I’m more or less always on the lookout for cool new bits of tech to use in my writing. I have a pebble watch that I can use to control the music player on my phone, which in turn can be connected to either a bluetooth earbud or a portable Jawbone speaker.
I also like writing on the go. So I’ve pretty much always had something handy to write when I am not sitting at my desk. In fact, I get a good chunk of my work done when NOT sitting at the big PC on my desk. I find I am often too distracted there.
I’ve used a Chromebook before. I’ve written on a laptop. I extensively used my old iPad2 for writing, for a long time. But that one is aging now, and I was looking for something different. (more…)
So I read the NYT article on the Amazon and Hachette SNAFU, and it was too good to pass up. There’s just too much nonsense written into this blatant attack piece. From the opening image – a piranha with the Amazon smile – on through the text, it’s one slam on Amazon after another.
Except, of course, that the writer (Bob Kohn) has no clue what he is talking about. (more…)
And now, for a taste of things to come! Ouch, shades of Mortal Combat aside, I’ve written a short story, more or less a prelude to the
Kickstarter novel about Dead Britannia, a new serial about Britain just after its abandoned by Rome – the days when the legend that became King Arthur was born. But this Arthur must deal with a plague of the living dead, instead of Saxons!
The Kickstarter is over, but the stories will be coming soon!
Here, we see the plague just before it reaches Rome. It’s in the outlying towns, and sweeping across the Empire with stunning speed. The story proceeds as one man has found a refuge from the revenants now stalking him.
WARNING! Like most living dead stories, this one is a little dark, and features imagery which may be disturbing for some readers.
In Vino, Mortis
Heretus stood, panting, behind the solid oak door. The iron bars holding thick planks of oak together felt cool under his sweaty palms. The door was barred, and crafted well. Nothing short of a battering ram or a catapult would breach it now.
He turned a deaf ear to the frantic cries from the other side, begging him to open the door, let them in. That way led death, and God wanted Heretus to live. Someone had to live through this, to keep the Word of God alive. Who better than him?
The cries became screams as those things arrived. He tried to ignore those, too. Tried hard to not imagine the scene taking place outside, his flock torn to shreds and eaten. Revenants, a new scourge, had reached the village. Only a day from Rome itself now, so Heretus knew mankind was well and truly damned. What better place to hide from the end of the world than a church?
He heard little Paula crying and crying outside his door. Then he heard her scream, cut mercifully short.
Tears poured down his face. But he left the door barred through it all.