Author Interview: Alex Wu, author of Morocco, Maybe: A Love Story

Today's interviewee is Alex Wu, who recently released his debut novel, Morocco, Maybe: A Love Story.

Thank you for journeying all the way to Elflandia! Why don't you tell us a bit about your book?

Happy to be here! It's not every day I get to be in a magical realm like Elflandia. Let's see, my book … A woman backpacks through Morocco and falls in love with an archaeologist, only to discover that her job requires her to destroy the priceless historical treasure he's desperate to save.

What inspired you to write this story?

Years ago I traveled through Morocco. I thought it'd be a fantastic setting for a love story because the country is so atmospheric.

How did you learn so much about Morocco?

Most of the descriptions about Morocco came from my memory, aided by my photos. I also did some research online. Many of the things in the book, like the tomato thief and the train creep, actually happened to me.
What was your favorite part of Morocco?

The Sahara. I'd been to deserts before, but nothing on the scale and beauty of the Sahara. You can read all about it and look at all the pictures, but being there is completely different. Immersion is much more powerful, almost overwhelming. It's striking how vast, quiet, and lonely the Sahara is. Really made me feel minuscule.

What was the hardest part about writing this book?

The proofreading. I read the manuscript so many times, and every time I found at least one error.

The best part?

Finishing it, and getting it into a form that I was reasonably happy with. I had never written a novel before, so I wasn't sure I could do it. The most creative writing I'd done was a crappy short story I wrote in my high school English class. In the end, I realized that simply cranking a novel-length draft isn't that hard, since I write pretty fast. The harder part is the endless rewriting to improve it.

Who was your favorite character to write?

Kai. I gave him a lot of qualities I like in a human.

What motivates your characters?

Sara Meadows, the protagonist, is pragmatic. She grew up poor and in a broken family, so all she wants is security, even if it means doing things she finds distasteful. But as she realizes, that goal has a cost deeper than she anticipated.

For Kai Rissdale, the archaeologist Sara falls in love with, he is more of a free spirit and idealistic. But of course, his ethos has a cost too. There are no cost-free actions in life.

Do you sympathize with people who've had to give up their dreams?

Absolutely. I traded my dreams for a more pragmatic career. Most people do. I get that. After all, for most folks, feeding yourself is a bit more important than ideals. On the other hand, a totally pragmatic life is pretty boring. It seems like a waste of what is already a very short life. It's about finding the right balance, and the right balance is different for everybody. The hard part, of course, is finding that balance.

Do you ever kill characters? (You don't have to answer that!)

As a general matter, yes. I'm prone to killing characters. Perhaps I'm just a murderous person. There are few things that are as dramatic or sad as death, so it's tempting to use it in a story.

Tell us a little about yourself. What are you reading these days?

I'm reading Justin Cronin's The Passage. While writing Morocco, I read a bunch of women's fiction because I wanted to understand the genre the book is most likely to be shelved as. But generally I try to read widely, as that is the best way to learn about writing. Also I get bored reading the same genre over and over again.

Where did you grow up?

I was born in Taiwan. Moved to the US when I was nine. Since then, I've been living in Los Angeles except for a couple of years in Virginia.

What are you working on now? Do you have a sequel planned, or something new?

No sequel. Sara's story is done.

Now I'm working on a scifi novel. I'm not sure what genre I'm good at (if any), so my hope is to write in different genres until I find it. Also, since I get bored easily, it's more fun to write different things.

It's my observation that books seem to reflect their writers. What aspect of you is reflected in your book?
I'm an introspective kind of person, and I definitely overthink things. And I worry a lot. So I guess Sara is kinda like me, whereas Kai is more like who I want to be.

Would you like to leave us with a quote from your book/query?

A Yiddish proverb says: “Man plans, and God laughs.” Perhaps the trick is not to plan for the life you want, but to deal with the life you never expect.

Me: Good luck and thanks for everything!

The Magic Carpet

By Vasnetsov, 1880.

Gamayun: The Prophet Bird

Gamayun: The Prophet Bird, by Vasnetsov.

Moonlight

Kuindshi, Moonlight Night on the Dnieper, 1880.

Cut bits--from ch. 4, The Brindled Bane of Heave

Lusmore bustled into the room, then halted. "Your majesty." He bowed quickly.
Jasper stood and extended a hand, eager for any excuse to set aside his troubles. "I'm not a majesty." Face to face, Lusmore appeared only thirteen or fourteen years old, with a splash of freckles and a shock of sandy blonde hair. "You're human, aren't you?"
"Yes, your -- sire." Lusmore shook Jasper's hand as though afraid it would bite him. His insecurity smelled like fresh salmon. Humans, in Japer's experience, could barely perceive each other's hearts, and so made no effort to conceal their own.
"My mother was a human. Join us."
The hunchback stared. "Your mother, sire?"
He nodded. "We could be brothers, for all I know."
Lusmore smiled. "Then let me play you a tune, my brother." He tapped out the first few notes and began to fiddle. It was a simple version of a human piece, but he played it after his own fashion, and the rhythm danced in Jasper's heart and made him feel well again. Lusmore finished with a flourish, to which the listeners gave enthusiastic applause. He grinned. "Do you play, sire?"
"Not well." Jasper pulled a slim volume from the pocket of his coat and flipped it open. "I have tried to write some songs. I've translated a bit of dwarven poetry, if you care for it -- Alberich the Cunning."
This caught the attention of the baron's servants. "What does a fae want with the Great Smith?" asked a stout dwarf with the air of an ale-steward. Several grey-bearded dwarves grunted in agreement, glaring warily at Jasper.
"It is a gift for my nurse, to give to her children and grandchildren," said Jasper. "Many of the city dwarves no longer speak the mining tongue."
"Give us a read, then," said the steward. "Let's test the metal of your work."
He flipped through the pages, looking for a passage that was both well-translated and entertaining, gave up, and went back to the beginning.
"When the brindled bane of Heaven, monster of the river Van
Burst forth and overran the Earth, stretched his jaws to snatch the Sun
And devour the Moon and Stars...."
The steward grunted as Jasper finished. "Dwarvish is an uncommon interest for a fae." He rose and made to leave, his duties no doubt summoning him elsewhere. "The translation could be worse, though. I wouldn't mind a copy of it myself."
Jasper tucked the little volume back into his pocket. Of course, even if he did finish the translation, few dwarves could ever afford it. The cost of hand-copying manuscripts was enormous, and those funny presses used in the human world were still banned under some ancient edict.
He had once pressed his father on the matter, but the king had simply looked aghast. "And put a thousand of copyists out of business?" He would do no such thing.
Lusmore shuffled his feet. By his expression he seemed not to have particularly understood the poetry, but was too polite to say so. "Are you marrying Wilgis?"
"Wilgis?" Jasper almost smiled at the familiarity in the name.
"It is what her mother calls her," the hunchback hastened to add. He tugged his cuffs. "She is a gentle soul."
Jasper downed his ale and frowned at the dregs in the bottom of his cup. "She's simple."
"Aye, sire, but I'm as ugly as they come, and she has always been kind to me."
"An act of kindness is the greatest beauty in the world." Jasper sighed, remembering how Lyta had tried to heal the gash in his side.
Lusmore spread his hands. "When she walks in the garden, the hummingbirds land on her. She gives crumbs to the mice, and even the shadows gather to hear her sing."
Jasper bit his lip. Who was he to judge? Perhaps he did not deserve so good a wife.
And yet, no matter how fine a person she might be, she was still a child. He could not possibly marry her, but how to go against his father's wishes? If the whole affair were his stepmother's doing, perhaps he would not be too enraged if Jasper quietly refused the lass?
He shook his head. It would never work --
A thunderclap burst through the castle. The floor buckled. Lusmore grabbed the table as Jasper fell. Candles clattered to the ground and shadows ripped through the walls.
They were under attack. The nightmares had returned.
Jasper ran, terrified. Another thunderclap, and the shadows tore past him. Spines slashed his cheek. He stumbled into the banquet hall as flames rippled up the wooden walls and into the roof. Shadow teeth sank into his arms. He yanked off the oozing mass of darkness and flung it into the flames. Thatch crashed down around him, heart pounding. He was trapped.
Jade emerged from the smoke and grabbed his hand. She dragged him through the roaring darkness to a break in the wall. Starlight winked beyond. He gasped and filled his lungs with cool wind. Dust and ash stung his eyes as they crossed a ditch and made their way up a small hill. Jasper spotted his other sisters, flanked by goblin footmen. Rob ran toward them, shouting. They were safe.
Wilgefortis. Jasper whirled. Where was she? He'd left her behind.
The chief steward knocked him over as he tried to climb back through the crack. "Move!"
Jasper ducked back in and weaved through the smoke. "Lusmore!"
The human lad staggered toward him, helping Wilgefortis over the flaming debris. She looked hurt. Jasper grabbed a timber that barred their way and heaved it aside. Lusmore leapt through the gap in the wall, and they pulled Wilgefortis into the night.
The ground began trembling again. Jasper pelted toward Jade as an enormous black wolf rose from the wreckage. It rushed at them, mouth agape, eyes burning.
The brindled bane of Heaven.
Jasper wrapped his arms around Jade, shielding her as burning cinders rained down. The king cried out the spell of light, summoning an enormous, flickering ball. Baron Willis charged forward, sword in hand, splitting the creature's flaming breath and driving the glowing blade deep into the monster's chest.
It screamed and was no more.
It was a moment before Jasper heard his own breathing, the pulse throbbing in his ears, the soft hiss of mist falling on embers. The wind had died, and he was bleeding from gashes in his arms and legs, smarting from burns on his hands and face.
The king's magic light rose above them like a second moon, casting its silvery rays over the little group gathered on the hill. Jasper picked an ember from Jade's hair and cast it aside. Everything was soon coated with a fine mud. Baron Willis knelt in the grass, panting, the blade of his sword still glowing red, the grass before it burnt away for a hundred yards. This was why he had been made a baron.
Sapphire, Jasper's youngest sister, began to wail. Jade knelt to comfort her. Wilgefortis and Lusmore stood nearby, arm in arm. She was standing on one foot, but looked otherwise all right. Jasper felt pricking shame at having nearly forgotten her.
To Hell with this marriage. The girl he could not love had someone more worthy than himself, and he would not betray her for the memory of a kiss that never was.
Amber, future queen of the Golden Isles, stood apart from the others and watched the fire burn.

Scraps from the Cutting Rooom Floor

"How do you know he didn't eat the horse's soul?" Lyta asked, looking back at the wreckage of the ruined cart.
"Because you don't do that to a friend," said Jasper, tension creeping into his voice.
She looked back at him. "What about Bess?"
He grimaced. "Bess made a bargain -- a stupid one."
Lyta's lips curved into a pout. She was obviously uncomforted by this response.
"And stop looking at me like that. I'm your husband, not a beast," he snapped.
Her eyes went wide and her lip trembled. Before Jasper could say anything else, she leaned in close and kissed him. "I love you," she whispered.

A note on writing alcohol

While we are at it, I have some similar thoughts on the subject of alcohol in books.

To be clear: I have drunk very little alcohol in my life. Everything I know, I learned from talking to other people or just doing a bit of research on the internet. So I am no expert! Even so, I often see authors (especially aspiring ones) make some funny mistakes with the characters' alcohol.

The most common mistake, which I have seen many different times from different authors, is for a relatively high-class character relaxing with a glass of randomly-selected alcohol (say, a light desert wine,) to chug it all, giving a theatric grimace of pain.

So much no.

1. The only time down large quantities of alcohol all at once is if they are trying to get drunk as quickly as possible. If so, the alcohol is probably cheap and crappy and your character is not particularly high class. This may be how people act at frat parties, but it is not how people who can afford expensive drinks generally approach alcohol.

So how do they drink?

In general, most people drink by, well, drinking. Same as you might sip a cup of tea or have a glass of juice with a meal. A glass of wine is sipped; a shot of whiskey is savored. Depending on the situation, your character might not even get drunk.

"But wait," I hear you saying, "Isn't whiskey one of those alcohols people chug, because it tastes so bad?"

Look, I think whiskeys and scotches taste absolutely awful, even the fancy Japanese ones. But people who actually drink these things assure me that they find the flavor pleasant, and I have never seen anyone chug expensive whiskey and then sit there grimacing. Think about it: why would you pay $150 for something you find unpleasant?

Which leads me to number two...

2. Not all alcohols are the same. A dinner wine is not vodka and is drunk under different circumstances. Scotch is not beer. Pick the alcohol that is appropriate to your character and the situation; don't just pick at random.

On a related note, if you have never been to a club or bar, I recommend visiting one or at least talking to someone who has visited one before writing about them, as ignorance in this department will show.

Happy writing, my friends!

Amber is Basically a Terrible Person (Another scrap)

Amber's jewel-encrusted goblet clunked against the table as Jasper entered her chamber. He attempted his most artful bow, but her glare remained as cold as the December wind which whistled through a half-open window. "And to what do I owe this inconvenience?" she asked in a voice like ice.
Jasper gathered his resolve and drew a silver box from beneath his cloak. "I have a favor to ask you." His fingers trembled as he set the box before his sister, almost knocking over her goblet. He backed away.
Curiosity widened her eyes, and Amber flicked open the silver lid. "A knife?" She drew the blade from its velvet bedding. Light from the window glinted on its razor-sharp edge, and her eyes turned hard again. "What favor?"
Jasper pushed the hair away from his good ear and tugged at its pointed tip. "I request that you cut off the top of my ear for me, so they'll match." His other ear had been cut long ago, almost as small as a human's.
Amber examined the knife, weighing the balance in her hand. "Why?"
He glanced away from her. For an instant he almost reconsidered. But even Wilgefortis had commented on his ears. "There is a lass -- "
Her laughter cut him short. Amber leaned against the table, tears glinting in the corners of her eyes. When she recovered, she smiled slyly and asked, "What of your little narwhal?"
He shrugged. "I doubt she likes me."
Her fingertips danced along the blade. "And yet you fancy this one does?"
Jasper bristled. "It's hardly your concern."
"Then why have you come to me?"
"Because you hate me enough to do it."
Amber met his eyes. She made no effort to contradict his statement. "You know the geis on our blood. If I harm you, I feel your pain."
He shrugged.
She considered the knife, gently pressing the blade against the pad of her thumb. "You are quite certain of this."
He nodded, the words frozen in his throat.
Amber crossed the gap between them and grasped his ear. The knife flashed.
Lyta --
Pain shot through Jasper's head. He tried to muffle his scream with his fists as he sank to the marble floor. He fumbled for a wad of gauze in his pocket and shoved it against his bleeding ear. Ow.
Amber stared down at him, contempt on her lips. She toyed with the bloody knife. "Huh. The geis doesn't work."
Jasper squeezed his ear, barely able to think. "The geis is fine. You're not my blood."
The knife clattered to the floor. "You..." Amber snatched it back up and grabbed Jasper's hair, forcing his chin up. The blade tore against his skin. "Breathe a word of this, and I swear on my crown I'll cut your throat."
Jasper began laughing deliriously as red droplets pricked his neck. "I have no wish to die before I am even wed, my sister."
Amber withdrew in disgust and tossed the knife onto the table. "You're bleeding on my floor." She gestured toward the door. "Out."
Jasper dragged himself off the floor, still smarting. He hadn't time to mope over his ear -- his grain shipment had been delayed, and he needed to find out why before it all disappeared into the pockets of some thieving official. Before someone starved.
"You're wasting your time." Amber's voice followed him into the hall. "She won't have you."

I like this scene, but I decided to cut it because the whole business with the ear and the geiss and realizing they weren't really siblings was just too complicated.

Scraps

I'm honestly not too sad to see this one go, but just in case you were wondering how Jasper's tournament turned out:

The next morning's events began with archery. Lady Madeleine's brothers -- important students of the military school -- were introduced with great dignity and fanfare; then the rest of the lists were read. A ripple of disbelief spread through the crowd as Jasper's name was called. A quick commotion ensued as the Master of the Tourney stepped onto the dais to confer with the Keeper of the Lists. After much hushed haranguing, he resumed reading.
Jasper took up his bow, feeling Madeleine's brothers' keen eyes upon him. They were massive men, raven-haired and curly-horned, and yet they moved with a easily. They pinched their noses as Jasper passed.
He marched up to the line beside the others, took aim, and bitter shame spread across his cheeks as his first arrow flew wide. His second flew better than the first -- it manage at least to strike the target -- and his third, by some miracle, nearly found its mark. Not too terrible, he reflected, as the next archer took his place. In the end he did not do well enough to attract attention nor poorly enough to attract scorn, except in the eyes of Madeleine's brothers.
The herald announced pairs for the next event, wrestling. Jasper's distress at being paired against Madeleine's elder brother Serge was only outweighed by Serge's.
"This is an outrage," he complained to the Tourney Master. "I cannot fight him." The Master gave Jasper a sidelong glance. "I understand your situation, but the rules of the tourney are clear. If you concede, the match will be awarded to your opponent."
Serge huffed and stomped back. He stripped off his shirt and glared at Jasper. "Let's go."
Jasper swallowed and shed his own shirt. This was not a contest he could win.
Serge circled. Jasper tried to keep his back to the ropes. What had possessed him to enter the lists? He hadn't the least training in hand-to-hand combat, and Madeleine's brother was easily twice his weight.
The larger man charged, feinted, and as Jasper failed at ducking, he discovered his one bit of luck: Serge could not bear the thought of touching him.
Jasper charged, intending to flatten his opponent. Serge's arm shot out and Jasper found himself flat on his back. A knee dug into his chest.
Jasper winced and raised his hands against the magical field that held him down. "That's cheating."
"Shut up, dirt clod, or I'll hit you for real."
Lord Miacha ended the count, and Jasper was allowed to rise.

Not well. Not very well.

Clips from the Cutting Room Floor

Lady Madeleine's arrival later that week threw Jasper's customary brooding into disarray.
Lord Miacha entertained his newest guests with jousting, an aquatic ballet, and a stag hunt, which Jasper declined to attend. But Lady Madeleine seemed not to mind, laughing with him at dinner and even accompanying him on his rambles through the woods. His favorite waterfall she declared a place of divine splendor, and he resolved to prove himself a worthy and not terribly anti-social husband.
Lady Madeleine's brothers were expected in the next few days, and a tournament of skill and daring was planned to welcome them.
"What do you mean you're entering the tourney?" Jade stared at him, the thread she was trying to pick out of her sampler momentarily forgotten.
Jasper paced the library, hands behind his back. "There's a trial of skill tomorrow, and I thought -- "
"You need skills to enter a trial of skills."
"I can shoot," he replied, indignant.
"Badly." Jade returned to her thread, freeing with the point of her needle.
"There's no sense in trying to talk me out of it," he said. "I've already added my name to the lists. It would be shameful to recant."
"You will put the other contenders in an awkward position," she said, sewing again. "They cannot risk harming the king's favorite, but you are not skilled enough to hold your own. Your presence shall ruin the games."
"Am I really such an imposition on everyone?"
Jade sighed and put down her needle to pick out another thread. "Yes."

Clips From the Cutting Room Floor

Jasper sat atop the carriage, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Rob and Tom sat beside him, driving the horses. The fire had prompted the king to move his court to their summer estate.
Jasper sighed. "It's just too good to be true."
"You sound like your sister," said Rob.
"Amber's a very intelligent person." He leaned back to stare at the sky. "It's just..."
"You're in love with that human."
"Yes." Jasper closed his eyes. Lyta shimmered, smiling up at him as they twirled in the darkness. He pressed a hand against his side, where she had tried to heal him. "I love her." It was a relief to feel the words on his tongue, even as the horrible situation closed in on his heart.
"And you feel guilty for considering Lady Marine."
"I cannot love both."

The Pikaborb

Once upon a time, a herd of hungry bulborbs were hunting pikmin:

When they encountered a herd of pikachus:

The bulborbs and pikachus decided to be friends:

And so, the Pikaborb was born:

Yes, I made it! It is also a puppet and has a real "tummy" to put devoured pikmin into:

Another view:

Clips from the Cutting Room Floor

"What about Bess? And Sarah? What's happening to them?"

He stared at his gloves. Moonlight spilling through a window cast his horns in sharp relief, in contrast to the rest of him. "Were they friends of yours?"

"No." Lyta stamped her feet for warmth. She could just imagine what Bess would say about her muddy dress. "We take lessons together. They're... sometimes nice. I wouldn't wish harm on them."

"I'm sorry." Demon turned away from the window and began to pace.

Geographies that never were

The Universalior Cogniti Orbis Tabula Ex Recentibus Confecta Obsevationibus (Universe known world map from recently made observations, I think), by Johannes Ruysch, 1507, is hands-down one of my favorite maps.

Just look at it! First, note that there is no large region that has been left out of the top--this is a conic projection that has been "slit" down the side to flatten it into a map, my second favorite projection after pure polar projection. And when you realize that no big chunk has been left out, then you realize, oooh, that the coast of North America and coast of Asia are one and the same on this map. If you look closely, you can find "Tebet", and north of that, the land of "Gog and Magog." To the east of that, "Nova Terra" looks rather like Massachusetts (or perhaps Nova Scotia), and north of that Greenaland merges into North America. Between Greenland and Iceland lies a tiny dot, most likely Frisland--an island that appears on many old maps, often complete with cities and towns, but never existed. Between Greenland and Massachusetts, if you look closely, lie two half-moon-shaped islands, close together. These are the islands of Hy-Brazil, also mythical, whose name was later given to the country of Brazil.

Further south, we have "Spagnola" (thought to represent Japan,) part of the coast of Cuba, and a good chunk of the South American coastline.

English Dissenters

Why are there so many English Dissenters? What was so special about the 15, 16, and 1700s that they produced so many different religious groups in Britain at the time?

Some of the more interesting groups:

Adamites--supposedly went around naked.

Diggers--religious communists who tried to farm on common lands, hence the name.

Enthusiasts--a dirty word for anyone with strong feelings about religion. Or politics.

Family of Love--kind of like modern hippies (see previous post.)

Fifth Monarchists--wanted to turn the English government into a new Sanhedrin to usher in the Apocalypse. Actually convinced Cromwell to try the idea. No apocalypse happened.

Muggletonians--named Muggletonians. What else do you need?

And of course, there were some famous groups you've probably already heard of, like the Puritans and the Quakers.

Family of Love

If the "Family of Love" were a modern religious group, they'd inevitably end up infamous for some sort of sex-related scandal. But since they're a branch of English religious dissenters from the 1500s, they're more like proto Quakers.

Familists were pacifists, believed that the world was governed by the laws of nature rather than divine intervention, and denied the trinity.

Unsurprisingly, just like modern movements of this nature, Familists were primarily students, scholars, and artists, and the faith was concentrated near the University of Cambridge.

Familists managed to escape execution and persecution by not generally telling anyone outside of the Family about their beliefs, ("The first rule of Family Club is don't talk about Family Club,") and proper respectable members of other, respected churches. They believed it was important to at least act outwardly like everyone else.

Nevertheless, we do know of a few Familists who've come to historical attention, including Phillip II of Spain's printer (he printed Catholic documents by day, and Familist ones by night,) and some of the Yeomen of Elizabeth I's guards.

Familists seem to have disappeared in the early 1700s--their low-key approach to spreading their theology had always made the group's long-term survival unlikely.