I want my art to do more for the people, causes, and country that I care about. And as much as I earnestly believe in the power of any art to shape the world – I also know that direct action is also required. Protest, dialogue, education – and donation. We’re 10 days in and a lot of righteous war chests are going to need our coin to battle all this goddamn evil.
Effective immediately, I pledge to donate all of my 2017 royalties from my novel Asteroid Made of Dragons to the following:
I believe in the rule of law, I believe in the duty of the Fourth Estate. I believe in organizations that shield the defenseless. I believe in women AND health care AND allowing them to easily be in the same room without oversight. I do not believe that His Excellency’s administration will serve or protect the common good, so all of us need to pick up the slack as best we can. And arm the defenders of decency and justice.
Whatever royalties I receive on AMOD this year I’m going to evenly divide between these four groups. Like most authors I receive royalties once every quarter, I’ll post here when I get the next one in April. Now, I ain’t no Stephen King – these aren’t going to be big numbers even as I start to really flog the book in the next few months. But ‘what a person can do, a person ought to do’ as Antigone said.
If you are a supporter of His Excellency and his administration and goals – and this means you won’t buy my book or anything else I ever write – that is perfectly acceptable to me.
It doesn’t matter where you buy the book, the royalties will still come to me and get funneled to these organizations I want to support. Paperback, ebook, doesn’t matter.
Purchase direct from my publisher. (Paperback and all ebook formats, DRM free.)
Purchase from my favorite independent bookstore: Avid Bookshop. (Or YOUR favorite independent bookstore!!!)
At last, I can talk about this! After months of secrecy I can finally blab and gush and turn into a small imp of excitement. This is quite honestly one of the most fun projects I’ve been able to work on with Asteroid Made of Dragons.
BookBathBox is a subscription box service filled to the brim with a panoply of delights constructed around an optimal experience for reading in the tub. Scents! Candy! Tea! And, shockingly for the Autumn box, my book. The proprietor of the service, Winx, also runs a fantastic Booktube which I implore you to navigate to now. I sort of knew Booktube was a thing before this year – but never took the time to really investigate. Holy crap it’s like Narnia – a Narnia of people quietly and pleasantly losing their minds about books and tea. The sort of people that would find me INCREDIBLY ANNOYING in real life – I could never interact with them in the wild. But here on YouTube, I can sit quietly and listen and imagine a life where we all sip tea together in a giant library. Just quiet slurpin’ and reading and sudden animated conversations about plot.
But how did all this happen? How did my mutant book find its way into the hands of such refined readers?
As I said, I only had the vague concept that Booktube was a thing – when a fellow author mentioned that they had spotted a review of their book on YouTube. In a FRENZY, I opened a tab and immediately searched my title and was blown away to discover a couple of reviews of AMOD. (Any of my Twitter followers may remember – I was, shall we say, elated.) The first one I found was from Winx & Ink. Normally, I keep a pretty hard policy of not commenting on reviews I find online – positive or negative. It’s not my place and it’s just this side of creepy – BUT I WAS SO EXCITED YOU GUYS. So, of course I commented on the video and gushed without reserve. Luckily I didn’t make it too weird- Winx and I became Twitter pals and all was well.
A few weeks later, she contacted me with the idea of using AMOD for the ‘Science of Fantasy’ themed Autumn box. Let’s be clear – she did ALL the work. I sent over some goodies and then she handled all the logistics, packaging, delivery – the alchemy of the box contents. I’m just left to watch in wonder -and awe as I get to watch the various reviews and unboxing videos pop up online. Like this!
It’s just wonderful and fun. And like many things that contain those adjectives I had almost nothing to do with it! Just sit back with a smile on my face and sip my imaginary tea.
Please go support Winx and Book Bath Box – you can still order the Winter Box, which is themed “Faeries in History” (AWWW SHIT) and I recommend that you do this immediately.
The old man sat polishing his armor with a faded white cloth. It was evening, late summer – the wind idled through the flaps of the tent but he gave it little notice. The cicadas were loud, but he gave them less. All of his attention went into the final corner of his breastplate, even though the dull iron would benefit little. All except a sliver of mind for the wheezing youth who lay dying in the cot near the entrance.
His armor was old, the stink of sweat and linseed oil inescapable. The leather scar-tissue that bound it all together had been replaced dozens of times, was due to be refit again. The old man made a note to seek the proper skill at the next city of note. The boy on the cot gave a snore that was half-choke and half-gasp. The old man kept polishing without hurry.
The hand holding the cloth constricted of it’s own accord and the cloth slipped free. The old man sighed. He was growing used to his hands and knees and even eyes and mind turning traitor. He leaned forward to snag the cloth from the floor and the wind idled through the tent flaps again, with more force this time as if it had remembered what it had forgotten there. It brought with it the smell of the fire from outside, the chicken and barley in the stew his men tended, and undeniable and soft at the end: the smell of pine and cold, the smell of home. He forgot the cloth but still felt the breastplate’s weight on his knees and breathed in deep.
“This is what no one will tell you, young man.” His words were careful, pitched where only the wind and boy in the cot could hear. “You are alone. You can fill your life with noise and faith and toil and love and drink and battle, but it always goes quiet. It’s never real. Not even your memory is lantern enough. Stumbling in the wind and dark…”
The boy gave a noise that could have been a sob or just another wheeze. The old man shook his head and stretched his aching arm to pick up the cloth he had dropped. The cloth was faded white, but it was daubed pink and brown and darker crimson. At least the armor was clean.
The old man stood up with a spider’s care. He put each part of his armor in its proper place on the stand, then moved to the dying youth’s side. The old man gave his full attention at last and laid a firm hand aside the boy’s bloody face.
“At least you may rest now. You kept faith-or didn’t know the tale I needed. And still you keep breathing though you are empty and broken and choking on your own end. What honor there is in that, I give it to you gladly. Travel on, Child of the South.”
It was the work of a few moments to join his two old hands on the boy’s throat and close them tight. They did this job well, they did not betray. And then there was only the old man and his clean armor. And the idle wind bearing the memory of cold.
This video, in its ENTIRETY, is how I feel. I’m on an award list next to N.K. Jemisin and Jim Butcherrrrrrrr.
You did this. All of you that took the time to answer my plea and nominate me – and I cannot thank you enough. It makes me feel fantastic. This is great for exposure for AMOD and I was already going to be at DragonCon – so now MY SWAGGER WILL UNHOOK PLANETS IN THEIR VERY ORBITS. It is your fault that I will act like an even bigger asshole at the con! Feel the surge of pride!
Now – if you haven’t already registered to vote – you should!
LET’S BE CALM AND RATIONAL FOR JUST A SECOND.
Take another look at the bracket I’m in. Here’s who I’m up against.
- the writing Guest of Honor of DragonCon / perennial NYT bestselling author
- A book that has already won both the Nebula AND the Hugo (guys. it is sO goood)
- Darth Vader of the Sad Puppies (who I’m sure is Googling my book as we speak. I’m sure he will be displeased, my book features ladies who both speak AND have opinions.)
- Some other guys who seem very nice!
SO. What does my book have going for it? Well – you guys AND:
IT’S THE ONLY BOOK WITH ‘DRAGON’ IN THE TITLE.
SO LET’s DO IT!
Okay – okay. Honestly, I’ve already won. This is all I ever wanted out of The Dragon Award – to get nominated, get a little more attention on the book, etc. Thanks again to everyone who nominated me. You made this happen. (I always say that like an accusation…) I get to pretend to be a big shot for a little bit longer – the awards actually get announced AT the con, which adds the perfect amount of sizzle to the weekend. It’s fun to be at the big table for a hot second – even though I’m still wearing my bib. So vote! Vote for MEEEE. But with the knowledge that I already feel awesome and I’m going to have a blast with this entire situation all the way through someone else winning the Dragon Award that should have been miiiineeeeeee.
[UPDATE 8/15: My publisher has made the ebook of Asteroid Made of Dragons only .99 until DragonCon! So if you’re thinking about voting – or just want to grab the DRM-free ebook in every version for mega cheap – NOW IS YOUR TIME.
You can also get my co-nominated Sword & Laser brethren for the same low cost! That’s three full novels for less than the cost of your average chicken biscuit.
We’re definitely the small fry on this ballot – but we’d love your consideration and perhaps your undying fealty?]
With heart-eyes emoji for you all –
Dragon-Nominated Author [hey this is a thing now!]
G. Derek Adams
I know! Weird that I’m not posting my odd rap lyrics, I’m actually posting something tangentially related to one of my books. During the editing process of Asteroid Made of Dragons there were tons of refinements and changes made – but only two actual scenes that were cut. My editor wisely advised me that they slowed down the pace and distracted from the main narrative.
“But they’re META!” I whined.
Well, I think we all know how that conversation went. But! I thought it might be fun to pull those cut scenes up off the floor and let you take a gander. No real spoilers for the plot of AMOD, as these scenes feature the players from the framing sequence.
Cut from Intermission One
Vincent let his wooden sword fall back on his shoulder and the matching shield decorated with tin dangle from his long fingers. The tall actor cocked his head to one side for a moment, and then turned to Sand.
“I’m sorry to interrupt our rehearsal,” he said with tenterhook grace. “But I’m afraid I’m a bit confused.”
Toby, wearing ram’s horns on his brow and a tattered red cloak around his shoulders dropped the fierce stance he held and squatted down on his heels. He crossed his arms and nodded in agreement.
“Yes?” the bald leading player replied, his eyes down in his copy of the script.
“Well, it’s just that — so far there have been plenty of scenes of the Paladin chasing the Demon, or the Demon fleeing the Paladin, and now we’re at the end of the Act and the two are having their first real fight,” the tall man’s tone was careful.
Sand pawed back through the first pages of the folio, then nodded, his attention still elsewhere. “Yes, that’s right.”
“So, what I was wondering is…what does the Sage have to do with it?”
“What?” Sand looked up at last, eyes focusing on his players.
“Well, we have our scenes and you have yours – but the characters never seem to meet. And nothing that happens in your scenes seem to have anything to do with ours?” Vincent looked to Toby for affirmation, the horned blonde man grunted in agreement. “I mean, what is the Sage even doing? I mean, they’re nice scenes, lots of speeches for you…
Toby snickered, quite demonically.
“…but what does the Great Evil the Sage uncovers have to do with the Hero?” Vincent held his wooden sword out, the gilt-paint was chipped. “What is this ‘Dark’ that you keep mentioning?”
“A natural question, it is sure.” Sand stood up and clapped his hands together. “But let us keep reading, all will become clear ere the curtain falls, I promise you. Now, onto the next scene. This is a scene for our Demon – he has found his way to the edge of the garden where the Sacred Fountain is hidden. All he must do is find his way within. Soon he is surprised by the Paladin once more, hot on his heels.”
The slight rise in the older actor’s voice left little doubt about his interest in entertaining further criticism of the text. Toby and Victor looked at each other, then shrugged. The tall actor left the playing space, finding a shady spot near the wagon. Toby straightened his horns and cape and flipped through the folio until he found the correct place to begin.
Cut from Intermission Two
“Abscond!” Sand howled the Sage’s lines with eerie vigor, his hands wracked with quivering torment. “You foul Paladin and fouler Demon! I speak the truth and you toss it behind you like offal on the midden heap. If you heed not my warning, then flee. Flee through the verdant bows of the glade and the forgetful arms of Night and disappear to the far Edges of the City.”
“I hear your warning and I heed it,” Vincent held his Hero’s Sword high, “But I follow a greater charge. This Demon must die, by my hand or none. This is my battlefield, my war with the Shadow. You speak of a greater Darkness, one that no single mind can comprehend, no single heart can bear. I can bear this, I can fight this foul Creature before me. This is where I will stand, sword at the ready.”
Toby nodded, then reached under his demon’s horns to scratch an itch.
Sand looked at the handsome player. Toby looked back. Vincent waggled his eyebrows with portent at his lover. Toby arched his eyebrows back. Sand dropped the perfect Agony Tree Pose he had held throughout the scene and pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“It’s your line, Toby,” the bald man tapped his own copy of the script.
“Yeah, I know,” Toby put his horns back on and smoothed his golden hair back into place.
“You’re not even looking at the script,” Sand crossed his arms.
The blonde Demon shrugged and flipped through the folio with desultory interest. Vincent lowered his sword and leaned on it, long face concerned. “Is something wrong Toby?”
“I don’t want to play the Demon,” the blonde man said, staring pointedly at a square of blank ground slightly to the left of Sand’s feet.
“Why not?” Sand replied, keeping his tone level and soothing.
“It’s no fun. I’m always lurking or crying about something or killing things in fits of passion. Even that one scene where the maid tries to give me the bread I just spent most of the time yelling at her.” Toby sulked.
“Is it…” the leading player made a diplomatic hand gesture, fitting for a queen’s herald. “…is it that you think the audience won’t like you?”
“That must be tough,” Vincent murmured, but Sand shot him a quick glance to silence the tall man.
Toby shrugged and stared at the floor.
“You haven’t read ahead in the script, have you?”
“What?” Toby met the troupe leader’s eyes.
“The last act? You haven’t read it yet, have you?” Sand tapped his copy of the folio again.
“No – why? Do I do something cool?” the patchwork Demon began to flip through the pages with renewed interest.
Sand folded the play between his hands and spoke with professorial elan. “The spine of this script is the hound of Sin. The Paladin’s murder of his mentor in Act One – Scene Two, the Demon’s reckless slaughter at Marwell Abbey, the Sage’s return of that library scroll a full two months past the appointed due date — all transgressions that haunt the characters throughout the events of the play. The things we do to forget, the lies we tell ourselves to mask the truth, we scrub and scrub at the stone but the chisel-marks we can not erase.”
Vincent nodded with understanding, but Toby only shrugged again. “So?”
Sand lowered the jaws of his trap gracefully. “And in all the plays, all the lives we’ve lived in the Twilight Kingdom, how has any character ever washed clean their slate?”
Toby stared down at the script as if struck by lightning. “Shit and beetle-balls, we’re all going to die aren’t we?”
Sand returned to his anguished pose and nodded to the Demon to take his cue. Actors cannot resist a proper death, no more than cats can pass milk or hedgehogs leave a cinnamon bun.
I know! So META. Painful to cut.