You don’t have to be mad to work here . . .

I have a new post up over at the Organization of Slightly-Vexed Boffins discussing the current nonsense floating about the InterWebz as regards intersectionality and it’s (poor) application to publishing and reading and writing. Here’s a taste:

Badthink; Wrongfun

I don’t know what’s going on in the world anymore. I went away for most of a month. Mrs. Dave and I went to find winter in Colorado, and I ended up wearing short sleeves for most of our visit. There were Superstars (though I wonder whether that refers to those of us in the audience, or the well-selling folks up front) and then there was several hundred miles of road through gorgeous country, and a few dozen awesome people in a few too-short weeks.

Then I come home to find I’m now the wrong kind of fan, having the wrong kind of fun, writing the wrong kind of stories in the wrong way, and reading the wrong kinds and shapes and colors of authors.

In other news, the sequel(s) to Shadow Hands will be going up for sale in the near future. I apologize for the (unpleasantly sizable) delay between releases. I can only say that fatherhood came as more of a surprise than I expected. Also, that I’m less good at covers than I’d like. Keep an eye on this space, and I’ll let you all know the details.

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For Me, But Not For Thee

My regular monthly Raiding Party post over at Sarah A. Hoyt’s blog, wherein the readership is far greater than here.

For Me, But Not For Thee

The teaser trailer for Episode Vee-Eye-Eye is out, and I imagine at least some of the Huns are excited, though I understand herself hold the franchise in some disdain. I, myself, am cautiously optimistic. Abrams has done – qualified – good things (and I’ll get to why I say that in a bit) with Star Trek, and I have hopes he’ll do something similar-but-better with the franchise nearest and dearest to my eight-year-old self’s heart…

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Where Has the Time Gone?

Wow. It’s been a while. I’d love to say I’ve been busy (and that’s true, but incomplete), but really, I have no excuses. Not even a lengthy visit to an alternate dimension. Dammit.

I have been posting other places. I have been invited to take up people’s time and energy over on Mad Genius Club (which I presume makes me a Junior Genius or some such), as well as taking a regular slot as a member of the Raiding Party over at Sarah Hoyt’s place. These seem to be going well, though I confess to a distinct feeling of inferiority writing alongside people like Sarah Hoyt, Kate Paulk, Amanda Green, Dave Freer and Cedar Sanderson. These folks write some damn fine words. And I’m just me, y’know? Seriously, go read these folks. I aspire to write as well as they do. Start with Kate’s Con series, then check out everything Dave’s written (I’m particularly fond of the Heirs of Alexandria). Get Sarah’s Darkship Thieves for great (dare I say it? Heinleinesque! *GASP* I dared) space opera, and then check out Witchfinder for something truly different. Hit up Amanda’s Nocturnal Lives series for urban fantasy/police procedural with a distinct lack of glitter. Finally, get Pixie Noir from Cedar. I helped out with a read of this one, and it’s outstanding. She blends fairy tale with a noir feel with a deft touch. Her protagonist is weary and worn, pushed far beyond his means and resources, yet he presses on with dogged determination and no small amount of humor. I loved it, and I’m looking forward to reading the sequel, Trickster Noir, which is just out. Seriously, go, enrich my friends’ coffers in exchange for words to hearten and liven.

The biggest news in my life is that Mrs. Dave is two weeks from delivery of Working Title Pascoe. I seriously doubt I’ll sleep more than a few hours in the following weeks, and then we’re heading for LibertyCon in late June. Things are always changing, and all we control is how we face that change. That said, we’re excited. And maybe a little terrified. Just a bit.

As the season turns toward summer, I’ve got multiple projects on my plate, fatherhood into which to plunge, and plans within plans. I need to write more, write faster, and write better, and I’m positioning myself to do just that. I look forward to showing you the journey.

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I Read Books!

I’ve finished two books in the last few days. Warbound, the conclusion to Larry Correia’s Grimnoir trilogy, and Outcasts and Gods, the kickoff to Pam Uphoff’s Wine of the Gods series (which I see is several books long. yay!). I’m going to do a read-through of the whole of the Grimnoir books for a story dissection just as soon as I find the first two.
If you haven’t read Larry’s work yet, you’re wrong. No, don’t protest. For your own good, that of humanity, and of the universe in general, get them and read them. Don’t talk to me until you have. You obviously drown kittens for fun.
Where was I? Oh, yes: Grimnoir. Hard Magic, Spellbound and Warbound. This is prime superhero diesel-punk set in an alternate 1930’s. An Imperial Japan is ascendent, and the US can barely seem to manage itself (as usual). Sometime in the previous century, individuals across the face of the planet developed magical abilities of various kinds. Some people move objects with their minds. Some heal others by an effort of will. Some can make their skin tough as stone, while still others can fade through solid matter. Some can even blink out of existence in one place and back into it in another.
This has given rise to a bit of chaos.
Those with passive abilities are feared, those with active abilities are often hated. Some nations round up their magical citizens and confine them to camps. Some round them up and train, or alternatively experiment, on them. Some take a little more hands-off approach, though everyone can feel the winds of change blowing.
Heavy Jake Sullivan, Active Magical, hero of the Great War, ex-convict and J. Edgar Hoover’s personal bulldog gets caught up in international machinations between the elite of the world. Airship battles, Tesla weapons, intrigue, daring-do and good old two-fisted adventure abound as Jake takes on the weight of the world. But he’s a Heavy, so he’s used to carrying massive burdens.
Warbound is the last of the trilogy, and wraps up the story started in Hard Magic. That’s all I’m going to give you, as anything more would be full of spoilers. Suffice to say that the read-through and dissection I’ll be doing is because, of all the writers I read right now, I most want to write like Larry. Though I need to get Under A Graveyard Sky. A lot.
Pam Uphoff’s Outcasts and Gods is purely good science fiction. A mess (in so many good ways) of genetically engineered children are taken from their parents, as they’ve been legally deemed “non-human” or “partial human.” The trouble is that these children, the outcasts and gods of the title – ranging from 12 to nearly 18 – have genomes engineered for superhuman capabilities. Nothing on the level of Larry’s Grimnoir books. At least to start with. As they mature, the young telies (telepathic-telekinetic) develop the skills to mess with high-energy states, reach through dimensional membranes and ultimately travel to parallel Earths. And then things get really fun.
Outcasts and Gods reminded me of several different kinds of books. There’s national and international intrigue. There’s interpersonal drama, SF of a psionic bent and some decent adventure. Shades of Heinlein. The pacing felt slow, but I think that was mostly in contrast to Larry’s unapologetically pulp adventures, where the character barely have time to catch a breath. Outcasts may have felt slow, but it was consistent, and very solid. The pacing is an artifact of the timeline, which stretches over at least a few years, and across dimensions.
I’m hesitant to call Outcasts hard science fiction, but that’s really what it feels like. The science is all plausible, given the basic tenet that energy manipulation can be engineered into the human genome. (Of course, I say that as a layman. YMMV) The plot revolves around it, and how society more-or-less fails to deal well with children that are deemed “unnatural.”
In terms of critique, there’s a great deal of “action” that happens off-camera. The national politics have a great deal of significance for the gods, but we’re not given the political players as perspective characters or treated to a ring-side view of the actual proceedings. Said proceedings are often rather dull, anyway, and I agree with Pam’s decision to limit our knowledge (mostly) to that of the telies’.
One minor nitpick: there’s a portion of the book wherein one major character has enlisted in the army. The mission-related aspects of his military experiences felt off. The character to character relationships between him and his squad-mates were spot-on, but the relationships up the chain of command felt a little odd. This may be a result of differences in timing (set a century into the future, I imagine the Army should be a little different) and in lack of camera time to show those particular relationships. This is not military science fiction, though Pam borrows some things from milfic (self-avowed Baened books reader that she is) and consequently, I’m being nitpicky. As I said.
So, with that minor critique, I very much enjoyed Outcasts and Gods, and I’m very much looking forward to picking up copies of the rest of the Wine of the Gods series. Especially with the flashes of foreshadowing (precog abilities are just cheating!) given right at the end. Like, seriously, no denouement. I was disappoint. I don’t throw tablets, because fragile, but I felt like it. Stupid budget. Need moar book naow.

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Lieutenant Madeline Traegan woke to a world filled with noise and fire. For a brief moment, all her senses lost out to the assault of crisped electronics, spilled chemicals and charred flesh. She’d so hoped she wouldn’t smell that last, and a wave of anguish only heightened the temptation to turn her head and surrender.
“Hey, LT,” Chief Scanlon’s normally forceful voice was weak, though no less gravelly for all that. “No time for JO slacking, Ma’am.”
The bosun of their little vessel was on his retirement cruise. He’d confided to the jarhead officer that he’d wanted to see a little of the galaxy before he stopped going into the dark.
Obedient as ever to the wisdom of the ship’s senior non-commissioned officer, Maddy opened her eyes to a vision of hell. Marine Country on a light cruiser seconded to the Exploratory Agency wasn’t big. Usually it only had to house a short platoon. The Marines were on board to provide security – and brute labor – in the event of planetfall. Hell, half her troops didn’t even count as grunts. So many specializations and odd skillsets. It’s what had attracted Maddy to the EA in the first place. And the chance to see genuinely new worlds.
She coughed, realized she was lying down and tried to sit up. When she managed that with barely a twinge of dizziness, and a thread of nausea that she firmly quashed, Maddy looked around her little domain. What she saw sent her mind into the calm, cool place beyond fear.
Corporal Evans looked almost peaceful, if his bunk stanchion hadn’t been protruding from his chest. At his feet slumped the chief, one leg ending in a mess of gore just below the knee. That explained his apparent weakness. Some enterprising individual had slapped a medipack on the stump, so he might actually survive the injury.
A haze of smoke hung in the air and the mingled stench of human and starship injury and death bit at her throat. Something warm trickled down the side of her face. When she wiped at it, her hand came away red.
Everywhere else Maddy looked she saw people. But not the right people. Naval ratings, several of her people, a few of the EA civilians, all moving purposefully about. But no sign of the Skipper, Lieutenant Commander Slager, his exec, nor her cadre.
“Where’s the Old Man, Chief?”

©David E. Pascoe 2013. All rights reserved. Do not copy, distribute or otherwise disseminate without the author’s name, and a link to this page. You do not have the right to alter it. You do not have the right to claim it as yours. For permission to do anything other than quote it for review or recommendation purposes, email This is a work of fiction, all coincidence between it and real people place or events is illusory, a delusion born of a fevered mind.

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