Waterstone Media

Stories Matter

New Book Update!

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Hey all!

I hope you’re all doing well today. I’ve got an update on my upcoming book, tentatively scheduled to release about the middle of March.

This has been a really fun project to write. It’s the first book in a new series, and a new world. It’s also the most epic fantasy story I think I’ve ever written, and the longest I’ve written in three years.

And it’s almost ready!

As I write this, I’m just finishing the draft up and preparing it for the editor. I’m going over the ending again and making a pass to make sure my details are in order. I don’t think I’ve ever done quite as much worldbuilding for the first story in a series.

I’ll be sending my book out for editing by the end of next week!

She-Ra and the power of a simple story

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Being a parent is an endlessly fascinating experience.

Being a parent of a young girl (when you are a dude in your thirties) is perhaps even more so.

I never knew that I would know as much of the Disney and Pixar library as I do.

I never guessed that I would be something of an expert on princesses of all eras, from Snow White to the Princess in Black.

And I really never would have predicted that a kids show about sparkling princesses would suck me in and become one of my favorite shows to watch.

Yeah, I’m talking about She-Ra, a Netflix original animated series that just recently completed its fourth season.

It’s a reboot of the old She-Ra from the Masters of the Universe. My mom tells me I watched the original cartoons when I was a kid, but I have no memories of doing so, so I’ll have to take her word for it. It’s a thoroughly modern reboot, too.

When my daughter first picked the show to watch together, I was skeptical. And to be fair, I didn’t much like the first season. It felt like a story that had something really powerful to say but held back in deference to a younger audience.

But as the show went on, I got absorbed in it. For one, it’s a great fantasy world, a fascinating blend of science fiction and fantasy that rarely makes it to television. Spaceships and plant magic exist side by side, with mysteries about the planet being continually uncovered.

As the show goes on, the writers seem to be willing to take more risks with the characters, going deeper into their personalities in ways that any storyteller would be proud of.

I’ve been thinking a lot about She-Ra lately, mostly because my daughter and I just finished the fourth season.

I’m not gonna lie. It’s made me tear up some lately, and I might have cheered out loud once or twice.

How is it that a show about princesses that sparkle affects me so deeply? I think a large part of it is that it wears its heart on its sleeve.

I actually think about this a lot when it comes to shows for younger audiences.

She-Ra, for all the worldbuilding and exciting action, is a show about friendship. A show about what it takes to be a friend and what can happen when you’re a poor one. It demonstrates both the highs and lows of close friendships, and does so without shame. It results in some really powerful moments.

As we get older, I feel like there is a tendency to want to complicate our stories. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Complex stories help us understand and navigate the complex world we live in.

But that complication comes with a cost. It can be hard to write a story with simple, powerful moments because it doesn’t come across as real enough to an adult. Not all problems can be solved “through the power of friendship,” because we realize that sometimes, friendship isn’t enough.

But sometimes it is, and I appreciate shows that have the ability to remind us of that so well.

The Mandalorian & Intertextuality

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This past weekend my wife and I finished watching The Mandalorian. Overall, my wife really enjoyed it while my own reaction was pretty lukewarm. I enjoyed some parts, was impressed by the quality of the production, and was grateful for a new original story set in the Star Wars universe. But it never grabbed me.

I think one of the reasons is because more and more, I’m seeing writers resort to intertextuality as a tool, and while it can be done well, I find that it kicks me out of the story and annoys me more often than not.

First – I’m using the definition of intertextuality that the Nerdwriter uses in his excellent 2016 video essay on the topic: Objects, people, or situations explicitly meant to trigger an emotional response. Essentially, in this case, it’s using callbacks and references designed to provoke emotional responses.

For the record, I’m not against intertextuality per se. It’s a writing tool that’s been around for a long, long time. As with all tools, it has its place.

But I’ve noticed that as series, reboots, sequels, and the like take up more and more of our movies and shows, intertextuality as a tool has become something of a crutch.

Although I enjoyed The Force Awakens, it’s a movie that relies heavily on intertextuality to create emotions in viewers.

Look, there’s the Millenium Falcon!

Ooh – there’s Han and Chewie! (And R2-D2, and C-3PO, and Luke, and Leia, and Luke’s lightsaber, etc, etc.)

Again – the movie is part of a series, so it’s hard not to reference the other movies. It’s to be expected. But there’s a balance that must be struck between creating new and emotionally powerful story arcs and just relying on our fond memories of the original trilogy. I think J.J. Abrams wrestled with that in The Force Awakens, and how well you think he succeeded is probably a fair barometer of how well you liked the movie.

The Mandalorian suffers from some of the same.

There’s a scene I wanted to call out, a brief moment from the final episode (there’s nothing spoiler-worthy about this scene).

In this scene, two stormtroopers are passing some time, trying to hit a piece of junk with their blasters from pretty close range. They try and they miss, then they try and miss some more. The stormtroopers examine their blasters, shrug, and give up.

Now, I’ll admit, as a Star Wars fan, this made me both laugh and groan. It’s funny because stormtroopers have been known to be less than accurate in previous movies. It’s a bit of an inside joke.

But here’s what bothers me: I’m not sure that someone who isn’t familiar, not just with Star Wars, but the conversation surrounding Star Wars, would find this scene very funny. This is the final episode of the season and the scene probably takes up about two minutes of runtime. It doesn’t stand alone or advance the plot or characters in any meaningful.

And I think this is the danger I see and fear I have. Intertextuality isn’t just in Star Wars – it’s everywhere. The latest Avengers movies essentially required you to have at least a decent grasp of previous movies. Watching Infinity War as your first Marvel movie would almost guarantee confusion. Some intertextuality is good and fun, but when we constantly rely on knowledge of previous works to make new stories work, we’re sacrificing some key elements of good storytelling.

What do you think? Does intertextuality bother you the same way it gets under my skin, or do you find that it deepens the experience as a fan?

The Liar’s Key

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I can’t believe I haven’t discovered Mark Lawrence until now. I’ll admit I’ve only read two of his books in 2019, but he has a strong and unique voice and style that I’ve fallen in love with.

The Liar’s Key is a fantastic, rollicking adventure that I really enjoyed.

I’ll make a confession: I think rogues are really hard to write. They need to straddle that line between being unlikeable and worthy of empathy. It’s a really hard, narrow path to walk, and even more difficult over the course of a whole novel, much less two.

But Mark Lawrence nails it. Prince Jalan Kendeth isn’t the sort of person I would generally like to spend any time with, but I’ll happily be in his head for these stories. His growing friendship with Snorri is remarkable, and I’m very much looking forward to the third book.

The Liar’s Key: great worldbuilding, laugh-out-loud moments, deep characters with just the right amount of development, and a story that will have you turning the pages quickly.

Grimdark is hard to do

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I’ve been thinking a lot about grimdark fantasy for the past few months.

I’ll start off by saying I’m not really a fan of the label. Like most identifiers, it tries to reduce something complex into a simple label that we can fling around.

So let’s start with at least a vague definition: When I talk about grimdark fantasy, I’m talking about stories in which good and evil isn’t necessarily easily delineated. Characters aren’t champions of light and darkness, but are complex characters. But more than anything, I’m talking about stories that embrace a darker tone, willing to pull back the curtain on horrible violence and brutality.

In the past few decades, we’ve seen an explosion in works that are classified as grimdark. From A Song of Ice and Fire to Malazan and The First Law, there are no shortage of books that fall somewhere on the grimdark scale.

I find that I have really mixed feelings about grimdark.

First, let’s look at the bright side of grimdark:

I think the greatest contribution of the subgenre (if it can even be called that), is the more ready acceptance of rogues and morally complex characters. Such characters have existed for a long time, of course, but grimdark has brought them to the forefront, and I believe complex, morally ambiguous characters are more interesting and lead to better stories. I appreciate stories in which protagonists struggle against their character, and I appreciate that sometimes they fail.

Likewise, grimdark allows for more complex conflicts. It’s not just good vs evil or light vs darkness. Grimdark more accurately reflects the world we live in, which I think makes the works more impactful.

But, as with all things, the pendulum can swing too far in one direction. I read a book last year in which I could almost hear the author asking himself, “What’s the worst thing that I could do here?”

Ooh, let’s have the protagonist protect a young orphan.

Except the orphan has a fatal disease.

And the orphan gets possessed by a demon.

And the orphan gets enslaved, starved, and beaten.

Then when the hero tries to rescue the orphan, the orphan is brutally tortured and killed.

I exaggerate a little, but not by as much as I wish I was.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with highlighting the darkness that lives side by side with us. I actually think it’s important.

But darkness for darkness’ sake creates a weaker story and numbs the reader.

Which is why grimdark is hard to do well.

Cibola Burn

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Cibola Burn is a novel that grabbed me by the throat from the first chapter and didn’t let go until the very end. I continue to be floored by the story and universe James S.A. Corey is constructing, and this probably was my favorite science fiction read of 2019.

To me, this feels almost like the beginning of a new series. The first three books had us hopping all over the solar system, engaged in a complex geopolitical struggle between various factions of humans and an unknown alien intelligence.

In contrast, Cibola Burn feels smaller. The ramifications, of course, will echo through the wider system, but the focus here is tight.

Here’s what amazes me: This book isn’t small, and while the pacing is quick, it isn’t quite breathless. It holds your attention, mystery and high stakes propelling the reader forward. But it doesn’t sacrifice character development or Big Ideas. The balancing act required to pull that off is incredible. As a writer, I’m flabbergasted. As a reader, I’m overjoyed.