In speculative fiction, there’s a trick people rely upon to insure their protagonist is the only one who can preserve the kingdom, save the world, and rescue the galaxy from mechanical centipedes. Unroll some ancient parchment, have blind monks read it in catacombs, and declare your main character the chosen one...

After pulling out of my Dragon Age: Inquisition coma, I decided to return to a genre of game that, out of everyone in the house, only I enjoy: sneaking. At first, I prodded Dishonored (the game where Bioshock and Skyrim had an illegitimate child that they keep locked in an attic). Despite hating the story and all the one-dimensional characters, I freaking loved the mechanics...

The joy of writing is in creating that which has never been seen before; an alien world where the rocks are sentient, or a woman posing as a man to rob from the rich and keep some for herself. But sometimes, even when I can see the furrow of a character’s brow or the demoralizing sneer, I can’t see the whole face...

So, you’ve got a great YA dystopian idea. Perhaps all of humanity has been wiped out by a nefarious disease carried by hamsters so the hope of the species rests upon the backs of sixteen to nineteen year olds who are immune to the rodentia dementia.

Like nonplussed and literally, the phrase “strong female character” has come to mean its antithesis. When people hear it, they picture a full fleshed out woman with her own wants and desires...

If one can imagine dragons filling the sky, lightning shooting from fingertips, and skeletons walking the earth, why is it so hard to include a color other than lily white for the people in a fantasy world?