Edward Hoornaert's Blog, page 79

Effing Feline gets a nibble–but not a fish, unfortunately

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

Usually my pet human, Ed Hoornaert (aka Mr. V) lets me choose the book I steal a snippet from. Not this week. He wants me to highlight The Trial of Tompa Lee because he has a nibble, a teensy little maybe of a nibble, to produce it for television.*

Coming soon, maybe?

Big effing deal. A fish nibble? Hooray! A TV nibble? Yuck, because TVs taste terrible.  I’ve tried them.

Although I will say that flat screen models make good scratching posts.

Visiting the intensive care unit of the Vance’s infirmary always rubbed the scabs off painful memories. Beyond even that, though, Dante Roussel hated the reason for this visit. Unpleasant tasks were the essence of a policeman’s job, of course; he’d known that when he accepted the demotion to Military Discipline nine years ago. But the job kept getting harder, rather than easier.

Dante took a deep breath and assumed the erect posture he expected of himself as the head of ship security. He stepped to the open door of the ICU.

There she was. Naked.

“Well, Tompa Lee,” he whispered, “we meet at last.”

* This is Effing Feline again. The nibble happened because a former classmate and fan is friends with a producer up in Canada; she talked him into looking at the books. Don’t get your hopes up, because these nibbles rarely produce edibles.  You’re much better off spending your time checking out the snippets by other great weekend writing warriors.

The Trial of Tompa Lee is the first book in The Trilogy of Tompa Lee, a space opera with romance in each volume, although it isn’t SF romance per se. The books are:

The Trial of Tompa Lee

(It’s free, so you can’t possibly go wrong!)
The Tribulations of Tompa Lee
The Triumph of Tompa Lee

<<<  —  >>>

Only her enemies can save her from alien injustice.

A WOMAN

Tompa Lee is a homeless ‘street meat’ who has clawed her way up to the bottom-most rung of the Space Navy . . . but her dream job plummets into a nightmare when she’s framed for mass murder on an alien planet.

A MAN

Dante Roussel is the Navy policemen who surrenders Tompa to the Shons . . . but he is horrified to learn that their justice requires trial-by-combat, so Tompa must conquer three hundred accusers.

AN ALIEN

Awmit is an old, lower-class Shon who is the sole witness to Tompa’s innocence . . . but to prove it, he must find the valor and the strength to fight to the death at her side.

AN UNFAIR TRIAL

Can Tompa learn to trust and love not only a member of the alien race that wants to slaughter her . . . but also the policeman who betrayed her to cruel alien justice?

Bookstores I love: Munro’s Books

A Nobel Prize-Caliber Bookstore

I was in Victoria when Neal Armstrong landed on the moon. That has nothing to do with this post, but it’s the number one thing I associate with the capital of British Columbia.

On a recent visit this summer, I fell in love with a bookstore in Victoria—Munro’s Books.

Its tagline is “Canada’s most magnificent bookstore.” It’s true, too. Munro’s is the most beautiful bookstore I’ve ever visited–and it was founded by Jim Munro, the husband of Nobel Prize winning author, Alice Munro. Talk about a powerful literary heritage!

Photo courtesy Munro’s Books

Located in a heritage building on a main street in the city centre, Munro’s is easy to find. In fact, chances are excellent you’ll stumble upon it without even trying. It’s just a few blocks north of the famous Empress Hotel.

I bought Powers by Ursula K. Leguin. Leguin is one of science fiction and fantasy’s most respected name, and if you haven’t read any of her books, I can’t recommend them enough. Here’s a sampling:

One of her most popular series begins with the Wizard of Earthsea , which is, as the word wizard implies, fantasy.
Her most famous science fiction book is The Left Hand of Darkness , about a world on which human beings have no set gender.
My personal favorite of her SF books is The Dispossessed . It tells the story of the inventor of the ansible, a device for communication across interstellar distances. Many writers have borrowed the name and concept of the ansible, including Orson Scott Card, Elizabeth Moon–and me, in The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station .
And finally, back to Powers, the third book in her Annals of the Western Shore, following Gifts and Voices. It won the Nebula Award in 2009, and I bought the book out of guilt. I take my Nebula voting privileges seriously; I read all the finalists before voting; but I blush to say I skipped Powers because it was long and time was short.  I missed out on a great read.

Photo courtesy Munro’s Books

Munro’s stocks many authors beyond LeGuin, of course. Another book that tempted me was Victoria Bench by Bench, a tour guide for mobility-challenged tourists, and my back was bothering me horribly at the time. It’s better now–thanks for asking.

All in all, Munro’s is a beautiful palace of a store that harkens back to an era when bookstores were bookstores … whenever that was. It’s the perfect place to buy a book by a Nobel Prize winner, too.

Nobel Prize winner Alice Munro

To help you out, here’s a list of Alice Munro’s books:

“Dance of the Happy Shades,” 1968
“Lives of Girls and Women,” 1971
“Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You,” 1974
“The Beggar Maid” 1978
“The Moons of Jupiter,” 1982
“The Progress of Love,” 1986
“Friend of My Youth,” 1990
“Open Secrets,” 1994
“Selected Stories,” 1996
“The Love of a Good Woman,” 1998
“Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage,” 2001
“No Love Lost,” 2003
“Vintage Munro,” 2004 (collection of previously released stories)
“Runaway,” 2004
“The View From Castle Rock,” 2006
“Too Much Happiness,” 2009
“Dear Life,” 2012

Next time you’re in Victoria, pop on by Munro’s Books–and tell them I sent you.

—————————————————————————————

Other bookstores I love:

Bookman’s in Tucson

>>> Do you have a favorite bookstore? Tell us about it in the comment section.

Effing Feline is one smart cart

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

I, Effing Feline, have figured out something about today’s snippet.

In Mr V’s WIP, Alien Contact: Becoming Human, the following ten sentences state the heroine’ self-doubt and internal conflict. Furthermore, her decision to detour for pleasure leads to all her troubles, and I believe that’s called an inciting incident.

I am one smart cart.  I mean, cat.  I’m one smart cat.

Background: Our unnamed heroine, mere minutes after being born fully grown and well armed, marches in a straight line toward her Destiny.  Then she comes to a tree blocking her path.

I would have to detour around the tree.  Although it irked my sense of right and wrong, the route to my Destiny could not follow a straight line.

I pondered this realization, which seemed obvious as soon as I thought about it—the first piece of wisdom I’d ever learned.  Was I, then, intelligent?

More importantly, if I must detour out of necessity, would it be acceptable to detour—briefly, briefly—for pleasure?  Dare I savor this magnificent cedar, for example, or the stream that gurgled unseen off to the right?

My mind insisted I should pursue Destiny with no deviation, like an arrow shooting to its target, but I wasn’t an arrow of wood and feathers; I was a human being of flesh and blood.

Wasn’t I?

I pondered that for a massive time—seventy-four-point-eight seconds—but was unable to decide about my humanity.  Insufficient data.

Effing Feline again. That hat looks good on me, though not as good as last fortnight’s horns.

Be sure to check out the snippets by other great weekend writing warriors.

This snippet is taken from what will be the third book in the Alien Contact for Idiots series. The other books (already available) are:

Alien Contact for Idiots
Alien Contact for Kid Sisters

Be sure to check out Weekend Writing Warrior Amy Braun’s reviews here and here, respectively.

Pigs on the ocean floor?

For some strange reason, people are mesmerized by watching fish swim aimlessly around an aquarium. (Are they really aimless, or engaged in crucial piscine chores? Goldfish murders, perhaps? They probably think we’re the aimless ones, watching them.)

I’m not usually an aquarium watcher, but I’ve recently discovered something fishy that does mesmerize me–a live feed from two remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) two robots exploring the deeps.

It’s part of a three-week mission by the University of Victoria’s Ocean Networks Canada in the Salish Sea and Pacific Ocean to discover new species, map the ocean floor, upgrade high-tech undersea sensors – and drop off a couple of fresh pig carcasses.

I’ve been listening to the scientists discuss their work as they deliver new instruments to a fish-monitoring node. You can type in questions, as well, which they answer live.

For example, today the stream has shown a continuous fall of something that looks white in the ROV’s lights, like a blizzard in a car’s headlights. I asked what it was: sediment from rivers, etc., settling to the ocean floor. It brought home as never before how layers of rocks miles thick can be laid down underwater.

Plugging in new instruments. Notice the sediment in the water.

This weekend, the ROV’s will deliver one of three pig carcasses to the node, to help scientists understand how submerged human bodies decompose. The answers could play a big role in forensic investigations.

If you have nothing better to do (or even if you do), watch the live feed here. Or, if you’re the impatient sort, read  about the expeditions.

The robots will visit a wide range of environments, including hot ocean vents. Some feature chimneys like this one, crusted with a thriving community of tubeworms. It was photographed during a 2011 mission. (Ocean Networks Canada)

Bookstores I love: Bookman’s

Is any kind of store more important to a writer than bookstores?

Okay, maybe grocery stores, because writers need to buy chocolate in quantity.  And eat occasionally. For some writers (not me!), liquor stores. But bookstores are dear to our hearts.

That’s why I intend to highlight some of the bookstores I’ve visited and loved.

Although I’ve been around the block a few times, I’m not extremely well traveled. Whenever my wife and I visit a new place, though, one of the first things we do is look for the bookstores. Back when we lived in the wilderness, before the Internet, we’d drive hours to a small town, hoping there was a decent bookstore. Of necessity, though, I’ll have a number from Tucson and Arizona in general.

(Except for Phoenix, which does NOT have much in the way of good bookstores—although that might be a Tucsonan’s natural prejudice against the behemoth 120 miles up the road. Compared to Phoenix, Tucson is cultural rather than commercial, hence more to my liking.)

I simply must start this series with the best bookstore I’ve ever loved: Bookman’s in Tucson.

Bookman’s started as used bookstore, though it’s now much more. For one thing, it’s huge. I don’t think I’ve ever gone into Bookman’s and been unable to find something to read. For example, when I started rereading the Hornblower novels I’d read as a teenager, every single volume in the eleven-book series was available.

The nicest feature? It’s a great place to exchange books, too. Over the years, I’ve brought in hundreds of books and gotten credit slips for later purchases.

They also carry videos, musical instruments, video games, sporting good, antiques—you name it.  In fact, they no longer call themselves a bookstore. They’re an ‘Entertainment Exchange’.

Picture courtesy Snipview.com

To me, though, they’ll always be a bookstore. They even have comfortable chairs that encourage you to curl up for a while.  For the wife and I, a wild night on the town is visiting the store for an hour or two, reading more than just a paragraph to see if we really want to buy. Heaven!

There are three branches in Tucson. Personally, I prefer the Speedway Blvd. store, across the street from where I used to work.  The business has been so successful they also have outlets in Flagstaff, Phoenix, and Mesa.

My only complaint is that they sell used books. That means the author gets no royalties, so don’t buy any of my books there.

For sheer enjoyment, a visit to Tucson isn’t complete without visiting Bookman’s. Tell them I sent you.

>>> Do you have a bookstore you particularly like? Tell us about it.

Effing Feline, Jailbird

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

I, Effing Feline, am a jailbird.

That word makes me hissing mad. I’m not a bird!

Remember last week when I gave up trying to be good and let my true self out to play?  Well, Ed Hoornaert, aka Mr. Valentine, busted me for it. So now I’m forced to behave again.

Today’s snippet continues the opening of Mr. V’s WIP, Alien Contact: Becoming Human. Last week, our mysterious heroine was trapped in a dense forest, on a slab of granite surrounded by thick prickles. A jailbreak is the first test of her worthiness for glory and Destiny.

I leaped up and over the jail wall.  Angry at my escape, a branch spanked my bottom.  I flew for nearly as long as I’d been alive, because the forest floor lay three-point-one meters down.

I uncurled, spread my arms, landed on my feet; for a moment I waited, not knowing what to expect.  Would the ground hold me?  Swallow me?  Spank me?

But nothing happened, because I’d landed perfectly.  Pride blossomed.

Effing Jailbird Feline again.  Be sure to check out the snippets by great weekend writing warriors, who share 8 to 10 sentences each Sunday. Click the link below to join the mob with your writing.

PS — Ed here. I did not put Effing in jail. He had to go to the vet, which meant all of ten minutes in a cat carrier. Talk about overreacting!

Effing Feline, Recidivist

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

I, Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, tried to behave myself. I failed, so of course I gave up. This week I scratched the couch where Ed Hoornaert, aka Mr. Valentine, couldn’t see. I barfed up furballs under the bed, in a closet, and in a shoe. I scratched the mail lady, delivering a new network router. There should be horns on my picture. Yeah!

Today’s snippet continues the opening of Mr. V’s WIP, Alien Contact: Becoming Human. Last week, our heroine was born in a forest, fully grown and ready to kill.

I stood on a house-sized slab of mossy granite.  Rain blessed my face as I gazed straight up through a ragged opening in the evergreens—the birth canal through which I’d been born?  A wall of prickly underbrush, a meter or more high, ringed the slab with no exit.  A jailbreak, then, was the first test of my worthiness for glory—but how?

The granite was craggy, like a miniature mountain, so I cautiously climbed its highest peak.  Pleased with my strength and agility, I stood there like a totem pole, one-point-seven meters above my birthplace.

Green-grey light revealed a hushed immensity.  Starved of sunlight, the ground beyond the slab contained only a few stubby plants, but fallen logs and moss-covered boulders made leaping over my jail cell walls suicide.

But over to my left was a tiny patch of flat forest floor.  Could I leap over the bushes and land there?

Effing Feline again. While you were reading, I found these neat-o cat horns online. Do you think should I order them?

Oh, and be sure to check out the snippets by great weekend writing warriors.

Effing Feline Behaves Himself

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

I, Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, am on my best behavior. There should be a halo on my picture!

The snippet I’ve chosen in my feline wisdom is the opening of Mr. Hoornaert’s current WIP. In cat talk–and, I suppose, writer talk–WIP stands for Work In Progress. Mr. Valentine tentatively calls it Alien Contact: Becoming Human, but I think he needs to fit the word ‘cat’ into the title. If he does, bestseller guaranteed.

I was born.

One moment I didn’t exist and had never existed and then, blink, I stood in a clearing, fully dressed, well armed, and impatient to tackle my Destiny.

Like a magnet seeking north, I knew my Destiny lay downhill and to my left. I stepped toward it—baby’s first step—and nearly tripped on uneven rocks. I crouched and then rose slowly, arms outstretched for balance.

“Careful,” I whispered—baby’s first word, spoken in a creamy soprano that pleased my ears.

I looked around, which I should have done before taking a step. How could I kill if I couldn’t even walk?

Effing Feline here again. Those of you who follow my posts might be expecting me to say something snarky, but I told you, I’m on my best behavior. Check out of the snippets by other weekend writing warriors. Some of them might be smart enough to use ‘cat’ in their titles, unlike one stupid person I know.

(Oh no!  ‘Stupid person’ just slipped out. I almost made it through the post without being snarky. I still deserve a halo, don’t you think?)

 

Effing Feline enjoys literary delights

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

Edward Hoornaert, aka Mr. Valentine, is back! Wonderful news, eh? The cat-sitter was not very good about cleaning my litter box, which offended my sense of propriety. Also my nose. Life has returned to its normal routine–and us cats love our routine.

Last week’s snippet, from Mr V’s newest release, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters, reminds me of the picture at left. Marianne escaped from the pontoon boat where the evil Sergeant Squitt held her and her lover, Quinn, at gunpoint. But now she’s lost sight of the boat, which is sinking … and Quinn can’t swim.

The previous snippet ended: After taking one last gulp of air, Marianne gave up treading water. Placing her arms at her sides, she let herself sink into the cold, airless Pacific. But she can’t be giving up–the book isn’t over  yet!

Marianne sank through frigid water, past a school of tiny grey fish that darted away as though she were a sea monster. She tugged at her left boot, but it refused to come off. She struggled with it while revolving dizzily through sunlight that slithered through the murky water.

Finally, the boot came off, and her sock with it. The boot sank into fathomless gloom, but the sock drifted, lingering like a faithful dog unwilling to leave its master. She grabbed it—but then, wondering what she’d do with a soggy sock, she let it join its boot.

Before removing the other boot, Marianne pushed up against the water until she reached air. As she gulped greedily, she looked for the boat, but it was gone. Around that point of land, perhaps, or hidden behind a wave?

Squitt could become squid food for all Marianne cared, but oh God, what had happened to Quinn?

Effing Feline here again. This might be the last snippet from Kid Sisters for a while, or it might not be–haven’t decided yet. Mr V says I’m fickle, but what does he know? He’s only human.

Check out of the snippets by other weekend writing warriors. I’m sure they make sure their cat’s litter boxes are always clean, unlike some people.

 

Effing Feline Does Penance

Fart-Fueled Flying Feline, Effing for short, writes the Weekend Writing Warrior posts on Mr. V’s behalf

I, Effing Feline, am serving penance for scratching the couch. Edward Hoornaert, aka Mr. V, insists that I post another funny video of a cat. It’s beneath my dignity, but a cat’s gotta do what a cat’s gotta do.

But first, this snippet from Mr. Valentine’s newest release, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters. This is the novel’s Black Moment , when everything seems lost for poor Marianne. After the final fight scene she has fallen out of a pontoon boat, leaving Elfy and Quinn, whom she now loves, in the clutches of the evil villain, Sergeant Squitt.

A wave rose, blocking Marianne’s view. Her burst of strength died and she slipped back, her chin barely above the surface. That might be her last glimpse ever of Quinn and Elfy.

A gull landed nearby, squawked, folded its wings daintily, and looked at her expectantly, begging for a handout; it might as well have been a vulture. She felt too heavy to swim to shore, too heavy even to tread water. But what was the alternative?

The seagull squawked, its lonely cry piercing the air like mocking laughter. With a listless movement, she splashed water at the bird until it flew away, leaving her alone, alone, so alone.

After taking one last gulp of air, Marianne gave up treading water. Placing her arms at her sides, she let herself sink into the cold, airless Pacific.

Effing Feline here again. Mr. V. e-mailed me that I should apologize for him for not getting around to as many of the weekend writing warrior posts as usual. He’s on vacation at the moment.

And now here’s the undignified cat video. I remind you that this cat is not me! I maintain my dignity at all times.