Moe Lane's Blog, page 480
October 15, 2022
10/15/2022 Revisions, GHOSTS ON AN ALIEN WIND: 68400/80000.
There needed to be more disturbing peril. I mean, it’s a science fiction horror novel, right? Kind of implied.
Patreon!The bag thankfully stayed resolutely still by the time Nur straightened up, looked at the readouts, and pulled the filter off of his face. I winced, both because the sound was horrible, and because Nur had just bet his life on his ability to find and neutralize lethal levels of deathheart.
Then I relaxed, because Nur didn’t fall down, or even start frothing. “You can take that thing off now,” he said. “I’ve checked the area. We got it all. Wasn’t much, actually.”
If you’ve ever worn a filter, you don’t need me to tell you too much about what it’s like to yank a bunch of wiggling goo out of your nose and throat. And if you haven’t, you don’t want me to tell you. It’s infinitely ickier than it sounds, but at least it doesn’t hurt. After I had stuffed the last twitching tendril back into its carrying case, I said, “Was it all in the food, then? Because it smelled like a lot?”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re still alive,” Nur replied. “I found a few crystals on that guy’s gloves. They’re inert, but there’s definitely deathheart inside them. He must have gotten it into your food, because that bowl had enough deathheart in it to kill you in seconds. I don’t know what would make the crystals dissolve, but a couple of them broke apart early after getting mixed with your lunch.”
I looked at the bowl in question — or, rather at the portable plasma furnace it had been vaporized in. Sometimes regular fire just ain’t cleansing enough. “So if they hadn’t, I’d have died later. Which means that if nobody found my body in time, you’d never know the cause of death for sure. That sounds like one hell of an poison.”
“Sure,” Nur shrugged. “If you’re willing to spend ten million bucks a dose. That guy really wanted you dead, Pam.”
Tweet of the Day, I Wonder About The WB/DC Backstory, Here edition.
Assuming that Dwayne Johnson isn’t just talking BS for the cameras (always a possibility): why wouldn’t Warner Bros want another Henry Cavill Superman flick? I imagine that there’s a story there, or two. They might not be interesting stories, but they’d exist.
Via GeekTyrant.
For those who doubt Rocks influence in getting Superman back, he explains he started working on this 6 years ago, for 6 years the old leadership at WB kept saying no to it. Shazam was always guaranteed let’s be real. But Superman? Old regime had no care for him. pic.twitter.com/GTvxW8MtCN
— AJ| #FlashPack (@AjepArts) October 14, 2022
Book of the Week: The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories.
BEHOLD! The power of a good cover. I know I have all of the stories in The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories, but the cover tempts me. That poor penguin’s expression*…
*It’s not really an expression: it’s just very good graphic element placement and presentation. Still impressive.
#commissionearned
October 14, 2022
‘Thriller.’
#commissionearned
The GOOD NIGHT, OPPY trailer.
I should make sure to watch GOOD NIGHT OPPY with my wife. I’m curious to see her reaction to it. The movie, not the rover. She’s absolutely in favor of the rover.
The Moe Lane Halloween Chapbook sale ends tomorrow!
So now is the time to pick up all four of my chapbooks (ANAGNORISIS, REVISIONARY, DECISIONS, and DUTIES) while they’re still on 99 cent sale! Four stories (a mix of spooky, horror, and fantasy) in each book (32K words total per book, more or less), each with its own illustration. Sale ends Saturday! Pick them up now, tomorrow, whenever, as long as you pick them up!
#commissionearned
10/14/22 Revisions, GHOSTS ON AN ALIEN WIND: 67800/80000.
Detente!
Patreon!The worst part? The bastard spoke not a word. Even after I pulled myself away from his gnawing mouth, he just stared at me with protruding eyes, visibly willing me to be mesmerized. He never blinked, either. He just let the blood now coming out from his tear ducts to flow freely, as the two of us scrambled for some kind of balance or position.
He wasn’t strong enough to pull me forward, but damned if he wasn’t trying, right up to the moment I kneed him in the groin. I’ll admit it, now: it was blind luck, but it did the trick. It made him even more spastic, but now his flailing muscles included his hands, and as he let go of me I scrambled back, looking for the pen…
“Three inches by your left hand,” The Process said helpfully, and with no more emotion than it would have shown if I had asked where my coffee cup is. “The cap will need to be manually removed.” It’s unsettling, how calm The Process can be, but I decided I didn’t have time to care. So I shoved the pen into the closest visible flesh the guy had, because I decided I didn’t have time to care about the side-effects of doing that, either.
He didn’t die, either, so lucky him? I mean, he sort of died, in the sense that his metabolism iced over as the drug took hold. It was the kind of dead you can get better from, though. Assuming that the crash team did its job.
I wish the sonuvabitch had closed his eyes before they froze cloudy, though. He was still staring at me when they zipped him into the crash bag. Like he still wanted nothing better out of life than to watch me follow him down to nightmarish death.
In the Mail: THE GOLDEN ENCLAVES (Hardcover).
Sure I had Naomi Novik’s THE GOLDEN ENCLAVES downloaded to my phone within an hour of it being released, but I wanted the hardcover. You know, in case the power ever goes out and doesn’t come back on again. Or, more prosaically, if Kindle ever goes out of business.
Also, I wanted the maps. Kindle doesn’t really handle maps well.
#commissionearned
