G. Derek Adams's Blog, page 9

The Edge of Earth

I’m writing a script for a 50’s inspired science fiction short film, that me and some friends are going to hopefully start filming in January! Here’s the treatment that I wrote as a starting place before I get going on the script. I am beyond excited for this – this is how I used to feel about starting a new play. Lots of questions, lots of things to figure out, lots of uncertainty – this is only a starting point, so much to explore and develop before we film a thing.

Working Title: The Edge of Earth

Teenagers from Outer Space – 1959

A proper SCIENCE FICTION movie from this period must contain:

aliens masquerading as humans (cheap costume)
a preposterous monster
a professor or scientist who is sought for wisdom
THEMES – racism, overpopulation, ecology, etc.
unnecessary monologues about THEMES
unlikely but palatable science
sexually attractive but chaste love interest (Pure One)
paragons of society: Manhood, Authority, Faith, etc.
aliens encountering children, familiar societal locales and institutions
sense of dread
slow pace

Touchstones: The Day the Earth Stood Still, Teenagers from Outer Space, Forbidden Planet

Synopsis:

Act One

A spacecraft crosses the emptiness of space, a figure sits in an strange cockpit filled with screens and light. The figure wears a helmet or flight mask, obscuring their features. A screen fills with strange symbols and we hear a strange voice speak in an alien language. The figure nods, then pushes a few buttons and descends to the planet below. Earth.

The figure emerges from the craft, holding an instrument. They take readings, then hook the instrument directly into their flight suit. The figure writhes as if in pain, then straightens – some change has occurred within the flight suit. The figure pulls free its helmet to reveal the long tresses of a human woman. The woman uses a reflective surface to inspect her face with curiosity, then turns back to her tasks. The craft is closed, but some extra care is taken with an odd section near the back. The woman rests her naked hand on it for a long moment before departing.

The woman walks down an empty road, stopping several times to inspect local flora and various street signs with equal curiosity. A few cars pass as she comes into town, but none stop or take any notice of the traveler and her strange clothing.

The woman approaches a shop of some sort, her face focused with concentration. An encounter with a customer or server reveals that the woman speaks English, though in a stilted and formal manner. The encounter is heading towards some uncomfortable or awkward crisis when a young woman named Natalie Marlowe intervenes. A few kind words, perhaps some money – the moment is smoothed over and Natalie takes the traveler by the hand and leads her outside the establishment.  The traveler seems touched by these gestures and through conversation reveals that her own name is Nora.  Natalie leaps to the conclusion that Nora is a foreign traveler in need of a guide and quickly volunteers, pulling her off deeper into town.

Meanwhile…two policemen/park rangers/authority figures discover Nora’s spacecraft. Their caution turns to terror as they trip some sort of proximity alarm, firing their weapons at the strange craft. The bullets hit the rear section of the craft, causing an immediate reaction of great violence. The two humans flee as something large and angry breaks free from the rear section of the craft. The last thing we see is a warning light flashing on the console of the craft.

Act Two

A light flashes from a device on the belt of Nora’s gear – but she has not noticed it, being completely wrapped up in exploring the town with Natalie. Natalie and Nora walk hand in hand, in a sequence of discovery – local customs, places of interest. Some flirtation occurs, initiated by Natalie, but it is chaste. Nora seems fascinated by all that she is shown, but not least of all by her new companion.

At last, the two take a break for short conversation where the subject turns to Nora’s home. She is evasive but does not directly lie. Natalie, with some trepidation, brings up the Polaris Sweetheart Dance. Nora is interested in this local custom and immediately accepts her companion’s invitation, but is confused by Natalie’s excitement at her acceptance. Some query of Natalie’s prompts the traveler to reach into her pack to show off something, which is when she discovers the flashing device warning of an attack on her craft. Abruptly Nora departs with little explanation, Natalie shouts directions to the dance after her – hoping that the two can meet back up later that evening.

Meanwhile… the two policemen burst into the local establishment that Nora visited earlier. They quickly commandeer the phone, informing the startled server that their own radio stopped working on the drive back to town. They begin to dial for Local Authority – when the line suddenly goes dead. Something large and angry bursts through the window – we only see the screaming faces of the policemen and other humans as they are destroyed.

Nora arrives back at her craft, breathless. She goes immediately to the shattered rear section and sees that SLAA has escaped. The sun is setting, Nora reaches into the cockpit and pulls free what we assume is a weapon. The lights and voices coming from the cockpit are insistent, but Nora ignores them. She says aloud ‘Natalie’ then holsters her weapon and heads out into the dark.

Act Three

The young people of town gather for the Polaris Dance, none suspecting that SLAA lurks in the shadows nearby. The creature picks off a few dance-goers in gruesome fashion, but remains unseen by the audience. The creature seems to hesitate as Natalie arrives, dropped off by her father, Professor Marlowe. He bores his daughter with tales of his research into the vast unknown reaches of space, but she is far too excited at the prospect of seeing Nora again to pay much attention. She kisses her father goodbye, and he grouches and pulls out a newspaper to read as he waits to pick up his daughter when the dance ends.

Natalie waits outside the dance for quite some time – but finally growing cold she enters alone. The SLAA follows.

The dance is wild and exciting, happy faces, movement. Natalie shakes free of her sadness and finds some friends nearby that she greets, and begins to dance. An overlong sequence of young people dancing and the SLAA growing closer.

At last ,the SLAA reveals itself to screams of terror from the gathered dancers. The SLAA is a monstrosity, terrible to behold – but pieces of it seem to drop away as it advances. It’s target seems to be Natalie, who stumbles and falls in the center of the dance floor. The SLAA closes on her, seeming unsure. At last, Nora appears heroically brandishing her strange weapon – putting herself between the SLAA and Natalie. The terrified townsfolk look on in transfixed horror at this standoff, soon joined by Professor Marlowe – brought in by the screams.

More and more of the SLAA falls away, revealing a figure that is a dark mirror to Nora. Nora explains tersely to Natalie that her race learned long ago that to prosper and grow they would need to remove and exile the dark parts of themselves, but they could never completely break the link. She and the SLAA are one being, and she is complicit in all of its crimes. She believed that she could keep it contained, but knows now that it is too dangerous a beast to inflict on the primitive Earth.

The SLAA howls in anger and grief, but is held back by Nora’s weapon. Nora bids farewell to Natalie with a kiss. Then at last, she activates her weapon destroying the SLAA — but at the same time destroying herself.

Natalie weeps, surrounded by the ashes of the traveler. Her father comes forth to comfort her and offers what consolation he may.

“If such wonders can exist out there among the stars, beyond the edge of the earth — who knows what greater wonders await us? If such a being can walk among us, one who seems to have all but mastered the darkness within – perhaps they too have mastered death?” – Professor Marlowe

Natalie weeps on and ashes blow across the dance floor.

END

The Unquiet Streets and the Fear We Cannot Name

Edward Felspar

Crime Desk

Vyle Tymes – 15th of Psydros, 2015

We live in two cities. Though they share the same streets and the same names and the same buildings proud and tall. Cerulean street lights, crimson flags, the moonsilver steel of the Rail – all the same.  The city of Vyle: serene and shining, as clean as fresh clockwork.  Every citizen, no matter how mean, holds their head a little higher to count themselves a trueborn son or daughter of Vyle. We know our city, we love our city. But, of late, we all have begun to see a second city, a darker one, one that we do not recognize, one that we are not so proud to bear in our blood. One that we walk a little faster from to put lock and key between us and this second city, the hungry city that appears when the sun goes down.

The Constant Reader is familiar with the litany of crimes that have become common in the midnight streets of Vyle. The kidnapping of Haley Westermont this summer. The brutal pillaging of the Veritas Freight shipment. The invasion of homes for petty theft and larceny, the accosting of ladies after dark for nefarious purpose, the bodies found washed up in the harbor come dawn. Over these past many months the rate of crime has accelerated. The hungry city has streets made of teeth and there are few among us who have not felt the bite in our own families.

The question must be posed: why in the largest city on the continent, the home of

Tagma Brass HQ – Staff

the most potent military force ever devised by the will of mortal men, has this quiet harvest of its citizens gone unchecked? This question has been posed, again and again, by this reporter and by many other frightened and concerned Vylians. Poliarchos Winston Gage of Tagma Brass has responded only with the most terse and unfulfilling of statements. “Patrols will be doubled during nighttime hours.” “Tagma Brass investigates every criminal report and does not rest until the guilty party is brought to justice.” “We have some reports of isolated incidents near Flux St. and the more unsavory corners of the city, but the vast majority of Vyle is completely safe at all hours.”

Safe where he lives, perhaps this is what Poliarchos Gage means.

Though there are no sources willing to go on record to the following information, the lapse in journalistic diligence can perhaps be forgiven. Most sources who have reliable information are terrified for their lives and livelihood, and what is proper to print here can safely, and sadly, be considered common knowledge to most citizens of Vyle below the rank of demiarchos. This increase in criminal activity and the furor and intensity that has been visited upon the citizens of Vyle can be tracked to one organization: the Black Cross Gang. Their base of operations is unknown, their full number is unknown, even the origin of their crude symbol and moniker remains under a deep cloud. What is known is their cruelty, their fierce despite for the law, and their unending avarice. Recognize them by the black bandannas they wear, and the all too often sign of a black cross or ‘X’ daubed on their clothes with coal or tar.

If you encounter them in the daylight city of Vyle, avoid if at all possible. If you encounter them in the midnight streets, only your own skill and the gods’ love walk with you as Tagma Brass will not stir to defend its citizens.

Whispers have also reached this reporter’s ears of the purported head of this vicious cadre of thieves and murderers, a person known only as ‘White Crown’.  No verifiable reports have been made of anyone seeing this person, it is not uncommon for criminal groups like this to create a fictional figurehead — a ‘boss’ figure that both lends to their mystique, and also allows for a ‘monster in the shadows’ to lean on as a negotiation or intimidation tactic.

This newspaper will continue to report as accurately and as fully as we can about these true events and fierce dangers that grow ever more present in our city. We live in two cities now, haunted by a Beast that we cannot see and we are not even given the privilege of calling by name. The fear that grips this reporter is: will there always be two cities? Or will we wake one morning to find the jaws of the midnight city has closed over our peaceful home forever, beyond all reclaiming?

E. Felspar is a staff writer for the Vyle Tymes. Communication may be sent to his box at the Vyle Tymes Offices with further reports and news of criminal activity.

Three-Syllable Gospel – Notes II

There is the same power also in the serpent called the basilisk. It is produced in the province of Cyrene, being not more than twelve fingers in length. It has a white spot on the head, strongly resembling a sort of a diadem. When it hisses, all the other serpents fly from it: and it does not advance its body, like the others, by a succession of folds, but moves along upright and erect upon the middle. It destroys all shrubs, not only by its contact, but those even that it has breathed upon; it burns up all the grass, too, and breaks the stones, so tremendous is its noxious influence. It was formerly a general belief that if a man on horseback killed one of these animals with a spear, the poison would run up the weapon and kill, not only the rider, but the horse, as well. To this dreadful monster the effluvium of the weasel is fatal, a thing that has been tried with success, for kings have often desired to see its body when killed; so true is it that it has pleased Nature that there should be nothing without its antidote. The animal is thrown into the hole of the basilisk, which is easily known from the soil around it being infected. The weasel destroys the basilisk by its odour, but dies itself in this struggle of nature against its own self

Pliny the Elder‘s Natural History, written in roughly 79 AD

Asteroid Made of Dragons

Temporary Cover – Inkshares Campaign
Original Cover – Inkshares Campaign

My first traditionally published novel! Exciting, strange, a little bit crunchy with a hint of hazelnut. I’ll put more specific information here later, but for now you can read sample chapters, read a synopsis, and pre-order HERE from my publisher Inkshares, or directly through Amazon HERE.

Nostos No. 6

Lines of steel, smoke and shout

Metal church and earnest lout.

Darkness wither, ivy-heart beat

The cinder revival is button-stone feet.

Remember the gods, count up their names

titan-bone memory stokes up the flames.

The violet leaf and the shining thorn

All’s forgotten on seven-pence morn.

Circle of Six, five and the shadow

Beggars are princes in the ettercop’s barrow.

Keep a hand on the rail, and your stone on the blade.

Greenglass coffins wait in the shade.

Heroes or Fools or cannon-shot spite

All Time is stolen from the fingers of Night.

Three-Syllable Gospel – Notes

As therefore it was not impossible to God to create such natures as He pleased, so it is not impossible to Him to change these natures of His own creation into whatever He pleases, and thus spread abroad a multitude of those marvels which are called monsters, portents, prodigies, phenomena, and which if I were minded to cite and record, what end would there be to this work? They say that they are called monsters, because they demonstrate or signify something; portents, because they portend something; and so forth. But let their diviners see how they are either deceived, or even when they do predict true things, it is because they are inspired by spirits, who are intent upon entangling the minds of men (worthy, indeed, of such a fate) in the meshes of a hurtful curiosity, or how they light now and then upon some truth, because they make so many predictions.

Saint Augustine, City of God, Book XXI, Chapter 8

Just a little something from researching next project. PAY NO ATTENTION.

Inkshares Contest Survival Guide

With the announcement that my publisher is running another contest sponsored by The Nerdist, I raise my creaking bones from the sharp-edged divan of Anxiety and Editing to applaud and salute all the new campaigns! More writers, more books, more readers – these are always good things. It’s easy to think of writing as a purely competitive enterprise – especially in a contest framework, but you know what’s great about readers? They don’t want to read just one book – they want to read many books! And bringing more attention to my publisher helps me too – *rubs together hands maniacally* – now more people have a chance to see MY STUPID DORK BOOK FOR DORKS.

But let’s talk about your stupid dork book for dorks. And more importantly about how you can survive the next few weeks of the contest with crying in the bathtub only every other night.

Use your campaign dashboard. Inkshares gives you plenty of easy tools to link up all of your Facebook, Google, etc. contacts and puts them in a handy list called the Reader Pipeline. This is a perfect way to start keeping track of who you  have contacted, who’s pre-ordered the book, who you need to beg harder. There are also built-in tools to contact prospective readers and also to THANK people who bought your book.
Get comfortable with asking people for money. Yes, I know. It’s terrible. But you have to do it. All of the easy/passive ways you can ask aren’t going to get you there – i.e. posting on Facebook, or your blog, or Twitter. You are the best salesman of your work – you need to go directly to your friends, family, acquaintances, vague strangers, lemurs and ASK for the pre-order.
Take a long look at your writing schedule. Assume it’s going to get thrown away for most of the contest. It’s a stressful time! You are going to start refreshing the contest page a few times an hour in the last few days of the contest – go ahead and accept that your writer-brain has checked out, and you are pure rodent-lust. It can be extremely demoralizing for writers – as surprise! – writing is what keeps us happy and reasonably emotionally balanced. You need to account for that, and build in some slack in your support network. (see: crying in the tub.)
Get to know the other competitors. Not just follow their campaigns from the shadows — talk to them! 5 winners are going to make it, but there’s nothing saying that even more can hit the overall Inkshares funding goal. The more you share resources, readers, knowledge, and support the easier things will be for all of you. I made several friends during the last contest and I’m very glad that they are still talking to me. One of the winners of the last contest is putting another book up – JF Dubeau – he would be a great resource to you for help and ideas.
Noblesse oblige. No doubt, tensions are going to run high as the contest heats up – it pays to remember that you all have the same goal, the same dream. Go out of your way to play fair, to help out the other campaigns. We’re all a bunch of small-timers trying to take the leap into a bigger arena. Even if you win, you can still stumble. Nerds must be held to a higher moral code – we are all taught by the finest stories and the greatest heroes.
Updates. When you send out updates to your backers – remember that they are your allies, your friends and boon companions that want to help you make your dream come true. They are not your servants or conscripts. Ask them to help you, give them clear instructions of things they can do to aid the campaign – but don’t forget to entertain them! Show them exclusive parts of the book, concept art, videos, terrible pictures of yourself. Don’t just send out endless ‘GET MO PREORDERS’ updates – if you cause your core audience to tune you out, that’s hard to come back from!
Cry in the shower. There are going to come moments when you will wonder why you jumped into this thing. We make stuff, we write stuff – it’s a learned skill to put your work out there in the world where anyone can bang on it, or worse ignore it. This contest is 6 weeks of permanent vulnerability – it will be hard. And it’s okay to feel bad. Here’s another post I wrote all about the emotional damage of self-promotion.
It is okay to ask people for money. I’m saying this twice, because it goes against the grain for so many people. My day job is sales, so I have a much thicker skin about it – but even I get squirmy when it’s for my nerd poems. People want to help you – don’t feel like you have to make them read your excerpt, or explain the whole book to them. Don’t sell the book – sell YOU. Look in their eyes and ask for ten dollars. This contest is purely based on unique readers – not preorder count, so you don’t have to stress about getting multiple books out of people. Just ask – I promise that it is okay.
Take breaks. Seriously – as much as you can, especially those last two weeks. You are going to become an internet-octopus, dripping your tentacles across all platforms looking for information and preorders and mentions and ideas and any glimmer of aid that can come to your campaign.  Go on walks. Play video games. Write if you can. There will come moments where you will stare at the contest page and try to WILL the numbers to go up – these are normal, but get your support network to pull you away from it as much as they can.
Contact Inkshares with questions or concerns. Some weird stuff happened last contest. A glitch with some referral credit, things not appearing properly on campaign pages, etc. Everyone at Inkshares was always quick to respond, eager to fix the problem, and as transparent as they could be about the source of the problem and the solution. They want to get it right and they work hard to do so – it’s why I’m quite glad to have them as my publisher. (HEARTS 4 INKS)
Cry in the shower.
Your book is not on trial. There are a lot of moving parts to this contest. People are going to pre-order your book because it sounds awesome. Or because you asked them. Or because they liked the cover. Or, or or…if you find yourself slipping down the ranks, it DOES NOT MEAN your book is bad. Maybe the other books are doing a better job of pestering people, or they have a bigger family, or, or or. Do not start beating up your book and blaming it for not being shiny enough. Unless your book is into that and has given clear, vigorous consent.
You can do it. By that I mean – you can get your book out into the world. This contest, the next contest, regular funding through Inkshares, Kickstarter, self-publishing, finding an agent, printing it out on copy paper and hiding it in Waffle House bathrooms — you can do it.

Enough blathering from me! Good fortune and good campaigning. If you have questions about anything, drop a comment below or look me up on Twitter – @gderekadams.

AMOD Invocation Sketch I

Art by Eddie Mendoza.

Sing in me, O Muse

of the moment when

of the moment then

her gray fingers

wrapped

and coiled

around my heart,

a circle.

Help me sing of the circle

the circle that cannot break

the center that should not hold

but does.

For now.

Asteroid Made of Dragons: First Read Impressions

I’m a little muddled honestly. I think it’s a stronger book than my last, but I don’t have the same feeling of certainty after the first read. Maybe because this book has a LOT more moving parts? I feel like it all works, the baseline mechanics of it all, and some scenes really shine, and the end really surprised me? It makes me deeply happy, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t what I expected it to be.

I think it may just be a matter of form. Riddle Box was a murder mystery and that structure is a joy to inhabit — AMOD follows a three-act structure with a meta-narrative frame and all sorts of weird  hyper-narrative threads that shoot off all sorts of places. I like them! I want them to be there! But I guess it’s hard to quite feel it all settle in my head quite yet. RB was a dark lance to the heart, AMOD is this strange spinning wind chime that looks different from every angle.

I’m also serving a lot of masters in this book – something that is giving me no undue amount of anxiety-knives in my spleen. As always, the book must deliver on its own merits – one episodic adventure served a la carte. But, I also want readers who’ve followed me from the first two books to find the threads and rewards there for them – BUT BUT this is a bigger debut for a larger audience with my new publisher, so I don’t want new readers to feel unwelcome or confused, I also need to introduce the world and my entire ethos in an exciting and palatable fashion, ALSO I need to set up some secrets and foreshadowing for things that will happen in later adventures ALSO ALSO AS WELL AS just frankly deliver on the fun of the premise.

I won’t say that this draft has succeeded on all of these fronts. I will say that it is in the process of getting there.

BULLETED LIST

The frame story really lands for me – not sure how betas and editor will feel, but I think it will be especially nice for readers of RB and still work thematically for new readers.
First act really cooks along – lots of fun, strong starts, distinct voice for each section. May also just be because it’s been the longest since I wrote this section, but I enjoyed first act the most.
Xenon is the best. Suck it, all you old characters. You bore me.
First Act feels a lot like Spell/Sword in the Jonas & Rime chapters – wacky battles and teen angst.
Second act feels lumpy. There’s a chapter that straight SUCKS. Just halting, charmless, and bad. All connective gristle. Lots of re-writing here and the whole second act – this is where the reader gets to spend time in Gilead, and I don’t want that to be wasted.
Third Act we’re back to ACTION, ticking clock, asteroid falling, all that – the mechanics and emotion all land fairly well, need to work through the rise and fall of some of the action sequences. There’s a sequence i’m calling ‘Rime Goes Boom’ that I need to muse over and play with, going to need feedback on that one to get it to sing properly.
Denouement makes me grin like a huge nerd, its the anime ending – I can already feel the wind of the next adventure blowing and it’s exciting and makes me happy, especially because the plan is to leave Aufero to its own devices for a while after AMOD.

So, a complicated reaction. Lots of work to be done. God I’m glad I’m not doing it alone.

If you aren’t already – follow the book’s progress on my Inkshares page – where you can BUY IT if you’d like, or just malinger in the shadows and watch it change and grow and get better and better until its too hot for you, just way the fuck out of your league.

Straydog Stammer

Coming back sometimes, flipping times like a rolodex

to my younger self, hammering away sans respect

to the idle box i’d be spamming and scratching

looking for fire with a match that wasn’t catching

stomp and stammer, praying for the manner

of device and craft, of thor’s fucking hammer

to break the wall of the world with my science

mjolnir’s breaking, now i got to try this

hustle and grease and the black knight’s deceased

trying to get more when the most is the least.

if i can just keep moving, keep rattling the wires

the solution will fall out, and my brain on the spires

now

i’m older and colder and Mulder and Scully

stomping on the ice, glass that i sully

with my whisper-gleams that i steal from the fabric

Hoppin and bopping and boosting the magic

easy to forget the eggs, the chicken and the box

which came first, doesn’t matter when the locks

you break are the locks you make

and the chains you snap are at the bottom of the lake

with the lady and the blade and the fool and his masquerade

while i’m sitting at tea with Death saying ‘pass the marmalade’

then

now

two mirrors looking back, and neither the wiser

my heart is a storm and my third eye’s a miser

but all that i have is two holes in my soul

punctured and engraved and bound in white gold

and sometimes they line, like a telescope made of pain

and all i can do is yammer and dance in the City of Rain

reaching back now, holding hands with a shadow

of me and me and my brain in the green window

hold on to me then, and i’ll hold on to you now

we can’t forget what and we never bow

thirteen devils singing on the mantel

five demons bound silver and vandal

flipping and flapping and laying down the lines

hoping and hopping that i don’t forget the rhymes

please forgive the memory still burns

sunlight and salt and what are the words?

i end this here, but howl all the same

straydog stammer remembers his name.