Things That Go Bump: Thomas House Edition #2

As I mentioned last week, I'll soon be taking a trip to the Thomas House in Tennessee, in hopes of recording some of the haunting activity frequently reported there.

I'll take a camera, of course, but my strategy is concentrate on capturing audio phenomena. To that end, I've collected my gear, and here's what I'll be taking:

* A homemade Velleman stereo super-ear amp, with digital recorder onboard.

* A homemade magnetic sensor. This device is extremely sensitive, and it transduces EM signals down to audio. Which means if everyone's K2 meters light up, I can stick my nosy 2-foot-long probe near the spot. If the source of the reading is, for example, common house electrical current, the mag box will retun the unmistakable sound of 60 Hz house current. It's also sensitive enough to pick up cell phone emissions, which I suspect are another common source of K2 readings. The mag box also has full-time digital recording (like the Velleman, by means of a small digital voice recorder Velcroed to the side.)

* A parabolic mic with full-time digital audio recording. The parabolic is too large and unwieldy to walk around with, so I'll just set it up in some lonely, out of the way spot, turn it on, and let it record. Maybe a ghost will get careless and complain about all the live people tramping around and I'll catch that.

* A so-called 'Tesla radio,' also equipped with a digital recorder. This is basically an untuned AM radio, with weird antennas Signals drift in and out willy-nilly, and since some researchers believe communication is possible with such a device, I'm bringing one. 

* Finally, my trusty Zoom H1 field mic, which is tough, sensitive, and capable of truly detailed recordings. 

Below are some snapshots of the gear.

Why yes, it is homemade. Since parabolics run 600 and higher even for small ones, I won't be buying one anytime soon. Recording is straight to a Dell netbook. This little rig works well, even if it is basically a squirrel-shield and leftover parts from other projects. Oh, and why does it having a blinking red LED? 

Clear disk. Dark, unfamiliar room. With the LED blinking away maybe I won't walk into it again.

Next up, the Tesla.

There's a story about Nikola Tesla building a very primitive radio in his laboratory and listening to it late in the night. The story goes that he heard things he couldn't explain, and since this took place well before the advent of commercial radio stations, and since Tesla invented basically every bit of electrical technology we enjoy today, a lot of people take the story seriously. 

Hey, it looks cool, it's sensitive to a broad spectrum of radio frequencies, and it cost me 13 bucks to build. You've got an old-school germanium diode, a tiny capacitor or two, and then I added a preamp and topped it off with a quarter-watt audio amp and a cheap digital voice recorder. So speak into the spiral antenna, Miss Ghost, and be heard.

Last, a couple of items. Pictured below are the Velleman super ear and its recorder, on the left. On the right of the Velleman is the mag box, also with its recorder. The small black box on the far right is a Ramsey Electronics Tri-Field recorder, which can reveal the presence of electric fields, magnetic fields, or RF fields. 

Also shown is a sonic screwdriver, because who goes ghost hunting without one, right?

The mag box has a two-foot-long probe. Here's a picture of the magnetic sensor at the end:

I hope it's safe to say I'll be able to cover the entire audio spectrum and a good wide swath of the EM spectrum, too. 

The downside of all this, of course, will be the mind-numbingly boring task of listening to each and every minute of everything recorded by all the recorders. 

That's the real glamor of engaging in paranormal research -- listening intently to fifteen hours of audio in hopes of catching a single muttered 'Hey.' 

Switching gears from ghost hunting to writing for a moment, noted book reviewer Big Al reviewed the latest Markhat novel, THE DARKER CARNIVAL.

You can read the review by clicking here. The reviewer liked the book -- always a nervous moment, believe me, reading a book review of your own book -- so I'm thrilled. 

Here's an excerpt from the review: "It is a rollercoaster ride of twists and dead-ends until puzzle pieces start falling into place. Then Markhat finds himself confronted with something he never imagined he would find himself doing or having the will to carry out."

Now that's what any writer wants to see!

If you're curious, you can still buy THE DARKER CARNIVAL from Amazon by clicking here.

Things That Go Bump: Thomas House Edition #1

I've always wanted to spend the night in an alleged haunted house.

Finally, the time has come. Soon I'll be joining the Historical Haunts crew for an overnight stay at the famous Thomas House Hotel, a site rumored to be positively teaming with ghosts, spectres, haunts, haints, boogers, poltergeists, shades, revenants, tulpas, pookas, shadow people, and at least one confused Irish leprechaun who wishes people would stop laughing at the buckles on his shoes.

Seriously, the Thomas House has a certain reputation for frequent unexplained phenomena that stretches back quite a few years. Built in 1890 by the Cloyd family, the Hotel was a lavish estate, catering to the wealthy who flocked to the area to partake of the hot mineral springs thought at the time to promote health. 

There was a golf course, riding trails, and at one point a pet bear was housed on the premises. There were also a number of deaths (a child drowned in a swimming pool, and a rider suffered a fatal fall from a horse) and several fires. 

Most of the activity seems to be fairly typical -- knocks, disembodied voices, cold spots, dragging sounds, even a few moving apparitions. 

People have captured a few interesting experiences. Here, for instance, four musical notes sound and are captured by a video camera:

MUSICAL NOTES

And here is a clip of a child's voice, in a room where no children were present:

CHILD'S VOICE

I'll be thrilled if I can catch anything so clear.

Since I plan to focus primarily on capturing EVPs on this visit, I'm bringing out the big guns. Namely, my homebuilt parabolic microphone, which I plan to install in a quiet place somewhere, preferably with a nice long line of sight. 

I've added a new feature to the parabolic. This time, it will be connected to an old Dell netbook, which will record directly from the mic. This way, I'll be able to quickly scroll through the recording while I'm at the Thomas House, without waiting to dump the audio file from a tiny digital recorder before sitting down to listen to the whole file. 

Here's what the whole rig looks like. Please excuse the state of the lab; Igor is visiting relatives in Transylvania all this month.

The parabolic element (the clear dish-shaped thing) is actually a $20 'squirrel shield' built to hang above bird feeders. The tripod is an old junker with a bubble level that does a nice job of holding up the dish. The mic is held at the dish's focal point by a band of sheet metal. A small battery-powered preamp boosts the signal, and the little Dell netbook records it live, using Audacity sound processing software, which is free.

Here's a close-up of the Audacity monitor screen:

The pre-amp has a gain control, and I can also adjust input levels from the Audacity dashboard. So once I'm at the actual location, I'll tweak everything to catch very faint whispers, and just let it go.

That's just one piece of gear I'll be taking. Next week, I'll show another. 

Anything captured on a recording will also be revealed here. 

If anyone has any suggestions for other gear, let me know!

MidSouthCon 34 Roundup

There are few constants in life. Cars and friends and yes, even publishers all come and go.

But one event I look forward to every year is MidSouthCon. 

MidSouthCon is, of course, the premiere science fiction/fantasy con held every March in Memphis, Tennessee. 

To me, it's more than just a gathering of like-minded fans of a genre I love. It's become a place to see old friends and make new ones. The people who run the con work their asses off to bring order to the chaos that is fandom, and they do a marvelous job every year. So let me start with a shout-out to the Con staff, who herd cats, wrangle authors, appease editors, placate publicists, and generally make sure everyone has a great time.  You guys and girls rock!

The 34th MidSouthCon was no exception. I had a blast, met a lot of fascinating people, grabbed some incredible art (from Ann Stokes, Mitch Faust, and Sam Flegal), hung out with ghost hunters (Historical Haunts), and finally got to spend some real time with authors I respect and admire (Rosalie Stanton, Cecilia Dominic, Steve Bradshaw, Tim Bohn, and Robert Krog, among many others). 

Meeting and actually speaking with artist Ann Stokes was also delightful. I'm constantly amazed at the innate, well, niceness of the artists, authors, and other creative people at the Con. It's not artifice, either -- the Con simply has a friendly vibe that resonates year to year.

I was on a number of panels this year, on topics ranging from cryptozoology to character development. I've come to love panels, not so much because I get to talk, but because I'm sitting next to people who have profound things to say. I learned something valuable I can apply to my own writing every time I sat down, and there aren't many other venues that provide me with that experience.

I also took pictures. It;s hard to sit in the lobby and catch everyone in cosplay when you're a panelist, but I did the best I could. You can follow the link below to Flickr to see the best of the pics I took. 

Link to Frank's MidSouthCon 34 pics: https://flic.kr/s/aHskwwDRrk

I was eligible for two Darrell Awards this year -- one in the YA Novel category, for All the Turns of Light, and one in the novel category, for The Darker Carnival.

I'm happy to report that All the Turns of Light won 1st runner up, and my Markhat novel The Darker Carnival won the Darrell Award for best novel of 2015!

That sounds like bragging. Maybe it is, just a bit. But writing is a lonely business. Sometimes I wonder if anyone is reading me anymore. Having the Darrell awards jury choose one of my books tells that nagging little voice in my head, the one that whispers "you're wasting your time, moron, no one likes your stuff" to shut up for a while. That's always welcome.

I'll be honest -- I'm exhausted. It was fun, but at my age, fun comes at a price. So I'll leave you with a couple of extra images from the Con.

The Darrell Award:

My prized Ann Stokes image, 'Arachnafaria.' Taking good pictures of art is hard, please forgive the image quality. The actual piece, which is on canvas, is stunning:

Finally, a pic of the author presenting a professional, properly authorial image on a panel:

Night night, kids. I'm off to take a huge dose of Vitamin C and hope to avoid the onset of the dreaded Con Crud...

Used E-Books, For Sale Cheap

The Interwebs are awash in rumors that Amazon, everyone's favorite monolithic bookseller, may be quietly making plans to allow for the re-sale of 'used' e-books.

(Note: To read this is the large print black text on white page version, click here.)

I know, I know. Print books have been resold as used books for decades, even centuries. And I'm fine with that, even though I don't make any money off the resales.

But I don't see the move to allow e-books to be sold as 'used' as the equivalent to the resale of paper books.

A used paper book is, judging by the used books I've bought over the years, obviously used. Sometimes, apparently, as both a door-stop and an impromptu combat shield. Which is fine; I like giving a book someone obviously enjoyed a new home.

But e-books never age. The covers don't fade. The pages don't get dog-eared. The dog doesn't chew the corners. The thing Amazon is itching to label as a 'used' e-book is absolutely indistinguishable from a 'new' e-book except in one respect -- the price.

And that's where I take exception.

Oops. See, I mentioned price, which implies I'm concerned about the monetary reward for my writing. I forgot that as an author I should be slaving away strictly for the fun of it. In fact, as an artiste, I should be deeply insulted at the very mention of filthy lucre, preferring to take my sustenance from the lofty magical essence of my Muse's ethereal whisperings instead.

I'd be glad to do just that. But Microsoft doesn't have an ETHEREAL WHISPERINGS button with which to pay my Office 360 subscription. My computer parts can't be bought with an IOU from my Muse, and she claims the same is true for her liquor store tab.

No, that takes actual money.

My publisher, assuming I have one, also can't exist without some form of small remuneration.

But lately, Amazon -- the 900 pound gorilla in the small hot room that is Publishing -- seems determined to push authors and publishers as far to the side as possible.

First, Amazon started charging publishers for better placement in the 'algos.' Algo is shorthand for algorithm, as in the algorithm that decides where each of the eleventy zillion books they sell will fall on page searches and so forth.

In effect, Amazon is poking publishers in the chest and saying 'Dat's a nice book you got there. Be a shame if nobody ever saw it. How's about a little donation to make sure dat nice book don't fall off the list, and go boom? Fugheddabouddit."

Which was bad enough. Smaller publishers, already operating on the slimmest of margins, sometimes found themselves unable to turn a profit and keep their books from falling down so low they have to order canned sunlight. But of course the bigger houses can pay, and they do, because a book nobody can find is a book nobody will buy.

And now the Zon is plotting to further undercut publishers and authors by allowing 'used' sales of their e-books?

I can't think of a better way to devastate an industry. If the product page for my books shows a new Kindle version at $1.99 and a used Kindle version, which is the same bloody thing, at 99 cents (or whatever, always less than the price of 'new'), is there any way such a listing will NOT choke my sales?

Even if I get a small cut -- and I have no idea if that will happen, or how -- I and my publisher just lost all control over how much our books will cost. And since the publisher set that price for a reason, it's going to hurt us.

I hope I'm wrong about all this. Maybe recent events have left me jumpy. That could well be the case.

But even if Amazon does start offering 'used' e-books, I won't ever buy one. 

(Image at top: Everett Collection Inc. | Dreamstime.com - image52027862#res5678350)

Sad News, Bad News, and Good News

© Fotovika | Dreamstime.com - Choose Way 

Note: To read this is the large print edition, with black letters on white background, click here.

By now, you've probably read half a dozen blogs concerning the announcement that Samhain Publishing is embarked on a six-month journey toward closing their business.

If you haven't, well, now you have. This affects me because my Markhat books found their home at Samhain in 2007, when they bought Dead Man's Rain.

Since then, I've published nine Markhat titles there.  

Before I go any further, I'm going to make one thing plain. Samhain has always been a wonderful publisher. They did everything right, and with a lot of class. My covers were works of art. My editing was always challenging but professional. They made every book better than the book I first submitted, and they worked hard to get them in the hands of readers.

Things are no different now in the way Samhain is doing business. They're still unfailingly professional. Still working hard to do right, as my grandmother always said, by their authors and staff.

So while I'm sad, there's no anger here. Quite the contrary.

Many other publishers have decided to shut down by simply disconnecting the phones and changing the locks. Emails go unanswered. If they comment at all, it's just a generic smattering of legal boilerplate designed to obfuscate and deflect. Or worse, to give them time to finish packing before that flight to Aruba takes off.

Samhain is doing none of that. They are still in business. 

They are still selling ebooks.

They will continue to sell them while the orderly shutdown continues. Authors will still get royalties, just as we always have, right up until the day sales cease.

 And that's the very definition of class. 

I've been asked a few times 'What happened? Why did sales slump so low?'

I don't know. I just write books. What makes them sell, what makes sales falter, what drives the engines of profit and loss? I have a better grasp of quantum thermo-electrodynamics than I do the bookselling industry, and I'm pretty sure I just made up the term 'quantum thermo-electrodynamics.' 

I do know that Samhain marketed my books. They got them to booksellers, both electronic and print, in markets that spanned the world. 

So was the fault with me? The ebook sellers? Was there some preternatural configuration of planets and sunspots that caused sales to sputter? Did I cut off an old Gypsy woman in traffic on I-55 in 1997, and this is the result of her muttered curse?

You tell me. 

Being a publisher takes courage. I do know that. You can find and polish and offer books that are treasures, marvels of the written word, only to have them languish while Snooki's latest reality-show tell-all flies off the shelves. 

It's risky, being courageous. You're taking a chance, hitching your fate to a work of art that you believe in.

Sometimes the price you pay  for courage is temporary failure. A passing defeat. Loss of a battle during a long-fought war.

I know the folks at Samhain are hurting now. For any of you reading this, please take heart.

Writing books, selling them, editing them, running the business. It's all, to borrow a phrase Markhat would probably use, a long game. 

There will be setbacks. Disasters. Heartbreak. 

I spent most of Friday night, right after the news broke, in a hastily-born chat room filled with Samhain staffers and Samhain authors.

Everyone was shocked. Bewildered. Confused. Wholly and utterly dumbfounded, as to what to do next. 

Well, not entirely dumbfounded about what to do next. We are, after all, writers and editors. So, 'get drunk' is our collective go-to solution for Life's cruel arsenal of heartbreak. 

But even so, I noticed a collective and surprising attitude emerging, even as the shock (and booze) of the day's events still bore down like the tragic weight of a funeral. 

We will go on. 

The writers will nurse their (not inconsiderable) hangovers and glare at a blank screen and eventually their fingers will start hitting keys in the old familiar rhythm. My former editor is hanging out her shingle as a freelancer, and I am here to tell you, boys and girls, if you want an editor who will beat your prose into sale-able submission, EVIL EYE EDITING is the way to go. I'll be using them -- more on that a few paragraphs down.

The cover artists will keep making art. The marketing folks will find other homes. We are scattered, yes, but we'll keep going.

The Markhat series isn't dead in the water. The first nine titles will still be available while Samhain suspends operations. At some time after that, the rights will revert back to me, and I'll find a way to get them back out there. The covers will change, probably, but the books will be the same. 

When will that take place?

Like Markhat claimed earlier, this is a long game. The proper unit of time to apply in this instance isn't days, or weeks, or even months.

Am I basing my assertion on things I've been told by Samhain? By whispers in a chat room?

Nope. It's a wild guess. Like every thing else in publishing, I suppose.

But I figure I have a year, probably, to plan how to re-introduce the first nine Markhat titles.

I won't be idle as I wait, though. 

A new Markhat book will, a little bird tells me, be appearing soon (as in months soon).  It will be edited by the very same people who edited the last several Markhat titles. The cover art will be done either by the same people or by someone equally talented. 

As an experiment, I've decided to publish this one myself. 

In this instance, it makes perfect sense. While the bulk of the series is unavailable for submission to a new publisher, why not get the new title out there? The series has an established audience. Sales of the first nine books are still steady. The same team that brought the first titles to life is ready to get started on the next. The only thing that will change is the publisher's name on the product information page.

Well, not the only thing. I will lose the marketing engines that Samhain brought to the table. But I can climb aboard Amazon and Barnes & Noble myself, and even create print versions of the ebook.  

Whereas I received free editing and free cover art and free marketing from Samhain, I'll now be footing all these bills myself. 

This won't be cheap. Good editing, by someone who is in fact an editor, someone who has actual publishing industry experience, that is going to cost what Markhat would label as 'real money.' So is cover art. One thing I will NOT do is try editing or art on my own. I'm a lousy self-editor. My artistic skills are routinely matched by pufferfish and nails. The series deserves better than that. You, the readers, deserve better than that. 

It's a risk, sure. Is the book good enough to pay for itself and still make a profit?

If deep down in my shriveled little soul I can't answer that question with a defiant 'Hell yes,' then I need to write a better book, or stop writing altogether.

I am aware that Kickstarter and similar sites allow authors to seek fan funding for their projects. I even considered that, for about one-quarter of a Yalobusha Brewing Company's Larry Brown Ale. But that's not for me. I don't question or impugn the writers who do use Kickstarter.  I wish them every success. But that is not my path. 

Even with the costs and the risks piling up, I think this is the right decision, at this moment. Keeping new titles coming is the only way to keep the series alive. 

Self-publishing the new title feels like an experiment worth trying. 

Most readers will never be aware of any of this. I'm revealing my plans here just in case anyone else in my situation is ever curious as to what steps one Samhain author took next, or if fans enjoy the occasional peek behind the scenes about what it takes to put a new book in their hands.

Will I crash and burn? Skyrocket to fame and fortune?

Probably neither. I'll be happy with somewhere in the middle.

I'll provide a few details, now and then, as this experiment progresses. 

Oh, by the way -- the Mug and Meralda books, All the Paths of Shadow and Every Turn of Light, are not at all affected by the Samhain situation. They weren't Samhain titles, so their status is unchanged. 

Ill leave you with better words than I'll ever write. Samhain brothers, Samhain sisters, we are none of us done. Just keep those furry feet moving.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

--J. R. R. Tolkien, from Roads Go Ever On 

Best Opening Lines

NOTE: To read this entry in the large print edition click HERE.

“It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark little clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.” 

― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

That is, and will probably always be, my favorite opening to a book. Raymond Chandler started writing late in life, but when he did hit the ground, he hit it running.

The Big Sleep's opening lines do it all. They put you, the reader, in a specific time and place, and they introduce not only the protagonist, but his unique voice. The book is a wonder, and if you haven't read it, you should. Even if you're not a fan of detective fiction -- the writing is just that good.

Douglas Adams wrote one of my other favorite opening lines.

"In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move." -- from The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Finally, Jim Butcher, from Blood Rites:

"The building was on fire, and it wasn’t my fault."

Of course these are just three examples from a fields of possible millions.

What are your favorite opening lines? I thought it might be fun to swap a few in the comments section. Heck, we might all discover a few new great books that way. 

One last thing -- I'm going to be a guest on PAIRANORMAL this Friday night, at 10 PM EST (9 PM CST for my local friends). PAIRANORMAL is an internet radio talk show focusing on all things weird, paranormal, or just plain out there. Who will play the role of the skeptic? Who will assume the mantle wide-eyed true believer? Click LISTEN LIVE on the TMV Cafe webpage at 9 PM CST Friday night and find out!

You can also hop in the chat room and comment live while the show airs. Stop by and say hello!

One Keyboard to Rule Them All

(To read this is the large print edition, click here.)

I never took a typing class. Never bothered trying to emulate people who knew how to type, either. But I've worked in IT, and thus with keyboards, since 1982, and I've also been writing that entire time.

So bereft of training or common sense, I've developed my own two-fingered typing style that has been variously described along a spectrum ranging from 'violent'  to 'dude, what the Hell is wrong with you?'

Which means I go through keyboards. A lot of keyboards. 

This wanton destruction of innocent keyboards isn't born of malice, or done with intent. The keyboards I learned on were 1970s and 80s era commercial mainframe computing units. They were solid steel affairs with sturdy mechanical keys and you had to hit them like you meant it. They were durable, too. We ran three shifts, every day, which meant those keyboards were in use nearly all the time. I can't ever remember replacing one of those metal monsters, either. You could probably drag them out of whatever landfill they now occupy, knock all the grated cheese off, and start banging away again like thirty years haven't passed.

A lot has changed since then. I'd bet my lunch money that the keyboard in front of most of you reading this is a plastic affair that would fly apart at the first solid whack over an ogre's pointed head. 

Those flimsy new ones are the keyboards I beat  to death on a regular basis. Even when I moved up to the more expensive gaming keyboards, I didn't solve my problem. Yes, the gaming sets tended to last longer, but their fate was ultimately the same as the rest -- a key would stop working. Then another. Then it was time to pony up for a new one, because you really can't finish a novel without using 'a' or 'e' at some point.

This time, though, I decided to go all out and see if I can't finally put a halt to this endless parade of hapless tortured hardware. I did some research, and learned a few things that might be of interest to any of my heavy-handed writer brothers and sisters out there. 

My criteria for finding a new keyboard were simple. I wanted the following:

* A metal chassis. No more plastic.

* Real mechanical keys. No membrane keys. 

* Lighting. I enjoy writing with the lights down, and while I don't look at the keys once my Two Fingers Of Hammering find their places, lighting is handy when you need it.

You may be wondering what makes mechanical keys different from the usual membrane keys found on most keyboards. 

For a full rundown on the difference, check out this article at the ever-helpful Tom's Guide  site. Then come back here. We'll wait.

The short version is this -- membrane keyboards are cheaper because you're just squishing a plastic wafer down with every stroke. Yeah, it works well enough for most, but if you're spending serious time typing, you really ought to consider treating yourself to a mechanical keyboard.

Mechanical keys have springs and plungers and other assorted bits of machinery. So you get a lot of 'feel' with each keystroke. The keys actually plunge down under your fingers, offer resistance, and pop back up. There's genuine tactile feedback, and none of that mashing on a pancake feeling I always got from membrane keyboards.

So I poked around, searching only for mechanical keyboards. I found plenty. Yes, they're pricier than their membrane counterparts, but I'd buy a single expensive keyboard every several years than a cheaper one every six months.

I wound up getting a Corsair K70 gaming keyboard. It's a beauty, too -- the base is aircraft-grade aluminum, with laser-cut keys and red LED backlighting. The space bar is textured. It's a corded model, not a wireless, and the USB cord is a heavy braided one, with a pair of USB connectors at the far end. It comes with extra keys and a textured detachable wrist rest.

It's heavy, weighing in at almost 3 pounds. 

Since 'unboxing' seems to be a thing now on social media, here's the unboxing of the K70.

I'm thrilled with this keyboard. It's every bit as sturdy as the old IBM mainframe units we banged away at back in the day. I'll be shocked if I have to replace it anytime soon.

Do mechanical keys make that much difference? Listen for yourself. Below, I recorded the sounds of a membrane keyboard being used.

MEMBRANE KEYS BEING STRUCK

Now, click below to hear what the mechanical K70 keys sound like. 

MECHANICAL KEYS BEING STRUCK

I hope you can tell how much 'clickier' these are. The feel is also entirely different -- the keys have travel, and resistance. Typing on this keyboard is a joy.

The mechanical keyboard is louder than the membrane. A lot louder. I imagine I'd drive any roommates nuts with this thing, but writing, like other unsavory pursuits, is best done alone.

(Top image: © Elnur | Dreamstime.com - Young Employee With Keyboard Isolated On White Photo)

Way Out West

Attractive young people break out into spontaneous, unstaged celebrations upon hearing about the new Markhat book.   

Editor's Note: To read this entry in a large print Easy on the Eyes edition, click here.

WAY OUT WEST, the new Markhat book, has been accepted by Samhain Publishing, and will see release in early 2017 (there's a small chance that date may change to an earlier one). 

 Which means the Markhat Files series is now ten titles strong. Eleven, if you count the print-only compilation of the three novellas (The Markhat Files). 

Either way, it's a milestone. 

I've spent a lot of time with Markhat and Darla and the gang over the last several years. I've watched the characters and their world change. 

WAY OUT WEST will present the biggest changes to the series thus far. I've already revealed that the book is set on a steam locomotive, but that's all I'm saying right now.

I'd like to say thanks to everyone who's kept the Markhat series alive by buying the books. Ultimately, there is no better way to support any art than by buying it. Markhat would have died long ago had you people not clicked BUY, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

So what's next, now that WAY OUT WEST has found a home?

I plan to finish two novels this year. The new Mug and Meralda, of course, which has a working title of EVERY WIND OF CHANGE. And I've already started a new Markhat, entitled THE DEVIL'S HORN. 

Which sounds ambitious until you realize that just by churning out a thousand words a day, one can finish a rough draft of a full novel in about 80 days. Of course there's still a lot of work to be done even when the draft is complete, but even if you need three months of editing and honing, it's still entirely possible to write a book in six months.

The trick, of course, is to write a good book in six months.  

As I chug along with the Markhat books, I do keep wondering when I'll jump the shark. More importantly, I wonder if I'll realize what I've done before an editor has to spell out my failure in brutal, gruesome detail. 

Of course there have been authors who managed to write tens on books in a particular series without a fatal misstep. Rex Stout did it with -- what? 70 titles? -- in his brilliant Nero Wolfe series. Roger Zelazny's Amber books never hit rock bottom. I did get a bit bogged down at one point with Glen Cook's Black Company series, but he recovered in the next book and the end was one of those rare times when you can't even stand up for a while after reading the last page of the final book. 

So I have hope. And I'll keep turning books out. That little voice that whispers, the one that seeks to sow the seeds of doubt, that's one voice you've got to ignore.

So it's back to work for me. Take care, all, see you next week!

The Devil's Horn

                       ID 29432337 © Salvador Ceja | Dreamstime.com

Note: To view this in an easy to read large print edition, click HERE.

The new Markhat book is underway. The working title is THE DEVIL'S HORN, and the image above may or may not contain clues as to the book's content. 

I'm never entirely sure where books come from. The Markhat series was born in an instant as I listened to a Billy Idol album. DEAD MAN'S RAIN was inspired by a thunderstorm and a dark old house. THE DARKER CARNIVAL was born during a break-room discussion of writer Harry Crews and his time spent with a traveling carnival. 

THE DEVIL'S HORN sprang to life in an instant, in the shower, as I reached for the soap.

Hardly the stuff of literary legend. You never heard Hemingway say 'I applied shaving cream.  THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA popped fully formed into my head.'

But that's how it happened for me. 

I have to believe the book has been brewing subconsciously for a while now. There's too much detail, too many intricate moving parts, for it to have taken shape so quickly. I'm not that smart. 

I think it's going to be a great book. Markhat's world is changing.  The changes are drastic, and coming fast, and I suppose that aspect of the book may be driven by what I see going on in our tired old world. 

I just wish I had as much control over events in the here and now as I do on paper.

But would that be a good thing? Sure, some might say so. Just like I'm sure you'd do, given some mystical power, I'd try to eliminate hunger. Wipe out poverty. Put an end to war. Ignorance. Want.

Even so, for every person that lauded these things, I've come to realize there'd be a more or less equal number who would decry such efforts, or the means taken to accomplish them. 

Interesting how halos or horns are entirely a matter of perspective, when the focus is shifted from the wearer to the world. 

I should shut up now. The book is begun, but hardly complete. 

That's the news I have for this week. I'll close with a book cover and a link, because I've grown fond of what we call 'food.'

The author, upon realizing he has been binge-drinking turtle juice.

The book is HOLD THE DARK. This is a pivotal book in the series, because it is here Markhat meets Darla. It's also one of my favorites.

Here's the link I promised -- HOLD THE DARK.

Words For Your Ears

                                   Pic by Photodeti | Dreamstime.com

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I've always wanted to see one of my titles in audiobook format.

I've even tried recording a couple of my short stories myself. Unfortunately, my Mississippi accent is both thick and omnipresent, and I simply can't do convincing character voices. If I can find either of the audio files, I'll prove both points by linking to them at the end of this entry.

But my friend and fellow author Maria Schneider doesn't suffer from my limitations, so she's made four highly entertaining audio versions of her works free for the listening on her blog, Bear Mountain Books. 

Here.s the link. I suggest you start with the first one, Bingo. It's less than 15 minutes long, and it's a hilarious variation on the old Faustian deal-with-the-Devil trope.  I felt pretty sorry for the Horned One by the end.

BEAR MOUNTAIN BOOKS, THE AUDIO VERSIONS

You'll love them all, though. Take a listen!

THE KNOCKING MAN

My Story THE KNOCKING MAN was included in an anthology back in 2011. The anthology was entitled  SHADOW STREET and while I don't think the book is still in print, you can listen to me read it aloud by clicking the YouTube link below. I'm not sure why you'd want to listen to me read it aloud. Maybe you have neighbors you don't like -- in that case, crank this one up, and go grocery shopping. They'll probably have moved by the time you get back.

THE KNOCKING MAN

It's a heartwarming tale of the walking dead, and a young man finding refuge and purpose in a dangerous world. It's a safe listen -- this isn't a zombie story at all. Well, okay, there are corpses that get up and run errands, but nobody gets eaten. Anyway, have a listen.

Have a good week, everyone, see you next Sunday!

Frank's Guide to Writing A Book

The author, who has far better ankles than any of you suspected.

NOTE: To read this in the large print edition, click here!

Here's a brief sample of the ads that usually confront me on Facebook and elsewhere online:

* THE EASY WAY to PUBLISH your first BEST-SELLER!

* 10 SURE-FIRE ways to SELL YOUR BOOK!

* JOIN the REVOLUTION! Click here to SELF PUBLISH your BREAKTHROUGH NOVEL!

Just out of curiosity, I've clicked on a few of these banner ads. They're all designed to take you down the same familiar road -- pay us to do what you can do yourself for free, and we'll bleed you dry while continuing to make the same empty promises.

There isn't any ten-step program to send your book rocketing up the Amazon sales rank list. And the people who've claimed to know 'the secret' to such success usually wind up being outed as the ones who dumped thousands of dollars into schemes that hid their purchases of bogus reader reviews.

So what does make one book a best seller while at the same time a hundred equally worthy books languish in the frigid depths of sales rankings?

Sunspots. Hemlines. Paper clip sales, the ratio of European dog nose widths to the NASDAQ, the relative temperature difference of Mrs. Potter's last cup of tea to that radiator  in the apartment two doors down. 

In other words, it's all whim and caprice, and you'll go absolutely nuts trying to quantify the factors that determine sales.

What you can do is write another book. That's the best use of any author's time and effort. 

Sadly, it's also the most work.

I'm here to help, though, by making public my own half-assed -- er, sure-fire -- methods for starting, continuing, and finishing your book!

STEP 1: Assign each finger a name and a function. For index, my left index finger is Larry, and Larry is responsible for finding the + key. You get that, Larry? You have ONE JOB. I don't want excuses. Just a + sign now and then.

STEP 2: Read 'Finnegan's Wake.' That's a real book. Ask yourself what on Earth makes you think you can pull that off? Now go sit in the corner and feel inadequate for a month or so, you poser.

STEP 3: Fire up Microsoft Word. Type your title, centered, all caps, about a third of the way down the page. Be overwhelmed by what a silly title that is. Delete it. Close the file. Delete the file. Uninstall Word. Format your hard drive. Go for a long walk. Weep, letting the rain hide your tears. If it isn't raining find a lawn sprinkler. 

STEP 4: Return to the keyboard, refreshed, revived, and moderately drunk. Forget the validation code for Word. Mess around on Facebook for an hour or so. Go to bed.

STEP 5: After numerous false starts, give the thing a title, and get that all-important first page down. You've got about that much time and space to engage a reader. You'd better hit the ground running, with a potent mix of action and intrigue. You don't have time for infodumps. If the reader doesn't ask herself 'What is going to happen next?' you're screwed. 

STEP 6: Keep writing that all-important first page, substituting second for first, third for first, etc., until you've finished 250 or three hundred all-important pages.

STEP 7: Edit. Re-write. When it's as good as you can reasonably make it, either publish the thing yourself or shop it around with publishers. Don't pay anyone calling themselves a publisher for anything, ever. Don't agonize over sales, either. It will sell or it won't, and waving feathers and fish-bones over the ranking page isn't likely to do any good.

STEP 8: Start all over. You can start with Step 5 the second time around. 

Frank's Guide to 2016

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As the new year looms (see also lurks, lies in wait, prepares an ambush), I thought many of you might be comforted if you know what to expect from 2016, and what preparations to take.

So I'm going to reveal, right here, right now, the major events 2016 has in store for us. By doing so I risk damaging the timeline, but even the Time Police just shrug and roll their eyes -- frankly, this timeline is already so hosed additional damage will be hard to even spot.

What kind of year will 2016 be? Hmm. If 2016 were a person, they'd be the sort of person who displays a well-honed expertise at clubbing, and I'm not referring to the kind of club that features lively music and overpriced drinks.

So pull on your Wasteland Rampage stomping boots, slam a fresh magazine of zombie-killing rounds into your marauder rifle, and let's have a quick look at 2016, the Year That Will Be!

1) NASA confirms the existence of life on Mars. At first, the Martians are said to be subsurface microbes, existing a few meters below the surface, shielded by Martian soil from the sleet of hard radiation and nourished by the remnants of a long-dead sea. When the first 900-foot-tall Martian squid rises from the dirt and declares the presence of our rovers an act of war,  President Trump responds with an orbital bombardment of Europa, sixth moon of Jupiter. The Martian squids exchange puzzled glances, mutter something derogatory about primates, and vanish once more beneath the sand.

2) Daytime highs of 125 degrees Fahrenheit (that's 8 hectares Celsius) become commonplace. This is especially concerning because that 125 degrees is the temperature of the oceans. Reporting daytime air temps is outlawed by the Real Good Science Act of June 2016.

3) Tank dealerships begin to outnumber car dealerships in 21 US states.  Tank battles on public roads now commonplace.  

4) Spectacular daytime UFO crash on busy Dallas highway can't be suppressed by government, provides undeniable proof of alien visitations. The surviving aliens speak to reporters, reveal that Earth is in fact an ancient colony world, abandoned by the Galactic Empire because 'you guys turned out to be such butt-heads.'

5) Vladimir Putin invades Norway, claims the failed attempt to annex the mountainous nation was 'hunting accident only, was out riding horse with 22 armored divisions and Russian Air Force and everybody panic.' Victorious Norwegians celebrate by devising yet another way to pickle fish organs.

6) Melting ice caps reveal massive technological artifacts that predate humanity. The South Pole Structure, as it comes to be known, contains a vast 'control room' centered around a single red button. This button is surrounded by glyphs, markings, and pictograms which clearly warn against pushing the button. Bet you can guess what happens next.

7) Airlines attempt to maximize profits by introducing 'plank seating,' in which travelers are stacked atop each other  in neat piles. The traveling public can opt out of this arrangement by purchasing a first class ticket, which mandates a maximum of two passengers per seat. 

8) Gasoline drops to 68 cents per gallon, and who needed national parks anyway, amiright?

9) Ford Motor Company introduces the Road Rager, an armor-plated SUV marketed as 'the fun tank alternative!' With superior speed and agility, the Road Rager claims to offer good survivability in everyday traffic, a luxurious array of interior amenities, and two forward-mounted armor-piercing 90mm anti-tank guns in a variety of modern designer colors. 

10) Linguists note with alarm the rapid emergence of an all-emoji language among teenagers and the under 25 demographic. "Smiley-face clouds radish stick stick fire melon dog wagging dog wagging," said a proponent for the new language, adding "Butt butt nose lightning."

That's all I can safely reveal. I suggest you stock up on canned beans, start buying rice by the 50 pound bag, and of course now is an excellent time to start camouflaging the entrance to your survival bunker -- you DO HAVE a survival bunker, don't you?

A Very Markhat Christmas

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If you've read my Markhat Files series, you've seen several references to a midwinter holiday called Yule. The books are also filled with references to angels and devils, heavens and hell. A couple of Rannit's five main churches have also been the settings for scenes, including one very rushed wedding.

One thing I've never done, though, is lay out the theology behind the references. 

I despise infodumps. Maybe you never heard the term before -- if that's true, here's an example of an infodump set in our world:

"As you know, Bill, Hitler's Germany and the other Axis powers lost World War II, which was effectively ended with the use of atomic weapons against the Japanese Empire."

"That's true, Steve."

Which is dumb. People rarely explicitly describe events or concepts which are common knowledge to them.  That's why Markhat and Darla will never sit around and discuss the religious and historical significance of the Yule log they burn every Yule.

But I'm under no such constraints here in the blog, so here for the first time is a thumbnail sketch of the religious landscape of Rannit, and indeed all the remnants of the Old Kingdom in the Markhat books.

BASIC RELIGIOUS COSMOLOGY PROMOTED BY THE CHURCHES:

Creation was completed by God. Three planes came into existence -- Heaven, God's Realm. Hell, the realm of the Infernal. And the World, balanced between Heaven and Hell, peopled by humanity, Trolls, the Fae, and various other mortal creatures. Shortly after the three realms came into existence, Heaven and Hell went to war. God and the Devil slew each other, leaving both Heaven and Hell in ruin. The remaining angels gathered their forces above the middle world, following God's final order to  protect humanity. The devils amassed beneath it, ordered to destroy mankind. Magic is used by both sides to either empower or corrupt humans.

Five mighty Angels took charge of the angelic survivors. These five angels formed the Five Great Churches, which hold doctrines that differ in certain details and traditions. Each of these Five Angels has a devilish counterpart, whose names are never spoken. 

YULE, THE MODERN PRACTICE THEREOF:

While the five churches don't agree on much, they do share certain holidays. Yule is the foremost among them. By Markhat's time, Yule is very much a commercial and secular holiday, observed mostly by the exchange of gifts, parties, and of course the ceremonial burning of a Yule log, which has evolved into a ceremony all its own.

Celebrants, who may be friends or family or both, gather around a fireplace after the Yule eve meal is enjoyed. Everyone places a scrap of paper or a small flammable 'gift' around the log. Yule songs are sung, a sweet dark Yule wine is drunk, and as the sun sets the fire is lit.

Gifts are exchanged after the log catches fire. More songs are sung. More wine is drunk. Children are encouraged to search the room for presents hidden by the 'Angel Ernmost,' who is said to watch from the flames and reward good children with the best gifts.

Tradition dictates that all present must remain present until the log burns out. Children, and anyone who gets sleepy while the log burns, this must light a watchlight (a small white candle) before falling asleep to ward off bad luck for the next year.

In essence, Yule is very much like our Christmas, only without the tree. Children love it. Adults love food and wine. 

So that's what's behind all the mentions of Yule and angels and devils in the books. It's why you'll never see anyone, at least not a human, pray to a god -- their creation mythology, like so many actual human myths, saw the creator perish as part of the act of creation. Priests believe they intercede on behalf of the faithful to the patron angel of their church -- often for a fee, Markhat is quick to point out with a derisive snort. Seems Angels are always short on cash.

Since Markhat and Darla now reside on a houseboat named Dasher, they'll have to improvise. The boilers belowdecks provide their heat, but you can't burn a proper Yule log in either of them. Instead, the Yule log will be burned in a clay fire-pit on Dasher's deck. It will be a smallish log, but a Yule log nonetheless. A small tent will be erected over the firepit to shield it from rain or snow. 

Dasher's wheelhouse is lined by  windows, now trimmed with holly and hung with sticks of red and white peppermint candy. All with gather, as the log is lit. Then Markhat, Darla, Evis, Gertriss, Mama Hog, and of course Slim and Cornbread will watch the log burn from the warmth within Dasher's wheelhouse. Wine will be drunk. Mama Hog and Slim will make horrific noises under the guise of singing Yule songs. Mama will chastise Markhat for feeding Cornbread right from the table. Gifts will be exchanged , but it won't matter what the gifts are, or how much any of them cost.

No, they'll treasure the giver, not the gift. The people in the Markhat books have had a rough time of it, book after book. They've seen loss and hardship, faced danger and death. They've all lost people. 

So when they gather this Yule, it's not the log or the presents they celebrate. 

It's each other.

I hope you too find yourself surrounded by the people who matter.

Markhat and Darla, Evis and Gertriss, Mama Hog and Slim and Stitches and all the rest -- they raise a glass to you, and wish you well. 

Happy Yule, to one and all!

What to Buy a Writer for Christmas. Or Look, There's a Liquor Store

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Is there a writer in your life? Are you struggling to come up with that perfect Christmas gift for him or her?

If so, my condolences, because I'm a writer and I know full well what a morose bunch of budding alcoholics we writers usually are.  I'm constantly staring off into space, oblivious to the world around me until the front bumper strikes something solid and the air bags deploy.

Every year, it's the same dilemma.  What to give for Christmas?  What will make your writer's eyes light up, or at least open halfway?

As usual, I'm here to help.  My list of suggestions follows, in order of descending utility.

1) BOOZE.  HOOCH. ROTGUT.  That's right, kids, the Demon Rum himself.  Why?  Simple.

A writer's job is to plumb the depths of the human condition, or at least convince a harried editor that he or she is plumbing said depths long enough for the ink to dry on a contract.  And the first thing you'll learn when you start taking a really close look at the much-vaunted human condition is that doing so induces a sudden, powerful urge to have a drink.  Or three.  Or maybe just leave the whole bottle and start running a tab, because right after the urge to drink comes the realization that it's going to be a long bad night.

2) A THESAURUS. Because nothing works better as a coaster for the drinks mentioned above than a really thick book.  I'd counsel against actually using a thesaurus for writing, because no one wants to read sentences in which characters advance, meander, promenade, traipse, or wend one's way across the room.

3) A CAT.  Hemingway had a cat, right?  He had a cat because a cat is the only creature on Earth more vain and self-centered than the average author.  While other more social animals might feel neglected or ignored by an author, who is probably staring off into space or rummaging in the cabinets for more liquor, a cat is perfectly comfortable being ignored because it doesn't know anyone else is in the room anyway.  The cat's 'I don't care if you exist or not' attitude is perfectly suited to the author's mindset of 'What? Huh? Who?'

4) AN ELEGANT LEATHER-BOUND JOURNAL.  We all know that writers, and I mean serious professional writers with book contracts and everything, are always prepared to whip out a convincing character or a heart-wrenching plot at the drop of a dangling participle. So give your author the most expensive, ornate leather journal you can find, wait a year, drag it out from under the whiskey-stained thesaurus, and give it to the writer again.  They won't ever know, because each and every page will be as blank as it was the day you bought it.  Seriously, people.  I tried the whole notebook by the bed schtick for years, and I recorded exactly two notes in it, which read:

"Char. A sees the thing, intro. other scene w/char B, str. exc. Plot hole & 9 days."

"Why G. not cld/not E?"

Which explains why Hemingway's cat had six toes, for all I know.  But leatherbound notebooks make pretty good coasters too, and if the glasses sweat on them, you can tell people the stains are from a solo hike through Guatemala which you took to 'reconnect to your muse.'

I don't have a Number 5.  You should probably stop at Number 1, because gift-wrapping a cat is nearly impossible and writers can spot a gift wrapped thesaurus from across a crowded room anyway.

I'm kidding, of course. For instance, I'm listing my Christmas Wish List below. If anyone would like to buy me a gift, each item comes with a handy link!

1) A book about airplanes and airports, reasonably priced at only $19,000.

Jane's Airports and Handling Agents! 

I remember wincing inwardly when I paid nearly 30 bucks for a Harry Potter hardcover. This book is 19 grand and that doesn't include shipping. But it is a hardcover, and word on the street is that Chapter 4 contained scenes of sensual baggage handling so explicit and provocative Jane herself was reluctant to include them in the final edit. 

I'll wait for the movie.

2)  A simple analog wristwatch, $55,000.

The Rolex Cosmograph. I generally opt for finer timepieces -- Timex is a well-established brand, after all -- but this watch did catch my eye. I assume the maker, Rolex, is an upstart Chinese brand, but all the lads at my club will enjoy a hearty chuckle when I sport such a plebian bit of flash. 

Shipping is free, and it comes with a 2-year warranty. Quite the bargain, really.

3) Learn to speak Mongolian, for only $10,000!

Learn Mongolian! Because if you don't, the grumpy lady on the box will come around and beat you with a platter of genuine Mongolian khorkhog. For only ten thousand dollars, you get a cardboard box and a single CD-ROM that will fit in your Mac or your iPod shuffle, as soon as you travel back to 2003 and find your iPod shuffle. Hurry, there's only 1 copy left!

4) A toy robot. This one is a little pricey, at $999,999,999.99. Batteries are also not included, but frankly you can afford a couple of double-A cells if you've got a billion dollars to throw around on anime robots. 

The billion dollar robot is named Sakura, which is Japanese for 'I still can't believe Amazon let me list this.' According to the ad copy, Sakura can sing up to five songs, and she also 'records your secrets,' which means she probably blackmails you later. 

Heck, get two, so they can at least sing in harmony.

Christmas Songs for Writers

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If you're like me (and for all our sakes, let's hope you're not) you tend to replace the lyrics of songs you hear once too often with fresh new words, usually while you grit your teeth.

Face it, the one class of song you'll hear repeated endlessly for the next few weeks is that of the Christmas song. 

Here are the words I hear, when the inevitable tunes sound out. Enjoy....

IT CRASHED UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR

It crashed upon a midnight clear, 
my brand new Toshiba hard drive, 
it took with it a manuscript, 
not a single  sentence survived. 
A backup failure, a bad CD, a corrupted Word file in my cloud, 
30 novel pages just disappeared, 
scared the dogs with cussing so loud.

WE THREE THEMES

We three threads of story arc are
screwing up Chapter Seven and that scene in the bar.
Plot holes we widen, contradictions create,
Oh, why did he take us this far?

GOD REST YE MINOR CHARACTERS

God rest ye minor characters,
whose names we can't recall,
You bring us drinks and sell us things,
advance plots in matters small.

In Chapter Four you said 'hello,'
while passing in the street,
In Chapter Six you lay quite dead
knocked down in quick defeat.

But be at peace, dear what's-your-name
You did not die in vain,
I'll be right back to end this verse,
as soon as I recall your name.

OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

Over the river and through the woods,
this chapter knows not where to go.
My protag ignores the way my outline did say
While my word count continues to grow.

Over the river and through the woods,
Oh, this whole book doth blow.
Editors shriek and beta readers look bleak
As over the same ground we go.

Frank's Guide to Sports

Note: To read this entry in a large-print Easy on the Eyes edition, click here.

As many of you know, I'm a huge sports fan.

Wait. It seems I misspelled several words in the sentence above, which should have read 'I'm huge, because I am inordinately fond of cheesecake. Sports, though? Why?'

I live in a college town. Which means the place erupts in a frenzy of football madness each autumn. Game days are a non-stop traffic jam. Crowds roar. Fortunes are made or lost. Angry words are exchanged both online and in person. Fights break out when irate LSU fans learn they can't take their wife-goats into the nice restaurants on the Square.

We stock up on groceries and stay home until the last arrest is made and the last camper pulls out for whatever they call home.

I've never really understood the allure of sporting events. To me, sports is all that noisy bit that takes place behind the cheerleaders, which is the only aspect of any sport that makes any sense to me. And you sports that don't have cheerleaders? 

What's your problem, soccer?

Here's the summation of every sport I've ever seen:

A ball is chased, kicked, thrown, batted, rolled, dribbled, struck, or otherwise set in motion. This motion appears to anger one group and delight another. Whistles are blown. Can I go now?

But Frank, someone says. What about the athleticism? What about competition? What about the spirit of friendly rivalry?

"What?" I reply. "Sorry, didn't hear you, was watching the cheerleaders. Is this one of the sports at which hot dogs are served?"

Maybe you're like me, and don't have much to contribute to the inevitable (and interminable) conversations about sports. As always, I'm here to help, with another Frank's Handy Guide. 

Frank's Handy Guide to the Life-Lessons Illustrated by Various Sports!

1) NFL football. Provides extensive insight into that aspect of the legal system which deals with domestic violence, homicide, and animal abuse. 

2) Pro baseball.  An invaluable primer to the fine arts of baccy-spittin' and poorly-concealed steroid use. Also perhaps the last holdout of socially acceptable venues in which males may adjust their privates in public and on camera.

3) NBA basketball. Ready to riot? Win or lose, spill out of that stadium and overturn a few Kias, sports fans, because, um, friendly rivalry? Also a great place for tall people to find work since the invention of the ladder destroyed the top-shelf shopper assistance industry.

4) Soccer. I'm sort of at a loss on this one. Is it really a sport? I suppose so, since there's a ball and a lot of vigorous running. People routinely get trampled to death at soccer matches. At first, I was sure these poor unfortunates were trampled while attempting to flee from the soul-crushing boredom of a soccer game, but I'm told this is not the case. I'm sure there's a life lesson in all that somewhere, but for the moment I'm going to stick with 'Soccer teaches us to avoid soccer games.' As far as I know, nobody was ever trampled to death by a horde of crazed badminton fans.

5) Tennis. Tennis might not even belong on this list. I have a sneaking suspicion tennis is nothing more than a clever way to get young women to dress like cheerleaders and whack away at balls just so men can watch intently and not have to pretend they're concentrating on athleticism. 

6) Hockey, Curling, Shot-Putting, Wrestling, Boxing, etc. There's only so much you can do regarding outdoor activities if you're stranded on some Godforsaken ice-floe of a continent. Shout out numbers at random, call them scores, and pretend two of your toes didn't just fall off, eh?

MEET RAHMAN TOWHIDUR, SCAMMER THIRD CLASS!

Facebook is many things to many people. To your grandparents, it's a place to swap eleven thousand baby pictures (daily) and distribute poorly-manipulated images of Obama as the AntiChrist. 

To scammers, it's a hunting ground. Last Friday, a Nigerian advance-fee fraud scammer picked me as his next victim, and initiated an IM conversation.

I'm not blurring out the scammer's name, which after all isn't really his name. Nor have I changed any of his words. If the scammer has a problem with this, he is welcome to A) bite me and B) bite me again. 

Now, a quick word about how the scam works. Rahman or whomever is running the thing contacts people at random with a bizarre song and dance about millions of dollars and a need of assistance to get it out of his country. The details vary, are NEVER spelled correctly, and don't make any difference anyway. 

All they want to do is trick the gullible into sending them money, via wire transfer or Western Union, as some ridiculous 'fee' which will, upon receipt, unlock untold millions of easy money.

It's a clumsy scam, but people get taken by these clowns every day. Which is why I try to waste the scammer's time whenever I can. 

Below is the IM conversation. I emailed the 'banker,' but haven't received a response yet. If I get one I'll post it here next week.

Enjoy this tragic tale of 'euphoric' lung cancer, and my Pastafarian blessings upon the scammer!

Yeah, I was getting a little testy by the end. Us Pastafarian ministers aren't known for our patience. 

If you'd like to see even more scam-a-licious hijinks, I suggest you check out 'Scamorama!' Link is below...

Click here to visit Scamorama!

Book Away

NOTE: To read this in the large print Easy on the Eyes edition, click here!

At long last, a new Markhat and Darla book is out and away!

Way Out West is now with the publisher, under consideration. So while I may indeed be popping the champagne cork early (there's no guarantee Way Out West will be bought), just finishing and submitting a new book is a minor victory in itself. 

2015 has been a rough year for writing. But I got one book out, with time enough to start another, and I'm proud of that. 

My next project will of course be the continuation of Mug and Meralda's adventures. If you read All the Turns of Light, you might remember them spotting something very strange in the sky, high above the Great Sea. Will that play a role in the new book, which is entitled Every Wind of Change in my files?

Could be. You'll just have to wait and see!

On a Serious Note

My original plan for today was to include a section about how writers celebrate sending off a new book. But in light of all that's happened, it came off as being in poor taste.

Maybe later. I'm not going to post any images of the Eiffel Tower, or pontificate about the need for peace. 

In fact, I'm not going to say anything at all. I'll let the great Charlie Chaplin do the talking, in this remarkable clip from 1940's The Great Dictator. If you've never seen this speech, I humbly suggest you take a couple of minutes and listen. It was true then, and true now.

Take care, everyone. 

Way Out West

NOTE: To read this in the large print Easy on the Eyes edition, click here!

At long last, the new Markhat book, Way Out West, is done!

I finished the first draft late in the afternoon yesterday, on Halloween. That's the first time I've ever finished a book on Halloween. As with all writers, I'm appallingly superstitious at heart, so I'll go ahead and start believing this event is a mystical portend of things to come (i.e., bestseller-dom, movie deals, merchandise ties-ins, maybe even a new soldering iron). 

Of course finishing a book and selling a book are two entirely different events.

Some may say selling a new installment in an established series is easy. Some might also say sticking one's face in a fan is a good idea, and there's probably somebody uploading that very video to YouTube as you read this.

My point is that, in publishing, there are no sure things.

Now, that said, it is true that Way Out West won't face the same hurdles as the first book in the series did. Back then, Markhat was just another name in the slush pile, competing with a thousand other would-be books for a contract. 

It's a nerve-wracking experience, the waiting. Are they laughing at me? Taking turns burning manuscript pages as they read aloud from the synopsis? Is my name even now being circulated on secret publishing forums, as Doofus of the Day?

Why yes, I am under the scrutiny of a mental health care provider. Funny you should ask. But I digress.

But back in 2008, Samhain Publishing took a chance on Dead Man's Rain, the first Markhat title. That was also my initial introduction to a book publishing firm.

I'd worked with magazines before -- Weird Tales, for one. That's fun too, but it's a different experience than having an actual publisher and putting out book-length titles.

For instance, you get an editor. More than one editor, actually, but you'll work primarily with one editor, who turns a practiced eye upon your book and suggests changes that will result in a stronger final product.

This is where a lot of new authors short-circuit and send their own careers up in flames. How dare anyone presume to judge my sacred prose, these authors cry, twisting their berets in fury. How dare she!

Well, bub, she dares, and for good reason.  I can say with good authority that without my Samhain editors in the mix, the Markhat Files series wouldn't be as good as it is (that's not a brag; note I offered no indicator of how relatively good the series actually is. That's not for me to say. I just write them. Readers decide if the books have any merit).

Holly, my current editor at Samhain, spots things I miss. Suggests things that would improve a scene. Is willing to wave the Wand of Irrevocable Deletion over entire passages that could better be summed up with the sentence 'I ran.' 

That's what a good editor does. That's a service I get for free by going through a publisher.

Cover art design and execution? Also provided free. Conversion to different formats? Marketing? Placement in various online and physical stores?

I never lift a finger, and I certainly don't write any checks.

All that is why I'll be submitting Way Out West to Samhain. Because it benefits us both, as long as the books sell. 

Note that I'm not slamming self-publishing here. I do that as well -- All the Paths of Shadow and All the Turns of Light are books I put out. 

I decided to try self-publishing the Paths series when the original publisher of Paths of Shadow left the business.  I knew Samhain didn't handle YA-flavored light fantasy, so I thought why not try?

That's been a good decision. The books are still selling well. In fact, now that Way Out West is done, I'll start back on the 3rd Mug and Meralda book.

I'll probably hire my own cover artist and editing and self publish this next Meralda title too, unless I find a publisher willing to take the first two books on as well.  

I've seen a lot of ads for how-to books and courses which claim 'Self-publishing is EASY! Publish your book with 3 quick clicks!' and the like.

All of that is clickbait nonsense. If you're going to do it right, self-publishing is a costly, time-consuming process that frankly is the authorial equivalent of sucking down a big tall glass of metal shavings. 

Not saying it cannot or should not be done -- I'm just saying set aside plenty of time for the act and the aftermath, because this isn't a pleasant walk in the park.

If you're curious about my process, here's what comes next for Way Out West. I'll spend a week or two doing an edit pass of my own. Once that's done, a copy or two will go out to my army of fearless beta readers. At that point, I will put the book aside, and start on the new Meralda book (working title is Every Wind of Change).

When the betas have finished, I'll read their reports, make a final edit pass based on that, and only then will the book go to Samhain, if I judge it to be finished.

I will reveal that the next Markhat adventure will be titled Bad Moon Rising. The significance of that title will be made apparent in the course of Way Out West. 

And that's all I say about that.

PS: Early in the blog, I suggested someone was probably posting a face-in-the-fan video to YouTube as you read my blog. Well, after finishing this entry, I thought 'Surely no one would actually do that,' so I checked YouTube just to see.

Sigh. Yes, there are face in the fan videos. This one has four million views. 

I'll go back to writing now.

Things That Go Bump #4

Bill O'Neil

George Meek

NOTE: To read this entry in the Easy on the Eyes version, which features larger print and black text on a white background, click Easy on the Eyes edition!

Meet Bill O'Neil and George Meek.

These gentlemen are one of two things. They are either visionaries and pioneers, or a pair of grinning scamps who pulled off one of the most complicated pranks in paranormal research history.

Together, they built and operated an enormous machine they called the Spiricom, which was said to allow clear, utterly unambiguous communication with at least one deceased gentleman known as 'Doc Mueller.'

You can hear the tapes. See the diagrams. But before we get into all that, a bit of background.

The year is 1979. Disco is on its last pair of wide-bottomed trousers. The acronym 'EVP' is barely known to anyone outside of hard-core paranormal researchers. I am sporting a truly unfortunate Beatles bowl-cut. 

Meanwhile, down in his basement, Bill O'Neil is using the so-called 'Spiricom' to speak to the dead.

Of course, he's not the only person to have made this claim. But he is one of the few who made high-quality recordings of his conversations. His methods were also wildly diverged from the usual Ouija-board and seance-room approaches usually taken. 

No, the Spiricom was a nuts-and-bolts machine. 

In a nutshell, here's how O'Neil and Meek claimed the Spiricom worked:

1) They built a tone generator. This tone generator combined 13 distinct audio tones, each lying within the vocal range of the average human male (from about 300 to 3400 Hz). Nothing special here, except in 1979 you couldn't simply fire up a computer to do this without building a specialized device.

2) They hooked the tone generator to a low-powered radio transmitter. Their transmitter spewed out the audio tone on a radio frequency of around 30 MHz. Is there anything magical or special about 30 MHz? Nope. 

3) They built a receiver, which received their 30 MHz tonal transmissions.  They set up a mic and a recorder and recorded the sounds from the receiver as well as the operator's voice.

Pretty simple, really. You've got a transmitter spewing out a steady tone, which is a combination of all the tones used by human males (why not include women? Sign of the times, I suppose). 

And then you've got a receiver picking up these tones, and a recorder taking it all down. 

According to Meeks and O'Neil, something happened between steps 2 and 3. For communication to have occurred, a group of entities based somewhere else would have to have received this tone transmission, modulated the steady tone into a rather robotic-sounding voice, and then transmitted this modulated version of the signal back to O'Neil's receiver. 

Keep in mind nothing O'Neil said was actually transmitted. The Spiricom receiver sent out nothing but the tone. So for the ghosts to know what O'Neil was saying, they had to be there in the room listening to him. 

Yeah. So you've got spirits who A) know somehow when the Spiricom transmitter is active, and B) can also be present in the same room to hear what the operator is saying. 

But forget that for a moment. Let us hypothesize that there are ghosts on the Other Side who know quite a bit about electronic engineering. That's not so far-fetched, really. 

Here's where things get weird.

If you believe Mr. O'Neil and Mr. Meeks, after a few months of working with the Spiricom device, voices began to emerge from the tone. Clear voices. Distinct voices. 

Voices that engaged in perfectly intelligent conversations with O'Neil.

Here's an example. The robotic voice is purported to be that of 'Doc Mueller,' a dead engineer who is speaking to O'Neil from the Other Side. There's nothing spooky or scary here -- forget the context for a minute, and it's just two old friends tinkering around in their garage.

The 'Doc' is helping to refine the transmission, which is why he repeats 'Mary had a little lamb.' 

This (and the other recordings of O'Neil) is the the only piece of sustained conversational EVP I've ever heard. If it is real -- and that's a big if -- it has profound implications for science, philosophy, everything.

I mean listen to the clip above. They're talking carrots and cabbages. Gardening. The weather.

This isn't pareidolia.   It isn't RF crosstalk. It may be faked, but it bloody well isn't an accident of noise.

There are quite a few recordings you can listen to.

Click http://www.worlditc.org/k_06_spiricom.htm  for links.

By now, you may be wondering why, if the Spiricom device worked so well, that you've (probably) never heard of it.

Good question. O'Neil and Meek didn't hide the plans. In fact, they encouraged others to build their own machine and replicate their results.

A few people did so.

All they got, I'm afraid, was a steady tone from the receiver. No Doc Mueller.  No friendly ghosts with a bent for electrical engineering.

Which leaves us to consider fraud.

I understand scams and how they work. When conducted on any scale, fraud is designed to relieve fools from their money.

If Spiricom was indeed a fraud, it was spectacular only in its ineptitude. Neither O'Neil nor Meek got rich selling schematics. They didn't do the talk-show circuit. They both died quietly, in relative obscurity, and the without the solace of heaps of cash.

Believers will assert that O'Neil made the Spiricom work because he was, unknown even to himself, a gifted medium, who probably could have achieved the same results with a few candles and a darkened room.

Me?

Heck if I know.  I just build things. I do find it amusing to think that, if the story is true, the first thing a living engineer and a dead engineer do upon establishing contact across the Veil is to immediately start fiddling with the electronics. They didn't talk philosophy or discuss the true nature of uber-reality. 

No, they started improving the quality of the audio signal.

Is that plausible? Believable?

Again, I don't know.

But what I do know is that technology has marched on since the Days of Disco.

Tone generators? No circuits needed. Just fire up some cheap (or even free) audio software and build your own Spiricom tone. Save it as an audio file. Whew, that took a whole three minutes.

The transmitter?

Almost as easy. 

You can grab a nifty FM transmitter from Ramsey Electronics for around 40 bucks. Yeah, you'll need to build it, but that's easily done in an afternoon. As far as having a receiver and a recorder handy, well, that's child's play.

I'll have my own Ramsey transmitter soon. 

But there's no need to wait to run a few very simple tests. You can make a crude but operable RF transmitter with two 49 cent transistors, a capacitor, and a few other small parts in about ten minutes. I have several receivers handy.

And so I give you, gentle readers, my own Saturday afternoon version of a Spiricom device, shown below!

Yes, I know my workbench needs to be re-surfaced. It's a workbench. Small explosions are not unheard of.

But there it is -- a vastly oversimplified AM oscillator.

Does it work?

Yes, in that is spews out a tone (around 1000 Hz) on a radio frequency that spreads across the entire AM transmission band. Good thing I don't have close neighbors, even though the effective range is only a few yards. 

And here is one of my two receivers, which you may recognize as the Tesla crystal radio I built back in 2014.

All the aspects of the original Spiricom device are here. I generate a tone. I blast it out into space as a radio signal. I then receive the tone and record both the tone and my voice. 

Easy-peasy.

Have a listen!

The recording above was made using my crude transmitter (that's the circuit on the console) and my crystal radio (the thing with the weird antennas). 

I recorded fifteen minutes of audio with this. Regrettably, Doc Mueller was a no-show.

Yes, there were a lot of faint voices in the background (and some not so faint blasts too). But those are merely stray radio broadcasts. What I was listening for were voices composed of the tone itself.

I got none. Which is hardly a surprise; Meeks and O'Neil didn't get anything at first either.

I decided to try a commercial receiver, something with a far more selective tuner than the one on the Tesla crystal radio. So I fired up my trusty  Realistic TM-102 AM/FM receiver (right out of 1983) and set it to a quiet spot low in the AM band for another session. Here's a sample of that.

Again, nothing but tone.

You'll hear more here about the Spiricom in the weeks and months to come. In the meantime, I invite you to research the subject further, including comments by the detractors. 

Last week I mentioned Mama Hog might be reading Poe's THE RAVEN in this week's blog.

I really should think these things through before I start shooting my mouth off. Yes, such a thing is possible. But to make it sound good is going to take a lot of time, and frankly that's time better spent finishing the new book.

Instead, I leave you with a truly excellent rendition of THE RAVEN, read by none other than Christopher Lee. I invite you to turn down the lights and turn up the volume, because this is probably the best version of THE RAVEN available anywhere.

Then follow up by enjoying The Alan Parson Project's equally haunting musical rendition, from their debut album TALES OF MYSTERY AND IMAGINATION.

Night night, folks....

Things That Go Bump #3

NOTE: To read this entry in the Easy on the Eyes version, which features larger print and bacl text on a white background, click Easy on the Eyes edition!

Welcome to this, my third installment of the Things That Go Bump series!

For today's blog, I visited two cemeteries. I took my camera, my Zoom H1, and the new Velleman Super Ear.

I paid a visit to Oxford's own literary superstar, novelist William Faulkner. His grave is pictured above; note my mics on his markers, and the airline bottle of Jack Daniels left as a gift by one of his many admirers. 

Sulking perhaps at the small volume of whiskey contained in the bottle, The Faulkners were silent during this session.

But they were the only residents being quiet. During my ten minute stay there, I recorded a dozen snippets of voices, screams, yells, thuds, bangs, howls, and, quite possibly, an entire operatic performance of 'Fiddler on the Roof.'

Hey, I don't write private eye fiction without having learned a thing or two. I rendered myself in film noir black and white. pushed my fedora down at a jaunty angle, and I walked the mean streets of Oxford until I discovered the source of these hellish vocalizations.

A bunch of kids were beating the ever-loving crap out of each other with those flexible foam pool noodle things not a block from the gravesite.

So I've tossed out the entire Faulkner EVP session. A choir of poltergeists could have covered Led Zepplin's second album two feet from my microphones, and they'd still have been drowned out by little Sally's furious pummeling of that awful Randall kid from two houses down.

But fear not, gentle readers, because I have something amazing to offer despite this.

My next visit, to the Civil War cemetery on the University of Mississippi campus, was anything but mundane.

The University of Mississippi Civil War Cemetery

Tucked away on the edge of campus, the Confederate Soldiers Cemetery occupies a small hill and is bordered by a waist-high brick wall.

You can read the official description on the marker.

What the marker doesn't mention is a bit of campus lore the campus had no doubt rather forget.

According to the story, the University decided to spruce up the graveyard sometime back in the 1950s. A truck was dispatched, and workers were instructed to carefully load the grave markers onto the truck, so that they could be taken away to be cleaned.

A nice gesture. The work was completed. The freshly cleaned markers were loaded back onto the truck, and the truck returned to the cemetery, and it was only then that the awful truth became apparent.

No map or plan of the location of the graves had been prepared. There was no way to tell which markers went where.

I can only assume that the single mass marker which now stands at the top of the lonely hill was quickly erected, probably in the dead of night. 

Nevertheless, I entered the graveyard, armed with my recorders and cameras.

I was there for approximately 17 minutes.

During my stay, I captured two strange audio instances, and one photographic one.

Let's begin with the photo.

I take a lot of photos during an EVP session. Hundreds of them. It's a digital camera, why not? And most of the images -- the vast majority of them -- are just pictures. Nothing unusual at all about them.

But take a look at the image below.

Dead center is an odd purple aberration that didn't show before or after. 

Lens flare? Not so sure. If there was anything brightly reflective in the foreground, I'd attribute the haze to that. But there isn't.

Aside from the central marker itself, that is. I don't see anything bright on it. And doesn't the general outline of the blur suggest an oblong figure in front of the camera? Man-shaped, sort of, in a gauzy, insubstantial, Hollywood spectre sort of way?

I'm not calling this a ghost. I'm not calling it anything. It's just odd. 

I mentioned two pieces of audio.

At about 16 minutes and 45 seconds into the main session, as captured by the Zoom, I thought I had a voice.

I really did. I'm walking, you see. I say 'I'm halfway to the gate,' as I exhort anyone who wishes to speak to do so, before I leave. A few seconds pass. I reach the gate, and say 'All right.'

My Zoom seemed to capture a single word in that brief silence.

In preparing it for presentation to the blog, I removed some of the noise. I isolated the sound. Amplified it. Looped it.

Thankfully, I also identified it.

No ghost here.

I have new sneakers, you see. Sketchers. They have these annoying little suction cups on the soles. When I walk on a tile floor, I sound like an octopus engaged in frenzied tap dancing.

But of course the cemetery is simply mowed ground. My shoes were silent on that -- until I stepped on one of the half-hidden flagstones that make up the path from the gate to the central marker.

SQUNK.

And that's the sound I captured. I won't post it.

But what I will post is nothing short of amazing.

The Ghost On the Wall

At about 5 minutes and 30 seconds, my Velleman was resting on the wall that surrounds the cemetery. So was my Zoom.

So was I.

Let me preface this by saying I was absolutely alone. No one was in sight. I heard nothing at the time of the recording. No car was driving past. No kids were engaged in gleeful assault with battery.

I was alone.

Or was I?

As I rested in the shade, I remarked that the cemetery was 'very peaceful.' There is a silence. I then comment that the cemetery is probably the only speck of real estate safe from development, because of the bodies.

I even took this picture.

What the Velleman captured in the space of my comments came as quite a shock to me.

I looped the voice for clarity. What it says seems obvious to me. But you be the judge.

You don't even need headphones for this one.

Again, let me make it plain that I was alone. No women were present. No one was.

So what did I capture?

Was it wind noise, combined with pareidolia? I don't think so. The character of the voice doesn't sound like anything else in the entire recording.

A stray voice?

If so, why didn't the Zoom capture it? I checked the same time, listened to the space between the same comments. 

Look at the picture. They're maybe nine inches apart. One caught a female voice. The other caught nothing.

And why didn't I hear it, if it was merely a voice?

Explanations? I have none. Voices don't simply emerge from thin air, except when they do. 

I suspect -- and I'm only thinking out loud here, folks -- that so-called EVPs originate from very small spaces located close to the recording microphone. I mean small. Microscopic, even.

I can think of no other set of circumstances that would explain why two recorders in close proximity might result in a recording by one device and failure to record by the other. 

This point-source supposition might also explain why I never hear the sounds my devices capture.

It doesn't explain the nature of the sounds, of course, but there wasn't enough booze in Faulkner's bottle to even begin to tackle that question.

So did I manage to record some invisible entity saying the words 'a ghost?'

I don't know. I have the recording. That's really all I can state for sure -- that my device captured these sounds.

I hate to leave you with more questions that answers, but for now, I have no choice.

A Gift For You

Finally, gentle readers, I leave you with a spooky gift, suitable for hanging on your walls.

I enjoy art. I have a twisted sense of humor. 

Some of the things hanging on my walls are not quite what they seem, at first glance.

This diploma is an example. Ever wanted to be a certified Evil Overlord, with the papers to prove it? 

Well, download the form above and fill in your name and your desired degree. Hang it on your office wall. See how long it takes anyone to notice.

Yeah, I made this. All the Latin translates to 'Evil is Better,' 'No Mercy,'  and 'No Fear.' My degree is in Applied Hostile Geometries. The images are pulled from public domain woodcuts.

If you want me to add your name and degree in fancy text, email me and let me know. Looks pretty good, even in a cheap Walmart frame. Show those fancy-pants ingrates at work what a REAL degree looks like!

Things to Come

Next week, I add wind screens to the Velleman, and plan a daring twilight EVP expedition!

So stay tuned, and stay safe!

NOTE:

Links to the full Civil War EVP sessions are below, in case you are eager to torture your ears with my accent and running commentary.