Story Stuff

Kali

Art by Jubjubjedi

A while back, I mentioned an idea that Trent Zelazny and Warren LaPine had for an original anthology of stories set in Roger Zelazny's universes. Which given how much of a fan I was, and still am, of Zelazny's work, I thought was a terrific idea. 

Said book was to be invitation-only, unless they could raise enough money from an online funding campaign, in which case it would be open to submissions from riff-raff like me.

I thought this kind of tribute was aces, so I put some money where my mouth was. 

Alas, they didn't raise the entire amount they want; however, they did get enough so they are proceeding. 

The bad news is that it won't be open to over-the-transom submissions, you'll have to be invited. At least for now.

The good news? They decided that anybody who chipped in to make it happen could take a shot at a story.

Hot damn!

Virtue is, of course, its own reward, but I am so pleased, because that means I get a chance to write a story in my favorite Zelazny novel–and my favorite science fiction novel, period–and maybe get it published. 

Or not, since I don't know if what I send in will be to their taste; still, you can't win the lottery if you don't buy a ticket, and I would honored as all hell to have a tale in this anthology.

Enough so that I sat down this morning after I got the note from Warren and wrote the piece. It's short, only 1600 words. There's no action to speak of. It's mostly two guys having a beer in a bar. But it answers questions I wanted to see answered after I read Lord of Light, and maybe some other readers might find my answers satisfying.

Cleaned it up, sent it off, and there you go.

This is the thing about working in a universe you like visiting that isn't yours. I can tell you what Darth Vader thinks as he sits inside his hyperbaric chamber. When and how Luke Skywalker built his own light saber. How Princess Leila looks as she steps out of the shower. How Conan got his muscles. How Ripley really feels about androids. Where Batman studied Japanese martial arts. 

Because I've already told you these things, if you but know where to look.

And maybe, I'll get a chance to tell you what happened to Great-Souled Sam, the Buddha, and Yama, the God of Death, too. 

We'll see ...

Close Enough ...

Behold, the greatest Christmas song ...

Two Trees

So, this Christmas, after years of our White Trash bottle-brush tree and garish red lights, we decided to get a green tree. But we also decided to keep the white tree. That one, with white lights, is our Peace Tree, with symbols representing that; the green one, smaller, sports multicolored lights and ornaments that have more meaning than the red and blue glass ones.

Early for me, but my wife is having a gathering of friends next week and wanted the tree(s) to be in place, so there you go.

I'll wait a while before I put up the link to my favorite Christmas song ...

Paperback Writer .... Paper ... Back ...

Caught by Surprise

When I started reading this one, I didn't see the punchline coming and it made me laugh because it surprised me. Clever use of language.

Dojo Rat

John has changed his blog to a new carrier, and I've changed the link in my list, down the page there. Also can go directly there from here.

Long as I am here, my general policy for links: If you have a regular website you don't update much, that's fine, I'll still direct folks your way; if you are running a blog and you haven't posted for six months, chances are you'll fall off the list. That's an arbitrary cut-off, but six months seems like enough time has passed that you aren't spending any time there, and my link list is only so long ...

Comic Redux

As a writer, you want to believe you can write anything. While I consider myself primarily a novelist, I have turned my hand to other forms of the craft: Non-fiction, from essays and reviews, to this blog; fiction-wise, I've done short stories, teleplays, screenplays, comics, even some poetry and song lyrics, for what they are worth. My preferred genre is F&SF, though I have written some techno-thriller and mystery novels. How well I did in any of these arenas is debatable, but I managed to make some money in most of 'em, so I can't complain. 

I was noodling around on the Dark Horse iPad app and realized that they had done an ePub if my Star Wars graphic novels series, Shadows of the Empire: Evolution, so I picked up a copy. This was a five-issue miniseries that came out a few years after the novel. 

Looks pretty good on an iPad. And as happens more often than not when I go back and look at something years after I wrote it, reads better than I remembered ...

This was my one foray into comics. I figured I could handle it because of all the TV animation I wrote, the main difference between that and comics being that the pictures move in one and stay still in the other. And my intent when I wrote the comic book episodes was to use as few words as possible, letting the pictures tell the story. I was–still am–happy with how that worked out. There are more than a few pages whereupon the dialog is minimal or none at all, only a few sound EFX. I dunno what format DH uses these days, but back then, I copied Neil Gaiman's format, and it allowed me to tell the artist (Ron Randall) what I had in mind. I tried to play to his strengths: I asked him what kind of b.g. he liked to draw, and offered those so he could do it. I thought he did a great job on the pencils. And since this was right about the time DH was switching over to computers, the colors came out vivid and clean. 

Don't see myself going down the graphic novel road again, but it was a notch on my handle I was was happy to add ...

Writing Biz

So, the cover for the audio version of Ramal, which will come as six CDs, so I am told. Nice armor ...

Couldn't Not Post This ...

Couldn't pass this one up, being a long-time fan of Strunk & White's The Elements of Style, still the best how-to-write book out there, for my money. Even so, one can take a joke when one gets skewered by it ...

Rock Bottom Remainders

As I was sitting here a little while ago,  I happened to think about the Rock Bottom Remainders. Those of you with a literary bent will probably recognize the name as that of the rock group put together by a bunch of New York Times Bestselling authors, ala Stephen King, Dave Barry, Amy Tan, Ridley Pearson, et al. They played gigs for charity, did tours, went to Memphis, lot of three-chord rock, like that. Retired now, so they say.

And I thought to myself, why, I need to write a tribute to them (sorta), so I whipped out the guitar, used the two most classic rock chord patterns for the verses and chorus, wrote some words and turned on the video cam.

It flowed, O it flowed so easily. I won't liken it to what you might think it flowed like, but from beginning to end, including the upload to YouTube? Eighty-two minutes.

I have to go to Costco now–we are running low on toilet paper. Just a coincidence, really. 

And apologies to the band, if any of them every catch wind of it ...

Rock Bottom Remainders

G,  D, Em, C

Well, the rich book writers they formed a band to sing

some rock and roll/, triple-chord rhythm and blues 

and little bit of soul/ They all went down to Memphis 

on a tour bus made of money/ and they gave themselves a 

name so ironic and so funny.

Chorus:

G, Em, C, D

Rock bottom remainders/

Rock bottom remainders/

For the books that nobody buys/

Rock bottom remainders/

Rock bottom remainders/

Oh, the rich writers you know they tell you lies.

          

‘Cause you won't see Stephen King in there, no Dave Barry, no 

Amy Tan/ they got more money than Scrooge McDuck, don't 

need no retirement plan/ but my last novel is just right there, way down on the bottom shelf/ remaindered book all alone all alone all alone all alone all by itself …

Chorus:

They all live in gated mansions/ with servants out the wazoo/ they eat paté from plates of gold, caviar and champagne too/ they got baseball teams and private jets

and TV stations galore/ and every time they write a book, they get a whole shitload more.

Chorus 

That’s what they do ...

Irony

Caught the recent episode of Daryl Hall's home studio jam, with Joe Walsh. This is always fun, and when I first started watching it online a few years back, I was impressed with just how good Daryl's chops are. Man can play.

So, uh, can Joe Walsh.

As part of the show, they did a short interview with Walsh, in which he lamented the state of the music industry with some bitterness. Gone to hell, it has, you can't make any money in it any more, all the MP3 freebies stealing the record sales; plus a shitload of the music these days starts out with a drum machine and then has a bunch of virtual instruments laid onto tracks and auto-tuned and nobody really plays anything ...

All of which is true; however, coming from the lips of a man who was in James Gang and the Eagles, among others, and who gave us "Life's Been Good to Me So Far," is there more than a little irony in that ..

"Life's Been Good"

I have a mansion
Forget the price
Ain't never been there
They tell me it's nice

I live in hotels
Tear out the walls
I have accountants
Pay for it all

They say I'm crazy but I have a good time
I'm just looking for clues at the scene of the crime
Life's been good to me so far

My Maserati
Does one eighty-five
I lost my license
Now I don't drive

I have a limo
Ride in the back
I lock the doors
In case I'm attacked

I'm making records
My fans they can't wait
They write me letters
Tell me I'm great

So I got me an office
Gold records on the wall
Just leave a message
Maybe I'll call

Lucky I'm sane after all I've been through
(Everybody sing) I'm cool (He's cool)
I can't complain but sometimes I still do
Life's been good to me so far

I go to parties
Sometimes until four
It's hard to leave
When you can't find the door

It's tough to handle
This fortune and fame
Everybody's so different
I haven't changed

They say I'm lazy but it takes all my time
(Everybody sing) Oh yeah (Oh yeah)
I keep on going guess I'll never know why
Life's been good to me so far baby,
inside the Sad Cafe. 

Oh, My ...

Somehow I missed this one, but having seen it, it cannot be unseen, so I inflict it upon you, too ...

New Anthology Idea

Writer Trent Zelazny and editor and publisher Warren Lapine are noodling with the idea of an anthology of stories to honor Trent's father, Roger. The theme will be tales featuring characters from RZ's extensive list of books and stories, with one exception: Amber is off-limits.

One can contribute to the funding for this at Indiegogo, and I've already done so. Unless it gets funded, it will be invitation-only. I would love to get a chance to write something in Roger's universe, especially Lord of Light, my all-time favorite SF novel. (I have a scene in mind: Yama walks into Sam's bar and as they talk about old times, they are attacked by ... well, I won't give it away, just in case I get a shot at it ...)

Reviewer Cheat

According to the Book Reviewer's Code of Conduct, one is not supposed to review a book that nobody can get. Which is to say, that if the book's pub date is January and you get a review copy a couple months early, you aren't supposed to do the review and put it up because it will piss people off. 

Hey, here's this great book! You should read it!

And you go to find it and realize it hasn't been published yet? Makes you want to pound on the reviewer. Idiot! Why tell me about it if I can't get it?!

Given that set-up, I can't, therefore, tell you about Stephen Hunter's next Bob Lee Swagger novel, The Third Bullet. Because I have friends in high places, I managed to snag a copy–and thank you, Peter–seven weeks before it comes out. 

I can't tell you that it's the most intricate Bob the Nailer yet, that it runs about 475 pp, and gets deeply into the Kennedy assassination conspiracy theories, either. 

Can't say it's a bit wordy and convoluted, but like all of Hunter's work, it is stuffed to the brim with guns and ammo and all manner of twisty things that pay off in the end. Plus the odd bit of action here and there.

No, I'll have to wait until January to tell you these things. But if you are a Swagger fan, maybe it'll help to know that it's on its way, and if you get that gift certificate to iTunes or Powell's, you have something to spend it on ...

Fire Good!

Yesterday afternoon late my thermostat crapped out and died. It's been wonky for a while, and I kept meaning to replace it, but since it mostly worked, I put it off. It's about twenty-five years old, one of the first programmables, and it gave up the ghost. I fiddled with it, replaced the batteries, which I always thought were redundant–if the power goes off, I have a working thermostat, yay!–only the forced-air gas furnace doesn't blow, motor being electrical and all. And I need battery back up why ... ?

But the dead critter was beyond my expertise to resurrect.

Wasn't too cold, we could get by one night with the fireplace and the little electric heater, so we did.

I got on line, found that there are slew of new thermostats out there are programmable. Ran over to Lowe's and got one. (Actually, I ran over to Best Buy, which had them in stock, according to the internet, only to discover their webpage was not-so-accurate, they were out.) 

And why do I want one of those programmables? Chiefly because they pay for themselves pretty quick by turning the heat up or down automatically, thus saving us some energy costs. Yes, I could do it manually, like we did back in the old days. When we didn't have TV remotes, and had to hike fifty miles to school each day through the snow, uphill both ways, fighting off cave bears and sabertooth lions and all ...

So I found a neat toy, the Nest, which was created by the guys who gave us the iPod. Spendy, but let's face it, I got an iPad when I could have gotten a Nook or a Kindle a lot cheaper. I'm a Mac guy to the core.

The Nest is simple to operate: turn it up, turn it down. It learns your patterns and programs itself, though you can override it manually, and has all the bells and whistles, including an app you can put on your table or phone to change it via wi-fi from your easy chair or halfway around the world. Has a sensor that sees you coming and lights it up when you check it. 

Took about fifteen minutes to install, another ten to download the software updates and set it up. I haven't gotten online to get the app yet, no hurry, I just wanted heat, since it's supposed to get chilly tonight.

Onward and upward ...

Decadence

To celebrate our anniversary, my spouse and I went out last evening to our favorite restaurant, a place not far that does rustic Italian food–simple dishes cooked well.

Really, really well. 

I'm not going to tell you the name of the place, which does a nice business, so as not to make it harder to get a table. If you really want to know, you can figure it out. (If you add a comment with the name in it to show me you did it, I'll delete it. My restaurant. Mine, mine, mine!)

The special was grilled duck breast on a bed of garlic mashed potatoes, with a a sauce that included Basalmic vinegar and figs, plus cooked kale. They had me at " ... grilled duck breast ..."

I can't begin to tell you how good it was. I would have picked the plate up to lick it, save that I used the last of the bread to wipe it clean enough it didn't look like it needed to be washed. Waitress said, "That's what the chef likes to see come back ..."

My wife had a homemade pasta dish with squash, also outstanding

We split a dessert–Tiramasu. In this case, it was lady finger cookies soaked in rum, covered in whipped cream and mascarpone and topped with grated chocolate. I had a glass of the fifteen-year-old tawny port to wash it down ...

So much for my healthy diet.

We don't eat this way often. Couldn't afford it, either in money or expanding waistlines and clogged arteries, but O my! Now and then such an indulgence is an absolute joy.

We stopped by the kitchen on the way out, gave the cooks a round of applause, and raved about the meal. Nice to see the chef smile.

Maintenance

Changed the strings on my guitar today, plus some clean-up you have to do once in a while--scrubbing the fretboard. Also dressed the first fret to alleviate some buzzing on the open E bass. You can so this by raising the nut, or gluing the groove flat and re-filing it, or if it's not bad, polishing the fret wire itself, using a nail file and buffing it. This is the easiest and quickest, and it worked fine.

I'll be retuning frequently for the next several sessions, but it will sound ever so much better once the strings settle in.

When the Rain Comes ...

First big fall rainstorm arrived here last night, wind, some branches down, inch and three-quarters rain so far today, steady enough to soak you before you get the dogs half a block.

Funny critters, my dogs. When it is drizzling, they will stand at the back door looking up at me as if I've gone mad–You don't expect us to go out there and pee, do you? And when I shove them outside, they will crab along next to the house under the overhang to find a spot to whiz. Yet walking leashed in a pouring rain doesn't seem to bother them. Probably because I have to go with them ...

Water is over the pedestrian bridge at the creek down the hill, and over the road on 150th, though I've seen it much deeper.

Warm, fortunately, mid-fifties, what they like to call The Pineapple Express, a low that sweeps up from the South Pacific and drenches everything; better than being buried in three feet of snow, by my lights. Hundred percent chance of rain today and tomorrow, dropping to ninety percent on Wednesday ...

Well, there you go. Welcome to the Pacific Northwet ...

And, oh, yeah, our forty-sixth wedding anniversary, too. Yeehaw.

Yesterday

So, yesterday was full and interesting: Got woke up from a dead sleep at 5:30 a.m. by my two dogs going at each other like rabid wolves. I leaped out of bed and ran to the other end of the house. (Note: Not a good idea, generally. Strained my left calf muscle in the process. Sudden physical activity of this nature from a dead sleep? Better not.)

My wife was already up and about, so she got there first and shoved the hounds apart.

Jude, who is half again Layla's size, always gets the worst of it in such encounters. Time before this, she chomped on his foreleg, drew serious blood, and necessitated a visit to our vet that cost us half a house payment to get him fixed.

Yesterday was not so bad, but she still bit him hard enough to break the skin and have him limping badly all day. I bandaged it, dosed him with ASA and antibiotics and he's better today, but still gimping around. 

The joy of dogs. 

Spent I the morning thereafter working on a book draft. Then did several hours in the afternoon watching the youngest grandson. He's one who will actually go outside, and it's amazing what you can do with a mostly-used roll of electrical tape you find on the street, kicking it and tossing it hither and yon. Good thing, because the rains arrived early this a.m.

Came home, changed clothes, and went to dinner at the home of a couple we've known for thirty-odd years, and then we all drove to a nearby wine bar to have a glass and listen to a guy play and sing covers, accompanying himself on electric acoustic guitar. 

The guitarist had a Bose tower behind him and a fat book of songs, couple of Epiphone steel stringers, and did a lot of geezer soft- and alternative-rock, some folk, and country stuff. (Took requests, but didn't do "Mustang Sally ...")

Our friends really like the guy, told us what a great guitarist he was. He had a pleasant voice, a mellow repertoire, and most of what he did I knew the words to, and sang softly along, as did the rest of the folks watching, all of us baby boomers.

Interesting how your perspective changes if you are going down certain roads. While the guitarist was entertaining, he was doing basic Travis-fingerpicking rhythm behind his singing, all first position chords, nary a barre, and a lot of stuff in G. He'd toe his stomp box and give his voice a nice little delay on the choruses for a richer sound. He was comfortable in front of an audience, had good interaction and patter, and I liked his song choices.

Great guitarist? Not as such. 

Still, it goes to the Johnny Cash Theory–you can do a lot with three chords and the truth. Less can sometimes be more.

Last night, our power went out as the rains began to come down hard, aided by a vehicle smacking into a power pole around the corner, and something about the total quiet and darkness (and knowing that you have to get up in the morning and reset the clocks and restart your computer, nags at you as you lie there, so sleep was a bit sketchy. 

Just another interesting Friday ...

Another First World Problem

There are people in this country who have real problems. They have cancer, or some serious debilitating illness. They don't get enough to eat;  live in their cars; some are still without power weeks after the nasty east coast hurricane, so I don't get to seriously bitch about anything; still, there is a tiny thing I find perplexing ...

Costco, in its wisdom, began offering their monstro packages of toilet paper with extra sheets per role. Which, you'd think, is a good thing, right? Except that in Steve's house, the TP rollers are inset into the cabinets or close enough to the walls that you can't use this fat new roll upon these devices because it is too big to fit. Put it on, you can't unroll it; it simply tears off. So you leave it on the back of the toilet until enough has been unspooled until you can stick it on the roller, or you come up with one sheet when you grab it ...

I know, I know, it's like missing the little cutter when pull out a section of dental floss and winding up with two feet of the stuff in hand, boo hoo, but there you go ...