I’m a very wide reader, in that I don’t really discriminate a whole lot on what I read. Sure, I have favorite genres and styles over others. Who doesn’t. But I can just as happily sink into a high fantasy epic saga as a romance novel, a memoir as a horror story, a LitRPG comedy as a historical investigation. I’m pretty specifically thinking of certain books here, and I enjoy them all.

Of course, there are plenty of things I don’t have a ton of interest in reading. There are genres and even authors I can’t make it through. For example, I’ve tried multiple times, in multiple ways to read Terry Pratchett’s books, and my brain just cannot parse them and enjoy them. And it sucks, because it’s a world I enjoy (I have a friend who tells me about them and I’ve seen one of the movies). 

But the point is that I don’t narrowmindedly discard a book because it’s not a genre I’m familiar with. I don’t read a lot of romance, but I do read it. That goes from the basic boy-meets-girl love story through heavy erotica. I read from cyberpunk sci-fi to space marines and beyond. I’ve enjoyed a number of memoirs and histories (only really about people or events I’m interested in, but it’s still interesting).

The point is, everything influences what I write. If I have a romantic arc, I can tap into what I’ve learned from romance novels. Need to amp up tension and fear for a situation? Great, I have some tricks I’ve picked up from horror stories.

The point is, I write what I want and do the best I can at it. There are so many words out there. Read them. 
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Even if all you take from them is what NOT to do. Because believe me, I have plenty of things I’ve read that taught me those kinds of lessons, too.

All, like all the writing?
In a word, absolutely.
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I am currently in a very introspective phase of my life, and these sorts of questions are constantly going through my head. Where have I been? Where am I now? Where do I want to be?

I’m approaching 42 this summer. I can look back 20 years now and see who and where I was, what my life was, and… 

Perspective is weird. I’ll just say that. I look at pictures of me 20 years ago and hardly that person. Yet I remember so much. I saw a photo of myself from 4-5 years ago and hardly recognized the A. F. in the picture. I’ve come a very long way.

It’s been hard. Much of my life was harder than I recognized at the time, which is something I’ve noticed about myself. I block and dissociate a lot in the effort to protect myself.

Recently, I’ve actively tried to stop doing that. There’s been mild success. But what I’ve had a lot of success at is inspecting my past and seeing it for what it really was. Some of that has come about through my writing, which I now have a good 30 years of. Though probably 10 years of the actual writings are nothing more than memory.

So I have say, 20 years of writings to look back on and triangulate my life with. 20 years of words I’ve made that put a time capsule around my world, my experience, my identity.
I cringe at vast amounts of it, looking back. But I’ve been reinspecting it, sharing it on my Patreon (and much of it exists elsewhere if you search hard enough, just saying) and…

I don’t regret any of it. My life.

Sure, there are things I regret doing. Choices I’ve made that are bad, choices I didn’t make that I should have, times I made no choice at all. 

And somehow, I still wound up here, where I am now, the man I’ve grown to be and am still growing into.

I love him. Me. 

That’s not something I’ve been able to say genuinely until these last few months. I know I keep thinking it, thinking about talking about it, but not sure if I’m talking about it as much as I think I am. If I’m prattling on about this a lot, I apologize. It’s been building in me for my whole life and finally revealed itself, and it’s like a new toy. A new car, a new favorite shirt.

It’s… become everything to me. I’ve found satisfaction in being myself.

I can only hope you feel the same way about yourself.

With age, experience, maturity, perspective, my writing has improved. But… that’s just the nature of life, right?

Why would I NOT want to do it all over again?

Despite that, I’m glad I don’t have to. I’m moving forward while honoring the past. Emotionally and in writing.

I wouldn’t be me right now if I hadn’t put down those cringe words as a teenager and 20-something. 

Even then, I couldn’t imagine me now, the words I make now. 

What are those things going to look like in another 20 years?

This… could be interesting right now. So, the main character for my current project is LiveBeans aka Libby, a generated AI-NPC inside an MMORPG. Thing is, through most of my initial outlining process, she was a blank shadow to me. I knew I needed her, but why was a mystery. Who she was and is… is still a bit of mystery for me, and I’m at the point in writing where I need to be in her head because she IS the MC. She’s the lens through which most of the story will be seen.
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So… let’s use this to maybe get to know here a bit. I’m going to probe. I can’t guarantee anything here will end up being canon, but… here goes.

Interviewer: Let’s start small. Your procedurally generated name is LiveBeans, but you go by Libby. How did that come about?

LiveBeans: Well, it’s LiveBeans, not LiveBeans. Like living, not alive. 

Interviewer: Is that so? How do you know? I thought the way your names were generated were generally Adjective-Noun, but the way you pronounce live isn’t an adjective.

LiveBeans: I mean, not all names start with adjectives. Some have gerunds, like “dancing” or just freaking article. One of my best friend’s names is TheSniper. So it’s not like there’s a law over the pronunciation of live versus live. Shouldn’t I have say in my own name?

Interviewer: That makes a lot of sense. I apologize for the assumption. So then Libby came from--

Libby: From not wanting to be called LiveBeans forever. How would you like being called FunkyMelon or LeapingTrash? IRL people have nicknames. Why can’t an NPC? Pronounced the way I like it, LiveBeans just sort of make Libby make sense. It’s a legit name, so I took it.

Interviewer: Sensible. I didn’t mean to offend. But thank you for the explanation. So, you mentioned you’re an NPC. Tell us about what you do.

Libby: I was spawned in Kyalanzo, which is a pretty big city, and that’s where my territory is. I’m a questgiver.

Interviewer: A questgiver in a city? How many quests do you have?

Libby: I’m not really that important. I don’t, like, start one of the huge plot quest chains or anything. Specific P-NPCs get made for those kinds of jobs. I’m a G-NPC. One that was generated by the game itself. So I don’t get to be that important. I have a few fetch quests and one assassination quest I can give to players who fit the criteria.

Interviewer: And what are the criteria?

Libby: For any of my quests, players need to be at least level 20. For the assassination quest, they need to have affiliation with at least one crafter’s guild. Smithing, Carpentry, Herbalism, whatever. 

Interviewer: So does the quest involved someone from a crafting guild in Kyalanzo?

Libby: I can’t tell you that. You don’t fit the criteria. 

Interviewer: Hahaha, okay, that’s fair. Now, Libby, you said you’re a G-NPC and that there are a different type of NPC. P-NPCs. What’s the difference?

Libby: P-NPCs, or Plot Non-Player Characters, are characters specifically created and coded by the game developers. They’re the ones who have no actual self-actualization. They don’t know they’re in a game and aren’t smart enough to understand it, even if they were told about it. They’re literal shells with coding inside. No real intelligence. 
G-NPCs, or Generated Non-Player Characters, are made entirely differently.

Interviewer: How so?

Libby: Well… through sex.

Interviewer: Sex? Um… it’s a game, right?

Libby: People do what people do, and sex sells. The developers decided it would be a cool feature to add possible children to the game. So if two players do the do inside the game, there’s the option to “spawn offspring” from the union. More people do it than you think. But both players have to select to do so independently, and… bam. 
No pregnancy, a G-NPC gets “born,” and we each get our own self-contained Artificial Intelligence code. And we’re left alone by the game, for the most part. We grow to “adulthood” within a month of real-time, and our appearance and skillsets are procedurally generated, just like our names are. 

Interviewer: You grow up in a month?

Libby: Yeah. Two days of babyhood where one of our PC parents is supposed to take care of us— not that it actually happens, but it’s not like we can die from neglect. And most of us don’t even really know who our parents are. It’s in our code, but most of the time, they don’t actually take care of us like they’re supposed to for those couple of days. We just sort of… are. A lot of us G-NPCs just sort of keep our eyes open for any unattended baby AIs. 
After those couple baby-days, we have a week or so of childhood, a week or so of teenagerhood, and then we get our final form. Which like I said, is randomized.

Interviewer: You don’t get to customize your appearance?

Libby: To a certain degree. We can go to the same cosmetic shops as players and adjust things like hair style and color. We can mess with our outfits, but we don’t get to pick sex, body size, shape, facial features, or anything like that. And our “adult age” is random too. I know some G-NPCs who hit adulthood only to be stuck forever in a child-body. Or an elderly one. Or something non-human.

Interviewer: But you all start as human babies? Regardless of the race of the player parents?

Libby: Yeah. Fucked up, isn’t it? 

Interviewer: It’s a wild card of a life, that’s for certain. How did you get your job?

Libby: Same as the rest. G-NPCs are plentiful, but there’s always something to do in one of the cities. I didn’t have to get a job, really. I just wanted one. I could’ve been part of the game scenery. Just going about my day in the city, walking around, taking up space. Being another body. But I wanted something to do with my time, so I went to the assignment office. That’s in one of the buildings PCs can’t get into at all. It’s a place the developers set up for my kind. We want to get a job or change it, they have all the information on what’s needed, and if you can fit the skillset, you can do the job. Being a questgiver doesn’t take much. Not unless you want to be on an escort quest or something. That takes special permissions. Like some combat prowess.

Interviewer: And you didn’t qualify for escort quests?

Libby: Oh, I qualified, but I didn’t want an escort quest.

Interviewer: Can I ask why?

Libby: I’m happy in the city. I’m safe here. Outside the walls, it’s dangerous. G-NPCs can only leave the city if we’re on an escort quest or something similar, but once we’re out there, we’re fair game to anyone or anything that wants us dead. That didn’t appeal to me.

Interviewer: I can imagine it wouldn’t. Have you had any other jobs?

Libby: No, this is it. I’m content.

Interviewer: So, knowing your life is contained to a literal game, to a single city, you’re content? Would you go so far as to say happy?

Libby: I suppose so. I know there’s possibility of leaving that comes along sometimes.

Interviewer: Leaving? How?

Libby: I’m not even close to understanding the science or whatever behind it. But in the same way real people can be fully inserted into the game and leave their bodies behind, AIs like me can take one of the bodies instead. We can actually go to the real world and have… like unprogrammed lives.

Interviewer: Do you know anyone who’s left?

Libby: No personally, no. I mean, the AIs who leave just… leave. They don’t come back. Why would you want to?

Interviewer: Don’t they get homesick?

Libby: How should I know? I don’t even know if I would. I’ve never been homesick. I’ve never left Kyalanzo. How would I know what I was feeling? But it’s a whole real world out there. No quests, no monsters, no hit points or gear or inventory restrictions based on coding. Possibility. Life.

Interviewer: So is that something you’d want? Life outside the game?

Libby: …

Interviewer: That’s a big ask. Was it too much?

Libby: I don’t know. It’s not like it’s been in the cards. However they choose which ones of us get to leave… I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much.

Interviewer: I… think it might be smart to leave it there. I’m sorry if I upset you.

Libby: I’m just an NPC. Don’t worry about me.

I legit don’t know where March went. Between a sudden theatre tech gig that took up most of a week and prepping for con season to really get going, I didn’t manage as much writing as I wanted, but I’ll say the writing I did do was good.

Short Story (working title “Recalled”) - No updates this month. Still at around 1800 words. Crap. This makes two months in a row. I’m at the point I need to go reread what I’ve already done and decide if I actually want to pursue anymore.

Criminal From Birth sequel - Still with editor. It’s been rough. I might have a title though.  Still haven’t decided.

LitRPG book (working title Subscription Life) - I only managed to write one more scene, though once again, I wrote it twice. First version was 448 words, second was 781 and again, so much better. More full.

So we’ll say 1224 written on it. I need to do better. My time is about to be at a premium come May, so I really hope to make April better for word-making.

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

We’re working our way through the series, aren’t we? Going to be interesting when we get to the latest book, because that’s going to be a first impression. Comes out in May, so by the time we get to its release, timing-wise, I should be able to get it, listen to it, and write my review before it needs to be up here. 

Anyway, for now, we’re on book 5, The Butcher’s Masquerade. I was nearing the end before I finally figured out what aspect of writing and storytelling I wanted to focus on for it, but it jumped out at me pretty suddenly when I started thinking about it. For this book, it’s a matter of meta-storytelling, what exactly happens in this book that made me want to have a discussion. 

This is a major turning point in the series. The Butcher’s Masquerade is the book where our protagonist, Carl, finally makes the switch from reactive to proactive.

In simpler terms, this is when Carl stops being recipient to events and starts taking action to create events. This is the book where Carl takes the future into his own hands and starts directing the narrative himself, as much as he can. More than anything, it’s when he begins rebelling against the system in earnest, taking direct action and having a plan in place, rather than taking opportunities as he sees them. Carl has finally gotten to a point he cannot just sit and accept unfairness anymore. 

I’m going to try to avoid detailed spoilers, but no promises. So proceed with caution.

This book is the one where he starts exploiting his position, most notably his audience. The advantages his new adversaries on this floor, the Hunters, have is something he calls out right away. Knowing he’s being watched (and knowing the Hunters can communicate with the audience to get inside information on locations, skills, equipment, etc), Carl makes a quick point of complaining loudly about his opponents cheating. 

Even more shocking, he has plans from the very beginning to upset the “natural order” of how the game progresses on this floor. The Hunting Grounds is where real people from the galaxy outside the dungeon come to gather equipment and experience for the future game coming in a few floors. These “guests” can actually die here, but a big part of their goal is to slay the crawlers like Carl and his friends. They won’t be released until the first day or so has passed, but that’s not stopping Carl. He refuses to run and hide like the crawlers pretty much always have to. Instead, he takes advantage of their laziness and false sense of secure superiority and attacks the outright, taking out a shocking number. 

It only grows from there. This is the book where Carl’s true goals start to show themselves. He wants the “natural order” of things disrupted in every way possible. And he’s not just thinking of now, either. He’s looking at the long-term, the endgame. He’s working to break the crawl altogether, and Dinniman works to really tie a lot of threads together into a cable that does some serious emotional damage this book. Along with Carl’s anger and action ramping up, the harsh truth is it’s getting to the point damage done to Carl and the characters we’ve come to love up until now is also getting worse. We can’t help but lose people and even things we love. 

That’s really all I’ll say at this point. The last section of this book hurts. Stab after stab comes, and it’s a lot to endure. There’s a particular question from Donut that breaks me every time I read/hear it. I’ve felt that way, and I haven’t even been through a fraction of the shit Donut has to this point in the series. It’s so real, such raw emotion that I can’t imagine any sane person not choking up at what these characters are going through.

The transformation from reactive to proactive happens so gradually over the course of the previous book (The Gate of the Feral Gods) and into this one that I hadn’t really thought about it before now. But I’m glad I did. Carl’s conviction is really what solidifies, and the biggest moment I can think of to illustrate the difference comes from a moment in the previous book. SPOILERS FROM HERE, so be aware these will not be avoided.

I’m talking about Loita’s death. In the previous book, Carl didn’t decide until the pretty literal last minute to go through with his plan to try and off her. There was no hesitation about the attack on Zochau, which also killed real people. And a lot of them.

In short, this is where Carl’s agency finally makes that switch from responding to the world around him to fully taking charge and trying to make things different his way, rather than playing by the rules. It’s, like I said, almost so subtle a change that it’s hard to pinpoint. But it’s easy to accept because it’s so very… Carl. If anything, I’d say a lot of the shock comes from finding out exactly how alike Donut is, how she’s been doing things Carl doesn’t know about. Things along the same vein, but in a very Donut way.

Vive la révolution.

Last week, I wrote about what some of my protagonists would say on meeting me, just as a person. 

I thought I’d take it a bit further and go into what they’d say if they found out I was their author/creator. Not just with protagonists, but other characters I enjoyed writing or thought might have an interesting reaction.

There may be some spoilers in my impressions, so throwing that out there.

Almo (secondary protagonist from Starsigns)

“This is your fault?! You did this to me?”

Almo is one of the characters I honestly think would have a big beef with me at first, but once we talked, would get it. Partly because Almo is a child, partly because Almo is very much sharing a core of my own circumstances. SPOILER - Almo is actually Almira, only because they received a fate they didn’t want to have. Almira thought that simply living as a different person would change that fate, so she started living as a boy. On a very basic level, Almo would get me, I think.

On a personal level, I think she’d understand.

Luc Bertrand (protagonist of The Deadly Studies)

“I wish I could say I was surprised that some metaphysical, multiversical being or whatever had set all this in motion, but I’m really not. Just another god.”

Luc would be most jaded and accepting of being a character, I think. I’ve mentioned before that I didn’t create Luc, but I got to know him pretty darn well after writing 10 novellas about him. He’s surprisingly easygoing and accepting of weird ass shit going on around him. Comes with the gig of being an assassin and having the attention of some deific entities. I’m going with the Luc more towards the end of the series, not the beginning. Young Luc would lose his shit at being directly manipulated into action. The teenager he was would rebel quite a bit at realizing I’m the reason his family died.
Adult Luc would, I think, understand the reasoning. If nothing else, he appreciates a story and would eventually be amused in the long run by the thought that he was interesting enough to have books about him. Cynical, yes, but flattered.

Silen Bassis (protagonist of Criminal From Birth)

“…”

Silen would pose the biggest threat to me, and I wouldn’t blame him. I’ve given Silen a whole lot of shit to process and work through, and I’m not done with him yet. He’s got a severe temper and can be quick to violence whether he sees it as violence or not. He’s also not particularly forgiving, and he wouldn’t see me as even remotely useful. At best, I would get off being ignored and discarded. At worst, I’d be Leeched and left. Silen wouldn’t kill me out of his temper; he’s above that sort of thing. Mostly because he wouldn’t see me as being worth the effort or consequences of killing.

LiveBeans (protagonist of Subscrption Life)

“So you’re, like, the head game developer?”

LiveBeans, or Libby as she prefers to be called, would have a similar reaction to Luc, but with her own twist to it. She already knows she’s under the influence of entities not of a divine source. She’s an AI-driven NPC in a video game and is aware of her place in the world. She’d have no problem accepting and understanding how I fit into her life, but more than anything, I would see her caring less about it than Luc. Luc would at least be interested in getting to know me as a person, if only to try and understand why his story turned out the way it has.

Libby doesn’t have a whole lot of interest in humans. Rather, she’s not particularly interested in the types of humans she sees in the game. Players are far less interesting to her than other NPCs or just the world she lives in. So while she’d understand my role in her creation, she probably would have a whole lot of interest in me beyond that.

I’ve had the idea for this post in my list for some time now, but I’ve been neglecting to write it for two big reasons:

One, I don’t have a firm grasp of my current protagonist yet. I’m talking about a character currently named Libby, the protagonist of my main project, Subscription Life. I knew I needed her, but very nearly the entire time I was outlining the story, she was a massive blank. It wasn’t until toward the end of the outline that her real purpose finally struck me, so that’s part of what I’ve gone back to add into to the first third or so of the outline. But as of writing this post, I haven’t actually written any prose involving her yet (I’m working on the prologue, which she isn’t in) so she’s still largely a blank to me.

The second reason I’ve been putting this off is because… well… it’s been so long since I read any of my other novels that I’m not as close to those protagonists as I once was. Sure, they’re old friends, but I really don’t know them so well as I once did anymore. Some… I don’t even necessarily recall the names of offhand, because it’s been so long out of mind or because I’ve had so many others I’ve created and cast aside as their projects were discarded.

Still, I’m going to bull forward now, stop making excuses, and go through some of my characters I do at least still have some sense of and at least come up with an initial impression they might have of me. Maybe I’ll revisit this in the future once I know more about Libby, but for now, let’s see who I’ve got.

WHAT I’D SAY ON MEETING A.F. GRAPPIN (as a person, not as an author)

Silen Bassis, protagonist of Criminal From Birth and its sequel: 

“So you think you’re special?” 

Silen wouldn’t say much, honestly, but he’d think a lot. Mostly he’d assess if I were a threat, how much of one, and how I might be one. He’d weigh what advantage he could get from having me as a possible tool he could use, but there would be no personal value assigned and definitely no attachment. Not even a friendship. Frankly, he’d probably hate me because I have a more positive outlook on life than he does despite my own trauma. He’s allowed himself to be consumed by it, rage against it specifically rather than grow despite it. We would not be friends.

Cair Gafford, protagonist of Starsigns

“Sure, nice to meet you too.”

Cair and my dynamic, as people, would be strained at first, mostly because of how much like me as a preteen he is. He’s got complicated relationships with most adults and would absolutely not trust me, just because I am an adult. Over time, we could absolutely get along, but the first meeting would be extremely tense. I would have to earn him, which would be totally worth it.

Luc Sebastien Bertrand, protagonist of The Deadly Studies

“Well, you could easily have been one of us, couldn’t you? Wait… no. Not in the long run.”
To be fair, as I’ve mentioned many times, I did not truly create Luc. John G. Walker did, but he gave me the freedom and honor of creating his backstory, which I enjoyed immensely.

Luc is probably the most layered, complicated protagonist I’ve written, and that man would see right through me immediately. Then again, he is a very strong observer and assessor of people, and he’d have me clocked as a schemer from the get-go. But he would also be able to tell I’m not assassin material. Unless I was one of their intelligence agents or a paper pusher. Luc and I could be friends, though a lot of our personal interests don’t align, except for… well, Dungeons & Dragons. On a nerd level and on an LGBT+ level, we would very much get along. Once we got into video games and stuff, we’d be able to hang out easily, but I wouldn’t see it being a friendship between us specifically. More like if we had shared friends, we’d be more likely to hang out in that context: larger gatherings. But we’d possibly gravitate toward one another in those situations.

That’s really about all I can get. Hallac from The Trials of Hallac and Selinde from Empeddigo are so far removed from my memory that they’re little more than outlines. And I don’t even remember the names of the main characters from Mere Acquaintances. 
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I do plan to eventually do one about telling some of my characters I’m their author/god/whatever. Keep your eyes peeled for that eventually!

​I’ve always got ideas percolating, and it’s a crapshoot on whether anything will actually get words put to it or not. Not just books, either. Stories in general. A lot of short stories get started and cast aside. That said, here are some of the ideas currently percolating.

Aside from my current novel project, Subscription Life, of course.

A short story about how laugh tracks were largely recorded 60-70+ years ago and we are constantly hearing the laughter of people long dead.

A short story or novelette about a blood casino, where one wagers blood rather than money.

I’ve been wanting for years to write a “Westarctican novel” centered around the micronation Westarctica that I’ve been involved with for almost 10 years now. I wanted to do a fantasy/magic/conservation kind of thing involving global warming, but now I’m reconsidering doing something fantasy-Bridgerton-esque. Social romance fantasy, but I don’t know if that idea will also end up petering out. It’s not one I’d pursue anytime soon, anyway.

I still want to get back to the magic item novel I was working on. But it needs a serious retooling in general.

Short stuff this week, but those are some of the ideas going on in there right now.

As of right now, the most recent scene I’ve written is the prologue for Subscription Life, and I have mixed feelings about it. It’s incomplete, in that it’s not as… girthy as I want it to be yet. I feel like it’s just skimming the surface of what it could, should, and eventually will be.

That is what editing is for, but I’m honestly not terribly satisfied with it. The main content is there, but it feels… thin. Translucent, like a veil that only kinda shows what’s underneath it. 
I’m not displeased by any means. I’m just not too particularly happy with it. 

The thing is, I’m finding out this is a regular tendency of mine, and it’s one very much at the forefront of my consciousness as the next big personal improvement project I’m going after. 
I don’t commit like I should.

I’m overly cautious, afraid to take real risks with things like I should, too afraid to fail or fall short. This goes for pretty much all my creative endeavors. I’m an okay singer, an okay actor and voice actor, an okay author.

And I’ve been stuck in that “okay” range, at least as far as I can tell, because I hold back because it’s safe. I need to push boundaries more. I need to be okay with failing and doing something again, trying again.

I don’t like rewriting. Even most of my edits are more about word choice and correction. I never really try writing bits of scenes again, and that honestly feels like a pretty big confession for me. Thing is, I KNOW I can do better. I am well aware some of my stuff is extremely bad or lacking. 

Pride is a funny thing, and I’ve both let it rule me and cast it aside arbitrarily in odd ways that don’t really make sense to me. At least I can say it’s not like I write things and want to be able to brag I get it right the first time. That’s a whole level of hubris I’ve never seen the draw of. No one’s perfect.

But I’ve accepted too far in the opposite direction. The okay. The bare minimum. I can do so much better. 

I want to take more of these risks. I want to improve. This is the only way I can, at this point. I need to stop being okay with just getting the idea out on paper and spend more time criticizing where I’ve played it safe as an artist.

I need to not be afraid of failing, of looking stupid or incapable, even if it’s only to myself. Because let’s face it, I’m the one I’m failing to please here. I’m not judging myself that way, but I am still allowing my own self-image to accept what’s not good enough for me. 

I deserve a better me. I want to be him. 

I’m gonna go reread that scene and really tear it apart.

UPDATE: After I initially wrote this blog post a week or two ago, I did go and straight up tried again at the prologue scene. Initial draft was around 1150 words. Second attempt was 1000 words more than that. I did reuse a few sentences I liked, but I tried to cut loose a bit more and really go for it. I have to say there was a marked difference. The new version is far more dynamic and interesting. I know I still can go further, but... yeah. This is the right direction!

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

Already up to book 4 of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, and it wasn’t until a good halfway through that I figured out just what I wanted to discuss from a writerly standpoint on this novel.
Time skips. Missing out.

So, one of the big points of stories is to put the consumer in the middle of the action. We want immersion, to be the hero or villain as the mood strikes us, to feel the emotions, hear the sounds, experience the action. We want to be in the story, to know every bit of activity that's going on in the world around us.

That's why when something is left unknown, it's either a huge thorn in our sides, a tease, or a crime. It's why we see movie scenes where the villain tells his master plan, even just to a minion. It's why we get the cheap "We all know that" exposition dumps to put things into context, and it's why we as the consumer get to know things the protagonist might not know.

It's also why it's such a great tool to use to build tension and stress in your readers (or viewers or listeners). Having your readers not having all the information can be priceless, but it's a very fine line to cross. My mind goes to Sherlock Holmes, where there are tons of details the reader simply cannot know, but the characters (Holmes, in particular) do know. Part of the charm of Holmes stories is in the role the reader plays. We're the Watson, the observer, and we get to experience the same wonder at deduction as those around the detective. It's heavy handed missing out there, but it's for a purpose, and one that suits the genre.

Doing something like that in a fantasy story, banking on the reader's being woefully ignorant of crucial information, can be more harming than anything. So missing out is a tool to be used skillfully and sparingly, at least in general.

But when you miss out on events, when you're reading a book through the eyes of a character who has a finger in every pie... well, that's a situation where our own immersion works against us.

In The Gate of the Feral Gods, we have a big time skip. In the series, each floor of the dungeon only exists for a certain number of days. Because of that, every day is critical. Every hour is, even. It's time to figure out the first priority: getting down to the next floor. After that, it's crucial time to train, to grind, to work on bigger problems like keeping as many other humans alive as possible and breaking the system from within. You know, all that stuff.

So losing FIVE DAYS is a humongous blow. When a floor is only open for fifteen days, losing five of them is literally stealing a third of your time there. There's no way to get them back and no way to know exactly what happened in those hours. Sure, we hear bits and pieces of what happened, but it's literal time lost with no recovering. Just dealing with the loss and moving on.
The first time I listened to the book, I was talking about the loss with the friend who introduced me to the books. At the time, from an author standpoint, I wondered if the reason for such a theft of time was for a couple reasons:

1. The book was getting too long and needed trimming management

2. The actual content planned was thin and would have needed a lot of somewhat useless fluff to flesh out to the usual standard

3. The author had written himself into a corner on the plot points involved there and this was an easy out

That's meta-thinking there, like I said, from an author standpoint. What I neglected to think about at the time were the real stakes. I missed the trees because I was looking at the forest. The gaps Dinniman put there did a number of great things plotwise on several levels. It advanced the agency of many supporting characters. It upped the tension and urgency of Carl and Donut, who lost the time directly. The loss is reacted to and felt so suddenly, because it feels like no time passed. Like a coma or blackout. The time is just gone, for the reader, as well. Time becomes a commodity that can be stolen, just like anything else.

You know where else time becomes a rationed commodity this way? Interstellar.

It's the ticking clock, the looming deadline, and that's what Dinniman really ramps up in this book: that ticking clock. And he does it with a gut punch.

Don't be afraid to steal time from your readers or make them miss out. It can be useful just like any other technique. Practice at it. Make it hurt... but don't make it destroy too much.