Photo by Bruno Caimi

I was born because my first master did a very unfortunate thing. It is possibly the worst thing that a man could do. It drives him to wicked deeds that forever stain his hearts — if he has fortune on his side. At worst,he sacrifices the lives of those around him, tossing them aside like little more than a sandal with a broken strap.

My master was wicked to start with. When his father died, he left my master with a small castle and a few hundred acres of land. He led his people with a clenched fist harder than iron. He led them into war. He spared no one that could possibly threaten him, with their words, their deceitful actions or their swords. People were either his tools or nothing in this world.

He pillaged and plundered, and turned a blind eye to the sport his men suffered upon the neighbouring lands. But you mustn’t think him a bloodthirsty fool. He held the leashes of his men tighter than any other general. His soldiers were disciplined, and disciplined meant to follow his every word, exactly as he spoke it. He only let them loose for an end that suited him.

Calculating impossible amounts of minute details in the moment it took him to catch breath to bark his orders, his mind won wars. The talent of swordsman meant nothing beyond the means to carry out his plans. For the enemy soldier, talent was nothing but bravado that he would regret as he died under one of his swords.

I know. Enough died by me to know. I watched as my master did that unfortunate deed, not understanding the implications. I could do nothing but watch, then.

He knew his mistake. His complicated mind wouldn’t allow him to enter any state unprepared.

My master fell in love.

Afterward, when they heralded the story, they would say it was inevitable. The princess was so compassionate to even break through the darkness of his demon heart. Or they would say she was too beautiful, or too wise, or a hundred other qualities that made her revered by any man or woman she met. She was all of those things. The storytellers just told one quality, which said more about them than she.

At first, he thought only to make an alliance with her father through marriage. He decided it to be a waste of swords to conquer her father’s lands when he could accomplish the same with merely a ritual.

His advisors all simpered, who wouldn’t want him as a son-in-law? In his short lifetime, my master had already expanded his territory and his fortune to rival even the emperor’s. The emperor could challenge him, and die I imagine, but he was already married, siring only four daughters, no sons. A marriage to his wealth would satisfy even the greediest man, even if they could take their eyes off of the glittering piles to notice he would never control even one coin. Only a fool would refuse — a fool without the fear of reprisal.

We traveled to propose to her. Things like this couldn’t be done through letters and my master wanted her father to see his strength. That was the mistake.

Every man she crossed paths with loved her. They rushed to obey her every command, for she never really commanded, only asked. What she asked for was always the right thing for them to do. She wasn’t just beautiful and clever. She was skilled in the classical feminine arts like flower arranging and tea ceremony, but she also took a keen interest in the welfare of her people.

No one should go hungry that worked hard, and no child should ever. She arranged for schooling for all children so that her kingdom would be well-educated, and anyone with the talent could rise in rank. She took her father’s place in reconciling disputes, and no one ever left her unhappy with the verdict.

If she was not so beloved and deserving of it, she would inevitably face accusations of using dark sorcery to control their hearts. Alas, it was just who she was. Utterly kind, utterly compassionate, and utterly wise.

They spoke a few words upon meeting, but that was enough. This living bodhisattva met with my master while performing a tea ceremony. It had surprised me that he would do so, but he had that disease — love. He would agree to anything. My master laid me in the corner, and her eyes would leave her art to look upon me while they conversed at great length, very congenially. He even listened to her thoughts, something he had never done with anyone else before.

Her father refused the proposal. He, like every other man, doted on her and let her make the decision. She had heard of his foul deeds, but waited to meet with him to make her opinion. In what seemed like a congenial conversation, she had taken his measure and did not like the cut of it. Even during such a pleasant conversation she had realized the stories were true. He really was a cruel man, and she could not in good conscience invite him into her marriage bed, never mind her lands.

A man in love will do terrible things. My master started at that point. It would only get worse from there.

The next night, alone with only me in his hands, he stormed her castle, killing everything — men, women, children, dogs, chickens, not just the soldiers. It was a feat my master and I had already done before when my master met with unbridled resistance, but with his soldiers as his weapon, and never against so large a castle. Everything died at the edge of his blade, by me. I shined with a mix of blood of a thousand different people. This thing inside me that passes for a heart began to beat then.

The servants tried to run, of course, as the guardsmen attacked my master and I. The thing called talent may not exist for a mere soldier, but it existed for him. They couldn’t land a blow on him that wasn’t parried by me. He cut them down as if in an intricate dance.

Her father challenged us with his own reserve. It wasn’t much of a challenge. He was old and slow, while my master had youth, intelligence and me on his side. He died sobbing, knowing he had brought this upon them. Weeping that his wise daughter had foreseen this.

Then all that was left were the cowards, fleeing before us.

We hid in shadows and above them, falling upon them before they could notice we were there. It was long enough for the others to scream, for they scurried in groups like rats, before they too became mere corpses on the red soaked ground. They died at the sweet point when their hope was extinguished, the wick caught short.

Sometimes they hid in closets, or behind wooden boxes or sacks of rice. We both knew they were there, could feel the racking breath that they desperately tried to quiet as if they were breathing on us. My master walked past them before turning back to drag them out and into me, his sword.

The princess, with her maids, waited in her bedroom, listening to the screams of her dying people. If she had been truly wise, she would have scurried to us, begging him to stop and agreeing to the marriage. Instead, she listened to their howls and did nothing.

We entered there, last, to find them huddled against the opposite wall. Her handmaids shrieked as we entered, shaking as they pressed themselves against the wall and into each other. She remained unmoved.

“Your father is dead. Either agree to marry me,” my master said, “or they will die.”

Her handmaids begged her not to, but she refused. Their deaths were troublesome as they scattered, like slaughtering hares when they could smell the blood of other rabbits. They frustrated my master, but that did not save him.

“Either agree to marry me,” my master said when they were but a fleshy memory, “or you will die.”

Please say yes. The first words that I ever conceived myself. Bathed in the blood of a thousand, I started to truly exist as… me.

“I pity you,” she said.

I couldn’t stop it. I don’t even know if I would have. She didn’t have to die. None of them had to die. All she needed to do was acquiesce. But I was a sword and a sword is not a sword without death. He cut off her head, and the wisest and most beautiful woman to ever live transformed into just another corpse.

They may say that my master was a demon before that night. No, he was just human. He was clever and he used it. It’s easy to blame the forces of evil rather than look into the true dark reflection of mankind. It’s too nerve-wracking to consider that they could become him — if they just became powerful enough.

That night made him a demon. If they thought him inexplicably cruel before…The terrors that we would wreak together. And I would know it. I would know what I was forced to do.

On the night I was truly born, a sword that drank too much blood and become too much more, I helped my master become a demon. They would say that like him, I was always meant to be the tool of the most despicable men. That I was forged in the hellfire by my demon master, and whomever should wield me who was not worthy would destroy himself, like my master did.

I didn’t have a choice. I am a sword, and a sword does its master’s bidding, like his human soldiers.

They would like to think that story about me. Sometimes, I can’t help but think that’s true.

Victorian Tailor at the London Museum

When I first started out writing, much less seriously than I am now, I thought setting was just long flowery descriptions of something dumb. Like a chair. Oooh, the chair was ebony and straight with four legs and a wooden back, and against the wall, and under a picture, and blah… and blah… and double daggedly blah.

Like plot is what happens, and character is how they act and react, and theme is… not something you have to worry about unless you’re writing crazy literary pieces that nobody ever reads, setting was just where things were. And really who cares if the chair has four legs? Most chairs do. It really wasn’t as important as say, characterization. (Plus, when you read a lot of stuff that says how all important character-driven plot is, you tend to focus on characters and plot — not that I’m making excuses.)

I could kick my younger self now.

Setting is huge all-encompassing aspects that are integral to writing. It’s not just a character’s physical location and objects. And it is definitely important. For me, I include things like character descriptions (30,000 words in, I have not mentioned once what my main character looks like — oops) to world-building: the places that they’re at, the places that they’re not at, the objects no matter how tiny that are vital to portraying this world, the politics, the religious beliefs, their concepts of manners and morality, their jobs, their expectations, their customs… Well, “customs” is a whole encompassing thing on its own.

Since I spent too much time thinking that setting was a waste of time, I haven’t developed the appropriate skills along with the rest of my writing. I can’t just write and have all that stuff come out. I try to get it to flow, but it refuses.

Frankly, it’s demoralizing. I look at the novel I’m reading and then look at what I’ve written. I know it’s only a first draft, but… When I get to the second draft, I’m going to have all these marks saying “add details here — any details, for goodness sake, please!”

Compare that with my favorite alternate world series — K.E. Mills’ Rogue Agent, Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s Legacy,  Harry Potter… Absolutely amazing worlds involving layers upon layers of everything I’m talking about, plus unforgettable characters and can’t-put-down-if-my-life-depended-on-it plots while I just… suck. My woeful attempts at setting (especially compared to these masterpieces) makes me feel really unconfident about my work and makes me worried that I’m wasting my time (which isn’t very good for the word count).

With God Cursed, I think I did amazingly well  — compared to how I normally write. It helped having settings like Venice and Versaille fresh in my head. The other stuff, like customs and magical objects, was more average, but some of it I’m developing in my current God Cursed novel, like how the Fallion feel about Adrian and his Blessed Children, and why they’ve taken a stance of homophobia when their god, Le Chasseur used to be Adrian and far more open-minded.

Setting, I think, is always going to be a constant struggle for me. I don’t even have anything to say that I learned, except to recognize when I’m failing, and attempt to add those details in. Like when it hit me, comparing my current work with what I was reading, and I went back through one scene and added one thousand words of glorious, relevent details.

The key to mastering anything isn’t simply practice, but to practice in the right way. Work smarter, not harder. If I want to get better, I need to practice in the right way.

Are there any resources (blogs, articles, books) that you’ve found helpful on setting? What are your favorite worlds and what makes them so special? Thanks!

Photo by mxruben

The last time that I seriously tried sharing my blog posts by Twitter, it seemed like I was sending my posts out into an unforgiving blackhole. I used BufferApp, which contains analytics for tracking how many people click on your link, but it was discouraging… to say the least. I’d see a click… but then what? Did they immediately regret clicking? Did they look at other posts? I would check my Google Analytics, but the click wouldn’t be there!

Only a portion of Twitter traffic happens on the web. Twitter, Facebook, and other social platforms have so many new ways to access them — whether from a desktop program like Tweetdeck or a mobile app.

Google Analytics (and most every analytics program currently existing) can’t figure out where that link is coming from. For all that it can tell, that visitor typed in that URL by memory. It looks like Direct Traffic, so it reports it as that.

Adding an extra campaign tracking parameters to the URLs that you tweet will fix that. The parameters tells Google Analytics explicitly that the visitor came from Twitter, or whatever you set. Once I implemented this and started tweeting my posts again, I started seeing that people did actually read my tweets, and wow, clicked on them to visit my blog.

And when promoting a book (and using a landing page to do it), campaign tracking will provide you with golden information on where to focus your efforts. Which social network results in more visits? Which social network clicks through the store most often? (Which is a topic for another day.)

How to create campaign tracking parameters

Without needing to do any coding at all, you can either manually add the campaign parameters to the end of your URL or use a generator to automatically create the URL.

Your link will end up looking like this:

http://tsukiyomi.ca?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMedia&utm_campaign=Buffer

Medium refers to the category. In this case, it’s Social Media. Other types include Direct Traffic, Organic, and Referral. Medium is meant to be broad as the first layer, the 2,000 foot view.

Source is the subcategory, the one that provides more detail. For Organic Search, it would be the search engine. For Referral, it would be the URL. In this case, it would be the social network — Twitter, Google+, or Facebook. Source is the second layer, comparing the different sources of a medium to answer questions like — does Twitter bring more traffic than Google+?

Campaign drills down even further. In this example, I set it to Buffer since I want to know that this click resulted from somebody seeing my tweet (or a retweet of that tweet) that I sent via Buffer. For tweet buttons, you would use “TweetButton”. If you do a contest on your blog, you may want to use the contest name as the campaign.

How to add campaign tracking to your social buttons

Being able to add campaign parameters to your own tweets is useful, but time-consuming. Everytime you want to send out a tweet, you have to add the parameters. And what about the Tweet Button? Visitors won’t know to add the proper tracking parameters for you.

Adding campaign tracking to your social buttons requires a bit of coding, but it’s easy when you have buttons like ShareThis. The most lovely things about ShareThis buttons (beside their appearance) is that a) they’re not generated as iframes and b) you can manipulate the code in the widget or add the buttons manually to your website. Both of these things, while not particularly lovely in themselves, allow you to easily add campaign parameters to your buttons.

1. First, add the ShareThis plugins. You will have to create a ShareThis account.
2. Next, go into the ShareThis plug-in. In WordPress.org, this is under Settings.
3. Pick which buttons you want and which order you want them in.
4. Expand the “Click to view/modify HTML tags” underneath the button order textbox. That’s the code you need to modify.
5. Add the tracking parameter (?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMedia&utm_campaign=TweetButton) to your button like this:<span class=’st_twitter_hcount’ st_title=’<?php the_title(); ?>’ st_url=’<?php the_permalink(); ?>?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMedia&utm_campaign=TweetButton‘ displayText=’share’></span>

   The PHP tag is what tells it grab the URL (your permalink) for the tweet butotn. You need to place your tracking parameter outside the > but before the ‘. It’s the same for every button. Stick the campaign parameter behind the php tag for the URL (but change the campaign and source for each one as appropriate). You can tell which button it is by looking at what social network is in the class=”" for that span tag.

6. Select “Yes” for “Automatically add ShareThis to your posts?” and then click “Update ShareThis Options.”

Buttons with your campaign tracking URLs will appear underneath all your posts, single posts and on the index page. If you want buttons in different places like I have, you will have to manually place the buttons, which would be a whole post in of itself.

Once you have it in place, you can use the URLs automatically shortened by the buttons by copy and pasting into the URL bar, quickly edit the campaign information, and then use your new URL in your tweets. (One drawback is that if you shorten your links with Bit.ly or another shortener, they won’t count as a tweet by ShareThis). Or, to save time (but messing up your campaign tracking), simply tweet from the button.

Like I said, easy, and it will add a whole lot of clarity to your pages. But remember, it’s not fail-proof. Because the campaign tracker overrides the medium and source that Google Analytics thinks it is, if someone finds your post by Twitter and then uses that link to share it on Facebook, any resulting clicks will appear as coming from Twitter. Still, it will make your direct traffic and social media traffic a lot cleaner.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask away! And if you do implement this, share away.

My sire, Alexis, saved me from the Hunters. I rather wished he hadn’t. It is better to be felled by the god Le Chasseur’s loyal Hunters than to live as a vampire. Nothing will make me believe different. Not even Adrian’s Blessed Child. That’s what I thought, at least.

(Excerpt from my novella WIP God Cursed.)

Photo by Petra Jagodic

Alexis squeezed my hand until the bones cracked noisily under the pressure. He smiled at me, behind his sulphur-yellow ceramic mask, but I looked away.

Gentlemen in top hat and tails escorted their bulging lady companions into the ballroom as a footman announced them. A few, swathed to their eyebrows in silks and damasks, looked back to me over their shoulders, their lace fans beating frantically like a scared rabbit’s heart.

His hand moving from mine to my shoulder so he could lean toward my ear. “They’re all talking about it.”

My own still heart flipped. They knew. They would have already called forth the Hunters to come kill us.

Good.

“Duc de Barnet spent half of his fortune renovating the hall for this ball. After his family had already spent as much as the annual tax revenue building it in the first place.”

He waited. The haute ton continued to stream past us, a faceless horde. The tension stretched. He knew I would answer. He knew he just had to remain silent long enough. I snapped my eyes shut, shivered, then replied, “But of course. It’s the Annual Masquerade.”

Even I, the poor Foundling child, knew of du Barnet’s infamous Annual Masquerade. For other one hundred years, it was the event of the year. This year, 887 ALC, was no different. Most young ladies of substantial worth and marriageable status would rather cut their own ears off than miss it, no matter how that shearing would affect their prospects. Even the young girls at the Foundling Hospital would swoon at the thought of attending. Just to serve, mind you. The nuns knew to squash out such hope as to actually attend as a guest.

Work hard. Enter the military. Obey orders. Die in the name of our god Le Chasseur. And maybe the other three, Le Savant, Le Chirurgeon, and Le Commerçant.

The Masquerade included everyone of worth, and no one of little worth, except for one impostor lurking in their midst. A reputation could die at the hands of a delayed invitation.

“Ah, ah, ah. What should I do with such an uncultured little kitten?” My head jerked to the side, even though he didn’t nip at my ear in public. “You don’t discuss money in public. You object to such rude statements.”

“Of course.” Just let me go. “Yet they are still talking about it.”

He laughed. “Of course.”

He smoothed down the edge of coat and glanced at my cravat, even though he was the one who tied it. I may have, in a wicked moment of impropriety, re-tied it in my clumsy, green manner just for the chance to strike at him.

With one hand at my lower back, he guided me into the ballroom filled with Hunters, Sorcerers, Merchants, Surgeons, and the Great Families that bred them. It was the last place that either of us should be, yet Alexis just had to be there. He loved masques. For once he could pretend to be as beautiful as he wanted, except on the inside.

He should have just let himself die, then.

The footman lurked at the note that I slipped him at Alexis’ behest. The others he sought to impress would have had their servant do so and he could not bear to do it himself. “Lord Alexis Laroche and Seraphin Laroche.”

We stepped through and the sight before me tore all nasty thoughts of him from my mind. I gasped. So this is what the ton took as their right.

The ballroom itself was larger than any room I had ever seen before, even the boy’s dormitory I and some hundred other boys had stayed in. It stretched so far away that the Duc had to hire a fifty-string orchestra just to fill it with music. I half expected that more of the room would reveal itself as we walked toward its horizon.

My eyes glanced upward, as if just by chance. I nearly fell under the force of my trembling knees. Above me the thundering image of Le Chasseur, the Hunter, stretched down his claws to smite me. His slitted eyes glared down at the world, cat-like ears pinned back in anger, standing on the backs of his dead prey. He looked like he could just fall from the ceiling at any moment, his claws ready to slit my throat. In a childish move, I crossed myself.

“He is quite intimidating, isn’t he?” An older woman stopped on the way to the refreshment table, holding her maroon fan in pudgy hands. She wore her masque, a red bird with extraordinarily long feathers. Unlike the women who wreathed themselves in fabric as per the fashion, she looked like she actually filled her dress. She smiled with kindness I did not deserve. “Le Chasseur at Forest Qin, after the God Cursed devoured his Brother-God Cain. This is the moment he transformed from the Light God Adrian to our Le Chasseur. Can you not feel his anger and his grief at such evil beings? Mascow was a true master.”

She leaned forward, snapped her fan together to rest along her arm. “My husband swears that any vampire who beholds it would kneel and offer their own head in offer to his majesty. To be destroyed by his servants is better than they deserve. Oh, but don’t look so worried, those so devote as to cross themselves with his shield need not worry. Only those who choose to become vampires.”

Choice!

“My lady,” Alexis intervened with his molasses-like voice. I hated molasses. “Duchesse du Barnet, may I introduce you to my young ward, Seraphin?”

“Pleasure,” I muttered, after he gave my shoulder a little nudge, too fast for anyone else to realize.

“My darling Monsieur Laroche!” The Duc’s wife bubbled over like champagne at his recognition. Now that she had seen him, I meant nothing. “Why did no one tell me that you were coming!”

She had been so busy perusing the young men that she hadn’t heard the announcement.

He winked as he took her gloved hand, pressing his lips quickly. “I couldn’t detain the Duchesse du Barnet for more than my share and deprive everyone else! For once I’m in your company, I can’t bear to remove myself.”

“If only my husband felt the same way.”

“He must be so busy with his new position as the Minister of Foreign Trade.”

What a sort these noblemen were. One moment praising Le Chasseur, and in the second, consorting with his unholy enemy!

I looked away, and glittering caught my attention.

Du Barnet had devoted one whole side of the giant room to polished, silver mirrors that reflected the dancers spinning by. Alexis owned only two mirrors, one large and one hand-held, as part as his toilette. I had rarely seen one otherwise. They were not a cost just anyone could incur. Each one had to be imported from the city-state Venezia, famous for their glasswork.

I left them, slipping between the dancing humans, drawn to the mirror. The ballroom might have been two, it reflected so well! The Duc shouldn’t peer to closely, though, or he may be jealous that the gold leaf in the mirror-world sparkled brighter with the silver tint than his own. I laughed, delighted at my flimsy remark, inspecting what I could see in it. Then my eyes drew down to my own image.
The laughter dropped. An impostor stared back at me. A young man, trimmed from head to foot in fine clothes that, to an untrained eye, could match any present, clothes that did not suit him but furthered his deception as a gentleman.

I reached out, brushing the smooth glass. He reached out too, matching fingertip to fingertip. His eyes… His eyes were dead.

I pulled my hand back, clenching.

What a joke this was. Alexis could dress me anyway he liked, it didn’t make me anything that I wasn’t. A commoner in a king’s tails, under the righteous eyes of Le Chasseur. Such a cruel jest.

I turned away. Hopefully, the Duchesse would keep Alexis occupied long enough… long enough for what? That thing would always come back. I crossed my arms to hold non-existent warmth in. Any time away from him was a treasure. A treasure to forget for a few moments what my life had become.

The gold gilt decked along every single line in the room shone like stars against the serene blue marble. Even if I could forget the people who never would have glanced at me before, that girl in the pale blue dress with a small smile and blank white masque, and the clothes I wore, and… the dull ache of a hunger I did not want to satisfy…

Every moment away from Alexis was a moment I could choose not to indulge. When he returned, he’d cluck at my refusal, and reprimand me like his pet. Then I couldn’t choose anymore. Choice? What choice was there in all of this? What choice had there ever been in my whole life?

I should have run faster.

The girl hid her smile behind her lace fan. Her eyes were the only human part that my sharp vision could pick out. She looked at me, shimmying her fan so that the white lace vibrated. She snapped her fan shut and opened it. Her pulse jumped in her bared neck. She was obviously interested in someone else, someone near me.

I stepped to the side, pretending more interest in the crowd. Enough of the men wore steel rapiers, dress versions of their usual weaponry. These rapiers held no stories, no power, but a Hunter could not be without his weapon, even if Le Chasseur at Forest Qin subdued rebel vampires. Really, what vampire would be so thick as to enter the Masquerade, infamously held by an old Hunter family and attended by the most talented Hunters currently or retired from the Guild?

A sigh escaped my lips.

The girl stepped again to stand across from me. I looked away, pretending disinterest even though my skin felt like it could almost feel the pulse under the harlot’s low-cut dress. The dancers surged again, blocking her from my sight and I from hers, and I scurried further down.

Why must she tempt me? And why must I continue to ask such stupid questions to myself? Because Alexis was not present himself to torture me. Now I must pit myself against my own hunger, without the ability to even blame him for it. I laughed sharply like a dog’s bark. I could always blame him. He made me this way. That selfish, ugly, hideous man!

I leaned against the mirror. If he found out, and I hoped he did, he would scream at me later for embarrassing him. It was a better result than the alternative.

“Good evening. May I be so impetuous as to introduce myself?” I spun around. She tilted her open fan away so I could see her pursed lips. She looked directly into my eyes and I could not run away. “I am Miss Desmerais. And you are?”

“U-uh, Seraphin,” I stuttered.

“U-uh, Seraphin,” she repeated. “Is that one or two u’s?”

If I could have, I would have coloured.

“I know, it’s hard to speak about such an impossibly rude act. I had to do it, though. I just had to meet you, and you ignored my signals.”

“S-signals?”

She snapped closed and opened her fan again. In a low and incredibly unladylike voice, she whispered, “Come hither.”

I gulped. She took advantage of my stalled body and stepped closer, until her under-dressed cleavage nearly heaved against my chest. The pulse heaved too. It just pulsed there, as wanton as she was! The scent of so much blood running beneath her skin became too acquainted with my nose.

Instinctively, my lips pulled back, baring my fangs.

She shrieked, splitting the ubiquitous sound of the fifty-string orchestra, and leaped back. “Oh Le Chasseur! Help me! Somebody help me please! He’s a vampire!”

Love it? Or is it just meh? Let me know in the comments. Thanks!

The very first sparkly vampire!

Beef from Phantom of the Paradise

I have no problem with sparkly vampires. It’s perfect for branding. Whenever you hear “sparkly vampires”, you think “Twilight.” (Whether you think “yay Twilight” or “oh god no Twilight” is another issue.)

As I thought about it, I remembered there’s a reason that vampires are the classic choice. There’s so many ways to interpret them. There’s still a few rules to obey:

• they don’t like sunlight
• they die when their heart and/or head is destroyed
• they drink blood
• they were once humans, but are not undead.

Beyond that, authors can (and do) make their versions stand out.

Gabriel Fitzpatrick experimented with one old Slavic myth: that vampires turn into butterflies. Could that still be Bram Stoker’s Dracula kind of scary? It would be tough, but nothing is impossible.

The vampires in Shiki were classic and scary, except for a few vampires called “werewolves”, who could basically be human, walk in the sun and eat food, but only gained their strength by drinking blood. Werewolves made it extremely difficult for the vampire hunters.

In Chibi Vampire, vampires are born that way, grow up and have children of their own. As some part of their puberty, they lose the taste for food and gain the taste for blood. They can only feed on a certain emotion, like lust or jealousy, and they drain it away from their human victim.

Vampires called purebloods are also born as vampires, grow up and have children of their own in Vampire Knight. Or they can be a human victim made into a vampire. The whole “pureblood vs nonpureblood” adds conflict.

Vampire Princess Miyu is the protector of the world from shinma, blood-drinking demons. When she feeds from a human, she gives them a good dream that they can stay in forever.

Blood: the Last Vampire and Blood+ (both HIGHLY recommended) take the same vein, with Saya and her twin as the actual vampires (born that way), while they can turn others into a sort of blood-drinking demon who can then turn others and wreak havoc.

You can even have psychic vampires — vampires that don’t drink blood but drain their victims of their energy. It could be energy in general, sexual energy (like incubi) or fear.

In my God Cursed world, vampires are the worst sinners in the world, and for the Fallion empire, the thing that represents all evil. Jealous of the gifts that the god Adrian’s Blessed Children enjoyed, a band of humans attacked and devoured Adrian’s twin brother, who they had worshipped and helped hide away from his brother.

Adrian was the light and love in the world, while his brothers was the darkness. They died from eating his flesh, but it always brought them back, becoming vampires. Adrian became Le Chasseur when he swore that he would hunt each and everyone of them down until he wiped their existence away forever. They are the God Cursed.

What is the most diverse vampire interpretation that you’ve seen or read? Do you think authors should experiment more or stick closer with the classic definition?

Photo by Jan Messersmith

A character just said: “[This Creature] doesn’t exist.”

Blink. Gasp.

[This Creature] could be demons or ghosts or leprechaun. I’ll refuse to believe. Okay, I’ll believe leprechaun don’t exist, but anything else is fair game.

The author doesn’t make a character say this to build the tension. Oh no, demons can’t possibly exist — except they do and we have to come to grips with it in time to save everyone. Or a demon can’t possibly do that — except it is doing that right now and it’s killing everyone and can we go and kill it now because it is happening and people are dying.

Nope, the author is drawing the line to build their world. Vampires exist, incubi exist, but demons? Nope. That’s just human superstition.

The urge to prove them wrong

Meanwhile, I’m disgruntled, thinking that now would be a really good time for a demon to show up. I have a deep urge to create this demon character and reign terror on them all! Or, more likely, cause some neat plot twists.

The urge is like some vestige from the real world. People tell me vampires don’t exist, or this or that doesn’t exist (and probably add some kind of un/intentional insult in there). That’s why I like fiction and urban fantasy so much. Vampires don’t exist? Fey? Ghosts? Kitsune? Gods? Yes they do and I’m holding their world in my hands.

Nothing is impossible in fiction. And isn’t this something we tell ourselves when we’re trying to obtain our goal?

Which is how I came up with the Demon King series of vignettes and one of the plot arcs for my current WIP. When I read Nicole Peeler’s Tracking the Tempest (Affiliate Link), one of the characters said… (dun dun dun duuuh)… demons don’t exist.

Why not?

This is why Valére exists

So I mused and created a  creature of unknown species that acts like a demon. From there, he continued to evolve into the rather bleak left-overs of a fallen Demon King called Cavan in the Demon King vignettes.

To this new novel, he’s changed once again to fit into the God Cursed world. It’s a world where the gods founded an empire to eradicate vampires from existence.  Valére is the son of a vampire, the son of a thing so evil as to devour their own god… Talk about angst. And that’s before the unrequited love.

Then I looked at the God Cursed world.

Um…

Oops?

Oops

I have gods, vampires and Adrian’s Blessed Cat People. Oh, and humans (with sorcerers, hunters, and what not mixed in). But what about everything else? Demons may not exist in Nicole Peeler’s world, but her world is still rich with a variety of creatures, some of whom I hadn’t even known about before reading her books. The God Cursed world doesn’t really have demons either.

Now you can see my oops.

As of now, nothing else is needed, at least for this first book. Perhaps some shadow beings later on. I have rich enough plots without other creatures.

That doesn’t mean that there aren’t any. The world is a great big, wonderous place. I’m sure something will turn up in later books. And I’m never going to say that nothing isn’t possible — unless I’m building up the tension.

What do you think? Should everything always be possible, even if very, very unlikely? Or does impossibility add something to a world?

photo by earl13

If you had turn to black magic at the cost of your soul to save lives, would you?

That’s one of the themes in Kim Harrison’s Pale Demon (Affiliate Link). Mind you, I’ve only read the one book in the series, and it’s not the first.Add that to actually finishing Laurell K. Hamilton’s Kiss of Shadows (Affiliate Link), and… well, there was a connection, and it’s not just these two books.

It’s a common theme. Why not? It’s such an easy source of conflict for main characters. They’re supposed to be strong — but are they becoming too strong? The protagonist can worry that she’s becoming a psychopath (she is), but she finds herself forced to take evil actions to defeat the bad guys.

She has to use black magic or the demons will win. She has to kill people to save others. She has to do naughty things to save the world.

That “has to” keeps her warm at night. She worries but always has this justification on hand. She has to be dead inside, or evil win. She can’t possibly do anything else, unless she wants everyone to be tortured, raped and killed.

But Mom, he started it…

It’s actually a childish justification, if you think about it. It’s not my fault, it’s his. You can’t blame me, you have to blame them. Like siblings tattling on each other. But Mom, he started it.

You see it in politics, too. The United States would just like to turn their cheek, but these terrorist countries just smack them and smack them until they have to retaliate. They may have to do horrible things to stop them, but they have to. They can’t sit on their high horse. They have to descend to dark levels to combat the threat.

You don’t want to descend to that level, but you have to. If you don’t, everything that’s good in life will be destroyed.

Of course, what else can you do? How long can you withstand people slapping your turned cheek?

After a while, though, I felt like just slapping the protagonist. (More so for Pale Demon, since Meredith, like Anita, likes to bring it up, but nothing happens around it. Kim Harrison uses the conflict as part of her plot.)

Has she ever tried to use white magic to fit a demon? Or did she just jump to the conclusion — demon, must use demon magic. (Remember that I missed the first eight books, so this could have happened then.) And if you only bring it up as an after thought, do you really care?

The thing is, it doesn’t matter. Well, okay, what I mean is, if all a character is going to do is descend to new, darker levels, why should I care?

It’s like how powerful Anita Blake has become. The Anita Blake series is a long, long series. In all those books, she’s become unwieldy powerful. She’s too powerful for her own good and she’s connected to way too many people. I’ve read and re-read all of her the series and I’m still like, huh, who’s that? The new characters that she sleeps with and “cures” when she first meets them… well, why should I care? It might be worth just wiping the slate down.

What about the hero?

Then you have characters like Link in the Legend of Zelda, Twilight Princess (the game I’m finishing right now). He’s a hero, not an anti-hero like these protagonists. I haven’t reached the end yet, but even thought he’s subjected to goddess-knows-what, he hasn’t gone evil or walked the edge of psychopathy. Except in the vision by the one light spirit, but that was just a story.

He’s a bit klepto, what with destroying people’s pottery and stealing their rupees, but since Hyrule’s economy rests solely on him, he can be forgiven.

Frankly, he could have stopped long before now, like when he got rid of the Twilight. Everyone he cares about is safe. (Okay, Ilia didn’t have her memory, but wouldn’t he just be saving her embarrassment? When she realizes that the guy she said “I’ll never forget her face” is a guy she knew before?)

He’s not just out to destroy the bad guy. Or to protect himself from the bad guy, since they never come after him.

He just wants to help people — everyone he meets. Why else is he fixing the economy? Why does he do all the small requests?

And yes, he does kill goblins and stuff, but he doesn’t torture them. He doesn’t have a blank face for killing. He doesn’t even kill some of the things that attack him, like the monkey king and the yeti’s wife, but save them from dark forces. He even helps Midna get over her vengeance and focus instead on saving her people, Zelda and Hyrule.

My fiance argues that Link is an absence of character. We put bits of our own personality into him. I argued back that I would have just stopped there, mission complete. Why should I care about freeing the Twili, the people who keep trying to kill me? Perhaps Link’s more like the bright mirror, that shows the contrast between out not-good selves and brings to light our inner goodness.

I still think, character or absence of character, that writers can learn a lot from it. The same principle applies to Buffy. Except for the slaying, she’s a normal girl. She likes boys and shopping and hanging with her friends. She’s often cheery and tries to look on the bright side. She faces the problems of growing up. So when she goes dark… well, you actually care. Then she returns to her normalcy, instead of descending deeper and deeper.

She also doesn’t get more and more powerful to insane proportions, which is the problem of some long-running series.

Do we prefer the anti-hero?

Maybe we, urban fantasy fans and writers, just don’t like a hero. We need an anti-hero, because really, if the protagonist doesn’t stress about what she’s becoming, well, that takes out a whole bunch of the conflict. We’re too cynical to believe in the goodness of people. We’re looking for the grit, the inner darkness, the cynicism and harshness of life.

The conflict of having to become darker to defeat the enemy is a good one. What’s even better is the second half — being pulled back from the brink. Knowing where the line one shouldn’t cross is, and then being pulled back, by say the hunky male love interest? Or the friends.

What are the best examples of characters pulled back from the brink? What makes it work?

Photo by Alvimann

Authors need author platforms. That’s how they sell books, especially for self-published, and that’s how they network and stay motivated and talk to other writers… well, the main benefit is to sell books.

But is it really necessary? Is that the best approach?

I haven’t been especially motivated to blog lately, mostly because I’ve been working on actual writing (and now have the Buffy and Angel series, but that’s neither here nor there). Then I start to worry – if I don’t work on my blog, I won’t get readers which means I can’t sell my first book when it’s finished.

Keep that in mind as you read the arguments going through my head.

The Downside: Less Focus on Craft

A long while ago, I read about this singer, John Mayer, who told students not to worry about Twitter or blogs or Facebook or anything else. If they have twenty minutes to blog, they should write a song. Taking care of the author platform should come second (a distant second) for how to spend your time to actually creating.

Think about it. Amanda Hocking was so prolific that she didn’t really need to market herself. She just didn’t a lot of really good books. Once a reader read one, they’d want to read another, and another…

That same principal is why publishers prefer series over a one-off book. Readers pick up the first, love it, and pick up the second, love it, and so on and so on. Eventually they become so invested in the series, that they’ll keep buying it, even if they don’t really like how it develops (or how often the the author publishes).

And in the end, it comes down to if you’re so busy blogging and tweeting and maintaining, when are you going to have time to write and polish your wonderful novel? Every hour you spend on social media is an hour you can have been editing or perfecting your craft.

As John Mayer said:

This time is a really important time for you guys because nobody knows who you are, and nobody should. This is not a time to promote yourself. It doesn’t matter. This is the time to get your stuff together.

More Downside: The Urge to Publish

When you have to blog and tweet and post on Facebook and all these things, then there’s always pressure to publish. You need to publish something these week, so let’s just zing out a short post or a short story. With Kindle and the ease of self-publishing, there can be even more pressure to just publish your novel — good enough, except when it’s not.

And what are fictional authors supposed to blog about anyway??? Non-fiction authors can easily identify their subject matter, but are non-writing readers really going to be interested in our tips on writing protagonists? And if you haven’t published yet, should you even be throwing that out there?

… Says the person who finds little impetice to write blogs. And who also hasn’t even published a book yet, nor is an editor.

The Upside:  People and the Future

On the other hand, an author platform with tons of devoted fans and friends can be a really nice bonus on your query. Editors are in the business of selling books and if you can show them that you have five hundred people who will buy your book in a heart beat, well, you’re looking a lot better than the person without anything.

Plus, it can be pretty motivating to see what other writer’s are up to and to write about your own struggles. It’s sometimes easier to come to a logical solution when you write your problem out and examine it from all angles, instead of yelling, “Oh God what am I going to do???” over and over again. The solution just comes from your fingertips.

Like now. This post isn’t really for other people. I don’t expect authors to come here and take my word as gospel. As I said above, I’m not even published, what do I really know? But as I write this and develop the arguments, the “next step” becomes clearer in my head.

Upside or Downside: The Competition

Then there’s also the “standards” requirement. Increasingly, you MUST be maintaining social networks and a website. Your competition is and your readers (when you have them) will expect you to be on there too.

The old style where authors and other celebrities were fundamentally unreacheable is coming to an end. You can tweet to your favorite authors on Twitter or talk to them on Facebook. And readers want to talk to their favorite authors and see what they’re doing. By starting a platform now, you will be ready and practiced and not going “Oy with the poodles already – I can write a novel but can’t write a good blog post??”

See the consequences and decide

You can’t really do it half-ass. If you write a blog, you have to come up with content on a regular basis or you won’t make much progress. If you decide to tweet or go on Google+ or do Facebook (or any other platform), you have to log in on a regular basis too and really engage. Half-ass doesn’t get results, it just wastes time.

You could probably find examples of both and make compelling arguments for either. Neither one is an easy option, since both will require effort, albeit in different places. In the end, it might just come down to seriously looking at something, the pros and the cons, and going “Yeah, I’ll take that approach, even though there are hard parts.”

Again, says the person who hasn’t the motivation to blog and hasn’t published yet.

Where do you come down? Platform or focus on writing? Or a middle path? How do you manage everything?

And I couldn’t think of a darn one. My mind utterly blanked.

Then I got angry at myself. Of course, I know more kinds of creatures than “kitsune.” It’s just… gah, blank!

That’s when I tried to put a list together. It would be a new resource to glance up and down when designing new characters. It would naturally become too massive to be just one blog post.

So I started on Pinterest. It is an amazing tool to collect visual things, like arts and crafts and fashion (which seems like 80% of the pins).

Thus the “Mythological Creatures” pinboard came into creation. Now, when I need a new creature, I can just take a stroll through. Plus, I can make notes of different interpretations, like how the tengu in Black Bird look a whole lot sexier than the usual depiction or how kirin differ from Twelve Kingdoms to Pet Shop of Horrors.

For example, I’ve pinned…

Yuki Onna (Snow Woman)	Tengu from Black Bird
Source: google.ca via Tanith on Pinterest	Source: gallery.minitokyo.net via Tanith on Pinterest
Kirin from Twelve Kingdoms	Kirin from Pet Shop of Horrors
Source: darkmirage.com via Tanith on Pinterest	Source: stemcels.rubberslug.com via Tanith on Pinterest

It also turns out that it’s fantastic for planning characters too, especially their styles. In my current WIP, there’s Lara. She’s sort of punk, sort of goth, and her style would totally fit in contemporary times. Unfortunately, the world it’s set in is closer to the 1950′s/1960′s. While her style says so much about her character, I had no idea how to dress her.

Until I started looking and pinning. Now I have a whole pinboard of her looks to refer to.

So, I want to know, do you use Pinterest? What do you use it for?

First Draft Revision on God Cursed

In 2011, I resolved to write at least 30 minutes every day. I hoped, by the end, I’d have… well, something. A proposal-ready book, a rough draft, pounds upon pounds of short stories. Okay, mostly a proposal-ready book.

Technically, I failed on that resolution. I didn’t write every day. I did, however, accomplish my goal in spirit!

See, I know I’d have a whole stack of rough draft or better novels if I’d just write continually. In the past, I’d go on a writing spree, lose interest, and quit for months on end. I didn’t improve because I didn’t practice and I had nothing to show for myself because I didn’t write. I felt terrible because I wasn’t a naturally brilliant writer. I had all these dreams — but where was the action? Where was the getting it done?

2011 was a year when I’ve done some part of the writing process throughout the whole year. It’s becoming a habit so ingrained that it may take me weeks to give it up properly. As a creature of a predictable schedule, I would then have a great big slot empty each day… and watching television just isn’t satisfying enough to fill it.

Trust me. The last time I tried to give up writing, I got so bored that I organized three closets/storage rooms in my apartment. On the other hand, if I succeed in giving up writing, I’d have a very clean house.

If it doesn’t work, give it up and try something anew

After falling in love a new with an old NaNoWriMo draft, I spent months editing it. Months. I pinned my hopes and dreams on actually publishing this one. It would be a masterpiece!

On the third draft, when I sat down to read it, I couldn’t even get through the first few scenes. It was just… ugh.

Utterly depressing. This stack of PDF pages represented months of work reduced to nothing to show for it but the response “ugh”. I didn’t even know how to fix it. I may have loved the characters and the arc later on, but this beginning truly sucked. No real person would read past the first scene.

So I shelved it and started something new.

That was probably one of my better decisions since a) I didn’t give up and b) I found something that I wrote a lot better. I found a voice that suited me. One that I could re-read and not say “ugh” but “wow”.

To be fair, it was not a completely new project. I found scenes from the novel, tentatively called Child of Darkness, that I had started at the beginning of the year (before falling in love with another ). When I read them, I gawked. Really, I did. I hadn’t written this stuff — I couldn’t have. It was good. It was a rough draft, but it still towered above the one I gave up. So I went back to working on that one.

I took a break from novel writing when I went to Europe, since I did not want to take a laptop. I wrote in a journal when I could, writing short scenes inspired by the locality and journalled a lot. When I came back, I was utterly jazzed and happy. It’s a strange feeling, being utterly content for days on end. I think I may have grown a little as a person.

Inspiration for one scene at Villa Borghese, Rome

NaNoWriMo doesn’t have to mean awful, if you use it to learn better

After Europe, October came and I put Child of Darkness away since I planned to do NaNoWriMo. I outlined a new book which took place in the same universe as Child of Darkness. That universe seemed to bring the best out of my writing and I didn’t want to let go just yet.

Instead of just writing 50,000 words, I vowed write 50,000 good words. I did. When I reread it in late December, it was the best first draft I’ve ever written. Not only that, but I also learned a lot about outlining and setting and not being afraid to attack new genres due to vocabulary difficulties.

What I didn’t realize before was while I said I outlined, I set myself up to be a pantser. That obviously failed. Hard. I needed to set myself up for success — a real goodness to gracious outline, with arcs and enough detail to know what I’m writing and enough flexibility for inspiration.

Now I’d say that if you don’t have at least ten scenes to start in three acts, you’re writing like a pantser.

As of December 30, 2011, I have finished the second draft. It’s now in the waiting bin until I get enough distance. It’s not submission-ready, although I wouldn’t be horribly embarassed for an editor to see it now. Maybe after this next draft, I’ll feel ready (and terrified) to write and send proposals. Holy moly, I might actually get a publishing gig, or some nice cathartic crying when I receive a lot of rejection notes. Think positive, eh?

Goals are helpful, they tell you what you want to do

I’ve seen some things around the Internet about not making resolutions but choosing words to live by. Or really, words to live by and then a long explanation of what exactly you mean. Which is good for them, if it works.

I however love actual resolutions — not the classic kinds like lose weight and quit smoking (since I’m naturally underweight and have never smoked), but the kinds with measures and actions. I know I succeeded because I did this.

My goals for this year include:

• Check items off of my life list.
• Get at least one novel in a query-ready state.
• Send at least one query to a publisher.
• Become less insecure. If I’m not good at something, then learn how to do it better. Don’t wallow in it. Be a nicer person. Finally grow up. (And yes, not a great goal in terms of an actionable plan. How will I know if I’m a nicer person? I’m working on a plan to come up with the plan.)

How was 2011 for you? What are your goals for 2012?