Insanity

crazy in four volumes

Einstein defined insanity as repeating the same action over and over while expecting a different result.

I am thissssss close to reviving a story I started when the Twin Towers were still standing. My manuscript shelf holds three and a half binders full of it. Two of the main characters appeared in a recent short story, and the mortal history of one—Darius Wolfe—is right now being unearthed via the voice of his eighteenth century bride.

Why are these characters reemerging now? I’ve written a ton of new characters over the years. Fixed Fire bumped this series off the map and cruised into 6.5 volumes before stalling on Reijo’s romance (aaaaarrrrggghhhh). I wrote three FF novellas. I have played with angels, centaurs, and hit men. I even have a couple of other FF novels in mind. Lots to write, little time to write it. Right?

Here’s the thing. Every time I reread the urban vampire series, I think, yep, it needs work, but it’s good. Damn good. Pretty damn good, in fact. This might even be the one that cracks the market.

Okay, maybe not the last. I write, after all, for myself and not the market. I had finished with Julian in the nineteenth century and wondered if I could write something less Anne Rice-ish and more Laurell Hamilton-ish. I loved Hamilton’s Anita Blake series to the end of Obsidian Butterfly; after that, regrettably, it got too pornographic even for me. It was my first urban fantasy read and it inspired me to write one of my own.

It doesn’t even have a title. I just call it “the Cassandra series”, like it’s an android model from the classic Star Trek episode I, Mudd. Cassandra is the voice, the main character, and more like me than anyone else I’ve written. It’s her story, told in her words, and as I’ve said, even I think it’s a goodie.

But it needs work. Big work.

While writing Calista’s story—and the similarity of female names has not escaped me—I’ve been pondering how/where to begin reworking Cassandra’s story. The sheer volume of work involved is daunting and I doubt it will be much fun. I look at the first chapter and can’t see how to write the scene differently, but the scene must definitely be rewritten.

Then a little voice said to me, “Blow it up and start again.”

What?

“Blow it up and start again. You know the characters intimately. You know the plot by heart. 

The rest is scenery. Blow it up and start again.”

Holy $***. I can do that. It’s true. I do know the characters intimately. I know their relationships and how they work (or don’t work). I know the premise, the plot, the outcome. I’ve been fretting about reworking the whole thing, but the guts are fine. All the things that I like about it have not changed in fifteen years. It’s the same story; I am simply free to tell it a new way. A better way. It will be better because I’m a better writer. My style is more mature, more refined, than it was all those years ago. I can give these characters life with a capital “L”.

And isn’t it funny that the Faulkner quote has so recently come to my attention?

It’s the people, the human heart in all its conflicted glory, that make a story. Not the setting, not the timing, not the exterior finish. Those things, I can change. The rest must be left as is.

So, with that in mind … BOOM!

Guns and the F-Bomb

That was Rob Thurman’s answer when she was asked why she chose the urban fantasy genre for her novels. “Guns and the f-bomb,” she said. She loves guns, and UF allows for flagrant cursing which, if your hero is consistently targeted by the same monsters he’s been hired to kill, is a justifiable offense.

I don’t know much about guns—my nephew is my go-to guy when I need weapons advice—but I learned how to cuss in earnest while working the night shift at a local radio station twentysome years ago. That said, my desire to write within the genre has more to do with bending the rules than unleashing my inner foul-mouthed schnook. It’s a place where I can explore alternate realities and meet wondrous characters who aren’t human, yet who face similarly human dilemmas.

My plan today was to walk straight home from the village after Ter dropped me off, getting my flânerie in early and snapping a few pictures on the way. No Asian Mist, no journaling; just a walk in the sun while I sorted the next scene in Calista’s story.

Problem is and as usual, another story is surfacing. It’s one that I’ve glimpsed in hints like shadows in a dark corner but haven’t been able to see full-on. Some details have begun to present themselves, so I grabbed my scribbly journal and a fiver, then sat at Moka House to purge my head of the voices. (The drink in the pic is an apple pie carmello and, no, I won’t be doing one again. Too sweet.)

I got a bunch of stuff on paper, including the lyrics to a Durannie B-side called Secret Oktober because the song has long intrigued me and I think may have inspired some structure for this tale. I’ve got two characters, a premise, and a beginning—what comes afterward is still in the dark. As with most of my stories, it will develop as it’s written and that’s okay. I watched an interview with the creators of Orphan Black—you’d think a story about clones would have started as a story about clones, but it didn’t. One guy said to the other, “What if you saw your identical twin just before he stepped in front of a train?” Now they’re two seasons in and a third has been ordered … but I digress.

The opening scene of this latest is so vivid in my mind that it has to be written before I can do anything more with anyone else, so that’s my plan for the morning. Two more episodes of OB and some domestic stuff is on tap for the afternoon, and it’s already 9:30 so I’d better get it in gear.

Who has time for a day job???

The Dark Side

On the subject of Chuck Wendig, he also has a character called Black—Miriam Black, to be precise. A psychic who can tell when, where and how you are going to die just by touching your hand. I discovered her after reading JC Hutchins’ guest post the other day. Curious, I hopped on over to amazon.com and took a look inside the first book (there are three). I read the sample and now I’m intrigued. “Hooked” is pushing it this early on, but comparing a good urban fantasy to crack on paper isn’t far off the mark where I’m concerned. Rob Thurman has nailed it with Cal Leandros. Jim Butcher did it with Harry Dresden, though so far I’ve only read the piece he wrote for Dangerous Women. Simon R. Green created the Nightside, a city neighbourhood where it’s always three in the morning and the freaks never go home to bed. Laurell K. Hamilton started me off with her Anita Blake series … though I gave up on Anita after Incubus Dreams—nine books in and the series turned from a fun ride to pretty well raw porn. I like sex, but by then Anita was getting it on with everyone for no discernible reason, and quite frankly, after she chose Jean-Claude the vampire over Richard the werewolf, I washed my hands of her. I didn’t even bother with the Merry Gentry series because I saw it going a similar route. Most recently, Rachel Caine’s Weather Warden series had me reading on the limo. Happily, I’m not even halfway through that run and it makes for good summer reading. Joanne Baldwin is a bit like Stephanie Plum with superpowers.

Anyway, I’m planning an attack on Russell Books in search of Blackbirds, to see if Chuck’s Miriam can give my Ariel a run in the Whose Black is Blacker? department. If I go back for the follow up, I’ll know.

I Wish I'd Written That

"Half Human, Half Monster, All Attitude"

I mentioned Rob Thurman a while back – she (yes, she) is the author of my favourite urban fantasy series starring Cal Leandros (pictured above) and his half-brother, Niko. It’s such a good story and the characters are so brilliantly portrayed that I actually drop whatever else I’m reading when the latest volume is released. Eight are on my shelf and I’ve heard that the ninth is to be the last, but that’s okay. They’re good enough to read more than once. I can say that because I’m on the second round as we speak and none of it has paled for me.

She has totally nailed the first person narrative. Cal is the primary voice and he is … gods, how does one describe Cal? He’s dark, he’s surly, he’s street-smart, he’s scary, he’s hysterically funny, he’s loyal, augh, he’s fabulous. He’s so great that I wish I had written him. Truly. Characters like Cal are not a dime a dozen; I would happily pop him into my top five favourites. I might even put him in the top three.

Cal’s world is as uniquely special as he is. Yup, it’s a paranormal, homicidal, kill-or-be-killed kind of world and all the while he’s trying to stay one step ahead of the real monster within himself. I read these books with my heart in my mouth, they’re action-packed and freakish in the horror department, yet the characters – always the characters – make it, well, not exactly fun, but … yeah, they’re fun. I can’t imagine that they are written slowly; they read as if Cal is running and talking at the same time, and he’ll be the first to tell you that grammar holds no place in the survival game so proper English has been pretty well abandoned. He gets his point across with pitch-black humour, loads of cursing, and the aid of his prized Desert Eagle.

I—love—this—guy.

That’s it. I just wanted to rave about a series so dark and villainously twisted that I’ve developed a serious case of writer’s envy.