The Deer

It's been a busy few months as I've prepared "Flare" for publication (available now on Amazon in Kindle and print!) Go buy it. But I've got a quick short story for your reading pleasure! Based on a true story no less!





Nigel pulled on the arm length rubber glove over his right hand and made sure to extend it along his forearm and across his bicep. Once he was sure that he was protected from the worst of what was about to happen, he reached into his medicine bag and took out a large plastic bottle. He opened the lid and took out a red pellet that was half the size of his palm. The cow that stood in the corner of the barn mooed pitifully. It was sick, which was why Nigel was preparing to give it an enema.

 

Nigel walked over to the cow and inserted his arm into the back of the animal. It mooed louder and shuffled a little.

 

Nigel’s mobile phone chose that moment to ring. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and answered it.

“Nigel Watkins.”

“Is that Nigel Watkins? The Vet?” asked a woman on the other end.

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s Eileen O’Mahoney from the Glen Walkers.”

Nigel cursed under his breath. Eileen was a perennial thorn in his side. Her dog had gotten run over by a tractor last year and Nigel hadn’t been able to save it.

“Mrs O’Mahoney, this really isn’t a good time.”

“It’s not about the dog, though I notice you still haven’t given me a formal apology for your inability to fix poor Remington. I was on the walking trail near Robertson’s farm. There’s an injured Deer up there, I think it’s leg is broken. Take the path and you’ll see it fifteen yards past the Oak tree that fell in the storm last week.”

“Oh, OK. I’ll go up there directly.”

“Just thought you should know, Someone needs to put it out of it’s misery.”

“I will.”

Eileen hung up without so much as a “goodbye.” Nigel finished up his date with the cow and headed back to his veterinary practice in his Jeep.

 

Nigel stopped by the office to pick up a rifle and some ammunition in order to put the Deer down. It was sad but had to be done, the poor thing would never walk again. Before He left the office he made sure to call the local Guards and have one of them meet him at where Eileen said the Deer was. A Guard needed to be present when he discharged the firearm and put the animal down, it was the law. The Guard at the station answered and said they’d send a patrol car to meet him at the walking trail.

Nigel jumped in his jeep and headed for the location. A patrol car was already there when he arrived. Nigel was surprised that the Guards had made it there that quickly. Supervising the putting down of a wild animal was usually way down their list of priorities. No Guards were present. They must have already gone up the path. Nigel parked his Jeep and opened the boot to get his gun. He walked up the trail to where Eileen had said the Deer was and didn’t see anyone. It was a weekday, there weren’t any walkers out and he saw no sign of the Guards. Nigel found the animal, saw that it was still alive and waited for the Guards to arrive. After a half hour there was still no sign of them and it was starting to get windy so Nigel decided to walk back down to the cars.

 

He waited for what felt like an age and decided to take his rifle from its holdall to make sure it was in good condition. He had cleaned it a few days before but you could never be too careful with a weapon. As he checked over the gun he saw two Guards, a lanky, skinny young man and an even younger woman, approach from a field opposite. They were returning to their car. Nigel stood up straight and waved at them.

“What are you doing here?” asked the male guard as they approached.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” responded Nigel.

The two guards looked at the rifle in his hands and then stared at each other. Without a word they dashed over a hedgerow and ran away as fast as they could. Nigel was shocked:

“Come back!” He shouted. “I need to shoot this thing!”

The Guards didn’t look back but pelted across the field at top speed until they disappeared from sight over in the trees.

Nigel’s phone rang again. He answered it.

“Hello?”

“Nigel Watkins?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Sergeant O’Shea. Sorry for the delay, I’ll meet you in a half hour and you can put down the Deer. We’ve been busy today searching abandoned houses in the countryside for Marihuana growing operations. Wicklow is dirty with the feckers. Anyways I’m free now.”

“Oh, See you soon.”

“Bye now.” said the Sergeant.

Nigel sighed and looked across the fields to the forest where he was sure the two young Guards were cowering behind an Oak tree. He owed those two an apology.

Greystones FC

Hello again, Life's gotten in the way with holidays and moving house having eaten into my writing time, but I'm back with a new story based on something I noticed about my new home town of Greystones. Enjoy.

Jacob sat down outside the natural food store cum cafe, stirred some brown sugar into his organic, fair trade mocha and sighed. He was dying for something unhealthy to eat but he'd promised his wife that the days of guzzling saturated fats and grease were over. Beside him, in her pram, Jessica clenched and unclenched her tiny fists. She was the reason for many of the lifestyle choices imposed upon him in the past eighteen months. Jessica struggled as she reached for the fabric giraffe that adorned the front of her pram.

She was four months old and content. Jacob and Jessica had gone for a walk go escape the house they shared with their wife / mother. Post natal depression had taken a toll on the relationship between them all. Mummy needed time alone to have a bubble bath and knock back a bottle of Lidl's finest wine. Jacob stared into his coffee and absentmindedly put another sugar in, feeling guilty as he did so.

"You look bored, mate." opined a voice from an adjacent table.

"Sorry?" asked Jacob.

"I'll bet you are." responded the bald man seated nearby. "Bet you've always been sorry, usually about the things that are beyond your control."

"I've no idea what you mean."

"Sure you do. Wife's not giving you any attention. Told you to get that kid out of the house before she had a nervous breakdown I’d guess. Boss ignores your ideas; you haven't made a single friend since you moved to this town."

"Greystones is fine." Jacob protested. "There's some good cafes..."

The bald man looked down the street and noted the dozens of cafes, each providing broadly the same menu to the denizens of Greystones.

"There is, but it's missing something isn't it? It's too safe, too normal, a bit dull. People come here to raise their kids, not live their lives. Am I right?" The bald man finished.

A lot of what the man said rang true. Jacob had secretly thought much the same thing. Moving there wasn't his decision, like most of the life choices made in the past eight years. Angela had decided where they were going to buy the house because it was near some reasonable schools. She'd rejected his plans for a home cinema and an exercise room because they wouldn't have time for those things with the baby coming. Jacob realised with a start that nothing had turned out the way he wanted it to. Jacob took a sip of his ethically sound overpriced coffee and nodded to the bald man.

The man smiled and then spoke.

"Course I'm right. Tell you what; I'm starting a club for people like us, calling it Greystones F.C. You're welcome to join. We're meeting in Reynolds' field near the windgates. We have matches every Tuesday at 8. See you there."

The bald man got up and left, heading down Church road to do some more recruiting. Jacob finished his coffee. He and baby Jessica went home.

On Tuesday, Jacob showed up in the right place at the right time to join in on the match. He'd come kitted out for a soccer game, a decent run around the pitch would help him blow off some steam he had reasoned. Angela had protested his leaving her alone with the baby but he told her he needed some time alone as well.

Jacob looked around the field. It wasn't really suitable for a soccer pitch, there were rocks strewn around and the grass was too long. Six other men were there, standing around in a small circle. The bald man was one of them. Most were around Jacob's age, mid-thirties, and they all had the look of the sort who crunched numbers or pushed paper all day.

A couple of the men nodded greetings as he approached.

"Right lads, we playing soccer or what?" Jacob asked.

The others laughed nervously.

The bald man spoke: "Running around kicking a ball isn't what we need. I've planned something a little more exciting. Take off your rings and jewellery if you've got them lads." The bald man pointed to a tall, thin man on Jacob's left. "Trevor's your opponent for tonight."

With that, Trevor, an estate agent originally from Malahide, stepped forward and punched Jacob in the face. Jacob fell flat on his back.

"What the fuck?" Jacob said, feeling the anger burn inside him.

"This isn’t football mate; it’s a lot more primal than that. What did you think “F.C.” stood for? The anger your feeling is how we’re supposed to feel. That's good, use it and hit Trevor back." The bald man said.

Jacob got to his feet and charged at Trevor. They collided and tumbled to the ground. Jacob ended up on top and commenced pummelling Trevor. He hadn't felt this alive in ages. With every blow he felt his power, so long neutered in this clean and boring town, return. Trevor walloped him on the side of his face with a quick jab; Jacob smiled and continued to punch. He kept going until the bald man pulled him away.

"That's enough, there's another round coming up. Take five."

One of the other men handed Jacob a bottle of water. Jacob took a drink, sloshed it around his mouth and spat it out. The water had turned brown from the blood in his mouth.

"Right." The bald man said. "Ready to go again?"

Jacob and Trevor faced each other. Jacob felt the bloodlust rise in his chest and stormed in towards Trevor, flailing his arms about like a madman.

Four minutes later, it was over. Jacob and Trevor sat down beside one another and slapped each other on the back. Both of them were nursing bruises and split lips but were ecstatic at having felt like men again, even if only for a moment. As they watched two more competitors circled each other, fighting their cares away. Jacob smiled and relaxed for the first time since he had moved to the town. He finally felt like he was at home.

Flare: The Kitchen Scene

Here's an extract from Chapter five of the book. This is probably the scene in the book that went through the most re-writes. The characters have already been introduced at this point in an earlier battle scene but I wanted to add some depth to them and show off their personalities and particularly their relationships, mainly through dialogue. I hope you all enjoy it and see you next week for one more extract.

Velocity sped into the kitchen in her dressing gown to put the coffee on. Mage was sitting at the table with a full breakfast already prepared.

“Morning!” he said cheerfully.

“Mage?! What in the name of Heaven are you doing?” she tied the belt of her dressing gown tighter, making sure she was completely covered up. “Since when do you get up this early? How did you get in here?”

“I can walk through walls when I need to.”

Velocity covered her face with her hands, it was too early in the morning to be dealing with this guy: “Why did you “need” to walk through ours first thing in the morning?”

“I need a small favour. Tiny, you could even say its infinitesimal. My new line of wholesome, healthy foodstuffs is getting its official launch today. Photographers, T.V. cameras, all that good stuff. I could use some backup. It’d be good P.R. for the team!”

Solarstorm entered the room dressed in a navy suit, a blue shirt and tie.

“This is the same “wholesome” stuff that you complained gave you Diarrhoea last month?” He asked.

“The very same. The Doctor actually said it was chronic Diarrhoea, by the way. I have a sick note.” Mage picked up a box of breakfast cereal from the table. “Check this out. It's called “Mages Choice” and it's worth a lot of money to selected charities.”

Velocity examined the box, which had a picture of Mage smiling and giving a thumbs up as he used a spoon to scoop up some cereal from a bowl.

She laughed: “Do these “charities” include the local bars, restaurants and clothes stores?”

“Oh, what’s this? I'm getting harassment from the woman who endorsed those running shoes that are made by five year olds in a sweatshop.”

“Those allegations were never proven!” Velocity retorted.

Solarstorm raised his voice to try and stop the developing argument: “We’re not interested Mage. Buying a lot of fancy food from your company won’t make people healthier or thinner, Why not just tell people to eat some fruit and vegetables and do some exercise if they want to be healthy?”

“Because” Mage said slowly, as if speaking to a child; “that’s…not…profitable. “Mage’s Choice” is more than just a food brand. The very name conjures up a lifestyle choice that means no stress and no effort, just the need to spend money on these “dried fruit crunchies” that I’m selling.”

Solarstorm sat down and poured himself a large cup of coffee.

“Very nice. Was some of that a quote from the press release?”

“Yes.”

“No deal. People are told to buy useless junk by companies all the time; we’re not getting involved in that.”

“Fine, Ok. But what about that reality show that my agent is trying to set up over at the TV network? Can't you at least sign off on that?”

“Not happening. We're private individuals. We don't like seeing our faces plastered everywhere.”

“We're the world's greatest heroes. We're going to have our faces everywhere whether we want to or not. Am I the only one who wants to make some money off of that?”

Solarstorm sighed: “We’re well looked after by the Government. Velocity and I love to do the charity work but we're not in this for the money. In fact we're thinking of stepping back from all this.”

“You're breaking up the band?!” asked Mage, surprised.

“We've been talking about it.”

A tear appeared in Mage’s eye. He fell off his chair and got down on his knees:

“Please, please do this for me! For us! For the good of humanity! Couldn’t you at least wait until my brand has established itself in the marketplace?”

“That was much better than usual, have you been practicing your grovelling technique?”

Mage began to cry: “I don’t want to die poor! I don’t want to!”

Real tears continued to streak down his cheeks as he pounded his fist on the floor and wailed.

“We're not needed Mage.” Velocity cut in, “Yesterday was the first action we've seen in six months. Our family deserves a normal life. We've been superheroes but not great parents for a long while now. It's time for us to fix that.”

Mage got to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes: “Thanks for that rousing speech, Yoko Ono. You two are a disappointment!”

Mage strode to the door, opened it and slammed it loudly, for effect. He turned around to face Velocity and glared angrily at her for a few seconds. He finally left the apartment by passing through the wall as if it wasn’t there.

Solarstorm looked puzzled: “How is it that he can enter our apartment and make breakfast without making a sound but he always makes sure to slam the door when he’s leaving?”

“Typical Irishman.”

Solarstorm tried some of the cereal. It was terrible. He coughed most of the mouthful into a napkin and washed the remainder of the cereal down with some orange juice.

“That’s awful; I think I’ll have some toast instead.”

Solarstorm picked up a slice of bread in his right hand and pointed his left index finger at it; his finger emitted a soft orange glow, within seconds the bread started to toast.

 “Do you want to discuss what we said last night?" asked Velocity “Ryan will be up soon and we should talk to him about it”.

“I think we’re done. The super criminals are all safely locked away and the Police are well able to handle everything else, they could have dealt with that hostage situation in the Casino without our help. The Mayor didn’t need to call us in for that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been thinking the same for a while.”

 

Ryan walked into the room, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a schoolbag over his right shoulder. Solarstorm smiled at him:

“So kiddo, you ready for your first day of public school?”

Ryan nodded: He had already decided not to tell them that he had actually started yesterday. It would upset them if they realised that they had forgotten the correct date. “Got my switchblade, some notebooks, my laptop and these writing sticks.” He said, fishing in his backpack and producing some ballpoint pens.

“Pens? I remember those. Is your switchblade properly sharpened?” Solarstorm deadpanned.

“I think so; Warfare gave it to me last Christmas. He doesn’t usually give inferior sharp objects as gifts.”

Solarstorm looked across into the living room to see the display of old fashioned weaponry that Warfare had given the family over the years, Battle-Axes, Swords and even a Mace were displayed in various locked cabinets. Warfare had odd ideas about what people should receive for birthdays and Christmas, but his heart was in the right place.

“Honey, leave that at home!” said Velocity

“Mum, I don’t really have one.” said Ryan, a little exasperated, “I asked Warfare but he said I wasn’t ever going to need one.”

“He’s right; this is a public school you’re going to, not Iraq.”

“Ok, but if I come home covered in bruises…”

“Could you try to avoid that kind of thing? We’re running out of schools to send you to.”

“Tell the kids to stop picking on me just because my Dad can knock buildings over and my Mum can run faster than anyone else on the planet. Things are a lot different to when you two were in school.”

“Hey” Velocity cut in “We had it hard growing up too!”

“You had powers, I don’t.”

“You still might. You’re only fourteen.”

“I’d prefer not to get any, thanks. Am I supposed to grow up to be a super-powered accountant or something?”   

Solarstorm grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter: “Come on, I’ll drive you to school. We still have plenty of time to ruin your life for you. You’re our responsibility until you turn eighteen.”

“Yeah, you two go on ahead” said Velocity. “This apartment is a pigsty; I’m going to clean it.”

Ryan looked around the spotless apartment;” Mum, we really need to get you a hobby. I hear that knitting is a lot of fun.”

“I already tried it. I can knit a jumper in forty seconds. Your Dad has a wardrobe full of them from when we started dating.”

“I never wear them because they’re so special.” said Solarstorm. “It’s definitely not because they’re in garish colours that make my eyes bleed.”

“We’re going to be late!” said Ryan, checking his watch.

Solarstorm smiled: “See Lisa? He gets that from you. We’ll speak to Warfare when I get back.”

“Sure, go. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

 

Ryan sat in the passenger seat of his Dad’s car as they drove through the traffic on the way to school.

“Listen Ryan. Your Mom and I are worried. Are you going to be OK in this new school? You’ve had a lot of trouble fitting in everywhere.”

“Something about having superhero parents doesn’t lead to making friends easily.”

“I can understand that. It’s difficult to make friends at all. You’d be surprised how few we have. Outside of the hero community, I mean.”

“Because you have powers?”

“That’s part of it, but it’s more like regular folks don’t really approach us as people. We’re icons, like famous actors or singers. People see the glitzy public façade but not what’s inside. The fact that we’re famous makes our relationships a bit on the superficial side. People want to be friends with you for what you can do for them. Not necessarily because of the person you are. We don’t want that for you. If there’s a chance for you to be a normal person, unaffected by all the craziness that this life brings, then we’re going to take it.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“It means we want you to study and talk to kids your own age, your best friend at the moment is a walking pile of rocks that likes to smash robots.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to pick you up, you can get the school bus home if neither your mother nor I can make it. I’ve a feeling that the meeting with Warfare is going to take some time. Enjoy your day. Try to talk to some other teenagers, preferably ones who aren’t members of a gang.” 

How Much is the Geek Dollar Worth?

In the aftermath of the meat grinder that is San Diego Comic Con and with the relative underperformance of Pacific Rim (in cinemas now! Go see it!) I’ve been wondering how much of a dollar figure can you put on the support of the worldwide, internet savvy nerd. Are films and comic books destined to remain in some form of ghetto? Ignored by the mass audience until something like “The Avengers” or “Harry Potter” breaks out into the mainstream once a decade? Full disclosure, I’m a geek. I play video games, have watched and enjoyed Anime, read comics etc. But I’m also financially minded, I studied Business in college and work in that area, I read a lot of articles about economics and finance. My life is clearly thrill a minute stuff to be sure. As a result of my education, I’ve always been interested in the business part of “entertainment business.” I’ve been known to read a book or two about the topic on my commute to work.

First, let’s talk “Pacific Rim”. I saw it, loved it and will likely try to see it again before it leaves cinemas. I’m sure many of you reading this had the same reaction. My Twitter and Facebook feeds are full of my friends saying great things about the film. It’s probably got the best word of mouth of any film this summer. But the end result is that the movie will struggle to achieve $100 million in its theatrical release in the United States. It’s good money to be sure but it’s far behind several inferior films released this summer. A cinema ticket costs ten dollars, a 3-d ticket somewhere around fourteen dollars. Going by those metrics probably around seven to nine million Americans will pay to go see Pacific Rim in the cinema. When you take into account those of us that will go see it twice or even three times the number of paying individuals shrinks down to the lower end of that 7 to 9 million figure.

That’s a reasonably sized market, but it’s only about 3% of the population of the entire country going to see one of the biggest and best summer films of the year. The film clearly hasn’t hit the mainstream in the way that its makers would have liked. It had a few things going against it: no brand name recognition and no “stars” being the main ones. Studios cannot make money selling a mass released product to 3% of the people, which means that films need to reach a broad audience. One way of ensuring this has been to take product from other sources and adapt it. Comics and books are the old reliables for adaptation as evidenced by the proliferation of comic books on screen we’ve seen since the mid-nineties. World War Z was based on a well-received, though not really mainstream book. Adaptations of pre-existing material have benefits, if they’re good they have a built in fan base and have a story arc mapped out on the page which means less guessing as to how to fix those problems in the third act.

Pacific Rim is an original creation, more or less, it’s heavily influenced by Japanese monster and mecha films and shows but it’s not a straightforward adaption of any of them. As a result it’s not as easy to market it to mainstream audiences. Most peoples experiences with the genres it draws from are “Godzilla” or something brought over from Japan and badly dubbed to be shown to an audience of sugar crazed eight year olds in the mid to late eighties. Telling people that the movie is “Robotech versus Godzilla” isn’t going to sell tickets. We’ve already been burned by that sort of thing thanks to Matthew Broderick. One complaint I’ve read about Pacific Rim is that the trailers didn’t grab people. This is most likely because the coolest stuff from the film isn’t blown in the trailers. This is something that’s infected Hollywood in a big way this past decade. The money shots are used up in two minutes of footage shown four months before the film is released. It drags people in to see the film but it also leaves audiences with a bad taste in their mouths once the film is finished 

Which brings me to San Diego Comic Con, this years’s convention was the biggest ever. 140,000 people passed through the doors of the convention centre to see previews of next year’s slate of geek friendly product. There were massive queues, some crying, new trailers etc. What got good buzz? The Hunger Games, The announcement of Batman versus Superman, The Marvel Studios panel and Agents of SHIELD. These properties don’t really need SDCC to sell themselves, they’re based on pre-existing material with a large fanbase. The trailer for Catching Fire could have been released at any time and garnered just as much attention. Batman versus Superman is a fine idea until you hear that Zack Snyder is directing it because you can then be assured that the plot can be written in two sentences: Batman and Superman are manipulated by some villain to fight each other. They then team up to take down said villain.

SDCC is a great promotional tool but it mainly works for pre-existing properties and caters to those fan-bases. The hype about the show being where projects are made or broken is just hype. There’s very little in the way of evidence to back up that assumption. New properties, whether they’re independent comics or new TV shows don’t break out into the main stream from a good showing at SDCC. I went to SDCC a few years back, one of those years there was reasonable buzz about the “Bionic Woman” pilot that was shown. The result? The series didn’t survive. Good word of mouth from SDCC didn’t help it reach a worthwhile audience share. Maybe there are examples of breakout successes for new properties from the convention but I’m honestly struggling to remember any. The  hype generated by SDCC doesn’t pass beyond the people who were probably going to buy or watch the product anyway and that audience isn’t particularly large to begin with.  

So in short, the engaged, hardcore geek audience is small, maybe it’s five million people in the United States and a few percent of the global market worldwide. There’s money to be made there for sure. But is it enough money to fund massive films and base an enterprise on? I think this year and next year will show it for certain. The summer blockbusters this year all underperformed except for Iron Man 3 (which was successful on the back of 2 previous films and the Avengers). Will the blockbuster season become one breakout hit per year with a bunch of barely profitable also rans like this summer has been? It’s a scary thought and it would mean that our summer films become ever more generic, mindless and dumb in order to get Joe and Joan Average to attend them in cinemas. Scripts and production design will continue to fall in importance in the Studio’s minds as it will all be about the marketing. Trailers will continue to show the best moments of the movie in order to get people in the doors. Which is exactly what Pacific Rim didn’t do and is now paying for.  Go see Pacific Rim and show the studios that there’s an audience for a superior summer film, before it’s too late

Flare: Chapter Two.

After the blurb last week it's time for the first of three sample chapters I'll be putting up here in the run up to releasing the book sometime in mid August. This is the shortest chapter of the book at 1400 words. Generally I aim to have the chapters end up being around 3,500 to 4,000 words for a couple of reasons which i'll bore you with over a pint sometime. I thought for the preview I'd focus on introducing you to some of the main characters, namely Ryan Curtis and his parents, Jake and Lisa. This extract is the entire of chapter two and serves as an introduction to Ryan. 

Chapter Two: First Day.

 Ryan sat on the armchair beside the window in his bedroom. It was seven in the morning and his parents were nowhere to be found. That wasn’t surprising. He had heard them leave an hour earlier as they raced out the door of the apartment to go to work. Had they managed to forget about today and how important it was? There was no way they were going to be back on time. Ryan decided to get ready for school by himself.

He was already washed and dressed so all he had to do was drag his protesting body off the chair, pick up his school bag and head out the door. He entered the kitchen, opened a cupboard and the fridge and pulled out the ingredients he needed to make a southwest omelette: Eggs, some butter, ham, onions, peppers and parsley. A normal fourteen year old boy wouldn’t have to be able to exist completely independently of his parents. But Ryan’s situation in life was far from normal. He listened to some music as he prepared and ate his breakfast. Once he had finished, Ryan placed the dirty dishes and cutlery in the dishwasher and then placed a load of laundry in the rarely used washing machine. Ryan’s mother, Lisa, never had the patience to wait the eternity it took the washing machine to clean a load of clothes. She washed everything by hand. It was faster.

Once the chores were done, Ryan took the cookie jar down from the shelf and dipped his hand inside to take some money out. Ryan’s dad wouldn’t allow sweets in the house, instead the cookie jar held a few hundred dollars in cash, just in case it came in handy. Ryan took a roll of fifty dollar bills out and slipped one into his front pocket. He’d have to pay for lunch in school today. He didn’t have time to cook something decent.

He left the apartment and headed for the elevator in the hall. He needed to be at the bus stop in five minutes. The rest of the building was quiet. The other occupants had left at the same time as his parents had. He exited the building and walked to the bus stop. He didn’t have to wait long for a yellow and black school bus to turn the corner and pull up at the kerb. He got on board and nodded in greeting to the driver. The bus was mostly full. Ryan shuffled down the aisle as the bus started moving; several of the other kids were staring at him, wondering who the newcomer was. Ryan continued on down the aisle and spotted an empty seat about half way down the bus. As he approached the boy sitting beside the seat placed his hand to guard the empty space:

“Someone’s already sitting there. Find somewhere else.” The boy said.

Ryan sat down on an empty seat near to the back of the bus, beside a girl who didn’t even look at him as he sat down. She was too busy staring out the window, trying not to catch his eye. The bus sauntered through the early morning traffic and reached its destination: Jimmy Carter Middle School. The doors opened and the bus disgorged its passengers. Ryan followed his new schoolmates out the door and into the school. The place was noisy and warm as friends who hadn’t seen each other in weeks laughed and talked together. Ryan took it all in as he moved slowly down the packed corridor. The School had the usual cliques, the pretty girls hung out with other pretty girls, the sports stars hung out with other sports stars and the quiet kids hung out in small closely knit groups or alone.

It was exactly like Ryan’s last school back in Chicago, except that most people here were much better sun tanned. Ryan followed the signs for the Vice-principal’s office and knocked on the open door.

“Come in.” said a bespectacled woman seated behind a desk.
“Excuse me.” said Ryan. “I’m a new student here.”
“Name?” She responded.
“Ryan Curtis.”
“Ah, Yes.” She said as she ticked a box on a printed list that lay on her desk. She smiled at Ryan: “Are your parents with you?”

“No, they’re busy.”

“Well that’s understandable. I’m Angela Williams. Your home room is number fourteen. Take a right when you leave my office and then take a left. It’s the sixth door on your right. It’s numbered.”

“Thanks.” said Ryan.

“The Vice-principal asked to speak with you when you arrived. He’s in his office, go straight in. I hope you enjoy your time with us Ryan.”

“I hope so too. See you again.”

 

Ryan rapped his knuckles on the open door and entered the Vice-principal’s office.

The Vice-principal’s nameplate on his desk identified him as Mr Stack. He attempted to smile as Ryan walked in, at least, the sides of his mouth curled up slightly and he exposed some teeth.
“Ryan Curtis. It’s nice to meet you. Are your parents here?”
“No. They were called away on business.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, I was really hoping to meet them. Never mind, let’s have a quick chat before you start class. I like to get to know all my students. Connecting with people personally was a value espoused by the man who this institution of learning was named after: Our thirty-ninth and best President.” Mr Stack leaned back in his chair and pointed up at the portrait of President Carter which hung over his desk.

“That’s great.” said Ryan.
“Yes, He was great wasn’t he? I know it’s fashionable for people to mock the man as ineffective in office but he proved them wrong afterwards. Yes he did!”
“I suppose.” said a confused Ryan, this wasn’t how educators were supposed to talk.
“His approach to life informs everything this school strives for. Have you seen our motto? “Attempt to succeed.” Marvellous sentiments, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Yes, I definitely do.” Ryan said in an effort to bring the conversation to a close before it became even weirder. “I’d better go to class.”

“Yes.” responded Mr Stack as he stood up to shake Ryan’s hand. “Best of luck.”

Ryan left the office as quickly as was polite. A bell rang, signalling to everyone that they had better get to class instantly. Ryan picked up the pace and got to his new classroom just as the second bell sounded. A desk at the front was the only one still free. He sat down and tucked his bag underneath his desk. He probably had a locker somewhere. He’d ask someone later on. An adult waltzed into the room and stood at the top of the class.

“Good Morning class.” He said with a slight lisp.

“Good Morning sir.” The class chorused in unison.

“Many of you know who I am, I recognise a lot of you from last year. I’m Mr Ridge. English teacher and the nearest thing this school has to a poet. But enough about me; we’ll allow our new classmates introduce themselves. You there!” he said pointing at Ryan. “I don’t know who you are. Tell us about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” Ryan asked.

“Your name for starters.”

“I’m Ryan Curtis, I moved here nearly a year ago but this is my first time at the school.”

“And what did you do for a year instead of coming to our palace of education?”

“I was…home schooled.”

“And why did you stop?”

“My parents thought it might be a good idea to meet people of my own age. We used to travel a lot because of my parents job but we’re settling down now.”

“Very good. What do your parents do?”

There it was: the question Ryan dreaded. The answer he gave would undoubtedly greatly affect the new few weeks and months of his life.

“They’re involved in law enforcement.”

“Excellent. Who’s next? You there, the blonde girl with the vacant expression!” said Mr Ridge.

Ryan sat back and relaxed. He’d dodged that bullet. He mentally gave himself a pat on the back, saying that his parents worked in law enforcement had been smart. It was partially true and also managed to skirt the issue of what it was they actually did. School life would be difficult enough without letting everyone know on the first day that his parents were Superheroes.

Flare: The Blurb.

In a break from the usual selection of short stories and convention reports, the next few weeks of content are going to focus on my upcoming book. Yes, it's true, I've written a book. It's called "Flare" and it's an action-comedy about superheroes, It's been ready to go since last September and I've spent the last ten months shopping it around to agents and publishers to see if anyone will bite. Despite some decent feedback nobody's bitten on it yet so I've decided to just go ahead and publish the fucker myself via Kindle and createspace. (excuse my French). Over the coming weeks I'll shove up some sample chapters to give you an idea of what I've been working on these past two years (yes, really!). First up, here's the blurb for the back of the book and product description on Amazon. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Flare.

It’s Time for new Heroes.

Ryan Curtis is almost an average teenager. There’s just one small problem: his parents are superheroes.

Ryan just wants to be normal but instead his family life is full of danger, excitement and action, but then the tragic actions of a demented scientist mean he has to go into hiding  

Now he’s being chased across the world by a secret organisation which really wants to harvest his organs. He’s tired, lonely and needs help, but all he has for support is a nineteen year old woman with serious anger management issues and an eccentric Japanese inventor. Now they have to team up, defeat the bad guys and save the world. If only it were that simple.

Over the top action, laugh out loud humour, suspicious people named Jimmy! This book has it all!

If you’ve ever thought: “The world needs a novel where a teenaged girl throws grenades at monsters”, then you’re in for a treat! 

Convention Report: ArcadeCon 7th July 2013

Last weekend my wife and I attended ArcadeCon in the Ballsbridge Hotel (You know the one, Sean Dunne paid over €100m for it thinking that Irish people would queue up to pay €1m apiece for apartments in Dublin’s most charmless area. Yeah, I said it: Ballsbridge can burn in hell, There’s no decent pubs and its full of bankers .)

Anyway, rant over. The hotel isn’t bad except for the insane prices in the bar and the fact that it looks like it was constructed out of bargain basement Lego bricks in the 1970’s. It was filled with a mixture of convention attendees dressed as Anime characters and bemused American tourists. The Convention took over most of the ground floor and some of the first floor. The main attraction for me was the Stephen Mooney and Roger Yuan panels.

Stephen spoke to the rather small but enthusiastic audience about his comic “Half Past Danger”. It’s great, by the way. You should go buy it. I’ve decided that the trade paperback will be my default Christmas gift for those who I feel need some culture in their life. I do that sort of thing a lot, because I’m an unbelievable ass.  Stephen claims to be useless about self-promotion but I think he did a great job. If you get a chance to chat to him then you should. Kim from the Irish Pubcast interviewed him and they made for an entertaining team.

I hit the trade floor for a brief period between panels and picked up some Anime films at very decent prices and chatted to a few of the comics people hanging around. It isn’t really a comics event though, the crowd swings very much towards anime even though the Con tries to cater to many tastes including movies, games and comics and I imagine that people who don’t have at least a passing interest in Manga and Anime may be left feeling a little cold.

Roger Yuen’s panel was an absolute joy to attend, at least for me and my interest in martial arts and action movies. Again, the turnout for the panel was pretty sparse, maybe fifteen people out of the entire attendance of over one thousand. That was disappointing for a guest who has done so much work in Hollywood over the years. He was in “Skyfall” and trained Daniel Craig to fight for the film. If you remember the film there’s a scene where Bond is attacked by three guys in a Casino in Macau. One of those is Roger. He was also the Fiendish Doctor Woo in “Black Dynamite”.  I asked Roger a question about the techniques he would use to train an actor who has no martial arts background and Roger told us to move the chairs into a corner as he took us through a class of the basic moves he uses to train actors to perform in fight scenes. Spoiler: he starts with boxing techniques and moves on from there depending on what style most suits the actor physically.  

I enjoyed the con overall and it’s great to see another successful entry into the nerd calendar in Ireland. I think my future attendances will be based on what guests the organisers get for coming years, if they manage to get people of the calibre of Mooney and Yuan again then I’ll definitely be back.

Living On A Prayer

Todd opened the shutter of the coffee shop where he worked and pushed it upwards. It ratcheted up into the slot above the door with a squeak of its metal hinges. It was 6am on a damp Monday, He had twenty minutes to get the shop ready as the first customers of the day would arrive from the train station opposite as soon as the early train pulled in. Monday's were usually pretty busy as the workers from the local offices needed to mainline caffeine in order to make it through the day.

Todd switched on the lights and turned on the coffee maker. The shop was small and contained a counter, a fridge, a display of some baked goods and a handful of tables and chairs for those who wanted to sit down and consume the energy giving beverages that Todd and his colleagues served them. Todd put on an apron and stocked the fridge with the delivery on Milk and pastries that had been left outside by a delivery man just before he arrived. An ancient 10 CD changer occupied one corner of the rear counter, The Manager, Jason, stocked the CD player every week with whatever he had laying around the floor of his unkempt apartment. Todd pushed the power switch and the first CD played. Todd recognised the intro to "Living on a Prayer". No one Todd knew would ever admit to liking it but everyone knew the lyrics. It was the sort of song that gets played so often, on the radio or at drunken karaoke sessions, that it almost faded into the background. A person might forget their anniversary or their Dad's birthday but somehow the lyrics of the Bon Jovi song were burned into the English speaking world’s collective consciousness.

He focused on finishing the last minute tasks that he needed to do to make the shop ready for business. There was sufficient change in the cash register, lots of wooden stirrers and those cardboard sleeves for the customers, it was show time.
As he finished his preparations, he heard the first train pull in and disgorge its small party of passengers. A handful of them made a beeline for the coffee shop. A pale woman with sleep filled eyes approached the counter and ordered a skinny latte with an extra shot of espresso, Todd went about fulfilling her order and then moved on to the next customer. A steady trickle of humanity kept moving through the shop for the next hour, their caffeine intake soundtracked to the greatest hits of Bon Jovi. Calling it a greatest hits compilation was a bit of a stretch though, Todd hadn't heard about four of the twelve songs ever before. Calling it "The Greatest Hits" was a prime example of creative advertising, or a lie, as they were usually called.

The album finished and Todd waited for the next CD to play, it was early in the morning, he needed something mellow to come out of the Speaker, instead "Living on a Prayer." started again. Todd walked over to the CD player and stopped it. He opened the tray and looked at its contents in horror. Ten copies of the supposedly greatest hits of Bon Jovi stared back at him. He got on the phone and rang Jason.
"What's up?" said a sleepy Jason when he picked up his phone.
"Dude! Bon Jovi!" said Todd.
"Yeah, some guy at the car boot sale was selling copies of their greatest hits for €1. I couldn't resist the bargain."
"Don't we have any other CD's?"
"No, I brought the case home."
"Why would you do that? The CD player is so ancient that doesn't even let me plug in my Ipod to play something else!"
"I know."
Are you seriously telling me that ten copies of the greatest hits of Bon Jovi is the only music I can play here today?"
"Yeah, you've got to hold on to what you've got. Hahaha!"
"That's not even the correct lyrics!"
"I changed them to suit the situation more accurately. Grow a pair dude, It’s better than being outside in the rain digging ditches right? Besides, the customers won't mind. They’re usually in and out in less than five minutes, they won’t even notice."
"Who cares about the customers? I'm worried about my sanity. I have an eleven hour shift to work. It's not our customer’s enjoyment that's at stake: It's my life!"
A young man on the other side of the counter gave Todd a dirty look. Todd waved the man's silent protest off.
"Just do your job mate, and put the music back on, it's company policy. I’ll bring in some fresh CD’s next week, maybe." said Jason, hanging up.
Todd served the waiting customer and then restarted the CD player. "Living on a prayer" started up again.
The customer left the shop with his coffee.
"Have a nice day!" said Todd as the man retreated to a world where listening to Bon Jovi wasn't mandatory.

Once the 9am rush had finished, the rest of the morning passed achingly slowly. Todd kept busy by cleaning the tables and bathroom. An attractive woman entered the shop, she was speaking on her phone as she ordered.
"Hi! Can I get a cappuccino to go?" She said.
"Sure." replied Todd.
"I don't know why you're avoiding coming back to see me. It's been hard here all alone." The woman said to the person on the other end of the call. "Can't you please come home for Christmas?"
Todd was certain that the woman was trying to mess with his mind. Nobody just dropped Bon Jovi lyrics into a conversation like that.

Todd finished making the coffee and slammed it down on the counter. "That'll be three fifty." He said, purposefully overcharging by fifty cent to punish her.
The woman took her coffee and paid Todd without another word.
The rest of the morning pushed Todd to breaking point. But luckily he was really busy during the midday to 2pm rush and the persistent tones of New Jersey's finest balladeer didn't encroach on his thought processes too much.
The hours from 2pm to 5pm were tough on Todd's well-being, there were very few customers to interrupt multiple plays of the CD collection. The mind destroying monotony was broken by a man coming in and saying:
"Ohhh, we're half way there, Ohhh living on a prayer."
"What!!!" shouted Todd, his nerves snapping like dry twigs. "Are you making fun of my predicament? What did you just say to me?!!!"
"I asked for a mocha and an apple Danish.” replied the man “No need to get so defensive."
Todd began to make the coffee but scalded himself as his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Finally, it was time to close the coffee shop. Todd unplugged the CD player from the wall socket, shutting off the twelfth playing of "Blaze of Glory" in mid chorus. Blissful silence descended as Todd finalised his work for the day. He smiled in relief as he left the shop and locked the shutters. But then his smile froze as he remembered: he had to go through it all again tomorrow. He was going to be stuck with Bon Jovi. Always.

The Party: Part Six. Everybody's Evening.

Jeremy sat up from the dust and debris strewn floor. All he had to show from his idiotic suicide attempt was a coating of white powdered plaster from the now collapsed ceiling and a handful of cobwebs in his hair.
Paul would murder him if he ever found out. He decided to vacate the room as fast as possible and act innocent. He ran across the hall to the main bathroom and began to clean the dirt off with a clothes brush. As he worked, he heard Paul pound up the stairs to find the source of the crashing noise that the falling ceiling had caused.

Paul entered his parent's bedroom and practically screamed the house down when he saw the destruction. Once Jeremy had removed every speck of dirt he joined his friend in the demolished room.
"Paul! what as that?" said Jeremy, feigning concern and ignorance.
"The roof collapsed!" exclaimed Paul, pointing to the ruined bedroom. "My parents are going to kill me."
"You didn't do anything, it just collapsed."
"They'll never believe that. They'll send me off into exile."
"We'll think of something, mate." said Jeremy, trying to re-assure his friend.
Brian came up the stairs and joined the other two.
"Hey fellas, I heard a noise, what happened?"
Paul looked at the new arrival coldly: "Who let you in?"
"Lisa."
"Well, you weren't invited."
"We brought beer."
"You can stay, I guess."
"So what happened? Spontaneous roof collapse?"
"Yeah." said Jeremy. "It looks like that."
"Insurance will cover it. Just tell your parents the truth, none of us caused it. Ring them in an hour or two, tell them you were at the cinema and came home and it was like this."
"My Dad's a solicitor, he'll know I'm lying. Besides, I was forbidden from having a party, if they know anyone was here I can say goodbye to ever being allowed outside again."
"Well then, my friend...you are screwed. Dutch Gold?" said Brian, offering his half empty can to Paul.
Paul took the can and knocked it back. It might be the last alcoholic beverage to pass his lips for some time.

"I see all the colours." said Maura. "So pretty!"
She rolled around on the carpet, trying to touch every fibre.
"You idiot. Look what you did? Since when are ecstasy tablets a treatment for headaches." said Lisa.
"I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." lied Sean.
"You're going to have to look after her. How long will those last?"
"I don't know. A few hours?"
"Christ. Could this evening get any worse?"
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it, It's probably the GAA lads."
Lisa left the room. Maura stayed on the ground, giggling as the paracetemol went through her system. Sean wondered how it could have this effect. it must be that placebo thing he'd heard about, like when you gave someone water and told them it was vodka and they got really drunk on nothing.
The sound of a herd of elephants rampaging through the hall probably meant that the local football team had arrived in the house.
The door swung open and about half the team entered. All of them were carrying enough alcohol to destroy the hardiest of livers. They started talking about their favourite topics: themselves. Sean had never met a GAA player who didn't love himself deeply. After a minute of hearing them blather on, Sean decided that he needed another beer and left the room to go to the kitchen. Maura would be OK for a few minutes.
Sean grabbed two beers from the fully stocked fridge and returned to the living room. Maura was nowhere to be found.
Sean ran from the room and began to search the house. She must have wandered off in some faux-drug addled daze. Then Sean noticed that the front door had been left open. He dashed out into the garden.
"Maura! Where are you?" he cried.
"I'm up here!" she responded from the edge of the roof, two stories above.
"How did you get up there?"
"I floated. Whooooo!" She laughed.
"I'm going to get a ladder, don't do anything!"
"It's Ok." She said. "I can fly!"
She jumped off the roof and landed in a patch of shrubs. Sean ran over and pulled her out of the foliage. She was unharmed.
"I'm amazing! I'm the queen." Maura shouted at the sky.
"You're a fricken moron. Those were headache tablets!"
"Bullshit. I can see through time. Anadin doesn't do that to you." said Maura as she got to her feet, kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot across the grass.
Sean sighed. He was beginning to regret every wanting to stick his tongue down the throat of a woman who was so dumb.
Maura danced across the lawn for a few minutes but then lost interest and started staring at the gravel on the drive-way as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Sean grabbed her by the arm and gently pulled her back towards the house.

The footballers were getting loud and boisterous as they shouted above each other in an attempt to be heard over each other's bragging. Within seconds it had degenerated into a full on brawl. People were punched and headbutted, objects were thrown and the living room window was smashed.
Paul, Brian and Jeremy rushed downstairs as they heard the fight start. It was war. Furniture was smashed to kindling as the footballers wrestled and tried to strangle each other.
Paul waded in to the melee and tried to calm things down. He was punched in the head for his troubles and crawled back out of the chaos into the hall, clutching his face. Blood gushed out of his nose.
"What is going on in there?" asked Brian.
"Someone sold the footballers alcohol." said Paul.
"Bad call."
"We need to break that up before they destroy the house." said Jeremy. He ran off to the kitchen and grabbed the fire extinguisher that was kept in a corner near the back door.
He returned to the living room and sprayed the fighters with the foam from the extinguisher. They stopped combatting each other as they slipped and slid around the slick, foamy carpet.
"Get out of my house." said Paul.
The footballers got to their feet and sheepishly exited the building.
Paul surveyed his destroyed living room as Lisa, Maura and Sean rejoined the group. He sat down and wept in terror.  
"Paul, no offence..." said Brian. "But this party sucked."

The Party: Part Five. Maura's Bad Trip.

Sean leaned against the doorbell on Paul's house. The bell buzzed. Sean kept up the pressure until Brian was sure that the house was going to shake down to the foundations. Suddenly, Lisa opened the door!
"Lisa, baby!" said Sean, looking the girl up and down. "Nice knees! They new?"
"What are you two doing here?"
"We're here for the party! we brought gifts!" replied Sean, offering Lisa the choice of a six pack of Dutch Gold or a sharing bag of "Doritos".
"Do you seriously think we're going to let you in just because you brought cheap beer and salty snacks?"
"Of course not! I have something else inside my coat pocket. Want to see them?" Sean replied.
He handed the beer and crisps to Brian and pulled out a plastic sandwich bag from his pocket, inside were a dozen yellow pills.
"Are those...you know?"
"Sure!"
"Well, I suppose you can come in then!"
Lisa stepped back and allowed the boys to enter.
"The kitchen is down at the end of the hall. You can put your beer in the fridge."
"Cool! thanks!" said Brian.
Sean and Brian went to the kitchen.
"Dude! You have drugs?"
"Kind of. Pharmaceuticals anyway."
"Where did you get them?"
"The supermarket. They're not actually what Lisa seems to think they are. They're just paracetemol tablets dyed yellow with food dye."
"You told her..."
"No I didn't. She asked: "Are those...you know?" and I, naturally assuming she meant "paracetemol tablets dyed yellow" said "Sure!".
"You're the devil."
"Nah, just motivated to be at this party by any means. Purveying illegal highs, even fabricated ones, gets you into places. Ask Dennis Hopper."
"Who?" asked Brian.
"You need to spend your first term of college watching movies, your lack of pop cultural knowledge dismays me."

Paul surveyed his wardrobe and plotted his outfit for the evening. He had a near infinite number of rugby jerseys and t-shirts but he felt that this evening he needed to be classy! Time to break out one of his proper shirts!
He got dressed in black jeans and a red shirt. Then he slipped on a pair of black trainers.
He walked out of his room and entered his parent's bedroom across the hall. He just needed one more thing to complete his ensemble. His dad's Rolex. It was locked in a drawer on the dressing table beside the bed but Paul knew that the key was sellotaped to the headboard of the bed. Paul reached around the back of the headboard and pulled it free. He used the key on the dresser and reverentially extracted the watch. He opened the case that contained the watch and slipped it on his wrist. Paul left the room and went downstairs, practically stepping on Jeremy as he did so. Paul didn't even notice his friend, who was occupied with silently crying his broken heart out in the gloom of the unlighted hallway..

Jeremy wiped the tears from his eyes and scrambled to his feet. He'd never felt worse. Lisa had torn his soul out with her dismissive treatment of him. Well he was going to show her! He paced down the hallway to the bedrooms and entered the master bedroom. Paul's Dad would have exactly what he needed. Jeremy searched the wardrobes and doors until he found a selection of neck-ties. He took one out and wrapped it around his neck. Then he dragged an armchair which was position beside the window into the centre of the room and climbed on top of it. He tied the other end of the neck-tie to the light fixture in the ceiling and took a deep breath and jumped. It didn't work as intended. Jeremy pulled down the entire ceiling with his as he fell, clumps of plaster and wood showered the room.

Sean walked in on Maura as she lay on the couch of the living room.
"Hey Maura! How are you?"
"Heads killing me! Got into a fight."
"Oh yeah? Here..." said Sean as he took the bag of pills from his pocket. "...have one of these! They'll help."
Maura took two tablets from the bag and put them in her mouth. Sean passed her a can of Dutch Gold. She drank a mouthful and washed the pills down.
"Thanks!" she said gratefully.
"No problem." said Sean as he sat down on the couch beside her, hoping to play the white knight angle to his advantage.
Lisa entered the room and interupted his plans.
"Maura." Lisa said. "Feeling better?"
"Sean gave me some tablets to help with the headache."
"HE GAVE YOU WHAT?" shouted Lisa. "DID YOU GIVE HER SOME OF THE TABLETS FROM THE BAG?!" she roared at Sean.
"Yes...but..." Sean stopped speaking, he didn't want to tell Lisa he'd only brought in paracetemol and whatever she had told herself he had.
"Maura those were yokes!" said Lisa.
"What?
"He just gave you drugs."
Maura sat back on the couch as her mind took in the knowledge that she had ingested an illegal substance.
"I can feel something!" said Maura as she looked at her hand in awe. "My hands are massive and so colourful!" She stood up on the cushion of the couch. "I'm feckin' INVINCIBLE!!!!!!"
She rushed out of the room and battered through the doorway to escape the house.