Renegade Writman

Some time ago, I wrote an interesting (in my opinion) novel titled 'Renegade Writman'. Through various fits and starts, I eventually managed to get the entire book into someone's hands. I'm not going to mention the name of the publishing house out of some mortal fear that doing so will queer the deal, but the people who have it put out some extremely talented authors. I would consider myself lucky indeed to be counted amongst that august host.

The steps to get to the point of someone looking at a full manuscript is torturous. It involves query letters, synopses, trickling the book out bit by bit. Each and every step carries with it a 'yes/no', and any step could be your last. Kind of like Pitfall, only without alligators. Well, okay, maybe there's alligators. But you get my point. It's difficult. Exceedingly so, especially in this age, when we're surrounded by JK Rowlings and Stephanie Meyers. But get there I did.

And then, nothing.

So much nothing, in point of fact, that I gave up hope. I'd come to the conclusion that they weren't interested and that somehow, their disinterest got lost in the mail. It took some getting over, because come on ... that's the closest I'd ever gotten. I'd been like Icarus, except without the flamey melty wings made of out wax (which, by the way, strikes me as not very aerodynamic). I got on with my life, such as it was. I wrote a sequel because it was time to write a sequel but that's what writers do. We write.

And then?

They got back in touch.

I was told the book was still on the editor's desk, that he was going to look at it and wham! All of a sudden I was back in the game and stupidly excited with it. I wrote a third book in the series in about two months. I was told to bide, and to be patient.

And so I did. I bided my time. I was the essence of patience.

I am nothing if not patient. I'd waited a year and a half to get that 'wait' email, I could wait longer still. I email my contact every few months, gently gently testing the waters. No sense in poking the shark, as it were, while it digests everything around it.

Well, as you all know, I recently self-published Foreign Devil on Kindle and I thought to myself, I've got to step up. So I've emailed them again. I've hit them with three barrels (my shotgun is special like that). I've told them that;

1. the second novel, For Everyone or No One is ready to roll and is awesome
2. the third novel, Shattered Censure, is even more better and cooler still (we're talking COOL)
3. I know precisely how and when and why the series ends.

Hopefully they'll get back to me and say 'We're terribly sorry, the answer is, of course, yes'.

In the meantime:

Go here, here and here

Where Did It All Begin?

Garth 'Nickels' N'Chalez (don't ask me how to pronounce the name, I only wrote it down like he told me) was first born as an attempt to win a grade 8 creative writing contest. Then, as now, I had absolutely no idea how to write anything 'short'; my entry was the first chapter in an incredibly nebulous, ill-defined and never-ending mash-up of all my favorite genres. I vaguely recall there was a smokin' hot babe named 'Lexani A'lein' (subtle, right) and a super-villain who was, shamefully, a knock-off of The Master. What can I say? I liked Doctor Who. I still do.

From those first, feverish scratchings of a teenaged supernerd, Garth Nickels as he is now was born, but in order to get from then to now, he went through an awful lot of permutations, many of them dictated by what was popular in whatever science fiction genre I read. For a (short) time he was like Bill the Galactic Hero. Even shorter was his incarnation as a hardcore crusty warrior a la every damn thing amazing writers like David Drake wrote about.

I've been a lot of places with Nickels. I've traveled through time with him, I've journeyed through the dimensions. I've subjected that poor bastard to just about every known horror that one fictional human being can endure. At one point, when I wanted desperately to be well shot of the man, I even wrote his death, all so I could turn my focus to something else. And I did, and I will tell you all about that later.

Garth Nickels is now someone I'm essentially proud of; he's come a long, long way from that slapsticky superhero with phenomenal powers and a quip ever-ready on his lips. Oh, he's still got powers (just you wait) and he's still got the quips, but he's fleshed out now. He makes mistakes. He does things he knows he shouldn't do because he, like me, is human. 

Foreign Devil, the first in at (least) a trilogy of volumes occurring in Latelyspace, is merged together from something like half a million (or MORE) words I've written on the man down through the last fifteen years; even more of what I know never made it to the page, but is stored in this vast cranium of mine. I'm relatively proud of the work, I believe it has merit, I know that if you stick with the story, you'll enjoy the ride. 

Foreign Devil is a fun ride, sure. It's got explosions and death and wise-cracks and even the stereotypically ubiquitous AI sidekick that featured so prominently in the works that crossed my hands in the 90's and most of the decade following. But it's got more than that, it's about more than that. It's about a man trying to find the meaning behind his life, the reasons he is who he is, and I think that is a story that'll never get old.

Foreign Devil starts midway through Garth's life, referencing adventures (both good and bad, brave and awful) that he had while in the employ of Special Services and when I am ready to tackle military science fiction writing, I will assuredly do so. 

For now, if you'd be so kind, join Garth Nickels in Latelyspace. I'm certain you'll enjoy the ride. It will take you places you can't imagine.

As always, go here : Foreign Devil