Frequently Asked Questions

1. What's the release date for the next Girl in the Box/Sanctuary/Southern Watch/whatever book?

This is the most common question I get asked, bar none. And I feel bad every time I answer it, because I'm almost always vague (except one time, when someone pressed me until I gave them a release date for Omega. I was lying. I was virtually certain it would be ready long before the day I quoted them, and it was.) because I have to be.

I WILL NOT set release dates for my book. Not anymore. Not ever again, as of now. I'll give you a season, and I'll narrow it down to a month when we get closer. But the reason is simple, and it's because setting a release date means I have to set a date far enough out that I can, without question, hit it. That means if I think I can deliver a book by, say, February 15th, then I'm going to give you the release date of May 15th, just to be sure. Why? Because stuff happens. What stuff? Oh, I dunno, editors having to recuse themselves from a project at a late stage, beta readers having an explosion of real life events that keep them from working on a manuscript, the author having personal issues crop up that cause set backs, another series blowing up and causing me to realign my schedule to put out more books in that line ASAP - these are some of the things that have thwarted me in the past year.

So my new rule - I will not set specific release dates. Please don't ask. I know you want the book now. Yesterday, actually, if possible. I want you to have it now (or yesterday, actually) so in that regard, you and I feel exactly the same about it. I wish I had the Girl in the Box and the Sanctuary Series (insert future book series' here as well) already finished so you could read straight through them, believe me! I would love to have a hundred books out so as to offer you the maximum number of volumes that would interest you, but unfortunately, I don't. I'm working as fast as reasonably possible to remedy that (still trying to get ten books out this year, after all) but I am only human (so far).

So when's the next book coming out? As soon as I can get it out the door. I don't know when that'll be, but if you sign up for my newsletter here I promise you'll get an email when it's available. I only send out the newsletter when I have a new release, so you won't get spammed or have your info sold.
 
2. When/where/why/how did you become an author?

Technically, I guess I became an author when I published my first book in the summer of 2011. I've been writing since 2nd grade, though. As for the why and the how, I suggest you read this post here about how I started publishing my own material.

3. Do you actually make a full-time living doing this?

I do indeed. If you want some pointers on how I do that, you can see my advice to writers here.

4. How/where do you get your ideas?

I don't know. A lot of times they just seem to fall from the sky and smack me in the head. Sometimes they come to me while driving, other times when I'm sleeping (those tend to result in me scrawling on a pad I keep by my bed to sometimes hilarious results when I try to read them later - "What the hell did I write here?")

5. Where did the idea for the Girl in the Box come from?

 First of all, ***SPOILER ALERT*** for those of you who haven't read Omega.

The Girl in the Box was born from a couple of ideas I had. I couldn't really talk about this until Omega was out, but since it's out, hey, fair game. One of the ideas was a person so isolated and disconnected from the world around them that when I first came up with the concept the box was only metaphorical (I had the idea she'd have been locked in her house for years, restrained - the practical punishment solution of the box came later). The title came from Summer Glau's character River in Firefly; when we first meet her she's frozen in a box, and the original note I had on the series was Sienna telling about how she saw it on TV (in the hour of TV per day she was allowed, trapped in her house) and describing it as a metaphor for how she lived. The idea of touch being an impediment to forming a relationship came right after that, but I waffled a bit on how I should execute it. The idea of fitting it into the realm of mythology and the concept of a succubus started to interest me, and the thought of mythological beings inhabiting our modern world in a way that ran closer to Buffy the Vampire Slayer with a sleeker, more realistic feel. (Interesting bit of trivia - I actually learned what a succubus was after Giles mentions them in the very first episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. True story. I had to look it up in the dictionary, because I'm so old Wikipedia wasn't around at the time.)

So I had a girl, basically, with a problem - she was unable to touch or connect with people - but I needed a setting. I think I was watching Veronica Mars (GREAT SHOW) when the idea came to me of a character who is part of a powerful organization whose work she believes in, but is always somehow at loggerheads with them. People in groups can be cruel without being violent; and you can see in the first five books (Alone, Untouched and Family in particular) how Sienna gets shunned by the people around her, adding another layer of disconnect to her relationship with people. I had an idea long ago about an organization called the Directorate, who would train on the campus for secret missions. I thought this would be the perfect place for Sienna to be, that she could join them while still struggling to belong, that she could develop a relationship with them that she naively, as an inexperienced person, would think to be one based on mutual trust, when in reality...well...you who have read Omega know...

There's a little more to it than just this, but here's the basics. I can't really talk about the rest of it until Book 10 is done, because to go any farther would reveal some of the twists in the tale. I had a pretty good concept of how the story would flow, from book 1 to book 10, before I even started out. There have been a few things that have changed along the way, but I think you'll be able to look back at the end of book 10 and say..."Whoa. He really DID plan it out the whole way..." At least I hope you'll be able to see it.


6. I've heard you talk about people who get to beta read your stories before anyone else. How can I be one of those people?

Short answer? You probably can't. It's nothing personal, but especially on Girl in the Box books I already have too many beta readers. I like to get opinions, but when I have to spend more time collating those opinions together than I do actually rewriting the book, it means I've got too many cooks in the kitchen with me.

7. Can I beta read for your Sanctuary books, then?

No. But I do thank you, if you've actually read them. 

8. Why don't you update your webpage more often?

Oh, that. This actually isn't a frequently asked question, but I'll tell you anyway. The reason my webpage doesn't get updated very often is because I'm the one who has to update it, and I don't really like coding HTML. I can do it, but it takes a while, so I generally only update when I have a new release. I could do it more often, but that'd take away from my time to write, so...I don't.

First Chapter of Broken: The Girl in the Box, Book Six

SPOILER WARNING! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU'VE FINISHED OMEGA...um, unless you want the ending to spoiled, I guess. 

Chapter 1

When I awoke, it was sunny in the room, bright, blissfully so. There was a smell of pancakes wafting in the air, the sweet, lovely flavor of the griddle filling my nose and my taste buds, as though the syrup were already waiting for me out in the kitchen. I let out a sigh of contentment, and gave a slow stretch - from top to bottom, one of those that starts in the shoulders and expands in both directions, to the tips of my fingers and all the way down to every toe. I felt lazy, satisfied, and I couldn't quite place my finger on the reason why until I heard him sigh next to me.

"Good morning," I said, giving him a kiss. Not even a taste of morning breath came from him, even when I parted his lips and went for some tongue. I felt adventurous, surprisingly, and the sleepy drowse that still enveloped me didn't manage to hide the stir of other cravings besides the ones in my stomach. His hair was luxurious as I ran my fingers through it.

"Morning," he replied, his voice so reassuring. Zack. My rock. My first love. His dirty blond hair wasn't mussed by the bed at all; at least no more than it was on a daily basis. "Sleep well?" His coffee-brown eyes stared back into mine and there was just a moment's hint of something disturbing, but it passed, something between a memory and a nightmare.

"Yes," I somehow found the answer, even though I wasn't sure. The smell of pancakes was still heavy in the air, and my eyes adjusted as I took in the room around me. It was my room, in the house where I'd grown up. There was a memory of something else, but I couldn't quite land on it, as I shuffled my gaze from the old, worn, almost orange-stained dresser that covered one wall to the little stand that sat next to the door. My bed was in the corner, pushed up against the wall. "I don't even remember dreaming."

"That's good, right?" He rolled to get out of bed, naked, and I watched. He shot a backward look. "It's impolite to stare."

"Though fairly common nowadays," I teased as he knelt to fish through a pile of clothes. I rolled over and grasped at the curtains, pulling them back to take a look. There was a flash of snow before I blinked the brightness out of my eyes, and saw the green grass outside through the clear window. I thought I remembered there being an armoire in front of this window, not a bed. It was almost a memory I could grasp, but after a moment it seemed far away and insignificant, totally unimportant now. I turned to look back at the naked man who had been rooting around for clothes in my floor to find him fully dressed now, staring back at me with empty eyes. "Hey," I said. He did not respond. "Hello?" I waved a hand in front of him. "Hey."

"'Hey' yourself," came a voice from the door, and I looked around Zack to see my mother standing in the doorframe. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

"Breakfast?" I frowned. "You cook?"

"Smartass," she said with a roll of the eyes. "I made pancakes and ramen noodles."

"Oh, good, I'm hungry," I said, and meant it. I glanced to Zack as I walked toward the door. "Follow me, dear."

As I passed through the door, the world opened up around me, and I was in a bright place, with glass all around, stretching up two-story walls to a higher level above us. I looked at the table that was the only thing in focus; everything else was hazy, but familiar. "Come on," mom said, gesturing to a plate at the table. "Meatloaf and coffee."

"But I don't like..." The smell of pancakes was gone, but my stomach still rumbled at the new aroma, though there was something vaguely abhorrent about it.

"Come on," Mother said again, "your friends are all waiting." She made a motion to my chair, and for the first time I realized that there were others around the table with her. I took a tentative step forward and found myself in the seat, my meal staring up at me, all brown and somehow both appealing and unappealing at the same time.

"You don't like what I've made for you," Mother's voice rang out, and I looked up to see her face twist with scorn. "You really are an ungrateful child, you know. Eat what you're given, then ask for more. That's what you do when you're being polite."

"Yes, Mother," I said, and there was a fork in my hand. I looked to my left and saw Reed, my brother - half-brother, anyway - his dark hair around his shoulders, his suit an odd, glowing white. "Aren't you going to eat anything?" I asked him.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Reed said, and I saw a glass of water appear in his hand as he sipped it coolly. "I only eat Italian food, lately."

"I'll eat whatever I can get," came a voice from next to him. I leaned forwad and saw a shock of blond hair as Kat Forrest leaned forward so I could see her. Her green eyes glistened with an almost malicious light. "Older is better, though."

"That's...awkward," I said out loud. "Did I just say that out loud? I meant it, I think."

"Yeah, I end up saying stuff out loud that I shouldn't, too," came the voice from next to her. My eyes followed along the edge of the table, and another face came into clarity, darker complected, with curly, dirty-blond locks. "Gets me into trouble sometimes."

"I can't imagine how that could possibly happen," Reed chimed in, sipping his water.

"Me either," Scott replied from his place next to Kat. His complexion looked washed out, though, perspiring so heavily I could see the water drip down his face. "I keep it doing it, though."

"Freud would say you're simply manifesting thoughts of the sort you would like to see spoken aloud," came the voice of the man seated between Scott and my mother. His dark skin was strangely muted in the bright light of the glass room around us, the painful sunlight blotting out much of the detail. "In doing so, you're giving your subconscious a chance to express its desires."

"Huh," Scott said, at rapt attention. "What do you think my subconscious is saying?"

"That is an excellent question," Dr. Zollers said, with a coffee mug in his hand, his eyes on mine as he answered. "If I were Freud I'd tell you that it probably means that you want to kill your father and take your mother as your wife."

There was the screech of chair legs skidding against the floor as Scott stood up. "I don't have to take this from you," he said, his face twisted in outrage. A moment later his face went slack, any sign that he was upset disappearing as though it had never been there. "I guess I better get to work on that if I want to be married by fall, huh?"

"Attaboy," Reed said, taking another slow sip of water. "Keep living up to everyone's expectations of you. That's the way to do it."

"He never lived up to mine," Kat said with a dismissing wave. "In any area." She eyed Dr. Zollers. "But you...you look old...er."

Zollers hid his expression behind his coffee cup, but I caught the hint of an eyeroll.

"Your friends are lovely, dear," my mother said, focusing on the plate in front of her. She took a bite of pancakes with a heavy maple syrup, and I could smell it, so sweet, almost taste it over the chorus of meatloaf clashing with bitter, strong coffee that had no sweetness whatsoever. "I wish I'd had a chance to meet them all."

"You didn't?" I mumbled, looking around. "Who's missing?"

"The big one," she replied, the pancakes gone from in front of her. She had a sword laying before her now. "You know, Erich. Winter." She paused. "The one who...well, you know. Him."

I frowned, and somethiing prickled at the back of my mind. The bright light around us dimmed, then disappeared. I looked around the table in a rush, and Reed had vanished to my left, and so had Kat, and Scott. I blinked at mom, who still sat there. "Where did everybody go?"

"On," she said, fingering the grip of the katana that lay on the table between us. "They left without you."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I don't want to be alone-"

"You always have been," my mother's voice came in a chilling reply as the room darkened further.

I cocked my head and looked to Dr. Zollers, who remained across from me, his coffee in his hand, coolly watching me. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a dream, Sienna," he said, and his features were not nearly so blurry as the others.

"Other than that."

He pursed his lips and looked to the side, and there was a metric ton of regret waiting when he looked back at me. "I think you're going to be awake very, very soon, and that when you do, you'll find more than your share of troubles waiting for you, as usual. I think that you've passed the point of retreat, and that you're going to have to deal with all of it now, every single thing you've been putting off. For that I'm sorry." His mouth became a thin line, a grimace, and he looked down. "And even sorrier that you have to do it alone - but unfortunately, I can't stay any longer-"

I blinked and he was gone, and it was me and my mother, and the sword between us. "I told you that you weren't ready," she said with a shrug. "I told you he was using you like a puppet."

"Who?" I asked.

The light came back, outside the glass, faint, and I could see snow on the ground, as far as the horizon. It was a painfully gray day from the sky above to the horizon line, clouds covering every inch of sky. "You know." My mother gestured to the world outside the glass walls. Flurries came down from above and the glass turned white with a sudden, icy accumulation. I heard the windows freeze and crack, straining like the time last year I had walked on the frozen surface of a pond after it had started to melt-

"Winter." She brought her gaze back to me. "I'm sorry I couldn't meet all your friends." She looked to my right, stared with a finger in her mouth for a moment, then leaned in closer to me. "That one doesn't seem quite right, daughter of mine. Are you sure he's...well?"

I turned, slowly, and took in the face of Zack, sitting next to me. He was staring blankly ahead, his tan face white, white as though the snows had covered him. His pupils were unmoving, and the light was out of the coffee-brown eyes. I looked down into the mug in my hand and it was in there, the same color his eyes had once been, but when I looked back his were shut, and the table was gone, and I was laying flat, my knees around my chin. It was a field, and snow was coming down around me, and Zack lay, eyes open, stretched out over the cold ground-

Broken: The Girl in the Box, Book Six
Coming June 2013

copyright © 2013 Reikonos Press

A Change in the Lineup/London Calling

So, I've had to make some changes in my publication lineup. Here's the new one for the rest of 2013:

Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four - Late May/Early June
Broken: The Girl in the Box, Book 6 - Late June/Early July
Enemies: The Girl in the Box, Book 7
Thy Father's Shadow: A Sanctuary Novel
Called: Southern Watch, Book 1
Unearthed: Southern Watch, Book 2
Legacy: The Girl in the Box, Book 8
Thieving Ways: A Sanctuary Novel
(Title Withheld) Southern Watch, Book 3

Everything after Broken is obviously not listed with much of a release window...yet. I always let those out closer to time. A few caveats:

Whether I write Thieving Ways (which is a novel that focuses entirely on Aisling from the Sanctuary series) is contingent on how well Thy Father's Shadow does. It will be a full novel, as will Thy Father's Shadow (it was originally supposed to just be a novella about Terian, but it grew quite a bit) and both will contain some MAJOR plot points that will help you understand what's going on as we roll into Master: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Five. This is especially true of the ending to Thy Father's Shadow. It has a HUGE twist at the end, something that will influence things to come in the Sanctuary universe, and if you don't read it, you will probably scratch your head at least a little during Volume Five.

I ended up bringing the seventh Girl in the Box book up in the lineup for a couple very good reasons. Number one - Girl in the Box 6 is short. Really short. Shorter than Alone. I feel bad about this, but it's a simple story. A very necessary one, one that has some serious emotional punch as Sienna takes a major step in her character arc, but it's just not a very long and complicated book. Also, I've booked my trip to London (setting of book 7) so I figure I should try and put the London "feel" into the book as soon as possible. So I'm writing it next. I'll try and actually do some of it while I'm in London, but I'll be making copious notes about all sorts of details, major and minor, so that I can get to work on this ASAP. So, that's good news for Team Sienna.

Kinda good news for Team Cyrus, as well, right? Making Thy Father's Shadow into a full novel and adding another Sanctuary novel to the schedule this year? I had said before in an earlier post that Master would be the first thing to fall out of the lineup if I had any problems (and I haven't, yet, exactly) but I wanted to make sure even if I can't get Master out this year (which is likely; I hadn't edited Crusader when I set the schedule, and didn't realize how long it takes to do an edit of a book that big, plus get it to my beta readers, etc) you'll at least have a few things to look forward to between now and when it comes out. These two non-main novels won't be as long as something like Crusader (or probably even Avenger) but hopefully they'll satisfy for the time being.

Obviously I also delayed the Southern Watch series for a little bit. Easy reason there; I am going to write the first book (or at least part of it) when I'm in the south. So I'll be doing it this summer. Sorry for the delay for those of you who have been looking forward to it. Hopefully additional books in your other favorite series will make it worth the wait.

As a last note, I will be in London from the 25th to the 29th of April. I'm planning to do some sort of hang out for fans on the 25th or 26th. If anyone is interested, I'm planning for it to be pretty low-key. My books aren't in bookstores anywhere, but if you want to buy them off Amazon and bring them to the hang-out, I will be glad to sign them. Otherwise it's probably just going to be me, in a pub or something of the like, chatting for an hour or so. Let me know if you're in the London area (or will be on those days) and would like to attend.

So that's it; still shooting for 10 books, made a couple changes, and trying to hurry to keep up with everything that needs to be done. Sounds like normal, huh?

My Writing Process

Status: Watching one of the munchkins watch She-Ra while I'm actively procrastinating listening to Audiobook auditions.

I have to make a decision on this audiobook narration process, but thus far I've not been enjoying it. I've listened to few enough audiobooks that I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for. I have about ten auditions stacked up and I'm a little scared to start delving into them. So I decided to do a blog post.

There's two reasons for this post. One, because a few writers have begun to visit my blog, and I've gotten this question from a few of them: "What's your writing process look like?" The second reason is because I get this question from fans all the time, but in a different form: "How long until _____ comes out?"

The answer to the both lies in the process I use, because if you know where I'm sitting with a book at any given time, you can kind of get a feel for how long (roughly) it might take.

(As an aside...FOR THE HONOR OF GRAYSKULL! I actually like watching She-Ra. Ack! Enough distractions.)

So how do I write a book?

I start with the first draft. How long does that take? Well, it can take a little while or a long while, depending. I tend to draft a book pretty fast nowadays if it's not absurdly long. Crusader took absurdly long (6 months?) because it was 300,000 words/800 book pages and I worked on it in two segments and took a several month break between them to write other books. Omega, on the other hand (78,000 words), took 14 work days to first draft. They were spread out over a couple months because I was editing other projects, but that's all it took. 

After the first draft is done I get it printed off and do a readthrough with a red pen, making marks and seeing what I can improve. This can take a little while. I can typically read and mark about 50 pages per day, so something like Omega takes about two days for me to readthrough (it was 100 printed pages). Then I start doing a rewrite, which I can do at a pace of about 35 pages per day, less if I'm feeling merciful on myself. 25 is a nice balance and makes me happy, but lately I'm not feeling too merciful. The downside is that if I do it faster, I tend to feel really burned out after it's done. I hate editing. It is my least favorite part of the process.

What does editing entail? Here's an example of first draft copy from Omega: The Girl in the Box, Book 5:

The wind was razors, cutting through him as it whipped through the buildings and tore leaves from the trees that protruded from the sidewalk planters like orange distractions blotting out the glass and metal of the skyscrapers all around him. It was downtown Minneapolis, it was late September, and it was by far colder than Dante's last layer of hell, he thought as he avoided a steady stream of men in suits as he made his way down the street. The crisp smell of fall permeated through the ebb and flow of exhaust fumes from the cars that were motoring past, stopping at stop lights. He caught the hints of exhaust here and there, but overall it was all autumn, that tinge of chill that came carried on the wind. He huddle tighter and pushed his hands in his pockets, stretching the material of his coat as he did so. 

Here's the second draft version:

  

They're coming for me, he thought, as he hurried down the sidewalk. The wind was razors, cutting through him as it whipped through the space between the buildings and tore leaves from the trees that protruded from the sidewalk planters like orange distractions blotting out the glass and metal of the skyscrapers all around him. Downtown Minneapolis is somehow far colder than Dante's last layer of hell, he thought as he avoided a steady stream of men in suits. All the worse to know it's coming to an end soon. The crisp smell of fall permeated through the ebb and flow of exhaust fumes from the cars that were motoring past, stopping at stop lights. He huddle tighter in his coat and pushed his hands in his pockets, stretching the material as he did so.

As you can see, I did a few things here; the first line *sucked* in my opinion, so I came up with something that had at least a little more punch. A first line is like a first kiss; it doesn't have to be perfect but you try and make it as good as you can so it sets the right tone. A couple of other notes - you need to establish some sensory detail in the first sentences so you can get a feel for the setting, the character and the problem they're dealing with. Since this is the fifth book in the series, I probably don't agonize over the start as much as I will the first chapter of my Southern Watch series when I start working on it in a month or so, but that's only because I hope by the fifth book in the series I've built up some credibility with the reader.

Okay, so, that's what changes between first and second draft. As a note, I don't tend to change much about the story's structure in the second draft, it's mostly dialogue, description, surface stuff. The story is pretty much done when the first draft is finished, like the bones of a house and the foundation. All I'm doing during second draft is making the interior and exterior look pretty; the supports are already in place. Occasionally I will write an additional scene if I feel like I need one. The last flashback in Family was added during second draft. Most of the time I cut scenes from the first to second draft, I don't add.

What happens when the second draft is done? I send it to my beta readers so they can look it over, help me correct the spelling and grammatical mistakes (they are legion) and let me know what they think.

(MOST FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTION: How do I become a beta reader? Answer: You don't. I am full up on beta readers at present, sorry. Even if two or three bow out I'm not adding more. We're good.)

They take anywhere from a few weeks to a little more than a month to give me a comprehensive reading of what they think of my book, where the errors are, all that fun stuff. If you know anything about editing or editorial guidance, then what they do for me is line-editing, copy-editing and proofreading. They help improve the flow and the clarity of the manuscript, help eliminate my numerous run-on sentences and stream of consciousness blurtings. They don't give me story direction - "Oh, I this character should do X instead of Y!" Not even on Omega. (Though I did receive the note, "I hate you" from no less than four of them.) They understand that it's my story and that I have to live with my name on the cover. This is also a big reason why I love my beta readers; because I've never had to say that to them, it's just expected and understood.

After I've received all the returns from my beta readers, I go through and reconcile their notes on one paper copy of the manuscript. I then take it and put it on the easel next to my computer and read it, out loud, just like I do the marked-up version of the manuscript from the first to second draft part of the process. Reading it out loud helps you catch a surprising number of errors. I don't know why, but it's true. I read it somewhere. In a book. Newbie's Guide to Publishing, I think.

That's the final draft, when I've finished rewriting based on those notes. Again, that's mostly superficial stuff, nips and tucks, sentence detail to increase the emotion of some scenes, dial back the description on others and make certain I fit in the established continuity of the world I'm writing in (becoming more and more necessary as my series get longer; I'm going to have to reread the entire Sanctuary series before I do the final draft of Crusader just so I can make sure I don't contradict myself).

Once that's done, I send the finished product to my editor Sarah Barbour of Aeroplane Media. (You can find her website at aeroplanemedia.wordpress.com - mention I sent you and get absolutely no discount! But great editing.) She's pretty busy lately, but when she gets finished she sends back a file with notes appended, suggestions to fix lines that contain ambiguous phrasing and other nightmares of proofreading. That said, no process is perfect. I was reading Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn: The Final Empire the other day and caught two errors on the same page, and not minor ones. There's no such thing as a flawless book, but this is my process to try and get as close as possible. I should probably read the book over one last time after correcting what Sarah suggests I correct, but frankly, by this time, I'm usually well sick of the damned thing and never want to read it again, ever. Also, fans are probably turning up the heat on Facebook, Twitter and emails because I'm likely close to or over when I said it would be out initially. Oops. Why does this keep happening to me? (Because I'm trying to do too much in too little time, probably.)

The last step, after I've gone through Sarah's work is to send it off to the formatter to be turned into the files necessary to be uploaded to all the major ebook distributors.

So that's it; after that, I simply go to the sites set up by the major companies and enter description, pricing, and upload the cover and book files. It takes a little time on my part, but then I just have to sit back and wait for them to approve it.

I hope this gives you some insight into how things work. Just as a general update, tomorrow I'm going to be doing two things -

1) I'm continuing the second draft rewrite of Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Book Four. The first chapter is posted on this blog - should be the previous entry to this one, in case you missed it.

2) I'm starting the first draft of Broken: The Girl in the Box, Book Six. Why now, rather than focus on Crusader? Because I can't do a rewrite, staring at a paper copy on an easel, reading it out loud while typing in corrections while walking on my treadmill at my treaddesk. So I'm going to have to do at least a couple hours of something that doesn't involve me trying to focus on two separate objects at once, and this is next on my list...

Now that you know my process, Girl in the Box fans...don't get all impatient. Clearly, if you've read this far, you know it's still going to be a while.

But all good things come to those who wait. 

Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four - Chapter One

Author's Note: Yes, there is a prologue, just like with every other Sanctuary book, but you'll have to wait until the book is out to see it.

Five Years Earlier

1.

Vara

Damn you, Cyrus Davidon, Vara thought as the sounds of battle rang through the halls of Sanctuary. You were not meant to be gone this long. Her sword felt heavy in her hand as she ran down the stairs from the tower, a horn blaring behind her, in front of her and all around, with shouts of "ALARUM! RAIDERS!" ringing through the air loud enough to roust even the near-dead. Her plate metal boots slapped against each step, ringing out in a clatter and clang that would have reverberated through the entirety of Sanctuary on a normal day; now they were well drowned out by all else that was going on.

Six months he's been gone. Six long months. With every step down the stairs she felt the hard metal through the leather footcovers she wore underneath them. When the day comes that I see him again, I'm going to let our General know exactly how poor his sense of timing is. There was a smell wafting up the stairs, a scent of blood and fire, and not of the smokeless flames produced by Sanctuary's torches, but of real fire, of battle and death.

She jumped the last flight of stairs, vaulting over the few others that were storming down and found the foyer awash in chaos. There was battle, and fire, and blood all; armor and swords, axes and arrows, all winging their way over the sweeping stone architecture of the usually peaceful halls of Sanctuary. The room was packed with dark elves in the blackened steel of the Sovereign's forces, warring with the motley and unmatched forces of Sanctuary. She saw Sanctuary rangers, human, elven, dark elven, wearing cloaks of green and brown, warriors in armor of flat steel and dull hues, some with surcoats of red and blue and white, and all of them clashing with dark elves in their dim armor, like the forces of light arrayed against the legions of dark.

And dark appears to be winning.

She watched as a dwarf clad in silver mail was cut down by a cleaving attack from a dark elf, who let out a shriek of triumph as his foe dropped to the ground, dead. Vara took it all in, a tingle running through her. She felt it slipping through her, six months of rage, and pent up anger and frustration. There was a taste of morning in her mouth, the bitter, acrid flavor of waking still there, and it only felt more appropriate when couple with the anger surging through her now.

Damn you, Cyrus Davidon.

She channeled her fury into a yell that rang out over the battle. She leapt, and not a small one but a great, ungainly leap of twenty feet, using the mystical strength granted her by armor and sword. She brought her blade down on the dark elf who had slain the dwarf. He stared at her flight, wide-eyed, as she landed upon him and pierced him through his armor. She left a great rent in it, cutting through it as though it were nothing more than old, tattered parchment.

The melee lay open before her, half the heads in the room on her, watching her. The clash of swords, the clang of blades against armor, the sight of a thousand bodies pressed against each other, and yet within, something familiar prickled at her mind even as she rushed forward, sword in motion to deal with the next dark elf, and the next. There was an aura of low-hanging fog, of something passing beneath her feet as she brought down a sword and split the metal helm and skull of a dark elf while whirling to land a hard-edged slash against another enemy.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye - several somethings, actually, as this was a full-fledged battle - but this one more pronounced. It was big, and green, with black robes and a sash around the shoulders that bore the markings of a healer. The troll, Vaste, brought his staff down on the neck of a dark elven warrior that had a blade only inches from Vara's side. The warrior's skull cracked, a sickening noise of bones and wetness echoing in her ears as the body hit the floor and was trampled under the troll's feet as he moved on to his next opponent.

"That's okay, don't thank me or anything," Vaste said under his breath. "After all, why bother to be grateful to me for saving your life?"

Had she not been an elf, and possessed of the exceptional hearing that was a hallmark of her race, she might not have heard him. "I'll thank you later, should we both survive this. As it is, you may have done nothing more," she laid her blade across the throat of another dark elf, "than buy me a temporary reprieve; we seem to be somewhat outnumbered."

"We're not, actually," Vaste said, his hand glowing and pointed in the distance. Vara turned and watched as a healing spell settled on a human ranger whose face was slick with blood pouring from a gouge in his throat. Skin closed up, leaving only the spilt blood as a mark of the death that had nearly visited the man. He shouted his thanks and plunged twin blades into a dark elf that had his back turned. "It's just that most of our force is arrayed on the wall, against the army that has us surrounded."

"Did it not occur to anyone that the Sovereign of the Dark Elves would simply teleport a force into our midst?" She caught the blade of one of the dark elven attackers on hers and turned it aside, spinning him about while she plunged her sword into the back of his neck.

"I don't know. Did it occur to you?"

She narrowed her eyes, but she was turned from him, dealing with two dark elven warriors that came at her with axes. "Fair point."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that?" She couldn't see the troll's face, but she heard the smile in his reply.

"I said focus on the battle, you malodorous pile of rubbish." She struck down the first of her foes with an offhand attack, keeping his body between her and the second as the dark elf sunk to his knees. "Where is Fortin? He could turn the tide of this contest in mere seconds."

"Visiting his estate in the Elven Kingdom, I believe," Vaste's voice had a sudden strain to it and she turned to find him holding back three dark elven warriors who were pressing their attack and driving him toward the doors to the Great Hall, where another battle appeared to be taking place. "He does so love to commune with the rocks and boulders; who would have known that a rock giant had a sensitive side? Certainly not me, but then again I rather enjoy his 'batter your enemies with superior strength until their skulls become a fine paste' approach."

"Aye," she said, moving to help Vaste, but finding herself cut off by three strong dark elven warriors. "We could use a bit of that right now." She found herself boxed in, the one on the left driving her back while the one in the center pushed at her with an oblong blade that resembled a right angle at the tip. She watched Vaste block attacks with his staff, the focusing crystal on the tip of it glowing a ghostly white. "Do our forces outside even know that we've got enemies in the damned foyer?"

"I would have to guess that this is a coordinated attack." Vaste's words came out in great, shuddering gasps as he exerted himself, striking a killing blow against one of the dark elves attacking him. "They're probably making an assault on the wall even now."

"Bloody hell." Vara saw the white, toothy grin of her attacker in the center as he thrust his great sword at her and she dodged, countering with an abrupt lunge, her sword at full extension. Her movement caused her to avoid strikes from the dark elves on her left and right, and she let her attack carry her through, striking the dark elf in the mouth with her blade. She felt it slide in, watched his grin dissolve in blood and broken teeth and pulled her sword left, jerking it free and striking against the neck of her foe on the side. She pirouetted and brought it across the throat of the one to her right. With athletic ease she jumped over the bodies of both of them as they fell and moved toward Vaste, who had collected another attacker.

"Oh, good," the troll said as she struck down the first of his assailants from behind, without warning, causing two of the others to pivot to face her. "I was beginning to worry that perhaps I just wasn't that important to you."

"You truly aren't." She crossed swords with the next that came at her, the clash of her mystical blade against her opponent's drew steel, chipping his sword.

"At least until you need a healing spell," Vaste said. "You ungrateful tart. I bet if I was a warrior wearing black armor, you'd feel differently."

He said it lightly, with just the hint of a barb, but when it reached Vara's ears, it curdled and she felt heat rush through her veins, setting her blood afire. She struck down the next two enemies with reckless disinterest in her own safety, catching a wound to the shoulder that slid through the joint of her armor. She ignored it, felt the searing pain of it and set it aside, letting the thought of the warrior in black burn her internally. Six months, you arrogant bastard, and not so much as a scrap of news; I hope Terian caught you right in your pompous, overmuscled back with a blade-

She felt a pain that was nowhere near her shoulder, a pain so acute and stunning that she hated herself for feeling it. Guilt washed over her, halting her uncharitable thought midway through, leaving her with only the same familiar mantra that had been rolling through her mind for the last six months: Damn you, Cyrus Davidon. Damn you for your arrogance, for your idiotic nobility, your lack of consideration - and for leaving, most of all. Damn you for all of it. She buried her blade in another foe, then another.

Something caused her to shudder; the thin fog that had seemed to creep into the room was gaining in volume, rolling over the floor and swirling into the center of the foyer. Behind her, she could still hear the wail of the horns, the slamming of doors and the roaring of fires bursting out of the hearth across the room, warning the residents of Sanctuary of the attack in their midst, but they seemed to calm, along with the swell of the battle as the mist rolled to the center of the room, rising from the floor into a man-sized pillar, gaining definition and swelling into a figure.

Worn, battered armor appeared out of the cloud, along with a helm that covered all but the mouth of the man within it. A sword of darkened metal swept out of the fog, cutting neatly through seven different assailants that surrounded the mist. The cloud dissipated and flowed to the other side of the room, near the hearth, gathering behind a cluster of dark elven warriors. It sprang into a pillar once more and out came a sword, stroking neatly across the bodies of the foes arrayed about it, then dispersed once more and moved to a spot near the lounge, where it became a tornado of mist and exploded, puffs of the smoky air evaporating to leave behind Alaric Garaunt, the Guildmaster of Sanctuary. He sprang forth from within, his mouth contorted in fury and the sound of his yell rained upon the foes that he struck down a moment later.

Pieces of Alaric's quarries flew across the floor, rolling in among the bodies and the blood that was already slickening the stone floors. Vara cut her way through a dark elf and found herself standing in the doors to the Great Hall, looking within at the place where the guild dined. More than a dozen dark elves had funneled into the Great Hall and were battling with Sanctuary defenders amidst the tables. There was a smell of hearty stew mingled with baked bread, at odds with the crimson covered surfaces and the bodies that lay amidst the upturned tables. The clash of blades and the screams of fury and pain were at odds with the simple, homey scent of the meal being prepared within.

Vara's eyes flew over shattered tables and broken chairs to see Larana, the mistress of the kitchens, hovering in the air, feet at least a head above Vara's own height, her druidic magic issuing forth from her hands. Blasts of coarse flame shot forth to consume the dark elves that were moving forward to attack her, a wave of heat from the fire washing over Vara even at distance. Her hand came up out of instinct, as if to protect her from it. When she lowered it again, a passel of flaming corpses lay about the Great Hall, thick, black smoke gathering above at the high ceiling.

She paused to watch the normally mild, quiet druid, eyes aflame, float toward her remaining enemies, driving them back toward Vara, who braced and attacked as the dark elves ran into her in ones and twos, turning from their attacker with panic in their eyes, the flames driving them to focus more on what they were retreating from than what they were running to. Vara stepped into them, sword moving horizontally in a slash that killed three of the first four with one hit and sent the other to the ground, crying in low guttural noises that choked the air.

Vara stopped, turning to look back to the melee still proceeding in the foyer. Larana's eyes met hers, the druid's gaze a bright, verdant green that reminded Vara somehow of life, and the end of it. "They'll be needing help mopping up in the foyer," Vara said, and Larana nodded, drifting gently a foot off the ground before she flew forward, past Vara and into the battle.

There was a shift, Vara could tell, as she charged back into the fight in the foyer, blade in hand. Where before had been wall-to-wall melee, only a few dark elves remained, backed into a corner to the left of the doors that led outside. The the moans of the injured filled her ears. She ignored it all as she shouldered her way through the crowd toward the dark elves standing off in a line in the corner, staring down their foes of Sanctuary who stood opposite them, a few feet of null space between them. Larana hovered, menacing, nearby, and Vara could see other spellcasters, waiting to break the uneasy peace. Warriors of Sanctuary had crowded to the front, and a small distance, the length of a sword or two, was all that separated the dark elves from being overrun by the larger numbers.

"I am an officer of Sanctuary," Vara said when she reached the front of their line. "You are surrounded, outnumbered, and soon to be headless, your skulls adorning pikes on the top of our walls as a warning to your countrymen of the folly of assailing us." She stared with cold eyes at the last of them, and the enemy stared back as one, no questioning, a cold, unfeeling mass, their irises the striking dark elven reds, yellows and purples, otherwordly. Demons. "Surrender and you'll be shown the hospitality of our dungeons, but at least you'll be alive."

There was a quiet moment before something broke it. "In the name of the Sovereign." A dark elf close to the back of their formation near-whispered it, but she heard. Another took up the call, louder this time. "In the name of the Sovereign." Then another. The heavy smell of smoke and iron lay upon the air, burning her eyes with its pungence.

"Oh bloody hell," Vara whispered.

"IN THE NAME OF THE SOVEREIGN!" It grew to a chorus, then a chant, shared voices all offering it up to the heavens, banging their mailed feet against the floor as though trying to make the Sanctuary army flinch by their effort. Vara grasped her sword tighter in her grasp, and she felt the tension in the ranks behind her as others did the same, knowing that the charge was coming, and that it would be short and bloody. There was a rattle of swords, and behind her the noise of tense breaths being drawn. Another smell reached her nose, flooded it, the scent and feeling of humidity, of mist in the air, and she saw it swirl around her feet, so dense that the stones of the floor disappeared beneath a thick layer of the wafting, whitish clouds.

The mist gathered and swirled, into the corner behind the dark elves, who continued their rage and sturm, making a fearsome racket that drowned out almost all else in her ears and made her head ache from the noise of it. A solid mass began to take shape behind the dark elves, who were oblivious to the sight of a perfect cloud forming in the very corner. It grew in size and volume and turned darker, a storm gathering unto itself, until finally a hand swept out following the point of a sword, and Alaric Garaunt appeared behind them from within the depths of it. Vara saw three fall with the first attack as the Ghost's ancient blade, Aterum, swung high and slopped a bloody line on the brown stones of the wall to his side as it flew.

Vara could hear the collective intake of breath beside and behind her, waiting, their line formed to contain the last dark elves. They watched as the screams and chaos consumed the dark elves and their formation as their warriors, so prepared for bloody sacrifice and shouting their willingness to die for the Sovereign only moments earlier fell to pieces under the onslaught of one man appearing behind them. It was short and bloody, covered in the swirl of fog and mist, and in the end it came down to a last dark elf, and Alaric held him out at the edge of his blade, the warrior trembling. There had been twenty or more of them in the corner before The Ghost had appeared, and the last seemed to realize this, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, his sword clenched in his fist, navy skin around his knuckles turned sky-blue from the strength of his grip.

Alaric stared down his sword at the dark elf, who dropped his weapon with a clatter, and his hands began to rise. The Ghost stared down, his lone eye unflinching. Vara caught an almost imperceptible shudder down Alaric's arm and the sword began to move, sliding through the belly of the dark elf, who gasped and looked up at Alaric with wide eyes.

"You have sieged and invaded my home, and slain my brothers and sisters." Alaric's voice was low, and as filled with malice as Vara had ever heard it. "Let this be a warning to you and yours; there is no mercy for those who would do such things." His palm reached out and the dark elf shuddered as a surge of power shot from Alaric's gauntlet, the energy of a spell sending the dark elf into the wall at such a speed that Vara could hear the splatter of his flesh and blood even as she turned her head not to look.

When she turned back, Alaric stood, red splotching the battered surface of his armor, looking coldly down at his hand as though it were something foreign to him. "Alaric?" Her voice was barely above a whisper but it stirred him, as though drawing him from a trance. "We have been attacked from within; we must make preparations to protect ourselves. We must either shut down the portal or station a small army here to deal with additional assaults should they come. We need a messenger to go speak with Thad at the wall; we may have to reinforce the guard there if the dark elves are attacking."

The Ghost stared back at her, quiet, almost lifeless, before finally nodding his head underneath the massive helm. "Let it be done." He looked through the crowd until his eye came to rest on Larana. "Go to Thad. See if the dark elves have begun their attack in earnest." He looked again through the crowd until he found a grizzled man in armor, whose face was exposed through the front of his helm. "Belkan...you will form a guard and keep watch on the foyer every hour of the day and night. We cannot shut down the portal, lest we strand Cyrus's army in a foreign land without retreat nor any way to get a message home." The old knight looked suddenly weary, and he still held Aterum in his hand.

Larana did not wait for any further instruction, she surged forward over the head of the crowd, running on air and seeming to slip through the crack of the main door without it opening but barely. Vara watched her go, then walked slowly toward Alaric, who remained still, unmoving, a statue of steel and flesh. "Alaric," she said quietly, "are you quite well?"

He did not move at first, but when he did it was only to move his head ponderously to look upon her with his one good eye, and having an almost imperceptible smile upon his lips. "A goodly portion of our army is away in a foreign land under the command of our General, and we have not heard from them in six months when they were to have been gone only three. We have been surrounded by the legions of the dark elves, most aggrieved at us for our part in defending the Elven Kingdom during their recent invasion, and now they have gone so far as to use a wizard to slip an elite force of their soldiers into our home using a spell I felt certain was unknown to any but our own spellcasters. If that were not enough, we have an officer that has lost his father and may seek revenge, just waiting to become a problem, and only half a year ago we slayed the God of Death himself." The smile grew slightly larger, and all the more grotesque in its obvious falseness. "Tell me, child - why would I not be quite well?"

"As long as you're keeping a good perspective on things." Vaste's voice rang out from just behind Vara, but she heard the usual irony only on the surface; there was a deeper sense of darkness hidden from all but those who knew him best.

A shout of alarm came from behind them and Vara turned; a point of magical energy had appeared in the center of the foyer, over the great seal that was placed in the middle of the room. It crackled and glowed, shedding green upon the face of Belkan across from her, his sword braced in his hand and pointed toward the brightness. She saw others mirror the action as the spell grew in its intensity as the seconds ticked by. She gripped her sword tighter as the door to the room burst open and Larana shouted (of all people, Vara thought, it would be worst if she were the one shouting), "We are under attack! They have siege towers at the walls!"

The sparkle of magic at the center of the foyer grew brighter, something began to coalesce within. Another round, then. Let's have at it, Sovereign of the Dark Elves. Send me all you have, every last one of your bastard children and all the sons of whores you slap into armor and call warriors. Send them all and I'll throw them back at you, bloody and shattered. Throw your whole army at us and I'll take them one by one, grind them up and heave them back to Saekaj Sovar, march through your city and leave it in ruins the way you did mine, you right bastard-

The spell magic faded, leaving not another small army, but a lone figure. A druid, a human, a man, a little shorter than her but not by much, his eyes dark and already looking around at the carnage and the bodies that lay strewn across the foyer. He let out a short, sharp breath as his eyes walked over the scene. "My gods," Ryin Ayend said as the last of his spell faded, "what has happened here?"

"You have missed much in your absence," Alaric said, walking toward the druid with a slow, shuffling gait. "And it has been long since we have heard from any of your brethren.

Ayend paused, a subtle cringe on his face, a slight twist of pain and discomfort. "Things have...gone astray, in Luukessia. We have had some...unforeseen difficulties."

There was a low, whistling sound from outside that seemed to grow closer, swelling into a loud squeal as Vara threw herself to the ground in front of the hearth. The massive, circular stained glass window above the front doors exploded inward as a rock - launched, Vara was certain, by one of the catapults surrounding the walls of Sanctuary - burst through and landed with a crash, rolling through the foyer and sending bodies flying, until it came to a rest in the Great Hall, butted against the ruin of one of the large oaken tables. Moans of pain and screams of loss issued forth from the path of the boulder, and Vara pulled herself back to her feet, shaking the little pieces of glass out of her hair.

"Unforeseen difficulties?" she said, in a most rueful tone, drawing the attention of Ryin Ayend, who was pulled to his feet by Alaric from where the druid lay not far from her. His eyes were glazed, and fixed on the door to the Great Hall and the boulder laying within. His jaw hung open. With the window shattered, sounds from the outside filtered into the foyer, and a low roar could be heard in the distance; the maniacal, chanting sound of an army, the low rumble of the siege machines, and the sound of other rocks hurled from catapults impacting elsewhere, the flat, thump and shaking of the ground as they hit. "Yes, we've experienced a few of those ourselves since your departure." With that, she looked back to the broken window, the blue sky visible beyond and listened again, to the sounds of battle, the sounds of war, of all the different kinds of hell waiting just outside the Sanctuary gates to be unleashed upon them.

Damn you, Cyrus Davidon. Damn you for leaving me like this...

 

Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four

copyright © 2012 Reikonos Press

It's like a status update, but for my blog!

Status: Listening to the Les Miserables soundtrack, waiting for my new desk to be delivered in the middle of a snowstorm.

I've been listening to the Les Miserables soundtrack a lot lately. I really need to be done with it before I start writing Broken, because there's waaaaay too much mercy and forgiveness in these songs. Wouldn't want that to creep into my writing for that one, would we...

That was evil, I know. I wanted to update you all on my progress, and what I'm working on, and how it's all going. I'm firmly in the middle of the second draft of Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four, but that draft should be finished around the 22nd of March. As soon as it's done I'll be doing the first draft of Broken while my beta readers are fiddling with Crusader. Tentative release date for Crusader is the end of April/Early May. Will I hit that? Hell if I know. I know how much longer I need to work on it, but I'm not the only one working on it. It depends on how long my beta readers need to go through it, how long my editor needs to proof that massive beast of a manuscript and how long the formatter takes to whip it into an actual book. I'd be more specific if I could, but I can't, yet.

As for Broken, same thing. I don't think it's going to take me very long to write this one, but we'll see. I know I said summer for its release, but that was me being fairly safe because I don't want to let people down. It may well be sooner. It likely will unless VERY BAD THINGS happen in my life. I don't ever rule that out, but assuming normal operating conditions, I think we'll see it soon after the release of Crusader.

There's a change to the publishing schedule after that; I'm pulling forward the release of the first book of my new series. Anyone want to know about it? Well, here's some basics:

1. It takes place in a small town in Tennessee. Having spent my summers in a small town in Tennessee, I'm not just pulling this out of my bum. My entire family is from the south, so I'm pretty well familiar with the culture. I'm going to do my best to show a different side of the south than you might have seen before in the name of variety, and it'll be much more about emphasizing the good parts. You've seen plenty of negatives if you've ever read a book or seen a movie about the South, so I feel like covering any of that would be treading in the realm of cliche. The demons and hellspawn that my protagonists will be facing should be enough of a negative. (And hopefully not cliche, the way I'm going to be dealing with them!)

2. The books follow multiple characters who are ages 18-25. Yes, technically this puts them in the "New Adult" category. What can I say? I had the idea for this series back when I was actually that age. Because we're following multiple characters, it's much more broad and hopefully epic than the Girl in the Box, which basically follows a single character's journey.

3. There are some writers who do excellent dialect work, and can use their writing to make their sentences sound like they're being spoken by locals. I am not one of those writers, so while I'm going to try and capture the "feel" of the south, I'm not gonna be substituting the word "warsh" for "wash" or anything like that so you can try and struggle to understand what the hell is being said on the page. My only concession to the difference in manner of speaking is that I will use the word "y'all."Although I'll do things like say "supper" when most of us would say "dinner," things that should be easy to figure out in context, that won't take away from your understanding of the story but add authentic atmosphere.

4. It takes place in a world of demons and other such devilry. There won't be much of a sci-fi angle to this one, it'll hew closer to the mystical/demonic of many urban fantasy books.

5. The title of the first book is Called, and the series will be called Southern Watch. So the first book, Called: Southern Watch, Book 1 will be coming sometime this summer (barring delays).

6. Expect this to be another arc story (i.e. will follow the multi-book pattern like Girl in the Box - a monster/threat for every book, but a bigger one that overarches the entire story). This series is presently only plotted at 7 books, though it's not set in stone yet.

That's all I'm prepared to reveal thus far, but I'm going to try and get three books in this series out by the end of the year. After the first of these books is out, it's back to Sanctuary for that Terian novella, Thy Father's Shadow.

Well, that's all I've got for right now. Hopefully this satiates some of you who are waiting. I'll be back before too long with a FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) post that'll go both here and on my webpage, but for the most part I'll continue to spend my time writing fiction rather than blog posts. You understand, right?

EDITED TO ADD:

I forgot about Audiobooks! I am working to find the proper person to voice Sienna Nealon in the Girl in the Box series. Alone is presently in the audition phase, and I'll update via Twitter and Facebook once that moves into active production, because I'm very excited to begin to bring this series to a new format. 

Unflinching - AKA The Omega Discussion Post

SPOILERS ABOUND! DO NOT READ THIS POST UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED OMEGA OR IT WILL RUIN YOUR READING EXPERIENCE!

I listened to the Director's Commentary on the Alternate Ending to Dodgeball a few years ago, and it stuck with me. If you haven't seen Dodgeball, it's a comedy, and a good one, one of the funniest ones that I could ever recall seeing when I watched it in the summer of 2004, the year I moved to Wisconsin. It holds up pretty well upon repeated viewings, I think, because of strong performances by the cast and a great and constant flow of excellent one-liners and gags.

Anyway, the original ending was a super downer. I'm not going to spoil the film for you, but I'll say in very general terms that the ending was abrupt, and the bad guys won. The Director said something along the lines of "I felt that in order to maintain the artistic integrity of the film, it had to end this way." The studio disagreed with him, and he quit over it, at least for a few days, until Ben Stiller and Vince Vaughn talked him into returning to reshoot it the way the studio wanted. I kind of scoffed at the time; he was violating the rules of the genre, I felt, and it likely would have made the movie much less of a commercial success. Who wants to watch a movie billed as a comedy through ninety minutes of fun and hijinks only to leave the theater with a sour taste in your mouth because you walk out with a distinctly unamused feeling?

I still think the studio made the right call, because I loved the finished product and it conformed to the rules of the genre. That said, I feel for the Director because his vision got compromised in order to serve the product to the masses the way they would want it. That's a dangerous thing in some instances. Writing in genres has some similar rules - for example, if you write in the Romance genre, you cannot have any ending save for a Happily Ever After (referred to as an HEA - or a Happily For Now - HFN). Can't do it. Audiences will feel mega-betrayed if you write a romance and it ends poorly. If you write something that looks like a romance up until the end and it deviates from this, it belongs in another category, like Drama, or Contemporary Fiction, not Romance. Rules of the road.

Where does the Girl in the Box fit into this? It's that pesky bit about artistic integrity, the integrity of the story. I had a vision for where I wanted this series to go from day one. We've hit some pretty rough patches along the way, some really dark ones. And with Omega, we're entering some desperately dark territory.

The ending, especially, was a hard thing for me to write, knowing what I was doing to my readers (I didn't do it to the characters, they did it of their own accord), and I was sorry it had to be done. I feel bad, really I do. I had beta readers tell me with all sincerity they hated me for what happened at the end of that book. That it made them cry buckets and feel horrible inside after reading it. And I thought about trying to change it, really I did. Part of me wanted to spare you all the pain, the agony, maybe go back to the drawing board, change the whole story from here on out...but I couldn't. Not really.

I've been laying down threads for the last five books (four if I just obliterated Omega and started over again) that wouldn't make much sense if I torpedoed the whole thing and started afresh. I'd be throwing away books worth of setup and character development and plot arcs and storylines to make people feel better. And I'm sorry, but for the sake of artistic integrity, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't spare feelings, I couldn't soften the blow. I just let it go, unflinching, knowing that some of you are going to hate it, hate me, and possibly take out that anger on the barista at the coffee shop because they're the one standing closest to you when the bomb hit.

The good news is that in this case, it isn't the end. There are still five more books before we get to the end of our saga. Now, much like happened in Harry Potter, it's not likely to get drastically better for our heroine before the end of the tale, but we've now entered a new phase of things. Sienna is alone again, she's deprived of the resources of the Directorate (including Chloridamide) and bereft of any friends, and now has to learn to make it on her own - something she would not have had to do with the Directorate. It's going to be an interesting time for Sienna, as we move forward, and I'm really hoping that the ending of Omega brought you in closer to the story rather than made you so upset you wanted to run away.

But this post is more about you all and how you feel than just me trying to explain what I've done (you'll figure that all out in time). So, please, sound off! Give your opinions (try to keep the profanity-laced tirades to a minimum? I'm okay with a little swearing in this forum but if it's a long string f-this and f-that, I may have to delete your comment - send the really heavy, swearing complaints to me direct - cyrusdavidon@gmail.com) because I'd love to hear them. Really, I would (even the profanity-laced tirades, so long as you email them to me and they're not hate mail).

So, this is your forum! How do you feel about Omega? The ending? The future? Sound off!