Last week’s challenge: A Story in Three Sentences

First things first, some administrative.

I was going to pick my favorites of the three-sentence stories, but you did almost 300 of them, and I’m besieged by some emergency stuff this weekend.

So, HA HA HA HA I’m going to make you pick your favorite.

Here’s what you do.

Go to the post.

When you find your favorite — just one! — reply (don’t just comment, but click that magic reply button) and write “+1” in the replying comment. That is how you vote.

I’ll pick the five top choices (i.e. those with the most “votes”) and give out The Prizes.

You’ve got until the end of the weekend — Sunday night at 11:59EST — to get in your votes.

Okay. That said, time to do this week’s challenge. So. I’ve used a random sentence generator to pluck interesting random titles from the ether. You will choose one of these ten titles and write a short story using that title — you can choose directly, use a random number generator, or grab up a d10 and roll that motherfucker.

Then: write 1000-word short story.

Post at your online space. Link back here.

Due by August 8th, noon, EST.

The ten titles:

1. The Tempting Havoc
2. The Equal Amateur
3. Breathing Around Our Abandon
4. Such Supervised Luck
5. What The Highway Prefers
6. The Miraculous Archive
7. The Saint Stalls The Scum
8. The Enemy Rule
9. Heaven’s Flood
10. Lusts A Delightful Mania

The subject is the question.

Discuss.

Why are indie publishers invested in Amazon vs. Hachette?

If the overall message has been that Big Publishing is an extinct model, why save it?

If indie advantage is often driven by the sluggish and poor pricing and bad contracts found in the Big Five, what’s the value in trying to urge them to better terms?

Do they care about an overall authorial ecosystem even though this runs the risk of harming their own profits? David Gaughran just suggested that many self-publishers desire to go hybrid, but first want a healthier environment to do so. Or are they just defending the realm of Amazon as knights to protect territory? Are they looking for a chance to ding publishers? Are they driven by a sense of rejection and anger? Is this just an opportunity to be heard, to confirm their presence at the table? Why don’t they see this as an opportunity to improve their overall terms with Amazon, instead? What’s the larger game, here, for author-publishers — or, is there one? Is this just the right thing to do, or is there an agenda at work?

This interests me because I can’t quite suss it out.

As always: be polite, folks. Thanks!

Only scattered groups of exhausted heroes remain… 

Veteran police chief Skip Walkins has really done it this time. After crossing realities to fight the onslaught of the Drynn, the spawn of the Underworld, he’s one of only a few motley survivors of an epic massacre. By his blood, he’s sworn to unite with Shardyn Knight Gavin Blackburn against the armies of Asmodeous the Pale, Lord of the Underworld and ruler of the Drynn. The two must seek resistance fighters wherever they can—even in Vambrace, among those who killed Gavin’s father.

Reformed sociopath Donovan Smith has traveled to Vambrace for his own reasons—the new voice in his head claims that there he will learn how he came to be the Antimage, impervious to the deadliest magical attacks.

Donovan’s secrets may hold the key to defeating the Drynn, but they may upset the delicate alliance of the Blood Sworn in the process. And if Skip and Gavin can’t fight together as one, the Drynn will attain total victory over Earth and its magical twin, Theia.

1)    WRITING ROCKS! EDITING…NOT SO MUCH.

You’d think I had five eyeballs or something for saying this but according to the Twittersphere and my own little unscientific poll, most authors prefer editing to writing. That’s just craziness. My childhood vision of author-hood was of me sitting at a computer blurring my fingers across a keyboard while laughing maniacally. Not quite. Sure, editing can be gratifying, sculpting my thoughts into strings of rhythms and cadence, but after a while, my brain melts. To me, editing is like taking out a load of laundry without a basket—there are always a couple of socks that want to squirt out. Thank God for awesome editors.

2)    MUSIC, IT CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE.

So there I was, my head a Roman Candle, my brain spontaneously combusted. Looming deadline, panic setting in. Solution? Why, the Rocky IV training montage, of course. I had no choice. For two weeks I wrote in an artist’s sanctuary cabin, (thanks, Abby!) way out in the woods, all by myself, in the dead of Autumn. It was stupendous, yes, but those nights when the words on the screen would wriggle and my thoughts would leak out of my ears, I’d step outside onto that porch into darkness so black it had weight, and after listening to the night for several long minutes (it was creepy out there, when muskrats sound like grizzlies) I’d put in my headphones, let the music pour into me, and refill my wellspring with Rocky, Chevelle and O Fortuna. After twenty minutes or so I’d open the door, step back into the light and go for another round. Over and over again. I need some new playlists, by the way, if anybody’s feeling generous or has some suggestions…

3)    THE CREATED BECOMES THE TEACHER.

Come again? How can a character, something I created turn around and teach moi? If I may? One of the arcs in Blood Sworn is that a sociopathic murderer is forced to become one of the greatest generals ever to live. Somebody’s got to fight off the Underworld. Anyway, whether he can actually suppress his violent impulses is a secret, preciousss, but one of his gifts is a photographic memory. And our dark hero is well-read. In his mere twenty years of life he has studied The Art of War by Sun Tzu, as well as Clausewitz, Jomini, Machiavelli, Thucydides, Robert E Lee and a slew more. Long story short…he knows his shit. Of course, in order for him to know, I have to know. Anything less would make me a fugeize-face. Here’s the interesting part. In my research, which was rather extensive, I found myself becoming more strategic, better equipped to deal with the challenges life was throwing at me—even made me a better chess player. I found that simply by being in proximity to so many masters actually influenced me. I won’t plunge you all into detail, but every morning with my coffee (light and sweet, baby) I read the Denma translation of The Art of War as well as the three essays that accompany it. Part of my life now.  And I beat Jerry’s butt all the time in chess —mwa ha ha, I mean, er, it’s good.

4)    THE MOST IMPORTANT QUALITY FOR AN AUTHOR: RELENTLESSNESS

“Exertion is never giving up, but it isn’t wearing oneself out. It’s more like riding the wind than pushing a rock uphill.” I got this little beauty from one of those essays I was just talking about and man—life-changer. I figured if I didn’t quit…I wouldn’t fail. Worked quite nicely. (Denma Translation Group. “The Sage Commander.” The Art of War: The Denma Translation. p.109)

5)    DUNGEON-MASTERING VS. COLLEGE.

Not even a contest. In college, I learned what a gerund is and how to dismantle a compound-complex sentence. Need a prepositional phrase to go with that BLT? Here ya go. Important for a writer? Sure, bordering on of course. But as a Dungeon Master, I learned something far more important…how to tell a story and how to research. I’d spend a month setting up a quest, researching medieval cities at the library (back in ancient times before the internet), creating voices for characters; I’d know every tavern owner, weapons smith, evil sorcerer, and drool-spitting troll right down to the eyelash. I loved the expressions on my friends’ faces when their eyes would widen and their mouths would part as I calmly explained to them that there was a long, brittle scratching coming from behind the door they were supposed to go through followed by a deep growl. And then I’d wham on the table! Priceless. Wouldn’t change those memories for the world. Take that, college.

* * *

Steve’s just a guy who wishes he could fire lightning out of his fingertips. Afflicted with wanderlust at the age of seventeen, he’s lived in seven states, briefly served in the U.S. Air Force as a Pararescue Trainee, and has a profound aversion to mint chocolate chip ice cream. Steve currently straddles two worlds—one foot in his hometown of Elmwood, CT, the other in Sunnyside, Queens, NY. What bio would be complete without a cat? Steve has one. A great, fat, good-for-nothing but entirely lovable furball who has his own gravitational force. If Steve could go back in time and be anything, he’d have been a P-51 Mustang fighter pilot or a knight. Being an author is pretty cool, though.

Steve Vera: Website

Blood Sworn: Amazon | B&N | Books-A-Million | Carina Press

To talk about e-book prices, I want to first talk about ice cream.

I like ice cream.

Fuck it — I love ice cream.

If you had ice cream on your person, I would seriously consider shanking you and robbing your bleeding body of the ice cream you thought you owned. Hell, if you were made of ice cream, I would eat you. I would eat you right up.

Sometimes, I make my own ice cream. This is relatively inexpensive.

Sometimes, I buy ice cream from the grocery store. I’ll buy Breyer’s, which is not particularly expensive, or I’ll buy fancy-shmancy-pantsy Jeni’s ice cream, which is particularly expensive.

Sometimes, I’ll buy ice cream from a place that makes its own. A local creamery nearby has good ice cream for cheap. Another local creamery sells weird artisanal ice creams (“Bilberry Thyme Witbier with Live Python Shavings and Maguey Sap”) for three times the price. I like both options.

On rare occasions, I will order ice cream online. Jeni’s, again, is good for this — if you thought it was expensive in the store, wait till you add shipping costs which require them to package it with a buttload of dry ice. (Caveat: don’t put dry ice in your butt.) It’s about four thousand dollars for a pint (I may be over-estimating). But, screw it, it’s basically what would come out of an angel’s head if you cracked open its skull. This ice cream is spun from the dreams of sleeping deities.

I like a diversity of options in my ice cream choosings.

And I understand — even expect — a variety of price ranges implicit in that.

The reason not all ice cream costs the same is because not all ice cream is the same. Local, organic, artisanal ingredients versus industrial-farmed Soylent goo. Glass containers versus plastic versus “I sell the ice cream in an old gym sock.”

Imagine, if you will, that your local grocery store wrote an impassioned-yet-clinical opinion piece on their own grocery store blog (is that a thing?) about how ice cream prices should be kept lower because people don’t want to buy expensive ice cream, and they note that people will buy more ice cream if it’s cheaper, and yay for that. They can buy whole clawfoot bathtubs of the stuff instead of these itty-bitty pints. Of course, choosing to lower ice cream prices into that range would benefit the store, but potentially hamstring some of the makers of the ice cream. That fancy artisanal brand won’t be able to use raw bison milk or rare moon-berries because the expected price of ice cream won’t support it.

Choosing to narrow the price diversity means narrowing the diversity of available options for consumers. If we become trained to understand that ice cream should cost between $3 and $10, anything outside that range is untenable and fails to sell and fails to exist.

Choices for all of us reduce.

Now, let’s talk about e-books.

I know, I know. E-books aren’t ice cream.

Still. Consider some things.

Amazon wrote a little letter (because corporations now have opinions and religions and stuff) and said some things about (yawn) the Hachette-Amazon cage match that is going on and keeps spilling over into our blogs (like this one; sorry!) and business-doings. In this letter they make some statements about e-book prices.

(You should go read what John Scalzi posted about that letter this morning.)

Amazon says:

A key objective is lower e-book prices. Many e-books are being released at $14.99 and even $19.99. That is unjustifiably high for an e-book. With an e-book, there’s no printing, no over-printing, no need to forecast, no returns, no lost sales due to out-of-stock, no warehousing costs, no transportation costs, and there is no secondary market — e-books cannot be resold as used books. E-books can be and should be less expensive.

“Unjustifiably high” is something I would rather readers decide. I don’t often spend more than $9.99 on e-books, so, on this point, I agree with the sentiment — but that’s also my call to make, y’dig? Just as with ice cream, I’m willing to spend crucial parts of my anatomy to get a taste of Jeni’s ice cream, other folks would not be so willing to drop that cash.

(Regarding the note about e-book reselling, let’s also remember that Amazon is the one who a year ago sent up a flurry about the secondary market for e-books.)

Amazon the Entity goes on to say:

Keep in mind that books don’t just compete against books. Books compete against mobile games, television, movies, Facebook, blogs, free news sites and more. If we want a healthy reading culture, we have to work hard to be sure books actually are competitive against these other media types, and a big part of that is working hard to make books less expensive.

It’s an interesting point, one with two axes that are not universally applicable to everyone: books compete with books and other entertainment in terms of both money and time. I have enough money to spend on a lot of entertainment choices because entertainment is relatively cheap. I do not, however, have time. Other people have tons of time but have to make real choices between how they spend their limited funds on something so non-essential as entertainment. A third group has plenty of time and plenty of money and can spend wantonly and consume wildly their entertainment choices, and a fourth group is limited in both.

By echoing the notion of competition (particularly books competing against books), Amazon is going against its own point here a bit: competition works when a variety of products is made available across an array of prices. The advantage of, say, an author-publisher’s work at $2.99 is very much in part because of that price point. It competes well in price against higher-cost offerings. Debut authors or otherwise unknown authors do better at lower price points, too. A Stephen King book doesn’t need to compete on price because, well, he’s Stephen King, son, and you know what you’re getting with his work, and if you’re a fan, you’re already willing to go above that $9.99 price point because STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKING KING.

What’s interesting, too, is that by echoing the non-book entertainment choices, Amazon is offering a poor analog — books are not other things, so how do you compare? Facebook is free, so should books be free? I can kill two hours on Facebook easy, just by tripping and falling into a rage-hole. Oh, but wait, a Blu-Ray or digital download of a new movie probably $19.99, bare minimum, and that’s only two hours long. A book will last you more than that so… should the book be $19.99? Or maybe a little less, in order to compete? $14.99, maybe. It’s an odd point to make and does little to enforce the argument that e-books should be cheaper just as it would be a bad argument in terms of demanding e-books be more expensive.

It’d be like saying ice cream should be cheaper because soup is cheaper. Or ice cream should be more expensive because Kobe beef is more expensive. IT’S ALL JUST FOOD FOR YOUR FOOD HOLE, AND BOOKS ARE JUST DISTRACTIONS TO FILL YOUR JOY SOCKETS.

None of this even factors size of the books.

Some books are 60,000 words.

Some are 120,000 words.

Some are twice even that (epic fantasy, I’m lookin’ at you).

And what about quality? The quality of the prose, the editing, the storytelling.

Are you really buying books based purely on the components? The base physical costs? (If that’s true, why don’t you just go buy a box of bricks or something.) Isn’t art weirder than that? Doesn’t art — whether it’s art versus art or art all on its own — resist easy pricing schemes?

It’s all a little weird, a whole lot slippery.

Amazon says:

So, at $9.99, the total pie is bigger – how does Amazon propose to share that revenue pie? We believe 35% should go to the author, 35% to the publisher and 30% to Amazon. Is 30% reasonable? Yes. In fact, the 30% share of total revenue is what Hachette forced us to take in 2010 when they illegally colluded with their competitors to raise e-book prices. We had no problem with the 30% — we did have a big problem with the price increases.

(Noting the “illegally colluded” part is a catty jab, Amazon. What are you, 13?)

I certainly support authors getting more money.

And if anything, I think this is a volley across publishing’s bow that Amazon is making a very serious, hard-driving play for the hearts and minds not just of readers, but of authors.  If publishers want to make a statement, maybe it’s time to offer authors a meatier cut. Sorry. It just is. If you want to play this game and win at it, you need to start finding ways to become partners with your authors — which is true for some publishers, and not true for many others. That means offering them things Amazon cannot offer them. More money. More data. More control.

See, that’s the funny thing here. On the surface, I agree with what Amazon is saying. I prefer cheaper e-books because they fill that niche. They’re disposable. Non-corporeal. Often licensed, not-owned. They don’t have to go through the cattle chute of physical printing, shipping, distribution, onerous returns. They also require expensive-ish e-readers to consume them. So: like I said, I’m on board with lower e-book prices.

I’m just not excited by Amazon being in possession of that lever.

I don’t want Amazon having that control.

I want publishers and author-publishers to have it, and I want readers — not Amazon — to decide whether they’re going to reject it or not. If we’re really so sweet on the idea of competition, fine. Do it. Don’t hobble the race-runners so they’re closer to one another. Let publishers run the race and see who the readers and the authors think are winning.

Here’s a handful of reasons, and all throughout it’s vital to remember I’m not a MONEYOLOGIST. I am likely to possess an entirely naive understanding of how commerce works, and you’re free to school me on that (politely). Remember: I write about robot Pegasuses and cranky psychics.

1.) Amazon already controls a whole lot, and frankly, I’m cool with them not controlling everything that touches book culture. Which leads me to point number two —

2.) Amazon has not demonstrated that this control has been universally favorable to authors. The ability to self-publish isn’t enough. Amazon controls an alarming number of access points and algorithms in terms of how they sell your books. Sales rankings, author rankings, also-reads — all these things exist outside not only an author’s control but also outside their understanding. They have put up a rather large curtain in the Emerald City, and we can’t see who or what hides behind it. Author-publishers who have been stung by changing algorithms or changes to their relationship with Amazon (and by proxy, to their readers) know this all too well.

3.) Amazon has already set a fundamental price range for self-published books — $2.99 to $9.99 is that range. If you fall outside of it, you fall away from their 70% cut (not a royalty, remember). They’re shepherding you into a price point which is ostensibly what they’re trying to do here with traditional-publishers — the problem is, establishing that with bigger publishers creates limited variability on price. Which means:

4.) Self-publishing will find one of its more notable advantages undercut. When $9.99 is the top cost for trad-pub e-books, you’ll see debuts and unknown authors drift to less than that, and those prices will encroach upon territory presently owned by author-publishers. The prices in self-publishing have been drifting upward. If this window tightens for larger publishers, self-publishers will need to move back downward into some kind of pricing oubliette. So will mid-list authors, debut authors, and unknown authors. (I’m actually a little surprised self-publishers are so invested in this battle. A battle that is, ostensibly, a battle over traditional publishing — a battle between publishers and a distributor. Self-publishers have done well in part because traditional-publishers have been risk averse, keeping contracts strict, prices high, money low.)

5.) Higher cost e-books from publishers help subsidize debut and unknown authors.

6.) Saying “pay the author more!” is very nice, but then also saying, “And charge less for books!” is a bit curious because it’s like saying authors should get a larger cut of a smaller pie. That can work out economically if sales are robust, but also is far from a guarantee. How about instead we just stick with “pay the author more!” and stop there? (Also, Amazon noting the “35% to authors” is cool and all, but do remember that some of their imprints still offer 25%, not 35%.)

7.) Diversification of price is meaningful just as its meaningful in all other aspects.

So, to recap:

Amazon maybe shouldn’t be in control of prices, not literally, not with emotional pleas.

Let publishers set the prices.

Let authors and readers decide if those prices work.

Let the market do its market-flavored thing.

Let’s remember that Amazon and publishers are neither saints nor evil-doers.

Let’s all eat ice cream.

[Note: I will unlikely be present in the comments. As always: be polite.]

And the second book of Blightborn is now out in the world.

It exists in hardback (~$11.39), paperback (~$9.99) and Kindle e-book ($3.99), and audio (~$8.99).

Your procurement options are:

Amazon | B&N | Indiebound

It is also available on Kindle Unlimited (which you can try for free).

Feel free too to check out the books or add it on Goodreads.

What’s It About?

This is the second book in my YA Heartland trilogy: a cornpunk agripocalyptic dust-topia where a handful of teens from the earthbound Heartland decide to take the fight to the rich masters who float above their heads in grand island cities called flotillas.

For folks who like: Star Wars, Bioshock, John Steinbeck, the Hunger Games.

The first book is Under the Empyrean Sky, which you can check out here. A Tumblr user (aka a “Tumbrian citizen”) took a book selfie with the first one and said of that book: “This book has corn, corn pirates, the war against bloodthirsty corn, corn people, family tension, runaways, arranged marriages, PoC, and a gay character whose personality isn’t based solely on his being gay, and I have never been more proud of taking a selfie with a book.” I am very happy about this. (Though I’m now seeing the Tumblr user is deactivated, which also makes me sad? Hm.)

The second book seriously ups the ante. More characters. More POVs. (More female POVs, too, if that’s the sort of thing you care about.) We leave the corn and get to see what goes on in the skies. And we also get glimpses of a much larger world. (Incidentally, the book is almost twice as big as the first one in terms of actual word count. I like big books and I cannot lie.)

The official description is:

He’s heading toward the Empyrean to rescue his sister, Merelda, and to find Gwennie before she’s lost to Cael forever. With his pals, Lane and Rigo, Cael journeys across the Heartland to catch a ride into the sky. But with Boyland and others after them, Cael and his friends won’t make it through unchanged.

Gwennie’s living the life of a Lottery winner, but it’s not what she expected. Separated from her family, Gwennie makes a bold move — one that catches the attention of the Empyrean and changes the course of an Empyrean man’s life.

The crew from Boxelder aren’t the only folks willing to sacrifice everything to see the Empyrean fall. The question is: Can the others be trusted?

They’d all better hurry. Because the Empyrean has plans that could ensure that the Heartland never fights back again.

Chuck Wendig’s riveting sequel to Under the Empyrean Sky plunges readers into an unsettling world of inequality and destruction, and fleshes out a cast of ragtag characters all fighting for survival and, ultimately, change.

Why Check It Out?

Because you like adventure and twists and turns and evil corn and floating rich people and pirates and mutants and robots and Pegasuses and robot Pegasuses.

Because you care about issues like genetic engineering, agriculture, class warfare, wealth disparity, global warming, and Pegasuses. (What? I’m pretty sure Pegasuses are a proble. A pest animal, like whitetail deer or rats, right?)

Because you buying my books is how I get to keep writing this blog.

Because it’s a book for teens and adults. And Pegasuses.

Because I’m really proud of it. No, seriously, I’m very happy with it.

Because, dang, the e-book is not even four bucks, and the KU free trial lets you read it free.

Because, no, seriously, this book has a Pegasus. More than one, actually.

(Even if you don’t check out the book, I’d sure appreciate you spreading the word.)

What Are People Saying?

Tea Talks Books says:

Who, precisely, is the hero of the story is another question, and one that I’m not sure I can answer. Is it Gwennie, who won the Lottery to escape the Heartland, found that all it meant was more drudgery, and decided to do something about it? Is it Cael, desperate to rescue his beloved Gwennie and his runaway sister Merelda from the Empyrean, all the while fighting a curse of his own? They, and several other characters, all get a chance to narrate, and while this could seem clumsy in the hands of a less experienced writer, Wendig keeps all the perspectives distinct and the pace brisk. One thing that I particularly like is that even his minor characters all have heroic qualities – we have Merelda, who makes her dreams reality but finds them hollow; Lane, who wrestles with homophobia and the clay feet of his idols; Rigo, who loses his leg but finds his strength; Davies, whose daughter is worth more than his revenge; Balastair, whose past is full of secrets and whose present is a seemingly-impenetrable wall of frustration; even Boyland and Proctor Agrasanto (reminded me of Monsanto, which is probably a coincidence…), whose antagonistic natures contain seeds of loyalty, devotion, and self-sacrifice. Every one of them has a character arc I’d be willing to spend a whole novel following.

Melanie Meadors says:

Something that stood out for me about this book as I read it is Wendig’s treatment of his younger characters. There is no talking down here, no weird older author’s take on teens. This is an author who understands the way a seventeen year old thinks, and tells it like it is. Wendig’s respect for his subjects is clear. There is no annoying whining here, like I’ve noticed in several other YA books I’ve read. These are characters who teens can be proud of, who they can sympathize with. Sure, they have their rough moments, but they take action. They make mistakes, but they learn.

Michael Hicks says:

Blightborn is a heftier, more serious work than its predecessor, and Wendig is clearly crafting an epic trilogy of terrific scope with this series. It’s also quite a bit darker, which is pretty common in middle entries – the stakes are higher and the threats more formidable. The Initiative, which is teased a bit before finally being revealed in the book’s third act, is a horrifying manipulation that perfectly illustrates the evil and grandiose ego of the Empyrean rulers, and their sense of entitlement. Wendig has also planted a good number of compelling seeds that will bear beautiful fruit come book three. I’d expect the conclusion of this story to release next year, but damn if that’s not going to be a long, brutal wait. Alas, that’s life in the heartland.

Book Sidekicks says:

Wendig wields his third person narrative like a Kung Fu Master of Words. He doesn’t just put one action in front of another, trudging on through the scene from beginning to end. He gives you a 360 degree view, pulls the characters off the page and makes them tap-dance on your brain.

His action scenes are like watching a movie who’s director shot it from four cameras and spliced it together after the fact to make a homogenous scene. The action builds and builds in one character’s perspective and them BAM right when you want–NEED–to see what happens with that character he shifts gears to another characters. Sometimes picking right up where the last left off, sometimes a few moments prior, but the action doesn’t stop. It flows, seamlessly.

Books, Bones and Buffy says:

As usual, Wendig’s writing skills are top-notch. He’s one of the few authors I’ve read that really understands rhythm in prose writing—he knows when to hit the beats, and he knows when to pause. It’s the kind of writing you want someone to read out loud to you.

Dangerous Dan says:

Blightborn picks up where Under the Empyrean Sky left off. Cael and his pals are on the run. Gwennie is on the flotilla and sees Cael’s sister. Rigo’s father, Wanda, and Boyland Barnes Jr. are part of a posse looking for Cael and his pals. Things quickly spiral out of control from there.

I don’t want to give away too many of the nuts and bolts of the plot or reveal too much of what happened in the last book. I will say that all the threads of the plot advance quite a bit. The new characters of The Sleeping Dogs, the peregrine, Harrington, Eben, and the Maize Witch are all pretty compelling. Not one of the characters emerged unscathed. Who would have thought Cael’s father was so interesting back in the day?

Edit: Now Including The Winners Of The Preorder Contest!

The winner of the Kindle Paperwhite: Kerry Benton!

The winner of the big box of books: Samantha J. Mathis!

Congrats, you two!

“Ha ha ha, those terrible twos,” they said.

A lie. A CRUEL AND CALLOUS LIE.

Sure, you have a two year old and you think, jeez, what happened to this kid. You had an adorable little marshmallow running around gooble-gobbling, and then one day things changed and out of nowhere you had this irritable little creature — like he had sand in the elastic of his diaper always turning him surly. But you think: I only have a year of this. They call this the Terrible Twos, so I just have to weather the storm for one year. One. Year.

The only way through is out, you think.

You breathe a sigh of relief and lay your head down to sleep, assured that This Is Only Temporary.

YOU FOOLS.

This is the moment where I light a red road flare in a dark room and when the crimson glow illuminates the space, you see that monstrous toddlers are all around us. Crawling up the walls, hissing. Black cricket eyes hungry for your soul. Little claws tickety-click-clicking on wet stone. Squalling, shrieking, whining. SWARMING.

This is the moment where I tell you that I AM FROM YOUR FUTURE, and that the Terrible Twos are not — I repeat, not — the end. Oh, no, dear parent. I am here to warn you:

The Terrible Twos are only the beginning.

The Terrible Twos are just the chrysalis. The child’s body was just a preparation for an ancient, infernal monkey-demon slumbering in his tiny heart. Now the cocoon has been shed and your very own monkey-demon — who looks a little like you and who is now learning to communicate with its human keepers — is loose in your home.

The Terrible Twos?

*scoffs*

These are the Terrible Threes. Er, the Therrible Threes? The Threatening, Thunderous, Thrashing Threes? Maybe the ‘That Used To Be A Human Child But Now It Is An Implacable Monkey-Demon Who Hungers For Chaos” Threes. WHATEVER. I’ve heard them called “Threenagers,” because this age is like a porthole window into the teenage years of the child, but taxonomically that’s false, since three-year-olds are monkey-demons and teenagers are mopey asshole-golems. Jesus, it’s like nobody ever read the D&D Monster Manual. Pssh. Pfft! HFFT.

Doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re going to need help.

I have prepared for you a survival kit.

*hands you survival kit*

*opens it*

1. Neck Brace

The monkey-demon’s mood will change so fast, you’ll get whiplash. It’s like watching ten different people crammed inside one tiny body. Happy about a puppy! Mad because it’s not the toddler’s puppy! Sad because some other shit you don’t even know about and can’t control! Inchoate petulance! Drunken glee! Surly silence! Earth-shattering, sky-rending fury!

2. Genital Protection Kit

I’ve layered the inside of a football helmet with a blown rubber Goodyear tire. No matter the orientation of your junk, you need to cover it up. Protect it — because the toddler will not. The toddler will headbutt your crotch. He will knee you. Shoulder you. Punt a Transformer into your most sensitive bits. He will attempt to use your junk drawer as a ladder to reach greater heights. Those greater heights probably include your head and face, which leads me to —

3. A Full Set Of Body Armor

Fuck it, you need more than just protection for your — *whistles, gestures around your nethermost regions* — because the hell-born chimpanzee sees your body as equal parts tackle dummy, jungle gym, and ziggurat of punishment. SWAT up. Hard exoskeleton. Boots so you don’t get a LEGO in your foot. Blast-shield so you don’t catch a Matchbox car in the eye. Anything that dangles? Swaddle it in extra protection. If that little horror show gets a hold of your nipples, she’ll spin them like the dials on a toaster oven. Envelop your flesh in a carapace of safety.

4. Bubble Wrap, Nerf, And Various Other Cushiony Material

You know what? Just cover your whole house up. Your child — and by “child,” I mean, “cackling snarlbadger” — is basically a clown car driven by drunken circus performers. The car has no brakes, the steering wheel just spins wildly on its axis, and it’s broadcasting warped calliope music. Your kid will go head-first into a pitchfork if you’re not careful. Bonus: covering your house protects your house, too. Double-bonus: it also stop all those slammed doors and flung-shut drawers from making noise. Triple-bonus: bubble wrap is fun for the whole family. So when your little snarlbadger takes a header into the TV stand, it’ll make a fun satisfying popcorn popping sound, and the toddler will come away with only the meagerest of head traumas.

5. Band-Aids (The Wrong Ones)

Here are Band-Aids. Your shrieking goblin will need them not because she actually wounds herself frequently (which she probably does) but because she will imagine wounds or demand bandages for the most insignificant injuries. Every scuff, papercut, hangnail or dirt-smudge is an apocalypse that requires a Band-Aid. In this case, the wrong Band-Aid because it’s always the wrong Band-Aid. You have Angry Birds bandages, and she wants Mickey Mouse. You finally go buy Mickey Mouse and suddenly she wants Spongebob. To your tot, Band-Aids are just stickers for injuries that don’t exist. The game is rigged. You cannot win. Enjoy your stupid Band-Aids.

6. Tranquilizer Gun And Darts

This? Special batch of my tranquilizer brew. It’s quaaludes, red wine, Thorazine, and smoked bacon because smoked bacon. Oh, hey, settle down — it’s not for the toddler. This is for you, silly. *fires the tranquilizer into your neck* You’ll thank me later.

7. A Recording Device

Oh! Good. You’re awake. See? Potent stuff. And a bacony aftertaste, am I right? Best hangover ever. Anyway. I have bad news — while you were out, your infernal leprechaun fled the premises, stole a cop car, drove it into a shopping mall, then was a real dick about all of it. Seriously, the police tried to arrest him, and he was all like, “NO, I’M ARRESTING YOU NOW,” and then he peed and ate the handcuff keys. He screamed “I’M NOT PEEING, YOU’RE PEEING. I WANT CHEETOS.” Thing is, nobody will ever believe you that these things happened. This is why in the kit you’ll find a recording device. When your own parents refuse to believe that your child acts like a devil-possessed hobo, now you’ll have proof. You’ll also have proof when they say really weird, really creepy shit. (Recent gems from our own monkey-demon: “You’re taking me to Canada.” “Metaphor and meta-fiend!” “I drink bone-water.” “The skull is coming!” “I’M IN YOUR EAR.”)

8. Noise-Cancelling Headphones

The sound of toddlers are how sane adults go mad. Lovecraft knew it. You need these.

9. The Distraction Grenade

I have filled this flimsy Ziploc baggy (okay, it’s off-brand, so it’s technically a “SipBloc bagie”) with a couple new toys, a handful of Cheezits, some shiny Canadian coins, a book of matches, a Visa GiftCard, and the keys to a home-made hovercraft parked in your driveway. This? This is your Distraction Grenade. When everything goes sideways — when there’s spaghetti hanging from the ceiling fan, when there’s underwear on fire in the oven, when the child has broken you down with his Hannibal Lecterian cruelty — rip the zip and chuck the bag into the other room. The little monster will go see and you will be afforded your escape! Go! Go now! While there’s still time!

10. A Hot Meal

Parents eat fewer hot meals than most homeless people. Every time you go to sit down, something else gets in the way — just as a hot bite of food hovers near your mouth, the squawking pit-gremlin that stole your genetic material has some other dubious need. More lemonade. Less milk. Chair too far from the table. Shoes too tight. Not enough puppies. Global warming. Existential ennui. The list mounts. Madness ensues. By the time you get back to the food, it’s got mold growing on it. So here. Have a hot meal. You can have another one in about two years.

11. A Secret Inflatable Panic Room

Baby needs a time-out? Nah, Mommy and Daddy need a time-out. Behold: YOUR OWN INFLATABLE BOUNCY CASTLE PANIC ROOM. It’s got all kinds of shit in it. TV. Emergency radio. Liquor cabinet. Various sexual lubricants — and, of course, protection, unless you’re interested in accidentally conjuring up another monkey-demon with your rumpy-pumpy-bumpy beast-with-two-backs sex-ritual. I mean, sure, while you’re in the panic room, you’ve basically ceded the rest of your territory to the squalling imp, but c’mon, you pretty much already did that anyway.

12. Facsimiles Of All The Important Things You Own

It’s ironic, really. Teens move into adulthood, looking for a way to make more money so they can have more stuff and bigger houses to store all their stuff (because as George Carlin wisely notes, a house is just a place for our stuff), and then we have kids and end up forfeiting all our hard-earned stuff to the keening, abrasive sirocco we created. It’s like: imagine that you bought a really nice car, and then you buy a wolverine, and then you lock the wolverine in your car. That’s parenthood. But — ah-ha! Solution: fake shit. Fake TV. Bullshit couch that looks like your couch but is really filled with old newspaper and wispy wads of cat hair. Your whole house can be a facsimile! So when your toddler shoves a rotten ham sandwich into your PS4, he’s really just mashing it into a old cardboard box painted to look like a PS4. #winning #blessed

13. A Time Machine

Boom. A red box with a black button. A time machine. Go back in time ten minutes. Toddler knocks over the aquarium, accidentally steps on Mr. Peepers, the goldfish? Time machine. You leave home and forget your monkey-demon’s most precious toy, which is actually just a bunch of paperclips shoved in a pencil eraser? Kapow, time machine. Didn’t realize that saying the combination of words “we’re having fishsticks for dinner” will cause your child such shivering paroxysmal rage that she throws a bubble mower through your new flatscreen TV? HEY LOOK EVERYBODY IT’S A TIME MACHINE. Of course every time you use it, it unravels another vital thread of the space-time universe, but if it gives you an advantage as a parent: WHO CARES.

14. The Backpack Potty

You carry this toilet on your back like a turtle. You need this with you because when your toddler needs to go? You will be 453 miles from the nearest bathroom. Or you’ll be near to a bathroom that looks like a meth addict lived and died there. This also comes with nose plugs and an industrial garbage bag, because for some reasons monkey-demons have the ability to manufacture poop that looks like it came from a 47-year-old overweight diabetic who just ate four microwave pizzas.

15. RFID Tracking Chip

At age two, the toddler wants to be near you. At age three? The monkey-demon is ascendant and wants nothing more than to flee, hide, escape heaven’s zoo and claim its independence. Turn your back for four seconds and your wee one will have dug himself a bunker in the woods and adopted a possum family as his own. Your child needs a tracking chip. Bonus: this one is like the tracking device in Aliens so you know when you’ve got a toddler in the heating vents. You can pretend you’re Ripley! “Game over, man. Game over!”

16. A Vial Of Holy Water

It won’t actually do anything besides convince you that God is either dead or is Himself a rampaging toddler throwing a literally-Biblical shit-show tantrum, but flecking your child with holy water will at least make you feel a little better. Bonus: hydration?

17. An Old Priest And A Young Priest

For when shit gets really real, you might need an old priest and a young priest to perform proper exorcism rites. (Seriously, go watch The Exorcist. If you are the parent of a rampaging three-year-old, you’ll be all like, “Uh, that kid’s not possessed, she’s just three. My kid says worse stuff than that. And she can projectile vomit like a boss.”) At the very least, even if the exorcism fails, maybe the old priest and the new priest can babysit for you. Just let them know that the old priest will probably die by the end of it. It’s totally cool; priests prepare for this inevitability.

18. Duct Tape

The quacking cacodemon you once thought as your child is an escape artist parallel to none. No earthly prison can contain it. No car seat, no booster seat, no locked door, no lead-lined suitcase. But duct tape? If you want proof of God, then I submit the notion that duct tape is our only true evidence of his presence. It is our only Holy Weapon against infernal toddler intrusion.

19. A Translation Device

Parents understand their own monkey-demons more than those unrelated by blood, but just the same, sometimes the little alien will jibber-jabber a stream of straight-up legit glossolalia and then get mad as fuck that you do not understand their mush-mouthed gabbling. “I think he wants a… lawnmower and a couple traveler’s cheques? Jeez, I really don’t know what he’s saying, honey, this kid is a total cipher.” And so, I give you: a translation device. They shriek their Babelian demonstongue into it. Actual human English comes out of it. Magic.

20. A Book Of Lies

The monkey-demon knows how to confound the pure of heart by asking one question over and over again: “WHY.” Why this? Why that? Why dog? Why cat? Why here? Why there? Why circle? Why square? It’s enough to make even Dr. Seuss foul his black-and-white-striped britches in rhyming rage. This book contains infinite lies. When the child asks you a question, just pull up a lie and go to town. “Because cats eat electrons. Because the sky is the barf from a bewildered giant. Because the Council of Mantisfolk met in the year 1743 and decreed it so to counter the Heresy of Lord Samsung the Incontinent.” Stun your child into silence!

21. An Oracle

I don’t know what your kid wants. You don’t know what your kid wants. Here, have an oracle. She’s blind and she huffs weird cave vapors and she’s probably your best bet to understanding what Pazuzu the monkey-demon actually wants.

22. A Portable Therapist

Toddlers know how to hurt you. I don’t mean physically, I mean — they know how to cut to your emotional core. They will whittle you down like a fucking apple. Just as you’re without sleep. You haven’t had a hot meal since a Bush was in the White House. Your home looks like an asylum for hoarders. And then your “child” says something so wildly cruel, it astounds you. “I don’t love you anymore.” “You’re the worst mother.” “I will kill you with a brick and dump your body in a river because that’s where you belong, you worthless little cricket. Also, those pants make you look fat, Daddy. You’re fat. Fatty-fatty-fat.” So please enjoy this therapist. His name is Dave.

23. Okay, No, That’s Not A Therapist

By now you’ve noticed that the “therapist” is really just a bottle of wine with googly eyes glued to it. Whatever, shut up, it works. Just drink it. Fortify yourself. Say hi to Dave for me.

24. A Book Full Of Vital Phone Numbers

You need these numbers. Poison control. Police. Fire department. EMS. All the good babysitters. All the bad ones. That lady who you’re pretty sure died in 2011 and actually now she’s just a wraith haunting the feral cat colony she calls a home (hey whatever, a babysitter is a babysitter). This is a special codex. With these phone numbers, you can help banish the archfiend that haunts your toddler. For a time. For a time.

25. A Crate Marked “Free Baby Otters”

This is the eject button, right here. It’s a crate. It’s marked FREE BABY OTTERS, which is not a command so much as it is an offer — a lie of an offer, a cruel deception, but whatever. Who doesn’t like otters? Here’s the trick: put the toddler in the box. Take the box to PetSmart. Leave it there. Hurry away. Someone is all like “HEY YO, HONEY, LOOK, A BOX OF OTTERS, YOU WERE JUST SAYING YOU WISH YOU HAD SOME OTTERS,” and then they open it and it’s like Pandora’s Box because the evil jumps out upon them and claims these unwitting fools as its parents.

That is the miracle of childbirth.

Enjoy your life free of the monkey-demon.

…

(OKAY FINE, nobody wants to actually be free of the monkey-demon. But man, three-year-olds are hella batshit — and hopefully, posts like these help you cope with them as much they help me to write them. Ours is full of light and joy and love as much as he is full of piss and razors and bees, but some days you just wanna find a laugh. So: to you parents of toddlers — past, present, future — hope you enjoyed the post. *clink*)