The book is being reviewed right now and while the next edit continues, I like to read through an eBook version and pick out sections to enhance with artwork. Now, I say enhance because I don’t like books with art that draw you from the story. I prefer small sketches that help a reader experience more of a scene. It’s not as easy as it may sound, however.

The first piece I did was when several readers asked me about Chucks staff. It’s described over and over in the books and so it became important to show exactly what this magical piece of wood looks like. I started with some simple doodles and ended up with a pencil sketch that grabbed the attention of everyone I showed it to. What I was looking for was a unanimous reaction: “That’s what I thought it looked like!” It didn’t take them away from the story—it simply confirmed what they already believed.

Another piece was what I finished tonight: Chucks cottage.

Imagine a run down, hand built, rustic old cottage, leaning slightly to the north with a thatch roof and windows off-center. A decaying wooden fence wrapping around a small yard with a flower garden, a small well and apple trees. That’s the first impression of the great Morphiophelius’ home. The only thing the picture is missing is the garden Gnome, Bob. But that’s another story in itself. What you find inside the cottage, well…you’ll have to read the book for that. Spoilers.

It’s so much fun to sit and let my heart work through my fingers. To share what lives in my mind, even when I have to keep some of it under control. I want so much to share this world with you–to give you a sense of what I see and feel every day within this story. To help you feel more of the adventure, by providing simple, but detailed parts of the world.

I’m so excited we’re coming close to the release of this next book. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I love making it for you.

-Jaime Buckley

No matter what I tried, it just wouldn’t work. Words were coming out, but it was garbage.  I wasn’t able to focus. At first I thought it was the illness, but it was something simpler.

My brain was empty.

I know, people say that to me all the time…but this time it was true! There’s one thing I remember reading from one of Amanda Hocking’s blog posts: she read almost as much (or more) than she wrote. She needed to fill her brain after she’d drained it writing those fun stories.

So what did I do? An experiment, of course!
I got out my Nook, opened up a Terry Pratchett book and started reading…and laughing…and smiling….which led to writing. After two hours of reading, I did 4 hours of writing.

So remember: as you work on your own projects–make sure to feed your brain!

-Jaime Buckley

Uh, no.

Believe it or not, writing is not only a job–it’s a difficult one. At least if you want to be good at it and make money at it (so I’m told, anyway). Yet many assume you have all this free time on your hands because “he’s just a writer”.

My goals have been so simple. I don’t want to reveal what they are, because I don’t want to look like an idiot. However, I will share something important that I’ve learned during this process of becoming a writer. That’s the difference between your brains. Yes, I mean brains as in plural. People already think I’m a loon, so I have nothing to lose here–follow along.

There are three brains that I have had to deal with. The first is my writer brain. That’s the creative genius…or at least his half-wit cousin that plays a banjo. I use the writer brain to plot, to craft, to shape and generate a world and everything in it. That brain has characters that talk and walk and have conversations with me at all hours of the night. That brain sketches worlds and wonders which I still get chills about. It’s also the brain I like to listen to often.

The second brain is the priority or reality brain. That’s the one that knows a clock’s ticking and no matter what your loves, dreams and goals are, bills will come and bills have to be paid. It’s the brain that says “you need a job, Jack, or move your sorry butt faster and get these books done NOW!” Brain two keeps the tally going of all the in and out’s of financial matters, agreements and debts both through written and honorable handshakes (yes, these still exist).

The third brain is the most important to me, but also the most painful and even destructive. It’s the love brain. The one that’s a father, a husband and it reminds me, not only of all those who believe in me and encourage me…it reminds me when I’m not working fast enough. It will scream that I’m letting those same people down. It’s the brain that shouts at me to create a schedule, not to be more productive, but to create more stability in the lives of others. This is the self-sacrificing brain that can…and many times does, jeopardizes the whole journey.

Each brain has their place and I believe we need all three. The challenge is finding that balance. Coming to grips with the needs of each and establishing a truce so that all can function and coexist.

The truth is,…I’m trying to figure out how to lock the little buggers in a closet until I’m done with my book.

-Jaime Buckley

Then why do it? It’s bloomin fun, that’s why.

Nothing gets your heart pounding faster than running from a group of semi-intelligent creatures, who want to catch you for the express purpose of sucking your eyes from your skull, …then using your tongue for a soup base. Yeah, that’ll wake you up in the morning!

So how did I land the Vallen assignment from the FAF? You have to understand that the greater the danger in an assignment, the greater the prestige, money and opportunities for future assignments. It also means that the competition between fishis becomes, shall we say…creative.

Being the lowest on the corporate totem pole, it was actually by chance that I was even considered in the first place.
I’d already been gathering information on my own, over the years. Dad had helped me get a desk job at the main office in District 8. Easy for him to drop me off and pick me up after hours, and build his own relations with key members of the Council. I dealt with journal entries, requisition forms, entering shipping manifests and the like. As exciting and fast-paced as a snail snot trail in winter, but it paid the bills. Fortunately, my dedication and eye for detail had saved the department thousands in credit expenditures, which landed a part-time apprentice position in the research department.

I spent late nights collecting data and cross-referencing entries, starting a private database on the Vallen. It was during this time that my supervisor, Professor Lundy Banyard, called a private meeting.

It’s his job, to approve all new group topics in the database…which included my Vallen project. He’s not a snoop, mind you, but all the supervisors keep close eye on the storage capacity for their departments. That storage of information is part of a professors own portfolio. His or her team helps shape the knowledge of the Archives under their direction—which means they not only take credit, they are held accountable. The storage monitoring system allows a professor, without having to directly pry, to know if progress is being made on any particular subject. All they have to do is watch the file size. When my project started using up more than our allotted quota, he called me in.

Professor Banyard is a pleasant, unassuming fellow, cheerful and quite encouraging by nature. His bald head gave off such a shine, you could floss your teeth in the reflection, or be blinded from the overhead lights if you sat in the wrong place. He seemed a bit nervous when I came in that day. I assumed it was because I had not met my deadline on the Mating Patterns Of Deep Lake Nestor Fish.

I mean, come on—how much do you really want to know about the reproductive nature of a bottom dweller? Exactly. So I sat down and was about to give my rehearsed excuse, when he blurted out, “You’re researching Vallen?”

His voice is still so vivid in my head, because there was this little squeak that rolled out with it. He coughed and then quickly swallowed, his look of surprise morphing into a strange attempt at a scowl.

“Is that…illegal?” I remembered asking.

He strummed his fingers on his desk and coughed again, clearing his throat. “No,” he said, “Just surprising, Höbin. As a member of the research department, you can work on any subject that pulls your attention, but…” he paused, considering, “that’s a huge leap for a fishis still green in the field.”

“I’ve always been curious about the race that drove us into the sea,” I replied. It was the truth.

Professor Banyard asked permission to see the work that was taking up so much of the teams memory space. He didn’t have to, but I can see why he did—it get’s him brownie points with his team. We trust him, because he trusts us.  So, I agreed.

For two days his office door was shut and I later learned he’d cancelled his appointments with two heads of departments, just so he could review the material.

On the third day, two remarkable things happened. One, I was hired on full time in the research department and two, Professor Banyard submitted my name in the field pool. Just like that, I was in! Able to compete for assignments, regardless of seniority level.

My first bid? The field assignment for Vallen research.

Out of a pool of about 200 fishis currently employed full time by the Fishis Archive Foundation, only eleven vied for the Vallen project. The reasons were simple: it was dangerous, there was no increase in hazard pay and best of all, you were required to make at least one trip to the Vallen homeland to study and verify the habitat.

The fact that technology was banned on the trip to Chäk-Näh, the continent where the beasts live, knocked out more than half the list. The FAF didn’t want any chance of the enemy getting hands on our inventions…and most of the fishis couldn’t draw. So a simple matter of requiring artistic talent narrowed the list down to myself and four other agents.

All I had to do was…motivate them to give up. That, or make sure they didn’t get to the presentation forum, where the FAF Council heard the material of each applicant, and then made their decision. When you present, you’re judged on three criteria: insight, professionalism and flavor. Not only do you have to be able to collect the data, you have to make it tasteful to the readers.

My opponents were, Coulson Rigg and Berger Coen from the geology wing–both as new to this as I was, but without much talent. Berger’s father was in the administration office and his job was a shoe in. I had respect for Coulson—he’d worked his way up from his application. Next was Fred Rutter, and he was as rude and mean as his name sounds. An old veteran who never gave an underdog a shot. His aim was to take all the high paying gigs and hope to live long enough to enjoy the money. Huge drinker, lived alone. My last, and fiercest opponent, was Anselm Packard—the golden boy of the department. Not only did I fear his skill and determination, I admired it.

Packard was the kind of talent that could call the shots. The administration let him run his own outfit, including two full-time assistants and a fund for traveling expenses. He produced the most popular guide of Clockworks City: The Gnomes Genial Guide to Sightseeing, Survival and Success. Sold over six hundred million copies and put the FAF on the public map for more than toilet literature.

He would be hard to beat.

The day before the presentation rounds, I created four Good Luck baskets from ‘secret admirers’ and sent them to my competitors. Riggs, Coen and Packard all got sugar muffins, laced with enough tymp-weed, to give a rhino explosive diarrhea for a week. Rutter, on the other hand, received a generous bottle of General Miffy’s 130 proof engine de-greaser. It’s called engine de-greaser for legal reasons, but everyone drinks it anyway. Just to make sure, I added a few drops of nukuyä oil through the cork with a needle. Nukuyä is a rare sedative, used by the mägo.

When the day arrived, I waited with crossed fingers. Only one showed up. Unfortunately, it happened to be Anselm Packard.