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Unlike the more familiar Greco-Roman or Norse pantheons which feature vivid characters and well-defined myth cycles, the Inuit myths tend to ramble, skipping madly about with the rapid scene changes of a disjointed dream and likely to end abruptly with a stoic, “˜”Here ends this story.”

The mythology is peppered with impressive spirits with interesting names. But aside from a name and a job description there’s little else to go on. So when I decided to write ALAANA’S WAY, an epic fantasy series about the first female shaman in an arctic world based on Inuit myth, I had my hands full. As shaman it’s Alaana’s duty to negotiate with the great spirits, and they all became colorful characters in the story. Their appearance and personalities were entirely up to me.

Another problem. A nomadic lifestyle, the vagaries of a mostly oral tradition and a fractured tribal system leave little agreement between different versions of the same story. Even the most established figure, Sedna, Mistress of the Sea, owns multiple conflicting origin stories. One version claims she was the daughter of two giants with such an uncontrollable urge for flesh that she tried to devour her parents in their sleep. Another tribe insists she was a young beauty forced to marry an elderly neighbor who turned out to be a monstrous carrion bird, leaving her no route of escape except a plunge into the salty depths. Or perhaps she was a poor orphan girl mistreated and cast into the sea by the other children; her fingers, chopped off as she clung desperately to the side of the kayak, fell into the water to become the walruses and seal. I had to tread carefully here. I decided, in a flash of Solomon-like insight, that all of them were true. I supposed that in the Beforetime, where dreams were reality, she was all those things, lived all those lives. But here and now she is simply Sedna, the Sea Mother who controls all the animals in the ocean.

Another established figure is Tulukkaruq, the Raven, who always represents a mischievous spirit in Native American folklore. The Inuit Raven is impressive indeed, having been credited with creating human beings and bestowng the gift of fire on us as well. But really, this one was easy. I gave him the personality of the Dark Knight’s Joker and urged him to plague both my shamanic heroine and her villainous nemesis in equal measure.

But what about the rest? Interpreting an entire pantheon is a daunting task, but I never flinched. I’m a fantasist. This is what I live for.

Consider Tornarssuk the guardian spirit of the polar bears. The name spoke to me. I pictured an enormous shimmering white bear with starry eyes. He would be fierce and deadly but also benevolent and wise, with a soft spot for human beings as well. Tekkeitsertok is the guardian of the caribou, so a tawny-furred man with cloven hooves and an impressive rack of antlers. I figured he was an old and docile spirit, more interested in sleeping than fighting, but he does get into at least one good brawl before the series’ end. The Whale-Man may appear as a gigantic black bowhead or a Poseidon-like man, and let’s make him the estranged lover of Sedna for good measure. I wrote a scene in book four where the two have a torrential undersea battle, her sharks on one side vs his whales on the other.

What about Erlaveersinioq, the Skeleton Who Walks, a terrifying spirit who loves murder and death above all things? I guess we can chalk him up in the villain’s column. Sila, spirit of the Wild Wind, was a wild card but in the southern tribes he is also the spirit of justice. Let’s put him with the heroes, but leave some question as to whether he’ll really show up to help. As for the snowy owl who leads the souls of the dead across the great divide, she should be petite and cute, with a light as bright as sunlight on fresh snow. Narssuk, who controls the weather, is an insane sky baby who lets down his caribou skin diaper to issue a stormy blast of thunder and snow.

Somewhere along the line I found mention of the Tunrit, a race of people who lived in the arctic before the Raven created human beings. A race of prehistoric supermen. I could find nothing more about them except for the name of the tribe, but that was enough. I had found my villain. A promethean figure among the first men, who had wrestled sabre-toothed tigers and brought the sun from the other side of the sky, and who turned to sorcery to atone for that terrible mistake.

So are my versions of these mythological figures accurate? Probably not, since they came mostly out of my own imagination. But they might be. And that’s an important point. In dealing with a cultural belief system, albeit an archaic and disfavored one, I felt a duty to be respectful. My books sit proudly on the shelves of the Toronto Public Library and in a home for wayward Inuit boys in Nunavut, Alaska. In correspondence I’ve received from Inuit people reaction varies from praise for giving these mythological figures new life, to a stoic acknowledgement of the fact that at least I didn’t contradict anything.

That last is not entirely true. A pivotal figure in the series is the Moon-Man. Many Inuit tribes posit the familiar Native American myth that the lecherous Moon-Man chases his sister the Sun across the sky each day in hopes of an incestuous liaison. This didn’t fit in with my elderly, romantic Moon-Man nor my version of the Sun as an extraterrestrial spirit. What to do? I decided to have my shamanic heroine Alaana ask the Moon-Man, on one her soul-flights to his realm, if the story was true. “Oh no,” he says, “that’s just a story people tell.” So at least the contradiction comes right out of the mouth of the Moon-Man himself. Who could argue with that?

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Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Do you recall being read to as a child? The highs and lows of a familiar voice lulling you to sleep or keeping you entertained, if only for a few minutes? Where did it happen? In bed? Curled up together on the couch or in a favorite chair? On the subway? Outside under a tree? What did the voices read? Works by Laura Ingalls Wilder? Doctor Seuss? Langston Hughes? Judy Blume? Staples such as Goodnight Moon, Pat the Bunny, The Hobbit, There’s A Monster At The End Of This Book, any of the Harry Potter books?

Readng to as a child stimulates a number of areas of growth: language development; social bonding; letter and color recognition. Not that the child cares about any of that. Reading fantasy to a child opens up worlds of possibility. When done right, all the child cares about is the next line in the story, the next fantastic moment and location that will sweep them away to somewhere wondrous where they don’t have to do chores, finish homework, or hurt, if only for a little while.

The same can be said for audio fantasy fiction as an adult. Load an audio book, click on your favorite podcast, and let someone tell you a story. I’m not talking radio dramas or stage performances, though those have their merits. I mean a story or novel, something with the “he said”, “she did”, “they saw” intact, A full package deal with one narrator or many, sound effects and music or a bare bones production. There is something about listening to a story that allows our thoughts to soar. We focus on the wonder of the written word brought to life by the tradition of passing tales from one generation to another. Good stories make us feel. Great stories make us think.

All of the above is a fancy way of saying “I like audio fiction.”

The development of easily accessibly audio fiction has opened doors to a whole new audience of readers. Whether on a bus, at home alone, in the gym, driving to work, or “too busy to read”, audio fiction is the perfect hands-free medium to indulge yourself in a bit of fancy while continuing about your day. I often listen to stories while doing household chores, and audio books frequently transform rush hour traffic into quality time. At night, I put myself to bed with my favorite fantasy or horror fiction podcast. I have friends who listen to books while jogging or working out, and one who keeps a CD collection of Bradbury’s works in the bathroom so she can “read in the tub.”

SF/F/H/YA fiction have benefited from a variety of audio markets that allow readers to sample new authors, revisit old favorites, and delve into new areas of interest. Larger chain bookstores rarely deviate from the regular offerings of the major publishing houses. Audio fiction allows you to mix it up a bit, seek out different voices, under represented voices, women writers, LGBTQ writers, writers of color, writers with disabilities.

Services such as iTunes, Audible.com, and Blackstone Audio offer short story collections and a range of full length novels. A growing number of genre fiction podcasts present a selection of short fiction from both new authors and seasoned, award-winning writers of note. Certain podcasts also produce classic genre stories that might otherwise be overlooked by modern readers in the hurry and crush to buy the next mass-market best seller. Not that there’s anything wrong with best sellers. I listen to those as well.

Audio fiction is often free in the case of podcasts, is relatively cost competitive when compared to physical books or eBooks, and is often far more portable. Multicast productions present distinct character voices, while certain narrators are skilled enough to breathe life into the story with the barest of inflections. Most podcasts are produced under a creative commons license that encourages you to share the work with friends or on any number of social media platforms so long as you don’t change the attribution or the production itself. You can loan someone an audio CD or file of a downloaded work, but please don’t give copies away. Like writers, narrators and sound crews work hard to produce the best product possible and deserve to be paid for their efforts.

So, it’s a big audio world out there. Where do you start? Check out the links to some of my favorite genre fiction podcasts below and see what tickles your ears’ fancy.

• Podcastle: http://podcastle.org/
• Pseudopod: http://pseudopod.org/
• Escape Pod: http://escapepod.org/
• The Drabblecast: http://www.drabblecast.org/
• Cast of Wonders: http://www.castofwonders.org/
• Clarkesworld Magazine: http://clarkesworldmagazine.com
• Toasted Cake: http://toastedcake.com/

#sfwapro

Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines.

Note from Cat: March 2 kicks off two months of blog content dedicated to promoting my new (first!) novel, Beasts of Tabat. There’ll be guest blog posts, original fiction, essays about writing, feminism, and life in general, and even some giveaways and contests. Here’s our first guest blogger, Kim Mainord.

(Warning: there is a terrible pun below. If you are allergic to groaning please enjoy this cartoon instead. http://youtu.be/ykwqXuMPsoc)

When I decided that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up I started collecting writing advice. Not tidbits from websites or manuals written by literati who wouldn’t touch a genre novel with a ten-foot pole. I went to my favorite authors, batted my puppy dog eyes, and said, “Please sir, I’d like some more.”

All right, I didn’t have to be that persuasive. Good thing too. I was so nervous I looked like Shaggy on espresso. Anyway”¦

One of the pieces of advice I received most often was “don’t give up” or some variation thereof. At that point in time I was still pretty naive. I had yet to complete my first story, I didn’t know about the caprices of the market, or the sting of rejection. What I did know what that this was the only career I truly wanted and there was no way I would ever consider quitting.

Oh, the schadenfreude when life proves me wrong.

What I failed to understand was that sooner or later we all have that moment. There’s no magical egg timer ticking away, warning us that it’s coming. No, like a regretful ex it rings when you least expect it and fills your life with woe.

Woe, man.

(Sorry. I couldn’t resist.)