The World Without Flags



It’s been a long time since I wrote on this blog. I’ve been working to finish the sequel to The World Without Crows. Finally, I’ve been able to put the last touches on it, and I’m happy to announce that The World Without Flags will officially be launched on June 1, 2020!

The sequel takes place 10 years after the events of The World Without Crows. The story is told from the point of view of Birdie this time, and follows her as she flees across a ruined landscape, trying to find security. I don’t want to say too much because it would ruin some of the many twists and turns in the story.

When I finished The World Without Crows, I had a few ideas about a sequel, but I never planned on writing one. I always have ideas to continue a story. What happens to this character or that character after the last page? Does Eric actually survive on the island? Do they build a community, and, if so, what would that be like, and what would the challenges be? I had ideas, but none of them were strong enough or interesting enough to write a sequel. In fact, they were kind of boring. The only thing I was sure about was that I was interested the most in Birdie. I really wanted to see what kind of person she would grow up to be. Still, that’s not enough to write an entire book.

Not only that, but there’s a flood of zombie books. It’s been done to death, to a living death, actually, the genre shambling around without anything new to say. I wasn’t going to write a sequel unless I felt I could tell a different zombie story, unlike anything else out there. I wasn’t going to spend my time pushing yet another zombie story out there. I would be bored writing it and my readers would be bored reading it.

I honestly don’t remember where the idea for The World Without Flags originated. I wish I had some cool origin story, but I don’t. All I know is that the idea of doing a sequel from the point of view of Birdie kind of itched at me. Even when I had no plot or idea beyond that, I imagined what life would be like for Birdie when she started to come of age. In many ways, The World Without Crows is Eric’s coming of age story, and it made me wonder what Birdie’s story might be. Meanwhile, I worked on other projects, and wrote some short stories.

Probably a year or so after I published The World Without Crows, I got the seed of an idea for The World Without Flags. It felt like something new. It felt like something that fit very well into Birdie’s story. It was something I wanted to write. Still, I wasn’t in a hurry. I worked on it off and on, lazily, when I felt like it. However, I kept getting encouragement from people online, asking if there was a sequel and if so, when it was coming out. It was really heartening to think that there were people out there waiting for it. I made the decision to focus on it, and to write with more dedication before. If it hadn’t been for the encouragement, I would still have it halfway finished.

So beginning in June of 2020, the book will be out there. It is available now for pre-order. From now until June, I’ll be working on marketing, doing some contests on Goodreads and sending out review copies. I’m really pleased with this book, and I’m happy to re-visit these characters and to answer a lot of questions I had about Birdie. I think you’ll be happy too. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to write this book, and I can’t wait for you to read it!



Old Friends



By the time I was thirteen, I had plowed through every book that called itself fantasy. I had read everything I could, from Terry Brooks to Anne McCaffery. I had chewed my way through thousands of pages, had traveled lands as diverse as Shannara and Earthsea, had met Conan and Taran, and had begun to turn away from the genre. I was sick to death of it. The stories were all variants of the same plot and pretty much the same characters. Some books were far more original than others, of course, but even they suffered from a bleary sameness. An encounter with the same wonder of discovery I had felt reading Tolkien was nearly impossible to find. And although I wanted the same feeling I had when reading Tolkien, I didn’t want Tolkien. I probably would have been hard-pressed to tell you what kind of story or book I was looking for.

I remember walking into the Mr. Paperback store in the Auburn Mall near where I grew up. I remember going as I usually did the wall where the fantasy books were shelved. And I remember scanning the titles, searching for something new. I remember it with a strange clarity that I have sometimes regarding books. The green cover. The florid artwork, the unknown author, at least to me. And although it cost me a good portion of money, and although it was a large, thick book, quite a commitment, I bought it. The book became one of my favorite fantasy books. I recommended it to anyone who liked fantasy, telling them it was the best fantasy book in a long time.

Which it was. Recently, thanks to George R.R. Martin, fantasy has been getting more attention, and in the last few years, fantasy has become much more interesting. The works of Joe Abercrombie, Robin Hobb, Patrick Rothfuss, and Mark Lawrence, among others, have shown that fantasy can have complicated characters, brilliantly realized settings, and remarkable prose. It has all wanted to make me re-visit Tad Williams and the book that inspired George R.R. Martin to begin his epic series A Song of Ice and Fire.

It is interesting to re-read something after so many years. I remember next to nothing of the book, but the moment I encounter a new character, it leaps to my remembrance like an old friend whose face I’ve just managed to recognize through its veil of wrinkles. I had a shock of recognition when I finally remembered Binabik, one of my great favorites in the book. What surprises me about the book is not how much I remember, but really how much I have forgotten. I always name this book as one of the great works of fantasy literature, and yet I’ve forgotten nearly everything about Osten Ard, the world where the characters exist. Traveling in it again is a strange experience, at once new but here and there comes something that I wholly remember. I even remember words that gave me trouble when I was thirteen, and, reading it now, I can see why.

The Dragonbone Chair was unlike any other fantasy book because the author, Tad Williams, likes to write. I don’t mean he likes to write books. I mean he likes to write. He likes words. He likes their history and their sentiments. Williams likes prose. He likes to write wonderful, complex sentences with words you can really chew on like malachite and mooncalf. At the time, it was the best written fantasy book you could buy, probably the best since Tolkien, with the exception of the work of Ursula K. LeGuin, whose snappy prose is a joy to read. The Dragonbone Chair was (and is) a fantasy novel for people who love to read. It wasn’t a blood and guts adventure like the Conan books, or a racing adventure, whose prose just splashed across the page carelessly, like the work of Terry Brooks. It wasn’t really an adventure at all. It was an experience, where the old, tedious lines between good and evil were somewhat blurred. The familiar races of fantasy were complicated by racism and colonialism. It was a book not entirely meant to entertain. It was a book with ideas. It was a book that pulled away from the comforting dichotomies of the Tolkien mythos, with its grand vision of good versus evil. It was a book struggling to say something.

The world of Osten Ard is perilously close to ours. In fact, the book has more in common with Malory than Tolkien, although it’s impossible to imagine this book without Middle Earth. Osten Ard is a place that resembles our own much more than Middle Earth. It’s not an ancient past that was somehow better. It is a world of strife, filled with flawed characters, both good and bad. There are no heroes, not of the Aragorn type. They are flawed like Arthur, Gawain, Lancelot, and Gwenivere. It is easy to see why this book inspired Martin’s popular series. I see Jaime Lannister behind Josua, Williams’ sullen, one-handed prince.

It’s been over thirty years (my God!) since I’ve traveled with Binabik and Simon, but I’m happy to find old friends I had sadly forgotten. It’s good to find them again, still moody, still misunderstood, still clumsy, still wonderfully odd. I now understand much better than I did when I was 13 why this book was so important for fantasy–and how far this series looked ahead.





Happy Birthday, Book! You needy bastard.

A few weeks ago was the anniversary of the publication of The World Without Crows. I thought it would be a good time to talk about what I’ve learned about indie publishing in this year, and to talk about the future.

Publishing a book is an exciting, wonderful, fulfilling, rewarding pain in the ass. It’s great to get the book out there, to hear the reviews of many people who’ve read it, and to generally feel that all those hours of writing, planning, revising, writing again have meant something to someone. It’s a good feeling to know that people have responded to your work. Even the “meh” reviews are strangely gratifying. Since I’ve published the book, about 70 people have taken the time to write a review on Amazon. (As an interesting aside, this number goes up and down as Amazon drops reviews sometimes, I guess to keep fake reviews from being posted.) I always appreciate reviews. They keep me going.

Continue reading “Happy Birthday, Book! You needy bastard.”

The Complete Slinger Trilogy

Henry Ford.jpg



Story of The Slinger Trilogy


Several years back, longer than I’d like to admit, I had the urge to write a pioneering story. I didn’t know what exactly, so I let the idea gestate. I was also interested in writing in the genre of science fiction and decided that I wanted to mix those. At the time I was also enamored of dialect and wanted to do more with that. (I had already written a book called. . .well, this isn’t the place for that). Thrown into this mix was my love of Bollywood movies. Somehow, out of this chaos of passions, came Slinger: The Equilibrium of Stars, a western set in the future, written in dialect, about a group of pioneers struggling to survive on an alien planet, starring a ferociously beautiful renegade called the Slinger, whom I always imagined as Bollywood actress Deepika Padukone (see below). From that grew the entire trilogy, which, as I wrote it, was more about life and death than about anything else. The books seemed to write themselves, although they did insist that I actually do the typing.




I published The Equilibrium of Stars and its sequel Strange Bonds with the small publisher BlazeVox. It wasn’t really the greatest of fits. BlazeVox is primarily a poetry press, and although I was grateful to have the chance to publish, I couldn’t get the book off its feet. The only people who bought and read the books were friends and family, which I don’t really like. My favorite readers are always strangers. At any rate, I planned to publish the final in the trilogy with BlazeVox, but I moved to Chile and the publication of Strange Bonds while I was here was a little too difficult. To make matters more depressing, I think even less people read the sequel. I felt like publishing the third and final volume, All of a Darkness, would be nothing more than a tax on my family and friends. Not a good reason to publish a book. So I let the trilogy sit on my hard drive and was unsure that I would ever publish the whole thing.


I was also very lucky to have had the chance to work with Dan Madden, who agreed to do illustrations for the two books, as well as the covers. I love to work with other artists, and I was happy to see Dan’s vision of the Slinger and other characters. My particular favorite is the work he did on Garland, from Strange Bonds, one of my favorite characters in the whole trilogy (see below, also from one of my favorite scenes to write!) One of the reasons that I have delayed publishing the final book in this trilogy is that I was hoping to publish in a way that would make illustrations worth the trouble. The Kindle format is not the best for images. In the end, I thought it best to move on with publication without illustrations and publish the whole trilogy on Amazon. Otherwise I don’t know if I’ll ever publish it. So the new trilogy has no illustrations at all, which is good news for those of you who shelled out the money for the illustrated books. They remain unique. It’s a shame that the final book, All of a Darkness, never got the Dan Madden treatment. Anyway, my thanks go out to Dan, and my apologies for not finding some way to do the third book with him as well.




As I said, I finally decided to say the hell with it and publish the whole trilogy as one Kindle, The Slinger Trilogy. This badboy clocks in at around fifteen hundred pages, so be prepared. I’m extremely proud of this trilogy. The dialect work is great, the characters are sad and funny and pathetic, and the whole trilogy is epic in scope. Whereas in a lot of books I write, by the time I’ve finished editing them for like the eighth time, I’m sick as hell of the whole thing, and I can’t wait to just publish it and write something new, there’s something about Slinger that draws me in, makes me laugh and cry, and even surprises me. When I read it, I sometimes think, did I really write that? I don’t find that too likely. But amazingly, I did. I did write that.

Anyhow, for the people who read the first two books and have been waiting patiently, here it is, finally, All of a Darkness, the final book in the trilogy and the longest. Thanks for waiting and being patient. All of a Darkness is much like the other books. Lots of laughter. Lots of death. Lots of new characters. I think the book ties everything up nice enough and puts a period at the end of this particular sentence. I hope All of a Darkness lives up to the years you’ve been waiting.

For others, for most of you, this will be the first time you experience Slinger. It’s the story of a group of pioneers on the planet Damodara who, without wanting to, get embroiled in a conflict beyond their control. It’s the story of the Slinger, a renegade cursed by beauty, who finds herself cornered by her past. It’s the story of people fighting and dying, loving and losing, laughing and crying. All of it is written in a western dialect peppered with Spanish, Chinese, and a myriad of other languages that mix among the motley of humans on Damodara. I’m so happy to introduce the world to this trilogy and I hope you find it as strangely touching and human as I do.

And if you don’t like it, “Dizang!” as the Kid would say. “I guess there ain’t no pleasing some folk.”

The Slinger Trilogy officially launches on July 6th, but you can pre-order your copy here. Just remember. . .

Beauty Ain’t Always Nice.




The World Without Crows Wins a B.R.A.G. Medallion!


I’m very happy to announce that The World Without Crows has won a B.R.A.G. Medallion from IndieBrag. This award is given to independently published books only. It’s a great way to acknowledge all the work and effort and resources that went into planning, writing, formatting, and marketing The World Without Crows. I want to thank the people at IndieBrag at for recognizing my work.

I’m also happy to have changed the cover of the Kindle version of the novel. It now boasts a shiny golden medallion like that shown above. A little bling never hurt.

So it’s official, The World Without Crows is now an award-winning novel. Thanks to everyone who read it and gave it such great reviews, and, as usual, thank you to all the people who have encouraged me to publish my work instead of letting it rest in the peace of my hard drive.

Self-publishing can be a lonely enterprise with very little feedback. It can sometimes feel like shouting in the dark. It was nice to get a shout back.




CLANK Goes the Essay

A few hours ago, I finally received a piece of paper that was stamped, scribbled on, and finally wrapped in plastic. My Chilean driver’s license. I can now drive in Chile without fear of getting stopped by the Carabineros and having to explain that I’m not actually allowed to drive. I have a hard time talking to police in my own language, let alone Chilean Spanish. I don’t like talking to anyone in a uniform. Even a McDonald’s uniform puts me in please-and-thank-you mode. And they don’t have guns (yet). Since I arrived in Chile about 5 years ago, I haven’t driven much, hardly at all. Once my wife, Fernanda, and I realized we were staying in Chile longer than the planned two years, I entered the guts of the bureaucracy that would eventually end today. The process took about 2 years to complete. I feel like I was eaten by a gargantuan Kafkian giant and this morning, I finally dropped from its anus. A newborn. Staring up at the sun of legal driving, shading my eyes, thanking the powers that be that I can finally take my garbage to the recycling and buy vegetables by myself. It is something like joy, if joy was kind of dull and uninteresting and boring. Because after all, driving for an adult is mostly about running errands. When you’re young, it means freedom. You go to the city. You drive to visit friends. You go to the beach and there’s laughter and running around. When you’re middle aged, it’s just a faster way to finish your list of boring things that need to be done. Can’t wait to get my license so I can drive to the dentist for that tooth extraction. Awesome.

Continue reading “CLANK Goes the Essay”

The Blooming



An avid birder from Australia was the first to notice them. She was visiting Peru on a tour and saw them through her binoculars. Unlike their close cousins, these swallows had bright red patches under their eyes. The tips of their wings were silver. They burrowed into cliffs on the shore of the South American country, hundreds of them. No one had seen the like of them before. The world of ornithology was stunned. A spokesperson from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, New York tried to explain the shock by saying it was like waking up and finding another room in your house had appeared overnight. Other than the hundreds of birders who flew to Peru to see the new species of swallow, the story was entertaining and no more. Some good news in a world full of bad news. The Red-eyed Swallow became a symbol of hope, at least to some. Scientists, however, were confounded and shocked.

On the coast of Maryland a few weeks later, crabs began to appear on the shore. They were bright purple in color with orange claws. Their eyes protruded slightly from their shells. An iridescent marking on their shells looked suspiciously like the mathematical symbol for pi. Others interpreted the symbol as a cross. Others as a crossed heart. Still others likened it to the face of Mary, mother of Jesus. But Pi crab caught on, and although its proper name was the Orange-clawed crab, no one recognized it as anything but the Pi crab. The new species came in hundreds. They steamed great pots of them and made crab cakes and kept their mathematical shells on desks to marvel and reflect upon.

Zebra dolphins were seen in the Mediterranean. They were striped black and white, as their name suggests, and they swam in pods much larger than normal dolphins. They were smaller than many dolphins, about the size of a German shepherd, but they leaped from the water with great alacrity. Some of their super pods had as many as a thousand individuals. They followed ships and boats, streaking through the water playfully.

The dagat appeared in New Zealand, a creature somewhat mixing the qualities of dog and cat. It was large with a pronounced snout, but had smooth, tigerish fur. Its eyes were emerald green and could be seen glowing in the forests at night. It gave out a bark when threatened, but also could be heard purring in the trees when the sun was pleasant.

In the Antarctic, photos came of a bird something like a penguin, but with the ability to fly over the water for very brief periods by super extending their wings and gliding. They also lacked the black and white tuxedo look of their penguin relatives. Instead they were lavishly colored with crimson heads, a sapphire blue chest, and green wing feathers. Their tail feather also trailed long feathers like a bird of paradise that terminated in two puffs of orange. It was called the Skimming Penguin.

Soon came the lorat and the pichami. There was also the bickurat and the red-winged sparrow. From South America came the Great Llama, nearly two times the size of its cousin, who moved in herds, eating not only cactus flowers but the leaves of acacia plants, like goats. There was the Southern Cheetah of Africa and the Panchera Tiger, which was described as like the Bengal Tiger but half the size and living in colonies of dozens, lounging in the trees and glowering down at all with baleful, threatening eyes. An infestation of magrats hit Iowa, packing corn in their kangaroo-like pouches. A mosquito whose bite injected a powerful soporific into their prey appeared in Maine and New Brunswick, creating hordes of people who flocked to the state to be bitten. It was claimed the sleep the mosquito produced was so profound that you woke up feeling as refreshed as a newborn. The occasional case of malaria was an annoying side effect. In the Sea of Japan appeared a whale as red as blood with a dark face who was as aggressive as its cousins were peaceful. They were named Bull Whales and became a serious nuisance for safe sea travel in that part of Asia. Bull Whales were known to capsize smaller boats and to cripple larger vessels by purposefully ramming themselves into propellers like kamikaze pilots. Woe to the swimmer near a Bull Whale! They were known to grasp a human in its jaws and drag them down into the profundities of ocean until they either drowned or their lungs collapsed from the pressure. The Pacific now teemed with blue-bellied anchovies that suddenly appeared off the coast of Chile and were soon seen as far north as San Francisco. In the Arctic swam the cycloptic eel, a strange one-eyed eel who congregated in seething masses of hundreds of thousands, fattening ecstatic Polar Bears.

In a period of a decade, scientists described the appearance of nearly six thousand new species. They seemed to appear every day and from every corner of the Earth. Popularly it was known as the Bloom. Evolutionary biologists were at a loss to explain it. Ecologists were baffled. Scientists all over the world worked day and night to find the explanation. Samples were taken and studied. Specimens were tested. DNA was separated and examined. One scientist, Gertrude Havelock, from the University of Iowa, put forth the Theory of Hyper Fecundity. She argued that following every era of mass extinction there followed an equal era of new life, new species. Now, because of the loss of biodiversity all over the world because of humanity, a new era of Hyper Fecundity was beginning, and it was happening much, much faster than any scientists would have guessed. A generation of scientists spent their lives studying the Fecundity with little results.

The Vasari emerged from Canada, but where exactly they originated was a mystery. They were taller than us, swathed in the white and golden fur of the Northern Mammoth, which had appeared a decade or so before. Their long, lithe arms carried slim rifles forged from steel. Their round eyes, larger than ours, were as yellow as the sun and just as bright. Their cheekbones were larger, their faces slimmer. Their skin changed color with the daylight so that they were light in the morning, dark in the full daylight, and light again at night. They were not separated by gender and each Vasari gave birth when he/she wished with a partner who likewise wished it. They spoke carefully in several human languages and one of their own, a language like waterfalls accentuated with pops and snaps. Their own language they would not share and linguists could not learn. They came in hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. They built their own cities in the North. Soon there were millions of them in Canada and Russia and Greenland.

A new world had arrived. The billions of us left found themselves in a world they did not recognize, full of creatures as strange to them as aliens. In our hearts, we felt the end of things. But it was not ugly. There was relief in the end that we would leave an Earth even more beautiful than the one we inherited. It was easy to surrender our desperate grasp upon something which always refused to be owned. With so much new beauty in the world, it was not difficult to die.

Like the penguin, we too learned to fly, to skim the waters of a place that had once been ours and then dive into the darkness.



The Dream of Crossed Paths


Occasionally, I will post short stories to my blog. I hope you enjoy!




The Dream of Crossed Paths


Although we are a people who have never seen the sun, we dream of it. In our dreams, the sun is bright yellow, sometimes red. From it falls an orange light, a soft warmth like a gentle fire on its last coals. We bask under it naked, with no fear of attack from the darkness. The light is everywhere. We are swimming in it. Immersed. But our dreams are fantasies of the light. We only have the image of the sun from ancient stories. We tell and re-tell our heritage. We speak of the sun and we dream of the sun and we ache for the light.

Continue reading “The Dream of Crossed Paths”

Anne of Grey Gables

About a week ago, I was writing an author interview and was thinking of my answer to the inevitable question: what is your favorite book? I don’t have a favorite book. I have many books that I love. Many books that I return to, many that remain with me after many years, strong, fierce books whose characters have etched themselves into my mind. When I was thinking about this, the book Anne of Green Gables came to me. I had been watching the new Netflix series “Anne with an E,” and it made me remember how powerful of a character is Anne Shirley. She is certainly one of literature’s most vivid characters, alive, imaginative, proud, and supremely decent.

That is why I wanted to take this time to forget about my own book and concentrate a little on a review of “Anne with an E,” the latest iteration of one of literature’s great creations, Anne Shirley. I want to start with the things I love about the show, and then talk about what I believe must change if this show is to be as good as it can be.

Continue reading “Anne of Grey Gables”

The Landscapes of Publishing


I’m happy to say that on May 17th, 2017, The World Without Crows went live on Amazon. It’s now available, finally. Over the past few days since then, I’ve been constantly writing, constantly clicking links, constantly trying to get the word out. I spent a blistering three days writing bloggers asking them to review the book. Now I’m settling back, thinking of what else I can do.

Writing is a good time, isn’t it? You get to know a story, your setting. You explore your characters, you get to wonder about the world, maybe discover a few things on the way. It’s like a hike in a wilderness that no one has ever visited.

Then there’s marketing the book. This is like going from a calm wilderness with calling birds and idyllic scenery to some vast, urban landscape, chugging away with pollution and noise, billboards flashing, people huddled together against the cold under blinking fluorescent lights. Into this landscape you walk, going up to strangers, saying, “Hey, read this,” or “Hey, this is only 99 cents.” And they shake their heads so you walk on, uncertain, maybe pulling your coat closer to your body. Then it’s off to the next group of people, trying to avoid the guys in trenchcoats, saying, “Hey, I can do that for you, only 50 dollars.” And you turn your face away and keep walking. It’s a jungle out there, baby. You’re going to die. Continue reading “The Landscapes of Publishing”