The Fool, His Little Dog and the One-Star Review

January 16, 2023January 16, 2023 / F.T. McKinstry / Leave a comment

The universe can be such an asshole.

I released a new book last week, and have been preparing for an upcoming promotion. I felt good. Hopeful, even. I know what I’m doing and had all my ducks in a row. I even sold some copies. And then, as I was out puttering around on my Amazon author page, I noticed, to my absolute horror, a one-star rating on said newly released book, no written review, no explanation, just that.

It had the quality of a drive-by. I’m walking along in the ‘hood that is Amazon, light on my feet, when in the corner of my eye, a black sedan whispers by, one tinted window silently descending. Boom! Game over.

I’m an old curmudgeon; I know the drill, here. But the timing on this was spectacular. It lined up with personal things I’ve been dealing with for a long time. It even reflected one of the events in the book, in which the protagonist gets slammed with a devastating loss that leaves her hollow, numb and questioning everything. Trust me: I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d tried.

Any author will tell you, a one-star rating is a special kind of head fuck. For three days, all I saw was that single yellow star burning on my forehead like a brand. I did the whole opera: shock, disbelief, terror, worthlessness, shame, and despair followed by a detailed analysis of cause and effect worthy of a Justice Department investigation. I googled “how to deal with a one-star review” even though I’ve heard all that before. I avoided writers’ forums which feel like funeral guests offering wisdom and advice that might comfort you for about five minutes, until you return to your cold, dark house and the ghosts of your best-laid plans.

Then this interesting thing happened. This morning, I got an email linking to an article about the trickster archetype, complete with a brilliant quote by Joseph Campbell (given below). But it was the image of the Fool tarot card that got my attention. There I was, blithely walking toward a cliff edge, la la la, everything’s beautiful, as my clever little dog tries to get my attention and whoops! Splattered on the rocks below. WTF.

Almost all non-literate mythology has a trickster-hero of some kind. …And there’s a very special property in the trickster: he always breaks in, just as the unconscious does, to trip up the rational situation. He’s both a fool and someone who’s beyond the system. And the trickster represents all those possibilities of life that your mind hasn’t decided it wants to deal with. The mind structures a lifestyle, and the fool or trickster represents another whole range of possibilities. He doesn’t respect the values that you’ve set up for yourself, and smashes them. – Joseph Campbell

Well said, sir.

Here’s the thing. I won’t pretend to know what the universe is trying to tell me, here, if anything. But this experience did bring into focus the power of awareness. All the wailing and gnashing of teeth that comes up after a drive-by is designed for one thing and one thing only: to avoid feeling pain. This is a mystery, but if you drop all that and just feel it, really feel it, it will dissolve. In other words, you have to get in to get out.

So says the little dog, wise creature that he is.

The Evolution of an Antagonist

December 12, 2020April 24, 2021 / F.T. McKinstry

Eadred took the orb into his hands. Something glimmered inside, a tiny star tingling in his palms. His heart began to pound as a force gripped his chest, swirling, writhing, searching. Stars, whales, sun and moon. Her wrath boomed across time, shredding the veil. Terns, seals, white horses roaming the cliffs. She wept in the oldest tongue, her grief and desperation raising tempests. The dead, their pale eyes staring. Her child was gone. She crashed the Gates, sending them soaring end over end into the stars. Then she turned, her emerald slitted eyes fixing on Eadred as she raced, spiraling in a black, spiky maelstrom toward the wound in his heart left by a witch.

WIZARD, she roared, splitting sea from shore. – From The Gray Isles

As any writer will tell you, characters in stories take on lives of their own. Imbued with the forces of creation, the psyche is immensely arcane, and the act of creating something, whether it’s music, a painting, a garden, a book — anything, really — is always a bit mysterious. As for characters in a novel, they have a way of appearing in the writer’s imagination of their own accord, with their own agendas. To me, it feels as if they exist already, in a story that’s happening somewhere, and I’m just tapping into it.

The main protagonist driving the books in the Chronicles of Ealiron is one Lorth of Ostarin, a wizard and elite assassin in service to the Keepers of the Eye, an ancient order of wizards who keep balance in the world. He is sent on assignment to a remote northern archipelago called the Gray Isles to discover why another in his order, a fey, volatile wizard named Eadred, broke his vows to the Eye in an egregious breach of conduct he never explained or attempted to defend. Lorth’s task of getting Eadred to tell him what happened, however, goes straight to hell at the outset, spiraling into a manhunt, a costly encounter with a sea monster, and some nasty backwater politics.

With long hair the color of snow, eyes the color of reindeer lichen and a silvery breath of Elven blood in his veins, Eadred is a powerful rogue element, a trickster whose tormented machinations have gained him great knowledge which he uses to help prevent a rising cataclysm. But aside from Eadred’s having been cursed by a witch and later banished to the isles, we never learn the specific events that drove him to forsake his wizard’s mantle and leave a trail of bloodshed and woe over two realms.

Ealiron: The Gray Isles

For years, I thought about pulling Eadred’s backstory from the shadows and writing it into the book, but all I got were vague impressions, almost as if his past was hidden from me and Lorth alike. The book felt incomplete, somehow, until earlier this year, when the mists cleared and I saw not only the old wounds and workings of Eadred’s mind, but also the rugged string of events that made him the madman who appears in the original edition of the book. In a fury I wrote it down, wove it in, had the whole work beautifully edited, and the third edition was born. Huzzah.

Sneaky Serpent, by F.T. McKinstry For the record, I’ve added this to my Hah! Fuck You 2020 list. It’s a short list, but hey, we’ll take what we can get.

Stay tuned, and stay well.

Summoning Fenrisúlfr

April 7, 2017June 7, 2018 / F.T. McKinstry / 1 Comment

“Summoning Fenrisúlfr”
Background cover art for The Wolf Lords, Book Two in The Fylking

The older something is, the more secrets it keeps.

Leofwine Klemet of House Earticael is a sorcerer of the Fenrir Brotherhood, an ancient order of magicians who serve Loki, Prince of Wiles and the Father of Hel. Leofwine has his doubts as to whom his masters serve, however. Given the order’s bloody, patchy history, of which Leofwine is an expert, if the brotherhood served anyone it was Othin, the Allfather, a master of sorcery and runes who reveled in the grim tides of war. A trickster and consummate shapeshifter, the Hooded One would be more than pleased to move in the shadows of Loki’s dastardly reputation.

But Leofwine keeps his doubts to himself.

Once a transcriber in the King’s Archive, and a Fjorginan spy, Leofwine now serves a hall in a remote forest as a protector of their interests. It is a thankless job, but for a lover and some shelter from his enemies, both mortal and immortal.

But Fenrir sorcerers tend to have long shadows, and Leofwine is no exception. When his enemies catch up to him (which enemies always do) and reveal a devastating secret involving someone he holds dearer than life, Leofwine goes berserk and does the unthinkable: he summons Fenrisúlfr, a demon capable of destroying the entire realm in a maelstrom of blood. This redoubtable act gains Leofwine not only the condemnation of his order but also the title of Wolf Lord, a wry designation used by otherworldly beings such as demonic warlords and sea witches to refer to the servants of Loki.

Ironic. But that’s the trouble with doubts. They can betray you and ruin your day.

The Wolf Lords, Book Two in The Fylking.

The Fenrir Brotherhood is an ancient order of sorcerers who serve the Wolf Gods of the North. Traditionally hired by warlords to protect their own bloody, ambitious interests, the brotherhood now keeps to itself.

Or so it is generally believed.

The older something is, the more secrets it keeps. And with the help of the Fylking’s enemies, the secrets of the Wolf Lords are about to unleash armies of demons across the land.

Those with second sight will be the first to die.

Outpost, Book One in The Fylking.

A race of immortal warriors who live by the sword.
A gate between the worlds.
Warriors, royals, seers and warlocks living in uneasy peace on one side of the Veil.
Until now.

“The tone is excellent, reminiscent of some of the earliest examples of grim Norse fantasy.” – G.R. Matthews, Fantasy Faction

Finalist, SPFBO 2016

Wildcards

November 12, 2015July 25, 2017 / F.T. McKinstry

An elite company of rangers defends the wilds of Dyrregin, the central realm in Outpost, Book One in The Fylking. Seasoned, skilled in fighting, traversing and surviving in rough terrain and dangerous circumstances, these warriors serve both the King and the Old Gods. Their motto is, “We keep the balance when the gods turn away.” As they do, often enough.

Rangers have an appreciation for beasts and wild creatures, as they often share spaces with and gain wisdom from them. They also appreciate their leave time, and while you can probably guess the sorts of things they do with that, I’ll spare you those details and tell you about a game called “wildcards,” a rangers’ favorite.

Most taverns in Dyrregin keep decks of wildcards for their patrons. Any barkeep worth his or her salt will hand a deck to rangers when they arrive. Each card in the deck shows a wild creature in its natural habitat, and represents its abilities and place in the order of things.

There are many games that can be played, but in the most basic, each player gets one card, and the dealer picks a landscape. The idea is to employ an animal’s powers to outsmart or destroy your opponents. Some creatures are more suited to certain places than others, and knowledge of animals’ strengths and weaknesses is a plus. So while drawing a predator is desirable, it isn’t a guaranteed win. With some imagination and the right landscape, a humbler creature could take the game.

For example, drawing a frog could put you in the sights of a raptor or a fox; but if you contrived to be plucked up by a Blackthorn witch and put into a potion, your death could take out something else too. A mouse, which knows the safe places in the world, might be at a disadvantage in the wilds, but could rule in a city. And so on.

Crow is a trickster, like the joker in traditional cards. Here, anything can happen, the more unexpected the better. Draw the crow and piss off your buddies. You win.

Players who do well at wildcards tend to be as resourceful and clever as the natural world itself.

Of course, most rangers will tell you the game is best played after a few too many drinks.

If you like the animal paintings, you can see more on Fine Art America in Wild Things.

Outpost, Book One in The Fylking.

A race of immortal warriors who live by the sword.
A gate between the worlds.
Warriors, royals, seers and warlocks living in uneasy peace on one side of the Veil.
Until now.

Grab Some Popcorn

September 15, 2015July 25, 2017 / F.T. McKinstry

Warriors, gods, goblins and crows. Tricked-out artwork. Epic music. The trailer for Outpost, Book One in The Fylking, is now live. Click on the creepy guy to watch!

Outpost, Book One in The Fylking.

A race of immortal warriors who live by the sword.
A gate between the worlds.
Warriors, royals, seers and warlocks living in uneasy peace on one side of the Veil.
Until now.

The Trickster

September 9, 2015July 25, 2017 / F.T. McKinstry

Birds in the corvid family have always intrigued me, ravens and crows among them. These birds are extremely intelligent and surrounded by myths and fairy tales. Among other things, they are said to move between the worlds, making them harbingers and messengers of the Otherworld. They are playful, clever and at times devious, giving them a reputation as tricksters.

The hooded crow (Corvus cornix) is striking. It is found across Europe and in parts of the Middle East. Also called a hoodiecrow, corbie or grey crow, it is ash gray with a black head and throat, wings and tail. It looks like it’s wearing a black cloak with the hood down. How cool is that?

This fine creature has a special place in the story of Outpost, a fantasy novel woven with Norse mythology, mythical beings, swords and sorcery. In this tale, the hoodiecrow is a trickster par excellence, appearing as a particularly curious bird, a dream, a synchronistic event, or a charm given to a warrior by his love. To a knitter with the power of the earth in her hands, the crow takes form as an otherworldly rider.

A warrior on a gray horse thumped over the fresh snow, spruce boughs swaying with silvery restlessness in his wake. His horse moved strangely, as if it had too many legs. The rider wore exquisitely wrought mail of ash gray, black leggings and boots, and a mantle that covered his head and shoulders with feathery black. The hilts of two fine swords glinted above his shoulder. He reined in before the cottage and looked up, revealing the smooth, straight beak of a crow. His eyes glittered like stars.

Melisande stood in the snow in her bare feet, gazing up at the crow warrior like a child. He was beautiful, strange and vast, like a force of nature. He was not Fylking. Not Otherworld, either. He was beyond that.

“Beware.” The sound was the voice of the wind, his voice.

To a wayward seer at odds with the Otherworld, the hooded crow appears to spring him from a trap, a fortuitous event that comes with a very high price.

“Self-pity is powerful magic, is it not?” the crow said. Its pale ash body glowed beneath the pitch mantle of its cloak. “It turns the ridiculous into the sublime.” It cocked its head mockingly.

After delivering an annoying lecture, of course.

As with any trickster, the crow hides its agenda in mystery and surprise. What looks like guidance, mockery, companionship or a warning can—and most likely will—throw one into trouble. But that’s the way it works, with tricksters. Chaos leads to transformation.

Outpost, Book One in The Fylking.

A race of immortal warriors who live by the sword.
A gate between the worlds.
Warriors, royals, seers and warlocks living in uneasy peace on one side of the Veil.
Until now.

Yoga Crasher

March 26, 2013September 10, 2013 / F.T. McKinstry

Oona, by F.T. McKinstry
Her real name is Oona, named after a scrappy character in one of my stories, a shapeshifter who gets herself into trouble for crossing a wizard. It fits, trust me.

Oona looks a bit like the white cat in the Henri, le Chat Noir videos. Henri calls his companion an idiot. But Oona is no idiot.

She is a master.

Many say cats are psychic and I’ll attest to this. Oona has powers of teleportation, too. When I spread my yoga mat on the floor and put on some airy music, she appears from nowhere to participate in the ancient and venerable art of yoga. She begins her personal practice by waiting patiently for me to get into an asana, a Sanskrit word for “posture.” Preferably something that requires balance. Then she chooses from a creative repertoire of tricks designed to test my focus, including but not limited to the following:

1. Rub against me, making sure to curl tail into a ticklish place.
2. Put wet nose on me.
3. Drag raspy tongue on me.
4. Wait for empty spot on mat and spread out in it before I can.
5. Drag tail across my face.
6. Chew on hair clip.
7. Sit next to me so I have to move or pet her, depending on how cute she looks.
8. Yowl rather loudly.
9. Pick a fight with one of the other cats in the room.
10. Get up some place high and knock something off (plants work well).
11. Chase something (sparkle balls, moths, dust, shadows, etc.).
12. Scratch on furniture.

Sometimes, Yoga Crasher will take a pragmatic approach (or heed the death threats, however you want to look at it) and jump in my chair for a nice nap. She has ulterior motives for this, of course. As long as I’m on the mat, she gets the chair.

: Oona Creeping

: Oona Perching

: Oona Lurking

An Archetypal Bestiary

January 18, 2012August 25, 2019 / F.T. McKinstry

To me, the most mysterious and beautiful thing about writing is the process itself. This is an exploration into the Otherworld; like a hapless warrior in a medieval tale, I venture in with my sword and cloak not knowing what will appear from the shadows. I like to be startled.

The Otherworld loves a good laugh. It’s full of tricksters, beautiful beings and demons, a virtual parade of mirrors in which I see myself in the form of fantastic places, characters and events. While this is easy to romanticize, it’s not for the faint of heart. I’ve often regretted getting what I asked for, or been bewildered by the obvious to the extent that it spins my life around—suddenly, it’s not about the story anymore. I’ve written things that took me years to understand and synthesize. But that’s where the mystery comes in.

I love supernatural archetypes…but then again, I’m friends with most of them. Here are some of my favorites in action.

Odin

In Norse mythology, Odin is the one-eyed, all-seeing god of war, magic and wisdom. He is a complex figure, associated with poetry and inspiration, madness and battle fury. He is also a shapeshifter and considered fickle, not to be trusted. He brings to mind the old Celtic stories of poets and magicians who, in their search for truth and pattern, end up going mad and wandering bewildered through the wilds. A patron of writers, if ever there was one.

“The Eye of Odin” is a science fiction story woven into the myth of Odin. It’s about the daughter of a warrior clan who made her fortune as a fighter for a military contractor who harnessed the powers of the higher mind. When she is targeted for discovering a secret beneath their dominion, she must learn the nature of a much greater power: love.

Master of magic, god of war, Odin wanders alone. – From “The Eye of Odin”

Shapeshifter

The Otherworld itself has the nature of a shapeshifter. You think you are looking at one thing, but it’s something else; the psyche wears garments that mimic the forces of nature in symbolic ways. The shapeshifter reveals things through deception. What better thing to leap out while writing a story of a wizard-assassin about to fall to his own machinations? She appears from the Otherworld with a message he won’t understand until he knows what she is.

He drew one more arrow from the shadows of wind and snow and leveled the black, shiny tip through the trees, drifting along in a track as the lord rode down. Then the small man called out—in a woman’s voice. She stopped and turned, slowly pushed back her hood to reveal the face of a wolf, gray with a white muzzle, her eyes flashing moon pale as they leapt over the surroundings. – From The Hunter’s Rede, Book One in The Chronicles of Ealiron.

Loerfalos

The unconscious mind has often been compared to the sea. An awesome force, vast, mysterious and mostly unseen, the sea is a metaphor par excellence for the forces of the Feminine, the primeval void from which all things come. The loerfalos, which in the wizards’ tongue means “serpent of green darkness,” is an enormous immortal sea serpent. A creature of the Otherworld, she moves between dimensions, making her elusive and difficult to believe in. Her appearance heralds transformation on a large scale…usually unpleasant. When I began writing The Gray Isles, she was waiting for me. And she had quite a lot to say.

Voices rippled the surface above like the wings of a mayfly, an irritating vibration caught in the rays of the rising sun filtering into the surrounding darkness. One voice she knew; the other, she knew as the blood of an offering cast into the infinite flow of her creatures. Untold shades, hunter and hunted, the souls of drowned sailors, thousands of pearly eggs for every one that breathed, they whispered of chaos in balance. – From The Gray Isles, Book Two in The Chronicles of Ealiron.

Sioros

This beastie showed up in my consciousness with a roundhouse kick. He is the driving force in my novel Crowharrow, which is the folk name for him. In the wizard’s tongue, sioros means “destroyer in the air.” A rare creature with the body of a man and the wings of a raven, he is immortal, as are all properly integrated archetypes. Predatory and tricky, he is a powerful seducer of women. Like the loerfalos, the sioros is of the Otherworld, and moves between. While not inherently evil, he can seem so. A supernatural force, he burns with the fire of gods and confronting him—or worse, falling in love—is exceedingly foolish.

She leaned down and plucked a crimson columbine and some meadowsweet. She paused, and then straightened her back as the forest eaves stirred on the edge of the field. Something pale moved there, with a darker shadow surrounding it. A chill rippled over her heart as it came into focus, a magnificent man with the wings of a raven twice his height. Clad in the forest, he moved with the grace of dreams, his feathers settling in whispers as he turned and gazed at her from eyes the color of stars. – From Crowharrow, Book Three in The Chronicles of Ealiron.