Hey! Welcome to the Blog of Eternal Damnation! Here's where you will see all the latest crap about the Web's hottest Speculative Fiction ezine, Bambi's Eschatological Underpinnings. And every now and again, just for sport, we just might include a little bit about Fiction Inferno: the Literary Magazine that Burns You Up.

Saturday, August 24, 2002

 

Chapter Fifteen
In Which All Hell Breaks Loose

• The great deflated airship billows across the tableau like an angry fog.


• The airship gondola grinds into the ground like a slow motion meteorite, throwing up dirt and sparks and fractured bits of battle debris.


• The surviving elephant sees something he finds unacceptable, and begins building up a threat display, rather like a timid, frightened man working up the nerve say something rude.


• The surviving archer runs in circles, wide-eyed and screeching, and fending off the pillowy waves of spent balloon with a broken halberd, spastic like a vengeful marionette come somehow suddenly to manic life.


• Vince wields his father's sword like the inside workings of a blender, turning the shroud into shreds that drift in tangles about his legs, a look of gleeful determination chiseled into his face as if to say, "At last, something I can just whack at!"


• Wendy dodges to stay ahead of a dirt bow wave from the crashing gondola, skipping lightly from mound to gully to hillock like a kangaroo rat hopped up on meth, only singing a macabre nursery rhyme at the top of her lungs: "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out...."


• The poodle prances daintily from the disintegrating airship as it passes a pile of carnage, looks about for a moment, then coughs a bit, shakes its ears, then its head, then its body in a cascade of coruscating convulsion that sends a little shiver-wave of pleasure like an angry fog, a slow motion meteorite, a frightened man, a vengeful marionette, the inside workings of a blender, a kangaroo rat hopped up on meth, and most especially like a deliberate, soul-enriching orgasm of delight that touched every nerve in turn with sheer doggie joy.

And then the Professor--slightly drunk but still pretty much in control--freezes the entire bizarre scene with one wave of his hand.

"Just once," he sighs, "I'd like to finish a project without having to doing all the cleanup myself."

Chapter Sixteen
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

posted by Max E. Keele 9:56 AM

Thursday, August 15, 2002

 

For many of us, the key to successful writing is rewriting. Of course, Harlan Ellison is excepted, but for me and most everybody else, the first draft of a story just isn't ready for the world. So here's what I do:

1. Finish the first draft. I never go back to work on a partial draft. That way lies madness.


2. Give it a once-over. I look for gross incompetence, spelling, bad turns of plot, those sorts of things.


3. Put it away. For at least a week. Sometimes several years. Distance is necessary for me to see the real strengths and weaknesses of a piece.


4. Break it down. I try to identify what elements are working, and what are not. Also, are there any gaps in the narrative?


5. Cut unmercifully. Ouch, ouch, ouch. I once cut 150 pages in one day. Crap, I'm still sore about that. But it had to happen.


6. Keep working it until it's right, then QUIT. Ya gotta know when to fold 'em.

Feel free to make up your own strategy. I'm only a simple squid after all.

Chapter Fourteen
In Which a Bunch of Characters Join Together in One Scene

Picture this: Vince, Wendy (if that is her real name), the Surviving Elephant Archer, the Professor, the Remaining Elephant, a hundred or so dead guys, and the poodle all frozen together in one instant's tableau as the mortally wounded airship pauses teetering on the notion of complete collapse, its lighter-than-air blood practically spent, its gondola brushing the ground at stern, and all awaiting the proper moment in which to react in whatever odd but predictable ways are dictated by this universe's physical law. And then all hell breaks loose.

Chapter Fifteen
In Which All Hell Breaks Loose

posted by Max E. Keele 12:52 PM

Friday, August 09, 2002

 

No particular game, really. I just always liked that phrase.

Going to the beach tomorrow! Whoohoo! Gonna interact with gulls and sand and alcohol and people I like and stuff.

posted by Max E. Keele 10:10 AM

Thursday, August 08, 2002

 

The game is afoot.

posted by Max E. Keele 6:10 AM

Wednesday, August 07, 2002

 

Chapter Thirteen
Which Proves Exceptionally Unlucky for at Least One Elephant Riding Archer

The hapless archer, formerly mounted, currently flat on his ass in a large pile of moist elephant dung, flailed about for his crossbow, his terrified eyes firmly fixed on the gargantuan floating beast above him, his mouth agape, his hands frantically slapping all the ground within reach for the weapon. He could hear a familiar voice--the voice of his sergeant, in fact--shouting "Come back here, you great fat donkey!" but his attention was too riveted to respond. Just as the monster's toothy grin opened to strike, his hand fumbled upon something sharp, something that pierced his palm clean through. That proved enough to break his horrified trance. He looked at the screaming hand and found it impaled on the bolt from his missing bow. He pulled his palm off the shaft, gathered the weapon and without another thought trained it on the approaching beast, who's vast maw yawned directly above. An evil sound screeched out, followed by a long fetid tongue. The archer fired. His bolt struck through the tongue and disappeared into flesh. With a great whoosh the creature vomited an immense cloud of foul air. It struck the unfortunate soldier with such force that his broken body embedded in the ground. His last thought:

Bloody hell. Killed by a fart from a flying whale.

Chapter Fourteen
In Which a Bunch of Characters Join Together in One Scene

posted by Max E. Keele 10:17 AM

Sunday, August 04, 2002

 

Chapter Twelve
In Which We Wonder What Might Have Been

It could have happened like this:

Vince and Wendy (if that is her real name), after working long hours toward the goal of helping ignite a maelstrom conflagration, after placing all the bits in motion to instigate the collision of multiple massive armies, after setting in motion the series of events that would inexorably lead to millions of dead, maimed, and wounded, after all that seeming to fall into perfectly awful place, after running into each other in a random coincidence while escaping to a safe vantage from which to admire their handiwork, and making wild, perverse love without even an introduction, and then finally being swept up in the very carnage they helped create, were really just participants in a trans-universe field-study of military sociology at the Multiversity of Everywhen.

Or,

Vince and Wendy (if that is her real name), after working long hours toward the goal of helping prevent a maelstrom conflagration, after placing all the bits in motion to stall the collision of multiple massive armies, after trying everything possible to stop the series of events that would inexorably lead to millions of dead, maimed, and wounded, after all their efforts seeming to fail in a perfectly awful impotence, after running into each other in a random coincidence while escaping to a safe vantage from which to try one last time to end the madness, and making wild, perverse love without even an introduction, and then finally being swept up in the very carnage they tried to stop, were really just participants in a spectacular new reality-based multivision game with universal ramifications.

Or,

Vince and Wendy (if that is her real name), after taking a bunch of weird psychadelic drugs at a very loud transdance onboard a lightcruiser somewhere between hither and yon, after finding themselves embroiled with a few dozen others in a multihallucination omnidream from which they will only awake when the dope wears off, or the ship arrives at its destination (which may very well be a prison colony somewhere near LaLande), or when somebody in the chain dreams themselves dead, and making wild, perverse love without even an introduction, were really just a couple of well-meaning but misunderstood kids who had fallen into the wrong blog-based story.

Or,

Something else entirely. With or without the sex bit.

Chapter Thirteen
Which Proves Exceptionally Unlucky for at Least One Elephant Riding Archer

posted by Max E. Keele 10:26 AM

Friday, August 02, 2002

 

Chapter Eleven
In Which Things Just Go From Bad To Worse

The scent of ripe elephant overwelmed even the fetid odor of death and char that filled the battlefield.

"And just who the hell are YOU?" Wendy shouted, not a meter from the lead elephant's tusk tip, having just leapt from the behind the pile of debris. She held her spear in an aggressive way, as if to challenge the beast to a duel. The startled animal stopped abruptly, and took a hesitant step backwards.

"Hey," said the crossbowman perched on top, who dropped his weapon and lurched to grab the edges of his howdah. "Stop it! You're scaring him!"

Wendy shifted her spear, but did not budge. "No, you stop it. What's the big idea, shooting at me? You trying to hurt somebody?"

The rest of the elephants began appearing around the hill and piling up somewhat helter skelter behind the stalled leader. The lead crossbowman fumbled around the floor of the howah, but didn't take his eye off the woman warrior before him. "I never shot anything at you! Well, okay, maybe a couple." He retreived his bow, only to find the bolt had gone missing. "But we got to the battle late, and figured we better shoot something...."

Wendy scrunched up her face and rolled her eyes. "Just like a bunch of damn archers..." she began.

She might have finished the thought, except that at that moment, Vince appeared behind the packaderm troop, pushing a makeshift wheelbarrow full of raging flame. Predictably, the elephants completely panicked and after a few seconds of chaos, charged in the only direction available--towards Wendy. She made a few incoherent sounds and threw herself flat. The first elephant nearly fell as it tried to avoid stepping on her, but though it lost its unfortunate rider, righted itself and managed to get clear. The rest pressed hard on it's stern; Wendy rolled first one way, then another in a confused attempt to dodge the screaming thunderous herd.

Vince gave the cart one last shove, then ran past it. He scrambled over the hill and jumped, managing to catch just enough of the last elephant's howdah. He pulled himself up and though his eyes had swollen nearly shut, grabbed the archer by the collar and launched him over the side. Without pausing for a breath, he leaned out across the elephant's head and slapped hard at its great armoured forehead. A great dull gong resounded. The beast had apparently had quite enough for one moment. It stopped abruptly and reared. Vince tumbled off the back, hit the ground like a big wet rump roast, and sneezed.

"Gesundheit, you silly ass." Wendy brushed dust and dung from her legs. "What the hell was that supposed to accomplish?"

Vince would have said something clever had he full control of his breathing, but as it was, he struggled to manage another sneeze.

Wendy would have laughed, but was instead transfixed by the giant airship that now hovered like a weightless whale above her head.

Chapter Twelve
In Which We Wonder What Might Have Been

posted by Max E. Keele 1:27 PM

Thursday, August 01, 2002

 

The Summer 2002 Issue of Fiction Inferno is out! It went up in kind of a rush, so if you notice anything really really whack, please send a note to The Techie Slave Unit. Thanks for your support.

posted by Max E. Keele 10:13 AM

Experimental Exposure Level Detector. If this counter reads 99,999 or higher, you have been exposed to a level of mutagenic particle emission that should cause priapism in men and low-level continuous orgasm in women. Please let me know if this is a problem for anyone.