Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Daily Doctor: I hate pears
I love the Tenth Doctor and David Tennant about as much as he hates pears. Enjoy this hilarious demonstration of the gift of the gab!
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Pens for Writers
They are the implements of our creativity, the wellspring of
our words. I’m ever so slightly picky about pens: I far prefer blue ink.
Ballpoint is fine, I’m not a fountain pen snob. Purple is even better than blue
if I can get it, but it feels like an extra special occasion and sometimes the
words jam up for fear of wasting it. I do like a nice grip to hang onto, but of
course that’s not a must.
I suppose I’m less picky than I often think. Any tool will
do in a pinch—I’m using black ink now, and it isn’t really slowing me down any.
I write large, filling the lines almost completely from
bottom to top even with my lowercase letters. When I get properly inspired, I
ignore the lines altogether and write even larger, in crazy malformed scribbles
that others would likely have a hard time reading. Just as well they don’t have
to: such pages are my pre-work, initial ideas and basic structures before
actually launching into the writing of a scene for a novel.
And in this way, the blank page of pixels does not stymy my
efforts.
Monday, 22 July 2013
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE IN SPACE: Take Your Pick
Friends, it has long been in my mind to write a book around the concept "Pride and Prejudice in Space". As I embark upon the journey it has come to my attention that there are varying ways to tackle such an endeavour. Therefore, I have completed the first chapter in two different manners, and present them here for your perusal. Please help me make the decision as to which I should pursue farther...I await your comments!
(A) MORE OR LESS CLASSIC
It is a truth universally
acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good spaceship, must be in
want of a first mate.
However little known the feelings
or views of such a man may be on his first entering the planetary atmosphere, this truth
is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is
considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.
"My dear Mr. Bennet,"
said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that the luxury bunker over
in Mining Sector 8E is let at last?"
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned
she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about
it."
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
"Do you not want to know who
has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.
"You want to tell me, and I
have no objection to hearing it."
This was invitation enough.
"Why, my dear, you must know,
Mrs. Long says that the bunker is taken by a young man of large fortune from Avenir
station; that he came down from space last fiveday summer in a private shuttle
to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr.
Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before the Festival of
Founding, and some of his cyborgs are to be in the house by the end of next
week."
"What is his name?"
"Bingley."
"Is he married or
single?"
"Oh! Single, my dear, to be
sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year from
nanofactory ownership. What a fine thing for our girls!"
"How so? How can it affect
them?"
"My dear Mr. Bennet,"
replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am
thinking of his marrying one of them."
"Is that his design in
settling here?"
"Design! Nonsense, how can you
talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and
therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."
"I see no occasion for that.
You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps
will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley
may like you the best of the party."
"My dear, you flatter me. I
certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything
extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give
over thinking of her own beauty."
"In such cases, a woman has
not often much beauty to think of."
"But, my dear, you must indeed
go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."
"It is more than I engage for,
I assure you."
"But consider your daughters.
Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Foreman William Lucas
and his wife are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you
know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible
for us to visit him if you do not. You are far more gifted in making our beetle
pull the carriage."
"You are over-scrupulous,
surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a
few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever
he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little
Lizzy."
"I desire you will do no such
thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half
so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always
giving her the preference."
"They have none of them much
to recommend them," replied he; "they are all silly and ignorant like
other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."
"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse
your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no
compassion for my poor nerves. I think I may be getting ash lung."
"You mistake me, my dear. I
have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you
mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least."
"Ah, you do not know what I
suffer."
"But I hope you will get over
it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the
neighbourhood."
"It will be no use to us, if
twenty such should come, since you will not visit them."
"Depend upon it, my dear, that
when there are twenty, I will visit them all."
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of
quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of nineteen
Foundings had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her
mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding,
little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she
fancied herself nervous or dying of ash lung. The business of her life was to
get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.
(B) A LITTLE BIT WILDER
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lady in possession of a good spaceship, who comes down from heaven to hunt beetles, must become a magnet to the males for miles around—sight unseen, of course.
Not that Karlita Tower was ugly. It was more the case that people, upon seeing her, would say things like “Oh,” and think things like is this really the Avenir heiress being chased by half the colony? But then, money always talked louder than looks, especially in the arid wastes of Eclectia.
Karlita’s own feelings and views were little known upon her arrival in Mining Sector 8, yet her practical desirability was already so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding inhabitants that she was considered the rightful property or indeed a sugar mama of one or more of their sons.
The Benedict family was no exception. “Knute!” said Adlade on coming home that day, leaning her spear in the corner and tossing a bag of larvae onto the table. “Knute, do you remember that fancy bunker the aristos fitted out five Foundings ago?”
Knute emerged from the kitchen, wisps of grey hair floating up from his pate. “Shut that door, will you? Don’t want any more ash in here than we already have…That luxury place over in 8E? Yeah, I remember.”
“It’s lived in finally. For a while at least. And you won’t believe who it is.” Adlade slammed the door against the gritty wind, still twitching and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Knute sighed. “I see you want to tell me, so go ahead and spill it.”
“Karlita Tower! The aristo said to be inheriting half of Avenir.”
“Bah. A mass of metal out in space—who wants to inherit that?”
Adlade frowned at her husband. “Only a madman would say Avenir isn’t important.”
“Then, my dear, you must have married a madman.”
Her stomach rumbled and she reached for the bag again, but Knute stopped her. “Nuh-uh. Let me cook them first.” He looked inside and withdrew a fist-sized wriggler. “Good haul today. These’ll go great with beetle meat—if the boys managed to trade for some.”
She followed him through the mud-brick doorway and watched as he plopped the larvae into a pot, then dipped herself a little of the brackish water from the barrel. “They’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to tell them.”
“Why would they possibly be interested?”
Adlade tipped her head back and groaned at the ceiling. “You are the most impossible man on this planet. Can you honestly not see the potential of a rich girl living in our vicinity?”
Knute nodded at the pot. “Will she buy your creepies for eatin’? Or the rocks we mine? Maybe that’s it. Rich folks like diamonds, right?”
“Impossible, I tell you!” She emptied the cup and slammed it down. “Don’t you realise—she’s single!”
“Ahhh!” Knute’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “You want her to develop an attachment to a local boy?”
“She can have all of ours if she wants. Whale knows we need them taken off our hands.” Adlade waved her hands at Knute’s downcast look. “Oh, don’t be such a sod. Sure, you could have handled your finances better, but the past’s the past and we have to provide for them some other way.”
“I suppose she’ll be throwing parties and suchlike.”
“Knute, you couldn’t show less enthusiasm if you tried. We have to at least meet her and get her introduced to our three.”
“Don’t wanna,” he growled.
“Then some other young men will sweep her off her feet. It’s all about being proactive, dear.”
“Let the boys be proactive on their own behalf, then. I weary of these politics.”
“You signed up for a lifetime of politics when you sold your land to your cousin.”
The water came to a boil and Knute stirred the larvae with a stick. “The woman speaks truth. I have nothing left for my own progeny.”
He fell silent and Adlade began to feel badly for pestering him so. She retreated to the tattered cassock in the front room, where she listened for the sounds of her sons’ return from the mines. But all she heard was the rumbling of her stomach and the howling of the gale.
Adlade awoke to the smell of food and the clumping of boots. She opened her eyes and smiled at her sons, who carried several interesting-looking packages. “Did you get any meat?”
“A little,” said Reilly, the middle one. He hefted one of his sacks.
Zane looked apologetic. “I still have today’s diamonds. I should be able to trade them tomorrow.”
Adlade turned to the youngest, but Lantan only frowned. “I told you I’m no good at mining. Send me to Adagio, or better yet, Zirconia or Avenir, and I’ll make myself useful. But not here.”
“Did you even try?” Knute ran a finger over the shiny clean tools clipped to Lantan’s pack.
“Stood around watching, more like.” Zane glared at him.
“His first time, give him a break.” Reilly handed the meat sack to his father, who went to add its contents to the meal.
Friday, 3 May 2013
A Visit from Karina Fabian
Today I'm welcoming an old friend to my blog on the occasion of her new book's release! After reading it I had some questions for Karina, and you can follow our conversation below.
But first, the book:
And now, here's Karina! First question...Even though you say this story is more serious than other Vern tales, it's still crammed with one-liners and groan-worthy puns. My favourite is the one with the filet, but I won't spoil the rest! Tell me, have you always been such a veritable fount of puns, or is this something you had to study up on for Vern's stories? Do you have a trove of gags where you collect things for later use?I love puns, and have from a very young age. Growing up, my favorite cartoons were the ones with the plays on words. When I was in speech and debate in high school, we’d spend much of the bus trip on puns, and in college, we used to have challenges during lunch—we’d wax philosophical about the stacks of dishes, pretending they were modern art. I ran with a weird crowd. Rob and I fell in love over pizza and puns at Shakey’s restaurant in San Angelo, TX. So it’s in my blood, and we’ve passed it on to the kids.
The artifact that everyone is chasing is a well known icon of fantasy tales. Did you begin with that icon, or did you begin with the story and add the icon later? In fact, how did this all begin - where did the idea for this particular story come from?
I began with the story, which is based on the noir film, The Maltese Falcon. I needed something with more oomph than a bird statue, though. I don’t remember why I thought of the Lance of Longinus, but it made sense, and as I read up on its history and the conspiracy theories around it, I knew I could have fun with it. (I’ve never seen it used in fantasy before. You’ll have to share some titles!)
Well, there's The Iron Lance by Stephen Lawhead, which I believe concerns the same thing, and I seem to remember reading some Indiana Jones tie-in, and other stories. Of course I may be mistaken but the topic seemed familiar to me.
You say you have other similar stories which you plan to release. May I ask how many are waiting in the wings (at the current time - of course there will be others yet to be written)? Can you give us a few hints hint at what sort of wacky cases Vern might run into in future?
I have several novellas or story collections I could put together, though some would need polish or another story to companion it, to make them worth a book. I still need to write the novel where Vern meets Los Lagos’ first native-born superhero, Gapman. I have a wonderful background story on Sister Grace that I may companion with the Vern vs. St. George story I need to write. But first, I have a novel to write (Mind Over All, the last in the Mind Over trilogy) and kids to get settled into college, plus Rob is retiring, so our lives are in flux. I also want to see how well my first self-publishing adventure turns out. So far, so good: it was #60 in Urban Fantasy on April 20.
This world you have created involves complex interactions between Faerie and Mundane, religious and anti, science and magic. (Even some angels this time, and I must say, I rather like what you had them do.) Is that balance something that came naturally to you, or was it a struggle at any point?
It’s constantly evolving. I’m discovering the world as I write the stories, so in a sense it’s easy—I let the characters tell me what’s going on—but it can also be a struggle to make sure I don’t contradict myself or mess up the logic of the world for the sake of a story.
I imagine you sitting there laughing away as you slam these stories into your keyboard. Is that the case? Or does this kind of writing take just as much motivation as any other kind?
I’m shameless. I do laugh at my own jokes. However, I often need to push myself to get started, much as I love Vern’s voice (or any of my stories, for that matter.) Mostly, it’s a matter of focus, which has dulled as I’ve gotten older (and discovered Facebook), and that I have so many things pulling on my time, energy, and emotions. Usually, I set myself down, remind myself how much I love this, and make myself write. There’s no other way to get moving, really.
You can grab the ebook for $0.99 at http://tinyurl.com/greatertreasureskindle or a print copy for $4.99 at http://www.createspace.com/4244586
Monday, 11 February 2013
What I Tweeted - Week to Feb 9th
Couldn't keep up with all of my tweets last week? Here they all are for your perusal. Is this a good idea?
Sahara Sandscapes, Egypt on Vimeo http://bit.ly/14N9Y9n
'The idea we live in a simulation isn't science fiction' - opinion-18 December 2012-New Scientist http://bit.ly/WYk3xN
"But that's-" Donna spluttered.The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "River Song. I know." My fanfic, chapter 3 - http://bit.ly/WZidg6
Grizzly meets washing machine on a frozen lake in Canada. Clever ad! http://on.fb.me/WXbIdN
Orchestra Flash Mob - Ode an die Freude ( Ode to Joy ) Beethoven Symphony No.9 classical music-YouTube http://bit.ly/
Auckland's wetlands - new to me, must visit when I can walk again - Travel-NZ Herald News http://bit.ly/WUneGV
Auckland seen from space on Friday 8th Feb by @Cmdr_Hadfield: http://bit.ly/
Stupefying Stories: JUST RELEASED: The 2013 Campbellian Pre-Reading Anthology - FREE Kindle/Epub! 80 SFF stories. http://bit.ly/14IwRuA
See, we do have snow down here...in June! Train plowing through deep snow Arthurs Pass - YouTube http://bit.ly/14I6DbK
First world problems read by third world people - brilliant! (video) http://on.fb.me/WPWF5B
The Lost Scribes: Falls the Shadow now available per request! Awesome steampunk novel, email for free PDF :) http://bit.ly/14EYpRB
"A cry split the night...The Doctor tensed and whipped out his screwdriver. He aimed it ahead and activated a pulse. " http://bit.ly/14HaENp
Landfill Harmonic - Instruments from garbage | Juliana Penaranda-Loftus & Alejandra Nash on Vimeo http://bit.ly/WPSqXQ
Is All of It Worth the Prize? Diane Graham on what sells books and what are we aiming at? | The New Authors Fellowship http://bit.ly/14EY8Op
Simple online timer to get things done w. the Pomodoro technique - 25min work, 5min break, & list your accomplishments. http://bit.ly/WkU9Ea
"The smile melted off the Doctor's face as he gripped a handle until his knuckles whitened. He flung the lever down..." http://bit.ly/WNI8r6
Health risks of too much chick lit - Life & Style-NZ Herald News http://bit.ly/WPp23K
FedEx airplane mechanic humour http://bit.ly/14EBR3q
Scripturient: possessing a violent desire to write. - Blog by Mary Ruth Pursselley http://bit.ly/WPmjrd
Writer Beware ® Blogs!: Christian Writers Guild Publishing: Pay to Play from Jerry B. Jenkins http://bit.ly/YUaQts
The Way Publishers Create Marketing Copy is Stranger Than Fiction http://bit.ly/VCQvCD
"The Doctor and Donna sat on comfy camp chairs pulled up to the open doors of the TARDIS..." My new foray into fanfic! http://bit.ly/WNI8r6
A bird ballet | Music Video on Vimeo http://bit.ly/WNFH85
Ten mistakes I’ve made with my writing career that you can avoid http://bit.ly/UqEa9z
Create a 3D Book Animation with CSS http://bit.ly/VFWdc0
Free Fiction Monday: Renn and The Little Men http://bit.ly/TCkOfX
gallery hijack - how to be art by DougAnd Mikael http://bit.ly/VFBvJs
Paris law bans pants for women - Life & Style-NZ Herald News http://bit.ly/USR7qr
OpenDyslexic - Font for Dyslexia http://bit.ly/XbpaIR
Neil Gaiman on making good art http://on.fb.me/Xbn5g7
8 Daily Habits that Will Make You Stronger http://bit.ly/UoAJQF
Colorful Photographs of Tulip Fields As Seen From an Airplane http://bit.ly/14yGT1d
Doctor Who Series 7 Part 2 Trailer by TheDoctorwhoisepic http://bit.ly/Y3puZe
Wednesday, 6 February 2013
Writing the 10th Doctor with Donna and River
You can see the results of that inspiration at this link:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8982909/1/The-Doctor-Downunder
If you're a member of fanfiction.net (easy - do it with Facebook) - you can sign up to receive notice when I post a new "chapter". Also you can post comments. Alternatively you can come back and do that here, but I may not remember to cross-link every single time.
Things are about to get interesting when the Doctor and Donna step out of the TARDIS into the New Zealand bush... and find that River Song is already there!
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
Zumba's Revenge
I had planned to get fit. You know, doing lots of stuff, walking and going to the gym. Well, so much for that - for the next month or so at least.
Thank goodness for Mum - she's helped me set up my room so I can manage. It's going to be an interesting few weeks mostly stuck in here.
It was yesterday at 6pm. My first ever Zumba class. I've always been fascinated by the idea and wanted for a long time to give it a go. So I did.
It was the freaking warm-up song. It was not hard or fast; just step to this side, then the other. Easy peasy. Then - bam.
I stepped back, leaned against the wall, and clutched at my right calf. It was just like one of those nighttime leg cramps I get sometimes if I don't eat enough bananas. You know the kind.
Except it didn't go away.
I finished out the class on one foot and just doing the arm movements. Called Mum for a lift home (my car is still not going), ascended to my room with great difficulty and attempted to settle down for the night. Half an hour later I was sobbing into my sleeves with the pain, which still has not changed in the slightest since it happened.
So I called Mum again and off we went to the after-hours doctor. Probably torn, she said, but you need an ultrasound to be certain, and they were already closed. Ultrasound today showed a 2-inch tear on the inside of the leg, just above the sock line.
I'm not to put weight on it for 3 weeks, maybe 4. I'm a total klutz with the crutches and totally immobile without them. Going downstairs involves sliding on my rear and coming up involves crawling.
Thank goodness for Mum - she's helped me set up my room so I can manage. It's going to be an interesting few weeks mostly stuck in here.
I have a massive to-do list, but a good deal of it is going to have to wait. At least I can do my desk work, in bed, sort of...
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