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Special Friday Post — THE CHALICE WAR: SWORD Teaser!

The Chalice War: Sword, by David B. CoeThe Chalice War: Sword will be published on August 4, two weeks from today! And so today, and again next week, you get to enjoy a couple of lengthy excerpts, teasers to whet your appetite for the third book in my Celtic urban fantasy trilogy! Have fun!!

***

Brilk’s home stood on a headland overlooking the river. It wasn’t a large structure, but it was more than he needed. As the day fires began their long dimming, he paused on the walkway to his front door, savoring the view, the colors in his garden, the flutter of bats around his chimney. He liked having so much space. Another reason to dread the impending takeover of the Sidhe world. With the diminution of his influence would come a reduction in his pay. How could he hope to find such a fine home in the Above?

He had skills, talents; he had authority and he knew how to wield it, as he had proven again today. All of this would be worthless in the Above. There was talk of leaving some behind, of maintaining the Fomorian realm even after the Sidhe were defeated and the God had his vengeance, but that was no more enticing than life Above. He didn’t wish to be relegated to a lesser world. Why couldn’t everything simply stay as it was? Why did Baelor have to pursue this foolish fixation with the Sidhe world?

Brilk gave a small gasp and turned a complete circle, abruptly uncertain as to whether he had merely thought that last or spoken it aloud. He saw no one nearby, though his neighbor, Mrs. Clatch slanted a glance his way as she watered her dahlias. He smiled weakly, raised a hand in greeting, and hurried into the house.

Once inside, he breathed easier. He also double-bolted his door. After depositing his briefcase in his office, he poured himself a generous glass of whisky and retreated to his den, where he could enjoy the view and not think about what Mrs. Clatch might have heard.

He sat, put his feet up, closed his eyes. This had been a good day. Not the day he anticipated, but the best days never were. He had faced a challenge and prevailed, as was his wont. Whatever the future might hold—for the Great One, for the Fomorian people, for Brilk—he would face it with a firm belief in his own abilities and intellect. For now, that would have to be enough.

He sipped his whisky, tried to get comfortable in his chair.

A noise from the front of the house made Brilk open his eyes, sit up, listen.

He heard it again. A footstep. Perhaps several. He set his glass on the table beside him and stood, trying to keep silent. His heart hammered, which was ridiculous. He was a Fachan. His kind were fearsome in battle. He recalled the tales his father told of his great-uncle Uvar, whose heroism during the Sluagh Uprising of 3457 saved countless lives. Brilk would face down this intruder, whoever it might be. Woe to those who dared to enter his home without his leave.

Or he could remain where he was, make not a sound, and hope the intruder kept to the other half of the house. Most of the good stuff was there anyway.

What if they didn’t come to steal? What if it’s a minion of Baelor, here to mete out punishment for traitorous thoughts?

Many Fomorians, he knew, displayed on their walls ancient swords and pikes and axes, mementos from the great wars fought by their forebears. Brilk had always preferred art. Right now, this struck him as a particularly poor choice.

“Hello?” A voice from the common room. A female voice. “Anyone at home?”

How threatening could a female be?

Quite, actually. He’d once seen a Fideal rip the arms off an Urisk to win a battle tournament.

He thought he heard a second voice, also female.

“I’m sure he’s here.”

“Maybe he’s hiding from us.”

“Maybe he’s seen you dance. That would scare anyone.”

Curiosity got the better of him. If the arrival of these females presaged his doom, so be it. He would not hide.

“I’m here,” he said, raising his voice so it carried through the house. “Come in and do your worst, if that’s your intent.”

More footsteps, now growing near. A moment later, three of them entered his den.

“Honey,” said the middle one, “if we wanted to do our worst, we wouldn’t need your permission.”

The Chalice War trilogy, by David B. Coe

They were Fachan, like him, and yet nothing like him at all. These might have been the most exquisite creatures he had ever seen. The one who had spoken had fiery red hair and a large eye the color of dew-kissed grass. She was—there was no other way to put it—voluptuous, and her clothes accented her broad shoulders, the round perfection of her breast. The two who flanked her were stunning as well. Brown hair, eyes of sapphire. They were taller than their companion, but every bit as desirable.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask, his voice unsteady.

The redhead approached him, placing one foot before the other so her hips swayed. Brilk swallowed.

“We’re friends, honey.”

“We. Come. In. Peace,” one of the others said, enunciating each word.

The redhead glared back at her. “He understands you fine, Nellie. You don’t have to talk to him like he’s hard of hearing.”

“Well, I don’t know.” This second Fachan held out a hand in front of her eye. “I can’t get used to seeing this way. I can’t tell what’s where and which things are closer.” To Brilk she said, “How do you do it?”

“Um . . . .”

“Don’t worry about her,” said the redhead, commanding his attention again. “We want to talk to you. We need your help.”

“I still don’t know who you are.”

She looked back at the third one, who shrugged in response to whatever she saw on Red’s face. The more Brilk watched and listened to them, the more convinced he became that they were sisters. The two with brown hair could have been twins, and the redhead resembled them.

“Is there a place you can sit down, honey?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I want to invite you to sit until I understand why you’re here.”

“Not us. You. We prefer to stand.”

“I’ll say,” the third one added. “I can’t imagine sitting in this dress. I’d bend at the waist and boom! Out I’d pop.”

Brilk felt his cheeks warm.

“More fun for you than me, doll.”

The three of them stared and Brilk stared back.

“A chair?” Red prompted.

“Ah! Yes.” He grabbed the nearest chair from his dining table and sat.

Red began to orbit, tracing a finger across his shoulders as she passed. He nearly sighed aloud.

“Have you ever heard of the Morrigan?” she asked.

Brilk didn’t move. Obviously he knew of the Morrigan. How could anyone not? But he sensed that any answer to her question invited peril. Her implication was both clear and incomprehensible.

These three were the Morrigan? The Battle Furies? Impossible. Though it would explain their ability to enter his home as they had, through locked doors and bolted windows. And the Furies were said to be a trinity: Macha, the eldest and most powerful, Badbh and Nemain, her twin sisters. They were also said to be hags, ancient and withered, hideous and terrifying. These three were none of those things. Nor had they appeared to him in their true forms, Macha as a great horse, the twins as ravens.

“Honey?” Red said, setting her fist on a cocked hip. She seemed to be losing patience with him. Not good, if these three were truly the Morrigan.

“Maybe he doesn’t hear so well,” said the second Fachan. “You should try talking loud and slow like I did before.”

“He heard us just fine.”

“You claim to be the Morrigan?” Brilk said. “I would see proof.”

“Really?” the third demanded, steel in her tone. “We tell you we’re the Furies, and your response is to suggest we’re lying? Not smart, demon.”

Brilk wet his lips and stared at the floor. Perhaps she was right.

“Calm down,” the first one said to her fellow Fury. “Think like a Fachan for a minute. Would you believe us? Wouldn’t you want proof?”

“I squeezed into this damn dress for him. I’m not going full-on raven for him, too.”

“We don’t have to. Look at me, honey.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to Red, and his mouth fell open. She wasn’t Fachan anymore. She was human, or maybe Sidhe. Two eyes, two . . . bosoms. He could only assume she would be considered as glorious in the Above now as she had appeared to him seconds before. He understood that for her purposes, and his, the transformation itself was what mattered.

He flung himself out of his chair and prostrated himself before her, before them.

“That’s more like it,” said the third.

“No, it’s not. Get up.”

Brilk wasn’t sure he ought to.

“It’s okay. Get up. Sit in that . . . that comfortable-looking chair, and tell me about yourself.”

He pushed himself up to his knees. At her nod of encouragement, he climbed back onto the chair. The other two appeared bored.

“What’s your name?” Red asked.

“Brilk, Your Highness . . . Great One . . . I don’t know what to call you.”

“If he’d seen our act, he wouldn’t call you ‘Great One,’” said the third sister.

Red glowered, the expression even more intimidating in her Above form. She turned to Brilk again and favored him with a smile. “You can call me ‘Goddess.’ Would you like me to go back to being Fachan?”

“Y-yes, Goddess. Thank you.”

With a sweep of her hand and a ripple in her appearance, she assumed again her earlier, more pleasing form.

“Better?”

He nodded.

“I’m Macha.” She indicated the second and third sisters. “This is Nemain, and this is Badbh. My sisters and I are here for a reason. We believe you can help us and, by doing so, help yourself. You’d like to help us, wouldn’t you?”

“Can we move this along, please?” Badbh asked. “We have a rehearsal, and it’s going to take me a least half an hour to shower off the Fachan stink.”

Macha closed her eye briefly, then focused on Brilk again. “Would you like to help us, Brilk?”

“I’ll do anything I can, Goddess. But I’m hardly in a position—”

“No false modesty now. You have influence, authority, skills. You’re more important than you would have us believe.”

His cheeks burned again, and he fought to keep a smile from his lips. He couldn’t deny that her words swelled his heart. The Morrigan knew of him. They thought him important, a significant figure in Fomorian society. The Goddesses had come to him for help.

“I suppose I have some small influence among my peers.”

Badbh rolled her eye. Nemain examined her nails. Macha, though, brightened at his response.

“Of course you do. Now, I want you to answer a question for me, and I want you to be honest. What do you think of Baelor’s attempts to take over the Sidhe world?”

The heat in his face vanished, leaving him chilled and terrified. He felt as though his soul had been laid bare, as if the Great One himself had flayed the skin from his body, leaving only muscle and bone, blood and viscera. He couldn’t hide. He couldn’t answer. He could hardly breathe.

“I think you broke him,” Badbh said, leaning closer, studying his face. “Seriously. He’s totally wigging out.”

“Brilk—”

“Please, Goddess,” he whispered, dropping off the chair to his knees. “Don’t make me answer. I beg you.”

Nemain’s brow furrowed above the bright blue eye. “Awww! He’s kind of cute when he begs.”

“No one can hear you but us,” Macha said. “You have my word. You’re under our protection. Not even Baelor can reach you right now. He can’t hear or see or know what you’re thinking or saying. Now, answer the question.”

“I dare not.”

Badbh stepped closer so she was shoulder to shoulder with her sister. She gestured and Nemain hurried forward to stand with them.

“You need to ask yourself, doll,” the third fury said, “who is the greater threat: Baelor in his palace, leagues and leagues away, or the three of us, standing right here, holding your life in our hands.”

He looked to Macha, but she merely quirked her eyebrow, this once appearing in no mood to temper her sister’s remark.

“He hears all,” he said, breathing the words. “He knows all.”

“Oh, good lord, he does not,” Badbh said. “None of us do. We wouldn’t have known to come here if not for your stupid diary, which you left open, and which we found while searching—”

Macha put a hand on her arm. “Enough. But she’s right, honey. He doesn’t know all. Omniscience is a convenient myth for beings like us. But really there’s no such thing. Now, I’ve shared a little secret with you, and I need you to return the favor. So, answer the question, or risk trying our patience.” Her tone hardened as she said this last.

He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“I . . . I am not as enthusiastic as some Fomorians I know.” He grimaced, expecting to be struck dead by a bolt of lightning or crushed by some giant unseen fist. When he wasn’t, he relaxed fractionally.

“‘Not as enthusiastic,’” Macha repeated, her voice flat. “It goes a little deeper than that, doesn’t it?”

“I . . . I suppose. We’re quite comfortable now, aren’t we? And we have worked hard to become so. My family—we’ve helped to build an agricultural paradise in the Below.”

“I think maybe ‘paradise’ is a bit much, don’t you?”
 Macha slapped Badbh’s arm, earning a scowl.

“And so you would rather live here?” Macha said.

“I don’t want to see this all go to waste. And . . . .” He dropped his gaze. “And, I don’t wish to see my influence diminished. I matter here. I’m a figure of some importance. Not a lot. I don’t deceive myself in that regard. But I have a fine home, a position of responsibility, a decent wage. In the Above, I would be . . . no one.”

“We understand, don’t we?”

Badbh nodded. Nemain looked doubtful, but when Macha scowled her way, she pasted a smile on her lips and said, “Sure we do.”

“The question is, what can we do about it? All of us, working together.”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He didn’t want to hear more, but neither did he wish to incur the wrath of these three. Somehow, through no fault of his own, he had drawn the attention of powers beyond his reckoning. What had he done to deserve such a fate?

Badbh had already answered this question. He had written—

“Wait, you read my diary?”

Badbh leered. “Welcome to the conversation.”

Professional Wednesday: Beginnings, Middles, and Endings, part VI — Final Thoughts

This week I close out my Professional Wednesday feature on “Beginnings, Middles, and Endings” with some general observations about narrative structure. If you are just coming to this series of posts, I would recommend you go back and read the previous entries on openings, middles (here, here, and here), and endings.

Not surprisingly, I stand by all I have written in the preceding essays. But I also think it is worth pointing out that everything I’ve written in this series of posts thus far assumes a linear approach to narrative. And for writers who are at the start of their careers, still learning their craft and/or still trying to break into the business, that is the safest approach to storytelling, if not the most exciting or innovative. The three-act narrative structure has been around for a long time. Lots of creative careers have been built on it. One could argue that the entire movie industry was founded upon it, and did quite well for a long time, thanks very much.

But for many of us, the real fun begins when we take apart that traditional narrative structure and piece it back together again in ways that are less predictable and more challenging, for creator and audience alike. There are so many fine examples of this, I hardly know where to begin. William Faulkner’s masterpiece, The Sound and the Fury, is the first one that comes to mind. In it, Faulkner tells the story of a tragically dysfunctional Southern family by focusing on the events of four days as experienced by four different point of view characters. Each section adds crucial details of the family’s rise and fall, until the final point of view brings all the previous elements together into a coherent whole.

One of my favorite novels of all time is Angle of Repose, by Wallace Stegner, which consists of two narratives, one of an older man coming to terms with the looming end of an unhappy life, and the other tracing the life of his mother, which the man reconstructs as he reads through her journals. The two narratives intertwine and feed one another in unexpected and poignant ways.

Many of you are probably familiar with Quentin Tarantino’s film Pulp Fiction, which interweaves several storylines, playing with chronology, coincidences, and chance encounters to create a fascinating (albeit bloody and graphically violent) fractured whole.

No doubt you can think of many other examples — together we could go on for pages and pages pointing to all the innovative narrative structures we’ve encountered, be it in novels, short stories, movies, television episodes, etc.

My point in presenting these posts was to familiarize readers of my blog with the basics of traditional, linear narrative structure. Because before we as artists start breaking the rules, we need to KNOW the rules and even master them. Miles Davis and Charlie Parker didn’t start off their musical lives creating jazz classics that sounded like nothing that had come before. They started by learning their craft and by becoming virtuosos of well-established jazz styles. THEN they innovated and changed the world.

The other thing to remember is that straying from narrative traditions doesn’t always work. The examples I have given, and those you can think of, are the ones that were successful and memorable. As many as we might think of, I’m certain they represent a minute fraction of those that have been attempted. The vast majority likely fell flat. And even those that are part of successful works are not always worth emulating.

The end of The Lord of the Rings (the books, not the movies) actually has two climaxes. There is the final battle with Sauron’s army which coincides with Frodo and Sam’s final ascent of Mount Doom and the fight with Gollum over the fate of the Ring. From there the book starts to wind down, with the coronation of Aragorn and leave-takings and resolutions to so many relationships. But then the hobbits return to the Shire and we have the second climax, “The Scouring of the Shire,” which sees Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin having to rally their fellow hobbits to defeat Saruman and Wormtongue. The books were successful obviously, but that is not a structural quirk I would recommend for any beginning writer or established author.

Islevale compositeWhich is another way of saying that innovation for the sake of innovation is not necessary or advised. Yes, it’s fun and challenging to write books or stories that don’t conform to simple linear narrative. I learned that with the Islevale Cycle, my time travel/epic fantasy series. And if you have ideas for playing with chronology or otherwise changing up your narrative style, by all means give it a try. But don’t feel that you have to. There are plenty of books, movies, plays, and stories out there that conform to regular old narrative form, and they do just fine. Better to write a story in the normal way and have it come out well, than to change things up just for the purpose of doing so, and thus leave your audience confused.

Keep writing!!

Monday Musings: A Strange Post In Times Of Personal Struggle

This has not been the best week for my family and me. It was, actually, the sort of week that not so long ago would have convinced me to take a break from blogging at all, to say “I need some down time” and withdraw from the social media world.

I’m not going to do that. After the last time, I pledged to all of you — and to myself — that I wouldn’t do it again, and I intend to live by that pledge. The fact is, as a self-employed writer, I have the luxury of being able to slip away when I want to, to take as many mental health days or personal days or vacation days as I please. Put another way, I am spoiled rotten.

I look at Nancy, who is dealing with the same things I am, and who goes to work every day to complete projects and interact with people, and I marvel at her strength. I look at my younger daughter, who also faces the fear and grief as well as issues of her own, and who also goes to work each day, in the health care industry no less, being reminded constantly of our own family struggles, and I am amazed by her resilience and self-composure. I look at my older daughter, who lives in the center of the storm, coping with this cruel, relentless illness, and who still manages to live her best life, and I am humbled by her courage, her resolve, her spirit.

And I think of the rest of you, who face challenges of your own — emotional, physical, familial, socio-economic, cultural, and more. Obstacles are thrown in our paths every day. All of us face them. Few are as privileged as I am in terms of the freedom I have to grapple with them on my own terms. The fortitude I see around me on a daily basis blows my mind and inspires me to do better.

Yes, my family and I are working through a lot right now, and it’s not going the way we would like. But we have the resources we need to face our problems, and too many others in this country, in this world, don’t. We have friendships old and new that sustain us when things get rough, and too many others have to meet their challenges alone. We have one another to offer love and support, to share laughter and tears, and we are so fortunate in this respect, as well.

This is an odd post, I know. My apologies for that. In the past, this would have been a post in which I tried to explain, in vague terms, why I was stepping back from my blog and my various accounts. And since I DON’T intend to step back this time, I thought maybe it would make sense to explain how I came to that choice. And the short answer is, it’s because of the amazing people around me — family, friends, colleagues, fans, acquaintances. You all have given me a standard of strength and bravery to which to aspire.

So, I will continue to write and edit. I will continue to blog and comment. I will go about my regular routine as best I can given the circumstances. I am getting help. I am taking care of myself. I am taking steps to maintain and improve my emotional health. I am enjoying time with my newly-liberated-from-an-overwhelming-administrative-position spouse. I am chatting regularly with my beloved daughters. I am reaching out to friends and extended family. And we have some fun stuff planned for later in the summer, which will help in all sorts of ways.

If you are struggling right now, facing obstacles of your own that seem insurmountable, I wish you peace and strength, comfort and compassion. Life throws all manner of stuff our way and none of us is immune to its vagaries and difficulties. One of the hardest things for me is something I listed in the preceding paragraph — reaching out to people, to my support network. None of us likes to be that person, the one who always seems to call with terrible problems. And so we pull back, waiting until we feel better, believing on some level that we ought to be able to get through this stuff on our own. Asking for help takes courage, and too often I shy from it.

But the thing is, speaking now as a friend, a brother, a father, spouse, I NEVER mind when the people I love seek my help. I am always eager to lend love and support. And I know the people I rely on feel exactly the same way. In the end, I think it’s about pride, which is silly. I know this, and still I struggle. I’ll work on that, too.

Anyway, thanks for reading this. As I say, a strange post, but one I felt I needed to write.

Wishing you a wonderful week.

Professional Wednesday: Beginnings, Middles, and Endings, part V — What Makes a Good Ending?

Continuing my Professional Wednesday feature on “Beginnings, Middles, and Endings,” (previous posts can be found here, here, here, and here) I now turn to endings. And I will begin by stating the obvious: The ending to our story is likely the most important part of the story arc. Yes, the beginning hooks our reader, which is crucial. And the vast middle carries the plot and the character arc, which is even more essential.

But a book can recover from a weak beginning if its narrative and characters are strong enough, and a flaw in our plot line can be overcome with compelling character development. There is, however, no recovering from a poor ending. Even if the rest of the story is perfect, a narrative climax that fails to fulfill the promise of those early pages and/or a denouement that leaves readers unsatisfied can spell doom for a novel or piece of short fiction.

So, how do we get it right? What are the necessary components of a “good ending?”

Time's Assassin, book III of The Islevale Cycle, by D.B. Jackson (jacket art by Robyne Pomroy)Those are not easy questions to answer. As with beginnings and middles, there are as many ways to approach an ending as there are stories to be written. Different authors like to do different things with their closing chapters. And so, again as with the other parts of story structure, we can learn how to write good endings, in part, by reading as many books and stories as possible. Guy Gavriel Kay’s stand-alone fantasy novel, Tigana, has one of the finest endings of any book I’ve ever read. It is haunting and beautiful and — surprisingly — uncertain. But it is incredibly effective. Of all the endings I’ve written, I believe my favorite is the closing to Time’s Assassin, the third and final book of The Islevale Cycle, my time travel/epic fantasy trilogy. Why do I think it’s the best? Because it ties off all the loose ends from my narrative. It hits all the emotional notes I wanted it to. My characters emerge from those final pages changed, scarred even, but also in a place of growth and new equilibrium. Also, it’s action-packed and, I believe, really well-written.

And speaking only for myself, since I am but one writer, I would say that those are the main things I want my endings to accomplish. Let me list them again, with a bit more explanation:

1) Offering a fitting, exciting climax to my narrative. This can be considered as the ending of the middle, or the beginning of the ending. I include it here because I think of it as the latter. Most of us are pretty comfortable with writing this part of our story — it’s something many of us anticipate with relish. All that hard work we do on the middle is done in the service of setting up the climax. To my mind, our narrative climax and the crucial moment in our protagonist’s character arc, should basically coincide. The lead character should achieve their full potential as the story is coming to that big moment. And so, when writing stories in any sort of magical setting, I like to have my protagonist’s magic fail them in the final “battle,” forcing them to draw instead on more relatable (for my readers) human qualities — courage, resilience, intelligence, creativity, etc. Just a personal preference.

The Loyalist Witch, by D.B. Jackson (Jacket art by Chris McGrath)2) Tying off various narrative loose ends. The most important story element is the central conflict, which the climax should either settle (if the book is a stand alone or the last of a series) or advance in some significant way (if the book is a middle volume of an extended series). But there are often other narrative threads that need to be concluded to the readers’ satisfaction before our audience will feel at peace with the story’s ending. These can include unresolved relationship issues (strained friendships, burgeoning or troubled romances, conflicts between siblings or a parent and child, etc.), missing information and/or secrets that could not be revealed before the climax ran its course (this is especially common in mysteries like the Thieftaker stories), or character arc and narrative arc issues involving secondary characters and storylines. Part of the so-called “denouement” involves wrapping up these additional story threads.

3) Hitting those final emotional notes. In a sense, this is part of #2. But I list it separately because I believe it to be so important to what we do in our final chapters. Readers don’t simply want the story to wrap up in a nice, neat package. They want emotion. They want something cathartic and moving and memorable in those last pages. I’ll be blunt — I strive in the final pages of my book to make my readers choke up. And usually I can tell if I’ve done this because if the scene works on that emotional level, I choke up while writing it. As Robert Frost once said, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.”

4) Leaving my lead characters at a new equilibrium. If our stories matter, if the narrative we have woven carries weight, then our central characters ought to emerge from them as something more than what they were at the story’s outset. They should not just be the same people at its end. That diminishes the significance of what our readers have experienced. The characters might bear scars — physical and/or emotional — from what has happened to them. They might have grown in some way. As with so much of this, the changes we put them through are story-dependent. The important point, though, is that the events of the story have left their mark. And for fantasy or science fiction tales, this is true not only of main characters, but also of settings. Think of Frodo at the end of Lord of the Rings, and think as well of the Shire, and of Middle Earth. There is continuity, but there is also lasting impact from all that has occurred.

5) Hinting at what is to come. Clearly, this can pertain to middle books in a series. We want our endings of those middle volumes, or of stand-alone books in an ongoing serial (like Thieftaker), to offer some glimpse of what awaits our heroes. We don’t have to do a lot of this. I’m not suggesting ending on a cliffhanger. Indeed, I don’t like cliffhanger endings at all, in any context. But we do want at least to nod in the direction of what might happen next. And to my mind, this is true of the final volume of a series as well. Most stories end with key characters still alive and looking to the next “chapter” of their lives. What might those chapters look like? We don’t need a lot of such information. But a hint — the continuation of that burgeoning romance, a better relationship between characters who have been at odds. The last line in Casablanca — “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” — is exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. We know Rick and Louis will be fighting for the Resistance. We don’t know precisely what that might mean, but we are happy to be left with the image of them as brothers in arms.

This is a long post, but I managed to get in much of what I needed in order to cover the topic of endings. Next week, some final thoughts on story structure.

Until then, keep writing!

Monday Musings: Humans Behaving Stupidly

In real life, it’s not so easy. When actors in life’s drama do dumb things, we can’t revise the narrative to avoid disaster.

We’ve all experienced the frustration. We’re reading a book or watching a movie or television show, and one (or several) of the lead characters in the story does something that’s just plain stupid. Blind to the peril before them, unwilling to heed the advice and warnings of others who know better, they rush headlong into danger, placing themselves and their loved ones at risk. We shout at the screen or curse the pages, knowing that terrible consequences will result from this patent idiocy, but on the characters go, compounding foolishness with carelessness and neglect and hubris until calamity befalls them. Deserved calamity. Chickens coming home to roost. Just desserts.

As a writer, I have to guard against doing this. Because the fact is, often bad choices by our lead characters can feed our narratives. “If only Character X would do this, then Characters Y and Z could do THIS, and wouldn’t THAT be cool!” Good editors — and I’ve worked with several — point out these moments and tell me to make certain Character X has a REALLY good reason for doing that not-so-smart thing. Because if they don’t have a good reason, this action will tick off my readers, putting them through that frustration I mentioned above.

And as an editor, I often have to flag moments in the manuscripts of my writers (or my clients) where they have led their protagonists down a foolish path, making them do things that serve the plot but not their own self-interest. “Make sure this is a reasonable, rational course of action,” I’ll say, “because otherwise this moment feels contrived, like something no clear-thinking person would do.”

Usually, in a fiction manuscript, the fix is fairly easy. We can get the characters to where the narrative needs them to be in a way that doesn’t feel so foolhardy and reckless. We can rewrite until it makes sense AND makes for a good story.

In real life, it’s not so easy. When actors in life’s drama do dumb things, we can’t revise the narrative to avoid disaster.

This past week saw climatologists record the four hottest days in human history. Monday’s record global temperature was measured by the U.S. National Centers for Environmental Prediction at 17.01 degrees Celsius (62.62 degrees Fahrenheit), exceeding the previous record, which was set back in August 2016, by about .09 degrees Celsius, or .16 degrees Fahrenheit. That might not seem like a lot, but for global averages that usually vary in tiny increments, this was a significant jump.

Monday’s record lasted one day. Tuesday was hotter. Wednesday was hotter still, and Thursday was even hotter than Wednesday. Thursday’s global average reached 17.23 degrees Celsius, exceeding Monday’s record by nearly .22 degrees Celsius, or more than twice the margin by which Monday’s global average exceeded the old record.

The records don’t end there. June 2023 was the hottest June on record. 2023 is shaping up to be the hottest year in recorded history. The last eight years have been the hottest eight years ever documented. And of the twenty hottest years measured by climate scientists since the mid-19th century, all of them — ALL OF THEM — have occurred in the first twenty-three years of this millennium. Ocean temperatures are at record highs, sea ice volume is at a record low.

Scientists across the globe used words like “terrifying” and “unprecedented” to describe last week’s temperatures, and several pointed out that while measurements of global temperature only go back to the beginning of the Industrial Age, evidence from other climatological data suggests that global temperatures could now be at levels not seen in more than 100,000 years.

And yet, none of the scientists interviewed by the major news outlets seemed overly surprised by what happened last week. Frustrated, yes. Surprised, not so much. And who can blame them?

When I was a senior in college, I took an environmental science class that was geared toward non-science majors: “Major Issues in Environmental Policy,” or something of the sort. During the course of the semester, our professor returned again and again to the threat to the planet posed by global warming and the unchecked increase in greenhouse gases being pumped into our atmosphere by automobiles, power generation, manufacturing activity, industrial agriculture, and other human endeavors. He warned of rising global temperatures and the resulting consequences, which included more extreme weather, greater risk of flooding, drought, and wildfires, shrinking glaciers, rising sea levels, etc., etc., etc.

Everything he predicted in that class has come to pass. Everything.

I took the class in 1985.

To be clear, last week’s record-setting heat was caused by a combination of factors, some related to human actions, others naturally-occurring. The spike in global temperatures resulted from a confluence of decades of climate change and the warming effect of this year’s powerful El Niño, a cyclical climate fluctuation caused by warmer than average currents in the Pacific. But researchers believe El Niño and its sister phenomenon, the climate cooling La Niña, have been occurring for thousands of years. Human-induced climate change in the X factor here.

And we, I am sorry to say, are the infuriatingly myopic characters I mentioned at the outset of this piece. We have been warned of the danger facing us time and again by people who know better — by climate experts, by NASA, by NOAA, by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, by the World Meteorological Organization, by a scientific community desperate to head off looming cataclysm. For half a century or more we have been told that this day would come, that our planet is hurtling toward a crisis from which it may not be able to recover.

We have delayed and denied. We have made excuses and engaged in the worst sort of incrementalism. We have watched as “once in a century” storms become routine, as horrifying wildfires blacken our landscapes and turn our skies apocalyptic shades of orange and brown. We have ignored all the warnings, and have thus saddled our children and generations to come with the responsibility of cleaning up our mess.

The events of last week merely confirmed what climate scientists have known for some time now. Climate disaster isn’t our future, it’s our present. It is here. At this point, knowing all we do, there is no good reason to ignore the science. Our own self-interest dictates that we must take action now. Because unless we, the characters in this tragedy, act immediately to change the course of humanity, to convince our political leaders that we care about our land, our water, ourselves, our children, our grandchildren, we will destroy the earth. An act of foolishness, of hubris, of neglect and carelessness and ultimate stupidity.

And who will be left to curse the pages of human history?

Cover Reveal: The Chalice War: Sword

Here it is! The jacket art for The Chalice War: Sword, coming from Bell Bridge Books on August 4. This is the final volume in the series — The Chalice War: Stone and The Chalice War: Cauldron are already out and available for purchase!

Some of the action in this third volume takes place in Ireland and some of it is set in . . . (wait for it) . . . the Underrealm — the Fomhoire world! I’ve been to Ireland, and drawing on those experiences to write the relevant chapters was great fun. And so was imagining the demon realm and bringing that setting to life. A challenge, yes, but also so rewarding as the world took shape.

The book includes many of the characters readers have encountered and come to enjoy in the first two books — Kel and Marti, Riann and Carrie, Manannán and the Battle Furies. And, as you would expect, this newest book also introduces a new set of characters in our world and in the Below.

So without further delay, here is the jacket art, done once more by the amazing Debra Dixon, who is my editor and publisher as well as the genius behind the art:

The Chalice War: Sword, by David B. Coe

Professional Wednesday: Beginnings, Middles, and Endings, part IV — Keeping Our Plots Tight

Today, I bring you one more “Middles” post in my several-weeks-long feature on “Beginnings, Middles, and Endings.” You can find past posts in the series here, here, and here.

I made the self-evident point a couple of weeks ago that the vast middle of any book is by far the largest segment, which is why I have spent a few weeks on the subject. At the same time, though, there are as many different ways to approach the middle (and the beginning, and the ending) as there are books to be written, which is to say there’s an infinite number. And so there are only so many specifics I can offer. This, it seems to me is especially true of the middle. Beginnings share a common purpose — we use them to hook our readers. Endings seek to cap off our narratives, tie off loose ends and, perhaps, hint at additional story elements to come in subsequent volumes.

The purpose of the middle is to tell the story. How’s that for vague?

As I say, the middle can take readers literally anywhere. That said, though, I believe strongly that every scene in the vast middle has to serve a narrative purpose. This is one reason why I tend to rely on an outline when I write. Even if that outline is rough and purposefully sketchy, it helps me organize my thoughts and plan out my story. I don’t do it because I’m OCD. (I mean, I am OCD, but that’s not why I outline. Or at least it’s not the only reason. Okay, moving on . . . .) I do it because I don’t want wasted pages in my manuscript. I want my pacing as taut and clean as it can be.

Shapers of Darkness, by David B. Coe (Jacket art by Romas Kukalis)I am currently reading through my Winds of the Forelands series, editing OCR scans of the books in order to re-release them sometime in the near future. Winds of the Forelands was my second series, a sprawling epic fantasy with a complex, dynamic narrative of braided plot lines. At the time I wrote the series (2000-2006) I worked hard to make each volume as coherent and concise as possible. Looking back on the books now, I see that I was only partially successful. I’m doing a light edit right now — I’m only tightening up my prose. The structural flaws in the series will remain. They are part of the story I wrote, and an accurate reflection of my writing at the time. And the fact is, the books are pretty darn good.

RADIANTS, by David B. Coe (Jacket art by Belle Books)But when I hold Winds of the Forelands up beside the Radiants books, or the Chalice War novels, or even my Islevale Cycle, which is my most recent foray into big epic fantasy, the older story suffers for the comparison. There are so many scenes and passages in WOTF that I could cut without costing myself much at all. The essence of the storyline would remain, and the reading experience would likely be smoother and quicker. — Sigh — So be it.

Again, the purpose of outlining, and the purpose of revising and editing, ought to be to make our work as concise and focused as possible. I can think of several books by big name authors that have in their vast middles scenes that meander, that serve little or no narrative purpose, that (in my opinion) actually detract from the larger story. I won’t name the books or authors, but chances are you have come across similar scenes in books you’ve read. Maybe you’ve encountered the same ones I’m thinking of. This is the sort of thing we want to avoid. Big name authors can get away with doing this occasionally. Authors seeking to break into the business, or mid-list authors looking to move up the ladder, simply can’t.

So, how do we avoid those superfluous, serve-no-purpose scenes?

Well, as I’ve said already, one way to avoid them is to outline. I know there are many dedicated so-called “organic writers” out there, and I respect that. Again, I outline loosely, precisely because I want to maintain the organic quality of my writing. Still, outlining really can help keep us from straying from our crucial plot points.

So can something called Vernor’s Rule. This is a writing principle I have discussed before in various venues. Allow me to explain it again here. “Vernor” is multiple Hugo-award winning author Vernor Vinge, who is best known for such books as A Fire Upon the Deep and A Deepness In the Sky. For a time, he and I had the same editor at Tor Books — that editor is the person who first told me of Vernor’s Rule.

Vernor’s Rule goes like this: There are basically three things we authors do as storytellers. We advance our plots, we build character, and we fill in background information. (Yes, this oversimplifies things a bit, but if you think about it you soon see that all we write can be placed under these three broad headings.) Every scene we write should be doing at least two of these things simultaneously. Preferably, each scene should do all three things at once. If a scene only accomplishes one of these things, or — heavens forbid — none of them, our narrative has stalled and we need to rework the scene.

Got that? If not, read the paragraph again — it sounds more complicated than it is. Really. It means essentially that writers need to multitask all the time. Every scene, every passage, ought to accomplish several things at once. That’s how we keep our narratives moving. That’s how we tackle the vast middle.

Next week we start endings. As it were.

Keep writing!

Monday Musings: Contemplating Our Republic As July 4th Approaches

This is a holiday week and Nancy’s first week as FORMER acting-president of the university. And so I am feeling lazy and rather unmotivated. I can think of lots of stuff to write about, but those thoughts have been slow to coalesce into a coherent post.

I find myself drawn to the idea of commenting on the July 4th holiday. Our nation is two hundred and forty-seven years old and while I’m sure the founders would be heartened, and probably somewhat amazed, that their experiment in representative government has lasted so long, I am also certain they would be troubled by the strength and prevalence of anti-democratic forces in today’s society. Rarely in our history has our republic appeared so frail.

I could go on for pages and pages about the damage the Supreme Court has done to racial progress in this country with its rulings in the Harvard and UNC cases. Affirmative Action, though demonized on the right for decades, was the single most valuable tool institutions of higher education had at their disposal to rectify racial underrepresentation at elite schools caused by historical and systemic socio-economic inequality. Without it, lingering inequities in our society will only get worse. In the name of “leveling the playing field” the conservative majority on the Court has actually allowed existing structural inequalities — better funded schools in White communities; standardized tests that have been shown again and again to favor White students of means; access to tutors, college admission consultants, and other resources that only the wealthy can afford — to be determinative factors in college enrollment.

But I could also go on and on about the Supreme Court’s ruling in the Moore v. Harper case, in which it rejected a fringe conservative interpretation — the so called “independent state legislature” theory — of the Constitution’s mandates regarding the administration of federal elections. Basically, the decision rejects the notion that state legislatures can do anything they wish, without being subject to state judicial overview, with regard to the creation of Congressional maps and the implementation of election lawse. This decision was a victory for democracy and it offered some hope that this Supreme Court conservative majority, while willing to ignore precedent in cases addressing abortion, Affirmative Action, and other long-established principles, is not simply a jurisprudential arm of the Republican National Committee.

I could lament the fact that for four years we allowed our nation to be hijacked by a venal, narcissistic, kleptocratic, authoritarian thug, who very nearly destroyed our system of government.

But he didn’t destroy it. Instead, he was defeated, soundly and legitimately, and his defeat was affirmed by Congress and the courts. Moreover, we can take satisfaction in seeing his legal chickens come home to roost, and I am hopeful that he will spend the bulk of his remaining years fighting off one well-deserved indictment after another.

And so it goes; so it has always been in this country. Dreams of progress are tempered by signs of retrenchment. Frightening assaults on the norms of a democratic society are countered by reassertions of our shared values. Our imperfect union stumbles forward and teeters back, lurching toward an uncertain future. There is an elegant simplicity to the system set up in our Constitution, one for which I gained enormous appreciation as a student of U.S. history. That simplicity, however, masks an unfortunate truth: ours is an inherently conservative system. I don’t mean this in a “progressive-versus-conservative” context, though often the mechanisms of our government do seem to favor political conservatism.

Rather, I mean that our Revolution was essentially a rebellion of the upper middle class. Learned elites threw off a monarchical system that had outgrown its usefulness and replaced it with a system designed to preserve the social order as it was understood and valued at the time, and to slow-walk any possible radical change that might be contemplated in the future. In essence, the founders sought to alter completely America’s governing realities with as little disruption as possible.

And so, in a sense, the system they created is intended to be frustrating to those of us who wish for systemic reform. That stasis, the founders believed, was a reasonable price to pay for stability. One could argue that a more flexible, change-friendly system might NOT have survived the last Administration. On the other hand, such a system might have allowed us to address decades ago problems of racial and economic inequality that have proved historically intractable.

What’s my point?

I’m flattered that you think I have one.

I suppose I am reminded of the Winston Churchill quote: “Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others.” It is easy on this Fourth of July to lament all that is wrong with our country. And no doubt there is a lot to lament. But it’s not all terrible, and the alternatives — some of which we glimpsed as possibilities just a few years ago, much to our horror — range from “not ideal either” to utterly unthinkable. All of which leaves me thankful for the republic we have, even as I chafe at the stubborn pace of progress that it allows.

I hope you have a great week. Enjoy your holiday.

Professional Wednesday: Beginnings, Middles, and Endings, part III — The 60% Wall

Today, I add to my series of posts about “Beginnings, Middles, and Endings,” with a continued focus on the vast middle of the novel. If you wish to go back and read my first two essays in this feature on openings and middles-part I, feel free to do so. We’ll wait.

Ah, very good. Moving on . . . .

Seeds of Betrayal, by David B. Coe (Jacket art by Gary Ruddell)I have spoken before about the recurring problem I have with manuscripts at about the 60% mark. For those unfamiliar with the phenomenon, which afflicts many writers — not just me — it is fairly simple to explain. When I write a novel, I tend to make fairly steady progress until I approach the final third of the narrative. At that point, I run into a wall. And this has been true from the very start of my career. I didn’t recognize the pattern until one afternoon, while working on my fourth or fifth book. I came downstairs after a frustrating day, and Nancy asked me how my novel was coming.

“It’s awful,” I said. “There is no story here. I don’t know what I was thinking. The whole thing has fallen apart on me, and I have no idea how to move forward.”

“Ah,” said she, without surprise or very much sympathy. “So, you’re about 60% in.”

Cue heavenly light and revelatory music sung by angels. Because, yes, I was 60% in. Apparently, I complained this way, at this exact spot, with every book.

As I say, this is not all that uncommon. Lots of writers struggle with a similar wall. For some it comes a little earlier, for others a little later. But I would suggest that it is caused for all of us by the same basic dynamic in our process.

For the first 60% of our narrative (again, your percentage may be slightly different) we are doing what comes naturally to us writers: namely piling layer after layer of awful shit onto our protagonists. We set them up with lives — with love and security and comfort, with friends and family and colleagues, with belief systems and confidence and purpose. And over the course of 250 pages, we strip all of that away. We throw tragedy at them. We place them in danger. We rob them of the things they need and love most.

Those of you who don’t write fiction might, at this point, ask why we do this. That is a topic for another series of posts. The short answer is, we are horrible human beings, possessed of unbounded cruelty, bordering on sadism. But we are also sane enough (barely) to understand we ought not to do all these terrible things to REAL people. And so we do them to our characters. Also, it makes for really good reading. And what that says about the rest of you, I will leave unspoken . . . .

In any case, after we have done all these awful things to our characters, we suddenly realize (for me at around 60%) that we have to start repairing some of this damage. We can’t end the book with our heroes tied in knots, their lives destroyed, their spirits broken. Because while readers might enjoy watching us torture the poor dears, they also want us to offer them redemption and a new start after all is said and done.

All kidding aside, the problem in plotting comes at that pivot point, the place where the tide finally turns and the main characters start to work their way out of crisis. Setting up all the bad stuff is actually pretty easy. Getting characters to move beyond it, to find their way to a new equilibrium — that’s hard.

So, how do we get past that wall? How do I defeat the 60% block again and again and again?

First, breathe. Our story has not suddenly blown up. The situation is not hopeless. This is no time to give up our dreams of being a writer and turn to orthodonture. Seriously, that turning point is never easy, and writing is not one smooth exercise in creation. Fits and starts are part of the process. So relax. There IS a story here, and there is a way to get our heroes to where we want them to be. But we have work to do. I can’t tell you how many aspiring writers have unfinished manuscripts that break off at this pivot point. Let’s not allow ours be one of them.

Second, we need to think about the ending we have in mind for our novel, and then work backward from there, step by step. What needs to happen in order for our narrative and our characters to get to that finale? Take notes, make a reverse outline, plot point by plot point. In doing this, we may realize that we need to make some revisions to the first 60% of the novel — adjustments that make the ending possible. That’s fine. This is our first draft. No one will know but us. Yes, we might even have to kill a darling or two. That’s part of being a writer.

Third, if the 60% problem still seems intractable, we need to look for places where our story as it reads now has deviated from what we had in mind when we first conceived of the narrative and its ending. Maybe we have taken a narrative detour, or added in a new character, or killed someone off who it turns out we need. Again, this is draft. Rewrites are part of the process. So if we have stuff to fix, so be it. Or maybe we keep those deviations in place and have to rethink our ending. That works, too. But we might need to make some adjustments.

Finally, we keep moving forward no matter what. Don’t give up. Don’t retreat into those rewrites now. We’ll make notes on all we have to revise in the earlier part of the book, and then we will finish. Because that’s what writers do.

Remember, the pivot is hard for all of us. We can overcome it. If we couldn’t, there would be far, far, far fewer books in this world.

Keep writing!

Monday Musings: What We’re Watching These Days

Today’s post is a bit late, for which I apologize. It also offers a break from some of the more weighty topics I’ve covered in my Monday posts. I sometimes feel that I get too serious with my essays week after week, and though I know people enjoy the Musings posts, I also don’t want to be a downer.

Nancy and I have been streaming some new stuff so far this year. For a time, some of you may remember, we were new to the world of streaming (and new to the world of high-speed internet) and were just trying to catch up on the shows everyone was talking about. At this point, we have worked our way through some of the well-known stuff — Ted Lasso, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Crown, and others. We have enjoyed them (mostly — the most recent season of The Crown left us cold; we didn’t finish it) and are new venturing into newer shows and other titles that we’re finding interesting. I should mention here that we currently have access to Netflix, Prime, Disney+, and Apple TV. We have not yet ventured into Paramount+ or HBO Max, though we intend to eventually.

With that in mind, here are a few of our recent favorites:

The Diplomat — Netflix: Keri Russell and Rufus Sewell as a dysfunctional couple who are both high-profile diplomats. He is undisciplined and currently out of work; she is newly assigned as the ambassador to London, a position that should be low key and cushy but proves anything but. His jealousy of her success and his repeated attempts to manipulate events behind the scenes threaten to wreck their marriage, despite the electric bond between them. The dynamic between the two is fascinating and compelling, the acting is terrific, as is the supporting cast. One season is done, and the show has been renewed for another.

The Night Agent — Netflix: Gabriel Basso plays a low-level FBI agent who answers a late-night call from a young woman (played by Luciane Buchanan) being hunted by the killers who, for reasons she doesn’t understand, have just murdered her aunt and uncle. Events quickly point toward a mole in the White House and a deadly plot against the U.S. government. You don’t want to think too hard about any of what happens, because there are definitely plot holes. And the scripts are not about win any Pulitzers. But the chemistry between Basso and Buchanan is terrific, and the storyline is compelling enough to pull one along for all 10 first season episodes. One season is done; show renewed for another.

The Last Kingdom — Netflix: A historical series set in England at the time of King Alfred (before there actually was an England). Alexander Dreymon plays Uhtred of Bebbanburg, a Saxon-born man who was raised by invading Danes and finds himself caught again and again between Danish warriors and the Saxons who seek to establish a kingdom that will unite all of England. The action can be brutal, bloody, and gruesome, and there is a good deal of explicit sex. But if you’re okay with that, this is interesting, suspenseful, and really well-acted. Highly recommended. Five seasons complete and a final movie, Seven Kings Must Die, also on Netflix.

Star Wars: Andor — Disney+: This entry in the Star Wars mythos is one that I watched while Nancy was traveling, and it really surprised me. I was sort of lukewarm on The Mandalorian and expected to feel the same way about this series, which traces the early years of Cassian Andor’s (Diego Luna) initiation into the rebel cause. For those who don’t know, Andor was one of the lead characters in the Star Wars movie Rogue One. This show serves as a prequel to that, and to the original Star Wars movie. As it turns out, the show is thoughtfully done, and the performances are quite good. I offer this along with all the usual caveats about anything Star Wars-related. Rabid fans of the franchise will already know about this series, but if you’re a casual fan of the movies, you’ll probably enjoy this as well. One season, renewed for a second.

Derry Girls — Netflix: Brilliant, hilarious, and utterly bingeable. This show originally aired on Irish TV, where it was a huge hit. You can now watch it on Netflix. It follows a group of high school kids living in Northern Ireland during the 1990s as the Troubles continue to consume the land. The humor is spot on, making the occasional moments of serious drama are all the more effective. The ensemble cast is quirky and perfect. The episodes are only 30 minutes long and there are only three seasons of the show, making it easy to get through in a long weekend. You won’t be sorry. Oh, turn on close captioning when you watch; the accents are thick. Three seasons. Complete.

Lockwood and Co. — Netflix: We’re watching this one now. Based on the novels by Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood and Co. follows three teens who fight supernatural spirits in a dystopian future London. The teens are portrayed quite well by Ruby Stokes, Cameron Chapman and Ali Hadji-Heshmati, and thus far (five episodes in) the storyline is certainly fun and intriguing enough to hold our interest. There are some plot holes, but the action and dialogue move things along quickly enough to keep one from dwelling on them for too long. Unfortunately, the series was cancelled after one season (10 episodes). One season; cancelled.

And there we are.

Have a great week.