And Now a Brief Update

Today I will give Comeuppance Served Cold one more read-through before sending it back to my editor. This round of edits came after two authenticity reads, one for my Black American characters and one for the visually impaired character. With their help, I’m confident that these characters are as authentic as I can make them. I chose not to make some changes, ones that changed my character drastically, or would have involved completely reengineering the plot (especially because it does seem like there was a simpler fix.)

Any lapse or insensitivity is my own ignorance, and I’m in learning mode every single day.

Some people complain about authenticity readers, (also called sensitivity readers), and act as if they somehow infringe on personal rights, or even, heaven help us, “art.” To me, it’s the opposite. They are my characters, created in my head and fleshed out by my hard work, sure, but I want their daily experiences to ring with validity–not merely prop up the stereotypes and masks we’ve made up about people we have categorized as “other.”

Now stepping off the soapbox, thanks.

In this process an important secret was revealed to me (okay, it’s not a secret). I asked Emily, “Is is Tor.com like the website? It is tordotcom like the twitter handle? What? What exactly is the name of my imprint?”

They said, “And there is the existential question we’ve been wrestling with!” The imprint’s name is Tordotcom Books. And now I know.

No ETA on a cover reveal, but Emily said they would check.

So, more later!

I’m planning to post a short blog on Goodreads, on the third Tuesday of the month, through September. Most of the posts will focus on Comeuppance Served Cold. Beginning in October, when I think I’ll have more to write about, I’ll increase the frequency. Right now I’m talking mostly about the period and Prohibition.




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The Shook-Up Generation

I laughed when I saw this book on the table in Brandy’s store. I mean, that cover! So period! Brandy’s Crest paperback copy will cost you more than thirty-five cents, sorry. In some ways a perfect cover, showing young toughs in leather jackets and girls in (gasp!) jeans, the cover also misses the mark, I think. Or at least it does for me now. It might have resonated more in 1958 when it came out.

The paperback has a brief introduction by Eleanor Roosevelt, stating how important our families are, and how the problem of juvenile delinquency must be addressed.

Salisbury, the author, won the Pulitzer Prize twice. He worked for the New York Times, helming the Moscow Bureau for a while; he covered the Civil Rights movement and in the later years of his career worked in China, including covering the Tiananmen Square uprising. Obviously a serious journalist, writing a serious book. The hardback cover is a little less sensational and probably matched the book better

But isn’t this really a drugstore paperback, the kind of book you’d find on a spinner rack? Were they aiming this at suburban housewives? (I mean, wouldn’t they be checking it out from the library?) I have no clue who they’re marketing to, but I guess you’d buy it for the cover and learn about juvenile unrest before you realized what you were doing. It would be like packaging Jane Mayer’s Dark Money with a lurid cover and hiding it in the thriller section. Maybe that was the intent.

Another thing I can’t overlook; this book was non-fiction. With our fixation nowadays on genres, sub-genres, sub-sub-genres, demographic groups and so on, it’s even more amazing to see this cover on a serious work of journalism. Maybe that’s the best point of all.

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Debris

Debris currently airs on NBC on Monday nights. I usually catch up with on On Demand. It’s got a science fiction premise, and it’s a nice one. An extraterrestrial spacecraft drifted into our system, to orbit around earth (kind of interesting right there–we’re an inner planet after all. It’s almost like it aimed for us).

The ship degraded and entered the atmosphere (or entered and atmosphere and degraded, I don’t completely understand which). Chunks of it ended up all over the world. The chunks of spaceship have magical powers, and so every highly militarized government is out to track them all down and weaponize them ahead of the others, because that’s what we humans do, at least in science fiction TV shows. There is also a private-sector group, labeled as terrorists, called Influx.

Here’s what’s good about the show: the cast, the special effects, and certain visuals. In an early scene, the camera pulls back to reveal a huge open space, with a partially re-assembled cylinder hanging in the air. The space junk, er, excuse me, debris, is cool-looking.

As for the cast, Rainn Steele plays Finola Jones, a Brit (from MI5?) assigned to the American team, and Jonathan Tucker is the USA guy, Brian. Finola’s physicist father was deeply involved in the US Debris project, called “Orbital,” until he took his own life shortly before the show started, not before sending Finola a text that has baffled her even though I have a pretty good idea what it meant. Brian has a military background, and there are repeated hints of trouble. The implication is that he was a black ops guy. Norbert Leo Butz is wonderful as Maddox, Brian’s conflicted and treacherous supervisor.

The special effects are the star of the show. Whether it’s floaty things, glowy gold things, shimmery gunmetal things, translucent things or morphing things, they are all top drawer.

With a good cast and beautiful special effects, the show should be compelling. Somehow, it isn’t. I do think that, somewhere in this production, there’s a person who has a story to tell. I just don’t know where they are and what they’re trying to tell us. If I were watching Episode 2, I’d be fine with that, but the last one I saw was Ep 8. I know there are clues buried in the audio feed that runs behind the closing credits, but that isn’t enough.

As if the dragging pace and monotony of the relationships weren’t enough, the show devoted two (two!) episodes to the we’re-in-a-time-loop plot. Do these people understand that they’re showing on network TV, and their goal should be to stop people from surfing away? You know how to make people surf away? Do several montages of people running across a rock and jumping into the water, that’s how.

Jeff, a friend of mine, pointed out that the show contains zero humor. None. I mean, none. I never knew what a drawback that could be.

The stunning absence of any connection or chemistry between Steele and Tucker is an obstacle too. At one point, when each shares with the other information their respective bosses told them not to share, I was all, “Oh, finally! Mulder and Scully! Wonder-twin powers, activate!” Unfortunately, that went nowhere. In the Groundhog Day two-parter I mentioned above, Brian reveals his feelings for Finola, which come out of nowhere, are completely unsupported, and later (temporarily) erased by circumstances. This felt less like a plot point and more like some desperate showrunners dangling a shiny thing in front of me so I’ll keep watching.

I thought the show wanted to be Fringe, a weird, excellent SF show from early in the 20th century. (Many visual affects look similar.) Fringe also got off to a bit of a slow start, and had the same earnest, solemn tone, but somehow that show got the character of Walter on the screen pretty fast, and Walter held our attention. Debris doesn’t have anyone like that. Everyone is serious, everyone is competent–I mean, yaaay, I like that– every innocent civilian who encounters debris has a Life Changing Decision to Make at the end of the episode, and that sameness makes the show drift like a piece of space junk as far as I’m concerned.

Maddox and the Influx guy both have potential to upend the applecart, but they better start doing it soon.













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ConTinual Panel

Here’s a link to the second Con-Tinual Panel I participated in.

I was more relaxed this time, and it shows!


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Bodies in Motion

In Dashiell Hammett’s detective novel The Maltese Falcon, Sam Spade goes to the hotel room of Caspar Gutman. Gutman is trying to persuade Spade to acquire the fabled falcon statuette for him. It’s an important scene, because we finally get the story of the priceless figure, and while they’re talking, Gutman pours himself a Scotch and soda.

I don’t remember the exact details and I didn’t look them up, but some things still stick with me, and one is Gutman fiddling with the soda syphon. It doesn’t mean anything to the plot, but somehow the white-suited criminal pumping up the cannister and squirting the carbonated liquid into the glass has stayed with me, (so much so that I stole, er, I mean, paid homage to it in Comeuppance Served Cold).

I love reading and writing dialogue. I love stories where I must weigh the characters’ words and decipher what they are saying behind what they are saying. I love clever turns of phrase, repartee, and banter. Having said that, reading long unbroken stretches of dialogue gets exhausting. With or without speech tags, pages of back-and-forth with no physicality makes me drift away from the characters, as if I’m hearing abstract voices, not participating in a story.

Even trying to add physical responses seem tedious after a while. People can only bite their lips, roll their eyes, glance away, clear their throats, etc, so many times. Strangely, dialogue, one of the things I enjoy the most about fiction, can float me right out of the story if it devolves into pure talking heads.

When a character in a dialogue has something to do, even if it doesn’t directly affect the plot (Gutman’s drink doesn’t), it brings them back into focus. Because my mind has to imagine the decanter of Scotch, the glass, ice/no ice, the silver cylinder of the siphon, the action engages more of my attention and pulls me back into the story.

It’s great if the activity does connect with the story, if your characters are trying to piece together the torn-up letter they found, if someone is studying the scrap of evidence under a microscope, someone is grooming a horse, cleaning a weapon, or mixing a healing potion, but it enlivens the dialogue even if they’re changing the oil in their car, chopping vegetables for dinner or fixing the hem on a pair of pants.

In the Brother Cadfael mysteries, by the late Ellis Peters, Cadfael is interested in herbs and acts as a healer. As he addresses the various mysteries, he is often in his garden, pinching back leggy plants, harvesting leaves, grinding dried herbs, stirring a tincture, tisane or syrup as he asks questions of the person with him, and bounces ideas back and forth. Usually, the particular potion he is mixing has nothing to do with the mystery, but it gives us a glimpse of 14th century medicine and reminds us that Cadfael is trying hard to leave a life of violence behind him.

In The Mask of Mirrors, M.A. Carrick centers at least one, and maybe two, important conversations between protagonist Ren and her sister Tess around clothing. Ren is carrying out a daring impersonation, and Tess, who is brilliant with fabric and fashion, is making her clothes. The scenes are visually and kinesthetically pleasing as the authors describe the feel of various fabrics; they remind us of the differences in dress among the various social classes, and they remind us how precarious Ren’s con is. And then there’s the actual conversation, which advances the plot.

Can you give your character or characters something to do? It’s a multi-purpose tool, and it enlivens your story. It may even inspire you. You might find, as so often happens, that those random acts suddenly click into something you can use in the plot. Give it a try.



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Small Plates

Brian Fies once used the term “tapas” for a blog post that contained a number of unrelated topics. I’m stealing the idea. Please enjoy a sample of tidbits today.

We put a helicopter on Mars, and it flies!

I’m reading an enjoyable middle-grade fantasy book this week. It’s called Oddity and it’s by Eli Brown. Clover is the daughter of a country doctor in an early 19th-century America filled with folkloric magic. Clover’s America is not ours. She soon sets off on a quest and in short order has acquired a hat that holds secrets and magical doll that would send the likes of evil-doll Chuckie running for cover. She is befriended by a talking rooster and a medicine-show performer, all on the way to uncover the mystery about her mother, who died in a fire when Clover was an infant.

This morning I went for a short early walk in Ragle Park. I brought my camera. A green heron was fishing for tadpoles in the artificial pond between the soccer fields and the bathrooms.

Green heron wading.
Green heron in flight.
Green heron in flight, wings on downstroke
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The Way We Live Now #16: Full Immunity

Today is the day my one-and-done J&J jab reaches peak immunity.

I don’t feel any different, but I’m happy about it.

J&J is having some trouble because of the rare clotting effect. While I am not in the age group, I’ve got a week to go to move into the safe zone. I have been attentive; I’m watching for symptoms, but I’m not overly anxious.

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Announcement!

The Tor.com announcement of my Prohibition era fantasy novel Comeuppance Served Cold is up today! I’m humbled and excited; so grateful to Tor editor Ruoxi Chen, who was a champion of this story from the beginning, and Emily Goldman, who is shepherding it through the publication process. The entire Tor.com team is awesome.

It looks like you can pre-order the story for your Kindle here. The date is currently spring of 2022. By then, maybe I’ll be able to have some live book events!

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Crowds, Mobs and Battle Scenes

On a recent writing panel, one of the other participants talked about the difficulty writing a particular battle scene in a series novel. He said it surprised him, because, he thought, “all he had to do” was look at a scene that already existed in a previous book and write the same battle from a different POV. Simple, right? To his chagrin, not. Jean Marie, our moderator, commented that “in open battle, even five feet away, it’s a completely different fight.”

Battle scenes, crowd scenes, mob scenes… Usually I don’t have reason to write many of those, but in Book Three of the COPPER ROAD series, I needed a crowd scene. I want to stress, it’s a fairly orderly (large) bunch of people, not a mob. I had no idea how to do it.

My usual technique for connoting a chaotic situation in my fiction is the beloved jump-cut, switching points of view to show things happening in various places, all at once or close in time. This style works well for a panicked mob and would probably work in a genuine battle scene. The other kind of “crowd scene” I have experimented with is the party scene. I’m not a fan of parties, and I’ve only ever been to one really big party, and frankly, I’d tend to use the same technique there too.

(Frankly, crowds and parties always seem to be scores of small groups interacting in a conglomeration–not one big organism, if that makes sense. The exception is the audience at a stage play or a music venue.)

My scene, though, requires a character to address a crowd. Jump-cuts wouldn’t work.

We have seen a lot of crowds—and recently, mobs—on TV in nonfiction life as well as stories. Crowd shots in fiction often seem shot from above. As a writer, that really doesn’t help me. When I think of being in a crowd, I think—well, the first thing I think of is not enough air. I’m short. Crowds aren’t my favorite thing. When I get past that reaction, I usually observe that I can’t see anything, or if I can it’s patchwork viewed between the heads, torsos, arms and shoulders of those around me. It’s snatches of dialogue. Sometimes it’s the smells of various foods.

I have experience addressing large groups (not a lot, but some), and viewing a crowd from a dais or podium is a different situation. This was more like what I needed for the scene I was trying to write.

The problem was, I needed a slightly unruly crowd—again, not a mob. Yet. I’ve never addressed an unruly crowd. (Note: I’m not complaining.)

I think what I wrote works okay, but I’m left with questions. What techniques work best for writing a large group of people in some state of distress, as your character moves through them?

In a battle scene, assault may come from any and all directions, From above you may have arrows, bombs or mortars (or bullets). You may have attackers from every side. You may have dragons, who knows? There may be environmental distractions: smoke, flames, fog. Are you wounded? Can you easily tell your side from the other guys? Can you hear orders? Are there places of (relative) quiet/shelter?

Crowds are different, and they differ from each other. The mass scrunched up against the shopping mall doors at five AM the Friday after Thanksgiving is a different crowd than a group of people gathered to hear music, or a Woman’s March, or a demonstration. A post-disaster group gathering to get information is going to be anxious, angry, fearful. How does that manifest?

More and more, I’m forced to examine, in my own work, where I’ve been colonized by a steady diet of TV and film, and I write things as I’ve seen them in media, not as I’ve experienced them. Crowd scenes were an example of that. I had to sit and think about crowds I’ve addressed and those I’ve been in. In the one situation I was in where a crowd turned bad (it was a party), I found myself talking out loud, repeating myself. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” I said. It wasn’t a general announcement; it was a spontaneous utterance that I needed for some reason—clearly adrenaline-based. I can imagine a character doing that. It seems that in the insurrectionist mob that attacked the Capitol, lots of them were talking, repeating slogans. That might have been planned–or was it the same adrenaline-buzzed refrain as mine?

A friend of mine walked across the Golden Gate Bridge in 1987, with thousands of other people, to celebrate the bridge’s 50th anniversary. It was a joyous, peaceful crowd. When she talked about it, she talked in scraps; celebrities walking next to her, bits of music, overheard conversations—the bits of the whole. Is this how we all experience crowds?

As is always the case with fiction, the question isn’t just, “How do I make it realistic?” It’s “How do I make it realistic while it’s doing what I need it to do?” And I’m still working on that one.

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Angelby on AMC+

Xfinity On Demand offers, under the AMC+ menu heading, a “sampler” of shows from the Sundance Channel and a “horror” channel called Shudder. Shudder has expanded horror to include paranormal and supernatural shows that aren’t particularly scary, like AMC’s A Discovery of Witches. They include the first season only.

Angelby is a Swedish paranormal show that aired in 2015. There is, according to various reports, a second season in the works, or soon to be, although since this aired six years ago, I’m dubious. Fortunately, Season One is a complete arc that wraps up most plot points in a satisfactory way.

The show is subtitled.

Warning; spoilers.

Vera Fors is newly divorced. Her husband left her for a younger woman he met at the office. As the show opens, Vera loses her job at the same office, (because obviously). Feeling hopeless, she fills out a job match website profile. Instantly–I mean, before she can finish a swallow of wine–she gets a hit, for an office manager job in the town of Angelby.

Vera packs up her daughter Tova and her son Espen and heads off for the remote forest town. Her optimism ends with a crash–literally–when she hits a person in the road during the night-time drive to the town. Terrified, Vera covers the body with branches and goes on her way. The first day in Angelby, she brazens it out, but when her eccentric new boss takes her to a social event her second night in town, celebrating the NHL recruitment of a teen hockey player–the boy Vera hit–her guilt overcomes her and she confesses to Amos, one of the town’s two local police officers. Vera takes Amos and Torsten, her new boss, to the place where she left the body, but… (have you guessed?) the body’s gone.

Before the body is found (which it will be) the story slows down and introduces us to some of the townsfolk of Angelby. There’s Vera’s weird boss, Torsten,whose generosity–he offers Vera a vacant flat he owns immediately– raises all kinds of questions. Amos is married to the blind and bitter Yvette, whose blindness is not caused by any damage to her eyes or her optic nerve, but is described in the subtitles as “traumatic blindness.” Eva, the lone school-teacher in the one-room school, is classically witchy, with plenty of secrets. Torsten’s ex-wife, Britt-Louise, has a scarred face and makes Torsten electrocute himself. (He goes along with it. Yeah, it’s a weird relationship.) At the center of the secrets and weirdness is a strange, beautiful rock embedded in the earth, out in the forest.

(I loved the rock. It looked a little bit like a giant Doritos corn chip, stuck point first into the ground. I’m sure it was a prop, but it was imposing and beautiful.)

Part of the pleasure of watching Angelby was eye candy. Lots of scenes take place in the lush forest, and the various interiors were interesting. There are lots of images of flowing water, and two scenes with a cow moose. I also liked the characters, especially as the plot progressed and we realize that all the people (with possibly the exception of Rudi) are well-developed characters whose motivations we understand. (Oh, a second exception–I never did get the deal with Yvette.)

As the story progresses, Vera’s ex, Daniel, comes back on the scene. The body of the boy she hit is found, miles from the accident site, and a mystery unfolds when it is clear he wasn’t killed by the impact with her car. Gradually, Vera realizes that it’s not a coincidence that she’s ended up in Angelby, but she still can’t figure out why. Various people, like the brothers Jakob and Marcus, provide the viewer with clues about the Stone, and Vera, and it’s clear she has some kind of Chosen One destiny.

The town is weird and the the Stone clearly conveys power, for good or bad. The story concentrates for a time on Vera’s growth, as she puts aside her self-doubt and begins to grow into herself. The Stone-related plot gets more complex as we’re introduced to astronomical calculations, Egyptian artifacts and little blond boys on bikes. Basically, at a time of planetary convergence during a lunar eclipse, something important will happen, and Vera has to be there for it. The Stone radiates power all the time, we learn, and some people, like the murdered hockey player, have absorbed it along the way… with bad results. Is the convergence good or bad? Does the Rock dispense good power, or evil, or neutral, simply filtered through the characteristics of the person who touches it? Must Vera reach out to the Stone? Some folks say yes. Should Vera avoid the Stone at all costs? Some folks say yes. Does Vera, newcomer to Angelsby, have no right to the Stone, and should she butt right out? Some folks say yes to that idea, too. Some folks even change sides in the final few episodes.

Basically, the Chosen One destiny here is one of sacrifice, not a battle or a duel with evil. It’s not an accident that after Vera has an interaction with yet another enigmatic character and undergoes a trial by ordeal, she appears dressed in while all the time, instead of the regular mundane clothing we’ve seen up ’til then.

I will pause to extol the visuals again. This show is seriously pretty. The themes are complicated, with the needs of the individual versus the needs of the group a central one. At the very end, after Vera makes her choice, I ran into some plot logic I couldn’t quite get past. Vera sacrifices herself to change the timeline of Angelby, if I understood it right. It seems like the town moved, Marvel-Cinematic-Universe-style, into an altered timeline in which many bad things did not happen. One of the things that didn’t happen was the rape that led to Vera’s conception. In the new timeline, maybe Vera didn’t come along, which would be okay, if we hadn’t seen Daniel, Tova and Espen on their way to a funeral. Daniel hugs Espen and says, “Let’s go say good-bye to your mother.” This seems like a serious plot-glitch. (It’s in there specifically to show us something about Daniel and the kids, but still…)

As I said earlier, Yvette’s story arc made zero sense to me.

Oh, I forgot to mention the show’s truly funny character, Vivecka, the other cop. While Torsten is the source of many humorous lines, he is ultimately too tortured to be funny. Vivecka, who is a loyal, smart, observant cop, is genuinely quirky and funny, and she can be because none of the plot points rest on her shoulders. (Michaela Thorsen makes the most of this character!)

I think I see where a second series might go, but I don’t know it I’d go out of my way to watch it. Still, I enjoyed Series One.









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