Chuck Wendig: Terribleminds

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October 11, 2012 / 7 Comments

“Making The Magazine,” By Brian White

 

So, here’s the deal. There’s this magazine, right? It’s called Fireside Magazine, and it’s put together by this guy, Brian White, who I sometimes kidnap and keep in my cellar, ostensibly to edit my work but most times just to watch marathons of bad cartoons and throw cans at his head.

Right now, Fireside Magazine is on a Kickstarter campaign for its third issue.

I’ll give you two reasons — well, two and a half, anyway — to consider taking a look at the page and pledging a little something-something to the cause.

First, Brian has pulled together some crazy-go-nuts talent across all three issues. Elizabeth Bear. Stephen Blackmoore. Mary Robinette Kowal. Ken Liu. That’s just the tippy-top of a really shiny, really lovely iceberg. I’ve heard his plans for other authors hopping on board and — well, all I’ll say is it’s in our best interests to have this magazine keep living on.

Second: Brian is committed to paying writers really well. Well above the norms, by the way — you’ll find very few (if any) markets paying what Fireside is paying. So, if you’re a fan of authors: help him pay them.

Second-and-a-half: I know this because Fireside published me in their first issue. Brian let a little Atlanta Burns short story called “Emerald Lakes” slip through the gates and, oh, that’s right — you can now read that story for free online thanks to him.

Now, time to bring Brian over here so he can talk a little about the subject of putting together a magazine and what that means for the stories, authors, and readers of said magazine. Say hello to him.

And don’t mind that he smells like my root cellar.

* * *

Storytelling is the blood that flows through the veins of Fireside. When the idea for starting a fiction and comics magazine bubbled out of a brain stew of ideas about writing and publishing, I knew I wanted to break the convention of a genre-focused magazine. The inspiration was what Neil Gaiman and Al Sarrantonio did with their 2010 anthology, Stories, which was to find fiction that, as Gaiman wrote in his introduction, keeps readers asking “and then what happened?”

When it comes down to it, I don’t think genre matters. I used to. I used to think I was a sci-fi and fantasy guy. It defined me as a reader. But other genres kept pecking in around the edges. And then Twitter happened, and I started seeing people talking about all kinds of great books, and great writers, and I started buying other things. And you know what? I like it all. Crime, comics (not a genre per se but let’s lump it in for this discussion), horror, non-genre, clowns, just give me a good story and I will read it. All genre defines is how a story is told, not whether it is somehow “worthy” of your attention. Same goes with prose versus comics.

When I started asking writers – people like Chuck who I knew a bit from Twitter – if they’d be interested in taking a chance on me and our first Kickstarter, most everyone asked, “OK, what are your guidelines. What genre do you want? Theme?” And I told them to write whatever they wanted. Just write a good story. And they did. And some of those stories weren’t anything like what I’d have gotten if I’d asked for something specific based on what the writer was “known” for. Ken Liu, one of the best short speculative fiction writers emerging now, wrote a beautiful non-genre story. Stephen Blackmoore – whose first book, City of the Lost, a violent pulpy zombie novel that nearly made me puke in my Cheerios – wrote a sweet, optimistic science-fiction story.

In our first two issues, we’ve also had fantasy, horror, crime, near-future sci-fi, and ninjas. And I love that. I love that each issue has a different mix of lenses to peer through. I love not knowing exactly what that mix will look like until the stories come in after the Kickstarter is successful. The writers I’ve worked with have really embraced the idea, and I think we’re producing something that isn’t quite like anything else. Our readers don’t quite know what they’re getting from issue to issue, except that the stories will keep them turning the pages to find out what happens next.

Fireside started as a stew of ideas in my brain, and now we are making a stew of stories for each issue. And I think it’s pretty damn tasty.

October 10, 2012 / 11 Comments

This Risotto Gonna Fuck You Up, Son

My risotto brings all the boys to the yard.

I don’t know what they do when they get there. I guess they probably beat me up and take my risotto. Which is a really sad and violent end to this whole affair, but that’s just how my risotto is. It’s that good. How can you not love food that invites tragedy?

Anyway.

It’s autumn, which for me is the Time of Risotto. I don’t know why. Risotto is comforting. I like to make a pillow out of it and just rest my head upon it, quietly napping in fifteen minute intervals, then waking up to take a few bites before I lay my head down upon the gummy ricey goodness once more. Sure, sometimes I’ll have sex with it. That’s okay. Nothing wrong with that. Don’t judge me.

You eat this risotto, you’ll understand.

The risotto we are going to make today is:

MUSHROOM BUTTERNUT SQUASH APPLE RISOTTOPALOOZA.

Or, to combine: MUSHNUT SQUAPPLE RISOTTO.

“Mushnut Squapple” is also the alias I use when checking into hotels. Because otherwise I’m mobbed by fans. Mobbed by them! They tear at my hair. They punch me. They make me eat dirt. Those are “fans,” right?

Right.

Moving on.

Your oven — aka, your Culinary Hell Chamber — well, turn that sumbitch on to 425F.

Onto a cookie sheet, you’re going to want to lay out: one cubed apple, one cubed butternut squash half, and two diced shallots. By “cubed,” I don’t mean “giant Rubik’s Cube chunks of food.” Don’t be an asshole. I mean little cubes. Dicey cubes. Cubes the size of a six-sided die or smaller.

Make sure those are shellacked with olive oil, salt, pepper, a little garlic, and the dreams of seven sleeping panda bears. (These are easy to procure if you have an Asian market nearby.)

Lay out on the cookie sheet. Punish them in the Hell Chamber.

Such punishment should take about 20 minutes. So they get soft and the teeniest-bit brown.

In the meantime, mushrooms.

No, we’re not fucking around with the risotto, yet. That needs your full attention. The risotto is like a needy child. You don’t watch the risotto, the risotto will turn on you. It’ll draw on the walls in crayon. Poop in the flower box. Kill and eat the cat.

The mushrooms I use for this are either maitake or shitake mushrooms. Maitake mushrooms are “hen-of-the-woods.” Shitake mushrooms are “shit-hats in the woods.” I think I have that right?

Ooh, couple quick random facts to interrupt the recipe:

First, there exists a mushroom called “chicken-of-the-woods,” which is different from “hen-of-the-woods.” Chicken-of-the-woods, when diced and cooked, actually looks like cooked chicken. And, even weirder, it tastes like cooked chicken if that chicken were spritzed with lemon. It is the trippiest thing.

Second, in this household we refer to piles of poop — like, say, ones left by the dog — as “Elmo Hats.” This will surely backfire as one day our toddler tries to place an Elmo Hat on top of Elmo’s head. But for now, we like the image it provides. We have a good time here. Even at the cost of poor Elmo’s reputation.

Back to the recipe.

Cut your mushrooms into strips. Then, into a hot pan with butter. (MMM BUTTER.) The mushrooms are greedy motherfuckers and will soak up all that butter so you’re free to add more if it all disappears. A little salt, a little pepper. Five minutes in, splash a quarter-cup of sherry in there. And, if you’re a fan of dairy, two tablespoons of heavy cream on top of that.

No, that’s not what I mean by “heavy cream.” Pants on, El Freak-o.

Another three to five minutes and your mushrooms should be soul-jizzingly delicious.

Now, you could stop here. You could take the roasted veggies, pair them with the mushrooms, and just… shove that stuff in your mouth. You would be happy. But we’re not aiming for “happy.” We’re aiming for “motherfucking ebullient, motherfucker.” AKA, “MEM.”

Hashtag: #mem

Getting to #mem means we need to level up this meal.

And that means it’s risotto time, you bastards.

Here is how I roll with risotto:

Fuck white wine. White wine isn’t where it’s at. White wine doesn’t have the teeth for it.

I use Irish Whisky.

Okay, not really.

I use dry white vermouth.

So, you want that out and ready to roll. You also want… mm, three cups of Your Favorite Stock (I like chicken, but your mileage may vary with turkey or veggie stock). And this stock should not be cold. It should be warmed up a little bit, like, say, in your microwave (aka your Nuclear Food Cube). You want all that out.

Now, rice selection, duh, it’s “arborio” rice.

Get a pot. Over medium-high heat. A pad of butter goes in. Melts. Foams up. Foams down. Time to add one cup of rice into the not-so-foamy — and, oh, unsalted — butter.

Stir. Get it buttery. You don’t want the rice browned, just slathered in butter.

Now, time to get that rice drunk, son.

One cup of vermouth into the mix. Sploosh.

Here is, of course, the trick to risotto: stirring like a crazy person for the next twenty minutes. Get a good long spoon — wooden if you have it — because you’re going to be hovering over your risotto like flies over garbage. … okay, that’s not a really attractive image, is it? What else hovers? IT HOVERS LIKE GOD JUDGING ALL OF US MEALY-MOUTHED SINNERS. Better, I guess.

Anyway.

Stirring the risotto is what makes it sticky and creamy (“Sticky N’ Creamy” was what they called me back in my boy band days). It releases, I dunno, atoms of starch or something. What am I, a scientist? Shut up. Imagine that it’s like one big marathon masturbation session — you just gotta go to down on this thing.

Mmkay? Mmkay.

So, vermouth into the pot. It’ll boil up. Reduce heat to med-low.

And, uhh, stir.

Don’t let it get stuck to the bottom of the pot.

You do that, you’ll ruin everything. And then your dinner guests will hate you. One of them will stab you with the broken stem of a wine glass. That someone will be me.

So, stir, stir, stir, until the wine is absorbed.

And then, from that point on, just keep adding stock a little at a time — just enough to cover the rice.

Then, stir, stir, blah blah blah, stir, until the stock is absorbed.

Like I said, this’ll take about three cups of stock. Ish.

Somewhere after the first cup and a half, I like to add another splash of vermouth. INTO MY MOUTH. And then also into the pot, fine, whatever, I CAN QUIT ANYTIME. Goddamn, you people. So judgey.

This will go on for about 20 minutes.

Toward that time, start tasting the risotto.

It should have a bit of a bite to it — you don’t want it so soft it’s gluey. But you also don’t want to be crunching down on a plate full of uncooked rice, delicious as that sounds.

Right at the end, mix in your roasted vegetables and mushrooms. Don’t add cheese. Don’t add cream or milk or anything. It’s creamy-as-is. Or, should be, unless you fucked it up like you fucked up all your relationships and career choices. (Don’t think I don’t know.)

Now: eat.

Bring a weapon, because you will have to defend yourselves from all the boys who will enter your yard to steal your yummy-ass risotto.

October 9, 2012 / 40 Comments

Ask The Writer: “How Do I Get Published?”

This post is a bait-and-switch.

I’m warning you up front that this is me being a Cheaty McCheaterPants in that I’m totally not going to answer the question posed above. First, because despite what you may think, the question of “How do I get published?” (or its variants: “How do I make a game, how do I sell my script, how do I get to write Batman?”) has a many-headed and surprisingly complex answer. (And also: not that interesting.)

Second, because I’m kinda a jerk.

HA HA HA SUCKERS.

Okay, so, to set the stage:

As you know, I spoke at the Crossroads Writer’s Conference this past weekend.

At such conferences and conventions you always end up meeting a wide-eyed and delightfully eager gaggle of hopeful penmonkeys young and old who have not yet had the optimism beaten out of them and, more to the point, have not always had wisdom beaten into them.

(I am of course ever a fan of beating wisdom into writers. Often with a board. A heavy wooden board.)

Part of what always stuns me about these conferences is the focus — more from the standpoint of the question-askers rather than the answer-givers or the conference-holders — on the end game. The then above the now. The result rather than the process. The publishing above the story. More crassly, the questions end up being more about the commerce rather than the craft.

Now, let me jump in here and say: knowing the in’s and out’s of publishing is important. Being aware of the business and its greasy, sinister workings is a feature, not a bug. That business stuff is important, but it only follows the part where you learn how to craft the fuck out of your art, or art the fuck out of your craft (just don’t fuck either out of either). Because, I gotta tell you, for every one question I get about the actual writing or storytelling process I get ten questions about agents, or editors, or publishers, or getting movies made or scripts read or why I won’t have sex with them and love them up with my heroic “beard-style.” (OKAY FINE NOBODY IS ASKING ME THAT SHUT UP *sob*).

Getting an agent or putting your manuscript and script out there isn’t exactly easy, no, but that process is fairly mechanical. That’s one step in front of the other. But writing a book? Producing a killer script? Telling a motherfucking bomb-dropper of a story? That’s really hard. That’s the tricky part! A story is this big, hard-to-contain thing, this overwhelming gas giant of possibility that requires a level of emotional and intellectual commitment drawn from a far deeper well than you could imagine. Knowing how to make a character pop, how to make a story feel impactful, how to elevate tension and keep your readers biting at the bait on your hook — these are the tricky tasks. These are the jobs that have no easy answers, that cannot simply default to a mechanical menu of pre-programmed actions.

The whole “endgame” bullshit is fairly rote and, frankly, not all that magical. But the writing part, the storytelling part — that’s some voodoo, right there. That’s some at-times-awesome, other-times-awful, awe-inspiring, heavily-perspiring, weird and wonderful and fucked up and frustrating and completely imperfect power. It’s your power as the writer. That’s the part that remains entirely in your control.

Hell, I can’t tell you how many people want to know how to get published before they have even finished the story. Which is like asking how to write an Oscar speech before you even get cast in the goddamn movie. (Or, for your sports nuts: like asking how you get on the cover of a Madden video game before you learn to throw a football. Or, for you “aspiring serial killers,” figuring out what your death row meal will be before you’ve even flayed the skin off seven dead hoboes.)

Witness this pair of tweets from (ahem, incredible) author Paolo Bacigalupi:

So: I’m not saying I won’t answer questions about agents or editors or publishing or any of that end-game stuff. And I’m also not saying you shouldn’t ask. But what I am saying is, focus more on the part where you produce the material that matters — the material that will first launch your ass into the realm of the publishable, the editor-needing, the agent-having, the fan-favorite-being.

Work on the story.

Character, plot, theme, process, beginnings, endings.

Ask those questions first.

Don’t be distracted by questions that do not pertain to you. Not yet. Asking those questions and getting the answers is a way to feel productive, to lend some credence to ourselves (and even to others) that says, “Look, I’m asking the important questions, the questions about how I get paid, about how I do this without losing my car and having to take out a second mortgage on my first-born.” But fuck that and forget it — pay attention to the order of operations. Write first, publish after.

As they say, love writing as much as you love having written.

Also, YES, FINE, I’LL HAVE SEX WITH YOU JEEZ.

(Beardo, Wendig-style!)

(*gallop-dances into the wall, passes out in puddle of blood*)


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

500 WAYS TO TELL A BETTER STORY: $2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

500 WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER: $2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

500 MORE WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER: $2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING: $0.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY: $4.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY: $2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

October 8, 2012 / 66 Comments

NaNoWriMo Cometh: A Terribleminds Primer

This past weekend, I spoke at the Crossroads Writers Conference in Macon, Georgia. I’ll presumably get to a full recap eventually (wherein I explain a weekend where I encountered people like: my first nervous fan, a former dominatrix, Delilah Dawson with her 1989 cell phone, Nathan “Baby Goose” Edmondson, Robert “Not-An-Accessory-To-Murder” Venditti, and various other awesome humans).

I also met Chris Baty, who is of course the big brain behind NaNoWriMo.

Now, I have my reservations about NaNoWriMo (which I pronounce “wree-mo,” as in, “NaNoWriMo Williams, The Adventure Begins”, even though it is, I’m told, technically “wry-mo”). I think like with all “get-thee-to-the-writery” initiatives, it’s a perfect fit for some and for others an anchor around their ankles, so you just gotta know what’s right for you and what works and not blame yourself when what’s really going on is you’re just adhering to a process that isn’t really your process.

Square peg, circle hole, and all that.

So, that being said, I also know that National Novel Writing Month gets a helluva lot of you up off your leafy, moldering bed of sadness and shame — and anything that forces you to shake off the barnacles and get your ass out to sea is good by me. (Actually, Baty had a good Grace Hopper quote comparing writers to seafaring vessels: “A ship in port is safe… but that’s not what ships are built for.”)

Anyway.

So, first up, I figure I’ll ask: who’s doing NaNoWriMo?

Have you done it before? What was your experience?

What are your hopes and reservations for doing it again?

Also — here’s a list of ten posts here at terribleminds that maybe, just maybe, will help you start to prep for the coming tide of furious frenzied cram-a-holic novel-writing come the month of November.

25 Things You Should Know About NaNoWrimo

25 Things You Should Know About Writing A Novel

25 Things To Do Before Starting Your Next Novel

25 Ways To Plot, Plan, And Prep Your Story

25 Things You Should Know About Story Structure

25 Things To Know About Writing Your First Chapter

25 Ways To Fight Your Story’s Mushy Middle

Shot Through The Heart: Your Story’s Throughline

The Inkslinger’s Invocation

And, finally:

The Secret To Writing

Now, you may also know that I have a number of writing books available.

This month and next I’ll be offering a couple specials on said books, should that tickle your most private of private parts. And of course, I hope that it does. *tickle tickle*

The two specials for the month of Rock-Out-With-Your-Cocktober-Out are:

THE NUMBERLY BUNDLE

You can buy the PDFs of:

250 Things You Should Know About Writing

500 Ways To Be A Better Writer

500 More Ways To Be A Better Writer

and 500 Ways To Tell A Better Story

For just $7.50 (normally, it’d be $10).

This only works if you buy direct, please note, by using the link below.





Or, you may instead want:

THE PENMONKEY INITIATIVE

If you procure both Confessions Of A Freelance Penmonkey and Revenge Of The Penmonkey during the month of October, I’ll send you one of my other writing books (i.e. any of the above 250 or 500 “lists of 25” books) for free. That does not require direct procurement from me. Here all you need to do is email me proof of purchase to terribleminds at gmail dot com and let me know what book you and and, boom, I’ll send you the link to download. Dig? Dug.

Thanks, all, looking forward to hearing from you crazy ink-mad story-devils.

October 5, 2012 / 52 Comments

Flash Fiction Challenge: Five Titles Make A Challenge

Last week’s challenge — “The Epic Game Of Aspects Redux” — is there for your eyeballs.

Here’s how this week’s challenge works.

I’m going to give you five titles.

You will either:

a) Choose one of these titles for a new piece of flash fiction.

or

b) Remix the titles (adding no new words of your own) to create a new title which, well, duh, you will then use to compose a new piece of flash fiction.

Get it? Got it? GOBBA GOOBA.

The five titles are:

“The Monkey’s Pageant.”

“Dead-Clock’s Revenge.”

“The Black Lighthouse.”

“Bright Stars Gone To Black.”

“Plastic Dreams & Doll Desires.”

You’ve got one week. Due by Friday the 12th, noon EST.

You have up to 1000 words.

Any genre will do.

Post at your space. Link back here.

Now. Grab a title off the table and go.

October 4, 2012 / 1 Comment

Tracy Barnett: The Terribleminds Interview

Tracy Barnett is a creator of games in the old school, including the successfully-funded-on-Kickstarter game, School Daze. (Oh, and he has a new Kickstarter running for a game between only two people called “One Shot.”) You can find him at his online space, sandandsteam.net, or follow him on the Twitters @TheOtherTracy. Behold his thought-milk, below.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

[RETRIEVAL COMMENCING]

[IMAGE FILES NOT FOUND]

[DATABASE CORRUPTED]

[PARTIAL TEXTUAL RECORD BEING DISPLAYED]

Wednesday, March 25 53 A.U.

53% left.

I found this old JournalPad in some wreckage near the Scrapyard. The ads claimed the battery would last longer than a single man’s lifetime with one charge. Given what’s happened around here, I don’t doubt that claim for a second. If we don’t find some food and some potable water, we’re fucked.

[IMAGE: JPI0023.PNG]

I used to work up there. I didn’t make the cut. I wasn’t smart enough, or diligent enough, or I didn’t kiss enough ass, or… something. I don’t even know anymore. When the decision came down from the UEG, everyone in the facility assumed they’d be on board. They’d get a lift off thi-4$*#^!ff

[FILE CORRUPTION]

[RE-SEGMENTING FILE]

#(4495)#&@@!-as the worst. Once the dome perimeter shut down, the fumes started seeping in. And worse than the fumes were the people. The Forgotten. The ones who didn’t even deserve a life in the domes. The ones who were always on the outside. Well, not any more. They’re in the City Center right now. I guess I’m one of them, now. I’ve got a hack-job rebreather, a cough that won’t quit, sores that seep, and I’m always hungry. I guess we’re all Forgotten, niiii#*$))(&^!\

[FILE CORRUPTION]

[RESEGMENTING FILE]

QQQ*23jksday, March 27 53 A.U.

52.95% left.

We managed to get our hands on a purifying until. Nothing fancy, just something leftover from a middle-class apartment. The gangers must have missed it during their initial sweep. Who can blame them? I don’t. Now we’ve got a chance. Now we can stop drinking that irradiated sludge that’s been seeping down the sidewalls of our “home.”

Home. There’s a word that’s lost its meaning. I wonder what they’re thinking up there. You can just make them out, you know. If the smog clears, and the sun’s just right, you can see the reflections off the orbiting hab units. See?

[IMAGE: JPI0026.PNG]

They look like stars. It’s our new constellation. The Abandoner. That’s what I’ll call it.

Friday, May 22 53 A.U.

52.15% Left.

Fuckers.

Fucking gangers, fucking abandoners, just… fucking everyone. Maria was crying today. What am I supposed to say to her? That I couldn’t help protect her? That to be able to survive in this new world of ours, you have to out-bastard the other guys? Maybe that’s what she needs to hear. I needed to. I learned the hard way.

We’d made something of a permanent home inside one of the old CO2 reclamation facilities. It hadn’t been completely stripped of parts yet and most of the old equipment was inactive. Sure, we had to get past the defense grid drones first but we figured that would only help keep us safer. The perimeter drones would guard our backs and we might be able to get some more sleep.

We didn’t count on the gangers having a bio0385*$%JF#*

[FILE CORRUPTION]

[RESEGMENTING FILE]

‘’’’’’’’`3958-ard to even wake up during what passes for morning around here. The old domed city has been decaying at an alarming rate now that there’s no one to monitor the systems. The toxicity levels of every substance around us are through the roof. It’s a wonder that we’re still alive.

Sunday, September 27 53 A.U.

51.45% Left.

We did it! We beat them at their own game, the bio-freaks! Sure, sure we had to try some risky shit but we made it. It was like throwing a piece of sodium into a beaker of water back in by early Chem days… except the sodium was a volatile mass of nuclear material and that beaker of water was the gangers’ main hidey-hole.

What an explosion.

Since then, we’ve had strays trickling in. The streets are a little safer and it’s obvious that we’re the ones with the power in the area, now. That’s good. We need to keep the fuckers down, keep reminding them of who’s in charge around here*W%&*%RHHHHGD{“

[FILE CORRUPTION]

[RESEGMENTING FILE]

“!@#(DDDEH(aria wants to have a baby. I argued against it. I mean, I’m no doctor but I’m sure that all of the exposure we had to all of that radiation last year is going to have a permanent effect on our DNA. She doesn’t care. She just wants all of this to have been worth something. And I see her point. We fought the gangers, fought for supplies, hell, we fought against the city itself.

And we made it.

If she wants a baby, who am I to stand in her way?

Sunday, December 26 54 A.U.

46% Left.

Kreena. That’s her name. She’s our gift and we got her on a day that used to mean something. It means everything to us, now. The doc we rescued last month took a look at her and said she’s as well as can be expected. We know better. She’s strong. She’s already more adapted to this new world in one day of life than we are after having been out in it for over a year.

[IMAGE: JPI0343.PNG]

We’ll raise her. She’ll know strength. She’ll know the truth about why our lives are like this. And she’ll know what’s coming. The Departure was only the first stage. There’s more comi_+_{}’455fjdd

[FILE CORRUPTION]

[RESEGMENTING FILE]

+@#_$)$NND&0.5% Left.

i tolddd herr…..

loookkkk to thhee aaaabandonnnnersssd

fffgire coomnes fropm the sssssdky

aabandonertas coomming top resdhapes thje woirtld

[END FILE RECOVERY]

Why do you tell stories?

Because I want to see other people react to them. My stories are largely told at the game table. They unfold as people interact with one another, and their pattern is never set. At least, it shouldn’t be. If it is, then the collaborative process that happens so wonderfully in game sessions is just gone. That’s where the magic is for me: seeing a story bloom, unfold, and hang in the air between the players. It may only last for a few moments, but it’s there, and it’s awesome.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice.

Trust your audience. In my case, this means people reading the setting, or rules that I write. It also means trusting the players at my game table. I always do my best to never underestimate them. If you give your players or readers room to think and react, they’ll surprise you every time. Surprise is good.

What’s the worst piece of writing/storytelling advice you’ve ever received?

“Write the way they want you to write.” It was simultaneously the best an worst advice. On the plus side, it helped me pass my Freshman Proficiency test when I was in 9th grade. On the downside, that’s the only venue in which that advice hold water when it comes to your own writing. Sure, if you’re freelancing and are given guidelines, you’ve got to follow them. If you’re writing for your own work though? You need to feel free to stretch yourself.

What goes into writing a strong character? Bonus round: give an example of a strong character.

A strong character needs to be flawed. A prefect character is boring unless the point of their perfection is to see it eventually fail. That’d be Checkov’s Gun for the personality set. Intro a perfect character, and your audience should expect that character’s perfection to fall by act three.

But I digress.

Strong characters need to have a life of their own. Love them or hate them, you need to remember them.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

There’s this short story compilation called My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me, where every story is a retold or new fairy tale. We forget how powerful such stories and folklore can be. Reading that book helped me remember what it was like to imagine after a while of that part of my mind being ground down.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

Slough. Pronounce it slew, or pronounce it sluff, it’s a word that sticks with me for no good reason. I’ll sometimes just tweet the word. It’s also one of those words that makes people uncomfortable, like moist.

I wish I had something more creative for this category, but fuck is always a go-to for me. Especially in phrases. “Fuck me running” is especially evocative for me. Just try and imagine how that would work. Doesn’t matter your sex, it’s awkward and delightful.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

I love beer. All kinds, depending on the season. I’ve not gotten into brewing my own, but I’d love to. I also like a good whiskey.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable robot war?

Win? None. However, once people with more skill than me help us win, I’ll be aces as helping us rebuild society. I’m a people person, so I can get groups together and… ah, who am I kidding? All hail our eventual robot overlords.

School Daze. Give us the Twitter pitch — 140 characters, what it’s about.

Did high school suck? Want to make it not suck? Play #SchoolDaze, and tell awesome stories. Be who you want, and make high school fun again.

(140 exactly. BOOM.)

We are often compelled to do this thing that we do as creators, so what drove you to it? What drove you to make games?

A feeling of inadequacy, combined with a desire to prove myself. That’s a lethal cocktail if you handle it the wrong way. I decided to start working on a campaign setting for Pathfinder after a one-shot adventure for a friend of mine. During the adventure, I had needed a destination for the ship they were on, so I made up this little town called Port-of-Call, a shitty dock town that served as a caravan jump-off for Kage. Kage was a techno-magical metal city in the middle of a desert, and run by a cabal of wizards called the Collegium. Well, Kage— pronounced Ka-shey; I was all clever and used a rough transliteration of the Japanese word for shadow—ended up becoming the focus of this campaign setting.

Because I simultaneously thought that I was making something cool, and wanted people to tell me how crappy my work was, I started just putting my stuff out there on a WordPress blog. Thing is, it turned out that I had some decent ideas. At the least, people weren’t telling me to pack it in. At the same time, I was going through some mental muck. Dealing with that muck helped me grow a backbone and realize for myself that my stuff was pretty good. Then I got ambitious.

I decided to take Kage and split it into three different sections, each of which would be expressed in a different game system—a suggestion from my friend Lenny, and a good one, too; take a look at what Fantasy Flight is doing with Star Wars—and my inability to properly manage that project led to its current on-the-shelf state. So when I was driving home from visiting friends in KC, and I got the idea for School Daze, I ran with it. I had the mental mojo, and the ability to see a project through; and I have done so. I’m super-proud of School Daze.

As for the campaign setting, well, I’m going to come back to it. When is the question.

What’s the difference between telling a story in a passive medium (say, books) and telling a story in a game?

In a book, you’ve got at least some control, or you tell yourself that you do. If you’re doing it right in a book, your characters take on lives of their own and make decisions that surprise you. That’s just good writing, there.

In a game, the narrative doesn’t belong to you if you’re the one running the game. The narrative belongs to your players and their characters. If you forget that, it’s to the detriment of your game. Sure, you plan out plot points, combats, challenges, etc. But at any point, the characters could say “fuck this, we’re going to become merchants.” Then? You roll with that. The game is theirs. You need to try to control the flow, moderate the chaos, but you need to follow their desires, or the game falls flat. It’d be like f the people in your book decided to just leave halfway through; without players, you have no game. If you have no game, you have no narrative.

What’s a pen-and-paper game everyone should be playing, but isn’t?

School Daze!

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Ahem.

I really love my game, I think you should play it. But there are other games that inspired it. Normally, I would just shout “PLAY FIASCO!” at you, and expect you to go play that amazing game immediately.

However, the question asked was about a game that no one is playing, but should. For that response, I give you Dread. Dread is a horror RPG that doesn’t use dice. Instead, it uses a Jenga tower for its conflict resolution. Where you would roll a die in most games, in Dread you have to make one or more successful pulls from the tower. If you knock the tower over, even accidentally, your character is out of the scenario.

On the surface, this all sounds hokey. I thought so, too. Then, fifteen minutes into my first session, everyone in the game was sitting about two feet away from the table, afraid to come close unless they needed to make a pull. The tower itself becomes a source of tension, which only adds to the horror of the scenario. It’s a peanut-butter-chocolate moment for me. It’s glorious. I’ve never experienced a game like it.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

Next up for me is a new game called Terrorform. The earth is fucked, and humanity is going to fix it. There are orbital stations that can house humanity for generations while we terraform our own planet. Problem is, not everyone makes it off. The players will play those people, and will work to survive the terraforming. But when humanity comes back to their new/old home? It’s likely that the Forgotten will not remember their ancestors fondly.

I’m hoping to get this game written sooner rather than later, and to publish in 2013.

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