Just a quick update - I'm grinding away at the manuscript in every spare moment I can grab. Just finished what Act One, and inserted a meta-textual framing structure that you all will HATE. But I'm liking it, so in it stays for now. Just ghosted past the 30K word mark in the draft, going to keep banging away and hopefully climb up to 40k in the next week or so. I'm directing a play that opens next Friday, so between day job and rehearsals the Grand Central Station of my brain is officially crammed full of trains and noisy passengers. I want to keep up the pace, but I have to be honest that's going to be tough until I get this show opened. July is going to be fun!
Here's a quick snippet from the chapter I just finished - a token of good faith, my noble supporters.
Spell/Sword Concept Art - Mike Groves - poopbird.com
“So, what should my name be?” Jonas asked, coming up to her side. “You know I’m no good at coming up with this on the spot. If people ask who I am, what do I tell them? Or you? Your name is going to be hard to hide pretty soon too.”
She chuckled despite herself. I’m losing my grip on sanity and Jonas keeps having good ideas. Upside down we go. “A good cover name should be something simple, close to your own name in case you stumble. Do you have another name already? Do they give middle names in Gilead?”
“Nah, just Jonas.” his brow furrowed. “Wait, do you have a middle name?”
Rime’s mouth went dry and she picked up her pace, nearly shouldering a pair of leather-clad sailors out of the way. She angled for a nearby archway that seemed to lead away from the docks and towards the center of town, the most likely place to find the market. The dawn sun made the archway a black silhouette, half of a dark circle. The mage squinted and could see that it was fashioned from what appeared to be a pair of ancient rib bones, encased in a cunning lattice of brick and mortar. Earthen pots were placed at regular intervals along the top, and bright yellow flowers bloomed despite the advance of fall. I wonder if someone waters them, do they have a ladder nearby that they use for maintenance?
“Oh, man - it must be terrible,” her guardian practically salivated as the trotted to catch up. “You’ve got to tell me.”
Rime turned back, arms crossed. “No. Not going to happen. And this is not one of those times where someone says that a thing will never occur to build up your anticipation or even an opening for some passing deity to prepare some sort of ironic comeuppance. This is not a thing that you will know, ever.”
Jonas grinned, “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”
“No, we will not see.”
The squire laughed. “Aww, come on. What could be more complicated or strange sounding than --”
“Doma Rime Korvanus,” a voice came from the archway of brick and bone.
The two travelers spun, the squire’s hand already on his sword. Standing in the shadowed circle, outlined by the rising sun was a ghost. The hunter, Linus, had already drawn his white sword and held it out before him as if in benediction. His dented iron armor was the same, the white spiral sigil on his chest was the same, his cool blue eyes were the same. The same as the last time, on the beach. The few citizens of Shiloh coming through the archway eyeballed the situation with curiosity, but kept moving around the knight and his white sword like rocks in a stream. It’s so odd, that fucking sword. People think it’s a staff or a cane or some-weird-thing, and off they go with their business.
“You are dead,” Rime’s panic was slathered over with a thick coating of bruised propriety. It was just so rude. “I killed you myself. I made sure.”
“Yes,” Linus agreed. “But our business is not complete.”
---Back to typing. Update you all soon!
CONTEST UPDATE
Many of you have been asking me about how the contest concluded, and I've remained silent on the matter, not because I didn't want to tell you all about it, rather out of pure mental exhaustion more than anything. It is not in my nature to ask people to give their hard-earned money to a personal cause, let alone repeatedly. That is not to say that I didn't/don't believe the cause worthy, because IT IS—it's my dream to be a working writer. But I would rather people love my work and support me without my asking for it. So in the end, I am thankful for this contest for providing me the opportunity to A) Write for a specific purpose with deadlines. B) Foster a spirit of camaraderie and honesty in competition. C) Inform numerous people of my desire to write. Many of my closest friends and family have known for a long time of my affinity for word-smithing and telling stories, but not all of them knew that I was serious about it. I hope they do now.
In the end, I came in 9th place. Remaining in the Top Ten was all I hoped for, and because of you guys, I did that. This helped garner attention to my name among all people following and participating in the contest. I received an honorable mention in the contest results post by Sword & Laser and Inkshares, as well. It should also be noted that I came in 7th place for unique readership (e.g. If Grandma bought 50 copies, she was only counted once); I'm pretty proud of that.
Technically, my book is still a viable publishing option through Inshares' regular publication guidelines, as I am more than 25% funded. However, I would need to rake in another 500 pre-orders in 42 days—yikes! That does not sound like fun, and quite honestly, I have books to write. I'd rather spend my time working on actually writing than marketing.
Some lingering questions you may have:
What happens to my copy of the book?
You don't get it. Inkshares is only publishing the people who were in the Top 5.
Will my card be charged?
No. You were only obligated to pay if I won.
Will they still publish the 215 copies you sold?
No, but wouldn't that be nice.
Will I still be able to read the book?
Yes. I am currently working on a website where I'll publish These Old Bones, and other short stories, FOR FREE. I will send out an email to everyone when it's live. You can continue to support me by reading along and encouraging others you know who enjoy fantasy and science fiction to follow as well.
Thanks for all your love and support and for being my marketing minions during the months of the contest. See you on the other side.
Hello friends!
Greetings, everyone!
What's your inbox been like without my constant presence? Cold and drafty? An email utopia? 
I thought it best to give you all a break after the non-ending onslaught the past couple of months, but I wanted to give you a quick update and let you know the rough timeline for the the book.
First, foremost, and always - thank you all so much for your support. We wouldn't be sitting here right now if it weren't for you. I know I've said this a lot, but I honestly need to keep saying it until the eventual Heat-Death of the Universe.
Inkshares has already been in contact the past week getting a lot of information from me as they plan the production and marketing for AMOD. I haven't embarrassed myself YET, but that is a train that is never late.
The first deadline is : the finished manuscript is due at the end of July! This is not set in stone, I have a little bit of flex if I need some extra time, but as of right now I'm on target and want to stay that way. I'm projecting the finished draft to be north of 80,000 words, my trusty Google Doc is sitting on 22,000. I feel weird about word count - it's become the equivalent of Arcade High Scores in the writing community, so I really don't like talking about them - but you guys have already bought the book, so you get the sausage-making deets.
So, obviously - I'm going to be using every spare moment not at day job, rehearsal, gutter-drinking, sleeping, and eating just typing away like mad. I feel a wee-bit stressed, but the main feeling is excitement. You are waiting. I don't want to disappoint you. From someone who self-published their first two novels, Accountability is like a drug. Someone other than me cares whether or not I hit my writing deadlines or just play video games.
Now that we're all buckled in for the long-haul, I'll try to update you guys every week or so - just on my progress and other cool things that develop. After I turn in the manuscript in July, I'll start working on those backer rewards we talked about like the audiobooks!
Don't be surprised if my internet output drops to virtually nil as I get closer to deadline, I'll have to put on my Hermit Hat to make sure I stay on target. But you can always find me on Twitter @gderekadams or on my regular blog spell-sword.com [which I just realized I haven't even updated to with the fact that we won this honking contest. Oops.]
Later taters,
Derek
I'm a little loopy - I was up past midnight programming light cues, one more night of rehearsal before the show opens and I can crawl back into my writer cave and get back to banging away on Asteroid Made of Dragons. Theatre is a crazy group endeavour - quite looking forward to solitary hermity goodness on the horizon. Though I am kind of in love with this promo shot from The Moonstone play:
Photo: Matt Hardy
It's been a little while since I shared any Xenon stuff with you all - so here's a snippet from one of her chapters. It's becoming an open secret that even though I've wandered with Jonas & Rime before, our scholar-goblin is quickly becoming the character I enjoy writing the most.
“I’m not coming back, Mercy. Not this time. I can’t,” Xenon made her voiced stay calm, even though her heart slammed ceaselessly against her ribcage. She laid her hands on the black chain that was wrapped around the door handles of the shed. It had no lock, the steel links were welded together. It had been this way since her father -- had stopped giving instructions and telling stories.
“Zee. Zee! You can’t!” her sister writhed with panic. “Mother will--Mother will, I don’t even know what Mother will!”
Sorry, Mercury. Let’s see how bad you really want to go. “No turning back,” Xenon got a firm grip of the black chain in both hands and set her feet. She would never be as strong as some goblins, but in a pinch she could bend steel carpenter-nails without wincing. With a sharp exhale she grunted and snapped the chains apart and threw them aside. Both sisters paused and pressed themselves against the shed door in a breathless moment of terror, waiting for the sound of their mother’s approach.
When only the distant sound of the philosophers stumbling further down their street came, Xenon slowly stood and turned her head to look into her sister’s wide eyes. “I told you before. What I found, it’s important and it’s dangerous. And it’s my job to figure it out, I’m not dumping it someone else’s plate. I took the little gold I have left, but if I’m going to figure this out, I need, well, transportation.”
Mercury said nothing, only stared at the shed door with reverential awe. Xenon took a deep breath and flung open the shed doors, where the light of the three moons could fall upon the contents.
It was all curves. It was midnight blue, like the darkest deeps of the sea. It was beautiful and covered with dust.
Xenon swung into saddle and ran her thumbs along the throttle, the starter switches, the display panel that still gave off a faint light, even as the machine slumbered. She shook Mercury off her shoulder until her sister’s bottom was on the seat. A quick wipe with her cloak removed the worst of the dust from the panel and showed that there was plenty of energy still in the reserve. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and let herself listen to the stories underneath her feet. Then her thumb flicked the ignition switch.
An Arkanic sky-cycle?!? It had been beyond her teenaged capacity to preserve even a semblance of calm when her father had touched down in the backyard the first time with it. It had hummed instead of roared, as if floating made it happy. Just like it hummed now, even though it had sat alone in a dirty shed for years, it was ready to fly, like it had been waiting for her. True Precursor technology did not fade, did not break, did not diminish or grow dull. The sky-cycle was powered by an actual aerolith and with careful use and maintenance, the machine would fly for years. Her father had taught her how to operate it with calm, thorough care and now it felt only right to be sitting on the back of this ancient machine on the trail of a mystery that stretched back to when the device had been born. Xenon looked over her shoulder, a final question in her eyes. Mercury had already found goggles from the saddlebags. She blinked once through the smoked glass, then passed another pair to her sister without a word. Xenon pulled them onto her forehead snugly and eased the throttle and let Tobio out into the night.
The Precursor’s machine hummed as quiet as a drifting cloud down the length of the house, both goblins kept an eye on each window, expecting to see the razor silhouette of their mother’s anger. Xenon held her breath and felt Mercury’s fingers dig into her sides. She kept Tobio at his slowest speed until her mother’s house was a diminishing shadow. Then she hammered the throttle and made the midnight blue wonder leap into the sky.
Mercury whooped with delight, pounding on Xenon’s back with her sharp fists. Their part of the city was mostly dark, even with the roaming philosophers -- but other parts shone with lantern-glass warmth. The bright yellow of the theater district, the cool blue of the torches that burned around the Library, the piercing white light that tore into the night sky like a spear that came from the Glass Towers of Vo -- the night wind whipped past and Xenon felt free. Terrified and free and she strongly considered turning the sky-cycle right around and parking it back in the shed.
“Where are we going, Zee?” Mercury demanded.
Xenon folded up her fears and tucked them away in a pocket just over her heart, there to be easily found and consulted at need. “Like you and mother said. Someone smarter than me - or at least someone who knows more about the Precursor civilization.” And not the First Librarian - that old stick would bury this in committees, rhetoric, and old men’s science. If we were lucky the mystery would be solved some fifteen minutes before SHAME arrives. “We’re going to go talk to an old boyfriend.”
“What?!?” Mercury shouted in either glee or pure incomprehension from the wind whipping past.
Two goblins soared across the night sky on a machine older than the city below, leaving a trail of magenta energy behind them like a line of bright ink.