Broad Appeal

Another descriptor to game the system

Hey! Who are you on the inside?

When the mask is finally taken off and the layers are painfully peeled back, the person waiting on the other side can be quite a surprise.

The man in the mirror and the lies we tell ourselves, there’s a comfort in that naked desire for faithful truth.

Understanding the complexity hiding just beneath the surface in each and every one of us is why I don’t like reducing our essence to a few keywords optimized for SEO.

(The formatting of the bullet points may be a little off if you’re reading this as an email.)

When I made that post last month, all I was doing was following a trend and hoping to have an impact on my visibility. The words were largely lost in the social media void though.

It was an interesting exercise in summing up an ideal—accidentally describing my target audience as myself.

Why wouldn’t it be?

Wouldn’t it be strange to write something I don’t enjoy?

And yet a recurring question among those with my best interest in their heart is, “who exactly wants to read your books?”

The implied sentiment being, “I’m sorry, John, your writing is just not for me,” with an extended clause on how I could make a better effort to capture a more profitable audience.

However, there’s more to storytelling than watching the number go up. A certain amount of stability would definitely be welcome—for both myself and those aforementioned charitable souls—but I do not believe the two are fundamentally opposed.

I choose to believe there are others out there like me—readers drawn to the kind of stories I write.

If you think you know someone who would be interested in my worlds, well don’t be afraid to share this and my other writing with them:

So, in a different jumbled mess of thoughts and prayers, like a moth to a flame I am drawn to the tales I tell, because they are the only thing illuminating the dark shoreline.

Love and Light

In last week’s flash fiction, I included a brief portion of a song as the unnamed character approached an unknown coast. Those words were actually lyrics written by my uncle, Charles Evans.

It may be a bit hard to read, but the full song is inscribed on the obelisk pictured above. For some context, my uncle wrote Lighthouse for my Auntie Susan—those who have read to the very end of Maneus may recognize that name!

While putting together my new world across the strait, I immediately thought of my uncle’s song when I discovered El Faro Les Éclaireurs—a wonderful name mixing languages and locations.

One of the closest points of contact between Antarctica and her neighbor.

The way my uncle wove in his love for my aunt, how she illuminated safe passage away from his dark thoughts and toward a bright future, matched that feeling of a long, difficult, and almost unsuccessful journey.

The most human of emotions are never a denial of our shared pain, but a celebration of what we overcome.

Disappointment follows when those expectations are undone.

Is This It?

We finally docked and I was not impressed. Compared to the might of Veranum, this was nothing but a tiny fishing village.

I struggled to accept that we always thought those who lived on the other side had it better. We all grew up imagining a paradise beyond comprehension. We were a fresh colony compared to the ancient history hiding somewhere past the horizon.

The sacrifices my people endured to leave the cold continent were always in pursuit of a better life abroad. To witness the truth with my own eyes—it was all for naught.

There was no glory across the strait, just these sleepy shores.

“Where’s the university?” I started with a more concrete question to balance my sealegs. An old fisherman was escorting us into some kind of waiting area that doubled as a local cafeteria. He wore a yellow raincoat and had grown out his beard long and fluffy.

“Look towards the setting sun!” The old fisherman pointed out across the bay, but I found nothing in particular that stood out. Every building in Oshovia looked equally unimpressive.

“I don’t see anything?” I asked again, as politely as I could.

“The train’s heading there now. Follow the steam and you’ll see where it stops.” He responded without any malice. He was confident in what and where his home was.

“I still don’t see it…” I let some of my disappointment drip onto the dock and the old fisherman rubbed his face before offering another response.

“You’re from Antarctica proper, aren’t you?” He extended his hand and smiled, revealing decades and decades of wrinkles from his work at sea.

“Yeah.” I answered in kind, taking his hand and accepting the greeting. I was somewhere completely new even though we were meant to be the same country.

“Well, welcome to the greater Antarctic Collective, son.” The old fisherman laughed and motioned for me to follow him inside.

I waited for a moment. I wanted to watch the train come to a stop. Somewhere at the west end of the bay. That was where their prestigious university settled in.

Even from so far away, I could tell it was nothing special and definitely under-funded.

A third-rate school in Veranum would likely offer a better education. Although the adventure could never dare to compare.

Written Stars

I haven’t fully dived into my new project, Significatorius, but the plot and the world are coming together nicely.

I’ve rather enjoyed fleshing out a bit of the bridge between Besnowed and what’s waiting in this new story over the past few weeks.

There are a few smaller details I’ve yet to make firm decisions on. I do feel like that’s holding me back, but if it makes the rest of the process smoother, I’ll wait a little longer.

In the meantime, now’s the perfect time to read my other book set in this world:

❄️ Besnowed — The warmth of winter in a book: Love, memories, meals, and snow.

And if Besnowed doesn’t catch your attention, I hope one of my other books do:

☕ Maneus - Philosophically flawed fantasy: Chaos, mountains, and magic|
🗡️ Rhean - Fantasy adventure reforging a broken sword (prequel to Maneus)
☄️ Revification - Short surreal scifi thriller about falling into a wormhole and out of trauma
💡 Lux Aeterna - Corporate satire in a novella filled with poetic letters

Otherwise, I’ll keep peeling back the layers, searching for the soul of Significatorius. Somewhere beneath the mask, I know the story is waiting to come alive.

Feel free to follow the journey.

Until next time.

—JMB