So I finished my latest novel

Mind the Slice is done for now. It’s in beta, meaning I’m handing it out to anyone who wants to give it a go. The novel needs work, which is why it’s in beta. Some of it will be changed for sure before I shop it around to publishers. If you want to play along and be a part of changing a pretty good novel into a great one send me an email and I’ll tell you how.

I’m pretty excited. it’s a fun story.

Starts with an explosion, ends with a scream; Mind The Slice is a Young Adult (YA) science fiction novel. Except for a double handful of f-bombs, is entirely appropriate for teens. The book is longish (500 + pages), but written in short chapters so it moves fast. It is sci-fi, but not particularly technical. My goal is as wide an audience as possible. You don’t need to know anything about star ships or computer programming to enjoy. There are a few technical areas, but you can skip them if you want.

This is my first pass at the cover art. I’m pretty excited about it as well.

Mind the Slice cover, beta version

Presto Chango

Once every 4-5 years I buy a new computer for my main rig. My main requirement is it needs to be powerful enough to push a lot of pixels. Approximately 17% of my income last year was created and billed on my old rig. Mostly they were poster sized photoshop files, with lots of layers and things going on. I won’t get too technical for those not into photoshop; suffice to say the files were complex.

I’m picky about my metal. I don’t want to spend a lot, but I also don’t want to sit around waiting for the computer to catch up with me. It’s tricky to find that sweet spot in terms of price/performance for the kind of work I do. Last time in 2017 it was an 27″ iMac 5k with 64 Gb of RAM, the faster (4.2 Ghz) i7 processor, and the fastest possible GPU. Since photoshop at that time was not threaded, having a multi-threaded computer wasn’t a big boost for me.

This time around I went with a Mac Studio and a Studio display. Picking the display took me a lot more time than the computer. I wasn’t happy about the price of the Studio display, but it does several things for me, including having a sweet audio output, and a decent built in camera for meetings. I could have purchased the fancier color display which is easier to calibrate, but then I would need to buy a separate web camera and speakers. Having it all rolled into one was far more convenient for me. My desk isn’t that big, I need all the space I can get.

In the photo above you can see me transferring my files from the older computer to the newer. This is one thing that Apple does very well. Their app Migration Assistant, does a sweet job of transferring all the pertinent files. My old rig had an older OS than the new one, still after a couple of hours of transferring files (all my music and photos take up a lot of space) all I had to do was type in the passwords for my email accounts. Everything was there. It was just as if all I did was move to a slightly different monitor, and gave my old computer a speed bump. That kind of seamlessness is hard to beat, and one of the reasons I remain in the Apple ecosystem.

That and my business, pixelectomy, is 100% apple. All of my clients, all of the time. This last part is a pretty good incentive to stay in that ecosystem. The last thing I want is to make my clients work hard for me. My goal is to be as smooth with them as Apple is at switching computers. So far it’s done the trick. I recognize there are other ways to do photoshop. Believe me I have this conversation all the time with my peers. I just don’t want to be an expert at that as well. It’s hard enough to push piles and write fiction. I don’t need more.

Story idea from a Dream

I had this idea in a dream a year ago. Had to look it up that morning to see if it was real. Sadly it wasn’t, though the origins of ventriloquism are disturbingly similar to this.

Still I have a universe I can probably tuck something like this into.

Faux Wiki

American Ventriloquism

American Ventriloquism was a rude style of entertainment started on the western edges of the US in the mid 1800s. Early practitioners were reported to make burping and other crude noises, that were thought to be funny, interpreting these sounds as human speech. This lead to small acts to toured in local areas. The humor was rough spun, some claim intentionally so. Men would pretend their stomachs were speaking, or that their belches and gurgles were their friends telling a story.

John Flannery of Stockton became the most famous of this style of ventriloquist, traveling up and down the state of California in the late 1860s with a small keg named Louis that was painted with a human face.

Reports of this style of entertainment last into the late 1870s before they were eventually overcome by entertainment groups traveling from the east coast on the newly developed railroads.

Must be a good night for dreams for me because 6 years ago I posted on facebook this idea:

I dreamed last night that a strange disease afflicted a group of astronomers, slowly turning their bodies to ice cream. By chance, a sample of one of these scientists, carefully kept in a freezer, was consumed by a young girl who became pregnant and gave birth to the most prominent scientist of our age.

2023

Well I guess we’re at the start of a new year. If I sound uncertain it’s because picking a random day to be the start/end point of a year seems highly suspicious to me. I mean why December 31st and January 1st? It would make more sense to start the year on an actual astronomical marker like the winter solstice (or the summer one for that matter). I would even settle on something like either equinox. It’s not like people haven’t known how to find these particular days, regardless of how their calendar is constructed. It’s pretty obvious once you start looking, and our distant ancestors had nothing to do but look around.

I generally don’t do new years resolutions, figuring that if something is important enough to make a promise to yourself, then start that shit right away. No need to wait for a special day. Want to be kinder to animals, or tell your significant other they are important to you in a meaningful way? Then for Bog’s sake don’t fuck around about it. Do it now. All that to say don’t expect wisdom from me, except to point out the excellent resolution from a colleague of mine who every year resolved, “if someone offers me a donut, I will take it.” That still strikes me as good advice.

On a different note, I’ve been working on a novel titled “Mind the Slice” for a few years now. The darn thing should have been finished long ago. I would write and write, but for some reason I could not hit the dismount. In truth, the story would get bogged down on some minor point, and then I’d lose my nerve. To compensate, I would then spend days and days researching ways to plot a novel. Believe me, there is a lot of “helpful,” and not so helpful advice out there on the internet. All of which is fun to follow if one is feeling lost, but its not necessarily useful in terms of finishing a story.

For me, short stories are much easier to write because they are much easier to plot. You have clear beginning, middle, and end points, and I can hold all the salient parts in my head as I go. But once a story gets to a certain length then I lose that ability to keep it all up in my mind at once. Then I keep having to go back and look, writing myself little notes, like, “Kill the boy after she kisses him, not before.” That kind of thing. And all of that made me feel uncomfortable, like I am missing something, and once that kind of doubt creeps into your head, it’s hard to finish.

Because of this I have like four different starts to the novel, and a whole host of middle passages, much of which I need to prune. That shit is also hard. Some of the plot points that will not make the final cut are still glorious in their own way. They exist as a reminder that yes I can write, and no, not everything I write fits the goal.

Anyway, at some point near the end of last year I had a kind of epiphany, and figured out a passage through the muck. Since then I have been stitching my Frankenstein of a book together chapter by chapter. I am at the halfway point in terms of chapters and such, and much of the second half is already written. I just need to put it all together, and smooth out the transitions. That is the good news. There’s a good chance I will have something in a useful form by the end of this month, ready to send out to beta readers. The bad news is it looks to one longish, like 200k words or 400 pages.

I am so excited. I cannot wait to share this novel. Lilah Al-Marwin is a marvel of a young girl. She is so bad ass it makes me cry. She is smart, and laser focused, but also carries several dark secrets, including her other half. There’s the tall and handsome second son of an Earl named Aberdeen (who has his own secret). There’s Randal, the only child of a billionaire computer maker, who also has his own secrets. And finally there’s Wyoming Johnston, the child of the Senate Majority leader, who also happens to be politically ambitious, while somehow remaining both kind and human (and no secrets). All of them are delightful in their own way, and maybe a few of them get kissed, before they get killed. There is for sure more than one death.

Did I mention there’s a school taught by aliens from outer space? How about an overweight dolphin that teaches alien empathy, or the strange two-part creature that teaches programming and informs the students, “We are not an I, we are a we.” There’s even a mysterious captain, an Electronic Intelligence (who runs most of the show), and an alien who is both covered in strips of plastic, and yet is amazingly sexy. Each of them have their own secrets.

But that not all. The Earth has its own secrets, and those secrets might cause the planet to break into millions of pieces, which would be bad for everyone.

There’s love, and death, and destruction, and earthquakes. Computer get hacked, the planet gets cut in two, and teens get kissed. There’s amazing new alien tech, an end to our climate crises, and maybe even someone saves the planet. That is before they get blamed for everything that goes wrong, because you gotta know, things go wrong in this novel.

It starts with an explosion and ends with a scream. What more do you need?

My political creed

Look, I don’t believe in affordable college education, universal health care, universal retirement, affirmative action, legal abortion, prison reform, business regulation, housing the homeless, or feeding the poor because I’m some do-gooder liberal. I believe in them because the opposite costs us more. It’s that simple.

Any governmental policy that does not support the middle class, that does not try to increase the middle class, or does not try to move the poor into the middle class, will eventually end up costing us more than it’s worth.

It’s not a right or a left issue. It’s not a conservative or a liberal issue. It’s the simple fact that poor people cost us money, and middle class people give us money.

Edit: I posted this on facebook 6 years ago today. It is good enough that I thought it belonged here.

Resurrection

So this site was down for a while after it got inundated with malware. Part of this was pure negligence on my part. I just wasn’t checking it often, and when I started to see issues I basically ignored them. I kept telling myself, “I’ll get to that one of these days…” Well I finally got to a These Days, and cleaned the site up. It took a few weeks, and more money that I wanted to spend, but lesson learned.

Maybe. 😉

This is the place where I should pledge to you that it will never happen again and from now on I will be more diligent, but that would be more pontification than I can mange right now.

I have been writing, pretty constantly, and most of it is stuff I can’t share, at least yet. A novel got written last year and into this year, and several short stories, (some of which were quite long), and a few other bits and pieces. I will share them when I can.

Also, I got a cool shirt from Sista sci-fi. Very proud to wear. And no, I didn’t know all of them either when I bought it. Still learning.

Death

Dear John,


It’s funny how they mention it,
without really saying.
Scares the hell out of me really.


It’s just what John has taught us,
it’s just what Elvis taught us,
James Dean and Marilyn,
have struggled into permanence.
And I want to drink to them,
they seem so pretty.
Scares the hell out of me really.


Dear John,


What are we really seeking?
That funny feeling in a musty attic,
old papers and old souls?


My grandfather, your mother,
my dad.
Its not the same,
they don’t make me feel immortal,
just sad.
Scares the hell out of me really.


Scares the hell out of you too.
Maybe that’s why we watch it on the tube:
Blue light in a dark room,
a late night show of,
my hands in your hair,
your hands in my heart.
Scares the hell out of me really.


Dear John,


Do we really have a choice,
or imagine that we don’t?


Dear John,


-ERK
3/16/88
12:45pm

This poem started as a Dear John letter to John Lennon, and just went from there.

15 Years Ago

I remember this day.
I remember it well.
It was night,
A night dark and foggy.
The radioman interrupted the music,
to say you’d been shot.


Later he interrupted the music,
to say you were dead.
I remember the numb disbelief,
the shock of my mom crying,
“The world is so evil,”
and
“I can’t believe they let this happen”.


And I remember the walk;
the cold streets,
the chilling fog,
stamped into my eye,
by the streetlight’s glaring cone.
And the moving, restless pain.
How walking didn’t help,
how stopping didn’t help.
How nothing seemed to lesson,
the growing chasm.


Yah, I remember that time.
Yes, I remember that night.
And I especially remember the cold;
my body chilling,
in sympathy,
with yours.


My useless rage.
My wet eyes.
My deep sadness.


One little bullet,
and they closed the lid on you.
Put you in a tiny, claustrophobic box,
and fucking stuck you in the ground.


A statue would have been better.
Maybe a plaque.
But a box?
A tiny box?


As if a box could hold you.
As if life was necessary for you,
to live.
As if you needed your flesh,
to pedal your music.


Stupid, silly fools.
Stupid men with guns.
Cruel, stupid world.


Good-bye, John.
Good-bye.


-ERK
12/8/95
11:32 am

My remembrances of John Lennon’s death written in the 15th anniversary.

White Noise

There’s this song in my head,
and I’m waiting for it,
to be loud and clear.
Wanting to hear the sweet music;
dance to the rhythms of my success.
Float on those powerful waves.


But what I mostly hear,
is that, scum-sucking-gonna-get-me-some-
-hype-filled-read-all-about-it-business-fuck-white-noise.
And that shit’s loud, man.
It gets into your shirt, man.
Until you perform with the norm.
You know
marry rich, invest well, buy a house, vote Republican,
watch TV, and believe what all that “common wisdom” bullshit,
does to your fear and guilt, man.


But I ain’t gonna hear that shit.
I ain’t gonna sing that white song of suppression.
I ain’t gonna reach out and fuck someone,
to please the stockholders.


Instead I will raise my right hand.
And I will pledge allegiance to the edge;
to the furthest part of my ability.
And to the song which is in my head,
I will dance and sing like a silly damn fool.
Dig It!


-ERK
4/1/95
11:00 pm