Reflecting gnitcelfeR

Okay so this blog post is a mild cheat, but only mildly. I'm swamped with May Day stuff, so instead of ranting about what I planned on ranting about, I am instead going to post one of my "unsellables."

This one has been submitted to but a few places, because of the strange nature of it. It's really hard to explain, so just jump in and see what all the Reflecting gnitcelfeR is all about.


No Devil Lived On

Upon reflection, perhaps my whole life was a mistake.

No, I should have never trusted him to begin with. The only truth of the matter was the fact that he was never there for me when I was growing up. What made me think I could trust him now? Who knows? Perhaps it was just my overeager ambition to impress my father. The man and the machine. The machine, while wondrous, proved to be too much temptation. I tried too hard and asked it to do things it was not created for. But he pushed me, and I pushed it. There are limits to all things, especially time.

Time.

I never thought much about it before the machine. Even when I was working on the blueprints and building the prototype, I never gave it the respect it deserved. I suppose it’s just as well that the whole thing blew up in my face. My father insisted that it was possible, that time could be controlled. And was he right? I don’t think it ever really mattered to him, just the promise of being correct. He never noticed that I, the newly reconnected son, was only eager to please. After so many years of believing him dead, what else could I do? Looking back on it, I could hardly believe that my father actually wanted my help to build his glorious machine.

I was never much for the theoretical sciences. I always looked to biology and chemistry as the wave of the future, turning my mind on matters of a medical nature. My father pointed out that the human body was just a slave to time. He said the human body should be programmable, like living clockworks. I only agreed to help him because his ideas intrigued me.

We both realized how wrong we were when we first tried the machine out. All the usual theories about time were wrong. You see, time was not a string, or a ball or an endless loop. Time was a mirror, forever reflected on itself. The further you were from the focal point, the less you realized this. But as you drew closer to the center, the distortion became nauseatingly obvious.

A mirror.

But as you drew closer to the center, the distortion became nauseatingly obvious. The further you were from the focal point, the less you realized this. Time was a mirror, forever reflected on itself. You see, time was not a string, or a ball or an endless loop. All the usual theories about time were wrong. We both realized how wrong we were when we first tried the machine out.

I only agreed to help him because his ideas intrigued me. He said the human body should be programmable, like living clockworks. My father pointed out that the human body was just a slave to time. I always looked to biology and chemistry as the wave of the future, turning my mind on matters of a medical nature. I was never much for the theoretical sciences.

Looking back on it, I could hardly believe that my father actually wanted my help to build his glorious machine. After so many years of believing him dead, what else could I do? He never noticed that I, the newly reconnected son, was only eager to please. I don’t think it ever really mattered to him, just the promise of being correct. And was he right? My father insisted that it was possible, that time could be controlled. I suppose it’s just as well that the whole thing blew up in my face. Even when I was working on the blueprints and building the prototype, I never gave it the respect it deserved. I never thought much about it before the machine.

Time.

There are limits to all things, especially time. But he pushed me, and I pushed it. I tried too hard and asked it to do things it was not created for. The machine, while wondrous, proved to be too much temptation. The man and the machine. Perhaps it was really was just my overeager ambition to impress my father. Who knows? What made me think I could trust him now? The only truth of the matter was the fact that he was never there for me when I was growing up. No, I should have never trusted him to begin with.

Upon reflection, perhaps my whole life was a mistake.


Great Gaiman!

Okay guys! I have read for the LOTLD podcast and for some authors on an individual basis, and now is the time to show some love. I have entered a contest to appear on the anniversary audio recording of Neil Gaiman's American Gods, and I need votes desperately!

If I win I get to go to NY to record the parts and meet Mr. Gaiman. I'm not just entering this because I want to meet the man, no, I am entering it because I freaking LOVE this book and would die to be a part of it's history.

Please go to the link below and vote for me if you like my recording. Thanks! And if you can please spread the word. I am WAY behind on votes because I just found out about it today.

CLICK ME TO VOTE FOR TONIA!

Wiping Wonders

(This blog post is dedicated to Stephanie Kincaid. Told you I would!)

Are you a buncher or a folder?

It's an age old question that has troubled the most scatterbrained of men since the invention of the WC.

Do you bunch your toilet paper or do you fold it about your hand before you do the deed?

Now, before you get all wiggly and squirmy about this topic, let me say that I am going somewhere with this, so I ask that you bear with me as usual. So, back to the question on everyone's lips: Are you a buncher or a folder? Be honest now, because in the end (every pun intended) it says a lot about a person.

If you have ever listened to Lori Titus and myself on Flashes in the Dark Radio, then you know that I always ask redonculous questions that when you think about them, really define someones personality. The same applies to this gem of a question. Are you a buncher or a folder?

*listens to your answer and taps chin* Very interesting. Yes, very enlightening. You have revealed much about yourself with that answer. Allow me to explain.

According to New York psychotherapist Dr. Gilda Carle, folders prefer their lives to be ordered and organized. Which means folders are meticulous and cautious. They pay heavy attention to detail and want to make sure all bits are clean before moving onto the next task. Fold, fold, fold, wipe. Repeat until the squares are clean.

Dr. Gilda Carle then says bunchers are talkative, creative types who aren't afraid to voice their opinions. Bunchers don't have time to fool with the ritual of folding. They bunch, wipe and go! They are confident in their ability to get it done without fuss, sure that their rump is clean as a whistle without all the worries of that folding nonsense.

I have seen this debate rage on several forums, and it seems that the folders are very vehement about their usage of toilet paper, feeling that bunchers are a dirty lot who might experience finger slippage if they aren't more careful. Bunchers on the other hand seem more laid back about the issue, just glad to have toilet paper at all.

Dr Carle goes on to say that folks who use tons of paper in one wipe are extravagant types who spare no expense when shopping. But if you prefer to use as few squares as you can get away with then you're probably frugal and have a hard time expressing your emotions.

And I say you probably have a dirty ass too!

So the next question that seems to follow this one is even weirder:
When you wipe, do you stand or sit?


For more information on this delicate topic, check out this handy instructional guide:

How to wipe your butt

There are even a few youtube vids about it!



Later taters!

Editing Expectations

In light of our guest, my sexcellent editor and good friend Stephanie Kincaid, on Flashes in the Dark Radio tonight, I have decided to used today's blog post to offer some words of advice to those just entering the writing game out there. When folks ask me what my biggest piece of advice to new writers, and my answer is always the same. Read. Read. Read. If you don't have time to read you don't have time to write. Period. End of story.

However, today I will suggest another very important step of the writing process that I often overlook when sharing advice, but is one of my main steps in writing. So here it goes. Are you listening? Good!

Read your work aloud.

That's all. Simple as that. And fun too! Reading your work aloud is the best way to measure the meter and rhythm of a tale. Especially dialogue. When you read it aloud you discover the places where you trip over it. And if the person who wrote the story trips on a piece of dialogue or description or narrative thought, then how will the reader react to it? They will not only trip, they will go back and read it again, just to be sure they read it right the first time, and when that happens you lose the rhythm of the story. Once the rhythm is lost, it is hard to get back into it. If this happens a lot, say over an entire novel, then you run the risk of losing the reader all together. And that is no good! It take a few minutes, sure, but the effort is worth the result.

There is another side effect of reading your work aloud that you should consider. Consider it practice. Practice for what? For when you make it to the big time! When you're on top and everyone wants you to come do a signing, they aren't going to just let you sit back and write your name in books all day. No. Some of those places are going to expect you to read your work aloud to the crowd. Think about that for a moment. Read your stuff aloud to a crowded room. Are you ready for that?

Some of us are natural hams, like me! Hell, I'd pay for the chance to read my crap aloud to folks, just because I love to read aloud. I do recordings for podcasts of my own work and others, and have even picked up a few paid gigs doing such things. (Want me to do one for you? Contact me!) I have been told many a times that I have a gift for it, and while I don't know about all that, I do know I just love to do it.

On that note, I have been to conventions where other authors have read their work aloud. Some were amazing! They transported you right into the tale and I ended up buying the book because of it. While others ... well ... lets just say they should consider spending more time practicing.

Read at home to your family. Read to yourself. Record it and listen to how it sounds in the car or at work. Do it any way you like, but just do it. Read aloud and you will find ways to improve your already awesome work.

In the end I read my work aloud because it helps me find the groove of the tale, then I can line my needle up with it and make the whole thing sing.

Later taters!

Tonia

Fantastic Firearms

For those of you keeping up with my webserial Railroad! you know that I've armed the lead character with a triple barrel Colt .45 Peacemaker.

 David Naughton-Shires, inspired by the series, created this pic for us.










I would like to take all the credit for such an awesome piece, but the idea came about when I was researching late 1800 weapons, including the Peacemaker. The true inspiration for this gun was the pepper-box. 


Small and weighty, it was the first revolving type gun and the predecessor for all revolvers.
The firing mechanism was practically any kind, including flintlock, percussion cap, pinfire cartridge.







 The original pepperbox was a 1500's matchlock. The user had to load the gun, then fire each barrel seperatly with an individual match each time. By the late 1700's they improved this with the flintlock mechanism, making them a little easier to fire.







Later when percussion caps came about the pepper-box took off. They became common place guns for the frontier. With this ease of firing there came an increase in the number of shots made available. Soon they ranged from 4 shot to 24.


Yeah you read that right, 24 fucking barrels.


AWESOME!

This one took up to an hour to load, but would discharge in mere minutes.












Another design that came about was a parallel barrel as apposed to the circular. The pepper-box was also the inspiration for the Gatling gun.







I have put a lot of thought into steampunk costuming lately and after much encouragement from the spouse, I've decided to try my hand at making a mock up of the pepper-box. Copper piping, a wooden tool handle, some plumbing pieces, I think its a real possibility.

So, that's the pepper-box. Nice!

Quarterly Questing

March was filed with guest blogging goodness, which relieved me of the duty of actually posting on my own blog. Nice! Thanks to everyone who participated and gave me a month off. It was time well spent. I decided to use my first post back to update you folks on all that is happening in Tonia Brown land. (At least on the writing front.) Consider this your quarterly update. Since the beginning of the year there had been lots and lots of news, some good, some bad, but all interesting. Let us recap the first couple of months and see what we have on our hands. Hang on tight, this won’t take long.

First off, let’s get over the bad news. Around the beginning of the year I was released from the contracts for several books, all at the same time. I know, its kind of weird timing but what can you do? Any who, my peeps can no longer get a hold of The Blooming, Epiphany or White Elephant. I might seek new publishers for these, but then again I might just let them rest a while. Each book had its time and folks enjoyed them while they were available, and I’m happy with that.

Don’t fret, fair readers. Lucky Stiff is still available! It’s gotten great reviews and folks really seem to like Peter’s tale. Have you read it yet? Go get it! Now!

On the good news front, in the last few months have seen me enjoying the heck outa myself on internet radio. Specifically, blogtalk radio. Even more specifically, Flashes in the Dark Radio. Super sexy seductress, author Lori Titus, hosts the show with all her delicious hosting wisdom, and I sit in as her court jester and sidekick. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: Lori does all the work here, folks. I’m the equivalent of giving a monkey a firecracker and a box of crayons. Without Lori, there would be no show. She just prays I keep my filthy mouth shut long enough for the guest to at least be able to say hello.

I penned a few guest blog posts the last few weeks, which was super fun. If anyone wants me to take a stab at your blog, just ask. I can’t promise it will be Pulitzer material, or that there won’t be mention of various bodily functions.

I’ve sold about ten short stories since the beginning of the year. Some of them are going reach the market much slower than others, but I kind of prefer it when a publisher takes their time with stuff like that. I’m also editing an erotic anthology, which should see the market soon. Can’t wait for that one to come out. Nice!

Then there’s my new web serial. I know I’ve mention this once here before, and I go on and on and on and on about it on Facebook, and I’m going to talk about it again. Railroad! is a steampunk adventure set in the American old West. It features a train that lays its own tracks, a crazy professor, and a troubled gunman. We are up to chapter five right now, so I suggest you get all caught up before the train gets away from ya.

Speaking of good news, recently I got the bestest news a writer could get! About this time last year I penned a new novel, The Cold Beneath. It’s got steampunk and zombies and gadgets and super science and it’s going to knock all of your collected socks right off your tootsies. Once I was done, I sent out a handful of agent queries and much to my surprise one of them not only nibbled, he ran off with my bait! As a result, I’m now operating under the auspices of an agent. Nick is such a great guy. He really loves the novel and I can’t wait to see how he is going to pitch the thing. I have been super duper careful not to act like a total and complete weirdo around him so I don’t spook him off. (Though I think he might suspect I’m not your average kind of gal.)

Last but not least, let us jaw jack about my upcoming backyard writer’s convention, Brownstock. It’s gonna be off da hook! Think weekend campout, only in my backyard. Yes, my backyard. This isn’t a ‘come and sell your books’ kind of convention. This is a ‘come and hang out and have a good time’ kind of convention. Writers from all over are coming out for wieners, and zombie shooting and a ghost hunt. Gonna rock. Good times, folks. Good times.

Well, that’s my quarterly update. Hope all is going well with you guys.

Catch you later, taters,

Tonia