Why write?

Pretty much the same reasons as anyone else, I’d imagine.  Because I enjoy it.  Because other people enjoy what I write.  Because I seem to have some talent, and uncultivated talent always strikes me as tragic.  Because I think I have unique, powerful stories and characters that only I can give form to.  Because the world needs heroes.

If you didn’t write, what would you do?

If I didn’t…hm…well, I frankly don’t know.  The fact is that I’m not completely sure of what I want to do with my life in the broader scheme of things.  What I’m supposed to do.  I am fairly certain, though, that whether I find success or not, I was made to be a writer.  Just the way God made me, I suppose.

If you could hunt any speculative fiction creature ever imagined (except one of your own), would you?

I’d probably do some intensive training first.  Learn how to shoot, reload, and clean a rifle properly.  Or a crossbow.  Or a boar spear.  Whatever you’re planning to give me.

Which one?

There’s something deeply appealing to me about being a vampire hunter.

Why?

I read Twilight.  Ah, so vampires are superior to humans in every possible way?  Tell that to my garlic sauce Supersoaker.  I’ve also thought a somewhat elongated variant on the Roman gladius would be superb for taking heads and carving out hearts.

If you could have any speculative fiction creature ever imagined (except one of your own) as a pet, would you?

Only if I could persuade it that girls are our friends.

Which one?

Temeraire from His Majesty’s Dragon is tempting, but I’d have trouble scrounging up enough livestock to feed him on my student income.  Maybe one of the gwythaints from Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain novels.

Why?

Like a hawk, except bigger, nastier, and hungrier.  Plus, as the books themselves show, they’re not evil–just raised that way.

You are on a holodeck: You’re sitting in an intergalactic bar, sipping your favorite beverage, waiting expectantly for someone to take a seat at your table. Which author from any era does?

Hiromu Arakawa on one side, Brandon Sanderson on the other.  I’ve programmed the holodeck to allow Arakawa-sensei the use of the English language.  For the record, both of them are alive and fairly young.

Why?

Because it’s my holodeck, dammit!

What do you talk about or do?

We drink and drink and drink and then we drink some more, and while I’m drunk I throw myself on my knees and implore Arakawa-sensei, in a slurred pidgin of Japanese and English, to take me on as her apprentice in the art of storytelling.  Then I puke on her shoes.  She takes this as a complement and we begin to sketch out plans for a writer/artist collaboration on a new manga (Arakawa is the author and artist of the manga Fullmetal Alchemist, btw).  Brandon just laughs–he can’t hold his Yukon Jack.  And I get him to sign my collection of first-edition hardcovers.

More importantly, which chairs do they sit in?

Danged if I know.  I stopped finding chairs important after my third shot.

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

Shabak is, by any standards, an old, old creature–he’s lived for more than two centuries now, and lives in a state of semi-retirement as a crab-catcher on one of the most barren, storm-battered coastlines of his world.  Despite that he’s spent the last sixteen years raising a human foster-son, Drace.  He also has trouble staying in retirement, because evil still walks the world, and Shabak can’t turn a blind eye to the plight of the weak.  I think of Shabak as somewhere between a saint and a warrior, a creature made holy by his long life of struggle and kept young by his son.

What appealed to you about being included in Rage of the Behemoth?

Well, Jason is about the only editor I’ve worked with who I’ve also met face-to-face.  I thought it’d be cool to sell a story to someone who I actually know outside the digital space of the ‘net.  I also thought he did fantastic work on Return of the Sword, and generally poured an impressive amount of time and passion into Rogue Blades Entertainment.

Do you write/read aloud to/with anyone (family member or friend)?

No.  I hate reading my work aloud, partly because my voice often sounds funny to me.  I’m a writer, not a voice actor, dammit! My older brother, David, works pretty closely with me on everything I write, though.  He’s the first person to see any manuscript and his comments are given quite a bit of weight.

Quick: For each of the below, what’s your first thought in regards to the future of genre fiction:

Publishing: Dying, dead, on life support – or just going through a change? If it’s any of the first three, will it be euthanized or revitalized?

Life support, methinks.  I get the feeling publishers are laying off staff, cutting their catalogs/page-counts, and generally tightening their belts against diminishing sales and harder times in general.  I don’t think it’s a sign of permanent extinction so much as it is a temporary ebb, though.  The novel is too powerful an art form to die off.

Reading Formats: Print, electronic, audio, or interactive?

Print.  One of my dirty secrets is that, despite all the online publications I’ve had, I secretly hate reading fiction online, and will only do it occasionally for authors I love.

Books: Hardcover, trade paperback, mass market, other?

Hm, in terms of reading experience?  Definitely hardcover–I like cracking open something that sprawls across my lap.  Only problem is the cost (I’m a student, recall) and the fact that my shelves will hold several times more mass market books than hardcovers.

In terms of the future of publishing. . .I think trade paper has been expanding recently, just judging from what I see on the shelves.  I gather it offers a juicier profit margin to the publisher.  And believe me, I’m all for publishers making profits.

Preference for reading/writing: Science Fiction, Historical Fiction, Fantasy Fiction, Horror Fiction?

For reading, definitely fantasy, with sci-fi and historical fiction about tied.  I don’t read horror by choice, although I do enjoy some fantasy with a darker tinge to it.  I mean,  I think the fantasy manga Fullmetal Alchemist is the pinnacle of story-telling achievement, and it’s one of the darker stories I’ve seen anywhere. Fantasy just entertains me the most, on average, and many of my favorite characters come from the pages of fantasy.

In terms of writing. . .fantasy and space opera are about tied, although the majority of what I’ve actually had published is space opera (Flinteye and Memory Wipe, I’m looking at you).  Most of my planned projects for the future are heroic fantasy, although I’m actually contemplating a mainstream humor/adventure novel.

Dude, I totally mentioned Fullmetal twice in one mini-interview.  Please, Arakawa-sensei, haven’t I proved my loyalty?

Thank you for your candid answers, Sean – and for really claiming that holodeck question as your own! Of course, thanks also for being a part of Rage of the Behemoth!

Sean T. M. Stiennon’s “Black Water” appears under the ‘Depthless Seas’ theme in Rage of the Behemoth. Sean is a writer and student who, when it comes to drinking, is all bluster and no booze.  He has an author page at www.sfreader.com/authors/seanstiennon which desperately needs to be updated.

An opening excerpt

When he returned from the village of Stamfir, Shabak the kabrisk found his home on Talon Point in ruins. His best fishing net lay in shreds upon the sand, which was churned as if by a furious battle. A glance into his cave revealed that the hearth fire had been doused by the overturned water pot and that several of his traps, fish spears, and other possessions had been destroyed. His foster-son Drace’s sword was gone from its place upon the wall.

Shabak crouched outside the cave and studied the sand. There had indeed been a struggle here. He saw human footprints that matched Drace’s, but if bandits or corsairs had attacked the cave in Shabak’s absence, he could find no sign of them in the sand. It seemed as if Drace had fought against a whirlwind.

Shabak stood five feet in height, his whole body sheathed in a gray-green carapace with thick, short limbs, a stubby, finned tail, black eyes set deep in a boxy head, and a pincer appendage that sprouted from the shoulder above his left arm. He used that pincer now to poke at the sand while he gazed around at the wasteland of stone and water that was Talon Point. As always, the sky was the color of tarnished iron, and the sea churned in mossy green waves, smashing itself into shards of white upon the jagged boulders of the shore. A short beach extended to the water from the mouth of Shabak’s cave, and just offshore rose the tor of white limestone that served to direct men to his dwelling. With a pang, Shabak realized he might find his foster-son’s corpse just beyond the next rock…

Watch for review praise for “Black Water” and Rage of the Behemoth!

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