Clockwork Phoenix 4 . . . ?

I'd like to take a break from fielding comments on my last post to announce something very exciting:

Clockwork Phoenix 4.

Or rather, a Kickstarter campaign for it. You may recall the first three Clockwork Phoenix anthologies, all three of which I was very pleased to have a story in. The anthologies did quite well, in terms of both recognition and sales . . . but Norilana Books, the publisher, has fallen on hard times due to non-business-related issues, and can't do a fourth. Since the small press is a very precarious world -- and anthologies are even more precarious -- Kickstarter is the best way to go about continuing the series.

As you can tell by the fact that I've been in all three books so far, I really like the CP anthologies, and would love to see them continue. (Full disclosure: yes, of course I intend to submit something. And given my track record so far, I have high hopes of success.) So take a look at the project page, and if you see anything you like in the rewards, pledge a few bucks. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we can make this happen.

Information Density Pt. 2, or, let's try an example

I said before that it's hard to talk about certain issues in writing without specific examples. Since I just finished reading a book that I think illustrates the challenge of information density and scale very well, I'm back for a follow-up round.

Before I get into the example, though, an anecdote. One of the archaeological sites I worked on has reconstructions of period houses as part of a public display. Several are very well-constructed, and one is a mess. But I'll never forget what one of the archaeologists said about that one: "We've learned more from our mistakes here than we have from the ones we did right."

The book I want to discuss is one I think failed to manage the kinds of issues that don't fit easily into fiction. It tried, but it didn't succeed. I think well of the author for trying, and am not here to mock or belittle her effort; in fact, as the author in question is Tamora Pierce, she's someone I think fairly well of overall. But I think you can often learn more from an ambitious failure than a success.

Oh, and just in case anybody didn't see this coming: there will be MASSIVE SPOILERS. If you haven't yet read Mastiff, the third and last of the Beka Cooper books, I will be discussing the main conflict (though I will try to stay away from spoiling some of the other important things that happen along the way).

For those who haven't read any of the series . . . it's about the Provost's Guard, aka the Provost's Dogs, who are the police force for the medievalish kingdom of Tortall. (Aside: yes, it's odd for a setting like that to have an organized police force. But whatever; it's the buy-in for the story.) The protagonist, Beka Cooper, starts off as a "Puppy" or new Guardswoman, and becomes more experienced as the series goes on. Each book deals with a different type of crime: in the first one, it's smuggling; in the second, it's counterfeiting; in the third, it's slavery.

. . . sort of. Slavery is actually legal in Tortall; the actual crime in this book is treason. But slavery is more central to the plot in many ways, and if you follow me behind the cut to spoiler territory, I'll start to unpack that.


( Read more... )

I'll refrain from speculation as to why exactly Mastiff ended up shaped like this -- I can think of circumstances that might have produced these results, but I know it gets up my nose when other people publicly opine about why I wrote things the way I did, so I try not to do the same -- but I think it's instructive to imagine changes that could have made it more successful in handling its attempted scale. Sometimes it's easier to see why something didn't work, and how it could have, than to see why it did.