Rob Osterman's Blog, page 12

On Research

"Write what you know."
This is a traditional bit of wisdom thrown at every new writer. If only it were that simple. Now I did get away with it a little when I wrote Fantasticon because I was writing about the con-going experience as I saw it. When I needed a back drop for a scene, or I needed something to happen in and around the main plot I had my experiences and those of my friends to use. Need to Allison to be distracted? How about a group photo shoot? Need a random walk on character? What fandom haven't I used yet?
But it's not always that easy. Quite often you write yourself into a spot and then you realize that you have no idea what so ever how to keep going without looking like you're making it all up.
Now I'm not an expert on many things. But the things I do know I like to see done at least with a nod to being correct when they appear in media. I don't expect them to get overly detailed in their analysis of, say, a bullet's trajectory, but I do get antsy when they screw up Terminal Velocity (that is the speed at which something stops accelerating during free fall, or basically it's maximum speed) with Acceleration due to gravity (that is the rate at which something speeds up while falling).
And I know my friends are like that too. I've seen military folks get flustered when sleeves aren't rolled right. I've seen lawyers pan TV shows because they got case history wrong. I've had colleagues in education give up on a series because of wild errors in plot lines that show little to no understanding of how a school actually operates.
I'm not even going to start on what some people think of House.
And what I like most about my research is actually going to experts and asking them questions. Nothing is more fun then asking someone to talk about something they're passionate about.
Sometime ago my wife and I wrote and oversaw a Dungeons and Dragons game based in a world of our design. As we were laying out the map of the world we came across a point where we needed a river to fork. The river was going to have strategic importance and thus factored heavily into the history of the world and the conflicts between the nations. But, to my knowledge, rivers did not fork. They converge, and they may have a delta region, but they don't, usually, split down two paths.
So I got online, looked up the geology department for University of Michigan and I gave a call. It took about ten minutes but I eventually had a professor with some expertise on the line. I explained that I was particular about specifics, that I was working on a piece of fiction (which led soon to me explaining that it was for a DnD game) and I just wanted to get my facts right.
And he was happy to talk to me, I believe from his tone, for about 20 minutes on the subject, and I got good information about possible shifts in plate tectonics and erosion that both could contribute to a tributary becoming an offshoot.
When I've needed to get some police procedures right, I've sat down with a cop. For the opening chapter of Mind the Thorns, I called a funeral home. Now that was a curious conversation because, to my surprise, funeral directors do not know what it's like to have been in a coffin. I assumed, for the longest time, that it was probably part of some hazing ritual.
At the time of this writing, I'm working on a short story that could be, concievably, called a piece of Walking Dead fan fiction. It's a bit dicey as it's a zombie story, but there are no characters from WD in it. In fact it's not even in the same area as WD and it's going to explore something totally different than anything I've seen on the show. But one of my weaknesses as a writer is that I know very little about guns. I know quite a bit about zombies, especially when I get to decide what variety of zombie I'm going to use. But the guns? Not so much.
So while out running errands I came across a gun store. And I was quite sure I could get what I needed in ten minutes or less as I always had. So notebook in hand I went in, approached a clerk, and gave my spiel.
I explained that I was a writer, and that I just wanted to get accurate when I described the guns that my hero had, on hand, during the zombie apocalypse. I explained that I just wanted to have enough of the details right so that I could work them into the story and if someone who actually knew guns read it they wouldn't flip out. He nodded. And I asked, "So if he's a casual shooter, maybe has gone hunting a few times with his dad, what is he likely to have grabbed on his way out to the wilderness."
"I dunno," came the response. "Whatever the writer thinks he should."
And thus my streak of finding great interviews ended. I got some good ideas, most of which I had before I walked in, sadly. We did talk about the merits of 12 guage shot guns, both for blowing zombies apart as well as ease of ammunition access. A customer suggested a 9mm pistol as a common handgun for a house these days. It wasn't a bad talk, once the other clerk got involved but it wasn't highly useful. I wanted to ask about the ease of turning an AR15 into full auto, but was concerned that such a question might both raise red flag and also not get me anything useful for the story.
I still believe that over all, interviews are the way to go. You get that personal side of things, you can be direct, and you can get clarification if you don't understand something. I did walk into the GI supply store two doors down and talk to the owner there about guns, suppressors and options for the zombie uprising. He had some good suggestions and I feel like I got my intel for the story.
Now I just need to write the thing...

MtT: Chapter 3 Temporary Posting

Chapter 3~-~-~-~-~-~
Her fist clenched around a set of keys, Regan angrily sulked along the gravel road connecting the farmhouse to the barns and garage. She was not even sure which car she had selected, having only been shown a box of arranged keys and chains. Her other hand was still holding onto the plastic Meijer bag containing what was left of her blood-splattered, mud-soaked, dirt-coated wedding dress.

She was alone, in the middle of the country, in nowhere’s-ville Oxford. So far the only people she had met was a vampire had been a jerkwad of an aristocrat, his haughty witch of an assistant, and two thralls who were all about cleaning her clock with digging implements.

“Hey,” a voice said ahead of her.

“Daryl?” Regan stopped. He was leaning against the building, under one of the lights. She had been so busy glaring at the wide car doors that she nearly did not see him at all.

“Yeah,” he said a little sheepishly, “that would be me.”

Regan crossed the distance between them. “I thought you left.”

“We’re supposed to be running some stuff back down to His Lordship’s offices, but I just felt bad leaving you out here.” He reached up and scratched at the brown stubble lining his cheek.

Regan folded her arms. “You wanted to beat me in the head with a shovel.”
Daryl looked down at his feet. “Well, that was different. You see-”

“You wanted to beat me in the head with a shovel.”

Daryl shifted his stance from one foot to the other as Regan glared at him. “Does it help that the shovel wasn’t my idea? I guess it’s some kind of tradition, ties in with the whole burying them with it and then being there to rebury them if they come up wrong.”

Regan took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. “Fine. You wanted to beat me in the head!”

“Okay,” he said, putting up his hands. “I’m sorry. It was my first time at a rising and I kind of freaked a bit. I’m sorry.”

Regan did have to concede that Daryl had been fairly helpful and supportive in most other ways that evening.

“I got you shoes,” he offered.

Regan easily countered. “With heels so high my ankles threatened to mutiny against the rest of my body.”

“Okay, okay.” He reached up and put his hands behind his head. “I haven’t been a model of good choices tonight.”

She took another purposeful breath and sighed. It was now official in her mind. She missed breathing. “Fine,” she said, her tone softening. “We’re good. Let’s find my car and get out of here. I really just want a hot shower and a few hours in my own bed.” Daryl turned the handle on the small garage door and held it open for her. “Maybe I’ll roll over and find Harrison there and it’s all three days ago and this is one seriously bad dream.”

Daryl followed her into the darkness and hit the main switch. There was a hum as the various lighting relays came to life, and one by one overhead fluorescent rods came to life, filling the with a warm glow. Regan froze. Neatly arrayed in three long rows were dozens of cars. Small metal stands marked each one with bronze letters and numbers. She took a few steps into the space.

“1961 Tempest”

The sign sat on the floor of the garage before a midnight blue roadster with classic stylings. She had never been much of a car nut but she did appreciate the care with which this car had been maintained.

“1962 Special”

This marked a fire-engine red convertible, the top down and the leather interior shining under the overhead lamps. Regan leaned forward and could see her reflection in the finish and the chrome trim. She stood up suddenly.

“I have a reflection.”

Daryl blinked a few times. He had been following carefully as she made her way along the row of vehicles. “You didn’t notice that when you were cleaning up before?”

Regan frowned. “I did but it didn’t register then. I was so busy worried about how I looked that I hadn’t started to think about the fact that I’m not supposed to be able to see what I look like.” She leaned in again and took a moment to fuss with hair. “I still look like crap.”

They continued down the line looking at the various cars as they went.

“How many does he have?” Regan’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

“Between here and his garage in Bloomfield?” Daryl let out a long low whistle. “I’d have to say it’s, like, a hundred and fifty, now. They say he has one for every year starting in 1890.” He moved to see the keychain she still clutched. “Which one did he loan you?”

She opened her hand enough to see. “It doesn’t have any marks on it. Just the usual lock and unlock buttons.” She held the key up and pressed down on “unlock”. There was an echo from the back corner of the garage. Regan glanced briefly up at at Daryl then made her way carefully between a 1970 GTX and a 1971 Barracuda towards the sound.

“Oh.” Regan froze.

Daryl came up behind her. “Okay. You’re going to drive that?”

Regan offered the key over. “I already died once and the Earl hates me. I drive that, I am so going to scratch it and the Earl will kill me. That would be two deaths in two days.” She held the keys out on the end of her finger. There was no way she was going to get behind the wheel of a modern day hot rod. None.

Daryl took the key and went to open the passenger door for her. She slid down into the silver roadster, feeling the softness of the leather under her bare legs. It was as though she were slipping, bodily, into a kid leather glove. Taking his seat on the driver’s side, Daryl fired up the engine, easily put the car into gear, and maneuvered it out of its parking spot.

The breeze blew up over the windshield and down into the open T-top. The rush of air and speed gave Regan goose bumps along her arms as they made their way into the night.

“What is it with vampires and cars? They’re wickedly horrible investments. You’re better off buying t-notes nine times out of ten.”

Daryl shook his head as he eased the car around a curve and onto a long stretch of blacktop. “I guess His Lordship’s got a soft spot for them, domestics only. You won’t see a single import anywhere near his collection.” He pushed the accelerator down and the engine roared as the car surged forward. “You do have to admit this thing’s a thing of beauty.”

Regan had no immediate response and so she settled back into the seat and closed her eyes, feeling the power of the engine below her, the leather seat on the backs of her thighs, and the warm summer air washing over her face and blowing her hair back behind her. Daryl must have turned on the stereo as lyrics started to blast into the interior. The sound was so clear it actually caught her off guard, pumping out a mostly random infectious pop song. Regan laughed at the irony and shouted along. Her fist pump and shouts about “nitty-gritty, dirty little freaks” actually made Daryl chuckle.

The song ended with her laughing again, howling into the night and feeling, for the second time of the night, truly alive.

She leaned forward and turned down the volume on the sound system before the next song could flood the interior. “I’m starting to get the car thing,” she said, raising her voice over the sounds of the road around them.

An hour later they turned off the highway and into the side streets of her neighborhood. She looked over at Daryl as they rolled up to a red light. The car eased to a stop besides being the only one at the intersection. “I can’t smell you.”

Daryl blinked a few times before glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Okay,” he said hesitantly.

“Back at the store,” she explained, sitting back in her seat, “I could smell everyone. I could smell who had been there, what they ate, what they had been doing. I could tell you the three places in that dressing room that someone had had sex.” Her hand traced along the leather interior. “This car,” she continued, “just smells of money, with the leather, and the polish, and the ‘new car’ smell.” She glanced back over at him. “But I couldn’t smell anything from you. Is that odd?”

Daryl avoided answering at first by putting the car into gear and accelerating across the intersection. “I’m sorry but I’m a little newer to the thrall gig. I’d guess that was it. Thralls aren’t meant to be noticed. We’re just here.”

Regan considered that. “I suppose that works. I wonder if it gets worse or better.”

“What does?”

“The smell thing.” Regan put her hand out the open window and let the passing air push it up and down as they drove. “I really hope I get better at managing it. I nearly threw up before.”

Daryl did not respond verbally. Instead, he nodded a few times and continued to focus on driving. Regan sat a bit longer, letting the silence take over. She looked up at the sky again, tints of royal blue forming at the horizon. Sunrise was perhaps an hour away, if that.

“What else?” she finally asked. “I mean I’ve got a reflection so that was wrong. I drink blood and it’s like drinking a hyper condensed Jolt with a Red Bull chaser, so that was right. Super powered smell, sort of right and a little annoying.” She counted her new abilities on her fingers. “If I’m going live through another day, or, well, night, what else do I need to know?”

“Well, isn’t this really a conversation you should be having with, well, someone else?” Daryl looked disconcerted.

Regan shook her head in response. “Who? His Earlship wanted nothing to do with me. His assistant couldn’t wait to get me out of the house. My maker’s dead, again, and so far I can name more characters on the Jersey Shore than I can fellow biters.” She rubbed her face in frustration. “I’m kind of on my own here.”

Daryl shifted in his seat again. “Well,” he started, “I really don’t spend that much time around biters. The whole point of thralls is for us to do the stuff that you can’t.”

“Like what? Is sunlight fatal?”

“Yes,” he offered, “and no. It can be fatal, but it’s more like a really serious sunburn kind of fatal, not a burst into flames kind.” He checked the mirror again. “And you are definitely going to want to be in that bed by sunrise. Most biters just shut down the moment the sun crests. I know that His Lordship’s assistant can usually push herself an extra hour or two in a pinch, but she’s practically drinking straight caffeine by then.”

“We can drink coffee?” Regan felt her entire body rise in the seat with excitement.

“Caffeinated blood,” Daryl clarified. “I’ve never seen a biter eat food or drink anything but blood so I really don’t know if you can. Of course, seeing as I’ve never seen it, there might be a reason I’ve never seen it.”

With that revelation Regan slumped back into her seat. “So to enjoy a raspberry white mocha with extra cookie crumbs again I have to find someone to drink it for me?” She thought a bit longer, remembering the sensations of the blood in the coffin. Maybe she could live without her mocha. “What about stakes? Hit to the heart and we’re a pile of dust?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Daryl answered. “But I’ve also never seen a vampire staked either. You could turn human again for all I know. Of course, a mortal with a stake in her heart probably isn’t the best of situations to be in either.”

“Can we?” Her voice dropped as she thought about it. “Be human again?”

Daryl turned to look at her. “Regan,” he started, saying her name for the first time. “I honestly don’t know.”

She nodded and pointed. “That’s my place.” Daryl nodded and eased the car to a stop in front of the townhouse.

“The lights are still on,” he observed, pointing at the upper window. Regan followed his gesture.

“It was nine a. m. when I left. I couldn’t have left the lights on.”

“Stay here,” Daryl said with forced firmness. “I’ll check it out.”

Regan rolled her eyes. “If someone broke into my house, I would like to know who it is.”

Daryl came around the front of the car. “Let me make sure it’s safe first.”

Regan started to open her door but Daryl’s leg blocked it. “What are you going to do? You don’t even have a shovel.” He paused. “And really, what if it’s another biter. Do you plan to face one of those, I mean one of us, alone?”

She could see his shoulders noticeably slouch forward in defeat as he stepped back from the car and let her out. They started, together, up the steps to the front door as the hallway light came on. She reached for the handle just as the door was pulled open.

“Regan?”

“Harrison?”

Regan stood on the porch staring, her mouth open, at the man she had left, two days ago, at the altar. He was taller than her, like most, with short brown hair and dark eyes. Now they were bloodshot, and he looked like he had not slept since the failed wedding. He was wearing a white undershirt and blue jeans. She started to recoil. He smelled of Thai food, sweat, and either Coke or Dr. Pepper, it was hard to tell for certain.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice a mix relief and frustration.

“I’ve been,” Regan started. Did she tell him? Who could she tell? No one had said anything to her about keeping it all a secret. On the other hand, she had not known for certain about the existence of vampires until that night. That was unlikely an accident. She glanced at Daryl for guidance. He was watching Harrison, his clenched fist low at this side. She could see his arm tensing, preparing. He shook his head slightly, catching her eye.

“What?” Harrison asked, catching their exchange of looks and the time it was taking her to answer. “Have you been with him?”

“I,” Regan stammered. “No. He’s no body, just some guy.”

“I’m what?” Daryl asked, turning quickly from Harrison to her, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Well, not nobody,” Regan tried to correct herself. “He’s obviously somebody.” She glanced at him again before turning to Harrison. “He’s someone who drove me home. That counts for something.”

Harrison was still taking stock of Daryl, looking him up and down. “Thank you for bringing her home safely.” He reached out for Regan’s arm. “Now let’s get you inside and figure out what happened.”

Regan stepped forward with him, feeling the familiar grasp of his hand on her, guiding her into the house. She stopped and pulled her arm back. “I don’t think it’s going to work that way, Harrison.”

Her resistance had taken him off guard. His hand was still reaching out to hold her even though she had removed herself from it. “What?”

“Things are different now,” Regan tried to explain, unsure what to say, or even what to think. “I’m not sure this is what we do now.”

Harrison stepped forward and put his hands out to her arms, gently. He did not hold to her, but rested his palms against her bare skin. “It’s okay. You got scared. These things happen. We don’t have to talk tonight. Let’s get some sleep and figure this out in the morning.”

“No,” Regan insisted, stepping back again, out of his arms, and nearly back off the porch as well. “Things are different.”

“But they don’t have to be,” Harrison insisted. “We can still figure out what’s going on.”

Daryl took a step up on the porch steps, standing one down from Regan, which put them at about the same relative height. He looked up at Harrison. “It sounds like she doesn’t want to go inside with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrison said, shifting to square his shoulders towards Daryl. “I’m Harrison, Regan’s fiance and the one who keeps an eye out for her. Who are you again?” Daryl did not have an immediate answer. Regan looked at him helplessly. “Right,” Harrison finally, and then let out a long breath. “Look, I appreciate you bringing her home. But this is now something she and I need to figure out.” He turned back to Regan. “I promise, you and I are going to make sense of this, together. I love you.”

Regan knew what she was supposed to say now. She did love him. She knew that more now than she did at the altar when she ran off. But was that enough? Love was not enough to say “I do.”

“Look, Regan,” Daryl said, breaking into her thoughts. “I know a bi-,” he caught himself before completing the word. “Guy. A Bi-guy. A friend who just happens to be bisexual who has a place near here. We can crash there if you’d rather.”

Regan let out a sigh. She took a step forward towards Harrison, the house, the life she knew. She could see Daryl take another step back towards the car. She glanced at him. He was going to let her choose for herself.

It seems, dear reader, that our heroine is at a cross roads. What shall she do?

FFV: Some Nights I have Inspiration

I keep thinking that this would make a great theme for Alongside the Enemy, perhaps done using pencil sketches of the main characters during the opening battles. Either way, this is one of the best new videos I've seen posted in a long time.

The Civil war mood puts me well in the spirits for Independence Day next week.

Abe Lincoln: Vampire Hunter - A review

Last August a dear friend Janine Spendlove held up a newly returned to her copy of Abe Lincoln Vampire Hunter and asked "Who'll read it?" Most of the assemblage in the room already had so when I put up my hand the book was placed in it.

I read it. Most of it. Well, I got about half way through it before I decided that it wasn't for me. Then, just as I'm deciding I need to "Lem" it, I hear word that it's been optioned for a movie deal, and a few months later I see the first preview. And I'm intrigued. The effects look amazing and the use of full scale battle scenes from the Civil War really catch my eye.

Okay, Mr. Lincoln, you have my attention. Let us see how you fair.
First let me talk about the book.

It's written in the style of a historical study, the premise being that the author has been given Lincoln's diary and notes from his days as a vampire hunter. It, therefore, follows a fairly dry historical narrative, interspersed with "Lincoln's own words" as various events are explained and the grander plots are revealed. This works to create a certain suspension of disbelief, as though you really are reading the writings of a lawyer and orator steeped in the mid-ninetieth century traditions. Also included are the obligatory historical plates showing photographs of key locations from the book, some distanced photographs of the key players, and the like.

It is intended to be read as any other scholarly writing on the period.

And is about as interesting. Which is to say, not very.

Now I may be spoiled. I simply inhaled Killer Angels by Micheal Shaara. I only took a few evenings to get through Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. So perhaps my experience with the telling of history as a narrative is a bit skewed more towards the narrative itself.

So against that rubric I just could not bring myself to finish Abe Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, the book.

Fortunately the movie suffers no such limitations. It is permitted to simply show the narrative as a narrative with the included internal dialogue of Mr. Lincoln as needed. Thus it is able to move more smoothly from scene to scene and moment to moment. We follow Mr. Lincoln from early events and his first encounter with a vampire, through his days as a vampire hunter living in Springfield, and up to his final days in the White House. We are treated to visits of Stephen Douglas, we see the courtship of Mary Todd, and visit the fields of Gettysburg in amazing panoramic views of the days' battles.

We also saw the movie in 2D despite the 3D offerings. Usually I find 3D movies to be confusing muddled affairs where I have a hard time differentiating the images, things get blurry and I start to lose track of what I'm looking at. This was a movie that despite a few obvious "LOOK! We have 3D!" moments, I believe would have looked even more epic, and fun, in 3D. The fight scenes include multiple slow motion moments where the camera swings to one side or the other as the action on screen freezes. Sure it's been done. Sure it's not cutting edge. But dang. It looks sweet.

The acting was about what I expected for a movie like this. Some fair performances all around but no Oscar contentions here. It was fun to see Alan Tudyk as Stephen Douglas, and I spent about fifteen minutes staring at Mary Elizabeth Winstead before I recalled seeing her last in Sky High.

There are not a ton of twists to the story. Slavery is bad. Vampires are bad. Vampires want slavery because it's a way to have an ever present food supply. Ergo, we need to kill vampires and end slavery. But, not having finished the book, a few of the later minor twists were pleasant surprises to me.

While I cannot recommend the book to any but the most ardent of fans of the Historical Mashup, I do have to say that the movie hits all the right buttons for what it is: A B Movie about a historical figure killing vampires.

One reviewer joked about "what's next? JFK blasting Aliens here to stop us from going to the moon?" I say, if it's the same team to make it: Bring on the aliens.

On being a cover band/writer

There's been a bit of a curfluffle as there often is over on Good Reads, this time about 50 Shades of Grey. For those of you who don't follow literary circles (using the term loosely), the 50 Shades series is a trilogy of novels that follow a dominant man as he seduces an innocent, loving, young woman. The works are getting a great deal of attention in part due to the history of the work (it began as Twilight fan fiction) and because it's become the new guilty pleasure: A saucy kinky steamy romance complete with handcuffs and blindfolds.
And while a great deal can be said about the transitory nature of the book and how they've brought a good number of people out of their shells, or rather lead them to think thoughts that they thought only "those people" would think, I'd like to focus on the first of those two, the origin story of the novels.
But first, let's talk about Cover Bands and Harry Potter.
When I was in college, I had many friends who were in bands. Some were quite talented and some where, not so talented. But there seemed to be a wider line between them than the Talent/No Talent one. It was the Original vs Cover.
The cover bands always scoffed because they were the ones getting the paying gigs, getting the chance to be one stage with people shouting and dancing, and basically doing the "band thing". The original bands scoffed right back, as they gathered to brainstorm, compose, write, and create their own "art". Now to be fair, some were indeed talented songwriters and their music was pretty good. But if we're being honest, getting booked to play original music was incredibly hard in a college town when everyone and their sister was in a band of some sort.
"What does this have to do with Harry Potter?" I wager you're asking. Well, it has more to do with Fan Fiction than it does with Harry Potter himself.
Writing is a very challenging process all on it's own. Taking the images in your head and converting them into a meaningful, readable, context takes work, takes time and it does take some talent. It's a bit like writing original songs. Now, one thing you can do to focus on your prose and plot writing is to take an established world, with established characters and simply drop them in novel situations and then write. You're still writing, but you're doing it with ideas that are partially pre-formed. I don't have to define Hermione Granger's reactions to core wizarding concepts because I know them. I can simply write her honestly and let the story go where it shall. Quite a bit like not trying to write a power ballad but instead playing rocking rendition of "Any Way You Like It" and then letting my artistry come out in the way I play and sing.
And there are whole communities dedicated to writing, sharing, and consuming fan fiction.They provide, like a cover band, a pre-set group of fans. If I like Queen, then a cover band with a solid rendition of Show Must Go On will get some good reviews from me. Or at the least I'll enjoy listening to it.
I bring up Harry Potter because once upon a time I had the idea for a RPG which I then worked into a rough novel outline: Harry Potter: Upon the Threshold. It was to be the story of a muggle girl, smuggled into Hogworts to hide during the 1940's and the expanding Nazi control of Europe. I wanted to play the themes of being a stranger in an even stranger land, with the wizarding world's reaction to Nazi-ism and the impending war, and perhaps even delve into the war itself as fought by wizards.
It's a writing project I never pursued. Part of was that it was, at the time, totally unsaleable. I could write it, maybe even get a name for myself, but at the end of the two years or so working on the manuscript I'd not only have no money in my pocket but nothing that I could exchange for money.
And so it was, to a degree, with 50 Shades of Grey. It was published online as Twilight Fan Fiction, which became incredibly popular. Eventually the author took it off the sites, changed many of the cosmetic details, but left the story and characters mostly the same, and then published it to great success.
And part of that success was from people who read it in Fan Fic form first, and wanted to own a copy in print form of that story, accepting that the Twilight characters had new names and locations. The community was very supportive of "One of its own" striking out and becoming a published author. And that was nothing but success.
Which gets me back to Harry Potter and the idea of doing time as a cover writer before trying to write my own stuff. Would I be better off after 10 years to have spent 3 or so just writing fan fiction to build up a name by riding on the coat-tails of another author? Given the popularity of the HP franchise I am quite certain I would a good number of eyes on page if I published (and was able to advertise) good fan fic. Then in a year or two I could come out with my own original work.
Perhaps that would have been a better course. Or a course I may still take once I've gotten through these other writing projects I seem to laying on myself.

FFV: Interview with Bloodstream

To coincide with the launch of Mind the Thorns I give you this week's Friday Fun Video an homage to my first true vampire novel, Interview with the Vampire.

Rock of Ages: A Review

I was born in 1974. That makes me... old. Not yet, as I often say, "Get off my lawn!"-old but old. So imagine my surprise and delight to see a musical that builds on the songs of my youth. Imagine further delight to see that musical being made into a film.

Before I get into the movie itself I do have to comment on what I find curious about my own memory. I was 15 when the 80's started their close. I was in high school during the rise of the Boy Band, and the downswing of MTV and what I think of as a fairly intense shift in Rock and Roll towards more heavy sounds, likely to separate it from the fluffy harmonies of groups like The Backstreet Boys.

Yet 80's rock and roll always seems to feel like the music of my youth. This was the music I first sang along to, even though I had precious little idea what I was singing about. For the lontest time I thought that "Papa Don't Preach" was about a girl who had detention.

But back to Rock of Ages....
The show follows a girl from Tulsa as she travels to Hollywood to find fame and fortune and love. There she takes a job in the iconic Bourbon House like every other would-be singer, musician and song writer and wackiness ensues as washed out rock legend Stevee Jaxx comes to play this last show.

The show that follows features some of the best mashups of the music of my youth I've ever heard. My only complaint is how short the numbers are. You are just starting to get your groove on to a mix of We Built this City with We're not Gonna Take It, and the scene is over and onto the other characters.

The plot is easy to follow with a few nice twists here and there but no real "Wow; blind side" moments. As such it's easy to over look if you're going in to see Tom Cruise et al rock out to the 80's in ways you probably don't quite remember. Of course mixed in the story are themes of love, respect, selling-out your dreams, and loyalty.

Overall the show is fun, the music is great, and while it won't tap your deepest of emotions for the characters, you might find yourself a little misty eyed just for the lost fun of our youth, those days we remember as being full of righteous rebellion that was nothing like the youth of today. We raised our fists at the man and shouted out filthly lyrics because we really were repressed, nothing like these kids now with their iPods and WiFi.

Right?

Mind the Thorns, A Web Novel

On Monday this week I launched Mind the Thorns, A Web Novel. This is my next writing project. Fashioned along similar writing schedules to National Novel Writing Month, it's my intention to publish a chapter a week as I work through the prose, all guided by the readers. Below find the FAQ posted on the Mind the Thorns page to explain the process.

What is a "Web Novel"?

Imagine reading your favorite novel. The main character is a cross roads. She can side with her lover and turn against her friend, or she can push him away and reaffirm that some friendships create bonds worth dying for. You read on knowing in your heart that the best thing to do is to stand with her friend.

And instead, she chooses love.
And you're left wondering, "What if the author had listened to me?"
Well, now you don't have to wonder.
Every week I will be posting another chapter in "Mind the Thorns, a Web Novel". At the end of the chapter, you, dear reader, will have a choice of paths for our dear Regan to follow. Does she side with light or dark? Does she accept her fiance's apology or does she push him away? Does run into the fight or away from it? Your choices will determine not only the next week's chapter, but indeed the outcome of the novel itself. This will be by strict democratic votes, with the author breaking ties with his own vote.
Otherwise it is up to you, dear readers, to help Regan adjust to life among the dead, and her lingering ties to her life among the living. Who does she choose to spend eternity with? Or does she walk alone through the night?


Why is this behind a mature content filter?

I put up the Blogger mature content filter as a precaution against kids wandering in here by accident should the story start to veer into adult content. You won't find any explicit sex in the story, for which I apologize if an apology is needed, but not everyone wants to see vampires or their ilk in even a sensual light. Likewise, depending on how you, the readers, vote we may find our heroine in some rather non-traditional relationships and some adult themes may creep into the narrative.

When I considered the situation, the thought "Better safe than sorry" was my primary driver.



How often will chapters become available?

Chapters are posted at 8am eastern time every Monday. Polling for the next chapter is closed at 6pm eastern time Thursday evening.




What are the best ways to follow the story? Do I have to come to this website every week to read more?

No, actually you don't. I've tried to set up a variety of ways to help get updates out to you.

The simplest is to subscribe to the RSS Feed with your favorite blog website or program.

If you are active on Facebook you can also "Like" the story there, and then receive updates every Monday when the next chapter goes live.




Are you really going to follow our votes and write the story as we decide?

Yes.


How will you know when the story is finished?

My hope is to land at the 100,000 word mark or so to have a complete novel. However the plan is not to simply write up to that mark and then declare it finished. There are, at the novel's beginning, 4 different story lines presented in various forms. When the story arc that percolates as the "main story" is complete, so is the novel. The unresolved story arcs will just carry us into the sequel.


This is a really creative idea. How did you come up with this?

To give credit where credit is due, I am not the first to do this. In 2009, NPR reported on a writer for Dark Horse comics doing this with her own works, and the concept of the serialized narrative goes back to Dickens and before.


Why isn't this written as a collection of blog entries? Wouldn't that make more sense?

Yes. Yes it would.

However I wanted to tell a more traditional narrative. By not having this be a collection of blog posts I free myself up to write the story as it unfolds rather than sitting down and thinking "Okay, how does the heroine get to her computer to write this blog post?" Event though we live in a day and age any pocket device has the power to write and publish a blog entry, the idea of her stopping in the middle of a conversation with her best friend to blog and ask for help seemed to be a touch far-fetched.

For this effort then, the choices she faces are real and immediate with consequences that will take effect the moment her mind is settled.



Will I be able read the novel in print form?

Yes.

When the story is complete it will be released in Kindle format and as a Print on Demand through CreateSpace. The Kindle edition will include most of the comments on each chapter while the print addition will feature some additional short stories featuring the characters from the novel itself.


Why do you have a special comment policy?

The Commenting Policy is in place to allow for the publication of the comments in the Kindle and print editions without tracking down every commenter for full permissions. If someone leaves a really insightful post that is worth including, but does so anonymously it puts me in a bind for inclusion.

Likewise there is the potential issue of creative release. I want to be sure that should the comments truly guide the story that I will not be in any legal trouble when we go to press with the Kindle and print editions.

Novella Review: Super Chick

So there I am, rocking a baby who seems to now be old enough to watch Netflix on the Kindle fire rather than focus on her bottle like she's supposed to. So much for back episodes of XMen Evolution. Instead I flip up to the book shelf and see what my wife's downloaded that looks interesting. "Heh," I think to myself, "Super Chick? What the heck why not another super hero novel?"

Finals - On a Break

When I started this blog I was pretty good about getting out two posts a week. As this is intended to help further my writing career I was also very careful to only write on my time from my own computers. That meant no writing at work. Unfortunately with final exams and end of year pushes to wrap up I just can't find the time to do proper blog posts as I'd like. I also have picked up, I believe, some underage readers so it's even more critical that I keep my ducks in a row and only write on my time, of which I have none between now and the end of class.
So, I'm officially going on brief sabbatical to finish up the school year and then ramp up for the summer's writing season. Do stay tuned. I'll be officially announcing the launch of my summer Web Novel as my first post after this short vacation.
Until then, have a nap on me.