12-30-11

Hi again!  I hope everybody had a wonderful Christmas.  I enjoyed the part that I wasn't working for (I worked daylight Christmas eve and 2nd shift Christmas day.  Yay...).  Santa was good to me, and I enjoyed the time I was home for all it was worth.
The new year is coming in just two days, and it already looks like 2012 is going to have an interesting start for me.  I just found out that The Augustine Agenda has gotten Honorable Mention for science fiction at the 2012 New England Book Festival!  An Honorable Mention.  For my first book.  How cool is that?!  It just makes me that much more excited about finishing up the new story I'm working on. 
I don't have much else for right now, except to wish everyone a safe, happy, and healthy New Year for 2012. 
Write on!
Bill

Here's a gift... I hope it fits! :-)

Sorry I've been a little neglectful of the blog the last two weeks, but I'm still hard at work on the third Vindicator novel.  Also, I really haven't had anything to rant about lately (nothing that would be interesting, anyway).    But since Christmas is this weekend, I thought I'd share a little.
So here's a little peak at the novel I've got in the works.  Feedback is CERTAINLY welcome!  : )


So on that note... Merry Christmas to all!  Enjoy!

PROLOGUE

  

Where am I?

She woke up in an unfamiliar room.  The brightness of the lights burned her eyes, and her nose was assaulted by the odors of disinfectant and recycled air.  The space around her was indistinguishable at first.  All she could make out was a big, white blur.  Then, slowly but surely, things started to come into focus.  When they finally did, she was sorry that they had.

As her haze began to clear, she could tell that she was lying on her back, looking up.  She noticed her hand was resting on something cold.  She looked down the front of her and saw that she was in an examination chair.  She could see her wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with thin metal straps. 

“She’s coming to,” she heard a deep, masculine voice say.  “Get ready.”

She reached her hands out as far as the straps would allow, and was surprised when she felt the hem of a medical gown.  She looked down again and saw her bare legs, which were bound to the chair by similar metal straps.  The thin cushions of the chair provided no comfort, and their surface was cold against the bare skin exposed by her short medical gown.  She let out a gasp as she realized that the gown was all she was wearing.  She could feel the cold air on her bare feet, and when she shivered, the thin metal straps around her ankles dug into them. 

Her eyes were focusing well now, and she saw that there were two men standing over her, looking down as she looked up.  The first was younger, and judging by the labcoat and scrubs he wore, he was a Lab Tech.  She’d never seen him before.  Aside from the fact that he was making her uncomfortable with his staring, she knew nothing else about him.

The second man, however, needed no introduction.  He had a chiseled jaw, dark hair and eyes, and the darkest uniform she’d ever seen.  She had no doubts that this was Fleet Commander Straker staring down at her with a satisfied smile on his face.  She couldn’t be sure if he was just enjoying his triumph, or if he was getting special enjoyment from her predicament.  The thought of either possibility sent a chill through her.

“Where...?  Where am I?”  The words finally fell from her lips, but they were slow in coming.

“You’re in Dagmar Prison.”  Straker’s voice was as icy as the room.  “For the last two days, you have been our special guest.”

“What do you want from me?”  The words were coming faster now.

The commander sneered.  “Why information, of course.”

“What are you talking about?” she stammered.  “I don’t know anything.”

“Oh I’m sure you know plenty, my dear.”  He leaned in so that his face was almost touching her cheek.  “You could start by telling me where the Augustine Resistance is hiding.”

“They’re not hiding,” she said angrily.  “Your men murdered them all.”

“That’s what Jace Ryan told me before he escaped from us,” the commander replied.  “Why don’t you tell me where he is?”

She felt his breath on her ear, and it made her shudder involuntarily. 

“Jace?”  The mention of his name focused her mind.  “Escaped?  I don’t know where he is.  And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“We’ll see about that,” the Commander replied.  “We have something here that may change your mind.”  He then turned to the man in the lab coat and nodded.  “You may begin.”

The man in the lab coat picked up a large needle and a small vial from his instrument tray.  She couldn’t make out the writing on the label, only that it was black and orange.  The LabTech drew some serum from the vial, and then started towards her with the needle.

“Wait,” she protested.  “What are you doing?  What’s that?”

“I’m going to inject you with a chemical called Compound 50,” the Tech replied with a smile.  “Although you may know it better as Samathine.  But don’t worry.  This shouldn’t hurt.  Much.”

“No!”  She struggled against the straps, but they just dug into her skin as they held her fast.  “What the hell is Samathine?”

The Tech none-too-gently jabbed the needle into the side of her neck.  Her entire body tensed, and she let out an involuntary whimper as the tech pushed the plunger in and the serum ran into her bloodstream.

“No!” she repeated.

Straker pushed the Tech aside and grabbed her by the throat.  “Now my dear.  You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”

“No!”  She struggled against her bonds again, but the attempt didn’t get her any further than her first had.

The serum burned as it passed through her body, from her neck down into her chest.  Then she could feel the burn as it passed through her heart and out to her limbs.  It was getting harder to remember.  Harder to think.  Harder to breathe.  Darkness was creeping into her mind.  She was blacking out, but at the same time, she was still awake.  Still aware.

She was struggling frantically now, but her arms and legs were growing heavier and heavier.  For all the effort she was going to, they weren’t moving very far, until finally, they didn’t move at all. 

At that moment she realized that there truly was no escape for her.  She couldn’t run.  She couldn’t fight.  In a final moment of clarity, she realized that there was only one thing that she could do.

So Jade Ryan screamed.

Tidings of...?

I actually wrote this about a week ago, but the flu kept me offline for a few days.  Anyway, on with the blog, shall we?

Sorry I haven't written in here much, but between writing the book, and working overtime at my real job, I haven't had time to think much, let alone write it down in the blog.

I hope everyone had a Happy and safe Thanksgiving!

I spent some time in Allentown, PA with my in-laws this year, and a great time was had by all.  It almost makes me look forward to Christmas again.

I say again because wow, haven't we been innundated with Christmas stuff already?  Wal-Mart started putting their Christmas decorations out before HALLOWEEN this year.  A lot of people in my town started putting the decorations on their houses the day AFTER Halloween.  Ouch!  I'm starting to feel like the kid in "Christmas Every Day".  He wished it could be Christmas every day, and some magical fairy said, "Okay."  So everybody got new presents every day, because it was Christmas, after all.  After about two weeks, everybody got sick of it, and after a month, they wanted to kill this little kid for making it Christmas every day!  I guess the people who run the big chain stores haven't seen that movie.

And should I even start down the road of people saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" because we're so afraid of offending people these days?  It makes me angry sometimes because I even catch myself doing it, mostly at work.  Long story short, I was raised in a neighborhood full of Catholics and Protestants.  We always wished each other Merry Christmas.  If you had Jewish friends, you said "Happy Hanukkah", and most of them thought it was pretty cool that you acknowledged their holiday.  Now, we're so afraid of offending people of a different faith or culture, we go the "don't ask, don't tell" route, and just say "Happy Holidays".  I'm not Jewish, but if someone wished me "Happy Hanukkah", I couldn't really see myself getting offended.  I'd say it back and go on my way. 

But then again, I've never used religion to determine how I feel about or treat another person.  I was taught that it doesn't matter if a person worships God, or Justin Beiber (I picked him because it just sounded funny.  And disturbing), or a rutabaga.  It's what's on the inside and how they treat others that counts.  Tolerance and that whole "peace on Earth, goodwill toward men (and women) thing is what this time of year is supposed to be about, after all. 

Isn't it? 

Okay, maybe that subject was a little bit deep to rant about here, because I try to keep this pretty light.  But that's what came to my mind today.

So in closing, Have a Merry Christmas.  Or a Happy Hanukkah.  Or a Happy Kwanza.  Or a Joyous Yule.  Or a Happy Winter Solstice.  And of course... HAPPY FESTIVUS!

Out There, Somewhere...

     For anyone who's wondering, I’m hard at work on the third installment of the Vindicators series.  I’m about halfway through it as I write this, so instead of NaNoWriMo (for the benefit of you non-writers out there, it’s short for National Novel Writing Month, which is every November), where you try to write a 50,000 word novel by the end of the month, I’m shooting to have a 40,000-45,000 word page-turner finished by the end of the year.  I’m running out of year fast, but the pages are starting to fill in nicely at this point.

     Anyway, while I’m trying to get the third novel written, I’m still trying to get someone to notice the other two that I’ve written.  To that end, I’ve entered Augustine Agenda in the New England Book Festival, the New York Book Festival, and the London Book Festival (I hope the book does well, but basically I did the last one just so that I could say I did it.  I’m going to be an author whose work has appeared at the London Book Festival.  See how cool that sounds?).

     I had a few other ideas for “getting it out there”, but they’re not panning out so well.  I saw a group online called simply “Books For Soldiers,” which looked really interesting to me.  What they do is take books and magazines (no pornography) that are in good shape and send them to soldiers who are stationed overseas.  If you want to donate money to their cause, it’s really easy.  They even take PayPal, which is great.  But if you want to actually want to send them books, you have to become a registered donator, and then they’ll send you want lists.  Then you ship directly to the soldiers yourself.  That’s a great thing, don’t get me wrong.  And if anybody wants to do that, God bless and more power to you.  But it seems very involved and time-consuming to me.  I wanted something where I could just send X number of copies in to them and they could send them as they saw fit.  I’ll keep looking, because I think that’s a great idea, and there’s probably somebody out there that does it.  If anyone knows of a group that does, please let me know, because I’d be more than happy to send a box of books to them.

     Another thought I had was to donate them to my local library, and look at other libraries from there.  Now before I write this down, let me make something clear.  I’m an author.  I write books.  So bookstores, libraries, and the First Amendment are three things that are near and dear.  That having been said, I read the guidelines at my local library for donating books.  The guidelines used to be

1. Set box/bag/stack of books on counter.
2. Say “I’d like to donate some books.” 
3. Librarian says “thank you”.
4. Say “You’re welcome, have a nice day”
5. Go on your merry

     Not anymore, dear friends.

     Now, it seems that the lawyers have gotten involved.  I read someplace in the guidelines about authors who self-publish having to sign a Notarized affidavit releasing the library from liability from any damage their books might cause. 

     Notarized?  Really?

     I write paperbacks, mostly because CreateSpace doesn’t have a hardcover option.  I can’t imagine how much damage, outside of a papercut, my books could do.  I suppose the corners might be a little bit sharp, but I’m sure that with the proper protective equipment, they wouldn’t be too much trouble, either.  I guess I could put a sticker on the cover telling readers to wear their safety glasses when reading my stuff.

     I’d like to say that I understand where they’re coming from on this one, but I really don’t.  I guess the only scenario I could think of would be if someone wrote in their book that “So-and-So is a such-and-such”, because if he isn’t, then it’s libel.  You see, on-demand publishers – at least the ones I’m dealing with – don’t proofread material for spelling, grammar, or content that could get you sued unless you pay extra for it.  You can also pay someone else to do it for you, but my personal choice was to do it myself.  So when you read my books, I can honestly tell you that the pre-production was all me. 

     Back to the point.  If I was So-and-So, and John Author libeled me and I really wanted to sue somebody, I’d just sue John Author, not the library.  Are you going to sue the paperboy when the headline of the Sunday paper is depressing?  But unfortunately we’re living in a litigious society these days. 

     So on second thought, I guess I really can see where the library is coming from.  After all, somebody sued McDonalds once and won because – imagine this – her coffee was HOT.

CUT!

"With great power comes great responsibility." - Ben Parker, Spider Man #1

If you know me personally, then you're probably friends with me on Facebook.  If you are, then you've probably noticed that I really don't say much on there.  I play a few games, and the people who play on my team (crew, whatever) are a big percentage of my friends list also.  I post the occasional check-in from work, with a snarky comment, or from my weekly Tuesday night trip to Super Wal-Mart so I don't have to go food shopping on my rest days.  This is also usually accompanied by something like "Cover me.  I'm goin' in!"  Other than that, I'm pretty quiet unless I see something online I want to share, or somebody else shares something interesting.  There are three VERY good reasons for this.

First, I'm not famous by any stretch of the imagination (the Greatest Writer you've NEVER heard of).  And even if I was, I don't think I'm that important that I need to keep people updated to my comings and goings.  I think it's annoying when I read in the paper or online about what restaurant George Clooney or Derek Jeter ate at last night, and I wouldn't want to subject people to a constant stream of that from me.  My ego isn't THAT big.

Second, I'm basically a simple person.  I wake up.  I go to work.  I do my job.  I come home.  I go on Facebook for a while.  I write.  I go to bed.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  My life is actually pretty boring.  Or at the very least, not that much different from anyone else's.  And after you've read about it once, I'm sure that's enough for you.  Pretty much like real life, I only speak up when I have something to say.

Last, and probably most important, I read what some other people put up, and to be honest, it's kind of scary sometimes.  One person in particular (no names) posted about... well... long story short, he shaved a veeeery sensitive part of his body, and felt it necessary to share with all of his friends that he was bleeding.  Now any normal person would look at something like this and either a) do a double-take and ask "did I really read this?" or b) laugh their ass off.  This particular guy's friend list was split about 60-40 to the laughing side.  Through a very strange (to say the least) Facebook "conversation", it came to light that this guy shaved himself with a straight razor (obviously he missed the Billy Connolly concert where he said you have to be kind to yourself), and had himself cut badly enough that he had to go to the E.R.  Six stitches later, he was back on Facebook again taking abuse from his pals (I guess somebody stitching that particular part of his body wasn't traumatic enough?).

I like to share sometimes, but I wouldn’t have the balls (no pun intended) to share that much.

Just to get their attention.....

I love my wife.
Michele works as a medical assistant instructor at a tech school in the next town.  One of her students is handicapped with a prosthetic leg.  Class was on a break one day, and Michele's student went out for lunch.  Michele went out in front of the building for a smoke when a student from another class parked her car in the handicapped spot that her student had just pulled out of.  She didn't have handicapped plates or hang a tag, so Michele asked her if she had one.  The student responded "Yeah," and breezed past her into the building.
When Michele's student came back from the store, there were no more handicapped spaces open, so she had to park out in the lot.  Michele's truck was in a spot near the building, which she offered to her student, but she wouldn't take it.  Michele was annoyed about the whole situation, but held her temper (which is impressive, if you know her).
This same person did the same thing again last night, but this time, my wife decided to be an advocate and do something about it.  She approached her student, and asked to borrow her leg (yes, you read that last sentence right.  She asked to borrow the woman's leg).  After giving her a strange look and hearing what she planned to do with it, the woman reached down and promptly removed the leg (I kid you not).  So Michele then the leg down the hall to the other classroom (I never thought I'd ever write that sentence).  She tells the teacher of the class what happened, and the teacher agreed with her that the student needed talking to.  When she saw the leg in her hand (something else I never thought I'd write), she knew what my wife had in mind and agreed with that too.  In fact, she offered to take the leg and do it for her (gotta love teachers, lol).
Michele went into the classroom and set the leg on the desk in front of her, and at that point, you could have heard a pin drop.  She asked who had parked in the handicapped spot, and when the student fessed up, she announced, "This is my student's leg.  She has a handicapped placard and needs to park in the handicapped spot in front of the building.  If you don't have handicapped plates or a handicapped placard, please don't park in the handicapped spot.  Thank you."
With that, she picked up the leg and marched it back to her student.
Of course on the next break, someone from the class had to approach Michele and tell her that she was offended by the way she handled the situation.  Her response?  "My mother in-law is disabled, my parents are disabled, and I'M offended that someone who doesn't have a handicapped placard would park in a handicapped spot when there are people here who need them."  She also reminded the student that she could have just called the police and gotten her car ticketed.  This was cheaper, and visual aids make a great point. 
Did I mention that I love my wife?

DAMN, I MISS PAUL O'NEILL

News flash, baseball fans...  Detroit beat the Yankees last night, so no 28th World Title for them this year.
As a long time Yankee fan, I'm not even upset so much that they lost.  The Tigers are a great team.  And they're young, so they have all the potential that the Rays had before they blew up against the Phillies a few years ago.  The way they played last night, they deserved to win.  So here's my problem: what happened to the emotion in baseball?
Sure, guys get upset when a pitcher throws inside, and once in a while they'll get really upset and charge the mound (not condoning, just pointing out).  And when a team wins a playoff series there's the obligatory dogpile on the pitcher's mound.  But what about those little moments?  Here's the best example from last night's game:  bases loaded on the seventh with one out.  Who's up but my least favorite Yankee of all time, Alex Rodriguez.  I refuse to call him A-Rod, and I'm not even going to pretend I'm sorry, either.  One swing, a single over the infielder's head, could've put two runs across and change the whole game.  Other times I've seen him just stand in with the bat on his shoulder and take the strikeout.  But to his credit, he was swinging last night.  He at least made the pitcher work for it, but he struck out all the same.  In Game 5 of the ALDS.  With the bases LOADED, and a chance to put his team ahead.  So what does he do?  He walks back to the dugout, gingerly puts his bat back on the rack, and goes along on his merry way.
I can't help but think back to older Yankees teams, when they had guys like Don Mattingly (my favorite player ever), Dave Winfield, or even Paul O'Neill.  He was the most interesting one to watch, because if they were AHEAD and he struck out, he was knocking the water cooler over and breaking chairs in the clubhouse.  Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not condoning tearing up the clubhouse, but when those guys messed up or had a bad game, you could see all over their faces that they were pissed off about it.  You could tell that these guys cared about what they were doing, and you could see that it mattered to them when they didn't do well.
What I see now is that everybody is swinging for the fences every time up, instead of trying to move runners.  And if they don't hit one out?  Oh well, I'm still making millions guaranteed, so keep it moving.  Guys like Mattingly, Winfield, Willie Randolph, Pete Rose (no matter what he did of the field, he was still one of the best players ever, but that's a subject for another day), and a lot of others from that time, cared about the game.  And watching them made me care about it too.  I just don't see that in a lot of guys they have now, like Rodriguez.
But then again, Mattingly, Rose, Randolph and O'Neill weren't making 30 million a season, either.

MOW, MOW, MOW

I just want to start this stream of consciousness by acknowledging that I must be one of the worst bloggers on here, as I don't write in it regularly.  I know how terrible I am, and maybe I'll blog about it someday : )
(Now if you smiled or chuckled at the irony in that, congratulations.  You're one of the people I'm writing to, and welcome.  Anybody else... you may as well click off me now, because I don't get much better than this... lol)
Anyway, I just got finished cutting grass (what an exciting day, right?), and I noticed something.  I couldn't have been running the mower for more than five minutes when I looked up, and two of my neighbors had brought theirs out and started too.  Now I realize that it's been at least three weeks since anybody on my block has mowed, what with the hurricane, and the tropical storm, and then just crappy weather in general.  So this is the first time in a while that it's been sunny on my day off (not from writing, from the job that pays..lol).  So all our front yards had that 'vacant lot' look about them.  But the timing of this was just weird.  And it's not the first time this has happened.  I thought about it, and I remember that every time I've come out to cut my grass, at least two other people come out too.  It's kind of creepy.
Did I get elected the mowing captain of my block or something?  Do these people sit by the window and watch for me (or anybody, for that matter) to go out and do something, and then feel like they have to run out then and there too?  Does my mower put out a signal to the other homeowners on the block that it's time to mow?  Or is it me?  Am I psychic like the Mara character in my books?  I wonder if I think really hard, can I make my neighbors do other things?  <closes eyes and puts finger to temple>  Buy Augustine Agenda.... go to Amazon.com and buy Augustine Agenda....
Ha ha... I didn't really think that would work. <checks Amazon.com.>   Right.  I didn't really think that would work.  Ha ha ha.
But I degress.  The timing of it is just so weird.  Has this happened to anyone else?  I've driven through other neighborhoods and seen three or four people out mowing at a time, so I'm sure it has.  But what is it that causes this?  Is it a social thing?  Is it instinct?  Did the cavemen mow their grass in packs too?  What is it that drives people to mow in groups? 
If you're reading this, President Obama (and I know you are.  You bought both of my books, right?), I have an idea.  If you guys in Washington really want to blow a few million of our tax dollars on another study, I think the next one should be on the "Group Mowing Phenomenon of Suburban America".
Think that's silly?  Of course it is.  I meant it to be.  But think about this:  NASA spent 10 million dollars in R&D back in the day to design something for the astronauts to write with in the zero gravity environment of space.  They designed a pen that employed a pressurized ink cartridge and could be used at any angle, even upside down.
The russian space program had a writing implement that could do the same thing.  It was called a PENCIL.

CHAPTER ONE, PAGE ONE

Hi, and welcome to my blog! 


To introduce myself, I'm Bill Lavell.  I live in Central New Jersey with my wife of 5 years.  I have a job that doesn't involve creative writing, but even though it doesn't pay as well, I like writing much better.  You see, when I'm not "on the job," I write science fiction.  I don't think that I'm terribly interesting, but every once in a while, things happen that you just can't make up.  And don't worry.  I'll be writing about them here.

I've written two novels now, so a friend of mine suggested that I should start a website to get my name out there and show the books of a bit.  That was a great idea of his, and the writing of book 3 has slowed down a bit, so I figured "what the hell?  I'll try and set this up myself."

Now before you laugh at me too hard, I'm not completely unfamiliar with HTML.  I had a website a few years back, Denimguy.net, which I built and maintained myself (and if you remember that site, you get the gold star for today).  I was just learning coding, and how to use Dreamweaver 4 (I loved that program).  Anyway, I didn't do too badly if I do say so myself.  I ran the site for a year, and then real life got in the way, so I let it go.  But that was a few YEARS ago.  I managed to get my hands on a copy of Dreamweaver CS5, and I'll tell you, I don't like it AT ALL (just my opinion, though).  It seems that coding websites has changed a lot since I was toying with "DenimGuy's Tiny Little Piece of Cyberspace," as I called my site.  At least the programs you build sites with have. 


I was on vacation this week, so I had time to psych myself up for the job.  Finally on Sunday night I was feeling brave, so I opened Dreamweaver and started trying to build a site.  I don't know what made me start with a contact page, but that's where I started.  I generated an email form on foxyforms.com, which is a great site.  "Just copy this code onto your site, and you're all set," it said.  "Great," said I.


So I copied and pasted, saved the file, and tested it out.  It was fantastic!  I put in a bogus name and email address, typed in a test message, and it went straight to my inbox.  The only issue I had was that the form was left justified on the page, and I wanted it centered.  No big deal, I'll just highlight it on the design screen, hit the 'centering' button, save the file, and all will be right with the world.  So I went through all of my steps, and saved the file with a satisfied grin on my face, and tried the updated file. 


It wasn't centered.

Okay, I thought.  No biggie.  I'll just do it again.


I made the change, saved the file, and opened it.  The form hadn't moved one iota.
"Once more," I told myself.  "It'll work this time."


"Not a chance," the saved file seemed to say back.


So I opened up a second program, KomPoser, that I had on a USB drive.  I went through all of the steps, saved the file, and grinned.  "This time, it's got to work," I said.
When I opened the saved file, my laptop may as well have been laughing at me.  The damned form was still in the same spot.


So long story short, I lost count of the number of times I altered and saved, in both programs, just to center a form on a webpage (a normal person probably would have given this up a long time ago, I know.  But not me, lol), but after about an hour and a half, and a few chants of "OCD!  OCD!  OCD!" from the wrestling crowd in my head, the form finally took pity on me and centered itself on the page.  So after I pumped my fist triumphantly in the air, I closed the file as fast as I could and went to work on the next page.  The funnier/sadder/more pathetic thing about it was that it only took me more time to get that first page right than the whole rest of the site combined.


So I learned three things that night: 


First, I really miss Dreamweaver 4.  Second, I know just enough about HTML to be dangerous.  Finally, and maybe most importantly, I need to get out more.