Storm Grant is here today to talk about…
Things I wish I’d known
A question that pops up a lot, and that I still read with interest is: What advice would you give to writers just starting out?
Here’s my answer that question. Not that I’m such a raving success, but I have been around the ol’ publishing block a time or two. I’ve seen huge changes in the industry even in the few years I’ve been publishing.
When you’re starting out, you will be continually told three “absolute musts.”
- Write what you know.
- Don’t write to market.
- Write the best book you can.
Let’s go through those, shall we?
1. Write what you know.
To this I say, bullcrap! If we only write what we know, we wouldn’t have Tarzan, Captain Kirk, or Buffy. Because I’m going to go out on a limb here and say Edgar Rice Burroughs was not raised by apes, Gene Rodenberry never boldly went, and maybe high school was hell for Joss Whedon, but probably not literally. There’s nothing you can’t research, or as I like to say: You’re a fiction writer. Make sh*t up!
2. Don’t write to market.
Again, I say, bullcrap! You should definitely write to market. Do you really want to spend weeks, months, even years writing a book that won’t sell? Most writers at any given time have a dozen ideas squirming around their brains. Keep an eye on the marketplace, watch the deal news which predicts what’s coming out in a year or eighteen months, then pick the idea that is likely to be most saleable.
If you’re writing for traditional publishers, you may want to avoid the trends since by the time your book comes out one or two years later, the trend will be over. But if you’re with an epublisher, or self-publishing—grab that bandwagon and jump right on. My last full-length novel was contracted in October, edited, given cover art and published in all the appropriate formats by December. Take that, New York!
Remember, just a few years back, vampires, and indeed all urban fantasy was considered a “trend” and we were told not to write to it. I imagine the steampunk writers would laugh and laugh at the idea of not following trends.
3. Write the best book you can.
Yes, this one’s true. Write the best book you can. Then put it away for at least two weeks before you start round one of editing. Agents and editors won’t buy mediocre or unsellable novels; reviewers and purchasers will post bad reviews.
So write the best, most creative, most marketable novel you can.
Best of luck! Because you still need a boatload of luck.
Sparks fly between virgin teenage demon hunters when the Chosen One turns out to be… the Chosen Two?
Apprentice warrior Blake St. Blake is the Chosen One, raised by an ancient order to defend the world against evil. Well, maybe not the whole world, but at least his neighborhood in downtown Detroit.
When a dreaded reflux demon is sighted in a local cemetery, Blake is sent off to his very first battle, armed with his sword, his super-senses, his black leather duster, and a few well-rehearsed one-liners.
But another Chosen One gets in Blake’s way—an apprentice wizard named Shadow. While the boys argue about who’s the more chosen of the two, the demon escapes.
Blake wants to be angry, but it turns out he and Shadow have a lot in common. Besides, Shadow’s pretty cute, and Blake can’t help but think that the wizard’s skills (and hands and lips and other bits) might make the perfect complement to his. Blake and Shadow are brave enough to challenge the reflux demon in a second battle, but will they have the courage to tell each other how they feel?
Shading my eyes against the moonlight and streetlamps, I deliberately dilated my pupils, searching the dark cemetery for movement. Or glowing eyeballs.
On my twenty-fourth sweep, I saw it: a creature moving between the headstones, barely a shadow amongst shadows.
“Time to man up,” I said aloud. My balls had another idea, though, and tried to retreat to their place of origin at the thought of facing my first demon.
“This is excitement, not fear,” I told them. “The thrill of the chase. It’s what you—I’ve—been training my whole life for.” I took a deep, centering breath as my mentor had taught me. It worked. My heartbeat slowed, my breathing evened, and my balls descended. I was ready to go find me some demon.
Shunning the elevator I had ridden up to the rooftop, I spread my leather duster like the wings of a bat and sailed gracefully to the street three stories below.
My landing, however, was less than graceful. I sprawled on my ass in the middle of the street and lay where I’d fallen, wind knocked from my lungs.
Behind me, lights caught my attention, and I leaped for the sidewalk as a speeding taxi gunned directly at me. A minion of evil, no doubt sent by my enemies.
He pulled abreast of me and signaled before pulling away. I returned his one-fingered salute and focused my attention on the greater foe.
I set off for the cemetery, leather duster swirling about my legs as I strode through the deserted streets.
Having reached the locked, spike-topped gates of the graveyard, I turned southward and circled the perimeter. I ran a hand through my curls, smoothing them into place after my crappy landing. My hair was medium ash blond this week, with electric blue streaks that looked awesome in the right light. I located the break in the cemetery wall and squeezed through, vowing to give up pizza pockets for a month.
Once inside, I froze in place, surveying the houses of the dead and their pale markers. The night seemed to grow darker still. A cool breeze brushed my cheek, which was refreshing since a leather coat really wasn’t summer-wear. Still, the coat was de rigueur. I’d say all the cool demon hunters wore them, except I was, of course, the only one. All the prophecies said so.
I’ve been training for this day as long as I can remember. I am the single line of defense between the sleeping innocents of Detroit who believe themselves safe in their beds at night, and the Hell spawn that rise to slay them all.
It is my destiny to—
A tinkly version of the theme from the Lord of the Rings jerked me from my reverie. Drawing my iPhone from my pocket, I pressed the answer icon. “Talk to me.”
The phone sighed, or rather Hadley, my mentor, did. Or maybe it was just a bad connection. “Blake?”
“Are you in position yet?”
“I’m inside the hallowed ground now. I have yet to locate the target.”
“Well, be careful then. Oh, and if you pass a convenience store on your way home, we’re out of pizza pockets.”
“But sir, I’m on my first big mission. I can’t go to 7-Eleven.”
How dare he sully my noble mission with something as mundane as pizza pockets? But my stomach rumbled loudly at the thought, and I had to admit a pizza pocket would’ve gone pretty good right about now.
“Stop whining. It’s unbecoming. If you don’t want to stop for pizza pockets, then don’t, but don’t look at me when the freezer’s empty. Now, be alert and stay safe. This is just a fact-finding mission. Don’t forget that. Do not engage the demon. And remember; let’s be careful out there.” He always ended with that line which I’d been disgusted and disillusioned to learn came from an ’80s TV show. Couldn’t he be more original? Witty lines were the stock-in-trade of a good warrior. He should’ve been helping me hone my wit as well as my wits.
Oh, good one. I’ll have to remember that one for next time.
Although he couldn’t see me, I nodded solemnly. “As you wish,” I said, breaking the connection and setting the phone to vibrate before returning it to my pocket. My stomach rumbled again.
And then there was another rumble, off to my left. So, not my traitorous belly, then. I turned my head toward the sound. Not just the rustling of a squirrel or raccoon, but the rumbling, snorting, and wheezing of a demon!
Crouching low, I followed the noise toward the huge mausoleum in the middle of the graveyard. A massive demon stood before the crypt. It was like no demon I’d ever seen before. Okay, I’d never seen one alive before. The tomes and scrolls I’d studied did not do justice to my evil foe in the flesh.
Its eyes bulged from its toad-like head, which swiveled about, searching for prey. I stepped further back into the shadows. It sniffed at the air, its noseless nostrils hairy and moist. Where its bare flesh poked out of its clothing, its pink skin rippled as if walnut-sized parasites roamed beneath it. It raised a giant ax. For a moment I thought the ax was its hand, until the clouds drifted aside and moonlight illuminated filthy clawed fingers wrapped around the ax handle.
An awful grating sound echoed from the depths of its flabby belly, sending a wave of flame and noxious fumes on its putrid breath. I tried not to cough, reining in my enhanced sense of smell. It pursed its puffy red lips and horked. Where the spit landed, the earth sizzled. Only one type of demon belched fire and spit acid: the dreaded reflux demon!
According to my studies, the reflux was a crafty son of a bitch. It’d be no easy prize to be won with a few sword strokes and a witty one-liner.
I felt my phone buzz against my hip, but chose to ignore it. I knew it’d be Hadley calling to remind me not to engage.
But how could I not? Who knew when I’d get another chance? Or how much damage the reflux would do before I could dispatch it?
I rose from my half-crouch, a war cry gathering in my throat. My balls once again surged upward. Ignoring my scaredy-cat testicles, I took a deep breath, raised my sword, and rushed at it.
“Fear me, oh spawn of Satan. For I am Blake St. Blake and I have come to return you to Hell!”
I had to slow my run a bit to get that all out before I arrived.
A flicker of movement caught my eye, but it was too late for me to stop my charge.
Another creature sprang from the darkness, weapon at the ready, crying, “Yo, asswipe. I’m gonna rip off your head and spit down your throat!”
I ground to a halt in front of the confused demon. And honestly, I was as confused as it was. I didn’t know which one to smite: the ax-wielding, acid-spitting, fire-belching demon, or this other thing, cloaked in dark cloth and brandishing a glowing stick.
“Who be-est thou?” I demanded of the newcomer. I had to shout to be heard over my pounding heart. At least I’d remembered to use formal demon-hunter language like the heroes in books and movies did.
“What the fuck?” the cloaked being said, raising his glowing stick. His eyes shone from beneath his cowl.
The demon lifted its ax, orange-slitted eyeballs rolling from one side to the other.
The stick-wielder turned to face me. “Who the fuck’re you, sucka?” he asked, shaking his stick at me. A sly look grew upon the demon’s face and it shifted its weight toward the newcomer.
“Yesss,” came a hiss from the depths of its flabby body. “Who the fffuck are you, sssucka?”
So they’d either arrived together from Hell, or had decided to align forces against me. Oh, shit. I just couldn’t catch a break! I gripped my sword hilt tighter, knuckles shining white in the moonlight. I would just have to slay them both. “Nay, ’tis I who shall ask the questions. Are you two together?”
“Oh, hell no,” Stick-wielder said, moving back a step from the demon, who had sidled up close and personal. “You’re not pulling that bullshit on this wizard.” He clenched his stick tighter. “Dude, you are toast!” The stick began to glow brighter. It occurred to me that it might be some sort of oversized magic wand and not just a plastic light saber bought on eBay. Especially since he’d called himself a wizard. “It’s my freakin’ destiny to slay your sorry ass!”
Now I knew he must be delusional because I was the only Chosen One around. Nobody else got divine powers. I was the only one with enhanced senses and the ability to leap off buildings in a single bound. I would have raised my sword, but it was already up as far as I could lift it. In fact, my arm was beginning to tremble from holding my weapon aloft—these things were a lot heavier than they looked in the movies.
Having no idea if the sorry ass on the wizard’s slaying agenda belonged to me or the reflux, I decided to engage him in conversation. Perhaps I could trick him into revealing his allegiance. “So . . .” My voice broke. I coughed and tried again. “So . . . You’re a wizard, are you? What are your powers, pray tell?”
“Prey what? I ain’t nobody’s prey. Prey this, motherfucker.” He shook the glowing stick at me. “And who are you to get all up in my business, I mean, bidness anyhow? I can’t hardly see in this damn moonlight.” He squinted in my direction. “Oh, wait. I can fix this,” he mumbled.
He raised his stick higher, although not as high as I held my sword. The stick began to glow brighter and brighter, until the entire clearing lit up.
Now it was my turn to squint, before I remembered that dilating and contracting my pupils was one of my powers. The enhanced senses had come on only lately so I wasn’t used to them yet. I blinked several times and concentrated, shrinking my pupils down so the light no longer blinded me. There, now I could see again.
“So you claim to be a wizard. Can you do anything else with that stick, or is it just a fancy flashlight?”
The wizard rounded on me. I bit my tongue, wishing I hadn’t goaded him. There were always painful things one could do with a stick, magic or not.
I could barely see my opponent’s features beneath his hood, but his tone dripped venom when he said, “No, asshat. I came out to mix it up with this badass demon here with nothing more than . . . Wait? Where’d it go?”
I turned just in time to see the demon duck back inside the mausoleum, pulling the solid stone doors closed behind it. They thunked into place, barely a seam to show they’d ever been open.
Play The Name Game for FEW IS CHOSEN and win a copy of ALL THREE of these entertaining books from Storm Grant’s backlist: Gym Dandy, Shift Happens, and Tart and Soul. (Two full-length novels and a novella!)
1. What is Shadow’s real first name? ___ ___ ___ ___
2. What is Shadow’s mentor’s first name? ___ ___ ___ ___ ___
3. What is the name of the Order that raised and trained Blake? The Order of the ___ ___ ___ ___
How to enter: DO NOT POST YOUR ANSWERS! Instead, to qualify:
1. Email your answers to the three questions, above, to firstname.lastname@example.org.
2. Then post a comment to this blog stating that you’ve emailed your entry.
You may enter once for each stop on the blog tour, thereby increasing your chances of being the grand prize winner!
One grand prize winner will be selected March 5th.
Blog tour, details here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Storm Grant Bio: Storm Grant is a writer of short and long tales, her work spanning both genres and genders. Storm’s stories offer titillation and merriment, and in a few cases, horror. In the last few years, she’s published with MLR, Torquere, Phaze, Blood Bound Books, eXessica, Amber Quill, and Riptide Publishing.
Storm Grant (also writing as Gina X. Grant)