P.D. Haggerty's Blog

The International Criminal Conspiracy has been unleashed upon the world.

Or, at least the book of the same name.

Join the casts of The Lynx and Road Kill as they try to foil the plans of this evil organization, even while needing to work full-time jobs and somehow find time to plan Chris and Emily's wedding.

Emily was in love with her costume. Not as much as she loved Chris, but then there wasn’t really a love scale such things could be measured against. She’d already had the why do humans say they love both each other and hot dogs conversation with Hyperion and hoped it would never come up again.

The dress was as soft as Meagan had promised, the ensemble consisting of a wrap skirt and an open-front tunic top, belted at the waist and layered over a blouse of the same material. The fabric was a rich emerald green for Emily and burgundy for Meagan, both with patterns that Emily was sure held secret meanings. The whole was light and flowing, thoroughly Western, yet invoking the impression of a kimono which was reinforced by the cat animatronics. Meagan’s opinion was that impression was more important than reality, and significantly easier to pull off.

Now, standing in a roiling crowd of people dressed as everything from clowns to lions, to serial killers who, according to Wednesday Adams all looked like normal people, or in this case, normal suit-wearing business people.  She had to admit that Meagan had been right about them drawing attention, she’d expected Meagan to draw every eye in the room, but the weight of the stares cast her way was something she’d never expected to experience.

It was intoxicating, and, at the same time, and for the same reason, terrifying.

Hyperion stuck close, serving as their personal guard, even if he wouldn’t have admitted it, pressing up against their legs whenever they stood still and occasionally batting lazily at one of their tails, which elicited a good deal of laughter from those around them. His rumbles, purrs, and chirps went ignored by the press of people around him except for Meagan, who was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes at his private, always uncensored, and frequently profane monologue.

I just posted a new snippet on my website: https://pdhaggerty.com

Check it out. I hope it amuses.

First of all, it's late at night and I'm a bit crabby.

Second, social media isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I'm here, on Facebook, Goodreads, and Bluesky. I don't have the spoons to try to expand further as long as there is no indication that anyone out there is seeing anything I'm writing.

I've said multiple times that it looks like Facebook, Goodreads, and Bluesky have zero interest in promoting anything I have to say. I have dozens of followers and none of them ever respond to anything.

I write multiple posts (trying desperately to be witty) and only my wife ever responds with so much as a like. No reposts, no comments, nothing.

Is it that my posts are so uninteresting? Or is it that the platforms figure I'm not monetizable enough to bother showing to anyone?

I don't know.

I'll keep writing because it's something I enjoy. I'd just like a little feedback. Do my stories suck? Let me know, but at least tell me why. I've got a couple of 1-star ratings, but not a single word as to why.

If you like my books, I'm thrilled to accept your 5-star ratings with or without a reason because I'm hypocritical, not stupid.

Anyway, this is my once-a-month post which I expect to get absolutely no response.

Such is the world we live in.

I’m currently reading Book 6 of the Dungeon Crawler Carl books by Matt Dinniman. Binge reading would be more honest. Gayle’s starting to wonder if she still has a husband or just a lump in a chair with a book floating in front of his face.

Anyhoo, this isn’t really about the books although, given that I’m binge-reading them and already beginning to panic that Book 8 hasn’t been written yet, you might want to take that as a ringing endorsement. They’re even better than mine … damnit!

Carl is a fine character, but you all know Princess Donut is going to be my favorite. She and Hyperion have little in common besides their sarcasm and haughty disdain for any human they haven’t personally taken under their paw. And yet, I think the two would get along just fine.

But, the point of this post is to reflect on cultural references (if not outright appropriation). In the Dungeon Crawler Carl book, the people running the crawl have set up a scenario where people are sent to reconstructions of real-world places, and the monsters they’re required to fight are all “based on the myths and legends of the area”. Of course, the people who go to an area based on their homelands are all screaming at how inaccurate everything is. It’s as if someone read a Wiki article on Christmas and thought they’d be praised for their scholarly research by having Santa deliver gifts to baby Jesus.

“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.” – Mark Twain

I wrote multiple scenes of Road Kill at the University of Maine’s Orono campus and around the City of Bangor. I felt very confident as that’s where I lived and went to school. I could see it all in my mind’s eye. And got it all wrong. Because forty years is a very long time and the world doesn’t stand still like your memories.

This got me thinking about all those scenes in books and movies set in foreign (to us) cultures. How much research needs to be done? I certainly can’t afford to fly off across the world to drink in the ground truth. And I’m highly suspicious of whatever the internet has to say. It’s not exactly a curated official source.

Historians and scientists lie to people all the time. Not because they’re trying to spread lies, but rather because the truth is so damn complicated that most people can’t understand it without years of study. So better a simplified version that is wrong, but gets the point across, then nothing at all.

As children we’re taught the planets revolve around the sun in circles. But they don’t. Later, when we’re more prepared, we’re taught they go around the sun in ellipses. Better, but still false. There are perturbations caused by their moons and even by nearby planets. They’re tiny but given enough time they’ll diverge more and more from the simulations until they’re utterly useless. But the average person will never experience this and have no reason to give a fig, so tell them it’s an ellipse and move on.

When I was a teenager I did some basic (half-assed, barely skimmed the surface) research into Voodoo. And found everything I knew was based on Hollywood. Virtually nothing I “knew” was factual, including the name. The same for vampires, werewolves, and anything else the for-profit entertainment industry could get their hands on.

Reality is really freaking complicated.

I’m planning (hoping, dreading) to write a scene where Meagan and Hyperion go to Scotland for a couple of days. The only real truths I know of Scotland are based on when we went to Worldcon in 1995. There are two. One, I needed Gayle to translate Glaswegian English. And two, you absolutely want the salt and vinegar on your fish and chips. Everything else I get from movies and TV and I don’t trust them for a heartbeat.

So what am I going to do? I have three choices:

1) Fly over to Scotland and spend six months soaking in the culture and talking to the locals.
— Yeah, that ain’t happening.

2) Embark on a months-long deep dive investigation, burying myself at the library and chasing down obscure clues.
— Ditto. Not a chance.

3) Make it as absolutely vague as possible. Stick only to subjects that are part of the global hegemony. They have Starbucks and McDonalds. I’ll stick to those when they’re outside the airport. If I’m feeling daring I’ll look up the name of a pub so it sounds local, but still keep the descriptions downright nebulous.
— Bingo, we have a winner.

In the end, I know I don’t have the ability to “get it right” and I don’t want to insult people by getting the basic facts wrong about things I know nothing about, and they do. My characters are only going to be there for a few days, and the location isn’t really that important. It just had to be somewhere outside the US, and I really enjoyed the fish and chips.

But this does make me wonder about other authors and media creators. Do they set everything in areas they have personal experience in? Do they spend lots of money on research? Or do they wing it and hope either nobody notices, or at least nobody cares enough to point it out?

Here's a quick snippet that's been in my head for a very long time.  I don't know when this will show up, maybe not until book 5 or 6, maybe later. But this is, in fact, canon.
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The doorbell buzzed a third time and Meagan hurried to reach the door before it buzzed again. “I’m coming,” she said under her breath passing from the kitchen into the mudroom to reach the front door. “Hold your horses.”

She glanced at the security screen by the door, but the view was empty of enquirers. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, staring at the empty screen and the buzzer sounded again.

Unsure what she’d be facing, she lifted her cane off the coat rack and leaned on it. She didn’t need it for walking, but the carbon fiber shaft served as both a useful fashion and defense statement. She kept her thumb next to the switch that would energize the million-volt capable electrodes that covered the lower half and allowed the cane to double as a stun baton.

Safety first, especially when you didn’t know who was knocking on your door. Not many encyclopedia salespeople made it this far, but it was best to expect the annoying while preparing for the criminal.

Making sure she was balanced properly, she twisted the knob and swung open the large circular, hobbit-style door which revealed…

Meagan blinked in confusion.

“I hope this day finds you well and happy, human,” the large Eurasian lynx said in greeting. “It was easily five feet long, with silver fur and bright blue eyes.

“I believe my parent resides within this housing unit. Would you be so kind as to tell them I have arrived?”

Sometimes you need to listen to your characters.

Sometimes you need to listen very carefully.

Like, turn down the music and pay attention.

Don't just assume they're giving you crap about their place in the plotline.

Because while 99% of the time it's just whining, every now and then they have an idea worth listening to that might just solve the problem you've been dealing with for days.

But be prepared for them to be smug about it afterward.

The International Criminal Conspiracy has just passed 95,000 words. For reasons of plot and circumstance, Kaylee Trantor, age 17, a modern feminist, has been dropped into misogyny 101 land. She's not happy. Can Meagan explain why her protestations and declarations of modern privilege are not useful? Can she come to terms and learn how to fit in and not get her companions killed? Of course. This is a Hyperion and Meagan story where everything works out in the end, with humorous asides. Snarky in fact. If you want drama and historically accurate consequences, look up Tolstoy, Leo. Just be prepared to wade through a half-million words and end up being bummed out in the end. My interpretation? Who needs that noise? I'm trying to be entertaining, not accurate.

The orange tabby hissed at the canine brute, bristling his fur to maximum fluff, and tried backing away further although he was rapidly running out of alley.

He’d tried to use the trash containers as cover, but they’d proven far less useful than they’d smelled.

The monster barked again and growled malevolently as it inexorably advanced.

Running out of options, the tabby crouched, preparing a rush to get himself clear when — three humans apparated.

They didn’t enter the alley, they just were suddenly there when a second before they were not.

It was like when something is spilled on the floor and you get a good sniff of it, but before you can get more than a couple of licks, your human magically appears, picks you up, and hauls you away, no matter how much you struggle.

Humans, despite providing shelter, food, and warm laps, were really annoying in that respect.

He would have to admit to being surprised. Certainly, the dog was as well, the growls fading into something of a confused whine.

“Get lost!” one of the humans yelled at the dog, raising her arms as if she could make herself look Big. Bigger.

She took a step toward the dog, but didn’t seem inclined to get too close. Probably for the best. He was an obvious biter and even humans could be smart on random days.

“Do you have everything?” the second human said, apparently to the third human.

“All set. It’s a pity Hyperion didn’t come. He’d have some choice words for the dog.”

“Hyperion would eat him.”

“Hmm, can’t say I’d blame him — for once.”

The third human moved closer to the second, who held up her hand, even as the dog decided he’d had enough, and raced back toward the street.

“Not too close. I could flash back at…”

The second human vanished but the third human, unlike the tabby, didn’t seem to find this surprising in the least.

“Yeah. Love you too.”

The first human looked at the tabby and smiled that weird tooth-baring smile they all had. Frankly, it still freaked him out, even when it was just his elderly human servant who only had teeth for part of the day.

“Good deed done. Shall we go save the world?”

The third human walked casually down the alley, with the first human falling in beside him.

“Could we stop and get a coffee?”

They didn’t seem threatening and were leaving him alone, but the tabby decided he’d had enough anyway. But while racing down the alley, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be able to understand the weird gibbering noises the humans made. They certainly did a lot of it. But it didn’t really matter and was quickly forgotten.

He was, after all, absurdly late for his lunch and a long mid-morning nap on his windowsill.

Hyperion explains certain truths of his life:

After all these years, you’d think I’d have a better grasp of how the human mind works. While I know I have improved, your species is still a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, holding a machine gun with a hair trigger.

I’ll spend considerable time working on a conversation. The plan is to give you a cheerful A, to which you’ll respond with B, to which I’ll reply with a witty C and, finally, you’ll concede my point with a comradely D. Once I’ve examined it from all sides for any possible flaws, I’ll approach you with a cheerful A, to which you’ll reply How dare you? You monster! Get out of my sight!

And, being human, and a known point of sanity and goodness, I know you must be right. But I’ll still be damned if I know why.