Author Spotlight: Larry N. Martin

Amazon Cover

Larry N. Martin is part of the Gail Z. Martin and Larry N. Martin writing team. Together they have created the steampunk Jake Desmet Adventures, the urban fantasy monster hunter Mark Wojcik – a mechanic out of Pennsylvania, the post-apocalypse Wasteland Marshals, the historic fantasy steelworker Joe Mack, and I am going to stop there for brevity. I know there is more; this team is so prolific they have their own imprint: Sol Publishing … and they still create works for other medium and small presses. 

For the most part, Ms. Martin runs the social media and marketing end of the post-production while Mr. Martin takes care of the editing and uploads. Watching them churn words is like watching a waterfall, the magic never ends.

Even with all of that, Mr. Martin creates books on his own including the fantasy The Splintered Crown and the science fiction novel Salvage Rat.

Of all the many genres he works in, I’m going to say Mr. Martin loves Steampunk the best. He even cosplays in steampunk at conventions. I’m not sure it’s his favorite genre to write in, but his eyes sparkle the most when he gets on the Steampunk and Costuming panels.

Flash: Burn the World

Photo by Idea go from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Staring out at the burning world, the red blaze sinking into his dark skin, the warrior grinned as the ancient quote from Genghis Khan came to his mind, “It is not sufficient for me to succeed. All others must fail.” While Damdin had not yet succeed to his full sufficiency, those before him had surely failed.

Viking. Such a perfect term. To raid, to go on a quest to pillage, rape, and burn. While those cowering in their homes associate the term with white men in flowing blonde hair on the covers of the bodice rippers from yesteryear, the term applied to anyone who participated in those types of activities, if he remember rightly, and considering he taught history for over a decade, he did.

Now he and those who have joined him created a new Viking history, a new Mongol Horde as they leveled what is left of the false society. Burn everything to the ground and start over.

The aliens started the process, taking down the centers of commerce with strange weapons, destroying and changing everything they touched, before those who had believed their false claims of “coming in peace” turned the tide with even stranger weapons created by mad scientists reverse engineering stolen technology. None of the scientists started mad, but by the time they had worked on the creations enough to understanding them, all of the scientists were mouth-frothing insane.

He and his band will finish what the aliens had initiated, while watching the thousand falling chunks of starstuff from the aliens’ failure steak across the sky each night as they celebrate their victory in the arms of captured women.

“Damdin, Elba has sent a messenger to negotiate.”

“Is she pretty?” the war chef asked without turning around, knowing if the messenger had been male no report would have been made. His aide had been with him since the beginning.

“If you like pale-skinned, thin women used to sleeping in soft beds.”

“Brand her, feed her, and put her in my lean. Tomorrow we take Elba. Either they will offer us their soft bellies or we will slit them.”

The nineteen year old, a student from Damdin’s teaching times and disciple since the burning times had begun, ran to accomplish precisely that with no further acknowledgment, his booted footsteps fading quickly.

Once satisfied that the false dawn his raiders had made will shimmer on the horizon all night, reminding the town of Elba of their coming doom, Damdin retired to his lean-to to see what Elba deemed worthy to distract him from 30,000 souls they sheltered. Souls he would bend to his will on the morrow.

(words 440; first published 8/25/2019)

 

Author Spotlight: Elisa Hansen

Book Cover from Amazon

Editing can be a long journey, and I started the journey with Elisa Hansen over a year ago when I first read her “The Company of Death” and told my boss at Falstaff Publishing I wanted the book. During that time we did a minor rewrite, a couple other editing passes, brought on new staff at the publisher, and dealt with bottlenecks in getting books out the doors into hands. Also during that time I got to know Elisa Hansen as a person. And she is a pretty awesome person.

On one hand, she is a vlogger about Vampires of all sorts. Check out her youtube channel “The Maven of the Eventide”. Wonderfully camping, she explores books and movies on this long-running vlog (four years and counting). If it has fangs, it is fang-tastic for her channel. (Also includes her announcement about this book.)

On another hand, she is a mother of a soon-to-be expanding family. Her present spawn is adorable in his madness, and I think present-parasite-soon-to-be-outside-body shall be equally entertaining in her ability to tear through the house faster than the progenitors. 

A third hand is devoted to her writing career, with the publication of her second book this week and working on other vlogs.

Want to get to know this awesome lady too? Her website is here. And her patreon is here. If you are into vampires and camp, I highly recommend her vlog. If you just want to dive into an urban fantasy about Death (not humor-oriented), check out her book on Amazon (and other outlets).

Geeking Science: Seed Banks and Bad-ass Scientists

By Frode Ramone from Oslo, Norway – DSCF0896.jpg,
CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61440340

 

Bad-ass Viking Scientists. That’s how I think about the Svalbard Global Seed Vault and the Arctic World Archive. Norway is a culture who looks at the world dying and rebuilding as a given – and have prepped to jump start the next cycle after Ragnarok. The whole world is betting on them pulling it off.

Around the world, over 1,700 seed banks exist as a stop-gap between starvation and human stupidity – with Svalbard being the final line in the snow. At this time, 95% of humanity’s food comes from 30 crops. Monoculture agriculture at its scary finest. In case something happens like (cough) climate change (cough) making some of the food crops non-viable, humans (in an amazing feat of intelligence) have set aside historic seed for biodiversity.

Doing so wasn’t easy. Bad-ass Scientists around the world have died saving this hedge in the seed banks against humanity’s bone-headiness.  The St. Petersburg gene bank faced sure destruction during the siege of Leningrad from hungry citizens and a starving German army. The Russian scientists locked themselves in their vault, and some died waiting for the conflict to end surrounded by grain seed they could have eaten, hungry but never hungry enough to compromise their principles.

And just in case you were thinking this is all a pie-in-the-sky-someday-thing, in 2015 the first withdrawal of seed occurred. The Syria Seed Bank had been heavily damaged in a civil war and forced to be abandoned, so they asked for their wheat and barley seeds back. They had sent extra off to the Bad-ass Vikings for storage in the Doomsday Vault, as it is nicknamed. Doomsday just came a little early for them. The Bad-ass Farming Scientists then planted that defrosted seed in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley and in Morocco – since home still wasn’t safe, and collected the seed, splitting it between their hopefully future rebuilt seed bank and the Doomsday.

Not having enough to do, the Viking Scientists decided to add a Data vault as well. They came up with data storage materials that can last 500 to 1000 years and offered their services to the world. They aren’t asking for the originals, just copies of what countries want to save. Like the golden record of Voyager.

“The data will remain searchable online … as long as the internet and servers are still functioning.” (Jones 2017)

A chilling thought, not to have the internet. But that is what Doomsday Vault is about. Against just that eventuality. Brazil and Mexico sent the first materials, Brazil from a collection of more than 300 life stories recorded between 2006 and 2016, and Mexico copies of documents dating back to the Inca period. 

addition 2019 – Since the initial deposit in 2015, other government and governmental agencies has sent in material. Such as manuscripts form the Vatican Library and the European Space Agency recording of data acquired by a 1991 satellite. (Piql 2019)

Scientists united around the world, picking up keyboards, digging holes, saving genetic material, and grinning with bloody teeth against humanity’s self-destructive tendencies and a planet who both is our mother and ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Geeking Science – Hear the Nerds ROAR!

 

Bibliography

Duggan, Jennifer. “Inside the ‘Doomsday’ Value.” Time. (undated). https://time.com/doomsday-vault/ – Last viewed 12/2/2019.

Jones, Rhett. “Norway Gets a New Doomsday Vault That Stores Data.” Gizmodo. 2017 April 2 at 11:37 AM. https://gizmodo.com/norway-gets-a-second-doomsday-vault-that-stores-data-1793935778 – Last viewed 12/2/2019.

McCoy, Daniel. “Ragnarok.” Norse Mythology for Smart People. 2012-2019. https://norse-mythology.org/tales/ragnarok/ – Last viewed 12/2/2019.

Wikipedia. “Svalbard Global Seed Value.” (undated). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Svalbard_Global_Seed_Vault – Last viewed 12/2/2019.

Addition 2019

Piql.com. “Arctic World Archive receives more world treasures.” 2019 February 21. – Last viewed 12/2/2019. (note – Piql oversees the Arctic World Archive)

Flash: Zombie Stench

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (language)

“Oh … god,” Dick moaned doubling over.

Vinny turned back to look for a second before continuing his visual sweep of the mall. “You okay, man?”

“You didn’t get bit or anything?” Sandi frowned. It was just the three of them now and she hated to have to shoot another friend. The guys were too squeamish, so executions fell to her.

“No, not bit.” Dick panted rapidly a few times before straightening enough to lean against the wall. “God, I shouldn’t have had those chili dogs.”

“First fresh food in days and you complain.” Sandi growled, checking the ammo levels in her pistols during the lull. She frowned before stuffing a couple bullets into her revolver; she didn’t remember firing it. “Whine, whine, whine.”

“This after screaming like a girl?” Dick snapped back.

“The zombie grabbed my boob, before I blew out his brains.” Satisfied everything was fully loaded, Sandi did one last tap check to verify everything was in place before bringing her carbine to ready. “Had to have been a mother-fucking perve in life. First one to go for the double Ds, most go for limbs.”

Vinny went over to his neighbor, running an eye over Dick. Leather jacket was covered in gore; black gloves, heavy jeans, and work boots they picked up yesterday were far from new now. Dick’s face was sweaty and pale, but his lips didn’t have the crusting.

“Vinny, I’m going to need more ammo soon.” Sandi reported as she took over the visual sweep.

Vincent served as the group’s de facto leader since Warren bit it, bit it in more ways than one. A loss since he was the only one in the neighborhood who had been in the military; sure he got kicked out of boot camp on a medical, but at least he walked them through basic weapon training and opened up his armory. Warren had really, really wanted to be part of the military. Vincent was a little shocked by how much fire-power had been located in his little suburban cul-de-sac.

Satisfied Dick would live — and not turn around and kill them — Vincent said. “Granger Mountain replaced the Macy’s a few months back. It’s on the west end.”

Sandi frowned; it was rapidly becoming the day-care worker’s natural expression. “That’s past the food court. If any zombies made it in, …”

“I know.” Vincent’s voice cracked with exhaustion.

Vincent and Dick joined Sandi at the pillar in front of the Hello Kitty store. It had been prime real estate, located at the juncture between an entrance and the main hall of the two-story mall. Across the way was a Barnes and Noble. Looking down the hall, the group could see the retail excess of mostly useless clothes.

They had debated retreating to the mall once their neighborhood had been overrun. They needed a place with supplies. The Super-Walmart was the best choice, if they hadn’t run into horde after horde. Seemed like Wally World was the store of choice for mindless zombies.

 The mall had an ethnic food market and an Aldi. The zombies would have eaten all the easily accessible food, if they were around, but the canned goods would be intact.

Taking the left side, a natural preference since he was left-handed, Vinny announced, “Clear.”

Sandi verified the right side. “Clear.”

“Dick, you know the way?”

“With three teenage daughters? The mall’s a second home.”  Dick moved into point, following the established pattern. As the oldest, and most out-of-shape, of the remaining group, they liked him to set the pace. He was also, surprisingly, the most accurate shot. After Warren and Cass … left … the sniper rifle fell to him.

Manikins moved in the shadows as they quick marched down through the unnaturally empty space. Other than their booted steps, the only sounds echoing were the high-pitched hum of lights and the motorized rumble of the escalator. Grimacing, Richard ran up the ramp between the half-levels. One fight on a staircase had been enough for a lifetime.

Shortly thereafter, the grand hall widened into the food court and, for the first time since entering the mall, sounds of human movement could be heard. They ducked into a short hall immediately before the food court. Sandi, the smallest and most agile of them, poked around the corner while Dick and Vinny checked the narrow passage.

“Fifteen or so, but they are at the McDonalds. Half of them in uniform,” Sandi whispered.

Vinny nodded. They had seen similar grouping behavior. “Most likely with whatever functions as their minds, they chose a familiar place.”

Sandi pulled back completely into the corridor. “If they are in a safe place, they won’t react as fast. We could blow by them quickly.”

“Good plan. Let’s move on three. One … Two …”

“Where the hell are you going Dick?” Sandi hissed through the count.

Dick continued walking down the hall. “I’ve pissed myself twice, damn if I am going to shit myself.”

Vinny turned to see Dick pushing open a door. “What the hell ARE you doing?”

“Taking a god-damn bathroom break.”

Vinny and Sandi stared at each other in shock after Dick disappeared into the restroom.

“Aberrant behavior.” Sandi muttered.

Vinny shook his head. “Usually aggressive, not stupid like this.”

“He has lost it.”

Vinny looked sadly down the mall’s utility passageway; crazy they didn’t need. “Agreed. So on three?”

They broke out, Sandi’s carbine and Vinny’s submachine gun shooting short bursts, running flat out for once, without Dick slowing them down. Turns out Sandi’s visual assessment was accurate, at least as far as she could see. The steakhouse tucked against the food court’s side, around the corner and invisible from the restroom alley, held a much larger group.

The multitude, many having name tags declaring a store and a no longer viable name, flooded the area. Even with the generous use of fire power destroying bodies and with zombies being distracted by the fresh meat, the two were unable to continue. As Vinny slammed in his last magazine, through unspoken agreement, the couple retreated to the last defendable position.

The zombies followed, through no more than two abreast could fit past the public phone. A few bounced off the wall mount, unable to process why they could go no further.

They needed another gun to get out. Vinny and Sandi pushed open the men’s room door.

“Oh shit! What is that?!?” Sandi said, covering her burning nose.

Vinny nearly puked. He had several days of zombie gore on him, and he never smelled anything this vile. The small room reeked.

“Nearly done guys,” came Dick’s bass from second stall. Farting and sounds of something half liquid being ejected followed. The sound was horrifyingly similar to the sound of Cass using the sledge hammer on zombies.

Speaking of zombies, a swinging door is not much of an obstacle, once the zombies knew it was a door. They followed, like the never-stopping horde of mindless creatures they were, they followed.

And stopped.

Mindless does not mean without senses.

Zombies actually have a very good sense of smell.

The zombies gagged.

Not something anyone would want to see, and REALLY not something anyone wanted to hear.

Then the zombies retreated.

Vinny froze in shock.

Sounds of Dick pulling up his jeans filled the silent tiled room.

Sandi yelled. “Dick, whatever you do – DO NOT FLUSH!!!!”

“Sandi, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Dick stepped out of the stall.

Vinny turned on the woman of the group, “And why not flush that putrid shit from hell? We are going to be stuck here for a while.”

Sandi, the bounding twenty-something, curvy, beautiful, perky, relentless blonde, the one which had driven all men nuts during the neighborhood block pool parties in her infinitesimal bikini, the only female to survive the five grueling days and nights since the first zombies came visiting, grabbed Dick by the ears, pulled down him down, and kissed him thoroughly on the lips.

“I love you!” she declared, releasing him. “You get chili dogs FOREVER.”

After that she laid down and curled around her carbine like a teddy bear.

Vinny and Dick stared at her. She, their mascot, their backbone, had gone mad.

Sandi cracked open an eye. “The zombies can’t stand the stench. They don’t understand things change. They are going to wait until we come out.”

The two men heads shook slightly side-to-side trying to follow her reasoning.

“Dudes, we can sleep.”

(words 1,417 – first published 9/17/2013, republished new blog format 7/1/2018)