How does one begin? I suppose it comes down to a few key questions a novelist must answer, at least to himself. Convention would point to (if not outright demand) a careful description of the what preceding that of the when, where, how, and, most importantly, why.
The journey to finished novel is likely as interesting as the work itself, so I will articulate this in a series of posts leading to the debut of The Summons.
What is THE EIGHTH DIVINITY?
First, what is The Eighth Divinity (abbreviated TED?) It’s a polyptych science fiction fantasy series following seven characters in the modern world–seven being their number, we expect the eighth to draw the divine from these special people. Then again, many come in the stead of the eighth, sufficient in arrogance to grasp and fumble at the power left behind by an ancient superspecies called the Vandaar.
The telling of the seven’s lives acquaints us with a range of topics, including ufology, noetics, nuclear disarmament, genetics, and artificial intelligence. The seven major characters discover a world of intrigue surrounding them.
They encounter interdimensional visitors–a highly advanced species from Ghya, a sister world to Falterra (their name for Earth.) These Ghyans explain that the seven are, in fact, Vesyks–relic beings engineered by the Vandaar for an awesome purpose.
But the Ghyans aim to exploit the Vandaar’s legacy, an objective shared by in-the-know governments and corporations on Earth. The series begins with the Preskamon, a summons reverberating through time and space. In The Eighth Divinity, the heroes are good, the villains are complicated, and there’s plenty of ground between.
And, not insignificantly, this series is 100% brainscribed™–human written without generative or other AI (more on this below.) My brother bemoaned that a writer must point this out, but I believe we’re approaching a critical value in this space.
When and where?
The Eighth Divinity begins in our world, perhaps at the present date. We cannot cloak the social unrest and upheaval in our world, but TED carries its own set of explanations. Today is the most important day to be alive–TED catapults readers about the globe as characters in Russia, Norway, Japan, and America hear and act upon the summons, or Preciamon.
A trope I dislike in most fiction is time travel–it is illogical, and, as Stephen Hawking attempted to prove in 2009, it is likely impossible. Drama suffers when we uproot the irreversible permanence of certain things (such as death.) It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Back to the Future, Harry Potter, and Star Trek: First Contact.
I once had an American literature professor named Kilman–he said something I’ve never forgotten in his discussions on poetry. In particular, he said that the posers bend and break words to match rhythm and rhyme, but true artisans of the craft find the words which function without mashing the rules of spelling and grammar to slop. Time travel, to me, is a crutch used to create a story quickly and dirtily.
It doesn’t mean we can’t conjure the long-lost twin here and there, but sacrifice is most meaningful when the consequences are permanent.
Indeed, one cannot include UFOs (as they once were anachronistically labeled) and alien invasion without explaining SETI’s holiest grail of conundrums–where are the decaying signals generated by ancient technology if there are species out there? Ray Kurzweil once stated that this lack of evidence meant we were likely alone. But TED sidesteps the issue by explaining the multidimensional component–energy signatures can be faked, much like voices, images, and even video.
How?
I’ve always found fourth wall epifictional work intriguing–the story behind the story can be every bit as interesting if not more so.
I’ve written stories since I was a child. Throughout elementary school, I wrote a series about King Arthur and Merlin, episodic time travel stories, and a fantasy in which friends and I discover a cave with all sorts of interesting items.
I cowrote a space exploration series with my best friend, of which very little remains today. It was unfortunate–beyond creative writing, I dropped the proverbial ball (or plume.)
But stories never left me–it was the COVID lockdown that recaptured my dormant urge to spin yarn. I first tried my hand at a space I know well–I wrote a trilogy of Star Trek novels sequelizing William Shatner’s unfairly maligned film, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. To me, the story left too many things unfinished, so I created a way forward. Of course, publishing such a novel proved impossible–Simon & Schuster and CBS aren’t keen on submissions by beginner novelists. It became clear to launch Trek novels, one must establish a reputation.
I had kicked several of the ideas in TED around for a few years now, deciding to bring my favorite inspirations into a single story. In particular, Cloud Atlas and Sensate resonated with me–multiple characters and storylines, together with worldlines connecting them.
I wrote the first draft of TED over six months, spending five to nine hours a day on it. I wasn’t sure where I was going, and what exists now stretches far beyond the early version. I wrote the story before the widespread adoption of generative AI, but I wouldn’t use the tool now even if I felt I needed it. I have friends in public education who believe it is watering down the communication skills of young folk. I won’t delve into details here, but it suffices to point out that brainscribed (human-generated) stories will become increasingly rare and important in the next few years. I will never use generative AI to compose for me–aside from the usual moral implications of contributing to an ads-inspired regression machine, I think ownership of original materials could become tenuous under a new paradigm governed by text that, let’s face it, very few people will ever read. I don’t really think of myself as a neo-Luddite, but I do believe we should divest from an economy of distraction. Technology should work for us, and I believe the important work of narrative should remain among human writers. Part of reading comprehension is learning to convey ideas oneself–giving generative AI a prompt, grabbing the text, and calling it a day hollows out the experience of thought.
Why?
TED is intended as an allegory, much like Star Trek or Star Wars, aimed as a vehicle to say something important (and, yes, preachy) about this world. For years, I vaulted opinions on a blog, social media, and more to discover that even if I reached people, I might never know it. Fiction can change hearts and minds, even if it can sometimes prove to be its own rabbit hole. The isolation of infirmity, the aloneness in an atomized society, and the oft-surprising connections we share all flow in cadence with the whole of lofty rationalization.
The truth is I love creativity: stories, vignettes, songs all flow from the same place. TED unifies many story elements I enjoy, drawing inspiration from my favorite stories, including the Odyssey series, the franchises I’ve mentioned, horror genre like Alien, and even video games: Bioshock, Mass Effect, Metroid, and even Elden Ring. I believe TED offers a fresh spin on important themes, delving at times into
Hiking a mountain furnishes the opportunity to look back at what one has done. Recording a song freezes an expression in time. Writing a story carves thought into stone, a living record which will long survive me.
The coming weeks will be eventful–my cover artist Daniel Schmelling is developing images I’ll share as we approach the release, so stay tuned.
I’ll continue posting as we meander to the release; these will include writing tips, behind-the-press peeks at the process, links to the Wikidivinity I’m developing to document TED‘s characters, species, mythologies, and more.
Until then,
Marty Lutece
The Summons of THE EIGHTH DIVINITY hits Kindle October 25, 2024!
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