The very best Christmas to you all.
I enclose this magnificent Irish Christmas Postcard.......the very best ever made anywhere, anytime.

Yes, who else but Guinness should have made it of course, for irish blood runs black.

Yes, 'tis the time to feast on all the nuts and acorns we've been storing up the rest of the year. I won't be cooking everything tomorrow, but I have my special areas of responsibility:

1) The roasted veg -- parsnips and carrots and potatoes, boiled for 10 minutes, coated in oil and salt and rosmary or thyme from the garden, before being thrown screaming into the heat of the oven. Yum yum and haw haw!

2) For the second year running I'll be on dessert duty. Last year it was caramelised bananas cooked in flaming rum and served up with good quality vanilla ice-cream. We loooovvvvved it, but sadly, my insane diet won't stand for that anymore, so instead I'll be making an apple crumble that uses seeds and sugar and oats instead of biscuit for the topping. It sounds dull, but is in fact warming and delicious.

Now, that's me all fessed up. What about you? Are you an eater or a provider or a both? No lies! I won't stand for it.

So I decided not to risk the trip to see my uncle's ashes interred. Sad to miss it, particularly as I haven't seen my cousins in ages, but it made no sense, with the weather the way it is. The ex was severely delayed in getting here to take the kids off my hands (no buses until after 11), so what with the snow delays, I had little chance of getting there in time, and would have had to turn around more or less immediately.

Christmas Day would have been my uncle's birthday, but the time I associate the most with him is Ne'er Day. All of my dad's family (up to five generations are one point) used to get together for dinner - initially at my uncle's golf club, later at a local Chinese restaurant. Then we'd go back to our house for drinks and stuff.

Those days seemed to last forever when I was a kid, though it couldn't ever have been more than nine or ten hours all told, the meal and then the evening at ours. The adults would sit and talk, my cousins (who are much older than us) would play snooker, and we kids would run riot around the house. The adults rarely stirred from the front room, so we could do as we pleased. My uncle had this battered leather bag full of bottles he'd bring every year, because my parents rarely had much alcohol around. I can recall seeing that bag when I was five or six, and saw it last just a few years ago.

Sadly, the last time I saw it was when this tradition stopped. My grandparents had died, and so had my dad: my uncle was too ill to visit anyone for more than an hour or so: my cousins had all stopped coming anyway. Well, things change, but it's a fitting time to remember.

So instead of going, I played in the snow with the kids. Here's a snowman they built with my neighbour's kids*:




I helped them with the face a bit, but mostly 'cause the three smaller ones couldn't reach it. We also had snowball fights and slides and stuff. :)

And now I'm just sitting and chilling out, contemplating what to have for dinner and when to put the mulled cider on.



*yes, that neighbour.

Well, yes sir, here we have a famous optical illusion, we sure do. Some people look at it and see the Maid in profile, some see the sad Crone. Both are present -- it wouldn't be much of an illusion otherwise, now would it?

Obviously enough, when writers create stories, they open them up to reader interpretation, and while this is generally a good thing, sometimes it can lead to disaster.

Recently, I had my first readers fly through draft 2 of my novel, Eat the Drink. The protagonist is a young lady enslaved (literally) to a vicious, nasty detective. He is trying to solve a crime while she just wants to survive her life in the presence of the monster who owns her.

At least, that's what *I* thought was happening in the story.

One of my readers, however, saw something totally different. She saw a male and a female, constantly bickering, hating each other, but forced to work together for survival and for the greater good. Naturally enough, my reader thought this meant romance was on the cards. "Why else", as she put it, "did I make my two leading characters male and female?" In the end, when they don't get together, my reader was very disappointed. Even worse, the more she read of the detective, the more despicable she found him. "He needed to be less ugly, less brutal" -- not because it made him unbelievable as a character, but because "the reader would never believe him attractive otherwise"...

You see where this is going? Or where it went? I disappointed my reader by leading her on. By making setting her up (accidentally!) to think I was writing the Maid, when all along I was writing the Crone. And this, I say again, is a bad thing.

There are three ways I could avoid this problem for draft 3:

1) Go with the romance. Ease up on my detective's nasty side etc.
2) Go with the romance and, in some unambiguous fashion, subvert the cliché -- "What, slave, all along you thought I would marry you? Ha! I prefer puppies..."
3) Make it more obvious that he is not a suitable match for anyone. The easiest way to do this, I think, is to accentuate how much older he is than she is. He could be her grandfather, after all, and this should be enough to make most of the natural romantics veer away from the idea. In other words, make it impossible to look at the picture and see anybody in there other than the Crone.

Sometimes, maybe even usually, ambiguity is a blessing, but it can be a terrible curse too. People may throw your book at the wall because they *think* you're being clichéd, or, as in this case, because you're ruining a cliché you inadvertently led them to expect. It's something to be aware of and I'm really, really grateful to my first reader for sniffing this one out for me.

So I went to see "Dances with Aliens" yesterday.
-Was it predictable?
Yes.
-What I mean is, was every little biddy part of it, every twist and turn, the climax, the anti-climax, the Hero's Journey, the almost failing just before the end only to triumph, the getting of the girl, the going native -- all that, was all of that predictable from the first scene to the last?
Again, yes.
-Right, and you despised it?
No. I liked it, I liked it a lot.

Let me say now that I hate spoilers, I hate predictability -- or at least, before yesterday, I believed I did. But when you think about it, the number of distinct story plots is limited by everyday human psychology and it's a very, very rare story indeed that succeeds solely, or even mainly, because of surprise. Most of the good plots out there work because they draw us in, they trick us into identifying with the people involved.

Thus, old war stories are made fresh by the fact that we actually care if little Hans makes it home from the front in time for Christmas. And when he inevitably succeeds -- a last minute knock on the door, a moist eyed muttie answers, expecting the worst... -- well, the fact that we saw it coming from the moment we read the blurb is irrelevant. Our hearts are warmed just the same.

Extremely Minor Spoilers
In my opinion, Avatar succeeds because it gets two vital things right:
1) it makes the viewer fall for the love interest -- thus convincing us that the lead character would and should do the same. Most love interests earn their place in the movie just by being physically attractive and it's pretty rare for them to show character and strengths of their own. Other than being "perfect" or "quirky", of course.
2) Avatar makes the viewer fall for the planet too. Maybe any of us would have turned native in similar circumstances

Of course there are other successes -- the special effects, the action sequences etc, as well as a host of failures and at least three moments of cringe-atosis. Even so, this Peadar is giving a thumbs up for Avatar. See it on the big screen with no kids nearby.

I seem to have misplaced my Christmas cheer this morning.  Unless wanting to smack people around with stockings full of coal counts as festive..

Bah humbug to Monday mornings.  I need some spiked eggnog here, STAT!

Due to circumstances which will be explained later, I have come to the end of the number of books that I will be finishing this calendar year. Yes, there are still two weeks left in the year, but with what will be going on during those two weeks, I will hard pressed to find any free time.

So, in the interest of getting this accomplished now, as opposed to being put off until who knows when, I am doing my list of books that I completed this year now.

Once I do this list, all future reviews will be by doing one entry per novel. To do a review properly takes more time and effort than what you will encounter here.

As I mentioned some weeks ago, I had planned on doing commentary on each of the books. Time constraints have put that idea on ice, also. So, I decided to put a challenge to myself, and see if I could come up with one sentence for each book.

Since the first six books are all by the same author, I will be cheating a bit with that one.

If the title has an asterix after it, that means that I read it at some point in the past, whether in 2008 or back in 1978. If the title is in parenthesis, that means that I would recommend the book to anyone.

The order that the books are in are the order that I finished them in.

Storm Front, by Jim Butcher
Fool Moon, by Jim Butcher
Grave Peril, by Jim Butcher
Summer Knight, by Jim Butcher
Death Masks, by Jim Butcher
Blood Rites, by Jim Butcher – If you were wondering how I could read so many of the same thing right after another, it was because I was bedridden in January of this year due to a minor surgery that I had. If the author wants to be known as either a young adult author or as above-average summertime schlock, then in that regard, he is very consistent. If he aspires to more than that, (and if he wants to keep me as a reader), then someone needs to kick him very hard in the ass, because he should be much better on multiple fronts than he actually is, despite the number of books he has written.

(Watchmen)*, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons – The standard by which all American* short form** comic stories should be judged.

(Outrage), by Vincent Bugliosi – If you read this extremely intelligent novel written by the man who prosecuted Charles Manson, and still believe that Orenthal James Simpson is innocent of the crime of killing his ex-wife and her boyfriend, then you exist in a reality that I want nothing to do with.

Salem’s Lot*, by Stephen King – An early work of his that deals with vampires, and still holds up well after all of these years.

Dead Beat, by Jim Butcher – See previous entry.

Son of the White Wolf*, by Robert E. Howard – Take Conan, change his name, put him into turn of the 1900 century northern Africa/middle east, and enjoy the fun.

To the Last Man, by Jeff Shaara – A fictional account of how real-life people in WWI might have thought and acted, with inconsistent results.

Rally Cry*, by William Forstchen – I can either go with saying that this is a young adult novel, or say that this novel has not held up well in the years since I first read this.

The Steel Remains, by Richard K. Morgan – THIS was written by the same author who wrote Altered Carbon?!?!

The Leopard Mask, by Kaoru Kurimoto – A pleasurable fun romp with a japanese version of a Conan-esque story on the young adult level.

Cthulu, the Mythos and Kindred Horrors, by Robert E. Howard – Howard writing stories about the Cthulu mythos means simple but fun win-win for me.

(Dandelion Wine)*, by Ray Bradbury – No other book I have ever read makes me intentionally stare off into space and saunter down a plethora of memory lanes from my childhood.

The Neon Rain, by James Lee Burke – The stereotypical good cop/bad cop buddy crime story, based in Louisiana, with a very easy-to-read flowing pace.

The Tyranny of the Night, by Glen Cook – The more I read by this author, the more I like him.

(Ten Little Indians)*, by Agatha Christie – The masterpiece by the grand dame of mysteries.

Heaven’s Prisoners, by James Lee Burke – see previous entry

Black Cherry Blues, by James Lee Burke – see previous entry

A Morning for Flamingoes, by James Lee Burke – see previous entry

The Cat Who Walks Through Walls, by Robert Heinlein – The single most frustrating book that I read this year, for both good and bad reasons.

A Stained White Radiance, by James Lee Burke – see previous entry

The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss – A very enjoyable story that is one of the better books that I read this year, despite the Gary Stu lead getting very annoying by the end of the novel.

Night Passage, by Robert B. Parker – One of those extremely rare instances where the movie is better than the written novel.

(The First Man in Rome), by Colleen McCullough – Excellent, and a mandatory read for anyone who claims to enjoy historical novels.

(Altered Carbon), by Richard K. Morgan – THIS was written by the same author who wrote The Steel Remains?!?!

*In an effort to not be American-centric, I specify American here, because comics exist world-wide, and my knowledge of them outside of a limited amount of manga is practically non-existent. It is possible, even probable, that there are comics in other countries that rival this one, but to claim that this is the best throughout the world would be unparalleled arrogance.

**I say short form, because the Watchmen was originally a twelve-issue series, and this at one point was considered a maxi-series amongst limited series. However, since this time, comic writers have come up with storylines that are intentionally finite, yet go on for years; Preacher being one such example. Therefore, in order to quantify better, I have had to start breaking down comics into more specific genres.

Threads of Doom

Sometimes you can tell where a thread is going just by reading the title of it, i.e. "Climategate Gives Lie to Global Warming", or "Amazon Publishes List of Year's Best Books."

For less divisive subjects it can take two or three posts before a rhythm appears, often involving people arguing over semantics, talking past each other in a circle that goes round and round and round for pages and pages until I cry for my mommy.

But don't worry, these days, as soon as a thread locks itself into this inevitable death spiral, I'm long gone. Do any of you find yourselves staying in to the bitter end? If so, why?



Bulgarian Joy

By sheer coincidence, only a few weeks after finally tracking down a cover image of the Bulgarian translation of The Inferior, I have signed a contract for the translation rights of The Deserter into the same language. Hurray! The publishers know they have a bit to wait for the final version, but a few sample chapters were enough to convince them to sign up for part two.

Has anybody noticed how closely the shape of the Black Sea resembles Australia? And how Cyprus looks like the lower 48 states of the USA? What other proof is needed before people will wake up to the fact that we are living in a giant computer program run by an unimaginative nerd?

And why does nobody ever listen to me? I know things...

I'm looking for either no bake cookie recipes or cookie bar recipes, if anyone has any good ones to share.

I usually bake a couple hundred cookies each Christmas,* but I'm thinking of making things a little bit easier on myself this year, lol. So far my only idea is to substitute Buckeyes for my usual peanut butter cookies, which will save me some baking time.






*Yes, I AM insane. But we already knew that, right? ;-P

I'm 2/3s of the way into Tom Holland's excellent Persian-centric take on the invasion of Greece, Persian Fire. There's a lot of great little world-building detail in here that any budding fantasy writer should grab with both hands and take to extremes... well, actually, extremes aren't really necessary -- the reality was far more entertaining.

One of my favourite ideas -- and one that should probably be implemented in all modern states -- was that once a year, the Babylonian King had to present himself at the temple of the god, Marduk. There, the priests would slap the King's face and pull his ears. No doubt the King was given a wedgie too, but this has yet to be proven. If the priests managed to wring tears from their sovereign, then good luck was sure to follow for the city. Brilliant!

But what really struck me, reading the book, was just how dynamic these ancient cultures were. There were no 1,000 year empires where technology stood still and social innovations were absent. The Persians themselves went from being a tribe of savage horsemen to masters of one of the largest states in the history of the world during the rule of a single King (Cyrus).

Even Egypt, for all it seemed static, was constantly undergoing invasions, foreign rule, religious upheavals and so on. Seriously people, as the man said, "Give me history, or give me another book!"

Check out these clever little dudes:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20091215/ap_on_sc/as_australia_coconut_octopus

If you're going to stop at our table every 3 minutes, why don't you just pull up a chair and join us?!? There's a fine line between good service and stalking our table, and you crossed it before the salad course even came out.

Chill.the.hell.out.

Yes, we can be surly in Ireland.

And irish politics are much more entertaining than anywhere else in the world (1mn clip, SFW only in Ireland and non-english countries)

NB: This is not a joke, this happened three days ago, and it's definitely not a wind-up or a parody.


( clip )

Yes, we have those in Ireland too.

Or, why you owe it to yourself to do your job, you lazy, lazy git...

Nothing curses the needy writer worse than impatience -- I should know, I want the rewards of having written a good book, but without all the necessary work. And so, as I head into draft 3 of Eat the Drink, the draft that will go to my agent after Christmas, I have to force myself with cords and nails, to stay in front of the screen and finish the bloody thing properly.

Yes, properly.

And what do I mean by that?

I'm excited by the manuscript. I love the world-building and the two main characters. But as I read through it, there are passages that I know are not quite right. There are plot elements that need fixing, clarifying, polishing. And to fix them will require weeks of work while everybody else is out partying.

That's when the voice starts whispering in my ear: "It's good enough now. Why not send it off? You'll get pleasure when your agent says he loves it. You'll get your answer *instantly*. Eat cake now, my pretty, and sleep."

That voice is a liar. It's even more of a liar than the one telling me to kill my neighbours or the one that warns me I'll fade away if I don't have extra dessert after a feast.

Because my manuscript has a LOT wrong with it. An awful lot, but to see it, I'll need the help of Virgin readers, people who don't know that the butler did it and who can still be caught out by that killer twist if I've done it right. And virgin readers are expensive. You can't take just anybody. You'll need another experienced writer if you can get 'em and they will be cheeky enough to demand that you read their work too.

And remember, you can only use them once. It's not that they can't be useful in further drafts down the road, but now that they know it was the butler, you'll never have the opportunity to catch them out again.

It's easy to waste their precious eyeballs, especially if you let pass all those things you should have known how to fix by yourself. Every shoddy scene adds more noise to the signal and takes them out of the plot and makes it that bit harder for them to find the mistakes that you would never be able to find yourself.

So, don't be a lazy sod like me and do it right. Or my voices will tell me where you live...