Artificial Left-Right Divide

This year GE had a profit of $14.2 billion. Of which exactly nothing is being collected for taxes (reference), even while all us honest workers fork over a significant percentage of our wages to improve the country we're all part of.

Our elected officials could have tackled the deficit by imposing a fair share of the load on these corporations. Instead they cut billions from programs that do "wasteful" things like create new jobs, drive economic growth, and help the needy and our nation's children.

Is there any clearer evidence of the artificial nature of left-right divide that has been foisted on us (or that we've allowed ourselves to fall victim to), blaring from every major news outlet? We squabble over crumbs while corporations secure their hold on power.

e-signing for Sword of the Gods

Taking a cue from Paul S. Kemp, I'm doing an e-signing for my novel Sword of the Gods.


So if you’re interested in a signed softcover first edition of Sword of the Gods, read on!


If you live in the United States, you have a couple options. You can send me $17USD to me via any of the following methods (see? I aim to please!):

1) Pay Pal (my paypal account is bruce at brucecordell dot com).

2) via Cashier's check. This requires that you email me here to get my address of course.

3) forget USD; send me bitcoins (email me here to get my bitcoin address and in this rapidly fluctuating bitcoin market, how many bit coins to send!)

The $17 covers the cost of the book, tax, and priority mail shipping via the USPS. Include your address and any personalization instructions (if you provide none, I’ll make something up). After that, I'll get it out to you as soon as I can, though please don't expect overnight!

I have several copies of the book on hand right now, so the first dozen or so participants should have their copies pretty quickly. After I get through those, I’ll have to order additional copies (so the process of getting signed copies out will take a few days longer at that point).

If you live outside the US and are interested in one or more copies, email me here and tell me your address. I’ll let you know what the total cost of the book and shipping will be and you can decide if you want to proceed (international shipping costs can be prohibitive, according to Paul's blog, from which I'm cribbing much of the format here--Thanks Paul!).

X-Files vs. Fringe

I was a big fan of the X-Files in its day. The Truth Is Out There! The first episode I saw was Squeeze (thanks to my friend Monte telling me there was a show I just had to see).

Many years have passed, and now I've become a big fan of Fringe. I mean, come on; coretexiphan!

Recently I started re-watching the X-Files. Granted, the pacing is slower than modern shows, but it was appropriate to the era. Most of the shows stand up just fine. I'm really enjoying the experience, and it's a good way to pass the time on the elliptical machine.

As I finished the X-files first season and moved onto the second, I was struck by a realization: A philosophical difference exists between the two shows. These differences influence a given plot in a noticeable, characteristic fashion (though of course outliers exist*).

Both shows deal with unexplained, odd, and unlikely phenomena. In fact, I'd say it's obvious that the X-Files was a big influence on Fringe.

In the X-Files, many episodes are devoted the idea that society can't or won't accept the Truth that Is Out There. Villains are many times scientists working in secret labs or in government facilities. Or, if scientists are not outright villains, then they are part of an uncaring establishment, hidebound in its dogmatic acceptance of the world. In fact, at one point the FBI agent Dana Scully goes so far as to tell her partner Mulder that she's always accepted the facts that "science" has taught her, and is unwilling to accept that things might be different (which is an odd way to look at science).

In Fringe, one of the main characters is a scientist. All the crazy phenomena and odd occurrences that threaten the world in Fringe are dealt with and mediated by science and the application of reason. Sure, reason in the form of Walter Bishop, but back off man, he's a scientist.

Thus my comparison: The X-Files was slightly suspicious of the scientific method, while Fringe is more apt to embrace it. The X-files is more likely to reject that science can solve the problems that beset us (problems like killer insects escaped the Pleistocene and aliens who live in black goo, granted), while Fringe usually holds that only science can save us (from parallel-dimension shape shifters and collapsing universes, sure). On the X-Files, scientists are more likely part of a conspiracy, while on Fringe, scientists are more likely to show us how things really are.

I think you can probably guess--though I love both of these shows--which one I prefer.


*Note that I tried to stay away from using absolute language, like 'fundamental difference' and 'always this way.' Mainly, I think I've pegged that both these shows lie on a continuum, and those points are in different locations between 'embrace science' and 'suspect science.'

A few words about my Dad

I lost my dad last Monday morning unexpectedly. He was only 64 years old. The fact that both his grandfather and father lived into their 90s led me to believe he'd be around at least as long. But it wasn't to be.

Trying to sum up a lifetime in a few short paragraphs is impossible. Especially for someone who lived and loved life as much as him.

I remember many things about my father. Good times, and good lessons.

I remember how much he loved camping. How the entire family would go camping practically every weekend during the summer. And no camping trip was complete without putting the camper on the pickup, a campfire, pitching the tent for me and my brother Brian (my younger sister Laurie slept in the camper), and marshmallows. And of course the video camera. I can’t even guess how many hours of video of trees, lakes and mountains were generated. Those shots of rolling landscape always seem like a good idea at the time.

And I’m sure some of you remember how much he loved having everyone out on the 4th of July for fireworks. Bottlerockets, snakes, smokers, ground displays, and huge rockets we’d light and run away from. Oh, and sparklers of course. The kids and some of the grownups always got to play with the sparklers.

I remember how he used to love riding his motorcycle. It was an 1100, a big bike. So big he never let me ride it. I remember him and Mom rode to Sturgis for several years, how they rode in a local club, and how he loved to wear his jacket with “colorful” slogans ironed on.

I remember how much he loved his cat Mouse, how that cat would bite the living daylights out of your hand or attack your leg out of the blue, but Mouse had his sweet moments, and my Dad still loved him.

He helped me build my matchbox derby car in boy scouts, getting those lead weights inside just right—heavy enough so the car would race down the track, but not so heavy they’d disqualify the car for the races.

My dad also taught me a lot of things. Taught all of us kids who grew up in his house I suppose to a greater or lesser extent. A few highlights:

He taught me how to throw a football, and how to punt and catch one too. Same thing for baseball; he even gave me his old catcher’s mitt. If there was any downtime in the summer, count on Dad to say, “Let’s go throw the football.”

He taught my siblings and I how to wheel and deal in games of Monopoly. Trading properties, hotels, cash, even turns. No deal was ever too convoluted for him. Of course, if he ended up with Boardwark and Parkplace out of the deal, all the better.

Along with my Mom, he taught me how to care for animals, with all the kittens, dogs, and even a few calves that lived at our place. It was a regular menagerie, and I suppose it explains why I’ve had a similar situation in my life, with more pets than sense.

He taught me how to canoe. I remember one time he let Brian and me off near the lake that had flooded over its boundaries, and we canoed for hours over flooded roads, ditches, and fields.

He _tried_ to teach me how an engine worked, but I was a poor student. I never could figure out the difference between a 5/8ths and a 11/16ths wrench!

He taught me that for the big things, there was such a thing as grace under pressure. When I slid off the road and crashed into a telephone pole in the middle of South Dakota miles from anywhere, and that car was subsequently buried under a blizzard for three days, he didn’t freak out, yell, or ask me how I could have done such a thing. He just nodded, and started making plans on how to deal with it. I’ll always remember how calmly he handled that.

But the best lesson my dad ever taught me was this: If you practice something long enough, no matter HOW AWFUL you are at it, eventually, in time, you’ll not only improve, but master it. You see, I joined the wrestling team in grade school. Even though I wanted to quit every year on account of how bad I was, my dad convinced me to keep it up. After 8 years of this, in junior high, I was the best wrestler on the team, and the 2nd best wrestler in South Dakota (in my weight class /qualifier).

The great thing about that lesson is that it applies to everything in life. Reading. Writing. Juggling. Computer programming. Martial Arts. Whether physical or mental; he made me realize

that Talent Is Practice. Sometimes long grueling practice, but so it goes.

And I have my Dad to thank for teaching me that.

My dad taught me a lesson I’ll never forget.

Just like I’ll never forget my dad, Leroy Robert Cordell.

How To Eat Yucky Food

I ate Ethiopian cuisine last night for the first time. Wow! I love trying new foods, and this was all new to me. Who wouldn't enjoy food you eat with flatbread (think of it like a thin sourdough pancake) instead of utensils?

But, oddly enough, when I was a kid, I would have HATED this meal.

Despite that my parents liked to occasionally experiment with food, I was a VERY picky eater as a child. I was a practitioner of "de-gunkification," which involved removing all onions, olives, mushrooms, and other yucky ingredients. Or, when nothing could be done to fix a meal, I would steadfastly sit at the table staring at the plate until my father's attention shifted somewhere else, at which time I would stealthily dispose of the plate's contents in the garbage. "I'm done eating!"

However, I eventually learned another, much more satisfying trick when it came to dealing with foods I didn't like or foods I had never been served before (and thus didn't like): Eat them, and enjoy doing so!

It proved to be an easy trick of the mind; I pretended I was one of the hobbits in the Lord of the Rings, that I was on a journey across Middle Earth, and that I was being served a banquet in a foreign land by a horse lord, an elf queen, or a returned king. In this guise, every food gained a sort of luster, no matter how green, or oddly textured, or suspicious smelling. It was a magic glamour I was able to cast on myself!

Of course, I no longer employ that trick--I think I've absorbed that sense of appreciation for odd foods into my subconscious. Which means I wasn't a hobbit last night eating a repast prepared by Elrond for the Fellowship. But I imagine the food would have been right at home somewhere in Middle Earth.

And, phsst! Listen up all you picky eaters (who also like Lord of the Rings)--Ethiopian flatbread? What if it was some kind of Lembas! Oh yeah, I think you know where I'm going with this. Give it a try.

A Positive Message

"What new wonders undreamt of in our time, will we have wrought in another generation, and another? How far will our nomadic species have wandered, at the end of the next century, and the next Millennium?"

"Yet it will not be we who reach Alpha Centauri and the other nearby stars. It will be a species very much like us, with more of our strengths, and fewer of our weaknesses."


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oY59wZdCDo0

Stardeep: A Forgotten Realms Novel

A message summons Kiril Duskmourn back to the hidden dungeon of Stardeep, a message that finds her a full decade after she fled her duties there. Kiril has no choice but to respond. How can she do anything else?

The message is, impossibly, from the long dead man who's soul is trapped in her sword Angul.

Hello! Thanks for your interest in my novel. If you'd like to purchase a copy, you can do so in one of the following 3 ways.

1) You can get an audiobook of Stardeep (performed by John Pruden) at Audible.com.

2) You can get an ebook copy of Stardeep on Kindle, Kobo, or Nook.

3) You can acquire a used copy of Stardeep at a hard-to-beat price.

4) You can also get a new copy of Stardeep, but that'll cost a bit more ;-).

Stardeep is a stand-alone novel, but the a thread of the story continues in the Abolethic Sovereignty trilogy!

One of the stand-out characters in Stardeep is Kiril Duskmourn. Here's what I once wrote about her:

A Profile of Kiril Duskmourn 

Kiril Duskmourn is on the run. She flees the honors she once attained, and the memory of noble deeds she accomplished. She seeks to outrace the price she paid for her triumph: the loss of her love, and then, the loss of her innocence.

Kiril has blood on her hands, and redemption lies beyond her grasp.

So she wanders, a hard-bitten, drunken sellsword perpetually a few drinks from oblivion, courtesy of the bottomless whisky flask strapped to her belt. She curses and swears her way from one day to the next, unable to put behind her the tragedy that changed her life.

How could she forget? After all, strapped to her other hip is the sword Angul. Angul's unforgiving steel contains the soul of her dead lover, a soul stripped of all darkness, doubt, and mortal failing. In Angul burns a righteousness that surpasses worldly virtue. His light burns away all doubt and shades of gray, bathing his wielder in warm, certain, and lethal clarity. When one wields Angul, no wrong is too small to punish.

It was Angul that drove Kiril to the crime she flees to this day. She hates the blade and what it made her. Yet, she yearns for it, too, for it is her last and only tie with her lost love. To give up Angul would be to give up the only thing she still cares for.

Now, a message summons her back to the hidden dungeon of Stardeep, a message that finds her a full decade after she fled her duties there. Kiril has no choice but to respond. How can she do anything else?

The message is, impossibly, from the long dead man who's soul is trapped in her sword Angul.

Gamma World and D&D

They raced up the dungeon stairs, torches in hand, wondering what else could go wrong. When the metallic "mummy" named Munafik appeared above, with the "golem" X-1 at his shoulder, the players reacted like any party of adventurers--they attacked!

They'd been scrounging around the "tomb" for a few days. They'd already accidentally awakened an avatar of an ancient war god with the awkward name of "Orbital Planetbuster Laser."

So that was a concern.

They'd also picked up a few souvenirs--trinkets, rings, and talking bits of metal with flashing lights. So when Munafik ordered X-1 to, "KILL THEM ALL," the players augmented their axe strikes and fireballs with a couple plasma grenades and one partly-charged Gravity Hammer!

Yes. At Epic Game Day last weekend, I discovered that scattering Gamma World Omega cards into play can be quite fun, in the right setting. And since the setting was "high tech world that's fallen, with a fantasy world springing up in its ruins," it worked perfectly. And, when I discovered I'd accidentally shuffled an Alpha Mutation card into the mix, all the players had great fun screaming, "Mutant! Get him!" at their compatriot.

My recommendation? Throw some Gamma World cards into your next D&D game, if you're looking to add an interesting twist to your campaign's backstory, that is.

Your Story

Time-Life "Voyage Through The Universe"

Last night I was packing up some books—a bunch of 80s era books on stars, planets, and cosmology—that I haven’t looked at since I was a kid. I pondered giving them all to Good Will, but something nagged me. It took a moment to pin the thought down, but it was essentially: “You’re the kind of person that would own these books, so you better keep them.”

Really? What an odd thought. Who was I trying to impress with my (probably out-of-date) books on stars and planets, if not myself? If I was the kind of person who would own such books, you’d have thought I would have pulled one down to peruse during the last decade. Sure, in a pre-web era, I would have, but knowledge isn’t confined to dead trees any more, and . . . Well, the books ended up in the Good Will box.

That incident and a few other recent events made me realize how much a victim to our sense of “what other people think” many of us are. Have you ever wondered explicitly (or vaguely), “What will people think?” as you pondered doing, saying, trying, or arranging something different? Did the answer to that question influence your action in some way? If you’re a human being, then of course the answer is yes.

But just who are these people we’re so concerned with?

From an early age we’re taught what’s right and wrong. But for every one of society’s codified rules, there are a dozen unspoken guidelines that insinuate themselves into our gray matter. Society teaches us that it’s “right” to comb our hair, to buy a house, to get a 9-5 job, to get married, to have kids, and so on and on . . .

And at some point, we internalize “what people think” into ourselves, so that “society” becomes one more tiny voice in the chorus of personality fragments that make up each of us.

This can be slightly insidious if we don't recognize it, because our sense of ourselves, our very consciousness and self-awareness, is a story we tell ourselves about ourselves. Or so some people who study language’s effect on the brain believe. If true, then it follows that we not only want to create a story that's pleasing to ourselves, but one that's pleasing to others too. But others do not . . . How can I say this?

Let me put it baldly. For the most part, unless you’re breaking a law or a heart, other people don’t care.

Oh sure, they care, but not to the degree you might think they do. Other people are not you. And unless your particular decision directly affects someone, people in general don’t have to live with (or without) the decisions you make. And trust me, after their initial reaction, they won't give your particular decision hardly another thought until the next time they see you. They’re living their own lives, wrapped up in their own stories they’re telling themselves. As they should be!

Not all the decisions we make are as ultimately unimportant as whether we keep some dusty old books. But the point remains: Make decisions for yourself, not for the sake of what you believe “society” or some constructed version of yourself would have you do.

Also, if you’re looking for some Time-Life books on stars and planets, I know where you can get some cheap.

Changes 2: The Next Thing

As you may have guessed by my previous Changes-related entry, I've got several balls in the air right now. Since I only tossed a couple of them skyward myself, only a few are actually destined to continue to remain part of my eye-defying juggling repertoire. What, you didn't know I could juggle? Well, I can, but let's not get distracted with topics suggested by poor metaphors.

Anyway, I began writing another Forgotten Realms novel outline a few days ago. It'll be my ninth novel, assuming the latest deal memo leads to a contract. I've got some great ideas for it, and it picks up threads from the novel that proceeds it (Sword of the Gods, April 2011).

But so far, it's proved to be more difficult than previous outlines. Which is due to a few things, but here's a big reason: Susan J Morris, the editor of my last six novels, with whom I've developed great trust and a great friendship, is stretching her wings and leaving Wizards publishing for a sorceress position at Amazon! Not to mention several other exciting possibilities she's got in mind.

An author-editor relationship is a partnership. And I've had a great partner in my worlds-of-make-believe these last several years. I'm grateful I got to experience it. I wish Susan all the luck in the world with her new ventures, and I'm sure she'll succeed brilliantly in whatever she sets her hand to. I could say more on the subject, but I'd run the risk of becoming maudlin.

Anyway, the fact remains: This novel outline will eventually find the desk of an editor I've never worked with before. And I'm a little trepidatious about that. I mean, what if my new editor is the sort of person who would frown on me using the word 'trepidatious?' Because, I'm not even sure it's a word, and you know, some people are picky that way when it comes to published content.

Alright, big breath. What did I just say in my previous Changes entry? Oh yes. Suck it up and rely on another talent I like to believe I possess: The ability to roll with change while looking for new opportunities in the upheaval.

And besides, when it comes down to it, I'm excited to write this next scene. I set it up in the last novel, just so I could introduce a character that'll be the perfect foil for my main character Demascus. Oh yeah, plus . . . Well, I probably shouldn't spill all the beans on that one. What I should do is get back to that outline.

Stay tuned for a 3rd chapter in the Changes series of blog entries, which will hopefully prove to be the last (Changes-themed) one for a while. Too many changes too quickly, and the juggling act runs the risk of ending when someone gets a ball in the eye.

Visqueen

I watched a lot of bands this last weekend at Bumbershoot, but missed the one I most wanted to see: Visqueen. Darn it!

My consolation prize is that I just got to watch fellow Wizard employee Mark Price's video that he directed for Visqueen.

Take a look at the video!

Visqueen 'Ward' from Heath Ward on Vimeo.

Changes

Unlike Harry Dresden in his latest escapade (Changes), I still can't cast even the simplest magic spell, no matter how long I stare at the piece of lint on the floor and command it to, "Dance, you stupid piece of lint!"

But like Harry, I've seen changes come my way lately. Such as the death of my dog Hektor. That was a devastating change, one I'm still adjusting to. But as I recently noted somewhere else, when you you tip over the apple cart (or it falls over unexpectedly), sometimes the fruit rolls a lot farther than you were expecting.

And sometimes, people around you decide to tip over their apple carts too. Pretty soon, before you quite realize what's going on, you've got an apple-lanche on your hands!

Which is how I'm trying to look at things; with a bit of humor, and an eye on new opportunities even as things that I'd gotten used to shift and slide about. I've said before that people have a hard time with change, and by people I probably meant myself. Conservatism is in our genes because nature taught our ancestors that if you find something that works, it's probably a good idea to stick with it. But we haven't lived on the savannah for a considerable period of time. If we can get past our innate resistance to change (or weather what's thrown at us in the short term), we can try on a whole raft of new opportunities.

So, yeah. I'm not actually going to bore you by listing out all the changes I'm going to suck up and make the best of, at least right now . . . not until I've gone ahead and followed through by actually making the best of them.

Writing this blog entry is actually a step in that direction, see? Oh, yeah, plus it's a way to test out the RSS feed on my new web page/landing site on the web: www.brucecordell.com; do you like the new design?

Ok, back to work. Where'd you go, you cheeky little fluff of lint?