Exploring all things draconic (and a few things that aren't)
I’d like to take the opportunity this week to talk about a new collection of dragon shirt stories coming out. Only, I’m featured in this one!
Fairytale Dragons is an anthology if stories that retell classic fairytales, but with added dragons. I have not one, but two stories in the collection, retelling the tales of Hansel & Gretel and Childe Rowland. It comes out later this month, but in the meantime, you can find it here: https://books2read.com/DSPFD
Continuing off of our discussion of Scales & Scoundrels in the last post, let’s take a moment to revisit the writing of dragons — specifically, looking at the whole matter of hoards.
Dragons have hoards. That’s part and parcel of the trope. For some reason, giant fire-breathing lizards just love to sleep on piles of gold. Personally, if I had that much gold, I think I could come up with better uses for it, but so it goes. But why do dragons have hoards, and how do different stories play with that notion?
First and foremost, you have the stories where dragons just like gold, including those of mythology. At least in the classical stories, this is a clear analogy for the hollowness of greed and all that. The story of Sigurd and Fafnir ties into that in a particularly blunt way, with Fafnir transformed into a dragon in the first place due to his greed. So in ye olden times, it’s a matter of symbolism for sure. And possibly also a nice reward for the hero for getting himself nearly killed (or totally killed) slaying the dragon. That’s still a portrayal we see in more recent works, too, with Smaug being an obvious example.
The problem I have with this type of behavior is that it’s boring. Naked greed as a motivation just bores me, whether it’s a human doing it or a dragon. There are so many better options out there for a motivation. This isn’t the case if you’re discussing a dragon that just likes gold, but doesn’t hoard it, like Saphira from Eragon. That’s a personality trait, not a motivation. Totally different beastie. So, if you’re taking writing advice from me, I would advise you don’t do this.
There are other examples of hoarding in fiction that are far more interesting, though. A simple and shallow example can be found in Dragon’s Ring, where dragons have to sleep on gold in order to rejuvenate themselves. That’s fine, but not interesting or compelling. A more interesting example can be found in the aforementioned Scales & Scoundrels, where the dragons are collecting gold in order to exert economic pressures on the mortal kingdoms and shape the course of the world. Very Illuminati-esque, but that idea is actually fairly interesting to me, and offers a lot of interesting options to the writer.
But if you’re going to go with greed, at least make it an interesting twist on the norm. Have them collect knowledge, or magic, or maybe even people (Temeraire seems to do a bit of this). In urban fantasy novels, dragons that play the stock market are an option I’ve seen before. That one fits, but it’s a bit of a literal interpretation.
A more mystical example comes to us from Dragonsbane, which I will absolutely be reviewing at some point, but not anytime soon. In one scene, the protagonist Jenny asks the dragon Morkeleb why dragons care for gold so much, and learns that it acts as a sort of magical resonator that creates something akin to music, which strikes her as beautiful. It’s an interesting counterpoint to both the finance-focused hoarding impulses of the other dragons we’ve discussed, and the design of the dragons in Dragonsbane, which is almost more insectile than reptilian.
Both of these approaches have two things in common:
When working on dragons within your own stories, that’s what to keep in mind. And if hoarding dragons don’t fit your story, don’t be afraid to not use them — some dragons just don’t have hoards. (Looking at you, Toothless.) Again, this is a matter of fitting the story being told. Some stories just don’t benefit from the addition of massive piles of metal that must be accounted for at all times. And that’s more than fine. Just so long as it’s compelling.
(You may be wondering where the second part of the Dragon’s Ring review is. Well, I got lazy and didn’t write it, so I shall conclude it here: the book is good. Not buy-in-hardcover good, but buy-in-paperback good. So there. Expect a review of the sequel, Dog and Dragon, somewhere down the line.)
So far this blog has mostly been about reviews, but part of my intention for it is to include some ruminations on writing. In part because I feel like it, and in part because I’ve spent the last two weeks reading biographies rather than fiction, we’re going to get rolling on that today. And in the nature of the blog, we’re going to be talking about writing dragons. Might as well make a series out of it while we’re at it. You certainly can’t cover the entire topic of writing dragons in one article.
For our first outing, we’re going to go over what I would argue should be the first question you should ask about your dragons you plan on creating: what can these these death reptiles do?
If you’re a fan of Magic: The Gathering, then you know who Nicol Bolas is and just how twisty his mind is. We’re talking about a dragon whose schemes stretch across thousands of years and who knows how many planes. Whatever physical strength Bolas has is, frankly, irrelevant: it’s his mind that’s the true weapon.
On the other hand, we have the dragons of A Song of Ice and Fire (and yes, I do mean ASOIAF, because I haven’t seen Game of Thrones and still have hope that the novels will end better). The dragons of Westeros are pretty much just animals. Highly dangerous, and cunning by animal standards, but they’re not going to kill you with schemes. They’re going to kill you with fire.
When designing dragons for any sort of creative work, this is one of the earliest questions to ask yourself. This is less about your dragons’ sense of morality and more about their intellect, whether they’re a proper sapient race or if they’re closer to animals. Both have their place, but they fill very different niches within the world, ancient wisdom and cunning as opposed to instinctual savagery.
Let’s be honest with ourselves, folks. As awesome as Toothless is, he got himself shot down and crippled by a kid with a net gun. Night Furies aren’t the most durable of creatures, but they’re plenty fast enough to make up the difference. Contrast that with Smaug, a dragon so well-armored that he only has one weak spot on him. He’s not fast, but you can’t hurt him, so it works out.
That’s a decision you need to make regarding your own dragons: how do they fight? Through brute force, or agility? It may sound like a bit of a shallow question at this point, but the fact is that distinction will shape the entire behavior and culture of the species. Think of how humans show respect to those who defy or exceed what’s considered “normal” for our physical capabilities. That’s going to be the same for any other species.
The third question we ask ourselves is, what sort of magical potential do these dragons have? And this is being determined against the baseline of what a dragon is; we’re not including the ability to breathe fire or fly in this category (unless your setting requires it to be so, I guess).
This one is tricky, because a dragon is already a pretty powerful creature, and giving them magic on top makes them even more powerful. As with all other magic systems, care must be taken, and what you let your dragons do should fit within the purpose those dragons have within your story.
You might have noticed a common theme in the above discussions, and a common question: what purpose do the dragons in your setting serve? That’s the real question that you have to answer, the one that informs everything else. You can’t just drop some dragons into your setting and expect it to work: they have to have a place within the world. They have to serve some purpose to the story beyond just looking awesome.
Once you figure that it, getting everything else to fall into place is far simpler.
The Library of Scales 