The Black Dagger Brotherhood_An Insider's Guide

by J. R. Ward

  When I’m finished with the revisions, it’s another trip to Kinko’s on a Thursday evening, pulling a Night of the Living Dead in sweats again. Usually my editor and I do only one revision cycle, not because I’m a miracle worker or a genius, but because I’m really critical about my own work and beat the hell out of the material before she gets to see it.

  Next up are copyedits. After my editor reads the book through again and approves it for publication, the manuscript goes to a copy editor, who checks it for dropped words, grammatical issues, trademark spellings, continuity glitches between scenes, and time line stuff. She also puts in the typesetting notations—which are like a Morse code of dots and dashes made in red pencil.

  I should probably confess that I don’t think I’m a joy to copyedit. In my books I use a lot of vernacular. Personally, I think so-called “common language” is more interesting and apropos than “proper English”; it’s passionate and powerful in ways that “wherefore art thou ass and thy elbow” just isn’t. I’m very grateful to the copy editor we tend to use because she doesn’t try to beat me over the head with The Chicago Manual of Style (the reference bible for grammatical propriety).

  When the copy edits come back, I go through the manuscript, answer any queries on the margins, stet or accept any word additions or subtractions (stet is the word you use to reject what the copy editor has done), and address any issues that my editor and I have come up with on the revisions. Usually my manuscripts are pretty clean, but I still manage to find things that bug me. When I read my writing, it’s like running my hand down a cloth that should be seamless. Things that aren’t smooth irritate the ever living hell out of me, and I have to work and rework the words until I don’t feel rough spots anymore.

  After I send the copyedited manuscript back, the next step is galleys. Galleys are an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven printout of exactly what will be in the bound book—think of opening a book up to any page split, and the galleys are the left and right sides reproduced. I go through the whole thing in this form, and I always want to fuss over and change too much. I’m truly never satisfied.

  So that’s my process, and I’ve got to say it was complicated by Zsadist, because some of the scenes in him I didn’t want to write, much less edit. Even for this compendium, when I’ve pored through all the other books picking out passages for the dossiers . . . I can’t do that with Z.

  Which is kind of weird, because out of all the males and men I’ve ever written about, he’s my favorite. Bar none. But there’s a lot in his story that’s really upsetting.

  What scenes got to me? They’re still in my head so vividly I don’t need to open Lover Awakened to remember them. One of the hardest for me to write was the sequence where Z is led down into what was going to be his cell for the next hundred years by the private guard he used to serve ale to when he was a kitchen boy. He’s just been raped by the Mistress for the first time and is so innocent and hurt and terrified. None of the males will look at him or touch him or take pity on him. They think of him as unclean even though he is a victim. As he walks along, crying, with the remnants of what the Mistress had used on him still on his body, my heart absolutely broke.

  It’s just awful.

  Another scene that absolutely killed me was when Bella finds Z on the floor of his shower, scrubbing at himself, trying to get clean enough for her to feed from him. He’s rubbing his skin raw, but no matter how much soap and friction he uses, he still feels absolutely filthy.

  Then there was the scene where Z forced her to hurt him so that he could finish sexually.

  But there are also sections I don’t want to read over again that aren’t about Z.

  I knew going into the book that Wellsie’s death was going to be hard on readers. It was hard on me. I cried when I wrote the scene where Tohr is down in the training center’s office with John Matthew and is calling home, hoping that Well-sie will pick up, praying that she’s okay. Just as he dials their number once again, the Brotherhood shows up at the office’s door. Wellsie’s voice comes out of the speakerphone as the call flips into voice mail and Tohr is told she’s been killed.

  I’ve had some readers and other authors say that I was courageous for killing a main character off. I’ve had others be really disappointed at my creative choice. Although I totally respect both perspectives, the thing is, to me it wasn’t courage or a choice at all. It was just what happened. I knew all along that Wellsie would be killed; the only thing that surprised me was that it happened as early as it did in terms of the series. I thought it would be farther along in the books, but the thing is, the scenes I see don’t always come chronologically, so I don’t always know the when.

  As a side note, I will say that those who had problems with her death had less trouble when I explained that it wasn’t a melodramatic calculation on my part and that it basically crippled me. I think if you work with characters whom readers feel a close connection with, and bad things happen, as long as you show that you are far from indifferent, that in fact you are heartbroken and worried and sad, then readers are less likely to feel capriciously manipulated.

  Some other thoughts on Z . . .

  Bella should have gotten more airtime.

  In the Brotherhood books, my heroines don’t always get enough attention or page space, and I know why. One of my weaknesses as a writer, and it comes out in the series, is that I get so far into the heads and the lives of my heroes that the female leads are in danger of being eclipsed.

  See, the good thing about the Brothers is that I see them with such clarity.

  The bad thing about the Brothers is that I see them with such clarity.

  Choosing what to put in and where to filter is hard for me, and not only in terms of the Brothers’ lives. The series as a whole is always progressing in my head: changes in the war are happening; Wrath is at greater and greater odds with the glymera; challenges are coming into the previous Brothers’ relationships and being surmounted. Nothing is static in the world, and I don’t always know what to put to the side.

  Back to Bella as a case in point. I wish I’d spent more time showing how her experience being held at the hands of Mr. O affected her emotionally and psychologically. There was some mention of the aftermath, but there could have been more. Sure, she gets the (dubious) satisfaction of killing her captor at the end, but I think I might have shown more of her processing her abduction in front of the readers so they knew where she was and how she was coming along.

  As for the romance? Bella was perfect for Zsadist—pretty much the only female I could picture getting through to him (and he’s really the only male strong enough for her to respect—I mean, hello, Rehvenge is her brother!).

  They’re just a great pair. . . . I’m reminded of the very first time they meet in Lover Eternal. Z’s punching that bag down in the gym, and Bella stumbles upon his workout. She’s instantly attracted to him as she watches him from behind, and even after he turns around and she sees his scarred face and gets a load of his nasty attitude, she’s still drawn to him (p. 70).

  The beginnings of their mutual connection came through toward the end of that book. At the party Rhage throws for his Mary at the Brotherhood’s mansion, Bella reaches up and touches Phury’s hair out of curiosity. Z is watching from the shadows and comes over to her:

  In a burning rush, she imagined him looking down at her while their bodies were merged, his face inches from her own. The fantasy had her lifting her arm. She wanted to run her fingertip down that scar until it got to his mouth. Just to know the feel of him.

  With a quick jerk to the side, Zsadist dodged the contact, eyes flaring as if she’d shocked him. The expression was buried fast.

  In a flat, cold voice he said, “Careful there, female. I bite.”

  “Will you ever say my name?”—LOVER ETERNAL, p. 346

  Phury comes over and separates them. Taking Bella aside, he makes a statement that was so very true before she comes into Z’s life:

  “My twin’s not
broken. He’s ruined. Do you understand the difference? With broken maybe you can fix him. Ruined? All you can do is wait to bury him.”—LOVER ETERNAL, p. 346

  Later in the evening, Bella ends up following Z to his bedroom. The visit doesn’t end as she hopes, with them together in bed. Instead she learns something about this hard-core warrior she’s so attracted to. This is from after he nearly takes her, when he stops and rolls off her onto the tiled floor:

  Jesus, his body was in rough shape. His stomach was hollow. His hip bones jutted out of his skin. He must indeed only drink from humans, she thought. And not eat much at all.

  She focused on the tattooed bands covering his wrist and neck. And the scars.

  Ruined. Not broken.

  Although she was ashamed to admit it now, the darkness in him had been the largest part of his allure. It was such an anomaly, a contrast to what she’d known from life. It had made him dangerous. Exciting. Sexy. But that was a fantasy. This was real.

  He suffered. And there was nothing sexy or thrilling about that.

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 365

  As I said before, Bella’s abduction was part of the reason they ended up together, because it opened Z emotionally to her in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. But I think Bella still would have gotten to him, because she’s a great combination of strength and compassion. She’s a realist, though, and does pull out of the relationship toward the end of their book, when Z pushes her away. Their parting, along with other forces in his life, are what prompt Z to make some important changes.

  I have to say that, to me, the way Lover Awakened ended with its epilogue was so great. Z’s back working out in the gym where Bella first saw him, but as she comes in and brings little Nalla to her daddy, you get a sense of how far they’ve come. I swear, when Z turns back and winks at the trainee while he has Nalla in his arms?

  *sigh*

  But here’s the thing: As I’ve said, the reality for me in this series is that these people’s lives don’t stop just because their book is finished. And that is what the novella in this compendium was all about. It’s logical that Z would have trouble bonding with his daughter, and I really value the opportunity of getting to show that part of his development as a male and a hellren and a father.

  And speaking of family . . . Phury. You can’t talk about Z without mentioning Phury. Phury has fascinated me ever since that scene in Lover Eternal when he comes back from having beaten Z at Z’s request. Phury’s hollow eyes as he emerges from the training center’s tunnel were what stuck with me, and I was dying to see where he ended up and how he fell in love. And then, in Lover Awakened, he goes even farther for his twin. I think the scene when Phury scars his own face really gets to the core of the trouble he’s in, both psychologically and emotionally. All his life he has been consumed by his twin’s abduction and slavery, and his rescue of Z doesn’t save either one of them from their suffering. When Phury shaves his head and puts a dagger to his own face in order to take his twin’s place at the hands of the lesser who abducted Bella, he becomes the physical embodiment of Zsadist.

  More on Phury later, but he was almost too heroic, overbalancing Z’s anti-hero with a personality that was self-sacrificing to a detrimental degree.

  One last thing . . . Rehvenge . . . oh, Rehv. Getting a chance to show him off was one of the great joys of this book. He was and is just so flat-out hot and such total and complete bad news that I was jonesing to write his book even back then.

  And Rehv was significant for another reason.

  He was, in Lover Awakened, the first time I’d ever tried to deliberately obscure a character’s identity. The Reverend, club owner and drug dealer, and Rehvenge, aristocratic, overbearing brother of Bella, were the same person, but I didn’t want the reader to know it until the end, when Z and Bella go to her mother’s house. The way I managed the sleight of hand was that I showed Rehv mostly through other people’s points of view, and if there was anything in his POV, I was careful there were no revelations on his part that left the reader making the connection. It was, as Butch would say, wicked tricky. I literally went through every single word in the Rehv sections to make sure that there were no tip-offs and that the presentations made him believable in both roles.

  Okay, I guess I’ve gone on long enough about Zsadist and his book. Butch is, as always, wanting some attention, and then there’re still Vishous and Phury to go through.

  I think I’ll close with the fact that I’m still in love with Z and always will be.

  And that just about says it all.

  Dhestroyer, Descended of Wrath, Son of Wrath

  a.k.a. Butch O’Neal

  “You’ve got some of me in you, cop.” Wrath’s smile stuck around as he slid

  his glasses back on. “Course, I always knew you were a royal.

  Just didn’t think it went past the pain-in-the-ass part, is all.”

  —LOVER REVEALED, p. 321

  Personal Qs (answered by Butch):

  My Interview with Butch

  After Zsadist and I get home from Target, I help carry the bags into the mansion. We are just finishing the fetch-and-carry routine when Butch comes out of the door under the stairs. He’s dressed in a black Izod sweater with a white shirt underneath and a pair of superbly cut black trousers. His shoes are Tod’s. Black with no socks. He’s got a duffel bag on his shoulder and a monster grin on his face.

  I smile a good-bye to Z and he returns my expression, his ruined lip twitching up briefly and his eyes flashing yellow. I think for a moment how lucky Bella and Nalla are; then I follow Butch out of the foyer and into one of my favorite rooms in the house. The library is walled with books, the only breaks coming for the windows and the bank of doors and the fireplace. Oil paintings of landscapes are hung over the tomes here and there, giving an English-manor-house feel to the space.

  Edna is your standard-issue links transport—except she’s had a makeover right out of the Robb Report. She’s got a Cadillac hood ornament and a grille modeled after the Escalade’s. Painted black, her rims are twenty-fours, her bumpers are chromed, her seating leather, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to discover that she’s turbo-charged. Hell, if you could nitro an electric engine, I’d be looking for the injector button on the console.

  Kanye West blares out over the gardens and we take off across the rolling lawn, passing by flower beds that are battened down for the coming winter. As we go, I grab onto the lip of the top and start to laugh. Rolling bat-out-of-hell in a golf cart guarantees a trigger of your inner six-year-old, and I can’t help but get a case of the tickle-giggles as we bounce along. The fact that we are being accompanied by Kanye singing about the good life is just about perfect.

  Deer scamper out of the way at a dead run, their tails flipping up with white undersides flashing. Like Z, Butch doesn’t have the headlights on, but given how loud Kanye is, I don’t think there’s any chance of catching one of those lovely animals frozen in our path.

  Eventually, Butch slows Edna down right in front of the forest edge. Kanye quiets and the night’s silence rushes forward as if it’s a good host and we’ve just arrived at its party. Butch grabs the duffel and together we walk about twenty feet, heading in the direction of the mansion, which is in the far distance.

  Butch puts the duffel on the ground, unzips it, and wades around inside. What comes out is a series of thin metal sections, which he begins to fit together.

  When he’s finished, he’s built an odd kind of platform. The base is a foot off the ground, and it supports a metal rod that’s about two feet high.

  The model rocket is about two feet in length from pointed tip to flared bottom, and it has three sections. White, with a Red Sox logo painted on the side, its top is fluorescent, no doubt to track its path and increase the chances of recovering it in the dark.

  I’m pretty sure at this point he’s waggling his eyebrows at me, but I can’t see under the brim of the Miami Ink hat. I smile anyway because . . . wel
l, some things you can’t help but do.