Short stories are a different animal than novels from a craft perspective. I didn’t appreciate that until forced to write one. The first short story I wrote was for my creative writing class my senior year in high school, the same one I submitted to a state contest later that year. (I don’t count those stories I wrote for Show And Tell back in the third grade, as I didn’t have a sufficient awareness of the differences at the time.) I remember trying to cram a handful of themes into just a few thousand words. The result was so diluted that none of them were really discernible. That was my first insight into what made a good short story. It takes a certain skill to distill the basic elements of a story into fewer and fewer words.

I believe my experience as a technical writer has contributed to my own development of this ability, and to my acknowledgement of the validity of shorter forms of storytelling. Technical writing is all about the use of concise language to get right to the point. It also helps that I’ve written shorter forms of fiction, honing my craft with each attempt. I remember scoffing at the thought of 500-words being enough to actually tell a story, then writing my first flash fiction piece in a thread on the now-defunct WotC Novels forum while waiting to hear the results of the Maiden of Pain contest.

Short fiction is extremely popular on the Internet. Flash fiction websites pop-up every week on Duotrope, and I know of several online markets that accept longer works in the form of serials. There are even sites that are looking for very short stories–the shorter, the better. My friend Richard F. Yates recently started such a site and is accepting submissions.

How short can a story be, though, before it is no longer a story? Hemingway’s “A Very Short Story” is 633 words, putting it over the threshold for flash fiction. What about his apocryphal six-word story “Baby Shoes”? It’s credited as a “complete” story because it has “a beginning, a middle, and an end.” Those are rather vague terms, so I prefer to analyze it through the lens of the old plot graph I learned back in grade school. A “complete” story should have an introduction, a conflict with rising action, a climax, falling action, and a resolution.

It’s hard to convey all that in less than 10 words, at least literally. How “Baby Shoes” and similar very very very short fiction succeed in doing so is by inference. The text of the fictitious newspaper ad conjures up a vivid image of someone mourning the loss of an infant as they struggle with the decision of what to do with all the things they bought in anticipation. The conflict peaks when the ad is written and submitted to the newspaper, and resolves when it is actually printed. By engaging the reader, and requiring them to fill in the blanks, those few words turn into a story.

I wrote a very very very short story (and am working on a second) and submitted it to my friend’s website. Check out “Disconnected” and tell me if you think it qualifies as a story.Similar Posts:

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Comic book editorial staff tread a thin line between maintaining the familiarity of an iconic character and preventing staleness from setting in. If a character doesn’t grow, it eventually dies–at least, in terms of reader interest. Yet, real change in comic books is rare. Eventually, it all gets reset or retconned in some fashion.

Now, I’m not advocating the permanent deaths of Superman, Batman, or Spiderman, but I don’t see why the editors don’t embrace the evolution of the characters, including the retirement and passing of the mantle. Let’s examine the possible consequences of such a decision in the case of Bruce Wayne and Batman.

At the end of Batman RIP, Bruce disappears as his helicopter crashes into the river, after he was shot by the villain. His body is not found, in classic comic book tradition. We’ll assume he returns at some point in the future, but in the meantime, one of his proteges takes on the role of Batman. When Bruce does resurface, he has come to terms with the childhood trauma that drove him to become Batman. He’s tired of the fight, mentally and physically. He sees his replacement is handling the job and decides that part of his life is over.

This scenario has several advantages, both in terms of character growth, story potential and business practice. Bruce Wayne’s new role provides a sense of progress while his continued presence in the setting acts as a familiar anchor to old and new readers. The new Batman is more accessible to new readers because he lacks the years of baggage. The man behind the cowl also brings different motivations and desires, opening new paths for character development.

Are you interested in this kind of retirement plan for superheroes? Does it work for iconic heroes like Batman, or are they too tied to their mythos to be able to separate the man from the mask?Similar Posts:

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A hero can be composed of multiple types, allowing the writer to build a more complex character. I used five different hero types in constructing Logan, with him favoring one particular type more than the others during the various drafts of Shattered Amulet.

The Anti-Hero
In the most literal sense, the anti-hero is merely a protagonist whose character and goals are the antithesis of a hero. What defines a hero tends to change as cultures evolve, however. The anti-hero of classical literature is quite different than the 16th century Faust or the 1930′s Sam Spade. Adjectives like brooding, gritty or ruthless might be used to describe a modern anti-hero.

The Child of Destiny
Prophecy is a common trope in fantasy fiction. When a hero is the subject or focus of a prophecy, they might be a child of destiny. Belgarion, from David Eddings’ Belgariad, is an example of a child of destiny.

Logan Shadowhand spent some time as a child of destiny, though he was chosen by a deity during a time of need, rather than the fulfillment of an existing prophecy. I abandoned this particular storyline when I replaced the settings pantheon with a single god and decided that Logan might not be the protagonist in every single Chronicles of Jord novel.

The Everyman Hero
The everyman hero is nobody special, until a crisis comes upon him (or her) and they rise to the occasion. Frodo Baggins is a good example of an everyman hero.

The Reluctant Hero
The reluctant hero doesn’t go seeking adventure and fame. In fact, they even resist when it comes knocking. They may or may not possess the skills necessary to be a hero. When the chips are down, however, the reluctant hero comes through.

A reluctant hero could also be an everyman hero, or even an anti-hero. Your average peasant or merchant would much rather stick to their daily routine rather than risk life or limb. And reluctance can lead to unconventional methods and goals. Bilbo Baggins could be considered a reluctant hero.

The Rogue with a Heart of Gold
A softer, gentler, kinder anti-hero, the rogue with a heart of gold possess that rough exterior, which often rubs traditional heroes the wrong way and can cause the rogue to end up on the wrong side of the law. Underneath it all, however, is a desire to do good. Sometimes that desire needs a catalyst before it is revealed. Robin Hood and Han Solo are rogues with hearts of gold. Logan falls somewhere between the anti-hero and the rogue.

This is hardly a comprehensive list of hero types. What major types am I missing? What types of heroes do you prefer to read or write about?Similar Posts:

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Whatever the good guys have, the bad guys still have a chance to beat them
A good conflict in fantasy fiction will create tension by making the reader believe there is always a chance the protagonist can fail. That doesn’t require both sides having access to magic, however. What if the antagonist is zealously anti-magic and the central conflict is their crusade to rid the world of all magic? I dealt with that issue somewhat in Maiden of Pain, though the Karanok family had access to divine magic, as opposed to arcane magic, which are considered two different systems in the Forgotten Realms.

The Children of Light from the Wheel of Time are perhaps a better example. Though they are not the central agents of conflict, and they suffer greatly when they make frontal assaults against opponents with magic, the Children do find success without the use of magic. So, it’s okay not to give magic to both sides, just be sure the other team still has a way to overcome that particular obstacle.

Magic can be good or evil
Magic is commonly depicted as a tool in fantasy fiction. It’s morally neutral, with no inherent nature of its own. Instead, it’s the characters’ use of it that is good or evil. In some cases, there might even be good magic and bad magic, but it’s pretty rare to find magic depicted as purely good or evil.

That’s a shame. You’re pushing yourself into a corner with a lot of other fantasy fiction if you fail to consider the potential of magic morality. I’ve chosen to make magic inherently evil in the Chronicles of Jord. It stems from a malevolent source, it corrupts those who use it, and it has been outlawed by the benevolent god and creator of the world. While it may appear to produce good in the short term, magic ultimately harms more than it helps.

Magic makes the story
Which brings me to my final point: magic, its use and the consequences of, can certainly be a central theme and plot path of your story. I read fantasy fiction for the magic. I expect it to be an integral part of the characters and/or their world. If I can yank the plot out and slap it into any other genre, sans magic, then the writer is treating it like an afterthought.

Shattered Amulet would not be a tale of Logan Shadowhand if it didn’t include his relationship with magic. Magic forces Logan to grow, provides motivation for key decisions within the story, and is the greatest source of internal conflict. It is so intricately woven into the setting and plot that removing it would unravel the whole.

What rules do you follow when writing about magic in fantasy fiction? What rules do you break?Similar Posts:

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Robin Hobbs is guilty of both in her epic fantasy Farseer and Liveship Traders trilogies. Religion appears to be an afterthought in the former, while it serves as an integral part of one of the characters in the latter.

El and Eda are the gods of the Six Duchies. They are introduced by name through their use as curses or exclamations spoken by the citizens of the realm. Later in the trilogy, we learn through FitzChivalry’s “journal” entries that El is the cruel and warmongering god of the sea and Eda the goddess of the land.

And that’s it. There are no shrines or temples, no religious holidays or services. No roving preachers decrying the abandonment of El for Eda and warning of how the present events are the god’s retribution. Nothing. The gods might as well not existed for all their impact on the story or the setting, which is usually a good rule to follow when a writer asks themselves if they should include a particular element or not.

Hobb’s shallow treatment of theology in the Farseer trilogy would have been nothing more than a blip on my radar if she hadn’t turned around and intertwined it so beautifully with the character of Wintrow in the Liveship Traders. Wintrow is an acolyte of Sa, and through him we learn of tenets of faith his clergy live by. We see Wintrow struggle to adhere to those tenets in the face of adversity. We see how Sa fits into the lives of everyday people from different walks of life. It’s the very model of how a fantasy fiction writer should incorporate theology into their story.

I’m curious about the disparity between the two series. They are set in the same world, though the Liveship Traders takes place well south of the Six Duchies. If it is a cultural thing, I didn’t feel that Hobb established that enough as a factor in the first trilogy. I haven’t read the third series, which returns to the characters and setting of the first, so I don’t know if it is explained there. Either way, Hobb provides an apt example of both how to and how not to use theology in fantasy fiction.Similar Posts:

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The theology of The Belgariad differs from classic polytheism in that the people have no say in what god is their patron. In polytheistic cultures like ancient Egypt or Greece, faithful worshiped at multiple altars depending on their need. In the Belgariad, each of the gods chose a race to adopt, and while members of every race recognize the existence of all the gods, they worship only their patron (or none at all).

What made the gods of The Belgariad interesting to me was the fact that they were tools themselves of two different, sentient prophecies. Mortals are regular pawns of the gods, but it’s not often that you see gods portrayed as pawns themselves.

Religion does not have a large role in The Belgariad, or The Mallorean, Eddings’ follow-up series. There are priests and temples, but readers are not treated to a look at the doctrine or traditions related to any particular group of worshipers.

Eddings does build a religion around his gods in The Elenium and The Tamuli, two series set in a different world than his previous books. However, it is only the religion of one god, and is based heavily on the Roman Catholic church.

While much of what we see regarding the Elene church is political rather than theological, there are some interesting dynamics Eddings sets up that allow the reader to infer quite a bit. First, while the Elene god is part of a pantheon (there are Troll Gods and Younger Gods of Styricum), the church doesn’t recognize any other god but their own (who remains nameless throughout the books). Supposedly, this is due to the fact that gods draw their power from the number of followers.

Second, while the Elene god is depicted as all-powerful by the church, it allows members of its knightly orders to learn magic from the disciples of the Younger Gods of the Styricum. None of the protagonist’s supernatural abilities derive from the god of his faith. It would appear that the Elene god is just a construct of the church, except for the fact that one of the characters, a Younger God of Styricum, regularly comments about her conversations with the Elene god.

Many of my early attempts at world-building were influenced by the writings of David Eddings. I created pantheons of deities where one or two members where venerated exclusively by a specific race, usually the one responsible for creating them. The gods were instruments of fate or prophecy, and had priests and temples, but I neglected details related to religious customs and rites. I’ve since become a strong proponent of using religion to add depth to your world, as the story dictates.

Have you read any of David Eddings fantasy fiction? What do you think of his interpretation of polytheism?Similar Posts:

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I recently finished Lois McMaster Bujold’s Chalion series. One of the defining traits of the setting is its religion. Most of the inhabitants of the world worship the Five Gods (one culture considers the fifth god, the Bastard, to be the king of demons and not a true deity). The other four deities–Father, Mother, Son and Daughter–represent the four seasons: winter, summer, fall and spring, respectively. They are also associated with certain virtues and professions. Typical fare for pagan-influenced dogma.

Bujold’s Five Gods distinguish themselves from generic polytheism through the religious rituals performed by their faithful, in the organization of their followers, in the way the gods interact with the world, and the fate of souls after death.

Of spirit and matter
One of the central tenets of Chalion religion is the dual nature of the world and its inhabitants. They are equally and simultaneously spirit and matter. However, while these two natures exist side-by-side, they cannot affect each other. The Five Gods are entirely spirit beings. Therefore, they cannot interact with the physical world unless an individual submits themselves, creating a gateway via their soul. Such individuals are called saints, and the acts of divine power they perform are called miracles.

Miracles are the primary source of magic in the world of Chalion. Some individuals submit themselves to possession by demons and become sorcerers for as long as they can control the demon. The third book in the Chalion series introduces another source of magic, the absorption of others’ soul, a practice that appears to fly in the face of the rules of magic established in the previous novels.

The church and its practices
The church of the Five Gods exhibits another unique trait. Unlike pantheons in classic mythology, where the gods often scheme against one another, the Five Gods work in harmony. Sure, there’s the occasional ribbing, especially from the Bastard, but they tend to support each other in their efforts to maintain a balance between the physical and spiritual worlds. This relationship is reflected in the construction of the temples. All Five Gods are represented in every temple, each with their own apse and altar (the Bastard has a tower generally located just beyond the primary temple structure).

The rituals and practices of the faithful, while not terribly unique, do add flavor to the religion of Chalion. Many of the celebrations are seasonal. One ritual that plays a significant role in each of the novels is the death rite. When a person dies, a holy animal–one for each god–is brought to the body. The animal’s reaction is an indication of which god accepts that soul into the afterlife. If none of the gods accept a soul, it is doomed to a ghostly existence in the physical world, fated to eventually fade into oblivion.

I appreciated the depth that the religion of the Five Gods adds to the world of Chalion, and the obvious thoughtfulness Bujold put into it. As a person of faith, I often find myself attracted to stories that use religion in an honest way (i.e., the author isn’t pushing an obvious anti-religion agenda) to flesh out their worlds and characters. Have you read any of the Chalion books? What do you think of the Five Gods and the dogma Bujold has built around them?Similar Posts:

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D&D fantasy fiction is influenced by the rules of the game. Fans appreciate when authors ground their stories in the setting by referencing classes, spells and other game features–descriptively, if not literally–along with established world lore. I remember reading Dragons of Autumn Twilight as Raistlin tossed out a handful of sand, uttered his magic words and watched their pursuers drop to the ground, and thinking to myself, he just cast sleep. It’s a fine line for writers to tread; it’s supposed to be a novel, not a campaign log.

I didn’t fill out character record sheets as part of my process for writing Maiden of Pain or my short story in Realms of the Dragons II. My process for incorporating game mechanics involved forming the story and character concepts first then finding what features–feats, skills, spells or magic items–would produce similar effects. I’ll admit to some artistic license, but that’s where the separation between fiction and game comes into play. You’re telling a fantasy story, and capturing the feel of the game doesn’t require a strict interpretation or representation of the mechanics.

That said, fans of the various D&D novel lines are quick to spot (and point out) discrepancies in lore and mechanics. If an author takes too many liberties, they’re just slapping a generic fantasy story into the setting. Writing shared-world/media tie-in fiction demands loyalty to the source material, and that includes game mechanics in the case of D&D fiction.

I’m looking forward to reading (and maybe writing) post-Spellplague Forgotten Realms fiction, and seeing how the authors are incorporating the changes to the game. How do you think the 4E rules will affect the depiction of game mechanics in D&D fantasy fiction?Similar Posts:

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Going back to their roots
Modern fantasy, from roleplaying games to video games to literature to movies, has adopted almost wholesale a singular treatment for dwarves, elves and orcs. A dwarf is a short, squat humanoid with excess facial hair and a dour outlook. They prefer to live underground where they mine, smith and hoard metals. Elves are magical humanoids who live in harmony with nature. They prefer to dwell in forests, often times amongst the treetops. Their features are fair and angular. Orcs are monstrous humanoids with porcine features. They are savage and evil, the fodder of some tyrant’s army.

These portrayals were popularized by Tolkien in his writings on Middle Earth, but he borrowed heavily from Norse mythology, at least in the case of dwarves and elves. The orc developed from the concept of giants (“ogres”) and demons, etymologically speaking. Tolkien used it interchangeably with “goblin” to describe the same type of creature.

Dwarves, elves and goblins all enjoy prominence in a wide range of folklore that diverge from the modern versions. Fantasy fiction writers who stick to the Tolkien interpretations are doing themselves a disservice. Unique cultures are an integral part of what makes your work stand out from anyone else’s.

That doesn’t mean you have to change everything, though. Keep your dwarves under the mountain, but reaffirm their associations with death as in Norse mythology: pale skin, dark hair, ancestor worship. Maybe your dwarves are the same height as humans, and your elves are the tiny, winged nature spirits of Scandinavian folklore. Or perhaps they are the supernatural, fey cousins of demons, as depicted in Old English poems. Goblins have always been mischievous, but they tend to range in size and have temperaments that vary from annoying to deadly.

Why do I always have to be the Indian?
For those of us that played Cowboys & Indians as kids, you’ll remember that dread in your stomach that came with the thought of having to be the Indian. No one wanted to be the bad guy, the side guaranteed to lose.

The fantasy genre has firmly entrenched the orc as the bad guy race, with few exceptions. I’d go even further to say that one of the defining traits of fantasy fiction is a clear demarcation between good and evil. I question whether it always has to be orcs. Why can’t one of the other races take their turn, especially considering their roots in folklore?Similar Posts:

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Religion in fantasy fiction can be a difficult subject for any writer. It’s too easy to become preachy, whether you’re for or against. However, avoiding religion eliminates a wide range of themes and motivations that add wonderful complexity and depth to a fantasy world and the characters that inhabit it.

One of the things that appealed to me about writing Maiden of Pain was the chance to explore the faith of a person who had grown up within a community of similar beliefs and the challenges to that faith once the person stepped into the wider world. I identified with that struggle as a Christian, but it’s a universal one for any individual who holds strongly to a particular belief system. Focusing on such universal themes can help a writer avoid the appearance of preaching.

Of course, it helped that Ythnel, the protagonist of Maiden of Pain, belonged to a fictitious religion that bore little resemblance to any real world religions. I think this is important for fantasy fiction writers that want to use religion. You’ve spent a lot of time and energy building a unique world, don’t skimp on the creativity by copying a modern or historical religion and just changing some names. Come up with some basic theological principles, doctrine and rituals.

There are some exceptions. If you’re writing satire or allegory, you want to include elements that the reader can easily identify as belonging to the religious counterpart in the real world.

It’s too bad that more fantasy fiction authors don’t include religion in their stories beyond the tired tropes of corrupt leadership or narrow-minded zealots (or proselytizing missionaries in the CBA). It’s a testament to the secular bias of our culture. Religion and spirituality have been integral parts of our world’s history, it doesn’t make sense to not include them in the worlds we create that use cultures based on those from our past.

Have you read any good fantasy fiction stories that use religion and faith to good effect? I’d love to read your recommendations. And be sure to check out the other stops on the CSFF blog tour if you haven’t already:

• Brandon Barr
• Justin Boyer
• Jackie Castle
• CSFF Blog Tour
• Gene Curtis
• D. G. D. Davidson
• Jeff Draper
• April Erwin
• Karina Fabian
• Beth Goddard
• Andrea Graham
• Todd Michael Greene
• Katie Hart
• Michael Heald
• Christopher Hopper
• Joleen Howell
• Jason Joyner
• Kait
• Carol Keen
• Mike Lynch
• Terri Main
• Margaret
• Rebecca LuElla Miller
• Pamela Morrisson
• John W. Otte
• John Ottinger
• Rachelle
• Steve Rice
• Ashley Rutherford
• Mirtika or Mir’s Here
• Rachelle Sperling
• Stuart Stockton
• Steve Trower
• Speculative Faith
• Robert Treskillard
• Linda Wichman
• Laura Williams
• Timothy Wise

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