Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 91

Photo Prompt 99

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 99th prompt is Masks.







All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

#FridayFlash - The Spin Doctor

I don't normally write continuation of flash stories as I prefer the tales to be 'self-contained', but this is a companion peace to last week's Third in the Polls.




* * *




Footsteps echoed along
the wood-panelled corridor. Running the length of the east wing, the corridor's
walls groaned beneath the weight of valuable paintings and tapestries. Raymond
paid them no attention as he strode past. He'd spent years studying their
symbolism and metaphors as a younger man - they'd long since ceased to hold any
fascination for him.




"Sir? Sir, where
are we going?"




The young man at
Raymond's side stared at the canvases as he passed, struggling to appreciate
them in a single glance. He made a mental note to come back and study them when
Raymond finally allowed him to leave.




"We're going to
get some help for our polling problem," replied Raymond.




Dai stifled a groan.
Mariette warned him that Raymond wouldn't take the news well. He'd never liked
losing, but dropping to third in the polls was even more of an insult. Still,
Dai hadn't anticipated being dragged into Raymond's personal crusade.




"How?"




"We're going to
see the Spin Doctor."




Dai shuddered. Everyone
in admin told their own horror stories about the Spin Doctor, a somewhat
shadowy figure within the Organisation.




"Can he
help?"




"She. And if she
can't, then no one can."




The corridor opened
into the central atrium of the building, a huge square space surrounded by a
vast staircase and galleries on each floor. A glass skylight served as the
ceiling, and Dai watched the reflection of the clouds outside in the polished
marble floor.




"Come on, Dai.
Up."




Raymond took the stairs
two at a time, and Dai ran to keep up. They passed others on the way upstairs,
each of whom gave Dai a quizzical look, and Raymond a wide berth. Dai shrugged
at them all.




The staircase led up to
the third floor. Raymond strode away down the corridor, pausing at a doorway
beside a narrow window. He opened the door and disappeared up a steep flight of
wooden steps into the gloom above. Dai bit his lip - he'd give anything not to
go any further.




"Come on, Dai. I
haven't got all day."




Raymond's baritone
floated down the stairs, and Dai forced himself up the steps into the daytime
murk of the attics. The roof banked in a
steep line, forcing Dai to walk bent over as he followed Raymond between the
low rafters. A dull grey light infused everything with a sickly glow. Something
sticky brushed his face, and Dai wiped away a length of what looked like white
silk.




“Greetings, Raymond.
This is quite a surprise.”




A rasping voice floated
from the shadows in the corner of the attic. Dai winced – it sounded like the
syllables were drawn across sandpaper. His eyes widened as a spider scuttled
forward into the cold light – a spider so large it dwarfed Raymond’s tall
frame.




“We need your help,”
said Raymond. He looked up at the spider, his face reflected millions of times
in the spider’s black eyes.




“So I hear. Third in
the polls, are you?” The spider rubbed her front two legs together. Dai took
two quiet steps backwards.




“Yes. I don’t know why,
but the opposition just seem to be more attractive to the public.”




“I know why. It’s your
PR department. Why don’t you just let me handle it?”




“I should have done. I
will do. But will you help us right now?”




“I will. But you know
what I need.”




Raymond turned to Dai
and beckoned him forward. The hair on the back of Dai’s neck stood up and he
shook his head.




“The youngster is an
arachnophobe,” said the spider.




“Dai, don’t be a fool.
We all need to contribute to the cause. Besides, we don’t need much, just a
drop of your blood.”




Raymond grabbed Dai’s
arm and pulled him forward. Dai struggled, but the spider knocked his legs out
from under him. Dai landed on the floor with a thump, and the spider pinned him
down with her front legs. Raymond produced a penknife from his pocket and ran
its blade across Dai’s thumb. Dai yelped.




“Sssh, Dai. The Spin Doctor
needs your blood to transfer into the pen of a writer. The essence of a
werewolf is the surest way to get our kind back into fiction. All it takes is
one successful book, and more will follow – and our position in the hierarchy will
improve,” said Raymond. He squeezed the cut, and caught the dripping blood in a
glass jar.




The spider released Dai
when the jar was full. Raymond put away the penknife and helped Dai to his
feet. Dai stuck his thumb into his mouth to suck the cut, hoping his
preternatural healing would kick in soon. His legs trembled but all things
considered, that wasn’t so bad.




“Very good, thank you.
I will let you know when the transfer has been made,” said the spider.




Raymond nodded and
headed towards the stairs. Dai turned to follow, but Raymond shook his head.




“No, Dai. You must stay
here.”




“Why?”




“The Spin Doctor might
need more blood.”




“You said you’d only
need a drop?”




“You can never predict
how these things will go,” said the spider.




Raymond disappeared
down the staircase. Dai heard the door close downstairs, and the spider
scuttled away into the darkness.




Dai sat down and
pressed his back against the wall. All he could do was hope that his blood was
enough to inspire the next great werewolf story...and buy his freedom.

[Guest Post] Carrie Clevenger on Blog Serials

At the start of August, you might have seen me madly tweeting about the fact I finally had a paperback copy of Crooked Fang by my very good friend Carrie Clevenger. Now, I'm not one for vampires, but I've been rather keen on Carrie's take since I first read the serial she ran on her blog. Times change and Xan Marcelles has taken his turn in the spotlight, and that very awesome serial is now a book. A proper, honest-to-God book I can (and do) wave in people's faces. Carrie's doing a blog tour to promote it, and here she is, talking about how to turn a blog serial into a book.



Over to you Carrie!




* * *




Xan Marcelles in Crooked Fang began life as a concept that’d occurred to me years before in some pitiful ninety-page story I wrote in a frenzy to purge my grief. I put Xan aside at that time because I wrote a different sort of vampire, much closer to Anne Rice’s style. Things happened. Time passed. Xan played a secondary character to the ancient vampire I was so enamored with, yet his own story scratched at the base of my brain.



I started a blog (that no longer exists) for fun in order to capture some of his story in 2008. I wrote posts whenever I felt like it and they were somewhat dark; how he lived, died, and came back as a vampire. Then I started a new blog called simply Crooked Fang. Crooked Fang is the name of Xan Marcelles’ band and it seemed catchy enough, very rock star in nature. In that blog, I wrote Xan’s life at a tavern he settled at, called Pale Rider, after leaving the vampire lifestyle behind. About the same time, I had him on Twitter along with my own account and discovered the power of social networking. I still only posted whenever a story would occur to me, but I started to get readers. They followed the blog and commented on each post and encouraged me. Xan’s silly adventures seemed to draw in people from all sorts of backgrounds due to his ordinary dude character and I realized that I had something there that was more than just screwing around. He was finally telling the story trapped in those horrid ninety pages I wrote in 2001.



I started out with eight readers. Thirty followers on Twitter for him. Their encouragement compelled me to become more regular with the posts, upping them to once every two weeks, then finally one a week. When #TuesdaySerial came about on Twitter, I listed his posts every week. My readership grew slowly but steadily. I was asked, “When’s the novel coming out?” Novel? I thought. I can’t write a novel. That’s a whole lot of words. I don’t have time to write ninety-thousand words besides what would I write about? Crooked Fang was just for fun; it was a release from everyday life. I liked to entertain and Xan was easy to love.



At second glance, I was kind of writing a novel somewhat, because when I put all the blog posts together, it equaled about fifty-three thousand words. Wow, I thought. Well, if I could do that, surely I could up it to sixty-thousand? I had it in my mind to self-publish it and was rather attached to the idea until I ran across someone on a doom metal band’s forum named Nerine Dorman.



Nerine and I hit it off almost immediately, due to our shared passion for the music of Type O Negative. She also happened to be an editor for a publishing company, Lyrical Press. Her curiosity was piqued when I mentioned Crooked Fang. Somehow, I ended up showing her the story and she made editing suggestions. Eventually she managed to convince me to try to publish through a company rather than on my own.



But here’s what you came for: How a serial on a blog is turned into a novel. Short answer is: Lots and lots of work. The long answer is the same but by layering: Adding deeper description, character insight, additional scenes, time consistency (mine was completely hosed at first) and motivation for each and every movement in the story. Eight versions of Crooked Fang reside on my hard drive because of the revision and editing process. Each time, I added a layer, trimmed a scene that didn’t fit, or changed a character and learned in general how to pace the story.



It’s a hands-on training sort of position when you take a rough draft and polish it to a finished novel and you gain a deep respect for those who’ve gone before you, especially for the more-epic-style writers. It is a huge investment perhaps not financially, but certainly lifestyle and time-wise.



I was stumped when it came time to end the novel. How to close off the plot in Crooked Fang after I resolved the main obstacle without fully resolving everything about Xan? Because when you resolve all of the character’s issues, the story is over. I left off and sent the story to Nerine, explaining that I still hadn’t thought of a proper ending. Turns out, the ending I just left off on was the final result.



Because a story never ends really, just like real life. I suppose one day Xan can ride off on some dark highway for the last time but for now, he’s not done. Neither am I. So how does Crooked Fang end? You’ll have to read the book to find out.





Sometimes a vampire's past can bite him in the ass.


Xan Marcelles--bassist for Crooked Fang, vampire and full-time asshole, is content with his quiet existence in the backwoods of Pinecliffe, Colorado. But life at the Pale Rider tavern is set to become a little more complicated when he gets entangled with a feisty, blue-haired damsel and her abusive soon-to-be ex boyfriend.


To add to his woes, he's gone from hunter to hunted, and his past returns to haunt him when a phone call draws him back to New Mexico. With the help of friends from his living past, he must get to the bottom of a murder, and figure out where he stands with his lover and his band, all while keeping one step ahead of his enemies. Hiding won't be easy for him, especially with a mysterious woman dogging him every step of the way.



WARNING: Cussing, smoking, drinking and hot sex.





Main site: crookedfang.com and sales link is here.



Lyrical Press, ebook format (all formats) to be published August 20.



Katarr Kanticles also, print version released August 1.



Also on Goodreads and Facebook.



Carrie Clevenger landed in the urban fantasy genre when she couldn't decide between horror and humor. When not writing she enjoys listening to music, hanging out with musicians, attending local venues, catching her favorite bands on tour, and obsessing over The Next Big Album release. Main influences include Maynard James Keenan, Stephen King, Anne Rice, and the late Peter Steele. Follow Carrie on Twitter as @CarrieClevenger.

Photo Prompt 98

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 98th prompt is Sunset.







All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

#FridayFlash - Third In The Polls

Dai didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but as the new boy, the task fell to him. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, hoping that his leader wasn't the type to shoot the messenger.



"Enter."



A deep voice boomed within the chamber on the other side of the door. Dai gripped the doorknob with a trembling hand and slipped inside the room.



"Yes?"



Raymond sat behind a massive walnut desk, surrounded by piles of books. His pale amber eyes peered at Dai over the top of a trade newspaper. Dai held out the communication from the main office.



"Sir, we're down in the polls again."



"We're what?"



Raymond dropped his newspaper and snatched the list from Dai. His eyes skipped across the results, coming to rest on the final tallies for the month.



"We've dropped to third? How did we let this happen?"



"It's so difficult, sir, they've really raised its game and they're giving the people what they want." Dai stared at the floor. He didn't want to admit that some of what their competition had been saying was actually pretty good. Particularly the newest guy, a Navajo in Colorado.



"And what's this? Even the independents are catching us up?" Raymond jabbed his finger at several names further down the list.



"Well, sir, there will always be people who want to offer something a little different. There's one guy in Cape Town, he's really saying things that have never really been said before."



"I don't care - it's not good enough. Not good enough at all. And these upstarts in second place...how did we end up falling behind them? They're still such newcomers compared to us - how can the people listen to such a horde of screeching idiots?"



Dai said nothing. Raymond studied his face before thrusting the list back into Dai's hand.



"I've had enough. Get the PR department on the phone, I want to know what they're playing at. We've had much stronger candidates out there recently - we should be trouncing the opposition."



"Yes, sir. Right away."



"And while you're at it, let it be known that I will not let those bloodsuckers, or those mindless thugs, beat us again." Raymond swung his chair around to face the window. He stared out at the view, thick forests coating the rolling hills in ancient bark.



"Yes, sir."



"We're werewolves, Dai. We deserve better than this. We will make the people remember who, and what, we are."




* * *


Image by SirSlasher . If you're interested in the Navajo in Colorado then you can buy Crooked Fang here, and the young man in Cape Town is the star of Inkarna, available here.

Should writers use Pinterest?

The ever helpful Kristen Lamb has a post over on her blog about why writers should be using Pinterest. Pinterest, for those who don't know, is a service by which you can create a 'board' and 'pin' images that you think are interesting. You can create boards for almost anything, from showing off your own artwork to sharing those images and photos that you've found online. Kristen suggests creating boards full of photos that inspired a book you've written, in the same way that some authors create musical playlists that accompanied the writing process.



I know, I know, almost every person who runs a blog about writing seems to post something every other day about why you should use this or that new profile/network/social media - it seems like something new comes out on a fairly regular basis and we're always being told that if we don't jump on the bandwagon, we risk being left behind by those people who embrace new technology. It gets confusing, and after a while, you find you're spending more time trying to figure out new stuff, and less time actually writing. Where's the sense in that? It's madness, I tell you.




[image error]
Now, I read this particular post with some interest because I like the idea of Pinterest but I just wasn't sure how I could actually use it. If you take a look at my boards, you'll see I currently have four. I've got Colour Swatches, which is a collection of the colour palettes I've put together using my own photographers, and which are available for download in various formats over on ColourLovers.com (but you can still sample the colours from these bad boys on Pinterest using the Eyedropper tool in Photoshop). There's also a board for my Creative Photography, which I keep forgetting to update since I put everything on Flickr as standard. There's Old Photos, which are cool old photos that I've found online, and Fabric Designs, which is comprised of the fabric designs that I have for sale on Spoonflower. I'm hardly setting the world of Pinterest alight.





But is there greater scope here? I could easily create a board themed according to The Guns of Retribution , and pin photos of locations that inspired the book, or images of Grey's weaponry. I could create one for The Necromancer's Apprentice, dedicated to supernatural, fantastical or mummy-related imagery. Humans are by their nature a visual species so would this be a better way of sparking interest, by pinning interesting photos or asking people to contribute their own? After all, people can sometimes shy away from reading a sample of a book based on nothing more than a brief blurb, but if images stimulate their imagination, then they're bringing more visual acumen to the reading experience - which can only really enhance it. For example, if I have a board full of pictures of the Arizona desert, Old West ghost towns, Colt Peacemakers and Victorian photos from the 1880s, you're going to have a much better mental image of the world of The Guns of Retribution.



I suppose my question is...would it be worth going to the effort of creating one?

Photo Prompt 97

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 97th prompt is Castle on the Rock.








All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

#FridayFlash - No Cats

It took Henri sixteen minutes and thirty four seconds to decide which mask to buy. Marc stood by the door, checking the football scores on his phone, while she deliberated over feathers, glitter, metal filigree or Swarovski crystal. He'd already bought his souvenir mask the day before, a dark red leather affair designed to look like the type of Christian devil you'd seen in a medieval engraving.



"OK, I've decided on this one."



Henri led Marc out of the shop and into the narrow street. She ignored the tuts from passersby as she stopped to pull the package out of the carrier bag.



"Why don't you leave it wrapped up? It'll be easier to get it home in one piece," said Marc. He pulled on her handbag strap, trying to urge her towards one of the large, and less crowded, squares.



"But I want to show you now! Honestly, it's so cool, I'm going to have to find some kind of excuse to wear it when we get home."



Her fingers tore through the many layers of paper, and she shoved the ball of protective tissue back into the bag. With a cry of triumph, she held out the mask towards Marc. He gave it a glance as he steered her along the twisting alleyways. It seemed Henri had finally gone for her original choice, a half-face mask sculpted to look like a cat, complete with ears, feline nose and plump cheeks. The mask was a patchwork of gold, white and faded sheet music.



"Ah, that one. I told you that was the most 'you' mask they had."



"I know but I needed to be sure. It's not like we'll come back here, is it?"



Henri held the mask up to her face, peering through the eye holes. Marc looked away, unnerved to see his girlfriend's eyes and nose disappear behind the paint and papier mache. She mewed at him and Marc rolled his eyes.



"Do you like it?" she asked.



"Yes. It's very you. Now come on, there's that bridge we have to cross to get back to the hotel."



Marc gestured ahead to the bridge. Wide stone steps led up, away from the busy pavement, and carried the street over the canal. A warren of passageways lay on the other side. He still couldn't get used to the canals, with their bright green water and faintly fishy smell. Marc couldn't guess at how deep they were - or what lurked in their depths. He'd said as much to the hotel owner this morning - Signor Spavento laughed, mumbled something in Italian, and then asked "Why else do you see no cats in Venice?"



Henri scampered ahead and peered over the side of the bridge. She held her hair back with one hand, and the mask to her face with the other. She admired her reflection in the canal.



“Oh wow, I love it! Maybe I’ll wear it at Halloween. I could be, like, a Venetian Catwoman, or something.”



Marc darted up the steps to avoid a tourist with a camera, and stood behind Henri. She looked good, but she was no Michelle Pfeiffer. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Instead he focused on the mask and thought about the fact they’d seen no cats in Venice.



A dark shadow rippled beneath the surface of the water. It lurked beneath the bridge, formless and waiting, like an ink stain caught in time. Marc looked around but saw nothing that could cast the shadow. Henri continued to primp and pose, trying out different facial expressions with the mask, oblivious to the fact that only the lower half of her face could be seen.



“Henri, we should go.”



Marc backed away from the side of the bridge, keeping his eyes on the shadow. Henri mewed, and the water below erupted upwards. Henri shrieked as Marc pulled her backwards, but the cold canal spray caught them with a jet of briny water. Tourists at either end of the bridge squealed in both delight and surprise, and the sound of camera shutters filled the air. Marc ignored it all – he’d caught a glimpse of a shadow within the impromptu fountain. A shadow with grasping hands, and something shimmering entwined in its claws.



Henri pulled a packet of tissues out of her bag and began wiping herself dry. Marc ignored the proffered tissues and stepped forward. He looked into the canal, its waters settling to a gentle motion, lapping at the boats moored either side. There was no sign of the shadow.



“Can you see anything? What the hell was that? Seriously, I’m soaked now.”



Henri appeared at his side on the bridge and looked into the water. They gasped in unison as only Marc’s reflection gazed back.



“No cats in Venice,” murmured Marc. He looked down at the mask in Henri’s trembling hand, and back into the canal.



No shadows, no ripples…and no reflection.




* * *


This is my second Venice-themed #FridayFlash, following last week's Tourists. Some more photos from my trip can be found in this blog post, which includes a photo of the mask I bought (which takes my tally of Venetian masks up to four). Now, it has to be noted, I have no idea if anything weird does live in the canals, but during the whole four days I was there, I only saw one cat. So you never know.

Photo Prompt 96

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 96th prompt is Beached Boats.








All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Venezia 2012 trip

According to Blogger, this is my 500th post! So congratulations to me for managing that much waffle, and well done to you for putting up with it!





Anyhow. I got back from Venice on Tuesday and I figured I should probably actually put some photos up on here and tell you how the trip went. Well it all began on Thursday when I got the train down to London, since we were flying to Marco Polo Airport from Gatwick. Travel to Gatwick on Friday was fine, flight was fine, arrival in Venice was fine...and you have to admit, a view like this takes some beating.





Santa Maria Della Salute on the left, then the Doge's Palace and Campanile on the right

We caught the water bus, or vaporetto, for the airport to the Rialto Bridge, which is one of Venice's busiest areas, and most well-known tourist spots. It's also one of the few bridges over the Grand Canal, and has shops lining the bridge, selling all sorts of tourist treasures. You can see how packed it gets from the people lined up.





The Rialto Bridge

We eventually managed to find our hotel, which was just round the corner from the Rialto Bridge, but hidden down a rather narrow street. Nice place, really. Clean, comfortable, all the stuff you'd expect. I'm still a little flabbergasted that I managed to find a hotel in such an essentially central location at such a reasonable price - thank you, Expedia!!





Typical view while walking around Venice


We spent Friday afternoon and evening just wandering around, acclimatising to Venice and enjoying being out of England. Still a little baffling that I could walk around in a vest and shorts at night, but then the temperature only went down to around 24°C.





View down the Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge


Saturday was our "doing stuff" day. I'd wanted to see inside the Doge's Palace since I was in Venice in December 2006, and we'd bought advance tickets online before we went from VivaTicket which meant we could jump the queue (hurray!) The Doge's Palace, or Palazzo Ducal, is a fantastic confection of Byzantine architecture, from a spectacular courtyard to the sumptuous rooms inside. The Palace is linked with a nearby prison block by the famous Bridge of Sighs.





The Doge's Palace courtyard

After that, we explored St Mark's Square, or the Piazza San Marco, which is sort of Venice's equivalent of Piccadilly Circus or Trafalgar Square. It's home to the Campanile bell tower, the Basilica di San Marco, the Doge's Palace, and the Museo Correr. The last one is pretty much three museums in one, and entry is covered by the same ticket we used for the Doge's Palace. They have mummies!!





Piazza San Marco

The rest of Saturday was spent wandering, and we popped into the Hard Rock Cafè (just behind the Piazza San Marco) for dinner. Venice is definitely a city which caters to walkers, since the gondolas and water taxis are a bit pricey. But if you're prepared for many steps up and down the bridges over the canals, and you don't mind exploring twisty, narrow streets, then you'll be fine.





So pretty!

On Sunday, we decided to go looking for the church featured as a library in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Paul tracked it down online, and we went looking for the Church of San Barnaba in the Dorsoduro district. The exteriors were filmed in Venice, while the interiors were a studio set at Universal. After walking past it twice and even eating lunch outside it, we finally realised we'd found the place! Good job we didn't go looking for the Grail too.





Church of San Barnaba in the Campo San Barnaba

Dorsoduro was probably my favourite of the districts, as it's by far the prettiest and quietest of the five. I could imagine spending many lazy Sundays here, even if it is fairly easy to get lost. It's also where I found my Venetian mask souvenir, but more on that later.





Typical Dorsoduro view

We ended up spending a fair bit of time just exploring Venice, and the Piazza San Marco at night is well worth a look, if you can stand all the tourists and street sellers.





Piazza San Marco at night

Monday ended up being a chance to take one last look around, and we set off to make sure we had plenty of time to catch the vaporetto back to the airport in time for check in. I certainly enjoyed Venice, and I was glad I'd gone back for a second visit. It was nice to explore its labyrinthine streets, and I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as expensive as I'd been expecting. Plus, in terms of souvenirs, Venice can't be beaten with its fabulous array of masks...





More traditional masks...



Cyberpunk masks!!


And of course I had to get my own, didn't I?