Month: August 2019

‘Son of Hel’ Sneak Peek

I have a lot of work to do to produce Son of Hel, my next project. Although the story is going to be an action-focused tale of Krampus, the Christmas demon, I want to do it justice in spite of the inherent silliness. My goal is to create a fully realized culture for the North Pole where Santa Claus lives, and to integrate as much existing folklore as I am able.

To that end, I am currently sitting here with stacks of books on folklore and making notes about various kinds of fairies from different cultures in order to integrate them into the society of elves at the North Pole. I’ve also been discovering the various companions of St. Nicholas, figuring out which ones I can combine into a single figure and which ones I must make separate characters.

Although they are of rather recent origin, I am also determined that Santa’s eight-plus-one reindeer will figure in the story. The following is a draft of how they appear thus far. I originally intended this scene to be a raucous party, though the result (at least at present) is surprisingly subdued. That may change in later drafts.

In a few hours it would be the fifth of December, the eve of what those at the North Pole had come to call the First Run. Mistakenly but understandably believing Nicholas to be dead, the universal Church had long ago chosen December sixth as his saint’s day, so that was the first day he delivered toys to children. Compared to Christmas Eve, St. Nicholas Day was a small, brief run with few deliveries, requiring no more than a few hours. But it helped Nicholas and the elves ensure that the sleigh and its accoutrements were in working order and ready for the Big Run, when he delivered toys to children all over the world. The First Run had a high margin of error; it was a good time for troubleshooting.

But the fifth of December, the day before, was not St. Nicholas’s day. It was a dark day, a day of fear, and it belonged to someone else, someone decidedly less jolly—and considerably less generous.

As evening came on, in anticipation of the First Run that would begin in twelve hours, Alpha Squadron congregated in the stables. This squadron consisted of the eight reindeer who had achieved the highest marks on the annual flight test, and for almost a century, the same eight reindeer had held this honor.

In scientific terms, they were Arctic reindeer, also known as Greenland caribou, or Rangifer tarandus eogroenlandicus, and those in the stables of Saint Nicholas were the last of their kind, for their subspecies had been otherwise extinct for almost four decades. It was thanks to the magic of the elves that they had powers of speech and flight as well as unusually long life. The Black Precipice of the uttermost North was a haven for them, just as it had become a haven for the last of the fay folk whom an encroaching modernity had driven from their woods and meadows.

Contrary to popular depictions, they were not tiny. They were huge, muscular brutes with shaggy coats, thick shoulders, and wide, blunt muzzles. Most were bareheaded, for they had shed their antlers the month before once their rut had ended. The only exception was Vixen, the one cow who had scored high enough for Alpha Squadron. Though considerably smaller than the others, Vixen’s tall, sweeping antlers lent her certain air of sober majesty. She would keep her antlers until spring.

In a dim corner of the stable, Comet, formerly the squadron’s captain, brooded atop a mound of hay. Although this was supposed to be a time of revelry, he was silent, and his hard expression had its effect on the rest of the squadron: The others spoke in low voices, giving Comet occasional, uneasy glances. Vixen, somewhat apart from the rest, gazed at him steadily for a minute before she shook her head and sighed.

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‘Rag & Muffin’ Sneak Peek

Featured image: Character designs from Magical Girl Ore.

This is a section from the draft of Rag & Muffin, my next novel to appear after Dead to Rites. This passage may or may not be in the final version in this form:

Only one spot in Godtown did not swell with the cosmic beat nor touch the underside of heaven, but remained dark—a mere part of earth or perhaps of something lower than earth. That was the Talbot Refinery, which stood near the Green Line on the edge of the Elysian-occupied West End.

In the refinery, workers—mostly outcaste marjaras unable to find decent jobs anywhere else—committed the worst blasphemy known in this world: They took the Tuaoi Stones from the mines with which the Elysians had profaned the sacred Vindhya Mountains, and they performed unspeakable deeds to alter those pure crystals into something base and ignoble in order to feed them to the Elysians’ demon-possessed automata.

More powerful than any mundane science, the magic called Runetech had made the Elysians the masters of the world, but the ghosts in their machines hungered for profaned Tuaoi Stones. Thus, in the midst of the holy city, the Talbot Refinery was an outcrop of hell, and it alone could resist the flurry of religious ecstasy and exultation that beset the rest of Godtown every morning.

Just as Meru closed, Talbot’s portal, like a mouth of the underworld, opened to swallow a long string of buses containing the workmen for the morning shift. Like giant jacks dropped from the sky, anti-tank caltrops flanked the road leading to the refinery’s heavily fortified entrance. In a booth at the gate, an underpaid and overworked human babu did his best to check the workers’ and drivers’ papers, which were handed to him—with much shouting and babbling—through half-opened windows along the buses’ sides.

Looming over it all like a colossus and casting its stark and menacing shadow across this scene was an enormous machine, vaguely man-shaped. Thick, bulky armor enclosed it, and it bristled with weapons ranging from conventional autocannons and missile-launchers to rune-powered accelerators and psi-blasters. Every once in a while, one of the intricate symbols carved into the machine’s armor glowed blue or green, letting all below know that it was alive—and that it was watching them. Somewhere deep in its guts, dangling from anti-shock suspensors, was a thing that used to be human.

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Smack My Witch Up

Unfortunately, I’m still so busy with work that I have had little time for anything else, which is why there hasn’t been much content here.

However, Rawle Nyanzi, who often plugs my stuff and whose stuff I often plug, has begun toying around with animation and has created an animated short entitled “Time to Smack a Witch!”

This short video looks like a cut scene from a side-scrolling beat-em-up video game from the mid-Eighties, complete with the beepy music. It has no dialogue, but it’s amusing and easy to follow. It’s only flaw, were I to offer criticism, is that is opening credits are way too long for something that looks like 8-bit Theater.

Brief Update on ‘Dead to Rites’

Just got word from my editor about progress on Dead to Rites, the next volume in Jake and the Dynamo.

My publisher is currently rushing some things to get ready in time for Dragon Con (August 29 to September 2), which has pushed my book release back a bit. I’m crossing my fingers for September, but we’ll see.

Speaking of which, I had a sort-of chance to make it to Dragon Con this year, but couldn’t take the time from work or excuse the expense on the plane ticket, but I am hoping to make it in future years, so at some point I may show up there with other members of the Superversive stable.

Working on ‘Son of Hel’

You’ll have to excuse my long absence. At work, we’re gearing up for the end of summer and the coming school, so I’ve been taking my work home with me at night.

I should probably be working right now, but instead I’m continuing my preparations of the world bible for Son of Hel, my next novel, which will feature Krampus, a reindeer with a radioactive nose, and a war between elves.

This will be, as far as I know, the first “___ Saves Christmas” story that attempts an honest harmonization of extant Santa Clause legends without also attempting to distance the legendary figure from the historical saint.

The cast of the story keeps growing as I discover more Christmas legendry from around the world. I’m a lumper rather than a splitter when it comes to syncretizing folklore, so I am combining all the various gift-giving bearded figures—Ded Moroz, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas—into the figure of the historical St. Nicholas of Myra, who is, after all, their original inspiration.

Snegurochka

Similarly, I intended to collapse most of Nicholas’s disreputable companions into the figure of Krampus. Some of them, however, don’t want to collapse. In Russia, Ded Moroz (“Grandfather Frost”), a depersonalized St. Nicholas figure, has a companion named Snegurochka, an unusually pleasant companion who is a young maiden originally made out of snow (or created by some winter deities, take your pick). I’ve decided to add her into the story as a sort of counterpoint to the rough and vicious Krampus.

She also gives me an excuse to explain away the “Mrs. Claus” popular in America: Since St. Nicholas is a monk and a bishop, he can’t have a wife, but some who have caught glimpses of Snegurochka riding in his sleigh may understandably have thought he did.

The Butcher

There is a character from French folklore, Père Fouettard, I originally intended to blend with Krampus—but his story is so singular that I think he must be a separate character in his own right: He is a butcher who slaughtered three young children, cut them up, salted them, and hid them in barrels. St. Nicholas discovered the dastardly deed, resurrected the children, and punished the butcher by … making him follow him around.

Weird punishment, I know.

I rather like the idea of a murderous, ax-wielding butcher tagging after Krampus, Snegurochka, and the nameless radioactive reindeer on their mission to kill bad elves and rescue Santa Claus. None of the other characters in this motley troupe are out-and-out murderers, but this guy is. He probably even shocks Krampus with his bloodthirstiness.

Black Pete

I’m also not sure at the moment about what to do with Black Pete, the companion of St. Nicholas from Scandinavia. I’m not at all concerned about the recent ruckus over his supposedly being racist (from what I’ve gathered, he’s “black” because he’s Spanish, having originated in the Spanish occupation of the Netherlands, and is therefore not “black” at all in the current sense of the word). It’s just that I’m honestly not sure what role he’s going to play. I like him, though, because I can set him up as a genuine friend of Nicholas. Krampus and the butcher dude are too creepy and weird, and I expect that Nicholas is somewhat embarrassed by them. Snegurochka he probably treats like a daughter. But Pete can be an equal who works alongside him, advises him, and seriously helps him.

I’m intrigued by the Spanish occupation and may use that, but I’m also contemplating giving Black Pete an earlier origin in Al-Andalus and making him a Muslim. Still haven’t decided.

Oberon

I’m still working out the role of Oberon. The backstory on the elves is inspired by the Matter of France; according to the Legends of Charlemagne—drawing on, presumably, Orlando Furioso—the king of the fairies had converted to Christianity. If we conflate this unnamed king character with Shakespeare’s Oberon and also with the elves of Santa Claus, then we can reach the conclusion that Oberon, King of the Fairies, is a Christian elf in charge of Santa’s workshop. It’s likely Nicholas who converted Oberon in the first place; that would explain the elf-king’s Christianity in the legendary source.

Nisse

But there are also the nisse of Scandinavian mythology, diminutive creatures who resemble garden gnomes with their wooly beards and pointy hats. These nisse are similar to brownies in that they protect homes and do housework and are rewarded with butter-laced porridge. They over time became associated with Christmas and are apparently the inspiration for the tiny Christmas elves associated with Santa Claus in the United States.

These creatures would give me a good excuse to incorporate some Scandinavian culture into the elvish society at the North Pole, something I am eager to do, being inspired by the use of a Laplander language as “Elvish” in the movie The Christmas Chronicles, which starred Kurt Russell as probably the most convincing screen Santa I’ve ever seen.

I could claim that the nisse, as fairy creatures, are rightly under Oberon’s rule, and that most of them therefore converted to Christianity and joined Nicholas’s band—so they may make up the greater population of fay folk at the North Pole. This would explain the predominance of small, bearded figures among Santa’s elves.

The Mounts

St. Nicholas is associated with various steeds. In Flanders, he rides a horse that can glide over rooftops. He is also associated with a creature called the Yule Goat, a prank-prone Scandinavian creature that demands gifts. I am still determining what to do with these critters.

Regardless of what I decide for the goat and the horse, I will necessarily give St. Nicholas his reindeer, though they will be full-sized and not tiny, and they will be true reindeer—not white-tailed deer posing as reindeer, as they often are in American depictions. The association between St. Nicholas and reindeer goes back a ways, but it was of course the famous poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” that permanently associated the saint with eight reindeer and also gave them names.

Having a certain weakness for talking animal characters, I intend to incorporate these eight reindeer and give them personalities related in some way to their names. There will also be an unnamed ninth reindeer with a radioactive nose who is obliged to wear a lead mask, and who is totally an original character and in no way inspired by any other ninth reindeer who is presently under copyright.

The Black Precipice

Although not really directly related to the bewilderingly complex myths surrounding St. Nicholas, I am fascinated by old-time speculations about what was at the North Pole. One theory, found sometimes in speculative fiction from previous eras, is that the north and south poles have giant mountains made of lodestone, which kind of makes sense when you need to explain how compasses work and don’t know about the more complex physics involved.

Also supposedly at the poles are the Symmes Holes, named for John Cleves Symmes Jr., who passionately believed that the Earth was hollow and that holes at the north and south poles led into the interior, and whose vigorous promulgation of that belief made it popular for about a century.

There were in the past some legitimate reasons to think the Earth was hollow, reasons subsequently swept away by further scientific advances. Specifically, Edmund Halley, for whom Halley’s Comet is named, proposed four concentric spheres to the Earth, and he didn’t do this because he was a crackpot, but because he needed a model to explain some aberrations he had discovered in the Earth’s magnetic field—that is, he made a legitimate, albeit erroneous, scientific hypothesis.

Nonetheless, I’m unaware of any good reasons to think the poles have huge holes in them. Symmes apparently proposed this idea spontaneously, albeit passionately.

for reasons unclear, this fantastical and apparently baseless theory remains popular among internet conspiracy theorists today:

I have a great love for this kind of thing, so in my envisioning of Santa Claus’s military-industrial complex at the North Pole, a compound he built over centuries with the help of his elves, I feel a need to incorporate both the Black Precipice and the Symmes Hole. The mountain of lodestone, you see, is jutting out of the middle of the hole, and it is upon this mountain that Nicholas has built his elvish city.

This is inadvertently advantageous to the elves,because, although their baptism makes them immune to church bells and other Christian accouterments,  they still cannot bear the touch of cold iron—yet iron cannot be brought near the Black Precipice.

Makes sense, right?

Rag & Muffin Continues; Art; And Other Stuff

Featured Image: “Magical Girl Uraraka” by Hannahsrrex.

I haven’t posted for two weeks, but I have reasons or at least excuses.

Partly, the more I get settled into being a published author with a book out and two on the way, the less I have time (or interest, even) in watching and reading other stuff to review. This is perhaps inevitable.

Also, my computer is on the fritz. I’ve long known that this little laptop, though it has been a good machine all things considered, is well past its sell-by date. Recently, I managed to fry its keyboard with spilled beer (yes, really) so I can no longer type on it without a peripheral keyboard.

Also, it has stopped talking to my printer for reasons I’ve been unable to figure out. It’s possible the printer itself is to blame, but I doubt it, since all its diagnostics claim it’s working just fine and communicating with the network just fine. It’s just that the computer can’t see it. Turning off all the firewalls and antivirus software doesn’t appear to help, and beyond that I don’t know what to do about the problem. So I effectively have no printer, which will become a problem in the near future when I get back the edit requests for my last submission.

Basically, the computer needs replaced, and has for a few years, but I don’t really have the money for it, especially since I just had to replace my car, which I totaled in a flood. Part of my disappearance here came from the time it took to make sure everything was backed up.

Rag & Muffin Update

Speaking of which, as I’ve mentioned before, Rag & Muffin is finally out of the house. I expect it to need more editing before it’s ready to publish, but it is at least underway. It has taken an embarrassingly long time to get that novel completed and submitted, but I have reasons/excuses for that, too—it is my first novel, though I have two others preceding it to publication, and a first novel always takes the longest. It also took an enormous amount of rewriting and reshaping, partly for reasons I don’t say in public. Although its basic premise—”Fancy Nancy in Dungeonpunk India with guns and Kung fu”—is quite silly, it’s a very personal novel in some ways and was difficult to finish. The earliest drafts were quite lurid; they were torturous to write and I’m glad to have them behind me, but I’m comfortable with the content in this penultimate version I recently sent to my editor, even if it contains more than my usual number of cuss words.

Next Project

I am trying to peel myself away from meddling with Rag & Muffin while my editor has it and instead turn my attention to Son of Hel, which will require more research to do it justice.

I’ll do a whole post on this in the near future, but one thing I will say is that, as I look at the various interpretations and reworkings that have been done of Santa Claus legends, I’m surprised at how few modern interpretations—none of them that I know of—want to connect Santa Clause back to the original St. Nicholas. Since nobody else wants to do it, I figure that’s one contribution I can make. My plan is to conflate as many characters and concepts of Santa lore as possible, so the monk who was bishop of Myra has also become the reindeer-breeding gift-giver with an army of elves in his workshop, accompanied by several interesting companions ranging from a Russian snow maiden to a half-demon to a murderous butcher.