BLOGS

This is very much a first draft and will have many revisions before I'm done, but I wanted to give you a little taste of what I'm working on: 

    The wind swept over the jagged edges of the snow capped mountain and across the valley. I braced myself against the frigid gusts. Spring was past, the grass was only just fading into the mass of dry golden blades of summer, yet the wind was as cold as any blustery winter day as it swept off the glacier. 
    I smelled underlying scents of the ancient lands, flexing and swaying under the dying sun, red in the fading sky. I realized I was waiting for the moon to rise. Dark descended, but the land was not quiet. It came alive as dusk encroached on the day, the sky darkening. 
    The individual scents of the awakening animals flared into awareness, my nose twitching with each new smell. The scurrying of tiny creatures about their business, the soft hoot of the old owl, all of my senses were heightened as the sky glowed with the moonrise. 
    Somewhere, not too far away, I smelled the hot scent of asphalt, exhaust fumes, the occasional rumble of a truck. 
    More than scent, more than sounds, more than the growing knowledge that this was not just a dream… 
    The moon rose above the sparkling glacier, rose over the black mountain [sleeping, she is only sleeping, she will wake soon], sharp against a starry sky, cold black on a velvet black, and the voice rose in my throat like bubbles rising from the bottom of an algae covered pond, unknown, unseen, unheard until they burst at the surface. 
    It seemed natural when the icy wind touched, caressed my throat and the howl burst from my upturned muzzle.  

    Chapter 1 

    Sweating, I sat straight up in bed. For a few seconds everything was hazy, as distant as the mountain in my dream. I snapped the rest of the way into awareness and realized I was still in my little RV, still parked at the rest area off of Interstate 5. 
    I wrinkled my nose. 
    “Dang, it still smells like dog in here.” 
    Both of the rat terriers stuck their noses out of the covers and looked at me, whimpering softly in the dark. 
    “Do you two need another bath?” I grumbled, “I swear, you stink worse than the wolf pen at the zoo.” 
    Both sets of ears perked up. Sugar yipped and Spice jumped up, wagging his little stump of a tail. 
    “Oh jeez”, I groaned. “You want out again?” 
    Both dogs squirmed out of the covers and started dancing on my chest. 
    “Just a minute, just a minute.” I pulled a leather jacket on over my jammies and scrabbled around for a moment looking for my boots and the leashes. Both dogs were running back and forth, jumping from the bunk to the door to the front seat and back again, barking in excitement. 
    “Shhhh” I growled in frustration and suddenly both dogs cowered. Puzzled, I looked down at them. “Come on you little turds…” Sugar rolled onto her back, eyes rolling. I reached down and picked up the little dog by her harness and rubbed her tummy. “Come on, come on, you’re a good little mutt,” I soothed them both as I reached across the floor for my moccasins. 
    By the time I managed to get them on, both little dogs were dancing in excitement again. 
    “Shhhh, shhhh” I hissed as we stepped out between the big rigs parked on either side of my little RV. The rumble of generators blocked the freeway noise. The smell of diesel made me wrinkle my nose again. 
    We made it past the rigs and to the grass before the dogs started barking again. 
    I didn’t try to quiet them; the truck drivers wouldn’t be able to hear them over the idling motors anyway. I shouldn’t have parked among the trucks, but all the smaller spaces were full when I’d pulled in at dusk and I was too tired to drive any farther. 
    Now though, the brisk wind was whipping past me, cutting through my pajama bottoms. Like my dream, the glacier on Shasta was gleaming pale under the full moon and bright stars. I shivered, pondering again the dreams. This wasn’t the first dream I’d had, they’d been coming since I was a child and now they were more and more frequent, more and more real each time.   
    A tug at the leashes brought me back to the present. Sugar was trying to lead us back to the RV while Spice wanted to find one more leaf to pee on. They were both shivering, so I made kissy noises at them. “Come on you two, come on. Back to bed now.” 
    It was as quiet as any rest area ever is, considering the freeway noise and generators idling, so when the stench of cigarette puffed out from behind the trailer, I was caught by surprise. Stupidly, I wasn’t expecting trouble here; I didn’t even have the .25 in my pocket. 
    Again I caught the scent of stale cigarette and the man stepped out in front of me. Phaw, he stank worse than the dogs. He stood in front of me, obviously waiting for me to step around him. 
    I stopped. If this was a waiting game, I’d wait as long as I needed. Patience is more than just a virtue, it’s a necessity to a hunter. I have just enough patience to make Great grandfather frown and tell me (again) that I need to learn to watch and wait before jumping into a situation. He taught me that lesson again and again until I finally got a clue. 
    So I waited, if not patiently, at least silently. 
    The stranger glowered at me. 
    I stood calmly, waiting to see what he was going to do next. The terriers were at my feet, quiet, which was completely unlike them, they would normally be acting like little fools, barking and snapping and straining at the end of the short leashes. 
    I dared to glance down at them, they were both pressed against my legs, one on each side, and shivering. Sugar whined quietly, looking at him intently. 
    When I looked up, he was sliding out of sight. A waft of corruption, of rotten meat came on the breeze. He was moving downwind, so I couldn’t track him by his stench. Hackles up, I carefully stepped forward, light on my feet, watching to see if he was circling behind or if he was waiting on the other side of the rig. All my senses were screaming trap, trap, trap, as I stepped carefully past the corner of the trailer, past the huge wheels. Both little dogs were lifting their noses, sniffing the air. Sugar’s head whipped around and she growled. 
    It was barely enough warning, I braced myself as a huge arm wrapped around my neck and hot breath warmed my ear. The stench of rotten meat made me gasp as the arm tightened. It didn’t feel like an arm, it felt like the coils of a snake, scales rubbing my neck. He lifted me off my feet, pulling me up and back against him. My heart was pumping harder, faster as he tightened around my neck and the world started to go gray and fuzzy. 
    But I’m a lot stronger than I look. 
    Reaching up, I pulled his arm away from my neck. Gasping, I managed to get my other hand to my open jacket. Grasping the blue-green sunstone that hung on the silver chain between my breasts, I breathed deeply, again and again, and felt heat of the stone and its strength filling me. 
    I growled and the arm loosened, startled, as I steadily started pulling away. Leaning forward, I got my feet back on the ground, lowered my head and growled again, instinctively, pulling harder. Sugar and Spice whimpered as my strength grew and the world sharpened into focus. Still holding my sunstone, I grasped the arm trying to hold onto me, pulling it down and out. Letting the sunstone swing free, I got both hands on his arm as he scrabbled on the asphalt. 
    It was only a few seconds but it seemed like hours as he flipped up and over me, crashing to the ground. 
    A truck door slammed open and a shout, “Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing to her?” 
    There was no time to look as he scrambled up and dived behind the trailer. The adrenaline was throbbing through me as I took another deep breath and gathered the leashes up. 
    A lilting tenor voice behind me, “Damn girl, what did you do to that fool?” 
    I breathed again, deeply, and tucked the sunstone back under my shirt before I turned. “My parents made sure I knew martial arts, they were always nervous about me being so small.” I smiled, careful to keep my face from showing anything other than the flush of adrenaline. 
    “Whew, I just happened to hear your little dog bark and looked out in time to see him grab you.” He barked a laugh, his soft lilting brogue growing as he spoke, “Lassie, I thought he had you until you got your feet on the ground and threw him right over. Ayyyy, it was like being back in the old country, it was…” 
    I looked again at his burly figure, his broad open face, the sandy-red hair shot withgray. 
    “Are you from Wales?” I asked. 
    “Aye, yeah, when I get wrought up me vowels give me away, don’t they?” He looked at me, looked away from my eyes. “Ayyyy, lassie, there’s some of the old country in you too, I can see it in your eyes.” 
    He hesitated, decided, and stuck his hand out, “Sullivan, Marty Sullivan. I drive that Kelly green Peterbilt over there, the one with the double sleeper and the Celtic cross on the door.”  
    I took his hand carefully, but he didn’t react when I touched him, so I knew he wasn’t of the Fae. So I shook his hand firmly, his large hand enveloping my smaller fingers. 
    Then he did surprise me. 
    “Ayyy, child, ye have the old country in you, but I feel the Great Spirit in you too.” He leaned a little closer and looked about, then said in a lower tone, “Be careful little woman, there’s much ado in the world these days and only the Good Lord Himself can say where it will lead.” 
    He saw the surprise on my face; I didn’t recover quickly enough to hide it. So I smiled instead, “Thank you my brother, I didn’t realize you were aware of the Little People.” 
    He looked around again, “Not just the Little People. I didn’t get me granny’s far sight, but she left me enough to know when the moon rises and the Great Powers walk, that I shouldn’t be out in the night air. And lassie, neither should you, so I’ll wish you a good night and watch to be sure you get into your RV without any harm.” 
    He knelt quickly and patted Sugar and Spice. Strange, strange, they don’t take to strangers; normally they’d be barking and snapping at his fingers. Instead, they’re licking his hand and wagging their little tails like he was a long lost friend. 
    I shook his hand once again, smiling. There’s no sense of Fae about him, yet he knows that there’s more to me than it looks. I’ll have to ask Granddad who he is. Tugging the leashes, we walked quickly to the RV. 
    I looked back as I unlocked and opened the door. Marty was still standing there, watching and my vision doubled for a second as he raised a hand, the flicker of moonlight on the long steel blade in his hand, he was taller, slimmer, younger, with long red hair bound in a green band, wrapped in a grey mist, and my vision flicked back to normal. There was only a stocky red-headed man waving farewell. 
    I raised a hand in return and wondered what he saw as I stepped inside and locked the door. 
    “Damn” I muttered, “It really, really stinks of dog in here.” 
    Both terriers jumped up into bed, burrowing under the covers, Sugar sticking just her nose and bright eyes out, on guard, watching me as I stripped out of my clothes. 
    I double checked the locks before I stepped into the tiny shower. The hot water was good; I scrubbed the sweat off and felt myself calming down as the stink of stale cigarettes and corruption and dirty dog washed down the drain. I was quick, I’d just dumped the tank the day before, and I didn’t want to dump it again – at least not until daylight. 
    As I toweled my hair dry, I looked at myself in the foggy mirror. 
    Blue-green eyes, ringed in dark blue and flecked with gold, looked back, framed by dark eyelashes and brows two shades darker than my glossy, almost black, auburn hair. I’m petite like my mother. I also have her Celtic temper and when I’m angry my eyes go yellow with rage. 
    I have my Dad’s skin, soft, smooth dark olive, not quite as fair as my Cherokee cousins’ and with a warmer undertone. 
    I’m not especially pretty, Mother’s eyes and auburn hair married with Dad’s Black Indian heritage, plus a short nose and full lips makes me more exotic than beautiful. 
    And like all of my Brothers and Sisters of Color in America, I have pretty much heard it all, from the most vile racist garbage to the oh-so-condescending liberals who are sure they know just how to help me conform to the greater society – whether I like it or not. Yet, even though I’m not “good enough” to be treated equally, I’m sure good enough for them to try to get next to. 
    I often wondered, as I deflected yet another unwanted pass, What would he think if he knew I wasn’t human? Would he try anyway or would he shy away, frightened in finding that the old fairy tales are more than true, that the Fae and more than the Fae, that the People still walk this earth? 
    Ah, I thought, Stop yourself now, this is an old battle, you don’t need to fight it tonight. 
    Tonight, now tonight was more than strange. I felt again the stranger’s skin against my neck. It was like the skin of a snake, cool and scaly, not at all like his outward appearance of a man. And when he disappeared around the truck, did he actually walk or was it more like a slither, like a snake? 
    And Marty. I must ask Granddad about Marty. He isn’t what he appears to be. The Sight revealed him as someone older and younger, ancient in the old country’s ways. I could see it, even though I couldn’t feel it when he touched my hand. 
    He felt familiar; though I was sure I’d never met him before.

Jackson shoved the Goddess aside and turned in the direction of the source just as a streak of blue grazed him. The contact was peripheral but imbued with enough force to send Jackson spinning to the ground.
Marty Buckles, also known as the Blue Blur, the fastest man in the universe, stopped on a dime. He wore wind resistant head to toe blue spandex with blue-tinted wraparound sunglasses.
He threw a frat boy grin at the Nile Goddess. “Boy, I wish I could have recorded what I just saw. Ace nearly had you down for the count, lady!”
Candace straightened, rubbing her throat, murder burning a ruby light in her eyes. “If you don’t shut your insufferable trap, I’ll put you down!”
The speedster raised a lewd brow. “I think I’d like that.” Then he was off.
“I’ll bet you would,” the Goddess murmured irately.
The Blue Blur bowled into Jackson at a speed that most certainly earned him his sobriquet, and held on tight. “How ‘bout a quick ride, Ace?”
The Blur held Jackson for little over two seconds, which in distance translated to six long blocks. He let go and halted, but Jackson kept going, sailing across a park, through a playground until he collided with a tree, rupturing its trunk to splinters. Jackson lay curled on the grass, emergency bells and whistles again filling his helmet with a low key racket.
The Blue Blur was far from the strongest member of the Guardian Protectors. Still, even a rabbit, moving at supersonic speed, could cause considerable damage if it bumped into something.
Jackson stood shakily, orienting himself. He spotted the Blue Blur standing on the other end of the park wearing a cocky smirk. The next second the speedster was gone…in motion!
Jackson didn’t think. He acted. He powered his foot repulsers. Tiny thrusters in the soles of his metal boots lifted him straight up. At the same time he ejected a dark gray marble size object from his lower torso harness. The object fell in the Blue Blur’s path and detonated. The impending blast threw the speedster back as if he’d bounced off a steel wall. Clods of dirt and grass, mixed with a bubbling froth of black smoke, bloomed from a ten-yard diameter crater gouged by the explosion.
The Blue Blur flopped limply on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
“Surprise, surprise,” Jackson taunted. He switched his thrusts to flight mode and glided out of the park. The mayor had evacuated the entire southern district of Valor City at Jackson’s request. He needed to keep the battle within its bounds.
Something struck his right shoulder as he zipped over a wide avenue. Jackson spiraled out of control before regaining enough of his bearings to manage an off balance landing. He cast his gaze about until his threat sensor locked onto a red Ford Taurus 30 to 40 yards in the direction from which he came.
The car suddenly disassembled. Its parts shifted and shuffled in a dizzying array of motion that resolved into a man. At least from all appearances.
George Kennan, aka MachineWare, always had more of an affinity for gadgets than people. His psychic ability to manipulate machines made him a valuable asset to the Guardian Protectors. But as Kennan, little by little, converted himself into a gadget, that’s when the corruption set in. It could be said that his humanity and all the compassion and empathy it entailed diminished with his imbibing of a new cybernetic component.
Ropes of super hardened overlapping metal coils, connected to metal plates, layered MachineWare’s guant frame. Only his face remained bare of any markers denoting his bizarre transformation. He raised his right arm and it reconfigured into gatling gun. The gun’s eight barrels rotated and a flaming chatter of titanium bullets ripped forth.
Jackson staggered backwards as a sleet of hot metal pounded his suit. He pushed outward with his mind, extending the range of his shield to approximately seven feet in front of him. Waves of bullets deflected off the shield.
MachineWare raised his other arm. It lengthened and thickened in a clanking whir of adjustable parts, forming a long-barreled cannon. A black missile whisked out of the cannon’s maw, plunging into the shield. A scorching shower of released energy gushed from the shattered missile, winking the shield out of existence propelling Jackson into a brick walled corner drug store.
MachineWare hurled five more missiles after the first, and the entire storefront, along with a good chunk of the building that housed it disappeared in a fiery, demolition collapse.
An ashen cloud belched from the flame-smothered ruin, encroaching on daylight like a horde of demon wraiths springing from the underworld.
MachineWare’s armaments retracted into his body. He stood before this howling destruction he’d wrought, unaffected by the smoke and heat, unmoved by his action. His expression held a very machine-like dearth of emotion.
“Pity, Victor Jackson. You should never have opposed us.”
“Pity on you, George. You should never have gone rogue.”
MachineWare whirled to find Jackson standing behind him.
Before the cyborg could react, Jackson triggered a beam from his ordnance bracelet.
A crackling web of electromagnetic energy surrounded MachineWare. The cyborg quaked violently, his previously impassive face, twisted in a convulsion of agony. When the web vanished MachineWare crumpled to the pavement in a short-circuited heap.
Jackson pumped enough EM into MachineWare to plunge of all of Valor City into Stone Age darkness. It would require ten times that amount to fully and permanently disable him.
Jackson had neither the time nor the output to finish Kennan off.
A cold wind whipped around him. It was a winter-like gust in the middle of a humid summer day. Dark storm clouds boiled into sudden existence overhead. The odd weather was no natural occurrence. The wind grew more frigid, more active, becoming a raging twister.
Jackson powered his thrusts to get away, but the savage funnel snared him with irresistible force, driving him skyward.
In a wink, the twister vanished and Jackson found himself face to face with the tornado’s conjurer, a flame-haired woman called Windrider.
Valerie Hewitt had been a climatologist in a past life. Ironic.
Windrider crossed her forearms. A tendril of lightning danced from the sky, poured into her body, surging out of her hands in a pulse of linear energy directed at the armored man.
Jackson extended his contact shield, blocking the pulse. He countered with a salvo of rockets.
Windrider waved an arm, scattering the rockets with a high speed blast of wind.
“Give it up, Jackson!” Windrider derided, her crimson mane waving in a self generating breeze like flickering candle light. Her sky blue cloak vividly contrasted the yellow body suit that hugged her comely contours like a perfectly fitted glove. “You can’t beat all of us. Hell, you can’t beat one of us!”
“I’d say I’ve been holding my own pretty well so far,” Jackson retorted.
The air temperature around him dipped drastically, frosting his armor. Within seconds he was encased in a block of ice.
“It’s a cold, cold world, Jackson.”
Windrider watched with psychotic glee as the man in armor plunged ground ward from well over ten thousand feet.
Jackson didn’t doubt that he would survive the fall, even encased in a ton of ice. He just preferred not to experience it.
He ignited his shoulder emitter. The light’s coherence bored through a section of ice, providing a pocket of space for his emitter’s turret to rotate. He also powered every thruster pimple on his armor, creating a sweltering buildup of heat. The ice dissolved to the point where Jackson could apply brute strength to break out. With servo-powered arms and legs, he hammered away at his confinement until he burst free in a sparkling cloud of ice crystals.
Jackson righted himself, and boosted his thrusters beyond their maximum limit, accelerating upward as if he had been launched from a rail gun. He fired over two dozen rockets at Windrider.
The weather-manipulator batted the projectiles aside with directed wind just as she had done the first time. The rockets twirled every which way, but Jackson linked on to one. He displaced the sole rocket’s internal guidance with manual.
Windrider crossed her arms, summoning a second bolt of lightning.
Jackson stayed on his trajectory toward her, making no attempt at evasive maneuvering. He focused on the rocket, bringing it about, lining it up with its target.
Windrider must have sensed something. She glanced behind her just as lightning channeled through her body. She caught the most fleeting glimpse of the rocket and extended a hand toward it, redirecting the electrical energy pulse intended for Jackson.
Pulse and rocket met point blank.
A blinding, deafening eruption birthed from the collision. A flaming fist knocked Windrider out of the sky.
Jackson didn’t know if she was dead or alive. He didn’t try to find out. He ignored her and headed south, deeper into the district, where he needed to be. He checked his power levels and grimaced. 47 percent reading. Not good. His power plant was nearly depleted and his diagnostic screen painted a bleak picture of points of structural damage. Some of his primary functions were so busted he had to switch to auxiliary. He needed to keep this contest going until he was in a position to implement Phase Two.
A warning alert. Danger flew at him fast. Jackson pulled directional data from his AVD and banked to avoid what was coming…too late!

So I had the artist for my adult web comic take a crack at the Geist just for fun, It came out pretty cool but the original is till the best. Shout out to Garvoe.

Technorati - Education in Rural India

This is an open letter I penned that's gotten quite a few hits on my Scribd.com account. It apparently struck a nerve.

It is an admitted rant, and a "Perchance to Dream" (quite off the Shakespearean original meaning), yet I'd rather dream and vent my frustrations at the inane "solutions" our leaders forward than to comply with muted silence, or impotent apathy.

It is also sad commentary that the complexity of speech by lawmakers has markedly declined over time, paralleling our collective preening for the clever soundbite suitable for cable television and You Tube; limiting thought process and debate to the infamous 140 characters...

...and, preening peacocks seldom come to consensus.

"Education is a basic necessity. It prepares, widens and allows exposure to the entire world through the mind. A sound education implies better quality of thought, which results in superlative quality of life."

Read more: link here, and below photo above. Similar sentiments expressed in this article (a very interesting cartoon that for a brief time, I lived).

Open Letter

I'm jumping off the walls!!!
The Serpent Cult is now available in PRINT!
So for those who love to read action adventure WHILE actually FEELING the pages and the weight of the book in your hands you can grab it on CreateSpace or at Amazon

Of Course for those trendy techo savy futurists it's also good to go on Kindle and NOOK!


I'm working on my own Website now where I'll be posting all things Mountairy Rock!
Your Boi,
Howard Night (The NIGHTMANAGER!!)

The light of the new sun cut a path across the quilt. They slumbered beneath a dark warm world all their own; such was the womb of love. He opened his eyes recalling the name ‘Black Sea’ from dreams, dreams that reflected his life as it had been and now was. Dreams of past consorts most helpful some harmful but thankful for each one because without them he would not be with her. He looked at her in his arms, her back against his chest, As they lay on their sides completely content after a night of steaming love that cooled in the evening air, cooled, but not extinguished like stars in the night sky. He had felt apprehensive about her at first her nature was secretive and that troubled him until he learned that is was not her intention just her disposition. He had hoped one day to learn all of her secrets and in doing so the nature of the Universe itself. He descended under the covers, tracing small kisses at the small of her back, pulling moan from her lips and causing a quick chill to be sent up her spine. He moved back up and kissed her shoulders, light air string instruments played in the approaching sunlight, as music filled the room. He didn’t want to leave that spot, didn’t need to, his desire to stay there with her in his arms- warm quilt around him and her scent gracing his nostrils- was like that of a drowning man to breath. He smiled at this thought; this was it, the world he had dreamed of as a boy playing adventure with his brother and friends. That never ending world of fantasy and a romance that transcended the language he spoke, where nothing could go wrong and if it did, he could brave it. She rolled over to face him, eyes hazy but loving and kissed him sweetly on the lips, it was the good morning of lovers, a greeting that didn’t need words. It was as if the intent had been passed through the look and the lips. This was magick he thought kissing her back. She laid her head on his chest and kissed his cheek; she then took his hand and laced her fingers between his. He held it up and kissed it and she did the same, this was their ritual, familiar and old but never tiring, never faltering. Soft lyrics filled the room intensifying the feel of warmth, the as a bright sensation expanded in his heart. He looked at her again and kissed her forehead. She looked up smiled and kissed him on the lips again. Grabbing the covers, he enveloped them in the darkness of the womb of love. This was the world between Light and Song, This was the place of peace, of darkness and safety of love and acceptance, passion and joy, The world between Light and Song. This was Heaven and its many layers.

It's been so long since I've written any poetry. This one visited me and I wanted to share it :).

I cannot leave her

her pungent soil calls to me

an earthy prenumbra

an orange harvest moon

that bathes me in her light

Sweet muse whisper softly to me

that which is never forgotten

with drum conjure my memory

I am your daughter 

Copyright 2012 Valjeanne Jeffers

Dilbertdotcom

Tweedle Dum: If you think we're waxworks, you ought to pay, you know.
Tweedle Dee: Contrariwise, if you think we're alive you ought to speak to us.
Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee:That's logic.

The Curious Wavefunction: Physics's PR Problem

First things first. If you're reading this without having read Part I, get the hell away from me! You're obviously not smart enough to survive the Zombie Apocalypse and when you get torn apart, you'll take a bunch of survivors with your dumb ass. Go back and read Part I before me or one of the other survivors 'mistake' you for an infected and bust you in the melon!

Now for you survivors who've made it this far, you've had to come to grips with some hard and harsh rules so far and I'm sorry to tell you that it's not going to get any easier. So, you've got your 'mind right', an improvised weapon and have no doubt cracked open some infected skulls to good effect. At the moment you're in good shape.

So let's surmise the most likely scenario you'd find yourself in when the ZA initially goes down. You're far from home in a populated area in a building of some sort. As you hold your bent and bloodied metal folding chair breathing harder than a racehorse that just escaped the glue factory you're thinking, 'What do I do now?' Well since you've come to terms that going home right now isn't an option, there are some things you have to do asap.

Rule #8 - Get clear of the chaos

Once you've fought your way clear enough to make a break for it, you need to get clear of the mayhem. You're still in the initial wave of the event and right now your fellow humans are as dangerous to you as the zombies. People are running from the infected like zebra being driven by hyenas. You want to be as far from that as possible. Whether alone or in a group, your first priority is to find or create a reasonably secure location to hide and allow the first wave to go by. There's nothing you can do for those crowds of people being chased past your hiding place, so keep quiet and keep still. The infected at this stage are no doubt still able to see relatively well and will go after anything that moves. You never chased after the parade, don't start now.

Rule #9 - Be aware of your surroundings

This rule will always be important, but especially so in the first hours of the event. You've managed to get yourself into a nice hidey hole, but did you notice if there were as they are called by the military, 'avenues for emergency egress'? Simply put, is there another way out that's zombie free? Not good if you've holed up in a place with one way in and out when an annoyingly observant walker figures out you're in there. Always be aware of where you are or the infected will do it for you.

Rule #10 - Avoid large groups with a vengeance

That old saying, 'there's strength in numbers' applied when there weren't hordes of mindless undead freaks coming to eat everyone. On the one hand, large groups are good because in the rush the odds of you getting dragged down are lessened. However, take a look at the nature documentary 'Planet Earth' and watch the segment where a massive shoal of herring too numerous to count gets annihilated by swordfish, dolphins, sharks, tuna and sea birds. At the end, all there is left are shiny scales floating down into the depths. That will be you if you're lucky.

Eventually, you will need to link up with additional survivors. But remember; lions and wolves follow the herds not the other way around. Here are a few extra points to remember:

Do not go to the military or police for help

I know, 'But they're there to help us!' Yeah, I wouldn't bet my life on that. With the military, the odds are good they have orders (as the Marines describe) to 'secure the area'. That's 'marinese' for 'kill everything that moves'. More than likely in the case of a catastrophic outbreak, they have orders to 'sanitize the area'. You want to be reaaaaly far away from that. The Police on the other hand, are no doubt  overwhelmed by the situation and will be looking to secure their own interests. Oh and they have guns. 

Stay away from shopping malls, stores and churches

Yes, you'll definitely need stuff from those places and you may want to call upon God for salvation, but remember things are still in 'panic mode'. Those places are like watering holes and lots of people will be there trying to loot. All that activity will ring the dinner bell for every walker in the vicinity. Trust me, come back a lot later. Zombies don't steal.

For God's sake avoid Hospitals

If you have a relative or other loved one in a hospital, they're already dead. Unless they went to get an ingrown toenail removed or get a cast taken off, they fall under rule #7. Besides, think for a moment. What's the one thing a Hospital or Clinic is going to have lots of? Dead and dying all either getting up off the table or already chowing down on somebody. Pass.

Rule #11 - Stay mobile

When things die down (no pun intended) you'll need to break cover and get moving. For the most part, the infected will still be following in the wake of large groups of people fleeing them. You'll have to move out after they pass because you no doubt weren't lucky enough to find a hide with plenty of food, water and weapons, good sewage facilities and could be defended easily by your grandmother. With that in mind, you'll have to keep on the move. You and any survivors still with you better be ready to roll out in an instant. Some tips for staying mobile are:

No loads

If you can't carry an item and run at flank speed, leave it behind. Don't be like that moron caught on the Katrina video carrying a damn flatscreen TV through the flooded streets of the decimated city. If it's too heavy or unwieldly, you don't need it. That also goes for people. You parents or individuals getting your maternal/paternal instincts on better keep that in mind too. If a kid or adult can't keep up, you'll face rule #7 whether you want to or not.

Don't depend on motor vehicles

Cars, motorcycles, boats or helicopters are great if you can access them. But in the initial crush, they'll be more hindrance than benefit. You will need a vehicle to get some distance from populated areas. But, you want to avoid them like the plague (pun intended) during the early part of the event. People panic behind the wheel similar to those poor saps you watched get chased down the street by the infected. There will be accidents a plenty and the infected will be attracted to the commotion. The major concern with motor vehicles will be fuel.

Stay off the main streets and roads

Because so many people will have accidents and bail on their vehicles to escape the infected, all main thoroughfares will be all but impassable. Take a look at any major evacuation where things got out of hand and that's nothing compared to what will go down during a ZA event! Stay off the interstates unless scavenging which at this stage will be too early for you to be doing. Stick to the side streets and side roads. Also be prepared to abandon the vehicle if you reach an area which is impassible.

Do not rely on animal transportation

Though a horse has the advantage of not needing gasoline, no horse in its right mind will stay calm when confronted by a mass of undead coming from every direction! An animal that large will attract walkers far and wide. It is certain the animal will panic and throw you leaving you injured just enough to allow the infected easier access to you both.

Rule #12 - You can't fight them all

It's a given now that you and your fellow survivors are mobile either on foot or in vehicles. However, you'll need weapons 'cause you'll have to fight sooner than later. When choosing weapons initially, you had to improvise and that folding chair and table leg worked out just fine. Now you have to get serious about your selection of practical weapons. Of course there are guns and you will need some. But just like vehicles and fuel, you'll need ammunition. Lots of it. 

Your primary weapon should be a hand held implement that can deliver blunt force damage (like a bat, hammer or club), cleaving damage (like a meat cleaver,  knife or sword) or both (like an axe.) Your primary should be light enough to wield without trouble, but heavy enough to quickly put down a walker.

Don't get overconfident

Just because you cracked open some infected melons and gunned down their friends, don't get cocky! The most important thing to remember about this rule is; there's a poopload more of them than there are of you. Just because you've made your 'bones' whacking walkers, don't lose perspective on how dangerous those damn things are. Save that ammo for when the infected try to hem you and your fellow survivors in and it's time to make an aggressive tactical withdrawal.

So now that you and your remaining fellow survivors have managed to get clear of the crush, are armed and mobile, you've beaten the odds so far.... In the final part of this guide, you'll learn what's needed to survive in the long run. Hang in there, keep those eyes peeled and don't brake for walkers!

© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Images used are owned by their prospective copyright holders.

I use Sketchbook Pro for my thumbnails and Manga Studio Debut to lay out the book.  I also draw thumbnails in pencil and scan into Sketchbook Pro.  This is my first attempt so the learning curve is quite high but the process is fun.  Like being a kid again!  I created a twelve page teaser and got some feedback.  Spent the time since retooling the script for the first issue.  I'll spend the summer completing the first issue

A video link to explain from the founder, brother Refa 1

The project is will happen regardless, but join this campaign like this too:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/aerosoulart/aerosoul

Cassandra "applying physics":

After spending the Memorial Day Weekend watching both seasons of 'The Walking Dead', it occurred to me there needs to be a set of rules to guide those who plan on surviving a Zombie Apocalypse.

Though there are people out there who are actually stocking up on guns and what-not in preparation of a real 'pock-y-clipse' featuring zombies or worse, 'furriners', I believe these rules will help them as well.

While your neighbors, co-workers, family and friends are freaking out as to 'what's going on?', you will no doubt have these rules hardwired into memory or on a cheat sheet you always keep with you. So pay close attention and take notes (no there won't be a quiz, but you damn sure don't want to fail the practical exam!)

Rule #1- Everything has changed

In every ZA flick you always hear people flipping out asking questions like, 'what's going on?', 'why is this happening?, yadda, yadda. The answers are simple: 'Mofo's are running around eatin' people en masse' and 'Because it is, now shut up and run for your life!'

From the moment you see the reporter and camera crew get overrun and eaten on TV or look out the window and see your neighbors literally ripping your former loudmouth neighbor to pieces, the world as you knew it is over. Accept it.

Rule #2 - All bets are off

In every ZA flick there's always someone whining about 'morality', 'feeling attachment for a zombified loved one' or 'being hostile because of racial, ethinc...' you get the picture. Let me break it down for you. First refer to Rule #1 when you want to rely on your usual thinking or modus operandi. Then recognize all that crap doesn't mean jack anymore. From now on, there are only two kinds of people left in the world; those who are not being eaten and those who are. In the ZA scenario, Humanity is back in 'Savannah Mode'. That means you and every red-blooded person still alive are 'rabbits' and there are hordes of hungry undead wolves on your tails. So that means the honkeys, chinks, greasers, spics, towel heads, redskins, dot heads and nigga's you were arguing with 10 minutes ago are now your allies! Every extra set of eyes and hands are going to come in damn handy. So you better get over your differences quick 'cause they no longer apply.

Rule #3 - Unless you're already there, Don't go home

What's the first thing you hear mofo's say when the feces hit the oscillating air flow cooling unit? 'I've got to get home! I've got to find my family!' Yeah, about that. Here's the thing. Odds are, stuff is jumping off in all directions. So the chances things are already popping off on the homefront are unfortunately pretty good. You're probably saying, 'but I've got to save my family!' Yeah, but you've got three major problems with that. Location, Distance and Time.

Location - If you're in a city, you've got your own problems. Cities are the overflowing 'cornucopia' of zombies. Depending on how fast the 'Sickness' is spreading, you may have only hours or moments to un-ass your current location before you get overrun and turned into 'zombie chow'.

Distance - If there's a considerable distance to cover like 10 miles or more, forget it. Yeah, yeah, I know, 'I've got to save my family!' Well consider this, they've got the exact same issues you do at the same time. Depending on their location, they could already be ass deep in zombies whilst you're trying to literally 'fight' your way through traffic! More than likely you never got around to turning your house, duplex or apartment into the armed citadel of your dreams fully stocked with food, water and armaments. With that in mind, your home is no doubt just as 'soft' when it comes to keeping out zombie hordes as everybody else's is! So more than likely your familia are probably fighting off the hungry dead as you read this....

Time - The real 'killer' in this scenario is time. The more time passes, the worse the situation is going to get. In the initial hours of the outbreak, the number of infected will grow exponentially. Before or if Rigor Mortis sets in, the zombies are going to be fast. Damn fast. Unless you've kept up your high school track skills or made your living as a purse snatcher, you'll have to fight and run. Clock keeps ticking, you're going to get tired 'cause you can run on adrenaline only so long. The infected unfortunately don't have that problem. So the more time you'll have to spend trying to get home, the greater the odds your family will have run for their lives by the time you get there.

So even now if you're still saying, 'but I've got to save my family!' refer to rules #1 and #2.

Rule #4 - Be prepared to go 'Conan' on a mofo

Let's face facts. In the ZA scenario, you've got dead mofo's trying their damndest to turn you into 'Fool under glass'. You also have around you as Agent 'K' from MIB eloquently phrased it; "A bunch of dumb, dangerous and panicky animals' represented by your fellow homosapiens. 'Wise men' by the way who in blind panic are knocking each other over and trampling the fallen, thus making the zombie's dining selection process that much easier.

In order to clear a safe path for yourself and your fellow survivors, you're going to have to get your hands dirty. Big time. It is highly probable, the most efficient way to dispatch the infected will be a shot or crushing blow to the head. Let's just say it is all but certain you won't have a rifle, pistol or assault weapon with plenty of ammo on hand when things start jumping off.  You're going to have to get a suitable blunt or edged weapon... right now. When you do, you're going to have to get as Clint Eastwood said in "Unforgiven", "... Plum mad dog mean." That means if it's dead, bash it in the head. If it's live, bash it 'till it dies.

What? You're saying I should kill potential survivors? If they are panicked and are about to put you in a situation where you can't escape, yup. With extreme prejudice. In the film '28 Days Later' when Selena thought for an instant her longtime comrade had been bitten, she instantly hacked him to death. Despite his screams, she mercilessly did him in. She survived. Let that be a lesson! If you have a problem with that your choices are; allow the person to turn and infect you and your fellow survivors or stop whining and accept  rules #'s 1 and 2 then dispatch your bud quick!

Rule #5 - Adapt

I cannot stress enough Rule #1. Because of rule #1, you must adapt to the new situation. Your days of corporate austerity, girly-girl chic or metrosexual style are over. Clothes that restrict movement or reveal skin are absolutely out! Perfume, cologne, scented deodorant, baby powder, scented soaps are also out. It's a pretty good guess the infected are working with the basic senses alone. It's probable dead noses could transmit sensory info for a while in the initial hours, days and weeks, as the sense of smell will be the primary source of detecting the living. You don't want to help them sniff you out 'cause you couldn't let go your fav' scent.

Adapting means you're going to have to do what the situation requires. If the only way to hide from 'Walkers' is to jump into a sewer, get to jumping. If you have to cover yourself in walker guts and gore to pass among them unnoticed, don't forget to get that hard to reach spot on your back!

If you are claustrophobic but the safest place to hide is an air conditioning vent, get your ass in there and keep your trap shut.

You will also have to change your behavior. If you're a talker when you're nervous, shut up. If you fidget, be still. You a farter when you get scared? Put a cork in it. Teeth chatter? Stick something between your teeth thick enough to keep your jaws from moving and bite down.

Rule #6 - Heroes get eaten

Before you say, 'but I've got to save people!' Yeah, when you can and if you can. But not at the expense of your own life. The price of selfless heroism is being dinner. Save your bravery for when you have to be cunning or stealthy or when it's time to bust open a hole so you and your fellow survivors can make a run for it. What your fellow survivors need to see from you is your determination to get out alive. If you've got a problem with that see rules #1 and 2.

Rule #7 - Let those who are about to die... die

This is the harshest rule of all and where rules #1 and #2 apply the most. It is safe to ascertain a ZA is an 'unnatural situation'. Now that you and your fellow survivors up to now are in a prey-predator dynamic, you have to recognize that everyone in the group ain't gonna' make it. Babies, young children, the extreme elderly, the non-mobile, semi-mobile injured/disabled and the mentally disabled will all be the first to go. I know, I know, 'but we have to help everybody!' Again, I refer you to rules #1 and #2.

Yes, it's a horrible thought to even think about babies, small children and grandma/granpa being devoured by zombies, but remember the rabbit analogy. There's a reason you never see baby or elderly rabbits in the wild. If you can see them something's about to eat them. Also, you have those individuals who get what is called 'Deathstruck'. Those who are deathstruck

are stricken with a panic that literally causes them to move or freeze in the path of potentially fatal activity. These people are dangerous! All too often those who are possessed of the heroic impulse leap to save these persons and usually both end up dead. In the situation of a ZA, that 'bad end' is certain. If someone is deathstruck and throws themselves into death's jaws, don't let their sacrifice go in vain!

These are just the first few hard and fast rules, for Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse. In Part II, you'll learn what's necessary for staying alive once you escape the initial event! Until then, RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Images used are owned by their prospective copyright holders.

Chemistrylanddotcom

Physics Today: A Rydberg-atom photon source

I have read alot of books over the years, too many to count but now finally i can write my own books and i have plenty that i write from my mind not anyone elses.  I have currently 6 books that i am writing and cant wait to get these out of my head and down on paper. I have to title the last book still but i am working on it and this year alone i will have at least 2-3 books completed. I have been scouring the web looking for a site like this and did cartwheels when i found it. Black media is seriously deprived of any thing mainstream.  Oh sure we can put out a comedy show and be the but of every joke and get air time but what about some real quality movies? And why not Sci fy?  I think its time to change that and change lives and times as we know it. I dont know how many times i have went to the fantasy book section looking for a black face on the cover or in the author spot. Growing up i loved comics but always wondered where were the black heroes and heroines? When Milestone came online i went nuts and tried to grab everyone i could get my hands on. I knew they would kill it right away when it came out.  They still dont understand the black market and i dont think they want to up in hollywood. So yes we need to support each other but we need to do it with the knowledge as well which is the key to our weakness and our strength. Fantasy writing is a skill and one that we do well just from what i have seen on this site their are some very talented people on this site. I hope that my writings are met well here and are of substance enough to keep your interest and merit your comments and advice but we shall see.

Summer is here and so is the Priestess! Much has happened since the close of the saga which sent the

Priestess and those she loved across time. In the peaceful days that followed, the rhythm of the Valley's seasons allowed its residents to live and grow. Now as the now young adult Little Fish takes his first steps on his life's path a new threat from the Chief's past casts a dark shadow. Will the Priestess allow this new potential danger to threaten all she loves? The answer to that and more will be found in, 'The Priestess: A Question of Regret'!

Afro-Futuristic Visions -

Psychic 

It is important that an Afro-Futurist remain firmly rooted in their travel to unravel the expression of their culture, which lay in dormant in the bundles of strands (DNA) and stars (atoms/molecules) that circle about in their vessel (body). The culture of an Afro-Futurist is the living source (matrix) that gives birth to body, soul and spirit expression in this word. 
With that in mind, as we write, it is important to know the origin of some 'coinage' or 'sayings' that we use. 
To some, 'Psychic' ability is some strange occurrence outside the normal thought and concept of our everyday living and is often perceived as something supernatural. Yet to the Afro-Futurist, who is steadily seeking their roots through the use and exploration of Afro-Futurism, Psychic Ability is a birthright and an ability to use the senses and electrical pulses of the nervous system and brain in order to communicate with others and their environment.

Psychic - psychic 
1871 (n.) "a medium;" 1873 (adj.) "of or pertaining to the human soul" (earlier psychical, 1640s), from Gk. psykhikos "of the soul, spirit, or mind," from psykhe- "soul, mind" (see psyche). Meaning "characterized by psychic gifts" first recorded 1895.
clairvoyant 
"having psychic gifts," 1847 (in clairvoyance), earlier "having insight" (1670s), from Fr. clairvoyant "seeing clearly" (13c.), from clair (see clear) + voyant "seeing," prp. of voir, from L. videre "to see" (see vision). The noun in the psychic sense is first attested 1851, from the adjective; earlier it was used in the sense "clear-sighted person" (1794).
psi 
23rd letter of the Greek alphabet. Use for "psychic force, paranormal phenomenon" dates from 1942.

Within the framework of my own writing, I have taken to commitment to unravel the cloth (language) around concepts and disseminate (disseminate (v.) 
c.1600, from L. disseminatus, pp. of disseminare "to spread abroad, disseminate," from dis- "in every direction" (see dis-) + seminare "to plant, propagate," from semen (gen. seminis) "seed" (see semen). Related: Disseminated; disseminates; disseminating. M.E. had dissemen "to scatter" (early 15c.).)
the essence that is within, the essence that has the soul of our culture. I write about 'Psychic" occurrences from the standpoint of it being a natural progression of communication and in some circles an already naturally established communication. It is not my attention to create marvel and wonder about abilities that we are moving slowly back into.
In my first novel, Renpet, I spoke much about Psychic abilities:

Chapter Mdjw Shemt - The Cradle

...The term 'psychic' that the Terrans use so carelessly translates to regular communication in the lives of my people. Since we are leagues away from the Terrans on the evolutionary scale, none of my kind ever attempted a direct link with them. What my kind perceives as physical in relation to each other the Terrans might see as spirit or pure mind. Approaching Kenitha's mind I cautiously held it as one would a delicate object. Her defensive layers of energy are very sensitive but I am getting through without being detected...

Thank you for taking a few moments to read into my Afro-Futuristic Vision. Please spread the word and support my works at: http://www.djadjanmedjay.com/

Check out what I have in store for you. http://yvonnenicolas.wordpress.com/2012/05/29/great-reads-coming-your-way/