fiction

Trigger warning: child murder, violence
This is an early superhero fiction story of mine that originally appeared in Corrupts Absolutely?, edited by Lincoln Crisler.

Was thinking about Halloween and ended up taping this story.

When I read or write fiction, I like seeing characters make bad decisions and then deal with the consequences. However, if they make those decisions for implausible reasons, they can appear silly or inconsistent rather than attracting sympathy. If they’re forced into decisions because of overwhelming external factors, they may come across as lacking agency. In both cases, the decision seems made purely to further the plot rather than arising naturally. For me, the sweet spot is when readers can appreciate straight off (or shortly afterwards) that a character has made a misstep with likely repercussions, but it’s understandable why they ended up in that situation.

In my day job in a pathology lab, mistakes can have serious, even fatal, consequences. We try our hardest to minimise them as well as spotting and correcting them as early as possible. When (not if””we’re human, after all) a mistake happens, we investigate the reasons and see what we can do to prevent a repeat. Additionally, at corporate level, we are expected to attend courses on how to make systems safer. Such training can be a chore, but for me it has one significant plus: it’s fertile ground for ideas about where characters may go wrong.

I’d like to share here how I set up my characters’ unforced errors, allowing them to make plot-influencing mistakes in a realistic manner. The concepts aren’t new, but using risk management ideas helps me to flesh out details. This isn’t an academic treatise, so I have cherry-picked knowledge from workshops on error, mandatory training and general wider reading. Also, the definition of “wrong” in this context might be fluid, but I’d view it as something suboptimal for the character’s intentions (and interesting for the reader).

Here’s one of my favorite speculative fiction authors, and it was hard picking a reasonable book to represent him. I have a stack of his paperbacks, garnered over the years in used book stores and thrift shops, and they are some of the books I’ve held onto through any number of rigorous book purges.

What: The Forest of Forever, by Thomas Burnett Swann, was originally published in 1971. Many of Swann’s slim little volumes appeared during that decade, lovely retellings of Greco-Roman myths and alternate histories full of mythological creatures. Dryads, centaurs, minotaurs, and fauns fill the pages. Swann depicted same-sex relationships as a matter of fact in a way that nowadays seems well ahead of his time.

Who: If you love gentle fantasy, this is a splendid entrance into Swann’s world. Particularly for those who love mythological creatures, you’ll find a full cast, including some magical creatures invented by Swann.

When: Read this when you’re a little down. You may well find that Swann becomes one of your comfort reads. It’s not a thick fantasy by any means, (my copy is 155 pages) but if you finish it too fast, there’s a sequel to Forest of Forever, Day of the Minotaur.

Why: Read Swann for an interesting take on fantasy. I’ve always thought that his world would be a fabulous one in which to set a role-playing game. Also read him to see same-sex relationships worked in seamlessly, without the “OMG look how socially conscious I am” flavor that sometimes intrudes.

Where and how: Curl up in a corner for this one, with a mug of some pleasantly flowery tea. Be aware the time will pass all too quickly. Be aware there’s plenty more Swann out there, though you may have to hunt for some of the rarer titles.

Excerpt from Villa Encantada (working title), an urban fantasy short story set in Villa Encantada, a condo complex on Lake Sammamish. For those familiar with “Eagle-haunted Lake Sammamish” or “Legends of the Gone,” it’s the same complex.

The doorbell rang as soon as Simone’s hands were covered with dirt from repotting primroses. That was how it always was lately. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, regretting the dark smears as soon as she saw them. The dish towel landed in the sink; she hurried to the door.

As abrupt and perfumed as a magazine advertisement thrust in her face, a broad-toothed woman in red polka-dots that shouldn’t be chic, but were, atop a teeter of matching red heels.

Presenting her hand in a direct overhand shake, “I’m Cherry Abramson, Unit #8.”

Simone wished she’d washed her hand instead of just wiping it, but she shook anyhow. Cherry’s face remained set in the same smile, but somehow Simone was sure the other woman had noted the half-moons of dirt underneath her fingernails, the scatter of dirty dishes visible in the sink, the cloth across them like a soggy wick.

She squared herself in the doorway. No way was she asking this woman in for coffee. She didn’t want that appraising blue eye noting the stack of boxes, the unfolded laundry heaped on the sofa, already marked with a cat-shaped divot.

“I’m still in the middle of unpacking,” she said.