Arthur Gibson's Blog: A Journey In Mind

Great War Comic

Am involved in a comics project to raise money for War Child in commemoration for the Great War (had the centennial in 2014). Check out this review: http://downthetubes.net/?p=23714

Follow the project on Twitter @MemorialAnth

Paperback Versions

A Carpenter's Faith, Spooky Shorts, and The Lamp and Other Stories all got paperback versions this week. Available through Amazon.

New Short

Come January 20th, Rocking Horse Publishing will be bringing out their new collection "Solstice: A Winter Anthology" (edited by Robin Tidwell and Shannon Yarbrough). Among many excellent pieces, I have a bit of my own in it. Support these lovely people who were good enough to accept my ramblings and pick up a copy when it releases.

PS. You could look at their other offerings too :)

http://www.rockinghorsepublishing.com/

Free Book

Christmas is over, but here is a freebie to start out the new year right. Can't argue with free, can you?

Follow the Dropbox link to grab a copy of my Nativity novel. If you like it, post a review on an eBook seller site that carries it - or here, for that matter (Amazon, iBooks, Barnes and Noble, etc). Feel free to share the link with your friends.

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/trxucdnclv...

NaNoWriMo Day #15

Halfway through the month and halfway through my projected word count. Stalled out yesterday though. Wrote 3k words, then killed a thousand. It was weak. It still is weak. Normally, I would push on through and fix it in the edit (which is a practice most people recommend for NaNoWriMo), but it was twisting the tale in a direction where it would fail. I am taking the day off to read a book about Xenomorphs (Alien: Out of the Shadows by Tim Lebbon). I'm loving the feel and what he's done with the characters within this book, but I don't like the Ripley factor. Ripley is a great character and he writes her well. The problem is that things in this book (set between Alien and Aliens) make many of her comments and attitudes in Aliens ridiculous. Am hoping that this book doesn't end with her getting amnesia. In my opinion, if you want to deal with a character and write a story set between two existing works (books, comics, movies, or whatever), do not contradict the existing works. Anyway, we'll see how it goes. I'll post a review when I am done. Tomorrow? More "The Symbol and the Black Hammer"! Am confident I will finish this year.

Note: Last year's book "A Carpenter's Faith" is available as an eBook on Amazon and will be reaching other eBook retailers over the next few days.

Nanowrimo Day #1

The goal: Another book. Today? Completed chapter one of "The Symbol and The Black Hammer". Check it out.

The Swiss Alps, 1942

The snow was growing thicker. The Symbol knelt behind an outcropping of rock. Below was a small building built right against the hillside. A large clearing in front of it was filled with staff cars, personal carriers, and a lot of transport trucks. If even half of them had been full on arrival there was no way it would all fit inside that building. At least not the parts they could see. Symbol turned to the men crouched behind him. Like himself they were dressed in German uniforms. He was the only one wearing a white facemask. Symbol made a digging gesture with two fingers, switching to a long downward glide. The Sergeant leading the men grunted. They’d expected tunnels.
Symbol held up three fingers. Once he had a nod from the Sergeant, he was moving. He rapidly descended the hillside. His feet barely touched the snow, seeming to glide over it. The flakes falling around him dampened what little sound there was. No alarms went off. He was down and pressed against the side of the building within a minute. He tilted his head around the corner.
A German soldier in a grey and black uniform stood in front of the main door. The red tip of his cigarette glowed. It was a bright spot amid the white flakes. His rifle hung from his shoulder strap. He looked bored. With a single road barely wide enough for a car and a town below with three full garrisons of troops, there was little worry of an allied attack. The Swiss countryside was so far from Allied territory that there was little excitement or danger.
Symbol edged around the corner, working his way towards the sentry. When he was close, he broke from the shadows. He led with his right arm, striking the man with his armored forearm. There was a sharp crack as it connected to the soldier’s face. There was a pop as the nose broke, the guard’s head snapping back. Symbol’s left hand streaked in, slashing the neck. The guard gagged, his hands shooting up to his neck. His face was distorted in pain. His helmet tumbled to the ground. Symbol brought his right arm up and cracked the bunting down against the base of the man’s neck. He dropped like a stone.
Symbol dragged the unconscious guard into the shadows. A minute later the rest of the squad joined him. The sergeant inspected the Symbol’s work.
“Travers and Jordan came back while you were dancing,” he said. “This here’s the only German outside this place for five miles.”
“Good,” Symbol signaled to his men. “That means anyone not in green is the enemy. Except me.”
His section stripped off their German uniforms. Symbol did the same. Underneath they had on their usual Allied garb. Only the Symbol stood out from the crowd. He wore thick black boots, a uniform that was covered with an American flag, and a facemask made of flag material. On his forearms were steel bunting made from airplane casings. It wasn’t a polished uniform. It certainly wasn’t something that you’d find in a USO show. But it screamed “American Freedom” and always brought smiles of patriotism from the boys in green he served with.
“I can’t figure you, Sym,” said the sergeant. He and his half of the men remained in their German uniforms. They were the backup. “You wear a bull’s-eye uniform but you rarely kill the enemy you fight. You’re tough; I’ll give you that. But why HQ sent a pacifist to Germany is beyond me.”
“I’m not a pacifist, Sarge,” he said. “I’m just not a violence for the hell of it kind of guy.”
“Well, that’s the difference between you and me.” The German groaned. The sergeant shifted his weapon and fired. The German stopped groaning. “I don’t take chances.”
The Symbol looked down at the dead body. He shook his head. He finished taking off the German uniform.
“War is war,” he said. “But I won’t kill unless I have to.”
“We’ve been tasked with stopping his house of horrors,” said the sergeant. “Under no uncertain terms.”
“I know my duty,” said Symbol, drawing his pistol from his holster. He checked the weapon. “But that doesn’t mean putting bullets in the heads of everyone in that building.”
“Just in the ones who don’t like us crashing their party,” said the sergeant.
“And may God have mercy on their souls,” said Symbol.
Symbol gave a thumbs up to the men. They returned it. No one was smiling. With the Symbol and the sergeant in the lead, the squad ran up the steps. Symbol kicked in the door. The hallway stretching in front of them was unlit. The echo of the banging doors rang out in the silence. There was no response from inside. Symbol shared a grim look with the sergeant. The sergeant spread his men out to cover the entrance, preparing to defend from either direction.
Symbol raised his free hand and flicked it forward. Symbol’s section disappeared into the darkness. The sergeant and his men watched with blank faces as their comrades entered Wetzgulzer: the secret Kugelblitz II research facility.

Lt Col Hans Jochum Von Alten stood beside his small ally. They were standing at the bottom of some stone steps. At the top was a chalked off area. Crystals, light bulbs, and other stranger electrical components had been attached to an oval frame set within the chalk lines. It was wide enough for two men to enter without touching shoulders.
The walls were covered with machinery, bubbling vials, sparking wires, and torches. Stacks of crates almost blocked the door. They had been torn open and the equipment they contained was spread out in bundles and nests of sparking wires and switches all over the floor. It was as if hell had erupted in a scientist’s dreamland. In fact, the truth wasn’t far off. Black uniformed SS soldiers stood at attention against the walls between the various workstations. Scientists in lab gear hustled around ticking items off clipboards and flicking switches. Around them were a dozen dark figures assisting in the work. There was another group of the beings clustered behind Von Alten.
They were no more than two feet high, black as pitch, and had an aura that could only be described as oily. The eye slipped to one side when you tried to look directly at them. They had glowing yellow eyes, tiny curved horns, breathed wisps of sulphur, and spoke in a guttural language amongst themselves. They were demonic looking cherubs. Their knowledge of the scientific and the arcane was boundless. Working with them, the Nazi scientists were making leaps and bounds in the metaphysical sciences. They were working in layers of physics that they hadn’t even dreamed existed. They feared the little spooks, but they greatly desired what knowledge the hobgoblins held.
“Are you sure this will work?” said Von Alten. He didn’t bother to look at his companion.
“Yes,” said the raspy voice. “The Fuhrer will be pleased.”
“I am less worried about his pleasure and more worried about success. We have not attempted such a gateway without the rites and sacred objects before. Himmler is worried that we will offend the gods.”
“Fear not. This is a new religion you practice here. Embrace the Quantum possibilities.”
“I will embrace anything for the glory of the Reich,” said Von Alten.
“I know,” said the Chief. Sulphur leaked from the corners of his smile.
“There are rumors the Allies begin to mobilize for more invasions. Already North Africa is crawling with them. Italy could be next. Or France. The attempt on Roosevelt failed. I don’t know when our agent will manage another. If this fails, I fear for the future of the war.”
“Fear not. Soon, you’ll have a portal to the Americas. Should these Allies attack you here, your Fuhrer will be able to march his army behind their backs and stab deeply at their hearts. You will pincer them between you and crush your foes.”
“We shall see,” said Von Alten. He lit a cigarette. “You promise much.”
“Much we will provide.”
The two stood side by side. One breathed smoke, the other sulphur. The fumes encircled them both.

The Symbol led his men deeper into the complex. They passed room after room packed with gear. Solider load outs, armaments, and uniforms were stacked in neat piles row upon row. They estimated that there were enough supplies to outfit an army of foot soldiers. Based on the size of the facility Symbol figured that hundreds of thousands of soldiers would be able to enter, grab their gear, and march off to war. They had compared ideas in whispers, but none of them could figure on where these phantom soldiers would be marching. As near as they could tell they were descending deep into the mountain. It was a dead end.
Wasn’t it? Symbol thought.
They’d gone a thousand feet into the side of the mountain and down eight levels. It was dark and damp. There weren’t even the faint ceiling lights that had been present on the ground floor. The soldiers used flashlights covered in cheesecloth to light their way. It was weak and they couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of themselves, but using full light would alert the enemy to their presence.
Symbol raised an arm. They halted. No one breathed. As the sounds of conversation hit their ears, they tensed. The soldiers extinguished their flashlights and got better grips on their weapons. Hunkered down, they moved forward. They came to a stairwell. They followed the voices down. There was a faint glow getting closer. The stairs ended two floors below. They crept from the stairwell into the brightly lit hall.
About thirty feet down was a wide door hanging open. There were flashes of light coming from inside. Symbol spread out his six men and they approached. Using the crates as cover, they peered into the chaos of the room. Symbol had no idea what was going on. His briefing hadn’t included details. He looked around and noted all the SS soldiers. He tightened his grip on his weapon. This was one of those times when killing was going to be needed.

“Now!” cried the Chief.
Scientists flicked more switches. His hobgoblin partners fiddled with the nests of cables. The scent of ozone filled the air. There was a flash of heat from the chalked off area. Blinding light exploded from within the metal frame. Everyone but Von Alten and the hobgoblins jumped. They all felt a humming in their chests. The hairs on the backs of their necks rose and vibrated fiercely. They planted their feet to avoid being swept off their feet. The power of the machine drew at them.
In the middle of the wire frame was a rift of space and time. The edges were fuzzy. The middle was a glob of static. It floated and swirled like ripples on a pond. Pixel by pixel, the static coalesced into a grainy black and white image. On the other side of the rift were another scientist and a hobgoblin identical to the Chief. Von Alten smiled. He recognized his opposite number. They were seeing America. He smiled and raised his hand in salute.
“Heil Hitler!” he said. The salute was echoed with fervor from the SS around the room.

The blood drained from Symbol’s face. He didn’t know what the rift was, but based on the style of the architecture in the image they were definitely not looking at anywhere in the Alps. He stared, fascinated by the floating picture. He noticed a familiar pattern in the background. He leaned forward, squinting. It was a calendar. A calendar emblazoned with the stylized Uncle Sam figure cavorting around with a redhead who had great legs. His throat went dry. The gear for the soldiers lying upstairs sprang to his mind. He knew. Without a doubt he knew where they were going to be marching and what they were for. He and his small group of men were standing in the middle of an invasion. An invasion of the United States of America.
The man in the middle of the room saluted Hitler. The SS echoed him.
It was more than The Symbol could take. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he lunged over the crates. His men followed.

The Nazi salute was cut short by gunfire. SS soldiers screamed. They returned fire. American soldiers screamed. Scientists fainted. More guns fired. Hobgoblins ran around. It was chaos. Von Alten spun, drew his sidearm and fired. The bullet took one of the Americans in the head. Von Alten backed away, hiding behind a piece of equipment. He looked towards the rift. On the other side, the view was much the same as it was here. Men were fighting. He didn’t recognize the combatants, but it was clear their enemies had found them out.
“No mercy,” he cried, firing again. “Kill them all!”
Symbol fired his gun, hitting a scientist in the arm. He leapt over a bundle of wires and landed at the feet of a hobgoblin. He recoiled in horror. The oily, smudged, evil little beast grinned at him. It lunged. Symbol fired twice right in its face. It didn’t stop. He screamed in pain as its sharp teeth sunk into his hand. He yanked it free and struck with his bracer. It clanged into the skull, crushing it. He kicked the shadowy creature and watched it fly to one side. He almost threw up as it landed against a piece of machinery, melting in a pool of electric fire.
The rift behind Von Alten wavered. The edges got fuzzier. He swore and started inching his way along the cables. He had to restore power. He was halfway to the main control panel when a flag-wearing maniac attacked him. He struck out, knocking the gun from the man’s hand. He raised his other arm and absorbed a blow. Stepping forward, he grabbed the Symbol’s arms and grappled. The two men struggled, each trying to unbalance and throw the other. There was a black blur from out of nowhere and the Symbol screamed.
Symbol felt his knee buckle. The Chief had sunk his fangs into Symbol’s leg. Von Alten took advantage of his weakness and threw him to one side. Symbol flew uncontrollably, smashing into the steps. He rolled up and stopped just at the edge of the rift, dazed. Von Alten looked around and grabbed a lever on a control panel. He wrenched it off and turned back to Symbol. There was murder in his eyes. Around the room, the SS were dispatching the soldiers. The Americans were fighting like demons, but they were simply out-gunned and out-numbered.
Von Alten walked up the steps, keeping his eyes on the American. Symbol looked up to see the German approaching. He got up as fast as he could. His leg was still weak. He held out his arms, bracers ready. Von Alten tightened his grip on the lever. He charged. Symbol struck with his left bracer, knocking the lever wide. With his right he followed up, trying to strike Von Alten’s head. Von Alten blocked him. He struck with the lever again. Symbol caught it with the bracer. They spun apart.
Symbol grabbed the edge of the rift’s frame to steady himself. He screamed as electricity shocked through him. Letting go, he staggered back. He almost fell over. He saw Von Alten out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the right and struck with his bracer as hard as he could. He hit the lever right on the top, hammering it into Von Alten’s side. The German screamed in pain and fell backwards down the steps. The jolt of the blow staggered Symbol back one step.
Putting him firmly in the grip of the rift.
He felt himself pulled through a long tunnel, racing at a slow speed like molasses melting through porridge. His arms and head came out the other side. He saw a warehouse and groups of men grappling. Machine guns were firing wildly into the air. It looked like two cats were looking through a skylight. Suddenly there was a shower of sparks. Symbol felt himself pulled back into the rift.
It was excruciating. His body was being stretched like taffy. He was twisted and turned until his face was resting against his feet and his knees were pressing into his ears. His body was on fire. His skin was like ice. His teeth were heating up, threatening to explode.
It was over.
Everything felt different. The humming was gone. No sounds of battle. No smell of burning. No screaming men. He grated his eyes open and looked around. The Symbol was sitting on a metal stool in a brightly lit laboratory. It was clean and full of the most modern equipment. There was something comforting about it. Like finding yourself sitting in a beloved childhood classroom again. An older man in a lab coat was standing in front of him with a syringe in his hand. A single drop of fluid threatened to drip from the tip. Symbol looked up at him. He opened his mouth to ask what happened. Then he bent over and threw up everything he’d ever eaten.
The scientist looked down at him. He stepped back to keep his shoes clean. He sniffed. He pointed at the vomit with the empty syringe.
“I told him we should’ve used the hamsters,” said Dr. Johnson. “They never got sick.”

New Short

Here's my latest short. It's too short for a Kindle price, and I don't have enough stuff like it for a collection (yet). In the meantime, enjoy it for free. It was a contest challenge to take one of two quotes by author Annie Proullx and write a short piece based around it. Here's mine:

Long Sleeves

“We’re all strange inside. We learn to disguise our differences as we grow up.”
- Annie Proullx

Adam looked down and ahead as he walked, constantly scanning for trash, gum, or anything else he’d need to step around. He consciously shrank into himself whenever other people were near. He didn’t like touching or being outside. He didn’t like being open and exposed.
The sun blazed down creating wavy lines off of every surface, reminiscent of desert daydreams. People wore shorts, tank tops, and bathing suits. As little as they thought they could get away with. Children ran practically naked, not caring for anything except their personal comfort. Their squeals of delight were impossible to resent.
Cities were not made for summer. They were places that protected you from chill winds, cold rains, and temperatures that froze the soup on your spoon. Buildings were warm havens from the devil winter. Places the cockles of your heart sprang to life amidst friends and family. Cities were hell in summer. Heat got trapped. Muggy was the watchword. And people seemed to melt as soon as they left the frigid embrace of their conditioned air.
Adam risked a glance up. Grumpy faces and hair damp with sweat as far as he could see. He knew those fancy coffee houses would make a killing. Days like this brought patrons out in droves for their frapple-machinoes or mocha-lappies, whatever they were called. Corner stores would have kids lined up around the block for sugar-filled slushy ambrosia. Whenever the temperature rose, Adam wondered why he hadn’t gone into business selling bottled water.
He ignored the weird looks he got on his walk. He got them every day. Even Meagan thought he was nuts. Today her wardrobe had been shorts, sandals, a-shirt, and a breezy woven hat. She’d still complained.
“If men weren’t such pigs,” she’d said. “I could go out topless in a thong and be cool. Instead I have to be a human sponge.”
Adam endured her glares. He knew that they weren’t personal. He kept his mouth shut. There was no winning something that wasn’t an argument. He loved boobs as much as anyone and had no idea how he would react to seeing them all over the place. Adam figured women had as much right to bare nipples as men, even if he didn’t.
He was wearing slacks as a consolation to the heat. Shorts looked weird paired with a long-sleeve shirt. He’d picked a light color and a good blend to promote breathing, but he didn’t do sleeveless. Even his pajamas had sleeves.
Adam remembered the first year he wore nothing but sleeves. Puberty. He looked the same as the rest of his classmates at first, but come spring things heated up. Bullies noticed. Popular kids snickered. Girls walked by fast to avoid dance invitations. The principal had spoken to his parents. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the words “different” and “behavioral encouragement” caught his ear. Ah, the talks he’d had. His father, looking confused and lost. His mother, a smile of encouragement tattooed on her lips. Neither understood. No, he didn’t hate his body. No, he wasn’t embarrassed by “boy concerns”. No, he didn’t need a new razor.
There were hours of therapy. A week at a self-esteem camp. One less than enjoyable month on a nearly starvation diet – followed by his father’s all-purpose “get some muscle on you” fast food extravaganza. Teacher conferences every Monday at noon. Several chummy get-togethers with the principal after school over a mug of chocolate fresh from a package and mixed with warm cooler water. It had been a whirlwind of discomfort.
College was worse. So was the “real” world that followed. The few girlfriends he had labeled him freak, full of tears and recriminations. Demands for disease screening and the intervention of professional medical doctor types. It made no difference. They didn’t understand. They wondered what was wrong when he didn’t strip in bed or allow full contact touching. They wondered what he thought was wrong with them when they didn’t bathe together. A roommate was all he could manage steadily. She accepted and respected his quirks. Mostly.
“Hot enough for ya, bub?” said the newspaper-stand man.
Adam laughed and tried to look friendly. Normal.
“Laundry day,” he said. “Should’ve gotten on it sooner.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, handing Adam the change with the smokes. “If I didn’t have my wife cleaning up after me my shorts would stand on their own at the end of a week.”
Giving a nod of thanks and a chuckle to appreciate the joke, Adam started home. Home to the security of his apartment. Away from people and prying eyes. At least until Meagan got home. He hoped she’d forgo the usual and leave her friends at work. He snorted. She needed people like he needed privacy.
The apartment was as cloying as it was when he left. He took off his jacket and made sure all the windows were open. Once he was in his room he closed the door and put down the draft guard. He opened his window wide and tilted the blinds so no one could see in. Lying down on his bed he took off his shirt. The air was cold on his skin. He lit up a smoke and started his twice-daily chore. Moving it from mouth to mouth, letting each have a puff. Seventeen from forearm to shoulder. Gaping, gasping, wet little bastards. He hated each and every one of them.
It took him an hour and half a pack of cigarettes before they were sated. Before they’d shut their gummy slits and stop drooling for awhile. They looked better that way. Just like wilted skin-colored prunes. He closed eyes and enjoyed the feeling of being shut. He didn’t blame them for their need. Everyone had a cross to bear. Something to struggle with and adapt behavior around. He would know.
Besides, addiction was a bitch.

The Cestus Contract

I had the pleasure this week of reading The Cestus Contract by Mat Nastos. I had previously read The Cestus Concern and enjoyed it. I admit I had my doubts about the 2nd book. So many writers throw everything they have into the first book of a series and tend to have a long roll downhill to drudgery with the rest. I was pleasantly surprised with The Cestus Contract. There are not repeated devices, typical escapes, or predictable events. The adventure is very organic and has a surprising depth to them. There are of course other forces at work, but they take so many forms and go in so many directions you find yourself sucked in to this world and you don't want out.

It is an action novel, an adventure full of explosive surprises, but it doesn't end there. Even as you enjoy the main line of events, there are twists and turns the come out of the woodwork to surprise you. Shadowy references to even more shadowy people. Politics and the gong show that senate subcommittees have become. The strong ties of friendship. The hardships of becoming aware of operating on the wrong side of morality.

I found it a quick read because I had a hard time putting it down. My wife had to chase me to bed and I spent half the night waiting to get going again in the morning. I just didn't want to break away from these characters. I wanted to know what happened to them. I always take that as a sign of a good book. If you get invested in what they are saying, it is a good thing. Heck, I even found a character so interesting I'm craving a prequel novel so that we can find out how he got to be the way he is.

There are threads to the storyline that don't get answered. There are things still up in the air and others burning in the background. But I did not feel unfulfilled. I didn't feel cheated in any way. The way the ending is structured you feel total closure with this volume while eagerly awaiting the next. That is rarely accomplished and Mat Nastos has done it well.

I hope this book is something everyone grabs and enjoys. I also hope that the next book comes out really, really soon so I can find out what happens :) Grab a copy and join me in the World of Cestus.

Recollection #1

The first issue of Recollection magazine is out and available to the public. If you love the Golden Age of comics, this product is for you. There is some fantastic art in it. I also contributed some articles. If you have time, go check it out.

http://www.indyplanet.com/store/produ...

Amen Part 2

"Amen" has been available on Amazon for a bit now. It's a short story and only a buck. There have been some sales and at least one recommendation. I know a couple of people who have read it and have been told that either it was good or that the horror angle wasn't their cup of tea. Which is fair since not everything is for everyone. One review I saw mentioned that the blurb was very misleading.

I get the impression that the individual does a lot of religious reading (nothing wrong with that at all) and had assumed from the title that this story was also purely religious in nature. The blurb just mentions the family and a little girl's prayers and a crisis. It does not mention the horror angle. It does not give away the plot. The individual does not criticize the story at all, just the misleading blurb and that I might have some success if I switch to more pure fiction and stay away from the religious overtones of the girl's prayer.

I had intentionally left out mention of the horror angle - although I did classify it as a horror short. To me, the whole point of the story was a family going through what their own routines are when suddenly this crisis is upon them. Wishing to shelter their daughter, the parents take on their shoulders the horror of the situation and leave the girl doing what she does every night in ignorance. To me, having the blurb reflect that ignorance was important. I thought it would give the reader the same frame of mind of the family and experience the horror of the situation through their eyes. But maybe I was wrong.

The problem is that this is a short story. It has a simple premise, a simple series of events, and a very ambiguous ending. Maybe the ending is a little to visceral in the possibilities. I like to think there is hope there and everything worked out. But there is some serious room for things to go badly. But isn't that what horror is? A situation that you might scrape out of but also one that might chew you up rather badly? Also, this tale is SHORT. If I mention the full situation in the blurb, you will have basically read the plot. People may only be spending a buck, but don't they deserve a little bit of surprise?

I'm not going to change the blurb or anything like that. But the reviewer does bring up a few good points. Maybe the title is misleading. Maybe the blurb doesn't prepare the reader for what they are going to get. Me? I like being totally surprised by a book or short story. Starting with one impression and then getting sucked into the author's vision. That isn't for everyone and definitely wasn't for the reviewer.

What do you think? Too misleading and needing a change? Or is the fact that I mention a crisis and classify the story as a horror enough?