Vacationing Under Yellow Umbrellas

On Beech Mountain over looking a mist shrouded Echo Lake

Apparently vacations, in the modern sense, come from the idea of students “vacating” schools during the summer months, although the rich have taken holidays since the middle ages. Around the start of the 19th century, a good deal of America’s population was driven by the Puritan work ethic. Simple concept: work good—play bad. So idling away summer days at a lake or island resort wasn’t popular. Vacations were also impossible for most of the working class who at that time were mostly farmers. The work of farming, as it turns out, is done mostly in summer, and not many had a mind to take vacations in winter. So it was the rich—who coincidently were idle most of the time anyway—that went on vacations, but not for fun. Apparently “fun” was also considered bad. I imagine smiling was evil too—remember we’re talking about the “good” old days here.

Instead people of means went on vacations for their health. This was a time of wide spread tuberculosis and a belief in the curing properties of air and natural spring waters, made Saratoga Springs one of the first vacation resorts. A lot of early vacation destinations had the word “spring” in the name for this reason.

The poor, got into the act, but rather than vacationing for health, it was religion that drove them. Going on a religious retreat was safe as the temptations of idleness like drinking, smoking, dancing, swimming, and most importantly, sexual temptations, were restricted. By the later part of the 19th century the railroad had the idea of building hotels at the end of their lines and promoting vacations. The super rich of the Gilded Age had their own train cars that would take them to great camps like those in the Adirondacks and Acadia.

The Vanderbilts, Durants, Astors, Rockafellers, and Carnegies went on holiday, but these people didn’t take a weekend off for a whirlwind tour of Disney World, Epcot, and Universal Studios. They left the city and lived on the lakes in the woods for the entire summer. They brought libraries of books and read extensively. They brought paints and easels creating art like we take photos. They went on week-long canoe trips—not as their vacation, but as one small aspect to their vacation. They wrote poetry, learned how to play instruments, created butterfly collections.

As mentioned one of those locations haunted by the ultra-rich was Acadia, Maine—Bar Harbor to be exact. They built palatial cottages along the Atlantic’s picturesque rocky coast. Then in 1947 a fire wiped it all out. 200,000 acres, 851 permanent home and 397 seasonal cottages were destroyed in what was called “the year Maine burned.” The rich didn’t rebuild…well not the Gilded Age rich at least. 

Bar Harbor Inn

 

Still when my wife and I first stumbled on Acadia National Park nearly thirty years ago it appeared to be mighty well off to us. At the time Robin and I were in our early twenties and on a whirlwind tour of New England in a Capri hatchback. Too poor to stay in hotels, we camped in our tiny dome tent at KOAs along the road and ate campfire cooked sausages wrapped in bread and butter for breakfast. We wandered the shops and streets of Bar Harbor marveling at the beautiful inns and high priced shops and fantasized about one day staying at the legendary Bar Harbor Inn right there at the park on the waterfront. We’d imagined sipping mint juleps under the yellow umbrellas and watching the Margaret Todd—the only four-masted schooner in Frenchmen’s Bay—set out on her sunset sail from the end of the dock. It was a nice dream that I knew would never happen. That’s what dreams were back then, impossible desires. But I didn’t care because my best wish had already come true. I’d married Robin the year before.

We had a great time on that trip climbing the mountains of Acadia, even the infamous Precipice Trail that sorely tested Robin’s fear of heights as it’s a 1000 foot non-technical cliff climb with narrow ledges and iron rung ladders up the face of Mount Champlain. Not long after Robin and I moved to Vermont. We visited Acadia several times, but never scaled the Precipice again and never managed to stay in Bar Harbor. 

Climbing Precipice Trail 27 years ago

For the last seven years we haven’t taken vacations. Just too busy, I suppose. The Puritans would be proud. Then last year, as you may recall, I went out to Death Valley on a research trip for a novel, which turned into an unexpected week long Californian adventure with my wife and son due to earthquakes, hurricanes and forest fires. It turned out to be a lot of fun, so this year we thought we’d try again. My son never saw Acadia, so we decided to introduce him to the adventure grounds of our youth. Hobbits adventuring once more into the Misty Mountains, only this time we could afford more than a campsite.

So last week, Robin, my son, and I flew to Bangor, drove down to Acadia, and achieved that thirty-year-old dream of staying at the Bar Harbor Inn. We sat on the veranda under the bright yellow umbrellas and sipped rum punch like characters in The Great Gatsby.  We took the sunset cruise on the Margaret Todd, where my son helped hoist the main sail, and we returned to the Precipice. 

My son James climbing precipice 2012

  I wasn’t certain if I could climb that mountain trail again, but my eighteen year old son was determined, and I wouldn’t let him go alone. Robin was also determined to retrace her steps. I honestly didn’t think either of us would make it, and before we even reached the cliff face Robin waved us on. I figured she planned to just wait, but she only wanted to go slower and didn't want to make us wait. My son and I reached the top and heading back down found Robin more than three-quarters up. Terrified of the height, but even more stubborn, she pressed on not looking down until she stood at the top. We went biking through the park in the rain, had pop-overs at Jordan House, took a carriage ride and had other adventures, but seeing Robin reach the top of the precipice once more and those drinks under the yellow umbrellas were the highlight for me.  

And while some people find a unique shell or pretty stone that they pick up off a beach or trail as a souvenir, I found an idea for part of a story. Just the sort of thing I’d been looking for. That’s the problem with authors and vacations—leaving the smart phone and laptop at home won’t stop us from working. I suppose it might have made the Puritans happy to know that, but then again, happiness was also probably frowned upon.

Bull Spec and Flyleaf

This past weekend I was back in my old stomping grounds, North Carolina. Robin and I had lived there for twelve years and it was interesting to be back again, trying to remember things that were only vague recollections.  We started out on Saturday night by meeting with local writers at a dinner hosted by Mark Van Name (a Baen science fiction author).  He has a great house for hosting a party and it was filled with members of SWFA and various local writer critique groups. 

The next day we were in Chapel Hill, North Carolina at Flyleaf Bookstore with fellow Orbit author, T.C. MaCarthy (who was also at Mark’s house the night before) for a dual reading/discussion. This all came about due to the efforts of Sam Montgomery-Blinn, creator of Bull Spec Magazine in conjunction with Flyleaf Books. Together they have been scheduling events with such writers as Brandon Sanderson, Steven Erickson, Michael Chabon, and Brent Weeks.

I met T.C. at Balticon a few months earlier, so it was great seeing him again, and wonderful to met Sam who did such a fantastic job of organizing, presenting, and keeping everyone off their diets.

I did something I rarely do—I read from my books. I don’t think I read well aloud, and have avoided it for the most part. That said, if you’d like to hear me read from the start of Avempartha and witness some of the presentation, the folks at Stuck in Traffic, videotaped the thing and posted it to their site.

The reason I’m making this post however is to thank a young woman who lives in Baltimore who—along with her entire family—came all the way down to Chapel Hill just to see me. (That’s like a five hour drive depending on traffic.) She is a young writer who recently published her first work. This is the sort of thing that makes public appearances worth doing. Thanks so much for coming, Lindsey.

Because its Fans that Keep Me Writing

In case you haven’t heard…it’s hot.

My office is upstairs where all the heat goes, so traditionally I take the summer months off from writing. I still work—if you can call anything I do these days work besides cleaning the house or getting the car inspected. But I don’t write, I scribble ideas, outlines, and research in my notebooks at coffee shops, libraries, bookstores, and while bicycling. This year however my wife bought me a fan. Not just any fan, a Dyson bladeless thingy with a hoop like a cross-section slice of a small rocket engine set on a white cylinder that looks like it ought to be able to grind coffee. As crazy as it is, it works and has managed to keep me at the keyboard.

Due to requests from various online forums I’ve kicked out a few short stories—not my forte, but I have a hard time saying no. I’ve also been working on novels. I’ve finished three since finishing work on Percepliquis, and am presently deep into my fourth. If you’re a fan, (especially if you’re the bladed sort) don’t go crazy. Just because I write a book doesn’t mean I’ll publish it. I don’t want to sell crap anymore than you want to buy it, and at least one of those books isn’t ready, and might never be. However, two of the books are definite keepers.

I should warn you that I don’t intend to remain a strictly invented-world fantasy author anymore than I intend to eat only chicken for the remainder of my life. I think the quickest way to ruin a career, is to lose interest in it. Doing the same thing repeatedly can have that effect. So while I love all of you who have appreciated my novels and asked for more, I’ve promised myself never to write for money, (as long as I can help it) which means I won’t seek to please anyone but myself.  I think any other path leads to the dark side.

I need to stay challenged to keep things fresh and fun, so don’t be surprised if the next work you see is science fiction, a thriller, or mystery, or if the style of writing is a little different. I might use more profanity if I feel the story calls for it, and they might not always have happy endings—but hopefully always satisfying ones. That’s not to say I am giving up on IWF (invented-world fantasy) or even Riyria. Some of the novels I’ve already finished are IWF and I have plans for more, but I will be taking a break now and again to play in other sandboxes. Hopefully some of you will join me, and the rest will not be too irritated while they wait.

Having said all that, this last weekend, Orbit and I reached an agreement so they will be publishing me again, which is why I’m not telling you any details, not even the titles of the books I’ve completed, as I am certain Orbit will want to make the announcement.

So for those of you wondering if I’ve been drifting on an inflatable raft in a topical lagoon trying not to spill my umbrella drink for the last year—fear not, for I have a bladeless fan…hopefully I still have a few  breathing ones too.

More Marc

 

Click to Enlarge

I know I keep posting the cover art that Marc Simonetti has done for the French editions of the Riyria series, but he has a new one and I just think they look great when laid out together. So here is the art for The Crown Conspiracy, Avempartha and now Nyphron Rising.

I find it flattering that Mr. Simonetti has mimicked a little of my original covers in his designs. I get to see what my ideas could have looked like if I had that kind of talent.

To see more of Marc Simonetti's cover art visit his web page or go to his Deviant Art page.

So You Want to Write a Novel

If you’re a writer, or want to be, have access to the Internet and haven’t seen the video So You Want To Write a Novel yet, I have to wonder what rock is presently your home address. It debuted near the end of 2010 and I’m not exactly certain where I first saw it but it seemed everywhere for a while. The video was so ubiquitous I never wrote a post on it before now because doing so would be redundant. Why am I mentioning it now? 

This weekend my wife Robin was invited to speak at the James Rivers Writer’s group in Richmond. She was on a panel discussing self, independent, and big six publishing. Before the show, we went to lunch with the panel’s moderator, a man by the name of David Kazzie. We chatted for a while until at some point the topic of the afore mentioned video came up. 

Robin and I raved about its brilliance and humor. Like the original Star Wars, we’ve both seen it a dozen times and it is still a joy to watch. Not only is it hilarious, but true. I’ve met people like this, something David Kazzie was surprised to discover, because you see, David Kazzie is the genius who created the best talking teddy bear video ever! We were in the presence of greatness. 

We wanted to figure a way to get JRW to show the thing on a giant screen for the audience because it really should be required viewing for anyone thinking about writing a novel. It was too late to find an IMAX screen, which left this blog as my only recourse. So if you haven’t seen it, follow this link to David’s website. If you’ve already had the pleasure…can you believe I met this guy! I only wish there was a way to get his video autographed.

Greener Grass

I don’t write short stories.

There is a school of thought that aspiring authors should learn their craft by writing short stories, get a few published, and then put out a novel. I think this is analogous to a musician learning to play a violin well enough to stage a few shows, then switching to the piano for a concert. Both require knowledge of music, but these are two very different instruments, and knowing one will help with the other in only rudimentary ways.

It’s not like I’ve never written short stories. My first agent explained she would have an easier time selling my first book if I obtained a few short story publishing credits. I wrote a couple, but my book had been published before I sent those out. And it’s not that I don’t like them, I just have a hard time cramming novel-thinking into 4,000 words. 

Last year, between the disappearance of my self-published novels and the Orbit books debut, there was a few months where I had nothing out. My wife Robin asked me to write a short story to help fill the void. She suggested something like, Royce and Hadrian: the early years. So I wrote about an incident that occurred about a year after the two first met. This was called The Viscount and the Witch. I gave it away, and the story remains free, available in a number of places—including this blog. 

This year something different happened.

I was asked, along with a few other professional authors, to donate a short story to an anthology designed to promote aspiring authors whose works would be chosen by a contest. The theme of the anthology was post-apocalyptic. Robin wasn’t certain I could do a post-apocalyptic short story, so I had to try just for ego’s sake. Over the weekend I hammered out a story I called Greener Grass. Robin was very impressed, but the story wasn’t exactly post-apocalyptic. Technically I think I could make a case for it, but before I bothered, Ray Bradbury died. 

This got me thinking about a tribute story and Robin suggested a tale about the fate of ebooks in a post-apocalyptic future. So then I banged out another short story called, Burning Alexandria.  More post-apocalyptic certainly, and just as good. So that was done. 

But I still had Greener Grass. 

Robin suggested I publish it as a short. Better that than sit in my drawer. Only it’s not fantasy…its science fiction, and has a distinctive voice of its own and much different than The Riyria Revelations. For those interested, the short is now available (Amazon | Barnes and Noble), and here’s the teaser:

 

He wanted to escape his problems. He wanted to see the future. He never considered what the future wanted.

Confronted with suffering a painful death from cancer, Dan Sturges, a retired Ford’s engineer, foregoes treatments to try an idea of his own. After reading a theoretical article in Scientific American on time displacement, Dan builds a time machine in his garage. With nothing to lose but a few months of pain, Dan pins his hopes on a future where cancer might have been cured, or at least a quicker death by electrocution. But what happens after he presses the button is more shocking than the eighteen car batteries he connected himself to.

I'm also running a poll about the short story. It's just a single question and any feedback you can provide would be helpful.

Proud To Be A Nerd

Jean Vallesteros is a nerd, but not just any nerd—a book nerd—or so she proclaims on her website. I don’t know Jean personally, but this June Jean has declared to be Theft of Sword month, and that caught my attention. Authors are easy that way. Astronauts require ticker-tape parades, actors red carpets, but authors are more than satisfied with being picked book-of-the-month.

In this case Book Nerd’s Choice of the Month, or BNC.

The idea, if I understand it correctly from reading Jean’s website, is that she is inviting everyone who walks this planet to join her in reading Theft of Swords and then discussing the story on her blog site. At the end of the month Jean will put up a poll for readers to chose which character they like most, and this choice will determine the subject of art work that an artist will create for bookmarks, which everyone will receive just for participating in the discussion.

Now I was just there and I noticed the comment section was …well…light? Twelve days into June? Granted Theft of Swords is not a short book, but I know there are people who have read it in two days.  Also Jean has invited folks who previously read the book to come and rant or rave as well.

I know someone out there has read this book. Maybe even two or three, and I’m fairly certain some have opinions and comments about it. And while it might reflect poorly on the popularity of my novel, I actually feel bad for poor Jean. She picked a book that she thought would draw people to her site, a book she hoped would be a fun time for all, and instead she has a wonderful concert of crickets.

So if you have a moment, and an observation, criticism, speculation, complaint, or question about Theft of Swords, or me, consider visiting Jean Book Nerd.com and leaving a comment. I’ll be checking in there over the course of the month to answer question I find—Jean doesn’t know this yet, but she should have expected as much when she declared June to be Theft of Sword’s month—like a porch light to an attention starved moth, I swear.

So make a comment and get a bookmark.  Remember, for only the effort of a few keystrokes, you too can help a blogger—do it today.