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.”

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 2

Blink’s earlier adventures:

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

Superhero Summer Camp (this one): 1

---

This is really happening, Stevie thought, as the Heromobile turned onto an overgrown lane, barely visible from the highway, marked PRIVATE DRIVE. Ahead of them, two trees blocking the road lifted up enough for them to slip underneath.

Captain Heroic glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Stevie watching. “That was the first line of passive defense,” he said. “There’s also a fence that runs around the grounds, but you can’t see it from the road. Here’s the blowout strip.” They drove over what looked like a narrow drain grate running across the pavement. Brush and rocks lined both sides of the road, making the whole thing feel closed in. “Active defenses come next. Fortunately, we’re expected, so you won’t see those in action.”

“Active?” Stevie unbuckled his seatbelt and joined Skyscraper City’s first and oldest superhero up front.

“Yeah. Passive defenses are there to slow you down or block your way. Keeps honest people honest, you might say. The active defenses are laser blinders, dazzlers, sonic squealers. Fair warning kind of stuff. If you’re not invited and get past those, then the deadly force kicks in. Mines, guns, that kind of thing.”

“Has it ever been used?”

“Oh, nah. Professor Zero likes to say the best deterrent is one that never has to be used. There’s cameras all along the way as well, on the road and on either side. I’m told some of the local high school kids think the spot in front of the trees is a great place to make out. If they knew there was video… well, it’s reviewed and archived. Every once in a while, one of those kids grows up to be a politician, you know.” The Captain grinned. “So don’t bring your girlfriend down here.”

“Yeah.” Like that’s ever gonna happen, Stevie thought.

The road curved off to the left, but the Heromobile rolled on across the dirt, straight toward a huge rock. “Uh…” Stevie warned, then threw his hands onto the dashboard, bracing for impact.

Captain Heroic laughed, and the Heromobile went through the rock. Lights flared on in front of them, guiding them down a tunnel. “That was a hologram. The road goes to that building you’ve seen on TV,” he explained. “We call it the conference center. It’s a facade, and the only part of the operation the public ever sees. We have press briefings and meetings with local and national authorities there, is all. And the tours, of course. The real work all happens inside this little mountain.”

“Wow.” Stevie stole a glance behind him. The other passengers were totally wrapped up in their own worlds, missing out on all this. Maybe they had seen it before. Ms. Ma probably had, anyway. Well, okay, a tunnel wasn’t all that exciting, but seeing all this in person and getting explanations was way better than just looking around after the fact and seeing you had arrived.

A light flashed up ahead, and Captain Heroic slowed down. The Heromobile emerged into what looked like a tiny city parking garage. Most of the slots were occupied by golf carts, but a few slots were open and Captain Heroic parked in one. “Here we are,” he said over his shoulder. “Your escorts should be here by the time you grab your stuff.” He gave Stevie a lopsided smile. “I’m your escort. Since we’ve already worked together on one job, the Professor figured that you’d be more comfortable with someone you know.”

Ma Ling had already opened the side door and shouldered her bag; Stevie’s mom had bigger purses than that. Sarika put her iPad in a case, then skipped around to the back of the van. She hoisted a backpack nearly as big as herself onto her shoulders with a grunt. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said, leaning forward for balance. She’s a lot stronger than she looks, Stevie thought, with some admiration.

Stevie waited for Ms. Ling to exit, then slid his pack out from under the seat. It contained mostly clothes, and a couple of books in case they didn’t have the ones he was reading. He gave Captain Heroic a nod, then looked at the approaching escorts. Ma Ling’s escort was some dude in a rentacop outfit, but he did a double-take at the young girl sent for Sarika. Nowhere near as gorgeous as Sarika, but there weren’t any girls in his school who were. Still, what were the chances of two girls around his age being here? The other girl in turn gave him a puzzled scowl, then led Sarika to a golf cart and drove off.

“This one,” said Captain Heroic, and Stevie shook himself. He tossed his bag in the back of the golf cart and took the shotgun seat. “Welcome to Zero Point, by the way. Ever thought you’d get a chance to see this?”

“I hoped I’d get to take the tour some day,” Stevie replied. “I guess that’s a big fake-out, though.”

Captain Heroic laughed. “You’re handling this better than some rookies do, so far. And all of them were a lot older than you.”

“Cool. Who was Sarika’s escort?”

“Oh, Nixi?” He pronounced it Nikki. “She’s Professor Zero’s niece. She’s some kind of wizard with computers, so I guess you could say this is a summer job for her. Maybe they sent her so Sarika would have an escort she can relate to.”

“Why are they here? Ms. Ma and Sarika, I mean.”

“Truth be told, I don’t know. You’ll find out pretty quickly, this is a huge operation. I’m not sure even the Professor knows what all goes on here in his own name, even if he gives the whole thing some general direction. It’s like a big corporation, or a government outfit—you’ll find out there’s not much difference, sooner or later—everyone’s working on a different piece of the pie, and it all comes together. Somehow.” Captain Heroic stole a glance at his young passenger. “By the way, I figured you’d be asking me a lot more about Sarika.”

Stevie blushed. “She’s okay. More than okay. I—I don’t know, really.” He had this idea that Sarika’s parents had already arranged a marriage to some guy she had never met, but it was a dumb racist jerk thing to think. He didn’t think he was racist—Lashaun was his best friend, after all—and it embarrassed him to have such a thought.

“Yeah, just remember we’re not here to find you a girlfriend. This is work, even if it isn’t the kind of job you’d expect. In some ways, it’ll be worse than a job. They’re going to get personal with you, and I mean seriously personal. We all have weaknesses, and they’re going to pry into your brain to figure out what yours is. If you know what your weak spots are, you can work on them. By the time you go home, Professor Zero will know more about you than your mother does.”

“Ha. She doesn’t know about the Blink thing, to begin with.”

“Yeah. That’s one of the things that has the Professor worried. He wants to figure out why you manifested so early, and how it’s going to affect you. It’s an awfully big secret to be keeping from your parents.”

“If he has any ideas,” said Stevie, “I’m all ears.”

“Chances are, he’ll recommend you lie low until you get out on your own. No missions, no patrols, just be yourself until you can be Blink without a mom to worry about.” He pulled the cart to a stop. “Well, here we are.”

Stevie just stared at the man standing in front of the cart. Long brown hair, streaked with gray and pulled back in a tail, round wireframe glasses, unruly beard—a face he had seen on TV many times, but now he was seeing Professor Zero for real.

continued…

Blink: Superhero Summer Camp, episode 1

Let’s get this story started! But if you’ve just teleported in, you can click over to Blink’s earlier adventures:

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

---

“Mom!” Stevie Winkler shouted from the front porch. “They’re here!”

“All right, honey, I’m coming,” Mom replied, and hustled out to join her son. “Bye.” She hugged him, with some hesitation for a change. “Have a good time. I expect you to write.”

“I will,” said Stevie, shouldering his pack, already looking at the van with the Lake Walnut Grove Summer Camp markings emblazoned on the side. “It might be email, though. The info packet said they have a computer lab and everything.”

“Communing with nature by day, surfing the web by night?” Mom gave him that joshing look of hers. “Sounds like you won’t be getting much sleep.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.” Stevie hugged her one more time, then shouldered his bag. It had taken a lot of willpower to not just pop out to the van and be gone in the first place. “At least you can get some stuff done without me underfoot all the time.”

“Seriously, Stevie? You aren’t underfoot much, if at all. But maybe I’ll get a little time on the computer, at least until you get back.”

“Ha. Maybe you can get a new computer while I’m gone.” He grinned. “Bye, Mom. I’ll miss you. Try to have some fun, okay?”

Mom nodded, and gave him a little nudge that said it was finally okay for him to burst out the door and run for the van. The side door opened when he was halfway down the short sidewalk, and he jumped in and slid his pack under the seat.

“She finally let you go?” Captain Heroic asked from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah.” This was the Heromobile, wearing a skin that Stevie (aka Blink) thought might be custom for this one job. He looked around, and realized that there were other passengers already here. “Oh. Hi,” he said, with some embarrassment.

“Get settled in,” said Captain Heroic. “We can do introductions once we’re rolling.”

Stevie dropped into the middle seat, next to a skinny Chinese-looking dude in black, and buckled up. “Okay,” he said, and Captain Heroic drove away.

“Hello,” the dude nodded. He had a thick accent and a high, soft voice. “I am Ma Ling. You may call me Linda if you are more comfortable with that.”

“Oh, okay.” Stevie clamped down on his mouth. Saying sorry, I thought you were a guy was probably rude.

“I’m Sarika,” the girl in the back said. She was dark, but not black like his friend Lashaun, and her smile made her cute beyond belief. And...

Something important dawned on him. “You’re a Devi, right? Or your parents are?” He turned to Ma Ling. “And you’re one of the Masked Warriors?”

Sarika laughed, making him feel warm, and Ma Ling nodded. “I am going to help train some of the other heroes in close combat techniques,” said Ma—no, Ling—didn’t they put their first names last or something?

“Cool.” Stevie thought he should say something else, but could not think of anything. “How about you?” he asked Sarika.

“Kind of like what you’re doing,” she replied. She had a little accent, a kind of lilt that Stevie thought sounded cute. “I’m going to help with Professor Zero’s research.”

Jeez, he thought, do I like her or something? Not like she’s going to be interested. Then again, he did have a superpower. Maybe she would be.

“And you’ve both heard of Blink,” said Captain Heroic. “Here he is. The youngest person ever to manifest a superpower.”

“Amazing,” said Ma Ling. “The universe has something important for you to do, if you must shoulder your burden so soon.” She nodded once and turned away.

“You can really teleport yourself?” Sarika asked. “Can you carry anything with you?”

“Yeah,” Stevie replied, happy that Sarika was paying attention to him. “My clothes, obviously. Anything else I’m holding, too.”

“How big?”

“Well, I got Frank Crain away from the Blackuras, and he weighed a hundred and fifty.”

“That much?” Sarika looked confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean pounds.”

“Yeah.”

“How about distance?”

Stevie wondered how many questions she had, but decided that wasn’t important. She was talking to him. “I haven’t tried to find out, really. I always just pop to somewhere close.”

“Through walls?”

“Sure. I pop in and out of my bedroom all the time.”

After that, the questions trailed off, and they all spent the rest of the trip in their own shells. Ma Ling meditated, or maybe she was praying. Or taking a nap. Sarika occupied herself with an iPad, oblivious to Stevie’s mixed admiration and jealousy. Unable to handle the conflicting emotions, he turned around and watched out the window. The supers had already come through with finding Mom a better job, something with steady hours that paid better than Slaver-Mart, but it hadn’t made much of a difference in their situation so far. Mom was too obsessed with catching up on old bills to consider essentials like a new computer just yet. It wasn’t even worth thinking about getting an iPad.

A few more miles down the freeway, and Stevie’s thoughts drifted back to where they were going—Professor Zero’s compound. He had seen a few shots of the place on Channel Fourteen and HNN, but living there for six weeks (while Mom thought he was at some summer camp) was going to be awesome beyond belief. Professor Zero would try to figure out what limits his teleportation power had—that was part of what the supers had disguised as summer camp for him—but maybe it was going to be more than that, if Ms. Ma and Sarika were along for the ride. It was kind of stupid, thinking it was just going to be about him for the whole summer.

Too bad I can’t tell Chris and Lashaun about this. Or anyone else. Being a real superhero would make him the envy of his class. Just getting more than the visitor’s tour of Professor Zero’s place would do that. If he was stupid enough to let on, of course—that thing with Frank just proved giving out your secret identity was a dumb move. But Sarika asking him about how far he could teleport himself got him thinking. He had never given much thought to that before. He occupied himself with a daydream: Strapping on a backpack, he picked up Mom. A second later, they were on the beach. Then again, that wouldn’t pay for their hotel or anything. And letting Mom know what he could do just seemed like certain disaster…

The van shifted, and Stevie jerked awake. They had left the freeway, and Captain Heroic was turning. Ms. Ma was still meditating, and Sarika spared hardly a glance before diving back into whatever she was doing on her iPad. Stevie thought he knew which exit this was; Dad had taken him out here on one of his rare visitation days last summer, to the state park. He remembered that day—they hiked one of the trails and threw a Frisbee for a little while. It seemed like Dad had wanted to tell him something important, but couldn’t figure out how. He remembered wishing they had just gone to the nearby Dari-Freez for ice cream instead.

Sure enough, there was the sign to the state park, but Captain Heroic turned the other way. Things would be different this year.

continued…

Writing Wibbles: New Serial on the Way!

With Lost in Nightwalk done, I’ve turned to cleaning up Blink’s newest adventure. For a lark, I collected his earlier stories, and most of the other Skyscraper City stories, into an eBook for my mailing list members. (Not a member? Sign up quick!) Here’s a little blurb…

At age 13, Stevie Winkler is the youngest known super. Being able to teleport is cool, but keeping it a secret sucks. Professor Zero and some of Skyscraper City’s most famous superheroes are training him, but Blink finds the line between hero and villain isn’t always clear.

Blink has three goals as a teenage superhero: survive, keep Mom from finding out… and maybe get a girlfriend.

I’ve finished writing this adventure, and it’s going to run 20 episodes. This is a departure for me—before, I’d write the first few episodes and turn it loose. I was having so much trouble with the middle, though, that I thought I’d better finish the whole thing first.

Each episode will drop on Monday morning at 7am Eastern time (noon GMT). Having the entire thing done means I can focus on the next part. Update: if you want to catch up on Blink’s earlier adventures before this one starts:

Blink
Blink’s First Adventure

Comments on each episode are encouraged! Remember to check in each Monday to get the latest.

I want to thank Icy Sedgwick and Tony Noland, whose superhero stories inspired me to write my own. And special thanks to Catherine Russell, who beta-read this adventure and caught some issues. And +Angela Kulig, of course, for the cover art.

Writing Wibbles: the Bloom Comes Off the Unlimited Rose

Back in July, I wrote about the new (at the time) Kindle Unlimited (KU) program. I said in part:

The per-borrow payout has been a [little] over $2 for months, now, slightly more than the royalty on a $3 eBook purchase. Amazon has offered a 30-day free trial, so I expect that August is going to push down that payout quite a bit (my guess: it will be around 50¢) despite Amazon increasing the fund by 66%. For some authors, the increased borrows will more than offset the depressed per-borrow payout. Others will hate it—perhaps enough to yank their books out of Select.

Amazon is walking a tightrope. At current payout levels, an average of four borrows per member per month (about one per week) will nearly wipe out the monthly subscription fee. But if the payout drops too far, authors will pull their most popular books, making the service much less attractive.

It’s interesting to see what I got wrong, and what little I got right. First off, the per-borrow payout never dropped to 50¢. It has gone down significantly, averaging $1.60 over the first few months, a bit lower more recently, and that has caused a lot of grief in some quarters. It didn’t affect me all that much personally—I only have one book in Select, Oddities, and it would get a borrow or two every other month. That changed little; November was the first month I got any borrows since KU started, but I got two. Woohoo. I also said things would be a little more clear by the end of September… it took a couple more months than that.

Okay, now to the last part, the part I got right: Amazon is walking a tightrope, and it’s wobbling. For some writers, including some top indie sellers, KU has been a disaster. The Bookseller blog, engaging in a little hyperbole, wonders if the honeymoon is over. H. M. Ward, a highly-popular romance writer, yanked her books out of KU saying, “I… lost approx 75% of my income [counting bonuses] … The number of borrows was higher than sales. They didn’t complement each other, as expected.” Top borrowees like Ward got “All-Star” bonuses on top of the monthly pot, but it wasn’t enough to make up for the plunge in sales. (The Bookseller claims that Howey “expected to pull most of his work out of [KU]” but did not furnish a link. You toss a potential bomb like that, you ought to cite it.) Anyway, there’s a lot of good info in this very long article. If you feel the urge to TL;DR out of it, skip to the bottom for some meaty stuff.

Meanwhile, I’ve been seeing reports on the KDP forums about “writers” who throw together what amount to sales pamphlets, upload them by the dozens, then borrow them through sock-puppet accounts. At $1.40 per borrow, they need only borrow eight of these junk “books” to recoup their KU subscription fee, and they often have fifty or more books on offer. And who knows how many sock puppet accounts they have going? Some forum members estimate that the scammers are pulling down the per-borrow payout by 30¢ or more.

I don’t see a viable way forward for KU, defined as something Amazon, top authors, and subscribers can agree upon. If Amazon adjusts the pot enough to bring the payout back up to $2 per borrow, they stand to lose money as avid readers grab one book after another. But if they don’t, and the most popular authors continue to jump ship, KU subscribers will drop out as well. Some of the “name” authors suggest changing KU so members subscribe to authors, which translates to auto-purchasing books as they come out. I can see where mischief could be made there, though.

On the other hand, authors with $1 or $2 books, or first-of-series titles that they might otherwise try to make free, could still benefit from KU. A $2 book (like Oddities) under the current system earns about 70¢ per purchase—and around twice that per borrow. Instead of making the first book of a series free, put it in KU and encourage people to check it out. The author still gets a payday, and a potential new fan who buys the other books.

The question is still the same: come spring, will there be enough books in KU—and the right kinds of books—to keep enough people interested in subscribing? Floor’s open, tell me what you think!

War Games (“Lost in Nightwalk” excerpt) (#FridayFlash)

If you’ve been avoiding my post-launch giddiness… I can’t blame you. But Lost in Nightwalk is out, and I didn’t have a #FridayFlash put together, so why not excerpt something?

---

It’s out!

“Strike, forward march,” Firgar ordered. “We are now in hostile territory. Our torchlight gives us away, but all we can do for that is to be at the ready, aye?”

They reached the next intersection. “Here begins the test,” the Grand Commander whispered. “We’ll put two soldiers on each side, shields out, and dash across one by one.”

“Grand Commander,” said Sura, “with your permission. Mik and I had an idea last night, and it might be worth trying.”

“It was mostly Sura’s idea,” Mik added, “but we worked out the details together.” He explained what they had in mind.

Firgar chuckled. “Let’s try our try,” he said. “It hurts nothing if it doesn’t work.”

Soldiers lined up before the corner, and Bailar held the torches, as Mik and Sura shed their white cloaks. Away from the entrance, Nightwalk was equally cool in summer and winter. The cloaks were meant to protect them from bruising by the practice weapons, but they did keep their wearers warm. The apprentices waved their staffs, as Bailar had taught them to do in front of folk, and the cloaks drifted from them. Two torches joined the cloaks, and they floated into the intersection together. The apprentices made the torches move back and forth, as people would if they were deciding which way to go.

From their left came: thwock, thwock, the sound of two crossbows, and a practice bolt struck one of the cloaks. Bailar brought the False Dawn, lighting up the corridor, as two soldiers dived into the intersection and loosed their own crossbows. They rolled across, and two more soldiers did the same.

“Five!” one of them shouted. “Now three!” the other added. “No, two!”

“Charge!” Firgar and Narvin whooped a battle-cry and rushed the remaining defenders. Each threw a spear as they charged, then drew their practice swords. One of the spears found its mark, and the victim sat down. Three of the four mock casualties scrambled out of the way, as the last defender standing drew his own practice sword and tried to back away. It was over quickly.

Four of the defenders lined up against the wall. “What’s with him?” one of them asked, gesturing at the last man lying on the floor.

Bailar made his way down the hall, using the wall to keep his balance. He knelt next to the man, who gasped and sat up. “You died in your sleep,” Bailar explained. “I cut your throat.”

“Five to one,” one of the defenders said, shaking his head. “From what I’ve been hearing, that’s the best showing from your side yet.”

“Five to none, actually,” Narvin grinned. “Our mages floated empty cloaks into the intersection for you to shoot at.”

“Clever.”

“Hundred Thora is an excellent tactician,” said Firgar, “but Lady Sura descends from the finest tactician in Termag’s history.” He nodded to Sura, approaching with Mik and the rest of the strike.

The defenders looked at each other. “A girl planned that? Is that the Matriarchy girl, then?”

“Aye. She’ll make a fine warrior-mage, the first in centuries.”

“Good work,” the defenders’ leader said. “Perhaps we’ll have another round of this. Both sides can learn from its mistakes and successes.” They lifted torches and shuffled away.

---

Things get messy from here—get “Lost in Nightwalk” with Sura, Mik, and Bailar and find out just how messy!

Writing Wibbles: Search Engine 101 for Authors

Monday night, I saw this tweet:

Being the diplomatic soul that I am, I responded “I call BS” before even reading the article. Then, I thought I should expand on that statement. Which meant I had to read the article.

In summary: Stephan Eirik Clark (the author) wrote a literary novel he called Sweetness #9. In the article (written in March), he complained about the search engine first not finding his novel at all in the early pre-order phase, then burying it under Sweet Valley High and artificial sweetener products. (Or maybe writing the article was a clever way to boost his book—Salon will always run a “bash Amazon” article, and click-throughs and sales are always good ways to push a page up Amazon's search rankings.)

Clark goes on to quote a New Yorker article by George Packer, in which he claims that publishers can pay Amazon to push books up the search rankings. Oh, the horror!

Um, wait a minute. Actually, I’ll wait an hour or so. Go to your nearest bookstore. Check out those tables at the front. Why are those books there, and not the ones you might want to see? If you answered “the publishers paid the bookstore for favorable placement,” you get a gold star!

But hey, I’ve not paid Amazon a dime for search engine placement. And yet, if you type “Accidental Sorcerers” into Amazon’s search, guess what comes up #1? (and #2 through #5?) Someone else’s book, The Accidental Sorcerer, appears a little farther down.

One of the things that +Angela Kulig taught me, early on when I joined the co-op, is that titles matter. If you pick a generic title, your book will flounder in a sea of other books (and in the case of Amazon, other products) with similar names. Just like in poor Mr. Clark’s case. A little closer to home, I once titled a book in progress Chasing a Rainbow. Angela suggested I search that title on Goodreads. Ouch. We came up with the replacement title, The Crossover, only after much banging of heads on tables (at least on my part) late at night. There are other titles that show up in a search for that, and mine still doesn't make the first page.

So, in a nutshell, this is Search 101 for authors: pick a title that’s as unique as possible. If you have a generic-sounding title like “Sweetness,” you need a lot of sales to get your ranking pushed to the top. Or your publisher can pay the online bookstore for placement, just like they do for brick-and-mortar stores. One is a little more work, but cheaper and more effective. Or, just bash Amazon and let Salon do the rest. Doesn’t matter if you prove yourself clueless in the process, eh?

Launch: Dust of the Dead Sea, by Angela Kulig

It’s a busy time at the end of November. Baking bread, turkeys, beans… and books?

Yup. Angela Kulig has at long last released Book 2 of the Hollows series, Dust of the Dead Sea!

There are many things between Heaven and Hell, and Marlow the Skeleton is just one of them. Taking the fight to the Hollows who tried to take her, Marlow travels with Raiden, the other half of her soul, to the worst place she can think of. The Dead Sea. Part crazy religious cult, part vengeful god, The Dead Sea isn't what she thought it would be—it’s worse.

The thing is, you don’t know you’re addicted until you’re in the monster’s teeth. Marlow doesn't think she needs The Dead Sea, but it’s poisoning her with every drop, and every raging wave, and all the dust collecting in her lungs. How do you fight a villain when the villain isn’t a man, but a place?

Old characters with new agendas break the surface again, bringing fresh pain. Beneath a starless desert sky, Marlow and Raiden will confront a destiny that will end everything. They should have never gone to The Dead Sea to look for answers—they should have gone looking for questions.

Get it here:

• Amazon: http://amzn.to/1sRWtQa
• B&N: COMING SOON
• Kobo: http://bit.ly/1AL6UNE

Connect with Angela here, here, or here:

• Twitter: www.twitter.com/angelakulig
• Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorangelakulig
• Blog: www.angelakulig.com

If you haven’t read the other books in the Hollows series, grab them while they’re on sale:

• The Skeleton Song (Hollows #0): http://amzn.to/19ke9it
• Skeleton Lake (Hollows #1): http://amzn.to/YUP9Yx

The Voice of the Forest (#FridayFlash)

This one runs a little long, not quite 1300 words, so I hope you’ll forgive me. This is Bailar the Blue’s “origin story,” which takes place when he was 13…

Thanks to Catherine Russell for providing a quick beta read.

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Image source:
openclipart.org

“Drunk again?”

Bailar sim Prensin caught his footing, not falling this time, and kept walking. Farl’s gibe was hardly original, after all, not worth responding to.

“Crazy lout,” the older boy muttered as Bailar stumbled by. “Someday, the Forest will eat you.”

At this, Bailar smirked. In this little farming community along the edge of the Deep Forest, children tested their nerve by venturing into the trees, daring each other to go a little farther in. But the Forest never held any terror for Bailar—indeed, to him it was a welcoming place. Even as a child, he had oft embarrassed Farl and other older children in their game, wandering farther into the trees than any.

“Don’t know why the mothers let you watch their babies,” Farl sneered, turning away. Bailar often wondered the same, but it was one of the few useful things he could do to earn some coins. He was too clumsy for most physical labor, and there was little call for intellectual pursuits here in the hinterlands of the Stolevan Matriarchy. Still, babies enjoyed his company, and he prided himself on never dropping any of them. As for the mothers, they seemed to like him—or perhaps they pitied him.

He left the road and walked the edge of a rye field, using the fence to help with his balance. A few younger children capered ahead, probably nerving themselves up to dash into the trees beyond. They slowed as they drew closer to the edge of the Deep Forest, though, and he caught up to them. Bailar could hear the trees whispering, even from here, although there was no wind. He knew why: ages ago, the Unfallen had once dwelt in the Forest. The trees awakened under their care, and Unfallen and trees protected each other. The last of the Unfallen had passed on, transcended, centuries ago—but the trees still remembered.

“Crazy Bailar,” one of the bigger girls said. She looked about two years younger than Bailar’s thirteen. “He wins.”

“I’m not playing the game this time,” Bailar retorted. “And yes, I’m just a boy, but I’m older and you should have at least a little respect.” The girl stuck her tongue out at him.

“What are you doing, then?” one of the boys asked.

“I’ll show you.” Bailar stepped past the first trees. “Hoy!” he called. “My eldest sister is sick. Will you allow me to gather everbalm and flameweed to help make her better?”

The trees whispered a reply. Bailar could not make out words, as always, but the whispers sounded agreeable. The younger children gaped as he found his balance and hiked away.

“If a boy can do it, I can do it,” he heard behind him. A girl jogged toward him, the one who had insulted him. “Hoy! Bailar! Wait!”

Bailar stopped to oblige her. It will be interesting to see how long she lasts, he thought. It would be a new experience, hiking the Forest with someone at his side—even a sharp-tongued girl.

“How do you know what to look for?” she asked, matching his stride but stealing glances over her shoulder.

“Healer Rosha told me,” he replied, looking around. “Flameweed to help with her fever, everbalm for the coughing.” He stifled a laugh, thinking about the conversation with Rosha and his mother:

“If I had the herbs,” said Rosha, “I could cure her. But the barge won’t be here for a week, and who knows if it’ll carry any?”

“I can get them,” said Bailar.

“Where?” Mother cocked an eyebrow, perhaps knowing the answer.

“I’ll ask the Forest.”

“The Forest?” Rosha looked horrified. “You’ll go… ah. I forget.”

He had laughed, but thought at last, this might be my calling. Rosha had an older apprentice, but perhaps if he could bring her what she needed, she might take a second…

“How do you know where to go?” The girl’s question brought him back to the present. “Do the trees talk to you?”

“No,” Bailar replied. “You have to have magic in you to hear what the trees say. That’s what the old grands say, anyway. But you know how you can tell someone something without words?”

“Indeed.” She stopped, a step behind Bailar, and looked back. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the trees to point the way.” He crouched and pointed. “See how the leaves are mounded a little, going off that way?”

“No. Ah, ah, I’d better go back. I shouldn’t be alone with a boy anyway, and someone has to look out for the others.”

“It’s all right,” Bailar assured her.

She turned away, but looked up and screamed. “A dragon! Oh gods, a dragon!” She dashed to Bailar and hid behind him, making him laugh.

“It’s just an Oakendrake,” he said. “They won’t hurt you unless you try to grab it, or get too close to its nest.” Bailar had read everything he could find about dragons, which was not much. But he had seen Oakendrakes before. He looked up at the green dragon, only as long as his arm, crouched on a tree limb. “Hello, dragon. Would you fly away long enough for my friend to run back to her other friends?”

The Oakendrake squawked, making the girl cringe, and disappeared above the trees.

“That way.” Bailar pointed, and the girl wasted no time sprinting away. He shrugged and followed the path the trees laid out for him. The Oakendrake returned, flitting from branch to branch. They were curious creatures, after all.

The line of leaves led to a clearing. The north edge held a riot of different herbs, all vying for a place in the sun. Bailar found what he needed, and gathered a small bag of each as the dragon watched from a short distance.

“Thank you for your aid, O Forest,” he said, bowing with palm to forehead. “And to you, Oakendrake, for watching over me.” The little dragon squawked and flew away again. “I should have asked for a stick to use for a staff,” he muttered, as he left the clearing. “I could—”

His foot caught an exposed root, and he went sprawling. Somehow, he kept a grip on his bags. His free hand caught something hard.

Take up, he heard. A whisper like the trees, but as clear as any voice.

“What?” He pushed himself to his knees. “Who said that?”

Your staff, came the reply. Take up.

In his hand was a dry root, as long as he was tall. He stood, stick in hand. One end was a gnarled knot, the other a ragged break. There were no cracks in between. It would make a perfect staff, with minimal work. “I—I—thank you again, O Forest.”


Later, braced against the work table, the stick clamped down, Bailar sawed off the broken end. He kept his free hand well away, and took his time. He could often avoid hurting himself if he took enough time and care. His sister, already feeling better, had offered to sew a leather boot for his staff, and Mother had donated a handful of fat to help cure the wood. But his mind was elsewhere. I heard the trees speak, he thought. ‘Prenticing himself to the Healer was no longer the best he could do.

He had a little money from caring for infants. But now, minding children was in his past. With two older sisters, he had no inheritance to speak of. So, when the barge came, he would leave his old life behind. Surely a sorcerer downriver would take him as apprentice. He had heard the voice of the Forest, and all things were possible.

Lost in Nightwalk COVER REVEAL!

The story is with the editor now, and I don’t have an exact publication date set just yet, but I’m still hoping to launch by month’s end. Here’s the blurb:

Lord Darin is pursuing Sura. The Web is pursuing Bailar and Mik. Still, they continue teaching combat magic to sorcerers in Koyr and the Northern Reach.

Training for conflict in the Goblin fastness, soldiers and mages start using Nightwalk, the vast maze under Ak’Koyr, for war games. Fleeing an assassination attempt, they find themselves lost. Now the problem isn’t Lord Darin or The Web—it’s getting out.

Okay, how about a look at the gorgeous cover?

Meanwhile, Beyond the Sea of Storms (Book 6) has been drafted, so at least one of them survives Nightwalk. Or maybe it’s a reluctant Charn or Isa who pick up the mantle…

New release: Green Zulu Five One by Scott Whitmore

Scott Whitmore’s new Military/Sci-Fi novella, Green Zulu Five One (and other stories from the Vyptellian War), is out! It could use a little signal boost, so go check it out. I’m reading his steampunk/vampire mashup Carpathia, and it’s racing toward the conclusion now.

A war of millions is fought by individuals. For sixteen years humanity and the alien Vyptellians have battled in space and on hundreds of planets in a distant corner of the galaxy.

Tyko is a teenage space fighter pilot who has never known peace; insulated from the horrors of the battlefield, he’ll learn war isn’t a game. Sergeant Siengha is one of a handful to survive the war’s first battle; surrounded and vastly outnumbered by a merciless enemy, it takes everything she knows to keep those around her alive and fighting.

These are just two of the countless stories from the human side of the Vyptellian War. To those on the frontlines and their families at home, why the war began is unimportant, forgotten when the first shot was fired. What matters is the survival of the species.

But after years of bloody conflict, the war’s end is closer than anyone realizes.


OK, now that we’ve talked about the book, let’s talk about—I mean, to—the author:

Where did the idea for Green Zulu Five One come from?

In August last year I was asked by writer and editor Tara Maya to contribute to the Space Jockey anthology, and I submitted a story about Tyko, a fifteen-year-old pilot whose call sign is Green Zulu Five One and who is fighting in a war against an alien race that started before he was born. The first reviewer of the anthology mentioned the story favorably and said he thought it would make a great opening chapter to a longer work. That got me to thinking about where Tyko’s story may lead.

But the book isn’t just about Tyko, is it? 

No, Tyko’s story is just one of many, hence the subtitle “and other stories from the Vyptellian War.” Each chapter is essentially a short story about some event or aspect of the war; some characters appear in more than one chapter and some are one-offs. Tyko’s story arc is told over several chapters and is the longest, with that of battle-hardened Platoon Sergeant Siengha the second longest. Tyko and Siengha represent space and ground operations of humanity’s war against the Vyptellians.

I’ve read a couple books using this connected vignette format, most notably 3024AD: Short Stories Series One by DES Richard and Planks by SC Harrison, and wanted to try it for myself. It was fun but challenging because I was determined to keep the book short, less than 50,000 words, while still exploring as many aspects of the war as possible.

Tyko’s story arc has some similarities with Orson Scott Card’s Ender novels. Were they an influence?

No, I’ve actually never read any of Card’s work or seen the movie. There are a lot of influences on the stories, including some books and movies, but not those.

Okay, so what would you say influenced you in writing these stories?

For starters, a lot of real-world events. Growing up in the 1960s the war in Vietnam was never far from my consciousness, through hearing my parents talk about it to movies and the nightly news on TV. For the longest time as a kid I did not realize being at “peace” was an option and that’s something Tyko realizes at one point. We’re right back in that state of perpetual war, too.

I served twenty years in the U. S. Navy, starting out as an enlisted Sailor and then being commissioned as an officer, so certainly that is an influence in everything I do, not just writing. I was never in combat, but I was in uniform for the end of the Cold War, Bosnia, Desert Shield/Storm, 9/11 and the beginnings of Iraq II and Afghanistan.

Other influences on my writing are books like The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien and Dispatches by Michael Herr; movies like Zulu, Three Kings, Platoon, Full Metal Jacket; and  TV shows like Battlestar Galactica and Space: Above and Beyond — among others.

Who created the cover?

I asked Norman Dixon Jr., who is the author of several excellent novels, to beta read the rough draft. In addition to giving me great feedback he offered to do the cover. Norm created the covers for his own books and is interested in branching out, doing cover work for hire. Working with him was wonderful and he created a very cool cover.

Your favorite character? Favorite chapter?

Ah, that’s a tough one — like which of your kids do you prefer? I like Tyko a lot but honestly Sergeant Siengha is probably my favorite. She was going to just be a one-off character, too, but after introducing her I realized there was more of her story I wanted to tell.

The people I asked to beta read the rough draft really liked the final chapter, “A Promise Kept,” which is good because it’s one of my favorite, too. “Three Minutes Out” is another chapter I like a lot; it was actually written after getting comments back from my awesome beta readers because I felt the book needed something with a little more action in the early chapters.

Any chance there will be more stories told from this sandbox?

I would never say never, but for now my thinking is probably not. My goals starting out were to do something fairly short that was a thought-provoking look at war, character-driven but with action sequences, too. I believe Green Zulu Five One (and other stories from the Vyptellian War) checks all those boxes.

But … if readers really like this book and ask for more, I know there are more stories to be told about this part of the galaxy, the war, and at least a few of these characters. So, again, never say never.

About the author

Born and raised in the American Midwest, Scott Whitmore enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1982 and was later commissioned as an officer. After retiring from military service he joined the sports staff at The Herald, a daily newspaper located in Everett, Washington. In 2009, his feature story about a young Everett sprint car racer was awarded third place in the annual writing contest held by the National Motorsports Press Association.

Scott left The Herald in 2009 to begin working as a freelance writer. In addition to his novels, he has written for various sports and motorsports magazines and blogs, and his profile of NASCAR driver Danica Patrick was included in the August 2011 New York Yankees Magazine as part of a special issue celebrating women in sports.

His previous novels are Carpathia and The Devil’s Harvest, available on Amazon.com. Contact him by email at 40westmedia@comcast.net or follow @ScottWhitmore on Twitter.