Don't Think, Just Write

Today's guestblog is from @countmystars, with a little hope for what you may all learn from the NaNoWriMo/IndiWriMo experience.

Don't Think, Just Write

“Now the good times have begun, that's not a fire, it's just the sun, it's like the old man said, take the money and run – but what's the rush? Let's take the One.” – The Old 97's, “The One”

One of the pieces of advice writers hear most often is to edit, edit, edit. “Kill your darlings”, we're told. Cut out everything that isn't strictly necessary. Which is good advice, generally speaking, but how often do we internalize it to the point where we start editing before we should? How often do we self-censor during the drafting process, because we know we're not supposed to over-write – or stick too strictly to an outline because we've already decided what's important to the story, and nothing else is allowed in? Being able to edit is an essential skill in rewriting, but it can be deadly in the drafting process.

Sometimes it's easy to get bogged down in the “should”s and forget that a first draft is just that – a first draft. Space to play and experiment and figure out exactly what your story is. To over-write, if you want, just to follow an idea and see where it takes you. To ramble on about the characters' favorite bands and how much they hate their landlord and everything except the plot, when the ideas won't come and you don't know what the next scene is. So what if you're not “supposed to”... just because the scene won't end up in the finished draft doesn't mean it lacks value. Over and above the fact that it can be fun to just write without feeling the need to get through a scene as quickly as you can, the pages you write and eventually cut may turn out to be good for your story.

NaNoWriMo participants often get a bad rap for padding their word counts, babbling on and on just to meet their daily quota or reach 50,000 words faster. But this approach to the first draft has many hidden benefits. Those conversations between characters that run on for three pages can reveal who the characters are outside their function in advancing the plot. Florid paragraphs of description may hide unexpected phrases that make your story sing. There will be time enough to identify and polish these jewels in the revision process – right now, for your first draft, just switch off your inner editor and see what happens. We've all heard of those moments of great inspiration that happen while a writer is “in the flow”... it's much easier to achieve that flow when we quit worrying about whether the scene we're writing will end up in the finished story or not.

Another benefit of the “don't think, just write” approach is that it makes writing feel less like work. Most of us started traveling this path because we love to write, but it's all too easy to lose sight of this when we're overwhelmed with advice from all sides and trying too hard to follow it all. When we focus too much on our destination and lose sight of the journey. So, whether you're charging ahead towards 50,000 this November, or noodling around with a new short story, try taking the scenic route. Stop along the way and explore. Have fun. Play. Experiment. Discover what your story really is. Whether you reach the destination you originally intended or somewhere else altogether, it will be well worth the trip.



Elizabeth M. Thurmond lives in, and often writes about, Los Angeles. She can be found on the internet at www.countmystars.com

Ensuring the Future of Creativity

Today we have a guestblog from (our long-time friend) @kilotango. If you've seen Ethanael's profile picture, you've encountered Katy's artistic talent. Now, read on to see her wordsmithiness...

Ensuring the Future of Creativity

Ever since I was little, I've been surrounded by creative culture of some kind, and a lot of it has—in some way—been stories. Even aside from having a mother who devours books like candy, the traditional music scene I grew up in is rich in storytelling in both songs and spoken word. So, the idea of creating characters and worlds and plots has always been pretty close to my heart. Even though what I've published so far has been non-fiction and focused on art rather than writing, it's still been engaged with that love, hopefully empowering kids to express some of the stories that live inside their own heads.

As I've been teaching workshops over the last year or so, the importance of this idea keeps growing for me. With the swelling focus on exam results, targets and vocational skills, the joy of just indulging your own ideas seems to be getting more and more undervalued in schools. It's simultaneously wonderful and a little heartbreaking when you have to explain to a child that the character they are creating is theirs, and so of course they can give it long hair or wings or a big coat or whatever detail they want to add. Seeing the realisation click that their creation really can be however they like is great, but that they don't already know this and are instead so worried about getting things wrong seems more than a little sad.

It's not just the kids either. If the children have a parent in tow, I usually try to make them join in. More often than not, getting them to pick up a pencil will take more encouragement and more insistence that I'm starting right from the basics than I have to give to the kids. It takes hard work to be really good at anything, but that doesn't mean there's anything shameful in trying to do something new. Or in being really bad at that new thing. I hear a lot of sentences that start with "Oh, but I can't—" from adults sat in on my workshops. And maybe they're right, but really... that sentence should psychologically end with the word 'yet.'

Especially when we're dealing with something as low risk as making some marks on a sheet of paper, or spending five or ten minutes thinking up an imaginary person.

If you have that time to spare, there's not really any risk in following up on that potential skill either, especially as a child. No, not everyone who picks up a pencil or throws around words will be able to make a living from it. But creativity has a worth way beyond making you some cash. If it doesn't go anywhere... oh no. You've used some time using your brain and making something fun that you could have spent watching the X-factor. How very tragic.

Thankfully kids tend to be more willing to take that 'risk', but when school often fails to give them the outlet, that hurdle is far from as easy to jump over as it could be. Young people are much smarter and much more creative than people give them credit for, and they live in a world where they're looked on as fragile things made of glass that must be kept away from sunlight and experience at all costs, or horrible hoodie-wearing happy-slapping blights on society—and often not much in-between. Throw on the pressure to grow up in double time with plenty of shiny bits of paper to use as proof they've learned stuff, and that doesn't always leave a lot of space for healthy, imaginative expression. And that's a huge loss. A friend once told me that if you want to cut down youth crime, install a skate park and a graffiti wall in every town. I don't dissagree. I've spoken to youth workers with just the same view. Kids want to express themselves, and if we don't give them a constructive way to do it, we can't really be surprised when it explodes in other ways.

Back on the 'mercenary' note, all this talk about the Harlequin Horizons drama-storm took me a little personally as well. Not because I've had any experience with vanity publishers myself, but because a kid at one of my workshops got caught up with one. While I understand that everyone needs to make money somehow, the vanity method of preying on creators borders on the disgusting. Sure, if you were horribly cynical you could claim it was a tax on people not doing their research. But, when you're talking about convincing a young person to pay £5000 to 'publish' something they could have printed themselves for £200, with only limited editing, marketing and minimal distribution for their money, that steps into 'how do you sleep at night?' territory for me.

Unfortunately the kid that came to me for advice about what it's like to publish something had already signed the contract. They sent it to me to look at, and after how both enthusiastic and anxious they had been in our conversation, having to explain to them the nature of the company that had given them the offer was probably one of the most difficult emails I have ever written. All this would have been bad enough a few years ago, but with the amount of solid Print On Demand services out there, the fact it's not hard to get an ISBN and that some of these services will even throw your work up on Amazon for you... frankly, there's no excuse for this. Especially not when you're landing impressionable young people 5k in debt, taking a huge cut of the profit and then on top of that, taking their intellectual property rights with it.

This is not how we should be treating the people who are writing our future.

For all that anger though, there has probably never been a better time for just getting your stuff out into the public view, and in ways completely accessible for young people. No, you might not make a living out of it, but that doesn't always have to be the point. You can set up a print on demand shop for pretty much no overhead other than your own hard work on your book or comic. If you don't care about selling, you can start a blog, for free, in less time than it takes to make yourself a brew. From what I've seen, the small press scene is still thriving in comics, with new talent rising all the time, some of it from people not even out of their teens.

And this is with a large amount of the population convinced they're not creative, that they can't make things, that there's no point even trying to learn or trying to improve. Which is why when I get to teach, it's one of the most fulfilling experiences in the world. It might only be with a few people, and what they produce might not always be polished... yet. That takes work and practice and development. But potential is potential, and it's a great honour to help open that door. You never know what somebody has in their head.

Just imagine what we could see if they were all given the confidence and opportunity to share it.

Katy Coope is an author, illustrator and web designer based in the UK. She had her first book published at age 16, and her most recent, 'Making Manga Characters', came out last year as part of Collins' Big Cat series. She has a BA and an MA and runs on concentrated geekery, caffeine and spiral power.

Lessons of Game Design: Social Contracts and End-User Creativity

Today we have a guestblog from John Evans, please enjoy it!

For those of you who might not know me, my name is John Evans. My father is a computer programmer, and my mother a writer and former English teacher; being raised by them gave me the benefit of several different perspectives on everything. While I've exercised my creativity through both fiction writing (not seriously enough to have anything published) and software development (seriously enough to be paid for it), the one field that has truly captured my imagination is game design.

People have spent thousands of words debating "What is a game and how do you design it?", but I'll just lay out a couple simple working definitions (along with references, for those intrigued!).

A game can consist of a whole bunch of related materials; a game can consist of artwork, scenarios, levels, prose, all sorts of auxiliary assets to improve the experience. The most important aspect, however, are the rules. Rules are instructions to the player(s). In a sense they lay out a social contract; The game designer is saying to the player, "If you follow these rules, you will have a valuable experience." Even 'valuable' could mean many different things, from 'fun' to 'engaging' to 'educational' to 'tragic' to 'cathartic.'

Stepping back for a moment, this description is actually not too different from that of any medium. One could interpret Harry Potter and the Sorc—Philosopher's Stone as being an implicit social contract; J. K. Rowling is saying, "If you read this book from beginning to end, you will have a valuable experience."

The interesting point here is that a game designer does not directly design gameplay; a game designer creates rules that they hope will guide the player into an interesting experience. Think of poker for a moment. The rules define how players assemble hands and how they bet money. But nowhere in the rules is "bluffing" defined; that's an emergent property of the game. Because game designers have to work "at a remove," and for that reason it's sometimes called "second-order design."

But then again, that's not too far off from other media. Any work, like a book, has no meaning if it's not read. One could diagram the sentences and map out the plot, but the true meaning comes when someone gets to the end of the book and says "OMG I never saw that twist coming!" An author is not creating plot twists for the sake of plot twists, an author is designing the experience they wish the reader to have.

Now for another game topic; How are rules enforced? In a computer game, the software is the sole arbiter. It's impossible to fool.

Game: You need a key to get past this gate.
Player: But the fence is only waist-high. Can't I—
Game: YOU NEED A KEY TO GET PAST THIS GATE

Games played with other players are, sometimes, slightly more flexible.

Dungeon Master: You need a key to get past this gate.
Player: But the fence is only waist-high.
Dungeon Master: The fence grows up out of the ground until it is too high to climb. And it's covered with, uh, grease.

Actually, that was a rather silly example. Here's a more serious one:

Black: Okay, I want to move my queen like a knight.
White: That's against the agreed-upon rules. You forfeit your place in this chess tournament and I get the $1000 prize.

The social contract takes on an added meaning in multiplayer games. The players assume that, by entering into the game, they all agree to follow...whatever rules have been agreed upon.

That's not to say that rules are immutable objects. How about this example:

Nought: I move in the top left square. There's only one space left for you to move, and when you do, the game is a draw.
Cross: Okay, instead of moving, I erase one of your earlier moves.
Nought: You can't do that! We didn't agree to it!
Cross: But it might be cool, huh?
Nought: Okay, let's start another game using those rules.

Aha! Two players can play tic-tac-toe with whatever rules they like, because they agree to it. There is nothing that says the rules are completely inviolable. If you break the rules of tic-tac-toe, the world doesn't end, civilization doesn't crumble. You just might have to resolve the issue with your opponent...or you might not have anyone to play with!

Now, remember when I was talking about computer games, and I said a computer is "impossible to fool"? That's a lie. A computer game is defined by a program running on a computer. The information making up that program can always be changed, creating a "modification" (or mod). Some very famous games started out as mods of other games.

Over the years of games being modified, many game developers have started building in facilities to let modders easily change the game assets or code. Modding is often encouraged, as it gives the player community something to talk about and another way to enjoy the game.

Ultimately, I believe that the creativity of the players will become more and more important in computer games. For many games, the experience of playing them is a creative act. And with mods, the players have a growing ability to pursue the type of experience they want to have. Just think of it; soon we might see a Final Fantasy game where you could skip to the end if you wanted to play through it first!

Of course, you can already do that with books.

Hmmm...

Recommended Reading

Game Design: Theory and Practice (2nd Edition), Richard Rouse III — Practical and approachable.

Rules of Play: Game Design Fundamentals by Eric Zimmerman and Katie Salen — For when you want an exhaustive textbook with careful definitions of everything to do with games.

Chaoseed Softward — Free web-based games I designed and coded!

Zombies Need Love Too — A free (but you can pay small bits of money for advantages) Facebook game I designed and coded!

Thanks very much, John. Check out his game design blog, Chaos Garden, or follow him on twitter for more tasty thought-food.

Sometimes I get the impression that people believe I seek out ideas that are innovative or different.

I don't. I'm not trying to be different; what I'm doing is familiar—to me.

I've given up working out why it doesn't seem familiar to anyone else.

Maria and I bond or something

Dante and Avalon excused themselves to handle the reporting of the former city of London missing. I’m left with Maria to wait for their return. We’ve retraced our route to the steps of the art museum. I can feel the cement through my jeans. Cool like my latte. Only the ceramic mug retains any lingering warmth.

I can’t remember how to make the coffee inside warm again. Stuff just happens because Matt tells it to, so I’m trying that. But the liquid is feeling wholly uncooperative. Means I’m not saying it like I mean it harm if it doesn’t obey. Or the city guardians still have wards up throughout this city to disperse powers before they make things happen. It helps maintain the order of things.

“Fine,” I say. “Don’t be warm. I’ll still drink you.”

Maria looks at me, but it’s not one of fear. Just mild concern. “Is it your fault?”

“Yes. I should have drank it sooner.”

“No.” She almost smiles. I see her mouth twitch. “Whatever happened to London. The scone seems to think you’re to blame.”

“Most people think I’m to blame for most things,” I reply. “I’m the only one of my people who can do what I do. Makes me an easy target.”

“So you can transform cities?”

“No. I can change probabilities.” I frown. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to London. At least, I don’t remember having anything to do with it.”

I always do. Remember. Like I’m not capable of forgetting. I didn’t cause whatever happened to London. I know that. What I don’t know is why I’m telling her any of this. She thinks what I can do is relevant. I’m not so convinced.

“So that’s what a Twilight King does.” Maria rubs her feet.

Oh. We have a miscommunication. Failure of understanding. One that should be clarified.

“I’m not the Twilight King.” I try giving the mug a little hug with my hands. Maybe it just needs to feel appreciated. “That’s my brother. I’m the Twilight Prince.”

She blinks. Looks at me like she’s really seeing me. Maybe for the first time. “You’re a prince?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrug. “Lots of my people are.”

Vancouver people pass the museum. They’re far enough away that it doesn’t matter. They can’t hear us. Up on the steps is its own place. Part of but not part of what happens on the sidewalk.

We watch them in silence. If the mother or any of her toddler entourage think I stick out, they don’t comment. Probably because the city guardians have trained people to observe but not to notice things. Makes it almost like Vancouver was still on your side of the glass.

Mom and Tots cross the street at the corner. No Art for them. Fine by me. I don’t like young children. They seem unnatural.

“So where are you a prince of?” Maria asks. “Is Twilight the name of a city?”

Depending on when you are, you might think this is a stupid question. You might be wondering how Maria could not know that cities don’t have princes. Kingdoms do. There aren’t any kingdoms when Maria’s from.

“Twilight is the name of our tribe,” I say. “Tribes are like families you’re related to through power instead of genetics.”

She shakes her head. “This is such a weird place.”

“Where you’re from communities are where groups of people live. Here communities are those groups of people.” I abandon my mug on the step between us. “You would say ‘I’m from Emerald.’ Location is what links you and everyone else who lives there together. Mutual geography. Here you would say ‘I’m from the Beauty tribe.’ It’s the power that identifies you.”

Except it isn’t power that identifies her. Her tribe didn’t want her. She doesn’t belong to them. Doesn’t understand why this is such a bad thing. Most of the others like her, the ones who refuse to belong to anyone, are in Vancouver. They had the choice. They could have joined tribes. But, like Maria, they were too used to belonging to a place.

“Each tribe has a prince or a princess. Maybe Both. Maybe more. Depends on the tribe is.” I shrug. “Means your second-in-command to the King and Queen.”

She isn’t following. I can see it in how she’s poised, her mouth slightly open, to argue with me.

“How can you not have cities?” she settles on, finally. “Are you all nomads?”

“No. We have cities. We just don’t use them the same way.”

She’s quiet for a few heartbeats. I watch the family disappear into the distance.

“Do you think that’s what happened to London, Ethan?”

My name has changed. There’s a kindness to the way she says. Not the same as how she says Andy. But she’s finally saying Ethan like it doesn’t frighten her.

“What do you mean, Maria?” I glance at her. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. It got swallowed by the dream fields. Spat out as something else. It happens. No one’s responsible for it.”

“That’s what I mean.” She shifts on the step. Faces me. “What if London isn’t wrong—what if neglect is what caused the city to be eaten by the dream fields?”

She sits back. Crosses her arms. Looks damn pleased with herself. She deserves to. I know that places move without Old Ones and tribes to keep them in place. Never mind we couldn’t find London to keep it from becoming forgotten. History is made by those telling it. Easy-peasey for Stellina to make history include the Twilight King decreeing that the city be abandoned.

“That is exactly what happened.” I lean forward. Slip on my headphones. Listen as hard as I can. Straining for strands of Stellina’s easily recognizable refrain.

Avalon’s not wrong about us needing to speak to London. But he’s not right about us not needing to speak to Stellina. Of course, there’s a trap waiting for us wherever she is. All we can do is be aware and hope the element of surprise will better serve us.

This is twice we’ve been pointed in Stellina’s direction. Got a feeling if we don’t take the hint, we’ll see a third reminder and I’m not risking a waffle showing up.

Blogging The Graveyard Book 2/3

Chapter 4: The Witch's Headstone

• How does Bod know about Baba Yaga? Did Miss Lupescu tell him or is there a completely unmentioned Russian ghost in the graveyard?

• Each time I read this sequence I am left wondering WTF a "snake stone" is. I have googled. I do not receive answers that seem to match the stone's description in the book. Also on this note: That thing would be far more tarnished than could be wiped away with a polishing cloth.

• WE ARE THE SLEER. WE CAPSRANT.

• This chapter has a lot of lessons in it. Far more lessons per chapter than the previous one. Like wherever you go, there you are. Don't steal from the SLEER. Trust your instincts. Don't trust someone named Abanazer. Never burn the Man Jack's card.

• The whole Man Jack thing bothers me. I feel that we're being given the clues to know his identity, but they aren't coming together in a way that makes sense to me yet. Why are we told about his grandmother and the cauldron?

• Despite how pleased I am to see a reminder of the Man Jack plot, this is probably my least favorite chapter. This is evidant in how it was easy to remember what I objected to in this chapter and far harder to recall what I delighted in.

Chapter Five: Danse Macabre

• Does anyone else spend this entire chapter thinking it's pronounced maca-brah?

• I love the whole musical aspect of this section, and had I not completed FRAGMENTS before reading The Graveyard Book the first time, I might suspect this chapter left a lasting impression.

• I also really enjoy the play of modern and tradition, dead and alive, and how those dualities don't matter during the dance. There's something beautiful about it. (And incredibly morbid.)

• It is a rule that male characters crush on Neil's Deaths. Silas is sad about this, because he realizes it makes him Morpheus and no one wants to be Morpheus.

• Seriously, though, Silas is upset because Bod's love of Death reminds Silas that one day Bod will go with the Grey Lady.

• The fact that it snows at the end of this chapter made it more personal as I read it on the day it first snowed here.

Interlude: The Convocation

• Markers of Great Books: (1) Footnotes or (2) Interludes.

• There is always a short story in the middle of a Gaiman novel. Sometimes, like with American Gods, it's actually a whole other novel.

• Again, I feel like I should know who these characters are and I don't. Not in a frustrating way, but in the way of there's obviously more to this than what I'm being permitted to know. Would I know if I was old and English?

Interrogation PT 2

“London who?” Maria twists the fork again.

“London, ye cruel beastie!” The scone howls. “Big Ben, Hyde Park, The Tate, Double Decker buses. London.”

Maria eases up on the fork to look at us. “Anyone know what in the Abyss this thing’s talking about?”

Oh. Yeah. I think we do.

“London,” Avalon says. It’s not in the thoughtful tone. It’s in a slightly bewildered one. Not doubtful. He’s been here too long to doubt much of anything.

Dante looks at him. “The missing city?”

“Formerly missing from the sounds of it.” Avalon digs around in his pocket. “Also, formerly a city if we can trust what Sconey MacScone has said.”

Depending on when you’re reading this, you’re at varying levels of confusion. Some background: London is a big city in the south of a country called England. At some point in your future—or past—London vanishes. It’s not the only place. One day—possibly a Thursday—several cities around your world just aren’t there anymore. I won’t go into specifics of why or how. There’s a generally agreed upon explanation among my people that places the blame mostly on your people. Doesn’t matter. You just need to know those cities reappeared in the Twilight Lands.

Unlike Vancouver, we never found London. Except for the Chronograph. Given the evidence of mean scones and exclamation-bomb carrying pancakes, I’d say London also left the Chronograph to torment us. Obviously, the former city has transformed into a douchebag.

“Where’d you get the brilliant idea to go after Ethan?” Maria twists the fork again.

“Ow! Master was told by a lass calling herself Stellina that the Twilight King was to blame.” A whimper. “Please, I beg of ye, lassie—stop forking me.”

She looks to us. Waits. Avalon nods. She pulls the fork free and offers it to him. Accepting, he returns it to the table. Whether he wants it or not, she’s handed him the leadership of our little group. Makes sense. He’s the one with seniority. Dante hasn’t picked a vocation yet. (He’s told me there’s pressure for him to be an accountant like his father.)

“Where can we find this Stellina?” Maria asks.

“No, I’ll not tell ye that.” Sconey MacScone shudders. “I fear her far more than I fear ye.”

Maria reaches for the fork. Avalon stops her with a little shake of his head.

“Looking for Stellina doesn’t address the larger problem.” He traces something on the object he’s pulled out of his pocket. “We need to speak with London.”

“I’ll not tell ye where my master is, either.”

“You will, Sconey MacScone.” Avalon displays the small silver circle in his palm. “I’ve named you.”

A single glyph glows on the mirror. Sconey MacScone has been written above.

“Well played,” Dante says.

Yeah. I wish I’d had the resistance to exclamation marks that would’ve allowed me to think of naming the pancake. Dante would have never had to step in to save me from it later. I could have just made it drown itself in syrup.

“I don’t understand,” Maria says. “Why is naming it a big deal? I mean, how do we even know that’s what it’s called?”

“When you name something, you get power over it,” Dante explains. “Well, you do if you do it properly.”

It’s recommended you to go to school and get certified as a mirror mage first. But if you do, your parents might try to convince you to become an accountant.

Avalon indicates the mirror. “You can challenge this, if you like.”

I think the scone is sulking. It’s making discontent noises as it vibrates slightly on its plate.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dante crosses his arms. “There’s just a little life in you. It’s not enough will to counter a naming. Even the daf—dumb pancake had more.”

The plate rattles violently against the table.

Maria looks at me. “What’s going on?”

I finger my headphones. “I…really have no idea.”

It’s true. I don’t. As exciting as my life is, angry Scottish not-cakes aren’t something I see a lot. My people are a lot less silly when it comes to their means for revenge.

Dante gets a funny look on his face and grabs either of us. Pulls us away from the table. Avalon grabs his mug—it’s one of those big wide ones—and tosses what’s left inside into a nearby plant. Slams the upside down cup over the plate.

Parts of the scone don’t fit inside. They vibrate madly for another few seconds then explode. Like BOOM. Really. The plate goes skidding the table. Takes the fork with it. Maria yells. Dante grabs her. We duck. Shield our eyes. A cranberry scores a trail of gunky red across my hand.

When the crumbs settle, there’s a cranberry splattered against the nearby wall. Shards of a once-plate and crumbs strew the floor like limbs. Another berry-shrapnel is embedded in the counter.

The barista doesn’t meet my eyes as he walks over. He’s got a broom. And the frown of someone doing everything he can to keep his temper so he doesn’t lose his job.

“I think it’s time you left, sir,” he says to Avalon.

Avalon’s turn to frown. Not at the sir. It looks like a cranberry is smeared across his jacket.

“Of course,” he says. I’m not sure if he’s talking to the barista, but the barista nods and looks satisfied. Avalon’s jacket says nothing.

Dante and Maria untangle from each other. There’s a general lack of blushing. My respect for her increases. Not only is she mean with a fork, she knows the difference between survival and snuggling.

“What happened?” she asks, as the barista leaves. “I mean, I get that the scone thing exploded. But why? Because it wouldn’t do what you told it to?”

“No.” Dante picks crumbs out of his hair. “It was destroyed from afar. There must have been a link to his creator. London was using the scone for surveillance.”

She gives him a look that says and you know this how?

“The plate rattling. Power built up. Overloaded the scone.” He flicks the crumb on the floor. “A vassal that simple can’t hold a great deal of power.”

“Should that be possible?” I ask Avalon. “Since when could former places create things?”

He shrugs. “Last I checked, possible didn’t have a lot of sway once the dream fields were involved.”

The barista clears his throat. In that way meant to assert authority. It doesn’t mean anything. If he thinks we’re city guardians, he knows he can’t really make us leave. Not if we don’t want to. But if we were city guardians, we wouldn’t risk making him feel uncomfortable by staying.

Avalon lifts the mug that’s managed to remain upright on the table. Sniffs it. Pushes it into my hands.

“I don’t see any crumbs in it,” he says. “Finish your latte.”

I point to the mug and give the barista an authoritative look. “I’m taking this with me.”

He sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Thanks.” Dante smiles at him. Guides Maria toward the door with a hand. “We’ll be going now.”

“I’m keeping it, too,” I mutter. Sip my lukewarm sweet caffeine.

“You tell him, E,” Avalon says. Real quiet. So the barista doesn’t actually hear. Neither does Dante.

We leave through the glass doors. Go out into the street. I hear bicycle bells in the distance. Talking. The metallic clack of gates opening. Robson’s no longer asleep.

I don’t think Stellina is as involved in this as Sconey MacScone would have us believe. I know she didn’t send the pancake that claimed to be delivering her message. I can’t doubt she’d tell the former city of London to seek vengeance against the Twilight King. It’s absolutely something she would do, but her harmonies didn’t accompany the pancake attack. Someone’s trying to put the blame on her.

A little while ago for me—again, I don’t know when it was for you—Stellina was involved in something sneaky. She had a deal go bad on her. It’s part of what made Maria Not Right. Why Val isn’t here and Avalon is. How Dante knows about Oliver. Now, it appears it’s also the reason why I was assaulted by my breakfast.

All these threads getting tangled together might make you think of words like Fate and Destiny. I get that. Trufax: There’s a wannabe puppet-master at work here. But let’s not flatter her. This isn’t destiny. She’s working probabilities and people same as I do. Maybe I can’t spin right now, but when I get my rhythms back she is going to get a beat smackdown so big she won’t be able to escape its echoes.

Teach her to ruin pancakes for me.

“So.” Dante tucks his hands in his pockets. “How do we find the former city of London?”

“Simple.” Avalon slips on his jacket. “We report it missing.”