Tuesday, November 29

It's a BOY!

I did it, I wrote my first book.

51,600 words. A pretty quick jump, skip, and hop across the world to battle monsters, demons, lost gods, and gas.


I'm taking a little bit off, just to recouperate and focus on the strip...

And then, it's off to edit it, tighten it up a bit, and send it off to publishers.

Because there is NO WAY IN HELL I'm NOT at least going to TRY and make something off of it. I worked my ass off to get that sucker done.

Saturday, November 26

Almost there:

I'm currently sitting at 47,000 words for my Nanowrimo novel...er...novella...er book. And the good news is, that for the most part, it'll be finished in 50,000 words. I don't see having to much slop over the edges. I think it'll be just a few words over 50,000 and that'll be it.

So, huzzah to me.

Monday, November 21

40,000 words, and an Exerpt!

Downtown Tokyo was not where anyone wanted to be right now.

Due to watching the Giant Robot Zinthar, protector of the Universe, completely level block after block of Tokyo, Godzilla was in the midsts of a gargantuian fit of giggles right now, laughing histerically, or as histerically as a giant mutant lizard could laugh. It’s not that Godzilla was incapable of feeling emotion, no, it could feel quite a few emotions. Happiness, anger, love, yes, even Godzilla knew love. Why once, when he was just a few centuries old he had a wild and passionate affair with Gammera. They spent many a long night devouring villagers on the Pompaii islands, moonlight strolls, hot lava baths, it was one of the fondest memories the great beast ever had. Yes, Godzill knew love, but mostly Godzilla was designed to project anger. So when it tried to laugh it sounded something like a gigantic Lion with a gazell caught in it’s throat. Moreso, it tended to bounce about a lot when it was rolling around on the ground making strange sounds that COULD be construed as either laughing, or coughing, which caused an aweful lot of damage to the remaining standing buildings.

“I think it’s laughing at us!” Said the Red Pilot.

“I think it’s choking.” Said the Yellow Pilot.

“Do you think we should do the Heimlich.” Said the Blue Pilot.

“I think you’re all idiots.” Said the Black Pilot.

“Who asked you?” Shouted the Yellow Pilot.

“I still say we should do the Heimlich.” Said the Blue Pilot.

“What are you CRAZY? IF Godzilla is choking WHY on earth should we try and save him?” Shouted the Black Pilot.

“Well, because it would be dishonerable if Godzilla choked to death. We are here to distroy him…we’ld never hear the end of it if we Godzilla died by chokeing to death, instead of by the hand of our rightious wrath!” Said the Blue Pilot, flailing his arms wildly with each word.

“This is REDICILOUS!” Said the Black Pilot shaking his head andcrossing his arms against his chest. “We are NOT giving Godzilla the Heimlich.”

“I say we vote on it!” Said the Red Pilot.

“This is just stupid.” Said the Black Pilot throwing his hands up.

“All in favor of giving Godzilla the Heimlich, say aye.” Said the Red Pilot.

“Aye” Said the Red, Yellow, and Blue Pilots simultaniously.

“NO!” Said the Black Pilot.

“Well, three to one, you’re out in the cold Takashi” Said the Red Pilot.

“Well so what, I’m the one piloting the Zinthor,” Said the Black Pilot “You’re vote doesn’t matter.”

The Yellow Pilot grew furious. “Look Takashi, either you give Godzilla the Heimlich or I wind up telling your wife about that affair you had with Takoma down in accounting.”

“You knew about that?” Said the Black Pilot, unaware that, now thanks to the national broadcast, so did the entire nation of Japan, including his wife, who was now making plans to leave for her mother’s and take the kids with her. The Black Pilot sat there for a second and then shook his head. “Fine, I just want to go on the record stating that I think this is a terrible idea, and that all three of you are dicks.”

“I can live with that.” Said the Red Pilot.

“Yep, me too.” Said the Yellow Pilot.

“No problem here.” Said the Blue Pilot.

Zinthar made his way up behind Godzilla, who was spasming wildly with laughter. Zinthar grabbed Godzilla from behind, lifted the giant beast up from the ground, and began performing the Heimlich Manover.

This, tended to rather surprise Godzilla, who misinterpred this act of kindness as a rather homoerotic display. Mostly because the gigantic bulls head belt buckle was pressing itself firmly into his backside, like some sort of perverse technophalic codpiece.

“Uh, Nike, what’s going on?” Said Cadriel, who was watching her revive a still onconcious Matthew.

“I don’t know, but I swear if I didn’t know better, I’ld say it’s not intended for family viewing.” Snarked Nike.

“What happened?” Said Matthew as he sluggishly regained conciousness.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Said Nike as she hunched over him
Matthew moaned as he got to his feet. His legs felt like lead jello, and if he had anything in his stomach it would have easily spilled onto Nike’s black t-shirt. “Ugh, it’s awake.” He said holding his head in his hands. He wiped the bit of blood that trickled from his nose.

Nike helped him stand up, he hung to her left shoulder like a rag doll. Matthew shook his head and blinked. “IS Godzilla being violated by a Giant Robot, or am I halucinating.”

“No, he’s being violated by a Giant Robot.” Said Nike as she helped him towards the others.

“Ah, good…” Said Matthew as he took two wobbly steps foreward towards Gabriel “I was worried that these little trips were beginning to damage my bran.”

“Your what?” Said Nike, giving him a concerned look.

“My brain.” Said Matthew, correcting himself.

“Well at least it hasn’t yet.” Said Nike.

Thursday, November 17

So close...so so close...

I'm almost to the 35K mark. The goal for this Friday is to hit 40K for the Novel.

Want to be at 45K by my next writers meeting on the 22nd. I WANT to be at 45K at my next writers meeting. That gives me one week to get the last 5,000 words and to take a nap for a week.

And then, I'll have done it. I'll have written my first novel.

Not to say it'll be GOOD, but I'll have actually WRITTEN a novel.

One more thing to check off my list. Next up, see the grand canyon. After that...huh. After that I'll need to find a partner.

Monday, November 14

Weird shit I find doing novel research:

Wanna talk about a golden age, I just had a crash course on Diamonds. DeBeres, and most of all...



My head is kinda swimming due to information overload. In a good way. We may actually see something absolutly AMAZING happen in just a few years.


My head is begining to spin at what some of this means...

Saturday, November 12

Just a mental post it note:

Ghandi's take on the Seven Deadly Sins:

Wealth without Work
Pleasure without Conscience
Science without Humanity
Knowledge without Character
Politics without Principle
Commerce without Morality
Worship without Sacrifice

Something for me to chew on.

Friday, November 11


Ten Days into Nanowrimo and I'm at the half way mark! 25,000 words baby!

Rawkin! I'm going to shoot for the 30K mark come Monday. Fingers crossed.

Novel Exerpt

“OK,” Gordon said closing his eyes and raising his hand up in protest. “First off, I need YOU to get ME to a little place to the south east of here.”
“Does it have a name.”
“Not one that I can pronounce without having to grow about six more tongues.” Said Gordon.
“Well, what’s close by.”
“Head towards Ponape and then make a b-line south. Trust me, you won’t be able to miss it if it’s back up.”
“Right,” Said Thoth grabbing Gordon by the collar, we’re off.
“Wai…”Gordon trailed off before passing out again.
Gordon awoke five minutes later as the blood was once again drained from his brain.
“You’re right,” said Thoth. “this place is a little hard to miss.”
Gordon stumbled groggily to his feat, he was beginning to think that using an ancient god with a wicked case of ADD was a rather ill thought out plan.
“Oh, and I’ld watch your step.” Thoth said to Gordon as he stumbled about like a fraternity drunk after a wild night with a sority hous trying to regain his bearings.
They stood on a cliff covered in green ooze and peppered with greyish barnicles. Abover them loomed a hediously jagged rock face, which reminded Gordon of an ebony rib cage. Gordon knew that what he needed would, of course, be on the top of those menacing black cliffs. There was a general rule about it in a handbook that he had read ages ago. “When facing off against occultists with a penchant for bringing about the end of the world,” the passage read “you will always find yourself running short of time and having to navigate some odd thing, like a hiddeously menacing cliff, or some trap lined temple, or some sort of monstrous beast called forth to stop you before you can reach them.”
Gordon shook his head still nautious from being throttled by the laws of physics. “Sweet god, if I had anything in my stomach I’d puke it up now.”
“What, puking over half of western america wasn’t enough? Do you have to mark your teritory everywhere you go? I could run back and get some sushi or ramen if you really…”

Gordon angrly slapped his hand over the mouth of the god. “Just…shut…up…and…wait…here…” he spat. “If I need you I’ll…whistle or something.”
Gordon walked to his right, looking for some way to get to the top of the cliff in front of him. After just a few minutes he found a craggedy trail cut into the side of one of the cliffs. “I really should have some help with this” he thought. If they’re even remotly close it’s going to be a very bad time.”
Slowly he ascended the slime covered steps. “To bad nobody ever thought to install an elevator” he thought aloud.
Little did Gordon know that someone DID, in fact install an elevator. It was actually quite marvelous really. Glass walls, brushed aluminum intereior with bronze accents. With three maticilously crafted buttons from ivory which were inscribed with “B” “L” and “1”. Given the relative age of the thing, it was exceptionally well preserved, with hardly an ounce of slime or a barnicle to be found.
This was due to the fact that the english occultists had cleaned it top to bottom before use. Because even though they may be English Occultists bent on bringing about the end of the world at the hands of something just slightly younger then the big bang, there was no reason they should have to schulp about in something hideously covered in slime.
Unfortunatly for Gordon, the elevator was on the other side of the massive island, and he would have to take the stairs.
“Allright,” He thought half way up the cliff face. “this is taking far too long.” He looked up to the top of the cliff, closed his eyes and muttered a quiaint little spell. When he opened them again he found himself at the top of the stairs, and holding a bottle of white zinfindel. Using magic was always a tricky affair, even for a direct descendant of Rasputan. And sometimes, even if you did get the results you wanted, there were some rather odd side effects that went along with a successful casting.
“Huh, I wonder what the zinfindel is for?” He thought, shoving the bottle into his trenchcoat pocket.
“Hey!” Said Thoth, screaching to a hault. “There’s an elevator over this way.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Gordon, his impatience was beginning to show. “I thought I told you to wait where we were.”
“Sorry,” said Thoth “I got bored.” He smiled and looked at Gordon. “What’s the bottle for?”
“I don’t know,” said Gordon “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” Said Gordon, reaching for a cigarette. He flicked his zippo and took a deep drag.
“Hey, over here!” Yelled Thoth, who was now roughly 100 yards from Gordon staring down into what appeared to be a giant crater. “I think I’ve found something.”
“Keep your damned pantys on” cried Gordon, who was briskly walking over to Thoth. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was run while smoking. It was a terrible thing to go through, and even though time was of the essence, there were just certain things that he would not do, no matter what the consequences were.
“Will you get a move on!” Yelled Thoth, excitedly tapping his foot and sending little bits of green slime flying out from underneath.
“What is it?” said Gordon, who had reached the edge of the cliff.
“What do you make of THAT?” Asked Thoth, pointing down into the crater at what appeard to be a rather charming looking Irish Cottege.
“That,” said Gordon, “Is where we need to be.”
“Ahhh,” said Thoth, rather contently. “Well then,” he said grabbing Gordon by the collar, “I guess we had better be going.”

”WAIT!” Screamed Gordon, “Let’s just take the Elevator.”
“But it’s so SLOW” pouted Thoth, who was becming rather bored with the whole state of affairs.
“It may be slow, but at least I won’t wind up blacking out for 2 minutes after you break Mach 7.”
“It’s not MY fault that you’re so fragile.”
“Sorry, guess I just wasn’t built for life in the fastlane.” Said Gordon, clearing his throat. Now come on we’ve…” he trailed off as Thoth sped off to the Elevator.
“What are you waiting for?” Yelled Thoth. “We got places to be.”
Gordon just shrugged and ran towards the elevator.
“Sweet Ra but you are slow,” said Thoth after thirty minutes, and then sprinted off with a dash of speed that would cause a Titan missle to blush to pick up Gordon.
“What are you do…oof,” stammered Gordon as Thoth grabbed him by the waist nearly breaking him in half from the force.
“Just cant bare to wait for you.” Said Thoth who was already circling around to head back to head to the elevator.”
“SEE,” Said Thoth tossing an unconcious Gordon onto the floor of the elevator. “That wasn’t so bad now was it?”
Gordon was awake by the time the elevator dinged and “B” button turned a charming lime green.
“I wish you would stop doing that.” Said Gordon, once again stumbling to his feet.
“Hey, I cant just sit around waiting for you to get your crap together.” Said Thoth waiting for the doors to open.
Two hooed occultists were a bit surprised to find a man in a trench coat and a lycra wearing egyptian god of travel waiting for them. Quite honestly, they were expecting pizza.
“SHIT!” Cried Gordon, grabbing the bottle of Zinfindel and cracking on of the occultists over his head.
Thoth just looked a little surprised.
“Don’t just STAND there,” Yelled Gordon, “Hit him!”
“OH, OK, if you insist.” Thoth extended his fist at supersonic speeds reserved for returning orbital sattilights, completely decapitating the second occultist with a single punch.
Gordon just stood there as the body of the occultists dropped to the ground with a wet thud, stunned silly at what he had just witnessed. “Next time” Gordon said, holding up a finger nervously “Try not to hit quite so hard.”
“Sorry about that.” Said Thoth.
They made their way to the cottage. It was rathe quaint, with a rose garden, and a thatched roof. Emerald Green shutters trimmed the windows, and little flower boxes with herbs seemed to cheerily welcome visitors. Above the door was a wooden mantle with an octupus carved into it.
Gordon looked down at a little grass woven doormat that read “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!"
“Interesting” Said Thoth “Fh-glue, megel-naff K-tulu R-lich wgaw-negal f-taging? What exactly does that mean.”
“In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu lies dreaming.” Said Gordon lighting another cigarette. “More or less.”
In all actuallity, just about every translation from the tounge of the great old ones into something resembling human language was wrong. This was contributed to the fact that the original translator was in fact quite mad, and tended to try and make things sound far more sinister then they actually were. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn” is not actually, “In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu lies dreaming”, but actually “Welcome to R’lyeh, the home of Cthulu, wont you stay for a cup of tea?”

Novel Experpt

When Gordon awoke, he found himself in the shadow of the land of the Rising Sun.
And needless to say, Japan was having one hell of a time.
First, due to the large jolt of seismic activity that resulted when Wyoming was scattered to the four winds made many in Tokyo rather nervous. Citizens of Asia’s largest city became a little more antsy when a few hours later Mount Fuji decided to get into the act and rained down hot fiery death upon anyone within a 40 mile radius.
They became a little bit more concerned, when the tsunami which was generated when the South Eastern half of California jumped slammed into them with a 50 foot wall of water, covering half the city with slimy, smelly, dead dolphins just minutes before Gordon’s arrival.
But what REALLY got he heart popping, was the news that due to all the current commotion, Godzilla was spotted just 30 miles off the coastline.
Now this did tend to frighten Japan, as Godzilla had only appeared in movies, seeing him now, without the zipper seams was a tad bit much for them to truly grasp in any way outside of sheer Pavlovian terror.
Thoth had the wonderful luck of delivering Gabriel and his crew just seconds before the big Lizard was to make landfall.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Said Gabriel as a sea of Japanese raged past them while Thoth was dropping him off.
“Ugh,” Said Gordon as he was coming too…being a direct descendant of Rasputin did have some benefits, like making one nefariously hard to kill. “Where…ouch” he said shaking the black spots from in front of his eyes from his vision “Where…are we?”
“I think we’re in Japan.” Said Cadriel, who was just being deposited along side Gordon and Gabriel.
“We’re in Japan?” Said Gordon, “JAPAN! Thoth! We’re about 1,200 miles from where we should be!” His yells would do little good, as Thoth was already half way across the Pacific in full sprint to grab the last of the party.
“Where are we?” Said Nike as Thoth dropped her off.
“We’re in Japan, the little runt has us on the wrong frigging Island” Shouted Gordon over the screaming masses.
“Look, I’m a little rusty, it happens.” Said Thoth shrugging.
“It happens…wait. Why is everyone panicking?” Gordon looked at the wet streets covered in dead sea creatures. “The tidal wave has passed…so…what exactly is all of this…a…”
Gordon looked up and saw exactly what the commotion was about. “What, exactly, is that?” he said pointing up towards the thirty story high irradiated lizard.
Gabriel and Cadriel looked up in Unison.
“Oh crap,” said Gabriel, the Beast of the Sea just woke up.”
“Godzilla…Godzilla is the beast of the sea?” Said Gordon, not taking his eyes off of the reptile.
“I would guess so.”
“THE BEAST OF THE SEA IS FRIGGIN GODZILLA!” Screamed Gordon as he grabbed Gabriel by his golden robes. “THE BEAST OF THE SEA…GODZILLA.”
“Yes, it would appear so.”
“GOD-FUCKING-ZILLA doesn’t EXIST!” Yelled Gordon at the top of his lungs.
“I beg to differ,” said Cadriel looking up at the radioactively mutated reptile. “That appears to be some rather conclusive proof to the contrary.”
“Well, you see, we kinda had to contract some of this out.” Began Gabriel.
“HOW can you CONTRACT OUT a FICTIONAL CHARACTER to play the role of the FUCKING BEAST OF THE SEA!” Gordon said, shaking the angel Violently.
“I honestly don’t know,” Said Gabriel “I’ll ask Michael when I get back upstairs.”
“Ok..ok…ok, ok,ok…first thing’s first.” Said Gordon, trying desperately to regain his composure. “Where’s Thoth.”
“Sorry about that,” said Thoth dropping Nike’s Edsel behind him with a loud thud. “Almost forgot our luggage.”

Thursday, November 10


Was only able to get about another 500 words on the novel done, because I needed to move the story along for the strip.

Mega Strip coming on friday, haven't even counted the pannels...but it's quite a few.

Wednesday, November 9

Links that make me smile...

I got linked from a comic called Indefensable Postions, which on it's own is a rather out there strip...and not sutable to everyone, but quite good in it's own right.

But his comment concerning my strip made me smile:

Anywhere But Here -- If Goethe wrote for Doonesbury, it might look a lot like this.

Take THAT Trudeau!

Tuesday, November 8

Some days I wish I was this funny...


God, I love that strip...

Carnaly, if I could without messing up my screen.

Day 7...

And I just hit 20,000 words!

I may just pull this off yet.

Thursday, November 3

Chapter 4 Exerpt:

Death was not a happy camper.
Certainly being Death does have it’s rewards. Not ever being hungry, or tired, or thirsty is a nice little trait to pick up. Having metal bands dedicate an album to you does tend to impress the ladies. And, of course, there’s the bike. You cant help but look completely bad ass on a low riding, flame spitting Harley Davidson.
But Death does tend to be quite the full time job. Always jotting here, or running there. Never really having time to enjoy the finer things in life. Sure you wind up meeting completely fascinating people, and Death truly HAD met them all…but the problem is by the time he got to them, well, they’re already DEAD. This tends to make their conversations rather one sided.
Death particularly was disappointed by his conversation with Albert Einstein. Death was quite the fan of Einstein’s work, and was anxiously awaiting what he had hoped to be quite the stimulating conversation.
Instead, Einstein said all of five words to him.
“OH, I’m dead? That sucks.” And Albert proceeded to pout the rest of the way to the pearly gates.
Sure, there were some rather interesting conversations that came his way. He remembered one with a small child from South Africa about 200 years ago. The boy was fascinated with the whole bit about not having to breath, or eat, or how much fun it was going to be spitting down a people from heaven, which death had to explain was going to be a bit of a challenge since heaven wasn’t really ABOVE the earth, but more like SIDEWAYS to it.
And now, looking at 400,000 souls, all of whom were from Wyoming, all of whom through years of being trained in the art of “pleasant Midwestern conversation”, Death seriously was beginning to wonder if the job was truly worth it.
“Why Hello”, said Susanne McMurry, a long time residence of Casper. “That was quite the little jolt now wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I imagine it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head. This was the 578’th conversation that had started out this way, and it knew that there were at least another 300,000 conversations that were going to go exactly the same way.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“OH, well that’s a VERY nice bike you’ve got there Mr. Death.”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun.”
“You have no idea.”
And death took her hair in his hand and with one swift swipe of it’s sickle sliced off a lock of her hair and moved along to the next person in line.
“Why Hello”, said Ryan Schuster, a cattle farmer who up to the part where he was pretty much atomized lived right off of Highway 14 out of Casper. “That was quite the little jolt now wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head again.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“That’s a pretty sweet bike you’ve got there.”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“That sounds kind of interesting.”
Death was beginning to consider just getting cards made up. “Small little business cards” it thought “Black with red ink. Something simple, Nice big skull on the front, something simple on the back like ‘Hello, you’re dead, going off to judgment, yes it’s a nice bike now isn’t it.’ That would simplify this whole process”.
“Why Hello”, said Tom Stanawoski, a student at the University of Wyoming who was working part time for a liquor store in Burlington. “That was quite something wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head again.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“OH WOW man, I’m a huge fan.”
Death gave him a good little once over. Tom was dressed head to toe in black and wore more eyeliner then Tammy Fay baker at the height of her addiction to Maybelline products.
“Thank you” said Death “Always nice to see someone who appreciates my work.”
“That’s a pretty nice bike”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“Oh, rocking.”
Yes, he’d defiantly need to get some cards printed up.

Wednesday, November 2

Woo Hoo

Up to 6,500 words in my Novel.

No guarantees I'll make it to the 50,000 word finish line...but it's been fun so far.

Newest Exerpt from Chapter 3:

Cadriel was the odd duck of the heavenly hosts, to say the least.
Cadriel was given the rather menial designation of Gods Interior designer. Which, was a fine and dandy job to have given the rather large size of heaven. One can never truly be short of work coordinating bedspreads with the wallpaper in a place that defies all understandable laws of volume.
However, when the great war of heaven broke out, Cadriel was…well…rather useless.
It’s one thing to be the Angel of the North Wind, or the Angel of Lightning, or even the Angel of the Morning. But to be the Interior Decorator of God, well, one is rather useless in a battle. And while he DID fight on the side of the Angels, most of his time was spent trying to coordinate the perfect shade of purple to effectively capture just the right contrast against the golden breastplates of the heavenly hosts. Trying to effectively change the robes of the Cherubim to a more luxurious silk in the midst of battle rather offended those participants.
Needless to say, he wasn’t to well wanted after it was all said or done. However, he hadn’t earned a place in the fiery pit below.
So Cadriel spent most of his time on earth, trying to spruce the place up a bit.
The white lilies along Victoria Falls, Cadriel.
The breathtaking sunsets along the Fjords of Norway, Cadriel.
The entire bloody renaissance, Mostly Cadriel, but the Italians helped a bit too.
Prince’s fairly large wardrobe of mostly buttless purple pants and cravats, All Cadriel’s doing.
And now, the Interior Decorator of God was spending his time selling antiques to the citizens of Bismarck North Dakota. The Angel was trying his darndest to instill SOME sense of class into a city that mostly revolved around…Bismarck truly didn’t revolve around anything. Not even Sunday Gossip. Bismarck just sat there mostly, void of any real redeeming or interesting quality outside of the fact that the former interior decorator of God had now taken up residence and was giving out free painting tips to anyone who would listen to him.
But Cadriel enjoyed his work there, and felt that he was beginning to make a difference since he had now convinced TWO people in the past 100 years to paint their house taupe instead of the hideous eggshell white they had originally intended to go with.

Tuesday, November 1

Chapter 3 The begining at least.

And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood, which, I imagine, will freak a lot of people out considerably.
-The Revelation of John, with a few liberties.

Quite a few people did indeed freak out with the new hole in the center of North America where Wyoming use to sit.
The White House, for one, was feeling rather antsy. Covering up a meteor the size of Texas hurdling towards the earth was one thing. For one, it was quite a ways out into space, and wouldn’t hit for at least another 10 years. Wyoming, on the other hand, was smack dab in the middle of everything. Trying to convince people that nothing was happening in Wyoming was, ironically, going to be quite a challange. Wyoming, they were certain, wouldn’t really be missed. But the looming clouds of ash were certain to be spotted by people on both coasts, and those were the people who could sway an election.
The official White House statement was “Well, this is new, but it’s only one of the flyover states, so it’s really not that big of a deal now is it?”
This put many people on the coasts quite comfortable, because there was a great deal of truth in those words, and it was only Wyoming after all.
The people of the Midwest were a little more shocked by it. But they shrugged it off as they normally do and returned to talks of snow and the latest model of John Deer tractor.
The South, on the other hand, had just gone ape shit crazy, and saw the sign for exactly what it was. Baptist ministers began counting their congregations feverishly trying to figure out who had been swept up in the rapture. Riots broke out when EVERYONE discovered that no one had in fact disappeared from the face of the earth. Well, no one outside of the Yellowstone blast site.
This caused quite a few riots to break out. Which was quickly followed by a great deal of fires, and looting, and raping, and then a very large community picnic, because this was the south after all, and even in a state of total anarchy, some things like southern hospitality and a good mint julep just cannot be denied.
California tended to freak out as well, but only Hollywood, where the Scientologists, who took it as a sign that Xeno had returned, realized that they were all now completely boned. Tom and Katie kissed each other one last time, and then lead a considerable congregation to the top of the Cliffs at Point Reyes National Seashore and jumped off into the ocean.
Nobody much missed them.

Chapter One, an Exerpt:

I rather like this part, the ludacristness of it makes me smile.

Since the tender age of 24 Daniel was abducted by aliens from a parallel dimension, for the simple purpose of driving him mad, and thus enabling a large army of them to slip through unnoticed. The idea was that if they were establish a portal at his Montanan farm, nobody would give any notice because the only witness to the massive congregation of strange tentacled beasties forming in his barn would be a crazy Montana sheep farmer. After years of crying wolf and calling 911 to report an alien abduction, who would pay him any attention?

The anal probing alone didn’t bother Daniel. No, actually he rather enjoyed that part. In fact he liked it so much that it broke up his marriage. One night, in the heat of passion, Danny decided to scream out in ecstasy “probe me with yer salad tongs Maggie May!”.

Needless to say, his wife of 3 years found this act rather…odd…to say the least, mostly because her name was Chrissie. She found it even more unconventional when, during preparations for the families Thanksgiving dinner, Daniel grabbed her turkey baster and proceeded to reenact the previous nights abduction in disturbing, erotic detail in front of Aunt Marguerite and Great Granddad Stanley.

Chrissie got the kids, the dog, and the truck, but through a fluke of paperwork, he got the farm, which suited the citizens of Seti Alpha IV just fine as that’s what they wanted in the first place.

However, over 12 years many things change, including the politics of Seti Alpha IV. Their grand leader T’schuagh was ousted in a rather lopsided election, where his political opponent Ch’ulck ran on a strict “No plasmis for Neuyctars” platform of peace and negotiations with nearby dimensions. Ch’ulck’s victory meant that a quick invasion of the nearby dimension that housed a deranged sheep farmer was completely off the table for the time being. No, the age of Ch’ulck would be an age of reason, enlightenment, and back handed dealings in smoky other worldly dimension. Because Neuyctars is Neuyctars, and the economy of Seti Alpah IV lives and breaths off of Neuyctar. Ch’ulck just was smart enough to keep his invasions out of the public eye.

This, came as a complete relief to the governments of our Earth, because trying to cover up a full scale invasion of an army of squid headed death beasts would be a tricky media affair to say the least. Even with their hands full in Iraq, the media could easily get their hands on some second hand footage taken with a cell phone, and before you could say “piss-nugget” Fox News would be on the scene.

No, this was a HUGE relief to the current government. They already had their hands full with a war in Iraq who’s soul purpose was pulling attention away from the meteor the size of Texas that was hurdling towards us at 170,000 miles per hour that NASA had discovered in 2002. Having one last thing to have to worry about trying to cover up would keep the White House quite happy.

But it was quite disheartening for Daniel. Who for 2 years now was waiting patiently for the sweet, sweet tentacle phalanges that he had come to love.
And that’s what really bothered Daniel. After 10 years of sweet, sweet probing, he was now without any release.

Oh sure, there were giant squid, but those are so hard to come by when one lives in Montana. He tried an eel once, but it just wasn’t the same. The squirming felt wonderfully familiar, but the accompanying electrical shock just would not do.

And I'm off...

National Write a Novel in a Month has officiall begun, and this morning, I wrote the prelude to my novel, so I figued I'ld share.



It was a dark and stormy night, with the subtle exception that it was neither dark, nor stormy, nor was it night, for life in the Midwest would NEVER qualify for anything even relatively as interesting of a start as “it was a dark and dreary night”.

No, rather it was a plain, drab Midwestern winter day. A day where snow would burn ones retinas out with little more effort then an elephant crushing a cockroach while accidentally sneezing.

This was the type of day it was, bright, snowy, blindly drab when Joshua arrived at his woodshed of an apartment in the dreary suburban hollow of Grover’s Grove Minnesota. When Joshua had first read about the apartment in the Grover’s Grove classifieds, he distinctly remembered words such as “quaint”, “studio”, “spacious”, and “breathtaking view of a lake”. However upon viewing the place, he found that it was little more then an 8X8 back room of a run down house with a stove, a closet, and a small rectangular window that overlooked a sewage treatment lagoon.

But on the salary of a Wal-Mart employee, the price was right.

Grover’s Grove was the type of community that old people went to die. Well, not so much die but slowly fade into obscurity and banality. Grover’s Grove was not without it’s charms mind you. The local Wal-Mart was the social hub that any swinging night club would be, without the music, or high society drinks, or…well culture. But it was a good place for one to go and converse about things such as the weather. As things were in Grover’s Grove, much of the talk about the weather revolved around…snow. Occasionally it would focus on things like tractors, and corn. However, since there were few tractors and even fewer cornfields to be found at this time of year, much of the conversation revolved around snow.

Hideously, mind numbingly dull conversations on snow.

So, when Joshua arrived at his hovel after a hard day of folding shirts into neat little piles at his menial job at a menial outlet store in a menial suburb, he found it rather enlightening to discover that his small cubicle that he called home was in fact on fire. For it would mean that tomorrows conversation would not, in fact, revolve around snow.

“This wonderfull,” He said aloud to his landlord Suzanne, who was running around wildly with her arms flailing like a goose who had just been sucked into a jet engine. “Thank you, thank you Jesus.”

Suzanne was a woman of rather stout nature, whom one could conceivably call “pretty” only if “ugly” was rapidly bringing up the tail of said compliment. She wore her weight poorly, like a sumo wrestler that had let himself go. Her matted red hair fell across her forehead like straw falling out of the lower intestines of a milk cow. Half obscured was, in fact, a preferred way of viewing her, as her face was horribly scarred with a rash breakout of acne which had developed shortly after the release of Domino’s “steak lovers pizza”.

“Joshua” she shouted with a voice that reminded him of Satan, if Satan had in fact just inhaled 500 leters of helium and had just taken a good whacking to his privates. “The building’s on fire.”

“So I noticed.” He said, staring with a cheery expression.

“Whub, it’s…AIIIEEEE….FIRE!” She screamed amid throwing her hands up and subconsciously reciting an ancient Native American rain dance in the hopes that the Great Spirit could be bothered long enough to send a quick shower.

He didn’t, instead, he sent more snow.

And this time, it wasn’t the pleasant snow that you so oft find in Christmas greeting cards, the kind that gently kisses evergreen trees with the light airy wings of butterflies as they dance across the heavens.

No, the Great Spirit, who at this particular time had grown quite prissy from playing hand after losing hand of strip poker with the ancient god Nebaroo, decided to just piss on the situation at hand.

He sent snow, snow unlike anything the world ever experienced. A snowfall so horrible that, upon watching the morning news coverage of it caused Rolland Emerich to stand up and scream “YOU SEE, YOU SEE YOU FOOLS! DAY AFTER TOMORROW COULD HAPPEN JUST LIKE I SHOWED! AND EBERT CLAIMED IT WAS NOTHING MORE THEN A HORRIBLY CRAFTED EXCUSE FOR LIBERAL PROPAGANDA! THE FOOLS! THE FOOLS!”

The Great Spirit sent the equivalent of a Category 5 Hurricane in snow, which fell, oddly enough, in the shape of Ludwig Von Beethoven’s Signature across a 2 mile area. With the exception of the “I” in Ludwig, which was terribly misshapen and somewhat resembled a Q. This can be contributed to Suzanne’s horrible jello like form contorting wildly during her ill timed freak-out.

And quite unfortunately, Joshua’s building fell smack dab in the upper curly-q of the “B” of Beethoven, and thus was completely unaffected by the saving grace of having 500,000 gallons of frozen water dropped on top of a rather hot object.

In fact, the only thing that it DID actually do in regards to the situation at hand, was to completely isolate the burning building from the rest of the outside world, making it completely impossible for the fire department to actually come to the rescue.

This, in fact, wouldn’t have made much of a difference at all, since the Fire Department in Grover’s Grove consisted of a single, often drunken, Vietnam vet who would fly into flashback induced convulsions as soon as he saw the smallest of flame. This, would oft cause quite a humorous confrontation at local bars when someone tried to light a Zippo to take a drag off of their cigarette. With the Fire Marshal convulsing and often times leaping across the billiard table and trying to smother the 9 ball with his body thinking it was a live grenade.

Needless to say, Joshua was rather screwed, and yet, oddly happy over the entire affair. That was until he came to the realization that his prized possessions were in fact no leaving this plane of existence in one horrible pillar of smoke.

“My baseball cards.” He said in despair. “I was so close to having a complete set.”

The complete set in question was that of the 1987 baseball season, produced by the Topps baseball card and bubble gum company. He had taken this rather menial task when he returned home from watching his first baseball game at the tender age of 12. And he had come so close, missing only card #204, Sammy Stewart.

The complete irony of the situation was lost on him, as Sammy Stewart himself was only barely aware that he had even played major league baseball in 1987, much less that there was a card issued of him for that year.

Trapped within a wall of ice with a raving walrus of a woman, and discovering that his life work was slowly drifting away to the heavens, Joshua despaired.

And from the heavens, Beethoven smelt the acrid smoke of burning bubble gum looked down, noted his signature, and began waiving his arms furiously at the misshapen “I” in Ludwig. This, quite unfortunately, accidentally prompted the third chair Angel to begin a trumpet solo.

And the Gods all crapped themselves, because like it or not, the big song had begun, and like the bastards they were, they were completely unprepared.

This was indeed going to be one crappy Apocalypse.