You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2009.
It doesn’t take ten pages to decide that you don’t like a book. And if you are offended or disgusted by the contents you were exposed to, it makes sense to put a review up at amazon about your reaction to it.
Here is a sample of Phailbin’s latest novel, Chimeratown. And I can decide that I dislike it.
First off I never liked second person.
Second, the character is not sympathetic and I can get no feeling for him.
The sample reads like a rant on a blog, not a novel.
“Don’t stay near me, it whispers and hisses. The sea is a real black, angry, ugly place to be – a correct and proper statement of intent for a serial killer of a nutjob like me”
First off, no one in real life would talk or think this way of themselves. We are all heroes in our own life stories. I think he should have done his research and found out about the thought processes of serial killers.
You will not hear the locals use that name though, certainly not until I make them say it with teeth broken and vision affected by a broken eye socket, blood tearing down their foreheads. I will then see them smile when they say my real name. Geoffrey. A fighting name. A tagging name. A territorial name. A moniker of fact and misfortune
What’s wrong with the name Geoffrey? If someone had named him Sue or Throckmorton, maybe he would have difficulty. But Geoffrey is a fine old name.
Waiting for her transformative prowess to spill its grease all over my burning cock, what else is worth waiting for?
And once more he can’t resist putting the sex in the book in pornographic terms.
The clouds, those ancient forbearers of malevolence shallows shades of emasculated grey, pale in comparison to the creative fury of such a mass of death and anger
Emasculated? Shallows? This exceedingly purple metaphor simply does not work at all. There is nothing there to hang it all together. One part does not pertain to the other.
Two pages of this and I would know the writer was a talentless shock jock. And I would feel that it was enough to write a review on.
*laugh*
Write a review?
I think I have written one.
There is a review by Misty on amazon. Philbin posted a link and a loud complaint about her on Shocklines (She’s a bestselling author, so of course she knows nothing she is talking about.)
I have decided that the ejaculating clock and the cum soaked subway and the people in latex suits because it is dripping all over them. I have decided quite simply that Philbin is a male supremecist. His attitude is interesting. He seems to be saying:
I can ejaculate! I can rub my cock and produce a disgusting substance to spill in your face and shove down your throat. Suck me! Suck the corporate dick in all the places of the world and swallow.
And, since women can’t produce that substance and coat the walls of the subway with it, they are by implication, inferior.
EJACULATE AND CONQUER THE WORLD! THE NEW WORLD ORDER HAS ARRIVED TO CUM IN YOUR MOUTH.
Thank you, Mike for being such an entertaining middle class prick. Why don’t you take a hike and ejaculate in woods like the animal you are.
Over the past two years, I have watched some interesting things happen. And today I had cause to become involved in the situation.
I’m certain that we have all known (or been) the young girl who lied about her age when we were in high school or just graduated from it. I lied about my age to get into R rated movies. All it took for me was a flash of my well developed cleavage and in I went to watch the movie. At 13 I could pass for 16 or 17. I weighed 90 pounds dripping wet and most of the weight was in my D cup. A tight sweater meant that all eyes focused on that single aspect of me.
The internet is blind. We can’t really trust the pictures and the data that people put on their profiles, especially their date of birth.
Back in 07 I befriended a rather sheltered, somewhat repressed, 30 year old male virgin. I met him on the very first messageboard he ever posted on. He was brand new to the net, more than a little naive, but extremely intelligent. At first I refused to believe that he was 30 and was firmly convinced that he was no older than 19 and probably younger than that. When he asked to read my fiction I almost said no. And I did quiz him about his age for a long time before I shared it with him.
I delighted in embarrassing him. So did some of the other women on that messageboard. Now that he had discovered the net, he went to places like anime sites. It was on an anime site that he encountered a girl who claimed to be 18. I have screenshots of that profile. If the age had been correct, she would be 20 now.
However, it wasn’t. She had lied.
It was the same kind of lie that I told to get into those movies by flashing my cleavage.
I introduced the fellow, let’s call him Candide, to the wonderful world of instant messaging. It was a big learning curve for him. He got flustered easily. Delightfully so. Eventually I got acquainted with his family and his mother confirmed that he was 30. He still lived at home (not unusual in Europe). They did worry at times that he was either gay or non-sexual.
He attracted women like crazy. We liked to gang up on him just because we could get him so flustered. However, the young woman who lied about her age (let’s call her lolita), had more push and determination in pursuing him.
She was, to my mind, more than a little unstable and it bore out later that my assessment was correct. Lolita’s real age was 16 at the time that Candide first met her. She was a month shy of 17.
Lolita ate up more and more of Candide’s time until he basically stopped writing. In two years, the talented Candide produced only two short stories.
It turned into an internet romance. Talk of moving in together and of marriage was discussed. And along the way there was some internet sex.
Then Lolita went to visit her estranged father a few weeks ago. He has a tiny little computer company with himself as the only employee. He repaired her laptop and invaded her privacy.
He found the exchanges between Lolita and Candide. And two between myself and Lolita. All of which contained a bit of flirtation and sex talk. Yes, I did a bit of it also. She asked me to be her dom. I was flattered because she’s very pretty. But it seemed to me most of the time that all she was really doing was looking for a wedge to drive between me and my friendship with Candide. But that’s another story.
Let’s get back to talking about Mr. Dastardly Knutsack, her father. He called England and got the home phone number of Candide’s parents from directory assistance and then called the house. He hassled Candide’s mother, then hassled Candide, and then followed up with an email threatening Candide, myself, and Candide’s parents with destruction.
Now, all the sex talk happened after she was no longer jailbait in this country and in the state of which she resides.
But both Candide and I were accused of being sexual predators and told that we had to get off the internet permanently, change all of our IMs and email addresses or else.
Candide wanted to marry her. Not seduce her per se. And she was of legal age.
I emailed Mr. Dastardly Knutsack back, pointing out in my unique fashion that he was full of shit.
Meanwhile I spent most of today talking Candide down off the precipice. I have told him that if this bloody arsehole contacts him again, he is to forward the email to me and I’ll fire off more of my signature emails and in all ways take care of it.
But it does give me pause to think about how things work out on the internet where almost nothing is what it seems.
Susie Hawes interviewed me for this one and I’m very happy about it.
Louise Bohmer, our new publicist, has come onto the messageboard. I would really appreciate it if all of you folks would go give her a welcome.
Also, Rich Ristow has agreed to become the poetry editor for Daverana. We’ll be doing 3 volumes of poetry each year.
Following Death in Common are volumes by Richard Fay and Morgan Sylvia.
Both have works that make me shiver with delight.
I solo’d the dragon Teremus in Blasted Lands on my main, and was riding back through Duskwood. Stitches comes bolting through. I dismounted and waited for him to attack.
Everyone hates Stitches. No one who has run Duskwood has failed to get killed at least once by him. Usually several times.
I guess it was my main’s lvl that stopped him, but Stitches refused to either pass me or attack me. He just stayed there brandishing his weapons.
I posted on the general chat that I was going to kill him and if someone wanted the femur to get there soon.
A lvl 23 gnome mage showed up. I killed Stitches in 2 blows and the little gnome got the femur.
And that set me to thinking about my writing.
I can definitely imagine a monster – running through Red Wolf terrorizing everyone and everything — having to think twice on encountering Jordy.
_____First draft of new scene follows.
“Not as I wish, but as I know must be. You’re too young and too inexperienced to understand the game, Sibeal. The real threat is not this bastard prince, but Todd Sinclair. His fame alone could bring the north, the midlands, even part of the south to Kynyr’s banner.”
“He’s old.” A note of petulant impatience entered Sibeal’s voice. She flounced from the chair and covered herself with a robe.
“You’re missing it entirely, Sibeal. The older thanes will remember him. Most of the younger thanes grew up hearing tales of his prowess and honor. They cut their milk teeth on his legend. That’s something a bitch would never understand. While you were being taught needle work and weaving, every lycan commander was studying Todd’s strategies and tactics.”
“I have every confidence in you, Trey. You’re better than he is.”
“Am I? I wish to bloody hell that Todd had stayed on that farm of his. Kynyr alone we could handle. He’s young and inexperienced. He may be a good warrior. He may even be a fine warrior. Todd is another story. And then there is his son, Jordan. He’s the foremost Bane Shepherd in all of lycandom, a young Todd by all accounts. If I could discover where Jordan is, I would send assassins after him.”
“Faerwald and Lairgan could handle this Jordan.”
“Not bloody likely.” Tremayne chuckled darkly. “Say Jordan’s name in front of them, and they cower. My father and I have been careful not to tell them that Todd is Jordan’s father. I would love to know what Jordan did that has them so nervous. My father gets his hands on the best killers he can find, and they develop a yellow stripe down their bloody backs at the first whiff of Jordan.”
