Giving the dungeon a make-over

You might have noticed I'm doing a bit of redecorating. A few skeletons in the corner, a strategic pit of toxic waste by the front door, a couple more rail guns on the battlements. Nothing much, just some sprucing up.

So just ignore the zombie construction crews for now. (They somehow mistook my link list for brain crackers, sigh, so I need to restore that manually now...)

Posting should--if no one trips the evil circuit breaker again--resume sometime in the near future. (Which is, we admit, debatable with the time machine malfunctioning so much.)

Suggestions or comments on the layout and color scheme and new decorations are welcome. Just don't step on the minefield while you're at it.

~Merc

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The Historical Escapades of Mr. Dionysus Block: Zombies and Flaming Umbrellas

This is a response to Lady Glamis' post on Can you pack a punch? (about fight scenes). I'm not quite sure why I decided to mention zombies and flamethrowers--oh wait, standard lingo around here. O:) (It's a rough draft. Blame the typos on the zombies trying to "assist" me.)

Enjoy.

The Historical Escapades of Mr. Dionysus Block
My good man, have you seen my brain?



The zombies popped out of the drainage ditch near the intersection at the most inconvenient time—on the cloudy afternoon I was late for a presentation at the alchemist’s manor.

Granted, “popped” might have been too strong a verb, as they lurched and wobbled out instead.

Nevertheless, when five zombies appear in a traditional brigand ambush site, one is allowed such expressions regardless of the actual movement. I paused, eying the decayed corpses wrapped in shreds of black fabric.

I offered a formal nod and leaned my umbrella tip on the toe of my boot. Getting dirt in the napalm ejection tip would do my presentation no benefits. “Good day, gentleman.”

“Braaaaiiiiinnnnssssss.”

“Give us... your... brain.” The more coherent of the speakers stepped forward and brandished a brace of pistols. He wore a feathered beret and motorcar leathers, though I saw no indication of his vehicle.

“I would be happy to give you my purse instead, sir,” I replied with my driest inflection, suitable for the mummification of insipid wit. “Unfortunately my brain is irreplaceable.”

The leader shrugged and fired.

I spun on my heel, twisting my upper body sideways. Bullets, unfortunately bound by the laws of physics, are much faster than zombies. Twin projectiles whizzed past, and one detoured hard into my shoulder. Jarring pain escorted the shock and centrifugal force and I staggered back.

Damn, but being shot hurts.

The four zombies sprinted towards me. I assure you, they “sprinted”—even in a decomposed state, whatever injections had been used in their reanimation had given them speed. Two barreled straight ahead, and the other two split and aimed at my flanks. Bits of dead flesh caught in the breeze and the rightmost zombie lost a chunk of scalp and brittle hair as it skirted wide to get behind me.

I stepped forward, twirled the umbrella up, and impaled the nearest zombie head on. The metal tip crunched through its rotted torso. Aha! “The living mind and muscle triumphs again, sir,” I crowed.

The zombie rolled what was left of its eyes and swiped a knife at my throat.

Bugger.

I bent backwards in ways the human spine is quite probably not meant to bend. The rusted blade missed my nose by centimeters. Hanging onto the umbrella handle, I swung my weight counterclockwise and straightened. The zombie lost its balance, staggering as the tip wrenched out between its ribs.

I spun and kicked the zombie behind me in the mouth. It gurgled and lurched back. The impaled corpse snatched at my collar, got hold of my bullet-ridden shoulder instead, and it yanked me back onto its knife.

Pain rippled out from my shoulder up my neck and down my side. I jerked and elbowed it in the ribs. The knife broke against the treated wool of my coat, much to the zombie’s evident surprise and my silent praise for my tailor. The zombie slurred curses at me and tried to bite my skull. Given my advantage in height, it succeeded in slobbering on my neck instead.

I take pride in my grooming, and undead drool is far from highly sought-after cologne.

Whipping around, I jabbed the umbrella under its chin and pulled the trigger. A jet of flame spouted from the tip. The zombie shrieked and immolated in a glorious conflagration. Red and white sparks and heavy gray smoke spat skywards.

For a moment, the others froze at sight of their fellow in dead arms going up in flames.

The one I had kicked moaned and staggered away from the heat, which was quite cheerful and pleasant in the approaching storm-chilled air. In the light, I recognized them now—albeit without the sterile sheets covering their bodies on polished dissection tables. They were Alchemist Franklin’s experiments. The bloody fool had sent them for my work. Was he in such desperate need for my latest invention he could not wait until I met him to rob and murder me?

“Get… his… brain!” the beret-wearer ordered.

“I have deduced your strategy,” I cried as the gale picked up and fanned the merrily roasting zombie to brighter and more expressive, fiery heights. “To steal my brain and all my infernal and arcane knowledge and blueprints when I will not sell Alchemist Franklin all my ideas, and he will claim them that way.”

“It’s a perfectly… legitimate…plan,” the zombie in the beret said.

So it was. One cunning mind must by necessity admire another, even when one is being attacked by zombie created by one’s former colleague and rival. “Quite brilliant, my man. How did you plan to transport my brain without cellular damage before it could be transplanted in a tank of fluids?”

“By… the wonders… of science, Block.” The lead zombie holstered his pistols and held up a syringe of translucent pink fluid.

“Good God,” I exclaimed in fascinated and horrified awe, sidestepping the blazing corpse as it tipped over. “Franklin? What have you done to yourself?”

“Wrong… immortality… potion.” He coughed up a wad of phlegm and spat to the side. The road smoked where he’d used it as a spittoon. “I need your brain… to reverse the process…”

Brilliance to counteract stupidity. I should have seen it earlier. “I’m terribly sorry, Franklin.” I gave him my most sympathetic look with a dash of smugness. “I only have the one brain and do rather need it for work. You understand.”

“Naturally,” Franklin said.

The zombies charged.

I snapped open the umbrella and used it as a shield against the one to my left. The zombie bounced off and rolled to its feet. Blast slow re-charging fuel cells. The one with its jaw hanging loose and broken tackled me around the knees.

Gravity does not take kindly to resistance, and my efforts in keeping upright failed. I landed hard, jarring my shoulder. The deflected zombie seized the edges of the umbrella and heaved. I clung to the handle, cursing.

The zombie around my legs crawled its way higher, a most uncomfortable and queasy sensation, and its rancid breath fumed in my face. It scrabbled for my throat. I caught its hands in my free one barely in time, straining to hold it back. The third zombie grabbed my hair and I felt its teeth click against my scalp.

The steady clip of Franklin’s polished boots on the road sounded loud even with my slightly exaggerated heartbeat. The umbrella handle slipped in my grasp.

Blast and damn!

When one is shot in the shoulder and striving to keep from being strangled by a reanimated corpse, strength in one’s arm is not always optimal. My muscles quivered; my elbow buckled. The zombie’s broken fingernails scratched my neck. Teeth on my scalp broke the skin, and the hot tingle of blood and zombie spit slid down my back.

“Hold him… down…” Franklin said. Lightning flickered off the needle tip.

Admittedly, I am not so found of having my brain excised and liquefied into a serum for the reversal of zombificated immortality. It has the misfortunate side effect of being permanent.

I let go of the umbrella and its zombie attachment. Wasting no time, I kneed the zombie atop me in the privates—or what was left of them. It grunted. I rolled and shoved it back with a desperation-fueled burst of strength. It flopped on its side and I landed on top of it. One of its arms crunched and squished under my palm. The corpse gnawing on my cranium scrabbled to keep hold of my hair.

Using the stunned zombie for leverage, I heaved myself up, tucked into a forward summersault, and snatched my umbrella in one calculated motion. Gray sky and gravel road pinwheeled past my eyes. The Ludwig van Hellstien University, of which I graduated with honors, values physical fitness as well as mental agility.

I sprang up and spun the umbrella around once, aiming at the three tangled zombies left in my wake. I fired the napalm ejectors again and the corpses went up in an inferno. They thrashed and moaned until they collapsed in a twitching heap. Thunder applauded my efforts and I snapped the umbrella closed.

I deemed it a flawless presentation of my newest invention.

Franklin stood gaping at what had been his entourage in brigandry and alchemistic crime.

Now quite put out, I straightened, withdrew a handkerchief, and wiped my face and neck, concealing my trembling. I pointed my umbrella at my old colleague. “As for you, sir…”

Franklin turned and fled, syringe in hand.

Thank God. I had no more charges left in the umbrella.

Given there was no reason to continue on, I decided to return home. I was in sore need of a bath.

“Next time, Block!” Franklin cried.

“By all means, my good man. Do drop in for tea some time.” I waved at the alchemist’s retreating back. “I’d love to pick your brain about the nature of immortality!”

FIN

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Oh. WOW.

I can't believe I have not officially found this until now, but... wow.

Crique du Soleil

*dies of shiny delight*

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Bios, bios everywhere

As in biography. Not biology. Sorry, biology geeks, but I shall have to disappoint you with this post on writing and not delve into the shininess that is zombified octopi and pigeons.

So, it occurred to me today (while writing a bio for M-Brane SF), that when I'm asked to write a bio either with an unsolicited submission or for a sale, I've written a new one from scratch every single time.

Does this seem like a lot of work when I include basics like my name, credits (which either gets updated or modified as necessary), possibly the blog address, and a reference to zombies if applicable? Well, yes.

After all, I'm required to think of up something new each time, and perhaps conform to length guidelines, and damn but it is hard to mention zombies causally at times. O:) It is work. I set my hair on fire over it every time.

But on the other hand, I just can't stand the idea of using a boilerplate bio that reads dry and predictable. I've seen some authors (short fiction--I understand if a novel "about the author" is reused...) who have the same bio with possibly just credits updated. See, I adore author bios that have something unusual or funny or weird or what have you. I like to see something new or tweaked or showing personality, you know?

For me, with a new story, a new take on the bio is required. I enjoy the opportunity to "personalize" it to the story or magazine in question, despite the amount of work. (If you want an example of what I mean, look at my short story "To Market" and "Lady Bones and the Missing Soul Broker" (you can see the bio for the story here, just scroll down).

What's the point of writing a bio if you can't enjoy it? ;)

So how about you? Do you/will you change up a bio (if one is included) or use a standard one you can just copy/paste and be done with it? Why? What do you include and how much bizarreness/humor/randomness do you inject into it, if any? (What kinds of bios do you enjoy most in others' work?)

Okay, I'll see if I can fit octopi in the next post somehow, savvy?

~Merc

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Titles made of win

Just so you know, anything called Ninja Weasels has got Merc's full and undivided attention. O:)

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Professionalism in blogging and professional blogs... say what?

I'm being good and not making up blog-specific lyrics to the song "Professional Pirate" from Muppet Treasure Island. It's tempting, though, it really is... ("When you're a professional blogger…") *behaves*

Anyway.

I'm sure you've all heard that authors/writers seeking publication should have professional blogs/websites. Or something along those lines; my brain is fuzzy. (No, it's not mold.)

Sure, if you're going to present yourself and your writing to the world, it makes sense to do it in a professional manner. (A nice looking website/blog, readable entries, easy navigation, etc.)

So how far do you have to go to maintain a sense of professionalism? And what's the difference between a professional site/blog and being professional in your current blog/site?

What, you're asking me? Dude, I was putting it out as a hypothetical question!

*grumbles*

Fine, okay.

Professionalism vs. a professional site/blog contains a bit of overlap, but they aren't exactly the same.

In a professional blog/site, I'd expect a specific focus, i.e. an author's domain is about the author and his or her body of work. Or an agent's blog that deals specifically with publishing and topics related to publishing. There isn't a bunch of frivolous stuff unrelated to the main focus—it's not to say there aren't occasional posts of a personal nature or whatnot, but the main bulk of the site is dedicated to the relevant focus. People generally come here for information or have a purpose looking you up, even if it's just to see if you actually exist and aren't a figment of their imagination.

(Just because I'm a geek, I'll point you at the TMNT Official Site as an example of what I would consider a professional site—the whole thing is focused on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and anything relevant to the franchise. The sitemasters don't post random stuff about their dogs or what they had for breakfast or other stuff; posts are specifically related to something in the TMNT world, whether updates on new comics and DVDs, author and illustrator appearances at cons, news and links about the franchise, etc.

If you want an example of a professional blog, look at Miss Snark's archives. The main bulk of all her posts are focused on writers, agents, publishing, etc. Even if Killer Yapp and posts on George Clooney pop up now and then. ;))

A professional blog/site has a focus. (It helps if it's clean and easy to navigate, preferably updated regularly with relevant content, and kept up so visitors can find what they want and will keep coming back. But y'all know that.) It's where people will go if they want information on you and your work and don't want to wade through three trillion pics of your poodle in a hula skirt.

Then there's professionalism in blogging.

Whatever the focus of your blog, you can show professionalism easily enough in a few ways:

• Have a readable format, use basic grammar/spelling/capitalization/etc (in other words, good writing—relax, a few typos aren't the end of the world), and do your best to make it easy for readers to understand and follow your blog.
• Show common courtesy when discussing other writers/agents/publishers/books/magazines/fellow professionals, et al. (Going out of your way to humiliate or insult or ruin the reputation of someone who says your baby needs work, or an agent who sent you a form rejection, isn't doing you any favors; remember, word gets around and people remember things like this*.) It doesn't take that much effort to be polite. (Maybe it does if you're pissed off. You can at least try.)
• Respond to comments when possible (even in another post to thank people for giving feedback if you don't/can't respond individually to everyone). If we comment on your posts, we like some acknowledgement you bothered to read what we said, y'know? Granted, I don't think it's necessary to respond individually to five-hundred comments, but a general nod that, "hey, I got them, I read/skimmed over most of them," is appreciated.
• I think a sense of humor is important, along with a sense of fun. But that's just me. (I'm not really sure how this fits into the topic, but I forgot what my last point was going to be.)

I strongly believe you can be goofy, have fun, be funny and random, mix professional and personal topics in a blog, and still show professionalism while doing it. This blog is not a professional one—it has no specific focus as I'll post about anything (remember the killer bunny slippers?). But I do strive to a certain amount of professionalism in my blogging… even if I do go on lots of tangents about zombies. :P

So what are your thoughts on professional site and professionalism in blogging? What do you think defines the two? Do you maintain both, one or the other? Do you keep personal and writing separate in your blog, mix them? What's a good balance? This is all just Mercish rambling—and my word ain't the law, or set in stone. (Not until I take over the world, anyway.)

Ta,

~Merc


*Yes, there is a difference between literary criticism and shredding someone because "it's not fair they got published and I didn't" or something like that—I'll ramble on that in another post.

My point is that bitching and whining and going out of your way to say "[editor's name] sucks because they don't know crap and publish trash, waaa" doesn't sound the least bit professional to me.

Sure, we all get frustrated trying to figure out what editors and agents want. I'm fine with venting and ranting, as you can tell. But there's a big difference between venting frustration and offering valid criticism and thoughts on why you didn't like something or an editor's choice—and doing it in a professional manner—and mud-slinging or ripping into people because you got your widdle feelings hurted.

If people don't like what I say, they're welcome to disagree with me. :P Maybe we can have an interesting debate. But when things turn into personal insults and flaming, it's pointless and stupid, and I'm not interested in getting involved.

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January Reading

Since my concentration has mostly been shot to hell the last couple weeks, I've been reading anthologies of short stories rather than novels. (What about that 100 books a year thing? Er... I'll come back to that in another post.)

So this month I'm creeping through The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 19, edited by Stephen Jones (2008), and Faerie Tales, edited my Martin H. Greenberg and Russell Davis (2004).

Thoughts so far? Well. Once again I'm a bit baffled at these kinds of volumes. The "Horror" one is, er, putting me to sleep thus far. (Four stories in.) I mildly enjoyed a few of "Tales"... I will endeavor to have more coherent thoughts, if not a review, on the anthos later.

On the less dark side, I find I can actually read a short all the way through in one sitting (despite having to make myself for a few of them), so I hope my concentration and focus are improving somewhat. :P

I'd blame the zombies, but you know how sluggish they get in the cold weather, so...

~Merc

P.S. I'm working on the "professionalism in blogging and professional blogs" post and aim to get it up tomorrow. Poking is welcome.

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Random updates becuase I can

"...The doctor has sweetly inserted a probe
To sever completely my prefrontal lobe."
--Away In A Madhouse (to the tune of "Away in a Manger")

The HPLHS is made of win, I tell you.

Anyway.

Today was a good day.

- I finished a horror short (talk about making myself remember all the classical composers and other musical lingo I'd not had to use in years :P) called "The Music Man." It's weird, surreal, but I actually rather like it. What would you do if you started becoming deaf to the music you loved one composer and genre at a time, with no way to stop it?

- "String Bounty," a short fantasy story using a series character (who lives to mock me, I swear), got edited to the proper length and submitted. I'm pleased. Shasca goes after a dubious bounty at the urging of his girlfriend, who insists on coming with and making his job a hell of a lot harder.

- And to round it out, I managed not to melt my brain crafting a query letter (which owes its survival to the wonderful help from Sparky), and started keeping track of what I've actually accomplished this year.

I'm mildly pleased with all this, since it's gotten me a bit closer to getting out of the slump I was in.

"What," you may ask, "is the fricking deal with the lame loglines?"

"Clearly," I would say, setting you on fire, "they are my sucky attempts to sum up my shorts in one sentence. If I told you my real master plan was to write such crappy summeries in a minute flat without much thought put into them at all due to time constraints, purely to torture the minds and eyes of those who read, then I'd have to kill you."

"Oh," you in theroy might reply. "Gotcha."

I would then nod, smile, and sic the zombies on you, just becuase, you know, I'm evil that way.

So, anyone else have a productive day?

~Merc

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It's the most randomest time of the year

My brain hasn't actually grasped the fact it's, you know, 2009. Or maybe it has and is in denial. I should ask the zombies...

So, for the last week or more, I've been in a bit of a writing slump. Still am, really. Nothing sounds shiny any more, and the worlds or stories that do lack plots. The characters mock me, if they bother talking at all. A lack of concentration, energy, excitement for my projects, the whole ten yards (becuase I do like going a bit farther than normal sometimes).

In an effort to poke myself into just writing anything, I did some exercises with the Dreaded One and the Feral Biologist--which produced the most random beginning to a story ever. EVER, I tell you. I did rather like the immortal telepathic evangelistic goldfish, though...

This year, while I didn't make any actual resolutions, I've decided to try blogging a bit more. On that note, remind me if I forget, but (in the next few weeks) I'd like to ramble on "professionalism/professional blogs", "shiny idea envy", "how the hell is your novel different?", some rants on short stories, favorite markets/magazines, "cross-world infection and goofing off and how this can help world-build and develop characters", and something about zombies.

Look! Lo, can it be? Merc has a plan for her blogging? The world trembles in awe...

~Merc

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