Penultimate, they call this chapter. I’ve always found that a funny word. It makes me think of a super hero that has a sidekick called PencilOrdinary. Just saying.

So, although I write steampunk, more or less, one might notice there is sort of a bit of magic in this world. Yes, no one calls it magic, but the Secret of Silver and Copper are both fairly magic-like things. I mean, come on, the Secret of Silver? Having a silver spike rammed into your brain, and boom, perfect cyborg tech? Yeah. But that is why I love steampunk. The line between science and magic is fuzzy and you can play with it, just like you can play with the gritty nature of Sci-Fi while also having a bit of the clean nature of Fantasy. But, there is always that problem of originality, even in the “fresh new world” of Steampunk. And I blame Brandon Sanderson.

Now, I know I talk about Brandon a lot on this blog, but pardon, as he is one of the few (read “the only”) NYTBS authors that not only do I know, but that knows me too. So I’m a bit biased on using my examples from him. ANYWAY.

Brandon is known for being very imaginative with his magic systems. I, on the other hand, am not thus known. I don’t really know if I’m known for anything aside from occasionally Rickrolling people. But, yeah, but I do try to be creative.

Now, when I wrote my first manuscript in the world of Tijervyn (which a few of you have seen, not many) I had not even heard of Brandon Sanderson. Seriously, I had not. But I got this idea for steampunk cyborgs, and decided they should have a spike of silver in their head. So I wrote a 120k novel, shopped it around a bit with no luck, but idled away the months of waiting by finally reading a book or two from the man that would finish The Wheel of Time. And, oh, look at that. He has this monsters that have spikes in their eyes and are all mean. Fun!

Then, maybe a year or so later, I read the rest of Mistborn. I find out that the spikes give the monsters super powers. That getting stabbed is by a spike of a certain metal is a magic system, including having it rammed into your brain. Oh great.

Now, I shouldn’t be concerned by this. I mean, I came up with my idea before I ever read Sanderson. It was not one of contamination. Except now I have seen that there, and I’m worried I might start to veer towards it like a drunk driver veers towards anything he can see. I don’t mean to. I might even think I’m pushing away. But, nope, I just ran over a telephone pole.

I have a similar problem with another manuscript I’ve written. To read it, you might think “Oh, I know Richard is a browncoat, and there are obvious Firefly parallels here.” Except, I wrote the story before I knew who Joss Whedon even was, at least consciously. I’d seen Serenity a long time ago but had no clue there was a show and the movie had not stuck in my mind. After I wrote that, some of my readers pushed me to watch Firefly. And I swore. I loved it, but I swore. When I pitched to an editor that the story was life Firefly in mood and feeling, he cringed. That didn’t help either.

So how do I make my magic without being derivative? Honestly, I just try to not care. The more I think about “oh no, that is too much like XYZ system” the more I am going to end up patchworking a bunch of different systems instead of making something that is organic and fits together. I’m not Brandon; I don’t see the KFC sign and think “11 herbs and spices? MAGIC SYSTEM!” (it’s a joke comic that was made. Have fun googling, I tried and failed, but Brandon linked to it somewhere.)

Aside aside, I would rather accidently have a magic system that is similar but different in some ways and works for my story than one I tried desperately to make unique and special. But that is just me. The same goes for my character dynamics, plots, etc etc. Adding my flavor, my voice, my special je ne sais quoi is what is important to me. And that is how I make the magic.

So, on the more spoilery side of things, this Chapter is the start of what actually make me keep typing “episode” when I want to write chapter. I’m approaching this serial with a much different mindset than I would a normal novel. See, I’m an architect, as G.R.R. Martin and Brandon Sanderson would call it, when I write. I like to have everything as a known factor before I write a single sentence of my narrative. During this outline and plan stage, I get to know who my characters are and what the setting is, and any changes that need to be made are. So, after a fashion, I’m a gardener too, I just like to cultivate my horticulture, to overdraw the metaphor.

Tijervyn is different. I know vaguely where this is going, but I’m inspired by some of the great television shows I’ve watched for the plotting, at least as it is revealed in the producer commentaries. Example: Firefly. Joss didn’t really know exactly where he was going. He was discovering that universe as much as we were, just ahead of us. But he did know some of the major plot points and foreshadowed them often. But if a knew plot point came along, he’d foreshadow it when he thought of it and get to it eventually.

Tijervyn is going to be like that. I’ve already made some major plot changes in the nearly six chapters I’ve written, and there was even a tweak two made in this one the night before it went up. So welcome to my roller coaster. I’m having a fun time, and I’ll get more into my “TV mentality” on Chapter 4 (that, I at least, know).

As an aside, if anyone is listening to the podcast or reading the ePub/Mobi’s, let me know how they show up/sound. We can never really be a good judge of our own recorded voices, and I alas do not own any real eReaders, so I can only check the eBook stuff on my phone or a crappy desktop reader. If there is something off in the formatting or something, let me know and I’ll fix it, even retroactively and all that.

As a second aside, I love that I am working ahead, because this has been a bit of a personal week from down below, what with the snowpocalypse and other things. But, as Queen said, “The Show Must Go On!”

Not really much to talk about today, otherwise. Pre-writing on a new novel is slow but moving, and I am currently hiding from tourists that have descended upon my town for some flower-naval-gazing-thinger.  Up side is a tall ship is in port, but s’bout it.  I’m getting pretty comfortable doing my Firefly re-watch, and still somewhat dumbstruck that I do technically get paid to write now.  Aside from that, only other big thing going on is JordanCon later this month.  Which, if you are in the Atlanta area, you should totally come.  It isn’t just about Robert Jordan, although his writing (and the Wheel of Time in particular) are a big part of it.  Brandon Sanderson will be there along with a few other writers doing a Writers’ Track, so that much is awesome.

And that’s about it for me for now. Back to relaxing a bit while the kids are at the circus with their mother.

And that kindredness (yay for making up words) is involvement.  Both games and books have the ability to draw in a person (escapism anyone?).  And perhaps that world, even after it is no longer brand new, still offers the joy and wonder of the escape even still.  But, what does it take?

Well, I’ll start with games.  The first thing that I think it takes is a low barrier to entry.  This can mean the game is either simple to play or simple to learn (even if it eventually has complex rules to play).  Thus those dreaded tutorial levels at the beginning can actually be amazingly useful to make a game highly replayable.  Yes, you may think “ugh, this is boring, can I get onto the real game” but you may not realize how well those tutorial levels are for reacquainting you with the mechanics.

The second thing, of course, is to be just challenging enough.  Games that are too easy are quickly beaten and quickly thrown aside.  Games that are too hard might get beaten out of spite for the developer, but often times they are not picked back up.  Games that challenge just enough to make the equivalent victory of winning worth it, yeah, those get played over and over.

Now, older games more or less get to rely on those alone.  Maybe music, such as in the quintessential Zelda and Final Fantasy games, but not much else.  It takes newer games to add the next element: story.

And this is where we can pick up writing again.  See, a story can make up for weakness in the first parts.  I have played many games over and over again that were not that mechanically sound because they had compelling plots and characters.  What is best is if the story truly has a well written hero that a player can sympathize with.  Well, duh, that’s a good story in general.  But what makes a person keep coming back?

Complexity, pure and simple.  Even if the character seems simple at first glance, all it takes is the small things, the fleshed out explorations of feelings and situations, to make a player or a reader want to come back and look at it again.  And investiture of the reader into the character will make them cherish the victories and agonize over the defeats, and what is more, it will make them want to do it again.  Remember, this is about escapism, and if a story made you feel that way once, and it was potent enough, you will come back for more, just like with any drug.

Yes, escapism is a drug.  It can be abused to the point of making people apathetic, or it can be just that little something extra that a person needed to get through a tough spot, like an ice cold beer after a hard day’s work.  And in the end, it doesn’t matter if the story is the most eloquent, or even the most original.  If it delivered that escapism fix, it will be there to do it again.  That is why there are books I’ve read ten plus times, and games I’ve played just as often.  They made me escape in a way that others did not, and they continue to still.  The sense of wonder is still there.  And now, I’m going to go back to stabbing moblins in Zelda II (in the original NES format, at that. Whoa.)

Oh, one last thought: despite Lost being escape-tastic, I doubt I’ll ever rewatch it.  Why?  Because it leans heavily on the viewer not having seen what happens.  After the curtain has been raised and the trick revealed, it just isn’t as good.  Yet Firefly has been rewatched a few times already, and likely will be again.  Why?  Because it isn’t about the destination with Firefly, it was the trip there.  And perhaps that is the truest need for any replay or rewatch.  The conclusion should be the least important thing.  Explains why Lord of the Rings is still so widely loved, eh?