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Conwyn hopes it goes well, but the glaciers feel hungry, the mountains are frowning at him, and something out there is watching them.

From the beginning of book 1 of my quartet.

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Round-up?

I don't usually do end-of-year round-ups until after Christmas because before Christmas is absolute clown shoes here. I also get things done between Christmas and New Years because I don't have to run the kiddos to all things.

So this is a pre-round up. In 2024, I finished editing the first book of my finished quartet and started revisions on the second. I pitch agents and a publisher at two writing conferences. One agent eventually requested a full, but passed. I went through it with a fine-tooth comb based on her suggestions and cut over 20K words off the manuscript. I do have some queries out and active right now, but I also have a few beta readers going through it for reader reactions.

People ask which book I'd like to forget and read for the first time again. Sometimes I wish I could do that with MY book! I've been through the first 3 chapters so much that I can't even tell if they're good or not. Would I like them without that overexposure?

I am also tweaking my query letter to highlight the parts of my book that agents seem to be looking for. It's strongly, although not exclusively, fem-focused. Half or more of the book is written from women's PoVs, from the main character, Zehra, who sees the future, to sheltered Imperial Princess Soraya trying to untangle palace intrigue, to Beryl marching over the mountains as part of the invasion, praying it succeeds so she can finally escape the man who murdered her family. It's not an ode to girl power or dropping women into traditionally masculine roles. If victory hinged just on battle, Zehra would lose.

When I first started it, I called it Sword & Sorcery & Sandal, because it was influenced by both actual history and antiquity and the Sword & Sandal movies I often watched while growing-up, but it contains magic and elements of the classic sword & sorcery genre. All those are OLD though! And very male-focused. It's a little like Gladiator x Hannibal of Carthage (If you focus on Lucilla). But it's a little like Ben-Hur. It's inspired by the doomed seer, Cassandra, but not a retelling. In part, it's answering the question, "How did the people he invaded and conquered see Alexander the Great? What if one stopped him?"

I can talk forever about my inspirations (my kids asking, "Why didn't Hannibal bring wooly mammoths over the Alps?"). Boiling it down to an eloquent, compelling query letter is far harder.

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Launch

My elves in Elffall have wings. It's an adaptation to the massive trees they live in, although they also require magic to fly. The wings aren't big enough for them to fly without it.

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The Freedom of Rewriting

One morning, I grabbed a book that I had been intending to read for almost 20 years (it was first published in 2003). I was in an online writing group with the author as she was brainstorming and crafting this book. Her concepts were fascinating, but money was tight in the early 00s, and then life was busy and it took me THIS LONG to get back to the book.

The concepts and characters are the same ones she used to talk about, but the story had grown so much in-depth and complexity between her brainstorming and rough drafts and the final copy I plowed through in 2 days. It's the best kind of book--the sort that fires my desire to write and create again.

The step from rough draft to final draft should be noticeable. Twenty years have passed since I saw her posts about this book, and the difference between the rough draft snippets and the final, published copy is astonishing (in the best way).

Rewriting is time-intensive. It feels redundant sometimes. But it is necessary. Rough drafting, whether from a detailed plan or as a pantsed discovery, is still an initial thinking-through of our concepts. As we write it, we analyze more details and depths. Characters grow and develop, perhaps in surprising ways . . . and in the end, incorporating these changes is best done with a clean document file. We face the terror of the blank page once again, but armed with new knowledge of who our characters are, how we intend to write them, and improved skills to apply to the work. Ideally, this is done with feedback from an alpha reader, editor, or beta reader, depending on which rewrite it is.

It's a terrible feeling. But it's also freeing. We are no longer stuck in the rut of our previous words, trying to make this sentence or that phrase work. This became very apparent to me when I began working with editors on my flash fantasy-romance stories for "A Season for Romance: Spring Blossoms." I submitted 7 stories. 2 were rejected. 4 needed completely rewritten (at least one was rewritten twice). Out of 7 stories, 1 . . . ONE . . . was well-structured enough to avoid needing rewritten, although it still needed heavily cut and edited. But that's where the beauty of the blank page came in. Armed with solid notes and feedback, I could recreate the story and characters with more depth and nuance than before.

And in case this sounds like the long hard way . . . I did this with a 180k-word novel too. I wrote a long rough draft, then wrote myself an outline with changes I wanted and rewrote the whole thing into a 500K-word trilogy. Halfway through the first book of that trilogy, my free-lance dev editor suggested I add a prequel to make it a quartet. It required the least editing because I'd learned from previous rewrites.

Rewriting is rethinking, and rediscovering, and it pulls the best of us out and puts it on the page. I know there are famous authors who claim to never rewrite (*cough* Heinlein *cough*) but for most of us, rewriting is a normal part of writing--or it ought to be. It's an opportunity to sift out the best of our ideas and put them on the page.

It's worth the time and effort.

(and yes, I see you, chronic rewriter who has to draft it ONE MORE TIME. You're a whole different post.)

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Emroth is the villain in my high/dark fantasy quartet. He lost the chiefdom of his own clan and was banished. After coming back and taking his revenge on them, he's decided the world owes his an empire, and he's heard of one over the southern mountains that is prosperous and too peaceful to put up a proper fight.

He's on his way to take it.

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What 2nd-World Fantasy Isn't

It's not historical fantasy. Those exist, and I salute the authors who do the research and work to write them. But 2nd-world fantasy, which are fantasy stories taking place in worlds that are not, never have been, and never will be, our earth, are not historical fantasy.

Many of us who write 2nd-world choose eras and cultures from history as inspiration. The many centuries referred to as the Middle Ages are popular. Who can resist knights, castles, kings, lords, and serfdom? But no matter how deep our worldbuilding, history is just inspiration. It's vibes. It provides a structure, and in a culture that is literate and highly exposed to media, it gives authors a shorthand.

But it's not history.

An author can choose to have their world adhere closely to a particular area and era, but if we do, we better do our homework. Everything should be accurate, or the explanation that something exists in our world because it's "realistic" falls flat. This is especially important because so much information floating around out there is false or partially incorrect. Often the things that "Everyone knows" are not true.

After all, everyone knows those stupid, immoral people in the "dark ages" married little girls off as soon as their periods started. Except, they didn't. Some cultures throughout the world and history might have, but Middle Ages Europe didn't. Historians have pointed out that the usual age for marriage was 17-21: younger than now, but not close to marrying girls off at 11 or 12. The rich and politically powerful did marry girls young to secure alliances. Often the boys were young, too. But, like today, the rich and powerful were exceptions, not the rule.

Everyone knows that the average lifespan way back then was 40 so people just didn't live past their fourth decade. Our middle school math teachers are weeping because that's not what average means. Remove the tragic number of children who died before 5, and the average life expectancy was closer to 60 or 65.

Authors can't do history by meme or take Enlightenment revisionism as fact and excuse parts of their world as realistic based on those. 2nd-world writers get to choose everything, so we also need to own everything. It is more important for the story and characters to react in a way that makes sense for their environment, culture, and beliefs than it is for a particular detail to be historically accurate. It's important that the readers feel immersed in the story, and that the cultural environment of the world serves the story the author wants to tell.

So when a reader asks, "Why is there sexism in your book? Why choose a patriarchal system?" my answer isn't that it's realistic or historically accurate, although my inspirations of Babylon, Sumeria, and Persia were patriarchal. It's because many women still struggle with being dismissed and unheard, even in important situations, and I wanted to demonstrate that with my MC's character arc. Part of her arc is taking action when others keep trying to take it away from her (in the name of safety or protection). It's also recognizing that the responsibility for acting on the visions and premonitions she has is hers and no one else's. They were given to her instead of her father or brothers for a reason. A patriarchal setting worked best for that.

Many authors find things they want to express or say in their books. Sometimes it surprises us, and sometimes it's intentional from the outset, but our choices for worldbuilding should serve that theme. We may be wrestling with questions of faith, our place in society, what the right road or path will be, and if that is going to show up in our work, the world should serve it.

2nd-world readers should do this too. Instead of the knee-jerk response of, "It's realistic," when someone challenges something in a fantasy, take the time to think why the author might have put that there. (I am not saying every author has a good reason or answer to that. Maybe they just thought they were being realistic.) GRRM set out to create an astoundingly violent world, and much of history is just as violent (if not moreso), but he also made the choice about how and what violence to put on the page. Was realism the only reason? (You'll have to ask him.)

"It's realistic" is weak sauce for why something exists or doesn't exist in a 2nd-world fantasy. It's there because the author, for some reason, decided to put it there when building the world.

(I will fully admit that the women in my Oracle Quartet wear veils because I love the aesthetic, although covering the head was also a practical way for keeping hair clean.)

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Directing Readers

I am beta-reading a friend's book. It's the fourth and final book of a romantic fantasy series. In addition to the main story, she's written several short romance stories with side characters. She's trying to tie up all her loose ends in one book, including ones from the short stories.

It's not working. They're well written and very satisfying for those of us who've read the short stories, but someone who's only read the main series would be confused about why these side characters have so much time on-page. Their side stories aren't affecting the main conflicts that started in the previous books, so their scenes become a misdirect.

In film, the camera will zoom in or slow pan certain things that are significant to the plot. In writing, these are done by describing an event or object in more detail or by repeatedly referring to it so it sticks in the reader's mind. If we as writers dwell on something unimportant on the page, the reader will think it's important, and feel cheated when it's not.

There are times to misdirect the reader, but even the misdirect must be intentional. Even the misdirect must feed into the plot to create a satisfying ending. When things are left unresolved at the end of the book or series, the reader isn't satisfied (this refers to something that is finished. If there are more books in the series, readers will continue to hope the item is relevant).

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This is a line from the third book of my (as yet unpublished) fantasy quartet. One of the main characters is seeing the villain and his fellow MCs together for the first time.

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Circles

I'm editing my manuscript for length and came across this line. She's grieving her brother, trying to run the palace alone, and experiencing visions of possible (mostly terrible) futures. I know repetition and unconventional sentences should be used sparingly, but I think they work here.

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Family

Conwyn and Beryl are from The Oracle Chronicles (my finished but currently unpublished quartet). They aren't related, but Beryl raised Conwyn after her cousin, Emroth, "acquired" him. Beryl is a healer while Conwyn's ability doesn't have a fancy name. He can smell magic, and since magic comes from the gods, he can smell them, too.

Conwyn is god-haunted.

Pen and ink with Copic markers.

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Strong Female Characters

"I don't think writers realize that 'strong female character' means 'well written female character' and not just 'female character who punches stuff and shoots stuff.'"

A strong character, of any gender, is a character with AGENCY. Agency is the term for a character whose actions affect or drive the plot. A character with agency isn't just reacting to events around them (although all characters, to some degree, do this), they have a chance to make choices that affect how things turn out. This doesn't mean everything they do is successful. A character can make a decision or choice that leads them to fail in gloriously devastating ways.

The focus on "strong female characters" came because popular fiction through the twentieth century tended to focus on male agency. Women in many stories were relegated to a damsel to rescue, a prize to win, a McGuffin to find, or worse, a dead loved one to avenge. (Before you start dropping arguments or counter examples in the comments, note I said "many" not "all.")

At some point, writers, producers, and directors realized that they were missing 50% of their potential audience, so they climbed on the "Strong Female Characters" bandwagon. And we got some fantastic badass babes solving problems, taking charge, taking names, and kicking butt!

There's a lot of fun to be had watching Ripley take down the alien queen or Dr. Sattler escape the velociraptors. But entertainment media, being entertainment, can't do things by half. Many took female characters out of one narrow box and placed them in a shiny new narrow box labeled "Action hero" and patted themselves on the back for a job well done.

A female character doesn't have to drive a mecha or outsmart a dinosaur to be strong (although don't stop writing those ladies, please!). A strong female character is a female character with agency. She isn't swept along, always reacting to events outside her control; she makes decisions for herself or for others and does things that affect the outcome of events.

That's agency in life, and that's agency in writing. And if it's good writing, those decisions come with complex, often unforeseen consequences.  (That's a topic for another day).

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I love sighthounds!

Dog doodles.

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Return of the Stolen

By RL Fuentes

(This story was first published in the anthology, "A Season for Romance: Summer Simmer." Story, characters, and artwork created and owned by Rebecca Fuentes)

Emil braced his hands against the balcony railing and let the night breeze cool his flushed skin. If only he could shake the dream images from his head so easily. It always started like the memory—his ship trapped between two others, the crew and passengers separated.

He rubbed his arm, the fear and fury of that day rushing back.  

Mother clinging to him, weeping in fear... 

Why had he allowed her to come along? But she’d been so proud of him. 

The pirate captain appearing, sword in hand, striding down the deck toward them… 

Emil flapped his open robe in the heat of the summer night, remembering that first sight of the elf. Flushing with heat that had nothing to do with anger, he’d been mortified. That glance had . . . stirred his . . . nethers. 

That rogue demanding to speak with him, Lord Magus Emil L’Mont. . . Mother screaming as the elf bore down on them…

Six months had passed, but Emil’s mouth still went dry at the memory. 

That extravagant hat and coat, shirt open far below the collar, a glimpse of dark chest and collarbone, low-slung trousers and stormy blue eyes. 

Sweet mother goddess. 

He'd never seen a wingless elf before. An Exile. Only the worst elven criminals were cast out.

The pirate–and what else? A murderer?–taking his chin, Emil’s heart hammering. "You're the magus?" 

Mother, terrified but trying to intervene before Emil swept her behind him. "Stay back, Mama!"

He paced the balcony, wishing he could dunk himself in the bay below to quench the fires. That thrice-damned captain had tossed his purple braids back over his shoulder, winked, and patted Emil’s cheek. 

"Perfect. I was afraid she was your wife.”

Mother squawked, either flattered or scandalized.

His gaze raked Emil up and down. “I'd never seduce a married man." 

Hovering beside his captain, the mate snorted, "Liar."

They shared a sidelong glance, the captain’s grin brimming with mischief. “It was just that once . . .”

Where do I sign up? Even in his dreams, Emil cringed at the thought.  

At the time, he’d slapped away the hand and the playfulness with it. The thieving pirate had demanded to see the priceless artifacts on board—rare scrolls Emil had recovered from ancient ruins. He’d researched and funded this expedition for that very purpose. Goddess only knew who the pirates would sell them to, if the savages didn’t ruin them out of ignorance.

That mate stepped up and sent his aura right into Emil’s mind, plucking out the information they needed—the location of the scrolls, exactly how to disengage the wards. Emil had struggled, attempting to think of mathematics, poetry, even ridiculous theories about gryphon breeding. Nothing worked.

In his dream, however, he leaned into that hand, stepped into the captain’s arms, and kissed him until neither propriety nor scrolls mattered. 

Emil pounded the heels of his hands on the balustrade; he shouldn’t be attracted to the filthy thief. The man had threatened them and used his lackey to invade Emil’s mind. But . . . he’d left everyone alive and unharmed. He hadn’t even crippled the ship. 

Emil shook the thoughts from his head. This cannot continue.  Those minutes of attraction had become an obsession, one he must eradicate. 

Still . . . what he’d said . . .

I’d never seduce a married man.

Implying he would seduce a single one, yes?  Emil raked a hand through his hair. 

Stop this.

He couldn’t risk his position by taking a male lover. The very idea was scandalous. It would stain his family’s reputation for generations. The inevitable repercussions prevented him from acting upon his desires; they did nothing to ease his loneliness. His position at the Magi Tower should have provided company and stopped Mother’s questions about marriage. Instead, it was a competitive and solitary life, with too much time for daydreaming about blue eyes, purple hair, and a dark face with lips perfect for kissing. 

Stop it! It was a silly quip. I’ll never set foot on a ship again, much less meet him.

Emil’s shoulder blades itched, warning him someone had tripped the room’s wards. He whirled around, his arcs flying out to scan for intruders. But how? Not even another magus was powerful enough to evade his carefully-crafted protections. Yet someone slipped through as if the magic were water. 

Emil’s aura pulsed through the rooms. A fellow magus? No, he had never encountered this aura before.  At his touch, it opened, and the intent was far from innocent. Emil’s face flushed.

Emerging from the darkness of the room, a figure bowed. “Will you come to me, or should I join you on the balcony?”

That husky voice had been haunting his dreams every night. “You.”

The captain stepped into the moonlight, lifting a bottle of wine. “Who else?”

“That’s Estalian wine.” It was insanely expensive, semi-illegal, and completely irrelevant, but Emil’s thoughts were such a jumble of fury, surprise, and elation, it was the only safe thing to focus on.

That mischievous grin lit the captain’s face, sending a frisson of need up Emil’s spine. “I stole it.”

The admission jolted Emil from his shock. The thrill of this man, here, in his private quarters, warred with suspicion. Why is he here?   

Emil rushed into the room, jerking to a halt barely out of the elf’s reach. “What are you doing here? After what you did to us? To me?”

The captain set the wine on the table and stretched, arms over his head, making Emil very aware of the rogue’s tight breeches, open shirt, and exposed chest. 

Goddess, he moves beautifully.

“My man saw a little more than planned when he peeked inside your head. I couldn’t resist.” He spiraled a strand of anima into the cork and pulled it out. 

Couldn’t resist . . . me? A shiver of anticipation left Emil’s body taut. Reason battled against yearning. This wasn’t a covert flirtation or careful, illicit banter, everything left hypothetical. The man—the pirate, the rogue, the thief—offered him what he couldn’t take . . . shouldn’t want. As a lover, a pirate, and an Exile, he was forbidden fruit. The Crown and Courts would execute him without a trial.

“If you’re caught here,” Emil whispered, “you’ll be hung.” And I’ll be ruined. 

“At least.” The elf poured the wine, the rich fragrance filling the room. “Perhaps I think Lord Magus Emil L’Mont is worth the risk.”

It’s my dream, except who would risk their life for an assignation with me? Especially one he didn’t even arrange. Some young ladies had fluttered at his appearance before he attained his robes, but that was as much for his fortune and title as anything else. He was too cynical to believe otherwise. 

And despite the hot desire beating through him, he didn’t believe the pirate captain either. 

“This is a trick.” Emil snatched at his robe, grasping for dignity. “You stole my scrolls, and you’re taking advantage of me . . . of my . . .  of the situation to steal other important artifacts.”

The captain took one glass for himself, sipped, and held the other out to Emil. “What if it’s both?”

The audacity. The blatant admission hit Emil like a slap. With a single arc of magic, he dashed the offered glass out of the captain’s hand to shatter on the floor. “Get out.”

The Captain tsked. “A waste of excellent wine, my handsome magus.” He savored another sip, holding Emil’s gaze before abandoning the glass. With a sweep of his own arcs, he brushed Emil’s defenses away, stepping close until they stood face to face.

Emil sucked in his breath. “What . . .?” In his dream, they’d been this close. They’d touched, but it couldn’t happen. There was no happy ending to this.

The captain brushed a strand of hair away from Emil’s forehead, his gaze soft and serious. “The wine was an apology.”

This shouldn’t be happening. But Emil leaned into the touch and inhaled the captain’s scent mixed with the wine: blackcurrant, vanilla orchids, and smoky clove.

“And the interest is sincere,” the captain whispered, lips almost brushing Emil’s cheek. 

Emil wanted to believe him as much as he wanted to kiss those lips and follow the yellow tracery of scars from the captain’s cheeks all the way down his body. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do either. “I . . . don’t even know your name.”

His aura brushed Emil’s, invitation implicit. “Call me Cae.”

“Cae.” A name to whisper in the dark, although he barely had enough breath to speak. His chest heaved for air. 

Warm lips brushed his. Cae’s fingers slid down the edge of Emil’s robe, his aura pulsing hot red and pink.

“I can’t trust you,” Emil said, although his aura sparked and his body trembled in response to the caresses.

“Not yet.” Cae barely kissed him. “Keep the wine. Enjoy it, and when I come back, maybe you’ll trust me a little more.”

“Back?” Emil’s fingers spasmed, as if to grip Cae’s shirt, and his arcs surrounded them both before retracting.

But Cae was already moving away, disappearing into the shadows, slipping through Emil’s wards just as the tramping of guards sounded in the halls. Gone.

They knocked and spoke with him; an intruder had been sighted. But no, Magus L’Mont had seen no one, heard no disturbance. And when he returned to the open bottle of wine, sitting beside it on the table was a single, carefully penned copy of one of the precious scrolls Cae had stolen from him. 

Returned in exchange for his heart.

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7 Brothers

My Elffall world plopped into my head while drafting short romance stories for an anthology. I'd had the ideas bumping around for a while: magic systems, fantasy races, but I'd originally pictured it as sort of cyberpunk or contemporary. then it melded with another old idea and all these disparate pieces fit together.

Pivotal figures in the world are the Seven Sons of the Tethered tree, who are seven brothers who head a fleet of pirate . . . er . . . privateer ships. The elves of Elffall live on massive trees floating around the globe. These seven and their father started a revolution and failed, which led to their exile. There's more to it, but as an influential force on the high seas, big enough to affect trade and laws in certain countries, they play a big part even when they aren't *directly* a part of things.

They're also some of my favorite characters to write and draw. This is Marahu and Caerue, the second oldest and the youngest of the seven, discussing . . . negotiation techniques. Pen and ink and Copic art marker.

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These two pictures are how it started . . . and how it's going.

Once upon a time, a mage cast a summoning spell and got more than he bargained for.

Eventually, he got much more than he bargained for in the form of a half-mortal daughter.

Characters and art are mine, I use pen and ink and Copic art markers. Both designs are available on products at Redbubble and Zazzle.

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Cats also make me happy.

Just for fun

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My mage, Santaxma, finally got his love story today. It won't be published until next spring and it will go through several rounds of editing between now and then, but I am very pleased with it. It predates this picture, of course, since the love story leads to his very-much-not-completely-an-elf daughter.

"Hi, listen, yeah, I'm a single dad--I mean, I have help from my brothers, but they're literal pirates--anyway, is floating at two developmentally appropriate? Yeah, floating, like around the room. It's getting impossible to keep her in bed at night and I'm thinking about a canopy or something for safety."