Ron Marz is a comics creator I’ve been following for quite a while on Twitter (and so should you — his @ link is at the bottom of this page). So when it came time for him to be the first “10 Questions” about a graphic novel, well, all I have to say to that is “fuck yeah.” Here’s Ron to talk about his newest, Ravine, at Top Cow. 

TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

My name is Ron Marz. I write comic books, from company-owned stuff like “Green Lantern” and “Silver Surfer” and “Star Wars,” to creator-owned work that I love like my own children. I dabble in videogames and other kinds of storytelling too.

GIVE US THE 140-CHARACTER STORY PITCH:

It only seems like there’s 140 characters in “Ravine,” but in reality it’s only about two dozen characters in the first volume. Uh … wait, that’s probably not what you meant, right? “Ravine” is a series of epic fantasy graphic novels, the kind of thing that would be racked with Tolkien and George R.R. Martin. The first volume is out this month.

WHERE DOES THIS STORY COME FROM?

Croatia. The artist and co-writer  on “Ravine” is Stjepan Sejic, my Croatian buddy with whom been collaborating on monthly comics like “Witchblade” and “Artifacts” for seven years or so. “Ravine” is a story that Stjepan’s been putting together for the last decade, crafting an entire world. A few years ago, he asked me to join him on the story and dialogue, so now we’re co-owners and co-conspirators.

HOW IS THIS A STORY ONLY YOU COULD’VE WRITTEN?

Well, I think in this case, it’s a story that only Stjepan and I could have done together. It’s very much a collaboration, which is one of the core strengths of doing comics. Comics are a blend of words and pictures that create something you can’t get from either of those alone. So a writer and artist come together and create something unique to them, to their collaboration. “Ravine” would be a different project with anybody else working on it.

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST THING ABOUT WRITING RAVINE?

I think the sheer size of the graphic novel was something I wasn’t used to. Generally in comics, you’re writing single issues of about 20 pages of story and art, that are then put together in collections. So you’re generally working in smaller chunks, writing an issue of one title, jumping to an issue of a different title, then back again. The variety keeps you interested and motivated. If you’re stuck on one issue, you can jump to another and make progress on that. In this situation, I was working on all 160 pages of “Ravine” at once, and having to set other things aside in order to make the print deadline.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WRITING RAVINE?

This was a bit different from the way Stjepan and I usually work together, in that the typical process is me writing a script with art direction and first-draft dialogue. Then Stjepan paints the pages digitall, after which I go back in and write the final dialogue for the letterer to put on the page. With “Ravine,” Stjepan painted the pages, gave me a sense of the dialogue, and then I did a complete rewrite of it. I had to immerse myself in this new world, but it actually proved to be a boon creatively, because I could come to it with a fresh eye, and make sure we were properly introducing all the characters and concepts. It was a bit different way of working, but in comics, the important part is the finished product, not how you get there.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT IT?

I grew up on this kind of story, on Tolkien and Burroughs and Robert E. Howard. So I’m really pleased that we’re bringing this kind of epic fantasy to comics, in a package of this size. It’s slowly changing, but comics are still dominated, to large extent, by the same superheroes we all grew up with. The kind of story we’re doing in “Ravine” is large scale and extremely visual, so I feel like comics is a perfect vehicle to tell it.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME?

Well, Volume 2, which is another 160 pages, will be out in the summer, so we’re already well into. Though I think I’ll plan the schedule a bit more loosely, so I can work on a palette cleanser here and there when I need to.

GIVE US YOUR FAVORITE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STORY:

How about a favorite page instead? (click for bigger)

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AS A STORYTELLER?

More “Ravine,” more comics in general. I’m writing the monthly “Artifacts” title for Top Cow/Image, with more coming up from them as well. My creator-owned “Shinku” title is still coming out for Image, and later this year, I’ll be launching a comic called “The Protectors” for Athleta Comics, which is a publishing company started by Israel Idonije of the Chicago Bears, who is a huge comics fan, literally and figuratively.I also want to carve out time this year to do some more prose work. I’ve got a children’s book and a YA novel I want to get off the ground. Too many ideas, too little time.

Ravine: Top Cow / Amazon

Ron Marz: Website

@ronmarz

You are the sun at the center of your own narrative universe. You are its god. You are its savior.

I am not its god. I am not its savior.

Let’s rewind a little.

I get emails.

These emails ask me things like, How do I get motivated? or How do I get inspired?

Or, worse, they want to know how I “do it” every day. Not a reference to my sexual prowess (were you to ask the intimate partners of my life, they may speak of a lack of prowess reminiscent of the fumblings of an inept-yet-eager lube-soaked chimpanzee), but rather it’s a reference to my ability to hunker down and just… write.

I do it every day. And people want to know how.

They want hard answers. They want a button to push, a lever to yank. More troubling, they seem to want a menu of options. Discard this one, pick that one, the perfect meal suited to the eater.

I have one answer for you.

It is not a nice, nor easy, answer.

That answer is: “You just do.”

How do you get motivated?

You just do.

How do you get inspired?

You just do.

How do you write every day? How do you finish a book? How do you learn to spin a great narrative, to create memorable characters, to put pen to paper and fingers to keys and explode your heart and your mind with the power of motherfucking stories?

You.

Just.

Do.

This may seem like an admonishment against writing advice, that all the shit that I sling here is worthless because the reality is, the very act of writing is the answer. Do not misunderstand: writing advice has value, but it only has value to those who are willing to execute and implement. All the writing-talk and story-speak in the world won’t do more than tickle your theoretical story’s imaginary testicles if you’re unwilling to commit the time and effort it takes to grab the words from inside your ribcage and smash them like overripe fruit on the page.

Only when you choose to open that door by embracing action does this stuff matter.

Until then, it’s all just candy-floss and elf-dreams, man. It’s ether. It’s nothing.

Action. Execution. Implementation.

Do. Write. Finish.

I know, you’re saying, “That’s easier said than done.” I know it is! So fucking what? A big-ass boulder tumbles down from the mountaintop and falls on your hand and pins the limb, you either gnaw through your arm like a goddamn coyote or you die under the rock. Door won’t open? Kick it down. Wall blocking your path? Bash it with your skull until it falls or you do.

Life’s getting in the way? I’m sorry, that’s how life works. Life is a series of obstructions — it’s speedbumps all the way down. You’re depressed? Get in line. You’re depressed. So’s that woman over there and she wrote 1000 words today, and yesterday, and the day before. You think I don’t deal with depression? Of course I do. We writers are tailor-made for that. I know, I sound unsympathetic — trust me, it’s the opposite. I’m completely sympathetic. I’ve been there. I’m sometimes there still. It doesn’t change the cold, hard fact that all the power lies with you. In your brain. In your hands. Nobody ever said it was going to be easy. Did you want it to be easy? What fun is easy? Easy is a value of zero. And surely you want more than nothing? Writing makes you pay. In blood and tears and frustration. You do it because you love it. Not because it’s a warm bed at your back but because it’s sharp stones under your feet spurring you forward.

It’s the wolf at your heels. It’s the fire in your heart. Wolves bite. Fire burns.

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it’s scary. Sometimes it’s hard and makes no sense and sometimes the frustration gets so bad you just want to dunk your head in a bucket of whiskey and hide your tears inside the liquid burn but, but, but —

Fuck it. Shut up! Write. You get your years and you get no more. These are your days. No Muse is going to breathe a hot sigh of inspiration up your hiney-hole. I’m not going to come to your house and crawl inside your skin and bind my bones to yours with the purpose of forcing you to crap out all your big bad story-words. Oh, you have writer’s block? Boo-hoo! Writer’s Block has as much power as you give it — it’s a Weeping Angel, so bind it to the earth with your gaze.

This is creation!

This is the act of forging something out of nothing. It demands sacrifice. It’s you carving off parts of yourself to a future without promises, you spilling power and grief and embracing chaos and uncertainty all in the hopes of trying to make sense of this thing you do in the sheer bloody-minded chance that something you write will finally matter but the trick is, it all matters, because writing is how we connect with ourselves and the world beyond our margins. Writing is how we tether ourselves to god, a god in a narrative world that is, of course, us.

You’re the Muse that inspires you. You’re the god to which you sacrifice. You’re the battering ram made of unholy fire that tears down Writer’s Block. You’re the knife that cuts the arm off, you’re the boulder that must be pulverized, you’re the devil in the details.

You’re the one-armed coyote or you’re the dead sonofabitch under the rock.

I can try to tell you how to write.

But first you have to be willing to write.

You only get the map when you step through the door.

It only gets done by doing it.

Will yourself to create.

Accept no excuses.

Brook no fear.

Shut up.

Fuck it.

Write.

1. Know Thy Narrator

One of the first questions you have to ask is, who the fuck is telling this story? Is intrepid space reporter Annie McMeteor telling it in her own voice? Is a narrator telling Annie’s story for her? Is the story told from a panoply of characters — or from a narrator attempting to tell the story by stitching together a quilt of multiple minds and voices? Is the story told by a gruff and emotionless objective character who sits fat like a fly on the wall? You can try writing your story without knowing who the narrator is, but you’d better figure it out by the end of the first paragraph or you’re going to be writing one big, barfy, confusing mess. Your uncertainty in this regard will punish the reader, so it’s time, in Glengarry Glen Ross parlance, “to fuck or walk.”

2. Who’s On First, I Don’t Know’s On Third

You already know this but it bears repeating: first-person POV is when the story is told with the pronoun “I” (I went to the store, I like cheese, I killed a man in Reno not so much to watch him die but more because I wanted his calculator wristwatch). Third-person POV is when the story is told with the pronouns “she,” “he,” “it,” “they” (She opened the window, he peed out the window, they all got peed on by the guy peeing out the window).

3. Ha Ha Ha, Second-Person, That’s A Good One

The second-person mode uses the pronoun “you.” As in, it’s telling the story from the perspective of you the reader. In theory, this is awesome. In practice it often comes off totally fucking goofy. Sure, a gifted storyteller can pull it off — and hey, sometimes fiction is about risks. It probably works better in short fiction than long (as sustaining that narrative mode will be tricky and tiresome). To be honest, whenever I read a second-person narrative, I keep thinking in my head, “You are eaten by a grue.” Then I quit reading it because, y’know, grue.

4. Witnessing Versus Experiencing: Where To Place The Camera?

A novel has no camera because a novel is just a big brick of words, but for the sake of delicious metaphor, let’s assume that “camera” is representative of the reader’s perspective. We often think of point-of-view as being the character’s perspective (and it is), but it’s also about the reader’s perspective. A third-person narrative has the camera outside the action — maybe hovering over one character, maybe pulling back all the way to the corner. A first-person narrative gives one character the camera — or even goes so far as to cram the camera up their nether-cavern and into their brain and against their eyeball. The question then becomes: is the reader here to witness what’s going on? Or experience it? Third-person asks we witness, first-person allows us to experience (and second-person really utilizes the experiential mode but, again, probably don’t do that).

5. The Intimacy Of The Reader

Put different, it becomes a question of intimacy. How intimate is the reader with the story, the setting, the characters? Once we begin to explode out the multiple modes of POV (objective, subjective, omniscient, etc.) it relates to how intimate the reader gets to be — is she kept close but privy to the confidence of only one character? Is the reader allowed to be all up in the satiny guts of every character in the room? Is the reader locked out? How much access does the reader have to the intellectual and emotional realm? Is she granted psychic narrative powers?

6. Objective: The Reader At The Window, Peering In

The objective mode of storytelling says, “Hey, reader, go stand outside and watch the story from the window, you funky little perv-weasel.” The reader isn’t privy to any of the psychic realm: it’s like watching a closed-circuit television feed. This happened, that happened, blah blah blah. It’s almost informationally pornographic: close-ups and thrusting but no emotional tangle.

7. Subjective: The Reader As A Psychic Monkey Riding A Specific Character

The subjective narrative mode filters the story through the lens of a single character. The reader is allowed inside (as long as he pulls up his pants and wipes his hands) and gets to play the role of a psychic Yoda-monkey clinging to one character’s back. The intimacy increases: the reader is now allowed access to one character’s internal realm. That character filters everything through an intellectual, emotional, and experiential lens for the reader.

8. Omniscient: Reader Drops Acid Gets To Live In Everybody’s Heads

YOU ARE NOW A GOLDEN GOD. Or, you just quaffed a cup of ayahuasca and now you’re hallucinating. Either way, omniscient POV allows us to become not a dude at the window or a telepathic lemur but rather, a hyper-aware psychic cloud floating above and within all the character action. We are granted a backstage pass to every character’s internal world.

9. The Limited Lens Of Third Person Subjective

Third-person subjective is often called “third-person limited” because you are, duh, limited to the lens of just one character. This allows us some of the intimacy of first-person while still remaining a witness to the action rather than the closest thing to a participant. It’s like having your cake and being able to eat it too, which is a phrase I’ve always considered a bit silly: of course I want to eat the cake I have because then what the fuck is the point of cake? If you’re trying to make some comment on the corporeality of cake (“once you’ve eaten it you no longer have it”), it still falls apart because relocating it to my belly still counts as me having it. Further, I might have eaten a single slice of cake and retain the other seven slices for later cake consumption. (And by “later” I mean, “in two-and-a-half minutes.”) So, whatever. What was I talking about? Who are you people and how’d you get in my Secret Cake Room?

10. Episodic Third: The Monkey Hops From Shoulder To Shoulder

This has lots of names — Third-Term Episodic, Third-Term Multiple, Third-Person Limited Shifting, Menage-A-Character, Third-Person Monkey-Head-Hopper, and so on. The point is that in a given narrative unit (most commonly, a chapter) the storyteller limits the filtering of the narrative through a single character — in the next chapter, the storyteller switches that filter to a whole different character. (I tend to like this approach in my own work. If third-person limited is ‘having your cake and eating it too,’ this is like ‘having cake with ice cream on top and then also pie and maybe cookies and eating it all but still having more.’)

11. The Deeper Plunge Of First Person Subjective

First-person subjective is the most common version of the first-person POV, and it allows for a deep dive into one character’s psyche. It is the most intimate in a 1:1 sense — the strength is that we get to know one character very, very well. We are more than just the monkey on the shoulder; we are a thought-eating brain parasite. We are given a vicarious thrill as both storyteller and reader in this mode. Sometimes, this mode can be overpowering; further, there exists the danger that the storyteller’s “voice” and the protagonist’s “voice” are a little too close. In a sense, first-person subjective is a bit like acting: the writer embodies the role of a character, attempting to wear the costume completely while on the page.

12. The News Report Had Sex With A Screenplay And Birthed The Objective POV

Journalism is all about details. Screenplays are blueprints for action and dialogue. The objective point-of-view — in both first- and third-person — offers us that sense of utter detachment. It is an exercise in, as noted, detail and action and dialogue. The internal world is closed off completely; any intellectual or emotional details are left to reader interpretation only. Much of this is actually about how much interpretation we want the reader to do — how much burden do we grant to the audience? The more objective the narrative becomes, the more must sit on the reader’s shoulder. The more subjective we become, the less interpretation the reader must do.

13. First Person Omniscient Is Like Hanging In The Headspace Of A God

Here’s how this works: the narrative is first-person (“I pooped…”) and yet offers total awareness and exploration of the internal world of every other character (“I pooped and Tom wonders why I did it on the salad bar, but Betty doesn’t care because she’s thinking about how she thinks salad is for assholes, anyway”). This is not a narrative mode you can get away with easily — it has to have a hook. A reason for existing. Like, in the Lovely Bones, the character is a ghost so that pretty much makes sense. But a character shouldn’t be able to offer an omniscient viewpoint without being psychic, or a ghost, or a god, or… well, a warbling moony-loon. Could be cool. Could also be a garish gimmick. Tread wisely.

14. Multiple First Person Narrators

You can, if you want, tell the story from alternating first-person narrators. One chapter tells it from Tom, the second from Betty, the third from Bim-Bim the Saturnian Baboon Lord, whatever. Like I said: you do what you want. You can take a shit on the grocery store salad bar as long as you don’t mind Tom giving you the stink-eye afterward. (Oh, one note about alternating first-person narrators: the voice of each needs to be strong and distinct so that readers aren’t left scratching their poor little reader noggins over who the fuck is talking to them.)

15. The Cool Kids Of POV High

The two most popular points-of-view are, I believe, first-person subjective and third-person limited (often third-person episodic limited — aka the monkey-hopper POV). First-person is particularly common in young adult fiction the reasons for which are either that “it’s the trend so shut up” or “because younger readers want that level of emotional intimacy with younger characters.” Not to say you must cleave to trends, but it’s good to be aware of them.

16. First And Third Living Together And Making Sweet Love

You can, if you’re really bad-ass, alternate from first to third. It’s tricky and can become just a stunt if you’re not careful. “BECAUSE I WANT TO SO SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH” is not always the best reason to try something inside your fiction: it helps to have some logic behind it. Is there some reason to perform the switch? Is there an epistolary component sandwiched like taco meat inside the narrative? Seek reason for the choices within your writing.

17. Be Consistent, Be Clear

Seek consistency and clarity in point-of-view, lest you confound and bewilder, lest you seem like the king of amateur-hour karaoke. Hell, seek consistency and clarity in all of your writing. Also, in your take-out orders. Because you think you ordered a “ham and cheese sandwich” but then you open the bag and suddenly your face is on fire from a thousand stingers and you’re like OMG THEY MUST’VE THOUGHT I SAID HAM AND BEES.

18. The Reader Is Your Puppet And POV Is One Of The Strings

The storyteller’s job isn’t to be the reader’s buddy. The storyteller is an untrustworthy fucker, a manipulator on par with the love child of Verbal Kint and Hannibal Lecter. Point-of-view is one of the most critical weapons in the storyteller’s arsenal: you can use to reveal information or to restrict it. You can use it to regulate the distance between reader and character, or between one character and another. You can use it to display false testimony or misleading detail. You can use it to open stuck jars or drown noisome chipmunks. Okay, maybe not that last part.

19. Perspective Creates Tension

Perspective — both its revelation and restriction — creates tension. The third-person POV allows different characters to notice individual details and experience separate events and we as the reader are privy to all their conflicting plots and schemes. Third-person omniscient is a blown-open diaper of perspective: the characters on the page don’t know what one another are thinking but we often do, and so we know that Tom is planning on killing Betty and that Bim-Bim the Space Baboon is really Tom and Betty’s long lost son. First-person pulls all that back and restricts the experiences to a single character, so instead the sense of external mystery is heightened even as internal mystery is reduced — the reverse can be true when you go back to third-person, where internal mystery is increased at the expense of external intrigue.

20. Wuzza Wooza Who Now?

Beware confusion with any exercise of point-of-view. Omniscience can overwhelm and bewilder. Subjectivity can leave out critical external details. Mystery is not useful when it seeds utter befuddlement. Or, put differently, “mystery” is not a synonym for “I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore in this goddamn story I’m so lost I think I need a nap.”

21. The Danger Of Illuminating Assholes

That sounds like someone’s shining a flashlight on an anus, but that’s not what I mean — what I mean is, the first-person perspective lends intimacy and sometimes that intimacy is exactly what fiction needs. However, characters who are in some sense “unlikable” often gain extra unwanted dimension with the first-person perspective. One danger is that the character’s moral complexities are watered-down because now we’re forced to march through the justifications for the character’s rampant assholery. The follow-up danger is that the deep psychic dive only magnifies the assholery to the point where the character is now a prolapsed anus the size of a Christmas stocking heavy with driveway gravel. An unlikable-but-interesting character can fast become a hated motherfucker when we live too long inside their heads. I want to watch Don Draper and Tony Soprano. I don’t want to lurk inside their heads.

22. What Objectivity Misses

Objective narrative view can offer a strong, clinical approach to storytelling. Though, one could also suggest that the power of the novel above other storytelling forms is how it allows us to plunge — however deep or shallow — into the internal world of the characters rather than just exploring the physical realm. The novel is a complicated beast and as much happens inside the action as around it, within it, and through it. If I wanted to watch Bim-Bim the Space Baboon run around and shoot laser pistols, I’d write a cartoon script. If I’m writing a novel, it’s because I want to behold the pathos of Bim-Bim. Which is also the name of my next novel: “THE PATHOS OF BIM-BIM,” with the follow-up, “DESOLATION OF THE MOON GIBBON.”

23. Is The Narrator A Poo-Poo-Faced Lying Liar Who Lies?

The more intimate the readers are allowed to be with the narrator, the more able the storyteller is to create conditions for an unreliable narrator, which is to say, a narrator whose experience and/or telling of the story is questionable. An unreliable narrator creates a sub rosa layer of the story where we the readers are left to wonder what is true and what is false. The more layers a story has, the more we have to discuss over all that cake and pie when we’re done reading it, and the more we have to discuss, the more cake and pie we eat, so, y’know, FUCK YEAH CAKEPIE.

24. This Is All Wrapped Up With Narrative Tense

It’s common for narrative tense to be wrapped up with narrative point-of-view, lumped together in something called “narrative mode.” (Which is also the mode that Teddy Ruxpin exists in at all times, I believe. Since Teddy Ruxpin is a bear, does he tell you a story as he’s eating you?) It’s too much to talk about here, just realize that adding tense to point-of-view adds further variable to your storytelling offerings — first-person present tense feels very internal and in-the-moment, whereas third-person present carries the urgent-yet-distant action of a screenplay. Third-person past tense feels very traditional, whereas second-person omniscient future tense feels like you’re just fucking with everybody, you crazy avant garde sonofabitch.

25. When In Doubt, Rewrite To A New POV

If you’re hip-deep in the book and you’re just not feeling it, try switching to a new point-of-view before giving up. You may find that a different way into the story — a different lens, camera, and filter — will enliven your investment and reveal the story you really want to tell. Think of it like an Instagram filter: you’re like, “Man, this foodie photo of foie gras Buffalo wings just doesn’t do anything for me,” but then you start clicking Instagram retro filters and suddenly you’re all HOLY FUCKSHOES NOW IT’S ART. Try new things until the story clicks. Which is a good tip, I think, for all aspects of writing and storytelling, so tattoo it somewhere on your body. Maybe your forehead, backwards, so you can read it in a mirror!

Want another hot tasty dose of dubious writing advice aimed at your facemeats?

500 WAYS TO TELL A BETTER STORY:

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500 WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER:

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500 MORE WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER:

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250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING:

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CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY:

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REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY:

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As you well know, I tend to hang out here at Ye Olde Bloggeryville five out of seven days, which means I write somewhere around 250 posts in a given year, which further means that I am in near-constant danger of burning myself out of compelling topics.

That brings me to you once again where I shake you by your collar and say, “GIVE ME STUFF TO TALK ABOUT OR I’LL SHRIVEL UP AND DIE LIKE A BUG IN THE SUN.”

Meaning, what do you want from me here at the site? What topics — writing-related or otherwise — do you want to see me cover? Do you have questions you’d like answered? Fling anything and everything at my head. No guarantees I’ll end up talking about it (sometimes people suggest topics and, honestly, I got nuthin’), but I’d still like you to help me out.

Or, y’know, don’t help me out, at which point you’ll start getting posts that are ASCII drawings of penises. Or I may just type up the menus to the local take-out joints we use.

(For those who want me to talk about point-of-view in fiction, that one’s coming tomorrow.)

Thanks in advance for your suggestions, kind readers of this blog, whatever you’re called.

#highfive

Last week’s challenge: “A Story In Three Haiku“

Gaze upon these Russian photos.

Some of them are pretty bizarre; some of them less so.

But there’s a lot of story in these images.

Today’s challenge is simple:

Choose one and use it as inspiration for your story.

You don’t need to set your stories in Russia, obviously. If one story somehow leads you to writing about a space station powered by two dogs “doin’ it” (seriously, look at the photos and you’ll see what I mean), hey, whatever. More power to you. These photos are jumping off points.

Make sure to tell us what photo you’re using. Write the story at your blog or other online space. Link back here in the comments.

You’ve got 1000 words. Any genre will do.

Due by Friday, 2/15, noon EST.

Atlanta Burns is a character near and dear to my heart. As a troubled teen trying to make things right in a world gone wrong, she deals with issues that still sit uncomfortably in my gut: bullying and high school and abuse and all the other bruises and brands of youth.

I was fortunate enough to write her in a novella, Shotgun Gravy, that I was happy with — and I was doubly fortunate to be able to continue her adventures in the follow-up novel, Bait Dog. That second fortune thanks to the fine Kickstarter backers who helped make it happen.

Well, turns out, I may be triply fortunate when it comes to Atlanta Burns.

Amazon Children’s Publishing has offered to help bring Atlanta Burns to a wider audience.

They will be printing both Shotgun Gravy and Bait Dog in a single volume, and then will follow-up by publishing a second novel (once titled Harum Scarum, but now called Frack You). Kickstarter backers will still be named in the print volume, and will also receive an autographed print copy of the second book (rather than a digital copy).

Obviously, I’m hella excited — this is for me a new lease on life for the character, and I think it bodes well for her future that the publisher was just in love with her as I was. Amazon Children’s Publishing is also the publisher of my upcoming YA series (the Heartland trilogy, beginning with Under the Empyrean Sky), and they’ve been kick-ass so far. They’ve given great edits and have a  strong grasp of the characters and the worldbuilding, not to mention their support — they’ve been very author-friendly. Needless to say I’m thrilled to have Atlanta Burns come to them as a YA heroine (or anti-heroine!) as it is a very comfortable fit.

Plus, it shows you that they’re pretty progressive — after all, they’re picking up a book that was both crowdsourced and self-published. That sort of thing could be considered anathema to some, so it’s nice to see that the diversified approach that I like to take did the trick.

Thanks to ACP for publishing it. Thanks to my agent for helping make it happen.

And thanks to all of you, really, for loving the character enough and believing in the book.

(Art by the inimitable Amy Houser.)