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Other Cool Blogs: Fantasy Faction July 11, 2017

Pennsic War starts today. At 9 am Eastern Time, the flood gates open and I will be standing in the breach, my first year as a “general”. I am in charge of troll. If you want to check-in, you go through me and my staff. (Needless to say, I have prepped this posting in advance.)

Worldbuilding, whether creating a world through writing or through digging dirt and setting up tents, needs to be done on multiple layers. For Pennsic, it isn’t enough to buy a modern tent and show up. You need garb and money, food and equipment. And once everything is set up, learning, fighting, friends, and stories. Layers upon layers.

When writing about warcraft, the layers are also needed, especially in the fantasy and science fiction setting. Historic game-changers for war have included the spear, the bow, the stirrup, gunpowder, tanks, and missiles. Each modified strategy and logistics. Fog and rain negates long-distance weaponry. Mud negates heavy objects like horses and tanks. High ground, low ground. Water, food, heat, cold, distance, troops. Each impact a battle.

What happens when magic is added to the mix? How would scientific advancements adjust tactics? Could plain-old weather and landscape negate the fantastic science and magic? What worldbuilding is needed to make a magical world at war be real?

Fantasy Faction explores this in “Worlds within Worlds – Part Three: Magic Warfare“. Having lived through and in a (reenacted) medieval mud and war environment, I have some different ideas than are presented here. No mention is made of fortifications, and the magical enhancements to said fortifications. I seriously doubt the wizards would be the group leaders, more like specialists within a group, since they will be too busy casting to keep track of the battle around them. The healers in the backlines would be major targets, like the supply depots are today, though hard to reach.

And mud. Mud is a thing. I am so hoping this year will be a dry year for Pennsic. Though dust is also a thing. Dust and camp fire smog. The haze burns the eyes. So a little rain once every other day would be nice. But even a little rain means mud when you got 5,000 warriors on a field. Basically war is mud and dust no matter what and I will be living in it for three weeks. Checking in other crazy people for this worldbuilding of war exercise.

Read the article to see how layers can be added through worldbuilding: http://fantasy-faction.com/2017/worlds-within-worlds-part-two-magic-warfare

 

DAY-OF NOTE – It is a wet Pennsic … rain every day for three weeks is predicted. Scattered showers so around 10-20 minutes per day. Result will mean not as much dust … lots more mud. Clay mud resulting in “slick” in the hard pack areas; deep, boot-sucking fens in the grassy areas.

 

WRITING EXERCISE: If you are writing a fantasy or science fiction story, think about one of the defining magics/scientific advances of your story. Apply it to a battle situation, guerrilla or traditional. Where would changes occur: supply lines, medical units, food, mobility, communication, hand-to-hand, and distance? Take one of the changes and expand on how it would affect an officer, a grunt, and a civilian who lives near the battlefield. 

***

A laser pistol. The beam goes until it hits something, then burns a hole – instantly vaporizing the material. 

“until it hits something” – Missing is bad. The beam continues until it disperses. At this time we have home tools which can measure as far as 660 feet, about a tenth of a mile. Let’s say the laser pistol is has an effective TIGHT range of 0.1 miles and disbursement stops somewhere around triple that. 

The radius of the hole is very limited, which means it needs to hit a particular spot on a human being to kill them (sniper) or go right through them. Sniper accuracy in battle is pretty bad, so it needs to be a borer – go through about a foot of human flesh.

Not a weapon one would like to use on a spaceship or in close-combat where the troops are mixed up. 

The upside medically is the laser self-cauterizes resulting in less bleed-outs; if the wound isn’t fatal, the injured party can keep fighting. The downside medically is the self-cauterization means that wound is basically permanent. Dead flesh, whatever is left after the vaporization, all the way through. The medical staff would need to remove the burned, destroyed flesh as part of the treatment, significantly increasing the tissue damage.

First thing people are going to do is create an armor to deflect the damage. Armor adds heat and weight to soldiers. Face grills will be required, because even diffuse lasers will be nasty to the eyes at three-tenths of a mile, which will restrict vision – a requirement on the battlefield. Likely a full helmet will result, restricting breathing and being very nasty for when sick.

The grunt would prefer a splatter weapon with a shorter range, three-tenths of a mile is too big. Too much a chance of friendly fire downrange. The armor and full helmet will annoy and be horrific in hot environments, but the grunt will wear it anyway because getting hit pretty much mean limb or organ loss since medical ain’t got nothing to fix after its been vaporized. Thank the skynet for cyberparts, right?

Officers will train snipers and also need to set protection against being sniped.

The civilian will need to get out of the way. In urban warfare the range of the weapons is five blocks. I can’t even see that far. No hiding in the house from a weapon good at penetrating a foot of material. And out in open fields, lie down in a rut like a tornado is about to go over.

On Sunday, look for the flash “Wounds”, inspired by this writing exercise.

Writing Exercise: Driven by Wants

Image courtesy of Theeradech Sanin at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

People don’t move out of their comfort zone unless they have a Want. Neither do characters. Maybe it’s just to get away from the pain, but in those cases, usually the character doesn’t move further than the next room – away from the pain. Close door, forget the trouble, like they are a baby who hasn’t master the permanency of object. 

To get a character to move and keep moving, they need to have a deep Want. In romances, it could be finding and then being with that special person. In Urban Fantasy, they may Want to save the world – more likely, they Want to save their favorite pizza joint who delivers, saving the world as a by-product.

If a story has stalled out, if the characters are just looking and talking and not doing much, maybe a huge glass of Want needs to be added.

Edmund Schubert went into this in the magical word post “The Importance of Wanting in Fiction”, and a huge light bulb went off in my head. Next time my story stalls out, instead of just blowing something up (which a lot of writers recommend), I’m going to see what my characters want. What is driving them. More details can be found here (and be sure to read the comments): (11/3/2023 – They have finally taken down the magicalwords.net.)

Want is also agency, or, more accurately, the ability to pursue and make choices to get what one wants. Want is very important to a character.

WRITING EXERCISE: For your current work-in-progress (WIP), write down what all the characters want by the end of the story. For a scene giving you trouble, write down what each character wants (1) in the next 10 years – their driving life plan; (2) by the end of the book – about a week out; (3) right now – by the end of the scene. Is the scene Want going to met (ending the scene) or change (also ending the scene, but now the character has a different driving Want)?

WRITING EXERCISE 2: Let’s play mad-libs for a moment. Think of a “noun”. Now a “person”. Okay, this is a person and their Want. Write a flash on it.

***

(my example added 11/15/2019) “Three” and “Editor”. 

An Editor Counts to Three

One, two … One, two … No matter how many times Janey counted, she couldn’t make it three manuscripts. She had put out a discount call on her website and Facebook. Three manuscripts would pay for her week’s bills, even if the final one was discounted by 20%. Only two would mean something would have to give.

Food most likely. She wasn’t sure about giving up dinner for a week again. Last time she started getting dizzy about Wednesday.

Maybe she should email blast her publisher friends to see if they have things, but most of them pay when the product gets published, not on delivery of an edit. Small presses suck for income; people who work for small presses are in an even bigger bind.

Nothing doing, except by the doing. Janey winged off the blast hoping against hope and sat down to complete the edits on the second manuscript. She had already sent the first one back hoping a third would come in while she worked on the first. When she started the second, she had done her “flash sale” to no effect.

Style sheet, cover sheet, and annotated manuscript number two appended to an email. Clicking sent, Janey moved to close Outlook when a ping sounded. In the lower left corner of her screen a little blurb of an incoming email flashed, “Greenman@EarthColony.US – manuscript available – Dear Janey Curtpatrick, I saw your flash sale. I have a four-book epic fantasy in need of …”

She quickly clicked on the black box before it went away and it opened to the full message. “…editing, but before I make such a large investment, I would like to meet in person and get a feel. I notice your website says you operate out of Riverside. By lucky coincidence, I flew in from the West for a conference this week. I’m available tonight at the Hilton, could you drop by? I’m sorry for any inconvenience and will pay for dinner. Would seven work? – Sincerally, Mr. John Greenman.”

A four-book epic fantasy!?! That is some serious cash. 

While she usually bumped into new clients at cons, Janey didn’t see much danger in meeting a new client at a hotel. Especially if he would feed her. Lunch had been skipped getting the last edit out. Hopefully he would be on a expense account, and she could pick up enough food to get a couple days worth of doggie bags. Even if things don’t work out for the fantasy series, and she hoped it did, she could still end up with enough food for this week.

She typed out a quick reply before rushing to get ready. (words 450, first published 11/15/2019)

Flash: Arousal 2

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

The unknown man loomed over Roberta, and for an instant, recognition darted out of her memory. Someone from her husband’s work. A dinner party before the recession had cut the sales’ income, someone high up. Senior.

His skilled lips, recently attending to her breasts, claimed her mouth. His tongue demanded entrance even as his solid shaft continued to rock inside her slick channel. She tried to regain control over her arousal, but a quick squeeze of a tit had her opening her mouth in a moan. Once inside her mouth the tongue danced along her teeth. He drew back for a nip on her bottom lip and returned for seconds, or thirds. Roberta was losing count.

Lighting flowed through her, sending shivers through every bone. Her hands clutched at the man’s shoulders desperate for support. Panting with thrust after thrust, sensation took her. Multi-syllable words like husband and fidelity slipped from her vocabulary.

Instead, “Fuck me, fuck me,” was whispered into sweaty shoulder. Finally a scream started at the base of her spine and surged out. This time the man followed her over the edge, her inner muscles milking him dry as orgasm after orgasm gripped her.

They collapsed together, exhaustive sleep claiming her.

Languor weighed her limbs in the morning. Sheets tangled about her and the male. Unable to move she prodded her sluggish mind for his identity.

Samuel. Best salesman two years running. Her husband said he was brutal. Stealing customers from competitors and colleagues alike. A client list longer than her arm and the only person last year with positive sales growth. He had hit on her a couple of times, but then most of her husband’s associates did. Salespeople were always selling something, sex included.

How had he got in? The door had been locked. Key.

“How did you get the key?”

“Tom.” Samuel’s hand started playing with her nape.

Untangling her limbs from the cloth binding her, Roberta stated, “Thomas would do no such thing.”

“Call him yourself.” Leaning against the sleigh bed’s headboard, Samuel smirked.

Pulling the white cover about her, Roberta grabbed her phone and sat up. Scrolling through her recently called list with her back towards the intruder, the blonde quickly found her husband’s number. Five days had passed since the last time they talked. Typical when he was at a convention, but a little scary under the present circumstances. She waited while the phone rang.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hey yourself.” Roberta replied. “I’ve got Samuel here.”

Thomas broke in fast. “Right, just do whatever he asks and I will explain it when I get home.”

“No, Thomas,” death dripped from her tones, “you will explain now.”

“Er.” Roberta could almost see her husband rubbing his hand over his balding head, like someone polishing a brass lamp hoping for a genie to appear. “Sam’s leaving the company and the industry, and put his list up for bid. I won.”

“Won how?”

“Oh, come on, don’t be this way sweetheart. We are hip deep in debt and the credit collectors pounding down the door. If I don’t do something, we will lose the house.” He inhaled deeply. “All he wanted was some time with you, a couple dates. Listen, it will take me a month to establish myself. Contact all the clients and set up new connections. Just keep him happy until then and we will be back on easy street.”

Roberta turned to look at the man in her bed. A smug face beamed back at her. “A month?” she growled.

“Only a month,” her husband promised the same time Samuel said, “To start.” Roberta shivered, unsure if it was fear or anticipation. Samuel pushed back the blankets displaying an erection larger than any she had ever seen. Part of her voted anticipation. Her pussy contracted in memory.

“Only a month,” Thomas continued. “Just do whatever he asks.”

“He wants to fuck me.” Roberta declared, testing how far this would go.

“Very observant.” Samuel said reaching a hand out to stroke her thigh with the other slowly pumped his shaft. Each pass brushed her lower curls, teasing. Her cream flowed out to wet the pubic hair.

A couple of curses came over the phone. Roberta ruthlessly suppressed a moan when Samuel’s fingers started looking for her clit.

“Yeah, I kind-of figured that.” Thomas wheeled, trying to handle her like a client. “I’m sorry, really I am.”

“You sold me.” She gasped as Samuel found the nerve bundle. She could have moved away. She should step away. Instead, when Samuel’s hand put pressure on her hip to draw her closer, she went.

“No, no. I am doing this for us, beautiful. The man’s list is gold, pure gold. Just keep him happy.” Roberta heard his tone change like it always did when he went for the close. “Love, honor, and obey. Don’t forget the obey part. Do this and I promise we won’t have to worry about money ever again.”

Samuel slid down to lie flat. Then he guided her until her slit was over his mouth. His hands pushed her lower lips apart. His wonderful tongue darted out touching her most sensitive part.

“Oh, oh.” She hoped the sounds would be interpreted as sobs, which in one respect they were. Roberta was positive her husband wouldn’t recognized them as sobs of passion. He hadn’t given her an orgasm in years. Her voice shaking, she needed to get off the phone before he heard something that would make him rethink the situation. “Right, money. I’ll do this. Bye.” She pressed the red button hard and verified the call had disconnected before throwing it across the room. Her hands freed, she braced them against the headboard.

Later, later she would think. Now was not the time.

(words 962 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/24/13 for the 8/12/12 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format 7/22/2018)

Geeking Science: PTSD

Photo by Matt Briney on Unsplash; Cropped and color adjusted by Erin Penn

The human mind has been created to be reprogrammed, to adjust to life changes, community changes, environmental changes. Both the brain (hardware) and mind (software) customize their functions to situations humans face. It is one of our most amazing traits; and it creates some of our greatest tragedies.

Myke Cole tackles the topic of “What PTSD is” with grace. He focuses on the solider, but recognizes that PTSD is a trained response to an ongoing environmental stress – whether governments deciding policy through the lives of teenagers (the most responsive time to brain restructuring) or abuse from loved ones.

Once the rewiring happens, paths are permanently cut off.

That doesn’t mean new ones cannot be created.

Don’t give up.

#HoldOntoTheLight

Neuroplasticity allows the brain to recover from traumatic events, like a stroke (a physical stress) or moving to a completely new country (a mental stress). Humans can learn how entirely new languages, skill sets, and communities. But stress affects thinking and memory. In dangerous situations, the amygdala (the survival section) takes over, moving resources from high-level memory creation and decision making. And “dangerous situations” are interpreted by the brain from physical stress response, such as elevated heart rate, not cold logic.

Chronic and persistence stress rewires our brain. It is how we are built. And just like any learning situation, repetition gets it in the brain good. 

What I am trying to say PTSD is a normal, natural product of how humans function. Whether created by a significant other threatening one emotionally or by being an employee in a position with dangerously irate clients (like a police officer serving warrants), the rewiring will occur and it is okay.

Overcoming this rewriting can be difficult. But the first step is realizing you are not alone. You aren’t the only one. And you aren’t broken beyond repair. It’s fixable, with help. Help, because we are human and humans heal best in social situations. Brain rewiring is learning related, that takes teachers and practice. If you need it, get it. If you recognize the need in others, help them.

To start, maybe read Myke Cole’s article: (link no longer working as of 2/24/2023).

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About the campaign:
#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.

Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Hope for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

To find out more about #HoldOnToTheLight, find a list of participating authors and blog posts, or reach a media contact, go to http://www.HoldOnToTheLight.com and join us on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/WeHoldOnToTheLight

Author Spotlight: Alexandra Christian

Amazon Cover

Alexandra Christian writes romances for people who don’t like romances. Whether hot dragon sex in the fantasy Huntress or an angel death worshiping a self-destructive woman In The Shadow of Death contemporary paranormal, the romance will be strong and like nothing you have seen before. If your bookshelf has a hole in science fiction romance, she has something even for that – maybe NeoGeisha or one of the other books of the Phoenix Rising series will fill the gap.

But when you mix in her Sherlock Holmes obsession, things start getting really weird like The Ghost and Dr. Watson (not a romance) and forthcoming Chasing the Dragon (which is).

Nothing she writes is a straight-forward vanilla romance. Everything has another genre mixed in. Her writing is definitely a Reese’s Cup accident – you got my chocolate mixed in with your peanut butter; well your weird paranormal is mixed in with my romance! If this sounds like your jam, spread it on into your to-be-read pile.