The Quest #28

Two rejections and no new applications. But there is a good reason for this. At least, I think it’s a good reason.

It has been a year of blind querying agents and I have gotten no requests for more. I know that breaking in is tough. I’m not discouraged, but I am looking to get this done with. So I’ve been spending the last few weeks reading query letters and query letter advice. I think my second query letter is better than my first, but it has been as successful as the first. I’ve been looking at other options for making a third letter. I remember reading a crowd edited query letter site by the makers of manuscript wish list but I don’t seem to be able to find it.

I will also look for beta readers that I don’t know to get their impressions on the book, or at least the early chapters. So this is a reset button. I’ve learned a lot over the course of this, and I know the next letter will be better than the first.

Thank you for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #24

Chains

            The large thunderhead loomed menacingly over a prison in an older part of the world, a prison which had once been full of thousands of prisoners, but now only held one. The prison might have emptied, but its guard remained the same. A thousand men guarded its walls and its only occupied cell. Though only a hundred were on duty at any given time.

The thunderhead burst and rain swept down, the guards hurried to find shelter from the storm. They were in the mountains, though not so high that the rain came down as snow. Cold rain lashed the squat prison. Thunder roared in the sky. Though it was midday, the storm was so black that the sun was blotted from the sky. The only light came from the torches and fires which the guard kept.

Such was the noise and power of the storm that none saw a party approach up the road. They were few in number, but they walked through the stinging rain as though it was a clear day. The men moved cautiously over the worsening road, not trusting the secrecy the darkness afforded them.

Lightning struck the mountain.

They reached the gate, but no alarm was raised. A single ladder was raised against the wall, placed carefully against the stone. Still, silence. They skittered up it as quietly as they could. The nearest guard house was closed against the rain.

No eyes on them, they drew their weapons and made their way into the courtyard. The storm above them obscured the far side of the courtyard. They hurried across, having studied the prison from the mountain top. They knew where they were going.

But as they crossed the courtyard one of them fell, his sword clattering against the stone. The others did not wait for him. Fearing their secrecy was lost, they sprinted across the courtyard. Still no alarm was raised.

They reached the door of the prison proper. Careful to keep the blasting powder from the rain, they took off their coats and made a makeshift tent over it. The powder set in the lock, they lit a match and cowered as the fire took hold.

With a boom the doors burst open, just as lightning arced across the sky. It was fortune, his famous fortune, but it would help them no further. Inside the door there was a company of guard who sprung to their feet, swords, musket, and bayonet ready.

The fighting was short and many died, but after it was over the intruders were the ones still standing. They broke apart, some searching for keys and others disfiguring the faces of their dead fellows. Best not let them be discovered and identified. The man who fell reached them, and carried a warning. The others knew and the alarm was raised. Time was running out.

The keys were found and the men hurried into the dark interior of the prison. Where they found a guard they killed him, for there was no more pretext of stealth. Down, down, always down. They searched every cell, but they didn’t find who they were looking for. So down they went.

Keys and doors, doors and keys. Further and further. Their numbers grew thinner also, as they didn’t always get the drop on the guard. Ten remained, but they would not be deterred, not now. They were close. 

Deeper and deeper until they reached the absolute end of the prison. A turn of the key.

The door swung open. The cell empty. The men walked into the cell cautiously, calling the name of the prisoner, there was no response. Their search became frantic.

“Look,” came the cry after a short while.

There was a tunnel gnawed into the stone and the soft earth beyond. The man had escaped. They had come for nothing. Above them came the sound of thundering footsteps.

How to Model Greed

Welcome back to the popular and frequent series where I write about games I like. This is the second one, the first one was last year some time. The game I will be talking about this week is John Company, Second Edition.

This game gives players control of investors in the East India Company and tells them to find a way to win. The map, tellingly, is one of India. Regional kings rule. The players can only make money one way, by spending company funds to prise open the subcontinent.

Now, it is possible to cooperate with those kings. Players can make some money working with them. But they are fickle and can close up trade routes at random, delivering a blow to the Company’s coffers. So in order to secure the trade routes, armies can be raised and regions conquered. This opens the map up for trade…and for drugs.

Across the map there are symbols for opium, which players sell to China. The margines on the opium are higher than anything else. And so, in service of the Company, player sell opium. Large armies are maintained in order to keep the conquests, and before round two is up, the players have seized control of India to protect their money making.

And what does the money go to? Private coffers which pay for swanky homes and luxuries. Those prizes are the points by which you win. The Company can either succeed of fail based on revenue, and the players can win even when the company fails.

All the fighting is spent on upgrades to your family’s social life. In this way players are presented with a choice. The more control taken of India, the better their family will be. I have never played a game where we peacefully coexisted. The first round is always spent on spending the war chest to take as much as possible.

All players choose greed as they seize control of India for their own aims, cooperating when it suits them and seeking their own areas of control. Players push deeper, trying to extract all they can before the loot train is over.

There are plenty of games where the goal is money, but there are few where the actions of greed are so blatantly open. The game wants players to do bad things to win, and through this they learn how this period of history played out. In my experience, there are few games that place you in the position of a historical period and allow you to make immoral choices to win.

I think that is a good way to teach history. Give players a slew of choices and ley them make the bad ones that were historically made, because that is what the systems of the time called for.

Flash Friday #23

Beneath the Walls

Aethshus watched the walls. It was fast becoming a habit. There was little else to do once he had looked over his equipment. Today was a quiet day in the siege, one where neither side tried anything. Most days should have been like that, only this siege was unlike any other. For within and without, gods stalked the lines, seeking a way to win the war.

Gods fighting a war of men. Immortal and immoral. They did not care how many thousands died. They stalked the camp boasting of their victories while being unable to take the walls or drive the besieging army away.

All the world waited to see who would waste away first.

Thudris sat down next to him with a grunt. “Still alive?”

“No,” Aethshus answered. “I’ve died and my shade is tortured by making it relive the same day.”

Thudris grunted. “They say that there is to be a wedding of the gods. A great affair of princes and kings.”

Aethshus remained quiet. There was nothing to say.

“You hear what I said?” Thudris asked.

“Yes. Yes. Damn me I heard it. The gods are getting wed. There will be flowers, and pies, and sheep, and nymphs. They party and celebrate while we stay down here to be killed. We hold the line while our wives are alone in distant lands, at the mercy of cowardly men. When this war is over, we’ll all be dead, but they’ll make peace and go back to their homes laughing.”

Thudris stared at him blankly for a moment.

“What?” Aethshus said angrily. “It’s the truth.”

“No. I’m just glad I’m not the only one cracking. But did you hear what I said? The gods and the princes and the kings will all be at the wedding.”  

“So what!”

“So…nobody is going to be watching us. No on will notice if two spear men go running off.”

Aethshus took that in. They would all be busy. There was no one to enforce discipline. The war could be over for them. “Yes. Yes. We have to. Yes. Let’s do it.”

They stood together, giddy with the chance to get away. A hand clapped both of them on the back. They turned to see a water god looking at them.

“Hello boys. I’ve got a sneaky plan for tomorrow, and I think the three of us could pull it off.”

The Quest #27

None up and none down. Not the numbers I need to be doing. I’m going to pump those numbers up in the coming weeks and settle back into a rhythm.

I think I’m making good progress on my book this year. I have written a page of fiction every day since 2019. Starting this year, I have written a thousand words a weekday, and one page on the weekends.

Earlier this year I juggled a few projects until I found the one I wanted to write, my adventure book. That book, which I think I started January first, is now sitting at 106000 words. I have about five chapters left to write, so it should come out to about 150,000, or about five hundred printed pages. I think I should be done in a month or two.

Honestly, I am surprised that I have kept to my 1,000 words a day this long. I thought it would only last a month. There were days when I felt I could just do the one page, but by the time I got over the hump, I never thought of quitting.

That’s all I’ve got this week. I’ve got to be better about querying, no matter what.

The Quest continues. Thanks for reading,

Michael  

Flash Friday #22

Djinn

            Night fell on Mar-ha-shesh, and in the Apricot Palace silence fell. Tomorrow the host would march out the Sun Gate and win the Qvizartch-Sha-shen the great trading city of Na-ha-lamh. Wealth would be his, and the rich lands of the Begemot would be laid bare before him.

All things happened as the Qvizartch-Sha-shen desired them, all his actions succeeded. This war would be over before the seasons changed and war became impossible, for it was what he desired. The eunuch had seen the Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s desires manifest themselves as soon as he spoke them. Once, a great many years ago, he had heard a great and terrible voice speak, like a voice from down a well, great and terrible. It spoke in a voice so loud that all in Mar-ha-shesh heard it. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s Djinn.

Three wishes the Djinn gives to men, three wishes to whoever holds its jar. Held by a greedy man who could only ever desire more, held by a man who won at all he played for, who had forgotten all kindness, who took gold for its luster, not for his need, and who took women from their homes to satisfy his urges. Who took him from his home, enslaved him, maimed him that he might be trusted watching the women.   

All the Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s desires were manifest, but he was asleep, resting for his war. All the Apricot Palace was asleep, waiting for the war. It would be their last rest for some time. All were sleeping that night, except the eunuch.

The eunuch was his most trusted slave, his favorite, his nearest advisor, and he knew where the jar was hidden. He crossed the courtyards of wafting flowers and swaying sweet samrand trees. Hidden away in the darkness were singing Massu Massu birds. They were not native to here, but were gifted to the Qvizartch-Sha-shen when he first heard their song. It was beautiful to listen to. He was going to miss these gardens, they were the only good the Qvizartch-Sha-shen made.

Up a secret stair hidden behind a fragrant bush. Through the hall tiled with blue and amber, lined with doors behind which lay uncountable treasures. Gold was nothing compared with the treasure he sought. The guard, with studded leather armor and their great axes, watched him pass blandly. Had they known what he was about to do, those axes would be running with his blood.

Past them, to a great door unguarded. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had wished that his Djinn would not be stolen, and so it could not be. But the eunuch was not there to steal the jar. He was there to use it.

He opened the great door and entered a barren room. It was made for treasures, yet all it held was the Djinn jar resting on the plinth, and the braziers which lit it. The eunuch stripped his robes and tied the doors closed. It would buy him time. Then he walked to the jar.

How many times had the Qvizartch-Sha-shen brought him here, to watch him marvel over the jar’s smallest detail, to listen to him claim the Djinn’s works as his own. No more. He did not wait, he was not awed by the tool of his slavery. He would break that man’s power.

He took the lid off and peered in. It was nothingness, perfect blackness. He could not even see the insides of the jar. Then a mist began pouring out, spilling over the floor. It did not smell of anything.

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” came the rumbling darkness. There was no form, no face, only smoke and nothingness. The walls shook and the guards shouted. All of Mar-ha-shesh would be able to hear him.

“Hamal of Elma-gal,” he whispered into the jar. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had told him about this, about the Djinn needing his name.

“HAMAL OF ELMA-GAL, WHAT IS YOUR FIRST WISH.” The palace shook violently. There was banging at the door. Even if the guards broke through, this would all be done. Hamal knew what his three wishes were.

“I wish that no wish can remove another.”

“GRANTED.” The banging was replaced with dull thuds. The axes. They were too late. “WHAT IS YOUR SECOND WISH?”

He could put it away, close the jar right now, save his wishes for later. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had told him so. But there was more work to this day.

“I wish that all human beings, those living and all those to live, to see me make my three wishes and understand why I do this, now, or when they turn ten years of age.”

“GRANTED.” The axes fell silent, the guards were viewing him right now, too disoriented to strike the door again. “WHAT IS YOUR THIRD WISH?” Part of the roofing fell in, rocked by the voice from the jar.

“I wish that all humans will have three wishes, that they ask in their life and that you will grant, without them needing your jar, and when you grant their wishes you will be silent.”

The jar was silent.

Thus the king fell.

Thus Hamal the Giver spoke to the Djinn and mankind gained three wishes.

Thus the world was broken.

End of a Chapter

By which I mean a book. Today, only few minutes ago, I finished recording my audio book for my epic fantasy epic poem, The Ring of Dain Thar Duin. This is, of course, not the first time I’ve recorded it, but a persistent audio problem convinced me it was better to redo it. That was a demoralizing decision, but probably the right one.

I think I’ve spent about a year and a half, maybe two, recording it, with the final five chapters recorded all in one go. Editing them down into a usable chapter will come later.

All that is left to record is a foreword and a little initial section I’ve called the artifice which serves to set up the piece as a found fiction, something that fits into our world. Once all that is set, I will be looking to put it on Audible and other platforms.

I’m glad I won’t be stuffing myself into a hot closet to record every week.

Thanks for read,

Michael

Flash Friday #21 (On a Saturday, oops)

Briefing

“Good day pilots,” the commander said, stumping into the room.

“Good day, sir,” they all answered. It wasn’t. A miserable rain pattered against the windows.

“I have the next assignment for this flight wing.”

Nes looked around at her comrades. They were exhausted. Non-stop sorties did that to pilots. Worse was the lack of success. That would drive anyone mad. Her comrades were holding their heads up, but they were unsteady.

“As you know, we are having difficulty luring them our of their caves. The kaijus seem to know that we can do damage to them when they leave their homes, and so will not exit the water where we expect them.”

The pilots nodded glumly. They knew this. She was the only one to hit the damned things in three months, and that had been with a reckless dive. Stupid, but it had worked.

“What do the Kaiju feed on?”

Another easy piece of info. Civilization. The things seemed hell bent on pushing them back into prehistory, roaming plains in loose groups looking for food. Electricity was a favorite food item. Someone gave the right answer.

“Exactly. Each has their own appetite, and can sense out their favorite foods from miles around.” He clicked a little button and the image of a grotesque monster popped to life on the screen. It looked like a sickly crab.

“We are losing. We need something to turn the tides, and we are going to start with this fucker. He eats rare books.”

A murmur went through the crowd. That was odd.

The commander held up a large, old book. “This is the Book of Kells. I don’t know who made it or why. The fuckers took that from me. It is the only copy in the world. We are going to tie it to a lure plane that will dance across the water until the crab comes out. Then we kill him. Is that clear.”

Excitement ran through the pilots. It was crazy, but the whole war was crazy. Nes had a sinking feeling.

“Who will carry the book?” someone asked.

“Captain Nes. Our finest.”

Yeah, this was all sorts of screwy alright. 

The Quest #26

One up none down. With resetting my query tracks, it looks a little daunting, but I know so much more than I did when I started on the quest.

I haven’t been querying much because right now most my energy is spent on finishing the audiobook for my epic fantasy epic poem, The Ring of Dain Thar Duin. I’m aiming to finish recording it all next week, and then spend the following months editing it all down to meet my one chapter a month plan. Once I finish, I am going to put it all on audible and other sites, I think.

That’s all for now. I will try to find more agents to query in the next two weeks.

The Quest continues,

Michael