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!

Big Bad Wolfe

My best bad guy is a vampire named Darius Wolfe. Few of my devoted followers have met him, but I have seen him through the eyes of too many of his victims to think him anything less than the most villainous villain I have ever written.

And he’s totally good with it.

The stories about him are always told through the eyes of someone else. That will never change. Unlike Julian Scott-Tyler or Ariel Black, it’s a waste of his time for Darius to tell his side of anything. He expects unquestioning acceptance that he does everything for a reason and woe befall anyone who opposes him. I’m uncertain if he’s a psycho or a sociopath; I’d have to consult an expert on whether he fits into a category or is in a league of his own, and I’m not going there because my go-to defence of “I’m just the scribe” might not survive the scrutiny.

Besides, he’s too much fun to write. I’d stopped for a while, three and a half volumes into a series about the woman bound to serve him that may yet see the light of day, albeit in a different way than originally penned. He popped up in last year’s story of a hit man who discovers a girl washed up on the beach, and a couple of weeks ago, I heard from the woman he married when he was still a mortal (I can’t say he was ever truly human). I’ve been working with her since then, telling her side of the tale, and wouldn’t you know, he was a rat bastard in mortality as well. Maybe even worse, given what he did to become immortal.

No, he did not sacrifice his wife. That was Marcel de Chauvigny, who squared off against Julian in the 1890s. Oh, and let’s not forget Raymond de Haven, the bane of Black’s eternal existence. I have a pantheon of vampire baddies to choose from, and of them all, Darius thrills/alarms me the most.

What makes him so scary? Maybe the fact that immortality hasn’t changed him. He wasn’t a mortal so much as he was a dry vampire, waiting patiently for the opportunity to pounce on the potential for limitless power.

I’m writing that story this week. I know how it ends for him (and so does anyone who’s reading this post), but how it ends for Calista, I can’t predict. I hope it ends well for her, but when you’re married to the devil incarnate, being a witch is no guarantee that you’ll survive in one piece.

As with all of my stories, I’ll have to write and see.

Next!

It’s true that creativity breeds creativity. Halfway through anything, I’ll be struck by a spark of something else – a voice, a scene, a plot portent or a title that has nothing to do with what’s currently underway. I generally spend the last half of a story fighting to finish it. I’m a pro at starting something new, but my computer is like a quilter’s shop: lots of scraps lying around that could each contribute to a greater whole if only the quilter could stick with it until it’s done.

I spent three quarters of last weekend dithering. Once I’d polished “Between the Storms”, it was time to let Jake go and decide which thread to follow next. I had three options:

1) go back to volume 7 of “Fixed Fire”, presently on hiatus because a bunch of short stories were clamouring offstage ... and I’d written myself into a corner from which I could not readily extricate myself. However, I have waited for ten years and six volumes to write it and it deserves to be attended;

2) pursue the urban vampires and see if my plan to update it as per “Finis?” gets traction; or

3) confront the angels.

Hm. Option 1 is peopled by characters I’ve known for a decade, who are as beloved as my own family – foibles and all – in a world where I’m very comfortable.

Option 2 is peopled by characters I knew before I started FF, and the vampire lore employed by that series is also familiar. Plus, I’m excited at the notion of reworking it to fit the present day.

Option 3 is peopled by total strangers in a world I know nothing about, whose pasts and futures involve a whole lot of unknown. When I consider option 3, I freeze like the proverbial deer in headlights.

I chose option 3 because it scares me to death. An entirely blank canvas. A whole new world. Strangers in my head. A continuous bout of who, where, what, why and when? Yup, I’m terrified, but I’ve rarely felt so inspired. One thing I can say for sure is that this one will be as twisted with passion, conflict and darkness as all that’s preceded it.

It’s my style, man.

Finis?

Done!

At last, Jake’s story is finished – with a teaspoon of Whiskey White to spare! I polished him up last Friday and am ready to set him aside in favour of whatever comes next. However …

A fellow named Julian Green said, “I write my books because I want to know what is in them.” I like that quote so much that it runs as my screen saver, as a reminder that I write for myself first and anyone else second. This is particularly true because few others actually read what I write, but I think Mr. Green’s point was as much about surprising the author as surprising the audience. Letting the characters tell the story can be eye-opening for me, too. Case in point: “Between the Storms.”

I had the opening, as inspired by Alex Colville’s painting. I knew one or two things about Jake when I started, and suspected that I knew something about the girl he pulled from the sea. What I didn’t expect was the solution to another creative conundrum I’d been pondering offstage.

A million years ago, I wrote 4 (okay, 4.5) volumes of an untitled series about mortals in the employ of a group of urban vampires. I had mapped the storyline to a climax, but the actual ending eluded me. It was still a good story. I revisit it now and then, fully intent on revising, reworking, updating and finishing it one day. I’m just unsure how to make it current without rewriting whole darned thing (one of the issues with present day fiction is that outdated references can create hiccups in the reader’s flow). Now, thanks to Jake, I may have my answer and my ending. It’ll be a lot of work, but it will be fun (and a lot of work). It will take time (and be a lot of work), but I want to do it (though it will be a lot of work) because it deserves to be finished and maybe, just maybe, it will be the thing that makes me famous.