Too funny! Thanks to Peter V Brett, (Who Wrote Red Sonja: Blue) for bringing to my attention.
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Thursday, June 30, 2011
The Last Captain Re-Write: Full Steam Ahead
“Venkman, want to hit the clubs tonight?” Baptiste asked as he stomped into his boots.
“If you want, Bap.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“Just thinking you might want to take it slow, kinda ease into it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Baptiste asked.
Venkman laughed, “Of course. The LT has you assigned to the six car and I’m in the five, so the bosses shouldn’t have a problem letting us have a few minutes out on investigation. Especially early in the night.”
“I don’t know if the dealer will be out and working early.”
Venkman shrugged. “Might have to wait until tomorrow night, then.”
“Unless we just go straight to the source.”
Venkman closed his locker and looked his partner in the eye. “Prometheus?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, that’s pretty deep water, especially when we don’t know that Luc gets his shit from Prometheus’ crew.”
“Yes, it is.” Baptiste shrugged, “Fuck it. Was just a thought.”
Venkman tossed his head. “If we get a chance to talk to him, I won’t say no. I just don’t think we go straight at him, not just yet.”
Baptiste nodded, connected his star to his uniform and closed his locker. “We’ll just see what we see, then.”
Venkman led the way downstairs.
Line up started smoothly, the usual roll-call and series of summons to court.
Then Lieutenant Devereaux decided to address the troops. Not Baptiste’s favorite butter bar, Devereaux’s nasal voice and pristine uniform annoyed most hard-charging street cops. “Tonight, Officer Baptistes returns to us after injury at the hands of a one of our regulars. Bid him welcome back.”
The eight men and three women of the line-up gave him a cheer and a few thumps on the back.
“Just remember, just remember… Alright, settle down folks! Just let Officer Baptiste’s injury remind you all that what we do is dangerous work.”
We? When was the last time you took a door, asshat?
“Don’t take any unnecessary chances out there, please.”
I might respect you and your advice if you had more than a year of street time instead of minimum time in grade to apply for the next promotion. Climber.
“Would you like to add anything, Jean?”
Oh, now we’re on a first name basis? Cunt.
Venkman read Baptiste’s face, nudged him.
“Yes. Don’t get shot. It stings.”
The line-up dissolved into laughter, except for Devereaux, who looked like he’d swallowed something sideways.
Choke on it.
“If you want, Bap.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“Just thinking you might want to take it slow, kinda ease into it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Baptiste asked.
Venkman laughed, “Of course. The LT has you assigned to the six car and I’m in the five, so the bosses shouldn’t have a problem letting us have a few minutes out on investigation. Especially early in the night.”
“I don’t know if the dealer will be out and working early.”
Venkman shrugged. “Might have to wait until tomorrow night, then.”
“Unless we just go straight to the source.”
Venkman closed his locker and looked his partner in the eye. “Prometheus?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, that’s pretty deep water, especially when we don’t know that Luc gets his shit from Prometheus’ crew.”
“Yes, it is.” Baptiste shrugged, “Fuck it. Was just a thought.”
Venkman tossed his head. “If we get a chance to talk to him, I won’t say no. I just don’t think we go straight at him, not just yet.”
Baptiste nodded, connected his star to his uniform and closed his locker. “We’ll just see what we see, then.”
Venkman led the way downstairs.
Line up started smoothly, the usual roll-call and series of summons to court.
Then Lieutenant Devereaux decided to address the troops. Not Baptiste’s favorite butter bar, Devereaux’s nasal voice and pristine uniform annoyed most hard-charging street cops. “Tonight, Officer Baptistes returns to us after injury at the hands of a one of our regulars. Bid him welcome back.”
The eight men and three women of the line-up gave him a cheer and a few thumps on the back.
“Just remember, just remember… Alright, settle down folks! Just let Officer Baptiste’s injury remind you all that what we do is dangerous work.”
We? When was the last time you took a door, asshat?
“Don’t take any unnecessary chances out there, please.”
I might respect you and your advice if you had more than a year of street time instead of minimum time in grade to apply for the next promotion. Climber.
“Would you like to add anything, Jean?”
Oh, now we’re on a first name basis? Cunt.
Venkman read Baptiste’s face, nudged him.
“Yes. Don’t get shot. It stings.”
The line-up dissolved into laughter, except for Devereaux, who looked like he’d swallowed something sideways.
Choke on it.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Immediacy
As my faithful few know, I have been doing the re-write on The Last Captain. I had some great input I have tried to put into practice. I think it's working quite nicely.
I had a ton of POV characters in the draft I sent off to Baen. In my hubris, I thought I had given each of these POV characters a significant voice all their own, all within sections as short as five hundred or less words. The sections followed one another at a very rapid clip, requiring the reader to switch horses with great frequency.
As it turns out, I am not a virtuoso, just a cat trying to break in.
So.
I am hacking the number of POV characters down to three, and giving each a chapter before moving to the next POV character. I hope to cut down on reader whiplash by doing this, as well as go a little deeper with each character as I do so.
That latter bit was also part of the input I had from my reader, who wanted to feel more of the internal strife between the controlled behavior of the officers and their actual internal emotion and thoughts (See any of my Inner Gorilla posts for what I am talking about.).
All this requires some new material, but not as much as I had feared, given that I know where everyone stands, and what is going on. Now to convey that in a more efficient and, hopefully, visceral manner.
Plenty of time to learn to be that virtuoso.
And to practice I go.
I had a ton of POV characters in the draft I sent off to Baen. In my hubris, I thought I had given each of these POV characters a significant voice all their own, all within sections as short as five hundred or less words. The sections followed one another at a very rapid clip, requiring the reader to switch horses with great frequency.
As it turns out, I am not a virtuoso, just a cat trying to break in.
So.
I am hacking the number of POV characters down to three, and giving each a chapter before moving to the next POV character. I hope to cut down on reader whiplash by doing this, as well as go a little deeper with each character as I do so.
That latter bit was also part of the input I had from my reader, who wanted to feel more of the internal strife between the controlled behavior of the officers and their actual internal emotion and thoughts (See any of my Inner Gorilla posts for what I am talking about.).
All this requires some new material, but not as much as I had feared, given that I know where everyone stands, and what is going on. Now to convey that in a more efficient and, hopefully, visceral manner.
Plenty of time to learn to be that virtuoso.
And to practice I go.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Fartknockers
The private sector has been hosing many people I know.
Now, the public sector is about to get a royal kick in the nards. I don't believe that they will be laying police in my city off anytime soon, but the clerks I work with are facing a layoff of 41% of the staff.
41%?
Them's some apocalyptic numbers.
Because the cuts will start with the junior folks, these aren't the faceless cogs in the machine, these are the helpful ones, the guys who haven't been in their jobs so long that they don't give a fuck. These are the ones with young families who got their shit straight to get a steady job so they could do right by their loved ones.
Now, through stupidity not their own, they are likely going to lose their jobs.
Fuckin' bullshit.
Now, the public sector is about to get a royal kick in the nards. I don't believe that they will be laying police in my city off anytime soon, but the clerks I work with are facing a layoff of 41% of the staff.
41%?
Them's some apocalyptic numbers.
Because the cuts will start with the junior folks, these aren't the faceless cogs in the machine, these are the helpful ones, the guys who haven't been in their jobs so long that they don't give a fuck. These are the ones with young families who got their shit straight to get a steady job so they could do right by their loved ones.
Now, through stupidity not their own, they are likely going to lose their jobs.
Fuckin' bullshit.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Back At The Last Captain
On his return from the toilet, Venkman threw himself prone on one of the down-room couches, his hundred-twenty kilo frame summoning a squeal from the rickety furniture. The noise drew a couple of drowsy grunts of displeasure from his squad mates lying scattered around the room, but nothing sincere.
Venkman put his boots up and stared at the ceiling. Not that tired yet, but fuck it, better to be rested and not need it than wiped out when things go south like they did today.
The Starfall District squad had only been pulled from the line after a full platoon of Central District officers showed up. If they wanted to avoid working for a living, their timing was impeccable.
Sergeant Trudeau was still seething about that timing, angry voice carrying from the Lieutenant’s office all the way down the hall, “Why is it that the unit from the district we were deployed to couldn’t get deployed in time, while my people are where they need to be when they’re ordered, asses in the god-damned breeze?”
The lieutenant’s response was neither audible nor satisfying, given the Sergeant’s shouted, “Well, fuck that! We’re all on the same team, last I checked, and just cause the-” the rest of Trudeau’s diatribe was cut off by the click of the latch on the Lieutenant’s door.
“Haven’t seen Trudeau this pissed in a long time.” Baptiste murmured from the lounge chair beside the couch.
“Ever.” Venkman opined.
“Not every day we get that much stick-work in.”
“True. We were lucky, though, that none of ours got hurt.”
“What do you mean, no-one?” Thierry piped up, raising his wounded hand. His gauntlet had failed and he’d taken a slice from a bottle on the knuckle. Nothing serious, but not something to inspire confidence in department equipment.
“That? I’ve had worse trying to bang your sister!” Baptiste said. His comment elicited a couple of sleepy chuckles from the rest of the squad. Bap had a rep as a clever mouth, always ready with the quick shot.
“That’s right! She’s got better taste than to let a fucktard like you anywhere near her snatch.” Thierry answered.
Damn, anyone who’ll talk like that about his own people deserves to win every once in a while.
In the dimness, Venkman saw Baptiste open his mouth and either fail to come up with a suitable reply or decide to let Thierry win for the same reason Venkman thought him deserving.
Everyone got a chuckle out of that silence, even Baptiste.
“You were saying, before we were so rudely interrupted?” Baptiste murmured after the amusement died down.
“Aside from their late arrival, which I agree was fucked, the guys from Central did all right by us.”
“Yeah, Sarge just has her panties in a twist because of all the use of force paperwork.”
The couch squeaked again under Venkman as he shrugged, “Well, they weren’t there for the stick-work, so the boys and girls from Central couldn’t well write the paper, could they?”
“Nope. But if they’d been in position in the first place, we might not have had to start swinging: Police are scary. Lots of police even more so.”
“Would you two lovers shut the fuck up? We might get called out again, and I need my beauty sleep.” Thierry said.
“More like a coma, to get that ugly mug straight!” Baptiste said.
“Look at your partner much?”
An uncomfortable silence began to settle, a silence Venkman broke, “Not my fault I fell face first into your sister’s snatch.”
The down-room erupted in laughter. Venkman was glad of it. His face was a seamed mass of scars, but there was a good reason for it, if one different from what was generally assumed.
Venkman put his boots up and stared at the ceiling. Not that tired yet, but fuck it, better to be rested and not need it than wiped out when things go south like they did today.
The Starfall District squad had only been pulled from the line after a full platoon of Central District officers showed up. If they wanted to avoid working for a living, their timing was impeccable.
Sergeant Trudeau was still seething about that timing, angry voice carrying from the Lieutenant’s office all the way down the hall, “Why is it that the unit from the district we were deployed to couldn’t get deployed in time, while my people are where they need to be when they’re ordered, asses in the god-damned breeze?”
The lieutenant’s response was neither audible nor satisfying, given the Sergeant’s shouted, “Well, fuck that! We’re all on the same team, last I checked, and just cause the-” the rest of Trudeau’s diatribe was cut off by the click of the latch on the Lieutenant’s door.
“Haven’t seen Trudeau this pissed in a long time.” Baptiste murmured from the lounge chair beside the couch.
“Ever.” Venkman opined.
“Not every day we get that much stick-work in.”
“True. We were lucky, though, that none of ours got hurt.”
“What do you mean, no-one?” Thierry piped up, raising his wounded hand. His gauntlet had failed and he’d taken a slice from a bottle on the knuckle. Nothing serious, but not something to inspire confidence in department equipment.
“That? I’ve had worse trying to bang your sister!” Baptiste said. His comment elicited a couple of sleepy chuckles from the rest of the squad. Bap had a rep as a clever mouth, always ready with the quick shot.
“That’s right! She’s got better taste than to let a fucktard like you anywhere near her snatch.” Thierry answered.
Damn, anyone who’ll talk like that about his own people deserves to win every once in a while.
In the dimness, Venkman saw Baptiste open his mouth and either fail to come up with a suitable reply or decide to let Thierry win for the same reason Venkman thought him deserving.
Everyone got a chuckle out of that silence, even Baptiste.
“You were saying, before we were so rudely interrupted?” Baptiste murmured after the amusement died down.
“Aside from their late arrival, which I agree was fucked, the guys from Central did all right by us.”
“Yeah, Sarge just has her panties in a twist because of all the use of force paperwork.”
The couch squeaked again under Venkman as he shrugged, “Well, they weren’t there for the stick-work, so the boys and girls from Central couldn’t well write the paper, could they?”
“Nope. But if they’d been in position in the first place, we might not have had to start swinging: Police are scary. Lots of police even more so.”
“Would you two lovers shut the fuck up? We might get called out again, and I need my beauty sleep.” Thierry said.
“More like a coma, to get that ugly mug straight!” Baptiste said.
“Look at your partner much?”
An uncomfortable silence began to settle, a silence Venkman broke, “Not my fault I fell face first into your sister’s snatch.”
The down-room erupted in laughter. Venkman was glad of it. His face was a seamed mass of scars, but there was a good reason for it, if one different from what was generally assumed.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Well Now, I'm All Fired Up!
Spoke to the friend who'd been reading The Last Captain. He had very valuable input, input I am putting into practice with a re-write.
I'm all fired up, and glad of the chance at fixing the problems of The Last Captain.
I'm all fired up, and glad of the chance at fixing the problems of The Last Captain.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
MicMacs
Watching Micmacs.
If you do not know the premise: A young boy has his father killed by a mine. His mother is institutionalized, and he is sent to an orphanage. He grows up to be a video clerk. A bystander to a shoot-out, he is shot in the head by a handgun from another arms company. The doctors cannot remove the bullet. He loses his job, but is adopted by a group of eccentric dwellers-beneath-a-junkyard. He convinces his new family to embark on a mission of vengeance against the two men that run the companies.
My, but this is a great example of French film and fine fantasy. Oceans Eleven with a point other than making a few bucks. Hilarious by turns, cleverly filmed, insanely artful, I have thoroughly enjoyed it.
Again, though, the subtitles are a bit weak. Good enough for the purpose, but still a bit weak.
If you do not know the premise: A young boy has his father killed by a mine. His mother is institutionalized, and he is sent to an orphanage. He grows up to be a video clerk. A bystander to a shoot-out, he is shot in the head by a handgun from another arms company. The doctors cannot remove the bullet. He loses his job, but is adopted by a group of eccentric dwellers-beneath-a-junkyard. He convinces his new family to embark on a mission of vengeance against the two men that run the companies.
My, but this is a great example of French film and fine fantasy. Oceans Eleven with a point other than making a few bucks. Hilarious by turns, cleverly filmed, insanely artful, I have thoroughly enjoyed it.
Again, though, the subtitles are a bit weak. Good enough for the purpose, but still a bit weak.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Arming
One of the things that is rarely covered in medieval fantasy is just how freaking long it takes to get a full suit of any armor on, let alone full gothic plate, as this man is suited in:
Even his arming is handled with cut scenes, as watching the squire strap everything in place would be descend into something more along the lines of a leather fetish video than something watchable by people interested in weapons and armor.
Even his arming is handled with cut scenes, as watching the squire strap everything in place would be descend into something more along the lines of a leather fetish video than something watchable by people interested in weapons and armor.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Voice...
On occasion, this singer's voice reminds me of that of the lead singer of Jefferson Airplane/Starhip/Whatever... Perhaps it's just me:
And here she covers Metallica, in quite excellent fashion...
And here she covers Metallica, in quite excellent fashion...
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Bill's Got Credit With Me...
I just got two new tomes in the mail from Subterranean Press' Bill Schafer.
Tales of Dark Fantasy 2, which he edited. He also signed my copy. I am beside myself, like a fanboi. Like beans beside rice. Like beer to pretzels.
He also sent along John Scalzi's Fuzzy Nation. It will be the first time I read any of John's full length work. I look forward to it a great deal. I am an avid reader of his blog, after all.
I have said before that Bill seems ready to purchase the death of someone, given that he provides such quality goodness to humble readers. He has much credit with this bibliophile.
Until he requests that death, don't bother me, I'll be reading.
And yes, Bill, most of us cops do like to do what you indicated above your signature. After all, we're all mammals:
Tales of Dark Fantasy 2, which he edited. He also signed my copy. I am beside myself, like a fanboi. Like beans beside rice. Like beer to pretzels.
He also sent along John Scalzi's Fuzzy Nation. It will be the first time I read any of John's full length work. I look forward to it a great deal. I am an avid reader of his blog, after all.
I have said before that Bill seems ready to purchase the death of someone, given that he provides such quality goodness to humble readers. He has much credit with this bibliophile.
Until he requests that death, don't bother me, I'll be reading.
And yes, Bill, most of us cops do like to do what you indicated above your signature. After all, we're all mammals:
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Ninja Morons
No matter how many times I work, I find myself eternally surprised by the stupidity of some people. My head nearly exploded as tonight I discovered why: Ninja Morons.
Most morons are easily identified: the drooling, the non-sequiters, the general miasma of stupid that surrounds them.
Not ninja morons. They sneak up on you, presenting themselves as regular folk, people who actually understand the world around them. Ninja morons quietly slip and slide between the shadows, ready to pounce upon anyone pressed for time, hoping to be done with the work placed in front of them. The Ninja Moron strikes with amazing precision, devastating blows of insipid moronic behavior that gnaw the very fabric of time, spitting it out in partially digested chunks, worthless to those unfortunate enough to share the misfortune to run afoul of ninja morons.
I hope to develop a strategy or technology for detecting these specialist, and highly dangerous, morons. Until I do, they will continue to plague my existence, grinding the pleasure from life, stealing moments from others with their vicious, unlooked-for attacks of stupid.
For now, all I can do is keep the lights on and stare into the shadows, hoping I can minimize their depredations.
Most morons are easily identified: the drooling, the non-sequiters, the general miasma of stupid that surrounds them.
Not ninja morons. They sneak up on you, presenting themselves as regular folk, people who actually understand the world around them. Ninja morons quietly slip and slide between the shadows, ready to pounce upon anyone pressed for time, hoping to be done with the work placed in front of them. The Ninja Moron strikes with amazing precision, devastating blows of insipid moronic behavior that gnaw the very fabric of time, spitting it out in partially digested chunks, worthless to those unfortunate enough to share the misfortune to run afoul of ninja morons.
I hope to develop a strategy or technology for detecting these specialist, and highly dangerous, morons. Until I do, they will continue to plague my existence, grinding the pleasure from life, stealing moments from others with their vicious, unlooked-for attacks of stupid.
For now, all I can do is keep the lights on and stare into the shadows, hoping I can minimize their depredations.
Monday, June 6, 2011
We Owe So Much
In the early morning hours on this date in 1944, the Allies landed on several beaches and a few miles inland in the largest amphibious operation ever attempted.
There are so few veterans of that conflict around to thank anymore, and we owe them such a debt.
Heroes, every one.
There are so few veterans of that conflict around to thank anymore, and we owe them such a debt.
Heroes, every one.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Foreign Films
Watching Flame and Citron
Two Danish assassins kill Nazis and Danish collaborators.
I think I am in for a rather intense film experience.
"Everyone who's not afraid helps us."
Two Danish assassins kill Nazis and Danish collaborators.
I think I am in for a rather intense film experience.
"Everyone who's not afraid helps us."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
What's For Lunch?
Peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches, that's what.
More useless information later.
More useless information later.
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