How to support your favourite authors without breaking the bank

Photo by Yiqun Tang on Unsplash
Photo by Yiqun Tang on Unsplash

In case you somehow missed it, comic/book Twitter was ablaze on Friday with the news that Marvel fired Chuck Wendig in a rather unceremonious and contentious fashion. (Wendig recaps the news here.) A lot of readers were justifiably upset and angry. Myself among them.

As a result, I ended up buying Wendig’s book on writing, Damn Fine Story: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative. I’ve been meaning to read it for a while—especially with a major fiction project coming up as I wrap up “The Rose and Honey Soul” and I move on to devoting writing time fully to The Thousand Shattered Gods—and it seemed as good a time as ever to finally follow through. No surprise, Damn Fine Story is… damn fine. Anyone who reads Wendig’s blog, Terrible Minds, knows his sublime ability to to provide writing advice with a narrative voice that’s at once funny, cutting, and insightful. He’s got the uncanny ability to turn writing advice into page-turning material. (More on that later, when I post my full impressions of the book.)

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Thoughts on The Dragon Prince (Netflix, 2018)

I’ve made no secret of how much I adore Avatar: The Last Airbender. I didn’t discover it until a few years ago (after a friend bugged me endlessly to watch it) and my eventual experience bingeing it was life-changing. I wrote at length about what I think makes Avatar: The Last Airbender so magical, but the gist is that Avatar was able to imbue levity and colour into every facet: from its humour and character building, to its plot, worldbuilding, and visual design. It’s an absolutely delightful show, which makes it so much more effective when it hits you with an emotional hammer. I discovered Avatar at a difficult time in my life, and it helped me through a period of (what I now recognize as) depression.

My praise was high:

Avatar: The Last Airbender is a remarkably consistent piece of storytelling that retains its quality from the first episode to the last. In fact, even if pressed, I’d find it difficult to find a point in the entire series where pacing is ever an issue. Every episode, even the sidestory episodes that don’t directly involve Aang’s plot against plight against the Fire Nation, like the previously mentioned “Tales of Ba Sing Se,” all serve a purpose in the tale, revealing more about the characters and their world. There’s not a wasted frame, not a wasted word, and that’s something that can be said about so few pieces of fiction, no matter the medium.

A season of The Legend of Korra (a follow-up set in the same world with some of the original creators involved) was already out when I finished Avatar, and I unabashedly jumped on board, expectations unfairly high. Korra did many things right (and its third season is particularly good), but it’s much more of a roller-coaster in terms of quality compared to its predecessor. Though I enjoyed it in its entirety, and appreciate many of the elements it introduced to the series (Korrasami <3), it failed to capture me in the same way as Avatar. In a lot of ways, Korra was missing the heart and soul that made Avatar so special. It took itself a bit too seriously at times, its storytelling was fraught with melodrama, and thanks to never quite knowing if it would get another season, the pacing of the overall narrative was rocky.

One notable exclusion from the Korra staff was Aaron Ehasz, and now, with hindsight, I realize how many elements of Avatar likely originated with him. Ehasz (along with Justin Richmond) has returned to the world of YA fantasy with a new show on Netflix, The Dragon Prince. In many ways it’s the follow-up to Avatar that I’ve been waiting for.

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“The Penelope Qingdom” now available at Cast of Wonders!

I’m pleased to say that my story, “The Penelope Qingdom,” is now available in audio format at Cast of Wonders! The episode is hosted by Katherine Inskip, and narrated by the wonderful Andrew K. Hoe. The entire text of the story is also available on Cast of Wonders.

For fans of Stranger Things, The Chronicles of Narnia, and Ken Liu’s “The Paper Menagerie,” “The Penelope Qingdom” is a love letter to growing up, ’80s Saturday morning cartoons, Dungeons & Dragons, and falling in love for the first time.

It’s always a thrill to hear one of your stories come to life in audio, and I’m beyond pleased that “The Penelope Qingdom” is part of Cast of Wonders’ library. They produce beautiful work, and I hope this publication will open doors to a whole new audience for one of my personal favourite stories I’ve written. And, can I just say how much I love the banner image they chose for the story? You’ll understand once you’ve listened.

“The Penelope Qingdom” was first published in 2016 by Mothership Zeta and can also be read on Curious Fictions.

Thread: On Self-publishing Short Fiction

In which I discuss my experience with self publishing SFF short stories.

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Thread: Making room for reading

Wherein I discuss the challenges of finding/making time to read as an adult after a childhood and adolescence full of books. 

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First Impressions: The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs by Steve Brusatte

It’s impossible to understate how obsessed I was with dinosaurs during my youth. I devoured the thick textbook-style tome that covered dozens of dinos, each with its own detailed sketch, to-scale comparisons against humans, maps detailing where they lived. It had it all. It was beautiful. By the time I was nine, I’d moved onto Michael Crichton’s classic Jurassic Park. I still vividly remember sitting in the movie theatre, lights dimming, and trying, frantically, to finish the novel before the film started. I didn’t quite manage it, but was quite pleased, hours later, to discover the the ending of the book is quite different than the film. I’m sure my parents heard about all the differences between the book and the film for weeks.

I was dino crazy.

As a teen and adult, I wasn’t quite so vociferous in my dino fandom, it was replaced instead by a newfound love for epic fantasy, but I’ve always been drawn to their vast history and all the millions of question marks that remain about our planet’s most enduring species.

Steve Brusatte’s The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs is the absolute best re-entry point I could ask for as a formerly-dino crazy kid who, as an adult, wants to learn more about the history of dinosaurs. It’s thorough and academic, but not at the expense of being readable and charismatic. It’s clear that Brusatte is more than a dry scientist—so much of his passion and knowledge about the subject shines through with his clear, often humourous voice. At times, especially during the first couple of chapters, he can become a little self-referential, dropping extensive lists of names and anecdotes about his fellow palaeontologists, but once he digs into the history of the dinosaurs, everything is smooth sailing.

At this point in my life, most of my knowledge of dinosaurs has dwindled to not much more than “it happened in Jurassic Park.” I’ve been pleased with Brusatte’s work both from the perspective of easing me back into the dinosaur world, but also his efficacy as a narrator and storyteller. There’s something epic and beautiful about the way he writes about the slow, labyrinthine rise and inevitable, tragic fall of the dinosaurs.

Thread: My similes are like a tidal wave.

Wherein I muse about a particular writing tick, and discuss how I turned it from a flaw into a strength.

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First Impressions: Street Freaks by Terry Brooks (Grim Oak Press)

I’ve written at great length about my relationship with Terry Brooks’ epic fantasy series, Shannara. After Tolkien, Brooks’ work reinforced my newfound love of elves and adventure, magic, vast landscapes, harrowing escapes, and epic battles between good and evil. One of my main/ongoing criticisms of the Shannara series, however, is that Brooks has a tendency to repeat himself—dipping his pen in the same inkwell too often. Themes, story structure, and characters archetypes repeat themselves in each new Shannara series, which makes reading a new Shannara book sometimes too predictable. He’s shown however, through his other fantasy series, such as Word & Void, a contemporary fantasy, and The Magic Kingdom (a humourous secondary world fantasy) that he has the chops to write original fiction outside of his most famous series, and I’m always curious to see what happens when he turns his eye toward something wholly new.

Street Freaks (Grim Oak Press, 2018) is a major departure for Brooks in a lot of ways. It’s his first pure science fiction novel (if you consider his post-apocalyptic Shannara novels to be a science fiction/fantasy hybrid), and it’s an absolute blast to see him playing in a new playground and worldbuilding from the ground up for the first time since 1997’s Running with the Demon. In many other ways, it’s familiar ground. Thematically, Brooks is sticking with his tried-and-true formula of coming-of-age meets adventure, which has proved immensely successful in the Shannara series. In all, he finds a nice balance between new and familiar, which appeals to the long-time Brooks fan in me.

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First Impressions: Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty

I’ve long been a fan of Mur Lafftery’s work as a podcaster (I Should Be Writing and the Hugo-winning Ditch Diggers) and editor (I mean, heck, she was one of the first to buy a short story from me), but, until now, I haven’t been exposed to any of her fiction. Six Wakes, her first science fiction novel, earned a lot of raves this year, and ended up being nominated for some prominent SFF awards, has been on my to-read pile for several months. After finishing off Peter Frankopan’s tremendous (and tremendously heavy) The Silk Roads, I needed a palate cleanser, and Six Wakes seemed like the perfect thing. A generation ship story AND a closed room murder mystery? Sign me up.

I’m listening to the audiobook, and the first pleasent surprise is that Lafferty herself is doing the narration. She’s not as dramatic as some narrators, choosing instead to let the text itself do the speaking, but her experience is obvious and her authorial voice brings forward an interesting perspective on the story. 

And what a story it is. Things come together quickly, as the cloned members of a generation ship wake to find their previous bodies brutally murdered. Lafferty’s prose is whip sharp, and she relies on natural, well-paced dialogue to move the story along. I’m about 20% into the book, and at this point the handful of main protagonists have already established personalities and separate themselves from one another easily. Its pace, coupled with a high number of characters, and a mystery plot, could easily have made for a huge mess, but Lafferty handles things with ease. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of Agatha Christie’s famous, And Then There Were None. The conceit that all but one of the principal crew members on the ship is a former criminal partaking in the mission with the promise of a full pardon adds to the Christie-like air. It’s immensely compelling, especially as the secrets of their pasts are slowly revealed. Mystery and suspicion abounds as each of the characters tries to juggle uncertainty with the need to trust their fellow travellers.

In all, I’m hooked. The mystery is compelling, the characters are rich, the pacing is breakneck. I gotta know what happens next.

Out & About: A dream come true on Tor.com

Yesterday on on Tor.com, I published a long-in-the-making article that has me internally (and externally) screaming with delight. It’s the story of my introduction to fantasy through Magic: The Gathering, an immensely popular trading card game that has endured for 25 years. Recently, the game’s creator, Wizards of the Coast, has made an effort to revamp the game’s fiction (delivered via online short stories and, soon, novels) by hiring some legitimately great SFF authors. I mean, look at this list: Cassandra Khaw, Martha Wells, Kate Elliott. That’s some serious clout.

So, I caught up with the authors, and creative director Nic Kelman, to discuss the past, present, and future of Magic’s storytelling, which encompasses one of the largest and most intricate fantasy worlds ever created.

Here’s an excerpt:

If someone asked me how I got into fantasy, I’d bring up the summer of ’96. I was 12 years old and had just graduated elementary school. Enjoying one of the longest summers of my life. One day stands out vividly above the rest. It was hot, sunny—brilliant and full of possibility, in the way that only summer vacation can be. I was with my dad, driving to southern Vancouver Island so that he could meet with someone who worked for his online scriptwriting workshop. The drive was about an hour, but it felt shorter. I wasn’t looking out the window, or chatting with my dad; instead, my nose was buried in my mom’s battered copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien.

I was in the car with my dad, but I was also in Middle-earth alongside Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarfs. This might not seem like a remarkable introduction to fantasy, but it was for me. I grew up treating fantasy with disdain—dismissing it for being full of unicorns, princesses, rainbows, and the sort. (Who’d’ve thought that 20 years later I’d be looking for exactly those things in the books I read?) Instead, I was a remarkably loyal science fiction fan. However, Tolkien’s novel of loyalty and adventure, danger, magic, and friendship showed me the error of my thinking, and convinced me that, hey, fantasy is cool. I became a voracious fantasy reader after that—an obsession I still live with today.
However, my roots as a fantasy fan go back farther than that—which I’m only realizing as I write this article.

Rewind a couple of years to 1994. Spearheaded by Ms. Lukyn, the fourth grade teacher, a new game was spreading like wildfire in my elementary school. Magic: The Gathering was a Trading Card Game (TCG) that pitted two Planeswalkers against each other. The players took on the role of these wizards and faced off in combat by casting fireballs, drinking healing salves, and summing great beasts like Shivan Dragons or Sengir Vampires. It was easy to learn, cheap to start playing (or, the teacher had spare decks), and it ignited youthful imaginations. How else on the school grounds could you step into the robes of a wizard?

You can read the whole thing—all 4,000 words of it—on Tor.com. Whether you’re a existing fan of Magic: The Gathering, a lapsed fan, or just love fantasy fiction, I think you’ll enjoy it.