A Review: Leviathan

Alright, another review.

This is one I picked up a fair while ago. Whitcoulls had overstocked themselves with this book, and were literally stacking it on the stairwells with $5 price stickers. I bought it, I read it, I regretted it. I didn't finish the sequel.

Scott Westerfeld, the book's author, was already well-known for his 'Uglies' trilogy (and the 'Specials' standalone). I enjoyed his work immensly there, and figured I'd enjoy this series just as much, if not a little moreso due to its notoriously Steampunk-y world. He's a good, reputable author, there's no denying that.

Leviathan follows Alek, prince to an empire about to be thrown into war with his father's assassination, and Deryn, a young girl desperate to join the British Air Service even though only men are allowed. So of course, Deryn pretends to be a boy.

For a male author, Westerfeld seems to have little to no knowledge of how boys act. Sure, that might be the point, given that Deryn doesn't really know how boys act either, but if her act is bad then wouldn't she be found out right away? So yes, the book started with plausibility going down the toilet for me. And holy hell was she annoying. There's nothing worse than an annoying protagonist. I don't like her motivations, I don't like her actions and I don't like her internal dialogue.

Alek, on the other hand, ruins everything. His parents are killed and he is escorted away by very capable men with a very sophisticated contingency plan, which Alek consistently ruins. Sure, his 'ruining' the plan saves everyone on Deryn's air-whale-ship-bullshit in the end but in truth the whole thing just didn't fly for me. Yes, story endings are often on the 'convenient' side, and the protagonist doing things wrong will often be proven right in the long run, but at the end of the day I simply can't get behind Alek's actions. Even if the thing he does at the end is good, up until that point all he's really done is potentially jeopardised his safety. In fact, he does exactly that at the end too, only he gets away with it so we're meant to sit there and accept that it was the right thing to do.

Criticisms of character aside, the premise of the world is an interesting one. The Allies (pre-WWI), called 'Darwinists', use genetically engineered creatures as their 'military machines' while the other side of things (Clankers) use actual machines (namely giant walkers). Westerfeld does a good job of building lots of detail into the world, giving the reader a good sense of depth to things. It's immersive, and (somewhat) plausible, so on this front the book does fairly well. I still didn't like it, but that's on me this time.

I dunno, I just find the idea of salamanders crawling through a system of tubes built inside a flying whale kinda gross. Oh and the stuff about metal deckplates on the whale's innards is gross too.

Actually the entire execution of the 'Darwinist' creatures is really really off-putting if you put a moment's thought into it...

Normally books get away with that by being so gripping that you don't get a moment to think about it, or so good that you don't care about things like that. But Scott, the characters were terrible and vastly unlikeable, what did you expect me to focus on?

The ending is 100% what you'd expect, if you assume everyone thinks like a selfless but naiive 12-year-old. It's okay.

Oh and why the hell does Deryn act like she's fucking 10? She's a 15-year-old, pretending to be a 16-year-old.

Also, no book should include the phrase 'bum-rag full of clart'.


I said in my first ever review that I wouldn't give a numerical rating. I'm sticking to that principle You might like this book, but I didn't, and I got through 'Finnegan's Wake' dammit!

Another!

This may contain spoilers...

Or it may not...

Never trust someone over the internet...

I think Lifebringer should become a series. Granted, I'm getting a little ahead of myself here, but I really do think Lifebringer should be one of a series of books. I've been thinking about this for a while now actually, and I have a few ideas about how I'd extend this into a series.

Option A is to have further stories following Wrinlett. The upshot is it makes the series more cohesive, and it would have an indeterminate length as the series would essentially be 'how many stories of Wrin are there to tell?'

Option B is what I'm leaning more toward, which would have 6 books, each concerning a practicer of one of the world's 6 kinds of magic. The issue is this series could feel less cohesive, as essentially the only similarities between books would be the world itself. I might not even want to set pieces in the same time period as one another. Also, after a while I feel it would become a little formulaic. If the intention is to have 6 books, each following someone who does something significant, the reader is going to know that the character will do something significant. This, I feel, would make it difficult to have twists and turns, and may make otherwise good stories a little boring purely because the reader (loosely) knows how it's going to end. Granted, that's all a challenge I need to overcome. The issue is I'm not sure I can overcome it. At least not for 6 books.

I could trim Option B down to less than 6 books, but that seems a little pointless really. That would leave an incomplete set in my opinion. It's like if the Harry Potter series skipped out every other year. Or like writing a songs about Earth, Air and Fire while missing out water. The series would naturally fall as being 6 books under this structure.

So how do I tackle this problem? How do I make 6 whole stories that are interesting, exciting, engaging and let's be honest, readable when the premise gives massive hints at any given ending? You'd pick up a book, get introduced to a character, and sit there knowing that by the end they would have done something significant. I can't fake out and have them not do something significant or I debase the premise of the series. I can't stick to the formula because that makes something boring.

Ah well, I'll come up with something...

A Week Well Wasted

I feel again like I've done a whole lot of nothing.

Only I haven't.

Ok, sure, I haven't done heaps, but this week I've got a lot more done than I have in recent months. I've been sick as a dog all week, yet I still managed to get my shit together for a shoot on Thursday (which came out real nice) and managed to get the ball rolling on Lifebringer again (which now stands at 50,000 words). It's not been a lot, but it's been progress.

It's really hard to remember in the harder times how much work I have done in the past. I can sit there feeling what what I've written is crap, but I have to remind  myself that a) it's only a draft and b) I'm still learning to write books. It's so easy to forget those things and get myself down. It's easy to make no progress and beat myself up over it. It's easy to fall into a slump and not have the patience or energy to get out of it.

I've been in a slump, and I'm hoping that this last week means I'm on my way out of it.

Thing is, for the longest time I was getting frustrated that I wasn't doing any work on Lifebringer, or any other of my projects for that matter. In truth, it's okay to not get anything done if I'm not able to get myself working. I could force myself to write 500 words, hate the process, hate the words and frustrate myself with having to edit them later. Or I could just wait. I could wait until I can write 2,000 words, and have them be better than if I'd forced them.

Now yes, this says some things about work ethic. But I'm not saying 'it's ok to slack off and not try', I'm just saying it's ok to stop if trying hard is yielding nothing. I'm not working to a deadline here. I'm not under any contracts. I've got other stuff in my life and I'm allowed to let my writing sit idle for a time if I so please. What I'm not allowed to do, at least if I want to be taking myself seriously, is stop trying. It's important to keep myself 'in practice', if you will. And that means sitting the fuck down and trying to get some work done from time to time. Or writing a short one-off piece just to keep my skills sharp

So that's what I've done this week. I've been legitimately slacking off, and I'm done getting down on myself about it. So now I'm making myself try and write, even if I end up deleting all the words after an hour. It's paid off this week in the form of another chapter of Lifebringer, and my hope is that before long it'll yield greater and greater returns.

And if it doesn't, then at least I can be satisfied that I'm trying. The alternative sucks.

A Lack Thereof

I'm talking about motivation.

I feel inadequate. I'll be honest, dear reader, most of my viewership for this blog is people I know personally, so this is far from easy to say.

I've sunk 10 grand into a film course that I'm enjoying, but I'm constantly left feeling like I'm not good enough, and not in the sort of way that makes me motivated to improve. Every script I come up with is criticised, and more recently I've been made to feel guilty for being comfortable with the work I produce. Hot damn, teach, I'm learning here. These are the first film scripts I've ever worked on, let me feel good for making a start god dammit.

The presenting work sounded like fun, like a way to add legitimacy to a skill I've already nurtured through shoutcasting. And hey, much like going to film school to expand on my writing skillset I figured taking this extra class could help me expand my presenting skillset. It has done just that, to some extent, but it's been at the cost of the other skills I went to film school to gain. I've been shirked on other in-studio roles during the term's three studio shows (save for the most recent, where I was able to take someone else's Assistant Floor Manager role). The tutor is clearly very skilled and very knowledgeable, but he's a poor teacher. Frankly, it's been innate skill that's steered me through that class so far (yes, I know, tooting my own horn...)

Then there's the feedback. I'm perpetually unimpressed. I've been grilled by rude tutors over things that aren't my doing. I've been subject to personal attacks by teachers in front of peers during spiels devoid of all useful critique. I've been told to do nothing but work harder, without being given any further guidance or an avenue to gain guidance.

Put simply, I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in myself for the low quality of work I've produced. I'm disappointed in my lack of motivation. I'm disappointed in my education so far and my seeming inability to make the most of it. Thousands of people have been through that school, and they boast an 80% employment rate for graduates. What's so wrong with me that I'm struggling?

It gets a guy down, and it's hard to get back up.

Slacker

Yep, I'm a slacker. I didn't post anything this Wednesday. I might as well hang up the towel after that.

Anyway, here's (unedited) chapter 3 of Lifebringer, because in all honesty I have nothing new to say about anything this week.

Hell, it's not even a long chapter. I'm the worst content creator this side of Treyarch.

Slacker indeed.

Chapter 3

Admissions

     This corridor was much like the first, only shorter and festooned with twice as many banners. In a way, it was like a concentrated version of the other one. It wasn't what Wrin had expected, but then when he thought about it he wasn't sure quite what he had expected.

     The corridor ended in an archway like every other in the Cathedral, but the room beyond was nothing like the rest of the building. It was still wrought from stone, but it was simple, utilitarian. There were no banners, no frescoes, no stained glass. The only decoration was a single brazier burning in the centre of the room. At the far end of the room was a table with three men sat behind it. A fourth, the one who had fetched Wrin from the chapel, joined them now. The room was very different indeed, but it matched exactly the floor plans Wrin had studied.

     "Wrinlett Leeve. Who is your father?" said the leftmost Clergyman.

     "His name was Tijun." Wrin replied, voice clear but quiet. He didn't exactly want the Priests to pity him, but the less they thought of him the easier he would slip about unnoticed.

     "Mother?" he continued.

     "Gloria." said Wrin.

     "Were either Blessed? asked the man.

     "No."

     That seemed to be all his questions. He scribbled in a ledger that sat in front of him, then turned to the man beside him.

     If Wrin thought he was nervous before, he'd been dead wrong. All at once a wave of nausea washed over him. Here he was, after all these years, standing in the interview room for admissions. He'd made all his plans, and everything should be perfect, but there was always that shadow of doubt. For a split second, that shadow consumed him, made him dizzy and blurred his vision.

     But he didn't show it. Oh no, Wrinlett Leeve was too good at what he did to slip up like that. It would work, everything had always worked, because Wrin was hard working and smart. That put him ahead of most, and his easy charm put him ahead of the rest. He could handle admissions. He'd made the plan, it would work.

     "Wrinlett." said the second man along the table. His head was balding, and what hair was left had long since gone white, but there was a youthful wiliness about him.

     Wrinlett kept his attention on the man, as he had from the moment the first man stopped.

     "As you should know, this is not a place for those chasing fanciful notions of wielding secret magics. Here you might learn to heal the sick and wounded, should you work at it. This is more a school of medicine than a school of the arcane. That said, in learning here you will be taught the ways of the Hymns, which you will use in the service of the Priesthood to heal, and not for personal gain."

     Wrin started to sweat, but not on his face. He never seemed to sweat where others could see. A useful trait, as one could imagine. The plan should have been in action long ago, though. Where was his interruption?

     "Wrin, I will now have you recite the words, given to you by the Protector himself, and you will sing his First Hymn."

     This was it, the crux of the con. Here planning blended with luck and lies, and in a few seconds he would be running on fumes. But he had timed it, it should happen any minute now...

     Wrin opened his mouth. He spoke the first word, a word he had no business knowing. A word he had stolen from an unwilling tongue.

     Then it happened. A crash, a cry, an almighty boom. The four men at the table stood up in alarm. One spared him a momentary glance, but said nothing as they all ran from the room. Their bodies spoke of urgency and practiced calm, of a rise to the call of duty.

     And Wrin was alone.

     It had worked.

Hit The Books

I've realised something recently. Granted I realise new things all the time, like yesterday when I realised my manboobs are big enough to make convincing cleavage if I tape them together the right way.

The thing I want to talk about though is how much university sucks if you like reading.

Some of my readers probably already know about my ill-fated stint at university. In fact it was upon dropping out that I started this blog to help encourage my writing. While at university, my time was taken up by nothing but university. Or at least in theory it was... In truth my time was taken up by video games and food. But I digress...

For the average student who is interested in passing papers, the bulk of your time is taken up by university. I don't mean to say that every waking moment is study, study, study. But certainly when you're not at university, or travelling to and from school, or working on assignments, you're still thinking about university. Every moment is pervaded by thoughts of study. If you're at your evening job, you're thinking about how early you need to wake up for class tomorrow. If you're at a party, you're thinking about the assignment due next week. If you've just finished exams, you're thinking about applying for nest semester's papers. University is your life while you're there.

You know all this when you apply to a university. You start studying there knowing how much of your time and life it will take up. That's fine, that's part of it. And yes, you don't spend every single second thinking about university. There is down-time. The problem is, reading comes in pretty low on the list of 'down-time activities', so when your downtime is really limited, you tend to end up not reading.

For 4 years.

I of course can't speak for everyone, but I know for a fact I started reading a hell of a lot more when I dropped out of university. In fact, I was amazed that when I came home from work and sat down to play a game or whatever, I didn't feel guilty at all. I was so used to sitting there, knowing there was some other work that still needed doing. I was gobsmacked at how much time I now had. Most of my friends are finishing their degrees now and they're going through the same experience. By extension, a lot of them have started reading again.

I also know plenty of people who read while they were at uni, so don't take this as me saying 'students don't have time to read'. Some do, most don't. And those that do still tend to read less than they would have were they not studying. In truth I fall into this category. I was still reading during the year and a half I was at university, it's just that in that time I read maybe 3-4 books in total. By comparison, I've read about 10 books so far this year. Yes I'm a slow reader.


My question, therefore, is how does this phenomenon affect publishers? More people than ever are going to university, often for 4 or more years. That's a massive chunk of the population. It's the bridge between 'Young Adult' and 'Adult fiction'. It's a demographic writers will struggle to write for, simply because so few will ever read what's out there for them. Publishers will be loathe to publish books for this age group, simply because there's too few buyers. Retailers won't stock those sorts of books, because they'll just waste space.

And the group that loses out is the writers.

As always.

A Lot of Nothing

Yep, I've been doing a whole lot of nothing lately. Or at least nothing in terms of my ongoing projects. What I have been doing is a lot of scriptwork and, well, taking time off. Allow me to elaborate.

I'm exhausted. Lifebringer has slowed down, and I need time to ruminate on it before I can comfortably move forward. Such is the way with projects sometimes. Maiden Voyage has gone unedited since receiving my (first) rejection letter. Ambervale still needs a Part 3, and then there's a whole load of work to be done editing-wise. Beyond the Horizon is also lying in wait for other projects to wrap up, and has been for some time. I'm not really working on much of anything right now, save for schoolwork.

So why am I exhausted?

Well, in the simplest terms I did a lot of work (relatively speaking) in a very short amount of time. In the space of about 4 months I wrote 50,000 words of Lifebringer, edited all 65,000 words of Maiden Voyage, wrote 20,000 words of Beyond the Horizon and wrote 10,000 words of Ambervale. This all on top of starting a new qualification in a totally different field to what I've previously worked in. I need to recharge the batteries.

And that's fine.

For the first week or so of getting nothing done, I was seriously beating myself up over my lack of progress. I hated that I hadn't touched Lifebringer, or revisited Maiden Voyage, or even so much as written a 500 word piece. I hated that I wasn't making progress, even though I had no motivation to write.

Then I got off my own back, and I realised I'm allowed to take a break if I need one. No-one is paying me to do this. I'm under no contracts, have signed no deals and am not leaving any fans hanging. If other things get busy and the writing falls by the wayside that's fine. If I just need some quieter months where I'm not working at my limits every day that's fine. If I need to put more mental energy into learning the new form of writing my chosen qualification requires that's fine.

I'm doing fine. I'm allowed to take time off.

I realised a while ago that one of the things I love about writing and the idea of doing it for (most of) a living is that there will be times when I can just stop. I don't have to call a manager, I don't have to get a doctor's note. I can just go. I was driving to school, headed northward, and I realised that if I really wanted, I could just keep driving. I could drive until I reached my family's beach house, and I could just pause everything and stay there a few days. I want to always have that option, because sometimes I need something like that.

Maybe that makes me privileged. Thing is, with how hard I work when I'm going full-pelt, I think that's a privilege I've very well earned.

Or maybe it's not.

Who's to say?

So what have I been doing in my idle moments? Playing Roller Coaster Tycoon. It's a great game, and you can buy it on Steam for around $7. It was mostly made by one guy, and the code is robust as hell. My girlfriend runs it on Windows 8. Seriously, go pick that game up...