Friday, February 26, 2010
This Week's Joke
My father recently forwarded me this email. I remember it from the last time it made the rounds, but I still think it's funny. So here's the Joke For The Week! :)
A prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” offered by an English professor from the University of Colorado for an actual class assignment:
The professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right.
“As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.
“Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was turned in by two of his English students:
(first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(second paragraph by Bill)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A..S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her.
She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
(Bill)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan.
The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
(Bill)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an airheaded bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"
(Rebecca)
A$$h@le.
(Bill)
B*t*h!
(Rebecca)
F*** YOU – YOU NEANDERTHAL!!
(Bill)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
(TEACHER)
A+. I really liked this one.
A prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” offered by an English professor from the University of Colorado for an actual class assignment:
The professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right.
“As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.
“Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was turned in by two of his English students:
(first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(second paragraph by Bill)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A..S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her.
She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
(Bill)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan.
The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
(Bill)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an airheaded bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"
(Rebecca)
A$$h@le.
(Bill)
B*t*h!
(Rebecca)
F*** YOU – YOU NEANDERTHAL!!
(Bill)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
(TEACHER)
A+. I really liked this one.
Labels: The Joke Of The Week
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Up, Down & Up Again
It's been another crazy week, and, man, the writing life continues to be a rollercoaster ride of excitement, anxiety, gratification and despair. Of course it helps that I'm melodramatic as hell. ;)Eight days ago I received contributor copies of Ennea #484, a Greek magazine which pays nicely in euros and recently published "Meme," my third story for them.
Five days ago I sold "Long Eyes" to Galaktika Magazine in Hungary, a new language for me, which is great fun. Heck, they also pay real money, which isn't always the case with overseas short fiction markets. (Often if there's a few bucks involved, it goes to the translator of the story, not the writer, who presumably has already sold it in his native country and is compensated for this new "sale" in contributor's copies and the additional exposure for novel sales.) Galaktika has been in circulation since 1972 and has twice been voted Europe's best SF magazine. Awesome!
In the meantime, though, I've been a sick puppy -- severe congestion, fatigue, headache. Two days ago I was coughing up blood. Not awesome! In fact, the word we're looking for is 'unnerving.' I've never done hacked up red stuff before. It's like something from the machine plague. :(
Fortunately, it was just a few specks of red and it's coming from back of my ragged throat, not my lungs, but holey moley. I like my blood inside me.
So I haven't been writing. I've been sleeping. Bleh. Anxiety!
But this same week the rollercoaster gave us another, larger upward twist with the sale of Plague Year in France. The publisher is Bibliotheque Interdite, described to me as "a young but dynamic publishing house that works with Games Workshop, but they are growing and becoming more and more important on the fiction market." If you jump on their web site, what you'll see is Warhammer Warhammer Warhammer. These guys run game tie-ins, which are insanely popular and also provide them with a nice, built-in audience for their new Eclipse line, which will soon debut with the likes of the Deathstalker books by Frank Frazetta, Steve Savile's Silver, R.E. Howard's Conan and some book by some guy about the nanopocalypse.
Am I enthused to be included with this media-friendly line-up? Hell, yes. I do sex and violence very well, and I have high hopes for that built-in audience. Ideally Plague Year will perform with solid numbers and they'll run the rest of the trilogy.
Savile and I go back a ways. He's on the back jacket of Plague Zone, remember, saying sweet things like "A high-octane thriller," and he tells me the publisher is a king. Fantastic.
Labels: Ennea, French rights for Plague Year, Galaktika, Long Eyes, Meme, novel sales, short fiction sales
Thursday, February 11, 2010
!!! I'm Alive !!!
Yes, I'm still alive, and I can't believe it's been nearly a month since my last update. The good news is there's been some good skiing and some good writing and things are good, only busy as usual. We just mailed our Christmas cards. Honestly.A fan emailed last night to ask how the new book is going. Here's a photo I've been meaning to post.
This is a picture of the Sharp-Toothed Hand Duck alongside a massive pile of research. At this point, I believe I have over 600 pages of print-outs, clippings, brochures, and research papers. That's right. I've read way more material than the manuscript itself will be unless I want my agents and editors to kill me. As far as the ms. goes, we're looking at a 550 page whopper, max. More than that and I need to be writing epic fantasy, which I ain't.
Anyone care to guess the subject matter? Just put a microscope to this photo. I'm sure there are obvious clues... :)
Labels: New Research, New Thriller Novel
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