to have power and control over us or cause panic.

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