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It took me 84 years, but here's the notes for Pacat's Instagram live on January 22, 2022! You can find previous summaries here. This time I added a section for things that involve both capri and dark rise because there was a lot of that.

“It’s funny, I tend to write, as I think back on Dark Rise and then before that, Captive Prince, I tend to write these book ones that kind of don't necessarily reveal themselves until the end or cohere until the end or maybe are written for the re-read rather than necessarily for the first read… I kind of have this philosophy that difficult pleasures are the most enjoyable because you have to work to achieve them, and so you know, I like the idea that you get rewarded at the end of Dark Rise for reaching the end.”

Important Updates

There has been some progress on the capri News™, though it was epically delayed by the pandemic. It’s not a fourth book, hardcovers, Laurent’s POV, or a TV series

There were updates about Dark Rise and Fence too but none of it is news anymore because this happened so long ago. The capri fandom is just unlucky like that

Pacat has a new project! It’s very different and is more adult in tone than his previous works. It’s kind of monster-horror-gore, he’s been wanting to do something with a shounen horror vibe like Berserk or Attack on Titan. It’s coming in the distant future, not soon

Captive Prince

Pacat hasn't heard of the capri fandom term Smaurent (small Laurent) but thinks that the idea of him does exist in the books as he was a very different person as a young child. Pacat likes writing characters who explore the idea that one’s past leaves fingerprints on one’s present self and Laurent is the most extreme version of this that she’s written

A fan said that they think of “Damianos V” as being a roman numeral, so that Damen would be the fifth King Damianos. Pacat really liked the idea

Pacat cried for a really long time while writing Nicaise’s death scene. Got a few strange looks as he sat in the Melbourne State Library with tears streaming down his face for a few hours. Nicaise’s death was planned from the beginning, he was always a bittersweet character to write

Laurent is such a private person. Writing more from his POV would risk exploding the mystery of his character and might kill some of the tension in capri

The capri News is like a missive from Rohan- it's on its way and it'll arrive at some point, just when you need it most

A fourth capri book isn’t completely out of the question but there isn’t one planned for now

The Brazilian capri covers are their own thing but they don’t represent the books well. They have a very dark-ages-hard-masc-medieval aesthetic

How tall is Damen? Laurent thinks that he’s a foot taller and that sometimes it feels like more

Orlant: Rough exterior, heart of gold, didn't deserve what happened to him

Pacat pronounces Vere like Veer (veer off course) but that is not the correct pronunciation that Laurent and the Veretians use so feel free to pronounce it how you want

Pacat wasn’t really involved in the art for the Japanese edition but has been a fan of Chinatsu Kurahana for a long time. Usually the author doesn’t get much input for foreign editions. The Japanese publisher was very welcoming and let Pacat have some input, but he was such a fan of the artist that he let her do whatever her vision was. He gave a bit of a description for clothing but didn’t tweak any character concepts once they were drawn because he likes having different versions of the characters in different media. We shouldn’t think of it as an official version of the characters or as Laurent’s canon hair length

Dark Rise

The submission date for the Dark Heir manuscript was June 2022. At the time of this live, Pacat was just past writing the midpoint of the first draft, heading towards the climax. The climax has been planned for a long time

We absolutely get James's POV in Dark Heir. Pacat had just finished writing one of his chapters when this live happened

How would Anharion describe Sarcean in one word? The answer would change depending on whether Anharion was wearing the collar. If he was wearing it he would say whatever Sarcean wanted him to say

James is not named after the gay king james (James I of England)

We will find out about James’s mother at some point, either in book 2 or later

Pacat’s current favourite Dark Rise character to write is a new character from book two

It was important that the stewards were racially diverse. When Pacat was pitching Dark Rise he had little pictures of the characters to show what the aesthetic of the book is, it was art that he found online. Things might have changed since then but this was three or four years ago and it was really hard to find fantasy imagery of non-white characters. If you wanted to find mages or warriors in suits of armor, all the artwork had white characters. So he wanted to include different types of people in the traditional western fantasy aesthetic

Favourite part of Dark Rise #1 is the ending because it was all of the pieces falling into place

Cyprian’s surname is not St. Clair but saying more than that would be a spoiler

Stewards have family in the outside world

Pacat would love to write short stories for Dark Rise like the ones for capri but she’s a slow writer so it would be some time in the future

Dark Rise/Capri

Justice’s appearance wasn’t specifically influenced by danmei, he has long hair because all the Stewards have long hair. The Stewards have long hair because everyone in the Old World had long hair and the Stewards carry on the sacred traditions of the past. This was inspired by the delightful long-haired-Laurent contingent in the capri fandom because they were so underserved by Captive Prince. No one in capri other than Ancel has really long, butt-length hair so Pacat wanted to change that in a new series

Where do you get inspiration for jewelry like Nicaise’s earring or James’s collar? Pacat has been thinking lately about the importance of creating a strong visual aesthetic for a character. The earring was created as a plot device. It’s long because it had to be very gaudy and noticeable because Laurent would use it as a disguise later, and it has blue sapphires because blue is Laurent’s colour. It's one single earring instead of a pair because it felt more poignant as a memento. The earring was more about purpose than aesthetics, but Pacat paid more attention to aesthetics in Dark Rise. When working on Fence, Johanna is so good at creating characters with an iconic visual look, and Pacat was thinking about that when he created James. He started with the idea of red because it's the colour of blood. The collar started off as a necklace that was a drop of blood, but it was changed to be more interesting and to have more of an impact. Pacat often thinks about the scene from the Hunger Games when Katniss is about to prove herself to the sponsors and they're not paying attention to her so she shoots the apple in the boar's mouth. A lesser author would’ve had her nail the bullseye but Suzanne Collins souped it up one more level, to come up with something slightly cooler or more imaginative. So Pacat goes through his finished drafts and thinks, is there anything I can turn up to 11? And the necklace wasn't at 11. So he thought about making it a choker, then a collar. A choker with rubies looks like a slit throat and that’s a very cool image, so that’s what it was changed to

Pacat is an only child so Tom and Auguste as older brothers aren’t based on personal experiences, but the idea of siblings has a strong importance to her. Dark Rise is dedicated to her half-sister Mandy who committed suicide when she was 15, which was the year Pacat was born

Fence Comic

The process of creating Fence: First Pacat writes the script, then it gets sent to the illustrator Johanna. It goes through a few rounds of notes where the two of them talk about the kinds of things they want to see happen, what would be cute or great in the upcoming storyline, and then Johanna does sketches. Then art edits happen, but usually the art is so incredible that it doesn’t need many edits so the only usual change is to make sure that Nicholas is left handed when he’s fencing. Then Boom (the publisher) looks over it before it goes to inks, then to the colourist Joana Lafuente, then to Jim Campbell for lettering. Jim places the speech bubbles and fits the script onto the page. Where the bubbles are placed and which words are emphasized makes a big impact on the flow of the script. Then everything gets sent back to Pacat for proofreading and editing of the lettering and then it’s done

Pacat worked very closely with Sarah Rees Brennan on the fence novels. They talked a lot about how events would play out, biographical details of the characters, made canon compliance edits, saw the books at every level and loved them. It’s impressive how Sarah can turn on a dime between two sets of opposing feelings when transitioning between emotions. Her books have a lot of wit and charm but also a lot of hard-hitting emotion

There was information about Rise and a preview but I'll skip over that part because it's already out now

Personal

When creating characters, Pacat often thinks of them in terms of dynamics they’ll have with other characters, or what they want to achieve, or what kind of archetype they resonate with, or how to build a backstory that gives them layers. Characters are interesting when they have more than one motivation, when they look one way on the surface but then different aspects of them from the past are revealed

Pacat was an Earth sciences major

Pacat chooses all the fanart friday posts himself and then his assistant Hannah sends a request to the artist

Least favourite book trope: band of misfits who save the world through a hail mary pass. Pacat likes a highly confident crew, not a small rabble of people who fluke their way into saving the world. It's not a bad trope, he doesn't know why he doesn't like it. He doesn't like Firefly because of this trope

He often reads fanfic on ao3 for more of a story than was in the original or more of a dynamic that was underserved in the original. But authors can’t read fic of their own works for copyright reasons

Owns multiple copies of the Lymond Chronicles. Book four is her favourite because the ending is so intense and devastating. Pacat often thinks of that ending when deciding what to do with her own works because most authors would’ve chickened out of writing an ending like that. She read book one for the first time in a restaurant at 9:00am and stayed there until she finished the book. She probably looked like a mess because of all the laughing and crying, and at one point one of the waiters came over to bring her a handkerchief and said “are you okay?” and Pacat said “I’m just at a really intense part right now"

Pacat does brainstorming sessions with friends to come up with ideas for books and looks at art books for inspiration

He’s reading the BL manga Twittering Birds Never Fly

Danmei dramas/web novels are really long so he isn’t familiar with most of them, but he ordered MDZS and he’s looking forward to reading it because he’s heard a lot of good things about it

Pacat doesn’t usually like love triangles, whenever he ships something in a love triangle he ends up choosing the unlucky guy. He liked Gale more than Peeta and liked Edgar more than Heathcliffe

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"Tiger! Tiger!"

Now we must go back to the first tale. When Mowgli left the wolf’s cave after the fight with the Pack at the Council Rock, he went down to the plowed lands where the villagers lived, but he would not stop there because it was too near to the jungle, and he knew that he had made at least one bad enemy at the Council. So he hurried on, keeping to the rough road that ran down the valley, and followed it at a steady jog-trot for nearly twenty miles, till he came to a country that he did not know. The valley opened out into a great plain dotted over with rocks and cut up by ravines. At one end stood a little village, and at the other the thick jungle came down in a sweep to the grazing-grounds, and stopped there as though it had been cut off with a hoe. All over the plain, cattle and buffaloes were grazing, and when the little boys in charge of the herds saw Mowgli they shouted and ran away, and the yellow pariah dogs that hang about every Indian village barked. Mowgli walked on, for he was feeling hungry, and when he came to the village gate he saw the big thorn-bush that was drawn up before the gate at twilight, pushed to one side.

“Umph!” he said, for he had come across more than one such barricade in his night rambles after things to eat. “So men are afraid of the People of the Jungle here also.” He sat down by the gate, and when a man came out he stood up, opened his mouth, and pointed down it to show that he wanted food. The man stared, and ran back up the one street of the village shouting for the priest, who was a big, fat man dressed in white, with a red and yellow mark on his forehead. The priest came to the gate, and with him at least a hundred people, who stared and talked and shouted and pointed at Mowgli.

“They have no manners, these Men Folk,” said Mowgli to himself. “Only the gray ape would behave as they do.” So he threw back his long hair and frowned at the crowd.

“What is there to be afraid of?” said the priest. “Look at the marks on his arms and legs. They are the bites of wolves. He is but a wolf-child run away from the jungle.”

Of course, in playing together, the cubs had often nipped Mowgli harder than they intended, and there were white scars all over his arms and legs. But he would have been the last person in the world to call these bites, for he knew what real biting meant.

“Arre! Arre!” said two or three women together. “To be bitten by wolves, poor child! He is a handsome boy. He has eyes like red fire. By my honor, Messua, he is not unlike thy boy that was taken by the tiger.”

“Let me look,” said a woman with heavy copper rings on her wrists and ankles, and she peered at Mowgli under the palm of her hand. “Indeed he is not. He is thinner, but he has the very look of my boy.”

The priest was a clever man, and he knew that Messua was wife to the richest villager in the place. So he looked up at the sky for a minute and said solemnly: “What the jungle has taken the jungle has restored. Take the boy into thy house, my sister, and forget not to honor the priest who sees so far into the lives of men.”

“By the Bull that bought me,” said Mowgli to himself, “but all this talking is like another looking-over by the Pack! Well, if I am a man, a man I must become.”

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Kaa's Hunting

All that is told here happened some time before Mowgli was turned out of the Seeonee Wolf Pack, or revenged himself on Shere Khan the tiger. It was in the days when Baloo was teaching him the Law of the Jungle. The big, serious, old brown bear was delighted to have so quick a pupil, for the young wolves will only learn as much of the Law of the Jungle as applies to their own pack and tribe, and run away as soon as they can repeat the Hunting Verse—“Feet that make no noise; eyes that can see in the dark; ears that can hear the winds in their lairs, and sharp white teeth, all these things are the marks of our brothers except Tabaqui the Jackal and the Hyaena whom we hate.” But Mowgli, as a man-cub, had to learn a great deal more than this. Sometimes Bagheera the Black Panther would come lounging through the jungle to see how his pet was getting on, and would purr with his head against a tree while Mowgli recited the day’s lesson to Baloo. The boy could climb almost as well as he could swim, and swim almost as well as he could run. So Baloo, the Teacher of the Law, taught him the Wood and Water Laws: how to tell a rotten branch from a sound one; how to speak politely to the wild bees when he came upon a hive of them fifty feet above ground; what to say to Mang the Bat when he disturbed him in the branches at midday; and how to warn the water-snakes in the pools before he splashed down among them. None of the Jungle People like being disturbed, and all are very ready to fly at an intruder. Then, too, Mowgli was taught the Strangers’ Hunting Call, which must be repeated aloud till it is answered, whenever one of the Jungle-People hunts outside his own grounds. It means, translated, “Give me leave to hunt here because I am hungry.” And the answer is, “Hunt then for food, but not for pleasure.”

All this will show you how much Mowgli had to learn by heart, and he grew very tired of saying the same thing over a hundred times. But, as Baloo said to Bagheera, one day when Mowgli had been cuffed and run off in a temper, “A man’s cub is a man’s cub, and he must learn all the Law of the Jungle.”

“But think how small he is,” said the Black Panther, who would have spoiled Mowgli if he had had his own way. “How can his little head carry all thy long talk?”

“Is there anything in the jungle too little to be killed? No. That is why I teach him these things, and that is why I hit him, very softly, when he forgets.”

“Softly! What dost thou know of softness, old Iron-feet?” Bagheera grunted. “His face is all bruised today by thy—softness. Ugh.”

“Better he should be bruised from head to foot by me who love him than that he should come to harm through ignorance,” Baloo answered very earnestly. “I am now teaching him the Master Words of the Jungle that shall protect him with the birds and the Snake People, and all that hunt on four feet, except his own pack. He can now claim protection, if he will only remember the words, from all in the jungle. Is not that worth a little beating?”

“Well, look to it then that thou dost not kill the man-cub. He is no tree trunk to sharpen thy blunt claws upon. But what are those Master Words? I am more likely to give help than to ask it”—Bagheera stretched out one paw and admired the steel-blue, ripping-chisel talons at the end of it—“still I should like to know.”

“I will call Mowgli and he shall say them—if he will. Come, Little Brother!”

“My head is ringing like a bee tree,” said a sullen little voice over their heads, and Mowgli slid down a tree trunk very angry and indignant, adding as he reached the ground: “I come for Bagheera and not for thee, fat old Baloo!”

“That is all one to me,” said Baloo, though he was hurt and grieved. “Tell Bagheera, then, the Master Words of the Jungle that I have taught thee this day.”

“Master Words for which people?” said Mowgli, delighted to show off. “The jungle has many tongues. I know them all.”

“A little thou knowest, but not much. See, O Bagheera, they never thank their teacher. Not one small wolfling has ever come back to thank old Baloo for his teachings. Say the word for the Hunting-People, then—great scholar.”

“We be of one blood, ye and I,” said Mowgli, giving the words the Bear accent which all the Hunting People use.

“Good. Now for the birds.”

Mowgli repeated, with the Kite’s whistle at the end of the sentence.

“Now for the Snake-People,” said Bagheera.

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Mowgli's Brother

It was seven o’clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. “Augrh!” said Father Wolf. “It is time to hunt again.” He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: “Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world.”

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/236/236-h/images/%7B0025%7D.jpg

“Good luck go with you, O chief of the wolves.”

It was the jackal—Tabaqui, the Dish-licker—and the wolves of India despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief, and telling tales, and eating rags and pieces of leather from the village rubbish-heaps. But they are afraid of him too, because Tabaqui, more than anyone else in the jungle, is apt to go mad, and then he forgets that he was ever afraid of anyone, and runs through the forest biting everything in his way. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake a wild creature. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee—the madness—and run.

“Enter, then, and look,” said Father Wolf stiffly, “but there is no food here.”

“For a wolf, no,” said Tabaqui, “but for so mean a person as myself a dry bone is a good feast. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people], to pick and choose?” He scuttled to the back of the cave, where he found the bone of a buck with some meat on it, and sat cracking the end merrily.

“All thanks for this good meal,” he said, licking his lips. “How beautiful are the noble children! How large are their eyes! And so young too! Indeed, indeed, I might have remembered that the children of kings are men from the beginning.”

Now, Tabaqui knew as well as anyone else that there is nothing so unlucky as to compliment children to their faces. It pleased him to see Mother and Father Wolf look uncomfortable.

Tabaqui sat still, rejoicing in the mischief that he had made, and then he said spitefully:

“Shere Khan, the Big One, has shifted his hunting grounds. He will hunt among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me.”

Shere Khan was the tiger who lived near the Waingunga River, twenty miles away.

“He has no right!” Father Wolf began angrily—“By the Law of the Jungle he has no right to change his quarters without due warning. He will frighten every head of game within ten miles, and I—I have to kill for two, these days.”

“His mother did not call him Lungri [the Lame One] for nothing,” said Mother Wolf quietly. “He has been lame in one foot from his birth. That is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are angry with him, and he has come here to make our villagers angry. They will scour the jungle for him when he is far away, and we and our children must run when the grass is set alight. Indeed, we are very grateful to Shere Khan!”

“Shall I tell him of your gratitude?” said Tabaqui.

“Out!” snapped Father Wolf. “Out and hunt with thy master. Thou hast done harm enough for one night.”

“I go,” said Tabaqui quietly. “Ye can hear Shere Khan below in the thickets. I might have saved myself the message.”

Father Wolf listened, and below in the valley that ran down to a little river he heard the dry, angry, snarly, singsong whine of a tiger who has caught nothing and does not care if all the jungle knows it.

“The fool!” said Father Wolf. “To begin a night’s work with that noise! Does he think that our buck are like his fat Waingunga bullocks?”

“H’sh. It is neither bullock nor buck he hunts to-night,” said Mother Wolf. “It is Man.”

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