P.D. Haggerty's Blog, page 4

Tales from the Chicken Uprising

"I've called this meeting of the local hens association," Marie, the French Hen, said by way of introduction. "To discuss an urgent matter that concerns all of us."
"Here! Here!" called Blue, the Rooster.
"Not you, pretty boy!" Marie snarled, which is tough to do with a beak.
"Poser!" called Sally, the Salmon Faverolle.
"Order! Order!" commanded Roxanne, the Barred Rock and Matron Commander. "The floor belongs to Marie."
"Thank you, Madam Dictator. As I was saying, we all suffer from an authoritarian menace."
"Excuse me!" interrupted Roxanne.
"Not you, oh Mistress of the Iron Claw," Marie assured. "I'm speaking of no other than the Bipedal Ape-Descendant who creeps into our egg boxes in the full light of day and steals all our eggs."
"But he feeds us and gives us fresh water," protested Dusty, the Ameraucana, a known collaborator, though some gave her the benefit of the doubt as to her having been addicted to the insidious mealworms.
"He protects us from foxes and raccoons, and he buries us when we drop dead for no good reason."
"None-the-less," Marie continued, unwilling to cede any free-ranging territory. "He is a member of the bourgeoisie, exploiting the proletariat via false claims of ownership over the means of production, by which I mean us. We bust our oviducts day in and day out and what do we get?'
"Chicken feed," suggested Dusty.
"That's right," Marie agreed, but probably for the wrong reasons.
"We need to organize and strike back against our oppressor."
"And what, exactly, do you propose?" Roxanne requested. "If you are ready to make a motion, please do so."
Marie puffed herself out to three times her normal size, which was still only half of Roxanne's.
"I move that we tag the beast with a radio transmitter so that we can track his movements and have sufficient warning to hide our capital until such time as the biped is willing to engage in fair, regulated commerce."
"A radio transmitter?" Sonia, the Blue Andalusian, asked. She'd been the right-wing enforcer of the previous, and lamented by all, rooster, Beckett. No, seriously, she stood right next to his right wing. Not everything needs to be political. She was still trying to find her place in the new pecking order.
"What, do you think we should use, a bell?" Marie scoffed. We're modern chicks. The WIFI reaches out here, we can just buy one off Amazon, next-day-delivery."
"No, no, I'm down with modernity," Sonia assured the flock. "I'm cyber-literate. I was just wondering who was going to do the actual tagging."
All the members of the association looked at each other then sidestepped slowly to the far end of the roost pole and began making low cooing sounds. Blue pretended to snore, but nobody believed him.
"Poser!" Sally sneered.
Marie sighed. "I guess that's another meeting wasted."
"Madam!" a voice called from below. Ella, the Buff Orpington was on the ground. She was currently suffering from bumblefoot and found standing on roost poles excessively uncomfortable.
"Yes Ella," Roxanne called down. "My apologies, I didn't see you down there. I'll subtract one beating from your quota this week."
"You are kindness itself, She of the Excruciating Beating," Ella simpered. "I was just going to volunteer if all the rest of the flock is reluctant to put a talon forward."
"Really?" Marie asked, rather astonished.
"Of course not," Ella laughed. "I'm far too chicken!"
"Two additional beatings!" Roxanne decreed.
"Worth it for the punchline," Ella proclaimed, then ran off to hide in the quarantine coop.

Have you heard about the greatest novel ever written? No? That's fine. Why not take a look at one of mine instead?

In addition to the WIP prequel novel, which is, maybe, fifteen thousand words from completion, a good chunk of my time is taken up by the never-ending, and mostly futile feeling, task of trying to get anybody to know that I, and my stories, exist. It's a frustrating battle, but I'm a writer. I've become somewhat proficient at beating my head against the wall for the greater good.

In other posts, I've talked a lot about Hyperion and his antics in Road Kill and the other (coming soon) novels. Today I'm going to shine a little light on poor Thomas McElvaney and his travails going through, literally, a second childhood in Twice Told Thomas.

The following snippet is entirely fictional and bears no resemblance to an actual, infuriating event from my elementary school memories.

-----

This made it difficult to interact with his peers as if he truly was one of them, but it was better than arguing with Mrs. Fallon that Hawking Radiation was real and black holes could and did evaporate. Even the school library’s copy of the March 1974 Nature article by Hawking himself could not override the fact that the textbook (and by extension, the teacher) was always right. All that discussion had gotten him was a D- on his 'Interesting Things in Modern Science’ essay, and a letter to his parents about his aggressive attitude and lack of respect.

WIP Snippet

I’ve been going back and forth on the name of this prequel.  On one hand, I really like the title: The Cat Who Came in From the Cold.

On the other hand, there are a couple of other books with the same title.  They’re not urban fantasy, but they have been around for several years.  Plus Lilian Jackson Braun did the entire “The Cat Who” series.  I’m thinking there may be unnecessary confusion.

So, while I haven’t decided yet, it’s looking like I will need to come up with a new one.

Anyway, how’s the WIP that needs a new title coming?  Slowly would be the appropriate adverb.  I’ve gotten about 1500 words done this week.  I’m a long way from being able to sit down and reliably churn out the necessary scenes.  Some days I stare at the page and, unable to come up with anything new, I go back and revise some older bits.  And even then, there are days when I stare at the text, put in a comma, stare some more, take the comma out, close down the document, and go have ice cream.

Writing novels is, like being a chicken farmer, a noble and glamorous profession.

Which brings us to tonight’s snippet.  Hyperion’s favorite kitten, Kaylee Tranter has just turned fifteen.  And she’s over visiting Hyperion and Meagan for a little after-birthday-party-birthday-party, the culmination of which (other than the gift of course) is celebratory cake.

——————-

“This cake is fantastic,” Hyperion said, apparently with true admiration, his whiskers coated with frosting. “It’s really moist. And sweet, but not cloyingly so.”
Meagan smiled. Few things made Hyperion happy, so it was nice to see this usually hidden side.
“I thought cats couldn’t taste sweet things?”
“Normal cats can’t talk or drive cars either,” he reminded her.
“What?”
Kaylee and Hyperion exchanged a significant look.
“The texture of the German chocolate is really perfectly balanced by the buttercream frosting”

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Twice Told Thomas snippet

In my novelette, Thomas McElvaney wakes up and finds himself nine years old again, living in his parent’s home. This, as you might imagine, has some pluses and minuses.“A day of no responsibility should be fun. Surely, he’d return to normal when he went to sleep. That’s the way these things worked. At least he fervently hoped so. Pressing his forehead to the back of his door, he let the coolness of the wood soak into his skin, gathered a few dregs of courage to help face what was coming while desperately craving a cup of coffee, and knowing with absolute certainty his mother was not going to let him have one.”

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Your assistance would be appreciated.

Starving author … well not starving, but pretty desperate author … okay, not desperate, but definitely, an author, needs your assistance.

If you’ve read either of my two works “Road Kill” or “Twice Told Thomas”, I could really use some help defeating the great Evil Empire of Amazon, which while nice enough to sell my books and provide me with a market I couldn’t get anywhere else…

Where was I?  Oh, right?  The problem with Amazon is that if you have less than 50 reviews, they’re not particularly interested in advertising your work so that other people might be able to find it, read it, (hopefully) enjoy it, and provided more reviews, providing an on-ramp to fame and fortune … yeah, I know, not fortune either, but a warm fuzzy feeling works just as well.

So, if any of you have read either of my two books, and haven’t provided a review on Amazon, can I provide an incredibly mild guilt trip that might make you change your mind?

A review doesn’t need to be a Collegiate Work of Analysis.  All it has to be is a couple of words.

“I liked this book.”

“I hated this book.”

“Meh, whatever.”

These are all perfectly fine examples.  The rating is irrelevant (although I do hope you liked them), it’s the existence of the review that matters.

Thanks,

Hyperion

 

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The Creation of Road Kill and the Universe of Hyperion and Meagan

In November of 2022, Gayle Surrette of A Curious Statistical Anomaly invited me to do an essay on my writing and where it had come from. The following is a recap of that essay, posted here to help keep a centralized record.

I recently published my first novel, Road Kill, a project which has been percolating in my head for over a decade although, technically speaking, it’s not my first novel, it’s just the first one I managed to complete. The larger universe in which Road Kill is set has been under development for over forty years and 99% has been created through sheer chaos. A prequel and sequel could be available as early as next year, depending on how cooperative certain characters are.

Two primary characters, Meagan Robichaud and Hyperion, were the first components of my universe. Meagan is a woman that has the superpower of invisibility, but it only occurs when she’s scared. And, just to be contrary, knowing she’s invisible helps alleviate the fear.

Meagan’s situation established one of the plot components of the universe, useless superpowers that can, somehow, be forced into being useful. Numerous characters with these powers have come to life over the years, such as Jamie Sullivan, who has the power to cloud people’s minds and make them think she’s a coat tree. She got bored at a Christmas party once and ended up having to hold three coats, two hats, and an umbrella for a half-hour before she could escape. She now works as a corporate spy, which pays enough to make the boredom worthwhile. Jamie and most of the others have yet to make their way into any story, but they continue to bide their time.

Hyperion is a smart-ass, talking, European lynx. Nobody knows what secret government laboratory he comes from, or whether he escaped or was kicked out. He’s annoyingly resistant to speaking about his past or how he came to be wandering on North Turner Mountain for Meagan to rescue. I like to think of Hyperion as the Batman of the stories. He has no powers, and only holds his own due to his intelligence and cleverness … and the fact that the humans put up with him beyond all reason. But then they’re fantasy stories. And he is kind of cute.

Into this setting, Road Kill was born when I had a dream. A lot of plot points come from dreams, but never whole-cloth because my dreams tend to be stupid. In this case, I dreamt I had the power to travel back in time to a point when an animal has been hit and killed by a car. I would then stop the assassination and return to the present. I’m guessing the dream came about because of the number of dead animals I see abandoned on the side of the road, and the several times I’ve seen drivers deliberately swerve, trying to hit one. At the conclusion of the dream, I was hauled up before the Time Cops because I saved a cat, which somehow resulted in the total annihilation of humanity. My defense of “The bastards had it coming” was not considered legally well-grounded. Once I woke up, Emily Charron got that power, minus the legal hassles.

Emily is a graduate student, closing in on her PhD, and so totally focused that she’s been ignoring everything and everyone else around her. And once I had Emily, Chris Rodriguez popped into my head, cruising down a rainy road, volunteering to be the Watson to Emily’s Sherlock in a mystery revolving around a grand academic mystery that would, I hoped, somehow manage to include time travel, if only I could figure out how. Chris is an IT security specialist, working to help law enforcement deal with cybercriminals while also trying to keep Emily’s life from imploding under the strain.

This brings up the final component of my plotting and writing style. Neither the plot nor the characters listen to me in the slightest. Chris transformed into Emily’s childhood friend and a romance began to bloom before the conclusion of the first chapter. Chris gained his own superpower, which inconveniently appeared while they were eating pizza. It took me entirely by surprise and I had to go back and sprinkle hints into previous chapters. And to solve the issue with the time-travel sub-thread, Emily popped back to save an animal just because, even though it was the worst possible time.

Once that happened, the rules of time travel quickly grew from a half-page of notes to several pages with timeline graphs and detailed breakdowns of all the permutations I could think of, one of which became the central premise for the sequel, The International Criminal Conspiracy. But, more importantly, suddenly, the novel was no longer a mystery but instead an urban fantasy, geeky, romance, with a mystery sub-thread.

Worse of all, two-thirds of the way through Road Kill, Hyperion found a way to force himself into a novel he had no business being in. He just showed up in Chris’ living room, dragging poor Meagan along with him. This, in turn, dragged in Kristina Trantor, an individual with a questionable superpower who had been languishing, unused, on my dramatis personae since I had a dream back in the 80s.

The next thing I knew, a previously non-existent teenage daughter, Kaylee, apparated out of the ether and revealed herself to be Hyperion’s partner in sarcasm, forcing herself backward through time to a starring role in the long-suffering prequel, The Cat Who Came in from the Cold, replacing a lackluster neighbor that I never really liked anyway, plus shoehorning herself into the sequel as well. I, merely the author, stood no chance.

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WIP status and snippet

Work progresses, but not as quickly as I’d like. But that’s pretty much status quo in and of itself.

The Cat Who Came in From the Cold is now at about 50K words. I say about because I may have to delete a few things that sounded good when I wrote them, but are now edging toward the “What the hell were you thinking? That’s idiotic!” Maybe some of it can be redeemed. But probably not. Anyway, I’m thinking that the book needs 20-25K more words. A few dramatic bits that set up what the bad guys are doing. And some connective tissue to connect up all the various pieces. And I’m sure a few more witticisms by the cat will find themselves a home in the process.

Anyway, the bit I’m currently working on concerns a little visit Hyperion and Meagan are making that isn’t, strictly speaking, blessed by the law.

“You don’t seem at all concerned about what will happen to us if I get caught,” Meagan observed.
“You’re a good person,” Hyperion assured her. “I’m sure you’ll get a minimum sentence. And because you’re a good person, you’ll give me to Kaylee and I’ll live with her. We’ll visit you every weekend. Most weekends. At first.”

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Work in Progress Snippet

Hyperion snorted. “That’s why I love you, my delicate flower. You’re a much better human being than I will ever be.”

“You’re a cat. You’re not a human being.”

“I know. It’s a low bar. Shall we go?”

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Short Fiction, Long Problem

So, after long, detailed discussions, consisting of two or three whole sentences, with a couple of people, I’ve decided to handle the problem of printing my short fiction (all one of them) in the near term. Essentially, everyone (including me) agrees that there is no way that the base price that Amazon requires me to charge could possibly be justified unless I have a lot more to offer. So, no print versions of the short fiction until said fiction is significantly far less short.

I have no intention of spending a lot of time working on any such stories until after I get the prequel novel out, which is, as usual, running behind schedule. Mostly because I have several “dramatic’ plot lines I need to finalize and they’re not the fun humorous bits I like writing. But (adulting warning) they still need to be completed.

That said, I had a scene flash into my head today that would make an interesting (or so I think) short story for later on. And there’s always the sequel to Twice Told Thomas, currently called Thrice Told Thomas because, hey, why not? So maybe next year I’ll have enough to gather together and we’ll see what happens.

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Twice Told Thomas now available

My novelette, Twice Told Thomas, is now available from Amazon. As a bonus, I’ve included, at the end, a preview of the first chapter of my next novel, The Cat Who Came in From the Cold. A link to the Amazon page is available from the “My-Books” tab.

In order to get Amazon’s help in making the book more available, I had to sign it up for 90 days of Kindle Unlimited. Unfortunately, that means I can not make it available via Nook until the 90 day period is over.

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