Editor’s Note
Burnt Bread

There’s something wild and dangerous about beasts. The beast is the other – it is the wild, the insatiable and the unintelligible cunning. It is a state of being driven by desire and the absence of reason; most ruthless and definite in the way it solves problems. We fear it while we embrace it – or perhaps we embrace it because we fear it? The beast is the embodiment of unstoppable, raging power with bursts of claws and teeth, solid flesh, hard bones and… and tongues.

The tongue is a grossly underappreciated tool. Of course, tongues are implied in most writings during speech (he said) and the occasional tasting (he said with his mouth full). There is perhaps the odd licking. But what I’m proposing is the restoration of the tongue to its proper place among all the other terrifying features that a beast possesses.

And why shouldn’t the tongue inspire cold dread? Aesthetically, it is a perverse tool that slimes and folds and squirms not unlike a slug or a sea cucumber or an animated piece of over-chewed gum. Functionally, it dissolves squeezes and crushes prey in warm pools of digestive enzymes.

The snake’s tongue navigates.

The chameleon’s tongue stretches twice its body weight to capture food that is half its weight.

Giraffes reach.

Cats clean.

The radula (mollusk’s equivalent of tongue) is lined with little teeth for killing and grinding food.

The tongue is an essential part of the beast both practically and symbolically. The soft yet powerful tongue connotes sensuality and hidden desire. Its mindless effectiveness as a tool mirrors the wild, ruthless heart of the beast. And so with the tongue in consideration, please enjoy this issue of Stop the Press.

So you want to write about animals now. It’s almost inevitable, really. There’s only so much you can do with people, and because animals are universal, you know you’ll hit a wide audience. There’s a huge variety of animals in the world, including new ones being discovered every day, so you know you’ll have tons of material to play around with. Besides, animals are so endearing, how can you not write about them?

But while you’re at it, why not change them up a bit? Animals are cool and all, but they get kind of boring after a while, right? I mean, all they do is just eat and sleep and maybe let you pet them if they feel like it. Bo-ring. It’d be sooo much more interesting if they could talk, or shoot fireballs, or make double meat patties to order with your choice of sesame seed or whole wheat bun and extra cheese. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

I have several problems with this kind of thinking. It perpetuates many fantasy, sci-fi, and young adult fiction clichés. It makes the beasts more novelties than characters. And, more often than not, it makes for sloppy, half-brained fiction that is devoid of charm or interest and can damage a writer’s reputation. Let’s look at three of the worst offenders, and some of the problems that come with them, here:

Sentience. More specifically, humanlike intelligence. This one doesn’t seem so bad at first. After all, it’s used everywhere, from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to the Redwall series to Animal Farm. And besides, what’s wrong with a cat helping the protagonist finish his homework, or a spider solving the last puzzle in the Forbidden Chamber, or a kangaroo teaching your fighter how to kick-box?

Plenty. Most writers who give their animals human-like minds don’t realize…they’ve given their animals human-like minds. These animals will therefore react in ways similar to our own. They will have their own personalities, feelings, and senses of morality that may and probably will vary among species. Consider, for example, how humiliated a dog would feel about leashes, or how enraged flies would be by our constant swatting, or how mortified cows would be by slaughterhouses.

Or how easy it would be for a few smart lions to take out an entire village. Make it disappear. Power shifts necessarily lead to power struggles, and there will not be a lack of competitors on a sentient Earth. Many of the world’s animals are superior to humans in strength, speed, and endurance, and if animals gain an even playing field in intellect, I can see only global revolt and a re-ordering of the world food chain. Thinks about that next time you write a “smart animal” story.

Shape Shifting. Yes, perhaps this would be better for your stories. Now, your characters get all the beastie powers you want (spy on friends as a spider, tear down bad guys as a bear, fly to distant places as a hawk), and you don’t have to worry about any nasty large-scale effect like you would with sentience. It’s even got a mythological pedigree. That’s much better and much easier, isn’t it?

Not really. The problems with shape shifting are on a smaller scale, but they can be just as difficult to solve. Consider the case of mistaken identity. It won’t do your characters much good to turn into peeping spiders if they’re going to get smacked by the Pointy Shoe of Death, and that powerhouse bear will go down in two shots of a tranquilizer (or something more lethal). More importantly, your animal-shifting characters will be changing their place in the animal food chain every time they morph. If you don’t make your characters watch it, they’re going to get hurt out there.

And once they get past the dangers of just being an animal, they’ll have to deal with the dangers of being a human in an animal’s body. As humans, neither you nor your characters know what it’s like to command the body of any animal, and without research or practice, your characters will be stumbling about in their animal selves just trying to get control, let alone doing anything interesting. Even if you give your characters some animal logic every time they change, how will that affect their own mind? Will the animal instinct overpower them in an animal form? Will the minds of the beasts alter the minds of the humans? Like I said, not much easier than animal sentience. So let’s move on to

Commanding Animals. Now, we’re talking, right? You want every trick and skill and talent the animal kingdom can offer, and you don’t want to have to be nice about it anymore. Don’t change your characters to work with the animal; make the animals work for your characters. Make Fluffy fetch them the detective logs, make the snakes in the forest push that giant log out of the way, make a few fish suffocate themselves on the shore for your characters’ luxury filet dinner. As masters of the beasts, your characters will hold the world in their grasps. And won’t it be so simple?

You can’t win today, in this case for practical and for moral reasons. First, to have your character’s commands be followed, your animals will have to be smart enough to understand what your characters tell them to do. Many animals can understand basic commands, but tell one to find the big book on the bottom left hand corner of the third shelf about three books back from…and your characters might as well just get the book themselves. For more advanced commands, you’d have to make your animals much smarter, which we know will come with messy results.

Then comes a larger question: Are you and your characters morally capable of making animals your tireless slaves? Will the characters be willing to make these animals work against their will just for the human’s benefit, make one kill itself for their meal or dangerously exhaust itself to move an obstacle out of the way? And will your audience be able to accept that? There are no easy answers, or easy fixes, here.

Now, I don’t want you to write only about realistic animals because of what I or anyone else says. By all means, make your beasts fantastical. You can even use some of the powers I’ve already mentioned. Go ahead. Give a frog a 126 IQ, turn the protagonist into a fox, make that turtle fetch some sodas. Just remember to think about what you’re doing, what situations you’re creating, before you write. Don’t underestimate the impact of animals, even in your fantastic fiction. You might get beastly results.

Don't terrorize around nuclear power stations.

No matter how pretty the girl is, leave her alone. It's almost guaranteed that your anatomies (not to mention your biologies) are incompatible.

Don't climb tall buildings to evade capture unless you can fly from the top.

Inoculate before invasion.

If your planet desperately needs women, chances are you can get them without invasion by simply offering job and pay equity.

Don't lay your eggs in a major metropolitan subway system. Find a nice secluded cave.

Don't route all power through the Mothership.

If you can outbreed your enemies, don't go for the brute force takeover.

And most importantly… always pretend to be immune to gunfire. People will only shoot at you if they think it'll do some good.

Well, since I already did a monsters article it would sort of seem a little repetitive to write another one on them. So, what other humanoid ‘beasts’ are there, figuratively or literally?

What you get might end up like this:

Berserkers

Vampires

Werewolves

Berserkers, anyone?

Yes, the standard cliché for ‘high fantasy’ along with human heroes, elven archers and countless generic and ‘beautiful’ mages/clerics.

The best definition of berserker would probably be ‘blood rage’. Well, that, or any other saying, etc. for mindless bouts of violence using one’s adrenalin and anger in order to take down a much larger enemy/obstacle.

So, of course, some writer goes and jumps on ‘overly used adjectives and description in general’ bandwagon and incorporates ‘blood rage’ or just plain ‘berserker’ into their story and uses it so much that it affects the fantasy literary circles in much the same way Mary Sues have. As a result, it ends up being as synonymous with ‘high fantasy’ as dragons and dragon riders.

So, some might say, tally-ho, I’ll be off now to slay some evil villain? Thanks for reminding me of another shoddy excuse for poorly executed battle scenes?

No, using berserker or any other fantasy cliché won’t always equal ‘kick ass story that’ll get a load of reviews’.

Very, very few seasoned veteran soldiers are going to take out a ten foot long (which should be almost impossible to carry into the first place) sword and charge, screaming some inane warcry, right into an entire division of well armed soldiers without coming out looking like minced meat. It isn’t practical and they won’t come out of it alive without at least a few limbs missing.

It you do want to incorporate berserkers, go on ahead, but take a few things into consideration.

First, is your berserker going to be a main character and does he/she fight a lot? A berserker in a Tolkien-esque battle will probably have a lifespan of about three minutes (or far less) once the fighting starts. As a general rule, berserkers do not live for very long when there’s a lot of conflict. If they do live for a good while, they’re likely to have a wealth of scars on them or they’re going to have the best damn armor that they can afford.

If your berserker just leaves in a relatively peaceful time, he/she won’t necessarily die but their berserker issues will definitely interfere in their daily lives. Hercules once killed his wife and children in a fit of blind rage (and that was just Greek myth), so what’s going to happen to your character?

Keep the characters well rounded and realistic! Just because someone’s a berserker it doesn’t mean that they can run after their legs have been slashed out from under them. Adrenalin doesn’t equal invincibility (and blind idiocy doesn’t equal courage, despite the cliché).

Scalpel please. Fantastic. I don’t really need it for anything, but look at it glitter in the light. It’s great for building dramatic tension. Now, then, I will make a lateral incision…

Do relax, please. I’m only joking. You all read the sign outside the tent. ““Neither man nor beast will be harmed during the traveling fantasmataxonomical show.” A few of you might feel a passing discomfort, but that is perfectly natural reaction. Can’t have science and magic together in one sentence without a few people getting nervous. It’’s all in good fun, I promise.

Perhaps a few are wondering what a fantasmataxonomical show is. Allow me to explain. A show is any kind of public exhibition or exposition, often used by unscrupulous circus men to bilk money out of otherwise rational folk. You all paid admission, yes? Yes. Excellent. Fantasmataxonomical is just a word I made up.

Er, do calm down. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I was, to use the vernacular, “just funning with you.”

Fantasma is a word I made up, but it takes its origin from fantasy, phantasm, and phantasmagoria. All of which are words for the magical, intangible, or occult. Taxonomical comes from taxonomy, which is a system of biological classification used to separate individual animals into their own kingdom, phylum, order, class and so on down. Put those two definitions together and you get fantasmataxonomical: a way of scientifically classifying the occult and the impossible.

But, ladies and gentlemen, the sign promised you all a show. Not an etymology lesson. So, allow me to introduce my star attraction: la chupacabra voraz.

Yes. I am aware that I am still facing an empty stage. Did you expect the chupacabra to just poof into existence? Magic doesn’t always work the way you want it to. Science does. But science doesn’t always work. Put them together and you have something that never works except to malfunction, or something that does exactly what you want it to in ways that you never would have imagined. The trick to getting the latter is to satisfy the demands of both science and magic.

Magic requires that, regardless of whether something is possible, it should happen. For example, if I were to take off this hat and rummage around in it…like so, until the dramatic tension builds to a point where everyone wants me to find some sort of mammal in my headgear……ah, there we are. Here’s the scruffy little guy. Fluffles, meet the audience. Audience, this is Fluffles. Fluffles will now go back in the hat, which will now go back on my head. That’s magic.

Science is a little more particular. Everything needs an accompanying explanation, a rational cause, and preferably some words in Latin. Now, if I were to tell you that I had secreted a small spatial anomaly inside my hat, I could just reach inside and…yup. Fluffles, meet the audience again. Glad to see you’re getting along so well.

Unfortunately, the chupacabra is a non-real creature, so I cannot produce him from a hat, no matter how swanky of a hat it is. On the other hand, if I were to summon him with candles and hand motions, the unpredictability of magic might do interesting things to his appetite. I did promise that no one would be harmed inside of this tent, so we can’t have that.

Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to define him with science, and then you’re going to expect as hard as you can that he’ll just poof onto the stage. Ready? Okay.

First of all, the chupacabra comes from Mexican local legends. It is identified as a giant lizard that sucks the insides out of goats. As a giant, mythical lizard, it could conceivable share a distant ancestor with dragons, drakes, sea serpents, and the hyrax. The hyrax is related to just about everything.

Unlike dragons and drakes, the chupacabra is terrestrial. Since there are no accounts of it being spotted during the day, the chupacabra’s evolutionary ancestors probably discarded their wings in favor of burrowing claws. That way, they can lie dormant in the earth during the hottest part of the day, then emerge at night to go goat-sucking. If you look closely, you can probably see vestigial wing nubs somewhere along their backs.

Another key detail from chupacabra stories is the presence of dorsal spines. These could be a holdover from the spines found along the back ridge of many dragons, but they might also have a specific purpose for the chupacabra. If the animal does spend most of its time buried beneath the dirt, the spines may act as an important ventilation mechanism. Little airways in the hollow core of each spine poke just above the surface while it sleeps, allowing it to continue breathing and sense vibrations in the ground that might indicate prey.

From this, we can gather that the chupacabra hunts mostly by stealth. Its scales, then, are probably a dullish red or brown. They might also change colors to blend in with the environment. I think I prefer the latter, because it establishes a connection to a real reptile: the chameleon. Like the chameleon, the chupacabra’s eyes are capable of independent movement.

Is that detailed enough, yet? I could keep going, giving it movement sensitive eyes and grooves deep in the sinuses to sense heat. Maybe it has a forked tongue and Jacob’s organ, allowing it to taste the air. Judging from your bored expressions, I think I have satisfied the rigors of science for the time being.

Let’s move on to the last, essential part of the process: the indiscriminate use of Latinate words. Just like in those other books by that other author, my mangling of a dead language can bring about magical results.

Cryptid draconis terrestrial chupacabra chupacabra!

And there you go. With a wish and a whisper, folks, we have our chupacabra: the orphaned child of magic and science. He actually looks kinda cute. And hungry, too. Where did I put Fluffles?

On FictionPress

Even though its original form has been officially been dropped, a notable work of fantasy immediately came to mind when I thought of beasts: Maelstrom by, drakkarim.

I know I shouldn’t be advertising something that will never be finished in the original form that I read, but I can’t help myself. It’s a great example of how to incorporate beasts into your story. The battles are more natural than the romance scenes, so it’s a bit lopsided, but it works out pretty well in the end.

The main character is pulled from his world into another where he has ‘special’ powers. He trains, fights off various enemies, starts a romance with the pretty sister of his guide, and recovers his friends, all of whom also have these powers. Through everything, the main points of the story are highlighted by dramatic fights and some feisty romance.

This recommendation’s for the original version of Maelstrom, so take into consideration that the story abruptly ends after 33 chapters. There won’t be an ending. However, if you can stand it, this story really is a great example of how to combine beasts and other plotlines without making it too corny.

I suppose interested parties might want to check out the new version, for the sake of maybe having an ending, but... the original is where it’s at, as far as I’m concerned. However, I’ve not read the new version, so don’t take my word for it.

Elsewhere

Other pieces that properly incorporate beasts are The Kiesha’ra books by, Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. In this series, the characters all have two forms, one human and one animal. There are such animal halves as snakes, birds(/falcons), and wolves. Like there are differences between individuals, there are differences between each character’s animal form. These differences are governed more by the character’s parentage than their personality, but personality tends to fit with what his animal form happens to be.

I know I’m doing a bad job of describing it and am making the whole thing sound like Animorphs or something. It’s not like that at all. The series touches upon deep emotion and the fight for two opposing societies to merge peacefully. Surprisingly, the author isn’t afraid to cross social boundaries and does so gracefully and naturally.

I highly recommend this series to anyone interested. While it’s mainly fantasy, the author touches on social issues as well. There’s something for everyone, really.

Currently, there are four volumes to The Kiesha’ra, with a fifth to be released soon.

Beasts – what are our traditional thoughts on these creatures?

Reference to the word beast alone infers a senseless wild animal that has some negative impact on the general human population.

Traditionally beasts act as either support characters or enemies in many typical plots. They often are portrayed as violent creatures that obey their masters/trainers for whatever task it may be. Appearing simple-minded most of the time, they are still given their own feelings and have emotions towards those around. It is to say that beasts are not used as mainstream characters in most serious plotlines, but do take lead roles in many comical affairs and children-oriented productions.

Sometimes they appear as sacred creatures, fulfilling a particular legend.

Forms

Do beasts appear in any particular form?

In general, beasts are known to be horrific, violent, wild, ruthless, and anything else that is meant to scare you until you die.

In terms of form – they most often resemble a general model of some creature, albeit with slight modifications (dependent on the creator’s creativity). Hence, we would treat them as animals of our world – wait! Why beasts then?

Think of beasts as animals plus fantasy. We rarely see animals given imagined qualities as they stick to the norm. Beasts act as the playing field for authors to experiment with new designs and ideas. We are by all means allowed to make up our own beasts and variants, but chickens do not appear as frogs and vice versa. Reality can be extended, but not twisted.

Perhaps in relation to science fiction are genetically modified beasts that have super powers and humans that have been given beast qualities. So-called mad scientists have been ever trying to deform humanity by switching our body parts with those of horrifying creatures.

On the fantasy side are transformations as many ‘normal’ human characters are given the ability to transform into beasts in order to gain power superior to their human form. An example is werewolves that humans transform into on a full moon. Note that the werewolf transform often leads to uncontrolled senseless beings. Some others would explain that they rather retain their beautiful human form as to the ugly appearance of their beast counterpart.

In ancient mythology half human half beasts, such as centaurs exist. They stand as a combination between horses and humans with the main advantage of speeds over normal humans. Mentioning myths, beasts are often ancient guardians protecting something very important, such as relics or treasure.

Languages & Diet

Ever talked to one of these creatures?

Beasts all seem to have a language of their own. Us, as humans never seem to be able to communicate with them through speech or writing. They would speak out their own unique dialect that no one else seems to understand. Rarely are they given writing capabilities as well. Yet somehow, they would comprehend your words without exactly understanding them and surprisingly act upon them correctly.

In life, we feed domestic animals with man-made products and wild animals would hunt. In stories beasts often do not require eating or are never shown to eat for that matter. As for the ones that do consume food, their diet often relates to the storyline. An example would be human-eating creatures that have started to attack on the main character’s town.

& Related

Away from the ‘beast’ beast...

Excessively brutal, but thoughtless humans are often referred to as beasts. This brings us to the point that we, as humans are, but a thin line away from them. It is our subtle differences that distinguish us, and in the end, what is the difference?

We kill our own kind. We fight for survive. We cause mass destruction.

In a way, enlightened with the wisdom that traditional beasts lack, we could be potentially worse.

Writers: Are we pouncing out more and more words as though they are our prey?

Readers: Do we often claw a book and hiss “hungry”?

Beasts.

BEASTS.

BEASTS.

BEASTS!

They’re scary.

Sometimes.

But what about the cute, cuddly guys that get lumped in with all the ‘beasts’? The term ‘beast’ connotatively implies fear and claws and drool and the occasional corrosive discharge, but ever played a Final Fantasy game or really any RPG? They tend to call the monsters you fight ‘beasts’ and some of them are furry little dudes who don’t even hurt you (Cactuar is a bastard, though).

It’s a bad assumption to make that all beasts are hunting for blood. Well, for your blood. Beauty and the Beast is a pretty good example of that, mm? He turned out to be pretty cool….er…right? I haven’t seen that movie since I was 7 or so. Belle had a nice cartoon rack, though. Uh, yeah. Let’s move along.

So, maybe one could take the misunderstood beast route with their story. If that path is taken, though, make sure there are beasts that are the classic kind, too—teeth, claws, bloodlust and rare steaks for Sunday brunch.

Or mayhap a main character could be a beast. A BAD beast. That would be fun. Your beast hunts for blood and kills people brutally, but there are task forces and stuff after it and it’s got four kids at home and—

Forget the very last bit.

Beasts can either be living alongside the animals or they can completely replace them; they can make the masses huddle in fear or have to make themselves scarce. Ever played Legend of Legaia for Playstation? Best video game ever made, and in that game the beasts made the entire world huddle into small pockets of safety. The opposite, more vampire-like; hiding, struggling, striking only when they won’t be struck in retaliation.

They can be slimy or scaly or furry or winged or humanoid or transforming from humans to their true form. They can be immoral scumbags. They can be your mother-in-law. They can be beasts, all day long.

Use your beasts wisely. They’re a double-edged sword.

It was about 8:40 A.M. when the talking heads on the radio started a discussion about dog-fighting. I was in my car at the time--a green Saturn wagon whom I’ve affectionately named Lillith--and we were both stopped in early morning pre-rush rush traffic. I didn’t have much better to do besides listen.

The radio debate centered around whether it was ethical to have dogs fight each other for human sport. One of the two disembodied radio personalities said that it was barbaric and cruel to betray man’s best friend. The other said that it was no different from how we treat other animals. We might not raise cows to fight each other, but we certainly don’t have their best interest in mind. Besides, dogs aren’t human.

The first voice responded that they were close enough. They were intelligent, and it would be just as unethical to start some sort of underground dolphin fight club.

Well, what about ants? Is it okay to step on them?

I think ants are okay. I mean, it’s not like they’re human. They can’t think.

At about this point I stopped listening to the radio. My mind was too busy wandering.

I should probably take this moment to establish that I’m not a vegan. Nor a vegetarian. Nor even a keep-the-dolphins-out-of-my-tuna-I-don’t-like-the-flavor kinda guy. Given the choice, I’d rather not spread sea mammals across a sandwich, but I’m not picky. So, this isn’t an herbivore rant. It is supposed to be a closer look at what we--er, people, that is--think of as beasts.

““Beast”, as defined by primitive man, is “that thing I kill because I’m hungry or scared or bored and don’t feel bad about doing it.” Primitive man never did master the art of the concise sentence, but he understood the basic definition of beast. So, for the men who run dog fights, their animals are beasts. For PETA, they’re practically human.

I’’m not trying to incite my audience, here, but the dog-fighter’s view of things makes sense. Human is a very specific species, and anything outside of it can reasonably be considered a beast. It’s certainly an intolerant view of things (anyone who thought this way in a fantasy realm would probably be looking for a job as an inquisitor, witch hunter, or xenophobic local tough: the kind that picks fights with heroes in bars.) However, from an evolutionary perspective, early man stood to benefit more from hunting animals than from cuddling them.

To understand the other way of thinking--that animals are just too cute to eat--I’m also going to use a bit of biology. In “The Panda’s Thumb””, by Stephen Jay Gould, there is an entire chapter devoted to the evolution of Mickey Mouse. It says that ‘cute’ is an idea hardwired into human genes to give us an extra reason to take care of our young. After all, babies are pretty much a screaming hassle. But make them ‘cute’ and that force of cuteness compels parents to care for them.

Sometimes, of course, the traits that identify cute can be found in non-human things. Puppies, for example. Kittens too. Young birds. Squirrels. Anime characters with face-hoggingly huge eyes. There’s a fairly long list of things that our genes have mistakenly classified. Insects, bacteria, reptiles, and fish are not commonly found in that list, so humans have few problems fearing/eating/exterminating them.

Now, here’s the sticky question that the voices in my car’s speakers missed: what happens when you get a creature that does not meet human standards for cuteness, but does have a reasonable level of intelligence? Suppose for a moment, that scientists discover a race of intelligent, dashing, well-dressed, space-faring spiders. My gut reaction would be to make non-threatening gestures while reaching for a can of Raid…but would that be ethical? On the other hand, suppose for a moment that a predator adapted to include all the biological cues for cute. Humans would be helpless before the sinister were-gerbil.

I have to hope that, sometimes, people are capable of putting aside matters of cute and non-cute. Biology might be an incredibly handy bit of science, but I’d hate to see it always be right. There are times when people should care not because something adorable is being victimized, but because something living is suffering. Maybe there could even be a few more stories in which the ‘good’’ creatures (pixies, dragons, space-cats, etc.) don’t look quite so attractive, or in which the ‘evil’ species are a little more appealing (sans wars, hunchbacks, tentacles, green skin, and crying blood.) After all, I can’t think of a better way to reverse one of humanity’s most deeply-rooted clichés.

There are a lot of different types of beasts, and circumstance usually depicts which you’ll run into. For example, in horror movies, the beast usually ends up being some sort of deranged psycho with an insatiable bloodlust. In sci-fi, it’s aliens; fantasy, any sort of creature from magical roots (unicorns, vampires, ect.). The point being, the ‘beast’ in question can change depending on the circumstance.

Who, What, Where

When writing, it’s advisable to figure out where the story will be set so that you can plan the beasts accordingly. In the TV show Lost, there was a polar bear on a tropical island early in the first season. While the characters ended up killing it in the end, the fact remains that it’s nonsense to expect people to believe that a polar bear would be so far from its natural habitat. If most of the story takes place underwater, there are a variety of strange and bizarre fishes that you can play around with. Likewise, interesting things live in the desert.

Similarly, it’s important who you’re dealing with, too. High school girls are going to deal an alien invasion a little differently than hardened bounty hunters. Unless they’re both (coughBuffycough). If you start combining traits, treat the character as the tougher half. In battle, Buffy’s not a teenage girl, she’s a hunter. However, make sure you don’t drop the other half of their personality; it’s important to keep your character in-character. Different people deal with their beasts in different ways. Take their personality and body type into consideration when you’re throwing this person into battle. Is he a lover or a fighter? Buff or skinny? Trained all his life in the martial arts or an art major in college? It matters.

What? The beast itself is important, too. You don’t kill a lion the same way you swat a fly. With one, you only need a newspaper, but the other requires skill and backup. Lots and lots of backup. Change it a little, and that fly could be five times the size of the Empire State Building. Take into consideration the environment this beast will be living in, because it’s not cool to stick Shamu in a desert.

Circumstance

Part of understanding what is appropriate for your story is understanding the circumstance of the story. The reader is probably thinking, “What? She keeps mentioning ‘circumstance.’ What does this mean?” It’s simple, really. Every story is set up differently and is set in a certain place and time. Unless your main character’s a marine biologist, having recently discovered man-eating fish isn’t going to cut in it your 1700’s story. The circumstance is simply the parameters you’ve set for your story.

The Breakdown

As an example, my own clumsy work, Zora Ink. The story’s set in a land I’ve made up in a time without modern conveniences. This immediately rules out technological beasts, like robots. You can’t have a robot when there aren’t even telephones. Since this is made-up land of make-believe, anything is really possible, but try to stay within the grasp of reality if you don’t want to lose readers.

The main character, Zora, is a vampire. Right there, I’ve set another boundary. Where there are beasts, there are those who hunt the beasts. Briefly, there is scene in which Zora stumbles on several of these hunters. It’s good to add hunter-hunted scenes because it adds believability and forces the reader to take a side. Set up your characters right, and all your readers’ll be cheering one way or another.

Other characters include a sort of fish-person, brother to the villain, another vampire, and mate to a werewolf. Enemies within the spectrum of beasts you’ve created are good, too. For instance, the fish-people are bitter enemies of the werewolves in my story and vampires are hated by everyone. It’s risky to have one group hated by everyone in general, but it can work out well in the end, especially if you want to go for a ‘one against the world’ feel. It works better if the world already has a reason to hate that character.

Another sort of beast is the human beast. When you have main characters relate to the bad guy of the story, it starts to be a bit like a soap opera, but makes things interesting nonetheless. Think of it as a big test of loyalty.

The End

Really, I’ve never done anything like this article before, but I feel I should at least try this once. My area of (somewhat) expertise happens to fall under the broad category of Beasts, so this was as good a place as any to start. I hope that someone gets something out of this; it’s helped me to just get my thoughts sorted out on this topic.

Next Issue:

In celebration of its first birthday, there will be an open topic event for October where writers are invited to write on any previous topic of Stop the Press. These topics are Beginnings, Space, Money, Villains, Wit, Monsters, Superpowers, Rites of Passage, Oceans and Beasts. Submissions are due by the 27th of September.

Lemmings

Solemn Coyote
The solemn coyote is unique in that it has neither kingdom nor phylum, but a whole ton of class.

Striped Feather
Part time Sue-slayer and professional procrastinator.

felicia13
wants to grow up to be a mailman or a villain

Heatless Flame
Dark Lord of Light
Despite limitations involving lack of heat, managed to light an evil dictator aflame recently. Thank god for friction. And thank god for writing.

WyrdWolf
Guru of Irrelevance and Irreverence
WyrdWolf is a talking Lupine who occasionally brings back a nice dead rabbit or bird for his best friends.

William Sachiksy
Being a reluctant master of procrastination.

Concerto49
As a mysterious as a trombone playing a snare drum.

Burnt Bread
Superhero, Third Class
Fighting crime in the forgotten corners of the cupboard behind mismatched cutlery and those biscuits you’re never going to eat.