Anyhoo, for time being I'm using said thong as a bitchin' flag on my radio's antennae:
Tuesday, 9 December 2014
Sunday, 30 November 2014
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
Monday, 17 November 2014
What is it? Just what is it?!?!
My pal Matt Tope calls it the Eldritch Device. It's been in his family for nearly a century, brooding in various kitchen cupboards. It's just a piece of black metal. And yet...
And yet it sucks the very frost out of frozen food! In less than a couple of hours. Sometimes in under an hour!!!
How? I mean... doesn't that go against the first law of thermodynamics, one of the basic rules underpinning our universe? Or something?
Yes, you may scoff. But how come these devices aren't being made now in huge numbers and paraded on the QVC channel? How come there is only one, squatting darkly in the witch-haunted hills of olde Somerset?
Beats me. In fact I fear I may go mad...
(Later added note: I was half expecting me taking a photo of the E.D would go direly wrong, like, instead of a picture of this object, I'd get a vast panorama of an alien cosmos, or some time-warped image of intelligent sauroids worshipping it sixty-five million years ago. Not so, thankfully.
However... the photo HAS come out weird. For some reason it is upside down: note my sock in the top left corner. I shit you not: no picture I've ever taken on my phone has ever done that! *Shudders*)
Aside from the mind-melting... wrongness... of the Eldritch device, I've had a wonderful three weeks down in Somerset. I've been watching films, drinking bourbon, killing space-yokels in Borderlands II, meeting new people and catching up with old, fighting World War III (Matt's brilliant homemade board game, that one: keep telling him we should do a kickstarter or some shit) and generally loafing about.
Aaand... hacking away at my novel. No, not as part of that NaNoWriMo thing (though if you have, good luck to you). The opportunity to get away and write merely occurred during the season of NaNo. No correlation.
And a bloody good thing too because no way did I do a thousand words a day. What I did achieve was surmounting a particularly thorny, uphill section of the book: a tightening corkscrew of tension built on character development (which is the heart of plot), paranoia, thematic shadows and some odd but hopefully accessible prose choices.
Basically the sort of stuff where I'd have come a cropper and very likely gone down a wrong alley had I been going at NaNoWriMo speeds. At least for me.
Which makes me wonder: how many people, many of them first time writers, are screwing the manuscript-pooch because they've bought into the Nano philosophy? It's not meant for every writer and it's not meant for every book and my worry is, to a beginner breaking in, it may seem The Way. How You Do It. The Golden Path of rosy-reeking success.
Have we lost potential great novels into its slavering, smiley, yes-you-can, Unleash-The-Giant-Within, Deepak Chopraish maw?
I suspect only the Eldritch Device knows the answer, though I pray it never deigns to communicate. About anything. Ever. And I wouldn't want to seem churlish. Though likely I am. So ignore me.
Anyhoo, here's what I can say about the WIP thus far:
*: It's working (and likely actual) title is Feral Space.
*: It's an action adventure, (possibly) romantic comedy, psychedelic space opera (Y'know, like that section you see in Waterstones. I'm forever late to the bandwagon)
*: I'm over the 100k mark by some way.
*: There's an outside chance it's the first part of a two parter (Though I bloody hope not).
*: It's a blast to write and I love all the characters.
*: If I left it on the Eldritch Device I dread to think what might happen...
Roll back a couple of years, dear fandom regular, and no doubt you'll recall the Troll Requires Hate riding high, abusing whomever she liked and ably shielded by gullible dupes who actually believed she stood for social justice. I dunno... Maybe they should have got out more. (Actually, six months in a bedsit off Brick Lane or Narborough Road. Get 'em off Tumblr into a proper, fully functioning multicultural area. Do 'em a world of good)
I took the piss out of her. Several times and in the open where everyone could see. And under my own name with photos of me and everything (you can check it all out on the column down the left). It got a few laughs and, hopefully, denied a petty sadist (and recent events, oh boy, bear me out on that description) a little bit of her power.
It's 2014 now and things have changed. Big style. Require's Hate's victims have stepped forward and spoke to one another (others do daily; it's an encouraging thing to see). There are many verifiable stories of threats and protracted abuse (she spent six months of last year for instance--under the name Winterfox--hectoring a rape victim). She would be an open ear to 'friends' and then blackmail them with their own words, so as to coerce them to her bidding (We still don't know the full extent of who's been compromised. People are still arguing in RH's defence). The full gamut of her brainwrongs can be found here:
(EXTRA: Here's a collection of posts on the subject, just to give you an idea of the general opprobrium RH has collected:
This might not be all so bad for our death'n'rape threat-happy hero if she hadn't recently been trying to start a writing career under a new name: Benjanun Sriduangkaew. Sriduangkaew is a very different persona: sort of sparkly and cutesy. The world's friend. It is, of course, an act.
One that's gone (in the words of my people) completely tits up. She's been 'caught out there'.
And I am now 'obsessive' and a 'stalker'. Projection much?
About a month ago, after her identity was revealed, she issued an apology. Two actually: one as RH, the other as BS.
Yesterday, just after the report I link to above came out, she added a paragraph to the BS apology in which she recounted the horrific 3 year ordeal of being stalked by me. An experience so total in its existential terror she sort of, well... Forgot to mention it at all. Ever. Not until the day of the report, oddly. Here it is:
(It's interesting to note she put it on the Sriduangkaew blog and not the RH. The victimhood is a better contract there I guess...)
If you'd have asked me a week back how I'd take to being accused of stalking I imagine I'd have said with shock and anger. Now, I'm actually surprised at how unfazed I am. Context is everything of course: you'd have to be a lobotomised vole to believe the woman-abusing, minority-hounding, extorting, psychologically vampiric person who claims to be a champion of the underdog with one side of her face and calls transwomen 'butt ugly' with another. And I'm certain, reader, you are not that vole. I'm certain most of fandom has clocked this clear sociopath by now. So I'm not worried.
But I am fascinated.
Why has she pulled me up as a stalker now and not a couple of weeks ago when she might have been believed?
Frankly? Because I'm a satirist (there: you've made me bloody say it. I feel a right pillock now). Or an occasional satirist, of a postmodernist, actively-involve-the-subject-matter-in-the-gag sort. Think of a third rate Chris Morris with a ticket to Eastercon and you've got the basic idea.
She has, I think, pulled this one out now because she's nothing to lose. RH is at that 'foam in a bunker and send old men and boys to fight with guns from 1894' stage of proceedings. She's hoping slapping a twirly villain moustache on my lip will be some ambulance at the bottom of a cliff. One largely of her own making.
(Christ that was a lotta metaphors, huh?)
RH is clearly very intelligent and I think she dimly suspected publicly accusing me of any nastiness might backfire. No one has ever come out looking good attacking satire, whatever its quality (and I'm very marmite).
I enjoy eroding the power bases of bullies, have done since the classroom. Sue me (actually don't, because it means ill have to step away from this novel I'm doing to write a snide blog post).
Sure I've done a few 'obsessive' posts about Requires Hate. I've done twice as many 'obsessive' posts about the racist rape apologist Vox Day. A few of both have been ill-considered misfires (at worst), a few spot on (I consider the comedy sketch about RH pretty good: it's not so much about her as angry bloggers generally. People who know nothing about her have told me they find it a pleasing piece of whimsy, as was the intention). Whatever their quality I certainly won't disappear them from the web as RH has been doing with her more violent pieces these last ten years (ten years!).
Furthermore, in the light of all the victims of RH who have bravely (far braver than me) stood up to bear witness, I'm also humbly proud (Yes, that is a contradiction in terms. My blog, my rules). If one of my skits lightened the load of her multitude of victims--even by one atom--then I have done a good job.
Requires Hate/ Sriduangkaew / Winterfox/ whatever you're called: I'm certain you are reading this and I'd like to offer a suggestion and a promise:
First off: stop it. Just stop it. All the bags of walking meat you like to manipulate have figured you out. We always do eventually. I wish you luck as a writer but for that dream to happen you have to give up the mind games (and apologise sincerely this time; no half-measures, no buying time or playing with your community's better nature. Stop mistaking kindness for weakness).
And my promise? Well... You've gone and encouraged me. You're old news now and I don't kick people when they are down (You should try it some time), but there will be others like you and Vox Day: pompous, vindictive, mob-rattling hollow buffoons who deep down are terrified of being laughed at and so turn their terror on innocent people.
I will be there, deep in the heart of fandom, ready to throw a spanner in their two-bit machinations. And I won't be alone.
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
I'm staying at me mate Matt's crib at the mo and he produced this: a space opera-type picture wot I did nearly a decade ago. It's a bit abstract due to my ineptitude at this kind of thing, but it's meant to be some alien woman lounging about and watching starships emerge through a stargate-thingy in space.
And good luck to her. She's having a nice holiday like me.