Star Wars: A Forest Apart

by Troy Denning

  TD: I enjoy tough writing problems because they demand creativity. One of my favorite projects is Pages of Pain, where I was given the assignment of writing a novel from the viewpoint of an enigmatic character who never speaks, with the stipulation that the reader know less about her at the end than at the beginning. It required me to rethink the way I approach a story, and every book I’ve written since has benefited from that experience.

  DR: Can you give us an example of how it changed your thinking?

  TD: I’m more conscious of the narrator as a character, for one thing. Modern readers prefer to identify as closely as possible with the protagonists; and they really don’t want a third person filtering the experience for them. So, in much—probably most—modern fiction, the author strives to make the narrator invisible, to convince the reader that there isn’t a narrator at all. But somebody has to tell the story, choosing which details to pass along, hinting at whether a frown is angry or sad, deciding whether to pick up the pace with short sentences and punchy writing. Those choices create a personality, and that personality is the narrator. Even if the author tries to hide him, it is the narrator who gives the story its shape and feel. Try to imagine, for instance, how different Star by Star would have been if I had envisioned a Yuuzhan Vong telling the tale instead of someone sympathetic to the Jedi. The book would have included all of the same events, but the story would have been an entirely different one.

  But I’m straying pretty far from your question. It was a challenge to write a story in which the characters’ future is so well-known to the readers. I had to use the Solos’ relationship in Heir to the Empire as a sort of guiding beacon for Tatooine Ghost. Kathy Tyers did a wonderful job setting up Leia’s internal conflict over her heritage in The Truce at Bakura, and to a large extent it was my job to resolve that conflict and move the Solos to where they are at the beginning of the Thrawn trilogy. The challenge was to put something at stake in how they got there.

  DR: Approaching this from the opposite direction, Episode III won’t be in theaters for a while yet. But the events of Tatooine Ghost happen after Episode VI, The Return of the Jedi, so Han and Leia, as well as other characters, might very well know details from Episode III that are not known to readers. I imagine that you had to be careful not to give anything from Episode III away . . . while at the same being equally careful not to contradict anything. It makes me dizzy just to think about. How did you walk this tightrope in a novel that is so much a dialogue—almost literally in the case of Leia and Shmi’s palm diary—between past and present?

  TD: Avoiding spoilers was easy—I don’t know what happens in Episode III. I just focused on Episodes I and II and tried not to contradict anything there. Of course, I also had Del Rey and Lucasfilm looking over my shoulder, and presumably they know a lot more than I do.

  DR: Who or what is the ghost of the title? Is it Shmi? Is it Anakin?

  TD: As Han says somewhere in the story, it depends on how you look at it. To me, the ghost is something much larger than either Anakin or Shmi.

  DR: Do you mean the Force?

  TD: Yes and no. I don’t really want to say, because the ghost is going to be something different for everyone. You could even make a case for it being Obi-Wan or the Tuskens, and all of those interpretations might be valid.

  DR: I thought it was interesting to see Leia wrestling with the same difficulty that troubles so many fans of the The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones: namely, how to reconcile the immensely likeable young Anakin Skywalker with Darth Vader, the living embodiment of the dark side that he becomes.

  TD: Yes, that’s the heart of Leia’s struggle. You can’t reconcile the coexistence of good and evil unless you look beyond preconceptions.

  DR: Of course, there’s always the danger that she’s inherited this propensity from her father.

  TD: There is that danger, yes. In fact, as the novel begins, Leia has already started to follow in her father’s footsteps precisely because she has fallen into the trap of narrow thinking, of believing that a person is either one thing or the other.

  DR: In Leia’s Force-visions, you give readers an unusual glimpse into the mysterious nature of the Force. We know that the dark side of the Force can be a terrifying thing, but here you show us that it’s not just the dark side. Leia is resisting what the Force is trying to show her . . . and the Force doesn’t like to be resisted!

  TD: This touches on a theme close to my heart, the idea that life is a current. You can either fight the current or go with it. If you fight it, life will be a battle, but you stand a good chance of ending up some place close to your goal (although you may be too tired and battered to enjoy it). If you go with the current, life will be easier, but you have no idea where you’ll end up—it could be bad, it could be good. The compromise is to work with the current, to guide yourself within it to someplace you’ll be happy. Leia, of course, has been a current-fighter all her life; the realization she reaches in Tatooine Ghost is that her particular current is a very strong one.

  DR: At one point, the Force seems to be warning Leia that her brother, Luke, may go over to the dark side. I know that this did in fact happen in the Dark Horse Dark Empire comic series, but I was wondering if this was a bit of foreshadowing for a future exploration of those events in book form?

  TD: The vision you’re talking about is a direct reference to the comic story, but I doubt it will be explored any further in novel form. (In fact, I think Lucasfilm editors have said they have no plans to turn comic stories into novels.) I utilized that scene solely because it already existed in the Star Wars continuity, so it would have been redundant to make up something similar.

  DR: You’re probably best known as a fantasy writer from your work in the Forgotten Realms series. How different is it to write science fiction? Or do you consider Star Wars fantasy as some writers and readers do?

  TD: I go back and forth on this. I’m sure I’ve taken opposite positions in different interviews. At the moment, I guess I think of Star Wars as space opera rather than fantasy—if for no other reason than it doesn’t feel like fantasy when I write it. There are certainly fantasy parallels: an epic plot, larger-than-life heroes, a concern for the spiritual element of the quest. But, at its heart, I think Star Wars is very concerned with the relationship between technology and spirit, which fantasy is not. Besides, I just can’t bring myself to think of the Force as magic. Magic is beyond nature, while the Force is intimately connected to life and therefore very much a part of nature—even if it is beyond our understanding.

  DR: How did you get your start as a writer? What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

  TD: I started writing stories in 8th grade, when our English teacher assigned us the task of keeping a journal (at first, I don’t think he realized the entries were fiction). I’ve been at it since. Eventually—fifteen years later—I was able to put together a decent-enough story that TSR asked me to write one of the Forgotten Realms Avatar books.

  The best advice I can give to any aspiring writer is to stop aspiring and start doing! You have to write every day. You have to ignore the little editor in your head that tells you to rewrite each paragraph before you move on to the next one. You have to study your craft by reading the fiction of other writers, but also books and magazines on how to plot, to create believable characters, to establish viewpoint, etc. Fiction really is an art, and it takes a lot of study to do it well.

  DR: Which writers’ work was the most helpful for you as far as learning your craft?

  TD: If I had to pick just one—and thankfully I don’t—it would be William Goldman. The things he did with The Princess Bride are just brilliant; I find myself going back to study the sword fight scenes every few months. He makes it looks so easy and spontaneous—which, of course, is a tribute to how long and hard he must have worked on that book. I think most writers would agree that the most difficult thing to do is make your prose look effortless.

  But when I talk about studying the cra
ft, I really do mean studying. My favorite books above all are books about writing: Rober McKee’s Story, Wayne C. Booth’s The Rhetoric of Fiction, Joseph Campbell’s books The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It’s not enough just to read fiction; you have to step back and look at it from the outside.

  DR: You’ve also written an eBook novella, A Forest Apart, that takes place immediately prior to Tatooine Ghost and features Chewie, his life-mate, Mallatobuck, and their son, Lumpy. It’s good to see Chewie again, and especially taking the starring role!

  TD: One of the highlights of Tatooine Ghost was that Chewbacca would be back, and I really wanted to do him justice. In my early drafts, I overdid his part a bit—he was appearing in scenes where he didn’t belong, and in other places I was straining to give him a larger part than his role warranted. I fixed this before the editors saw the manuscript, but I loved writing him so much that I wanted to do more. So, when we talked about an eBook, I realized this was the perfect opportunity to explore his character. I have to say it’s not easy to write an all-Wookiee story, but it was a lot of fun.

  DR: What are you working on now? Will you be returning to that galaxy “far, far away” anytime soon?

  TD: My next project is a Han and Leia story, tentatively titled Never Trust a Squib, for the Insider. It should come out a month or so after Tatooine Ghost. Then I’ll probably start work on an epic fantasy series that I’ve been putting together for a couple of years. Beyond the Insider story, I don’t have any current plans to return to the GFFA, but I’m definitely open to the possibility. I’m a Star Wars fan from way back, and I love where the stories are going now.

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  STAR WARS: TATOOINE GHOST

  by Troy Denning

  On-sale: March 2, 2003

  When adventure sends newlyweds Han Solo and Leia Organa Solo to Tatooine, Leia’s past arises to haunt her, to guide her, and to teach her things about herself that will forever change her future. . . .

  Read on for a sample of this exciting new

  Star Wars novel!

  Han had never been so moved by a piece of art. For the next two hours, as they sat at a local tapcaf waiting for the auction to begin, his thoughts kept returning to the painting, to how the Killiks were turning to face the storm. The image reminded Han that people—and bugs—were swept through life by forces they could not understand, that in the tempests life threw at them, they could control nothing but their own reactions. That was something Han tended to forget when the winds ran against him, and it was one of the things he loved most about Leia—the way she never flinched in a storm, the way she always stood firm while those around her were being blown off their feet.

  Han wanted Leia to have that moss-painting. She had spent her youth looking at Killik Twilight every time she left her bedchamber, and it was the one physical connection to her family’s palace that had survived the destruction of Alderaan. And, not that it mattered to potential bidders, it probably still belonged to her. Han would have hesitated to call the seller a thief—the moss-painting had been in transit, and galactic salvage laws applied to artwork like anything else—but there was a reason it was being sold on a lawless planet like Tatooine, and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the health benefits of dry desert air.

  Like every tapcaf near Mawbo’s Performance Hall, the one in which he and Leia sat was so packed that the air was almost humid with breath moisture. The customers—mostly bidders waiting for the auction to start—were chattering among themselves, decked out in their finest outfits and trying not to be too obvious as they appraised the competition. Slumped in a dim corner and doing their best to appear crassly involved with each other, Han and Leia drew few long glances. Chewbacca and C-3PO were in a tapcaf across the street, far enough away to avoid being associated with “Jaxal” and “Limba,” yet close enough to come running in case of trouble.

  Sellers from the auction began to arrive in ones and twos, among them the Barabel with the alasl bowls and the dark-haired man offering the holocube of the young Podracer. Han was not surprised to see Leia’s eyes following the human toward a vacant counter stool. Though she seldom gave any work of holography more than a passing glance, there was clearly something different about this one—and Han felt sure he knew what it was.

  He slipped an arm around the back of Leia’s chair and began to stroke her prosthetic lekku. The head-tail responded with an appreciative squirm.

  “You know,” Han said, “you never did tell me who the kid in the holocube reminded you of.”

  “He didn’t remind me of anyone. Only his eyes.”

  “Sure,” Han said. “If you say so.”

  Leia was not taking the bait. “I do.”

  “Come on. You can say it. I thought the kid was cute, too.”

  “What makes you think I found him cute?”

  “I saw the way you looked at him.”

  Leia shot him a glare that could have frozen a sun. “So?”

  “So, maybe there’s a reason.”

  Leia narrowed her eyes. “What kind of reason, Han?”

  Han took a big gulp. He could see that Leia knew where this was going as well as he did, and he knew what kind of reaction to expect. But it was one of those risks a man had to take.

  “Maybe it’s because you like kids,” Han said. “Maybe because you want one.”

  Leia’s face went blank and emotionless, a sure sign that she was angry—really angry. Furious, even. She took a long sip of her drink and avoided looking at Han.

  “We talked about children before we were married. I thought you understood.”

  “Yeah, I understood,” Han said. “But I thought—”

  “We agreed.” Leia returned the glass to the table with a bang. “You can’t just change your mind.”

  Han bit his tongue. How could he tell her he had not changed his mind—that his mind had changed him? That marriage had changed him?

  “I know what we said,” he allowed. “But has it ever occurred to you that you’re being irrational?”

  “Irrational?”

  “Irrational.” Han had to wet his throat. “How can a kid—”

  “Please tell me you just discovered you had a child with Bria Tharen,” Leia said. “Because I could live with that. Everyone has a past.”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure mine doesn’t include kids,” Han said. Bria had been his first love, a willowy red-haired beauty who was one of the founders of the Rebellion—and who had died a martyr after double-crossing him to secure the plans to the first Death Star. “Bria did have her secrets.”

  “None of which has anything to do with this conversation, I take it.”

  “Afraid not.” Han leaned closer and spoke in a near whisper. “I know we talked about this, but I can’t believe the dark side really runs in your blood.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Leia corrected. “It’s the power that runs in my blood. And power corrupts. I see that every day.”

  “Not always.” Han took Leia’s arm, then played his trump card. “Just look at your brother. No one is stronger in the Force than he is. If anyone was going to go be corrupted, it would be him.”

  Leia jerked away and, fixing her gaze on the tapcaf’s much-blemished wall, gulped down half her drink. “Drop it.”

  “Look, I’m not saying we have to decide today—”

  “You’ve known how I felt since Bakura.” Leia still did not look at him. “I don’t have the right to bring someone who could become another Darth Vader into th
e galaxy. If you can’t live with that, why didn’t you let me marry Prince Isolder?”

  The mere mention of Isolder’s name set Han’s teeth on edge. The whole Hapan incident had shattered what little faith he’d ever had in politicians.

  “What about—” Han heard his voice start to rise and caught himself. He checked for eavesdroppers and found none; with the auction approaching, the room was filled with an escalating drone that rendered conversations difficult to understand even at the same table. “What about Isolder?”

  Leia finally turned and met his eye again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s pretty clear,” Han said. “Did you tell him you didn’t want children?”

  “It never came to that. Someone abducted me before negotiations went that far.”

  “Yeah?” Han saw the waitress approaching and waved her off. “And what if negotiations had gone that far? Do you think Ta’a Chume would have allowed the wedding to take place knowing you didn’t want children?”

  Leia’s composure broke, and she looked at him with tears welling in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you don’t know what you want.”

  “And you do?” Leia asked.

  “I see how your face lights up when someone lets you hold a baby,” Han said. “And I saw the way you looked at that kid in the holocube.”

  “You’re way off course—”

  “You know I’m right,” Han interrupted. “And you’re afraid to admit it. The only reason you don’t want kids is you’re still afraid of your father—afraid of him and mad at him. And that’s a lousy excuse for not having kids. Not when we both want them.”