Harry Potter meets Doctor Who in new academy fantasy series

The mind is a trippy place. It can be like a maze, especially when you’ve got a fertile imagination.

It’s easy to jump from one idea to the next, from fanciful to intriguing to exciting.

All this got me thinking: What if a place like this existed in the real world? And what if there were a school to teach us how to navigate it?

That’s the idea behind my new series, Academy of the Lost Labyrinth. Each person must navigate the labyrinth of his or her own mind, but we’ve got people to help us: schoolteachers, parents, friends-for-life. They’re all with us on the journey, even if they can’t take it for us. That’s what happens at the magical academy I’ve created, and it’s the kind of journey I’ve set before my characters – and my readers.

Life can take us almost anywhere, and so can the Lost Labyrinth. That’s what makes writing this series so much fun. My characters can visit Mount Olympus, the River Styx, a dragon kingdom in the heart of a mountain, the North Pole, Stonehenge, Easter Island... even a planet halfway across the galaxy. The possibilities are endless, thanks to the labyrinth.

Why is it a “lost” labyrinth? You’ll have to read the books to find out! But I will give you a sneak peek into what you’ll find in their pages.

If you’ve read my Memortality books, you know I’m fascinated with the ideas of time and memory, so there’s a lot of time travel in the series opener, The Talismans of Time.

I started by thinking of time as a circle, rather than a straight line. This allowed me to create a unique narrative that begins at the end and ends at the beginning... but still spins a fast-paced, exciting tale. How does that work? Again, you’ll have to read the book.

It tells the story of how two very different teenagers – Alex and Elizabeth – from very different times find themselves caught in the labyrinth, and how their journeys lead to the founding of a new academy. He’s from Iowa in 1991; she’s from Yorkshire at the turn of the 20th Century. They wander into the labyrinth by chance, and in order to get out again, they have to collect all seven Talismans of Time... and help each other along the way.

The fate of the Academy in the present day is at stake. It’s a special school that accepts students with four main magical talents: time travel, memory magic, shapeshifting and dream walking.  

But it turns our those aren’t the only such talents – and the Academy of the Lost Labyrinth isn’t the only school for the magically gifted in my alternate universe. One of those other schools, the Academy of Enchanted Arts, plays a pivotal role in the second book, Pathfinder of Destiny.

Set on a remote island in the South Pacific, it’s a haven for painters, writers and musicians whose art can literally come alive.

Yet another school, the Astral Academy, is on a planet hundreds of light years from Earth and accessible through the labyrinth. It’s the basis for a spinoff book called (naturally) Astral Academy.

Pathfinder of Destiny, meanwhile, continues the story of the main Academy in the present day and features many of the characters from Talismans. It also introduces two new protagonists: Cassidy Parks, a 13-year-old girl from Detroit, and her best friend, Stefani. Together, they must save the Academy from a familiar villain who wants to seize control of the labyrinth – and exact revenge on Elizabeth (who’s now the headmistress) in the process.

I’ve written these books for the same audiences that enjoy the magical, whimsical and adventure-filled worlds of Harry Potter, The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins, Doctor Who and Alice in Wonderland. They’re suitable for all ages, but you don’t have to be a kid to enjoy them. (My father, the political science professor, loved the Harry Potter books, and these are designed to be in the same vein.)

Oh, and be on the lookout for fun, semi-hidden references and tributes to a number of fantasy and science fiction works. See how many you can find.

The books in this series are available on Amazon in paperback and ebook form, and are also accessible through Kindle Unlimited. Check them out today!

Writing an Amazon book review: worse than a root canal?

Note: With reluctant apologies to J.K. Rowling, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, I following is a lighthearted look at why most writers not bearing those names find turning readership into Amazon reviews more difficult than transmuting lead into gold. Difficult, but not impossible: I’m immensely grateful for readers who take the time to leave reviews of my books. You are a rare and precious breed. I love you eternally.

The Amazon book review. Authors covet them nearly as much as Gollum longs for his precious and Wile E. wants that Roadrunner. Short of the New York Times bestseller list, they’re the Holy Grail for writers. And they’re just as elusive, too.

For the longest time, I wondered why so few readers bother to leave them. But then I hit on something during a recent trip to France that I think explains it all better than even Clarissa could. I’ve never been to France, but that didn’t stop me from traveling there in my mind to visit the abode of famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel. As it happened, the door was unlocked and the place was empty when I arrived, which afforded me the chance to do a little snooping. And, while rummaging around in Flamel’s credenza, I made a notable discovery.

How did I obtain access to the famed 14th century alchemist’s credenza, you ask? Have you ever heard of the phrase “suspending disbelief”? Well, Flamel figured out how to do it: When I arrived in his domicile, I found disbelief suspended a good three feet above the aforementioned credenza. Its arms and legs were flailing madly in the air, a look of, well, disbelief on its face. My point is this: If Flamel can suspend disbelief, literally, you can, too!

“Why a credenza?” you ask? Because the word sounds damned cool, that’s why, and because I don’t believe I’ve ever used it on the printed page (or unprinted screen) before. So, if you would be so kind, please stop asking irrelevant questions and try a query that gets at the heart of the matter. Like – repeat after me – “What did you discover?”

Yes. Now that’s more like it. I think you’re getting the hang of this.

Within said credenza, the alchemist had deposited a caisson – another word I’ve never used in print – and within this caisson was a parchment scroll in a most delicate condition. Upon this scroll was written the following. No, not in English, in French, silly. I could decipher it because I had four years of high school French (actually three, but I skipped ahead to French 4 halfway through my senior year). Or perhaps because I’m making this whole thing up. I’ll let you figure out which. You might derive a hint from the fact that modern French is probably as different from 14th century French as modern English is from Beowulf. You know, that epic poem about the first werewolf that exhorted its readers to “be a wolf!” Talk about inspirational! I will tell you this much: I really did skip ahead to fourth-year French.

Flamel’s plot

However any of that may be, here’s my translation of what Flamel allegedly wrote: “I have discovered the key to immortality, the famed elixir of life!” This elixir, Flamel continued in scrawled, archaic French script, was in fact no elixir at all, but the written word. “It is through the written word that man shall transcend death and vanquish mortality! Thus shall his mind be known throughout eternity!” Flamel knew this, he said, because the philosopher’s stone (not the sorcerer’s stone, you dumbed-down Americanized Potterheads!) was inscribed with, yes, written words!

The stone was the source of all ancient wisdom and treasured lore. Kind of like the emerald tablet of Hermes or the collected scripts of Star Trek: The Original Series. If its secrets were to become known, anyone who might read them could live forever!

Flamel, however, didn’t want that. He was a jealous sort who coveted immortality for himself and himself alone, so he destroyed the philosopher’s stone and made it his sacred mission to limit the spread of the written word thenceforth, in perpetuity.

Being able, like Nostradamus, Agnes Nutter and Grandmama Addams, to see into the future with uncanny accuracy, Flamel deduced that, at the dawn of the third millennium (common era), a “river of words” would begin flowing from something called “the Amazon.” Flamel, like most men of his age, was a bald-faced chauvinist, so he dismissed the idea that this prophecy might refer to a powerful woman, such as, say, Diana Prince or her alter egos, Lynda Carter and Gal Gadot. There had to be another interpretation.

This being the 14th century, no European had yet visited the New World (which was really no newer than the Old World was old). Nevertheless, Flamel, foreseeing the future, knew that this would occur when, in the midst of a prophetic reverie, he penned the following: “Therefore shall the Amazon be dammed up, that no man may review its course, denying all men access to the font of eternal life!” (the “font” in question being Times New Roman).

Flamel did, in fact, speak of “men” repeatedly because he was, as noted above, a bald-faced chauvinist. (Whether the top of his head was bald, too, is unclear, as his famous portrait shows him wearing a hat.) Despite being an alchemist, he wasn’t particularly enlightened. But then, the Enlightenment was still a few centuries away back then.

It should come as no surprise, when this is considered, that no evidence was found in his credenza, the caisson therein or anywhere else that he foresaw the equal rights movement. Even prophets see what they wish to see. Moreover, Flamel was not, by any means, perfect (unlike Agnes Nutter, who was not a man and who was considerably more accurate – and nicer – in her prophecies). But he was accurate enough, if not very nice about wanting to hoard all of immortality for himself!

Yes, indeed, he was accurate enough, even though his prophecies had nothing to do with a then-yet-to-be-discovered river, as he imagined. For at the dawn of the third millennium, a river of words did, indeed, begin flowing from “the Amazon.” A virtual river, to be sure, but still a river, it must be admitted. And that river became dammed – or was it damned? – by Flamel’s curse so that men (and women) had a devil of a time reviewing the words that flowed from “the Amazon’s” digital headwaters. Swimming against the current, so to speak.

I speak, naturally, of the aforementioned book reviews on Amazon, which readers are so hesitant to provide that it became quite clear to me something supernatural was afoot – Flamel’s curse being the most rational explanation. Without even the most curse-ory reviews, fewer books would sell, and a greater share of the eternal pie (or pi) would be reserved for Flamel, who, even though long dead, would continue to benefit (don’t ask me how; I haven’t figured that part out yet) even in the form of his formless specter.

Testing my theory

It seemed a reasonable enough conclusion. Still, I had to be sure. So, seeking confirmation of my theory, I sought to interview a few random readers who had failed to post reviews even though they were known to have purchased books from Amazon. Here are some of the responses I got.

• “I decided I’d rather clean the toilet.”

• “Oh, my significant other offered to do the dishes, but I realized that would leave me no excuse for reneging on my promise to post a review. So, I did the dishes and two loads of laundry on top of that!”

• “I spilled cod liver oil on my hands so I would have an excuse not to gum up my keyboard! Don’t ask me why I was drinking cod liver oil. I had my reasons. Besides, it was better than posting a review!”

• “I got a written excuse from my doctor. Or nurse practitioner. Or next-door neighbor who happened to be wearing a white T-shirt that would pass for a hospital uniform if you saw him from the other end of a football field. It’s all the same.”

These responses were suspicious enough, but what really got me were the next few:

• “It’s against my philosophy.”

• “Dude. Chill. I was too stoned.”

• “I decided I’d rather reread the last four chapters of my philosophy textbook.”

• “I was afraid authors of competing books would stone me.”

• “I’d rather have a kidney stone that write a review!”

• “I got stuck at Phil and Sophie’s house.”

A definite pattern was emerging around philosophy and stones, and that could only mean one thing: Flamel’s curse was working. And it was working so well that readers would rather do anything except write a book review! Eat kale. Have a tooth extracted or even a root canal. Watch endless reruns of The PTL Club. Beat – or be beaten by – a dead horse. Anything!

(Among the excuses offered, tooth extraction seemed particularly apropos: Extracting reviews from readers can feel like pulling teeth!)

I looked at the parchment again and wondered: What if I were to burn it? Would that remove the curse? I struck a match and held it to the corner, which I was about to set ablaze when it occurred to me: This might be exactly what Flamel was counting on! I would be burning words on a paper, the very instruments of immortality he was trying to destroy (even if they were in French). I would be doing his work for him! I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. Or dammed. Probably both.;

Dejected, I returned the parchment to the caisson and the caisson to the credenza, hung my head and departed. It was plain that I would have to go back to begging and pleading for reviews, crawling to readers on my hands knees like some penitent medieval scribe, for all the good it would do me. Flamel was simply too accomplished an alchemist. I was beaten.

But I vowed, even so, that I wouldn’t stop writing. I’d even thumb my nose at old, dead Nicky Boy and write a little philosophy now and then. That would show him! I might not be able to beat him, but I could still grab a few crumbs from his precious pie of immortality for myself. Reviews or no reviews, I’ve still got a little bit of Harry Potteresque magic in my pen … er … keyboard, and I intend to use it!

Amazonus Scriptorus!

That’s got a nice ring to it. Now if I could just get J.K. Rowling to review one of my books! Who am I kidding, though. I may be a philosopher, but I’m no sorcerer!

This is a writer's most precious commodity

A writer’s voice is like his or her soul.

No offense to ghostwriters. I don’t mean to suggest you’re selling your soul by trying to sound like someone else. Everyone’s got to make a living, right?

Maybe that’s the problem, though. Writing is such a difficult way to make a living, that sometimes, it might seem like the best way to do so is to sound like someone else. I’m not just talking about ghostwriters. I’m talking about authors across the spectrum who can't help but feel the pressure to write the "next" Twilight or Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.

I have three words of advice: Resist that pressure.

Because ...

1. Someone’s already done it better than you possibly could, even if you were the best writer in the known universe, because the person who did it first was the original.
2. Apart from that, another "someone else" out there can probably do it better than you can, too. No offense, but in a world of 7 billion people, there are probably just a few writers who are more gifted than you are.
3. Most fans of established authors aren’t looking for the “next J.K. Rowling.” They’re looking for the next book from J.K. Rowling.
4. Trying to emulate another author too closely isn't much more creative than filling in the blanks on a Mad Libs game (remember those?). We all try to emulate successful and talented authors; at a certain point, however, a line is crossed between inspiration and mimicry that's like comparing a bus stop to a bus. To put a finer point on it: Even if it feels like you're spinning your wheels, that's far better than not having any.
5. And, most importantly, if you’re writing like someone else, you’re not writing like yourself. Which is not only a big loss for your readers (because no one else can write like you can), it’s can also be personally demoralizing. Is there anything that puts a bigger damper on the creative instinct than the feeling that you can only find success by imitating someone else? Maybe there is, but I can’t think of one.

Your voice is your most precious commodity as a writer. You may feel like, as an author, you're on a leaky lifeboat in the middle of a storm-tossed sea (and what author hasn't felt that way at one point or another?) In such moments, the last thing you should throw overboard is your voice. That's your life-preserver.

Day jobs

The good news is that, contrary to what many readers believe, the vast majority of authors don’t make their living writing books. They’re journalists, science teachers, medical doctors, public relations professionals, website designers … you name it. Even many of those who have won awards use writing to supplement their incomes rather than to pay the rent.

This may not sound like good news, especially to the large number of authors who would love to quit their day jobs and make a living from their writing. But consider this: If you have a day job, it gives you the same kind of freedom authors like Rowling and King and Patterson have —the freedom to write whatever the hell you want.

If you’re a mid-range writer on a contract who’s struggling to make ends meet, you might have a lot of people telling you that you need to write specific things that sound like a specific someone else.

How much fun is that?

“I could never be a novelist because then I would have to stop being a ‘write-for-TV-sometimes-ist’ or whatever the things are that I want to work on,” bestselling author, scriptwriter, etc. Neil Gaiman said in a 2014 interview. “I have the freedom to write whatever I want, for example children’s books.”

Gaiman is, in fact, a novelist, and he’s written some very good fiction. His point is, he isn’t just a novelist. He’s other things, too, and he can afford to be those things because he's "made it."

What those of us with day jobs often fail to realize is that we can do the same thing. We may not be free to write as much as someone at the top of the pyramid, like Gaiman, but we do have the same kind of freedom. So instead of trying to “make it” by writing like someone else — and becoming entrenched in a less-than-creative process of grinding out the next not-quite-so-great fill-in-the-blank title, why not exercise that freedom?

Original spin

I have a day job, and I don't make enough to live off writing books. Would I like to? Sure. But I’m luckier than most because my day job involves writing (I’m a newspaper editor/reporter) and exposes me to plenty of fodder for my off-the-clock writing.

That’s allowed me to, like Gaiman, explore a diverse array of topics and genres. I've written (as Stifyn Emrys) books that are philosophical and inspirational, and (under my own name), I've tackled speculative fiction and historical nonfiction.

As long as I don’t get caught up in worrying about “making it,” the process is a lot of fun. Plus, I get to keep my own voice.

My foremost criterion in writing each of the books I’ve written for Linden Publishing — Fresno Growing Up, Memortality and Highway 99 — has been originality. People had written about Fresno’s pioneer years before, but they hadn’t focused primarily on the Baby Boom generation. There are tons of books out there about Route 66, but Highway 99, which was similarly important out here on the West Coast, had received little such attention. As to Memortality, I have yet to run across another story that pairs the concept of a person’s eidetic (photographic) memory with a supernatural ability to raise the dead.

What fun is it to cover the same old ground, anyway?

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but I’ve never been interested in flattering anyone. I’ll stick to plain ol' sincerity and hope someone else likes what I’m putting out there. If so, I’ll be ecstatic. If not, I’ll still have had a ton of fun along the way.

Photo by Ray Dumas.

Value your voice

A good editor will:

1. Fix errors in spelling, grammar and usage.
2. Point out inconsistencies and content gaps.
3. Suggest ways to tighten and punch up your writing.
4. Give you ideas about where to take a story.
5. Suggest changes in style where they may slow down or confuse the reader.

But a good editor will never simply change your voice without consulting with you. Changing your voice without asking or just because it sounds better to the editor’s ear is not OK. (Your ear matters as much as or more than the editor’s — suggestions are fine; wholesale changes without consultation most definitely are not.)

If you come across an editor who wants to significantly change your voice, my advice is to run like hell, don't look back and keep on writing.