News

End of an Eraā€¦at least for me

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The original self-published versions of the Riyria Revelations will soon be retired. The rights to the series are about to be transferred to Orbit which means the Ridan versions will be discontinued.
Print books are being discontinued first. The Crown Conspiracy will be off the market in perhaps as little as a week. The rest of the print books will be phased out by the end of July. Ebooks will be phased out and completely off the market by the end of August.
Percepliquis, the final book in the series, will be released in January to complete the set of six. I will be revealing the cover art for this final book here on this blog next week.  
For those of you who read my little books when no one else would–and you know who you are–thanks. In case you didnā€™t know, Robin and I did all the work on those ourselves. Robin handled the editing, and I did the cover art, the design art, and the book layouts right down to picking the same font that was used in the Harry Potter books, because we found that to be the most attractive and readable. In a strange kind of way, you could almost say they were handmade, at least they felt that way, and I hope you enjoyed the books as much as I enjoyed making them.

Writing Advice

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Iā€™ve shied away from writing posts on how to write even though I am aware that a sizable section of my audience is likely aspiring writers and might appreciate some insight or at least validation. The reason Iā€™ve avoided such topics is that I donā€™t know how to write. Let me clarifyā€”Iā€™ve never ā€œlearnedā€ how to write in any structured sense.
I never had any formal education beyond the one Creative Writing class in my sophomore year of high school, where I and two of my friends terrorized our teacher by turning Mother Goose rhymes into gritty urban satires. This sort of cutting edge inventiveness might succeed in later life, but doesnā€™t play well in suburban classrooms. In that same class I did achieve my first serious notoriety. The assignment was to write a short story (two pages) about a photograph of a flower. I penned a story about a boy sent topside from the bunker where the last of humanity was trying to survive a nuclear holocaust. His job was to search for signs of life, but the boy was of a generation born in the bunker. When he stumbled on the flower he plucked and discarded it thinking: how could anything so fragile hope to survive in such a world as theirs. The teacher read the story in front of the class, and when the teacher revealed that I wrote it, the best writer in our class–a girl by the name of Megan–was unable to control herself and said in utter shock, ā€œA boy wrote that?ā€
Beyond this, I have had no formal training. I only attended a little over a year of college at an art school, where they did not even teach English much less writing. I never read a book on how to write, or attended a seminar. And not only had I not visited a writing group until after I was published, I never talked to another writerā€”not even a remotely aspiring one. I had spent a decade earnestly trying to learn to write in a total vacuum.
It was not until I signed with Catt,  my first agent, who had agreed to represent The Crown Conspiracy, that I began to discover how much I didnā€™t know. She politely mentioned a problem with my point of view and sweetly indicated that there were a couple of places where I was telling and not showing. I had never even heard of these terms before. For those of you who arenā€™t in the business of writing, these are some of the first things a writer learns if he/she is attending workshops or classes. It turned out I was trying to do calculus without even knowing what addition and subtraction was.
Later, about the time Avempartha was being published, my wife got me into a seminar at George Washington University. It was headed by Mary Morrissy, the award winning Irish author of Mother of Pearl.  On occasion, after class a few of us would join her at one of the tiny Georgetown pubs and chat while we watched people pass by the window. Upon learning that I was already published Mary asked why I was in the class. I replied that I was there because I never learned to write in any formal way. To this she replied, ā€œThatā€™s probably why youā€™re successful.ā€
So you see from my experience I donā€™t see I have all that much to offer. Besides the concept of giving advice on how to go about writing strikes me as a bit arrogant, pretentious, and fairly stupid as no two writers, or approaches, are alike, nor should they be. There is an infinite number of readerā€™s preferences and as such there should be an equal amount of literary variety to service them. Probably the best advice I can give a writer, is not to listen to anyoneā€™s advice. There are many books I would have deemed unpublishable, or incapable of gaining an audience, which have won the Pulitzer or reaped fortunes for the author. Iā€™m certain I am not alone in my ignorance of what will and wonā€™t be successful. Advice-givers can only speak about their opinions, about what they feel works best, and this might only work for them. Granted there are some universally accepted rules, but even those can be successfully broken.
On the other hand, I am frequently asked for advice about writing. I could tell everyone what I just told you and leave it at that, but this strikes me as a miserably screw-it-forward attitude. It isnā€™t so much that I donā€™t want to offer suggestions, it is merely that I have no idea if my currency of thought will have value for anyone else, and Iā€™d hate to derail anyone on the track to greatness by indicating that what they are doing is wrong and having them listen to me.
On my third hand, everyone has to start somewhere, and fearing that a writer will be ruined by listening to my advice is in itself awfully arrogant. It suggests that people arenā€™t capable of thinking for themselves and determining on their own, the merit of anotherā€™s advice.
My wife is a great substantive editor. She has a logical, detail-oriented, engineering type mind. She also has a strong personality and isnā€™t afraid of debating a character, or plot point even with the guy who invented the world and all the people in it. I can imagine Robin critiquing God on platypuses. ā€œSeriously? Youā€™re going to put this in? You donā€™t think itā€™s a littleā€¦I donā€™t knowā€¦stupid? Comā€™on a mammal that lays eggs? Thatā€™s inconsistent with everything else you created. I know you love it, but come on. Itā€™s bizarreā€”an egg-laying, venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal? Thereā€™s no way that stays in.ā€
After Robin rips my book apart, I sit down and determine whether to accept her advice or not. In the end it is always my decision. (The other thing that makes Robin a great editor, is that she accepts it when I reject her ideas without asking for a divorce.)
The best I can do then is offer what Iā€™ve learned and you can decide for yourself if you think itā€™s useful. In so doing, there is the chance I might provide someone with that missing piece theyā€™ve been needing. As such–and this has been quite the preamble–I will begin offering what wisdom I have on how to write novels in a series of posts that I will try and write once a week. Weā€™ll see how that goes.
In the meantime, here is the first bit of advice that plays into the bit about Robin helping me with my books. When you receive advice on a manuscript, donā€™t make a decision. Initially all critiques are grating. No matter how nicely delivered, hearing criticism is painful. Most people become defensive. They want to stand up for themselves and explain why it has to be that way, and what the reader clearly missed. Iā€™ve learned that if you get defensive with people giving you honest critiques, you wonā€™t get them anymore. So controlling that reflex is important.
The other thing I found is to wait. Iā€™ve gotten into long running debates with Robin about parts of my books. I argue with her over my work (something I only do with her, because I know sheā€™s capable of standing up to it) I even get angry, though I try to hide it. I defend my stance and have often won the arguments. Then the next day I sit down at my computer. When Iā€™m alone with my thoughts and no one can see, I reevaluate. The anger is gone, the embarrassment, and pride are all someplace else, and it is just me alone with the decision. Most of the time I realize she was right and I quietly make the change.
Robin will then be proof reading the passage and stop. ā€œHey, I thought you werenā€™t going to change this?ā€
ā€œChange what?ā€
ā€œWhat do you mean, what? We argued over this for hours. The neighbors almost called the cops. Whyā€™d you change it?ā€
ā€œI have no idea what youā€™re talking about, itā€™s always been that way.ā€
I might have gotten away with it if she hadnā€™t saved the previous copies on her computer.
So getting honest advice is a rare gift. Being able to determine whether to accept it or not is priceless. And getting away with making it look like it was your own idea all along, just doesnā€™t work.
Stay tuned for more writing tips and if you have any specific questions, things you donā€™t understand, things that you have problems with, or are just curious about, let me know. I may not know the answers, but I lie real well.

The Power of Creation

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One day not long after my wife Robin finished reading the last book of The Riyria Revelations she said something most curious to me, something Iā€™ve not forgotten, nor am I likely to, for it made me think of writing in a whole new way. Before I can tell you what she said I need to explain how I came to write The Riyria Revelations so you can grasp the full weight of the comment.
I have come to believe that all great things start very small. I suppose if I could go back to the start of the American Revolution, it would seem an inconsequential thing at the moment it began. A few people feeling foolish as they stood on a lawn before dawn wondering what they were doing, and having no concept that it would be this moment that would define a nation and shape much of the world to come. The moment of beginning, the sparks that lit the fire always seem vague and fleeting, easily forgotten, easily lost–until the blaze. In the aftermath everyone wonders how did such an inferno begin. By that time everything is soot and ash, everything marked and changed by the fire that consumed it. Then time steps in and memories fade. Soon stories replace facts and history is laid in cement poured years after the fire as a memorial rather than protection of the truth.
When I think back to the birth of significant moments in my life such as the first time I saw my wife, I remember a legend that has grown up and evolved with the telling we both had a hand in. But I strongly suspect that should I go back to witness the actual event, it would not be as grand as I recall. I expect the moment would pass without my noticing. Such was the beginning of Riyria.
I suppose my readers might imagine that I began building this series with great intent. The truth is I was bored. I found myself with a great deal of time on my hands and absolutely nothing to do. My business was running itself, my children were dealt with, and my wife was busy elsewhere. I was alone in the heat of summer with nothing to occupy me, and this situation was not likely to change for some time. I saw months stretching out ahead, empty and dull. With me if you mix lots of time, and boredom together, strange things will happen. Only with vast amounts of open time could I ever have imagined writing a six book story-arc. I can hardly imagine any sane person sitting down one day and thinking, Iā€™m going to write a single story that is the length of six books. A story that wonā€™t really even make complete sense until the final few pages of the final book. Anyone might think such a thing perhaps, but a person needs to be a bit cracked to actually sit down and start typing.
Yet, that is what happened. In the heat of a North Carolina summer, at a time when our air conditioner was broken, I positioned myself as close as possible to the open window in my bedroom, and began typing the first pages of The Crown Conspiracy on an old beat-up computer. It never crossed my mind that I was creating anything significant. I never expected anyone would read what I wrote that day, much less that it would be read by tens of thousands and now on the verge of global publication. If I had known such things I might have taken more care with names, more time with the prose. Yet I suppose if I had known, I would have been paralyzed by fear. Still the fact is that I just sat down and with a skeletal outline in my head I began writing the first story of Royce and Hadrian. No one noticed. No one cared. That act was no more important than when I went downstairs afterwards to do the dishes–and at the time doing the dishes carried more value.
I mention all this because after reading the last book of the series, Robin became very depressed. She was upset because there were no more stories of Royce and Hadrian. And it was in this state, that Robin came to me and said the most curious statement that had me re-thinking what it was I now did for a living. She approached me with a glint in her eye, a wry smile that revealed a hint of having come to a sudden discovery and she said to me, ā€œYou can bring them back to life whenever you want to.ā€
At first I had no idea what she was talking about.
ā€œRoyce, Hadrian, all of them, that whole world–you can make it come alive again whenever you want to.ā€
This was her way of suggesting that I write more about her friends. Perhaps, Royce and Hadrian The Early Years. I took it as a joke, but that first statement hadnā€™t been carried in a tone anything like a joke. It was a revelation that almost sounded accusatory, as if I knew this all along, as if I were some crafty wizard with hidden power that she only then understood. In the moments afterwards, I realized I had never thought about what I did. I had only sat down and typed ideas that I pulled from the top of my head. They were mere thoughts to me, but what I discovered was that to readers, to those who fell in love with Royce, Hadrian, Arista, and Thrace, what I did was nothing short of magic.
The more I considered this, the more I began to realize that the power to build a story, to create characters and places that resonate with people on personal levels, is a form of magic–the power of creation. For Robin is right. I could sit down at any moment and bring it all back. I could, with a motion of my fingers, raise the sun on a new day, in a new world. A world that others have walked in, a world where people Iā€™ve never met know the sound of Hadrianā€™s voice. To me it never seemed like much, but when I saw it through Robinā€™s eyes, I understood I was as powerful as Esrahaddon with hands.
I created worlds.
I just finished watching Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Iā€™m a fan of the book series by C.S. Lewis and felt they did a good job on this one. It got me thinking how it was when I first read the series in my youth, and how real the stories were. It is as if Narina is a real place where I, just like Lucy and Edmund once went. And I realized that this power, this magic that Tolkien and Lewis had, that they used to create wonderful worlds, doors through which I passed as a boy, had somehow come to me. I would not put myself on that same high shelf, and left alone I would never consider that I was similar at all, but apparently it isnā€™t what I think, it is what others think. Perhaps Tolkien and Lewis never thought much of what they had done either. Arthur Conan Doyle so famously despised Sherlock Holmes for derailing his serious literary career that he killed him off, only to have to bring him back due to the outrage of fans.
Discovering this is surprising. Facing it is to accept that true magic does exist. Every fiction writer has the power to will into being, people, places and worlds. We can conjure ideas that others believe in so strongly they will weep at invented tragedy, and cheer at fictitious victory. What a strange and wonderful power we wield–this power of creation.
Still the magic only works if someone reads.
Thanks for reading.

Lost in Translation

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Foreign language rights for the Riyria Revelations have either been sold to, or are in the process of being sold to, the Czech Republic, Russia, Spain, France, Germany, and Poland. For those of you who have never engaged in foreign language translations of their work, you might wonder, what this means to the author. Sadly it doesnā€™t mean you get to go to these places and chat in exotic cafes with linguists about the meanings of words while waiting for the bullfight, or Oktoberfest to start, but it does have some very pleasant benefits.
First it means a lot of money. While none of the foreign publishers are willing to pay the kinds of advances that a domestic New York house is–letā€™s face it, ten thousand here, ten thousand there, eventually adds up to more than enough to buy a cup of coffee. When my agent sent over my first foreign language contract it was for just a bit more than four thousand dollars, and being new to this whole arena I assumed thatā€™s what I could expect from foreign language sales. I wasnā€™t complaining. I never even thought of foreign deals when I was first published. Somehow in my sheltered mind, I assumed that such things were handled by a publisher and that the author had little involvement and saw little reward from a proliferation of their titles. So this was like bonus money being thrown at me, a nice little holiday gift.
Then when I was presented a contract for 45,000, I was astonished until I saw that it was 45,000 euros. When I noticed that, my excitement dulled. I had been to Mexico for my honeymoon and knew the insane prices of things in pesos. Back then an onyx chess set carried a price tag of 4,000 – 10,000 pesos. I saw this and my jaw dropped until my wife explained that was something like twelve dollars. So seeing 45,000 euros I assumed that meant the deal was for another four or five thousand, but probably less. Only I had it backward. In todayā€™s market, and it fluctuates hourly, 45,000 euros equals about $66,000. That was a lot more than enough to buy even one of those fancy coffees with the milk that they make into the designs of flowers. And that was for just one sale, and there are a lot of other languages and countries. This is just one of the reasons I love my agent.
The second thing foreign language sales mean to the author is that you get to see your books in languages you canā€™t even read. I know that might sound strange, but there is a certain mystique in knowing you wrote something as enigmatic as a book you canā€™t read. They also make different covers. And seeing how your book is portrayed in the art of another country is always fun.
Lastly, foreign sales provides a fascinating insight into the art of translating, which can sometimes be humorous. I am corresponding right now with a Spanish translator who is working on The Crown Conspiracy. I receive emails every other day with interesting, and at least for me, entertaining inquiries. 
Questions like:
What is Salifan? And how do you make sausage with it?
What is a ā€œlow pocketā€ where water gathers?
What is a ā€œwayward traveler?ā€
What does ā€œdaftā€ mean?
What is a Fall retreat?
Are Tiliner rapiers swords from a place called Tilin?
Is the Rilan Valley named after a river called the Rila?
These last two fascinate me, and got me wondering if the translator was right. It also made me curious about the differences between languages that brought these questions to mind. In Spanish, are names of things often related to associated things?
What really wreaks havoc on the translators are idioms like the one I just used in this sentence, or plays on clichĆ©s such as when Hadrian says, ā€œI have been known to hit the forest from the field.ā€ The translator knew this meant something more than what it literally stated, but wasnā€™t sure what.
And then there are special cases like Wintertide. It is a word that literally means ā€œwinter timeā€ but translating it that way would lose the meaning. 
I now have a desire to learn other languages just to be able to read my books and see how they came out. How will Royce sound with a Spanish accent?
ā€œHola, Senior Hadrian! Buenas dias, Senior Royce.ā€ It sounds like a Riyria/Don Quixote mash-up.
At present the only non-English version presently available is the Czech version, that MStajer reported on. So you who are multilingual, will need to keep me informed on the quality and general impression as the others are released.

Thereā€™s No Place Like Home

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I had a friend who went to Mexico and was very careful to avoid drinking the water. He thought himself clever by only drinking Coke-a-cola as he didnā€™t trust the bottled water there. I think he even brushed his teeth with it. What he never thought of, what was his downfall, were the ice cubes. Itā€™s the little things that ruin us. He contracted the famous Montezuma’s Revenge, a form of poisoning caused by ingesting contaminated food. The upside was that he had wanted to lose weight and I think he dropped thirty pounds or something. It added a whole new definition to the term ā€œliquid diet.ā€
Itā€™s been a long grueling two weeks, during which I attended the Nebula Awards, the BEA, and Balticon. I got back last Monday, and I am only now recovering, but that has more to do with the stomach flu than the trip. Although since we brought the bug home with us, I lump it all together. I learned a lot, or I thought I did. In some ways Iā€™m like Dorothy returning to Kansas wondering if it was all a dream, and if I would be happy or sad to find it was.
I have a friend, a Science Fiction writer by the name of Jamie Todd Rubin, who considers himself a fan first and a writer second. He is a voracious reader, one of those people who has read everything and yet in a recent post on his blog laments his realization that there are not enough hours in a day, or days in a life, to read everything. He idolizes authors, has read their autobiographies and can pull dates of publications from memory. He also attended the Nebulas and Balticon. For him it was a chance to meet with gods, to wander the pantheon of some of the greats. I on the other hand felt like a Christian accidently invited to a Mt. Olympus dinner party. I didnā€™t know anyone.
Iā€™m just not that big of a reader. I know that sounds strange. Writers are supposed to be readers. How else can they learn to write? The problem is that I read very slowly. Itā€™s not unusual for me to take months to get through a single book. Also, the time I would spend reading is the same time I can spend writing, and these days writing is what pays the bills, so guess which wins? Finally I am very hard to please. It is one of the reasons I started writing in the first place. Frustrated with never finding a book that I could enjoy, I wrote my own. Out of the perhaps thousand of books or so that I have read over my lifetime, I only really liked about five. The rest I thought better than average, were so-so, or out-right awful. (At this point you are really happy not to have me reviewing your unpublished manuscript.) This has only become worse as I have progressed as a writer. The more I learn, the more critical I am. I tend to read books like a slush-pile intern. I usually canā€™t get through the first page without finding enough fault to close the book. I just donā€™t have the time anymore to invest in reading a book that isnā€™t really good. So in short, unlike Mr. Rubin, I would not style myself a fan of writers. After all, I am one now, and I know Iā€™m nothing special.
So it was sadly humorous to sit on panels with other authors, who I didnā€™t know in the slightest–they could have been cookbook editors as far as I knew–only to find out afterwards that they were giants of genre literature, authors such as Joe Haldeman and Jack McDevitt, not to mention Nora Jemisin and Paolo Bacigalupi. I was asked how I managed to score such sweet appearances with such illustrious names. To quote the Twain version of the often quoted phrase, ā€œIt is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.ā€ I would just smile and nod. I did that a lot.
Then it was on to New York.
Snapped trying to find my way back to my hotel
Robin wanted to attend the BEA, (BookExpo America.) Given that I was setting a scene in the book I am presently writing in New York I tagged along to do research. When my publisher heard I was in town, they arranged several meetings and events, and thatā€™s where the trip turned surreal. I had dinners with my agent, lunches with my editor, RSVP only cocktail parties with multiple publishers, authors, reviewers, publicists, etc. I was literally wined and dined. Every day it was something new. I felt like I was lost in a Nora Ephron movie. I wrote in coffee shops in the morning, had a picnic lunch with Robin in Central Park in the afternoon, and went to dinner with authors Joe Konrath and Blake Crouch, and talked books all night, only to wander back to our hotel through the glittering lights of Times Square. And everyone treated me as if I was a celebrity. Events were arranged for me. Chairs set out. Drinks provided. Multiple people bumping into each other trying to guess at my needs. And because I had such an entourage, readers saw me as important, thanking me for coming.
Scaling Central Park
 It became really weird when it seemed everyone was talking books. At public restaurants I overheard conversations at nearby tables. ā€œNo, not at all, I think your manuscript is perfect. I think you should send it to Bob. Heā€™s looking for just this sort of thing.ā€ Was everyone in New York a writer, publisher, agent, or editor? Only later did it occur to me that due to the BEA there would be lots of publishing related folks in town. Still it was fascinating to be in this ocean of people and have everyone seemingly talking books. I was on a movie set and everyone had the same script.
Iā€™m not used to any of this. My father was a steel mill crane operator, born in Pittsburg who started a family in Detroit after returning from WWII. My mother was a housewife who raised the kids while watching soap operas. They never bought a house, they inherited a tiny one from my grandmother. My eldest sister was the only one in our family to graduate from college and her big dream was to be a stewardess. No one in my family had ever been to New York. I donā€™t think they have ever even left Michigan. So the idea of chatting with legendary authors, and clinking wine glasses with my literary agent in a small dimly lit restaurant as we joined in the city-wide discussion about the future the publishing industry and foreign deals, is justā€¦well letā€™s just say I couldnā€™t relate this story to my family because it lies in a dimension beyond the one in which they dwell. Even I would have had a hard time wrapping my head around it the week before. How could you really explain to Auntie Em what happened to you in Oz?
Then it was on to Baltimore and Balticon. Once more I played the part of the author, only now I was starting to recognize more of the faces, and since they had seen me on panels with impressive people they knew me, too. I became significant by mere association. Most had no idea who I was, but acted as if they ought to know. Then Robin got going, holding her evangelistic revivals on helping aspiring writers get published whether it be self, small, or big. And she couldnā€™t help but mention me. Soon more people knew my name and by the end, I was sitting at an empty table resting and waiting for the next panel, only to have strangers stop and introduce themselves, stuttering and apologizing and prefacing their introduction with phrases like, ā€œIā€™m just a lowly writer but I just wanted to sayā€¦ā€
It really all came down to that one moment. The whole two weeks funneled into that instant. Me sitting there in that chair tucked away from the crowds and having strangers, come over and clumsily apologize for speaking to me–as if I was somebody.
I didnā€™t want to be rude, but I had a hard time keeping a straight face.
Maybe if I was younger, maybe if I was more naĆÆve, or just plain stupid, I  could have been sucked in at that moment. After all I had spent two weeks being treated like a rockstar. It was nice, in the way a Disney ride is nice. You get to pretend for a few hours that you are in a fantasy of your very own. Only I knew something no one other than perhaps my wife knew. Iā€™m still the same person I was before all this started.
Iā€™m not special. Iā€™m not a great writer, maybe not even a good one. I think I am pretty adept at making an entertaining story, but there are so many authors who can write better than I can. And these people who tilt their heads up to look at me, the only reason they do it is because they donā€™t know the truth. They have strong imaginations, readers and writers usually do. They see the idea instead of the person.
If there was any question about my lack of godlike status it came at the end when Robin and I were nailed by the stomach flu that reminded me just how mortal I am. I managed to lose five pounds. And as I lay on the cold tile of the bathroom, even in my misery I had to laugh. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I had clicked my heels and was finally home. Andā€¦No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home.ā€”L Frank Baum
Amen

Dressing the Part of an Author

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Welcome to my new and improved blog/website. Take a look around, wander the place. I think there’s lemonade being served out on the “Reviews” tab.
For those of you who have visited my actual website in the last year, you might have noticed that it hasnā€™t changed. There are a lot of reasons for this, the primary one being that I was not personally administrating that site. It was never much of a problem when no one seemed to care who I was, or what my books were doing, but all that has changed. Turns out people looking for Percepliquis are visiting the website to discover that Wintertide will be out soonā€¦or something crazy like that.  Apparently, only three of my books are even on sale there.
Realizing that I could combine the functionality of that website on this blog, I went to work. As you can tell, Iā€™m not done, but it is coming along. As you can see the tabs will allow you to check top news events, instead of digging through the blogs. There is a new bio that was previously only available on my Amazon page. On the map page, I included a black and white version of the map for those of you with ebooks who donā€™t like the tiny versions and would like to print it. Thereā€™s also a nifty new picture of me taken just last week while I was in New York, but most importantly, I should be able to keep the site current, and thatā€™s what really matters.
The old website will be discontinued as soon as I can figure out how to redirect the url.
You might notice that there is a lack of Riyria related imagery on this new site. Thatā€™s because I have a number of new books in the works and I need a site to cover all my writing. Therefore it is appropriate to keep it more generic.
What new books you ask? For what is coming nextā€¦well, youā€™ll need to stay tuned.

The New Covers

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Orbit has released the official covers for the Riyria Revelations trilogy–the repackaging of the existing series into three books.

The art was done by Larry Ronsant.

The covers are slightly different from the ones previously posted on Stomping on Yeti. Those were pulled from the catalog and Orbit was still tweaking them. These are the final versions and you can also see them on the Orbit site along with their roll-out text, and comments about the art.



So what do you think?

Thank You So Very Much For Coming

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I am pleased to report that the book signing at the BEA was a success. There was a long line of people waiting and the Orbit staff moved them through with the skill of veterans. They asked each person to write their names on a lime green sticky note so that I could personalize the signature with ease. I was scheduled to appear for an hour, but in forty-five minutes the entire stock of books were gone. It might have taken less time, but I enjoy talking to fans.

Only once before have I ever had a signing where I had a line. In the past, my signings were more like fishing trips, trying to catch and hook passersby. ā€œExcuse me sir, butā€¦Pardon me, butā€¦ā€

These attempts to gain peopleā€™s attention on a few occasions led to: ā€œSure, why not, Iā€™ll try it.ā€ or ā€œYou poor man, is no one buying your books? Here, Iā€™ll take one, you seem so nice.ā€

At the Orbit signing I heard a new phrase. It caught me totally off guard and blew me away as several people said it. ā€œThank you so much for coming.ā€


Upon hearing it I didnā€™t know what to reply. I was dumbfounded. In my head I was wondering if I had heard them right. Why would people be thanking me? I was overjoyed to see anyone actually showing up to get my books. I wanted to shake the hand of every person that passed by. I wanted to thank them for showing up, because I really did not think anyone would.

The night before I was speaking with members of Orbit and I sensed a level of expectation lowering being sent my way. My signing would be on the last day of the BEA, and it wasnā€™t even a full day. Most people were tired. Most people had already gone home. Most people had bags of stuff to carry and would not want another book, much less a thick, heavy one. And letā€™s face it, Iā€™m not a name. I rank officially as a ā€œkinda debutā€ author. I was being prepped for a weak showing. Even ten minutes before the event, I was reminded that traffic was way down that day.

I recalled one of my first signings at a Waldenbooks where I stood at the entrance struggling to gain anyoneā€™s attention. I sold five books in four hours. I apologized to the manager, who in turn laughed and said that I had sold more than any author they ever had, and I was welcomed to come back. I expected much of the same at the BEA. I expected I would stand there smiling awkwardly as few people walked by, and fewer still returned my smile.


Instead a line formed. Books were stacked, and floodgates opened. Librarians, bloggers and booksellers stepped up to ask me for my signature and to thank me so much for coming. I still get a kick out of that. Some had read the books, but most were new folks about to meet Royce and Hadrian for the first time.

It was fun and I was treated like royalty. The Orbit team organized the line, refilled the stacks, held each new book open to the signing page, and neatly stole away leftover Post-Its. For a brief moment I was a rock star.

One of the highlights of the event was when a young woman stepped before me with a wide grin and told me that she read the books, and read both Robinā€™s and this blog. I was meeting a real fan, one of the many who made that day, and that line possible, but one of the few I had ever seen face to face. I checked her name tag. She had an unusual name, not one I would forget easily, and yet I have never seen a comment here, or her name in the Followers section. She explained that she had never posted and just liked to visit.

To her I would just like to say, thank you so much for coming, Anastasia, you made my day.

A Fantasy Author in New York

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I’m not one of those who can work anywhere. My wife Robin I suspect could work while skydiving if she could figure a way to hold her laptop and type at the same time. And while I frequently write notes at coffee shops I have problems trying to write anything serious unless I am in a reasonably controlled environment.

This past week I have been in New York attending the BEA and visiting with various members of Orbit. This is also the second post I have done on the road, and the second written and posted via my iPad. It works, but is a bit cumbersome. I would wait to make a more elaborate post when I return to the comforts of my office, but I have an hour before I need to get to my book signing and little else to do. I am at a Starbucks next to Times Square being frozen by the excessive air conditioning and sipping from a near empty cup of black coffee.

New York has been interesting. My third time here, the first was as a gawking tourist, the second, a lot less gawking, but this is the first business trip. Granted most of my business is going to lunch and dinner, but it’s still business. I’ve met more people in the last couple of days than in the last year. Authors, editors, bloggers, reviewers, PR people even designers.

Last night I attended a cocktail mixer put on by Orbit where members of Hachett’s science fiction and fantasy imprint, Orbit, got together with members of their thriller imprint Mulholland Books. Most of the evening flashed by in a blur of half heard names and drink-shifting handshakes. I hope I won’t be tested on anything as I failed take any notes and have a terrible head for names. I met a wide variety of people including bloggers, and the senior fantasy and thriller editors for Publisher’s Weekly. Of course I also met with the orbit team working on Theft of Swords, spending most of my time with Publishing Director, Tim Holman, Senior Editor, Devi Pillai, Publicist Jack Womack, and Marketing Director, Alex Lencicki. And as I mentioned this morning I will soon be signing books at the mammoth Javits Center.

Lots of drinks, even more coffee, lavish dinners, luncheon meetings with agents and editors, and wandering the wide sidewalks of a congested movie set they call Manhattan. It sounds like part of the dream all writer’s aspire to, but I must say, I will be very happy to catch the bus home tonight. There is something about New York that is like over dosing on caffeine. You get the jitters and eventually crash. The intensity of this city can exhaust you just by being here. Everyone is running in fourth gear because there is just no time for first through third. The streets are like conveyor belts that you need to merge into and keep up on or get mowed down by the herd. This is a city of workers. No one is idle, everyone rushes, and those on cell phones are talking numbers. I’m not sure if the word tranquility is in the New York lexicon unless it is defined as Central Park. People here owe a lot to Olmsted for that bit of green. I don’t know how people could live here without it.

For those at the BEA today stop by the Hachett Book booth around noon and get a signed Advance Reading Copy of Theft of Swords, I’ll be happy to sign it and shake your hand, and chat…but then I think I’ll be happy to pass out on the bus.

Pirating the Pirates…or Why the World Did Not End

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I met Joe Haldeman yesterday.

If you don’t know, Mr. Haldeman is a science fiction writer. Winner of the Grand Master lifetime achievement award, a few Nebulas, a Hugo, and some others including a Locust Award for his 1976 novel The Forever War.

Mr. Haldeman was on a panel with me and a number of other distinguished writers where we discussed the old ways writers used to do things and how times have change. One topic discussed how much time is saved now by using computers rather than typewriters, but also how publishers and fans expect writers to churn out multiple novels a year. Another discussed the availability of authors to their fans through blogs, email, and Twitter. And we also discussed ebooks and their effect on reading and writing.

After this panel I spoke briefly with Gay Haldeman, Joe’s wife. She’s a wonderful woman and friendly person who complimented me on my performance, which was very kind as I did nothing to be complimented for. She invited me to lunch with her and Joe, but I was already committed to having lunch with Robin, writers Jamie Rubin and Andrew Fox. Afterwards however, Robin and I ran into Joe and Gay again and we fell into talking.

In the course of the discussion, the Haldemans let it slip that they recently discovered Joe’s book The Forever War (presently being made into a movie) is not available in ebook. They discovered this when a fan wrote to ask why he could not find it. They in turn spoke to their publisher and discovered the publisher did not have the ebook rights–Joe did. It was then that Gay began Talking with Robin about what it took to convert a book into ebook format. Robin, being Robin, offered to do it for her. We even volunteered my services as cover artist.

The only caveat was that they did not have an electronic copy of the book, they only had the hard copy. So now they faced scanning the entire work. But then a novel idea (pun intended) came to them, and I was so amused by this that I decided to write this post.

Rather than going to all the trouble of scanning the novel, there is a much easier way. All they have to do is steal Joe’s novel from a pirated torrent site. They have already done the work for them. The irony of thieving from those who stole from them, and making use of the pirating to help them make money was wonderful.

So it would seem that book thieves are good for something. All authors looking to put their books into ebook form should pull their digitized works from the torrent sites and ePub them. Just don’t forget to proof the text as I doubt they take the same care in transferring as an author would.

It is also good to see that readers will write and ask an author about a missing ebook rather than steal a copy. Maybe that’s why the world didn’t end on Saturday–there were just too many people to Rapture.

Nebula, BEA, Balticonā€¦Oh My!

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This coming week, beginning yesterday and running until a week from this coming Sunday, (okay so thatā€™s not really a week, but itā€™s closer than calling it a month,) is going to be a very busy time.

The Nebula Awards are being held here in DC and I am participating in a few events. Tonight I will be doing the book signing I mentioned a bit ago. This Sunday morning I will be speaking as part of a panel discussion called ā€œOld Ways New Ways,ā€ which is actually described on the SFWA site as: ā€œAn amazing moderated interview of SFWAā€™s brightest stars provides a compare and contrast of practices from times past and today. We know our panelists, both young and not so young, are so witty, wise, and well spoken that we guarantee insight to and chuckles about our field will be well worth sitting in on this fifty-minute hour.ā€ I will be joined for this discussion by Joe Haldeman, N.K. Jemisin, Christopher Kastensmidt, and Jack McDevitt.

This should be interesting because I have not only never been on a ā€œpanelā€ before, Iā€™ve never seen one, and my co-speakers are all multiple award winning/nominated authors of great renown. And I amā€¦well, meā€”the guy who hasnā€™t even traditionally published a book yet and have only been a member of the SFWA for a few months.

Then Sunday evening I am off to New York City for the BookExpo America. This is the big publishing event in North America, more of a business trade event than a fan event. Iā€™ve been invited by Orbit to stop by their booth and sign some ARCs of Theft of Swords that I believe they will be giving out to book sellers at the show. Iā€™ll also be having lunch with some folks from the publisher and it seems there is a cocktail party somewhere in there. Robin is going to make me get dressed up for this, I think.

Just as the BEA ends Balticon in Baltimore, MD starts, and it would seem I am on several panels there. Robin has yet to tell me what they are. I am instructed to just go and be myself–only nicer. Baticon should be fun since I will be seeing both Marshall Thomas and Nathan Lowell again–Ridan authors, both of whoā€™s books are punching holes in Amazonā€™s bestseller lists at the moment. Nathan Iā€™m sure knows he hit number one on the Movers and Shakers List yesterday with his new Full Share novel, but I am certain that Marshall has no idea that his six books have become overnight successes.

Marshall is a great guy who has been writing and selling his Soldier of the Legion Science Fiction series quietly for years. He attends the local conventions religiously, but never had much success. Two years ago his booth was next to mine, and he noticed I was selling a lot more books than he was. Robin and I started giving him advice which helped his sales, and the following year he discussed becoming a Ridan author. We spent a year getting all his books re-released with new covers and formats and now that Robin is working on Ridan full-time, she began trying to see what she could do to kick Marshallā€™s books into high-gear by adjusting the price point. It worked.

This is a guy who was so thrilled when a reader decided to buy his whole series at once that he was at a loss because the reader wanted them all signed and Marshall ran out of new things to say in each book. Canā€™t wait to see his face. Heā€™s happy when he sells twelve books, I wonder how he will take it when he learns he is selling thousands.

So if you are in DC, or New York, or Baltimore this coming ā€œweekā€ drop by and say hello. Iā€™ll be the awkward looking one trying to figure out what Iā€™m supposed to be doing.

Myron

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ā€œThe abbot told me once that lying was a betrayal to oneā€™s self. Itā€™s evidence of self-loathing. You see, when you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie to hide it rather than accept yourself for who you really are. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you.ā€ ā€”Myron Lanaklin on the morning of the Battle of Medford.

This is the most noted quote from The Crown Conspiracy presently highlighted by 100 Kindle users.

Whenever I speak to readers of my first book they always mention the little monk. Many reviewers have complained at the lack of Myron in the subsequent novels. I recently read a comment from a fan who lamented the lack of Myron in the books following The Crown Conspiracy. ā€œI’m not sure that Sullivan realized what he had here and since the books were written in one go there was no real chance of bringing him back. Sigh.ā€

Readers have a thing for Myron.

So what is it about this bibliophile shut-in that has everyone complaining that heā€™s too isolated and should go on more adventures? Heā€™s not dashing, not handsome, not at all a ladyā€™s man, but female readers swoon at the mention of his name. Well, perhaps not swoon–more like melt, the way they might when confronted by a big-eyed, floppy-eared, devilishly cute puppy. And I have known men to get misty-eyed while sitting with him on a stone bench staring at the burnt remains of a tree.

So many people commented on Myron that in a re-write of Avempartha I altered Esrahaddonā€™s dialog to say: ā€œWell, I did see The Crown Conspiracy while in Colnora. I found the sets pathetic and the orchestration horrible, but the story was good. I particularly loved the daring escape from the tower, and the little monk was hilariousā€”by far my favorite character.ā€

Back on 5/26/2004 a friend of mine who was discussing the series with me via emails wrote: ā€œThe Myron character is great. It’s a very original idea (or at least so it seems).ā€

To which I replied: ā€œYes I like him too only in laying out a more detailed outline for the first book, he doesn’t have a place in it which is somewhat frustrating since I want him to appear in the first book in a role that keeps him confined to the monastery so we can see him in his normal environment, that way in the second book I can perhaps pull him out into the world and it will be more effective I think. Of course I am still having issues with the first book’s plot so who knows I might be able to find a part for him yet.ā€

As you know I found a place for him in the first book. The question remains, why doesnā€™t he play a more substantial role in the following books. One reason is that there was never any reason for Myron to be involved in the events of the series. Royce and Hadrian would not have any need to drag Myron around on their adventures and Myron would not wish to go. The best I could have done was center some scenes at the monastery, but those scenes would have been dull and unnecessary in the scope of the plot.

I also didnā€™t want to dilute him. On the seventies show Happy Days, Arthur Fonzarelli began as a rarely seen character in a gray cloth jacket (because initially the ABC censors would not allow him to wear a leather jacket.) His popularity drove him to the forefront where I felt his over-use ruined his aura of cool and eventually led to the infamous ā€œjumping the sharkā€ incident, that became an idiom for a story, or character being pushed beyond its limit. Much of Myronā€™s appeal comes from his innocence, and once he is taken from the monastery that innocence must rapidly fade. So because he was special I didnā€™t want to waste Myron.

Besides, I had plans for the little monk.

I have written on this blog before about how I feel the end of a story should justify the build-up. I hate being let down at the end of a story and as a result I think I just might have gone a bit overboard in trying to make certain that the final book of this series did not disappoint. One of the editing comments I received from Orbit was that so much was packed into the last book that they felt I ought to spread it out some. As it happens that really isnā€™t possible. Certain revelations (you might start to see where the series title comes from now) donā€™t come to light, and canā€™t come to light until the final book. Keeping these secrets hidden makes it impossible to reveal anything in any other order then how I did. This leaves the final book packed very tight with shocking discoveries, and the connecting of hundreds of little plotlines that come together in unexpected ways. In every chapter and around nearly every page there is something to make you go: Oh! Hah! Hehe, Aww, and of course, by Mar!

There are virtually no new characters introduced in the last book. I did not have the time or space for them, as I had so many existing ones to account for. One of those was Myron.

So for those of you hoping for more Myron. Fear not. The little agoraphobic bookworm will be part of the final quest which should close the series with a resounding crescendo.

I just wish it was out already. I hate this waiting.

Ofttimes Myron considered how he might like to be a mole or shrew, not a Dusky or Greater White-tooth, or even a Lesser White-tooth Shrew, but just a common shrew, or perhaps a mole.
ā€”one of my favorite lines from Wintertide, that no one on Amazon highlighted.

Maybe itā€™s just me.