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It's set in a fantasy world populated by orcs, elves, and humans. The hero is a human warrior who chooses to fight for elves to feed his people, but experiences a conflict of consciences...
Just wanted to throw out a piece of another novel I'm working on about a war between a great "Roman" empire and a large island off the coast of a fictional Africa. This isn't a final draft, but then again is there ever truly one?
Prologue
“Prince Vessius, please slow down!” The servant’s plea echoed down the marble column hallway futilely. It was answered by the young prince’s giggle as he ran on. Ladies of the court, couriers, poets and politicians alike were nearly knocked down by his reckless glee.
Today was an important day. His favorite uncle, the great Talgia Idrian, was finally back after nearly three years of exploring the Southern seas. He couldn’t wait to show him how much he’d grown, how much he’d advanced in his sword training. But most of all, he couldn’t wait to see what his uncle had brought him.
The servant finally caught up to him as he stopped in front of the large double doors leading to the Governor’s Round. He marveled every time he had the chance to see them, losing himself in the carved exploits of his great-great grandfather, Emperor Gideon. There at the top was where he subdued the Timock tribes, securing the Western plains. Next to that was were Altus himself heard Gideon’s prayers and sacrifices, causing a great earthquake to swallow up their enemies. Vessius smiled as he ran his hand along a smoothly carved horse. One day, he would have his own battles and have carving and statues erected for him.
“Prince Vessius,” the servant whispered, nearly out of breath. “You can’t be here. The governor’s are meeting.”
Vessius looked back, annoyed. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? You’re just a slave.” He pulled open one of the doors slowly and carefully. “Besides, this is the upper level. They’ll never see me.”
“But my prince-,” was all the servant managed to get out before the boy slipped inside.
Vessius crept to the edge of the upper gallery, peeking in-between the railing supports at the meeting of old men below him. There was the Grand Governor sitting at the head of the circle of men, looking as serious and boring as ever. Behind him, sitting in the golden chair of his ancestors was the emperor. Vessius smiled. His father had let him sit in the chair once, just to indulge him. He’d been amazed at how powerful he’d felt, looking out over the empty oval room. He couldn’t wait until it was his turn to preside over the fate of the empire.
His attention perked up when he heard the lower doors open and his uncle swept into the room. The young prince’s breath caught in his throat. Talgia’s armor shined in the light nearly blinding him. His clothing was crisp and white to the point where it almost glowed. His hair was freshly combed, his beard nonexistent, and his skin had been recently oiled. He looked like no less than a god.
Talgia stopped in the middle of the room taking his turn in bowing to all the distinguished men in attendance. “My good governors, Grand Governor Heridos, and my dear brother and my dearest emperor, I greet you after three long years away.”
The emperor leaned forward in his seat. A smile formed. “You look as if you have news for us.”
“Yes, my emperor.” He looked around the room in the dramatic fashion he was known for. “I and my men have found the island of Agara.” He waited as the shock and surprise spread across the room.
One of the governors scoffed. “You can’t be serious, General Talgia. That island is just an old fisherman’s tale from the Southerners.”
“Ah, I am serious. We’ve been there. We’ve sacked villages. We’ve even set up a colony there since some of my men found the climate and the women very... alluring.” He smiled up at his brother again. “And I’ve brought back treasures to share.”
He quickly went to the doors pushing them open and waves of men came in carrying chests. Vessius’s eyes opened wide at the sight the suspense of what was inside eating him up. But what caught the governors’ attention was a handful of women being pulled in. Each had a collar about her neck and a chain held by a smirking soldier. Talgia nodded and his servants began opening the chests. The first five were filled with silver and gold coins, the next few with fabric, and the last with other strange items from this mysterious land.
Talgia bowed toward his brother again. “My emperor, I present to you the bounty of our first excursion to Agara.”
The emperor was nearly speechless. “Talgia, you’ve done well. You’ll be greatly rewarded.”
“The chance to explore is reward enough, my emperor.”
Vessius barely paid attention to what was being said next. His eyes were firmly set on the treasures. In particular, one of the chests in the back. Something was glittering in the faint sunlight. He leaned forward just a little bit farther to get a better view. It was round and looked to be nearly at big as his hand. It was bluish in color, but as he moved his head the hue shifted to greens and even a hint of purple. It looked almost like a fish scale.
His eyes widened to saucers. It couldn’t be.
He started when he realized the meeting was adjourned and the governors were heading out. Vessius tore his gaze away from the treasure and made his way out, as quickly and quietly as he could. “Come on,” he harshly whispered to his servant as he ran past the man. He had to speak to his uncle and he had to do it soon.
He ran, making his way through the palace until he could come down a hallway the opposite direction of his uncle. He needed to make this look like a chance meeting. He couldn’t let on that he’d been eavesdropping on a governors’ meeting. Finally, he saw his uncle walking up with his entourage behind him. “Uncle!” he called running up.
Talgia looked up surprised. “Prince Vessius? That can’t be you.” He gave his nephew a loving clap on the shoulder. “When I left you were a boy and now you’re practically a man.”
Vessius laughed. “They say I haven’t even hit my real growth spurt yet. I’ll probably be as tall as you in the next couple of years.”
The general put an arm around the prince’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” He looked about suspiciously. “I’m actually very glad I caught you before I got swept up in all the celebratory parties and such. You won’t believe what I’ve found.”
“What?” Vessius asked, doing his best to feign ignorance.
“I’ve finally found the island of Agara, just like I promised you.”
“Really?”
Talgia nodded. “Vessius, it’s beautiful. A warm and inviting place. I’d go back right now if I could.”
“Are there dragon’s there, like in my old nursemaid’s story?”
“Dragons?” The general chuckled. “Not that I’ve seen, but we haven’t seen the whole island yet, so who knows, my boy. Maybe some day we will and I’ll be sure to bring you back an egg.” He laughed again. “You’ll be the first emperor with a dragon under his control. You could fly to the farthest reaches of the empire to inspect them and be back in Caravae by dinner.”
Vessius smiled like a fool. A dragon. It would be an absolute dream to have one. He would be the most powerful man in the world if there were a dragon to back up his every word.
“Now, Vessius,” his uncle continued snapping him out of his reverie. “I do have something for you and I should hope you take good care of them.”
Talgia led him along back to the prince’s chambers, ignoring his nephew’s constant questions as to what his present could be. He opened the door to the young prince’s playroom, ushering his nephew in.
Vessius looked around in disappointment that there wasn’t a dragon waiting for him, until he saw the two children sitting in the middle of the room. His mouth hung open. They were beautiful, their chestnut skin scrubbed and oiled, their onxy colored hair. The little boy stared at them, terrified, his eyes darting back and forth between man and boy. The girl, a little older, wrapped her arms around the boy protectively her gaze fixed warily on him. He couldn’t breath. Her eyes seemed to pin him to the spot. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
Talgia beamed. “This is a brother and sister we captured during one of our first attacks. “The boy is Jekaram. We think he’d about seven. The girl is Sefra, nine years old. She’s picked up the language pretty well since her capture.” He looked over to the children. “Stand up.”
Vessius watched silently as Sefra spoke quietly in her tongue to get her brother to stand. “Uncle,” he breathed, “they are... beautiful.”
“And they are yours. Take care of them. It’s not as if I can get more tomorrow.”
Vessius looked up, smiling. “Thank you, uncle.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I have to get back to grown up matters. I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.” Talgia patted his nephew on the shoulder again and left the room.
Vessius couldn’t do anything but stare at his new slaves. They were too beautiful. Then girl, this Sefra, considered him. “You... are... a prince?” she asked shakily.
He forced himself to shallow and speak. “Yes, I am.”
“The other man said we will do what you say do.”
“Yes, you are my slaves now. You will do what I say.” He looked between the two and started laughing, startling the boy. “We will have such fun!”
Vessius began rattling off all of the things they would do together, all the games they would play, how Jekaram would be his fighting partner for his sword training. At the celebration banquet, that evening, he showed them off to his father and each and every noble in attendance. He even made Sefra dance with him to everyone’s delight.
They dragged themselves back to his bedchamber exhausted, Jekaram nearly drunk from the glass of wine the prince demanded he drink. Taking their hands, he pulled them into his huge bed with him, lying in-between brother and sister. “Tell me a story, Sefra,” he said curling up.
Sefra looked at him confused. “I do not know any stories of your people.”
“Tell me a story of your lands, tell me in your language if you have to.”
She looked around, thinking furiously, then began an old story her mother would tell her. Soon the prince was soundly and happily asleep.
I stare at the amusement park ride, remembering another contraption a lot like it. All this one did was go around and around, faster and faster, tipping as it rose up, to the delight of the riders. The ride stops in a few minutes, and the riders return to the ground, thrilled, with a happy memory, and the option to go again.
My boyfriend asks me, “Do you want to ride that one?” I hesitate. Do I? The sounds of the park quiet as I remember not all contraptions like this brought happy memories.
There had been a camp, out of the way as camps tended to be. But this camp was special, for special kids. Kids like I used to be, those who had “potential.” We would go to camp with many others, our special peers, take all sorts of tests they called activities, and if the Master Commander found us to be...extraordinary, he would choose us, and take us. Take us to the Planet of the Mines.
My last day on the Planet of the Mines was similar to the day I arrived there, in that I rode something like this amusement park ride. Only my emotions were different from the first experience to the last. That first time, twelve of us special kids were taken aboard a transporter, similar to the ride my adult eyes were now staring at, in a secret room in the main building at camp. It had seats and we were strapped in. It spun, faster and faster. We barely felt it, the way it was designed, and we were told it was a cool ride that would take us out of this world.
We thought that part was just a gimmick.
We had felt privileged to be the Chosen Ones, to ride the transporter in the secret room, with only a momentary disorientation at the darkness and spinning sensation. Then a humming, a slight jolt when the device “landed” on the Planet of the Mines, a stillness before being led out to another place.
We were brought to a world outside our own. A world that at first looked like a child's idea of heaven, with plenty of space to play, every favorite food a child would want, toys, cartoons, decorated rooms of our choice, to suit our individual tastes. There were children from all sorts of planets, cultures, and tribes. We were given “group guides” to show us the ropes and help us with any questions; they were cool, kids like us. No rules there, except to participate in the “activities” and to have fun. Paradise for the Potentials.
Soon, however, we were made to lie on special cots, and funny lights would shine into our eyes, onto our skin, and things would probe into open places on our bodies - embarrassing. We were told each time they were checking to make sure we were healthy. But the “treatments” were painful to our young bodies. We were forced to cooperate, and the weekly ordeal slowly drained us of some of our youth, our energy, our powers. We learned to detach.
When we were not being “treated,” we were made to work metals using our powers - which ranged from the ability to heat things up with our hands, eyes, or minds to melt the metals, to being able to use telekinesis to build walls, robots, lasers, and other odd machines. Some children who had been there long before us, barely had any special powers at all. Those were the ones only a few heartbeats away from the Sunlight.
The “guides” were good to us at first - friends, allies, confidants, comforters when the little ones cried for their parents - but soon turned to hard task masters, relentless and cold, and we discovered they weren't children or teens at all.
We were fed bounties in the beginning, but scraps near the end. Taken to nice rooms to live with a roommate our own age, then forced into cells, alone, with barely any room for movement. Nicely decorated walls turned into rust-colored metal boxes. And the air conditioning turned to heat. Water became scarce, baths were denied, grooming was non-existent, and those who were finally broken or disobedient were thrown out into the Burning Sunlight.
A demonstration of the Burning Sunlight was shown months after we had been taken to the Planet of the Mines - when the treatments became more painful, when the food became less and less, when the “guides” grew mean and cold toward us, and when some of us began to rebel. We had been gathered in a sepia-toned auditorium, along with many other kidnapped children, and forced to watch a child being thrown out into an above-ground hallway, where she fell on her face, and struggled to rise. But before she could really move, a sky-door opened above her, and the Sunlight came in, to shine on the disobedient girl. In seconds her skin began to burn, and her silent scream stilled as her body disintegrated, the blood and tissue evaporating, the bones becoming ash, then specks on the wind.
It caused a gasp all around the auditorium. Cries of the little ones rang out. The “guides,” cyborgs, we discovered, were stone faced. The Master Commander's face was all business as he looked at each one of us. The niceness ended completely.
Innocent children, Potentials, with all these abilities, and we were being utilized, dehumanized, then discarded.
When I later found a new friend of mine lying in a crevice - her body bruised, weakened, barely able to move because of her recent “treatments,” attempting with her last bit of strength to hide from her jailers - I became angry. This could not continue, and I realized we could stop it.
About two hundred children were delivered from a Master Commander who was in need of “special” resources, and weaponry. The Master Commander had to keep stealing pure and innocent power from children, because his body could not retain it for very long. He needed a steady supply, and had spent decades kidnapping children before he came up with the camp idea, where parents sent their children willingly, not knowing it would be the last time some would see them. He had just begun the camp on Earth.
But my group of recently captured Earth-children escaped, using the spinning transporter to go back to Earth. I led a second group to the transporter, using underground tunnels, so the sky-doors posed no threat. My brother and sister were afraid because I sent them on home, but stayed behind, to gather more children, to save them from torture and death in the copper colored walls of the Mines.
There was a war, a war of the minds. The cyborgs had physical advantage, but nothing else. Even in our weakened state, we kids were stronger. We were determined, and used our minds collectively to propel the Master Commander and his army back, as they advanced on us. We used our minds to force air into his body, until his ribs burst through his rib cage. His brain grew in size with the pressure we put on him.
The last thing he saw, even before seeing his own blood and tissue covering his sight, was my face.
After we had landed back on Earth, I'd helped the remaining children leave the transporter and the secret room. Upon seeing my little brother and sister outside the building, I walked to them. They broke into a run, tears in their eyes. The counselors stared perplexed, as all the children who had disappeared for months, for what was supposed to be a special camp activity, had returned haggard, beaten, broken, and telling a story of torture and dehumanization.
Now, years later, I take my eyes off the sky. The sounds of the amusement park return to my ears as I watch the spinning ride thrill the screaming children and adults. I stand amidst the sights and sounds, the people's delight and carefree laughter.
My boyfriend challenges me. “Are you scared?”
“No.” I walk to get in line. “I've ridden worse.”
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On October 1st, at 2 PM,
The St. George Library Center Located at 5 Central Avenue
(near Borough Hall ) in Staten Island, N.Y. 10301
( 718-442-8560 ) will present a lecture entitled
“Comic Books and their Lasting Importance.” The Guest Speaker will be Winston Blakely, a Fine arts/Comic Book Artist who has worked for Valiant Comics and Rich Buckler’s Visage Studio and who was also associated with Marvel Comics.
Directions by subway:
Take the 1 train to South Ferry. Take the Staten Island ferry. Walk or take S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.
Or you can take the 4 or 5 to Bowling Green then walk to South Ferry. Take the Staten Island ferry. Walk or take S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.
Or you can take the R to Whitehall. Take the Staten Island Ferry. Walk or take S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.
Check out my interview everyone!!
http://ragebooks.blogspot.com/2011/09/interview-with-ronald-t.html?spref=tw
Ok..I have been silent far too long about travesties going on in the comic and animation industries. I am sick and tired of being handed “Black Culture” by non-black writers, non-black artist, and non-black animators! We do not need anyone’s permission to be black! Who can tell stories of Black Culture better than Blacks can? Example; many of the new DC and Marvel Black comic characters are written and drawn by non Blacks. And to add insult to injury, many of the new so called black heroes are no more than black transformations of white characters, (Black versions of previous white heroes revised). We accepted Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman and other white superheroes without question, with open arms. Their race did not matter! What did matter was their moral fiber, sense of justice and super abilities.
They showed the world theirs, now it’s time to show them ours! Indy comics are the key! WE DO NOT NEED THEM! Don’t beg companies like DC and Marvel to tell your stories! YOU TELL IT! They had their turn! Now it’s our turn! Black super heroes are here to stay! United we stand, divided we fall. Let us take our true place in creation as HEADS and not TAILS! Because,…in the words of the great George Clinton of Parliament/Funkadelic “A tail is nothing but a long booty.” It’s funny but true. Please understand, I didn’t say these things to put whites down, I said them to lift blacks up! Be encouraged, be creative and be cool. Peace and Love!
Art Dawson
Doc & AJ Comics
Blender is avaliable cross platform, but utilizes OpenGL for drawing the entire interface. That means you best use a graphics card and drivers that conform to the OpenGL specifications. Unfortunately there are a lot of cheap graphics cards on the market that only support a basic sub-set of the OpenGL specs.
Blender is the free open source 3D content creation suite http://www.blender.org/.
Get the " PoliceBrewTolitarian DocuMix," from Melki the original documixologist. In a 2009 VoxUnion exclusive Melki, provides a most timely cookup of audio, funk, commentary and documentary examining the history and function of police brutality. The beat of Police brutality goes on and on. The question remains, “will we be able to organize some effective responses and make real changes?”
Ok, it’s truth time. Deep down inside I secretly despised the tragic mammy. I know, my rage about the image was totally wrong, illogical, and unlike the normal me. I’m usually very accepting of all types but the whole Black mammy thing pissed me off. I was the kid who stared at the Aunt Jemima pancake box. I didn’t like that little woman with the red head rag. I ate my pancakes better when Quaker gave her a perm. And, that woman from Gone with the Wind, uggh, I wanted to slap her. She should’ve known how to birth a baby…
So, there I was in Borders several years ago, enjoying the Urban Fantasy section when this little white dude came up and questioned me. “Are you in the right place? Do you need help finding a book? Oh, I have this terrific book for you called ‘The Help.’” I politely told him that I most certainly WAS in the right place. I’d almost reached the section with Laurell K. Hamilton and I turned my back but that little dude would not leave me alone. I took the Help. I took one look at that yellow cover and read the back. Umm, no, this ain’t the book for me. I know, the Librarian judged a book by the cover.
To read more visit: http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/50-a-black-woman-sci-fi-writers-unfounded-rage-towards-the-help
Lightning Strikes
"My dear Adam, I assumed you were told when you came here, that you would be surrendering the Equinox to me in return for being allowed to go back to your normal, if dull existence."
Heberon sat there looking at me. I could feel her eyes on me in the unnatural darkness. Until ten seconds ago, I didn't even know my Hat had a name. Now, it is staring at me with glowing eyes in a shapely face, I can barely see, in a room filled with an eldritch darkness born from a time before Man walked the Earth and threatening me with my total surrender? What am I doing here?
"Mayor Black? Is it okay if I call you that?" I tried to keep the quavering out of my voice. I took a deep breath and continued. "My Father died to transfer the Equinox to me. I could not trade it to you or anyone."
"So your opening negotiation point is one of nostalgia and filial duty." The voice in the darkness seemed to resonate around the room, snapping quickly from one side of the room to the other. "I find that an acceptable opening point to our negotiations. What would make your father's sacrifice worth the effort of transferring the Equinox to me? I am certain I would be able to do something you would find equitable."
I could see her shaking her head, her slightly less dark female form drawing my eyes, as I adjust to the darkness. "What could you offer me equal to the life of my Father?"
His laughter radiated from the center of the room and echoed off the walls. "What could I offer? I could offer you your father back from the halls of Death itself. Would you like that Adam? It is still possible."
Was it possible? It wasn't that long ago, just a few days. I had seen magic do amazing things, even with my limited exposure. But I also remember Ms. Hart's early lessons. Hard lessons. "You can't do that. No one can."
"You paid attention in class. My complements to your teachers. Zombification is such an elegant but imperfect science. You would have barely noticed the difference in him. My opening bid has been rejected."
Her head was dipped forward so I could not see it. But I could sense a smile in her posture, her energy was amused.
"Something amused you, my servant?"
"No, my Dark Master. I am simply pleased by the young Adam's scholarship. Please continue the negotiations."
"Adam, Scion of the Equinox, I await your next negotiation for the exchange of the Equinox from your hand to mine. What would you bid for that? Know that you will not leave this room with that Power, no matter what you may wish. It simply cannot be, there is more at stake than you know."
"And like everyone else who deems themselves in the know, you refuse to tell me why it is so important for you to have the Equinox in your possession, only that you must have it, and have it now." I was beginning to be a bit more than annoyed.
"Ah, a bid for exchange of knowledge. This I can respect. Knowledge is power."
Her eyes flash at me, tiny slits of green fire. Danger.
"I did not say that. I am not willing to exchange the Power for an answer to why its necessary. I simply want you to tell me why I should do this. It might change my answer and it might not."
"A clarification is requested." Mayor Black's voice seemed to come from right over my shoulder. It made me jump just a bit. "I do not have time for a history lesson. There are others who are here for your Power, and they unlike me will not negotiate for it. They will tear it from your cooling corpse."
"I am not sure what you were expecting, but I am certain of one thing. My father died to make sure the Light did not get the Equinox. I am sure that I will not be giving it up to anyone without a fight."
With that pronouncement, a crack of thunder rattled the building like an earthquake. "Our guests have arrived. You may have to do just that. Hyperion's lapdogs are here."
Hyperion. I know that name. From Greek legends, a sun deity who preceded Apollo. There was more, but I think I was sleeping in class that day. Oh. Wait. Hyperion is a god or being associated with the Light. The people or things that killed my Father.
"Our negotiations are done, Mayor Black. I have a score to settle." I stood up but I felt like I was floating in space. There were no references besides the solidness of the ground beneath my feet.
"You plan to go down there and fight, Lightning and Thunder?"
"Yep, that's the plan."
"You realize, this will not be like fighting those puny Cherubim you and your friends handled."
"How do you know that?"
"Where there is darkness, I am. Where a heart is black. I exist. Where there is light, there is shadow, and I am again. I am the Keeper and Stealer of secrets. I am the Whisperer in the woods. I am the blackness between the stars."
"They why do you crave the Power of the Equinox? You seem pretty complete to me." That was the first time I felt Black had been honest in this entire conversation.
"My power is great for knowing, binding and creating prisons. It is poor for stopping enemies of my House." His hate was clear in voice. An inability to scratch a maddening itch. "With the Equinox, I would not have to negotiate, I would simply take what I wanted."
"Our negotiations as you have established them are at an end, Mayor Black. I offer you the opportunity to do something different. Something better. Are you interested?"
"Careful boy, this is no backyard pricking of thumbs for a boyhood pact. This is an Evil that has existed before your race walked upright." Heberon hissed across the room.
"Heberon, you wound me. I can be fair to those who are fair to me. Name your proposition, Adam."
"If you could defeat Hyperion, you would have done so already. And you are not sure I can defeat Thunder and Lighting. But they are standing outside your house and that means either Hyperion sent them to kill me, or to try and kill you."
"Do go on."
"If they kill me, you get nothing, and they will then kill you. If not now, as soon as they master the power of the Equinox. If I give you the Power, you can fight them but you cannot stop Hyperion, because if you could, you would have tried to kill my Father yourself. How am I doing?"
"Your acumen is astounding." Sarcasm dripped from his words.
"You gave Umbra, Heberon, years ago to keep an eye on my Father and Ms. Hart because you cannot spy on others who may be Power's themselves. And as far as I can tell, if you could know what was going on, you would not have made a bid for the Equinox yourself, or exposed yourself to a force that could potentially destroy you."
"Enough, out with it, boy. What is the game you are playing?"
I got him. "My Father used to tell me, you could tell a person by what they didn't have just as much by what they had. You have power, but it is limited by something in this place. Hyperion can't come here, and while Thunder and Lightning can, they can't force you out because this place is the center of your power. All the people who are here, are people on the fringes of society and their powers are yours. In exchange for someplace they can be truly safe. But I realized something. You are not safe here."
"Excuse me?"
"If you were truly safe and in no danger, you wouldn't be trying to scare, coerce, or harass a kid into giving you a weapon that you are not sure you could control. Tell me I am wrong."
And there was silence in the room for more than a minute. No one said anything. Heberon kept her head down and her glowing green eyes out of my line of sight.
"Damn you, boy. Well played. So how do you plan to escape my clutches? You do know you are in the center of my power right now? I could strip the flesh from your bones, make you writhe in agony for a hundred years, till you beg for death."
"You could do that. But it would not get you the Equinox. It would release the Power and it would rage once freed, and likely kill you and anyone who tried to bind it, wouldn't it?" I was going with my gut instincts. I did not know any of this for certain, but it felt right.
"I don't think I need to escape, Mayor Black. Yes, you are the elder evil that has terrified mankind since the dawn of time, but I am not one of those men. Right now, I embody a power that is your equal and I am beginning to think might be more dangerous than anyone should possess. Since it was given to me to guard, I will deny anyone else claim to it. Instead, I offer you the one thing you cannot force me to do.
"And what foolish boy, would that be?"
"I offer you, my protection, instead. Do I have your attention, now?
Heberon looked up, her eyes flashed and she smiled widely.
A shockwave of thunder rocked the building. I could hear the sounds of wood and metal shearing away under the sonic assault. A flash of lightning exploded and the roof of the building was blown away. Two men stood on the roof near the edge of the damaged timbers. One wore an outfit similar to a samurai of ancient Japan, decorated in orange, yellow and white flowers. In his outstretched hand, he held a lightning bolt, sizzling in the rain, which entered the hole in the roof. The other wore a similar outfit in reversed colors of purple, blue and black. In his hand, he held a bell of a black metal and had a small hammer in his other hand. The bell shown with a ominous darkness.
"Mr. Black, Lord Hyperion sends his regards and apologies. He regrets that he must break his previous negotiations with you, and hopes his apology will comfort you, on your way to your afterlife." Lightning spoke these words and his mouth crackled with electricity with each word.
"Equinox, Lord Hyperion, requests your presence and will not accept any answer other than acquiescence. We have been sent to ensure your cooperation." Thunder's voice was a musical score, it was beautiful and terrible as it rumbled its threat.
The rain continued to fall for a few seconds before Mayor Black spoke again. "Adam, I accept your terms."
Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]
The weather, the atmosphere, the land was all messed up, and Shaha knew why. Everything was unstable, and that was because the world was ending. It wouldn't be long.
Once upon a time, too many years ago to count, Man lived on the peaceful world of white-blue, Dunia. At that time, the jua, the sun, wasn't what Shaha's ancestors or the rest of the world knew it to be. It was the tiniest pinpoint of light, so the planet was somewhat cold, but the inhabitants knew how to harness that sunlight, and that of other stars, so they were not frozen.
The sky was perpetually night, but the people knew how to make light for daily living, and the line between day and night was blurred, so time was measured by clocks and gadgets that regulated such things. The people lived for a long, long time, and did not age as Shaha and her own generation did. They knew the stars, as intimately as they knew one another.
Humans were brilliant, and at first did not fight or kill one another, as gentle and comfortable as family members in a loving home.
They learned how to make the planet warm and tropical in small areas, with gentle breezes and colorful fruits and the greenest grasses. But only for vacations, to allow families to get out of the cold at some part of the year, and it was free. The people took turns enjoying the change of seasons they created, and everyone cooperated.
And then some, mostly the more recent settlers to the planet, began to want more and more for themselves, and began to pay to have more. They began to build more things, and use the land wastefully. One man in particular felt he should rule the whole of Dunia. He began to feel that because he was so smart and even rich, all should be his, and he was smarter, better than anyone else could be. He was a scientist, as most the people on the planet were, but he was criminally insane, and so his ideas were soon rejected by society.
Man had turned on man.
Others agreed with the evil scientist, and there were two sides for the running of the planet. And then even more opinions and sides. And the uprisings. People began toying with and manipulating the planet and the people, causing, among other things, the seasons to change tremendously, in an effort to change things for their own gain. It got out of hand, and the world became unstable.
One of the creations of the original evil man, called the Uchoyo device, caused the planet to shift, in his attempt to make the world as he felt it should be. Before other scientists could figure out how to stop it, the planet had begun to shift toward a nearby moon.
However, the people knew about the other planets in the system, and had long begun working on exploring the next one over, called Pya, just in case there ever was a need to evacuate. That time had come, so the people had to leave.
The evil man refused to, because he wanted this world, and tried to stop the ships from leaving. He needed workers, and attempted to improve upon his creation, frantically trying to manipulate anyone and anything, to do so. Unfortunately for him, he could do neither before the unstable world he knew exploded in the collision with the moon.
But Man had another place to live.
However, on the next planet, after thousands of years since the first landing, the same thing happened. New visitors arrived and created chaos in the harmony that had begun. Man moved again, each time, slowly moving toward the sun, which appeared larger with each migration. Man's days were shorter, and decreased with each landing, with each new civilization. He aged faster.
With another planet, there was another Armageddon, and the new world either was destroyed entirely, leaving nothing but debris in space, or a war would turn the planet into a wasteland. And always a select few thousand escaped. Unfortunately, not very long after he arrived, people would come who did not care for the old ways, or peace, or harmony, thus bringing about the world's destruction.
Shaha knew this story from birth, because her parents had told it to her. She held on to it for years, and had tried to seriously begin the teaching to others, but many called her crazy. There were others who knew the story, and tried to get the world to understand, but most people did not want to listen to what they thought was ramblings and brainwashing.
She thought of how many worlds the ancestors had lived on, for millions of years now, with varying sky colors and life forms along the way. She remembered how blue and white this world's sky used to be, on most days, with the night sky reminding Man of his original star-lit home. But Man, composed of many mixed nations, ignored it, too proud of himself, too pumped up with his own brilliance, and too arrogant to share his wealth.
She wondered why Man had to eventually destroy himself or his home, but figured it was too late to try and make people understand.
She wished the old stories had not stopped being told, or rather believed, as she watched meteors and comets fly by the planet. Watching the asteroids bang into one another saddened her, the earthquakes and hurricanes kept her in a constant state of seeking safety, but it was too late to tell people to stop their warring. So the chaos would continue, until the world died.
Only a few days left, and everyone left on this planet, would die.
Shaha met up with the others who would leave Earth for Venus, to colonize the next world. It was a hotter planet, with a sky that was almost white, it would be so bright. She prayed that Man would learn this time, but considering he had left the other planets in the solar system either desolate and uninhabitable, or in pieces floating in space, it wasn't likely.
She walked to her area on the ship she had been assigned to, and with a sigh looked out a large window. The world she knew was being destroyed and she cried. Billions would not make it. Most would be dead by tonight.
But with the new world, she could only hope man would not make the same mistakes.
Black as Night
As the Sheriff escorted me into the center of town, I could sense the game behind me returning to its previous exuberance. The townsfolk seem to take their football seriously and whatever they sensed earlier didn't seem to warrant further investigation once they saw the Sheriff was on the job. That made me nervous.
The pain in my chest returned with a renew vigor and I stumbled and dropped to one knee.
"You okay, son?"
"To be perfectly honest, Sheriff, I could do with a bite to eat."
"Well, under the circumstances, it would be bad manners if I had you meet the mayor on an empty stomach. I am certain he would not want our town's reputation for hospitality to be ruined on my account."
"On my way into town, I noticed everything's closed. What do you have in mind?" Too many afternoons of bad B movies had me thinking he was going to invite me to his home and chop me up in his basement.
"One of the benefits of being the Sheriff is a key to the diner. I am certain we can rustle up something from the fridge. Now tell me something, how old are you? 'Cause to look at you, I'd think you were sixteen and a bit young to be out here in Providence, no disrespect."
"I'm eighteen."
"Ah. Existential angst might be enough to get you here, then."
When we reached the diner, the Sheriff let us in and locked the door behind us. He moved behind the counter in what appeared to be a diner straight out of Happy Days. Big counter, wide spinning seats, a jukebox, diner booths with bright red padded chairs. All we were missing was a laugh track and a guy in a leather jacket. I spun around on one of the stools a couple of times, but stopped right before the Sheriff came back into the room.
"Made you a BLT, hope you eat bacon." He smiled and carried the two plates and cups like a pro. Noting my smile, he added, "Did my time as a waiter when I first came to Providence twenty years ago. Some skills never go away."
That seemed like a strange thought to me. This was a guy that seemed to have been a Sheriff forever. I can't imagine him having ever been anything else. That was another thing about this place, the very nature of everything here seemed overt, powerful, strong as if each thing were the perfect representation of the thing I was seeing. Ms. Hart tried to teach me something about that once, but I couldn't recall what she called it.
Talking around the most delicious BLT I had ever eaten I had to ask the question that had been nagging me since I got here. "Sheriff, where is Providence? I mean on a map."
"Now see, we were doing so well. Why did you have to go and spoil it with a philosophical conversation. Let's finish our meal with less weighty questions and then the mayor can answer such deep and meaningful questions." I didn't see him eat his sandwich but when I looked at his plate, his food was gone.
He was sipping on a cup of strong, black coffee. I could smell it and the scent of it reminded me of my father. He drank his black. I remember taking a sip and finding it the most bitter thing I had ever had. He laughed as I choked it down. When I asked him why he drank it that way, he said he wanted the essence of the coffee. Sugar and milk watered down the true nature of the oil that coffee was made from. It was important to him to engage the coffee in a struggle of its nature versus his. I didn't quite understand it then. But now its making more sense. The real struggles of the world were not always cataclysmic. They were the tiny conflicts we fight every day, those were the battles that needed to be won in order to win the war. He started his day off with a battle he could win.
"Sheriff, if you can't tell me where Providence is, can you tell me what it is? My teacher taught me about the realm of Logos, where the perfect representation of everything can be found. When I am looking around here, everything seems simply too good, if I can use the word, iconic, even. I mean, look at this jukebox, its perfect, lights all work, each label for the records is perfectly written, no scratches, no flaws. It's almost as if it had never been used."
Leaning back onto the counter, he had leaned his hat forward and while sipping his coffee, shadow seemed to fall on his face and for a moment, all I could see was the glittering of his eyes. Across the room, I could feel a chill in the air and his words seemed darker, colder and just a touch menacing. "Providence ain't like any town you have ever seen, boy. Providence is every town you have ever seen. Everything seems perfect here because it is. Everyone who lives here is someone who had despaired of finding a place that could hold them, make them feel human, people out on the edges of the world, a world that has forgotten that everyone isn't beautiful, or wealthy or loved. Providence is where those forgotten people get to come and be normal."
There was a mirror on the wall across from the jukebox over the dinner booths. I hadn't noticed it earlier but when my eye fell across it, I could see the Sheriff on the stool but what I saw wasn't even remotely human. Misshapen, with a long arm draping onto the floor, the other surrounding the tiny coffee cup. The glint of a long tusk, touched what did appear to be the Sheriff's cap. Legs, thick and frightening, covered in a scale ended in large clawed toes. When he spoke next, his smooth and methodical voice was replaced with a harsh, scratchy sound like gravel being ground together to approximate human speech. "Are you ready, not a good thing to keep the mayor waiting too long?"
I snapped my head back into the room and I saw the Sheriff return to his beautiful, glamoured appearance. When I looked back into the mirror, he still looked the same now. Whatever I saw was gone. I wanted desperately ask the Hat what was going on, but since we entered the town proper, it hasn't made so much as a sound, so I wanted to keep it a secret, for as long as possible. "Yes, sir. That sandwich hit the spot. My complements to the chef."
The walk to the main building at the center of town was short. As we walked, I saw the sky darkening slightly, and the wind picked up just a bit. I could taste the slightest moisture in the air and the distant flash of lightning in the hills surrounding Providence foretold rain in a couple of hours.
"Company's coming. Let's get a move on." The Sheriff picked up his pace and the sound of his boots echoed off the walls of the nearby shops and down the alleys. I was underwhelmed by the very ordinary outside of the building. It looked like an old bell tower or a building that might have been a church in the past.
But once past the doors, its inner appearance was simply majestic. It had a high inner ceiling and stained glass windows. Where I would have expected pews the floor was open and clear with a very ornate sigil that I did not recognize, on the floor made from a mosaic of tiny tiles. It was beautiful even to my underdeveloped sense of artistic mastery. I had never seen anything quite like it. "Mind your hat." The Sheriff took his hat off as he entered the building. I followed suit. My Hat was hot in my hands, like a living thing. It vibrated with a hum like a cat purring.
"Stay on the White. Do not touch the black tiles." The Sheriff took a circuitous route to the stairwell, carefully avoided any of the tiles which were completely black. Paying close attention I did the same. The longer I walked the longer the walk seemed to take. I realized something was happening when I noticed the angle of the sun. A significant amount of time was required to navigate the room and when I realized I had reached the stairs, at least thirty minutes had passed. The angle of the sun was completely different. But during the movement, I was unaware of the passage of time until I reached the stairs.
"Don't ask."
Did I really ask that many questions? When we reached the second floor, the building was made of the darkest wood I had ever seen. It seemed to absorb the very light from the room. All the windows were stained glass and no direct sunlight came into the room. But I think sunlight would refuse to enter here, even if it could. The air was heavy and still. Thick with age, like a closet that has not been opened for a long time.
The Sheriff pointed down the hall to a large set of doors. "The Mayor will see you in that room. When you get there, knock and wait until told to enter. I will see to our other guests. Good luck, son."
"You're not coming?" Suddenly being here didn't seem to be the good idea I thought it was when I was first convinced of it.
"This is as far as I need to go. Goodbye, Last Scion. I think we shall never meet again. I am sorry."
I turned down the hall and the Hat in my hand thrummed and nearly sang with anticipation. I could feel it's familiarity with this place as if it were coming home. Walking down the hall, it grew darker, a subtle thing but by the time I reached the end of the hall, I could barely see anything. The doors were a cold stone, matte black, absorbing all light, reflecting nothing.
I knocked. The doors absorbed the sound muffling my pitiful attempt to be heard. I waited. I knocked harder with greater vigor, wanting to be heard. It didn't matter.
"Enter, Adam, Last Scion of the Clan Equinox." The voice was startlingly clear. And then I realized why. It was coming from the Hat in my hand. I pushed the door open and entered into a room that was completely without light.
I walked in and the Power in my chest flared to fiery life. I could feel it trying to illuminate the darkness. It failed. I bumped into a chair, something leather, plush and padded.
"Sit down. Place the Hat on the chair across from you and we shall begin our negotiations."
"Hello Heberon. It's been a while."
Whose Heberon? I can smell a perfume, smoky, dusky, a sandalwood and a voice that sounded like the Hat, with a decidingly more female sound.
"Hello, my Dark Master. It has been a century or two. I hope we haven't kept you waiting."
"Not at all, my dear. Did you explain to your young charge about his unconditional surrender?
"We hadn't gotten around to that part, yet my Master."
Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]
Isaac Asimov once said, "Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today — but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation, if we are to be saved at all.”
Some time in the mid 1960s:
Chapter 09
Chicago, the Windy City. Not because of the biting, damp cold winds of winter, that whipped around downtown skyscrapers and could force you into oncoming traffic in the street if you weren’t careful. No, it was named so because of it’s colorful politicians. One may read about the source of its nickname deriving from the Columbian Exposition or its rivalry with Cincinnati, but school children were taught that the nickname came about based on the “windy” nature of those who lived and ruled there.
Regardless of the origins of the name, Chicago’s summers were notoriously hot and humid. And the large garage that the four transplanted young men from North Carolina were calling their headquarters, was like an oven during the afternoons and evenings while they worked.
By the time Christopher had arrived from his cross-country trip with Chuck, Riley and Peanut had most everything set up. They had an electronics shop set up that would have done any manufacturing company proud. And with Riley’s experience with building communications gear, he and Peanut were quite confident that whatever Christopher demanded, they would be able to deliver.
When Christopher had brought everything he owned into the small apartment Chuck had secured for them, he had Chuck bring him to the shop nearby. When Riley and Peanut saw Christopher and Chuck walk in the back door, they both gave a whoop and ran to greet them with slaps on the back and laughter.
They paused to ask what was in the sack Christopher was carrying, and laughed when they saw the Philco clock/radio.
“Hey man, we already have a hi-fi in the office. We even have a couple of speakers hanging on the wall out here,” Peanut admonished.
“That thing looks like it’s seen better days, my man,” added Riley.
“Just hang on gents, you know it’s rude to drop in on friends and not bring gifts,” Christopher countered. “Riley, get me an extension cord and Peanut, you and Chuck find some way to attached the guts of this thing to that steel beam over there by the wall.”
“Get out! You mean you and Chuck brought the...the, thing inside that?” Riley said, pointing.
“Can you think of a better way to hide it?” said Chuck. “I almost threw it in the trash when we were packing everything into his trunk.”
The four quickly cleared everything from around the beam. Chuck and Peanut found four industrial clamps to bind the device’s base to the beam while Riley waited to plug the device in.
“Okay, now I need some insulated gloves, thick rubber ones,” Christopher requested.
“Is it dangerous?” asked Riley.
“No, but I’ve never touched it without gloves. I’m just being careful.”
Christopher took the end of the extension cord and plugged his device in. As he moved to the device, the other three took an involuntary step back, chuckling as they saw each other mimic the action.
When Christopher flipped a switch on the device, there was a slight hum that quickly died out. Then he turned a small dial. The heavy beam rose silently into the air, and when it reached chest height on Christopher, he backed down on the knob leaving the beam to hover silently in the air.
“I’ll be God damned!” cried Chuck. “If that isn’t the God damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what the fuck is.”
Riley was silent as he approached the beam. He reached out and barely touched it, seeing if he could feel the energy holding it aloft. After he determined that there was no static discharge or arcing display that could, or would kill him, he applied a little push to the bean and was rewarded with a slow movement away from him.
“Did you feel anything?” Peanut asked.
“Hell no, not even a little vibration,” Riley answered.
“Man, I couldn’t even lift one end of that thing off the ground, Chris. That shit is unbelievable!” said Chuck, not able to hide his astonishment.
The garage went silent, with only the noise of the traffic out on the street penetrating the air.
“So now you know how I felt when I first turned the thing on,” Christopher said quietly.
“Brother, this is so fucking big! If The Man ever finds out about this, we are so fucking dead.”
Hello All,
The launch of my publishing industry website began yesterday and goes through Monday. Come on by and soak up some knowledge and leave a comment, ask a question, join in dialogue. Visit the website to join in: http://www.BecomeASuccessfulAuthor.com
Below is the welcome post. Enjoy.
Welcome to Become A Successful Author. I started out in the publising business a little over a decade ago as an editor at Third World Press, a 40+ year old publishing house that has way too many awards list and quite a few million-plus-books-sold authors. They publish mostly nonfiction, which is not where my heart is, so I moved onto several publishing houses as a freelance developmental editor for fiction. All along my journey in the publishing industry, I’ve always looked for ways to promote and help authors be the best they can be.
I decided to step into the world of self publishing last October and was quickly inundated with questions from my traditionally-published friends on how to do this, that, and the other. Between those questions and the questions I receive on the craft of writing, I quickly became swamped and found myself repeating the same information. That’s when it hit me—You’re an author with roots in nonfiction. Write a book that contains the answers you continually receive. Give authors the full picture instead of bits and pieces. Next thing you know, I was over 60,000 words into Become A Successful Author. When I first began writing the book, I had intended on naming it Become A Published Author, but as I wrote I realized anyone can be a published author. I want you to be more than published. I want you to be a successful author.
I can’t tell you what success means to you, but I can give you tools to help you write, market and build your high-quality brand efficiently so you can go as far as you’d like in your writing career. I released the eVersion of Become A Successful Author a few weeks ago and was a little surprised at the feedback I received from an author who hadn’t read it. He emailed me about a guest post I did the other week. It was as if he was offended that I had the audacity to say he wasn’t already successful or that he didn’t already know the business. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but that he had such a strong reaction told me that he was part of my target audience. I’ve been in the business for a decade as a developmental editor, author and marketing manager for various publishing companies and don’t know it all. I’m learning new information every day and never intend to stop learning. I truly hope that none of you get to the point where you think you know it all.
Since I don’t know it all and what I do know is my opinion (granted an educated, professional opinion), I’ve called in the troops to help give additional perspectives on this new world of publishing we are in. I don’t always agree with everything they say, but I want you to see others’ views also. Be sure to sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss any post. Trust me, this is going to be one fun trip.
Enough of my rambling. It’s time to get to this month’s articles. Before we start. To celebrate the official launch of this Website, I’ll be giving away a few advance review copies of the print version of Become A Successful Author, which is due for release February 2012. Be one of the first to hold a copy in your hot little hands. I will also be giving away a copy of Guide to Writing & Publishing Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror by Rob Shelsky and a copy of Book Marketing & Promotions on a Budget: Quick Tips by Shelia Goss . All you have to do to be eligible is comment on the blog posts Sept. 8 – 12, 2011. The more you comment, the greater your chances of winning a copy. Shy, don’t want to comment? Be sure to sign up for my newsletter. Besides notices of the articles, you’ll receive goodies like a chance to receive an advance review copy of Become A Successful Author.
Deatri King-Bey
Don’t have your copy of Become A Successful Author? What are you waiting for? Order your copy today. Become A Successful Author Table of Contents
Purchase the eBook version of Become A Successful Author from: Amazon, Barnes & Noble
Don’t miss out on future posts. Be sure to subscribe to the Become A Successful Author newsletter.
From the Editors of Damnation Books:
– I’d like a couple of mech stories (a metahuman gadgeteer, like Tony Stark, or maybe a normal guy who has someone making his gear…that could lead to some conflict!)Suddenly discovering that you’re different from baseline humanity is certainly the sort of thing that could change one’s worldview overnight, but that just isn’t interesting, especially since it’s been done ad infinitum. How about the people that look out for ‘Number One?’ People with flaws? People with serious psychological issues? People that have been looking for a ticket out of their circumstances and finally lucked into it? People who’ve devoted themselves to their success and have reached it, at long last? The nerdy kid who doesn’t have to be pushed around and isn’t willing to hide anymore? The jealous girl that’s tired of being the ‘other woman?’ The disenfranchised homeless man? The bored housewife who wishes she’d made some different choices?
To some, this just screams ‘supervillain,’ or ‘antihero,’ and in many cases, you’d be right. But usually, these are stock characters without much substance. They’re the “bad guys.” Real life isn’t that simple, and even the meatier, more realistic metahuman portrayals out there are seen mainly in comic books; rarely in a prose anthology.
Show me substance. Show me what would really happen if today’s people had superpowers.
" I’m looking for stories of 3,000 to 5,000 words that handle the topic of superpowers and metahumans from unique, interesting and realistic perspectives. There are no limits regarding historical eras or futuristic settings, but remember to suspend disbelief. The stories don’t all have to involve bad guys or bad girls, but I do require that stories about heroes have a basis in something more than simple idealism. Your protagonists don’t necessarily have to have superpowers, even (think Ozymandias, Punisher, Batman, Catwoman). Elements of thriller, horror, noir, erotica, and science fiction genres are all welcome, and if you have a good idea that doesn’t quite fit into those ranges, send that along too. And yes, there is room for hope, too…a little at least. After all, the title is in the form of a question. Does power corrupt? If so, is it absolute? Perhaps; perhaps not."
Send your stories to subs@lincolncrisler.info in standard manuscript format (http://www.shunn.net/format/story.html). Submissions open on June 27th, 2011. Authors will be notified of acceptance soon after [the new deadline, December 1st, 2011]. Payment is in the form of shared royalties (40% electronic, 25% print). The anthology is scheduled for tentative publication in March 2012 by Damnation Books (http://www.damnationbooks.com/).
UPDATE: The deadline for this anthology has been extended to December 1st, 2011. Also, to address a couple of concerns: reprints will be addressed on a case-by-case basis, and we’re seeking one-time print and electronic anthology rights with two-years exclusive right to publish accepted stories.
UPDATE 30 JUL 11: I’ve accepted five stories to date. I have a War-on-Terror-inspired antihero, an imbalanced hero who’s also a villain, a guy with healing powers who thinks it’s a gift from Jesus, an arrogant bastard with reality-altering powers and a stranger who’s healing powers may only scratch the surface of his potential. So…I don’t need any more stories about people with HEALING POWERS, but I’d love to see the following:
– I’d like to accept 2-3 stories about TEAMS of metahumans (whether it’s a Justice League scenario, something smaller like Cloak & Dagger, whatever)
– I like the idea of Superman… an alien crashed on Earth, raised by humans, etc…but grounded in today’s image, not the clean-cut Boy Scout Clark Kent. And yes, I know how hokey it is that an alien could land on Earth that could still pass for human…but suspend disbelief, huh? I could handle a couple different metas of extraterrestrial origin, if done differently and if modern human social mores and culture are part of their character.
– I’d like to see a couple of stories with artifact powers, like Green Lantern, and of people gifted with power by someone else (again, Green Lantern, or DC’s Captain Marvel).
– FEMALE metas. I have none right now. And hopefully, some female authors.
– Superpowered siblings. Or families. I’d like one of each, ideally. They don’t necessarily have to agree on everything, wink-wink.
– A SIDEKICK story or two. Sidekicks are an important part of superhero mythos, and I’d love to see them here.
Good luck everyone!
Regina:)
I can still smell the reek that emitted from my computer screen, after watching that crap.
This was a pilot, written by someone who clearly had not the slightest bit of knowledge of Wonder Woman’s backstory. And it would not have been hard to learn, DAVID E. KELLEY!!!
I won’t go into how Kelley could’ve picked up an old comic book or even Wiki’d the character or just asking some friggin’ body about the heroine. The lack of knowledge about this superhero, was compounded by the fact that Kelley seemed to be still stuck in the late 80’s and 90’’s, when it came to plotting and subject matter. Additionally, there was the feeling that the actual pilot, was written by someone who had never penned a one hour script for television. The beginning, middle and end all blurred together.
The actress that played the title role, was a lovely woman named Adrienne Padalicki, formerly of ‘Friday Night Lights’ fame. As I said, she was lovely, but not beautiful enough to be Wonder Woman/Diana Prince. The role called for a tall actress, which Ms. Padalicki is, but with the looks of someone like maybe Angelina Jolie or Catherine Zeta Jones.
‘Smallville’ is one of the few successful shows about a DC comics character, that has graced the small screen in recent years. So when I first heard of this Wonder Woman project, I had some reservations. The character would have to be changed up some, to become a success for modern day TV.
And David E. Kelley did try and modernize this character--to the point of disbelief. He didn’t seem to have a clue as to how a ‘secret identity’ works. He didn’t seem to have a clue that in order for this show to be successful on a major network, he would have to pull in viewers that were not necessarily familiar with Wonder Woman. That meant explaining her background some. There was no attempt to do that at all.
Then there was the costume! Lord in the morning! That tiara looked like a craft project from some children’s storyhour, and those bracelets of hers looking cheaper than hell! Not to mention that Mr. Kelley, in one of the most barbarous slips of the pilot, made it clear that he had no concept of what Wonder Woman’s magic lasso is used for.
I hope that the reekfest that I viewed and that every network alive, that smartly passed on it, did not doom this character’s chances of becoming a live action television show in the near future. I think it still could be. But hopefully next time, ‘Wonder Woman’ will be entrusted to someone within the television industry, that at least cares enough to do their homework on this powerful member of the Justice League.
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Contact: Quinton Veal quintonveal@hotmail.com
Valjeanne Jeffers sister24moon@gmail
Quinton Veal is a poet and graphic artist. Quinton designed the covers of Her Black Body I Treasure, Immortal 3: Stealer of Souls, Grandmere's Secret. He has also released his own book of erotic poetry and art, Her Black Body I Treasure, now available at Amazon Kindle. Valjeanne Jeffers has been published in numerous anthologies including: Griots: a Sword and Soul Anthology. She is also the author of the Immortal saga. Valjeanne works as an editor for Mocha Memoirs Press and is part of the Genesis Magazine editorial Staff (http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com).
Hey Y'all!
This is a heads up: Next week I'll be at ISEA Istanbul presenting my paper titled,
Basically, I'm overlaying my research into urbanized forms of Afrofuturism, as conceptualized by modern graffiti pioneers Rammellzee, Futura (formerly 2000), Kase 2/Case 2 and others. These forms have influenced new media such as Graffiti Analysis. Read more about it HERE and HERE.
Wish me luck!
