A Move Forward To A New Location On The WWW

Hello and welcome to all. Thank you very much for visiting my author blog. This site has served me well for some time, but as with most things, there is a time for a change. As my writing career advances to more bonified status, I have decided to take the leap from free blogging to fully paid-for hosting and a better web address.

What I'm trying to say is: my blog has moved to www.al-brown.com.

All future posts will be found at the new site. Thanks for you patronage and I hope you will move with me to my new internet home.

How To Decorate A Room Like A Pro (foundly Eccentric Writer)

Why yes, I amkicking back to watch TV with a pewter goblet of coffee and my footstool does bear a small resemblance to a ancient Grecian Column.   What do you mean, by that? No, I'm notinebriated or otherwise artificially distanced from reality. I'm a writer, Ilive here, in my own world, not in Realsville. I ride my homicidal unicorn overwhen I have to go there, but I try not to stay any longer than necessary.

I like it here.Where exactly, you say? Right now it's best described as a mildly psychoticcross between an episode of hoarders, a Nordic shrine to Wolverine, and thecampfire scene in "O' Brother, Where Art Thou?" That's what's it'slike here today. Tomorrow? Who knows? (Maybe the Doctor Who/black muscle carinterior/Badassary.com place will return?) I can never tell. On occasion, iteven resembles Realsville. I dread those days. Don't you?

Go Ahead, Make Maya Day - Bubonicon 44

The theme this year was "Mayan Punk."

Here was our entry for the costume contest."Do you feel Mayan, punk? Do ya?"

We didn't win anything, but i think we would've swept the "Most Likely To Actually Survive The Apocolypse" category. Ah well, now I can say, "been there, done that, still cool."
Here is a pic of the winners.

Don't Have a Heart Attack

Yeah, I have a dark and twisted sense of humor sometimes---ok, most of the time. While playing cards one night with some friends, the topic of derision became 'heart attacks,' and of course that devolved even further. The result was the hastily scrawled bit of pen-art you see here. Enjoy!

Um...More Busier

Good News!  The Josey Jackson short story, "Fire For Hire" has been sold to 'Tales of the Talisman' magazine! Published! Yeehaw!

Meanwhile, I have been getting a little bit done on a novel or two, but seeing as how I just qualified for the US Taekwon-Do Team...again...my spare time for the next four months pretty much just disappeared.

I'm looking forward to the 2012 Jack Williamson Lectureship next week and Bubonicon 44 this fall. 

Well, back to it!

Merry Christmas everyone!  Here's my present to ya'll.  Have a go at this chapter from the suspense novel I'm working on, Tough Target.

***

Chapter 4

Washington D.C.

Cass Elkins stepped off the private jet and wrinkled her nose at the unmistakable odor of a city. The smell of too many people crammed together like cattle. More like sheep actually, cattle had more spirit. She hoped that she wouldn't have to be here long. Too much time in a place as populated as D.C. tended to fray her nerves, resulting in attitude that made her normal, less than accommodating personality seem rather pleasant in comparison.  Not that she cared, but anybody unfortunate enough to bother her would.

The sun was dimmer than she was used to, but it was bright enough to make the man standing on the tarmac squint and shade his eyes with his hand. Cass figured him right off for a government employee.  He was wearing one of those nondescript suits with a bland tie, dress shoes, and no hat.  Cass always found it strange how people would rather burn their face and shade their eyes than wear a decent hat. Go figure.

When they were making the arrangements for Cass to travel to Washington, Alan Dobbs had recommended that she wear a suit in order to better blend in the city. She had taken his advice and wore her best black suit. His definition of suit and her definition turned out to be a bit different.  Cass owned a nice, black leather suit coat.  She wore it to church, funerals, weddings and other functions that called for formal attire.  She had a fine, dark gray, button-up shirt which she wore with the top couple of buttons undone so that her necklace could be seen.  She had made the necklace herself, for she rarely if ever found any bought jewelry that she liked.  Most of it was flowers or hearts or something else she didn't care for.  Around her neck was a plain black leather cord with a beautifully expanded, silver colored, .44 caliber, hollow-point bullet hung on it.  She had recovered the bullet from the ground after she had blown a large diamondback rattlesnake in two with her Eagle.  It was one of a kind.

She appreciated Dobbs sentiment that she should try to fit-in in Washington, but she knew that no matter what she wore she would stand out. Her purposeful stride and confident look marked her as much as the black hat, boots, and dark blue jeans that she wore. 

As she approached the man, Cass could see the subtle bulge under his right shoulder. Cass may have been annoyed that she was going un-heeled, but she was far from helpless.  She had been told to leave her guns at home since handgun possession by private citizens in D.C. was frowned upon if not outright outlawed. No wonder they had such a high murder rate. The only people that bothered to abide by the wishes of the government were law-abiding citizens. The criminals don't have any problem breaking the law to murder someone. Why should they pay attention to any other laws?

“Looking for me, mister?” asked Cass.

The man looked around questioningly for a moment before replying, “I'm not sure. Are you C. Elkins?”

“I reckon so. Didn't see anybody else get off the plane. I thought ya'll were expecting me.”

“Yes. I was just expecting someone, ah, older and more, um, never mind. I'm Justin Wallace and I was instructed to drive you to your hotel.”

Cass laughed mildly and said, “I understand. You weren't expecting a girl. I'm a bit disappointed, but I can't say I'm surprised. I'm used to it.  I wouldn’t expect one either.”

 Wallace didn't know how to respond so he just pointed to a dark sedan with government plates that was parked nearby and said, “This way.”

The drive from the airstrip to the hotel was relatively uneventful. Cass spent most of the trip looking out the windows at the landmarks. She had been around a fair bit, but this was her first time in D.C. She might not go out of her way to find populated areas, but she always found big cities interesting-- for a short time. 

They arrived at the hotel. She checked in and started for her room. Wallace offered to escort her upstairs. “You should be relatively secure here, but D.C. is a dangerous place, especially for a nice young lady by herself.”

Cass just looked at him and grinned.  He was obviously in the dark about her.  Either that or he didn't believe she was competent.  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Wallace, but I can take care of myself. If some unsuspecting lowlife mistakes me for a nice young girl, that is to say, a likely victim, he'll find out that even though I may be young and I might be a girl, I ain't all that nice.”

“Miss Elkins, I still don't think it would be wise for you to wander around by yourself.”

Cass didn't appreciate anyone telling her what to do. “So, you’re gonna protect me then?  What makes you think you can do better?  Are you referring to the gun under your coat?  What is it, a Glock, a Sig?  A forty-five, a nine mill?” asked Cass as she stepped closer to Wallace until she stood within arm’s reach in front of him.  He was beginning to annoy her.  Usually she would have let it pass, being an even-tempered person, but today she had a reason to get a reaction out of him.  She wanted to know more about the whole situation and sometimes the most efficient way to gain info about something was to force a reaction.  Most people showed their true stripes when pushed.  Besides, it had been a long flight and she was spoiling for a confrontation.  She innocently asked Wallace, “Tell me, are you considered to be a well-trained and competent agent?”

Wallace looked indignant and he quickly answered, “Of course I'm competent. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. And I'll have you know that I carry a Glock 19.”

“I see. Then how come you just let me kill you?”

“What are you talking about?” cried the obviously confused Wallace.

“I've been standing close enough to you to kill you half a dozen different ways since we started talking.”

“I let you approach because you are not an enemy or an unknown,” said Wallace defensively.

“That was stupid. You don't know me. I might not be who a say I am. You obviously didn't have a description of me back at the airstrip. You wouldn't have been so surprised. I gotta say, so far you guys ain't impressing me very much.”

“I am still better armed. I have a gun and you don't.”

Cass laughed incredulously, “You want me to prove it?  Fine. Go for your gun and see if you can get it out before I can get you.”

“I don't know,” said Wallace, “We're in public.”

Cass was beginning to enjoy herself. She continued to goad Wallace.  “Come on. Don't worry about anybody seeing. There's no civilians here except me. Come on. You afraid of a girl?  Tell you what, if you're fast enough, I'll take your advice. If I win, you quit telling me what I can and can't do. Deal?”

“Okay, you asked for it. Ready?”

“Whenever you are. You go first.”

They stood facing each other. Cass stood calmly with her arms at her sides, waiting for Wallace to make his move. “I'm waiting,” she drawled.

Suddenly, Wallace tensed and his right arm pulled his jacket back to expose his Glock while his left hand reached for the gun. At least that was what he tried to do. Even though his right arm moved first, as soon as he moved, Cass grabbed his left arm with her right. She had noted earlier that he was left-handed and so she knew which hand to be concerned with.  Meanwhile, her left hand hardened into an arc and accelerated quickly towards Wallace's exposed throat, stopping only a thousandth of an inch from his neck.

She stood there for a moment. Wallace stood frozen. Staring into his eyes, she could see the fear. That was good.  Somebody once told her that the difference between fear and respect was small enough that one was a good substitute for the other.  He nervously eyed the hand which had stopped a fraction of an inch from crushing his throat.

He croaked, “You win.”

Still grinning maliciously, Cass released him. 

He took a step back and straightened his disheveled suit. “You were just lucky,” he stated with fake bravado, more to himself than anybody. He didn't want to admit that it had shaken him. She had moved so quickly, without hesitation, and smiled the whole time. He had been in serious situations before, but something he had seen in her blue eyes unsettled him.

“Just keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better, bub. Now get along, I've got bigger fish to fry.”

Cass turned around to see a short wiry man with close-cropped, graying hair, dressed in a nondescript suit, step out of the shadows and begin clapping slowly. About time.

“Not bad. Not bad. You're even better in person, Miss Elkins. I can also see why Mr. Dobbs thought you a bit blunt. Do you test everyone you meet this way?”

Cass laughed, “Only when I've got an audience.”

“You knew I was here?  I'm impressed. I must be losing my touch.”

“I don't know about that, mister. I thought you were pretty good. But I've always been good at knowing when somebody was around. Comes from living in the boonies I guess. I notice people.”

“Curious,” said the mysterious man. “Let's go some place more private and we'll discuss the matter of you working for us. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” said Cass.

“Excellent. We'll have dinner. Wallace will pick you up in an hour.” 

Cass watched critically as the man casually walked out of the room. His outward appearance had been regular in every way, but to her eye, his walk gave him away. Confident, relaxed, balanced, smooth, a predator amongst the unsuspecting prey. A man to be feared by most and respected by those like him.

Cass wasn't afraid.

A Poem for Christmas

The Christmas Ambush

Twas the night before Christmas

And just so no one gets shot

There's no front door delivery

And we keep the gates locked

Down the road we go

A few miles and more

To pick up the presents

From Grandma's back porch

After some coffee

We drank hot and black

We said goodnight

And then we made tracks

It was just about then

On the way home

I heard "Rawhide" playing

So I answered phone

It was my dear mother

On her way home from town

Said she needed some gunners

To chase someone down

Of course we were packing

My brother and I

Not to mention little sister

(Better known as deadeye)

We grinned at each other

Our eyes shining bright

And drove on more slowly

And turned off the lights

Then there it was

Parked at our gate

Some kind of red vehicle

Unknown model and make

We waited for word

From all our kinfolk

Till we had them surrounded

With no place to go

We rolled down the windows

And freed up our guns

Turned on the lights

And moved in as one

There in the headlights

We saw real clear

A big 'ol red sleigh

And some strange lookin' deer

I guess that the driver

Was takin' a break

But all of the sudden

He came right awake

Before we could get out

And ask that old man

Just what he was doin'

'Round our patch of sand

He started a hollerin'

And callin' some names

Them deer sure paid attention

When he popped them big reins

It's a good thing our fence

Ain't too much higher

'Cause short as is was

They broke the top wire

Early next morning

Under the tree

There was a roll of barb wire

Addressed to me

"I meant no offense!"

Read the short note

"Here's for the fence,

That my sleigh broke."

There were lots of presents

More than we'd ever seen

And so many new guns

We took two days to clean

Now Santa's list

May seem a bit off

When you look up my family

I'll bet naughty is crossed off

Now if there's a lesson

In this story somewhere

It's next time call our uncle

'Cause he can cover the air

A List of Delays

Although procrastination is known to be one of my virtues,I’ve decided that it is not the biggest threat my writing faces.  Even writer’s block, that classic foe, cannotclaim the title of biggest reason why my writing slows.  No, it is very simple really, myproblem.  It’s called busy.

Don’t take it to mean that I find useless or dull things tooccupy me.  I don’t watch much TV, myPlay Station is covered in dust (and ash, but that’s another story), and the onlything I ever go shopping for is guns.  Ijust have way too many important and interesting things to do.  In a random act of randomness, I have decidedto compile a list of ten of these great distractions.  It is as follows:

1. Work. Whether the tractor needs driving, greased, or repaired, or maybe the crops need planting/harvesting/plowing/spraying,there is neveran end to the farm work.
2.  Work[2] If and when there is a break fromfarming*, the cows and the ranching side of the business are happy to fill anyspare time I might find. And always a cowboy's job security, fencing.  There is always fencing to be done. Alas. 
3. Martial Arts. When I ignore the work (see above)and pretend I don’t need to be doing it, the next most common demand on my timeis Taekwon-Do. In the off-season, I teach the all-ranks adult class once a weekand I go to (or teach) the advanced/black belt class once a week.  In the on-season, when I am training forWorlds, I add two to three days of training per week. 
4. Muscle Cars. In a exemplification of insanity, my brother and I have started buyingand restoring cool cars.  We startedhumbly one year ago with a mad-dash midnight trip to Seminole to buy a ’68 Mustang.  That car is almost done (we’re in the laterstages of ‘work the bugs out’).  Ofcourse, instead of stopping there, or even finishing the first project, in theyear since, we have added a .68 GTO, a ’69 GTX, a ’69 Roadrunner, a ’68 Roadrunner,and a ’54 Hudson Hornet to the to-do list. I’m not including the three othercars that we plan to use as parts cars and/or strip down to stunt/racing cars.
5. Guns.  Bigguns, little guns, and guns in between---but mostly big guns.  I love shooting and I seem to be pretty goodat it.  I go hunting occasionally andspend the rest of the year trying to figure out how to make it harder next time.  I prefer a challenge.  Last time, I used a scoped .500 S&WMagnun revolver and that turned out to be a one-shot hunt anyway.  I’m pondering open-sights and a Desert Eagle.44 Magnum pistol next time.  Cleaningand buying guns takes up plenty of time too. And if that wasn’t enough, I’ve started doing USPSA (United StatesPractical Shooting Association) competitions. 
6. 6. School.  Two degrees in four years.  Yes, I was crazy.  But I did it. With great pleasure, I hereby remove this distraction from furtherconsideration.
7. Music.  I sing, play the guitar, play the fiddle, andplay some other instruments (not at the same time, I’m afraid) and all too often,I find myself agreeing to play in a band for some gig or another.  Of course, said gigs are invariably withoutpay and in the rain, the wind, or some other undesirable venue or weather condition.  Oh, I did I mention those weekend jams inratty hotels?  Gotta love those.
8. Pushing Sand. It fills up the roads and my tires push it around until it gets so bad Ihave to blade the sand out of the way with the maintainer.  It also fills up the house and it needs to bedusted and gotten rid of (I’ve pretty much given up on this, it’s just not feasibleto maintain).  All too often, we get agood, ground-scouring, yankee-ridding, burn-your-eyes, fill-your-nose, andscrape-the-skin-off-your-face, sandstorm. In which case it’s best to stay inside, but there is usually work thatmust be done outside. 
9. Making Stuff. Lately it has been leatherwork. Making holsters, chaps, dusters, andother good stuff out of leather. Sometimes it is woodworking, jewelry-making, fly-tying, rod-building, andif I kept going we could be here a while.
10. Staying Alive. Sleeping, eating, and other time-consuming acts that are necessary tothe continued operation of my body. And/or, avoiding water-starved/homicidal cows, not getting run over, notgetting bit by poisonous snakes (or poisonous spiders), not getting eaten bycougars, and otherwise surviving all the dangers that I encounter in myeveryday life.

Whoa, I could keep going. But I won’t. 

Back to it, then! 

*Definition: “Break From Farming” A rare moment when there is no desperate emergency that needs taken care of;  There is lots of work that needs doing, butit can wait at least a day.

The Next Z-Day Story!

"Bad Blood," the newest zombie story is now available for download.  Set in the same post-apocalyptic world as "Gone Green," it chronicles yet another Z-Day Incident.

Z-Day.  The end of civilization. The beginning of an age where humanity is scattered, decimated, and engaged in nothing but survival in the face of the zombie hoards.  In this post-apocalyptic wasteland,  one family of gunslingers is having fun. 

"Five strands of rusty barbwire, held up by widely spaced cedar posts. Just a cow fence.  Good enough to keep most bovines from trying to get through, and known to tangle up a zombie now and then, but unfortunately, it don’t do much against smarter foes--like people.  I use the term liberally when I’m talkin’ about rustlers.  They ain’t real smart and callin’ them people is a compliment. But they can work a pair of side-cutters and cut a hole in our fence like the one I was staring at.

“Tracks are still fresh,” I heard Hanna say.  “Musta been made since this mornin’ cause the wind howled all night, as usual.” Sliding off her horse, she squatted down for a better look. “Only one set, Will.” She looked out over the sandy desolation in the direction the tracks led and grinned.

That smile wasn’t what most folks would call pleasant.  It was anticipatory, predatory, two hundred odd years of gunslingin’ lead-dealing history rolled up into a short, skinny, red-headed young’un. 

I reckon mine looked about the same."

Book Covers, oh boy!

 How 'bout some covers? 

 Take a gander at the covers I came up with for some of my stories. 
 It's a very interesting exercise to try and represent a large collection of   words with a simple image.

Always, the questions I ponder are simple.  What would it look like to the reader?  Does it convey a sense of the writing?  Does it look good enough to think twice about?

I know that I like the results, but I wonder what everyone else out there thinks?

A mad month approaches. hooray!

Just for the fun of it, I am diving into the month of madness known as nanowrimo or National Novel Writing Month. 

My plans are simple.  Write 50,000 words or more and don't get worried.  No sitting and staring and pondering continuity.  Just write.  Most importantly, no editing of stuff I've already written.  That favored form of procrastination is to be vehemently refrained from for the duration.

The greatest question of all is "What novel to write?"  There are all too many novels clawing at my mind, begging to be written.  Which will be the lucky winner this time?  The main contenders are two urban fantasy concepts.  One is new and exciting and not so very well fleshed out (in theory) and the the other is a bit more seasoned and thought out. 

Until my mind changes, I will be working on the great adventure of Josey Jackson that goes by the title, Wanted: Undead or Alive. 

---

Josey Jackson is what you might call a bounty hunter, or a mercenary, or some worse things if you're feeling lucky. There is a limitless supply of punks, creeps, bozos, freaks, etc..., who need to be put out of their misery or otherwise stopped. The best part is, people will pay for it.

Specializing in Target Retrieval and Removal, demolitions, and supernatural situations, Josey is not  subtle, but very effective. She also happens to be a highly unstable magus.

When she takes a seemingly easy contract to transport a captured member of the elusive magical mafia known as the Crimson Phoenix---better known as the Red Birds---across three states, things don't stay simple for long.  The red bird mafia  will do everything they can to stop her from completing her mission.  What she doesn’t know is that there is a far more elaborate plot in effect and the mafia wants more than her prisoner.  She'll have to survive undead bikers, gunslinging vamps, and other monsters, human and otherwise as she crosses the no-man's-land of the Texas-Arizona border.

---

The novella that reveals a little of Josey's history is now available for free download from many fine eBook retailers including iBooks, nook, sony, and more.  Or get it here: Fiery Red Mage: A Josey Jackson Story .

"Gone Green" for Apple!

Check it out!  "Gone Green" is now available for free at the Apple iBookstore! 
Get it on your iPhone, iPod, or iPad!

Download it.  Read it!  And if you didn't hate it, rate and review it, please!

To Nook or not to Nook, If only that were possible...

eBooks. The new and exciting way to read.  The newest gadget acquisition for our gadget-obsessed society.  Right?

Well, it just so happens, that I was into eBooks years ago. It’s not new, it’s just the new fad. I had a Palm Pilot in my pocket before smartphones, ipods, or any of the other recent additions to the pocket gadget world. Heck I had a Palm back when people thought that having your own cell phone was hip. Back then, I was well ahead of the curve.  Few people even knew what a Palm was and even fewer had one.  Basically, I was into eBooks when eBooks weren’t cool!  Now, I’m a grumpy old technophile who is griping about the price and the limitations of the newly popularized eBook readers.

I remember when most eBooks were far cheaper than their paper counterparts, when most of the ones you bought were formatted in such a way that you could read them on multiple devices without trying very hard because there were one or two (freely available) readers that worked the best on any device.  I miss those days.

Now, I have a Nook.  I waited till the second generation, until my family forced my hand by jumping into the eBook reader abyss and therefore forcing me to join them or be deprived of the ability to read all the new eBook they were purchasing. It works great and is even a decent replacement for a real book.  It had minimal downsides and annoying superfluous extras. I am impressed.

 But, it laughs evilly in my face when I propose the unthinkable—that I would like it to read all the old eBooks I have collected over the years.  When I plug in “The Gunslinger” which I paid plenty of money for and bought in the formerly common format for the formerly common software known as eReader, the Nook smugly informs me that it does not recognize the format and will not open it.   I can just hear it mocking me What kind of barbarian are you? Do you not understand that your primitive formatting is not worthy of recognition!  Bow to the Nook and repurchase your books in ePub format or die!

Ok, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point.  Once again, the early adopters, the very people who made a technology viable by buying in early are being slapped in the face and punished for making a tech popular.  While all my friends go gaga over their new eBook reader and how wonderful it is, I just sigh at their ignorance and resist the urge to explain how it was in the “good ole days.”

As for me, I’ve still got my old Palm (another sad loss to the techy world) and though I have finally caved and bought a Nook, I will defiantly read my old eBooks in spite of the Nook!  It can have my eBooks when it takes them from my cold, dead, Palm!

My final comment is this. It will never be able to truly replace the real thing.  I proudly read a paperback trilogy, on vacation, while my family all read their Nooks. I reveled in the extra weight, space, and hand-cramping that it caused—their ridicule only made it all the sweeter.  I even bought a hardback the other day, because of all things, I liked the cover!  I will read it and enjoy it and someday I will be smothered under a mountain of books.  But hey, that’s a pretty cool fate.

Till batteries never die!

Now on Smashwords and other eBook locations near you!

"Gone Green" is now available as an eBook!  For free!  Download it and enjoy. 

Wheat harvest is finally over and I'm geting some writing done!  In celebration of that fact, here is an excerpt from "Wanted: Undead or Alive," the urban fantasy project starring Josey Jackson.  Enjoy!

The narrow state highway stretched across the flat plains in either direction, cutting through the countryside in odd angles and pointless tangents as only a true New Mexican piece of pavement does.  I waited for maybe an hour before I saw the dust on the horizon.  It took a delightfully short time after that before Tommy slid the car to a stop in front of me.  And what a car it was. Orange with a blacked out hood and two matching stripes that ran down and along the sides in a line that was broken only by the words Boss 429. It looked mean and fast, but as good as it was on the eyes, the sound was heaven.  It growled low and deep, 429 cubic inches of big block muscle that shook the body as if it could hardly be contained by the car; like a wild animal trying to escape from under the hood. 

I felt a surge of emotion break out of my heart as it hit home that I had finally got it.  The legendary 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, built not for practicality, but because Ford wanted to run the 429 in stock car racing.  They needed to sell at least 500 of them to the public for the engine to qualify as stock.  Extremely rare and expensive, I had been trying to lay my hands on an original for a long time.  Just my luck that poor Freddy’s papa had one and was willing---if reluctant---to pay his debts to me in the form of classic muscle.

“Hope you enjoyed that, Tommy.  Cause you know I won’t let anyone else touch it again.”

He leaned against the hood and smiled, his clear blues eyes twinkling. “My dear, Josey, I do believe that you mean that truly.  I can’t say that I blame you. This is a monstrous work of machinery.  I must inform you that I was unaware that we were working for such a nondivisable payment.”

“Pop the trunk, fangs, and I’ll see what I can do.”  He did.  The small trunk contained a duffel with $100,000 in nonsequential bills.  Twenty percent of the fee, Tommy’s standard cut for backup duty. 

“Where’s yours, Josey?  I don’t see any more,” he drawled in mild puzzlement.

I grinned and flipped the keys around my finger.  “You’re lookin’ at it.  This car’s worth about 400 grand easy.  Much more fun than cash.”  I started the engine and the torque shook the car.  “You want a ride home? It’s on my way.”

Tommy climbed in and we sped away.  I just leaned back and let the magnificent sound roll over me.