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People who read give me hope for humanity.

That's not to say that I don't like people who don't read, mind you--if that were the case, I'd have approximately 89% fewer friends (sadly). But, one of the true joys of this self-publishing odyssey has been seeing how incredibly supportive and generous of spirit avid readers can be.

Nowhere has that been more evident than within the ŷ������ community. As I've begun to shamelessly and undoubtedly annoyingly canvas the world for people willing to read The Camelot Shadow and share their thoughts about it, I've had the good fortune to become acquainted with complete and total strangers who are not only willing to spend several hours hanging out in a story I created--which, in and of itself, is amazingly cool, and incredibly humbling--but they are so filled with encouragement and positive energy, so supportive of a guy chasing a dream, that I literally traipse about with a bounce in my step whenever I hear from one of them (a podiatrist stopped me on the street and suggested I pay him a visit until I explained the reason for the unusual hitch in my giddy-up). And, this bounce is happening even though work is insane, we're in the midst of selling our condo and trying to buy a new place, our amazing but never-not-busy 20-month-old is racing about, sleep is in woefully short supply, and we're prepping for baby number two. That's how powerful even a few words of encouragement can be, and that's something that I think the tight-knit community of omnivorous and voracious readers understands.

Like all of those folks, I love stories. I need stories. They entertain me, they make me think, they make me laugh, they make me cry, and they help me find meaning and give me hope even on days when the world seems completely insane and impossibly screwed up. Being able to write a story that helps someone else feel that way, even if only a little, is the best way I can think of to try to repay the impossible debt I owe to every single writer of tales whose work I have ever read and felt joy in discovering--and to those whose work I have yet to read.

Thank you, readers--not just readers of The Camelot Shadow, but all readers: the people who, every day, encourage yet another new voice to shine the bright light of their prose into the void.

(Oh, and as for that Amazon gift card contest thing...so selfless are my good friends and readers that while many wrote reviews, none "officially" entered the contest...so, I took the liberty of entering anyone who wrote a review during the contest period, which concluded yesterday. A random drawing yielded a lucky winner in Mr. Bret J. Bowman. I suspect he'll be using his winnings to procure some new reading material...)

As I recently watched the Parks & Rec finale (sobbing and wailing, I confess, like Screech Powers when Maxwell Nerdstrom out-Zacked Zack Morris to win Screech's beloved pooch, Hound Dog, in a game of poker), and as I saw each and every character get his or her time in the spotlight, their sunny, funny, and emotional futures mapped out over the course of years that we won't have the good fortune to watch as they happen, I was reminded of sitting in a movie theater back in December 2003.

A much younger and, if possible, even more rakishly handsome and unbearably macho Sean sat transfixed as Peter Jackson's epic adaptation of The Lord of the Rings drew to a close...and there I continued to sit, for almost an hour, as each and every character got his or her due, their sunny, funny, and emotional futures mapped out over the course of years that we would not get to witness in cinematic splendor. For a movie that was almost universally lauded, won 11 Oscars (including Best Picture), and somehow managed to make Orlando Bloom seem like the second-biggest badass that ever was (behind Viggo Mortensen, naturally), this was the one point of critical attack. The sharp, kinetic storytelling style that had been so prevalent during the first two and two-thirds movies in the trilogy was replaced with a meandering, lackadaisical stroll through the what-came-next, making sure to honor the eight little legs that carried the story (not Shelob, people--I'm talking about the four hobbits), and the actors attached to them, for all of their blood, sweat, and tears in getting things to that point.

Would the movie have been better, from a storytelling perspective, had that final section been condensed, or perhaps even omitted entirely? Almost certainly. Would it have made for a better or more fitting conclusion to an epic series of films that, for my money, did justice to one of the greatest tales of all time? Unquestionably not. Because, for all of the clever plotting, for all of the monumental set pieces, for all of the good-versus-evil thematic struggle, the heart and soul of those movies (and of Tolkien's writing) were its characters, the unlikely heroes who, by dint of sheer dogged determination and a willingness to believe that no matter how small they were, they could make a difference, carried the story on their slender shoulders. They deserved to have their tales told in full, even if the audience was ready to move on (or, at least, ready to stand up and stretch, and maybe go pee, and possibly address a severe case of deep-vein thrombosis). As a viewer, I appreciated the Peter Jackson took that time--time well in excess of what any studio exec would think is a rational amount of time to make moviegoers sit in their seats--to honor the story's heroes.

In a similar vein, would the Parks & Rec finale have been a sharper and funnier episode more in keeping with the totality of its run had it focused on a single storyline? Absolutely. Would it have been nearly as satisfying for those of us who grew to love the residents of Pawnee over the years, no matter how narcissistic, curmudgeonly, dim-witted, health-obsessed, or smoking hot (I'm looking at you, Ethel Beavers)? Absolutely NOT. I relished every awkwardly stretched out minute, every absurd future projection, every second of screen time that Jerry/Garry/Larry soaked up. What made Parks & Rec great wasn't the super sharp writing, the whimsical plots, or the parade of guest stars, though all of those things were magnificent. What made it great were its characters, the quirky, lovable, all-too-human women and men who were just as much fun to watch sitting around talking about nothing as they were to watch driving the plot forward.

I love character-driven stories. Sure, I can appreciate the incredible craftsmanship of a sharply written and tightly plotted short story, or the mind-copulating twists of a well-conceived thriller. But, when I look back at all of my favorite stories--be they books, movies, or TV shows--they are all driven by compelling characters who, when I read the last word of their tale, or watched them ride off into the sunset, made me long for the chance to spend just a little bit more time with them (or, at least, play one more game of Cones of Dunshire with them).

My takeaway as a storyteller? It's okay, on occasion, and when you've written something of merit with memorable characters, to be a little indulgent when it comes to saying goodbye to those characters. They've earned it. And their readers/viewers have earned it.

And, if they're anything like me, they'll appreciate it.

I recently walked into a library for the first time in quite a while (he confesses, shame-facedly). What I saw surprised me—I didn’t see people perusing the stacks or sitting in comfy bean bag chairs with a book balanced on their laps; I saw were people staring at computer screens and happily double-clicking their way through terabyte after terabyte of data.

It made me feel strange, like I’d walked into an ice cream shop and saw people eating kale.

Millennials, I’m about to blow your minds. Once upon a time, the interwebs did not exist. To learn stuff, you needed to go to a library. When you were in a library, you were surrounded by more information than you could possibly access anywhere else…except for a bigger library. Sure, there were computers, but the computers didn’t house the data—they were just fancy indexes that told you how to find the book that held the information you were looking for. It was highly inefficient, but spectacular.

I should note that this is not intended to be an anti-technology screed, or a crotchety “Back in my day…�� piece. The Internet is fantastic (are we still proper-nouning “Internet��?). I mean, ŷ������, right? I love the giant tubes that provide whatever information we need, no matter how pointless or obscure, whenever we want it without us having to get up or even get dressed. The unwashed masses having access to so much information is, by and large, an exceedingly good thing. Nice work, Al Gore.

But, I do miss going to a library in the pre-Internet days. Now, I realize that not all kids were as laudably hip and awesome as I was, but hop in the Wayback Machine with me, if you will, and let’s pop back to 1989. Bush the Senior is president, Van Halen is riding high with Sammy Hagar (OU812, anyone?), and a little movie called Ghostbusters II hit the big screen. Even at the tender age of 5, I’d loved the original Ghostbusters (though I can neither confirm nor deny that I buried my face against my mother in terror when the library ghost made her true face known), and as a 10-year-old, I was fully ready for the Boys in Gray to come back and slug it out with more pesky poltergeists. What, I hear you asking, has this got to do with libraries? Hush. I’m getting there.

After seeing Ghostbusters II, I became obsessed with becoming a Ghostbuster myself. I knew that Messrs. Spengler, Stantz, Venkman, and Zeddemore held PhDs, so I knew that I needed to hit the books. That, of course, meant spending hours in the library, because where else could you possibly find more books?

Every weekend, I pestered my mom to take me to the local public library, where I spent hours poring over every book I could find on supernatural phenomenon, psychic powers, ghosts, and anything else I could think of that might one day prepare me to be a Ghostbuster (I also began plotting how to get my PhD in parapsychology, just like my heroes…yes, there was a time when such a discipline existed at respected universities). Now, my local library was by no means massive, and it wasn’t particularly grand or gothic, but it did have some dark corners. For obvious reasons (namely, that only weirdos wanted to look at them), the types of books I sought out were, of course, buried in those corners, and it wasn’t hard to convince myself that some spectral presence hovered over my shoulder, afraid that I might learn the secrets to busting it (and, thus, feeling good, if Ray Parker, Jr., is to be believed). Wandering up and down those aisles, running my fingertips across the spines of those books, drinking in the scent of their pages…it was intoxicating (that sounded waaaayyy more sensual than intended…I promise that I only used books in a gentlemanly manner). It felt like I, and I alone, had gained access to some arcane archives, a repository of knowledge where, with persistent scholarship and dogged determination, I might unlock the mysteries of the universe.

Libraries did retain their aura of mystery in the nascent days of the Internet, back when it was just used to generate a bunch of listservs and to look at porn (Wait, what? There’s still porn on the internet? And it’s even better than it was in 1999? WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?!). During my junior year of college, I spent a semester in Scotland at the University of Aberdeen. A school founded in 1495? You’re gosh darn right it had a fantastic old library. I’m a huge fan of Dracula, and I recall stumbling across a copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories. I could have checked it out and brought it back to my room, of course, but I chose to read it in the emptiest corner of the library I could find on a dark (albeit not stormy, sadly) night, and damned if it wasn’t one of the creepiest experiences I’ve ever had (and I mean that in the most delightful way possible).

Look, I realize that the Internet has irrevocably changed the world, and largely for the better. But, the experience of being in a library isn’t one of those ways, and I felt like I needed to memorialize what it was like to hang out around books when they were the only way to get info, if only for the sake of future generations.

And, of course, I’m doing so by using the Internet.

Sigh.

Oh well…we’ve still got porn, right?

As rabid readers of The Camelot Shadow: A Novel (thanks to all 8 of you) have begun to clamor for more, I wanted to introduce a project that I hope to provide more details on in the coming months. Before I do that, however, I think it’s necessary to provide a little background/origin story (it’s not quite Batman Begins, but that’s only because it’s like 1,082 times better—not to mention far darker, as will soon become apparent).

Waaaayyy back when I was in second grade (long before my nose was the impressively prodigious specimen that it is today), I was a very big fan of, amongst other things, King Arthur stories (thanks to Gwen Gross’s Knights of the Round Table) and cartoons (from the slapstick of Looney Tunes to the mythology of Gummi Bears to the action and occasionally serialized adventures of G.I. Joe). Against that backdrop, we were asked to write and illustrate books (perhaps, given our tender ages, that should be “write and illustrate�� “books��) as part of a young author’s competition. Combining two of my great loves at the time (I didn’t find a way to work in Ghostbusters, dinosaurs, or Kraft macaroni and cheese, sadly), I created Cheesecalibur, a spin on Arthurian lore featuring heroic mice, led by the noble King Cheese, and nefarious cats, led by the devious King Cat.

I could tell you about how amazingly great it was…or I can just show you. Let’s do that.



Clearly, neither penmanship nor spelling were strong suits of mine back then. I’ve rectified the latter, but the former remains a problem.

And before we go any further, I should note that my imagination was a wee bit stronger than my drawing skills at that stage of life (and they haven’t gotten any better).



Well then. It would appear that a keen
understanding of anatomy was also not a strong suit either. Turns out 8-year-old-me was kind of a moron (see, for example, the redundancy in naming two characters “Cheese”—though this is by no means my most egregious naming faux pas, as you’ll soon see).

A couple of highlights to point out on page 1: all of the mice have their initials on their chests (because why wouldn’t a knight want monogrammed armor?), and in case we weren’t sure that the mice were on the side of truth and justice, the very helpful flag in the background tells us they are “good.��



This is a pretty smiley bunch of evildoers (seeing as how the flag in the background here tells us the cats are “bad��). Please note that while I was something of an idiot as an 8-year-old, “Sir Clean Out the Refrigerator�� is a pretty superb name. Good job, me.



Whoa boy. Apparently, Gumby is playing the role of King Cat in this production of Cheesecalibur. I think his arm is at least 1.5 times longer than his body. (Camelot Shadow fans will appreciate King Cheese’s belt.)



Those are some talented little mouse knights. Also, keep an eye on Sir Clean Out the Refrigerator—that guy’s going to steal the show.



I have absolutely no idea what Sir Clean Out the Refrigerator is doing to King Cheese (maybe he’s Febreezing him?). Please note, however, that the cats were smart enough to put King Cheese’s and Sir Tail’s weapons sufficiently far enough from their cage that they won’t be able to reach them with their T-Rex-style arms.



Okay, here’s where we need to remember that I was 8 years old. Let’s walk through 8-year-old-me’s thought process on this page. “Hmmm…we need a great hero to rescue King Cheese and Sir Tail. And he needs to make a dramatic entrance. Gosh, I’ve used up all of the good mouse names I can think of…maybe I should name this one after a specific type of cheese. What’s a funny cheese? Ooh, Swiss cheese! It has all of those silly holes! That’s perfect! I’ll name him…SIR HOLE!�� (Why not Sir Swiss, you ask? As noted previously, I was not an intelligent child.)

As for why he appears in a blinding flash of light and why Sir Tail appears to have intimate knowledge of Hole before he appears…well, I’ll leave that up to you, dear reader, to decide.



Apparently, the cats are about as smart as 8-year-old Sean.



What action! What drama! What a set-up for��



Funniest thing I’ll ever write. I hit my comedic peak at age 8. It’s been downhill ever since.



That King Cheese drawing is pretty good, if I do say so myself (and I do)—what a heroic and noble leader! That said…what the $%@# is going on with Sir Hole’s arms?! It’s like a mouse and a gerbil procreated.



Dialogue that was cut from this scene:

Sir Tail: ��$%@# this artist--how the bloody $%@# am I supposed to reach my drink with these stumps?!��

King Cheese: “I can’t believe that jackanapes put my drink in the middle of a table that’s 10 times bigger than my arms. Why the $%@# am I so smiley?!��

Sir Hole: *Slurp* "My head is very tiny.��



WAY TO SPOIL THE SEQUEL, DOUCHE BAG!



Author photo. See? I told you the schnoz was not yet prodigious. Also, I’d like to note that, amongst the interests listed in my bio for this book, it says “Sean collects spores, molds, and fungus.�� Yup—even then, I was quoting Egon Spengler.

In what can only be an indictment of the quality of the public school system in Southwest Michigan, I was actually awarded a trip to a young author’s conference on the strength of this “book.�� All of the people responsible for that decision are no longer gainfully employed.

The, ah, unique art notwithstanding, this story stuck with me, and from time to time I would think to myself, “Self, you should revisit Cheesecalibur at some point.�� I’ve thought about various ways to tell the tale of these brave mice over the years and come to two conclusions: 1) I want to expand on this idea and tell an epic, fast-paced, serialized story with these characters that’s full of action, adventure, and humor, and 2) someone else REALLY needs to draw this.

And that, my friends, brings us to some news about upcoming projects: I’ve teamed up with my long-time hetero life mate Bret Bowman (who, not coincidentally, I met in second grade), whose artistic skills are approximately 8,345,012 times better than my own, to put the wheels in motion on a Cheesecalibur comic book. We’re still in the conceptual stage from an art standpoint, but the script for the first issue is in the can, and I hope that we’ll be able to share some of Bret’s character designs here on ŷ������ within the next month or so, as well as providing some more information about the characters and story (and while I know this will disappoint some people, the erstwhile Sir Hole has since been rechristened Sir Swiss). So, keep your eyes peeled (metaphorically speaking, because I think it would really hurt if you actually peeled them, not to mention kept them that way).

In the meantime, Bret and I would love to hear from you—is this something you’d be into? If so, let us know here, or drop me a line at [email protected] �� we’d love to find a group of interested readers to share updates with as we work on producing the first issue.

Excelsior!

How can you NOT click on something with a title like that, right?

July 25 will mark the one-year anniversary of the unfair and untimely , a wonderful human being and the most talented insulter of yours truly that ever lived. I miss her immensely, though my ego is considerably less bruised these days (I would not be shocked, however, if, in an attempt to remedy that state of being, divine powers, at Sarah’s prompting, hurl a thunderbolt my way any moment now).

A while back, I wrote about how, in an attempt to follow Sarah’s lead in doing something that I love to help people, I would be donating $1 for every copy sold of The Camelot Shadow: A Novel to , an incredible organization that provides free surgical and medical care to disadvantaged individuals around the world (Do What You Do Well to Do Good). As an independent author unlikely to approach Stephen King-level sales, that’s unlikely to be a financially significant gesture (let’s face it—I also can’t match Mr. King’s raw sexual magnetism...ladies dig that guy). As noted in the aforementioned blog post, though, it’s not the size of the individual (thank goodness) or his effort that matters so much as our collective contribution to the greater good, and I wanted to at least try to do something to increase that level of effort to honor Sarah’s memory this month.

To that end, then, I would like to extend an offer to readers far and wide: make a donation of $10 (or more!) to Surgicorps between now and July 31, 2015, and get a free copy of The Camelot Shadow in the ebook format of your choice. To make it happen, just execute these two simple steps:

1) Go to and make a donation in memory of Dr. Sarah Pettrone.

2) Email me at [email protected] (or, if you’re reading this on ŷ������, feel free to make a note in the comments section) to let me know that you made your donation and to let me know in what format (PDF, Mobi, or ePub) you’d like the book* and what email address to send it to.

(*Given that the prospect of having to read my purple prose may, in fact, actually deter people from wanting to donate to such a worthy cause, I’ll note that you don’t actually HAVE to read the book, or even let me know you donated if you don’t want me to overload your overworked inbox with pages and pages of overwrought and underwhelming tomfoolery.)

I realize that disposable income is in short supply these days, and that there are many worthy causes to which we all try to stretch those precious extra dollars. If you aren’t in a position to make a donation now, I understand completely. But, I’d be grateful if you could share this link with any reader friends who might be interested in order to help me get the word out.

Either way, thanks for continuing to read the nonsense I like to spew out in this space, and be on the lookout for an update on some work in progress, coming semi-soon…assuming I get some sleep again at some point in this life (having two wee tykes is amazing, but when they decide to tag team on not sleeping at different points during the night…aye carumba).

Perhaps I should say that one year ago, WE, loyal readers, gave birth. (As the redoubtable Homer Simpson once pointed out to dear wife Marge, “it’s a uterUS, Marge—not a uterYOU��).

Fair warning: what follows is utterly self-serving (then again, that’s most of what I do, so you all should be used to that by now).

A year ago, I inflicted The Camelot Shadow upon the world. After some seven years of gestation, including pauses in writing for various durations for things like getting married, working a crazy busy job, grad school, and having kids, I finally reached a point where I said to myself, “Self…I don’t know how much better this is going to get iterating in a vacuum, or with nothing more than the input of your wonderful (albeit crazy) friends.�� In the final stages of self-directed editing and revising, I danced with a few agents, but as with most of the women I dated back in my single days, while they were more than happy to sleep with this incredible hunk of man and take advantage of his otherworldly lovemaking skills, they were mortified at the thought of being seen with me in public, so they snuck out the door for a little walk of shame before I awoke in the morning.

(Okay, that’s a TERRIBLE metaphor, largely because my life up to and including my mid-20s was pretty much a virginal desert of untouched sand, broken only by the occasional (okay, more than occasional) oasis of self-love, and because these agents didn’t really want to do much more than shake hands with the book before giving me the old, “It’s not you, it’s me…well, maybe it’s really kind of you�� speech and moving onto the next burgeoning young (sort of young?) Victorian-set pseudo-literary Arthurian semi-thriller writer.)

So, I decided to embark on the harrowing journey of self-publishing, which is basically like walking into a Taylor Swift concert and, in the midst of her singing [insert name of popular Taylor Swift song here, because I don’t know these things], going up to people and saying, “Hey! Hey! Do you want to hear a song I wrote?��

I don’t know how many books there are in the world. I’m pretty sure it’s more than seven, less than eleventy-billion. Somewhere in that range. It’s a big number. And avid readers would consider themselves lucky to get through reading 1% of the books they want to read in their lifetimes. In other words, getting people to want to read your book is hard even under optimal circumstances, with the muscle of a big publisher behind you; it’s nigh-impossible (though not totally impossible) when you’re the obnoxious guy at the Taylor Swift concert.

And, yet, here we are a year later, and I can honestly say that I look at this endeavor as a success. One of the primary reasons I wanted to write and tell stories is because so many storytellers and writers have shaped my worldview, gotten me through tough times, inspired me, or just entertained me and made me think or smile or laugh, and I wanted to be able to pay that forward. If I could write a book that helped even one person get through a tough day or spend a few hours distracted from a stressful job or fidget at the edge of their seat trying to figure out what was going to happen next, then I’d have achieved my goal. Sure, I’d like to be able to do that for thousands of people (nay, millions!), but so powerful was the compulsion to try to do for someone else what so many amazing writers have done for me that years of toil would be worth it if one person felt that way about the book.

I think I can say, probably with too much pride, but certainly with tremendous amounts of awe, gratitude, and appreciation for everyone who has read the book thus far, that I’ve achieved that goal. Heck, MORE than one person seems to have genuinely enjoyed a yarn I spun out of my very strange head. And, unlike other much-ballyhooed events in life that fail to live up to the hype, the feeling of knowing that someone somewhere out there genuinely enjoyed the hours they spent adventuring with Alfred, Will, and the other cast of characters in The Camelot Shadow was even more potently fulfilling than I could ever have imagined, and has spurred me to begin work on a sequel.

The fact that I’ve gotten to experience that incredible feeling is due in large part to the amazing people I’ve met through ŷ������. Never in my life, even having worked in commercial publishing, have I encountered such a dedicated and kind-hearted group of people who love, love, LOVE books and stories. Every time I pop onto GR, I’m inspired anew by how passionate people are and how much they care about the books they read, and how much they support and encourage the authors they love to keep going, to keep sharing their insights and wisdom and incredible gifts.

I’ve always been a reader and I always will be a reader and consumer of stories. They give me strength and hope and inspiration and ideas and courage. They make me a better, more fully formed person. Being able to contribute to that world, to that global conversation, even in the very, very small way I’ve been able to thus far, is as important to me as anything I’ve done in my life (notwithstanding contributing to the formation of the tiny humans who live in my house, whom I hope grow to love and appreciate what stories can mean to their lives as much as their dear old dad does).

I hope this is only the beginning. I have a long way to go. I can get better. A lot better. And I can’t wait to dig in.

In the meantime, happy birthday, Camelot Shadow. Sure, you’re a little slow to get going, and a bit too florid, and you exist in some weird niche that not too many people dig. But I love you anyway, you old tosser.

I’m delighted to announce, thanks in no small part to the loyalty and support of the ŷ������ community, the publication of The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple, which is now . (Take note, loyal FOHAGs—the collection includes the previously unpublished concluding installment.)

You can find a description of the book on the Amazon page or on the GR listing for the book, but I’d like to focus here not on the particulars of the story (which is probably the greatest fantasy saga ever told, in my completely objective opinion), but on the wonderful GR community that helps make it possible for these types of stories to find their way out into the world.

I have a crazy busy job that requires long hours. I have two kids under the age of 3.5 who require a ton of hands-on attention (and who think sleep for their parents is optional). I have a house to keep up and take care of. And, I have a fairly lengthy commute (usually upwards of 2 hours roundtrip each day). In short, I have a lot going on these days.

I also have an incurable addiction to telling stories.

So, what do you do when you’re desperate to write stories, but have very little time (specifically, a 15-20 minute chunk of time in the morning during the carpooling portion of your commute, and a similar chunk during the trip home in the evening)? If you’re me, you start banging out a semi-coherent, serialized story about a quippy half-elven bard and her gambling-addicted hill giant companion, and you rely on the GR community to give you the energy you need to keep at it day in and day out no matter how tired you are in the morning (after a bad night of sleep) or how worn out you are in the evening (after a stressful day of work).

Over the past 9 months, I’ve released 12 installments of The Chronicle on this blog, and, in each case, it was the enthusiastic, supportive, and very witty comments from GR readers that kept me pushing the story forward. I can’t speak for all writers, but I write stories simply in the hope that people will read and enjoy them, and that they can, in some small way, make someone’s day a little better. Of course, hearing directly from people that a story I’ve written has managed to do precisely that probably makes me feel ten times better than my story made them feel in the first place��

And so I say thank you, a million times over, to everyone on GR who took the time to read or comment on the story somewhere along the way. I would especially like to thank the following readers, who were kind enough to read/like/comment upon darn near every installment, and whose opinions and suggestions helped shape the narrative (so, yes—you can blame them for anything you don’t like), presented in alphabetical order: Aileene, Amber, Bret, Cathy, Cindy, Ginger, Lolly, Miriam, Mona, Paul, Shadowdenizen, Sharyl, and Trish (Bret, Lolly, and Paul all also contributed some stellar artwork to the collection)

In keeping with the tradition that began with The Camelot Shadow, I’m hopeful that the publication of The Chronicle will manage to do some small bit of good beyond nominally entertaining the easily entertained (not to denigrate my readers, mind you). As described previously in this space (see "Do What You Do Well to Do Good"), I’m an advocate for using the skills and abilities that we all have to try to inject some goodwill into the world; to that end, all proceeds from the first 150 copies sold of The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple will be donated to ProLiteracy (), an organization that promotes adult literacy through content development, programs, and advocacy. So, feel good about your purchase, dear readers, and contemplate how you can use YOUR unique skills to do some good out there.

So, what’s next? Glad you asked (or, at least, are sticking around while I tell you, whether you’re interested or not). The sequel to the aforementioned The Camelot Shadow calls, and Bret and I are slowly making progress on Cheesecalibur. There may also be further adventures starring our friends Heloise and Grimple, and there are a slew of other stories waiting—practically begging, in fact—to be told, if only time will slow down enough for me to write them.

Regardless, you’ll be hearing from me soon, and probably far more (and far sooner) than you’d like.

Until then, I’ll take a cue from Grimple and sign off by saying, simply��

Tally ho!

While one hopes that the pursuit of philanthropy is a year-round endeavor, there’s little question that the combination of November/December holidays and the prospect of the end of another year prompt people to focus more on do-gooding than they might at other times.

(I’m reminded of the “Let’s make Earth Day every day!�� campaign, and thinking that it would probably have been less successful had the holiday focal point been Columbus Day. “Let’s make Give the Natives a Smallpox Blanket Day every day!�� just isn’t quite as catchy (unlike smallpox…hey-oh!)…but, I digress, as I usually tend to do. (Note: the preceding insensitive joke was made with no intent to offend anyone to whom it might prove offensive, and I apologize for offending anyone who might be offended by my pre-apology to anyone who might have taken offense. I think that disclaimer covers Red and Blue America both.)

I’ve written before about the importance of using one’s own gifts, hobbies, and interests as a means of giving back (see Do What You Do Well to Do Good), but, this time of year, people often focus on two simple ways of doing what they can to improve the world around them or the lives of those who are in need of assistance: by donating time or money to various charitable causes.

Not everyone has extra cash laying around to donate to worthy endeavors, as much as they might wish to, and some people are so exceedingly busy that the donation of time is as feasible as a comfortable colonoscopy, but in most cases, people can find one or the other, at least in a small quantity.

I want to hear about what you’ve done this year to help make someone’s life better, whether it was volunteering at a soup kitchen during the holidays, shoveling an elderly neighbor’s driveway, boxing up some gently used clothes to donate to the local mission or shelter, or contributing ducats to an organization that helps those in need, be they children, grown-ups, adults, or Earths. It’s always inspiring to hear what people are doing to help others, and my hope is that hearing what fellow Goodreaders are up to will inspire some ideas for all of us—not just now, during a time of giving, but all throughout 2017.

To encourage you to share (though I realize this might have the opposite of the intended effect), I will be giving away free copies of The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple and The Camelot Shadow to anyone who shares their story in the comments section below by December 24 (I promise not to force either on you, however—you’re more than welcome to post even if you’ve already read either (or both) (because you’re awesome) or have no interest in reading either.* It’s a contest where everyone’s a winner!

So, tell us what you’ve done this year to help someone in need, and help inspire others to continue to do good into 2017 and beyond!

*That said, no less an authority than my friend Kevin**, who once finished a book, declared, after seeing both books, that they “certainly have all the outward characteristics possessed by books.�� So, if that doesn’t pique your interest, I don’t know what will.

**I don’t actually have a friend *** named Kevin.

***I don’t actually have friends. Just nemeses****.

****None of my nemeses are named Kevin.

My realtor was named Kevin, though, and he was a solid guy. He’s never read, or seen, either book, though.

I made some crazy promises about giving out free copies of The Camelot Shadow to celebrate Mystery & Thriller week on ŷ������ and, since I’m a man of my word—at least 17% of the time, anyway—I intend to follow through.

Even better? Not only am I going to make it so that EVERYONE IS A WINNER, I’m not even going to make you read through all of my rambling, turgid prose below before telling you how to get your copy (though you’re more than welcome to continue reading my rambling, turgid prose, which is essentially what you’re committing to doing if you’re reading The Camelot Shadow anyway).

So, what do you need to do? Two simple things: 1) Add The Camelot Shadow to your “to read�� list on GR so all your friends can see what good taste you have in handsomely-nosed independent authors; and 2) in the comments section below, list your favorite mystery or thriller (if you’re feeling effusive, please feel free to tell us why). (Also, I wouldn’t be upset if you shared this link with your GR friends.)

The only catch: you’ve got to do it by midnight (Eastern) on Friday, May 5 (what better way to celebrate Cinco de Mayo than with a bunch of sexagenarian mystery solvers, right?). (Or, heck, by the end of the day on May 6...I'm a benevolent soul.)

Once you’ve commented, I’ll send you a private message asking which format you’d like the book in (Mobi/ePub/PDF) and what email to send it to. It’s that easy, folks!

Now, if you’re only here for my goodies, you can stop reading (and, let’s face it, who DOESN’T want my goodies?).

Now then…you there—in the back. I see you waving your hand frantically. What is it?

“But, Mr. Handsomely-Nosed Independent Author—is The Camelot Shadow REALLY a mystery/thriller? I mean, come on—it’s set in Victorian times, when they didn’t even have cell phones or Snapchat or Dippin�� Dots ice cream, and there’s magical stuff going on, and it’s got King Arthur references that don’t have anything to do with the Guy Ritchie movie (I mean, what’s that all about?), and the pacing is kind of slow out of the gate. Also, your nose isn’t all that handsome.��

Well, I’m glad you asked that, Mr. Bludgeoned Repeatedly and Enthusiastically With the Ugly Stick. The Camelot Shadow is something of a cross-genre hodgepodge, mainly because that’s exactly the kind of thing that I like to read. While I dig fast-paced, straight up thrillers on occasion (more on that below), I’m an even bigger fan of a slow burn mystery that builds up as characters are simultaneously built up and clues revealed, where an unexpected twist throws you off track and, before you can recover, you get twisted right back around, and where the characters can’t rely on high-tech gizmos to help save the day (not that there’s anything wrong with stories where that happens; I just love the dramatic tension of characters not instantly being able to communicate with each other across distances or find an answer to an unsolvable mystery in less than two seconds by Googling it). Throw in elements of history, fantasy, bromance/buddy movies, and a Victorian setting and you’ll literally see me drool. (Not that seeing me drool is a particularly unusual occurrence, incidentally, as all of my stained shirts will attest.)

So, sure—The Camelot Shadow isn’t a mystery/thriller in the same way that a Janet Evanovich or Nelson DeMille book is a mystery/thriller, but it’s got enough of such elements for me to use this week as an excuse to give you free books, so be quiet. If you dig mixing all of those genre elements together, you might like the book (and, if you don’t, I promise I won’t be mad if you have to publicly trash it in your review—reading is subjective, and we can still be friends). And, I have no idea what that Guy Ritchie/King Arthur nonsense is all about.

As for MY favorite mystery or thriller? First off, I think those are two different things—a book can certainly have elements of both, but a story can also just be a straight mystery (that’s not so thrilling, and I don’t mean that pejoratively), or a straight thriller (where the reader knows what’s going on but the characters don’t, and it’s a pulse-poundingly, rip-roaringly paced yarn). Putting that aside, though, and with nods to more contemporary writers like Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child (the Pendergast books never fail to entertain), Dan Brown (The Camelot Shadow borrows from the formula that Brown popularized so adeptly in his Robert Langdon books), and John Saul (that man writes some creepy thrillers), as well as masters of the genre like Agatha Christie and Edgar Allen Poe (arguably the inventor of the genre), I have to go with a tale featuring a certain deerstalker-wearing detective: The Hound of the Baskervilles. The combination of Holmes and Watson (the best detective duo ever, for my money), a haunting setting, the intimation of supernatural chicanery afoot, and some of Doyle’s most effective pacing makes for an unforgettable reading experience.

Now then—let’s hear from you��

I may not be the sharpest marshmallow-toasting stick in the campground, but I know two inalienable truths: 1) ketchup is not an optimal condiment for cinnamon and sugar Pop Tarts, and 2) no one wants to read self-congratulatory blog posts.

Still, there’s an auspicious occasion that calls for celebration, and writing about it in ketchup on a Pop Tart seems like an ineffective way to get the word out. So, a self-congratulatory blog post it is, but rather than patting myself on the back (an exercise that requires contortions my body can only barely manage), I’d like to take a moment to thank you, Goodreaders, for your support. (ŷ������ers? Goodreadi? What’s the proper plural here?)

The Camelot Shadow recently notched its 100th rating on ŷ������, and while that’s an admittedly arbitrary number to celebrate and a far smaller number than any legitimately good book can claim (you think you’re sooooo awesome with your 4.7 million ratings, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, don’t you?), it’s mind-boggling to me that a hundred people have been interested enough to not only read something I wrote (a not short and stylistically ornate something, I might add), but to take a moment to let their fellow readers know whether they liked it (and, in many cases, to take extra time to write thoughtful reviews explaining why they did (or didn’t) like it).

That’s an incredible thing for any author to experience, but it’s particularly amazing for an independent author. Authors who say they write solely for themselves are full of surplus fecal matter, because if that’s what they were really doing, they would never publish anything. No, writers want—maybe even need—to be read, because they feel like they have something to say, a story to share with the world, one that readers will learn or glean insight from, or simply take heart from or be entertained by.

I think the most exciting part about this modest milestone is that we’re just getting started. Thanks to you all, word is spreading and enthusiasm is growing, and I can’t wait to introduce even more people to The Camelot Shadow (or The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple, if comedic fantasy is more your speed).

For those of you who have already sampled The Camelot Shadow’s fruits and found them to your liking (where am I going with this metaphor?), I have exciting news—I’m hard at work on a short story featuring a prominent character from The Camelot Shadow, set several decades before the book takes place. No spoilers yet, but let’s just say that if you’re a fan of arch, devil-may-care booksellers, you WILL like this story.

(I’m very good at subtle hints.)

If all goes according to plan, the story should be released sometime late in the fall—watch this space for more details and a preview of coming attractions. Plus, I have a feeling we’ll find a way to get the story into the hands of loyal Camelotians before the release date. (“Camelotians�� is a really terrible nickname, and it sounds a little bit like “Cameltoeans”…I may need to rethink that one.)

Thank you to each and every person who has read the book, shared the book, said a kind word about the book, or otherwise just been a generally encouraging supporter of my storytelling efforts. I have a tendency toward sarcasm��(*gasp*) a shocking revelation, I know—but let me swap snark for sincerity for a moment to say that I am so incredibly grateful for all of you, and constantly humbled by the kindness of total strangers whose love of stories and open-mindedness both makes me happy and gives me hope for the world.

I promise you that things are only going to get better from here (pipe down in the back there, with your “how can it get any worse?�� commentary)—so stick around and let’s have some adventures together.