Tag Archives: Druids

writing

Nom nom nom!

When you present the Cookie Monster with a cookie, he’s going to love it because he’s the frickin’ Cookie Monster. He’ll eat it and say, “Nom nom nom!” even if it’s kind of bland and stale. But if you present the Cookie Monster with a kind of cookie he’s never had before —a rich, moist, warm one, say, plus a glass of milk—the Cookie Monster will probably have a sugargasm and he’ll say, “Nomnomnomnomnom!” There will be crumbs and blue fur everywhere, and slightly alarmed innocent bystanders will cover their children’s eyes in the name of decency.
Urban Fantasy readers (like me, anyway) are kinda like the Cookie Monster when it comes to novels in the genre. Give me a UF novel and I’ll devour it happily, saying “Nom nom nom!” all the while. But I think I’m about ready for that book that sends me into unchained fits of turbo-nomming. I need a more varied diet in my UF reading, but I need other writers to help me out a bit here—and maybe some suggestions from readers who can point me in the direction of something I haven’t seen yet.
What I’d like to read are more stories told from the point of view of characters who aren’t your everyday UF hero(in)es. Instead of a shifter, vamp, faery, demon, or a half-version of any of the above, can we get a story told from the point of view of a wight who’s a mite misunderstood? How about a dude who escapes from a mad gene-splicing scientist with the head of a cuttlefish? I want to get inside the head of a half-mad half-squid, you see, and hear about his struggle to hold on to his humanity while he pursues vengeance against the butcher who replaced his whiskers with tentacles, and weep with him as he tries to reconnect with his wife and daughter, both of whom happen to be allergic to seafood.
Gnomes, trolls, goblins, kobolds—I don’t think anybody’s written the definitive work (correct me if I’m wrong!). I’ve seen some mermaid stuff in YA fiction—I’m thinking Emily Windsnap—and I might be missing a whole lot more because I don’t read much YA. There’s probably a centaur book or two out there, maybe a hipster hippogriff. But I definitely haven’t seen any attempts to write these sorts of characters in the adult UF market. Then again, I might be the only guy demanding such stuff, which would explain the short supply.
I don’t know how much demand there is out there to hear stories about Druids—I guess I’ll find out next year when my books hit the shelves!—but one reason I chose a Druid to be my main character was to attempt to introduce something new-ish to all the Cookie Monsters out there. I know that vampire/shifter/magic-girl love stories are popular—I completely understand because I like them too—but I can’t believe that’s all people want to read. I think there are vast opportunities in UF to tell some fresh tales, from the harrowing to the humorous, but somehow the genre has worn itself into a few distinct ruts already, and instead of treading new ground, people are throwing themselves into the same few grooves. If you think it’s too risky to try something a bit “out there,” well, I can always point to my publisher (Del Rey) and say look, there are editors in the biz willing to take a chance on an unorthodox hero, because they’ve taken a chance with Atticus O’Sullivan. (Harry Connolly’s hero, Ray Lilly, is not your average bear, and neither is Stacia Kane’s Chess Putnam—and look! They’re both with Del Rey! ;))
I hope to try some new cookies soon. If you’re a writer, I hope you’ll find time to experiment in the kitchen of your word processor. And if you know of any unusual UF narrators out there now, please let me know in the comments! Nom nom nom!
writing

Market Analysis: An Anecdote

Sometimes I wonder where writing fads come from…and then I look at the bestseller lists and go, oh yeah. All the people writing vampire books are looking at the Twilight series and the success of the Sookie Stackhouse novels and saying, I want a piece of that. And it’s tough to blame ’em for wanting a slice of bestselling pie. (If I’m fortunate enough to be served up a plate, I won’t say no; I’ll ask for whipped cream.)

But here’s the problem with writing according to fads or the market: what’s popular now won’t necessarily be popular a year or two from now, which is what you have to be thinking about if you’re trying to anticipate the market. It takes a year for a publisher to get a fiction book onto the shelves—ten months if they rush it, nine if nobody sleeps. And before that, you have to actually write the book and get an agent, and said agent has to get you your deal. (Unless you’re going to go the slush pile route, in which case you can add on another year to eternity.) So let’s keep the math simple and say for the sake of argument, if you’re trying to anticipate things, that you need to predict what editors will want to buy a year from now if you’re writing your book. They, in turn, are gambling that your book will be popular the year afterward. If you write something derivative of today’s market, thinking it’s hot, by the time somebody has to make a decision, they’ll be looking at your book like the hundredth peanut butter and jelly sandwich they’ve had in as many days. They’re not going to be excited.

And so you must look at what’s out there in the genre you wish to write—market awareness is good—and then write something new enough to stand out. Then, more importantly, decide if what you’re writing is something you’d actually want to read. If you read a lot (an excellent idea), then you will pick up on the tropes of a certain genre and maybe, after a while, figure out what’s missing. And if you want to read what’s missing and write what’s missing, then you might have landed on top of a Great Idea.

I don’t think I’m a brilliant market analyst, but back in 2008 I noticed something missing from the urban fantasy market: dudes. Not only dudes as protagonists, but dudes as writers. There weren’t many of either. The market was dominated by women writing about women, and the men in such tales were primarily romantic interests (all of which is fine, but as a reader dude I wanted more broken bones and fewer broken hearts). So I thought, hey, maybe there’s an opportunity here. Would I like writing urban fantasy? I’d never tried it. But there was this webcomic idea I was working on, tremendously fun for me to imagine and write but extremely difficult to illustrate, that perhaps could be adapted…so I started toying with it. And once I found a groove, the writing went extremely fast—and that was before I added Mountain Dew.

“I’m a dude! I’m writing about a dude! This is great! Mwah-ha-ha-ha!” It was kind of like that, except twice as nerdy as you’re imagining. But it wasn’t simply reveling in my dudehood: I was also steering away from vampires, werewolves, demons, half-faeries and half anything for my main character. The shelves were already full of those. They’re good stories—I devour them!—but the authors writing them were well established and I didn’t have anything new to say there. My webcomic, though, was about a Druid. A quick check of the shelves at Borders and Barnes & Noble revealed that there were zero urban fantasies featuring a Druid in the title role. Heck, I couldn’t find a Druid in a supporting role. Morgan Llewelyn wrote a book called Druids in 1993, but that was about historical Druids, not urban ones. So there you go—I figured out the market was missing urban Druid dudes, and I really, really wanted to write about one.

There’s always a risk in doing something new, because if a story is too weird, agents and editors won’t know how to market it. But the risk in following a fad is that when your manuscript arrives on an agent’s or editor’s desk, it will be the twentieth gnarly vampire romance they’ve seen that day. Would you rather they say, “WTF?” or “Not another one”? I’ll take the WTF every time. (Which may come back to haunt me: I can see the reviews now.) But I got lucky: I found an agent who liked my Druid, and then my agent found a good number of editors who liked him, too—enough that I got the insane luxury of choosing my (extremely awesome) publisher, Del Rey.

Part of what’s exciting about urban fantasy is that there’s SO MUCH room for new ideas and twists—so the preponderance of the same few creatures appearing over and over is puzzling. I’m waiting for the story about the short supermarket clerk—often mistaken for a dwarf—who doesn’t realize he’s half gnome, and the emerald ring from his unknown father gives him complete control over cats if he wears it on his index finger…or something. Gnomes are always background critters, but they’re begging to be fleshed out as a species. Somebody needs to write a gnome character I can care about. And what if trolls are only stupid and violent because of their militant political leadership and a poor education system? A visionary troll—self-taught through the Internet(s)—could arise and transform her culture if only she can survive the malignant attentions of the entrenched Club and Loincloth merchants who would keep them all lurking under bridges forever. Heh! You get the idea. My unsolicited advice is to always write what you like—but try to like something fresh in hopes that the market will be ready for it.

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Squee! My meetings in NYC!

So: about a year after my agent picked me up out of his slush pile, I finally got to meet him! My wife and I met Evan for noodles at Soba Nippon under the watchful eye of an attentive waitress who wasn’t afraid to instruct us how to eat. Evan was “doing it wrong,” I guess, and after placing a mystery liquid down on the table and leaving, she came back and poured it into his bowl for him and mixed it around so that he’d enjoy it properly. I found this both highly amusing and very sweet of her to be so concerned with Evan’s gustatory delight. Besides trading personal stories, we spoke about my current series and how it was going and also spitballed ideas for an epic that I want to rework down the road.

Apart from being an incredible agent, Evan is almost unspeakably cool. He knows a lot about New York and where to go eat before you see a show. He rattled off about twelve places (complete with directions) that we should try to visit. We forgot all of them and wound up eating at a rather disappointing (for me) Irish pub around the block from our hotel. Their fish and chips were out of the freezer, not fresh at all; it was nothing less than a complete abdication of their responsibility to provide good pub fare for their customers. But things got so much better after that!

We went to see American Idiot at the St. James Theatre and found it to be unexpectedly cathartic. I was already a fan of Green Day’s American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown albums, but it’s hard to see them as anything but genius after watching the Broadway production. It captures the youth of 2000-2008 perfectly—I know because I taught ’em. The lead eerily reminded me of a student who just graduated, in fact. The songs were connected together with a narrative and rearranged beautifully in some cases, and the wirework they did during the dream sequence of “Before the Lobotomy” was stunning. Highly recommended.

The next day, I got to meet my editors at Del Rey, Tricia and Mike, at the Random House building on Broadway! They have lobby security kind of like that scene in The Matrix where Neo and Trinity have to go rescue Morpheus. I meant to ask why, but I never did, so now I will guess: without the security, crazed would-be writers would overwhelm the editors like a horde of zombies with hand-delivered manuscripts. “Just look at this!” they’d say, waving a sheaf of papers in 12-point Courier, “It’s a tender military sci-fi tale about a race of furry reptiles who fetishize automatic weapons! A plucky orphan fursnake and his mollusk friend must stop the Dark Lord Uzi from shooting up the planet with demon gunsauce!”

Once past security, everything was remarkably tranquil. We went almost all the way to the tippy-top of the building and stepped into scifi/fantasy nerd heaven. The 24th floor of Random House is currently enchanted to make everyone and everything appear as it would in an epic fantasy. They rotate the enchantment for variety: last week was steampunk week and they looked something like this, and next week everyone will look like Warhammer 40K Space Marines. Tricia and Mike were dressed in flowing robes of shimmering samite, just like I expected, while my wife and I wore homely tunics stained with grease and mustard. They greeted us courteously and then led me to a treasure vault guarded by two gnome paladins who grudgingly stepped aside once Mike uttered the password. The password changes every day, so I can safely tell you what Mike said: “Argyle is curiously in vogue at Tor headquarters.”

The vault was a treasure indeed. It was full of Del Rey’s books. Like, all of Tolkien. And Alan Dean Foster. Anne McCaffrey. Terry Brooks. Everything good, basically. And my editors said unto me, “You may take whatever you want, thou good and faithful author. One day soon, your books will be added to this sacred vault.” I knelt and wept and showered them with gratitude, and they allowed me to kiss their rings.

Left, Tricia’s Lucent Pearl Ring of Editorial Savvy. Right, Mike’s Doomcloud Diamond Ring of Smiting.
I took a first edition of The Ruling Sea by Robert Redick and counted myself the most fortunate man on earth. Next, I met the editor of said book, Kaitlin Heller. She assaulted me with her champion, an ensorceled Silent Bob action figure. We sparred—silently—until I was forced to yield. I also met David Moench and editor Anne Groell. The latter was not clad in her customary editorial robes, but rather fully armored for battle. Her office was a field tent and she greeted me like so:

I gave her a hearty salutation and she bade me good day, though a warning flashed in her eyes. I bowed and scraped before I fled, and then I asked Tricia why yon editor kept such a grim aspect.

“Verily, she is besieged,” quoth she.

“In what way? I saw no forces marshaled ‘neath her tower.”

“She must gird herself to meet the constant queries about the release date of Ser George R.R. Martin’s book, A Dance of Dragons. She is the good ser’s editor, you see.”

(Note: To hell with Kevin Bacon, I now have two degrees of separation from George R.R. Martin! Yes, his next book was a topic of conversation over lunch, but no, I can’t tell you anything about its release. Sorry. Anne was actually quite cheerful, though, if that tells you anything.)

I was then privileged to meet the High Priestess of Del Rey, Betsy Mitchell. She was gracious and kind and apparently in on all of The Plans for Lunch. I knew only one of The Plans, and Tricia knew only one of The Plans. Betsy and Mike were in on both of The Plans.

We left the 24th floor and looked like normal nerds as we walked to Hell’s Kitchen—well, at least I did. I give you proof of my rampant nerdiness with a quoted snippet of our conversation:

Tricia: “This neighborhood is called Hell’s Kitchen.”
Me: “OH! You mean where Daredevil lives?”

Yes, I really said that. I embarrass myself all the time. There is no cure.  

The Plan for Lunch I didn’t know about was choosing this particular pub for our luncheon:

HOW COOL IS THAT! The perfect place to take a guy who’s written a series of urban fantasies about a Druid. They had exposed brick walls inside with spiffy paintings hanging on them. Navigate past the bar to the back, and there’s a wee patio outside with sunlight and growing things. We sat there and I ordered the fish and chips and a Smithwick’s.

I learned several very important things on that patio: 1) I’ll get to take a peek at some preliminary cover sketches in about a month! 2) Brooklyn is nicer than Manhattan. 3) Del Rey is still seeing tons of vampire stuff from agents (they only accept agented submissions). 4) Tie-ins with movies are difficult to write, edit, and negotiate. 5) Mike likes “dirty water” dogs. But don’t judge!

Our food came, and since I’ve embarked on a lifetime quest to find the best fish and chips, I took a picture:

And now a brief review: These were extremely good. Druids’ fish & chips get high marks for being fresh. The chips weren’t frozen wedge fries like I had at the other place, but rather homemade, lightly fried tater chunks. The fish batter was also a fresh beer batter rather than the heavy breading you get on frozen stuff, and you can tell by its light golden color that this a delicate coating with new oil in the fryer. It was very good, some of the best I’ve had, and the salad on the side was an unexpected bonus. Now, is it the equal of Rula Bula’s in Tempe? Not quite, but it’s very close. Here’s where it falls short: you can’t really eat this with your hands; it’s cooked and presented in such a way that you need to use a fork. If you tried to pick up the fish, it would fall apart on you. Also, the tartar sauce was a bit thin—I prefer it chunky—though it tasted just fine. These are minor quibbles, though: in terms of taste and freshness, this was a superior plate and I’d recommend it to anyone who finds themselves abruptly hungry in Hell’s Kitchen as they search for Daredevil.

Okay, so after we ate and downed a couple of pints, it was time for The Plan that Tricia didn’t know about. The Plan was simple: get Tricia to wear a luchador mask (that’s a mask worn by Mexican wrestlers, if you are uninitiated in the joys of Lucha Libre) and document it photographically. We were careful not to execute The Plan until Tricia had consumed a couple of beers. It was the linchpin of our strategy, honestly. And it worked! Ladies and gentlemen, here is a picture of our Luchador Lunch:

Literary Luchadores at Druids in Hell’s Kitchen
I’m the guy in the mask.
Besides being silly for the sheer fun of it, I do have A Point To Make with this blog. Occasionally one hears that editors & agents are mean people who are out to crush your dreams if you aren’t well connected or “know someone.” That is absolutely untrue. The number of people I knew in the publishing industry was zero before I sent out Hounded last year; I was (and still am) just a random dude who writes when he’s home from his day job. Now I finally “know someone,” and it’s funny how they don’t look anything like dream crushers. They are spectacular people who have action figures in their offices and hurl marshmallows at each other with miniature catapults (no lie) after they’ve read their thirteenth emo vampire query of the day. And they’re only too happy to make your dream come true if you write a book they want to read.
Mucho peace and luchadores (they are not mutually exclusive); I’ll post some more stuff from upstate NY in a few days.