Writing experiments are always fun. Especially when they are coupled with friends like Miles Cameron, another Canadian novelist, and dear friend. During our last bout together, we tried to write a short story in an hour whilst in a hotel room in downtown Toronto. Suffice it to say, harsh deadlines aside, it was an amusing misadventure with surprising results!
In addition to writing, I have been doing a lot of promotional design work for The Malevolent Seven, and pre-orders for Coles. These are actually quite cool, as, if you order before May 11th, you will receive a signed, dedicated copy of the book, as well as a full set of ‘Wonderists’ Cards.
You can also order cool, special editions of the book from Inkstone Books, Goldsboro Books, and Broken Binding. I am very excited for the launch of this book as it is one I have wanted to write for some time and was able to dive deep into all the beloved mayhem of rogue mercenary mages whilst also delving into the cost such talents would have on the soul, which in turn created some rather colourful and even endearing characters.
I am also currently trying to teach myself to throw cards, as I write about it a lot. Alas, I’m not very good at it yet. I might need Ferius to give me some lessons. However, it’s quite cool learning about the various techniques involved and how to hold the cards in order to project them with deadly precision and speed.
I’ve also been working out a lot. For no particular reason, just, you know, it’s nice to get stronger as you age instead of the other way around.
Les vieux maîtres de sort aiment raconter que la magie a un goût. Les sorts de braise ressemblent à une épice qui vous brûle le bout de la langue. La magie du souf e est subtile, presque rafraîchissante, un peu comme si vous teniez une feuille de menthe entre vos lèvres. Le sable, la soie, le sang, le fer… cha- cune de ces magies a son parfum. Un véritable adepte, autre- ment dit un mage capable de jeter un sort même à l’extérieur d’une oasis, les connaît tous.
'I totally saw this coming,’ Reichis growled, leaping onto my shoulder as lightning scorched the sand barely ten feet from us. The squirrel cat’s claws pierced my sweat-soaked shirt and dug into my skin.
The way of the Argosi is the way of water. Water never seeks to block another’s path, nor does it permit impediments to its own. It moves freely, slipping past those who would capture it, taking nothing that belongs to others. To forget this is to stray from the path, for despite the rumours one sometimes hears, an Argosi never, ever steals.