P.D. Haggerty's Blog, page 2

Hyperion gets grounded. News at 11!

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a cat attempting to provide good guidance to his kitten must end up in the dog house."

I'm absolutely not working on a new story. I have book 3 waiting for me and I WILL get back on track.

That said, I did write about 400 words for a new opening scene. It held me hostage and forced me to write it, I swear.

I figure it will (eventually, after I finish book 3) form a middle section between Expulsion and Slayer of Rats. If it even gets to novelette length, the three combined would be long enough to publish in one volume.

It's not technically a novel, given that there are three separate stories, but they form one continuous narrative so it's not really a collection either.

I'll just have to wait and see ... AFTER book 3 is finished.

On the negative side, I only have the opening scene. I have no clue what the story is going to end up being about. Which makes it a little difficult to plot out.

But, if you look at the situation in a provincial light, it all takes place after book 3, so once I do get it done, it would make an acceptable book 4.

Snippet from Slayer of Rats, and upcoming Kaylee and Kevin Novella

Quote from Hyperion explaining his interpretation of Kaylee and Kevin's fumbling attempts to form a relationship:

"It’s like watching a deaf mime trying to communicate with a blind person who only speaks Swahili."

Working Title: You Have To Be Kitten Me

I'm about 3000 words into a new Kaylee and Kevin short story. I'm not really sure what the plot is, but I'm not letting that stop me. Sometimes you just have to let the characters go and see where they lead you.

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Kevin followed Kaylee through the door in the side of the bus and dropped his backpack onto a nearby seat. Kaylee climbed into the front passenger seat like an old pro.
"Thanks for taking us to the bus depot, Ms. Tranter," Kevin said, glancing around at the otherwise empty bus before taking a seat behind the driver and automatically buckling up.
"It’s no problem," Kaylee's mother replied, closing the door and easing the vehicle into motion.
Kaylee giggled, which he normally found sweet, but this time raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Kaylee, I know you want me to try relaxing my need for control, but since we're on our way, can I please have my ticket and the itinerary so I at least know what bus to take? Just in case we get separated."
"That's a very reasonable thing to ask, Kevin," Ms Tranter replied. "But it's not necessary.
"And you might want to brace yourself," she added, then leaned forward and slapped a large red button that had been attached to the dashboard.

College Days

I'm playing with a new scene to start out a new novelette. I'm not sure where the story is going to go just yet, but it starts with Kaylee and Kevin now going to college, several months after the conclusion of Explusion. And, because he insisted on being a part of it, Hyperion is visiting for a few hours.

The next thing I need to do is thoroughly research the residential options at the university rather than just assume it's the same as it was forty years ago.

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“I’m just saying,” Kevin Argeneau insisted, casually leaning back in the swivel chair in front of the small desk. “I think, as boyfriends go, I’m exceptional. I mean, how many boyfriends do you know who are totally cool walking into their girlfriend’s dorm room and finding them snuggled up on their bed with another guy? And grooming him, no less.”

“And I think I’m exceptional for having been able to drag him into the girl’s showers and giving him the shampooing he’s been desperately needing for at least a year,” Kaylee Tanter, the owner of the bed in question informed both her guests. “Being permitted, under due protest, to comb out his fur is just the cherry topping on my excellence.”

“Well, apparently exceptionalism is more common than people think,” insisted Hyperion, the European Lynx, who was currently lounging on the bed with the eighteen-year-old coed, having his fur combed and de-knotted. “I’m exceptional because — well, because I am.”

Expulsion, a Hyperion/Kaylee story

I set up "Expulsion" (currently 7000 words) to be a Hyperion and Kaylee story. I specifically made sure everyone else in the Universe was busy elsewhere so the two of them would be forced to solve the problem by themselves.

And then I got bogged down. I knew what scenes I needed, but they weren't working. The flow was choppy and I couldn't get the right repartee going between the main characters, which usually isn't an issue. Kaylee and Hyperion riffing off each other usually makes me very happy.

It took a while to realize that a lot of what the reader needed to know (if we remove the requirement they've read the novels) was already known by the two protagonists. They had no reason to mention any of it. Attempting to do so came out with data dumps of the "As you know, Bob" variety.

Kevin turned out to be the solution. He's never appeared on the page before although he's been mentioned by reference in both of the novels. He's quite fond of Kaylee, which makes both Kaylee's mom and Hyperion suspicious of him.

I added him to the narrative (shoe-horned him in, to be honest), much to Kaylee's delight and Hyperion's annoyance. Being an unknown variable made most of the explanations feel more natural, the repartee worked significantly better, and I got to write one of my favorite scenes in recent days, which takes place after an accidental slip-up reveals Hyperion's ability to talk.

Kaylee has to go off for a minute and leaves Kevin and Hyperion to "get to know each other."

Hyperion takes the lead:

"But for right now, let’s deal with the most important issue. Kevin, if that is your name, what are your intentions towards my daughter?”

Great minds think alike.

Great minds think alike. Greater minds get off their duffs and do the work. Hyperion is not the greater mind.

-- A snippet from the upcoming International Criminal Conspiracy --

"I think writing original fiction instead of heavily modified biographies is a good idea," Kaylee offered. "How about writing about a guy who's always dreamed of being a supervillain? Then one day his maternal grandmother leaves him a volcano lair in her will."

"Hmm," Hyperion mused, giving it serious consideration. "I like the premise. And when he gets there he finds out there's already a whole organization in place waiting for him to take over. And the organization is run by a council of cats, the head of which is a Maine coon, of course. Oh! And the British shorthair chair has been vacant for over five years, but nobody will talk about it."

Kaylee nodded. "Maybe you could set it on an island in the Caribbean with guard dolphins?"

Hyperion flicked his whiskers. "I don’t know about that. The Caribbean has been overdone. And nobody likes smart-ass fish. What about in the Andes with ninja alpacas for security? Nobody would see that coming."

Kaylee shrugged. "I'm partial to tropical beaches, but it's your story."

"It's not a bad idea," Hyperion assured her. "But I think I'll put it on the back burner for now. I still have a couple of other ideas, including a Godzilla derivation. But I need to get Chris and Emily's story finished first. I’m thinking of calling it Avenue of Assassination."

Kaylee smiled with just a touch of a wince. "Yeah, I think the name needs some more work. But don't wait too long to get started or some other author will steal your thunder."

Hyperion snorted. "Someone's going to write a book about a newbie villain? Really? I think I'm safe on that one."

Operation Grand Canyon

So I blame my friend Falcon

I should also blame reading Facebook really late at night, but I'm mostly going to blame Falcon.

She posted a meme with a list of superpowers that would be limited, but still useful. Well, that concept underlies a large portion of the Hyperion and Meagan universe. And frankly, I've come up with worse. Some of the ones on the list: Can teleport up to 7" away and Can control toasters with your mind. Either of these could be very useful on a day-to-day basis.

But the one that caught my imagination was: Free gravel for life.

Gayle and I discussed my resulting dream this morning and she agreed a good use would be working for a road construction company. Gravel is one of the big-ticket items and if you could just teleport it in then you could make a fortune and the company could save a fortune. Win Win. Unless, of course, the gravel was being pilfered from existing gravel quarries. This goes to show that even in her fantasies, Gayle manages to remain an ethical and caring person. I'm more laissez-faire. And I created Hyperion. You all know something’s wrong with me. You don’t have to pretend.

I mean who says that the gravel really belongs to anyone? Sometime in the distant past, through multiple generations and multiple business sales, some unknown person was walking through the woods and stumbled over a pile of rocks. And being a forward-thinking individual, exclaimed "I claim these pebbles in the name of France!"

So, if he could do that, I'm going to excuse the theoretical side effects of my wonderous teleportation powers. Unless they can actually prove my pebbles came from their quarry, which would bring the court system into the fantasy. But more on that later.

Gayle's expansion of the idea had merit. And we could certainly use some gravel to fill in the low, watery areas on our property. But I thought bigger. Way bigger. What if I used my power to fill in the Grand Canyon?

Gayle's next look was one of horror. And, rechecking my calculations, I think I might be able to see why.

But you can put away the torches and pitchforks. My plan is entirely altruistic. You see, somewhere out in the icy depths of space is the asteroid, Graveltron. This pile of ethically sourced, purely organic pebbles is on a collision course with Earth. If nothing is done, it will slam into the planet with devastating results. And the point of impact will be ... well, what do you know? The Grand Canyon.

So, in truth, I'm using my powers to slowly and safely transfer the asteroid to where nature intended it. You're welcome.
So, what are we talking here? Assuming the asteroid holds just enough pebbles to fill in the canyon…

Yes? You in the back. Put … down … the … pitchfork! Look, we’re filling in a natural wonder with extraterrestrial material. I think we all knew that SOME handwaving was going to be needed.

If that bothers you, I might as well skip over the part where I had to figure out how to protect the flow path of the Colorado River itself. It’s not like I want a lot of environmentally disastrous side effects. I’m the good guy here, remember?

So, according to the Internet, which we know is never wrong, the Grand Canyon has a volume of 5.45 trillion cubic yards. A ton of gravel takes up 0.714 cubic yards. So (skipping the boring math in the middle) if I could summon one ton of gravel per second, it would take 123,392 years to fill it up. And that doesn’t include smoothing and raking, nor food and bathroom breaks.
So, I’m going to have to redefine “a lifetime of gravel” to be more in the order of 1 million tons per second if I’m going to still have time in my life to do other things. Valles Marineris … you’re on the list.

So, having been a bit daunted, my dream mind decided to make things a bit more realistic. And that’s how I ended up in County Court. Remember that? It was up at the top of the essay. I promised I’d get around to it.

Turns out I was arrested for standing on top of 10 tons of gravel that had mysteriously appeared in Lee’s Ferry, Arizona, which is where the Grand Canyon officially starts. I mean, you have to start somewhere. I apologize to the residents, but you can’t fill in a historical landmark without breaking a few eggs.

Yes, you in the back again? Yes, I think it’s highly likely that somebody in Lee’s Ferry has a chicken coop. Yes, I’m sure all the chickens ran away first, so it was only the eggs. Yes, I think we’ve established I’m a bit of a menace to society.

Anyway, they couldn’t actually prove that I’d trucked in or dumped the gravel, or committed any crime that’s actually on the books. But they still fined me 1000 tons of gravel, to be delivered to a local road project, for misdemeanor standing-on-a-pile-of-gravel-in-a-national-park.

You just can’t win with these people.

There and back again. A Capclave Adventure.

A week or so ago I attended my local SF Convention, Capclave. And this year I was lucky enough to be on programming and get both a reading slot and a signing slot for my novels. I normally go to this convention each year and sit in the Dealer's Room and try to pretend I'm the sociable kind of person you'd want to buy SF and Fantasy books from. But I'm not really the outgoing type and when large numbers of people gather my flight or fight switch is firmly welded in the flight setting which makes dealing with potential customers somewhat nerve-wracking. Over the years I've just learned to pull a sociable mask over my face and pretend really hard that I don't know I'm faking it.

Given that pre-disposition, the prospect of hawking my books to the general public did not fill me with a warm happy glow. However, the existing market for a new, independent author is pretty much an empty room. You have to be willing to put yourself out there if you want anything more than a nice author copy on your bookcase.

My reading was at 9:30pm on Friday. There was no way to know how many, if any, people would show up. I've gone to signings at the local bookstore (pre-covid when books store signings were a thing) and seen professionally published authors sitting behind the table being utterly ignored. But I lucked out and got one interested listener. She listened well, didn't fall asleep, didn't play with her phone, and laughed at most of the silly bits. I consider the event to have been a glorious victory.

And the signing went even better. Yes, I had two people who showed up for that. And I was up against one of the Guest of Honor readings.

Not exactly a smashing success that will guarantee my elevation to the Nobel Prize but, being a new, independent author, it sometimes feels like I'm calling out to a void. There are 7.8 billion people on Earth, and barely a hundred know that I exist. That's the hard nut that all new authors need to crack. And if I don't? I still had fun writing about Hyperion and his human cohorts. I never expected legions of cheering fans (although I am willing to accept them), but having even a few people turn out to tell me they enjoyed my books made the whole weekend very much worthwhile.

“Time moves in one direction, memory in another.” ~ William Gibson

"But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable."
-- Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice

One of the pitfalls an author can run into is to write something based on their memories. It's not that your memory will fail you, although that can happen as well, but rather that the world will fail your memory. Time does not stand still while the pictures in your mind do.

I recently returned to where I grew up for a visit. And, naturally, I drove around all the places I used to frequent. It came as no surprise that there were new housing developments and new mini-malls, or that stores had gone out of business and been replaced. Transient things are supposed to change.

But what did surprise me, even if it shouldn't have, is the things I always assumed were unchanging ... changed as well. One of the major reasons I set the book in and around Bangor, Maine was so that I wouldn’t have to do a lot of research. It was all right there in my head, readily accessible. I approached the task with absolute confidence in my recollections. But, like the Elves, Dwarves, and Men of Middle Earth, they were, all of them, deceived.

In the very first chapter of my novel, Road Kill, the main characters are driving down Stillwater Ave, a country road that links the city of Bangor with the college town of Orono. I remember it very well as a place where the trees on either side spread their branches overhead, creating a long, dark, forested tunnel.

But today (or rather a couple of weeks ago), I discovered it had become a major road with houses on both sides and the sky open above for all but maybe twenty or thirty feet total. It is now just another urban thoroughfare for people to live on. Gone is the mysterious Elven Road through Tolkien's Mirkwood, where deer frolic and UFOs can make clandestine landings.

In my memory, and in Chapter 1 of the book, it is still as it once was. But anyone trying to find it by following the directions in the book will find only confusion.

The eternal fortress of the University of Maine didn't fare any better. Was the speed limit on College Ave always 25mph the whole way? I'm sure it can't have been. If so, I spent many a year as a vehicular scofflaw back in the day.

There are a set of scenes in Road Kill that take place in two of the locations I know, pardon, knew, best. I spent thousands of hours, over more than a decade, in the Memorial Union (home of the Bear's Den) and Neville Hall, home of the Computer Science Department and the University's IBM Mainframe that formed the core of the curriculum.

Although it takes no part in any of my books, I also spent considerable time in Steerage, a ramshackle storage building next to Surveying Engineering (Boardman Hall) that had been turned into graduate student offices. Steerage, like its namesake on the Titanic, has been irretrievably lost. Replaced by bigger and fancier, but in no way better, constructions.

The point of these reminiscences is that there is a scene in the Bear's Den in my novelette, Twice Told Thomas. This, fortunately, occurs in a place that is the same in both memory and reality having by chance set back in the 1980s. However, my attempt to mirror a version of the scene in Road Kill was frustrated when I found out the Memorial Union was completely renovated in 2001, seventeen years before Road Kill, but sixteen years after I departed the university for gainful employment. As the layout of the building bears no resemblance to the old plans, I had to heavily warp events in the novel so that the scene fits ... sort of ... at least as long as you don't pay too much attention to the details. I took pictures and picked up a floor plan while I was there in case I ever need to revisit it in the future.

But the worst blunder is set in and around Neville Hall, the home of the Computer Science Department, which had just broken away from the Math Department in a vicious (by academic standards ... certainly there were a lot of snide remarks tossed back and forth in the hallways) shortly before my arrival. I remember it as a gleaming, metal-clad building with large glass windows. Outside the main entrance (which featured the infamous Heavy Door of Doom) was a well-cared-for lawn with lush bushes growing along the paths and several very comfortable concrete benches donated by the Civil Engineering Department.

Even after the Memorial Union surprise, it never occurred to me to actually look up Neville Hall to see if there had been any changes. Spoiler: Everything I said about it above is wrong.

In an after-the-fact attempt to rationalize my lapse, I reminded myself the building was brand new. There was no reason to assume it would be radically changed. Reality then informed me that it had been brand new (actually ten years old) back in the 1980s and my rationalizations were pathetic.

Being naturally humble, I both apologized to, and forgave, myself. But I also put myself on notice not to let it happen again.

So, where does this all lead? Overall, how well did my memory serve? I figure I got somewhere between 10% and 15% of the physical descriptions right. And if I hadn’t accidentally found out about the Memorial Union renovation before publication, that would have dropped to about 5%. Emily and Chris' homes were okay since they weren't based on memory, but rather on internet searches. And Cascade Park remains, so far, undisturbed. But for future endeavors, I'm going to have to rely on memory for inspiration, and Google for actual facts.

The Lynx Who Came in From the Cold now available

My second novel, The Lynx Who Came in From the Cold is now available on Amazon.

Technically it's the first book in the series, but the 2nd book, Road Kill, just happened to be published first.

The 3rd book, The International Criminal Conspiracy, is underway and should be ready in early 2024.

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On a 4th of July camping trip to Baxter State Park, Meagan Robichaud was surprised when an injured lynx stumbled into her camp and collapsed in front of her. Despite logic or reason, she chose to stay and treat the wound instead of running. Even more inexplicably, she then found herself taking the surprisingly compliant animal home. Her plan was to call the authorities and have the animal taken in for treatment.

Then the cat asked her not to.

The Lynx Who Came in From the Cold is an urban fantasy featuring a sarcastic European lynx, psychically bound to a young computer security specialist. The two live in a world where a few people possess superpowers of questionable effectiveness, nominally wild animals with all aggression removed have been made into the pets of the rich and powerful, and malefactors lurk in the background, seeking to take advantage of those around them for their own benefit.

Supported by a psychic link that lets them feel each other's emotions and speak each other's languages, Hyperion and Meagan form an unlikely friendship, Meagan struggling to run her computer security business against a background of characters, even the supposedly friendly ones, that simply want to make life miserable for everyone around them. And Hyperion, struggling to comprehend a strange, illogical, and frequently violent species.