Christopher Ruz's Blog, page 11

The Eighteen Revenges of Doctor Milan – $2.99 on Kindle

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The Eighteen Revenges of Doctor Milan is my latest science fiction novella, about thirteen months in the making. It sprang from a dream I had of a man in prison conversing with an angel, and the dreams he had of being caught in the Second World War (inspired in no small measure by Tad William's Otherland series, no doubt). After months of revisions and complete restructures - including the complete excision of the WW2 aspect, the introduction of a science fiction setting, and a lot of research into karma and the role of a satguru, Eighteen Revenges was finally finished on Dec 23rd, 2012.

The story goes like this:

Cezar didn't come to the prison colony known as the Pike for rehabilitation. He came for revenge.

Ten years ago, Cezar witnessed mutiny and murder aboard a colony starship. He survived, and with the aid of the enigmatic Doctor Milan he's worked his way into the Pike to kill the man who led the rebellion: the warden himself. But before he can get his hands around the warden's neck, he has to deal with the prison gang known as the Song, a Buddhist preacher with a suspicious interest in Cezar's past, and the creature lurking in the mines at the heart of the Pike... a monster that devours men whole and that may, in a way, be instrumental to Cezar's plans...

Cezar has his fists and a head filled with Milan's combat circuitry. The warden has a platoon of armed guards. The only way out of the Pike is death.

The time has come for karma and blood.

THE EIGHTEEN REVENGES OF DOCTOR MILAN is a 32,000 word psychedelic science fiction novella, in the tradition of Michael Moorcock and Alfred Bester, and is available exclusively on Kindle.

So it's about blood, visions, vengeance, twists, Buddhism, betrayals, prison riots, and an impossible monster. I like it a lot - if I didn't like it, I wouldn't have written it - and I'm glad I can finally show it to the world. Thank you to Nyss, Andy, Adam, Andrew, Anna and Merrilee for their feedback and ongoing support. I couldn't have done it without you!

Now, back to Century of Sand, book 2! Have a great NYE, everyone.

Want to appear in Olesia Anderson #5 or #6? Here’s how.

So Olesia is already jetting off to Venice for her fifth adventure, and I'm deep into planning and plotting. Who will she meet? Who will she romance? Who will she kill?

It could be you. Or you. Or you!

If you'd like to be a part of Olesia Anderson #5 or #6 (I'm planning both at the moment) then I'd love to have you, either as villains, heroes and heroines, bystanders, mooks, and corpses. All you have to do is this:

1) Read and leave an Amazon review any Olesia Anderson thriller between now and January 15th, 2013.

2) Share that review on twitter, Facebook, or both.

3) Show me that you've completed the above steps, either through a comment here, email, twitter message, or Facebook comment.

That's it. Read a book, review it, tell people you reviewed it, and you might be the next great Olesia Anderson sidekick/villain/henchman/romantic interest/any combination of the aforementioned. The best reviews dropped over that period (now to Jan 15th) win the roles! By the BEST reviews, I don't mean the most flattering/fawning reviews, or the longest. I mean the reviews that best explain the book to a potential reader, that explain their likes and dislikes most clearly, that show that the reviewer cares.

Q: Can I leave the review on ANY Olesia Anderson book?

A: Yup. Anything from #1 to #4.2, or even the omnibus collection.

Q: I don't have a Kindle/can't afford to buy an Olesia Anderson ebook

A: No problem! I'm always happy to send out copies of the first book, Dirty Deals, to interested readers. Just leave a comment here or on Facebook/Twitter/email/etc!

Q: What if I leave a bad review? Can I still star in a book?

A: If your review is well written, sure. I value honest reviews more than fawning ones. That said, I don't know why you'd want to appear in a series you don't enjoy.

Q: I don't have time to leave a review.

A: Then this competition is not for you.

Q: I wouldn't be comfortable appearing in a book that also features sex scenes.

A: Then this competition is really not for you.

Q: I already appeared in a previous Olesia book! Can I appear again?

A: If your character is still alive, sure!

Q: I left a review before I this competition began. Can I still participate?

A: Sure, but you have to write a new review. Nobody has reviewed all five books yet, so you can't use that excuse.

Q: Will I get to have sex with Olesia?

A: This is the worst question ever.

Double Down Part 2 is live on Amazon!

It was a long three months, but Double Down Part 2 is live and already selling!

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A huge thank you to the team of test readers and friends who helped me shape this two part saga of backstabbing and explosions, and to all those who are already buying, reading and sharing links to my work. I couldn't have done it without you!

If you missed Double Down Part 1, it's available right now on Kindle for just $2.99. And if you'd like to start reading the Olesia Anderson stories but don't have either a Kindle or the money to spare, drop me a comment and I'll mail you a .pdf copy of #1 in the series!

The cover for Double Down, Part 2

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I'm excited. Are you excited?

One last proofreading run, and DDpt2 is launching on Kindle. Watch here for updates!

Double Down Part 2 is a wrap.

32,000 words of pure mayhem, double-proofed and ready to roll. All I need is a cover, and Double Down Pt 2 will be ready for sale.

Thank you to everyone who provided feedback, editorial and proofreading assistance with this novella. I feel that DDpt2 is the best entry in the Olesia Anderson storyline yet, and it's all thanks to you.

Keep an eye on the blog for the finished cover, and the final launch day!

A thermonuclear explosion in a merkin factory

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Some days my hair obeys. Other days, not so much.

Still working on Century of Sand bk 2. Nearing the end of the paper edits, after which I have to retype the whole damn thing. But, I'm pretty sure this new draft is sleeker, punchier, and ten times more gripping than the first, so it's been worth the hours and sleepless nights.

Updates on Olesia Anderson 4.2 soon!

Dabbling with Project Ocho again

About two years ago I started writing a huge, sprawling cyberpunk-esque novel about genetics and body-horror. I lost my grasp on the plot about six months in and abandoned it. Now, some of those old ideas are resurfacing. I scrapped almost everything I had and busted out a new opening. Hope it goes somewhere good, this time.

First draft, be as critical as you like.

Project Ocho

- - -

Denia's world explodes at six fifteen pm.

At six, she's locking her briefcase, disconnecting her tac from the Marsden&Marsden servers, and flushing her systems. It's closing time. All employees must purge personal data before stepping out the doors. Basic security – protection of proprietary software is paramount. The last thing Denia's employers need is some low-level programmer getting mugged outside the front doors and having their tac dug out of their spine complete with confidential tarballs.

She runs the flush. It tingles in her molars. For a moment she's unable to remember her own birthday, and then the program finishes. She has been baptised, her internal systems declared clean of sin.

Her cubicle is on the thirty-eighth floor. High enough to see out over the lurching smokestack tangle of the favelas, the slums of Rio De Janeiro that expand and divide and split ceaselessly, climbing ever upwards towards a dying sun. Not high enough to break through the up-smog, though. There are layers to the pollution in Rio. At ground level is a bed of humidity, air clean enough to breathe but thick enough to slice. The real sickness lingers around two hundred meters up, a layer of bile-green cloud that poisons birds that dare to fly too high. Everything in between is slow poison.

She fits a fresh air filter while waiting for the elevator.

At five minutes past six she steps into the lobby. Her boss is waiting by the plastic ferns, hands folded before him. Their eyes meet. He beckons her over.

Despite having worked for the man for nearly six years, it takes Denia a moment to recall his name. Hard to think straight, after a 6pm flush. Grant, she remembers. Grant the leech.

Grant reaches out as if to shake Denia's hand, but his own hand snakes and ends up resting on her hip. He squeezes. “Always punctual.”

“Should I be staying late?”

“No, no. We like punctuality.” Grant grins. His smile is sculpted but his tongue is too long, pointed, almost snakelike. “I have a cab waiting.”

Grant has been following Denia for months. They've played this game of dodge and escape in the lobby every evening since June. She remembers the instructions in the company manual. Maintain neutral expression, eyes ahead. Emotion will betray you in a settlement, they say. If she ever wants to advance past AL-4, every nerve must be sutured. “Thank you, but-”

“Proper cab. Not some bugiganga slum piece of shit. Full armour deck, license to crush, you know what I mean?”

Denia tenses her jaw. “I have a date.”

“With who?” Grant's smile widens. “There's an opening in AL-3 for a girl who wants to climb.”

She clenches her hands into fists. Her knuckles are white on the handle of her briefcase. “I get it.”

“Good girl,” Grant whispers, and Denia shivers. The words are soothing. Subservient passphrases are programmed into all M&M recruits during induction, to keep them pliable. Upper management aren't supposed to use them for personal business, but Grant has never respected the line between work and pleasure. “The taxi won't wait forever, not with this weather-”

Rubber squeals against macadam. The crump of steel folding carries through the lobby. Grant whispers, “Puta que pariu-”

Denia fights off the pre-orgasmic lethargy caused by the passphrase and runs to the doors.

Fifty meters outside the double-reinforced acrylic security airlock, a battered blue sedan has driven into an iron lightpost. The sedan has crumpled, the hood punched inward. Two men in the front, heads slumped on their chests. A woman in back, twisted by the impact, mouth hanging open. Blood on her forehead.

Smoke pours from beneath the hood. The black is almost solid. Smoke is leaking from the dash as well, drowning the driver and his passenger. In the heart of the smoke, Denia sees bright tongues of flame.

“Christ and Mother Mary,” she whispers. The doors recognise her tac and open for her. Behind, Grant calls, “You idiot! Put your filter on, your fucking filter!” Her hands are numb as she hooks the filter straps over her ears and sucks down air. Crowds are already gathering, and one man runs for the sedan, trying to pry open the doors. Fire inside, boiling from the ventilation.

She's ten meters from the car when the driver's door swings open and a man tumbles out, batting at his face. His chest is wreathed in fire. The crowd parts around him, forced back as if by magnetic polarity, and the man collapses on the street, hands limp by his sides. Flames dance over his back and lick his ribs.

Nobody in the crowd dares touch him. Denia is frozen. Grant is by her side, one hand on her shoulder. “We should get inside. That piece of shit could blow. Anyway, you touch one of those dumb fucks are you're liable for damages.” Security is running out of M&M now, men in white armoured uniforms carrying fire extinguishers. “Come on, let the pros deal with it. Come-”

She hears the van before she sees it. The engine roar, the shrill tearing of rubber. It skids around the corner, tipping onto two wheels, before thudding down and aiming at the doors. Security staff are still passing through the airlock, sprinting for the fire. The acrylic safety doors are wide open.

Denia sees, for just one moment, the man behind the wheel. Young, dark skinned, baseball cap turned sideways on his head, lips pursed. He looks calm.

The van hits the airlock at a sharp angle. Sandwiches of acrylic spiderwebs but don't break. The van bounces and stops, jammed sideways in the airlock doors.

The explosion punches Denia in the guts. Her lungs are crushed flat. Her guts are shuffled. Grant is shouting something beside her. The lobby of M&M is a flower of light unfurling, tremendous, swallowing the street.

Then the wind, and the hurricane of plastic shards. She falls, hands cupped over her face. Her ears are ringing, but not loud enough to block out the screams.

Through the slit between her fingers she sees the burning man calmly stand and shuck off his jacket. Underneath he wears a black tshirt drawn taut over fine muscles. Coffee-dark skin, hair cropped down to the knuckle. A pale pink scar winding around his left forearm.

A car door slams. Denia rolls over in time to see the blue sedan reversing. The woman in the back seat is wiping the blood from her forehead. The smoke has stopped.

She blinks, and the sedan is gone. All that's left is the heat, and the carpet of acrylic sparkling across the street, and the volcano of smoke vomiting from the lobby of the Marsden & Marsden offices, and the blood on her palms.

It's six sixteen PM in Rio.

World’s Best Teriyaki Salmon Recipe (if you disagree, I will fight you)

I've been working on this one for a few years now, stealing bits of other people's teriyaki recipes, experimenting and revising step by step. Tonight, I think I cracked it. I finally cooked the perfect sauce. Let me tell you how.

Ingredients:

1kg Atlantic/Tasmanian Salmon Fillets

2/3 cup mirin/rice wine

1/2 cup dark soy sauce (or 1 cup light soy)

1 tsp sesame oil

1/3 cup white sugar

4 cloves of garlic

1 knuckle of fresh ginger (about 1 tbsp, more doesn't hurt)

A sprinkle of chili flakes.

Assorted steamed veg

White rice

Add mirin to a pot and heat. Simmer for 10-15 minutes, until it looks thickened.

Mince the garlic and ginger. Add soy sauce, sesame oil, sugar, garlic, ginger, and chili flakes to mirin. Stir well, and simmer for another 5-10 minutes, until nicely thickened.

Allow sauce to fully cool. Pour over salmon fillets and marinate in fridge for two hours, turning the fillets after one hour.

Once happily marinated, cook salmon fillets in a cast iron pan on medium heat. Start with the skin-side down, until the sugary sauce has caramelised, and then turn. Meanwhile, cook white rice and simmer the remaining teriyaki sauce. If necessary, add a small amount of cornflour to the sauce to thicken. Chop & steam veg - bok choy, carrots and broccoli are recommended.

Total cooking time for the salmon should be 10-12 minutes, depending on the thickness of the cut. When they're almost done, turn off the heat on the pan and cover the fillets in aluminium foil for about 5 mins, allowing them to steam in their own juices.

Serve everything drizzled with the gravy-thick teriyaki sauce. Eat with gusto.

Hell yeah.

End of week update:

29,000 words done on Olesia Anderson 4.2 (1st draft). I think I'm a day or two away from completion.

224/415 pages edited on Century of Sand, book 2. Long way to go on that one.

In the meantime, some things that rocked my socks this week:

Torvenius is a fantastic pro concept artist, and he posts a fresh speedpaint almost every day of the week. Watch and learn, guys.

Reamde: A Novel

I finished reading Reamde, by Neal Stephenson. It was flippin' great from start to finish, but I think this is the first Stephenson novel that I won't bother re-reading. Unusually for this author, it was a very shallow novel - a story of jihadists VS Russian special forces VS MMO nerds - and while the writing was excellent I think it said everything it needed to say on the first pass.

I grooved to Sweet Brown.

Century of Sand, reviewed by KindlesandWine.

And finally, I had the pleasure of seeing Century of Sand reviewed on KindlesandWine, an ebook review blog that's well worth your attention. Great reviewers, great class. Check it out!

13/10/12 Update

End of week progress update:

Double Down Part 2: 20,000 words (of a projected 30,000)

Century of Sand 2: 217 of 430 pages edited

Naught else to report. Writing 2000 words a day is draining, but also exhilarating. My job is writing and writing is my job. What more could I want?