A moment of serendipity.

Sometimes a scene just comes together. 
Lynne Cantwell | 2021

Earlier this week, Big Al's Books and Pals re-ran a review of Spider's Lifeline, the third book in my Pipe Woman's Legacy series, which came out in 2016. It was a moment of serendipity for me, as I'd been thinking about the book just a few days before. And that reminded me of a moment of serendipity that occurred while I was writing the fourth and final book, Turtle's Weir. 

You may have heard the term "Easter egg" in relation to movies. An Easter egg is a scene in which the filmmakers have included an inside joke, or a moment that makes a reference that only diehard fans would understand. Here's an example of one that occurred in Raiders of the Lost Ark: Hieroglyphs cover the walls of the room where Indiana Jones finds the Ark of the Covenant -- and among those hieroglyphs are drawings of R2D2 and C3PO, two of the most beloved droids in the Star Wars movies. It makes sense when you realize George Lucas both invented the Star Wars saga and co-wrote the story on which the Indiana Jones movies were based, and Harrison Ford starred in both movie franchises.

Writers include Easter eggs, too. Often, it's intentional, but sometimes the moments write themselves. The latter was the case in Webb's half of the Pipe Woman's Legacy. 

There's a scene in Spider's Lifeline in which Webb and his mother, Naomi Witherspoon Curtis, attend a reception hosted by former President Brock Holt and his wife, Antonia Greco, in honor of an Icelandic princess named Ingrid. Brock and Antonia's sons, Rex and Roman, are also there. Roman is a free spirit -- a musician who is as much of a Trickster as is Webb himself. There's a moment where Webb goes to the bar to get himself and his mother something to drink. Roman joins him there, and while they're chatting, Naomi shakes hands with the princess and then drops to the floor.

Antonia and I reached her at the same time. I helped her to a sitting position as Antonia clucked over her and called for her husband to get their physician. Cameras clicked again; I expected we’d be the top story on tonight’s news.

“No doctors,” Mom said crossly. “I’m fine. I just took a tumble, that’s all – it happens when you’re old. Thank you, Roman.” She took her drink from his hand and sipped.

“Yeah, thanks, buddy,” I said, accepting my own from him.

“I’m here to help,” he said, in a more serious tone than I’d ever heard him use before. “Remember that.”

What caused Roman to turn serious right then? I had no idea at the time.

But then in Turtle's Weir, Webb made a return trip to the moment via time travel get a better view of what had happened, and Roman's reaction became a little clearer.

As Webb-in-the-timeline broke from the bar to scramble toward Mom, I glanced around the room. Ingrid watched what she had wrought with satisfaction in her eye. But then she glanced up from the tableau on the rug at me – not Webb-in-the-timeline, but me, Webb-the-observer. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth dropped open. Then her forehead creased in anger.

I covered my own shock with a jaunty little wave. Then, as I got ready to spring up out of the timeline, I noticed someone else in the room was watching me: Roman Holt. He was crouched next to me on the floor, holding my drink and Mom’s. And of the three of us – Roman, Ingrid, and me – he was the only one who didn’t look surprised that I was there.

In real life, right after he’d handed us our drinks, he’d told me, I’m here to help. Remember that. The comment had seemed to come from out of the blue at the time. Now, at least, I had a little context.

I gave him a shrug and a grin, and got out of there.

Thanks, Webb, for clearing that up for all of us. And thanks to Big Al and the pals for the reprise review.

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I'd like to say I've made progress on the second Atherton Vampire story this week, but I'd be lying. Real-life events have sucked up much of my focus for the past few days. But serendipity strikes again! The next session of Camp NaNo starts Thursday. So all I have to do is draft an outline for the story by then. Piece of cake.

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These moments of bloggy serendipity have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Get vaxxed!

Plotting by squirrel.

Alert (not to mention long-time) readers of hearth/myth may recall this post from four years ago, in which I went into some painstaking detail about how I created the overarching plot of the original Pipe Woman Chronicles series. To review: I originally planned four or five books, each corresponding to a cardinal point on the Sioux medicine wheel. Seized corresponded to the East, where things begin; Fissured, to the South, the home of youth and passion; and so on. And I stuck to that structure when plotting the series, which eventually did end up being five books.

When I got to Land, Sea, Sky, I was a little less structured. I did come up with three main characters: Sue was allied with Earth goddess Gaia; Darrell was the Sea guy, by virtue of being in the Navy; and investigative reporter Tess was Sky, which can also be air and which is generally considered to be about communication. Each one got a book, nominally, although their stories were sufficiently intertwined that it might have been hard to tell whose book was whose from the outside, unless you knew what the author was trying to do. (Hint: Crosswind is Tess's book, Undertow is Darrell's, and Scorched Earth is Sue's.)

Peter Trimming | CC 2.0 | flickr.com

And then I began plotting the Pipe Woman's Legacy series, and all my careful plans went out the window.

Originally, I intended to write just two books, with Sage as the main character in both. She was, after all, conceived by a couple of god-possessed humans. And White Buffalo Calf Pipe Woman had meddled sufficiently in Naomi's life that it seemed logical to me that she would also lay claim to Sage in some way. So Earth's savior Sage, together with her pals, got their duology. That rounded out the whole Pipe Woman Chronicles story arc to ten books.

But then people asked me, "What about Webb? Doesn't he get a book?" The more I thought about it, the more I realized he should. He had enough magical power to presume that the circumstances of his conception were probably similar to his sister's (without, one hopes, Joseph going walkabout for a couple of weeks afterward this time).

At that point in my planning process, things got a little squirrelly. The plot of Webb's duology is different from the rest of the series. For one thing, the gods are largely absent from Spider's Lifeline (and getting to Them is going to take up a chunk of the next book). For another, this is the first time I've handed the reins of the narrative over to a Trickster, and in some respects he's leaving me guessing. I was surprised, when I went to draft the outline for book 4, to discover just how far afield the story had gone in book 3.

But fear not. Webb and I have had a chat, and he's promised to stick to the plan in the next book. We'll see how long it lasts.

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Hugs and big thanks to those of you who have purchased a copy of Spider's Lifeline so far. You're all my new best friends. For those of you who have not yet grabbed a copy, the eBook will be available at Amazon for just 99 cents through the end of this month. That's not exactly forever -- so go get it now, before you forget. Thanks!

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These moments of squirrelly blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

At long last, Big Publishing News.

Alert readers of this blog have probably already noticed that this is the third week since I promised you Big Publishing News.

Well, three must be the charm, because I finally got Spider's Lifeline out the door.

 

The ebook is available at Amazon for just 99 cents through the end of April. After that, it goes up to $2.99. Which is still not a ton of money in the grand scheme of things, but just the same, you might want to grab it now. The paperback is also on the way; CreateSpace released it today. It usually takes a couple of days for them to get a book to Amazon, and perhaps a few more to show up at other retailers.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do -- heck, even if you don't -- please leave me a review. Don't think of reviews as helping the author (although they do); think of them as helping other readers find a terrific book. Or, y'know, warning them away from a not-so-terrific one. 

Okay, enough of the commercial. I know that what you guys really want to know is how the move is coming, right? Well...we're in, and we're still unpacking. The kitchen storage is wholly inadequate. This fridge has an icemaker, which the old one didn't (yay!), but that also cuts the freezer storage capacity in half (boo!). The shelves in the narrow pantry are only about six inches deep, so we're going to have to put shelves on the wall to make more dry food storage space. And we've added a person to the household, so what we needed was more storage space, not less. But we'll work it out.

Today, I finished hanging the pictures, as well as the pendant light over the dining room table. I can't drill into the ceiling -- maybe if I had a masonry drill bit, but I don't -- so I've stuck it up there with industrial-strength Velcro. 

Don't look at me like that. It worked in the old apartment.

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These moments of glowy blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

It must still be Sunday somewhere: moving edition.

I promised you Big Publishing News this week, didn't I? Oh haha, I am hilarious.

I just spent four days packing/moving/unpacking, and one of the things that has yet to be set up is my desktop computer. So I wasn't able to put the final formatting touches on Spider's Lifeline this past week, as I'd planned, let alone finish the cover and upload it, let alone write and send a newsletter about the new book. Which is sad and annoying at the same time, because I really like the way this book has turned out, and I think you guys will like it, too.

Anyway. I'm afraid the only thing I can offer you this week is this view from my new bedroom window, and a promise that I'll have better news by this time next week.

Ugh. Next time, I'm hiring movers...

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These moments of lame blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

The Hero's Journey.

I'm crashing on some deadlines this weekend, so I'm recycling a piece about the hero's journey that I wrote a little while ago for Indies Unlimited. I figured the concept was common knowledge, but when the piece ran at IU, I was surprised at the number of authors who said they had never heard of it.

The “hero’s journey" is a story structure used in myths and legends around the world, and explained by Joseph Campbell in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It's used extensively in science fiction and fantasy – Lord of the Rings and Star Wars are prime examples – but it shows up in lots of other types of stories, too. Any time a protagonist goes out to find something and comes back wiser for it (or not), you’re seeing a hero’s journey.

Campbell’s original outline included 17 steps. Christopher Vogler, a Hollywood development executive who has written a story guide for screenwriters, boils it down to a dozen. You can read more about his list, and how it came about, here. But here’s a summary of the steps, so you don’t have to click away.

1. The Ordinary World: The opening scene gives the reader a sense of where the story starts out. Think Luke Skywalker on the farm with his aunt and uncle; or Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade, sitting at his desk with a bottle before Mary Astor walks into his office.
2. The Call to Adventure: Somebody presents the hero with a reason for breaking out of his or her rut – an intriguing face across a crowded room, or the little droid with a message from Princess Leia.
3. The Refusal of the Call: The hero balks. Many factors can hold him or her back, with fear of the unknown being paramount. But then something kicks our hero in the butt and makes it impossible for them to refuse the call.
4. Meeting with the Mentor: Often, that kick in the butt comes from an older, and presumably wiser, figure. King Arthur’s Merlin may be the most recognizable example, but they’re everywhere – from Gandalf in Lord of the Rings to magazine editor Miranda Priestly (played by Meryl Streep) in The Devil Wears Prada.
5. Crossing the Threshold: Our hero is on his or her way – the internship has begun, the balloon has left Kansas, the hobbits have taken to the road.
6. Allies, Enemies, and Tests: You might call this the team-building phase. The hero lines up some friends and acquires an enemy or two, and these relationships face initial tests that strengthen them.
7. Approach to the Inmost Cave: You’re probably familiar with the Greek myth of Demeter, who must descend to the underworld to retrieve her daughter Persephone from Hades. That’s the kind of journey we’re talking about. And it’s as much a psychological journey as a physical one, as our hero must surmount fear, meet unexpected challenges, and think on their feet.
8. The Ordeal: The hero is put to the supreme test and hits bottom. All their fears and doubts are holding sway, and it looks like the hero might even die – yet they reach deep within themselves to find the strength to prevail. Vogler sums it up: “You’re never more alive than when you think you’re going to die.”
9. The Reward: Having survived the Ordeal, the hero wins the prize – the Holy Grail, the sword in the stone, the girl (or the boy). But the reward doesn’t have to be a physical thing. Vogler uses the example of Luke Skywalker unmasking Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi: Not only has Luke defeated the dark side, but he’s reconciled with his father at the same time.
10. The Road Back: Now that the hero has done what they came to do, they have to get out of the place of danger. This is where you see a lot of chase scenes, as the hero and his faithful companions flee from the people who want the prize back.
11. Resurrection: Often, there’s a final battle or challenge in which the hero undergoes the death-and-rebirth cycle again. At the end of this stage, it’s clear the hero is a different person from when they began the journey; the experience has changed them in some way.
12. The Return: And so our hero comes back home with the prize – the sword, or the magical elixir, or some hard-fought self-knowledge. Or not. Sometimes the hero of a comedy will return from their journey and do the same boneheaded thing that got them into trouble in the first place.

Vogler advises not to stick too closely to this structure. Feel free to move stages around and put your own stamp on it. Variation, after all, is what keeps storytelling fresh and new.

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One of the things I'm crashing on is Spider's Lifeline. I'm aiming for release in just a couple of weeks (aieee...) -- watch your inbox for more info. Wait -- you say you're not signed up for my newsletter? That can be easily remedied. Just click here. And thanks!

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These moments of heroic blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.