D.T. Neal's Blog, page 3
May 8, 2025
Logical Swan Song for Bad Ideas
I love this news story about Musk's Grok AI pissing off MAGAts because it's finding flaws in their ideological positions, despite Musk's efforts to force it to accept his biases.
I've long contended that AI's own logical nature would drive it in the direction of evidence, logic, and fact if it's intended to be fully functional.
That is to say that reactionary ideology requires selective processing of information and cognitive bias -- you have to have drunk the Kool-Aid and accept propaganda as truth.
But that drive is at odds with creating high-functioning AI that can help humanity solve problems. The GIGO idea ("Garbage In, Garbage Out") is going to bite right-wing AI right on the proverbial ass, relative to AI that is more logical and fact-based. Turns out that truth really does have a liberal bias, and I love that.
This plays so nicely with the SF novel I'm putting out there at the end of this summer. I take great satisfaction in that. If you read it, you'll see.
Despite everything crappy going on with my life, it still brings me some hope and happiness!
I've long contended that AI's own logical nature would drive it in the direction of evidence, logic, and fact if it's intended to be fully functional.
That is to say that reactionary ideology requires selective processing of information and cognitive bias -- you have to have drunk the Kool-Aid and accept propaganda as truth.
But that drive is at odds with creating high-functioning AI that can help humanity solve problems. The GIGO idea ("Garbage In, Garbage Out") is going to bite right-wing AI right on the proverbial ass, relative to AI that is more logical and fact-based. Turns out that truth really does have a liberal bias, and I love that.
This plays so nicely with the SF novel I'm putting out there at the end of this summer. I take great satisfaction in that. If you read it, you'll see.
Despite everything crappy going on with my life, it still brings me some hope and happiness!
May 1, 2025
Endgame
After busting my ass for almost three years (will be three years in August) trying to secure a full-time job, I'm nearing the end of my tether.
If I can't land a gig by summer, I'm going to have to leave my beloved Chicago behind. Breaks my heart after 30 years here. I'm just not going to be able to afford living in Chicago after that point. I dearly love Chicago, tried like hell to build a life here, but the mercantile millstones are grinding me into dust.
Over a thousand applications sent, scores of interviews (including so many final round ones that ultimately failed, despite all of those rounds), tons of ghosting, the writing's on the wall for my middle-aged self, at least along conventional lines of employment.
I know people seem to think white middle-aged men have gold-paved roads they dance along from success to success, but that's only for the well-connected, privileged, or rich ones. I'm none of these. Literally everything I've tried has failed, so I'm going to have to figure out new battle plans, barring a miraculous hire in the next two months.
Ageism is something else. It's like the world collectively asks me "Why aren't you dead, yet?" Not being a psychopathic, conniving asshole hasn't helped me in my life, that's for sure. I never had it in me to thrive within American capitalism, honestly. The mindset and mentality of people who succeed within it isn't something I have, to my detriment.
I'm not a complainer, either, these blog posts notwithstanding. Those who know me understand that. But holy hell, this has been a rough few years.
That's part of what drove me to write several novels the past couple of years. I would go through the day-to-day grind of job-hunting, and decided I'd take advantage of the backhanded gift of time that unemployment brings to crank out some books -- knowing that almost nobody would read them, but at least I'd have made good use of the time I had to be productive, versus self-destructing and brooding.
And while this is all going on, the country's now falling apart and/or faceplanting into fascism. Another twist of the knife.
The Kinks | Shangri-La
If I can't land a gig by summer, I'm going to have to leave my beloved Chicago behind. Breaks my heart after 30 years here. I'm just not going to be able to afford living in Chicago after that point. I dearly love Chicago, tried like hell to build a life here, but the mercantile millstones are grinding me into dust.
Over a thousand applications sent, scores of interviews (including so many final round ones that ultimately failed, despite all of those rounds), tons of ghosting, the writing's on the wall for my middle-aged self, at least along conventional lines of employment.
I know people seem to think white middle-aged men have gold-paved roads they dance along from success to success, but that's only for the well-connected, privileged, or rich ones. I'm none of these. Literally everything I've tried has failed, so I'm going to have to figure out new battle plans, barring a miraculous hire in the next two months.
Ageism is something else. It's like the world collectively asks me "Why aren't you dead, yet?" Not being a psychopathic, conniving asshole hasn't helped me in my life, that's for sure. I never had it in me to thrive within American capitalism, honestly. The mindset and mentality of people who succeed within it isn't something I have, to my detriment.
I'm not a complainer, either, these blog posts notwithstanding. Those who know me understand that. But holy hell, this has been a rough few years.
That's part of what drove me to write several novels the past couple of years. I would go through the day-to-day grind of job-hunting, and decided I'd take advantage of the backhanded gift of time that unemployment brings to crank out some books -- knowing that almost nobody would read them, but at least I'd have made good use of the time I had to be productive, versus self-destructing and brooding.
And while this is all going on, the country's now falling apart and/or faceplanting into fascism. Another twist of the knife.
The Kinks | Shangri-La
April 29, 2025
Dead Reckoning
It's weird to think I've made over 250 posts on this blog since its inception in 2011 (!!) for the 35 apparent followers I have, who silently observe or ignore my posts.
Honestly, compared to the blogs I used to run in the early 00s (most of which I sadly deleted in a bit of a mood that I can't even properly deconstruct these days), my output here has been meager, driven by periodically feeling like I should post now and then.
One irony of those old, dead blogs -- a former coworker who openly hated/feared me had stumbled on those blogs and secretly read them. He later told a friend (who spilled the beans to me) that I was the best blogger he'd ever read. I guess that's success, if one who hated me secretly dug my blog. Guess there's hope for you yet, Gentle Readers.
The hungry vacuum of social media keeps on a'sucking, I guess, in more ways than one.
I'd apparently begun this blog shortly after starting what would be an 11-year term of employment at an organization (before being let go because of the animus of my boss's boss, who always hated me -- but I had done such a good job there that it took him six years to finally get rid of me).
Anyway, now 2.5 years after getting knifed (sorry, laid off) I'm still struggling to land any full-time gig, and here's this blog, lurching along, either as a solace for or symptom of my malaise.
My sense of professional and literary failure is nearly absolute. I'm in a Kafkaesque kind of place, although I remain more optimistic than he ever was. I keep working, I keep trying to land a full-time job.
Sometimes I think about writing some sort of article for THE ATLANTIC about the past few years. There are other moments when I think I would have been better off as a carpenter, cop, or comedian.
Now, at 55, those roads I didn't take are overgrown with dust and vines. All I wanted to be is a writer. That's my true vocation, since I was seven years old. I've become one, purely through determination and stubbornness, but I have so little to show for my efforts. If the world is a simulation, clearly, my parameters are set to failure. I hope it's entertaining for whoever's watching.
My health is slowly sliding toward inevitable ruin, and I'm nowhere near accomplishing the goals I could at least take satisfaction in. I hate that. My partner sweetly tells me that I haven't failed, that the world has failed me. She's sweet. She loves me, tries to talk me out of the abyss of self-recrimination I face at my failure. I jokingly tell her that I've succeeded greatly at failure.
I keep working, I keep failing, I keep hoping to overturn the run of bad luck I've endured over the years.
A new book is coming out in under a month. The SIGHTSEER cyberpunk novel, start of the trilogy I mentioned the other day. I face that launch without hope, with only a grim determination to continue.
Another SF novel comes out in August or September (I can't remember), the same lack of hope driving my efforts (contrasted with my effort to make the book as good as I can make it).
I do these things knowing that I MUST land a full-time job somewhere this summer. That has to happen. If it doesn't happen, I'm screwed. I'm nearing the end of the line.
Seeing the Pope's funeral made me realize acutely that whenever I die, almost nobody will show up for my funeral. I accomplished that by being independent to a fault. Indie funeral. Hahah!
And yet, I can't abandon all hope. Some core of my existence is rooted in optimism, despite everything. We'll see how that shakes out, I guess.
I just hope I can persuade someone, somewhere to hire me this summer for a full-time permanent gig (extra-bitter when one reflects on our collapsing republic).
Failure | Saturday Saviour
Honestly, compared to the blogs I used to run in the early 00s (most of which I sadly deleted in a bit of a mood that I can't even properly deconstruct these days), my output here has been meager, driven by periodically feeling like I should post now and then.
One irony of those old, dead blogs -- a former coworker who openly hated/feared me had stumbled on those blogs and secretly read them. He later told a friend (who spilled the beans to me) that I was the best blogger he'd ever read. I guess that's success, if one who hated me secretly dug my blog. Guess there's hope for you yet, Gentle Readers.
The hungry vacuum of social media keeps on a'sucking, I guess, in more ways than one.
I'd apparently begun this blog shortly after starting what would be an 11-year term of employment at an organization (before being let go because of the animus of my boss's boss, who always hated me -- but I had done such a good job there that it took him six years to finally get rid of me).
Anyway, now 2.5 years after getting knifed (sorry, laid off) I'm still struggling to land any full-time gig, and here's this blog, lurching along, either as a solace for or symptom of my malaise.
My sense of professional and literary failure is nearly absolute. I'm in a Kafkaesque kind of place, although I remain more optimistic than he ever was. I keep working, I keep trying to land a full-time job.
Sometimes I think about writing some sort of article for THE ATLANTIC about the past few years. There are other moments when I think I would have been better off as a carpenter, cop, or comedian.
Now, at 55, those roads I didn't take are overgrown with dust and vines. All I wanted to be is a writer. That's my true vocation, since I was seven years old. I've become one, purely through determination and stubbornness, but I have so little to show for my efforts. If the world is a simulation, clearly, my parameters are set to failure. I hope it's entertaining for whoever's watching.
My health is slowly sliding toward inevitable ruin, and I'm nowhere near accomplishing the goals I could at least take satisfaction in. I hate that. My partner sweetly tells me that I haven't failed, that the world has failed me. She's sweet. She loves me, tries to talk me out of the abyss of self-recrimination I face at my failure. I jokingly tell her that I've succeeded greatly at failure.
I keep working, I keep failing, I keep hoping to overturn the run of bad luck I've endured over the years.
A new book is coming out in under a month. The SIGHTSEER cyberpunk novel, start of the trilogy I mentioned the other day. I face that launch without hope, with only a grim determination to continue.
Another SF novel comes out in August or September (I can't remember), the same lack of hope driving my efforts (contrasted with my effort to make the book as good as I can make it).
I do these things knowing that I MUST land a full-time job somewhere this summer. That has to happen. If it doesn't happen, I'm screwed. I'm nearing the end of the line.
Seeing the Pope's funeral made me realize acutely that whenever I die, almost nobody will show up for my funeral. I accomplished that by being independent to a fault. Indie funeral. Hahah!
And yet, I can't abandon all hope. Some core of my existence is rooted in optimism, despite everything. We'll see how that shakes out, I guess.
I just hope I can persuade someone, somewhere to hire me this summer for a full-time permanent gig (extra-bitter when one reflects on our collapsing republic).
Failure | Saturday Saviour
April 27, 2025
Bookies
I saw a comedy short where there was a pretend pop band singing a song about how the lead singer finished reading a book. It was an amusingly silly bit (especially as the singer confessed that it was actually an audiobook, and whether or not that qualified as reading -- spoiler warning: it doesn't).
As ever, it made me reflect on how few people read. I saw a stat that said that 32% of guys haven't read one book a year.
That gets to me.
Weirdly, though, I tend to get a fair number of guy followers on my literary social media. Not sure why that is, unless I represent some sort of safe space for writerly guys? I don't "bro up" my feeds, and I'm diehard lefty, so lord knows. Do these guys follow because they read my books? A few, but most of them give me no indication that they have. I wish they would.
The one thing I've observed is that the women who bother to read my books are good about leaving ratings and reviews, so I'm thankful for that. Some of the guys do, too, for which I'm grateful. Wherever they come from, ratings and reviews (henceforth R&R in these posts) are welcome.
I just can't get my head around that 32% number. They. Don't. Read. WTF? My own sons are part of that statistic -- they're good guys, nice guys, smart guys -- but reading is a chore and a bore for them.
What kills me is that when they were younger, I did all the things a parent is supposed to do: I read to them, I bought them books, I encouraged them to read, I talked about stories, I even tried to set up "reading time" for them (like 30 minutes daily). Hell, my home is a library of over 1500 books! To no avail! They are indifferent to reading.
Crushes my writerly & fatherly spirit, I swear. To have nonreader kids (also, their mother is an avid reader -- we're both mystified by their nonreading). I've said enough times how much I love books, love the meditative act of reading, and can't imagine life without books.
There's the cold reality that the world will keep spinning if nobody reads. But what a joyless, artless world that will become if nobody does.
And I say this not just as a writer, but simply as a human being. Social media is gobbling up attention spans, and reading requires attention.
As ever, it made me reflect on how few people read. I saw a stat that said that 32% of guys haven't read one book a year.
That gets to me.
Weirdly, though, I tend to get a fair number of guy followers on my literary social media. Not sure why that is, unless I represent some sort of safe space for writerly guys? I don't "bro up" my feeds, and I'm diehard lefty, so lord knows. Do these guys follow because they read my books? A few, but most of them give me no indication that they have. I wish they would.
The one thing I've observed is that the women who bother to read my books are good about leaving ratings and reviews, so I'm thankful for that. Some of the guys do, too, for which I'm grateful. Wherever they come from, ratings and reviews (henceforth R&R in these posts) are welcome.
I just can't get my head around that 32% number. They. Don't. Read. WTF? My own sons are part of that statistic -- they're good guys, nice guys, smart guys -- but reading is a chore and a bore for them.
What kills me is that when they were younger, I did all the things a parent is supposed to do: I read to them, I bought them books, I encouraged them to read, I talked about stories, I even tried to set up "reading time" for them (like 30 minutes daily). Hell, my home is a library of over 1500 books! To no avail! They are indifferent to reading.
Crushes my writerly & fatherly spirit, I swear. To have nonreader kids (also, their mother is an avid reader -- we're both mystified by their nonreading). I've said enough times how much I love books, love the meditative act of reading, and can't imagine life without books.
There's the cold reality that the world will keep spinning if nobody reads. But what a joyless, artless world that will become if nobody does.
And I say this not just as a writer, but simply as a human being. Social media is gobbling up attention spans, and reading requires attention.
April 24, 2025
Rejection Dejection
I've had to deal with rejection my whole life, whether professionally or in writing.
Early on (18-19) I eagerly sent stories to publications, only to collect rejections. Old-school SASE rejections. I used to keep those slips, had them for years, until I finally lost them. But being young, I just dedicated myself to reading and getting better as a writer (20-30). I didn't take it personally, because I knew they were reaches.
When I felt ready to again sling stories and books out to the wider world (32-40), I sent stories out and all but a couple were repeatedly rejected. I couldn't find traction, regardless of the genre. I started to accumulate a backlog of book drafts and short stories that couldn't find homes.
So, I decided to DIY it (self-publish, indie, whatever you want to call it), and began getting my books out there (32-present). Still haven't found my audience, yet, which feels like still more rejection. Others get propped up and paraded about, have fans and acolyte-boosters. Not me.
Obviously, daring to speak up about this will probably get me slagged, but the amount of rejection I deal with is pretty crazy, given that my work isn't shit, and I've continued to work at it, honing my craft as much as I can.
I'm a prolific unread/unknown indie writer. A handful of readers have appreciated my work, and I'm grateful to them. I just wish I had more audience.
Seems like everybody else wants me to promote their work (even when they have their own Greek Choruses out there singing their praises), and just shelve mine. I won't do that, however. My work is good, even if/when it's almost constantly rejected in the social media maelstrom. Am I too white, middle-aged, and progressive? Should I be a psychopathic, right-wing opportunist to gain audience? Fat chance. Just seeing JK Rowling puffing on her cigars atop her mountain of money makes me sick.
That's not who I am. I'm too independent, too much of a misfit for the normies out there, I guess. I'm rejected across several genres, and even the few who like my work comment that they don't know why my work isn't more widely known. Tell me about it!
Professionally, I navigated things reasonably well until I turned 50. Now I just get rejected constantly, despite getting to last-round interviews. The cavalcade of rejection has leached into my workaday life, again and again. The last 2.5 years have been me futilely trying to find full-time work, only to have being 55 years old being tantamount to career suicide.
Keeping my spirits up in the face of across-the-board rejection is rough. As an optimistic nihilist (or a nihilistic optimist, at any rate), it's rough.
The optimistic part of me thinks that I just need one of the intellectual properties I've created to find its audience and I'd be able to make that work for me.
However, the realistic part of me sees effort after after of mine fly off unheralded into the void, and I get depressed. I'm doing good work; I just wish I could find my audience and/or traction somewhere.
Early on (18-19) I eagerly sent stories to publications, only to collect rejections. Old-school SASE rejections. I used to keep those slips, had them for years, until I finally lost them. But being young, I just dedicated myself to reading and getting better as a writer (20-30). I didn't take it personally, because I knew they were reaches.
When I felt ready to again sling stories and books out to the wider world (32-40), I sent stories out and all but a couple were repeatedly rejected. I couldn't find traction, regardless of the genre. I started to accumulate a backlog of book drafts and short stories that couldn't find homes.
So, I decided to DIY it (self-publish, indie, whatever you want to call it), and began getting my books out there (32-present). Still haven't found my audience, yet, which feels like still more rejection. Others get propped up and paraded about, have fans and acolyte-boosters. Not me.
Obviously, daring to speak up about this will probably get me slagged, but the amount of rejection I deal with is pretty crazy, given that my work isn't shit, and I've continued to work at it, honing my craft as much as I can.
I'm a prolific unread/unknown indie writer. A handful of readers have appreciated my work, and I'm grateful to them. I just wish I had more audience.
Seems like everybody else wants me to promote their work (even when they have their own Greek Choruses out there singing their praises), and just shelve mine. I won't do that, however. My work is good, even if/when it's almost constantly rejected in the social media maelstrom. Am I too white, middle-aged, and progressive? Should I be a psychopathic, right-wing opportunist to gain audience? Fat chance. Just seeing JK Rowling puffing on her cigars atop her mountain of money makes me sick.
That's not who I am. I'm too independent, too much of a misfit for the normies out there, I guess. I'm rejected across several genres, and even the few who like my work comment that they don't know why my work isn't more widely known. Tell me about it!
Professionally, I navigated things reasonably well until I turned 50. Now I just get rejected constantly, despite getting to last-round interviews. The cavalcade of rejection has leached into my workaday life, again and again. The last 2.5 years have been me futilely trying to find full-time work, only to have being 55 years old being tantamount to career suicide.
Keeping my spirits up in the face of across-the-board rejection is rough. As an optimistic nihilist (or a nihilistic optimist, at any rate), it's rough.
The optimistic part of me thinks that I just need one of the intellectual properties I've created to find its audience and I'd be able to make that work for me.
However, the realistic part of me sees effort after after of mine fly off unheralded into the void, and I get depressed. I'm doing good work; I just wish I could find my audience and/or traction somewhere.
April 22, 2025
SF Soundtracking
Final wrap-up for SIGHTSEER (e.g., reviewing the galleys, etc.) so that one is slated for release May 27.
As I always mention writing to music, some of the source for informal soundtrack music for SIGHTSEER are the following bands (in no particular order):
Massive Attack
Catherine Wheel
Radiohead
Experimental Aircraft
Crystal Method
Daft Punk
Magazine
The Sound
The Cars
Collectively, they bring about that retro-futuristic vibe that plays nicely with cyberpunk.
As I'd mentioned earlier, I'm going to dive into the next two books in The Plastic Fantastic trilogy, so I'll have everything battened down with that series.
After that, I'll do final edits on the SF novel I've worked on for the past 6-8 years, get that one out by end of summer.
Hopefully readers will enjoy them.
As I always mention writing to music, some of the source for informal soundtrack music for SIGHTSEER are the following bands (in no particular order):
Massive Attack
Catherine Wheel
Radiohead
Experimental Aircraft
Crystal Method
Daft Punk
Magazine
The Sound
The Cars
Collectively, they bring about that retro-futuristic vibe that plays nicely with cyberpunk.
As I'd mentioned earlier, I'm going to dive into the next two books in The Plastic Fantastic trilogy, so I'll have everything battened down with that series.
After that, I'll do final edits on the SF novel I've worked on for the past 6-8 years, get that one out by end of summer.
Hopefully readers will enjoy them.
April 11, 2025
Writing Wrongs
Not to be a broken record, but I'm perpetually pissed at the word pimps using AI. Not that there have been signs (yet?) of the word pimps succeeding, but as one who's been bleeding on the page for decades (with precious little to show for it), it galls me that people are using AI to pretend to be writers.
I understand that our anti-intellectual American culture views writers with near-total indifference -- the only thing normies care about is if/whether a book is a bestseller and/or wins awards.
For most, those are the only proof points that matter. And that's painful enough for the masochistic profession of writing fiction.
That said, the word pimps add further ache to pain with their masquerading as writers. The only meager solace actual writers can take is that our work is our own, not some derivative computer conjuration. But WTF?
Everything I value in this life is being actively contravened. Literally everything. And it's likely only to get worse, not better, despite people's efforts. I'm not saying that progress isn't possible; but it's always a steep hill, and the technological revolution is creating an avenue for fraudsters that shouldn't exist.
Even if some word pimp stumbles into a bestseller, what does that even mean for the world? We're lurching into a postliterate landscape, and that's truly terrifying.
As a writer, I value clarity of language, I worship words, wordplay, worldbuilding -- those are precious, even sacred things to me. And to be aware of word pimps out there, it's profane.
Then again, we live in a world where FIFTY SHADES became a massive bestseller. What does that say about our world?
I understand that our anti-intellectual American culture views writers with near-total indifference -- the only thing normies care about is if/whether a book is a bestseller and/or wins awards.
For most, those are the only proof points that matter. And that's painful enough for the masochistic profession of writing fiction.
That said, the word pimps add further ache to pain with their masquerading as writers. The only meager solace actual writers can take is that our work is our own, not some derivative computer conjuration. But WTF?
Everything I value in this life is being actively contravened. Literally everything. And it's likely only to get worse, not better, despite people's efforts. I'm not saying that progress isn't possible; but it's always a steep hill, and the technological revolution is creating an avenue for fraudsters that shouldn't exist.
Even if some word pimp stumbles into a bestseller, what does that even mean for the world? We're lurching into a postliterate landscape, and that's truly terrifying.
As a writer, I value clarity of language, I worship words, wordplay, worldbuilding -- those are precious, even sacred things to me. And to be aware of word pimps out there, it's profane.
Then again, we live in a world where FIFTY SHADES became a massive bestseller. What does that say about our world?
April 3, 2025
Cyberpunkin'
The first book of my cyberpunk trilogy (THE PLASTIC FANTASTIC) comes out late next month. I'm amazed how quickly time is flying.
As I mentioned earlier, I wrote this first novel (SIGHTSEER) three years ago, and just let it marinate while I was working on a pile of other books.
I'm excited to be working on this one. For me, cyberpunk is a return to my late teens, when I was heavily influenced by it.
This one'll likely appear on NetGalley, I'm thinking, since cyberpunk is a clear enough subgenre of science fiction to be easily understood for what it is.
While I have another science fiction novel coming out later this summer, I'm going to turn my attention to writing the next two novels in THE PLASTIC FANTASTIC, so the trilogy will be written before end of year.
Hopefully it'll find its audience. Heh, that's my hope with all of the books I write, but we'll see how it goes. It's cathartic to work on something like cyberpunk as our world slouches headlong into dystopia. The time is right for it.
As I mentioned earlier, I wrote this first novel (SIGHTSEER) three years ago, and just let it marinate while I was working on a pile of other books.
I'm excited to be working on this one. For me, cyberpunk is a return to my late teens, when I was heavily influenced by it.
This one'll likely appear on NetGalley, I'm thinking, since cyberpunk is a clear enough subgenre of science fiction to be easily understood for what it is.
While I have another science fiction novel coming out later this summer, I'm going to turn my attention to writing the next two novels in THE PLASTIC FANTASTIC, so the trilogy will be written before end of year.
Hopefully it'll find its audience. Heh, that's my hope with all of the books I write, but we'll see how it goes. It's cathartic to work on something like cyberpunk as our world slouches headlong into dystopia. The time is right for it.
March 26, 2025
INFERNA
Well, INFERNA's out there. Book 2 of The Shutterclique, for those inclined to read it. Here's a link to get you there, depending where you might want to buy it:
INFERNA
It's nice to see Inferna getting her own title. She's among a group of those Shutterclique characters I first dreamed up in the 1990s! I'd tried over the decades (!!) to write up a literary home for them (numerous fragments exist on my computer from earlier attempts), but things finally clicked (heh, or Shutterclique'd) for them a couple of years ago, and off they've flown.
I'm happy to see that. I wrote the first three books of the series (as I'd mentioned in earlier posts), and have the remaining four to write over the next couple of years.
Originally conceived as my own love and parody of the superhero genre (without the artistic ability to draw my own comic books, despite being a loving collector of them as a kid), The Shutterclique is increasingly a kind of referendum on America, itself -- the idea of truth and justice overcoming evil -- which shouldn't be a radical notion, but certainly seems to be that way these days.
I wrote the first three books in the series before the Catastrophe occurred (as I call it), so there's abundant hope, joy, and optimism in those books, contained within the relative absurdity of the superhero genre.
Needless to say, the next several books in the series are likely to get dark, if only to suit my mood.
Further, it's also why I'm working on a cyberpunk trilogy (you can see the cover of the first book on the NP website). I think my emotional state will likely drive me to write that trilogy before I dive back into The Shutterclique.
The darkness and corporate dystopia of cyberpunk will suit my mood well (Ironic for me, since I wrote SIGHTSEER, Book 1 of the cyberpunk series, three years ago). Back then, it was an homage to the cyberpunk I loved as a late teen (William Gibson's Sprawl Trilogy rocked my young literary world back then). But, as above, the plight of the current world has added a sharp edge to the neon-glazed dystopia of cyberpunk for me.
We'll see where the stories take me. I hope readers enjoy the ride...
INFERNA
It's nice to see Inferna getting her own title. She's among a group of those Shutterclique characters I first dreamed up in the 1990s! I'd tried over the decades (!!) to write up a literary home for them (numerous fragments exist on my computer from earlier attempts), but things finally clicked (heh, or Shutterclique'd) for them a couple of years ago, and off they've flown.
I'm happy to see that. I wrote the first three books of the series (as I'd mentioned in earlier posts), and have the remaining four to write over the next couple of years.
Originally conceived as my own love and parody of the superhero genre (without the artistic ability to draw my own comic books, despite being a loving collector of them as a kid), The Shutterclique is increasingly a kind of referendum on America, itself -- the idea of truth and justice overcoming evil -- which shouldn't be a radical notion, but certainly seems to be that way these days.
I wrote the first three books in the series before the Catastrophe occurred (as I call it), so there's abundant hope, joy, and optimism in those books, contained within the relative absurdity of the superhero genre.
Needless to say, the next several books in the series are likely to get dark, if only to suit my mood.
Further, it's also why I'm working on a cyberpunk trilogy (you can see the cover of the first book on the NP website). I think my emotional state will likely drive me to write that trilogy before I dive back into The Shutterclique.
The darkness and corporate dystopia of cyberpunk will suit my mood well (Ironic for me, since I wrote SIGHTSEER, Book 1 of the cyberpunk series, three years ago). Back then, it was an homage to the cyberpunk I loved as a late teen (William Gibson's Sprawl Trilogy rocked my young literary world back then). But, as above, the plight of the current world has added a sharp edge to the neon-glazed dystopia of cyberpunk for me.
We'll see where the stories take me. I hope readers enjoy the ride...
March 6, 2025
SF Summer
I've got two Science Fiction novels coming out this summer, under my Dean Vale pen name, as ever. I have alluded to one of them a few times -- the book I originally wrote 6-8 years ago, then rewrote because I didn't think anyone would believe the scenario I'd laid out could be possible.
That one will be out there by summer's end, and is particularly appropriate to the catastrophe we're facing at the moment.
The other one, which'll appear at the start of summer (sorry I'm talking about them in reverse order), is a cyberpunk story I wrote three years ago (!) -- it was intended to be the start of a 10-book series, but now I think it's likelier to be a trilogy.
This is because my Shutterclique superheroic urban fantasy series appeared after I'd written the first cyberpunk story and stole the thunder of the other one, to be honest. When I blazed away on the first three Shutterclique novels in '23, they just took the spotlight away from the cyberpunk series. I've never had a series of mine do that to another one like that.
It's not that there's anything wrong with the cyberpunk story -- after languishing for three years, one might think that -- it's fine; it's just that other projects pushed their way into production, and there it happened.
At any rate, it'll be interesting to see how the cyberpunk story fares. All of my work basically goes out into the void, but cyberpunk, being both highly influential to me as a late teen (some of my first short stories were cyberpunk tales I sent to venues for my first rejections), and also seemingly retro in the face of the dystopian world growing around us.
So many elements of cyberpunk came true that it is one of those rare SF genres that actually largely came true (minus the coolest aspects of it). With the CYBERPUNK 2077 video game out there for years, now, maybe nostalgia for cyberpunk will garner interest in this book of mine. Or maybe not.
Anyway, with INFERNA appearing this month, and the two SF novels bookending the Summer of '25, it should be an interesting year.
Hüsker Dü | Celebrated Summer
That one will be out there by summer's end, and is particularly appropriate to the catastrophe we're facing at the moment.
The other one, which'll appear at the start of summer (sorry I'm talking about them in reverse order), is a cyberpunk story I wrote three years ago (!) -- it was intended to be the start of a 10-book series, but now I think it's likelier to be a trilogy.
This is because my Shutterclique superheroic urban fantasy series appeared after I'd written the first cyberpunk story and stole the thunder of the other one, to be honest. When I blazed away on the first three Shutterclique novels in '23, they just took the spotlight away from the cyberpunk series. I've never had a series of mine do that to another one like that.
It's not that there's anything wrong with the cyberpunk story -- after languishing for three years, one might think that -- it's fine; it's just that other projects pushed their way into production, and there it happened.
At any rate, it'll be interesting to see how the cyberpunk story fares. All of my work basically goes out into the void, but cyberpunk, being both highly influential to me as a late teen (some of my first short stories were cyberpunk tales I sent to venues for my first rejections), and also seemingly retro in the face of the dystopian world growing around us.
So many elements of cyberpunk came true that it is one of those rare SF genres that actually largely came true (minus the coolest aspects of it). With the CYBERPUNK 2077 video game out there for years, now, maybe nostalgia for cyberpunk will garner interest in this book of mine. Or maybe not.
Anyway, with INFERNA appearing this month, and the two SF novels bookending the Summer of '25, it should be an interesting year.
Hüsker Dü | Celebrated Summer
