Author Archives: fictorians

A guest post by Michael A. Rothman.

For a fantasy writer, it’s very convenient to create your own world – because you follow the rules that you set. Much like the famous Twilight Zone saying, you control the horizontal and vertical.

However, what if you want to embark on a journey that isn’t quite set in the mundane world you’re familiar with, yet you might be exploring some of our world’s mysticism? Things like numerology, religion, and legends are all fodder for creative authors to take advantage of.

Why would someone choose to dive into what is essentially someone else’s world? Use its characters and storylines?

PartingSea

The answer is rather simple – people are already familiar with the beliefs of certain religions. That being said, if your story relates in some way to something familiar, you’ll have a premade audience that will instantly relate in some fashion to your work. Think about it. How many people are familiar with the parting of a particular sea, or the turning of water into wine?

WaterToWine

These images are only the beginning, consider other concepts that have been leveraged such as fortunetelling or numerology. In the case of numerology, Dan Brown in the oft-cited bestseller, The Da Vinci Code, uses numeric sequences as clues. He poses many what-if’s that people could go ahead and investigate on their own.

In fact, I just recently finished a manuscript that leverages numerological concepts that follow both a religious and numerological theme. The earliest forms of the bible were written in Aramaic (same lettering system as Hebrew). From this, a numbering system that assigned numbers to letters and words was formed and is oftentimes referred to as gematria. Many studies associated with the bible and its hidden meanings use gematria as a form of numerology. An example of such a thing would be where I use an upcoming villain’s name as a code. His name is Bedsem. It’s a play on words in another language, but suffice it to say that I’ve used the gematria system to associate a numeric value to it. One that people might recognize with a simple illustration.

Yes, I’m guilty as charged. I’ve crossed several genres of religion and “sciences” to associated my villain’s name with what is oftentimes posed as the ultimate villain.

Consider that with numerology, you have the ability to pose many “what if” type of questions to the reader. Take certain “coincidences” in the world and make them go “hmm”.

A word of caution, though. Some people might take offense.

Let’s face it, as authors, we will inevitably write something that people will take offense with. I recall having a scene in one of my earlier books where I had two twelve-year-olds holding hands when one of them decides to give the other a kiss on the cheek.

Wholesome, right? Not a big deal, you’d think?

Well 99% of the responses came back on stating how refreshing and wholesome the book was and how nice it was to have something that was “safe” for the kids to read, yet was an epic fantasy. I only mention this because I got one or two comments that inevitably crucified me (ok, maybe poor choice of words considering context) because I was treating kids as sexual objects who shouldn’t look at each other that way. And to think most people don’t believe we live in a puritanical society. Hah!

When you begin to leverage certain things that people might consider a pseudo-science, you might not get too many critics – unless you’ve botched up your facts. However, once you dive into religion or certain cultural affectation or historical references, that’s when the people who take offense can most certainly come out.

For instance, Salman Rusdie wrote a book called The Satanic Verses. It won many prizes and was critically acclaimed by the literary establishment. All good things. Good until such time as some very conservative followers of a particular religion took great offense. Since the book does touch on one of the prophets from this religion, there were those in the conservative community that didn’t appreciate the way their prophet had been characterized. Given this belief that their religion was being assaulted, there were calls for the author to be killed.

Needless to say, this is the extreme of such possibilities – but when you leverage the topic of religion, it needs to be with both eyes open. Understand how others would appreciate your work or possibly misunderstand your intent.

I’ve spent years informally studying religion, numerology, and related topics – so I’ve been cautious about introducing these things. Nonetheless, these are tools in an author’s toolbox that are easy to deploy, and they can be a powerful draw to an audience that is a match for your subject matter.

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Mike has had a long career as an engineer and has well over 200 issued patents under his name spanning all topics across the technology spectrum. He’s traveled extensively and has been stationed in many different locations across the world. In the last fifteen years or so, much of his writing has been relegated to technical books and technical magazine articles.

It was only a handful of years ago that his foray into epic fantasy started, but Mike is a pretty quick study. He’s completed a trilogy, has a prequel under consideration with editors, and is actively working on another series.

In the meantime, if you want to see his ramblings, he lurks in the following social media portals: Twitter – @MichaelARothman, Facebook, his blog, and his books.

The Inevitability of Myth

June 4, 2013

fictorians

Guest Posts The Writing Life 2 Comments

Guest Post by Gregory D. Little

The human brain craves stories at a fundamental level. In fact, it’s the world’s most prolific writer, constantly stringing together chains of perceived events in ways that both flatter and preserve itself. I’m not just saying that because I find it a flattering thought as a writer (though the irony is not lost on me). Science supports the claim. Modern psychology and neuroscience have uncovered hosts of mental biases and fallacies humans engage in constantly. David McRaney’s amateur psychology blog (and book) You Are Not So Smart explores such topics as Confirmation Bias (where you selectively and subconsciously only notice evidence that corroborates your existing world view while ignoring all evidence to the contrary) in entertaining detail. In Cordelia Fine’s wonderful book A Mind of Its Own, Fine demonstrates how the human brain constantly rewrites our perception of reality in order to construct only the most flattering of self-images. And if you are thinking to yourself “Well, other people might do that, but I don’t,” then I hate to tell you, but you are doing it right now.

I realize this may seem to have little to do with a blog about writing and myths, but bear with me, I’ll get there. Most of these mental fallacies and biases are heuristics, or short-cuts we use to cut corners with our mental processing. The brain uses a lot of energy. Over the generations it has developed these short-cuts as a way to save precious calories for better use elsewhere, like running away from that tiger that has been eyeing you. In days past, it didn’t matter if you understood the complex nuances of a situation perfectly if taking the time and energy to do so got you eaten. Most of the time an 80% solution was enough.

That leads directly into the second reason the human mind loves stories, that of self-preservation. The brain is constantly looking for meaning and agency in things it observes. The reason is simple. Using our tiger example again, if the bushes behind you suddenly rustle, most of the time it’s just the wind. A random event, not terribly interesting. But on the off chance it’s your tiger friend preparing an ambush, maybe you’d better run just in case. Our most successful ancestors found meaning in things that lacked meaning (another way to put this might be finding narrative where none exists) because doing so was a lot less dangerous than not finding narrative and attributing the rustling to random wind. Because when you’re wrong on something like that, you don’t get another chance to be right.

So the human brain craves stories both for its own flattery and to keep itself alive. Is it any wonder we love to lose ourselves in a good narrative, particularly one in which we know we aren’t going to be eaten by the tiger? But how does this relate to myth? In my view, myths are the combination of these two basic elements in their purest form. Myths are the stories, the narratives we invented to explain the world around us while we still lacked the scientific framework we make use of today. Myths are also the legends we passed down through the generations that show humanity at its best. Myths feature noble heroes fighting wicked monsters, bad people getting their just desserts and children who fail to listen to their parents getting eaten by the wicked witch. Has there ever been a purer metaphor for the existential terror every parent feels for the safety of their child than some of those old cautionary tales?

The world is never as simple as myth depicts it. Real heroes are always flawed and always disappoint us when those flaws become public. Sometimes bad people don’t get punished and good people do. Earth is not sitting on the back of a giant turtle. Life is complicated, but we crave simplicity. We want black and white answers to moral dilemmas. We yearn for incorruptible heroes and villains as easy to discern as Lord Voldemort. We demand a universe that conforms to our very limited capacity for metaphor and common sense. Myths show us the world as we wish it was. For these reasons and more, the creation of myths was and will continue to be inevitable. As writers, we would be fools not to consider that when we sit down at our keyboards. These are the stories that have stood the test of time by tapping into deep wells in the human psyche.

In composing this blog, I started thinking about the word “myth” and its multiple connotations. The meaning I’ve referred to up to now evokes grandiose images and archetypal tales. But the word “myth” has another connotation, one that means simply “false”. I said that we would be fools not to consider the power of myths in our writing. But we would also be remiss in not considering this second meaning of myth. Because the world isn’t as simple as we wish. Quite often a mental short-cut isn’t enough, either in writing or in life. And that realization can carry a power every bit as profound–if not nearly as simple–as that evoked by the myths we love.

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Rocket scientist by day, science fiction and fantasy author by night, Gregory D. Little’s short story “The Skylings” will be published in Azure Keep Quarterly in June. His short fiction has additionally earned a Semi-Finalist and an Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future short story contest. He is currently hard at work on his third novel, a YA fantasy. He lives in Fredericksburg, VA with his wife and their yellow lab.

What If?

May 25, 2013

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Guest Posts Reading The Writing Life No Comments

ValoisTapestry_HeidiB_guestPost — Valois Tapestry

Every story had a question lurking just beyond its boundaries… What If? That question shaped the characters, setting, and plot of the tale told.

What If a farmboy left his home planet to join a rebel alliance (Star Wars)? What If all of the fictional locations of literature existed on a real map (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica)? What If a wizard lived in Chicago (The Dresden Files) and What If a two-thousand-year-old druid lived in Arizona (Iron Druid Chronicles)?

Growing up, I found I enjoyed most the What Ifs with fantasy or science fiction answers. If the answer to a What If was “literary” or real world, I wasn’t interested.

And always, always, it was the characters of the story, how they answered the What If, who kept my attention. They were the reason I went back and bought another book by that author.

So when I started writing my own stories, answering my own What If questions, I started with a character. Later I learned to use the word “protagonist,” but in fifth grade, it was just the person I wanted to watch in the movie in my head.

Much later, like after college, I figured out most of my What If questions came to mind while listening to stories about other protagonists, and the answer was provided by a side character.

The short story that became my first sale required the opening line “In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive by my house.”

My question became What If a yeti terrorized the town of Pigwell every winter and a ten-year-old boy couldn’t stop it? (See what I mean about fantasy and science fiction influences?) So while the “hero” called in by the boy fights the yeti, the story is from the point of view of the boy, a side character.

My first novel’s What If popped into my head when my boyfriend told me about an RPG he played which took place in a fantasy city. I have no desire to play an RPG (dice rolls make my eyes glaze over), but hearing about his character’s adventure as if it were a movie can be fun.

The side characters in that kind of game are often referred to as NPCs-non-player characters, like a centaur, who give out important quest information. In my mind, What If that centaur ran a bar in a city overseen by someone who hated non-standard (Human, Dwarf, Elf) races? In the world of the RPG, he was a side character. In my world, he had a larger role to play.

Characters define the point of view of the story. The reader sees through their eyes and through their actions, the reader understands the plot. Thinking of my protagonist as a side character is also a helpful way to start a bigger story, since other players with other motives are then waiting on the sidelines to make their presence known.

Some series do a great job of this, such as the Legend of Eli Monpress. The thief is the protagonist, and as the story develops over the five novels, the reader learns how small he is in the grand scheme of things… and also how vital.

Because side character protagonists are the center of their world. They have to be in order for the reader to care about what happens to them. And you want the reader to care, otherwise they won’t buy your next book.

Imagine looking at a tapestry that spanned the length of a museum wall-huge and detailed at the same time. By focusing on one part of the tapestry, deciding to write from the farmboy’s perspective instead of the emperor’s, you get a different What If to answer. And you still have lots of room to tell future stories that include the other people and places and plot threads in the tapestry.

While every story started with a What If in the author’s mind, whom they chose to be the protagonist defined the adventure that happened.

And side characters can have some awesome adventures.

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Heidi Berthiaume is a side character in an epic story who writes, develops children’s book iPad apps, edits fan music videos, and has almost figured out what her own adventure will be. You can find out more on her website and on Facebook.

Seeking Wisdom and Import from Bastions of the Banal

May 16, 2013

fictorians

Guest Posts The Writing Life 1 Comment

A guest post by Quincy Allen.

Like so many born in the sixties, I was raised on television. In my case it was mostly cartoons, and I reveled in them because they took me “someplace else.” Even as a preschooler I found the real world to be banal. Something was always missing from the universe around me, a sense of purpose in crisis. To put it bluntly, suburbia was-and still is-a hive, one with few predators beyond shady car salesmen and cut-throat roofing companies.

By design, the culture of suburbia suppresses any sense of crisis, attempting to bubble-wrap existence at every turn. It strives to create cogs born and bred for the great machine that is our society. That’s not a condemnation, merely an observation. Such were my early stomping grounds, and many of us-particularly devotees of geekdom-have our roots in just such culture.

Interestingly, there is a misapprehension among many Americans raised in suburbia that the Chinese character for “crisis” is the same as the one for “opportunity.” While this is inaccurate, I believe many of us cling to the notion because it speaks to an inner-self that few ever explore in their daily lives. It is this same inner-self that appreciates the film Fight Club and why most of us remember the phrase, “That which does not kill you makes you stronger,” probably learned from the 1982 film Conan rather than from having read Nietzche.

These things speak to us because we’re all seeking something, and in suburban society we can only find it in fiction and films depicting the fantastic. What we seek is import and wisdom-a sense of participating meaningfully in great events that shape the fabric of existence-whilst going mindlessly along in whatever daily grind holds sway over our mortgages and rent payments. Yet we desperately hunger for the wisdom of the ages, learned through epic events that threaten our sense of existence, whatever that may be.

During my formative years-and thanks to my brother-I discovered a handful of authors who stole me away from the banal. Within their tales I was carried to the stars and bore witness to great events, learning from them as if I had been an active participant. I discovered places like Heinlein’s Mars and Zelazny’s Amber. I cut my imaginative teeth on stories spun by Asimov and Clarke, delving deeply into tomes like The Science Fiction Hall of Fame Volume I (printed in 1971 and sitting on a shelf next to me as you read this). They were my first real exposure to import and wisdom, and done in a way that was both intriguing and meaningful to a tenant of the banal.

Philosophers-and they were philosophers-like Campbell, Sturgeon, Bradbury, and Leiber shaped what was a very young, hungry, and naive mind. I was the chalice to their wine, and what I learned between those pages read so long ago still shapes who and what I am today. Zelazny taught me what a shadow walk is and how to appreciate the significance of journey, even when I’m just hiking the Rockies. Heinlein gave me a comprehension of what it means to “grok” and helped me understand why a human should know how to “change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly.” Thanks to Laumer I understand the difference between men of action and men of sophistry; I comprehend what loyalty is and have a sincere sense of duty in the face of personal sacrifice.

I am a son of many such fathers… and mothers like Le Guin and Sheldon who helped me understand the differences between the sexes and, more importantly, how shameful inequality in any society really is. I have many more such parents, but you get the point. These thinkers, these visionaries, shared with us their distinct notions of humanity, speculating upon “what if” we were to take current societal constructs and follow them to their inevitable conclusions. Either that or they took societal norms, turned them upside down, and held them up to the light for all to see.

And thus, having set out upon this journey of becoming an author in my own right, I find myself editing my second manuscript. In it I alter American history and explore bigotry, zealotry and sexism. I hold them up to the light and expose hypocrisy. I cast in harsh light those who would discriminate and subjugate, dealing with them via the heavy hand of a six-gun-packing privateer. It’s pure fantasy, to be sure, and pulpy, but under the surface there’s a theme of equality, of treating with other sentient beings in precisely the same manner we wish to be treated.

I can’t imagine that my work will be as highly regarded as those great visionaries who influenced me, but I can aspire to walk in their footsteps and-perhaps-make my own small contribution to what Arthur in Excalibur referred to as “future memory.”

It is a dream I have.

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Quincy Allen has been published in multiple anthologies, online and print magazines, as well as in one omnibus. His steampunk version of Rumpelstiltskin is under contract with Fairy Punk Studios, and he’s written for the Internet radio show RadioSteam. His novel Chemical Burn-a finalist in the Rocky Mountain Writers Association Colorado Gold Writing Contest-was first published in June 2012, and has been picked up by Fantastic Journeys Publishing. His new novel, Jake Lasater and the Blood Curse of Atheon, will be on sale this summer, and he’s writing an off-world steampunk-esque series. You can follow his ongoing exploits on Facebook and at his website.