Before I start this, may I ask that anyone who wishes to write for ATH or MGC send me a guest post? Make sure you put Guest Post in the subject, though, otherwise I lose them in my inbox, because– well, because I’m juggling about a million things.
The next month is going to be hell, and if I don’t have guest posts, there are going to be a lot of non-post posts.
So–
Now–
I was talking with some friends about the difference between art and craft, and things we only find out we can do in our middle years, or something, when a light bulb went on.
I’ve long been really upset at our schooling methods. Not because they are startlingly ineffective (they are) or because they create a tendency to be conformist to immediate surroundings (they do) but because they create humans with deformed guidance systems.
I first started being irritated by this when I realized that people sending me manuscripts for my opinion asked if I was doing it “correctly.”
I can’t answer that. There isn’t a correct way to do this.
And then I realized this extended to the bizarre credentialism. You can’t write cozy mysteries, because police are trained and know the right way to solve murders. You must trust the credentials. (If you read ANY true crime/investigation books, you realize this is bullshit. The number of mistakes, and paved over stuff is amazing. And yes, rank amateurs an stumble on a solution. Sometimes it’s just seeing things from another angle. Getting the police to listen to you, OTOH might be impossible.)
By the time a bunch of mentally deficient teens invaded my blog to tell me I had to respect their English teacher (who was a disaster at grammar and vocabulary, btw, judging by how she corrected my kids paper) because of her credentials and position, I was about ready to blow my top.
You see, spending 12 years of our lives in schools fosters the idea that not only is there a “correct” solution for everything, but also that someone “up there” in the non-identified credential heaven knows “the right way.”
Most innovations, inventions, and new ways of doing things were created by rank amateurs. And there was no “right” way to do it, until they did.
Public schooling, even before it became all indoctrination all the time, is a killer of thought, of creativity, of ability.
And then it channels kids into narrow paths, and they never know what they could do, if left to try.
Now, when I home schooled, there was a group called Unschool. They just sort of let the kids learn. The lazy man’s way to teaching.
Yeah, that’s perfectly fine, if your goal is to have your kid be able to read basic sentences and do simple math. (Which I’ll add is more than most public school manages.)
I of course got newsletters from all the groups, and eventually decided against them all, because their goals were not my goals. But the unschooling group, bragging that their 14 year old could finally read proficiently didn’t help.
That would be fine if I were raising a farmer, but we don’t have acreage.
Now, the group I wanted didn’t exist.
It used to be kids could read write and do arithmetic proficiently by 10 and might have some Latin and a little bit of Greek. That requires time with them sitting down and working. (Not a ton of time. What I found homeschooling is that in two hours the little sponge absorbed more than in 8 hours days in school. Which is why we went through 3 years of curriculum in one.) And it requires goals. And frankly, like learning to speak, and learning to walk, is probably BEST done by parents. These are basic skills after all, or used to be.
And you know, you’re not letting that kid near any kid of college till 14. So why not let them explore the world of learning after that, so they at least have an idea of what’s possible?
Seriously. I picked a career with no idea what it entailed. All I knew was school.
In the same way, most of us did that.
And that was fine, when the world of the late 20th century was all credentialism and careerism.
However, I think even us, late-middle agers need to unschool ourselves now. There is a great transformation coming, and the only thing I can tell you is that you have to be agile. You have to learn new things, new skills, new abilities. All of us do.
Unschool yourself. And make sure your kids know there isn’t a secret perfect answer to any problem. Some are easier than others, or better than others. But —
But there isn’t A teacher holding the perfect answer. (Except maybe in the moral/religious sense, but that’s something else.)
The future isn’t written. You have to write it as you go.
There is no cake. The cake is a lie. What’s more, it always was and it always will be.
Last week I was treated second hand — not first, because I’ve blocked the individual’s delusional ass some time back — to the spectacle of a man 20 years older than I arguing in public that having to work for a living is a bad side effect of capitalism, and that “Wage slavery” is in fact slavery, which only exists because the evil capitalists want to step on the common man.
Holy shades of slither-shitting Jean Jacques Rousseau Batman! That is more actual stupid than should fit in a human cranium. In fact, any human brain crammed with that level of insanity should spontaneously explode creating a crater the size of the pacific ocean.
How is it possible to live over seventy years in the world, to read and write, to be in touch with people of various professions and different avocations, to have traveled and seen the world and still come away convinced of the infantile idea that whatever you wish will materialize because you wish it.
I would like to invite the distinguished idiot to go and lay down under Rousseau’s proverbial apple tree and open his mouth wide, until an apple falls in it and chokes him. Though to be fair, he’s more like to die of exposure, insect bites, or pneumonia. Oh, yeah, or of hunger, unless someone takes pity on his complete and utter insanity and feeds him and takes care of him. Which is what he’s counting on.
What he is counting on is a delusion partaken of by libertarians who subscribe to the voluntarianist brand of insanity: If people just do what they want to do with no compensation, everything will work out in the end. We’ll be rich beyond the dreams of avarice. And blessings and glory will be showered on everyone, without anyone having to do anything to receive them.
That is the cake. The beautiful illusory frosted cake that socialism and communism, and utopian philosophies hold out.
I bet you it was what the serpent whispered in the garden. (I find it hilarious that Rousseau used the apple tree as an example of the all-providing bounty of nature.) “Just do what you please, and the world will take care of you.”
Or as a long ago friend (who I think no longer speaks to me because I had an habit of being rude) used to put it “I worked very hard in other lives. In this life, the universe just wants to take care of me.”
Having watched her progression through life, the universe had many names and many faces. It was relatives, friends and casual acquaintances, and people who thought she was going through temporary inconvenience, which couldn’t possibly be permanent, because who wanted to live like that? …. until eventually it ran out.
We are born naked, mewling and weak, with no ability to stand or feed ourselves, or do pretty much anything. Those of us who survive our first week do so because others work for us.
There are pretty strong bonds and instincts, and impulses pushing us to care for a baby. (I read an article, must be 20 years now that said the cats evolved to mimic the signs of human babies, and the gestalt impression of a baby, which then caused humans to look after them.)
However, unless you’re extremely generous, or morally impelled to do so, no one is going to pick up a baby not their own and look after their every need because they like doing so.
Look, I’ve looked after babies not my own, human and cat and on a singular occasion, a rabbit. I did it because I believe life is precious and worth it. I did not do it because it was enjoyable, and I liked the process.
Looking after babies is bad smelling overflow at both ends, and unending drudgery. You do it for love, and you do it for conviction. No one does it for fun.
“But you see, Sarah, people do that for free.”
I waggle my hand at you. Sort of. In the case of human babies there is usually a non-verbal contract that you look after them and eventually they’ll look after you. But that’s neither here nor there.
This is exactly where these half-cocked lunatics get the idea that someone or something should look after them forever. That they’re entitled to have every need met, as they did when in their cradles.
Hell. In most cultures throughout the world until the Christian era, even babies might not get those needs met. Until people believed that each baby was specially created by the hand of the Most High and therefore precious in and of himself, they stood a good chance of being drowned in the slops pail and taken out with the trash, if the family already had all they wanted or simply was not at home to a baby girl.
The adult-infants shitting in civilization’s cradle and blaming “capitalism” for not getting the pacifier of their preference shoved in their greedy mouths need to grow up.
Until our rich, sassy and frankly stupid era, most people’s working life started at two or three. And before these reticulated imbeciles start talking about capitalism: that is through the extent of humanity as far back as we can tell, back to primitive tribes who had never heard of money; back to isolated communities where money did not apply.
We have letters written by colonials in the US (and btw, anyone who thinks colonialism is white supremacy and “easy” is invited to spend a month — just one — living as these people did) talking of their two, three and four year old children doing tasks that in our day and age we’d be hesitant to entrust to a ten or fifteen year old, from feeding the livestock to caring for cows.
I know in my mom’s day by the time you were five you were looking after your younger siblings, and might be making food (over an open fire) to free your mother to do enough work to keep the family afloat.
Yeah, I know, I know “Capitalism.” My sore ass.
Most of human history, since our species, metaphorically speaking, emerged naked and squalling onto the Earth there hasn’t been enough to go around: Not enough food, not enough time, nor enough strength, not enough covering against the cold, and certainly not enough rest. To keep a family fed, the entire family worked. And it was brutal and relentless work morning to night.
I love the fact that the neo-Rousseauneans, primitive fantasist edition, look at the graves of the neolithic and tell us before agriculture these people lived wild and free. Each did what they wanted. And they had no disease, no–
No life. They died young and often brutally. At 58, I’d look to them like an impossibly ancient human. And not having scars, broken bones, and being relatively well fed, I’d look to them much younger than I am.
Shakespeare is estimated as having died at my age “old and full of years” and btw the Elizabethans were already, compared to the history of the human race, already living high off the hog.
This same idiot, btw, who thinks wage slavery is still slavery also is convinced that humans always lived about as long as they do now. Sure. In some very prosperous pockets. In certain places or classes in the world. It seems that the extent of our genetic longevity is somewhere around 120 if everything goes just right for us. But you know, those last twenty years you’ll be like the infants and depend on the love and kindness of those around you.
For most of human existence upon the Earth, reaching sixty was a fabled dream. Sure, the statistics we have include a lot of infant death, but dear bog, it wasn’t that long ago or faraway that, as a kid in a relatively (and by historic norms astonishingly) well off village in a not barbarous country, when someone died at sixty there was a shrug and a “he was old.” I was 14 before I met my first 80 year old. There simply were none around. (And that 80 year old looked worse than my dad who is now 90.)
Most people died relatively young, of horrible stuff. And remember I was born after the advent of antibiotics (without which I wouldn’t be here and writing this at you. In that universe I died somewhere around 6 of tuberculosis.)
Sure. “Everyone does what they want, and we will all be provided for.” We have it now. Or we did, before these mind-wiped gapeseeds came onto the landscape. It’s called free trade and a money economy.
Heck, it might be the greatest invention of the human mind.
Look, as anyone who has lived in a commune, or even gone on vacation with a handful of close friends knows, there are always people ready to eat. There might even be enough to cook (for a definition of cook) but no one ever wants to wash the dishes.
In the same way, while I know people who dig ditches (or furrows) for fun, or who enjoy fixing cars, I don’t know a single human being who cleans septic tanks for a lark, or who irons clothes for eight hours a day, or who–
Hell, even the things that are fun — I confess to a weird love for painting and fixing furniture — aren’t fun if you do them day in, day out, eight to ten hours a day. Look, I love writing. And I’m lucky enough to make enough from it that it constitutes “making a living.” It’s not a great living, mind you. And it’s insecure. Most years I make somewhere between 30 and 50k. I don’t remember what letter that makes me in the Correia author alphabet. But there is always a year or two, often when we can least afford it, that I make 10k. Or 5k. Or a few years ago 2k. So without a husband who has a regular income, I’d be in serious trouble.
Ah, but that’s the inherent issue of the capitalist system, idiots would bleat. I should have everything I want to live, and then if I felt like writing, I would.
There are only two problems with this: I might not feel like writing anything others wanted to read; and I certainly wouldn’t do it with any degree of assiduity. Certainly not enough to develop my craft so that what I produced was readable. And I don’t think I’m the exception. I’ve seen trust fund babies, and other fully-supported writers, and 99% of the time, they go nowhere.
And keep in mind what I do is only of value to a highly wealthy society that has leisure time to day-dream in other worlds.
But the incentives are the same as for the person who farms wheat or cows, or for that matter grows apple trees. If they had everything they needed, they wouldn’t work every day. Just when they felt like. Which means we rapidly, all of us would stop having everything we need.
You can say what you want about the inequities of wealth distribution. I have my own views on it. I’ll note that fields dominated by leftists are always the worst for exploiting workers.
However most of the time, when people complain about wealth distribution or disparate payment for work, they aren’t seeing the whole picture. Like the idiots who say doctors should be paid like teachers: they have no idea what’s involved in the training of a doctor, nor of the hours doctors work, when fully formed, nor of the responsibilities and pressures weighing on them. If they did, they might realize most doctors aren’t even particularly well paid (particularly when you take into account malpractice insurance. If teachers had to pay malpractice insurance, they’d have to pay to work. Particularly if we sued them for malpractice. (I have a list.))
Ultimately what those complaining of wage slavery are saying is “I want the world to look after me.” And when they get power they make everyone else slaves, and do away with those that require care, and take us all back to a brutal primitivism all so they can stay adult babies, mewling and puking their death cult philosophy.
The cake of communism/socialism is a lie. It’s stuffed with mass graves and worms and lives of misery, beneath the glittery frosting.
It put 100 million human beings in their graves in the 20th century alone. Let’s not give it another try. This has been tried, over and over. It’s impossible. The result is always death at the hands of the greedy psychopaths who resent us for not catering to their every need real and imagined.
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all, By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
*A couple of notes: A) Doing a promo site for “friendlies” is still on the program, but was interrupted by looking for a house and now by “moving madness.” Expect something around October/November, when I will ask people if they want to be included. Etc. We’ve actually done the site design, now it’s just time to put it up…. so two or three months. (The problem isn’t packing and unpacking. We’re good at that. It’s getitng people in to do stuff like painting and fixing.)
B) Sorry this is so late. WordPress has developed a new “cute” trick, which involves not selecting what it says it has, not giving me buttons for linking, etc. ARGH. WPDE. That’s all. – Sarah*
Book Promo
If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo,please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months(unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. I ALSO WISH TO REMIND OUR READERS THAT IF THEY WANT TO TIP THE BLOGGER WITHOUT SPENDING EXTRA MONEY, CLICKING TO AMAZON THROUGH ONE OF THE BOOK LINKS ON THE RIGHT, WILL GIVE US SOME AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR PURCHASES MADE IN THE NEXT 24HOURS, OR UNTIL YOU CLICK ANOTHER ASSOCIATE’S LINK. PLEASE CONSIDER CLICKING THROUGH ONE OF THOSE LINKS BEFORE SEARCHING FOR THAT SHED, BIG SCREEN TV, GAMING COMPUTER OR CONSERVATORY YOU WISH TO BUY. That helps defray my time cost of about 2 hours a day on the blog, time probably better spent on fiction. ;)*
FROM TIMOTHY SCOTT ROACH: Momma, May I Have the Moon?
“Momma, may I have the moon?”“Oh, my dear no! It would never fit in your room.”On the surface, this book is about unobtainable dreams and fanciful things, but if you look a little deeper you will see it is something else. A problem is presented and the reader is challenged to use his or her imagination to come up with a solution. This is engineering at its purest level — a level as accessible to children as it is to adults. Children naturally think outside the box, because for them there is no box. See what ideas your child can come up with to reach the moon and then draw and submit them for a chance to be in future editions of the book.
Hawke Lightseeker leads an expedition to the city of Akila, planning to confront Kaiser Wrecker and his guild. But the Nerf Herders are only one of many threats lurking in the Imperial city. Hawke and his friends soon become embroiled in a conflict with ancient Undead and deceitful Sidhe. And Kaiser has more than a few surprises for his hated enemy.
Guild at Wars continues the LitRPG series that began with Twilight Templar. Character progression, new levels, skills, magic systems and Mana cultivation all play a role in the story, along with drama, action and adventure.
Journey through the crystalline surfaces of short stories, that for the briefest of moments , reflect the light and shadows of what it means to be human. Just beyond the brightness of what we know, lurks the shadows of what we don’t yet know or understand. We pretend we stand on solid ground, turn on the lights, and perform rituals to ignore the horrors that surround us. When in truth, the greatest darkness lies within us all. But also, the greatest brightness. Like crystals we hold both. Turn us one way, and we know just how to kill. Turn us another way, and we know just how to love, a love that transcends both time and death.
What facet will speak to you? Rattle your brain, eat away at your heart? Haunt your dreams, disturb your peace? Make you smile, even laugh? Make you promise to live better? Comfort you just a little, teach you how to build a fire to burn away the night?
Come, take a break and read a story. Short stories for those short spaces of time when a novel is too much. Pull away the curtain, take a peek, and see what is reflected in the facets of your own mind.
Facets is a collection of 24 short stories of various lengths for a total of about 69,000 words. Also included is an author’s note at the end with comments on writing and on some of the short stories. They are organized by length, from shortest to longest. These stories do not as a whole fit any particular genre. However, I suppose one could say that most every story has a “strange” aspect about it. I consider myself a storyteller and I find labels only end up being argued about anyway. So, I’ve just decided to use the word “strange” and leave it at that. Some of these stories (not necessarily the same ones) might be enjoyed by those who look for science fiction, fantasy, and/or horror. And I think some don’t even fit into any of those genres. Like I said, I just tell stories. If you end up putting a label to any of them, fine. Just don’t tell me about it. It will most likely only confuse me. And I don’t need any help with that. I’ve successfully confused myself for years already and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
Do the Research, Keep the Shiny! A writer’s guide. Want a good story? Choking on yet another sparkly cinematic production that has all the flash and explosions yet no real people in it? If you want stories done right, sometimes you’ve just got to do it yourself. But how? Roll up your sleeves, we’re going to cover it all. No preaching; no “but thou must follow steps X, Y, Z”. Just, here’s some ideas, and some examples, of how it can work. From getting over that first hump of pen to page, through getting ideas and characters from point A to point B, all the way to how to keep breathing when the whole world’s crumbling in. There are links. There are tropes. And there’s a sober explanation of why fanfic has always mattered. In your mind’s eye there’s a world no one else has seen. Here’s some tools. Worldbuild away!
Ace “Demon” Anshelm was a Terran; a born “Top-Sider”. The government required you to differentiate on your paperwork now, since the all the Subterran races, including giants, sidhe, dwarves, humans and other magical creatures of legend, had emerged from Antarctica. Demon would rather be piloting than almost anything else, but after getting out of the Air Force and trying to go solo, his luck ran out and he lost everything. He was about to give up on independent piloting when a recruiter approached him from Haz-Mag Inc. Fly hazardous magical cargo from place to place and make lots of money was the sales pitch.
After two years of flying for Haz-Mag Inc he was still impressed with the company and their security, but he was especially impressed with the planes; all new and all top of the line. Even so, with nagas, gremlins and pixie-lizards on this flight he had to ask himself, if it was worth it. Afterall, how bad could flying hazardous magical cargo be?
When a heroine in peril disguises herself as a minstrel to escape her treacherous, wrathful brother, she finds herself on a series of unorthodox adventures that raise from lowly minstrel to king’s advisor.
Her pride, his prejudice, and astoundingly poor judgment.
Winter Darcy has her priorities straight: protect her best friend, reconnect with her brother, and survive senior year. Boyfriends? Crushes? Not in the plan. But life hasn’t cared about her plans in the past, so really, she should have expected the Bennet brothers.
John is a threat to her best friend, Charlie’s, recovery. Elliot is Darcy’s personal stumbling block. And then there’s Darcy’s brother, who hasn’t spoken to her in months. Her life is scattered, but her heart is in the right place.
Fresh, funny, and achingly relatable, this gender-flipped Pride and Prejudice follows Darcy’s socially awkward exploits in love, friendship, heartache, and learning that she’s not always right.
The Islamic terror cell that was annihilated by the 74 year old Vietnam veteran had a target in its sights compared to which the World Trade Center paled into insignificance. Authorities have given the figure of 50,000, it might have been more.
This book seeks to set the record straight regarding Kurt Langer. He had fought terror in all its forms, from the jungles and deltas of Vietnam, to the Anatolian plains of Turkey, to the NW Pacific coast of the USA. Terror had always come off worse.
His wartime experience had left him disturbed. He was a casualty, one of the walking wounded. He added a terrible stain to his life with the planned killing of an off-duty policeman.
The Islamic jihadis, kayaking stealthily for weeks towards their target could never have imagined that the old warrior, ‘released back into the community’; would destroy them.
His interception of the terror cell was his redemption. The world would call him a savior.
A single spark. That’s all it takes to ignite an explosion if the conditions are right.
Today in America, conditions are right for an inferno to engulf our nation. We no longer discuss; we screech. We no longer tolerate; we cancel. We no longer agree to disagree; we end relationships that have lasted years. In short, American society is on the edge of an explosion.
Schism is about all of our anger, all of our political rage, coming to the surface in a Second American Civil War. However, this one doesn’t divide us by northern states and southern states, but rather by liberals and conservatives, urban and rural, reds and blues. Spurred on by blog posts, news reports, and protests each side seems to participate in more out of opposition to the other side than any real principle, conditions for the spark grow more and more precarious, priming the pump of hate.
Beginning as what seems like a black and white case of terrorism, events morph into a political struggle over who steers the reins of power. One man seeking justice for his family spins out of control and drags our nation into the abyss while the loyalties of friends, neighbors, and even families are tested against the partisan rancor that pervades society.
Once events explode into a self-sustaining fire, cities burn. Journalists from varying outlets are executed for everyone to see. Power plants are shuttered to cut off each side from the energy our country has become so dependent on. And the whole time, as America is paralyzed in a struggle with itself, an ambitious military officer watches from across the ocean…
Something moves in the darkness, hunting the hunters. An ambush leaves Lelia Chan weak and troubled. Her husband André returns from an extended deployment with problems of his own, some old, some new. Both shadow mages and their Familiars need rest. Their enemy, however, does not.
Magic solves magical problems: that’s the rule among Riverton’s magic users. But what if it doesn’t? Especially against a foe who is Intensely Familiar.
Worst Prom date ever. Steph only went with Sam because nobody else asked her. Besides, it’s just for Prom, right? It’s not forever. But that was before the little man with pointed ears handed them enchanted scrolls that sent them out of this world. Now she’s stuck far from home in a different body. Can Steph and Sam make it home in time to save the Earth without getting killed? Or killing each other? And what about the Prince?
Eight lives depend on Kyle’s desperate trek across the Moon to get help. But someone — or something — intends for him to fail. Can he defeat it in time?
Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.
So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.
We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.
Yes, you are allowed to speculate on what I’m writing this morning. It’s in the Schrodinger Universe, so really, it could be anything. But yeah, it is a desperate last stand….
I’m sounding the tocsin: This is not a drill. If this were a drill you would be required to do nothing much. But if this were a drill, you wouldn’t be waking up in cold sweats, or having that feeling like you’re living through the last days, or…. Whatever is afflicting you particularly. Now, keep in mind I mostly work with and have contact with people who are in the arts, meaning we’re so high on the neuroticism scale that you can see us vibrate on a clear day with nothing much going on. But never mind that, I think in a way we’re like the alert system. Like people in high Earthquake areas who keep something sturdy balanced so the least tremblor will make it fall onto a metal sheet or something, so they have early warning to get out of the house, in case it’s a foreshock.
Sure, sometimes mini Earthquakes come to nothing, and then you ran out of the house, for a few minutes/an hour and came back in looking sheepish. But sometimes– Sometimes they save our life.
Me and my cohort we’re like that. When we start getting nervous, it’s time to prepare for something. Maybe your preparations will not be needed, but boy oh boy, if they are–
And right now we’re all waking up with the horrors. (I’m relatively calmer, mostly because I’m concentrating on my preparations, my sauve-qui-peut which involves getting the heck out of here and the house sold before– Well, before.
Most definitely not a drill. But what it means and what you need to do might not be what you think you need to do, so let’s go over it in order, shall we.
What’s coming: We don’t know what’s coming. We don’t know if it will be fast or slow. I’ve been betting on fast, because fast has less chance of going in directions we like even left than the leftist dreams, but seriously, we don’t and cant know. We can pray is about it.
And yet it is our duty to prepare.
Keep in mind most of you will be safe. No, seriously. Take it from someone who’s lived through this. You can live and work in dangerous places and still be completely safe. Just for the love of heaven, if you see a group of people behaving like lunatics run/drive/walk the other way.
Now what this situation reminds me of is when half of Colorado was burning, a twelve years back or so. We took ourselves from (more smokey) Colorado Springs to Denver for a weekend with the kids. And we were in the IMAX in the Natural History Museum, when the fire alarms went off, and we could smell the smoke in the air.
As people started getting up, someone came in and announced that while the museum itself was not on fire, and was safe, there was a fire close enough by that it was setting off the fire alarms.
We watched the rest of the movie, but I can’t say I paid much attention, and came out to a sunset made dark and ominous by the smoke, which was thick enough to cut.
We never did get touched by those fires, or event the one that Dan drove by on the way to work, close enough to hear it crackle.
In fact, in my years in CO I’ve been on “Standby for evacuation” three times, but it never came. However for a lot of people in the area, it was destruction of property, loss of life, utter change and horrible mayhem. And even those of us untouched, like me, ended up with health issues that dragged on for a decade or more, from the smoke.
But it wasn’t “we’re going to burn alive.” And in retrospect, had I known it, what we should have done is what a friend recommended and pack up everything and head for TN for six months. But we didn’t want to leave things to burn and well– That is what it is.
So now, before everyone can smell the smoke: get to high ground. Whatever high ground means. Keep in mind even in a blue state most areas will be safe. You’re at higher risk of truly deranged regulations leaving you unemployed/broke/with no electricity. Which is part of the reason for our leaving. Besides the fact I’m so “public” I practically glow in the dark. On top of which — and more urgent — the altitude is killing me by inches. So, moving.
But if you think your area will be a problem, move now. You’re late and it will cost you. I get a feeling we’re about on the last viable train out of danger, but maybe there will be another year grace (what husband thinks. He’s an optimist.)
Most of this are things you know, okay, the same preparation you’d do for a prolonged outage, say in the aftermath of a major Earthquake or hurricane. Freezer. Fill it. Get a backup generator. It’s possible to keep things frozen a long time if you don’t open it, and run your generator a few hours a day.
Other food. You know how hard it is on your dietary needs. I don’t.
Try to move to where medical care is available, and find a sensible doctor (and that will be hard.) Try to take care of any surgical or other needs you have now. If not sooner. If you’re planning on children, now is a great time to get pregnant, provided you’re in an area with medical practitioners. In two or three years…. well… either the structure will be in flux or even weirder. And just in case, find a midwife you’re comfortable with, too.
If you’re medicine dependent investigate how to get it, and how to store it. Also lay in some anti-biotics and pain killers (non opioid. Like massive bottles of tylenol.) because it might help. Oh, and please also vitamins and such.
Establish or polish up your network of like-minded friends you can trust. Local, sure, but also on a line to get from point A to point B if you need to skedaddle. To that end, identify your “will not abandon” possessions and have a plan to get them ready and go. Note this is unlikely for most people, but it could happen, so be ready. Have containers for whatever you’d take. FYI if you have animals have carriers. ALSO FYI if you have cats, small dog kennels with a tiny litter box and food dish work great for multi-hour trips in the car.
Find through your contacts people who can do stuff you will need, like car repair, or house fix ups, in case those networks are hard to reach. Knowing someone who knows someone is the way things are done in most countries going bonkers.
“But Sarah, you said they can’t win.”
Sure. I did. And they can’t. because what they are trying to impose on reality can’t work in reality. They’re kind of like the guy who calls up Cthulhu not realizing that not only will it eat him first, but it can’t survive in our reality.
Again, for the slow of mind: No, America can’t go communist and stay communist forever. Because if it does, the rest of the world starves. And so do we, in double quick time. And we’re too spoiled to take it. Also, the arrant idiots in charge have no clue of how complex and difficult this country is, though I think they’re starting to get a sense for it, as they try to pull their “infallible lockdown” trick twice. Because, yes, they’re that stupid.
WE ARE THE COUNTRY THAT FEEDS THE WORLD. We’re also the “universal buyer.” If we hit even a rough patch, everyone else starves. Which is what’s causing unrest all over. We’re on the verge of a rough patch and they’re getting horribly pinched. (Which is why this fight is global.)
Also we’re too distributed, and enough remains of local rule that the idiots can’t do what they think they can. That they still think they can is obvious as they bark orders that no sane person would expect obeyed. But that’s because they’re stupid and provincial and think the entire country is their tiny neighborhood.
What they can do is create a mess like nothing you’ve ever seen.
They are already largely being ignored. They can’t stand that, so they’re going to kept ratcheting up the crazy, which is going to destroy a lot of our structure.
For instance, several GOP traitors in the house have voted to pass the infrastructure bill which would destroy our voting system, since they folded the For The People bill under it. (Or a lot of its provisions.) What they think will happen but mass unrest, and the splintering of localities, I don’t know.
The problem is that though our institutions are corrupt and buckling, if you destroy the whole thing at once, it’s going to be insane for a while. I’ll remind you they’ve captured everything from certification boards to regulation boards. This means some parts of the country won’t understand the other half, and frankly for a while it will be a time of great terror and opportunity, just on the every day level.
And if you destroy it piece-meal there’s the potential of a just as bad but slightly more viable regime creeping in.
And that’s what we’re looking at you know? Fast or slow?
I’m hoping for fast, because American ingenuity will step in. If slow…. well, look, FDR never got it all his way. But the corruption that crept in we’re dealing with right now. Plus at the level of stupidity these buffons de derriere are pushing, it will only be slow in some areas. Others will collapse hard and fast and possibly on fire. And there’s no telling how difficult that will be for the sane areas. We are linked and interdependent.
I think it’s going to be fast, because these people are not FDR. Frankly, they’re not fit to wipe the coals off FDR in hell. So they’re pushing too far too fast and too divorced from reality. On top of which they’re panicked. And they’re not geniuses when not panicked.
Oh, maybe the museum is just filling with smoke from a nearby fire, and we’ll be fine.
But I’m sounding the tocsin, just in case. This is no ordinary danger. Get serious about getting safe now, if not last Wednesday.
This is the sauve-qui-peut.
In the end we win, they lose, but getting there will entail extreme discomfort for most people and high danger for a few.
Be not afraid. But be not an idiot either.
Go and make everything fast against the Earthquake.
I don’t do my nails. by which I mean I cut them as close as they will go and I keep them clean. I don’t grow them, shape them or paint them.
The one thing my mom and now my late mother in law agreed on is that it was unseemly of me to wear my nails as I did ‘like a man.’ In fact a friend who is a profiler agrees with them. He says that only lesbians wear their nails as I do. Maybe that relates to the odd occasions of being hit on….
But here’s the thing: I wear my nails like that because it’s the only way I can wear them. Beyond the fact that I routinely go through periods of dipping my hands in bleach or solvent, there is the …. problem of the endless perfection recursion.
So, you know, I once sat at the kitchen table nine hours trying to paint my nails. And there was always a little imperfection. And when I fixed that I created another. And…
I eventually wiped my nails clean and went on with life.
It came to mind today as I was fixing the only room of the house cleaned, painted and staged so far: the downstairs powder room, or as some of you who’ve been to the house know it, the trilobite room.
For those of you raising an eyebrow, yes, I do realize that house buyers might look at this and see evidence of mental illness, but look….
It started like this: I bought a vessel sink. Which happens to be in tones of brown with flecks of gold. From that we did the walls to match, only more gold, because it’s a small room and brown (which was what was there, actually) feels claustrophobic.) From there…. Well, suggestions were made, I was tired. So there’s a frieze of trilobite stencils across the top…. The family loves it, because of all the years when our favorite treat was going to the natural history museum.
But this means I have melalic-ish gold walls, white vanity top, white trim, and dark cherry vanity cabinet.
All I needed to do was fix a couple of damage spots to the wall. But–
This morning I was fixing splats on the wall (from the white of the trim) with the tiniest brush and it occurred to me this is a problem in life in general.
Most people won’t notice pinprick sized droplets.
Weirdly, that’s part of my political philosophy. Nothing as complex as human society can be perfect. So, like my nails, let it be as natural as possible.
And having left you with that bizarre idea, I’m going out to pick carpet. Afterwards, I have writing to do.
Off to do what I can while I can. Catch you on the flip side.
*Less than a year. So much has changed. So little has changed. Yes, there was fraud, and it was open and obvious and it red pilled some (but not nearly all) people. And the dems are going yet more crazy, mask on-mask off, do as I say even when it makes no sense (and it makes no sense. If masks worked, why do we still need them? If masks didn’t work, whey use them? If the vaccine worked, why do the vaccinated need to wear masks? If they didn’t, why try to push for everyone to get vaccinated? If illegals pouring in are “refugees” why do they keep coming? And how come we never heard of extermination wars south of the border? IF they’re not refugees, why let them in? If they become American by coming in, why can none of them speak English? If America is oppressive and offensive, why are they coming here “for a better life?” If Americans support this and it’s only fair why are they being secretly distributed all over the country? If there’s no crisis at the border how come no pictures? If we don’t have better batteries/way to get energy why ban fossil fuels? If we have these wonderful new means, what about the deep freeze in TX? It’s gotten to the point even children can see the lies. And since those of us who saw them were already the majority, I wonder how bad it is now.
So, is it time? Magic 8 ball still broken. I was hoping enough people would wake up and be forceful enough we could pass this cup of blood without tasting of it. But–
Who knows? Perhaps that’s the push for locking us down again. As I told you before, lockdowns are a lousy means of disease control. They’re great for crowd and discontent control, though.
Shake the magic eight ball and ask again. I’m just hoping things hold till we’re moved and this house sold. I feel like I’m on the last train out from behind the lines about to go arrowy and pointy.
This is the sauve qui peut. Look to your six. Get out of danger. And fortify your position.
The waters are about to be mighty choppy indeed. Hopfully not for a few months. Maybe a year. But only G-d knows the future.
Even so, be not afraid. This is no time to go wobbly – SAH-2021*
NEKULTURNY -A Blast From The Past from September 2020
It’s hard to fight a culture war when you ain’t got no culture. The conservatives I knew in the arts, in broadcasting, in writing in the eighties used to say that and laugh bitterly.
Mind you we were a small group and had trouble finding each other. We had to first identify the other was safe enough to come out to, a process that involved mutual signs and countersigns, and straying ever so slightly into forbidden territory and seeing how the other reacted, always ready to pull back and say “it’s a joke.” Honesty, hanky codes would have been easier: yellow for slightly right of center, blue for old-fashioned so-con, purple for small l libertarian, psychedelic tie dye for the Libertarian party, black for Anarcho Capitalists, fluffy grey for OWL (Older, wiser Libertarians), pink for voluntarianists, chartreuse for “I’m just so tired of what pigs leftists are” and red for the blood of our heroes.
The problem of course is that if these handkerchiefs started showing up everywhere, the left, in their idiotic way would decide that they meant something else completely different, and try to destroy your life with it. Or worse, they’d know exactly what it meant but accuse you of meaning something different so that they could destroy you.
And they owned all the means of mass communication and signaling. Which frankly is why we used to say that. It wasn’t that we had no culture. It was that those of us who worked in those fields had to pretend to be on the other side so that we could work at all. And those of us who were socially smart enough knew it.
Weirdly a lot of the survivors were women of interesting heritage, (for this purpose being a first generation immigrant from a Latin culture and having been exquisitely “educated” in Marxism helped. I knew what to fake) or gay people (this probably helped me fly below the radar too. No, I’m not gay. I’m about as straight as the next person, and in this case the next person has a ram-rod for a spine. But there is no use denying that some part of my brain is devoted to “weirdness with sex, attraction and, yeah “gender””. Possibly because I read sf/f at an early age and therefore became interested in how things might change in ways that broke society/people and what came after. I don’t know. This thing isn’t exactly under my control. All I’m saying is that my first books published contained a gender-changing elf, and they weren’t by any means the most bizarre thing I’d written by then along those lines. I think I’ve figured out how to make my first world palatable to humans. We’ll see) or people whose day job/education was in other fields wholly controlled by the left, or well…. very odd people. (Raise your hands brothers and sisters, and say Amen.)
Others had got into the field as extreme left, and then changed. So slowly, and so strangely, and along such paths, that the leftists never figured it out or couldn’t figure it out.
Part of it you have to understand, and yeah, studies have revealed this, but we didn’t need it, those who have lived in the dominated fields, and passed well enough to be sitting at revelatory conversations, is that the left has no idea what the opposition is. Absolutely zero. None.
They construct these straw men, and never actually seem to realize they’re completely wrong. You’ve seen the idiots who come spinning onto comments and insist we’re racist, sexist, homophobic, uneducated hicks, who’ve never left the American South. I mean it takes about three seconds to figure out that this is, a an acquaintance called it in the early days of my blog, Hoyt’s Refuge for the tragically gifted, and that education formal or not is what most of us have spent our lives absorbing. But their beliefs require them to see illusions, and humans will kill and die for the right not to break their easy assumptions.
One of my areas of interest, mostly because I saw an early boyfriend (I’m not even sure we were dating, just sort of vaguely sweet on each other. And we were very young) disappeared into a cult, forever, is to read about cults, both the ones that led their followers into horrible, tragic ends, and those that have adapted to something more normal (not going to name names, and no, I’m not being snarky about anyone’s religion. The ones I’d name flourished in Europe in the sixties and seventies, and still have enough power and influence, I don’t need that additional trouble.) One of the things I know is that it’s almost impossible to deprogram someone from a cult, unless there is a personal and Earth shattering event that causes them to want to change. It is in that way very similar to drug addiction. You have to hit rock bottom and realize everything you want and think is wrong. And then start to rebuild.
And the left is effectively a cult.
Sure we know how we got here. The left controls schools, entertainment, news, corporate management. They basically control all the centers of soft power. (How much of the hard power of the military they have gotten hold of, I don’t know. And I’m afraid to find out.)
Those of you who say it wasn’t as bad before are kind of right. But only kind of. You see, once they’d taken the universities, and the ways to signal “high class” (entertainment, the arts, the awards, the tv shows, the movies, the markers of success) they controlled everything. It was all over but the shouting.
Those of you who marvel as to why a self- made millionaire like the owner of Amazon, or any of the social media owners sing in the choir of the left are entirely missing the point.
The point is that THESE PEOPLE AREN’T POLITICAL. Yes, I know what social platforms have done. I know what insane things some of these people say and post. But the problem is not that they are political. Most of them are focused on their field, very good at what they do (which make money from the most unlikely things) and completely blind to political philosophy.
This is very hard to believe given the damage their do, their crazy donations, and the way they signal. It’s also very hard to believe they’re non-political, because let’s face it, you and I and the rest of the people here are as political as it’s possible to be. Either by a natural bend of the mind, or whatever (and note that I always assumed it was my early experiences, but I’ve seen normal, American people fall into this too) we have a passionate interest in politics and forms of government, and in my case an utterly paradoxical (if you know what I do for a living) hunger and thirst for the truth. (And yes, I have long, long wondered what is meant by “for they shall be satiated.” I’m not sure it’s a promise I’d want fulfilled, and yet I do. Yes, even so.)
But these people don’t care about politics. They’re making money, they’re successful, and like very noveau riche, they want the social acceptance, the “intellectual bling” that makes them accepted by the elite.
If this were the Victorian age, they’d found hospitals or libraries (if only the poor were educated, they’d be more like us!) or build hygienic villages, or send boat loads of pants and Bibles to Africa.
Nowadays, the culture, the social signaling, the ostensible admiration of the lumpen crowds, the certainty that they’re shiny and smart and brilliant comes from signaling left as hard as they can.
Yes, they’re doing horrible things for that. What? You think it never happened before in history? But they really have no idea. Even if they know what will result, they don’t know what will result. They might know they’re sweeping all those bad people from public life and silencing them, but they don’t know that in the end it will be them against the wall. And they have absolutely no clue what the policies they support will do, because the “smart” (smart in our day and age is determined by the fact you mouth the right or rather left platitudes, at least for purposes of recognition, jobs as, oh, respected public health experts, and/or experts of any kind) people that surround them have excuses for all the failures, assure them that Cuba is beautiful and quaint, and tell them paradise lies that way.
Perhaps I should tell you about the most 2020 week ever, in some ways (not I hope all the ways. No rains of fish today, please.) at least in the ideological sense. I’ll start with yesterday evening.
As some of you know I watch second-hand movies and television. This is not intellectual posturing, btw. Yes, much of what’s on TV is bloody stupid. But even for what’s good, I need to be doing something at the same time. I’m not visual enough for visual-only story telling to hold my interest. (To be fair, I also tend to do other things while reading, which is why my kindle often wears a ziploc and why paperbacks used to be covered in stains from cooking or from cleaning fluids.)
So, in the evening, I sit at the social-media laptop in the family room, and check in with my homies (shut up) or write non-fic (or lately edit Jane Austen fanfic) while my husband does his equivalent activity, which he does when his mind is completely exhausted: watch a movie or tv series. I will get bits and pieces, and sometimes look up to see what’s going on. Weirdly this is enough to get most of the plot, mostly because frankly my husband — by that time — isn’t looking for intellectually stimulating fare. (Younger son listens to political podcasts for the same “my brain is on spare cycles” function. Which is weird. And also, I’ve mentioned that one is mine, right?)
Yesterday husband said he really couldn’t even stand anything but rom coms. The first one he put up was SUCH a spectacular piece of lefty bullsh*t even he noticed. While I sat there horrified, for once actually watching, mouth agape at the non-stop bullshit, he was seemingly not reacting. And I know that though our political opinions are not that different, he’s by and large WAY more tolerant about this crap than I (to the extent that is a ton less interested in politics and thus doesn’t see them everywhere. He is in fact like those people above and was soft-left and thought his wife was insane until I came out politically and had to explain to him why. And why I believed what I did.) But fifteen minutes in, he got up and went “Well, that crap is enough.” And turned it off. For a gauge of what that means, he then proceeded to watch in full a rom com in which all the characters are democrat activists, and in which this is not only a good thing, but means they are GOOD people, and in which the most appalling leftist crap was celebrated throughout, openly and not, all of it wrapped in the veil of “these are normal people, and this is about their romance, and this is how everyone lives.” The most right wing people there might have been the ones who didn’t want to kill everyone to the right of Lenin. And it was a love story, played for laughs.
Afterwards I talked to him about it, and yes, he got these were all crazy bullshit points, but the fact that it was set a few decades ago, and that everything was presented as normal, including the pov on history from an exclusive left (and insane) stand didn’t kick him out of the story.
This morning he told me ruefully that the two most popular book genres (he reads both, because “spare cycles.” Mystery and sf/f are for when he can think) of thriller and romance don’t even bother with research, they just do “what everyone knows to be true” aka, what is on TV, and in the news, and in all entertainment. So, you know, Leftist Fantasy.
Note these are the most popular genres because most people who read them only read to decompress. They don’t want their views challenged or to find themselves researching what really happened in Bumf*ck Redistan 50 years ago, that everyone has lied about. So, just going with “what everybody knows” works. And what everybody knows are big, big lies. Things like every woman is discriminated against at work. People die on the streets for lack of health insurance. Leftists are the under dog. And everything wrong with society is brought about by greedy capitalists. (Not an exhaustive list. Dig far enough into what “everybody knows” and you find that everybody knows I’m a white Mormon male who is racist, sexist and homophobic. And that was my only reason to oppose the awards in my field going to sophomoric dreck dominated by one house.)
This piled on on an …. interesting week. I found one of my remaining soft left friends has gone…. well, the way they go. And no, there will be no public breach. But psycologically this is not good for me. Not good at all. Other people’s friends might be redpilled, mine all seem to run screaming the other way. Which makes me wonder if I know how to pick them, or if this cult is impossible to recover from. Either way. That’s what we’re up against, and I’m not …. sanguine.
Two days ago, here, I posted about why I don’t want people to gleefully, joyfully join in saying “if the left wants a civil war, we’ll give them a civil war.”
As usual I got the strange accusation that since I don’t want us to jump into immediate chaos and violence (which, yes, the left is practically begging for, and yeah, they might think it’s better for them than it is, but after the last century I think you guys would be less sure that the other side doesn’t know what they’re doing, okay?) That I think all is lost. That other than voting, I want to lie here and just let it go into communist paradise without fighting back.
You have no idea. And the weird thing is that you have no idea, after all the years I’ve been fairly frank on this blog. Though granted I’m somewhat sparing with my history in public, mostly to protect the guilty. (The guilty who aren’t me.)
Suffice it to say I’m a berserker. I’m also, naturally, attracted to simple solutions, which are often violent ones. There is something simple and clean about physical fights. The pointy end goes in the other guy (Or the side that goes pew pew, but that’s a recent accomplishment for me.) And the other guy is the person physically attacking you.
It’s so simple, it’s so clean.
It’s so dangerous in the circumstances we’re in. Which brings me to the other two events this week that hit me hard psychologically.
One was a stranger’s death. An Omaha NE, bar owner who fought (physically) against an antifa attacker and for his trouble was indicted, maligned, lost his properties, lost his home, got so much hate and slander poured on him (guys, you have no idea, unless you’ve been on the other side of these campaigns, and frankly the one I fought in was beanbag compared to this. It will strip you bare and destroy everything you care about, even so. Most of my friends who fought that one alongside me have been suffering from it ever since, in career, in psychological wounds, in physical health.) that he killed himself.
This is a reminder of the power they STILL have. If you needed another one after this year of gross civil rights violations instigated by their “scientists” and “computer models” and crazy media. They still have the power to destroy completely random and innocent individuals, even if they fail sometimes, as they did with the Covington kids. Yeah, their power is no longer absolutely universal, and it won’t stick, but it will stick long enough to kill you. Or as I told the circle of guys with machine guns, while I held a (granted weaponized) umbrella “Sure, you can kill me, but I can f*ck up one of you before you do. Volunteers?” The left, metaphorically has that umbrella.
Their power is waning. They are in trouble. Probably in more trouble than any of us realizes, which justifies the measure of their insanity. But they still have the ability to destroy us if we do anything stupid, or even if we are just in the wrong place at the wrong time and they need to make an example.
Do I want to beat them all? Sure. Do I think many of the crazier ones are utterly nonredeemable? Sure. Do I think when it comes to the sticking point, we might have to fight physically? Sure. Do I think we should be prepared? Sure.
Do I think that time is now? Sure. If you wish to lose. Because right now they still have enough power to tar whatever you do as utterly unprovoked and evil. And to convince those “non political” people that everyone to the right of Lenin MUST be utterly destroyed. And then what comes out of that? Ah. Well, you know. Quaint paradises like Cuba.
And don’t delude yourselves that we’ll utterly destroy them, okay? I too have fantasies of beating them to death with their “institutional patriarchy” signs. But they’ve sold that fantasy to enough people. They might have sold the fantasy of “mostly peaceful protests” to enough “non political” people too. And even if you utterly destroy them, who is you? You are aware a lot of the younger people who are non leftist have totally turned leftism on its head. Which — because leftism isn’t the exact opposite of reality, but more like a vicious fantasy land — means they landed in a fantasy land of their own. Even if you — for values of you — win utterly, most of the readership on this blog will be as out of place. And most people will be as broken and poor in all senses, as if the other side wins.
And no, it doesn’t mean I think everything is lost. I did at this time in 2016. You might not realize it, since I often post my most hopeful articles here when I’m most hopeless. Not exactly lying to you, honest. More lying to myself. Call it “Sarah’s depression management.”
I didn’t realize how much I thought everything was lost until Hillary didn’t win. The relief. The stunning, unexpected relief. I walked in a dream for a week, in fear it WAS a dream. And yeah, that’s a measure of how well they “sold” their narrative even to those of us who are politically plugged in and addicted to the stuff.
So, what do I think? What do I think our chances are? Do I think we shouldn’t bring the cartridge box out, ever? What would make me bring it out?
Ah. Shake the magic eighth ball and ask again. Right now? I don’t even know what the result of the elections will be. To be fair, I don’t think I’d trust any prognostications after 2016, but also…. well, they’ve pulled all the stops on the fraud. And I thought they’d already done that in 2018. And I can’t tell if we can beat the margin of fraud. I can’t tell if anyone could. Even if every living person went in and voted straight GOP. And you know they won’t. A lot of them are non political and believe the narrative.
So, why not go at them, now, before they fraud their way to power? Partly? Because they want us to. Which means right now they have strategies in place. They are ready. Dear Lord, what do you think the Summer of lack of love has been all about?
Yes, they might be wrong. They’ve been wrong before. And yes their “troops”are pathetic, and the people who tell us “but they got bloodied” need to take a powder already. I do agree with you on that. Because most of their “troops”that are in anyway effect are violent criminals. They’ve long ago been blooded. But their ante-fa only gambols where authorities are friendly for a reason.
BUT–
The night between Monday and Tuesday my profile disappeared from Facebook, and yesterday I had to log on to FB TWICE and change my password twice. Apparently this happened to a lot of people on what I’ll broadly call “our side.”
Sure, it might have been a technical glitch, but wait: I also had to log onto WordPress TWICE. The chances of having a glitch hit both companies the same day is….. uh. lower. Though I’ll give you that tech in general is capable of a lot of that.
I don’t know, because I no longer have reliable sources on the other side.
And frankly that’s the biggest problem with going hot. It’s mutual assured destruction. Yeah, I know, a lot of you don’t use FB, I personally don’t really use Twitter, etc etc ad definite nauseum. But are you sure of your cell phone? Are you even that sure of your snail mail? (Were you ever? For those who think vote by mail is a good idea: take a $1000 dollar bill, but it in an envelope addressed to yourself, place the necessary stamp, and mail it to yourself. Go on. I dare you.)
No, they can’t black us out completely. As I’m fond of saying the photocopier and fax brought the USSR down. But organization will be interesting, and do you really want to bet the life of the republic on this leaky sieve before it’s absolutely necessary?
So when will it be absolutely necessary? When you have a reasonable expectation that it’s either the Glorious People’s Republic of Bumf*ckistan or the regime in Starship Troopers. Because in those circumstances, yeah, Starship Troopers is preferable. (And those who think that means I want it need their heads examined. But it’s still preferable to communism. [And for those who’ve never read the book, read it. The bullshit in the MOVIE wasn’t preferable to communism. It also wasn’t Heinlein’s ideas.]) Because it’s quite likely at that point it is our best case scenario and our best hope: that the veterans will have had enough. It won’t be the Republic, though. Remember that. They can’t win, but we can lose. And we probably will, for a definition of losing.
And yes, it might all come to a head in less than a month and a half, though things usually take longer to percolate.
I wish I could tell you it won’t be needed. I wish I could say those of us who have been fighting the cultural civil war are winning. I wish I could tell you that it won’t come to the death of the Republic in both constitution and territory, or that we’re not in danger. Or that the dread fourth box won’t be needed. But I only lie in fiction and this ain’t fiction.
I came out of the political closet in what can best be described as a Road to Damascus experience. Some of you know what I’m talking about. Some don’t. Let’s say it was a very bizarre thing to happen to completely non-mystical me who dreads woo woo stuff even from the religion (s?) she was raised in (it’s complicated.) Let’s say I didn’t rush out of the political closet. I was shoved. Or drop kicked. In a way impossible to resist. I’m not a happy warrior. Not intellectually. And only some of you know how hard those first steps were. I’m conflict averse, and I used to cry while writing. And shake so hard it was hard to type.
I just had to, and resisting it would be harder than doing it. Kind of like when I was giving birth to second son, and they told me not to push because the doctor wasn’t there yet. Worst half an hour of my life. And it only kind of worked.
But I’ve been doing this now for what? A decade? And yet…. well this year. Despite me and all like me who scream in the desert.
So am I saying we’re winning the cultural war, and even if the left frauds their way to power we can’t lose?
Tickle me. See if I laugh.
I’m saying the nihilist Marxists had won the culture so completely by the time I was born, that we are a rearguard action, a regiment of the damned, the crazy Nekulturny bastages willing to take what they fling at us, willing to give up on the cocktail party circuit, or more importantly on acclaim, security, respectability, because we think Marxism is that bad, and that the future and civilization are that important.
Yes, people like us win. Sometimes. That level of insanity commands its own respect, and wins its own victories. If we have enough time.
Do we have enough time? Who the heck knows. We might. Miracles do happen. We saw one in November 2016 and honestly, back then I didn’t even know what we were handed. I expected at best that we’d slowed down the death camps and our utter destruction. Because well… Himself chooses the strangest instruments. (Yes, I know, Noah was a drunkard, Moses was tongue-tied, and the list goes on. Sometimes I think He delights in contrary plotting. Yes I do keep telling Him He needs a writers’ group. He’s becoming predictable. Speaking of miracles, still not charred here, on this side of the screen.)
In case anyone is keeping score at home, lately — like the last three weeks — I’ve been getting the sort of push I got towards coming out of the political closet, but this time it could briefly summed up as “Write fiction and release it as fast as you humanly can.” And “Make all your friends on the side of light do the same.”
THIS part is true and puzzling. I mean, that’s a true push, and not just from my broken mind. When it’s …. THAT, whatever it is, it’s undeniable.
What does it mean? Heck if I know. Do I look to you like I have special knowledge? It could either mean that “we win they lose” and He’s moved on to incite warriors to win the culture fight. OR it could mean all is lost, and perhaps a fragment of a novel or two will be needed ten thousand years from now. I’m just passing it on, because if I seem less stable than usual, for the record, it’s really hard to go about our lives “in these trying times” while a divine boot is being applied repeatedly to one’s backside. And because it maybe means something good. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not writing this novel.
So, we could get a miracle. Or not. I’ve now for some time been getting the sense I should leave my beloved Denver. For, oh, a little over a year, now. At the same time events have conspired to make it impossible for us to leave under two years.
Is that feeling right? Well, it’s coming from ME and my back-brain, not from whatever it is that pushed me out of the political closet. And who knows? All we can do is make preparations and set things in order so we can leave in two years, if we can leave then. If it waits that long.
And in the end, that’s where we are in the largest sense. Will this whole thing go hot, and go up like a Roman candle? I don’t know. And neither do you.
Will we prevail when we’re forced to fight? Will what emerges be at least as good as Starship Troopers? Will a miracle occur and we get to keep the republic?
Magic eight ball is broken. You’ve poked it way too much. My friend to whom I’ve been pasting this as I write it, because this is the longest blog post in history, has just sent back “This too shall pass, possibly through the plumbing system, all things considered, but still…” And she’s not wrong.
So I am saying there’s nothing we can do?
No, no, I’m not. Remember half of this blog is me talking to myself. Besides, making use of the wonderful term one of you dropped in comments yesterday, I’m not Martyrbator. I don’t expect to be glorified through holy martyrdom. Nor do I want it or wish to hasten it. I’m not the type to sing hymns and turn my eyes to heaven as I’m herded into a place filled with hungry lions. By genetics and disposition, I have a dream of going out as I came in: screaming and covered in someone else’s blood. (Naked at this point would be sad for everyone’s sense of aesthetics. And hopefully not prematurely.) At least if I don’t get the option to go quietly, at an advanced age, surrounded by my children, bio and adopted, including those adopted as adults (ever so useful. No diapers to change) and their tribe of children and grandchildren.
I’m saying the time is not yet. I’m saying now is the time to prepare on all fronts. You know what they are, and if you’re smart, you’ll include ways to communicate with and help those you trust.
And that the time might be very short indeed. Or not. Because miracles do happen. No, you shouldn’t count on them. But at this point well…. even I have had to admit they happen. Call it quantum uncertainty. Call it life being whimsical. But they do happen.
Prepare for the worst. No, worse than that. No. Even worse. Look, just prepare for the worst you can imagine. Then grab your most pessimistic friend and ask them what he can imagine. Then have him get his most pessimistic friend….. You get the point. Prepare for THAT.
And if that doesn’t happen, be aware you’re not off the hook. We have to change this ridiculous culture, or our kids will fight this with fewer resources. Or their kids after them. So, physical or not, as is needed at whatever point, fight now. No matter the cost. Even though the cost of the culture war is all out of proportion to the rewards any of us will see.
Fight as you can, while you can. And remember, physical or metaphorical, the pointy end goes in the other guy. And if you can, poison it. And if appropriate, break it in there.
This is no time to go wobbly. Be not afraid. And do prepare.
And now I’m going to finish one of those novels, a fragment of which might be needed — and completely misunderstood — in ten thousand years. Because Someone refuses to join a writers’ group and is fond of convoluted plotting. (Still not charred. Winning. But you might not want to stand so close to me.)
I don’t know anyone who loves them, to be fair. Oh, maybe kids because they’re not aware of everything that can go wrong.
And yeah, grandma used to have her hens hatch chicks, and I can’t tell you the number of times we spent waiting for the little chick to peck its way out and the chirp chirp chirp.
Apparently, btw, you’re not supposed to help them, because they’re more likely to die. The effort of pecking to get out and what not actually releases some kind of hormone that helps them survive. (Yeah, you could make tons of comments on kids from that, but more importantly on nations, and on free nations most of all.)
Now, most chicks, like 98% of them just peck peck peck and then you hear the chirp chirp chirp.
But sometimes…. Well, sometimes the chick is too weak. Or malformed. Or whatever. And it can’t make it out. It won’t live even if you lend a little bit of help. Other times, for whatever reason the shell is too thick. And the chick, though perfectly normal, doesn’t make it out before running out of oxygen.
I don’t know — though I’m sure people here, better informed than I — what makes the chick up and start pecking one day. Perhaps it’s running out of nutrients. Or getting just a little too tight in the egg. I suppose it’s the same sort of thing that causes kids to be born. Not that I would know much about that, mind you, since both of my kids were induced (arguably the second one didn’t need to be, as I’d gone into labor early in the morning of the day he was born, it’s just that the doctor believed his colleague’s (lying) description of my first birth, and thought it would stop for no reason, so gave me pitosin…. and the kid was out in an hour, with a perfectly round head, and in former days I would probably have died. (Then again in former days they wouldn’t have given me pitosin, right?)
I know that from the outside, you’re never sure when they’ll start fighting their way out. If the nest is near you, you’ll hear the chirp chirp chipr very faintly sometimes before they peck.
As a little girl, with more misguided compassion than brain, I often tried to help the stuck ones. (Do you know that a hair pin is fine for pecking a hole from the outside. Though you have to be gentle, so you don’t stab the chick.) Sometimes it worked. In one signal case, a little fluffy yellow chicken born on Easter morning practically on my hand became one of the ugliest (though not mean) naked-neck roosters known to man, who had an habit of following me around, and head bumping my leg for pets. (Yes, I’m allergic to feathers. But I didn’t know it. Also I was so sick all the time that it was assumed to be a cold or flu or something.)
The ones who lived after being helped were usually the ones who had got stuck because the shell was too hard or they were too big, of course. (They need to be able to move their head to peck.) I think that was my pet chicken’s issue. He was a massive boy.
I didn’t understand, and grandma might have, but didn’t want to tell me, the evolutionary/breeding reasons not to help THOSE. Because when you help those, and they reproduce, you get more stuck chicks. I’m glad if grandma knew she didn’t seek to balance it by sending my rooster to the pot before adult age.
Anyway: as we sit here, in this ridiculous summer of 2021 (or at least you sit there. I’m sitting now to type this, but will be on my feet and finishing packing the art area before long) a lot of us wonder when the pecking will start. And is that chirp chirp we hear coming from inside the egg? Oh, and will the chick survive. And is it an eagle being born?
Sure, it was an eagle once. And now looking back, of course, we knew it would be an eagle and it would live. It’s always easy when you are holding the chick and it’s fluttering its little wings and looking for something to peck to say “it will live.” And of course it’s an eagle.
But it could be a turkey. Or a malformed chicken. Perhaps one of those with extra legs or something. (watching village chickens gives you a practical view of the problems with inbreeding.)
And even if it gets out of the egg, it might flop on its side and die quietly.
Look, I don’t think so. Not for us, not if it is an eagle.
But this is worldwide, and let’s face it some of those countries out there started out as deformed chickens with eight legs, no wings and a row of teeth. And some might be trying to be mini-dinosaurs. And the time for dinosaurs is past.
Look, guys, since the middle of the 19th century, the idea of “scientific government” has been running around with pants on its head screaming insults at passerbyes.
I like to say we’re still suffering from the consequences of WWI, but things were if not terminal very ill before then. Kings and emperors and Lord knows what else had got the idea of “science” and “permanent progress” stuck in their pin like heads, which frankly couldn’t retain much more than the correct fork. And there were pet “scientists” and philosophers (the distinction was sometimes arguable. I mean, after all while doing experiments on electricity the 18th century was also fascinated with astral projection and other such things, and made no distinction. And the 19th was not much better.)
By the 20th century with mechanics and the Industrial Revolution paying a dividend in lives saved and prosperity created, these men of “science” were sure that it was only a matter of time till humanity and its reactions, thoughts and governance were similarly under control. And in the twentieth they expected us to become like unto angels.
Now, is there science that saved lives and created the wealthiest society every in the 20th century. DUH. Who the hell is arguing it. Oh, wait, there’s an entire cohort of people denying it. Not so many in the US — I think it’s hard to tell the real thing from foreign idiots posing. But in any case a minuscule contingent — but in France I know there’s a ton of them. They’re running with the bit in their teeth against rationality (I swear to bog) and thought and science. And trying to rebuild the religion of the middle ages. I read them and shake my head.
You see, you have to separate rationality and science from what the government and experts TELL you it’s rationality and science.
Yes, I know that France built a “Temple to Reason” and you know what? That by itself tells you their revolution was self-copulating and not right in the head. But you don’t need to go that far. Anyone who says they’re “for science” and want equality of results among disparate humans is not reasonable. Or reasoning. Or rational. They are however for sure completely and frackingly insane.
But I do understand the temptation, because so much of what’s being sold as “science” in the schools is not science but the worn out dogmas of people too stupid to know science if it bit them in the fleshy part of the buttocks.
I mean, never mind 2020. Which…. you know? Remember how the flu vanished? Turns out the rat bastards were using a test that diagnosed flu as COVID. No, seriously. Malice of stupidity? I don’t know. And neither do you. Probably yes in most cases, though a lot of people have a ton of “learned stupidity.”
Even before 2020 a lot of our ideas on how things worked were lies, particularly those that hinged on or supported the leftist ideas of human kind. Things like Zimbardo’s (Is he dead yet? I need to know when to mark myself safe from being kidnapped by Zimbardo for crazy experiments. No, he really did that.) prisoner experiments; or the rat habitat experiments that supposedly showed that overpopulation had all sorts of bad effects, and therefore we should stop having kids. Turns out those effects are from the loss of social role. Which honestly, anyone who has looked at a conquered country could tell them. Of course, anyone who had looked at mice would also know they’re not humans, but never mind that. (And no, I don’t have time to look for the links today — no, you don’t want to know how far behind I am on everything. But Foxfier found them before. (And hopefully doesn’t kill me.))
In fact, practically everything we think we know about psychology or sociology is likely to be a load of crap, if not outright faked.
And history, which is not really a science. Oh. Dear. Lord. Like, you know, the early form of internationalism, with international supply chains and empires caused WWI and…. nationalism was blamed for it. Makes perfect sense…. in hell.
In fact all this “science” stuff needs to be judged on one thing only: Does it make human lives better/save them? Or is it the astral projection of economics, sociology and psychology? By their fruits, etc….
The fruits are in. And they’re pretty rotten. What we have right now, across the world, is a science as religion priesthood who hates the people who live in the real world, because the real world keeps proving them wrong, over and over again.
And they’re outright trying to do away with us, because being as stupid crazy as the kings of old they don’t realize they need us to survive.
Here’s the thing, even a chick knows when it’s starving int he egg, or it doesn’t have enough oxygen.
And then the chirp, chirp, chirp starts.
We are not as…. tight or starving as the rest of the world, which has put up with a ton more crap than we did. (Don’t argue. It’s all relative. I’ve been known to say that for the lack of one particular publishing house, science fiction would be as badly off as mystery. Now, it’s all relative, and that house too partakes some of the problems of traditional publishing. But the difference is startling and in the absence of other options — like indie — enough to keep the field going. In the same way, the US has been taking in more and more poison, but compared to the other nations, what a difference.)
And now, particularly for the touristic countries, with their own governments trying to cure the common cold by keeping tourists out, they have to rebel. They really don’t have any other choice.
And whether you realize it or not, because the newsmedia is a mess, the rebellions have been happening and picking up speed.
Now the thing to remember is that …. well…. these world wide movements tend to seduce even sane countries into their embrace.
It’s important not to be France (yes, France in particular. Deal. Lovely country. Lovely people, even (one of the ancestries husband and I share) but that culture has been running around sans coulottes, because they wear them on their heads since Louis XIV at least, and probably before that) and not to throw the baby out with the bath water.
Real science matters. Real science matters when it’s not corrupted and swayed by politics. And it should be judged by its results.
But it should be questioned relentlessly and examined. Questioning, doubting and examining is not being anti-science. IT IS THE PROCESS OF SCIENCE.
Science is not a religion with dogmas to believe in. It’s a set of steps for finding out the truth. Or sometimes, for finding out what we believed was the truth …. isn’t.
And no laws should be made that impose this “science” on others, particularly when recommendations change every week with no reason.
Done now.
Whatever the global grand pubahs think, it’s hot enough to hatch a stone, let alone an egg.
And we ain’t talking “climate change.”
Ça Ira!
Be not afraid.
PS – Totally unrelated: boxes being assembled. The follies medicinales of the last two days have set the schedule a leetle back. But it will happen. Soon.
If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. I ALSO WISH TO REMIND OUR READERS THAT IF THEY WANT TO TIP THE BLOGGER WITHOUT SPENDING EXTRA MONEY, CLICKING TO AMAZON THROUGH ONE OF THE BOOK LINKS ON THE RIGHT, WILL GIVE US SOME AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR PURCHASES MADE IN THE NEXT 24HOURS, OR UNTIL YOU CLICK ANOTHER ASSOCIATE’S LINK. PLEASE CONSIDER CLICKING THROUGH ONE OF THOSE LINKS BEFORE SEARCHING FOR THAT SHED, BIG SCREEN TV, GAMING COMPUTER OR CONSERVATORY YOU WISH TO BUY. That helps defray my time cost of about 2 hours a day on the blog, time probably better spent on fiction. ;)*
Jens-Peter Oberacker thought the secret research facility for magical craft would be peaceful and quiet–the perfect place to finish his engineering research paper. He didn’t expect a violent gang of thieves to have their eyes on the ships, or having to escape to save his life. Worse yet, he’s now being blamed for the entire thing!
On the run in the last, badly damaged ship, an unexpected encounter with a housemaid on a mansion rooftop saves him from immediate disaster. But why would she lurk on a roof at night? And where did she learn her utter fearlessness of heights?
Perhaps unwisely, Jens-Peter ignores these questions—and the housemaid’s unexpected knife—desperate to find someone, anyone, who can clear his name. And let him finish his paper…
It takes more than a single terraformer to start a new world.
The human colony on the lost world of Not What We Were Looking For faces fracture and schism. On one side of the river, the settlers from Earth remember what it means to live in a free society. In the Marss-controlled city, the governor cancelled elections long ago and strives daily to cement his grip on the inhabitants.
Thaddeus Dawe and the Hudson cousins, including the one who agreed to marry him, save the colony’s last terraseeder from the governor’s political grandstanding, and head for the secret northern enclave started by Thaddeus’ brother. But all Thaddeus’ careful planning takes a wrenching turn when not one but two parties race in pursuit.
Thwarted in his original goal, faced with repairing the consequences of what he does to escape arrest, and besotted by the discovery of newspapers, Thaddeus wrestles with new ventures and roles in which he dare not fail. He must save not only Earth’s microbial legacy but its knowledge base as well. Not to mention, he’s getting married.
But when the governor’s chief of staff decides to weaponize Thaddeus against both the city’s farmers and the newspaper’s publisher, Thaddeus must fight the governor’s attempts to steal the farmers’ land even as someone destroys everything Thaddeus himself tries to build. In the end, he must do what he can to save those his own betrayal put at risk.
Picking up where Under the Earthline left off, The Gear Engages is the fourth book in the gripping science fiction colonization series Martha’s Sons. If you like action, political machinations, and a driven hero, you’ll want to dive in heart-and-head first.
Pick it up now to join the fight for a lost world!
John Smith has a problem. He’s a retired cop whose pension just got wiped out, and he doesn’t know why or how. Now he needs to find a roommate to help pay the bills.
Sam has a problem. He’s a six-foot-tall talking cockroach and he doesn’t know who created him, or why, or how. Now he needs a place to live.
Thrown together as roommates and amateur detectives, Mr. Smith and the Roach realize their problems might be related.
But those problems are far more complicated than they imagined, and before all is said and done, they’ll run afoul of a Russian gangster, an imprisoned Mafia don, a crooked Wall Street banker, a mad scientist and, maybe worst of all, Mr. Smith’s baby sister.
Can they get to the bottom of an unbelievable plot before someone exterminates the Roach – and Mr. Smith – for good?
FROM NITAY ARBEL: Operation Flash, Episode 1: Knight’s Gambit Accepted.
On March 21, 1943, one man came within a hairbreadth of blowing up nearly the entire Nazi leadership. In timeline DE1943RG, he succeeded. Then the conspirators discovered that killing Hitler and his chief henchmen was the easy part.
Alain de Kerauille wants to be a knight more than anything in the world, to win as many jousting tournaments as he can, become wealthy and famous, and gain the hand of the fair lady Emma. As a squire in a noble household, he’s well on his way to success, and when he’s chosen to joust in a celebratory tournament, all of his dreams seem within his grasp. Until his rivalry with a fellow squire reaches the boiling point, threatening to destroy everything Alain has worked for and send his future crashing down around him.
Marianne Stanhope is in trouble. Her family is urging her to accept the attentions of a most odious suitor, so she turns to a gentleman of her acquaintance for aid. But Mr. Firth has his own reasons for assisting Miss Stanhope, and it falls to her childhood friend Mr. Killingham to convince her that she’s made a dreadful mistake.
When the kingdom of Altria falls before an expansionist lord, the champion Korr is tasked with spiriting off the next in line to the throne as well as a princess who could be used to legitimize the duke’s claim to the throne. Joined by his childhood friend, one of the legendary Rangers of Altria, Korr seeks shelter with the man who trained him to fight many long years ago.
Korr is charged with raising the young king and readying him to take back his kingdom, but a chieftain of the Bohgan people becomes something of an obstacle to that purpose. Can Korr keep King Darvos and Princess Lauranna safe?
Jiden’s parents barely scrape out a living on the dry, dusty world of Century. Jiden wants more for herself and she is ready to step into a bright future, one which may lead her far from the frontier world of her birth. She has no dreams of following in the footsteps of her military family’s heritage, no desire to live a life of hardship.
She’s just got one obstacle in the path to her dreams: five months of military school. She’ll be away from her friends, subjected to long hours and a crushing work load. She’ll learn to shoot, to fight… and how to kill. Jiden will need every skill she’s learned, because her family’s enemies have put her in their sights. She’s going to have to rise to the challenges in order to survive. She soon learns that her dreams might not be as good as she imagined. With her life on the line, Jiden will need to fall back on the skills she learned and prove that she’s a child of valor.
12-year-old Linnea Vulkane is looking forward to a long, lazy summer on Grandpa Heph’s farm, watching newborn kittens grow up and helping out with chores. That all goes out the window the night Mars, god of war, demands her grandfather abandon her and return to Olympus for the brewing war.
Now Old Vulcan is racing around the world and across higher planes with Sehkmet to gather allies, leaving Linn and an old immortal friend to protect the farm and the very special litter. But even the best wards won’t last forever, and when the farm goes up in flames, she is on the run with a daypack, a strange horse, a sword, and an armful of kittens. Linn needs to grow up fast and master her powers, before the war finds the unlikely refugees…
FROM MACKEY CHANDLER: A Hop, Skip and a Jump (Family Law Book 4).
Lee has a lot going for her, tons of money, true friends who will stand by her, an unexpected bonus of extended life from advanced medical treatments, and a start at unraveling some of the pesky secrets in the stars. But there is so much to do to take advantage of all these opportunities that she’s overwhelmed. Keeping all they’ve gained may not be easy. Their new allies have received a follow-on delegation from their home world who seem determined to undo everything they accomplished. The Earthies seem inclined to oppose their new exploration claims, and even her helpful new friends from Central are a problem. They seem less forthcoming than she expected, and the fellow Gabriel who lent them a hand turns out to be entirely too friendly for her taste. Eventually everybody is going to find out Lee isn’t just a sweet little girl if you keep getting in her way. This book continues the merging of the “April” series of books with the “Family Law” series.
Most customers are extremely satisfied with the job “The Green Knight Terraforming Co.” does to refurbish their planets. However when there are customer complaints, then the human Joe called Tiny is the person who solves those problems.
Joe’s backup muscle, Donald is there for the occasional times when Joe touches before he looks. Joe, Donald, and the lab animals troubleshoot those problems that need a delicate touch with a hammer. There is a one hundred percent guarantee that this group can fix any customer problem– or fix the customer.
If you like subtle psychological horror in your urban fantasy, check out this thrilling tale of a war of the human heart vs. evil in “Scorpions of the Deep,” the first book in Gibbons’ new Elemental Demons Series.
There are more things in Hell and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy…
Sarah Blakely is in survival mode after her breakup pulls her life out from under her and sends her scrambling back home, depressed and broken after college. She is determined to build a new life and find a new direction. But it’s hard after losing her love, the man she’d planned on marrying. And the refuge of her childhood home, where she should be able to heal in peace, is being disturbed by one weird occurrence after another.
Sarah is not religious, but she is about to find out there are more things in Hell and Earth than are dreamt of in her philosophy.
Backed by her brave, loyal, and god-fearing friend Beau, she must face her fears and find her strength again, before one of those dark things she does not believe in uses her broken soul against her.
Fifteen outstanding authors. Fourteen extraordinary stories. One bestselling universe.
It’s the Twenty-Second Century. The galaxy has opened up to humanity as a hyperactive beehive of stargates and new technologies, and we suddenly find ourselves in a vast playground of different races, environments, and cultures. There’s just one catch: we are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain.
Enter the Four Horsemen universe, where only a willingness to fight and die for money separates Humans from the majority of the other races. Enter a galaxy not only of mercenaries, but also of aliens, hired assassins, and accountants. Accountants?
Edited by bestselling authors and universe creators Mark Wandrey and Chris Kennedy, “In the Wings” brings you a variety of all-new stories in the Four Horsemen universe showcasing characters that—until now—have always been one step out of the lime light. The fifteen authors bring you looks at some of the universe’s minor characters, giving you additional insight into what truly makes the universe tick…and some additional information you won’t get anyplace else!
Ten astounding tales by triple award nominee Brad R. Torgersen. Go on fantastic new adventures at the bottom of Earth’s oceans and at the edge of the solar system. Meet humans who are utterly alien and aliens who are all too human. Originally featured in the pages of Analog Science Fiction and Fact magazine as well as Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show, these stories are gathered here for the first time, along with anecdotes and other commentary from the author.
Features the stories Ray of Light (2012 Hugo & Nebula nominee), Outbound (2011 Analog Readers Choice Award winner), and Exanastasis (2010 Writers of the Future Award winner).
Introductions by Stanley Schmidt, Mike Resnick and Allan Cole.
Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.
So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.
We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.
According To Hoyt 