Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 3

Back in the day I had written and submitted a script for an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, which was kept by the studio for a year before being rejected (either the powers-that-be were actually considering it or had forgotten about it! I’ve since written a non-ST short story based on the script). In researching DS9, I found that the writers for the Star Trek series utilized what they called “rubber science,” which, in effect, was made-up stuff. So, in expanding “A Concerned Citizen,” I decided to employ rubber science since I’m not a great science guy and it was faster and easier than researching. Besides, reality didn’t fit in with the idea I had!

So, Kim Yoshima became a full-blown character – although she didn’t possess her telepathic powers as yet. That development was to come later. She also shared the story’s POV with the oh-so cleverly renamed Wayne Brewster. Popeye was still in the opening scene of the piece at that point even though members of my writing/critique group warned me that there might be copyright issues by keeping him. I stubbornly refused to write Popeye out of that scene! The 10,000 word story just wouldn’t work without him! Well, sigh, of course it would--I was just being a diva. 

Kim’s and Brewster’s paths cross as they both investigate the appearances and insane rampages of the “Literary Terrorists.” Now, here’s where the rubber science comes in--Kim is a budding writer (a trait of hers I’ve never brought up again in subsequent stories because it was never as relevant as it was in this story) and she’s written a short story for her 10 year-old nephew, Bobby, called “The Monster at the End of Time.” This story of hers tips a cosmic balance of literature somewhere “out there” and causes the veils between alternate realities to rip. Actual living and breathing cartoon figures, comic book heroes and novel characters start to break into our world, slowly go crazy and wreak havoc. Hey, it could happen.

Kim and Brewster (who’s been fighting his own mental deterioration) battle the actual title monster of Kim’s story in her apartment. Drawn to its creator, the creature breaks in and begins to trash everything in sight as good monsters are apt to do. Just before she and Brewster are similarly trashed, Kim deduces what can put the multiverse to rights and burns her story. This resets the cosmic balance and the Literary Terrorists dematerialize back to their own realities. Including Brewster who, as he looks longingly into Kim’s eyes and she returns said gaze, vanishes in a blazing point of light.

I felt good enough about the story that I entered it in L. Ron Hubbard’s Writers of the Future Contest and actually won an honorable mention! I was told, though, that they couldn’t “take the story any further” because of… you guessed it… Popeye! That old intellectual property thing. My writing group gave me a lot of deserved grief over that one. As a result, I changed Popeye to a character called Marco the Pirate but, as yet, the story has never sold. However, I did lift the Popeye/Marco scene and incorporated it into The Sixth Precept (with a human character instead) so some of “A Concerned Citizen” did make it into print!

Click here to see reviews of The Sixth Precept.

there's a saying

from my side of the street

a woman must not

come married with

two left legs

the essence of

her dowry

must be the increase

in the fortunes

of her husband.

Since we married

he has built

more houses

bought more cars

his farm is bigger

in celebration of

his increased fortunes

he has brought in

another wife

I wish I had

two left legs!

World Builders

Second attempt at an opening page.

Helspa,  not large in comparison with the majority of life supporting planets, had a diameter of four thousand miles. Natural evolution had created large landmasses that were divided only by a single salt-water ocean, Hasper Prime, and a number of fresh water land-bound lakes. A solitary mountain range drifted across her dry land from snow-capped giants in the North to a sprinkling of hills in the East. Distance rather than biological barriers separated the indigenous peoples. A problem, though once conquered, that had upsetting consequences. 

Humans congregating together for mutual benefit rapidly increased in numbers outgrowing their water supply. The need for trapping water soon took precedence over all other considerations and the man-made fresh water sea of Hasper Minor with its numerous tributaries was created. Unlike the benevolent ‘Mother of Life’ Hasper Minor remained a violent and treacherous youngster. Her crater was unstable. Large upheavals took place often close to the shorelines causing uncontrollable flooding. Shortage of water was no longer a problem, but rather the overabundance of it soon caused a loss of living space. Still, even with the advent of space travel, the people of Helspa had no desire to resettle so strict laws of propagation remained intact.

Cabrea of the DeDiann sang loudly in time to his running feet. "Son of battle and danger.” His Exercisemate speeded up and slowed according to its predetermined program. "Can you trust the stranger?” His breath came faster but his lung capacity easily compensated so his voice never faltered. A sharp citrus scent from the sweat that peppered his flesh mingled amiably with pumped-in pine and heather smells, enhancing the outdoorsy effect of the closed-in chamber. Two gloriously orange-crested emerald parrots chatted on a low Maple branch, while higher above in the trees a pair of Morning Doves cooed to each other. Created for his pleasure, Cabrea appeared to be running through miles of grasslands, while in reality he remained in one small area.

The surfaces within his cubical had been coated with several layers of liquid reflection allowing him the perfect view of his naked body. In his armpits and below his tight belly the body hair was as curly, crisp, and wheat colored as any onetime birthed of his clan.  Smooth unblemished skin, allowed only the barest kiss of tanning, fit snugly over sculptured muscles and bones. After several lifetimes, the DeDiann still enjoyed his sensuous flesh and the warmth of the blood flowing through his veins. His forehead now measured twenty inches up from the tip of his nose, caused by the cranial enlargement required to accommodate his multiple-brain. Still, he had not gone bald. For this he was required to thank his ancestors. He did each time he brushed the golden mane that grew naturally on his head. Fueled by humorous thoughts, his lavender eyes brightened to lilac.

A Face to Face. He laughed out loud. The Bonsigh Witch was up to her tricks.  Lovely Cray never admitted it, but Cabrea had guessed before their second life cycle, that the Bonsigh Witch deliberately called the face-to-face sessions. There was no doubt one of Cray's reasons was to force their colleague Meath of the O'Enra to put his neglected body into some semblance of a human shape.

In his mind the DeDiann now pictured the O'Enra.  The idea of that over-fed blob of fat cells and unused muscles wiggling on an Exercisemate, whimpering for the machine to be gentle, increased Cabrea's amusement. They had been competitive youngsters during primary school and hadn’t cared for one another then. And so while the O'Enra possessed intelligence equal to if not surpassing his own, the DeDiann still took extreme pleasure in ridiculing his associate. It was not because Cabrea was intentionally cruel; it was just Meath was so uncommonly easy to tease.

The boisterous music began to slow into a ballad as the program created the cooling down atmosphere. Cabrea spread his body on the Transporter that disengaged from the main machine and moved towards the far wall. The wall folded in on itself as he drew near, the opaque colors became translucent and then spread out disclosing the white beach and melon green waters of the bay.  The first of the planet's suns was rising to the east. Mist filled the air as powerful suction from the blue-white giant drew water from the oceans to create the clouds of the morning sky. The second sun, a small golden sphere rising in the west, followed to splash shades of color across the pale horizon and bathe the land and water in glittering light. This natural phenomenon, more attractive than any artificial display, was an enjoyment this DeDiann never intentionally missed.

His new 'Womb' had just been issued assuring him of yet another lifetime. Cabrea was spending this final year of his present life engaging in activities he wouldn’t normally attempt. Before noonday he often found himself wandering the ‘olden time’ city streets.  He found pleasure in watching the onetime birthed—especially their rowdy children.

First Scene of The Rebels, Illustrated

I've been working with a graphic artist to illustrate a couple of key scenes from my new book, The Rebels. I will be shooting the manuscript off to the publisher soon, hopefully by the end of next week.

In the meantime, here's a sneak peak of the opening scene. It's a tense, action sequence that follows directly from the final scene in The Empire. Adrian Stannis, a brilliant scientist, has built a jump gate and he, Kali and Bryce are trying to escape through it. The first chapter is fraught with dangers as Empire soldiers surround them, trying to prevent their escape.

The illustration is a bit bloodier than I expected and I've asked the artist to change it a bit but overall, I'm pleased with it.

Alien Insurrection; The new X-Files.

Not only a brand new Sci-Fi series, but a 'novel' approach to the methodology of writing.
When Lachelle and I decided we would write a book together, we envisaged long evenings together, and buying shares in the midnight oil company.
What actually happened, was a chance remark that led us to a new, innovative writing process. She would write from one character's perspective, I would write from another. We would email the story back and forth between our computers, and the only person allowed to write in the story, was the one who held the 'football'.
It was an experiment, sure, and the first few passes of the ball were slow, as we both built our characters up, but when the action started, these passes became quite frenetic. Sometimes passing the football three/four times a day.
I would write my character's 1000 words, then pass the problem to Lachelle to fix. She would write hers, then leave me in a dangerous situation. It was a great challenge, and wonderful fun, stretching both us and our writing skills.
The finished product is Alien Insurrection, an X-Files-esque adventure where Drew Morrow (FBI Agent, written by Lachelle Miller) and Katie Walkinshaw (Homicide Detective, written by Ian Hall) find themselves thrown together in a case of Aliens literally appearing out of nowhere. As they begin their investigation, they are drawn into a complex web of a inter-planetary conspiracy. Unable to trust any of their superiors, they are forced 'off'grid' to probe further.
It's a fun ride, but you have been warned, you won't be able to put it down.

Alien Insurrection ; Available on Kindle at Amazon.com for the measly sum of $2.99.

Origins of THE SIXTH PRECEPT - Part 2

When I decided that “Primary Colors” needed to be expanded into a larger story (I had no input into this – the story ordered me to do so!), I also felt it needed a second POV besides Wayne Petersen. I elected to beef up the character and role of the female police officer (whose name I honestly can’t remember). I also opted to change her ethnicity. I felt that African Americans had made some inroads to greater visibility as characters in films, TV and books but not so much for Asian Americans.

And so was born Kalinda Kim, a Lieutenant on the Pittsburgh police force whom I described as being of Japanese descent. It was sometime later that I discovered that “Kim” was a Korean name and since I had already mapped out the character’s backstory, Kalinda Kim became Kim Yoshima.

In the meantime, since I was changing character names, I began rethinking the name of Wayne Petersen. Since Petersen was, in reality, Bruce Wayne, I came up with Wayne Brewster, which, at the time, I thought was really clever! He was still Batman though and Wayne Brewster was actually a twist on his real name of Bruce Wayne in the story as a way to help conceal his real identity. Kind of like Clark Kent wearing glasses--it really works!

Popeye was still around also in what I considered to be a major scene but, as I discovered, his name and identity also had to be changed--but not for the fun of it. The character of Popeye was not in the public domain and there could have been intellectual property issues if I didn’t change it. More about that later.

Then, finally, around that time, the John Travolta movie, “Primary Colors,” was released and guess what name I felt I had to change next?

So I had my two main characters and a new story title--“A Concerned Citizen.” How would I expand on the original story? Well, therein lies a tale…

CLICK HERE for The Sixth Precept on Amazon.com.

So how did it all start?

So how did it all start? Might be a good question if we all do that you know, check for why we are here on earth, in terra firma, and see if we had a beginning. The classic argument about what came first, the egg or the chicken. We all have a story to tell and I want to tell you about a lot of things. I have wondered if I should just start from the middle of the story but how do I make you understand who I am really? From the mists of confusion and the several bandages that cloud the inner understanding of our journeys into matter?

I could tell you about me when I ventured here, about nights wide awake wondering where the help and understanding was going to come from. I could tell you about being black, being proud and being hungry. I could tell you so much about the times I walked the stairs, my heart in my mouth as I got called all kinds of names and had problems identifying my own name .I could tell you how I had to learn to keep my own counsel. I could tell you so many things about me. But where do I start?

Let us start with my earthly mother, for I knew her before I was born in climes of golden rain and blue sunsets, where the water spoke to you of the journeys it had made from the green sided mountains when silence and the winds were songs that caressed her heart. But then my present earthly mother swayed to a different music and came through bands of light so bright into this realm that we still wonder and are mystified at the speed with which she forgot why she came. We called her Jasmine but she needed lessons and so travelled down to earth and she got the name Fehintola, which in their language will mean she leans on honor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother knew she was a victim of repeated still births and in the tradition of her culture was told that a child from the spirit world was the cause of her troubles. She had watched her husband Ayo, stayed silent and hurt as his attentions wandered away as he picked another bride for himself for it was taboo to have an infertile man in his family and he really could not wait any longer. So maybe I should allow her to tell you more or I could continue to speak of how the threads swayed as I watched. Why did we choose her to be my earthly mother? 

The bridge held as I passed through.

Through bands of waving light

And boundaries of the Rose

I descend the mists

Wrapped in light veils

I left my home again, my home of extra ordinary beauty, of streams that gurgle with musical notes and forests that are wrapped in the glory of the color of service, the whispering winds, and laughing sun, from valleys of shimmering lakes I am led into swirling bands of light as I pick cloaks of my choosing falling further and further down, like a white cloud of softest hue escorted by friends, we serve together the Rose and I start a mission again into matter to learn and serve and hopefully point the way home. I leave my friends at the bridge but take the thoughts of their help and guide with me across into matter as I become human again. 

 Welcome to my story Numen Yeye coming out soon. In my culture, there are categories of human beings. The normal garden variety of people like you or me, then there are the species called ‘abiku’ which mean those who are locked into the repeated circle of birth and death. Our first African Nobel Laureate for literature Prof. Wole Soyinka had once written a poem (“ABIKU”) about this specie of human beings, the poem became a class text in educational institutions. A specie of human beings who , it is believed have very little sympathy for the human beings they torment. Apart from this,  is a silently dreaded and strange specie known loosely as ‘emere’. This class of human beings (for want of a better word) do not bother with the stress of repeated childbirths but are suspected to be almost extra- terrestrial, have ability to live consciously both in the spirit world as well as on terra firma, fulfilling to the very letter their predetermined mission to bring wealth, misery, or pain according to their own choosing and time table. This class of humans are dreaded in my culture and very rarely spoken about except as a form of appeal that they might change their ways. I was intrigued by this concept in my culture and kept asking the question that since we have come far enough in our knowledge of creation, why do we not consider the  issue from the viewpoint of the ‘emere’. What if the ‘emere’ was not evil, and just an average Jane with a longing to be helpful in the cause of the human spiritual? Numen Yeye thus is an African fantasy and an invitation to see things from the viewpoint of an ‘emere’ who may or may not really be one to be dreaded. Numen Yeye is my peep into a world that I can imagine and suggest we hesitate to condemn. To the Western world, it is my invitation too, that maybe if you gave us the benefit, we may show you a few things that may have been wrongly labeled as barbaric, savage and native. At one time or the other, the world or portions of the world have filled that description.

 Ephesus.

Attempting to Capture

Although I have accomplished the often considered impossibility,  found a publisher and watch my mysteries go from idea to print, I would love to become a World Builder. Nothing wrong with this Old World of ours you say. Perhaps for those lacking imagination, this is true; but think of the fun you can have starting over.

The opening page is the hardest. You can sweat months on an opening scene and blood (well I bit my lip) on  the opening page.

One attempt;

With the coming of morning, sunlight licked gently at the peaceful island of Enra a vibrant jewel set in the center of the green-gold river of Hels. Heavy cloud cover camouflaged the early dawn. Most of the populace still lay in the splendor of their self-induced dreams.

A Face to Face. "Death be damned!" Meath of the O'Enra spread his body on the Exercisemate. He stared at the monitor as the suggested program depicting his torture flashed in dismal enjoyment, while the soulless machine's computer assessed his physical requirements. Weeks of agony faced him. Deprivation of his palate alone would be undeniable cruelty.

Venetian-- that's what Chef called the wine and butter sauce with which he basted the duckling to a perfect umber. Saliva pooled in Meath's mouth. He savored the memory of his last decent meal for months to come. What a waste. Chef only had about twenty years of productive life left. Meath always referred to his cooks as Chef and never employed one who made use of artificial ingredients.

This was Meath’s own fault, but accepting responsibility for his neglected body didn't make it any easier. At that moment, he would have gladly flung himself from the machine had he been able; but wisely he had programmed the sensors not to allow it. He groaned as the manipulation of weak muscles and destruction of fat cells began. It was deplorable that a marvelous organ like his multiple brain still required this feeble carcass to sustain life. The prickly sensations on his head and body told him the re-growth process had started earlier than anticipated--he didn't realize he'd become that hairless. The inserting needles made his eyes water and his sinuses stuff up.

When, in his first lifetime, Meath found that his recessed genetic patterns held no fancier combinations than the simple picture he presented, he lost interest in improving his natural looks. Oh, it would have been simple enough to alter his codes. He could have been taller than five six, could have straightened his black curls, even caused thicker body hair, or lightened his olive complexion. All the work required to accomplish those changes would have taken time away from developing his brain capacity. Prior to several rebirths he planned to do this, but always he put it off to the next generation or the next until it ceased to concern him.

Only a Face to Face meeting could force the short fat human to subject himself to the torture of his Exercisemate. He knew his colleagues Cabrea of the DeDiann and Cray of the Bonsigh would be in excellent physical shape and he didn't relish their gloating expressions if he should sail into the meeting on his Transporter.

 A Face to Face? "Death and be damned!" Was Cray just displaying her usual paranoid tendencies or had something major occurred? Over the many generations of their research project, they'd been forced to cheat a bit to escalate the development of a small planet. Had someone discovered an inconsistency in their reports? Lately some members of the Faculty had suggested they might consider the termination of their experiment. Was this the reason Cray had called for a face-to-face discussion?

The machine continued manipulating his limbs until the pain caused him to sob out loud. "Death and be damned! 100cc of Argat!" He ordered the relief drug pumped into his pain centers.  His overweight body was forced to sweat so badly that even the controlled atmosphere of the cubical couldn't contend with the smell. Was it just that stench causing his sudden queasiness?

Genesis of The Empire Series

Some people wake up wanting to be hero, or at least the best person they possibly can. Most of us wake up because we're supposed to, because the alarm goes off, because the sun comes up, because of the responsibilities of the day.

No one wakes up wanting to be a villain. We all have reasons for what we do.

The Empire series explores the things which motivate us and the compromises we make in order to survive.

Write What You Know!

Yeah, you've heard that before, many times. "If you write what you know, it will show in your work."
The only problem is, most writers take this adage, and consider it a finite statement. They 'write what they know', and while the subsequent product may be fine, they have missed the whole point of the statement.
I quote from the web; "'Write what you know' isn't a guideline; it's a simple truth".

What?

Let me tell you; "Write What You Know" is NOT a boundary. It's a CHALLENGE!

It's a kick up the back-side to all the writers in the world to go out and do some RESEARCH! To ADD to what we know. To open our minds and know MORE!

If we only write what we know right now, this second, our writings will never inspire readers. How would the Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror genres have blossomed if the writers had listened to the above? We have to EXPAND what we know, then write about it.

"Write What You Know" should be re-written. Here goes:

"Write What You Know, then take a giant leap of faith; break a boundary, go into the unknown! (Then go do some research, cover your tracks so you don't make a fool of yourself.)"

Doesn't have the same punch, does it?

Origins of THE SIXTH PRECEPT - Part 1

About 15 years ago, I got an idea for a short story which was to be a sort of an homage to my favorite costumed hero--Batman. I posited the concept of what would happen if comic book, short story and novel characters actually existed in an alternate reality and were linked to our own universe by the literature we created about those characters. These “literary terrorists” started to break through the dimensional veil into our world as a result of a “quantum overflow” in the space/time continuum.

I was just going to write this for myself, to have a little fun with friends and the members of my writing/critique group, science and logic be damned! Little did I know it would take on a life of its own and snowball into something much, much larger.

At just a little over 3000 words, “Primary Colors,” told the story of Wayne Petersen, aka Bruce Wayne, aka Batman (though I never mention Wayne or Batman by name), being lost in our reality and trying to find his way back to his own world. He tries to help an out-of-control Popeye (yes, Popeye!) so the two of them can work together towards this end. But Popeye, like Wonder Woman, D’artagnan and the other literary figures arriving in our universe, could only survive for a finite period of time. After that, they go insane and then, after wreaking havoc throughout the city, die and dematerialize. Poof! Just like that.

 In his guise as Petersen, Wayne enlists the help of an African-America female detective to help him before he, too, ends up as a pile of dust. I left the ending pretty ambiguous with the costumed hero swinging out into the night to visit the detective at her home to convince her of the danger to both his and her/our world.

Well, I started to really like the story and decided to expand upon it. I couldn’t just leave well enough alone and that was just the beginning of this long, but ultimately, thrilling journey.

A Challenge

Read the following idea for a novel and write a  short opening scene.

Three scientists known as ‘Re-borns’ have been granted several lifetimes to continue work on Experiment 00279 (a small planet they created). They have taken steps, often illegal, to enhance its growth. When there is still no sign of intelligent life, the planet is seeded with human life. While all three of the scientists are guilty of manipulating the law of their land, one personally commits two major crimes (adoption of a son and the destruction of a dangerous life form) that, if discovered, could have devastating effects on his future, the group, and their project.

Life on the new planet is portrayed as a Universal Soap Opera vying for popularity and financial gain with conditions in the ultra-modern societies. Open Windows allow people on one world to enjoy situations, normally battles, on another planet. The availability of these Windows is controlled by the Military Elite and unbelievable profits are theirs from the promotions and sales of products dealing with their fashioned ‘Heroes’ and wars.

The Intellectuals, mainly The Faculty believe that since the Windows are a scientific achievement, they should glean greater rewards from the consumer sales.

The advanced world of Helspa struggles with its own problems, while the primitive world develops suitable situations that thrill humans who have become bored by their controlled existence, and are loosing interest in what the Military offers them for entertainment.

He was my brother

His peeling skin 
and distended stomach
eyes glazed from 
several kegs of palm wine
he made bad medicine
and sold family land 
ignored several warnings

As I watch him on
the bier before the elders
I see the color of my life
with him
black, tinged with the red of pain,
a little green of filial service
slight traces of pink for love 
but not enough to make a rainbow.

The Mancave and its Muse.

Somewhere deep in the Beehive is a private place. A Mancave, where only Ian is allowed to enter.

He arrives every morning, and sits, and waits for the muse to hit. Sometimes, like this morning, the train didn't arrive, so I blogged. Some days, the muse express arrives; yesterday I wrote 4000 words in a single morning.

The Mancave. Where the only sounds are the typing of computer keys, and the tunes of Mike Oldfield, echoing round the walls.

The Birth of a Novel

Hello, everyone. My name is Larry Ivkovich and I’ve been writing genre fiction for 30 years. I've published several short stories in various online and print markets and my debut novel, THE SIXTH PERCEPT, was published in November, 2011 by IFWG Publishing. It's an urban fantasy with science fiction and horror elements, part of it taking place in contemporary Pittsburgh and part in ancient Japan.

Writing has always been like an "alternate state" to me. It's like when you zone out while driving and wonder how you ended up where you did. Sometimes I'll read what I've just written and can't believe it came from me. I have no set rules for writing - for the most part, I just sit down with a germ of an idea and start and see where it takes me. It's a passion I hope to continue for a long time to come and to share with anyone who wants to tag along for the ride.

At Quiller’s Beehive, I’m going to describe the genesis of my novel – how it began as a very short story with different characters, how it changed and evolved from a confusing mess at 130,000 words to how it ended up at IFWG Publishing as a much shorter, tighter and better story. It was an interesting and enlightening journey, to say the least. Stay tuned.

Addicted to Writing for Kindle.

Ye, I'm addicted to writing for Kindle.

Now, let's not get things wrong, I love my IFWG publishers, I love writing my large sprawling 200,000 word novels...But they take so long to write, and SO much research.

BUT! In walks the new kid on the block; the eBook, promising instant gratification. Upload a 10,000 word short story, my own cover design, and up online in less that 30 mins!

Wow, I seem to be out of breath. I may need a bourbon and coke!

Come in and stay a while. You might get addicted too.

Welcome to Quillers Beehive!

We're a group of authors who wish to entertain, illuminate and brighten up the blogging and writing worlds.

What makes an author tick? Discover all the things that go into creating a fictional world and what it means to be an author in an industry that changes with the blink of an eye.

Join the exciting adventure and drop a comment or two!