Hey, you never know...

Those of you that have tuned in yet again, know that I have a bit of a 'reputation', as it were. Certain terms have been thrown around, such as 'infamous', or 'Elitist Smasher' and so on. If you've read a few of my blog posts thus far, you'd probably be inclined to agree.
I just CAN'T tolerate bullying, and in the literary world, literary Elitists are the worst. They hit new Authors where it hurts the most, right in the ol' 'Hopes And Dreams'.

Coincidentally, 'Hopes And Dreams' are primarily located in the crotchetal area.
 

They will try to discourage you, mock you, nit-pick at your work, and sometimes even go as low as to outright insult you, all from atop their self-constructed pedestal all for the sole purpose of telling you that you aren't good enough to play with the big kids, hoping you'll leave the playground and go home.
My advice? Stand your ground and proclaim your right to be in this playground, it's big enough for everybody. How you do so is completely up to you, but do something.

I wont name any names, but one of them in particular kinda looks like this guy here.

They will often mock you from behind such ironclad defenses known as 'degrees' because they feel that it gives them the 'right' or 'authority' to do so. It absolutely fucking does NOT. They want you to think that THEY are the ones you need to impress to 'make it', and if you fail to do so, you're worthless. The funny thing is that if you do a little digging and look into these people, you'll often find the reason for their unwarranted bitterness with Indies as a whole. They couldn't/ can't hack it in 'Traditional Publishing' and refuse to get with the times, and channel their frustration on the more 'evolved' Authors. Some even go so far as to create a publishing house for themselves to create the illusion of being 'Traditionally Published', even though they're every bit as Indie as the rest of us.
It's kinda sad if you stop and think about that for a moment.

This is how they secretly see themselves, and in turn, expect from you.

In writing, there is only ONE entity you need to be concerned about impressing, that would be yourself. If you want to be successful, you'll want to add a second: The Reader. And when The Reader comes into play, your satisfaction with your work is secondary. Your future in this business lies solely with THEM, no one else. Just how far you go, depends on who your readers are. Be it an agent, a representative of a Publisher, or just a rabidly voracious 'casual' reader. If you can reach out and touch these readers appropriately (Or inappropriately, if you write Erotica) you're already in the game.
The Elitists and Trolls don't even factor into it at all, they don't get to make the decision on your worth, after all you're not writing for them, ARE you? You better not be, or I'll get out the ol' 'Learnin' Stick.'

AKA: The Board Of Education.

They say that there is a book for every reader, and in turn a reader for every book. It doesn't matter if you've written a brochure depicting a step by step hand sanitizing technique if you ever find yourself without toilet paper or the mind blowing adventures of a paraplegic chimney sweep in Victorian Era London. Someone, somewhere WILL want to read it. Will you be able to retire from your day job and live it up in a castle like J.K. Rowling after publishing? That's not for me to say, nor anyone else. Write whatever you want, whatever is in your heart of hearts, if you try hard enough, you WILL connect with someone.
Maybe your book on Amish Blacksmithing Techniques will be all the rage if we ever get roundhouse kicked back to the stone age, hey, you never know...

We. Are. Family.

Let's start off this post with a little something I wrote for my fellow Indies.

If you've read my very first post, you may recall how I lamented about breaking into the 'biz' and being confronted with crass 'Elitism', and the Elitist treatment of new authors. To this day, this ridiculousness continues, but on a much, MUCH smaller scale. You see, since then, we Indies have established ourselves as a burgeoning new dominant species in the literary world. We have put our collective feet down and stood our ground, even gaining ground in some aspects. Baby steps to be sure, but we ARE advancing toward our goals, whatever they may be.
Our only obstacles? The Elitists that will try and break our spirit, and attack us with outdated ideologies. They will tell us that we're not 'real' writers due to not having a publishing contract, or God forbid, scholastic credentials that apparently serve as 'The Golden Ticket into the club. They will dismiss us and cut us down whenever they can, just because they BELIEVE they can. They also believe that traditional publishing is the only way to go. These Elitists suffer from what I like to call 'Keith Richards Syndrome', they're dead and have been for some time, they just aren't aware of it.
It's almost kinda sad.


It was a joke, Keith. Calm down.

 

I could go on for ages about Elitists, but I won't. They get far too much airtime as it is, and this is my Goddamn show, so let's leave them to slowly wither and rot, shall we?

The title of this post is 'We. Are. Family.' Meaning the community of Indie Authors.  It's an analogy, and as I've mentioned in another post, I LOVE analogies.
So let's break this one down.
We are not a perfect family, we're not The Cosby's or whatever the current 'perfect family' may be at the moment. We bicker, we argue, we disagree, we might even come to blows if not protected by the anonymity of the Internet. Good thing that Virtual Reality never really took off, eh?
But despite the petty grumblings, we are a close-knit family that supports and encourages each other, at least for the most part. There are a few of us that haven't quite let go of the 'old ways' and still maintain hope that getting that contract will be their salvation from obscurity into the limelight.
And as much as it hurts to admit, they have a bit of a point.

Hurts, don't it?

The one thing that we, as Indies, haven't quite got the grasp of yet, is breaking down that wall that separates us from The Big Timers. Sure, some of us can compete with The Big Timers in a literary sense, I've read many an Indie book that wouldn't be out of place on those hallowed bookshelves, we can edit, or employ someone to edit with the best of them. If that were the only criteria, many of us would be doing quite well for ourselves, but alas, without the 'Brand Name' of a reputable publisher backing us, getting our name out there is like ice skating uphill. There is only so much we can do by ourselves, but Goddamn it, we are fighting the good fight. We do things that The Big Timers never have to do.

It ain't easy.

Just in case you didn't get the reference, I'm referring to what's being called 'Pimping' in the Indie world. We promote ourselves shamelessly almost to the point of embarrassment, we post relentlessly about our books, we give away our books hoping to gain an audience, beg for reviews, almost anything to draw attention to ourselves. Some of us don't like to do these things and would rather be writing and/or anything else that may resemble a living, breathing social life. But we HAVE to, or at least rely on others to help spread the gospel. That's where the word 'Family' comes into play.

Kinda like this, only not.

If you manage to make enough like minded friends, and find enough happy readers, you don't have to go it alone. Most other Indies will be happy to throw your name around, either out of the goodness of their heart or in exchange for you throwing THEIR name around, a fair enough exchange, no? Happy readers will also help out in this aspect, simply because they love your work, and feel that everyone else should too. Is it as effective as having your book plastered across two pages in the new York Times? Sadly, no. But as my good friend, Michael Ness says: "It's a marathon, not a sprint."
And he is absolutely right, if you're in this biz seeking instant gratification for all of your hard work, I have four words for you.

 

I'm not trying to be mean or discourage anyone from trying, mind you. Just advising you to prepare for a long and arduous journey. There WILL be times where it seems hopeless and hard, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. You'll want to pack it in and give up, especially when you see The Big Timers raking it in, and you know in your heart of hearts that some of them suck dry hyena ass (Patent Pending). I know of more than a few great Indies that doubt themselves a lot more than they should because their ship hasn't quite come in yet. But that is when you turn to the 'Family', share your concerns, your doubts, your frustrations. For the most part, you will find support, encouragement, a shoulder to cry on if need be, because that's what a family is supposed to do.
What you absolutely must NOT do, is take heed of the naysayers (read: Elitists) that will prey on your doubts, your fears, if only to stroke their own unfounded egos. If confronted with one, you have two choices: You can ignore them and hope they go away back to the dark recess of their own fears and doubts, or you can do what I do and go straight for their throat, leaving them a twitching mass of detritus in the gutter, leaving them to regret ever crossing your path in the first place.

Pictured: The Aftermath.

If you enjoyed my quote at the top of the post, please feel free to cut, paste, and share it wherever you want. I wrote it for all of us who walk this path.

All's Faire...

It's a beautiful morning in 17^th century Tuscany, Italy as a breeze blowing in from the sea cools my brow as I sit and listen to a drunken pirate sitting on a barrel sing a song of love lost...

The scene is shattered like a dropped bottle of rum as a deafening roar drowns out the heartfelt shanty, but it is not the roar of a leviathan seeking revenge on unwary sailors, it's the unmuffled exhaust of a Harley Davidson motorcycle cruising down Main Street, not 100 feet away.

The unwelcome interruption slams me back into Lower Lake, California in the year 2014. A mother in jeans and high heels along with her young son in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle T-Shirt momentarily block my view of the pirate, who despite the interruption continues strumming on his guitar and singing away with more feeling and emotion than you'll hear from any of today's recording artists.

As the motorcycle continues on it's way and the mother and son pass, the shopkeep directly across from me steps out from his stand and joins the pirate for the second verse. I am whisked back into Tuscany and immersed once again in the local flavour.

It's a beautiful moment not found anywhere else but a Renaissance Faire.

While most people in this country celebrated the Memorial Day weekend with friends and family gathered around 'ye olde barbeque', I spent mine amongst Pirates, Knights, Ogres, Queens, and Noblemen amongst a great many more interesting characters.

To many 'Mundanes', or us 'regular people', the Ren Faire is a fun place to spend a day, buying all manner of trinkets, drinking a beer or two, or maybe even eating a turkey leg. To most of us Mundanes, the people who attend these Faires in 'Garb' (Don't call them costumes!) are just enjoying a silly hobby. Just something to do on the weekend just like they are, but this Ren Faire being my second and my being fortunate enough to get an inside view on it, I can tell you 'hobby' is the worst description you can cast on it. It's almost an insult.

For a great many of the attendees, performers, artisans, and vendors, it is a way of life, plain and simple. For most, this isn't just something to do for kicks, it's their entire livelihood. It's how they pay their bills in the 'real world'. If you see a man selling handmade leather goods or a lady plying her beautiful handmade jewelry, chances are that this is their sole source of income. These master craftsmen (craftspeople?) aren't in it for the money, as their sales can vastly change from Faire to Faire it's not exactly a stable source of income. Some even don't really charge for their services, such as face painting or telling you your fairy name. They simply provide fun things for the children to do. These folks rely solely on donations. I know of one that was just hoping to cover transportation costs.

Like I said. For the love.

All of them do it for the love of the whole experience, an experience each of them greatly contribute to. They dress in period garb, speak in period speech, in effect fully becoming a character out of history or fantasy. And during my time amongst them, I've rarely seen them 'break character', and never in front of the Mundanes. You just can't find a wholly immersive experience anywhere else like you can at a Ren Faire.

The performers or 'actors' play an equally large role in everything, many of them just walk around and interact with each other and the Mundanes and behave just as their characters would. Pirates will sometimes be hired by nobility to settle debts, and argue about the price afterward. A young squire will abscond with his beloved that has been betrothed to another, and be chased down through the streets beloved in hand, trying to escape the clutches of a furious Baron. Sometimes criminals are dragged through the streets in stocks to be humiliated by the masses. You really never know what's going to randomly happen at any given moment.

Sometimes the experience can even spill out into the 'real world', as witnessed in a ceremony where a local young man was officially 'Knighted' with all the bells and whistles before he was sent off overseas to serve his country as a medic.

Never before have I seen such a sense of brotherhood, of camaraderie, of family.

It's a family I'm proud to be a part of, if just for a weekend or two a year.

On a side note, be nice to Bob from Accounting, he just might be a battleaxe wielding Ogre in disguise.

There's been quite a bit of hubbub lately about Facebook limiting how many people can see posts from a 'Fanpage', and understandably so. Speaking for myself, I have 1'344 Fans on mine, and when I post something, only a 'chosen few' are able to see it.

I cannot confirm or deny that these are the 'Chosen Few' I'm talking about.

 

 

Some would argue that it's simply a matter of Facebook trying to make a quick buck off of Indie Authors, Musicians, Artists, what have you. If you want more people to see your posts, you're gonna have to pay for it. The problem is that many of these 'Artists', myself included, are simply not in a position to throw extra money at promotions. We do well enough to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, some more than others. Most of us started utilizing Facebook as a means to promote our works, and for a while it was wonderful. FREE Promotion, Yay!



With all the money I'm saving on promoting, I can afford to eat TWICE this week!

 

 

Now, as expected when something is free, people flocked to it like, well...

 

You get the picture.

 

Now, ALSO as expected, this creates a problem. That problem being 'OVERSATURATION'.

 

At this point in the Blog, I'm going to have to ask everyone to stay calm and not reach for the torches and pitchforks. (What's with you people and torches and pitchforks anyway?) I'm about to say something that may shock and/or enrage you.

Seriously, hear me out. You guys are ridiculous.

 

 

Facebook has a very good reason for limiting how many people see our posts.

 



Goddamn it, wouldn't making a salad instead be a better usage of your time?

 

It goes back to the somewhat necessary 'Caps Locked' OVERSATURATION I mentioned earlier.

Facebook users are allowed to 'Like' somewhere in the neighborhood of 5'000 pages, but most users 'Like' on average probably at LEAST 100. Just for shits and giggles we consider what would happen if Facebook showed you EVERY SINGLE post from every page you 'Like'? 

That's right, your Newsfeed is gonna be bombarded by every one of those pages, every time they post something. Even on one's 'personal' page, Facebook limits the amount of people that see each other's posts.

So, ask yourself...how many people are on your Friend's List? How many pages do you 'Like'? Can you look me straight in the eye and say that you seriously want to see EVERY SINGLE POST from EVERY SINGLE ONE of them?

Statistically speaking, even for a 'Casual' Facebook user, there simply isn't enough hours in the day to keep up with the deluge of Notifications you're gonna get hit with.

Not even THIS guy has the time.

 

So, all in all, the limitations SUCK, but they're there for a reason. Charging us saps to allow more views is the only conceivable way to wrangle the beast. Again, this SUCKS, but it's a necessary evil, because while EVERYONE wants all of their posts seen, NOBODY wants to see each and every one of everybody elses.

Now that I'm done playing 'Devil's Advocate', here's a cool picture of Al Pacino:

"Whattaya mean only 24 people saw my post??? I'm Al Frickin' Pacino!!!"

 







Welcome To The Machine (A.K.A. Wooly Bully)

A newborn Author being brought into the world is a beautiful thing, new to the world and full of promise and unlimited potential.


Quit your bitching, that book won't write itself, y'know...
 

And much like an actual newborn Human child, an Author's impact on the world relies heavily on how it's raised. For example, a spoiled child will be raised to think that the universe revolves around them and they can do no wrong, believing that they are the next big thing, a New York Times Bestselling Author in the making! And who is usually responsible for those beliefs? The people who raise them up. In an Author's case, this would fall upon the shoulders of whomever reads their work before it is unleashed upon the world. As I tell all new Authors that happen across my path, the absolute WORST thing you can do is let close friends, family, and other assorted loved ones read your material in the beginning.
"But Mr. Osborne!" You bellow, "They all say I'm great, I'm the next big thing! They encourage me to keep writing!"


"You're gonna be bigger than Stephen King, I just know it!"

Therein lies the problem.
Those people are going to tell you what you want to hear, thinking that they have your best interests at heart, building your confidence and placing you ever so gently on a golden pedestal. So you publish your work via self-publishing or God forbid, a Vanity Press! (Get thee behind me, Satan!)
You're on top of the world!
Then the 'real world' comes a calling, and suddenly people are (Gasp!) criticizing you! Telling you that you're not as wonderful as Mommy and Daddy promised, and Holy Hell does it hurt, it hurts BAD. 'How dare they say those mean things? They're just jealous of my amazing talent!'

"But...But..."

 

 

Now, before you start lighting the torches and sharpening the pitchforks, hear me out for a minute. I'm not saying that you might suck just because you're relying on biased opinions meant to spare your feelings. You might be actually on to something, and could very possibly be the next Stephanie Meyer! (Please Don't Be.) What I'm saying is that before you get your hopes up, let 'qualified' people take a look at what you got, and while you may be fortunate enough to already know 'qualified' people, there's a very good chance they'll just tell you what you want to hear. 

Other Authors, Bloggers, and a nearly infinite amount of readers out there will be more than happy to look at your 'baby' and give a completely unbiased opinion, but prepare yourself...

 

They might say 'mean' things. They'll tell you what you NEED to hear, and you may not like it. In fact, some of it may crush your immortal soul, but this is not necessarily a bad thing.

 



Get used to making this face is what I'm saying.

 

This is called a 'learning experience', take the advice given for what it is.

Help.

Most Indie Authors, Bloggers, and Readers are supportive to inhuman levels, they're just trying to help you along on your path to fulfilling your dream. Listen to them. Learn from the negatives. Sure, there may be a few 'Trolls' that have nothing better to do than make your life miserable, but majority rules here. If there's only a few naysayers, and a great many more supporters, just ignore the Trolls, everyone else will.

Feed off of their hate and let it empower you and make you strong.

"One Star for using a Oxford Comma?!?"

 

The 'spoiled' children out there will likely think of this honest criticism as 'Bullying', and to them I say, "Grow the hell up." Whomever promised you that this particular business is all 'Puppies and Rainbows' was utterly full of shit.

 

*Results not guaranteed.

 

It can be a tough, scary world out there for the unprepared, so be prepared. People will say mean things, they will make you reconsider your dreams and doubt yourself, sometimes on a daily basis. It's going to be a rough road, so it's best to develop a thick skin early on and strap on a helmet.

Or better yet...

 

In closing, I'd like to add that if you're unable to withstand any negativity or criticism of any kind, just stop where you are and turn back, because it doesn't matter how good you are or how popular you become, there will always be someone more than happy to kick you square in the babymaker just because they can. No one is safe. King, Rowling, Hemingway, Shakespeare, Rice, ALL of them have had angry villagers beating down their doors riled up for a lynching, so take a page out of their book, fortify your defenses and you just might survive the night.

 

*Results not guaranteed, but far more likely.

 

 

EPIC Dream Cast.

My fellow Badass Author, Michael Loring tagged me in a recent Facebook post, challenging me to do this Dreamcast/ Tag post. The game goes like this, I'm supposed to tell you all about a recent release and provide a 'Dream Cast' in the event that a movie is made. And. Here. We. Go...

Synopsis.

The EPIC series tells the tale of young Deacon McTaggart and his transition from recent high school graduate to a legendary hero like his uncle before him. Due to mass vanishings all over Earth, Deacon's mother sends him to a remote part of Scotland to keep him out of harm's way. During supper, Deacon learns that his eccentric uncle Evon was once a revered hero in the world of Avalon. Of course Deacon is skeptical at first, but after meeting Evon's Brownie butler, his Dwarven wife, and the stuffed Dragon head in the foyer, Deacon starts to believe. During supper, Evon explains that the disappearances are the work of the enigmatic Ubaru'ud, a strange being not from Earth or Avalon. Evon also explains that Avalon's time is short, and will be torn apart at any given moment. After drinking to much Meadale after a challenge to his 'Manhood', Deacon accidently finds himself trapped in Avalon. His only way home being the critically injured Faerie, Aika, that Deacon inadvertently lands on when he arrived. Thus begins a race against time to get back home and to save as many as he can before it's too late!

Excerpt.

 

It was obvious from the start that the only advantage that Ardron had was his strength, he charged straight at Deacon, arms wide, leaving everything fully exposed. Either he was confident that Deacon couldn’t hurt him, or he was just plain stupid.

Deacon guessed that it was a little of both, but Ardron was partially right, if Deacon charged him head on, the result would be the same as if a rabbit challenged a freight train to a game of ‘chicken’.

Luckily Deacon was faster and smarter than Ardron, and he would have to use those to counter Ardron’s strength.

Then when Ardron was almost upon him, he had two options, stand there and get waffled, or get the hell out of the way.

He couldn’t retreat to give himself room to maneuver, that way was blocked up pretty tight with riled up villagers. Besides, it would make him look cowardly, not the image that he wanted to convey. There was also no room to dodge to either side.

‘Chicken’ it was, then.

He had to chance ducking under Ardron’s outstretched arms. If he was fast enough, he could get out of the corner he was in.

If he was fast enough.

At the very last second before Ardron’s arms closed around him, Deacon ducked and dashed under.

Ardron skidded to a halt when he realized that Deacon was no longer there.

It was too late, Deacon was already behind him, and he was wide open.

Attacking Ardron’s well-muscled back would have little to no effect, Deacon had to go for his legs, if he could bring Ardron down a bit, he could level the playing field.

Deacon cocked his foot back and delivered a quarterback worthy punt directly to the back of Ardron’s right knee, the steel toed boot added extra punch.

Ardron’s leg buckled and he was down on one knee.

Deacon charged and raised his fist to hit the back of Ardron’s skull and a possible knockout.

Unfortunately, this put Deacon within striking distance.

Just when Deacon was almost on him, Ardron swung back with his left arm, his large fist crashing into the side of Deacon’s head, and he went flying.

The crowd cheered but Deacon couldn’t hear anything but the clanging of bells in his skull. He had never been hit so hard in his life.

As he crashed into the sand 15 feet away, Deacon discovered that not only could he not hear anything, he also couldn’t move. Or see.

He had heard of people getting hit in the head so hard, that they were stricken blind; he groggily hoped that wasn’t the case now.

 

After what seemed like far too long, his eyes slowly started working again. Sure, he could only see grey blobs, but it was better than nothing.

By sheer force of will, he convinced his body to move, thankful that it wasn’t permanent, that’s when his hearing decided to return as well, just in time to hear the crowd unanimously shout “Three!”

Shit.

Somehow, Deacon managed to get to his feet by the time they got to the count of ‘four’.

Amazingly, a few in the crowd were cheering him on now.

 

Deacon still couldn’t see clearly, but he was standing, technically. He was on his feet, but far from steady.

He was thankful that his vision was returning, but would it come back completely before Ardron could come and finish knocking his head off?

His vision suddenly went dark grey.

A shadow.

Ardron.

Out of sheer instinct, Deacon dropped to his back to avoid the inevitable fist coming at him. His instinct was right; Ardron’s fist barely grazed his forehead.

As he landed, he flung his foot up blindly, hoping to hit something vital enough to buy him some more time for his sight to come back.

Apparently, he did. The heel of his boot hit something soft, and Ardron made a coarse, retching sound.

It was a better hit than he had hoped for, but it would have been even better if his toe had connected, rather than his heel, but he would take what he could get.

Deacon used the opportunity to put some space between himself and Ardron. He scooted himself back and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. It worked. He could see again.

Ardron was hunched over, clutching his throat.

Deacon only had a few seconds to decide his next move.

His best option was gaining the high ground; he had to go for Ardron’s big head in order to finish this.

He remembered the trick that Sharrah had pulled on him yesterday, but he didn’t have a sword stuck in the ground to help him catch some air.

But he did have a tree.

 

The tree had boards in it that let the kids climb it; he could use those boards too. He just had to get Ardron closer.

Deacon knew how to do it, and humiliate Ardron even further.

He cautiously stepped up to Ardron, who was still holding his throat and sputtering. Deacon was ready to move if Ardron’s hands decided to.

“Hey Ardy boy!”

Ardron looked at Deacon with through glazed eyes; he looked like he wasn’t really sure where he was at the moment.

Deacon reminded him by slapping him across the face as hard as he could.

The crowd collectively gasped.

It seemed that one man slapping another in the face was something they did not see often.

Deacon spun on his heels to head for the tree, hoping that Ardron was furious enough to take the bait.

He wasn’t.

As Deacon turned, he felt Ardron’s hand wrap itself around his braid and yank down.

Hard.

Ardron immediately screamed in agony as the hidden blades in Deacon’s braid sliced his hand and fingers to bloody ribbons.

Amidst the boos and cheers from within the crowd, Inanna’s voice was heard above all. “Remember now why ye shouldn’t pull hair, brother?”

Ardron simply stood and stupidly gawked at his mangled hand.

Deacon took his chance and kicked Ardron high in the chest.

That seemed to get his attention.

Ardron staggered back and took his eyes from his hand and focused on Deacon instead, his face showing nothing but rage and hatred.

Deacon leaned forward and waved his middle finger in Ardron’s face. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was known in Avalon, but it had the desired effect.

This time when Deacon ran for the tree, Ardron did follow.

 

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Aye! Ye better run, little Outlander!”

Deacon smirked.

When he was a few feet away from the tree, he jumped.

His foot caught the third rung from the ground and he pushed down hard, boosting himself up enough to meet the eyes of the boys that were seated in the branches. They were the same boys that he had met the day before; their mouths were little ‘O’s of awe and wonder.

Deacon winked at them before kicking himself away from the tree and twisting his body in mid-air.

His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. By the time gravity had taken over, Ardron was almost directly underneath him.

 

Between his injured throat and the bloody piece of meat that was once a hand, Ardron’s reflexes were even slower than they had been. He had no chance to prevent what happened next.

As Deacon fell on Ardron, he propped out his elbow and locked it. It was the first thing to connect.

Straight down on Ardron’s nose.

If Deacon had be watching the crowd, he would have seen most of them flinching away and covering their eyes, but that did nothing to spare them the sound of Ardron’s nose and face being smashed in.

Ardron hands flew to his face instinctively trying to protect his broken face; he staggered back, but did not fall.

He was beaten; he was just too dumb to realize it. In his condition, he could not continue the fight without risking further injury, but nobody was going to throw in the towel, no doctor was going to stop this fight, he had to fall.

Deacon could have just pushed him over at this point, but Ardron needed to learn, all of these people needed to learn that he was not the sickly and weak Outlander they believed him to be.

So much for his Anger Management classes.

 

As Ardron reeled, Deacon walked over and stepped up onto Ardron’s bent knee and brought his fist down as hard as he could on Ardron’s cupped hands, they offered no protection to his face.

Without a sound, Ardron fell in the sand.

 

The villagers fell silent all at once. This was not the outcome they had expected.

 

Deacon looked down at Ardron. As the big man fell, his hands came away from his face; it was covered in blood, as were his hands.

There was no need to count. Ardron wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

 

His adrenaline still pumping, Deacon scanned the crowd with a look that dared anyone else to step into the Circle with him.

There were no takers.

 

Endrew solemnly stepped into the Circle and tutted at his fallen son. “Bai, ye should stick with farmin’, before ye end up too broken for the Seamus to put back together…”

Endrew walked over to Deacon and held his hand high. “Deacon has proven his worth to me and all of ye, he has defended his honor and his name. Do any of ye dispute?”

The crowd was silent. They did not dispute.

“So be it. Seamus?”

The old Seamus stepped forth, followed by Daniel.

The Seamus knelt down beside Ardron, who was still unconscious. He looked him over for a moment, then spoke. “Aye, it’s not too bad. His sissy did him worse. Have someone bring him to me, if you please. And Endrew, please don’t let him do this again.”

The Seamus stood and returned home.

The crowd slowly dispersed.

A few of Ardron’s friends stepped forward. Charn was one of them. He hissed through his teeth when he got a good look at Ardron. He cast a wary, almost frightened look at Deacon, as did the other three.

They each took one of Ardron’s limp arms and legs and carried him off to the Seamus; they kept an eye on Deacon the entire time.

 

Deacon had a feeling that there would be no more taunting from anyone in Fen Glennan.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Inanna came running toward Deacon, as did Dio, wagging his tail. “Deacon, ye did it!”

Before he could respond, Inanna scooped him up in her arms and hugged him, much more gently than the last time. After a moment, she let him down and held his shoulders, looking into his eyes, a smile creeping across the corners of her mouth.

Deacon gently put his hands on Inanna’s hips and was about to pull her closer when Daniel began shouting from a short distance away.

Deacon and Inanna simultaneously looked in the direction of the shouting and saw Daniel headed straight for them, and he was moving fast.

He appeared to be chasing something, arms flailing in an attempt to catch whatever it was.

It looked like a small, glowing ball of light, as Daniel approached, his frantic shouting became understandable. “Aika! Stop! Come back here!”

 

Inanna smiled. “How wonderful, the faerie’s all better!”

Deacon wasn’t as pleased, well he was, but the Seamus had warned him what might happen when Aika woke up.

She’d be pissed off and screaming for vengeance.

On him.

Oh shit.

Aika was shining like a little falling star, and moving just as fast. Deacon had barely enough time to notice that her little hands were glowing as well. They were also clenched.

He had remembered what had happened the last time her hands were glowing like that. She blasted him in the head, singeing skin and hair.

It had hurt pretty badly, and she was nearly dead at the time.

But now? Being fully healed and in perfect health, she might just blow his face off.

Inanna had seen Aika’s intent to harm Deacon just in time to swat at her, luckily for Aika, she wasn’t quite fast enough to hit her dead on, but fast enough to just knock her to the ground.

Aika managed to stop herself from hitting too hard and was immediately blasting off again. Being slightly stunned, she wasn’t nearly quick enough to avoid being caught in Inanna’s hand.

The little faerie was totally pinned, and furious. She spouted off a slew of incoherent curses, but her mood was obvious.

Inanna held the defenseless faerie close to her face and asked, “Why are you attacking Deacon, little one? He didn’t mean to hurt you.” She turned to Deacon. “Isn’t that right? It was an accident.”

Deacon nodded in agreement. “It was an accident, Aika. I’m sorry.”

Aika just glared at him through squinted eyes, but after a moment, she seemed to calm down a little.

Inanna gave her a stern look, just like she learned from her Da. “I’ll let ye go now, but if ye try and hurt anyone, I’ll squeeze ye until your little head pops off like a dandypuff!”

Now Aika glared at Inanna. “Lemmego! Noharm!”

Inanna released her.

She immediately flew and hovered in front of Deacon’s face, looking extremely anxious. “Gottago! Gottago! WarnEvon! Now! Now!”

She looked about ready to take off with or without Deacon.

He picked up on her urgency. Now he was worried.  “Warn him of what? What’s going on?”

Aika grew more and more distressed by the second. “Elfkin! Coming for Evon! Have a Fae to open the way! Now! Nownownow!”

And now the moment you've all been waiting for, my Dream Cast for EPIC!

Logan Lerman as Deacon McTaggart. Somewhat of a 'bad boy', Deacon has very little regard for authority, and even less for Bullies, he will always come to the aid of those in need. Initially teased about his 'frail' and 'weak' stature according to the villagers of Fen Glennan, Deacon is fully capable of taking care of himself as you read in the excerpt.

Georgie Henley as Inanna. Adopted daughtra of Fen Glennan's Chieftain. Inanna is half Colossi (Giant) Standing a full foot taller than Deacon, Inanna is a big girl with a big heart. She develops a 'bond' with Deacon, as she's teased about her size as well.Inanna is slow to anger, but when's she's pushed enough, she is a force to be reckoned with as her adopted older brother Ardron found out when they were children. She very nearly killed him.

Zachary Gordon as Daniel Goodman. Prentiss of the Seamus, the resident wizard and medicine man of Fen Glennan. Daniel is also an outsider in Fen Glennan, having been raised by the Seamus in Avalon, as well as spending time on Earth. As well as some basic magic skills, Daniel also has the gift of 'Shaping', the ability to manipulate matter on a molecular level.

Brian Cox as Evon McTaggart. Deacon's eccentric uncle who passes on his 'Legacy' to Deacon.

Lindsey Stirling as Aika. Lindsey has been my #1 pick for the feisty and borderline psychotic Faerie since the beginning.

Kellan Lutz as Ardron. Ardron becomes a major thorn in Deacon's side pretty much as soon as he arrives. As son of the Chieftain, Ardron is constantly trying to prove himself to his Da, Endrew. His constant harassment of Deacon finally comes to a head when they clash in the 'Circle'.

Nathan Jones as Tarron, the Battle Mastron of Fen Glennan. Tarron is the instructor for all potential warriors in the village, he is harsh and stern but only to teach his students better in the 'Doctrines Of War'. Described as a 'mountain of a man', Mr. Jones certainly fits the bill. Seriously, look at this guy.

Luke Goss as Mazzariah, the Lord High Commander of the Elfkin people. Not really a villain in the traditional sense, he only does what he must for the survival of his people, even if it puts him at odds with Deacon.
And there you have it! My picks for an EPIC movie. You may be wondering why there are no picks for Ubaru'ud, but if you've read the books, you'd know it would be a daunting task requiring many actors.

Agree? Disargee? Have any choices of your own? Feel free to let me know!

Now I'll 'tag' five other authors and challenge them to this little game...
Muffy Morrigan - The Sail Weaver.
Richard B. Knight - The Darkness Of The Womb.
Shawn Reilly - The Union Series.
C.A. Sanders - Song Of Simon.
Pauline Ramsey - The Beginning.