Origins of The Empire

When I first started writing the Empire, my inspiration was an old British Sci-Fi series called, Blakes 7. Like Blakes 7, the Empire is a dystopian world with heroes and villains, but where the complexity in the show is with the heroes--its been akin to Robin Hood, Magnificent 7 and Dirty Dozen in space--I also wanted to show more nuanced and believable villains.

I took the idea that people don't normally wake up intending to be villains. They don't become villains by choice, but as misguided heroes sinking into villainy thinking that motivations justify actions. Even that is not simple because sometimes, people don't make choices, they feel that they are forced into them by the circumstances. And that is the Empire.

None of the people we meet are particularly villainous. Not even High Admiral van Reutensberg. They all have, what they believe, are good reasons for what they do.

The Empire is under siege by alien invaders who have superior technology. Humanity was on the brink of annihilation until the scattered planets were united to fight against their common enemy in order to survive. Not exactly an ignoble purpose. It was an heroic effort by people fighting the good fight, and they still are. Most of the people Adrian and Kali encounter in the Empire are trying to save their world from extinction.

So where is the villainy? Unfortunately, the war has dragged on for centuries with the Andromedans refusing to give up. They've resorted to guerrilla tactics, trying to take over one planet at a time and to destroy the Empire's resources. As a result, the sole goal of the Empire is to survive, since they don't have the technology to reach the Andromedan galaxy and to take the fight back to their enemies.

But what does that narrow focus look like for the ordinary citizen with every available resource geared towards war and defense? When everyone is expected to serve the war effort for the greater good of the rest? They begin to make compromises, or in their eyes, noble sacrifices. Same actions, different words. But what happens when the thing being sacrificed is the freedom of its citizens?

That is the central crux of The Empire, explored through Adrian and Kali's clashes with people who are only trying to do what they think is right. Are they right? Is there a right? Or is there only survival?

Vampire High School (Book1: Gregor Academy)

An exciting NEW format by the new collaboration of Ian Hall and Lachelle Miller. Not only a new Vampire series, but a whole new way to write!
The critics may have thought there was nothing new in the “Vampire genre”, but this book proves them totally wrong.
Gregor Academy in North Arizona, has one main problem; it’s got a small population of vampires, hiding in its academic ranks.Page one of this fast-moving vampire hunt, has Alan McCartney being murdered by a local cheerleader. This is big enough news at the best of times, but when they both turn out to be vampires, and the act happens on the steps of the school at the Friday-night ball game, AND in the middle of the marching band, it’s hardly a private matter.As the students flee the scene, the only person running to Alan’s aid, is his friend, geek Lyman Bracks.
So; a brand new two voice, super-fast paced vampire adventure is ready for you to devour.
Ian writes from the perspective of Lyman Bracks, Alan’s best friend as he is dragged kicking and screaming into the world of Vampires and Helsings.
Lachelle Miller writes from the perspective of Mandy Cross, the cheerleading vampire who has Alan’s blood on her hands, down her chest, and smeared all over her smiling face.
This is the first book in the new ‘Vampire High School’ series.
The second book, ‘The Helsing Diaries’, is expected out in Kindle early in 2012.
Vampire High School (Book 1: Gregor Academy) ; Available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk for the measly sum of $2.99.

Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 4

Finally, “A Concerned Citizen” had been completed and sent out to various markets. I moved on to my next writing project, figuring that would be the last I’d ever imagine about Kim Yoshima. But her character had gotten under my skin (we’d been through so much together, after all!). I actually liked her and decided to write another short piece featuring her. I felt that I hadn’t even scratched the surface of her story. There were more adventures to come.

And so was born the idea for “Detective Story.” Of the four short stories I wrote featuring Kim, this is the most unusual and the only one that was sold (M-Brane SF #3, April, 2009, under the name “Time Noir”). Kim is a featured character but the present tense, first person POV is entirely from an extra-terrestrial being who enlists her to help solve a murder. I don’t remember why I decided to go that route but I’m pleased with how it all came out.

The  alien, going by the the name of “Smith,” is a temporal researcher who’s trying to find out who killed… himself. Can you spell “paradox?” He asks Kim to help him because he’s researched her stellar investigative record and, because he’s been in a human body type for so long, he’s developed feelings of the lustful kind for her. He’s also uses various film-noir and hard-boiled detective phrases throughout like “gams,” “sweetheart,” “get me?,” etc. which eventually gets on Kim’s nerves.

Again, I used a scene from this story in The Sixth Precept. In “Detective Story,” Kim finds an ancient samisen, a guitar-like instrument that geishas used, in an abandoned parking lot, brought to the present from Japan’s medieval past. For the novel, I rewrote that scene from Kim’s POV and, of course, left the alien being out of it.

Shioko (called Kalinda – I really wanted to use that name!) is in this story also, also brought forward in time by random temporal displacement tremors. Plus, this is where Kim first realizes she possesses psychic powers. An editor who rejected this from a particular magazine at the time told me that my opening scene, with an alien, psychic powers and a battle with ninjas out of the past would be confusing to readers. Ha! What did he know?

I ended this with the idea that Kim and Smith would team up in a detective agency with Kim using her psychic powers to solve cases a la Harry Dresden from the “Dresden Files” and John Taylor from the “Nightside” novels. I’m actually considering resurrecting Smith for a subsequent novel or novella. We’ll see.

Excerpt...Numen

Excerpt…. Numen

One of the past times Imole Ife came to love was the story telling at night. When dinner was over, the children were generally left to themselves and so they will pass the evening by singing songs to the moonlight if there was a full moon or games but it usually ended with tales. First a riddle will be given, and the girls will be asked to solve the riddle. Then the chorus of the tale will indicate the start with the story teller clearing his throat or saying something dramatic or give a proverb to give the beginning some element of mood.. Each tale always had a lesson which the girls were expected to understand. This particular evening, the tale was about a young maiden who needed to know the name of her husband within seven days or she will be killed. Ife listened in anxiety, and growing impatience with a tradition that demanded that a maiden must not call her husband by his name but refer to him as master until she has had a child for him and then can only call him by his child’s name. The story teller held her listeners in suspense as she asked if any of the rapt girls could sense who came to the rescue of the maid. There were several answers but none got it right and the story teller sighed and said it was the maid’s dead mother who came in the guise of a bird and through songs disclosed the name of the groom.

My story is about our culture, the things we take for granted here and I am amused at the way my Western friends find it kind of strange. A moonlit night is incomplete without tales from grannies. It helped to form the fabric of our morality. We learnt from the exploits of the animal stories, fables of great kings and normal everyday things what our society expects and conversation was maintained.

Sadly now, the IT world has taken that from us and most evenings these days, you will find parent, children and some very confused grannies staring at flickering pictures on a glass tube. They call it entertainment and civilization. I sigh and miss my youth and the art of good story telling.

ONE MORE TIME

Still attempting to work out an opening page for this science fiction novel. I have considered presenting this tale in Cray’s POV. The female member of the conspiracy  offers a real challenge. The plotting for this novel is found under challenge.

On this glorious morning, far across the planet from the ancient ocean of Hasper Prime, the mountains of Cress raised heavenward surrounded by the violent and youthful waters of Hasper Minor. Within these mountains lay the plateau of Bree on which the Bonsigh Clan had established their secure retreat.

It was here Cray regained her maturity; again the years spent in infancy and childhood were at an end. Her intelligence restored, her body in peak condition, the Bonsigh glided from the Life Chamber into her own personal quarters.  The Womb, as her people fondly called the mindless creature, would begin to disintegrate shortly. After the first time, she never hung around to watch. The sights were horrid enough, but the smells coming from the creature after years of caring for a human body's requirements had left her nauseous for days.

During the rebirth procedure, Cray set her computer to take special care that no change took place in her physical appearance.  Cray wasn't all that fond of her genetic pattern and might have found the sameness boring over many generations, but she had become so recognizable that the tiniest deviation was unthinkable to the proud Bonsigh. Recessed within her genes were the codes for chestnut brown hair, gray or hazel irises, and a slightly darker complexion. When she was in her first life cycle all of these appealed to Cray and she sometimes temporarily adopted one or another.  But when she'd finally made her mark on the Scientific Community she'd been far too involved to bother with trivial trappings other than her hair. Each time her brain enlarged even slightly, her hair nearly disappeared and she was forced to waste precious time while its re-growth took place. Rather than chance someone might not recognize her; Cray doomed herself to wear the fiery auburn hair, green eyes, and alabaster skin for the rest of eternity--or until rebirth was denied her.  Never! She would never allow that to happen.

The Bonsigh's thoughts shifted back to earlier lifetimes when they had been major celebrities. Cray carried those memories like pictures in her multiple brain.  She savored those wonderful moments when she appeared before an adoring public sandwiched between the spectacular DeDiann, and the midget O'Enra. Always she moved a few steps ahead of her colleagues.

How the True Visionaries had sought after them. Honors and rewards had been heaped on them and rebirth was a constant guarantee. The Faculty placed copies of their research in every academy in the known universe. Dubbed the Planet Makers, they had successfully attracted an atmosphere to a planetoid.  They developed an ecosystem and eventually life crawled from its waters. Over several lifetimes, they had kept careful rein on their experiment.

Now, Cray, freshly reborn, looked ahead to her most productive of times. She would call a face-to-face meeting. In the liquid mirroring coating her chamber, her emerald eyes sparkled as she admired the flowing new auburn locks that had just been grown to cover her baldness. Yes, it was time for a Face to Face. She looked forward to the delightful tales that spewed so easily from Cabrea's mouth. The handsome DeDiann, she sighed amused by her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed the pleasure of his company.  Their time together would be short. Cabrea would be anticipating his rest and rebirth.

Poor Meath. A nasty grin creased her mouth and she felt like a mischievous youngster. The wretch would have to suffer the indignity of returning to some semblance of a man. She didn't pity him. He was a physically lazy creature who relied too much on machines to repair his own abuses. She had so much study work ahead that she could allow him several months.

Motioning to a young student, she was content to find the lad anticipated her needs. His deft fingers quickly connected the tubes to her body that would supply nourishment and remove waste products so that his mistress's multiple brain wouldn't be interrupted as she delved into the hundreds of new reports her colleagues had furnished.

“Cabrea of the DeDiann,” the student said, “Sent a private request that you join him in a Face to Face…”

Mrs. Beeston: Journey to a Fantastical World

I was determined to take a few days off from writing after finishing the edits for The Rebels, and I haven't written anything, but it doesn't mean that nothing was done story-wise. I've been thinking about Mrs. Beeston.

First of all, let's start at the beginning.

I was conversing with a writer friend of mine about 'the next big thing.' After a meandering discussion covering mermaids and other such fantastic creatures, I walked away with the determination to write something different, knowing full well it was virtually impossible. There is nothing new under the sun, just different hash jobs of the same things.

What eventually emerged were the seeds for Mrs. Beeston, an elderly grandmother caught up in a whirlwind 'classic' quest fantasy, a la David Eddings' Belgariad, but turning it on its head and doing a semi-spoof. I also wanted to try my hand at a sci-fi/fantasy mix. Not steampunk, more like compu-punk, because that is my other life. It will be a bit like Barbara Hambly's sci-fi/fantasy crosses, but hopefully, my own unique interpretation.

Mrs. Beeston was quite easy to write. She exploded off the page with sarcastic, opinionated, fan-grandmother-type humor. She instantly made it funny.

Then I turned to Trevellian, the wise old mage character who, in classic mentor-fashion, tries to guide his charge through the journey of becoming a hero, albeit a reluctant one. Oh wait, this is Mrs. Beeston; she isn't just reluctant, she wants to take over the story. Did I mention she's a grandmother?

First Scene; The Grabbing of the Short and Curlies

We all know that the first line of a story is crucial. The first paragraph must draw the reader into the action. But it is the first job of the first 300 words to do more.

The first 300 must find a common bond with the reader; a familiarity, however slight, to grab the reader by the short and curlies, and hang on.

There is no time stamp on this piece. No identifier to provide a date, time, place, planet or galaxy. But the premise is clear. The characters have problems to contend with, and are exhausted, and we can all identify with that!

"Maintain Full Speed" by Ian Hall.

The smell of the engine oil mingled with body sweat. They had not slept in three days and washing seemed superfluous. The engines in the next hold kept their loud rhythm, but Scott could hear the imperfections; the creaks and grinds that should not be there.
The storm outside kept the decks in perpetual jarring motion, the currents buffeting the hull relentlessly. It had been frightening at first, but by the third day the erratic shuddering motion was lost in the battle to keep the engines at full speed.
Scott put his back to the wall, then slowly slid down to the deck, where he sat, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and labored.
“Will you stop?” He screamed, but the pitching of the deck continued. He wiped his brow with a rag that did not clean, only smeared the brown stains into different patterns.
The noise of the engine leapt for a second, and Jonesey, the chief engineer, joined him in the small cabin. He slammed the door closed against the mechanical cacophony and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.
“Gassian. But they’re better than nowt.” He offered one to Scott, who accepted, and tucked it behind his ear for later. He dragged a large empty oil can to the wall and sat down.
Soon, a blue grey pall filled the room, but neither Jonesey nor Scott noticed. They were asleep where they had sat, the burnt ember of a cigarette still smoking slowly between Jonesey’s fingers.

Well? Did I grab ye? lol.