Ray Daley's Blog, page 34

Latest Kindle Stats

As I’ve done every previous yr, I kept stats on my Kindle for how long I charged it, how long it charge lasted for and when it was charged. Details as follows:-

Nov 20th(2014)-Jan 18th. 58 days (new record). 7.5hrs

Jan 19-Apr 2nd. 74 days (new record). 14hrs

Apr 3rd-May 2nd. 30 days. 12 hrs

May 3rd-Jun 14th. 43 days. 12hrs.

Jun 15th-Aug 20th. 67 days, 12 hrs.

Aug 21st-Nov 27th. 100 days (new record). 12hrs 20 mins.

Nov 28th-ongoing.

So the Kindle was charged 7 times in the year.

Those charges last for a total of 69 hrs and 50 minutes.

An average of about 9.15hrs per charge.

Also an average about 53 days per charge.

I set 3 new records last year for how long a charge lasted.

Records of (sucessively) 58, 74 then 100 days.

I am still keeping stats this year but I’m not sure how long I’ll carry on keeping them.

So Why Did I Release A Story About Steve Irwin?

Some people might come across the links (below)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/616999 or http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/36860/she-ll-be-right

in the course of their ebook browsing.

They might wonder, what made me write this story?

I’ve always been a massive fan of Steve Irwin’s, from the very first time I saw him on TV.

The guy had a love for life, a love for what he was doing and a love for his friends and family. Steve Irwin was a genuinely niceman. And that’s a rarity in this day and age.

I don’t want people thinking I wrote this to cash in on his memory. Far from it, in fact. The ebook is free, the cover was a creative commons image so also free. I’m not making ANYTHING from that story.

I wrote the story as part of my “Year Of Living Bradbury“, and I missed Steve terribly. It didn’t help that I lost my oldest sister to cancer that year too, so it made me think of people I cared about.

I may never have met Steve, but I liked him. I cared about him. He was passionate, and that kind of passion is infectious. He made me care about what I was doing.

He made me see that even though the path wasn’t easy and people weren’t beating my door down to buy my fiction, I had to keep on trying, to keep on going until I did make it. And I have made it.

If anyone who knew Steve (or Terri or Bindi) do happen to read this, let them know, I wrote that story because I wanted to express how Steve inspired me. I wanted to capture his essence, feel his presence once again, even if it was something I was dreaming up.

I wrote Steve how I perceived Steve. He might not have sworn as much (probably me typecasting the Aussies there, sorry) but I do feel that his passion for what he was doing wouldn’t have changed what happened.

We can only dream about what might have been. In my case, I chose to write about it.

This story is my thanks to Steve for what he gave us. His unabated passion.

We miss you Steve Irwin.

An early valentine poem.

An early valentine poem.

As blood pumps thru my aorta,

Do I love ya? Kinda, sorta ;-)

Failed Attempt #1 (A Flash Fiction Story By Ray Daley)

In the vast nothingness, in the moments before everything was created, God said “Let there be light!”

Then there was a pause. And it wasn’t for dramatic effect on God’s part either.

“What?” asked Bruce, God’s sidekick.

(Yes, God had a sidekick. How do you think he stopped himself from going completely batshit crazy in complete nothingness? And yes, his name was Bruce. You know, God did that whole “Let there be Bruce!” bit. And there was. A Bruce, sprung into creation I mean.)

God looked at Bruce. “You’ve forgotten the fucking batteries, haven’t you Bruce?”

Bruce looked at his feet. They were pretty amazing feet. After all, God had created them. But he wasn’t looking at them for their amazingness, he was trying to avoid God’s accusing stare.

“Own up Bruce. You’ve gone and forgotten the fucking batteries, right?” God said.

Bruce just nodded. He was only human. He wasn’t infallible, like his creator. “Could you not…”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘create some?’, by me, I’ll smite you good and proper, right where you’re standing. Those batteries took me bloody eons to get right. Can you remember where you saw them last?” God asked.

Bruce racked his brain. Then he remembered. “I know! I left them in the car!”

God tried not to roll his eyes at his creation. He knew he was supposed to be forgiving but frankly Bruce was taking the piss in spades right now. “Okay. They’re in the car then. Now, can you remember where you parked it?”

Bruce racked his brain again. “I remember it was dark there?”

God stared at Bruce again. “It’s dark fucking everywhere, Bruce! That’s why I created the fucking batteries!”

“We could try looking for the car? You cover that half, I’ll cover this half? Meet back here tomorrow?” Bruce suggested.

God shook his head, knowing exactly how vast the nothingness was,  then he had a thought. “I don’t suppose you left the headlights on did you Bruce?”

Bruce looked sheepish. Which was pretty amazing considering sheep hadn’t been created yet. It’s probably where God got the idea from. “Sorry, no. Was I supposed to?”

God tried not to grind his teeth. “Never mind. You start looking that way. If you aren’t back here by this time tomorrow I’ll create another Bruce to help me. ‘Memo to self. Make the little twat infallible this time’.”

It was a good job it was so dark in the complete nothingness. So God didn’t see the look of complete rage on Bruce’s face. “Back here same time tomorrow then. I’ll be back.”

And with that, God strode off into the complete nothingness. “It’s here somewhere. I’m all-knowing. How can I not remember where the damn car is?”

THE END.

Remembering Terry Knight

You won’t know his name unless you trained at RAF Hereford or RAF Halton in the Secretarial Training Wing. Terry trained umpteen admin bods.  And I wasn’t even one of them. I knew him by reputation alone. So I wrote these memories I had of him.

 

I was about to write something but I just learnt that Terry Knight passed away. I’m sure a huge amount of the Sec Trg folks here knew him, or knew someone who trained under him. For my own experience, Terry was a chap who inspired fear & awe in equal measures to the boys I was living with in 1990.

I never personally had him as a trainer but those who did said he was both fair & scary. We almost didn’t want to meet him walking down the corridors in Sec Trg because his reputation went before him. I recall Terry being one of the people who let me leave RAF Hereford without properly passing my P&A/Pers Admin course. I REALLY should have been recoursed, at least a fortnight.

Yet, I was sent to my unit. I won’t say I thrived, nor did I die on my arse. I was given a war role, taught it from the ground up, and learnt that job 7 ways from Wednesday until I was literally doing it in my sleep during our 15 hr nightshifts.

Come 1994 and RAF Hereford was close to closing, I was sent off to do my SAMA course. Day 1, walking those old familiar corridors and who did I see coming the other way? None other than the feared one himself, Mister Knight. Who met me with a cheery grin when I said “Hello Terry, I bet you didn’t ever expect to see ME back here again?”

Bless his heart, the man I’d built up in my head to be so scary was GENUINELY pleased to not only see me but to learn I was happy at my unit. He even remembered me! He must have had hundreds of us go past him but he knew who I was!

Terry was a real old school type. I never knew until I came onto Facebook that he’d served himself too. Not only served but was there at the Christmas Island nuclear tests. Suffice to say, he massively rose in my appreciation of him after that.

Heaven better be on their guard, is all I can say. He’ll be checking for shiny shoes and haircuts.

Rest In Peace Terry. You’ve done a man’s job sir.

The RAF is lesser without you.

First story of the year!

I just got done writing my first story of 2016, based on an image prompt. 2575 words in just over 3 hours which wasn’t too taxing and was quite enjoyable.

I’m going to make the most of this week creatively, if I can.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this story yet, I’ll decide its fate after I’ve spoken with the author of the image it’s based upon.

Three Minutes With Terry Pratchett (flash fiction)

Three Minutes With Terry Pratchett

18/6/15

By Ray Daley

They’ve got him in a small room. A few people have already put their selfies online. #MeetADeadWriter is also trending globally.

There’s a chair for the punters to sit in, a table to keep them at arms length and another chair for the great man himself.

Sir Terry Pratchett. R.I.P.

It’s only been twelve years since his death but this lot are currently cashing in on what they refer to as “recent advances in reproductive technology“, or at least that’s what they claim. Behind me in line I can hear the various minders explaining to yet another punter that he’s not a clone. Despite the very large sign stating that he isn’t.

Some wag has already written “I aten’t dead!” on it too.

They run this gig for four hours every day, and it always sells out. You’ll still hear many disgusted voices (some even coming from this very queue!) saying things like “It’s not right!” and “they should let him rest in peace!”

Bugger that say I. If it gives me another chance to meet my favourite author without having to buy my own copy of “How To Raise The Dead“, then I’m in.

And in I am. Even if it does cost a small fortune. And that’s just to get a spot in the queue for a day. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll make it inside to see the man himself.

We don’t know exactly how they’ve reproduced him. No-one is allowed to touch him. A few have tried and are now banned for life with their pictures hung by the main door to ensure they don’t get in again.

Ah, hang on.

Here’s their announcer. “Okay folks. I’ll be letting the first person for today through in a minute. You all know the rules. No touching, no autographs, no telling him he’s dead. And no banana daiquiris!”

He’s done that last bit every day since they opened four months ago. Not once has it gotten a laugh yet. I expect he’ll keep trying until it does. I only know this because I’ve been in this queue every single day since it opened.

As the first person goes inside, I already start doing the maths in my head. I’m unlikely to make it inside today. Unless something drastic happens.

Mind you, something drastic normally happens every day, but it’s almost always going on behind me. So I generally never make it any closer to the door. Or inside.

“It’s not right to treat him like this!” Some woman in front of me is already kicking up a tremendous fuss. Silly mare. As expected, the minders appear and take her picture then escort her to the staging point a couple of streets away. And she was going to be next as well! If she’d only kept her mouth shut another minute or so.

Fifty-eight seconds, it turns out to be. One of the minders finally sets up a digital timer outside so everyone in line can now see how long it’ll be before the next lucky punter gets their three entire minutes with this recreation of Terry. Obviously it’s not the real thing. And the minders say it’s not a clone either.

My odds improve again when six people start fighting several places ahead of me. I do the maths once more and it says I’ll probably make it inside before they close today.

Then there’s all kinds of fluster as we discover some guy inside has just tried to touch him. What an idiot! He’s carried out by the scruff of his neck. That leaves four more people in front of me.

I’m actually getting in today! Yay!

I get to watch the timer count down four more times, then I’m finally allowed inside.

“Hello!” He sounds exactly as I remember him. And then I find myself suddenly dumbstruck. What do you say to a dead author?

“Hello!” he says again. Exactly the same tone and inflection as before.

‘Some sort of AI? Or a recording?‘ I think to myself. “Hello Terry. You probably don’t remember me.” Of course he won’t, he’s never met me. But the real Terry did. Three times in one day, in fact.

“Well it’s been a long time,” he says.

And then I see it. I see precisely how they’re doing this. My eyes spot the sheet of transparent material they are projecting him onto. It’s some kind of Peppers Ghost set up.

Which explains why they don’t want people touching him. Almost certainly some sort of AI then, or a system with a database of appropriate responses. I’d wager that most people are asking him the same few questions.

As I find myself wondering if he’s Turing approved, I’m painfully aware that I haven’t got much longer left in here.

I say “Terry,” and it makes eye contact with me and smiles, “purple monkey dishwasher.” Well that’s one way to check for an AI. It might well be a human queuing up prerecorded answers. Either way, it’ll do well to answer that with any semblance of sense.

Terry smiles again. “I’m not sure I quite got that. I’m not writing a new book. Sorry!”

Not half as sorry as I am.

I look at him. “Terry, are you dead?”  Then my time is up.

Outside, one of the minders tries to take my picture for the banned list. At least until I explain the finer points of semantics to her.

“I asked if he was dead. You said we couldn’t tell him. So you can’t ban me. Not unless you fancy being sued out of business?” They don’t and I’m allowed to leave without an escort. Nor does my picture get taken. I post my review of the experience during the bus ride home. No-one online seems surprised to hear how the trick is done.

Also, a new rule is added to the list, thanks to me.

And despite the fact they know exactly how the illusion works, people will still continue to queue to spend three minutes with Terry Pratchett.

Because they can. And they want to. Because we miss him, now and forever.

And as long as we’ve got him in any way, he aten’t dead.

THE END.

Let There Be Books!

I’m releasing this statement now, knowing I do have the job as of next year.

I AM going to maintain the 1 release per month schedule as it has existed for over three years now.

I’ve already selected 12 titles, all of which were written during 2014 as part of The Bradbury Challenge. These were extras, almost all of which have been out to submission but weren’t taken for one reason or another.

Mostly “not the right fit“, as I recall.

These aren’t rejects. They were always going to have some sort of home, and now that particular home will be by way of Smashwords and Feedbooks.

I do have plans for another (free) anthology next year as well, stuff that has already appeared either on Facebook, or here on the blog, or even on Twitter.

I’m not sure when that’ll be put out. But short of being dead, there will be free ebooks released by me next year.

News, of various types

I got word back from the Best SF Baen readers. They decided not to take “Wipeout”. They liked it and said nice things about it but it wasn’t quite right.

And I got a phone call about the job I went for on Monday. They’ve made an offer and I’ve accepted it. I’m starting mid-January.

So where does that leave my writing?

As far as releases go, it leaves me 45 or so days to choose 12 stories from the almost 200 I’ve already written, format them and do covers for them. Previous experience doing this tells me it’s not a hard job and I should be able to prepare 12 releases for next year.

So I will be doing free releases next year. I’ll start putting the wheels for that into motion later today.

As for actually creating new stuff, I have no idea. If I find myself with the time to write and an idea to write down, I will.

I won’t have as much time as I currently do, but I’ll still be writing.

Possibly done for the year, and maybe for good?

I’ve just got done with the releases for the final free ebook of the year. I decided to take all the stories I wasn’t able to put out when the other PC crashed and put them all into one anthology.

Smashwords – Rejects From The Idea Factory; A Flash Fiction Anthology – a book by Ray Daley

From The Idea Factory; A Flash Fiction Anthology – Ray Daley | Feedbooks

Available from either link. The Smashwords version is smaller but the Feedbooks version has hotlinks to the stories at the end.

I’ve been for a second interview for a job this week, I won’t be hearing back until at least next week but I’ve already started thinking about the possible implications if I start working.

If I get a job, I will be working an 8 hour day for at least 5 days a week. Not much time left for writing or doing releases.

I do have over 100 completed stories that could be released, providing I get the time. Having just checked, the 1st of the month is a week day for 10 of the 12 months of next year.

So that’s going to make things tough if I do get the job.

Obviously it’s all ifs at the moment. Until I get solid news either way, we’ll go on the current model that’s been working for the last few years, that I’ll be releasing 1 new free title at the start of each month as soon as I’m able to.

If things change before the end of the year, I’ll update you.

There is also the possiblity of me doing a Christmas release.