Maybe I'll Quit

OK, I've heard the name, although I had to check Wikipedia to get the details about her before I posted this. There is a woman known as Snooki, who is apparently a reality TV star on the show Jersey Shore. I've never seen the show and only once do I believe I've seen "Snooki," when I caught something about her on The Soup. She is apparently known primarily for drinking and fighting.

But now, Snooki is going to become a novelist! According to reports, Snooki read her first book in February of this year, at the age of 22, and has now been signed by Simon & Schuster to write a novel called "Shore Thing." It's supposed to have lots of love and fighting in it. And reports indicate that Snooki does have a collaborator.

I try to be happy for new writers when they garner a book deal. I really do. I try. I try. But I have to admit I'm having a hard time with this one. Especially after my most recent figuring up of how much money I've earned this year from my writing. Right now I'm in the black. Just barely.

But then, I guess I haven't spent enough time drinking and fighting in public. And I suppose I could dress a little sluttier too!

Or I could just quit writing and these things wouldn't bother me at all.
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Heavy Metal Quiz

Another quiz for today.

Heavy metal and hard rock music has a long association with horror tropes, from band mascots and pentagrams to lyrics about Satanism, evil, and death. See if you can match the horror related imagery, lyrics, and song titles on the left with the bands on the right. This one may be pretty hard for a lot of you folks from the softer side of the music spectrum. 1 to 3 correct earns you the title of roadie. 4 to 7 and you can play rhythm guitar. 8 to 11 moves you up to lead guitarist. And if you get 12 to 15 right you’re a one man band (sort of like Aldo Nova). If you don’t get any correct, then I’m going to assume you like disco.


1. Living Dead Girl ---------------------- Black Sabbath
2. Eddie -------------------------------- W.A.S.P
3. The Headless Children --------------- AC/ DC
4. Louder than Hell -------------------- Iron Maiden
5. Long Hard Road Out of Hell ------- Metallica
6. Screaming in the Night ------------- Alice Cooper
7. Reign in Blood --------------------- Judas Priest
8. The Black Widow -------------------- Marilyn Manson
9. Devil’s Plaything -------------------- Rob Zombie
10. Screaming for Vengeance ----------- Danzig
11. Satan Laughing Spreads His Wings -- Butlik
12. Playboy Bassist ----------------------- Slayer
13. Wake up Dead ------------------------- Megadeth
14. Enter Sandman ------------------------- Motley Crue
15. Hell’s Bells -------------------------- Krokus







Answers: 1. Rob Zombie, 2. Iron Maiden, 3. W.A.S.P, 4. Motley Crue, 5. Marilyn Manson, 6. Krokus, 7. Slayer, 8. Alice Cooper, 9. Danzig, 10, Judas Priest, 11. Black Sabbath, 12. Butlik, 13. Megadeth, 14, Metallica, 15. AC/DC.

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Guest Posting

I'm posting today over at Novel Spaces. I hope you can drop by for a visit.

Thanks,
Charles

Listening to Talera

I've already mentioned here that I've been letting my Kindle read books to me on my long daily commute. I've been enjoying that process, and feeling less like I'm wasting my time with the driving.

I decided last week to load my Talera trilogy onto the Kindle and let it read those to me. I've finished listening to Swords of Talera so far and am about a third of the way through Wings Over Talera. Witch of Talera is up next. After that I may keep it going by listening to Robert E. Howard's Almuric, which is also a sword and planet work.

I make a habit out of reading my material out loud before I ever submit it, but listening to the 'whole' thing is actually pretty helpful. I noticed in "Swords" that I repeated the word "well" a lot, and I had not picked up on that merely by reading it. I may start doing this for manuscripts before I submit them. The Kindle voice doesn't offer inflections well so you can also get a feeling for how important it is to convey the emotion in the dialogue rather than by attaching tags such as "he shouted," etc. All in all, I think it could make a useful writing tool.

I'm also finding, happily, that I'm really enjoying listening to my own works. It's kind of weird in a way, but you know I really like these stories. I'm proud of them. I'm so glad they are out there.

By the way, if anyone reading this has read Witch of Talera and feels the urge to review it on Amazon, I'd appreciate it. "Swords" and "Wings" both have reviews but "Witch" doesn't. I'm not sure it makes any difference but it couldn't hurt.

Thanks to everyone for listening.





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Movie Monsters Quiz

I had time this weekend to work on a blog post, but I didn't have the will. So, here's another quiz for you. This one is on movie monsters instead of villains. I hope you enjoy.


Do you like movie monsters? Hey, everyone does, don’t they? But do you remember your movies and your monsters? Can you look at the phrases or quotes on the left and match them with the famous monster on the right? Now this quiz is easy. Anything less than eleven correct and you surely can’t be trying. Less than six correct and you need to go out and buy yourself a DVD and spend some time catching up on the classics.

1. Not so jolly Green Giant __________ King Kong
2. “I’ll be back” ___________________ The Mummy
3. Fava beans _____________________ Dracula
4. Who goes there? _________________ The Wolfman
5. “The Children of the Night.” _____ Godzilla
6. Skull collector __________________ The Terminator
7. The Moon is a harsh mistress _____ The Predator
8. Swim fan ________________________ Cthulhu
9. When electricity came to the castle __ Creature from Black Lagoon
10. Chest burster _____________________ Pinhead
11. No sarcophagus can hold him _______ The Blob
12. The eighth wonder of the world ______ Hannibal Lecter
13. I told you not to open that box ____ Frankenstein’s Monster
14. Amorphous Entity ________________ Alien
15. Elder God _______________________ The Thing







Answers: 1. Godzilla, 2. Terminator, 3. Hannibal Lecter, 4. The Thing, 5. Dracula, 6. Predator, 7. The Wolfman, 8. Creature from the Black Lagoon, 9. Frankenstein’s Monster, 10, Alien, 11. The Mummy, 12. King Kong, 13. Pinhead, 14, The Blob, 15. Cthulhu.

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A couple of books I'll soon be getting.

A Quiz about Villains

I don't seem to have anything to say new today so here is a quiz I wrote for The Illuminata back some years ago now. The answers are at bottom. Hope you enjoy.


They're big. They're bad. Mostly they're ugly. Who are they? They're the movie villains of our nightmares and they're here to...GET YOU!. Can you match the descriptive phrase or quote on the left with the evildoer on the right? Zero to five correct means you may be too innocent for your own good. Six to ten correct and you are exhibiting just the right amount of nastiness. More than ten correct? Be afraid. Be very afraid.

1. Spider hater ---------------------- Jason Voorhies
2. Danger, Will Robinson! ------------- The Joker
3. Dream blade ----------------------- Thulsa Doom
4. Deep Breather --------------------- Leatherface
5. Camp Nightmare -------------------- The Penguin
6. What a big eye you have ------------ Darth Vader
7. Holidays can be killers ------------ Roy Batty
8. Permanent smile ------------------- Randall Flagg
9. Snake magic ----------------------- Lex Luthor
10. Buzz Cut ------------------------- Freddy Krueger
11. Umbrella fella ------------------- Green Goblin
12. The Dark Man --------------------- Khan
13. Kryptonite lover ----------------- Michael Myers
14. I spit my last breath at thee! ---- Dr. Smith
15. Made man ------------------------- Sauron








Answers: 1. Green Goblin, 2. Dr. Smith, 3. Freddy Krueger, 4. Darth Vader, 5. Jason Voorhies, 6. Sauron, 7. Michael Myers, 8. The Joker, 9. Thulsa Doom, 10. Leatherface, 11. The Penguin, 12. Randall Flagg, 13. Lex Luthor, 14. Khan, 15. Roy Batty

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My Trouble With Dialogue

I've been listening to some of the old "Shadow" pulps on my Kindle while I commute lately. They're interesting, although there's a lot of sameness about them. One thing did occur to me today on my trip in.

The Shadow stories are 'heavily' dialogue driven, probably because of their close relationship with the old radio serial format. As a result, they work pretty well as audio works. But one thing I've noticed is that there is hardly any "music" to the stories at all. Except for the rare descriptions of "The Shadow," the sentences and paragraphs fall leaden on the ears.

I believe it's largely the dialogue that is to blame, and that this is probably why I typically don't read books that begin with dialogue or are heavy with dialogue. Descriptive prose, or action-driven prose, can develop a rhythm, a kind of poetry in prose form.

"All morning the moon hangs frozen on the sky, and the wind-bell rings unheard on the hard east wind." (Matthiessen)

Dialogue seldom obtains even a fraction of this kind of poetry, and then only in the hands of true masters. And I'm realizing, from listening to the "Shadow" stories, that I need the rhythm. I need beautiful, poetic prose and imagery to fully lose myself in a story.

I understand that dialogue is a necessary evil. I try to write it as well as I can. But it'll always be a weak sister to me. Maybe I really am a poet at heart. Some form of a poet anyway.
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Winning the Day at Novel Spaces

I'm posting at Novel Spaces today on the subject of "Winning the Day." It's a term I picked up from Drew Brees's book Coming Back Stronger. Brees, of course, is the quarterback of the New Orleans Saints, who on Thursday night beat the Minnesota Vikings in the first game of the 2010 NFL season. I'm enjoying the book quite a bit, and will have a review of it here after I finish it. In the meantime, I'm talking about the book and about writing over on Novel Spaces, so please stop by.


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Where it Wanders

I haven't had much time to work on a blog post so I thought I'd put up a scene from a work in progress called "Where it Wanders," which will be a horror/thriller. This scene introduces a major character. Hope you enjoy.

WHERE IT WANDERS

In a service road motel, near the I-10/I-35 merge in San Antonio, Layne Gabriel snapped awake. Listening intently, he heard only the groaning whisper of the cheap window heating unit and a faint snick of breathing from his most recent bed companion. But he knew there had been another sound here a moment ago. A sound, or maybe an absence of sound. The air tingled with it.

Sliding from the worn and rumpled sheets, he padded naked to the small motel table where his laptop stood open and on. The screen was black and it took him a moment to discern the message he’d been left. In places the normal flat slate of the computer face had grown depth, had taken on three dimensional form. He made out a phrase in the black on black. It said: “Ozark Mountains.” There was nothing else.

Layne shrugged, padded to the bathroom to do his business and then dressed in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with faded white letters across the front that read “Hell Dog.” He turned off his laptop and packed it away in its weatherproof carrying case, then moved over to study the woman in the bed. She slept on, the sleep of the exhausted, with her short bottle-blond hair ratted around her head from where his hands had tangled during sex.

He leaned a little closer and sniffed her, and the combination of scents and sights brought a slice of poem driving hard into his awareness.

For the whiskey-breathed.
For the faint-beating heart.
Sweat-stained in the memory of love.

He smiled. The woman hadn’t been a very good lay but at least she’d been enthusiastic. That was worth something, he decided. He’d leave her a gift.

He turned away, slipped on his motorcycle jacket, lowered the laptop into his saddle bags, and quietly left the room. He had slept away the afternoon and evening. It was dark outside, the moon sailing black waters above him. He figured it for about 11:00 o’clock.

His bike waited, purple in the shadows, and he strapped the bags on it, then unlocked his full-face helmet and slid it over his head after tying up his hair. The night was chilly, and though he had a high tolerance for cold, he slipped on a pair of leather gloves. He didn’t want his hands to stiffen up on the ride.

Straddling the bike, he punched the starter and listened to the low growl of the modified Honda Magna 750 engine, the sound so different from the raw-throated chuckle of a Harley. The woman was probably waking up to the sound now, and he pulled from the motel’s parking lot and onto the street before she could come looking. He didn’t want to see her as he left; that might change his mind about giving her his gift.

He chuckled to himself as he thrust his boots up on the highway pegs and leaned back into the customized seat. Of course, the woman probably wouldn’t even realize he’d left her anything. But he’d left her alive, hadn’t he?

The road unfolded in a silver ribbon as he headed north in the wind.
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Rip Through Time

Some breaking news. I revealed something about the secret project I worked on this past summer in a previous post. It was a serial time travel story conceived by David Cranmer and executed by several guest writers, including me. The first installment of “A Rip Through Time” is now up online at Beat to a Pulp. This opening segment is by Chris F. Holm, so I hope you’ll check it out. My piece follows Chris’s in the story sequence. I had a lot of fun with my part, and from what Chris says here he had a lot of fun as well.

In other news, I’ve been kindlizing some old pulp stories, Doc Savage and The Shadow, for listening to on my Kindle while I make my commute to school. A problem was that the Kindle’s volume output was not enough to overcome the travel noise at much above 40 MPH. I first hooked up a set of speakers to the Kindle and used a cigarette lighter plug-in to power the whole thing, but this was pretty awkward and still didn’t produce enough volume to cover all contingencies. I finally bit the bullet and went to Mobile One on Saturday and had them put in a new radio/CD player for me with an auxiliary port, which I can plug the Kindle into directly so that it plays through my radio speakers. This is working out well. My 2005 Scion didn’t come with an auxiliary port, and I was needing a new CD player anyway so I killed two birds with one stone.

And speaking of Kindle and ebooks, sales have fallen off dramatically, (shall I say, precipitously), on my western collection, Killing Trail, so if you are hungry for some shoot outs and shoot-em-ups, please give the collection a try.


And for a final note for today, The Lovely Lana is running a contest over at her blog where you can pick up one of her great photos. Check it out.
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Withholding Information

I'm in a critique group that meets once a week and I enjoy it. I often find it very helpful. Right now I'm submitting chapters of a novel in progress to the group, and a couple of comments I got at our last meeting on that chapter started me to thinking about the power of information in writing.

One group member wanted me to reveal more about a character when we first meet her. Another wanted to know what role the "wind" was playing in the book because I'd featured the breeze in each of the previous chapters we'd looked at.

I appreciated the questions but they're not going to get what they want. Not right now, at least. The wind will be important. The character will be seen again. But for writers, "information" is the currency we buy and spend with. And we dare not give any information away for free. We are buying our readers' attention and emotional involvement, and we have to milk every last bit of purchasing power out of our information.

I don't remember where I heard it, but somewhere along the line I picked up a guideline for writing that I think is very important. "Never give the reader any more information than they absolutely have to have to understand what is happening in the story. Tell them only what they "have" to know and keep every other bit of information under wraps until it, too, has to be revealed.

That's a rule I can live with.
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Interrupting Our Normal Three Day Pattern

I'd normally leave "The Gray Man" post front and center for another day but there is some breaking news I wanted to share. Richard Godwin has interviewed me over at Chin Wag At The Slaughterhouse, and it's certainly the most unique interview I've ever done. There's already some good comments and discussion so if you get a chance to check it out, you might find it intersting.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.
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The Gray Man

He came frequently to the library. The gray man.

He was of average height but well above average weight. His hair was missing except around the edges and it was a lighter gray than his skin.

The man’s color always looked bad to me. I thought him on the verge of heart failure. At least for a while. But for four years I saw him at least once a week, often more, and during that time he scarcely changed physically except for losing a few pounds here and there.

When I arrived at the library as a grad student, people spoke of the gray man with an intense dislike. He was retired from the university. An ex-professor. But he seemed not to have recognized the “ex” part. I had heard that he would pontificate and exasperate. He was said to demand services, in a loud voice. He sent staff members scurrying to fetch the articles and tomes he sought. And he never said, “thank you.”

People watched the gray man with clouded and hooded eyes when he walked in. It was those eyes that made me ask about him. And I was told. I got an earful. No one liked him. They wished he’d retired to Florida. Some said, “to Hell.”

The thing is, I rarely saw him speak during the time I was at the library, and then only in a monotone, almost a stale whisper in passing. For four years I saw him come in, saw him remove papers and volumes from the small black satchel he habitually carried and spread them out around him on a library table. I saw him rise ponderously on occasion to fetch more books and journals from the library shelves.

For four years I saw him scribbling notes on the various legal pads he owned. I saw him transferring snippets of information from one place to another. I never heard that he published an article from it, or even that he’d put the material together to submit. I thought, perhaps, that he was working on a book, but the research materials he used were too varied to reveal a subject. During all that time I scarcely saw him interact with the library staff; he spoke only when spoken too, and then not at length.

Over the years, the clouded looks the staff gave him changed, from irritation, to resignation, to tolerance, to pity. Even after I left that school I sometimes thought of the gray man. He might have a lost a few pounds outwardly, but he seemed to have lost a great deal of weight inside.

And I wondered. Did the looks of pity dissipate too? Did the gray man finally become as gray and ephemeral as a passing rain? Did anyone in the library notice when he stopped coming?
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A Novel Spaces Day

I'm over at Novel Spaces today (Friday, August 27) with a post about two kinds of people, PO and LO. If you get a chance, drop by and visit.

Thanks,
Charles
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Contest Entries Up

Writtenwyrd's flash fiction contest is up and running. There are 12 entries, most of which are under 250 words. These were all written based on a prompt from "D." My entry is number 3: "With Eyes Like Fangs." If you get a chance and want some good quick reads, check it out. And you can vote for your favorite.

In other news, I'll be posting over at Novel Spaces again on the 27th. I'll put up a notice here. I've got a nice post already prepared and I think a lot of writers will find it interesting, as well as non-writers.

Till later

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Razored Zen's First Guest Blogger

I'm not sure when I first happened upon Sarah Hina's blog, but I do remember being captivated by her poetry and by the sheer loveliness of her language. Sarah is, in my opinion, one of the most talented ‘pure’ writers I’ve yet met in the blogosphere. Sarah recently had her first novel published, Plum Blossoms in Paris, and I immediately snagged myself a copy. I’ve not had a chance to read it yet, but it won’t be long, and I’ll review it when I’m finished. In the meantime, however, for the first time ever on Razored Zen, we have a guest blogger for the day. Please welcome…Sarah Hina, with “For Whom the Bell Tolls”!


FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

His feet stepped over Point Zero, the origin of all measured distances in France.

He walked.

He walked past the chattering tourists and pigeons. He walked with his back straight and head tilted down, as if the layers of this isle’s history were an archaeological wind to tunnel through.

He walked through the entrance of Notre Dame, ignoring the saints and virgins, and found the stairway leading to the south bell tower.

He climbed.

He stepped over a rope line.

He climbed higher.

He stopped when he mounted the top of the stairs. When he saw what he came for. The lonely bass bell, sequestered from its four siblings in the north tower.

A man with a blue cape stood beside it.

**

I looked at the sweaty American and reached for my phone. Security was third on speed dial. And I had a luncheon to attend.

“Monsieur,” I said. “You are not permitted.”

I noticed his eyes. Leaden, like a soldier’s. Bearing the shadows of battles yet to be fought.

The cell phone stayed in my pocket.

“Are you the one?” he asked. “The keeper of the bells?”

I hesitated.

“Yes, I am Monsieur Fontaine, the chief sacristan,” I finally said.

The man stretched out a hand to lean on the bell. For support, I could see. Emmanuel did not budge. His clapper alone weighed 1,000 pounds. Gone were the days of striking hammers, and the romantic piffle of Quasimodo’s rope swinging. Everything ran to a computer’s atomic precision.

With my finger on the button.

“I need for you to ring this bell,” the man said.

I laughed.

“Monsieur, the bourdon is rarely rung by itself, except to mark the deaths of great and distinguished men, like a pope or archbishop. I am afraid you ask the impossible.” I cleared my throat. “And now you really must—”

“I know why it’s rung,” he said, more quietly. Urgently. “As you say. To mark the deaths of great people.”

I caught his subtle distinction and nearly reached for my phone again. This American seemed prepared to lecture me on his tour-book interpretation of Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.

Well. If equality were his aim, then Death would sound constantly throughout the city. Even the tourist parts.

And I would never see lunch.

But instead of a speech, the man looked down at his feet.

So I did, too.

He did not wear shoes. Or, if he did, they were not visible beneath a pair of yellow hospital booties that were speckled red. The afternoon sun bathed their trauma in a soft, opal light.

Blood like wet paint.

“Monsieur,” I murmured, taking a step forward. “I am very—”

He waved me off.

“This . . . she . . . I didn’t know where to . . . ”

True.

“I need to feel." He inhaled sharply. “That someone. Is listening. That someone. Acknowledges it.” He tried to smile at me, but his face could not suffer it.

“You know?”

I closed my eyes.

I was not a man who looked outside my own reality. Or cared to, in truth. But sometimes, when working the towers, it felt like the cathedral breathed. Like she sighed over the wingspan of her centuries. For all she had been forced to see. During these moments, the bells’ clanging could almost remind me of a bloodletting. An exorcism.

If one believed in such things.

I opened my eyes.

**

He walked down the stairs. Over the rope line.

And down again.

He walked from the cathedral, and past the tourists and pigeons, snapping up their photos and breadcrumbs.

He walked because he was afraid to stop. Afraid. He might never stop. The river was right there. A bridge above it.

A solitary note clanged.

Low. Solemn.

Again.

And again.

He stopped walking.

Everyone—tourists, Frenchmen, stone martyrs—offered him a drink from their silence. All listening, instead of talking. Feeling, instead of looking. Connected, for a brief reverberation, by the atomic weight of thirteen metric tons, swinging.

His feet had halted on Point Zero. The origin of all measured distance.

His back hunched.

He grieved.

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Synopsis for Plum Blossoms in Paris:

Post-grad neuroscience student Daisy Lockhart has never been short on brains, but after her longtime boyfriend dumps her through e-mail, she is short on dreams. Alone for the first time in six years, Daisy allows herself to finally be an individual instead of half of a couple. On a mission towards self-discovery, new adventures, and healing her wounded soul, Daisy travels to Paris. Upon her arrival, she meets Mathieu, a mysterious intellectual with a carefree spirit, and Daisy begins to experience the passion and the fulfillment she craves. Daisy's tense battle between possible love and her newly found freedom forces her to decide what she really wants.
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Secret Project Revealed

Since the (in)famous “Sheriff” Cranmer let the cat out of the bag over on Meridian Bridge, I can at last reveal something about the secret project I referred to a few times this summer. David came up with an idea for a time travel romp featuring the hard-boiled Simon Rip in a desperate race through the ages to confront the end of time as we know it. David recruited a few writers to put more flesh on Rip’s bones and the results will begin to appear as a serial on Beat To a Pulp in September.

Chris F. Holm wrote the first installment and I picked up the baton for part 2. Matt Mayo has taken over for part 3. I had a tremendous amount of fun working on this project. It’s the first time I’ve ever taken part in a serial/shared world type adventure like that and it was a great learning experience. Challenging, but fun.

I’ve read Chris’s opening but will be reading Matt’s conclusion along with the rest of you when it hits BTAP. I’m looking forward to seeing the whole thing together.

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I know I've mentioned these before, but I didn't have the cover for one of them. In a follow up to my last post, these are two recent anthologies that have stories in by me.



Here are a couple of books on writing that I read years ago but don't own copies of. I'll be looking for these soon.


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The Post I'm Not Ready to Make

Well, it's over. And I weep for the passing of summer vacation. It was a fruitful one. I put together and published Killing Trail, which included several brand new items as well as heavily rewritten older material. I completed putting together a collection of my vampire fiction, which I'm calling Midnight in Rosary, and which also includes a lot of revised material as well as brand new stuff. That anthology is submitted as we speak.

I sold five short stories to various markets, two of which have been published, and completed a roughly 7,000 word secret project. I got a surprise publication with "Precious Cargo" being selected for the Clarity of Night: Contests, Volume 1. I had a couple of nonfiction articles on writing published, and five haiku translated into Bulgarian. I did a lot of promoting for various projects, including Killing Trail and Bitter Steel.


I did a LOT of blogging, and made 500+ friends on Facebook. And I read and read and read.

But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Tomorrow I start back to school, and the writing output will slow to a trickle. I'll still be blogging and facebooking a bit. I'll try to post here every 3 days at least, and I'll try to get around to as many blogs as possible. During this summer, though, I often spent an hour and a half a day blogging and facebooking and that simply can't continue. My commute alone takes almost 3 hours a day. School hours vary depending on the time of the semester, but it ranges from 5 to 12. Then there's eating, sleeping, hanging with Lana, and trying to keep some writing projects alive.

In short, you'll be seeing me a lot less until next summer gets here. Some of you will probably find that a relief, but some of you will miss me. I'm practically sure of that! Almost sure. :)

Best,
Charles Gramlich

Red Dead Redemption

True to my intentions, I've done almost no writing the past few days and instead have been relaxing in preparation for the hard labors to come when I return to school on Wednesday. I've been doing a fair amount of reading, but have been playing a lot of a video game called Red Dead Redemption for my XBox 360. My son bought me the game for Father's Day but I've scarcely played it up until now because I’ve been too busy writing. I must say I’m enjoying it tremendously and am rather glad I didn’t get into it until now. I would have lost some writing time, I imagine.



Red Dead Redemption is a western themed game. It is supposedly set in 1910 but looks like the 1880s for the most part. I think they set it later so they could introduce technology that wasn’t seen in the 1880s. It features a character named John Marston, who is being coerced into going after some old gang mates of his.

One of the good things about the game is that it has a big “exploration” element, which I like. You get to discover a lot of new areas and secrets, and that’s one of my favorite elements of video games. It’s why I liked Doom and Super Metroid and Zelda so much. There’s also a lot of action and shoot-em ups, which I also enjoy.

It’s easier to be bad in the game, to steal and murder, but it pays better and gives you better adventures if you are good. I’ve tried it both ways. I’m kind of liking being a good guy right now, though the bad guy game is saved when I want to go back to that.

One problem I’m having is that the game is clearly set up for a wide screen TV and I can’t read half the prompts and hints that appear on the screen. That has made certain discoveries a long time in coming. However, Lana found out there is a Red Dead Wiki available that can answer a lot of your questions and give you some good hints. I’ve been enjoying the game more since checking out the Wiki.

So there you have it. How I spent the last few days of summer vacation. And now I’m going to go play some more!
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A Contest and More

This is the cover for Beat to a Pulp’s first print publication, which is soon to be published. Some of you have seen it already but I think it’s pretty cool. I’m looking forward to this collection.

Writtenwyrd is having a writing contest I’ve already started on my entry so check out the contest and throw your tale into the ring.

I spent yesterday (Thursday) with my son, which is why I didn’t make my normal blogging rounds. We ate some sushi and had a nice walk. We shot the B-B gun some and played a bit of Red Dead Redemption, the video game he bought me for Father’s Day. “Redemption” is a western themed game and I’m having a lot of fun with it. I have ceased to be a law-abiding citizen within the confines of the game, however. Perhaps this should trouble me more than it does.

Today, (Friday), we’re having some tropical weather and net access is spotty at best. I’ve been unable to get around to just about any sites so that’s where things stand. It took half an hour of refreshing and working one window at a time to get the this post up.

Here's a book I'll be getting soon:

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