Saying thanks, and all that: ebook versions of The Fourth Law and Echoes of Family Lost will be available for FREE on Smashwords.com between now and New Years Day.
From a few in-person, including my wife, but mostly via email. Why almost no one ever leaves comments here, I don’t know.
There was much unhappiness how I wrapped up Defiant Act 2.5: at the pool with Joe’s diagnosis. If I were to distill is all down, I guess “casually tossing out a main character!” would be the flak I caught.
Yeah. I did. Because this was never meant to be a coherent novel, but a nine-month long writing exercise, the break from Acts 2 and 3 was huge. 2.5 was meant to be a bridge; but, it seems that like the Lewis & Clarke, it was a bridge too far. The anchor issue is that Joe MUST have cancer and go to Japan for treatment: he’s on the boat back to Portland with Maya in “Cursed Hearts.”
Is it the hyper-sexualized environment of the pool, and the emotional whiplash after, when Nichole5 realizes her First Friend is sick? A human girl would have no idea about his illness and banged him then and there. Nichole5 chose to shatter the moment for everyone in face of what she sees as a medical emergency.
Perhaps I went too far, too fast. I’ll give some thought as to how I might re-write this. Suggestions welcome, as I see nothing, right now.
To cite Arkada of Glass Reflections: ladies, gentlemen, and others, I present to you the final installment of Act 2.5 of “Defiant.” Yes, you read that right: the writing component is complete. Editing and ret-conning the four parts of this 18-month, 85.5k writing exercise into a proper novel will begin.
And therein lies your chance, you followers of this blog and those that have wandered in via my sole social media presence on Gab.ai: if you so desire, you can d/l and read the entire story between now and Saturday, for free. It’s very, very rough, but you’ll get what you pay for. Come Saturday, whenever I wake up, I’ll be pulling the entire ‘free webnovel’ down as I begin to turn it into a commercial novel. As always, I’ll do the first-pass editing myself. Second and copyediting – and a cover – are as yet an unknown; after the layabout wife and the Dog With the Golden Nose, it’s all ramen and Taco Bell salsa packets here. My sole, possible, hard-deadline, is January 26th, when I might have another Creative Writing panel at Ohayocon. If I do, I’d like to say, “since my last panel, I’ve published two books… what did you do?” Keeps the snarkers from snarking.
Anyway, there’s just over thirty five hundred fricking words below the fold! Open a bottle of wine or make a pot of coffee, the one right next to that bottle of bourbon, sit back, and, please, see what I’ve seen… and have fun!
“Meet me at eight!”
Who hasn’t been there at some moment of their life? In this case, Nichole and Joe go back to Portland, a diversion to Zom’s, some other characters show up… for dinner…
Oh my God, they leave the battlezone at dawn! That has them back into the City around 0800! What the hell am I supposed to do for the next nine to ten hours?!
Eleven days straight at Day Job. At least I was able to think a great deal about what the hell might or might not be going on. True to my style, I went for the minimalist approach. So, we get a little overlap of the last scene from Joe’s perspective, followed by Nichole doing gallant machine things and Joe doing gallant human things.
I am genuinely happy when machines and humans compliment one another as men and women do.
Last Sunday, our parish priest – in anticipation of Thanksgiving – asked us to consider what we’re thankful for. Besides the trite answers (“my family!”), what I really thought was that God let me see, and write, stories like this. I don’t deserve it.
The next morning, my boss asked if I could come in for half days over the weekend, as well as cover some over Thanksgiving. Given the Dog with the Golden Nose and my lay-about wife, I’ll take what money I can. But, that means I’ll be working two weeks straight. While I’ve the spirit to come home and write, my flesh is rather tired, dragging myself through the door at 1745 in the dark and cold.
But I’ll keep trying. Here’s some more of Nichole. I need to write the last two segments from Joe’s POV, so I can weave them together in the editing phase.
“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” My wife asked, per our agreement. I’d spent a few minutes looking at ‘ground view’ on Bing Maps of the north side of the Lewis and Clark Bridge, followed by a few minutes of resting my chin in my hand.
“Yeah. But I can only write what they show me.”
She nodded at that and returned to her studies. She learned years ago that I watch a scene unfold in my mind as if I’m sitting in a theater. When the reel stops, I just write down what I saw. I’m more a reporter than a writer.