Richard Paolinelli's Blog, page 31
September 13, 2020
A Season Like No Other
Right about now, NFL games across the country will be kicking off to start the first Sunday of the new season. The season officially got underway last Thursday in Kansas City. I hear the Chiefs beat the Texans. I wouldn’t know how the game played out because I didn’t watch a second of it.
I not going to be watching today either. Nor later tonight, nor tomorrow night either. I won’t be watching next week, or the week after that. For the first time since the 1960s – when I didn’t watch my first game until I was five – I will not be watching NFL games.
[image error]Usually on Sundays like today I fire up the TV, make my last second adjustments to my fantasy lineup, and turn on NFL Redzone to catch all the action across every game being played. No more. I dropped out of both fantasy leagues I’ve been in for years when the NFL decided to yield to the players and bend the knee to the SJWs.
They are free to do so. But they can do so without another penny of my financial support. They can do so without my watching a single second of their advertisers ads. Many fans across the country are saying the same and it showed in Thursday night’s season opener’s ratings which were down from last year. I’m betting the ratings for today’s games will be just as bad.
A friend asked me if I would come back when, and if, the sports leagues woke up and realized how stupid they were to throw in with a bunch of domestic terrorists. My answer surprised even me: No. I won’t.
Back when I was a kid I didn’t care who played on which team. I just wanted to know if my team won, what was the final score and where were they in the standings. I’ve decided to go back to that philosophy.
I found a website that just lists the final scores and the standings. You can even set it to focus on specific teams. They cover every league around the world. Nice and simple. No more than five minutes out of my day and I have all the information I need.
No websites like ESPN that think they have to preach at the alter of Social Justice. No fluff pieces about players who, even if you spotted them the C, the A, and the T couldn’t spell the word CAT. No spoiled brat prima donna making $30 million a year to hit a ball with an overgrown toothpick, or put a ball in a hoop lecturing the rest of us down in the $15-25 an hour block how rough their life is here in the U.S. No watching games being played in multi-billion dollar, and often taxpayer funded, palaces while millions of Americans go homeless while wondering if they’ll even get one meal on any given day, much less three.
How much money have we wasted on these players and stadiums? How much better spent that money would have been where it could have done some real good?
In addition to not wasting money on an endeavor that yields no overall good to humanity, I have the added bonus of discovering that I am enjoying all the other things I now have time to do.
And when these sports leagues go bankrupt, when these palaces crumble into abandoned ruins and these players get introduced to the harsh reality of life in the real world, that laughter you will hear will be coming from me. The sportsballers will have earned every last second of it.
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Superversive Sunday Spotlight: Declan Finn
Welcome to this week’s Superversive Sunday Spotlight. Every week we will chat with a Superversive author that you really should be reading.
This week we welcome Superversive author, Declan Finn:
How long have you been writing?
Since I was 16. Therefore, 22 years. I started with Fan fiction, that turned into my own world after the first thousand pages.
[image error]Which writers inspire you?
J. Michael Straczynski. Timothy Zahn. John C Wright. L Jagi Lamplighter Wright. John Ringo. Jim Butcher.
So, what have you written?
What have I written? Somewhere around 40 novels on my computer. I have multiple short stories written and published. In the interest of brevity, I’ll limit myself to the novels I’ve published.
It was Only on Stun! https://amzn.to/2H97POr
This one is your standard murder mystery at a con. Our hero is a private security contractor, brought in to protect an actress from the Balkans who was driven out. Now they want to kill her. But boy, did they come to the wrong place.
The Pius Trilogy – 5 http://amzn.to/2ENjqRB
[image error]I’ve often said that the story of my writing career can be summed up in “as then it spiraled.” In this case, a graduate school paper got out of hand. A thriller turned into three books. Then I added an anthology. Then I added a volume of history. So … it spiraled.
Set to Kill https://amzn.to/2HLJGyB
A sequel for Stun! The same security contractor, after the events of The Pius Trilogy, has come back to run security for WyvernCon.
Sad Puppies Bite Back https://amzn.to/2H4Lbuh
This is a piece of satire that started out as a series of blog posts. It was supposed to stop at three posts. After it turned into 30, I was encouraged to publish it as novels.
Live and Let Bite – 4 https://amzn.to/2VGbSK0
This series is responsible for two of my Dragon Award nominations for best horror. Book 1, Honor at Stake, and book 3, Live and Let Bite. This is was my first urban fantasy series. It could technically be considered paranormal romance. Granted, my idea of “romance” involves a SpecOps strike team of Vatican ninjas, throwing Stars of David, RPGs, and other high explosives.
Codename Winterborn
Codename UnSub https://amzn.to/2vmxnWS
One of my coauthored works. This follows a small nuclear war, and one man wrapped up in political BS that gets everyone around him killed. His quest for vengeance leads to some fun … and a lot of dead politicians.
Saint Tommy NYPD – 7
Read the “What I’m working on” segment.
Too Secret Service
Meet Wayne Williams and Catherine Miller. He’s a Secret Service Agent. She’s a CIA assassin. Together, they can save the world. If they don’t kill each other first. It was written at a time when I thought that novels were four hundred pages – single spaced, eight and a half by eleven length pages. Since that was more than twice the size of most indie books, they needed to be split up.
Dances with Werewolves.
Think of Live and Let Die. Then add in modern elements to shoot at.
For All Their Wars are Merry:
I wrote a history of Irish Rebel songs for a graduate thesis. And here it is.
Clerical Error https://amzn.to/2uxmu4W
This one is a historical novel, with a murder mystery thrown in for fun.
What draws you to Superversive writing?
Superversive writing, to me, has always been plain old “writing.” When I grew up, entertainment was edifying. You read it, enjoyed it, and came away with something more to your life. It built you up and added to you. If you come away feeling empty inside, then the author did not do their job.
Frankly, we only need the special label because so many idiots have entered the field and decided “Realism” equals “suicide inducing.”
It’s also total BS.
Take Lord of the Flies. Shouldn’t it make sense that teenage or prepubescent boys, left on their own devices, should turn into a bunch of savages? Looking at a high school cafeteria, they seem savage enough already. But, as shown by real life events, that was complete crap. A group of male school students were left on an island, and somehow, didn’t kill each other.
“Realism” in writing isn’t real. It’s less than real. It makes life more bitter, more dank and depressing, all in the name of mirroring the world. Except the mirror is black and cracked, writing by nihilists who would rather drag other people down to their level.
After all, Tolkien was a veteran of World War One. He lost all of his friends in the Somme—literally, Tolkien’s entire school class was slaughtered around him. He writes Lord of the Rings, one of the most Superversive works of all time. It is the draft dodger, George RR Martin, who had never been closer to a battlefield than a movie theater, who brings you the “realism” of Game of Thrones—where the moral is that there are no morals. To call it a Lord of the Rings snuff porn parody is probably too nice.
Let’s be perfectly honest, if art has to have something honest and truthful to it, there is probably more truth in Team America World Police than there is in the news. (If you don’t believe me, look up Jack Reed or Walter Duranty on how they “reported” on the Russian revolution, ignoring thousands dead and a massive manmade famine so they could spin a socialist success).
Storytelling is Superversive. Period. Full stop. Otherwise it’s just bad writing.
What are you working on at the minute?
I’m between books right now. Overall, I’m writing my Saint Tommy, NYPD series. The premise is simple: a New York City police detective receives charisms—supernatural gifts from God (such as bilocation, smelling evil, etc)—right before he has to hunt down a possessed serial killer. Along the way, he battles death cults, warlocks, Jihadi X-Men, atheist terrorists, sex-trafficking succubi, Kaiju demons, evil Jesuits, and other agents of Hell.
I just finished book #10, Lightbringer, and I have not started the next one. I have #11 and #12 outlined.
Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors.
I don’t read as much as I used to. I’m too busy. One of the many things I miss about full time work (in an office, where I’m working for other people) is commute by public transit. Riding the subway and buses in high school allowed me to finish a Tom Clancy novel a week.
Lately, if I can finish an averaged size novel every two weeks, I feel like I’ve made an accomplishment.
My favorite authors are simple: just see my writing influences.
How can readers discover more about you and your work?
DeclanFinn.com. If the website gives you any trouble, try http://www.declanfinn.com. For some reason, the website can’t decide if it wants a WWW or not.
I’m kicking around Facebook, via both a page and my profile. And my current Twitter is @DeclanFinnBooks
Thanks for sharing Declan. Be sure to check out Declan’s books and be sure to check back next Sunday for our next chat with a Superversive author.
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September 12, 2020
Planetary: Neptune – The Book Trailer
Enjoy!!!!
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The Calling: Part 2, Chapter 12
A Work Of Star Trek Fan Fiction By Richard Paolinelli
© 2020 RICHARD PAOLINELLI . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO COPYING OR ANY OTHER REPRODUCTION OF THIS STORY IS PERMITTED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. This is a work of fan fiction based in the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. It is not intended to be sold, to be used to aid in any sale and is not to be copied or used in any other way by any other party.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Spock gently laid the tip off a single finger on his queen as he calmly studied the board. Forelni kept his face as blank as possible, affecting an air of indifference to his opponent’s actions.
But in reality he really needed Spock to move his queen, currently threatened by Forelni’s well-protected bishop, and open the door for checkmate in three moves. If Spock failed to move the Queen, instead choosing to block the attack, Forelni would have to reset his attack and the match would likely end in a draw and a needed twenty-fourth match.
However, if Spock chose to sacrifice his queen and moved his knight down from the third level, Forelni would be checkmated in two moves and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do to prevent it. Spock started to lift the queen, and then paused as an eyebrow lifted.
Uh oh, Forelni thought keeping his face a mask. Spock withdrew his hand from his queen and reached up for that white knight and moved it exactly where Forelni didn’t need it to be moved to.
Forelni scanned the board one last time, looking for a way out of the trap he’d apparently set for himself. Finding no other option he reached for his king and gently tipped it over as he rose from his chair. Several in the gallery gasped as they suddenly realized what he’d seen coming. Spock had won.
“Congratulations, Commander,” Forelni sketched a bow as the gallery applauded. “It’s been an honor, Sir.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Spock extended his hand. “You have been a worthy opponent.”
ICF President Bateman stepped forward and presented Forelni with a silver disk, given to the runner-up. She then turned to present Spock with a golden medallion suspended from a gold chain – awarded to the Galactic Grand Champion.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Bateman said after the applause died down. “On behalf of the Intergalactic Chess Federation, and in recognition of perhaps the greatest final series in tournament history, it is my honor to confer onto both you, Commander Spock, and you, Lt. Commander Bari Forelni, the status of Intergalactic Grand Master.”
As another round of applause broke out, she produced two pendants and pinned one to each of the lapels of their dress uniforms. Forelni took advantage of Ramones interviewing Spock to take his leave of the stage. Spotting several members of his security crew glumly gathered near the buffet he headed on over.
“Mr. Butler,” he greeted. “You gentlemen appear to be taking my loss harder than I am.”
“We had a bet, Sir, with the crew down in cargo control.”
“Oh? I hope it wasn’t for too many credits.”
“It wasn’t credits, Sir,” Officer Rick Ewald admitted.
“I see. How are you expected to settle your wager, Mr. Ewald?”
“We have to handle the cargo transfers, both ways, while we are in orbit over Auriga III,” Butler answered.
“That’s quite a lot of work, especially later today when we start beaming supplies down.”
“Aye, Sir, we know.”
“Well, Gentlemen, I suggest we take full advantage of this buffet and eat hearty,” Forelni said with a wave of his hand. “We’re going to need it.”
“We, Sir?”
“Mr. Butler, what kind of a commanding officer would I be if I let my crew pick up the check for my shortcomings in chess?”
* * *
“Mr. Kyle, we’re starting to pile up out in the hall,” Forelni remarked later that afternoon in the main cargo hold, after the Enterprise had made orbit around Auriga III. He’d seen both Bateman and Ramones and four members of their staffs off on their shuttle. Ensign Pamela Stump, who was transferring to the Lafayette, was flying them to Starbase 16 where they would catch a ride back to Earth. Now he was helping his men settle their debt with cargo.
“Aye, Sir,” Kyle acknowledged as he adjusted the transporter console. “We’ve been picking up some odd, low-level radiation coming from Auriga ever since we made orbit. Whatever it is, it’s something Mr. Spock says he’s never seen it’s like before.”
“Should we take a look at using shuttlecraft instead?”
“No, Sir. Mr. Spock has been making adjustments to the shields based on his readings. I just need to make a few minor adjustments to the transporter. Mr. Scott has already rerouted additional power to transport console here from the Main Transporter Room since we’ll be doing all the transporting of cargo down here.”
“We’ve got two hours before Dr. Whitme’s team is scheduled to beam down,” Forelni pointed out. “Can we get this cargo down below in time to bring the main transporter back on line?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Sir,” Kyle looked up from the console. “We’re ready to send the first shipment down.”
“You heard the man,” Forelni helped his six-man crew load the first six containers onto the platform. Kyle completed the process and had confirmed transport as Drs. Whitme and Niskala rushed in with the rest of their team in tow.
“You’re a little early, Doctors,” Forelni said.
“We just got a message from the site,” Dr. Whitme explained. “They’ve found an intact structure below ground. They’re waiting for us to get down there before they open it up. We’d like to get down there as soon as possible.”
“I suppose that’s understandable,” Forelni looked over at Kyle. “Any problems with that transport?”
“No interference from the Auriga radiation. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Very well then. Doctors, if you and your team will step up on the pad, we’ll get you down there and we’ll get the rest of your equipment down as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Niskala said as she stepped onto a disc.
“Good digging. Energize, Mr. Kyle.”
The team dissolved into the transport effect and disappeared.
“Transport complete.” Kyle reported.
“Very good. Alright gentlemen, let’s get the rest of this stuff down below on the double.”
“What’s the hurry, sir?” Butler asked.
“Mr. Butler,” Forelni replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “The sooner we get this job done, the sooner we can start planning on our revenge on cargo for winning that bet.”
A chorus of “Aye, Aye, Sir!” rang out loud and clear on the deck.
* * *
“Remind you of anyone?” McCoy asked from the other side of the cargo deck, where he and Kirk had quietly been watching unnoticed.
“What exactly are you implying, Bones?”
“That he’s going to make a hell of a Starship Captain.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“I thought you were supposed to keep that quiet?”
Kirk just shrugged. McCoy chuckled.
“Like I said, doesn’t he remind you of someone?”
* * *
Five days passed quietly. There was limited space under the temporary dome and construction of the larger, more permanent dome was still incomplete. Which meant no one from the ship could beam down to the surface and check out the dig.
Spock and his science department focus their attention on the old star, trying to determine what was generating the odd radiation waves that occasionally spiked and required the ship to raise shields. The dome’s shielding was sufficient to keep those on the surface safe.
The rest of the crew made use of the quiet time to catch up on less important work that usually got set aside during normal ship’s activity. Forelni ran a few security drills but Kirk never heard what, if anything, Security had done in regards to the lost wager with Cargo.
“Message from Dr. Whitme, Captain,” Uhura announced.
“On screen,” Kirk ordered. “Doctor, how goes the dig?”
“Very well, Captain. Maybe even too well. We’re running out of space to store the artifacts after we catalogue them. I was wondering if we could send up some containers and have you take them back to Starbase 28 so they can be shipped back to our University on Centauri IV?”
Kirk hesitated, as he knew his orders weren’t going to send Enterprise back to Starbase 28. But, they would pass close enough to the Centauri system that he could detour long enough to drop off whatever was sent up at the University.
“I wouldn’t ask if we had any other place to safely store them until the permanent dome is finished, Captain,” Dr. Whitme added, mistaking Kirk’s silence for reluctance.
“It’s not a problem, Doctor. It’s just that we are scheduled to depart in less than two days,” Kirk explained. “The Sierra will be nearby to make sure no smugglers return to the area. I’m not sure how much we’ll be able to beam up and store on the Enterprise before we depart.”
“Anything you can take on would be a great help, Captain.”
“Very well, Doctor, we’ll start beaming up as soon as you are ready.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Mr. Forelni, it looks like you’ve just drawn a lot of overtime for you and your men,” Kirk closed communication with the planet as he swiveled toward the Security station.
“So it would seem,” Forelni agreed, toggling the communications button at his station. “Bridge to Lieutenant Piatt.”
“Here, sir,” Paul Piatt, the ship’s Cargo Officer replied.
“Mr. Piatt, bet or no bet, we’ve got a lot of cargo coming our way from the surface and little time to get it up here,” Forelni informed the officer. “Get all your people up and meet me and all of my available Security personnel on the Cargo Deck in five minutes. You might as well wake up Mr. Kyle and ruin his off duty time too.”
“Have fun down there, Mr. Forelni,” Kirk said as his Security Chief headed for the turbolift. He got a dour look in return just before the doors closed.
“Next time, Captain, remind me to use the phaser-to-white-knight-2 maneuver.”
* * *
“Just one more item to send up and I think we’ll be able to handle the rest until the dome is finished, Commander,” Dr. Niskala reported thirty-six hours later.
“That’s good to hear, Doctor,” Forelni replied. “I’m not sure we have room for anything else up here. You really hit the jackpot down there.”
“We sure did,” she agreed. “It looks like we found the Royal Palace. We’ll be studying this site for years if this location is any indication.”
“I don’t doubt it. So what is our final item?”
“Here, I’ll show you.”
The view from the Doctor’s pad swung away from her to a life-sized portrait of a woman. She wore a crown over raven-black hair, a necklace of several large jewels and a dark blue cape over a lighter blue full-length gown. Whoever the artist had been he or she had been a master, the model a stunning beauty, and the blue eyes on the portrait seemed to be alive.
“Wow,” Forelni said softly.
“That seemed to be the consensus reaction down here when we discovered it.”
“Well, let’s bring it on up as soon as you are ready, Doctor.”
“Go ahead, Commander,” Niskala said after making sure the portrait was secured in its case.
“Energize, Mr. Kyle.”
“Transporting now, Sir,” Kyle replied as he manipulated the controls.
“Incoming radiation spike,” Spock reported, “increasing power to the shields.”
“Kyle?”
“I can’t complete the transport until the shields go back down, sir,” Kyle said. “And I can’t reverse it either.”
“Can you hold the pattern?”
“Not for much longer without more power and I’m at maximum now.”
“Cargo Transporter to Engineering,” Forelni stabbed to comm panel. “I need emergency power to the transporter now.”
“We can’t divert any from the shields, Commander,” Scotty reported.
“Can you tap into the warp engines?”
“Aye, lad, that I can give ye. Stand by.”
“Quickly, Mr. Scott.”
“Power levels increasing, Sir,” Kyle exclaimed.
“Cargo Transporter to Bridge. Is there an estimate on how long until we can lower shields?”
“This wave should pass in fifteen seconds, Commander,” Spock answered. Forelni glanced at Kyle, who nodded that he could hold the pattern that long.
“The danger has passed,” Spock called out fifteen seconds later. “Lowering shields now.”
“Alright, Mr. Kyle, finish bringing it aboard.”
Kyle’s hands flew over the console. But instead of a large rectangle shape forming on the pad, a humanoid form was taking shape, solidifying into a very human-looking woman as Kyle announced transport complete.
A raven-haired woman with piercing blue eyes, garbed in a blue cape and gown with a gleaming gold crown in her hair. In a flash she withdrew a very nasty-looking blade from the scabbard at her belt – an item the artist had failed to record in the original portrait, or Forelni hadn’t seen when he looked at it.
Obviously frightened and disoriented, her gaze darted around as if she were trying to decide who she was going to stick that blade into first.
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September 11, 2020
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Remembering 9/11/2001
I was considering not doing this post, mainly because others who were more directly impacted by the events of that fateful morning have been sharing their thoughts. Their memories, their losses, are much more poignant than mine.
But I have been reflecting on that day, how much has changed since, and how much the fallout from the attacks continues to be felt today.
I was working at the Merced Sun-Star in California then. I remember watching the news stories come across the wire, the constant updates on the TVs in the newsrooms. The discussions as how to lay out the front page – I was working the hard news side for a few months down there before permanently moving back to sports – went on for some time. The Managing Editor – a gutless wonder – went with a bland, safe headline as to not “offend” certain members of the community. It was so punchless that I honestly cannot recall what he settled on. I was pushing for “Another Day Of Infamy” myself, the head of the copy desk had a good suggestion too. Both were rejected.
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The one paper published that day that really stood out was this one from the San Francisco Examiner – ironically enough, the last print newspaper I would work for before calling it a career:
It said everything that needed to be said. It summed up everything we were all feeling as that horrible day unfolded.
Obviously, those images, the images of the chaos and destruction, of people choosing to jump from a height of over 1,000 feet to their death rather than to choke to death on toxic fumes or be burned alive, of first responders charging in to try to save lives and those that did not make it back out, of the towers collapsing, of the Pentagon burning and the smoldering remains of Flight 93 in a field in Pennsylvania remain with all of us today.
I got off work that night around 11, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and facing a 30-minute drive home from Merced to my house in Turlock. Septembers in the Central Valley are very warm, so I dropped the top of my Sebring and let the air flow over me. There was a wreck on Highway 99 that night, and traffic was stopped long enough to move the cars off the road. I sat there for 20 minutes and looked up and the night sky .
Because we were in the approach lanes for the three Bay Area airports there are always planes in the sky up until around 1 a.m. On this night, there was nothing but those stars visible on a Moon-less, cloudless night. I realized that all over the country, this was the case. Nothing was moving up there. I wondered then how long it would be before the old normal would come back.
Nineteen years later, I’m still wondering…
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Free Read Friday: September 11, 2020
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September 10, 2020
Planetary: Sol Book Trailer
Check out the book trailer for Planetary Anthology Series: Sol which is set for release on Nov. 10th:
You can pre-order your copy of Planetary Anthology Series: Sol here.
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September 9, 2020
I’m On Impact Radio
https://pod.co/impact-radio-usa/dr-pauls-family-talk-9-9-20
This week I pop in at the 40:56 mark if you want to jump straight to me, but you should really catch the whole show if you can!
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Dear Darth J.J., Darth Rian, Get Lost
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