The people of Emokrome 7 were without any safety web whatsoever. No health care was provided and thousands fell through the cracks. Millions died in the flue epidemic of 5820, but politicians were happy because it cut down on the population and kept taxes low. The old traditions were kept alive because there were too few people to protest. Everyone went to church, praying for relief, but there was no relief.

“It is the year of our One, 2587 … in the great city-state of Topaz. Karla and Joseph escape from the soulless Tehotep through a mystic wormhole summoned by the Guardian Opal, and find themselves 400 years in the past. It is The Time of Legend.

Immortal II is a whirlwind of mysticism, intrigue, and horror. Its characters are deep and palatable. Its landscapes are beautiful and tragic. Valjeanne Jeffers is a master at weaving a tale that combines eroticism, metaphysics, and hard science fiction in a way that is natural and addictive.

No other piece reads like the Immortal series. The experiencer is transported to a place where one forgets that they are reading – but instead finds themselves living the characters; breathing in step with each passing page. Ms. Jeffers creates a tormented antagonist in Tehotep. A Daeman … someone I grew to hate in book I, but almost felt sorry for in Immortal II … almost.

Karla, a beautiful Indigo woman – her presence in the world spanning across time: her memories reaching back to her lover Joseph: a handsome copper man. His integrity and insight captures Karla’s heart in a world and place beyond even the Time of Legend.

The Immortal series is a self-contained universe: complete with it’s own language, history, and culture. If you dig intelligent speculative fiction seasoned with eroticism and mysticism, then run to this piece. I can’t recommend Immortal II enough. And if you haven’t already, treat yourself to Immortal: book I!!!!”

Edward Uzzle, author of Retro-KM: Lord of the Landlords, and NETERS. www.daathrekh.com

I posted a snippet from my Time Travel Fantasy in my last post and since there was some interest, I thought I might offer another nibble. 

This is from the same book: Light in the Dark Ages, but this bit is from the tale of Gerraint, son of Erbin

Time: around 450 AD, in the days of King Arthur.

Place: The no man’s land that divided the English kingdoms from the Scottish immigrants.    

Gerraint and his crew have escaped their captors, but they are being pursued and it is snowing:

            Gerraint came back, even as Gwillim nudged him and pointed.  There was a face in the distance sticking out from behind a tree, and it seemed to be beckoning them.  “A Scot.”  Gwillim sounded afraid.

            “No.  A friend.”  Gerraint said, and Uwaine saw it, too.  They hurried as well as they could and carried poor Trevor between them.  The face appeared again, just as far away as the first time, but in a slightly different direction.  They changed course, and a third time made them change again.  At last, they came to a place where the whole world changed.  The shouts of pursuit were cut off as suddenly as if someone had closed a door.  They stood still, and listened.  Even Trevor stood up, carefully.

            There was no sound and no wind in this part of the forest.  Curiously, it was not snowing in this place, though the ground was covered in a white blanket, and more.  A mist was rising from the surface of the snow because the ground beneath was warm enough to cause some melt.  The mist obscured their sight, but it did not entirely blind them.

            “A man could get lost in here and never find his way out,” Gwillim said.  His voice sounded strange as it broke the quiet.

            “This way.”  A man’s voice echoed amongst the trees.  It was hard to tell where he was, but Gerraint started out and the others were obliged to follow.  There were lights of a sort to their left and right which seemed to flutter about, almost like floating light bugs only much bigger, and their makers always remained shrouded in the mist so they could not see exactly what they were.

            “A little further.”  The man’s voice spoke.  After a moment, it spoke again.  “Just a little more.”

            They came to see a light in front of them, much stronger than the lights that danced through the trees.  The ones around them were pale lights as white as the snowflakes.  The one before them was warm amber, the light of a warming fire well lit.  Gwillim pushed ahead, and even Trevor tried to hurry up, though he could only go as fast as Uwaine on whom he was leaning.

            It was indeed a fire, deep inside a cave, and it was warm and so home like in their hearts, it was all anyone could see at first.  Gerraint, alone, noted that the door closed behind them and shut them in as they gathered around to warm themselves.

            “Ought to find some tepid water for Trevor,” Gwillim said.  “He looks frostbitten.”

            “Already taken care of.”  The voice came from above them, but only Gerraint and Gwillim looked up.  Uwaine was watching the elf maidens who brought shallow bowls of water to soak Trevor’s extremities.  Trevor looked frightened at their appearance, but he did not resist them.

            “Macreedy.”  Gerraint named the Elf Lord who looked at him with curiosity.  “Thank you, and be sure and thank Lord Evergreen, Queen Holly, Princess Ivy and their clan for guiding us to your safe haven as well.”

            “So it is true.  You are the one.”  Lord Macreedy needed no other evidence.  He started to rise, but Gerraint waved him back to his chair.

            “Right now I am simply a man, half frozen and starving.” he said.  “But tell me.  How did you know to look for us.”

            He could see Macreedy wanted to tell some lie about the magic and mysteries of the Spirits of the world, but that would not have impressed Gerraint at all, and Macreedy knew it.  Instead, he looked aside and looked a little embarrassed.  “Runabout does tend to talk,” he said.

            “Quite all right.”  Gerraint assured him.  He went back to the warming fire while Gwillim began to look around the room.  Gerraint was sure that Gwillim was completely taken in by the glamour that surrounded him, making the cave appear like the most lavish of manor houses, with great tapestries lining jewel encrusted walls, and even glass in the windows.

            “A mighty fine home you have, my Lord, for one so deep in the wilderness and in the wilds of the North.”  Gwillim also saw Macreedy as a plain noble Chief rather than the elf he was.  For that matter, Gerraint looked over and noted that Trevor’s discomfort was because of the idea of being attended by a half dozen beautiful young women.  Gerraint was sure Trevor did not see them as elves at all.  “Are you sure the Scots won’t find us here?”  Gwillim finished on the practical note.

            “The Scots won’t come here,” Macreedy reassured him.  “In fact, would you like me to call the Slaugh to visit them in the night?”  That question was for Gerraint.

            “Heaven forbid,” Gerraint responded.  “They have two deaths now to mourn and were just trying to defend themselves, even if they don’t know that revenge is never an answer.  Let them be.”

            “Very gracious of you, my Lord,” Macreedy said.

            “Yes,” Gwillim added.  “Especially since we just avoided being whipped half to death and thrust naked into the frozen wastes.”

             Gerraint simply coughed, and there was a moment of silence.

            Macreedy stood and walked down to them.  He slipped his arm around Uwaine’s shoulder and turned him toward another part of the cave.  “You seem a man of wisdom.  You hold your tongue well,” Macreedy said.  Gerraint was simply not sure how far Uwaine was taken in by the glamour.  “I suspect, though, you may just be hungry.  What do you say we repair to the dining room.  The feast is all prepared.”

            “Food!”  Gwillim shouted, but then remembered his manners.  “With the Lord of the house’s permission, of course.”

            Macreedy stared hard at Gwillim for a moment.  Some Little Ones could be sticklers for the most miniscule bits of propriety, but then he laughed.  “Permission granted,” he said, and he waved to the ladies to make sure they did not let Trevor leave the fire.  Instead, two of the women pushed passed the men and came back with a plate full of delights.  They appeared to be thrilled with cutting and spoon feeding Trevor, and then wiping his chin with the softest elf cloth, laughing merrily most of the while, and Trevor did not mind that at all.

            “For you, my Lord, we killed the fatted calf,” Macreedy told Gerraint.  Uwaine, who had glanced at Gerraint once or twice, looked fully at his Lord when they came to their seats.  Gerraint explained.

            “The food of the light elves is normally very light and delicate, like gourmet food.  Not much substance for flesh and blood.  Macreedy is saying they cooked up some real food for us, and don’t worry, I have decided the food of the Little Ones will not affect you, Gwillim or Trevor to any harm.  So eat, and enjoy.”  That was all Uwaine needed to hear.

            “Pork loins!”  Gwillim was shouting again in his excitement.

            Gerraint certainly ate his fair share, but by then, his mind had turned once again to Cornwall, his home.  He imagined poor Enid fretting away, with no word from him to hold on to, and sweet Guimier sleeping in his place beside her mother until he could again be with them.  He stood, letting the others remain seated, and stepped to the door.  It opened without his thinking about it, though an invisible barrier remained in place so neither the wind nor cold could penetrate the cave.  Outside, it was snowing again, obliterating their tracks. 

            As Gerraint looked out on the beauty of the white upon the northern forest, his heart began to sing, and his mouth whispered at first.

                        What child is this who laid to rest,

                        on Mary’s lap is sleeping?

                        Whom angels greet with anthems sweet;

                        While shepherds watch are keeping?

                        This, this is Christ the King

                        Whom shepherds guard and angels sing.

                        Haste, haste to bring him laud,

                        The babe, the son of Mary. 

            He let his voice trail off as he found the others gathered around his back.  The elf maidens were all on their knees.  Gwillim was smiling with a serious smile.  Even Trevor was standing, staring at the beauty of the world.

            “Must be Christmas.”  Gerraint said, turning to Macreedy, who had a tear in his eye rather than the great anger he would have had with anyone but Gerraint, his Lord.  “Remember this word,” Gerraint told the elf, putting his hand gently on the Little One’s shoulder.  “That the whole world might be saved through him.”  Gerraint felt better saying that, and a little less alone.  “Remind Manannan of this, will you, when his time of sorrow and dejection comes on him because of the monks.  I worry about that boy.  And as for us, I suppose a bit of sleep would not hurt…”

Merry Christmas to all…  Michael.

Clintriter (Glenn Harris) has given us the gift of his collection of vintage speculative fiction magazine covers…  the wonder!  the awe!

Marvel at them all here.

As we get down with our inner Jules Verne, we might run in gleeful circles– on this date in 1912, Keystone Pictures premiered Hoffmeyer’s Release, the first Keystone Kops picture.

Keystone Kops (The policeman at the left in extreme background is Edgar Kennedy; the hefty officer at extreme right is Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle.)

But while comic genius Mack Sennett’s career took off, another important artist was stalled:  on precisely that same day, Nouvelle Revue Francaise, rejected an excerpt from Remembrance of Things Past (or, as the translation is now somewhat better known, In Search of Lost Time).  Following a series of similar rejections, Marcel Proust was reduced to publishing his first volume, Swann’s Way, at his own expense the following year.  Thankfully for Alain de Botton (and us), it was a great success.

The Master of the Madeleine

Here begineth your correspondent’s annual hiatus, the period when the responsibilities of the Holidays and the exigencies of travel overwhelm his (already marginal) capacity to focus…  There will likely be a post or three over the next ten days or so, but these missives will resume regularly early in the next decade.  (“Next decade”…  has a nice ring, doesn’t it?)

Meantime, Happy Holidays!

The Noracast, featuring me…Nora Weston, is a snippet of information from Not Picture Perfect Radio, which airs every Wednesday 8:00 p.m./Pacific Time. Your host for the show is Big Willy and his producer, Eddy, adds entertaining tidbits to the show as well. My segment is approximately fifteen minutes and I’ll offer up suggestions for better living, current trivia about historical events and scientific discoveries, tips to keep your children happy and healthy, plus anything else I’d like to share with you. Thanks for visiting my blog. Feel free to check out my website, Nora Weston.

Let the Party Begin!

The holiday is almost here. Are you ready to have the best holiday get together with your family and friends? If you have dinner and desserts covered, but are wondering how else to entertain your guests…then scroll on down.

First, a few tips.

-Relax! A host or hostess who opens the door with a smile on his or her face is the best asset a party can have. Things do not have to be perfect, but everyone can have a perfectly wonderful time if stress is banished from the party. At some point, nothing else can be done, so enjoy your guests.

-All walkways need to be cleared and salted for your guests. If this is something you are unable to do yourself, hire a teenager from your neighborhood.

-It’s fun to pass out Christmas party bags, plastic or paper, with candy as guests leave. These do not have to be enormous and children especially enjoy them. My favorite bags to use are the clear plastic bags that are decorated. Put a few Christmas cookies and a handful of candy in each one and you’re set.

-Extra ice is almost always a necessity at a party, so stock up. This is one item easily overlooked.

-Although your family pet is the friendliest animal you’ve ever known, it’s a good idea to make sure the party does not stress your best friend to the point where small children may provoke an incident. Allow your pet some quiet time for peace of mind.

-This is the most important tip. Invite someone to your party who would otherwise be alone. Do you know of a neighbor whose family does not have the opportunity to visit in December? Make their day with a holiday invitation.

Games/Activities:

Christmas Charades & Pictionary: Entertain your guests with Charades or Pictionary where all subjects are Christmas oriented. Great games for all ages and you can visit the link, purchase it, and be ready to play. $6.99

Christmas Jeopardy: Another printable game, this has 15 categories including Christmas trivia and Name That Tune. Christmas Jeopardy will be sure to get you’re your guests laughing while getting acquainted. $6.99

Holiday Memory Game: Place about 15 items, mostly holiday related, on a tray or in a basket. Pass it around for a few minutes. Then remove the tray or basket from the room. To make this game a true challenge, allow for some time to pass by asking each guest to say something he or she is thankful for this holiday season. Then, hand out paper and pens and instruct your guests to write down the items on the tray or basket. Provide a nice prize or special treat for the winner.

Bingo: Visit any toy store or department store and pick up a holiday version of the game or the standard version. For the winner of each round, make available a small basket of holiday lollipops. Choosing the perfect lollipop will delight that child. When the game concludes, make sure each child ends up with a lollipop as well.

Christmas Card Making: Kids can quicklyget bored at a party where adults are visiting, so why not set up a card table with crayons, washable markers, construction paper, and stickers. (Skip the glue and scissors if the kids are very young.) Ask the kids to make a few cards for people they know. Kids think it’s fun to use holiday cookie cutters for templates and/or pieces of holiday paper to cut objects from for decorating. This can keep kids busy for quite some time.

Movie Stations: If you have several places in your home where kids and adults can watch movies, place a basket at each location for people to choose from. This way, if some of your guests need a break from talking, they can relax and watch a holiday movie or an all time favorite of yours. This works especially well if your party starts early in the day and then carries on into the night.

Crazy Eights, Hearts, Gin Rummy, Scopa: This is a super way to keep your guests entertained. Provide a few card tables in various rooms and stock each table with snacks and different kinds of card games. It would be wise to have a table just for kids since they will want to get in on the action too.

Memories-in-the-Making: Since a host or hostess will not have much time to take photographs, provide some disposable cameras for guests to use so the party will be remembered by all. Kids love to document the day by taking pictures. Some older kids can make good use of a digital camera and upload the pictures so they are ready to print in no time.

Photo Album Look-Back: Such an easy thing to do! Place some photo albums filled with family/holiday pictures on a few coffee tables. Much laughter and many smiles will occur as your guests visit the past.

 Merry Christmas!

I love it when students write me letters, even if they’re forced into it by their teacher or principal. I got a ton of letters today from the Bronx school I visited a couple of weeks ago…Fredrick wrote, “I can really relate to some of the situations that you provided for us. Continue to do your best & teach us what you’re destined to do.” Another student wrote, “Your books will make it far because kids like us will want to read them. You write about what’s real to us.” Asia admitted, “I liked your book a lot especially because I’m the type of person who doesn’t enjoy books.  It grabbed my interest and kept me thinking.”  Joel let me know the prom invitation is still open!  I managed to scan a few more…

I love how she calls her older sister “over sister”…kinda like “overseer”…LOL

I don’t know if Alyssa will ever read this, but my advice to an aspiring writer is to develop discipline by writing *something* every day…a blog or diary, emails to friends, but not just the usual chit chat—try to develop your powers of observation; sit still, be quiet, and listen to those around you, watch how people interact, try to guess what’s going on in someone’s mind.  Write about your own reactions to different events, be as honest as possible, and try to understand your motivations—why do you do what you do?  And lastly, know where you come from…gather together stories and names and pictures of those who came before you; that’s your guide to the future…

The heart transplant was a questionable success. The patient survived – and so did the heart, but there were complications. When Adam Snork awoke he knew he had a new heart. He felt blessed and so happy to be alive – until his new heart started to complain. It soon became evident that the heart missed its’ former physiology and the man who used to be the heart’s host. Adam would not be killed because the heart wanted to live, but Adam would suffer. Everyday became an excruciating experience. The new heart was simply not satisfied with Adam.

Highlights Fiction Contest

Opens Jan 1 and closes Jan 31, 2010
Details @ http://bit.ly/4q2QX2

Donald Murray Prize

sponsored by National Council of Teachers of English

Deadline 1/15/10

Details @ http://bit.ly/3z79Eq

SFReader’s Short Story 8th Annual Contest!
open to submissions from 12/1 – 12/31, 2009

“SFReader also offers free web pages

for writers and fans of speculative fiction.”

Details @ http://bit.ly/8NtGCH

Permanent Vacation: Living and Working in Our National Parks

Bona Fide Books is “seeking literary essays

about your experience working in our national parks,

from Denali to the Everglades, Yellowstone to Yosemite.”

Due by January 5th, 2010

Details @ http://bit.ly/6wn8qc

Queer in the Last Frontier

also @ Bona Fide Books: seeks “a diversity of experience,

from the newly arrived to the old-timer who has seen it all.”

February 5th, 2010

Details @ http://bit.ly/7foiff

Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize

$1K offered by U of Notre Dame Press

for Latino/a poet who has not professionally published a book

Chapbooks & self-published works ok

Deadline 1/15/10

Details @ http://bit.ly/16yXU9

Journeys International Writing Competition

sponsored by Sampad South Asian Arts

open for subs thru 1/31/10

There are 2 categories:

aged 8 to 15 & aged 16 and over.

All winning writers will be published.

Details @ http://bit.ly/6Ib4kO

2010 Northwest Perspective Essay Contest

sponsored by Oregon Quarterly

both student and open categories

Deadline 1/31/10

Details @ http://bit.ly/10Tm7

Each week PLC will have a theme- this week’s theme is how we got to where we are now.

I have to say I feel a little self-indulgent talking about myself. But writing is personal, and I think readers of this blog ought to know just who the heck writes this stuff anyway.  So here goes.

My name is Amy McLane. Up until last year, it was Amy Beth Forbes, and that is the name I have published under. Going forward, I’ll be publishing as Amy McLane. My career has been sporadic and quiet enough that I don’t think this is going to be a big problem (I guess we’ll see, won’t we?). I write speculative fiction, namely fantasy, although I do dabble in horror and science fiction from time to time. I also love YA and plan on writing some- after I finish my current behemoth of a project, and the one waiting after that- er, YA is in the queue, anyway.

As a kid, I always loved to read. Writing came later. For a long time I thought I could never do something so audacious, so magnificent, as write a book. But as I became an adult, I realized no one was ever going to pay me to sit around and read, and so to remain in the world I loved most, that of the written word, I would have to be audacious.

When I was twenty-one, I had the extreme good fortune of getting in to Clarion. I was enthusiastic but clueless. Thankfully the instructors, as well as my peers, were just as fired up as I was about writing, and I learned things during those seminal six weeks that I have never forgotten.

Out of Clarion, I got the seriously good advice from James Patrick Kelly to shop a minimum of three stories at all times. Out of Clarion, I also got my first publication, via Kelly Link and Gavin Grant, at Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet. Other publications and contest placings followed- which you can see here in my bio. I average a sale every other year- the truth of the matter is that I find short stories extremely hard to write, and I tip my hat to those who have greater skill at this than I.

Don’t get me wrong- I love short stories. But what really calls to me is the novel. Novels give me the space I need to explore, to play, to say what I really want to say, to fall in love with the voices in my head. I’ve written two terrible novels- I knew they were terrible at the time, too, but writing junk is an essential part of the learning process. Now I’m working on a not-terrible novel, The Iron Key. Which is actually two not-terrible novels. (Er, what happened with that is that my first draft was too long, yet rushed, so I chopped the MS in half. It’s gonna be four books when I am done. Pity me, for I am a fool.) Currently I’m rewriting the first chapter so as to make it irresistible. Jim suggested reconstructing what I had and making the opening scene in medias res, so I’m beating my head on that this week.

I also struggle with writer’s block. Entire years have gone by without my typing a word. I finally figured out how to fight it- by taking writing classes. I get deadlines, accountability, although I must say not all classes are created equal. I once enrolled in a class at a major university and the instructor marked me down every time something fantastic happened in one of my stories. Fantasy is my nature- you might as well ask a frog not to ribbit. The class I take now is at a local community college, so I would advise other writers not to confuse high tuition with quality. Just find an instructor that works for you, and enroll repeatedly. In my case, that instructor is the aforementioned James Sallis, who is pretty much the definition of a quality writer, and I reckon you will hear more about him later this week from my cohorts.

It’s weird, but a big part of my history as a writer is about not writing. I think writer’s block is a demon in the closet, one inscrutable to non-writers. How can you say writing is what you love and then not do it, right? Especially when for most of us, writing has to be classified as a hobby, seeing as it doesn’t pay our bills. But fishermen don’t get fishing block. Toy train enthusiasts don’t get toy train block. So I want to know, have you suffered from writer’s block? What have you done to end it? Or are you still stuck?

Waiting for the train, Gabe dropped a two-fifty piece into the Gazette machine as was his routine every third day. The worldwide Gazette Co. had been born of the lonely death of print some years ago. A global conglomerate of Chapter One’s, dripping readership from the overflow. He fingers down to the “Hybrid” box on the touch screen, double taps lightly. Next screen: any variation of customizable content. Disease, no. Sport, no. Politics, no. Local, yes. Op-Eds, no. Food & Drink, yes. Celebratism, no. Telefilm, no. Corporatism, no. Science/Environment, yes, so on.

The machine rattles just as the horn of the train sounds; it spits out a thick one-sheet, a personalized version of the daily news. He always thought they felt like pliable particle board, made of mashed recycled paper and packaging. Deep enough to fit in chips, microprocessors, and, in Gabe’s case, braille. He thumbed up the right side to the red button fitted with a small symbol and braille itself, popped it in. Each cell emerges directly from the text, tiny hills of translation whispering to every touch. He scans the headlines as he steps through the third sliding door: “New St. Louis Park Bar Offers Empiri-Vending.”

The snow is finally beginning to stick to the ground, small but steady flakes in a bitter November. Gabe is on his way to the local VA Medical Center for his weekly appointment. Part of him thinks he should just stop going. The best health care in the nation, the best overall benefits, somehow he didn’t care. Nothing they could give him would equal what was taken away. His lack of eyesight was just an inconvenience; the real handicap wormed up through the soil of his psychosis. The paralyzing visions of his time in the desert, for it was the only thing he’d see for the rest of his Earthly existence.

He’s chained to a folding chair in room with a single light bulb. Rag stuffed mouth, doused in thick black oil. A group of men collect around a mapped table with junkyard scraps and explosive chemicals in front of him. The hot Sun strikes his shins through a crumbling hole, soon shaded by a curious little boy peeking where he isn’t supposed to. Like every other time, he screams a muffled “NOO!!” A bearded man with six legs and mandibles, strapped with a bandoleer of poisonous centipedes, scuttles over and hoods Gabe’s head into darkness. He hears the burning clicks circling, ready to pounce. The explosion temporarily deafens him; he falls to his side still strapped to the chair greased in oil, burning to death without hearing or seeing a thing.

“Try one of these,” a disheveled crusty man across the aisle sputters between coughs. He’s got a crumpled up pharmacy bag stuffed between his legs. He reaches a trembling hand inside, dispenses two round pills. Half blue, half white. Gabe pieces together a face out of the coughs, the inflection, the tone. He undoubtedly hasn’t been shaven in months, Gabe pictures.

“Well go ahead. Are ya or ain’cha?” The tattered aging child of the Y spouts, with some misleading hostility. Jiggling the med in his salty hand, he catches a glimpse under Gabe’s contact tints, transparent milky eyes like a gas cloud lurking far far away, birthing fresh stars out of the dust. He twists and sits up, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, man. I’m real sorry. Here, open up yer mitt.” Gabe presents his hand outward, assuring he took no offense at all. The pill lurches down Gabe’s throat. He thinks about it too: what it must look like dissolving in acid on a microscopic level, the way it transforms into electrical currents and sprints up to his frontal lobe, the blockage of specific neurons. Feels tinny, mechanical. The Stranger explains his condition… conditions, to Gabe. Not that it mattered. The Stranger, turns out, is also headed to the VA. He managed to wander out of the service into post-middle age unscathed. Physically, that is. His recurring dream changes details night to night, but the core stays the same. Unaltered, welded to the center of his mind, rusty and sharp: while driving an armored transport through Kabul, on direct orders not to swerve, he hits and runs over a little boy holding a deflated soccer ball. He and Gabe exchange uneasy pleasantries, which Gabe attributes to the drug. If Gabe only knew.

Towards the back of the car two men are getting into it. One at least, harassing another guy close by with cultural guilt and a head full of confrontation. Static blue vision maps the surroundings for Gabe, he squints his eyes until they close. Scrambled images scrubbed with white hiss and feedback. The harassed man grips a strap and pulls himself up, irritated. He powers up his inner earphones and walks to the front of the car, brushing past Gabe and whispering the lyrics to the Electronic music he’s listening to.

Sitting in the middle of the car, slouched under the elastic connector and a black sticker reading “DolDrums”, a teenage boy talks portable inhalants into his PCD. Buying not selling, in the snowflakes behind a nightclub off 7th. Gabe keys in. The boy is shrewed, but green. Still holding onto that piece of gunmetal he dug outta the dumpster in the back of his mind. Still reaching for those razor sharp spires in the sky, scaling an all glass building bare handedly, with that piece tucked into his pants. One day he’ll reach too far and it’ll go off. PKOW. The bullet will tear him open. Memory strains will eek out with the blood. He’ll lose his grip and fall to the pavement, spouting a red trail through the smog to a splashy death.

Next stop: VA Medical Station. Exit Right.

But Gabe doesn’t want that to happen…

-Sonny

A writing friend asked:

Why do secondary characters always seem more interesting than the MCs? Can someone answer than for me? And I’m not talking about someone else’s stories, I’m talking about my own. The MC should be the most important to me, right? Argh!

My 2 cents:

There is a reason why secondary characters steal the scene if not the story (book, film or stage).  It is because they are written without the restraints we put on our Main Characters.  They don’t even have to be sane! 

It is important to remember, though, that most attempts to turn Secondary Characters into Main Characters have been dismal failures.  Secondary Characters are not designed to carry a whole story.  They are only there to make the Main Character laugh or cry.

Later, in thinking about this, I decided it might help to give an example. 

This is from my time travel fantasy series:

The book: Light in the Dark Ages 

Time:  after 700 AD in the days before Charles was called “ le Martel” (The Hammer)

Place:  The border between Brittany and the Frankish Kingdom…

            Margueritte was in the barn, in the potato bins when Roland came unexpectedly.  She was in her apron.  Her hands were dirty and she even had a streak of dirt across one cheek put there by the back of the hand used to wipe away the sweat.  “Oh, Sir.”  She started to turn away 

            “Oh stop,” he said in her same tone.  “My mother and sisters sorted potatoes all the time, and likely more than enough for a lifetime.”

            “It is important, you know,” Margueritte said, agreeably.

            “Absolutely.  One rotten one can spoil the whole bin.”  Roland looked up at Grimly [imp], whom he genuinely liked, and Goldenrod [fairy] for whom he had the deepest love and affection, and Hammerhead [ogre], whom he at least respected, even if he still found it hard to look at the fellow.  They were lounging around on the hay while their mistress was sweating at her labor.  “Say, though,” he said.  “Wouldn’t it be better to let these little ones of yours sort the potatoes?  You and I could maybe walk again by the stream before your brother and father find me.”

            “Oh, I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”  Margueritte shook her head, slowly.

            “Why sure.”  Grimly jumped up.  “We would love to sort the taters.  I’m getting bored just sitting around anyway.”

            “I can help.”  Goldenrod assured them all.

            “Er, OK.”  Hammerhead was not quite sure what was being asked.

            Margueritte explained while she wiped her hands as clean as she could on her apron.  “You just need to go through them one by one.  The good ones go here.”  She pointed to the empty bin.  “Any that are especially soft or if they are rotten, or even if you are not sure if they are good to eat, put them in the bucket.  Oh I don’t know.”  She said the last in one breath, and as she began to have second thoughts, she quickly turned to Roland and bumped into him.  He put his arm over her shoulder to steady her.

            “We can stay a minute to see that they get started,” he said.

            Margueritte reached both hands up to hold his and make sure his arm stayed around her shoulder.  She said nothing, but bit her lower lip as she watched.

            “Now, if I’ve got it, the good ones go in the bin and the rotten ones in the bucket.  Come on, then.” Grimly took charge and climbed up on the bin.  Each little one took a potato.  At least Goldenrod tried to take one, but she could not quite lift it.  Hammerhead took about six in his big hand by accident and then stared at them in utter uncertainty.  Grimly made up for the other two by instantly going from one to the next.

            “No good, no good.  Definitely no good.  Nope. No way.  Not a chance.”

            “Ungh!”  Goldenrod was tugging with all her little might.

            “Nope. No good. Ooo, this one looks like Herbert Hoover.”

            “Let me see.”  Goldenrod said, leaving off her tug of war.

            Hammerhead was still unmoved, staring at his spuds.

            “Who is Herbert Hoover?”  Goldenrod asked.

            “I don’t know, but this looks like him.”  He looked at Goldenrod and they spoke in unison. 

            “No good.”  The bucket was filling rapidly and not one was yet in the bin.

            “Nope. Nope. Nope.”  Grimly started shoveling toward the bucket and Goldenrod was back to tugging until Grimly made enough of a dent for her potato to roll and take herdown with it with a “Weee!”

            Margueritte’s sides were splitting with laughter, and Roland was laughing right with her until she turned toward him and their eyes met.  The laughter vanished in an instant and he drew her up to him and held her tight.  Their lips touched, soft and warm, and they might have remained that way for some time if Grimly had not whistled.

            “Woohoo!”

            “Whaty?”  Goldenrod said, getting her little head above the edge of the bin.

            Roland looked up and Marguerite turned, both having rather silly smiles, just as Hammerhead stuck all six potatoes in his mouth at once and chewed and announced.  “These are good to eat.”  Margueritte barely stopped him in time, before he disgorged his chewed bits into the good bin.

            She thanked the little ones and asked them to see if Luckless or Tomberlain might need their assistance.

            “Always glad to be of service.”  Grimly said, and Roland rolled up his sleeves and helped.

Tip #13

Secondary Characters should be designed for a purpose, not to carry the story, necessarily, but to help or hinder the Main Character, to “make the Main Character laugh or cry.”  Within that context, be creative, have fun, and if you enjoy them that is a good sign that the readers will probably enjoy them, too.

In 2015 the UK institutes a severe carbon rationing program, due to the massive effects of global climate change.

Laura Brown is a 16-year-old Londoner, punk-rocker, and diary-writer.  The Carbon Diaries, 2015 is her account of her family’s struggle to adapt to (escape from?)  the new changes.  Her sister Kim blows through her portion of carbon immediately, and the government sends a representative to reform her family.  Her mother joins a women’s group determined to learn new skills.  Laura’s father loses his job (not much use for Travel & Tourism instructors when air travel is prohibitively carbon-expensive), and begins drinking excessively.  The manure really hits the fan when he sells his wife’s beloved Saab for, among other thing, a pig.  Find out how Laura, Kim, and their parents fare by peering into Laura Brown’s diary.

I started reading The Gates by John Connolly in Barnes and Noble today. After reading the line “She said the word ‘dear’ the way an executioner’s axe might say the word ‘thud’, if it could speak as it was lopping off someone’s head,” I decided that I need to purchase it at some point. It reads like C. S. Lewis crossed with Douglas Adams, which seems like a good idea to me. Oh, and I’m a sucker for a well turned footnote.

For a link to the first chapter on Connolly’s site, click here.

Discussed in the book: The practicality of an early Halloween, the Large Hadron Collider, the chairs in Satan’s corner of Hell, the Higgs boson, over-intelligent dogs.

A truly unforgettable moment, when you get an email saying that someone likes your story enough to want to publish it. This happened to me just a few days ago. I was sure it was the first of many rejections, but it turned out to be my very first acceptance in 17 years. My last one was when I was ten, and wrote a story about an alien who landed in a little boy’s bedroom.

I have been writing ever since I was little, but for some reason, never seriously looked into getting published. Then, recently, when my kids were being absolutely crazy (as kids are wont to do), I realized that I needed to expend my creative energy somewhere or I would burst. I turned to www.pw.org and decided to send in my stories to unsuspecting lit mag editors. So far, I have only received one acceptance (no rejections), but it’s early days yet. I am sure many rejections are on their way, and hopefully a few acceptances too. I only wish response times were faster. Waiting drives me crazy!

I am absolutely enamored of speculative fiction and surrealism right now. www.brainharvestmag.com is a fantastic website, and one on which I hope to be published at some point.

Anyway, back to writing! It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.

Three-Letter Word of Terror

Ice—black ice, need I say more? Is a wintery chill sliding down your spine? To me, nothing is more terrifying than black ice, which I had the misfortune of experiencing as my Durango gained velocity while sliding down a steep hill in Wheeling, WV on December 12^th.  After a few twirls on the devil-glazed blacktop, I was lucky enough to skid off the road onto some gravel…unharmed, except for a near heart attack. A few seconds later, a white minivan crashed right next to me, and then a little silver car collided with another minivan broken down along the hill. Not a fun morning and we were all stranded for quite some time.

“It could never happen to me. I’m always the lucky one.” Yes, you may be a lucky one, but what if your luck is frozen as subzero temperatures speedily paralyze it making you vulnerable to Mother Nature? Are you prepared to be unexpectedly caught in a winter storm?

Traveling during the winter means packing for unexpected weather and vehicle complications because Mother Nature does not care if you have water, food, or flashlights. She’s a cruel adversary who is beautifully deceptive as her chilly breath delivers dangerous snow and ice. Please take the time to prepare for your winter traveling destinations.

Winter Traveling Tips:

-First and foremost, do not travel if treacherous weather is on the brink of befalling your route.  Wherever you’re heading will still be there when the storm subsides. Common sense is absolutely your best defense when winter weather is planning on taking a bite out of your plans. And do not use excuses like…but Christmas is special, Mom will be so disappointed, or Uncle Charlie will never forgive us if we miss dinner to validate putting yourself and your loved ones at risk. Your family and friends will understand if bad weather changes your plans. Chill out and stay safe.

However…

-Keep in mind all vehicles must be in good working order to be dependable in the winter. This includes making sure your battery, lights, ignition, fluids, brakes, exhaust, heating and cooling systems, and tires are ready for the winter roads.

-Try as hard as possible to maintain at least ½ tank of gas in case a breakdown occurs. If a breakdown happens, use the gas sparingly to run the heater. Check to make sure the tailpipe is not blocked with snow, ice, or dirt. Carbon monoxide poisoning can happen if you’re not careful. Another important tip is to crack a window and allow fresh air to circulate.

-An emergency travel kit including flashlights, water, food, a first aid kit, extra coat, gloves, and hats, plus blankets, real boots…not just a pretty pair, extra ice scraper and brush, jumper cables, flares or distress signals. You may want to consider an emergency generator since a car’s battery is crucial to staying warm.

-Basic tools for changing a tire…and of course, a spare tire is always a smart thing to have. Pack a product like Fix-a-Flat and be sure to include a small bag of sand in case traction is needed.

-Charge all cell phones! Carry an extra one if possible. Too many people travel with their cell phones on a low charge.

-Tow rope is an item to be tossed in the trunk too. A friendly by-passer may be able to assist pulling your vehicle out of a ditch, but not everyone carries this.

-Coffee can, matches (small lighter), and candles to use for melting snow in case extra water is needed.

-A shovel could be your best friend, so take it along for the ride.

-Extra batteries for the flashlights, but watch for the expiration date.

-If you wear contacts, make sure your glasses are packed as well. It’s also a fantastic idea to pack an extra pair of glasses just in case of breakage.

-ChapStick and body lotion for extremely dry winter skin is an added bonus if you remember to pack it.

-Sunglasses are important since you may be blinded from the glare of snow and ice. Any digging or repairs will be made easier with them.

-In addition, make sure to call people at the destination so they will know approximately when you should arrive. Update them as you get closer so if something happens, your location can be easier to find.

Check out these helpful links:

Auto Barn 

Survival Supply

AA Communications

I don’t even pretend to be a poet, but allow me to share this thought:

No Excuses

I’ve got the kids, the dog and the cat

The TV and radio, noises like that

But I tune it all out when I sit in my chair

In order to write like there’s nobody’s there.

 

Daytimes are madness: storms on the sea

Ships in foul weather, crew mutiny.

Trains in collision, pileups with cars

Black holes of reason, exploding stars

 

Children, animals, customer kings

Workers, bosses, multi-task things

Paper and phones, gossip and news

Headaches, backaches and shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes.

 

Leaving at sunrise.  Home after dark

To blazing crescendo as soon as I park

It’s homework and talk, make sure everyone’s fed

Walk the dog, pet the cat, and put all to bed

 

Then at last there’s a moment when quiet descends

Like snow on Christmas Eve.

 

And I thank God because of that one special chair

Where I sit and I write like there’s nobody’s there.

 

The tunnel was narrow and deep. It seemed to go on forever with no end. It was totally black — there was no light at the end of this tunnel. The young man realized he was abandoned and totally cut off from all communication and he began to question his sanity. He questioned everything about himself and his apparent life. He questioned his sexuality, his physical reality, and his mind or consciousness. This was the beginning of the Epoch of Truth for everyone on the planet.

As a bit of practice for both my day job and my fictional writing I wrote the following technical description of an infernal machine. Playing around in google docs I was intrigued to see the translate to japanese option so here is the description of an infernal machine in english and japanese. I’m interested to know how effective the translation was jya’mata!

The red void is centrally powered by an infernal machine, the machine draws its power from the souls of the intergalactic damned and has been constructed to aid and enable the conquest of the known universe.

The infernal machine provides facility for eternal torture, creation of evil doppelgangers, summoning demons and production of wormholes.

The machine is connected to its power source via entrails of innocents, the entrails are bound in multiple cores which conduct damned energy from the central pool of souls.

The machine’s control and indicating unit has been designed to provide easy operation through an organic – flesh interface by competent, evil persons and/or demons. By manipulating the fleshy orifices of the machine and psychically affirming evil, spiteful or malicious intent the machine will make the users whim occur in the corporeal realm.

Physical testing of the machine in pan-race sufferance tests have identified the following configuration of commands and physical offerings have been found to achieve the greatest results as scheduled below:

1. eternal torture -> victim to be tethered to machine via entrails connection manipulate the orifice marked ETX and envisage the limbs/regions of the body/regions of the brain you will to be effected
2. Creation of evil doppelgangers -> Use the DPX orifice in conjunction with image/item of the doppelgangee
3. Summoning Demons -> Use the SDX orifice, choice to be based on Lehrmanns encyclopedia of occult deities and universal supernatural beings
4. Production of Wormholes -> enter co-ordinates into the flesh pin matrices provided.

Please note that the infernal machine has been developed for a limitless number of applications from unpleasant to extreme and as such the list above should not be considered exhaustive.

Equipment shall only be operated by persons with sufficient evil intent and competence training in the use of the infernal machine, incorrect use of the machine may result in injury or eternal damnation.

During use of the machine it is possible that system echoes or karmic repercussions of actions may occur as a result of actions performed, as the high risk of such events is unavoidable the red void is monitored and alarmed to provide automatic warning in the event of a series of possible ’serious immanent danger’ event scenarios. This system is biologically powered and comprises of the equipment scheduled below, the configuration of equipment is also detailed.

The alarm system comprises of 12off blue vociferous monkeys, each of these monkeys are contained in 1off wire cylindrical cages spaced equidistantly throughout the facility.

Upon receipt of a visual or audible sign or symbol of event the monkeys will initiate an alarm response as scheduled in the cause and effects below:

1. Apparition or vapour based materialisation (spirit from) -> Monkeys will emit a low, gruff tone;
2. Materialisation – corporeal -> Monkeys will bare teeth aggressively;
3. Malevolence -> Spiritual or corporeal malevolence will result in monkeys using fecal matter as projectile;
4. Threat to premises by hellfire/explosion/damned rain/invasion or attempts to alter molecular structure by telekinesis, ray gun etc -> Monkeys will emit continuous alarmed howls and whoops at sound pressure level range of between 85-95dB.

The system is also configured to initiate an alarm response in the event of any attempt to use the infernal machine for the power of good or in circumstances where incarcerated persons attempt to escape the facility.

Each Monkey has been modified to ensure that any monitored event is communicated visually to the all-seeing mirror located within the infernal machine located adjacent to the red void power source. Monkeys have been psychologically conditioned to continue to provide monitoring and alarm in the event of fatigue, fatal injury and nerve gas attack.

& nihongo de:

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

“Each entry must consist of a single sentence

but you may submit as many entries as you wish…”

contest accepts submissions daily

official deadline is April 15

Details @ http://bit.ly/8Wg0D4

(SCROLL WAY DOWN)

Jack L. Chalker Young Writers’ Contest

sponsored by Baltimore Sci/Fi Society

open to students 14-18 yrs

deadline May 2010

Details @ http://bit.ly/5fYN0O

Dixon Ryan Fox Manuscript Prize

sponsored by New York State Historical Association

Deadline is January 20th each year

no application needed/ no fees

“send two unbound copies…”

Details @ http://bit.ly/884yiZ

Worth Repeating:

Random House, Inc.

Creative Writing Competition

for NYC Public High School Seniors

Poetry/spoken word

Fiction

Drama

Personal essay/memoir

Graphic novel

Four 1^st place winners = $10K!

Details @ http://bit.ly/7SJquf

Walter Rumsey Marvin Grant $1K

for unpub’d author under 30

born or lived in Ohio

Details @ http://bit.ly/6RffNh

Please feel free to request titles either in the comments below or via e-mail (contact@thebookcart.ca). Check out our catalog for a comprehensive list of all our titles

Colson Whitehead, The Intuitionist Request
In-Store Price: $16.95
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I’ve fallen a bit behind on blogging — and on reading, too, actually — in the past week or so. That’s partly because this is the busiest time of year for me, between students’ final projects, papers, presentations, and exams, and all the usual Christmas preparation. But it’s also partly because I got seriously bogged down in The City & The City, by China Miéville, and had trouble moving on to another book.

The City & The City has a fascinating premise. Tyador Borlú is a police officer on the Extreme Crime Squad (ECS) of the city of Besz, somewhere (we gather) in Eastern Europe. He is dealing with the murder of an unknown young woman (they call her a Fulana, as we would call her a Jane Doe), and as he uncovers one detail after another of the way she was murdered and her body dumped, he becomes more puzzled instead of less. It’s not that he doesn’t have information. It’s that he has too much information. She has three names; she has known associates all over the city, but in improbably varied places; she was, or wasn’t, a rebel, a traitor to Besz.

As Borlú gathers this information, we begin to realize that Besz is a place unique in the world. It occupies the same physical space as another city — a more prosperous city, with different architecture, different colors, different language, different laws: Ul Qoma. The buildings and citizens and train tracks and very rubbish in the streets of Besz and Ul Qoma are crosshatched, interleaved, so that a warehouse could catch fire in Ul Qoma and a building in a completely separate city draw flame. Citizens are trained from earliest childhood to unsee the other city — not to notice its inhabitants, its traffic accidents, its cooking smells. Crossing borders means Breach. And Breach is punishable by death.

This information is given to us by tiny increments, not dumped. Borlú is the narrator, so the state of things is natural to him, though sometimes he rebels against it enough to watch a “foreign” (Ul Qoman) train go by. At first, he believes that his murdered girl simply Breached and was killed for it. But he discovers that she was studying a third city, a fairy-tale city, that perhaps exists in the interstices of Besz and Ul Qoma, and rules the other two: Orciny.

And that’s where I gave up. I know you’re asking yourself why. I asked myself the same question. It took me over 120 pages to give up on this book, because the premise was completely wonderful. I had predicted I would love this book — it sounded like one of Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities brought to life. But in fact, I felt that it wasn’t very well executed. It was slow, maddeningly slow at times. It was repetitive. I grant you that with a premise this complicated, and with no outright explanation, Miéville probably needed to repeat information, but it was still annoying. And perhaps the one thing I couldn’t forgive in the end: it was grim. Instead of making me feel that I’d traveled to some amazing place full of the sound of a new language, the sight of beautiful buildings, and customs utterly different from my own, I felt I’d traveled to Cold War Soviet-era suburbs. Apart from the breathtaking ingenuity of the interleaving of Besz and Ul Qoma, it felt dirty, cold, boring, and slightly dangerous.

I so much wish that either this book had been better, or that my mood had been different (I fully acknowledge it may have been me.) I hated to give up on it. If you loved this book, please tell me why I should try it again!

It is COLD in NYC today!  And I had to leave the house before 8am in order to make it up to the Bronx for my morning workshop…extreme delays, construction, and four transfers later…I arrived fifteen minutes late.  I *hate* being late.  The school doors were closed, and a big crowd of students was waiting to be let in; one girl said, “If you’re a parent, just push to the front.”  Easier said than done, but I was among the first to go through the metal detectors and I found my way to the office; while waiting for the assistant principal, I was asked by the secretary when the sequel to Wish is coming out…that’s becoming a Frequently Asked Question for me…but I’m glad, b/c it means people have read the first book and can’t wait to read more about Genna and Judah.  The secretary said she read it in a couple of days, and loved the new cover.  The AP took me to the library, we connected my laptop but couldn’t get the projector to work…a few more tech guys got involved, and we were up and running by 10am.  This was the first time I gave this presentation…it’s partly on Bird, and partly on Wish, but I think it needs a little tweaking.  When I got to the part where I show my high school photos, the kids were great—some even said, “You still look nice, Miss,” even though my hair was totally jacked up.  Afterward a young man came up and said, “Since you didn’t get to go to your prom, you could come to ours!”  By the time we got to the end, the kids had figured out how much of Genna’s story is MY story…I’m sending the few ARCs I have left up to that school; in one huge building there are 6 different schools, and no budget for author visits and books…I know that’s not the fault of professional athletes, but as I cracked a joke about Tiger Woods during my presentation, I couldn’t help but wish he’d redeem himself by donating half his gabillion dollars to our needy schools…

Dashing to the Laptop

Now weeks away, Christmas and Hanukkah may be on the minds of many as the task of gift-giving draws near. Do not fear. No need to drive to any outlet or mall—dash to your laptop instead.

Remember, gift-giving can be as easy as eating pumpkin pie if you take note of these tips and visit the links below.

 -Shop according to your budget. This is vital for good mental health during and after the holiday season. If your budget is tight, relax. Go back to the way things used to be. Bake some goodies for someone or offer your time as a gift; just show you care. That’s what really matters.

-Make a list and check it twice. It’s easy to forget who you’ve shopped for and who is left on your holiday agenda.

-Write down everything purchased and keep all receipts in one place. Get gift receipts if possible.

-Consider a person’s age, job, hobbies, and entertainment likes and dislikes as guides to shopping for him/her. Toys have labels noting the appropriate ages for that toy. A person’s job could inspire a desk accessory or wall décor item as a gift. Do you know an artist? Get some top of the line brushes and paint for him or her. Or if you’re not sure of the specific items…organizational items for a person’s hobby are cool too. Movies, books, and the latest in music releases are all terrific sources to start, but keep in mind what genres your recipients prefer. Some people would be horrified to receive a horror movie no matter how much it was praised.

-Keep in mind what guardians/parents will permit as gifts. (This relates to ratings on video games, movies, etc. A six-year old child should not be playing “M” or “mature” rated video games. Be careful! Some covers look innocent. This is also relevant when purchasing music for young people.)

-Compare prices with shopzilla.com, and/or pricegrabber.com, plus go directly to Amazon, eBay, and Overstock to make sure you’re getting a deal. Watch out for shipping charges and remember Overstock has low, everyday shipping. Some websites offer free shipping depending upon how much is spent.

 Click Away for a Perfect Shopping Day

-American Museum of Natural History (AMNH): Find educational gifts that are truly beautiful. Check out Deck of Stars which opens up 40 major constellations, plus other stars, galaxies, and mysteries of the night sky with glow-in-the-dark spotter cards. The Universe in a Nutshell by Stephen Hawking is also a brilliant choice for gift-giving. The AMNH offers up awesome calendars and posters, plus many other gift ideas as well. Just imagine how pleased a teacher would be to receive a gift from the AMNH.

-Zazzle.com: Visit this website to buy stunning photography and posters that will surely please your recipients. Zazzle.com offers custom postage stamps that ship in 48 hours and their gift ideas start at $5.00.

-SERRV: Handcrafted items like tapestries, wooden bowls, jewelry, baskets, and serving trays…absolutely different from what you’d pick up at the mall. Make a purchase from SERRV and help artisans in developing countries. Read about their mission to eradicate poverty. SERRV is a nonprofit organization.

 -Container Store: The deal is sealed tight at the Container Store. Check out various gift ideas including containers for the kitchen, storage, and office. A favorite is the Salad Blaster Bowls.

 -Personal Creations: They specialize in gifts personalized with initials and names, which definitely make a gift memorable. They have doormats, wall décor, apparel, jewelry and many other splendid gift ideas.

 -eBay: Great website to find gifts, but consider sellers’ ratings and read the reviews posted about him/her. Also take a look at the sellers’ refund policies, shipping costs, and notice if the item in question is new, refurbished, or used.

 -Amazon: Shop until your face hits the keyboard! Amazon’s prices are worth checking.

 -Overstock: Let your fingers do the walking on the keyboard and try Overstock. Stress free shopping at its best with low shipping costs. Do remember to check if your electronic device is new or refurbished.

 Enjoy the holiday season!