Abendau’s Heir

Anyone who knows me, knows that lately I’ve been enthusing all over Twitter, Facebook and the Chrons (and yes, this blog too) about Jo Zebedee’s debut space opera Abendau’s Heir, Book 1 of the Inheritance Trilogy.

I’m always happy to support my fellow writers, especially those who are just starting out, but this one is special. Not just because it’s a very good book (which it is) but because I was lucky enough to have been one of Jo’s beta readers, way in the back and beyond when I was still learning what beta readers were supposed to do (and making quite a hash of it, most likely).

So when I picked up my digital copy of Abendau (physical copy should be landing in Northern Ireland today for Jo to sign!) I was understandably awestruck. This is the second published book I’ve had the chance to beta read (the first was Emma Jane’s beautifully spooky romance Shuttered), and since I already knew the basics of the story, what an experience to be able to sit back and enjoy the storytelling itself, marveling at the polished product.

From Amazon: Kare’s seen planets destroyed by the relentless expansion of his mother’s empire. Children killed. His own family murdered. With her power to manipulate minds she may be invincible. 

Only he has the power to stop her. Kare must either face the horrifying future his father foretold for him, or allow the sacrifice of millions of people to his mother’s ambition. But in opposing her, he risks everything: his friends, his loved ones… even his sanity.

Sounds dark? Well, yes it is rather. But needfully dark, not dark for the sake of shock-value bleakness. Because sometimes stories need to tread down the shadowed paths and lead us into horrible places and terrible consequences.

In Abendau’s Heir, Jo addresses something a lot of us have probably often wondered about: the chosen one trope and what it actually means to be that chosen one. I mean, really? How many of us would actually want that burden thrust upon us, and if we did, how would we deal with it?

She talks about that in this rather nice interview on Nathan Hystad‘s blog, and again on SFF World.

Abendau’s Heir is a story that covers a lot of time; it starts with the tale of Ealyn Varnon and then switches to his son Kare, spanning some twenty-odd years in the process. We have glimpses of a young Kare, on the run from the Empress with his father and twin sister, then later a teenage Kare who we then get to watch grow up. Yet all this jumping around in time doesn’t feel awkward, it flows smoothly from one scene to the next and helps us understand how Kare becomes the man he is, and why he makes the choices that he does.

I don’t read a lot of SF, being more of a fantasy girl myself. But although Abendau’s Heir is set in a vast, beautifully developed space scenario, this isn’t really about space, or space battles, or planetary landings. It’s about people: shy, frightened, happy, sad, troubled, awkward and just plain nasty people. And Jo does this very well indeed.

I’m looking forward to Book 2, which I haven’t read so it will be a pleasant surprise (and if anyone tries to spoiler it I shall stick my fingers in my ears and sing la-la-la-la-la). But more than that; with Abendau’s Heir, Jo has shown herself to be a star on the rise. I know she has a myriad of different projects underway, and I’ll be watching excitedly to see what she comes up with next.

abendau

Of Snow and Sheep

Here in Connecticut, April came rampaging in like a belligerent old ram. The mean-looking type with the big bad horns that Aries horoscopes always feature. The sort of creature that stands its ground, shakes those big bad horns and declares that “Winter ain’t over till I say so.”

I will now illustrate with a photo of my garden:

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You see my point? That old ram is just a big, obstinate, obstreperous meenie. It’s also supposed to represent all those born under the blessed sign of Aries. My own star sign, coincidentally. It’s said to epitomize all the pig-headed stubbornness of the Aries, the side of us that just won’t give up, no matter how many times we’re pushed over. That whole stick-your-chin-in-the-air-and-keep-going thing.

Guess what? If you’re a writer, that’s probably you as well. It’s hard work, this here writing gig. If you’re unpublished, you’re struggling to get your foot on the first rung. If you’re published, you’re trying hard not to grab a snake instead of a ladder and slide back a few spaces, or even all the way back to the beginning of the game board. Because even with all your hard work, you might still roll the wrong number on the dice.

So that’s us. Writer-folk. Hard-headed, stubborn, determined to meet whatever may come with horns down and at the ready.

And fabulously obstreperous.

Into The Woods: embrace the dark

Yesterday we rented ‘Into the Woods’, which I’d already seen with my daughter at the movies, and loved. Now it was time for a rewatch, and to share with my husband and son. After the movie finished, there was some debate on whether spoilery things that happen towards the end should happen at all. Because it takes a turn for the dark, right after all the happily-ever-afters take place. And I like that.

I like that the story doesn’t finish on a sunny everyone-loves-everyone note. Because no one’s story ends with the words ‘I do’, or the cuddly baby, or the fortune achieved. That’s just the start of everything else that comes next. And sometimes what comes next is good, but at other times it’s the breaking storm, the dark cloud, the sweeping wind. Because life is wild and unpredictable, and sometimes Things Just Happen.

That got me started thinking about books with that wild and unpredictable flair, that feeling of ‘hey, Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.’ Stories that take what you’re expecting and turn it around. The ride down the rabbit-hole which, instead of following a logical order and reaching a pleasing end, simply gets odder and odder. The journey to dispose of a ring that gets more and more painful, without respite, and then ultimately would face failure if not for serendipity.

In the best sort of stories, my favorites, people die, they get hurt, they falter and fail. I don’t like this sort of story because I enjoy reading about suffering, but because life can be harsh and a good tale needs to reflect the darkness that lurks beyond our sunny spot.

If you haven’t watched ‘Into the Woods’ yet, please do. For the wonderful songs, the fabulous twisting and tangling of traditional fairytales, and the great characters. But, most of all, for the darkness that lingers on throughout, at the corner of the screen, just waiting to pounce.

Into The Woods

Critique Groups

Critique and writing groups rock. Seriously, if you aren’t yet part of some sort of real life or virtual writing community that can give you support and help you cut through all the inevitable BS that gets tangled up in the good bits of your writing, then get thee to one right now.

My writing group is worth gold. Solid, 24k gold. We laugh together, hold each other’s hands when querying or on submission and brainstorm together. We aren’t afraid to hold a sharp scalpel to each other’s work. We often meet up just to hang out and write – in fact, in about an hour I’m off to our local bookstore to do just that, sit down with my friends and write.

I also belong to a fabulous online community, the SFF Chronicles (take heed, spec fic writers). The Chrons has a great aspiring authors forum, where you can ask any odd question that pops up along the way. Like ‘how do you get a horse into a tunnel?’ or ‘Should I go for a meteor or a dinosaur as my climax?’ Or one of my recent faves: ‘Help me figure out how to kill my rock monster!’ We also have a critiques forum for small excerpts; you haven’t lived until you’ve survived having something pulled apart and put back together stronger by the very knowledgeable Chronners. I’ve met great beta readers there – we take turns reading work for each other and giving feedback.

So if you don’t have this sort of support yet, I’d consider looking into it. You can find local groups pretty easily nowadays (I know my town library hosts one), and there are a wealth of great online communities like the one I belong to.

No one is an island, yadda yadda, bla bla bla. You know where this is going. Yeah, I like to sit at home alone in a tea-fuelled fog and write as much as the rest of you; antisocial little beasties, us writers. But try stepping outside your word cave (even if only virtually) and connecting with other writers. I can promise you there will be no regrets. Only solid, 24k gold rewards.

Weird Stuff #192

If you’re anything like me, you’re probably always scribbling odd, random notes on scraps of paper or typing snippets in your phone and forgetting about them. And then, if you’re like me, you find those notes eons later and wonder what in the name of Swiss cheese?!

For example, I found this one the other day:

“Beware the dragon”, the old man said. “She will fill your dreams with magic and moon-song, and you will have no choice but to follow her heedless path.”

But the dragon’s siren call… Ah, I dare you to resist. She will not be defied, but must instead be followed, with absolute abandon and complete devotion.

She cannot be seen, this dragon temptress, for she weaves her spell in the warm, dark recesses of the mind. She plants her seeds and watches them grow as stories and poems of all shapes and sizes. And then, like some poor honey-trapped insect, you must write or be destroyed, from the soul out.

See what I mean? Swiss cheese. Definitely.

And no, you can’t have some of whatever I was drinking at the time. In any case, it was probably apple juice. Or tea. And I don’t share tea.

There and Back Again

Or: When is a Ski Trip Like Writing?

*Disclaimer: despite the title, no hobbits were harmed in the making of this blog post.*

A week ago I was merrily packing for a little ski jaunt up to the beautiful Colorado Rockies. I was planning to catch up with my dad and spend some quality time with my kids. Mountain views and bonding time. Perfect.

Or so I thought.

Turns out that the one time I decide to go on a distant vacation without my husband is also the first time in almost two years that my youngest chooses to get sick. And then kindly passes me her cold. I ended up spending most of my week inside the condo, keeping her company or coughing. When I wasn’t cajoling my son to not give up on his snowboarding lessons.

Still, I did get the quality time I wanted with my dad and kids, even though it wasn’t quite the vacation I’d planned. And the views – even from inside – were truly lovely.

All in all, the week turned out to be a little like writing a novel.

“What’s that?” you ask. “Just how is a no ski ski vacation like writing a novel?”

Well, it is. Kind of. See, when you start out with a blank document and a fresh concept, you probably have some notion about where the whole thing is headed. Even if you’re not a planner, you have a rough idea of the layout of the land and where the ending lies. So you start writing. And then, eventually, you hit the first bumps. Your characters refuse to act the way you want them to. Maybe your minor throwaway guy decides he’s the true villain (more power to you, secret villain!). Or the princess wants to play with ray guns (Pow! Zap! Awesome!). And then the castle turns out to be a trap and the real kingdom is somewhere up above in the clouds and you’re fresh out of flying horses and it starts to rain…

Okay, maybe I got a little carried away. But you get where I’m going, right?

When you’re writing, your mind throws you curveballs all the time. And, much like vacationing with kids, you have to be prepared to roll with it. Your story may not take you along the lines you expected, but it will get there in the end, and who knows? You may just achieve everything you set out to do in the first place.

I can promise you one thing, though. The views will be fantastic.

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Uncle Bob

Tomorrow I’m off for a week’s skiing in Colorado. Because apparently we don’t have enough snow here in Connecticut. But that’s okay, because it’s ski snow and not lying-in-heaps-all-around-my-house snow. And we all know that ski snow is fun stuff, not help-my-back-is-broken-from-shoveling stuff. So all is good.

In the meantime, please to enjoy this bloggy thing I wrote for the very lovely Jo Zebedee. Jo, author of the upcoming Abendau’s Heir, was kind enough to invite me to guest on her blog. By which I really mean she mentioned she didn’t have a blog post for the weekend yet and I said “Oh please, Miss, choose me, pick me, me, me!” And eventually she took pity on my conspicuously raised hand and Bob, as they say, is your uncle. Yours, not mine, although I do have an honorary ‘Uncle’ Bob. Does that count?

It totally counts.