And I pimp my readers!

UPDATE: There is new content in the subscriber space tab.

*Keep in mind these are Zachary Rick’s recommendations, not mine, which would be different!  (And I can do if you really want me to.)  And thank you to Monsieur le Mollusc for the pimping of my readers’ books (I ain’t never seen books in mini-skirts and go-go boots before, is all I’m saying.)*

The Science Fiction Onramp

So, apparently there has been talk about a need for “entry-level” science fiction and fantasy. Who is talking about this and why they feel it I leave to you, dear reader. But I’d bet it has something to do with the fact that the giant movie blockbusters of the last, oh, decade or longer, have been largely science fiction and fantasy tales. With movies like The Avengers pulling in beaucoup bucks, with the success of the Hobbit, one would anticipate that we’d see similar big numbers in science fiction and fantasy books.

Something tells me that just isn’t happening.

I took a gander at the top selling books of 2013 at Amazon. And the results were… interesting.

In the top 20 books, you had eight works of fiction. (Jeff Kinney’s latest Wimpy Kid book, Dan Brown’s Inferno, Rick Riordan’s The House of Hades, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, R.J. Palacio’s Wonder, and Veronica Roth’s Divergent.) (Incidentally, three of the top ten books were written by conservative commentators of some sort. Rush Limbaugh, Charles Krauthammer, and Bill O’Reilly. And at least three of them had specifically religious themes. So much for the thought that conservatives / the religious don’t read. Take THAT, vile progs!)

Anyway, two of those books are recognizably science fiction or fantasy. And both of those are YA. Which is what I’d consider definitionally to be onramp material.

The trend gets a little more stark when you look at the top Kindle books of last year. All 20 of those were fiction. Five of them were science fiction or fantasy (Three in Veronica Roth’s Divergent series, the final Hunger Games book, and… Ender’s Game.) All of these would be considered YA.

We don’t need an onramp for science fiction. Those books are science fiction. And they’re hitting new readers – the YA group. So the more interesting question is… what happens to these kids between the time they’re devouring books like The Hunger Games, Twilight, or Percy Jackson and later life? Do they switch genres? Do they stop reading altogether? Do they no longer have time? YA keeps putting out science fiction and fantasy blockbusters. Percy Jackson, Katniss Everdeen, and of course, Harry Potter are cultural icons, beloved by millions. And they’re smack dab in the middle of the science fiction / fantasy landscape, selling plenty. But adult sales of science fiction / fantasy aren’t that high (unless you’re George R. R. Martin).

So, what’s happening?

Well, looking at the people who were asked about “entry-level” science fiction and fantasy, and reading their comments, I have to say that maybe we’re losing a significant number of those because we keep recommending things that poke them in the eye. Remember that list of top 20 in 2013? With three books by conservatives and at least another three with overtly religious themes? Maybe… just maybe… what’s being written, published, and promoted is hostile to their worldview.

I mean, well, duh, right? Those people SHOULD have their worldview adjusted! Ha ha!!! But we have not yet devised a means to make people read those books once they’ve left school. And for some reason, people don’t buy and read books that are overtly hostile to their deeply held beliefs. Those books wind up against a wall, or in the recycling bin.

And then authors wonder why people aren’t reading their overtly hostile, condescending, sarcastic, bitterly acidic prose. Since the Progressive Era began, it’s been said that the goal of education should be to make a man as different from his father as possible. And SF has long been nothing if not progressive.

A good example – Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End.

WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW FOR A BOOK OVER SIXTY YEARS OLD.

Childhood’s End tells the story of how human beings evolve to a level where they become no longer human. In fact, the end of the book has all human life abandoning their bodies, joining in some sort of energy-hive-mind thing, and leaving Earth forever. Which is cool and all, until you start considering what that says about human beings and who we are and what our role is in the universe. Personally, I thought it was a pretty downer ending, but apparently a bunch of people thought it was the cat’s pajamas. “Yeah, humanity will be totally awesome once we ditch every thing that makes us human! Whoo!

SPOLIERS COMPLETED. THANK YOU.

Other recommendations included The Handmaid’s Tale. Apparently, it’s all about the oppression of women. I’ll admit to never having read it. My better half, however, did. And she hates that book with a flaming purple passion. But she’s an avid reader, having devoured the Divergence and Beautiful Creatures books herself around the holidays. (I think she set a personal record for Beautiful Creatures. Four books. Three days. Merry Christmas.) She loved them. Except the end of the last Divergence novel, which she didn’t like that much. (She has similar feelings about the last Hunger Games book.) Her perspective is that there’s a lot of great science fiction out there, and more coming.

Let’s humor the “industry insiders” for a minute and assume that an on-ramp is needed, even though it looks like that may not be the case based on my admittedly anecdotal evidence above. Every science fiction and fantasy fan worth his salt has a favorite book – something they spring on other people who claim not to like science fiction, and I’m no exception. Mine is and pretty much always has been Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card – a marvelous book. It’s full of fantastic ideas, interesting characters, and the climax is both thrilling and slightly horrifying. Apparently, that’s no longer a viable choice. It appeared on the list that kicked off this rant, but was surrounded with a groveling apology for having suggested it now that the author has been outed as someone who happens to believe in and practice his religion – a religion that has proven unwilling to change its practice and beliefs to fit in with current fashion.

Well, in my admittedly arrogant opinion, current fashion sucks.

At any rate, the talk about a need for entry-level science fiction as an industry is sheer folly. There’s not a need for entry-level science fiction and fantasy. There’s a need for good science fiction and fantasy. And there is plenty of that.

But let’s say that you really do need an onramp book. Maybe you have a friend who’s an avid reader, but they don’t touch science fiction or fantasy because cooties or something. Maybe keep the following in mind.

First, make allowances for taste. Some people do prefer other genres, and that’s totally legitimate. [Pfui.  Prove it — SAH :-P]

Second, keep your audience in mind. I think everyone should be able to read and appreciate Lois McMasters Bujold – especially Shards of Honor and Barrayar. (Combined by Baen into one handy volume – Cordelia’s Honor.) But the ladies may not appreciate, say, Scott Sigler’s The Rookie. (Football. In the 27th century. With aliens. Who are also gangsters. Four books so far. And a fifth up for pre-order on Saturday. All totally indie published in hardback.)

After that, make sure the book is interesting. I mean, that goes without saying, right? But if you’re trying to get someone to read a piece of science fiction because it’s important or progressive or transgressive or a bunch of other similar adjectives? You’re doing it wrong. Likewise if your book features the Sledgehammer Of Morality on any side – prog or non-prog. You want to hook someone, making them feel guilty for their deeply held beliefs is probably not the best way of doing it.

So, that’s it. Allowances for taste. Keep the audience in mind. Fun.

I’ll kick it off with one of my all time favorites – Alfred Bester’s Demolished Man (which is just barely edging out Bester’s The Stars My Destination in my preference at the moment.) Bester plays with great concepts, wrapping questions about free will, justice, and power into a fairly tight police drama. When the cops are telepaths, how do you get away with murder?

And I turn it over to the Huns. What’s your onramp book?

Not that we need one…
And NOW For the PIMPING:
Another happy Saturday, Huns and Hoydens! We’ve a small selection this week; apparently you lot were feeling bashful this week about shameless self-promotion. Repent ye, repent ye, and plug your work without qualm! And for now, go check out these books from fellow fans. As always, future entries can (and should!) be sent to my email. Happy reading!
Jason Dyck, AKA The Free Range Oyster
Promotion Wrangler, Mercenary Wordsmith, and Minion Extraordinaire

Michael Kingswood

Glimmer Vale

Lydelton, a small fishing town in a remote valley called Glimmer Vale, is the perfect place for two fighting men on the run to stop and decide on a plan. But when Julian and Raedrick arrive they find the town besieged by a ruthless band of brigands. Worse, the brigands have taken up station in the mountain passes, blocking the two friends’ escape. With no way around the brigands and no option of returning the way they came, Julian and Raedrick accept an offer of employment. Their mission: defeat the brigands and restore peace to Glimmer Vale.

They are outnumbered at least twenty to one, long odds even if they recruit help. But that help may not be enough when the specter of their past rears its head, forcing Julian and Raedrick to openly face what they are fleeing or risk losing not just their freedom but the lives and fortunes of Lydelton’s inhabitants.

Also available from these fine sources:

• Kobo
• Barnes and Noble
• Smashwords

Dan Melson

Empire and Earth (Rediscovery Book 3)

Earth needed help – and nobody else was going to step up. Graciela Juarez has gone from a late-twenties college student to Second Order Guardian and one of the Empire’s better pilots. But events on Earth are building to a climax, and the Empire is determined to let Earth sort things out for itself – or not. It really doesn’t matter to them. But it matters to Grace. By whatever means necessary, she will save Earth from the demons – and from its own insanity.

*Sorry this is so late.  WordPress crashed three times while I was trying to put this up, and it necessitated a whole reboot.*

The prequel to this — Witchfinder — has been removed.  I do promise to go through the copyedits as soon as humanly possible and send the advance copies to those who pre-ordered.  You’ll know when that’s eminent because I’ll remove scattered chapters from this blog.  I do hope to manage it next week, but I’m not promising as I’m still finishing a novel under contract to Baen. Meanwhile, if you donate $6 and note it in the field, you’ll get advance-subscribed to this novel.  I do, however, understand it can be a long time to wait, and if you want to, do so.  I will continue to post chapters here, roughly one a week.

NOTICE: For those unsure about copyright law and because there was a particularly weird case, just because I’m making the pre-first draft of my novel available to blog readers, it doesn’t mean that this isn’t copyrighted to me.  Rogue Magic as all the contents of this blog is © Sarah A. Hoyt 2013.  Do not copy, alter, distribute or resell without permission.  Exceptions made for ATTRIBUTED quotes as critique or linking to this blog. Credit for the cover image is © Ateliersommerland | Dreamstime.com

Miss Caroline Ainsling, sister of the Duke of Darkwater:

It didn’t take long.  You see, Michael – my brother Michael – is a mathematical and mechanical genius, which in turn makes him a magical genius.  The fact that his share of power is higher than Seraphim’s and almost as high as Gabriel’s , which should be impossible without elven blood, but never mind.  When I asked, he started showing me the equations for sympathetic magic and contagion of power, and I thought about exactly how I’d set up the gardens of my home when I married Akakios.  We’d have an orangery and an apple grove, because he was fond of the trees, and for the scent too.

But that had been months ago.  I rarely asked Michael to explain anything, and when I did, it was never very long before my eyes glazed and I went inward to my happy land.

I’m fairly sure I’m not more stupid than I need to be.  Well, except perhaps about social occasions, when my fellow students were always telling me, “Caroline, don’t be more stupid than you need to be.”  But that was the result of being raised so isolated and so oddly, so that I was almost mama’s confidant, and a play fellow to Michael, as well as following Seraphim and Gabriel around.  It was not any deficiency of my understanding.

And yet, when I tried to grasp the higher mathematical truths of magic, my mind slid away from them, like they were made of ice, and I couldn’t follow what Michael assured me was the simplest of reasonings.

Which was why I didn’t even try, that evening, in Seraphim’s office, after Sydell had arrived, and after the fountain had exploded.

It was funny in a way.  Look, I remember being about three and there was a fire in a wing of our home, and everyone ran out of their beds and downstairs in their underclothes.  I’d discovered things I’d never seen before, and could not have guessed about people.  For instance, our dignified buttler wore a wig in his day work.  In the middle of the night, he was bald, except for a fringe of white hair around his head.  And the parlor maid slept in something embroidered and lavish that would have suited mama, except mama said it was highly improper, and after that mama had said something about no one wearing that to bed when they sleep alone, and a few months later, the first parlor maid was married to our head gardener.  Which I thought was a lot to come off frilly nightgowns in gosshammer muslin and edged with lace, but mama seemed very sure.

Of course, that night in Seraphim’s office, no one was in their underwear, but in a way I got the same feeling that I was seeing everyone undressed.  Seraphim kept raking his hand back through his hair, his eyes were red rimmed, and he looked distraught.  And Sydell kept pacing back and forth and muttering the occasional word that made no sense to anyone else.

Michael in turn, looked almost spell-bound, his eyes fixed as though on some distant landscape, and looking so much like when he’d been a captive of the late king of fairyland that my heart wrenched.

I looked away from him, and that’s when he asked Seraphim, “The statue, outside?  What happened to it?”

Seraphim stopped raking his hand through his hair and barked out.  “Jonathan.  Jonathan Blythe.”

And Michael nodded, as though no more explanation was needed; as though the earl of Savage were a known exploder of statues.

Then Sydell stopped and more or less growled, “I have to go in and see if I can save him.  I have to.  And it’s no use at all you telling me what risks I’ll run.  I know them well enough.  But if anyone can bring him back I can.”

Seraphim started to open his mouth, snapped it shut so hard I swear I could hear his teeth clashing together, opened it again and barked out, “Right.  Then why are you telling me this.  You could have gone from your own estate surely?  It is no part of my job to help a man commit suicide.”

Sydell laughed.  It wasn’t an ironical laugh.  It really was a laugh, as though Seraphim had told a joke.  “No, thank you, I don’t need help.  What I need is a legal document.”

Seraphim’s eyebrows shot up.  “What?”

“My son… well, at any rate my heir.  If I go, he is left unprotected, and frankly if anyone probes too closely his paternity will be doubted too.  And if he’s an award of the crown… well, you know…”

Seraphim didn’t say anything to that.  I didn’t either.  Awards of the crown got “sold” in marriage at the most outrageous prices and with total disregard for their happiness.  It was something I’d heard Seraphim and Nell discuss.  Nell didn’t like it, but this was tied up in such a net of rights, duties and ancient traditions it would take centuries to fix.

And even I knew that Sydell’s supposed son was actually his half brother and the son of his father.  If anyone probed into that, the legitimacy of the child would be questioned, and I was sure Sydell had legitimate relatives enough – if distant – eager to get their hands on the property.

Seraphim opened his hands wide.  “What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want to leave you in charge of him.  I want you to make him your personal award.”  There was a pause.  “Please?  I owe the child a duty.  I don’t want him in a home for magical orphans, which is where he’d end if he becomes a court award.  I grew up in one.”

Seraphim had then called a legal clerk – it must be nice to have legal clerks you can call at any hour of the night, though the man did look like he’d been asleep and I later found out he’d slept in a truckle bed at the back, as did many others on other beds, of course, on duty as long as Seraphim remained in the office.

The clerk started drafting a document, and then Michael stepped forward and touched Sydell’s shoulder, making him jump about a foot off the ground, and then said, “If you’re going in, have you considered a Arrar maneuver?”

“What?  That would be foolhardy.”

And that’s when I stopped understanding anything.  Numbers flew, and Michael got a paper off Seraphim’s desk and started drawing figures on it, and Sydell corrected the figures, and Seraphim must have been as exasperated by it all as I was because he finally must have caught something – he said, “Here, what is this?  Michael can’t go with you!”

And Michael looked up and said, “I can.  Indeed I must.”

“But having been—”

“A changeling means I’m immune from most of it.  It’s like … it’s like having caught the small pox once.  Seraphim, let go of the paper, and do you not have a pen that’s not in dire need of trimming?”

And then the numbers and figures returned, and Seraphim must have understood some of it, because he leaned over the paper to tell them they were out of their minds if they thought he’d let them do that.

Akakios leaned over me, and touched me on the shoulder.

Looking up, I saw he looked concerned and grave, as he made a head motion towards the outer corridor.

It’s amazing how silent his hoof-fall can be when he wants it to.  We crept out of the office unnoticed.

Out in the hallway, he leaned close and said, “I can go back to fairyland.  I was listening to what they were saying, and I can go.  I can use one of those entry points.  I think I have to, Caroline.  I’m sworn liege to Night Arrow, and he must be brought to reason… be brought alive again.”

I nodded.  “If you go, I go with you.”

“Caroline!”

“No.  Look.  Our betrothal is, I’m told, as binding as marriage, and if it is, wherever you go, I go.”

“But… it will be very dangerous.”

“So will be staying here if you fail.” I got hold of his hand in both of mine.  “Akakios, if you die, I’d rather be by your side than here, and not knowing what happened.”

His eyes misted.  He’d deny it, mind, but I saw them glitter.  “Very well,” he said.

It is very awkward to have a centaur help you mount his horse-half, but we managed.  We tiptoed out of the office.  Fortunately, the guards outside were still too busy with the fountain to pay much heed.  Outside the plaza, Akakios did something that opened the magical path to fairyland, and we charged along it.

*A blast from the past post from December 13 2010.  It’s a silly post about how we came by our cats.  Also, as a public service, announcement, Peter Grant sent me an email asking:

Following my recent guest article, as you’ll recall, a reader asked how
to avoid the pitfalls of writing about military service and combat
without having experienced them.  I’ve been thinking about how to
approach the subject, and tonight I put up a blog post asking my readers
for input.  It goes into a lot of detail about the problems involved,
and asks whether it’s worth trying to set the record straight, or leave
well enough alone.  You’ll find it at:
Writing about military service and war

I’d be grateful if you’d please mention that to your readers tomorrow,
and ask them to click over, read the article, and leave their comments
and input.  — Peter

Also, under various news: in case you wondered what was up with Witchfinder, part of it has been trying to get the cover just right.  Well, I think I have now, so I’m posting it below.  Now health holding a little while, I’ll get the edits gone over and send to the subscribers and make an ARC available for purchase.  (Why an ARC?  Because I’ll only officially release it three months from now. I’m going to announce it, send it out for reviews, etc.)Soon, very soon.  I promise.*

And now, Those Whom The Cat Gods Love!

Cats. I think twice in our whole lives as cat owners (though there is some doubt as to who owns whom) we went out of our way to get a cat. First, when we bought our first house. We finally could have pets (before that we had a remote controlled jeep we called Fido and took for walks. Freaked out the neighbors) and I held out for a marmelade cat. We heard of a friend whose daughter, living in a college dorm, had unwittingly given refuge to a female marmelade (it’s so rare, she assumed cat was male) in what the victorians called an interesting condition. This girl cat, Tiffany, had delivered herself of four bouncing baby kittens and the dorm didn’t even allow pets, much less five cats in one room.

So we went out and fell in love at first sight with this bouncy little ball of fat and fluffy orange fur whom they called Garfield – and we called Pixel. Problem was Pixel was still nursing, at eight weeks, and eating no solid food. Also, he was very attached to his identical, somewhat thinner, twin whose original name I can’t remember but whom we named Randy.

My husband who had never had a cat in his life told me “you know, they’ll need company while we’re away at work. If we take the twins it will be better.” So, we promised to pick them up when Pixie started eating solids and we went home.

This is when the cat-gods intervened. You see, cat gods are… well… cats. They hear your willingness to host one of their minions, and they … see an opening. In the next week, my husband went for a drive and rescued a scrap of a black kitten, whom he named Petronius the Arbiter before I ever met him. (Pete earned the nickname “Cat from Hell” on his own.)

Suddenly and through no fault of our own we found ourselves with three alpha males. (Pixie did start eating solid food. At sixteen weeks. No, I’m not joking. For the longest time he’d run away if there were more than three pieces of dry food on his dish. I have NO idea why. I think he thought they were preparing for revolution? We had to feed him three bits at a time. But he grew into a lovely and headstrong cat who “spoke” the closest to human I’ve ever heard including freaky internet talking cat videos. The other cats used to have him talk to us when there was a problem, (like lack of food or water) earning him the family title of Speaker to The Humans.)

But the cat gods weren’t done with us – oh, no. Over the next year we rescued a couple of twin orphans, DT and Zebbie.

And then it stopped raining kittens – or at least being at maximum capacity, (though we lost Zebbie a year in) we were more careful about you know… attracting the critters – for about twelve years. At which point, I thought “all our cats are going to get old. We should get a new kitten to cheer us up.”

My husband said if we got any more cats, we’d have to get a Cornish Rex. I THINK he thought this would stand in the way of the mad feline divinities. Lo and behold, there was a litter for sale half an hour from our house. We acquired Miranda with part of the advance for my first book. (She rules the household with an iron paw.)

The problem is – apparently – we’d attracted the attention of the cat gods. The next year, when Pete died, through a combination of factors too weird to explain, we rescued Euclid (aka Pythagoras in the mysteries, aka, the world’s most neurotic cat.) A year after that we lost Randy and two years later, D’Artagnan waltzed into our kitchen in the middle of a snow storm. He was a little 8 week cat all fluff and meows. We couldn’t find anyone who admitted to knowing him (though we found out whose he was eventually. Yes, we did. They threw him out. During a snow storm.) What could we do? He’s been with us ever since.

And I thought that was it, even though we lost Pixie. Turned out I was wrong. You see – sigh – I thought it was perfectly safe to go mini golfing on a warm summer night. Only, there was this incredibly fuzzy white and grey cat (other than the patches being grey, he looks EXACTLY like a Turkish Van. Same personality, too) starved and covered in grease and with a broken tail. He came to my younger son and… yeah. His name is Havelock Vetinari, Havey for short or – appropriately – Absurd. He was a great comfort to DT in her last year of life. She’d lost all her friends and none of the three new cats were friendly, but Havelock liked to cuddle and groom her.

And that’s it, right? We’re safe now, right?

Only Robert says when he moves he’ll probably take D’Artagnan. And Marshall says if when he gets to move he’s taking Miranda. (They’re inseparable.) And we’re thinking… is the cat gods attention activated by our wanting cats, or by a cat family being a few cats below par? Maybe we should get a dog instead? Is there such a thing as a dog god?

When I was a kid I went through years of angst, because you see, what I wanted to do – all I wanted to do, the only work I didn’t find boring or annoying – was write, and yet I had imbued the belief that I should do something that “was socially relevant” or “contributed to society.”

In part this is why I ended up studying languages.  Yep, I was going to “foster international understanding.”  (Which of you giggled?  Have a carp!)

Do I need to go into why this was stupid?  Yes?

Look, I have nothing against believing you have something to contribute to the world beyond what the world is willing to pay you for.  If I did, I wouldn’t have done the years of soul-sucking making no money whatsoever work needed to actually get good enough at my work to make money.  Unfortunately writing is one of those things that really can’t be taught in the classroom.  Or not well.

The problem I have is with believing that you should do something that “contributes to society” beyond, you know, what people are willing to pay you for.

The reason I object to this, is that this sort of do-goodism tends to fall into the “Christmas gifts to total strangers.”  You’re giving someone things they don’t want, at great expense to yourself, and the things will just get discarded or used in ways you’ll never think of.  In the worst case scenario, in which your desire to ‘give back to society’ leads you to become a politician, you end up making laws to make people use those ‘gifts’ that you insist on giving them because you’re sure they’re good for them.  Obamacare for instance, is sort of like passing a law that forces everyone to wear the Christmas sweater knit by their aunt Peggy, the one with the odd color tastes, who is near blind and has the attention span of a hamster, so that the thing is ugly, shoddy and full of dropped stitches that start unravelling the moment you put the sweater on.

Look, first all – why do you need to give back to society?  When did you steal it?

I’m not saying that the fact we live in a civilized society isn’t a great boon.  (Though becoming less of one as… never mind) I’m not saying we all don’t make use of the various inventions since fire, or that I’m not grateful that people with more engineering skill than I have made things like this here computer I’m bootstrapping onto the information superhighway (which might have been started with a government program – so, arguably, if you want to go there, legalized theft – but which became what it is by the grace of porn, lolcats and Heinlein flame wars.  I’m an active participant in the last two!)

What I’m saying is that none of those things was done for my benefit.  It’s not like at the dawn of mankind someone said “Hey, Og, somewhere in the future there will be this chick named Sarah who will need this fire thing.  Let’s do it for her!”  It’s not even like it’s being maintained for my benefit.  In the bowels of the technocracy, Engineer 24 doesn’t get up every morning and say “Hey, let’s make sure that Sarah has the internet up so she can write her blogs, so that her huns are distracted a few more hours.  You know, if those guys became disgruntled, they could be dangerous.”  (Okay, maybe Engineer 24 says that.  He doesn’t know ya’ll were never, so to put it, gruntled.)

Yes, I have the benefit of living in a civilized (waggles hand) society.  But that is mostly because every member in it gets up in the morning, scratches a place or two, grumbles through a shower and breakfast and then goes to work (those of us who work – a brave and increasingly small minority.  We few, we lucky few) because it’s in his/her best interests to go to work – because work benefits him/her in ways either monetary or psychological.  (And here, no fooling, though I’m making a point about working for money not immaterial yayas, if you’re unemployed and it looks to be long term – and in this economy… — consider setting a schedule and working every day at something.  It could be “just” looking for a job, or it could be learning a new skill that might allow you to contract out.  Or it might be, if your spouse/support person is working, cleaning the house and taking burdens off his/her shoulders so you’re contributing something.  I’m not saying get up, put work clothes on and sit down to work 9 to 5.  You might, of course.  I often do.  BUT the important thing is to do something focused and organized, so your day isn’t a blob.  It is not good for man – or woman – to be idle.  But the point is do it for your own benefit.  Have what you do contribute something to your values and your way of life.  Don’t do it “for the people.”)

This idea of doing something “to benefit” faceless others, whether they’re “society” or “the people.” When I was eight, my father told me that the greatest crimes against humanity have been committed in the name of “the people” – I’m now fifty one.  I have only seen this confirmed over and over again.

The reason for this is that “the people” or “society” can’t talk.  (Not really.  Yes, there’s polls.  There’s also lies, damn lies and statistics.)  That means that “doing something for the people” becomes “doing something to the people” which involves in turn “forcing the people to do things I want.”  And the “best” part is you can do it with a glow of virtue because you’re “giving back to society” for all the roads and internet and things.

The sheer and rank stupidity of these “altruistic” “gifts” to society is obvious when you think of trying to “give back” to say, your family.  No, seriously.  My family gives me tons in emotional support, work, sudden help with something I screwed up (thank you honey for keeping the computers running, and sons for driving me to the vet because I don’t want to drive in snow, and for countless cups of tea fetched, and for moving furniture so I can paint walls, and–.)  So, periodically I try to give back.  Unless this is focused and specific (say, they’re sick, and I make them lemon tea) it tends to backfire.  Like when the boys were 12 and 8 and I decided to take time to play with them, because I was always writing.  A) they’d planned a computer game marathon, and I really couldn’t play on their computer.  B) they became very suspicious of my motives, and got weird.  C) they led me to the office and told me to write.  Or take the time I rearranged my husband’s office to “make it nice” for him, and we had one of the worst arguments of our marriage.  (Turned out he liked the way his office was.)

If you can’t “give back” to your nearest and dearest with any degree of accuracy – beyond doing your part in the running of house and family – even supposing you owe society something… HOW are you going to give it back?

If only there were some way to be able to tell when society wants something.  I mean, wants it enough to value it, and not to receive it with a half-embarrassed smile and a “thank you, aunt Peggy” and then pitch it in the trash – laws allowing?  If only there were some arcane way of telling when someone wanted something enough!

Oh, I know – we’ll have these tokens that people can give each other in exchange for goods and services – cool, uh?

You’ll know that a good or service is needed/wanted by how many tokens people are willing to give you for it.

It’s a little risky, of course.  Say that you wish to do something, and train for it, and later find that no one will give you tokens for it.  There will be a few of those tragedies, but fortunately the cost will be born by individuals and is usually recoverable-from, since all skills have auxiliary skills that can be used to get the tokens, even though they might not be what the person REALLY wants to do.  But they can do that in their spare time, when they’ve exchanged their tokens for food and rent, right?

At least we can dispense with the massive bureaucracy to weigh the contributions of engineers one through twenty four and decide what compensation they should receive!  Yeah.  Let’s install the token-exchange system.

What?  What do you mean it’s already been done?  Oh.  I see.  Og sold the secret of fire for enough salt to put on the meat he cooked?  Miraculous.  You mean he didn’t invent fire “to give back to society” for the pelts and things he got? And then, over time, the exchange evolved to symbolic tokens, so we can all shop for what we want and need without carrying a live goat in each pocket?  And all of this takes place on its own, without government intervention?  And in fact goes on despite government intervention, in the form of black markets, in tyrannies?  And it gives us an accurate representation of what large numbers of people want and need?  (Don’t blame me if what they want and need is often the sham wow.) Who would have thought of that?

… Certainly not our enlightened leaders, and not anyone who has gone through school systems in western countries, where we are taught that greed (i.e. making money in exchange for what you produce) is bad, and that your aim in life should be to “improve the world” and “change society.”

Heck, they convinced even me.

I’m not the best example.  Translation would probably have paid better in the long run.  But I couldn’t take it.  Turns out – I know, shocker – that if people understood what everyone says the world over, we’d have a ton more wars.  (Not to mention murders of entire countries.  Think of it as the family of nations babbling loudly in the back seat of the world car.  “If Syria doesn’t stop singing that annoying song, I’m going to bash its collective head.”  “Iran, if you don’t stop whining about Israel, I’m going to come back there and give you what for.”  “No, honestly, Greece, if you ate all your cookies, Germany doesn’t have to give you any.”  “And no one touch anyone else!”)

So, I went into writing and so far – slowly – it pays enough for my simple needs, though the irregularity of pay makes me neurotic like a shaved Persian.  And besides, I have plans to make more.  And I bear the cost of my failures – i.e. I throw my own d*mn Christmas sweaters in the trash, instead of making laws to force everyone to wear them.

Honestly, given the fractured histories and fraught personalities of people who devote their lives to “giving back to society” all I can think is “and they give it to society good and hard.”

For the rest of us – particularly the idealistic fools among us – by all means don’t turn your back on charity.  Help those in need if you know what they need and are sure you’re not projecting.  (The best way to do this is to give to those you know well, because then you also know when aid becomes a shackle and know when to stop. Always remember, in charity as in anything else, that your first rule should be “first do no harm.”)

But as your main work in life?  Do what people will pay you for.  Study how to optimize your work so they give you more.  If you fail, pick yourself up, figure out what your mistake was, and start again.

And don’t worry about being “greedy.”  Unless you’re making money by playing currency speculation (and even that might have its uses in G-d’s wide world.  I just don’t understand enough to tell you what they are) or other financial shell games dependent on a system of crony capitalism, take that money as a sign you’re doing something society wants.

Heaven knows why society would want the sham wow.  But if that’s what they do want, give it to them and take the money, and laugh all the way to the bank.

The other way lies incompetence, greed for power, coercion, and truly nasty Christmas sweaters (or non functional health systems) that you’re required by law to use and pay for.

Give back to society like Og did – go make some money!

Tangentially related post What’s Love Got To do With it? Over at MGC.

Friends, Huns, Countrymen – I bring you bad news.  (Are you sitting down?  Do you have a glass of water handy?  You might need it for the shock.)

The world isn’t fair, life isn’t fair, you aren’t fair, and I’m not fair either.  Any attempt by governments, authorities, teachers or any other position mostly devoted to exerting power and force to bring about fairness will massively and painfully backfire and increase unfairness, usually in both reactions.

No? Look, every kid knows this instinctively.  This is why tale-bearers are despised.  Adults, too, now I think about it, when you’re very young.  They blunder onto the scene, where you’ve just taken your cookie away from little Joe who took it from you earlier (and who has already eaten his) hear Joey say “He took my cookie, it’s mine” and take it away from you and give it Joey again.  Governments do the same, but with police forces and nuclear arsenals.

And yet, those same kids, at the back of their minds, in their hearts of hearts, want life to be “fair.”  The cry of the nursery is “it’s not fair” – but if it only stopped there, we’d all be fine, right?  Only it never stops there.  Most adults these days, in our massively pampered and wealthy society seem to go through life engaged in a blue snit screaming fit of “It’s not faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair” and usually appealing to the government to make it so, as if the government would do any more than take your rightful cookie and give it to someone else… and as if that made it fair.

Look, even in the best of societies, where everyone is absolutely equal before the law (can we try for that again?  Pretty please?) you’re not going to have a fair society.  It’s impossible.

Let’s start with time (why not.  I need more of it, and that too isn’t fair.)  We each get an allotment of years on this planet.  And that too isn’t fair.  I had friends who died in their teen years; I had a cousin who died at three; my parents in their eighties have survived more than half their friends; and all of those are better off than a baby who dies hours after birth.  But leaving that aside, let’s consider the slice of time we get…

Sometimes I indulge in a fantasy of sending my current mind back in time to fix something I muffed.  Not to my childhood, though.  My childhood was uncomfortable.

The bathroom (it was a bathroom, not an outhouse) was outside the kitchen door.  Outside.  Think how wonderful that was when it was cold in winter.  And we had no heating.  The water on our glass often formed a crust of ice over night.  And the only clothes I seemed to have as a kid were wool.  I’m massively allergic to wool.  I didn’t know that.  No one else seemed to, either.  I itched ALL the time.

But wait, there’s more.  What about going back 30 years?  Remember metallic tooth paste tubes, that flaked paint on your fingers?  Remember, pre-Amazon, having to drive to the next city to find an article that was more out of ordinary? (Even ten years ago, my son’s shoes, because he wore size 15.  His feet have only grown.)  Remember having to go out to buy a book?  Running out of reading material/stuff to watch during a blizzard?  Remember having to consult five books to find the answer to a simple, factual question?

And as is, I grew up in massively privileged times.  How would any of you like to spend your (likely smaller) assortment of time in oh, Elizabethan England?  Even as a nobleman?  Black death, executions, no freedom of religion, oh, my.

Further back?  You don’t want to go further back.  Not all the treasures of Pharaoh could buy the comfort and joy to be obtained by someone in a mobile home park, living off social security, in the 21^st century.  Is that fair?

What about geography?  I was born in Portugal, often called the second or the slippery-slope world in the sixties.  Would I have preferred to be born in the US?  Eh.  In most areas, sure.  How about the USSR?  No.  Nyett, nein, comrade.  As PJ O’Rourke put it quoting a Russian Joke, “Moscow state apartment.  Will trade for sleeping bag on the streets of NYC.”

Fair?  What’s fair got to do with it.

What is fair about someone being born with, oh, money, and someone else with mathematical ability?  What is fair when someone is so sickly that all they can do in life is be taken care of?

Fair?

Who promised you fair, friend?  They lied.

So – is everything bad?

Oh, hell no.  Some ways things will be unfair will necessarily be for you.  I live in a very comfortable time, for instance, even when we were dead broke.  I’m better off than 90% of humanity.  Go me!  I’m published and make money from my writing.  I’m better than a lot of writers.  Go me!

I’m sure if you look around you’ll find things you are better off than other people about too.  Remember, even if it were possible to make everything fair, it would probably mean you giving up stuff/comfort/happiness.

“Fair” is an illusion of your back brain, because in hominid tribes, “fair distribution” was better for group cohesion.  But even there, the chief got more mammoth than the rest.

It’s also usually a cover for envy.  “Hey, it’s not fair.  He’s got more mammoth cookies than I have.”

In the name of fairness, entire empires have been built, multitudes exploited, the world despoiled and mass graves filled.

Fair?

Life isn’t fair.

And it’s a good thing.

*I’ll note two things in addition to Amanda’s post below — first I heard elsewhere that Hines had made 40,000, which for the record might be.  You see, when you report earnings in a year, are you reporting money PAID in? or money signed for — Or it’s possible the person reporting got confused. I don’t know and don’t care enough about JM’s fortune’s to check.  BUT most traditional advances are paid in three installments.  (Baen is different.)   Next, something Amanda didn’t touch on, but I — who have worked in publishing for 14 years — will.  If you’re going traditional (other than Baen, which is why I keep working with Baen) you need to factor into the “cost of doing business” the fact that the royalty reports are often blatantly crazy — like basing it on Nielsen’s which report AT MOST 2/3 of sales (their claim) but more likely 1/3 (from independent analysis); that the publisher, like one of mine, might claim a book that stayed on the shelves everywhere, including high end bookstores only sold 1k books because “A lot of them were spoiled.” — spoiled by what?  Who knows? — and that you won’t get your copyrights back without a major fight.  Predatory contracts and the fact you have no say in how your book is treated is another big deal.  It was to save my nerves (Honestly guys, if you page back, you’ll find posts.  My hair was coming out by the handfuls.  I thought “vitamins” I thought “menopause” but no, it was stress.) that I stopped working for all publishers but Baen and Naked Reader Press (but that’s a special thing since it’s an endeavor of friends) and Goldport Press (ditto.)

For the rest, I agree with what Amanda says.*

 Where’s the Money? — by Amanda Green

Over the last couple of weeks, there’s been a lot of discussion going on across the internet about how much money writers make – or don’t make. It started with the results of the 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Survey. Authors started talking on Facebook and other forms of social media about where they fell in the survey results. Some said the survey proved what they’d been saying all along – that only those who are traditionally published or are hybrids make any money writing. Others took a different view, questioning the results of the survey and any bias it might have had.

I decided to look at the survey after I’d seen a post by Jim Hines about how much money he’d made this past year as a writer. For some years now, Hines has posted his income from writing. I applaud him for it but will admit that he doesn’t give as much detail in his reports as I’d like to see. So, let’s start with what Hines had to say and then go from there.

According to Hines, his income for 2013 breaks down like this:

• Novels (U.S.): $55,350
• Novels (Foreign Editions): $1,000
• Self-Published: $1,650
• Short fiction and Nonfiction: $1,500
• Miscellaneous: $1,300

If my math is right, that’s a total of $60.800. That’s nothing to sneeze about and kudos to him for earning that much. However, here is where my questions begin.

Hines notes in his post that he sold three books to his publisher during 2013. So it is safe to assume that a good chunk of the novel sales figure comes from advances. Unfortunately, he doesn’t tell us what amount that might be, so we can’t weigh advances against royalty payments. The reason this concerns me is multi-fold. First, authors who sell to digital first publishers or who self-publish don’t get advances. Their income is royalty only. Second, it’s common knowledge that most traditionally published books don’t earn out their advances. The lack of numbers about these two concerns means it is more difficult to weigh his earnings against a self-published author.

We also don’t know the number of titles he has self-published and if any of them were new to 2013. He also admits that he has don’t nothing to promote his self-published titles.

Still, he made more than a lot of folks do at a “real” job. But is he the exception or the rule – both for traditionally published authors and those who take the digital first, hybrid or self-published route.

The 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Survey was set up so that respondents were split into one of four groups: aspiring writers, traditionally published writers, hybrid-published writers and self-published writers. Of those four groups, the aspiring writers counted for more than 65% of those responding.

Okay, right there I have a problem. If by “aspiring writers” the survey meant those who have never been published, why were they included in a survey on earnings? An aspiring writer has never sold anything before. That means they haven’t earned anything from their writing. To include them in a survey to determine what type of writer makes more money is to skew the results. To include them to the extent that they make up approximately 2/3rds of the respondents is to basically invalidate the results if for no other reason than it brings into question the validity of the rest of the survey.

But I digress. . . .

According to the survey, approximately 77% of the self-published authors who responded made $1,000 or less a year. “[A] startlingly high 53.9%” of traditionally published authors made the same amount. As for hybrid-published authors, 43.6% said they made $1,000 a year or less.

Needless to say, I have problems with these figures as well. To start, the bias of the survey is clear in the language used to describe the number of traditionally published authors in this category. No descriptive is used for self-published or hybrid-published authors. But it is a “startlingly high” number of low-earning traditionally published authors.

My next issue is that there is no breakdown on what these authors are publishing. For all we know, the self-published authors put out only short stories – which sell for substantially less than novels – while the traditionally published authors were putting out books in a well-established series. Without knowing if the survey was comparing literary apples with oranges, we can’t put too much weight behind these figures.

If that’s not enough to make you at least question the built in bias that might exist in the survey, follow the link in the article linked above. It will take you to a site where you can download the survey – for the mere price of $295. Note, too, the title of the download: What Advantages do Traditional Publishers Offer Authors. Sounds like there’s a slant in favor of legacy publishers to me. How about you?

The funny thing is that a lot of authors felt the same way. The numbers they saw reported in the survey didn’t make sense. Go to Facebook and you’d see them talking about what percentile they fell into. Author Beverley Kendall went one better. She put together her own survey that she pulled together in a 25 page plus document and then posted to her website. While I won’t and can’t say it is completely accurate, I will bet it is a much more accurate picture of the industry and of what authors are earning than the other was.

There were 822 respondents to the survey that were split into the following groups: self-published, traditionally published or digital-first published. 65% were self-published. 21% were traditionally published and 14% were digital-first published. None were “aspiring authors”.

The first breakdown made was the percentage of authors who made $10,000 or more in 2013.

• 56.90% of traditionally published authors fell into this group.
• 46.04% of self-published authors did as well.
• 44.95% of digital-first authors also made this amount.

It is at this point that Ms. Kendall points out that the monies earned by traditional authors include their advances while self-published and digital-first authors don’t have that luxury. To me, that makes the number of authors falling into those categories all the more impressive.

Ms. Kendall then goes on to give more information than we’ve gotten from the overviews of the other survey – and, sorry, but I’m not paying hundreds of dollars to buy the survey to see the actual questions and breakdowns. In her breakdown of information garnered through her survey, she looks at the impact of genre on earnings – and notes that romance readers buy a LOT of books. She notes that series also seem to improve sales. She also confirms something Kris Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith have been saying for a long time: volume sells. The more titles you have out there, the more your sales will grow.

From the survey:

Those having 1 – 3 books for sale:

• 79.93% earned less than $10,000
• 13.14% earned $10k – $25k
• 3.65% earned $25,001 – $50k

You can see the trend.

Now, for those with 12 – 20 books for sale:

• 21.70% earned less than $10k
• 11.32% earned $10k – $25k
• !5.9% earned $25,001 – $50k
• And it continues up to 7.55% earning more than $500,000.

Ms. Kendall also points out that being professional with your work helps as well. Having your novel edited and having good covers helps promote sales. She also takes the time to compare her earnings from traditional publishing with what she has made self-publishing and I wasn’t surprised to find she prefers the latter for obvious reasons.

What does all this mean? First, that any survey can be manipulated to skew the results to favor the stance of the sponsor of the survey. Second, neither of these surveys were scientifically done. So there is no telling what the actual margin of error might be. But, if I had to choose one to help guide me in making a decision about whether to try to go the traditional publishing route or the self-publishing route, it would be Ms. Kendall’s. She opens her questions and the results up for all to see. She also didn’t have two-thirds of the respondents being “aspiring writers”.

From personal experience, I can also say that most of what Ms. Kendall says seems to be exactly what is happening with my own career. The more I publish, the greater my sales. Each title seems to help sales of the titles before it. My series – both under my name and under my pen name of Ellie Ferguson – sell better as individual titles than the one non-series book I have out now. Books where romance is a major theme sell better than those without it. Beyond that, each year my sales increase. I have made the equivalent to an advance on one book this past year and this next year looks to be even better.

The choice about whether to go indie or to go the traditional route is one each author has to make. However, don’t make that decision based on faulty information that is obviously slanted in the favor of legacy publishers. You have to make an informed decision and that means doing your homework. If you see a survey like the 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Survey, especially if it doesn’t let you see the data and how it was compiled without paying major money to do so, then question its validity and look for alternative information.

For me, I’ll continue working with a micro press and putting work out on my own. I know there is money in it. I might not get rich, but at least I know the majority of the money paid for my novels comes to me and not to supporting some ostrich-like publisher in New York that still denies that the industry is changing and that continues to treat its authors like so many interchangeable widgets.

And We Also Pimp Readers!

So, if you’re wondering why in holy Bezell I didn’t put up the Molluscs listing of your books yesterday, the answer is simple: I forgot.  Not that it was Saturday (I think) but that… oh, okay fine.  I forgot it was Saturday.

But there is a reason!

So this is the week I almost broke down sobbing and had a nervous breakdown.  Why you ask?

Well, it started, as it so often does, with a cat.  Miranda cat.  As I’ve said here (right?) she has a heart condition.  The problem is that she’s also REALLY high strung.  (Me, to husband “Why does our most high strung cat have to have a cardiac condition?”  Him “Do you listen to yourself?”)  Anyway, so, pilling her is impossible.  She has cheek pouches.  She will spit the pills out in your shoes HOURS later.  Giving her drops is not MUCH better.  So…

So we had this cream to rub in her ear.  Either we rubbed to hard, or she worried at it afterwards.  She got an hematoma.  Because Miranda is a Cornish Rex, she’s ALL ears.  When her ear puffed out it was really obvious, and she scratched it a lot.

So, in we go.  They didn’t want to risk surgery.  At first they put her in the collar of shame, and told us it would go down on its own.  It didn’t.  Then they tried leeches.  Only Miranda didn’t like leeches.  (Can you blame her?) So she shook her head so hard it tore of a patch of her skin and sent the leech flying.  So, they had to do surgery…

And then they sent her home with instructions to remove any scab that formed, and MILK the bubble out of it.  Every hour or so.

It started okay, only I don’t SEE well enough to get the scab amid the sutures, particularly when she moved her head.  (I’m 51, okay?)

Then Miranda started SCREAMING when I touched her and even Robert couldn’t hold her still.

By the fourth day I couldn’t do anything but FEAR doing the stuff to her ear.

So, Thursday, I packed her and her meds, took her to the vet and said “Will you board her and do the scab thing till Monday?  I’ll pay!”

I hated paying because we had a ton other emergencies this month (car, flooded basement, and now soon stove.  Long story.)  BUT d*mn it, it wasn’t even worrying about it.  I was on the verge of curling up under my desk and crying.  It was bad enough doing painful things to the kids when they SORT of understood (when we had to do treatments that hurt) but Miranda had no clue, and she thought I hated her.  I mean, she jumped in the carrier of her own free will.

I wish I could report that Friday was wonderful for writing, but I still felt jittery inside.  Also, there was stuff going on with #1 son which I might or might not report in the future — as it’s his stuff, not mine.  Those who follow him on FB know, of course.  Nothing bad, truly, but VERY nerve wracking.  For all of us.  Because it’s not immediately obvious what the outcome will be and we seem to have little power to influence it, which goes against our inclinations and also against reason.

Yesterday I did get some writing done, and today I’m hoping to do more, after I bank some posts.  I think that I need to make some more adjustments to my schedule, but that is a post for another day.

Meanwhile, below, are Monsieur Half-Shell’s carefully collected links, and I shall have a chapter of Elf Blood up at Mad Genius Club in an hour or so.

Hail, well met, good morning, salutations, greetings, and other such truck. Look upon our books, ye mighty, and despair spend money! As always, future entries can be sent to my email. Happy reading!
The Free Range Oyster

Alma Boykin

Schree’s Rest (A Cat Among Dragons)

When a half-hover crashes in the woods and no one sees it, does it make a noise?

It does if the co-pilot is a great lord’s son. Rada Ni Drako travels to the edge of the Azdhag throneworld to investigate a training accident and lands in the middle of a fight dating back to the Great Relocation. Can she find the truth before a border dispute turns into a lineage war?

Elizabeth of Starland

The first of the Colplatschki novels is now available on Kobo!

Stubborn as a mule? No, stubborn AND her mule.

Colonial Plantation LTD. abandoned ColPlat XI, writing the planet off as a tax loss after a series of severe Carrington-type events. Now, four hundred years later, Laurence V of Frankonia wants to write Elizabeth von Sarmas out of his kingdom, but like her Lander ancestors, Elizabeth refuses to roll over and die.

Richard Alan Chandler

Kiwi

Alex Sanderson doesn’t like much of anything, but of all the things he hates, getting locked up in an alien prison on trumped-up charges tops the list. All he wants is a fair hearing and he’s sure he can get out. His cellmate on the other hand, she has different plans for Alex….

Note: This story contains profanity, some violence, and sexual situations, although not especially graphic, they may be offensive to some readers.

Stephen Wachtel

Quf-Man

The product of a 23rd century experiment gone haywire, ADAM KOOP is an elegant seven-footer, human in appearance but having the strength of four men, the mind of an Einstein and the scruples of a killer. Koop is the first Quf-Man, the alpha male who shatters the bonds of servitude and leads his fellow human-anthropoid hybrids to dominance of an entire planet.

Light years away on Planet Earth, JONATHAN FELS is a dropout with a history of poor academic performance and a rap sheet for illegal prospecting. Fels joins the Marine Corps and qualifies for a surgical makeover that provides exceptional strength, cat-like reflexes and a cerebral-computer interface.

When Koop and his hordes attack a colonized moon, Fels and his cybernetic marines deploy to rescue a cult of human females. Earth’s future hangs in the balance.

*My friend Peter Grant offered me this guest post, and of course I jumped at it.  As I’m going through a slew of character building experiences, and yes, this will translate into writing at some point.  But letting your characters grow and improve is also a problem, and I enjoyed Peter’s view of it.*

They say dealing with problems is character-building. I say dealing with characters is a problem!

Last year I published three books:  the first two novels in a military science fiction series, ‘Take The Star Road’ and ‘Ride The Rising Tide’, and a memoir of prison chaplaincy, ‘Walls, Wire, Bars and Souls’. I’d planned to publish a fourth book, the third novel in the SF series, but beta readers of the manuscript came back with some very trenchant suggestions for changes. Furthermore, feedback from reader reviews of the first two novels on Amazon.com suggested that I needed to improve my characterization, and incorporate more conflict so as to make my protagonist less of a ‘golden boy’.

This was problematic for me in many ways – and for several readers as well. It seemed to me that reactions to my first two novels varied according to the background of the reader. Those varying reactions, and how I’ve been trying to respond to them, have taught (and are teaching) me a lot about the craft of writing. I thought others might find the process interesting.

First, I’ve been annoyed by a great many military SF books that are quite obviously written by people who have no military background themselves (or, if they have some military background, don’t have combat experience). It shows very clearly. I wanted to write in a way that was true to military life, recognizable by those who’ve ‘been there and done that’ whilst also informative and educational for those considering volunteering for military service. I think I’ve largely succeeded in that (at least thus far). For example, one beta reviewer of Volume 3 said (paraphrased): “The protagonist’s actions are instructive in themselves and I wish I’d read some of this before I was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant; I’d never have made a particular mistake. Expensive lesson.  Hopefully, some young reader will remember your lessons as performed by the protagonist.”

However, some (not all) of those who don’t have a military background appeared to find that aspect of my writing boring, or frustrating, or not germane to the plot. I had to figure out how to write in such a way as to retain the interest of both groups without losing the practical, real-world focus I was looking for. This wasn’t helped by some of the comments on Amazon, many of which were positive, but several of which were negative – often in ways I couldn’t precisely identify. They often contradicted each other. For example, from five reader reviews of ‘Ride The Rising Tide’:

• “The characters are good, the plot is well developed, and a lot of pleasure is here.”
• “… in the third book, I definitely hope he fleshes out his main character much more and makes him a more three dimensional person. I’d also like a lot more plot development that doesn’t seem like a perfunctory effort at getting out a sequel.”
• “The second book took a character I related to, and liked, and grew him into a character I’m excited about, care about, and want to see how he progresses.”
• “I have to say I was disappointed by the story. The action is limited, the dialogue is more about how things work rather than building up character development.”
• “Good characters well developed in a great story. Who could ask for more.”

With such contradictory perspectives, it was difficult for this relatively inexperienced author to figure out how (and what) to improve in Book 3.

One of my beta readers, who provided a stellar, thorough, in-depth critique that pulled no punches and was (I think) very accurate, picked up both positive and negative aspects of my protagonist. I think she summed up what a number of my readers were trying to express when she said (again, paraphrased): “The protagonist’s ‘perfection’ makes the outcomes predictable: there is an incident, danger is involved, but the reader can rest assured he will come riding to the rescue (his ‘steed’ being his ability to always come up with the perfect solution), and he will get an award of some sort. Yes, we get it: he is the good guy. As I said before: a little TOO good.”

On the other hand, when I broached the subject on my Amazon author forum of developing my protagonist’s character and making him less of a ‘golden boy’, a reader responded: “I’m sad to hear this. Please remember that sometimes a person can just kick butt and get everything right. Sometimes people are happy! Sometimes the good guy wins for heck sake. /sigh I await the hammer to drop.”

I had to find a way to ‘improve’ my protagonist’s character and make him more interesting without putting off those who liked him as he was. I therefore tried to learn more about character development and conflict. I found these two books particularly helpful:

• ‘Elements of fiction Writing – Characters and Viewpoint’ by Orson Scott Card;
• ‘Write Great Fiction – Plot and Structure’ by James Scott Bell.

However, both were also frustrating, in the sense that I didn’t fully identify with the approach of either author. Reading further afield, I found even more disagreement between other authors and these two. It’s quite a dilemma for a novice author. Who to believe? Whose advice to follow?

I eventually came to the realization that I’d have to develop my own approach. Whilst it would incorporate ‘lessons learned’ from those who’d walked the writing path before me, it would be a synthesis of their views, my own personality and way of expressing myself, and the life my characters and series took on for themselves. (They do appear to have minds of their own that way!) I certainly wouldn’t be able to get it 100% right in a single book. My approach would therefore be to deliver the best story and characterization I could in Maxwell Volume 3, then improve it further in Volume 4, then improve on Volume 4 in Volume 5, and so on ad nauseam.

I’m now into my second revision of the manuscript of Volume 3 since my beta readers submitted their reviews. I won’t pretend I’m altogether happy with the result (yet). It’s been frustrating to try to envision my protagonist through the eyes of others and see how he can be improved, but I’m plugging away at it. I hope to have the book ready for publication by the end of January 2014, if all goes well. I don’t want to delay publication much beyond that, because that would be fiddling for fiddling’s sake. I’m mindful of the old proverb that ‘The best is the enemy of good enough’, and if I fiddle forever, I’ll never be able to write Volume 4! Rather, I have to do the best job I can right now, get Volume 3 out there, learn from reader feedback, and incorporate that into the next book.

I’m sure many of you have faced precisely the same problem in your own writing. I’d love to hear from you in Comments about how you tackled it. Hopefully we can learn from each other’s experience.

# # #

*So, I still haven’t had time to sit with Witchfinder and get the ARCs ready — sorry.  House, health, cars, cat.  More or less in that order.  I shall do it with all possible alacrity.  Meanwhile, I know some of you compile the chapters.  Can one of you send me the full compilation of Rogue Magic, both so I can update the page, and so I can read over, and avoid the internal contraditions, which I’m sure this chapter piles on.  (But never mind.  I like the idea of sending these two in search of Gabriel too much to change it.  Besides, Jonathan will have to protect her and that’s good for both of them, I think.)*

The prequel to this — Witchfinder — has been removed.  I do promise to go through the copyedits as soon as humanly possible and send the advance copies to those who pre-ordered.  You’ll know when that’s eminent because I’ll remove scattered chapters from this blog.  I do hope to manage it next week, but I’m not promising as I’m still finishing a novel under contract to Baen. Meanwhile, if you donate $6 and note it in the field, you’ll get advance-subscribed to this novel.  I do, however, understand it can be a long time to wait, and if you want to, do so.  I will continue to post chapters here, roughly one a week.

NOTICE: For those unsure about copyright law and because there was a particularly weird case, just because I’m making the pre-first draft of my novel available to blog readers, it doesn’t mean that this isn’t copyrighted to me.  Rogue Magic as all the contents of this blog is © Sarah A. Hoyt 2013.  Do not copy, alter, distribute or resell without permission.  Exceptions made for ATTRIBUTED quotes as critique or linking to this blog. Credit for the cover image is © Ateliersommerland | Dreamstime.com

Jonathan Blythe, the Earl of Savage

Look, I have nothing against my old school fellows.  Well, except that one time in that drinking house in Surrey where it was such a squeeze one had everything against one’s old school fellows, but that’s not what I mean.  What I mean is, what was Gabriel Penn to me, or Night Arrow, King of Fairyland, either?

Oh, sure, we’d gone to school – and college – together, but we’d hardly run in the same circles.  I’d been closer to his brother, Seraphim, though not exactly close, as such. Seraphim was always much too prim and proper and likely to frown and act disapproving if you went out to a put in Surrey.

And don’t tell me he was doing that to compensate for his father’s ways.  That’s all very well.  That’s what they said of Papa, whose ways were actually worse than my grandfather’s, as far as overweening desire for power is a worse sin than lust, but never mind that.  Grandfather would take a lot of generations to atone for, and I for one wasn’t a prig, because of whatever my grandfather had done.

Seraphim wasn’t a prig, either, but had this way of making one feel like one had let the side down.  Or something.  So I didn’t spend much time with him.  But I knew he could be counted on in a pinch, and wouldn’t tattle.

Gabriel wouldn’t tattle either.  But he was as prim and proper as Seraphim – I still think that was why everyone got so angry when his affair with the necromancer came out, and why he was sent down.  Bigger sins have been forgiven other people.  I should know – and something else beside.

I know it can be awkward to be someone’s natural child.  I mean, met my share of them here and there, mostly there, and mostly of the female variety.  But if you are an all-but-aknowledged natural child and your father choses to pay for your education and treat you exactly like his heir, or close enough to what he would treat a second son, you should not go about holding yourself aloof, pretending to be a menial, and informing everyone you’re your illegitimate brother’s valet. Stands to reason you shouldn’t.  Odd sort of upside down pride, throwing his condition in his father’s teeth, as though the man hadn’t done anything for him.

So I’d never been close to Gabriel.  I was willing to concede he had a lot to bear and a hard path to make, and I felt somewhat sorry for him when he became king of fairyland, because, stands to reason, no one wants that kind of responsibility.

But the thing was, if it came to liking, I liked his lover, the necromancer, better.  At least he was aware that it was perfectly fine not being perfect, and even if he atoned a bit far – marrying my sister when she was half out of her mind was a little far – he was trying to do the best for those dependent on him.  Something that I knew must be done.  And I didn’t like over half either.

Now, if Gabriel had split in two rather than lift the burden on his shoulders, or at least attempt to, I wanted to wash my hands of him.  Yes, Fairyland was difficult, but it wasn’t like any of us liked what we had to do.  Being an Earl, for instance, and responsible for all my siblings.

But damme.  You did what you had to do.  It’s not like your choices ever were between going through hell barefoot, or having a nice dish of pudding.  You did what you had to do, what constituted the smallest disaster for the smallest number of people.  And you stuck with it.

Only, I thought, casting a look at Ginevra Mythborn, who, in turn, looked at me with an intentness that I only hope betrayed she was, for once, telling the truth, in leaving his post in that peculiar way and fracturing himself, Gabriel had made it impossible for me not to rescue him.  Because king and country are on in Fairyland, and when the king split…  And fairyland was the magical engine of the world.  Unless I wanted all magic to leak out of my world forever, and all the other worlds too, till none was left and the worlds became… I didn’t know.  I didn’t know how much of the worlds ability to sustain life was magic.  Even the magic-less worlds had enough for that, or at least to sustain intelligent life.  Intelligence and magic are, of course, linked.

I sighed.  “So, the king of Fairyland has become two and his human part is missing, and your world stands by ready to leech ours and all the others, because it needs more magic than normal worlds, and it will survive as long as it can…  We clearly must crossover to… the mythworld?”

She shook her, head, her red ringlets flying.  “No.  To fairyland.”

“Oh?” I said, raising my eyebrows.  “Why?  And how?”

“Well, we can’t find the king’s human part on Earth – he’s still trapped in fairyland.  That’s one.  And second, we must either persuade him to become one again or—”

“Or?”

“Or kill him, and let a new king ascend.  If you wish to save fairyland that is.”

“If I wish to save my own world, you mean?  I do.”

She nodded.  “And mine too.  So, we cross over.”

“Can you?”

She raised her eyebrows in turn “Can I?”

“Cross over to fairyland.  I thought your worlds were inimical.”

“They are,” She said.  But that is not the point. I can cross over, of course.  But there I’ll be in danger.  If I’m recognized, I’ll be attacked.”

“Why?”

“Why?  Would you attack a man eating lion in your midst?”

“You eat elves?” I asked, genuinely shocked.

She laughed.  “No more than reason and in limited social occasions,” which managed to shock me, because it was closer than anyone had come to saying the sort of things I felt all the time.  What I mean is, perfectly fine inside my head, but not right OUTSIDE.

She sobered as though realizing she shocked me, and brought her knees together, and smoothed her skirt.  “No.  But my kind feed on their magic, which to them is close enough.”

“Then I could go alone,” I said, and as I said it I realized this might be a way to send me off into fairyland so she could be free to do whatever she’d come to do in this land.

I was most relieved when she said.  “No, milord.  I’m afraid this is going to take both of us.”

So, if you know people by their friends, maybe there’s a reason I’m friends with Amanda Green?

From Amanda Green’s blog:

Then there came this announcement. The language in the announcement that caught my attention was this: this year’s scholarship has a twist: instead of just need and merit, we’re also looking for diversity.  Selecting only on merit isn’t enough, according to the announcement, because the pool of candidates is limited to the “small, self-selecting group of people who feel comfortable applying.” The so-called proof that this isn’t enough came about because the attendees last year were, gasp, predominantly white. There was only one person of color. That, of course, meant there was something wrong.

So by golly, they are going to correct that problem right now. Forget about finding people who are qualified for the scholarship. Forget even awarding it to someone who has need for the scholarship. They’re going to go out and find folks who meet their need for diversity. Why, because they feel we need more diversity IN THE PEOPLE WHO WRITE SPECULATIVE FICTION.

Go read the WHOLE THING!

People who think diversity of thought is predicted on the melanin content of your skin just might be stone-cold racists.  There’s nothing in their thought that nineteenth century racists wouldn’t approve of.  Modern ones just want to help “them poor colored folks.”

As someone who tans if she stays too near a lamp, and whose kids are darker than she is, I thank you for my share of the favor — and my answer are these middle fingers I’m holding up.  Choke on them.