So I'm afraid I've forgotten how to write a fantasy story. In particular, a short fantasy story dealing with war. It only needs to be 1000-7000 words, but every time I think I'm on to something I realize that where I want to go with it either isn't fantasy or it isn't war. If you had told me 13 years ago I wouldn't be able to crank out a fantasy story at the drop of a hat I would have told you that you were on some really good drugs. Then again, 13 years ago I was certain I would already have my RX-7 too.
Maybe it's time to don the Hoodie of Reckoning to make this work. The Hoodie doesn't usually get donned until I'm on to something. The Hoodie is scary. It controls the mind. It makes the mind do things it normally wouldn't do. I don't want to come to that, but it just might happen.
It skeers me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
NaNoWriMo ... again
I'm thinking that as NaNoWriMo is coming upon us I'll do something fun with it to help keep me in check with the pace needed to finish the challenge and "WIN". Every day after I've completed my word count for the day I'm going put what I've got up on here.
So y'all get to keep me honest!
Also, I'm really thinking about killing the RSS feed to Facebook. That's the part I'm not entirely certain about, but it's the way I'm leaning at the moment. The real difficulty is that I have 3 1/2 ideas fighting to get out. Maybe I'll just go crazy and write all 3. If it weren't for real life I think I might have to do it, but that's just craziness because it's just no longer possible to write for 10 hours a day since I'm actually doing those forbidden things called work and school again.
On a completely different note, I just had the pleasure of listening and participating in the PodioRacket launch party of J.C. Hutchins' science fiction thriller novel 7th Son: Descent. The launch party was an absolute blast and it would seem that Hutch is going to be crossing the pond as a result of one very ambitious fan who has organized people he knows to get 100 copies of 7th Son: Descent purchased for the Beta Clone Army Rewards Program.
I have got to admit that every time I hear or read what J.C. has to say about writing I feel empowered. He truly is an inspiration.
So y'all get to keep me honest!
Also, I'm really thinking about killing the RSS feed to Facebook. That's the part I'm not entirely certain about, but it's the way I'm leaning at the moment. The real difficulty is that I have 3 1/2 ideas fighting to get out. Maybe I'll just go crazy and write all 3. If it weren't for real life I think I might have to do it, but that's just craziness because it's just no longer possible to write for 10 hours a day since I'm actually doing those forbidden things called work and school again.
On a completely different note, I just had the pleasure of listening and participating in the PodioRacket launch party of J.C. Hutchins' science fiction thriller novel 7th Son: Descent. The launch party was an absolute blast and it would seem that Hutch is going to be crossing the pond as a result of one very ambitious fan who has organized people he knows to get 100 copies of 7th Son: Descent purchased for the Beta Clone Army Rewards Program.
I have got to admit that every time I hear or read what J.C. has to say about writing I feel empowered. He truly is an inspiration.
It's a Rainy ...
Today is looking to be a mix-up of fun and crazy rain driving. I'm looking forward to more corruption happening later today. Someone has to teach those young uns a thing or three
>>> [ WARNING ::: DATABASE ERROR ::: CONTENT OVERRIDE ::: SOURCE: EXTERNAL ] <<<
> source terminal location: UNKNOWN
> source terminal identity: UNAVAILABLE
> source login information: ENCRYPTED
> message begins
the post you are now reading is designed to dull your senses to THE TRUTH. do not live the life of the worker bee, the cog, the well-oiled piston in the MACHINE OF DECEIT!
there is a grand CONSPIRACY afoot. you have been taught to believe that you are UNIQUE, one of a kind. THIS IS NOT TRUE. long ago, a cabal of scientists created technologies to ensure that ANYONE'S MIND AND BODY can be duplicated.
human cloning isn't NEAR. it's already HERE. discover the truth at http://JCHutchins.net
you are being DECEIVED. break free from the cogs, flee the hive, become A PROPHET OF THE TRUTH!
kilroy2. was here ... kilroy2.0 is everywhere
>>> [ CONTENT OVERRIDE CEASES ::: DATABASE STATUS: RECOVERING ] <<<
then later tonight there is the book launch party with J.C. Hutchins for his thriller novel 7th Son: Descent. Looking forward to it yo!
Beta Clone 076 signing off.
>>> [ WARNING ::: DATABASE ERROR ::: CONTENT OVERRIDE ::: SOURCE: EXTERNAL ] <<<
> source terminal location: UNKNOWN
> source terminal identity: UNAVAILABLE
> source login information: ENCRYPTED
> message begins
the post you are now reading is designed to dull your senses to THE TRUTH. do not live the life of the worker bee, the cog, the well-oiled piston in the MACHINE OF DECEIT!
there is a grand CONSPIRACY afoot. you have been taught to believe that you are UNIQUE, one of a kind. THIS IS NOT TRUE. long ago, a cabal of scientists created technologies to ensure that ANYONE'S MIND AND BODY can be duplicated.
human cloning isn't NEAR. it's already HERE. discover the truth at http://JCHutchins.net
you are being DECEIVED. break free from the cogs, flee the hive, become A PROPHET OF THE TRUTH!
kilroy2. was here ... kilroy2.0 is everywhere
>>> [ CONTENT OVERRIDE CEASES ::: DATABASE STATUS: RECOVERING ] <<<
then later tonight there is the book launch party with J.C. Hutchins for his thriller novel 7th Son: Descent. Looking forward to it yo!
Beta Clone 076 signing off.
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Ascension has Begun
It's finally here. Can you believe it? I'm having trouble with it and it's not even my project. October 27th. The official print release of J.C. Hutchins' thriller novel 7th Son: Descent is upon us. This has been something I have been looking forward to for quite some time.
Hutchins isn't the first podcast novelist, or internet pirate radio broadcaster as Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff puts it, to publish a novel. But by-golley it's the one I have been looking forward to the longest. Sure I love my Scott Sigler novels and content. Mur Lafferty, well she does look nice today I'm sure, is very entertaining and knowledgeable. Grammar Girl finally got her release today. (Coincidence? I think not). Christiana Ellis, James Melzer, Phil Rossi, and P.G. Holyfield's novel is soon to be released as well, the list goes on and on when it comes to novelist with enough creative ambition to go the extra mile when the system told them to go away.
These brilliant and creative minds by-passed the traditional method and did something no publisher thought possible.
They gave us their works for free. That's right.
FREE!
And what did we do to repay them for all their hard work? We ate it up. We followed their progress and supported them as best we could. We even bought their swag when it was available. Now their hard work is finally paying off and they don't have to depend on an archaic system to get their work devoured. They give it directly to us, no strings attached. We don't even have to buy it. They give it to us no matter what. All the blood, sweat, and tears, the hard work and time, it's finally starting to pay off for the pioneers of a creative digital market.
Stop by and check out their work. It's worth it.
Hutchins isn't the first podcast novelist, or internet pirate radio broadcaster as Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff puts it, to publish a novel. But by-golley it's the one I have been looking forward to the longest. Sure I love my Scott Sigler novels and content. Mur Lafferty, well she does look nice today I'm sure, is very entertaining and knowledgeable. Grammar Girl finally got her release today. (Coincidence? I think not). Christiana Ellis, James Melzer, Phil Rossi, and P.G. Holyfield's novel is soon to be released as well, the list goes on and on when it comes to novelist with enough creative ambition to go the extra mile when the system told them to go away.
These brilliant and creative minds by-passed the traditional method and did something no publisher thought possible.
They gave us their works for free. That's right.
FREE!
And what did we do to repay them for all their hard work? We ate it up. We followed their progress and supported them as best we could. We even bought their swag when it was available. Now their hard work is finally paying off and they don't have to depend on an archaic system to get their work devoured. They give it directly to us, no strings attached. We don't even have to buy it. They give it to us no matter what. All the blood, sweat, and tears, the hard work and time, it's finally starting to pay off for the pioneers of a creative digital market.
Stop by and check out their work. It's worth it.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
It's Raining Blood
It had happened again. Blood had fallen from the heavens. The humidity was, well, have you ever tried to breathe when it rains blood. It's not something that is easy to do. Especially not when you're being pursued by lycanthropes. Seriously. Who in their right mind decides to piss off a bunch of damn werewolves during a blood storm? Well, me for one, but that's not really the point. I didn't mean to get on their bad side. It just happened. Again. The first time was a mess, but I was lucky enough to have survived because of proximity to the other neighborhoods. This time though, I made a damn rookie mistake. Not that I'm a rookie. It's just that, well, I called this teenage kid the son of a worthless bitch.
The little prick knocked me off my bike with a can. And when I say little prick, that would be the understatement of the year. I honestly didn't even know what had hit me. I just knew that one moment I was cruising along Amber Blvd. on my bicycle and the next moment I was skidding along the blood soaked road, my right shoulder and arm numb from whatever had hit me and left side of my body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised. Hell, my own blood was mixing with that of the storm. I was going to have to get another series of shots. Anyway, so before I even know what I'm saying, I'm lying there on the blood soaked street and I mumble, "Dammit, son of a worthless bitch." I mean, I honestly didn't even call him anything. I was pissed. I had just been knocked into the street by who knows what. I should have known better. Really, I was riding my bicycle through the streets of Dogtown and I said bitch. Stupid mistake.
The kid was running over to check on me when he heard me muttering to myself. He went from calling out, "Hey mister, mister you okay?" to growling, "You're dead meat-bag." His transformation had begun even before I started to get to my feet. I really didn't know what was going on. I looked around and saw this metal trashcan. I mean, an honest to goodness metal trashcan with two sides caved in. One dent was from where it had struck me in the shoulder. The other, the deeper of the two, the dent that went past the center of the can and was so made with such force that the metal was jagged and split, that was from where the kid kicked it. Damn my luck. A couple lycan kids out playing kick the can and I make the mistake of mumbling bitch to myself, not as an insult to the kid, but just because "worthless son of a bitch" could be my favorite phrase in situations like that.
I really should find a new favorite phrase.
Anyway, the damn trashcan. So my eyes go wide once I realize what's happening and I turn to see this monster of a kid. Really, this kid had to be almost seven feet tall. He's big. I mean, he's big even for a lycan. I started trying to apologize. I tried to tell him I wasn't calling him names. It's just what I say when something goes bad, when my luck does what my luck does. Which is to say, my luck tends to be the kind of luck that gets me knocked down often. My mind starts racing. Run or stand my ground? They always tell you when you're growing up not to run from the lycanthropes. They like it when you run; they especially like it after they've changed. They tell you as a kid if you stand your ground you have just as much of a chance of surviving as you do if you run; but seriously, who in their right mind is going to stand there when a nine foot tall, raging lycanthrope is barreling at you. The scared little prey part of your brain, the lizard brain if you will, screams to RUN in high pitch squeal of a voice, but the logical part, the "developed" part says to stay put. They told you to stay put and you'll be fine. They're all a bunch of idiots. That "developed" part is going to get me killed one of these days.
"Run stupid!" a kid calls out from behind the transforming kid. "Get on your damn bike and get out of here!"
That snaps me out of it. I hop back on my Raleigh mountain bike, noticing the seat is twisted to the left digging into my thigh and the handlebars are twisted to the right making it rather tough to get my balance at first, and do my best to start pedaling. The damn thing was still on the small bracket and in a high gear. The chain is grinding while I'm trying to get to a lower a gear so I can move faster than a walking pace, and it's then I realize I'm trying to ride up the hill. Forget that. I turn to the left, really the only way I could turn sharply because of the twisted handlebars, and I think that decision may have saved my life. That big damn kid goes flying past, his arms grasping at nothing as he closes them where I was, looking like a linebacker trying to tackle Barry Sanders in his prime. I actually felt the wind from him as he dove past me. I heard the crash of the kid hitting a car parked on the side of the street, heard the glass shatter in the windows, and worst of all I heard him roar. It's never good when they roar.
And as if that wasn't enough. A pissed lycanthrope kid is chasing me. My seat is digging into my leg, not just when I'm seated, but even when I'm out of saddle and trying to power away. My handlebars are twisted making it even more difficult to balance and speed away from the kid. And did I mention that lycanthropes are fast. There's a reason they aren't allowed to compete in sports even when they're human. I'm now heading back in the direction I didn't want to be going. I had just left Mausoleum or Ghoulington as others call it. I'm not supposed to be there anyways. Any time I'm in Mausoleum I'm on borrowed time. I'm bleeding, just a little, but I'm bleeding anyways. No matter what the PSAs try to say. No matter what anyone tries to tell you. The ghouls, they like the flesh. Especially when it's bleeding and even more so when it's fresh. It's like swimming in shark infested waters with a cut. Most are capable of controlling those urges, but there are those who embrace their feral desires. So just a recap of my situation, messed up bike, angry wolf-kid chasing me, I'm bleeding and heading into Mausoleum.
And it's raining blood.
The little prick knocked me off my bike with a can. And when I say little prick, that would be the understatement of the year. I honestly didn't even know what had hit me. I just knew that one moment I was cruising along Amber Blvd. on my bicycle and the next moment I was skidding along the blood soaked road, my right shoulder and arm numb from whatever had hit me and left side of my body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised. Hell, my own blood was mixing with that of the storm. I was going to have to get another series of shots. Anyway, so before I even know what I'm saying, I'm lying there on the blood soaked street and I mumble, "Dammit, son of a worthless bitch." I mean, I honestly didn't even call him anything. I was pissed. I had just been knocked into the street by who knows what. I should have known better. Really, I was riding my bicycle through the streets of Dogtown and I said bitch. Stupid mistake.
The kid was running over to check on me when he heard me muttering to myself. He went from calling out, "Hey mister, mister you okay?" to growling, "You're dead meat-bag." His transformation had begun even before I started to get to my feet. I really didn't know what was going on. I looked around and saw this metal trashcan. I mean, an honest to goodness metal trashcan with two sides caved in. One dent was from where it had struck me in the shoulder. The other, the deeper of the two, the dent that went past the center of the can and was so made with such force that the metal was jagged and split, that was from where the kid kicked it. Damn my luck. A couple lycan kids out playing kick the can and I make the mistake of mumbling bitch to myself, not as an insult to the kid, but just because "worthless son of a bitch" could be my favorite phrase in situations like that.
I really should find a new favorite phrase.
Anyway, the damn trashcan. So my eyes go wide once I realize what's happening and I turn to see this monster of a kid. Really, this kid had to be almost seven feet tall. He's big. I mean, he's big even for a lycan. I started trying to apologize. I tried to tell him I wasn't calling him names. It's just what I say when something goes bad, when my luck does what my luck does. Which is to say, my luck tends to be the kind of luck that gets me knocked down often. My mind starts racing. Run or stand my ground? They always tell you when you're growing up not to run from the lycanthropes. They like it when you run; they especially like it after they've changed. They tell you as a kid if you stand your ground you have just as much of a chance of surviving as you do if you run; but seriously, who in their right mind is going to stand there when a nine foot tall, raging lycanthrope is barreling at you. The scared little prey part of your brain, the lizard brain if you will, screams to RUN in high pitch squeal of a voice, but the logical part, the "developed" part says to stay put. They told you to stay put and you'll be fine. They're all a bunch of idiots. That "developed" part is going to get me killed one of these days.
"Run stupid!" a kid calls out from behind the transforming kid. "Get on your damn bike and get out of here!"
That snaps me out of it. I hop back on my Raleigh mountain bike, noticing the seat is twisted to the left digging into my thigh and the handlebars are twisted to the right making it rather tough to get my balance at first, and do my best to start pedaling. The damn thing was still on the small bracket and in a high gear. The chain is grinding while I'm trying to get to a lower a gear so I can move faster than a walking pace, and it's then I realize I'm trying to ride up the hill. Forget that. I turn to the left, really the only way I could turn sharply because of the twisted handlebars, and I think that decision may have saved my life. That big damn kid goes flying past, his arms grasping at nothing as he closes them where I was, looking like a linebacker trying to tackle Barry Sanders in his prime. I actually felt the wind from him as he dove past me. I heard the crash of the kid hitting a car parked on the side of the street, heard the glass shatter in the windows, and worst of all I heard him roar. It's never good when they roar.
And as if that wasn't enough. A pissed lycanthrope kid is chasing me. My seat is digging into my leg, not just when I'm seated, but even when I'm out of saddle and trying to power away. My handlebars are twisted making it even more difficult to balance and speed away from the kid. And did I mention that lycanthropes are fast. There's a reason they aren't allowed to compete in sports even when they're human. I'm now heading back in the direction I didn't want to be going. I had just left Mausoleum or Ghoulington as others call it. I'm not supposed to be there anyways. Any time I'm in Mausoleum I'm on borrowed time. I'm bleeding, just a little, but I'm bleeding anyways. No matter what the PSAs try to say. No matter what anyone tries to tell you. The ghouls, they like the flesh. Especially when it's bleeding and even more so when it's fresh. It's like swimming in shark infested waters with a cut. Most are capable of controlling those urges, but there are those who embrace their feral desires. So just a recap of my situation, messed up bike, angry wolf-kid chasing me, I'm bleeding and heading into Mausoleum.
And it's raining blood.
Recovery
Still trying to recover from last night. It's not that it was a crazy night of partying or anything. Much to the contrary it was about 7 hours of sitting around a blue and green flame talking. It was a good time. It's been a while since I allowed myself to just hang out with one friend for hours on end and it was a pleasant change.
Today wouldn't have been nearly so bad, but it was Cannibal Day so I decided to crawl out of bed and grace my childhood church with my presence.
Now though, it is time to stop with the procrastination and finally get around to writing my review of Othello as performed by Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. That was an impressive performance. Of course, Eamonn Walker was unbelievable, but Tim McInnerny absolutely stole the show. And to see the stage set as part of the performance instead of during blackouts was a very pleasant change of pace compared to modern theatre.
That is all.
Today wouldn't have been nearly so bad, but it was Cannibal Day so I decided to crawl out of bed and grace my childhood church with my presence.
Now though, it is time to stop with the procrastination and finally get around to writing my review of Othello as performed by Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. That was an impressive performance. Of course, Eamonn Walker was unbelievable, but Tim McInnerny absolutely stole the show. And to see the stage set as part of the performance instead of during blackouts was a very pleasant change of pace compared to modern theatre.
That is all.
It had to Happen Eventually
So the Vikings finally lost. It made me a little sad. But at least they lost to the Steelers who won on 2 defensive returns. One play never should have happened because a bad call on the previous play, but the other was just impressive. Never say die with the Vikings though. On the last drive it looked like no Steelers wanted to play chicken with AD, and can you blame them? That man is a bulldozer once he lowers his shoulders with a defender in his sights. I can't wait for next with the 2nd game versus the Packers up at Lambeau Field. It's going to be epic.
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