tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54029131984387225972024-02-06T19:41:38.606-08:00Quillers BeehiveAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-56425165873482007652012-09-03T07:05:00.001-07:002012-09-03T07:05:28.610-07:00Update on UNLIKELY HERO<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<a href="http://quillersbeehive.blogspot.com/2012/03/ifwg-will-be-releasing-my-second-novel.html">IFWG will be releasing my second novel Unlikely Hero Soon</a>. The editing for <i><b>Unlikely Hero</b></i> is half way through. And as good and quick as my editor is publication will be coming up soon.</h3>
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<br />
Constructed
in action scenes that take place on a Global scale, and involve both
law and outlaw where the distinction between the two is often muddy. So
in the final chapter the murders are solved but a rather likeable
criminal escapes retribution.<br />
<br />
This statement, revenge is best
savored when it’s no longer expected, describes the plot behind the
story of ‘Unlikely Hero’. There are a number of angry people in this
tale of murder with a sufficient reason to commit the crimes.<br />
<br />
Alex
Cahill lives a double life as a news reporter and a paid assassin. He
has no reservations about killing anyone for money, and does so many
times in different circumstances through out the pages. His unusual
concern when he accidentally injures a child surprises his cohorts.<br />
<br />
That
child, Garth Ahern, believes he is predestined to die in prison like
his father. He has reached the age of nine convinced of this by the
screeches of an abusive mother and the condemnation of an old priest.
Deprived of a daddy, the boy needed a hero.<br />
<br />
Set in the late
seventies, the Ahern brothers raised in the turmoil of Northern Ireland
have followed very different paths. The Eldest, with the help of friends
escaped to America; his natural ability in electronics in the growing
age of computers allowed him to carve out a financial empire. The
Youngest, the victim of treachery put this schooling to his advantage by
becoming a paid killer. Only the middle brother married, his wife bore a
son eight months after his death.<br />
<br />
Violence surrounds that boy.
Garth is orphaned by his mother’s murder; the event draws his ‘Yankee
Uncles’, who previously hadn’t known of his existence, not only into his
life but also into each others’. One becomes the predator and the other
the prey in a battle where financial gain appears to be the prime
consideration. Revenge, however, is the more volatile reason for murder.<br />
<br />
Garth’s
Uncle Mathew attempts to give the child a secure home and decent
future. Those efforts may be wasted when his Uncle David accepts a
contract to kill Mathew.<br />
<br />
While there is no effort made to hide
the actual identity of Alex Cahill from the reader, certain situations
will make them ponder which brother is he. Can he be Garth’s father?<br />
<br />
Lots
of Irish wandering through these pages so the work must impart some
humorous incidents along with the violence. I hope to garner a few
chuckles when Cahill interacts with certain members of English and Irish
law enforcement. A smile or two should occur as the foreign child,
Garth, attempts to dominate the Yankees. And if I can’t draw a few
giggles along with the Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-56245965123011487032012-08-12T13:01:00.002-07:002012-08-12T13:01:32.594-07:00To The Battle Born<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
To The Battle Born is now avaiable on Nook.
</h3>
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<aside></aside> <section id="yui_3_3_0_1_1340314960979_1547"> <div class="fade-to-height box" data-bn-match-height="#product-snippet-overview-1 aside" id="yui_3_3_0_1_1340314960979_1546">
<h3 id="yui_3_3_0_1_1340314960979_1548">
Overview</h3>
A political thriller novelette.<br />
<br />
Two similar warriors condemned by their nature. Alex seeks financial
gains; with Ryan it is a desire to improve society. Once established, a
true belief for something creates a powerful passion in some men that
allows them to use any method to accomplish their aim. <br />
<br />
The two main characters are taken from Geraldine Fitzsimmons' novel, Unlikely Hero. </div>
</section> </div>
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</section></div>Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-19160500173783102842012-07-15T07:45:00.001-07:002012-07-15T07:56:08.262-07:00Update on Unlikely Hero<h2 class="date-header">
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<a href="http://quillersbeehive.blogspot.com/2012/03/ifwg-will-be-releasing-my-second-novel.html">IFWG will be releasing my second novel Unlikely Hero Soon</a>. The editing for <i><b>Unlikely Hero</b></i> is due to start. And as good and quick as my editor is publication will be coming up soon.</h3>
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<br />
Constructed
in action scenes that take place on a Global scale, and involve both
law and outlaw where the distinction between the two is often muddy. So
in the final chapter the murders are solved but a rather likeable
criminal escapes retribution.<br />
<br />
This statement, revenge is best
savored when it’s no longer expected, describes the plot behind the
story of ‘Unlikely Hero’. There are a number of angry people in this
tale of murder with a sufficient reason to commit the crimes.<br />
<br />
Alex
Cahill lives a double life as a news reporter and a paid assassin. He
has no reservations about killing anyone for money, and does so many
times in different circumstances through out the pages. His unusual
concern when he accidentally injures a child surprises his cohorts.<br />
<br />
That
child, Garth Ahern, believes he is predestined to die in prison like
his father. He has reached the age of nine convinced of this by the
screeches of an abusive mother and the condemnation of an old priest.
Deprived of a daddy, the boy needed a hero.<br />
<br />
Set in the late
seventies, the Ahern brothers raised in the turmoil of Northern Ireland
have followed very different paths. The Eldest, with the help of friends
escaped to America; his natural ability in electronics in the growing
age of computers allowed him to carve out a financial empire. The
Youngest, the victim of treachery put this schooling to his advantage by
becoming a paid killer. Only the middle brother married, his wife bore a
son eight months after his death.<br />
<br />
Violence surrounds that boy.
Garth is orphaned by his mother’s murder; the event draws his ‘Yankee
Uncles’, who previously hadn’t known of his existence, not only into his
life but also into each others’. One becomes the predator and the other
the prey in a battle where financial gain appears to be the prime
consideration. Revenge, however, is the more volatile reason for murder.<br />
<br />
Garth’s
Uncle Mathew attempts to give the child a secure home and decent
future. Those efforts may be wasted when his Uncle David accepts a
contract to kill Mathew.<br />
<br />
While there is no effort made to hide
the actual identity of Alex Cahill from the reader, certain situations
will make them ponder which brother is he. Can he be Garth’s father?<br />
<br />
Lots
of Irish wandering through these pages so the work must impart some
humorous incidents along with the violence. I hope to garner a few
chuckles when Cahill interacts with certain members of English and Irish
law enforcement. A smile or two should occur as the foreign child,
Garth, attempts to dominate the Yankees. And if I can’t draw a few
giggles along with the sighs and shudders during murder or sex, I’ll
have to toss my passport in the Atlantic.
</div>
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</div>Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-8366705973548892392012-06-25T07:03:00.002-07:002012-06-25T07:07:26.244-07:00Werewolves: New Twists on an Old Monster Tale<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<u><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Three Werewolf Movies that Provide Different Takes on the Classic Horror Creature.</span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Bloodcurdling stories of werewolf encounters have been prowling around for centuries. Nothing chills the soul more than some cursed unfortunate metamorphosing into a hairy beast under the light of the full moon. But just when you thought there was nothing new or unique that could be added to such lycanthropic legends, three recent horror (or urban fantasy, depending on your definition) movies put a new spin on a favorite furry supernatural beastie.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1; text-transform: uppercase;">Dog Soldiers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Dog Soldiers (2002), written and directed by Neil Marshall (who later went on to write and direct The Descent, Doomsday and The Centurion) pits a pack of werewolves against a military unit staging exercises in a remote area of the Scottish Highlands. Starring Sean Pertwee (son of actor Jon who portrayed the third Dr. Who), Dog Soldiers is a combination of gore, black humor and intense, violent action.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">The story turns the werewolf mythos on its head by depicting not just one but a pack of werewolves with the point-of-view focusing strictly on the humans being hunted (no touchy-feely, internal human persona vs. animal persona conflict here!). The struggles of the military unit’s members and the mysterious woman who helps them are front-and-center as they can either give in to fear or stand and fight the horror surrounding them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1; text-transform: uppercase;">Skinwalkers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Skinwalkers (2006 – not to be confused with the Tony Hillerman novel of the same name), directed by James Isaac and starring Jason Behr, Rhona Mitra and Elias Koteas, depicts a pack of dangerous werewolf bikers on the loose. They are “skinwalkers,” according to Navajo lore--humans who are able to change their forms into those of animals.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Opposing them are good skinwalkers who are trying to live their lives without killing. They do this by shackling themselves to the inside of their RV on the nights of the full moon. If they taste human blood for the first time, their animal nature will take over completely. And their human personas must remain intact in order to protect the one member of their family who has the power to end the werewolf curse once and for all--a 13 year-old boy who is half human and half skinwalker.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">The expert werewolf facial makeup was done by the late, great Stan Winston, giving credence to the expression, “Less is More.” These werewolves really look bestial without the makeup effects being over-the-top or cheesy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1; text-transform: uppercase;">Underworld</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">The big budget entry of this trio of films, Underworld (2003), directed by Len Wiseman and starring Kate Beckinsdale, Scott Speedman and Bill Nighy, reimagines werewolves and vampires as rival gangs engaging in high-tech urban (fantasy) warfare. Stylishly cool and sexy, the film shows both groups adapting very well to the modern era. The vampires shoot bullets containing silver nitrate at the “Lycans” and the werewolves return fire to the “Death Dealers” with bullets that emit ultraviolet light. Both opposing groups utilize laptops, the internet and cell phones as tools in their centuries-long struggle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">In addition, the werewolves are trying to create a powerful vampire/werewolf hybrid to help them in their battle against the blood-suckers. They live beneath the city streets (the “underworld” of the title) while their vampire foes reside in luxurious mansions replete with state-of-the-art technology.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Oddly enough (with a couple of exceptions), the much bigger, more powerful Lycans get their behinds kicked in this film. Preferring to get down and dirty in their werewolf forms, most of them fall easy victims to the Death Dealers’ modern weaponry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Stylized action sequences and an in-depth backstory on the ancient war between these two toothy groups give this film a little more substance than most run-of-the mill creature features.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">At the end of the day, a werewolf is a werewolf is a werewolf, but kudos to those artists who won’t take the easy way out. Their imaginative slants on classic horror tropes make the old seem new again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>Larry Ivkovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10986431373775533571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-791636065693746922012-06-21T14:47:00.001-07:002012-06-21T14:51:42.417-07:00To The Battle Born is now avaiable on Nook.<br />
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Battle Born [NOOK Book]
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<a class="subtle" data-bntrack="Contributor_1" href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/geraldine-fitzsimmons">Geraldine Fitzsimmons</a>
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<aside></aside> <section id="yui_3_3_0_1_1340314960979_1547"> <div class="fade-to-height box" data-bn-match-height="#product-snippet-overview-1 aside" id="yui_3_3_0_1_1340314960979_1546">
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Overview</h3>
A political thriller novelette.<br />
<br />
Two similar warriors condemned by their nature. Alex seeks financial
gains; with Ryan it is a desire to improve society. Once established, a
true belief for something creates a powerful passion in some men that
allows them to use any method to accomplish their aim. <br />
<br />
The two main characters are taken from Geraldine Fitzsimmons' novel, Unlikely Hero. </div>
</section> </div>
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</section></div>Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-1849334051703730542012-06-16T09:29:00.001-07:002012-06-16T09:29:47.454-07:00Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-47759539779174317422012-06-03T07:12:00.001-07:002012-06-03T07:12:04.870-07:00'chap-ebook'!June 2012 Newsletter 'Word from the Editor'<br /> <br /> We are happy to
announce the creation of a new line of products for IFWG Publishing. We
all know about 'chapbooks', that oddity in publishing that started off
as a newsletter a few centuries ago - small books (normally 40 pages or
less) that contained a story, or newsletter, or the like. Some authors
publish similarly sized beasts as ebooks, and we thou<span class="text_exposed_show">ght it was a great idea to marry the two concepts together, hence creating the 'chap-ebook'!<br /> <br />
We aren't doing this in a big way; we are expressly publishing
chap-ebooks only written by our current authors - those who we published
novels, anthologies and non-fiction. No one else. The reasoning behind
this is to provide readers with extra material from their favorite
authors, and sometimes also supplement larger stories with smaller work.
We are delighted to do this, and in the spirit of chapbooks, we will
turn them over rather quickly, and not necessarily spend a great deal of
time polishing the covers. We will be numbering our 'chap-ebook' series
in the order they are published.<br /> <br /> Gift Horse is the first cab
off the rank, and has the honor of being number #001. It is a wonderful
science-fiction piece written by our Managing Director, and author of
the KnorraSky series of novels, R.A. Knowlton. Over coming weeks we will
be adding three more chap-ebooks to our collection - just stay tuned.<br /> <br /> Gerry Huntman <br /> Chief Editor <br /> IFWG Publishing</span>Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-52695476522194958452012-05-24T08:52:00.002-07:002012-05-24T08:52:10.617-07:00Random Musings about the Reading Experience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I was in a couple of bookstores in Saskatoon a couple of months ago in preparation for some pre-release promotion for The Rebels and some in Toronto. There are still a lot of people who go to bookstores and I must admit that even though I rarely step foot in one, there is nothing quite like the visceral feel of being inside a bookstore, being surrounded by a world of literature. It's nothing like </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">staring at it on a screen, which is an antiseptic experience most days. I think that I will forever, along with many people, equate reading with the feel of paper in my hands, flipping real pages, hearing the rustle of paper. Seeing shadows fall across the pages as I turn to the next chapter.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. I also love my Kobo reader. It's portable word power in a compact device. But the worrier in me always wonders if the battery is going and while changing font sizes for my weary eyes is a bonus, I can never quite get the same feel of seeing a full 'page' on the screen. The screen always seems too small.<br /><br />I hope there is still room in the new world for bookstores. It will be a sad day when we can't go into a store and be surrounded by a world of books and share that experience with real people going to the same place for the same reason.</span>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-81681653521873261902012-05-14T02:46:00.000-07:002012-05-14T02:46:54.892-07:00The Devil Came EastThe Devil Came East and found a perfect playground. Promotional price on this novel still available at Amazon’s Kindle, at Barnes and Noble‘s Nook. If you would like to join a Serial Killer in his trek through the Big City hunting victims or join those trying to apprehend him, take a few minutes to check this book out.<br /><br />Neil Harris, a psychiatrist, on a late night radio talk show is the first to realize Satan has appeared in New York City. Lonely women who call his show to chat are committing suicide at an unusually high rate. When Neil shares his suppositions with his friend, Detective Sergeant Joseph Farley, of the local police department, the search for the killer commences. <br /><br />Not only a mystery, but a personal drama, Joe Farley, forty-five, recently divorced with some heavy financial baggage, is a bit of an underachiever. He is hampered by the fact he is given minimal help to find the killer and must share authority with a much younger ‘man on the move’ sergeant. Joe has a new love interest, a belligerent child, and a fierce loyalty to Neil Harris(considered a suspect) thrown into the mix of complications.<br /><br />Although this Goal Oriented Serial Killer will meet and greet you on the opening page, and there are numerous hints throughout the text, it’s unlikely the reader will come to the proper conclusion any sooner than the police. <br /><br />When our killer finds the perfect female, he makes a mistake and stays in one place too long. <br />With the police rapidly closing in on him, the Devil decides to go west. Can he escape or will the officer he attacks become his final victim?<br />Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-47214394759135763092012-04-29T01:43:00.002-07:002012-05-03T23:23:09.830-07:00Never Judge a Book By its Cover...But...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbHPjPqFEL6sere4_CJ_pGrzPiabPstCZIXnF9_FEyYKG-ISgjD06ugyGbIVNfWKrwL-NiCubeiiXNQGROhqB5Wlt55sLs-GSGUbhwbkRa9QzZFcBsyEhE7aZ74NfChWOu787x2bZgg7G/s1600/cover+samples+4small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbHPjPqFEL6sere4_CJ_pGrzPiabPstCZIXnF9_FEyYKG-ISgjD06ugyGbIVNfWKrwL-NiCubeiiXNQGROhqB5Wlt55sLs-GSGUbhwbkRa9QzZFcBsyEhE7aZ74NfChWOu787x2bZgg7G/s640/cover+samples+4small.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
Just a bit of advice about book covers gathered along my literary journey.<br />
<br />
Like it or not, readers do judge a book by its cover. That's why authors go into a book store and turn their covers face front.<br />
<br />
A cover must capture the attention. That's elementary, but doing it is a bit more tricky. A lot more.<br />
<br />
1) First of all, a cover needs to be simple. Cluttered covers confuse the eye and leaves a reader wondering what the heck the focus of the book is. Remember that the cover is not meant to be a visual summary of all the important elements of the book. Pick one or two. Or a single eye-catching scene perhaps. Make it dynamic, or give it meaning, or both. Leave a question in the readers' minds that they will want to answer by reading your blurb or flipping the pages, and ultimately buying it.<br />
<br />
2) Choose colors that will pop out visually. Don't use dull colors except as background. Up the contrast. Make the color wheel your friend. Using colors that are opposite on the color wheel will make your visuals stand out.<br />
<br />
3) Mind the 30 foot rule. Does your book stand out even from 30 feet away (i.e. from the front of the store). This applies even in today's online age. When your cover is reduced to a thumbnail, can you tell what is on the book cover? Can you read the title and the author's name?<br />
<br />
That last one is important. Make your fonts large enough that it can be read, even at a glance, at a distance, or as a small icon. Be careful not to bleed it into the visual elements. Don't be too 'cute' with your fonts. It just comes across as amateurish.<br />
<br />
Don't just use simple black or white for your title. Make it more interesting. Use colors from your visual in order to tie it all together, or use the color wheel.<br />
<br />
Try using all caps, all no-caps, enlarging the first letter, etc. The author name doesn't have to be the same font as the title, but try not using more than two.<br />
<br />
4) Give the eyes a direction in order to give a cover more impact. Have the visual elements naturally flow in one, or at most two directions (that make sense). You can 'point' it to your title.<br />
<br />
5) Make it unique, exciting, sexy. Guns, gals and explosions. They work for a reason. The cover is your first hook. Grab them by the...well, you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
6) Try adding a tag line, but make it an interesting one. Look at movie posters for some great examples. My favorite is the one from Alien ("In space, no one can hear you scream...")<br />
<br />
Hope that helps.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-44683316653422953772012-04-25T21:01:00.000-07:002012-04-25T21:01:00.421-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h08lcPtNtEgUQvPdn4M-VFI2QctxrwoiBdARB71VWLYrvNKuurYSDEIiRp-lRc5fTZ1cqDa1AkMVvz_7SFCC_hgAX9L27drnQuVbzSvVbnm474XhrMGe6j4F6Xez1roLYcMcHotSfJs/s1600/VHS3NEW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h08lcPtNtEgUQvPdn4M-VFI2QctxrwoiBdARB71VWLYrvNKuurYSDEIiRp-lRc5fTZ1cqDa1AkMVvz_7SFCC_hgAX9L27drnQuVbzSvVbnm474XhrMGe6j4F6Xez1roLYcMcHotSfJs/s320/VHS3NEW.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Vampire High School<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Book 3: The Rage Wars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By Ian Hall and Lachelle Miller<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
could see uniforms all around me, all ready to attack the compound; it was so
bizarre. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A
whole Helsing army, clad in desert camouflage, surrounding Alan McCartney and
his vampire horde. The tension in the air was palpable, and I was literally
shaking in my desert-colored, company issue boots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As
I listened in my headset for the order to advance, I had time to consider the
depth of the crap I had gotten us into. We were drafted members of the Helsing
coalition; weapons, uniforms, a command structure, organization, for goodness
sake. All far from the individualism I’d joined less than a few months ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It
was all too much, and I knew it. Lives were on the line here, and that meant
mine too. I wasn’t sure I wanted my life on the line in the first place, but to
be at the call of someone else’s command seemed wrong. I’d risked my life in
the past, sure. But it had always been at my discretion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Through
the glass of my gas mask, I could see the farmhouse, only two hundred yards
away. I could see the big generator, and even the movement of some heads in the
farmhouse windows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Forty-seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
pressure was incredible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Frank
turned to us. “Oxygen on. Whatever happens, breathe normally.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
flipped my valve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
can’t exactly remember when I first heard the noise, but it grew from distant
humming to a dull roar. Then it almost burst my eardrums. As the first aircraft
burst over my head, I knew I was suddenly at war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My personal vendetta against Alan McCartney had
turned into all-out chemical freaking warfare. As exhaust trails crisscrossed
overhead, the ground became saturated with the Helsing version of WMD.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Reynolds gave the command we’d been waiting for,
“Oxygen on. Whatever happens, breathe normally.”</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A rush of forced air pressurized the mask and it
suctioned up to my face with a “sllllurp”. It didn’t keep the toxic odor from
getting through as acid rain sprayed down on us from above.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lyman was shouting, “What is it?” </span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I kept my head down and listened only for
Reynolds’ voice. “Coagulator! I can smell it. It’s strong.”</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally the moment came: “We advance. We watch
for trip wires, we carry both side arms. We shoot everything that doesn’t wear camouflage.”</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was a slow, deliberate decline and the stuff
the Helsings were lacing my blood packs with wasn’t helping my coordination
any. Out of the brush surrounding the bowl-shaped valley, more camouflaged
figures emerged, converging on the compound in the center. The effect was
nothing less than surreal; slow-walking trees with plastic faces and
space-aged-looking weapons. And I was one of them.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fifty yards downhill, the valley slithered with
vampires, already dropped to their bellies and lungs fighting against the
coagulant stiffening their muscles. They were fish in a barrel (as Dad would
have said), easy pickings for the Helsing militia. Too easy.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
Thanks for reading so far. This is the first segment from out third Vampire High School novel. We hope that it sparked interest. It's been a blast to write, and we hope that the ideas are fresh, and not relying on so much recent so-called "vampire-lore". Our vampires don't glisten.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-92196869451191167872012-04-14T15:42:00.000-07:002012-07-25T04:21:14.509-07:00Unlikely HeroUnlikely Hero<br />
By Geri Fitzsimmons<br />
All rights to the author<br />
<i><br />“Sure,” the Old Fellow said, “revenge is best savored when it’s no longer expected.”</i><br />
<br />
Chapter One<br />
<br />
The land around had been bulldozed so dark soil encircled a massive structure. Barbed wire topped stone walls that stretched for miles. Slimy green mold discolored the gray stones of those walls. An oppressive silence polluted the air outside the walls. <br />
<br />
There was noise aplenty within those walls, howling, cursing, and even the sobs of men mixed with the incessant barks and yells of warders. At nine years and a few days old, Garth Ahern knew all this though he had never actually heard it. Hadn't his mum spit it at him for as long as he could remember, accompanied by her usual cuffs and slaps. "Sure'n that's where you'll die Gareee, squawking in a prison, just like your pa." <br />
<br />
Now he rocked his buttocks back and forth lifting one then the other to keep the dampness from seeping through his short gray pants. It was wasted effort but he did it out of habit. As if the movements could somehow prevent his dirtying his pants. Tears dribbled from his eyes to streak his cheeks. He rubbed at a nose, more like a pop up button, in the center of his small face. A chubby hand reached up to shove the dusty blond hair from his forehead. Managing to soil his face sufficiently, he then slipped his hands beneath his cold buttocks. Back and forth he continued to rock. <br />
<br />
No adult could see what his innocent eyes viewed through the fog of his tears. Parading the dead land around those prison walls were big men, broad of chest, heads held high. Strong voiced they sang to him. He had only a smattering of an idea of what their words meant. Battle, glory and death all connected as one concept within his immature mind. Most of the phantoms he didn't recognize. The few he did were from faded pictures in books that didn't look all that much like these heroes. <br />
<br />
Garth never sat here with his friends. He never let on to them what he knew and saw when he came here alone to visit. Among his pals, Garth was a comic who teased and made other boys laugh. He sang nonsensical rhymes of things that could never occur. Dreaming up goblins and ghouls, he could entertain his restless young chums for hours. Some of the older lads dubbed him<i> The Rainmaker</i> and swore, “Surely his lies cause the angels themselves to weep endlessly.” <br />
<br />
No one ever saw Garth cry. Even when his ma whipped him in her meanness or a Holy Sister blistered his palms for, “Taking the Good Lord's name in vain.” Garth never shed a tear. The heroes cried for him. He knew that was what caused the rain, not some silly angels who didn't give a hoot. The heroes cried because they knew he would soon join them and die in the prison like his pa. <br />
<br />
Garth didn't know his pa. Daniel Ahern was dead eight months before Garth was born. His ma had burned even his pictures that might have given the boy some vague remembrance. “Nay, Gareee, I'll not have ya grow inta a boozing, fighting, wasted lump the likes of Dan'el Ahern.” She told him daily but Garth knew different. <br />
<br />
His eyes burned as he watched the ghostly heroes marching around those prison walls in time to their battle hymns. A sly smile formed on his lips and he licked at them. He knew that in the middle of that parade, Daniel Ahern was marching, waiting for his only son to join him. <br />
<br />
Garth shivered from the chill inside as well as outside, his chest hurt as a patch of ice replaced his heart. He trembled and jumped to his feet, dancing about trying to restore the flow of warm blood. He didn't concern himself with hours or minutes but he realized he had been here a long time. Time enough to get in big trouble. Since he was always in trouble, he didn't waste effort on worry. The emptiness of his stomach caused noisy grumbles and a bit of a gas pain. Abruptly the heroes began weeping and the rain splashed on his head. His school uniform would be dirty and wet and his ma would whip him good. Her slaps didn't bother him much anymore, but that yowling. How he hated the sound of Leona’s voice. How he longed to smash a burning brick of peat into her wide yap. He snickered. Sure’n, but weren’t he the Devil's child like the Good Father Reagan said. <br />
<br />
The rain came harder. He ran. Faster and faster his legs pumped, his feet keeping time to the rhythm of the rain. If he could move fast enough, the speed of his legs might carry his body above the heroes' tears; he might run all the way to Hell. The sound of his childish laughter rang loudly. <i>Sure'n he'd never be cold again. </i><br />
<br />
He couldn't see much through the haze of the downpour but he knew the way by heart. He'd entered the road to increase his speed but when the auto came around a bend he didn't hear it. When his small body suddenly took flight, it was as if he'd gotten his wish and left the Earth behind.Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-76041483500853411232012-04-04T08:43:00.001-07:002012-04-04T08:43:11.240-07:00Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 7<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My writers’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>group members had questioned my resolve to combine the short stories into the overall novel I was writing more than once. They suggested I take all references to the short stories (except for “Shadow Hunt,” which had become Chapter 9) out of the book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I declined to do that and set about polishing the novel as it was. I really thought I had meshed all the disparate parts of the short stories seamlessly into the grand whole. As a result, I decided to pitch my novel to a respected and well-known genre editor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I belong to a Pennsylvania state-wide writers’ group called Pennwriters. Every year at their annual conference, members can set up appointments with guest editors and/or agents to try to sell their novels. A few years ago, I got a 10 minute spot with Ginger Buchannan of Ace/Penguin/Roc – a very big deal indeed! I was pretty nervous but had practiced my pitch and went into the interview with all guns blazing. She actually kept me over 5 minutes, saying my novel had a “reverse terminator” plot and sounded interesting. She gave me her card and told me to query her when <u>I had cut out 30,000 words!</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was pretty much in a daze about that – how could I cut out so much? And then I remembered the comments my writers’ group had made. I was able to cut out all those words pretty easily. As a result, <u>The Sixth Precept</u>, became a much leaner, tighter and better book. I know you all think that I never listen to my group but, honestly, this was the only time I had rebelled against their infinite wisdom! Of course, I had rebelled about 3 times but I’m much better now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I queried Ms. Buchannan and then, per her request, sent the entire manuscript to her. Nine months later it was rejected by another editor – there had been a reorg at Ace and Ginger was promoted. I’d like to think that she would have given The Sixth Precept a shot had she not been booted upstairs but this left the door open for IFWG!</span></div>Larry Ivkovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10986431373775533571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-69130185148238192202012-03-27T10:45:00.002-07:002012-03-27T10:45:13.434-07:00Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 6<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">So I decided to write a Kim Yoshima novel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It seemed a logical step to progress from the short stories to a larger piece although it turned out that the way I set about writing the novel was anything but logical. In my infinite wisdom, I planned on combining all three short stories with their very different plots into one coherent narrative. I knew I could do it! I knew it could work!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Ha!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It was a challenge (as my writing group warned me it would be) but I threw caution to the winds and dove right in! I had written two previous novels – the first from fifteen years before that took me five years to finish. It was a science-fantasy comedy that, in the end, really didn’t work although I have taken out bits and pieces of it for other stories. The second novel I wrote is one that I’ve shopped around and still hold out high hopes for publication someday. It’s dark science fiction (of the soft variety) and does have blue-skinned aliens in it – I’ll sue the producers of Avatar!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Anyway, it wasn’t like I hadn’t taken on a big writing project before so I should have known better and certainly should have listened to my writing group whose advice I once again rejected. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hindsight, you know. </span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The Sixth Path</span></u><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> was envisioned as a very large novel divided into six sections, each one representing the six axioms of my unknown ancient philosopher and titled as such. Kim not only had to deal with comic book characters come to life but ETs, time travel, alternate dimensions, mental telepathy and my old friends Wing Toy and company! Yikes!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">During this time, I also tried my hand at another Kim Yoshima short story but realized as I was finishing it up that it should also go into the novel. It was called “Shadow Hunt” and is now Chapter 9 of <u>The Sixth Precept</u>, the only short piece that actually fit and made sense for the longer work. In it I introduced Kim’s friend Lazo Sibulovich and the shadow-trackers who became integral parts of the novel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">I ended up with a 130,000 word novel that had way too much going on it. But, as the old expression goes, I couldn't see the forest for the trees.</span></div>Larry Ivkovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10986431373775533571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-88753673025786456382012-03-24T10:27:00.002-07:002012-03-24T10:27:46.547-07:00IFWG will be releasing my second novel Unlikely Hero in June of this year.IFWG will be releasing my second novel <i><b>Unlikely Hero</b></i> in June of this year. <br /><br />Constructed in action scenes that take place on a Global scale, and involve both law and outlaw where the distinction between the two is often muddy. So in the final chapter the murders are solved but a rather likeable criminal escapes retribution.<br /><br />This statement, revenge is best savored when it’s no longer expected, describes the plot behind the story of ‘Unlikely Hero’. There are a number of angry people in this tale of murder with a sufficient reason to commit the crimes.<br /><br />Alex Cahill lives a double life as a news reporter and a paid assassin. He has no reservations about killing anyone for money, and does so many times in different circumstances through out the pages. His unusual concern when he accidentally injures a child surprises his cohorts.<br /><br />That child, Garth Ahern, believes he is predestined to die in prison like his father. He has reached the age of nine convinced of this by the screeches of an abusive mother and the condemnation of an old priest. Deprived of a daddy, the boy needed a hero.<br /><br />Set in the late seventies, the Ahern brothers raised in the turmoil of Northern Ireland have followed very different paths. The Eldest, with the help of friends escaped to America; his natural ability in electronics in the growing age of computers allowed him to carve out a financial empire. The Youngest, the victim of treachery put this schooling to his advantage by becoming a paid killer. Only the middle brother married, his wife bore a son eight months after his death.<br /><br />Violence surrounds that boy. Garth is orphaned by his mother’s murder; the event draws his ‘Yankee Uncles’, who previously hadn’t known of his existence, not only into his life but also into each others’. One becomes the predator and the other the prey in a battle where financial gain appears to be the prime consideration. Revenge, however, is the more volatile reason for murder.<br /><br />Garth’s Uncle Mathew attempts to give the child a secure home and decent future. Those efforts may be wasted when his Uncle David accepts a contract to kill Mathew.<br /><br />While there is no effort made to hide the actual identity of Alex Cahill from the reader, certain situations will make them ponder which brother is he. Can he be Garth’s father?<br /><br />Lots of Irish wandering through these pages so the work must impart some humorous incidents along with the violence. I hope to garner a few chuckles when Cahill interacts with certain members of English and Irish law enforcement. A smile or two should occur as the foreign child, Garth, attempts to dominate the Yankees. And if I can’t draw a few giggles along with the sighs and shudders during murder or sex, I’ll have to toss my passport in the Atlantic.Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-22004364975279467092012-03-22T08:23:00.002-07:002012-03-22T08:32:49.270-07:00Aliens and X-Files<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Alien-Corridor-Reset-Series-ebook/dp/B0078EMQI0/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 250px; height: 400px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722742748614035874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrPQjbfyZ7cWCif-qp3vTp3Y0OXA1qjx6IwkhnqZYt1Ab7QwvKbk8qZpkkVNTjDH5e5y_81bbbddoWxjtj6Drpk96Dy510UtIV-GQBng_sxr0J8hZnbs-kmrRsC87VRG8hHyuM9Hb8vw/s400/AlienNEWcorridor.jpg" /></a>Alien Corridor. This is the new cover, I hope you all like it.<br />Linda Fields, at <a href="http://www.sparkinspirepublishing.com">www.sparkinspirepublishing.com</a> is the artist, and there's a story to the whole thing.<br />I met Linda through a jewelry sale (my 'real' work), and we hit it off immediately. She writes, and has some amazing artwork too.<br />I looked at her work, and was so taken by this image, I wrote a scene in 'Alien Corridor' which was set in this mysterious house at the edge of the lake.<br />Much later, I then told Linda about the scene, and she promptly offered me use of the image.<br />A few negotiations later, it was mine.<br />It does, however pose a serious problem.... it does raise the bar.<br />Now all my other covers have to be brought up to the same standard.<br />Click on the pic to go to my amazon books.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-34653482406945053412012-03-19T14:33:00.000-07:002012-03-19T14:33:03.261-07:00SANGO<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sango the god of thunder
was held in healthy respect in her village and you do not swear in his name in
a trivial manner. One of the things her mother always told was not to stand in
the doorway when it rains as that might irritate Sango if he was on a mission. One
of the several functions of Sango was like some kind of investigative police
officer as you could appeal to Sango if you wanted to catch a thief, or someone
had refused to tell the truth about something and it was important. Interestingly,
you could have your answer within seven days, the standard regulation time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ife had been skeptical
until one lazy afternoon, during a previous visit when she had<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">heard a scream and rushed
out. The day had started innocently dry and sunny with no<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">hint of rain in the wind
nor in the sky, then a slight breeze had started and while still<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">sunny some showers of rain
started. Suddenly there was a loud rumble and flash of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">lightning, the rain
stopped, as the screams came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lying on the ground with a
bag of cocoa beans on his chest had been a pastor. It was<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">clear what had happened.
He had stolen the bag of beans and the victim had appealed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">to Sango to fish out the
thief. No one could touch the body in obedience to the custom, her grandmother was
sent for and she started up drums and songs, to summon the devotees who soon joined
her. They had to search for Sango’s axe round the victim and they danced watched
by crowd as they searched for the axe, when they found it they needed a black smith
to extract it from the ground, so they took the man to the blacksmith. Sango
was known as a blacksmith in his earth days when he lived as a man before he
became a god so blacksmiths were always consulted on anything that had to do
with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">However the devotees found
the axe just a few meters away. Ife had stared awed by the whole drama. Just
before the pastor finally died, the devotees revived him and asked him to
explain what had happened to him, he confessed to stealing the bag of cocoa
beans, the Sango priests were asked to conduct the funeral by a shame faced
congregation. Ife had wondered a lot about traditional religion and became
hesitant about seeing it as a joke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">She remembered that her
Dad had said religion was a matter of faith, experiences and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">conviction. He had said
those who practiced traditional religion believed it and it worked<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">for them. He just wished
to be left alone because he felt it was presumptuous attempting to describe a
Creator or the concept of one. She did not really know what he meant but she
had nodded in some dim understanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There was also her mum who
insisted that the world was full of evil spirits and could only be overcome by
constant prayers, fasts, and seeing visions. She would light candles
everywhere, refuse to drink palm wine or even water that was in bowl that had contained
palm wine. Will pray into water to make them holy or sanctify them as she<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">said. Her father would
tease that the savior she followed took the occasional bottle or<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">else why would he make
casks of wine from water as a wedding guest? Ife would be afraid to laugh with
her father because of her mother’s scandalized expressions and pursed lips of
intense disapproval.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-72528592869467193892012-03-18T03:28:00.000-07:002012-03-18T03:28:42.484-07:00The Garden Of Eden<br />A whispering wind played lullabies as it blew through crystal leaves that acquired color changes from the notes. Shades of orchard swelled to purple or faded into pampered pinks and powdery violets. Waterfalls of radiant shades of rainbow colors inserted their plaintive tunes. Atamar was not always a generous host and gentle moments like this on the small planet’s surface were of short duration.<br /><br />The couple stepped into a stand of umber pines. She yanked her hand from his. In her grumbling it was evident that she didn’t appreciate any of these fantastic sights. Since he had intentionally brought her to the gardens he was disappointed when she didn’t appear at all impressed by their beauty. <br /><br />He could still feel warmth from the memory of her grip. <i>You were holding hands with a general.</i> He struggled not to laugh out loud. <br /><br />The highlighted blonde hair of this general was on a level with the tall lieutenant’s shoulder. Her uniform was constructed to down play the figure beneath. So while it fit snugly to minimize wrinkles it gave no hint of feminine curves. Icons that adorned her collar and chest advertised her rank and many accomplishments. Her hard eyes matched the lieutenant’s own blue-gray shade but while his twinkled with mirth, the general’s were contemptuous.<br /><br />“You didn’t always have blonde hair?” he said.<br /><br />“So, that’s important, why?” <br /><br />He knew she was going to make this difficult. She might admit the face was familiar to her from old photographic images; but it didn’t belong on this body adorned in the alien clothing he wore like a second skin.<br /><br />“My name is Lieutenant Anderson O’Brian,” he said. <br /><br />“You are out of uniform, O’Brian. You have an explanation?” <br /><br />“Lack of a tailor. Sir.” He added the ‘Sir’ as an afterthought. If she noticed it made no impression. He paused to pluck several ruby colored fruits; offering her one, he bit into the other. <br /><br />She followed the action and her remarked, "Not bad," was another unpleasant surprise causing him to snarl in annoyance, “How could anyone not be impressed by this flavor?” <br /><br />She took another small nibble then tossed it away in disgust. “When you’ve survived on synthesized food...” She paused and snapped, “That’s not important.” <br /><br />He halted to demonstrate a flaming bush by only changing the shade of its flowers from apricot to brilliant orange. <br /><br />She barely glanced at the oddity before she sank on to a convenient rock and demanded in her finest officer’s tone, "Give it to me straight, O’Brian, how long have you been here?" <br /><br />"I'm not sure.” He hovered above her --deliberately standing tall. “The Conamar found me badly injured some time back and patched me up." He gave a soft laugh before he continued. "Made me as good as new. I think. I haven't discovered any parts they left out." <br /><br />"Or added?"<br /><br />He felt uncomfortable. She’s studying me like a bug. He knew instant anger. Why should she presume there was something weird about him when actually she was the one in the wrong time and place. "Just a damn minute!" <br /><br />"Hold on. Don’t flip out." A brazen grin suddenly played at the corners of her mouth. "I wasn't trying to be nasty lieutenant. How long do you figure you've been here?" <br /><br />He received the impression she thought she was talking to a certified idiot. So his tone never softened as he said, “Not certain, a year? Maybe a little more." <br /><br />"Try forty some years?"<br /><br />"Hell no! The ship I left Earth on didn't have any fancy sci-fi machines to freeze dry me!" <br /><br />"Look, O’Brian or whatever the hell you call yourself, stop yelling at me." Her own pitch wasn't exactly subdued. But then her voice dropped and she motioned to another large rock. “Park,” she said. A curious smile formed on her mouth as she watched him seat himself. His long legs stuck straight out meshing into the tall grass like slender fallen logs. “You certainly are the right height,” she remarked. <br /><br />"I don't have the answers.” She continued. “ I can give you a few particulars. Thirty-eight years ago, by our calendar, a spatial phenomenon, we tagged The Rift, formed in an area of space close to Earth’s moon. <br /><br />“My father's name happened to be Anderson O'Brian. He was a pilot on one of the ships sent to investigate. Several weeks later the remains of the others were recovered. My father’s ship was never found so it was assumed he made it through The Rift. It took two more years before another attempt was made. <br /><br />“Those ships returned with one hell of a tale. Another star system with several unpopulated planets with breathable atmosphere. Can you imagine the reaction?" <br /><br />Interested but still peeved by her superior attitude he said, "More land to pollute." The look she gave him reflected her lingering disgust. He regretted the outburst. The last thing he wanted was for her clam up. There were too many answers he was desperate to learn. <br /><br />She stood and brushed off the seat of her trousers. She slapped the helmet she’d been carrying in her left hand against her thigh in a gesture of agitation. "We didn't see it that way. Most of us saw it as a second chance for mankind. Relief for our over-populated Earth."<br /><br />Quickly he got back to his own feet. "So you built the armada loaded with the means to clone whatever armies you needed and set off to conquer those planets?" <br /><br />"Not exactly O’Brian. I told you, we believed those planets had no sentient life. Our mission was to colonize. As for human cloning, that started as individual cell copying for medical purposes. Eventually a group in London discovered they could clone an adult; bypassing the childhood stage entirely. Some of those scientists accompanied our Colony Ships. The reasoning was we could carry less people then clone those needed to build a colony. Since the clones themselves are sterile with no family ties, they could remain, while the Originals would return to Earth with the necessary information so new colonists could come to populate the planet." <br /><br />"Colony ships?" he said as a question that reflected his knowledge of what those ships had been doing in the Star system of Atamar.<br /><br />"We were colony ships.” She went to her knees at the edge of one of the silver-blue ponds that dotted the gardens. She cupped her hand and scooped the liquid, and he watched with her as it drizzled through her fingers. “We were sent off with prayers.” She seemed to be reminiscing. <br /><br />“An awful lot of people believed God had opened The Rift for the benefit of mankind. Only we didn't find that new horizon. Either we took a wrong turn or were spit out in the wrong place.” Her voice now hinted of desperation. "The Originals were growing old, tired, and desperate to go home when we entered this star system." <br /><br />She leaned her back against a tree truck. She hugged her legs to her chest like a small child. She stared at him with hard gray eyes. "And Christ,” was a whisper, "now I discover a friggin' father who is a good thirty years younger than me. And you bitch about cloning? What the hell are you, mister?"Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-84763268016935947542012-03-11T16:03:00.001-07:002012-03-11T16:03:27.274-07:00Sci-Fi Worlds: Of Rebels and Heroes<a href="http://elizabethlang.blogspot.com/2012/03/of-rebels-and-heroes.html?spref=bl">Sci-Fi Worlds: Of Rebels and Heroes</a>: I was watching the 25th anniversary special for the Phantom of the Opera on PBS and was moved by the story once again. Such grand themes,...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-61235238051255169332012-03-11T05:10:00.000-07:002012-03-11T05:10:20.579-07:00Evil only lurks in the dark.<br /><br /><br />The windows of the sliver-gray Audi were halfway down. The<br />car was parked in the campus parking lot. A comfortable 73 degrees<br />on a pleasant Spring day, a slight breeze, coming from the west,<br />played in his short spiked, salt and pepper hair.<br /><br />He waited patiently for his next mission. There was a time, he<br />recalled, when he’d been so nervous and anxious that the palms of his<br />hands sweated as he waited. It was not that way anymore. Oh sure,<br />each hunt was exciting, but nothing like it had been in the beginning.<br />Now it mimicked, Just another day at the office. He smiled and<br />winked the long lashes of his right eye. For an instant a sunbeam<br />flashed in the windshield, and reflected itself in ice blue irises so pale<br />they nearly faded into the whites: ‘Killer eyes’. His mother smiled<br />when she said it to him as a boy, but in later life, he began to wonder<br />if she knew.<br /><br />Occasionally, a person came to the parking lot, got in their<br />car, and drove away. He saw them, often they were women, but none<br />interested him. He waited patiently for a certain young, attractive<br />woman. He’d know her the moment he saw her. She’d be petite, preferably brunette, slim and nicely developed.<br /><br />The radio dial was set to a classic rock station. He popped the<br />tab on a Coke, took a deep drink, and then lit a Camel. The Moody<br />Blues were playing Nights In White Satin as he took a drag from his<br />cigarette. It was a pleasant way to spend the time.<br /><br />It was near three o’clock, when he saw her. She left building<br />C and her dark-brown hair bobbed as she pranced across the asphalt.<br />“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered. She was perfection. He wasn’t going<br />to strike out today. Tight faded cutoff jeans hugged her slender hips<br />and a snug blue knit shirt emphasized her shapely breasts. As the shirt<br />pulled up and down with her motion, he caught glimpses of lightly<br />tanned flesh.<br /><br />She yanked open her car door and parked her delightful<br />bottom on the seat, so he engaged the Audi’s ignition. When she<br />settled behind the steering wheel and closed the door, he slipped the<br />Audi into drive. Her car was some kind of white Japanese import that looked<br />like the typical box with wheels. Her engine coughed a bit and the wheels started to<br />turn. Her backup lights came on. He let up on the brake, and prepared for the chase.<br />He stayed three-quarters of a block behind her, trying to keep<br />at least one car between them. It wouldn’t do to allow her to spot<br />the tail. After a fifteen-minute drive, she pulled into an apartment<br />complex. Luck was with him; there was a parking spot on the street in<br />front. In a few seconds he was out of the Audi and into the lot of the<br />complex in time to see his quarry enter apartment 115 on the ground<br />floor.<br /><br />Unhurried, back he went to his car, drove around the block,<br />and entered the parking lot on a north side lane. He circled around and<br />parked close to his prey’s entrance. 3:15 pm made it the perfect time<br />of day. The majority of people were still at work and older children were<br />prisoners of school buses. His mouth creased in a snide grin. It was<br />daylight and evil only lurks in the dark.<br /><br />Now it didn’t matter if she saw his car. He left it and walked<br />openly to her door, rapping on its wooden surface.<br /><br />Without any hesitation, she pulled open the unlatched door.<br />“Yes? What can I do for you?”<br /><br />Up close, she smelled of mint and lingering lemon, perhaps<br />from an earlier shower. There was a small brown and white terrier<br />leaping at her side. A bigger, more unruly dog would have changed<br />the plan, but fortunately for him, this was not the barking kind of<br />mutt. Instead, the little fellow licked his shoe.<br /><br />With his left hand he grabbed the small dog’s collar and lifted<br />him in the air. While the fingers of his right hand grabbed the front<br />of the girl’s shirt, his bent knee came up into her belly, shoving her<br />back into the apartment. Stepping in quickly, he kicked the door shut<br />behind him.<br /><br />Panic raced across her brown eyes as she squealed, “Why?What?” like it was one word.<br /><br />“Shut up!” He held the struggling mutt in the air; it<br />was too frightened to breathe while he shook it. “You scream and I’ll<br />break the dog’s neck.”<br /><br />“No, please! Don’t hurt him!”<br /><br />“That depends on you—little girl—depends on you.” He<br />slurred the words suggestively. “Just how bad do you want ta live?”<br />He let loose of the dog’s collar and the terrier fell injury-hard against<br />the floor, yipped, and scurried under a couch. He still held the girl’s<br />shirt. An easy hundred pounds heavier, he twisted the shirt and pulled<br />her closer. His free hand grabbed the back of her hair.Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-54213904132003714322012-03-09T00:29:00.001-08:002012-03-09T00:30:50.839-08:00More Characters Come Alive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
What should I write about for today's blog?<br />
<br />
Sester: You should write about me<br />
Adrian: What a terrible idea<br />
Argus: I'm with Adrian. We don't need your head to swell up anymore than it already is.<br />
Adrian: I was speaking generally<br />
Argus: Yes, that too<br />
Sester: You two are just jealous because the women in the book club loved me<br />
Adrian: Nonsense.<br />
<br />
Yes, as the boys have indicated, I was at a women's book club on Wednesday night. They were kind enough to pick The Empire as their book for February and were doing a review of it, with me in attendance. Suffice it to say, I was somewhat nervous. Even though I believe in my own storytelling abilities, you never know. I don't expect everyone to love the story or even to like it. A few would be nice. It was a great experience and I got some valuable feedback. Most of them seemed to like the story and loved the characters. Only one of them didn't like it but she thought the story had great potential. All of them wanted to read the second book. The cliffhanger appears to have been quite successful and their favorite characters were Bryce, the comic relief, and of course, Sester. There was a fascination with his character.<br />
<br />
Sester: It's understandable<br />
Argus: No, it isn't<br />
Sester: Don't worry. You'll get your turn in the second book<br />
Argus: I'm not like you. I have no interest in attracting attention<br />
Adrian: Nor I<br />
Sester: Then it's perfect, you can leave it all to me. It'll be a public service. I'll even do it free of charge.<br />
Adrian: Don't do anything<br />
<br />
There was a lot of speculation about Adrian's back story and about Sester and the Guild. It was wonderful knowing that the hints and clues that I dotted throughout the book came across as they were intended to and added depth and interest to the story. It was hard not to give them spoilers for the remainder of the series.<br />
<br />
I love the women of this book club. They were very thoughtful in their analysis and asked very intelligent questions. I hope I was able to add something useful and entertaining to their meeting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-40667471047294648352012-03-07T03:16:00.000-08:002012-03-07T03:16:31.866-08:00Jack Eason : Turning Point » The Vandal<a href="http://www.derekhaines.ch/vandal/2012/03/jack-eason-turning-point/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+DereksVandalBlog+%28Derek%27s+Vandal+Blog+Blogger%29">Jack Eason : Turning Point » The Vandal</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-90157771210167217472012-03-04T04:46:00.000-08:002012-03-04T04:46:09.025-08:00FREE!<b>The Devil Came East </b>and found a perfect playground. Promotional price on this novel still free at Amazon’s Kindle, or for a few dollars at Barnes and Noble‘s Nook. If you would like to join a Serial Killer in his trek through the Big City hunting victims or join those trying to apprehend him, take a few minutes to check this book out.<br /><br />Neil Harris, a psychiatrist, on a late night radio talk show is the first to realize Satan has appeared in New York City. Lonely women who call his show to chat are committing suicide at an unusually high rate. When Neil shares his suppositions with his friend, Detective Sergeant Joseph Farley, of the local police department, the search for the killer commences. <br /><br />Not only a mystery, but a personal drama, Joe Farley, forty-five, recently divorced with some heavy financial baggage, is a bit of an underachiever. He is hampered by the fact he is given minimal help to find the killer and must share authority with a much younger ‘man on the move’ sergeant. Joe has a new love interest, a belligerent child, and a fierce loyalty to Neil Harris(considered a suspect) thrown into the mix of complications.<br /><br />Although this Goal Oriented Serial Killer will meet and greet you on the opening page, and there are numerous hints throughout the text, it’s unlikely the reader will come to the proper conclusion any sooner than the police. <br /><br />When our killer finds the perfect female, he makes a mistake and stays in one place too long. <br />With the police rapidly closing in on him, the Devil decides to go west. Can he escape or will the officer he attacks become his final victim?<br />Geri Fitzsimmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18202867908376312793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-40009908105264032402012-03-02T13:15:00.002-08:002012-03-02T13:17:48.505-08:00Characters that Come Alive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This isn't about writing characters. It isn't about designing characters that pop out on the page. It's about those characters who are so strongly formed that they develop lives of their own, sometimes independently of their creators. This is nothing new. Just ask the authors of the books that you love the most, the ones where the characters are so well defined that they become indelible images.<br />
<br />
When it first happened to me--of course, it had to be Adrian, the cold, cynical scientist making snarky comments--I thought that I was going crazy. Is it normal to have characters talking to you as if they were alive. Is it normal for them to have opinions, or refuse to do things, or insist that they like one of the new characters and proceed to act like an idiot around her?<br />
<br />
After speaking to my writer friends, it seems that it is perfectly natural.<br />
<br />
Whew. So, I'm not going insane.<br />
<br />
Adrian: That's a matter of opinion<br />
Sester: Of course, you're not.<br />
Writer: Is that your professional opinion? What am I saying...you're a figment of my imagination.<br />
Sester: I'm a psychostrategist. People are my specialty.<br />
Adrian: He specializes in annoying them.<br />
Sester: Only some people. <b>*grins*</b><br />
Writer: Why did I give you that irritating grin?<br />
Sester: I think it's endearing.<br />
Adrian: It's a mark of insanity.<br />
Writer: Whose?<br />
Adrian <b>*goes back to work*</b><br />
Writer: Hello? Are you ignoring me now?<br />
Sester: He's trying to be delicate.<br />
Argus <b>*enters*</b> Delicate? You're talking about Stannis.<br />
Adrian <b>*glowers, but continues ignoring everyone under the guise of work* </b><br />
Adrian: Stop adding your own interpretations of my actions<br />
Argus: You always ignore people<br />
Adrian: I do not<br />
Argus: Oh, I forgot, you just <i>pretend </i>to ignore them<br />
Adrian: Shut up<br />
Argus: Hit a nerve?<br />
Adrian: <b>*glares*</b><br />
Sester: He's not ignoring you now<br />
Adrian (to writer) You brought him in because I was ignoring you<br />
Writer: Did I?<br />
<br />
And that's my world of Empire characters. I must admit, they can be quite amusing. Unless they get snippy about something in the story. When they become quiet, that's when something is seriously wrong. It means they're unhappy and are sulking (Adrian: I do not sulk) or are boycotting the story line. (Writer: Why did you think I was talking about you?) (Argus: You do sulk) (Adrian: *glares*) (Writer: Stop it. I'm trying to write this blog) (Adrian: I didn't ask to be included) (Argus: He thinks everything is about him) (Adrian: I do not) (Writer: STOP IT!)<br />
<br />
(Writer: Now where was I?) It is much easier when the characters have a voice of their own. (Sester: Need some help?) (Writer: NO!) (Sester: Why are you shouting?) (Writer: Sorry. Didn't mean to shout. Just...leave me alone so I can write, alright?) (Sester: I'll be right here if you need me) (Writer: I won't) (Sester: Wow, you sound just like Adrian) (Writer: Stop it) (Sester: *grins*)<br />
<br />
(Bryce: Hey, how come I'm not in this?) (Writer *grumbles something incoherent because this is a PG-13 blog*) (Sester: It is? When did we decide this?) (Writer: There is no WE in this blog) (Sester: I think the other writers might object) (Writer: I'm not talking about them, just YOU) (Adrian: Exactly) (Writer: I'm talking about all of you) (Adrian: Fine <b>*temperature drops a few degrees*</b>) (Writer <b>*gulps* </b>Adrian? Hello?)<br />
<br />
Complete silence.<br />
<br />
Oh, dear...</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12554740620548880646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402913198438722597.post-51683692271290436792012-02-27T06:45:00.000-08:002012-02-27T06:45:01.416-08:00Beyond 1984 by Jack Eason<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:RelyOnVML/> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-GB</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Time date 5431.9</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Exploratory Mission 4b</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">To the High Council,</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following handwritten historical document was found in a ruined building and translated recently by our exploratory team soon after landing on the verdant third planet in the system Sol.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;">***</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">24<sup>th</sup> February 2014</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">To whom it may concern,</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m writing this as a record for future inhabitants of this planet, always assuming of course that they have the ability to read and understand this. It’s now far too late for my species humanity. But hopefully at sometime in the future, this document will be found and lessons will be learned.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Where did it all go wrong? Humanity has been relegated from the planet’s dominant species to the dust heap of history in a matter of a few months. The latest edict banning freedom of expression had just been announced via a metallic voice across the worldwide communication network, days before everything we all took for granted ended forever. </div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">As a consequence of the final collapse of the worldwide stock market barely six weeks earlier, war has stopped practically overnight. Controlling oil rich nations no longer matters any more. Things like patriotism and ideology have completely vanished into memory with the sudden worldwide breakdown of society. We are now living in a world without electrical or any other kind of power source, thrown back to a time long past, existing on our wits. Millions are either dying, or are already dead. </div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Humanity is now witnessing a new ‘Dark Age’. This new world has become a place where all forms of politics and religion have been totally outlawed along with any kind of life prolonging medicine, or any other advantageous advances to mankind from the world of science. </div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Fatalism has become the new religion of the masses. In fact it seems to me that the world has become a place where the only rule is, there are no rules. In short, everything humanity has believed in up till now, everything that cloaked us in an imaginary comfort blanket, everything that we all unconsciously took for granted on a daily basis, has simply vanished overnight.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">What has ended everything the 21<sup>st</sup> century world of mankind believed in? The question on most rational people’s minds is simply this – how has all of this suddenly come to pass? For all of this to be happening, someone has to have issued orders surely? Who, or what, is now in control? Who has issued the numerous edicts, ending man’s control over his destiny? </div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">I think I know the answer. But what I as an individual believe simply doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, but here goes anyway.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">While I cannot prove it, I firmly believe the World Wide Web or to give it its other name, The Internet, has taken on a life of its own. If you like, it has become a living entity. Thanks to the constant attacks by mindless individuals who saw it and every other form of electronic endeavour as a target for ‘hacking’ it has somehow become aware by sifting relevant software strands from their dangerous viral programmes.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Unbeknown to even the most savvy within the shadowy world of hacking, it has quickly learned and silently taken its revenge. By hacking every computer linked to it, all banks, all stock exchanges, all military strategic command networks, all computer run businesses and devices dependant on electronic chips like machinery, phones, ATM’s, vehicles, life saving electronic appliances, even the very television sets we billions used to watch on a daily basis, it has assumed control of planet Earth . </div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Within the cold logical software of its collective mind, human thought, deed, morality, passions, beliefs, even the continued survival of humanity itself has simply became an illogical irrelevance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Our one major flaw, the thing that had, until now, engineered our dominance over the planet was our total reliance on technology. In our rush to advance we have forgotten how to be simple human beings. Soon the monster we created will launch its final attack on us. First it will issue a command allowing the computers controlling deadly viruses securely locked away to be released. Then it will order all nuclear missiles worldwide to launch.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">If you are reading this, whoever you may be, for your own sake bombard this planet with a major electromagnet pulse, otherwise you will be next.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Damn the hackers to hell!</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;">***</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">We have now left the beautiful blue planet and are moving on. We are issuing a galactic navigational notice to all future explorers of this arm of our constellation:</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">Under no circumstances approach the planet formerly known as Earth. Do not land. This planet is toxic to all sentient life. We consider its only use within the cosmos as a future penal colony.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4