#I’m editing the short story I wrote earlier this year for a contest I never ended up entering

[just-rhys-things]

A full novel? A satisfying plot?

Is it not enough to write about a single, widowed, human father caring for his half-fae, shapeshifter daughter who’s about to start the first grade?

Is it not fun just to watch this smol, mute child resist the impulse to impress her peers by growing a prehensile tail and doing a no-hand backflip off the monkey bars?

[luninosity]

2020 fic round-up - original / published fic!

Time for the original fic overview, from this year! There’s a LOT, but some of that was written (at least mostly) last year, and only published this year. So let’s see...

Original Fic (at least mostly written and published in 2020) (Character Bleed, E, 254,099 words. **Pretty much all of this was written in 2019, so I'm not really counting it as 'new words' - but all the editing - and the publication!!!! - happened in 2020!** THIS STORY, YOU GUYS. I love it and these characters so much. It's  the  most ambitious thing I've ever tried to write, that whole  story-within-a-story, being about actors filming a  Regency-era gay love  story, and falling in love themselves. I'm just looking at it all...and  I'm in awe...and the response to this, oh wow. I've been so amazed and  so grateful and so thrilled - the art, the trailer, the comments, the  people thinking about these characters and loving them along with me -  I'm so lucky to have all of you. *hugs everyone* And now you can buy it! As three volumes - Seaworthy, Stalwart, and Steadfast! Available via JMS Books, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and everywhere!) Character Bleed Bonus Scenes,  E, 84,125 words, which means 58,428 new words! Also there're at least three special bonus scenes that *aren't* on AO3, only included with the published books! (Conversely, there're at least two bonus scenes that will only ever be on AO3, for all of you reading there!) So that's probably an extra, oh, let's say around 5k words. Cinnamon and Strawberries (A Character Bleed Story), E, 12,169 words. My Jason & Colby holiday novella! Full of celebrations, love, moving in together, and interesting uses for holiday ribbon... Cadence and the Pearl, E, 60,097 words, About 30k of it written in 2019/2018 (Was this really also published this year? I had FOUR novels out this year? Gosh.) I really love this one, honestly - historical, paranormal, pensive, ocean magic, a fairy tale. The Arch-Mage's Firebird, E, 11,220 words. A spin-off story in the Kitten & Witch universe! (I really ought to write the third part of the main story...) A runaway firebird, and an Arch-Mage in hiding, and a beachside town. One Night in London: Robert & Anthony, E, 29,247 words. My part of the fabulous collaborative three-part novel, with @turtletotem and @thebestpersonherelovesbucky ! <33333 You can buy the collected version here - they're more fun to read together, since our characters interact, but they can technically stand alone. Regency m/m romance, ballrooms, scandals... (I also wrote the prologue for the collected edition, so, + about 5k words!) Eventually there'll be a print version of the collected edition! We had so much fun - perhaps we'll do it again sometime... :D :D A Demon for Forever, E, 13,752 words - surprise! I thought I was done with the Demon for Midwinter  universe - but JMS did a submissions call for stories celebrating LGBTQ  marriage, and, well - I'd written the proposal story for Kris and  Justin, so...we should get to see the wedding, right? With Justin in a wedding dress. A sparkly one. This story is also available as part of the JMS Books 2020 Top Ten Anthology! The Demon's Choice, E, 19,365 words - extra surprise! I'd had to cut this whole subplot from an earlier Demon story, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, so...I finally wrote it as a bonus story! Hurt/comfort, Justin confronting his heritage, and of course a happy ending. Refuge at Clifftop, E, 17,262 words. Third in the Extraordinary superhero polyamory series! Lots of hurt/comfort in this one, near-death self-sacrifice, tons of heroic love! Leather and Tea in London, E, 20,909 words - the third  of the Leather and Tea stories! Written for the JMS Books BDSM  collection call. Simon's brother needs a favor. So Ben and Simon head to  London, bringing Ben's retired-spy skill set and also some fun toys for  enjoying themselves. This story is also available as part of the JMS Books Hurts So Good BDSM Trio Collection! A Penny for Your Thoughts, E (but mostly implied / discussed - those darn truth-telling coins!), 3,981 words. A original-fic rewrite of an Evanstan drabble, expanded somewhat - and I really love these characters! A magician, his hero, mutual pining, and love confessions. Of Starlit Balls and Starship Captains, T, 6,596 words. M/F, with bi/pan protagonists - my attempt at mixing space opera and Regency romance! Technically I'd written an earlier version of this a couple years ago for a contest, for which it was not chosen, so this isn't all new writing, but substantially so. Statuesque, E, 3,491 words - some lesbian erotica! Short and kinky - established Dom/sub relationship - and loving. Honey Witch, E, 4,032 words. More short lesbian erotica! A witch and her princess, finding each other. Original Fic (written/heavily revised in 2020, publication contracts signed but not yet published) A Sonnet for a Thunderstorm, M, 3,202 words. An expanded original-character version of a several-years-old Cherik drabble - 18th century historical, thunderstorms, a poet and his pirate. Probably out in April/May 2021. (Frost & Raine, expanded version - the version that's still on AO3, which I'll have to take down, is about 31k - the published version, coming in February 2021, is currently 40,020 words. So...8,141 new words!) Original Fic (written in 2020, not yet under contract or published other than on AO3) In Focus, which is the Character Bleed spin-off, Leo's story - still in progress! it's up  to 68,458 words, so that means...52,947 new words in 2020! Not bad. Whumptober 2020 - Original Fic Edition, E (overall; individual chapters vary), 13,271 words. All the Whumptober fics for my original fic - fanfic for myself! A couple of the Character Bleed-related ones might make it into publication, as well as the Jamie/Brendan story, eventually, I hope. Ember and Serenity,  E, 23,170 words currently - I added chapter 5 in 2020, so that's 2,418 new words! I do have plans for this one. Oh yes. My  librarian-magician and his book-thief...yes. And if you're wondering who  hired Serenity, well, there already has been a clue... :D Spells and Sensibility (working title), aka the Mystery Project I'm working on with @thebestpersonherelovesbucky  - which involves Regency-era magicians, and is currently 35,546 words!

#

That’s a lot of words! I feel Accomplished. Looking forward to more words in 2021 - and sharing them all with all of you, without whom I’d’ve never had the courage to try to publish stories. Thank you - you’re why I do this. <3333

[thydungeon]

“Break”

In the fall of 2018, Stoic Studio held a short story fan fiction contest because they were publishing a compilation for The Banner Saga.

I really loved this game, but for whatever reason I didn’t play the second and third games until a week-long stretch in 2018 when Emily was out of the country. I stayed up until 5 am to finish the third game!

But then I saw the contest and I thought, “oh my god, this is perfect!” 

They didn’t pick my story, and I have never been sadder about any personal creation of mine. I spent a lot of time on the story and had a lot of help editing from Russell and Emily, overcoming elements of some fairly old-timey fears. Obviously, the hard truth is that I’m not that good of a writer, but I struggled for a long time with whether or not to really regret a series of design decisions. That is, I wrote the story that I wanted to, the way I wanted to, but I wonder if the following needed to be true:

Why did I write a story that features only varl and literally no humans (read: no women)? Why did I write a story that covers the scope of only violence, something I’ve never been comfortable writing? Why did I write a story with only original characters, so out of the way of the games? Why did I make the first 270 words in the style of an emotionless recounting of strategic and tactical failures? Why did I develop only one character, with essentially no emotional arc?

Regardless, I do like the piece. I think I wrote it reasonably well given the above handicaps (that, again, I chose because I wanted them). And now, reading it two years later, it’s pretty clear it’s “about” switching roles at my old job in the US; the feeling of losing your position and drifting away from people is/was a common theme in a lot of things I’ve written, so go figure lol

#

Since Russell is the only person who ever read this with the full context (having played the games), here are some background details:

1. The game takes place in a Norse/Nordic setting. The antagonist is a Jormungandr figure, all the main characters have Germanic-sounding names, it’s Viking age tech, and the world is snowy. 

2. Varl are like giant human-oxen hybrids; there are only so many of them because each one was literally created by a real, physical god who has since disappeared. Hence, the number of varl will never increase, only decrease (this doesn’t appear to have any kind of Krogan Effect, in case you’re wondering). The process of creation is apparently quite unpleasant and is one of the reasons they fear (and I mean really fear) fire. They share the world with humans, but generally do not intermingle.

3. Dredge are rock-like humanoids who communicate with vibrations and live underground. They fought a tremendous war (the “Second Great War”) against a combined human-varl alliance. Certain dredge who are very powerful are called Sundr and have English names that reference an attribute (canon Sundr include “Bellower” and “Raze”). I don’t remember if they are physiologically different from other dredge or just the classic video game “hero” unit.

4. Per the Wiki, “varl who are close knit enough to be family refer to each other as kendr.”

5. This is stretching my memory, but I believe the title is a play on the basic combat mechanic in the game series - your units can choose to attack an opponent’s armor or health. If you attack their health, your attack damage subtracts the opponent’s armor amount before dealing any health damage, but health damage reduces the opponent’s ability to do damage back. Get it? Breaking their armor? The story is about a breakout as well. Also, it wouldn’t be an early period (2015-2018) piece if it wasn’t about burnout, i.e. breaking down.

As for why I never posted this on Tumblr, it’s because, honestly, I thought Tumblr had a character limit on text posts? 

#

Grofheim burns.

The largest city in the north, the varl capital, lies in ruins after an avalanche of dredge like none had seen before. A few weeks earlier, a handful of reports from northern patrols suggested a massing of dredge in the abandoned, half-sunken city of Skrymirstead; further warbands detailed a sturdy garrison increasing in size with each sighting. A dozen leaders forged north with a host of five thousand to meet them but limped home a mess of several hundred. Survivors spoke of organized dredge armies moving like appendages of the Sundr. Concentrated force separated our army amid a blizzard and obliterated them.

Eager to see the army for ourselves, we awaited their arrival at the city's gate facing the Valkajokull. To our surprise, the dredge struck first from the south, having passed between the Varlsmarch and King’s Barrow hills, and only then advanced from Skrymirstead, placing a hammer against an anvil with Grofheim in between. In the days of old, we expected battles like these to slow to the crawl of a months-long siege, but this generation of dredge attacked with unique urgency. We saw Sundr everywhere: Driver, Rampage, Dread, others we remembered from ages past. The walls collapsed on the eighth day of battle, and dredge poured into the city. After only two weeks of fighting within the walls, their advance was nigh-unstoppable, and we had lost entire sectors of the city, guard towers and homes alike reduced to rubble. By the end of the third week, our encirclement was almost complete and only slivers of light in an ocean of dredge gave us hope for survival.

#

Shortly after the dredge breached the city walls, Jorundr and many of the remaining varl had rallied to a fortress in the center of the city. Harald, captain of the city patrols, and I, his right-hand man, joined them with a fraction of the varl we had led previously for years; all others had fallen either at the wall or in the ensuing crush. At the top of one of the fortress towers, we pored over a map resting on a rickety table. Wooden figurines shaped like varl and dredge littered the map’s surface. We used to play chess with the little pieces.

Light filtered into the spacious room from all sides, but it illuminated nothing of renown. A couple of spears leaned against the wall, and a handful of varl were resting, drinking water and munching on dwindling provisions. We looked a sorry lot, even more bruised and unwashed than the typical varl cohort. Harald could no longer grip his shield due to a mangled left arm, so we fastened them together, hoping the banded wood would hold. Fiery debris had caught me at the wall, covering my face in cuts. Outside, we could see the dredge burning heaps of fallen varl, challenging us to come out and avenge our dead.

I ran my finger across the map from our location to one of the gates. A few hours’ march stood between us and the world beyond the city walls. “We have less than five days holding out here. By that point, we’ll be surrounded, and they’ll start breaking us apart group by group. The fortress will hold for maybe two more days after that. What’s the plan, Harald?” I lifted my finger from the map and found myself biting the nail of my thumb unconsciously. The sharp taste of iron-flavored blood crusted underneath snapped me back into the moment.

Harald moved a pair of dredge pieces between us and the gate. “From what we gather, the dredge that breached the southern gate destroyed everything from Skyhorn west through the Varlsmarch, but they are now less than full strength.” He moved several other pieces above us on the map. “Jorundr did not move any troops from the northern wall to fend off the surprise attack in the south, so the dredge advance from Skrymirstead was not a total disaster. Still, that group is reportedly much larger, so a breakout that way is not possible.”

“Eamonn and his whole clan stayed at the western tower,” I said, pointing to an ornately decorated tower on the map. “Heard a rumor that Roland and his folks battled back to the wall, actually. Either group is probably a heap of bones by now, though.” Looking over the map, I realized that every painstaking detail on it had been rendered worthless by the dredge.

“I do not blame them,” said Harald. “From all of our experience, dredge grant no quarter, and some varl may be looking for revenge after hearing what happened in the blizzard.”

“I heard it might have been an accident,” said Ismail, one of the younger guards and a fixture of Harald’s patrols. “The leaders out in the wastes forgot to put out a watch as they slept, and the dredge caught them unawares, daylight and all.”

“With dredge, there is no such thing as an accident,” said Harald. “Whatever happened out there does not bode well for us here.” His eyes dimmed and I could see the truth beginning to settle.

“I know Jorundr’s been quiet about where the dredge are coming from, but what have you heard?” I asked. “Did some idiot kick over a hornet’s nest?”

“We only saw the dredge near Skrymirstead and nobody saw them coming from the east,” replied Harald. “It is no coincidence; something is driving them, and it must be more than memories of the second war.”

“We have a dozen ideas what it might be, but nothing with real evidence,” added Ismail. “Jorundr has been tight-lipped about it, but I think it’s because he doesn’t actually know. I’ve heard everything from new leadership among the dredge, a misunderstanding at the border, to some faening scheme by the Valka.”

“No need to gossip on my account, just curious,” I said, turning back to the map. “What’s left for us here?”

“It all depends on how many dredge are out there and if you want to be hopeful,” said Ismail. “Me, personally...I would rather not.”

“The southern walls have been entirely leveled, but that may work to our advantage,” said Harald. “If we can cut a path through the dredge between here and there, we can escape with no bottleneck to hinder our advance. But numbers are not on our side.”

“It’s always possible there is relief on the way, maybe runners found their way to pockets of varl beyond the city,” suggested Ismail. “Can’t change how many dredge are here, but it helps if there are more of us.”

“Now look who’s being optimistic,” I grumbled. “If they got past the forts without any trouble, then that means we’re the only varl for days in any direction. From here, we’ll have to write our own stories.”

“So then getting away is our only real choice,” said Ismail.

“If we all make a break that way to the south, they will pursue,” I said, moving varl pieces down the map and dredge pieces in pursuit. “And we won’t make three days out of Grofheim before they catch us. Some of us must split off to hold or divert them. If not, we’re faened as soon we’re free of the city. The only question is how many and where we put them.”

Harald knew this but remained quiet. He had a way of settling his gaze into an intensity that bordered almost on horror. I never thought to say anything about it after years and years, but over time I understood it as his way of focusing. We all knew that the number of varl who escaped Grofheim would be however many would fight the rest of the war. Vognir’s entourage, the varl in Strand, and any others scattered across the mountains would not be guaranteed to join in time, if ever.

“We estimate there are four thousand of us remaining in the city that can be readied to evacuate at once,” began Harald. “A tenth of that number should be the maximum committed to a diversion.”

“Do you think that’ll be enough?” Ismail asked. My instinct was that we needed a thousand, but I always used more force than necessary to get the job done. Either way, I was happy to let Harald make the assessment. He was always better with strategy.

“We need to make sure we have a force worth carrying into human lands,” said Harald. “We do not know what Jorundr has planned long-term, but we have to give him the best chance to... win.” He almost said ‘survive.’

“Fair enough, then. We hardly ever know what’s on his mind, but that’s never stopped us before. Who’s going?” I asked. Around the room, everybody stopped and looked at me and Harald like awaiting a death sentence. Varl lead long lives, but we are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans.

Harald looked at me and lowered the shield still wrapped around his arm. For the first time, I noticed the streaks of grey among black in his hair and beard, the weariness in his posture, the chips in his horns, and his tired, deep eyes. His teal tunic rested on top of bandage after bandage; it was caked with blood and pockmarked with cuts and tears.

“As good a time to go as any, right?” I joked to the room. No one said anything.

“Could you give us a minute?” Harald said to the others in the room. They quietly filed out. “I’m sorry to have announced it in front of the others, but at this point, I may be a liability with this,” continued Harald, gesturing to his arm and shield. “I trust you to handle this task. It may be the most important of our lives.”

“Harald, I understand,” I replied, smiling through. “I’ll take the remaining guards we have and hunt for volunteers. Do you need to speak to the other clans to set the plan in stone? Wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers before we get rolling.”

“I did before I came up here,” said Harald, smiling back. I started to leave but turned back at the door.

“Harald...are we really leaving Grofheim?”

It was a ridiculous question, but it nagged me, and I needed to hear him to make it real: to leave our home, to abandon it to destruction. I was loath to leave everything behind forever: my home, our monuments, the legacy of centuries of varl.

“There is no other way,” replied Harald. “If we were going to stop them, it would have been before they reached the city.”

“We were so sure we would beat them in Skrymirstead and, failing that, here at the walls. What went wrong? The second war took years and years, we were there.”

Harald shrugged. I knew it was futile to ask, but I had become so used to him having an answer. “We will find out once we... regroup.”

I slung a hammer high on my shoulder. “Nothing to do, then. I’ll get your four hundred in the next two hours. In the meantime, I look forward to your plan for our friend down there.” I gestured to the window, where far below at the head of the black sea was a tall dredge dressed in red robes, holding a glaive in each hand. The varl in his vicinity either stood dazed in his presence or routed in cowardice. Harald peered below at the Sundr and I could feel the stress rising in him.

“This is it, this is how it happens,” he muttered, still facing down below. I never knew if he meant for me to hear it.

#

    I went to my makeshift quarters to pick up any remaining equipment. Sitting down on the bed, I dusted off my clothes and shook off stiff boots. The beautiful release of sleep had only found me once in seven days and I longed to just rest for a moment.

After floating down the river of a dream, I opened my eyes and sat up. As I slowly remembered the broken state of my body, I felt my left horn, jagged from days of shrapnel and glancing blows. I traced a line from the tip down to a matrix of scabs dotting everything from my left eye down to my right jaw.

It was time to take stock of everything before our final rush to the city walls. My boots were finally dry after a week trudging through snow; my armor had hardly any straps left to tighten, but I kept reinforcing it with bits and pieces of metal I scavenged; daggers and knives picked up along the way found homes in my belt. I still held onto a hammer I had picked up on the fourth day of fighting. The head had delicate twists and turns carved throughout, and the rune-covered haft was smooth from centuries of use. It sang every time it stung rock and crushed everything it touched.

Down in the courtyard, my remaining guards stood at attention, tired and injured but still eager to make their mark. Another couple hundred from across the city stood nearby, joining. I felt good knowing I would run with so many familiar faces, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of leading them all to a shallow grave.

Nevertheless, we moved over to one of the few gates in the area free of dredge; this exit was where we would perform our illusion. The dredge knew we were cornered and they would be expecting a breakout and a sacrificial diversion. The switch was simple: the initial attack would in fact be the vanguard making the escape. The diversionary force would be disguised as trying to escape, conspicuously filtering out from the side. Some of the worst mistakes we made during the second war had come from believing our enemies were incapable of strategy. Our lives now hinged on whether we had learned the lesson.

Harald emerged from inside the fort, shield still locked to his arm, spear resting on his shoulder. He had patched up the remaining cuts and bruises on his body and looked ready for battle (or as ready as he would ever be). Beyond the gate, we could see figures in the distance, working their way through houses.

“Where are we meeting you when this is all over?” I asked, forcing optimism to my voice.

“The old capital, across Burra Pass,” replied Harald. “A week away if we make haste. Once we break out, Jorundr will send scouts in all directions for help.”

“Look forward to seeing you there,” I said. “Are you ready? Four hundred of yours first, then four hundred of mine.”

“If all goes well, we should have a couple thousand outside the city by the time the dredge realize the game.” Harald gritted his teeth. “Not enough down the line without the menders or humans, but this gives us hope.”

“And the Sundr?”

“You’ll have to take your chances with them,” said Harald, shaking his head. “We cannot use the same tactics as when we had true armies during the wars. We had our hands full even then.”

“Captain, we’re made of flesh and bone.” I slumped while standing for the first time all week. Harald always had an answer, but was this the best he could offer me?

“I know... reports from across the city tell us that every Sundr we can name is here. My gut tells me if you see them, you should just run.”

I forced my face into agreement, but I couldn’t let it go. “How did this happen?”

Harald blinked and his mouth settled into a frown. “We will have more time to ask questions in Einartoft. For now, we just have to escape.”

His tone was final. He seemed prepared for, even unbothered by, our impending departure. Was this all he had to say after spending a hundred years together? Did it not trouble him that those years were spent defending a city now burning to the ground? But I looked into his unmoving eyes and realized my irritation was only immaturity. He knew every bit as much as I did that the world we had built was being undone. We had been colored and shaped by a duty to our home, a duty that we had chosen, a duty that was now sunsetting. Perhaps that spoke enough for both of us.

I felt the questions inside me slowly trickle to a halt. I stared at him, trying to force myself to remember the look of his calm, unshaken face. I could see the determination, the readiness to face our final hours. Varl are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans, but, finally, this was no trick. I realized I had been staring at him for perhaps a whole minute.

Thus ended my last interaction with Harald in Grofheim. I have a painting of him in my memory of that last scene before I turned to leave. It was in that moment that I knew Grofheim was gone.

#

The first gate opened and Harald’s four hundred varl rushed out. They pushed away from the gate, plowing through an initial wall of dredge. Once they cleared the first group, I could see a few grunts begin to give chase before the Sundr called them back to the fortress. We then clattered our way out through the side entrance. As expected, the wave of dredge charged in our direction, a contingent ten times our size, howling and humming as they slammed into us.

I swung wildly and tossed aside a dredge grunt. Another swing, another grunt. A third swing buried my hammer into the shield of a stoneguard, but a timely blow from a guardsman freed it again. With simultaneous strikes, we felled the stoneguard and pushed onward. As we nearly broke free of the circle, I could see the lone dredge from before, taller than any of us and shrouded in crimson robes: Dread. It planted both of its glaives into the ground and began shaking violently. We had heard stories of its powers, and I was hesitant to witness them firsthand. But then, I thought, if I could do it, perhaps end the battle immediately and save the lives of those around me--and slay a dredge legend... Stonesingers can be interrupted, one heavy strike would work.

As I neared, I swung back my hammer, twisted my hips, and stretched to meet him, hammer to Sundr. But before I could make contact, a vibration knocked me onto my back and everything around me disappeared.

I found myself floating in calm darkness for a moment before a great wall of flame surrounded me and began to close in. Memories of creation flooded my mind as the flames licked my clothes, but this was different, a perversion. The wall came closer and closer until every part of me was engulfed in flames. Links of chainmail resting on my skin branded themselves into flesh, while the skin itself peeled away and the nerve endings frayed into nothingness. An eternity passed. I saw my skeleton blackening in the deepest fires of the universe, and when the last bone disappeared into ashes, I felt suspended in nothingness. My voice was gone and the only thing I could feel was my mind trying to claw its way back to something tangible.

The hollowness subsided, and I found myself in the physical world, staring up at a sky of clouds and sun blurred together. The world was eerily quiet for that moment. The loud clanging and screams of battle gave way to dull thuds like the sound at a butcher’s. I looked back at Dread and saw it walking away with one glaive resting on a shoulder, the other at its side. It seemed so calm and pleased with its work, not even giving me a second glance.

As my senses sharpened, I saw peril everywhere. My companions were in the state of illusion that had captured me, now lying on the ground with vacant eyes while dredge bludgeoned them to death. I turned and saw one varl after another dying, eyes locked in a gaze into nothingness, not reacting to hammers crushing bone and rupturing viscera and muscle. We existed only like wheat waiting for the scythe. We weren’t even fighting. We weren’t anything.

The feeling of a weapon bearing down on me finally snapped me into action. I could almost see surprise in the grunt’s eyes as I batted away its strike. One swing from my hammer shattered its stone armor and a follow-up caved in its chest. As the light faded from its eyes, I took satisfaction in ensuring its final emotion was shock.

I turned and crushed another dredge, hammerhead vibrating from the point of contact down to my trembling hands. Rage boiled within me and I was ready to charge at Dread, ready to even the score. But my tunnel vision subsided and I realized the true danger to our mission. The Sundr was already leaving and there were plenty of other dredge to handle. The glory of battling a Sundr beckoned, but I knew I owed it to those around me to struggle a different way. I had to escape.

The situation was collapsing. The longer we lingered, the more enemies swarmed to fence us in. Before Dread arrived, we had been close to breaking free and dispersing, but now, we found ourselves surrounded. Neither vigor nor ferocity would save us. I spotted a solitary varl, covered in cuts and missing an arm, waving a red banner, trying to rally us to an alleyway. This was enough of a plan to survive: no glorious final stand, no victory of arms. Along with a few others snapped out of Dread’s illusion, I followed the banner and we began hacking through the crowd of dredge. The already injured varl was cut down as I arrived, but the rest of us barreled down the alleyway as the buildings on both sides began to collapse, supports chewed away by fire. I hated the thought of deserting those I led into the fray, but I decided I would see Harald again; I owed it to my kendr.

By the time we cleared the alley, only a couple dozen of us remained. I could still hear fighting from the other side of the rubble and the awful warping noise of Dread’s glaives. Thoughts of fire continued to race around in my head, but I was able to quell the fear. With the Sundr and its dredge on the other side of the fallen buildings, I assessed our state. So much for our plan: the diversion scattered and smeared into the streets. I could only hope Harald and the others had made their escape. I rallied those with me, a few brothers in arms for years, other newly made friends, mostly strangers in a dire situation, and we started moving toward the city gate to escape. At least there were no other Sundr in the vicinity, and the dredge we did see were not very interested in fighting us, some even running away on our approach. After we felt a safe distance from the violence, we rested in an empty temple dedicated to Hadrborg. It had already been in disrepair by the time the dredge attacked, but I felt the sadness of leaving behind yet another place that harkened to a golden age: lost glory, faded away.

“Where now?” asked Ismail. In the chaos of the breakout, I hadn’t realized he was with us. In fact, I was so sure he escaped with Harald. Selfishly, I was glad to have his shield and spear, but I also wished he were far away and safe.

“It’s another hour to the gate,” I replied. “We’ll need to run. There’s nothing left here for us.”

“Do you think Jorundr and the others escaped? Harald?”

“We can ask questions in Einartoft.” I don’t know how much I believed it now that I was peddling Harald’s words.

As we advanced toward the gate, we got an eerie feeling. The only sounds we could hear were the far-off city buildings crumbling in flames. There was no fighting. Was every other varl in the city already dead? Had the dredge caught Harald and ended all hope? In the long stretch between the final row of houses and the city gate, we saw a crowd of dredge gathered. It was small enough for us to directly engage but large enough that I knew most of us would not survive. And yet, beyond the dredge was a field of corpses, mostly dredge, and only a handful of varl--Harald and the others had broken through!

I exchanged glances with my surviving varl. This was no time for subtlety, and we were in no mood for anything of the sort so close to freedom. We charged.

In the ensuing chaos, I swung my hammer with the feeling that I was gliding into the end of days, with no caution left to spare. With swing after swing, I felt the vibration and resistance resonate throughout my body.

Chance blows may have broken a rib or two, but I felt immersed in my own world. By the time I stopped feeling the weight of the hammerhead against stone, I looked around and realized that I was entirely alone for the first time. Everybody was dead. I never saw Ismail go, or Stefan, or Jorgen, or Thorvald. We had so long to live and I had missed the opportunity to say good-bye all the same. We can ask questions in Einartoft. My final, anti-climactic words to them. The final event of my life in Grofheim. Over in minutes.

Looking up, I saw that the way out was laid bare. Slowly, I realized the only thing left was for me to leave. The gate loomed over me, silent. It struck me as a cruel joke that everything around it had been obliterated, but the gate itself was left unscathed. I had defended it after all.

Not a moment after I took my first step into the snow a mace swung down at me. My forearm flung up by reflex and I felt muscles bruise and bones crack. I stumbled backward and fell into the snow onto my knees. I looked up and saw a lone grunt before me and another figure in the distance. My hands reached furiously in the cold white, reaching and reaching before I saw I had dropped the hammer behind the grunt.

I inched away from the grunt, feeling the desperation and panic of one nearing his end. I could neither find the hammer nor even see it, but I remembered the knives and daggers on my belt and I hurled one at the grunt. A miss. I scrambled for a second knife and didn’t even aim. A thud. A scream, the kind I had heard a hundred times before. The figure in the distance began running toward us, and I rose and charged the grunt. Exhaustion permeated every fiber in my body. Muscle memory drove me to dodge the grunt’s clumsy swings. It was holding onto its side, clutching the embedded knife, as desperate to end the fight as I was. Finally, it committed too far on a downward swing and missed. I held down its mace with my boot and drove my remaining dagger into its face. It crumbled to the ground in a heap without even a whimper. One long exhale later, I gave the grunt’s head a forceful kick, yanking free the blade.

I hastily placed the dagger back into my belt and found my hammer a few steps away. Just as I turned to leave, a whizzing rock smacked one of my horns. I was stunned for a moment. When I recovered, the figure was close enough to see: a smaller dredge with a sling, something I had never seen before. With no shield for defense, I braced for another attack, but it never came. Instead, the dredge dropped the sling and ran to the dead grunt, cradling the body and touching it forehead to forehead, letting out a painful drone.

I knew what I had done. We always knew. Something in me wanted to stay at the gate forever, to die defending something like the grunt had. But I couldn’t bear to look at him and I couldn’t bear to look at her.

#

At last, I was clear of the city. I was alone. As I walked, the hills leading away from the city gave way to a snowy and steep incline. My legs forced me forward, following the trail Harald and the others had made as they fled, but each step up the hill resounded in my head. The ringing in my ears became unbearable. I turned around to look one final time and my heart cracked at the sight of the rising pillars of flame. Years and years walking the streets, patrolling the walls, drinking myself to sleep, growing camaraderie, watching the world go by. How could I forget what I had seen? How could I let it go? What future was waiting for us? But to live--to Einartoft!

[lia-nikiforov]

Revised edition

Quick report on Kubo and Yamamoto’s attendance to Concomics Guadalajara. I was in line for 9 hours plus two more for their short Q&A and am objectively dying, sorry for typos 

ETA: When I wrote this it didn’t occur to me that it would get hundreds of reblogs before I ever got to fix it, now my half-deceased incompetent typing will live on forever *sobs*

I arrived at 6:30 am and there were already people in line jeeesus (lots were coming to see a youtuber though)

Gonna spare you the deets on the awful people in my surroundings thank @yuurinikiforov cos I screamed at her for hours

ETA: I just realized this sounds like it was Ally making me scream but in fact i tumblr-screamed at her to prevent from unleashing my frustrations on the gross fujos that surrounded me. Thank Ally because she got to read all that nervous-wreck garbage and y’all get to be spared

I had a two-day ticket so I was allowed in half an hour earlier and if not for that, I probably would’ve missed on the autograph line. They had space for 50 people (plus 200ish that had bought the express pass which was super expensive). I was #45. It took less than three minutes since getting inside for all 50 spots to be taken

(this was the line after three minutes. I was too lazy to take pics of it later, but it got to be around 5 times this at some point.)

ETA: According to Con staff, since the lines were very well organized, they actually got to sign quite a bit more people than the originally allotted 50. The Queens are so kind. 

No photos, video or sound recording of The Queens allowed, except for this one taken by Con staff. They were giving away those postcards for the filthy casuals people who didn’t bring any official merch for the sign

i’m mostly kidding about the filthy casual thing bc I hate fandom elitism but there were a lot of people bringing FANART PRINTS and I wanted to gut them

Kubo would quick sketch a character of your choice. I chose Victor bc I love how she draws his huge heart mouth

I was able to tell Sayokan how grateful I am from the bottom of my heart and that I’m looking forward to the movie and she said thank you and that they’re workinng hard. I died. ETA: I wanted to say so much more but I was so nervous my Japanese came out really garbled and we didn’t have much time. And I didn’t get to say anything to Kubo because I didn’t want to distract her from drawing ;---;

Sayokan has a beautiful smile and I love her

ETA: She also had an aura like Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada, twenty years younger: A STRONG woman who takes no prisoners and is fabulous af. I love her with all my soul.

After the autographs, The Queens had a short stage appearance

There was a cosplay contest and the winners would get to sit in the front row for The Queens’ presentation. I didn’t take any pics but the standout for me apart from a flood of gorgeous girls doing Eros Yuuri, was a pair of girls doing Lilia and Yakov. The announcer clearly didn’t watch the show and botched Lilia’s last name, but the cosplayer had the attitude 100% on point.

Something I hate is people who say Yurio stressing the u, it sounds so wrong and a lot of people today were doing it and driving me mad

The stage was packed af

Kubo drew quick sketch of Victor while she and Sayo answered a couple of questions. They will post the video later today

ETA: Here’s the video

Audience Questions logistics wasn’t very well prepared and even Kubo asked how it was gonna work. I was embarrassed for the lack of planning. In the end those that were lucky to be close to the stage got to ask the questions. Lia was praying for no stupid questions pls.

Q&A (translation partially mine partially from the interpreter)

1. What were your expectations about Mexico and have those expectations changed now

Kubo: I haven’t gone sightseeing yet but it’s my first time in Mexico and I didn’t expect so many people. [The people/audience] feels four or five times warmer than japan (make of that what you may, Japanese people say that about us a lot) Sayokan didn’t answer

2. Dumb question that has already been answerred in interviews about whether Yurio was planned to win from the start. As we know, yes, pretty sure both of them have said it before. Sayokan added that his character development wasn’t completely planned though, and he evolved a lot during writing.

3. Which word do you think of when you thibk of Yuuri and Victor 

Sayokan: Love (愛) 

Kubo: She didn’t talk to the mic and people were still screaming about 愛  so Ididn’t hear what she said but the interpreter said she said Friendship. My queens get your story sraight pls

HUGELY IMPORTANT ETA: Other people that were there have confirmed that Kubo gave a long answer that included 断ち切れない絆 “an unbreakable bond” and didn’t say anything about friendship. There was a telephone game going on because there was a JP-ENG interpreter and then an ENG-SPA interpreter and I don’t know how or why the latter got “friendship” but please take this into account, I don’t want people to hate on Kubo because I wasn’t close enough to hear her answer and the Spanish interpreter botched it.

Not important ETA: A girl close to me was yelling “Victuri” like she hoped they’d answer that and I was facepalming hard

Kubo also asked (in Japanese) if anyone understood Japanese, it wasn’t translated and a good dozen of hands shot up. She was surprised. Some folks screamed abd she said 落ち着け. One or two continued screaming so obviously they didn’t understand Japanese lol

4. Stupid question about whether they plan to develop Otabek and Yurio’s relationship. 

Sayokan said they hadn’t fully decided on how everything’s gonna end in the movie so can’t say yet but look forward to the bonus on V6 (the interpreter said V3 and I wanted to gut him). Hoes I like Otayuri but stop trying to shove it on The queens’ faces pls

5. Do you have plans for a special chapter about the Lady skaters? 

Sayokan said it’s definitely something they’d love to do but right now their focus is on the boys abnd finishing their story. Best answer for me tbh besides Sayokan’s 愛 cos I wanna see Mila skate soooo bad.

ETA: Forgot to mention this but a lot of people were chanting “Boda! Boda!” (wedding). Kubo asked what it was that people were chanting and the interpreter told them. Someoene else is reporting that Sayokan chuckled. There were two tall dudes in front of me so my vision was very obstructed and can’t confirm, but neither said anything out loud in response to it

Sayokan threw some gifts at the audience but My Queen is no pitcher and I was too far back so didn’t get anything *sobs*. Some were prints or maybe postcards but no idea of what exactly.

And that’s it! Theyll be signing more autographs and have another stage appearancw tomorrow but I can’t stay so someone else will have to report it whilst I die.

TL;DR I love them and my calebdar looks even more beautiful and I never thought that was possible and I’ll cry about this day for the rest of my life.

PS I’ll fix those typos when I’m not utterly destroyed PPs: I have no shame so I wanna plug my cute Victuri Tangled AU it’s really cute and it doesnt have typos promise, please read it  http://archiveofourown.org/works/10529547/chapters/23245557

[supportforindieauthors]

Interview with Alan Guffy

1) Can you tell us a little about the inspiration behind your entry for this contest?

Most of my story inspirations come through a mash-up or twist on things going on during my life.  In this case, I burned the roof of my mouth one day about a month ago and got a nasty sore.  It would almost heal and then something would happen and it’d get worse again.  One day, while I was walking our dogs, I started thinking what if it’s cancer?  And it made me start to consider ‘body horror’ in a different context.  About a month earlier I’d watched something that included a discussion about the CIA and sensory deprivation tortures.  That had stuck with me, and this story was the result.

2) What made you decide to enter this contest?

I’ve been trying off and on to become a more serious writer.  I’m an attorney and while I used to write prolifically, for a long time during and after law school I got away from it.  I blamed the work schedule and “life”, but part of this was also due to what I’ve heard call “editing hell.”  I wrote a short novel in college and instead of submitting it anywhere or moving on, I would review it, edit it, tinker, let it sit, then repeat.  And I did this for seven years.  Finally, a year or so ago I forced myself to move on to something new.  This year, I’ve resolved to finish the projects I’ve started and start getting my stuff out there, and entering this contest was a part of that!

3) Who are some of your favourite authors and why?

I love Cormac McCarthy and Stephen King.  I think McCarthy is a genius in a very literal sense.  I don’t think you can write the way he does with the vocabulary he has and the layers he uses and not be one. I like Stephen King because I think at his best he can be very effective at letting the characters drive the action and letting their motivations and their decisions play out naturally, rather than in a way that feels plotted.  I found his take on writing (as presented in his book On Writing) to be refreshing, and really cut through a lot the noise that you can get bogged down with in craft books.

4) What is your favourite book you read this year and why?

I’ve read a bit more nonfiction than usual this year, but in terms of novels that would probably be Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty.  I thought it was a clever, interesting book and I loved the way she developed the mystery elements and revealed more and more about her characters over time.  It’s a cheat, because I read it about a year ago, but I also read a book called Son of the Black Sword that I picked up on Amazon by Larry Correia.  I’d never read him and was delighted with the decision.  It was the most fun I’ve had with a book in a while, made even better because it was a total surprise.

5) What is your best piece of advice for all the new independent authors out there?

I think it would be “find an audience.”  When I was writing my most, I had a friend who loved my writing.  He would read everything I’d write and we’d talk about it and I knew he was a genuine fan.  We grew apart, things moved on, and without that it’s a little more of a slog and a little more intimidating to put things out there.  I’ve joined writing groups to fill some of that hole, but nothing really beats having someone whose taste you trust and who knows you well enough to be earnest when things are great, and honest when things aren’t.  It keeps you grounded and can give you the confidence you need to push ahead.

[thefinalprose]

Episode One: I Lost to a Chicken.

Well, here I am. Again. Long story short, I wrote recaps for several seasons and needed a breather. Good thing I took one because from what I’ve heard Arie’s season was about as exciting as the intro paragraph to this recap.

When the Bachelor suitor bios came out, I just couldn’t resist and decided to write about them. The response was enough of an ego stroke that I have decided to recap Becca’s season, just a little differently. This time, no one will edit for me; they may take a week to post (sorry this took so long, I was out of town) and I might write whilst enjoying a cocktail. Regardless, I promise the same judgmental snark.

The first episode of the season is always a fan favorite. We get to re-live the new lead’s sad story of heartbreak; we’ll likely see past contestants show up to offer advice on finding everlasting love on national television in less than 90 days and it’s our first official look at the new suitors as they arrive at the mansion. A few will do something over the top for attention; a few will be too nervous to form a sentence that makes sense and one will definitely get blitzed. And probably half naked.

As though I’ve watched this before, the episode starts with the (first) reminder that Arie dicked Becca over last season. He proposed, she said yes and during one of their secret romantic getaways before they could officially go public as a couple, he breaks up with her with cameras rolling so he could go be with the runner up from his season. Who he had already spoken to about the idea. I want to say I’m surprised ABC let this happen, but they stopped surprising me with bad ideas when they let Nick try (and fail) at love 107 times.

Becca arrives at the mansion to be greeted by Kaitlyn, JoJo and Rachel; the most recent Bachelorette’s who are there to inspire success as they are all still engaged to the winner of their seasons. JoJo says, “it’s about to be bigger and better” and I hope that’s a dig at fantasy suite Arie.

The Bachelorette’s sage the mansion and I wonder if anyone outside of LA knows what that means.

SUITOR PREVIEWS

Before all 25ish suitors step out of the limo, we are made privy to a few of the standouts from the season. A little teaser, if you will.

First up is Clay, a professional football player who doesn’t fucking cuss. As unsure as I am about a person that doesn’t swear, I’m more leery of an NFL player that needs The Bachelorette to find “love”.

Garrett, the guy who does Chris Farley impressions, is next and guess what? He does a Chris Farley impression that I bet you can’t guess I hate.

I do.

He lists off a bunch of made up winter activities he enjoys because, you know, Becca is from Minnesota and it’s always winter there.

We see Jordan, the guy who is definitely a self-proclaimed “Instagram model”, having a photo shoot. He shares that his “brand” is “the pensive gentleman” and I’m going to guess that’s also his Grindr handle. He claims being a male model is taxing because he has to go to the gym year round. I don’t see modeling in my future and I, too have to go to the gym year round. Check out my Instagram page; I talk about it every once in a while. He also says he can see him and Becca, in sweats, on a couch with a tub of chocolate and a chick flick which is definitely the rest of his Grindr bio.

Lincoln, who apparently was named after honest Abe, is seen walking along Hollywood Boulevard with a huge smile on his face. If you’ve ever walked along Hollywood Boulevard, you know that no one should be smiling. I don’t trust him.

Joe, the grocery store owner, has been practicing his grocery store humor and I’d like to check out.

I’m not even sorry for that terrible joke.

Jean Blanc, the guy who loves cologne enough to call himself a Colognoisseur, tells us he’s going to blow Becca’s nose away and I hope it’s because he’s bringing an eight ball to the mansion.

I was certain that the joke about Colton, another pro football player, would be about his YouTube date ask to Aly Raisman out but oh, was I wrong. The joke is that he’s wearing a velour hooded vest over a shirt with leather sleeves. You know those men who make too much money too early on so they spend it on really dumb shit? That’s Colton. Who let him wear this? Who recorded this video for him letting him wear this? Why does he own this? What is happening?

LIMO EXITS + INTRO’S

It’s time for the men to arrive at the mansion and of the first five men, three of them have said, “Let’s do the damn thing” which became annoying even before the season aired.

The next five all make a joke about Arie, because every woman wants to talk about her shitty ex with a potential new love interest.

The five after that are the five that met her at After the Finale Rose when she was announced The Bachelorette.

We are fifteen dudes deep and I’m pretty sure only one of these guys is wearing socks with his loafers. Is this a thing men do? Is there a reason for it? Gross.

David, the guy that loves guacamole but hates avocados, comes out in a chicken costume and makes more chicken jokes than I knew even possible and yet none of them are cock jokes. Impressive or disappointing?

Disappointing.

The rest of the entrances were actually pretty lame and I suddenly remember that there is a drink limit on this show now.

Once everyone has arrived, Becca enters the house to greet the suitors for the first time and the drama among the men begins. The Bachelorette is way more fun than The Bachelor because dude drama is so much more entertaining. Remember Shawn and Nick? JJ and Clint? Chad? Oh, Chad.  

Clay, a professional football player who doesn’t fucking cuss, takes Becca aside to make dolls or something weird like that. John, the guy who created Venmo, immediately shares that he is the creator of Venmo because in San Francisco that definitely gets him laid every single time.

It’s Christon’s, the guy with a made up job and name, turn and he takes her outside to a basketball hoop, has her hold the ball above her head and then pulls a Harlem Globetrotter dunk move. I’m pretty sure every dude in the house has a semi after watching. I kinda do too, tbh.  

Becca and Blake, the ‘modern romantic’, sit in front of the fire and do that thing where they hold hands, but not just with one pair of hands with both pairs of hands and I’m super annoyed by it. He wins her over by saying, “I just know that if I could love the wrong person so much [his ex], imagine how much I can love the right person” and I wonder how many times he Googled “quotes about love” before choosing that one to use.

Chris Harrison arrives with the first impression rose and now it’s time for the men to step up their game. And by stepping up their game I mean:

Lincoln, who apparently was named after honest Abe, gives her an ancient Nigerian bracelet and tells her she’s now part of the family. Nick, aspiring lead singer of a boy band, has a vibrating back massager that I am completely certain he uses for other things. David, the guy who showed up with chicken jokes wearing a chicken costume, asks Becca to do the chicken dance with him because this fucking guy still hasn’t run out of chicken jokes. Garrett, who showed up in a minivan, takes Becca to the pool to teach her to fly fish and what do ya know (said in an exaggerated midwestern accent) it makes Becca feel at home.

Chris, whose life goal is to retire by 40, has a dilemma and needs the advice of three dudes he just met. Apparently he knows Chase’s ex girlfriend who told him that Chase isn’t there for the right reasons. Chris is perplexed -- should he confront Chase about it? Remember when I said dude drama is hilarious? Exhibit A.

They have a boring confrontation about it and Chase runs to Becca to tell her. This is the least dramatic drama I’ve ever watched. Becca doesn’t understand the context, Chase brings Chris into the conversation and this is so dumb.

That conversation brought light to Becca that there may be men here with ill intentions and she shares that someone rubbed her the wrong way earlier in the night. Like all of us, she’s there to be rubbed the right way, so she wants to address it.

She asks Jake, a guy that she already knows as they have a shared friend group in Minnesota, to step aside to chat. She tries to send him home because in their several times of meeting he never pursued her and now wants to on national TV. He doesn’t make it easy for her and I’m afraid Minnesota will ban him for life like they did Arie.  

There is a guy with a Harry Potter tattoo and this is why I feel badly for people who are trying to date. You have to worry about finding the perfect person only to realize he has a fucking Harry Potter tattoo.

Becca finally picks up the first impression rose and gives it to Garrett, the guy who showed up in a minivan. She leans in to kiss him and he goes for the cheek. She grabs him by the neck and he finally gets it. Maybe he really is Chris Farley.

ROSE CEREMONY

The only thing I don’t understand about the rose ceremony is how Joe was sent home. I still hope he’s the next Bachelor.

LINE OF THE NIGHT

“There are so many balls here” -- Becca, during the impromptu basketball game.

ELIMINATED

Jake, a guy that she already knows as they have a shared friend group in Minnesota,

Joe, the love of my life

Chase, a could-be serial killer

Kamil -- social media participant who I’m guessing won’t be participating in social media for a while after being sent home night one

Darius, who lives in the Valley

Grant, the electrician with electrician jokes

Christian, whose head was too small for his body  

Okay, now I am going to watch episode two so the recap doesn’t take as long to post.

[viewsfrom3p18-blog]

The Third and Final Blog Post

Hi there! Welcome to my third and FINAL blog ☺ 

This semester has gone by in the blink of an eye and I’m bittersweet about it being done. On one hand, with every class that finishes I’m one step closer to earning my degree, but that means I’m also finished one of my favourite classes in university thus far. Being in this course has changed my perspective on how I view myself as an audience member. I have become more aware of my actions and behaviour and the actions of others when an audience is present. After completing this course I often find myself reflecting on my daily life for situations when I was part of an audience and analyzing the situation in terms of my position in the audience. This course has truly given me more than just a credit towards my degree.

Growing up whenever I have become a fan of something/someone, I have almost always been an active fan. I would also call myself a super fan for many musicians. For one I believed that I was the Jonas Brothers biggest fan (as did most girls my age) when I was younger. In the beginning, I was more of a passive fan. I knew their faces and some of their music that would play on the radio, but they didn’t affect me all that much. I received one of their albums as a present and since receiving that album I turned into a super fan overnight. I began to buy any magazine I could find them on, put posters all over my bedroom walls, and even had cardboard cutouts of the band members. I was obsessed. According to Booth (2015), fans have the ability to become more engaged and involved with the production of content because of the new digital environment. Thanks to social media like Twitter and Facebook, the Jonas Brothers were able to get fans from all across the world involved in their music. Because they were able to see fans across all continents producing content and becoming interested in their work, they quickly gained huge fame. Because fans were given the ability to interact with the band through technological developments, their music was able to reach larger audiences and ultimately gain more and more fans.

Sullivan (2015) refers to audiences and fandoms as being part of an unique subculture. Through my Jonas Brothers Twitter phase I was able to meet dozens of girls my age who had the exact same obsession as me. Although I never went to any, the fans often created meet ups in Toronto (or whichever city they were from) for other fans to go to so everyone could interact and share our passion for the band face-to-face. Sullivan (2015) also states that the difference between being a passive and active fan is the intensity of the fans emotional involvement to the show (or musician in this case). I was so emotionally attached to the band and the music that through this fandom, I ultimately turned into a producer of content. I started a Jonas Brothers fan Twitter page where I would edit pictures of the boys and create video slideshows of them with their music. The band would often be responding to fans on Twitter and doing Live Chats in order to answer fan questions. I spent every spare minute I had researching about them, watching other fan made videos, and trying to get them to notice me on Twitter. This is what changed from me being a passive fan to me becoming an active one. 

Another interesting thing I got to experience through this fandom is the creation of fan fiction. Sullivan (2015) refers to fan fiction as, “original stories written by fans about their favourite media texts” (p. 204). There are many different types of fan fiction present throughout different fandoms. Although I never wrote any personally, I often read what other fans have written. Majority of the stories I would read were personalization fan fictions. These stories are also known as “Mary Sue” fan fictions, in which the writers place themselves into the story in order to interact with the celebrities or characters themselves. These stories were interesting because they allowed me and other fans to use our imagination and feel connected to the band members despite never meeting them.

Audiences have huge amounts of power in today’s society. Audiences are what determines who and/or what is popular and how long they remain popular for. Through this power Sullivan (2015) mentions that a participatory culture is created. A participatory culture is when fans are encouraged to actively participate in the creation and circulation of the media content. Many fans engage in participatory culture in different ways depending on the fandom. As I stated earlier, I was a fan of many pop musicians growing up. Another musician I was a fan of for a while was Justin Bieber. I wasn’t a super fan like I was for the Jonas Brothers, but I still actively followed his music. I remember at the beginning of his career he held a contest for fans in order to appear in one of his music videos. He promoted his music by encouraging fans to create their own music video for the song “One Time” and then he would pick the winner. My friends and I all worked on creating our own video in hopes that we would win (unfortunately we didn’t) and shared our video to Youtube. This is a form of participatory culture. We all created our own content and shared our favourite videos in hopes that Justin Bieber would eventually see them. Participatory culture allows audiences to get involved with the media and create their own personal content to be shared amongst other fans. In my experience it made me feel connected to both Justin Bieber himself as well as other fans because I knew that they would be watching the video. It is interesting how participatory culture gets shared and circulated. Some fan created content ends up becoming famous among the fandom (such as the winning video) and it is amazing to see how much work and passion the fans put into creating their own content.

The Wasike (2013) article consistently references the idea of media framing. Framing refers to, “the selection of certain aspects of reality in order to make them more salient in a bid to promote a desired interpretation” (p. 9). Media framing is typically used in news stories in order for the producers to only show audiences what they want them to know, instead of giving them the entire story. This is seen countless times throughout areas such as politics, law, and history. For my best audience experience essay at the beginning of the year I wrote about my experience going to the 2013 Teen Choice Awards. Seeing the Teen Choice Awards live is an example of media framing. When you watch the show on TV, the producers show you the clips and parts that they want audiences to see. However when you watch the live taping there is no way for producers to control what happens on stage and/or in the audience. Being part of the live audience I was able to see everything that was happening including things like backstage commercial breaks, swearing, and other events that would not make it to the televised version. The producers want the audience to see a certain interpretation of the show and do not want them to see the entire behind the scenes work that actually goes into creating the show. As a member of the live audience, I was able to get the full story and full understanding of what the show entails. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and now after taking this course and being able to analyze how my role as an audience member affected my experience, I love it even more.

A lot of media today is digitalized and can be accessed and shared all over the internet. Audiences are constantly changing and adapting to these new technological advancements. Chapter 10 of the textbook revolves around changing audiences and how producers are adapting to the changes by creating more and more ways for audiences to be involved. Sullivan (2015) uses the term transmedia production, which refers to the making of a narrative through multiple uses of media platforms. For my seminar facilitation in this course I was lucky enough to do it on this chapter of the textbook. When I was researching the topic of transmedia I found an incredibly interesting video on the marketing strategy of the movie The Dark Knight. 

The producers of the show got thousands of fans from across the world together and give them missions to join the Jokers team. The fans were given cell phones that had specific details of where to go for the missions and got them involved in creating their own version of the story. I found this so interesting because the fans were not only able to watch the film and see the Joker on screen, but they were also able to almost put themselves into the movie. I have never seen any of the Batman movies, but this transmedia involvement made me want to watch the series in order to create my own narrative for the story. After watching this video I began to go through different paratexts for The Dark Knight and other Batman movies. A paratext is something that surrounds the media in order to inform us about it, so a movie trailer for example. I was expanding my audience experience of the movies in order to give me a better understanding of the transmedia marketing promotion. The term user-generated content is used in the Astigarraga et al. (2016) article meaning creative content that is created not professionally and is shared online. In my search for paratexts about The Dark Knight, I stumbled across hundreds of user-generated content on Youtube. There are countless amounts of short films created by fans to give their own twist and interpretation on the movie. It is interesting because the fans are able to get so personally involved in the film and create their own story in order to keep the narrative going. New audiences are getting more and more creative with how they interact with media and as a communications student it is super amazing to be able to analyze.

Well that’s it! This course has taught me so much that I will take with me for the rest of my life and I thank Professor Good for giving me such a good audience experience in her class!

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  Richard Raven has become a cherished friend over the last several months. We have talked about his writing and books and publishing for hours. He has a delightful sense of humor and really loves his fellow writers and readers alike. I always love when he sends me his latest story to read and can highly recommend his books. He has surrounded himself with an awesome support group of friends who edit, read and sometimes make covers for him. If you don’t know him or haven’t read his stories I highly suggest that you do, you will never meet a kinder man who truly appreciates everything you do for him. Please help me welcome Richard Raven to Roadie Notes………..

  1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story?

Ten or eleven, if I remember correctly. It was an essay about little league baseball I wrote for the extra credit in class, but my teacher liked it so much that she had it published in the school newspaper. I was in my mid-thirties, and a lifetime of hell-raising already behind me, when I decided to make a serious attempt at writing. I say serious attempt, but it was mostly a pastime at first to amuse myself. It was in 1997 when, on a whim, I entered a short mystery story in a contest sponsored by a writing group based in Memphis, Tennessee and won first place and a $50 prize that I realized I truly did have the ability to write a story that someone other than me would read and enjoy. I’ve been writing, off and on, ever since. It was about six years ago that I began developing a style of writing that I felt was right for me and would one day, hopefully, make me a published author.

2. How many books have you written?

At present, I have two published novels, For The Evil Returned (horror) and His Debt To Her (a murder mystery), and two collections of shorts and novellas (all horror). These four books were published under the name Jackson Sullivan. I also have two book length manuscripts I wrote from 2004 to 2009 that I’ve never submitted. Someday, I may pull both out of the boxes I have them stored in, knock off some of the dust, bring them up to date, and see what happens.

3. Anything you won’t write about?

Courtroom dramas. Almost without exception, I find stories like this painfully dull and dreary, and it’s hard to get me to even sit through a movie involving a lot of back and forth legal wrangling. Anything else, no problem.

4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc…

I’m 54, which amazes me and anyone who knew me from my late-teens right up until about the time I turned 30. During those years I traveled the country from coast to coast, border to border (sometimes not even bothering to stop at the borders), living out of a suitcase and from either a Harley-Davidson or a Trailways bus. Never married, and no kids, but there is a lady in my life. Quite a lady she is, too, in that she can put up with me on a daily basis – the only woman I’ve ever known who could do it. I’ve worked many kinds of jobs over the years but, right now, I’m trying to concentrate solely on writing.

5. What’s your favorite book you have written?

I’m happy (as happy as any writer can be) with everything I have published. Having said that, I feel my two novels are dead even as far as my favorites. Both were inspired by events that hit very close to home with me, so there is a personal connection with both stories. In the case of the murder mystery, that story stemmed from a family tragedy in which an aunt of mine died in a car crash.

6. Who or what inspired you to write?

The who, first and foremost, would have to be Stephen King and Robert R. McCammon. It was King’s IT and McCammon’s Swan Song that inspired me to write horror, and both stories remain the most incredible and moving tales I have ever read. Writers like Clive Barker, Ray Garton, James Herbert, John Everson, and Ruby Jean Jenson have also heavily influenced the kind of horror I write. The list, however, doesn’t end with these legends of the horror genre. I have read many, many different and diverse authors over the years – from Stephen Ambrose to Ken Follett to Frederick Forsyth – and they have all influenced me in some way. As far as the what, I have had a love for most of my adult life of movies (mostly horror, mysteries, and thrillers), and I’ve had the privilege of knowing many people over the years who loved nothing more than to spin an interesting tale. I still get the chance every now and then to sit and visit with someone who will gladly regal me with a story of a bygone time. I find these stories endlessly fascinating.

7. What do you like to do for fun?

Well, writing is a lot of fun, of course! When I’m not doing that, however, you can usually find me in front of the TV watching some slasher flick or a World War II spy thriller. I love the outdoors and enjoying fishing and camping, when I get the chance. I also love car and motorcycle shows, and you can usually find me on pretty Spring and Summer weekends at the local convenience story visiting with the many bikers that pass-through town on road trips or poker runs. I’m also a fanatic for hard rock music, as I’m sure everyone who knows me on Facebook or has ever seen my timeline is well aware.

8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?

Well, one thing that has become a kind of tradition is that I like to spend some quiet time, usually alone and late at night (when I typically finish a story), during which I say goodbye to the story itself and the characters I’ve created. After all, each story and its characters have occupied my mind for days, weeks, months, and sometimes much longer than that. Case in point, I spent over fourteen months writing and polishing For The Evil Returned. When I type THE END, it takes me a little while to let go of that story and start thinking about the next one.

9. Where do you write? Quiet or music?

I have a room, a man-cave if you like, in my apartment where I write. The hundreds of books in my personal library fill that room, along with the various and minor awards I’ve won with my writing over the years, as well as autographed pictures of various bands and musicians I’ve met. My own little world, I suppose. Usually, especially if the writing is going well, it’s as silent as a tomb in that room. But if I’m hung on a plot issue or stuck for whatever reason, I always have music playing and my headphones on. Either that, or one of the many books on CD I have.

10. Anything you would change about your writing?

As far as what I write and have written, no. Of course, as is the case with every writer, I suppose, I always feel the story I’m working on could do with another polish or isn’t as perfect as I could make it. But you must finish it at some point and let go of it. For me, that can be the hardest part of the whole process. If there is one thing I wish I could change is that I started writing seriously (by that I mean with the idea of getting published) much earlier than I did.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

Maybe not so much to become famous (not a threat to either Mr. King or Mr. McCammon, though reaching a point in which I could make a little money would be nice), but more to be remembered as someone who, on his good days, could write a decent story. The day my first novel went live, I felt that I had finally done something positive that just might be read, appreciated and remembered long after I’m gone.

12. Where do you live?

About an hour north of Hot Springs, Arkansas in a little town that isn’t much more than an intersection for 3 state highways and 1 U.S. Highway. I’m only a few miles from Lake Nimrod, a beautiful manmade lake that stretches almost twenty miles through the valleys of the Ozark mountains. I mentioned this lake in one of my novels.

13. Pets?

Any hungry stray that shows up at the front door.

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

*grins fiendishly* Being the one in charge and making all the decisions. It’s incredibly fulfilling to create a character, give them an identity and personality, and decide how they will think and act in any given situation. I must admit that creating the antagonist is often the most fun. Just how bad or evil this character or that character will be often takes me to strange places in my mind, and I find myself thinking about things that have never occurred to me before. Some of the places I venture to often surprises me when I read the finished story. Writing also is an escape (and a far safer one than some I’ve lived through to tell about). Like any writer, I suppose, I lose myself in a story and, for however long a writing session lasts from day-to-day, I’m a part of that world I’m creating.

15. What is coming next for you?

I’ve had a two-volume horror novel in mind for some time now; I have a finished first draft of book one and recently began work on book two. It’s proving to be an ambitious project, and I hope it will become my third published novel, this time under the name of Richard Raven. I have a possible fourth novel that is still in the planning and outlining stages that I hope to turn into a horror trilogy or maybe even a series. I have also been writing some long novella, short novel length stories of 18,000 to 25,000 words that I hope will be the first Richard Raven collection and paperback.

16. Where do you get your ideas?

Inspiration is where you find it, and ideas can come from anything, at any time. Something I read, see in a movie, hear in a song, or it could be something someone says to me. A few of the short stories I’ve written are based in part on personal experiences, but always with a twist or two straight out of my imagination. I’ve never had a shortage of or a problem getting ideas. Sometimes they come to me fully formed and it’s only a matter of writing the story in a moment of true inspiration. Often, though, something will come to me and I can see a possible story, but the idea takes time to come together. It can take days, weeks, even months before it fully forms to the point in which I’ll start writing the story.

I would like to remind everyone that I’ve just released my fourth Richard Raven eBook short on Amazon. There is also, of course, that short, In A Blood Red Haze, that made it into the Devils 2 anthology from HellBound Books, and it shares space with some excellent stories from a group of fantastic writers. I also have three other shorts submitted to other anthologies, including one I hope will grace the pages of another collection from HellBound Books. I also have a fourth short that another publishing house invited me to write for an anthology they are putting together, and it’s due out some time after the first of the year. There is also a fifth short I was invited to write for a private anthology, and I’ve decided to co-write this story with a lady who has a lot of untapped talent. I wish I could, but I’m not at liberty to reveal any more about either of these projects right now. The official word will be coming soon on both. It is my hope that there will be no shortage of Richard Raven stories for those desiring to read them. Lastly, thanks to you, Becky, for this chance, and I’ve enjoyed doing this. Spooky reading, everyone!  

You can connect with Richard Raven here: 

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRichardRaven/

https://www.amazon.com/Richard-Raven/e/B0759WXYHV

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJacksonSullivan/

https://www.amazon.com/His-Deadly-Fascination-Richard-Raven-ebook/dp/B075GJT5PF/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1509489895&sr=8-4&keywords=richard+raven+ebooks&dpID=61W9dORGcJL&preST=_SY445_QL70_&dpSrc=srch

  Some of Richard Raven’s books: 

Getting personal with Richard Raven Richard Raven has become a cherished friend over the last several months. We have talked about his writing and books and publishing for hours.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: A Drunken Reading Series Fosters Community in Los Angeles

Wolf & Crane bar, where the second edition of (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

LOS ANGELES — On my way to Drunken Masters earlier this month in downtown Los Angeles, I imagined the reading series would be a sort of scaled-down American Idol: several writers present their work to a group of sauced professionals in the same genre who provide instant feedback and critique. The relevance and quality of feedback depends, however, as much on each master’s wisdom as their capacity to hold liquor. And, unlike the talent show, Drunken Masters isn’t a tournament, so there’s no voting or elimination. The distinction creates an event that feels like an inclusive and informal (very informal) writing workshop, minus the school desks and bad lighting.

Comedians and screenwriters have presided over previous editions of Drunken Masters, but this time it was the poets’ turn to face accomplished poets Rocio Carlos, Joseph Rios, and Hari Alluri at Wolf & Crane, a Japanese whisky and craft-cocktail bar in Little Tokyo.

Josette Siqueiros reads

Drunken Masters is not a full-fledged reading series, or at least not yet. So far it’s an occasional mini-series within a larger series of events called 90x90LA. Produced by Writ Large Press with help from volunteers and friends, 90x90LA is a summer-long run of 90 free cultural discussions and literary events over 90 days, in and around LA, running from July through early October. This is the second time Writ Large has produced the event in Los Angeles; the first iteration was staged back in 2014, inside Traxx bar at Union Station. Anyone is welcome to submit to Drunken Masters, which has been taking place on “various Mondays” throughout the summer. Introducing the night, Writ Large publisher Chiwan Choi summed up Drunken Masters as “people at different stages of their career in one room, critiqued by a bunch of drunk writers.” With that, and a request to please feed the poets (whiskey), 90x90LA Night 48 began.

Josette Siqueiros asked listeners to close their eyes while she read her opening poem, “Molecules for Global Change.” The song “In the Mood for Love” played through the sound system underneath. The poem itself, which Siqueiros wrote for 100 Thousand Poets for Change, summoned the power of poetry to effect social change. After reading a second poem, she remained standing for about 20 minutes while the masters offered their feedback. Rocio Carlos focused on opportunities to boil a poem down to its essence and shared an insight: “Poetry should give that little wound of sorrow or joy,” she said, but noted that Josette’s second poem, “Hundreds of Frogs,” didn’t do this for her. Joseph Rios asked how the poem and the music and the film, In the Mood for Love, might be connected. He suggested tightening the associations to help the audience. Hari Alluri followed with comments that echoed what others had mentioned. When the masters had finished their discussion, as in a writing workshop, each of them handed their copies of Josette’s poems back to her, with apologies for sloppy handwriting.

Copies of poems by Josette Siqueiros, with notes from “the masters”

Yes, someone has to go first at any Drunken Masters event, but going first seemed courageous to me, with the lingering sobriety affecting not just the seriousness but the duration of the criticism. Later, I asked Siqueiros, who is an English teacher, if she agreed with the masters. “It’s always good to have dialogue,” she said, noting that she understood why they would suggest condensing her poems, but that she writes for an audience of readers who might not find the type of compression the judges were recommending accessible.

As Siqueiros was collecting her work, I leaned over to Joyce Sun, who was up next. Are you nervous? “I’m too buzzed to be nervous,” she answered. When the recent UCSD graduate told us this was her first time ever reading in public, we screamed with joy. If we listeners already felt a little like members of a workshop, we became full classmates when Sun read the last line of her second poem — “… bird, blissfully unaware that the world has just turned itself upside down” — and looked up from her phone, smiling, proud.

After a short break, Judy Barrat took the floor. She’d told me she loved to write as a child, but had stopped when she was raising kids, and came back to it years later, entering (and winning) a poetry contest on a whim. Writing “straight from the gut, from the heart” but not formally trained, Barrat said she’d been to poetry readings but usually, “people are so friggin’ polite,” you never know what they’re thinking. “It’s good to get feedback, you can take a class but never really know.”

Chiwan Choi (host)

The tables in front of the masters were filled with empty glasses, and in critiquing Barrat’s work, one master tripped a few times over the word juxtaposition. In this context, it made sense when master Hari Alluri asked Barrat what kind of feedback she would like. As the whisky took effect, masters’ comments became digressive, and the poets became funnier. But Rocio stayed sharp in her critique, advising Judy to “think of the poem as a moving train, to which I do not have a ticket.”

Arminé Iknadossian was the fourth and final poet to face the masters, and she stood before them ready to learn. As they started discussing her work (one comment, suggesting the now-late hour: “story as fuck!”), Arminé pulled out paper and pen and took notes. She told me she participated in 2014’s 90×90, and that events like Drunken Masters help “create a new environment to enjoy poetry and build community.” It’s true. In fact, it’s the whole point.

There are a few good “writer cities” today. I don’t mean trendy neighborhoods — I mean places where talent and community and opportunities converge. There is a sense among Los Angeles writers of, “we’re not New York, but we’re not trying to be,” and they are also generous and inclusive in a way that is special.

At the first 90x90LA event on July 5, more than 50 events ago now, Chiwan Choi shared how the decision to stage another 90 events in 90 days came about. It came from the election, and from asking the question: What do we do now? That night he’d said: “In this city we find a way to carry each other. So we’ll do that.”

If literature is a form of resistance, then so is the act of building community around it.

Empty glasses at the judges’ table

Drunken Masters, organized by Writ Large Press, continues at various venues throughout Los Angeles through September 4. A full 90x90LA event schedule is here.

The post A Drunken Reading Series Fosters Community in Los Angeles appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[tanmath3-blog]

I’m going to start this interview off a little differently by using an excerpt from his new book. Please welcome R. Patrick Gates to Roadie Notes…..

  One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight.

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other.

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came and killed the two dead boys.…

The empty airwaves of the mind…

Welcome to TunnelVision – the premium channel streaming from the imagination of R. Patrick Gates to you!

What happens when you lose sight of the forest for the trees?

TunnelVision!

Wilbur Clayton has a personal connection with Jesus – Murder! Abused for most of his life, Wilbur and Jesus are out to make amends and take revenge. With Grandma in his head and Jesus on the TunnelVision, Wilbur knows what must be done and who must be made to pay for the sins of the father…

The only thing standing in his way are a cop with a gift for details and deduction, and a young genius whose reenactments of his favorite books are about to become all too real.

TunnelVision – streaming seven days a week, 24 hours a day!

On the air and in your nightmares!

      1. How old were you when you wrote your first story?

I was seven years old. Every Monday afternoon I had to go to catechism class after school. Leading up to Christmas that year, catechism had a story writing contest. The story had to be about Christmas and its true meaning. I wrote a story about a drug addict who’s addicted to LSD (shows how much I knew about drugs at seven years old) who takes acid and experiences the Nativity and sees God, basically. Afterwards, he finds out that the pusher who sold him the acid was really selling placebos – just sugar pills. I won first place, and the prize was, I think, my very own rosary.

2. How many books have you written?

At present count, I have written 10 adult horror novels (FEAR, GRIMM MEMORIALS, GRIMM REAPINGS, TUNNELVISION, DEATHWALKER,JUMPERS,THE PRISON, ‘VADERS, NOWHERETOHIDE, and SAVAGE), seven young adult horror/mystery novels, of which four (MYSTERY HILL, GUARDIANS, GHOSTLAND and CANDY STRIPES) have been published so far in the U.S.– all were originally published only in Germany and in the German language; the rest will be coming out this year and next in the U.S. In the works is a collection of my poetry and short stories (called DARK STREETS & FUNNY BONES) plus sequels to at least four of my novels. I’m also working on a very long fantasy novel, THE SECRET WAR, you know, the kind that appeals to children ages 8 to 80. I have also produced two children’s picture books. The first, ROLLERCOASTER WORLD, I wrote with my son when he was seven years old (he’s 27 now). We had gone to an amusement park and afterwards riding home he had mused aloud, “I wonder what it would be like if the whole world was made up of roller coasters.” It was just such a great idea I couldn’t forget it. We created the book and self-published it, and gave it as Christmas presents for several years to my son’s cousins. Then a couple of years ago, around Halloween, I was talking with my step-grandkids about how much they loved Halloween, and we came up with the idea of, HALLOWEEN WORLD, and created a book which we self-published and gave as gifts. We are now working on anotherWORLD book entitled, NINJA WORLD. All of my books, including the children’s picture books, are available as Kindle editions at Amazon. The original paperback editions of all my adult novels (except SAVAGE) are available from Amazon and most on-line bookstores, and everything else is exclusively on Amazon Kindle. Handmade editions of the children’s books are available, and can be ordered through my Facebook page by leaving me a post or a personal message at Facebook/R. Patrick Gates.

3. Is there anything you won’t write about?

No, I don’t think there is. I’ve written in just about every genre there is (I’ve been working on a romance novel for several years) and there is no subject that I would find taboo. Of course I would never glorify despicable behavior even while I try to make such a character sympathetic.

4.Tell me about you.

I have been a published author since 1989; and have been writing since I was a boy. Very early on I was labeled a ‘splatter-punk’ writer which is a style of horror generally credited to Clive Barker. I took great offense at that because I was writing what they called ‘splatter’ (graphic horror) long before Barker ever came along. If I’m not mistaken I was one the very first to push the limits of horror by injecting ultra-realistic gore, sex, and violence into my stories. Now, I am 62 years old. I was a middle school language arts teacher for 20 years, and a college Creative Writing Professor for 11 years. I presently work part-time as a Standardized Patient Examiner at UMASS Medical School, which entails teaching medical students how to communicate better with patients. I’m also a Bob Dylan tribute performer on guitar and harmonica. I’ve been in numerous musical groups since I was a teenager, and I’ve written close to one hundred songs that have never seen publication or recording, but hopefully that will change in the near future.

5. What’s your favorite book that you have written?

My favorite book is my most recent one, SAVAGE. It was the hardest book I ever wrote because it reflected a personal tragedy in my life, and was very cathartic for me. A very close second, however, are, GRIMM MEMORIALS, and its sequel, GRIMM REAPINGS, and my novel, THE PRISON.

6. Who or what inspired you to write?

So many people and books/writers. My mom, my sister, Mary; a teacher, Mrs. Risley, and just about every writer I’ve ever read, but most of all Edgar Allen Poe. My mom was probably my biggest inspiration, and the biggest reason I ended up writing horror. I grew up in a haunted house, my mother was psychic and discovered the place was haunted, like the second day after we moved in. She personally exorcised the house and got rid of the ghost, or at least got it to stop scaring her. I grew up hearing this story many, many times. I also had many experiences – ghostly experiences – in that house, as did my son. Also, when I was a boy I was an avid reader, and I was in the habit of acting out the books I read. When I was 12, I was very much into the books of Mark Twain, and after reading Tom Sawyer and then Huckleberry Finn, I convinced my little brother and his best friend to sneak out of the house at midnight to go dig for buried treasure in a cemetery. Then we were going to build a raft and sail it down the polluted Nashua River and have adventures. My mother caught us trying to sneak out (she thought I was the ghost come back) and when I told her what I was doing she suggested that instead of acting out my fantasies I write them down like the authors that I loved to read. I had been dabbling in writing before that (like with the short story for catechism class) but I’d never really considered writing something as substantial as a novel. That same year, the day after Christmas, I was in a terrible sledding accident and suffered a severe head injury/concussion. I had partial amnesia for three days, but the event changed me—made me more creative and, I think, smarter. It also gave me an extraordinary memory.Early on in my life my sister, Mary, inspired me by buying me my first book when I was, I believe, five years old. She was 10 years older than I was and when I was born she became like my second mother. She taught me to read when I was three years old. By the time I was starting school I was reading books at the fifth, sixth grade level. She bought me the collected works of Edgar Allen Poe, a large tome that I still have. I read that book voraciously. I remember now I hardly understood half of what I read, and had to have a dictionary nearby at all times, but it was the style and the tone and the mood that grabbed me. Then when I was in high school I had a teacher, Mrs. Risley, who inspired me further. Every Friday she would display a surrealistic or abstract painting at the front of the room, put on some weird electronic or Indian music, and tell us to write about what we saw in the painting. Man, I just ate that up! It was the greatest writing exercise I have ever had!

7. What do you like to do for fun?

My wife and I like to hike, play tennis, dance, ski, and hang out with our grandkids. I play the guitar and perform as a Dylan tribute artist, and also paint and sculpt. I love movies and going to the movies.

8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?

No.

9. Where do you write?

I generally write in my home office, but I usually take a notebook with me, like to work, or if I’m going out and I think I might have free time on a long drive, say. I write in the notebook whenever I can. I’m a constant and prolific note writer, and I write all my stuff in longhand to start with, and then transcribe it into the computer. I like to have the tv on in the background—creates a white noise effect—and usually only listen to music when I’m painting.

10. Is there anything you would change about your writing?

Yes, I would make it more lucrative and popular! I’m rewriting nearly all of my novels as they are being republished – some more so than others. I find that with some of my earlier works, they need editing, so I’m glad that I have the chance to do that. Like with, TUNNELVISION, I did a lot of polishing and editing. Most of my novels were written before the advent of cell phones and smart phones and handheld devices so I’ve tried to update and work those things in to make them more current.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

I’ve never had a desire to be famous, though I have always wanted to be able to make enough money from my writing to support myself. My dream is to work with my son, who is a director trained at Cal Arts, to turn all of my novels into movies or TV miniseries. We are presently in the screenplay writing stage for a couple. All we need is financial backing.

12. Where do you live?

I live in Massachusetts.

13. Pets?

Two dogs, Polly and Sad-Eyed Sadie of the Low Lands.

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

My first love, and first choice for a career, was acting. Second was music, third was art, and fourth was writing. As I got older, in high school and college,I realized that if you really want to be successful as an actor, you have to live in either New York or Los Angeles – or at least a major city, not the sticks of north-central Massachusetts where I lived and still do. I didn’t have the confidence, or the courage I guess, to move and pursue acting. But then, I realized that a writer IS an actor because you have to become your characters in order to make them believable. I generally act out all of the scenes and dialogue in my books, even if only in my head. I think the best way to describe how I feel about writing is that I agree with what Dorothy Parker once said: “I hate writing, but I love having written.” I love the idea that someone I don’t know and have never met is reading a story that I created. I think that’s pretty cool.

15. What is coming next?

I presently have many irons in the fire. I’m rewriting the second book in the TUNNELVISION trilogy, DEATHWALKER, getting it ready for republication from Bloodshot Books, and writing the third, a new one,AND LITTLE LAMBS EAT IVY. I’m also working on the third book in my, GRIMM MEMROIALSsaga and working on readying all my other novels for reprint as I mentioned earlier. I’m working on a rewrite and sequel of my first novel,FEAR (to be renamed QUARRY), a sequel to my science fiction novel. ‘VADERS, and something new for me, a strictly fantasy novel entitled, THE SECRET WAR and a comedic romance called, HEY TEACH! I’ve also been working on a mainstream, slice of life novel entitled, GROWING OLD.

    You can connect with R. Patrick Gates here: 

website/pages, rpatrickgates.com,

Amazon/R. Patrick Gates,

Facebook/R. Patrick Gates.

    Some of R. Patrick Gates books: 

  Getting personal with R. Patrick Gates I'm going to start this interview off a little differently by using an excerpt from his new book.