What drives your art? What forces you, rides you, hustles you, controls you until its latest needs have been met? What really drives you to create speculative fiction art, be it words or images?

It’s my desire to tell stories, to share the characters and ideas that reside inside my head. My writing and my art are creative outlets that allow me a definitive form of expression. And hopefully, someone out there will enjoy them.

If there was the possibility of becoming any speculative fiction character ever created (except your own), would you? Who? Why?

I would choose Croaker from the Black Company series of books. In a way he shares much in common with my character Mortlock. At present the difference is that the Black Company doctor rose to a position of importance. I don’t see that for Mortlock, as it’s not his nature. But that’s up to the old pikeman and his, as of yet, untold adventures. Croaker appealed to me as a non-heroic, average looking kind of guy struggling to survive in a world of turmoil. It didn’t hurt that he hooked up with one of the hottest babes in fantasy, either.

If you could only take one author’s works compressed on an e-book reader on a “one-bag-only” one-way trip to another galaxy, whose works would it be and why?

I would definitely take the complete works of Robert E. Howard, including his prose, his poetry and his collected correspondence with people like H. P. Lovecraft. No one writes descriptive adventure like REH, and my imagination would certainly need stimulation if I was fated to a one-way trip across the galaxy. I mean, all stars begin to look the same after a while . . .

Why Mortlock? What initiated his story and made you complete this particular tale?

Mortlockwas part of an aborted novel. He was my everyman. A person who saw things from his own down-to-earth, pedestrian perspective. I wanted a character that wasn’t a world-changer, a hero in the mythological sense of the word. I wanted to write about a man who was a minor cog in the scheme of things, to see how he would react to major events both surrounding and influencing his everyday life.

In the privacy of your favorite writing nook, do you act out your protagonist’s actions? Do you know how to use his weapons? Do you wear his clothes? Do you talk like him?

My initial response was ‘no’. On review, though, Mortlockshares a lot of my life-view. He is self-deprecating, cynical, and sarcastic. Regardless of that, he is loyal and impulsive. Though Mortlock is a pikeman, I studied fencing for years, and use my love of history to add as much realism to the arms, armour and conditions that make his fantasy setting as viable as possible. In fact, some of the most gratifying feedback I received had to do with the overall military feel of ‘Valley of Bones.’ As for acting out the protagonist’s actions? The closest I’ll ever get is to read the dialogue out loud.

Quick: List your first thought as your answers to these questions about the future of genre fiction:

Printing Methods: Offset or Print-on-Demand?

PoD, though I still prefer offset.

Reading Formats: Electronic or Print?

Nothing beats print.

Book Tours: Physical or Virtual?

Virtual has potential, though the only one I was ever involved with was a big letdown. That said, nothing beats meeting people face to face. The interaction is much more satisfying.

Reading Habits: Dead, Dying, Alive, Growing?

Alive, though genres wax and wane depending on my mood. Most fantasy these days is cookie-cutter. Unfortunately, that is the stuff the major pub houses continue to push out. So long as that happens, I’ll stick to small press. That’s where the good stuff is.

Length: Flash, Short, Novella, 1970’s novel (60k), 1980’s novel (80k), 1990’s novel (120k), 2000’s novel (150k)

I prefer ‘short to 1990′s novel’. It’s the endless trilogies and
decologies(??) that drive me nuts. I don’t mind novels set in the same world; just don’t leave hooks so people have to wait 3 years for the next in the series. Novels in a fixed world should be self-contained. That said, anything over 200 pages usually tends toward bloatware.

Robert E. Howard, Jack London, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, Fritz Leiber, Karl Edward Wagner, Louis L’Amour, Frederick Faust, Ian Fleming, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Rafael Sabatini . . . the list could go on. Some lived long lives, some flared and burned out young. All lived life hard. All wrote pulse-pounding action-adventure, often dipping into the many different genres they share, yet each eventually establishing their name within a specific one. What do you believe you havein common with these authors, and what makes you so sure speculative fiction – heroic fantasy fiction to be precise – is your genre? Or is it?

That’s a great pedigree. Each brings something to the table both admirable and ground-breaking. I prefer my REH due to the raw nature of his prose and the vivid worlds and characters he created. Though I liken my style to his, the reality is I could barely carry his Underwood #5. Not to be locked into any one genre, I find historical fiction also suits my comfort zone. For that genre, Harold Lamb deserves special consideration.

Thanks for your insightful answers, Bruce. And my appreciation for your help in collecting and promoting these interviews.

Bruce Durham has some twenty stories to his credit, ranging from fantasy to historical fiction to young adult. In 2005 & 2006, Bruce won back-to-back Preditors & Editors Readers’ Poll Awards for Best SF Short Story. Visit his website for further information, excerpts, reviews and links.

Review Praise for “Valley of Bones”

“…I’ve never been let down by one of Mr. Durham’s tales, having read several in the pages of Flashing Swords. He has a talent for telling stories at a dizzying pace. This one is no exception. Herein is a look at warfare from the common man’s perspective.” ~ Wesley Lambert

An excerpt

…It happened swiftly. Several musketeers shrieked and collapsed, disappearing into the mist. Their muffled cries reached out from the ochre haze. Weapons discharged at unseen targets; flash-pans flared, their flames swallowed by the encroaching fog.

The first rank of pike reacted. Men were yanked from their feet, drawn screaming down the slope and out of sight. The second rank reacted. They pointed, stamping the ground with heavy boots or slamming pike butts repeatedly.

I stood with the third rank trying to burn a hole through the mist to the grassy surface. The film was low, barely ankle-high. Something slid past. Something else brushed my boot. It felt rough and bony. I stomped hard with my boot and heard a hollow crunch.

The draft from my action caused the wispy tendrils to swirl, revealing my assailant. It was the skeleton of a snake. One of our unseen invaders. My victim was small, no more than a foot in length. The broken bones rattled as they refused to release the magic powering them. I shuddered to think what had stolen the men from the slope…

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