Review and Revise

Thank you for your submission.

Unfortunately, I did not connect with the submitted material enough to consider your project for representation . . .

No, no, no, a-no-no, a-no-no, NO no!

Three or four years ago, talking about writing with an old high school friend, he agreed that if I started writing a new book, he’d read over it and give me scathing feedback.  He further said that a mutual friend of ours would be ideal to assist.  A beta team was born, and the book that I’ve always really wanted to write, Blood of Heroes, began to take shape.

At this time, I wasn’t published.  Writing Blood of Heroes, and feeling its power, prompted me to seek out an agent and a publisher.  I had two other books already finished—Tears of Heaven and The Second Cut.  The timing was amazingly good.  I’d reconnected with another writing friend, who was now an editor for Wild Child Publishing.  She kindly read over Tears of Heaven, offered me some pointers prior to submission, and suggested I submit.

The author, at his desk.

I continued to work on Blood of Heroes, which wrapped up with amazing speed.  I also set it aside in favor of other projects.  A number of short stories, a new book series called Constable of Aqualinne, and a follow up to Tears of Heaven—Hell Becomes Her.

In short, I was swamped.

Yesterday afternoon, the above rejection came in.  I have enough of these that I could wallpaper my house, so it wasn’t much of a shock.  I did, however, take a hard look at the first chapter of my "opus".  I realized, like the agent, I didn't find it compelling.

I’m not pointing fingers.  Or, if I am, I’m pointing them at me.

It seemed like such a good beginning.

I was younger(er) when I wrote Blood of Heroes.  In terms of published authors, I was but a mere babe lost in the library stacks.  To say I’ve learned a lot over the past three years as a published author is to say Kali Gandaki Gorge is a bit deep.  This particular rejection didn’t catch me off-guard, but in looking over what I submitted it became clear that getting past the first chapter, even the first page, is drudgery.

That’s death, even for the most solid piece of writing.

All this means is that I need to take some of my own advice (previously applied to my published works) and revise Blood of Heroes.

ARRGHHH!

Just A Little Respect

“Respect isn’t given.  It’s earned.”

I completely agree with this statement with the caveat that we’re talking about individuals and their personal merits as they interact directly with me.

And the crowd goes respectful

If we’re talking about race or religion or socio-economic status, gender, or sexual orientation then no one should need to "earn" respect.  Respect should be a given based on their race, religion, or sexual preference, socio-economic status etc. out of the gate. Just as you or I shouldn’t haven’t to defend color, creed, gender, etc. others, other human beings, should be entitled to your respect as, you know, a decent, fellow being travelling on the same planet.  Until they, individually, prove otherwise and then, as FitzWilliam Darcy put it, “My good opinion, once lost is lost forever.”  For that individual alone.  We ought not commit the fallacy of generalization based on one person's or one small group's actions.  

I see no reason to mock someone before they've "earned" my respect because they're different. What would that serve?  A quick guffaw at the expense of someone else's self-esteem?  I like to think most people generally don't want to be challenged to prove their worth just because they're strangers who look different or believe different things. Racism exists because one group holds another to arbitrary standards based on generalizations. Racism has everything to do with not respecting the individual and extending that out to the group as a whole.

Or, as Neil Gaiman put it:
 

Respect the hair!

I was reading a book (about interjections, oddly enough) yesterday which included the phrase “In these days of political correctness…” talking about no longer making jokes that denigrated people for their culture or for the colour of their skin. And I thought, “That’s not actually anything to do with ‘political correctness’. That’s just treating other people with respect.”

Which made me oddly happy. I started imagining a world in which we replaced the phrase “politically correct” wherever we could with “treating other people with respect”, and it made me smile.

You should try it. It’s peculiarly enlightening.

I know what you’re thinking now. You’re thinking “Oh my god, that’s treating other people with respect gone mad!”

Welcome to the human race.

Hell Becomes Her—Chapter 1 Preview

Now with 99% stronger, more independent
female characters!

Soon, very soon, Advanced Reader Copies of Hell Becomes Her will pass into your hands.  Del and Marrin and many other favorite and new characters will once again fill your mind with images of daring-do and snappy comebacks.

In the meantime, would you like to preview the book?

You would?

Really?

No, seriously, would you?

Great!  Look no further than this link right here.  That’s a lie, you have to scroll down and click on the “Preview It” button, but in the greater scheme of things, and from a certain point of view, you needn’t look much further.

Enjoy!

HELL BECOMES HER releases November 19^th, 2015

Tomorrowland—Not Just a Ride Anymore!

We're gonna need bigger jet packs.

Back to the Future is now in our past.  The fan celebration of that fact, and the renewed interest in the film franchise, was almost as loud as the millions of voices crying out in online fangasm for another franchise about to take us, once again, to a galaxy far, far away—Star Wars: The Force Awakens.  It might be better called Star Wars: We’ll Make it Profitable but Please Don’t Let Us Down Like Lucas Did.  Anyone who doubts that this movie will be a success at the box office, no matter what the quality of the script or the acting, need only look at the numbers for the last Star Wars “failure”.

$848 million will buy a lot of beer.

If only that could be said of Tomorrowland.  Slightly ahead of all this excitement, I watched this epic film of epicness starring Britt Robertson and Raffey Cassidy.  George Cloony, Hugh Laurie and even Tim McGraw (as an improbably NASA engineer) are also along for the ride, but the real work is done by two amazing actresses.  Raffey, at the very least, deserves an Oscar nomination for her impressive efforts.  She’s certainly an actress to watch, and I swear invisible onion ninjas were doing their work as I watched her key scenes.

Pin of Awesomeness - +4 vs. Disillusionment

Above all, the greatest message this film delivers, like that of Back to the Future and Star Wars, the one that has touched me so much and made me a fan all in one fell swoop, is that inspiration is worth as much, if not more, than a working jet pack.  Whether it’s the nostalgia of going back to 1955, or a future of rocket ships and ray guns, the inspiration that these movies give is practically priceless.  If not for Star Wars Joss Whedon would never have conceived of the imminently superior Firefly/Serenity.  I was so affected by I ran out and purchased the new and old prop pins along with Brad Bird’s book Before Tomorrowland.  My wife was deeply disappointed, because this was one of the rare times she could tell I was deeply moved by a film AND she had an obvious gift she could give me.

There should be more Tomorrowland and they should release it yesterday.  Maybe this film was just aimed at me, as the clever little steampunk additions made my heart go pitter-pat.  Sadly, with the box office disappointment, that’s not likely to occur.

Yes, that's the Eiffel Tower launching an antique spaceship. 

Still, if you haven’t seen Tomorrowland, please do so.  It’s too easy to blow off as another Disney-ride-become-movie, a way for the Mouse House to milk its aging cash cows.  But keep in mind that this isn’t a third-string, straight-to-video effort.  Brad Bird (The Iron Giant, The Incredibles, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol) wrote and directed along with Damon Lindelof (Lost, Star Trek: Into Darkness).  Bird even, respectfully, turned down directing Star Wars in favor of Tomorrowland because, “It's rare to do a film of size that's original, so those opportunities can't be missed either.”

The storytelling that goes on here is excellent, self-aware, funny and introspective.  This is not a science fiction film that phones it in by any means.  At one point, it does get a touch preachy, but since there is no partisan solution being offered, the aim of social awareness (which any film should strive for) can be forgiven.  In the end, the inspiration, the goal of finding “dreamers” in all walks of life, is a worthwhile one.

See it if you haven't already.  And if you have, see it again.

Git 'er Done!

The name of your target is—
Doctor. Jamie. McCandless!

Twelve years of grade school.

Four years of undergraduate school.

Six years of graduate school.

Roll all that up together and you’ll understand the feeling you have when your “little” brother becomes the first doctorate in the family.

Jamie has always been smarter than me (no real trick there), and that was never clearer than when he mapped out a path to his doctoral degree and proceeded to follow it to the very end.  Me?  I walked into college with no idea what a degree was or why I needed it.  I just knew I was supposed to have one.  Here’s the actual conversation with the student aid counselor as I was signing up for classes my freshman year:

“What’s your degree path?”

“Ummm . . . Communications?  That’s a path, right?”

[typing on the computer]

“Sure.  Which specific Comm degree?”

“Ummm, is Speech a thing?”

[more typing]

“You’re signed up.  NEXT!”

No exaggeration there at all.  Which goes to show just how far ahead of the game my brother is.

CONGRATULATIONS JAMIE!

Cover Reveal—Hell Becomes Her

Hell Becomes Her, the latest book in R.A. McCandless’ Flames of Perdition series, releases Thursday, November 19^th.  Here’s what all the fuss is about:

Angels should be a human’s worst nightmare. Del didn’t think there was anything worse than angels, or their fallen kin, demons. She and her partner Marrin helped to keep the world safe from the horrors of escaped demons for generations. But when Del’s daughter is kidnapped by a shadowy group, Del will find that the world is even more dangerous than she suspected.

There are worse things than angels and demons.

Book Release—Thursday, November 11th

Excerpt

The doors slid back exactly as they were supposed to, and Del pointed both her SIGs through the opening. She knew it was wrong. Two hands on one gun with a straight-thumbs hold was the correct way to give proper support to aim and shoot quickly and consistently. Hollywood liked to show action heroes shooting from the hip, or blasting away without aiming and taking down a room full of bad guys, whose best response was to fire impotently at the ceiling or comically into other bad guys. It was all so much useless eye candy. A gun in each hand gave support to neither and made it impossible to sight. She’d need independent use of each of her eyes, like a chameleon, to train the guns on different targets at the same time.

Del knew it was wrong, but it looked damned impressive from the receiving end.

“Hold your fire!” a voice commanded from outside the elevator. “Hold your fire!”

Del wasn’t certain if the order was for her, the two ranks of Ljosalfar soldiers in their body armor who surrounded the elevator, or both. Either way, holes weren’t being punched into her favorite skin and that was a good thing. She might still die, riddled with bullets and spitting blood, but not yet. Not yet.

She unwrapped and wrapped her fingers on her SIGs, and smiled.

“Hello boys,” Del said. “Who wants some?”

“Hold your fire!” Alfred Waru said again.

“Alfred, you cunning bastard,” Del purred. “Come on in and give me a hug. I’ve solved almost all your problems. There’s only one left.”

“I’d rather you put down your weapons,” Alfred replied. Del homed in on his voice from behind the second rank of soldiers, but couldn’t make him out through all the helmets. “We’ve locked the elevator. The doors won’t close, and the car won’t move. Let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Del said and laughed. “How you lied to your people?  How you betrayed and murdered your own?  How you’ve doomed them through your schemes and plots?”

Hell Becomes Her releases Thursday, November 19th 2015

HELL BECOMES HER—Welcome to Battle Mountain

Quiet, calm and peaceful on the outside . . . 

Northern Nevada has one of the smallest, most desolate towns in the entire nation kept alive by a strange combination of cattle ranching, farming and mining—Battle Mountain.  About a decade ago, it was named the official Armpit of America in a national search set to answer that question.  In the four-ish years I lived there, I learned to run, played ball, and  met some of my best friends.  It seemed only fitting to bring at least one of my stories back to a place that proved so influential on me:

The Bronco wasn’t much. A late 80s four-wheel drive with a lot of special “modifications” for use on the airfield, including only one working windshield wiper on the driver’s side. It didn’t have to be much though. The GPS on Jane’s phone said it was 6.4 miles from the airport to the center of Battle Mountain. They rumbled down into the dark, little town to its main drag, appropriately named Front Street. A giant, glowing Shell gas sign welcomed them, its yellow light cutting through the night, except the light on the “S” was burned out so that it read “HELL”.

“Seriously?” Del asked no one.

“Where to?” Marrin replied, as he navigated the semi-flooded streets, potholes, and mud.

“Don’t stop,” Del told him. “Go on through. Let’s see what we can see first. Get a lay of the land.”

They passed a few cars going in the opposite direction, headlights muted by the rain and dark of the storm, but there was nothing like traffic. Every store they passed was closed until they came to a block dominated by a brightly lit combination restaurant and casino—The Nevada Hotel Fun & Food—was doing a brisk trade. Every parking space in front of the single-story building and across the street was filled. People stood outside the entrance, clinging to the side of the building where the eves and overhang provided some protection from the rain, as if they were waiting to get into Studio 54. Del checked the digital clock on the truck’s radio. It read 3:10 A.M.

“That seem strange to anyone else for a weekday?” Jane noted.

“Yeah,” Del said. “Keep going.”

Battle Mountain boasted a single stoplight where Front Street made a T with

. . . rave on the inside?

Broad Street. Due to the storm, the light had defaulted to blinking red in all directions. They continued through and passed a defunct grocery, and a deserted motor inn called The Uptown. The entire town felt like it was on the brink of collapse, as if one good, economic crisis would end it all and everyone would close shop without bothering to board up the windows or even lock the doors.

“Pull in there,” Del said.

Marrin slowed and turned into the last hotel along the roadway, another motor inn called The Big Chief. He stopped under the portico in front of the office, turned off the lights, but left the motor running.

“What’s the play?”

“Base of operations,” Del said. “We have about two or three more hours before we’re supposed to arrive. Jane, you’re on transportation.”

Del reached into a zipper pocket of her pack, pulled out a small plastic bag of cash, mostly hundred dollar bills. She passed it to Jane.

“Ditch this truck somewhere it won’t attract attention. In a town like this, a vehicle stolen and recovered probably won’t illicit much excitement. Get us something similar though: SUV, four-wheel drive, reliable. After that, I don’t care what it looks like. Except pink. Do not get it in pink.”

“Sure,” Jane said. “I take it I’m also being ditched?”

“You are,” Del said, “but it’s not personal. You’re serving as back up.”

“That means we’re taking point?” Marrin asked.

“Right again,” Del replied. “You saw this town. Their main street isn’t exactly Grand Central Station. It’s mostly struggling, failing, or abandoned businesses except that casino and restaurant we passed. It doesn’t strike me odd that it’s succeeding. It strikes me odd that it’s packed to capacity during a heavy downpour on a weekday at three in the morning when everything but the sidewalks have been rolled up.”

“You’re sure you don’t want one more set of eyes on this?” Jane asked.

“Marrin is the extra set of eyes,” Del replied. “You’re in case we both miss something. Two hours. No more and no less. After that, you kick down all the doors and come get us out. I mean that. I don’t want to be tied up in a back room with my wrists all chaffed up because you decided to give us a little extra time.”

“Or a bullet in your head,” Jane supplied.

“Or that,” Del agreed.

Jane looked at her watch. “Two hours,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

HELL BECOMES HER

Cover Reveal—Monday, October 19^th

Book Release—Thursday, November 19^th