One thing I struggled with early on in my attempts to become a professional writer was time, or more accurately, keeping tack of it. In my earliest stories, whether it be about lycanthropic pirates or a Harry Potter-esque story of witches, keeping track of how much time has passed was not high on my to-do list. I was more concerned with making a novel that would sell millions of copies, win me legions of adoring fans, and regularly get adapted into blockbuster hits. Why should I pay attention to how quickly a year can pass or how it’s noon on one page and then sunset on the next when I have to decide who I want to play my female protagonist and if she’s going to be my girlfriend?
But I got older, and around the time I started writing my earliest vampire stories, I started to become more aware of the passage of time in those stories. I think it first occurred to me that it seemed weird that my characters were still in school around late June. From then on I tried to keep the passage of time consistent in the stories I wrote, and as I got much older and realized there were too many vampire novels out there at the moment for me to make a name for myself with those sorts of stories, I started to put dates and even the passage of hours in my outlines, which would later end up in the early drafts of the stories I wrote.
And no one else is more aware of time than the guys and gals who write the Doctor’s adventures.
If you examine other authors who are extemely popular, you’ll notice how they try to keep the reader as well as themselves aware of the passage of time without annoying the reader with it. For example, JK Rowling structured her entire Harry Potter series around the school year in Britain. Stephen King’s It switches between 1958 and 1985 and King makes sure to note how June passes on into July and July into August during the 1958 sections. And Jean Auel’s famous Children of Earth series is very particular of marking the passing of seasons and years.
All in all, I think keeping tack of the passage of time in my stories has very much improved them, and in some of these stories I need to be cognizant of how much time has passed in order to tell the story correctly. For example, my WIP Laura Horn takes place during the week leading up to the 2017 Presidential Inauguration. I went online to find advance calendar dates for that January, and only then did I write out the plot in my outline for the story. In addition, I have several ideas for stories that need to be very time conscientious while writing them. One takes place during World War II, meaning I’ll have to be very careful of the dates of certain events in order to tell the story correctly. And I have a science-fantasy story involving time travel that will require me to be very careful about the dates I use, should I ever get around to writing it.
The only thing I wish I was better at was keeping track of dates by making a timeline. However, doing a timeline at the outline stage isn’t always helpful because so much can change between the outline stage and in the actual writing of the story. Perhaps I can find some sort of middle ground in future stories. I might ask my writing group on Facebook if they have any tips on doing timelines.
And speaking of Facebook, I just want to remind people that I have a Facbook page and a Twitter feed, where I post on stuff that I don’t always post about on my blog. If you’re interested in checking either out, please do so.
How important is marking the passage of time in your stories? What do you do to keep track of time?
The final article in my series of the various common themes (aka “beauties”) found in science fiction, fantasy, and horror. What started as a discussion in class led to these three posts: The 7 Beauties of Science Fiction, The 7 Beauties of Fantasy, and now the 5 Beauties of Horror.
Now, as to why there are only five beauties in horror, I have an explanation for that: simply, horror often crosses genre. When it features supernatural creatures or monsters from another planet or realm, it’s horror crossing over into fantasy or science fiction. When the story features more human monsters and less of a supernatural aspect, it tends to cross over into the suspense and thriller genres. In that sense, it’s very difficult to get into pure horror, because that’s so difficult to define. So instead, I opted to go into some general themes you find in all forms of horror, no matter what genre they cross over into.
If you have any ideas on how these could be expanded, please let me know. I’d love your opinion on these beauties, since I came up with them on my own (not a lot of horror fans in my science-fiction lit class sadly, or at least not any fans who are as into it as I am).
1. The antagonist–the starting point of the story. Often you can define a horror story by its antagonist. because that’s often what comes first in planning a story and what you use to describe the story: “it’s a story about a murderous ghost”, “it’s a vampire novel”, “there’s a serial killer terrorizing this small farming town”, etc. And in this capacity, I’d like to mention that the antagonist can count as something else if there’s no real human antagonist. For example, in my short story “Addict”, there wasn’t a human or demon up against the narrator. Instead his own addictions were the antagonists of the story. So the antagonist would be more like the evil in the story that wants to do the characters harm or is already doing them harm, I guess.
2. Characters and setting. Usually after I’ve come up with the villain of a story, I start to create the other characters and the setting. The latter can also be a character, such as a haunted house or a forest (if you have trouble believing me on that watch the first season of American Horror Story to see what I’m talking about). I ask myself, who are the characters? Why are they opposite or beside the antagonist? Where is this all happening? What is each character like? All important questions that the author goes into in creating the story.
3. Conflict–there’s going to be one. If there’s a vampire in town, there’s either a vampire hunter or some townsfolk who are going to try and kill the vampire. If someone’s girlfriend has been kidnapped, expect someone’s going to try and get her back. If there’s an evil ghost trying to claim the lives of a family, there might be an exorcist or a paranormal investigator or a really angry mom trying to keep the kids safe from whatever is menacing her family. That conflict is the driving point of the story, and it sets up for the next beauty.
4. Fear. This one seems obvious, but it needs stating anyway. In a horror story, the point is to get the reader or viewer scared silly by telling a story and using the various elements within to terrify. Whether it’s a feeling of being watched, of something out fo the corner of our eyes, of something jumping out, or something just damn strange that we can’t put our fingers on, the whole point of the story is to scare, to create that fear, and it’s up to the storyteller to figure out how to do that and do it well. Otherwise the storyteller has to rely on silly gimmicks like sex or too much blood or watching teens get drunk, stoned, and naked.
5. Rules–there is an MO to what’s happening. Vampires can’t walk in the sun, the killer only goes after people who enter his father’s old prison, the ghost tries to take the souls of children from their parents. There are rules to how the antagonist operates and how it can be taken down. And for the most part, those rules are concrete, or else the story makes no sense and the reader/viewer will lose interest due to disorientation and confusion.
I hope you found these helpful. And once again, if you have any suggestions on how to improve this list, let me know. I do better on this sort of stuff in a group setting sometimes.
As you will see, there’s a really bad pun in the title of this post.
You ever have that song stuck in your head, and you can’t get it out of your head but you really don’t want it to become unstuck? And for those writers out there, do you ever wish that you could find some way to connect that song to your writing? Both happened to me today. And here’s the kicker: the songs in my head were from the musical The Phantom of the Opera, based on the novel by Gaston Leroux (you see why I said there was a bad pun in the title?). What’s worse was that I wanted to write a story written around The Phantom of the Opera.
Sometimes ideas come to me quickly when the inspiration strikes. Today it didn’t. I had to actually spend all day thinking about this story before I came up with something. The story for it was there, I just couldn’t get quite the grasp on it. And it wasn’t until I read some poetry by a friend and stepped out of the shower this evening that this idea for a POTO-based story came to me. I literally started jumping up and down in the bathroom with excitement. I was so happy to have this idea before I went to bed.
Now I’ve written the idea down and I’m writing it here because I wanted to share it with you. It just seemed like the sort of story in my life that I wanted to share here on my blog. The idea involves magic, some familiar characters from the novel and the musical, and a supernatural war playing out in Ohio, New York, Washington DC and Paris, all in the course of at least three books (I love how my mind works. It just comes up with the strangest elements to add to my stories). There’s darkness, there’s intrigue, there’s even a little forbidden love involved. If I ever get the chance to write it, it’ll be awesome.
Of course, I’ve got a pretty full schedule, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write it. Hopefully some time soon, right?
Well, I’m going to sign off now (first time I’ve ever said “signed off” in over two years of blogging. How’s that for random?). It’s late, and who knows? I’ve gotten some great ideas from sleeping and dreaming. If anything comes up, I might just let you know. So goodnight, Followers of Fear. See you in the morning.
Four years ago, I sat down in front of my computer and began outlining a novel about a girl named Zahara Bakur and her experiences with the Hydras. Over two years, taking many breaks for homework and an after school job and reading and a five week trip to Israel in summer 2010, I finished the novel that I named Reborn City. Then, over the next two years, I refined, edited, and polished up the novel, and finally I had my good friend Matt Williams at Stories by Williams take a look at RC before going ahead with the publishing process.
Now, after nearly four years, Reborn City is available for everyone to read. Sure, the print version is a bit more expensive than promised because Amazon said the price had to be so-and-so dollars, which I think is a little dickish, but whatever, it’s still out.
I can’t believe after so long it’s finally out, but I’m very happy and I am so glad I can finally share this novel with the world. If you are interested in reading Reborn City, you can check it out on Amazon and Smashwords. And if you want to read a preview before you commit to buying or downloading a copy, you can read an excerpt here.
Once again, thank you so very much for all your support and I hope you have an enjoyable read. If you feel like it, after you finish reading it please write a review on Amazon or Smashwords. Good or bad, I really don’t care. I’m always happy for feedback. Oh, and if you can’t find the print version on the Amazon page, most likely that’s because it’s still being processed by Amazon. Come back later today and it should be there.
Have a nice weekend everybody! Here’s the book trailer for RC, if you haven’t seen it yet.
The other day I was reading a blog post by impossiblegirl123, author of Life and Other Diasters, that got me thinking. The post was about the author’s favorite books growing up, and I mentioned some of mine in the comment sections. It was then that I noticed something interesting about the books mentioned: several of them had orphans as main characters. From Harry Potter, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Eragon to The Thief Lord and The Bartimaues Trilogy, all these books had at least one parentless child as the protagonist.
Now here’s my question: why? Why are orphans so popular in fiction, especially fiction aimed at children and young adults? It’s not something I’ve considered before, though now that I look at it the orphan trope seems pretty popular. Heck, I use orphans in Reborn City: all the main characters are orphans in one sense or another! So in this post I’m going to try and figure out why orphans are so popular as protagonists, especially when in real life orphans aren’t that lucky to be in harrowing adventures involving magic, love, and mystery (how many series did I just pin down right there?).
1. We want to think good things will happen after horrible events occur. I think that’s the more emotional reason behind the orphan trope. Everybody hopes that after a disaster occurs, such as the loss of parents, we’ll be then blessed by something extraordinary. Having orphan characters, people who have no parents and are affected by their absence in some manner, allows for us to identify with the characters and what we hope would potentially happen to us should, God forbid, we tragically lose our parents before their time.
2. Who needs parents in the way? An orphan cahracter is a parentless character. And how many times would a parent get in the way of a character if they had to set out on a probably very dangerous journey? I’d say 100% of the time. Hence, having an orphan character means parents won’t get in the way of the plot development.
3. Great introspection. Parents help to shape our identities. Orphans are therefore somewhat lacking an identity. During the course of their journeys and adventures, there is plenty of room for an orphaned protagonist to wonder about the important questions, such as “Who am I? What’s my purpose in life? Why was I abandoned to the world? Will I ever find someone who will love me for who I am? Why do terrible monsters keep coming after me?” It’s perfect for authors who love to add a little grounding introspection and character development in the middle of a pulpy action-adventure plot.
4. A morality tale. As children we’re often taught the difference between right and wrong from our parents. When you have a lack of parents, whom do you learn right and wrong from? Do you even get a chance to learn or do you have to figure it out yourself? Do you ever figure it out at all? All of us want to believe that fi we were in horrible situations, like being orphaned at a young age, we’d be just as moral and virtuous as we are in reality (which might be a contributing factor in the continuing popularity of Oliver Twist and Harry Potter, two orphaned boys with incredibly kind dispostitions). Personally I find the story slightly more interesting when the orphan in question has to struggle to be the righteous and confident hero, which will forever put me at odds with the first couple chapters of Sorcerer’s Stone, but you still can’t deny that there’s something about characters who remain good in the face of adversity that just makes you want to love them, right?
From many Brothers Grimm protagonists, to Tom Sawyer and Oliver Twist, to Batman and Spider-Man, to Harry Potter and Eragon, we love orphans in fiction for any number of reasons. The reasons we may include them in our stories may be any of the ones listed above or perhaps an entirely different reason, but the reasons are why orphans are a continuously popular trope in fiction and while they’ll still play large parts in the stories we write for years to come.
Do you have a favorite orphan character? Have you ever written an orphan character? Why do you like the character or why did you use that sort of character archetype?
I’ve decided to post excerpts of my published work on separate pages. From now on, readers can click on any of the pages for the books I have out and read excerpts from the final drafts of each novel/short story collection. So if you’re interested in getting a sneak peek at The Quiet Game, Reborn City or Snake, you can scroll above, click on any of the pages for those works, and find a link to an excerpt.
I hope you get a chance to take a look at them. Each excerpt is carefully selected to give you an idea of what you might be reading should you decide you might want to purchase a hard copy of my published work (or e-copy, as it is these days).
I’m signing off now, but I want to let you know at some point during the week, besides more countdown posts for Reborn City and the usual Weekly Exercise, I also plan to write a reflection piece or two on themes in writing and perhaps a special Halloween post. Oh, and my last review till the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special.
Until then, have a good night everybody! See you later in the week and happy reading!
I didn’t get to do this with The Quiet Game (I forget why), so I’m doing it with Reborn City. Guess what:
Yes, seven days! Reborn City will be coming out November 1st in both print paperback and e-book formats. It’s been a long process, but it’s finally almost time! And I could not be more excited. Well I could be but I’m pretty sure it would involve illegal drugs, so I’ll stay at my normal levels of excitement.
You know, it’s been over four years since I first sat down and started writing Reborn City. I had an idea for a novel–possibly one with a sequel or two–on the way home from the library while listening to a CD with a lot of rap and rock music. I stopped by a Dairy Queen for a treat and started thinking about how to develop this idea, which had street gangs at the center of it and a sci-fi twist. Then at my sister’s birthday, after the cake and presents had been put away, I started writing some notes down in a journal. Then I started researching, and typing a manuscript, and then after many breaks and a lot of painstaking work over the course of two years, I finished the manuscript. Another year and a third of editing, eight months spent emailing chapters to my dear friend Matt Williams and making more adjustment based on his suggestions and the final copy was done. Finally I created a cover on CreateSpace (which you can see above) and I sent it all off to the copyright office.
A few months pass by, a book trailer comes out, and now we’re finally at the end of this long journey. I’m hoping for wonderful things to happen with this book. I’ve poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into RC, and I hope people really like reading it. It’s not as scary as some of my other work, so that may appeal to less fear-loving readers. And it’s sci-fi dystopian fiction, so considering today’s market that’s good to have.
But there’s more to it than that. The novel tackles some powerful themes, like racism and Islamaphobia, drugs and gang violence, and a number of other issues. And I’m hoping its those themes that will resonate with readers and help them fall in love with characters, rather than some dashing heroine and a couple of good-looking guys rebelling against a government that’s pure evil (how many franchises did I just describe there? I think I got Twilight in there too).
So without further ado, I’m going to give you guys a treat in honor of RC coming out. The first treat is the RC book trailer, which is right underneath the next paragraph. Immediately following the video is an excerpt from Chapter One of RC, for all your reading pleasure. I hope you like the video and the excerpt and that you’ll be interested in reading the actual book afterwards.
Also, if you haven’t already read them, please see my interviews with Zahara Bakur, Rip, and Jason Price, three very important characters from Reborn City. They’re very amazing people…though two of them did threaten to kill me for various reasons.
Reborn City, former Nevada
28 Anno Bombus (2056 CE)
June 28
Zahara and her family had decided to eat out at a restaurant in North Reborn that served kosher meat, the closest they could get to halāl. “I know it’s for Jews mostly, but it’s a very nice place and the Jews were very nice to us in New York.” Zahara’s father, Emir Bakur had said when he’d suggested it. “They know they don’t have to fear Muslims anymore. And the Chaplinsky family in 4F was nice enough, right?”
However Emir had taken a wrong turn on the still-unfamiliar streets and highways and they had somehow ended up in West Reborn. The sight of the place gave Zahara chills, and it just wasn’t the reports of gang violence: the area had a grittiness that Zahara didn’t like. The cold brown houses, the rusty lamp poles, the cracked, light-grey concrete. West Reborn looked unkempt, uncared for, like the city had kept up the other areas of the city but had forgotten about this one. The only buildings that looked in any good condition were casinos, bars, and strip clubs, displaying three-dimensional holograms of cash prizes and sexy women drinking beer while looking at passerby with bedroom eyes. The sight of them disgusted Zahara.
In the front of the car Emir and Aaliyah were arguing, trying to figure out how to get back to where they were going. Zahara closed her eyes and tried to let the music from her filepiece filter into her right ear. Surrendering to the small device, she wondered if she’d ever get out of this city and get back to New York where she belonged. Somehow, Zahara had a feeling she would never come to like Reborn City, no matter how much she lived here.
After a few more minutes of her parents arguing about which direction, Zahara opened her eyes again, prepared to tell them they should just check their phones for the directions. Her eyes widened as she saw an arm swing up from the sidewalk and throw a rock at the windshield. The glass cracked as the rock rebounded off the windshield and into the road. Aaliyah and Zahara screamed as Emir braked the car and jerked at the steering wheel. The car skidded to a screeching halt, the nose pointing towards the middle of the road.
Zahara saw her father unbuckle his seatbelt and before she could stop him, stepping out to inspect the damage. “What in the name of Allah—?” he said, but stopped as he heard the click of a jackknife being opened. He turned around and saw two men, one of whom was holding a long, deadly-looking blade. Leaning forward in her seat, Zahara could make out the details of the two men: both of the men had a ruddy tan complexion, were wearing green clothes, and had looks on their faces that said they did not like making new friends. On the neck of one Zahara could make out what looked like a tattoo of a pitchfork with a sombrero hung over the right prong.
One of them, who was large and muscular, spoke to Zahara’s father. “Hand over yo’ fuckin’ money an’ yo fuckin’ car.” he said with a Spanish accent. “Ya got that?”
“Sure!” said Zahara’s father, holding his hands up defensively, looking so unlike the corporate lawyer he was. “Just take it easy, okay? Just take it easy—!”
“Hurry the fuck up!” said the other man. “Who ya think yo messin’ with, estupido?” This man was thin and gangly and had a strange leer on his face, like he would rather punch Emir than talk to him.
“Okay, okay!” said Emir, backing back up to the door and turning off the engine. Zahara’s mother Aaliyah saw this and as her husband stood back up out of the car, unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.
“Mother!” said Zahara in English. Aaliyah looked behind her to where her daughter was sitting on the edge of her seat, fists balled in her lap, chewing her lower lip. “Don’t go out there!” Zahara hissed; Zahara rarely used English with her parents and she was only using it now because she didn’t know if these two men in green were fans of Muslims or not. Either way, it was not a good time to find out.
Zahara’s mother looked at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. “I don’t have a choice, Zahara.” she said in Arabic, pushing a loose lock of hair back under her hijab. “Our car is being stolen.” She opened her door and slid out of the seat. Zahara watched with disbelief as her mother closed the car door. Did her mother think things would go peacefully?
Suddenly the skinny gangster stared at Zahara’s mother and pointed at her hijab. “Hey Manny!” said the skinny gangster. “Check out the headscarf. Musulmàns!”
The fat gangster, Manny, stared at Zahara’s mother, then turned back to Emir, his expression livid. “So, you thought you’d get the jump on us, huh?” he said, thrusting the knife at Zahara’s father. “Fuckin’ terrorist! Let us jack ya car an’ explode us too?”
Zahara winced. Fuckin’ terrorist. She had been right, these two men hated Muslims.
“No, that’s not it at all!” said Emir, looking terrified as the skinny gangster pulled out a gun. “Please, you have to believe me—!”
“Shaddup!” yelled Manny, stabbing Emir in the belly. Emir went rigid as the knife plunged into his belly, then collapsed as Manny pulled the blade out. Blood poured out of Zahara’s father, pooling around him in a big red circle.
Aaliyah screamed in horror, staring at her husband as tears flooded down her cheeks. “Emir!” she cried. “Emir—!”
The skinny gangster pulled out his gun and shot Aaliyah in the forehead; her eyes rolled into the back of her head as Zahara’s mother fell lifeless to the ground. Zahara gasped, trying to keep her tears and screams inside herself. If the gangsters saw her they’d kill her too. And maybe…just because she was a teenager and a girl…they’d do other stuff to her, too. Zahara shuddered to think of what they’d do to her if they did that too.
Manny was kicking Emir’s lifeless body casually, making sure he was dead. “Think they’d play us, did they?” he said to his companion. “Fuckin’ terrorists.”
“Yeah, well they’re shittin’ in hell now.” said the skinny gangster. “Shows what happens when ya mess with Diablos.”
“Yeah.” said Manny, looking up from Emir’s body. “Come on, let’s go—wait a minute.” Manny’s piggy little eyes fixed on Zahara in the backseat of her parent’s car. Zahara squeaked as Manny took two steps towards her. “Yo, Che. Come check this out.” Manny called to his friend, followed by something in Spanish. Zahara nearly froze up as she realized she’d been discovered.
Quickly Zahara unbuckled her seatbelt, threw open the car door and ran, throwing her filepiece as a distraction. Manny and Che jumped back as the filepiece hit the ground, probably thinking it was a grenade or something. By the time they realized their mistake, Zahara already had a head start on them. They set off after her, angrily yelling in Spanish at her. Zahara turned around, saw them catching up, and ran faster, determined to get away.
As Zahara ran, bumping into people and flying past holograms, she began to cry; her parents were dead, she was miles away from any familiar place and with no familiar people to help her. The heartache she was feeling was so intense that she could just keel over and die, but she wouldn’t die here, and she would not let herself be caught by the gangsters chasing after her. She’d get out of West Reborn, find the house (she still hadn’t thought of it as “home” yet), and then she’d call New York and get help. Or maybe kill herself. Either way, she had to get out.
The gangsters were only a few feet behind her. But a few blocks ahead there was a police station. Maybe, if she was able to get there, she’d be safe. She could tell the police what was going on, they’d arrest her parents’ murderers, and then she could go back to New York—
Suddenly Zahara tripped on a shifted slab of concrete and fell. Thrusting her hands out in front of her, Zahara cried out as she scraped her hands and knees. She tried to stand up again but then someone grabbed her shirt from behind and yanked her up. Zahara stared into the faces of Manny and Che, the Hispanic gangsters who had murdered her parents. Che grabbed Zahara’s arms and twisted them into a painful armlock.
“Hello, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny. “Thought ya could get away so easily. Thought the po-po would help ya out. Wrong!”
Both of them laughed cruelly, and Manny brought out his knife, holding it close to Zahara’s jugular. The blade gleamed with the blood of Zahara’s father still fresh on it. Che and Manny laughed harder at the expression on Zahara’s face. “The po-po are just pussies.” said Che. “Fuckin’ pussies. They couldn’t catch us an’ throw us in the clink, an’ they would never help a fuckin’ Musalmàn. Besides, even if they would, them assholes can’t see us. It’s dark out, ya know.”
Manny pressed his face close to Zahara’s, grinning wickedly. The foul smell of his breath wafted over Zahara’s face, making her want to puke. “And the nearest streetlamp is right ovuh there.” he added, cocking his head in the direction of the lonely streetlamp.
With a great effort Zahara twisted her head away from the knife. “Somebody help me!” she screamed.
“No one’s gonna fuckin’ come to your rescue, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny, pressing the blade to Zahara’s neck; a little bit of Zahara’s blood trickled onto the knife, mixing with Emir’s. Zahara whimpered as Manny pressed his face even closer than before, so close she could see the pupils in his beady eyes. Behind her Zahara could feel Che’s hot breath on the nape of her neck.
Suddenly Manny’s free hand swooped down and grabbed the button on Zahara’s pants, undoing it in an instant. His hand reached into her pants and began feeling around.
“No, please.” said Zahara, tears spilling from the corner of her eyes. “Please don’t do this—!”
“Shaddup!” said Manny, looking up from what he was doing; Zahara felt the blade of the knife dig a little deeper into her neck. “Ya shaddup an’ try ta enjoy it. Maybe aftowards we’ll let ya kill yoself, got it? But no bombs; ya might hurt someone.”
Che giggled as Manny worked Zahara’s pants off, exposing her white underwear. As he did Zahara felt the fight go out of her. She was going to die and painfully too and at the hands of her parents’ murderers. She’d never see her friends again, she’d never see her parents again, and like the two men had said, no one was going to help her—
“What ya mothas doin’?” said a voice. Zahara looked away from Manny as a figure dressed in a black hoodie and jeans stepped into the lamplight. Manny paused and then stood up, pulling the knife away from Zahara’s neck.
As he did Zahara felt her energy disappear. Black edged into her field of vision as Zahara strained to discern the face of the newcomer. But the darkness took her and Zahara couldn’t see his face. The last thing Zahara thought before she fainted was that she would’ve liked to see the face of her potential rescuer.
That, and how embarrassed she was that her pants were lying uselessly around her ankles.
Today I do the last character interview before Reborn City comes out in two weeks. And today I’m interviewing Jason Price, CEO of the Parthenon Company and the main antagonist of the novel. Price is one of those characters that is full of himself and full of hate and power. He’s a dangerous character, and I would not want to get on his bad side.
If you would like to read my other character interviews with Zahara Bakur and Rip, click on the links.
Now here’s Jason Price:
Notes and Stats:
Sex: male Age: 65 Race/Ethnicity: African-American Birthday: December 12th Eye color: Brown Hair color: White (originally black) Religion: atheist Affiliation: Parthenon Company Special Powers/Abilities: Went to the University of Michigan as an undergraduate before earning a degree in biochemistry. Later joined the United States Army as a lieutenant before being honorably discharged and joining the Parthenon Company. Later became a member of Parthenon’s board and then its CEO. Notes from the Author: I based Jason Price on Samuel L. Jackson visually, but his character is based on a number of different villains. He’s a war-monger, a corporate executive with no conscience, a racist, and he’s just plain nasty. For a man of his age he’s still incredibly fit, his mental acuity is undiminished, his vision is unshakeable and he’s very dangerous to mess with. Go against him at your own risk.
RU: Mr. Pirce, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Price: Where the hell am I?
RU: That’s not important. Mr. Price, I know you are the head of Parthenon Company. Could you tell me a little bit about what your company does?
Price: Parthenon is an entertainment corporation that also leads several cities whose main business is entertainment, such as Reborn City, Seattle, and Marvolo, the new adventure hotspot for families and adults. Our corporation is based in Reborn City and we’re also currently expanding our enterprises into virtual reality video games, as well as travel, new forms of music, and–
RU: Enough with the salesman’s pitch. Didn’t Parthenon used to be a weapons developer and supplier for the military?
Price: True, but after the Third World War we became an entertainment corporation. We started with Reborn City, and through trial and error we’ve become one of the biggest suppliers of fun on the North American continent and in the world.
RU: So you guys aren’t working on anything military? Nothing that might involve the Hydras in West Reborn?
Price: How’d you know about that?
RU: I’m clever that way. So you don’t deny the Hydras and Parthenon are linked?
Price: Look kid, I don’t know who you are or how you know about our involvement with the Hydras, but if you poke a dragon, prepare to get roasted.
RU: Sounds tasty. Now tell me, why would an entertainment compnany that’s supposedly left the weapons industry still be working on weapons projects, especially projects that might still be considered illegal by other city and nation-states?
Price: Oh, don’t get into the legal crap with me, boy! It’s only a matter of time before some Adolf Hitler or Osama bin Laden comes along with plans to destroy the free world. And guess who’s going to be supplying the weapons when that person does show up?
RU: Okay, better safe than sorry. I get it. By the way, can I get a tour of the Facility underneath Parthenon World Headquarters?
Price: You know too much.
RU: Yikes! That’s a gun! He’s pointing a gun at my head! Okay, time to cut the interview short! Join me next week when I give you readers a preview of the first chapter of Reborn City itself…that is if I survive till next week! Help me!
It’s also my first post after becoming administrator for Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors. I’m a little nervous, although it is obviously not my first article for them. Actually, I’m just worried because I’m giving advice to other authors, and I’m always scared that I’ll sound condescending or rude or say something I shouldn’t in one of these posts. So far, no one’s suggested I’ve done any of that, but I worry nonetheless.
The subject of the article this time around is How to Do a Flashback. Flashbacks are a big part of a lot of novels, but plenty of authors find them incredibly difficult to do. That is why I decided to do a post about them based on flashbacks I’ve seen in novels and flashbacks I’ve written myself. Hopefully people will find the advice helpful.
I hope you like my post if you get the chance to read it. And if you have any thoughts, please leave a comment. I’d love to hear what you have to say. And if you’re an independent writer, I strongly suggest you subscribe to Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors. It’s a wonderful site full of advice from indie writers of all walks of life and of all genres and you can learn so much on indie writing and publishing from them.
That’s all for now. I’m going to bed. Goodnight everybody!
Had a pretty interesting experience today. This morning as I was getting ready to leave the house for my meditation class when I had an idea for a short story. I wanted to write it down, but I was about to leave the house though, so I couldn’t write it down. Instead I made a promise to write it down as soon as I had the opportunity to do so.
Just one problem: a good percentage of what passes through our five senses and through our thoughts gets forgotten pretty quickly if we don’t really grab onto the details and keep it in the short-term memory. And guess what? I didn’t seize a hold of this idea and now I’ve completely forgotten it! (I have a feeling it has something to do with the movie Pacific Rim, but other than that I cannot remember a single detail). And when I realized that, you know my beat myself up over losing it.
So I spent my meditation class trying to meditate my idea back to myself. I went over my morning, trying to find the moment where I had that spark of inspiration. However, I didn’t catch it. Whatever that idea was, for now it’s been lost to the darker recesses of my memory.
However, the day and the meditation wasn’t a total wash. I did manage to come up with a second idea that was just as good as the first (I think). I remembered a story I read last night, about a man from my state who had chained up his German Shepherd to a tree for four years and had neglected, abused and tortured the poor thing during that time (as hard as it is to read, I urge you to check out here). I thought to myself, what if the police hadn’t intervened and something happened to the dog? I recalled a certain belief from Southeast Asia about what happens when you abuse certain dogs, and I decided to turn that into a short story.
So while I would like to still get that idea back (and maybe someday I will), I think this idea is pretty cool as well. And it gust goes to show how ideas keep bubbling up in a writer’s imagination. It also shows you need to write them down as soon as you get them, but I think I already mentioned that. If I have any other good ideas, I’ll let you all know.
By the way, has anything like this happened to you? How did you feel about it?
