English is Hard

     No matter how well you spell, how much you've written, how much you've read, how much you've studied grammar, or how much you've edited other people's work you are going to make mistakes.  English is a tough language.  It's hard to rank it compared to other languages because the difficulty will vary depending on what your native language is, but English is always ranked among the hardest languages to learn for non-English speakers.  It's because of rules like the I before E rule, homonyms, homophones, homographs, and the inconsistencies of word meanings (there's no ham in hamburgers, no apple in pineapple, etc.)  And all of that doesn't even touch the evil monster... grammar.  How, where, and why you say something completely alters the meaning of a sentence, not to mention punctuation.  English is just plain hard.

     This is a concept I'm oh so familiar with.  I am horrible at grammar.  I'm not the best speller either, but that's what auto-correct and spell check are for.  I am more of a creative, conceptual type of guy.  I think I have great ideas, and I love to spin a yarn.  Problems come when other people have to read those yarns, and can't decipher my hieroglyphics which have way too many commas.  That is why I need help.  We all do.

   

     I've been told time and time again that I need an editor.  When I finished my first book I thought I was done with the hard part.  Boy was I wrong.  The whole writing world was new and intimidating to me, and I had no idea where to start.  I first tried a few query letters with no success.  Then I wrote a second book in the series and tried querying that one... No luck.  I felt discouraged.  I'm sure some of you have felt the same way.

     There are already 130 million books in print, so book stores have a lot to consider when stocking their shelves.  Of course, some of the classics have to be available for students studying them in school and whatnot.  There are also the well established authors whom the bookstores know will sell, so they must stock any new book they write.  So, what are your actual chances of being picked to take up those other spots?  A lot of it is simply luck, but luck is just when preparation meets opportunity.  I guess the real question is not so much how good your book is, but how do you prepare for that time when opportunity knocks?

     In 2013, in the U.S. alone, there were almost 300,000 new titles published.  Literary agents get over 5,000 query letters per year, that's almost 14 a day.  And the agents have existing clients to maintain because just getting your book on paper doesn't get it on the shelves.  

     You need to make an impression.

     I made the classic mistake of going it alone.  I never had anyone beta-read my books, let alone edit them.  I never had anyone beta-read my query letters.  Quite frankly, what I sent the agents was crap.  When you are writing a story, you know what you are trying to say.  That does not translate into the reader knowing what you are trying to say.  A content editor/copy editor needs to help you to make sure your story flows and makes sense.  This starts with beta-readers.  Make friends who like to read and write, and do trades where you read each other's work.  It's best to do this with people in your same genre.  So you need to network.  This is something I'm working on now.  I have two books self-published, but I'm almost embarrassed to advertise them because they are not edited.  (I just learned all of this recently.)  

     The second step is to clean up your work.  You can have a beautiful story, but there are a lot of "grammar nazis" out there, and I can guarantee that those agents you are querying are among the ranks of those "grammar nazis".  They read hundreds, thousands even, of books, and have seen it all.  If there is a mistake, they will likely be put off immediately.  Some may look past it, but if there are 2, or 3, or heaven forbid... 4... They simply will not read your work.  It needs to be clean.  You need a "grammar nazi" on your side.  You will likely have to pay for this service.  It doesn't matter if you want to self-publish or publish traditionally, you need clean work.  You need an editor.  You may not be able to afford one.  I know that was a big concern for me.  But if you don't believe in yourself enough to spend a couple hundred dollars to edit your own book, how will someone else believe in you enough to publish you?  There are ways around this.  Go to a college and get an English student to help.  They have assignments for this type of thing, and you can even offer them acclaims for their resumes for after they graduate.  Some English professors will do this to get their name out there.  Some writers, who are also editors, will do trade work for you.  Be creative, but get it done.

     You need help.  Don't try to do it alone like I did.  You will regret it, trust me.  Now, I'm trying to clean up the mess I made, but my mistakes have already been released to the public. 

1st Chapter of Book 3 of Dragon Souls

     I started my third book like a year ago, but have only visited it every now-and-then.  I'm pressing to finish it soon.  This story is burning in my mind, and needs to be put down on paper.  Here's the first chapter.

Chapter 1

Boom.

Fayern sat in front of his father’s massive, freshly sealed tomb thinking.

Boom.

Why had his father left him to this awful fate?  He had been forced to live away from the dwarves for centuries.  Forced to live with the humans.  To eat with them.  To breathe their air.  Forced to learn their language.  To learn their history.  To study in their schools.  Forced to learn their culture.  To lose his own heritage, and assimilate himself into their society.

Boom.

And for what?  So he could come home and have his birthright given to one of them.

Boom.

With his father’s dying breath he proclaimed that he had no heir, no son, no one to whom he could pass the age old, royal dwarven magic.  No one worthy to carry the Bromheider line of magic to the next generation.  Instead, he gave the magic to that boy.

Boom.

                That cursed boy! 

How could he, after all Fayern had sacrificed?  Fayern didn’t want to be away from his people all those years, his father had ordered it.  He was, in fact, the first dwarf to do so as far as history had told.  He lived the cursed life to make his father happy.  He had said fare-well to a love, left his brigade, and set off all alone in the world just to make his father happy.

Boom.

                Curse his father!

Boom.

                Curse the boy!

                “Prince Fayern!  Dey be almost through.”

                “I told you never again to address me that way!”

                The captain’s face reddened instantly.  “Pardon, General Fayern.  But dem blasted orcs is almost through da inner gate.”

Boom.

                “Captain, this stronghold has held for over ten thousand years.  I will be very displeased if it fell today.”

                The captain blanched at the rebuke.  “Aye, General.  No orc will soil dis sacred hall whilst I still be standin’.”  With a smart salute of clapped fist to his heart, the captain was away.  Away to stop the inevitable.  Away to die.

                “Ancestors be cursed,” Fayern said, under his breath.

Boom.

                Little pebbles were raining down from the cavern ceiling, the ceiling which was made thousands of years ago by the most skilled craftsmen among the dwarves.  The columns alone held more detail than any human had ever dreamed of carving into stone.  The ceiling was a tribute to the god Roagsnor; a beautiful landscape of how he would see the world from atop his cloud in the heavens.  Each tree, each animal, each blade of grass carved to exact replica of the real world.  It was like looking down at the world from a high mountain top.

Boom.

                The statue hastily carved to mark his father’s tomb was a rugged mess in comparison.  The orcs had not ceased their attack for pyre rites, nor gave they time to allow the dwarves to honor their fallen king.  Fayern’s father was not burned as his ancestors, atop the great volcanic mountain.  Instead, he was hastily entombed, and though two days was plenty of time for any dwarf to carve a magnificent sculpture which would outshine anything the wretched humans had managed to whittle out of stone, it was nowhere near what his father deserved.  King Weyburn had ruled over the dwarven people for almost two thousand years.  The old man deserved much better, even if he had sent Fayern away. 

Boom.

                Even if he had given away the Fayern’s birthright to that boy. 

Why had his father acted so foolishly?  To trust a human?  It was unheard of.  The Bromheider line was one of the last pure lines among the dwarves.  Fayern should have been given the death weapon from his father.  It was the way things were supposed to be.  It was the way it had always been since the dawn of dwarves; father passed his wisdom, and the wisdom of all his fathers before him, to son by breathing his last breath of magic into a weapon only his son could wield.  Fayern’s father had given his death weapon to that boy, to that human boy, thus ending the Bromheider line.  Fayern would never gain back the millennia of battle knowledge experienced by his ancestral line.  He would never wield the family’s magic crest.  He would not be able to pass that knowledge to his own son.

Boom.

                Who was he kidding?  There would be no more Bromheiders.  There would be no more dwarves.  Fayern’s father had thrown away his birthright, and in so doing, he had condemned the dwarves to failure.  The boy didn’t even last one battle with those magnificent weapons.  The Phantom Lord had taken him in his very first battle with those swords.  And now, they were in the hands of that treacherous elven princess.  Only she and the boy were keyed to the blades.  Fayern would never be able to lift his father’s swords.  To him, they would be as heavy as horses.  It was the magic’s way of protecting the family line.  The line which was now destroyed.

Boom.

                As if summoned by the thought of her, the elven princess came storming through the doors at the other side of the vast hall.  She had his father’s swords strapped crisscrossed across her back: twin blades as wicked as anyone could imagine.  The woman was so small and dainty, the two massive broadswords appeared comical protruding so high above her shoulders.  If it weren’t for the magic, she would never be able to lift one, let alone wield it in battle. 

At least the magic had not been wasted on her.  After the boy had fallen to the Phantom Lord she had retrieved the weapons and wreaked havoc on the dark hoard.  Truth be told, it was by her efforts alone that the rest of the dwarves were even able to fall back to the inner sanctum.  She was like death itself let loosed on the orcs.  Powered by her anger at losing the boy, she had cut them down in a wake of destruction unlike anything Fayern had ever seen.  The elven princess had killed thousands, forcing the black clan back enough to allow the dwarves to retreat to their stronghold.

                The outer hall was now swarming with dark creatures.  And Fayern was stuck in the inner sanctum with her, and her… dark mood.

                “General Fayern,” Princess Erroyle said in a haughty tone as she came to a poignantly stop scant inches away from the disinherited dwaven prince. 

Fayern groaned inwardly at having to have the same conversation with her, yet again. 

“I demand to be let out to face the enemy!”

                “Princess, we can’t have you throwing your life away for nothing.”

                “That’s what you said last time.  I don’t recall you complaining when I slaughtered the foul beasts in your main hall, allowing you and your men to fall back, a second time… in one day.”

                Fayern’s ears burned at the rebuke.  She had held them back not once, but twice as the dwarves were forced to fall back again and again.  Now they were in their final stronghold, the inner sanctum, there would be no more falling back. 

She was tapping her foot impatiently.  He was tempted to let her have her wish, to let her throw her life away in a suicidal heroic stand against the dark hoard, but he knew that allowing her out would invite them in.  He didn’t want to risk it.  Not that it would matter much.  From the sound of the creaking wood, he guessed it would be mere minutes before the enemy broke through the inner gate.

Boom.

                “Princess, I can’t afford to let the Dark Clan know about the side entrances.  If any of them were to see you go out, they would bring their mages to find a way in through the magic shields.  The caves only appear to be solid walls.  They are not.  The hoard would swarm around our gates, and slaughter my people.  We could not retreat fast enough to save a single dwarf.  Would you want that blood on your hands?”

                Erroyle seemed to lose some of her smolder.  She looked around at the battered dwarves trying desperately to tend to the wounded, gather their families, and not panic in the process.  Her shoulders slunk and her face contorted as she tried to hold back desperate tears.  “You don’t understand, General.  I must get to him.  You have no idea what the Phantom Lord will do to him.  I must get to him.  I’ve waited nine thousand years for that boy.  I’d given up hope on ever having a man in my life.  I can’t let him slip through my fingers just when I found him.”  Her emotions got the better of her, and the tears started streaming down her face.  “I can’t lose him.  I can’t!”

                Fayern was a little taken aback by the princess’s show of emotion.  By the way she slaughtered the Dark Clan, and her malcontent even among the dwarves, he thought her a heartless wench.  Now he saw the true desperation that drove her.  Love.  It was worse than he’d thought.  Love had blinded her and was driving her insane notion of saving the boy. 

                Fayern gently placed a meaty hand on the beautiful elven woman’s shoulder.  “Princess, you’ll be no good to him dead.  Going out there now, like this, will only get you killed.  Then who will save him?”

                She sniffed back the tears, and straightened her posture to her full powerful form.  The firm muscles under the skin-tight armor flexed.  The woman was like a coiled viper, ready to lash out at anything standing in her way.  Fayern suddenly remembered his father’s wise words, “Da most beautiful are da most deadly.  You can rest o’sure o’ dat, lad.”  If there were a more beautiful woman alive, Fayern hadn’t ever seen her. 

                Erroyle was unlike any living creature.  She had stunning purple eyes which seemed to see right into the souls of everyone with whom they locked.  Her auburn hair ran to the small of her back, and that was even in the intricate braid that elvish women were wont to wear.  Undone, it must hang below her hind-quarters.  Her lithe, muscular body was alluring beyond even the dwarven prince’s ability to ignore.  No man alive could resist stopping and staring as she walked by.  Her face was painfully perfect, accented by those purple eyes and ripe red lips.  Porcelain skin, almost the color of ivory, shown through her delicate golden armor, but only her hands and face were visible.  The woman was a goddess among men.

                “General, your gates are failing.  I lived through the first Great War.  I watched as the Minotaurs lost their stronghold to the north.  I fought alongside the Kinders as their mountain pass was overrun.  I’ve battered down the gates of countless enemy cities.”  Her demeanor grew cold.  “Your gates will fall within the hour.  You need to get your people out of here.  I will fight the enemy.  I have nothing to live for if I don’t have Cal.  You need to get your people to safety.”

                Fayern knew all too well that she was right.  If only fleeing were an option.  His ancestors were too proud to admit that the great gates would fall, let alone the inner sanctum.  They didn’t bother building a back door, as it were.  They were trapped, hopelessly trapped.  Running was not an option.  The dwarves would have to fight to the last man, woman, or child if their race wanted to survive to the next generation. 

Curse the ancestors! 

If only they had escaped when the first inner gate fell.  There were passages to the volcano top in the main hall.  If only…

                “Erroyle, we are dwarves.  We will fight.  That is what we do. That is what we’ve always done.  The gods have blessed us with superior strength and superior fighting skills to protect the weaker humans to the north.  It is by our iron arms that they enjoy their freedom from the Dark Clan.  That is how it has always been.  That is how it will always be.”

Boom.

Erroyle’s eyes grew colder, if that were even possible.  “Ignore my warning at your own peril.  I will not be responsible for the death of your people.  But I will also not stand by as the enemy takes my love away to be tortured.  It has been two days.  Do you have any idea what the Phantom Lord can do in two days?”  Fayern could only imagine.  The thought made him physically shudder.  “I know what he can do.  He held me prisoner for centuries.  I endured torture and tests that would make even your stomach turn.  I will not allow it to happen to Cal!”

                Fayern shook his head sadly.  What did it matter anyway?  If they were to swarm the tunnels instead of working relentlessly on the doors, perhaps he and his brothers could bottle-neck them in the narrow passageway and give those battle weary a chance to rest before the final stand.  Perhaps they could then turn them back.  Perhaps they could push them back enough for a few women and children to escape through the main hall.  Of course, he knew that was only wishful thinking.  Millions of Dark Clan lay waiting outside the inner sanctum gates.  There couldn’t have been more than a few thousand dwarves left alive.  They were going to be slaughtered in the tombs of their ancestors. 

Boom.

                “Okay, princess.  If you want to throw your life away, I can’t stop you.  I don’t think your Cal would be happy if you committed suicide here, though.” 

                The princess seemed to pause for a moment, but her mind was made up.  “I will get away from the opening before I attack.  The Dark Clan will not know where I came from.”

Boom.  Crack!

                Fayern jumped to his feet.  The door was giving in.  No!  It was too soon.

Boom, crack, boom, crack!

                The battering team sped up their assault in excited anticipation.

Erroyle looked in the direction of the gate, and then sadly back at the general.  “I’m sorry Fayern.  I take no pleasure in being right.  I will stand with your people against the hoard.  Together we will cut through the Dark Clan.  Together we will push them back out of the caves.  Then I will be free to find my Cal.”

                Fayern smiled to himself.  Dangerous indeed.  The woman would fight the Keeper of the Underworld himself to get to this boy.  “Okay, Princess.  Together then.”

Boom! Crack! Crack!

                “They’re almost through,” Erroyle shouted as she turned and ran towards the gates.

                Curse you father!  I am but one man.  Why did you give the knowledge of our ancestors to that boy?

Dawn of Steam: First Light

     Dawn of Steam: First Light is a Steampunk series set in the early 1800's.  For those unfamiliar with Steampunk it's a sub-genre of sci-fi usually set in the early industrialization era focusing on steam-powered machinery.  The fun part about Steampunk is they create an alternate reality where steam-powered machinery is altered to do creative things like mechanized body parts, robots, airships (as is the case with First Light), and just about any other mechanical application you could think of.  A popular Steampunk movie example would be Wild Wild West with Will Smith and Kevin Kline.  I just mention this because I talked with a few people about this book, and none of them knew what Steampunk is, so I figured I'd clear that up before I reviewed the book.

     I have not read a lot of Steampunk, nor is it my favorite sub-genre in the sci-fi world, so I'll try to be as objective as I can here.  I've read The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling which I hated, and Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld which I rather liked.  So I'm not well versed in the genre, but I've been exposed to it.

     Jeffery Cook co-authored this book with Sarah Symonds.  I have only had contact with Mr. Cook, and could not find an author's page for Mrs. Symonds, so we'll just address Mr. Cook in this review.  

    The book is set up as if an editor is compiling the letters, journals, and other correspondences of a significant event.  The story is set in the aftermath of the War of 1812 and the Napoleonic War. Gregory Conan Watts, the protagonists, is a poor man of little or no station who is in love with a somewhat wealthy woman (Cordelia Bentham).  He asks for her hand in marriage, and her father refuses because he wants his daughter to marry well.  The father actually likes Watts, but doesn't want his daughter to do without.  As a result, Watts takes up a job to settle a bet by investigating the outrageous stories of a Dr. Bowe who claimed to have charted the American West, vast reaches of Africa, crossed the Blue Mountains of Australia, found lost cities in South America, crossed Europe and India, found numerous islands, scaled numerous mountains, crossed innumerable waterways, and so on.  It was considered impossible that one man could do all of these things in a lifetime, so Mr. Watts was to take up the journey on a dirigible airship to see if it was possible.  With the money from the bet Watts would have the means to marry his Cordelia, so he sets off on an adventure to see what this dirigible airship could do.

     The story is not a narrative or conjoined story because of the premise.  Instead it is a series of letters written to Mr. Watts' employers, letters Mr. Watts writes to his love, journal entries, and occasionally a letter from one of the other characters to different parties.  I rather liked the set up because you got to see the poor Mr. Watts' ignorance to the world around him, outside of British society of propriety. Hints are given throughout the book of alternative motives.  Occasionally, a letter from one of the other shipmates is thrown into the mix of Mr. Watts' writings to give the reader a wider perspective.

     The brother and sister duo, who are chartered to lead the expedition, are Sir James, and Jillian Coltrane.  Sir James is a war hero of some repute, and Mr.Watts quickly notices that Mrs. Coltrane is just as sharp.  She's well read and versed in several languages, and knows much more about the world than Mr. Watts does.  The duo have a reputation for their airship.  They are quite proper, as is Mr. Watts, and that seems to be what Mr. Watts focuses on in his correspondences.  To me, it came across rather pompous and boring.  Even writing about the story after reading it over the last week, I've noticed, has made my tone in this review sound so much more sophisticated than I usually write.  However, I believe that this was done to a purpose because it is hinted, almost from the beginning, that a lot more is going on than what Mr. Watts knows.  Mrs. Coltrane writes a letter to an unknown party, right at the beginning, which hints that there is worry over the mission.  Since the story is told mostly from Mr. Watts' point of view, however, the reader gets to hear his critique of everyone's social graces instead.  To me, this made the book's beginning excruciatingly slow.  If you like the PBS television series Downton Abby, you may love this.  Mr. Watts prattles on and on about everyone's manners and social prowess.  Jillian Coltrane has a cousin from Virginia named Harriet Wright, and Mr. Watts gets a kick out of the little social disgraces Mrs. Wright suffers from, being a "poor American colonist."

     Several war heroes are brought on-board for the mission, chosen by the Coltranes because they are trusted companions from the wars.  There are also some people the other interested parties insist on coming.  This is where you start to get an inkling that something is amiss.  It would seem that the war between Spain, France, and the European Alliance might not be over.  (Oh, and by the way, in this alternate reality, the US is not independent.  The European powers are still vying for control.  It wasn't completely clear, however, and the US did not gain complete independence until this Treaty of Ghent, so it could be that I just misread because I read through only once, and it was at a fast pace.  The book alludes to America being the Daughterland and England the Motherland, as well as stating that the treaty gave France back the land south of the Great Lakes, instead of America, so I'm still a little fuzzy on the subject.  It is not addressed directly, though, because the editorial is written from he limited view of Mr. Watts.)

     About two-thirds of the way through the book, the entire exploration party is assembled, and after hearing Mr. Watts' lengthy opinion about each shipmate, the journey begins.  However, it's not the journey they set out to accomplish because the war over the colonies begins, and the heroic party has to intervene. The action starts with an attempted assassination on French royalty.

     With about 70 pages left in the book, after introductions, a war interrupting, and a storm, the journey begins.  They make it across America, leaving the series way open to expand as so much of Dr. Bowe's claims had yet to be tested.  

     Getting through the first 150 pages of this book was almost painful for me because it was not my kind of story, however, it was exceptionally well written, and I can see how many would enjoy it if they were in to this type of story.  The tone is consistent, even through the exciting parts Mr. Watts is a solid English gentleman.  I was expecting him to fall apart, or lose his demeanor when things got rough, but he did not.  The story held very true to the era, and the characters were consistent (something most Indie writers have a difficult time doing.)  I was actually quite impressed with Mr. Cooks work.

     Even with this book not being among my favorite genres, I would freely recommend it to those who like the civilized British era.  I believe there are a lot of people out there who do, mainly because of the hugely successful Downton Abby.  In all, I give the book

Haunter

     I know it's a little late for Halloween, but I've yet to watched any indie Thanksgiving or Christmas movies, at least not lately.  So, here's Haunter...

     Most indie films are not rated.  That is because it costs $3,000 to submit a movie to the MPAA to get the film rated.  Most Indie movies have very low budgets, and they have to use all of that towards the making of the movie.  Unfortunately, a lot of Indie filmmakers have exploited this and put a bunch of garbage in many of the Indie films, so they've gotten a bad rap.  There are some good ones out there, though.  Haunter would be a PG-13 not because of cuss words, nudity, or violence, but more just because it's a scary movie.

     Haunter is one of the better Indie Horror movies I've seen.  Mac Carter gives us an interesting spin on Horror.  If you read the cover, netflix description, or IMDB review, you'll learn that the protagonist, Lisa (played by Abigail Breslin ), is the ghost.  So I don't feel like I'm giving too much of  a spoiler by giving that much away.

     Lisa is stuck in a time loop.  She lives the same boring day over and over.  There are strange interruptions which become more frequent, though; banging on the walls, strange noises, stuff missing, usual haunting-type activity.  She also sees a creepy girl every now-and-then.  She wants to get away, but her repeated attempts gain her nothing.  It's foggy outside, and she leaves only to find herself walking back towards the house.  Her parents also tell her not to go out because of the weather, and you get the feeling that they know something more than what they are saying.

     One day, things change dramatically.  Her family is completely different.  Her dad is abusive, which is completely different from the loving father he was before.  Her mother plays the part of the abused wife.  Lisa is more than upset by all of this.  She tries to figure out what is going on, and tries to contact the little girl she keeps seeing. 

     Then her world is shattered as she finds out what is really going on in her house.

     The movie has some startling moments where you might jump in your seat a bit.  There is really no gore, blood, or guts (though there is a scene where people rot, like dead corpses, in a matter of seconds). But there is nothing too scary about it.  The story line is really good, and the actors, especially Abigail, are actually really good, too.  

     I would recommend to almost anyone who wants a bit of a thrill without staying up all night in fear of monsters getting you in your sleep.  

     In all, I give it