Each time I start a new manuscript, I ask myself why I don't write standalone books. It's an artform, truly, creating a story that is perfectly self-contained, a complete character journey without need of addendum. Standalones enable readers to pick any book from an author's catalogue at random, without having to have read any previous volumes. In that sense, they're simpler to market, and you have a greater chance of reaching a whole new audience with each book. I've told myself time and time again that I need to shift my creative process and work toward writing those sorts of self-contained stories.
But then I reflect back on a character's beginning, and I think about where they're going, and even if it's a long slog, and it seems to take forever, writing a series is worth it. The character journeys are so rich when you have the time and space to play things out at your leisure.
It feels like the Drake Chronicles have only just begun, but book 1 came out in 2020, and it's wild to see how the characters all started this journey.
She looped
her arm through his, and together they walked up to the makeshift gangplank the
crew had fashioned of a few loose boards. They were slick and shiny with ice,
as was the dock beyond, but the porters who’d come to collect their trunks
didn’t seem to be troubled by this – probably thanks to the metal cleats Oliver
glimpsed strapped over their boots.
He and
Tessa, though, despite the heavy wool and fur cloaks they’d purchased before
their trip, wore boots with soft, leather soles. Please don’t let us fall,
he prayed, and took the first step.
He managed
all five steps across the plank, Tessa clutching at him the whole time. Then
they hit the dock, and a patch of invisible ice, and Oliver’s right foot
slipped out from under him.
“Oh,
bollocks–”
A hand
grabbed his free arm. A large hand – a strong one. Somehow, miraculously, he
didn’t fall and drag his poor cousin down with him. He was picked up, and set
back on his feet, and a deep voice with an unfamiliar accent said, “You all right
there, lad?”
He glanced
up, startled, a little afraid, he could admit, and laid eyes on the largest man
he’d ever seen. Tall, and broad-shouldered, and draped in layers of fur that
made him look more bear than man, his hair a long, wild tangle, save for where
it was braided down the sides, and, at his temples, shaved in long, thin lines.
“Shit,”
Oliver said, before he could think better of it.
The man
grinned, revealing one gold canine tooth. “Well. There’s a welcome.”
“Oh, no,
no, I didn’t–”
“Are you
from Drakewell? The Drakes?”
“I…”
“I am Tessa
Drake,” Tessa said. “Lord William’s daughter. And this is my cousin, Oliver.”
And then the boys...
Belatedly,
Oliver remembered his manners. “This is the Lady Tessa.” He hooked his arm
through hers in a show of support. “I’m her cousin, Oliver.”
Rune’s
brows shot up. “The bastard? The one who didn’t want to go to war?”
His brother
elbowed him in the ribs. “What did I say about that?” he asked from the corner
of his mouth. To Oliver: “Ignore him. Mum dropped him on his head as a baby.”
“Hey!”
“Lord
Alfred’s son, right?” Leif asked.
“Um.”
Oliver had faced any number of insults about his bastardy from courtiers of
both sexes; snide comments and veiled looks. But though the word would always
carry a sting, Rune hadn’t sounded rude – and now his face had fallen, his dark
eyes guileless and defensive.
“I didn’t
mean anything by it,” he said, half to his brother and half to Oliver. He
mumbled, “Sorry, my lord.”
Oliver took
a breath. He’d expected savagery in this strange land, and doubtless it was
here, but so far there was nothing coy and cutting in evidence – an unexpected,
but refreshing change from home. “No, no, not a lord. I am a bastard. But,” he
added, feeling his face heat, “I was ill when the war started, and then
encouraged not to come to the front.”
Rune’s nose
wrinkled. “Really?”
“Rune,” his
brother hissed, “stop asking awkward questions.”
“No, it’s
fine. I’m not exactly a soldier,” Oliver said, lifting his arm in helpless
invitation for them to examine his absolute lack of a soldier’s physique.
“So?” Rune
said, shrugging. “You could learn.”
Leif
stepped on his foot.
“Ow!”
Then he
bowed to Tessa, the beads in his hair clicking together as it fell in gold
waves over his shoulder. “My lady.”
And Erik...
Bjorn fired
off a command to one of the men lounging against the wall – who nodded and left
– then his hand was back on Oliver’s shoulder, pushing him forward again.
Right to
the base of the dais, close enough to see that King Erik’s eyes were blue, but
nothing at all like’s Leif’s, with their warm, quiet amusement. The king’s were
hard, and flat, and unreadable – the nearest emotion seemed to be disdain.
Oliver
gulped, quite against his will.
“These are
the Southerners?” the king asked.
“Aye,”
Bjorn said, and shook Oliver. He felt like a puppy in a giant’s grip. “Cousins!
Lord Oliver and Lady Tessa.” Oliver was tired of correcting him, at this point.
Bjorn laughed. “Say hello to your bride, Erik!”
Echoing
laughter rippled through the crowd of bystanders, and Oliver bristled on his
cousin’s behalf.
But Erik
lifted a ringed hand and the laughter cut off suddenly, and completely. He
stared at them – Oliver struggled to keep his shoulders back, and his spine
rigid beneath the cold, judgmental weight of that stare – and then finally
curled a single finger and said, “Approach.”
The princes
stepped apart, their gazes watchful, and Oliver wasn’t going to let Tessa – now
trembling – approach on her own. He covered her hand with his own where
it rested on his arm, and they walked forward – up the three steps to the dais
itself when that finger crooked again.
“Your
majesty.”
“Your
majesty,” Tessa echoed, softly, and executed a perfect, one-handed curtsy,
though she shivered all over with nerves.
The king
studied them each in turn, cold blue eyes moving impersonally over them, head
to toe. When it was his turn, Oliver felt sure Erik could see how nervous he
was – how afraid.
Watery
sunlight pierced a high window, a single, white shaft that caught the silver of
the heavy ring on the king’s first finger: it was shaped like a stag’s head,
antlers and all, Oliver noted.
Finally,
King Erik nodded. “Yes, fine. You’ll suit.”
“Beg
pardon?” Oliver asked, as Tessa’s hand closed vice-tight below his elbow.
Erik met
his gaze, finally, managing to be both disinterested, and piercing. “She’ll do.
We can draw up the contract after supper.”
“Contract –
your majesty,” Oliver said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. “I’d
thought you might like to get to know Tessa a little, before you agreed to
marry her.” The king was certainly as handsome – gorgeous, his brain
supplied, unhelpfully – as his nephews, but lacked all their charm.
Erik tipped
his head back a fraction, so he managed to look down his nose at Oliver,
despite being the one seated. He snorted. “I won’t be marrying her, Mr.
Meacham.”
“But…the
letter…” Oh, Gods, had there been some horrible miscommunication? Did Erik not know?
Another
snort, this one accompanied by the faintest ghost of a mocking smile. “Do I
look like I’m in want of a teenage virgin bride? No. She’ll be marrying my
nephew.”
The
statement should have been a relief – Tessa certainly relaxed with a sudden
exhale – but it was said like a threat, and Oliver could sense nothing like a
welcome.
Oh, how far they've come. And oh, how far there is left go.
Whether it's books, movies, shows, comics, manga...my favorite part of a long, serialized story is getting to watch the cast grow and evolve, or sometimes devolve, whatever the case may be. Gimme the angst, and the revelations, and the hard-won bonds of love or friendship. When I'm writing, that's what I find most rewarding: getting to craft those long-form, hard-earned stories that take a long time, and a lot of obstacles and interactions, to develop. It's a little bit shocking to go back to the first chapters of Heart of Winter as I start Fortunes of War. Everyone's changed - Leif most of all. Poor Leif. I have such plans for him. He started as the stalwart, boring older brother, and now, well...you'll see.
Big casts are my jam, so it has been - and will continue to be - fun to hear from readers about which character they're most interested in. The beauty of an ensemble, despite its challenges, is the chance for everybody to form a favorite.
If you haven't snagged Demon of the Dead yet, it's available now! Working on book 5 as we speak.
