Showing posts with label dragoneye. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dragoneye. Show all posts

Monday, July 27, 2015

Laser beam cows! or Why I Love Writing Conferences



By Karina Fabian

There are plenty of good reasons for writers to attend conferences – education, networking. But my favorite reason is the crazy synergy that only happens when writers get together and that only writers may fully understand.
Case in point: Cows with laser beams.
It all started when my roommate at the Catholic Writers’ Conference Live mentioned cutting out a scene in a novel she was editing because “it was just looking at cows.” We agreed that if there had to be cows in a story, they had better be doing something interesting. I fell asleep thinking about cows, and woke up with a vision: Cows with frickin’ laser beams on their heads.
Of course (and anyone who knows my writing would also agree, “of course”), I spent the day thinking about what kind of story would involve cows with laser beams on their heads. Naturally, at dinner with seven other writers, I brought it up. Now, these are writers of Catholic devotionals, epic fantasy, and mystery. And we are in a public restaurant. And sober. Yet by the time the night was over, we had crafted the story of the evil rancher, Sir Lion, and his sidekick Chuck Roast, who were breeding cattle in order to destroy the world by increasing greenhouse gasses to cause runaway global warming. The cows would have laser beams in order to patrol their territory – and do topiary. (Sadly a few cows were too stupid to do more than create hay bale-shaped topiary and were sent to trim the hedgerows instead.)
As a matter of fact, I am going to write this. As a Gapman episode in the DragonEye world. Thanks for asking.
But it gets better. I had a lecture the next morning, so how could I resist? I added laser cows, and in my research found that it’s been done! Since the lecture was idea generation, it was the perfect illustration that there are no new ideas, just new takes on the same ideas. In fact, laser beam cows worked their way into other lectures and casual conversation.
The cliché of writing is that it’s a solitary activity, and it is true that writers need concentrated alone time to get their words on paper, but that’s only a part of the writing process. We also thrive on interaction and support, whether it’s for a serious topic that needs fleshing out, a critique that helps us see what to cut from a scene to get the right focus of emotion, or the crazy brainstorming that results in laser beam cows.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

A Dragon's View of Zombies



Told by Vern of DragonEye, PI

Karina's told me she's written a zombie novel, Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator. She's pretty excited about it coming out in March, and says she has readers who are already antsy for a copy.
I don't get it. Zombies are the equivalent of spoiled food becoming animated. Why are you making literature out of dinner gone bad?

There are zombies in our culture--inevitably the result of evil magic. Soulless animated bodies of the dead. When the sorcerer "does it right," he can infuse them with some rudimentary commands and a very minimal intelligence--kind of like Lego Mindstorm robotics. Done wrong, however, and you have the shambling dead trying to act out whatever messed up command its rotting brain can process.

Had that happen in the Great War. None-too-experienced sorcerer tried to make a zombie army, but wasn't precise enough in his command to kill the "enemy." So they pretty much turned on everyone. Would have been a good time for your world's napalm, though we did have Greek Fire. Once in a while, though, I had to take a more personal approach to pulling one off one of my comrades. Took weeks to get the taste out of my mouth. In fact, I've got an urge to gargle just thinking about it.

See why I don't like to talk about zombies? Now excuse me while I go find a 2-liter bottle of Listerine.

Check out Vern's latest book, Greater Treasures, at http://tinyurl.com/greatertreasureskindle

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

T is for Treasure--Greater Treasures, that is!

This is my latest book, published April 16.  No zombies in it, though.  Vern, my dragon, does not like zombies. He says it's the equivalent of that leftover casserole you forgot coming to life and breaking out of the refrigerator to exact mindless vengeance.


Cover art by Sarah-Jane Lehoux


Being a private detective in the border town of the Faerie and Mundane worlds isn’t easy, even for a dragon like Vern.   Still, finding the wayward brother of a teary damsel in distress shouldn’t have gotten so dangerous.  When his partner, Sister Grace, gets poisoned by a dart meant for him, Vern offers to find an artifact in exchange for a cure.  However, this is no ordinary trinket—with a little magic power, it could control all of mankind.  Can Vern find the artifact, and will he sacrifice the fate of two worlds for the life of his best friend?

Purchase it on Kindle at http://www.amazon.com/Greater-Treasures-DragonEye-Novella-ebook/dp/B00CEH934G  

Excerpt:



Given the day I was having, it came as no surprise that when I got home, I found the dogs sprawled in a drugged sleep and the sounds of things being overturned from within the warehouse. I decided not to bother with subtlety, but I did resist the urge to burst in with flames going full-blast. I had questions first.
Naturally, I walked straight in to find an automatic weapon—yep, a bona fide black-market AK-47—and I thought only Faerie lived their clichés—and six other weapons of various types pointed at me. I didn't stop, just closed the door with my tail while I strolled in slow and placid-like. My visitors had shaved heads, faces painted white with clown paint, and black t-shirts with swastikas in white circles.
"If you're the housekeeping service, you're fired."
"You stay right there, or we gonna fire you!" said one guy from the sidelines as he held his nunchucks at the ready.
What'd he think he would do—whack me on the nose? I turned to the one holding the assault rifle. "Scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one, weren't you?"
"He's right. You just stay still while we search the place."
"The place" was a ten-thousand square foot warehouse with offices on the upper floor. Boxes I still hadn't opened line the walls and made a maze in the second warehouse room. I settled myself on the floor and rested my head on my crossed arms. "Go ahead. I get half of anything you find."
They stared at me, unbelieving. I smiled back. Mr. Cooperation, that's me. Finally, Big Gun snarled for the others to get to work. As he turned his back on me, Nunchucks muttered, "I got your half. Don't think I don't." Guess he learned such witty repartee in Hitler Youth Summer Camp.
I watched and listened and waited. With eight teenage skinheads trashing my place, it was only a matter of time.
"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," I suggested as Nunchucks made a grab for the doorknob to Grace's workshop.
"You gonna stop me?" He turned the knob.
"Nope," I said as I closed my ears and my eyes. Even so, I saw the otherworldly light and heard the harmonious roar of Divine Vengeance followed by Mundane screams.
"The Heavenly Host on the other hand…"
I waited until the screams died down to whimpers before opening my eyes and rising.
Four of the skinheads were unconscious. Three may as well have been; they were curled up in the fetal position, whimpering. Nunchucks was actually crying for his mommy. Big Guns had collapsed to the floor as well, the gun thrown away from him. He was sitting and rocking and making high-pitched keening through the roof of his mouth.
I'd tell Grace to tone down her wards some, except that the effect is directly proportional to the evilness of the intent. Suddenly, I was feeling a little shaky about my earlier entrance.
Knights out of the armor now. I went around, collecting weapons in the office trash can and poking through pockets. I found the usual stuff—driver's licenses, credit cards, petty cash… One kid had a condom; wishful thinking on his part, I knew. Another had a report card. MLK High. Wonder if he was the one beating up Faerie kids? Honor roll grades, too. Of all the years I've battled evil, there were still some things I didn't understand.
As I was returning Big Guns' (aka Rick Matherston's) wallet back into his jacket pocket, he blinked and focused on me.
"What was that?"
"Angels, kid." Actually a kind of magical shadow of the real thing, but close enough.

"But I thought angels were—"
"There's a reason why their first words are usually 'Fear not!' whenever they meet a human."
His eyes returned to their unfocused stare. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I noticed the letters FARISLAR tattooed on his knuckles. Faerie slayer.