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Wednesday, October 20, 2021

Early Reflections #BOW


 


Typing THE END never gets old. There's always a point in the writing of every book, somewhere between 50-60k words, when I become convinced I can't finish. But then I do, and then it's time for editing, and proofing, and promotion, and diving into the next project. Right now, my priority is getting Blood of Wolves into everyone's hands, and then, after, working where and when I can as the holiday rush begins. 

As I've wrapped up this third installment of the Drake Chronicles, I've been thinking a lot about the direction in which I want to take this series, and my intent with it. Despite some violence and bloodshed, and the ever-increasing prevalence of necromancy courtesy of one bratty Corpse Lord, this series is much lighter in tone than some of my other fare - and that is most definitely by design. Themes of power, and privilege, and leadership are certainly present, but the overall tone of the series is far less grim than, say, GOT. (Some day I'll blog coherently about the ways the show ignored all the books' references to history and classic literature and just bulled right ahead with a misguided attempt to create a purely post-modern epic fantasy, but today is not that day.) Sons of Rome is fantasy rooted in the real world, with all the real world's baggage and blunders; I wanted the Drake Chronicles to feel more like a fairy tale: true escapism with a softer edge. 

Another thing I decided, early on, was to keep the books to a more manageable length. SoR is full-tilt fantasy pacing along the lines of Jordan or Sanderson. Fat, doorstop books that fully explore the histories and motivations of our characters. I'm taking the same approach to character development here, with the Drakes, but it's less doorstop, more bite-size installment form. It IS still fantasy, however, which means the story is ongoing, evolving, and I'm not sure, at this point, how many books it will contain. I originally said "upwards of five," and that's definitely true, but I've seen it referred to as a trilogy, or as a definite five-book series, and neither of those is true. I don't know how long it will be - as long as it takes to resolve all the character arcs. 

That's the common thread running through all my work: the focus is on the characters. The themes may be different, the tone, the style, even, but it's always character-driven. Dartmoor is - well, let's face it, despite my early efforts to spin it as some sort of sultry Southern epic - more or less just cheap debauchery at its finest. Down and dirty contemporary with (mostly) tidy storylines in each book, genre its main appeal. Hell Theory is weird, dystopian erotica. Sons of Rome is my big, ponderous, diesel-engine slow-build series, where I get to play with all my favorite tropes, themes, and storytelling devices. And then there's the Drakes, sweet and fluffy as fresh snowfall, but with that dangerous undercurrent that makes fantasy so damn fun to read. 

I'm off to crawl into my editing spiderhole, but be on the lookout for BoW teasers and updates and so forth. I'm very excited about the way the title of this book ties into the story itself. Every story needs werewolves. Given enough time, I think I could even figure out a way to put wolf shifters in Dartmoor 😉

Tuesday, October 12, 2021

#BoW Teaser: The Consort and the Corpse Lord

 *Has not finished the book yet*

*Holds out lengthy Oliver and Náli-centric teaser as peace offering*



So far, Oliver had learned several truths about flying:

One: ascent and descent were the most thrilling aspects. When your stomach dropped, and the world tilted, and the dragon’s strength became most apparent.

Two: once up at a good flying height, where the drakes could glide along without working too hard, flapping only occasionally and maintaining a steady elevation, the thrill of peeking down through the clouds lost some of its shine. Oliver didn’t want to say it got boring, but, well…it was rather quiet. With just the rush of the wind in his ears, and the monotonous slap of cold air against his face.

Speaking of which…

Three: flying up in the high, cold air for long periods chapped his lips and his cheeks, and left his eyes dry and stinging.

“Gods, I can’t do this anymore.”

Four: when he wasn’t besting anyone in a duel, or playing the imperious Corpse Lord, Náli was an absolute brat.