I love what's happening with The Paladin right now. I'm in the middle of polishing up the first major fight in the manuscript, one that really sets the tone for the rest of the novel. I'm really happy with seeing what's happening with the edits. I'm cutting a lot of words, but I'm also rewording things and doing a little bit of rewriting (not much, that part is over!)
Now that I'm looking at the scene fresh, I'm seeing where it's weak, I'm seeing where there are awkward moments, and I'm making bold choices to make the whole thing so much better. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to toot my own horn. I... honestly... hate self-aggrandizing. I've had trouble accepting praise or boasting about my own work. But what I'm seeing unfold in this draft, I absolutely love it! And, to top it off, I'm getting back initial feedback and the new version seems to be a hit! So when I tell you all that I'm excited to show you what I've been working on, when I tell you that it's good, I mean it. It's really hard for me to step forward and act confident and say "hey, this really good," but that's my job now. And you know what? I actually believe it. I think The Paladin is shaping up to be a great novel and I really think you guys are going to love it. On that note, I'm still accepting beta readers if anyone would like to take a look at the new versions of the first three chapters and compare them with the original. Feel free to hit me up on Twitter, Facebook, or down below in the comments. With that, I'll bid you guys adieu so that I can get back to work! Be Excellent To Each Other.
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Edit. Edit. Edit. What? Oh... I didn't catch that when I was writing. Better fix. Wait... now that means...
Yeah, this is nothing new, but that's what I'm doing today. I'm addressing some of the tinier details, you know, like, how many cars does the St. Renard's Parish have? On the bright side, the word count is finally starting to drop down. I cut over a thousand words today! Granted, I'm still working toward a deficit I created by writing new material, but still, a thousand words cut in one day is nothing to sneeze at. I don't think I appreciated the amount of tiny details that going into a decent novel when I started writing The Paladin. Now that I'm trying to cut, I have to be careful what's taken out and what's left in. I have to be careful what I add and what I change. It's kind of like taking a jigsaw puzzle and removing half the pieces, then replacing them with pieces from similar, but different puzzles. If I don't do it write, it's going to be obvious what comes from what version. I don't want to end up with a puzzle of a duck who's beak is from a puzzle of a balloon. Things are going to look weird. And I think that's my awkward metaphor for the night. I hope you enjoyed it. DFTBA Okay, I promise I'll cool it on the wrestling stuff for a while... AFTER today. Today is Wrestlemania! It's a holiday for anyone who loves pro wrestling. In fact, it was, more or less, treated like an actual holiday in my family. So, gather round, it's time to recall my days of watching Wrestlemania with my family.
I have been a wrestling fan all of my life. Where some kids had teddy bears, I had a stuffed Hulk Hogan (and a teddy bear. And a white pony. But the Hulk thing is more relevant.) I organized a wrestling league in my playground sandbox, much to the chagrin of my teachers. I grew up wanting to be a superhero. Not like Superman or Spider-Man. I wanted to be like Hulk Hogan or the Ultimate Warrior. So, when I was in college, I would visit my family on holidays. All the big ones. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and of course, Wrestlemania. Just like any of the other holidays, there's tradition, family, and lots of food. I'd load up with my non-biological brother Shawn, maybe a few other friends, and drive two hours to my old home town. We'd get there the night before, drop off our stuff, relax, and watch the traditional Hall of Fame induction ceremony where wrestling legends were honored the night before Wrestlemania. Then it happened. Wrestlemania day. Food galore. Family all at rapt attention. And of course, the annual contract between my mother and the rest of the family that she wouldn't spend the evening complaining if Undertaker lost. The fireworks hit. The music starts. Wrestlemania. Stories that had been building up all year culminated. My family argued about who would win. We'd lean in from our chairs. It was... special. Sadly, those days are over. My parents passed away, but still, tonight, I'm sitting in front of my TV, lots of bad food, next to the most wonderful woman in the world, and we will watch. We will remember the great times. And we will move toward even better ones. Thanks for reading. And don't forget to be awesome! You know, whether it's writing or any thing else that holds value to you, it takes commitment and a bit of stubbornness to see it through. I'm not going to pretend I haven't had "zero days" with The Paladin; it happens. But you have to keep moving forward and forget about those days so you can focus on what you want to tomorrow's reality.
Maybe yesterday I didn't write enough. Maybe I didn't cut enough words. Maybe I didn't get through editing all the chapters that I had wanted to. That was yesterday, though. Today I will write. I will edit. I will cut words. For you, maybe it's something different. Whatever passion you have, that thing that you want to build your life around, that's the thing you'll have to work at today, regardless of what yesterday looked like. This blog, even it doesn't touch people and inspire, it's something I do every day. I haven't missed a blog post since I started and that means that everyday I'm forced to consider where I am with my goals. Where am I with The Paladin? Where am I with my editing? Where will I be when the clock strikes midnight and it all starts over? I'm not going to say I'm perfect. I bottom out and have bad days. But every day I reflect on that. I look at yesterday, see what I did and what I didn't do. I get up and decide that today, I'm going to do these things again with renewed vigor. And all of it so that I can change the reality of what tomorrow will be. I have a path. I have a goal. My problems yesterday, my work today, it will all come together to build my dream for tomorrow. Be Excellent to Each Other. So this weekend is Wrestlemania Weekend. The biggest weekend in professional wrestling. Stories that have been building for a year culminate on Sunday. Or... ideally they would. Some of the matches this year are a little slapdash, but that is neither here not there. The point is, the grandest stage of them all is just a couple days away and stories are about to be told. I always love this time of year. It's like the Super Bowl for wrestling fans and, I kid not you, has always been treated like a holiday in my family. I'd drive for hours to meet up with family, we'd have a huge dinner, and then gather around to watch the show. It was a whole day event. Heck, a weekend event. We'd usually get there the day before so we could relax and watch the Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Now, here I am, all grown up and training wrestlers. It's... weird, but very fulfilling. I love watching my students get better and better every session. These guys eat up everything I put in front of them. And the best part is coming soon. They're almost ready to learn how to tell a story in the ring. What's that I hear? How does wrestling tell a story? Well, allow me to elucidate. Pro Wrestling has had some of the greatest stories. Rises and falls. Betrayals. Love and Romance. Everything that Shakespeare had, wrestling has too, just with more spandex and face paint. I could go on at length, but I know I'm already ranting, and really, there's a perfect video that tells it all. So, let me show you what I think is the best video about the story of professional wrestling. "Wrestling Isn't Wrestling." DFTBA Okay! Pieces are falling into place. I can see a light at the end of this long editing tunnel. Hopefully it's not a train.
What I mean to say is, I'm done (for the moment) with rewrites! That means I can focus on just editing, cutting words, and making sure things sync up. This goes MUCH faster than rewrites. It may take me a day or two to rewrite a new scene, figuring out where I need it go, what has to change, and coming up with everything without a clear outline like the first draft had. Edits on the other hand, fly by in comparison. I'm zooming through two to three chapters a night, which means I should be done in the near future! Woot! So what does that mean? Well, it means I need to start putting together my newest beta reader pool. I have a few, but I most certainly could use more. If, by chance, you are interested in reading through The Paladin before it's published and giving your feedback on it, just hit me up. Contact information HERE including a form specifically for beta readers. Once I get through another round of betas and critiques, if I'm satisfied, it'll be a final edit before I have to make a big decision. Pay for freelance editing or submit to an agent right away. Freelance editors are going to cost me a pretty penny, but they'll help make sure I impress agents. If, however, I submit to an agent and they like it, I'll get editing for free, anyway. Do I take the risk? If I had the spare cash, it wouldn't be an issue, but money is not exactly flowing like water these days. On a related note, I'm still looking for input on my opening chapter and would love to hear some feedback from you guys on which version is better. If you'd be so kind, click on THIS to read the original Chapter One, and THIS to see the new version. You'll notice some drastic difference. The pacing is much quicker in the new version and jumps us right into the action. I'm eager to hear from anyone out there, so make sure to hit me up on Twitter, Facebook, or right here in the comment section. Thanks guys! Be Excellent To Each Other Twenty-seven weeks and counting! And for this installment I’m sharing Caravan Palace’s Lone Digger. There’s something about that retro, big band style mix that just gets my blood pumping. Great for club scenes, great for fights, and just an all around great song for writing. I’ve used this for scenes where things go a little out of hand. Where the plan wasn’t necessarily violence, but it looks like that’s going to be the order of the night. So, please enjoy this pick from my personal writing playlist, Lone Digger. DFTBA My job is keeping me late tonight, so I figured I’d do a mobile post. Paladin Playlist should be on for tomorrow, so no worries there. I do do a little filming and instruction for a local university and tonight they asked me to film setup for a local theater production. The Blithe Spirit. It reminded me of my old theater days. Yes, loyal readers, professional wrestling is not the only performance I’ve put on. In fact, to get to where I was in pro wrestling, I balanced theater and high school wrestling simultaneously. Literally.
You see the stage for theater was the same room that our school made the wrestlers use for practice. I would be in a singlet, locking up with a teammate, then take a break to hop up on stage and recite my lines. Back and forth, back and forth. Hop on stage. Read. Hop off stage. Fireman’s carry. It was magical. Im very aware that when I interview the actors here tonight, they will just see a camera man. But when I watch and silently ponder how to improve a line, figure out how they do a special effect, or even when they’re just deciding on blocking, it takes me back. I miss being on stage. Maybe I’ll have to find my way back again. DFTBA I'm nearly halfway through my latest round of edits and I thought it might be good to get more public feedback on the update. As you may or may not know, I have the first three chapters of my novel, The Paladin, up on the front page. These, however, are out of date. I've since updated them. So I have a favor to ask. If you read this blog, could you do me a real solid and read my updated Chapter 1? I'd love to have some eyes on it to let me know if you think it's better than the old version. This is it, right here, I'm posting the new Chapter 1 right after this little rant, so if you guys could give it a look, compare it to the old Chapter 1 which I will link HERE , then just let me know in the comments or on social media which one you like better. It'll be a big help. Thanks guys! DFTBA Chapter 1Jonathan walked through the hallowed corridors of Anne Bayley Hall, a smile on his lips, a mission in his heart, and a doughnut box in his bag. He wore a well pressed black button-up shirt with a white clerical collar, the typical dress of those in the Anne Bayley Seminary. With the bag slung carefully over his shoulder, he weaved through the throng of young men in identical attire, making his way to the office at the end of the hall. There, speaking with a young priest-in-training was his target: Father Alistair.
Jonathan paused outside the office of the priest, waiting patiently and taking a moment to admire the beautiful campus that lay just outside the window. In truth, he was, perhaps, thinking a bit too much on the box in his bag. It represented the culmination of a great deal of effort and, frankly, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a bit of pride. As Alistair dismissed the young man he was speaking with, he turned with friendly smile to Jonathan. "Jonathan, it's good to see you? How can I help you?" "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you for a bit. Do you have a moment?" The old priest pulled the sleeve of his black jacket back, checking his watch. With a nod he gestured toward the open door of his office. "Of course. I actually had something I wanted to speak with you about." Moments later the pair were seated at either end of Father Alistair's desk, the elder producing a small, black scheduling book. He flipped through it and pulled a pen from a mug on his desk, making a note before looking up at the student. "So what did you need, Jonathan?" "Well," the student began, feeling the first bit of apprehension in his chest, "I'm sure it's no secret, but, Father Willingham asked me to keep an eye on you." The priest rolled his eyes and chuckled. He nodded and set the pen in the book. "Yes, yes, I'm quite aware," he replied. "But you should know, I haven't been to the bakery in weeks. I've even been ordering taco salads for my lunch. Satisfied?" "Well... about that," Jonathan began. "I may have done a little... investigating." "Investigating?" Jonathan pulled the box from his bag carefully, keeping it upright as he sat it on the priest's desk. Alistair's eyes widened as he looked over the large, square box, "Sunrise Bakery" emblazoned across the top. The priest seemed hesitant to speak, considering his words carefully. Jonathan, however, moved forward without hesitation. "I know where you've been getting your 'taco salads.' I swung by and had a chat with them." The priest nodded, the slightest of frowns curling his lips. "And I suppose you've already informed Father Willingham that I've disregarded his health advice?" "Not yet," Jonathan replied, popping open the box. Inside, sitting in a generic white foam container was a taco salad from the dining hall. The student grinned and pushed the box forward. "I figured as long as you were actually having taco salads, there wasn't anything to tell him about." The priest's frown turned to a smile, then to laughter. Shaking his head, he dug the plastic fork out of the box, gesturing toward Jonathan with it. "Sometimes, Jonathan, you're too curious for your own good." "It's your good we're all worried about." "Yes, yes, I'm aware." "So no more doughnuts?" "I'm not in the habit of making promises I can't keep, Jonathan," he replied digging into the salad. "But... we'll see." "You promised Father Willingham you wouldn't eat doughnuts anymore," the student reminded him. "I'm a man of the cloth, Jonathan, and I would never utter an untrue word to the Rector," he replied, taking a labored bite of the salad. "That said, my promise was not to buy them anymore. Sunrise was very happy to donate them." It was now Jonathan's turn to roll his eyes, his smile irrepressible. "Our job in this world is to be shepherds for the Lord's flock. Sometimes that means taking care of other shepherds, too." "Who said that?" Alistair asked. "You did, my first semester." It was about half a taco salad later when Alistair reopened his scheduling book. His carefully handwritten appointments lined the pages of the book, Jonathan impressed that the instructor still had so many families to meet with. Tapping his pen next to a box marked "Robinsons," Alistair turned to his disciple. "So, for Assignment tonight, I was hoping you'd accompany me to visit a family I've known for several years." Normally this was Jonathan's night for volunteering at the shelter, but pastoral assignments were flexible in his mind. So long as he was helping someone, he was doing God's will. "I'll have to tell my roommate, but I don't see an issue. What's going on?" "Well, I've known this family since before I was moved to the Seminary; I was their pastor. A few years ago they were blessed with a lovely little girl, Katrina." The young seminarian nodded, uncertain of where his mentor was going. "They've been having... issues. I've been counseling them, trying to help them through a troubling time." "Shouldn't this be a job for their new pastor?" Jonathan asked. "It should, but they don't seem comfortable speaking with anyone else about it. Well, the mother at least. The father seems adamant not to speak with anyone." "So... you want me to accompany you? I'm not sure what use a student would be, but I'll gladly help where I can." "I want to pick your brain, Jonathan. You're such a spiritually bright young man and very perceptive." Alistair took a glance at his half-eaten taco salad. "Sometimes annoyingly so. I'd like to get your opinion." Jonathan weighed the priest's words. It was true that Alistair seemed to favor him, perhaps unfairly so, but he'd never go so far as to ask him to join him on a visit like this. If he was bringing Jonathan along, he must be unsure about something. The young man nodded. "If I can help, I'll gladly do it." "Perfect. I'll get things together. Meet me after classes and we'll head right over. I don't want to get there too late in the evening." The young seminarian rose from his chair and slung his bag over his shoulder. He shook his mentor's hand and bid him farewell, turning back to the hall. He stopped at the door, turning back to the priest picking at his lunch. "Just so I'm clear, that was a promise not to eat doughnuts anymore, right?" The old priest chuckled. "Get to class, Jonathan." **** Jonathan ran his hands down his cassock. It wasn't often that he wore the full uniform of the clergy outside of Mass, but Alistair had insisted that their visit warranted it. The car stopped with just the slightest of jolts as the elder priest parked. Jonathan stared out the window at the two-story house of the Robinsons. It was quaint. It was cozy. So why did he feel something burning inside him as he stared at it. "So you want us to comfort the family?" Jonathan asked as the pair exited the vehicle. "I want you to pay attention and share your insights," Alistair answered. "I'm still not certain what good I can do, but I'll do my best." Minutes later the pair found themselves on a white sofa across from Katrina's parents. Her father had been trying for the past several minutes to ease the worries of the pastoral pair. "Look, she's always been a handful, but, really, I don't think this is something the Church can fix." As he spoke, his wife remained silent, eyes drawn to the floor and head slowly shaking from side to side. Jonathan watched her curiously, having tuned out the husband almost some time ago. Every word from him seemed to drive the woman more and more into a distant state, wringing her hands and darting her eyes around the carpet. Alistair continued speaking with the husband, urging him to allow the pair to see Katrina, but he was adamant: this was not a church matter. Then Jonathan spoke up. "Mrs. Robinson?" "Uh... Julie," she eked out. "Something's on your mind. Did you want to add anything?" he asked. Alistair raised an eyebrow at the young man's observation but made no moves to stop him. The husband, however, was not so complacent. "No," he answered. "She's tired. Look, we've been through this before. I appreciate what you gentlemen are trying to do, but-" "What happened to your hand?" Jonathan asked, his eyes now focusing for the first time on a bandage wrapped around the man's right hand. He quickly pulled it closer, hiding it. "That has nothing to do -" "She stabbed him," Julie piped up. "Julie!" "She's not well, Jason," she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. His eyes brimming with frustration, Jason rose from the couch. Claiming he needed air, he stormed out of the room, leaving the priest and his student alone with Julie. Tears streamed down her eyes, both men waiting for her to find a moment of relief from the agony that possessed her before pushing any further. "Julie?" Alistair asked. "She's... she's been getting better," she sniffled, running a tissue across her swollen eyes. "I swear, every once in a while, she's fine. It's like... it's like she's my little girl again." "How so?" Jonathan asked. "Kindergarten," she replied, taking a deep breath to collect herself. "She was ready. She stopped biting and scratching. I mean, she wasn't perfect, but she was normal. Like any kid. Then..." Julie grew gravely silent, her pallid features remaining motionless for several moments. "Then?" Alistair prompted. "Then... the puppy." "What happened to the puppy?" Jonathan asked cautiously. **** "He ate Kelly's head." A little girl, no more than five years old, sat on her bed, combing out the ratted hair of a disfigured doll. Her movements were jerky and rough with no consideration for the toy. Clumps of artificial hair ripped out of the doll's scalp with each stroke, the girl taking little notice. "Who is Kelly?" Alistair asked. Jonathan touched his mentor's sleeve and gestured to the side of the bed. There rested a smaller doll's head, the hair nearly gone and covered in what looked to be blood and other unidentifiable fluids. The little girl simply continued her brushing, silhouetted in darkness. The pair had found young Katrina's room in near complete darkness when they came up to speak with her. According to the mother, she had broken every light they brought in, so now the room was only dimly lit by the setting sun. Alistair had immediately started speaking with the girl, building a rapport, but Jonathan couldn't seem to focus. From the moment he entered, everything felt off. His chest was burning. He could swear he saw shadows that weren't there. He might not have noticed the discarded doll's head if he hadn't been so focused on the girl's toys already. Perhaps it was his imagination, but as he sat there, barely listening to what Alistair was saying, he noticed that all the toys were looking at him. Alistair moved from his chair to the girl's bedside, bending down to pick up the disgusting plastic head. He looked it over for only a moment before turning back to Katrina. "What happened to Kelly?" "I told you, Baxter ate her head." "How did you get it back?" Jonathan's chest seized. His eyes locked on the little girl as she turned to his mentor, laying down her current doll. "I opened him up and pulled it back out." It was several moments before either man could speak, Alistair eventually setting the head back on the floor and responding with a quiet "I see." Jonathan turned away from the others, trying not to focus on the torn stuffed animals and disfigured dolls that all seemed to have their gazes locked on him. He looked around the room, for what he was unsure. He could see indentations in the carpet where a tall lamp once stood, now removed by the parents and the light fixture above her bed was missing both bulbs and its glass cover. His gaze wandered past a picture of the family tacked to the wall. Just above it he could see what had to be a dozen or more tack holes scattered along that section of the wall. As Alistair probed the child about taking hold of the steering wheel when her mother was driving, Jonathan turned to a small, child-size vanity. He could see Alistair's reflection talking to Katrina, holding a Bible in his hands as he spoke. Katrina, however, was staring directly at Jonathan. The student watched the twisted eyes of the young girl piercing through, her lips curling in disgust and rage. He turned quickly to see her intently watching Alistair gesture toward his Bible. Jonathan shot to his feet, his hand running through his hair as he tried to calm himself. Alistair looked up with some concern, but the disciple reassured him he simply needed to stretch his legs. Alistair pushed up from the bed to his feet with a slight groan and made his way to Jonathan's side. Before the elder could begin comforting his junior, Katrina began to weep. They turned to see the little girl, her doll cast aside, now at the edge of the bed where the light clearly showed her face for the first time. Her crystal blue eyes wells with tears and her rosy cheeks heaved with sighs as she cried. On instinct, both men dropped down to their knees to attend to the little girl, though Jonathan immediately regretted it. As she sobbed, Alistair stroking her golden hair, Jonathan's chest once again seized up. He looked into her eyes. "Make it go away," she cried quietly. "Make what go away, my child?" Alistair asked. The girl tore her shirt down and violently slapped her palm against her chest. "It's in me. Make it go away! Make it go! Make it go!" Her voice rose from a quiet plea to a ear-splitting cry. Katrina hurled herself from the bed, grabbing on to the side of her dresser and slamming her head violently into it several times before Alistair could stop her. In a heartbeat, Jason was up the stairs and through the door, pushing the old priest away from his daughter. With blood trickling down her forehead, Katrina clung to her father, weeping and wailing. He lifted her up into his arms, stroking her hair. Jonathan could see the contained rage that was billowing inside the father as he looked at the clergymen. "I think it's time you leave," he spat with restrained animosity. "Jason, I-" "Leave!" he repeated. Alistair nodded and placed a hand on his disciple, leading him out. As the pair re-entered the car, Alistair hesitated, his hand resting on the ignition. He turned quietly to address his pupil, but Jonathan seemed distant, lost. In truth, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that was churning through his chest, ripping at his heart. "Jonathan?" The young man turned with a start. "Huh?" "Are you okay?" "Y-yes. That was just... more intense than I expected." Alistair nodded as he started the engine and pulled out of the cul-de-sac. "It's getting worse." "So now what?" Jonathan asked. "I don't feel like we really did much." "What did you think about Katrina?" Jonathan hesitated, but decided to answer the question. "Well, she's clearly disturbed. I honestly think the child needs counseling on a level we just can't provide." "You think this is a psychological issue?" Alistair asked. "Well, yeah. You told me they've talked to counselors, but I think this child might need something more intense. Probably a mental health facility." The old priest shook his head, pulling the vehicle onto the main road toward the university. "I don't believe that at all, Jonathan." "How can you not believe that? After what we saw?" "What did you feel, Jonathan?" The young seminarian swallowed, his hand moving to his chest. It still pained him, the remnants of the inferno that blazed within as he watched the child speak, as he stood in her presence. He tried for several moments to form the words, but his mind failed him. "I know you felt something dark, Jonathan," the priest observed. "Well, it was a little creepy. Still... I'm not sure what you're getting at." "She's been taken." "Taken?" Jonathan asked. "Possessed by the Serpent himself." Jonathan turned to stare at his mentor, a bemused look on his face. "You think she's possessed by a demon? Look, Father Alistair, I agree that something is deeply wrong with the child, but-" "Do you truly believe that medicine and therapy will save this child?" "Well, we have to trust in God that it will. What other option do we have?" "I'm sending my request to the Archibishop tonight," Alistair said, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Request?" "I'm asking for permission to conduct an exorcism." The young pupil went silent. He stared around the cab in disbelief, uncertain of what to say. As the vehicle passed through the gates of the university, Alistair continued. "I... I would like your help." "Performing an exorcism?!" "It's a complicated ritual, Jonathan, I'm not well familiar with it. I could certainly use your assistance." "Wouldn't this be better for someone like Father Willingham?" Jonathan argued. "Willingham would never condone this. I need you. Your spirit is strong, I know that together we can save this child." "I... I don't know, Father. This is huge. I mean, I feel for the family. I feel for that poor girl, but this is something that professionals need to be handling." "There may not be time for that, Jonathan. Do not fear for your inexperience. The Lord will make his power known through us so long as we do our part and try," Alistair replied. Sorry for the late post today. Our D&D* session went a little long, but we finished out our arc. The players are happy, the story is progressing, and everyone understands the system now. I think it's been a good opening arc.
I wonder if there's anything I've learned from today's session that might be applicable to writing in general. After all, what is a Game Master but a writer that has to constantly change the details of his story. Actually... that's kind of what I'm doing right now with The Paladin. Blegh... editing. Less fun than writing. Still, there is something to learn and I think that is making the players care. If you want your players to feel an attachment to the arc, to characters, to the story, you need to give them something that's theirs. Give them something to care about. My players have really only just started, but they're starting to form attachments to things and I need to capitalize on this. Likewise, as a writer, you need to give your readers something to get attached to! If your story is just a strewn together list of independent incidents, all without consequence, there's nothing to worry about. You need to give your readers characters to love, places to identify with, and relationships to enjoy. That way, when those things are put in danger, the reader, like my players, have a personal stake in the matter. You don't want this character to get hurt. You don't want to see this place burn down. You don't want to see these two people fight. You're invested. I've learned that from my players. Time to make sure I've implemented that with The Paladin, too. DFTBA *It's not actually D&D, but that's a convenient shorthand for the table top game we're playing. If you're interested, it's a modified version of the Marvel Heroes RPG called Extraordinary League. Thanks to my friends at Smash Fiction! |
Matias TautimezKeep your eyes open for my debut novel, The Paladin. Archives
January 2023
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