All posts by A. L. Phillips

Savvy Saturday – Five Things of Thanks

Happy early Thanksgiving, readers! In honor of the season, I’m going to take this opportunity to be sappy and sentimental and list five things that I’m particularly thankful for as an author.

1: The opportunity to have written and published a book at all. I thank God for orchestrating events such that I was able to take that wonderful Independent Study class in college (the one in which I wrote an initial draft of The Quest of the Unaligned), and for helping me make connections with the right people to get the manuscript looked at by BorderStone Press. So many people never have the time or official motivation (i.e. college grades) to finish the stories in their heads, and those who do often can’t find a venue in which to publish them. I often still can’t believe that my book is actually in print, and actually selling copies in a real bookstore. Every time I realize it anew, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I am able to say that I’m a published author.

2: A computer upon which to type. As an avid re-writer, I am grateful for the ability to change words, move around sentences, backspace, insert words, and most especially, hit the undo button. (I do wish life came with Ctrl-Z!) While I will occasionally jot down ideas on paper, I have never been able to write entire paragraphs, much less scenes, by hand. First, my brain goes too quickly for my hand to be able to keep up, and I get irritated and the words stop flowing. Second, the first thing my brain spits out on paper is rarely, if ever, the right thing for it to spit out. Whenever I try to write on paper, I find myself going through more eraser than pencil lead. All around, computers and keyboards are an amazing invention that I continue to be thankful for every day.

3: A laptop computer. In addition to being thankful for being able to type my posts and stories, I am exceedingly glad that I’m not tied at a desk as I do it. I’ve gotten large chunks of my work done in airports and airplanes, on buses, outside on the porch, inside on the couch, and many other places besides. Having a laptop computer that I can carry around has increased my productivity by an incredible amount, which has resulted in more words on pages, as well as better words on pages. And I think we can all be thankful about that last bit!

4: Good editors, proofreaders, and writing friends. From my co-idea-tosser who explained to me how elemental magic should work, to the wonderful friends in college who told me which characters in my books were annoying and should be rewritten (most of them, at one point or another), what scenes I should expand or take out (for instance, the flood in Brightvale was a later addition), and what grammatical mistakes and typos I’d made (far too many!), I am grateful to all the people who put their time and effort into making The Quest of the Unaligned and my other works of fiction so much better than they would have been otherwise.

5: YOU! That is, everyone who reads my blog, my books, and interacts with me through social media. Thank you for making it so much fun to be an author – I love writing things that make you smile, that make you gasp, that make you cry (though hopefully not for too long!) and that stick in your mind for a while after you’ve read them. Thank you for your amazing Amazon reviews, your friendly Facebook comments, your encouragement in person and online, and your sticking with me on my writer-student-researcher journey over the past year. Thank you, in sum, for being such awesome readers. May you be blessed this season with peace and light, and may you have a very happy Thanksgiving!

Savvy Saturday – Marketing Fiction

This week at school has been incredibly busy for me, mostly due to my being sick and thus needing more than eight hours of sleep a night to function at even a remotely near-human level of productivity. (Dreams of superhuman levels of productivity are sadly currently as far out of reach as California sunshine.) On the bright side, however, some of the articles I’ve been needing to read and summarize for my Ph.D. seminars would make surprisingly good novel settings. Here, I’ll show you. Prepare to be inducted into the world of top-tier marketing literature, via a novelist’s point of view.

Example 1.

 

Megan Erikson has a problem. A big one. In fact, it’s fourteen feet long.

It’s her kitchen table – and it doesn’t fit into her new house.

“We could cut it down to size,” her husband, Reece, suggests, but this is unthinkable. That table has been part of Megan’s life since she was a child. Growing up in a large family, she remembers long nights of laughter and tears spent around the kitchen table, can still see the stains on it from spilled hot chocolate when they were cold and chicken soup when they were sick, spilled paint and glue from craft projects, and the less visible stains from spilled love. So much love, spilled over from her brothers and sisters and mother and father when they gathered around the table and prayed during Bible Studies or before meals, and since then spilled from her own heart out to her children, as they laugh and play, and yes, fight, around the table just as she did. The table, all fourteen feet of it, is part of who her family is.

Her children agree. “We can’t cut the table!” little Samantha wails, and Megan agrees. “It would be like amputating my arm. We can’t make the table normal; there’s nothing normal about it, just like there’s nothing normal about our family. The table’s special, just like we are.”

“But it doesn’t fit in the dining room,” Reece points out. This is an incontrovertible fact. Unfortunately, the house can’t be changed any more than the table can – the Erikson family is moving back into Reece’s childhood farm, and the house has just as much meaning to him as the table does to Megan. The decision is made to move the table into a different room in the house, but it doesn’t quite fit there…just like Megan’s family isn’t quite able to keep its old routines and habits without the table that was the center of their family identity. A new house and a new life will make the Eriksons lean on each other more than they’ve ever had to before, and as they struggle to adapt, they’ll all need to come to terms with what it means to be a family, with or without their traditions.

(With apologies to Epp and Price, in the Journal of Consumer Research (2010), pages 820-837)

Moving on…Example 2.

Whirrrr! Stuart grins as he shows off his top of the line power-tool. “Sweet, isn’t it?” he asks as he turns it off. “I picked it up last week at the hardware store. They have really knowledgeable people over there; they showed me exactly what I needed for my next project.” Stuart gestures around his workshop – a corner of the garage neatly packed with expensive, high-quality craftsman tools. “I’m thinking I’m going to build another cabinet to go with the one I made a few months ago,” he continues. “Not to brag, but I think I’m the only professor I know who’s a real craftsman outside of the classroom. You wouldn’t believe the compliments I’ve gotten on the first cabinet – from my wife, from her friends, heck, even from the other guys at the office. It really bumps me up a notch or two, you know, when they see that I can do real work as well as write and teach.”

***

Louis curses as he tightens the loose segment on the pipe. “This is the third time this year I’ve had to fix that stupid faucet,” he grumbles. “Work, work, work, that’s all I ever do. Work at the factory, then come home and my wife hands me this stupid list of things that I need to fix at home. The work never stops, does it?” He wipes one meaty hand on his forehead. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s part of my job to take care of the stuff that breaks. What kind of a provider for my family would I be if we had to live in a house with leaky faucets?” He gives the wrench a final sharp twist and sticks it back in his well-worn box of tools. “I’d never pay someone to fix things around the house,” he continues, looking disdainful as he talks. “Maybe electric work, yeah, or fancy stuff like that, but not normal repair. What kind of a man can’t keep his own roof from leaking? Not the kind my old man raised. We’re real men in my family.”

Stuart and Louis’s lives couldn’t be more different, even when they’re hammering away at a DIY project at home. But when a hurricane blows through town, they find themselves each leading a volunteer crew to repair the university where Stuart teaches and Louis’s son attends. An intense rivalry and competition ensues, raising questions of what it means to be successful, to provide for one’s family, and to be a man in modern America.

(With apologies to Moisio, Arnould, and Gentry, in the Journal of Consumer Research (2013), pages 298-316)

For those of you who are interested, there are many more articles like these out there – ones I’ve read recently involve Harley motorcycle clubs, Vietnamese weddings, Star Trek conventions, and even home decorators (It’s apparently “nonnegotiable” to buy fresh flowers to decorate your home each week. Flowers set “a standard for attention to detail…that enlivens the senses and invigorates our vision.” This is in addition to arranging one’s bookshelves by color, or putting a white dust jacket on all your books so they don’t clutter the look of your room. [Arsel & Bean, JCR 2013, p. 909] A scary bunch, home decorators.).

You never knew marketing and novel-writing went so well together, did you? I certainly didn’t.

Now back to work. Next on the reading list: “Does Cultural Capital Structure American Consumption?” Siiiiiigh.

Savvy Saturday – A Critical Moment

Something that has always amused or bothered me (depending upon what mood I’m in) is the idea central to literary criticism that a particular text can be interpreted in ways far beyond what the author intended. Author intent, in fact, is irrelevant. If a particular teacher wants to interpret Moby Dick from a feminist perspective, he or she can go ahead – and some already have.

“A feminist approach recognizes that Melville’s lack of female characters does not indicate gender bias, yet the presence of such strong maleness brings danger and imbalance…The feminine wins out ultimately over male competition, obsession, and vengeance in what has been considered a story dominated by men and maleness.” (p. 203, Women in Literature: Reading Through the Lens of Gender, edited by Jerilyn Fisher, Ellen S. Silber).

Now for some reason, no one has yet put forward an interpretation of The Quest of the Unaligned that makes me squint my eyes and say, “Wait, what?” (Probably because the English teachers haven’t gotten their hands on it yet.) I did purposefully write in two interpretations of the novel: the simple adventure story/good versus evil one, and the sociological theory one. (If you’re not sure what these are, read the questions and author’s note in the back of the book.)

That’s not to say, however, that everyone’s interpretation has agreed with mine completely. I have had a few interesting readers tell me about takeaways from The Quest of the Unaligned that weren’t specifically written into the book. One Christian reader informed me that she saw Alaric’s journey out of Tonzimmel and through Cadaeren as being a metaphor for the Christian walk. Man starts in sin, darkness, and isolation, then is dragged into the Kingdom of Light and informed that he (or she) is a child of the king. One can wrestle with this knowledge, and the more one fights it, the harder one makes life for oneself, until one recognizes its truth. Only then, and in brotherhood with other believers, can one enter into the joy and light of being who you really are – a prince of the realm who lives in love.

Not quite what I had in mind when I was writing, I admit, but I’m sure you could write a freshman-level paper arguing this interpretation and support it reasonably well.

There’s also the Green interpretation, which says that only when earth, air, fire, and water (i.e. nature as a whole) are in balance (i.e. being properly preserved and cared for by the governments of Earth) that our society can survive. Some Americans, like the residents of Tonzimmel, are too focused on technology and forget about the magic of Earth, and thus they forget their true nature. Other Americans only focus on one issue (e.g. recycling, pure water, or eating “green”) and forget that everything in life and nature is a balance. We have to live holistically and in recognition of how everything we do impacts Earth, and only then can we turn our world into a new paradise. (That one definitely wasn’t on my radar when I was writing Quest.)

I’m going to be speaking briefly to a Women’s Lit class next week about my book, and I’m sure that someone is going to ask me about its feminist ideology. Though I wasn’t specifically thinking about writing a feminist book, I suppose as good a case can be made for a feminist reading as for a Green reading or a Christian discipleship reading. How about this?

 

*DISCLAIMER: In case you weren’t reading the above, the following is NOT an author-approved reading of the text!

 

Though The Quest of the Unaligned is told from the point of view of a male protagonist, his journey is shaped by, and his future is ultimately determined by, the marginalized but inwardly strong and ultimately vindicated female character, Laeshana. Oppressed by society’s laws and stereotypes, Laeshana is a peasant who is kept from reaching for her dreams by a glass ceiling of birth and alignment. Her unique abilities make her initially a threat to Alaric the protagonist, who asserts his belief in gender equality but also takes advantage of Laeshana’s weaker position (both contractually and in terms of social status) and lets his own masculine role as a security chief guide his actions and decisions. He refuses to listen to Laeshana’s warnings in Dragon Canyon, decides she’s crazy rather than telling the truth in Brightflower, and views his own strengths as stronger and his weaknesses as less weak than hers after battling the fire spiders.

However, masculine strengths ultimately fail Alaric: he loses his sword (a symbol of masculinity) and is rendered impotent by a magical enemy until Laeshana saves him. Alaric is forced to recognize that Laeshana’s strengths of faith, love, and empathy with others are actually stronger than his own strengths, and that only by following her example (ultimately doing for Laeshana what she first did for him) can he find true happiness. Laeshana herself is ultimately recognized for her true worth, elevated to a position of high status, and finds the happy ending she seeks with the man she loves. While these things happen because of Alaric, they only happen because of the man she has made him to be: a man who recognizes his dependence upon the feminine, as embodied by Laeshana.

Heh heh. I’m sure that all of my English major friends are wincing right now, because I’ve never actually learned how to analyze text from a feminist viewpoint. That’s all right, though, because I just made it all up anyway. I hope it was entertaining, or at least cringe-worthy enough to encourage you to go and write your own (far better!) analyses of your books of choice. If you write one about The Quest of the Unaligned, let me know! If it’s better than the above criticism (and it probably will be), it might even be featured on the blog. Good luck!

Savvy Saturday – On Les Miserables

This Friday and Saturday, I am at my alma mater watching my favorite musical ever created: Les Miserables. If you haven’t yet seen this masterpiece, you need to. It is a rare example of a thoroughly successful book adaptation to a different medium – in this case, the theatre. As a lover of story, I continue to be impressed by the masterful efforts of Boublil and Shönberg, the individuals who took Victor Hugo’s 510,000 word novel (five times as long as “The Quest of the Unaligned”) and turned into a coherent and powerful musical. As a novelist and a musician, I have found that there are three areas in particular where Les Mis excels: its highly motivated characters, its wide-reaching and powerful plot, and its use of music to tie everything together.

Writing believable characters requires that one know what a character’s motivations are. An area in which Victor Hugo excelled was in writing characters that had well-thought-out but clear and unabashed motivations. These characters are faithfully reproduced in the musical. Jean Valjean, the protagonist of Les Miserables, begins as an embittered and hardened criminal who suffers no qualms from stealing from the only man who is kind to him after he is released on parole. Javert, the antagonist, begins (and remains) a policeman absolutely devoted to the law he serves. As readers of the book (and viewers of the musical or motion picture) know, however, Valjean becomes an emblem of mercy, while Javert finds that an unbreakable law will ultimately break him. Other characters are also portrayed more vividly than might be seen in life (a greedy, treacherous innkeeper; a loving single mother who turns to prostitution to save her daughter’s life; a revolutionary on fire for his cause; a pair of young, innocent lovers who are ridiculously infatuated with each other), but they, too, have believable motivations and act in a manner consistent with who they are.

The plot of Les Miserables spans decades, and tells several different stories in one. While it is on one level an expose of the mistreatment of the poor, a tale of revolution, and a love story, at its heart, Les Miserables is a personal narrative of one man’s journey from godlessness to godliness. (“To love another person is to see the face of God,” the characters sing at the end, as Valjean enters Paradise.) The foil to this jewel of redemption is the personal journey of the “righteous” Javert. In a world of post-modernism such as our own, where one’s moral rectitude is judged by how well one holds to one’s own standards, Javert is a paragon of virtue. He lives by his own rules, and is willing to die if his rules require it. Lawbreakers must be punished, while “those who follow the path of the righteous will have their reward.” In the novel, when Javert believes that he has falsely accused an innocent man of being a criminal, he turns in his resignation and offers himself up. He thoroughly expects to be arrested, charged, and condemned: he will willingly suffer justice at the hand of the law he serves. (As it turns out, this doesn’t happen.) However, his forthright attitude and passion for what he believes is striking, and even more striking when contrasted with the mercy and grace shown to him later in the story. Hugo contrasts the man of Mercy with the man of Law, and shows powerfully how mercy must triumph.

The book does this all in over a thousand pages. The musical does it in three hours. How does it do it? In a large part, by cutting out side-plots, minor characters, and much of the personal angst and inner turmoil that the main characters go through. However, the heart of the story – and its turmoil – is kept through music. One of the brilliant aspects of Les Miserables is its use of leitmotiven, music used as cues for particular characters or situations. By using the same music for multiple situations and characters, Les Mis informs us how certain situations are alike, or how a certain character is reacting internally to a given situation.

An obvious example is the theme at the very beginning, sung by a chain gang of prisoners. “Look down, look down, you’ll always be a slave,” they sing. This exact tune is repeated later by the wretched populace of Paris: “Look down and see the beggars at your feet, look down, and show some mercy if you can.” Similarly, the crisis moment for Valjean and for Javert is played out with exactly the same music. Each is confronted by unmerited, unlooked for grace, and it changes the life of each. Valjean sings, “I stare into the void, into the whirlpool of my sin – I’ll escape now from that world, from the world of Jean Valjean,” and rips up his yellow parole ticket to begin a new life as an honest man. Javert sings that he stares “into the void of a world that cannot hold – I’ll escape now from that world, from the world of Jean Valjean, there is nowhere I can turn, there is no way to go on,” and with those words, leaps from a bridge to commit suicide. The music and repetition of lyrics shows powerfully the moral contrast that takes Hugo thousands of words to develop.

As a novelist, I do wish that the play (and film) could explore some of the additional material that Hugo included in his book – Marius’s elderly grandfather who loves his grandson but can’t find a way to show it, the intricate “buried alive” plot to get Valjean out from under the eye of Inspector Javert and into safety (which almost goes horribly wrong), and the gentle ridiculousness of Marius and Cosette’s whirlwind romance, which includes much sighing and gazing at one another, and very little intellectual activity. (Though the musical actually does a good job of picking this up: “Cosette, I don’t know what to say!” “Then make no sound.” “I am lost!” “I am found!” I chuckle every time.) However, given Hugo’s unfortunate tendency to go off on rabbit-trails that seem completely irrelevant to modern readers (e.g. thousands of words upon why Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo, and a detailed history of Paris’s sewer system), the musical does an excellent job of taking the essential story and characters of the book, making it relatable and enjoyable through good lyrics and music, and giving viewers a powerful story they won’t soon forget.

Savvy Saturday – Magical World Building, Part 2

How do you make a world that will leave an impact on your readers? Make it believable.

Last week, I posted about how to start writing a believable magical world by categorizing what magic can and can’t do in the world you’re creating. As a recap, if magic can do too much, then your characters will either find it too easy to solve their problems (if they can use magic), will wind up dead too quickly (if their enemies can use magic and they can’t), or, if everyone can use magic to do anything, the world you’ve worked so hard to build will end up destroyed in just a few pages. And we don’t want that.

But why would the world end up destroyed, you ask? Why can’t you just write it so that the characters do what you want them to do with the magic, and nothing else? That question brings us to the point of today’s post: To make a believable magical world, you have to 1) think through what real-life people would do if they had magic in this context, and based off of this, 2) how magic would realistically affect a society.

 To illustrate these, let’s go back to our music-as-magic example society that was proposed last week. What would happen if music was magical – that different instruments, including the human voice, could influence nature and other people?

To make this distinction, you first have to think through how basic human nature (which remains true to life in every well-written society) will come through in your setting, and contrast this with the societal and temporal differences that make your world unique.

On an individual level, if you lived in a music-is-magic world, you’d want to know as much as you could about music, the different kinds of music that exist, and what to look for in a “good” and “bad” musician. Based on this knowledge, you’d likely be wary of people who carried around a “dangerous” instrument, but would welcome visitors who played healing instruments or other time-honored beneficial instruments.

(This distinction would speak to a basic human nature of fleeing danger, seeking gain, and pursuing necessary knowledge to tell one from the other.)

You’d also probably want to get as much training in music as you could, in as many different instruments as you could master. You’d certainly want your children to be musicians if they had any talent at all, and you’d likely pay a fair amount of money to give them that training. If you were strategic, you’d also want to have multiple children who could play different instruments so that your household could take advantage of different types of magic. On this note (so to speak), most people would likely choose easy-to-play, beneficial types of music if they’re not especially gifted. However, if they’re extremely gifted, they might want to choose a more difficult instrument that would gain them more fame and power.

(This is similar to our world’s system of education: only those who are extremely gifted and dedicated choose to put in the work to become doctors, for instance, but most people know basic first aid.)

People who are extremely gifted at music would likely become “stars” as they do in our world, only more so. They would likely become political and military figures – advisers to the leaders if not the leaders themselves – as well as simply musical celebrities, since they would have significant power to accomplish things for their respective kingdoms.

This could make things interesting from a governmental perspective (and this takes us nicely to talking about societal level effects). If the type of people who are phenomenal musicians – stereotypically emotional, high-strung artistic types – also are the ones who can make things explode, strike fear into the hearts of their listeners, or bring a drought down on the land, how much do you want to put them in charge of? But how can you afford to not give them what they want, if they have this power?

One way is to raise talented musicians to believe that they owe their service to the government, and to be so grateful for the training and gifts that they have, that they won’t want to use their gifts against those in power who aren’t musicians. This would lead to the establishment of governmental conservatories and mandatory attendance for everyone identified as gifted.

Additionally, a government might want to regulate the creation of musical instruments, make it illegal for certain types of music or instruments to be played (at least without a license), come up with a musical code of conduct, and enforce it with deadly strictness. If the government didn’t do so, you could very well end up with weather wars as different musicians attempted to call up contradictory weather patterns for different individuals in a localized neighborhood, with a Pied Piper raising up an army of entranced followers to rebel against the king, or more generally, emotional and material chaos as musicians did whatever they felt like. (However, taking a stance like this would also probably lead to underground musical training – a black market/mafia – for those people who didn’t like the government’s harsh control of all music and musicians.)

As a side note, this is a force of human nature that should always be taken into account. “Power corrupts,” as the saying goes, and even otherwise good people have the tendency to use “special” powers or abilities for their own advantage. Without a regulatory system in place, music will be the downfall of your government quicker than you can sing “London Bridge is Falling Down.” With too powerful a regulatory system in place, however, musicians will eventually rebel against the government. Then see above.

Since great music typically requires learning from a great musician, you’d also likely have different schools of music forming around different great players. Most likely, since geniuses tend to have their own artistic style, these players would also likely specialize in different types of magic. Just as an individual in this world might become a jazz pianist or a classical pianist, or a drummer in a band as opposed to a timpani player in an orchestra, individuals in a magical world would likely have to choose to specialize in a specific stream of musical magic. Within these streams, different theories of how music and magic should be used would likely develop, leading to rifts and misunderstandings as musicians approach their craft from different assumptions.

For instance, one could imagine a martial school of music (a la the Army Band) that would focus on how best to use music to immobilize and weaken one set of individuals (the enemy) while empowering and strengthening another at the same time (your forces). A healing school of music (a la Chinese traditional music) might believe that music should only be used for peace and harmony, that it should be gentle, and that winning a war by means of musical magic is not honorable.

These are just ideas, and a hundred different cultures could be created from the idea of music-as-magic. But the believable ones will share one thing in common: they’ll hang together as a realistic picture of a society. They’ll feel “right” as you build them.

This doesn’t mean your society has to be monolithic. There can be built-in inefficiencies, conflict points, and downright contradictions in a society you make. But there has to be a reason that it still works – beyond the reason that the author wanted the society to work that way. It has to make sense internally.

Unfortunately, creating a believable world takes work to do well. Fortunately, once you’ve created a world, your characters will be able to have better adventures, their world will be more alive and exciting, and your readers will find themselves transported to a new reality that feels as real as the one they live in.

And it’s then that your writing has impact.

Savvy Saturday – Magical World Building, Part 1

Question: How do you write a believable magical world?

As the author of a published fantasy novel, I get asked fairly frequently how I write stories about a world so different from my own. The answer to this is actually fairly simple: writing that takes place in a magical world is no different than writing that takes place in any other kind of culture about which the author is initially unfamiliar. You have to know the rules, and a bit of sociology, and after that, just think things through and do what makes sense.

A story about a tribe in historic ancient Africa, for instance, will only be believable if the culture makes sense to the reader – if the reader can say, “Yes, I understand why that happened,” or “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought of that, but it makes sense.” A story that has elements that don’t make sense, either in terms of the culture itself or in the way that characters act, will leave readers dissatisfied. (And the last thing you want as an author is a dissatisfied reader.)

For instance, if our characters in a tribe in Africa are portrayed as being hunter-gatherers who use wooden spears and bows, they shouldn’t be traveling by bicycle. Similarly, if a tribe lives near where a rare and valued herb grows that they can use for trading, they would likely try to find ways to either plant more of it (and thus to increase their revenue stream) or to guard it and keep it secret, to keep other people from gaining access to their source of income. What they wouldn’t do, however, is 1) destroy the plant, 2) broadcast the plant’s location to everyone, or 3) move away without taking the plant with them. (At least not without a very good reason.) Or, if the same tribe is struggling to survive a drought throughout the story, it wouldn’t make sense for their shaman to suddenly send a rainstorm to flood and drown their enemies. (If he could make it rain, then why didn’t he just fix the drought earlier?)

Though these issues seem obvious when put in the context of our world, authors often have a difficult time thinking them through in a fantasy setting. Too often, magic is layered on top of an already-existing historical setting (generally Medieval Europe) without considering what the existence of magic would actually do to that setting and the people in it. Alternatively, magic is used as a deus-ex-machina: if you get into trouble in your plot, well, just have magic fix it! Readers, however, are smart and will ask, “If magic could solve a problem now, why couldn’t it solve a similar problem before or after?”

To write a believable magical world, then, you have to start by asking what magic can do and what it cannot do. You have to ask how this existence of magic would affect the society in which it’s found. You have to ask what would make sense for people to do in a context where they had magic, or where other people had magic. No matter how cool an idea is, if it doesn’t make sense in context, don’t do it. (Or, if it’s REALLY cool, then tweak the way the culture works to make it make sense somehow.)

For the next couple of posts, then, I’ll present a case study in world-building to make these ideas more concrete. This post will focus on the first part of world-building: asking what magic can and can’t do.

Let’s say that we love music, and we want to write a world where music is the conduit of magic. (That’s a world where I’d love to live!) The first thing we have to do is figure out what it would make sense for music-magic to be able to do and not do. There are a thousand ways that you could choose to have this happen in your world; here are ten possible ideas.

  • Idea 1: magic only affects whatever is in hearing range of the music, so softer instruments have a smaller range than louder instruments.
  • Idea 2: magic can be split up into two kinds: instrumental and vocal, each with its own powers. Combining the two creates incredibly powerful, and likely dangerous, magic.
  • Idea 2a: instrumental music can be used for “nature” based magic – enhancing the potential of what already happens in nature, or making natural things happen. This would include weather magic, control over the earth and crops, and inducing emotions.
  • Idea 2b: vocal music can be used for more purposeful magic – making things happen that wouldn’t happen in nature. (Words, logic, and thought are required.)
  • Idea 3: music must be played with both feeling and high technique to have maximal magical impact. A technically accurate musician who doesn’t play with heart will be able to perform mid-level magic, but it will be weak. A musician who really lives the music as he or she plays it, but who can’t play complex pieces accurately, will perform low-level magic extremely well, but won’t be able to perform mid-level magic.
  • Idea 4: different types of instruments are more suited to working different types of magic
  •     Idea 4a: wind instruments are best for influencing the weather and emotions
  •         Idea 4a1: bagpipes strike fear into the hearts of all who hear them
  •         Idea 4a2: horns can inspire courage and energy
  •     Idea 4b: string instruments are best for influencing physical health, sickness, and subtle workings of the mind
  •         Idea 4b1: harps can make a person more willing to agree with the musician (subtle mind-control) and can make an enemy weak
  • Idea 5: master vocalists, when they accompany themselves skillfully with a stringed instrument, can cure disease, cause disease, or manipulate people’s minds to their cause; they can also build, cook, clean, or do a variety of other tasks if they compose appropriate lyrics. However, it is a rare musician who is both adequately skilled at vocal and at instrumental music to perform high-level magic.
  • Idea 6: for vocal magic to work, a song must be written that has words and meter that flow well with the purpose of the magic. Thus, a better-written song will be more powerful than doggerel, and it takes time and effort to compose a piece that will do a new type of magic
  • Idea 7: magic CANNOT be used to bring back the dead, time-travel, give immortality, or create true love
  • Idea 8: the more contrary to nature a magic work is, the more skill and the greater the length of a piece that is required. For instance, it would take far more skill and energy to make oneself fly than to give oneself a boost of energy, and it would take far more skill and energy to make a snowstorm in the summer than in the winter.
  • Idea 9: if a mage takes a life with magic, his attempts to perform high-level light magic are forever soured. They may work more or less, but they’ll always come with side effects
  • Idea 10: the more skilled a mage is, the longer he or she can play/sing during a single day, but even the most skilled mage won’t be able to perform magic for more than a two or three hour stretch, and then he or she will have to rest for several hours.

These ideas are just examples, but you’ll notice that if I were to present characters with a problem of a villain and his army who are invading the kingdom, you’ll note that they now have some options that make sense, and some that don’t. They could try simply killing the villain and his army with magic, but that would cause severe consequences for the musician who was responsible. They could employ a bagpipe brigade to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, but they’d want to make sure that their own troops were far enough away not to be affected. They could attempt to stir up a storm to slow down invaders, but if it isn’t the season for storms, this would be very difficult and tiring, and perhaps not a good use of the musicians’ strength.

In the next post, I’ll continue with this case study and look at the culturally unique factors that would likely arise in a society where magic like this occurred, and how people’s mindsets might be impacted by the presence of music as magic. Until then, enjoy your own reading, writing, and world-building! If this post applies to your world, or if you have examples books that you read that either did or didn’t make sense in their world building, please leave a comment – I’d love to hear from you.

Savvy Saturday – Fantastic Combat

Question: How do you write good combat in fantasy?

Whenever I’ve spoken with fantasy lovers, I’ve noticed that we have things in common. We all love stories of epic battles, of life or death struggles, of fierce and heroic combat between the protagonist and his or her mortal enemy. We remember and replay in our heads the moments where heroes and villains come face to face and confront each other with steel, with magic, and with wits. We cheer as Eowyn battles the Witch King of Angmar (Tolkien), we hold our breath as Prince Kelson duels with magic against the witch Charissa (Kurtz), and we turn pages so quickly that they could fan us on a summer’s day as we read the final battle of Hogwarts (Rowling).

But how as an author do you write a battle or a duel that grips readers and keeps them glued to the book, unable to hear or see anything but the world that the words on the page are creating for them? That depends on a few things:

  1. The realism of the scene,
  2. The clarity of the writing, and
  3. The personal investment that readers have with characters.

Whenever an author charges into battle (scenes), he or she needs above all else to know what he or she is talking about. If I were to write about a character wielding a great-sword in each hand, charging into battle on foot, and slashing through enemies’ plate armor and shields, I would immediately lose the respect of every reader who had ever studied medieval history or weapons in general. A great-sword, such as the Sword of Kings that Alaric is given at the beginning of The Quest of the Unaligned, is a two-handed weapon and quite heavy. Even so, it wouldn’t be able to slash through armor; swords of that type were primarily used for slashing at places unprotected by armor, or for stabbing through where armor pieces joined. (Fire-spiders, fortunately, don’t wear armor, and so were quite susceptible to Alaric’s attacks.)

It’s relatively straightforward, if time-consuming, to research and accurately portray various types of historical combat. It’s far more difficult to realistically portray combat with magic. That is, it’s far more difficult to portray a viable world that allows combat with magic. If magic is a catch-all solution for any problem, then how would a mage combat magic that’s used against him? This is where careful world-building must come into play. As an author, I have to know what my magical characters can and can’t do with their powers before I can figure out what they will attempt to do, and what will actually happen.

For example, the character Naruahn in The Quest of the Unaligned is a ruahk, or air-mage. He can “pop” (teleport) to any location that he can see, or to which he has been, or which another ruahk can describe for him in sufficient detail. He also can generate winds of his own, which can slow or stop projectiles. This is a great advantage in combat, as he can appear and disappear at will. However, it also means that one might pop oneself into a trap. In addition, while air-magic is quite good at transportation, it’s not as good at direct attack. A ruahk can find himself in a great deal of trouble if he is placed in a confined location (such as a dueling circle) and another mage attacks with a more offense-based weapon (e.g. a wall of fire).

Next, writing must be clear. I’ll give you an example.

Roland the Great strode into the arena. His armor glistened, and his sword shone in the light of a thousand torches. All around the arena, spectators in the stands cheered his name. He saluted them, and then his emperor, then turned toward the gate in the far side of the arena. It rattled open. Less than a breath later, a tiger sprang through the opening. With a growl, he sprinted toward him, launched himself at his face, his ten claws each as sharp as his sword. He leaped backward, raising his sword to shield himself from the beast. He yowled as the blade bit deep into his paws; his blood dripped to the sand below.

Since “Roland the Great” and “the tiger” are both “him/he” in this scene, it quickly becomes difficult to tell who is performing which action to whom. Especially in battle scenes, where multiple characters may be swinging swords, blocking with shields, sidestepping, throwing bolts of lightning from their fingertips,  etc., it’s vital to specify who is who. In this example, changing the nouns just slightly yields…

With a growl, the beast sprinted toward him, launched itself at his face, the tiger’s ten claws each as sharp as his sword. Roland leaped backward, raising his sword to shield himself from his foe. The tiger yowled as the blade bit deep into his paws; feline blood dripped to the sand below.

Clarity is a big reason why an author needs beta readers. Something that makes perfect sense in my head is occasionally (all right, often) confusing for people who aren’t me.

The last crucial element in gripping readers during a battle scene is to make them have a high level of personal investment in the scene. This means, typically, that you have to be writing about people that they care about, when there is an element of uncertainty about how an event is going to unfold, and that the consequences are real. Readers may care that the left flank of the Good-Guy Army broke over the hill, as the tiny right flank fought the Evil Enemy from the valley, thus gripping the Evil Enemy between them with a pincer movement. But they probably won’t care for more than a few sentences, unless Our Hero happened to be on the front lines of the right flank, overwhelmed by the enemy, and hoping that the left flank will draw the enemy’s attention or else his small force won’t last another half hour.

Alternatively, if Our Hero is back in the castle for some reason, it would also be possible to focus in on Johnny No-Name, a common soldier in the ranks who the audience has never seen before, and experience through his almost-anonymous eyes the terror of combat, the loyalty that his commanding officers engender, the despicable evil that the Good-Guy Army faces as personified in a single soldier who Johnny battles, and either the thrill of victory and power as the life leaves the enemy’s eyes, or the revulsion and horror that Johnny experiences in killing, or perhaps even the shock and pain of Johnny’s own death.

This necessary personalization of combat is part of the reason that I have (thus far) tended to write duels rather than large-scale warfare. Alaric versus a dragon. Ruahkini versus Gaithim. Swords, magic, all of the above. Any option can – and has – made for good stories over the years, as long as it follows the three rules above. Simply put,

Realism + Clarity + Personal investment = Victory.

Savvy Saturday: Location, location, location!

I love being asked off-the-wall or unusual questions from people who have read my book. It makes me think creatively, or at least cock my head and blink several times. The one I was asked the most recently came from a professor – to be specific, an Apple-loving professor from India who teaches in my department. In the midst of a conversation with him about computer systems last week, he suddenly looked at me in horror and said, “You didn’t write your novel on a Windows machine, did you? No self-respecting novelist would use a Windows machine.”

Got to admit, that one took me off guard.

A question that I’ve been asked more frequently, however, has to do with where I wrote my book rather than what type of computer I used. As it turns out, The Quest of the Unaligned was written in quite a lot of places. Here are all the ones I can remember:

–In Pasadena, California (my hometown).

Sublocations:

  • At home on my laptop,
  • Scribbled on the back of church bulletins in between services
  • Outside on the patio
  • Inside on the big-screen desktop computer when I wanted multiple windows open at once
  • In the car (while I was a passenger, don’t worry!)

–In Grove City, Pennsylvania (my undergraduate school)

Sublocations:

  • In my dorm-room.
  • In a friend’s dorm-room.
  • In the antique study hall.
  • In the English Suite.
  • In the Sociology Suite.
  • In the library.
  • In the hallway in between classes.
  • In class for the five minutes before class actually started.
  • Outside on the lawn.
  • In fact, pretty much everywhere.

–In Lincoln, Nebraska (my current school)

Sublocations:

  • In my apartment.
  • In my office.
  • In a hotel room on my first visit to the city. (I actually remember this one quite clearly: I wrote the scene where Alaric and Naruahn leave Lord Deshamai’s lands while sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed. I really didn’t want to stop writing and go to sleep, even though I had my grad-school interview early the next morning.)

–In airplanes. Lots of airplanes.

–And airports. I get so much writing done in airports – especially when they don’t have free Internet!

So yes. The United States is quite well geographically represented in the creation of The Quest of the Unaligned – on the ground, as well as above it. But yes, it is also true that I didn’t write a word of it on a Mac. If that fact makes you think less of the book, you’re entitled to that opinion. I, however, will continue to consider myself a self-respecting novelist, and keep typing away at my Windows machine wherever I happen to be, from coast to coast.

Savvy Saturday: A Story from Cadaeren

This Saturday, I’m answering the question, “What happens if a Cadaerian mage attempts to get powers beyond his/her alignment?”

Actually, I should rephrase that. I’m going to answer the question, “What do Cadaerians think happens if they attempt to get powers beyond their alignment?” (The answer to the actual question depends on what type of powers the mage attempts to get, and how he or she attempts to do it – usually, though, it results in large-scale destruction or in nothing happening at all. Laeshana, of course, is different.)

Laeshana
Different? What, not every white-sash aesh goes to the College of Magic, lives in Tonzimmel, and tries to overhaul traditional magical theory?

 

Following is an ancient fable from the land of Cadaeren, as recorded in the book The Heartland Chronicles – a kind of Brothers Grimm collection of magical and moralistic tales taken down early in the Age of Balance by an author supposedly named “Goldenthought.” (Clearly, this is a pseudonym designed to bring an added quality to the book. It remains to be seen whether the author’s attempts succeeded.) Without further ado, then, I am pleased (or appalled, one or the other) to bring to you “The Tale of Kaltin the Fool.”

 

The Tale of Kaltin the Fool

In the days of the first kings, when no one knew of the Balance, the world was wondrous and wild. Magic of the earth sprouted from every seedling. Magic of the air laughed and swooped in every breeze. Every fire crackled with the pop of untapped power, and every pool and brook bubbled and burbled with the rush of unseen forces. Such was the world, and the magic therein.

In those days, even the people of our kingdom were wild. Many were tuned to magic, but they knew neither official spells nor how to tame the powers, as the great schools had not yet been established. There were no water mages, no fire mages, no air mages, no earth mages. Only strong men and women who tapped into the power of an element and gloried in its strength and beauty. They lived in this way for many years, neither knowing nor wanting to know more than the world itself told them about magic. Then Kaltin the Fool was born.

At first, he was merely known as Kaltin son of Kelshin, a boy aligned with fire. He was fair of face and strong of spirit, but his mind was ever filled with whys and wherefores that ought not to be asked. His parents did not know what to do with him, for they were not themselves magical, and could not restrain their son’s seeming need to question the magic of the world. As years passed, Kaltin grew in curiosity and power, but with no training and no regard for his parents’ warnings.

One day, Kaltin came to his parents with a new question. “Why can a person only use one magic?” he asked as he spun a wreath of flame over his head. “Why not two, or three, or even all four?” They could not answer his question except to tell him that it was unnatural and not done. “But why?” Kaltin asked again. “Could it be done if one tried hard enough?”

“No,” they answered, but Kaltin was not satisfied.

After many days of planning and plotting, Kaltin snuck from his house in the middle of the night, his questions raging and burning in his mind. He journeyed until he reached the top of a great waterfall that thundered and pounded the rocks below, sending spray up into the air a thousand feet. Kaltin reached out beyond his mind and felt the power of the water, but the fire in his nature kept it beyond his grasp. Twice he tried to gather the water into himself, and twice his internal fire hissed and burned it away. Do not try, his power seemed to say. Do not try. But Kaltin would not listen even to the warnings of the fire. “I will be one with the water,” he spoke aloud, “and people will remember me forever. I will be the greatest man who ever lived!”

Saying this, he stepped into the river and gathered his will. Further and further he reached into himself, gathering every spark, every glowing ember of flame, and pushed it all into a small corner of his heart. “Now come to me, water,” he said, and for the third time, he gathered his will and reached out to the falls before him.

Though the water rebelled with a mighty hiss of steam that rose around Kaltin, this time it did not all burn away. He reached out further, spreading his hands wide, and for the first time, a boy aligned with fire became one with the water. For a moment, Kaltin gloried in the strength and beauty of the water, in its thunder and flow and liquidity. But even as he shouted in triumph, the fire in his heart rebelled. At the hated presence of its opposite, the fire broke free from the bonds that Kaltin had placed upon it. It flared out in brilliant white heat, and the water now present in Kaltin responded in kind. For the first time, two elemental powers were forced into contact, and Kaltin the Fool was the conduit between them. Raging fire engaged thundering water, and each began to draw from its storehouse of wild power in the world to gain the upper hand. Around them, the earth began to shake and the wind began to howl as all the power of the fire and the water turned its focus and energy upon this one location.

Kaltin the Fool now knew the answer to his question, but it was too late to stop what he had unleashed inside himself. In utter helplessness, he cried out in anguish as he was burned and drowned from the inside out. “No more!” he screamed, and flung himself over the waterfall. The river boiled and hissed for several minutes, but finally was silent once again.

Several days later, the body of Kaltin the Fool was discovered many miles downstream. It was no longer fair of face, but waterlogged, and burnt black as coal.

The End.

 

 

Why “Tween” Books are Amazing

This is an “Emblazoners: Tween the Weekends” post. You can find out more about this group of writers of “tween” fiction at www.emblazoners.com.

 

I dare say that most of my favorite book series either are, or started off, as “tween” fiction. What is “tween” fiction, you ask? It’s fiction written at a higher level than children’s books – high school level, typically – but that doesn’t involve what is stereotypically called “adult material.” The type of books that you’re looking for when you’re a ten year old who consumes books like locusts consume crops, voraciously devouring words until the children’s section of the library is bare of new material in what seems like mere seconds. (Do I speak with the voice of experience here? Why yes, I do.)

When you’re ten, and twelve, and even thirteen, you want a good story with enjoyable, believable characters, a story that’s well-written, a story that’s fast-paced and exciting and ends well – in fact, you want everything that an adult reader wants – it’s just that you want it without the four-letter words and bedroom scenes that are so typically found in books written for older readers.

And you know what? I still love to read them. From C.S. Lewis‘s The Chronicles of Narnia to J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter, from modern novels like Lois Lowry’s The Giver and Carol Kendall’s The Gammage Cup to classic works such as Tolkien’s The Hobbit, there are a large number of critically acclaimed and beloved works that, in my opinion, fall into this niche category.

Call me simple and naive, (Ph.D. student though I be), but I often come away from more current books written for adults with the thought, “I really enjoyed that story and those characters, but I wish they’d left out the language and graphic content.” It’s because of this desire to see more books that I would want to read myself that I write what I would term “tween” fiction. (Not that I typically call it that – I stick to “YA” in general company, or when I’m speaking to older audiences, I just say that I write fantasy.) But I do love to be able to recommend my novel, The Quest of the Unaligned, to adults as enjoyable reading material, to professors as potential class supplemental reading material, and to parents and grandparents as Christmas gifts for their tween family members.

One of the best compliments I got on my book was left as an Amazon review written by a pleased father of a 12-year-old girl: “thank you…for teaching while delighting both my daughter and me (and for provoking some good evening discussions about some very important topics).” That’s what’s amazing about tween books: deep enough to teach adults, safe enough to delight children (and their parents on their behalf), tween literature is a common ground where adults and children alike can enjoy the beauty of a well-crafted world and the journey of its characters together.