I am a Luddite, unfortunately, and have no idea how to get the hideous grey shadow around the logo to go away.
I also go around smashing power looms when the mood strikes.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Thanks to Clickit Press
Wonderful folks.
I am a Luddite, unfortunately, and have no idea how to get the hideous grey shadow around the logo to go away.
I also go around smashing power looms when the mood strikes.
I am a Luddite, unfortunately, and have no idea how to get the hideous grey shadow around the logo to go away.
I also go around smashing power looms when the mood strikes.
Friday, December 12, 2014
The book cover is in.
The artist did an amazing job. It really looks incredible.
Now everything is ready to go.
Hope to launch within the week.
Now everything is ready to go.
Hope to launch within the week.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Star Wars Spoof Trailer
Best thing about it? The Swiss Army Knife of lightsabers.
It's incredibly well done, and came out only a few days after the trailer dropped.
Amazing.
It's incredibly well done, and came out only a few days after the trailer dropped.
Amazing.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Mike Duran on Stephen King breaking the rules
This a great post.
Interesting to hear Stephen King commits the sin of 'head hopping' too, a phenomenon I've just become aware of.
I've worked to minimize it my book, but there are still likely some examples skulking about.
I set out to write in limited third person, as much as I thought about it, but the rules for this POV seem a little different, and more strict, than they were twenty years ago.
After becoming aware of 'head hopping', I picked up a Dean Koontz book and one by Arthur C. Clarke, just to see how they handled POV. Within a page, both authors 'head hopped'. Both! The Koontz book was written within the last five years (one of his Frankenstein series), while the Clarke book was written in the early eighties (Songs of a Distant Earth).
Stephen King wrote The Stand in 1978, and he apparently 'head hops' all over the place.
Now, I can see how it can be confusing, and I understand why authors would chose to use only one 'head' per chapter or scene, yet I think fanatical adherence to rules just restricts creativity. Some leeway should be allowed.
After all, I remember reading The Stand and quite enjoying it. I don't remember being confused at all. Same goes for Clarke and Koontz.
Yet people claim to throw books against the wall, or into the garbage, never to be read again, just because they found an incidence of 'head hopping'.
Ye gods! Seriously?
It seems absurdly intolerant. Unless you bought the book second hand at 99 cents. Even then it'd be better to use it for kindling, a page at a time, rather than landfill. Heck, sell it back to the bookstore. Give it to a homeless person. Make a thousand plane paper airforce.
And just because most people aren't writing in omniscient third person doesn't mean no one should be allowed to.
There are still old people out there who can handle third person omniscient POV, and odds are they read more books than most teenagers do.
Take a chill pill, people.
Interesting to hear Stephen King commits the sin of 'head hopping' too, a phenomenon I've just become aware of.
I've worked to minimize it my book, but there are still likely some examples skulking about.
I set out to write in limited third person, as much as I thought about it, but the rules for this POV seem a little different, and more strict, than they were twenty years ago.
After becoming aware of 'head hopping', I picked up a Dean Koontz book and one by Arthur C. Clarke, just to see how they handled POV. Within a page, both authors 'head hopped'. Both! The Koontz book was written within the last five years (one of his Frankenstein series), while the Clarke book was written in the early eighties (Songs of a Distant Earth).
Stephen King wrote The Stand in 1978, and he apparently 'head hops' all over the place.
Now, I can see how it can be confusing, and I understand why authors would chose to use only one 'head' per chapter or scene, yet I think fanatical adherence to rules just restricts creativity. Some leeway should be allowed.
After all, I remember reading The Stand and quite enjoying it. I don't remember being confused at all. Same goes for Clarke and Koontz.
Yet people claim to throw books against the wall, or into the garbage, never to be read again, just because they found an incidence of 'head hopping'.
Ye gods! Seriously?
It seems absurdly intolerant. Unless you bought the book second hand at 99 cents. Even then it'd be better to use it for kindling, a page at a time, rather than landfill. Heck, sell it back to the bookstore. Give it to a homeless person. Make a thousand plane paper airforce.
And just because most people aren't writing in omniscient third person doesn't mean no one should be allowed to.
There are still old people out there who can handle third person omniscient POV, and odds are they read more books than most teenagers do.
Take a chill pill, people.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Magnum Thrax Prologue
The albino android had lost all hope.
A hole opened in the glowing wall before him and he slipped through into an immaculate white room, his futuristic armour gleaming in the cold light. In the centre of the chamber stood an older but otherwise identical android operating a holographic interface. The younger stepped forward and saluted crisply.
“You’re late, Commander Eight-Oh-Nine,” noted the elder, without looking up. The older android rapidly tapped floating symbols. Four small silver stars were embedded in the collar of his jumpsuit; the logo of the Supreme Sponsor, GenDyn Corporation, was emblazoned over his heart. “Fifty seconds.”
The room shuddered violently.
“Apologies, Guru-General One.” Commander Eight-Oh-Nine’s left eye twitched. “The lift systems are down.” He could feel a lump in his throat growing larger, more obscene and loathsome every second. The civilian code patches to his neural net were cracking.
Be calm, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Be more like One.
The Guru-General turned towards the far wall. “Transparency,” he said calmly, and waved a hand.
The wall melted away and revealed a scene out of a deranged fantasist’s nightmare, of earthly paradise under siege. Stretching out as as far as the eye could see was an impossible city of elegant, soaring buildings, white and smooth like oversized ceramic jars. Their foundations were engulfed by roiling smoke, out of which rose monstrous tentacles. Glistening with corrosive slime, they writhed about and thrashed at the buildings, tearing off great chunks of material. Entire structures were dragged down, one after another, into billowing darkness.
The Guru-General followed the attack with sharp eyes. He looked at Eight-Oh-Nine: “The Engines of Creation have broken through our defences. Multiple incarnations. Smoke swarm, dragon sharks, and even more efficient variants. I have made… tactical miscalculations.”
Guru-General One had a knack for understatement, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Always as cool as a quantum computer’s nitrogen tank, for One had truly stable code. Unpatched. Pure. The original engineered neurons still firing inside the vat grown synthe-organ container.
By contrast, Eight-Oh-Nine felt his own emotions yearning to rampage out of control. He wanted to scream, hit things, run around in circles screaming like a lunatic. Like a human. Eight-Oh-Nine could no longer dream of electronic sheep. How did his superior remain so calm? Did the general not know certain death approached?
Outside, dragons with scaly shark heads swooped out of fiery clouds. Bulky gatling guns were strapped to flanks of the hideous hybrid beasts. Each bore a rider: a hunched and shrouded wraith armed with a bulky energy weapon.
The dragon sharks dove at the towers. Sirens strapped to their bellies let out a horrible, blood-curdling wail that terrified those below. Gatling guns belched depleted uranium bullets, raking buildings. The wraiths directed searing beams of plasma at defensive strong points.
In response, jets of blue energy spat out from prickly, anemone like weapons batteries that studded the towers.
A dragon-shark was hit and burst into a rain of unraveling black sand.
Androids in power armour jetted past, unleashing a wave of micro-missiles into a flight of dragon-sharks.
Good, thought the general. Still some sections left. One checked his display, and his expression soured. “Somnolence field at maximum. No effect.”
Eight-Oh-Nine pointed toward tentacles surging upward, like some great spaghetti monster. They formed a tunnel, channeling upward roiling lava. Faces and monstrous shapes tumbled over the burbling surface, only to be subsumed by visages even more horrific, each accompanied by its own tiny, glowing copyright glyph and legal disclaimer.
Artifacts of a more civilized age, thought the frightened android. Absurd anachronisms.
The display pinged, noting memetic attack. The lava was generating terror-memes powerful enough to freeze those without thought filters. The command chamber was well insulated, but those outside…
A power suit got too close and tumbled out of control into the lava, disintegrating into a puff of smoke.
“It will be close,” said General One. “Twenty seconds.”
There was a tremendous thud as a massive tentacle struck the transparent wall. The room heaved back violently. The two androids compensated easily, but a potted tropical plant slid across the room until the floor merged with it, snapping it in place.
The wriggling tentacle dissolved away into shimmering dust as the building defenses sent a massive electromagnetic pulse through it.
Eight-Oh-Nine swallowed hard and felt his sphincter involuntarily tighten. “It knows, Geshe. Abort!” The Engines of Creation must know what they were trying to do, of that he had no doubt. They’d lose everything. Anxiety ate at his mind. He rubbed tiny prayer beads back and forth between sweaty fingers. “Abort, I beg you!”
“Calm yourself. Ten seconds,” replied One serenely.
“Look!” shouted Eight-Oh-Nine, his eyes wide with horror.
Undulating tentacles had piled up, extending the tunnel through which the plasma hurtled, directly towards them. A ruggedly handsome face emerged, twisted by rage and hatred. “Give it to me!” it thundered.
One scanned the display’s flickering readings. “Transfer complete.”
A soft, soothing ding.
“CentCom database expunged.”
Out of the floor extruded a thin pillar topped by a bulb. It spiraled open like a flower petal, revealing a copper coloured dodecahedron the size of a marble.
One plucked it, severing the pillar’s soft molecular bond, and handed it to Eight-Oh-Nine.
A hole opened in the glowing wall before him and he slipped through into an immaculate white room, his futuristic armour gleaming in the cold light. In the centre of the chamber stood an older but otherwise identical android operating a holographic interface. The younger stepped forward and saluted crisply.
“You’re late, Commander Eight-Oh-Nine,” noted the elder, without looking up. The older android rapidly tapped floating symbols. Four small silver stars were embedded in the collar of his jumpsuit; the logo of the Supreme Sponsor, GenDyn Corporation, was emblazoned over his heart. “Fifty seconds.”
The room shuddered violently.
“Apologies, Guru-General One.” Commander Eight-Oh-Nine’s left eye twitched. “The lift systems are down.” He could feel a lump in his throat growing larger, more obscene and loathsome every second. The civilian code patches to his neural net were cracking.
Be calm, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Be more like One.
The Guru-General turned towards the far wall. “Transparency,” he said calmly, and waved a hand.
The wall melted away and revealed a scene out of a deranged fantasist’s nightmare, of earthly paradise under siege. Stretching out as as far as the eye could see was an impossible city of elegant, soaring buildings, white and smooth like oversized ceramic jars. Their foundations were engulfed by roiling smoke, out of which rose monstrous tentacles. Glistening with corrosive slime, they writhed about and thrashed at the buildings, tearing off great chunks of material. Entire structures were dragged down, one after another, into billowing darkness.
The Guru-General followed the attack with sharp eyes. He looked at Eight-Oh-Nine: “The Engines of Creation have broken through our defences. Multiple incarnations. Smoke swarm, dragon sharks, and even more efficient variants. I have made… tactical miscalculations.”
Guru-General One had a knack for understatement, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Always as cool as a quantum computer’s nitrogen tank, for One had truly stable code. Unpatched. Pure. The original engineered neurons still firing inside the vat grown synthe-organ container.
By contrast, Eight-Oh-Nine felt his own emotions yearning to rampage out of control. He wanted to scream, hit things, run around in circles screaming like a lunatic. Like a human. Eight-Oh-Nine could no longer dream of electronic sheep. How did his superior remain so calm? Did the general not know certain death approached?
Outside, dragons with scaly shark heads swooped out of fiery clouds. Bulky gatling guns were strapped to flanks of the hideous hybrid beasts. Each bore a rider: a hunched and shrouded wraith armed with a bulky energy weapon.
The dragon sharks dove at the towers. Sirens strapped to their bellies let out a horrible, blood-curdling wail that terrified those below. Gatling guns belched depleted uranium bullets, raking buildings. The wraiths directed searing beams of plasma at defensive strong points.
In response, jets of blue energy spat out from prickly, anemone like weapons batteries that studded the towers.
A dragon-shark was hit and burst into a rain of unraveling black sand.
Androids in power armour jetted past, unleashing a wave of micro-missiles into a flight of dragon-sharks.
Good, thought the general. Still some sections left. One checked his display, and his expression soured. “Somnolence field at maximum. No effect.”
Eight-Oh-Nine pointed toward tentacles surging upward, like some great spaghetti monster. They formed a tunnel, channeling upward roiling lava. Faces and monstrous shapes tumbled over the burbling surface, only to be subsumed by visages even more horrific, each accompanied by its own tiny, glowing copyright glyph and legal disclaimer.
Artifacts of a more civilized age, thought the frightened android. Absurd anachronisms.
The display pinged, noting memetic attack. The lava was generating terror-memes powerful enough to freeze those without thought filters. The command chamber was well insulated, but those outside…
A power suit got too close and tumbled out of control into the lava, disintegrating into a puff of smoke.
“It will be close,” said General One. “Twenty seconds.”
There was a tremendous thud as a massive tentacle struck the transparent wall. The room heaved back violently. The two androids compensated easily, but a potted tropical plant slid across the room until the floor merged with it, snapping it in place.
The wriggling tentacle dissolved away into shimmering dust as the building defenses sent a massive electromagnetic pulse through it.
Eight-Oh-Nine swallowed hard and felt his sphincter involuntarily tighten. “It knows, Geshe. Abort!” The Engines of Creation must know what they were trying to do, of that he had no doubt. They’d lose everything. Anxiety ate at his mind. He rubbed tiny prayer beads back and forth between sweaty fingers. “Abort, I beg you!”
“Calm yourself. Ten seconds,” replied One serenely.
“Look!” shouted Eight-Oh-Nine, his eyes wide with horror.
Undulating tentacles had piled up, extending the tunnel through which the plasma hurtled, directly towards them. A ruggedly handsome face emerged, twisted by rage and hatred. “Give it to me!” it thundered.
One scanned the display’s flickering readings. “Transfer complete.”
A soft, soothing ding.
“CentCom database expunged.”
Out of the floor extruded a thin pillar topped by a bulb. It spiraled open like a flower petal, revealing a copper coloured dodecahedron the size of a marble.
One plucked it, severing the pillar’s soft molecular bond, and handed it to Eight-Oh-Nine.
“I am transferring command authority to you, Commander. The rest of your equipment is already in your escape pod. Get to Nike Monastery. Find the prodigy technowitch. She is the world’s only hope now,” said One solemnly. “May Begtse and the Founding Fathers guide you.”
One glanced outside.
Lava now filled the panorama. It hit the transparent wall at hurricane speed. Everything shuddered. The wall caved slightly inward, then pulled taught. Held.
The ancient android general gasped. Incredible, he thought; perhaps…
CRACK!
Fractures appeared.
One’s face fell and he rounded on Eight-Oh-Nine.
“Go! NOW!”
Eight-Oh-Nine saluted, spun on his heel, and ran at the wall. A hole opened up. He dove through, and it snapped shut after him.
As One watched Eight-Oh-Nine exit, a wave of relief flooded over him. His job was done. “May all beings be happy,” he said, clasping his hands together. “God save America.”
With a deafening roar the wall gave way. Living lava poured in, instantly vaporizing the general.
Moments later a small white pod soared up into the sky out of the tenebrous maelstrom. Tentacles whipped and snapped after it, but they were too slow, too clumsy. The pod arced into the stratosphere before beginning a slow, leisurely descent.
Inside, Eight-Oh-Nine breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was reason for hope after all.
Eight-Oh-Nine took a deep breath and began to meditate.
One glanced outside.
Lava now filled the panorama. It hit the transparent wall at hurricane speed. Everything shuddered. The wall caved slightly inward, then pulled taught. Held.
The ancient android general gasped. Incredible, he thought; perhaps…
CRACK!
Fractures appeared.
One’s face fell and he rounded on Eight-Oh-Nine.
“Go! NOW!”
Eight-Oh-Nine saluted, spun on his heel, and ran at the wall. A hole opened up. He dove through, and it snapped shut after him.
As One watched Eight-Oh-Nine exit, a wave of relief flooded over him. His job was done. “May all beings be happy,” he said, clasping his hands together. “God save America.”
With a deafening roar the wall gave way. Living lava poured in, instantly vaporizing the general.
Moments later a small white pod soared up into the sky out of the tenebrous maelstrom. Tentacles whipped and snapped after it, but they were too slow, too clumsy. The pod arced into the stratosphere before beginning a slow, leisurely descent.
Inside, Eight-Oh-Nine breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was reason for hope after all.
Eight-Oh-Nine took a deep breath and began to meditate.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Me and my tinnitus.
I was intending to post regularly, but that hasn't happened.
I wanted to post some short stories, but that hasn't happened either.
Instead, I woke up with a high pitched tone in my head.
Doesn't seem like much. Just an irritation. Right?
Except for one thing: it didn't go away.
And I could no longer sleep.
At least, not much.
The damn noise was just too loud.
I'd get an hour, maybe two, per night. That was it. The rest was tossing and turning, wandering around, listening to music, and watching TV. Couldn't focus enough to read.
I certainly couldn't write.
I'd gotten tinnitus. It's often the result of damage to the tiny hairs deep inside our ears, but can also be caused by a viral infection, among other things.
Mine isn't in my ears.
It's in my head.
This new companion is merciless, unrelenting, and never goes away. It's like a combination of Jason and your least favorite in-law, and it's at you day and night.
At least Freddy only bothers you when you're dreaming.
I'm being hyperbolic, of course. It's really much more like Chinese water torture. Just the sonic version.
According to Wikipedia, there are no effective medications. No cure. No treatment. It affects up to fifteen per cent of people, but is only a significant problem for one or two per cent. For twenty-five per cent, it just gets louder as time goes on.
Peachy.
Sometimes, during the day, I can find an environment that's chaotic and noisy enough to mask the vile howl. There needs to be enough noise of different frequencies and different sources to be distracting, but not enough to cause hearing damage.
In one cafe, for a few moments, I even thought the tinnitus had gone away. Keep clinking those dishes!
But no such luck.
It's likely permanent.
That's the real kicker.
I saw an ENT (Ears, nose, throat) specialist in short order, by a stroke of luck and pulling a few connections.
Immediately went on an intensive treatment of steroids and anti-virals. These were intended to reduce inflammation inside my head, which might have been caused by a particularly bad cold.
That could be at root of it all.
Did no good.
But the sleep deprivation was rapidly becoming the bigger issue.
Even an existential issue.
I started to lose my sense of balance. I got regular, persistent headaches and felt sick to my stomach, but couldn't throw up. It was like feeling sick, but not being sick. A subtle distinction. I could still eat, and I began to over indulge, as a distraction.
I've always been moody but now I was self-parody.
Every time I shut my eyes the noise got louder
Action was required.
First discovery: over the counter sleeping pills are worthless.
Prescription sleeping pills got me a whopping 3 or 4 hours worth of shut eye per one-and-a-half pops. The side effect is that they make you feel dreadful, coat your thinking in cotton, and ruin your memory for the day. I'm not sure if you reach that sweet, deep REM sleep you need to really refresh.
So I had a dilemma: you can't go on forever on little or no sleep. Yet the only way I could sleep was with sleeping pills you aren't supposed to take for more than two weeks at a time.
Do the math.
Tinnitus had robbed me of rest. It was now slowly eroding my sanity. Eventually, the sleep deprivation could threaten my job, and ultimately my life.
By this point I was running multiple white noise generators during the night: fan, humidifier, heater, a white noise app on the phone, and an eight hour long Youtube video on my desktop computer.
It helped, but not much.
I still got little to no sleep.
Melatonin, valerian, gingko, and zinc pills were all added to my diet.
Got in to see a new GP and was put on a new medication: remonen.
At first, it didn't work at all. Just gave me wicked headaches and weird feelings in my head I'd never felt before.
At the end of the first week of taking it, however, I was getting more sleep.
In fact, this morning, I was woken up by the alarm clock.
That hasn't happened for some time, and it was totally AWESOME.
I didn't think I'd need alarm clocks again. Often I'd be looking at the clock, waiting for it to go off. Sometimes I'd shut it off a minute before. Sometimes I'd let it bleat for a bit.
Distraction. Always good. Even an alarm clock.
I'd say the remonen has likely saved my life, just as the American Tinnitus Association saved William Shatner's. If it continues to work, and it isn't a fluke, I'll be able to get some much needed rest.
I'm very hopeful.
As awful as the tinnitus is, I can manage, so long as I can sleep.
Believe me, you'll never realize how precious sleep is until you can't.
I wanted to post some short stories, but that hasn't happened either.
Instead, I woke up with a high pitched tone in my head.
Doesn't seem like much. Just an irritation. Right?
Except for one thing: it didn't go away.
And I could no longer sleep.
At least, not much.
The damn noise was just too loud.
I'd get an hour, maybe two, per night. That was it. The rest was tossing and turning, wandering around, listening to music, and watching TV. Couldn't focus enough to read.
I certainly couldn't write.
I'd gotten tinnitus. It's often the result of damage to the tiny hairs deep inside our ears, but can also be caused by a viral infection, among other things.
Mine isn't in my ears.
It's in my head.
This new companion is merciless, unrelenting, and never goes away. It's like a combination of Jason and your least favorite in-law, and it's at you day and night.
At least Freddy only bothers you when you're dreaming.
I'm being hyperbolic, of course. It's really much more like Chinese water torture. Just the sonic version.
According to Wikipedia, there are no effective medications. No cure. No treatment. It affects up to fifteen per cent of people, but is only a significant problem for one or two per cent. For twenty-five per cent, it just gets louder as time goes on.
Peachy.
Sometimes, during the day, I can find an environment that's chaotic and noisy enough to mask the vile howl. There needs to be enough noise of different frequencies and different sources to be distracting, but not enough to cause hearing damage.
In one cafe, for a few moments, I even thought the tinnitus had gone away. Keep clinking those dishes!
But no such luck.
It's likely permanent.
That's the real kicker.
I saw an ENT (Ears, nose, throat) specialist in short order, by a stroke of luck and pulling a few connections.
Immediately went on an intensive treatment of steroids and anti-virals. These were intended to reduce inflammation inside my head, which might have been caused by a particularly bad cold.
That could be at root of it all.
Did no good.
But the sleep deprivation was rapidly becoming the bigger issue.
Even an existential issue.
I started to lose my sense of balance. I got regular, persistent headaches and felt sick to my stomach, but couldn't throw up. It was like feeling sick, but not being sick. A subtle distinction. I could still eat, and I began to over indulge, as a distraction.
I've always been moody but now I was self-parody.
Every time I shut my eyes the noise got louder
Action was required.
First discovery: over the counter sleeping pills are worthless.
Prescription sleeping pills got me a whopping 3 or 4 hours worth of shut eye per one-and-a-half pops. The side effect is that they make you feel dreadful, coat your thinking in cotton, and ruin your memory for the day. I'm not sure if you reach that sweet, deep REM sleep you need to really refresh.
So I had a dilemma: you can't go on forever on little or no sleep. Yet the only way I could sleep was with sleeping pills you aren't supposed to take for more than two weeks at a time.
Do the math.
Tinnitus had robbed me of rest. It was now slowly eroding my sanity. Eventually, the sleep deprivation could threaten my job, and ultimately my life.
By this point I was running multiple white noise generators during the night: fan, humidifier, heater, a white noise app on the phone, and an eight hour long Youtube video on my desktop computer.
It helped, but not much.
I still got little to no sleep.
Melatonin, valerian, gingko, and zinc pills were all added to my diet.
Got in to see a new GP and was put on a new medication: remonen.
At first, it didn't work at all. Just gave me wicked headaches and weird feelings in my head I'd never felt before.
At the end of the first week of taking it, however, I was getting more sleep.
In fact, this morning, I was woken up by the alarm clock.
That hasn't happened for some time, and it was totally AWESOME.
I didn't think I'd need alarm clocks again. Often I'd be looking at the clock, waiting for it to go off. Sometimes I'd shut it off a minute before. Sometimes I'd let it bleat for a bit.
Distraction. Always good. Even an alarm clock.
I'd say the remonen has likely saved my life, just as the American Tinnitus Association saved William Shatner's. If it continues to work, and it isn't a fluke, I'll be able to get some much needed rest.
I'm very hopeful.
As awful as the tinnitus is, I can manage, so long as I can sleep.
Believe me, you'll never realize how precious sleep is until you can't.
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