A long time ago, I read an interview from David Foster Wallace, and in it he talked about how writers are told to write what they know and what that means. He’d been taking a little bit of flak, apparently, for his reliance on modern/pop culture and its ephemera in his opus novel, Infinite Jest. Long story short, but Wallace said that his hyper-referential writing style was a product of his experiences. Like most of us, Wallace grew up on TV and video games and paperback novels. That’s the tapestry of our lives, just like the tapestry of Emerson’s life, or Thoreau’s life, was the naturalistic world. Atari and Saturday matinees, Wallace said, were his Walden Pond, and his writing couldn’t be anything other than a reflection of his experiences.

The thing is, we’re living in a weird time, creatively. Our world isn’t Emerson’s world; we’re smothered in information and art—through social media, through nonstop streaming options, wildly accessible entertainment, so on and so forth. In a sense, we’re influenced by influence. Let me give you an example:

I’ve written two novels—Black Star Renegades and its sequel, We Are Mayhem—and I like to sometimes joke that they’re just Star Wars with the serial numbers filed off. Now, like any joke, there’s some truth to this: The story is very, very much inspired by Star Wars. I’m a Star Wars fanatic. Thinking in Wallace’s terms, if you look at the tapestry of my life, it’s Star Wars, Stephen King, John Carpenter, and a whole bunch of comic books. And I was lucky to grow up in a house that supplied me with all these things, and from a very young age. My parents were not only supportive of my weird interests, but they were also liberal about my entertainment intake. I watched Halloween when I was five years old; I saw A New Hope when I was four. And my mom, bless her, used what little extra money she had to get me comic books and paperback novels from garage sales whenever she could. I was never short on supply when it came to absorbing pop culture, and that absorption was (and still is) a big part of my life.

Getting back to Black Star Renegades, there’s no way I could deny that it wasn’t influenced by Star Wars (Lucasfilm, in fact, has hired me since, and I’m currently writing many of the all-ages Star Wars Adventures comic stories). I embrace that fact, fully—Black Star Renegades wouldn’t exist without Star Wars. But, there’s two things to say about this.

First, like I said before, we’re influenced by influence. Yes, you can jab at me for being so apparent with my influences, but Star Wars is also a sum of its influences. From classic sci-fi pulps to Kurosawa movies to silent films and a whole bunch of other stuff in-between, George Lucas’s space opera opus was the sum of many parts—all the things that influenced him. And all those things can then be traced back to various influences as well. This isn’t a groundbreaking revelation, of course; what’s important, though, is allowing your creative self to be okay carrying forth the DNA of other works. I’ve seen so many stories from talented writers wither on the vine because they were concerned with how much their work echoed things that have already been made. Solomon said there’s nothing new under the sun, and in my opinion that’s true (to a degree—if you dropped Solomon into our world, I’m sure he’d say “Holy shit! Look at all these new things under the sun!”). It’s so remarkably rare—like one in a million—to create something that’s nothing like anything else. We know it when we see it, and these rare instances are cherished, as they should be. And while striving for that is a noble pursuit, it’s also—and I’ve seen this with my own two eyes—the path to creative madness.

Of course, though, we can’t just go ripping off the things we love. That’s why I’m comfortable saying Black Star Renegades is a Star Wars knock-off—I know, in reality, it’s not. Here’s where the important trick comes in, a trick I’ve learned writing not only these two novels, but many, many licensed comic books.

So, as a comic book writer, I’m oftentimes asked to write stories for existing characters. I’ve written Superman, The Shadow, Cassie Hack, Adam West Batman, Nightwing, and more. And the thing I’ve learned in telling these stories successfully is this: You have to embrace the stories and their traditions for what they are. Nightwing is a sexy, fun version of Batman. That’s it. Therefore, when writing a Nightwing story, it wouldn’t really work to make him dark and tortured like Bruce Wayne—that’s not who he is. The job in writing for Nightwing is to write a story about a young, sexy dude who fights crime. But that’s only part of the puzzle. The other part, the most important part, is finding a way to embrace the core thing and make it your own. That’s the key. At the end of the day, the Nightwing story has to be a story that only I can tell—it’s my voice, it’s my point of view that the story is filtered through. Yes, I am embrace Nightwing completely—but I balance that with filtering everything he is through my own POV.

The thing is, the same goes for original creations. It’s the same balance of embracing your influences while maintaining your own voice. If you want to tell an epic fantasy but feel like it’s too much like Robert Jordan, remember that it’s you telling the story in your unique way. And the more you write, and the more your story takes shape, I’m confident that it’ll sounds less and less like Wheel of Time and more like your own thing. The same thing exists in Black Star Renegades. The Star Wars DNA is all over that book, but so is my DNA. There’s a lot of love for the galaxy far, far away in those pages, but there’s also a deconstruction of the messiah complex, and that dominant aspect of the book is all me. That’s my voice coming through, and it’s what makes that story what it is, and not just a Star Wars rip-off.

Now, this isn’t an endorsement of plagiarism—that would be bad. But we live in a world of influence that’s been influenced from other influence. There’s nothing wrong, in my opinion, owning it and making it your own.

Michael Moreci: Website

We Are Mayhem: Print | eBook

Tracy Townsend is back at terribleminds, this time talking about one of the more curious difficulties an author will have — writing the second book in a series! 

* * *

Friends, I come fresh from the battlefield of my second novel, The Fall. Now that it’s out in the world where you, too, can see it, I can tell the tales of how it was wrought. I would be a very poor guide, indeed, if I did not want you to learn from my mistakes.

So you’ve decided to hunt down a sequel to your first book! Brave, industrious soul. Perhaps you thought this journey would be just like the last one? A long, winding road, full of switchbacks and mysterious, distracting dream-peddlers, maybe a treasure hoard at the end, guarded by some hulking reptilian being?

Oh, poor dear. You did think that.

Well.

Here. Come closer. In the words of an old friend of mine, “It’s not safe to go alone. Take this.”

Take some notes about your last book, because whatever map you think you’re going to use to get to the end of this one, its legend and key are based off that first, big brother book. You’ll forget how far apart the oceans are, or which roads run north, or even whether the hedges that grew up against the side of the cathedral were boxwoods or junipers. I know I did. (Thank god for copy editors. Thank god for fifty thousand words of story bible. Never throw away anything, my friends. The devil truly is in the details.)

Take a plugin and install it on your web browsers. Go ahead. Do it. Tell it you get some wickedly paltry allotment of minutes to dip out of your writing and into the digital sandbox beyond. Tell it all your worst habit sites and draw crosses over them in blood. (If you are like me, this will also significantly decrease the influx of impulse-purchased graphic tees in your home.)

Take some friends – the sort you can text or email at any hour of the night, howling unspeakable oaths, knowing they will stroke your fur flat until the full-moon madness of I-can’t-do-this passes. (My friends are too many to list. If I chant their names together, they rise up like a great writing Patronus and remind me that chocolate consumption alone does not write books, however much I want it to.)

Take a digital backup. And a hard drive backup. And an emailed copy of your work. Take a pile of parchment penned a nearsighted monk, but please, take every chance to duplicate your work. (This comes from someone who did – or thought she did – and still had to rewrite the last twenty thousand words of The Fall in a single weekend when her backup done backed out on her. Save. Every. Thing. Save it everywhere.)

Take family. Take the people who loved you before you ever wrote a single word of fiction, and who will love if you never do it again. Let them remind you that you’re more than your output. (My son, for example, has helpfully observed that my real superpower is “making breakfast.” All shall love me and have high blood sugar.)

Take a willingness to tear up the map. Your sense of what you needed to write to bridge two books into an ongoing story will change, as surely as a flooded river might wash out a road or submerge a bridge. There are other ways to get there. Some of them might even tell better stories. (Ask me about the time an incidental news article on contract law changed a key plot point, and how I would build toward it. “Debt management and property law” wasn’t on the map when I started, but. . . *shrug*)

Take the courage to break up the band. You haven’t really been traveling alone, even before you came to this list. You had your characters, good people or villains or rapscallions though they may be. You’ve learned to live with them. You might even love them. But new journeys call for  new maps and new roads. There may not be space for everyone to walk abreast anymore. Be ready to break up the party and send them off on their own quests.

This one will hurt.

Take a deep breath.

Maybe they’ll come together again. Maybe not. Maybe you’ll need another book to show them the way home together.

Bio:

Tracy Townsend is the author of The Nine and The Fall (books 1 and 2 in the Thieves of Fate series), a monthly columnist for the feminist sf magazine Luna Station Quarterly, and an essayist for Uncanny Magazine. She holds a master’s degree in writing and rhetoric from DePaul University and a bachelor’s degree in creative writing from DePauw University, a source of regular consternation when proofreading her credentials. She is the former chair of the English department at the Illinois Mathematics and Science Academy, an elite public boarding school, where she teaches creative writing and science fiction and fantasy literature. She has been a martial arts instructor, a stage combat and accent coach, and a short-order cook for houses full of tired gamers. Now she lives in Bolingbrook, Illinois with two bumptious hounds, two remarkable children, and one very patient husband. You can find her at Twitter @TracyATownsend, and online at www.tracytownsend.net.

The Fall: Indiebound / Barnes & Noble / Powells / Amazon / Audible

Dazzling space battles, intergalactic politics, and rogue AI collide in Velocity Weapon, the first book in this epic space opera by award-winning author Megan O’Keefe.

Sanda and Biran Greeve were siblings destined for greatness. A high-flying sergeant, Sanda has the skills to take down any enemy combatant. Biran is a savvy politician who aims to use his new political position to prevent conflict from escalating to total destruction.

However, on a routine maneuver, Sanda looses consciousness when her gunship is blown out of the sky. Instead of finding herself in friendly hands, she awakens 230 years later on a deserted enemy warship controlled by an AI who calls himself Bero. The war is lost. The star system is dead. Ada Prime and its rival Icarion have wiped each other from the universe.

Now, separated by time and space, Sanda and Biran must fight to put things right.

* * *

I Like Big Books (And I Cannot Lie)

When I sat down to write Velocity Weapon, I really thought it would have a single point of view. I plotted it as such, pitched it to my agent that way, and even sold the thing to Orbit with just Sanda on the page. My brilliant and gracious editor (hi Brit!) saw through my nonsense, however.

She pointed out that, lurking beneath the surface of Sanda’s story, was a massive world and political tug-of-war that would be better explored if I leaned into the space opera element and brought in multiple points of view. She was, naturally, concerned that I’d balk at being asked to add so much. I loved it.

Expanding the novel let me nerd out not only on the worldbuilding and the characters involved, but also on plot structure. Maintaining the balance between Big Book and fast-paced was a fun endeavor, and I enjoyed layering elements of the original plot structure (the outline became almost fractal) to get the feel I was going for.

The original draft of Velocity Weapon clocked in at around 70k words. The final version runs closer to 170k, and that’s what it should have been from draft zero.

Sentience Is Weird And No One Understands It

Look, I can yammer on about the three projected stages of AI development, qualia, and the hard problem of consciousness until we’re both blue in the face. But, at the end of the day, the only answer to any of these questions regarding what it means to be a thinking, feeling being is a big fat shrug emoji.

The good news is that, because these things are so nebulous, it allows writers a lot of freedom to play with possibilities in fiction. Of course, even if we knew for sure what the answers were spec fic writers would continue to play with what-if scenarios. But hey, at least this way if one of our speculative theories turns out to be right (probably not, let’s be honest) we can pretend to be smug and say, “I told you so.”

I Subconsciously Act Out Facial Expressions and Body Language…

… and people, did you know that you can see me? I am, in fact, not inhabiting my own little writer-bubble where all that exists is the world in my head, the music in my ears, and the clicky clack of the keyboard.

I am, however, not going to stop. My local baristas may think I’m absolutely bonkers but they’re probably right, so I might as well own it.

People Want to See Healthy Relationships

The central protagonists of the story are a brother and sister. There’s no dark back story there, no history of one sibling picking on the other and desperately trying to make up for it now that things have gotten dire. They just love each other, and their parents, and are doing their best to keep their family members safe and happy while respecting their boundaries. Just as it’s important to model dysfunction in fiction so that we can better understand it, I believe it’s important to model healthy relationships, too.

Tense family stories are valid stories to tell, and many of us can probably relate to them easily, but this once I wanted a break from inheritable drama. The book has enough tension without family conflict, and so far readers have reacted positively to the Greeve family.

Subtlety and Complexity Make Strange Bedfellows

One of the most common notes I receive from editors is that I can “bring up” certain elements more – make Chekhov’s proverbial gun on the mantel less of a peashooter and more of a bazooka, so to speak. This is valuable feedback for me, especially as I’m one of those writers who likes to keep all my cards up my sleeve and only show you a little peek on occasion.

That’s a lot of metaphors. Anyway, this kind of writing (e.g., I used that word instead of this word which totally sets up everything I swear) is all fine and dandy when your plots aren’t a tangle of overgrown roots and hey, would you look at that, mine usually are. I blame growing up on Final Fantasy games for this (mine do come together in the end though, I promise).

This is where I’m supposed to say something like, “Writing Velocity Weapon helped me learn to strike a balance between the two styles.” That’s mostly true, but the hard fact is that writing Velocity Weapon helped me to be more aware of those proclivities. Writing is art and craft, and if we’re not actively learning, we’re not growing, and to hell with that. There’s always something each new story can teach us.

* * *

Megan E. O’Keefe was raised amongst journalists, and as soon as she was able joined them by crafting a newsletter which chronicled the daily adventures of the local cat population. She has worked in both arts management and graphic design, and has won Writers of the Future and the Gemmell Morningstar Award.

Megan O’Keefe: Website

Velocity Weapon: print | eBook

Kenna, an aspirational teen guru, wanders destitute across the stars as he tries to achieve his parents’ ambition to advise the celestial elite.

Everything changes when Kenna wins a free dinner at The Sol Majestic, the galaxy’s most renowned restaurant, giving him access to the cosmos’s one-percent. His dream is jeopardized, however, when he learns his highly-publicized “free meal” risks putting The Sol Majestic into financial ruin. Kenna and a motley gang of newfound friends—including a teleporting celebrity chef, a trust-fund adrenaline junkie, an inept apprentice, and a brilliant mistress of disguise—must concoct an extravagant scheme to save everything they cherish. In doing so, Kenna may sacrifice his ideals—or learn even greater lessons about wisdom, friendship, and love.

* * *

If You’re Thinking About Giving Into Despair: Don’t

I have a memory with an Etch-a-Sketch permanency; I forget everything in one shake of the head.  I can barely remember my wife’s birthday, let alone what day I started a novel.

But I remember the exact day I started writing The Sol Majestic: it was the worst day of my writing career.

See, I’d been trying to land an agent for almost twenty years.  But I’d honed my skills, and finally written a novel I could be proud to call my own – it was a weirdo little book about magical drug dealing and donuts, but it popped bright and I loved the characters.

The good news: I’d had an agent who’d been sniffing around my door, expressing interest in my fiction.  He’d asked me about that weird drug-dealing novel – have you finished that one yet, Ferrett? I’d love to see it when you’re done.  And he asked not once but twice, so I knew his interest was true.  Naturally, I sent it off to him the second I’d applied the final veneer of polish to my oddball fiction, and waited.

I waited for a month.

Then two months.

Then three months.

Well, that agent was very busy (as all good agents are), and he told me it might take a while to get back to me, so I figured waiting around for him solo was foolish – so I sent this magical donut drug-crime novel to other agents, all of whom summarily rejected it.

By nine months, it was apparent that my first agent was the only one still willing to look at it.

And on month ten, I got the reply from that agent that started with words you never want to hear from a professional:

“I’m sorry, but….”

Turns out this agent really liked the characters, but he felt the plot was broken.  And he’d been thinking about it on and off for almost six months now, truly wanting to give me some advice that would provide me with a rewrite so he could take me on as a client.  But after a long time, he’d decided that any of his plot-fixes would destroy the book, forcing me to tell a story I didn’t want to tell, and so, well…

Better luck next time.

And I broke.

I curled up in my basement, crying, because that had been my last chance at publication.  If I wanted to have a publisher print my book, I’d have to first write the book, which would take me a year, and then spend another ten months shopping it around, and then maybe it would sell – maybe – and I’d get it published, what? Four years from now?

It seemed like a long goddamned slog for no good reason.

And I looked at whether I wanted to be a writer.

And I knew that if I didn’t start a novel right then, that day, in that hour, I would set down the pen and never write again.

So I wrote the start of a simple novel.  I didn’t have a setting in mind, so I copped a universe from my Nebula-nominated novella “Sauerkraut Station.”  I didn’t know what I wanted to write about, but I’d been reading a lot of Anthony Bourdain lately, so fuck it – kitchen drama in space.  And my protagonist….

Well, he was in despair.  Just like me.  Searching for a way out.

Now, you may note that this novel got published.  And as it turned out, due to some dumb luck, that magical drug-dealing novel got published as well – that was my debut novel “Flex.”

But if I’d given into despair, well, none of that would have happened.

Look: the road to publishing is pretty much designed to drive people mad.  It’s a whole lot of subjective opinions, and judgy strangers deciding whether your worth has any external value, and long waits while someone else determines if your words are good enough today.  And some days you’re NOT good enough, and you have to go back to examine your writings with blunt truth and honesty, finding ways to level up your skills so you can perform this imperfect ink-smeared telepathy we humans call “writing.”

But if you’re having a hard day, let me tell you:

DO NOT GIVE UP.

I got there.

Maybe you can, too.

When You Got No Time For Research, Seek Out Your Trashy Loves

Sci-fi author Mary Robinette Kowal is infamously meticulous in her research; at one point, she went through every word in her 19th-century Regency England fantasy to ensure that every word in the book was period-accurate.  Was no one in the 1820s describing eyes as “baby blue”? Well, out that phrase went.

Me?  I get tired reading half a Wikipedia page.

So when I was writing a book, I chose something I had an innate love of – which is to say, every food network show ever.  I have an unholy love of Gordon Ramsay in all his incarnations from Hell’s Kitchen monster to adoring MasterChef Junior pseudo-dad.  I’ve watched every Iron Chef and worship at the altar of hometown hottie Michael Symon.  I’ve read tons of chef’s biographies.

So did I do a lot of research for my book The Sol Majestic?  Not entirely.  I didn’t research for the book, exactly, but every time I’d sat riveted in front of the Jiro Dreams of Sushi documentary, every book I’d read on legendary restaurant El Bulli, every time I’d thumbed through Kitchen Confidential, well…

Let’s just say I was an expert through fandom.

And this book I was writing because, shit, I was about to throw in the towel?  It needed to be pure comfort reading.  Yeah, I could put a character in dire straits, but I was in no headspace to write a horror novel.

I needed to build a fictional home I could escape to – someplace wonderful I could retreat to when the world got to be too much.

So I wrote a story about the most beautiful restaurant in all the stars – a place where they served miraculous foods only made possible through science-fictional technology, using everything I’d ever loved about fine dining to create a kitchen with chefs I adored.  That knowledge I’d picked up on how Michelin-starred restaurants planned their meals using only the freshest cuisine?  I figured out the supply lines from locally-sourced produce all the way to a kitchen that was light-years away from habitable ecosystems with a mixture of “How It’s Made” and old Planet Money episodes.  I recreated the working environment of a functioning, jovial kitchen by sifting my memories of endless Netflix food documentaries.

And that’s the weird thing: they tell you that you should do research for your book.  But in a sense, if you write about the stuff you already love, you’ll not only have done the research, but you’ll also have a more unique research.  Because sure, you can write a science fiction book that’s got the same old physics equations as anyone else – or you can create a book that’s got time-travelling soup battles (which, y’know, The Sol Majestic does), which is something that only other Food Network junkies will truly appreciate.

There Are Three Rules For Creating Science-Fictional Food

I spent a lot of time crafting the foods made in The Sol Majestic because, well, the Sol Majestic is theoretically one of the greatest restaurants in the known universe.  If the food falls short, so does the book.  And so a little experimentation showed it had to hit three axes consistently:

• Delicious Food.  Because if I don’t make your mouth water by describing the crunch of the skin on the lacquered duck breast as you bite into it, that sensation of the oily mouthful of perfectly-seared duck melting into the spicy molasses-and-citrus infused skin, then I’ve failed at making this a restaurant you’d want to eat at.
• Experimental Food. …but if I only describe everyday foods, then you’ll risk thinking The Sol Majestic is not a very cutting-edge restaurant – the equivalent of a starbound Olive Garden.  So I had to devise wild takes on traditional meals to make The Sol Majestic seem like they were worth the trip there: things like using artificial gravity to compress foods so tight they’d cook themselves, scented rose petals that dissolve on your tongue to leave wisps of flavor permeating your mouth, and of course wild mosses harvested from rare asteroids.
• Unknown Food. Yet if all The Sol Majestic serves is chicken and fish variants, that doesn’t feel very science-fictiony, does it? So I had to bring in a bunch of both imaginary and rare foods – at one point, my protagonist Kenna rattles off a list of foods that others have told him about (blubber, siopao, Silulian black-udder, p’tcha, vacuum flanks), and it was interesting to see who could identify the real-life foods and who just went with it.

The three of them combine to make The Sol Majestic seem like a real restaurant you’d want to hang at.  But honestly?  The back room doesn’t eat that stuff all the time.  They eat grilled cheeses, like an actual goddamned working kitchen – it’s just they use great bread and cheese.

(Cue that $1 grilled cheese food cart everyone’s talking about.  I’d eat there.  So would everyone at the Sol Majestic.)

When Your Back’s Against The Wall, Steal A Plot… But Make It Yours

So we had a restaurant, but a restaurant does not a novel make.  And I was, if you’ll recall, writing largely to give myself hope, so I wasn’t sure I was up to an elaborate plot.

But if Ready Player One had taught me anything, it’s that the plot to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is pretty much bulletproof.  So yes, I had a starving young prince walk in and win a free meal from a genius – a genius chef who becomes intensely invested in helping Kenna’s abandoned philosophies regain the lustre they once had.

Yet at the same time, I also wanted to explore what that ragged genius meant.  Because society is hard-wired to sympathize with the jerky white dude who creates amazing art – and while I’m obviously in favor of great art, I wanted to explore some of the cost those great projects take upon the Oompa Loompas.  So I made a mad genius, yes, but I also thought about the culture that had to evolve around that fragile creativity, and the money it took to fund it, and the accountants that made all that possible… All to ask the question, “Is it worth it?”

That all formed a book that, while it shares plot elements with the Chocolate Factory, eventually grew into a musing on class struggles, and power, and religion.  Because food, and how food is harvested, ultimately defines and creates culture.  Which is pretty good considering I was writing like a motorcycle speeding down a narrow night road – one curve at a time, dimly lit.

Restrictions Breed Creativity

Aaaaaand finally, when I sat down to write this novel, I gave myself some rules.  Clearly what I’d been doing before hadn’t been working, so I gave myself a self-imposed challenge: I could not say how anyone felt, aside from my protagonist Kenna.  I could only relate what Kenna thought of someone’s reactions by describing their body language.

And I had to do it creatively.

Which was a huge change for me.  I came from a pulp fiction background where people were always snorting in disgust or smirking in amusement – which aren’t “body language” so much as “literary shorthands for classic emotions.”  Every long-term writer has a few go-to shorthands for expressing common reactions – when I write on autopilot, characters will ball their fists in rage forty or fifty times in a row unless I edit that happy crappy out.

But I determined that I wouldn’t just say that Kenna liked someone – I had to break down *why* he liked that person, what specific aspects of their expressed character that appealed to Kenna.  Gone were the old shortcuts of “She looked friendly” – I had to decide what this character was doing with her body that made her look friendly to Kenna, which in turn led me to investigate what sorts of things Kenna would be searching for.

All of which rooted the book MUCH more deeply in character.  Because sure, everyone narrows their eyes in anger.  But when you take that away, you’re left trying to determine how a specific character shows anger – whether it’s the flighty artist Paulius batting Kenna’s objections aside like he’s swatting mosquitos, or the imperious nostril-flares of Scrimshaw the cold business manager, or the way Montgomery clasps her precious barrel of alien yeast to her chest in preparation to bash you over the head with it.

And then, in turn, that reaction is a dance – because I’d frequently figure out a way that a character would express anger, then discover that Kenna, my protagonist, wasn’t observant enough to recognize these gestures as anger.  But that was okay!  Because the point wasn’t “Kenna the super-psychiatrist deftly avoids an argument,” but rather “Kenna discovers who these characters are in an organic way.”

And sometimes, I discovered these characters in an organic way.  Because I wasn’t just churning out quippy dialogue – I was stage-blocking these people, wandering around my basement like a marionette, acting.  And sometimes when I stumbled about in my writing-room stageacting, I discovered hidden depths – a character who seemed merciless had a tremor in their hands that revealed a hidden regret to me, which in turn fuelled a turn in the plot.

All that worked because I took a risk.  And why not?  I wasn’t getting a novel published any time soon.

…I thought.

But if you’ve read all the way here, you’re probably aware that The Sol Majestic got published – my little gift to you.  Because a lot of folks have described The Sol Majestic as “hopepunk”: a book that is brutally aware of the injustices in the universe, and still believes in the triumph of love, hope, and beauty.

Because I was neck-deep in despair.  I wrote my way out.

I hope my book can lend you a hand.

Or at least a delicious grilled cheese.

* * *

FERRETT STEINMETZ is a graduate of both the Clarion Writers’ Workshop and Viable Paradise, and was nominated for the Nebula Award in 2012, for his novelette Sauerkraut Station. He is the author of the ‘Mancer trilogy, The Uploaded, and he has written for Asimov’s Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Shimmer, and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. Ferrett lives in Cleveland with his wife.

Ferrett Steinmetz: Website

The Sol Majestic: Print | eBook

Been a little while since I popped (originally mistyped as “pooped,” oops) in here with some news, so here is some quicky news bits for you. PLEASE TO BEHOLD THE MANY THINGS HAPPENING.

• Did you know I’m doing a pre-launch Wanderers event on July 1st at the Bethlehem Library in the Lehigh Valley? WELPS, I SURE AM. And you can click here to register to said event. Let’s Play Books will be the bookseller. And you can actually pre-order signed copies from them, too.

• Why yes, I did get a third starred review for Wanderers! This time, from Library Journal: “A powerful story about humanity, technology, and the survival of the world. Comparisons to Stephen King’s The Stand are warranted, as Wendig shatters the boundaries of speculative and literary fiction in a saga that will touch every reader.” I am positively thrumming with excitement. I hope y’all dig this book. It’s been a long time in the lead-up to release…

• Did you know you can add the book on Goodreads? YOU SURE CAN.

• Find me talking about writing licensed work over at The Guardian!

• Did you want a HYDRATE AND READ BOOKS t-shirt? You can get one at Worldbuilders, for charity. And you can get a FOXES CONTROL THE WRITING SHACK sticker, too.

• Wanna check out Damn Fine Story on e-book? Hey look, it’s $2.99 right now on Amazon.

And finally, I got my author copies of Wanderers! Dang, that’s a big book.

* * *

(Here I remind you that you can of course pre-order Wanderers at an independent bookmonger using Indiebound. You can pre-order the e-book, too —

Amazon! B&N! Apple Books! Kobo! Google Play!

And there’s always audio, via Audible.)