MELISSA C. WATER AND LADY INJURY: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.



Images courtesy Melissa C. Water, © 2014. Used by kind persimmons.

I vote for this snowy scene as Melissa's author photo on her Amazon page. Anyway, to business...
   Kacey Vanderkarr repeatedly tells people that I am some kind of good guy. How dare she?! I'm suing.
   Did I adopt the black cloak and Darth Sinister title for nothing? Dare I say...is evil just...not working out for me?
   Has Young Vanderkarr's meddling granted me redemptive end-of-trilogy powers of sweetness and light?
   Well. Bugger.

*

I wrote a blog post tied to a story, and went in search of a mental health activist for background info. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT.
   Melissa C. Water assisted in the development of the post. Then I did a follow-up piece, featuring Melissa. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT.
   I'll wait for you.

*

If you missed it, here's a link about THE VENUS FLYTRAP.
   Melissa signed a deal with a vanity/subsidy publisher, not knowing what she was getting into. She was getting into the publishing equivalent of the Venus Flytrap.
   Yes, she should have taken advice. But she didn't seek assistance.
   When she helped me out with my blog post, I knew I'd help her in return. How? I knew not. As usual, I found myself staring at a book on the mighty Amazon.
   Here's Melissa's story of her battle with assorted mental health issues, and the problem of undiagnosed Tourette's. And this book costs...
   HOW FUCKING MUCH?!
   And there's a disclaimer at the start, stating...
   What?!
   THE BOOK...HASN'T REALLY BEEN EDITED?
   (For legal reasons, I must amplify on that comment. I am forced to point out that the book hadn't really been edited. Glad to clear that up for you.)

*

Obviously, I've removed fifteen pages of swearing from this blog post. Sometimes, you must tone things down for the youngsters. And, by youngsters, I mean anyone under the age of 99.

*

I talked Melissa through her options. She simply had to escape her contract and publish her own book on Amazon. Hell, I'd edit the book for nothing.
   My good deed for the...
   (Shut it, Vanderkarr.)
   So how far along are we?
   Melissa is out of her contract, and free to pursue a second edition of Lady Injury. We're working on it. There are many choices to be made. We had a few laughs, and there were countless questions.

*

 



A few laughs? Vital. For Melissa's story is tough to take. Countless questions? The assistance on offer is free. She is free to ask anything and everything. It's her book, and she chooses how she wants things to be.
   Can we do it this way?
   Yes. There are other options. And here they are.
   Okay, well, I'd still like some of those features for the story.
   Well how about this, Melissa?
   No, I don't think so.
   That's fine.
   Wait. I've had some feedback, and maybe we could incorporate a few ideas along those lines.
   It's all good. Any questions, just ask. I'll tell you if anything is fixed. Immovable.
   What can't we do?
   Amazon Kindle books don't take well to tabs. No tabs. (Kacey Vanderkarr was AGHAST when I revealed that nugget. You'd think I'd killed Bambi's mother when I said it to her.)

*

I help authors. Authors, in turn, help me. We are on the same path. If I am ahead of you, I'll point the way so that you find the going easier. And if you are further back, thinking he's going the wrong way, you'll shout and I'll listen.
   Action? I'll stop and have a think. As authors, we are always learning, experimenting, failing, trying, pausing for coffee.
   Yes. Coffee.
   Help is not measured on scales. I was aided over a mere blog post and I offered assistance with an entire book. The act of helping is important, not the amount. Sometimes the amount is important, but we aren't here to maintain the balance.
   We are here to muck around.
   Besides, editing a memoir, non-fiction, would be a new experience for me - and, as authors, we crave experience. Except the experience of stagnation.
   Melissa needed help in escaping her contract. I set out the steps, and gave my opinion on what had to happen to reach the upper atmosphere on the way out.
   And I was more or less right. Ultimately, Melissa escaped her contract with a shade less difficulty than I expected. I thought she'd be hit with a non-disclosure no-badmouthing clause.
   That never materialised. We aren't in the business of giving the company any publicity. So why mention the name? The hell with that.
   (I think the company abandoned the gag as it proved unenforceable - Eclectic Ed. Unenforceable and silly.)

*

Well. There you go. A writer helps me, and I steer her into preparing a second edition of her book. Lady Injury. Never thought I'd be doing something like that.
   How do I edit the work? With carefree abandon, fizzing dynamite, a wild look in the eyes, and toffee-smeared fingers.
   (Hi, Melissa. That was a joke. You knew that. And you knew I had to say that you knew.)
   Preserve the author's voice. But not the formatting. It must change, for the Kindle. What should Melissa's readers expect of a second edition?
   The original Kindle book is still available to those who bought it. They retain access to that version. I'm writing this blog post more than a week ahead, as usual...
   Today I saw the unedited Kindle version was withdrawn from Amazon. Melissa's readers can expect a new edition to be edited.

*

The plan is to release the second edition as a Kindle book with month-long sections and daily sub-chapters - it is a diary, after all. There was some discussion over interactivity, with in-book hyperlinks to Melissa's YouTube videos.
   YouTube is where she spends her time as an internet presence. At this stage, Melissa is wary of taking readers out of the book to watch a pertinent YouTube movie.
   Just because a feature is available doesn't mean it has to be used. There are also several legal issues thrown up by some of the videos, so YouTube interactivity is likely to be low-key or non-existent.
   I guess I'll throw that one out to her audience. Thoughts?
   That's all I can say at the moment. Getting stuck in, I'll see what sort of editing job is called for.

*

By the time this blog post goes to press...
   Visions of grapes, for some reason.
   The basic framework should be set up, and arranged for Melissa's inspection. There'll be worldwide chat, ranging out of the depths of Quebec to Ancient Scotlandia. We'll work out a plan.

*

Is this a departure for me? Yes, no, maybe. Over the past few months, editing loomed larger and broader on the horizon. I wanted to change things around, and see where this adventure would steer me.
   If that meant onto the rocks, I'd gain the opporchancity to survive on seaweed and the cheese of goats.
   After blogging 200 entries, I almost shut the blog down. But I always feel I am about to shut the blog down. That seems to be a requirement of blogging. At least, in my case.
   Next week's blog? Too far ahead, for me. There'll be a mention of giraffes, I'm thinking. (Giraffes may be conspicuous by their absence - Eclectic Ed.)

*

I'm not suing Kacey Vanderkarr. Sometimes, evil just doesn't take. Well. Damn.

SUICIDE PREVENTION: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

If you have suicidal thoughts, type SUICIDE PREVENTION into your search engine and follow every link. Every link.

*

Okay. I'm going to talk about banning someone from suicide. Yes. I did that the other day, a week ago. Blogging ahead by a week, time's funny that way.
   I banned someone from suicide. The YouTube mental health activist Melissa C. Water. She's been having a rough time of it lately with Tourette's.
   Basically, she traded in her old Tourette's for a new Menthol-flavoured Tourette's - with that added kick. What did she gain from this, besides more stress, extra pain, and a Secret Agent Decoder Wristband?

Images (c) Melissa C. Water 2014, used by kind persimmons.

   That Spy Decoder also doubles as an alarm. If Melissa suffers a Tourette's-based tic attack, she hits the button and summons aid. The main danger is suffering a head-injury or spinal damage from a fall, and being left unattended.
   Tic as a descriptor simply doesn't cover the experience. Try crossing an epileptic attack with a failure of gravity and reason. You are getting close.
   By kind persimmons. Haven't used that mangled phrase in a long time.
   Here's the specific link for Melissa's video on Tourette's: SECRET AGENT DECODER WRISTBAND. In the video, she mentioned her overall sense of worthlessness and recent suicidal feelings.
   That was enough for me. I contacted her. Sure, I made it plain that she was obviously an inspiration to a whole load of people out there in YouTube land. But anyone could say that sort of thing. So I arranged the other item.
   I banned her from suicide. It's a lifetime ban, in the sense that it is a lifelong one. Into, you know, wrinkly age. She'll die one day. But not today. So while she is here on the planet, she should be here on the planet.
   Did you read that first blog on suicide? I took that text to Melissa and asked for help with the finer points. And she excelled. I decided I would repay the favour somehow.
   How?

*

She is an author. I saw she had a memoir sitting there. My curiosity turned to anger. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT. I'll wait for you.

*

Anger in publishing serves but one purpose: the generation of good deeds. That's if you can change the thing that makes you angry. If you can't change the thing, let it go. Find another way to deal with the problem.
   I am doing more than working up a blog post to repay Melissa for the assistance she gave on my earlier SUICIDE chat. Though this isn't certain yet, it's likely that once Melissa is out of her old publishing contract...
   She'll be free to publish on Amazon. For that, she'll need an editor. And that would be me. She can't afford an editor. Being miserly, grumpy, evil, curmudgeonly, and a bit of a misanthropic snarler...
   I'll charge Melissa $0.00 Canadian for the task.
   In recent times, accusations were hurled at me. I was reported as nice, a do-gooder, a good guy, charming, awesome, brilliant,  kind, thoughtful...
   (Also, I totally and utterly rocked. Pardon my disbelief.)
   This is an outrageous state of affairs. I have a complete lack of a reputation to live down to. These vile slurs of niceness cannot go unchallenged.
   I may be forced to dust down my Darth Sinister robes, and deep-fry some Ewoks while I am about it.

*

DARTH SINISTER: The Dark Side of Publishing is a pathway to many abilities, some considered to be unnatural.

DARTH VANDERKARR: Formatting. Tell me about it.

DARTH SINISTER: How goes your plan to spread propaganda that I am not, in fact, evil?

DARTH VANDERKARR: Those fools have taken the bait, and soon many will fall into the clutches of my Empire.

DARTH SINISTER: What's that?

DARTH VANDERKARR: Our Empire.

DARTH SINISTER: Didn't quite catch your drift...

DARTH VANDERKARR: Your Empire. I'll inherit that, though. Through backstabbing.

DARTH SINISTER: Leave me. I must contemplate plans for my new Kryptonite-powered DEATH STAR. Having trouble with a component for the main laser beam. This...precious...gold ring.

DARTH VANDERKARR: Ooh, can I see that?

DARTH SINISTER: No.

DARTH VANDERKARR: Why not? Looks shiny. Stylish. Ringy. Kind of thing a Dark Lord Princess would have. Gimme.

*

Anyway. I banned Melissa from suicide. For who would talk to me about her book, her intentions, her meanings, if she weren't there to collaborate on the editing process?

*

Writing is meant to be about whatever it is meant to be about. This blog post is about preparing for things you might not be prepared to prepare for.
   How are you going to handle shit, if someone suddenly announces suicidal thoughts? I've had a few suicidal-themed comments from people, across the internet, and I've dealt with those in different ways.
   So how did I help Melissa? Surely banning her from suicide wasn't good enough...
   No. I prepared a plan of action for her, should...
   ...she escape her publishing contract.
   ...we begin work on editing her book.
   ...I contact her through Skype to arrange spontaneous chatter about themes, structure, and major editing decisions.
   And...
   ...should she then collapse with an attack while talking on the phone.
   You thought writing was about telling stories? Well, it is. But there's so much more going on. Authors are supplied with special wristbands. How else are we meant to decode these secret agents?
   I made the effort to prepare for things I might not be prepared to prepare for. Editing, across Skype. The sound of a body clattering to the floor...
   Then not much sound. Time passes. No doors opening, no shoes clumping in, no one to assist in shielding Melissa's head...
   So I'd be the only person in the world aware of the situation. She can't reach the big red button to summon help.
   I made a plan.
   Yes, I am a do-gooder. Not the only one. How many puppies must be slaughtered before I convince you all that I am evil? (No puppies, real or imagined, were slaughtered in the writing of this scene.)

*

Change what you can. Prepare for the pumpkin. And the unexpected. Prepare for the expected pumpkin, as preparing for the unexpected pumpkin is a half-measure at best.

*

So this is my update on the topic of SUICIDE. The woman who helped me with the original blog post? I banned her from suicide. Just like that.

*

YouTube link: idranktheseawater.
   Link to MELISSA'S HAT VIDEO: HAT'S ALL, FOLKS.

*

And, supposing you missed this…

If you have suicidal thoughts, type SUICIDE PREVENTION into your search engine and follow every link. Every link.

SELF-HARM WARNING: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

After some mucking around with HTML, I've added a very short warning of a self-harm scene to the Amazon product description for MIRA E. That's the novel featured in my first volume of blog collections, REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
   Yes, books are named after this blog.
   Amazon's LOOK INSIDE! feature allows potential purchasers to browse e-books. Quite right, too. Readers should be able to do to e-books most of the things they can do to paper books.
   Browse them. Buy them. Read them. Spilling coffee on e-books has a slightly different outcome. Throwing e-books across a room in outrage - likewise.
   My blog report features collected posts at the start of the book. Inside the first ten per cent of volume one, the free sample ends with Darth Biozarre's complaint that painting the DEATH STAR black was, cough, a total giveaway, revealing Darth Sinister's true identity.
   (Cough, splutter. Pardon me while I store this black cloak in a dark cupboard. Cough, cough. Ahem.)
   My point, Young Jedi...
   MIRA E. is the novel bundled with those blog posts. The story starts long after the free sample ends. My blurb mentions the blog posts and then goes into an extended description of the novel.
   An experiment, in product description.
   Knowing the book itself wasn't sampled at the start of the Amazon product-viewing experience, I decided I'd take full advantage of the space available.
   I showcased the novel. A mad experiment. You can tell.
   The other products I sell on Amazon feature blurb sections that run around two to three hundred words. Those descriptions include welcoming phrases that point out roughly what you'll be reading.
   I also list the word-count. And I end with an invocation to use the LOOK INSIDE! feature.
   Dash in, do the job, and rush out. Job done.
   In the MIRA E. blurb, I spend 600 words giving you slices of the book - solely because you can't click LOOK INSIDE! to read any of that text.
   The format runs...TEN PER CENT OF BLOG POSTS FREE, MORE BLOG POSTS, NOVEL.
   I don't believe in using 600 words for every single piece of book blurb.
   Where's the problem? In the first chapter of the novel, I feature a scene involving discussion of self-harm. Okay, I put a lot of nasty stuff in my stories...
   I am not in the habit of warning people about the nasty things. For, in my world, my world is not your world. You may have a problem dealing with clowns.
   #CLOWNS.
   #INSENSITIVE.
   Open spaces. Enclosed spaces. Outer space. The upper reaches of the atmosphere. Foggy days. Dogs. Cats. Lava. I don't know what's going to scare you.
   There's a scene in MIRA E. in which a paedophile faces a peculiar form of revenge. I'm guessing you'd cheer.
   Self-harm is a difficult topic to deal with. I don't want to ambush my readers with it. You know I am going to talk about HTML. I opened this blog post with the term.
   Ambush. I added HTML to my Amazon blurb. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT.
   With HTML, blurb has the power to become blurb. Or blurb. The HTML coding absorbs some of the available space in the Amazon text box. In exchange, bold type appears.
   Normally that's not a problem.
   With 600 words of blurb, it became a problem. I edited the hell out of that description to make it fit. And that wasn't a problem. Until I realised I'd be ambushing readers with description of a self-harm scene.
   Then I knew I had to put in a warning. The longer warning exists on this blog - see the dedicated page for the first chapter of MIRA E. There's your free sample. Just click to read inside. ;)
   The novel itself contains an extended warning in the introductory text. I fought a major battle with HTML to include the briefest warning in the Amazon blurb.
   Gremlin. I was told by the display that I had dozens of characters left. A lie was told there, surely.
   Looked okay when I hit the button to publish. The gremlin choked a sentence off at birth, on publication. No matter. I went back in with a flamethrower.
   That is how I ended up publishing 72 times in 2013. Updating blurb. Adding HTML. Fine-tuning product description - for the products you see in my Amazon carousel.
   Experimenting, as all mad scientists must. They think me mad. For I have exchanged a black cloak for a white coat.

*

Review your work. Look afresh at covers and blurbs and prices, oh my! Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. Follow the digital road.

*

Update. I scrapped the collected blog posts. The blogs exist on the internet, but not as collected volumes. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT.

  

  

KINDLE FORMATTING. SIZE-CHANGE GLITCH.

This glitch took a little while to spot. I believe authors should know their work front to back and back again. Because I checked my books that way, I found this quirk on Amazon's Kindle platform...
   Sometimes, seemingly for no reason, when going back through a book, the size of text would balloon all by itself.
   Reading a page in a small font...
   I'd find myself staring at a piece of text that was filling the page.
   Then I'd find myself back on the much smaller size I'd originally selected.
   So I adjusted the text itself to see what difference that made. Advice? None. Unless you count...
   Ask Alice.
   The problem is thrown at you when reading text that's broken into blocks. And only then, when reversing through the book by more than four pages.
   THAT is why it took me a little while to fathom. You could track back through three pages. Nothing.
   The problem appears more frequently if adding scripts to a work. Writing some form of movie script or running a section of a play.
   Here's the grief. Regular paragraph returns, employed to show space, don't work one after the other. They only show up on the Word file, and not on the converted file built for the Kindle.
   Multiple manual line breaks do show up, but you don't want to use too many of those. Especially if you are compiling one-line lists of things - in a table of contents, for example.
   A single regular paragraph marker will show up as a space if it is preceded by a manual line break. That can cause complications. Fortunately, the reverse arrangement works. Paragraph marker followed by manual line break.
   Somewhere in all these combinations, you'll uncover awkward quirks. To avoid awkwardness when compiling blocks of text, use manual line breaks for all but the last line of text. As shown here...

   In the block running from VAMPIRES through to chapter THREE, each line ends with a manual line break. (Press shift and return together for that effect.) However, the last line must end with a paragraph marker. (The return key, alone, for the end of the chapter THREE line.)
   My entries for blogs are single sections, and are treated as last lines for purposes of choosing the finishing symbol - a paragraph marker in each case.
   Sticking to that pattern avoids all sorts of quirks and gremlins. With the notion of providing a script caught between sections of text...

   ...the line of dialogue ends with a paragraph marker. And the space between lines is registered using a manual line break. UNTIL the last line of dialogue before the next block of regular text.
   Then the position reverses. The line ends with a manual line break and the space is registered by a paragraph marker. See Moff Larkin's line about integrity in Hull for the shift.
   That change removed a lot of gremlin-based activity from my work. It'll only apply to your work if you provide one-line lists, or slices of text resembling a play.
   Look out for spaces in Kindle formatting. How to apply those spaces between blocks of text. And run through your work, page by page, once you've slapped a prototype copy on the Kindle.
   Back the way, as well as forward.
   Keep experimenting with formatting. Find what works for you, based on the tools you use and misuse.

RETURN OF THE REVENGE OF THE RETRIBUTION OF THE SITH.

Wicked self-publisher Darth Sinister lies bleeding on the floor of his refurbished DEATH STAR. His Jedi foe Young Vanderkarr shakes off unconsciousness. In a shameless attempt to introduce a flashback, both struggle to remember WTF just happened…

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Overcome these obstacles. It doesn’t have to be about you and the blank page.

DARTH SINISTER: Oh but it does, my Young Apprentice™…

YOUNG VANDERKARR: There is good in you.

DARTH SINISTER: Your plot is lost, your characters are weak, and your description is about to collapse under the ponderous weight of its own gravitational field. Search your feelings. Soon you will turn to the Dark Side of Publishing™. Join me, my Young Apprentice™. Face your Publishing Destiny™. Short stories. Quicker. More seductive. Take the swift path to the Dark Side™. Embrace your fear of editing. And Trademark signs.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Er…

DARTH SINISTER: Your Jedi ways are well-suited to the do-gooder meandering across the surface of a novel. But there is a darker path. Strewn with the bones of the well-intentioned. No room for vacillation. Little time for exposition. Zero space in which to wax lyrical.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I dunno…

DARTH SINISTER: Cut your writing to the bone, Young Vanderkarr. Sample the discipline of plotting a short story with all the power and ruthlessness that true editing commands. Lose those sub-plots. Kill excessive characterisation. Abandon description of every minor character’s clothes. Do not tell us what he said or she said. Banish those phrases from your vocabulary, and your journey to the Dark Side™ will be complete.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Ulp. We-ell. Maybe I could veer a little to the Dark Side™. You know. A teensy bit. On a trial-basis. Worked for Luke Skywalker. He seemed to do okay. What harm is there in a short story, after all…

DARTH SINISTER: Good, good. Fried Ewok?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I’ll pass. What of the threat Darth Biozarre poses to your personal carer, Darth Phibes?

DARTH SINISTER: Leave that to me.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: And allow all these Darths to run free in the publishing universe? You can loosen up. Take the day off. Walk by the creek.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Pardon me, Your Munificence. A transmission from the Star Destroyer Prophylactic. It would appear that Darth Phibes has ordered full steam ahead in the desire to wipe Darth Biozarre from existence.

DARTH SINISTER: My plan proceeds as anticipated.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Only one will survive. Though which? Things don’t look good for me either way. They are all Darthtastic. I’m going to have to…

NOISES OFF: Bzhwwzumm.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Holy Eff! Put that Typesabre away. I don’t want to fight you.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: If no one objects, I’ll shut down before I’m cut in half by razor-sharp wordsmithery.

DARTH SINISTER: I am composing a ditty.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: How…unDarthlike. If there is such a word.

DARTH SINISTER: You have coined a word. Good. Now use it at every opportunity. Then mercilessly edit the word from your work.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: No! Wait! Using and unusing unDarthlike would be Darthlike.

DARTH SINISTER: Yes. Give in to temptation.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Never. Not when I can flick this handy switch that throws your entire DEATH STAR into cataclysmic overdrive.

NOISES OFF: CLICK.

DISEMBODIED VOICE OF GLOOMY FEMBOT: WARNING. CATACLYSMIC OVERDRIVE SEQUENCE INITIATED. ALL PERSONNEL NOT COVERED BY DEATH STAR INSURANCE PLEASE MOVE TO THE EMERGENCY FIRE ESCAPE. THANK YOU FOR USING THE FAST LANE.

DARTH SINISTER: A momentary glitch, young fool.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Now you’ll pay for all the clichés you’ve used. Dark Lord™ on his Dark Throne™. What’s that? The Fried Ewok Stand. Also serving bagels. Ew. There’s not a force in the universe that…

NOISES OFF: MAN NARRATING SOUND OF EXPLOSION FOR REASONS OF CHEAPNESS.

*

YOUNG VANDERKARR: What the Holy Eff just happened?

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Excuse the mess, Your Commendableness. I appear to be leaking oil. My big end’s gone, I’m afraid. Now I’ll have to seek emergency maintenance round the back.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Where the fudge am I? What the fritz is going on? Who the flip skewed with my sense of reality?

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: The DEATH STAR is deep in the Censored System. Profanity is heavily-shielded here.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Motherfudgers! You’ve got to be flipping kidding me. And this ledge?

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: I believe we were blasted from the control room to the maintenance platform over the main reactor shaft. The platform doubles as an ice cream counter. Would you care for some?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Fudge, yeah. Wait! The last I remember, I was caught up in my own little world with that motherfudging fear of editing. Say. I didn’t turn to the Dark Side™, did I? There’s this short story on the ground and…

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Oh, that belongs to Darth Sinister. It appears that you’ve intercepted a transmission meant for Darth Biozarre.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Why the fudge would Darth Sinister send a short story to Darth Biozarre? And why the fudge would he leave a copy for me? That’s just not his way. Why, his whole Darthtastic persona is based around this antiquated notion that it’s just him and the blank page.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Is there such a thing as robot wee? I think I may have to visit the lavatory.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: He’s sent out a sample of his fiction. There’s hope for us yet. Darth Sinister may turn to the Light Side™ after all.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: As I understand things, only his own fear of his personal carer, Darth Phibes, prevents Darth Sinister from acting in this way.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Yes. That’s true. I sense a disturbance in the Force. As though an Evil Presence™ yelled out in pain after taking a sword of buzzy light to the face. Could it be that Darth Phibes and Darth Biozarre clashed? Who won? Does that concern me? I have to face a Darth at the finish, no matter who kicked butt.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Fudge?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: What happened?

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: I was offering you ice cream.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Fritz, I knew that. Fudge.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: What now?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I was accepting your offer.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Ah.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Just give me some fudging ice cream while I read this story. Hm. I know the Dark Lord™ tried to turn me to the Dark Side™ with talk of short stories, but…wow. This really is short.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Pardon me, Your Commendableness. I believe that’s only the opening page. There’s a whole chapter here.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Darth Sinister has gone off the deep end. Maybe it’s an Evil Ploy®, designed to lure me to the ways of the Sith. By doing good deeds, he, er, does more evil. Somehow. I dunno. Must think about that.

DROID ESS-H-ONE-TEE: Incoming transmission from Darth Biozarre.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Yeah, I’ll take the call.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Greetings, Darth Sin…aren’t you a little tall to be a Sith Lord?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I’m Young Vanderkarr – I’m here to rescue you. From yourself.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Scoffing ice cream won’t save you.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I’ve been mocked by more sarcastic holograms than I care to mention. There was this glazing sales-droid…

DARTH BIOZARRE: Zip it, motherfudger. What the fudge? You’re in the Censored System. How did you end up there?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: A bunch of cocklesuckers designed this DEATH STAR, and…

DARTH BIOZARRE: You know censoring profanity in that way only draws more attention.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Fudging right I do. Long story short…

DARTH BIOZARRE: Taking up the short story. Good, good. Your Destiny™©® grows ever clearer. With each passing second, you make yourself more my servant.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Your servant.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Yes. I’ve just split Darth Phibes in half.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Fucking hell!

DARTH BIOZARRE: Shielding couldn’t contain that outburst. Impressive.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Darth Phibes is all that stands between Darth Sinister and the concept of sharing fiction ahead of publication.

DARTH BIOZARRE: All that stood. Darth Phibes is now in the past tense. If a corpse can be described as tense. Well, maybe going by the look on his false face. Wore a mask. A tense-faced mask. Odd, even by my standards. I’d go for the cliché of the jolly clown.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: You find the task of creeping people out a tad easier dressed as a jolly clown?

DARTH BIOZARRE: Mm. In a paper ruff. That way I crêpe people out, too. Nice use of tad, BTW.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Appreciate that.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Darth Phibes is no more. Well, he’s in two pieces on the floor.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Poetry, now.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Coincidence breeds creativity. Darth Sinister is free. An end to tyranny. Until I take over, with my own evil ideas.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: He’s not that free. Looks like he only sent the opening section of a story to you.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Yes, a mere pittance.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: So it appears. Nice use of pittance, BTW. Commendable.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Well shucks. Look closer, Young Vanderkarr.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Just as the droid said. Darth Sinister’s gone mental. He’s produced a whole chapter. Just for us. I may cry.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Stifle a sob. Turn to the Dark Side™. Write short stories of your own.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Wait!

DARTH BIOZARRE: Am I really meant to fall for that ploy again?

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Duh, yeah!

DARTH BIOZARRE: Bought you some time. I have to cross galaxies to reach you, in any case.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: This isn’t about my turning to the Dark Side™. Fudge no! This is about Darth Sinister having some good in him. And. Redemption. And…

DARTH BIOZARRE: Were you going to mention kittens? Don’t make me destroy you.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Redemption, not revenge. Recovery, not retribution. And kittens, darn it!

DARTH BIOZARRE: Fudge. Appears to be the fucking ice cream you’re eating.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: I’m drifting clear of the Censorship System, or your hologram would’ve been affected just now.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Why, I’m practically on your doorstep.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: This is the end. Darth Sinister fled the DEATH STAR. His enemy Darth Phibes is dead. I’m still a good guy. You could pack the whole Darth persona in a box and write your own stuff.

DARTH BIOZARRE: That’s a pretty pat ending.

YOUNG VANDERKARR: Yeah. Until Disney comes along and resurrects the whole thing.

DARTH BIOZARRE: Sounds like our cue to fade.

NEXT BLOG: MADONNAS, WITCHES, AND WEREWOLVES, OH MY!

OPERATION JOCK MACBASTARD.

 SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: (RUDE STATEMENT DESIGNED TO MAKE RAW RECRUITS PAY ATTENTION.)

RAW RECRUIT 1: I’m having trouble with his accent.

RAW RECRUIT 2: He’s staring at you. Now he’s staring at me. Ulp.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Fearrr! Aye. Whit is it guid fur?

RAW RECRUIT 1: He’s always talking about fur.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Fur fearties, that’s whit fear is fur.

RAW RECRUIT 2: What if I have fear of fur?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Aye, ye luik rah type. Whit is fear o’ fur fur?

RAW RECRUIT 1: We’re going to regret asking every single question.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: I will now speak more slowly, for the elucidation of the Americans in the audience. Those of you who appear to be having difficulty with my accent.

RAW RECRUIT 2: He sounds scarier now that I can actually understand what he’s saying. Which means I’ll be able to follow orders.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Worried aboot rah sub-pre-pluperfect past-indifferent?

RAW RECRUIT 1: What is that?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: It’s somethin’ ah jist made up.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Ulp.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Do we have to learn it?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Naw.

BABY SEAL: Hey Sarge.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: This Baby Seal is Vanderkarr, newly-promoted wi’ her erse-lickin’ rank o’ Corporal. You’ll notice ah picked up three stripes fur erse-lickin’.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Fur again. I’m afraid to ask…

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Corporal. Ah’ll let ye dish oot a wee bit punishment…

BABY SEAL: Drop and give me twenty paragraphs soldier!

RAW RECRUIT 1: Ma’am, yes, ma’am!

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ye ca’ this a story? Whaur’s the sterrrt o’ it?

RAW RECRUIT 2: Er, I, started in the middle. Got that from #badwritingtips. I thought it was a good writing tip.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: An’ the end. If ye can ca’ it an end.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Giant marshmallow man attacks New York. Sometimes you just pluck these ideas out of thin air.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Seems gey familiar tae me.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Did he just say guy, or something else?

RAW RECRUIT 1: Sarge, we just can’t get through. Take our collaborative novel, for example.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Whit’s the haud-up?

RAW RECRUIT 2: This stubborn character won’t reach the end of the chapter. We’re top-heavy with characters as it is. He’s quite useful in a tight spot, but he’s coming across as a coincidence-bound miracle-worker whose only task is to dig the writer out of a hole.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Lay doon some expasishun.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Sarge, we just don’t have the room for heavy exposition at this point. That’ll demolish our readers. This chapter’s tough-going as things stand.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Nip back therrr, see it. Yon drivin’ scene. Blaw it up.

RAW RECRUIT 2: But…we must establish character-transfer from there to here.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Jinny drove tae rah hoaspital in a frenzied waste o’ petroleum. Yon’s yer trouble richt therrr. Sterrrt wi’ rat, jist rah same. Wan line’ll dae rah trick. Ditch rah nixt fower pages.

RAW RECRUIT 1: But Sarge, the parking scene will never survive the loss of our driving text.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Aye. She spends too much o’ yer reader’s time parkin’. An’ that’s wan reader. Apostrophe s. Jist me. Luikin’ tae build up a followin’?

RAW RECRUIT 2: The drive sets up her thoughts when parking.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Trouble wi’ you lot is rat ye’re a’ fearties. Therrr’ll be times in a tale when ye’ve nae ither oaption but tae bring oot rah big guns an’ fire aff pages o’ expasishun. Fur it’s expasishun rat’ll blaw a hole through a’ rah boather.

RAW RECRUIT 1: If we cut four pages of driving, we lose four pages of parking. That renders the next six pages of traipsing through hospital corridors obsolete. You’re asking us to take the scene away from her and put it all on the other guy. With exposition instead of atmosphere.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Since when’s a’ rat been mutually exclusive? Did she no’ jist swan through a crackin’ chapter a’ aboot her woes?

RAW RECRUIT 2: Well, yes.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: If she’s oan rah stage a’ rah time, is therrr nae ither character waitin’ in rah wings?

RAW RECRUIT 1: Notice how he rolls his Rs when he froths at the mouth.

RAW RECRUIT 2: I think he froths at the mouth when he rolls his Rs.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Keep writin’! Ah huv tae see tae the richt flank. Vanderkarr, hit oot wi’ wan o’ yer war-stories.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Ma’am, how do we get through this?

RAW RECRUIT 2: We heard you were there. D-Day.

BABY SEAL: Yeah. I deployed a novel. Shot it at a publishing company. My D-Day was hell. That’s as it should be. I almost didn’t make it to shore. Thousands of writers, crammed in there. Looking at the target. Shying away from it. Knocked out by lack of confidence or darn-fool thinking.

RAW RECRUIT 1: What did you do?

BABY SEAL: I was washed up on the beach, and almost washed-up before I had a chance to put my training into action. Yeah, I was there. Feeling lost, alone. There was nothing to see. I’d just crawled out as far as I could, and didn’t know what to do next. That made me the one big lonely fish in the barrel. Fear took chunks out of me. Wasn’t nice. No, it wasn’t nice at all.

RAW RECRUIT 2: How did you cope?

BABY SEAL: I started yelling.

*

BABY SEAL: This is over! I can’t go on! Stuck here on this endless empty white beach. The blank page! What’s the point of it all? I’ll never be good enough to get anywhere. The haze, closing in. Up, down. Left, right. I barely know where I stand.

*

BABY SEAL: So I fired off one of those Twitter flares. That had worked, before.

RAW RECRUIT 1: You had help?

BABY SEAL: A civilian, named Biozarre. We did the Twitter thing. She was all for joining the Dark Side of Publishing™. I didn’t want to hear it. That wasn’t what I’d signed up for. She called a spade a bloody shovel and battered me over the head with that a few zillion times. I just couldn’t turn to the Dark Side™.

*

LA BIOZARRE: Send your work over there. Lob some pages at a publishing house.

BABY SEAL: I don’t know, Missy. Hell, you aren’t even in the army. What are you doing here?

LA BIOZARRE: My own thing. I’m planning to self-publish.

BABY SEAL: You’re a…mercenary?

LA BIOZARRE: A knight with a free lance. Well, lance for rent.

BABY SEAL: Could we tone down the phallic imagery, I’m seasick…

LA BIOZARRE: I’m with the Office of Storytelling Services.

BABY SEAL: Missy Biozarre. O.S.S.

LA BIOZARRE: We can put our stuff out there on the internet. Then it’s not about worrying over what’s ready. It won’t even be about rejection. Build an audience. Just go for it.

BABY SEAL: That sounds even more desolate than what I have planned. I think I’ll go back to considering paper publishing companies. Or combination outfits.

*

BABY SEAL: With that, she was gone. I heard the machine gun rattling in the distance. It was actually her texting thumb, increasing her Morbidly Obese Twitter following. I was alone again.

RAW RECRUIT 2: So what happened?

BABY SEAL: I fired off another Twitter flare. No one answered the call. I slumped on the beach. Telling myself I was doing good work – everywhere except in my writing. I thought I’d lost it. Utterly. That’s when I heard the bagpipes.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Bagpipes.

BABY SEAL: Nutty, I know. He came out of nowhere, with a cold wind up his backside. First out of the landing-craft. I thought he was in the wrong sector. But he’d come for me.

*

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ye’ll be slaughter’t therrr, Vanderkarr. Pick yersel’ up an’ move yer erse.

BABY SEAL: Huh?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Tae yer left. Luik. Ootflanked by despondency. An’ tae yer richt. Encircl’t wi’ doobt an’ despairrr.

BABY SEAL: I don’t know what to do, Sarge. What should I do?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Should ah waste ony time oan ye? Head fur rat blog.

BABY SEAL: Something about rat-fur?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Move yer erse. Grab some cover here. Hunker doon, hen.

BABY SEAL: Uh. Okay. This is my blog. Hey. This is MY blog. WTF?!

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Need tae stock up oan ammo. Whit huv ye goat fur us?

BABY SEAL: Goat-fur now?

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Fower buiks. Ye’ve written fower buiks, but cannae pit them oot. How no’?

BABY SEAL: They’re duds.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Whit’s this? Extract? Luiks fine tae me. Ye can write, lassie.

BABY SEAL: Uh. Yeah. I know that. But, I feel…

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ne’er mind a’ yon. Dinnae fash.

BABY SEAL: I wasn’t going to. Fash. It’s awfully quiet out here. I’m too exposed. Look at that emptiness.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Blank page. Fill it. Lay doon some paragraphs, an’ open up a saycont front.

BABY SEAL: We can’t. There’s nothing.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ye’ve written a’ these buiks. Fire wan aff.

BABY SEAL: Er.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ah’m movin’ up tae launch a massive quarter-mullion wurd epic.

BABY SEAL: Holy Eff!

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Aye, ah ken. It’s nearer a third o’ a mullion. Ye ’hink you’ve goat troubles…

BABY SEAL: Goats again. I don’t know.

SERGEANT JOCK MACBASTARD: Ah huv tae get a message through tae yon DEATH STAR…

BABY SEAL: Oh. I thought that was a small moon.

DEATH STAR COMMANDER: Transmission from the planet’s surface. The plug for Terry Moore is all set. We’ve cleared the ©, Milord. There’s nothing to stop us now.

DARTH SINISTER: Excellent work, Commander. You may edit when ready.

DEATH STAR COMMANDER: With pleasure. Well, it is a porno.

*

BABY SEAL: The Sarge had taken time from editing porn to talk to me.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Wow. That’s dedication.

RAW RECRUIT 1: What kind of porn?

BABY SEAL: Gerbil porn.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Er…

BABY SEAL: Gerbil-on-gerbil action. None of that funny stuff.

RAW RECRUIT 1: Er…

BABY SEAL: Well, there was some chocolate sauce. I didn’t look into that too closely. Anyway. I faced the worst thing in combat. The waiting. It’s the waiting that gets to you. And the clichés. But mostly the waiting. The cliché of waiting. Finally, I made a breakthrough. Signed a deal. Hybrid. Paper and electronic.

RAW RECRUIT 2: Wow.

BABY SEAL: I didn’t go it alone. That mercenary resurfaced in time to help whip me into shape for the final assault. Missy was all over my manuscript like physicists hunting for bosons.

RAW RECRUIT 2: She’s a mercenary, though…

BABY SEAL: Well, she does a lot of covert stuff. Best not to ask who she works for. The next I knew, I was signed to a deal. Though, you should know, that’s when the campaigning really begins. Leading into winter.

CHURCHILL: We will write them on the beaches, we will write them in the streets and in the fields…we will NEVER surrender. If the English language were to last for a thousand years, men will still say…this…is a thieving magpie language, written by people with thieving magpie minds…

NEXT BLOG: SECRET GARDEN.