In this episode, we decided to do some micro interviewing, asking each other off the cuff questions about our writing routines, our influences and our greatest aspirations. Check it out!

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old edition

Well, after undertaking a massive reorg of my bookshelves, I finally did what I should have done all those years ago – I replaced the book and reread it.

new edition!

As a teenager, I’d greatly admired the prose, in fact that was what I’d prized most about the book. And I’d loved the protagonist Aerin, who was a real anomaly back then. Nowadays you can’t throw a rock without hitting a carbon copy Katniss, but back then girls in fantasy fiction were almost all princesses, maybe a healer and/or sorceress if you were lucky. (I am not talking about other classics from this era, but of inferior books that crowded the library shelves a few decades ago and have since gone out of print.) Heck I’d even argue that Aerin is an anomaly now, due to her unusually complex yet well-defined character. So it was with these qualities in mind that I reread the book.

I’d remembered correctly that the book was well written, that Aerin was a fascinating yet relatable girl. But there was something amazing about The Hero and The Crown that I’d not noticed when I read the book as a kid, something that leapt out to my now-trained eye. It is this: The Hero and The Crown is perfectly constructed. It is impeccably constructed.

I’m gonna run through it real quick (mild/moderate spoilers that shouldn’t deter enjoyment of the book).

Aerin, the young protagonist, has a high position at court but is not respected, in fact she is barely tolerated because of her parentage. Because of this parentage she has no magic, something that should have manifested before puberty. A more powerful cousin teases Aerin into eating a plant that almost kills her, but over two years she fights her way back to a sound mind by developing an interest in reading — and a sound body by caring for an abandoned horse.

While reading Aerin discovers an old, inaccurate recipe for an ointment of fire resistance. She obsessively tests and retests the recipe, searching for the correct proportions of herbs. Taking these actions, and finding success in them, makes her forget about her lonely, anxious life. Aerin becomes more and more confident in who she is–so much so that she starts to challenge the others and find her place in the world. Winning many small victories makes her emboldened. She challenges a mighty enemy, an ancient dragon, and wins, but at horrific cost, being burned nearly to death.

Aerin must change again, enrich herself again by learning magic, or die from her wounds. Then she must face the worst enemy yet, a member of her family from the “bad” side of her tree, who knows far more magic than she. In the meantime Aerin has two separate love interests (!), but the way she relates to them changes as she changes.

Why did I write all that out? –Because there’s the classic pattern of a plot, right there, very clearly, and it’s especially well done in this book because the protagonist’s internal and external struggles are always in interplay. 

The flawed protagonist endures a small suffering, based on his internal flaws. He rallies, finds unique ways to grow and move past the suffering. Some of the flaws diminish, some remain, or new flaws (overconfidence, haste) pop up. He strikes out, enjoys a few successes, then a catastrophic failure. He rallies again, in a logically related yet different way, transforms again, dispensing a few more flaws (although one still remains) and faces the true antagonist.  This is the classic construction of a genre novel. Aerin’s internal pain and conflict has to be worked out for her to face her external obstacles. This is true growth, not just leveling up.

Since we’re talking about construction I’d also like to note that the proportions of The Hero and The Crown are well balanced: the denouement (which I didn’t mention in detail because massive spoilers) is not hasty, but deals with all remaining lose threads with a fair and even hand. I think we novice and journeymen writers tend to barrel through the denouement at top speed. This is usually a mistake. THatC is a slim volume you can read in an afternoon, but nothing is rushed. Everything receives its proper weight.

I’d recommend all aspiring genre writers read this book multiple times. Once to enjoy it. Then again to study it.

Enjoy!

Enjoy!

We hope you enjoy!

We’ll be back next year with a new season of episodes. In the meantime, if you missed any previous episodes or want to relive the fun, check out our Curb Chat archives.

Ever have a life event interrupt your writing routine, and then lament on how to get your momentum back? Well, we sure have, and we wanted to share what helped us get our go going again.

We hope you find this episode helpful! And if you have suggestions for future episodes, we’d love to hear them.

And a shout out/thanks to First Draft Book Bar at Changing Hands Phoenix for use of their awesome common room.

These are not mine.

I’m taking a ceramics class this semester and really enjoying learning a new artistic outlet. We started out with hand building different kinds of vessels. And we recently progressed to throwing on the wheel, which I wrote about a little on my own blog. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve been glazing our bisque-fired pieces, which has been such an eye-opening experience.

There are drawers of small, round tiles in the glazing room at the ceramics studio, each showing the post-firing results of different glaze combinations. Some of them are lovely–I tend to gravitate toward the blues–and some are kind of meh. I clicked through the tiles, deciding on the best dressing for the couple of vases and bowls I had ready  for glazing. When I’d made up my mind, I glazed the pieces and set them aside to be fired.

And that’s all I can do. From then on, what happens with those vases and bowls is completely out of my hands.

While in the kiln, someone else’s piece might explode and ruin everyone else’s work. Or someone’s glaze might ooze all over and run into my piece and ruin it. Or the glaze combination might come out all ooky looking instead of the pretty tile in the drawer. Any number of things could go wrong during the firing process, and there’s just nothing you can do about it.

Which might be why the glazing part of the ceramics class is my least favorite so far. It’s just so unpredictable. I’m really starting to see those parts of me that like to know what will happen, that like being in charge.

Ceramics is teaching me a lot about writing and publishing.

This is mine.

My debut novel, Now That You’re Here, comes out in a month. (Excuse me while I go breathe into a bag.) And if there’s one thing I’m quickly learning, it’s that there are so many things that are outside of my control.

Will people buy it? Will they like it? Will they want to read more from me?

I have no idea. And I have no say in any of it. It’s completely out of my hands. Kirkus gave the book a good review, and PW gave it a star, so I’m not completely without hope, but still…who knows?

It reminds me of what my mentor, Jim Sallis, said when his novel, Drive, was being made into a movie. Our class ask him a bunch of questions about the process, including, What if they change the story? What if you don’t like what they do? And he would always tell us the story wasn’t his anymore. Once the book is done and off to production, it no longer belongs to him. He lets it go and gets to work on the next thing.

There’s so much wisdom there.

So, here’s my confession: I’m trying to let go and get to work on the next thing. It’s very distracting having a novel coming out in a month. Sometimes I’m too wound up to write. (Or sleep.) But I’m also anxious to dig into the next thing, to write the next story. That’s the fun part, probably because it’s the part I can control.

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