Blake Charlton

Good morning and welcome to another edition of–

What’s that?  Yes, I know I haven’t updated in awhile!  Blogging is harder than it looks!  Hey, let me show you something that will shut you up and soothe my fragile ego.

Check out some cool new reviews from The Speculative Scotsman and Floor to Ceiling Books!  What’s that?  Still not satisfied?  How about a fancy giveaway that is probably still going on at the Speculative Scotsman?  If you always wanted an ARC of Tome of the Undergates but didn’t have the fortitude to defeat Simon Spanton in battle for one, this might be your chance to achieve!

I digress, however.  You came here to see more interviews, didn’t you?  Well, as a special treat, I have fought, bled and battled my way to achieving an interview with one of the finest authors around.  It began with a simple query email that eventually spiraled out of control and became something far worse.  For weeks, I fought the author to stalemate after stalemate, each knife was wrenched out, each arrow plucked from our flesh, each near-miss a little too near until I finally defeated him and flung his body from the highest peak of Greece, thus securing the interview.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Joe Abercrombie.

What the…oh, God damn it!  We’ve been infiltrated!

Well, Joe Abercrombie probably would have just talked about himself.  Let’s let someone else talk about themselves!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Blake Charlton, author of SPELLWRIGHT!

Welcome, Blake.  The world is eager to know more about you, a young upcoming author, and the most persistent question on everyone’s mind is: who let you in here?

Bouncers, man, they have trouble with me. They see the shiny head and the protruding jaw and they think I’m a bouncer too. Gets me into all kind of places. Seriously, if I sit near the door of a bar, people come by and show me their driver licenses. When feeling mean, I tell them there’s a two dollar cover. I’d name a higher price, but I don’t hang out in bars highfalutin enough to charge more than two dollars.

Somehow, the glossy dome and the lantern jaw worked on the bouncers of the publication world: literary agents.

I’m pulling your leg, of course. But not in the metaphorical sense. I’m like, actually pulling your leg, Sam. It’s a bouncer trick. You’ve had one too many and you’re scaring the other patrons.

No, no!  See, when anyone else gets drunk, it’s just loutish behavior.  When an author get drunk, it’s…searching for a Muse or something like that.  Yeah, you dig?  But my rampant drunkenness is not the touchy subject we should be addressing!

Let’s discuss a particular disability of yours that has made writing your book not just an accomplishment, but a triumph.  Let me say that I greatly admire you for handling it in the way you do.  Frankly, it sometimes gets a little depressing watching other authors who are obviously struggling with the same thing live so deep in denial.  So, if you’re comfortable, Mr. Charlton, tell us…how exactly did you lose your hair?

When pregnant with me, my mother was scared by a white man with a comb-over. It was such a fright that it actually changed my DNA, preventing me from ever growing enough hair that I could wrong the universe in such a fashion.

SPELLWRIGHT hit the shelves only a couple of days ago!  Are you out promoting the hell out of that thing?  Or are your thoughts more concerned with the patient you just abandoned to a slow, malaria-induced death while you respond to these questions?  He needs a catheter change, by the way.

Here’s a hospital joke for you: “What’s the difference between a third year medical student and a pile of dog feces?”

Answer: “No one goes out of their way to step on the dog feces.”

Yes, that’s right, I’m so low on the medical totem pole, I’m actually biodegrading to help supply the grass with much needed nitrogen to complete the circle of life. That is to say, I’m not actually responsible for patient care at the moment. What’s more, I’m on a research year so I’m not in the hospital more than for research meetings. I do volunteer at our Free Clinic as many Sundays as possible to a) keep my head in the game (as it were), b) to help our patients who are uninsured or under insured, and c) induce feelings of guilt and moral obligation to volunteer in fantasy authors who names may or may not rhyme with the phrase “man hikes.”

So, Blake, knowing what type of degenerate actually reads this blog, what would you say to them to convince them to give SPELLWRIGHT a go?

Oh, ye Sam Sykes faithful, imagine the fantasy Sam might write after completing a five week course of anti-depressants, drinking five cups of coffee and one shot of tequila. Wouldn’t you want to read a fantasy like that?

I wouldn’t either. Let’s just stick with regular, full-strength Sam.

However, perhaps you’re looking for a fantasy that spills a physiologically dubious amount of blood out of dying sympathetic characters, who live in a morally bankrupt society, inhabited by protagonists you kind of hate.

Then you should probably avoid my book, take a hot bat, drink a few beers, and call mom. For serious. She misses you, man. It’s time to let it go.

Buuut, if you’re looking for fantasy with an original, mega-watt magic-system and an unabashedly non-gritty ass-kicking quest, you might want to peek at SPELLWRIGHT.

So, the book is out now.  Speaking as a fellow author, I know that the weeks leading up to a book’s release can be exceptionally hair-raising…or…or skin-raising, in your case, I guess?  But anyway, a friend of mine who is totally not me who is never ever hair-raised about anything be it man or beast wanted to know if life after launch is any less stressful?

Kind of, but not really. Like at all. So, yes. But also no. Well actually more yes but not in the way you’re thinking of.

Basically it’s like this: You poor bastard, you thought you had an unhealthy relationship with your amazon.com sales rank now? You two are just gonna get more and more dysfunctional. Buy her flowers or something, man.

Oh, but you do come across a few gems that make it worth your while. My new favorite blogger finished book, wondered when book two was coming out and then delivered the Best Review EVER: “Write faster, bald man!”

Finally, you and I see a lot of people on Twitter relating their own experiences and trials with writing a novel.  Anything you’d like to impart to them?

Rent Jerry MaGuire. Watch it again but substitute the word “football” for the word “publishing.” And stop the movie ten minutes before the happy ending.

Write for the love of what you write. A lot of people are going to tell you no. Don’t blame them; it’s their job. When you do convince one to say yes, be thankful they’re taking a chance on you. And take a deep breath, because you are taking a chance. There’s much more love than money in this industry, and people are paying attention to which contracts earn out and which don’t. The passion of your life might end up being midlisted into obscurity. Chances for fame and fortune are slim. You might have to take a second job, give up a pastime, stay up later, restart your writing career under another name. But if you love what you write, if you can take pride and pleasure in knowing that you brought it into existence, you’ll know the destination was worth the long journey.

Well, thanks a heap, Blake!  Now get out and leave through the backdoor.  We can’t have people seeing you around here!  They’ll talk!

SPELLWRIGHT is out right now in the United States and September in the United Kingdom!  Check it out!  Check it out while you still can!