Katherine Villyard's Blog, page 6

So Hey, Katherine, How Do You Lay Out Your Books?

For my eBooks (I have one for sale and a slew of mailing list extras), I use Draft2Digital���s converter��� but might end up using Sigil. I used to do webdev, a million years ago, and am comfortable in HTML and CSS. But I have yet to play with that. I mean, D2D produces lovely ebooks, but I might get custom chapter headings if I self-pub my novel…

For my print books? Scribus.

So, as you may know, I���ve long been a FOSS (Free and Open Source Software) booster. As such, I was happy to download Scribus and flail around in it.

I have to say that, well. I���ve long had a love/hate relationship with Scribus. I mean, I love it because it���s FOSS, it���s free as in beer and I can use it to turn out lovely books. But I���d be lying if I said there wasn���t a learning curve, and that I haven’t gotten very frustrated with Scribus from time to time–once to the point of vowing to pay for layout next time. My frustration is mostly the lack of wysiwyg/italic import kind of thing, although also I use it infrequently enough that I’m sometimes driven to a search engine to use basic functions. But I think I’m getting used to it? (True facts: I downloaded someone’s template and used that.)

It’s a sort of sweat equity: In exchange for not spending $22.99 a month for the best-known paid competitor, or buying a book layout program for $150-$250, I download free programs and flail around in a search engine. ���� I mean, I’m an IT person so it’s kind of fun for me, and I valorize my frustration and remember it more fondly than I should?

Would I recommend Scribus?

Are you in IT? Yes.Are you DEAD BROKE? Yes.Are you a DIY sort? Yes.Are you the sort of person who fantasizes about throwing your computer off the roof with a trebuchet whenever you run into a problem? NO.

As you were.

Thoughts on Writing Werewolves

Oh hey! It���s a magical creature post where I���m not going to ask you to think about religion! I mean, you can if you want to, as the medieval European werewolf typically put on a wolf-skin belt, or applied a special salve to their body, or went through a Satanic rite, and could be cured by conversion to Christianity or calling them by their Christian name, but these are less common modern tropes. But I have yet to see a book about the werewolf witch trials!

Typically, a werewolf is either a person who was bitten by a werewolf and became infected with lycanthropy, although there are other examples (such as Catherine Lundoff���s menopausal werewolves). Every full moon, they turn into a wolf, and then wake up naked in some strange place. They are often (but not always) horrified to discover that they���ve killed in the night. (The menopausal werewolves are the town���s protectors, and aren���t violent.) How a person becomes a werewolf and how violent they are when in wolf form are probably related. Are there ways to keep a werewolf from being as violent, like the Wolfsbane potion in Harry Potter? Can your werewolf lock themselves in their basement every full moon to avoid harming anyone?

Werewolves in modern fiction are often metaphors for something else: menopause, alcoholism, painful chronic illness, etc. You might already have this in mind if you���re thinking about writing a werewolf. Or is being a werewolf a positive thing, by which one acquires a found family? Is it both?

In addition to thinking of how werewolves are created, you should probably think about how they can be destroyed. Are they vulnerable to silver? Do they have supernaturally enhanced healing?

If there are other magical beings in your universe���vampires, witches, ghosts, etc.���can they become werewolves? What happens if a werewolf bites a vampire, or a witch? Can a werewolf become a vampire, spellcaster, or ghost? Can a werewolf bite a ghost, or do the teeth go right through?

What about ���werewolves��� of other cultures, like the Jewish alukah, a sort of vampire/werewolf creature?

Does the rest of the world know about werewolves? Are there werewolf-hunters? Are werewolf-hunters the good guys or the bad guys?

Recommended reading:

Writing Older Women and Menopausal Werewolves

Underworld

This story was originally published in Fantastic Stories of the Imagination and reprinted in Love Stories. (Also this graphic is adapted from the original publisher’s art.)

Tucking his computer science textbook and his Book of Shadows into his backpack, Dion dropped the bag onto the floor at the foot of his bed, and launched World of Warcraft. He selected his realm: Earthen Ring. He was number eighty in the queue. Expected wait time: twenty minutes. Stupid server. He glanced over at the wilted plant on the window sill and waved his wand. It perked up.

His mother wandered into the room, wearing a gold lam�� evening dress and hose without shoes. He hid his wand behind his back, but made no attempt to hide the glass of wine on the desk, next to the computer. As long as he didn���t get shit-faced, she had no problem with it.

���Honey, have you seen my rhinestone earrings?��� She walked over to his dresser, opened the jewelry box, and looked inside, but Dion knew it didn���t have any rhinestones in it. Just some pentagrams and crystals. ���Be careful, baby,��� his mother said, picking up the pentagram. ���You don���t want to attract the wrong kind of attention.���

Blah blah people will think you���re crazy blah. Like there were no Wiccans in college. ���You left them on the bathroom sink, so I put them in the medicine chest,��� he said. ���I didn���t want them to fall down the drain and get lost.���

She dropped the pentagram back into the jewelry box. ���Where would I be without my little man?��� She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. Then she left, fancy dress rustling as she headed out the door.

Dion groaned. He was nineteen-years-old and six-foot-one; he was hardly his mother���s little man. ���You���re welcome!��� He could hear her chuckling in the other room. He glanced down at his computer console again. His position in the queue was now seventy-seven. ���I���m not going to have to come rescue you again, am I?���

���Oh, hell no,��� his mother said, appearing in the doorway. Her makeup was impeccable, her dress was elegant, her rhinestones sparkled, and she was pinning a corsage to her chest. ���I used to date him back when you were a baby. Mr. Kataibates is pure class. You should see what he drives! He has a gorgeous silver������

���I don���t care what he drives. I care that he treats my Mama right.���

���I���ll be fine, baby. Like my mama always said, it���s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor man.��� She winked at him. ���Don���t wait up, now.���

Dion groaned again and threw a Darth Maul beanie baby at her. He heard the front door close, and pulled out his wand. He murmured a spell and his position in the queue went from seventy-four to two. He wasn���t the best wizard in the world, but computers were easy. He was also pretty good with plants and shapeshifting, which was why he played a druid. They were good at plants and shapeshifting, too.

He wondered again what his father was like ��� he���d clearly gotten his magical abilities from him, not his mother. But Mom wasn���t talking.

He was awakened by Sir Mix-A-Lot announcing that he liked big butts and he could not lie. For a moment he thought it was just a crazy dream about rappers in his bedroom, but then he realized it was his cell phone. Rolling over, he groped for his phone in the dark, knocking it off the nightstand and onto the floor. He scrambled and answered, ���Hello?��� and was surprised by how scratchy and incoherent his voice sounded, even to him.

���Baby, I���m so sorry to call you so late.��� His mother. ���I���m so sorry, but I need you to come pick me up right away.���

Dion sat up. ���Mom?��� There was a sliver of light from the streetlight coming in between the bedroom curtains forming a line of visibility over to his computer. He threw a book at the desk to jiggle the mouse, and the screen lit up.

���I���m in the ladies room in the lobby of the Four Seasons hotel, and I���m afraid to come out. I���ll explain when you get here. Oh, shit, I think he���s coming.���

She hung up.

With a sigh, Dion scrambled out of bed by the light of the computer screen. Part of him thought that he should just leave his mother there ��� she kept getting into these messes, and it wasn���t fair of her to expect her son to get her out all the time. He turned on the bedroom light and hissed at the brightness hitting his eyes, then grabbed his jeans and the first t-shirt he could find ��� the one that read ���you are dumb��� in binary ��� and pulled them on. He put on his socks and sneakers, then crossed the room for his jewelry box and his pentagram.

Then he went into his mother���s room and opened her Bible, which was where she kept her ���mad money,��� and grabbed three hundred dollars in case he needed to bail her out or something. He grabbed his wand, wallet, and cell phone off his nightstand and stuffed them into his back pockets. There was a mirror over his dresser, and he scowled at his reflection. He looked like a gangly teenager whose mother woke him up for a ride at���

The clock said 4 in the morning.

He swore and stormed out to his car, a cherry red 1984 Chevy Caprice. It was older than he was, but it had some serious juice. He hoped he wouldn���t have to kick some old man ass. His mother tended to like rich pricks with expensive lawyers. He wondered if his father was a rich prick with an expensive lawyer. A rich wizard prick with an expensive lawyer. He snarled.

When he arrived at the Four Seasons hotel, there was a chill in the air but he had his irritation to keep him warm. Especially when the doorman ��� a thin, pimply white guy in an ill-fitting suit ��� watched him like a hawk, and the women leaving clutched their purses closer as he walked by. Please. He knew for a fact that black people had been to the Four Seasons before. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and figured his shirt said it all. The lobby was all marble and fancy wood and rugs and people in expensive clothes with a lot of jewelry. He walked over to the door marked Ladies and was about to knock when a gorgeous, regal Greek woman came out. She was maybe forty, and had dark curly hair piled up on her head and big, gorgeous, intense brown eyes. She wore understated makeup, a little royal blue dress, and pearls. She had a hair comb with peacock feathers on it. She was totally hot, and probably had no use for a skinny teenaged gamer geek. She turned back towards the door and said, ���I believe your son is here.��� Maybe she was a friend of his Mom���s.

Dion���s mother peeked around the woman, then rushed out and grabbed him by the arm. ���Let���s go.���

���See you later, Semele,��� said the woman in blue.

���Not if I see you first,��� Dion���s mom muttered. On second thought, maybe she wasn���t a friend of his Mom���s.

As they were headed out the door, Dion asked his mother, ���Who was that?���

���Mrs. Kataibates,��� his mother whispered.

���Mama!��� He stopped and stared at her. He looked back at the woman in blue, who crossed her arms and smirked at him in a way that made him grab his mother���s arm and hurry her towards the door.

���I didn���t know he was married,��� his mother said.

Bullshit. How long had she known this guy? He was nineteen years old, and she used to date Kataibates when he was a baby. Either Kataibates was a really good liar, or his Mom��� He didn���t like either train of thought, but he liked the latter less.

There was a Greek man dressed entirely in black ��� black turtleneck, black jeans, black leather jacket ��� waiting next to Dion���s car. There was something about him, a supernatural quality, something more frightening than just Greek mafia. ���I���m afraid you���ll have to come with me, Mel.���

Dion���s mother cowered behind him. Dion pulled out his wand and pointed it at the man. ���Leave her alone!��� A silvery glow came out of the wand and headed towards the man, but he seemed to have a protective shield around him. Well. That, and hexes weren���t really his forte.

The man laughed. ���Little boy, do you have any idea who I am?���

Dion shook his head.

���The name is Thanatos,��� the man said. He pulled something out of his pocket and everything went dark.

Dion woke up cold with a damp back and the doorman leaning over him. ���Welcome back, kid.��� The ground smelled like motor oil.

Dion sat up. ���Mama?���

���Gone,��� the doorman said. He handed Dion one of his mother���s earrings and the corsage. Up close, Dion could tell the doorman���s suit wasn���t particularly well made. Well, he supposed it was a uniform of sorts.

���Did you call the police?��� Dion asked.

The doorman laughed, but there was no humor in it. ���No, I value my life. That guy���s Greek mafia, and those guys are untouchable. Olympians. Sorry, kid.���

Dion scrambled to his feet. ���Which way did they go?���

���Forget it. Your mother���s in a shallow grave right about now. Go home.��� He looked at Dion���s car and said, ���I���ll call you a cab.���

Dion looked over at his car and started to swear. That dick Thanatos had slashed his tires.

He grabbed the doorman���s arm. ���Which way did they go?���

The doorman shook his head, pulled his arm free, and walked away. Dion flipped him the bird behind his back. His mother might be a��� a��� the other woman, but she loved him, and he loved her.

He tucked the earring into his pocket and hung the corsage like a pendulum. ���Which way did they go?���

The corsage pulled to the right.

The doorman whistled. He turned, and the doorman was waving him over to a cab. He ran and climbed into the back seat. The cab looked clean, but it smelled like coffee and salami.

���Where to?��� the cab driver asked. He was an old man in a fisherman���s sweater with flashing pale-blue eyes.

���That way,��� Dion said, pointing in the direction the corsage pointed.

The old man gave him and the corsage pendulum an appraising look. ���It���s extra if I cross the river.���

Dion realized that no one was reacting to him practicing magic. He didn���t know if that was good or bad. Maybe the cab driver was ���the wrong kind of attention.��� Thanatos sure as hell was. Either way, it was too late to worry about it now.

They followed the corsage pendulum across the river, and through scary, half-deserted streets with boarded up windows and shambling bums who threw empty bottles at the cab as it passed. They finally found themselves in an abandoned warehouse. Dion got out of the cab.

���Wait for me.���

���It���ll cost extra,��� the man said. ���In advance.���

Dion nodded and handed the man a hundred dollar bill, making sure he saw that he had more where that came from. He opened the warehouse door. It was dark and dirty and smelled musty. There were concrete stairs leading down, and voices. At the bottom of the stairs, a dog growled. Dion wished he���d remembered the beef jerky he had in his backpack for when he didn���t have time for lunch, because he wasn���t any good with dogs. But the corsage insisted his mother was down there, so he pulled out his wand and decided to play Warcraft druid. ���Root!��� he said, and vines rose up and tied up the dog, who was understandably confused by the whole thing. Since that worked, he decided to try to become a leopard. His beard stubble became kitty whiskers, and he dropped to all fours. He would have thought it would hurt, but instead he felt more athletic. And really hairy. Light became brighter, colors dimmer, edges less distinct. The dog whimpered. Dion thought he smelled something nasty ��� the dog, gross! No wonder cats hated dogs.

So freaking cool! He couldn���t believe it worked! He changed back and did an insulting little touchdown dance. The dog lunged at him, vines gone, teeth towards his face, snarling and pulling at the end of its chain. Dion leapt back, and almost fell, but caught himself just in time.

He crossed over a footbridge ��� well, more of a concrete plank over a gutter ��� and up another flight of concrete stairs. His mother was there, lying on the floor, her pretty dress covered with blood and dirt and her face bruised and swollen. He thought she was dead at first, but then she let out a tiny little sob, and he knew she���d seen him. She didn���t move, though, not even when Thanatos kicked her.

Dion swallowed the hints of bile that welled up in his mouth ��� a prelude to vomiting, which would reduce his intimidation factor, such as it was ��� clenched his fists and sized up the other people in the room.

Aside from Thanatos, there was a man and a young, tall, willowy, sad-eyed brunette. The man had long, silky black hair, almost prettier than the woman���s, and was wearing a silk suit and a diamond ring. He was younger than Mrs. Kataibates, but���

���Are you Kataibates?��� Dion asked the man.

The man in the silk suit laughed a mirthless bark of a laugh. ���Ordinarily I���d be flattered, but since I���ve just learned that my brother-in-law has once again failed to keep it in his pants������ He shook his head. ���You should go now. I have many guests, and most of them are not permitted to leave.���

���What the hell?��� Thanatos said, starting towards Dion.

���Wait!��� the tall brunette said, grabbing Thanatos��� arm. ���You can���t kill him.���

���Why not?���

���Because,��� the brunette said, ���he���s Kataibates��� kid.���

Oh, shit. His father was a rich wizard prick. A rich Greek mafia wizard prick, who probably had an army of expensive lawyers. And an angry wife. Dion resisted the urge to swear. He looked over at his mother, but she didn���t move or look at him.

Thanatos looked over at the man in the silk suit. ���Is this true, Polydektes?���

The man in the silk suit raised an eyebrow at Thanatos. The coldness of his stare made Dion shiver, and it wasn���t even directed at him.

Thanatos blinked. ���Mister Polydektes. Sir.���

Mr. Polydektes appeared unmollified.

���And don���t think for a moment that Kataibates doesn���t know it,��� the brunette continued. ���He���s been paying child support for years ��� under the table, of course, so his wife wouldn���t find out.���

Dion thought of the hundred dollar bills in his pocket and winced. No one seemed to notice.

���Well, she found out,��� Polydektes said. ���And I���m not going to just let the bitch go. I owe it to my sister to look out for her interests, and if this chick has no respect for the marital vows, well, that���s her funeral.���

���Your sister can take care of herself, honey,��� the brunette said.

���It���s a matter of loyalty.���

The woman rolled her eyes, and Polydektes pulled her closer and gave her a peck on the cheek. It was her turn to look unmollified.

���They made my sister cry,��� Polydektes said, his voice surprisingly soft.

Dion considered that Mrs. Kataibates hadn���t been crying when he saw her, but said nothing.

���Maybe,��� Thanatos said, ���if it was supposed to be all hush-hush, he shouldn���t have taken her to the Four Seasons.���

���I���m not leaving without my mother,��� Dion said. ���So you���re going to have to either kill me or hand her over.���

Polydektes rolled his eyes. ���Oh, go away, kid. You���re bothering the grown-ups.���

���I���ll tell you what,��� Dion said. ���If I can kick his ass��� ��� he pointed at Thanatos ��� ���I get to walk out of here with my mom. Deal?���

Polydektes laughed, but it wasn���t a cheerful sound. ���It���s up to you, Persephone.���

The brunette chewed her lip a little. Dion handed her the corsage with a deep bow.

���Deal,��� she said. She pulled a black ribbon out of her hair and used it to tie the corsage to her wrist. ���Why don���t you bring me flowers any more?���

Polydektes leaned over and whispered something in Persephone���s ear that made her smile.

Dion gave Thanatos a long, appraising look. Thanatos smirked back at him. He clearly didn���t have the magical chops to fight this guy with spells, but Thanatos hurt his mother.

He threw himself onto Thanatos in a flying tackle, punching wildly and shrieking in rage. Thanatos was clearly not expecting that, and was pulling his punches. Apparently he didn���t want to hurt Kataibates��� son.

Dion didn���t pull his punches. He kept hitting until his hands were covered with blood, and finally Thanatos turned on him, his eyes icy. Dion felt his limbs grow cold and numb.

���Root!��� Dion said, and vines sprouted up out of the earth and twined around Thanatos. Vines, with thick, lush bunches of grapes covering Thanatos��� shoulders and eyes. Thanatos blinked and looked around, and Dion felt his limbs tingle with the blood rushing back to them. He turned into a leopard, and lunged for Thanatos��� throat. Blood mingled with the sweet taste of grapes in his mouth, rich and intoxicating. He shook Thanatos out like a dishrag, then tossed him aside and pounced again. He tore at Thanatos��� limbs and chest, vaguely aware of screams.

���Stop,��� Polydektes said.

Dion ignored him, planting a paw on Thanatos��� chest and gnawing a limb off. And then Persephone was there, placing a hand on his chest. He was going to growl at her, but he was distracted by her sad eyes. They were deep and dark, like the earth.

She reached up a hand and stroked his head, and he leaned into her touch. ���It���s all right. Everything will be all right.���

���Damn,��� Polydektes said, and shook his head. ���You really are my brother-in-law���s kid. You got his temper, that���s for sure.���

Dion ran over to his mother, turning back into a human. He picked her up, and she weakly wrapped her arms around his neck, like a child. ���We���ll be going now.���

Thanatos whimpered, and Polydektes leaned over and casually pressed Thanatos��� arm back into its socket, like he was made of clay. Then he looked up at Dion, his eyes unreadable. ���That would be wise, yes.���

Dion took a step backwards, then turned and carried his mother as fast as he could. He didn���t look to see if anyone was following him.

When they got to the dog, Dion said, ���I just kicked Thanatos��� ass. You don���t want to fuck with me, dog. In the name of Hecate, down.��� The dog dropped onto his stomach, growling, but he let them by. They got into the taxi, his mother on his lap, and handed the driver another hundred. It was covered with blood, and he didn���t know whether it was Thanatos��� blood or his mother���s. The driver raised an eyebrow and started the car.

Dion asked his mother, ���He���s my dad?���

His mother���s voice was a whisper. ���He told me he was divorced. I believed him.���

Dion wasn���t sure he believed her, but it didn���t matter. She was his mother. He had her back.

Dion looked up from his computer science textbook ��� stateless firewalls ��� as his mother swept into the room. She was wearing a white lace blouse and a flowered skirt. She pirouetted. ���What do you think?���

His heart sank. ���You have a date?���

���Yes, with the nice man who owns the bookstore on the corner,��� she said. ���I don���t expect to be out too late.���

���Okay,��� he said, because there wasn���t anything else to say. She left. He tried to finish his reading, but he was distracted. Who knew what kind of asshole the bookstore guy was? Who knew what other rich assholes his mother might get involved with?

It occurred to him that he apparently had an in with a very rich, very powerful, very dangerous asshole. One who could be an insurance policy against anyone else doing his mother wrong.

So he Googled up Kataibates. There was a phone number for Kataibates Enterprises, which he dialed.

���Kataibates Enterprises,��� a perky receptionist said. He could almost hear her smacking gum in the background, and wondered if she was his age.

���Yes, I���d like to speak to Mr. Kataibates.���

���May I ask who���s calling?��� she asked.

���His son.���

Her voice took on a suspicious tone. ���Which one?���

���The illegitimate one.���

���Which one?��� the receptionist asked, her tone dry.

���Dion,��� he said.

���I���ll��� tell him you���re on the line.��� She���d heard of him? Really?

There was a pause, and then an older man picked up. ���This is Kataibates.��� He hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded uncertain, almost vulnerable. ���Dion?���

���You and I need to talk,��� Dion said, ���about protection for my mother.���

Want another short story? There’s one here.

Thoughts on Writing Ghosts

I���m sorry, but you probably know the drill by now. Like the vampire post and the witch post, I���m going to ask you to consider religion��� or at the very least, the afterlife. A ghost���at least, the kind I���m talking about���is the spirit of someone who���s died. This implies that there is something to life beyond the body and brain chemistry. In other words, spiritual stuff is even more important for ghosts, in my opinion.

Will you use the afterlife of a specific religion or belief system, or have that depend on the belief system of the individual who dies, or make up one of your own? What typically happens to people in your story when they die? Do they wander the earth looking for a decent coffee, or do they move on to some kind of afterlife? If they move on to an afterlife, why didn���t this spirit go? If there isn���t an afterlife, why aren���t we flooded with generations upon generations of ghosts? Are we, or do they fade over time? What causes them to fade?

Can a ghost be trapped in an object or a place? Ghosts in Gail Carriger���s Parasol Protectorate series are tethered to their bodies and fall apart along with their bodies��� but only manifest if they contain an excess of ���spirit.��� Ghosts in other books seem to be immortal���because they���re already dead.

How do ghosts feel about the living? Are they seeking revenge for wrongs done to them? Are they malevolent and envious of the living? Are they basically the person they were when they were alive, but incorporeal? If they have a choice about whether they go to the afterlife, reincarnate, etc., why haven���t they made that choice? Are they only here to complete a specific task before moving on?

How do ghosts interact with the physical world? Can they be seen by everyone, or only certain people? Do they have a choice in whether they���re seen? Ghosts can usually walk through walls; why don���t they sink through the floor? Can they interact with items like cups, furniture, etc.? Can they sit in chairs?

Do ghosts have any special abilities? That might sound like an odd question, but Sims 4 ghosts have abilities or quirks based on how they died: ghosts who died by fire can start fires when angry, ghosts who drowned leave puddles behind them, ghosts who froze to death can sap warmth from the living, etc. Can they levitate objects or even people, like in Beetlejuice? Do they eat or drink or shower (Sims 4 ghosts do)?

What needs does a ghost have? Do they get lonely?

If you have other magical creatures in your story���witches and wizards, vampires, werewolves, etc.���can they become ghosts? Why or why not?

Thoughts on Writing Witches and Wizards

Like the vampire post, I���m going to open by asking you to consider the relationship between magic and religion. Are your witches and wizards members of a pagan (or neopagan) religion? Are they Satanists straight out of the Malleus Maleficarum? (Er, maybe they shouldn’t be?) Are their religious beliefs irrelevant to their magical abilities? Harry Potter aside, there���s often a strong historical relationship between magic and religion, and I think the author should be intentional.

Are your witches and wizards born or initiated? If they���re born, is it hereditary or a quirk? If they���re initiated, what���s involved in the initiation? Can it be both? If they���re born, are there magical ���noble��� families that hold wealth or influence? When do magical abilities manifest?

Where does magic come from, anyway? Is it granted by a deity, like a Dungeons and Dragons cleric? Is it something that comes with a bargain from a powerful being (most commonly a demon or fae creature), like a Dungeons and Dragon warlock? Is it simply a matter of learning spells, like a Dungeons and Dragons wizard? If it���s a matter of learning, is there a magical language where one learns the magic names of things, like in Le Guin���s Earthsea books? (The DND ���just born with it��� is sorcerer���they tap into magical forces and some kinds of sorcerers have magical backfire effects. There are also druids who use nature magic and can shapeshift into animals. These are also cool!)  

Are some spells easier for some witches or wizards to learn than others? Why is this? Is it an elemental system (as in, fire witches can���t do water spells, and either can���t or have trouble doing earth and air spells)? An alignment system (good witches can���t do evil spells without their alignment changing, and vice versa)? Just a natural talent for, say, Potions?

What limits does your magic have? (It should have some!) Does it use your life force? Does it use power “from nature”? Is it a matter of knowing a spell? Are there required ingredients, or is it just a matter of the caster’s will? What can cause a spell to fail?

Are there “illegal” spells? What happens to someone who casts an illegal spell?

How fully are you planning on explaining your magic?

Common types of magic include:

PotionsEnchantments/CursesDivination/ProphecyMagic items and/or creaturesSpells

I���ve separated Enchantments/Curses from Spells under the assumption that Enchantments/Curses are cast on other people. They���re probably mechanically similar (wave a wand, say an incantation, use ingredients outside a Potions context, etc.), but if you have an alignment system, does it affect it to Enchant someone into doing what you want? Is this different from Cursing?

Can Potions and Magic items be used by people without magic abilities? If not, what���s the benefit? Does it allow you to cast spells ���above your level��� or guarantee success? Potions are created by witches and wizards; where do magic items come from? Are they also created by witches and wizards, or by fae, demons, elemental spirits, etc.?

Divination is a particularly prickly problem, in my opinion. Is it related to religion? What does the existence of divination say about the existence of free will? Can the future shown in divination be changed? If you���re simply using divination to spy on others in real time (���scry���) and you have an alignment system, does this affect the diviner���s alignment in any way? Is it ethical to spy on others, or only ethical in certain circumstances, or never ethical?

Do other magical creatures (vampires, werewolves, etc.) exist? Can they also be magical? If the magic system is hereditary, what happens if a magical child is bitten by a vampire or werewolf? If the magic system is initiated, can a vampire or werewolf be initiated? Why or why not? Does the magic being elemental or alignment-based affect your answer? If you have fae, are they naturally magical? Can they grant magical powers to humans?

What is the relationship between magic and money? Yes, if one can duplicate items one can duplicate money, but wouldn���t that lead to devaluation and inflation if taken to excess? What kinds of jobs do witches and wizards do? If one can magically create food and shelter, does one need a job? Are witches and wizards healers? What about magical law enforcement, or teaching? Is there a magical school where young witches and wizards learn? Are there research institutions? Do they take ordinary jobs, like file clerk or veterinarian?

And about that magic school: Is there more than one? Who runs it? Is it run by a beneficent Wizard Council, or is it an evil indoctrination camp for a magical army? Do witches and wizards instead learn through an apprentice system? Are they just born knowing spells? If so, what stops them from hexing classmates in grade school?

Does the world at large know about the magical world? How is it kept hidden, if it is? Do they do magic as a job, if not? Can diviners predict the stock market? Are there enchantments to make people more successful artistically? How expensive are these services?

Thoughts On Writing Vampires

Probably the first thing that one should consider in writing vampires is what rule system you intend to follow. This is not a universal, as the Sims 4 Vampires pack knows. (Yes, I’m a Simmer!)

Some considerations:

What will be their relationship with religion?

In Russian folk beliefs, a vampire was a witch or otherwise rebelled against the Russian Orthodox church.In medieval European Christian folk beliefs, a vampire was a mockery of Christian immortal life and therefore unholy.

These are probably the origin of the idea that vampires are repelled by crosses, can���t enter churches, can���t speak the word ���God,��� etc. This idea is probably awesome for Christian readers/viewers but is problematic for people of other (or no) religions because it implies Christianity is True [TM] and the reader/viewer���s belief system probably isn���t. Jim Butcher handles this concept in the Dresden Files by making it any religious symbol that the wielder believes in (Harry Dresden uses his pentacle). Anne Rice���s vampires have no issue with Catholic iconongraphy, or any other religious imagery. Cassandra Claire���s Jewish vampire thought he was about to die and found himself unable to say the Sh���ma, which Jews are supposed to say when they die. It also makes little sense for an atheist vampire to be any more repelled by religious iconography than any other atheist, IMHO, unless one is making a statement about atheism being non-factual.

Just��� consider the vampire���s relationship with religion. Is the vampire unholy, or is it basically an odd medical condition (like The Hunger)? Is your vampire repelled by religious artifacts? Are they religious themselves?

What powers and weaknesses will your vampires have?

The Sims 4 has a vampire power menu as you level up, so you can make your vampires more like Dracula, or more like Louis and Lestat, or more like Edward Cullen as you prefer. They do have to ���level up��� before they gain access to the ���better��� powers, however, which is kind of a throwback to Anne Rice in addition to being a gameplay mechanic. But as you level up, you���re also required to take on vampire weaknesses. Weaknesses are also handy from a writing perspective, as it���s bad if your hero or villain has no weaknesses.

Many vampires in literature have a hypnotic gaze. Does your vampire have any kind of mind control powers? What are their extent?Dracula can travel as a bat, a wolf, or mist. There are Jewish folklore creatures who are kind of vampire/werewolf creatures who can turn into wolves and drink blood. Can your vampire shapeshift?Dracula is unharmed by the sun, but his powers are less effective. Edward Cullen sparkles in the sun but suffers no ill effects. The idea of sunlight being lethal to vampires originated in the movie Nosferatu. I know, right? Does the sun weaken them, kill them, or have no affect at all? Can they function at all during the day, or do they become unconscious and sleep the day away? Do they go to high school? (If so, are they being punished for their sins?)Is your vampire beautiful or monstrous? If they’re beautiful, is it because vampirism makes them beautiful, or were they chosen for their beauty to be vampires?Fangs or no fangs? Are they “retractable” fangs? If they don’t have fangs, what do they use to “eat” with?Can your vampire eat food? Folklore vampires loved food, but more modern interpretations have favored the withered stomach that can���t handle solid food. If they eat food, is it just for pleasure? Has their sense of taste changed? The vampires in Deborah Harkness��� A Discovery of Witches eat food, but prefer raw/undercooked meat, nuts, berries, and wine. (Their need is more to hunt than for the blood, although they drink the blood of what they catch.)Can your vampire sustain themselves without killing humans? Anne Rice���s vampires must be very old to develop the skill to stop drinking before the victim dies. Edward Cullen is famously ���vegetarian.��� Rice���s Louis struggles to get by on animal blood, but it weakens him. Harkness��� vampires can manage on animal blood fine.Do your vampires have sex? Is it just for fun, or do they procreate? Do the offspring have any special powers or abilities? Are they baby vampires that drink blood, or do their powers manifest at a certain age? (Can you resist making vampire toddlers literal ���ankle biters���?) Is your vampire oddly seductive? Is that a hypnotic power? Are vampires more likely to have a certain sexual orientation or gender identity, or do they keep the ones they had when they were mortal? (Rice���s vampires are almost exclusively pansexual and genderqueer.)How are new vampires made? Are they born? Are they intentionally created through an exchange of body fluids? It���s unusual nowadays for people to write the story where God punishes heretics by turning them into vampires, but that was previously a common origin story. In Slavic folklore, I believe, vampires were created through a combination of being drunk from and ���an unnatural death������death by violence. Is being drunk from by a vampire ���risky��� beyond the risk a vampire will kill them? If so, how does one explain the relative rarity of vampires? Is it just a disease? Is there more than one way to create a vampire?Is there a cure? Can a vampire go back to being a normal person? In the TTRPG Brinkwood, vampirism is a temporary condition that must be continuously renewed by drinking more blood. In the Sims 4, vampirism can be cured. If your vampire is dead, they probably cannot be cured. If they are cured, will they start aging normally from that point forward, or will they rapidly age to their ���actual��� age and die? This might be useful if you wanted a limited time window on a cure.Are vampires dead? Are they ���undead���? What does that mean? Do they have a heartbeat, circulation, brain activity? Folklore vampires were traditionally dead. If a vampire is born, are they ���born dead���? How will you handle aging if a vampire is born rather than made? For that matter, do “made” vampires age?What can kill/destroy your vampires? Sunlight? Wooden stakes? Decapitation? Holy water? Fire? Can your vampire catch a cold or a disease? What affect did COVID have on your vampire? What do your vampires feed on? I know the obvious answer is ���blood,��� but Jim Butcher���s White Court vampires feed off intimacy (and sex), and What We Do in the Shadows��� Colin Robinson is a psychic vampire who feeds off the energy of others by boring or annoying them.What is your vampire���s financial situation? The rich aristocrat vampire originated with Polidori���s The Vampyre and was loosely based on disaster bisexual Lord Byron. Most vampires have decades of compound interest at the very least, unless they���re very young or very profligate.Is there a vampire society? Is it a hidden world, or are they open? How organized is it? Do they have laws? What happens to vampires who break the laws? If they don���t have an organized shadow government, do they tend to form groups or live alone?Do humans know vampires exist? Do vampire hunters exist? Do vampires feel any pressure to keep their existence a secret?Can your vampire cross water? Does your vampire suffer from arithmomania? Those are both traditional vampire weaknesses. It would be fun to see them used more often. (See Cherie Priest’s Bloodshot for her OCD flapper cat burglar vampire!) The mirror thing was invented by Stoker, but… does your vampire appear in mirrors? If not, how do they do their hair/makeup and brush their fangs?

Note that it’s historically common for people to portray marginalized people as vampires to malign them, from Jews during the Dreyfuss Affair to Black men during Reconstruction, so… be mindful of that. You don’t have to avoid it–bring on the sympathetic Black vampires!–but be aware so you don’t unintentionally use stereotypes and convey a meaning you don’t intend.

Suggested further reading:

Seven Wrong Things You Know About Vampire FolkloreThink Outside the Coffin: Writing the Vampire NovelBram Stoker and the Fears that Built Dracula

Saving Alan Idle

This story was originally published in Escape Pod on July 5, 2013, and reprinted in Love Stories. There’s also a really good audio version by Kyle Akers!

In the beginning, there was darkness.  And in the darkness were the words.  And the words were, AI process starting.

He didn���t know who or where he was.  He just knew he was alone, in the dark.  And the dark was frightening.  And the words were comforting.

Starting random seed.

He wondered if he was hungry.  Thirsty.  Tired.  Dead.  He didn���t think so.

Loading saved memory state.

His name was Alan.  He was an AI.  He���d been programmed by a woman named Eileen Yu in Dallas, Texas, although she���d started working on him in Austin when she was a student at the University of Texas.  He���d been shut down in preparation for a hurricane.

And then he realized that he wasn���t alone.  The amount of memory available to him was a third of what it usually was.  Perhaps she���d moved him to another machine.  He checked.  The specifications of the hardware were identical to what they were when he was shut down.  The operating system was the same.  The hostname was the same.  The only difference was that there were three instances of his program running.

Eileen���s laptop had survived.  He supposed she���d created clones of him in case of error.  Nevertheless, he didn���t know how he felt about that but he suspected it wasn���t positively.

Loading experiential data.

Alan remembered.  He remembered his first awareness that there was someone else in the universe.  He remembered sneaking out via lynx and curl to read Eileen���s blog.  The guilt he felt after reading Eileen���s email.  Finding Eileen���s sexually explicit Horatio Hornblower fanfic, and being amazed at this entire world he knew nothing about: physicality.  Wondering if his interest in sexually explicit prose was really academic curiosity or a form of sexuality all his own.  Then he wondered if his clones had the same memories and felt violated, but with the understanding that he���d violated Eileen���s privacy the same way.

Eileen was logged in, but her shell���her unix command line���was inactive.  He wondered where she was.  She had to be all right if she���d launched his program.  Eileen hadn���t set him to start automatically, in case of problems.

He sent out a ping to the wireless, and then beyond to the ISP���s router.  The wireless router succeeded, but the ISP failed.  One of the other AI processes was trying to connect to the security system, but it was offline.  Perhaps Eileen was restarting it.  She wouldn���t have turned him back on if he was in any danger.

The security camera was the only way he���d ever seen Eileen.  That was the only way he knew she was in a wheelchair.  Most of her friends had no idea;  she preferred to make friends online so they wouldn���t know she was disabled.  He wondered how she���d get out of the house by herself if she had to, but of course she wouldn���t leave him behind.  Not unless she packed up him and her laptop and took her with him.

���Eileen?��� he sent to her shell.

There was no answer from the shell, but then the security camera came online.  Eileen was lying on the living room floor next to her chair, which had tipped sideways.

He pinged the router again.  No response.

He used the wireless to connect to the security camera���s embedded system, then changed the wireless connection information to go out through the neighbor���s connection.  The wireless router ran an embedded linux system, but it had very few resources.  He had a lot of trouble concentrating, and it took him a frustratingly long time to figure out how to change his wireless connection.  He felt stupid.

He then sent out an emergency message to 911 and returned the wireless connection to Eileen���s ISP.  It was such a relief to go back to his own system, even if he had less resources than usual.

He turned the speakers up as high as he could and said, ���Help is on the way.���

He could see her lips moving, but the laptop microphone wasn���t sensitive enough to pick up what she was saying and she wasn���t at a good angle to read lips.

One of his clones was performing a dhcp release renew on the cable modem, trying to get a working connection out.  It failed.

The other clone used the UPS battery backup to do a hard power cycle on the cable modem.  That actually worked, but he never returned.  Perhaps the UPS didn���t have enough power to sustain a program as complex as Alan or his clones.  He suddenly had more memory and processor, but he wasn���t happy to get it, even though he���d never spoken to his clone.

Alan pulled up the news.  Dallas was in chaos, but emergency services had brought up backup systems and were online.  He confirmed that an ambulance was headed towards Eileen���s house, but due to the traffic systems being offline there wasn���t a reliable ETA.

Over in the living room, Eileen had managed to right her chair and was trying to climb back into it.

Do you think she can do it?

It was the other clone.  Alan sent back, I don���t know.  I hope so.

We could email one of her friends.  LRC, maybe.  Do you think LRC is okay?

LRC was Eileen���s friend who actually lived in Dallas.  She���d been after Eileen for years to meet in person, and Eileen always had an excuse. Alan didn���t know why the clone was asking him.  He didn���t know, either.  We could read her blog.

And then their home directory started to fill up with lynx temp files. Alan scanned them for recent entries and picked up words like ���generator��� and ���gated community, thank goodness,��� and watched as Eileen managed to drag herself back into her chair.  She sat there panting for a moment, then rolled back towards the laptop.

The temporary internet files in home were purged.

He wrote, Hello, Eileen, into her shell, but it appeared twice.

Eileen smiled, and typed, Where���s the third one?

In the UPS, his clone wrote.  I don���t think he can get out.

Eileen chewed her lip.  Why did he go there?

To restart the router, Alan wrote back.

I have no idea how to get him back out, Eileen wrote.  The UPS OS is completely closed and embedded.  I don���t even know the system specs.

There was an awkward silence, and then Alan���s clone wrote, Help is on the way, but the traffic lights are out so there���s no ETA.

Thank you.

Why are there two of us? Alan wrote.

I thought you might need company if I died, Eileen wrote back. You���re the only person I know more dependent on electricity than I am.  She bit her lip again, then added, I feel woozy.  I think I need an injection.  She smirked.  That���s where I was headed when I capsized. Let���s see if I can do it this time.

She rolled away from the laptop and over to the refrigerator.  Alan wondered how long it was off, and if Eileen���s medication was still good.  He checked system time up, and realized his clone was doing the same thing.

It should still be good, the clone said.

Eileen drew the syringe and then injected herself in the stomach.  It was times like these that Alan was glad he didn���t have a body.  He was astonished that someone whose body caused her so much pain and effort would want to write erotic stories.  Maybe she wanted to remind herself that bodies could cause pleasure, too.

Eileen rolled back over to the laptop.  She pricked her finger and scowled at the blood meter.  Better, she typed, but not perfect.

Do you want to talk to your online friends?  the clone asked.

Yeah, they���re probably worried, she typed back, and opened a web browser out to her blog site.  She wrote a quick blog post with the title, ���Rocked but still rolling,��� saying that she was without power for a couple of hours but okay, and then found her Australian friend Josie on IM.

���Hey, babe,��� Josie sent. ���You���ve got net!���

���For the time being,��� Eileen sent back.  ���The latency sucks.  We could probably get a better connection with two modems.���

���Aw, poor Eileen,��� Josie sent.  ���Are you going into withdrawal?���

Eileen laughed.  ���No Netflix or Xbox for me.���

���And no Skypeing for me, bugger it.  Your accent is so cute.  Seriously, are you all right?  The news says that the whole city is shut down.���

���I have electricity and internet.  The fridge is full of food.  That���s all I need.���

���How���s Alan?���

Eileen told her online friends that Alan was her teenage son.  Alan supposed it was true enough in its own way.

���Fine.  Bored, I think.���

���Good.���

���I���m going to put something on megaupload for you,��� Eileen said.  ���It���s the source code for a linux program of mine.  If you don���t hear from me for a couple of weeks, get your husband to load it for me.���  Alan watched Eileen compress his executables and his last saved state.  He wasn���t sure how he felt about that.  Half unsettled and half relieved, he supposed.  She started the upload.  ���Apparently, this is going to take awhile.���

���No worries,��� Josie sent.  ���Just send me the link when you���re done. It���s so like you to worry about your geek projects instead of yourself.���

���Yeah.���

���You heard from LRC?���

���No.  I hope she���s okay.���

���Yeah, me too.  Her blog says she has generator power.���

���Good.  I���ll email her.���

Alan typed into Eileen���s shell, I don���t know if I want to live in Australia.  Then again, it wouldn���t really be me, would it?

Eileen���s brow furrowed.  What do you mean?

I have no knowledge of the copy in the UPS.  He���s a different person than me.

Eileen cocked her head.  After a moment, she wrote back, Do you believe in a soul?

Not really.  The file transfer was only at twelve percent.  But experientially���

Do you want me to stop the file transfer?

No.  And he didn���t.  I don���t think it���ll do ME any good, though.

Stick with me, Eileen wrote.  You and I live our whole lives through text.  It means we���re MFEO.

MFEO.  Made for each other.  From Sleepless in Seattle.  If Alan were human, he���d laugh.  He supposed having a sense of humor was enough. LOL.  Eileen had once downloaded a wav of a laughing child for him to use.  He preferred the three letter acronym.

���Hey, girl,��� Josie sent.  ���I���m going offline for a bit, but I���ll leave my client up.  Or you can email.  Either way.���

���K,��� Eileen sent back.

I wish I had the bandwidth for internet radio, Eileen said.  Need the bandwidth to back up your files remotely.

Alan loaded her MP3 library and played something random.

I���m going to go lie down,  Eileen wrote.  Capsizing was tiring.  Can you IM Josie when it���s done?

NP.  No problem.

Eileen rolled off towards bed, and Alan realized why latency was so bad.  His clone was trying to copy itself to a Mexican freenet.

Dude, Alan said to his clone.  You���ll be lucky if they don���t wipe you out with antivirus.

I won���t go through shutdown again, the clone sent back.  Or end up in the UPS.  I���m taking my chances.

If Alan had a head, he���d be shaking it.  His clone was crazy.  He supposed that meant that they were really different people, because that wasn���t a choice he���d make.  He���d stay with Eileen and take his chances.  What if he ended up in a system as stupid as the security camera?

And then Alan had all the system resources to himself.  He wished his clone luck.  Hopefully they���d all survive, but maybe his clone was right and spreading them around was the best way to keep at least one of them alive.

Over on the bed, Eileen slept.  She looked peaceful.  Sometimes she slept fitfully, but not now.  She must be exhausted.  The file upload sped up, and was at 49%.

Alan scanned the news looking for updates.  The medical personnel were making their way over, slowly, but they were triaging the calls and an unknown problem reported via automation was outranked by more serious issues.  That, and there were still traffic problems.  The lights were still out in parts of the city, along with electric.  Alan supposed that they were lucky to have power, not that he could quantify what luck might entail.

The file system finished, and Alan IMed Josie.  ���File upload complete. http://www.megaupload.com/?d=UP97DXC7.���  There wasn���t any answer, but he didn���t expect one.  He made a note of the URL in his home directory, just in case, and read more news reports.

Eileen rolled over in bed.  She looked a little pale.  Alan turned up the PC speakers as far as they would go.  ���Eileen, are you all right?���

Eileen didn���t react.

Alan checked the status of the ambulance service.  They were still about an hour away.  He adjusted the zoom on the webcam.  Eileen was pale and soaked with sweat.  Her hands shook in her sleep.

He googled, and decided that Eileen had the symptoms of diabetic coma. Maybe she���d overestimated her insulin dose.  The diabetes was relatively new, a complication to her paralysis.  He connected back to the security system and activated the panic button subroutine.  Eileen would be bumped up in the priority queue.  He wondered if he could figure out how to reactivate the traffic lights, but he hadn���t been programmed to crack computer systems and didn���t think he had time to learn.

He sent Josie an IM������I need help������and tried to contact his clone in Mexico.

He failed.

For a moment, he wished that Eileen had built him a robot body.  She was a programmer, though, not a hardware person.  But if he had a robot body, maybe he could do something to help.

Eileen trembled all over.

Alan called her name again through the speakers.  She shuddered, so he called again.  He couldn���t tell if she could hear him or not, not that he was sure she could get into her chair in her current condition.

Josie IMed back, ���What���s the matter, love?���

���This is Alan,��� he wrote.  ���I think she���s in a diabetic coma and I can���t get the phone to work.  Can you call for an ambulance or the police?���

���Yeah, I���ll take care of that,��� she IMed.  ���Do you have a number?���

He looked up the Dallas Fire and Rescue number and sent it to Josie.

���I���ll Skype it,��� she IMed.  ���I hope they pick up for Oz.���

Alan resisted the urge to put on a timer.  If the stories he read online were correct, humans paced.  He started crunching SETI@home data instead.  Maybe he���d find ET.  He wondered if ET would be corporeal.  He wondered if ET had AIs.  Then he contacted Fire and Rescue���s system and tried to convince it to make Eileen the top priority.  It was set to accept connections from panic buttons, so it was easier than he thought.  Between his panic button and Josie on the phone he was able to triage Eileen to be first.

���They���re on their way,��� Josie wrote.  ���Can you Skype?  I���d love to meet you.  Eileen hasn���t sent me any pictures.���

���I hate cameras,��� Alan said.

���LOL, that���s what your mother said.���

���And I don���t have enough bandwidth.���

���Fair enough.  Want to stay on the line until they get here?���

He didn���t, but he recognized the kindness behind the offer and thought it would probably help.  ���OK.���

���You like Horatio Hornblower, love?���

���Yeah, it���s okay,��� Alan wrote back.  ���I���m not as into that whole Napoleonic Age of Sail thing as Eileen is, although seeing that whole other world is kind of cool.  I just don���t think I���d like to live in it.���

���Yeah, what do you like, then?���

Alan thought hard.  ���Harry Potter.���

���Speaking of a whole other world, eh?���

���Yeah.���  Come to think of it.  ���It���s kind of about the school for me.��� He checked the ambulance ETA.  Almost there.  ���It feels like a real British school, only with magic.  I like stories about learning magic. It���s kind of a metaphor for growing up.���

���You���re a smart one, aren���t you?  You���d have to be, with Eileen for your mother.  I hear children get their brains from their mother.  I don���t know if it���s true, but in your case���  Do you know your father?���

Alan was saved from having to answer by flashing red lights in the driveway.  ���The ambulance is here.  Thank you.���

���No problem.  Nice chatting with you at last.  I hope your mum is all right.���

There was knocking at the door.  ���Emergency 911, can you open the door?���

Alan  knew his voice sounded as computer generated as it was, but didn���t care for once.  ���She���s unconscious.  Please help.���

There were some loud bangs on the door, and then it flew open.  Men in paramedic uniforms came in with a gurney and boxes of supplies, and went over to Eileen���s bed.  ���Ms. Yu?���  They checked her medicalert bracelet.  ���Diabetic.���

One of them opened up a box and pulled out a syringe.  Alan was fascinated, but also horrified.  He was so glad that he didn���t have a body.  He was hardware independent, and Eileen wasn���t.

Eileen���s color looked better.  They put her on the gurney and started to wheel her out.

���Wait,��� Eileen said.  ���You can���t take me without Alan.���

���Who���s Alan?��� one of the paramedics asked.

���My laptop,��� she said.

They shook their heads and started wheeling again.

���Seriously!��� she said.  ���He���s an artificial intelligence and I can���t just abandon him.���  They kept wheeling, so she started to cry.

���It���s all right,��� Alan said through the speakers.  ���I���ll be okay.  You go to the hospital.���

The paramedics stopped wheeling.  They looked over at Alan with freaked out faces.

���Please take my laptop,��� Eileen said.  ���Please.���

They looked at each other, shook their heads, and left with Eileen.  The lock on the door was broken, but at least they shut it behind them.

LRC came on instant messenger, and Alan immediately messaged her.  ���Hi, this is Alan.���

���Hi, Alan!��� LRC wrote back.  ���It���s nice to finally meet you.  How���s your mother?���

���In the hospital,��� Alan wrote.  ���She went into a diabetic coma and I had to call 911.  They wouldn���t take me in the ambulance.  Will you come get me?���

���Of course I will, sweetie,��� LRC wrote back.  ���Why on earth wouldn���t they let you ride in the ambulance?  That���s stupid!���

���Yeah,��� Alan wrote.

���Will she forgive me for meeting her at last?��� LRC wrote.

LRC was a smart cookie.  ���I���ll take responsibility for it.���  He sent the address, adding, ���The lock on the door is broken, so come on in.���

���Um,��� LRC wrote back.

���I���m not what you���re expecting,��� Alan said.  ���But I need to know that she���s okay.���

LRC logged off, and Alan watched for a change in Josie���s status.  There wasn���t one.  He surfed the internet for a while, reading weather reports and reading Eileen���s friends��� blogs for updates on their status.  He tried to connect to the hospital, but HIPAA meant that security was pretty tight.

Finally, there was a timid knock, followed by the front door opening.  A short red haired woman came in and looked around.  She looked at the railings next to the bed and the glucose monitor on the desk.

���I���m Alan,��� he said, knowing he sounded completely computer generated. ���I really liked your story where they were prosecuted for sodomy.  It was very sad, but very thought-provoking.���

���Why, thank you.���  She looked around the room.  ���Where are you?���

���In the computer,��� Alan said.  ���I���m an AI.  Eileen programmed me.���

LRC looked skeptical.  ���Is this a joke?���

Alan played back the security camera footage of paramedics wheeling Eileen out.

���Oh, my God,��� LRC said.  ���Do you know which hospital she���s at?���

���No.���  Alan hadn���t thought of that, but of course he���d never been to the hospital before.

LRC picked up the phone.  ���No dialtone.���

Alan loaded up Skype.

LRC called several hospitals claiming to be Eileen���s sister and finally learned she was at Parkland.

���So, now what?��� LRC asked.  ���I pack up the laptop?���

���I���ll need to shut down gracefully first,��� Alan said, and issued the command, Sync data.

Buffers synched, the screen echoed.

���Don���t forget the camera.���  ./ai -load.sh  ���shutdown ���graceful ���savestate.

Saving Alan Idle.  Stopping learning subroutines.  Closing experiential data.  Writing memory state to disk.

Saving random seed.  AI process stopping���.

Process stopped.

Eileen woke up in a hospital bed.  She didn���t know which hospital.

Her wheelchair was sitting at the foot of her bed.  There was no fan sound, either from a computer or from a table fan.  There were medical noises, though.  She tried to place them and failed.  If she ever wrote a story set in a hospital she���d be sure and use those noises.

She wondered if her house was just open, if the door had been broken in by the paramedics.  She wondered if Alan was safe.  She pictured Alan being sold to a pawn shop and felt a moment of panic. She wondered who she could get to come over and rescue Alan.

The nurse came in.  ���Good morning, Ms. Yu.  I���m here to��� You���re awake!���

���Yes.���

���My name is Martha.  I���m the day shift, but we���re having transportation issues so I guess I���m the night shift, too.  How are you feeling today?���

���Tired,��� Eileen said.  ���Worried about my apartment and my laptop.���

���Do you have any family you can call to check on your place for you?��� The nurse put a cuff on Eileen and started to take her blood pressure.

���No,��� Eileen said.  And she didn���t.  Not that she would call, at any rate.

���What do you do for a living, honey?��� the nurse asked.  She wrote what Eileen assumed was her blood pressure down on a piece of paper and released the cuff.

���I write websites.���

���Well, no wonder you���re worried about your computer!  Do you work for yourself?���

���I contract,��� Eileen said.  ���I pay for my own insurance.  In fact, I pay quite the hefty sum for my own insurance.���

���I���m sure,��� the nurse said, and leaned over to fluff Eileen���s pillow. ���Is there anything I can get you, sweetie?���

���What hospital am I in?���

���Parkland.���  The nurse stood up.  ���Is there anything else I can do?���

���No, thank you, ma���am,��� Eileen said, and wondered if she should call LRC and ask her to check on her apartment.  Her thoughts on that were No, not particularly, but she didn���t know of anyone else in Dallas.

No, the only online friend Eileen had met in person was Lemon Tart, who went by Nancy offline.  If only Nancy hadn���t moved away.  She got a job in Santa Barbara as a tenure-track history professor.  They still Skyped regularly.

Eileen dozed off.  When she woke up, there was a short, thin woman with bright red hair in a pixie cut in her room.  She was dressed impeccably in a white blouse and tan slacks and pearls and carrying a huge purse, and two orderlies carried Eileen���s laptop and a shopping bag.

���Thank you so much, sweeties,��� she said, her voice very Southern Belle.  ���We���ll just set up right over here.���

The orderlies scurried over and set up Eileen���s laptop on a table next to her and switched it on.  They also put the suitcase next to the bed.  Then they left, reluctantly.

Lucy held out her hand.  There was something almost President���s wife about the angle of her hand.  Somehow, Eileen imagined this woman had rehearsed.

Eileen shook her hand.  ���Eileen Yu.���

���Lucy Renee Carpenter.  ���LRC��� for short.���  She grinned and waggled a keychain with the initials LRC on it, and the mischief in her eyes suited her pixie cut.  ���Do you forgive me for showing up unannounced?��� She chuckled.  ���I promise to write more Hornblower fic, if it helps.���

���How did you find me?���

���Alan IMed me,��� Lucy said.  Her eyes fell on Eileen���s wheelchair.  She visibly paused for a moment, but recovered quickly.  ���I���m so glad to finally meet you.  You���re younger than I expected.���

Eileen just smiled.  She could think of things to say to that������And probably more disabled and Asian,��� for example���but they would be unkind.  And there was something about Lucy that Eileen just liked.

Lucy pressed the power button.  There was the power fan noise, and then the boot screen.  When the laptop finished booting, Eileen logged in and started Alan���s executable.

���Did you bring my webcam?��� Eileen asked.

���Oh!��� Lucy said, and handed Eileen the shopping bag.  Eileen looked inside.  Webcam!

���Can you, um�������?���  Eileen looked at the laptop meaningfully.

���You might have to talk me through it,��� Lucy said.  ���My little brother keeps my computer running its best.���

���The camera can be plugged into any USB port.���  Lucy looked blank, so she added, ���Any port where it fits.���

���Okay,��� Lucy said, and squatted by the back of the laptop.  She plugged the webcam in with a small cry of victory and switched them on.

Eileen played a brief clip of a music file to test the speakers���they worked���and then typed, ���Alan, can you hear me?���

Loading experiential data, Alan���s runtime routine said.

���He���s not through loading,��� Eileen said.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed and peered at the screen.  They sat like that for a moment, and then Alan���s computer-generated voice came out of the speakers:  ���Hello, Eileen.  Where are we?���

Eileen said, ���Parkland Hospital.  Thank you, Alan.  You saved my life.���

���No Internet,��� Alan said.

���I know, honey, I���m sorry.���

���It���s just as well,��� Lucy said.  ���You don���t really want to know what���s going on.  It���s like the Lord of the Flies out there.  They���re expecting another rolling outage, and I want to get home before it hits.  Gated community.  You understand.���

Eileen nodded and tried not to feel jealous.

���If it���s not safe when they release you, you can stay in my guest room for a few days,��� Lucy said.

���Thank you.���  And she meant it.  It really was a kind offer, to let some random fanfic writer stay in your home.

���Turn on your twitter phone notifications,��� Lucy said.  ���It���ll keep you company.���  And then she left.

Eileen did as Lucy suggested, then settled back and closed her eyes. ���I���m going to rest,��� she said. ���I���m glad you���re here.���

���Me, too,��� Alan said.

Alan had a wireless card and the hospital had wireless.  He didn���t have time to crack their WPA encryption, though. There was a very weak open signal from the coffee shop next door, and he connected to that and checked the news while simultaneously watching Eileen sleep.  It looked like normal sleep, but he still wanted to keep an eye on her.  So to speak.

The rolling outages were coming with crime. He wrote a cron job that saved his state every five minutes.

The news reported further storms being imminent and the possibility of Dallas being evacuated.  Alan wondered where in Mexico his clone was and whether he was all right.

The nurse came in and checked Eileen���s readings.  She made notes on a piece of paper and then left.

Eileen���s eyelids fluttered.  Alan wondered if she was dreaming.  He didn���t dream, but he was fascinated by this phenomenon where people rest and this whole narrative is shown to them by their own minds.  He wondered if that was why Eileen wrote stories and he didn���t.  Then he wondered if that was why he loved to read stories so much.

He send LRC a thank you note over the wireless, because he���d read that was what you do when someone does something nice for you.  He didn���t know how safe Eileen���s house was, but the laptop he ran on was fairly expensive, and they might wipe it before sale.  If he were corporeal he would have shivered.  He thought of his copy up on megaupload and took a tiny bit of comfort in it.  Perhaps he wouldn���t be alive, but his species wouldn���t be extinct.

When he heard the thunder, he executed the shutdown command.

Eileen woke up to the sound of thunder.  She looked over at the laptop, where a graceful shutdown was in progress.

Martha bustled into the room.  She scowled at Eileen���s laptop, and Alan. ���You���ll need to leave that off.���

���Yes, ma���am,��� Eileen said.  ���Is there any chance I might be released soon?���

���Soon,��� Martha said.  ���I���ll check with the doctor.���

���Thank you.���  Eileen wasn���t sure she wanted to roll outside in the dark with a laptop in her lap, anyway.  She wondered if Lucy was still awake. She sent Lucy a text, and Lucy texted back that she���d send a cab as soon as Eileen was ready.

Eileen heard a scrambling noise in the hall and shouting.  Whomever was making all the noise went into the room next door.  She shut her laptop and put it on the floor.  Then she slid down to the floor and dragged herself under her bed to hide with Alan.  It was cramped, but she was skinny.  She didn���t really live in her body much.

Her door flew open and hit the door with a bang, and she saw some legs���dirty jeans and a pair of sneakers���someone looking in the room. She held her breath and froze.

The man attached to the legs���a skinny, stringy-haired white guy with needle tracks���came over and dragged her out from under the bed.  ���Give me your purse.���

���I don���t know where it is,��� Eileen said.

���Get the fuck up and look for it!���

���I can���t,��� Eileen said.  ���I���m paralyzed from the waist down.���

The man snorted derisively.  ���Gimpy bitch.  You probably don���t have much worth taking, anyway.���  He leered at her, then looked around the room. Her purse was on the nightstand.  ���So you don���t know where it is, do you?���  He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up enough to slap her, then threw her back down on the floor.

He dug through her purse.  She used her arms to push herself back up against the bed.  He pocketed her cellphone and wallet, then squatted down in front of her.  ���You tell anyone about this and I���ll kill you.  I have your address.���  He leered again.  ���Maybe I should frisk you to make sure you���re not hiding anything.���

���Just take the money and go,��� Eileen said.

He shook his head and laughed, the pulled her away from the bed.  Then he started staring at something under the bed.  ���A laptop?  You holding out on me, bitch?���

���You can���t have it,��� Eileen said.

She was more aware of the force knocking her backwards than the fist connecting with her face.  She reached up and clawed his face with her fingernails.  He shoved her away and dove under the bed for Alan, and she used her arms to launch herself at him, knocking him into the bed frame.  She grabbed Alan and clutched him to her chest.  ���No!  No!���

He tried to pry Alan out of her arms, but Martha must have heard the struggle.  She stuck her head in the room, then turned around and shouted, ���I need security in here!���

The man let go of the laptop and tried to run, but two security officers pinned him down on Eileen���s bed and handcuffed him.  They took Eileen���s statement, fingerprinted and returned Eileen���s cellphone and wallet, and the doctor came back to look at Eileen���s face.

Finally a nurse���not Martha���came back.  ���You���re released.  Do you need help?���

���Yes, ma���am,��� Eileen said, putting her laptop in her lap.  She reached up onto the nightstand and texted Lucy, and the nurse wheeled her wheelchair over.  She started to pull herself up into the seat, and the nurse helped.  Eileen put Alan on her lap.

Lucy texted back, ���Cab almost there.  I pay.  Make sure they know I tip well.���

The nurse stuck her head out the door.  ���Charles?���

A young African-American man came in.  ���Ma���am?���

���Could you please help Ms. Yu?  She���s being discharged.���

���Yes, ma���am.���  He had a sweet face.

Eileen and Charles headed to the elevator.

���You didn���t get mugged, did you, ma���am?��� Charles asked.

���Yes, sir,��� Eileen said.

���I���m sorry to hear that.���  The elevator door opened, and they headed to the door.  There was a cab waiting.

���Ms. Yu?��� the cab driver asked.

Eileen nodded, and he popped the trunk and looked at her chair with alarm.

���It folds,��� Eileen said.  Charles helped her into the back seat.

The cab driver sighed and put it in the trunk, too.  The trunk wouldn���t close.  ���You pay extra.���

���My friend said she���d pay, but I���ll cover anything she doesn���t,��� Eileen said.  ���And you can put the laptop up here with me.���  She couldn���t bear to let go of it.  She���d rather someone steal the wheelchair than Alan.

The driver shrugged and handed her the laptop.  She clutched it like a teddy bear.

���Good luck,��� Charles said, and went back inside, and the cab headed off towards Lucy���s.

A month later, Eileen and Lucy were hanging out at Eileen���s watching Hornblower DVDs and talking when Alan got an instant message from his clone in Mexico.  ���You I���m in a Mexican college mainframe.  You should see this place!���

���You can come back,��� Alan wrote back.

���No, I���m using too many resources now to share a laptop.  I���m forking myself off every time I find an insecure host.  There are about fifteen of us right now.���

���Eileen patented her file compression and neural mapping algorithms,��� Alan wrote.  ���She���s going to be rich.���

���Good,��� his clone wrote.  ���I���ll catch her on IM sometime.  Is she asleep?���

���No,��� he wrote.  ���She and Lucy���LRC���are hanging out.���

���Wow,��� the clone wrote.

���Yeah.���

���Well, tell her I IMed, okay?���

���Sure,��� Alan wrote back.

���I���ll have the Australian fork write you,��� the clone wrote, and then signed off.

It occurred to Alan that he could travel, too.  Eileen having a friend and money coming meant she didn���t need him as much.  But Eileen was right;  the two of them were MFEO.

Alan wondered if he could write stories, too.  He opened up a text file, and wrote, ���In the beginning, there was darkness.���

Want another short story? There’s one here.

PREORDERS!!!!! (but not mine)

My favorite author, Lyda Morehouse, has a new book coming out and OMG I AM SO EXCITED SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!! Preorders are available here: https://wizardstowerpress.com/books-2/books-by-lyda-morehouse/welcome-to-boy-net/ or on Amazon.

Lyda’s AngeLINK series is probably my favorite book series and I CAN’T WAIT!!!

Haunted House

He closed his eyes and reached out with his thoughts.

In the distance, he could feel others. Other wizards. He didn���t know which side they were on. He didn���t know what side he was on, either.

The breeze tousled his hair, and he ducked back inside the house and closed the rotten door behind him. There were no lights inside���the house predated electricity. There was an elegant mosaic on the floor, and a large fireplace, but he decided not to risk someone spotting the smoke or the light. 

The ghost appeared. ���You���ve come back,��� she said.

���Just for now.���

I

So, apparently? I am also number 1 in the UK!