Michael Reilly's Blog

As a frivolous exercise, here is the first romantic interlude in #MisisipiNovel, GoogleTranslated into Mongolian and then back into English. In Mongolia, it seems love means giving up your bicycle for that special one. Quite right too!

Small window was open to the roof. Scott could hear the Pacific. Water, noise, rolling and pulsing, rhythm commanded to love them. He had dozed. Now awake, keep them simple strawberry on a small single room, Julianna saw. He looked at the window. He was new to long after they were kicked out of the thin sheet was wrapped himself. White cloth, has drawn close around him. If part of his fist, and his arms and his sharp shoulders and stepped appled butt comment, summoned all his dream, this simple art of vital atmosphere. It is that people will never forget a comment. That one elbow propped himself quiet and wolf-whistles.

"I you want me to put the sea," he said.
"What?"
"I sea you ask me."
"I also do you down the hill and Dunk are wasting your journey. You saw."
"No, fool. I was not meant to swim. I say. . . Finally. When I die I do not want to be buried. I want cremated. I want to be a part of the sea."
"I thought they cured me."
"What?"
"All those women that I die after coast morbid hopelessness."
"Ha!"
"Play after all, it is a very strange conversation. What is wrong?"
"Scott nothing wrong. Au contraire everything perfect. You were perfect. Is perfect for you. It was beautiful."
"Why death is just talk?"
"Death is a part of life to live. Good life good preparation for death, so they say."
"Ah, good to better focus on life after? We thought worthy contribution."
"Promise Me. I was not meant to be morbid. Only if you promise me I will not mention it again. I I. . . When I go and do not let them bury me anytime. Do not bury me. No place; only ashes ashes. And I want to be a part of the sea."
"Julianna you make an awfully big assumption."
"What is it?"
"If you can keep my bike long enough to see me through that."
"You're staying. Version is no longer an issue."
"Do not you take it anytime soon, are you? I, not you. . . I just did, Julianna? Yes, it is"
"No, God no. I do not know about anyway. I give you an Hale and Hearty, and hedonistic life, hopefully."
"No sea?"
"This sea. Cause all the water and the sea. Ocean we know; 98% of the water, I said it. Water and space."
"So water is not water, ash-to-ash is more accurate to say that?"
"Well, we all fly ash and ash started off as the stars do you think; Big Bang, everything. You and I-stardust. Maybe I was a little bit this way to rock some great cosmic dust storms were once partners."
"I seem familiar to you. I have worked with many meteorite Shoemaker wild, a few million years ago, ran into an ion storm, right?"
"Poor packaging. I knew I had always had a sticky end come."
"They were Jupiter. Anyway, the Pope, and you can squeeze into any charbroiling daisies say?"
"Sssshh. It will be our secret. I risk to the eviction daren't."
"Ok. I gave. Ocean. You."

Julianna did have a bottle of water on the window SIP.

"Is not this amazing? I think, I do not drink it, and more than 100 years no one pours water bottles, anywhere on the planet, I have made my body right now, will contain at least one molecule."
"Well, that number is at sea glassfuls with water molecules. This is just a statistical probability."
"Bah! You led me to believe is not so romantic. That, and I is going to plague you in the next life. Rain each time, trying to knock some of that into your thick head that spirit, I will be."
"You just come home and try me, you may not agree with something else in the knock?"
"Stop it! Hmm-mmmm. Maybe-eeee. Residence district as part of the dignity of this life, I go away, however, say; The first cell, solar mirror is on the left side of Australia. Azores dolphins born in the shadow of the first to hear the heartbeat. Magellan single whalesong around. Penguins mate with the Antarctic ice shelf. Rocky Riding down on the back of the Colorado River. It is just magical thinking about it."
"Even Jersey downstream concrete mafia wiseguys started doing?"
"Yea, even the nasties. It does not matter. All at once, all the time, and part of the whole thing. Hey, you know how I am Catholic?"
"You are blessed. Before a sea view and move your lips like you are praying. Then you are blessed."
"You are sneaky."
"What do you pray for?"
" 'No'. Thank you."
"Thank you?"
"Scoot, I will show you."
"Yes! Back here, Dolphin Girl."

Ten minutes of listening pleasure for your enjoyment. HEAR Julianna recount her early days at Chez Henry in this brilliantly performed by Ms. Hilary Brady Morris spoken piece from ‪#‎MisisipiNovel‬.

Click the image below to launch in SoundCloud.

So let me preface this by saying that I love all my readers, every one of whom bothered to pick up an electronic or print copy of 'Misisipi'. To you all I extend a big sloppy old THANK YOU. Your time is important to you. Your money is equally important to you. Whether you paid for a copy of my novel or picked up a freebie giveaway version, you honored me with even the chance of getting some peeper-time from you for the work I put forth for your reading enjoyment.

For that alone, thank you thank you thank you!

And whether you made it through to the bitter end after 461 pages---58 chapters encompassing some 147,000 words---or found your patience tested after a mere 6 pages, you still did me a great service by opening the cover or clicking to the start and taking that first step with Scott and Julianna along their road of (self-)discovery.

And when you've set the book down or closed the file out for the last time, I won't have learned your names or anything about the parts of the world you call home or have any inkling about your reading tastes, your literary meahs, bleahs and hell-yeahs! But that's fine. That you allowed 'Misisipi' the chance to move, annoy or thrill you is a thread between you the reader and the book and you both alone and the author need not have any part of that.

Therefore the fact that some of you then take even more of your time to return and leave ratings or reviews on your experience of 'Misisipi' is truly uplifting and gratifying to this author.

For that, a thousand more thank yous!

If you gave it 5-Stars, Thank You.

If you gave it 1-Star or even wished for a 0-Star option, Thank You.

Whether you left an extensive review, a brief soundbite or no elaboration at all, Thank You.

No artistic endeavor can be---or should try to be---a please-all, something-for-everyone kind of deal. I personally don't expect or desire to have a super-high rating score and I accept that 'Misisipi' is inherently a challenging read and not an easily-categorized commodity. Truth be told, I wrote it for me and I'm amazed everyday when I encounter a new reader who expresses any kind of affinity for the damn thing! I cherish the feedback such readers sometime leave on the Amazon and Goodreads pages. Equally, I cherish the readers who find it not to their tastes, offensive, structurally flawed, factually suspect or just downright boring. All opinions are valid and I respect and value every reader's right to hold them and to express them right back at me. As a rule born out of respect for a reader's right to be just that---a reader--- I don't respond to reviews directly but I do read every one. I try and give a 'Like' to each of them on Goodreads to show my appreciation so please don't be freaked out if yours is negative in nature; in such cases it's not me being a smart-ass, it's me saying thank you for showing me the consideration of giving any feedback at all.

If you'd like to engage directly with me then I'm totally on board with that too: Twitter, Facebook, email, whatever works. Whether your impression of the book is good or bad, I'll be happy to listen and respond and learn all I can about this wonderful mysterious species that I truly know so little about: Lumbricus Liberis, the common-or-garden reader.

We might even have a cook-out :)

Mike

U2's Apple stunt is just cribbing my case cause ‪#‎MisisipiNovel‬ has been a global giveaway for over a month now. It's in the cloud and I'm am making rain on your e-reader! Go play people!

http://bit.ly/13c9a0C

More author-bites-reviewer shenanigans courtesy of the Guardian today.

http://tidbits.com/article/14696

It's a wonder anyone dares to read the stuff we put out given the potential danger to life and limb (puts muzzle back on and flops back asleep under the porch).

With spoilers!

“Jumped the shark.” “Nuked the fridge.”

“Hacked the Veep”?

Has Homeland added an ignominious new entry to the lexicon of creative hari-kari? In the most recent episode, the fallout of the thwarting of Abu Nazir’s plan to bomb a US troop home-coming was Homeland’s own major misstep into Roger-Moore/Austin Powers style 007 territory. Nazir abducted CIA agent Carrie Mathison, paramour of Islamic sympathizer Congressman Nicholas Brody. Nazir decided that the only way to strike back at US Vice-President Walden was to coerce Brody into discovering the serial code for Walden’s pacemaker.

We can now safety refer to Abu as “Nazir” and not the muddled Ops codename “Sandman” that was strictly observed on an open channel by all at base except CIA deputy director David Estes. Typical chatter as the op went down:

Mathison: Blue SUV – fits the description of the one Brody saw the Sandman get into yesterday.
Estes: Is Nazir in it?

Sssh! Dave! Codewords. Use the codewords.

So, next day, Nazir, sans his entire terror cell who were captured in the “Let’s catch Abu Nazir at breakfast” (Offical name) operation, instructed Brody to go to the Veep’s summer residence and retrieve the serial code from the box that the Veep’s pacemaker came in (because a good consumer should always keep the delivery packaging in case they need to send it back to Amazon, right?

Brody headed to the Veep compound, where he was allowed free access around all the upstairs private rooms. Having located the Amazon packing, he discovered that the pesky serial code was one of those damned Font size 6 prints above the bar code.

Should he:

A: Use his Barcode scanner app to price match the pacemaker and secure Walden a better deal before his cooling off period has expired?

B: Take a snap of the label on his phone (even tho it’s a flip, what fone in 2012 doesn’t have a 2Mp as standard)?

C: Locate a magnifying glass and use it in one hand to better read the code?

Luckily, the Veep had such a trusty 21st century implement and we were treated to the sight of Brody squinting over the label with glass in one hand and cell in the other.

Should he:

A: Read the code to Nazir who is on the other end of the call currently on his cell?
B: Text the code to Nazir while he squints, both hands occupied and time running out?

Obviously, 8 years in captivity by Nazir has wizened Brody up to the fact that Sandman, never, ever, ever has a pen handy. Abu is like your Grandmother – puts the phone down and you hear her shuffling off down the hall for like 10 minutes to find one fucking pen; comes back and then has to go back down the goddam hall for a piece of paper to write on.

We’ve been here before. In Episode one, we saw Brody have to retrieve an encryption key to a sensitive file from a safe in David Estes office in an earlier task of Nazir’s. Of course, with half the CIA in the world walking back and forth in the corridor outside, Brody located the code (because it was labelled “SECRET ENCRYPTION CODE FOR ALL MY SHIT – DO NOT STEAL”) and then spent precious time writing it down – manually. I guess even Font Size 6 is beyond a 2Mp camerafone. At least Brody brought his own pen, the one that douchebag Nazir didn’t manage to steal like ever other time you have a meeting with the prick! Oh, and by the way, nothing ever came of the information secured during this scene in Episode 1. I guess it was just cluing the audience in on Brody’s preferred method of transcribing critical information in dangerous, time-starved situations.)

So Brody gets the pacemaker code. Phew! He texted it to Nazir and managed to compose himself just as Walden entered the office to see what Brody wanted. Cue tension-building edits as a Nazir lackey in front of a PC then inputs the code into computer program and… yeah, you guessed it, hacked the Vice-President’s pacemaker, issued a remote “defib” command and initiated a coronary for Walden right in front of Brody.

Should Brody:

A: Take a picture of this sweet revenge moment and put in on his Facebook timeline?
B: Get out in pen and transcribe Walden’s dying words in tiny tiny writing?
C: Rush out and try and find some secret service back downstairs (because even though the Veep was in his office, there was no one posted outside the door or even at the end of the upstairs corridor.
D: Phone his grandmother and ask her to get a pen and have a go herself and trying to write some better shit that the cruddy quagmire that the writers of Homeland have decided to pull this once-interesting programme into?

I’ll tell you what Brody does… in twenty minutes. For fuck’s sake, Gramma. Get a move on!

With spoilers!

So.

It’s 2120 or something on Planet Earth. Only two habitable zones remain: the United Federation of Britain is the British Isles and some of near-Northern Europe. The Colony is the entire continent of Australia. Every other spot on the planet has been reduced to an uninhabitable toxic wasteland. The UFB is where the remaining ruling classes of society live (our Eloi in this particular analogy). The Morlock working classes are consigned to living in the Colony, an overcrowded, over Asianised hellhole lifted straight from Bladerunner and given a shot of Avatar and a Soylent Green chaser.
Colonists are permitted to work in the UFB and travel there via The Fall, a 17-minute elevator ride through the core of the earth. Hey! There’s a Palestine-Israel dynamic here. This could be interesting.
Doug and Lori live in their pokely lil apartment in the Colony. But hey! They have love (and Lori’s structurally perfect buns) to see them through.
Things are not well in the UFB. Terrorist leader Matthias is conducting a bombing campaign in the UFB in support of Colony independence. Go easy on the Avatar depth-charges there, Buddy!

So a bomb goes off in on the London monorail. The emergency services leap into action and call all first responders in. Cue Lori, a paramedic. She has to get dressed quickly and make tracks to catch the 6:30 Fall to get to the scene. Riiight – all emergency personal for the UFB are stationed at least 10,000 miles and 60 minutes away. That’s joined-up thinking.
After, Doug gets ready for his own job in the UFB. He works on the assembly line that makes Synthetic cops, a type of Stormtrooper automaton, though SynthCops can shoot straight, are bulletproof and rather more nimble and co-ordinated. They are also comprised of classified military tech and therefore vulnerable to industrial sabotage. Riiight – instead of having Synths make other Synths, the UFB chooses to use humans from the uppity hothouse of dissatisfaction and rebellion that is the Colony.
Highjinks ensue. Doug goes spazzy, realizes he might be a covert rebel agent and goes on the run to the UFB. He collects a stash of emergency cash, the notes adorned with the face of one Barak Obama. Riiight – the USA no longer exists and the United Federation of BRITAIN is the sole superpower yet the currency carries the kisser of POTUS #44.
Doug realizes he is actually a former UFB agent turned rebel sympathizer – Hauser. He meets up with his old flame from Rebe HQ and she takes him to meet Matthias via a trip on the old London Underground into the toxic zone where they have to don gas masks to enter safely. Riiight – the toxic zone actually encroaches into the UFB as far south as Edgeware and it’s airborne yet only some 20 miles away, it’s blue skies and candyfloss in central London.
As for 22nd Century transportation; you have both anti-grav cars that ride on a suspended maglift system of floating roads yet on the ground people are still driving Mini-Coopers with real wheels, observing traffic lights and taking ye old London Red bus if you want to go old skool.
It all ends badly for UFB Chancellor Cohaagen when he leads an army of Synthsoldiers to the Colony on the Fall (because when you want to appear badass, you put on a bulletproof vest and join your troops in a confined space heading to enemy territory (who know you’re coming btw) by the only entry point available (a hole in the ground)). Quaid foils the invasion and Lori gets a bullet in the (Not the buns! Not the buns!) the brain (Thank God!) The Colony is now safe from further aggression because even though the Fall was destroyed, the UFB surely won’t use the considerable airpower at their disposal (Troop transport aircraft? Naw, let’s take the elevator shaft. Decisions-Decisions) for a second go. Riiight?
Oh – at some point, when Doug realizes he is not actually who he thought he was, Lori reveals herself to be a fake-wife babysitting him and his 7 years of fake memories. “Deep down, did you really believe someone like me would marry someone like you?” she taunts him. Hey! He’s Colin Farrell and she used to date Volturi leader Aro but left him to hitch up with some director guy who told her he would cherish her career by helming her in such beauts as Underworld, Underworld: Evolution and now Total Recall. That’s Colin Farrell, crazy bitch! Now, flex those magnificent buns gratefully like a good girl.

So this is my first blog post, weeks after mulling what - if anything - I should blog about. I don't want to talk about writing. That's boring. I don't want to talk about Misisipi. I've already given way too much time to that one already! But this is Goodreads, so whatever I write about should be somewhat storytelling-related.

Then I had a brainstorm. I watch TV, read books, go to the movies. So do other people. But unlike most people, I always come away dissatisfied from the experiences, mostly because I'm way too detail-oriented and too unforgiving of other storytellers when I feel they have gaping plot holes, narrative inconsistencies, weak or directionless characterizations. The negatives always sour the positives for me, which is why I worked extra-hard to remove as much of the above as I could from Misisipi.

And what I do like to do is rant! So I'm going to rant here, in the blog; about the movies and TV and books I consume and what faults I find in them.

This isn't going to be a balanced critique. In everything I mention, I will have already found much to like, otherwise I wouldn't keep watching/reading them. I'm just going to accentuate the negative and rant into the ether.

There will be spoilers.

The title of the blog is hereby to be known as "The Vizzini Vents".

Let's go shit on some stuff.