Shawn's article is thorough and well thought out, allowing a measure of criticism for Martin's "unprofessional" behavior while generally defending his writing style and the long process of completing a beloved series.

Shawn was the first person I've heard describe Martin's problem as unprofessionalism.  It really does encapsulate it well: if Martin is truly guilty of anything, he's guilty of setting unrealistic goals and putting them in writing -- of making promises he should have known he couldn't keep.  That aside, you can't really fault a writer for the way his own process works.  Shawn makes a good argument that that is truly the heart of the issue: the combination of Martin's free-writing style and his strict editor's eye makes for a long writing process, and one that is frequently subject to drastic change:

George is, from what I understand, a Freewriter.

So, what does that mean? Well, it means George does not plan in advance what he writes. As a result, George will often write several chapters, which takes up several weeks, decide on a different and better course of direction, and have to erase those chapters--and quite possibly several others that came before them. Those weeks are gone with no output to show for it other than having a better sense of where he is going. According to him, that very thing has happened several times over the course of the last few years, delaying A Feast For Crows and now A Dance With Dragons. Unlike King, who sometimes has lackluster endings to his novels due to, in my opinion, lack of planning, George is an editor who will not publish something unless it is done right. The manner in which George writes can be volatile to the reader who believes George just needs to spend a certain amount of time at the keyboard to produce a manuscript.

But writing for George is not a science. He is a Freewriter. To try to make him other than that is folly--and disrespects the earlier work that has given such joy.

Shawn also brought up the subject of what he calls "the creative wall," a realism of the writing life that many writers have described in many different ways:

Every writer I have spoken to comes to a point in their creative day where, no matter how much they wish differently, the written word just does not happen the way it should. The writing becomes stagnant; it becomes useless and is simply not good enough to be published. No matter if the writer sits and tries to hammer their way through, nothing changes. To sit at the keyboard during that time is a waste of time.

I call it the Creative Wall.

All writers come to that Wall during their writing day, at least all writers I know. The average amount of time differs between writers. For instance, Terry Brooks spends between five or six hours a day before he is simply burnt out. Steven Erikson, on the other hand, doesn't come to his Creative Wall until seven or eight hours have passed. For me, it is four or five hours. Every writer is different; every writer deals with it.

George comes to a Wall during his writing day too.

Hemingway described the experience, and how he dealt with it, in A Moveable Feast: "I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it."  He often advised writers to stop consciously short of that Wall, saying that it was best to stop when you were still going good, to leave on a high note, essentially, while you still knew what was going to happen next.  By so doing, one could begin the next day of writing that much more easily, having saved a bit of starter material.

But I digress.

Suffice it to say that Shawn's post is a worthwhile read for any Martin fan disgruntled over the long-delayed publication of A Dance with Dragons, and The Accidental Bard wholeheartedly joins him in his Defense.

Carrie Vaughn is like Laurell K. Hamilton, only better. I liked Hamilton's first five books, but her recent efforts have been redolent with existential angst, precious self-awareness, and bizarre sex acts. Her increasingly redundant story lines--will Richard come to terms with being a werewolf? Will Damien grow a spine? Will Anita overcome her guilt?--now come at the expense of a plot. While I continue to read her books out of a sense of loyalty, I miss the good old days when her books were tightly written, funny, and exciting.

Enter Carrie Vaughn: in Kitty Raises Hell, the latest installment in the "Kitty" series, Vaughn gives us just the right amount of political intrigue, frightening creatures, action, violence, and human foibles--with a kick-ass heroine to lead us through it all. In this classic urban fantasy theatre, Vampires and werewolves have been "outed", and now live among us in relative peace. Vaughn treats us to all the old standards we've come to know and love: a vampire "Master of the City", a contentious werewolf pack, and plenty of skeptical humans. There's an underlying tension between those who want to preserve the "old ways"--"might is right" and let the chips fall where they may--and those "new world order" Democrats, who want to lead by consensus. The question becomes, how can Kitty lead her pack effectively, influencing them toward the "right" choice without sacrificing her ideals?

In the eighth installment of the "Kitty" series, Kitty discovers--the hard way--that she's not quite done with the Band of Tiamat. Or, rather, the Band of Tiamat isn't quite done with her. After a series of inexplicable attacks, Kitty realizes she needs all the help she can find. Help comes in the form of a popular reality TV program, "Paradox PI", and its intrepid crew--a group of people who turn out to be more than they seem. Along with Rick, the Master Vampire of Denver, they race to understand the nature of this new evil before it's too late.

Kitty Raises Hell could be cliché, but it isn't. While to some authors these standards are a crutch, to Vaughn they're merely a starting point. She takes them in stride and uses them to craft an original work. Nothing about her universe feels stale or worked over; if I didn't know better, I could easily assume she was alone in her field. The Denver of the "Kitty" series is remarkably believable--as are the problems Kitty and her fellow citizens face. While their adventures are unquestionably epic--battling ancient Babylonian cults, demons, even law enforcement--they don't have that fake "watch me save the world before dinner" feel. They're blissfully free of the kind of posturing that characterizes Goodkind's books.

Vaughn's focus is right where it should be, on her characters. Kitty is highly convincing, realistic protagonist; she's a strong woman, but she's also a vulnerable woman. A radio host and independent business owner, Kitty's career struggles, to some extent, mirror her experiences as Alpha of her pack. She doesn't always know the right answer or make the wisest decision, but she's sincere in her expectations of herself. It's refreshing to find a protagonist who has, dare I say it, "normal" issues--who isn't consumed with anger over old hurts, who doesn't spend several hundred pages ruminating on how difficult it is to be emotionally shut down. Most of us want a heroine whose challenges, whether emotional or professional, make sense to us. Within the first few pages, Kitty comes through loud and clear as a real person.

Her cast of supporting characters is excellent, as well. Kitty's relationship with Ben, her husband, isn't perfect--but it's believable. If you're getting a little sick of the "will he or won't he" drama, perpetually broken hearts, and overly self-aware pity sex so common in other urban fantasy series, then you'll find the "Kitty" series really refreshing. Here, her relationship plays an important supporting--not a starring--role. Ben is not only a real person, but also a meaningful partner; he helps Kitty save the world with his skills as a lawyer, not his penis. It's refreshing to see a fictional couple that can connect outside of the bedroom.

Moreover, for a wonder, Kitty actually has friends and coworkers who are more than just cardboard cutouts! In Kitty Raises Hell, Kitty makes some new friends, and I really enjoyed following their growing relationship. She also deepens her connection with some old friends. In a field that's become overcrowded with clichés, stereotypes, and one trick ponies, Vaughn is a very refreshing change. Even her bit players stayed with me after I finished the book.

And there's just enough sex to keep your attention. Sex occupies the same exalted role here that it does in real life: it's an expression of passion, sometimes comfort, and usually love. Vaughn uses it to reveal Kitty's vulnerability, and let us understand a little more about her relationship with Ben. Like any good writer, Vaughn doesn't need paragraph after paragraph to get her point across; she conveys a world of complexity in just a few sentences.

If you're looking for paragraph after ponderous paragraph about thrusting, heaving, and releasing, this series isn't for you--but if you're longing for a book that's actually about something, this series will be one of your favorite discoveries this year. Kitty Raises Hell might not be the most original book I own, but it's a gripping read nevertheless. Revisiting this Hamilton-esque world is comforting, like pulling on a favorite sock--you know what to expect, and that's part of the thrill. The "Kitty" series is a familiar--and very welcome--thrill.

I bought Sergei Lukyanenko's Nightwatch because it had an employee recommendation tag stuck to it at Barnes and Noble. I don't know what whoever tagged it was thinking. Honestly, I really shouldn't even be writing this review, because I never managed to finish the book...but I don't think I will.

I mean, if I were kidnapped and left to rot in a gulag somewhere, and this was the only book available to me, then yes, I'd finish it. Otherwise, no. Am I being dramatic? Well, I tend to strong opinions about my reviews--and, honestly, why else would you need a review in the first place? I'm not trying to sell the books, I'm trying to steer you in the right direction, and, hopefully, keep you from wasting your time. Admittedly, most of my reviews are negative. Then again, admittedly, most modern fantasy is bad. Heck, a good book is a rare commodity in general and always has been. I'm of the opinion that--sorry Mr. Bloom--many so-called "classics" are only classics because they're old and we can't quite understand them.

Dickens, Bronte, even Hardy--these were sensationalist authors in their time, and most of their contemporaries thought they were writing crap. Most of Dickens' "novels" were originally published as magazine serials. He was the Stephen King of his time, except he had a political streak.

I almost didn't buy A Woman Worth Ten Coppers, because the cover looked so trashy. As a rule--and I know this is going to sound strange, coming from a Laurell K. Hamilton fan--I'm not a big fan of books with buxom, half naked girls on their covers. Generally, I like to preserve the illusion that I'm reading literature--not porn. That being said, when I read the back of the book, the plot sounded intriguing, so I overcame my embarrassment and bought it.

I'm glad I did. Morgan Howell is a relatively new writer, someone I've never heard of before. Within two days, I'd read Coppers, and returned to our favorite haunt, the bookstore, looking for more. I was delighted to discover, she's also written another series! King's Property, Clan Daughter, and Royal Destiny tell the story of a woman who rises from slavery to power, becoming queen of a misunderstood and often maligned race. I wish I'd read this trilogy first; it's set in the same universe as Coppers, and it provides some crucial back-story on the evil, which is well on its way to plaguing the world in that book. The stories aren't directly related; you don't need to read one, to understand or enjoy the other. Nevertheless, if you're a plot nerd like me, you'll appreciate this advice.

I'm one of those people who finds The Lord of the Rings a frustrating read, because it doesn't provide enough back-story on who those Numenorians were, and how they ended up in those barrows. I mean, were the barrow wights there before? Did the Numenorians become the barrow wights? Were the barrow wights attracted to the Numenorians' power somehow?

Seriously. That being said, what makes Coppers--and, so far, Howell's writing as a whole--a standout is the complexity of her characters, and the sensitivity with which she portrays their struggles. Coppers tells the story of a young woman who, through a random twist of fate, becomes a slave. She's neither wholly resigned to her fate, nor is she wholly rebellious. She's not one of those "spunky" heroines, spewing obnoxious one-liners even as she wrestles with trite inner demons. She's a real person. Her new owner is neither a terrible person, nor a saint. He believes in the institution of slavery; it's part of his culture. He's confused by his conflicting desires to treat his new property as a real person, and, at the same time, use her. Their relationship, such as it is, gives this book a powerful center.

For a wonder, the plot is good, too. Howell has a talent of writing concisely, peppering her plot with lots of action, while still adding depth and nuance. Her stories aren't simple or simplistic; I've been consistently surprised and delighted by the paths her characters take. I hate it when plot "twists" are obvious; I feel like I'm outwitting the author or, as Oscar Wilde wrote, going into battle with an unarmed man. Howell is a wonder, in that she's completely original.

Unlike some other favorite authors--Robert Jordan comes to mind, not to speak ill of the dead--Howell doesn't get bogged down in innumerable plot twists, or three page long descriptions of clothing, food, or surroundings. She clearly loves her characters, but she's not in love with them. If you like real people and meaningful conflicts, but you wish the "good" fantasy on your shelf had more action and less stertorous political intrigue, existential angst, and commentary on the tastiness of goat's milk, then Howell's the author for you.

I actually remembered the plot nuances of Coppers a week after I finished reading it. That's rare; most of the time, at least for me, all these "hero awakens to his destiny, slays the villain, saves the princess" stories run together. I remember what happened, but after awhile I sort of forget why--or why I cared. Even worse are those instances where the author is clearly trying too hard. I love urban fantasy, all our regular readers know that, but I seriously don't need another Hamilton or Butcher rip-off. Believe it or not, I'm actually not pining for yet another proto-Rice dialectic on the miseries of isolation being a vampire brings.

You can never see the sun again; life after death is your own private apocalypse. I get it. Rent "What's Eating Gilbert Grape."

In Coppers, Howell brings the gritty, "real world" flavor of urban fantasy to the more traditional landscape of high fantasy. She manages to avoid the clichés of both. Instead, she melds the genres seamlessly to create something that, to some extent, defies categorization. She gives us a strong female heroine without being preachy or turning her book into a platform for women's issues; she gives us a lush, believable, somewhat medieval fantasy world without drawing on Tolkien or the Camelot myth. And, this is what makes Howell so different. She's new, she's different, he work is fresh and original. It would be a real shame if she didn't become a massive best selling author, so buy her books!

Both Coppers and the King's Property trilogy get a straight A.

Christopher Paolini has taken a lot of flak for being derivative. The comparisons of the Inheritance Cycle to popular classics like Star Wars are legion--and rightly so. But what his detractors miss is that the value of Paolini's work is not to be found in the nuances of his writing but, as the New York Times said in its original review of Eragon, "in the sweep of the story and the conviction of the storyteller." It is that conviction that drives these books, and with the second book of the trilogy-cum-tetralogy, Mr. Paolini brings his epic into the teeth of the high drama that the first volume only foreshadowed. In Eldest, the characters find that their toughest trials have only just begun, and the power and wisdom gained throughout the novel end in a clash of battle, betrayal, and brotherhood. 

The Star Wars comparisons, while apt, too often forget that Star Wars itself is merely a (very overt) modern re-telling of mythic themes that have been central to literature and the arts since Western civilization began. George Lucas hardly invented the thematic struggle of the outnumbered forces of good against the vastly superior forces of evil; nor did the symbolism inherent in the "dark father" archetype originate with him. Indeed, the story of the farmboy-become-white-knight is central to the majority of modern epic fantasy. The themes and ideas at play in Eldest are some of the most pervasive in Western culture, and the fact that it is this bedrock upon which Paolini has chosen to found his saga is a testament to the boldness of his story and the confidence of its author, not a necessarily a slight to his creativity. It takes a certain amount of nerve and a good amount of character to set about telling the oldest of stories in a new and personal way. While the story Paolini weaves in Eldest may seem familiar, the simple confidence with which he tells it raises it above the level of boring fantasy re-treads. Paolini manages to take a tried-and-true concept and still give it emotional impact, and in this sense he succeeds.

Eldest falls short, however, in its failure to introduce anything truly new. Reading it, ironically, feels a lot like watching Star Wars: it never fails to entertain, but you know the story too well to really be on the edge of your seat.

Yesterday, Wired.com posted its Top 4 Reasons You Need Warcraft's Lich King Expansion.

I might have to justify the $15 a month I'm still paying and actually log back in to see what's going on.  After buying Lich King, of course.

You can follow the Bard on Twitter here: http://www.twitter.com/accidentalbard.

Despite the creepy feeling that I typically get when exposed to most of Mr. Goodkind's work, I'll be there, red pen in hand, ready for some Objectivist action/adventure. Review to follow.

In the meantime, those of you who can't wait until Saturday can check out an early review of the two-hour premiere episode by the Hollywood Reporter.