Mid-Lich Crisis: Behind The Scenes
I’m Steve Thomas and I like writing weird books. Mid-Lich Crisis is my seventh book, and it’s weird, even by my standards.
Like so many ideas, this one evolved from a very different concept. One piece of writing advice that stuck with me is that a good way to plan a character arc is this: First, establish what a character is good at. Then, make him do something else. I thought about how I could apply that to a villain protagonist in a funny story, and came up with the idea of an evil wizard who finally finds the key to immortality, but it comes with the stipulation that he can’t ever kill again, even indirectly. Simultaneously, he hates his arch-nemesis and wants him dead so incredibly much that his arch-nemesis, a classic fantasy hero, also gains immortality. The two of them would have to figure out what to do with themselves now that their rivalry could never be resolved.
As I thought about it, something about that concept wasn’t quite working for me. I eventually decided that the story would be more interesting if my villain protagonist, who by that point had picked up the name Darruk Darkbringer, made a conscious decision to stop killing--it’s often better when restrictions come from within a character than from external and arbitrary sources. From there, I came up with the concept of Darruk having a midlife crisis, and I was off and running.
So why do I say this story is weird? It doesn’t have a whole lot in common with the high-octane romp of Klondaeg or the gloomy cosmic horror of The Sangrook Saga. It’s a more introspective, character-driven book. Ultimately, it’s about perception. It’s about the friction between how we see ourselves and how we think the world sees us. Does Darruk want to be a better person, or does he merely want to be seen as a better person, and can he tell the difference? When you look back at your life, do you ever stop and think, “Wow, I was the asshole in that story,” or do you stand by your past decisions? It’s in a lot of ways a story born of my own baggage and insecurities packaged up in a twisted immorality play.
I also took a slightly different approach to the comedy in this one. There’s a little more cringe humor thanks to Darruk’s self-delusion, and it’s structured as a parody of the redemption arc and the loveable screw-up subgenre of fantasy. It’s more introspective and I made an effort not to be “on” all the time. I wanted to give the story and character development more time to breathe. So while the jokes may not be flying as fast, I hope they carry more weight this time around.
I realize as I wrap this up that I’m not selling this as a comedy at all, so here’s a few things you can expect beyond the navel-gazing and self-hatred: mischievous kobolds, glam-rock samurai, Darruk’s estranged wife who is completely over all the human sacrifice attempts, and a bizarre cross between Medieval football and Quidditch.
Like so many ideas, this one evolved from a very different concept. One piece of writing advice that stuck with me is that a good way to plan a character arc is this: First, establish what a character is good at. Then, make him do something else. I thought about how I could apply that to a villain protagonist in a funny story, and came up with the idea of an evil wizard who finally finds the key to immortality, but it comes with the stipulation that he can’t ever kill again, even indirectly. Simultaneously, he hates his arch-nemesis and wants him dead so incredibly much that his arch-nemesis, a classic fantasy hero, also gains immortality. The two of them would have to figure out what to do with themselves now that their rivalry could never be resolved.
As I thought about it, something about that concept wasn’t quite working for me. I eventually decided that the story would be more interesting if my villain protagonist, who by that point had picked up the name Darruk Darkbringer, made a conscious decision to stop killing--it’s often better when restrictions come from within a character than from external and arbitrary sources. From there, I came up with the concept of Darruk having a midlife crisis, and I was off and running.
So why do I say this story is weird? It doesn’t have a whole lot in common with the high-octane romp of Klondaeg or the gloomy cosmic horror of The Sangrook Saga. It’s a more introspective, character-driven book. Ultimately, it’s about perception. It’s about the friction between how we see ourselves and how we think the world sees us. Does Darruk want to be a better person, or does he merely want to be seen as a better person, and can he tell the difference? When you look back at your life, do you ever stop and think, “Wow, I was the asshole in that story,” or do you stand by your past decisions? It’s in a lot of ways a story born of my own baggage and insecurities packaged up in a twisted immorality play.
I also took a slightly different approach to the comedy in this one. There’s a little more cringe humor thanks to Darruk’s self-delusion, and it’s structured as a parody of the redemption arc and the loveable screw-up subgenre of fantasy. It’s more introspective and I made an effort not to be “on” all the time. I wanted to give the story and character development more time to breathe. So while the jokes may not be flying as fast, I hope they carry more weight this time around.
I realize as I wrap this up that I’m not selling this as a comedy at all, so here’s a few things you can expect beyond the navel-gazing and self-hatred: mischievous kobolds, glam-rock samurai, Darruk’s estranged wife who is completely over all the human sacrifice attempts, and a bizarre cross between Medieval football and Quidditch.
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