Here's the cover of my next novel, Burn Me Deadly. The artwork was done by Jean-Sebastien Rossbach, who also did the paperback cover for The Sword-Edged Blonde.
So what do you think?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Announcing the cover of Burn Me Deadly
Here's the cover of my next novel, Burn Me Deadly. The artwork was done by Jean-Sebastien Rossbach, who also did the paperback cover for The Sword-Edged Blonde.
So what do you think?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Read chapter one of The Sword-Edged Blonde
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
New interview at Grinding to Valhalla
I'm interviewed at Grinding to Valhalla about The Sword-Edged Blonde.
Monday, August 17, 2009
First dragons: Vermithrax from Dragonslayer
My upcoming novel BURN ME DEADLY involves, in part, a group who worship fire-breathing dragons. Because really, if you're writing fantasy, eventually you have to deal with dragons in some fashion. They're a trope, like swords and/or sorcery. Ignoring them would be like leaving the horses out of a western.
Not that I mind. Dragons continue to fascinate us because, much like vampires, they can symbolize practically anything a writer wants them to represent. Just look at the cultural differences between Asian dragons and their European counterparts, and the richness of the creatures as metaphors becomes apparent.
Still, everyone has a "first dragon," the one that awoke their sense of wonder about the creatures. For many it's Anne McCaffery's elaborate world of Pern, where genetically-engineered intelligent dragons bond with their riders; for others it's Smaug in The Hobbit, guarding his hoarde deep in a cave. But for me, it was the awesome Vermithrax from the 1981 film, Dragonslayer.
At the time of its release, Dragonslayer got a bum wrap for "ripping off" Star Wars. There's a naive young hero (Galen, played by Peter MacNicol) who is mentored by an old wizard portrayed by a distinguished British "Sir" actor (Ralph Richardson). There's a semi-magical weapon (a special lance, the "Dragonslayer" of the title) and a big, black-clad villain (Tyrian, played by John Hallam). Even Emperor Palpatine himself, Ian McDiarmid, has a small role as a village priest.
Of course, in the hindsight of twenty-plus years we can see these as simply standard fantasy elements that Lucas borrowed as well, and it's more interesting what the film does differently. Yes, there's a noble and strong-willed princess, but she's not the heroine. There's a Twelfth Night element in one bit of masquerading (the sole part of the film that simply doesn't work). And the medieval setting is vividly realized, helped by the suitably ponderous Alex North score.
Then there's the dragon.
First and foremost for me, Vermithrax maintains the integrity of basic biology. She's clearly a reptile, and so has only four limbs: her wings are modified front legs, similar to a bat's, or fossil pterosaurs. I'm endlessly annoyed by the six-limbed dragons (four legs plus wings) depicted in standard fantasy. No vertebrate has more than four limbs, and that counts wings. Saying, "it's a fantasy story," is a dodge, not an acceptable explanation.
Second, Vermithrax is scary. She eats human sacrifices, breathes fire and leaves a path of destruction. When she first appears, emerging from a literal lake of fire to tower over the hero, she's awe-inspiring.
Third, she doesn't talk. The dragons of Pern communicate telepathically, which is justified since they're genetically engineered to do that. But the chatty Draco in the inanely hokey Dragonheart has started a trend of talkative dragons that would embarrass even Walt Disney. Dragons are reptiles: they have no lips, and no mammalian voice boxes. Again, saying, "it's fantasy so it's okay," is an evasion, not a justification.
All subsequent dragons have been measured against this considerable standard. In fact, in the twenty-plus years since Dragonslayer, I've only encountered one other dragon that came close to equalling its impression on me (more on that in a later post). When it came time to create my own dragons, Vermithrax was my starting point.
The dragons worshipped in BURN ME DEADLY are folkloric, ancient creatures that, if they really existed, lived long before the dawn of man. They flew, and breathed fire, and laid waste to everything in their paths. They have qualities (intelligence, a compulsion to vengeance) that don't quite mesh with reality, but much of this is caused by the way stories change over time. Were there real dragons in the story, they would be much more in line with what I describe above: plausible, genuine, and terrifying.
But there are no real dragons...are there?
Leave a comment about your own "first dragon" before the end of this week and be entered to win one of three signed copies of The Sword-Edged Blonde paperback. One lucky winner will also receive an advance reader copy of Burn Me Deadly.
BURN ME DEADLY hits stores on November 10, 2009.
(There's a perceptive review of Dragonslayer here.)
Not that I mind. Dragons continue to fascinate us because, much like vampires, they can symbolize practically anything a writer wants them to represent. Just look at the cultural differences between Asian dragons and their European counterparts, and the richness of the creatures as metaphors becomes apparent.
Still, everyone has a "first dragon," the one that awoke their sense of wonder about the creatures. For many it's Anne McCaffery's elaborate world of Pern, where genetically-engineered intelligent dragons bond with their riders; for others it's Smaug in The Hobbit, guarding his hoarde deep in a cave. But for me, it was the awesome Vermithrax from the 1981 film, Dragonslayer.
At the time of its release, Dragonslayer got a bum wrap for "ripping off" Star Wars. There's a naive young hero (Galen, played by Peter MacNicol) who is mentored by an old wizard portrayed by a distinguished British "Sir" actor (Ralph Richardson). There's a semi-magical weapon (a special lance, the "Dragonslayer" of the title) and a big, black-clad villain (Tyrian, played by John Hallam). Even Emperor Palpatine himself, Ian McDiarmid, has a small role as a village priest.
Of course, in the hindsight of twenty-plus years we can see these as simply standard fantasy elements that Lucas borrowed as well, and it's more interesting what the film does differently. Yes, there's a noble and strong-willed princess, but she's not the heroine. There's a Twelfth Night element in one bit of masquerading (the sole part of the film that simply doesn't work). And the medieval setting is vividly realized, helped by the suitably ponderous Alex North score.
Then there's the dragon.
First and foremost for me, Vermithrax maintains the integrity of basic biology. She's clearly a reptile, and so has only four limbs: her wings are modified front legs, similar to a bat's, or fossil pterosaurs. I'm endlessly annoyed by the six-limbed dragons (four legs plus wings) depicted in standard fantasy. No vertebrate has more than four limbs, and that counts wings. Saying, "it's a fantasy story," is a dodge, not an acceptable explanation.
Second, Vermithrax is scary. She eats human sacrifices, breathes fire and leaves a path of destruction. When she first appears, emerging from a literal lake of fire to tower over the hero, she's awe-inspiring.
Third, she doesn't talk. The dragons of Pern communicate telepathically, which is justified since they're genetically engineered to do that. But the chatty Draco in the inanely hokey Dragonheart has started a trend of talkative dragons that would embarrass even Walt Disney. Dragons are reptiles: they have no lips, and no mammalian voice boxes. Again, saying, "it's fantasy so it's okay," is an evasion, not a justification.
All subsequent dragons have been measured against this considerable standard. In fact, in the twenty-plus years since Dragonslayer, I've only encountered one other dragon that came close to equalling its impression on me (more on that in a later post). When it came time to create my own dragons, Vermithrax was my starting point.
The dragons worshipped in BURN ME DEADLY are folkloric, ancient creatures that, if they really existed, lived long before the dawn of man. They flew, and breathed fire, and laid waste to everything in their paths. They have qualities (intelligence, a compulsion to vengeance) that don't quite mesh with reality, but much of this is caused by the way stories change over time. Were there real dragons in the story, they would be much more in line with what I describe above: plausible, genuine, and terrifying.
But there are no real dragons...are there?
Leave a comment about your own "first dragon" before the end of this week and be entered to win one of three signed copies of The Sword-Edged Blonde paperback. One lucky winner will also receive an advance reader copy of Burn Me Deadly.
BURN ME DEADLY hits stores on November 10, 2009.
(There's a perceptive review of Dragonslayer here.)
Sunday, August 16, 2009
In honor of the King
To commemorate today's anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley, I was going to post one of my favorite clips of the King. But when I found this, I realized Elvis himself would probably rather watch it. So here you go.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
My workspace is featured at Sitting Pretty
My desk, where the magic happens (and by "magic," I mean sitting unshowered and muttering to myself a lot while drinking way too much coffee and keeping a weather eye on my heathen children. Oh, and writing, too.), is featured at Sitting Pretty, an online magazine about "exploring the desks where writers work."
Monday, August 10, 2009
On writing The Sword-Edged Blonde
(Originally published in the Tor e-mail newsletter)
A man walks into a bar.
If this happens in a science fiction or fantasy novel, the author has his job cut out for him. Not only does he have to describe the bar physically, but also its patrons. They might include aliens, ogres, trolls or elves, all of which can have any number of permutations. Then the drinks have to be laid out, and the money system enumerated. When all that's done, the author might have enough imagination left to finally describe the man who walked in.
I'm unusual as a fantasy or science fiction reader, in that the details of made-up societies, worlds and cultures hold far less interest for me than the people (I include non-humans in that term) who inhabit them. I remember listening in wonder to another well-regarded fantasy author describe the elaborate monetary system he'd designed, and for which so far he'd had no use. It's something I could never do.
When I wrote The Sword-Edged Blonde, I wanted to pare it down to the things I, as a reader, cared most about: namely, the people. Anything that distracted from them, and from the reader's emotional commitment to them, I either left out or minimized. For example, many fantasy characters have names that, if not literally unpronounceable, at least challenge the tongue; I named my hero Eddie LaCrosse. Eddie's office is, in fact, above a bar, one that is no different in feel and atmosphere from any you might walk into today. Eddie uses swords that, like modern guns, have make and model names, and the people speak in rhythms, patterns and tones that don't try to sound "otherworldly." There's no time spent digressing into societal details that don't apply to the immediate situation; this is not to belittle authors who do that sort of thing well, it's just something I neither crave as a reader nor excel at as a writer.
I did invent one term. Eddie is essentially a private investigator functioning in an Iron Age world. In our world, PI's are known by various, vaguely derogatory terms: shamus, dick, peeper, etc. I decided that Eddie's reality needed a similar term, and came up with "sword jockey." To me it rings with the same thinly-veiled contempt as "gumshoe" or "snooper."
The Sword-Edged Blonde (and its upcoming sequel, Burn Me Deadly) have been called high-fantasy stories written as if they were Forties pulp detective novels. That's exactly my intent, but it's not just an ironic stylistic choice; rather, it's a sincere attempt to let readers connect with the characters by letting as few things as possible get in the way.
So the man (or woman) who walks into a bar in Eddie's world could, hopefully, be you. And you'd be right at home there.
A man walks into a bar.
If this happens in a science fiction or fantasy novel, the author has his job cut out for him. Not only does he have to describe the bar physically, but also its patrons. They might include aliens, ogres, trolls or elves, all of which can have any number of permutations. Then the drinks have to be laid out, and the money system enumerated. When all that's done, the author might have enough imagination left to finally describe the man who walked in.
I'm unusual as a fantasy or science fiction reader, in that the details of made-up societies, worlds and cultures hold far less interest for me than the people (I include non-humans in that term) who inhabit them. I remember listening in wonder to another well-regarded fantasy author describe the elaborate monetary system he'd designed, and for which so far he'd had no use. It's something I could never do.
When I wrote The Sword-Edged Blonde, I wanted to pare it down to the things I, as a reader, cared most about: namely, the people. Anything that distracted from them, and from the reader's emotional commitment to them, I either left out or minimized. For example, many fantasy characters have names that, if not literally unpronounceable, at least challenge the tongue; I named my hero Eddie LaCrosse. Eddie's office is, in fact, above a bar, one that is no different in feel and atmosphere from any you might walk into today. Eddie uses swords that, like modern guns, have make and model names, and the people speak in rhythms, patterns and tones that don't try to sound "otherworldly." There's no time spent digressing into societal details that don't apply to the immediate situation; this is not to belittle authors who do that sort of thing well, it's just something I neither crave as a reader nor excel at as a writer.
I did invent one term. Eddie is essentially a private investigator functioning in an Iron Age world. In our world, PI's are known by various, vaguely derogatory terms: shamus, dick, peeper, etc. I decided that Eddie's reality needed a similar term, and came up with "sword jockey." To me it rings with the same thinly-veiled contempt as "gumshoe" or "snooper."
The Sword-Edged Blonde (and its upcoming sequel, Burn Me Deadly) have been called high-fantasy stories written as if they were Forties pulp detective novels. That's exactly my intent, but it's not just an ironic stylistic choice; rather, it's a sincere attempt to let readers connect with the characters by letting as few things as possible get in the way.
So the man (or woman) who walks into a bar in Eddie's world could, hopefully, be you. And you'd be right at home there.
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