Frank Tuttle's Blog, page 33

Eight Days and Counting

The countdown to the release of All the Paths of Shadow stands at a mere 8 days!  Which is plenty of time to stare longingly at the image above while mumbling "I must have it, yesssss, must have the Precious!"


But remember to mumble well out of earshot of employers, spouses, or mental health professionals.  At least until after you've made the order.  We wouldn't want anything to impede the gears of commerce, now would we?

Sorry.  Look, a new book release is both a happy time and a terrifying time.  Happy because all the work is done.  No more writing.  No more re-writing.  No more editing.  We've all agreed that this is the best we can make the book, and we're putting our names on the line with it.

Releases are terrifying because there's simply no way to predict how well the book is going to do.  It is within the realm of possibility that All the Paths of Shadow will one day be known as the first book in the series that knocked Harry Potter down to size.

It is also possible (cynics will quickly point out this is the more likely scenario) that my shiny new book will sell fourteen copies before dropping quietly into literary oblivion.

Realistically, that is the fate of most new books.  I wasn't aware that 95 percent of all the new titles printed sell less than 500 copies.  I envy myself that bit of ignorance.

Now, there is a small, eternally optimistic part of my mind that's running around in circles and throwing celebratory confetti eight days before the release because it is sure, absolutely certain, that Paths of Shadow will quickly become beloved by an entire generation of readers.  Both Cool Well Press and I will overnight be showered in riches and fame, insists this small part of me.  Harry who?, it hastens to add.

I do like the sound of that scenario.

The best way to handle such anxiety, of course, is to simply push all such thoughts aside and get back to work.  Some would say a writer is only as good as his or her last book.

I say a writer is only as good as his or her next book.  It doesn't matter what I wrote last year or even yesterday.  Tomorrow is all that really counts.

So on that note, it's back to work.  But start saving those pennies anyway!

Lou Ann on Today

After a hard day of watching me work outside, Lou Ann declares this Saturday done.

I concur.

Excerpt from All the Paths of Shadow

Today is September the 9th, which means the new book hits the stands in precisely eleven days.  The book, for those of you who have somehow managed to elude my non-stop yammering on the subject, is All the Paths of Shadow, which will be brought to you by the erudite and fascinating people at Cool Well Press.
Can you pre-order?  No, not yet.  
Will the book be available in electronic and print formats?  Yes.
Will reading the book cure male pattern baldness, halt the devaluation of the US dollar, or eliminate the need for costly, strong-smelling creams or ointments?  No, yes, and yes, respectively.
My readers will instantly recognize the name Markhat.  Some have asked if All the Paths of Shadow is a new Markhat novel.  No, it isn't.  Paths is set on a new world and features an all-new cast of characters.  You'll find Paths of Shadow to lie somewhere between Wistril's world and Markhat's.  But I think you'll enjoy it, just the same.
Finally, yes, All the Paths of Shadow is the first in a new series.  The sequel, entitled All the Turns of Light, is now underway. 
I'm putting an excerpt from All the Paths of Shadow below, in the hope of whetting your appetite for the release on the 20th.  And don't worry -- I'll be back well before then with all sorts of helpful links designed to make your purchase of the book as simple and as pleasant as possible, because I'm a helpful kind of guy.
Enjoy the excerpt!
From ALL THE PATHS OF SHADOW:
Beyondthe park and the oaks Tirlin itself rose up in a tidy profusion of red brickbuildings and dark slate roofs and red-gold tree tops just touched by autumn.The towers and spires of the palace peeped through here and there, rising justbarely above the banks and shops and offices that made up the heart of Tirlin.Aboveit all, though, loomed the Tower, squat and black and brooding in the midst ofthe green and open park.Meraldafrowned, and looked away."Mistress,"said Mug, turning all twenty-nine of his eyes toward Meralda. "Talk. What'swrong?""Howmany days remain until the Accords?" said Meralda, quietly."Twenty,"said Mug, with a small stirring of leaf tips. "Counting today, which I supposeI shouldn't, since it's nearly gone."Meraldasat on the edge of her battered kitchen chair. "So," she said. "In nineteendays, Tirlin will be full of Alonyans and Vonats and Eryans andPhendelits, all gathered here to strut and brag and eat like pigs while makinglong speeches explaining why they broke every promise they made at the lastAccord."Mugnodded by dipping his eye buds. "You left out carousing and spying and tavern wrecking,"said Mug. "What does that have to do with you?"Meraldaslapped her hands down on the table. "Nothing," she said. "It should havenothing to do with me at all. The Accords are a political matter.""Orso you thought."Meraldashook her head. "So I thought." She put her elbows on the table and her chin inher hands. Just for an instant, she heard her mother's scolding voice. "Elbowsoff the table, young lady. We raise swine. We do not emulate their tablemanners."Meraldasighed and stared at the table top. "His Highness is to give the customarycommencement speech on the eve of the Accords," she said. "He plans to speakfrom a platform at the foot of the Tower. Carpenters are building coveredstands in the park for the delegates."Mugshrugged with a tossing of fronds. "Sounds fine. I think Kings Ortell andListbin did the same thing, way back when." Mug lifted his three red eyestoward Meralda's face. "It's not the weather, is it? Surely even Yvin knowsbetter than to take pokes at the climate just to make sure he has a sunny dayfor a speech.""Hedidn't ask that," said Meralda. "Yet."Shestretched and yawned and thought again about caramel apples and fall carnivals."Yesterday—" said Meralda, "Yesterday, the King was inspecting the stands beingbuilt in the park. He arrived at five of the clock, the same time hiscommencement speech is set for.""And?"said Mug."And,"said Meralda, "It suddenly dawned on our gifted monarch that the sun sets inthe west and casts shadows toward the east.""LeavingHis High Pompousness to make a speech in the shadow of the Tower," said Mug,with dawning apprehension. "Which aggravated his royal sense of badly donemelodrama.""Andled him to instruct me to move the Tower's shadow," said Meralda. "Move it, orbanish it, or fold it up and pack it away for an hour," said Meralda, in amocking baritone. "Roll up a shadow? Pack away the absence of light caused by aseven hundred year old wizard's keep?" Meralda shoved back the chair and stood,hands spread before her. "What kind of an imbecile asks for a roll of packed upshadows?"Mugcast his gaze toward the ceiling. "The kind with the scepter and the crown," hesaid, quietly.Meraldastood. She walked back to her open window and leaned on the sill."Wasit a suggestion, a request, or a royal directive?" asked Mug."Isthere a difference?" asked Meralda. "The king asked. Before the full court. Istood there and nodded and made vague assurances that I'd look into the matter."Meralda sighed. "The Tower is—what? Nine hundred feet high? Almost two hundredwide? At five of the clock today, the tip of its afternoon shadow hit the parkwall at the east entrance. That makes its shadow almost two thousand feet longand two hundred wide at the base."Mugticked off figures on his leaf tips. "How big a bag will you need, after youroll it up?" he asked."Mug!"snapped Meralda. "Enough.""Athousand pardons, Oh Fiery-Eyed One," said Mug, with a mock bow. "But could itbe, mistress, that you are not exclusively angry with King Yvin?" A trio ofbright blue eyes peeked up through Mug's tangle of leaves. "Could it be thatyou are peeved at your own reluctance to describe to the king in lengthy detailjust how asinine and vacuous his shadow-packing scheme truly is?"Meraldaglared. "I could get a cat," she said. "A nice quiet cat."Muglifted out of the bow. "Fur on the couch, a litter box to empty? I don't seeyou with a cat," said Mug."Keeptalking," she said. "We may all see things we didn't expect." Meralda shook herhead, ran her fingers through the strands of long red-brown hair that hadworked loose from the tight bun at the back of her head."Iwas going to add that you shouldn't fault yourself for not browbeating the kingbefore the full court," said Mug. "I was going to say that even though yourhero Tim the Horsehead spent his career berating and insulting kings he wasalways careful to do so in private." Mug paused, waving his leaves. "I wasgoing to suggest that you take a long hot bath and curl up on the couch with acup of Vellish black tea and a book of Phendelit poetry, and that you see Yvinprivately tomorrow and explain to him that you only just discovered that movingthe Tower's shadow would loose a plague of biting flies on Banker Street anddevalue Tirlish currency abroad and cause the collapse of the aqueducts and,incidentally, make snakes grow in his beard. He'll forget the whole shadow businessand you can go back to your studies of spark wheels and lightning rods,interrupted only by occasional royal requests to shrink the royal bald spot."Meraldalaughed. Mug turned his eyes away. "And you want a cat," he said, airily. "Coulda cat say that?""Noone with lungs could say that, Mug," she said. "You're right. I should have atalk with Yvin.""Thenwhy aren't you making tea and drawing a bath?" said Mug.Meraldasighed. "Because I'm changing clothes and going back to the laboratory," shesaid. "There are things I need to look into, at least."Mugsighed. "Mistress," he said. "Can it be done? Can the shadow be moved?""Idon't know, Mug," she said. "Perhaps."Mugturned a tangle of green eyes toward her. "I don't like this, mistress," hesaid, no humor in his tone. "The Tower isn't something to be trifled with." Mugbunched all his eyes together in an instinctive signal of grave concern. "Leaveit alone, if you can," he said. "Please."Meraldafrowned. "Why, Mug?" she said. "It's just an old tower."Mugmoved his eyes closer. "It was never just a tower," he said. "Not seven hundredyears ago, not yesterday, not now." Mug's leaves stirred, though no wind blew. "Whydo you think the old kings tried for all those years to knock it down?" Mugpaused and stilled his leaves. "Leave it alone, mistress. Tell Yvin to light afew gas lamps and leave the Tower be."Meraldastroked Mug's topmost leaves. "Thank you, Mug," she said."Forwhat?" said Mug.Meraldasmiled. "For not being a cat," she said.Mug'seyes exchanged glances. "You're welcome," he said. "I think.""Water?"asked Meralda."None,thanks," said Mug. The dandyleaf plant sighed. "So you're going to try this,despite my heartfelt plea.""Ihave to," said Meralda. "I have to try. Not for the king, but for me."Muggrunted. "As long as it's not a heroic effort for the glory of His Thick-headedness,"said Mug. "So what's this idea of yours?"Meraldabit her lip. She turned from Mug and began to pace slowly around the diningtable."Isee two ways to do this," she said, frowning. "First, bend the sunlight aroundthe Tower, so it casts no shadow at all."Mugfrowned. "That would render the Tower invisible, wouldn't it?" he said. "And aworking invisibility spell? Weren't you saying just a few days ago that such athing was impossible? I believe you used the words 'penny-novel nonsense'.""Thespell would only redirect light striking the Tower from a certain angle," saidMeralda. "It wouldn't be invisible. Just a bit fuzzy, from a single spot out inthe park.""Isee," said Mug. "What's your other idea?""Leavethe shadow," she said. "Just delay it a bit. An hour, perhaps. Maybe less.""Delayit? How, mistress, does one delay the setting of the sun?"Meraldalaughed. "I'll leave the sun alone, thank you," she said. "I'd merely borrow abit of sunlight from one day and move it to the next."Theedges of Mug's leaves all curled slightly upward. "Let's work with youroriginal notion," he said. "Moving sunlight from one day to the next. Thatsounds like the sort of story that ends with the Thaumaturge being brutallysuntanned and the king giving his speech from beneath the cover of perpetualnight."Meraldasmiled. "Good night, Mug," she said. "I'll be late. Shall I move you to thesitting room window?""No,thank you," he said. "I'll stay right where I am. It's a good place in which toworry oneself sick. Lots of room to drop leaves and shrivel."Meraldasighed. "It's only a shadow, Mug," she said. "And the Tower is just a tower.Stones and wood. Nothing more."Mugsniffed. "Certainly," he said. "Nothing to all those old stories. Nothing atall."Meraldasnatched up her cloak and stamped out of the kitchen. Mug listened to her washher face, brush her teeth, and change her clothes. Then the living room doorclosed softly, and Mug was all alone.

All the Paths of Shadow

Maybe you missed my previous eleven thousand, four hundred and ninety-six previous mentions of this, but I have a new book coming out this month.  On September the 20th, to be precise.

The book is All the Paths of Shadow.  The publisher is Cool Well Press.  You'll be able to get All the Paths of Shadow in e-book format or on paper, as you please.  Get either.  Get both.  Just get it.

What is this book about, you ask?

It's about trust and friendship and loyalty and a really good egg roll.  There is magic.  There is Mug, who was great fun to write.  Mug has twenty-nine eyes and a profound fear of aphids, and even so he isn't the oddest character in the book.

You probably noticed that the graphic above employs the words 'young adult novel.'  And that's true, All the Paths of Shadow is a YA, in much the same way the Harry Potter books are YA.  I hope kids will love it, but that doesn't mean you should skip it just because I used the YA tag,  It's not a twee book filled with doodling dobbles and dobbling doodles.  It's a book about a very talented young person coming to grips with the kind of challenges we grumpy adults face every day.

With magic, of course.  And a light blend of steampunk, in the form of dirigibles and electric lights and walking engines trundling down the cobblestone streets.

And that's all I'll say tonight.  As you can probably guess, I'll be talking more about All the Paths of Shadow in the days leading up to the 20th.  So start saving those pennies, people!

There will soon be shopping to be done...



PS--
The cover was done by the brilliant Anne Cain -- check her out on DeviantArt!

Book Review: My Life as A White Trash Zombie by Diana Rowland

As I may have noted in passing a few thousand times before, I'm a fan of all things zombie.

Not all things zombie.  I should have said nearly all things zombie.  Because for every good zombie movie or good zombie book, there are half a dozen real stinkers just dying to sneak into your bookshelf or your Netflix queue.

Happily, the book My Life as A White Trash Zombie by Diana Rowland is firmly in the good zombie group.  I snarfed this one down in a mere two days, because I had to know what happened next.  Who turned heroine Angel into a zombie?  Why did they turn her?  And how is she going to obtain the ingredients for her strict new diet without (ahem) learning to embrace her inner Romero?

This is NOT your typical zombie novel.  There is no undead rising.  No one is trapped in a mall.  Not a single cliche shambles past.  Angel appears normal to everyone around her, as long as she feeds on human flesh every few days.  Working in a morgue allows her the chance to do so without the usual zombie marauding.  and since the author has actually worked in a morgue setting, the details make Angel's day-to-day life come alive, so to speak.

What truly stands out about White Trash Zombie is Angel's journey from living deadbeat to undead upright citizen.  Seeing someone die and then manage to turn their train-wreck of a life around was an inspired theme, and I applaud Diana Rowland for taking the road less traveled.

If you're a fan of zombie fiction, I'd rate My Life as A White Trash Zombie as a must-read.  Better than 'Breathers!'

Also available in print.

Enjoy!

Belated Movie Reviews

I've seen a few movies the last few weeks, but didn't get around to savaging  reviewing them until now.  So, in no particular order, here are my thoughts:

CONAN THE BARBARIAN

RATING:  Zero fractured skulls out of a possible 10.  No, in fact, this movie was so bad it owes me three fractured skulls.
Good points:  No one has since tried to make me watch it again.
Bad points: Everything between the opening title sequence and the credits.  This movie was so monumentally awful it spoiled movies playing nearby.  The acting careers of people who haven't been born yet are even now being destroyed just because they share initials with the poor unfortunates who appear in this film.  Even the font used in the credits is doomed.
Plot summary: Conan hits a lot of people, the end.
Compare to: Painful rectal inflammation, prolonged visits by religious zealots, poorly-maintained public restrooms.
Comments: I'm not even sure these people were aware they were making a movie.  Between the blurry, too-dark 3D photography and the deafening but largely incoherent soundtrack, I thought for a few awful moments I had somehow been sucked into the turbofan of an airborne 747.  Sadly, this was not the case, and I was forced to endure well over an hour of nonsensical grunts and random slo-mo sword-fights.  Oh, and the sneering.  Conan sneers a lot, which I suppose he was well within his rights to do, since I shelled out fourteen bucks for two tickets to this cinematic nightmare.  Buried somewhere in the muddle of jumping and rolling and slashing there was a pitiful scrap of a revenge-story plot, but, undernourished and ignored, it starved to death  halfway through the thing, leaving behind a series of disjointed and uninspired brawls that sent several members of the audience wandering away in open disgust. See it only if the gun being held to your head is bigger than a thirty-eight.  Take your chances with a head wound if it's anything smaller.



PRIEST


RATING: Eight screaming vampire heads out of ten.  Not quite perfect, but not far from it.
Good points: Takes the best elements from classic Westerns and combines them with a new twist on vampirism.  Stylish and imaginative.
Bad points: Minor plot quibbles.  For instance, if humanity waged a thousand years of war against the vampires and ultimately won, would we really set up vampire 'reservations,' even in the wastelands?  I don't think so.  I mean, why?  The vamps probably aren't going to sit around playing pinochle and peacefully reliving the good old days, are they now?
Compare to: High Plains Drifter, Pale Rider, Near Dark, Chuck Norris.  Not any Chuck Norris movie, just the Man himself.
Comments: This movie oozed style.  The world looks lived in -- well, not so much lived in as kicked around, wounded, and sent limping down a trash-choked alley.  The dialog is straight High Noon western, as is the look of the thing.  You've got dusty frontier towns and leather and sweaty, gun-totin' townsfolk.  Sure, they're riding jet-powered motorcycles instead of piebald mares, but the spirit of the Old West is very much alive here.  You've got your honest lawman, your flawed hero looking for redemption from a world that let him down, your black-hat villain with his big stomping boots and his villainous grin.  Look, just watch this one.  It's a good movie.



FRIGHT NIGHT (2011 Version)


RATING: Eight screaming vampire heads out of ten.  Again, not quite perfect, but a great movie anyway.
Good points:  Doesn't take itself too seriously.  David Tennant plays Peter Vincent.  Yes, that David Tennant, of Dr. Who fame.  Also, this movie is not 'Conan the Barbarian,' which in itself is a very good thing.
Bad points: Okay, you're a vampire who has survived for centuries by feeding on the blood of the living.  You've seen war.  You've seen pestilence.  You've seen hundreds if not thousands of attempts by humans to strike you down.  But have you never seen a ten dollar wristwatch?  No?  And it never once occurred to you that having some method of determining the time of the sunrise might be worth checking into?  No?  Well okay then.
Comments:  Yes, 1980s vampire killer Charlie Brewster gets a 21st-century reboot in the remake of the classic Fright Night.  This time around, Charlie makes his home in Las Vegas, which also seems inviting to his new next-door neighbor, who isn't the least bit interested in gambling.  Nosey Charlie soon knows too much, and fanged hilarity ensues.  My favorite character was Peter Vincent, who is a Vegas stage magician in this version of the story.  The movie is fairly faithful to the original, but about that I will say no more.  I won't call this a horror movie, because it never really went for the jugular, but it was a fun way to spend an afternoon, and I don't really ask much more than that from remakes of 80s flicks anyway.  Give it a look.  

E-signing e-books on e-ink e-readers.

The future has arrived.

It's not the future I expected or hoped for, because instead of bringing me flying cars and Mars colonies and teleport pads, the future just slouched in, looked around with bleary eyes, and started complaining about his lousy data service with AT&T.

I think we can pretty much forget flying cars.  Ever.  We'll be lucky if we don't all wind up walking through some Mad Max leather-n-rubble post-apocalypse ruinscape on our way to trade old cans of beans for dirty  water at Bartertown.

But one thing I can do, people, is finally sign all my e-books digitally so you can view the inscription and signature (and the book cover, rendered in stunning grey-scale e-ink) right there on your Amazon Kindle e-reader.

How, you ask, your heart racing in rapt anticipation?

You merely click your way to www.kindlegraph.com and click 'Request Kindlegraph' under the appropriate cover of my book.  The 'signed' page will be delivered to your Kindle via the dark magic of the Whispernet before you can say 'egregious self-promotion.'

Is that all there is to it, you ask, incredulous?

Heck no.  You also have to stick Kindlegraph's email address in your 'Manage My Kindle' page on your Amazon account, or your Kindle will refuse the email from Kindlegraph.  Doing that is easy, though -- it just takes a couple of clicks.  A how-to page is here.  Make sure you don't skip Step 5!

It's easy and fun.  So if you want me to inscribe your electrons, head on over.

We can do this while we wait for the Future to get some rest and shave and maybe get started on the Mars colonies.

Adventures in PC Migrations

I've been stuck in computer move mode for the last few days.  My faithful but aging Dell XPS entered his retirement, where he will serve as a backup machine and step back into the fray if, Cthulhu forbid, my shiny new homebuilt job has issues.

All my writing files were swapped over to the new machine first, of course.  Then photos, various programs, and of course music, which is still a work in progress.

But I've now got a sweet dual-monitor setup, which means I don't have to squint and lean any more.  And the new homebuilt rig has a quad-core processor so I can run as many things as I please, all at the same time.  I predict this will allow me to confuse subject/verb agreement 38% faster than ever before!

I have to say Windows 7 has been a pleasant surprise.  I haven't foamed at the mouth or punched the keyboard in rage a single time, which is quite different from the last time I moved a whole system from one hardware platform to another.

I've been asked why I don't work on a Mac.  Nothing against Macs, really, it's just that A) you can't get decent games for the things and B) I want to swap out my own parts and I don't even know where to buy a Mac motherboard, for instance.  Do Macs even have motherboards?  Or do they run on the captured dreams of unicorns and a single tiny gleam from Steve Jobs' eye?  Not sure, but I don't think NewEgg sells either.

So now that I'm all set up it's time to get back to work on the new Markhat novel.

Oh, one last note.  My fictional steamboat the Brown River Queen is based on a real steamboat, the American Queen.  Turns out the American Queen is being relocated to nearby Memphis, Tennessee, where after a year of renovations she will ply the muddy Mississippi as a cruise boat.  I plan to visit her, and see how close I got in describing the real thing.  Sure, the American Queen won't be stoked by ogres or be lit by magic, but otherwise they're much the same.

SyFy Channel Makes More Wise Decisions

Remember a show called Farscape?


Anybody else love Stargate Universe?


Well, if so, you can add Eureka to the list of good shows the SyFy Channel has canceled.

I'm pretty pissed about it, too.  Sure, the science on Eureka was often, um, well.  Wrong is such a harsh word.  But I didn't mind, because the show was funny and bright and able to wink at itself.  It had engaging characters, all well-written and masterfully portrayed.  It was entertaining, and I'm not the easiest guy to entertain.

And now it's gone, because some blubbering dunderhead at SyFy decided it was too expensive to produce.

I'm sure it was expensive.  Quality usually is.  And I wouldn't be so angry about the cancellation if I had any confidence that Eureka would be replaced by something other than a lame supernatural reality show or a half-assed reboot of some obscure 80s failure.

Or, Chthulhu forbid, more wrestling.  


This just in --

(AP)  An interview with SyFy Channel executives regarding the cancellation of 'Eureka' revealed that the network is moving toward a "drunker, more violent, criminally-insane demographic" which prefers shows centered around "wrestling, improbably large reptiles, and frequent appearances by semi-nude WWF celebrities liberally covered in body oil."


"We understand that some Eureka fans are upset, but frankly we don't give a crap," claimed one executive. "Have you seen my drink?"


"Isn't sci-fi supposed to be about giant snakes anyway?" asked another, as he fumbled with his bong. "Giant snakes and that Tiffany chick, right? Super."


The show destined to replace 'Eureka' in its Monday evening time slot, 'WrestlerSnake EXTREME," is already in production and will begin airing early next year.

London Burning

All my British friends are aghast at the violence sweeping parts of London tonight.  From what I see on Twitter, mobs are setting shops and homes aflame after looting them.  They're using Blackberry phones to coordinate their attacks, and I've also seen rumors that the rioters are targeting witnesses who tweet about it with Twitter's location feature.

The mob is composed of the ever-popular generic 'youth.'  The rioters call themselves protesters, angry over a police shooting.  Everyone else calls them looters, because anger over a police shooting is hard to equate with stripping the shelves of the nearest Best Buy before charging off to find a tennis shoe store.

The British police have thus far been over-run or reduced to standing around watching the flames.  Which might beg the question 'Why don't cops have guns?' but since I'm not British I suppose that's really none of my business.

I do wish all my British fans and friends safety and peace.  I hope you all emerge from this mess unscathed, unlooted, and un-arsoned.

These are difficult times.  I fear that before it starts getting better it's going to get a lot worse, for all of us.

Stay safe out there.