I’ve expounded at length and at many points on my view of what a hero is. I’ve also expounded more than once on the fact that I prefer to role-play heroes, not anti-heroes, and certainly not villains. Now, this is true because of my own beliefs, and I’m aware that not everyone out there feels the same. That, I suppose, is your right. I will admit that there is a certain attraction to role playing the anti-hero, or the villain. Or, more to my point today, the mercenary hero.

I just don’t see the point.

This isn’t from any particular personal problem with the mercenary hero. It’s just that, well… Generally speaking, those types of people “don’t play well with others.” Now, in my almost twenty years now of role playing, I’ve played with many different people in several different groups. Most of those experiences have been good, a few not so much. Yet the older I get, the more I notice that most people seem to have one thing in common: They like to play the “mercenary hero,” despite what I’ve just said is their basic flaw – to the point that I’ve even started to take that fact into account when I design my own characters, making them survivable by themselves. After all, if you can’t count on your own party members…

I’ll admit it: that bugs me. As I’ve said before, heroes are those selfless people who strap on their sword or spell pouch and go off to fight evil. By definition, they are selfless. Yet it seems that person after person I play with doesn’t seem to feel the same way. As a GM, I have to motivate my players by either 1) having my villains do things that bother the players personally, such as kidnapping kids when the players are young parents, or, more commonly 2) paying them.

This bothers me even more. I mean, after all, isn’t the point of the game to play a hero? Last time I checked it is! Yet time after time, other players look across the table at me as if I’m so kind of idiot when I say “I’ll protect this person! No payment is required! It’s the right thing to do!”

OK, so maybe I’m over stating my point by just a little bit. OTOH, doesn’t invalidate the point, and to demonstrate, I’ll ask a question: Why would a mercenary adventure? Right – to make money. Yet therein is the problem. Money might make you start to adventure, but would it keep you adventuring? Consider the person who says to his companions “I’m only in this for the money.” What does that mean? Simple: the pay better be pretty darn good, or when the going gets tough, he’s outta there.

Think about it: You’ve just accepted a quest to defeat a tribe of orcs who are pillaging local trade caravans. Everything is going great until you discover that the orcs are just bait to cover up the fact that an evil ______ has other plans. Suddenly, I’m not getting paid enough to do “X,” and I’m outta there. As Thakk would say, being a hero is stupid. It gets you killed.

That’s right. Your average mercenary wouldn’t make a good hero. Money’s great and all, but as for me, I’d rather be alive to spend that money. Sure, he might take a job for money, but saving the world? Yeah, that’s right. Just ask Han Solo: it doesn’t pay well.

And therein lies the problem: to go on a world saving quest, you need true heroes. Yet for whatever reason, most people don’t want to play them. That begs the question of why?,

To be honest, a great many of those people tell me that “they don’t want to be tied down,” or, put another way, they want the ability to tell the party to “go hang” if they don’t like what’s going on.

All right, I’m being blunt to make my point, but again, that doesn’t invalidate the observation. Why do people want to play evil – or even neutral – characters? Isn’t the goal of the game to play a hero?

Yet that is beside my point, isn’t it? It’s not why people play non-heroic characters, but simply that they do. Consider briefly, a party made up of anti-heroes and neutral characters, all in it for the money. What would they do? Would they save the world? Or, more to the point, could you count on them? Not really.

Think about it: When the going gets tough, the tough get going. And not toward the enemy – and certainly not on a quest to save the world.

So, let’s bring this back around to neutral and / or mercenary heroes. Would they adventure? No. Do they make good party members? Again, no. You can’t count on them. A hero stands in the gap, saying “None shall pass.” A mercenary, not good character says “Is is in my best interest to stand in this gap? And, if I do, is it in my best interest to fight?” The neutral character says “Is the balance served by my standing in this gap?”

That’s right: Neither of these make good heroes because they aren’t. Now, in a home-brewed campaign, this might work. But in a pre-genned campaign such as those published by Paizo? Not so much. They simply wouldn’t be out to save the world.

So why do so many people play these characters? I honestly don’t know. I don’t understand the attraction of playing a “hero” who isn’t a hero. But maybe that’s just me. After all, YMMV.

Well, not me, obviously. Rather, my alter ego “Jedi Blender” did.

Now, I won’t get into too much detail; I’ll just say that the death was planned by the GM – “Order 66” came down, and yes, I was shot in the back by my clones.

Ungrateful buggers. I’d spent so much time and effort keeping them alive from the hoard battle droids we’d been facing….

And so now we move on – on to new characters both in the Star Wars game (and a new campaign set in the Rise of the Rebellion era), as well as a new campaign with the bi-weekly Pathfinder group I play with.

As such, I’ve been thinking about character creation a great deal of late, and for different reasons. Those of you who read my journal regularly will recall that my Star Wars group features two “tweens,” and so it has one set of issues I’ve talked about in previous posts, and I won’t dwell on them again.

My fantasy group, OTOH, has a completely different set of issues to deal with, and first among these is the fact that, unlike Star Wars, pre-written fantasy campaigns, such as the one the GM is running, virtually require the classic “Fighter – Mage – Cleric – Thief” party.

Now, for me, this wouldn’t be a problem, especially when you consider that we have six players in this campaign. Yet Pathinder (and even more so, D&D 4E) has many, many more classes than just those; classes that, IMHO, don’t always work well together, let alone in the four classic “roles” listed above.

Consider our party. I’m playing a Magus – half wizard / half fighter. Very good at what he does, but not a master of either. More to the point, Thakk is half-orc. (Hey, I like to play unusual characters.) The rest of the party is equally diverse. We have a human thief (who took his first level as a fighter), a human (er, aasimar human to be precise) druid, a human witch, an aberrant gnome sorcerer, and a half-elven ranger.

In other words, none of the four classic roles are filled by the classic arch-types. Now, this shouldn’t really be a problem, although we may be short on healing until the witch gains that power in a couple levels – but we are already noticing it, IMO. We have no cleric – no “heal bot.” We also, as of yet, have no rogue. The Ranger and I can handle melee combat, but she’s a bow ranger, and I don’t want to be the one who charges in with his axe held high. And the gnome and I should be able to cover most arcane magic, yet even the two of us together lack the sheer flexibility of a true mage.

I know that most of you who don’t play RPG’s lost me a couple paragraphs back; if so, sorry. So think of it this way: The classic party has those roles for a reason. D&D and Pathfinder both point out that other classes can fill those roles, but, IMO, they don’t do it well.

Consider what I’m saying by this example: Gimli is the classic D&D fighter. Tough. Well armored. Lots of hit points. In short, he can kick ass and take names all day. The bow ranger can’t do that – she doesn’t have the hit points, especially when you consider that she gave her ranger an eight strength (i.e. she’s so weak she take a minus on her melee attack roles.) My magus also is lightly armored, and spends much of his time getting good with his magic. He doesn’t have a fighter’s attack progression, and he isn’t all that strong either.

To use a military example, Gimli is a tank, where as my Magus and her ranger are a pair of Bradley IFV’s. Very useful and very good at what they do, but not a tank.

This is why I feel a lot of fantasy campaigns break down. Those roles need to be filled, and filled, IMO, by the classic archtypes. Consider the first fight we got into in this campaign – versus a couple of nasty swam snakes. Ol’ Gimli could take them both himself. Yet us? The ranger shoots one for a point of damage, the witch smacks one for a point, the druid tries to bash one with his club and misses– leaving it up to me to whack one with my axe on a good roll of the dice, and the gnome to be, well, just plain crazy (he looks at things and they become dazed – easy pickings).

Am a whining here? I suppose so, at least a little bit. And, in all honesty, this is also coming from my next topic (for my next entry): party balance in terms of alignment. Suffice it to say that good parties work together as a whole. This one… Well, it doesn’t. At least, not yet. And a large part of that, I can’t help but think, is because of our classes.

Well, I’ve about beaten this to death, at least for this entry. I’ve got more to say that will clarify what I’m trying to get at, but…..

Next time.

“How’s that?”

“Simple. Every time I watch an episode, I’m always trying to figure out which force power the Jedi are using, and what the DC is.”

OK, I must admit that I was only kidding with that comment. Yet those of you who are regular readers of this journal will know that, between his Star Wars campaign, my viewing of the first season box set of The Clone Wars, and (most importantly for the last month or so) my plowing through the nineteen novels of the New Jedi Order, I’ve really been o.d.’ing on Star Wars.

Well that novel-induced Star Wars haze is almost over: I’m almost done with the NJO, having only one half of the last novel to go. As such, I think I can give a few of my thoughts on the books. So: be warned. These books are eight to twelve (or more) years old, so I’m going to violate my “no spoilers rule.” OTOH, if you haven’t read them, and you intend to do so and hate spoilers, there will be many in this post.

Now, first up, I must say that I did enjoy these books. Yet as with any collective universe, some authors are stronger than others, as are some of the books even by the same authors. OTOH, you have to realize one thing about these books: They’re brain candy. None of them are Hugo–award winners. Some are downright mediocre, in fact. Yet they succeed in the one thing that any good series must accomplish – they hooked me, more than many other series, and certainly more than most of the old Bantam novels. In short, they’ve kept me reading for the better part of three months.

And yet….

They’re not really Star Wars.

“How’s that?” you’re asking? Well, for several reasons. First are the villains. One of the reviews I read on Amazon of an early novel in the series made the point better than I can: Every time the author’s say “Yuuzhon Vong,” substitute “Borg.”

After I read that comment, I couldn’t take the Vong seriously. Why? It’s simple: He’s right. The Vong have many of the characteristics of the Trek’s Borg. Ultra-powerful baddies from beyond known space with totally new technology, bent on converting or exterminating everyone else. Yeah, the parallel isn’t perfect – but it’s bloody close.

The comparison gets even closer when you take into account the total dues ex machina that the hero’s use to defeat the Vong. A living, sentient planet? Really? As several reviews put it, that isn’t a Star Wars plot line, it’s a Trek one.

That leads me to my next criticism: the living planet itself. OK, a living planet is weird enough, but throw in that the planet can move through hyperspace, and I lost all ability to suspend disbelief. Yes, Star Wars is “science fantasy,” but seriously, a planet that can move through hyperspace? Never mind the fact that the stresses of a planet moving at all would rip it apart from earthquakes, etc. No; the one that really blew me away is that the atmosphere MOVES WITH IT.

Now, I’m not a astrophysicist, or any kind of scientist at all, but…. We’ll just leave it at that. .

Next, some plot points. First, this series is a co-operative effort in a co-operative universe, so the characters won’t be written be everyone exactly the same. This apparently bothers many people, but not me so much. All the authors do at least a credible job of writing the characters. Yet there are problems here as well, Several times when they have obvious problems between books. For example, in one novel. Jaina Solo is 19, yet in the next – set three months later, she’s 18. Hmmmm. Or, here’s another example: in a duel with one of the villains, Jacen Solo cuts off the villain’s arm. Or leg. Or arm. I’m not sure which it was, as different authors have it be a different limb in three different books. Sloppy, IMO – and reflecting poorly on their editors if nothing else.

More than that are the little details. Many reviews I read commented that the series shouldn’t be called the “New Jedi Order,” but the Han and Leia show, and there is a great deal of truth in that. Worse, one of the characters is a young Jedi named Tahiri. She starts off at 14, IIRC; what the Old Repulic Jedi would have called a padawn. By the end of the series, though – five years later – the older jedi still call her (and more importantly, the authors still write her as) a kid, when at 18 or 19, she clearly isn’t. She’s 19, but has never developed emotionally or “mentally” beyond the way she acted at 14.This is so egregious that it becomes distracting to this teacher. Kids grow up. Yet Tahiri never does.

That leads us to the largest problem with the series, and the only one that really causes me to recommend against it: The Jedi don’t behave like Jedi much of the time. Consider this section of dialogue from page 213 of the final novel “The Unifying Force:”

“Kyp stepped up to the table and made a subtle hand motion. “You don’t need to inspect this bag.”

The canine-faced humanoid stared at the Jedi and blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. “We don’t need to inspect this bag.”

….skip down a bit…..

“Kyp caught Han’s look while the two of them where shouldering the duffels. ‘Problem?’”

“I thought that wasn’t allowed or something.”

“We can debate Jedi philosophy some other time.”

Ok, I could continue, but we all know what Master Kyp was doing, so the question begs to be asked: “Since when where Jedi Mind Tricks against the Jedi’s philosophy?” Ben Kenobi used them all time – and for pointless things, like telling a kid on Coruscant to “go home and re-think his life.” Further, Luke does them as well when he mind tricks Jabba’s major domo.

I’ve ranted long and hard about my problems with the jedi code in previous posts, so I won’t need to do that again here. Suffice it to say the Jedi of the Clone Wars cartoon, and the Jedi of the movies, aren’t afraid to ACT. Yet in the NJO, EVERY Jedi seems to spend most of his time worrying about whether it’s ok for them to fight evil. “Are the Vong evil? Does aggressive action equal the dark side? What is the place of the Jedi in the galaxy?”

Wait! I know! To take names and kick Sith arse!

Oh, right. There are no Sith here – just Yuzhaan Vong. Are they evil? Or just mislead? Luke’s Jedi will go debate that for a few years while the Vong slaughter, according to Wookieepedia.com, over 350 TRILLION (Yes, TRILLION with a “T”) beings.

Sounds pretty darn evil to me! I don’t need to debate whether fighting them aggressively is evil, or if they’re evil or not. People are dying – IN THE TRILLIONS – at the hands of the Vong, so whether they’re evil or not is pretty fracking irrelevant, for their ACTIONS are.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m acting on one of those “attachments” Jedi aren’t supposed to have – one to life itself.

Silly me.

Click here for Chapter 1 of Book 2.

Yes, I know I shouldn’t complain. After all, most of the e-books I’ve purchased are electronic out-of-print game books, and I prefer to buy my books in dead tree (Hey, I’m old fashioned that way), but even so: It does amuse me. And not just because I prefer my caffeine sweet and in a coke can instead of doctored up in a coffee cup.

OK, I’ll admit it: I’ve been thinking about e-book pricing as I put up the preview chapters of book two, (Check back next week for chapter one!) but more so with the news about SOPA I’ve been hearing a great deal about lately.

On the one hand, I see and agree with the sentiment behind these bills. I’m an author, after all. I’d like to get paid for my work just as much as any other producer of creative goods. And yet…

I’m not stupid. OTOH, the authors of this bill (and the big power and money behind it: the MPAA, Hollywood in general, and the recording industry as a whole) just don’t get it: The internet is here to stay. Once something is published – in whatever medium – it’s just a scanner, ripping software, or bootleg camera away from the internet. And, as we tell our students, the internet is forever.

So what does this mean to those of us who write and consume the printed word? Does this mean we should all become communists and put everything out there for free? No. Nor does it mean that we should assume that, like so many people do, that “books are dead.” And, likewise, it also doesn’t mean that we should shift all the add money in the world over to electronic pop-up adds that any good browser blocks (or we just ignore).

No. What it does mean is that we – all of us – need to wake up and realize that we are in a new world, and this means two things: First, those of you who say “books are dead” need to realize that they aren’t. First of all, there are those of us who don’t like looking at a little screen to read our books, and who like the fact that we can flip through a book faster (if I don’t know the page number of what I’m looking for) than its electronic version.

Most importantly, as one person I know on the Battletech forums put it, “E-books are spineless.” I can’t display them on my shelves. Sure, I can hold my library on my flash drive, but piffle. Who likes to look at a shelf full of flash drives?

This is what I’m getting at: The world – and specifically politicians and corporations – needs to realize that as I said earlier; the ‘net is always there, and it is forever. Or, simply put, corporate America needs to realize this and adapt rather than fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground, trying to sue and litigate against the inevitable. Can you close down Pirate Bay? Sure. Can you force Google and ISP’s to block access to certain websites? Sure. But that’s not going to stop “the problem.”

And therein lies the real “problem,” doesn’t it? Do those of us my age and older LIKE the fact that what we once had to pay for is now free? No – or, at least I don’t. Not entirely. And I’m adapting. Yet corporate America and the government doesn’t seem to be.

No, what we need to so is embrace the fact that we are entering a new world, that change isn’t a “problem.” Or, as one of my favorite authors (Michael Stackpole) put it to me at a seminar several years back (and I’m paraphrasing after several years) “We are returning to a time when writers are entertainers. Where they make more from the performance of their work than simply selling copies. After all, Dickens made more money from reading “A Christmas Carol” at public places than he ever did of off ‘direct sales.’“ Embrace the new model. Buy my book because you like it. Or, put another way, make me produce quality writing that you want to read – and pay for. If my writing – and any writing – is good, people will buy it – in dead tree or some other form.

So what does this mean? Simple: This is a call for action. Call / Write / e-mail your congressional representatives and senators. Take a stand. Oppose these bills.

Why do I say this? Simple! Not on the basis of the fact that they’re censorship (which they are) or a desire to make more money off sales of my own book, but for the simple fact that IT WON’T WORK.

These laws are bad ideas. Yes, they are censorship, and they are bad for that reason alone. But you should also oppose them because these are the laws of the old guard fighting to hold on to a decayed and dying model.

Tell the world that they have three options: Move, be moved, or step aside. Hopefully, they’ll do the first, and not the other two. These laws are the latter two, and if corporate America and our government doesn’t realize this, then… well, they’ll just be moved aside.

Now, you need to be aware of a couple things: First, these haven’t seen my editor’s desk. That’s right, they’re rough. Or, put another way, the chapter you read isn’t the one that will be finalized. I’m sure once my editor gets her hands on it, SIGNIFICANT changes will be made.

But don’t let that discourage you from reading and commenting. I love feedback, and that’s why I’m releasing this. I want you to know that I am working on it, if not as rapidly as I like, and that more is coming.

But as for now, sit back, click on the link, and enjoy.

AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM SANTA ORC!!!!!!

Seriously. These Jedi spend a large amount of their time sitting around philosophizing. In fact, the novel I read most recently, “Traitor,” is almost exclusively devoted to the inner turmoil of one Jacen Solo, Luke’s nephew and Han and Leia’s son. He spends the majority of his time whining, complaining that if he acts with any amount of force, he’s turning to the dark side. “Fight the bad guys! Unh-uh! Can’t do that! That’s aggression! That’s the dark side! I’ll go sit here and pout!” In fact, he gives up use of the force altogether for a while, only accepting the fact that he’s a Jedi when the Bad Guys capture his Mother and make him watch while they torture her.

Now, if you’re wont to read negative reviews on Amazon first, as I am (the better to ignore the fan boys), you’ll notice something about the New Jedi Order book reviews: I’m not the only person who feels this way. The post-movie Jedi, at least as written in the EU, spend too much time whining, contemplating how any aggressive action might make them go dark, and, in the case of Jacen and his sister Jaina, actually doing it.

This thought has been both puzzling and irritating me more and more as I read through the books. After all, the Jedi are, to me, at least, Paladins. Shining examples of purity and goodness, they do what is Right because it is Right. Paladins know what to do – and why they do it. Yet, as I’ve said, the Jedi seem increasingly unable to act at all in the EU novels.

Then I had a conversation with a couple of people that I play RPG’s with, and their comments seemed especially prescient. First, one of my newer gaming friends pointed out that many people (unlike me) don’t like their hero’s pure. They like having the protagonist of the story straddle the line between good and evil, getting all “angtsy” and effectively “going gray.”

As I look at it, this explains a lot. Yes, many of us, myself included, like the reluctant hero – Han Solo, for example. Yet there is a basic flaw with this line of thinking, for Jedi aren’t reluctant heroes. They’re paladins. They strap on their robes, pick up their lightsabers, and march off to fight evil (well, the Sith at least).

The conversation then moved on, and the gentleman who GM’s my Star Wars campaign made another interesting comment in response to what I said. “That’s why the novel writers have all the jedi ‘go dark’ for a while. But that’s the problem. The Dark Side isn’t something you flirt with, or stick your toe in for a while to ‘try it out.’ It’s something you dive into with your whole being and embrace.”

I couldn’t have said it better if I tried, Gary

These two thoughts have focused me in on what I’ve come to realize as the core flaw of the Jedi philosophy: The Jedi don’t believe in anger, or emotion at all, for that matter. Remember Yoda’s mantra: “Fear leads to Anger. Anger leads to Hate. Hate leads to Suffering!” Or, another example, to quote from the Jedi Code: “There is no emotion; there is peace.”

Hrm. That’s why, in a nutshell, I’m increasingly becoming a Sith. Not because I’m evil, or want to oppress others, but for the simple fact that the Sith realize emotions, and emotional attachments, aren’t evil.

Consider: If you have no emotion, you have no anger. But you also have no love, no passion. True, you don’t embrace the dark side of existence, but you don’t embrace the positive either. Remember how Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments. Then how are they supposed to care – about anything? Why would they be so eager to defend democracy? Why would they be “attached” to it at all? Caring for it – In fact, giving a damn if it existed at all – would be an emotion, an attachment. You know, one of those things Jedi aren’t supposed to have.

More than that though, is the idea that a Jedi must never get angry. All a person has to do it think about this for the briefest of moments to realize how utterly silly that is. Again, if they can’t get angry, why should they care what Palpatine and the Sith do? Blow up a planet! Eh. Oh well! I mustn’t get angry!

I’m reminded of the biblical story of Christ in the temple, where He throws out the money changers for profaning the House of God. Yes, folks. Jesus got angry. Not because it’s okay to get pissed when someone looks at you cross eyed. No, His anger was righteous anger – anger at a wrong that needed to be corrected.

Heroes – be they Jedi, paladins, or just the Han Solo’s of the universe – need the ability to act, and to act from righteous anger. Without that, the Jedi become what the authors of the New Jedi Order have turned them into – waffling characters who forever struggle with “Is this right? Can I stop this villain? Or am I becoming evil in the attempt?”

In that case, anger isn’t the problem. Inaction is.

Well, folks, that’s all for today. But be sure to check back Thursday for a special posting – a Christmas present many of you have been waiting for quite a while now. Stay Tuned – you’ll love the surprise!

This is something that I’m sure many of us have thought about at one time or other; I know I gave at least some thought to it when I created Aromathus.  After all, on the one hand, Mr. Sanderson is one thousand percent correct.  Yet, OTOH, I am reminded of Arthur C. Clarkes saying (paraphrasing here) that “at a sufficient level, technology becomes indecipherable from magic to more primitive beings.”

This is a truism of science fiction writing.  Just look at Star Trek’s transporters – they’re very akin (even the same as, at a basic level) to magical teleportation.  Or, from our own world, are cell phones.  Speak into a little box and people on the other side of the world can hear you?  Magic!

This makes Mr. Sanderson’s newest book very intriguing.  While I haven’t finished it yet, he takes the supremely innovative magic system of his “Mistborn” books and moves them into the era of Victorian England (with a little wild west thrown in).  Now, most such works would fall under the genre of “steam punk,” but “The Alloy of Law” is something different.  This is not a world of steam powered cars or air elemental driven airships; no; this is a magical system driven to interact with technology.  And unlike most such extrapolations, it works, IMO.

Why do I say that?  Simple. The truism of magic and technology being indecipherable works both ways.  Normally, we look at is from the science fiction side.  But imagine it from the other way (and this is where, despite enjoying his novel, I disagree with Mr. Sanderson):  magic of a sufficient level would replace technology in many ways as well.

Consider:  Why would you build something like a radio when a mage can send messages via magic?  Why would you develop the airplane when sufficient numbers of flying beasts can carry goods or passengers?  Or, most important, why would you develop guns when you can shoot magic missiles at the bad guys?  Guns miss – magic missiles, at least in most fantasy worlds, don’t.

Now, I will say that in “The Alloy of Law,” Mr. Sanderson comes close to pulling it off.  His heroes are cops – hunting bad guys with a mixture of allomancy (magic) and technology (guns).  They get into shoot outs with the bad guys on several occasions, using their magic to add just a little bit of oomph to their pistol shots.

OK, sure.  That makes sense to me.  Or, at least until I thought about it.  After all, why would you even need a gun when magic can accelerate a coin fast enough to act like a bullet?

Now, I already hear the objections from the cheap seats: “Not everyone is a magic user.”  True enough.  This means there is a role for guns.  Now take that thought to its logical conclusion:  I have one wizard who works for me – you have 50 guys with guns.  Wizard loses.  Every time.

So now we return to the point.  Why do fantasy worlds stagnate and not advance technology?  Well, IMHO, for the reason I have already said:  Either magic will displace technology, or technology will displace magic.  They can’t co-exist.  At least, IMO, not in a believable fashion.  This is why I’ve never been a fan of games like Shadow Run, and why, despite my enjoyment of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it fails in one way as well.  Buffy doesn’t use guns.  “These things?” she says “They never work!”  Really?  Tell that to Blade when he’s running around with a pair of machine pistols firing silver hollow point rounds.  Kills the vampire just as dead – and you don’t get hurt in the process.

This isn’t to say that these worlds can’t be enjoyable.  As I just said, I am a huge Buffy fan.  Yet I still find I must disagree with Mr. Sanderson.  Fantasy worlds would advance very differently than technological ones, not merging the two together.

In the intro to his book, Mr. Sanderson says he plans to write more novels in the Mistborn universe – a trilogy set in the Victorian era, and one set in a future, sci fi type setting.  I’ll read them; after all, I read anything Mr. Sanderson writes.  I’m just not sure I’ll buy the world.

Then again, Your Mileage May Very. 

Please don’t misunderstand: This isn’t a requirement of all fantasy. There are many people out there who enjoy having a world totally different from our own, and that’s not a bad thing, so long as the world is consistent. If the fantasy world you enjoy has unicorns singing opera, so be it – as long, IMO, as ALL unicorns sing opera – or are at least able to.

No, what bothers me are the worlds were things are inconsistent. Or, more accurately, those world that purport to be like our own, following the same general physical laws, yet ignore reality in key ways. For example, Star Wars use of hyperspace in the prequels is one of the things that make me cringe. Just how fast is a Jedi star fighter? Oh, right – as fast as the plot requires it to be!

But I digress. What makes a world feel lived in, IMO, beyond consistency, is a sense of history, and even more importantly, history well delivered. Some of this, I know, comes from the skill of the writer at both world building and writing, but not all of it.

Consider Tolkien. We know that Middle Earth is an ancient land, with empires rising in the past, and falling. Gondor was there before, is there now, and will be in the future. The key, though, is how we know it. Yes, Tolkien could just give us pages of exposition (oh, wait… he does that in The Silmarillion, he he ) but he doesn’t. Rather, Gandalf and other characters reveal it a bit at a time.

Perhaps another example is in order. Currently, I am listening to the audio book of Robert Jordan’s first Wheel of Time novel, The Eye of the World. Early on in that book, he has his “wizened mentor” character, Moiraine, explain the history of a particular region. Now, Mr. Jordan could just present that info a paragraph or two or exposition , but that would be very dry, probably glossed over, and most likely forgotten. So, rather than just tell us, Moiraine tells us in a bit of chanting song, or poetry, if you will.

The effect on the reader is the same as the effect on the crowd. They, like you, listen.

Is this an easy thing to do? Well, yes and no. It’s a learned skill, IMO. I know that when I started writing (as I’m told it is for many writers), it was very easy to just tell you something. After all, you as the reader need to know these things to understand what’s going on.

Or do you?

I’m reminded of a student teacher I had during my senior year of high school. I was sitting in an English Lit class, studying, IIRC, the poetry of John Dunne. Now, our student teacher, bless her heart, loved English poetry – a good thing, since that’s what she wanted to teach. Yet she didn’t realize one thing: While she loved the poetry, and thought we needed to learn all about the inns and outs of writing good poetry, and how John Dunne was just the greatest thing since sliced bread, and how moving it was; etc, she forgot one little detail: We didn’t give a crap.

How’s that? Simple. We’d never read the poems before, and didn’t understand them. All that background detail that meant so much to her was just…. Meaningless to us. It had no context or relevance. It was simply information. Facts.

Now, as an educator myself, I know my content area. I love history. I’ve forgotten more about the American Civil War than most people who aren’t either college professors or National Park Service Employees will ever know. Yet I know that most people simply don’t care about the specifics of troop movements, or who commanded which brigade and their specific location on a specific day at Gettysburg. Is this information important? Yes. But not to the average person who is only casually interested in the war.

Creating a world Is much the same. Does the average Tolkien reader really care about all the detail that The Great Master put into the background of Middle Earth? Or, put another way, do we care that he has mapped out who ruled the Numenorians back several thousand years? No.

OTOH, that history does matter, at least to readers such as myself. When I read something without at lest some sort of history, some past, it doesn’t feel real. I don’t need to know everything, but the reader must have the feeling that we do IRL.

Think of it this way. Does the average American have an historian’s in-depth knowledge of the Civil War? No. But they have studied it, know that it involved slavery; maybe they even remember a couple key battles or generals. In short, there is a frame of reference.

Good exposition follows a similar pattern. In the Wheel of Time example, Moiraine starts with what is to the characters common knowledge. She then adds more information, more depth, to her story as she goes, and explains things about the world. And we as readers learn with the characters.

Do I always succeed in this in my own writing? I imagine not. OTOH, there is a history to Aromathus. Dragons. Great Wars and empires. A mad king named Norazon. While it may not be as complete as I’d like, it is there.

And maybe, just maybe, someday I’ll make Mr. Lemurboy happy and tell you all the tale of Mad King Norazon.