Writing Wibbles: Is B&N Flirting with Vanity Publishing? Yes. (UPDATED)

We—that is, those of us at Green Envy Press—are making the push into print this year. This came about a year after what I had planned, but we’ll have some very nice-looking books indeed. Since most of our eBook income is from Amazon, using Amazon’s CreateSpace service was the first and obvious choice. But being an indie author is about anything but the obvious choice, so we started poking around. I remembered hearing that B&N’s Nook Press had set up a print on demand (PoD) service, and I thought, “hey, that’s a no-brainer… maybe people can order books in the store for pickup.”

Well… no. In their own words:

Well, crud. Seems like they’re missing out on a really good opportunity to skewer Amazon here. Amazon can’t say “hey, order this book and have it shipped for free to your nearest brick-and-mortar for pickup… and while you’re there, check out the thousands of titles” etc. And while Amazon can’t, B&N simply won’t.

Okay, maybe there’s some stuff happening behind the scenes, something beyond the usual hidebound “we ain’t never done that way before” you see in lots of old-guard businesses. Maybe their suppliers (aka big publishers) are leaning on them to stifle competition, they way they tried (and failed) with Amazon. Or maybe they consider it too big of an expense or something… who knows? If they wanted to limit this to “serious” authors, they could easily require an ISBN.

But I got an email from B&N recently that, in combination with the above, got my alarm bells ringing. I guess it wasn’t enough to have a PoD service that they won’t help you sell, now they have author services as well:

Now those prices are in line with what I’ve seen from freelancers, but the whole thing smacks of a vanity publishing setup, especially if you scroll down to see their “packages.”

I emailed B&N to ask them about these issues; their auto-responder said “we’ll get back to you in 24 to 48 hours,” and that was a week ago Tuesday. If they do respond, I’ll update this post.

UPDATE: OMG. B&N still hasn’t responded, but Katherine Hajer pointed me to an article at Nate Hoffelder’s Ink, Bits, & Pixels. It’s worse. Much worse. They’re using the well-known scam factory Author Solutions, and trying to hide it. No wonder they ignored my request for info.

Other reading at:
David Gaughran’s Let’s Get Digital
The Passive Voice

So… thanks, but no thanks. We’ll stick with CreateSpace for now to test the waters, and maybe move to Lightning Source or another printer later if the sales warrant it.

Everything from here on out is speculation and opinion from yours truly, so adjust your filters accordingly:

Amazon may not have created indie publishing, but (like Apple with computers) they made it work for a lot of people. And yes, CreateSpace offers author services, but they also provide you with a marketplace to sell your books. I guess the point is, Amazon is trying to make money with indies, while B&N and vanity presses try to make money from indies. One treats you as a partner (however junior), and the other as an income source. I hasten to point out that there are plenty companies with a similar outlook to Amazon’s (Smashwords being one of the most obvious), but there’s one company that most of us think of first, at least in the Western Hemisphere.

Too bad, B&N. You coulda been a contender. Your brick and mortar stores give you an advantage that Amazon (or even Apple, who isn’t likely to start selling fiction in their stores any time soon) can’t easily match. You just needed the will to buck the system, instead of crawling into bed with the scummiest of scammers. You could have built a solid business with indies, but instead you treat us as marks to suck dry.

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 11

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

---

Stevie found a table away from everyone else, within sight of a TV. Channel Fourteen was showing one of the sitcoms that Mom liked, and he found himself wondering how she was doing. Was she maybe eating ice cream and watching the same show? Out with some friends, doing whatever it is that grownup women do? He missed Mom, but realized he would have to go back to Zero Point tonight. Nowhere else to go, really. Maybe he could find a way to avoid Nixi for the next three weeks.

“Here you go,” said Warmonger, sliding a Choco-Peanut Explosion onto the table and taking the seat across from him. There was a little card next to the dish. “Twitter contacts. Both sides keep in touch, it can save everyone a lot of hassle. Do you have a Twitter ID yet?”

“Yeah. Blinkss14. No dots or underscores.”

Warmonger jotted it down. “Yeah. I’ll pass it around. You know to run your online stuff through an anonymizer, right? I wouldn’t put it past the Zero to listen in on your stuff. Just something to keep in mind. Anyway, even if you’re in the inactive bucket, you should keep up with what’s going on.”

“Makes sense. That looks good,” said Stevie, eying the banana split. “I might have to try that some time.”

“Tons of calories, kid, just like yours. But in our line of work—on either side—we burn a lot of calories. I guess if you’re inactive, though, you’ll have to watch your intake.” Warmonger stopped. “Hey, I just thought of something. Why were you in the vault that night DeVine broke in there? He’s pretty pissed about that, so I’d steer clear of him for a while, by the way. Ballsy move, asking for his John Hancock, though.” He raised an eyebrow. “Were you thinking about grabbing a little loot for yourself?”

Stevie sighed. “Yeah, I was thinking about it. But I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe the bad guys got the money, and we needed some. I used to think maybe the good guys got the girls, but I’m not so sure about that now. If you can’t tell anyone you’re a superhero, how are you gonna get the girls anyway?”

Warmonger stifled a huge laugh, nearly choking on his banana split. “I’m okay,” he wheezed after a minute. “I haven’t had that good a laugh in a long time. Yeah, you got it partly right about us, though. When we score, we score big, but we got expenses just like everyone else. Jaguar was flat broke for a while. He’s doing better now, but they were starting to foreclose his house at one point. Your one-percenter pals get the government to fund your side, but they’re cutting funding. Cutting their own throats is what they’re doing, but if the enemy is helping you out, just stay outta the way, you know?” He looked at Stevie. “What’cha thinking about?”

“You know, we wouldn’t be talking right now, none of this would have even happened, if Ultra Woman just took the credit for stopping DeVine. I told her to not mention me and say she made the stop herself.”

“Haha! Ultra Woman has two big weaknesses. One, she gets pissed off really easy, which helps me big-time in a fight. She’s working on her temper, which is why you don’t see much of her lately, but it’s still easy. Two, whatever a guy tells her to do, she’ll do the exact opposite. Even if what he tells her makes sense. When you get to know a super, know their weakness, you’re already ahead of the game. It’s newbies like you and Miss Siles that are the most dangerous, because we don’t know what your weaknesses are, yet. No intel. Me and Jaguar ran into her that night we… hey, what’s up?”

Stevie just pointed at the TV, and Warmonger turned. They had interrupted the sitcom with the Breaking News graphic, and Montana Rack was on the screen.

“…in the last few minutes,” Montana was saying, looking shocked. “I had been invited here to Zero Point, to interview the elusive Blink and several others, but—”

“Oh, crap,” Stevie groaned, realizing what had been nagging at him since he took off. “I forgot all about that stupid interview!”

“Looks like… what the hell?” Warmonger muttered. Channel Fourteen had cut to an aerial shot. “Those are ABAs!”

“What are ABAs?”

“Autonomous Battlefield Androids. Battle-bots, in other words. They walk around and shoot up whatever they’re programmed to go after. Looks like two dozen. Someone’s going after Zero, big-time.”

“…jammed, but it isn’t affecting our satellite uplink,” Montana was saying. “We’ll stay on the air as long as possible, until this situation is resolved. For Channel Fourteen On the Scene, I’m Montana Rack.”

Villain and superhero-trainee looked at each other for a long moment. “Is that you?” Stevie asked, and Warmonger felt the youth’s anger building again.

“No! No! I don’t have that kind of firepower! Settle down, kid. I don’t need ABAs. I don’t have nothing against Zero, either. Matter of fact, I might switch sides for the evening, just to have a crack at those things. Let me make a few phone calls. Hey, where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” Stevie spooned up a mouthful of Choco-Peanut Explosion, regretting how much he was leaving on the table, and dashed for the men’s room. The stall was open, and he pushed the door closed without latching it. The Simulation Room, he thought, focusing his power. I so wanna be there now.

Warmonger frowned for a second, then jumped to his feet. The kid took his gear. “Kid! Wait!” Warmonger burst into the bathroom, but it was empty.

continued…

Winter #3

Winter #3 took up pretty much the entire second half of February. And two weeks of winter on Planet Georgia is about as much as anyone can stand.

It began with a shot of Arctic air, once again pulling temperatures below 10°F overnight. It warmed up long enough to start raining on that Monday evening, then it got cold again. And kept raining. You know what that means:

So pretty. If you don’t have to live in it.

The power started blinking on and off around 7pm Monday night. The computers, DSL, and TV are all on UPSes, so we were okay for a while. The outages started getting more frequent and longer, and we grabbed flashlights. Just after 8pm, it went down… and stayed down. For 71 hours. We lit some candles, cursed the ice, and I shut down my desktop before the UPS ran out of steam. All my mobile gadgets had a full charge, and the TV held up for another half hour before the UPS ran down. We kept ourselves occupied and went to bed when we felt like it. All night long, we heard the cracking of branches (or entire trees) coming down. (Daughter Dearest, who was sleeping upstairs, said she hoped she didn’t end up with a tree wanting to cuddle up in bed with her. None did.)

In the morning, it was pretty chilly in the bedrooms despite the fireplace insert doing a fine job. We grabbed some cold breakfast and went out to survey the situation. The roads weren’t icy, but they had a few obstructions:

Kind of hard to drive over

It was then that we realized the one thing we didn’t do the day before: get gas for the generator. A neighbor with a Jeep said he could get over or around what was on the road, and offered to take our gas cans to town. With nothing better to do in the meantime, we got the chainsaw (and we had gas for that) and got to work clearing the road. Down the road, we saw other people sawing away at the downed trees on either side of FAR Manor. With the southbound lanes cleared, the wife called the guy she had working on the farm and had him bring the tractor up. There were some larger trees in the northbound lanes, and once I got chunks cut he would push them to the side with the tractor. It took maybe an hour or so to get the road open.

The gas got delivered, and I got the generator started (with the help of a little starter fluid). Voila, we had lights, refrigerators, furnace—and the Internet! The phone company buried fiber all along the road a couple years ago, so the phone and DSL were working. What wasn’t working was pretty much anything that ran on 240V service: water pump, hot water heater, stove, and dryer. We had water jugs and a toaster oven, though, and we were careful to run only one high-wattage appliance at a time. I had the work laptop, so I was able to get work stuff done.

On breaks, I got outside and took pictures:

Underexposed and overdramatic

We ended up getting Big V and bringing her to the manor. She hasn’t been taking good care of herself lately, and by the second day she was heading toward Diabetic Coma Land. Wife called 911 and they sent an ambulance to get her to the hospital. Otherwise, life went on, a bit of a hassle but we were warm and connected. We had to dump five gallons of gas into the generator twice a day, until the power came back on at 7pm Thursday evening.

But we weren’t out of the soup just yet. Another shot of moisture was coming. At first, the weather dudes were talking the dreaded “wintry mix,” then changed over to snow as we got closer to the actual event. It came in Tuesday night, of course. The power blipped once but stayed up—I rather thought it would, as all the stuff that was going to come down already had. But it snowed all day and night Wednesday. So here’s what it looked like outside the window come Thursday:

We usually get this much snow in March.

The Boy was here, so he took Mason and Skylar out to the pasture to slide down the hill while I worked. The temperatures were already above freezing, so Mason came in pretty much wet everywhere. Only his t-shirt was dry, so I got him into dry clothes. Meanwhile, he was complaining because he wanted to be out in it some more. (Un)fortunately for him, Mason-sicles are not allowed in the manor. It has stayed above freezing for a couple of days, so all that’s left are a few patches of slushy snow in shaded spots.

It’s March now. C’mon, spring!

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 10

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

---

This isn’t too bright, Stevie thought, walking down a highway dressed in black. At the moment, though, he didn’t care. I’ll go home, and forget this superhero crap ever happened. And her. After walking past a pair of eighteen-wheelers parked on the side of the road, he veered farther onto the shoulder, away from the occasional car or truck whizzing by. He could tell when they didn’t see him until they were on top of him; tire noise would change as they veered away and hit the brakes. He was forgetting something; he couldn’t shake that feeling, but the adolescent mantra whatever pushed it aside for a few minutes at a time.

He had gone perhaps a mile when a vehicle rolled by him, then slowed and stopped. A Jeep with a camo paint job. Reverse lights came on, and the Jeep edged back and stopped alongside.

“Need a ride?” a man called from the open window.

“I guess,” said Steve. If the dude turned out to be a perv, he could pop away fast enough. He climbed in, and the driver wasted no time getting back up to speed.

“Where you headed?” the driver asked. He matched the vehicle: muscular, buzz-cut hair, wearing a light camo jacket.

“I dunno.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he realized it was true. He couldn’t go home; there would be too many questions. Hanging out at Chris’s or Lashaun’s house was a possibility for a day, but there would be phone calls (and the questions again) if he tried to stay there. Maybe he could find some of those homeless kids he’d seen on the news. Maybe he could steal food for them, that would get him in with them—

“One place is good as another, huh? I guess the thing with the big Zero didn’t work out?”

The question jerked Stevie out of his thoughts. “What? How?” Can I pop out of a moving car? “Who are you?”

The driver grinned. “I’m the Warmonger,” he replied. “I got a nose for trouble, and it smelled something going down out this way, so I came out to have a look. I didn’t figure it would be Zero’s boy wonder flying the coop, but what the heck.”

Anger flared up inside Stevie. “Let me out. Now!”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t do that!” Warmonger braked hard, almost throwing Stevie into the dashboard. “Get out. Do it now!”

Confused, Stevie jumped out and ran to the back of the Jeep. Warmonger did the same, but grabbed the bumper and lifted the Jeep off the pavement. “This is my superpower, kid,” he said, puffing as he pumped two tons of iron. “I feed on anger. But if I’m not in a fight, I gotta blow off the energy somehow. It can get kind of awkward. As you can see.” He slowed, then stepped away from the Jeep. “Better. But don’t do that again, okay? I just want to talk. Explain how things really are, out here in the real world. Hey. You like Dari-Freez?”

“Yeah.” Stevie was still wary, but interested all the same. It’s not just my superpower that’s a pain in the butt, he thought.

“Okay. Let me take you there. We’ll get ice cream, cool off, chat like two supers, then I’ll take you anywhere you want. Including back to Zero’s place. Fair enough?”

Stevie thought a moment. What could it hurt? Free ice cream, and he could pop out of there any time if he didn’t like the situation. “Yeah. Sure.” He and Warmonger got back into the Jeep, and Warmonger got rolling again.

“You think we’re the villains, right?” Warmonger asked after a long pause.

“What? You are, aren’t you?” Stevie regretted saying it, but it was already out, as his mom would say.

If Warmonger was offended, though, he did not show it. “That’s what you call us. What the media calls us. Hell, we even call ourselves that, we’ve heard it so much. But think about it. You ever hear about one of my side rolling a little old lady for her purse? Nope. How about knocking over a gas station? Restaurant? We ever kidnap a regular person?”

Stevie shook his head. “But you rob banks and jewelry stores. And what was that thing with the oil refinery last year?”

Warmonger barked a laugh. “Yeah. Way back when, they asked one of the big-time outlaws why he robbed banks. You know what he said? ‘That’s where the money is.’ True, but that ain’t the point. You ever get the feeling that the game is rigged against normal joes?”

Stevie thought of Mom, struggling to keep a roof over their heads while Grimes Financial kept breathing down her neck. Every time they almost got on top of things, something happened and they were right back in the soup again. And that was why Mom hadn’t lived a little just yet… “Yeah.”

“Remember that thing with Pulse last year? When he messed up those big banks, everyone thought he was a hero all of a sudden? Yeah, it’s true. We’re the heroes, kid. My side. Your side takes on the mob, sure, but so do we. In our own way. You know it was one of ours that gave Captain Heroic the info your friends needed to take down Republic, right?”

Stevie jumped in his seat. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because the media didn’t want you to know. Or the ones who run ‘em, anyway. The real villains are the one-percenters, the ones who own everything and still want your stuff, too. That’s our targets. Not because that’s where the money is, but because it’s the right thing to do. They own the government, so the government won’t break their grip on stuff. It’s up to us. Hey, here we are.” Warmonger pulled the Jeep into the Dari-Freez parking lot. “What’s your poison? Don’t worry about the money. My treat.”

“Choco-Peanut Explosion,” Stevie replied without thinking. That was his absolute favorite, the one he’d only had twice in his entire life.

“Good taste. I kinda like that one, too. But I’m going old-fashioned tonight. Banana split. Grab us a table, and I’ll order.”

continued…

Cover Reveal: Michael (Path of Angels #1) by Patricia Josephine

I'm usually ready to help out a friend with a cover reveal, so here we go!

There is only one path.

Born mortal along with his three brothers, Michael is an Archangel with a specific role: hunt fallen angels and send them back to Hell. He is determined in his mission, never straying from his appointed path, until he meets Lake Divine, and discovers there may be more to his beliefs than blind duty.

But Lake is not who he seems. Offspring of a human and a fallen angel, a Nephilim, Lake must choose his own destiny: give in to the coldness and embrace the dark, or seek the light and rise above the sins of his father.

Two paths lay before them, but only one has the potential to destroy them both.

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24836590-michael

Nice cover, eh? So we've talked about the story a little, let's talk about the author.

Patricia Josephine never set out to become a writer. In fact, she never considered it an option during high school and college. She was all about art. On a whim, she wrote down a story bouncing in her head. That was the start of it and she hasn't regretted a moment. She writes young adult under the name Patricia Lynne.

Patricia lives with her husband in Michigan, hopes one day to have what will resemble a small petting zoo, has a fondness for dying her hair the colors of the rainbow, and an obsession with Doctor Who.


Links:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/plynne_writes
Website: http://www.patricialynne.com
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/108938106639683446081/posts/p/pub
Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/user/patricialynne07
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13460894.Patricia_Josephine

If you read the comments on TFM, and you'll find most of the comments are anything but horrid, Patricia's a regular here. I thought it might be nice for her to have a little more than a comment for a change. ;-)

So go add her book, and (if it's your kind of story) grab it when it comes out!

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 9

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

---

The next four weeks went by quickly. Captain Heroic led them on a morning jog outside, or in the Sim Room if it was raining. After breakfast, Blink had classes in public speaking or Improv. He ate lunch with Nixi most days, then spent afternoons in conditioning, combat training, or experiments in the Sim Room. Sarika would talk to him during their infrequent training breaks, but she talked to Nixi as well.

In a way, it was like school, except for no homework—and Improv was like a pop quiz every time. Still, it was amazing what he could do with a multi-tool and a big pile of junk. He found himself able to run farther, lift more weight, and hold his own in a fight (even if Ms. Ma obviously held back).

He found himself spending a lot of time with Nixi, at lunch and during the morning jogs. Talking to her became easier as the weeks went by, and he found himself looking forward to the time they spent together.

Then one afternoon, at the end of a frustrating Improv session, Professor Zero poked his head into the lab. “Is he about done?”

“Yeah,” Captain Heroic replied. “I need to give him a re-do on this one.”

“Good timing, then. Blink, why don’t you knock off for now? Run back up to your room and grab a shower before supper. Montana Rack is going to swing by this evening, after her newscast, to interview you and Nixi.”

“Oh. Okay.” Blink glared at the unhelpful junk heap. “Sarika, too?"

“No,” the Professor replied. “Her parents don’t want her on camera just yet. Besides, someone might recognize her. It would be like giving away her parents’ secret identity.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Sure it does. Don’t forget your hoodie. You don’t want to put your own face on camera, either.”


“Good to meet you, Blink,” Montana Rack greeted him. She looked distracted, and Blink thought she laid the makeup on pretty thick. She was pretty old—older than Mom, anyway. “And Nixi, the computer genius?”

“I’m not a genius,” Nixi insisted. “I just like the work.”

“Okay. Let’s make sure we have this exchange again on tape.” Montana gestured at two of her entourage. “Sam, Bo, take them and get them prepped. We’ve got time.”

“Hi, I’m Sam.” Sam was a young woman, wearing a black hoodie of her own, and Blink instantly felt comfortable with her. “I’m Montana’s intern.” She ushered Blink and Nixi out of the news room and into an adjacent conference room. A thin man followed them, carrying a satchel.

“What’s going on?” Nixi asked.

“It’s all part of the sausage factory,” Sam grinned. “Everything has to be just so. Bo here’s going to put some makeup on you."

“Makeup?” Blink and Nixi both looked skeptical.

“The lighting we use tends to wash out faces,” the intern explained. “You’ll look more natural. I’m surprised they didn’t mention it in your training.”

“I can’t let anyone see my face, anyway,” said Blink, pulling his hood up. “Mom would lose her shorts if she found out I was here, instead of summer camp.”

Nixi and Sam snorted at the metaphor. “All the same. Anything that does stick out won’t look so pale,” Sam continued. “You’re not Count Boris.”

“Whatever.”

“If he can do it, I can do it,” said Nixi.

“Good. Let’s get started." Sam opened the curtains, letting the evening sun pour into the room. “Oh, perfect. Strong lighting!"

The makeup artist did his work on them both, studied their faces as they looked toward the window, then nodded to Sam.

“Yup, looks fine,” said Sam. “Montana won’t be ready for you guys for at least twenty minutes. You can hang in here. I guess that makes this the Green Room. Bo can do any touch-up work on you guys before we start taping.” She helped Bo pack his gear, and they left.

“Man, what a sunset,” said Blink, crossing to the window. “Not the beach, but the woods make it look nice.”

“Yeah.” Nixi stood next to him. For several minutes, they did nothing but watch the sun light up the clouds as it dipped into the trees.

Blink turned to look at Nixi. The sunset lit up her face… without thinking, he reached out and put an arm around her.

Nixi gasped and froze. “What the hell?” she sputtered, pushing him away. “No—jeez, I don’t—what are you thinking?”

Blink stood gaping under the verbal onslaught for a moment, and then he disappeared. Nixi huffed and pulled the curtains shut, and sat at the desk.

“You guys about ready?” Professor Zero asked, poking his head in. “Hey, where’s Blink?”

“I don’t know,” Nixi grumbled, then thought Oh, crap.

“You don’t know? What happened?”

Nixi stood to pace the room, then stuck her head through the curtains to look outside again. “Jeez. I thought he liked Sarika. He… he put his arm around me, I told him—I said I wasn’t into him like that, and he didn’t take it good. He disappeared.”

“What? What did you say?”

“I don’t exactly remember.”

“Oh, great. Why couldn’t you have just played along?”

“What?” Nixi jerked her head out of the curtains and rounded on her uncle. “Do my feelings not count? Am I just part of the—the amenities around here?”

Zero deflated. “You’re right,” he said, looking at the floor. “That was out of line. You have any idea where he went?”

“I guess he’s back in his room.”

“Yeah. You don’t have to stay in this room if you don’t want, but stay close. I’ll let the news crew know there’s a delay. Then I’ll talk to Blink and give him a little time to cool off. We’ll see if he’s learned to do the public thing for real.”


I’m outta here, Blink thought, wiping the makeup off with a towel. He had not brought much with him, so it wouldn’t take much to pack. His few clothes and the iPad fit in his pack with room to spare.

Shouldering his pack, he visualized the driveway: the defenses, the tree-gate, the foliage on either side. Out.

“Blink?” Professor Zero opened the door, but the room was empty. “Why do supers have to be such… divas?”

continued…

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 8

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

---

After lunch, Captain Heroic took him back to what he called the Improv Lab. “Pull up a seat,” he said, sliding a plastic chair across the floor. “We’re going to start with a training video.”

Instead of a DVD, Captain Heroic picked up a black rectangle about the size of a big paperback, and stuck it in a matching slot on a device below the TV. “What’s that thing?” Blink asked.

“A VCR,” Captain Heroic chuckled. “Never seen one? Back in the day, they were like a Moxi. You could play rented movies, or your own home videos, or record stuff for later. Then fast-forward through the commercials.” The TV started playing a grainy video, definitely not HD.

“What is this?”

“An old TV show called MacGyver. You could drive a truck through some of the plot holes, but he was a master of improvisation. Every episode, he gets in some kind of jam, and improvs a gadget to help him get out of it.”

“Yeah. Was he a superhero, then?”

“Not like you or me, no. But I guess he could have been a Type III, if he put on a costume and used a different name.”

Blink laughed, and settled in to watch the show. During the part where MacGyver built his gadget, Captain Heroic would pause and rewind the tape to point out certain things. “You need to get in the habit of looking around, wherever you are,” Captain Heroic pointed out. “You never know when you’re going to have a crisis, and you need to be thinking about what anything around you—and I mean anything—could be used for in a pinch.”

“At least I won’t have to do that now,” Blink replied. “There’s a little of everything in here.”

“Well, sure. The first few exercises are gonna be simple. You probably won’t need to hack anything, just find something and use it. Think of it like a puzzle. But in the real world, the puzzle will kick your butt if you don’t solve it.”

“That just fills me with confidence,” said Blink, and Captain Heroic laughed.

“Take a look around the room,” said Captain Heroic. “If anything stands out to you, pick it up and check it out.”

“Sure.” The room was full of junk, like someone had taken the contents of a thrift store and dumped it on the tables at random. Blink poked at some of the stuff, then picked up a mini-Super Soaker. “Hm.”

“Okay,” said the old superhero. “What could you use that for?”

“A buncha stuff.  Short out electrical junk. Squirt someone’s face to blind them for a minute. Put a little vinegar in it to make it sting. Lashaun put glass cleaner in one once, to nail this dog that kept trying to attack him. A few shots of that, and the dog left him alone.” He picked up a thin strap with a camera company’s logo. “Use something like this to keep from having to hold it when you don’t need it.”

“Good thought. Are you gonna just tie it on?”

“It would be better if there was a loop, but yeah.”

“Modify it. There’s glue and a utility knife on the table behind you.”

Blink picked up the tools. “What do I use for… hey, can I use this decoration thing?”

“That’s what it’s there for. Whatever you need.”

“Cool.” Blink got busy cutting and gluing. “How much time do I got?”

“For today, as much time as you need. But I’m gonna put you through the wringer later.”

“Great.”

Captain Heroic laughed. “While the glue’s drying on that, let’s do a quick exercise.” He pointed to a whimsical target hung on the wall, a zombie in a three-piece suit. “That zombie is shambling toward a little kid. How are you gonna distract it?”

Blink grunted and looked around. “Yeah.” He picked up a fragment of brick. “Hey! Zombie! Over here!” He threw the chunk at the target.

“Okay, now it’s coming for you. Take it out.”

“Oh, crap. I don’t guess you have a sword laying around in here.”

“Nope,” Captain Heroic chuckled. “Good thought, though. What else could you use to take it out?”

“That squirt gun ain’t gonna faze it.” Blink looked at the junk arrayed on the tables. “If I was a weight-lifter, I could use that bowling ball—”

“Try it out! It’s almost on you!”

Blink picked up the bowling ball, and found it lighter than expected. “Yeah. I pop behind him and bash his head in.”

“Good thinking. You have an actual superpower, so that can make a big difference when it comes to improvising. Type III heroes like me, we like to carry a bunch of stuff around. I can usually figure something out, though.” Captain Heroic laughed. “That utility belt isn’t a movie prop. For me or Ultra Woman.”

“I guess.”

“You won’t have to guess by the time I’m through with you. Let’s try another exercise…”

continued…

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 7

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

---

The next morning, Captain Heroic came by Blink’s room. “Down to F-2,” he said. “Just wait in front of the elevators.”

Blink yawned, got dressed, and took the elevator. Nixi was already there. She gave him a nod, and he mumbled a greeting. There wasn’t much more to say at this time of morning, after all.

The elevator chimed, bringing Sarika and Captain Heroic. To Blink’s mild disgust, Sarika sounded alert and even cheerful. She chattered to Blink and Nixi as Captain Heroic led them to a golf cart and drove them through the holographic boulder.

“Here we are,” he said. “Let’s stretch a little, then we’ll get started. Blink, you can be Nixi’s jogging partner. Stay with each other, got it? Nixi knows the path. Don’t get to racing, either one of you. I don’t want you getting cramps. There’s water in the cart, everybody get a drink and we’ll go.”

Nixi and Blink jogged along in silence, Nixi puffing but holding up. To Blink’s surprise, she spoke first. “Am I holding you back?”

“I could go a little faster. How could you tell?”

“You’re not even breathing hard.” Nixi stopped talking a moment to catch her own breath. “I wanna be jealous, but it’s my own fault.”

“What?”

“I got into computers a couple years ago. One of the ads said something about dates in my town, and even got the name of the town right. I got to wondering how they did that, and found a site that explained it some.”

“Cool. You’re a kind of genius on this stuff, I guess.”

“Not really.” Nixi paused again. “I just got into it. It’s not really all that hard. I learned HTML, then scripting, then databases and stuff. I just like it, it’s not like I’m a wizard or anything. You know, twenty years ago, kids our age had businesses doing Web development.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I was born kinda too late, you know? My parents won’t let me do this full-time. I got a lot of homework during the school year, so I make a little extra money doing maintenance. Rebuilding Zero Point’s intranet is the biggest project I’ve ever tackled. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. A reference like that is worth a ton.”

“Yeah.” Blink thought Lucky your uncle’s Professor Zero.

“So yeah, I got connections,” she continued, making Blink wonder if she had just read his mind, “but I got the job and I gotta get it done right. But that’s not what I was talking about. Instead of getting outside and playing with the other kids, I started studying Web development. So I got way outta shape. It’s kinda cool, though, having Captain Heroic for a personal trainer. He’s making sure I’m not sitting at a desk all day. Okay, I need a breather.”

Nixi stood bent over, hands on knees, while Blink paced around. “That’s my story,” she said. “What about you?”

“My mom and dad split up two years ago,” Blink replied. “I dunno why. I remember they used to yell at each other a lot, but I figured that’s just what grownups do, you know? But I remember, it was a Friday. Dad left for work, and he didn’t come home. I asked Mom about it, and she said he left us.”

“I’m sorry,” Nixi whispered.

“It’s better. The first year, Dad kept his end up. He came to see me most weekends, and said he wanted to be part of my life. Then… I don’t know what happened. Mom got laid off from the electric company, and all she could find was a job at Slaver-Mart.”

“Slaver-Mart?”

“That’s what she calls Saver-Mart,” Blink explained. “She says they can sell groceries real cheap because they don’t pay their people crap. But that was all she could get. Then Dad started missing support payments. I dunno, maybe he lost his job, too. He stopped coming to see me around then, so maybe he just decided he was over the whole family thing. But then we got a little help. Captain Heroic did some stuff behind the scenes, found her a better job and stuff, and Dad sent a double support check just before I came here. Mom says there’s a lot of bills to catch up on, but now maybe we can pay ‘em all.”

“That’s good.” Nixi stood. “You ready to finish this run?”

“Sure.” They got going again.

continued…

Scarecrow 2.0 (#FridayFlash)

Image source: openclipart.org

“Hi, Allie,” Bob said into his cellphone, turning to shade himself and the phone from the summer sun. The corn wasn’t high enough for shade just yet.

“On the way back,” his wife told him. “I saw something interesting at the feed store, though. It might help with the crows.”

“Sounds good.” The crows had been especially bad this year. Bob was afraid they might eat up the whole crop before it was ready to pick. Not that the rats were much better, mind you. Or the raccoons.

“You at your best right now?”

“Yup. Out standing in my field.” This was their little running joke.

“Good. Anyway, I got this flyer. I really think you should call.”

“Will do.” When Allie said I really think you should, there was always an unspoken or else.

• • •

“So here’s the bottom line.” The young fella was earnest enough, but he talked kind of quick and his outdoor clothes didn’t look comfortable on him. “We set up a Scarecrow Two Point Oh system for you. You let us know how it works, and let us come on your property to maintain the thing. Maybe once a week, unless something breaks. If it damages your crops or your property in any way, we make it right.”

“There’s gotta be a catch,” said Allie. “What’s in it for you and your people?”

“Well, ma’am, we do need to field-test the system,” he admitted. “You can do a lot on a test plot, and we fixed some problems that would have had you taking a shotgun to it.” That got a chuckle from Bob. “But we won’t know for sure how well it works until it’s deployed on a real, working farm. We’re sure enough about it to try it, now. If we thought there was a good chance it would damage your crops, we’d still be testing it on our own plots.” He slid a paper out of his folder. “This is the contract.”

Allie looked the contract over. “Huh. Not that legal gobbledygook? This looks pretty clear. Maybe we can work together after all.”

“Great.” The visitor gave them a happy smile. “Just show me a place to put the system, one where there’s lots of sunlight, and I’ll get to work.”

“You’ll need power, right?” Bob asked.

“Nope. It’s all solar-powered. Even we know there’s no outlets out in a cornfield.” All three laughed together.

• • •

A week later, Allie and Bob were congratulating themselves for taking a chance on this “Scarecrow 2.0” thing. The robot patrolled the cornfield and blasted varmints with its laser. Even better, it cleaned up after itself, depositing dead critters in a bin, where Bob counted them up and sent the tally to SC Research. Its best day was the third, with 147 kills; the tally was declining now, but Bob figured it was making a dent in the varmint population and finding fewer targets.

But by the end of the third week, Bob was seeing telltale signs of feeding again. There were only a few critters in the bin each day. “I think we need to call ‘em up,” said Allie.

“Okay,” they heard over the phone. “We see it in the telemetry. It’s tripping a ‘low battery’ fault, then it’s not getting much of a charge in the base station. Probably a defect in the charging system. We’re scheduled to come out tomorrow, we’ll check it out.”


“Holy sh—holy mackerel,” said the technician, wobbling atop a stepladder. “The solar panels are covered in guano.” He took out a rag and wet it with his water bottle. “Man. I’ve never seen one like this,” he grumbled, wiping bird crap off the panels.

Once the panels were cleaned, the charging system jumped right back up to normal, making the technician as happy as the farmers. “Yeah. Keep an eye on this, okay?” said the technician. “Maybe squeegee the panels every other day. I guess the engineers will develop counter-measures to keep that from happening.”

The next morning, Bob went out to check on the Scarecrow. He took a cellphone snap of what he saw, then called the company again. “I got a picture,” he said. “The damn crows are sitting on the solar panels and holding their wings out. It’s like they know what to do or something.”

“This is the kind of real-world info we were hoping to get,” said one of the engineers, after taking them off hold (Allie figured they were cussing the crows). “Sounds like we need to come up with better counter-measures than a wiper. But hang in there, we’ll beat this yet.”

Allie hung up the phone, looking pensive.

“What is it?” asked Bob.

“Well…” Allie trailed off, looking out the window at the cornfield. “They’re gonna come up with something to keep the crows off the solar panels, right? Makes me wonder what the crows will come up with to beat that.”

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 6

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

---

In the weight room, Blink found Captain Heroic waiting for him. Nixi was already there, puffing as she jogged on a treadmill. To his surprise, Sarika came in behind him.

“Hi!” she said, giving Blink that smile.

“Hey,” he replied. Sarika was wearing sweats, but he was too busy trying not to look like a dork to check her out anyway.

“Let’s get started,” said Captain Heroic, tapping at a clipboard. “I want to see what you two are capable of before I concoct your workout regimes. Nixi’s been here for a week already, so I have her working on her stamina first. We’ll all be up before breakfast for a morning jog, by the way.”

Sarika moaned, and Blink joined her. We have that much in common, a hopeful voice told him.

“Nothing strenuous,” the old superhero assured them. “Just something to work up your appetite for breakfast. Okay, let’s get started with some stretches.”

“What do you think he’ll have you working on?” Sarika whispered as they sat on the floor, grabbing their feet.

“I walk pretty much everywhere, so I’m not in that bad of shape,” Blink whispered back. “Probably weight lifting. What about you?”

“I see a lot of time on a treadmill in my future. I don’t walk or run much.”

“But you probably won’t need much weight training. That backpack looked heavy.”

Sarika giggled. “Twenty kilos, maybe. I bet your bookbag for school is about that heavy.”

Blink did the mental calculation—forty-four pounds was about half of what he’d guessed, but… “That’s ten pounds heavier than my bookbag.”

“Not that much heavier. Not even five kilos.”

“Okay,” said Captain Heroic. “You guys feeling limbered up?”

“Sure,” they both said. “Jinx,” Sarika whispered.

“Great. Let’s start you out on the weight machines, then we’ll try you on the exercise bikes.”

The two of them were able to lift a similar amount of weight, but Blink strained to keep up with Sarika. This is stupid, he thought. There were several girls at school that he knew were stronger than him, but he didn’t want to look weak in front of Sarika—or Nixi, who was watching from the treadmill.

The exercise bikes left him feeling a little more sure of himself. Captain Heroic adjusted the resistance, but Blink set a comfortable pace that he could manage for a long time. Sarika puffed and gasped, and stopped pedaling after a few minutes to catch her breath.

“All righty, then,” said Captain Heroic. “I think I’ve got it. Sarika, we need to work on your stamina. I’ll put you on a treadmill with Nixi, and maybe the two of you can keep each other going. Blink gets weight training. I’ll work up your training programs this afternoon, and you’ll get started tomorrow. Remember that jog in the morning. I think Ms. Ma is waiting for you in the rubber room.”

to be continued…

continued…

Break a Leg

Tuesday night, we were sleeping snug in our bed… and the phone rang. I said “Tuesday night,” but it was technically Wednesday by then. Whatever.

It was BrandX on the line. He’s been staying with the father in law for a while, as they both tend to be up during late hours. But the old guy was making a bathroom run, and his “non-skid” slippers lived up to their name rather than their adjective, if you get my drift. THUD. By the time we got there, BrandX had pulled a chair around and got him off the floor. He had landed on his side, banging his shoulder, elbow, and hip all down the right side. There wasn’t much problem above the waist; the wife popped a bandage on his elbow where it was scraped a little. But his leg hurt, and he couldn’t move it much.

Wife called 911, and sent me home. They were going to take him to the hospital to X-ray his leg; but he refused, saying he would go in the afternoon if his leg wasn’t feeling any better by then. Of course, he backtracked on that one when the time came, but by mid-afternoon yesterday it was clear he needed to have it looked at.

And I got the call: he’d broken his hip. Oh joy. When you’re in your late 80s, surgery is always a dicey proposition, and this was going to need some help getting put back together. So they scheduled the surgery for this afternoon. Wife sent an amusing shot of some of the prep, including an awesome tinfoil hat:

“He’s ready for liftoff,” said the wife.

Good thing I was working at home today; the wife usually watches Mason, but I lined up Jam to deal with him… and then she remembered an interview she had at 2pm. He was mostly okay (except for the last half hour) until Daughter Dearest arrived to take over.

The father in law was all put back together after a few hours, and now the wife is on her way home. Him… he’s staying. The non-nutty sister is staying with him tonight, so I don’t have to worry about dealing with Mason tomorrow morning. He doesn’t fly, which is good because he’ll set off metal detectors from now on.

Friday can’t get here fast enough. Not that I’ll get much rest this weekend either.

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 5

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

---

Shortly after Nixi left, a dude in a security uniform found Stevie in the cafeteria. “The Professor says to come back to the Sim Room as soon as you finish lunch.”

Stevie’s first thought was rentacop, but the guy wasn’t being rude. But… “Sim Room?”

“The big room on F-2. You know how to find it?”

Stevie shrugged. “Yeah.”

The security dude left, leaving Stevie to wonder why it had that name, but he figured he would find out soon enough.


When Stevie stepped through the double doors, he thought at first that he was in the wrong place—except that Professor Zero was waiting for him. “Welcome to the Simulation Room, Blink,” he said.

“Where did all this stuff come from?” Stevie asked, waving at the buildings and trees that turned the huge room into an indoor town.

“It’s all modular,” the Professor explained. “The buildings actually have only three sides, and they fold in for storage. Cranes in the ceiling deploy the pieces as needed. We can configure this room for a variety of simulations, and have it ready in a matter of minutes. Are you familiar with the concept of a staging area?”

“Not really.”

“Think of it as a mobile headquarters. If there’s a situation that requires a superhero, we’ll have a staging area set up. We try to gather as much information about the situation as we can before sending anyone in. Our staging area is over here.” Zero led him to a table, sheltered from the fake town by portable barricades and two trucks, and pointed to a map. “How would you get into this house, assuming that people across the street are watching, without them seeing you?”

Stevie studied the map. “I guess I’d try popping over to here.” He pointed at a spot a few houses down from the target. “Then I’d go through the back yards and pop inside that way.”

“That might work. Are you up to trying it?”

“I’ve never gone that far, but I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, wait.” Zero handed him a headset. “Put this on. We’ll need you to communicate with the staging area.”

“Okay.” Stevie slipped the headset on, then pulled his hood over it, becoming Blink. “Now you see me…” He looked down the street, and found the place he wanted to go.

And there he was. He ducked away from the street and rounded the back of the house. Even forewarned, he did a double-take at the missing back wall, but scanned across to the house he wanted. One pop took him behind the house; another pop and he was on the second floor, sneaking a peek out the window.

“I’m there,” he whispered. “One of the guys in the house across the street is looking back down your way.”

“Nicely done, Blink,” Zero replied. “Fourteen seconds. Come on back.”

“Okay.” Blink popped directly back to the staging area, startling Professor Zero and his two assistants.

“It only took you one teleport to come back?” Zero asked. “How many did you use to get there?”

“Three. One to get to the place I pointed at earlier. I ran to the back and popped across to the house you wanted me to go in, then I popped inside. I knew where the staging area was already, so I just went straight back.”

“Ah. So you need to see where you’re going?”

Blink shrugged. “Sort of. I can pop in and out of houses, though. I did that when I got Frank Crain out of the Blackuras’ place.”

“So how did you figure out what you can do?”

“I didn’t. I just do it. I was thinking on the way here, it would be cool if I could pop myself to the beach. Mom, too. But she’d freak out.”

Professor Zero nodded. “Good idea, not letting your mom know. Have you tried to figure out what you can’t do yet?”

“Uh-uh. I haven’t really tried to push the limits, yet. I don’t want to pop into the middle of a wall or something.”

“Prudent. Any idea how far you can go, or how often you can use your ability?”

“Not yet. What I did just now is the farthest I ever went.”

“Do you want to try going all the way down to the other end and back?”

Blink shrugged. “Sure.” He looked down the long street… and then he was standing at the far end. “I made it,” he said into his headset. “No problem.”

The assistants, standing behind Professor Zero, whispered among themselves. “I’ve seen it, but I still can’t get used to it,” said one.

“At least we’re functional, not just staring and drooling like with Miss Siles.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose we’ll have to go outdoors to test your distance limits,” Professor Zero spoke into his headset. “But I expect if you can see your destination, or can accurately visualize it, you can send yourself there regardless of distance. The trick will be to find out how often you can do it, and what conditions might limit it. Come on back, that takes care of today’s test cases. Conditioning and Self-Defense will wrap up your day.”

continued…

Writing Wibbles: Chomp?

So, there’s an interesting blog post out there.

Nora Roberts tells her critics: Bite Me.

Wow. Just wow. Apparently, someone left some silly (but rude) comments on her Facebook pages, and as they say around here, she “didn’t cotton to that.”

The reader is not my employer, my teacher, my mother. This is not my hobby, this is my profession, and in this profession I have an editor. I welcome her constructive criticism. I have an agent. I welcome hers. Readers, having those opinions that will vary dramatically from one to another? Not welcome. Not asked for. Not accepted. 

Because you use a sink do you get in the plumber’s face and advise him how to fix it? … If the plumber isn’t doing the job to your standards, find another plumber. …

A book doesn’t come with a suggestion box, and the writer is not obliged to sculpt a story to your specific needs. 

Readers read. Writers write. Readers can voice their opinions in appropriate areas, to their friends, to their bookclub and so on. But those who insist on coming into my spaces with their negativity are going to be called out for it.

A friend of mine on Twitter pointed to the blog post and said in effect, “Nora Roberts is the only woman writer who can get away with that… any other woman would have a shitstorm on her hands.”

Well hey, I’m a guy. I might as well use that male privilege thing for a good purpose for a change, right? So I’ll just say: I can see where she’s coming from. Even if I wasn’t writing my own stories, I’d get it. I’ve had people who know less than I do about something try to tell me how to get it done, whether it be fixing a pipe or running wires or what have you. There’s nothing that irks me more than someone who can’t, or doesn’t want to, do something but feels free to tell you how UR DOIN IT W0RNG.

But reviews? Reviews on review sites (or in the reviews section of a book page) are pretty much sacrosanct, and I think Ms. Roberts agrees in the last paragraph I quoted. Not everyone will like a story, and that’s okay. If everyone liked the same kind of story, then only one kind of story would ever get written. Reviews are (or should be) for other readers, to help them decide whether a particular story is going to suit. The common wisdom is “don’t respond to reviews at all,” and some writers don’t even read their reviews.

On the other hand, a writer’s blog (or Facebook page) is a place for writers and readers to meet and discuss. That “don’t respond to reviews” thing doesn’t apply on those spaces. Someone wants to get snippy with Nora Roberts in her space, and she has every right to respond.


There are other spaces where readers and writers can get together. I’ve actually had the most interaction with general readers (i.e. non-writers) in the forum on my Amazon author page. I certainly wouldn’t mind some (polite) back and forth here on the ol’ blawg, but I’ll take what I can get.

Where do you like best to interact with writers and readers? Floor’s open…

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 4

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2 | 3

---

“City Hall gets an abbreviated version of this,” said Professor Zero, as Stevie filled out a form. “They only get the basics. Nothing that can identify you. We’re going to put you on inactive status for now. You’ll still be registered as a superhero, but we won’t call on you when there’s a general mobilization.”

“What’s that?” Stevie asked.

“It doesn’t happen often,” Zero replied. “It’s when we call up everyone for a major operation. Like the one against Republic Industries last fall?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Right. Since you’re inactive, you won’t be called on unless it’s absolutely necessary. When you finish college, we’ll move you to active status and then you’ll be a working superhero.”

“Okay.”

Zero picked up the form and looked it over on his clipboard. “I have all your stats. Now, can you tell me about when you manifested?”

“Oh, sure. Me and Chris and Lashaun were hanging out at the park, and some dumb high school kid came over and started giving us crap, telling us to leave. I told him to act his age instead of his IQ.” He paused, as Zero chuckled. “So yeah, he told me to meet him after school the next day so he could teach me a lesson. Whatever. I wasn’t going to go there, but he caught me on the path going toward my house. He shoved me up against a tree, and went to punch me. But I—I don’t know how it happened. I wanted to get out of the way, and next thing I know I was standing next to the tree. The high school kid hit the tree with his fist, then I pushed him down and ran. I think he broke his hand, the way he was yelling.”

“Ah. A stress situation. Manifesting under stress is fairly common, but school’s a stressful place for most. We may never figure out why you manifested so early, but it probably doesn’t matter. Next up, your physical.”

Stevie knew what happens in a physical, but it was still totally embarrassing. The nurse gave him an understanding look, and got the worst part over with as fast as she could. Getting stuck for blood was almost okay, after that. Then he had to get on a treadmill and run until he was out of breath while they checked his pulse.

After the physical, the nurse let him follow her to the cafeteria for lunch. Everything looked suspiciously healthy to Stevie, but he made do with a burger and a side of corn. Coming out of the serving line, he automatically looked around for Lashaun and Chris, but remembered that this wasn’t school. Professor Zero was gone, probably doing work stuff, and Captain Heroic was missing. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he ate lunch by himself—

Wait. There was the girl—the one that was Professor Zero’s niece—oh yeah, Nixi. By herself. He would have never had the nerve to do this at school, but here? I’m a super, he told himself again. I can do this. He carried his lunch tray over. “Hey,” he said. “Can I sit here?”

Nixi looked up. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” He laid his tray on the table, across from her, and took a seat. “I’m Blink.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I kind of figured.” She gave him a thin smile, enough to show she wasn’t being rude.

“Not many kids around, huh?” He dug into his burger. It didn’t taste like Mom’s, but it was better than the burgers at school.

“Just us. And the girl you came in with.”

“Sarika? Yeah. When I saw you there, I was surprised she wasn’t here, too.”

Nixi gave him a sour look. “I’ll bet. She’s been assigned to some other department, one I never heard of. You probably won’t see much of her.”

“What? Oh. No, I’m not… I don’t like her like that. I was just wondering, is all. We rode here together with Captain Heroic.”

“Yeah. Some people get all the breaks. Money, looks, the works. It’s not fair, sometimes, you know?” She picked at her food, not looking up.

He laughed a little. “You’re not ugly or anything. Besides, Mom said that good-looking people are usually a—jerks.”

“So I have a great personality,” she grumbled.

“You could have told me to go sit at another table. That would have been… uh, good-looking.”

She snickered. “Yeah. My name’s Nixi, by the way. But with an X, not two Ks.”

“I know. Captain Heroic told me.”

“This is gonna take some getting used to. It’s like we’re all in a little house, we know everybody else’s business. I think I saw your file on my desk, so I’m gonna have to enter all of that this afternoon. Then I’ll know all sorts of stuff about you. How did you end up getting your superpower, already?”

“I don’t know. It just happened.” He told her about the high school kid; it was already becoming just a story he could rattle off at will. “I tell everyone else I just ducked.”

“Hey. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I saw the news reports about you, how you stopped DeVine’s caper. How did you know he was going to be there?”

“I didn’t know, I was just there.” Stevie saw the curious look Nixi gave him. “I was just thinking. I figured I wouldn’t get disturbed, sitting in a locked bank vault, you know?”

“You’re a better person than me.” Nixi talked around a mouthful of food. “I’d have been tempted to stuff my pockets with cash.”

Stevie forced a laugh. He had been considering the exact same thing, of course. “The thought did cross my mind. But DeVine kinda interrupted me. Then Ultra Woman came along.”

“Yeah.”

“So you know all about me. What are you doing here?”

Nixi held up a finger, chewing up the rest of her food. “I’m setting up an intranet,” she said at last. “The last contractor deployed a real cluster—it wasn’t very good. I thought at first I might be able to tweak it up, maybe re-code a few pieces, but now that I’ve gotten into it…” She trailed off, tangling her fingers in her hair. “Jeez. I have to toss the entire thing and start from scratch. And these guys called themselves professionals? A middle-schooler could do better. Will do better. I just hope I can get the first cut done before school starts back in, and I can VPN in and fix anything they find after that.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yeah. And I’ll be dealing with some other stuff. Data entry, that kind of junk.” She stood. “And I gotta get to it. Good talking with you. I guess I’ll run into you some other time.”

Stevie watched her go. That went well, kind of, he told himself. He talked to a girl, and didn’t act like a dork. He didn’t think he had, anyway. It would be nice if they could eat lunch together every day. She talked about computer stuff that went over his head (what did “VPN in” mean?), but it was still good to have someone his own age to talk to.

continued…

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 3

Blink’s earlier adventures:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure | 2 | 3 | 4

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1 | 2

---

“Blink, I presume?” Professor Zero asked, approaching the golf cart. “Welcome to Zero Point. You had a good trip, I hope?”

“Uh… sure.” Stevie glanced at Captain Heroic, who was looking away. Your show, in other words. I’m a super. I can do this. “Thanks for, uh, inviting me. This is totally awesome.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said Zero. Next to Stevie, Captain Heroic gave Stevie an approving nod and smile. “Grab your bag. The good Captain and I will show you your quarters, once we’ve shown you some of what we have planned for you. I’ll admit, though, I was sorely tempted to convince you to skip the rest of the school year so we could get started sooner.”

“That would have been okay by me,” Stevie laughed as they walked. “Middle school totally sucks.”

Professor Zero laughed with him. “Believe me, I do remember those days. Structured education is a special hell for anyone of above-average intelligence. Speaking of which, how are your grades?”

“Good enough. I aced Geometry, and got As and Bs in everything.”

“Then you’re not just coasting through your classes. That’s good.” Zero opened a pair of double doors, leading into a vast room. Snap, and floodlights showed it to be as big as the middle school’s football field, including the bleachers. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in here, Blink. I’m sure you know we’ll test your teleportation ability, and much of that testing will happen in here. If necessary, we’ll conduct some tests outside. But we’ll use this area where possible. We can control the conditions better, and it gives us more privacy.” He shut the doors.

“Over here,” Zero continued, “across the hall, is the classroom. Your training here is part charm school, part public relations, and part law enforcement. Some people are naturally comfortable facing the public, but it’s a skill that can be learned. You’ll need to know how to deal with the media, answering questions without giving away things you don’t want them to know. For example, the few questions I asked you earlier could help someone narrow down your secret identity. Your grades are good enough, or almost, to put you in the honors program, which would weed out eighty percent of the student body.”

Stevie blushed, and Zero laughed. “Not that you gave away much. It’s pretty well-known that supers tend to be intelligent. There are exceptions, but they’re rare and mostly Type IIIs like the good Captain here. But Cap’s a smart guy, too. You do know the super types, right?”

“Yeah,” said Stevie, “Captain Heroic told me about them. I’m a Type I, someone born with it. A Type II is a lab accident, like Miss Siles. Type IIIs are regular people with gadgets.”

“Ah, good. And Cap’s report about how you rescued your classmate tells me that you at least understand the fundamentals of being a superhero.” Zero opened another door down the hall; this was a workout room, and Stevie had never seen some of these machines. “Part of your training is physical. Even a Type I needs to be in good physical condition. Not only do you need to be able to hold your own in a fight, regardless of your special abilities, you need to have the stamina to outlast your opponents. The Masked Warrior who traveled with you here will be training you and several others in hand-to-hand combat techniques.”

“Cool.”

“It’s something I hope you won’t have to use for a while. Experience tells us that being a superhero is a full-time job. If you’re out at all hours, or cutting classes to fight crime, you’ll soon find yourself falling behind. We don’t want that, especially at your age. But the more you know now, the better chance you’ll have of staying out of the spotlight until it’s time to take your place.”

Zero led them to yet another room, more cluttered than Stevie’s room on a particularly bad day. “This part of your training, I hope you will find fun in the end. It will certainly be frustrating to begin with. But Improvisation is the most important learned skill you can have. You’ll not only learn to build and repair gadgets from junk laying around, you’ll learn to keep your head in a crisis. As a superhero, you’ll have your share of crises, trust me. Captain Heroic is a master at this, and he’ll be your instructor.”

“A lot of the things I used in my work, I first improvised,” Captain Heroic added. “When they worked, I refined them and added them to my toolkit. But I’ll save the rest of the speech for tomorrow.”

“I’m sure young Blink appreciates that,” said Zero, leading them to an elevator. “Let us proceed to his home away from home for the next six weeks, though.” He turned to Stevie. “Level R-3. The button’s about midway up.”

Stevie looked at the huge array of buttons, all with different letters and numbers. None of them were in order. He finally located one that read R3, and pressed it. “How many floors does this place have?” he asked.

“Not as many floors as there are buttons,” Zero replied. “By the way, you will press F-2 to return to the floor we just departed. The elevators are part of the defenses here—if an enemy does manage to get in here, he would probably assume that P-7 would take him to my quarters.” He pointed at the button on top. “However, it drops the elevator into the holding cells and keeps it there until Security can take over. So be very careful to press either R-3 or F-2 when you’re in the elevator, or you’ll have an embarrassing moment to add to your journal.”

“I don’t have a journal,” said Stevie.

“A journal is waiting for you in your room,” said Zero. “You need to spend some time every evening, writing your impressions about the day into your journal. By the time you’re home, it should be a habit. Preferably a daily one. Most days seem to have little important going on, but you’ll learn that every day is important in some way.” The elevator slowed and stopped, and Zero led them down the hall.

“What if Mom sees it?”

“She won’t.” Zero brought them to a stop at a door marked R306. “This is your room, Blink. We need to key it to your palmprint, though.” Professor Zero stuck a card into a slot above a grey rectangle. “Put your hand there.”

Stevie did as he was told, and the door popped open. “Your door is now keyed,” said Zero. “And that’s a key you can’t lose or lock in your room.”

Stevie chuckled, then dropped his bag on the bed and checked out the room. It looked like a hotel room—there was a private bathroom, a small fridge (stocked with snacks and soft drinks, he learned later), and a big window with curtains over it. “Looks nice,” he said.

“Your journal is on the desk over there,” said Zero.

Stevie checked it out; it had a battered-looking cover. But when he opened it, he found it concealed an iPad mini. “Wait,” he said. “This is mine?” The last word came out in a squeak.

“It’s a specially-modified version,” said Zero. “The journal app is only visible when you’re touching the device, and it has a secure link to the Zero Point network. There’s a Bluetooth keyboard already associated with it in the drawer. You can use that if you can touch type.”

“Whoa.”

“We have time to figure out how you won it,” said Captain Heroic. “Maybe some kind of drawing or contest.”

“Plenty of time,” Zero agreed. “But for now, we have more to see. We need to register you, and give you a complete physical. I want to establish a baseline for your conditioning. That should take us to lunch, then we’ll begin testing your ability this afternoon.”

“Yeah.” Stevie closed the cover, wishing he could just sit here the rest of the day (or the week) and load up the iPad with stuff. This is a dream, he thought. In a minute, I’ll wake up.

continued…

The Swamp Witch Gets a Student (#FridayFlash)

Earlier Swamp Witch stories…

• Past the Witching Hour
• The Swamp Witch and the Deacon

---

Image source: openclipart.org

Many of those who came to Hattie the Swamp Witch did their business on her porch, and never entered her house. Those invited inside rarely got a look at much more than the front room, the “living room” as most reckoned it. From there, one might get a glimpse of her kitchen, usually as she worked at fixing up whatever it was that needed fixing—usually a love potion, or the results of too much love or lust, but Hattie wasn’t one to judge.

Beyond that, Hattie might let a visitor use her bathroom if they needed. Anyone curious or nosy enough to approach the other two doors (firmly closed) would get a warning from Mr. Sniff, her cat. Once or twice in Hattie’s long career, she had to give a visitor a poke with a broom handle and a dire threat. Not that there was much to see behind either door.

One door went to her bedroom. The nightstand was the only cluttered part of the bedroom, stacked with books. The other door opened on a narrow hallway, leading to a back porch. It was screened in, had indoor-outdoor carpeting, and sported a small hammock. On this muggy summer afternoon, Hattie was snoozing in the hammock, a little afternoon constitutional—

BAM BAM BAM

Mr. Sniff, curled up on the warm carpet, jumped up and hissed. “Wha?” Hattie gasped, flipping herself out of the hammock. She landed on her hip, snarling a curse that would have curdled the swamp water if it wasn’t already nasty.

The pounding again. “Coming!” Hattie snarled, ducking through the narrow hall and grabbing her hat off the dining room table. Mr. Sniff went straight for the door and meowed, stretching himself toward the knob like he would let the visitor in himself.

“Huh,” said Hattie. Mr. Sniff was a pretty good judge of her visitors, even through the door, and he’d never done that before.

“What’cha want?” Hattie asked, jerking the door open and stepping back before the visitor knocked her nose. She sized up the young woman on the other side: she looked both plain and angry. Well, a Loosyana summer was enough to make anyone a bit testy.

“I want to disappear,” the visitor snapped.

“Come back at night and get off the path,” Hattie replied. “You’ll disappear right quick. But I guess that ain’t what you meant. Here, let’s sit out on the porch swing. What’s yer name?”

“Paula LaFria.”

“Okay, Paula. Tell me what’s on your mind, and I’ll tell you if I can help. You want a glass of water or anything?”

“Yeah, water would be good. I’m sweatin’ like a pig out here.”

“Okay. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Pouring the water, Hattie debated, then decided it couldn’t hurt nothing. She poured a goodly knock of vodka into Paula’s glass. It would help to loosen her tongue.

Hattie returned to the porch, to find Mr. Sniff in the woman’s lap, purring up a storm. Paula smiled and obliged the cat with ear scratches and head rubs.

“If that don’t beat all,” said Hattie, sitting next to her. “He ain’t usually that friendly. You must be a good person all the way down. Here’s ya some water. Tell me what’s on your mind. Why you wanna disappear? You ain’t killed nobody, have ya?”

That got a wry chuckle out of Paula. “Naw. Not yet, anyway.” She took a gulp. “No offense, but your water tastes a little funny.”

“It comes out a well. Eighty, ninety years ago, they went drillin’ for oil and struck water instead. They just capped it off, but one of my predecessors tapped it and run some pipe back here. Gotta pump it, but it beats draggin’ a barrel of water down the path. It’s probably healthier than your town water. But that ain’t tellin’ me anything about your problem. You wanna disappear? You don’t need no witch help for that, just head to Nawlins or Baton Rouge like all the other young folks.”

Paula shrugged and slugged down her treated water. “Still got men there. Always starin’, always thinkin’ I’m obligated to show ‘em a good time, like it’s a privilege for me or something. So I thought if you had something that would make me disappear, I could at least live my life in peace. I got two hundred dollars saved up. Ain’t much, but I’ll give it to you if you can make it happen.”

“Hm. You know most of what a swamp witch does ain’t really magic, right? I mix up potions, yeah, but it’s all stuff you can find out here. I checked the library, and I think there’s a scientific basis for all of it.”

“So you can’t help me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Hattie assured her. “I done a little studyin’ where I could, ‘specially where it comes to love potions. I guess my recipe gets yer body chemicals a-brewin’. Maybe that’s a natural thing for you. If I could figure out how the recipe works, maybe I could figure out something to make it go the other way, cut off that brew. But I got a more sure way to make ya disappear.”

“Without me jumpin’ in the swamp, I hope.”

“Yeah. Mostly. You ever think about bein’ a swamp witch?”

“What?” Paula jumped to her feet, swayed for a moment, and sat down. “I think the heat’s got to me.”

“Sure. I’m ready to call it quits myself. But Nowhere, Loosyana needs a swamp witch to take care of things. Nobody’ll bother you, unless they got a death wish. I teach you the recipes, how to deal with folks, and all ya gotta do is change yer name.”

“My name?”

“Yep. My born name’s Susan. But Hattie’s been the swamp witch out here for over a hundred years.”

Paula grinned. “You know what? You got yourself a student.”