Moe Lane's Blog, page 86
March 27, 2025
The SNOW WHITE Pitch Meeting.
There’s a certain amount of intrinsic contempt in this particular Pitch Meeting. It feels like Ryan George didn’t think SNOW WHITE deserved anything more than contempt. That Disney was insulting us all by actually seeing it through.
Also: while not objectively true, this comment is objectively hilarious.
Birthday weekend! Light posting!
I’m gonna watch movies and go to restaurants and ramble around with my wife at the county fairgrounds and eat an ice cream cake. It will be a lot of fun, and I will enjoy it. In the meantime, you can celebrate my birthday tomorrow by either grabbing TALES FROM THE FERMI RESOLUTION, or by pre-ordering THE FERMI RESOLUTION WORLDBOOK. Or both! Both is good.
PS: Feel free to use this Amazon Associate affiliate link, too!
#commissionearned
03/27/2025 Snippet, LE BETE.
Not a productive day today in the writing world, but a pretty good one from the perspective of doing the dry cleaning and teaching my children valuable life skills. So, a wash.
…
The way he got past the witch-hunters’ guards worried him obscurely. In Joseph’s view, if a place merited guards, it also merited serious guards. Not ones that did not even need to be glared into indifference. He had been expecting fanatics, and had been prepared to talk his way past them; instead he was confronted by two country yokels halfway between drunk, and insensate. They might not have even noticed he was there, from the way they slumped against their trees and their pikes equally.
(A part of him grated his teeth at the pikes. The enemy always seemed to have enough guns. Joseph understood the value of the guillotine — but in his considered opinion, Citizen Carnot’s murderer had died far too quickly.)
Inside was worse. The Germans clearly took the position that anyone who managed to pass their so-perfect guards must belong, so nobody gave him a second look as he navigated his way through the haphazard rows of tents. The sloppiness offended him greatly — or was he just offended by Germans generally? It was difficult to decide.
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March 26, 2025
A more productive day than usual…
…thank goodness. Did a surprising bunch of meetings and emails, actually. I can’t wait to get the next story hanging over my head out of the way, so that I can… go on to the next thing hanging over my head, I guess. April definitely needs to be Work On The Next Tom Vargas Novel, that’s for sure…
If you signed up for my Backerkit’s cross-collaboration…
…check your inbox.
If you haven’t, this is a reward that people who backed both the FERMI RESOLUTION WORLDBOOK and the LEAD AND CHROME Backerkits are going to get. Sign up for both now!
If you haven’t read the books that this game is based on, here’s the link!
#commissionearned
Some THE BOLD MARAUDER art.
I had Ben Fleuter draw me some Samson Black. He gave me versions with and without the bubble-helmet, because Ben is that kind of professional. Seriously, if you can manage to hire him for stuff, do so.
Snippet THE LAST, PICKMAN’S MODELS.
ITTTTTTTTT’S DONNNNNNNNNNNE.
…
That meant that he was not close enough to stop Stampp from abruptly disengaging, and — running to Reithner, still on the slab. He didn’t hesitate, either; Stampp’s blade was menacing her throat before Tobias could close the distance. “Drop it!” he yelled at Tobias.
Tobias considered that, for a moment. “No,” he replied as he stopped advancing, “but I will keep my distance.”
“Not good enough. Drop the rifle, or she’s dead.”
“She’s not going to die either way,” Tobias noted. “She’s not here. You’re not here. I’m the only one here.”
Stampp stared at him. “The grenadiers’ memories were right. You are insane.”
“Probably,” conceded Tobias. “But, ah: how would you have known what the grenadiers thought of me? They all died at the hands of the real you before you could interrogate them.”
“Their corpses, we kept.” Stampp’s smile was merciless. “Including their brains. So many memories, still fresh and warm…”
His smile slipped as Tobias laughed. “Good recovery!” he told Stampp. “Nice spur-of-the-moment addition. You ate the brains, right? That’s the sort of thing that would gross me out, when I’m awake. But I know this is all in my mind, so it won’t.” The commander shook his head. “Look, you’re a part of me, so can we start working together and solve this problem? I have to get back up there, and get the real versions of you and your friends squared away. I know dreams are quick, but they’re not instant. I want this all done before my air tanks run out.”
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03/26/2025 Snippet, LE BETE.
I’ve gotten to the finish, now I just have to circle back and write the Big Scene.
The wine was surprisingly good. Better, in fact, than most of what was available in all but the highest circles of Paris. He took a measured sip nonetheless. “I take it then, your Grace, that what you truly want to hear is always to be the truth?”
That seemed to amuse the man, oddly. “Do I look like a saint, Citizen Fouché? I assure you, I am a man like any other. Sometimes I must be flattered; other times, gently checked. A very few times, I might even need to be nudged. But I cannot abide being lied to.” The duke drank from his own glass, as carefully as Joseph did. “Those in my service would do well to remember that.”
Not ‘the King’s service,’ Joseph noted. Then again, he is married to Princess Collette, and the King has no other heir. “Forgive my presumption, your Grace, but I believe that I will. Or at least, I will, once you have decided to give me a position of sufficient trust to make my memory relevant.”
“Smart,” murmured the duke. “Normally I’d put you somewhere quiet and out of the way for six months until you got bored enough to attract my notice, but we have just finished smashing every army that stood between us and Paris. I do like having the enemy tell me just where and when his troops will be marching. It simplifies planning amazingly — but never mind that, right now. The fee still held by the Revolutionaries will spin whatever lies they need to in order to obscure our advance, until it is too late. The capital is disorganized and in the grips of an undisciplined mob, anyway: I do not expect one whiff of grapeshot will resolve matters, but four or five should do. In the end we will take Paris, and we will crown Adam at Reims, in the old and proper style.”
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