CosPlaying Meralda

As soon as I finished the steampunk ghostbuster's backpack I built to wear to MidSouthCon 33, I decided I'd take a break from building props.

It's a time consuming hobby. Often a frustrating one as well, when your clever ideas fail to translate easily into the rough-and-tumble real world.

My resolution to put aside the Dremel and let my propane torch lay idle lasted a full month.

Now I'm ready to take a stab at something new.

I have two projects in mind, both taken from Meralda's world. I thought I'd put both ideas out there and let you guys chime in, and I also decided to sweeten the pot by offering the completed prop item to anyone willing to use it in a cosplay of Meralda at a con or other fantasy-related event.

I'd d the cosplay myself, but as you might have noticed, I bear no resemblance to Meralda, I'm not female, and all my skirts are too short anyway.

But before we get into that, here are the choices for the prop item.

OPTION ONE: THE DELIGHTER

If you've read All the Turns of Light, you know that a certain hidden weapon pops up toward the end of the book. It's a directed lightning gun, made hundreds of years before Meralda's time and then disassembled and hidden by its creator, to await that fateful day when the risk of introducing such a fearsome weapon was justified by some new threat.

In the book, I describe the Delighter thusly:

Excerpt from All the Turns of Light:

Meralda recognized the peculiar shuffle of Modwap’s Helpful Automaton before it emerged from the Shelves, an unfamiliar bulk cradled in its four spindly arms.

“My cursory investigation suggests it is a means to direct and then instigate extremely powerful electrical discharges,” said Tower. “I believe Amorp called it the Delighter. The observable spellwork indicates the device was built to be used only by persons with Second Sight.”

Meralda turned in her chair as the Automaton bore Amorp’s hidden device to her.

The beams of her eye-lights fell upon the contrivance, illuminating it in a flash of crimson. It was thick, composed of short fat tubes, all banded by copper and fitted with hoses and coils and intricate protrusions of quartz.

At one end the tubes opened, each terminated by a series of silver rings. At the other, a stock, like that of a crossbow, was fitted to the tubes. The dark wood stock was decorated with a Tirlish flag, inlaid in silver.

“Just how powerful are these discharges?” asked Meralda, as the pounding in her chest began to subside.

“At least four orders of magnitude more energetic than the most powerful single lightning discharge which has struck me in the last seven centuries,” replied Tower. “There appears to be a mechanism which controls the release intensity. It is set to low by default. The energy output of the highest setting is incalculable.”

So. A wooden stock, fat copper tubes, silver rings, hoses, lots of copper. To save time, I'd omit the internal mechanisms that actually cause lightning to leap from the maw of the weapon. I would probably do some internal lighting, maybe add a sound effect or two.

Probable completion time: 3 or 4 months. This is a very basic project, but the result would be sweet.

OPTION TWO: MISTER MUG

Yep. That's right. Take a big sturdy birdcage. Put a flower pot in it, add a lush artificial plant, and you've got Mug, Meralda's wise-cracking sidekick -- 

What's that? Mug's eyes? All 29 of them? 

Wow, that certainly complicated things. But okay. I like a challenge now and then. I'll add the eyes.

In fact, I'll do one better -- I'll animate Mug, with motors hidden in the flower pot, which move the eyes about.

 

That's Mug. Put him in the birdcage, animate his eyes -- that would be an awesome cosplay prop.

Going as Meralda would be simple.Anything Victorian would be fine -- a long skirt, with a high neck-blouse. Meralda isn't one of your barely-there 'skintight armor that somehow manages to expose all the vital organs' kind of chick.  In fact, she's furious when Tirlish newspapers depict her with her skirts flying up about her knees.

So what do you lot think? Build the Delighter, or an animated Mug? Keep in mind I stand by my offer to provide the completed prop to anyone willing to actually cosplay with it.

Why? Because I'm simply that generous. Really. And if you are at a Con and someones asks you 'Hey, who are you cosplaying?' I'd also give you a stack of handy cards to give out. Self-promotion? No, I operate, as always, from a deep-seated desire to help out. Heh. Heh heh heh.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Leave your comments below.

Oh, and buy the new Markhat book! If you have bought it and read it, a review on Amazon only takes a moment and really helps sell the book. Thanks!

Click here for The Darker Carnival!

Step Right Up -- THE DARKER CARNIVAL is on sale!

The Darker Carnival, Markhat's new adventure, is out!

Due to the magic of ARCs (Advance Review Copies), you can see what's been said about the book. Without giving away too much, this reviewer gave it four stars out of five, which I'll take all day any day.

to see the review at Forevermore, click your clicky little finger below:

Link to review of The Darker Carnival at Forevermore.

Here's a partial text from the review.

So that's one thumbs up already. Like any author, I'm thrilled at seeing that many stars.

For a look at the complete series, click here to go to my publisher's website. They carry books in every format -- Amazon, B&N Nook, Kobo, pdf, you name it.

Or click my Amazon page, which gives you all my Amazon titles.

Finally, here's a direct link to the book itself -- The Darker Carnival.

I'd like to close with a single brief excerpt from the Forevermore review.

"One of the things I enjoy about the series is the playfulness of the writing. To integrate humor and yet achieve the edges of fear and horror, such as when Markhat deals with the Dark Carnival, is one of the reasons I keep reading this series."
-- Forevermore review of The Darker Carnival

Who Needs Pants Anyway?

As I'm sure you're aware by now, the new Markhat book will be released Tuesday (the 28th).

In case you're one of the remaining six Amazon hunters who somehow escaped my one-man media blitz, here's the link to Amazon"

THE DARKER CARNIVAL

And I promise that's the last bit of self-promotion I'll indulge in today.

Which is a relief to you and, perhaps surprisingly, a relief to me as well.

I'm not comfortable hawking my books over and over. I feel obligated to, but it's not a part of the job I enjoy. My preferred method of marketing is to write the book and (hopefully) sell it to a publisher and then start writing another book, with occasional glances at the sales numbers followed by bouts of inconsolable weeping.

But of course that flies in the face of conventional publishing wisdom, which states 'FLOG THAT BOOK SON FLOG IT OVER AND OVER AND THEN SOME MORE AND WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?"

But I'm tired of that. First, because I'm not sure self-promotion does anything but annoy people, and second, because I'm quite sure self-promo bloody well annoys me.

I'll probably post a gentle reminder when the book actually goes live on the various markets, and of course when the print version hits the stands, but that's all.

It's the noise. Last time I checked, Amazon along adds something like 30,000 new fiction titles to their catalog every month. Thirty thousand new books.

Thirty thousand new books each being held aloft by another desperate author, each trying, it seems, to out-shout the other 29,999 bellowing hopefuls.

Everyone's words are lost in the cacaphony. It;s just a dull roar now, like distant thunder. "Buymybookbuymybook."

Thunder is loud, and it can wake you from a deep sleep, but as a marketing vehicle it's useless.

If you do buy the book, I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

And that's my marketing pitch for the day, the week, the month, and the year.

HATS

I have decided to bring back hats.

Why?

Because, as the good Doctor once noted, hats are cool.

To me, hats evoke a bygone era in which people got dressed. Not just for special occasions, but because it mattered how you presented yourself to the world. A gentleman, even a working man, had standards. Not just for dress, but for decorum as well. I miss those days. And yes, I am about three months from the day I begin to shake my fist and yell "You kids get off my lawn!"

I have a John Bull top hat. But you, gentle readers, get to help me decide which style of hat I get next, by voting on the comments section. Here are your choices:

1) The Fedora.

Why a fedora? Because it's a fedora. Markhat wears a fedora. Sam Spade wore a fedora. It's a timeless classic, which debuted much earlier than the 1930s it has come to symbolize.

2) The Derby.

If you were suddenly transported to the frontier Wild West, you'd see the cowboys wearing derby hats, because the ten-gallon cowboy hat is largely a Hollywood invention. I still think they're cool, and they go with everything from modern styles to full-on steampunk cosplay.

3) The Ivy Cap.

Less formal than either of the hats above, this is a good autumn cap. I just like it, I have no idea why.

So, those are the choices! Vote below, and pretty soon I'll post pics of the winning hat being worn on my very own Standard Default head.

Take care, everyone!

The Darker Carnival

April 28, boys and girls -- that's the day the new Markhat hits the virtual stands!

I'm really stoked about The Darker Carnival. I know I probably say this with every book, but this one is the best in the series.

As you can probably guess from the cover (another beauty by Kanaxa) and the title, this one is set in a traveling carnival. Is it an evil traveling carnival?

Hmm. Maybe.

But there's a lot going on in this book. Markhat's world will never be quite the same -- heck, Markhat will never be quite the same. Life is change, after all, like it or not (and I don't). But evolution is inevitable.

All your old favorites are there, and a couple of new faces get added to the mix as well. I'm eager to hear what people think abut this book. So eager I wish the 28th would hurry up and arrive.

You can pre-order now, if you want, and the book will be delivered to your device within moments of release. The print version will be along in a few months, too, so if you prefer paper don't despair!

Here's just a taste of what to expect, as Markhat wanders the carnival, pretending to be a newspaper man:

I learned a lot about circus folk, that day.
First of all, they drink, and drink hard. Especially the side-show wonders. I met the Man of Bones when he stumbled out of his tent, went down on all fours at my feet, and vomited between my boots. I was amazed at the volume of liquid he expelled, given the emaciated state of his spindly frame.
The circus master kicked the Man of Bones unceremoniously in his gut. "And here we find the Man of Bones, who has terrified audiences from the Sea to the Wastes," said Thorkel, as he sent the scuttling wretch away with a second kick squarely on his backside. "A living skeleton, whose grinning skull will haunt your dreams forever."
I nodded and scribbled in my notebook. It didn't seem polite to point out that the Man of Bones was still entirely covered in skin.
We met the Queen of the Elves next. She wore a moth-eaten flannel gown over her spider-webs. A pair of mis-matched work boots adorned her dainty feet. She puffed on an enormous cigar between swigs of dark brown liquid gulped from a dirty jar.
"Go to Hell," she opined, before sprawling lengthwise on a bench.
"Men have traveled the world to pay homage to the Queen of the Elves," said Thorkel. The Queen responded with a raised middle finger. "Her beauty and charm are unmatched in all the mortal world."
"She wears flannel as only an Elf could," I added. Thorkel's brow furrowed beneath his immaculate top-hat.
"That is to say, her ethereal beauty blinds, so dazzling is she to gaze upon," I said, quickly. Thorkel rewarded me with a humorless jackal's grin.
We passed a stage, upon which a bleary-eyed thin man in an old-fashioned long-tailed coat and fancy high-heeled gentleman's boots waved a short black wand over a yawning young woman.
"Two, three, raise the cloth," said the man. The young lady raised a dirty bed sheet up over her head, and the magician snapped his fingers.
The cloth dropped, revealing an empty stage. I heard a distinct thud from beneath it, and a muffled feminine curse.
"You forgot the damned mat again," shouted the young woman.
The magician cussed and yelled for a runner.
"Here we have Malus the Magnificent, master of magic," said Thorkel, with a flourish. "Prepare to be amazed as he confounds and mystifies!"
A section of the stage floor lifted and the young woman emerged. "Bruised is all I'm getting lately," she said. "Malus needs to lay off the hooch."
"An accomplished illusionist, Malus the Magnificent fills audiences with delight," I said. "Performing perilous feats of magic unseen since the days of the Kingdom."
"I see my coin is not wasted," said Thorkel. He smiled, his perfect white teeth wet and gleaming.
"You do have a remarkable cast of performers," I said. "Not at all what I expected."
We passed Gogor the Troll, who snored peacefully beneath a pile of hay.
"And what were you expecting, Mr. Bustman?" asked Thorkel, idly swinging his cane as we walked.
"Well, the old stories. They described carnivals as more...salacious. Carnal, if you will."
Thorkel nodded. "Dancing girls, side-shows of a decidedly immoral nature? Gambling, fighting, that sort of thing?"
"So the old stories say."
"Perhaps, in the old days, other carnivals catered to a less refined audience. But Dark's Diverse Delights is clean, wholesome enjoyment, for the whole family." Thorkel graced me with another smile. "Especially the children. We love children, you see. Love them."
I nodded amiably as I scribbled. "Sounds wonderful, Mr. Thorkel. Just what Rannit needs, these days."
He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a pair of bright red tickets. "Come and see," he said, as I took them. "Bring your wife. Bring a friend. I promise you will never forget your time with us." Someone called his name, and he tipped his hat to me. "I have neglected my duties long enough. Pray wander as you will, speak to whom you would. Good day, sir."
He withdrew.
I wandered as I willed, spoke to whom I would. I saw no signs advertising the presence of a living dead girl. I didn't ask about her by name. If anything the Ordwalds told me was true, asking was more likely to earn me a beating, or worse.
Halfway down the midway, on the right, was a long narrow tent festooned with wind-chimes fashioned from wire and bones. HALL OF HORRORS, read the placard over the entrance. NO ADMITTANCE TO PERSONS OF MEEK CONSTITUTION.
A clown snored by the ticket box. I passed by him, meek constitution and all, and ducked inside.
They hadn't lit the candles. But enough light leaked into reveal two rows of stuffed and mounted monstrosities. A DRAGON, read the first marker to my right. Behind the sign lurked a ten-foot-tall assemblage of bones tied together with wire. The dragon's fore claws were raised in menace, its head hanging over me, its jaws opened wide for a killing bite. It was only after my eyes adjusted to the dark that I saw the cracked plaster holding the beast's spine together and recognized carved wooden bones wired in with the rest.
Even less impressive was the mottled grey cemetery ghoul chained to the wall. Yes, its rotten limbs twitched in a feeble effort to escape, but the loud ticking of the clockwork mechanism behind the body robbed the display of any real menace. Every twenty-two seconds, the ghoul turned its head and extruded its long, slimy tongue before resuming its original posture and starting to twitch all over again.
Maria the Snake Headed Woman might well be a display of a large woman's corpse and a dozen long dead serpents, but none of the various parties had met until an indifferent taxidermist's needle stitched them all together. I daresay Egan the Crocodile Boy and Engorgia, Mistress of the Dark were the products of the same method, if not the same taxidermist. Too, the unfortunate Engorgia's horns were held in place by means of a rather obvious pair of nails.
There was a unicorn. I suspected more than a hint of donkey in its recent lineage. A coiled grey bulk labeled Serpentia, Terror of the Sea floated in a great tub of old beer. Toward the back was a towering thing of coils and wires which claimed to deliver 'Powerfulle Jolts of Life giving Spirit Essence.'
A peek behind the machine revealed a hidden hand-turned crank and a stool for a clown. I gave the crank a whirl, and blue sparks arced from the machine's whirling innards. If they imparted me with any life giving spirit essence, powerful or not, I didn't feel it.
Magog the Were-Bear, Slithins the Snake with a Man's Head, Carabel the Wood Sprite – all bore the same sad signs of being hauled and patched and painted, year after year, mile after hard carnival mile.
I slipped out the Hall or Horrors through the back way, stepping over one of the trunk-like limbs of the Ravenous Cave Hydra, which was bleeding tufts of sooty cotton from a foot-long gash down its mottled side.
I returned to the midway and watched as Malus the Magnificent gobbled down a sandwich. At that, he was surpassingly proficient.
When next I passed the Queen of the Elves, she'd rolled off her bench and was face-down in the hay-covered mud. I paused to spread her tattered robe over her hindquarters and drew a warning growl from a passing Ogre.
"I'll quote you on that," I said, and then I hurried away.

New to the Markhat series? No problem,. Helpful soul that I am, here's a list of the titles, in the order I suggest for reading. Each link takes you to my webpage's book page, and beside each cover there are buttons for Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Samhain, so you can pick whatever format you prefer (Samhain provides EVERYTHING).

Dead Man's Rain

The Cadaver Client

The Mister Trophy

The Markhat Files (print only, contains Dead Man's Rain, The Cadaver Client, and The Mister Trophy)

Hold the Dark

The Banshee's Walk

The Broken Bell

Brown River Queen

The Five Faces

The Darker Carnival

(coming soon -- Way Out West)

Signings, Readings, and Bookstock!

Most of the time, the job (and it is a job) of being a writer involves sitting in front of a keyboard while gritting one's teeth against the siren song of the Internet, but every once in a while we get asked to come out and meet the readers.

The author, his appearance noticeably enhanced by copious amounts of hair gel.

That hardly ever happens to me, because -- well, look my pictures. Frankly, unless there's an inexplicable need for a sweaty Hobbit, most venues quickly move on to more photogenic authors.

But even I get lucky sometimes, and this next week is proof of that. I have three, count them, three book events in a single seven-day period.

All take place in and around Memphis, Tennessee, so if you're in the area and you've never seen a Hobbit stop by.

First up, I have a signing and reading event at the Southwind Country Club in Collierville. This event is hosted by a book club, and I'll be appearing beside such luminaries as author Steve Bradshaw, of 'The Bell Trilogy' fame. This takes place Wednesday morning, April 15, from 10 until 2.

Saturday the 18th is Bookstock! I will be just one of the authors participating from 10:30am-3:30pm at the Benjamin L Hooks Central Library.

Here's a flyer for the event:

So if you're anywhere in Memphis Saturday, stop by and say hello!

Finally, next Wednesday, April 22, I'll be in Collierville at the Morton Museum as part of the Meet the Authors luncheon.

This event is hosted by Southern Writers Magazine, and promises to be a blast!

I'm still writing, of course. The new Mug and Meralda book is well underway. I'm writing as fast as I can!

Which reminds me, time to get back to work. Take care all! See you next week!

Bonus Wednesday Blog Entry -- Tax Tips for Writers!

Certain eldritch signs portend various significant turnings of the year. Birds fly south. Or maybe north. Frankly I don't spend much time outdoors with a compass charting the movements of indecisive waterfowl.

But even a dedicated indoorsman such as myself can observe the anguished human faces on the street, and hear the plaintive cries of agony borne on the night wind (and no, I don't know from which direction the bloody wind is blowing, let's leave that to the meteorologists, shall we?).

Even I can see the chalk outlines left by those poor unfortunates who at last cried 'No more, enough!' before shuffling off their mortal coils by way of extreme over-tanning or actually eating a truck-stop pickled egg.

Even I know what dread event these signs portend -- tax time.

That's right, gentle readers, if you are a citizen of the US, it's that time of year when Uncle Sam takes you fondly by your ankles and shakes you until every last cent you've seen in the last year falls out of your pockets, because let's face it, war ain't cheap.

Now, if you've made any money off your writing in the last year, I'm here to help. Because if there's anything the US government holds dear, it's the idea that every American is free to earn a profit by the sweat of her brow and the set of his jaw. Equally sacred to the American governing psyche is the idea that they've got dibs on the first and biggest slice of that sweet free enterprise pie.

The first thing writers need to know about filing their writing income is this -- FILE IT. That story you sold to Ominous Bathroom Squeaks and Eldritch Attic Squeals Monthly for 15 bucks? That pair of flash-fiction entries you pawned off on Public Transit Funnies, a Bus Station Free Magazine for three bucks and a coupon for $2.00 off any foot-long club at Subway?

Maybe you're thinking 'Hey, why bother reporting that, nobody knows about those!'

How wrong you are, Grasshopper.

They know. Maybe it's the Carnivore communication surveillance system. Maybe the CIA has an Obscure Small Press Reporting Division. Maybe that mean-eyed old lady down the street is on the phone with the IRS every day, after she goes through your mail and steams open all the envelopes -- it doesn't matter how, but believe me, they know.

So, the first thing?

Report it.

Now if you've made any serious coin you've been sent a 1099-MISC from the publisher(s). You should keep up with these things. I used to put them in a folder and then lose the folder and then move to Mississippi and assume a new identity as Frank Tuttle when I realized I'd lost them all, but then I got married and she keeps important papers in a brilliant thing called a drawer. I'll bet you have some of these drawers  in your place too. Open them up and put stuff in them, it's an amazing time-saver compared to identity theft.

At the end of the year, you take all these 1099 forms, wipe the tears from your face, and enter them in the boxes according to the helpful prompts on the TurboTax software. When the crying diminishes to a bearable level, proceed.

Next, let's consider deductions. The word deductions comes from the Latin dede, which means 'not for,' and uction, which means 'you.' In tax parlance, deductions are money amounts which everyone but you can subtract from the taxes they owe.

For instance, I write on a PC. I built this PC myself, from components I purchased separately, for the sole purpose of writing.  Now, if I were anyone else, I could deduct the total cost of the machine from my taxes owed, since it's a business expense -- but since I am demonstrably me, this deduction does not apply, and, notes TurboTax, 'ha ha ha.'

See how that works? It truly simplifies filing.

Let's look at some other deductions which you, as a writer, cannot claim:

•  Home Office Deductions. Oh, you have an office, in which you write? Well, let's have a look. It can't be attached to your house. It can't house a TV or other casual entertainment device. It can't possibly, under any circumstances, be even remotely suited for any purpose other than writing, and it can't be very good at that. So you have a detached office which contains nothing but a chair, a desk, and a PC running nothing but Word? But it has a roof?  'Ha ha ha,' intones TurboTax. 'Trying to pull a fast one, are you? DENIED.'
• Office Expense Deductions.  You're a writer, and even the IRS grudgingly concedes that the act of writing might in some way involve putting down words on some medium, be it electronic or paper. Okay, this looks promising. You bought a printer to print out manuscripts. You pay for internet service because 1950 was 65 years ago. These seem to be legitimate deductions, so let's investigate further BUZZ HA HA HA NOT SO FAST, TAXPAYER! Those deductions are only valid in years  where acceptable total solar eclipses occur in northern Peru (see Schedule 117863-E, 'Solar Interruptions, South American Totality Table 167-75E, lines 46 through 78), and guess what pal, this ain't it.
• Other Deductions. Mitt Romney has a 376 page embossed-leather-bound acid-free paper book with gold-gilt edges filled with 'Other Deductions.' Are you Mitt Romney? Didn't think so. Move along.

Sadly, that about covers it. You've toiled over every word, you've poured over ever sentence, you've labored long into that good night trying to illuminate a single tiny facet of the flawed jewel that is the human condition.

Or, in other words, you've earned slightly more than minimum wage. 

Bon appetite, my friends!

And for the love of all that is holy, don't miss the filing deadline. 

187.5

Something very strange is going on out there, in the dark void beyond our galaxy.

Image via New Scientist

Odds are, you haven't even heard of it. Mainly because the mainstream media is obsessed with celebrity divorces or the latest political nonsense. But also because the story involves a lot of technical jargon.

But this may  -- and I say 'may' -- be actual evidence of an artificial (i.e., non-natural) radio signal, one created by entities unknown for purposes we simply can't yet fathom.

But let's back up a bit, all the way to 2001.

In 2001, astronomers first discovered a phenomena they would label 'Fast Radio Bursts,' or FRBs. These FRBs were very brief, quite intense bursts of unique radio noise that seem to originate from the deep dark between galaxies.

At first, they were considered a natural oddity. Analysis of the initial data suggested the source would be a small body (probably no more than a few hundred kilometers across) that somehow managed to emit brief bursts of radio waves with an energy equivalent to a month of our Sun's total energetic output.

What could do that?

No one knew. Theories abounded.

By 2014, nine of these FRBs had been intercepted and recorded. The tenth FRB was caught live by an Australian radio telescope, and that's when the mystery got suddenly much deeper.

Analysis of this tenth signal revealed something utterly unique -- there is a clear pattern embedded in the signal itself. You can read the article I linked below for the particulars, but aspects of the signal appear to be arranged so that the delay between the first waves of the signal and the last ones occurs on precise intervals which are ALWAYS a multiple of the number 187.5.

Think about that for a moment. Yes, we've seen other celestial bodies which appear to emit cyclic radio emission. Pulsars, for instance. But the deal with pulsars is this -- they only appear to be cyclic because they're spinning. Say some kids leave a laser pointer on a merry go round, and you're at the far end of the park. You might see a flash of light every second or so, and think someone is turning the laser pointer on and off. Actually, you're only seeing the beam when it turns to point at you. It stays on all the time, and only the motion of the merry-go-round grants the beam the illusion of a cycle. There's no one on the switch in the middle of a pulsar, so to speak.

We know that now.

But the FRBs aren't spinning. Something may -- and I'm saying may again -- have designed the FRB sources so that this mathematical ratio is maintained within the signal, for anyone with the technology and brains to figure it out.

Which would a monumental discovery. We would, for the first time, know that something somewhere was shaping radio signals.

Is that the case here?

It's way too soon to tell. People thought the first pulsar might be an alien radio beacon too, until closer observation revealed a massive stream of radio energy spewed out of a rotating magnetic field around an exotic celestial body.

But we don't know of any body that might produce FRBs. Heck, we don't know of any physical model that might account for FRBs and their odd mathematical qualities.

But it's exciting, because it might represent the beginning of a fundamental change in the way we perceive the universe.

Who knows what else might be hidden in that brief burst of radio noise? Maybe 187.5 is just a 'Hey, look here' tag, and the real meat of the message is encoded in what might at first appear to be nothing but noise.

I would love that. And I'm glad people are digging into this, even now.

Read the New Scientist article here.

MidSouthCon 33 Roundup

MidSouthCon Images!

I didn't take as many pictures at MidSouthCon33 as I have at past cons. Being in costume myself meant I couldn't carry my camera around all the time -- but I still managed to snap off a few, and I'm posting them below. Thanks to everyone who stopped and posed!

The Darrell Award

My novel THE FIVE FACES was one of the finalists for the 2015 Darrell Award for Best Novel. Despite some serious competition, The Five Faces won, and the award is shown below.

If you attend MidSouthCon, you should also buy a ticket for the Darrell Awards ceremony and banquet. The food is excellent, and the company -- well, you might find yourself seated with a theoretical physicist on your right, and an award-winning artist on your left. 

Which is true of pretty much anywhere at the Con.

I'm thrilled to get another Darrell Award for a Markhat novel. Writing is a lonely business, and having a body readers say 'Hey, we like what you did there' makes it all worthwhile!

Live (more or less) From MidSouthCon 33!

MidSouthCon 33 is winding down as I type this. The dealer room is emptying, cart by weary cart. The art gallery, which was amazing, is also slowly dispersing.

Panels are still in progress. Con-goers are still in full costume.

The only remaining part of my own cosplay get-up is my top hat. It's a testament to the creativity of con folk that I can be dressed in street clothes and a top hat and no one bats an eye because the guy next to me is wearing a dragon head and sporting wings.

I was the Toastmaster for MidSouthCon 33, and I can honestly say I've never had a better time. Meeting everyone, especially the other Guests of Honor, was a blast. It's a three-day party, a 72 hour celebration of science fiction and fantasy, of books and art, of imagination and creativity.

In a few days, I'll post a longer, far more detailed accounts of my adventures as Toastmistress. I say Toastmistress because that's how I was billed on the Con tee shirt, which I found hilarious. As an author, I'm so accustomed to typos they don't bug me. It happens, and in this case it was a great place to make a joke. Which was, after all, my job this weekend.

I'm exhausted. My hair is tired. Hauling my steampunk ghostbuster backpack not only aggravated the sciatica in my right leg but left me with the same feelings in my left. But I haven't missed a Sunday blog in lo these many years and I'm not about to start now.

So, enjoy the pics below. More will be coming.

To the amazing volunteers and staff and security and Guests of Honor and everyone associated with MidSouthCon and the Darrell Awards jury and organizers, I extend to you my most heartfelt thanks!

Oh -- speaking of the Darrell Awards, my book The Five Faces won this years Darrell Award for Best Novel!

I'm am truly psyched about that. And glad people are still enjoying Markhat, because I have many more books to write in that world.

Look familiar? You probably know him as Julio from The Walking Dead, but this cat is an amazing dude who not only acts but writes and produces. He's also one of the most positive, generous, and all-around gracious dudes you could ever hope to meet. Was good hanging with you Santiago!

Amazing costumes abounded!

Another new friend, the amazing and incomparable magician Johnny Del La Rocko!

Her eyes actually look healthier than mine right now...

Okay, it's nearly time for the closing ceremonies. Time for me to dust off my top hat and take the stage one last time as Toastmistress.

It's been a blast!

Pre-MidSouthCon Cosplay Pics!

MidSouthCon 33 is now less than a week away!

As this year's Toastmaster, I'm hoping to perform my duties in style. Specifically, a style right out of 1869.

The pic below is most but not all of my cosplay outfit. Missing is the gold monocle, the obligatory mechanical pocket watch with gold chain, and my steampunk ghostbuster's proton pack. But there's enough here to give you a good idea.

All the clothes were obtained from the Gentleman's Emporium. And I have to say, these are some awesome, well-made duds.

I'm wearing the Red River rust vest, a black puff tie, an Edwardian club shirt, and black Victorian trousers, complete with suspenders (braces). My hair, which is under the John Bull top hat, is slicked down with Brylcream. The shoes were stolen from the corpse of -- well, enough about that.

I can't say enough good things about the folks at the Emporium. They have an equally impressive line of period-authentic clothes for the ladies, too! Click here to browse the pics.

The ghostbuster's pack is done. Picks of it and the thrower are below. I'm really happy with it, and when everything is lit it's pretty darned nice.

Another view.

Markhat in the News

The Five Faces, the latest Markhat adventure, was reviewed a little while ago by Big Al's Books and Pals.

The reviewer gave the book five out of five stars. Now, The Five Faces has been nominated as a potential Reader's Choice Award selection!

What determines the winner of the Reader's Choice Award?

Not what, but who, and the who is you. 

Readers vote for nominees, and the book with the most votes wins. Can you tell where this is heading?

That's right! A plea and a link. Please vote, if you liked the book. I'd really appreciate it. So would Markhat and Darla. Who can resist Darla's big brown eyes?

Voting is quick and easy. All you have to do is click the link below. Go to the bottom of the page, find the contest box, sign in, and you're set. The Five Faces is in the Fantasy category. 

Thanks! 

That's it for now. Next weekend expect live updates from MidSouthCon 33! If you're going to be there, look me up -- I won't be hard to spot. 

You can also check out my Con schedule my going to the Con website www.midsouthcon.org, selecting Programming, then Schedule, and then entering my name in the search box. I'm on several panels, so stop by!

Lunch With The Authors

Lunch With the Authors

Just a heads-up, gang -- on April the 22nd, I'll be taking part of a 'Lunch with the Authors' event at the Collierville Morton Museum in Collierville, Tennessee.

I'll be one of the seven authors reading from our books and discussing the mysterious ways of the publishing industry. We'll also be signing books and taking questions, so if you're anywhere near Collierville on the 22nd and have some free time between noon and 3 PM, drop by the Museum!

I'm excited about this event. The other authors are an amazing bunch, and frankly I can't wait to ask them a few questions myself. There's Steve Bradshaw, author of the Bell trilogy, Lisa Turner, author of A Little Death in Dixie, and a host of other great writers. 

I'm still deciding what I'll be reading from. Probably one of the Markhat books. Any suggestions are welcome!

MisSouthCon Update

MidSouthCon 33 is just a couple of weeks away! I'm really looking forward to meeting some of my online friends in person for the first time. Heck, I may even shave, and put on shoes.

The Guests of Honor list this year is truly impressive, despite my presence within it. Here's a brief rundown of the guests:

Cory Doctorow, Author Guest of Honor.

You don't need me to tell you who Cory Doctorow is. All I have to do is glance at my bookshelf to see his titles leaping out. Little Brother, Rapture of the Nerds, Homeland -- just being in the same room with Mr. Doctorow will probably give me a +5 boost on my Avoiding Adverbs roll. He's that good. Better than that good.

Melissa Gay, Artist Guest of Honor

Wow. Here's a link to Melissa's webpage, at which you can view some of her amazing art. Click www.melissagay.com to see what I mean. Her line art is maybe my favorite -- especially this one, which reminds me of Markhat sneaking down a dark Rannite alley.

Melissa is so cool one of her works was even featured on io9 last week. If you don't visit io9 regularly, you should -- it's a wonderfully entertaining and informative mishmash of media, art, and science news! Melissa's piece is her version of Red Sonja, and Melissa rightly put some clothes on the woman, because CLOTHES, people. Melissa's Red Sonja art.

Ethan Van Sciver, Comics Artist

Ethan's comic art includes work on The Green Lantern, Batman, and Superman, which means he can basically recite those names, drop the mic, and strut offstage to massive applause. Batman. Need I say more? No, I do not! 

Dragon Dronet, Costuming/Media Guest of Honor

You guys know I like making SF/fantasy props. But Dragon Dronet not only makes wildly inventive props for TV and films, he's also a stuntman and an action choreographer. He's worked on Star Trek, Babylon 5, and a slew of other titles you'd recognize instantly. I can't wait to see what he thinks about my steampunk ghostbuster backpack!

Elizabeth Donald, Editor Guest of Honor

Elizabeth Donald is a rare bird. She's a fiction writer, newspaper columnist, and now an editor. That's a lot of hats for the same head! She's also a fellow Darrell Award winner, and I'm looking forward to pestering her with the endless stream of questions that occur whenever a writer manages simultaneously get an editor in a room and block the room's only exit. 

Ethan Siegel, Science Guest of Honor

Ethan Siegel's Spartan cosplay is impressive, but not nearly as impressive as his academic resume. Ethan has a PhD in theoretical astrophysics, writes a monthly column for NASA, and maintains one of the best science blogs out there. Check it out at Starts with a BANG!

Santiago Cirilo, Special Guest of Honor

Special Guest Santiago Cirilo's achievements run the gamut from 101st Airborne Infantry to Special Forces translator to maker of personal guitars for Kid Rock and Keith Urban. Another polymath, Santiago is a skeptic, a voracious reader, and a pursuer of knowledge.

Frank Tuttle, Toastmaster

Doubtlessly added to the list as the result of a clerical error. Frank Tuttle is widely known as 'that guy over there, no wait, not him, the other one.' Frank's writing has appeared in various magazines, usually before they vanished forever without comment. Critical acclaim for Frank's novels would come as a surprise to everyone, including Frank himself. But it must be noted that Frank has procured a sweet hat for the Con. 

Latest Pics of the Steampunk BackPack

Below are the latest shots. Yes, my workbench gets messy when I'm working on a piece. Oddly enough, it stays neat between projects, but this view is the result of hours of work. I could have moved the pack and thrower to the rug for the pic, but Petey was taking a nap and also I am lazy.

That's it for today! Be safe out there people.

Rare As Mississippi Snow

Most of you are sick of snow.

So I apologize for posting snow pics. But you see, I live in Mississippi, where snow is a rare event. Snow, like funding for education or low body mass indexes, is a thing that usually happens far, far away from Mississippi.

But last week, it snowed here. We got 4 inches of the frozen white stuff. The town all but shut down for two whole days.

Here is how my wife felt about this rare Mississippi snow.

The author is shown below frolicking, as is the way of his people.

I like the pics above and below because they captured the color of the sky during the snow. Again, that's not something we often see here.

Chief subject-verb agreement dog Lou Ann enjoyed the snow as well, after she gave it a good barking.

Her enthusiasm for the cold white stuff quickly dimmed, though, as evidenced by the stink-eye directed toward Winter shown below:

The snow is gone now, leaving behind nothing but mud, sadly slumping snowmen, and a flurry of auto insurance claims.

MidSouthCon 33 Update

MidSouthCon 33 is fast approaching!

I'm nearly ready. I've done some additional work on my steampunk ghostbuster proton pack, and I've ordered the rest of my Victorian gentleman's ensemble from the Gentleman's Emporium.

Here are the latest proton pack pics. You'll notice a lot of detail work has been added -- mainly in the form of heavy-gauge copper wires and various fittings. I've also got a new light effect, which turned out to be hard to photograph.

See the glowing red copper conduit running from top to bottom? That's the new feature. I took clear plastic tubing and spray-painted it copper. Then I filled it with red EL wiring, and scored the paint on the outside. Under bright room lights, you can't tell it's been scored, since the tubing is clear and all you see is copper. But turn the lights down low and turn the EL wiring on, and the whole thing glows an eerie red. It looks good with the blue glow of the thrower and the round dingus at the bottom of the pack.

If anyone reading this plans on attending MidSouthCon 33, please come find me there! I'll be the guy in the John Bull top hat and the red vest wearing this thing on my back. Come get your picture taken and also help me up from the floor where I have collapsed from the weight of this rig.

Obligatory Book Plug

Now available for pre-order everywhere!

Should I post a brief excerpt?

Yeah, I should.

Excerpt from THE DARKER CARNIVAL:

I woke early, not rested and aching.

I heard Buttercup’s tiny bare banshee feet scamper across my roof. She giggled, and then she was gone.

Darla slumbered at my side. Her hair, black and soft as crow feathers, hung across her face. I brushed it away from her eyes and laid a kiss on her cheek and then slipped out of bed. Cornbread, the shaggy mutt that shares our home, settled into the warm spot I just vacated and wagged his tail once in thanks before snoring off into doggy dreamland.

I dressed in the dark. I tiptoed across the red Balptist rug in the living room with my shoes in my hands, got the door open and shut and locked without making a sound. I know which of the porch floorboards creak, since I loosened the nails myself, so I stepped over them and made it all the way to our waist-high iron gate before pausing to put on my shoes.

I watched my bedroom window. No match flared, no candle came quickly to life. Cornbread obliged me by not barking or scratching at my door.

Buttercup slipped her cold banshee hand into mine. I’m so used to having her sneak up on me I no longer jerk or start.

“Good morning, sweetie,” I whispered. “You’re glowing. Let’s play the hiding game, right now.”

The golden radiance that flowed from her died. She giggled and raised a finger to her lips, as I did the same.

I glanced about at my neighbors’ windows. None were lit.

And even if they had seen, what would they say?

Buttercup tugged at me, pulling in the direction of Cambrit Street, whence lay my office and, I suspected, a plate of Mama Hog’s biscuits and sorghum molasses.

The sun was more than an hour from rising. Curfew was still in effect across Rannit, which meant anyone a peckish halfdead caught outside was fair game for breakfast, and I was standing in the street with both my shoes untied.

But I had a vampire revolver in my right pocket and a ten thousand year-old banshee holding my left hand and I’d walked with the slilth not so long ago.

Boot soles scraped cobbles. My hand found the butt of my revolver.

Buttercup giggled and pointed down the street before vanishing.

A man walked out of the night and into the dim, wobbling glow of a street-lamp.

I relaxed my grip on the revolver, but didn’t pull my hand away. I could tell at once my fellow Curfew-breaker was no halfdead. He shuffled, for one thing, walking slowly while dragging a noisy burden on a wheeled contrivance behind him.

Like any breed of the rich, halfdead seldom roam the streets dragging their own carts. Too, this man’s hat was a shapeless, baggy lump, not one of Breed Street’s crisp starched offerings.

The man saw me, halted, waved.

“Good morning to you, friend,” he said. He pitched his voice carefully, so that it just reached my ears, but wouldn’t carry much further. “Might I inquire as to whether you live hereabouts?”

I wasn’t sure he could see a head-shake, so I took a half dozen steps ahead and spoke.

“Nope,” I replied. “I’m just a man out for a stroll.”

He nodded, smiling. “Well, count your lucky stars, man out for a stroll. They call me Shango. Shango the storm-sniffer. I’ve walked all night, following a stink. And it leads right to yonder door.”

He pointed out the door. Naturally, he pointed out my door.

The spear-ends of shiny steel rods poked through the tarp on his cart, here and there. Some were worked into the shapes of angels. Some as devils. One worked in the shape of a half-moon turned in the dim lamp-light.

I sighed.

“I’m guessing you sell lightning rods,” I said. The Church tried and failed to outlaw lighting rods inside Rannit a few weeks ago, apparently on the basis that the long steel sticks committed the cardinal sin of actually preventing lightning strikes. “Thwarting the will of the Heavens,” cried the priests. “I’ll take two,” cried the homeowners. Now the streets were lousy with lightning rod salesmen.

He shot out of his slouch. “Indeed I do,” he said. “But not ordinary lightning rods. No, friend. I sell the kind of lightning rods even the rich cannot buy.”

“Good for you,” I said. I started walking, hoping he didn’t notice my damned traitor shoe-laces flopping at my heels. “Now if you don’t mind, I always take my breakfast with the Regent.”

He laughed, but he kept the sound low. “Won’t you at least have a look, Mr. Markhat? Won’t you at least have a look?”

I produced my pistol and let him see it.

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

“But I told you mine,” he said. If the thick black bulk of my vampire-built revolver gave him pause, his dirty face didn’t show it. “Shango. I smell storms. I can’t hold back the wind, friend, but I can damn sure turn the lightning.” He nodded back at his cart. “No man should lack protection from the fickle wrath of Heaven.”

“I’ve got all the protection I need.”

“No,” he said. His eyes, which I still hadn’t seen beneath the bill of his pork-pie hat, glittered just for an instant as the moon briefly peeked out from the clouds. “I tell you plain, Mr. Markhat, that you do not.”

“Get out of my way.”

“I’m not what’s in your way, friend,” he said. He stepped aside, sniffing at the air. “I’ll be working these parts for a while, I will. Ask for Shango, should you change your mind. Ask for Shango.”

I put my gun back in my jacket pocket.

About the time the squeak of his cart’s wheels bit into the silence, Buttercup took my hand again.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” I said, and with Buttercup skipping beside me I walked all the way to Cambrit, without a lightning rod of any kind to guard me from the fickle wrath of Heaven.

...and that's all I'm posting! You can read the whole thing starting April 28. And just so you don't get busy and forget, you can take your click-happy little fingers here and reserve a copy, if you want.

Book Release!

A good friend of mine, Elyse Salpeter, released a new book!

Here's the link. These are great books, check them out!

Quest for the Empty Tomb

Final Words

On a sad note indeed, we in the SF/F community lost a legend this week. You know who I mean.

Live long and prosper, my friends.

Something Well-Dressed This Way Comes

The big news this week, of course, is below....

The new Markhat novel, The Darker Carnival, is available for pre-order on Amazon!

The book goes on sale April 28, but Amazon, ever helpful, is now taking advance orders. Click below to see the product page, read the blurb, and gaze in wide-eyed wonder at the awesome cover art!

The Darker Carnival Amazon pre-order!

Prefer Nook books? No problem, the Barnes & Noble pre-order page is live too. Here's a link.

The Darker Carnival at Barnes & Noble

If you'd rather order direct from the publisher, the Samhain page is also up and running. They'll let you choose from any format at all.

The Darker Carnival from Samhain (all formats)

Kobo is also set up to take pre-orders!

The Darker Carnival from Kobo

So choose your flavor and dive right in.

MidSouthCon News

MidSouthCon 33 is right around the corner -- less than a month away now. If you haven't signed up or booked your room at the Hilton, you'd better hurry! The Con space will fill up fast, if it hasn't already.

I'll be there, and I'm on a number of panels this year. I'm even hosting one -- "Humor in Fantasy." So if you've ever wondered how to use humor in your own writing, you'd probably want to avoid this panel because so far my presentation notes consist of suggestions on where in the room to hide.

I do hope to read and then deconstruct a couple of humorous passages and scenes. Humor is one of the most effective tools in the writer's toolbox, but it's also the riskiest. A joke that falls flat is likely to take the book down with it.

But we'll talk about that in the panel! Come prepared with questions and small airplane bottles of hard liquor for the author. That way he might get distracted and you can all slip out and go watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show screening instead.

I've been working on my steampunk Ghostbusters proton pack, and it's nearly finished.

If you remember the last set of images I posted, the thrower part of the pack was a big long copper thing that actually shot confetti. Well, it's nice, and it works, but it's also huge and heavy. So I've built a second much smaller thrower that I'm pleased with. Pics of both are below!

Step Right Up -- The Darker Carnival Can Be Pre-ordered!

Markhat fans, I have great news!

The new Markhat novel, The Darker Carnival, is now available for pre-order on Amazon!

The book goes on sale April 28, but Amazon, ever helpful, is now taking advance orders. Click below to see the product page, read the blurb, and gaze in wide-eyed wonder at the awesome cover art!

The Darker Carnival Amazon pre-order!

I'm excited about this book. It is, I believe, the best thing I've ever written.

But you can judge that for yourself in April!

Possum Jackets

I have a book signing this Wednesday!

Fig. 7A. In which the Author demonstrates his usual decorum and restraint.

The signing is being sponsored by a Collierville book club. A portion of all sales go to charity, which is always a good thing, and I get a chance to stumble my way through a presentation in front of a new potential audience.

I'm always nervous before any kind of public event. There's so much potential for disaster, a small part of my brain is quick to point out. What if your belt inexplicably gives way, and your pants fall down? What if feral opossums have nested in your seldom-worn sports coat, and emerge during the reading? What if you you are suddenly possessed by A'Sha'Dasa, infernal Lord of the Inappropriate Anecdote Delivered to a Room of Horrified Elegant Ladies?

I really hate it when that last one happens.

But I'm sure everything will be just fine, and I'll even shake out my sports coat before leaving home.

Here are a few tricks I like to use to keep the audience engaged during a signing. Use them at your own discretion, and in accordance with the laws governing your city, state, nation, or planet of residence.

• Bring a target pistol. Nothing drives home a printed exclamation point like discharging a pistol to add emphasis. 
• If you can't voice your own characters well when reading dialog, bring along a troupe of voice actors, and remember -- there's ALWAYS room for interpretive dance.
• Deal with hecklers as you would any small game animal. If the venue is a library, use a silencer, or brass knuckles.
• Don't put out a tip jar unless you also put out a dance pole.
• Most venues suggest your reading consist of no more than 3 to 5 minutes. I say give people more than they expect; read your entire book, except for the last page. It's not your fault the audience didn't bring cushions, or supper.
• Make yourself stand out of the crowd with proper dress, good grooming, and a live chicken strapped to your head. Nobody ignores a live chicken. Nobody.
• If a cell phone rings during your reading, laugh it off politely and continue. You don't want a repeat of Chicago. So much blood. So. Much. Blood.
• Remember, you're an author. It is widely and correctly assumed that authors are walking compendiums of mental illnesses, substance abuse issues, and rampant Bohemianism. If you climb atop the podium midway through your reading, strip down to a Wonder Woman costume, and have a sudden violent altercation with a stuffed aardvark, people will just take that as the signal that a fresh wine and cheese tray has arrived and will act accordingly.

In other news, progress on the new (new) book continues. See you all next week!

Write Or Be Rich!

Lately I'be been inundated with ads and emails of a certain singular nature.

"Write Your Way to Riches!"
"Quit Your Day Job and Write Full Time!"
"How to Publish Your Way to Financial Security!"
"Write and Grow Extra Appendages!"

I made that last one up, although now that I've released it to the internet a spambot out there is already parsing it and thinking 'Yeah, okay, makes sense."

I don't bother clicking n any of these pleas that I garner vast wealth simply through the brilliance of my prose. I am writing, and I am selling, but I enjoy a distinct lack of urgent attention from Porsche salespeople, and I receive very few inquiries from shipyards concerning the trim on my luxury yacht.

Writing your way to being rich, as a business plan, is right up there with 'traveling to Europe via a hot-air balloon assembled from items in your garage.' Technically, it might be possible. If tens of thousands of people tried it, a few might make it across the Atlantic.

But most will wind up bobbing in the drink. That's just a reality.

I blame TV and the movies for the odd notion that publishing a book brings immediate wealth. How many TV and movie characters find themselves on whirlwind book tours, or buying new houses with cash, after their first sale? How many fictional authors live in luxury and ease, without ever appearing to, you know, write (I'm looking at you, Castle)?

What annoys me most about these silly tropes is that a writer had to write them down. A writer had to push aside his daily bowl of congealed Ramen noodles, take a swig of warm Discount Brand beer, and use the instantly-wealthy author as a plot device. I'm left to shake my head and ponder why any writer would commit such a heinous act of treachery.

Wish fulfillment? Bitter irony? Do scriptwriters actually make that much money?

I have no idea.

What I do know is that the writing business is located a vast gulf away from the realm of easy money portrayed by the spam emails and the media.

Writing itself is work. Hard work. It's not just typing. And even when you put in the hours and do everything right, there's no guarantee you'll see any sales. Worse, there's no guarantee you'll live long enough to see your wild fame rise and grow. Poor Edgar Allen Poe never knew he'd adorn tee shirts a century after his death. Note to the Universe: If I'm going to be on tee shirts, I want to see that. Make it so.

So, to add authenticity to the spam emails and the fly-by-night 'writing courses' and sketchy vanity presses, here are a few fact-based subject lines they should consider.

"Writing Your Way to Skinny: The Royalty-Only Author Diet!"
"Which Organs You Can Safely Sell, and Where: The Author's Guide to Supplemental Income"
"Deals With the Devil for Dummies"
"Scratch and Dent Canned Soup of the Month Club"

You're welcome, spammers and scammers.

Meralda and Mug News

The new installment in the Mug and Meralda series hit a minor snag this week when I realized each of the 78 pages completed thus far shared one small flaw -- they sucked.

Well, that's a bit harsh. The pages themselves weren't bad, but they weren't the book I want to write, either. So, after a few days of blank staring and incoherent mumbling, I've figured out where the whole thing went wrong (page one, chapter one) and I know how to fix it.

All those hours of work? Gone, but not wasted. Yes, I'm starting over, but I try to look at it this way -- charging off in the wrong direction led me to the unexpected clearing that caused me to pause, blink in the sudden sunlight, and realize I'd been going the wrong way all along.

That's just the way it happens, sometimes. You take a few deep breaths, start a new file, and keep going.

All the Turns of Light

All the Paths of Shadow

Markhat News

The Darker Carnival will be available for pre-order on March 29! Here's the 'coming soon' page at Samhain, including the funny warning label for the book.

The Darker Carnival

That's it for this week! Remember, tonight is the season premier of The Walking Dead! If you're a Walking Dead fan -- even if you're not -- you should watch the short video I'm posting a link to. It's hilarious -- love the singing walkers -- and you don't need to watch the show to enjoy it.

Carl Poppa

You can't handle my flow!

Cosplay and Cons and Certain Bad Behavior

From MidSouthCon 32.

I'm giving you guys a break from steampunk ghostbuster pics this weekend. I'm still working on the rig, sure, but the changes have been subtle and the number one rule of blogging is 'Don't bore your audience.'

So I'll post pics when significant progress has been made.

Also from last year's Con.

I did mention that this year's MidSouthCon will mark my entry into the world of cosplay, as I'll be attending in full Victorian steampunk regalia. I'm looking forward to it, largely because I'm a big believer in never acting one's age, but also because the people I've seen engaging in cosplay always seemed to be having fun.

But as I started reading about cosplay at cons, another side of the experience was revealed to me, and it's not a pretty side, either.

Yes, I'm talking about the awful treatment some female cosplayers endure at Cons.

I must be pretty naive. I always thought of SF/fantasy cons as safe places, where intelligent, imaginative people gather to celebrate the art and literature for which they share a love. That's what I've seen, in the four or five years I've been attending MidSouthCon.

But sadly, that's not everyone's experience. I read a lot of accounts by cosplayers (female, almost exclusively) who were groped, insulted, stalked, mocked, or even assaulted because of their costumes. No, not at MidSouthCon, let me make that clear. I haven't read of anyone being troubled there.

Let me just say this to my male counterparts who will be attending the Con. I know most of you are upright gentlemen, who wouldn't dream of grabbing a woman simply because she's in costume.

So it's up to us -- all of us -- to keep an eye out for the few among us who might stoop to such bestial behavior.

We men can all help. Don't laugh at crude remarks. Don't encourage lewd conversations. Make it known that you neither condone nor tolerate such things. If we, the menfolk, can establish an air of civility, we've eliminated at least one aspect of the environment that fosters bad behavior.

Yeah, okay, I sound like I'm preaching. Maybe I am, a little bit. But I believe I'll find a lot of support among men, especially if enough of us come forward and say out loud 'We don't want this behavior in our ranks, and we won't tolerate it, either.'

I know this attitude is shared by all the men I've met at MidSouthCon. And I'm proud of that.

So, fellow gentlemen of cons and cosplay, let be vigilant. As my cosplay character Artemis Watson would say, "There should be no room among gentlemen for crudity against ladies, and no tolerance for those who would practice it."

Good day.

Steampunk Ghostbuster Part 3: MidSouthCon 33

For the last couple of weeks, I'm been working on a steampunk ghostbuster's backpack unit. That build is nearly complete; all I need to add are a few finishing touches, some antiquing, and of course the straps that will (hopefully) keep the back on my back.

But the pack is only half the device. There's a hand-held 'thrower' unit that attaches to the pack via a thick cable. The thrower emits the stream of luminescent rarefied aether which allows our intrepid steampunk hero to capture pesky specters.

My thrower comes with a built-in surprise, which I hope will lend a bit of theater to the Con's opening ceremony.

Below are the parts which went into the thrower:

As you can see, there's nothing extravagant here. Mostly, it's sturdy high-pressure (schedule 40) PVC pipe and a few fittings. The gray thing with the red handle is a 2 inch ball valve. The gauge is a working 0 to 100 PSI air pressure gauge. The other metal item is a simple air fill valve.

After drilling and threading holes for the valve and the gauge, I used PVC solvent to build the rest. Then I painted it copper and added a few touches of texture here and there. The thrower isn't quite finished, but you get the idea.

What's the surprise, you ask?

It's a surprise. Some of you have probably already figured it out. If not, I'm saving it for the MidSouthCon 33 opening ceremony.

Here's the pack and the thrower, shown together from various angles:

This thing is going to be beautiful once the final finish is applied. Beautiful and heavy -- I think the pack alone weighs around 35 pounds.

I also picked out a hat, and it's on its way here. I choose a John Bull top hat, shown below:

Hey, you can't be a proper steampunk gentleman without an excellent hat. Going about hatless just isn't done, old chap.

Hey Look I Still Have Books to Sell!

Wherein Our Hero plugs a few of his titles, because 2 inch ball valves and elegant top hats aren't cheap.

All the Turns of Light -- Airships! Sea Monsters! Magic gone mad! And coffee, lots of coffee...

The Five Faces -- A murderer taunts his victims with drawing depicting the date and manner of their gruesome deaths. The killer hasn't been wrong yet -- and now Markhat's drawing has arrived. Can any man, even Markhat, escape Fate?

The Darker Carnival -- Out in April, so be watching for it!

Steampunk Ghostbuster, Part 2: MidSouthCon 33

In yesterday's blog (click here if you missed it), I started building a steampunk ghostbuster's backpack. I got a lot of work done today on the pack, and while the unit is a long way from being done, I'd thought I'd share a few pics in a rare non-Sunday blog post.

Here's the rig, with some copper and widgets added:

Please keep in mind none of the actual detail work has started yet. This is all rough high-level stuff going on. It's the little details that really bring a piece to life, and those aren't there yet, but I'm still pretty pleased with the look.

At the bottom of the rig -- to the far right in the picture above -- you'll see a blue disk-shaped affair. That part lights up, and it;s working. Below is a pic of the EL wiring in action.

It produces the eerie blow glow I was looking for. I'll hide the red LED and the power/switch unit with widgets later.

The main problem I'm going to face is the sheer weight of the backpack. All that copper and steel isn't light. I may have to hire an able-bodied assistant to discretely follow me around and hold the pack up if it gets any heavier.

After the antiquing and the detail work is done, I'll start work on the thrower, which will attach to the backpack via a flexible metallic conduit. The point of attachment will be the copper thing sticking up from the center on the far left in the first photo.

The thrower will also incorporate some lighted elements.

That's it for now -- more pics this weekend!

Steampunk Ghostbuster, Part 1: MidSouthCon 33

It takes a lot to get most writers excited. Face it, we're a surly, neurotic bunch, constantly over-caffeinated, often sleep-deprived, and our heads all ache from staring at the dreaded blank page that, unless filled, means the end of our stint as an author.

But if you'll look at the MidSouthCon image above, you'll see something that actually made me perk up. Why, I even went so far as to open both eyes and even rise from my customary slump -- because my name is suddenly on the same page with luminaries such as Cary Doctorow and Melissa Gay.

I'm not comparing myself with Cory Doctorow. I'm not worthy to cap the man's pen -- but as Toastmaster of MidSouthCon 33, I'll get to sit at the table with the real Guests of Honor and hang out with them under no threat of being removed by security.

Not bad for a Mississippi kid most often described as 'that weird dude from Yocona.'

As Toastmaster , I get to speak at the opening ceremonies of the Con. I'll also be hosting a writing panel, entitled 'Humor in Fantasy' (dates and times to be announced). So if you're aspiring author or a reader who wants a peek behind the curtain, I invite you to look me on on the Con schedule and drop by.

I've attended MidSouthCon many times, but always in street clothes. This year, hang on to your top hats, gentle readers, because I am coming in full-blown cosplay, as Artemis Watson, Spectral Elimination Agent.

In other words, a steampunk ghostbuster.

My clothing I'm going to keep under wraps until the day of the Con itself. But what is a ghostbuster, even one from 1888, without his trusty positron collider backpack and beam thrower?

A sad man in a bowler hat, that's what. Since I can't exactly order a steampunk ghostbuster backpack rig from Amazon, I'm building my own, and I'm going to record the build here, week by week, in my blog.

Now, just in case you've never seen the movie classic 'Ghostbusters,' here's the proton pack from the original movie:

It's a nice piece of special effects gear. It looks just techy enough to be convincing.

But as my own rig needs to use the technology of a fictional Victorian 1888, my pack is going to be a bit different. No machined steel, no decals, no modern insultaed cables. Wood and brass and copper were the order of the day.

Now, keeping in mind I'm a writer, you can probably guess what my budget for this project might be. Go on, guess, and if you chose '20 bucks or less,' grab yourself a gold star.

So, of to my junk crate went I, heavy of heart but filled with purpose. Here are the parts I selected, minus the 3 inch PVC sewer pipes that didn't make it into the picture:

It's a humble pile of what can accurately be called junk. Plumbing leftovers, wire, defective engine parts, a toilet fill assembly, old printer cables -- just junk.

Now view the same junk (and a few strays added along the way) after being painted one of three colors -- gloss black, hammered brass, or bright copper. With no rhyme or reason employed to select what bits of junk wound up painted what. Let Chaos have a hand, I say.

It's all still junk, but now it's junk on a mission. And that mission is to somehow fit together into what fools people momentarily into believing they are looking at a machine of some sort.

I needed something to serve as a frame for my machine, and as luck would have it I found an old wooden serving tray that was stored improperly and wound up curling due to contact with moisture. The curvature is perfect to work as a backpack, and the dimensions of the board were just right. I sanded it, stained it, and then I spent most of today bolting various items of junk to it.

I give you the basic main component installation of my Victorian ghostbuster rig.

It is by no means finished. No. The finished version will feature lights -- lots of them. There will also be copper tubes and brass wires running everywhere, as well as dials and meters.

This is just the skeleton. Fleshing it out will take days. Imagine each of the doo-dads pictured above connected to all the others. Oh, and the bottom-most thingamabob?

It's transparent over parts of its surface. I'm going to fill it with eerie blue LED or EL lighting, to give the rig some flash. A lot of the exterior wiring will also glow, since EL (electroluminescent) wiring has gotten so cheap even I can afford it.

The weird rings are actually worn-out clutch plates from my motorcycle. The tall black thing beneath the crossing of the cables is the agitator motor from a Dyson vacuum cleaner. The cable things are old school serial printer cables, and the lighted display at the bottom is a CD-ROM case with part of an old deadbolt door lock housing attached.

The whole thing is a little more than two feet tall and about 14 inches wide (perfect as a back-pack). It's already pretty bloody heavy, and I haven't even put batteries in the tubes yet. I used bolts to attach everything, so there was a lot of drilling, but other than that the construction is basic.

I'd post a plan here but I don't have any such thing. I grab parts and if they look cool together and I can figure out how to make them fit, yay, they get added. Which is also my approach to life, I suppose, and yes it does result in the occasional hot mess.

Once the backpack is complete, I'll bolt a leather harness to it, and start work on the hand-held beam emitter. And I'll post all the pics here.

Oh yeah -- buy a book! Or leave a review! Remember, every purchase helps fund my acquisition of old vacuum cleaner parts and out-of-date discount bread. Thank you very much.

All the Turns of Light 

The Five Faces