#SampleSunday 20th May 2012

This is part of the first Dancing with Darwin story. These stories (two so far) are firmly Science Fiction and all set in the same changing world; each has textures from other genres, depending on the specific story; Rapture Read, for example, has a hint of horror.

Rapture Ready

The full extent of the horror is only now becoming apparent.

Let me just interrupt you there, for a moment, Bob. Behind you there, is that a military armored car?

It is, Monica, the National Guard are here. This is just, just a small town but the amount of determined fire-power here is quite amazing. The Governor accepted that they were needed after the local police, the state police and then the SWAT team were unable to contain the situation.

This is amazing, Bob. What on earth happened here today?

It just, it just seems that the entire town went crazy.

Do we have any idea what happened? Where did it start?

Really not, but we are now clear to move through the town.

Oh my word, are those what I think..?

Essentially the whole town is under arrest, Monica. At least all the survivors are. In many ways telling the perpetrators from the victims is going to be difficult and from what I've seen so far the likelihood of a single reliable witness is fairly remote.

# Year 1: Claire

Claire often walked to school. Cars ruined the environment and seemed like an indulgence for such a short distance, in any case. It wasn't so far.

Maple Avenue was one of her favorite routes, especially on a full summer’s day like today. Someone hammering in the near distance couldn't ruin her pleasure. The warm sun on her face, even in the early morning, just made her smile. The houses were set well back from the street and it seemed everyone in the neighborhood loved flowers and green things. The scents combined as she walked toward the sun, long shadows stretching toward her, in a confusion of delights.

A shriek of laughter to her left made her turn and look but there was no one in sight between her and the distant house. Claire quirked her lips and looked away. She wasn't sure but that sounded, well she put the thought out of her mind as impure and turned the purity ring on her finger. Her mother laughed at her sometimes, but Claire was old enough to persuade her to mind her own business.

“Hunk like that, you should be enjoying it while you can,” she would sometimes say, though almost always over the phone now that she was in the Amazon somewhere.

“Mother you save the rainforests and I'll save my soul, okay?”

“So marry him already, if it matters that much.”

“Bret and I aren't ready to marry, yet.”

A sigh.

“We have to finish school, focus on study. We'll never make doctors if we don't focus our energies on learning.” Sometimes she thought her mother was dense but she had her degree, she must know how important it was to focus on the task at hand. “It's not so long, just a handful of years.”

“Uhuh, and you can wait.”

“Dana,” she rarely called her mother Dana, “I have to go.”

Claire often finished the conversation early when they strayed into this area. Her mother was a Christian enough soul but not what Claire would call serious about it; maybe like the English she was descended from, she only paid lip service to it. When she voiced this idea, her mother had laughed gently and said that everyone did. It had been their first real fight as mother and daughter. Claire still winced at the memory.

A car crawled past her, slower even than this sleepy street warranted. She glanced right and saw the middle-aged man looking at her, grinning, one hand on the wheel. There was something disturbing about the way he looked at her. He licked his lips and his right shoulder was moving.

The end of the street was close. She had walked almost the whole length and not noticed half the plants she loved because she'd been thinking of her mother. There were only two houses and then a park she usually crossed, but as soon as she realized with a heated blush what the man must be doing, she turned directly away into the shade of a wooded drive. She knew Mr. Valance lived there. He was a nice church-going soul of sixty or so and Claire knew she would be welcome; then she would call the police and report the man. She blushed even more fiercely as she realized that she knew him- he ran a store on the west side of Clearwater, and she'd bought underwear there.

“Thank you lord for making me buy modest underwear,” she muttered under her breath. The crunch of the gravel under her feet masked the sound of the car’s engine and she fought the urge to look back as she wondered for a moment if she had been imagining things, if maybe Mr. Paulson was simply looking for a particular house. But she knew that was ridiculous. He'd lived here probably his whole life and the town was only seven and a half thousand people. Claire's steps didn't falter as she turned the long curve toward the house, and she could just catch the odd glimpse of the bright white building through the flowering shrubs and the cherry trees that blossomed so well early in the spring.

It must be Mr. Valance with the hammer because it rang out one more time. One two three four. “Praise the Lord,” she heard him say.

“Hallelujah,” She murmured in automatic response and then turned the corner to see the whole house - and froze in horror.

# Year 2: Claire

The water ran and Claire washed her hands with great care and deliberation, focusing on the control and calm it gave her. Clean. She was clean. No need to scrub too hard with the brush, just focus on the nails and get good and sudsy.

“Claire,” the male voice was warm with humor and understanding.

She looked and saw the surgeon she would be assisting, tapping his own left wrist in the universal gesture for 'time.'

She felt a brief expression of anxiety flit across her own face before she could control it as gently she bit down on her lip. Her hands were clean. I am clean, she chanted like a prayer. I am clean. Clean clean clean.

“Yes, Mr. Simmons.” She rinsed and tapped the faucet off with her elbow. “I'm ready.”

The gloves were clean, she reminded herself as she slipped into them, and the OR is clean, and I am clean. Better than clean, sterile, but clean was the magic word that worked for her. Clean clean clean. She was one of the lucky ones, she could cope with her aberration, given time and some counseling and work; she could function. It was good, she thought for the thousandth time, that she had already begun her studies in medicine, though her training now was not what she might have envisaged - more practice than theory than it would have been had nothing changed.

She walked into the emergency ward and started work for the day.

Bound in a straitjacket and handcuffed to a bed, the blinded man sat and rocked gently and whispered over and over again, “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.” She shuddered; the psychotics who were religious were the worst. They bothered her the most. Maybe because there seemed to be so many of them. She touched her cross and said a brief prayer before beginning to work on what remained of the eye socket. Clean, close, stitch. Then move on to the next patient and repeat the process in one form or another, following a doctor who had already sedated and left a note about what needed to be done. Usually it was obvious. Clean, close, stitch, bandage.

Behind her, orderlies came and removed the treated men and women and children from the ward.

# Year 1: Claire

The large clapboard building was painted white, a pure clean color that suddenly contrasted with the lines of bright red that ran down from where Mr. Valance had nailed a foot and one hand to the wall. In his other hand he held a spike and a mallet. He held them out to her but didn't mention them. His pale eyes and joyous smile fixed on her.

“He has returned, sister,” he said, his voice full of confidence and joy. “Are you ready? Are you saved?”

Blood ran in thin trails down the one skinny arm that was raised high above him. A thin silver circlet of razor wire sat on his bald head. His face was sheeted with blood, both congealed and fresh.

Her own blood ran cold in her veins and pooled in her belly. She recognized the sensation for what it was, her body flooding with adrenalin, making her ready to flee or fight for her life. It was a pointless and irrational reaction but body chemistry operates by its own rules. Still, her mind worked with perfect clarity. She was a believer but also a student of medicine. She knew that Mr. Valance was suffering from some kind of delusion, that nailing yourself to a wall was not the act of a rational man. She knew that she had to phone for an ambulance and also the police so that they could assure themselves that no crime had been committed here. Her eyes flicked to the open front door. Mr. Valance had a wife, she knew. And there was enough blood on Mr. Valance to disguise any that was not his. Claire gave a simple nod of agreement with herself; she would go into the house and phone from there. If she found Mrs. Valance dead, then she would just deal with that shock as calmly as she was dealing with this one.

As she moved past him, Mr. Valance held out the mallet and spike to her. “Have a heart, sister. Don't turn your back on him, I beg you.”

Her skin prickled in goose-bumps that even stirred the hair on her head as they washed over her in waves. He must have started with one foot; then the left hand at the wrist, to give himself enough leverage to pull himself upward. And then he was stuck. He could no longer reach the right foot, nor turn his own right hand against itself. A fourth spike lay on the floor, beyond his reach.

She didn't trust herself to say anything. Everything that came to mind was ridiculous. You just wait there, Mr. Valance... like he had a choice.

As Claire entered the cool shade of the house she heard sirens in the distance and had an instinct that she might have to wait some time for the police.

New Stuff

I know that the forth book of The Price of Freedom sequence is due. It's in the works and being worked on...

But.

I'm also working on new stuff; a series of short Science Fiction stories. In a couple of days I'll post something more here; for now, here's the cover for the first story, due any time now. See if you can guess what the story's about.

.

Breaking Rules

It has often seemed to me that no matter how firm a rule I make about something there will always come a time when I feel I just have to break it.

One of my firmest rules is not to respond to reviews at all no matter what. BUT... when someone says something like this "I'm not sure that Mr Northern has the life or writing experience necessary to handle relationships between genders..." I think that crosses a line.

Took me a good long while to gather a moderate response. My instinctive reaction had far too many profanities in it. But something like a month later it was still niggling in the back of my mind and the only way to lay something like that to rest is respond. You know, freedom of speech and all that.

To be fair here, I'm going to reproduce the review in full. No problem with most of it; I know that in order to go where I want the story to go there have to be some areas that even in the writing I knew would turn off some readers.

2.0 out of 5 stars Enough with the politico-economic babble, February 22, 2012

By 

Gwydion - See all my reviews

Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom) (Kindle Edition)

I think Mr Northern has done a good job of creating some wonderful characters - Sumto (the main protagonist), Jocasta (a great female character), Sapphire (a superbly trained spy/assassin). The world they are placed in is also interesting. However Mr Northern way over does the description of the political and economic beliefs that underpin the main geographic power in his world. I will not be continuing the journey to be preached at in that way. While I have much sympathy for the views expressed I'd much prefer to read Hayek or if I want libertarian preachy with great character and plot I'll go for Rand.

Apart from the preachiness the other thing that niggled at me was the waste of the characters particularly the lead female. I'm not sure that Mr Northern has the life or writing experience necessary to handle relationships between genders and perhaps this is why a really spunky female who has taught herself sorcery and the puts at risk all her status in society to races off to try and help Sumto. Sumto is supposed to be smart but all we get is this caveman like need to protect - reacting like a typical male of his society when in fact he is a rebel! The second book seems like Jocasta as a victim, Sumto as the damned but with good company on the road to hell.

Book One engaged me. By the end of Book Two I'd got sick of the Mr Northern's narration - although I am still interested in the characters. I'm just not prepared to wade through his writing to see what happens to them. I think I will make it up myself. Sumto will grow, create an empire in the tribe lands, partner with Jocasta and have Sapphire and Meran to help raise the kids.

End of Review

Breaking Rules

Now, I know and knew when writing that books II and III could be taken to be a bit preachy and that can be taken as a valid criticism. When you take a culture and the impact of the culture on the thinking of an individual and use that culture as though it were almost a Character in it's own right to impact the story.... well, there are going to be consequences. One of them is an appearance of preachiness as the Character of the city intrudes itself into... well, pretty much everything one way or another. No one can engage the Character of the culture of the city in conversation to resolve this, so it intrudes to a greater or lesser degree as the series progresses. Good idea? Bad idea? Only time will tell. I know I will lose some readers along the way. It happens to everyone.

I love to break rules. For example, also in book II, I have Sumto standing in front of a mirror looking at himself - a clear cheat used as an excuse to describe a first person character; the rule is "don't do it" and I break the rule because I can. Sumto doesn't describe himself as such, just what a mess he looks. In the same book, starting round about there, I have Sumto talk and think about the same sequence of events no less than three times (possibly four, I forget). That sequence was already known to everyone. Talk about breaking rules.... but I thought I could get away with being repetitive in that specific instance.

One or two things Gwydion says strike to the heart of the story. Here is just one of them.

"The second book seems like Jocasta as a victim, Sumto as the damned but with good company on the road to hell." Who is the victim? Of what exactly?

And Also to be fair; here is how I eventually responded to Gwydion's review.

You say: "I'm not sure that Mr Northern has the life or writing experience necessary to handle relationships between genders..." and honestly I think that crosses a line and I feel justified in responding (though I had to think about it for a while).



To address the point, which is only fair; It would have been very easy (and was tempting) to keep Jocasta front and centre... if I were writing a completely different story. And I really can't say more than that about it without giving the game away.

I like your ending.... but don't you see that it is impossible and thus would be no more than a lie?

#

 Well, sometimes these things resolve themselves in a friendly fashion.

The reviewer just left this response to mine. It really was bugging me - and now it isn't. Breaking rules can sometimes be a good thing (which is good for me as I break them all the time when writing) and I have always thought that there is no substitute for doing what you think is right.

Dear Chris Northern, thank you for your response to my review.

I felt that the relationship between Sumto and Jocasta was like a stereotype from our society that did not fit the way your writing had painted Sumto in my mind. In no way was I attempting to suggest anything about your sexual preference. I was implying something about the breadth of life experience you bring to representing relationships. And on reflection given that we have never met that may well have crossed the line and I have removed the specific reference.

I've tried to think of a way to explain myself better but can not. Simply put I very much liked the way you developed the character of Sumto. I did not believe that such a character would treat Jocasta the way Sumto did. What would Sumto's sister say! I am not able to suspend disbelief in Sumto. Therefore i will not be continuing with this story.

#
I actually think there may be some validity to that point - but at the same time I think, and have to trust, I know what I'm doing. I could be wrong, of course, and sometimes am. I also wonder what Sumto's sister will say; depends rather on how much Jocasta says to her before... well, never mind, too early for me to be thinking about that.

And there, I think, we will leave it lie, quite happily on my part.

At Last!

There are a great many things about the consequences of writing that seem to make no sense whatsoever (sales is one - they fluctuate with a will of their own (I mean I'm now selling twice as many copies in the UK as the US and that just doesn't make sense ... but that's not what's on my mind right now). One of them is reviews, or lack of them. They do seem to be a love-it hate-it thing or - in the case of TKTTG and THI, a 'damn I wish you were writing a different series' sort of thing. sorry about that, but I do know what I'm doing (or at least I think I do) and there are plenty of people telling me 'go for it' so I will.

But TPOF isn't the series I'm thinking of here. It's Prison of Power. Now, PoP has been available for three years, more or less; though - to begin with - not widely so. Still, all in all, more than two thousand copies have been bought or given away and, I can only assume read, without a single comment appearing anywhere. Until now.

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8892809-prison-of-power

I am very relieved and somewhat pleased to say that someone (thank you Sandra Gilbert) has finally taken a stand and given the book some kind of feedback. Four stars, I'm happy to say, but no review as such, which is a pity.

Well, maybe one day someone will say what they like and don;t like about it. I have my own opinions and if I had the book to do over I'd probably do it differently; but there's no sense thinking like that. If PoP gathers some support I might be moved to write the intended prequel and sequel.

There are other projects I'd like to write; and will; but right now Sumto's next step is coming along nicely and I don't plan to work on anything else until this one is finished.

The Godwhale

Earlier today, I was reminded in conversation about The Godwhale by TJ Bass. In my memory it was an excellent novel, and my memory is fairly good.

Far too good, actually. By the time I got around to checking to see if I could take an ebook from Amazon, it was already too late. I remember pretty much every scene, the plot, the key events, the culmination and the payoff.

The Godwhale is an excellent book. One of those rare perfect works that could not be improved by any change whatsoever. Regardless of how you feel about SF, go find a copy and read it. You will not be disappointed.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I'm just amazed. There's no other word for it. The Invisible Hand was uploaded six hours ago, and not only is it live but it also has sales.

I am genuinely stunned.

I remember waiting for a year just to hear that a publisher wasn't interested. Then another year for a 'hmmmm, not sure' and so on and so forth. Six hours from done to sales. Really, that is utterly amazing. Would be remiss if I don't pass a word of thanks to Amazon. Would be a fool if I didn't say a word of thanks to the readers. I can only hope I continue to write work that you enjoy.

Second Cover Update

Okay, looks like the cover is pretty much done, so I'll put it up here. Right now there are a couple of issues to resolve; the main one being we lose some detail in thumbnail - I put this version up on smashwords and what I mean becomes clear there. Artists making the adjustment to ebook covers must go nuts for a while as they learn what works there. I hope I'm not making my artist too crazy...

Actually, I noticed the same effect here when I imported the picture, as it came in at a different size. So I'll show you what I mean.

The face begins to lose definition. Still, we are nearly there. Nearly there.