Andrew Moore's Blog, page 51

The Extensive Limits of Mockery

The rebels smashed down the door, and their leader urged them forward. "Today, brothers, is the last we are deprived of our liberty! What can the tyrant do to us now?"
"Only this," the tyrant himself said. He strode toward the rebels, awe-inspiring in his cavalier attitude. He stopped but a foot from the leader and spoke. "Liberty shmiberty."
The rebels were amazed, struck dumb by his eloquence. "Retreat!" was all their leader managed to shout and all his followers could do.
As the tyrant turned to look for someone he could order to get a new door, a crowd came to it. "Master, a petition!" The man who presented it on behalf of every merchant in the country bowed in a servile enough fashion, but his hands were steady.
"You think your taxes are too high, eh? Taxes, shmaxes."
"I suppose you're right, master." The merchants withdrew, abashed.
The tyrant turned again, only to be halted again by the shouts of angry teens. Groaning, he gave them a minute of his time.
An athletic youth walked forward with a pugnacious look. "Hey man, what's the deal with banning our shindigs? There's nothing political about them, honest."
"Shindig . . . shindig . . . Argh!"
Thus did callow teenagers take over the government.
Finis

Trend Transcend

Bad: Atmospheric reentry
Rad: Non-horse riding animals

Addendum

I expect civilization there not to be very advanced, because the only reason to go to Jupiter is to get more stupider.

Speaking of Fantasy Happening on Other Planets

What do you think they're up to on Jupiter? Obviously nothing good, but what in particular? Is there a single wizard-king in his fell citadel or a metropolis which forces the rest of the planet to bend to its will? I bet it's the latter, and people on far continents think it's a holy place, for they are no better in truth.

Addendum

You could really play up the framing device, just bore everybody for no reason. Cast your one big name as the guy who looks at Mercury and give him at least 10 minutes each episode. Better yet, start the actual story in the last episode of the first season as a cliffhanger, then act surprised when there's no season two.

Streaming Pitch

If nobody's going to watch anyway, you might as well adapt The Worm Ouroboros. And don't try to pretend people are going to watch your streaming show. We all know.

The Truth of Art

The smile of Fabenouw the inventor, when he left his atelier that day, was heavier with menace than ever before. The citizens of Werdecu expected that sort of thing and thought nothing of it, a complacence which aided him in his scheme.
"Neighbors!" he called out. "This is my latest invention, the camera! It takes a picture of whatever I point it at! Limitations apply."
The city folk whistled and admired the object he flourished. They took his achievements more seriously than his attitude. "Is it expensive to operate?"
"A little pricey, but nothing unmanageable."
"Is it as good as Master Magonim's portraits?"
"Not yet, and that's why I want your help in developing it further. Wasn't it kind of Master Magonim to promise every one of us a portrait for free? Even though he warned it wouldn't be his best work, think of how much he's losing because of his charity. Now once this camera is better . . ."
The novelty would have been enough, but with the prospect of helping the generous Magonim added, the citizens rushed to participate. They even brought Magonim over despite his protestations. He struggled a little like a man of true humility.
Fabenouw chuckled with satisfaction when he retired to his atelier, but soon his wicked contentment succumbed to shock. "This one too! And this one! And him! Where are their souls? Does my camera not work after all?" Feverishly scanning his developed pictures, he grew increasingly agitated until one of them made his mood explode. "He already took them! Magonim! He has all their souls!" The inventor tore apart the portraitist's resemblance while he imagined greater tortures than that.
Finis

Addendum

And the covers!

The Dreadful Future

One day, authors will realize how easy it is to insert a note about somebody's feet every few chapters and how much of a boost they get from it, and pretty soon the feetsters will run the entire literature industry.

Addendum

"I grasped my phone and checked my messages. There were none." How much of a jerk would you feel like if you said that? Borgia-level at least, right?