Good morning, Readers!

I have a new musical obsession.  It's currently both my anthem and my fight song.

Because my computer is acting up, and I have to restart it in order to get any work done, I'm keeping today's blog post super short.  The way my computer is, it'll take a long time just to share this, so I don't have the time for much more.  Also, trying to share this is going to be slow and frustrating AF.

So, for now, all you get is the song.  Trust me, it took forever to embed it in the post.

Thanks for nothing, computer.

It's good, right? I posted it to Facebook a couple of days ago, and I've not stopped listening to it since.

Incidentally, this song is also the anthem for one of my characters in my current WIP. Those in my writing circle can probably guess who that character is.

And now I'm off to start the frustrating process of sharing this post before I restart the computer and hope that it sorts itself out.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Hello.

Hi.

It's your friendly hetero-romantic demi-sexual here.

What's that?  Well, like all human sexuality, it's complicated.  Let's just leave it at your chances are slim-to-none.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

You might have guessed that from the title of today's blog.

I'm here to talk about representation.  It matters.  You know how I know it matters?  Watching little girls come out of a showing of Wonder Woman practically glowing, or people of colour grinning and crying their way through Black Panther.  It's the story of the Latino father who wept during Rogue One when someone who looks and speaks like him turned out to be a fucking hero.

It's in the story of a lesbian gamer who burst into tears during a live stream of The Last of Us: Left Behind on seeing that adorably sweet kiss between Ellie and Riley, musing on how much it meant to her to see people like her in the media she consumes.

It's in the surprisingly intense reaction I had to the asexual character, the first openly asexual I've ever encountered in literature, in Seanan McGuire's Every Heart a Doorway.

And it's in the reactions of (some of) those who are so used to seeing themselves as the ubiquitous image of normal or heroic now that they're starting to see less of themselves in their media.

My favourite argument put forward by these folks is "I don't need your [insert minority of choice] agenda shoved in my face."

I would argue, however, that the reverse is far more true.

To not include accurate representations of minorities is shoving one's own personal agenda into media.

Look, these people exist in the real world.  They're literally everywhere.  Chances are, you sat beside a gay person on your commute to work today.  You've likely crossed the path of, or walked beside, a trans person.  I don't need to tell you that black and brown people exist.  Apparently, I do need to tell you that they, too, can be heroes.

The point is, minorities exist in the world.  To completely erase them in media is the very definition of pushing an agenda.  Including them is merely reflecting the way the world actually is.

Fight me.

Anyway, the point is, including minorities in media is incredibly important; not just because it reflects the world actually is, but because there are people in the world who are starving for representation.  And I mean good representation.  Accurate representation.

And plainly state representation.

You don't get credit for stating a character is a minority if you don't make it explicit in the narrative of whatever media you're pedalling.  Looking at you, J.K. Rowling.

That isn't to say that you must make that person's minority characteristic (gay, trans, person of colour, woman, whatever) the entirety of their character.  However, you need to understand that those characteristics do play a part in what makes them them.  It has a direct impact on their histories.  It will play a part in informing their decisions in the future.  Ignoring that is as disingenuous as excluding minorities altogether.

Writers, I'm looking at you specifically now.  Write minorities into your work.  Include them as heroes, and complex villains.  Make them complex and whole and real.

One day, someone feeling alone and isolated might just pick up your work.  You have an opportunity to make them feel less alone, less isolated, and less outcast.  You have an opportunity to reach them in a way other writers refuse to.

Why on earth would you pass on such an opportunity?

So, if it's the human condition you're looking to comment on, then be honest about the human condition; all of it.

​Representation matters.

Good morning, Readers!

So.... I've started playing The Last of Us again.  I'm much better at it this time around, incidentally.  I have died less than a quarter of the times I died in the first play through.

The story is still fucking brilliant.  The acting is still fucking brilliant.  The game play is still fucking brilliant.

The Last of Us is for video games what Pan's Labyrinth is for film for me.  It's gorgeous, tragic, and I fucking love it.  I've played it for two evenings now, and I maybe might have rushed home last night to play it.

It is still the best game I've played to date, and I could go on and on about how much novel writers could learn from the writing in this game.  It's just sooooooooooooooooo good.

I'm nervous for the second installment in the game, because I love Joel so much, and I'm worried for him, and I love the relationship that grows between Joel and Ellie so much and I'm worried for it.  But that's another story.

Anyway, the temptation for me to skip training tonight so I can go home and game is really strong.  That's a fantastic game that can make me do that.

Don't stress.  I won't skip training.  I have Tomb Raider abs to shoot for (seriously though, Alicia Vikander, life goals. Genuine life goals).

I actually don't have much to report today, so I've resorted to gushing about a game all over again.  Because my life is exciting.

#sarcasm

How's your life going today?  Let me know below.  I'm off to do things with my day.  Dull things.  Because life.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Over the weekend, awesome person and fellow writer Brandon Crilly wrote a blogpost about how fandoms can ruin a creative endeavour.  Read it here.

I've written before about the scary side of fandoms, but I figured it was time to tackle it again.

Mr. Crilly mentioned being a little frightened of making it big because the fans can be so... aggressive, and I'm with him on that.  I would love, love, love to have a huge following, who are anxious and eager for my next work.  I'd love to see my books in majors stores, be in talks for adaptations, and get invited to big conventions.  But I'm with Brandon on this one.  The prospect of having to deal with aggressively entitled readers is daunting, to put it mildly.

I understand loving something fiercely.  Those of you who have heard me gush about Pan's Labyrinth or The Malazan Book of the Fallen will get it.  But simply loving something doesn't entitle you to it.

Beyond the stupid irritation of fans pestering writers all the damned time about hurrying up and finishing a work (which, word to the wise, folks, if you just leave them alone to write, then they're not taking up precious hours filtering through your nonsensical comments and letters and they have that time to write.  They're also not burdened with your expectations, which can really stymie the creative process), authors have received death threats because something happened in their stories that a sub-section of fans disliked.

Death threats.

Look, fans, I love you.  You're the reason I write.  It's so much fun to write something and hear that you loved it.  But there is a flip side to that, and it's a dark, scary place.  If that dark, scary place gets too loud, it can kill whatever creative spark a person has.  Or it can make them too irritated, angry, or afraid to share what they've written with the world, and then you, dear readers, lose out.

A further note: you are not entitled to what a writer produces.  It is not yours.  It's theirs.  You do not have the right to dictate to a writer what they should do with their characters or plots, and it's not up to you to crack the whip to get them to write.  The minute a writer starts to pander to the loudest subset of fans, the work starts to suffer.

I know mine would.

Writers create something they share.  You get to partake in it.  But you don't own the thing being shared.  Someone is sharing it with you, not giving it to you.

Loving it doesn't give you ownership of it, nor ownership of the person who created it.

Please, for the sake of the writer and the work, check your impulse to be scary.

That is all.

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday, Smashwords sent out an email announcing a partnership with findawayvoices.com, an audiobook production and distribution company.  We can now send our book metadata to them right from Smashwords and get started on turning our books into audio books.

And damn, I really want to get this done.

There are a huge number of roadblocks to getting this done, however, and it all boils down to funds.  The voice actors need to be paid, findawayvoices.com needs to be paid... and I just don't have that kind of money.  Voice actors are paid usually between $150-$300 per finished hour of reading.  That's a lot, considering that longer novels tend to be many, many hours (one I remember hearing about was 64+ hours).

Of course, there are ways to get the funds.  I'm toying with the idea of putting up a Kickstarter or an Indigogo to try and raise funds for it.  But I'm hesitant to for a number of reasons.  The first being that I hate, hate, HATE, asking for money.  It upsets me on an extremely deep level.

The other is that I'm unsure that I'd be able to raise the requisite funds.  I have a few dedicated readers and  really good friends, but I don't think I have enough to raise the thousands needed to produce an audio book.  Hell, I can't even get everyone to write a review.  And there's nothing more heartbreaking than failing to reach a funding goal and being utterly unable to do the thing anyway.

I don't know.  I want to produce audiobooks, but I'm worried that despite my best efforts, I won't be able to.

I'm mulling it over, and going forward like I will be making audiobooks.  I'm currently at the "audition" stage of the process for The Dying God & Other Stories.  While I go through the process, I'm wrestling with my doubts and trying to figure out the best way forward.

I dunno.  I'm plagued by doubts constantly.

Right, I have to get to work.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Guys, I had a blog post planned for today.  I swear I did.  But it's gone.  My tired brain has forgotten it.

And I am tired.  I went to the gym this morning. Unlike yesterday, I did not forget my shoes, and so I did my hour of cardio.  I didn't push hard, but I did it.  It's a bloody miracle, by the way.  I had my arse handed to me last night during my pre-martial arts workout.  Then it was two hours of martial arts.  I was tired and sore, and I went to the gym all the same.

I'm calling it a win.

But alas, that means my tired brain forgot what it was I wanted to talk about today.  So you get this ramble instead.

Sorry?

Oh, humble brag, I have been rewatching episodes of 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown (a mash up of a British comedy panel show bases on statistics, and Countdown, an anagram and mathematics game).  It combines two of my favourite things; British comedians, and brain work.

I am shit at this game, depressingly.

But I play along as a way of keeping my brain flexible and active.  Yesterday, I managed to get a nine-letter word (the highest, worth double points) during one of the word games.  Looking back, it's a bit silly how excited I was about getting it.  But I got it, and I'm celebrating all the same.

Here were the letters:

O R T E S E P R T

My word? PROTESTER.

I was proud.

Annnnnnyway.

Oh, here's a non-sequitur, can Chuck Wendig please come out with a cookbook?  I just want to cook from recipes written like this.

And now I've wasted enough of everyone's time.  I'm off to write more and play more games.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

This morning was... dumb.  I'm dumb.  So dumb.

I woke up before my alarm after having a weird dream in which my mother and I were attempting to put the shag back into a shag rug with some sort of metal spiky rolling device.  That's beside the point.  I woke before my alarm, feeling energetic and ready to face the day.

Perfect!  Off to the gym I go.

And off to the gym I went.

Once at the gym, I remembered where my shoes were.  They weren't in my gym bag.  Nope.  They were at home.  In the downstairs washroom.

[                                                                 expletives redacted                                                                               ]

Oh well.  I am still recovering from the cold I had this weekend, so I suppose it's alright to miss this morning.  I will be training tonight, so maybe easing back in is better than slamming into the workout wall full tilt.  Maybe.

I'm still pissed, though.

Writing has been much better.  I wrote two thousand words yesterday.  I'm almost done the writing of this work, and I'm still excited about the manuscript.  I'm looking forward to sending this one out to Beta Readers.

As I'm on this story line in particular, I'm thinking I'm riding the train all the way to the end of the series, and just write the series through.  I already have scenes from the second book pouring through my brain, and I feel I should probably get those written down before I move back over to The Great Man series.

It often feels like I'm riding a wave when it comes to my creative endeavours, in an almost literal sense.

Speaking of creative stuff, I should really get back to it.

Ciao!