David G. Shrock's Blog, page 4

Kandy 9

Kandy Fangs was recently added to Web Fiction Guide. Find the original Kandy listed here, and Venom listed at webfictionguide.com/listings/kandy-fangs-venom/ where you can rate, bookmark, or review stories. You may also vote for Venom at TopWebFiction.com. If you vote, I appreciate it.

In the new episode of Kandy Fangs: Venom 9. Shades of Roseland, Kandy finds her old record store, “Kandy Fangs.” She also comes across a power-hungry vampire and a ghost. This is Kandy’s 4th episode on her side. Readers may follow Kandy, follow Peter, or follow both in the non-linear web serial, Venom at www.KandyFangs.com.

Venom #8

In the latest episode of Kandy Fangs: Venom, 8. Guns! Guns! Girls! Peter hears voices and discovers two surprises: his new employee, Tigris, dazzles the crowd and his new car comes with baggage.

My latest Friday Flash story, “Cosmic Fingerprints,” features a character from Kandy Fangs, Steve Reynolds on false memories and reality.

Comet ISON November Morning

I don’t see many clear mornings this time of year, but the morning of November 21st was cloudless. Some star twinkle, mostly on the horizon, indicated a thin layer of moisture. Taking advantage of the weather, I took a quick photograph of the sky over the eastern horizon capturing Saturn, Mercury, and Comet ISON among stars. I took three photos at different exposure times to be sure the barely visible comet (by my eye) would be visible.

I used a Canon Rebel Xs DSLR camera with a wired shutter click adapter to avoid shaking the camera and locking the shutter open on the bulb setting. The Rebel is great for astrophotography due to its ability to go completely manual and available telescope adapters to connect to a camera. My photograph was taken using the stock 55mm lens with camera sitting on a tripod.

The 6-second exposure makes the sky appear much brighter, and more importantly, the comet. On the 21st, the comet’s apparent visual magnitude was 4.6 which makes it visible to the unaided eye from beyond city lights. For comparison, Mercury’s apparent magnitude was -0.7. The brightest stars are magnitude of around 1, and magnitude 6 represent stars barely visible to unaided eye from a dark sky away from the city. At 4.6 magnitude and near the glow of the rising sun makes the comet more difficult to find without binoculars. I couldn’t see it without a scope.

 

Unedited 6-second exposure. The bright object left of center is Mercury.

Same photograph, cropped and HDR filter applied. Comet is within the red circle.

The first picture is the unedited photograph showing the eastern horizon. In the second picture, I cropped the size and used an HDR filter to improve the contrast making the comet easier to see. Saturn sits within the glow of the rising sun near the horizon. The comet is that barely visible fuzzy object within the circle. Click to see larger images.

I didn’t bother taking a photograph using a telescope due to the amount of moisture in the air.

Comet ISON will be brightest in the first week of December when the comet is closer to Earth and heading away from the sun. EarthSky.org has a chart showing Comet ISON’s position in December in “Comet ISON nears the sun” along with a pretty picture of the comet photographed using a telescope.

Agenda and Thoughts

Two years slipped away from me, and I’m only now planning my projects for 2012, now for 2013, which is to say, December. I spent two years at work in constant catch-up mode, working all day most days, and I nearly caught up only to find my brain didn’t keep up—and shutdown on me. Madness.

I have new goals now.

Guns and Romances and Music

Dark Continents Publishing put out a “Call for Submissions: Guns and Romances” short stories between 3,000 and 9,000 words in length due by end of February 2014. Two Kandy Fangs episodes I just finished writing fit perfectly; guns, girls, vampires and rock-n-roll. This poses a problem.

I’m working on a story for this topic, but I may not submit it. The most challenging part will be writing a story that isn’t Kandy Fangs or Draco Torre since I’m immersed in Torre’s world and Kandy has me by the balls. Kandy belongs at www.KandyFangs.com, or in her ebooks—nowhere else. If the story turns out good, I may submit it, but if the story turns out to be my best then I’ll have to give it further consideration.

The Submission Game

I don’t normally submit stories anywhere. In the past, I’ve sent three stories for fun, and those three stories are out there somewhere. One problem with sending stories for publication is the long wait. By the time the story is published I’ve lost interest, or I’ve forgotten about it. Writing is hard work, and I’m not good enough to make a career out of it. What do I get in return for submitting a story?

Kandy Fangs

As of today, I have the rough draft for every episode that will post until the end of the year (schedule). This will make it simple to keep up by refining an episode each week, and writing new episodes at an easy pace. The web isn’t great for long works, so I have already cut a few scenes saving them for an ebook version.

I’m not as good at drawing as I was twenty years ago, but drawing is therapeutic. I’ll continue to include art in the episodes.

FridayFlash

The FridayFlash crew isn’t as active or supportive as three years ago, so I find less incentive to participate. This is a degenerative path. Perhaps if more writers participated, even if only with comments, more would participate.

Writing flash is very difficult for me, sometimes consuming many hours. “Purgatory Pain” took me an estimated 20-30 hours over many revisions—one after posting. I’ve written other flash stories in as little as ten minutes, but they stink. At least “Purgatory Pain” pulled double-duty as an episode for Venom.

In order to work on the other projects, I will try to avoid writing flash in December. If one presents itself, and doesn’t stink, I may post it.

Health

My primary goal this year is to get my brain back in working order. This is a fuzzy process. Peak physical fitness is great for the brain. Reading and writing is good, but in doses smaller than sixteen hours. I’ve delayed my software projects while I tackle the two fiction projects. Running, biking, reading, and switching up my diet is the plan.

 

Cosmic Fingerprints — #FridayFlash

Every once in a while, a person catches a fleeting glimmer. Not spirits, but what I call memory ghosts. From there when and where, they pass through into our here and now.

Memory burns into the cosmos. Gazing at the stars is looking at memory. The light traveling across the galaxy spanning years transfers information reaching the observer forming new memories. From a painting of an artist, bits of information travel to the eyes speaking to the viewer. The dead live on, their ghosts caught within the information. Everything passes through the fabric of the cosmos. Fingerprints in the information, memories leave their mark.

I see her still, my little girl. In the passenger seat on the way to school, or sitting at her desk, studying, she fills my life with joy as I view the world through her eyes. Many memories cling like the beaming smile of a child opening her birthday present finding all her wishes, charms in life worth remembering. Even if the world forgets my little pumpkin, I see her memory ghost.

Others say I never had a daughter. The world forgets. Her fingerprint is here, like everything else, caught within the information. Sometimes, memory changes.

From the moment a memory blossoms in the mind, the brain works connecting the patterns. Information not immediately connected to any known pattern dives into the abyss. Other details fade as more information flows linking related patterns together. Connections build a network of memories, blurring some details while reinforcing others. Memories change. Blue becomes gray, tall becomes average. And sometimes something out of the ordinary blazes like the sun floating above the other memories, an interpretation hiding other details, always there.

Does the tapestry of reality mutate altering memory?

Even if the tapestry changes, my girl is here. She is a grown woman now, a stranger, and she doesn’t remember me. The information holds all the ghosts. One only needs to look, and interpret. I’ve found my ghost, my little girl, and I keep her in my heart.

They never leave, these cosmic fingerprints.

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Related: see recent article about false memories on Ars Technica.

False memory is the basis behind this character, Steve Reynolds, and the ‘memory thief’ vampire in Kandy Fangs. Steve finds his little girl and the woman in Raven Memory.

Cosmic Fingerprints is an edited re-post from 2010.

Not an Angel — #FridayFlash

Like thunder, deep laughter rumbled.

Spinning around, Draco Torre raised her guns and thumbed hammers back. Three pyres burned illuminating the dusty road, and two others smoldered. A body lay face-up in the road before the saloon. Uncertain where the laughter came from, Torre continued turning around, her left arm trailing behind until both guns aimed nearly in opposite directions. Two bodies lay at the base of the steps to the church.

Nothing moved.

Completing the circle, she faced the line of pyres splashing light on the pale faces of the buildings. The putrifying stench of charred former residents mixed with the smell of released bowels and blood from their fallen murderers. Shops and homes gazed on in mourning.

A deep voice cracked into Torre’s skull beating against the back of her head. Foreign thoughts pierced deep inside.

My angel, said the thought, translated within Draco Torre’s mind. The deep laugh pounded from within.

Shouting, Torre said, “Show yourself!”

From the saloon, a shadow flowed against the firelight, a snaking tendril creeping on the road. Black smoke rising, the shadow-snake coiled together at the center of the road and swirled, rising higher into a pillar. A burst of fluttering appendages unfolded, bony fingers with black fingernails like talons extended from the growing sleeves. A smoking boot took a silent step becoming solid. The next step crunched on gravel, and a dark duster gathered around the form.

Hat pulled low left most of creature’s face in shadow except for the end of his snarling grin over his pale, pointed chin, and the plume of white hair falling over his shoulders. He laughed, a normal audible laugh, almost as deep as before. That rumble grated on Torre’s nerves.

Searching the depths of her memories, among the bodies, the valleys of the dead, the rusty, sweet taste of blood, Torre found the name of this dark visitor.

“Ramiel!”

“Farmers and ranchers,” said Ramiel. He scanned the fallen bodies. “And my angel slaughtered them.”

“Savage murderers, they were,” said Torre. If only she had arrived sooner, the farmers of Hope Hill might have survived the night.

Ramiel pointed a talon at Draco Torre. “Dressed like a man—like a rancher, my angel forgets her path.”

“I’m not your angel,” said Torre. Barely realizing her fingers squeezed triggers, she fired both guns.

Looking down the barrels, beyond the swirl of smoke, she saw the row of pyres.

Ramiel was gone.

A crunch of gravel sounded from behind, and she spun around.

Beyond the end of her barrels, wild hazel eyes flooded by tears gazed back.

Standing twelve steps away, a young woman raised her hands holding a revolver. Torre recognized her gun discarded earlier in the fight, and she knew, one bullet remained inside.

Gazing into the frightened eyes of the sole survivor of Hope Hill, she lowered her gun.

Draco Torre didn’t even hear the sound. The kick knocked the small frame of the girl back, barrel flying up. The shot was high, but not high enough hitting Torre in the shoulder, knocking her sideways and stumbling back.

The report fell away leaving a droning ring in her ears.

Legs giving out, she sat on the road.

Torre gazed up at the sky finding the half-face of the moon, Nulan. She found the face wishing her mother had never shown her that devious grin. Nulan gazed down at Torre and laughed. And laugh she should. After all the battles, even a war nobody deserved to win, Torre felt embarrassed, shot by a girl with her own gun, and after the fight was already done.

Nulan laughed, and then she cried.

Torre gazed at the survivor sitting on the ground.

“I apologize for shooting you, sir,” said the young woman. “I thought you were one of them.”

“Sorry for your loss,” said Torre. She lowered her head in prayer for the girl, the last hope for Hope Hill.

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Râmîêl is the name of the fallen angel of thunder in charge of watching over the rising dead awaiting judgement. In female form, she is known as the angel of hope. See: , Wikipedia.

Pendant for Kisses

Twilight,

our kiss explodes with color.

Darkness is your dress flowing over our past.

I offer my pendant, light for our love.

We dance, entangled,

pouring shadows on our pain.

You are the night.

I am the day.

Round and round

we dance,

sprinkling

colorful kisses.

Venom Episode 5

Episode 5 No Pain No Return, the official beginning of Kandy’s side of the story posted. A vampire-wraith wants Kandy to bleed fighting across time. This multi-page episode offers a choice of two paths. If taking the longer road, look for the special arrow (➥) to return from the middle of “Final Dance 2″ which is the ending of the original serial.

See Venom table of contents for episode guide.

 

Kandy Fangs Mention on EpiGuide

On EpiCast #015 (audio) at www.epiguide.com posted on October 28th, Kandy Fangs: Venom is mentioned at the 25:30 mark. A link to all mentioned web-serials, including Venom, appear at the bottom of the page. To the best of my ability, I transcribed the comments after Venom’s brief synopsis starting at 26:14

Now what’s super interesting about this… This is a tale that is non-linear. Now there are episodes that um… you can just follow the story from both Peter’s point of view and the point of view of Kandy, who I believe is a hired killer. You can… It will take you basically chronologically through the story through their various points of view. Or you can also follow just one path through Peter’s point of view then zip on over to Kandy’s. You can basically… It’s sort of like an old fashion hyper-fiction where you can take different paths through the story.

I learned about EpiGuide just a few weeks ago and didn’t even notice they did audio casts on web fiction until I noticed traffic coming from this forum post. A nice mention. Thanks, EpiGuide.

Listen to EpiCast #015 at epiguide.podbean.com

Kandy has a Facebook page with updates on the story and art. The page is restricted to ages 17+ so you’ll need to be logged in to Facebook to see it. Kandy is on Twitter, too, @KandyFangs.

The Only Color — #FridayFlash

This is an edited repost from 2010 with reduced word count (368) and minor word changes. The comments on the original included a brief discussion over the final line, and you’ll notice I kept it here. Thank you.

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listen to ‘The Only Color 2’ on Audioboo

I accept the uniform, folded neat upon my arms. The soldier tells me blue is my color. Or is it gray? Another war, another battle—it is always the same—another uniform, nothing ever changes. A warrior only knows one color.

Blue or gray, I don my uniform holding me tight. I stand in line with the others, some carrying scars of battle upon their faces. Many pale, some dark, the warriors hold two traits in common, their color and the death in their eyes.

The mercenaries march, boots crushing the ground. The slinking centipede cuts through the army into the front line. Musket in left hand, sword in my right, I stand gazing over rolling green. The captain tells us to remember our color. Remember, the man beside me says, tugging at his uniform.

Darkness arrives with the thunder of boots. I hold no ill between warriors. This is our way. The one beside me wishes me luck, to find death at last. I thank him and shake my head. Another field, nothing ever changes. Perhaps my time passed me long ago. I wish him a good death and to remember our color.

Cannon fire announces the battle. Blue meets gray. Cries of war twist into howls of dread. I dance to the music of anguish, the beat of torment. I attack gray. Or is it blue? Dropping the musket, I carry my sword, cutting my way up the hill.

The soldiers are farmers and masons, not warriors. Blue and gray are their colors before the reaping. Some turn away in fear, others stand frozen clenching weapons. I clear first the ones with strength in their eyes. Weapons falling, death calling, a warrior only knows one color.

Blue or gray I forget, but their faces burn into memory. Color flees their cheeks, light departs their eyes. They shed crimson tears upon my dress. Even the mercenaries cry for me. I envy them, their freedom.

On the hilltop, I stand alone. Blue or gray matter no more. All of the fallen wear the same color—my color—flowing down the hill.

Red is my color, the only color I know.