C. Sharp's Blog - Posts Tagged "cold-counsel"
Brazen Bull Interview with Chris Sharp
Charlie was fortunate enough to get the chance to sit down with Tor’s author Chris Sharp, and talk about his upcoming book, Cold Counsel. Below is the transcript of the interview in its entirety. Chris and Charlie discuss everything from the new book, to good and bad ‘writing days.’
Chris’ newest novel, COLD COUNSEL, is set to be published on February 21st, 2017, by Tor.com!
(CC) Before getting into the writing talk, tell me a little bit about yourself. Who is Chris Sharp?
(CS) A middle-aged dreamer with a propensity for long-winded storytelling, a fierce resistance to adulthood, and an optimist’s belief in magic—within the hardened shell of a pragmatic pessimist.
Grew up in the suburban wonderland of Alexandria, VA making home movies and playing RPGs with my friends. Did some college, moved to Brooklyn and worked in film and commercial production for 16 years—often with those same friends—while writing books at night.
Now I’m in MA, with a wife, kid, and cat; writing as much as I can and trying to get as many of these stories out of my craw in some form or another.
(CC) Sixteen years is a long time, was it difficult to leave the film and commercial production business behind and pursue writing?
(CS) Yes it was.
I had always worked toward and hoped to do both, and I still do. But now I’m coming at it with writing, rather than producing, as a primary focus.
The thing I’m currently writing is a screenplay.
(CC) Onto writing, why do you do it? What is it about the craft that not only brought you in, but keeps you coming back for more?
(CS) I’ve wanted to weave epic stories into the world since before Pre School. I think I’m only a somewhat more realized version of who I was at the age of five. The writing of long-winded books seemed the most natural and expedient way to focus/excise some of the stories I had brewing. The first thing I wrote to completion was a 270,000-word dark fantasy novel about schizophrenia, the slow death of myth, and Jungian archetypes of dream. It was all a bit much, but one day I hope to turn it into something swell. The writing of that was like my own self-taught MFA. Learned a lot, kicked the shit out of my ego, and caught the bug. Not sure if I’m any good at it yet, but can’t seem to stop. I hate reading the stuff that I’ve written, which may be part of the problem.
(CC) This book sounds epic. When do you plan to re-visit it, and what do you think has to be done to it?
(CS) It was certainly epic, but there were many things wrong with the execution. I need to go back to square one and re-produce the story in a streamlined, less autobiographical way from start to finish. Maybe even without looking at the original. There are certainly some salvageable and even some good segments, but a full reboot is needed across the board.
Not sure when I’ll delve back in. My wife and I have come to jokingly refer to that book as the Monster. We’ll see what happens. Some day the Monster will escape its cage, and in some ways, with Cold Counsel, it already has.
(CC) Since you’re not big on reading your own work, how terrible is the editing process?
(CS) I’m getting better at it—in less of a rush to get through it, and more forgiving of my sloppiness and screw-ups. I do tend to avoid reading my stuff once it’s out of my hands and published. I still find mistakes in my sentences that drive me crazy, and not being able to go back and fix them has been known to send me into a negativity spiral about the worth of the entire work. I get over it fairly quickly and keep working, but it’s not the best way to waste time.
I definitely prefer first drafting, but I’m starting to find some real enjoyment in the reworking and polishing stages as well, and there is no arguing against the necessity of drafts 2-infinity.
(CC) We all have good days and bad days, so tell me, what is a good ‘writing’ day, and what is a bad ‘writing’ day?
(CS) A good writing day is when I actually get a nice chunk of time to focus on writing—and don’t get sucked down the negativity vortex of our world’s current state. Just the simple act of focusing on writing is calming. I love first drafting; the cursor on the cusp of blankness is my happy place.
A bad writing day is when the brain won’t settle on the story at hand, or when I go over words that are supposed to be good, but aren’t, and I can’t figure out how to fix it.
(CC) If you had to pick, what three novels, would you say, have influenced you the most?
(CS) Watership Down by Richard Adams: I think it was the mythology of the rabbits that spoke to me most. It seemed so real to me, El-Ahrairah and the Black Rabbit of Inlay, and if the rabbits had mythology, then so did everything. That was a world I wanted to live in.
The Silmarillion by JRRT: I carried a picture of Bilbo Baggins that I’d cut out of the TV Guide from the Rankin Bass Cartoon in my Velcro wallet in Pre School. Used to play Frodo and Sam with my chums. But it was the blocky and elevated language of the Silmarillion that really blew my mind; so much history, detail, language, and depth—all in broad strokes. It’s like reading the bible of the elves, and just like with those rabbits, the mythology of it seemed real to me. For a fantasy construct to make me believe that felt powerful. That was what I wanted to do.
House of the Dreaming Door by Chris Sharp: This one, the aforementioned 270,000-word monster, was my attempt to emulate the works above. I failed. I’ll let that one speak for itself, when and if the time comes for its excavation.
(CC) I think that it’s great that you picked your first novel as one of the most influential. Do you think that all writers need to write that first book that doesn’t necessarily work to get it out of their system? Is writing that first novel more important or beneficial than the formal education?
(CS) I never had a formal writing education outside of English classes in high school and college, so I can’t say if just jumping in and doing it is more or less beneficial than an intensive program. There is plenty that I wish I’d learned prior to setting out, and a lot to be said for the structured, communal aspects of writing that you might get in an MFA program. I see writers who are skilled and motivated by creating and fostering a writer’s network around them, and I’m a little jealous of that. For me, such a network seems less helpful amid the varied stages of writing a story, but I think it’s invaluable for when you’re going out with work and hoping to get a foothold in the business.
But I do think that in the creative pursuits, whether its writing books, making movies, or anything else, there can be no substitute for throwing yourself into the mix and trying your hand at the thing you want to do.
While I was writing that first book, and now again with the benefit of hindsight, I loved the experience and value it as highly as anything I’ve done. But I’d be lying if I didn’t mention the handful of years in between then and now when the avalanche of rejection and my failure to make that attempted opus find an audience didn’t crush my soul and fill me with doubt.
Maybe a good short story or three is a better way to start out…
(CC) What are some of your other non-writing influences, and what have you picked up from them?
(CS) I borrow and steal from everything I read, watch, and experience. I love movies and television, and enjoy trying to write for screen as well. My book writing can sometimes get a little light on the description because of it, and my screenplays tend to be a little too wordy.
(CC) Now, tell me about the new book, what’s it about?
(CS) It’s a reimagining of Norse mythology in a post-Ragnarok world from the vantage of the angry losers of the ancient Vanir/Aesir war. It’s also a ferocious coming-of-age/revenge yarn about a boy, his aunt, and his ax against the backdrop of a dying dreamland. The boy is the last troll to survive the genocide of his race, his aunt is the masked reincarnation of an ancient goddess consumed by anger, and the ax is a possessed relic from the storied age of giants.
There are no humans or easy heroes to hold to, but you’ll find yourself rooting for a loveable band of bloodthirsty killers, and wishing for more at the story’s close.
It’s fast, furious fun for the whole family, if the family isn’t afraid of harsh language, brutal violence, and reveling in the fodder of nightmares.
(CC) Favorite bloodthirsty killer? Go.
(CS) My cat, Goblin. (R.I.P.)
(CC) Did the concept for Cold Counsel practically fall out of the sky, or did you have to do some digging?
(CS) The protagonist, the troll, SLUD, was first summoned up through the rolling of dice for the Palladium Fantasy RPG in the seventh grade. I used to doodle his picture in my notebooks and write epic verse in his honor. I’d always thought to write his origin story some day, and started it on a whim with the notion to write a little and sell it as a serialized novel… No takers.
But I was in an angry place at the time, and this angry story kept coming whether I was ready for it or not. I’d been disheartened by the underwhelming sales of my first published book, depressed by the direction some of my life choices had taken me, and penned inside by the brutal New England winter of 2014. SLUD’s story was the most fun I’d ever had writing. It was started as an exercise in speed and brevity, but metastasized into the book it is today.
(CC) Tell me about the process, did you do some major outlining and plotting prior to putting the pen to page, or did you just sit down and start writing? How do you usually work, was writing Cold Counsel any different?
(CS) I just sat down and started to write. That seems to be my usual approach, though I am certainly not afraid to do some note taking, plotting, and research type behavior throughout.
Cold Counsel came more easily than previous efforts. I had thought about SLUD for many years, and developed bits of the dark world he’d inhabit in the writing of my first book. It spewed out in a big bloody mess over the course of a few months, and hasn’t changed too much since.
(CC) SLUD’s story had been sitting with you for quite some time; why do you think that now was right time for you to get it right?
(CS) I didn’t, SLUD did.
(CC) What were some of the best/worst moments that you experienced while writing Cold Counsel?
(CS) The writing itself is always the best part. For me, a swollen sense of worth and expectation accompanies the typing of that final page, and all that comes after is a slow deflation back to reality.
(CC) After completing a draft (first, second, final) do you celebrate, or are you saddened that you’re one step closer to finishing and deflating?
(CS) I don’t really celebrate, but I think that’s a bad habit. You should celebrate every step; just make sure that you don’t get complacent and stop stepping. Writing can be an isolating existence. Little bits of self-acknowledgment along the way are healthy, and if you can get another to participate in that celebration it makes it seem all the more legitimate. If you are still hunting for an audience and starving for validation, the vacuum can get filled with confused echoes from yourself. Sounding boards of love are beneficial.
The best remedy for deflation is starting something else as quickly as possible.
All of us at The Brazen Bull thank Chris Sharp and Tor for the opportunity.
Chris’ newest novel, COLD COUNSEL, is set to be published on February 21st, 2017, by Tor.com!
(CC) Before getting into the writing talk, tell me a little bit about yourself. Who is Chris Sharp?
(CS) A middle-aged dreamer with a propensity for long-winded storytelling, a fierce resistance to adulthood, and an optimist’s belief in magic—within the hardened shell of a pragmatic pessimist.
Grew up in the suburban wonderland of Alexandria, VA making home movies and playing RPGs with my friends. Did some college, moved to Brooklyn and worked in film and commercial production for 16 years—often with those same friends—while writing books at night.
Now I’m in MA, with a wife, kid, and cat; writing as much as I can and trying to get as many of these stories out of my craw in some form or another.
(CC) Sixteen years is a long time, was it difficult to leave the film and commercial production business behind and pursue writing?
(CS) Yes it was.
I had always worked toward and hoped to do both, and I still do. But now I’m coming at it with writing, rather than producing, as a primary focus.
The thing I’m currently writing is a screenplay.
(CC) Onto writing, why do you do it? What is it about the craft that not only brought you in, but keeps you coming back for more?
(CS) I’ve wanted to weave epic stories into the world since before Pre School. I think I’m only a somewhat more realized version of who I was at the age of five. The writing of long-winded books seemed the most natural and expedient way to focus/excise some of the stories I had brewing. The first thing I wrote to completion was a 270,000-word dark fantasy novel about schizophrenia, the slow death of myth, and Jungian archetypes of dream. It was all a bit much, but one day I hope to turn it into something swell. The writing of that was like my own self-taught MFA. Learned a lot, kicked the shit out of my ego, and caught the bug. Not sure if I’m any good at it yet, but can’t seem to stop. I hate reading the stuff that I’ve written, which may be part of the problem.
(CC) This book sounds epic. When do you plan to re-visit it, and what do you think has to be done to it?
(CS) It was certainly epic, but there were many things wrong with the execution. I need to go back to square one and re-produce the story in a streamlined, less autobiographical way from start to finish. Maybe even without looking at the original. There are certainly some salvageable and even some good segments, but a full reboot is needed across the board.
Not sure when I’ll delve back in. My wife and I have come to jokingly refer to that book as the Monster. We’ll see what happens. Some day the Monster will escape its cage, and in some ways, with Cold Counsel, it already has.
(CC) Since you’re not big on reading your own work, how terrible is the editing process?
(CS) I’m getting better at it—in less of a rush to get through it, and more forgiving of my sloppiness and screw-ups. I do tend to avoid reading my stuff once it’s out of my hands and published. I still find mistakes in my sentences that drive me crazy, and not being able to go back and fix them has been known to send me into a negativity spiral about the worth of the entire work. I get over it fairly quickly and keep working, but it’s not the best way to waste time.
I definitely prefer first drafting, but I’m starting to find some real enjoyment in the reworking and polishing stages as well, and there is no arguing against the necessity of drafts 2-infinity.
(CC) We all have good days and bad days, so tell me, what is a good ‘writing’ day, and what is a bad ‘writing’ day?
(CS) A good writing day is when I actually get a nice chunk of time to focus on writing—and don’t get sucked down the negativity vortex of our world’s current state. Just the simple act of focusing on writing is calming. I love first drafting; the cursor on the cusp of blankness is my happy place.
A bad writing day is when the brain won’t settle on the story at hand, or when I go over words that are supposed to be good, but aren’t, and I can’t figure out how to fix it.
(CC) If you had to pick, what three novels, would you say, have influenced you the most?
(CS) Watership Down by Richard Adams: I think it was the mythology of the rabbits that spoke to me most. It seemed so real to me, El-Ahrairah and the Black Rabbit of Inlay, and if the rabbits had mythology, then so did everything. That was a world I wanted to live in.
The Silmarillion by JRRT: I carried a picture of Bilbo Baggins that I’d cut out of the TV Guide from the Rankin Bass Cartoon in my Velcro wallet in Pre School. Used to play Frodo and Sam with my chums. But it was the blocky and elevated language of the Silmarillion that really blew my mind; so much history, detail, language, and depth—all in broad strokes. It’s like reading the bible of the elves, and just like with those rabbits, the mythology of it seemed real to me. For a fantasy construct to make me believe that felt powerful. That was what I wanted to do.
House of the Dreaming Door by Chris Sharp: This one, the aforementioned 270,000-word monster, was my attempt to emulate the works above. I failed. I’ll let that one speak for itself, when and if the time comes for its excavation.
(CC) I think that it’s great that you picked your first novel as one of the most influential. Do you think that all writers need to write that first book that doesn’t necessarily work to get it out of their system? Is writing that first novel more important or beneficial than the formal education?
(CS) I never had a formal writing education outside of English classes in high school and college, so I can’t say if just jumping in and doing it is more or less beneficial than an intensive program. There is plenty that I wish I’d learned prior to setting out, and a lot to be said for the structured, communal aspects of writing that you might get in an MFA program. I see writers who are skilled and motivated by creating and fostering a writer’s network around them, and I’m a little jealous of that. For me, such a network seems less helpful amid the varied stages of writing a story, but I think it’s invaluable for when you’re going out with work and hoping to get a foothold in the business.
But I do think that in the creative pursuits, whether its writing books, making movies, or anything else, there can be no substitute for throwing yourself into the mix and trying your hand at the thing you want to do.
While I was writing that first book, and now again with the benefit of hindsight, I loved the experience and value it as highly as anything I’ve done. But I’d be lying if I didn’t mention the handful of years in between then and now when the avalanche of rejection and my failure to make that attempted opus find an audience didn’t crush my soul and fill me with doubt.
Maybe a good short story or three is a better way to start out…
(CC) What are some of your other non-writing influences, and what have you picked up from them?
(CS) I borrow and steal from everything I read, watch, and experience. I love movies and television, and enjoy trying to write for screen as well. My book writing can sometimes get a little light on the description because of it, and my screenplays tend to be a little too wordy.
(CC) Now, tell me about the new book, what’s it about?
(CS) It’s a reimagining of Norse mythology in a post-Ragnarok world from the vantage of the angry losers of the ancient Vanir/Aesir war. It’s also a ferocious coming-of-age/revenge yarn about a boy, his aunt, and his ax against the backdrop of a dying dreamland. The boy is the last troll to survive the genocide of his race, his aunt is the masked reincarnation of an ancient goddess consumed by anger, and the ax is a possessed relic from the storied age of giants.
There are no humans or easy heroes to hold to, but you’ll find yourself rooting for a loveable band of bloodthirsty killers, and wishing for more at the story’s close.
It’s fast, furious fun for the whole family, if the family isn’t afraid of harsh language, brutal violence, and reveling in the fodder of nightmares.
(CC) Favorite bloodthirsty killer? Go.
(CS) My cat, Goblin. (R.I.P.)
(CC) Did the concept for Cold Counsel practically fall out of the sky, or did you have to do some digging?
(CS) The protagonist, the troll, SLUD, was first summoned up through the rolling of dice for the Palladium Fantasy RPG in the seventh grade. I used to doodle his picture in my notebooks and write epic verse in his honor. I’d always thought to write his origin story some day, and started it on a whim with the notion to write a little and sell it as a serialized novel… No takers.
But I was in an angry place at the time, and this angry story kept coming whether I was ready for it or not. I’d been disheartened by the underwhelming sales of my first published book, depressed by the direction some of my life choices had taken me, and penned inside by the brutal New England winter of 2014. SLUD’s story was the most fun I’d ever had writing. It was started as an exercise in speed and brevity, but metastasized into the book it is today.
(CC) Tell me about the process, did you do some major outlining and plotting prior to putting the pen to page, or did you just sit down and start writing? How do you usually work, was writing Cold Counsel any different?
(CS) I just sat down and started to write. That seems to be my usual approach, though I am certainly not afraid to do some note taking, plotting, and research type behavior throughout.
Cold Counsel came more easily than previous efforts. I had thought about SLUD for many years, and developed bits of the dark world he’d inhabit in the writing of my first book. It spewed out in a big bloody mess over the course of a few months, and hasn’t changed too much since.
(CC) SLUD’s story had been sitting with you for quite some time; why do you think that now was right time for you to get it right?
(CS) I didn’t, SLUD did.
(CC) What were some of the best/worst moments that you experienced while writing Cold Counsel?
(CS) The writing itself is always the best part. For me, a swollen sense of worth and expectation accompanies the typing of that final page, and all that comes after is a slow deflation back to reality.
(CC) After completing a draft (first, second, final) do you celebrate, or are you saddened that you’re one step closer to finishing and deflating?
(CS) I don’t really celebrate, but I think that’s a bad habit. You should celebrate every step; just make sure that you don’t get complacent and stop stepping. Writing can be an isolating existence. Little bits of self-acknowledgment along the way are healthy, and if you can get another to participate in that celebration it makes it seem all the more legitimate. If you are still hunting for an audience and starving for validation, the vacuum can get filled with confused echoes from yourself. Sounding boards of love are beneficial.
The best remedy for deflation is starting something else as quickly as possible.
All of us at The Brazen Bull thank Chris Sharp and Tor for the opportunity.
The Qwillery: Interview with Chris Sharp, author of Cold Counsel
TQ: Welcome to The Qwillery. When and why did you start writing?
Chris: I have always thought of myself as a writer/story teller, even long before I did any actual writing. As far back as grade school—homemade role-playing games, stop motion movies, and elaborate imagined worlds with my friends were a constant.
I didn’t start writing prose in earnest until 2002, when a long brewing monster of a first novel started to spill out. That one took seven years, and was around 270,000 words of pent up, messy, story potential.
TQ: Are you a plotter, a pantser or a hybrid?
Chris: Definitely more of a pantser. I tend to have a general sense of what I want to do, and then sit down and start writing from the beginning until I get to the end before I go back to look at what I’ve actually done. It doesn’t always work out in my favor—but I’m still fond of the romanticized notion of being the conduit for my higher storytelling self.
TQ: What is the most challenging thing for you about writing?
Chris: After that first draft is done, I have historically struggled with going back and making the changes that are necessary to make it any good. So often, beta readers will offer notes that amount to “something not working” without insight as to what that something is. They are of course right, but I can become a petulant man-baby and argue the point in absence of clear direction.
I’m getting much better with this.
TQ: What has influenced / influences your writing? How does being a TV director influence or not your novel writing?
Chris: I was never a TV director, but did some extended time as an independent film/commercial/industrial-video producer. I was closely bound for much of my youth, and twenty years post college, to a crew of very fine filmmakers/writers who have continued on to establish themselves in that industry.
Screenwriting and filmmaking are as much of a drive for me as long-form novelization. I tend to think and write in cinematic terms – a little light on description, and long on plot movement and dialogue as a driver of action. I feel like it keeps the story moving and adds entertainment value, but may sometimes undercut a message, morale, or key insight that I want to bring out organically in my novel writing. I’m a slow build, sprinkled insight world builder, and get very turned off by what feels like forced data dumps in exposition and descriptions.
More generally, everything I read, watch, and listen to has and does influence my writing. I steal from everyone and everything.
TQ: Describe Cold Counsel in 140 characters or less.
Chris: A coming of age yarn about a boy, his aunt, and his ax against the backdrop of fading mythology and ancient anger in a post-Ragnarok world.
TQ: Tell us something about Cold Counsel that is not found in the book description.
Chris: My editor, the brilliant Jen Gunnels, described it as “Conan the Barbarian as written by Tolkien while on a cocaine and petroleum bender,” which may give a keener insight into the tone then what you’ll get on the cover.
The boy is the last troll to survive the genocide of his race, his aunt is the masked reincarnation of an ancient goddess consumed by anger, and the ax is a possessed relic from the storied age of giants.
There are no humans or easy heroes to hold to, but I hope you’ll find yourself rooting for a loveable band of bloodthirsty killers, and wishing for more at the story’s close.
It’s fast, furious fun for the whole family, if the family isn’t afraid of harsh language, brutal violence, and reveling in the fodder of nightmares.
TQ: What inspired you to write Cold Counsel? What appeals to you about writing Fantasy?
Chris: The protagonist, the troll, SLUD, was first summoned up through the rolling of dice for the Palladium Fantasy RPG in the seventh grade. I used to doodle his picture in my notebooks and write epic verse in his honor. I’d always thought to write his origin story some day, and started it on a whim with the notion to write a little, and sell it as a serialized novel… No takers.
But I was in an angry place at the time, and this angry story kept coming. I’d been disheartened by the underwhelming sales of my first published book, depressed by the direction some of my life choices had taken me, and penned inside by the brutal New England winter of 2014. SLUD’s story was the most fun I’d ever had writing. It was started as an exercise in speed and brevity, but metastasized into the book it is today.
For so many, I think fantasy/sci-fi is seen as less than real, and thereby frivolous. For me, rehashed stories about family dramas, or struggling with our own individual identities in the harsh face of adulthood is often tedious, boring, and overly simple.
Fantasy can and does deal with all of those same real struggles, but does so in a construct that takes us outside of our own microcosmic vantage—allowing us to better see and recognize the inherent truths of our mutual existence. Fantasy is not less than real, it’s hyper-real. At its best, there is more truth, for me, in a story about talking rabbits or space-exploring dolphins than another brilliantly insightful retelling of unresolved childhoods at a family dinner. I don’t need to read about that, I can live that for myself every Thanksgiving. Give me the fucking space dolphins and let me learn something new!
TQ: Cold Counsel is your adult debut novel. How different is it writing for an adult rather than YA audience?
Chris: Not much. I was perhaps a bit overly conscious of the “audience” in the writing of my first YA novel—about climate change, coming of age, and dragons. It’s geared toward older teens, but I tried to limit the bad language and some of the harder edges. But in reality, teens often have filthier mouths and harder edges than anybody. I’m finishing the sequel to that YA novel now, and I’ve let go of some of that initial pretense by design—and I think I have a stronger narrative/voice for it.
Cold Counsel is also a YA novel of sorts, in that SLUD, the troll, is a young adult trying to find his footing in an unknown world. All of the harsh language and carnage that surrounds him just happens to define the world he exists in, and if I did my job, his trollishness should not diminish his “human” thoughts, dreams, and disappointments along the way.
TQ: What sort of research did you do for Cold Counsel?
Chris: I have always been fascinated with world mythology. Joseph Campbell and Jung were staples of mine throughout college, and Norse mythology, which this book draws heavily from, is eternally fascinating. I can’t wait to read Neil Gaiman’s new take on the old myths.
But for this one, I was really focused on the vantage of the Vanir in the old Aesir/Vanir war, and of the struggles and death of the giants throughout those tales. I did some research into the mythology and cherry-picked the bits that fed into the narrative I wanted to tell. There are two old weapons that factor heavily into the story, an ax and a sword, and it’s the mythology around those two weapons, who made them, and what they represent that’ll guide where the story will go from here. That, and a deep delve into Gullveig and Angrboda, two/one ancillary figures from Norse mythology that I feel deserve a lot more attention.
TQ: Please tell us about Cold Counsel's cover.
Chris: The cover is by the amazing David Palumbo with the direction of the immensely talented Christine Foltzer. It pretty much speaks for itself: young SLUD with his cold ax against a mountain backdrop.
I think that Tor.com has been putting out some of the most exciting covers of late, and I’m thrilled to be in the mix.
TQ: In Cold Counsel who was the easiest character to write and why? The hardest and why?
Chris: My favorite character to write was Neither-Nor – a very hard to kill, misanthropic goblin from a wiped out clan, whose only reason to keep on living is to kill as many others as possible before his days are done. His ceaselessly negative, vitriolic spew was very cathartic to write, and I loved trying to make him oddly lovable despite it.
SLUD was in some ways the hardest to write, as I wanted him to be somewhat unknowable as he slowly builds toward a self-discovery that doesn’t even fully materialize in this novel. He’s the last of his race, and has led an entirely sheltered existence—equally innocent and calculating. Most of the insights to his character happen from outside perspectives, but I still wanted to make him likeable, and someone that the reader would want to follow along with.
TQ: Why have you chosen to include or not chosen to include social issues in Cold Counsel?
Chris: My YA series is heavy on social commentary and overt social discussion. Cold Counsel was in some ways both more personal and more overtly escapist. I definitively have a social message in Cold Counsel that will become more recognizable in the parts of the story that will follow, but I doubt that many readers would notice what that might be, and I’m okay with that.
TQ: Which question about Cold Counsel do you wish someone would ask? Ask it and answer it!
Chris: Holy crap! This is the book WE never knew WE wanted to read. Is there more to SLUD’s story?
Yes. Coming soon.
TQ: Give us one or two of your favorite non-spoilery quotes from Cold Counsel.
Chris:
Neither-Nor had a glassy look as he chugged the last few gulps of his own jug. He tossed the empty bottle in the snow, a little disappointed that it didn’t break. “Yer fuckin’ mad as a foamin’ weasel, ain’t ya?”
Slud thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “Yeah, may very well be.”
Greatness, legends, and the stories of a lost age were bullshit. Life was about will and luck, and the rare moments when the two coincided—the rest was just suffering, and the fleeting illusion that the suffering abated for a few stolen minutes here and there.
TQ: What's next?
Chris: I’m finishing up a beta-reader editorial round for the sequel to my YA dragon novel, and think it’s the best thing I’ve written yet—excited to get it out and earn a bigger audience for that increasingly epic series.
I’m currently writing a screenplay for an excellent producer/director that weaves contemporary politics with Lovecraftian horror—and I’m loving it.
I hope to be just getting started, and plan to have more SLUD, more dragons, and plenty of other things coming down the pipe as well.
TQ: Thank you for joining us at The Qwillery.
Chris: It was my pleasure. Thank you greatly for putting out such consistently good spec-fic content, and letting me spout off about my particular brand of nerdery.
And if you'd like to read over at the original post (complete with pictures, links, cool graphics):
http://qwillery.blogspot.com/2017/02/...
Chris: I have always thought of myself as a writer/story teller, even long before I did any actual writing. As far back as grade school—homemade role-playing games, stop motion movies, and elaborate imagined worlds with my friends were a constant.
I didn’t start writing prose in earnest until 2002, when a long brewing monster of a first novel started to spill out. That one took seven years, and was around 270,000 words of pent up, messy, story potential.
TQ: Are you a plotter, a pantser or a hybrid?
Chris: Definitely more of a pantser. I tend to have a general sense of what I want to do, and then sit down and start writing from the beginning until I get to the end before I go back to look at what I’ve actually done. It doesn’t always work out in my favor—but I’m still fond of the romanticized notion of being the conduit for my higher storytelling self.
TQ: What is the most challenging thing for you about writing?
Chris: After that first draft is done, I have historically struggled with going back and making the changes that are necessary to make it any good. So often, beta readers will offer notes that amount to “something not working” without insight as to what that something is. They are of course right, but I can become a petulant man-baby and argue the point in absence of clear direction.
I’m getting much better with this.
TQ: What has influenced / influences your writing? How does being a TV director influence or not your novel writing?
Chris: I was never a TV director, but did some extended time as an independent film/commercial/industrial-video producer. I was closely bound for much of my youth, and twenty years post college, to a crew of very fine filmmakers/writers who have continued on to establish themselves in that industry.
Screenwriting and filmmaking are as much of a drive for me as long-form novelization. I tend to think and write in cinematic terms – a little light on description, and long on plot movement and dialogue as a driver of action. I feel like it keeps the story moving and adds entertainment value, but may sometimes undercut a message, morale, or key insight that I want to bring out organically in my novel writing. I’m a slow build, sprinkled insight world builder, and get very turned off by what feels like forced data dumps in exposition and descriptions.
More generally, everything I read, watch, and listen to has and does influence my writing. I steal from everyone and everything.
TQ: Describe Cold Counsel in 140 characters or less.
Chris: A coming of age yarn about a boy, his aunt, and his ax against the backdrop of fading mythology and ancient anger in a post-Ragnarok world.
TQ: Tell us something about Cold Counsel that is not found in the book description.
Chris: My editor, the brilliant Jen Gunnels, described it as “Conan the Barbarian as written by Tolkien while on a cocaine and petroleum bender,” which may give a keener insight into the tone then what you’ll get on the cover.
The boy is the last troll to survive the genocide of his race, his aunt is the masked reincarnation of an ancient goddess consumed by anger, and the ax is a possessed relic from the storied age of giants.
There are no humans or easy heroes to hold to, but I hope you’ll find yourself rooting for a loveable band of bloodthirsty killers, and wishing for more at the story’s close.
It’s fast, furious fun for the whole family, if the family isn’t afraid of harsh language, brutal violence, and reveling in the fodder of nightmares.
TQ: What inspired you to write Cold Counsel? What appeals to you about writing Fantasy?
Chris: The protagonist, the troll, SLUD, was first summoned up through the rolling of dice for the Palladium Fantasy RPG in the seventh grade. I used to doodle his picture in my notebooks and write epic verse in his honor. I’d always thought to write his origin story some day, and started it on a whim with the notion to write a little, and sell it as a serialized novel… No takers.
But I was in an angry place at the time, and this angry story kept coming. I’d been disheartened by the underwhelming sales of my first published book, depressed by the direction some of my life choices had taken me, and penned inside by the brutal New England winter of 2014. SLUD’s story was the most fun I’d ever had writing. It was started as an exercise in speed and brevity, but metastasized into the book it is today.
For so many, I think fantasy/sci-fi is seen as less than real, and thereby frivolous. For me, rehashed stories about family dramas, or struggling with our own individual identities in the harsh face of adulthood is often tedious, boring, and overly simple.
Fantasy can and does deal with all of those same real struggles, but does so in a construct that takes us outside of our own microcosmic vantage—allowing us to better see and recognize the inherent truths of our mutual existence. Fantasy is not less than real, it’s hyper-real. At its best, there is more truth, for me, in a story about talking rabbits or space-exploring dolphins than another brilliantly insightful retelling of unresolved childhoods at a family dinner. I don’t need to read about that, I can live that for myself every Thanksgiving. Give me the fucking space dolphins and let me learn something new!
TQ: Cold Counsel is your adult debut novel. How different is it writing for an adult rather than YA audience?
Chris: Not much. I was perhaps a bit overly conscious of the “audience” in the writing of my first YA novel—about climate change, coming of age, and dragons. It’s geared toward older teens, but I tried to limit the bad language and some of the harder edges. But in reality, teens often have filthier mouths and harder edges than anybody. I’m finishing the sequel to that YA novel now, and I’ve let go of some of that initial pretense by design—and I think I have a stronger narrative/voice for it.
Cold Counsel is also a YA novel of sorts, in that SLUD, the troll, is a young adult trying to find his footing in an unknown world. All of the harsh language and carnage that surrounds him just happens to define the world he exists in, and if I did my job, his trollishness should not diminish his “human” thoughts, dreams, and disappointments along the way.
TQ: What sort of research did you do for Cold Counsel?
Chris: I have always been fascinated with world mythology. Joseph Campbell and Jung were staples of mine throughout college, and Norse mythology, which this book draws heavily from, is eternally fascinating. I can’t wait to read Neil Gaiman’s new take on the old myths.
But for this one, I was really focused on the vantage of the Vanir in the old Aesir/Vanir war, and of the struggles and death of the giants throughout those tales. I did some research into the mythology and cherry-picked the bits that fed into the narrative I wanted to tell. There are two old weapons that factor heavily into the story, an ax and a sword, and it’s the mythology around those two weapons, who made them, and what they represent that’ll guide where the story will go from here. That, and a deep delve into Gullveig and Angrboda, two/one ancillary figures from Norse mythology that I feel deserve a lot more attention.
TQ: Please tell us about Cold Counsel's cover.
Chris: The cover is by the amazing David Palumbo with the direction of the immensely talented Christine Foltzer. It pretty much speaks for itself: young SLUD with his cold ax against a mountain backdrop.
I think that Tor.com has been putting out some of the most exciting covers of late, and I’m thrilled to be in the mix.
TQ: In Cold Counsel who was the easiest character to write and why? The hardest and why?
Chris: My favorite character to write was Neither-Nor – a very hard to kill, misanthropic goblin from a wiped out clan, whose only reason to keep on living is to kill as many others as possible before his days are done. His ceaselessly negative, vitriolic spew was very cathartic to write, and I loved trying to make him oddly lovable despite it.
SLUD was in some ways the hardest to write, as I wanted him to be somewhat unknowable as he slowly builds toward a self-discovery that doesn’t even fully materialize in this novel. He’s the last of his race, and has led an entirely sheltered existence—equally innocent and calculating. Most of the insights to his character happen from outside perspectives, but I still wanted to make him likeable, and someone that the reader would want to follow along with.
TQ: Why have you chosen to include or not chosen to include social issues in Cold Counsel?
Chris: My YA series is heavy on social commentary and overt social discussion. Cold Counsel was in some ways both more personal and more overtly escapist. I definitively have a social message in Cold Counsel that will become more recognizable in the parts of the story that will follow, but I doubt that many readers would notice what that might be, and I’m okay with that.
TQ: Which question about Cold Counsel do you wish someone would ask? Ask it and answer it!
Chris: Holy crap! This is the book WE never knew WE wanted to read. Is there more to SLUD’s story?
Yes. Coming soon.
TQ: Give us one or two of your favorite non-spoilery quotes from Cold Counsel.
Chris:
Neither-Nor had a glassy look as he chugged the last few gulps of his own jug. He tossed the empty bottle in the snow, a little disappointed that it didn’t break. “Yer fuckin’ mad as a foamin’ weasel, ain’t ya?”
Slud thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “Yeah, may very well be.”
Greatness, legends, and the stories of a lost age were bullshit. Life was about will and luck, and the rare moments when the two coincided—the rest was just suffering, and the fleeting illusion that the suffering abated for a few stolen minutes here and there.
TQ: What's next?
Chris: I’m finishing up a beta-reader editorial round for the sequel to my YA dragon novel, and think it’s the best thing I’ve written yet—excited to get it out and earn a bigger audience for that increasingly epic series.
I’m currently writing a screenplay for an excellent producer/director that weaves contemporary politics with Lovecraftian horror—and I’m loving it.
I hope to be just getting started, and plan to have more SLUD, more dragons, and plenty of other things coming down the pipe as well.
TQ: Thank you for joining us at The Qwillery.
Chris: It was my pleasure. Thank you greatly for putting out such consistently good spec-fic content, and letting me spout off about my particular brand of nerdery.
And if you'd like to read over at the original post (complete with pictures, links, cool graphics):
http://qwillery.blogspot.com/2017/02/...
New Life to the Mythopoetic Struggle of "Monsters"
Mythology, like history, is created by the conquerors. Old oral traditions are translated by outsiders, distilled through the lens of usurpers and tourists, whose own beliefs often supplant or consume those of the original telling. The creation stories of predominantly Western European traditions—Greek, Norse, Irish, Basque, Bulgarian—but also Hindu, Native American, and elsewhere, all tell that the gods warred against the giants before the coming of humanity. But who and what were these giant “others” in our collective myth, and what service did they provide?
I don’t pretend to be a scholar on this subject, or any other for that matter, but those early mythic struggles between the older elemental forces of the giants and the newer civilizing influence of the gods have always fascinated me. I wanted to know more about those lost tribes of storied prehistory. It seems possible that the universal belief in giants derived from early peoples’ attempt to explain the oversized bones of dinosaurs and megafauna they encountered. The tales of the gods’ conquest over such beings were passed down by oral tradition, and cultivated in the group consciousness of growing communities across the world.
In the Greco-Roman tradition, the gods of Olympus fought against the titans and later the giants for control of the dangerous and chaotic wilderness. The giants were the personified elemental forces of nature’s destructive potential—volcanoes, tsunamis, blizzards, and earthquakes—they were heartless and unstoppable. The gods, made in our image or vice versa, were humanity’s proxies in the fight, and their ability to beat back the ferocity of the wild spoke of our potential to do the same.
The Norse myths mirror this struggle closely, but retained a little more of the wild edge and ambiguous delineations between the tribes. Even while the Aesir gods of Asgard claimed land and built their wall to keep out the giants, trolls, and other “monsters” from the untamed beyond, they interbred with the same giants, and accepted the native Vanir spirits into their pantheon. Moreover, the Norse cosmology spoke of a future apocalypse when the giants would return for a final battle against the gods—when the world of both would end, and history would reset for the next age.
I wanted to explore some of those inter-tribe relationships between giants, Aesir, and Vanir from Norse myth, but from a post-Ragnarok vantage—and from the angry perspective of those outcast monsters from the old tales. In re-exploring these myths, I found it most striking that many of the gods that I had grown up loving were often themselves despots, murderers, and rapists, and sometimes far more despicable than the “monsters” whose lands they stole in bloody conquest. It seems that in many instances, the giants, trolls, and elves of lore were semi-peaceful spirits of the earth and water that originally sought friendship with the gods who took such glee in their destruction.
When Gullveig came in greeting to the halls of Valhalla as representative of the Vanir tribe, Odin and his people, frightened by her magic and beguiling appearance, stabbed her with spears and burned her golden body three times as she continued to rise anew from the flames. This act sparked the Aesir/Vanir war that eventually ended in a stalemate, but that first greeting, and the attitude toward the “other” that it represented, would follow the Aesir until Ragnarok eventually came for them. I always saw Gullveig as the same spirit that became Angrboda, the Witch of the Iron Wood, who with Loki would sire the brood that would eventually become the doom of the gods. Her drive for vengeance is one of the most overlooked yet fundamental threads of the entire Norse myth cycle. Just as she was killed and reborn over and again before, I wonder if her ancient anger was ever fully snuffed out or sated.
The age of giants, gods, and the magic they trafficked in is gone, replaced by science, technology, and the press for human mastery of the natural world. But the importance of what the old elemental powers of the earth represented is perhaps more applicable today than ever. We have now entered a new epoch that scientists have dubbed the Anthropocene—the period during which human activity has become the dominant influence on climate and the environment, and regardless of your personal beliefs on the matter, the overwhelming majority of people who know what they’re talking about agree that things aren’t going well.
The giants, trolls, and dragons of yore offered a system of checks and balances on our expansion. They were there to delineate the boundaries of our human realm—the respect that our forbears held for the wild forces of life were vital to understanding our species’ place in the greater context. Without those personified monsters to fear, we’ve collectively forgotten to heed the chaotic underpinnings of our existence, too absorbed in human struggles to remember that the uncaring and unstoppable natural powers remain—still more potent than the science and belief we create to hold them at bay, and deserving of far greater respect amid our failing stewardship of the land.
The monsters are not gone from this world, but have only been slumbering—and they are beginning to wake again, hungry, angry, and ready to fight for what was stolen from them long ago. To borrow a term from the fine reviewer/writer Martin Cahill, “Asgardpunk” is the ferocious rebuttal to those old one-sided Norse tales. I see it as the movement and voice of the monsters as they charge again at the walls that Odin and his ilk built to divide us. They rage against the thoughtless mechanisms of power that ignore the destructive potential of nature at all of our peril.
The troll anti-hero, SLUD, in my wacky, weird little novel, Cold Counsel, is not the first, nor will he be the last, representative of the Asgardpunk movement. But he will carry the torch, or in this case, ax, while he can, and hack down every obstacle put in his way toward revenge for ancient wrongdoings. Though I believe that Ragnarok has passed, and the magic of our mythic history has all but been forgotten, traces of the old giants’ blood still flow in the veins of our stories. And unless we learn to rewrite the wrongs of our past indiscretions, I fear that the monsters will come again to teach us a lesson we are not ready to face.
*To read the article, see the pictures, and join the conversation at the original posting on Tor.com:http://www.tor.com/2017/03/07/asgardp...
I don’t pretend to be a scholar on this subject, or any other for that matter, but those early mythic struggles between the older elemental forces of the giants and the newer civilizing influence of the gods have always fascinated me. I wanted to know more about those lost tribes of storied prehistory. It seems possible that the universal belief in giants derived from early peoples’ attempt to explain the oversized bones of dinosaurs and megafauna they encountered. The tales of the gods’ conquest over such beings were passed down by oral tradition, and cultivated in the group consciousness of growing communities across the world.
In the Greco-Roman tradition, the gods of Olympus fought against the titans and later the giants for control of the dangerous and chaotic wilderness. The giants were the personified elemental forces of nature’s destructive potential—volcanoes, tsunamis, blizzards, and earthquakes—they were heartless and unstoppable. The gods, made in our image or vice versa, were humanity’s proxies in the fight, and their ability to beat back the ferocity of the wild spoke of our potential to do the same.
The Norse myths mirror this struggle closely, but retained a little more of the wild edge and ambiguous delineations between the tribes. Even while the Aesir gods of Asgard claimed land and built their wall to keep out the giants, trolls, and other “monsters” from the untamed beyond, they interbred with the same giants, and accepted the native Vanir spirits into their pantheon. Moreover, the Norse cosmology spoke of a future apocalypse when the giants would return for a final battle against the gods—when the world of both would end, and history would reset for the next age.
I wanted to explore some of those inter-tribe relationships between giants, Aesir, and Vanir from Norse myth, but from a post-Ragnarok vantage—and from the angry perspective of those outcast monsters from the old tales. In re-exploring these myths, I found it most striking that many of the gods that I had grown up loving were often themselves despots, murderers, and rapists, and sometimes far more despicable than the “monsters” whose lands they stole in bloody conquest. It seems that in many instances, the giants, trolls, and elves of lore were semi-peaceful spirits of the earth and water that originally sought friendship with the gods who took such glee in their destruction.
When Gullveig came in greeting to the halls of Valhalla as representative of the Vanir tribe, Odin and his people, frightened by her magic and beguiling appearance, stabbed her with spears and burned her golden body three times as she continued to rise anew from the flames. This act sparked the Aesir/Vanir war that eventually ended in a stalemate, but that first greeting, and the attitude toward the “other” that it represented, would follow the Aesir until Ragnarok eventually came for them. I always saw Gullveig as the same spirit that became Angrboda, the Witch of the Iron Wood, who with Loki would sire the brood that would eventually become the doom of the gods. Her drive for vengeance is one of the most overlooked yet fundamental threads of the entire Norse myth cycle. Just as she was killed and reborn over and again before, I wonder if her ancient anger was ever fully snuffed out or sated.
The age of giants, gods, and the magic they trafficked in is gone, replaced by science, technology, and the press for human mastery of the natural world. But the importance of what the old elemental powers of the earth represented is perhaps more applicable today than ever. We have now entered a new epoch that scientists have dubbed the Anthropocene—the period during which human activity has become the dominant influence on climate and the environment, and regardless of your personal beliefs on the matter, the overwhelming majority of people who know what they’re talking about agree that things aren’t going well.
The giants, trolls, and dragons of yore offered a system of checks and balances on our expansion. They were there to delineate the boundaries of our human realm—the respect that our forbears held for the wild forces of life were vital to understanding our species’ place in the greater context. Without those personified monsters to fear, we’ve collectively forgotten to heed the chaotic underpinnings of our existence, too absorbed in human struggles to remember that the uncaring and unstoppable natural powers remain—still more potent than the science and belief we create to hold them at bay, and deserving of far greater respect amid our failing stewardship of the land.
The monsters are not gone from this world, but have only been slumbering—and they are beginning to wake again, hungry, angry, and ready to fight for what was stolen from them long ago. To borrow a term from the fine reviewer/writer Martin Cahill, “Asgardpunk” is the ferocious rebuttal to those old one-sided Norse tales. I see it as the movement and voice of the monsters as they charge again at the walls that Odin and his ilk built to divide us. They rage against the thoughtless mechanisms of power that ignore the destructive potential of nature at all of our peril.
The troll anti-hero, SLUD, in my wacky, weird little novel, Cold Counsel, is not the first, nor will he be the last, representative of the Asgardpunk movement. But he will carry the torch, or in this case, ax, while he can, and hack down every obstacle put in his way toward revenge for ancient wrongdoings. Though I believe that Ragnarok has passed, and the magic of our mythic history has all but been forgotten, traces of the old giants’ blood still flow in the veins of our stories. And unless we learn to rewrite the wrongs of our past indiscretions, I fear that the monsters will come again to teach us a lesson we are not ready to face.
*To read the article, see the pictures, and join the conversation at the original posting on Tor.com:http://www.tor.com/2017/03/07/asgardp...
