Musings going forward...

     So, with no fanfic coming out, what do I put here anymore? This has always been my writing place, so I think I'll keep it that way, with a few outliers thrown in for good fun.

    I think I'm actually writing more now than I ever did before, it's just a lot more focused and a lot less off-the-cuff. Having gone through the ringer and all of getting something actually published, I'm finding that it changes my viewpoint on so many things. I talked before about writing in an owned universe, but that is just the tip of the spear.

    The way I read has even changed. I eat up the non-fiction stuff with an eye for what would make a great story to explore in more depth. My mind goes off in so many different directions now. Sure, I want to know what's happening as much as the next person, but every entry, every little quip, they all touch off a firestorm of possibilities. 

    And it's tremendously different writing as a 'fan' and writing as someone who wants to write for publication. In a lot of ways, the stories and ideas are less personal, because you're fitting them into an already existing puzzle. But in other ways, there is a real connection, you're drilling down into a character's head, trying to understand them, trying to get to know them, and then placing them into the story or problem that you've just come up with.

    You start to look at other people's stories and how they project them in a whole different light. It's a little like watching a stage production. You normally just sit back and watch the show. But then imagine watching the show from the rafters. You're still seeing the same show, but the vantage point is so much different. You see how things are being done, you see the moving pieces all interacting, and you see the audience as well.  It gives you a whole new understanding of the stage hands and the production crew. You're seeing the story unfold from a myriad of different angles all at once, and it's absolutely fascinating.

    And as you might expect, it gives you a completely different view on how the world exists and is managed. When you get a peek at the machinery working, it's an amazing thing that makes you take account of yourself and all the notions that you've had about how things work. And it's cool! I imagine it's like this for any number of things, but it never loses the shine when you see something with the eyes of a child for the first time.

    Speaking of children, yes, it's official that Sophie and I are expecting twins this November. I'm finding the way that I look at even simple things in life is changing as my brain is wrapping itself around the concept of being a mother. It's weird, and crazy, and wonderful all at once! I always figured I would be terrified if a moment like this ever came, and to be sure, there are plenty of nerves and worries. But there are so many more things that make me smile and make me realize how lucky I am to have found my place in life and the world. I hope this feeling never goes away.

AMA Takeaway: Writing in an Owned Universe

                     Catalyst Game Labs had another in their AMA series on YouTube on Saturday, and this week's topic was "Writing for Battletech". Obviously, it's a topic that means a lot to me, and I was lucky enough to have the day off, so I plopped myself down in front of my keyboard, locked the liquor cabinet to avoid any temptation to talk about Clan Smoke Jaguar, and settled in to see what I could learn.

                    A lot of the information was stuff that I stumbled upon myself over the last few months in my journey towards getting my first piece published in Shrapnel. There was the usual mix of people wanting to write about the secret history of the Wolverines, the truth behind the pleasure barges of Stefan Amaris, and people wanting to know the best way to get their 200k word novel about Julien Tiepolo's long-lost third cousin published.

                    But through all of that, one consistent, and incredibly important concept kept coming to the front. The biggest thing to understand getting your BattleTech writing published is fundamentally understanding what it means to write in an owned universe. Too many people, it seems, struggle to differentiate between playing in and owned universe, and writing in one. 

                    The Battletech universe doesn't "belong" to you, me, or anyone other than the legal owners of the IP. We can play in it and have as much fun in it as we want (within legal boundaries), and that's what makes it great. But it's not ours to change, rewrite, fix, or destroy.

                    Now, that's not to say that you can't do any whacky old thing that you want in your local gaming group. Want to refight the Battle of Tukayyid? Sure! There's a million resources for doing that, and you'll have a blast doing it. Want to have Clan Golaith Scorpion fighting against the time-traveling descendants of Stefan Amaris over the deed and title to a newly reinvigorated Canopian Pleasure Circus? Have at it!

                    But if what you want to do is write for and in the actual Battletech Universe? Guess what, you have to actually write within the universe. This is a great IP with a rich history and a depth of detail that few other properties can match. And that is what is so amazing about it. That is the thing that has drawn me in and kept me coming back for more, year after year, and accepting that part is the biggest step towards actually deciding to sit down and write in that universe.

                    Look at it this way. It's your birthday, and you've just unwrapped your present. It's a hand-crafted action figure of Sir Awesomesauce the Knight. He's the coolest, most badass action figure around, nobody else has one like him, and you can't wait to show everyone else how cool your freaking Sir Awesomesauce is! So you go down to the playground, and head straight for the giant sandbox. It's the coolest sandbox around. It's the sandbox where all the coolest kids play and they have such awesome adventures, you watch them every day and it's so amazing. There are giant Sandcastles as big as you are, huge sculpted mountains, rivers, bridges, forests. You can play around in it for hours every day and only see a fraction of the whole sandbox.

                    The problem is that what most people imagine it means to write in the BattleTech universe is like going into that sandbox and bulldozing the biggest castle in the middle because you think you can build a better one. Or taking that small village where little action figures farm over in the corner and building a mighty fortress over it where your Sir Awesomesauce sets up his realm and rules all of Badasslandia under his grip of awesomeness!

                    But that's NOT what writing in BattleTech, or any other owned universe is like. What writing in those universes is really like is taking Sir Awesomesauce over to the giant castle in the middle where all the cool kids are having huge battles right now, and realizing that nobody ever paid attention to that little spot over at the southwest battlement, and realizing that the moat there is just shallow enough that Sir Awesomesauce can wade across and sneak into the castle through a secret passage in the back. And once he breaks in the back, he discovers a secret document that's hidden there far away from the pile of gold and treasure that everyone is fighting over. And with this secret document, he sneaks out and over to that little farming village in the corner and saves them all from disaster with the wisdom it contains, ensuring that they get to farm for another season, while Sir Awesomesauce straps on his sword and stalks back off to the huge fight at the castle.

                    You haven't destroyed the sandbox, or rebuilt it, you explored it, you found the little hideaways and forgotten parts of it, and you did the awesome things in that sandbox that only your very own hand-crafted Sir Awesomesauce could do. And you know what? That's freaking awesome! It's the best feeling in the world, and you can go home that night, put Sir Awesomesauce on your nightstand and dream about what he's going to do tomorrow.

     So, I have no idea why three random chapters of old fanfic re-posted, other than I was reading them to find something and I must have clicked the wrong button. Yes, that is a thing that happens to me. So apologies for anyone who actually follows the blog for those posts.

    I know I haven't been posting fanfic lately, and that is because I've tried to focus my writing more towards publication. Sadly, that means not sharing every idea that pops into my head with the internet. My hope is that the payoff will be more than worth it when I get a story or stories published. :)

Capital City
Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
19 September, 3150




     "Any day now, our dear Freyja. Everything is looking good." Clarissa Bakker sat at the edge of the hot tub, careful not to get wet as she looked at Freyja. There were plenty of doctors at her beck and call, but Freyja had taken on Clarissa Bakker as a kind of midwife as her pregnancy had progressed. There was something to be said for having a personal friend there as opposed to a cold professional. The Bakkers were one of the few she let into her inner circle as she had navigated the waters of taking up the title of Duchess. There were enemies, and would-be friends, but the Bakkers she knew she could trust as they had cared for her at her lowest point. She would have rewarded them more, but Ned and Clarissa both insisted that they wished to take no advantage of her.

     "You're over the worst of it. Well, I mean, except for the labor part. Well, you know." Count Gunnar Logan was trying to helpful, she knew, but he was covering up his nerves, she could tell. With the delivery date rapidly approaching for her babies, she had agreed to leave her temporary residence in Abercrombie and stay at Count Logan's manor in the capital for the duration.

     Freyja leaned back against the edge of the tub, trying to will away the fatigue. "Gunnar Logan, I'm in quite enough discomfort now, you've no idea. Need I remind you what happened to the other guy who possibly impregnated me?"

     Clarissa looked away, and Gunnar rolled his eyes at the reference to her attacker, the other possible father of her soon be be children. "That's dark humor, even for you, Freyja. You're the strongest woman I know, you'll get through this."

     "I will have you know I take great offense to that, Count Logan. Duchess McCarron, you really must do better keeping your subjects in line." Through the door strode Claire Logan, Grand Mistress of the Lothian League. She practically strutted to the foot of the tub and stood there, radiating power and authority in a flowing deep blue dress and crystal highlighted heels. Gunnar and Clarissa both scrambled to their feet to acknowledge the ruler's presence. Freyja merely sat in the tub.

     "You'll forgive me if I don't rise, Mistress, I'm rather indisposed at the moment." Freyja said with a smile.

     The Grand Mistress returned the smile. "You, my dear, are the one who decided that if you were pregnant, you might as well have twins. But I'll overlook it out of the kindness of my heart."

     "Mistress, I had no notice that you were coming, or I would have set something up," Gunnar said with a bow of his head.

     Claire waived her hand dismissively. "Don't worry, dear boy, it was my idea to make it a surprise visit. I kept everything low key, minimal security, no formal announcement. But I didn't want to miss our girl here giving the planet an heir. Or two, as it would be. I trust you can put me up here for a few days?"

     Gunnar smiled. "Of course, Mistress. You'll have to forgive the spartan accommodations, I'm already putting up one royal."

     She rolled her eyes at him in response. "It will be fine, Gunnar, I'm not that much of a snob, I assure you. I hate to intrude, but would you two mind giving me a few moments alone with our girl, here?" Even as she was speaking, she took off her heels and started to remove her dress, leaving the other two little doubt that her request was not just a request. By the time the two had scurried out the door of the room, her clothes were off and she lowered herself into the hot tub beside Freyja. "It's no substitute for the pool back on Lordinax, but it will do, I suppose."

     Freyja sighed. "Are we going to have all our important discussions naked in a hot tub, Mistress?"

     Claire closed her eyes and let the warm water embrace her for a moment. "There are worse things I can think of, dear." She opened her eyes and looked at Freyja. "How are you holding up, my girl?"

     Freyja ran her fingers through her hair. "Ready for this all to be over. Being inside an overheating BattleMech feels better than this.

     Claire let a smile reach the corners of her mouth. "The real trouble starts once they're born. Have you any idea how complicated your having twins makes this?"

     Freyja shot her a frown. "It's not as though I planned this. But yes, I realize what a mess it is. Gunnar hasn't said anything, but I'm sure he will want DNA testing done."

     Claire shook her head. "You're too smart for that, don't let them anywhere near that. They could both be Gunnars, they could both be from that thrice-damned pirate, or worse, there could be one of each. No matter what happens, you can't know. Once you do, it opens up a million problems."

     "How am I to avoid it? I mean as babies it will be one thing, but as they grow up? One possible father is a classic Rasalhague recruiting poster, and the other one is practically a fucking elemental. I want more than anything for them to both be Gunnars. But what the hell kind of a mother does that make me if one or both of them are not?"

     The older woman ran her hand over Freyja's belly under the water. "I know you have feelings for Gunnar, and there is no one you hate more than the memory of Trogg, but you must remember, no matter if the children are Gunnar's or Trogg's, they are first and always yours above all. You have given them life, and they will be your legacy."

Forging Freyja - Chapter 1

Castle McCarron
Altorra
Sian Commonality
Capellan Confederation
21 April, 3148



     "I know you'll find this hard to believe now, but this is not the worst battlefield you'll face in your time, child."

     Freyja McCarron took in a slow, deep breath, then released it as a soft sigh. "I know, Aunt Cat. But that doesn't make it any less daunting. This....this is what I'm trying to avoid. This isn't me."

     The woman to her left let out a soft chuckle and blinked slowly, in that relaxing and disarming way that always made Freyja laugh at the irony of the woman's name. Catherine Black, or "Aunt Cat" as Freyja had always known her, had served as a confidante, comrade, and friend to generations of McCarron women. She was a real Nova Cat, trueborn and a veteran of the first Clan invasion, nearly 100 years ago now. She had aged gracefully, and could easily pass for a woman half her age. Though she had left the battlefield behind her, there was still a predatory, powerful, almost feline quality to her bearing still. "Child, as someone who has seen more lifetimes than you can count, trust me, you've seen far too little of your life yet to truly know who you are." She glanced toward the two large doors ahead before continuing, "But I understand the sentiment. That field of battle, the social one, isn't your natural environment. At least not yet."

     Freyja let her shoulders sink slightly. "You have a knack for speaking cryptically, Auntie. Strange for a Clan warrior."

     Cat smiled. "You forget, child, I was born Nova Cat, and we were known as mad mystics, divining the future through visions and talismans. Even after a century I am not sure how I feel about that. But I have seen enough of the past to know that often times it repeats itself."

     Freyja closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of the worries about what lay on the other side of the two large wooden doors in front of her. She could barely hear the voices and sounds of the goings on of the other side, and she tried for a moment to block them out, seeking a final moment of peace for the evening. "You're not making yourself any clearer"

     "I've seen my share of you McCarron women. You've all been similar in some ways, different in others. You though, child, you are the very image of Faith. You have her face, her eyes, her temper. And you look exactly as I imagine she would have in your place now, had I known her at your age."

     Cat spoke of Freyja's great-grandmother, Faith. Freyja had never met her, she had died long before Freyja was born, but growing up, Cat had often told her stories of her and their adventures together. She had been a maverick, and the one who started the whole warrior branch of Freyja's family. She had built Castle McCarron nearly a century ago, and even now lay entombed deep below in the family crypt. Several generations of warrior women, and to be fair, plenty of men too, had followed her.

     And now here stood Freyja, her great-granddaughter, on her 18th birthday, ready to disappoint all those who assumed she would pick up her ancestors mantle. She would, in a way, just not the way that had been expected of her. The paperwork had already been filed, politely declining the academy spot that would have been handed to her, and no doubt the commission in the Tau Ceti Lancers alongside her mother that would have followed. No, she would not be picking up the family mantle by taking her place as part of some machine, she would do it her own way, as she had to.

     She nodded to the man who stood at the door, and he swung it open, revealing the grand ballroom beyond. Freyja stepped cautiously to the threshold, waiting for her cue to advance. The Sergeant at Arms, dressed in the uniform of the Tau Ceti Lancers, turned to face the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the heiress to the Barony of Tara, the Lady Freyja McCarron!"

     Freyja took the cue and stepped through the threshold, pausing for a moment at the top of the steps to survey the crowd, as well as to give them their expected glimpse of the object of the festivities, then slowly descended the steps. Her gown fit her perfectly, as well it should, given the number of times that she had to have it fitted, but nothing about the evening would be left to chance, her mother had made sure of that. It's rich blue fabric perfectly highlighted the icy blue of her eyes. Her golden hair she wore in a long braid, highlighted with white Altorran crystals, that matched her shoes perfectly. No doubt the color combination would start a trend in the upper class fashion scene, with her mother not on planet.

     As she reached the bottom of the steps, a man in the dress uniform of a Lieutenant in McCarron's Armored Cavalry walked towards her. His expression was cold, his hair a light brown that didn't quite compliment his eyes the way Freyja's did, though they shared the same icy blue coloration. He slipped his arm in hers, and a slight smile crossed his face as he turned and led her toward the crowd. He leaned his head in slightly as he spoke, "Sister"

     Freyja mirrored his nod with her reply, "Angus."

     "You know, it's not too late to change your mind and do things properly." So that was going to be his course for the evening. Her brother, older than her by four years, had made clear his thoughts on her spurning of the traditional path set out before her.

     She kept her face the image of a graceful smile as her eyes met various of the assembled crowd, nobles, important people of business, and social creatures all. "We've been over this before, Angus. What's proper is for me to find my own way." It had been that way for most of their lives. Angus, the older brother, played the role of dutiful son, taking each step that was expected of him, and excelling at it. Freyja had bucked the path, always questioning, and more than once causing embarrassment for her parents in what she saw as the stale social scene that had become the way of life at Castle McCarron.

     "Which doesn't make it any more of a resolved issue, Freyja. Things are arranged. Mother saw to it that you'd have a good start. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I know you have the tools to make the family proud. But instead you're going to do what? Go on some walkabout? Trade your skills as some kind of sellsword or something? Hitchhike across the Sphere with just your skills as a mechwarrior? Skills, I might add, that you haven't even been properly trained in?"

     Freyja opened her mouth to interject, but at that moment, Cat stepped in from Angus' left and subtly gave the pair reason to pause. "I do not care how old and frail I may be, Angus McCarron, I can still deal you a beating for words like that, speaking ill of my training."

     Angus deflected with a smile. "Aunt Cat, I meant no disrespect, but you of all people should know what I mean. My sister means to just take off across the Sphere, all to prove something to everyone. It's foolishness."

     "No more foolish than running off to Solaris to win fame and fortune. Or run headlong into a Blakist fortress during the fires of the Jihad to save a loved one. Or duel an entire Republic company single-handed during the Crusades. Foolishness like that runs in your blood, child."

     He scoffed, "Don't tell me you're on her side with this?"

     Cat flashed her disarming blink of the eyes before responding, "For me, there is only one side. I stand behind the McCarron's, as I always have. That meant supporting you on your path, just as it means supporting your sister on hers. You haven't the years of experience dealing with McCarron stubbornness as I have," she said with a wry smile.

Forging Freyja - Chapter 2

Dropship Jehoshaphat
Nadir Jump Point
Lahti System
21 November, 3148

    

     "One jump away kid. We'll be there in no time," the burly man somehow managed to kick back in his chair in spite of the zero gravity. Freyja chalked it up to years spent in space, the man must have seen the inside of more space vessels than she'd had hot meals. She didn't know exactly how old Sergeant Devon Fowler was, but it was enough to know that he was a grizzled veteran compared to her inexperience.

     

     She had enough of space travel. First the trip from Altorra to Galatea. Then, after nearly two months of searching, she had found a mercenary unit willing to take her on in spite of her lack of experience or formal training. She hadn't thought it would be a cake walk, but neither had she thought it would be as hard as it had been. There was a market enough for fresh blood in the mercenary trade, but without credentials, finding a billet had been hard. This was how she wanted it, no trading on favors or her name to get a posting, but she was beginning to see her naivete.

     

     The time in space had given her plenty of free time to go over the words of the naysayers back home, her brother's words ringing loudest among them. No doubt he would have some smart retort to claim that he was right, that things would have been simpler if she had just stuck to the plan. No doubt she would be in a classroom somewhere now learning the finer points of BattleMech combat.

     

     Instead, she found herself one jump away from a posting as a Mechwarrior in the mercenary Dragonslayers, serving currently in the Marian Hegemony, far out in the Periphery. Maybe it was cliche, or a trope, but it had to be as good a place as any to prove herself. Of course what most of the people back home failed to realize was that this was as much about proving herself to herself than it was to anyone else.

    

     "Still three days to jump, Sarge. Then seven days burn till we hit ground. Seems like a lifetime to me stuck in this tin can."

     

     "Hey, be thankful this is a civvy transport. You spend this much time in space on any of the 'Slayers ships and you'll long for this kind of comfy," he chuckled to himself. She glanced around the dining hall of the civilian DropShip. There were a handful of the thirty-odd passengers who had booked passage on the ship here eating at the moment, none of them familiar to her. Then again, she hadn't made many friends among the passengers. She had mostly kept to herself, trying to keep in shape in the harshness of zero gravity travel. The majority of them were laborers or tradesmen bound for some company or other in the Huntington system that had booked passage for a portion of it's workforce to move from somewhere in the old Free World's League. She had heard the details, but hadn't really paid attention.

     

      She was about to respond with a smart quip, but suddenly the ship shuddered and rang out with a tremendous clang. "What the hell was that? We shouldn't be engaged in any maneuvers, I thought we were buttoned up tight till jump?"

     

     "That wasn't the drive kid, that was something hit us." The sergeant straightened up and his hand instinctively moved to the pistol on his hip. Not that a slug thrower was a viable weapon inside a space vessel.

     

     "If it's trouble, can't be using a slug thrower sarge, you're liable to punch a hole in this tin can and kill us faster than any baddies. Besides, its probably just mechanical problems." She wasn't sure who she was trying to reassure more.

     

     "Mechanical problems my ass, that was something hit us or latched onto us. And I don't like either of those possibilities. Stick behind me." He launched himself toward the bulkhead on the far side of the room, which lead to the main corridor. Nothing about the situation seemed right, but she wasn't about to leave the grizzled sergeant alone, so she awkwardly readied herself and kicked off through the weightlessness after him.

   

     He reached the bulkhead, and swung the lever, braced himself, and gave it a shove, opening the hatch. As he did so, the primary lighting all around them fell suddenly dark, replaced a half second later by the much dimmer emergency lights placed strategically around the mess area and the corridor beyond. 

     Distracted by the shift in lighting, Freyja was too late in bracing herself, and her shoulder awkwardly slammed into the wall with enough force to cause her embarrassment, but no real harm. She recovered quickly and swam her way out into the corridor. Sergeant Fowler was already waiting at the next juncture, his weapon drawn. "Now I really don't like things. Emergency lighting and not a peep from the bridge?

     Ok, so this writer's block is killing me. And the only way to solve writer's block is to....write. So here I am. I've come to the conclusion that my troubles with writing stem from the fact that I've been so terribly emotional over the last few days, and I don't know why. Now, it's all in a positive way, mind you, but it's still a flood of emotion.

    This swell of emotion has been palpable. Little things that Sophie does end up blossoming into outbursts of happiness over our relationship. It's like that stage when you're a teen and you're so excited that you have a significant other than even little things make you smile. That's the point I've been at the last few days.

    And kids....oh my god, kids. I don't know if it's my biological clock ticking at me or what, but every time I see a cute kid on TV or hear one of my friends comment on some cute little thing they did with their kids, I get this insane desire for kids of my own, almost like a little kid bouncing in anticipation of getting a new toy. I know it sounds crazy, but it's been my life these past few days, and it is distracting as fuck. I know, we should all be so lucky to be distracted by happiness, right?

    So I'm doing the only thing I really can, I'm expressing these feelings and getting them out. I'm sure Sophie is sick of me being all mushy all the time, but she's Sophie and so that means she's great about it all. Truth be told, I think whatever I have is a little contagious. I don't mind being happy, I just wish it wasn't so damn distracting!