W.H. Lock's Blog

Y’all, every once in a while, something happens that makes me go “wait, what? Me?!?”

One of those just recently happened. I was interviewed for the Author of the Day on Manybooks.net!

Being a writer is a lonely job. I used to think it meant that as a writer you spent so much of your time observing and considering human behavior that you rarely spent time to just enjoy the moment and be present.

Turns out, no, being a writer is spending an incredible amount of time sitting in front of a computer typing. It’s a lonely job because you’re alone for most of doing it.

Yeah, I have some crazy ideas sometimes.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, yeah! Being a writer means being alone a lot of the time and when someone says “hey, would you like to be interviewed?” it comes as kind of a shock. Why would anyone want to talk to lil ol me?

Which is exactly why you should read the interview where I talk about my latest release A Blood Moon Swindle! You’ll find out how Quinn actually took over the story from what I had planned.

No, really, that happened. Quinn took over the story one time.

Check it out!

The post I got interviewed! appeared first on W.H. Lock.

Here it is- the first chapter of A Blood Moon Swindle!

Quinn jumped up in the air and landed in time with the heavy bass line of AC/DC’s Back in Black. Behind him, floating along in the air, was his Circle of Cerddoriaeth. Quinn had filled the aquamarine magical circle with as much music as he could find and connected it to his emotions. That way it would play the music that matched his mood.

Over time, it had developed a sentience and tonight, it perfectly matched his mood and played the Australian rocker anthem just after he’d struck a deal with Mammon, Hell’s Prince of Greed. Quinn kick stepped down the street while playing an air guitar just like Angus Young, AC/DC’s guitarist.

While Quinn’s air guitar skills were like his dancing, on point, his singing left a lot to be desired. Quinn’s singing relied on enthusiasm rather than any natural talent or skill. When the song ended, the circle thoughtfully played a thunderous applause. Quinn threw the air guitar out into the invisible crowd and took a bow. He slapped and rubbed his hands together. He snapped his fingers and fired off some finger guns into the darkness.

“Okay!” He said to no one. “Time to save the world, and a killer idea to stop a renegade archangel and his minions from destroying the world… go!” Quinn spun around and pointed at the empty air in another direction.

Nothing happened.

“Hey, this is just brainstorming. No terrible ideas here,” Quinn said to the empty space. “And we will come up with the plan to save the world… now!” Quinn pointed off to the side into the darkness of the street.

The other side of the Savannah, Georgia street didn’t have an answer for Quinn either.

Three women roller skated down the middle of the street. They wove back and forth, moving between each other with an easy skill. They kicked and strutted to the music that Quinn’s circle played as they rolled down the road.

The lead woman, a pale blonde with her hair flowing behind her like a 70s dream, skated along. On her shirt was a print of a massive oak tree. She smiled at Quinn over the rim of her enormous round glasses. She broke from their path down the street to circle around Quinn. She stayed just out of arm’s reach.

Behind her skated an Asian woman. She was small and precise. She skated with the confidence of endless practice. Her shirt had a woman pouring out an old jug of water. The water formed a stream at the woman’s feet. She turned easy and languorous circles without losing her forward momentum. As she circled around Quinn, she ran her hands from her hips up her body to her shoulders. She flared her hands out above her head.

The last was a woman of African descent, with her hair pulled up into a curly and barely contained Mohawk. She skated through the night with the power of the naturally talented athlete. Her cream ribbed tank top had red sheers printed on the front. She trailed her hands through the air, moving her fingers with the currents. 

The three women circled around Quinn, skating and turning in time to a song only they could hear. Quinn was very aware of the sweltering heat of Savannah. As they passed in front of him, each one met his eyes. And then without a word, they peeled off back into the night, pushing to gain speed. None of the three women looked back as they rolled away. The darkness of the Savannah night swallowed them, one at a time, leaving no trace that they had ever been there.

Quinn stood still for a minute, hoping the ladies would come back. When they didn’t, he let his breath out and sighed.

“Well, I don’t see how three roller skating women will help me save the world, so let’s get something else on the table.” Quinn snapped out some finger guns again.

From behind Quinn, there was a sloping sound of something wet hitting the pavement.

Quinn closed his eyes and bowed his head. He didn’t want to turn around to see what was blobbing into existence. He wanted the three women to come back. They seemed like a lot of fun. He didn’t want to deal with whatever it was gurgling itself into shape behind him. With a sigh, Quinn turned around to see something pull itself free of a membrane egg sack.

“Gross,” Quinn said. In his time in Hell, he’d seen plenty of these creatures. It was a Winged Horror. Winged Horrors were skeletal bird-like creatures covered in a droopy black tar skin. Every so often bones would poke as glistening black skin as bits dropped off the Winged Horror. Fortunately, they weren’t any smarter than a stupid bird.

They also weren’t powerful enough to come through the barrier between Hell and the world on their own. Something or someone had to bring it through.

“Don’t you love my pet,” a man asked.

Quinn turned to his left. A man wearing a tight leather bodysuit tastefully wrapped in barbed wire stood on the other side of the alley. The Winged Horror pulling itself from its egg sack.

“It will feast on your body as I watch,” the freak said as he bit his lip. He ran his hand down to his crotch to give it a squeeze. He giggled in anticipation.

“Pal,” Quinn said. “I am not in the mood for this. Why don’t you get you and your freak parrot back to Hell before I send you there?”

The man laughed in time with the Winged Horror’s shriek. The minor Hellish creature reared up on its back legs and spread out its skeletal wings. The black tar-like skin stretched out to form sagging wing membranes. Little globs of the skin dropped off the bird creature and hit the concrete with a sizzle.

Quinn sighed. He had first fought Winged Horrors when he’d started fighting in the pits in Hell. When he had first started fighting in the pits, he would fight them in small groups. In his head, he called the small groups of Winged Horrors a goop. The downside of Winged Horrors, they were too stupid to be distracted by illusions, which was Quinn’s greatest strength. But Quinn had more up his sleeve than a few tricks.

Quinn whispered and gestured into being a Crimson Chain of Chast, a holding spell he’d learned from Oscar. The glowing aquamarine chain sprang up from the ground to wrap around the throat of the Winged Horror. Quinn’s musical circle flared brightly and jumped straight into DMX’s X Gonna Give It To Ya.

The thing squawked as the magical chain wrapped around its throat. The creature pulled against the chain, flapping its goo-skeletal wings to generate lift and leverage to get free. Black viscous goo splattered as the beast flapped its wings harder and harder.

Quinn turned to face the leather-bound man. Quinn twirled his hand through the air, curling his fingers as he turned his hand to bring out a Circle of Hunllef. He added a Rune of Arswyd to the circle. It flared with a wicked intent, and Quinn threw the arcane circle at the face of the man.

The Circle of Hunllef with the added rune would show the recipient their darkest and most gruesome fear being enacted over and over again.

The man stopped in mid-stride as the Circle of Hunllef hit him in the face. He stared into the Circle, watching his darkest fear play out. He groaned with desire. His hand traced its way up to his chest and pinched one of his exposed nipples.

“Oh, you’re gross,” Quinn said. He strode forward and summoned his Wind Blade. The weapon of a fairy knight was powerful. It could cut through just about any substance in the mortal, or any other world. The neck of a Winged Horror offered no resistance to the blade.

The headless body flopped to the ground, ichor spilling out of the neck onto the cement of the sidewalk. It continued to flap its wings. The butt rose into the air as the neck plowed along the sidewalk, leaving a trail of green blood as it pushed along. Quinn took a quick step forward and kicked the body out into the street.

The headless body tried to flap its wings, somehow sensing that it was now airborne, just in time to be run over by an approaching limo. The shiny black body popped as the car ran it over. The green ichor exploding to coat the underside. The skeletal body got caught in the front grill of the limousine. One wing spur was jabbed into the car, holding the body up as it was dragged along by the car.

Quinn turned his attention to the freak in the leather suit.  He was on his knees now, hand furiously pumping inside his pants, masturbating to whatever horror was being presented to him by Quinn’s Circle. Quinn dispelled the Circle a moment before kicking the freak in the head.

The leather and barbed wire-clad rocked back from Quinn’s kick. Blood burst on his face from his broken nose. He groaned in disappointment as the vision of his greatest and darkest fear disappeared.

Quinn grabbed the freak by the back of his head and said, “I don’t give a damn who sent you. Whatever this is?” Quinn punched the freak in the face. “It ends. Got that?” Quinn punched him again. “Do you understand me?”

Quinn punched the freak in the face one more time and then threw him to the ground. He walked over to where the head of the Winged Horror was still on the ground. He pulled the pocket square he’d stolen from Mammon, the Prince of Greed, out of his jacket coat and grabbed the head.

“My dark prince will destroy-,” the man blurted through bloodied lips.

Quinn threw the severed bird-like head and hit the man in the mouth with it. As the man spit the mixture of his blood, the Winged Horror’s black skin goo and green ichor from his mouth, Quinn closed the distance again and grabbed him by the back of his head. Quinn pulled him up to a half sitting position.

“Listen to me!” Quinn gave him a shake. “If I see you again, I will do more than kill your pet bird. Go back and tell all the freaks, that if I see any of you following me, I kill everyone. Got it?” Quinn shook him again.

The limousine pulled to a stop on the road next to Quinn and the leather freak. Quinn took the opportunity and dragged the other man across the sidewalk. Quinn bounced his head off the side of the car. The leather and barbed wire-clad man fell to the ground with a groan.

A well-dressed white man from the heart of the corporate world stepped out of the back of the limo. He was about the same age as Quinn. He calmly looked at the leather-clad freak weeping over the severed head of the Winged Horror. He turned to Quinn and asked, “Having problems with Damned Ones?”

Quinn looked the man in the eyes. “No. Why do you ask?”

The man looked at the leather freak on the ground. The other man was pulling himself along the concrete, making cooing crying sounds at the severed head of the Winged Horror. He turned back to Quinn and said, “Our lord mentioned that you might need transportation and refreshment. He didn’t mention that you would also need to clean up. I believe you’re already staying at our Lord’s townhouse. Shall we retire there?”

Quinn smiled and said, “That sounds great! I could use a shower. Let’s go. What’s your name again?”

The other man held the door open for Quinn. He waited until Quinn was settled inside the limousine before getting in himself.

“My name is Edwin Thornton, Herald.”

“Call me Quinn, Ed,” Quinn said out of reflex. He dug through the small liquor cabinet. He poured himself a bit of the brown liquid. He offered some to Edwin.

“My name is Edwin,” Edwin said as he shook his head no. He pulled out a phone and tapped on it before putting it back down in his lap. They rode in silence as the limo took them back across town. Quinn was unsurprised to find himself back at the townhouse he and Del had shared in Savannah. She had said it belonged to her boss, after all.

Ready for more? Buy it now!

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Hey.

So, there’s this pandemic thing going on right now. You’ve probably noticed.

Anyway. I can’t help with the medical stuff. I don’t have money to donate to charities or causes that will help those in need.

But I can do something. I’ve written a bunch of stories and sell them on Amazon. I’ve made them all free for the next few days. From March 22nd to March 24th, to be exact.

If you have an Amazon Kindle, you can download them all for free.

They’re not the best written books in the history of literature. But they’ll entertain you for a few hours while you stay home.

Download them here: https://whistlelock.com/stayhome

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Pretty kick ass! Gideon is a ton of fun. She’s kick ass (and not a man with boobs).

I felt the mystery element to it was a bit contrived to be able to deliver the twist.

The scifi setting seemed…superfluous? You could replace all of that with kingdoms/castles and some horses. No, I’m serious. There’s nothing about the sci-fi setting that impacts this story. You could put this in a fantasy realm, where each kingdom was exactly the ones in the book.

What is really great about this book is Gideon. She’s an anti-ish hero. Very modern person in her internal monologue and dialogue.

But, yeah. Check this one out. It’s pretty good.

The post Gideon the Ninth appeared first on W.H. Lock.

IT’s clearly heavily influenced by Dune. That’s great stuff. Classic sci-fi/fantasy noble caste system. Based loosely on an idealized greek/roman medieval feudalism kinda thing. There’s an emperor. An oppressive church. All the fun space opera stuff. It’s set as a massive flashback of Space Hitler telling his origin story. 

It’s got the same problem that The Name Of The Wind from Patrick Rothfuss has. The protag is great at everything he does. Nothing requires effort from him. His Space Opera Hero status is wholly unearned. When he does make a mistake it’s forced on him by the narrative in order to move him to the next episode. 

Like the most egregious of this is when he’s a beggar in the streets. His best friend dies of a convenient plague that he’s immune to. He weighs her down with some rocks to bury her at sea. And walks away to the coliseum to fight in the games and be a space gladiator. Where he literally says “why didn’t I think of this before over the last 2 years?” 

It’s just- ugh, really? 

And he almost gets out of space gladiator status by stealing his dad’s credit to buy a ship. Which at this point, he’s been in hiding/poor for three years? When you’re hungry, you get REAL creative on how to come up with more money. 

Being able to steal your dad’s credit card without being caught to buy a space ship would be like #1 on how to get off this planet right now. 

Oh, hey, while we’re on the subject of space ships. Time is really handled weird here. First it’s “space travel takes time” so people get put in freeze sleep where they’re held until they arrive and they’re woken up.

Standard slower-than-light space travel stuff.

Except… later on people are talking about how they used to travel around all the time when they were younger. And they make a big deal about how old you are and how that’s different than the number of years that have passed since you were born.

And then they don’t make a big deal out of it and everyone talks about space travel like it’s Sci-Fi FTL Star Wars kinda traveling. It really gets to the heart of how an interstellar empire requires faster than light travel because when it takes centuries to get anywhere, it really doesn’t retain cohesion.

If you like Dune style space opera there’s some good stuff in here for you. If you like Kvothe and that series of books- you’re GONNA LOVE THIS. 

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Thanks for making your selection for the next Jack Story novel A Long Hard Time.

Jack Story is a private detective in a city full of heroes but sometimes the bad guys need help.

Seven years ago The Maw, a minor player on the black cape side of the game, went to prison. The cops found a body in the trunk of his car. Since the arrest happened when the Maw wasn’t on the job, he went to jail.

But now The Maw is out.

He doesn’t want revenge. He doesn’t want payback. He just wants to find his old flame. She had been writing him letters every month for 6 years. Now the Maw wants to find the love of his life, get married, and have a normal life.

The Maw hires Jack to find that old flame.

Except that old flame disappeared that same night seven years ago when the Maw was found with an extra body. No one seems to have noticed or cared that she went missing that night.

The body in the trunk might have been one of the most powerful superheroes the world has ever seen. A hero that is still active today.
Who was the dead body in the trunk? If they were that hero, how is that hero still active today? Why did the old flame disappear? Where did she go? Who was writing all those letters? Why didn’t the cops investigate an apparent murder and disappearance?

And why does everyone want to make this case disappear?

Can Jack uncover the truth or will he end up the way everyone else in case has: disappeared?

As a gift for you- here are 4 artists that I listen to when I write a Jack Story novel. So…enjoy!

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Red Rising is the first in sci-fi series by Pierce Brown published by Random House. It’s a fun read but it’s really by the numbers dystopian fiction.

You’ve got the super smart handsome protagonist being raised in poverty/obscurity. Then they discover that everything they knew about the world was totally wrong; the rich people are super rich and don’t care about the poor people. And the rich people are rich because they exploit the poor people with lies and fear.

Then made up to look like a richie rich and gets sent of to summer murder camp where all the rich kids murderize each other.

Of course, he meets a nice girl. They kinda fall in love sorta thing but they’re not 100% on it.

He wins the murder games but it’s just a set up for the even bigger murder games in the next book.

Oh, it all takes place on a terraformed Mars. But the murder games is old school sticks, stones, and aggression. ‘Cause you can’t be a rich jerk that exploits the working class unless you’ve strangled someone?

I dunno.

Why 4 Stars instead of 5?

Because I’m not that into murder camp books. They’re kinda fun. I like to see rich people murder each other just as much as the next economically exploited proletariat. But. A lot of it is forced to move the story along to get to murder camp. There’s a whole section about the family and the original love interest that is super rushed. The conversion to the wild-eyed revoltionary was also too fast.

Clearly, this is cut short to get the protagonist into murder camp, because that’s where most of the story takes place.

But…

I really feel that the novel suffers for it. I think it would be okay to spend some more time at home. Get to know the family a bit more. You know?

So, if you’re into the Hunger Games model of dystopian fiction, you should pick this up.

It’s got named cliques. It’s got poor people being exploited. It’s got rich people with kids. It’s got rich kids murdering each other. It’s got an unbelievably handsome and talented protagonist that’s super good at everything but he’s got this 1 flaw that actually helps him in the end.

So, if you love books about dystopian murder camp for teens, you’re gonna love Red Rising.

The post Red Rising appeared first on W.H. Lock.

Okay.  So. Game of
Thrones.

It’s finally over.  6  amazing seasons and 2 really good ones.

I can understand that a lot of people found the ending to be…less
than satisfying.  I think it would be
really easy to feel short changed by the sudden ending for some of the
characters. 

Because Game of Thrones is still an epic fantasy and there
are certain tropes that you have to abide by. And one of those is that the Dark
Lord is defeated at the end.

I’m not talking about the Night King.  I’m talking about Daenerys Stormborn of the
Houe Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the
First Men, The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdomes and Protector of the
Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Mareen, Khaleesi fo the Great Grass Sea,
the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, regent of the realm and  the Queen of Ash.

But let me get back to tropes.  I’ve read a lot of epic fantasy over the
years. There’s always a dark lord. There’s always disparate human (and other
races) forces that don’t want to work together. The dark lord is always coming
from the east or the south. They’ve always got a great big huge scary army and
monsters.

There’s always a noble lord from the north or the west. He’s
always doing the right thing. Despite being a feudal lord, he totally believes
in truth and justice.  And he’s super
humble. He’s probably got a prophecy or Great Destiny going on too.

He unites the disparate kingdoms of the good people. They join
together for an epic battle against darkness. Then there’s a big fight between
Prince Good Guy and the Dark Lord.

There’s the North.  We
have the crazy ice zombie Other’s out there. They’re led by the Night King.

Then there’s Ned. He always does the right thing. Except one
time he did the wrong thing and cheated on his wife. But right after that he
does the right thing and brings that bastard home to raise with his other kids.

For the first book, Ned is the man. He’s hitting all the
beats for the Noble Prince who will unite the human kingdoms and defeat the
evil ice zombies from beyond the wall.

And then he gets his head cut off.

That’s when Martin tells you that everything you think you know about epic fantasy needs to get tossed out the window. None of what you expect to happen is going to happen.

We watched Daenrys go from a scared girl being used as a bargaining piece to the leader of the Dothroki. From there she moved up to leveling cities and taking over whole sections of Essos.

Every step of the way, when she would be stopped or denied what she wanted, Daenrys would say that she was going to take what belonged to her, because it was her right, and she would burn and kill anyone who stood in her way.

Which is exactly what she did in every season.

The great trick that Martin pulled was that for book after book/ season after season, we watched the rise of a Dark Lord and cheered for her every step of the way. We agreed that those bad people over there needed to be torched, killed, or brutally crucified.

But it was always there. She was always a conqueror, not a ruler. She would kick over a city, take it over, and then rule based on whim. And whe it got complicated and messy, she peaced out to kick over another anthill on her way to Westeros.

She was always going to set out to conquer the world with Fire & Blood. It always was an Epic Fantasy story, just not being told the way we expected it to be told.

And in Epic Fantasy, the Dark Lord always loses.

Always.

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it loses something that the first one had. I dunno what it is, but there’s something missing from this one that the first one had in spades. 

The idea that the gender of the body was different than the gender of the person. Specifically, one character remarks that he has a woman’s body and that other officers mock them about it. Another character makes a remark that it’s not that uncommon to see trans people. 

Which is a good detail for a world but holy crap, it seems like that should have come up sooner in the first book. 

Because the first book showed that this is a society of gender equality. That the POV character was a female had no bearing in the decision by her superior officers in her suitability for the job. And having trans people be a source of scorn in a genderless world seems weird. Like that’s an important detail that should be explored. 

Except it’s not. It’s casually mentioned a few times in the earlier chapters and then poof. It’s a detail that gets lost. 

But like I said, it’s a good book. Just not as good as the first one. 

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Okay, so this goes back to my first year in college at Texas State University in San Marcos. I’d started with a degree plan of Business Administration with a vague idea of “going into business or something.”

Yeah, it was not the brightest idea I’ve ever had.

All right, funny story; the campus at Texas State is built on/between the crest of two hills. So, no matter which what you’re walking on campus it’s uphill. Yeah, when I went to school I literally had to walk uphill. BOTH WAYS.

Back to the regular story: part of the business degree plan involved accounting. Yeah, I know. Accounting! Thrills! Excitement! Lots of spreadsheets! So, thrilling that I missed a fair share of class.

Well, to paraphrase Office Space I wasn’t exactly missing it.

About halfway through the semester on one of the days I made it to class, the professor tells me he wants to speak with me after class. And I’m like, well that’s never good.

Once class let out he said, “How long do you think I’ve been teaching accounting?”

“I dunno,” I said. “A few years?”

“Eleven,” he said. “I’ve seen just about every type of student there is. I can tell you’re not doing the outside work. But you’re smart enough you’re teaching it to yourself every day you come in here. You’ll get a solid C.”

To be honest; he was right. I wasn’t doing much of the outside reading if any. Occasionally, I did the out-of-class work to reinforce what was happening in class. Really, I was doing just enough to fake my way.

“But that’s not enough,” he said. “You’re paying for this. What you’re doing here should inspire you to wake up early every morning and say, ‘I can’t wait to get to class today!’ Now, for the project that’s due on Monday. I’ve already marked you down for an A so don’t bother trying to do it. Instead, I want you to think about what will inspire you to stay up late studying every night and get up early to talk about it the next day. Whatever that is, pursue it aggressively. Oh and have a good weekend.”

He was the best teacher I’ve ever had.

Walking out of his class, I knew what I had to do. There wasn’t a choice about it. I walked straight across campus to Flowers Hall, the home of the English department. I changed my major to English with a focus in Fiction Writing. I had always dreamed of being a writer, and damn it, I was going to take his advice!

Which really worked out for me. Texas State has this amazing writing program at the undergraduate and graduate level. I got exposure to some amazing writers and input on how to improve my writing.

I got up early every morning to get to class. I stayed late every night because it was so much fun.

Next time I’ll tell you about how I switched from writing literary fiction to genre fiction. It involves me shouting “That’s Bullshit!”

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