Guest Post: Thomas Riley & The Steampunk Twist

I am honored to present a guest post from my friend Nick. -BF

First off, a huge thank you to B for letting me come here and guest blog today. It’s been an amazing blog tour and I owe it all to wonderful people such as Boudreau. My name is Nick Valentino, and I’m currently on a blog tour in support of my first steampunk novel called Thomas Riley.

Some of you are probably thinking, “What the heck is steampunk?” Don’t worry you’re not alone. Steampunk is a relatively new genre that deals in alternative history. Oh! Hold on, keep reading. I know that seems a bit dry but here’s the twist. Steampunk is usually set in Victorian times but the world is very different. Huge leaps in technology have sparked a new scientific boom centered around, you guessed it, steam. Everything is powered by steam, science, alchemy and black powder. Forget the normal fossil fuels and electricity we’re used to, just about everything is steam. So in turn, there are massive dirigibles flying through the sky. Everyone wants to be a scientist, inventor or airship crewmember. But beware; where you have heavy air traffic you also have sky pirates, greedy privateers and a host of surly yet innovative Victorian characters. Here’s how I like to think of it, Chill 1 part Jules Verne, mix with two parts Indiana Jones, add a mixer of H.G. Wells and for flavor, add a twist of Frankenstein.

Thomas Riley is a steampunk adventure filled with airships, clockwork inventions and swashbuckling action a plenty. Here’s the back cover blurb.

For more than twenty years West Canvia and Lemuria have been at war. From the safety of his laboratory, weapons designer Thomas Riley has cleverly and proudly empowered the West Canvian forces. But when a risky alchemy experiment goes horribly wrong, Thomas and his wily assistant Cynthia Bassett are thrust onto the front lines of battle and forced into shaky alliances with murderous sky pirates in a deadly race to kidnap the only man who can undo the damage: the mad genius behind Lemuria's cunning armaments.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Find out more at:

http://www.sirthomasriley.com/

You can purchase signed copies at:

http://thomasriley.bigcartel.com/

or

http://www.echelonpress.com

and Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Thomas-Riley-Nick-Valentino/dp/1590807006/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1257259385&sr=1-1

Like a Boy

Entry for a contest at Metazen – Image to Text Conversion Experiment.
Picture by Metazen – an online metafiction journal edited by Frank Hinton.

Like a Boy

For as long as she could remember, her father had tried to conceal his disappointment that she was a daughter and not a son. She knew that he had loved her as best he could, but just like his effort to hide his disappointment, he did not convince. So, dressed like a boy, she relieved herself upright like a boy, then stepped away from his grave and turned her back on him for good.

The Hunt

Entry for a contest at Metazen – Image to Text Conversion Experiment.
Picture by Metazen – an online metafiction journal edited by Frank Hinton.

The Hunt

I lost the scent in last night's snowfall, but I still hear him out there, so I know which direction to head when this wretched excuse for a planet is once again (mercifully, I say) hidden in darkness. I am no longer nervous, uncertain, and I am not afraid: I feel calm, almost at peace, if I feel anything at all. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, if not tomorrow night, then the next, it does not matter, the outcome is inevitable: I will find the Wampa, I will kill him, and I will avenge my father's death.

Why I Will Never Submit to Cracked.com

I have a holiday piece that is Cracked-esque, but ran across this gem in their "Submission Agreement":


3. You hereby agree to indemnify, defend and hold harmless CRACKED, and its subsidiaries, affiliates, successors and assigns, from and against any and all claims, demands, expenses, losses or liabilities including but not limited to reasonable attorney's fees and punitive damages that may be asserted against or incurred by CRACKED at any time in connection with the Submission, or any use thereof, including, without limitation, those arising from any breach, or alleged breach, of the warranties, representations and promises provided by you to CRACKED.

Uhhhh.... no.

Not that they would have accepted my piece for use, but my point is this: I'll never submit to them, simply because I'm not a big fan of indemnification agreements.

Your humble and obed’t Serv’t,
B. Freret

Admonitions I've Unsuccessfully Tried to Shout Out the Car Window, Part I

"While I appreciate that you’ve stopped in the middle of the street to encourage that truck waiting at the intersection to turn out in front of you by waiving frantically at the driver, as the car immediately behind you, I couldn’t help but notice that our light is green (so, presumably, his red light will eventually turn green as well, eliminating the need for such a selfless gesture of kindness on your part) and while I cannot speak for any driver other than myself, I personally believe that your obligations with respect to the right of way are greater to the fifteen cars behind you who are presently avoiding rear ending one another because you’ve stopped for no reason at a green light."

Inventing a Twitter Hashtag: Awesome Things for Sociopaths

I follow Kurt's 1000 Awesome Things on Twitter, for good reason: they often make me smile. Warm fuzzies ensue.

But it dawned on me that the awesome things are all biased toward feel-good items that make reasonably normal people smile.

So what if you're an ass?

Would, say, Niccolo Machiavelli think the same things are awesome that you or I or 1000 Awesome Things would?

I don't think so.

So I created my own hashtag: #MachiavellianAwesome. Some highlights include:

1. Being armed before all else.
2. Conferring benefits gradually, so they will taste better.
3. Doing injury to a man so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.
4. Deceiving the deceiver.
5. Being feared rather than being loved.
6. Having legitimate reasons to break ones promise.

Don't sociopaths need a reason to smile, too?

Respectfully, I remain,
Boudreau Freret

Obama Receives Awards While America Slept

President Barack Obama made history early Friday, winning several awards while most Americans were still asleep, including the Nobel Prize for Peace.

The Norwegian Nobel Committee recognized Obama's work to address a number of issues considered significant to the world, including working toward the eradication of nuclear weapons.

"Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future," the Committee said. The announcement Friday from Oslo, Norway, came as a surprise - Obama had not previously been mentioned as being considered for the honor.

"His diplomacy is founded in the concept that those who are to lead the world must do so on the basis of values and attitudes that are shared by the majority of the world's population," the Committee said.

An Obama administration official said when the president was told he had won, the President said he was humbled to be chosen.

The announcement was not met with universal praise.

De facto Republican National Committee Chair Rush Reed issued a statement just after the Committee's announcement which read, in part, "[T]his is exactly what we've been saying all along - Obama is not one of us, he is more interested in bowing down to 'international interests' and 'matters of global significance, to the whole of humanity' than he is in serving Americans and Traditional American Values(TM).... [W]e fully expect impeachment proceedings to commence in the House early next week."

In addition to the Nobel Prize for Peace, Obama received several other unexpected accolades late Thursday night and early Friday, including:

1. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced that Obama would receive an Oscar for Best Male Performance in a Leading Role.
2. Good Housekeeping Research Institute issued a statement that Obama had been awarded their coveted Seal of Approval.
3. The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety held a press conference to disclose that Obama received the highest crashworthiness rating, Five Stars, in every category tested.
4. The Heisman Trust announced Obama the winner of a special Heisman Memorial Trophy.

Finally, an overwhelmed Obama is reported to have awarded himself the Presidential Medal of Freedom during breakfast.

Humbly, I remain,
Boudreau Freret

Boski

I remember all my life
Raining down as cold as ice
A shadow of a man
A face through a window
Crying in the night
The night goes into

Morning, just another day
Happy people pass my way
Looking in their eyes
I see a memory
I never realized
you made me so happy, oh Boski

Well you came and you gave without taking
but then you went away, oh Boski
well you called me a genius and stopped me from shaking
I need you today, oh Boski

I'm standing on the edge of time
I walked away when genius was mine
Caught up in a world of uphill climbing
The tears are in my mind
And nothing is rhyming, oh Boski

Well you came and you gave without taking
but then you went away, oh Boski
well you called me a genius and stopped me from shaking
And I need you today, oh Boski

Yesterday's a dream I face the morning
Crying on the breeze
the pain is calling, oh Boski

Well you came and you gave without taking
but then you went away, oh Boski
well you called me a genius and stopped me from shaking
And I need you today, oh Boski



(Apologies to B. Manilow)

Writing Prompt Wednesday 5

Today's Writing Prompt Wednesday submission came to me by way of happy accident: I found this scrawled on a napkin while clearing a table for lunch. I think it Williams-esque, and am thrilled to be able to share my find!

***

"He's doin what!?" she shrieked as she opened the door enough to yell out back.

"Damn you, Earl, we're in town now," she scolded. "And indoor plumbing means you don’t have to leave the house to relieve yourself."

"Yeah. I know that," he hollered without interrupting the task at hand.

"Don't have to," he grumbled. "Do it 'cause I wont to, thas all."

***

Humbly, I am
Boudreau Freret

Writing Prompt Wednesday IV: A New Hope

Today's Writing Prompt Wednesday entry, my fourth, violates the letter and spirit of the rules.* Just so you know.

I present the following first-draft excerpt from a work in-progress:

***

Alteram was back onboard, sitting at the technical console, the round high table that wouldn't catch a second glance if relocated to an Earth coffeehouse. It looked like something out of an Ikea catalog. The same console that he had worked at all night during the trip home.

He had not doubted that his theory was sound, but he was thrilled to have been able to implement the changes, however minor compared to the overall task, on the fly. (The pun, mercifully, was lost on him.) The fact that those initial tweaks were already tested and proven to work only helped him push forward now.

He needed the boost. This second phase was not going as well as the first. It wasn't going well at all.

Above the surface of the console/table and immediately to Alteram's left, a holographic schematic was suspended in the air, this time motionless, with line after line after line of words hovering to the rear, blurry. To his right, also floating above the surface of the console/table, two inch tall red numbers flashed on and off.

00:00. Off. 00:00. Off.

Behind the numbers, a marble-sized Earth image hung in a three dimensional grid of lines no wider than human hairs, and rotated slowly, but faster than real time.

00:00. Off. 00:00. Off. As they flashed, he thought he could hear them taunt him.

Failure. Off. Failure. Off.

Alteram sighed, his shoulders slumped.

At last he turned his head slightly toward the schematic, and as he did the blurry words moved through space from behind the diagram to the forefront, and sharpened until legible.

The lines of text scrolled down a little, seemingly on their own, then paused before scrolling up, several “pages” back, faster and faster, as if a virtual roll of microfilm was turning somewhere, and only the data displayed.

When he found the section he wanted, Alteram began to read. Again. He could have written it all himself at this point, word for word, from memory. His own memory, even.

He came to a line that, this time, made him sit a little straighter, if not exactly up. Not quickly, he didn't cry out his species' version of “Eureka!” and no lightbulb appeared above his head, but he needed to find something – would have settled for anything – to help him break through the wall he'd been banging his head into the past few hours. He'd looked at it all so many times, that all the likely, logical solutions had been considered and were used up, and he was now considering the unlikely and the illogical possibilities. Maybe this one was it. Or would, he hoped, at least move him forward.

The schematic moved to the front again and took focus, then zoomed in to one section. Alteram watched circuits move, flip, invert, then reconnect, as he willed this visualization of the ship's gravity manipulation system to reconfigure itself. Satisfied with the modifications, he turned his attention to the Earth and grid to his right. The numbers turned green and now read 01:00, then moved to the background, making way for the Earth-grid to come forward and take center stage.

Alteram crossed two fingers

what was that about?

then began the simulation.

The numbers started to count down as one intersection of grid lines – the intersection furthest away from the Earth in the hologram – began to bend, to point and push toward the earth. The lines came together, focused into a sharp point, stretched by an unseen force – like a sharpened pencil pressed to fabric, as if to pierce it – gathering other grid lines along the way, as the point stretched closer, closer, closer to the planet, until it was just about to touch the surface

00:00. Off. 00:00. Off.

The numbers, again red, took their place, front and center. The pointed lines had not reached the Earth before the timer reached zero.

Again.

Alteram grunted. And slumped.

Again.

Failure. Off. Failure. Off.

It was possible, he knew it. He could – would – find a way to make it happen. Ethan had agreed to leave the Earth on the condition that Alteram could bend time, that Alteram could have him home almost the instant after they'd left. Alteram promised that he could, and he was going to keep his promise. He knew it could be done, he was just overlooking something, missing something. He had to figure out what it was. Quickly.

He turned back to the diagram and text, and started over.

***

Humbled, I am
Boudreau Freret


* The WPW rules say, in part:

1. Find something... online... that's been published in the past week or so, and pick a quote from it.
2. Use the quote as a prompt and write something...

I wrote something, then found something online, not published in the past week or so, and fit what I found into what I'd already written. So while I may be a fraud, it cannot be said that I am a dishonest one.

Writing Prompt Wednesday, III

With continued apologies to the originator of Writing Prompt Wednesday, I offer this as my third entry.

I recall reading part of an interview with Jack White years ago where he discussed his relationship with his plastic-ish, piece of crap, Montgomery-Ward Airline guitar.

Regardless of what words were actually on the page, the way I remember it, Jack explained that one reason he loved that particular guitar so much was because it was crap, and so he had to wrest every note from it by force.

"I figure I ought to have to work hard at it," he said. "I have to earn whatever comes out, and if I earn it, I own it."

I don't know if such an article exists, or if he ever said anything like what I remember. The more I think about it, I'm pretty sure I made most of this up.

Doesn't matter. I thought about what Jack White (may have) said today as I passed the 8,000 word mark in the Word Count Challenge.

You see, my writing laptop is old. Really old. And slow. It has a painfully small screen and keyboard, and not all of the keys work, particularly the "k". For some reason (likely related to self-loathing), I run Linux on my writing laptop, so I'm writing in OpenOffice, which I otherwise don't use everyday. In fact, I don't use it very much at all. So naturally I think it sucks.

Whatever the redeeming qualities of Linux and OpenOffice, this is not a task for mere mortals. Nay, not even a task for those slightly leaning towards immortal.

This is a task for someone unwell.

Yet someone who, when done, will have earned every word, and will own them.

Respectfully, I am
Boudreau Freret

Word Count Contest

There are many valid reasons why one should not drink and surf the interwebs. This is one good example.

I might have entered myself in a contest among real writers to see who can generate the highest word count over a two week period. Contest details, as well as pre-contest psychological warfare, can be found here.

The other contestants are not only real writers, they are educated, and appear to be dear friends.

I might be hosed.

Fortunately, I'll hold off the grovelling and begging for mercy a little while: I pride myself on being quite the cunning linguist, and can safely say that even at this early hour, I have this contest in the bag.

Midnight came hours earlier here than where the other contestants reside, and as of this morning, thanks to my friends copy and paste, I already have in excess of 17,280 words. (Of which ten are unique!)

So, I humbly and respectfully offer the following good-natured encouragement to the other, smartypants, contestants: neener neener neener!

Your humble and obed’t Serv’t,
B. Freret

Why You've Been Unfriended

I know that not everyone shares the same religious or political views. In fact, as difficult as this can be sometimes, I celebrate our differences, and I strive to respect views that are not my own.

I will not, however, celebrate with you what appears to be an unwillingness (or inability) to appreciate that unilateral political evangelizing is not discourse and is not dialog.

The initial (yet critical) distinctions between us, therefore, appear to be:

1. I respect that your views are your views, even if you do not respect mine.
2. I will listen (quietly, since that is what “listen” means) to your views, even if you will not listen to mine.

Therefore, once I’ve listened long enough that you seem to be repeating yourself (yet show no indicia of wrapping up, or of readying to pass the podium in order to hear my views), and have intermittently paused only long enough to inquire as to whether I now see things as you do, before lapsing back into the same angry diatribe, please hear at least this:

While I celebrate our differences, and strive to respect your views, I am unwilling to be your captive audience in perpetuity. That is what I mean when I say that I will not celebrate your evangelizing with you.

If, at some point in the future, you, too, grow weary of your soliloquy and would consider listening for a few precious moments, so that we might begin reasonable discourse, please let me know.

Respectfully, I am
Boudreau Freret

More Writing Prompt Wednesday

This is my second offering to the Writing Prompt Wednesday Goddess. If you're a real person and continue reading, I apologize, and hope you seek professional assistance.

***

The meds were working. I hadn’t had an episode in over six months.

Weeks ago, I emerged from my self-imposed exile and began to take long walks in the city, wallowing in the cacophony of sound and smell, without so much as a hint that I was going to transform.

I knew that I was not free of Hulk, but for the first time, I began to believe that he – that I – might be under control.

I desperately wanted Samantha to understand that I wasn’t the same creature who’d gone to prison. So much so that I brought her to see Dora "Live" at Radio City--which is to throw oneself into a Skittle scented mosh pit filled with thousands and thousands of screaming kids and their mothers.

Sam was reluctant, not just because neither of us had kids (and I had to agree with her that it was unusual for us - a couple of 28 year olds - to attend without a child), but because the potential for disaster was so great.

What if...?

But it went well. Not the show – the show was horrid – but I did not transform.

Sam now believes, as I do, that I am under control. We’re going shopping together this Friday – “Black Friday.” If I successfully make it to lunch, I’m going to give her the ring.

***

Humbled, I am
Boudreau Freret

Writing Prompt Wednesday

Per fantastic blog Dancing With the Dwende, I submit the following:

***

“Get the fuck outta here!”

“Dude, I’m totally serious, here – look,” Jeff said, handing over the cover letter.

Thomas, still doubting, took it and began to read out loud.

“'Words cannot express my gratitude for your assistance in reuniting me with this automobile. But the reward can. Therefore, enclosed please find check #6278 made payable to you in the amount of TWO HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND and NO/100 DOLLARS ($250,000.00)…'”

Tom’s eyes opened wider and wider as he read faster and faster, the pitch of his voice ascending, until he sounded like one of the Chipmunks, “'… the car will be displayed at the company headquarters in Louisville, replacing a replica I commissioned while I searched'… DUDE, NO FUCKING WAY!” He briefly moved as if to hug Jeff, thought better of it, and hit him in the shoulder instead. Hard.

“Yeah, crazy, isn’t it? I deposited the check this morning. I still can’t believe it, either.”

“Man, that is AWESOME! What are you going to buy first?”

“Well,” Jeff paused, his face turning serious. Tom could tell something he’d regret was about to happen.

“I was thinking,” Jeff went on, “that you might be interested in five grand.”

“For doing what?” Tom quietly asked, all traces of excitement now gone from his face.

“For stealing the car, so we can help the sonofabitch recover it, and collect the reward.”

***

Respectfully, I remain,
B. Freret

A STURDY Chair?

Men's Health has provided a helpful list of "41 Ways to Make a Woman Swoon."

Assuming they mean ways for me to make my woman swoon, I am pissed.

Take a second, P.R., please, to read (at least) the first dozen, then come back.

"A sturdy chair"? Really, Men's Health, a sturdy chair? Overlooking that #12 doesn't really describe a "romantic gesture" but rather simply a sex act*, are you sure about the STURDY chair part?

Did you think that though, first?

Man, Men's Health, you better hope I don't run into you at a party or anything, because I might just have to kick your ass.

Sincerely, I am
B. Freret

* Though not particularly prudish, I must ask, how helpful is it to your target audience to list sex acts among "ways to make her swoon"? Why not, then, simply have a list of two items:

1. Do it.
2. Be Brad Pitt, whilst doing it.

Not very helpful, is it, unless Brad actually reads Men's Health? (And even then, I'm pretty sure that he KNOWS to do it without your damn list.)

Regardless, in a collection of "romantic gestures" ostensibly designed to "make her swoon," is it really helpful to recommend cunnilingus? Gee, you think?