Michael Prim does what any good cop would do upon discovering a soul reaving sorcerer is hunting on his beat, he goes to war, until hell hounds and the other worldly Rashfellen warriors come after him. Then it is time to get a little help from his friends, namely a tough as nails veteran and a zombie like prostitute who holds a soul trapped in a magical jar. And when that fails, there is his most hated enemy, the gang member who murdered his partner but now holds the power to kill Travass Isegurad and unravel the mystery of the Sionk.
Fame is probably a lot more work than it is worth. I have always enjoyed music and played in rock bands since high school and thus had some good friends who really enjoyed being the center of attention. These natural performers were always on stage. My best friend in high school definitely had world-class musical talent and probably still does; we have not talked for years. Once, in a music store, he played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata on the piano, and everyone in the place stopped to listen. He put us in a trance—and this was primarily a store for heavy metal guitarists.
The amazing thing about this story is that the piano was not his primary instrument. At parties he would do handstands and back flips, making boisterous jokes, and do amazing tricks. He could use is abdominal muscles to move a quarter up and down his torso. On the other hand, I dreamed of being the center of attention, but hated it when it happened. The only exceptions being activities like jumping over bonfires or “skiing” behind a pick-up truck by holding the bumper and praying my rocker cowboy boots didn’t catch an imperfection in the pavement.
One of the tricks I use when I edit is to read my work in progress out loud, sometimes into a digital recorder, and imagine that I am captivating my audience. When the words work aloud and during silent reading, I start to think there is some magic happening. I have done this for years. Recently, I went to my first meeting of the Kansas Writers Association and volunteered to read. It went fairly well, though I was self-conscious because of some violence and profanity in the scene I chose to read, which is what happens when you change your mind about which chapter you will read at the last minute. Despite several compliments, I nearly imploded with self-conscious depression during the drive home. I am now more careful what I wish for.
If I had to pick between fame and fortune, the latter would win. Now, I have no experience with fortune in the sense of life-changing wealth, so this could be a mistake. But I am willing to take that chance. I think having the respect of the most important people in your life makes you fortunate. Possessing the monetary fortune necessary to write fulltime would make me ridiculously happy, much than fame. People often become famous for negative reasons. Famous people have to work to maintain their fame and remain the center of attention. It would be easier to build a “platform” as a famous author, but I have always hoped the stories would sell themselves.