Sol Crafter's Blog, page 8
November 14, 2013
I have no idea what I’m willing to do for $5
If you follow me on Twitter, I mentioned before that I tried Elance. I will be writing an article about my experience, listing the pros and cons and what have yous. Though I thought it was a good idea to let you all know that any job that requires a status report gives the client your full name and address.
That’s right. Some stranger receives your full name and address. And if you click the wrong box, they get your social security number too (I used an EIN, which is free to get from irs.gov) if that’s what you’re using for tax purposes on the site. You have to agree to have it added to the invoice, but you’re basically one-click away from giving someone your whole life.
I don’t know why Elance gives out that information and is so reluctant to admit it, but there you are. So if you want to use Elance — which is a great tool for some freelancers and a horror story and a half for others — you might want to get a PO box and an EIN.
Anyways, from there I followed the advice of one of my pro-blog link guys (I’ll include his link in my article, but I’m too lazy to look it up right now) and joined Fiverr. He said it was a good way to test the waters and get some experience, and honestly it looks like a lot of fun. Plus, my Peerblock doesn’t go crazy with the site like it used to do, so I take that as a good sign.
I haven’t gotten any gigs yet, but I’ve only got two posted. I have a 0 rating, which means my account is basic. Once I attain a level, I’ll be able to add gig extras, which some people have used to turn out some good money. Basically, for $5 you get whatever base gig they’re offering, but if you choose an extra it’s the $5 plus however much the extra is, which can add up to a nice chunk of change.
I’ve been having fun looking around at all the things people are willing to do for $5 (or rather, $4 after Fiverr takes their cut) and I have to wonder What am I willing to do for $5? Anyone got any suggestions?
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
November 13, 2013
Cold Spaghetti and NaNoWriMo: The Perfect Combination
Ugh, it’s the middle of the night and I got up and ate a big bowl of cold spaghetti. Now my stomach is feeling all roly-poly “I think I’m going to be sick”-oly. I’m starting to feel tired again and I’ll go back to bed in a moment, but until then I’ve been planning out my NaNoWriMo.
I know, right? It’s practically the middle of the month and I’m just starting my story. But it’s actually the third story that I’ve started for NaNo, but it’s the only one I don’t think I’m going to discard. Those other ones left me feeling doubtful, this one makes me feel hopeful. It’s called “Freeform Jazz” because I’m not-so secretly a weirdo.
The rough start:
Jazz – real name: James Leopold. He was nicknamed Jazz because that’s what his parents were listening to when he was conceived. It’s a horrifying story he really didn’t want to know about, but it wasn’t something he could forget. Not when they insisted on listening to jazz music every year around his birthday and got all moon-eyed toward each other. It was disgusting.
But you never have to worry about it again, he thought. You’re never going to catch them being all kissy faced and sweaty-rumpled. You’re never going to see them ever again.
“Are you all right, son? Is there someone I can call?”
Jazz blinked and looked at the man that had stopped next to his perch on the stone planter. “What?”
There was infinite patience in the brown eyes that looked at him, a sad understanding that made Jazz want to slap the guy just because he could. “Would you like me to call someone for you?” the man asked.
“Why?” Jazz asked, cocking his head.
“Because you’re crying.”
The man pointed and Jazz realized that it was true. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he hadn’t even noticed them start. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve and thought that he was supposed to be embarrassed. Really, he was just tired. Exhausted in a way that made even breathing seem too hard to take.
“I’m … I’m all right,” he said. “You don’t have to call anyone. I’ll be fine.”
The man didn’t look like he believed him, but gave him a nod anyway before heading toward the stone steps. He had a black cane that went with the limp in his left leg. Jazz wondered what had happened to him.
Maybe you just met the real life John Watson, he thought. A smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t last long. Not when he couldn’t seem to stop the helpless tears that kept escaping his eyes as he tried not to think about his parents. His tragically dead parents.
Jazz mopped at his face and forced himself to his feet when what he really wanted to do was hug his knees to his chest and just break down. But how lame would that be? A nineteen year old weeping in front of the public library because he didn’t know what else to do.
He hated feeling so helpless.
Don’t tell anyone at Wattpad, but I’ve decided that it’s the origin story of GlenDal (from Heroes & Villains). Everyone knows I’m a big Sailor Moon fan, plus there’s that song from AMVHell 5: “If I were a girl, even just for a day, I’d roll out of bed in the morning and wonder what just happened to me.” The story is practically writing itself. I even came up with a little Barbie joke that I’m going to throw in.
I am really excited about NaNoWriMo. I hope you are too ^_^
The post Cold Spaghetti and NaNoWriMo: The Perfect Combination appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
November 9, 2013
EXCERPT: Fierce (Shame) [mm contemporary] *TW: previous non-con*
Title: Fierce
Larger work: Shame
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm contemporary
Warning: Possible triggers for mention of past non-con.
A/N: Fierce and Conflagration will be added to the original Shame. There will be a non-Shame version called “Without Shame” too if you want to stay away from the unpleasant.
Summary: Simon Peters is dealing with the aftermath of the events in Shame. It’s a long slow road, but he refuses to give up.
*
There were moments in the stillness where Simon found himself afraid. He would close his eyes only to have to open them again, his every sense quivering alert, sure the boogeyman was going to get him. Again.
He hated being so scared all the time. He hated that there were marks on him he couldn’t see. He hated that someone as sick and twisted as Damien Prince had left such a permanent scar on his mind.
There were some days when all he felt was hate: for the man that hurt him, the world that watched, and for his own weakness. It seemed there were some weeks when he had more bad days than good and no matter how hard he tried it was a battle even pretending to smile. His mind was a tangled mass of dark emotion.
And yet he went on. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Until he was looking at the two year anniversary of the day he’d been raped on national television. Because even though the sexual assault had happened off-screen, he’d been raped again in front of the camera by all the eyes watching him.
It hurt. To realize that millions of people had seen his humiliation. To know that some people had watched and laughed.
He’d vomited the first time he came across the horrifying GIF someone had made of his own terrified, pleading face. All the fear and sick had just rushed through him and for a minute he’d been certain he was there again, trapped on that bed, the somehow rancid stink of the mattress filling his nose.
It had taken lawyers and lawsuits to stop all the public videos, though he knew they were still out there, being traded in the darkness. He rarely went on the Internet anymore and his staff went over everything before he saw it. Not just letters, but movies and books and any kind of news report. There were just some things he wasn’t willing to face, not anymore, not when his mind was full of triggers ready to go off at any minute.
He had tried so hard to get passed what had been done to him, but finally he had to accept there were some things he couldn’t change. Damien Prince had raped and humiliated him and there was no going back in time to change it. The marks had been made, and even if they faded with time, they were still there.
But that didn’t mean Simon had to give up and let go. Because even after what had happened, he was still alive. He had survived the ordeal and he wasn’t going to let Prince win.
His life was his and his alone.
Being on location was one of those things Simon used to love but that now made his stomach churn nervously. He didn’t like being out of his safety zone, but it was something he felt had to be done.
Looking over and being able to see Byron Hughes standing with the rest of the crew made him feel better. His bodyguard had a gun and was willing to use it. He was perfectly safe.
“All right, Simon, in this scene you and Colby are entering the Dragon’s Tomb,” the director, Paul Bleek, said. “Just like in practice, you bring the gun up and it’s just ‘bang-bang-bang.’ Colby, you get hit and fall down, knocking over the Orb. We all good?”
Colby nodded and Simon said, “We good.”
They were standing in front of the archway leading to the “Dragon’s Tomb,” a temple built by the set designers in the middle of the desert. It was already hot and Simon could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead and sticking his clothes to his skin.
Waiting for the cue, he flashed a smile at Colby. “So what’s it like being the male Lara Croft?”
Colby Jackson gave his world famous grin. He really was amazingly good looking, a tall African-American with a leanly muscled body and a perfectly trimmed beard. “I feel very pretty.”
They’d never worked together though they’d known each other for years. It had only been because Colby asked so nicely that Simon had even accepted the role of Percy Walden, assistant and sidekick to itinerant explorer Nicholas Blaine.
“Places!”
“Let’s Indiana Jones this bitch up,” Simon said, earning himself a laugh.
Dressed in black pants, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a flak vest jangling with all kinds of faux-weaponry, Simon already felt like he needed a break and they hadn’t really even started yet.
“All right … Action!” Bleek called.
Simon drew in a deep breath and hurtled forward and kicked the stone door down with a grunt. He had a gun in his hand and he didn’t hesitate to run forward into the tomb. His head moved back and forth alertly and it seemed natural to bring his gun up and start shooting.
An Asian-looking tomb all shining with gold and jade. Dangerous looking men in lots of brown and gray clothing toting machine guns as they worked at stripping the place bare of treasure. They dropped what they were doing when he started shooting them and brought their own weapons up.
There were screams and shouts and the plink-plink of misses near his head and feet as he jumped, rolled, and dodged until every one of them was dead.
He stood from his crouch and turned to Colby. “It’s clear, sir.”
Colby sauntered in, his lips forming a disappointed moue. “Really, Percy, did you have to come charging through like a bull in a china shop? Perhaps some of these gentlemen would have liked the chance to surrender before you shot them in the face?”
Simon holstered his gun with a shrug. “We’ll never know now, will we?”
Colby smiled and started to say something, then hesitated. His expression congealed, his brows coming together, and he raised his right hand to his left shoulder.
“Sir?” Simon took a step toward him.
Colby pulled his hand away and there was blood on his fingers. He half-turned and there was a giant, bleeding wound in his back. “I think I’ve been shot,” he said calmly, then his legs wobbled and he stumbled sideways before collapsing. His flailing arm knocked against the pedestal and the glass Orb trembled and fell with a crash against the floor.
There was a puff of glittery dust that obscured everything.
“Cut! Good job everybody.”
Simon let himself pant as he mopped at his forehead with his sleeve. “I feel half cooked.”
The “dead” men were rising from the floor and some of the set crew rushed forward to start vacuuming up the glitter dust before it could get everywhere.
Colby sat up and shook dust from his hair with a grimace. “Gross. I think I got some in my mouth.”
“Good job, guys,” Bleek called again. “Simon, Colby, you take a short break while this gets cleaned up. Everyone else, you know what to do.”
Simon let himself be thumped on the back before retreating to the catering tent for some water and sliced fruit. His mouth felt dry and terrible.
He sat at one of the picnic-style tables and rested his burning forehead against the cooler aluminum. Even just this much shade felt better.
“You all right?”
Simon raised his head to give the guy standing over him a slight smile. “Five minutes of hard action in this heat and I feel done in.” He held out a hand. “Simon Peters.”
The man was tall with dark brown hair, a beard, and startling blue eyes. He played one of the bad guys from the clothes he wore, though Simon had never met him before. It made him feel guilty that he didn’t know the names of all his cast mates. He used to be better than this.
“Hey, nice to meet you.” The guy had a firm handshake. “I’m Adam Booth.”
Simon pushed his plate of fruit toward the guy. “Have some. We all need to make sure we don’t get dehydrated.”
Adam smiled and sat down across from him. “Thanks,” he said, taking an orange slice. His teeth were white against his dark caramel colored skin as he took a bite.
Nicholas Blaine and the Dragon’s Tomb was coming along nicely with no major setbacks and very few problems. It was one of those movies that almost seemed to film itself and Simon was having a good time playing Percy Walden.
It made him feel a bit relieved about the five-film contract he’d signed. He’d been half-worried he’d feel trapped by the obligation, but at this point he didn’t want filming to ever end. And it had nothing to do with the crush he was forming on Adam Booth. The fact that the guy seemed to reciprocate his feelings meant nothing either.
There was something nice about hanging out with Adam and talking about whatever came to mind. Simon didn’t feel like he had to be on his guard all the time. Adam was just one of those people that seemed to take the stress out of a situation. He was so laid-back and easygoing that it was soothing. The fact that he instinctively seemed to know not to do some things made Simon both relieved and a little embarrassed. Because everyone in the world knew what had happened to him, and that included Adam.
Old confident Simon Peters might have propositioned Adam. Flirted, then moved in for the kill. They would have fucked like animals, then Simon would have dumped the guy and moved on to sow his oats elsewhere.
New Simon was too scared to do anything but try and act casual. And in the process he had ended up getting to know Adam and he found that he really liked the guy for more than his great body. Which just made him feel more lost.
He sighed heavily and lifted the bottle to his mouth, taking a large slug of water. He was sitting cross-legged on a faux-scaffolding. It was only two feet off the ground, but had a mechanical arm that could lift it up fifteen feet. He was supposed to fight some guys on it later in the week, but right now it had been shoved to one side.
There was a clicking sound and Simon turned to see one of the new actor’s grinning at him as he lowered a small camera. “I’m sorry about that. I would have said something, but I didn’t want to ruin such a great shot,” the boy said. “The light was perfect for the moment.”
Simon looked at the guy, taking in his blue-streaked brown hair and the blue coverall he wore. Simon couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but knew he was supposed to be “the next big thing.” A British teenaged heartthrob or something; a singing, dancing, acting triple-threat that was shaking all the trades.
“It’s all right,” Simon finally said when the kid started looking worried. “You should really ask before taking someone’s photo, but I don’t mind.”
The kid’s face lit up. “Great!” He stuck his camera in his pocket. “I’m Brent Caldwell. It’s … I’m a big fan of your work.
Simon smiled and tried to be nice. He’d been enjoying his solitude. “Good to meet you. I heard you all were coming today.” A bunch of newbies to the set, their filming was scheduled to last a week or less before they went back to the states.
“Yeah,” the guy said. “When the call came, they rounded us up and jammed us on a plane.” He laughed. “They only paused long enough to do this to my hair. I hope it doesn’t look as lame as I think.”
“It does,” Simon said, then chuckled at Brent’s expression. He’d even started fondling his blue hair. “Stop it, I was just teasing. You’re fine.”
“Oh thanks!”
Simon had to wonder what it was like, being that young. He felt decades older than this kid, and experience wise he was. He’d seen so much that he felt ancient inside.
“Brent, they’re calling for us!” a skinny girl with a lot of curly red hair yelled, running toward them. She was pretty even with the glasses she wore, the large boxy frames very unflattering toward her small face. She was wearing a flirty blue and white plaid sexy-Dorothy dress and glossy red Mary Janes.
“Oh, well, I guess I’ve gotta go,” Brent said, sounding disappointed.
“Work comes first,” Simon agreed just for something to say. He honestly wasn’t in the mood to deal with puppyish enthusiasm.
“Right. Well, I’ll see you later.” Brent gave an awkward jerk of his head before jogging to where the girl still waited. There was nothing on her face, but the expression of her body was clear enough; she was interested in Brent.
Simon watched them go and sighed. When was the last time he’d let himself be as hopelessly infatuated with someone as that girl was with Brent? When was the last time he’d felt safe in showing he had an interest in someone?
The answer was a depressing one. Because before his outing he’d been deeply closeted. He’d never felt safe in showing his feelings and had always kept himself on solid lockdown to prevent any hint of scandal that might tarnish his career.
People were more open now than when he’d started out. There were kids proudly proclaiming they were gay with a fearless kind of joy, sure that nothing would ever hurt them. When he was starting out–a gawky thirteen on a made for TV movie–he’d taken a look around and made the conscious decision to keep his sexual orientation on the down-low. He’d wanted to be in movies and make tons of money, and being openly gay would have made that hard for him.
It seemed ironic that now, when he might finally have been ready in his life to come out to the world, the choice was already gone. And that actually hurt a lot. One more thing that Damien Prince had taken from him.
There was the scuff of footsteps on sand and he turned his head to see Colby approaching on his left.
“Hey, man, what you doin’ by yourself?” Colby asked, leaning against the control panel for the scaffold, a large green box with a bunch of switches and what looked like a joystick on top.
Simon shrugged. “Just being all broody and sad-faced.”
Colby stared off into the distance. He was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with a pair of expensive sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. “Are you changing your mind about wanting to do this series?” he asked without even a hint of condemnation.
“What? No!” Simon shook his head. “I’m really having fun on this project. I just…” He glanced around and lowered his voice, “I was just realizing that I’m lonely.”
Colby gave him a surprised look. “I thought you were dating Adam?”
“What?” Simon’s cheeks flooded with heat. “Where did you get that idea from?”
Colby shrugged. “You always spend all your time with him. I thought it was a thing.”
Simon couldn’t help a flare of paranoia as he wondered how many other people thought he had a “thing” for Adam. That old insecurity rushed through him, that urge to find some girl to pretend to date so there would be no rumors. Then he remembered he didn’t have to hide his sexuality anymore. Everyone in the world already knew.
“I’m not dating Adam,” he said. “We’re just friends.”
“Yet you look at him like you want it to be something more.” Colby rubbed his chin. “I don’t know what to tell you. I honestly thought there was something going on between the two of you.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing.” Simon couldn’t help a twinge of regret. Adam was funny and smart and good-looking; it was Simon that was having all the trouble with thinking about being anything more than friends. “Besides, I don’t think he swings my way.”
Colby gave him a flat look. “Fishing for compliments now, are we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Please,” Colby shook his head, “I’m straight and even I think you’re really good-looking. And Adam? Well, he looks at you the same way I look at Ilsa Berman.” He whistled breathily, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“You’re terrible,” Simon laughed. Ilsa was an incredibly beautiful model with flawless skin and long locks of white-gold hair; it was kind of flattering to be told he could be on the same list as her.
Colby looked around, making sure no one was nearby, then gave Simon an intent look. “You should ask him out. I don’t think he’d say no.”
“He hasn’t made any indication that he has any interest in me as anything other than a friend,” Simon said.
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re you.” At Simon’s expression, Colby shrugged. “Come on, man, you had some serious shit go down in your life. You’re obviously not over it yet. And Adam doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would make a move on someone that doesn’t seem to be interested. He’s waiting for you to make the first move.”
“And how do you know that? Have you talked to him?” Simon felt a nervous churn in his belly. The thought that there might have been a secret meeting where he was the subject of some big discussion was a bit disturbing.
“Naw,” Colby waved his hand, “I would never talk about you behind your back. But even though I don’t know him that well, I know enough about the guy to realize that he has a thing for you, a real and honest thing. He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars.”
“That’s positively poetic.” Simon brushed the hair off his forehead. “You sure you don’t want to write that down or something?”
Colby made a face at him. “There are some times when I think you just can’t help being a complete and utter bastard. Have you thought about seeking help for that?”
Simon reached his hand down his side to pick up a handful of sand and flung it in Colby’s direction, watching as most of the grains blew away but some hit Colby’s pant leg. “If anyone here needs help for their personality flaws, it has to be you. Dick.”
Colby grinned. “You know it.” He stepped away from the control panel and raised his arms over his head, stretching mightily. The fabric of his tee shirt pulled tight, showing off his muscular chest and arms; he’d rightfully won Sexiest Man Alive last year. “You wanna get something to eat with me?”
Simon wasn’t really hungry, but he stood up with a shrug. “Why not?”
They walked side-by-side toward the catering tent and it felt nice to know that Colby really was a good friend. The kind of friend he’d never been able to appreciate back when he was a self-involved twat.
/EXCERPT
The post EXCERPT: Fierce (Shame) [mm contemporary] *TW: previous non-con* appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
November 8, 2013
To Epilogue Or Not To Epilogue
I’ve been told that prologues are too much in this day and age. They’ve lost their popularity and people simply don’t like them. Readers want to get straight to the meat and potatoes of a story.
When I heard no prologues, I was a bit disappointed, but I said “All right.” I can deal with the idea of getting right to the story without introductions or delays. I’m an adult; there were very few tears. Yet now people are saying they don’t want epilogues either? Well gee thanks, Harry Potter, yet another thing old scar head has ruined for the rest of us.
I suppose that I’ve been abusing the privilege of epilogues somewhat by using them to foreshadow the next story, but what else am I supposed to do? When you get rid of my precious prologues, there has to be somewhere where I can stick all that great pre-story, not really part of the story, story stuff. Yet reviewers have said they would prefer no epilogue at all.
Take Heroes & Villains for example. The epilogue is the beginning of Allies & Enemies. There’s a glimpse of their life in the future, the introduction of one of the main characters of Allies & Enemies, and a general idea of where things are going to go. It’s an intrinsic tie-in to Allies & Enemies, but would have made a terrible prologue.
Which leaves me wondering what I should do with the epilogue I wrote for Allies & Enemies. Leave it in? Dump it? I have no idea.
These are the hardest parts of writing for me. Wanting to please the reader, but not wanting to displease myself. I mean, without the epilogue, the story seems incomplete to me, yet it’s not part of the story itself. It’s the afterward, the introduction, the wrap up of one part and the opening of the next.
To epilogue or not to epilogue, that is the question.
* * *
Catch some of my free stories at Kimichee: Read Something.
The post To Epilogue Or Not To Epilogue appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
November 6, 2013
EXCERPT: Rascal Brand
I’ve got this little story I’ve been playing around with that I’ve tentatively named “Rascal Brand” after the titular character. It’s kind of a “space hippie marooned on an alien planet desperate to survive” story.
Blurb: “There’s an intergalactic war happening between the Terran Empire and the Nyxti, but it’s very far away from Cal’s world view. He’s twenty-seven years old and he’s run away from his dead end job to join the Reclamation Squadron (which is basically the Peace Corps of the future). He loves helping people, but he was shipped out with Commander Steve “Ruins Everything” Sarta, the guy that blew up Bermuda Base. Ordered to the fringe worlds, they were assigned a flashy ship that turned out to be a refurbished model built on mostly recalled parts. Piloting a literal death trap, it seemed inevitable that they would crash land on an alien world. A world where peace loving Cal must survive alone.”
He woke to the smell of singed hair and the sense that something was very wrong. The air was stifling hot and the heat level was rising even as he tried to blink his head clear.
There was the blaring of warning alarms and everything was cast in hues of orange, the cockpit looking nightmarish and strange. “Wha…” he coughed, his lungs filling with acrid smoke. It smelled like toxic chemicals, and his confused brain tried to remember if the ship’s interior was made out of anything that was going to kill him as it melted.
Cal felt strange, his hands awkward as he fumbled his crash harness off. He grabbed the handle of the emergency kit and pulled it out from under his seat, slinging the strap over his shoulder crosswise so it wouldn’t get lost. There were other things he felt like he should grab and some part of him didn’t want to leave the “safety” of the ship at all, which was currently a burning deathtrap; he forced himself to move.
He stumbled passed Steve’s already bloating corpse, the slanted angle of the deck nearly sending him tumbling. “Sorry, buddy,” he rasped. The smoke was rising to choking levels and he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. The slick material of his shipsuit didn’t breathe very well, and as a result neither did he, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. He had to get out of the ship.
His eyes stung and burned as he left the cockpit and faced a small inferno. For a second he was terrified–the entire aft section was nothing but flames and oily black smoke. The fire systems hadn’t even tried to kick in, the little hatches firmly sealed, and he vowed to track down the guys from Hephaestus Corp and kick their asses. A malfunctioning fire suppression system was a bit more serious than the nonstandard sized cup holders. His anger at the company was tinged with hysteria. There was a good chance he was going to die scrabbling at the door like a rat.
Coughing and fighting the urge to retch, he stumbled to the emergency hatch. The skin on the right side of his body felt like it was trying to curl in on itself away from the heat of the flames. He might have thought the sight beautiful if he wasn’t the one currently facing death by roasting–orange and yellow and purple and green flames writhing and twining amongst the supposedly fire resistant seat cushions.
He reached out to grab the door handle, then cursed and jerked back as he felt his skin sizzle. The handle was burning hot and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that the plasticene sheath had melted off, leaving just the bare metal.
Tears stung his eyes and the heat and smoke levels were rising. The panicked alarm had risen to a teeth jarring squall and the orange warning light was blink-blink-blinking, urging him to get the hell out before it was too late.
He pulled his sleeve down over his right hand and reached out quickly to grasp the handle and gave it a hard shove down. Tears stung his eyes at the pain in his already burned hand but he was running on survival instinct. He was not letting himself burn to death, not without a hell of a fight.
He jerked on the handle, then hurriedly let go. His sleeve had melted and pulled away with gooey strings fluttering like the tentacles of a clarphod.
With the release of the handle, the door sensors kicked in and he briefly saw a scrolling message pass over the glossy blue material: “Brace yourself for saturation.”
He didn’t have time to puzzle out what that was supposed to mean before the door blew off its seams with a muffled explosion and shot away into the darkness. And about a million gallons of seawater rushed in.
There was no chance to brace himself as the wave hit him and slammed him against the far bulkhead, the back of his head bouncing against the wall painfully. Water choked down his throat before he managed to close his mouth and he coughed and gagged as more flooded in to fill the ship.
First death by burning, now death by drowning. At least the fire’s gotta be out, he thought.
Rushing water was battering against him and it was a battle to keep his feet, but he knew that if he let himself get swept to the far end of the ship he would drown long before he managed to swim his way to freedom. All he could do was reach up with his good hand, grip the railing over the top of his head, and hold on.
Bracing himself in the doorway, water rushing all around him, stinging where it touched his burnt skin, Rascal Brand once again wondered what he’d been thinking when he’d joined the Service.
You thought you were going to help save the universe. You’d travel from planet to planet setting up food processing plants and teaching savages how to read Galactic Standard. He tightened his grip on the railing and closed his eyes. How was I supposed to know it was going to be like this? Partnered up with the biggest loser in the Service and stuck with the worst ship, the jinx; it’s a surprise we lasted as long as we did. And now I’m going to die here.
Cal tightened his lips. No, he refused to die like this, helpless and afraid, doing nothing to save himself.
He waited until the water stopped rushing past him, sucking in a last lungful of air before the water passed over the top of his head and he was fully submerged. Hoping desperately that the ship hadn’t sunk too far down, he released the rail and swam through the airlock toward the mysterious outside, bubbles caressing against his sides as the ridiculously outdated ship continued to pump oxygen.
Cal swam toward the surface as well as he could manage–he’d never been the best of swimmers and the murky water was thick with biologicals. He saw the shadow of creatures swimming around him and was vaguely terrified that he was going to be snatched up and eaten by some kind of aquapod. Mostly, he just wanted to breathe.
He released small bursts of air as he kicked his feet and arrowed his body up and up, or at least in the direction that he hoped was up. Knowing his recent string of luck, he wouldn’t be surprised if he hit bottom rather than reaching the surface. The last bit of irony before he died.
Cal dragged himself through the water, the emergency kit knocking against his hip with every furious kick. The slight amount of pain motivated him to keep moving even as his lungs burned and his head spun with spots and dizziness.
Kick, ow, kick, ow. As long as that pain was there, he knew that he was still moving, still desperately trying to survive. His ears were rushing and he could feel his consciousness beginning to fade. His kicks were losing their power and he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He was going to pass out any second and his body was going to drift down and down, picked apart by scavengers or left to rot away far from home. His mother was never going to know what happened to him. She would just assume that he’d screwed up one last time and gotten himself killed.
Clenching his teeth, he kicked and kicked and kicked until his legs seemed to disconnect from the rest of him. His world was contracting down into a pinprick, a narrow desperation for air. His lungs burned and he wanted more than anything to open his mouth and draw in a breath, but all he would get was a quicker death.
He’d rather go out fighting.
There was a strange, heady moment just before blacking out from oxygen deprivation. It felt as though his arms and legs were getting lighter and there was a sensation of drifting effortlessly through the water. Consciousness was fading, and to his oxygen starved brain it didn’t seem so bad. To stop and rest awhile. To close his eyes and just let go…
He broke the surface and greedily sucked in air. He floated on his back, his exhausted body a weight pulling down at him. He tipped his chin up to keep his mouth and nose out of the water. It was too much for him to swim anymore. He would drift awhile, at least until he got some energy back. Just a little while.
/EXCERPT
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
November 4, 2013
Genetically engineered food: What’s the big f’ing deal? (General election Nov 5th)
There’s a lot of talk about genetically modified food in Washington right now, mostly due to I-522, which will require that food sold in the grocery store be labeled if it contains genetically modified (GMO) ingredients. Farmers markets and you-pick-’ems don’t have to tell you what you’re getting, though don’t get too paranoid. Just bear in mind that a fruit or vegetable labeled as “Organic” might be an organically grown genetically modified fruit or vegetable, the lack of pesticides due to the hardiness of the plant.
Alcohol and cheese are in some way exempt from labeling. In up to 70 percent of cheeses, bioengineered chymosin, known as rennin, is used to make the cheese, though they are only required to include the word “enzyme” in the list of ingredients versus actually naming what enzyme was used. However, an enzyme simply helps curd the milk into cheese; it doesn’t appear in the end product. (Like using lemon juice to make tofu … You don’t end up with lemony tofu. You just have tofu.) Alcohol would not need to be labeled as having been made from genetically engineered grain because alcohol is not considered a food under federal guidelines. If you’re scared of enzymes in your cheese and alcohol made from GMO corn, you might look at micro-brews, check out product websites, or make your own. From my understanding, home brewing and cheesemaking is a growing trend.
The people screaming that meat won’t have to be labeled are confused. There is currently no meat on the US market that has come from genetically modified animals. If such meat was being sold, under I-522 it would be labeled as GMO. So that super crazy salmon they’ve been talking about–the so-called Frankenfish–would carry a GMO label under I-522. Just because genetically modified corn and soy are used as animal feed does not mean that the animals themselves are genetically modified. I am more concerned about the animals being fed growth hormones to produce more meat and milk than I am about them eating some lab produced corn.
The anti-labeling people make me nervous. Anyone that is so paranoid about letting me know what I’m eating probably has something to hide. The idea that it will cost billions of dollars to add a little extra ink to a label makes me a little leery of trusting that they care about my well-being. How hard is it to slap some stickers to the side of a box? What are they hiding? Big companies going out of their way to hide what they’re doing make me uncomfortable.
I’m not scared of eating genetically modified food. I just want to know that it’s genetically modified before I eat it. I like having the option to choose.
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
October 31, 2013
Kimichee; Pacific Rim; Excerpt: Dude, There’s A Body In Your Bathtub
I have been working on my site — Kimichee.com — all day. Tuning up the featured images, adding some chapters, adding actual excerpt stuff. It’s been kind of fun, though I hate how much stuff I don’t know: programming, WordPress, art, anything to do with graphic design.
I know what I like when I see it, but I don’t know how to create that kind of … er, synergy? … There’s no cohesion when I look at stuff. I have a hard time getting from point A-Z, without going through all the steps between. So my website is kind of bland right now. Hopefully I can talk my brother around to making it better for me.
So as long as you’re not looking for the beautiful, you’ll find a lot of my stories available to read on my Master List page at Kimichee. The stories are:
The Panic Pure [HK] Blurb: A neurotic billionaire, a sympathetic FBI agent, and a serial killer cannibal. It could be a match made in something. mm, suspense, thriller, Adult.
Vedran’s Hand [HK] Blurb: Dragon Knight is the Emperor’s Hand. His duty is to perform any task that his master asks of him. He kills with a frightening ease. He is beautiful and terrible. How could Vedran not love him? pre-slash, fantasy, action, mature.
Idlewile [HK] Blurb: Raised in an orphanage, recruited by the State, Idlewile is the nation’s Idol. It is a lonely pedestal, and he feels himself fading away. It seems like a miracle when the goddess of the golden screen, Jessica Turan, steps into his life, bringing with her the Drama King Chris Hart. mm, mf, romance, teen+.
From Diamond to Coal [SC] Blurb: A genius, a Congressman, adventure, romance, and superscience: There are many things happening in this story. First chapters are in the future, then it goes back to the beginning and starts as a contemporary romance. mm, sci-fi, romance, mature.
They’re all Raw Feed. They will be completed and available as ebooks.
I’ve added Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen of The Panic Pure to Kimichee, and I’ll be adding them here too. I just have to get caught up on everything.
Pacific Rim — Remember when I was raving about this movie several months ago when I saw it in the theater? Well, I’ve got it on DVD now, and while it’s a good movie, I think all the fanfic has totally spoiled me. Seriously, I’ve read that story where Hermann is a woman, Hermione, and she and Newt are totally the science couple; it was the greatest read of the season. Or I read that one where Raleigh is a werewolf and there’s all kinds of romance with Chuck Hansen. Hell, I’ve even dabbled a little myself.
Sometime between watching the movie in the theater and yesterday, Pacific Rim took on the glossy gleam of memory. Or maybe it was the drop in quality from Blu-Ray to DVD. Whatever happened, some of the magic was gone. Still a great action giant robot monster movie, but it was absolutely amazing on a giant screen.
Here, because I love you. Have a little something:
Title: Dude, There’s A Body In Your Bathtub
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: general, crime family, dead body, amoral people
Rating: teen+
Summary: Just 850 words of what the title says. There’s a body in the bathtub.
“Hey, dude, did you know you’ve got a dead body in your tub?” the obnoxiously loud voice of Sean asked.
Jude groaned and shoved his face hard into his pillow for a silent scream. Then he calmly lifted his head and asked, “Do you know who it is?”
“No clue,” Sean said. He stepped half through the doorway, his face still turned down the hall. He could see through the open bathroom door. “The body’s beat ragged.”
“There’s an unidentified body in the bathtub. Is that what you’re telling me?” Jude sat up in bed, not even bothering to pull the covers up to hide his skinny chest. He’d known Sean forever.
Sean shrugged and glanced at him. “Pretty much.”
“Great.” Jude scrubbed a hand across his face. “Just the kind of thing I love waking up to.”
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He paused there a moment, his left hand ready to snatch out and catch the headboard. He didn’t fall. He took it as a win.
Jude hobbled over to his walker and grabbed hold of it. Never mind that using it made him feel like an old man, he preferred it to being trapped in a wheelchair. Surgery and physio had only been able to do so much.
Dressing was one of those tasks that took more time than he would have imagined pre-mangled legs. But he was grateful for everything he was allowed to experience, especially after all the wishes and prayers he had expended just to make it this far.
Finally he was wearing jeans and a knit sweater. He didn’t bother with the hassle of socks and slipped his bare feet into a pair of clogs. He was too cool to be embarrassed about unfortunate footwear.
“All right. Show me this body you speak of,” he said.
“Come on.”
Jude followed Sean down the hallway to the guest bathroom. He couldn’t help wondering if he should be more upset. A dead body in the bathtub should have him flipping out. Instead, he just felt irritated and wondered where he was supposed to dispose of it.
Sean pushed the door all the way open and waved his hand. “There he is.”
Jude looked and slumped forward against the handles of his walker.
There was a body in the bathtub. A big, dark haired guy with a smashed in face. He was lying on his back, his leather jacket open to show off his blood spattered gray tee shirt and the alley grime smeared across the knees of his jeans.
“Shit. I don’t know who that is, but we’re going to have to get rid of him,” Jude said. “Do we have any acid or anything?”
“Acid, really?” Sean huffed loudly. “Dude, you’ve got a dead guy in your bathroom and you’re talking about using acid. Isn’t there someone we should call? How did you manage to sleep through this guy being dumped here anyway?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” Jude said. “I was kind of drugged out of my mind last night.” At Sean’s look, he hastened to add, “It was the only way I could get to sleep.” He wasn’t ashamed. The pain had been bad.
“Where was Eric when this was all going down?” Sean asked.
Jude snorted. “He’s the one that did this. I don’t have a single doubt in my head about that. Though I’m kind of pissed he left the job half finished.” He rubbed his face. “Why the hell would he leave a body here for me to deal with?”
“Because we were out of the big garbage bags.”
He jumped and twisted his neck to see Eric walking toward him on catlike feet. “You scared the crap out of me,” Jude said.
Eric flashed his movie star smile and held up the box of heavy-duty large black garbage bags. “I’ll get everything ready to move. I promise this guy will be out of here tonight.”
Jude sighed and carefully maneuvered himself back out of the bathroom. “Why did you even bring this guy here in the first place?”
“It wasn’t my plan,” Eric said. “You were completely out of it, so you slept through this guy busting in. I had to handle him quick, but I didn’t have any supplies here to clean up after.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Jude said. They couldn’t call the authorities unless they wanted to be busted themselves. They had no choice but to handle things themselves. “Just make sure you clean it up good. No evidence.”
Eric gave him a thumb’s up. “On it.”
Jude looked at Sean. “Come on, dude. This is none of our business.”
Sean jerked a nod. “I’m glad to be out of it. This is not my scene.”
“Don’t worry. I would never drag you into it,” Eric said. “You’re a good kid, Sean. Stay that way.”
“What about me?” Jude asked. “Aren’t I a good kid?”
“Well, you’re all right,” Eric teased.
“Whatever.” Jude led Sean to his bedroom. He firmly closed the door behind them.
/ EXCERPT
* * *
Have a great day. Hope you enjoyed the read.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
October 26, 2013
The Originals has become my current TV obsession.
The Originals has become my current TV obsession. I’ve been watching the episodes on Hulu, but the regular show time is Tuesday’s on the CW. It’s a spin-off of The Vampire Diaries, which I’ve never watched, but it’s pretty standalone.
The first episode opens with Elijah returning to New Orleans to handle his brother Klaus’ issues. He finds out that his brother has impregnated a werewolf girl who has entangled herself with witches. From there, we are introduced to the main characters and the idea of Original vampires is explained.
Elijah is the main star of the first episode, but succeeding episodes are from the POV of the rest of the cast. So if you don’t like the tone, don’t worry. That first episode is just to introduce the characters and the background. It’s been getting better and better.
Klaus is definitely the Machiavellian star of the show, and his sister Rebekah carries her own. Marcel is very handsome and charming as a vampire king, and Cami–who I was pretty meh about–has turned out to have an interesting backstory of her own. Hayley is the smart-mouthed and plucky werewolf, and Davina is the caged girl–they are both trapped in the center of vampire and witchy hostilities.
Go check out the show on Hulu. I definitely recommend it for your watching pleasure.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
October 12, 2013
Miracle In Cell No. 7 [Korean movie]
I recently watched the movie “Miracle In Cell No. 7″ and it was absolutely beautiful. The end made me cry.
The cover makes it look like some wacky “Three Stooges”-like comedy, but it’s not. It’s this incredibly touching drama about a mentally disabled man, Yong-goo, being sent to prison for rape and murder of a little girl. It’s a crime that he didn’t commit, but the system works against him and there’s no one to help him when he’s railroaded by the police. Once in prison, he bonds with his cell mates and through him they are all bettered in some way — rehabilitated.
What makes this such a powerful movie is Yong-goo’s young daughter Ye-seung. Gal So-Won’s acting was amazing for such a little girl. I really believed that Ye-Seung was desperate to see her father and was joyous just to be with him.
This was an amazingly good movie and I can’t recommend it enough. Seriously, this movie really got to me. It was so funny and touching and sad.
http://www.hancinema.net/korean_movie_Miracle_in_Cell_No_p_7.php
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
October 6, 2013
LT3 at the Rainbow Awards
Are you all as excited as I am about the 2013 Rainbow Awards? Probably not, but yes, I am incredibly excited.
My book Heroes & Villains is a finalist in the Rainbow Awards under the category of Gay Sci-Fi Futuristic.
I’m really happy just to be a finalist and I can’t wait to find out the results on December 8th.
Less Than Three Press books in the finals:
A Shadow of a Dream, by Isabella Carter
Dragon Slayer, by Isabella Carter
Black Magic, by Megan Derr
Private Dicks: Undercovers, edited by Samantha M Derr; stories by Siobhan Crosslin, K-lee Klein, Holly Rhinna-White, Alison Bailey, Megan Derr, E.E. Ottoman, Isabella Carter, and Sasha L. Miller
Inflori, by A.F. Henley
Heroes & Villains, by Harper Kingsley
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
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