Professional Wednesday: Heading To DragonCon!

This coming weekend, I will be in Atlanta for DragonCon, the annual highlight of my professional calendar. For those of you unfamiliar with the phenomenon known as DragonCon, it is a huge convention that takes over Atlanta’s Peachtree Center every Labor Day weekend. In the past, the convention has attracted as many as 80,000 people. This year, in an attempt to control the crowd just a little, I believe attendance at the con has been capped at 65,000. Yeah, that’s still pretty big.

The con attracts television and movie stars (although I don’t know how the SAG strike will impact their numbers this year), directors, producers, writers (of scripts, novels, comic books, non-fiction, poetry, and pretty much every other written form), agents, editors, artists working in all media, musicians, animators, stand-up comics, costuming professionals, jewelry-makers, crafts-people of all sorts, and, of course, fans from all over the world.

The Chalice War: Sword, by David B. CoeIt is a spectacle. It is Mardi Gras for geeks. It is a party. It is a chance to do business. It is an opportunity to reconnect with friends. It is more fun than being six years old.

I will be on programming again this year, doing panels, signings, and a few mentoring sessions for the writers’ track. And when I am not involved in official convention programming, I will be in the Westin Hotel bar. If you’re in Atlanta for the weekend, please come by and say hello!

Here is my official schedule. (Note: I am listed in all program literature under “D.B. Jackson.”)

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Title: A Fond Farewell to Mrs. Maisel *Spoiler Warning*
Description: The final season of Mrs. Maisel took Midge’s career in a new direction, while her entire family is growing in new, unexpected ways. We might have gotten flashes of Midge’s future, but there are still plenty of things for our panelists to discuss.
Panelists: Jenna Johnson, D.B. Jackson, Dan Jolley, Cecilia Dominic, Elizabeth Carpenter(M)
Time: Fri 11:30 am
Location: Augusta Courtland Grand (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: D.B. Jackson signing booth 1201
Description: Come to the special author signing at The Missing Volume booth 1201
Panelists: D.B. Jackson
Time: Fri 01:00 pm
Location: Vendor Hall Floor 1 Mart2 (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: Themed Signing Alternate & Historic Fiction Track: History with a Twist
Panelists: Jean Marie Ward, Tamsin L. Silver, D.B. Jackson, David Boop, Gail Z. Martin, Walter Hunt
Time: Fri 05:30 pm
Location: Overlook Westin (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: The Gather: Welcome Home!!!!!!
Description: The best Gathering around of authors and fans! Who knows what surprises and treasures are to be found. We have more authors than the app will allow us to list, so you will be sure to find some great books to take home with your amazing Con stories.
Panelists: Milton J. Davis(O), John G. Hartness, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Philip Ligon, Jay Boyce, Jeffrey Falcon Logue, Patrick Dugan, William Joseph Roberts, Michael J Allen, Chris Jackson, Marc Alan Edelheit, Tamsin L. Silver, G. S. Jennsen, Katie Cross, David Boop, Quincy J. Allen, Tyra Burton, Matt Dinniman, Gini Koch, James Palmer, Darin Kennedy, Joelle Presby, Tao Wong, Harmon Cooper, D.B. Jackson, AJ Hartley, D.R. Perry, John Jackson Miller, Megan Mackie, Ellie Raine, Esther Friesner, Sean Fletcher, Katharine E. Wibell, Kaitlin Bevis, Isabelle Hardesty, Stacey Rourke, Mari Mancusi, Eric R. Asher, Frank Morin, Leanna Renee Hieber, Madaug Hishinuma, Wesley Chu, Bobby Nash, Howard Andrew Jones, Dennis Lee Robinson
Time: Fri 08:00 pm
Location: International South Hyatt (Length: 4 Hours)

Title: Anthology: A Buncha Great Writers Got Together…
Description: Wondering about anthologies? How to get invited into one? We’re going to lead you down the pathway to writing for anthologies.
Panelists: Trisha J. Wooldridge, Esther Friesner, Jeff Burns, Nancy Knight, Jean Marie Ward, D.B. Jackson
Time: Fri 08:30 pm
Location: Embassy EF Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: A Fan Discussion of The Last Kingdom: Seven Kings Must Die *Spoiler Alert*
Description: Seven Kings Must Die was our last look into the world of Uthred, son of Uthred, and his companions. What did you think of the movie as compared to the TV series? What excited you, or left you wanting more? Did you feel that it wrapped up things nicely? Come discuss with your fellow fans!
Panelists: Emily Myerscough(M), Corey Applegate, Cathalson, Katie Brewster, D.B. Jackson
Time: Sat 02:30 pm
Location: Macon Courtland Grand (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: How Epic is Epic?
Description: Some stories are so big they require more than one book…sometimes many more than one. These can be called epic stories. What makes a story epic? How do authors decide how many books their big story requires?
Panelists: Kevin J. Anderson, Jean Marie Ward, David Weber, D.B. Jackson, Timothy Zahn
Time: Sat 05:30 pm
Location: International South Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: Back in Time: Historical Urban Fantasy
Description: Our panelists explore supernatural beings & magic set in historical real-world settings.
Panelists: Cherie M. Priest, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Marie Brennan, D.B. Jackson, Carol Malcolm(M), Aaron Michael Ritchey
Time: Sat 08:30 pm
Location: Chastain 1-2 Westin (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: Many Tongues, 1 World: Using or Creating Languages in Literature
Description: We will be pulling in authors and a linguist to discuss using and creating languages for fantasy settings. Sometimes they may pull from the real world, other times it might be making things from scratch.
Panelists: Davis Ashura, Mera Rose, Mel Todd, Kevin McLaughlin, D.B. Jackson, Alex Shvartsman
Time: Sun 01:00 pm
Location: Embassy CD Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: 15 Minute Mentor Sessions
Description: A chance for budding authors to talk one-on-one with a successful industry professional about business, promotion, the writing process, & career advice. Sign up in the Writer’s Track. (Embassy E/F)
Panelists: James Nettles, Darin Kennedy, D.B. Jackson, R.J. Blain
Time: Sun 02:30 pm
Location: Embassy G Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: Are You a Good Witch, or a Bad Witch? Varieties & Approaches in UF
Description: Witches in Urban Fantasy run the gamut from helpful to extremely dangerous and self-serving, often in the same story. Our authors discuss their characters and the categories they fall into.
Panelists: Jennifer Blackstream, D.B. Jackson, Rachel Rawlings, Meg M Robinson, Melissa F. Olson, Carol Malcolm(M)
Time: Sun 05:30 pm
Location: Chastain 1-2 Westin (Length: 1 Hour)

Title: D.B. Jackson/David B. Coe signing booth 1201
Description: Come to the special author signing at The Missing Volume booth 1201
Panelists: D.B. Jackson/David B. Coe
Time: Mon 11:00 am
Location: Vendor Hall Floor 1 Mart2 (Length: 1 Hour)

Monday Musings: Confessions Of A Boring Old Guy

A few weeks ago, while we were vacationing in Colorado, I got high. When I was young — high school, college, and into grad school, I used to get high a lot. Too much, probably. But upon marrying Nancy and starting to pretend to be an adult, I gave up weed. For a long time, I was fine with that. I didn’t miss it. More recently, that began to change. I was curious: would I enjoy getting high now, as an old man, as much as I did as a kid?

Surprise! I did! I enjoyed it a lot. I took a gummy — a fraction of one, actually. I’m fully aware that today’s marijuana is a lot more potent than the stuff I was used to in my youth. And I ate the gummy with a clean conscience, since the evil weed is legal in Colorado. When I have the opportunity, I will do it again.

Why the confession?

The other day, I ran across an article in the New York Times that basically consisted of writers confessing to stuff they do that is of questionable morality and, in some cases, legality. Some of the testimonials were fairly mild — playing violent video games, shopping at Amazon. Others were more serious. One writer confessed to being a serial shoplifter. Another likes to drop acid at concerts. My confessions aren’t likely to be nearly so entertaining, but still I figured, yeah, I do some embarrassing stuff, too. So, why not?

For the record, as much as I dislike Amazon and lament the site’s impact on the literary marketplace, I shop there, too. All the time. All. The. Time. What can I say? It’s cheap, quick, convenient. I’m not proud of this, but this post is all about honesty, right?

I also play stupid games on my phone. Not violent ones — I don’t enjoy those. But dumb, wasteful, pointless? Check, check, and check. I play them daily. I do all the silly daily-goal tasks, I accumulate . . . stuff — whatever the game tells me I ought to accumulate. And I enjoy the games immensely. I am ridiculously pleased when things go well, and comically frustrated when they don’t.

I really, really enjoyed the Bridgerton spin-off, Queen Charlotte. Yes, I did.

I have a stunningly large baseball card collection. It numbers between 15,000 and 17,000 cards, the oldest being from the 1950s and the newest being from the early 2000s. I started collecting when I was five years old, and I still have many of those original cards. And I will admit that when I was a kid, I stole a few packs of baseball cards from a local store. Not proud of that at all.

I have watched the entirety of The West Wing — from series pilot to series finale, seven season’s worth, 154 episodes — at least ten or twelve times. What can I say? I love the characters, have long been a political junkie, and think that Aaron Sorkin writes like a god. I will also admit that during the George W. Bush Administration, and again during the Orange Guy’s Administration, I took refuge emotionally in the Bartlet White House.

I have a TERRIBLE sweet tooth. I manage to control it for periods, and I eat well in other ways. But oh, how I love my desserts. Candy, cookies (I love, love, love cookies) ice cream, cake, puddings. I just took a break from writing this post to eat a bunch of Nutella straight out of the jar. My favorites? Chocolate chip cookies, Twizzlers, any ice cream with caramel or butterscotch in it. There are a few things I don’t like — cheesecake, desserts with nuts in them, anything pumpkin flavored — but usually, if it’s sweet, I love it.

Yeah, okay. Most of this is pretty tame stuff. I don’t drink to excess. I don’t cheat on my wife. I don’t drop psychedelics or break the law or lie on my tax returns. The fact is, I’m pretty boring. I’m a nice guy. In most respects, I always have been. When I was young, I was the kind of guy women wanted as a friend, but weren’t drawn to romantically. I wasn’t in any way edgy or “dangerous” or exciting. I also wasn’t tall or good-looking, which didn’t help . . . .

But that’s okay. The same qualities that make me a bit boring also make me a good husband, a good dad, a good friend. I’ll take that any day.

Have a great week!

Professional Wednesday: Reading Books Several Times

Under Heaven, by Guy Gavriel KayI have just started reading a book that I have read at least one time before. Maybe two. It is Under Heaven, by Guy Gavriel Kay, a terrific historical fantasy set in a world modeled after Tang Dynasty China. The truth is, I read many of Guy’s books more than once. I read books by other authors multiple times as well, and I would recommend that others do the same — writers AND non-writers.

My first time through any book, I read for plot. Yes, I pay attention to the writing, to the character work, to the creation of setting, to the mechanics of narrative and pacing. But I also tend to rush my reading just a bit, as I am eager to know what happens next. On a second read, I can slow down and appreciate those elements of craft that I know I missed the first time through the book.

This is actually true for me of watching movies and television shows as well. I am a story teller by trade, and I learn something new about story, about dialogue, about pace and point of view, each time I experience a show or movie or book. With Kay’s work in particular, I find that I cannot gain a full appreciate of his magnificent prose and his explorations of character in only one reading. I need to dive back into a book a second, and maybe even a third time to explore it thoroughly.

I will admit that there are also books I have read not two or three times, but ten or twelve. This goes beyond learning craft. The story becomes something more — something akin to literary comfort food. The world of the book is a place I go — familiar, safe, predictable but also beautiful and nurturing. It’s like listening to a favorite old album; the well-worn melodies and lyrics bring peace and transport me to an earlier time.

I also will say that when I edit a story or novel, either for an anthology or for my freelance editing business, I ALWAYS read through the manuscript twice. I edit and make notes both times through, but invariably I find things on the second pass that I missed on the first (in part because I am more distracted by plot on the initial reading). And invariably as well, I find at least a few comments and criticisms that I offered the first time through that are “fixed” by later developments in the story.

There is an old saying that I repeat with some frequency, short and to the point: “Writers read.” We read for any number of reasons. To learn the marketplace and see what others are doing with the old tropes of our chosen genre or subgenre. To support our colleagues and friends in their pursuit of fame and fortune, or at least subsistence and an escape from obscurity. And we read to learn all we can about this marvelous and confounding career path we have chosen.

For that last, one reading is rarely enough. When we find a book that captivates us, that makes us envious of the skill and eloquence of the author, that makes us want to improve our own craft so that we might elicit from our own readers what the author has elicited from us, we are well served to go back and study the text in depth. My friend Faith Hunter often tells of her early reading of fantasy books, as she was making up her mind to write in the genre. She would take notes in the book margins, use highlighters of different colors coded to draw her attention to character development, setting, narrative structure, etc. She made herself a student of the genre, and in doing so mastered it, setting up her subsequent, well-deserved success.

I don’t mark up my books in that way, not because I think it’s a bad idea, but because I’m a little (maybe not so little?) compulsive about keeping my books pristine. But I do study the techniques of other writers. That is why I read certain texts over and over. And that is why I recommend you do the same. Even if you’re not an aspiring writer, there is much to be gained from such exploration. It is akin to pausing in a museum to look more closely at a painting, to study the shape and pattern of brush strokes. Sometimes appreciating fully the work of a story teller means taking the time to scrutinize their approach to telling that story.

Keep writing!

Monday Musings: Family, Soccer, and the Women’s World Cup

Earlier this year, I wrote a post about Title IX (which became law a half century ago) and the impact women’s sports have had on our culture, our society, and my family. I received a fair number of comments on that post, most of them from women whose lives had been changed by their own involvement in organized athletics, or from women who completed their schooling before Title IX was enacted, and who regretted missing out on such opportunities.

Erin and AlexMy mind has been on Title IX again over the past month, as Nancy and I (and our daughters, while we were all together in Colorado) watched the Women’s World Cup. Soccer has long been a very big deal in our household. Our daughters grew up playing, first in weekend league soccer and then through middle school and high school. Both of them were accomplished players. Both of them continue to love the sport. And so we all look forward to the World Cup — men’s and women’s — the way we look forward to holidays and birthdays.

For those of you who are not fans of soccer — “the beautiful game,” as it is called in other parts of the world — this year’s Cup matches were played in venues all around Australia and New Zealand, the co-hosts of the tournament. And with the exception of a few blow-outs in the earliest stages of the competition, the matches were incredibly competitive and exciting, and were played with all the skill and artistry one would expect from some of the best athletes and finest footballers on the planet.

AlexWorld Cup soccer — men’s and women’s — begins with what is called group play. The field of thirty-two is divided into eight groups of four. Each group plays among themselves, three matches for each team, and they get three points for a win, one point for a draw, and none for a loss. The two teams with the best record from each group advance to the knockout stage, so called because there are no ties, and the loser of each match is knocked out of the competition.

Yes, the U.S. Women’s team, four-time winners of the Cup, two-time defending champions, and, historically speaking, the traditional powerhouse of women’s soccer, was knocked out of the tournament in the round of sixteen, after just barely making it through group play. And after that, American media and, no doubt, many American fans stopped watching the Cup. We were disappointed in our household, too, but we kept watching, because the play in match after match was just that good.

The fact is, the Americans were not the only favorite to make an early exit. Germany, another perennial contender, who have twice won the cup and are ranked second in the world after the U.S., didn’t make it out of group play. Neither did Brazil, ranked eighth in the world, Canada, ranked seventh, or France, ranked fifth. Instead, teams like Colombia and Australia made historic runs deep into the tournament, and several teams — Jamaica, Morocco, and South Africa — made their first trips ever to the knockout stage. Ultimately, the tournament was won by another long-time power in women’s soccer, Spain who won a taut, action-filled, at times frenetic final against England by a score of 1-0. But any of the four teams that made the semi-finals — Sweden, Australia, Spain, or England — would have been first-time winners of the Women’s World Cup. That hadn’t happened since the very first women’s tournament in 1991.

ErinDespite American disappointment, these developments actually constitute incredibly good news for women’s soccer around the world. Title IX paved the way for the U.S. women to become a dominant team, and in many European nations, where traditional football is THE sport, women’s teams have access to facilities and funding. But in other places this is simply not the case. The Jamaican woman faced so many financial hardships in their preparation for this year’s Cup that they literally had to rely on crowdfunding in order to participate.

Tournament success for teams that have previously had little to celebrate can only boost support for women’s soccer, and women’s sports in general, all across the globe. And while sports may seem trivial given the challenges and dangers woman face the world over, anything that increases opportunity, that builds confidence, that unites people in community, that shines a spotlight on the glories of strength and resilience, diversity and teamwork, aspiration and freedom, can only benefit women and girls everywhere.

The U.S. team will recover from this year’s disappointing performance. (And by the way, the team’s early exit had NOTHING to do with being “woke” as some buffoons on the right have suggested. It had everything to do with the team being relatively young and inexperienced, with the coach being timid and uncertain, and with the front line failing to capitalize on scoring opportunities. The U.S. women were “woke” in 2019, when they won. They were “woke” in 2015 when they won. Just sayin’.) They will win other World Cups and other Olympic gold medals. But their path to victory is only going to get harder, because the competition is only going to get tougher. That’s as it should be. As women’s athletics gains greater and greater attention, as the financial obstacles they face diminish over time, teams in sports like soccer will move toward worldwide parity. Which is also as it should be.

In the meantime, I am already looking forward to Olympic soccer next year — men’s and women’s. And before then, I have Premier League games to watch!

Have a great week!

Professional Wednesday: Writing Work-For-Hire Projects

Love what you write.

I say it a lot. It is the single piece of advice I always offer when asked what tips I would give to young writers (young of age, young of career). And I believe the advice is sound. Love what you write means a few things. It means love the process, love the act of creation, because writing is hard and isolating and, for most of us, not very profitable. It means write the story that burns in your soul, the story you ache to write, because if you write a story for which you have little passion in the hope of matching the market, chances are you will write an inferior story (and still miss the market, which is a moving target). And it means take time to appreciate your achievement in completing a story, in writing a great scene, in creating something entirely your own, because, as I say, writing is hard, and so is the publishing business, and we need to recognize our own successes.

But here’s the thing: We can’t always love what we write, and we certainly can’t always write what we love. Writing is an art, of course. It is creation. It can be fun and thrilling, soothing and healing. It can feed the soul.

It is also a business, a way of making a living. I am happiest when writing stuff that excites and nourishes me. Writing the Radiants books and the Chalice War trilogy was incredibly fun, and also a balm in a time of emotional turmoil. In the past, though, I have also written not for joy but for a paycheck. That is part of what I do. I have written media tie-in books that I would never, ever have written if not for the promise of money at the end of the process.

That may sound crass. So be it. I am a professional, which can mean a lot of things, some of them positive and dignified, some of them mercenary. I bring this up today, because I am on the verge of signing a contract for new work-for-hire writing. I can’t talk about the particulars right now. At some point, I’ll be able to. But I can discuss the process in general terms and even give some tips for dealing with this sort of work.

The thing about work-for-hire writing and media tie-in projects is that they are, in many instances, not necessarily what we would choose to write if left to our own preferences. Obviously this is not always the case. I have several colleagues who spend a good deal of time writing in the Star Wars universe, or the Star Trek universe, or some other genre franchise. And they love the work. They enjoy playing with characters they have grown attached to over the years, much as I enjoy playing with Thieftaker characters in new situations.

Robin Hood, by David B. CoeBut the media work I have done in the past wasn’t like that. Back in 2009-2010, I wrote the novelization of Ridley Scott’s movie Robin Hood, starring Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett. The movie wasn’t out yet — I worked from a script — and I didn’t know whether or not I would love it. (I didn’t.) In 2018, I wrote a novel that tied in with the History Channel’s Knightfall series about the Knights Templar. In this case, I got to see all the episodes of the first season before the series was aired. I liked the show well enough.

In both cases, though, I always felt as though I were playing with someone else’s toys, which made the writing a bit challenging. I didn’t have the freedom I feel when working on my own stories in my own worlds. So, how did I make the work tolerable? DID I make the work tolerable? Good questions.

1) Look for something — anything — that allows you to take ownership of the project. This was particularly tough with the Robin Hood book, because the studio with whom I contracted maintained a death-grip over every element of the story. I could not add or delete ANY dialogue or scenes from the screenplay. I was utterly at the mercy of the script and the shoot, although the studio heads were so secretive, they would not allow me to see the movie!! I had to work from stills and from a couple of two minute movie-theater trailers. That was it!

So how did I take ownership? Point of view. I was in the minds of the characters, and since no internal monologue can be scripted, I could do with those passages whatever I wanted (to a point). There is one scene in the book of which I’m particularly proud — it’s written from the point of view of an old and fading Richard the Lionheart and I believe I nailed it.

Knightfall: The Infinite Deep, by David B. CoeWith the Knightfall book, I had a good deal more freedom and control, and so I enjoyed the process much, much more. But still I was mostly writing from the viewpoint of someone else’s characters. There is one point of view character, though, who I made my own — a child who appears later in the series as an adult. But her childhood POV was mine and gave me that sense of ownership, of personal investment in the book.

2) Take pride in what is yours and acknowledge the limitations placed upon you by what is not. Put another way, write the best book you can given the flaws inherent in the larger franchise. Robin Hood is not a great book. Robin Hood was not a great movie (though I believe it was better than many critics said). I believe I did as much with the book as I could under the circumstances, and that is all I can ask of myself.

3) Accept that work-for-hire makes possible the stuff we WANT to write. There is nothing wrong with writing for money. Hell, that’s what nearly all of us strive for when we begin this professional journey. When people ask me which of my books are my favorites, I never mention Robin Hood or Knightfall. But I don’t shy from talking about the experience of writing the books. I’m not ashamed of having written them. I’m a professional writer, and in both cases the media work provided a necessary financial bridge between personal projects. Without Robin Hood, I might not have written the Thieftaker books. Without Knightfall, I might not have written the Islevale Cycle.

Media tie-in, work-for-hire — call it what you will. This sort of work is part of the business, and while it may not be my favorite sort of book to write, it is part of what I do to maintain my career and to pay a few bills. If work of this sort comes your way, jump at the opportunity. The money is good and the publications bring exposure and possibly more jobs. Just remember to make the work your own in some way.

Keep writing!!

Monday Musings: A Walk in the Rain, and a Quest for Solace

This is one of those weeks when I really have no idea what to write. The idea of the Monday Musings posts is that I compose something based on what I’m thinking about. But this week . . . well, let’s just say I’m not prepared to do that.

Sometimes our thoughts are not meant to be shared. Or they’re not ready for public viewing. Sometimes they are too private, too hard, too raw.

Those of us who depend on social media for professional purposes are, of course, all too aware of the many, many problems inherent in the medium itself. We struggle to find ways to reduce our lives and careers to digestible units. We strive to come across as upbeat, to announce our successes with the proper blend of pride and humility, to paper over our disappointments, to reveal enough of our private selves to appear accessible but not so much that our posts come across as creepy or maudlin or inappropriate.

I have actually shared a lot over the years, perhaps more than I should. I have written of professional letdowns, personal loss, mental health issues. At times, I’ve wondered if I’ve crossed some line by being too honest, too open. More often than not, I am come down on the side of candor, believing that perhaps my own struggles, whether private or professional, might be illustrative for others. I’ve thought that by revealing a bit more of myself, I might help someone else.

Earlier this week, I took my usual morning walk along the rails-to-trails path near our home. It was raining. Not a soft drizzle, but a substantial rain. I put on rain gear and I walked anyway. I had the path entirely to myself. I did my usual walk — three and a half miles; nearly an hour — and I didn’t see another soul, which is pretty unusual for this route.

The night before, we’d had a frenzied series of storms, one after another bringing pelting rain, angry winds, and a near continuous dialogue of lightning flashes and grumbling thunder. But by morning, the worst of the storms had passed.

As I walked, rain tapped on the forest canopy, on the brush around me, on the woodland floor. And also on me, on my raincoat. The rhythm was the same, but the tone was different, as if I were a tympani tuned to a different pitch. Most of the birds I usually encounter on my walk were hunkered down and silent, though a male cardinal flew across the path, chipping ecstatically. I have no idea what had him so excited. Streams, newly replenished, chortled among the trees, happy to be running once more.

And through it all, I walked and thought and tried to find peace, solace, strength, inspiration — anything really. I suppose mostly I wanted a path out of the musings that had gripped me for days. The musings I was, and still am, in no state to share. Nothing came.

No, that’s not true. I did feel at peace while I was walking. I did find inspiration for this post in the sounds and sights of the rain. And maybe to ask for more is to ask for too much. There may be magic to be found in a summer morning walk through a warm rain, but I don’t know if there are miracles.

This is another strange post, I know. I have written several in recent weeks and months. Times are hard. Some weeks I can find something to write about, a thought thread that distracts and even entertains me. Other weeks, I can’t be diverted. Life holds sway and I can’t pretend to care about other stuff.

Next week, perhaps, I will write something less strange, less cryptic. The women’s World Cup is winding down, and I have wanted to write about that. Maybe I will. Next week. In the meantime, you have my apologies for the vagueness, the navel-gazing. As I say, life is hard right now. And my walks in the rain can only last so long.

Have a great week.

Professional Wednesday: In Defense of Simplicity

Today, as I was sitting at my desk, staring at a blank screen, trying to decide what I could possibly have left to write about when it comes to giving writing advice, a familiar song came on my Apple Music stream: “Rocket Man,” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Nancy is a huge Elton John fan, and has imparted an appreciation of his music to me over the years. We saw him live many years ago at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View, California, and it remains one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen. He closed with “Rocket Man,” and the place went nuts. It is a truly terrific song, one of his best, an iconic work of pop/rock.

It is also a deceptively simple song. It runs about four and a half minutes — a bit on the long side given when it was recorded — but lyrically it has just two sets of stanzas: each stanza four lines with a simple rhyme scheme. The two couplets of stanzas are separated by a chorus that is repeated twice. At the end of the song, the chorus is repeated twice more, and then the first line of the chorus is repeated several times as the song fades. That’s it.

As I mentioned in Monday’s post (not for the first time), I am a dedicated amateur photographer and a student of landscape and nature photography. One of my favorite artists is a guy name John Shaw, who is a renowned nature photographer and the author of many instructional books. In one of those books, he says this:

“Define your subject precisely and specifically, then include within the viewfinder only what fits your definition. My friend David Middleton [another accomplished nature photographer] has an analogy that applies here: he compares a photograph to its written description. It takes several paragraphs to describe a bad photograph, a few sentences for a mediocre photo, one sentence for a good picture, and just a phrase for a great photograph.” 1

The Chalice War: Stone, by David B. CoeI have written a lot of books and stories over the years. The truth is, I love all of them. I can tell you a hundred things I like about every book I’ve published, and I believe if I could convince people to read each of them, the books would be very popular. But the fact is, as is true with most authors, some of my books have done far better commercially than others. And, as it happens, the ones that have tended to do well are those that are most easily and succinctly described. The Thieftaker books are my most successful. How do I pitch them to interested readers? “These are magical mysteries set against the backdrop of the American Revolution.” The new series, the Chalice War, is also easy to describe — “It’s a modern urban fantasy steeped in Celtic mythology.” These books, I have found, are as easy to sell as the Thieftaker books, and that is saying something.

INVASIVES, by David B. Coe (Jacket art courtesy of Belle Books)The three books of the Case Files of Justis Fearsson and the Radiants duology might well be my favorites of all the books I’ve written. They are exciting, emotional, filled with great characters, and paced within an inch of their lives. But they are far more difficult to describe in a single sentence than other books and, likely as a result, they have never done as well commercially as I hoped they would.

All of this by way of saying what ought to be obvious by now. Simplicity is good. We writers love to come up with twisty plots that surprise and thrill our readers. And yes, there is much to be said for a few good plot twists. And there are plenty of books published every year that are purposefully complex and meant to blow readers’ minds. Some of them do very well.

I would argue, though, that complexity for complexity’s sake is unnecessary, and perhaps even counterproductive. I know, I know. Publishers and agents are constantly saying that they want to see something new and innovative, something that turns expectations on their head. And when they say this, I think they believe it. But I can’t tell you how often I hear of writers who have ideas that are truly different and mind-bending, but who can’t sell them because publishers don’t know how to market them, or fear that readers aren’t ready for what the authors are trying to do. Indeed, it’s happened to me; I’ve had works rejected for those reasons.

I’m not saying that you should jettison a story because it is inherently complex, or because your plot has too many twists and turns. Far from it. If that’s the book you’re writing, the idea you have nurtured and developed, great. Enjoy! And I wish you every success with it.

But if you have a story that seems “too simple” (whatever the hell that means), embrace the simplicity. Complexity comes from many sources. Your plot and concept don’t have to be complicated for your book to have merit. Sometimes a straightforward story line allows us to delve into the complexities of character and relationships, which can be every bit as rewarding for readers, not to mention easier to follow.

Again, simple is good. Make your narrative only as complicated as it needs to be and no more. Or, put another way, just write your story and make it as good as it can be on your terms.

Keep writing!

—-
1 John Shaw, John Shaw’s Nature Photography Field Guide (Amphoto Books, 2000), p. 98.

Monday Musings: Digital Technology, Ansel Adams, and the Joy of Modern Photography

As I mentioned in a post last week, Nancy and I just spent a week and a half out in Colorado, seeing our girls, hiking, and unwinding. It was a good trip, and, as is my wont, I spent a fair amount of time capturing photo images. I shared some photos last week, but those were just the ones taken on my phone. This week, I share some of the images I captured with my big rig, my Canon 5D Mk IV, with a pair of truly excellent lenses — a 24-105mm f4 L and a 16-35mm f4 L. To most of you, the lens and camera info probably won’t mean much. That’s fine. I thought a few of you might be curious.

The Crags Trail, by David B. CoeI spent this past weekend going through my photos, processing the images, and selecting a few to put in a rotation of favorites that show up on my computer desktop and in my screensaver slide show. And as I work through these images, I have been thinking about photography in general and where the technology that is now available to photography hobbyists has taken us.

When I started getting serious about my photography, we were still in the film age. (Kids, ask your parents.) I would load a roll of film into my camera, take photos — usually thirty-six exposures per roll — and, upon reaching the end of the roll, would then rewind the film back into the little metal cylinder and remove it from the camera. At that point, my control over the image would reach its end. I would take the film to a local store, or perhaps send it directly to one of the Kodak or Fujifilm processing centers scattered around the country, and wait to see how my photos came out. The wait was frustrating, the cost pretty outrageous.

Florissant Fossil Beds NM, by David B. CoeSome stores and processing centers were willing to consider special instructions — “please over- (or under-) expose slightly” or some such. But to be honest, I wasn’t good enough at that point to know with confidence that ALL my images would need the same special treatment, and so I just sent my film in and hoped for the best. More often than not, I was disappointed.

Mueller State Park view, by David B. CoeKnowing what I do about the history of photography, I now understand how strange that consumer film process actually was. The old masters of photography — Edward Weston, Alfred Stieglitz, and most notably Ansel Adams did not leave it to Kodak or Fujifilm or any other commercial entity to develop their images. They held fast to every step of the creative process, from image capture to production of the final print. Photography as an art form was not limited to a mechanical blink of creative inspiration. Rather, it relied upon a complex and time-consuming manipulation of that initial capture, to turn the photo into exactly what the artist envisioned. Adams in particular used an approach he called “dodge and burn,” relying on a masterful understanding of darkroom tools and chemicals to darken certain parts of an image and brighten others. He and his contemporaries would never have dreamed of placing themselves at the mercy of film development labs.

The great irony of this lies in the freedom now granted to amateur photographers like me by digital dark room applications on our computers. My photography workflow may rely on digital technology, but in every other respect it is more similar to the experience of the old masters than it ever was in the age of film. Like Ansel Adams, I no longer have to hope that my images were perfectly exposed. I can make adjustments to the original images, balancing light and shadow, compensating for exposure issues in some quadrants of a capture while using the original lighting in others. I can, in other words, do a digital “dodge and burn.” (I used to use Adobe’s Lightroom, but I grew disenchanted with their subscription model of “ownership.” I now use DxO’s PhotoLab, which allows me to do everything Lightroom did, but at a lower cost.)

Florissant meadow, by David B. CoeMore, I no longer have to decide before going out in the field what sort of film to use. I can take an image that I know will work in color and follow it up immediately with one that I know I’ll prefer in black and white. Converting an image from color to grayscale is as simple as clicking a box. I love that freedom.

To be clear, I do all I can to avoid over-processing my photos. We have all seen photographs that look so “perfect” as to be unrealistic: hyper-detailed, garishly colored, lit with unconvincing evenness across shadow and sunlit feature. I have no desire to produce such images. Even with a digital darkroom at my disposal, I still wind up with many images that don’t work. The ones I add to my “favorites” constitute a tiny fraction of the images I take.

But I have control over the work I do. From image capture to production of the final image — either in the form of a print, or a computer image I can enjoy every day — I make the photograph exactly what I want it to be. And the truth is, the very best images I produce are pretty high quality. I would put my finest photos up against those of most professionals. That sounds like bragging, but it’s true.

Most important, I engage in a creative process that I enjoy, that I find challenging and deeply satisfying. My photography scratches a “creative itch” that is very, very different from the one I scratch with my writing. It is one of my great passions.

I hope you enjoy these images, and I wish you a great week.

A Word of Thanks, and a Bit of Bragging

My summer of releases continues tomorrow!!

So far this year I have had releases in May (The Chalice War: Stone, the first book in my new Celtic urban fantasy), June (The Chalice War: Cauldron), and July (Artifice and Craft, which I co-edited with Edmund Schubert, and Dragonesque, which includes my short story, “Reenactment”). Now we’re into August, and tomorrow sees the release of The Chalice War: Sword.My Summer 2023 releases

Yes, I say all of this with tremendous pride. I have been productive over the past year. And over the past three years, going back to 2021, I have published four short stories, edited three anthologies, and produced five novels and a trilogy of novellas. That’s nothing to sneeze at. The truth is, my work has been a balm and a welcome distraction from other things. Being productive has been a form of therapy for me.

I want to thank you all so much for your support of my work, and of me personally. I’m more grateful than I can say. The past few years have not been easy, but your interest in my new books and stories, and your willingness to read my blog posts and social media screeds has meant the world to me. No, I’m not going anywhere. I have more projects to work on, more blog posts to write. But I wanted to pause and say thanks. I wish all of you the best.

Professional Wednesday: One Last Teaser, and a Plea For Help — Please Read

Believe it or not, writers don’t particularly enjoy asking you to buy and read our stuff. We are not, as a rule, good at sales or comfortable touting our own work. We prefer to write, to spend time with our characters, in our settings, thinking up new and exciting plot lines. If we had wanted to be businesspeople we would have gone into business. For many of us, promotion and marketing are necessary evils that facilitate the creative endeavors we truly love.

The Chalice War: Sword, by David B. CoeAnd so, I undertake the writing of this post, this latest plea for help, with a good deal of reluctance. The thing is, though, I want this new series to do well. I love the books, the world, the characters, the storyline. And I have wonderful ideas for what might happen next in this universe. But if this first series doesn’t sell, I won’t get to publish more books featuring Marti and Kel, Riann and Carrie, Quinn and Orla, Manannán and the Furies. That’s the way the publishing world works. Our publishing reputation is really only as good as the sales of our most recent project. A harsh reality, but a reality nevertheless.

Therefore, before I offer you one last free teaser excerpt from The Chalice War: Sword, the third and final book in my Celtic urban fantasy trilogy, The Chalice War, I would ask the following of you:

1) If you have not started reading the series, which begins with The Chalice War: Stone and The Chalice War: Cauldron, please do. The books are exciting, fun, and filled with memorable characters. If you’re reading this blog chances are you’re A) a fan of my work, or B) a friend who follows me because of that friendship and has not yet read any of my books. To fans, if you like my other work, you’ll love these books. They’re among my best. And to my friends, maybe you’re not really fantasy readers. I totally get that. But these books are set in our real world and the magic is based on Celtic mythology. These are as accessible as any fantasy I’ve written. Give them a try.

2) If you have already read the first and/or second book(s) in this series, thank you. But there is more you can do. Please, please, please consider leaving a review of the book(s) on Amazon or at other reader/bookseller sites. Reviews, even not so great reviews, help writers enormously. The way Amazon works, the number of reviews for a book is far more important than the content of those reviews. So, if for some reason you didn’t enjoy the book(s), leave a review anyway. Every review helps. Of course, if you loved the book(s), a glowing review is especially helpful.

3) If you have already read the books AND left reviews, you have my deepest gratitude. And yet, I have a request for you as well. Maybe you know a reader who is not familiar with my work. Maybe a fantasy reader you know has a birthday coming up. Maybe you’re looking to get an early jump on your holiday shopping. Books make marvelous gifts. Just sayin’.

The Chalice War: Sword comes out the day after tomorrow, Friday, August 4. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And now, a final teaser!

The Chalice War trilogy, by David B. Coe
*****

“There’s our guide,” Carrie said, as soon as the woman entered the pub.

“How do you know?” Marti asked, twisting in her seat.

“It’s the woman I saw at the river this afternoon.”

“You’re sure?”

She was. And the small, knowing smile the woman offered as she approached their table made her that much more certain. Seeing her close up, Carrie noticed things she’d missed earlier. The woman’s eyes were blue, and while there might have been thin lines around her mouth and eyes, her hair was satiny and black. She didn’t look as old as Carrie had thought by the river.

It helped that instead of wearing the long gown and shawl she had on this afternoon, the woman now wore a tight black leather skirt, a low-cut and yet somehow tasteful blouse, and ankle boots for which Carrie thought Riann would have killed.

Every person in the pub, regardless of gender, followed the woman with their gaze as she sauntered past. She kept her eyes riveted on Carrie. It was unnerving and, Carrie had to admit, just a little bit provocative. Perhaps reading her thoughts, the woman broadened her smile, revealing perfect, sharp teeth. Also provocative.

She halted beside Carrie’s chair, angling her body so as to show her back to Marti and Riann, and stuck out her hand.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” she said in a strong alto and a lilting brogue. “I’m Enya.”

“Um . . . Hi. I’m Carrie. Enya, you said? Like the musician?”

“It’s pronounced Enya, but spelled E-i-t-h-n-e.” She shrugged, tipping her head just a bit. “These days no one can make heads or tails of that version of the name. I should probably change it for simplicity’s sake. But I don’t like to make things too easy on anyone.”

Her eyes remained locked on Carrie’s, and she didn’t release Carrie’s hand. Her thumb gently, subtly caressed the skin between Carrie’s thumb and forefinger.

Carrie pulled her hand from the woman’s grasp and indicated the others at the table. Her skin tingled where Eithne had touched her.

“These are my friends. Riann, Marti, and Kel.”

“Hello, Kel,” Eithne said, turning unerringly to the conduit. Again, she proffered her hand, though she didn’t hold Kel’s for more than a second or two. She nodded to Riann and Marti. That was all.

She flashed a dazzling smile toward the men at the adjacent table. “Are you using this chair?”

The men practically fell over themselves positioning it for her. Carrie thought they would have built her one had there not been an extra.

Eithne sat, crossed her legs, and raised a hand. Within seconds, their server stood at the table, out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

“Wine, please,” Eithne said. “Whatever Sauvignon Blanc you have from New Zealand.”

“And I’d like another . . . .” Riann trailed off. The server was gone already, having given no indication that she heard. “Beer.”

She turned back to the newcomer, her expression icy. “So, Eithne, what qualifies you to be our guide?”

Your ‘guide?’ Is that how the Furies characterized what I’d be doing?”

“You’d use a different word?”

“First of all, I was under the impression that only Carrie would be entering the Underrealm.”

Riann shifted in her chair. “Well . . . yes.”

“And I would call myself her protector. Her champion. Her lifeline. Any of those will do nicely.” She faced Carrie again. “The dingo out front: she’s your conduit?”

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful. And powerful. I can see why the Morrigan chose you for this.”

Riann bristled. “Why the Morrigan— They didn’t choose her for anything. This was our idea. Marti’s idea. The Morrigan knew nothing about it until we went to them. And the only reason Carrie is going down there is she’s the only one of us who’s Fomhoire.”

She cringed, seeming to grasp too late that she’d basically said Carrie had no value to them beyond her heritage. She chanced a glance in Carrie’s direction.

Carrie looked away pointedly, too hurt and angry to meet the woman’s gaze.

She would have struggled to explain her reaction. She knew it was true. She had Fomhoire blood, which meant she could enter the demons’ realm. Compared to the others, she had no magical ability to speak of, little knowledge of Baelor or Cichol or their servants, and even less sense of what she would find Below. And yet, hearing the woman she loved, who she thought loved her, speak of her in those terms left her feeling denigrated and dismissed. Not for the first time on this trip.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked Riann. “Give a few examples of the different ways I’m unqualified to go?”

Riann stared at her empty glass. “No. I’m sorry.”

Carrie nodded, tight-lipped. Eithne appeared to be enjoying herself.

“Where are you from, Eithne?” Marti asked.

“North of here. No place you’ve heard of.”

“I know Ireland well. Try me.”

“Noughermore.” She pronounced it “noffermore,” but with a hint of something guttural in the middle of the word.

Marti’s mien soured.

“As I said, no place you’ve heard of.”

The server returned with Eithne’s wine and this time lingered long enough to take refill orders from the others. After she left, a frosty silence settled over the table. Again. Carrie couldn’t remember the last time the four of them had simply gotten along, without conflict, or worry, or intrusions from others in the Celtic . . . . Community, she decided, was too generous a word.

Eithne was odd and clearly determined to sow as much discord among them as possible. But that hardly differentiated her from the Morrigan. And as flattering as her attention might have been, Carrie didn’t trust her even a little.

“So, how is it you know so much about the Underrealm,” she asked the woman. “I mean that’s not a usual tour guide thing, is it? There isn’t a tourism institute in—Where was it? Noughermore?—there isn’t a school you went to that offers lessons in navigating Cichol’s lair?”

Eithne’s lips curved, and she covered Carrie’s hand with her own. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered.

Carrie pulled her hand away. “Why should I? This is just a pub. We’re just talking. Who do you think might hear?”

Eithne’s smile ossified. “What does it matter? The Morrigan trust me completely.”

“But we don’t completely trust them,” Marti said.

“Heard that.” A distant voice, possibly Badbh’s.

Most of the time these days, Carrie felt beyond her depth, as if the others were privy to information she didn’t have. This once, though, she was anything but. She’d seen this woman first, and without knowing why, she already had a sense of her, of her motives and origins.

“You’re Fomhoire,” she said, leaning in, intent on those crystal blue eyes. “You’re not from Noughermore. You’re from Below.”

The others watched and waited, riveted. Eithne sipped her wine, her hand steady.

“Actually, it’s possible to be from both. I’m living proof.”

Carrie said nothing. She thought if she kept silent long enough, the woman would tell them more.

Eithne reached for her glass again, but stopped herself. “You know Noughermore as East Town,” she finally said, addressing Marti. Her voice had flattened, and she’d switched off the charm. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“East Town. On Tory Island.”

“That’s right.”

“So, Carrie’s right. You are Fomhoire.”

“There are Milesians from East Town. There are even Sidhe from East Town.” When no one responded, she made a small gesture, something between annoyance and acquiescence. “Like I said: I have roots in both worlds. What matters for you is that I can lead your friend here right through Cichol’s home and to the Sword. I know where it is. I know how to reach it. I know how to get us out once it’s in hand. Nothing else should matter to you.”

“Like hell it shouldn’t,” Riann said. “You want us to believe you’re helping us out of the goodness of your heart, or because you love Sidhe so much?”

“I don’t care what you believe. But no, I expect you to think there’s something in it for me, that I’ve got my own agenda. Because there is, and I do.”

“And what agenda is that?”

Eithne’s silken smile returned. “None of your damn business.”

The sounds of the pub abruptly vanished—the din of laughter and conversations, the clink of plates and glasses and cutlery, the background drone of the television. All went silent. Carrie glanced around, as did her friends. Eithne drank more wine, apparently unconcerned. The pubs other patrons had gone still. Literally. None of them moved or spoke. One man at the next table was frozen with his glass of stout at his lips. A drop of Guinness hung suspended between his grizzled chin and the table.

“What in God’s name . . . .” Kel said.

And then the Morrigan were back, in the flesh this time, seated in chairs that materialized with them. They wore black sequined dresses and black satin stilettos, and their hair was teased into matching buns. They looked stunning. And pissed.

“Are we having trouble getting along?” Macha asked archly, crossing her legs with the grace of a dancer.

“They don’t like me,” Eithne said.

Badbh dismissed this with a wave of her slender hand. “No one likes you.”

“You need a guide,” Macha said to Marti. “Or rather, she does.” She jerked a perfectly tapered chin in Carrie’s direction. “We got you one. End of story.”

“She’s Fomhoire!” Riann said.

Badbh chuffed a laugh. “Yes, darling. We searched far and wide for a Sidhe who could tell us what Cichol’s lair is like, but all of them are dead, so . . . .”

“This isn’t a meet and greet,” Macha said. “And it’s not a dating service. We honestly couldn’t care less if you get along. You have a task; you need help completing it. This is your help. Work together or don’t. But if you don’t, be prepared to fail. Navigating the Underrealm alone would be perilous. Entering Cichol’s demesne alone is suicide.” She indicated Carrie with another twitch of her head. “If you want this one back, you’ll let Eithne guide her.” She considered each of them one by one, appearing every bit the Battle Fury. “Are we clear?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Good. We’re leaving. It’s going to take hours to get the pub smell out of my hair.”

“Why bother?” Badbh asked. “It matches your singing.”

Macha glowered.

“What? You expect me to pass up an opening like that?”

They winked out of view. The bar noise resumed. A wave of dizziness crashed through Carrie, and she gripped the table. “Whoa.”

“Tell me about it,” Kel said, doing the same, her cheeks blanching.

Only Eithne appeared unaffected.

Marti eyed the woman, suspicion and resentment in the set of her jaw. “Fine. You’re one of us, for now. Do you need a place to stay?”

That of all things made Eithne laugh. “Hardly. And I won’t need a ride either. Your car is too crowded as it is. And,” she added, with glances at Riann and Carrie, “pretty though your conduits might be, I have no desire to smell dog all day. We’ll work together, but we needn’t make things more unpleasant than necessary. Get to Tory Island. I’ll meet you there.”

Carrie half expected her to disappear as the Morrigan had. She didn’t. She drained her wine, pulled a twenty Euro note from within her blouse and tossed it on the table, and sauntered to the door and out, her exit from the pub as attention-grabbing as her entrance had been.

“I don’t like this,” Riann said to Marti.

The other woman shook her head. “Neither do I. We could try talking to Manannán. He’s likely to know someone with knowledge of the Underrealm. Someone we can trust more than—”

“No,” Carrie said.

They all turned to her.

“We’ll go with Eithne. That’s who the Morrigan have chosen, and they’ve been in on the planning from the start.”

“Just because they’ve—”

“I said no.”

Riann looked like she’d been slapped.

“It’s my life on the line, so it’s my choice. I don’t like her, and I’m very glad she has her own way of getting north to the island. But she’s the guide I want—not some friend of Manannán who none of us has ever heard of.”

Marti didn’t respond. Clearly, Riann wanted to. Carrie had no doubt this argument would continue later, when they were alone. For now, though, her declaration was met with silence. At first.

Kel drained her glass. “And once again, snaps for Carrie for saying what needs to be said. I should invite you to all my arguments with Marti.”