Friday, 11 June 2010
Friday Flash - Harbingers
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This flash has been taken down while it's out for submission - wish me luck!
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Icy's First Vlog
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So, after much persuasion by Eisley Jacobs, I finally got around to recording my first vlog! I recorded it this morning, and have finally gotten around to adding titles, and uploading it to Youtube.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Friday, 4 June 2010
Friday Flash - No Place Like Home
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A thud, a groan, then another thud. Shaun peered through the gap in the blinds. One of those things leaned against a door down the street, thumping the wood with a bloody fist. Shaun spotted a battered station wagon in the drive and guessed the creature was at Mr Treeger’s place. Treeger must have been stupid; he must have let them know he was there.
“Janie, I really think we should leave now.”
He looked out at the brilliant blue sky and mid-morning sunshine. Things like this shouldn’t happen on quiet Sundays. The street should be alive with skateboarding kids, jogging soccer moms, and dads washing their cars.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Shaun turned away from the window. Janie sat at the bottom of the stairs, an old baby blanket folded neatly in her lap. She stared at a spot on the rug.
“Sweetie, we have to go. One of them is outside Treeger’s. Those things move in packs – more will come, and then they’ll only be a few doors away.”
“We should stay here.”
“We can’t. If we leave now, we can be out on the open road in fifteen minutes. There are no houses out there. Less chance of seeing more of those things. We can get supplies from the Pitstop.” Shaun turned back to the window. Their SUV sat in the driveway, tantalisingly close.
“We’re staying. The man on the TV said to stay in your homes. We don’t know what’s going on out there. We should wait for help.”
“That was hours ago. We have no idea if help is even coming. I think it’s fairly safe to say that it isn’t, not since the power went out.”
A shotgun blast tore through the neighbourhood. Through the blinds, Shaun saw the creature shoot across the street, away from Treeger’s. Its head exploded on contact with the hot tarmac. Shaun thought he recognised the bloodstained Hawaiian shorts, but couldn’t be sure.
“What was that?” Janie looked up. Shaun shuddered to see her vacant expression.
“Treeger just shot one of those things.”
“Good.” Janie resumed her focus on the floor.
“No, it’s bad. They’ll have heard that and they’ll know there are people here. We have to get away before they come....” Shaun trailed off as he scanned the street. He couldn’t see anything except the abandoned possessions scattered along the road.
“Maybe they’re too far away. Maybe they couldn’t hear it.” A spark of hope haunted the dull edges of Janie’s voice.
“I don’t even know where that one came from, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. Come on, honey, we can just get in the car and go.”
“Go where? No. We’ll stay here. This is home.”
“Janie, please,” said Shaun. “We don’t have a chance if we stay here.”
“We might not have a chance if we leave. No. We’ll stay. We’ll be extra quiet and maybe they’ll never find us. We can hide in the basement.”
“And risk being cornered? I don’t think so.”
“If I’m going to die, I’m going to die at home.” Janie stroked the baby blanket on her knee.
“Who says anything about dying? Janie, I’m trying to stop that happening!”
Shaun moved away from the window, searching the room for potential weapons. He gathered up the pokers from the hearth, and grabbed his softball bat from the umbrella stand. There were tools in the back of the SUV; he knew he had a tire iron and a crow bar in there.
“Shaun, please. Give up. We could leave, but where would we go? We’ve got more chance of defending ourselves here, and we have more chance of being rescued from a home than we do from a ditch.” Shaun stopped, surprised. Janie still focussed her attention on the floor, but determination sculpted sharp lines out of her features. She continued to stroke the blanket.
“Janie...this isn’t a movie. We stay here and we die.”
“Then I’ll see my baby girl again soon. I’m okay with that.”
Shaun stared at his wife, his mouth agape. He wanted to pick her up, strap her into the SUV and just drive. At least if they came across any of the creatures, he could run them over. He doubted an undead sack of flesh stood much chance against two tons of steel. The part of him that loved horror movies and Grand Theft Auto liked the idea of doing his part in the Zombie War.
Yet he couldn’t. Susie died here, and Janie had decided she would, too. Shaun didn’t want to die, but he couldn’t leave Janie behind. He dumped his armful of weapons on the floor by the door.
“Fine. We’ll stay here. I’ll just sneak out to the car and get some supplies.”
Janie nodded. Shaun opened the door, and slipped out onto the driveway. The air hung heavy and still. He strained his ears, but heard nothing. No groans, no thuds, no shuffling. The absence of sound made his flesh crawl.
He raided the SUV, filling a cardboard box with tools and First Aid supplies. He doubted that a Band-Aid would do much good against a bite, but it might help if one of them fell over in the dark. Janie would want torches, but they couldn’t risk it.
Shaun left the SUV door ajar. He didn’t want to slam them and advertise his presence. Besides, they might still need to make a quick getaway. Hefting the box under his arm, he slipped back inside the house. Janie sat on the stairs, her face wet with silent tears. She smiled as she looked up at him.
“You came back.”
“Of course I did. I couldn’t leave without you. If you want us to stay, then we will. We’ll just have to be extra quiet.”
Janie opened her arms, and Shaun leaned into them. As she hugged him, he prayed they were doing the right thing.
“Janie, I really think we should leave now.”
He looked out at the brilliant blue sky and mid-morning sunshine. Things like this shouldn’t happen on quiet Sundays. The street should be alive with skateboarding kids, jogging soccer moms, and dads washing their cars.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Shaun turned away from the window. Janie sat at the bottom of the stairs, an old baby blanket folded neatly in her lap. She stared at a spot on the rug.
“Sweetie, we have to go. One of them is outside Treeger’s. Those things move in packs – more will come, and then they’ll only be a few doors away.”
“We should stay here.”
“We can’t. If we leave now, we can be out on the open road in fifteen minutes. There are no houses out there. Less chance of seeing more of those things. We can get supplies from the Pitstop.” Shaun turned back to the window. Their SUV sat in the driveway, tantalisingly close.
“We’re staying. The man on the TV said to stay in your homes. We don’t know what’s going on out there. We should wait for help.”
“That was hours ago. We have no idea if help is even coming. I think it’s fairly safe to say that it isn’t, not since the power went out.”
A shotgun blast tore through the neighbourhood. Through the blinds, Shaun saw the creature shoot across the street, away from Treeger’s. Its head exploded on contact with the hot tarmac. Shaun thought he recognised the bloodstained Hawaiian shorts, but couldn’t be sure.
“What was that?” Janie looked up. Shaun shuddered to see her vacant expression.
“Treeger just shot one of those things.”
“Good.” Janie resumed her focus on the floor.
“No, it’s bad. They’ll have heard that and they’ll know there are people here. We have to get away before they come....” Shaun trailed off as he scanned the street. He couldn’t see anything except the abandoned possessions scattered along the road.
“Maybe they’re too far away. Maybe they couldn’t hear it.” A spark of hope haunted the dull edges of Janie’s voice.
“I don’t even know where that one came from, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. Come on, honey, we can just get in the car and go.”
“Go where? No. We’ll stay here. This is home.”
“Janie, please,” said Shaun. “We don’t have a chance if we stay here.”
“We might not have a chance if we leave. No. We’ll stay. We’ll be extra quiet and maybe they’ll never find us. We can hide in the basement.”
“And risk being cornered? I don’t think so.”
“If I’m going to die, I’m going to die at home.” Janie stroked the baby blanket on her knee.
“Who says anything about dying? Janie, I’m trying to stop that happening!”
Shaun moved away from the window, searching the room for potential weapons. He gathered up the pokers from the hearth, and grabbed his softball bat from the umbrella stand. There were tools in the back of the SUV; he knew he had a tire iron and a crow bar in there.
“Shaun, please. Give up. We could leave, but where would we go? We’ve got more chance of defending ourselves here, and we have more chance of being rescued from a home than we do from a ditch.” Shaun stopped, surprised. Janie still focussed her attention on the floor, but determination sculpted sharp lines out of her features. She continued to stroke the blanket.
“Janie...this isn’t a movie. We stay here and we die.”
“Then I’ll see my baby girl again soon. I’m okay with that.”
Shaun stared at his wife, his mouth agape. He wanted to pick her up, strap her into the SUV and just drive. At least if they came across any of the creatures, he could run them over. He doubted an undead sack of flesh stood much chance against two tons of steel. The part of him that loved horror movies and Grand Theft Auto liked the idea of doing his part in the Zombie War.
Yet he couldn’t. Susie died here, and Janie had decided she would, too. Shaun didn’t want to die, but he couldn’t leave Janie behind. He dumped his armful of weapons on the floor by the door.
“Fine. We’ll stay here. I’ll just sneak out to the car and get some supplies.”
Janie nodded. Shaun opened the door, and slipped out onto the driveway. The air hung heavy and still. He strained his ears, but heard nothing. No groans, no thuds, no shuffling. The absence of sound made his flesh crawl.
He raided the SUV, filling a cardboard box with tools and First Aid supplies. He doubted that a Band-Aid would do much good against a bite, but it might help if one of them fell over in the dark. Janie would want torches, but they couldn’t risk it.
Shaun left the SUV door ajar. He didn’t want to slam them and advertise his presence. Besides, they might still need to make a quick getaway. Hefting the box under his arm, he slipped back inside the house. Janie sat on the stairs, her face wet with silent tears. She smiled as she looked up at him.
“You came back.”
“Of course I did. I couldn’t leave without you. If you want us to stay, then we will. We’ll just have to be extra quiet.”
Janie opened her arms, and Shaun leaned into them. As she hugged him, he prayed they were doing the right thing.
Monday, 31 May 2010
Do e-books promote piracy?
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I've been following J A Konrath's blog, A Newbie's Guide to Publishing, for some time now, and it's been interesting to see the modest levels of success that can be attained while operating outside of the traditional publishing paradigm. Konrath repeatedly states that his way might not be suitable to all, but it is certainly quite an encouraging prospect, that even if an agent or editor might not 'click' with your book, it doesn't mean that a wider audience won't either.
The phenomenon of the e-book has dragged literature into the piracy debate. Naysayers argue that if people can download a book, they can also pirate a book. No one will buy e-books because they can rip them for free as torrents. Really? So how do you account for the fact that the publishing industry still exists after all those years of public libraries, secondhand book shops and Amazon Marketplace?
Bearing these arguments in mind, Konrath is giving away an e-Book of his short stories on his blog. You can download it for free from his blog, you can download it for $1.99 for the Kindle or the Nook, or you can download it for free and send him a donation of $1.99. He's going to track the downloads, donations and rankings, and hopefully come up with some kind of evidence to back his argument that piracy doesn't harm sales as much as many believe it will.
The phenomenon of the e-book has dragged literature into the piracy debate. Naysayers argue that if people can download a book, they can also pirate a book. No one will buy e-books because they can rip them for free as torrents. Really? So how do you account for the fact that the publishing industry still exists after all those years of public libraries, secondhand book shops and Amazon Marketplace?
Bearing these arguments in mind, Konrath is giving away an e-Book of his short stories on his blog. You can download it for free from his blog, you can download it for $1.99 for the Kindle or the Nook, or you can download it for free and send him a donation of $1.99. He's going to track the downloads, donations and rankings, and hopefully come up with some kind of evidence to back his argument that piracy doesn't harm sales as much as many believe it will.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Friday Flash - Allergy
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The clock in the square struck one. Karea cursed under her breath; she hated being late. She stood on her toes to peer above the heads of the crowd. They jostled and shoved outside the cathedral. Some brandished placards, while others waved banners in a righteous frenzy. “The dead have rights too” and “We’re sick, not criminals” were two of the more popular slogans.
She edged along the edge of the crowd, caught between protestors and onlookers. Many of those watching the demonstration held handkerchiefs to their mouths, or buried their faces in nosegays. Karea wondered why they didn’t just stay away, if they were so scared of the Contagion.
The crowd petered out on the far side of the square, and Karea slipped into a narrow alley between a bakery and a milliner’s. Looking back, she could see mounted militia surrounding the protestors. They sat astride huge chestnut stallions, all wearing black government-issue masks. The long ibis-like nose would be filled with strongly scented flowers. Karea wondered how many people would succumb to hay fever before the Contagion itself.
Karea burst out of the alley as a tram pulled up to the stop across the street. She hurled herself across the cobbled stones, narrowly avoiding a pony and trap driven by a young boy. She climbed on board, and squeezed herself between two elderly women clad in black. She nodded at each in turn, acknowledging their loss. A purple hat band indicated that the woman on her right had lost someone a lot earlier than the woman on the left. Probably when the Contagion first started, thought Karea.
Two government officials flanked the trembling conductor. Blue eyes burned bright behind the ibis masks. Karea shuddered. She wondered if the masks were intended to protect the officials, or to intimidate the populace.
Several passengers alighted at the next stop. Karea dropped her gaze from the window; she didn’t need to see them file into the cemetery. She also didn’t need to see the gravediggers and their pits, shovelling quicklime onto anonymous corpses, dumped in ignoble piles.
A tickle in her nose made Karea look up. A woman settled into the seat opposite, heaving a wicker basket onto her knee. A cat the colour of marmalade sat in the basket. It looked at her with brazen interest. Karea felt her stomach drop as the first sneeze struggled to escape. She left off a volley of rapid sneezes, each more violent than the last. The passengers scattered, clawing at each other in their attempts to get away from her.
The government officials swooped. Each clamped a gloved hand on her arms, hauling her to her feet. The tram lurched to a halt, and they pulled her down the stairs into the street. Karea’s protests went unheard as a crowd gathered to investigate the commotion. A cart waited by the gutter; the livery was that of the House of the Stricken. One of the officials fought to tie a cloth mask over her lower face.
“I’m not sick!” shouted Karea, her words lost in the thick fabric. “I’m just allergic to cats!”
She edged along the edge of the crowd, caught between protestors and onlookers. Many of those watching the demonstration held handkerchiefs to their mouths, or buried their faces in nosegays. Karea wondered why they didn’t just stay away, if they were so scared of the Contagion.
The crowd petered out on the far side of the square, and Karea slipped into a narrow alley between a bakery and a milliner’s. Looking back, she could see mounted militia surrounding the protestors. They sat astride huge chestnut stallions, all wearing black government-issue masks. The long ibis-like nose would be filled with strongly scented flowers. Karea wondered how many people would succumb to hay fever before the Contagion itself.
Karea burst out of the alley as a tram pulled up to the stop across the street. She hurled herself across the cobbled stones, narrowly avoiding a pony and trap driven by a young boy. She climbed on board, and squeezed herself between two elderly women clad in black. She nodded at each in turn, acknowledging their loss. A purple hat band indicated that the woman on her right had lost someone a lot earlier than the woman on the left. Probably when the Contagion first started, thought Karea.
Two government officials flanked the trembling conductor. Blue eyes burned bright behind the ibis masks. Karea shuddered. She wondered if the masks were intended to protect the officials, or to intimidate the populace.
Several passengers alighted at the next stop. Karea dropped her gaze from the window; she didn’t need to see them file into the cemetery. She also didn’t need to see the gravediggers and their pits, shovelling quicklime onto anonymous corpses, dumped in ignoble piles.
A tickle in her nose made Karea look up. A woman settled into the seat opposite, heaving a wicker basket onto her knee. A cat the colour of marmalade sat in the basket. It looked at her with brazen interest. Karea felt her stomach drop as the first sneeze struggled to escape. She left off a volley of rapid sneezes, each more violent than the last. The passengers scattered, clawing at each other in their attempts to get away from her.
The government officials swooped. Each clamped a gloved hand on her arms, hauling her to her feet. The tram lurched to a halt, and they pulled her down the stairs into the street. Karea’s protests went unheard as a crowd gathered to investigate the commotion. A cart waited by the gutter; the livery was that of the House of the Stricken. One of the officials fought to tie a cloth mask over her lower face.
“I’m not sick!” shouted Karea, her words lost in the thick fabric. “I’m just allergic to cats!”
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Robot Rock - Or Why I Started Drawing Again
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I've been trying to come up with new ideas for fiction, and I remembered reading Zoe Westhof's eBook guide to having a creative mini retreat to boost your creativity. I still haven't managed to find the time to set aside an entire weekend, but I decided to grab some spare time where I had it, and do some drawing. I used to love drawing, but after I finished college and was no longer studying art, my drawing became somewhat sporadic. It's a shame, since it's something I really enjoy doing, so I've decided that, in an attempt to jar my brain from seeing things the way I normally see things, that I'll draw more often to make me look at things in a new way.
So I ended up drawing a robot. I've never really coloured things in using Photoshop before, but all in all I'm pretty pleased with how he turned out! I've always been much better at drawing mechanical things, or structures, than anything organic, so you never know...perhaps I'll end up writing a spate of robot-themed futuristic sci-fi, with illustrations to match?
Friday, 21 May 2010
Friday Flash - Strictly No Digging
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Today's Friday Flash is actually inspired by a bizarre sign I spotted near Leicester Square in London. Normally I wouldn't have dreamed of digging up the public highway, but of course the very second you're told not to, you can't help but want to!
Davey pointed out the sign the first time we ever cut through Perdition Square. The black oblong of metal was screwed to a bollard near old man Jenkins' cafe. Big white handpainted letters spelled out 'Strictly No Digging'.
"Why, man? What don't they want us to find?" said Dave. He pointed at the sign, a goofy look of conspiracy plastered on his face.I simply shrugged.
"Could be anything. Water pipes, maybe?"
"Nah, man. There's got to be something they're hiding there. That's why they don't want us to dig." He gesticulated wildly with spindly fingers. Dozens of bracelets made of wooden beads knocked together on his skinny arms.
"Bollocks. Jenkins probably doesn't want people taking up the cobbles."
"I'm tellin' you, man. It's got to be parliament." Davey's eyes were wide. They were also bloodshot, and I wondered for the umpteenth time what he'd been smoking this time.
"I doubt it."
"Look, they're telling us not to dig. So, I gotta dig now. I wouldn't have thought of it before, but now...I gotta know what they're hidin' under this place." I thought I caught a whiff of stale moonshine on Davey's breath as he leaned close.
"Do whatever you want."
I left him standing in the square, contemplating the sign.
Eleven hours later, I found myself standing in the square again. Thick clouds blotted out the moonlight, and shadows clustered in doorways. I looked around at the silent buildings, feeling the heavy weight of the windows' stare. Davey jabbed his dad's spade between the cobbles around the bollard. The grate of metal on stone set my teeth on edge.
"Do you HAVE to do this?" I hissed. "You've already broken my shovel and that one isn't looking too healthy. My dad's gonna kill me!"
"I'm nearly there," replied Davey. He tossed aside his own shovel, ignoring the large crack that ran the length of the wooden handle. He dropped to his knees, and clawed at the loose cobbles. I looked around the square. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at the windows. I wondered if anyone sat beyond the glass, watching us from a darkened room.
"I don't believe it."
I looked down at Davey. A small pile of cobbles sat on the ground beside him. He still clutched one, dirt clinging to his fingers. I peered down into the hole he'd made. A single piece of white card lay at the bottom.
I fished it out and held it up, brushing crumbs of soil from the card. A breath of wind drove the clouds from the moon, and I could read the black script.
Strictly No Digging
Davey pointed out the sign the first time we ever cut through Perdition Square. The black oblong of metal was screwed to a bollard near old man Jenkins' cafe. Big white handpainted letters spelled out 'Strictly No Digging'.
"Why, man? What don't they want us to find?" said Dave. He pointed at the sign, a goofy look of conspiracy plastered on his face.I simply shrugged.
"Could be anything. Water pipes, maybe?"
"Nah, man. There's got to be something they're hiding there. That's why they don't want us to dig." He gesticulated wildly with spindly fingers. Dozens of bracelets made of wooden beads knocked together on his skinny arms.
"Bollocks. Jenkins probably doesn't want people taking up the cobbles."
"I'm tellin' you, man. It's got to be parliament." Davey's eyes were wide. They were also bloodshot, and I wondered for the umpteenth time what he'd been smoking this time.
"I doubt it."
"Look, they're telling us not to dig. So, I gotta dig now. I wouldn't have thought of it before, but now...I gotta know what they're hidin' under this place." I thought I caught a whiff of stale moonshine on Davey's breath as he leaned close.
"Do whatever you want."
I left him standing in the square, contemplating the sign.
Eleven hours later, I found myself standing in the square again. Thick clouds blotted out the moonlight, and shadows clustered in doorways. I looked around at the silent buildings, feeling the heavy weight of the windows' stare. Davey jabbed his dad's spade between the cobbles around the bollard. The grate of metal on stone set my teeth on edge.
"Do you HAVE to do this?" I hissed. "You've already broken my shovel and that one isn't looking too healthy. My dad's gonna kill me!"
"I'm nearly there," replied Davey. He tossed aside his own shovel, ignoring the large crack that ran the length of the wooden handle. He dropped to his knees, and clawed at the loose cobbles. I looked around the square. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at the windows. I wondered if anyone sat beyond the glass, watching us from a darkened room.
"I don't believe it."
I looked down at Davey. A small pile of cobbles sat on the ground beside him. He still clutched one, dirt clinging to his fingers. I peered down into the hole he'd made. A single piece of white card lay at the bottom.
I fished it out and held it up, brushing crumbs of soil from the card. A breath of wind drove the clouds from the moon, and I could read the black script.
Come to O'Nally's, for all your hardware needs! Shovels,
gardening equipment, pick axes - if you need it, we have it!
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