I met Selah Janel at Fandom Fest this year, and loved her as soon as we met. She’s a truly awesome person, and then she submitted one of the best vampire stories I’ve EVER read for The Big Bad. This is her new book, which you should all check out as soon as you can. You won’t be disappointed, she’s amazing!
Cute, too. 🙂
When In the Red was still a vague short story I still knew one set-in-stone fact. It was a story about a guy who wanted to be a rock star, and it was going to be set in a rock n’ roll world. It pains me that this genre has been somewhat forgotten, kicked around, and who knows what else in favor of pop, dance, dub step, and whatever other new subgenres show up every five minutes. I get it. New times, new tastes. Yet many musicians today always seem to cover or pay tribute to those awesome rockers who have come before. Concepts like backstage hijinks, trashed hotel rooms, super-fans, groupies, and interesting substances are a part of every music genre in the performance realm, but they seem to be forever linked with a rock n’ roll world. Besides, there’s something instinctively soul-wrenching about a really great guitar riff, a really killer bass line, a badass drum solo, and a singer who can really wail. For many of us, these are things that get an immediate, visceral reaction. There are idols in every area of music, but since the story also deals with a sundry deal with dark forces, rock music felt right. Not only is it the genre I grew up with (I love all music, but I’ll always favor classic rock and eighties metal), but it has the best stories.
At some point everyone has seen or heard some ridiculous story about some rock star livin’ it up. Whether you’ve been on Snopes.com, read books like Rock n’ Roll Babylon, or get your kicks from movies like Almost Famous, you probably have somewhat of an idea of what I’m talking about (and how hard of a guest post this will be to write without describing some of the better incidents). In my book, Jeremiah signs on with Jack Scratch and Voland Entertainment and instantly, easily becomes a superstar, supposedly destined to bring rock music back from the dead. He’s encouraged to play hard because he’s worked so hard for what he wants (or so he thinks). And he definitely plays hard. He’s in good company, too. Whether it’s The Who trashing hotel rooms, Led Zeppelin discovering new uses for fish, or Mötley Crüe discovering new uses for telecommunications devices, stories about decadence and debauchery have long followed rock. It’s almost expected at this point.
Sure, a lot of these (like the Rod Steward rumors) are very much inflated, and probably not even about him or any other person in question (you can substitute at least five people into that story, and the same anecdote has been told about all of them). It’s probably a failing of mine that things like this amuse me so much, or maybe it’s because I’m a very boring person, myself (All those who know me can stop laughing at that one, thanks). It was fun to make up my own rock urban legends and put Jeremiah through that sort of hazing, especially since shyness is one of the few qualities we share. It was also a little nerve-wracking, knowing that people I know would actually read this book and discover that part of my imagination. At the end of the day, though, I decided to suck it up and get past the nerves, because those little asides and vignettes really make the first part of the book for me.
However, there were other stories that I wanted to touch on that were just as much fun as thinking of what a bassist could hide under a bar table or what kind of hijinks a band could get up to during a recording session. We’re at the point where rock n’ roll and its earlier forms have a long and rich history, and with it comes its own brand of folklore. I didn’t want to directly include the Robert Johnson story in the book, but I did want to allude to it and use elements of it. For those who aren’t aware, the basic story is that Robert Johnson went out to a local crossroads and met a stranger there (the Devil), who taught him how to play guitar better than anyone in the entire world, and he ended up dying to fulfill his contract. Now, in real life there are quite a few holes in that story, but it’s an interesting concept. There are also a number of stories of more recent rockers who supposedly sold their souls for a chance at fame and fortune. After all, everyone has something that they’d give up everything for. A lot of people would do a lot for that kind of attention…and to have security of that position to go with it? Priceless.
In the Red translates things a bit differently. There is a shady deal, though it takes a while for Jeremiah to realize just what he’s gotten himself into. There are magical objects, demons, and plenty of groupies and fans to encourage Jeremiah to play up his alter-ego J.K. Asmodeus to the fullest. There is a crossroads, but it shows up at a different point and ends up being more of a battle of wits than a learning opportunity. There’s plenty of decadence and bad behavior floating around the pages, plenty of questionable activity, and plenty of occurrences that may or may not be real…it just depends on what you believe in.
And thankfully, there’s also plenty of stage time and good ol’ fashioned rock n’ roll to go with it all, because really, it’s the music that makes everything else possible.
Everett Santeaux is a zealot, a child fiercely trained in all manners of combat and arms recollection. As an adult, he has pushed his physical and mental abilities far past boundaries of the average human. When a powerful mob boss is found brutally murdered, a series of events begin to unravel that place Everett squarely in the crosshairs of zealots, cops, and criminals alike. As the mysteries of his covert past collide with his present, he’ll have to use everything that he’s learned to help clear his name, protect his family, and unravel unavowed secrets in order to uncover the answer to the question: What is the Ark?
Enjoy this excerpt from Christian Porter’s upcoming release Shadow Precinct. If you’d like to order an autographed copy, go to the Aziza Publishing site and use coupon code SPCP201209PROMO
1982——————————————————————————————————
Sitting on the sun…
Sitting in a lava waterfall…
Sitting at the center of the Earth…
Sitting in a dragon’s lair…
Sitting in acid rain…
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
Everett was in his second year at the zealot training facilities in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. At this moment, he was participating with other students in a training exercise. They sat just outside of a large cave with torch lined walls, the cold air rushing in through the mouth of the cave making the flames on the torches leap wildly. This grueling task was designed to help them endure extreme pain, a trait that every zealot must develop. Lines of students sat cross-legged in a meditative position, outside in the blistering cold wearing all black cloth training kis. The elevation made drawing each breath difficult. The sub-freezing temperatures made it impossible for many of the potential zealots after the first hour. Overseers and Xi Wang Xi were pacing the lines, removing those that were clearly not going to pass this exercise. Thirteen young boys had already been carried out to the infirmary after going into hypothermic shock, collapsing to the hard, snow covered ground. In the third hour, another boy collapsed dead. Halfway through the fourth hour, two more would die, one with tears frozen to his face. Everett continued to sit. Had he opened his eyes, he would have seen just how many students were failing. As his focus intensified, time became relative. Inside of Everett’s mind, he was meditating in the center of an exploding star. Everett continued to sit, his skin beginning to turn blue, oblivious to the pain. Three shift changes of overseers had come and gone, the only constants were the students and Xi Wang Xi.
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
Mind over body…
A young overseer walked up to Xi. Like all of the others that were keeping watch of the training exercise, he was actually adequately dressed for the elements. He spoke through a heavy wool facemask.
“Master Xi. This has been the longest that this exercise has ever gone. It is beginning to cut into other areas…”
He was interrupted by the aged voice of Xi, his English accent having faded over the years, “Let it continue. You and the other overseers can return to the main building. I will watch the remaining students.”
“Yes sir.”
“Answer me this overseer, who are these last two students?”
“Master Xi, one is Everett Santeaux. The other is Olufemi Anyogu.”
They both gazed at the two young boys in astonishment, both of them sitting perfectly still unaware that they were the only ones left.
“Master Xi, it is quite amazing that they’ve lasted this long. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Nor have I.”
The young man followed his orders and helped to gather the other students. Some whose extremities had become black with frost bite, requiring amputation and subsequently ending their zealot training. The two students remaining continued to sit for another half an hour. Everett’s focus was finally derailed by the feeling of a large fur blanket being thrown around him. His eyes were frozen shut, and as his mind and body began to rejoin, he started to feel the pain that he had dismissed for an ungodly amount of time.
“Everett is it? Try to breath or you will go into shock. I have overseers here to help you to the infirmary. Move very slowly, your joints have probably locked into position.”
Xi saw that Everett’s mouth was moving, but he could not hear any words. His lips were chapped and turning bluish. He leaned closer and could make out a faint question.
“How…how long?”
Xi chuckled, “five and a half hours.”
The overseers helped Everett up and placed him on a stretcher where they carried him back in doors to the infirmary. He was placed in a bed and administered an IV. As he began to fade into unconsciousness, he could hear the overseers speaking with the onsite doctors.
“No, I don’t think you understand. Both of these boys should have died hours ago. Normal body temperature is 98.6 degrees, a couple of degrees below that is considered extremely dangerous territory. These boys had temperatures hovering around 90 degrees.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Tell me about it. They also don’t exhibit any signs of frost bite, I’ve been a doctor for over 20 years and I’ve never seen anything like this out there. And the fact that they are kids? It’s incredible.”
Tamsin Silver is an old friend of mine, and I’m happy to lend her this space (and it means I don’t have to come up with a blog post!)
I love being a Fantasy writer. What a fun genre to write in. I’ve attempted to write Crime…and I can do a downright awesome beginning, but blimey, I cannot get past that. Hats off to J.D. Robb and those other folks that write Crime, like Richard Castle. What? He’s not real? Oops, my bad. 😉 (Nathan Fillion, you’re real to me🙂
I’ve been writing stories since I was…ten or eleven (we will NOT say how long ago that was…but I will say I wrote them on an electric typewriter.*shudders*) and I’ve been often told, “Write what you know.” So, when I was redoing my series, Living Dead Girl, a few years ago I set them in the Goth/Industrial scene seeing as I’ve been in that since 1989 (*cough cough* please don’t do the math). We used to always joke that the real vampires could hide in the goth/industrial scene easily since so many “posers” and “wannabes” were there, no one would know the difference. Thus the background for my series was born.
Originally, my series was going to be this love story between a vampire and a witch. Then I set the book down to finish college, become a teacher, run a theatre company, move to NYC, and produce theatre. But one New Years I made a resolution to finish it. As I reworked it, the characters took over. Atlanta fell in love with someone else, the primary plot changed, and I was stuck sitting there going, “Where did my original story go?” Then I thought, “Who cares?”
From that point on I’ve written without an outline. I just let the characters take me on a journey. From what I understand, this is not normal practice. And, it very likely is why I have to do a lot of revision and cuts, but I enjoy the adventure my characters take me on.
That journey got a wakeup call one day when a YA vampire movie, that shall not be named, was all people could talk about. I worried, “What if it’s my story?” So, on a Friday afternoon off, I went to see said movie the day it opened (I was one of 4 in the theatre) and saw that it was NOT my story, not by a long shot. HOWEVER, it made me realize…someday it might be. If I wanted my story out there, I needed to take my dreams seriously.
I sat down to finish The Betrayal (the first book in The Living Dead Girl Saga) and began to shop it around. I told myself I had two years to get a bite on this book or I’d consider going to grad school. Thankfully, I did get a bite, and in October of 2011, Eirelander Publishing released The Betrayal as an e-book. The second book of the saga, Shattered, is in edit now, and hopefully will hit e-book “stores” this summer!
Speaking of October, I was lucky enough to be interviewed at NYC Comic Con this October by the talented and lovely Ana Catris (Link to Interview: http://is.gd/sIbCn1 ). The audience of that online publication is primarily Young Adults. Now, my books fall under the 17+ age range so I’m not used to getting YA feedback. So I asked Ana what they had to say. She told me that they felt the interview made me sound normal, like anyone else they would know, giving them hope for their own writing. That made me supremely happy to hear.
If you have a dream, be it writing, theatre, dance, drawing, graphic design, etc. You should go forth and do it! If you have an original idea, let the world know about it! Have the confidence in yourself. I didn’t have that confidence for ten years and this book sat printed on paper, in a drawer, bouncing about with me from SC, to NC, to NYC. And thankfully I saw that sparkling vampire movie, because it put a boot on my ass…and my simple “love story” became a story of self discovery, strife, love and standing up for what’s right. It’s an adventure not only for those who read it, but for me as well. I couldn’t be happier.
I pray that you pursue what you love. It makes all the difference.
Take care and happy writing! If you are interested in asking me anything…find me on Twitter…I lurk there often! Username: @tamsinsilver
xo
Tamsin J
P.S. If interested, you can snag an e-copy of my book by going to my website: www.tamsinsilver.com and if you don’t have an e-reader, the book will be out in print through Amazon Print On Demand by the end of March, 2012.
KJ Hannah Greenberg has a new book out called Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things. Check it out and check out her views on the short story market today. I’ll be back tomorrow with photos from the last couple of weeks and stories from my fevered hallucinations while high on cough syrup.
Given the advent of convergent media and their impact on the world of publishing, these days, editors and writers agree that the contemporary short story market is much like the seemingly amorphic colossus described in “The Blind Men and the Elephant.” More explicitly, whereas groups or individual gatekeepers and creatives get the gist of some aspects of this bold, new bazaar, no one understands this souk in its entirety.
Contemporary social expectations have evolved alongside of contemporary telecommunications, too, in a race to determine not who has the most toys, but, furthermore, whose toys are the shiniest. In simple terms, burgeoning innovation has complicated the industry. Championship, to a significant degree, has become a guessing game. It seems, nowadays, that it’s better to be morphed into a gelatinous wildebeest, transported to Planet Nine, or else exposed to outer world experiences than to win a Pushcart Prize or National Endowment for the Humanities monies. Fortunately, feelings are not facts.
What continues to be true is that “the rules” have been vaporized. In their place sit poorly fitting literary brannocks. At the same time as meagerly fashioned fluff rules “popular,” i.e. mass market publications, the literary and the pulp markets, the publishing world’s extremes, respectively, are shifting. No longer do writers sell only science-based speculative fiction. Instead, we sell an array of imaginary stuff including, but not limited to: alternate history, bizarre fiction, cross-genre fiction, cyberpunk, slipstream fiction, soft science fiction, steam punk, and weird tales.
Despite this upheaval in what constitutes content fit to be marketed, we writers, and the folk who befriend us, remain motivated to broadcast patterned words. Presently, electronic and audio venues vie with traditional print forums for the best short fiction. Roll call URLs such as Ralan’s SpecFic & Humor Webstravaganza and Duotrope’s Digest help established and emerging writers, alike, find homes for their short works.
When assessing the short story market, in addition, it behooves us to appreciate that writers are no more likely to make a living being word players today than we were ten or one hundred years ago. Most short stories authors sagaciously keep their day jobs. Despite the fact that odd ducks, because of merit, fortune, or both, make five and six digits on works issued by traditional presses, by print on demand presses, or by vanity and self-publishing presses, most skilled folk are happy to get, if not membership in SFWA, then bylines at respectable locations.
All things considered, even the end that is peer recognition is not freely given. Half of the problem is the tonnage of garbage that gets mindlessly submitted to people populating mastheads (I can vouch for this phenomenon since I edit for Bound Off and for Bewildering Stories). Many newbies, but also a good per cent of older, cantankerous sorts, think it costs nothing for them to submit, at the touch of their keypad, work to multiple outlets, and to do so simultaneously; they forget someone has to read the received work.
The other half of the problem is the half-baked efforts offered up by otherwise good writers coupled with the diminishing energies available from good periodicals’ exhausted staffs (see above for the rationale for droopy masthead members). Although getting published takes more than a roll of the dice, it can be very confounding either to find a welcome mat or to find work worth welcoming.
What’s more, not each and every published morsel is created equally. I remember, during my stint as a literary critic at Tangent, feeling loss at the nearly formulaic, i.e. safe for sales, nature of most of the stories that managed to squeak onto the pages of renowned magazines. Fortunately, we have places as Critters.org, where “the best and the brightest,” alongside of newcomers unafraid of risks, send their work for peer feedback. I’ve enjoyed proportionately more of that latter group of manuscripts, bumps, warts, and so forth, then the methodically published, albeit technically “well written” stuff splat on the big guys’ pages.
Auxiliary to the aforementioned, in publishing, as in many other industries, the socio-economic activity of networking counts. Publishers who enjoy their authors’ work often open back doors for them. Less frequently, but more astonishingly, publishers invite their favorite writers to contribute tales. In my own modest experience, I’ve enjoyed both modes of getting my writing into print. I’m disinclined, however, to name where I enjoy such accommodations.
Related to the boons of networking are the drawbacks of scams. From publishers who insist that their naïve contributor must buy copies of anthologies, in which those writers’ work is presented, to broadcasters who create unrealistic literary contests, money is being made from the energies of innocent writers. Watchdogs such as Preditors [sic] and Editors and such as Absolute Write Water Cooler exist, yet writing remains a “sellers beware” business.
More exactingly, we live in a span during which base individuals have no compunction preying on we creatives’ longing for success. Just as labdanum was produced mainly for the perfume industry, but was used, by unscrupulous sorts, as an adhesive for royalties’ fake facial hair, Internet opportunities have both multiplied writing outlets and have attracted hoards of nasties. It’s of small wonder that some writers prefer to obsess over pretend beasts than to struggle to get our short works to audiences.
Nonetheless, in the end, we writers can’t help but respond to our urge to reveal, to scrutinize, and to gather together fantastic moments, no matter the state of the publishing industry, specifically, or of the economy, in general. Writers write and will often do amazing things to make sure that their readers can read.
As for me, I confess to continuing to be incorrigible when it comes to generating texts. Happily, my gatekeepers and readers encourage me to do more of the same. To wit, my latest book, Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things, published by Bards & Sages Publishing, was born.
When readers find that their work day has diminished their endorphins, that they need a new reason to slip under the covers with a flashlight, or that they simply want to laugh a loud, a bit more, they ought to open Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things.This book’s anthropomorphic tales are populated with: spacelings, with anxiety-prone rabbits, and with literate penguins. This collection of seventy yarns includes stories of: postpartum tree hoppers with libido problems, multi-headed aliens intent on altering Earth’s fiduciary systems, couch potatoes on notice for otherworlders’ attack, and juvenile chimera chicks tilting against human culture’s prejudices. Besides being good for a few hours’ worth of entertainment, the existence of Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things demonstrates that writers can find means to broadcast their musings in this upside down, contemporary short story market.
About the Author:
KJ Hannah Greenberg has met few imaginary friends with whom she hasn’t wanted to consort. Her short, speculative fiction, particularly, blows bubbles at many addresses, including at: AlienSkin Magazine, AntipodeanSF, Big Pulp, Danse Macabre, Morpheus Tales, Strange, Weird and Wonderful, Theaker’s Quarterly Fiction, and Weirdyear. More globally, her short fiction can be found at dozens of outlets, including at: American MENSA’s Calliope, Fiction365, The Medulla Review, Pulp Metal Magazine, and Raphael’s Village. Look for her online, “Jewish” Science Fiction, writing class this May.
I’ve known today’s guest blogger longer than I’ve known any of the other writer friends in the fantasy world. We met long, long ago in another life, in another state, and before a couple more careers for both of us. We reconnected through Facebook and realized that we’re chasing the same dream. Her first book, The Betrayal, came out late last year. Give it a look at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
GO FORTH!
Anyone who loves acting or directing, dreams of working on Broadway.
Anyone who loves dancing ballet, dreams of dancing at Lincoln Center.
Anyone who loves painting, dreams of having their work in a gallery in Paris, London or NYC.
What about writers? Well, many dream of being published.
When you’re about to be forty there’s really no more lying to yourself. I looked at what I’d been doing and realized that there was no way with my current lifestyle I was ever going to be a well known director. In order to really do that I needed to have a flexible job and I work in an office. It’s a good job. I like it. It pays well and gives me insurance. To walk away from that would be stupid. But if I wanted to really have the freedom to be a director I needed to be able to travel and be flexible. I could do neither. So it was apparent to me that staying in theatre for me was just me spinning my wheels. I wasn’t going to move up any higher than I already was at. And to be honest, I wasn’t happy with that.
I thought of my first love, writing, and weighed that against what I was doing. The answer was very clear. I wanted to write more than I wanted to keep plugging away at directing/producing. Hell, the idea of even attending an Off Off Broadway show made me want to squirm. I swore if I saw one more experimental artsy performance I’d shoot the cast and walk out with a clear conscious. So I hunted for the book I’d started writing in college, loaded it up and finished the damn thing.
I hate to even type this…but it was Twilight that made me do this. DON’T SHOOT ME! Let me explain! It’s not the reason you think.
To be honest, I was suddenly afraid someone was going to write/publish my story. No, Twilight is NOTHING like my series (unless you count the word “vampire” as a connection) but it made me go, “Get off your ass, girl, and get it done!” So, though I’m not a huge fan of the series, I thank the powers that be for putting a foot on my ass.
So, book is finished. Now what? Get an agent…right? Then they’d get me a publisher and so on and so forth. Little did I know how much the publishing world was changing. I don’t think I really understood until I owned a Kindle. I was buying books right and left on that thing. So when a writing pal of mine emailed me a link to an e-publisher looking for Fantasy Novels I thought, what the hell, why not?
But what about an agent? I was trying but I wasn’t getting anywhere fast. I’d been submitting to literary agents for a year and a half and nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I caught the eye of some of them and they asked to read it, but then they would disappear off the planet. Or as I had reached the point of saying, “They fell into a ditch and they swallowed their laptop and forgot how to check their email.” Yeah, I’m a little bitter. I’m working on it.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the link my friend had sent me was to Eirelander Publishing. I researched them and submitted. By that Saturday I had an offer in my email. I was shocked. I was in tears. I was leery. It shouldn’t be this easy, right? Then I thought, “Easy? I’ve been bustin’ my ass for a year and a half to get someone to give me a chance!” And when you write vampire novels and your publisher/editor’s name is Buffi, how can you not see it as “meant to be”?
For you see, I started to try and sell the first book of The Living Dead Girl Saga in December of 2009. I told myself if I’d not found an agent by December 2011 I would start considering going to Grad School (somewhere warm ‘cause NYC weather really bites). But, on October 14, 2011 that book was released by Eirelander Publishing in e-book format. We hope to see it hit Amazon Print on Demand early in 2012.
For me, two of my dreams have come true. I’ve worked successfully in the indie-theatre world of NYC and now, I am published. To be honest, the latter really hasn’t sunk in fully. I think that’s because it’s so new and because I’m still a tiny fish in a big pond.
But I will push forth! Book Two, called Shattered, in the Living Dead Girl Saga, has been requested by my publisher so if you’ve read Book One, The Betrayal, and enjoyed it, the next one will be out in 2012!
For more information on me and my books, visit me at www.tamsinsilver.com . Once there you can find links to purchase my book in e-format (Amazon and B&N) as well as a PDF form through my publisher. You’ll also find cool things like pictures of my characters, videos from the photo-shoots, and if you hit the October entries of my blog there are character profiles for most everyone in the LDG Saga. Or, if you want…here are links:
I hope you are following your dreams. If you’re not, stop making excuses and GO FORTH! Jump on the ambition train and make it happen. You won’t regret it. Honestly, even if I’d not gotten published yet, I’d not regret my decision. I’ve met so many great people doing National Novel Writer Month and getting involved with a writing group here in NYC, that I feel suddenly like I’m on the right path. I just wish I’d not avoided that path for ten years due to my fears.
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