Christopher Sendrowski's Blog

I’ve hit a wall.

A reading wall.

Lately it seems every book I read stinks. Just plain stinks. I’m in trope hell here, people, surrounded by dull magic and typical heroes who can strike down an army without breaking a sweat. Where are my fantasy accountants and plumbers, sewer cleaners and food tasters? I don’t want to read about handsome and strong warriors or beautiful princesses in their marble castles. There’s enough of that crap on TV every night – a little less, though, now that the Kardashian’s are finally going away.

What I do crave are ugly ducklings and failures. Real people in fantastical settings, whose voices and stories travel outside the norm. It may not always be an easy sell, but it’s what will help drag our genre from the realm of infant ramblings to the forefront of people’s minds. Remember, readers love Martin’s A song of Ice and Fire series, and they went absolutely bonkers for HBO’s adaption of it. Why, you may ask?

Because It reminded people that they really do love fantasy. Just like when the Lord of the Rings films came out over 20 years ago, it awakened the ancient fire burning in all of our hearts. But it takes a damn good tale to accomplish this. Something crafted without limitations. This is no easy task, considering everything we know and see everyday. But it is deadly important to our genre.

If you’re a fantasy fan, you like wizards, warriors and magic. I know because I do too. You like unique worlds with strange cultures and creatures. Tales that are larger than life and far more interesting.

But every fantasy novel I’ve read lately feels so grounded in these traditional norms. The young orphaned hero who is destined to overthrow a dark overlord, the band of thieves seeking a magical item in the depths of some unknown hell, the dark clouds of war building in a far off land, whispering of battles to come. I used to like these tropes. But as I get older, and hopefully wiser, I find them to be incredibly boring, not too mention lazy.

Why can’t writers try something new? Why can’t they shatter these age old tropes and take us on a real adventure? Fantasy needs this. Our genre is one of the least respected out there. Too many crappy television shows and movies have sullied our beloved genre. And why? Because writers and movie producers seem to think readers and viewers want the same old thing rehashed over and over again.

This is a huge disservice to the fans, not to mention an insult to their imagination. Fantasy is the one genre where everything and anything can and should be invented. No rules, no budgets, no scientific constraints. Do you want to write about a world ruled by cats? I’m in. Does the sky rain salt across the land? Sign me up. Are the oceans made of some gelatinous muck that breeds massive dinosaurs? Let’s do it.

Break the rules, give the readers something fresh and fantastic. But most of all, take it seriously. I know I do. I’ve been cultivating Retrac Daor for over twenty years – or ‘turns’ if you go by the time measurements used in my books. Yet it still needs more detail and culture, more beasts and lands beyond what I’ve already done. If you’re a writer, you’re also a world builder, a god of a new and strange realm. Be bold and inventive. Take chances and break norms.

If you’re a reader, you’re a witness to the evolution of these strange and perilous places. It should be fresh and exciting. Something memorable that you’ll think about long after the last page has turned. Don’t accept less. And never be afraid to try something outside of your comfort zone.

J.R.R. Tolkien taught us the value of detailed lore and culture in our work. He was a master at building histories and mysterious mythologies. He was so good, in fact, that even when he briefly refers to these tales and histories, they light a fire in my imagination and make me want to learn more.

But he also taught us the pitfalls of fandom and tropes. His work has been analyzed and copied for decades, and deservedly so. But it’s time to walk a new path. To take a chance on unknown worlds and cultures far beyond the classic landscapes of Tolkien, Salvatore, Le Guin and countless other titans I have yet to mention.

One of my main goals when I write is to claw my way away from the expected, to invent something unheard of in other books or films. Like I said, there’s no budget or legal limitations. The page is free, the ink infinite. The only barrier: our imagination. And perhaps the tropes ever present in our minds.

I’m no expert, though. I’m guilty of many of the cliches and errors mentioned above. There are groups in my world whose names now make me cringe, characters who belong in an episode of Xena: Warrior Princes. I’ve used magic in my work that would make David Copperfield weep and some of my creatures could use a good makeover. But I’ve also had successes, people and places whose details and names make me smile and yearn for more.

I don’t mean to whine or sound pretentious here. I just wish more authors, especially in the independant world, would slow down and craft something truly different and bold. Money needs to be made, I understand that. But cranking out four mediocre books a month will only hurt our genre’s prospects.

Remember, fantasy is our love and vocation. Take care of it and approach it with a bold heart and perhaps someday we can finally flip the bird to the snobbish literare. I know I will.

To those who know me, it’s no secret I prefer a tale that is treated like a motion picture. One beginning, one middle and one hell of an amazing ending. Boom. Done. Anything more just feels tired and labored. It’s why I’ve always disliked most cable television shows. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule. I love The Simpsons, The Wonder Years, Twin Peaks, Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones, Seinfeld and Silicon Valley. You’ll notice the shorter form, comedy shows dominate my list, though. Why? Because they begin and end in one episode. No waiting. No forgetting plot points or characters. And no boring filler.

That’s not to say there aren’t some amazing book series out there. Frank Herbert’s Dune books are some of my favorites, and there’s at least six or seven, not counting the one’s his son authored after his death. And lets not forget the A Song of Ice and Fire series by Martin and the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling. Even Stephen King hit it out of the park with the first five books in his Dark Tower series (I checked out after Wolves of the Callah, though). And I really loved R.A. Salvatore’s Dark Elf books and Cronin’s The Passage trilogy.

But as a writer I tend to tire of a novel after it’s complete. The process is incredibly invigorating, but also completely and utterly exhausting. When I wrap a book, I need to dive into something completely different. Therefore, one can justifiably say I am an anti series author. Or at least an anti thirty-book-series author.

I know, I know. As an indie author, these words are sacrilege. Every day I am told, “If you want to make any money, a series is where it’s at. Pump em out. It’s all about back catalogue.” And maybe it is.

But it’s a stamina thing with me. I spend so many months with one story, pouring over every word and detail until it becomes a dense cloud in my brain. New worlds and characters help sweep away that fog and keep my creativity and morale up. Don’t get me wrong, if I write a book that really catches on and I feel there’s more to the story, than I’d definitely consider diving back in. But at this point in my life, I want to explore every inch of my world and its many different biomes and people. I want to learn about new and strange characters and their unique cultures. There’s just so many nooks and crannies to explore, so many beasts and ancient lands yearning to be discovered. To tie myself down would only shortchange you, my reader.

Perhaps someday I’ll do a powerhouse trilogy. A bookend for the many characters and tales my pen has created. One can never tell. For now, though, I’m going to keep trucking on from one pit stop to the next, until the sun finally sets on the Culver.

Now I know what you might say. What about Dregs of the Culver Waste? That’s a series, right?

It did become a duology, but it was originally intended to be one book. One very, very large book. But it became too large and complicated, and I felt splitting it in half would be easier for my readers to digest. It was also my first book, so I didn’t think readers would want to bite off such a large mouthful from a new author.

This choice did cause some backlash, though. Readers were frustrated that I left them hanging until Requiem for the Bastards came out earlier last year. And they had every reason to be. It’s how I feel whenever I watch the Expanse on Prime and I have to wait a week for the next episode. It loses its momentum. The excitement fades and too much gets lost in my head. I want the reader to sit down and experience my book as one whole, a tale with a definitive end on the horizon. It just makes the stakes that much higher. No filler, no unnecessary plotlines to help fill the pages.

Just one fast paced tale wrapped inside one book.

That’s not to say my characters won’t crossover into other novels. Far from it. What I would eventually like to do is put together box sets which follow certain character types. Perhaps a scoundrel series. Or an artist series. Maybe even a servant series. Each would contain three different, standalone books following characters joined by a unified theme.

I’m sure there will be some readers turned off by this choice. But if you trust me, if you give me your time, I promise you I’ll knock your socks off. Or at least die trying. That’s my responsibility as a writer. To entertain you. To move you. And most importantly, to make sure that your $3.99 wasn’t spent in vain.

That’s what I’m doing with my next book, Queen of Rats. I don’t want to force a sequel out of it. Not until there’s a real spark to set me in motion. That’s no to say I’ll never do a sequel. The possibility is always there for me to contradict myself.

For now, though, it’s one tale at a time. One grand story to blow your hair back. I only hope you’ll take the ride with me.

Until next time.

-Chris Sendrowski 2/3/21

I began 2020 with a pretty positive outlook. My video production business was set to have the best year ever, and I was finally beginning to sell some books.

Then, as we all know, the shit hit the fan.

I soon found myself caught up in a whirlwind of fear and self-doubt. First, I had to reschedule dozens of video projects from 2020 to 2021, meaning huge swaths of income would have to wait until the dawn of the new year. And then, of course, there was the fear of catching a horrible disease and dying. Oh, and did I mention the civil upheaval and madness sweeping across the land? It was an angry time for me. I had already been through the cluster-fuck that was the housing crash of 2008, where I lost a great deal of money and faith in humanity. After surviving that madness, I wasn’t about to be undone by some goddamn virus. At least not without a fight.

Luckily, though, the sword of Damocles did not plunge into my skull. I made it through the storm mostly unscathed, as did most of my closest friends and family. And I was granted a wonderful gift throughout the long months of quarantine: time.

Lots and lots of time.

Normally I would have fifty to sixty post-production projects in the pipeline, a mountainous stretch that would take most of my daylight hours to traverse. But with all of those projects moved to 2021, I found myself free to dive head first into my next novel, Queen of Rats.

The tale follows my first female protagonist, Ember Wellen, as she seeks revenge for the murder of her sister. I was banging out three pages a day without even looking up from the keyboard. My fingers were possessed and my mind was razor focused (having nothing else to do but worry about money and death will do that to you). I was completely at the service of the story, a translator and nothing more. It’s what I think all authors yearn for, those moments when one’s self no longer matters, when the muse takes over and carries you in strange and exciting directions. It’s the high we writers chase, the dragon’s tail we cling to with every new work.

And that’s how Queen of Rats, was born.

Well, sort of, anyway.

The idea was actually birthed several years ago, after I read a BBC news story about the sewers beneath London. Years and years of grease and fat runoff from restaurants and homes had congealed into what one journalist dubbed a ‘fatberg’. A foul, gelatinous mound consisting of every kind of foul nastiness humans have to offer. This utterly fascinated me. There was an entire world hiding beneath the city, a labyrinthian sprawl of rat infested tunnels clogged to the gills with baby-wipes and feces. And to my horror, men and women had to tread there, risking their lives daily so humanity could continue to flush their toilets and eat at McDonalds.

I knew right then and there who I had to write about. These were the people that fascinated me, the many plumbers, electricians, stewards, butlers, street cleaners and ditch diggers who make our world what it is today. Not the galant hero with long, flowing blond locks and a magical sword strapped to his back, or the invincible warrior who can strike down an army with a single blow.

Coming in April

I wanted to champion the worker and artist. The servants in the shadows who struggle to survive every day of their lives. I once read a quote from a well known sci-fi writer who said he would prefer to write about a plumber on a space ship, rather than the ship’s galant captain.

I couldn’t agree more.

These often overlooked characters are the flavor in my broth, the cheese in my calzone, the warriors who may lose the sword fight, but eventually win the war. I tried to embody this in Ember Wellin. I just hope I succeeded.

Perhaps someday I’ll switch gears and try my hand at creating the ultimate warrior. For now, though, I want to write about the musicians and plumbers, the artists and regular folk who dig the ditches and empty the privies so our civilization can press on. After all, they got us through a pandemic, those nameless, essential workers who risked their lives daily so I could flush my toilet and purchase my granola bars. That’s what really inspires me now.

Perhaps it will you, too.

-Chris Sendrowski

Source: Adventures in the digital wastelands: Video games, photos and rust

 

It’s no secret that I love video games. I have since the first time I saw Pitfall on the Atari 2600. Interacting inside another world is an amazing experience, one that I first tasted with the Choose Your Own Adventure books, which I ravenously devoured as a kid.  And since those days of multi-pathed novels and 8-bit wanderings, the game scene has changed quite a bit, from VR to photo-realistic graphics that consistently blow my mind.

But it’s the storytelling that has really impressed me these past few years. I’m not just talking about the game scripts and dialogue that carry one through these digital worlds; the character design and world building have become monolithic, the orchestral scores and sound design on par with the best Hollywood films. It’s a medium that has only recently begun to get the credit it deserves and I think from here on out it will become more powerful and desirable than any m0tion picture.

So to begin, I’ll name just a few of the games that have really blown my hair back.

Elder Scrolls Oblivion and Skyrim – To step into the shoes of a character and create him or her from the ground up is a powerful thing. Combine that with masterful writing in an enormous game world filled with hours of meticulously crafted lore, and you have something unbelievably special.  Where else can I become a thief or assassin, or venture into the depths of darkness to become a wandering vampire preying on whoever crosses my path? These games carry the same weight as a great film or novel, accept you are now writing the tale, guiding and working toward an outcome that is yet unknown. The Hitman series – This was and is my all time favorite game series.  You’re given almost no guidance as to how to take down your targets, and it’s that freedom which spawns numerous moments of pure adrenaline. Drop in some amazing ending moments, and you’re hooked into the moment, lock, stock and barrel. Fallout 3+4 – Like Oblivion and Skyrim, this is a game that is so large and layered, you could spend weeks simply roaming the landscape uncovering the countless story paths speckled throughout.  Wonderful writing coupled with amazingly dark and dreary atmosphere make for one of the most in-depth and engrossing game experience I’ve ever had. Battle Field 1 – This is probably the most realistic, intense first-person shooter I’ve ever played. Want to be in Saving Private Ryan? Well here you go. I can’t remember the last time I sat on the edge of my seat while playing a game. The battles are intense and the detail is outstanding. A truly interactive experience that really puts you in the shoes of the soldier.

Recently, I played through the PS4 title, Mad Max, beginning to end. A rare thing I sadly confess. But let me say, it was one of the most exciting experiences I’ve had in a video game in quite a while. Not only did the designers and writers build atop the world created in the George Miller films, but they let, me, the player, roam the wasteland as I saw fit. And what a fucking ride. Also, they included a little tool within the game to capture and create photographs of your adventures. Below are a few of my favorites, which my boys and I took while playing.

Mad Max

Mad Max

 

Mad Max_20170416170141

Mad Max

Mad Max

 

In the future, perhaps we’ll have control over the films we watch, or perhaps even the books we read. I can’t wait to see. But for now, the men and women working in the game industry definitely deserve some major credit for the outstanding and creative work they’ve been doing these past 30 years.

-Chris S

8/10/17

Normally publishing your first book is a time to celebrate, a time to look at oneself and breathe a sigh of satisfied relief, if just for a moment.  But even after hiring an editor and cleansing Dregs of the Culver Waste of its many flubs, even after re-publishing the new addition and completing the first draft of my next work, Haliden’s Fire, I feel little relief in sight.  I guess that’s what keeps me going as a writer, though.  The day I sit back with an air of self-satisfaction is the day I die as a creative individual.  It sucks, but it’s the way of it.  Standing on the edge of a cliff and staring down with self-loathing and anxiety: the fuel that pumps my engines.  But miraculously, in the end, it’s that same fear that gets the work done. It’s the driving force that keep me exploring my mind and hunting for the next tale.

I’m about to step away from Dregs for a time – a work that has been my creative life for almost seven years – and embark on my most personal novel to date.  I’m scared as hell to go through the entire gut-wrenching process again.  But I’m also excited as hell.  Haliden’s Fire is my new passion, my new lover and I’m still well into that blessed honeymoon phase.  I can’t wait to share it with someone, to get that first bit of feedback, negative or positive.  It’s been like a movie rolling over and over in my head, a tale so exciting and personally gut-wrenching that I have to share it with the world.

But it takes time to get there, so much time.  And so much self-doubt and fear.  You worry if people will like it, if it will resonate the same with them as it has you.  After all, it’s all about the reader’s experience, the reader’s enjoyment.  As a write, I don’t really care about anything else.  I hold no pretensions regarding my work or myself as an individual; I write for you, the reader, my reader.  So I put down the champaign glass and flatten my smile.  There’s no time to pat myself on the back.  It’s time to keep banging away at this keyboard.  Time to spit this new tale out into a world and hope someone gives a shit about it. Hopefully by year’s end, Haliden’s Fire will be ready for its maiden voyage.  Until then, come join me and stare into the abyss.  You never know what kind of tale you might find in that lonely, black expanse.

 

I’ve been writing for the past 2 years on my iPhone. That’s right.  The first draft of my upcoming novel will have been entirely crafted on a screen no larger than my cheek. Why is this important?  It’s not. What is important is it allowed me to find my groove, to find the right atmosphere to work in. And most importantly, it allowed me to be creative.

To step back, I wrote my first novel, Dregs of the Culver Waste, on a crappy laptop in my underwear, entirely at night, entirely alone.

And you know what… it sucked.

Not the novel – at least I don’t think so – but being alone. Being alone all the time, no sun, no life, no energy. And worst of all… the hemroids. Christ, if there’s ever a draw back to being a writer, it’s that.

But isn’t that the process of a lonely writer? Find a dark cave and tap away in solitary confinement until the book is done?

Hell no.

It took me 16 years to figure that out.  And do you know why I went wrong for so long?

Because I listened to other people.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 38 years, it’s to be very selective when taking advice. Experiment with your own ideas and desires before you stick yourself in a rut of someone else’s design.

I can’t tell you how many times I went against the grain in my other career as a videographer/editor and came out on top.

So my advice to you is simple: ignore my advice. Do it you’re own way and see what happens first.  If you’re a writer, write anywhere and everywhere until you find your groove. You dig typing in strip clubs?  Awesome.  It’ll be an expensive process, but if it works, hats off to you. Gas station bathroom? It’s free, so why not?  Apple Watch? Marble tablet?  A two hundred year old antique typewriter? Speak and Spell? Who really cares in the end. The romance of writing lies in the story, not the device upon which it was written. As long as the book gets done, work anywhere and on anything.

I’m free falling from 10,000 feet even as we speak.  That’s right.  And in a few minutes I’ll be sitting in the back row of some flop house carving the final draft of my next novel into a cigarette-burned tabletop.

As long as it gets the job done, who cares where or when you write, or on what device.

Just pick your own damn poison, wherever the hell you may be, and write me an awesome story.

 

Hi guys!  I just figured I’d reach out and let all of my visitors know that Dregs of the Culver Waste – Sand and Scrap will be available on Amazon.com for $0.99 indefinitely.  So check it out and strap in for ride.  I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.  Enjoy and happy reading!

When I began writing my first novel, Dregs of the Culver Waste – Sand and Scrap, I never intended for it to be more than one novel.  But as the years went by and my keystrokes grew longer, I soon realized I had a behemoth on my hands.  A fat, ungainly beast that no editor or agent would ever give the time of day to.

So I cut the sucker in half. I found the breaking point, the cliffhanger, and I cleaved the son of a bitch right down the center.  Now I had two novels, each running around 350-400 pages long.  Quite a bit for an unknown such as myself.

But two is better than one, right?  Or so I thought.  Little did I know another character named Haliden Stroke would rise from the toxic ashes of the wastelands and lure me away into a completely new, stand-alone novel. A novel which takes place on an entitely new continent with a completely new set of characters.

It was the first time something like that happened to me; a creative spark so hot I couldn’t put it out.  I’ll admit, my  life was falling apart at the time I began it, and something about this new character Haliden ignited a fire inside my gut. A fire so hot and welcome I could neither run from it nor ignore.  He was me, running from the fire, racing for one last chance at redemption.  And I had to tell his tale.

So here I am, about to finish a first draft on my next work, a little novel entitled Haliden’s Fire.  It’s set in the same world as Dregs of the Culver Waste, albeit on a different continent and with a completely new set of vagabonds and scoundrels.  I’ll release more as time passes, as drafts take shape and the book as a whole comes together.  For now, though, it will remain in the shadows, watching and absorbing any new inspirations that might venture near.

Now I know some people might say “Chris… you should have finished the sequel to Dregs first.”  But life just didn’t work out that way for me.  My muse pulled me in a new direction, and now, as I wait to see how Dregs fares with you, my readers, I prepare to finish a new work that will hopefully stand on its own.  It’s a strange decision to make as an author, to throw a break in a such a new series. But then again, nothing has ever been normal about my life.

So even though I cleaved Dregs of the Culver Waste in two and embarked on a completely new journey, the sequel is already more than half written, awaiting a first draft and then the hair-pulling months of rewrites that will naturally occur.

If you dig Sand and Scrap and are yearning for a bit more, never fear… a sequel is in the works.  But before it comes to pass, a little story entitled Haliden’s Fire will have to wet your whistle first.

Inspiration is strange sometimes.  It has a mind of its own, for better or worse, and drives us in all sorts of strange directions. It’s like the saying ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans.’

Sometimes the same can be said for a story, too.

An idea. It comes as a spark, a flicker, a tiny image that somehow gestates into an inferno, engulfing your life and imagination until it can’t be held back anymore.

Well, at least that’s how it happened for me.

I put pen to page – or in my case, finger to phone (yes, I write on my iPhone now) and it begins.  I know where I’m going, but rarely do I know how to get there.  That’s the thrill, though, the rush which keeps me going whenever I think I’m about to crash and burn.  And that was exactly how Dregs of the Culver Waste was born: in the fiery wreckage of a war.  But it was a war that never needed to be fought.

The dark journey began sometime back in 2005. It was my third attempt at a novel and first serious fantasy tale. I was a new writer, hungry, invigorated and inspired. I had finally found my genre and it had found me.  But life was getting in the way; I was in my mid twenties, a new father, a homeowner, an immature, selfish fool.  I thought the world was against me, it’s claws prying at the armor of my creativity and youth.  And perhaps it was.  But it’s the great inevitability of life, the cost of living, of being.  Either adapt or die.  But for whatever reasons, I choose death.

Not in the literal sense, but I sold a piece of myself to the devil.  I neglected family and business, I pulled into my world for weeks at a time, hoping to never leave.  I was holding onto the fire of youth, me versus the world and I refused to back down.

And you know what?  I was a fucking fool.

The world was there for the taking; every pitfall, every misery a new chapter to pen, an inspiration to draw from.  What I thought were roadblocks were really lessons to learn from, warts and all.  But I fought it and eventually lost.  A piece of my mind, my sanity, my relationship with my wife.  I sacrificed too much for too little.  And now that the war is over, now that I’ve won at all costs, I look back and wonder.  Could I have found the Culver any other way?

I don’t think so.  Sometimes we’re only given one road to travel, one beacon in the night for which to follow.  I wish mine had lead me down a different path, toward safer waters free of the things that go bump in the night.  But my path was through hell, the Culver itself, flame and fire, sand and scrap.  There was no choice in the matter.

So what’s my point here? you say.

Write your story, but don’t let it write you.  The demons around us are meant to be plucked and used as our armor.  Face life and let it flow around you.  Don’t run.  Don’t hide.  It’s coming, whether you want it or not. Use every cut, every ailment, every nervous twitch and anxious afternoon as the building blocks of your work.  Creativity can exist in a vacumme, but you have to learn how to navigate it.  Some things are better now for me, somethings not so much.  I took the hard road to learn my craft, and now this is the hand I have to work with.  It wasn’t my choice and I would do things differently now.  But here I am, the war won.  The book is done and now I’m standing amongst the wreckage, older, wiser and ready to do it the right way now.

Follow your fire, but don’t lose yourself to the flames.

That’s my advice to any authors who read this.