But here, at the Nebula Awards Weekend, I was most certainly the little guy. And it was pretty cool.

As part of my volunteer duties, I helped babysit the press room. And there was a moment yesterday where I’m sitting there while Sword & Laser interviewed the legendary (and truly wonderful) Gene Wolfe, with Nebula nominee Kim Stanley Robinson listening intently nearby, and John Scalzi and Mary Robinette Kowal hovering by the door, also eavesdropping.

And I’m just this newbie, you know? I don’t fanboy much, but it was a great moment.

Needless to say, I’m having a blast. Everyone continues to be welcoming to the new guy, and I’ve met authors whose works I’ve enjoyed. I had a beer with Saladin Ahmed and had a great chat with awesome anthologist John Joseph Adams as we shared a table at last night’s mass signing. Even with The Daedalus Incident delayed, two people asked me to sign one of the flyers I ginned up to help spread the word, and I got a few folks signed up for the ebook giveaway. I even signed a 1950s Stanford yearbook, which I thought was a particularly random-yet-clever way to gather autographs.

I also gathered a bit of news to share about The Daedalus Incident. A gentleman from Audible.com (whose name escapes me now, sorry!) came up to my table and expressed enthusiasm for getting the audiobook of Daedalus out as soon as the Night Shade/Skyhorse deal wraps up.  Now, I wasn’t quite sure when or how — or even if — that was happening, so needless to say, this was a very pleasant surprise.

Thus, when Daedalus finally launches, it will indeed be available as an audiobook from Audible.com! This is great, exciting stuff, and I can’t wait to actually hear someone read it aloud.

Today we have our SFWA business meeting, a few panels, and the Nebula Awards dinner and…awardings, I suppose…this evening. Scalzi has warned that if we don’t get a quorum for the business meeting, he will conduct it before the Nebulas are handed out, and I believe him. So I better get moving. If I can, I’ll be Tweeting from the awards ceremony tonight, so feel free to follow along, and see some of the photos from last night’s signing, too!

Since I’m helping out a bit with the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America’s publicity efforts this weekend, I was invited to join a small group of folks for dinner last night with SFWA Grand Masters Connie Willis and Gene Wolfe. Both are amazing writers, but perhaps more importantly, they’re just lovely people to be around. It was an honor to meet them both. They then went on to do great readings and an interesting discussion at SF in SF here.

As it turns out, The Daedalus Incident is a known quantity around here, and people seem quite interested in it, which is really gratifying to see. I mean, one person said, “Oh, you’re the guy with the book in limbo.” Yes, yes I am. But you HAVE heard of it. So that’s something, right?

Today I’ll be conducting a few audio interviews for SFWA, and sitting in on others, and tonight is the mass signing by SFWA authors. Although I don’t have anything to sign yet, I’ll be there with some information about Daedalus to hand out, and I may do an ebook giveaway for folks. So if you’re coming to the event, be sure to stop by and say hello!

Finally, I’d like to point you to Chuck Sambuchino’s great Guide to Literary Agent’s blog. Part and parcel with the “Breaking In” feature from the most recent issue of Writer’s Digest, today’s “Successful Queries” post talks about the query letter I sent to the Nelson Literary Agency and how it intrigued my agent, Sara Megibow, enough to eventually sign me on as a client. I admit, looking back, I can’t help but cringe a bit at the writing, but in the end, the letter did what it needed to do.

Many thanks to Sara for all the kind words and, more importantly, for taking me on! She’s done a ton of work to get this book out the door. She’s gone above and beyond under the circumstances, and I’m fortunate to have her in my corner.

The Daedalus Incident has been named the science fiction/fantasy debut of the month by the folks at Library Journal, complete with a starred review. Their verdict:

Martinez’s debut is a triumph of genre-blending, as steampunk adventure merges with modern space opera. With a cast of superbly drawn characters, Martinez’s title is a mesmerizing tale of two universes that briefly cross paths, leaving both worlds forever changed.

I have no words for this one, other than thank you, Library Journal. Just…wow.

Prepare for battle under Jupiter’s fiery red eye….

Welcome to the next installment of The Gravity of the Affair, the novella set in the historical fantasy setting of The Daedalus Incident. In Part I, posted last week, we were introduced to a young post-captain by the name of Horatio Nelson, in command of the 12-gun brig HMS Badger. Nelson had left Europa in pursuit of another vessel, and we pick up the story with him and his ship in the Void, looking for his quarry.

***

Turning to his glass, Nelson scanned the horizon, knowing full well that the sharp-eyed lookouts would spot the other vessel first. But it gave him something to do. And now that the Badger was out within the Void, there was much more to see. Jupiter waxed gibbous in this part of the Jovian system, and treated the eye to brilliant ribbons of orange and salmon, along with its famed fiery red eye. To starboard, Io burned like a tiny cinder in the blackness, while Ganymede to starboard was a lovely blue-white spark—one that now burned with the fires of revolution. It was there that thirteen British colonies—more than three quarters of the land held by the Crown on that moon—had rebelled against the rightful authority of the Crown, and word was that the French might involve themselves in the matter, as the French often did when they were unwelcome.

Nelson hoped to see Ganymedean colors upon the vessel he pursued, for that would give him free rein in his course, allowing him to take or destroy the “Ganny” vessel. Were she French, the matter would grow complicated quickly.

Lt. Edwards seemed to have his own mental calculus with regard to their prey. “Captain, a word?” he said, his back to the crew and his voice whispered in Nelson’s ear.

Nelson folded his glass slowly with a faint grimace. He knew what was coming. “Yes, Mr. Edwards?” he said as casually as he could muster.

“Sir, I must reiterate, we’ve no notion of how many guns this ship has,” Edwards said, his voice remaining low. “We know she’s a frigate. That’s at least twenty-two to our twelve. And she could have twenty-eight, maybe even forty. There’s no telling. But I still count only twelve guns on our part. Sir.”

The last “sir” saved Edwards from a stern reprimand, but Nelson remained quite displeased. As inexperienced as he was, Nelson was in command, not Edwards. Indeed, had Edwards proven his mettle aboard other ships previously, perhaps he wouldn’t be serving under a twenty-year-old post-captain.

“As I have explained more than once, Mr. Edwards, our mission is to fully identify this ship.  If we have some tactical advantage due to our speed, we may then attempt to slow her down so the rest of the fleet may find her easier pickings when she seeks to make keel-fall upon Ganymede,” Nelson said, his words clipped. “If fortune smiles upon us, we may even take her.”

“But at what risk, sir?” Edwards said, his eyes showing genuine concern.

Nelson smiled grimly. “If you wished to avoid risk, Mr. Edwards, you might have chosen a different vocation in life.” With this, Nelson strode away to inspect the sails, leaving a red-faced, angry subordinate behind. Cruger looked from one man to the other before deciding to follow the captain, quite literally.

Minutes later, the call came down from the tops. “Ship sighted! Three points off the larboard side, four points down the plane!” Nelson snapped open his glass and looked to his left, and slightly downward…there. The ship was still too far away to truly make out her type, let alone her colors, but the sparkling trail of Sun-motes behind her was enough for the moment. Nelson fervently believed they had managed to reacquire the frigate’s trail—but they would have to get closer to find out.

“Set course three points larboard, four points down,” Nelson shouted back toward Edwards, who likewise had his glass out. “I want every sheet full, Mr. Cruger.”

The orders, to Nelson’s surprise, would not be necessary. “She’s coming about!” the lookout cried. “She’s making for us!”

“That makes things easier,” Nelson said. “Mr. Cruger, maintain course and beat to quarters, if you please.” Smiling, Cruger repeated the order at the top of his lungs.

Immediately, the Badger’s bell rang out, and one of the few Marines aboard began tapping out a martial rhythm on his drum. More hands swarmed onto the main deck from below, unlashing the six guns on each side of the ship and preparing them for firing. Runners brought fresh cannon shot to each gun, streaks of paint marking their alchemical properties—red for Greek Fire, white for piercing hulls, green for acidic grape shot for use against sails and enemy crews alike. Nelson opted for the white, as he wanted to capture the other ship, not set her ablaze.

Nelson noticed Cruger’s smile as he relayed this last order. Cruger was perhaps seventeen, and eager to learn his trade in anticipation of sitting for his lieutenant’s exam. He also, apparently, was a new father as well as a new husband, the former coming a bit too quickly upon the heels of the latter. Thus, Nelson considered that the prospect of prize money may have motivated him as well. Regardless, the young man did his duty well, and Nelson’s inspection of the gun crews showed nothing amiss. Cruger commanded the larboard division, while his fellow midshipman, an older man named Edward Capper, commanded the starboard guns. Capper served…adequately, but like Edwards, he was slightly too old to be in such a role on such a ship. And Nelson knew Capper liked his brandy overmuch.

The next five minutes were tensely quiet as the two ships closed over immense distances under the watchful red eye of Jupiter. Ships in the Void, buoyed by the strange alchemy of the Sun-currents, could sail at incredible speeds, but the stars were vast indeed, and it was impossible to judge distances until moments before engagement. Still, it seemed that Forster’s alchemy—a brilliant improvisation pressed upon him by circumstance—was serving Badger well. To Nelson, it seemed the ship handled better and showed even more than her usual grace and speed in the Void.

“Red and white spotted!” cried the lookout. “Stripes! She’s a Ganny!”

“I can’t make her guns, sir,” Capper shouted from the main deck. “She’s coming at us bow first.”

“Very well,” Nelson said, loud enough for the rest of the crew to hear. “She may have fifty guns to our twelve, I care not! She will find this Badger tough prey indeed!”

There was a chorus of cheers from the crew, but even Nelson recognized these were bold words. The Badger would likely be outclassed by even a ship its own size, let alone one much bigger. No doubt the crew knew it as well, but they did seem to respond to him—certainly more so than some of his officers did.

“Mr. Edwards,” Nelson said, joining his second-in-command at the aft of the ship. “I want your best men upon the planes. If we are to make the most of this engagement, we must maneuver quickly around our adversary.”

Edwards frowned. “Sir, with due respect, you don’t really mean to try to take her, do you? We are, if I may say so, quite outclassed here.”

At least Edwards had spoken very quietly again. Nelson responded in kind, but with steel in his voice. “Mr. Edwards, I am fully aware of the disparity between ourselves and the Ganny. I believe we have one, perhaps two, opportunities to rake her and still make good our escape, at which time we can apply full canvas once more and make for Ganymede and Port Royal to report. And if we are indeed fortunate, and our shots land true, then yes, we may yet take her. Now, this is the very last time I expect I shall have to justify myself to you. Is that clear, Mr. Edwards?”

For a moment, it seemed Edwards wished to make a fight of it, but he apparently thought better of it. “Quite clear, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said quietly.

“Very well,” Nelson said, his voice growing louder. “Five points down upon the planes, Mr. Edwards!” The first lieutenant dutifully repeated the order, and for now Nelson was satisfied, though he imagined he and Edwards would revisit the topic in private later. Nelson returned eye to the glass and his mind to the Ganny.

Two areas of an enemy ship were vulnerable in a Void engagement—the stern and the topside. Since they were heading straight for each other, Nelson hoped to quickly rise above the larger, heavier ship, in order to punch down through her maindeck and, hopefully, hit her rudder-sail and planes as well.

“Secure body lines!” Edwards called out, and wisely so. Immediately, the rest of the men —those who were not already in the rigging—started lashing ropes around their waists, preparing for the radical maneuvers that often accompanied battle in the Void. The alchemical lodestones in the Badger’s hold did indeed provide gravity, but they often took a few moments to compensate for steep turns and dips.

Meanwhile, the ships continued to fly toward each other. Unlike battle at sea, Void conflicts were much more like the ancient sport of jousting, in which both ships would rush at each other and fire quickly before speeding past, then turn around in swooping arcs to fire again.

“Stand ready!” Nelson shouted as he made his way back to the quarterdeck, where he might give further instruction to the helmsman. He would have to time his maneuvers perfectly. He gauged the enemy ship’s speed, and his own, against the positions of Jupiter and its moons, and then pulled out a stopwatch to measure time and distance as best he could, though such maneuvers remained more art than science. Thirty seconds later and it was time.

“Up five points on the starboard plane! Left full rudder!” Nelson ordered.

Immediately, the Badger rose higher in the Void and started to rotate onto its side, bringing the larboard battery of guns downward to blast into the enemy’s hull.

Too late, Nelson saw that his enemy was rising as well and attempting the same gambit, which would likely bring the two ships within mere feet of each other—if they were lucky. Otherwise, they might collide.

“Right full rudder!” Nelson cried. The Badger swooped off to the right, continuing its upward trajectory to avoid collision. However, this now meant that the two ships would face each other’s broadsides directly, and the Ganny had at least 14 guns on each side of her.

It was a horrible mismatch. But Nelson felt it was too late to turn back now, as any further maneuver would expose Badger’s stern. “Larboard battery—FIRE!”

Explosions rang out as the two ships fired upon each other. Badger shuddered as several shots slammed into her sides and her upper deck. One of the larboard guns spun off into the Void, along with two gunners, while splinters, blood and the shouts of men filled the air.

And just as quickly as it began, the volley was over.

Nelson whipped around and watched as the Ganny quickly receded into the void. It looked like Badger had managed some fine shots, as there was a noticeably large hole in the Ganny’s aft larboard side, while her mainmast seemed a few points from true. Nelson turned, preparing to order another pass, but was stopped in his tracks by what he saw.

Two other guns on the larboard side had been destroyed, and Nelson could see at least eight men down, two or three of whom were not moving at all. There were three large holes in the bloodstained main deck where the pirate had landed shots, and a few chunks of wood and rope hung in the air above them, marking where the lodestones below were damaged. The mainmast was now listing to starboard, while the larboard plane-sail was in tatters.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Nelson saw Forster clamber up the stairs from the belly of the ship, making his way toward a group of sailors gathered around the prone body of an officer.

Nelson spotted Capper among the crowd. The fallen man would have to be Cruger. But an hour past, Cruger had been reporting ready on the quarterdeck, grateful to be escaping icy Europa. Now chill oblivion threatened the young man. Nelson blanched as his stomach roiled, and he involuntarily grabbed the railing at his side to remain steady. His first command. His first engagement. And now, the first casualties.

Torn between continuing the battle and tending to his officer, Nelson chanced a look behind him. The Ganny had not come about, and she seemed to be heading off toward a long, yellow-gold band in the far distance—the interplanetary Sun-current. Damaged as she was and heading in the wrong direction besides, Badger would not likely catch the enemy before it could enter the current and be carried off Sunward—to which world, only God knew.

His nausea replaced with an unfocused rage and anguish, Nelson slammed his glass closed and made for the main deck. He strode quickly toward Capper and Forster, shoving gawking crewmen aside. Edwards followed in his wake.

“How bad?” Nelson demanded.

Forster, kneeling next to Cruger’s body, merely looked up at Nelson and shook his head. Cruger’s chest was covered in blood, a large piece of splintered wood the thickness of an oar sticking out of him.

Nelson lowered his head in silence, gathering himself as best he could, before turning toward his first lieutenant.

“Mr. Edwards,” he said finally. “Have the crew stand down, but keep lookouts upon the tops in case the Ganny’s retreat is a ruse. Begin repairs immediately and set course for Ganymede and Port Royal as soon as we are able.”

Edwards looked at Nelson with something akin to disgust, as though he wished nothing more than to throttle his commander. Yet he managed to mutter a simple, “Aye, sir,” before turning to relay the orders to the crew in a hoarse, choked voice.

Nelson wheeled around and quickly strode to his cabin, head down so the men would not see the tears on his face. It would be two days before the rest of the crew would see him on deck again. When he reappeared, it was only to order a new course, to a certain settlement upon Ganymede, before finally making for the Crown’s port.

***

To be continued…

First off, no official word yet on the Skyhorse/Start purchase of Night Shade Books’ assets. There’s not a heap I’m comfortable saying publicly, other than I remain encouraged by developments. While a bit of uncertainty remains, I expect it’s more a question of when than if at this point.

Folks who have pre-ordered The Daedalus Incident on Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble may have noted that the release date has been changed from May 7 to June 11. This was news to me, and I’m not sure if that’s the official date or if it’s just a placeholder. Some pre-order customers at Amazon got e-mails updating them, others have not. Either way, you can still pre-order the book, and it’ll show up on or shortly after the official release date…whenever that is.

Speaking of pre-orders, I’m hugely gratified and humbled by all the enthusiasm for Daedalus. I honestly don’t understand how Amazon’s sales rankings are calculated, but the rankings for Daedalus are up there with books newly released by established authors for whom I have a ton of respect. People are out there ordering it, despite all the uncertainty, and for that I’m very, very thankful.

I’m also grateful for all the interest in my novella, The Gravity of the Affair, which saw its debut right here on the blog on Tuesday. It ended up being my second-best web-traffic day ever for this site. I also want to give a big shout out to John DeNardo and Regan Wolfram of SFSignal for helping spread the word. I’ll post the second installment next Tuesday, so stay tuned!

Finally, I’m heading out to San Jose on Thursday for Nebula Awards Weekend! I’m very much looking forward to meeting so many talented SFWA authors and learning a heap from the panels. Expect a flurry of tweets and perhaps a blog post or two while I’m there. I’ll be attending the SF in SF event on Thursday, and I’ll be hanging around the mass signing on Friday. Sadly, I’m out of preview copies of Daedalus to sign and give away, but if you see me there, come say hi. If there’s enough interest, I may give away an ebook copy of Daedalus while I’m there.

After that, I’ll be around the SFWA booth at Book Expo America in New York on Thursday, May 30, and I’m scheduled to do a little something, whether it’s a signing or reading or giveaway, at 2 p.m. that day. If you’re heading to the big show, be sure to come find me!

Unfortunately, vampires seem to be one of those collective myths that regularly get reinvented, then beaten into the ground. They’ve been monstrous, romantic, angst-ridden and…sparkly. Taking on something that’s as iconic and over-used as the vampire requires a great degree of intestinal fortitude as well as a very creative angle. M.L. Brennan, author of Generation V, which debuted Tuesday, thinks she’s got an answer to that and, not coincidentally, to the guest blog theme question.

—

So, what makes my book so gosh-darn special, anyway?

That’s a good question, and not just since I’m buttering up Michael like a roll right now (Hi Michael!). Urban fantasy has become a very crowded genre over the past few years, and I don’t think there’s a single person who would suggest that vampires are underexposed. So when a reader learns that my urban fantasy novel is starring a vampire, I think they’d be well within their rights to ask what in the name of heaven I’ve done to make my book stand out from the pack. “Go on,” I can imagine my bored and jaded potential reader say, “Surprise me.”

Don’t mind if I do.

We’re all familiar with the standard urban fantasy vampire. Recent writers (*cough* Rice *cough* Meyers) have left very deep marks in how we view what a vampire is – a vampire is immortal, night-dwelling, with the kind of hair usually only seen on bad guys in Die Hard. The vampire is probably European, and very cultured. He (and this vampire is usually going to be male) is a very stylish dresser. At some point in time this vampire was human – the glossy-haired ne’er-do-well who pouted in French cafes in a bygone era before being changed into his current, immortal, form. The pouting has evolved into brooding. Maybe a little whining. Sometimes he will make some special human into a vampire like himself – this process involves just a few drops of blood, a little slo-mo camera work, and possibly a hot oil treatment to make the hair look more fabulous. This vampire is centuries old, impossibly jaded… until he meets a certain female human between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, at which point he will fall hopelessly in love and try to convince her to join him for an eternity of… you know, whatever the hell he’s been filling his time with. Yahtzee?

Bored.

So bored.

Let’s start with the basics – this vampire is going to live forever and never age? Well, there went most of my interest, and basically 90% of the character’s motivation. Growing up, growing old, having ambitions and desires and a limited span of time to make those happen? That’s where conflict comes from! That’s where characters start becoming stressed, or taking action, or doing something. So the first change I made was that my vampires were not going to be immortal – there was a time limit here. They age, and will eventually die.

Also, that turning-humans-into-vampires stuff? That sounds like a population explosion waiting to happen. While I’m sure most of these wafting, elitist, European vampires choose only the very classiest people to change, and are so selective that they will change only one or two people per century, we’re going past any point of rationality not to assume that there wasn’t some vampire Jim-Bob at some point in time who just started turning people like crazy. How many humans can a vampire turn per night? One? Two? Three on the outside? Do you realize how many that becomes in a year? There were medieval kings who had literally hundreds of illegitimate children – vampires could top that! So the next big change was simple – vampires aren’t turned humans. They are a completely separate species, with their own biology.

Two changes, and suddenly my vampires are very different than just about anything you’ll see today on an urban fantasy shelf. And I didn’t stop at two changes – once you start constructing a species by taking ideas from the natural world, things get really interesting. After all, if vampires are the natural predators of humans, then that means that vampires = grizzly bears and humans = salmon. What are some other differences? Bears reach sexual maturity later than salmon, and have lower reproductive peaks over a lifetime. Bears live longer than salmon. Also, that bear is probably not going to be particularly inclined to fall in love with the salmon, and even if he did, he can’t turn the salmon into a bear. Eventually that beloved salmon will become beloved dinner.

That was my starting point, and after that, things started getting very interesting and fun. And, I’ll just say it – gosh-darned special.

Generation V is on shelves May 7. Come check out what other changes I made!

—

Be sure to check out Generation V, as well as M.L.’s blog and Twitter. And if you’re an author interested in a guest post on this blog, here are the rules and regs.

Welcome to Europa

Today was scheduled to be the release date for The Daedalus Incident, but since that’s been delayed, I’m pleased to introduce The Gravity of the Affair, a novella set in the Known Worlds setting shared by the novel.

The following is the start of the novella, and I’ll likely continue posting excerpts, in order, every so often between now and whenever Daedalus launches. Ultimately, I do have plans for this work, and I probably won’t post the entire thing. But since everyone’s been so awesome in supporting me while the Night Shade acquisition slogs along, I wanted to share something by way of thanks. Enjoy the read and, if you like it, be sure to tell others about it!

***

In Horatio Nelson’s opinion, there was very little to recommend the icy moon of Europa. Damnably cold and unsparingly bleak, the horrible little snowball was buffeted by terrible winds that drove ice and snow into every stitch of Nelson’s greatcoat as his ship plowed through its frigid seas. Even the sight of great Jupiter, a looming, Falstaffian presence in this part of the Known Worlds, was obscured by altogether too many shades of white and grey.

He would see Jupiter soon enough, however. That was enough to keep him warm for the time being. That…and knowing that he was well upon the trail of his quarry.

A young officer rushed up the two steps to the quarterdeck—or what passed for a quarterdeck on a ship as small as HMS Badger—and saluted Nelson. To be fair, the midshipman was but three years younger than Nelson. But it was Nelson who wore the braid upon his shoulder that signified his status. At the age of twenty, Nelson was master and commander of this ship, and of the ninety souls aboard.

“Report, Mr. Cruger,” Nelson said crisply.

George Cruger stood tall despite the gust of wind that sent icy spray into his face, though he kept his hand upon his tricorn hat to keep it from blowing overboard. “Lookouts report aurorae ahead, sir. No signs of other ships.”

Nelson nodded; it was news he well expected. He turned to the officer by his side, the Badger’s first—and only—lieutenant, Osbourne Edwards. “Mr. Edwards, rig for Void, if you please.”

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant responded, a small smile creeping over his face. Normally, Edwards was a dour sort, perhaps naturally so, perhaps due to serving under an officer several years his junior. But the prospect of leaving Europa likely gave him no small satisfaction. Turning forward, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted: “All hands! Rig for Void-sailing! Ready the planes and ruddersail. Secure body lines!”

From the bowels of the ship, an unwashed horde of men clambered up ladders and scuttled onto the main deck. On either side of the ship, the men unwrapped several long spars and checked the canvas that connected them. Once done, four men stood upon each side, waiting for further word.

Likewise, behind Nelson a similar contraption of wood, canvas and metal was carefully unfolded and placed onto a bracket upon the aft railing. Other men began to climb the rigging attached to the Badger’s two masts to add extra rope to the ship’s main and fore sails.

And every man aboard, be he gunner, topsman or officer, secured a line around his waist. In Nelson’s case, this was done by his valet, Frank Lepee. The young Londoner, barely arrived at manhood, had tried to get his captain to try a more complicated body-line rig, one that looped over shoulders and around legs and, in Nelson’s opinion, came altogether too close to that which he would least like to see damaged. Nelson commended Lepee for his ingenuity, but opted for the traditional line around the waist.

“Entering the aurora!” came the call from the tops. Soon, the snow and sleet became intermingled with small motes of glowing light, the mixture growing denser the further Badger sailed north.

Then the ship lurched violently forward, and Nelson, feeling the body line dig into a stomach already beset with a slight nausea, wondered whether Lepee’s invention had merit after all.

Cruger, meanwhile, was peering over the starboard side. “We’re rising, Captain!”

Nelson turned and nodded to Edwards, who needed no further prompting before giving the order, “Planesails, now!”

On either side of the ship, the men heaved their bundles overboard, while two others pulled upon ropes from fore and aft, unfurling a new pair of sails. These were long and rectangular—running nearly the entire length of the ship—and secured amidships by metal hinges. Ropes at either end would allow the crew to position the sails appropriately, as Nelson commanded. For now, they remained parallel to the seas, which were receding rapidly.

“Keel is clear!” Cruger called.

Nelson peered over the side gingerly to see the planking of his ship lined with more yellow motes, which clung to it like luminescent barnacles. This was the result of the good offices of the ship’s alchemist’s mate, Francis Forster, whose knowledge of the mystic sciences kept the Badger capable of such miracles.

“Ruddersail, Mr. Edwards!” Nelson ordered.

The men aft did not wait for the first lieutenant to repeat the order before sending their sail over the edge as well. It unfurled over several lengths until it was a triangle nearly fifty feet long—a giant extension of the rudder that would allow the ship to navigate in the blackness between worlds.

The ship bucked again, and again, as it sped ever faster through the winds and stinging snow. There were worlds upon which making the Void, or keel-fall for that matter, was often smooth as glass. Europa, with its blizzards and gales, was not among them. “Keep those damned planes steady, men!” Edwards cried out, having seen the larboard planesmen allowing the forepoint of the sail to rise slightly. This was quickly corrected, though in such winds, extra hands were needed on the lines to do so.

Nelson, meanwhile, gripped the railing of the quarterdeck with all his strength, his knuckles white, his stomach at odds. Noticing this, Cruger approached and leaned in toward Nelson’s ear. “Shall I have Forster bring you something, sir?” Forster doubled as the ship’s surgeon, as did many alchemists in service to His Majesty’s Navy; only the largest ships of the line enjoyed two such specialists.

Nelson scowled. He hated to think that he would become known in the service foremost for his propensity for sea-sickness. “I’m fine. Mind your station, Mr. Cruger. We’ll be out of this soon enough.”

Indeed, it was but a few minutes until the sky cleared and darkened and the winds grew steady, flecked with the occasional golden mote. The Badger was entering the solar current, which stretched from the Sun outward toward, and between, the moons and planets of the Known Worlds. The motes of this solar wind had an attraction to the alchemical treatments used upon Void-going ships, and buoyed vessels across the vastness of the stars.

“Square the planes, Mr. Edwards,” Nelson ordered, feeling much better now that the ship had stopped bucking. “Double the watch. I want lookouts in every direction. We must be upon our prey quickly now! And Mr. Cruger, if you would pass the word for Dr. Forster, please.”

A few moments later, Francis Forster came aft and saluted. He was not properly a “doctor,” but then Nelson was not properly a full captain, except aboard his little ship. The frigates and ships-of-the-line had officers and alchemists aplenty, but the smaller vessels in the Royal Navy had to make do. Though Forster had little formal training and, indeed, hardly looked the part with his seaman’s clothing and ragged beard, he was as sharp as any credentialed alchemist Nelson had served with.

“Progress on your little project, Doctor?” Nelson asked.

Forster frowned. “We treated the sailcloth, sir. I added an admixture of Sun-mote and powdered lodestone so that it would only take effect upon reaching the Void. But really, sir,” he continued quickly, “there’s no guarantee of anything. I mean to say, I’m not even sure it’ll work.”

Nelson smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder. “I’ve no doubt of your brilliance, Forster. You’ve given us an edge. We’ll catch her yet.”

The alchemist’s mate nodded and gave a weak smile before saluting and returning to the cockpit below, where his alchemical lab and surgery was housed. If his application of the Great Work was done rightly, then the Badger would indeed catch the ship Nelson sought.

And if that were the case, there would likely be a butcher’s bill for the engagement, and not all the alchemical curatives Forster had would stop men from dying. Nelson watched the man head belowdecks with a certain amount of trepidation. Nelson had seen battle many times already in his young career, but never in command of his own vessel. Should any man aboard meet his end, would the cause would be just?

***

To be continued…

Both The Daedalus Incident and The Gravity of the Affair have their own pages under the “Writing” tab, and my media section got a little more managable after I split it up into different pages. I’m still working on better integrating The Beer Fridge into the rest of the site so that it looks like it belongs, while still providing a separate blog for all things beer. And there may be some busted links and 404 errors here and there. I’m hunting those down as well.

Anyway, click around and enjoy! And as a reminder, I start publishing excerpts of Gravity on Tuesday, so be sure to come back then for your first peek at the Known Worlds setting and the trials and tribulations of a young Horatio Nelson.

A very young Lt. Horatio Nelson

The SF/F community of authors, bloggers and fans has been absolutely incredible and supportive while I wait for The Daedalus Incident to get a new release date. And while I’d love to announce said date…I don’t have one yet.

But this, I think, will be a decent consolation prize, as well as a little thank-you to everyone who’s voiced their enthusiasm for the book. So without further ado, I’m thrilled to introduce my next bit of fiction, entitled The Gravity of the Affair.

Gravity is a novella-length work, set in the Daedalus universe, dealing with the first command of a (very) young Royal Navy officer posted to the Jovian system. You may have heard of him: Horatio Nelson.

Before losing an eye and an arm, and well before his iconic — and fatal — thrashing of the combined French and Spanish fleets at Trafalgar, Nelson was a 20-year-old post-captain placed in command of a bathtub of a brig, HMS Badger, in the year 1779. Historically, Nelson’s tenure aboard Badger was unremarkable; thankfully, historical fantasy allows for embellishment. Besides, Nelson was so brash and bold (and less-than-saintly) in his later years, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was like as a young man.

One thing led to another, and The Gravity of the Affair is the result.

In addition to exploring the character of Nelson, Gravity will give readers a sense of the Daedalus setting, particularly the whole sailing-ships-in-space thing. It also serves as something of a prequel to Daedalus, for reasons that will become apparent once folks get their hands on the novel.

Since I don’t have a novel coming out May 7 as originally planned, I figured I’d start posting excerpts of Gravity then. So a week from today, and anywhere from a week to two weeks after that, I’m going to post a part of Gravity right here on the blog, for free. I don’t quite know yet how much of the novella I’ll put up here, so we’ll see how it goes. You can use the “Gravity” category link below to keep up.

Thanks for all the support and encouragement. I hope you like the story.

“Here’s just four easy steps to amazing writing!” — said by no one ever, not even Tony Robbins.

You know, I haven’t sat down to blog — really blog, to make a point about something other than newsy stuff — for a few weeks now. Between travel and jet lag and then catching up at the day job, combined with the stress of the will-they / won’t-they with regard to my publisher and my book…yeah. Hard to get stuff down on the page. I haven’t felt this kind of writing malaise in quite a while. But I’m working on it.

Of course, I have my own little tricks to get myself back on track. Every writer does. And therein lies the problem for folks who, invariably, want to know the Secret Sauce of writing. A colleague at my day job pointed out a recent piece in The New York Times on interviews writers give and how they usually turn to writing techniques, and of course, the little tricks writers use to motivate themselves to keep plugging away.The author of the Times piece said he was addicted to that advice more than anything else.

There’s enough self-help advice to writers out there to make Tony Robbins smile bright…well, brighter than usual. And there’s a huge audience for it, too. Heck, I’ve been filling out responses to interview questions already, and there have been several having to do with how I write. And I’m not sure how hugely useful that will be. What works for me may not — probably will not — work for you.

Every writer has a different vibe, unique to that writer. Some writers say you gotta disconnect and give yourself space, and writing retreats are huge for that; others believe that you need a routine, and regular interaction with humanity, to stay focused and keep your writing connected. Some say you need training; others say writing can’t be taught. Some will say that outlining is the key to success; others believe it’s the last refuge of a hack. Write standing up. Write sitting down. Write in the morning when you’re fresh. Write when everyone else is in bed. Write every free moment. Write only when inspired. Write in your own special writer-fort. Write on your phone on your commute. Write what you know. Write what you don’t know.

Holy crap. Ho-lee ker-app. Do you realize that if you took all the writing advice put out there by writers — even, let’s say, the advice given by successful, published writers — you’d get a morass of contradictory advice that would rendered the hundreds of hours of reading utterly meaningless? Heck, this very blog has writing advice that I’ve put out there, and the simple fact is: it worked for me. It may not work for you.

When all is said and done, I find myself agreeing with the amazingly creative Chuck Wending (so creative that even his frequent bursts of profanity are practically an art form). If you want to be a writer, put your ass in a chair and write. OK, fine, use a treadmill desk. Whatever. You get the idea. People who read a bunch of advice about writing are, in that moment, reading. Reading when they could be writing.

Yes, as I’ve said before, there’s something to be said for education about the craft of writing. And there may be tidbits to be gleaned about writing from the techniques and tricks authors use — though, I fear, far less than you’d think. In the end, though, you’re not going to know what tricks get you on track until you sit down and write.

So maybe you do your best writing in the morning on the couch, or in an office with the shades drawn. Maybe you need to travel a lot to see the world, maybe you’re perfectly content to go full hermit. You won’t know until you actually get down to the writing. So write.

See? I just did a blog post. That wasn’t too hard. Onward!