Spy for Hire

Spy for Hire

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Darkwood Flash Fiction #2

“Do you understand the terms of your assignment?” Senator Adrán’s haughty expression was the perfect match for his imperious tone.

Daenag Sarko kept his expression carefully neutral. He was a career glausadan b’haile — a listener-in-secret — and well-versed in dealing with the arrogant attitudes of those who paid for his services.

“Yes, of course,” he replied smoothly, with a carefully-cultivated nod. Senators like Lor Adrán — the Assembly’s Public Relations spokesperson — could be won over by subtle signs of deference. Hence Daenag’s calculated nod. “It’s a natural extension of this afternoon’s exercise at the Alternative Energy Research Center.”

Adrán watched him closely. “Ah, yes, you visited AERC today, didn’t you?” The Senator’s question was rhetorical and Daenag knew better than to respond. “Do you have anything to add to Meyrad’s report?”

Again, those watchful, calculating eyes.

…

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Toxic Parley

Toxic Parley

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Darkwood Flash Fiction #1

Tension gnawed at Jaco. The alley was dark, the desert wind hot and burning on his skin. He dropped to one knee, fidgeting with his camera, waiting.

The baleful wind snaked around him and he paused to adjust his sandshades. The last thing he needed tonight was razor-edged grit in his eyes.

“Are you ready, Beltrus?” The whisper came from his left. R’chelle Darlos crouched beside him in the filthy alley, clutching a microphone in her diminutive fist. She flashed him a reassuring grin. “We’ve covered stories in sketchier locations than this.”

“It’s not the location that bothers me.” Jaco took a steadying breath. “Have you ever confronted a Forest Prophet before?”

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Three ways to combat writer fatigue in a lockdown

Three ways to combat writer fatigue in a lockdown

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I’m involved in numerous online writing communities. It’s a great way to give and receive encouragement among my creative peers.

It’s also an eye-opening window on the effect of ongoing lock-downs and pandemic-related abnormalities on the writing community.

Even the introverted writers. You’d think they’d be thrilled with the enforced isolation. Perhaps it’s the modifying adjective “enforced” that makes the difference. I’m an extrovert by nature, and I can’t wait for the day when I can write in a coffeehouse again. But even my introverted friends are struggling with their creative output.

I’ve been able to maintain a reasonably steady pace in writing and editing. It felt harder than usual, but the second and third books in my dystopian Tracker Trilogy were released in 2020, Darkwood will be published a little over a month from now, and the first draft of Treehawke is awaiting its turn on the chopping editing block.

That doesn’t make me an expert in dealing with pandemic-related stress—not claiming otherwise. But here’s a few things I’ve found helpful.

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Strong, Stronger, Strongest: Taking your manuscript from shoddy to spectacular

Strong, Stronger, Strongest: Taking your manuscript from shoddy to spectacular

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We’ve all heard the timeless wisdom: “First drafts don’t need to be perfect, they just need to be written.”

We’re also familiar with Ernest Hemingway’s famous dictum, reproduced here in a format I’m allowed to use when speaking to high school students about writing.

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Writing in a crowd is good for your craft

Writing in a crowd is good for your craft

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Authors and coffeehouses. They just “go together.”

Like butter and toast. Whiskey and warm fires. Ice cream and happiness.

(And, on rare and typically regrettable occasions, nitro and glycerin.)

I’m an extrovert. I like being around people, even when I’m writing.

I don’t want them talking to me, of course—I’m writing, after all—but I’ve always found the vibrancy of sitting in a teeming pond of humanity to be the perfect creative ambiance (with a couple of caveats).

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This Year, We Write (not your typical New Year’s resolution)

This Year, We Write (not your typical New Year’s resolution)

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It feels like I’m always writing. I published two books last year, began editing a third, and finished the first draft of yet another.

So, saying “this year, we write” isn’t technically a New Year’s Resolution. Not in the typical sense.

It’s more of a declaration.

It’s my way of saying that—despite the concurrent uncertainties swirling around just about everything—I’m plowing ahead.

I’m a writer. That’s what I do. It’s how I’m wired.

And the regular discipline that writing requires—”butt in chair, pen in hand,” as the saying goes—was (and is) a source not only of creative expression, but also a form of author self-care.

It’s impossible to predict how this next year will play out. We just don’t know. That level of perpetual uncertainty can be like a leaking faucet when you’re lying awake at 3:00AM. It can eat away at your soul, drip by drip.

Hence the need for creatives—authors included—to practice deliberate self-care. To pace ourselves wisely. To have enough gas in our emotional tanks to encourage and lift up the people closest to us. To not run so close to the edge—stress-wise—that the least little thing drives us over a cliff.

And so—this year, I write.

2020 Says: Think You’ve Had Enough? Hold My Beer.

2020 Says: Think You’ve Had Enough? Hold My Beer.

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My wife is an amazingly talented photographer.

I’ll give her a cover concept for a novel, and invariably, she’ll bring back something even better than what I’d pictured in my mind. If you want proof, look no further than the covers for Tracker and Dissident.

This cover mock-up of TKR Living* magazine, yet another example of her zany creativity, comes as no surprise to anyone who knows her.

*TKR Living isn’t a real mag. Just sayin’.

The most significant part? That’s neither a model nor some random royalty-free image from the internet—that’s Wendy and her “new” knee.

Wendy recently underwent knee surgery to repair an old football dance injury. She’s been on the waiting list since spring, but when the call came (two days after Scorpion was released), we added yet another layer of stress to the maniacal roller-coaster known as 2020.

An aside: I’m interested in finding ways to use “2020” as an adjective or perhaps urban slang. For example: “Dude, the guy totally lost it—went all 2020 on me.”

We’ve just reached the four-week milestone, and Wendy’s recovery is on track. She’s doing exceptionally well . . . for someone who’s just had parts of her leg bones sawed off and replaced with titanium.

This past month has been something of a blur, and Christmas will be odd with just the two of us, due to current local Covid-19 restrictions (which we fully support).

But there’s lots of things to be grateful for: Wendy’s surgery is now in the rear-view mirror, her physiotherapy is going well, my cooking hasn’t poisoned her, and she still has her impish/snarky sense of humor.

Here’s hoping 2020 doesn’t have any further nefarious surprises up its sleeve (knock on wood).

I think I’ll “kick it oldskewl,” and let Captain Kirk & Mr. Spock have the last word on Christmas, New Year’s, and 2020 in general: