At long last, A King in Cobwebs, the final book of the Tales of Durand trilogy hits shelves today.
In this final chapter, rival factions are straining the unhappy peace that was left at the end of Radomor’s war. The king rants in his throne room with his head full of plots and suspicion. Unholy creatures march from the depths of the forest and the high mountain passes. And, for Durand Col, the ghosts of his bloody past drive him toward madness.
If you’re a fan (or a friend) I hope you’ll pass the word. This one was a long time coming, and I would love for the book to find a home out there in the big world.
Get your copy at https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780765313225
My second book is back today!
This year my publishers took the outrageous step of reissuing my first two novels: In the Eye of Heaven and In a Time of Treason. (The plan is to prepare the ground for the debut of the third novel, A King in Cobwebs, this winter).
Today, the classy new edition of In a Time of Treason hits the shelves.
I couldn’t be happier with the look of the new edition. I am a fan of the original illustrator, the late David Grove, and I was immensely pleased to see his work revitalized in the new trade paperback format.
Irene Gallo wrote a lovely remembrance of Grove on Tor.com, and she included some beautiful examples of his style.
I appreciate Grove’s ability to evoke light and motion with a few calligraphic strokes. We talked a little when he was the cover for In a Time of Treason. And I was very happy when he agreed to sell me the painting for A King in Cobwebs. (It’s here with me in the dining room as I type).
Today’s release, In a Time of Treason, is the second book in the story of Durand Col. Readers get the chance to follow poor Durand’s struggles with loyalty, guilt, romance, sorcery and a good old medieval civil war.
These reprints are an opportunity for a new readership to stumble across these stories. It will be interesting to see how readers will respond in 2018.
Foolish Author David Keck
I spent a few hours working over some second-pass queries on A King in Cobwebs this morning.
First off, I will confess to going through my usual Stages of Taking Criticism thing: it always takes me a minute to get my head on the right way around. There is, for example, a crucial difference between finding fault and catching stupid mistakes before it’s too late. This can take me a few minutes to fully appreciate.
I had some peers peering. Some astonishingly astonished folks. And many a missing word.
My favorite of all of these gaffs occurred during an ostensibly suspenseful sequence. In one five-paragraph stretch of murderous cliffhangers, I chose to begin not three but four out of five paragraphs the word “finally”.
This was a section over which I had labored for what may have been years. It had survived the scrutinous scrutiny of three professional scrutinizers.
In the end, the poor reader began to wonder if the whole thing was intentional. (I picture an extraordinarily ill-judged attempt at something like “The Charge of the Light Brigade” here).
Thanks Heavens for all of the world’s surviving editors, copy editors, and proofreaders. I, for one, certainly need them.
I’m not sure what I’ll hear next from the illustrious team at Tor, but the book is getting very close to its November debut. Finally.
All of Me Online: Linkkle
The summer provides an opportunity to explore.
For teachers, the summer is the time when you might find a moment to take care of all the things you’ve put off during the year: dentistry, car maintenance, medical appointments, home repair, hair cuts…
For me, the summer is also the time to think a little more about writing. In addition to actually writing a new book, I’ve been poking at my social media accounts.
This morning, for example, I discovered that my nifty “IFTTT” devices that send my Instagram nonsense to blogger and elsewhere had gone haywire. (It’s fixed again).
I was also approached by a sensible person who wondered where they could find my things online. This led me to dig up Linkkle (a very simple service that lets you put all of your links on one place), potentially acting as a quick calling card. (That’s the link I’ve slapped all over this post, by the way).
Social media has, of course, the potential to connect a writer with fans and to showcase work for professionals. (I know that my cartoons have found their way under a few noses because they are available online, and someday something might come of that).
While social media has potential to give our careers a boost, I suspect that for many of us, it’s far more likely to serve as a bit of vaguely work-related procrastination. (Let me see if I can get a few pages done today!)
Determined Fantastical Creature Adorns Empty Hallway Bulletin Board
The school year is rapidly coming to a close in New York. Everyone’s ready for summer, and I’m digging back into my notes.
This July, my mission is to turn last year’s plans into honest-to-goodness pages.
Last summer, I spent a great deal of time outlining a new fantasy novel. I was, however, unable to get a real start on the text before I ran out of time. I’ve got drawings, maps, characters sketches, “mood board” type photographs of the correct locales, and these things will all need to be warmed up soon.
This summer is my chance to get a proper start. For a few weeks, my daughter will be in camp, and I’ll have several days to get rolling. I’ve had these characters running around my head for a few years now, and I’d like to let them loose (and see what happens).
(In unrelated news, my wife is trying to get me to take another shot at a kid’s book. She ran off with some notes of mine the other day. We shall see).
Writing around a full time job and family is, for me, as tricky as it is necessary.This summer I worked up a pretty meticulous outline for a next book: The Serpent’s Walk. But, since then, I have had no end of trouble getting rolling: an immensely frustrating experience all hemmed in with self-doubt, suffocation, self-pity, distraction, and similar critters.
It occurred to me that getting the story to live in my imagination once again might be the key. With that in mind, I’ve sketched the shape of one of the more unpleasant characters. I had been vacillating about exactly what sort of thing he would be. Imagine writing Moby Dick without any notion of what sort of sea monster had got Ahab so irritated. (Clams can be quite alarming. Oh. And squid. No. Maybe it’s a mermaid. Or a vast narwhal….)
I think it helps to have an answer or two about the physicality of the thing swimming at the bottom of the next book….
I’ll update you soon.
The Summer of Plots
Right now, I'm plotting a novel. I want a plan before summer ends. (Ideally, I'd like to have bite-sized pieces to chomp down during the school year).
There are a lot of characters and storylines in my plans, and keeping them all moving onward and award has required a lot of messy pushing. Things slide when I'm not looking.
Grim History of Bug-eyed Doodles
For me, planning has always involved stories and sketches. There are probably still notebooks in a Manitoban basement documenting the adventures of strange (and often heavily armed) creatures.
All of what a person might generously call my strategies return to those notebooks full of pop-eyed adventurers. I draw faces. I'll sketch places. And I suppose the doodling keeps the problem in the corner of my eye (unsuspecting while I sneak up on it).
The Pretense of Order
For years, I've taught (mostly) teens about how to break through tough spots in writing, and I'll teach discrete strategies. Try writing without stopping (or even thinking) for five minutes. Try lists. Try a mind map. Try questions.
In reality, when I'm on my game, these things are much more muddled. In my notebook, there are plenty of "mind maps" with their sprawling arrows and options. But there are also many sentences that are basically me, talking to myself until the problems and solutions start to bubble up. I circle back, I reverse things, I shake my head and see what a long walk can solve.
The process isn't really a set of tidy strategies.
It's much more like wrestling. (Maybe in the dark).
((Possibly with porridge)).