#WIP excerpts: THE SWORD KEEPER, chapter 2.1

I really like this excerpt. I wrote it while I was living in a farmhouse in rural Georgia (the country, not the state). A lot of the stuff from this scene was pulled directly from my own experience. We had chickens, cows, pigs, sheep (dumbest animals I’ve ever seen!), and grew grapes, pomegranates, persimmons, and a whole bunch of other stuff. It was pretty awesome.

In the late summer, the hens had chicks. At first, there were about twenty little fuzzballs following each hen, but as the chicks got bigger, their numbers became fewer and fewer. Then, just as the winter snows started to hit, a wolf came down from the mountains and ate one of the mother hens. Only one of her chicks survived—the smallest of the brood. He almost didn’t make it, but I went out the way to take special care of him, and he survived.

So yeah, this section is pulled almost directly from my own experience. Nika is the kind of gentle boy who would do exactly that sort of thing, and that carries over into his friendship with Tamuna.

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“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Nika stopped at the farmhouse gate and sheepishly turned to face his father. “To the tavern,” he muttered, hoping that was an acceptable response.

“Why, son? The tavern’s closed.”

“Sopiko said she still needs me.” And Tamuna’s been sick all day.

His father jabbed the pitchfork into the ground and cursed. “That damn woman had better be paying you for this. Have you had your supper yet?”

“No, sir, I—”

“Good. Eat it there.” He turned to the yard, where Nika’s two older brothers had paused in their work. “Giga! Lasha! What are you doing standing around? Get back to stacking those cornstalks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember, who doesn’t work, doesn’t eat!”

Nika took that as his cue to leave. He slipped out the gate and pulled it shut before dashing across the dusty lane and into the fallow field across the farmhouse. The tall grass brushed against his legs, ticking his skin through the holes in his pants, but he kept running until he was well out of his father’s sight. Only then did he slow down enough to catch his breath.

Tamuna had been sick all day, so sick that Sopiko had closed down the tavern, which she never, ever did. When he’d arrived in the morning, the door had been locked—only after knocking for several minutes had Sopiko finally opened it.

“You’d better come back later,” Sopiko had told him when he’d come around back. “Tamuna’s taken ill, and we’ve closed down the tavern until she comes around again.”

“She has?” Nika had asked, his stomach falling. “What do you mean? Is she going to be all right? What happened?”

“We don’t know. We found her passed out on the floor in the private room, and she hasn’t woken up since. Come back this evening—we may need you then.”

Nika had wanted to ask more, but Sopiko had pressed a few coppers into his hand and sent him on his way home. His father had thrown the money angrily against the wall, and probably would have beaten him, except that his mother had intervened. He was a harsh man, and as the youngest, Nika wasn’t his favorite. Sometimes, Nika wondered if his father cared about him at all.

Thoughts like these always made him feel dark and oppressed, as if he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. But the cool autumn breeze and the splash of gold across the evening sky soon lightened his spirits. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, and the sound of cows mooing in the thicket made him smile. Old Tom’s cow had had a calf just a few days ago, and he’d been there to see the birth. It was amazing, how the little ones could walk almost from the moment they left the womb. He always loved the way the mothers cared for their young—not just cows, but every animal.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t busy, he liked to sit in the shade of a tree and watch the mother hens roam the yard with their brood. While the little chicks pecked and played, the mothers always stood watch over them, chasing away anyone who dared come close. And in the evening, while the other chickens flew into the trees to roost, the mother would stay on the ground and gather all her chicks under her wings, keeping them safe throughout the night.

Of course, there was always a straggler who was smaller than all the others, who didn’t get to the food as fast, or couldn’t keep up with the rest. Nika’s heart always went out to them—he knew that the mother hen wanted to help, but with so many other chicks to look after, there wasn’t much she could do. He would often take the straggler aside and hand-fed him to make sure he grew up strong. It didn’t always work, but sometimes, it was enough to save them.

The footpath through the field opened up to the wide lane that led from the village to the mountains just beyond. He passed a few cows and a small clutch of geese, who moved to the other side of the road as he walked past. He stepped quickly, almost running even though the tavern wasn’t far and there was still a good hour of daylight left. If Tamuna was still sick, that would be very bad. He wished there was something he could do for her.

She had a habit of coming to him, after her chores were all done and she had a chance to talk. He often stayed in the stables late into the night just to hear from her. In a lot of ways, she was a straggler just like him. She didn’t have any older brothers or sisters to push her around, but she didn’t have a lot of friends either. Everyone in the village still saw her as an outsider, including her own aunt. Just as the mother hens knew the difference between their chicks and the ones that didn’t truly belong to them, Sopiko knew that Tamuna wasn’t her true daughter. It showed in the stern way she often treated her, though Tamuna would never believe it, no matter how much he tried to point it out to her. When she needed someone to talk to, though, he was always there. Life was tough without a friend to confide in—he knew that all too well.

When he arrived at the tavern, the CLOSED sign hung on the front door, but a strange commotion seemed to be coming from inside. Nika frowned as he opened the gate and walked over to the stables. To his surprise, he found them almost completely full—not with the short, gray-haired Kartlis that were so common in the Kevonas, but mighty Arbuli war horses. They whinnied and stomped their hooves as he entered, clearly not used to being confined.

“There, there,” he said, picking up his brush. “It’s all right, it’s all right.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house—something was clearly happening over there, but much as he wanted to see what it was, he knew he’d be chided for lapsing in his chores. Still…

Tamuna is in there, he told himself as he returned the brush to its hook on the wall. I have to make sure she’s all right.

$.99 sale for TALES OF THE FAR OUTWORLDS

Hi guys! Just a quick announcement that Star Wanderers: Tales of the Far Outworlds (Omnibus V-VIII) is on a special $.99 for the week!

While this omnibus contains the last four parts of the series, they stand on their own a little bit better and can be read independently of the first four. My favorite book is probably Deliverance (Part VIII), which was a lot of fun to write. Also, Dreamweaver (Part V) is basically a retelling of Outworlder (Part I), but from Noemi’s point of view.

I’m also running a Goodreads giveaway for the print edition, which came out just a couple of months ago. The giveaway ends when the sale ends, at the end of the week. To enter the giveaway, click here.

In the meantime, you can pick up the ebook edition of Tales of the Far Outworlds basically everywhere for $.99 until Sunday. So check it out!

Nothing Found

#WIP excerpts: THE SWORD KEEPER, chapter 1.1

I thought it might be fun to post an excerpt every week or so from my current WIP. It’s been a few months since I published anything, and I figure this would be a good way to keep in touch and let you guys know what I’m up to.

The big project I’m working on right now, and the one that I hope to finish by the end of April, is an epic fantasy novel titled The Sword Keeper. It’s the first part of what will eventually become The Twelfth Sword Trilogy. The basic premise is that there’s an ancient brotherhood of enchanted swords that bond telepathically to their bearers and pass on knowledge, skills, memories, and experiences. Over hundreds of years, these swords and their bearers become so powerful, they are able to unite most of the world in peace under a benevolent empire. But then the swords go insane, the empire falls into civil war, and SHTF, so to speak.

That was all a thousand years ago. The twelfth sword, recognizing what was happening, went dormant and refused to take a new bearer. Its last bearer formed a secret order of monks to keep the sword safely hidden, carrying it from place to place until it finds the one who fulfills the prophecy to become the last sword bearer. According to the prophecy, the last sword bearer will rise in a day when darkness sweeps the land and save the world from an enemy who seeks to enslave all mankind.

So yeah, pretty standard for epic fantasy. Instead of a farmboy, though, the heroine of the trilogy is a young tavern girl. Here’s the opening scene of the first chapter.

(SIDE NOTE: Since this is a WIP, it might need some editing or have some other issues that need work. Also, this scene might turn out substantially different in the final published version from its current form. Still, I thought it would be fun to post it. Let me know what you think!)

====================

The candles were lit and the tables had already been served when the mysterious traveler arrived from the west. Tamuna was tending the bar as the clatter of hooves on the old stone road announced his arrival. She paused in her work to peer out the tavern window, but the sky had already faded, blending the leaves with the shadows.

“Better put another spit on the fire,” Aunt Sopiko said as she came back from serving the tables. “When that’s done, see to the room upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tamuna. She ran to the kitchen, hoping to finish her chores in time to catch a glimpse of the unexpected guest. The harvest season had just ended, and the villagers had already put away their corn and grain for the winter. Occasionally, a herder would come down from the mountains, but only during the day—never at night.

The tavern was one of the last places for room and board before the Kevona Mountains. In the spring, travelers from the south and west sometime came down from the mountain passes in the waning twilight. Tamuna loved to hear their stories of faraway lands and peoples, and often stayed up into the early hours of the morning listening spellbound to them. But this late in the season, it was rare for travelers to come down from the mountain pass. Perhaps, then, it was someone from the east on their way to Khevsura or Aramand? But why would they stop at a village tavern when they could sleep in comfort at Kutaisa?

As she stoked the cooking fire, the door to the yard swung open, and Nika the stable boy came in carrying a bucket of water from the well. His curly brown hair spilled out beneath his woolen skullcap, and his boots were covered in mud.

“Hi Tamuna,” he said, setting the bucket on the table with both hands. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling in gratitude. “Any news from the village?”

“Old Tom’s cow gave birth to a beautiful little calf. He’ll probably sell her in the spring—the calf, not the cow.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, she’s a gorgeous animal. I really wish I could save up and buy it. Do you think your aunt could… well…”

Tamuna drew in a long breath. She knew what Nika was asking, but Aunt Sopiko was far too miserly to ever agree to such a request. If Tamuna asked her to raise Nika’s pay by even a few meager coppers, she’d probably be whipped for it. But Nika couldn’t save very much either, since his family took almost everything he earned from his job at the tavern. They needed the money as badly as they needed a cow.

“I’ll do what I can,” she said softly. Then, putting a hand on his arm, “maybe we can save up enough together.”

His face brightened. “You really think so?”

“Sure. And with all the eggs the chickens are laying, maybe Sopiko will let us sell some at the Kutaisa market.”

“Oh, Tamuna!”

Nika threw his arms around her, kissing her enthusiastically on the cheek. He still smelled like dirty hay and horse manure, though, so she squealed and pushed him away.

“By the seven rivers, Nika, haven’t you had a chance to wash up yet? You smell like you’ve been bathing with the pigs!”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

“Well, what are you still here for? Go and wash up already!”

She shooed out of the kitchen, but just as he turned to leave, she remembered the traveler.

“Wait—did you see the man who just came in?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The traveler who rode in not fifteen minutes ago. When I’m finished here, I—”

“Oh my gods!” said Nika, his eyes widening like saucers. “I wasn’t in the stable when—sorry, gotta run!” Without another word, he dashed out the door and disappeared into the deepening twilight.

Tamuna put her hands on her hips and sighed. Nika was a good boy, and without a doubt her most loyal friend, but he had a way of missing what was right before his face. As she glanced down at all the mud he’d tracked in, she couldn’t help but shake her head.

The door to the main room swung open, and Aunt Sopiko came in with a stern look on her face. “What was that?” she asked. “Were you chatting with Nika instead of doing your work?”

“No, ma’am,” Tamuna said quickly. “That is, I—”

“Well, no more distractions. Our guest wants to take his dinner upstairs, so go up and fix the room double quick—no dallying.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tamuna said dutifully. She hurried out of the kitchen, her cheeks reddening at her aunt’s rebuke. How foolish of her to let herself get distracted so easily, especially when there was work to be done. She would have to do her best to make sure that Sopiko wasn’t disappointed in her.

From the hallway closet, she pulled out a thick woolen blanket and linen bed sheets. A half-burned candle waited on the ledge by the base of the stairway. The old wooden stairs creaked all the way to the top, and the light from her flickering candle made shadows dance along the walls. She paused for a moment to light the lamp at the head of the stairway, then opened the door to the private room and set the candle on a ledge near the doorway. Outside, the cool autumn wind blew hard against the window, whistling through the gaps in the panes and making the wall groan and creak.

I’ll have to light a fire before I leave, she thought to herself as she made the bed. The chill air made her shiver a little, so she worked quickly, wishing that she’d brought a shawl. Fortunately, it didn’t take her long. She’d readied the private room more than a hundred times, and knew exactly what needed to be done. Soon, she was engrossed her work—so engrossed that when she turned to start the fire, she was surprised to find the guest standing in the doorway.

“Oh!” she said, taking a quick step back. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were coming. If you want, I’ll—”

“That’s all right,” said man, laying down down a heavy rucksack in the corner. He was old, probably in his fifties, with silver-gray hair and a well-trimmed beard. Even so, he stood very tall, with a broad chest and muscular arms and shoulders. His brow was deeply furrowed, his jawline sharp, yet his eyes exuded a thoughtful kindness that put Tamuna at ease almost immediately.

“Here,” she said as he slipped off his heavy woolen cloak. “Let me help you with that.” He turned and let her pull it off his shoulders, revealing a simple white tunic underneath. A gold embroidered cross took up most of the back of the garment, but other than that, his clothing bore no ornamentation.

“Are you a monk?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I am,” said the man. He knelt over the rucksack and pulled out a sword, sheathed in a dull black scabbard. With great care bordering on reverence, he laid it on the wooden table.

Something about the sword drew Tamuna’s gaze. The hilt was made of steel and burnished with what appeared to be silver, though it was difficult to make out in the dim candlelight. Intricate carvings appeared to tell a story, one that she very much wanted to hear. The handle was long and straight, designed for two hands, with a dark leather cord wrapped tightly around it for the grip. At the pommel, a single emerald jewel glowed in the mouth of a dragon, pulsating in the flickering candlelight.

Something about the sword almost seemed to call out to her. Tamuna blinked and shook her mind clear, turning to the traveler who had stooped down to start the fire. She was about to offer help, but his body language told her that he would rather be left to himself.

“Let us know if you need anything,” she said on her way out. The man grunted his assent, and she shut the door quietly behind her, sneaking one last glance at him and the sword.

Back in the kitchen, Sopiko was cutting bread and stacking it on the tray for the stranger. A kebab sizzled over the fire, while the pot of beans bubbled by the edge. Tamuna opened the cabinet and pulled out a small plate of cheese, cutting off generous slices onto the tray.

“Did the traveler say where he’s from?” she asked.

Sopiko shook her head. “No, he didn’t say a word about that. Just asked the price of a room and where he should leave his horse.”

“Did you see the markings on his tunic? I don’t think he’s from around here. Maybe even—”

“Best not to pry,” said Sopiko. She finished with the bread and turned to the spit over the fire.

Tamuna bit her lip, but went on preparing the food without asking again. She could tell from Sopiko’s tone of voice that any more questions would not be tolerated. Her aunt wasn’t a harsh woman, but she could be stern, especially when it came to how she ran the tavern. Tamuna sometimes wondered if her mother had been like that: stern and domineering. She had no memory of her, having been taken from her home when she was just a little girl. All that she had of her were stories.

As she finished with the cheese and spooned the beans into a clay bowl, her mind drifted back to the sword on the table. She didn’t know why, but something about it still seemed to call out to her. The more she tried to clear her head, the more it seemed that the feeling would not go away.

“Here,” said her aunt, taking the spit off of the fire and putting it onto the tray with the rest of the food. “Take this to our guest upstairs, but don’t linger too long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it, Tamuna. I know how you like to stay and chat every time we put up a traveler, but this time,” she made a cutting motion across her neck with her hand. “Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Sopiko. I won’t disturb him.”

“Good. Now see to your work, and be quick about it.”

He must be a very important man for her to say that, Tamuna thought to herself as she climbed the stairs with the tray. Usually, her aunt had no qualm with her listening to the stories of their guests. Through them, she’d heard all sorts of fascinating things about the world outside the village—of the vast rocky deserts to the south, with ancient ruins buried beneath the sifting sands, or the warrior kingdoms on the grassy plains beyond the western sea. But lately, it was the people of the north that everyone seemed to be talking about. Some travelers warned that the northern armies were moving toward the Kevonas, while others claimed that they were just fighting among each other. Perhaps their new guest was an envoy, or an advisor to a king—or perhaps he was the leader of a band of warrior monks, preparing himself to take part in a holy war.

All these thoughts raced through her mind as she walked down the hallway and knocked on the door to the private room.

“Sir,” she called, holding the tray against her hip. “I have your dinner, sir. May I come in?”

No answer.

She waited for a moment, then knocked again. “Uh, sir, are you there? I’ve brought your dinner.”

Again, no answer.

He’s probably just gone to the outhouse, she thought to herself. The tray weighed heavily on her arms, so she nudged the door open with her toe and stepped in.

Sure enough, the room was empty. A newly lit fire blazed in the fireplace, while the man’s cloak and rucksack lay exactly as he’d left them. She carefully set down the tray of hot food, noticing the sword that still lay on the other side of the table.

Something about the sight of it rooted her to the spot. She knew that she should return to the kitchen to help out her aunt with the chores, but all she could do was stare at the dull, black scabbard and the old, faded hilt. The blazing light of the fire made the emerald on the pommell glisten and shimmer in a way that it hadn’t before. She almost felt as if the dragon’s eyes were watching her.

I should go, she told herself, lifting her dress as if to tiptoe out of the room. Instead, her feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking her closer to the sword. One of the floorboards creaked, and she froze, glancing hurriedly at the door, but the hallway was empty—she was alone.

Aunt Sopiko is going to kill me if she finds out what I’m doing, she thought anxiously. Every part of her screamed to leave the room before someone discovered her, but something else told her not to be afraid—that she was on the right path, and that this was her destiny. She felt as if she stood on the edge of a tall cliff, with a perilous drop before her and nothing but wilderness behind. Or perhaps it felt more like a crossroads, where the path she chose now would determine the course of the rest of her life. She hesitated, an inexplicable fear threatening to overwhelm her, but an even greater curiosity drove her forward—the same curiosity that had seized her from the moment she’d heard the clatter of hooves on the stone-paved road outside the tavern.

She felt a slight tremor, like the churning of the air immediately around a fire. It made her stop and pull back, uncertain. What if the sword is magic? she wondered. What if it’s cursed? But it was too late to stop now. She took a deep breath and touched the cold metal of the hilt.

A tremendous shock surged through her, from the top of her head to her outermost toes. She gasped for air as her legs gave out beneath her. It felt as if every muscle in her body had turned to water, and she was melting all over the floor. She swooned, and her last conscious thought before falling to the floor was that her aunt was going to skin her alive.

Thoughts on Clean Reader

In case you haven’t heard, there’s a new app in the book world that is stirring up quite a bit of controversy. It’s called Clean Reader and it basically goes through an ebook and filters out the profanity, with settings for “clean,” “cleaner,” and “squeaky clean.” It was designed by the parents of a teenager who expressed dismay at finding profanity in an otherwise clean book.

The response from authors has been vociferous. Chuck Wendig (WARNING: Chuck uses so much profanity, he probably deserves a Clean Reader filter setting of his own) predictably came down hard against it, as well as Joanne Harris, the author of Chocolat. Over on KBoards, there’s an ongoing thread of indie authors slamming it as a denial of artistic expression, as a copyright violation, as malicious censorship—basically, the whole gamut. Interestingly, though, Cory Doctorow came out in defense of it.

Personally, this app reminds me a lot of CleanFlicks, a movie rental place here in Utah that edited out objectionable content such as sex, violence, and profanity. I watched the edited version of Zombieland while I was in college, and while I enjoyed it, it was… short. CleanFlicks did a lot of business, right up until the US Supreme Court shut it down.

While I can see why some writers would hate this app, I actually sympathize more with the readers. Living in Utah, I know a lot of people (some of them in my own family—hi Kate!) who are exactly the kind of people for whom Clean Reader was made. And much like Cory Doctorow, I think that their right to control their own reading experience trumps the writer’s right to freedom of expression.

The act of reading is fundamentally a collaborative experience. Until someone opens a book and reads it, that book is just symbols on a page, or bytes of data on a storage device. Meaning is only generated through the act of reading—in a very real sense, the story is created by the reader just as much as by the writer. As much as we writers like to think of ourselves as free to write whatever we want, without readers, that freedom counts for very little. And that’s exactly the way it should be.

A lot of writers are making fun of Clean Reader on the basis that the very premise is flawed—that filtering out profanity won’t do anything to clean a fundamentally dirty story. But while that’s true of some books, I do think there’s a middle ground where the app can give some value.

For example, my first novel Genesis Earth is a mostly clean science fiction adventure romance with a few tense moments where the characters use a mild level of profanity. As a writer, it didn’t feel right to have my characters say “darn” instead of “damn,” or “crap” instead of “shit.” Sanitizing the book on that level would have kicked most readers right out of the story. But if a reader who is sensitive to that use of language wants to read a filtered version of Genesis Earth, the story is not going to be fundamentally changed by filtering out those words.

Probably the biggest objection to Clean Reader is that it enforces or promotes a censorship regime that many writers find objectionable. Of course, most of the people who make that argument probably have no idea what “censorship” really entails, just like the people who throw out accusations like “socialist,” “sexist,” “racist,” etc. But putting that can of worms aside, is it right for people to use apps like this—say, parents of young children—to control what other people read?

I am a diehard libertarian, but I actually think that beneath a certain age, parents do have a right to censorship. As legal guardians of their children, parents have a right and a responsibility to raise them as they see fit. If you don’t allow parents to censor what their children are exposed to, then you’re basically saying that society as a whole should raise them, or (God forbid!) the government. I think that’s a horrible idea. Children should be raised by the people who are closest to them, and responsible parents/guardians should be free to raise their children as they (and only they) see fit.

So I’m actually rather supportive of the Clean Reader app. I personally wouldn’t use it, either for myself or for my children, but if other readers do then I have no objection to that. Writers should be free to write whatever they want, and readers should be free to read whatever they want, however they want to read it.

Where’s SONS OF THE STARFARERS: BOOK IV?

So it’s been several months since I released Strangers in Flight (Sons of the Starfarers: Book III), and I’ve already gotten some flak from people waiting impatiently for Book IV: Friends in Command. Some of you may be wondering about that yourself, considering how I wrote and released the first three books within a couple of months of each other.

Well, here’s what’s going on. I wrote Friends in Command a couple of months ago and sent it out to my test readers, hoping that they would enjoy it. Many of them did, but they pointed out some problems that required a major rewrite. Essentially, I had put the entire novel in one character’s point of view, but there were plot points that happened outside of her point of view that made that not work.

So I went back and did a major revision, throwing in Aaron as the secondary POV character. And the plot points turned much smoother. But when I sent it out to a second round of test readers, they told me that it felt too much like a bridge story—that something was still missing. It wasn’t that the book was broken, or that the story didn’t come together properly. The story was good, but the book wasn’t as satisfying as I wanted it to be.

Now, Friends in Command is part four in a nine-part series, so in a lot of ways it really is a bridge. But I want this story to be more than that—to be strong enough to stand on its own, and not just set things up for the later books. Kind of like how Star Wars V: The Empire Strikes back sets things up for Jedi, but is an amazing movie in its own right (arguably the best one in the whole franchise). So with the new feedback, I identified some character elements that I needed to develop, and went back to work.

So far in the series, each book has centered around a different character. The first book, Brothers in Exile, focused on Isaac, the older and more responsible brother. The second book, Comrades in Hope, focused on Aaron, the younger brother who is eager for a chance to prove himself. Strangers in Flight revolved around Reva, the girl that they rescued in the first book, and Friends in Command revolves around Mara, the close friend and confidante that Aaron makes in book two.

The main thing is that I’m doing all I can to make this book as great as possible. I could have pushed it out a couple of months ago just for the sake of putting it out quickly, but I didn’t want to do that until I knew I’d written a quality book. So don’t be worried that I’ve dropped the ball, or that I’ve abandoned the series—I definitely have not! I’m just hard at work making sure it’s done right.

If you’ve been eagerly awaiting the next Sons of the Starfarers book, the good news is that I think I’m just about ready to release it. I’m finishing up with the third round revisions today, and I feel really good about it. I’m still going to send it out for one last test reading pass, just to make sure, and if everything’s good I’ll send it out to my editor before the end of the month. My cover designer is already working on the cover, and my editor says he should have a slot open very soon.

So if all goes well, I’ll put Friends in Command up for pre-order in the first or second week of April. The pre-order price will be $.99, with a tentative release date of May 1st. If things don’t go well, I may have to do another revision pass, but I’ll still do my best to release the book by June.

Six months without a new release is far, far too long. Fortunately, I have some other books coming down the pipeline, such as Heart of the Nebula, a full-length novel and direct sequel to Bringing Stella Home. With luck, that one will be out before the end of the year. And I’m about halfway through with The Sword Keeper, another awesome novel that I think you guys are really going to enjoy.

Lots of stuff going on! I’d better get back to work, but don’t worry—the books are coming!

Blogging vs. journal writing

So as you may have noticed, I generally blog a lot less nowadays than I did just a couple of years ago. That doesn’t mean I don’t blog at all, or that I don’t value keeping a blog, but it’s just not something I do as frequently as I used to. I’ve been wondering why that is—about what changed to make me blog less frequently. And I think I’ve found the answer.

Last year, one of my new year’s resolutions was to keep a detailed weekly personal journal. All of my other 2014 resolutions eventually fell by the wayside, but that was the one that I actually accomplished. In fact, towards the end of the year, I switched from keeping a weekly journal to keeping an almost daily journal. By December, I had written 169,000 words—more than four hundred pages—about the personal events in my life for the year 2014 alone.

I’ve been a journal writer ever since elementary school, but when I started this blog back in 2007, I kind of took a break from that. My reasoning at the time was that my blog was my journal, and while I recognized that there were some parts of my life that I wanted to keep private, I figured that those just weren’t worth writing about.

After living and studying in Jordan for a summer, I realized that there was value in keeping a private journal in addition to my blog, and I started up another one. But I kept it fairly infrequently, sometimes with months going by between journal entries. In 2012 when I went to Georgia, I had a lot more things happening in my life to write about (and a lot less access to the internet), so I kept it much more regularly. But then I came back to the States, and life fell back into a monotonous routine.

The thing that changed in 2014 was the realization that I wasn’t just keeping a journal for myself, but that I was keeping it for my children, grandchildren, and others who would come after. When I was a teenager, journal writing was an act of self-discovery, and for that reason it was much more private. As an adult, though, I already have a pretty firm sense of who I am, so the self-discovery is much less important. Keeping a personal historical record, though, both for myself and for my family, is much more important to me.

Even though I’m not just keeping a journal for myself anymore, there is still a lot of sensitive information in there that really shouldn’t be available for public consumption at the present time. That’s especially true now that my blog is less of a personal project than it was when I started it. Now that I’m a professional writer, I’m a lot more careful about what I post here. I still try to be honest and genuine, but I’m probably not going to blog about, say, my romantic relationships or personal spiritual experiences.

It’s weird, though, because the roles are now reversed. Back in 2007, I felt free to blog about anything but didn’t know what to write about in my journal. Now, I know exactly what sorts of things to write about in my journal (I’ve already up to 42,000 words for this year) but have no idea what to write for my blog. And that’s the main reason why I haven’t been posting quite as much.

So for those of you who do keep up with this blog, what sorts of things do you want to hear about? I’m happy to post weekly updates on my writing, though I’m worried it might get tedious after a while (contrary to popular belief, writing is one of the most boring professions on the planet). Do you want to hear more of my thoughts on current and political events? More reflections on life as an indie author? More insights about the worlds and characters in my books? More tvtropes?

This blog is not going anywhere, so don’t worry about that. But it’s going to change as I figure out exactly what I want to use it for.

$.99 sale and giveaway for THE JEREMIAH CHRONICLES!

Hey everyone! Just wanted to let you know that Star Wanderers: The Jeremiah Chronicles (Omnibus I-IV) is on sale for $.99 for the first week of March! In addition, I’m doing a Goodreads giveaway with two copies of the paperback. Check it out!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Star Wanderers

by Joe Vasicek

Giveaway ends March 08, 2015.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

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It’s done!

Yesterday I finally finished the second draft of Friends in Command (Sons of the Starfarers: Book IV)! I know I’d said I was working on other projects, but those were intermittent—this was the main one I was focusing on. I still need to run it by my first readers, but I’m pretty sure this is the version that I’ll publish. If all goes well, you can expect to see this go up on pre-order before the end of March.

While working on the revisions for Friends in Command, I more or less plotted out the rest of the Sons of the Starfarers series in my head. There are going to be nine books total, most of them around 40,000 to 50,000 words (or 150 to 200 pages). It will probably take me between two and four months to write each of them, including sending them off to first readers and implementing their feedback. If my first readers come back with problems, though, it might take more like five or six months.

While I’m definitely committed to finishing up this series, I’m probably not going to work exclusively on Sons of the Starfarers. As much as I would like to wrap up this series and get it all out there, there are a lot of other projects calling out to me—projects that I’ve been putting off for far too long. Here are just a few of them:

STAR WANDERERS: CHILDREN OF THE STARRY SEA

Yes, I have another story in the Star Wanderers series to tell. This one is a full-length novel, though, and it takes place about sixteen years after the events of The Jeremiah Chronicles. It’ll be fun to bring back all the old characters, but this story is mostly about their children (hence the title). This WIP is still in the early outlining stages, but I have lots of ideas with where to take it. I’ll probably write it sometime over the summer, unless there’s enough demand for me to write it sooner.

THE SWORD KEEPER

This is my epic fantasy novel that I’ve been writing on and off for the past two and a half years. I put it on the back burner last summer after I got blocked, but just last month I figured out what I needed to change to get the story flowing again. I could probably finish this one in a month if I focused on it. Hopefully, this is the year that I’ll finally get this one finished and publish it.

QUEEN OF THE FALCONSTAR

This is the passion project that distracted me while I was working on Friends in Command. I wrote about three chapters, put it on the back burner, and then daydreamed the whole rest of the book. Needless to say, I’m eager to get back to this one. I think it has a lot of potential—Star Wanderers was an unplanned passion project just like this one.

KING WASHINGTON

This is a new project that I haven’t blogged about yet. I’m collaborating on it with a friend (the story was actually his idea), and we’ve spent the last two or three weeks plotting out the entire series. All that is done now, so all we have to do is figure out our collaboration style and write the thing. We’re doing it in season/episode format, with five seasons of 12 episodes each. The episodes are each going to run about 20k to 30k words, so once we have our workflow down we should be able to pump out an episode every four to six weeks.

Lots and lots of stuff to work on—that’s partially why I haven’t been blogging much in the last few weeks. I hope to change that soon, though. And even if I’m not quite so active online as I have been, don’t worry—I’m still writing!

My LTUE 2015 Schedule!

It’s that time of year again—time for Life, the Universe, and Everything, Utah Valley’s best and longest running sci-fi convention! I will definitely be there, so if you’re able to make it this year, be sure to hunt me down and say hi! And if you can’t make it, I’ll be tweeting about it using the #LTUE hashtag, so you can follow along that way as well.

I’m on four panels this year, one of which I’m apparently moderating. Here’s my schedule:

THURSDAY

10:00 AM: Raising the Language Barrier

6:00 PM: Publishing in the Future

SATURDAY

12:00 PM: What I Wish I Knew When I Started—Common Mistakes Made by New Writers

1:00 PM: Self-Publishing Pros and Cons

I’ll also be helping out with registration, so you might see me there as well. At this point, I’m not sure if I’ll be at the mass signing: there was some confusion about the sign-ups for that, and I get the sense that things are still very disorganized. But if you want to buy a book from me, I’ll have a few on hand either in the green room or in my car.

See you there!

The love languages of Star Wanderers

So I’ve been reading this really interesting book recently called The Five Love Languages. Maybe you’ve heard of it. The basic idea is that all expressions of human love and affection fall into five basic categories or languages, and that we’re all better at speaking or understanding one language than we are at the others. There’s actually an online test where you can figure out what your primary language is (mine is physical touch), and learn how to better speak the others.

As I was reading this book, I couldn’t help but think about the characters from my books, especially the Star Wanderers books. Just for fun, I decided to figure out what their primary love languages are. Just as a warning, there will be unmarked spoilers below.

Jeremiah

Jeremiah’s primary love language is definitely physical touch, and that’s probably why I was able to write him so well. For him (and for me), physical intimacy implies an emotional commitment, which is why at first he turns Noemi down (he doesn’t want to make a promise that he can’t keep). When they finally do get together, the language barrier isn’t so much of an issue for him because he gets all the love and affection he needs through physical touch.

Noemi

Noemi’s love language is quality time. For her, physical touch is more just a means to an end, which is why she’s okay with offering herself physically to Jeremiah before she really knows him. But at the various points in the series where it looks like he might leave her for a while, she freaks out a bit, even when she knows it’s only temporary. Because the Ariadne is so small, and she and Jeremiah are basically forced to live on top of each other, she’s able to bond very quickly with him because of all the time they spend together.

Mariya

Without a doubt, Mariya’s love language is acts of service. It’s not until Jeremiah saves her family by getting them a berth on the Hope of Oriana that she really starts to fall for him. She tries to express her love by offering to help translate between Jeremiah and Noemi, which has the added benefit of making them both dependent on her to some degree. When Lucca rescues her from the pirates, she starts to fall for him instead, which culminates after he helps her to save everyone else.

Lucca

I’m not sure what Lucca’s love language is exactly. I want to say it’s acts of service, because he also doesn’t really fall for Mariya until she saves him. At that point, she goes from being the pretty trophy he won in the contest with the pirates into an actual human being that he can love and respect. He also has a bit of quality time going on, since he really comes to love her after the time that they spend together.

Jakob

At first, I thought that Jakob’s love language would also be acts of service, because of how he slaves away to support his family and feels rebuffed when they don’t appreciate it. But then I remembered that his pride makes it hard for him to accept acts of service from others. After thinking about it some more, I think his primary love language is words of affirmation. Salome’s constant nagging really grates on him, and her harsh words nearly drive him to the brink of suicide. He’s too proud to admit that he needs to be told that he’s loved, but he really does.

Salome

Salome’s love language is almost certainly receiving gifts. When Jakob’s work at the Oriana Station dockyards take him away from her, she feels unloved because he isn’t giving her the gift of his presence. More importantly, when he sent both of their sons away on the Medea, she felt as if he had taken two of the most important things in her life away from her—the exact opposite of giving gifts. The fact that they’re so poor certainly doesn’t help things.

Just for fun, let’s do a few characters from Sons of the Starfarers as well!

Isaac

Isaac’s love language is probably physical touch. He feels like he has to be within an arm’s reach of Aaron at all times, which is one of the reasons that Aaron resents him. He’s also hyper-aware of Reva’s no nudity taboo, and is very careful not to touch her when she isn’t wearing any clothes. When she puts a hand on his shoulder, he has a minor breakdown, and when she gives him the henna tattoo, that’s also a big deal mainly because of how it involves physical touch.

Aaron

I’m pretty sure that Aaron’s love language is words of affirmation, though I haven’t fully thought it through yet. He misbehaves and acts irresponsible because of how Isaac constantly nags him, and when he’s surrounded by friends who give him verbal encouragement, he starts to shape up rather quickly.

Reva

I’m not sure what Reva’s love language is. It isn’t physical touch, and it isn’t words of affirmation—her father wasn’t very good with words, but she still knew that he loved her. It isn’t receiving gifts either, since she doesn’t think much of the clothes that Isaac buys for her. So just by process of elimination, her love language is probably either quality time or gifts of service. Of those two, I’m more inclined to say that quality time is the more important one, which should become obvious in Book V: Captives in Obscurity.

Mara

Mara’s love language is almost certainly words of affirmation. In the first chapter of Book IV: Friends in Command, she has a nightmare that should make that abundantly clear. She’s also closed herself off in a lot of ways, to the point where she’s no longer comfortable with giving or receiving any sort of affection. That’s why she can be so harsh when she’s criticizing Aaron—though, to be fair, she always strives to make her criticism constructive.

So there you have it! Six characters from Star Wanderers and four characters from Sons of the Starfarers, with all of their love languages worked out. For the characters I’m not so sure about, I should probably take the online test for them just to see how it ends up. That would be a fun project, but for now, I think my time would be better spent writing the next Sons of the Starfarers book.

Take care, and let me know what you think!