Flash Fiction: The Voice of Anise

Flash Fiction: The Voice of Anise — Blue Ink Alchemy

Courtesy Panoramio To conclude The Cooperative Cliffhanger I chose to finish the story started by Jessica called Counting Down.

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Time is relentless. The seconds never stop ticking away, inching us closer to our destinies. Anise reflected on this as her mental countdown towards the execution got shorter and shorter. Two minutes, ten seconds. She looked at the back of the man in front of her. Will this make any difference? What will happen next? The sirens began to sound and the raggedy man broke into the grin she'd seen before. "Hear that? They finally noticed we're not where we should be." Anise stayed close behind the man her grandfather sent, breathing mostly through her mouth, lest the smell of the drainage pipe crawl up her nostrils. She cast her eyes upward, as if she could see through the stone to the courtyard they now bypassed. "Does this mean the execution won't happen?" "Oh, it'll happen. Just not now. You've bought those men at least another day. See? You're saving lives already." Anise didn't feel like she was saving lives. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel. Above her, the hangman's noose meant for her neck hung empty. Soon, men and dogs would be scouring the prison for her. This was the reasoning behind the man using the drain; the stink of living waste and dead bodies would hide her scent. Or so he thought. Anise wasn't sure. Dogs had powerful noses. And they knew how to track. "Just a little farther." "How do you know your way through here?" "This isn't the first time I decided prison life wasn't for me." It occurred to Anise that it was possible the man was a liar. That he wanted to keep her for his own nefarious purposes. But if that was the case, how would he have known about her grandparents? Or her real name? She shivered, drawing her grandmother's shawl closer around her shoulders as they walked. 'Just a little farther' was another fifteen minutes of slow, careful, smelly trudging before he stopped by a small alcove in the wall. He went first up the metal rungs sticking out of the brickwork, towards wan sunlight filtered through a manhole cover. Gently, he pushed the metal plate up and aside, hauling himself through the hole. Anise followed, finding his hand waiting for her to help her up onto the street. The city had grown organically which meant the prison was situated in the middle of some residential areas. Anise winced at the full brunt of the sirens coming from the high walls topped with barbed wires. The man beside her took hold of her shoulder, even as the crowd moving to and fro around them looked at them or towards the prison. "Come along. Let's get you safe." Anise stayed close to the man as they moved through the streets. Everywhere she looked, Anise saw faces of people devoid of hope, dressed in clothing stained and torn by their hard lives, eyes downcast to avoid the posters of propaganda and any sentries on the rooftops. They wove their way through the byways and alleys to reach a ramshackle rowhome several blocks from the prison. Other men and women waited inside, and they greeted Anise with quiet enthusiasm. None of them were her grandfather, and the more she looked, the more worried she became. Finally, the man who'd freed her pulled her aside. "I'm sorry he isn't here. We have to keep you separate for now. It's too dangerous otherwise. But there's a way you can help him, and help all of us." Anise nodded. She was lead upstairs and sat at the desk. A woman adjusted dials as she waited. When she couldn't stand it, she looked up at the man and asked. "What's your name?" "Call me Mickey." "Mickey... what do I say?" "Whatever is in your heart." She took a deep breath. The woman nodded to Mickey, who bent over Anise to turn on the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt your regularly-scheduled government-mandated programming for a special announcement." He looked at Anise and smiled. Anise took another breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she began to speak. "My name is Anastasia. Six months ago, I was a princess. I lived in the palace on the hill. The one that's been dark since the Duke and his allies in the military stormed it. My mother and father did not survive this attack. I managed to escape, changing my name, moving from place to place until I was captured and sentenced to die." She paused. "I was sentenced to die because I was born into the family that has looked after this kingdom for 300 years. From what I understand, we were a prosperous people. Not always happy, but prosperous. You were taken care of. Some went hungry but others helped. Now, look around. Look at the kingdom now. More are hungry. Fewer are around to help. Families have been put to death and the streets run with the blood of the innocent in ways that have not been seen in centuries." She looked at Mickey and the others in the room. A crowd had gathered. Some were weeping. She went on. "If you can hear my voice, know that you are not alone. You are not forgotten. In their grab for power, the Duke and his allies have forgotten that the first office of a ruler is to care for the people under their rule. The Duke doesn't care about you. He doesn't care if your children starve. I do. "And mark my words. Your pain will not be forgotten. It will be visited upon the Duke and those that stand with him tenfold." Somewhere in the distance, something exploded. More sirens sounded. Mickey took hold of Anise's arm, but she kept her finger on the microphone's button. "Please. For my sake, for the memory of my parents, your king and queen, do not give up. Never give up. We fight for a better tomorrow. All of us must fight. Mother, Father, I'm coming home!"

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Movie Review: Dredd (3D)

Movie Review: Dredd (3D) — Blue Ink Alchemy

In Mega-City One, the population is astronomical and crime is rampant. The people are represented by one group, and one group alone: the Judges. They locate and investigate crime; they prosecute and punish the offenders on the spot. They are the law. These are their stories. Going back to the well of an established intellectual property can be risky business. If it's a long-running story, die-hard fans will be frothing at the mouth not just to see this new take on their beloved worlds, but tear the storyteller to ribbons over anything they might get 'wrong'. So it was in the first movie based on Judge Dredd, the central character of the ultra-violent, subversive, and even satirical 2000 AD Comics. It was... well, not great, but amusing and even entertaining in its own way. They went back to the well for a 2012 remake, and fans held their breath. I hope they let it out shouting for joy, because this new Dredd is ultra-violent and subversive - not necessarily satirical, but considering how stripped-down the film is, it's clear something had to go. We join Joe Dredd at the start of an average day as a Judge in Mega-City One, a final bastion of teeming humanity on the edge of a nuclear wasteland. You know how it goes - get up, put on the armor and helmet, get the Lawgiver ready, chase down some thugs on your kickass bike, same old same old. Today's different, though. Dredd's been saddled with a psychic rookie named Anderson, and heads out with her to investigate a triple homicide at the mega-block known as Peach Trees. The mega-block is a miniature city in and of itself, 200 floors housing 80,000 people, and the drug queen Ma-Ma is in control of it all. She doesn't like Judges poking around in her business. So she locks the place down and calls for their heads. She thinks she's the law in Peach Trees. Guess who disagrees. Right from the start, seasoned readers and watchers can tell this is not the same Dredd as before. Unlike the previous film's predilection for overwrought bombast, bright splashy colors, and a leaning towards camp that didn't quite hit Flash Gordon levels but came pretty close at times, Dredd plays things closer to the vest. I'd say it's more subtle, but that seems a disingenuous word considering how violent the movie is. People are shot, stabbed, skinned alive, even set on fire - when it comes to 'inventive law enforcement', the Punisher and the Boondock Saints have nothing on Dredd. But under all of the bloodshed and gore is an undercurrent of reflectiveness, a dark mirror of our own modern society, steeped in the glorification of carnage and the acknowledgement that, when the corrupt will stop at nothing to accomplish their goals, there are times when you need someone of such deep-rooted and nearly fascistic righteousness to step in who is willing to stop at nothing to punish the aforementioned corrupt.
If you see this scowl, RUN. The sort of person who personifies this mentality is not bombastic. They don't like a lot of attention and they're not given to grand shows of power to demonstrate how awesome they are. Hence why Karl Urban is superior in the role of Judge Dredd to Stallone. Where Stallone shouted, Urban growls. Where Stallone emoted with his weird-ass contacts, Urban scowls. He moves with a purpose at all times. He appears long enough to do his job, brutal as it might be, then moves on. He keeps his own counsel and demonstrates that absolute adherence to the law does not mean unreasonability. And he never, ever takes his helmet off. This is, of course, the result of many galvanizing years on the mean streets of Mega-City One. In order to fully demonstrate the hidden depths of the character, rather than just tell you "there's a lot going on under that visor," the audience benefits from a surrogate. Enter Olivia Thirlby as Judge Anderson, the rookie with whom Dredd has been saddled. There are a lot of directions a writer can go with a character like this - a wide-eyed questioner, a cheerleader for the protagonist, and so on. Anderson, however, is not just there to be a pretty face. She's being tested, and not just by Dredd. It's a testament to Thirlby's acting chops that we feel, rather than hear about, her mix of respect and fear for Dredd, her uncertainty at the situation in front of her, and her determination to prove herself and not back down no matter what challenge presents itself. Even when things go bad for her, she retains a measure of control, never gives up hope, and never betrays her fears in full. She's one of the best female characters I've seen on screen in a while, especially in a movie based on a comic, and I'd pay money just to see another story with her in it.
She'd make a fantastic Samus Aran. The supporting cast, while decent, never really rises to the level of the two leads. Lena Headey is always good in whatever role she takes, from Queen Gorgo of Sparta to Cersei Lannister, but Ma-Ma has little in the way of range. She's tough and brutal, of course, but there's really nothing to her other than ambition and those overlying traits. The rest of her forces are pretty interchangeable mooks, and we only get bits and pieces from others to really show us what life in Mega-City One is like. Given that the film is only 95 minutes long, a little more fleshing out here and there would have been fine, without having too much negative impact on the pace of the action. Finally, as bleak as the setting is, I never got the feeling that Mega-City One was as oppressively crowded as it might seem given the numbers. But that's a minor quibble with an otherwise overwhelming success in going back to the well, and coming back with something that not only sustains, but delights. Stuff I Liked: There's very little fat on this movie; it moves at a great pace and is very goal-oriented. Its rather straightforward story lends itself well to character examination through action. The small scale of it and the lack of any overarching compulsion to save the world, or the girl, or the Law, makes it a much tighter and more substantive story than you get in most movies based on comic books. Even some Marvel ones. And the predominance of practical effects makes the action even more visceral and concrete. Stuff I Didn't Like: I don't like the idea of this being the only story I'll see with these actors as these characters. I would have liked to see a bit more backstory and characterization with Ma-Ma, even though what we get is perfectly adequate. Stuff I Loved: Let's just say "everything about Dredd and Anderson" and leave it at that. And considering how we're with them every step of the way in this story, there's plenty to love. Bottom Line: There are a lot of reasons to see Dredd. See it for the tight, intimate story. See it for the extremely well-shot and visceral action. See it to enjoy a rendition of Judge Dredd that feels authentic and real, not campy and bombastic. See it for a growly voice that puts Bale's Bat-voice to shame without being as ridiculously over-the-top.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Writer Report: Seasons Change

Writer Report: Seasons Change — Blue Ink Alchemy

Unfortunately, I don't have a great deal to report from the past week. I'm not sure why it's been difficult to get myself out of bed this past week. Either it's the change of the seasons, or a side effect of the medication I'm on. Which is more complex than whiskey, before that gets mentioned. I have taken a bit of time to work over some of the concepts for Godslayer, but I can't really call that 'progress'. Some of that might happen next week. Same for editing Cold Streets. Hopefully that won't take longer than a week or two, and then I can get my very patient test readers-to-be a manuscript to look over. This weekend I'm going to rest up. Hopefully more progress will be made in the future, because that's what I'm looking towards.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Art of Commander

The Art of Commander — Blue Ink Alchemy

I have a lot of fun with Commander (EDH if you've been around a while). It seems to be my father's preferred format for Magic, and my siblings always have decks with them. It's been made clear to me that some of my decks have significant chinks in their armor. Both my Zedruu deck and my Jaya deck are very feast-or-famine, it seems, relying on combos that may or may not appear fast enough to respond to threats adequately in some situations. I've started to think more tactically about these decks. I want to build decks to have fun, but I also would like to not get completely blown out as often as I have been lately. Enter Sun-Tzu. The philosophy in The Art of War emphasizes the flexibility, strength, and speed of a successful fighting force. I've looked at my current roster of Commander decks, and how their colors and theme and signature creature provide those three points. Sharuum (One mark of a great soldier is that he fight on his own terms or fights not at all.), Karthus (Move swift as the Wind and closely-formed as the Wood. Attack like the Fire and be still as the Mountain.), and Ghave (Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.) all seem to be winners so far. As much as I like Zedruu and Jaya, their decks often have me quickly devolving into "top-deck" mode, just hoping they yield the exact card I need to get myself out of whatever terrible situation I've found myself in. They are also comparatively slow (a shock considering Jaya is mono-red) and Jaya has little synergy with the rest of her deck. So where do we go from here? I've been looking towards the recently completed Return to Ravnica block for ideas, and I have at least a couple potential decks I'll be assembling and testing in the coming weeks.

Izzet Engine

Speed is the essence of war. While Zedruu can facilitate a great deal of card draw, making it more likely to pull an answer to a problem I'm facing, it can be difficult to get a donation to an opponent that lasts long enough for Zedruu to bring in the rewards. I have many methods of drawing cards and benefitting from those draws, and a general who gives me a direct, relevant, and reliable benefits from drawing is my old friend, [mtg_card]Niv-Mizzet, the Firemind[/mtg_card]. I'll have to dismantle both of the above decks to give Niv-Mizzet the tools he needs to blast my opponents, and there's plenty of room for a variety of planeswalkers, time shenanigans, and even the synergy of Niv-Mizzet working with... um... Niv-Mizzet. [mtg_card]Niv-Mizzet, Dracogenius[/mtg_card], to be exact. I'll probably be assembling this exciting and somewhat frightening lightning-powered engine of destruction this weekend.

Orzhov Alliance

Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without having to fight. I've wanted to put together a vampire EDH deck for some time, now. The good thing about pairing the fiends with Orzhov's Extort mechanic is that I do not need to engage in direct confrontations to get an edge over my opponents. I was initially torn as to who should take control of the alliance, as I have a soft spot for [mtg_card]Teysa, Envoy of Ghosts[/mtg_card]. However, after some consideration, it seems that [mtg_card]Obzedat, Ghost Council[/mtg_card] is slightly faster and has more synergy with the Extort within the deck and lifelink-equipped vampires. I'm looking forward to putting this deck together, as it's been an idea I've had for quite some time. This leaves me with another slot in a fat pack box for an EDH deck. Perhaps another mono-color deck? I'll have to contemplate that.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Movie Review: Equilibrium

Movie Review: Equilibrium — Blue Ink Alchemy

It seems that the general audience of dystopian fiction like action with their social commentary. From The Road Warrior to The Matrix, Fallout to The Last Of Us, many tales set in a world of ruin follow their heroes from one action sequence to another. Considering the less than favorable reaction that people had to the film adaptation of R M's The Road, maybe the action route is the way to go. One of the best examples of a movie that mixes its action with an interesting standpoint on the human condition is Equilibrium, a film from 2000 that appears to be aging gracefully. In the aftermath of World War III, the survivors gathered to determine how to prevent their extinction. To curtail future wars and aggression, they introduced humanity to a drug called Prozium, which suppresses human emotion. Within the city of Libria, all citizens are required to take the drug, a universal law enforced by the exceptionally trained and singularly uncompromising Grammaton Cleric. Some have fled Libria into the area called the Nether, trying to live and feel on their own terms. But the Cleric are hunting them down. The greatest among the Cleric is John Preston, a stoic and implacable example of Libria's new order. But then John's partner and mentor begins to feel... It's clear from the outset that the foundation of Equilibrium is some unholy union between George Orwell's 1984 and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. The austerity of Libria and its harsh stance against emotion are indicative of a leadership that suppresses its populace, a feature in both novels. The presence of "Father" and the ways in which the Cleric execute their duties are strongly reminiscent of "Big Brother" and the thoughtcrimes of 1984, while Prozium's direct manipulation of people's minds and emotions harken to the psychological manipulation and manipulative eugenics of Brave New World. The focus on emotional suppression as opposed to direct thoughtcrimes is an interesting one, but neither of the novels have as many visceral gunfights as Equilibrium does.
The gunfights having their own aesthetic and energy compared to other movies is a true strength. In addition to its classic dystopian influence, and a good amount of Yeats, Equilibrium has the gun katas. The 'martial art' of the Grammaton Cleric, the gun katas are a high-energy method for fighting with firearms that emphasizes rapidly changing body movements, precise aim, and dodging incoming fire. Much like the martial arts in a movie that is often compared to Equilibrium, The Matrix, the gun katas are one of the main draws of the film, other than its theme. Unlike The Matrix, the "cool factor" of the martial arts do not overwhelm the story, and remain fresh and interesting even as multiple fights happen. It seems like Preston is always doing something slightly different in each fight, which keeps the audience engaged as the story rolls along. If Equilibrium has a flaw, its that the film feels a bit like going to a dystopian sci-fi buffet. It borrows a little from this source, a little from that source, and the result can feel a bit like a hodgepodge that struggles to be more than the sum of its parts. Long-standing sci-fi aficionados may get annoyed at this approach. There's also the fact that burrowing as much as it does from other sources causes the movie to both struggle to find an identity of its own and maintain a feeling of originality in its story. V for Vendetta may feel like a more grounded dystopia, and The Matrix for all of its flaws does have a somewhat unique aesthetic and world, putting Equilibrium squarely in the "average" category when it comes to story and world-building. Neither of those are why I'd recommend this film, however.
Proof that it's not natural to be a completely stoic action hero (looking at you, Master Chief). I've mentioned Equilibrium in the past, regarding how characters that emote reasonably are easier for an audience to relate to. And the courses the characters take when it comes to feeling, not feeling, and beginning to feel again are extremely relatable. Over and above the theme and the action, the characters may be the best draw of the film. They easily could have pushed their emotions and reactions into camp or overwrought territory. Instead, the cast keeps their feelings understated and nuanced. Christian Bale may have had a terrible Batman voice, but he also shows that he is capable of transmitting a variety of emotions from someone unused to them and uncomfortable with them without saying a single word. Stuff I Like: The gun katas are pretty cool. None of the cast phones it in. The film has a solid foundation and inspiration. Stuff I Don't Like: The film has to work really hard to maintain its own identity given how much it borrows from other sources. Stuff I Love: The puppy, the red ribbon, Sean Bean, and the scene in the library. The fact that Preston does not succeed in everything he attempts. The presence of subtlety in an over-the-top action movie. The emphasis on the importance of human emotion, and how the positive aspects of it can overcome the negative. Bottom Line: Equilibrium may not be the best action film ever made, or the best sci-fi dystopia film, but it's straightforward and earnest message coupled with some unique visuals and excellent cast do make it a favorite. A film does not have to be entirely flawless to earn a recommendation or repeated viewings, and Equilibrium is an excellent example of this. Available on Netflix and other sources, it's great for its fresh take on classic material, even if it's been ground that's been tread before.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Cave At The Bottom Of The Sea

Flash Fiction: The Cave At The Bottom Of The Sea — Blue Ink Alchemy

What follows is my contribution to The Cooperative Cliffhanger, Part One, over at Terribleminds.

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She was pushing herself through the third squeeze she'd found when she heard his voice again. "Your heart rate is elevated, Doctor Simmons. Everything okay?" Simmons sighed. "I'm starting to regret letting the med-techs wire me up. Other than that, it's nothing I can't handle." "Okay. We're not getting picture at the moment." Simmons grunted as she pushed herself another inch through the squeeze. "That's because I'm moving through a subterranean rock formation barely wide enough for my body, Eddleston. You're going to have to wait until I make it through." "I'm just telling you what the situation is up here. Howards wanted to remind you that champagne is waiting for you back on the Cousteau." "Did you hear that?" "No. What?" "That was me... urgh! ...rolling my eyes." In truth, Simmons knew that they wouldn't be here without Howards and his millions. He was, after all, the contractor with the wherewithal to pick up on what the military would have passed off as echoes in sonar readings from their subs. A man accustomed to having only the best, he'd sought out the world's foremost speleologist, which is how Simmons met him. In truth, she admitted to herself as she reached the end of the squeeze that she preferred talking to Eddleston. A fellow academic, even if their fields weren't terribly related, Eddleston at least was able to hold a conversation with her on cavern structure and other areas. She wondered often how an archaeologist knew so much about caves, and when asked, Eddleston just shrugged and said "I like to know where I might have to go." She took a deep breath when she emerged from the squeeze. The caves had been formed by lava flows, leaving the rock faces smooth and slightly spongy to the touch. She knelt and reached back to pull her backpack through the bottom of the squeeze, which had been wide enough for her feet. A meter up, it had been so narrow that her torso had barely made it through. She took a moment to readjust her suit, and make sure her helmet was secure on her head. The lamp on the helmet's left side cast wan light through the cavern before her. She tapped the camera on the right side. "Do you have picture now?" "Yes!" Eddleston sounded more relieved than anything. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm sorry if I've been too intrusive; you must be used to exploring caves on your own." "It's the first time I've been down a shaft carved with industrial lasers. I think we're all a little unnerved." She looked around, taking her time to pan the camera. "I'm not seeing another squeeze or any branching tunnels. I'm going to proceed ahead." "Roger. This is about where the Navy's readings ended. We don't know what's beyond this point." "Correction. We don't know yet." There was a pause on Eddleston's end as she made her way forward. Then, she heard him chuckling. "What?" "Howards reiterated how much he admires your attitude." "Wonderful. It'd be nice if he weren't so obvious about how much he admires my ass, too." "They did make that environmental suit a little form-fitting. Are you comfortable?" "It's warm down here. Is all of the volcanic activity dormant?" "That's what the seismology indicates. Howards said that lava was, and I'm quoting, 'the least of our worries'." Simmons frowned. "A bit dramatic for the inside of a dormant undersea volcano." "You know, there could be more than that down there." "I still don't buy it." "Myths have basis in fact as well as folklore. If we find nothing, we find nothing. But if we find something..." "James, I admire your tenacity, but there's a reason people stopped giving you grants. A few bits of difficult-to-identify metals aren't enough to substantiate your claims." "I know. I'm trying not to get my hopes up. But I have to admit, the possibilities..." "Hold on." She looked up. "Are you seeing this?" Behind what seemed at first to be a turn in the tunnel, Simmons saw something reflecting the light of her lamp. She walked over to it and, after a moment, touched it. Through her glove, she felt a chill. "What is it?" "Metal," Simmons said, "at least I think so." She pulled a climbing axe out of her belt, chipping away at the solidified magma. A few minutes later, she stepped back to look at what she'd uncovered. "It... it looks like a hatch." "I knew it." Eddleston's excitement was palpable even over the wireless radio. "Can you open it?" "There's a handle, let me..." She put her hands around what seemed to be the handle, and gave it a tug. It moved, slowly, and after a moment she was able to turn it. The hatch opened inward, and she stepped into a short metal corridor, facing another hatch, this one without a handle. Her foot touched a skeleton at her feet, and she gagged. "Stinks in here." "Rotten eggs?" "Yeah." "Trapped sulfur from the lava. This poor soul must have been locked in here when it happened." "There's writing here." She ran her fingers over the embossed symbols on the inner hatch, and the small circular hole in its center. "I can't make it out." "It's definitely similar to what I found in Madagascar. Let me see if I can find any similar characters." Simmons knelt, picking up something from the hand of the skeleton. She tried not to look at the skull's empty sockets or open jaw. She held the object up to her lamp. It was a cylinder, copper in color, that caught the light and reflected multiple colors. "James...?" "That's orichalcum! The highly conductive and extremely durable metal used throughout Atlantis. I'm certain of it!" "James, are you saying that...?" There was a burst of static in the radio. "Doctor Simmons, we're... ...something..." She tapped her earpiece. "James?" "Sarah... ...et ... anger..." The hatch slammed shut behind her, and her lamp went out. "James?" Silence. "... Great."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

One Of Those Weekends

One Of Those Weekends — Blue Ink Alchemy

As the saying goes: Well, that escalated quickly. Due to all sorts of things coming up over the course of the weekend, I did not have nearly enough time this past weekend for editing Cold Streets, writing this week's flash fiction, or hammering out the world/character bible for Godslayer. Needless to say, there is a lot on my plate that has nothing to do with writing, and I'm trying to get a handle on things so I can be more productive in the future. Flash fiction tomorrow! Total pinky swear.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Writer Report: Hard Part's Over

Writer Report: Hard Part's Over — Blue Ink Alchemy

Courtesy Floating Robes Cold Streets is done. Well, the first draft is done, anyway. The sequel to Cold Iron (which, as a friendly reminder, you can buy here or here) was born out of a desire to lay a foundation for future, full-length projects. Once I take up the editing hat and really get down to business, it's my hope to have a workable draft that's ready for prime time near the end of the year. Then it's a matter of lining up another breathtaking photo and some fantastic design work for a cover, and maybe, just maybe, it'll be on the virtual shelves in time for a lovely holiday gift. That's kind of a tight deadline, and I need to line up the backing capital for the cover & design work, but we'll see what happens. I won't make petty demands of talented people. I know how that goes when I'm on the receiving end of it. Once I get test readers tearing Cold Streets apart, it'll be time to try something new. Godslayer has been rather neglected recently because of the demands of my schedule and everything else going on, and it's past time I put together an outline for that, and perhaps a character/world-building bible. I've thought about picking up Scrivener to make organizing and reorganizing things easier, but we'll have to see if the budget can accommodate that. And then there's the matter of Morgan and Seth. I'm not done with them and their near-future slightly-screwy Philadelphia just yet. I have one more novella planned, Cold Light, to round out what I'll be calling the Lighthouse Foundation trilogy. And as I said, from there it's on to longer, more substantial works in that world.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Hidden Threats

The Hidden Threats — Blue Ink Alchemy

There are many board games where all of your information is public. Monopoly players can see just how badly they're boned with a glance around the table. Many other games prefer to keep a player's information hidden. In any classic card game, from poker to rummy, it can be difficult to determine how good or bad the hand of an opponent is at any given time. Some games mix an element of the unknown into their gameplay. Lords of Waterdeep keeps the true identity of its players hidden until the very end, as does Archipelago from what I understand. And then there are the games where hidden information and deception are a focal point of gameplay, a system without which the game could not operate at all. I've recently been playing Mascarade at lunch with the dayjob crew. Technically a party game, Mascarade distributes a number of role cards to its players, each with an ability to earn gold coins from the stockpile in the middle. Some, like the King and Queen, generate wealth on their own, while others, such as the Bishop and the Thief, take that wealth from other players. Not only are these roles hidden from all players, but the main action of the game is in swapping roles. The swaps happen out of sight of all players, as the swapping player must execute the swap under the table. A player may not know what role they have until they either spend their turn looking at their card, or get challenged by another player when they try to use their assumed role's ability. In addition to requiring deductive reasoning and a decent poker face, it's a good test of memory skills as well: did you actually swap your Witch card for that guy's King card, or did you lose track of which card was which while they were under the table? I've mentioned The Resistance: Avalon here before, and it's still a favorite of mine. Another game of hidden roles and deductive reasoning, Avalon's sole focus is on making the most of scraps of information gathered through observation. You have to pay attention, actively, to what other players are saying and doing, to either determine who among you are the traitors, or shift and deflect blame like some form of deceptive judo. Avalon adds the roles that The Resistance lacks to give the game an additional layer of deception and deduction: if the traitors can determine who Merlin is, they will win even if the loyal players succeed in their missions. It requires a great deal of concentration. I think the pinnacle of this use of hidden threats may lie with Battlestar Galactica's board game adaptation. The game is, essentially, cooperative: players take on roles of the Galactica's crew and characters, from hothead Viper pilots like Apollo and Starbuck to well-reasoned leaders like Adama and Roslin. Every turn, players will face a crisis that either requires them to work together, presents the active player with a choice that could sap the group of precious resources, or places Cylon forces on the board that must be fended off while the Galactica prepares to jump to the next system. The game could function well enough with just this system, but on top of this is the fact that one or more players around the table could be Cylons themselves. At the start of the game and at about the halfway point, Loyalty cards are dealt to each player to tell them what side they're on. A player can reveal themselves as a Cylon at any time, activating a special power that can cripple Galactica or cause other kinds of trouble. However, an effective Cylon will remain hidden for several turns, perhaps working to sabotage a crisis here and there to make victory all more the difficult to attain for the humans. Savvy players must then try to discern who at the table might be a Cylon at the same time they're trying to keep the civilian population safe and the Galactica's supply of Vipers repaired, all while searching for the route to Earth. I've only played the game once as of this writing, but given how much fun I had in spite of the rules confusion and other factors, it's safe to say I will definitely be playing it again.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Drill, Baby, Drill

Drill, Baby, Drill — Blue Ink Alchemy

Courtesy Rabbitpoets, will credit original artist! When I encounter a new story that I find myself enjoying thoroughly, there's a part of me that can't just leave it at that. I have to look deeper than my superficial glee and take a look at what really calls to me about the tale. I have to examine characters, plot points, meanings and development. I don't know if it's my background in doing so for years at university, or my desire to better understand other stories so I can write mine better, but in any case, it's what makes me review and critique stuff on a regular basis. Case in point: I just finished watching the anime series Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann and I enjoyed the hell out of it. I'm no stranger to big robot anime. Voltron and Robotech (Macross in particular) were staples growing up. When I hit university I was introduced to more - Macross Plus, Gundam Wing and the brilliant but bizarre Neon Genesis Evangelion. There are plenty of other mecha anime out there, and plenty of anime that get classified as shounen - aimed primarily at young or teenage boys with exciting action and plenty of fighting. One might think, with a cursory glance, that Gurren Lagann is in the same vein as these, even with its unique aesthetic, but it doesn't take long for the series's true strengths to reveal themselves. In a few other series I've dipped my toe into and even enjoyed, the main character gets his special power or destiny, and pursues it with dogged determination that, while admirable, does not vary his character much. Gurren Lagann, on the other hand, lets its characters develop naturally. The character of Simon, in particular, goes through a lot of growth from the beginning of the series to its end. In addition to the respect I give a story for the willingness to actually end legitimately and well, there's the fact that the Simon at the end of the story is a different person, a more developed person, than he was at the beginning. The same goes for Yoko; a character that easily could have been relegated to simple fan service is also allowed to grow, breathe, develop, and take on a life of her own. Another way in which the series sets itself apart is in the fact that actions have consequences. Each victory that our heroes gain take them deeper into a world they did not anticipate, and as much as the show likes to treat the laws of physics more like loose guidelines than actual rules, there's no cheap resurrections and no going back. Changes are irreversible, and consequences must be dealt with. In a general genre and specific sub-genre that is usually all about an empowerment fantasy free of consequences, seeing a show that drops the hammer on its character multiple times for things they do is refreshing. As cool as it would be to pilot a giant mecha, Gurren Lagann seems to treat its unique and strikingly designed machines as exactly what they are: vehicles. They're the means by which the story and its meaning are delivered, and the meaning is this: it's okay to be yourself. In fact, the ideal way to live one's life is to forge ahead making one's own destiny with a sense of self-belief. Believing in yourself can be hard to do, especially when it feels like the whole world is against you, but when people have faith in you, and you have faith in yourself, there is literally nothing you can't do. Rather than relegate such things to occasional character moments or after-credits messages, Gurren Lagann makes this the driving force behind its narrative, a massive drill that bores a hole right through your expectations. The individual's sense of self-worth is a weapon in and of itself; when fully realized, it's an extremely potent one. I may be reading too much into an anime series, or drawing an inordinate amount of inspiration from it, but that's who I am. I take the lessons I find from what I experience and I try to make them a part of my life. I am, as always, a work in progress. I will never stop learning, never stop growing, and never stop writing about it. That's what I do. And the more I do it, the more proud I become of what I'm doing and what I will do in the future. I may not live up to some expectations, I may make mistakes, but I will make my future my own, because that's what you do when you come to realize who you are and what that means to you and to the world around you. I'm a writer. I'm a fanboy. I'm a critic and a philosopher and I fight for what I believe in. Who the hell do you think I am?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Cartoons! On the Internet!

Cartoons! On the Internet! — Blue Ink Alchemy

You can have one after they cool down. In lieu of one of my more structured reviews - I'm waiting to hear back on a proposal I made to an associate before I start in on reviewing more books - I thought I'd take the opportunity to turn you fine folks on to some animated gems you might have missed floating around the Internet. Specifically, all of these cartoons are available exclusively on the YouTube channel Cartoon Hangover. For someone like me, who eschews traditional cable TV connections for the Internet to keep costs down and because most of the stuff on cable is either dreadful or not relevant to my interests, this is ideal. It's fresh new content, it captures my attention, and it both amuses me and makes me think. Let's take a look.

Bee and PuppyCat

"Strange" and "oddball" are words that could be used to describe Bee and PuppyCat, but for me, the word that comes to mind first is "brilliant." Bee, having recently lost her job, encounters PuppyCat on a rainy sidewalk. It turns out there's more to PuppyCat than meets the eye, including his ability to do temp work in alternate dimensions full of unique and dangerous creatures. He takes Bee along with him, which is a good thing: helpful and determined, Bee also takes everything in stride even when it seems absurd or extra-dimensional. Bee has a very strong sense of personality right from the start, and there's plenty of storytelling threads in just the first episode to justify more of the show. Which we need. Immediately.

Doctor Lollipop

In a way, Doctor Lollipop is the opposite of Bee & PuppyCat. Everything in Doctor Lollipop makes sense, in that it's set in a fantasy forest filled with fairy tale characters. Talking animals, Little Red Riding Hood, the works. However, this is no ordinary fantasy forest. The forest happens to have a unicorn doctor with the medical expertise to save all sorts of lives. With a fantastic voice cast and plenty of hilarious references, Doctor Lollipop is another show on Cartoon Hangover that needs more episodes produced as soon as possible. It's very good.

Bravest Warriors

Bravest Warriors is the big kahuna of Cartoon Hangover. Created by Adventure Time's Pendleton Ward, Bravest Warriors take place in the distant future and centers on four young people, all children of a legendary group of interstellar heroes who have been lost in another dimension. They undertake missions throughout the galaxy, spend time in their invisible hideout, and encounter deadly time loops, space chickens, lava mazes, and fantastic aliens and creatures of all shapes and sizes. Characters have authentic voices, the palate is colorful and intriguing, the universe has a lot of interesting aspects, and the show has Catbug. You can watch all of these shows at Cartoon Hangover, and I can't recommend you doing that highly enough.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Long Hallway

Flash Fiction: The Long Hallway — Blue Ink Alchemy

This week's challenge from Terribleminds combined with a spin of the d20 ring resulted in the following.

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I stumble out of my room in the middle of the night. It isn't really my room. I don't live there. I've been staying there, sleeping there when I can sleep, but I don't live there. I'm trying to remember where I live. Maybe I can get back there. I wish I knew how far it is. Let's try to figure out where I am, first, and go from there. These clothes aren't my clothes. I can barely call them 'clothes'. They're powder blue, featureless, formless. I'm wearing socks. I think they have grips or something on the bottom. I'm not sliding on the tile floor. Do I have tile floors where I live? Just in the bathroom. Most of the first floor's hardwood. The second, carpet. Back in my house. It's a nice house. I miss my house. I almost lose my footing. Thanks to the socks I don't fall. I grab the wall all the same. I'm face to face with it. It's a bulletin board. When my hand comes away from it I have a flyer in my hand. My vision's blurry for some reason. I can barely make out the words. It's some kind of announcement about group therapy. Am I in the hospital? What for? Am I sick? I wish I could remember clearly. I look down at my arms. There's a wound in the crook of my right arm, and it doesn't seem to be bleeding too bad. No, wait, maybe it is? There's tape there. I close my eyes tight, trying to reach past the haze and the pain and the confusion to figure out how I got here and what's wrong with me. There were screams. I think some of them were mine. Not now, all I can do right now is try to breathe. My mouth tastes horrible. It's sticky and gross. Did I throw up? I hate throwing up. Is that why my throat's sore? Am I in for some kind of cold? I look at the flyers. All of them are about positive thinking and therapy appointments and "Remember to take your meds!" and shit like that. Is this a psych ward? I take a few more steps down the hallway. It seems really long. I don't know which way the exit is. I can't seem to make out any red signs. How are there no exit signs? Isn't that a fire hazard? Something isn't right. My knees buckle and I try to stay standing. I'm sweating like crazy. Standing shouldn't take this much effort. My head shouldn't be this foggy. My insides shouldn't be fighting to crawl out of my ass. What the hell is wrong with me? Someone telling me I'm crazy. This was back home. This was when the kids got packed up and I was left alone. I don't know how I got here. Does anybody know I'm here? Does anybody care? no Wait, what? Who said that? you're not alone What the actual fuck. Now I'm hearing voices. That's just great. I feel like I want to throw up again. Everything seems to be getting darker. The hallway feels like it's getting even longer. My head wants to explode. I feel my pulse behind my eyes. It's deafening. The only thing I can hear is that voice, it's not my voice, I don't know what's going on. I look down at my arm again. It's turned dark, shot through with violet glow instead of blood. I can see right through it. It's one arm, it's many arms, it doesn't exist. I shake my head to try and clear it. But I still hear the howling. It's like a train, a train full of the lost and the damned and the hungry and the angry, and it's coming my way. I'm standing in the tracks. I'm standing in the hallway. I'm standing in my home. I'm standing in nothing. I open my mouth. I think it's because I want to scream. But that doesn't happen. When I open my mouth, the voice that isn't mine comes out. It says words I don't understand. Everything starts to shake. My body doesn't shake with it. It's like I'm cut off from the world. Cut off from myself. Trapped in my own skin. A prisoner. A puppet. A pawn. Somewhere, something is laughing. Then the world starts to come apart.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Long Hallway

Flash Fiction: The Long Hallway — Blue Ink Alchemy

I stumble out of my room in the middle of the night. It isn't really my room. I don't live there. I've been staying there, sleeping there when I can sleep, but I don't live there. I'm trying to remember where I live. Maybe I can get back there. I wish I knew how far it is. Let's try to figure out where I am, first, and go from there. These clothes aren't my clothes. I can barely call them 'clothes'. They're powder blue, featureless, formless. I'm wearing socks. I think they have grips or something on the bottom. I'm not sliding on the tile floor. Do I have tile floors where I live? Just in the bathroom. Most of the first floor's hardwood. The second, carpet. Back in my house. It's a nice house. I miss my house. I almost lose my footing. Thanks to the socks I don't fall. I grab the wall all the same. I'm face to face with it. It's a bulletin board. When my hand comes away from it I have a flyer in my hand. My vision's blurry for some reason. I can barely make out the words. It's some kind of announcement about group therapy. Am I in the hospital? What for? Am I sick? I wish I could remember clearly. I look down at my arms. There's a wound in the crook of my right arm, and it doesn't seem to be bleeding too bad. No, wait, maybe it is? There's tape there. I close my eyes tight, trying to reach past the haze and the pain and the confusion to figure out how I got here and what's wrong with me. There were screams. I think some of them were mine. Not now, all I can do right now is try to breathe. My mouth tastes horrible. It's sticky and gross. Did I throw up? I hate throwing up. Is that why my throat's sore? Am I in for some kind of cold? I look at the flyers. All of them are about positive thinking and therapy appointments and "Remember to take your meds!" and shit like that. Is this a psych ward? I take a few more steps down the hallway. It seems really long. I don't know which way the exit is. I can't seem to make out any red signs. How are there no exit signs? Isn't that a fire hazard? Something isn't right. My knees buckle and I try to stay standing. I'm sweating like crazy. Standing shouldn't take this much effort. My head shouldn't be this foggy. My insides shouldn't be fighting to crawl out of my ass. What the hell is wrong with me? Someone telling me I'm crazy. This was back home. This was when the kids got packed up and I was left alone. I don't know how I got here. Does anybody know I'm here? Does anybody care? no Wait, what? Who said that? you're not alone What the actual fuck. Now I'm hearing voices. That's just great. I feel like I want to throw up again. Everything seems to be getting darker. The hallway feels like it's getting even longer. My head wants to explode. I feel my pulse behind my eyes. It's deafening. The only thing I can hear is that voice, it's not my voice, I don't know what's going on. I look down at my arm again. It's turned dark, shot through with violet glow instead of blood. I can see right through it. It's one arm, it's many arms, it doesn't exist. I shake my head to try and clear it. But I still hear the howling. It's like a train, a train full of the lost and the damned and the hungry and the angry, and it's coming my way. I'm standing in the tracks. I'm standing in the hallway. I'm standing in my home. I'm standing in nothing. I open my mouth. I think it's because I want to scream. But that doesn't happen. When I open my mouth, the voice that isn't mine comes out. It says words I don't understand. Everything starts to shake. My body doesn't shake with it. It's like I'm cut off from the world. Cut off from myself. Trapped in my own skin. A prisoner. A puppet. A pawn. Somewhere, something is laughing. Then the world starts to come apart.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

One Day More

One Day More — Blue Ink Alchemy

Writing, like any skill, needs to be practiced in order to maintain a certain level of competence. The nibs of pens and points of pencils must be sharpened. For me, writing flash fiction every week is how I got about doing that. Having to come up with a thousand words with a simple prompt keeps me on the edge. But after a rather hectic weekend, I find myself needing one more day to put everything together. Which is why I don't do it competitively. I know there are some weekly flash fiction contests out there that yield bragging rights if nothing else. But I don't think I'm at a point where I can confidently step into that kind of wordy Thunderdome. I have other projects to finish, dayjob work can keep me late, and there's the chores and the running around and the things I do to remain sane. As much as fractured artists make for great stories in and of themselves, I'd like to keep as much of me intact as I can going forward. That's why I keep using the prompts at Terribleminds - no pressure. No prizes to win or punishments to endure. The only writer I'm really trying to best is myself. So this week, Flash Fiction is getting bumped to tomorrow. And based on the prompt, I'm hopeful it'll be a good one. (If you're curious, my d20 ring rolled a 12.)

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Writer Report: Nearly There

Writer Report: Nearly There — Blue Ink Alchemy

I really do not like being sick. I've had to put exercising on hold as I recover from whatever it is that's making my throat and muscles sore. I hope to be back in the gym on Monday, but I'm trying to be realistic. It may be a while before I'm back up to my previous level. I don't convalesce well; I'd rather be active in some way than simply sitting and resting. All too often such idle time can lead to me feeling broken or useless, even if I know intellectually that I am not. It's not all bad news, though. Cold Streets is very, very close to completion. I might have been able to finish it last night if I were feeling more on top of my game. As it is, I'll settle for finishing the first draft of my second novella within a week, and lining up test readers for what is a very, very rough pass at the story. Part of me wants to appeal to mercy; the rest of me knows the harshest words can be the most useful in the editorial process. I'm nearly there. I have to stick with it. I can rest when all of the work is done.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Meta-game

The Meta-game — Blue Ink Alchemy

If you've thrown polyhedral dice to slay monsters around a table with friends in a role-playing game, chances are you're familiar with the term "meta-gaming". It means using knowledge from outside of the game to benefit you or justify a decision. If your character is a pilgrim from the backwoods who's never seen a city, and you begin talking about Parliamentary political machinations, that's meta-gaming. It's normally frowned upon in role-playing games. Other games, however, find uses for the meta-game that are less obviously detrimental. The Resistance: Avalon is a lunchtime staple at the dayjob office. With six or more people around the table, the roles are shuffled and distributed as folks wrap up their meals. We've played a lot of the game, and we've come to learn things about one another as a result. "Player X likes to play slowly," for example, or "Player Y tends to behave a certain way in a certain role." Knowing this meta-game exists, players can work actively against it, making the game just as much about reading people and deduction of the situation as it is about which player likes to pull a fast one on his buddies on a regular basis. I've certainly played enough of Avalon to give it the full review treatment, but until I do, I'm wondering what other games can benefit from meta-knowledge. Can you think of any examples?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Game Review: High Command

Game Review: High Command — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm a big fan of the Iron Kingdoms universe. This steampunk fantasy setting has an interesting marriage of magic to technology, several unique-feeling yet familiar nation-states, and semi-sentient steam-powered robot warriors acting as battlefield avatars for wizards who know how to handle themselves in melee combat. Until recently, the two roads into the setting were the two miniature wargames (Warmachine and Hordes) which featured finely detailed minis sure to drain your bank account faster than you can say "I need another warcaster to round out my army", and the surprisingly difficult to find role-playing game. Privateer Press is opening more doors into their world, however, with the stand-alone deck-building game High Command, which I was fortunate enough to play at PAX. In High Command, up to four players assume command of one of the factions within the Iron Kingdoms. The game does come in Warmachine and Horde flavors, giving players plenty of choices. The goal of the game is to acquire the most victory points by occupying territories and commanding the most powerful weapons available. Acquiring troops and getting them into the field is accomplished via drawing cards from the player's individual army deck and spending them to acquire one of the resources available to that player. These resources then become part of the deck to be drawn later. Once in the field, troops, warmachines, warbeasts and spell-casters fight over the territories available in the center of the table. There are events that happen every turn that can tip the balance of the game one way or another, and one of those events ends the game. Whoever has the most points when that event occurs wins. Each player begins the game with two decks of their own: a Resource Deck containing cards to acquire, and an Army Deck containing some basic means to acquire said Resources. The system feels a lot like Ascension but on an individual level. Instead of vying with the other players for unique heroes or weaponry from a common pool, a player's turn consists of deciding how best to spend the cards drawn from the Army Deck to prepare for future engagements. There's an element of random chance in both drawing from the Army Deck and setting up the Resources to be chosen from, which is mitigated by the ability to bank unused Army cards between turns and the removal of cards from the Army Deck each time it's shuffled. The system is easy to understand for new players and seems flexible enough to provide interesting strategic permutations.
It's nice to have big guns that are always available. While Dominion only allows player interaction with certain cards available to all, and Ascension eschews direct player confrontation altogether, High Command is all about player-versus-player contention. Army cards deployed or rushed into the center of the table are bound to be opposed by Army cards employed by the other players. Each Army card has a strength rating and a health rating. Combat is a somewhat watered down version of Magic: the Gathering in that strength is directly compared to health to determine victory. Event cards and resources used from a player's hand can tip the scales, a Warcaster or Warlock can appear in the field to give a one-time bonus to the encounter, and multiple troops can pool their strength to overcome larger foes. Much like the system of the two player decks, the combat system is streamlined and simplistic enough to appeal to new players. My qualms about High Command are similar to the ones I have about Lords of Waterdeep, the Forgotten Realms worker-placement game. Veterans of deck-building games with more complexity and options may be turned off by the simplicity of the gameplay, and while the game can be good for getting an Iron Kingdoms fix, those with a keen interest in the universe may be more interested in either the pen-and-paper game or the wargames. My big bone of contention with the game is that it's one of those experiences that can lead to a player focusing almost entirely on their own engine, rather than directly interacting. The pace of the game, especially in the first couple turns, feels somewhat sluggish. Players are dealing with their decks and resources and units, and it can be easy to focus on that rather than pay attention to what an opponent is doing, since your opponents are, in essence, doing the exact same thing you are. While I don't think this is a huge problem for the game, it does bear mentioning especially if you're introducing new players to deck-building in general or the Iron Kingdoms as a setting.
The art is high quality and the cards are easy to read. In the end, I would lean more towards recommending High Command than not. I do feel that the direct confrontation and combat in the game make it fun and involving, and crafting your deck to execute your master plan can be intriguing. It definitely has appeal for fans of the Iron Kingdoms who are unwilling to make the monetary investment in miniatures. Everything you need for up to four players is right there in the starting box. Hardcore deck-building fans may be content with their Dominion set, but if you're looking to check out the genre and like a bit of face-smashing to go with the card dealing and shuffling, I'd check out High Command.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Adopt A Writer

Adopt A Writer — Blue Ink Alchemy

Take a moment to consider your entertainment. Books, movies, video games - there are so many ways to pass the time these days. All of these lovely distractions would not be possible without writers. And right now, there are many writers out there who need your help. There are some writers fortunate enough to already be in good homes. They have blossomed and thrived, producing wonderful and thought-provoking art for your entertainment. But many others have not yet had the opportunity. Many writers languish in situations less than ideal for creative development of their own. These writers need good homes in which they can grow. They need your help. Will you consider adopting a writer today? Adopting a writer is a big responsibility. Writers are mercurial, passionate, inconstant creatures. Writing is a solitary act, and writers need their space to do it. They also need to be fed and watered regularly. A cranky writer can be dangerous, and while it is best to leave them be while in the throes of creation, a safe place for them to flail and rage and cry is something many writers have yet to truly experience. Writers require patience and understanding as well as food and a place to sleep - or, more often than not, a place to pass out mid-manuscript with an empty bottle nearby. But writers are not necessarily all bad. Many writers are already housebroken! Without the concerns of a dayjob or other 'responsible adult' subjects to think about, a writer between words can be useful around the house. Being creative sorts, many writers know how to cook interesting food or make exotic cocktails. A writer can be encouraged to help clean up around the house, thus saving you tedious chore work after a long day at the office. They can even work complex machines like vacuum cleaners and laundry dryers! When you adopt a writer, you are investing in your future. Events that could be dull that require your attendance will be enhanced if you bring your writer along. Skilled with stories or at least possessing interesting opinions, a writer is a surefire conversation starter. Their observations on the world around them can be refreshing in a world of jaded cynicism, be they a wide-eyed optimist or a dour, dry-witted satirist. And if your writer has the opportunity and motivation to succeed, they may even allow you to retire early, bringing in sweet novel and movie revenue allowing you to kick back, hobnob, and enjoy the fruits of your labors, knowing that you've not only done something out of the goodness of your heart, you've found a way out of a dreary day-to-day office-bound existence. So, please. Won't you consider adopting a writer today?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: Reports From The Surface

Flash Fiction: Reports From The Surface — Blue Ink Alchemy

This week, Terribleminds tasked us with identifying the structures described in this Wired article. They are beautiful and unexplained. Here's my take. Enjoy!

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The Scout ran at full stride down the corridor to the office of the Overseer. The General was already there, talking about the positioning of the automated drones around the blue-brown world that turned beneath them. The Overseer folded its primary appendages across its chest as the secondary pair set down the report it had been reading. "Something urgent, Scout?" "A thousand apologies for the interruption, Overseer, but... the natives have discovered our devices." The Overseer's mandibles clicked. "Well. That is unfortunate." "We knew it would happen sooner or later," the General put in. "They're not stupid." "Some of our telemetry would suggest otherwise." "It suggests primitive, mammalian tool-users with a modicum of intellect. They do have very limited space travel." "I know." The Overseer gestured towards the expansive windows behind it. "Look at them. They hurl these hunks of metal into the void without nary a thought for orbit degradation or collisions with future launches. And they still have yet to colonize their sole satellite, to say nothing of the other bodies in the system!" "We estimate they have had the capability to at least land expeditionary domes for twenty or thirty stellar orbits," the Scout offered. "Perhaps they do not realize..." "...that they are populating their homeworld to death? That they are on the brink of suffocating on their own numbers?" The Overseer's antennae twitched, a common gesture of annoyance. "There is a reason our hives are able to thrive. The Queen, Ancestors protect her as Descendants praise her, never allows more mating pairs than the generation can handle. These creatures have no sense of control or direction. Our Observation Posts have demonstrated that much." "How?" The General's expression was quizzical. "The Scout said they have only just discovered the Posts." "But many more remain undiscovered. In their fields, in their hives, in their very cocooning structures, Posts are everywhere on that planet." One of the Overseer's primary appendages touched a control on the desk. Several displays came up of the dominant species on the planet: their governments in action (or lack thereof), their eating habits, how they mated, how they filled their days, their wars, their struggles, their hunger, their emotions. The Scout was, for a moment, overwhelmed by the diversity of it all. The Overseer stood, looking at the displays as it paced. "I wonder sometimes if they would welcome us. We could obviate a great many of their problems for them. Their star is quiet young, rather vibrant, and produces an abundant amount of energy, yet their facilities for harnessing that energy are pitiful. Only a few of their more developed nation-states approach what would be considered the bare minimum for the lowest of hives on our worlds. Additionally, while they have abundant supplies of water and even mobile atmospheric patterns, they continue to use far more primitive and toxic means to heat their hives and power their machines." The General grunted. "They've been stuck on nuclear fission for dozens of stellar orbits. Maybe they just enjoying blowing themselves up." "It would seem that way. There are deliberate, casualty-causing explosions in areas where there are no active wars." The Scout cocked its head to one side. "Why would anyone do that?" "Terror." The General's antennae gave a twitch of irritation. "Instead of negotiations, diplomacy, or up-front warfare, some of the members of this species conscript others of the species to cause damage to civilian populations. If the population feels it is unsafe, they could destabilize as they scramble for self-preservation, or shut down for fear of exposing themselves to future attacks." The Scout was silent, watching the monitors, stunned by this knowledge. The Overseer gestured at what had once been a forest. "They wantonly destroy swaths of the vegetation they need to survive to expand personal territory. Countless members of the species are destitute, left without the means to feed themselves, while others seem to live in luxury while producing nothing for the good of the planet. The Queen has her position and prestige because of the hard decisions she has to make for the good of our species, and she sees to it that mating pairs are well-matched and successful. These creatures do nothing but acquire more material wealth." "And then there are those who are renowned for nothing but said wealth." The General shook its head. "They have no honor from the battlefield, won no struggles to improve themselves, produced nothing of value. Yet the native society all but bows down before them. It is madness." "So what do we do?" The Scout dreaded the answer to its question, but asked anyway. "Bio-targeted purge. We isolate the genetic structure of these parasites and cleanse the planet of their scourge." The Scout watched the General as it spoke. Then, without prompting, it touched one of the Overseer's controls. The images changed to vibrant, colorful views of works of art, static and in motion, and the room was filled with musical strains, one song cross-fading into the next. "Look, my superiors, and listen. This is what the planet produces in spite of all you have said." The General and the Overseer looked at the displays, and then each other, and then back. The Scout observed them, as it did with other species. As much as he had been selected as Scout for his curiosity and insight into alien races, he still found his own just as fascinating. "Beautiful," the Overseer said at length. "I had no idea that kind of barbarism could produce so much beauty. For such creatures to live this way, in their moments, so immediate and visceral... there's beauty in it." "Does it change anything?" The General seemed unmoved. "Is preserving this art, singular as it is, worth consigning a planet this rich and vibrant to its fate?" The Scout's mandibles clicked. "I felt you should know the species you would condemn to death better before committing genocide." The Overseer waved an appendage. "Leave me to think. You will have my answer soon."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: Remembering Bub

Flash Fiction: Remembering Bub — Blue Ink Alchemy

For the Terribleminds challenge, "Another Ten Words".

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Even when he was human, he never cared for funerals. Death was an uncomfortable subject for many mortals, and funerals tended to bring an individual face to face with the specter of mortality, especially in violent circles. He stayed back from the front of the church's sanctuary, where family members both intimate and extended slowly filed past the casket to pay their respects. He had no desire to show a lack of respect; he'd simply said everything he needed to say at their last meeting. "This lot never cease to captivate me." He didn't have to turn to know a statuesque woman was standing behind him, uttering those words. It was a presence he'd felt many times. "I warned him about this. I told him he was pushing too hard against the Gates." "And now he is gone. Has all of your deceit been worth it?" At that, he did turn to face her. She had been a beautiful woman by mortal standards; looking past the skin, he could barely withstand her glory. Part of him shrank, fought to run, pleaded to hide, to be forgiven; he crushed the sentiment under his heel. "Why are you here, Raziel?" She smiled. "Have I become so like you that I need an ulterior motive to see you?" "Absolutely. Next thing you know you'll be bathing in brimstone." Raziel made a face. "I don't think that'd help my complexion." "Somewhere in the canyon Below, Beelzebub is recovering. It may take time, but he will return." "In the meantime, you can consolidate your power. Rally your troops. Get things in order before the balloon goes up." "I'm curious. Why did he choose that vessel? He must have known it was dangerous." "He was always fascinated with the way humans quote-unquote 'organize' their crime. He wanted to see that world from the inside. I was, naturally, obliged to follow. And you know for a fact that we are not common clay as they are." He gestured at the funeral-goers. "It takes a bit more than a few little punctures to send us back from whence we came." "It does take some doing to rip the demon out of the flesh." Raziel examined her fingers. "It's almost an art." "You still haven't answered my question." Raziel looked at him evenly, then at the rest of the funeral. "I wanted to see the aftermath. Witness mortals facing their mortal nature. Record what choices they make." He smirked. "That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Their choices." "Belial..." "No, wait, hear me out." Belial began to pace. "Lucifer wanted for us - you and me - the same thing that God gave to humans. He wanted us to be able to choose. But, think about it. Lucifer fell. And we fell with him. We did make a choice. But whereas the choices humans make do not essentially change who or what they are, we were changed. Disfigured. We no longer have your grace and glory; we have only malice and terror. We remain as awesome as you in countenance and presence; yet humans run towards you away from us." "That is, at best, a broad generalization. Not all mortals make that choice. Some reject the notion of Heaven as a place to be sought and opt to make deals with your kind. Others eschew metaphysical planes entirely and believe that there's nothing but the dirt and themselves." "Doesn't that just reinforce my contention that humanity's free will, and the choices born of it, does not fundamentally alter them?" Raziel thought for a moment, reaching out with her hand to examine a willow branch protruding from a bouquet near the exit. "Is that why you want to usurp Lucifer?" Belial winced. Even the mention of the nature of his plan made him anxious and paranoid. Still, he pressed on. "Think about it, Raziel. It can go back to the way it was. The Satan is supposed to be a complimentary role. The point is to test humanity, not stick it to Heaven over a grudge. Heaven is the carrot; Hell is supposed to be the stick. Lucifer is angry, angry enough to still want to end the whole thing. Global cataclysms, gatherings at Armageddon, the Horsemen, all of it." "And you're not?" "Would I be working with you if I was? Raziel, something changes about us, on the atomic level, when we make the choices that define us. Humans can define and re-define themselves at the drop of the proverbial hat. How can they do this? Why were they made so malleable? I need to know the answers to these questions. I need data. I need to experiment." She crossed her arms and leaned against the font of holy water near the back of the sanctuary, the one used by incoming parishioners to cross themselves. "So make deals and observe the results for yourself." Belial shook his head. "Too inefficient. A deal can take decades to bear viable data. If I control more demons directly, I can observe more results. This is the logical conclusion." Raziel studied him, and to his surprise, smiled a little. Even more surprising to him was the reaction from his body. "That is what this is all about then? The mere result of an equation you've processed already?" "For the most part, yes. There are fringe benefits, of course. Like seeing that pompous ass Beelzebub get kicked back downstairs. Nice work, by the way." "Darling, one doesn't become the Keeper of Secrets in Heaven without learning how to silence those who'd disseminate those Secrets." He looked at her, deeply, for a long wordless moment. "That's why you're here. You want to know if I'll betray you now that Bub is out of the way." "It's a logical conclusion to make. You are a demon." "Yes, but I gave you my word that our bargain is ironclad. You know how seriously we take such things." "Perhaps we should discuss that more." Raziel smiled again. "Over dinner."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

What Is Your Profession?

What Is Your Profession? — Blue Ink Alchemy

Given everything that happened this past week and a half, it probably comes as no surprise that I made no progress in Cold Streets. I'm not certain where my Waterman pen is located. I took a sick day and still ended up doing dayjob work from home. Life still feels in upheaval, like all of my feelings and ambition are getting shoved aside for the benefit of others. I'm tempted to start pushing back. I maintain that everybody has the right to be happy. Folks should be free to seek whom and what they want without judgment or prejudice. What I tend to forget is that "everybody" includes me, as well. As deathly afraid as I might be of being entirely selfish or neglectful for the sake of my own happiness, my fear is that I have and will go too far the other way. Martyrs are somewhat passé in this day and age, and not at all what someone should aspire to be. I mentioned radical change yesterday. I know I need to make adjustments moving forward to make sure I do not repeat the past, either the recent past or the ancient past. I'm not entirely sure what they are. But without change, we die. And I'm still quite resolved that this thing will not kill me. All of that said, normal blogging resumes on Monday. In the future I'll remember to reach out to people for guest posts. Thanks for sticking around.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

What Is Your Profession?

What Is Your Profession? — Blue Ink Alchemy

< Given everything that happened this past week and a half, it probably comes as no surprise that I made no progress in Cold Streets. I'm not certain where my Waterman pen is located. I took a sick day and still ended up doing dayjob work from home. Life still feels in upheaval, like all of my feelings and ambition are getting shoved aside for the benefit of others. I'm tempted to start pushing back. I maintain that everybody has the right to be happy. Folks should be free to seek whom and what they want without judgment or prejudice. What I tend to forget is that "everybody" includes me, as well. As deathly afraid as I might be of being entirely selfish or neglectful for the sake of my own happiness, my fear is that I have and will go too far the other way. Martyrs are somewhat passé in this day and age, and not at all what someone should aspire to be. I mentioned radical change yesterday. I know I need to make adjustments moving forward to make sure I do not repeat the past, either the recent past or the ancient past. I'm not entirely sure what they are. But without change, we die. And I'm still quite resolved that this thing will not kill me. All of that said, normal blogging resumes on Monday. In the future I'll remember to reach out to people for guest posts. Thanks for sticking around.

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Blue Ink Alchemy