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Women Protagonists in Fantasy Fiction

23 Jul

I recently listened to a panel of successful female writers and editors, from the fantasy genre, discuss female protagonists. As a male writer, I found it an interesting discussion. Hoping for some insight on how to make my female characters deeper and more real, what actually was discussed was a distinct dissatisfaction across the panel that most female protagonists in the fantasy genre were kickass warriors.

Hmm. Isn’t that feminist’s equality? I asked myself.

Hold on a moment. Before you all start to go off on me as being a sexist, let me continue. Everyone, myself included, was in agreement that a kickass warrior was infinitely better than the pretty pitiful princess that needs rescuing. The question became, “What other journeys are there for a female protagonist in a fantasy story beside Joseph Campbell’s ‘Hero’s Journey’?” Campbell’s journey is by far the most popular and most recognized.

Most fantasy stories have a hero of some sort as the protagonist. It just the way things are in the genre. Maybe because the standard good vs evil convention leads itself in that direction. There has to be someone to vanquish evil or evil will destroy everything.

It made me wonder about other potential character arcs. What other female specific arcs are there? As a matter of fact, I cannot remember hearing of any other character arc being ‘named’, let alone documented. What can I say, I’ve led a sheltered life. Shouldn’t any arc that you can find in literature be used in fantasy?

What other “journeys” are you aware of? Have they been documented in detail somewhere? What have you used? Have kickass female warriors become merely a cliché? Boy, I hope not! It’s hard to beat a story about a woman who goes around kicking ass and taking names.

Your Thoughts?

 
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Posted by on July 23, 2013 in Thoughts on Writing

 

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And then the trouble starts! A and W Part VII

11 Jul

This is a scene from a story that started as a writing exercise, My Scene. It is a series of flash pieces that are the beginnings of my current WIP.. This scene happens later in the story than the previous posts though it didn’t start that way. It just made sense as I wrote it that it would be more of a turning point.  This will probably be the last installment I post of this story for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I don’t want you to see too much more of it before it starts going into revision.

A quick background: I am Derek Nantan, a North American Marshal in the service of the Pentacle. My territory ranges from the continental divide in the west to roughly Chicago in the east. I was tasked with helping Amy Hatcher, an Oscar-winning actress, by ridding her of a stalker that a local shaman suspects to be a warlock.

The door rolled open a foot on well oiled tracks. Even so, it made more noise than I would have liked. I slipped through the opening and into the darkness beyond. The faint scent of burning chocolate over the smell of horses and manure, told me someone or something was using magic. There was a pale green glow coming from the stables. It provided just enough light so I could pick my way through the vehicles and equipment stored at this end of the barn.  

I passed by the tack room and as I approached the stables, I saw a horse rear up in its stall. However, I didn’t hear any sound at all coming from the stables. I stayed close to the wall on my left side. My stalking walk was all but silent under the worst of conditions so, I was not worried about being heard. The horse continued to buck and crash into the sides of the stall until one of the stable gates opened and a man stepped out into the glow. His shoulders stood above the top of the gate and from that distance he seemed tragically thin. Long dark hair partially covered an angular face as he walked toward me. The grey sweatshirt hung from his shoulders and barely reached the top of his torn jeans. His long strides brought him within a few feet before he stopped and considered me.

“Howdy,” he said with a voice that resembled Lurch from the Adams Family. “Can I help you?”

The air now smelled like I had fallen into a vat of burnt chocolate. The hair on the back of my hands and neck was at full attention. Whoever this was, he was bad news in spades. I smiled and tried to show him I was relaxed when inside, every muscle and tendon was vibrating like a guitar string. I drew power up through the orb in my right hand and prepared a proper welcome if it came to that.

“Hi, I’m looking for Ramone,” I said, not wanting to give him any real names.

“That’s me,” he said as he smiled and took a step toward me.

He began to stretch out his hand towards me when two things struck me. First, his hands were much too large for his frame. And two, his teeth looked like they had been sharpened with a file.

“I don’t think so,” I said as I took a step back. 

His hand flashed up toward my throat. Somehow he had gotten much closer to me than I remember him being. My orb pulsed and my left hand caught his wrist a few inches short of his target. The speed and strength the orb provided was barely enough to keep him away. His eyes flashed red as he glanced down at our interlocked hands. His fingers straightened and instantly grew into foot long talons that tore through my shirt and plunged deep into my shoulder. The orb fell from my hand as all feeling drained from my right hand. I pushed with my left hand which still held his wrist and twisted away. The talons shredded the front of my shirt and tore lines across the flesh or my chest.

He chuckled as I looked down at my ruined shoulder. My orb lay on the floor between us. The talons were gone and he motioned for me to come to him. I took the opportunity and drew my knife. Made from meteor metal and enchanted by the kachinas, it was the other gift my father gave me the day before mother murdered him. With my right arm all but useless, I held the knife in my left hand with the blade forward to give me a little more reach. 

“Come mageling,” he said, looking at the orb. “Was it you who called me?”

“Who are you and why are you here?” I asked, trying to by some time.

He smiled and circled to my right. “I told you. I’m Ramone and someone called to me.”

He moved so fast, I barely had time to bring the knife around. His left hand with talons extended, tore into my right thigh. My knife caught his arm as he went past me and sliced a gash from his wrist to his elbow. Unfortunately, the knife blade caught on a bone and was ripped from my hand. His unnatural roar shook the beams of the barn. He spun and back-handed me across the forehead. The force of his blow snapped my head to the side and stars exploded before my eyes. I felt myself hit the ground. Pain flashed down my arm as I rolled over several times trying to get some distance from my attacker. I looked up through foggy eyes to see walking toward me. He seemed bigger from this angle and talons had replaced both of his hands. He flexed his left arm and dark liquid flowed from the wicked gash my knife had made.

“Time to die, mageling,” He said, as he raised his right hand to strike. 

I squirmed to get my left arm out from underneath me and bring it up in a feeble attempt to block the oncoming blow. My hand came free from beneath me and bumped into my orb. I grabbed it and looked up again expecting the talons to rip my head from my neck. 

When you are in a struggle for your life, time slows down. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s heighten senses. Either way, It is amazing to experience.

The muzzle blast from a large-bore rifle fired in an enclosed space is painful. The sound of the blast hit my ears as the chest of the man standing over me exploded over my head. Before he could react, a second explosion tore away a portion of his right shoulder. The force of the second round spun the man away from me. I looked at the direction of the barn door and saw Ben levering another round into a Winchester lever-action rifle. The taloned man looked down at his wounds and screamed with rage as a third bullet hit his thigh. He turned as if nothing was wrong and charged toward me. Ben’s Winchester roared again but the bullet missed its mark. That was okay because he had given me the time I needed.

My orb pulsed in my hand. The sound from the rifle’s muzzle blast was created by waves of energy moving outward from the gun. I redirected that energy through the orb, condensed it, shaped it into the form of a bighorn ram’s head and sent it into Mr. Talon’s chest just as he was about to eviscerate me. At that range, I could hardly miss. The full force of the spell hit him. All of the air and most of the blood in his lungs exploded out of his mouth and sprayed me with ichor. The force of the spell propelled him up and slammed his back into the steel I-beam that supported the barn’s roof twenty feet above the floor. The ominous crack of vertebrae shattering gave me a moment’s hope as the crumple body dropped back to the floor. 

I rolled to my knees in time to see Ben fire another shot that missed. Looking back at where the body had landed, I was dumbfounded as the man slowly stood up. I heard more cracking, as if bones were grating across each other. I began to gather energy in preparation for another spell. He made it into a crouch and glared at me. He hissed and ran toward Ben and the door out. I sent a burst of energy to create and barrier across the barn to trap him but I misjudged his speed and wall went up behind him as he raced toward Ben. 

I watched in helpless horror as the man barely slowed down as he went past Ben, talon raking across Ben’s neck. Ben was scrambling to reload the Winchester and didn’t see blow that separated his head from his neck. He probably didn’t feel it. His head fell forward and his body slowly toppled to the side. I slumped to my side. My shoulder and leg burned. My head throbbed. I closed my eyes.

If you are interested in reading the previous scenes, check them out at, Actress and the Warlock Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI. .

 
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Posted by on July 11, 2013 in Actress and the Warlock

 

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Inspiration from a Writer’s Conference

24 Jun

I just spent the last three days at the 4th Street Fantasy Con here in Minnesota. It is a small, single-track convention devoted to Fantasy writers and readers. Attending panelists and participants traveled from as far away as both coasts. I believe Canada was represented as well. The panel discussions were fully interactive with audience participation the rule rather than the exception. The single track meant that you could see every panel without worrying if you would miss something. As usual the small group discussions between panels and after hours were some of the most interesting. These people were scary smart and some of the best read individuals I have every met. Talk about recharging the creative batteries!

More importantly, as a “First-timer” I was welcomed and treated like an old friend. I can say with all honesty that, as a writer of fantasy fiction, this was the best three days I have spent in a very long time. I will be making this an annual event on my calendar. Over the next several weeks, I’m going to use my panel notes to discuss some of my take aways from this conference.

First and foremost, I have been reading from many of you that you are or have been stuck, hit a wall, become unmotivated, lack confidence or direction, or in any other way have stopped writing. I too have been suffering from a form of Spring shutdown. Mine has been due primarily to landscaping projects that were postponed from earlier in the year due to a LONG winter and WET Spring. However, prior to attending this weekend’s conference, I had decided to take back my writing time and recreate my writing habit.

Attending the conference was like pouring gasoline on smoldering embers. Listening to and participating in active discussions about writing with highly intelligent and well-published authors and editors in my genre was like touching off the solid rocket boosters on the space shuttle. I received some well thought out advice, as well as heard ideas and trends that fired my imagination. Even though I didn’t always agree with what was being said, the sheer volume of information transfer was enormous. I defy anyone who is a fantasy writer to sit through a 4th Street Fantasy conference and NOT be amped to get back to the keyboard.

So, I have brushed off some goals I set for myself in January. Set a few new ones and readjusted my priorities. Going forward, if I am engaged in writing at the appointed times, the following will apply: If it is not bleeding, it breathes normally, or has been poisoned but, will not die until after my writing timer dings, DO NOT OPEN or knock on the door to my writing room. DO NOT call me and expect me to answer. DO NOT expect me to retweet or post blogs until that day’s WIP writing is finished. PERIOD! End of discussion! Got it!

Okay, that was mostly for my benefit, not yours. 😉

Now for a few questions for you. Have you attended a writer’s conference that just fired your rockets? Which conference was it? Are you aware of any Writer’s forums were intelligent discussions on craft and ideas are discussed regularly? Do you read outside of your genre? What do you look for when you do?

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2013 in Other Strangeness

 

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One Writer’s Update

06 May

During the past few weeks, my non-writing life has pushed my writing life into the passenger seat. Not the back seat mind you.

I attended a class on Speculative Fiction through the Loft Literary Center. 6 weeks of reading and a few writing exercises unrelated to my WIP. It kept me busy but, the class wasn’t what I was hoping for. However, as usual, I found some takeaways that will help to improve my writing. So, it was a win in the end.

I haven’t posted any new sections on the Actress and the Warlock. However, there has been work done on this project. I have gone back and cleaned up the first few sections. Since much of this has been done as flashes, several plot points needed to be rethought out to ensure continuity going forward. A missing scene of mostly dialogue is where I’ve spent most of my time writing. I want to get this scene done before I move the story forward. I’m hoping to have it ready to post next week.

I’ve been playing around some with Twitter. It has been an interesting experience worthy of its own post. Yeah, I’ll save that one for later. It might be a really short, or really long post depending on how my last Tweet session goes. 😉

Lastly, I just finished reading, On Writing, by Stephen King. If you haven’t read it, I would recommend it. The second half of the book deals with his writing tool box and his method. As with most books on writing, the reader has to take what is said and try to apply it in their own way. The nice thing about this book was that the author put his advice in PLAIN language with very little interpretation needed. Obviously, his method works. On a side note I found the section where he talks about his accident rather interesting. He is very lucky to have survived As a former EMT, having Stephen describe his own experience, brought back more than a few memories for me, of being on the care giver vs the patient. Overall, On Writing, was a good read.

One other thing. I’ve been looking for techniques on editing, specifically, First Person POV, other than trying to remove “I’s”. For example, checking verb tenses in compound sentences. Those of you who write in first person, do you have an editing checklist that you use? No sense reinventing the wheel.

Okay, now I’m off to write some dialogue.

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2013 in Musings and Odd Thoughts

 

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First lines

26 Apr

Some of my favorite first lines follow:

“Once upon a time…” – Everyone has used this one.

“There are many perks to living twenty-one centuries, and foremost among them is bearing witness to the rare birth of genius.” – Hounded by Kevin Hearne

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” – Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

“They shoot the white girl first.” – Paradise by Toni Morrison

“The building was on fire, and it wasn’t my fault.”— Blood Rites: A Novel of the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…” – The open scrawl to the Star Wars movies by George Lucas

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” – The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

Do these first lines draw you in? Do they paint a picture? Each is famous. Each is epic. Does the first line of your story capture the reader? If not, close this post and get back to work.

NO, NO. I’m just kidding. Read the rest of this post, make a comment, and then get back to writing.

The opening line I want to talk about is “Once upon a time…”. We have all heard this since we were too young to understand what it meant. If there every was a line that puts the reader into “Fantasy” mode, “Once upon a time…” is it. Those four words remove the reader to another time. The reader is prepared for something outside the norm. To some extent the word “Once…” is enough to accomplish the same effect.

The problem with those four words, is that they are cliché. They have been used so much, that to some extent, they have lost their effectiveness. Alone, they no longer carry the weight they once did. However, when followed by the right series of words, they still perform magic. For example:

“Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person.” – Back When We Were Grown-Ups by Anne Tyler

My response to this first line is “Really? How?”. This is exactly what the author wanted me to say. With fifteen words, I am drawn into the story and my interest is building. Think about the affect the first dozen words of your story have on the reader. Now, think of the reader as a potential agent, editor, or publisher. Does your first line FORCE them to continue reading? If not, stop writing the rest of your story until you have that first line perfect. Great plot, characters, pacing, etc. will be for naught if the reader puts your story down after the first line. It is that important.

Now get back to writing.

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2013 in Thoughts on Writing

 

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What’s in Character – Now What!

10 Apr

Okay. We have finished your character’s creation. during the preceding What’s in Character blog posts. You’ve been following this blog and building a character along the way. I can here you now. “Great Dennis. I have twenty-two pages of information on each of my characters. My character notebook is a novel unto itself. I know more about them than I do about my own family. What do I do with all of it?” My standard response to all questions is, “That depends.”

1)  If you don’t have a plot in mind for your story, dive into your character’s lives and find something that would come into great conflict with your protagonist. Hopefully, you can also find something about you protagonist that would pose a great conflict for your antagonist. Ta Da, you have an initial plot conflict.

2)  What if you have a plot in mind? Look for new potential character arcs. Ways in which your characters can change based on the plot line. Trust me that the information you have generated during the previous posts is full of potential.

3)  I have a plot. I have character arcs. I have all the conflicts the reader could hope to want in a story. What else can I use this tome for?  COLOR! The whole point of this exercise was to create characters that are real to the reader. Use this material to add realism. Have you character twirl her hair while she talks to the police detective. The officer doesn’t know this is a tell that she is lying bu,t you can let the reader know it is with a few well-chosen words of description embedded in the dialogue. Add bits and sprinkles of your character’s likes and dislikes or tags and traits into dialogue to break it up and make it grab the reader. After a critical scene, your character may need to reflect on the situation. Have them grab their favorite drink, find their favorite comfortable spot and reflect away. The added details can be found in you Tome of Characters. Have fun with it but, don’t over do it. The information about your character that you relate to thee reader should be there for a reason.

It was my intention to give you details as to how my “Yursi” character was created. However, my character file is at 23 pages and growing. that’s too much for this blog. You will just have to read my short story,  Good Night’s Sleep, and the novel to follow to find out more about the raven-haired witch with twin magical daggers that is searching for a lost relative and her own identity while being hunted down by her own family. 🙂 That project is slated for 2014.

Let me know how your characters turn out. 

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2013 in What's in Character

 

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Actress and the Warlock Part VI

31 Mar

This is continuation of a story that started as a writing exercise, My Scene. It is coming in flashes, both literally and figuratively.

One story note: During a clean-up and initial revision of the first five parts, I decided to change the governing body that Derek reports to. Instead of the rather cliché “Wizard King” I’m going with “The Pentacle”. The nature of this entity will be revealed at a later date.

A quick background: I am Derek Nantan, a North American Marshal in the service of the Pentacle. My territory ranges from the continental divide in the west to roughly Chicago in the east. I was tasked with helping Amy Hatcher, an Oscar-winning actress, by ridding her of a stalker that a local shaman suspects to be a warlock.

“By what name should I call you?” I asked knowing that the sprite would not give me its real name. Real names hold power. Especially in the paranormal community.

“Gypster is a name I am known by.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gypster. I’m Derek.”

“I know who you are,” Gypster said as he stood up. “You’re an enforcer for the Pentacle.”

“Marshall,” I corrected. “I help to keep the magical community in line so the Norms don’t panic. You wouldn’t want a bunch of children running around with butterfly nets looking for the sprites that they used to think were Fairy Tales?”

Gypster flinched and took a step back. His face scrunched up and shook his head. The fey despised the term fairy tales.

I squatted down so Gypster didn’t have to crane his neck so much to speak with me.

“Am I correct to assume you are aware of the evil that is active in this area of late?” I asked.

The sprite shuddered before answering which told me more than any answer he would give.

“You are correct. It first appeared about twenty suns ago. At first it just wandered about, not doing much of anything. Then, it became interested in the woman at the ranch.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Um, about twelve suns ago I think.”

That fit with the time that Amy and her staff had said the first of the carcasses had shown up.

“Do you know who this evil is?”

Gypster shook his head. “No. I don’t know its name. I don’t want to know its name. I don’t even want to see it.”

Gypster started to pace. He gnawed on a fingernail.

“Its dark…really dark.” The sprite said. “You know what I mean?”

I watched him fidget. He seemed to grow more agitated as we talked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know dark.”

You did not become a marshal for the Pentacle without having faced down and defeated some very dark critters. That was the nature of the job, to track down and dispose of dark threats to the Norms. In general, humans don’t even believe in things that go bump in the night. The vampires and werewolves currently popular with film makers and writers of fiction are very real. However, those nasties are on the lower few rungs of the threat ladder that calls this plane their playground. At least vamps and wolves can be killed. I’d run into a few summoned creatures that the best I could hope for was to banish them back to their home plane. The fact that Gypster was using the pronoun it and not he or she did not escape me.

“Do you know how it came here?”

“No,” Gypster replied.

The sprite cocked his head as if he heard a sound and stared off into the darkness. I noticed that Lola, as well, was looking out toward the arroyo to the south. I didn’t hear anything but both Gypster and Lola have radar-like hearing. No doubt something was moving out there.

“No, I don’t,” Gypster repeated after a moment.

He seemed a distracted so I maybe I could get a straight answer to my next question. “What are you doing out here on this dark night?”

Gypster replied quickly. “I delivered an invitation to the brownies who care for this house.”

My mouth must have fallen open because Gypster looked up at me and seeing my expression, stomped his foot and muttered something under his breath.

I closed my mouth studied the sprite for a moment. He was looking everywhere but at me.

“Are you saying that Amy Hatcher has house brownies?”

“Ah, no. I’m not saying that.”

“Really? Let me rephrase my question.” I chose my words carefully. “Did you say that you delivered an invitation to brownies who are caring for the house that Amy Hatcher lives in?”

Gypster looked up and tipped his head from side to side. Finally, he looked at me with sheepish eyes and said, “Speaking literally I’d say yes. That is what I said.”

“Interesting.” I filed that away. Someone was holding out on me. Either Amy or one of her staff had to not only believe in, but actively nurture a relationship with the fey for house brownies to stick around.

“Who was the invitation from?’ I asked.

“That I am not at liberty to say.” Gypster punctuated his answer by crossing his arms.

I suspected that the invite had come from a member of the Seelie Court that ruled over the light side of the fey community. It didn’t matter at this point so I let it drop. Lola must have become bored so she leapt from the fence post and with a few slow flaps of her wings vanished silently into the night.

“Are you aware of any fey or other immortal who would have a reason to scare or injure Ms. Hatcher?”

This time Gypster thought before he spoke. “I am not aware of anyone of the long-lived, who would have reason to do her harm.”

I nodded at Gypster. that was about all I could expect him to answer that might be of help. I knew better than to thank him as he would take that as a sign that I now owed him a favor. It was never wise to owe a fey for anything.

“You have done your Queen and your people proud today,” I said. “You have fulfilled our agreement. Be well, Gypster.”

The sprite stood up straight and puffed out his chest at my comment. “And you as well, Marshal. May your days be light and lively.”

We nodded to each other and he simply disappeared.

I stood and continued on my way following the fence around Amy’s property. It was nearly midnight when I approached the main compound from the east. The closer I get to the compound the more I felt that natures balance was way off. When I reached the cars my hackles were at attention and my eyes were glued on the barn doors. I reached into my shirt pocket and withdrew the Apache Tear.

The size of a racket ball the stone was my power orb. All wizards used some form of orb to help channel the energies that they utilized. There was a slight glow coming from the center of the stone. As I approached the barn door, the glow became more intense. I held the orb behind my back and opened the door to the barn.

Check out the previous scenes at, Actress and the Warlock Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V.

 
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Posted by on March 31, 2013 in Actress and the Warlock

 

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