Keith Blenman's Blog: This Worthless Life, page 2

Necromantica: Reading Trailer

A haunted forest.A killer escaping justice.So begins the apocalypse.

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Vixen. Tease. Oh your siren song.

I'll admit it. I'm a bit obsessed.
While all of you are out chasing down Pokémon in the streets, I have my own fixation.


Everybody knows how this goes. Everybody knows this feeling.
I catch myself staring. Gawking. I'm finding dumb little excuses to walk by again. And again. I smile. Give glances. I act like I'm not interested and not paying attention but oh my god all I can do is pay attention.
Why am I being so coy? The longer I wait the worse it pangs me. I know in my heart this won't lead anywhere good. I've been there, right there, so very many times before and every single time amounted to nothing. Just passing through. Slam. Bam. Thank you, ma'am. But when it's forbidden? How can anybody expect me to control myself when going inside is forbidden?
You know you've got it bad when you can't help but take a picture. Why would I do such a stupid thing? It's nothing real. Nothing tangible. But I still took a picture. There it is. Right in front of me. Just waiting for me to grab hold, to capture it. If for no other reason than to stew my own sickness.

It's not so much that they walled off that part of my store. It's not even the door. But the sign? My god, the sign!
THIS DOOR LEADS TO NOWHERE.
It doesn't. I know it doesn't. Nothing leads to nowhere. Why would it lead nowhere? But then again why wouldn't it? Everybody always says my life is getting me nowhere. For a long time, whenever I look in the mirror I can feel myself at its cusp. Wandering aimlessly, lost in my phone, hoping to catch hold of things that never existed. And there it is. Right in front of me. Everywhere I've been headed. And as long as I never open that door that's exactly where it's taking me. Nowhere.
It's such a tease. The way it makes you thirst for not thirsting. God I want it. I want so little, so bad.
There's a funny thing about getting nowhere. You can step toward it, chasing it all around, pining for all the things you didn't think it was. Or just not step at all. Either route will you get you there.
Yep. I'm definitely in the middle now.

Literally a bunch of Snapchats of me eating fries

My apologies to my Snapchat followers. Sometimes I just don't know what else to say...

Valentine snapchats

My brothers talked me into trying Snapchat a while back. I can't say exactly what it was that won me over.
"See, we can send quick pics and videos to each other."
Of course we can. We all own smartphones.
"But these delete after twenty-four hours."
I can just delete the stuff you send me that isn't worth keeping. Also, if I find something interesting I can already tweet it, Vine it, Facebook it, pinterest it, blog it, YouTube it, or just text message it to you.
"Trust us. It's great. I mean, except for some reason somebody sends an occasional dump snap. But apart from that it's great."
What's a dump snap?
"...Anyway, you should totally get Snapchat!"
So despite already being super saturated in social media, I downloaded Snapchat. I was right to think there's no real point to it. In fact I'd say having a point defeats it's purpose. It's just one more dumb thing to dick around with. For example, here's my yesterday:

At least I finally figured out a use for emoji.

It's sterile. You can drink it.

I kind of hate to say Panera has become a regular part of my lunch break rotation. Not that the food isn't good. And if you study the menu online some of it's even pretty good for you. But they are a touch more expensive than they should be.
"Yes, that is a pretty good sized bowl of mac n' cheese. But it's still an eight dollars for mac n' cheese."
Vincent Vega would not eat here.

As much as I wish I could live off Panera's Chicken Tortelini Alfredo, my current favorites are the black bean soup and Asian sesame chicken salad. Both are low calorie, low fat, little to no cholesterol, and damn tasty.
An occasional chocolate chip cookie for dessert of course, which completely negates everything I just said in the last paragraph, but is still pretty good.
Panera, feel free to stop reading and send me a check now. Or some coupons or whatever.
Of course I'm sure many of you are asking one of of two things at this point. 
"Since when did Keith start writing a food blog?"
Or
"That's good and fine, but dammit man, but quit holding us in suspense! What do you get to drink?"
Beverages are that important.
Stealing clear from pop, I'm having a small love affair with their green tea.
Truthfully I don't even like green tea, but I do drink a ton of it. Usually with honey. Lots and lots of honey. 
Thankfully at Panera, no honey is needed. It tastes great. But there's still one minor problem. Not with the tea itself, but recall I'm going to Panera on my lunchbreaks. I usually get a refill on my way out and continue to sip at it over the next five hours or so.
Damn good stuff!
But every day, without fail, one coworker or another spots the cup of green tea and sizes it up like it might bite them. The typical question is this: "What is that? Piss?"
Seriously. Yesterday four separate people asked the same question. Not sarcastically. Not to be funny or clever. They're straight faced. Borderline concerned. Clear objection to the possibly threatening drink before them. So much so that they have to belittle it.
"What are you drinking? That's not... Is that piss?"

Now, let's just take a step back and consider the fact that I work with people so unfamiliar with the sight of iced tea that it puzzles them. 

Tea is totally and completely alien to a surprising amount of people that I know. Bare minimum, fifteen. That's how many were puzzled at the sight of my drink in the past two weeks.
Which means there's probably way, way more people than just them who are unfamiliar with tea.
And a curious fact about this is that there's a solid chance some of them may very well pee green.

"I HAVE THE POWER!"

I was at my weekend job yesterday, loading a 65" ultra high def TV into a customer's SUV. I had it pretty much all the way in when my general pelvic region pressed into the back bumper of the vehicle, setting off the car alarm. The customer jumped. Several passersby all jolted. And I thought, "Yep! Still got it."


And that's the most interesting thing that's happened to my crotch in years...

Not so radical dream

I had a dream last night that ISIS was trying to radicalize me.
Let me back this up a moment and point out that I'm not Muslim. I wouldn't even say I'm particularly religious. Spiritual, sure, but I can closer acquaint my beliefs to the concept of The Force than I can any established religion.
That said, I did study some Islam in college, lived with a few Muslims at one point, and do find the faith rather beautiful. At least what I know about it. I feel like even with my experiences I only ever scratched the surface. I know enough to think that all people everywhere should celebrate Ramadan. But for what it's worth I say the same thing about Christmas. And National Ferret Day.
Anyway, last night I had a dream that I was in this dingy condo, surrounded by the sort of terrorists you expect to see on TV. Either older men with unkempt beards or younger guys in worn t-shirts and masks. And they kept trying to feed me cheeseburgers. Because that's what Americans eat.
"Come on. Have a cheeseburger. Renounce your allegiance to west and have some cheeseburgers."
No. Really. I couldn't. I seldom eat red meat. And I don't think those buns are gluten free.
"Just one cheeseburger. You've got to try at least one."
I'm sorry. I'm just not hungry. And my cholesterol is horrid.
"They're great burgers. We'll put wrestling on TV and you have some cheeseburgers."
Oh I don't watch wrestling.
And this seemed to stump them.
But that was it. My entire dream in a nutshell. I woke up kind of good about myself. Not over my withstanding the power of cheeseburgers, even in a dream state (although I do feel deserving of a trophy for it). But because, even though my imagination portrayed terrorists as the exact stereotypes pictured on TV (but isn't that more the media's fault?), they were still good hosts and although a bit pushy, still very polite and generous hosts. And pretty much every Muslim I've ever personally known has had that similar quality to them. They're always so polite and generous. So I was glad to see that translated into my subconscious. Good job, me. Good job. 

"What's your book like?"

I see this often.
Writers, to entice readers, compare their new books to other stuff. Not that it's always a bad thing. A quick example would be along the lines of, "It's a spy story. Do you like Jason Bourne or James Bond? Well my book is in that genre. It's about the top spy in India's government. It has international espionage. Intense action sequences. Exotic locations. If you like James Bond, this is similar in genre, but goes in a different direction and offers something totally new and different."
The comparison is there, but we're also given a promise of something unique and original. Unfortunately online I see a lot of writers go in another direction. The example being, "It's like if that Indian dude from Heroes was James Bond." Or, "It's like Life of Pi grows up and becomes James Bond."
 As much as we'd all love to see Pi Patel thwart Spectre, there's a lot lost in this description. Mostly creativity. My immediate reaction to this sort of advertising is that the author has very few original ideas and probably watches way too much TV.
It's just poor practice. At least for the author or publisher. You should be able to sell your story on its own merit without pilfering the credibility of more successful works.
And just to make the distinction, there's no problem here if somebody's who's read the book is trying to recommend it to friends. There's a thick line between an author trying to pitch knock off James Bond and some coworker on a James Bond kick.
My reason for pointing this out is that I recently saw an author do this in her own book title. The novel was called Blind Influence: It's Like Jason Bourne Meets The Good Wife In The West Wing.


Since I first saw this, the title has been reduced to Blind Influence . So the author learned her lesson. There's a hyperlink for anybody interested in reading her stuff. It very well could be a good book. And I can't completely fault her for attempting this tactic. The argument being that it's tough to get noticed. For indie writers like myself, it takes a lot of constant hammering for people to gain interest in our works. Every day I'm tweeting. I'm pushing my novel to friends and family on Facebook. I go to local bookstores asking if they'd like a few copies on their shelves. I post in several author and Kindle forums. I create new content for my blog. I send out promotional copies. I've purchased several online ads. I've sunk way more  time and money into my book than I've seen returned. Marketing is a full time job, and like many authors, my degree is in creative writing. Not any form of business. Actually, that's about as far from a degree as I could get. In fact, having no degree at all would be closer than mine to a degree in business. So a lot of what I do trial and error. More often than not, the day ends with no new book sales and an ever growing feeling of failure. I certainly understand Linda Riesenberg Fisler's tactic of comparing her book to three popular things in one title. It makes perfect sense why so many authors attempt pushing their work this way. But the fault is still there. While it seems enticing to draw people in by using films and shows they might enjoy, doing so runs the massive risk of showing a lack of originality.
For a bit of comparison, this is the same technique grocery stores use to push their own versions of products that are never quite the original.
"Why drink Coca-Cola when you could have Walmart Brand Soda for a dollar less? It's practically the same thing."
Simply put, it feels cheap. It feels like a knock off. It doesn't even matter how it tastes. The last thing you want to say about your new novel is, "It's practically the same thing as something else."
You don't want to sell It's practically James Bond. 
You want to sell This is bigger and better than James Bond. 
You want to sell This kicks James Bond's ass! 
You want to sell This book drags James Bond out in the middle of the woods, ties him to a tree, bludgeons him repeatedly with a baseball bat covered in razor blades, and then leaves him for dead before an inevitable bear attack.
...Okay. Well, maybe not THAT enthusiastic. But you get the idea. Don't settle for comparing your original work to something else. Elevate it above all that old news that's already out there.
So lesson over. But let's keep talking and build on it a bit. Like I said, I've been trying to push my latest novel, attempting all sorts of online and offline advertising. Typically with mixed levels of success. Building a brand takes time. You're going to have a lot of defeating days of hard work before your audience even starts to notice this awesome thing you've created. And I'm right there with you. Which of course means I have to take you down. You know, being the competition and all.
No really, I'm going to use my novel as an example for the rest of this blog to further illustrate the point. You're all safe. Or at least I want you to feel that way. But, seriously, sleep with one eye open.
Anyway, my novel is a fantasy story called Necromantica . Here's an ad I've been using online:

Feels original, doesn't it? Of course there is the worry is that some people will react negatively, thinking the ad makes the book feel like a garbled mess of far too many ideas. Or that it's too broad. And that's okay. Other ads on Facebook and Google are more image based, showing just the cover and one or lines of text. With this ad, the book looks like so many things, but what is it? Who is it appealing to? The most basic description of the plot is that Necromantica is about a thief and necromancer sneaking their way through a battle field during an orc invasion in attempt to steal a magic relic from an evil king, and everything goes horribly wrong. The advertisement says none of this. Its only goal is to create enough intrigue to get readers to click on the link and read a bit more. Whether that link is to this blog or the book description on Amazon. I'm not spoiling anything. I'm not inviting direct comparisons. I'm showing my hand while leaving as much mystique as possible. So And here's the book description and cover.

Before I go on, I should point out that all of the art in my ads were created by Christina Irwin. The link is to her email, and I can't recommend her enough. Her art is fantastic. Her rates are awesome. She's worked with multiple indie writers and definitely gets how to sell a book. Currently she's working on a book trailer for me and I'm pretty much counting the minutes until it's finished.
That said, now that you have a sense of the story, let's get back to our earlier topic of comparing stories to other things. It's an action packed fantasy novel featuring orcs, necromancy, thieves, an epic battle, and an evil king. So right away, I can draw comparisons to Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones. Dungeons & Dragons fans would love it. But let's examine how that statement plays online:

Necromantica. It's like Lord of the Rings meets Game of Thrones! The perfect book for D&D fans.

This loses all intrigue. Originality is out the window. Any respectful fan of fantasy will roll their eyes at comparing LOTR and GOT. And not every lover of the genre is into D&D. Connoisseurs of fantasy, the audience I'm trying to cultivate, are going to be put off by that advertisement. Also, I've left absolutely no room for people not interested in any of those things. I'm never going to win over people not interested in fantasy, but I want to be appealing to people who enjoy fantasy without necessarily liking those three specific things. So instead, let's try working on statement that discusses the story, but keeping those comparisons in mind. Let's start as broad as possible. This won't be the final advertisement, but we still need an original foundation to work with.

Necromantica. An action packed fantasy adventure.

WAAAAAAAY too broad. We've got the feel of the story. We want an ad that appeals to lovers of fantasy who enjoy action and adventure. But when we say it directly, it comes off as plain vanilla. So let's build a little bit. Let's work some plot into that.

Necromantica, Two thieves battle through an orc invasion to face an evil king.

Note the underlining and italicizing. For our purposes, I'm trying to show how the sentence breaks down. A few notes here. First, we have our main characters; two thieves. I haven't mentioned that one of them is a necromancer, and given that the book is titled Necromantica, it's probably a detail that demands a lot more attention. But we're still improving from comparing to other works and flat statements of being action and adventure. We have protagonists, our party of heroes often seen in fantasy stories. We have multiple antagonists, being the orcs and evil king. Describing the protagonists and thieves helps set a tone for the story. Also note we have thieves, orcs, and an evil king. There are no good guys here. Just different degrees of bad guys. We have the implication that because these characters are thieves, this story is some sort of caper. They are after something to get at this evil king. And we have a massive obstacle for them to overcome in the orc invasion.
Another thing done here is that we're allowing the person to read this statement to make their own attachments. "There's an evil king in this. Game of Thrones has that evil king, Joffrey. Man, I want that little shit to die. I hope these two thieves really stick it to him."
Okay, maybe not that enthusiastic, but you get the point. 
"An orc invasion, huh? Lord of the Rings had an orc invasion. Bilbo was a burglar in The Hobbit, so are these thieves like him?"
But we're also not limiting ourselves to those specific franchises. We're allowing readers to make their own meaningful connections.
"Thieves, eh? I really like that movie where Sean Connery played a thief. And Sean Connery also played James Bond. Oh my god! I bet this book is exactly like James Bond. And maybe with some Good Wife stuff thrown in."
Well, probably not that comparison.
Also of note is that not once in that statement did we use the words action, adventure, or fantasy. But every single one of them was implied. We have orcs and an evil king, so this is definitely a fantasy novel. We have an invasion and thievery, so action and adventure are most definitely present. At a minimum, it's a safe bet that the two thieves aren't just sitting a room discussing the politics of the king as orcs wage war off in some countryside. So all of those adjectives are in the subtext, but we're using our limited advertising space to discuss the story itself. Is it successful? Well, we'll see how many people click on the links. Personally, I think there's still some stuff missing. Again, one of the thieves is a necromancer. She uses magic to command dead bodies to arise and become her zombie warriors. This is a major hook for the story, and a new twist on a familiar concept. Necromancers, particularly in LOTR, are consistently villains. We have one in the hero role. The fact that she's a strong woman being significantly more than a romantic interest  in a fantasy adventure appeals to an entire audience I haven't even tapped into. So let's try something about her.

Necromantica. A thief commands a zombie horde in her battle against an evil king during an orc invasion.

The operative word being her. We've got one of our main characters, but a few things are off here. It feels cluttered. We're missing the other thief. And while it's fine to drop some details to highlight other features of the story, we want to convey as much as possible. But let's back up and simplify a little.

Necromantica. A thief commands a zombie horde in her battle against an evil king.

I dropped the orcs in favor of focusing on the central conflict with the character. She's trying to get at the evil king. But in losing the orcs, I've also lost a major indication of the fantasy genre. For all we know in this sentence, the story is modern day and takes place in some Eastern European country. Since I'm trying to appeal to fantasy readers, I definitely want to make sure there's some indicator of it in my advertising. Now, those of you who really looked at the book cover and advertisement earlier may have noted that the woman has pointed ears. She's an elf. So let's substitute a detail and see how that looks.

Necromantica. An elf commands a zombie horde in her battle against an evil king.

Did we lose the thief and caper aspects? Yes. But at the price of making our lead character perhaps a bit more intriguing. We have her central conflict and her motivation. We have fantasy. We have action and adventure. We have plenty of comparisons to LOTR and GOT for people to connect with.
The question may arise, "Should I use one ad over another?"
No. Absolutely not. I encourage people to use multiple ads, blurbs, and taglines. You want to appeal to a specific audience, but not every ad is going to appeal to everyone in that audience. Every time you say something different, you're giving your potential readers a little taste of something new. Variety is your friend. Especially on social media websites like Twitter and Facebook, where redundancy gets really old, really fast. In one tweet discuss the overall plot. In another, say something about a character. In another, give a tagline. For the people who read multiple ads, the story becomes more familiar without getting old. Have you ever seen the same commercial on TV over and over again? And by the fourth time you're ready to burn down whatever advertising agency? The same rule applies. Always try to say something new, fresh, original. You're writing creatively, so be creative. And always be way more creative than comparing your book to other things.But if you have to do it, at least be more original than everyone else.

Necromantica. It's like Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones were making love all over The Walking Dead when Rambo III showed up and started blasting Romeo & Juliet all over everybody's faces while belting out moments from Inglourious Basterds and stabbing The Raid: Redemption into their hearts. Then The Great Escape and The Crow showed up and were like, "This blood orgy is straight out of Kill Bill meets Cabin In The Woods but with an Assassin's Creed twist!" Suddenly, Sin City and Mad Max: Fury Road joined in while asking, "Wait? What's Star Wars doing here?" Then Edge of Tomorrow birthed Evil Dead 2 and said, "I don't know, man. But it's fucking hot."

Yeah. My book is kinda like that. There's no sex in the story. But it's kind of like that.

The Hateful Eight Roadshow

One of the last movies I saw in the theater with a film projector was Spider-Man 2.
It was opening day. I'd bought tickets in advance (which there weren't even websites for yet. You had to go to the theater). Could not wait! Doc Ock was my favorite villain from my childhood. I loved Sam Raimi. I'd grown to accept Toby McGuire as Peter Parker.
Sorry. I'm babbling.
So I go opening day. It's perfect. It's brilliant. It's leagues over the original. I'm in awe. Then the film gets to the final reel and breaks. Right in the middle of the last battle, just as Toby McGuire and Alfred Molina are fighting in the water beneath Doc Ock's sun devise. The movie just stops.
I was furious. The whole audience was. Months of waiting. The anticipation. We were supposed to be among the first to see the movie of the summer and because of some technical failure it'd been robbed from us at the apex of what very well could've been the absolute greatest moment in all of cinema history.
Mother. Fucker.
We were given free passes for another show, but the only fifteen minutes of film anybody wanted to see was sold out for days. It was like being given a really good handjob, and just-just-just before the big moment, somebody bursts into the room, shoves your lover into a crate, and hands you a voucher to release her in a week.
...I'm kind of hoping somebody says something in the comments section below along the lines of, "That did happen to me once and those two experiences aren't at all relatable."
If I have a point so far, it's simply that I'm a fan of digital projectors.
So when Tarantino announced his eighth film would have a limited 70mm release, using actual film, I had to laugh. Romanticizing aside, with a two week run in a limited number of theaters, somewhere in the country, something bad was going to happen.
Obviously not to me. But surely, for some audience, somewhere, the projector will break down. The film will break. Something. 
Don't get me wrong. Tarantino releases a new film and without question, I drink the Kool-Aid. He says in an interview that the picture is infinitely bigger, more beautiful, and pristine, and I'm game. He calls this limited release a homage to the way films used to be shown, and I'm sold.
So I went. I saw it. 
I'll keep my review of the movie itself brief. It was classic Tarantino, a dark and brooding western, and all around a pretty good film. As with most of his films, it treaded a few lines in terms of race and misogyny. If you're a fan of his other films, it's got everything you love. If you've never watched a Tarantino flick before, shame on you.
But how was it watching a move on film again? Especially after over a decade of digital projection.
There was a certain nostalgia to it. The wear and tear of the picture. Random little dots and scratches appearing throughout the print. The flickering of the projector, noticeable in all the quiet moments. I haven't seen a movie with an intermission since King Ralph was in theaters in the 80s.
The best part was the overture though. Here. Just listen to this. Let it fill your entire world for three minutes.

Awesome. Haunting. Beautiful. It captures the essence of the film perfectly. I don't know if the blu ray release will feature this in the opening minutes (the opening credits are equally slow and quiet), but I kind of hope so. It definitely set the mood.
Sadly the experience wasn't all it was supposed to be. The projector kept losing focus throughout the feature. Not a lot. The image just kept looking soft. And it was happening so frequently that I questioned whether it was the projector or the film itself intentionally going out of focus.
"I guess I can see the artistic merit in  making Samuel L. Jackson blurry here. Why wouldn't he be?"
It wasn't until after the movie, when I was handed a free pass for another show, that I knew for sure it was a problem. More so after I witnessed an older guy yelling at the theater manager, waving his free pass in the poor guy's face.
I stood there watching the two of them for a few minutes.
"I paid for a high quality 70mm print and you showed me this shit.""Sir, I do apologize for the problems with the projector-""Do you even know how the size screen you showed it on? What an insult that was?""Again, sir, I'm very sorry you had a bad experience-""Seventy! Seventy millimeter. Not seven. Not seventeen. SEVENTY!"
All while I stood there, watching them. Sucking pop through a straw. They kept glancing at me, but their conversation was so heated that I don't think either of them had it in themselves to engage me. Even if they had...
"Can I help you, sir?" or "You got a problem?" Depending on which was talking."Nah. Just watching." And continue sucking pop. "Continue."
Anyway, I was standing there watching this guy blow off steam at the helpless manager and the entire moment sank in. I had watched a scratchy film on a bad projector and was watching some guy scream at someone who works at the theater but really couldn't help that the technology wasn't quite working for him that day...
...The 70mm Hateful Eight Roadshow experience replicated watching movies in old theaters perfectly!

Black Friday: A holiday story

I've been working on a short story for the holidays. My current goal is to edit and make it available for free on Smashwords, iTunes, Amazon, and all the other big channels. But as we're so close to Christmas and I really don't have time to give it some finishing touches, here's a draft for everybody to enjoy. Happy holidays!


Black Friday
Little Dahlia stared at the turkey cooking in the oven. She hated it, more than spinach and more than ham. Light meat or dark didn’t matter. Turkey was awful. Just like stuffing. Just like potatoes. She didn’t understand why it was Thursday and they couldn’t have double bacon burgers. Dad C always used the grill for those. The old way. A little sting pinched her spine. She winced, but then took a calming breath as a soothing warmth tingled through her fingers and toes. Iris, her OcuHelp fairy appeared on the Turkey's leg and said, "Feeling better there, princess?" and Dahlia smiled. "Okay then!" Iris said before vanishing into a gravy mist. She supposed watching Mom cook was a rare treat. She never got to see the oven in precision mode. Even when she did, it was only for a few minutes. Real turkeys had to be cooked for two hours. Printed ones were cheaper, but they took all day. Mom said having a real one was special.  Dahlia watched the lasers and scanners whirl over the bird, firing pulses and browning its skin in exact patches. White flashes, followed by a dance of blue and red beams. Puffs of smoke and sequenced mists of gravy. “Pookie,” Mom said, tapping her shoulder. “What have we said about staring directly in the oven?” Dahlia didn’t think to answer. She just watched as the blue laser focused on the turkey’s leg and whirled a few quick figure eights. The warm tingling nestled in her belly as gravy spurt over area and sizzled. “Pookie?” “I’ll go blind again,” Dahlia said. “And eyes are expensive.” Mom ushered her away from the oven. “That’s right,” she said. “Why don’t you go see what your Dads are up to?” Dahlia was reluctant to turn away. The blue laser fired a steady beam straight into the turkey while several red lasers shot triplet bursts all around it. Gravy droplets rained purple in the surrounding mist. The whole house was packed with people and nobody Dahlia’s age. At least with the oven lights she had something pretty to watch that didn’t ask her how old she was for the billionth time. And it’s not like she went all that blind last time. There was just a fog over her left eye. She could kind of see still. But she knew Santa was watching and it probably wasn’t worth the risk of not getting her Turbo Lonnie Doll X at Christmas. “Yes mother,” she said. Aunt Georgie laughed into her wine as Dahlia moved out of the kitchen. “That’s too precious,” she said to Mom. “You’ll have to tell me your secret, Mel. I don’t even try to order mine around without putting on hockey equipment.” Mom nudged Dahlia along. “Doctor Bubba Taylor. Best pharmacologist in the tri-state. He has her on what's called a rolling mood stabilizer treatment. Very cutting edge. Yours might be a little old.  I guess the nanobots and stimpacks have difficulty coordinating during puberty. But Dahlia hasn’t had a tantrum in months. She’s our little zombie.” Dahlia meandered out of the kitchen and made her way to the holo room. Several uncles and her older cousins had taken the liberty to adjust the furniture around the floor, projecting the TV to stadium view. Little holograms of football players ran along the carpet, passing the ball and tackling each other as much of her family cheered on. Her cousin laughed as Dahlia's cat, Rhododendron, leapt into the air, trying to catch the projected football. "No Rhody!" he cackled. "Only intercept The Bears!" Rhododendron's tail flicked several times before she pounced on the cheerleaders at the sideline. Iris appeared in Dahlia's vision next to the cat, "Uh oh! It looks like Licensed Feline B2QQ6G is displaying classic hunting behaviors. Would you like to administer a low to medium voltage punishment to discourage future murderous tendencies?" Next to Iris a window appeared with a list of hyperlinks about aggressive behavior in housecats. Dahlia could barely read any of the titles. She shouldn't even have an option to punish the cat at her age. Fortunately both she and Dad C had the same vision plan. When she lost one of her OcuHelp lenses playing on an escalator last week, Dad C gave her his old pair. Nobody remembered to adjust the child safety settings and Dahlia had full access to pet controls. So with the decision of YES and NO suspended over her wild eyed kitty, Dahlia couldn't help but smile.  She looked at her options of choice, and then scrolled to a medium level punishment. She was asked to confirm and her vision went completely blank. She heard the cat yelp as Iris appeared in the darkness and said, "Children mustn't ever see such violence!" When her vision returned, her cousin and several uncles were all laughing, pointing at the couch as Rhody's tail disappeared under it. "Whatever gets into that cat," Dad A said. Dahlia remained silent. There was no reason for anybody to know about her controls over the pets, lights, security, and other grownup stuff. One of her cousins said, "I already uploaded the video onto HoloLife." Dad B added, "I've got it at the wide angle." Iris popped up and told Dahlia, "Seven of your nearest friends have just uploaded Funny Red Thursday Cat Videos. Would you like to view them now?" Dahlia chose no and Iris asked, "Would you like to see any of the seventeen thousand, five-hundred and twenty-three Funny Red Thursday Cat Videos that have been uploaded to the solar system today?" And Dahlia chuckled as she shook her head. She told Iris, "Save for Bedtime Stories." The little fairy gave her a thumbs up and then reminded her, "A moment ago your mother requested that you discover what Your Dads Are Up To. I have compiled a list. Dad A and Dad B are watching football in the immediate vicinity. Dad C remains unknown. Would you like to complete this task or do you wish to continue?" Dahlia flopped her head to Dad A and asked, "Where's Dad C?" Dad A looked down at her and grinned. "Oh, look at you in your dress. Take picture," he said. "Auto adjust. Slim her down a bit. And make her hair darker. No. Too dark. The same color as mine. Perfecto." After a small nod at nothing he told Dahlia, "Dad C had to go to work. One of the bad men tried to break into MeccaMart early. He should know the rules." "Is Dad C going to execute him?" "I'm sure he will, darling. Don't you worry. That's just one less greedy monster to fight off and make sure Santa can get you a Turbo Rory Doll Y." "No," Dahlia said. A pinch in her spine prevented her from raising her voice. But she still completed the thought. "I want a Turbo Lonnie Doll X. She comes with a surfboard and gatling gun. And her eye patch fits on Turbo Jethro AND Turbo Jenny." "Uh-hu," Dad A said, his focus already back on the football game. "And that's exactly what you're going to get." Dahlia sighed. She said, "Iris, will you please resend my Christmas list?" Iris appeared on the back of the couch, holding an envelope the size of her. "I thought you'd never ask!" She spun around several times and threw the list into some pixilated distance. "Christmas List copy twenty-two received by all standard recipients." Dad A said, "Change your mind again, Pookie? You're really getting down to the wire. Why don't you- Go. Go. Go! Go!" Dad A jolted out of his seat, and half the room with him. They all started screaming at the hologram men running across the floor. Dahlia shuddered at all the noise, but watched as most of the men started running in the same direction. A guy in blue was in front and glowing brighter than the others. Dahlia knew enough about football to know that meant he had the ball. As she started paying attention to the game, the voices of announcers faded in from nothing. Two men in white closed in as ominous voices said, "He's at the fifty. The forty! The thirty! And- taken down by Walgreens-Lehmann and Allegra-Jackson." Everybody in the room cheered. Dad B and some uncle gave each other high fives as another announcer said, "Man, they're really giving him a beating." "You've got to love the post-play intimidation, Charlie. I remember my days in the switchblade league..." Dahlia tried to watch, but her vision went dark over the area of where the men in white attacked the man in blue. Even with Dad C's OcuHelp, violence was a privilege for grownups. Iris appeared in the void and said, "Children mustn't ever see such violence!" She decided to keep meandering. She passed back through the kitchen and into the dining room where several of her relatives were chatting and making adjustments to their arsenal. A hologram of Budda Christ slowly rotated over the table, praying over the printed food as it heated down the middle. The words Blessed And Consumable rotated opposite him. An older cousin, the name Jerry floating over his chest, aimed a pepper mace pistol at the wall. He asked some girl, Kiara, "So do we hit MeccaMart or the mall first?" Kiara turned on her billy club. Bolts of light danced around the striking end. "Doesn't your uncle work at MeccaMart? Can't he get us to like a good spot in the mob?" "Nah," Jerry said. "We get to use half his discount but the state prefers full paying consumers so there's no benefit. I hate being first in the door anyway. I did one year and got trampled. I missed out on all the doorbusters waiting for EMS to repair my ribs." Dahlia pulled herself onto one of the chairs and inspected all of the food. Iris popped up near various dishes, offering to tell Dahlia the calorie counts, nutritional facts, and the molecular structures of assorted foods. Most of the foods had red No Access rings and timers spiraling around them, counting down to dinner. Several hors d'oeurves were accessible, but they were all disgusting. Fruits. Tiny sandwiches with olives. An empty plate labeled crackers and cheese was among them. Iris asked, "Would you like me to print more?" Dahlia didn't realize she had the option. She glanced at Jerry and Kiara. They were too busy adjusting their weapons and flirting to notice her. Unsure if her OcuHelp granted access to the menu, she quietly asked the little fairy, "Can you make me some candy?" "You bet I can!" Iris said. "What kind would you like?" A menu appeared next to her, showing off Jellybeans, Butterfingers, M&M's, Skittles, and so many, many more. "I can't decide!" she whispered. "Life is full of big decisions," Iris said. "Would you like me to make a variety plate of all your favorites?" Dahlia double checked that her cousin and the girl weren't watching and slowly nodded. "All right!" The plate sunk back into the table. "Candy variety plate coming up in six minutes!" Dang it. Six minutes? Dahlia didn't want to sit and wait here that long. And given that she'd just ordered candy for the first time, she doubted her parents would react all that well. It'd probably be better if she left the room. Already the story began forming in her head. "What plate of candy? There's a plate of candy? Oh my gosh! Can I have some? Buddha Christ hates it when consumables go to waste." It felt believable enough until Iris appeared and said, "Dahlia! Dahlia's brainwave pattern indicates she's thinking about something unethical. I've already dosed her several times in recent succession. As the nearest authorized adult, would you like to increase dose levels or administer a mild to moderate punishment?" She could control the pinches? She hadn't even thought of that. Her eyes darted around the menu of options. She could give herself the warm feeling whenever she wanted. "More dosage," she whispered, staring at some symbol in Iris's menu. A funny, sideways eight.       Iris said, "Let me just confer with Dr. Bubba Taylor." Ten seconds later Iris said, "Playing message from Bubba Dr. Taylor." Then in an older, Indian man's voice she said, "Little holiday trouble, Kip? I'll lift restrictions for twenty four hours. But you owe me a rematch in squash." Iris gave her a big thumbs up. Dahlia smiled as the warmth spread through her. She giggled. She thought this must be what clouds feel like. She stumbled through the hallway, thinking about how funny clouds were with all their shapes. She half forgot there'd be candy in just a few minutes and continued to wander. As the rush of being calmed eased, she rounded a corner into the living room, a mostly empty room except for Granny Bonnie. She'd been placed in a recliner and set to look out the window. Dahlia's parents only ever thawed her out for birthdays and holidays. She always trembled and smelled like something bad in the refrigerator. Dahlia tried to sneak around so she wouldn't be seen, but Iris appeared, adult size, in front of her and said, "Your mom and dads placed a mandate that everybody at the party must spend a minimum of four minutes chatting with Grandma. This is a timed task and recommended to ASAP completion. Would you like to complete it now?" Dahlia started to walk through Iris but a pinch in her spine made her stop. "Would you like to complete it now?" Iris asked again, and the little girl nodded, eyes fluttering. Granny Bonnie lifted her head slightly off her shoulder as Dahlia stumbled into the room. "Hello little miss," she said. "Oh. Are you all right?" "I'm great, Granny Bonnie!" Dahlia emphasized with a wave of her hand. Her fingers felt like rivers. "I see that. It looks like a few things have been legalized since I last checked. Tell me, little miss, do you know what day it is? I've been on ice so long, I can't even tell." "You don't know it's Red Thursday?" Dahlia giggled. This was one of the most important holidays ever. This was when Budda Christ blessed people with a big feast in celebration of winter warmth and it was brought to you by MeccaMart. "It's the second biggest holiday of the year. Right behind Yom Christmas." "That's right," Granny Bonnie said a couple of times. Her lower lip trembled between words. "They called it Thanksgiving when I was a girl." Granny Bonnie was over seven hundred years old. She always told Dahlia how things used to be, and the way the world once was. Dad C said it was her that taught him about double bacon burgers and shoes with laces. Bonnie really didn't care. But then after another small pinch, it was amazing to think that anything could be that old. Not even trees were that old. "Do you know the story of the first Thanksgiving?" she asked. Dahlia nodded. Everybody knew that story. Iris appeared on Granny's shoulder just the same with a few hyperlinks. "Back in the day when people were first learning to become civilized, there were the Pilgrims and the Indians. And food only grew in the warm weather. But back then, whenever the earth cooled, there was only so much to go around for everybody. So the Pilgrims and Indians decided the fairest thing to do was to have a big feast together." "That's right," Granny smiled. "And what did that feast mean?" "That we should be grateful for what we have together. And respect each other. Because come morning after the feast was Black Friday. And on Black Friday, at first light, the Pilgrims and Indians would race into the woodlands and compete with each other for supplies for winter. And because the cold would kill them if there were too many anyway, it was cleaner just to slaughter off the ones who weren't strong enough to find the good supplies first. It's a dog eat dog world, Granny. And because today there's enough food for everybody, we honor their tradition by feasting every Red Thursday, and trampling over each other with presents for our families on Black Friday. And then on Yom Christmas Santa delivers all the gifts and doorbuster deals to good boys and girls!" Granny Bonnie's eye twitched. "Is that right?" she said. Then, "Yes. Yes. That is right. I remember now." She seemed to drift away, like a slow moving cloud at sunset, staring out the window. Dahlia considered leaving but Iris grew larger and held up a timer. She still had several minutes before she could leave. Even longer before the candy would be ready. She wanted to sigh, but a pinch made her smile instead. Granny Bonnie noticed her giggle. "My god. What have they got you on?" Warmth spread through Dahlia's cheeks. So much that they started to hurt, but she didn't care. Not about this. Not about anything. "I've got my dad's OcuHelp," she said. "And it lets me do whatever I want. I can watch whatever bedtime stories I want. I can take my own medicine and I can make all the candy. All of them. I bet I can drive if I want to. But there's nowhere to go with all the stores closed." Granny Bonnie lost her smile. Her lower lip shivered even more. She leaned forward and with a small wheeze asked, "You can control everything?" Dahlia looked her Granny in the eyes. With all the seriousness and Buddha Christly power that came with such a question, the stoned child answered, "Everything." The two stared in silence for a long moment. After what started to feel like too long, Granny Bonnie blinked and Iris appeared holding a small trophy. She said, "Congratulations! You just earned a life achievement of winning your first impromptu staring contest!" Granny's eyes thinned. Dahlia wondered if her Iris was telling her that she lost. But instead of acknowledging victory, Granny said, "Prove it. It's so bright outside with the snow and your parents don't give me access to control the windows. I bet you can't make them dimmer." Oh a challenge, is it? Dahlia confidently pointed to the glass, never taking her eyes of Granny Bonnie. "Iris," she said. "Make that glass dark." Slowly, the window tinted. Iris said it was by some percent, but Dahlia was more interested in Granny's awe as she asked, "Can you get me a martini?" Iris appeared and said, "Granny Bonnie is under authority not to be allowed alcoholic beverages by policy 1222, Appendix H of her contract with Eternal Pines Retirement Center. Temporary permission must be granted by medical personnel." Dahlia said, "Can you get permission for Granny to have a martini?" Iris looked like she was thinking for a moment. She then said, "Playing message from Dr. Bubba Taylor. 'One little drink isn't going to hurt the young lady. By all means, let her enjoy the holiday.'" "Thank you. Iris, make Granny one drink. Whatever she wants. Anything at all." After another long moment Granny whispered, "Sex on the beach?" A few seconds later, part of the nearest end table opened up and the most beautiful, bright red and yellow drink Dahlia had ever seen arose out of it. Complete with a printed slice of orange. Granny picked it up in her trembling hands, looking at it like she'd found a diamond in a bargain bin. She hefted it to her lips, spilling some onto her sweater. Even as she drank, red rivers flowed down her chin. "Sweet, sweet bliss," she whispered, dropping the empty glass onto the floor. Part of the wall unfolded and several little robots rolled out to clean up the spill. "Everything, Granny," Dahlia said. "I can do everything." Granny nodded. "You know. I should tell your parents about this." Dahlia felt her heart stop, but a pinch made her shrug. "They can't stop me," she said. "No, I really don't think they can. But they might try. Tell you what, I'll let this be our little secret, but you have to do me one last favor. Can you do that for me? Just one last thing?" Dahlia nodded. She could do everything. Granny looked out the window for a long moment. She gazed softly around the room, nodding at nothing in particular. "When you get to be my age," she started to say, but paused. "No, no. You see, when you're younger, you think want to be around forever but. Well, no. It doesn't matter. Forget all that. I'm just a little tired of every day being a holiday is all. But you can help me with that." "I don't know if I can make it tomorrow," Dahlia said. Maybe she could. Dad C was a greeter at MeccaMart and they were your friendly local giver of all that you ever needed. But she couldn't even imagine how to ask Iris for that. "No, no. Sweet little miss." Granny put her hands on Dahlia's shoulders. "All I need you to do is turn off my nanobots." Iris appeared behind Granny, the whole of her bright red. "Warning! Warning! Although you have legal authority, turning off Granny Bonnie's nanabots will cause immediate pulmonary arrest, cardiac failure, heptic failure, renal failure..." she went on and on but Dahlia couldn't understand a word she was saying. Granny pulled Dahlia a little closer. "When you get to be my age, the nanobots, they itch, darling. They itch so much. All the time." Being this close started to make Dahlia nervous, but a pinch in her spine made her feel toasty. Like being wrapped in a heated towel after swimming. "Okay, Granny Bonnie," Dahlia said. "Iris, turn off Granny's nanobots." Iris filled the entire room and asked, "Are you sure?" Holding one card the size of a person that said No, and another the size of a mouse that said Yes. "Please, darling," Granny Bonnie smiled, and Dahlia thought it was the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. "I've had a lifetime already. And I followed it with a lifetime of holidays." Dahlia looked at her options and nodded to the little card. "Thank you," Granny smiled. She took one deep breath and then squeezed Dahlia's shoulders as hard as she could, her whole body convulsing in her seat. "Let go!" Dahlia wrestled away, watching as Granny shook in her chair until everything went dark. "Children mustn't ever see such violence!" Iris said, pinching Dahlia twice. Dahlia stumbled back a few steps, away from the void. When it disappeared, Granny was slumped over the armrest of her chair. A little robot on the floor was sucking a river of drool out of the carpet. Mom's voice came from around the corner. "Honeys? Honeys? Why did we just inherit four hundred and seventy thousand dollars?" She froze as Dahlia shuffled around in a little circle. She looked back and forth between the wobbly young girl and dead old woman. "Oh my," she whispered. "Pookie? Pookie what happened?" Dahlia shrugged. Everything was fine. Everything was toasty. "Come here," she said, kneeling down and pulling the girl closer for a hug. Dahlia nearly collapsed as her mother held her. She felt so warm. And her breath felt like a breeze against her ear. "Come on. It's okay.  I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to see such things. Granny Bonnie, just. Well, she's resting. Come along. I'll have the recyclers collect her. Somebody made candy in the other room. You can have as much as you like." "So," Dahlia stumbled as Mom guided her out of the room. "I can have candy instead of turkey?" "Sure, Pookie. Sure." She smirked. She could do everything.

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