My, this tweet about Iran didn’t age well

And the Toddler is lying that the new memorandum of understanding with Iran amounts to unconditional surrender. If it did, we’re the ones who surrendered. Giving them $300 billion which is waaay more than they got under the Obama agreement the Toddler abandoned. Something even Republicans in Congress are pointing out. Hell, the Toddler’s hinting that if it goes south, he’ll blame Vice President Vance. Ben Shapiro is happy to blame the turkey on Vance. MAGA podcaster, jackass and Kremlin sock-puppet (allegedly unwittingly) Benny Johnson thinks everyone who doesn’t support the Toddler’s decisions should shut the hell up. NYT right-wing pundit and warhawk Bret Stephens insists the Toddler could have won it, rather than admitting everything the president did was in character. Sen. Lindsay Graham insists it’s an insult to the military to say Iran came out ahead and predicts we’ll soon take the Straits of Hormuz from Iran.

The Toddler has been whining for a couple of months about Republican voters who don’t love him enough. I’m sure this will add to the burden on his snowflake fee-fees. By contrast, he has zero remorse for bombing an Iranian girls’ school and no interest in accepting responsibility. He’s much more invested in punishing the meany poopyheads who spoiled his latest precious, the reflecting pool. Unsurprisingly he’s lying that the pool’s current problems can be blamed on Obama, the media and Biden. Certainly not little baby Donny.

All that said, it’s in our interest (and our bottom line) and Iran’s to end this. But will we? At first we couldn’t even set up the initial talks. At LGM, Robert Farley said last week the obstacles to successful negotiations — including that the current memorandum of understanding only gives us two months — are probably too great. As witness that on the weekend, the Toddler was already ranting about occupying Iran or imposing tolls on the Straits (in between melting down over the reflecting pool). And committing a major diplomatic no-no, threatening Iranian envoys.

Unfortunately even the Toddler, for all his bluster about unconditional surrender, may be aware that he’s failed miserably (though he’s also declared he’s now the most powerful man in all history). And unlike normal people he never retreats to plan or lick his wounds — so what stupid thing will he do next? One possibility: take Cuba. It might be an easier win and he’d then focus on his status as the Great Conqueror and forget Iran ever happened. Or maybe he’ll go back to taking Canada to stop the (non-existent) waves of Iranian terrorists crossing the Canadian border.

One thing we opponents should do next: make him pay a political price! Criticizing his abysmal peace negotiations is not the same as being pro-war; pointing out he’s ended it badly does not make someone pro-war. Nor does ending it make him a man of peace: “Trump is in fact an unhinged bloodthirsty warmonger and anyone who says differently is lying”

Switching to another Toddler controversy, here’s an NYT report assessing the evidence Jeffrey Epstein killed himself, and concluding he did. That was my initial assumption, which changed after reading Perversions of Justice; perhaps I was right the first time. Either way, we still need to know whose names are in the Epstein files.

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Southern Discomfort: Ave Maria!

Even after setting Southern Discomfort in 1973 (as I mentioned last week) my protagonists didn’t seem to catch fire. They didn’t work for me at all.

In the very first draft (again, as I blogged about last week), my protagonist was a tough guy, marginally legal, from the Big Apple. A Southern friend from Pharisee County brought him south after Aubric McAlister’s murder to help find the killer. Several drafts later, my hero became a woman radical in the 1970s. She’d been part of an anti-war terrorist group, though strictly bombing buildings, no killing innocents. When they decided to cross that line she called the cops. That left her completely isolated — the authorities didn’t trust her, her friends on the left thought she was a traitor. Her one remaining friend, a Southerner from Pharisee, invites her south when he heads home for Aubric’s funeral. Not to help with the case but to get her somewhere nobody would know her so she could chill for a while.

I finally realized the main reason none of these characters worked. In most of the drafts they learned the secret of Pharisee — it’s run by a pair of centuries-old elves — in the first couple of chapters. Plus having a buddy to guide them into the county’s mysteries gave them someone to lean on. That reduced the pressure, at least initially. It made them too comfortable.

Second lieutenant Maria Esposito is not comfortable. You can tell from the cover.

The difference from my earlier protagonists is that she’s never comfortable, not from the first moment we see her. The incident three years ago in which she stopped Vietnam Veterans For Justice from committing a murder went horribly wrong: it turned into a firefight that wiped out everyone but her (later I changed that to add a couple more survivors). Despite trying to stop the murder, it was added to the charges against her for previous terrorist acts. She relies on a fake driver’s license, never gives her real name and tries not to attract attention, though her dark Sicilian skin and kinky hair make that hard at times. She’s almost completely isolated from the people around her — a common theme in my writing is emotionally cutoff people learning to reconnect.

Even though she’s on a Greyhound bus full of passengers, she’s effectively alone when she arrives in Pharisee. And discovers the freak torrential rains — nature is literally mourning for Aubric’s death — have stranded her there. Instead of traveling to Atlanta and vanishing into its crowds, she’s stuck in a small town … where the FBI are investigating the recent murders of Aubric and rising black politician Richard Cannon. Just the place for a federal fugitive, right? And then Olwen McAlister, grieving widow, announces she’s had a vision — the only way Aubric’s killer goes down is if Maria helps.

That would be a nightmare even if this were a mundane thriller. Then the supernatural troubles start. In this version (which went through multiple further drafts, I should note) Maria has no idea what’s happening. That makes it more terrifying and keeps ramping up the pressure. Plus she has no friendship with anyone so she has no reason to stick around. She has to spend the first night at Olwen’s — the sheriff made that very clear — but after that she figures she can skip town before the FBI notices her. When Aubric’s killer starts threatening her, Maria has even more reason to run. So she does … but as you’ll see, she doesn’t get far.

Setting things up that way led to other changes. In earlier drafts when Maria discovers there’s something monstrous threatening innocent people it inspires her to stay and fight it. The more emotionally numb Maria of the final draft isn’t so heroic. She keeps trying to run and only changes her mind when Olwen offers her something she desperately needs. Eventually Maria chooses to help for heroic reasons (“I thought I’d gotten rid of my ideals. Turns out they’re a monkey on back.”) but it’s a long slow path.

Onto the spine of her character arc I added lots of other details. Her feelings about other Italian-Americans, many of whom looked down at Sicilians. Her chain smoking. The late Grandma Sophia, a superstitious woman whose warnings about black magic sound a lot more reasonable as Pharisee gets weirder. Her experiences, good and bad, in ‘nam. While it didn’t start out that way, I ended up with Maria’s character arc becoming as compelling (I hope) as the story itself. So that’s a win.

Cover by Samantha Collins. All rights to image are mine.

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They remember back when things were rotten, and think that was the good old days

You may remember a quote from a few months back in which a business owner talked about how good it feels that in the Toddler Era he feels free to say the f-word for homosexuals and the r-word for the mentally disabled — it’s liberating!

I’m quite sure if I said he was an a-hole and a homophobic bigot — both of which appear to be true — he would be pissed off rather than celebrating my freedom not to be courteous. It’s Wilhoit’s law — they want their side free of restraint and protected from consequence but nobody outside their own camp gets the same treatment. That translates in speech to the freedom to toss off racial slurs or insult people but anyone calling them on it is shutting down free speech. Case in point, I have seen right-wing arguments over the years that because of liberal politically correct, woke, thought-policing, they can’t say the n-word! It’s the biggest example of cancel culture ever! Of course, they can say it and they do, but they’ll be criticized for it — and they think they should be able to punch down without anyone ever punching back up.

That’s part of what fuels the endless cries of voter fraud: this is their country, rightfully belonging to property-owning white Protestant men like it was when the Founders approved the Constitution; when Thomas Jefferson said all men are created equal, he didn’t mean anyone else! Their votes should count, nobody else’s.

They want us back to the 1950s (for the enlightened ones) or the 1800s (the reactionary ones) when WASP men were in charge of everything and nobody noticed or brought up bias — it was accepted that was the way it was. It was not in fact accepted and people did bring it up but the voices weren’t so loud (I made the same point back in May). In Paul Campos’ words, “For Roberts, Alito, Thomas, Kavanaugh, Gorsuch, and Barrett, and for hundreds of like-minded federal judges, America is a white supremacist country, and the Constitution is therefore a white supremacist document, and must at all times be interpreted to the extent possible — which is very considerable! — in the light of this fundamental underlying interpretive principle, which naturally includes all the other varieties of extreme cultural reaction (misogyny, money worship etc) that are integral to protecting white supremacy. Anything else is simply a theft of sovereignty from the [white] People.”

That supremacy includes the freedom to treat the “lesser” genders or races like shit.

As Paul Krugman says, the 19th century robber barons were horrible people but they felt obligated to pose as respectable members of society, keeping their bad behavior under wraps (though a lot of what we’d consider bad behavior, such as racism or abusing workers, was acceptable at the time). Now the gloves and the restraint are off. Consideration for lesser mortals? Screw ’em. Let them eat cake.

Similarly bigots and misogynists see no need to hide how much they hate people who are not them. A number of conservative Muslims showed up at the Texas GOP Convention this month. While conservatives are normally willing to ally with anyone on the right — fascists, Nazis, theocrats — it turns out they drew the line at Muslims. They had no hesitation letting their hate flag fly, telling the Muslims they weren’t Americans and couldn’t be trusted ever: even if they seem nice and law-abiding “if they get power, they’ll cut your head off as believers of Christ.” White Christian Republicans, of course, routinely shriek about violence to their enemies, death to gays, but That’s Different.

Rep. Brandon Gill (one of those shitting on James Talarico as not manly enough) then defended the convention attendees, declaring that America cannot tolerate “cultures that have very different ideas about freedom of speech, religion, separation of church and state, the dignity of women, the role of women in public life.” If I pointed out that all of this applies to the Religious Right and suggested that should affect their status in America, Gill would doubtless be screaming. And it does apply to the Religious Right, a large portion of whom think freedom of speech and religion are theirs alone, church and state should not be separated and women have no role in public life. Plus, of course, religious conservatives are the groomers they pretend they hate.

Then there’s their angry insistence that immigrants can never be real Americans like they can — not even a fourth generation American is American enough. Except of course, the Toddler of the United States is only second-generation and they like him fine. And black Americans, who’ve been here since before 1776, will never qualify. It resembles the way that Americans of a century ago set strict laws on who qualified as white or colored — a single African-American grandparent or a great-grandparent, say — but found workarounds to exempt respected white people. In one case the judge concluded that the grandparent might have had some white blood, which meant the person under consideration might be less than one-quarter black — case dismissed!

This ties in to their proposal to end birthright citizenship: “To prove you’re American, you would need to maintain—and produce on demand—an unbroken documentary chain of legitimate transmission from yourself back to some original conferring event. Every link must hold.” America will be remade in the image of the communist states we once despised, a place where anyone in authority can demand “papers, please” or we become a non-citizen (only it will be a lot more paperwork). As Mother Jones says, “the American dream is the idea that in the United States, people’s fate is determined by their own merit, not the status of their parents. But the executive order would create a caste of people who inherit a lesser status from which there could be no escape.” Except of course, anyone the powers that be approve of — this won’t be formally stated but some people simply won’t face the harsh scrutiny others do.

We can see it in the way revoking women’s right to vote has gone from the fringes to something they’ll openly discuss. Or the way they’ve gone from “no woman will be punished for getting an abortion” to pushing to prosecute them for murder. Or stop people even talking about contraception. Or “Whiskey Pete” Hegseth axing women and POC from being promoted to admiral — in his world view, giving someone like that authority to order white men around would just be wrong.

Much like this discussion of the racist British far right points out, the white supremacists have the advantage of a clear vision and a fierce commitment to achieving it. That makes them look decisive and determined which can appeal to a lot of people. As Jamelle Bouie says, we need a vision of our own, not just cleaning up the Toddler’s mess. As I said at the link, fighting for the equal rights of all Americans and gutting the power of those who hate equality might qualify. Until we can make that a reality, we must also push the white supremacist creed back to the fringes of society. Eventually, we banish it.

The founders had a cramped concept of “We, the people.” We can do better. We have to.

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A masculine memoir: Scott Galloway’s Notes on Being a Man

It’s bad form to criticize a book without reading it. Having discussed Scott Galloway’s formula for performing manhood — protect, provide, procreate — in a previous post, I figured I should read the book in which he discusses it, NOTES ON BEING A MAN (my illustrations are meant to show two wildly different concepts of manhood).

On the plus side, Galloway’s formula is more nuanced and less patriarchal than I thought when I read it. He expands “protect” to mean being generally supportive — break up fights rather than joining them, don’t shit-post about people or your country. “Provide” can include doing stuff so your wife who’s making the bigger salary can get her job done. “Procreate” can include caring for kids as a friend, uncle, mentor. Of course these are not the usual meanings of the words, but if they help a guy feel he’s being manly when he cooks dinner while his wife works late, cool. Then again, Galloway is clear that men should expect to be the family breadwinner (if you split the check, women won’t see you as husband material) and that “procreate” typically should include sex, a partner and kids. Which brings me back to the earlier post’s observation that this requires a woman to play the corresponding role.

Galloway’s argument that toxic masculinity doesn’t exist — if you’re a rapist, a predator, a bully, you’re anti-masculine — is a less successful attempt to redefine a term. If that got more young men and boys to reject that behavior, well, that’s good. However it feels more like a desire to see masculinity as a solid good, no dark side.

There’s a lot of other dubious stuff in the book. As I discuss in Undead Sexist Cliches, “masculine behavior is built into the brain” covers an array of theories that didn’t pan out, starting with “men are smarter because their brains are bigger” in Victorian times. I’m automatically skeptical Galloway has the science right when he explains teen boy brains are fueled by testosterone, making guys run wild, smash things and engage in stereotypical male behavior. After all, lots of boys don’t do this. At least one of his references, the book The Female Brain, has some dubious science (I recommend the books Testosterone Rex and Natalie Angier’s Woman for better analysis).

He’s definitely full of it when he argues schools are biased against boys because girl brains mature faster; boys “almost immediately fall behind their female classmates” because they aren’t ready to learn. If that were the case, why is “schools are failing boys” a relatively new issue. Did boys’ brains mature faster in the last century? Why didn’t we accept long before this that girls are naturally superior academically? Because we didn’t. When I was a teen, the media stereotype of teenage girls was that they were boy-crazy and flighty — sure, teenage boys were impulsive and foolish, but they kept their emotions in check better than girls did.

Likewise, I’m wary of arguments that educated women are finding it so hard to get mates they’re (gasp) marrying less-educated men; college ruins women for marriage is another undead sexist cliche. Plenty of women have written about frustration with finding a good man; Galloway seems to think the problem is that they’re too picky, “looking for a man in finance or media” who’s well-heeled enough to be a provider.

Galloway talks about how fighting a war takes “big dick energy” but we’re in an era when America has nearly 5,000 women deployed in combat roles and 150 women in the Army Rangers. That’s only 2 percent of the Rangers but if women can meet those demanding standards, clearly “big dick energy” is not what war requires.

The biggest problem I had with the book, though, is that it’s boring. Most of it is Galloway’s life story; while he’s a good storyteller his life as a child of divorce, coming of age, making bad decisions is not particularly novel or revealing. It’s the kind of stuff I’d find interesting, maybe, if he grew up to be Spielberg or Paul McCartney, but he didn’t. And boy, is it detailed, right down to typical meals and his parents’ brands of cigarettes. Mixed in with that we get the kind of epigrammatic advice I see in lots of business books and “as told to” autobiographies (the latter seem obligated to offer the subject’s Deep Thoughts on Life).

Galloway isn’t as bad writing about gender as I expected but if he has any good answers, they’re not in this book.

Cover by Frank Frazetta, all rights to images remain with current holders.

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Fake dating and some ferry(wo)men: movies viewed

During an online discussion of Tropes We Hate — not problematic stuff like Stalking Is Love but just tropes the various participants dislike — several people cited Fake Dating as one they can’t stand. That led me to rewatch IT STARTED WITH EVE (1941), an early example of the trope. And a funny one, so obviously I can stand it when it’s done well.

Legendary millionaire lover-of-life Jonathan Reynolds (Charles Coburn) is dying as the movie opens. His son Jonathan Junior (Robert Cummings) rushes to his side and learns all Dad wants is to meet Junior’s fiancee. Trouble was, she’s been delayed and probably won’t arrive in time; a desperate Junior hat-check girl Anne Terry (Deanna Durbin) and begs her to pose as his fiancee so the old man can die in peace. Except Reynolds finds Anne so charming, he starts to recover. Now what are they going to do? Of course you can all figure that out but the fun is watching them get there. It’s an enjoyable journey but Durbin has so much more chemistry with Coburn than Cummings it undercuts the perfunctory romance. Still a thumbs up for me. “What’s a town in Ohio?”

FERRYMAN MARIA (1936) is a German fantasy in which the ferryman who links a small village with the rest of the world meets Death – literally — leaving them stranded (though it looks like the ferry would be simple enough for passengers to work for themselves). Fortunately the vagabond Maria (Sybille Schmitz) shows up, takes the job and soon falls in love with an injured revolutionary hiding nearby. That creates a problem when Death returns, looking for the man … This has a certain charm, but nowhere near enough. “Tonight, no bell rings in the village.”

That film’s director, Frank Wisbar, subsequently remade it in America for PRC, one of the bottom-of-the-barrel studios of the Golden Age of Hollywood that churned out nothing but low-budget crap. THE STRANGLER OF THE SWAMP (1946), however, was an exception, one of the best things the studio put out — and while that’s faint praise, it’s a decent low budget movie.

In this version the strangler of the title is Charles Middleton, the ghost of a man framed for murder, then lynched by the angry villagers. Just as he hung, so will everyone he blames for his death, including the ferryman. His daughter Maria (Rosemary La Planche) arrives too late to see him but agrees to take over the ferryman duties. Too bad the strangling ghost includes the children of his enemies on the list of those marked to die … Fun, and Middleton is always a memorable, malevolent villain. “I don’t care what you say, I am afraid — but so are all the others!”

All rights to images remain with current holders.

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“Should have known better than to cheat a friend” — wait, that’s not the lesson I learned this week

The lesson is one I already know: I work more efficiently if I focus on one thing per day. If I spend a day working on, say, Let No Man Put Asunder, I focus better than if I do half the day on that, half on, say, newspaper work or sending out submissions.

The divided day (the “divided” theme is a flimsy excuse for posting this Murphy Anderson cover but it’s one of my favorites) goes wrong too easily. I end up focusing too much on one of the two things, typically not the most important one. Getting writing done is usually job A but browsing possible markets online or doing research for The Local Reporter is typically easier. If I’m tired, I may go with easier or at a minimum start it sooner in the day. It’s also possible that I’ll throw in a third task to fill an odd moment and end up with even less writing time.

This week, however, I did have to do a lot of divided time. I was working to get the last steps done for the publication of Southern Discomfort next month. Revising the back-cover copy. Working through Amazon’s cover creation system to get the image (created by Samantha Collins) right on the front cover — that was the big challenge. I created the cover, ordered the sample copy (it arrived Wednesday), saw some problems, went back and did it again.

This takes time but it’s not something I can work on hour after hour. Once I ordered the test copy I was done; when it came in I dropped everything to go over it. For example I discovered my About the Author page in the back was several years out of date so I had to replace it with more recent information.

The end result? A patchwork week. Couldn’t be helped. And it paid off. Southern Discomfort will go live July 11; the initial ebook links are here, which is where Amazon, Barnes & Noble and others will show once they process it. The paperback goes live too, but Amazon doesn’t allow preorders.

That kind of erratically scheduled work is the pits for getting other tasks done on the same day. You’d be amazed how much time fiddling with the cover can consume. But now it’s done and I don’t have to do it again. On to fresh adventures.

I did get some other stuff done. I finished rewriting my short story, “Honey on the Grave” and sent it in to New Myths. I thought the rewrite suggestions from the writing group had made it too long but it was still under 4,000 words. That’s remarkably short for me.

I rewrote one chapter of Let No Man Put Asunder. I’d anticipated doing more but like I said, the book publishing process siphoned off my focus. Equally inconvenient, the last third of the book requires way more revision than the earlier two-thirds. It needs to move faster, scarier, with less talk. Everything that I’ve been hinting at has to be explained clearly. The bad guy has to go down — I know how that will happen but I have to get there logically. So it’s going a lot slower.

I also went back and rewrote one of the earlier chapters, where Paul is discussing his biophysicist mother’s insistence psychic powers are all fake. After reading How the Hippies Saved Physics I wanted to make mention of the early 1970s experiments that attempted to prove quantum non-locality (electrons can affect each other at a distance even though there’s no possible way they can) could be the basis for telepathy.

I still have to rewrite some of the chapters to show Mandy stopping smoking. Or give up the idea and let her keep puffing away. Finding she’s somehow compelled to quit has more potential so I’ll probably go with option A.

I got a little work on Savage Adventures done. I’m close to the end of this draft; one more draft and I’m done with the writing part. I wrote two posts over at Atomic Junk Shop, one on Doc Savage’s Crime College, one on how certain comics writers are so good they make you realize what you’ve been missing.

Another obstacle to getting work done was that I had my annual checkup Tuesday. That took a few hours out of my day. Good news, though, I’ve lost weight and my blood pressure’s down. There’s a couple of other problems that might need some work or checkups with a specialist but nothing calamitous.

With Southern Discomfort under wraps and no appointments next week, I look forward to full days and more productive output. I hope it comes true.

All rights to images remain with current holders.

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Horror shrimp!

We were shopping in Costco a few weeks back and TYG pointed out how Lovecraftian these big bags of shrimp looked.

I think she had a point.

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For the Southern Baptist Conference, sexual assault is more forgivable than being a woman

I’ve blogged a lot over the years about the Southern Baptist Conference’s (SBC) long history of ignoring and covering up sexual abuse, harassment and assault by members of the church hierarchy (here, here, here and here, for instance). The Houston Chronicle’s blockbuster investigation some seven years back found 700 credible victims and 400 culprits over the previous 10 years. Given that the SBC also covered up that Paul Pressler — one of the men who shifted the SBC into a Republican Party arm in the early 1980s — assaulted underage boys, I suspect there have been many more victims in the decades in-between (and Pressler unsurprisingly never stopped). As Karen Swallow Prior says, this man, with his warped view of power, gender and morality, shaped the SBC as it is today. Perhaps it’s not surprising they’re such a mess.

As attorney and abuse survivor Rachael Denhollander said back in 2022, the SBC did right in commissioning a third party review of its practices and failures. That’s more than the Catholic Church has ever managed, or many other churches (for example). However, she said, they were also 10 years behind most organizations in their understand of sexual abuse and best practices for dealing with it. In the four years since, things have not improved; plans for a better reporting system and a database of accused church leaders have come to nothing.

Electing Willy Rice, a conservative who thinks SBC is too woke and “the SBC’s sexual abuse crisis was more hoax than reality” presumably means the effort is dead for the foreseeable future. Rape apologist and Trumper William Wolfe is a loyal ally. And once again the convention passed the Mohler Amendment against women becoming pastors — they can manage to take action on that, but not on preventing abuse. And they hate that SBC women have opinions on this.

The standard defense Wolfe, and some conservatives I’ve known is that the SBC is no worse than any secular organization. And no question, lots of secular organizations have horrible track records on this. Um … so what? There’s a systemic pattern of rape and harassment in the SBC, plus refusal to deal with the problem. That is objectively wrong, immoral and unacceptable. “Other people are just as bad” is not an excuse, any more than “I haven’t raped as many people as Bill Cosby or Harvey Weinstein” excuses rape (though many bad judges have decided first-time rapists shouldn’t be punished). Particularly in the case of an organization that claims its policies are based on a higher morality which is why they should get their way.

The SBC does not, however, can talk about its moral superiority all it wants. Its actions give it the lie. I believe religious groomers, because they can invoke God as their authority (as discussed in the documentary Shiny Happy People), are the worst kind. And in the case of the SBC, their theology is the fruit of a poisonous tree and no good fruit can come of it.

As someone put it on Facebook, the SBC can forgive a man for being an abuser. They can’t forgive a woman for being female.

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An example of a bad cover

The one below, by Peter Stevens.

It does convey this is a story of exotic Arabia, with harems, sultans, turbans and swords. But what is the dude doing? Leading an attack on the women? Pointing at where to kidnap them? Or just going “Yeah, chicks!” And why is the seated woman doing what appears to be jazz hands?

And why does the swordsman keep one of his weapons tucked into a belt right over his groin?

All rights to image remain with current holder.

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Southern Discomfort: my big idea was not what I thought

For umpty-zillion years, John Scalzi has been doing Big Idea columns on his blog: authors get to tell his sizable following what the big idea of their latest work was. My small self-published books are nowhere close to meeting the requirements. However there’s no reason I can’t use a similar format here to discuss Southern Discomfort. And needless to say, I’ll be discussing it a lot until it comes out next month.

As I’ve probably mentioned in past posts, the genesis of this novel goes back to the 1990s, when I read Born to Run, one of Mercedes Lackey’s SERRAted Edge books, about wizards and elves in Los Angeles. The back cover blurb gives the premise: where would elves go in the modern, urbanized world to live comfortably? California, the funkiest, flakiest of the states, where the unconventional and magical would seem normal!

My immediate thought on reading this was no, elves would be much happier in the South.

The South, where it’s still heavily rural (so is a lot of California, but the SERRAted books are urban fantasy). Where life moves slowerl and there’s much stress on tradition. And at least in the last century, there was a lot of emphasis on respecting your elders — and who’s going to be older than elves?

Plus the South has its share of eccentrics; if you’re accepted as part of the community folks may not bat an eye at you being something other than a baseline normal human. Though the “if” is the key — not everyone’s accepted and then things can get cruel.

I get lots of ideas. Many of them don’t stick in my head; as one writer once said, it’s the ones that stick around that are worth writing about. This one stuck. And I had the perfect twist for the climax. The classic weakness of elvenkind includes cold iron; my twist was that cold iron means literally iron. Not steel. Definitely not titanium-steel alloys or the like. That means the fae are way less likely to encounter iron than they would have been a thousand years ago. The climax would be someone stabbing Olwen McAlister with a steel knife, then discovering that while injured, it doesn’t instantly kill or burn her the way cold iron would. The killer goes down hard.

That concept stayed in the book all the way through; the twist did not. As a twist/reveal it was nowhere near strong enough for the climax. As an explanation of how Olwen can move comfortably through the modern world, it worked great.

At that point, “elves in the south” and the cold iron twist seemed like my big ideas. They were good ideas but my good idea came some time and several drafts later. The problem with most of the early drafts was that my protagonist — a tough guy from New York invited down by a friend to help find the killer — didn’t work at all. At first he was a tough, dangerous guy modeled on John Travolta in Get Shorty! Then he became a burned-out veteran; alas, if there’s anything good to be done with that character type, it won’t be by me. Turning the veteran into a woman didn’t help either.

I think what triggered my Big Idea was reading one of Lia Matera’s Willa Jansson mysteries. Jansson is a “red diaper baby,” the daughter of 1960s radicals and her parents politics constantly seep into her cases. In this one — 30 years later, I can’t identify it — the mystery centers on Chris, a former activist whose group turned to violence when it seemed there was no other way to make the government listen. Chris turned her friends in before they could commit murder, a decision that’s come back to haunt her.

Click. Suddenly I had (I thought) my protagonist, a radical who’d made the same decision Chris did. Which meant I was no longer writing a contemporary novel; it would have to be set in the 1970s. A militant today would be a radical right-winger and I did not want to make one of them my protagonist.

That decision, to set it in the 1970s, was my Big Idea. I’ve been working on this book for several years; almost all my political and pop culture references would have become dated, along with the slang. In 1973, things are static. Joan will always have a shelf of Dark Shadows paperbacks on her bookshelf. Maria will always have grown up reading the Cherry Ames nursing Y/A novels. The politics are likewise stable; there’s a lot of politics in the book and if it were contemporary I’d have had to throw in another rewrite the past year or so.

I had my idea, I had my setting. My protagonist still needed work. Stay tuned.

All rights to images remain with current holders. Southern Discomfort by Samantha Collins, Born to Run by Larry Elmore.

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