I'm about to head back into my Writing Zone, which is a giant sea turtle with a typewriter strapped to its shell, so I thought I'd check in with you all before I go.

First off, status report: my foot was bothering me, so I have replaced them both with authentic splintery pirate peg legs. They call me Wightbeard.

I was sick for a while, but now the nanobots in my bloodstream will be able to defend against the bioweapon that attacked me far more efficiently than ever before. Those who attacked me have only made me stronger.

And I have made significant progress on Dreadgod, but I am forbidden by ancient compact to speak of it much more. Blame the team.

I can only say a little, starting with the fact that I am climbing onto my sea turtle to write something new. Something that is not Cradle.

I can't say if it's a novel, a short story, a travelogue, or a fictitious airplane magazine, but it is something new. I've enjoyed working on it so far. It's been a long time since I've gotten to make up a new thing.

And making things up is, as they say in France, "fun."

-Will

P.S. I'd feel bad for leaving you with so little, so here's a tiny taste of Dreadgod.

Minor SPOILER WARNING, because it is a line from the book, but it is still out of context and won't spoil much.

Ozriel stood next to the Vroshir, white hair flowing behind him, a satisfied smile on his face. “So Daruman told you I was weak, did he?”

Gerravon closed his eyes and remembered his life.

“Weaker,” the Reaper said. “He should have said weaker.”

I wanted to make sure I thanked you all for the Kickstarter's success yesterday, because today I'm announcing a project that will dwarf the Kickstarter in scope and ambition.

I was sitting around chatting with twelve other indie fantasy authors, which is something we often do, and we were discussing Avengers: Endgame and how irritated we were that it is so often considered "the most ambitious crossover event in history."

We decided to prove Marvel wrong by creating Jäger(master), a book with so many authors that it HAS to be good. The thirteen of us wrote it in the same way that we speak in real life: alternating with each other one word at a time.

I had the honor of writing every first word myself, whereupon Dakota Krout took over with every second word, followed by Davis Ashura, then Phil Tucker, John Bierce, Sarah Lin, Luke Chmilenko, Michael Chatfield, Andrew Rowe, Nobody103, Shirtaloon, Evan Winter, and every thirteenth word by Bryce O'Connor.

See, if you enjoyed a book by one author, a book by thirteen authors trading off words has to be thirteen times better. The math checks out.

Here are the details for our hive-mind's newest masterpiece:

Bud Wiser was long known as the greatest warrior of the grand realm of Hi-Nak’en. He was a man of measure, of clout and power, whose skill with a blade was never matched.
 
That all changed in death.

Sacrificing himself to save a small child from being trampled by a team of draft horses, Bud finds himself in the presence of a god. Unfortunately for him, this particular deity is obviously overworked and underpaid, because they hardly let him get a word out before tiredly assuring him his next life will be one of “plenty and leisure” as a “reward” for his bravery and fighting spirit on Hi-Na’ken. The next thing Bud knows, he’s waking up from a night of drunken revelry, finding himself the sole proprietor of a bustling tavern whose patrons are clamoring for food and drink. Worse, almost immediately Bud makes a terrible realization:
 
In this strange new world, the laws of magic dictate that the only objects one can touch and wield are those relevant to the “Job” the gods assign them at birth.
 
And what’s Bud’s new Job? What is the role assigned by the heavens to the former champion of world order?
 
… “Tavern Owner”.

ON SALE NOW!