All posts by Bob Greenberger

Lex – Gone to the Dogs (A Finders Keepers blog)

Eternity_Lex_Web_2Okay. First thing’s first.

Working in a boutique galaxy design firm in Eternity — the realm of Existence responsible for creating all the celestial bodies in the Universe — of course I had NO idea that I’d ever end up banished to Earth. My shop designed that very planet!

Yeah. I get the irony.

And I DEFINITELY did not anticipate being reconstituted so that I would be a dog. A canine.

Woof-woof.

But I suppose there’s not a whole lot I can do about that now.

Emma’s taking the whole transition a lot harder than I am. But she’s always been the really ambitious one. Which isn’t to say I don’t have any goals. It’s just that, when I’m honest with myself, I’d rather follow than lead. Guess that’s why I ended up as a dog.

Again, I get the irony.

Still … all things considered, Earth’s not so bad.

Earth_Lex_Web2It’s not so great, let’s not get carried away, but it could have been a lot worse. The Minder of the Universe — that’s the guy who oversees the, well, the Universe (his title kinda says it all) — could have dumped me in the Woglo System. That’s pretty much a bog that floats in space, and every formation in it smells like an ardvaark’s armpit on a REALLY hot day.

So … there’s that.

Anyway, we were living out of a beat-up Winnebago in Yuma, Arizona, until Emma had the idea to open an Internet Café with a galaxy theme. Makes sense. Things have been going pretty well, all things considered, and now, thanks to an idea I had, inspired by one of my hobbies — running a marijuana dispensary — we’ll be expanding to Phoenix and then San Francisco.

Now THAT I’m excited about.

Only thing is…. my memory is a bit hazy. Sometimes I have total recall from when I was a dude. A man, that is. So I still think like someone who walks around on two legs. And sometimes my brain is pure canine. But most of the time it’s a mix, which makes things really confusing, thinking like a man, but trapped in a dog’s body. And then the canine in me takes over, and I’m totally schizoid.

Anyway … I’ve got to chew on my back for a while and then go for my afternoon walk. But I’ll fill you in later on what else has been going on. We’re interviewing some cute girls to work the counter. Doesn’t matter if they get the job or not. I get scratches on my belly regardless.

A ReDeus Short: “Starting at the Beginning”

ReDeusLogoThe stars were twinkling in the barren night sky as Gabriella Trotter leisurely drove down Route 90. Her eastward route took her farther and farther away from Seattle. It had been a hasty decision and one she didn’t allow herself to contemplate. Instead, she listened to pop anthems from her youth on the satellite radio, finishing the now-cold and greasy fries that remained in the white paper Sonic bag. Thankfully, the local deities allowed burgers, although the mandate was that they were now all-buffalo—more authentic, it had been declared.

She had lost her job at the newspaper thanks to the gods’ intervention, and she was more than a little tired of being Kunulla’s plaything. Gabbi had no idea what the god wanted with her but he somehow found her lack of faith in any deity appealing or challenging or something. He’d already exposed the unseemly side of the celebrities she’d covered, altering her coverage from fawning to jaundiced. While it might have made her a sharper writer, it had also seemed to piss someone off and now here she was, without income.

Pamela had asked about her prospects and Gabbi had told her there was money in the bank, so when she’d paused for a takeout dinner she’d checked her balance. Her rainy day fund was eighty-five percent funded, so she could live off those resources for a few months before really needing to worry, but she’d also assured her fellow Musketeers she could freelance, and that grew more and more appealing as Seattle receded behind her.

It was late and she would need to stop somewhere for the evening before continuing her sojourn. Summit was up ahead, according to the road signs, so she hoped they had a cheap motel. Already she was mentally preparing a To Do list for the next morning which included notifying her parents and sibling of this decision—then, when the shock wore off, asking them (although it might involve begging) to pack up her belongings. When they were done, she would terminate her lease and cancel all the utilities. Or maybe she’d sublet it, let Rebecca use it for clandestine affairs. Plenty to think about.

She let herself yawn long and loud since there was no one to be bothered. It also reminded her she needed to end her first leg of the journey to nowhere soon.

But all thoughts of comfy beds and free shampoo were erased when she saw the blond man waving his arms frantically along the side of the road. His car was off to the side, its emergency flashers racing up and down one side of the vehicle. As tempted as she was to keep going, there was literally no one else on this desolate stretch of highway and she couldn’t live with herself if she abandoned someone who was truly in need. Maybe he just wanted gas money or a tow truck.

She slowed down without jamming on her brakes and then glided directly behind his distinctly older and darker car. He was maybe thirty, thin, and nervous looking as his arms continued to flap despite her coming to a stop.

“You’re not a doctor, are you?” he asked in a high voice.

“Sorry,” she said from her lowered window, “a writer. What’s wrong?”

“My wife…the baby is coming…like NOW!”

Oh shit. Now she couldn’t leave him alone to his misery. There was not only a woman involved but a new life.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” she asked, unbuckling her belt and getting out.

“Summit, but we don’t have time,” he said, sounding on the verge of panic.

Gabbi strode past him and decided to look for herself. Sure enough, in the passenger bucket seat was a sweaty female form with a very distinctive bulge between breasts and knees. She was gritting her teeth and clearly enduring a contraction. Gabbi knew as much as the next person about the process but had never trained in emergency births on the side of highways and wasn’t sure what she could do.

“How far apart are the contractions?” Gabbi asked as she entered the car, noting the back seat was filled with luggage, a huge bag of disposable diapers, and assorted detritus.

“Three, four minutes apart,” the woman gasped. “It’s coming.”

“I’ve heard. I’m Gabbi.”

“Estella.”

“How can I help? Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

“Yes, but the baby will be here first.”

Crap. “What’s wrong with your car?”

“The battery shorted out,” she said. “Willie can’t get it jumpstarted with the emergency kit.”

“Are you sure we don’t have time to move you to my car? I can be a very fast driver,” Gabbi assured her.

“I was already in labor before we left home, but waited too long and the baby’s really impatient to get out here,” Estella said. Gabbi could see the other woman was younger and prettier, with long brown hair that was currently stringy from sweat but would look terrific when dry and brushed. She was momentarily jealous, then refocused.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said with a smile.

Estella returned it and nodded. “Me either.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Yes. Whatever the gods decree.”

Okay, she was a believer and these days the gods wanted to return some mystery to the world so more and more pantheons had ordered that midwives and doctors keep the gender a secret.

Estella wailed as a fresh contraction arrived and her left hand reached out and found Gabbi’s, squeezing it and causing her to yelp from the surprising strength behind it. She glanced to her left and saw Willie pacing back and forth.

As the contraction passed, Gabbi estimated barely two minutes had elapsed since she arrived. That meant things were speeding up. There was little doubt that she was about to help deliver a baby into this world.

“What’s with Willie? Why isn’t he here holding your hand?”

Estella shook her head. “He’s a wonderful man, and will make a terrific husband, but he panics easily and can’t stay focused.”

Just great. Gabbi shot her a look, asking permission to begin touching Estella in uncomfortably intimate ways. The woman looked exhausted already and the hard part hadn’t arrived yet but she nodded. With some hesitancy, Gabbi reached out and placed a flat palm atop the swollen belly. There was definitely something moving in there but beyond that she had no idea what she was doing. Thankfully, Estella was in a skirt so there were no pants to fuss with. But it did mean looking at lady parts to see if the baby was crowning yet.

“Go ahead,” Estella said, and then gritted her teeth as a fresh wave of pain washed over her.

Regretting taking I-90, Gabbi reached under the skirt and worked to slide off the panties off the writhing figure. Sure enough, there was something moist and messy-looking peeking out from between her legs. This baby was on its way out and Gabbi needed to act.

“Willie!” she shouted above Estella’s own wail of pain. Within seconds, the distraught husband was at the door. “No one’s coming; it’s just us, so I need your help.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed. She decided it was time to finally sound like her mother, firm and commanding. “Get me blankets. Or something to wrap the baby in.”

That he understood and opened the rear door and began rummaging. Estella once more reached out to grasp her hand.

“Is there something with a blade in your emergency kit?”

“Yeah,” he finally replied.

“Good. We’ll need that to cut the cord. It’s going to be messy; I don’t suppose you have towels around here?”

“No.”

“Then you better plan on hosing this out and detailing it before she gets home from the hospital,” Gabbi said, receiving the offered baby blankets. There were three, each a different pastel shade, and all about to be baptized in blood.

“The cliché says I should be sending you to boil water, but I don’t think that will work,” Gabbi said to Willie, who remained in the backseat, peering over to watch his wife give birth.

“Where were you that this happened?”

“Estella’s not due for two weeks, we thought we could have a final day trip to Seattle, you know, together.”

“Sounds nice,” she said, positioning one of the blankets under the other woman’s butt, keeping one over her shoulder for the baby itself.

“We visited the Temple of the Colville and Estella was bled by their resident shaman.” Willie said.

Inwardly, Gabbi grimaced at the mention of Indian deities. She was trying to get away from them, Kunula in particular. “Do you worship the Colville gods?”

He let out a sigh at the same time Estella wailed. Gabbi saw she was now obeying her body’s own instructions and was actively pushing the baby out.

“Okay, Estella, it’s time, I guess,” Gabbi said in her most reassuring voice. She winced at what the other woman was enduring, uncertain if she’d ever want to subject herself to this. It was some vague notion in the back of her mind, never consistent with wanting her own child or not.

“No,” Willie said, and at first Gabbi thought he was rejecting what was before his terrified eyes, but the voice sounded different.

“No?”

“I’m Scandinavian and Estella is such a mutt she has no real pantheon,” he said by way of explanation. Then, in a guilty voice, he added, “We were going to go to Europe after the baby was born.”

“Better start planning that itinerary because here it comes,” Gabbi said. The head had now come completely into view so she placed her hands underneath, cupping them as if she could catch it. The head was a gooey mess of white, red, and dark stuff and Gabbi wished she had paid better attention in health class.

There came shoulders, then arms, and as Estella’s grunts and groans were traded in for shrieks and screams the baby inexorably left the birth canal, entering a new, colder world. Gabbi kept her blanket-covered hands in position as the small human form emerged. The tiny mouth opened and she somehow heard that first breath of air.

A tiny piercing cry cut through Estella’s own war chant and suddenly silenced her. The baby was now completely out and Gabbi wrapped it as gently as she could in the blanket, patting and rubbing to get the icky placenta material off the newly pink skin. When she thought she had done the best she could, she noted the umbilical cord stretched back into the womb.

“Willie,” she commanded. “Get yourself over her with that blade—come cut your daughter’s cord.”

“A girl,” Estella said between gasps.

“A girl,” Gabbi confirmed with a broad smile.

Willie came out with a utility knife, which she hoped was clean enough, and she cocked her head toward it.

“Where should I cut it?” he asked.

“Unless there’s a dotted line somewhere, just guess,” she said.

He reached out with a shaky hand as the baby continued to cry in Gabbi’s trembling hands, and sliced through the cord, added fresh ick to the mess in the car. With the baby now free, Gabbi used the last clean blanket to swaddle the squirming, crying form. Once done, she handed the baby to the girl’s mother.

Estella held the baby, gazing in exhausted wonderment. Then, after several moments, she used her free hand to begin unbuttoning her blouse so she could nurse her daughter for the first time. While a wonderful moment, it was now one Gabbi could easily pass on witnessing. It was actually time for the family to bond so she eased herself from the car.

“Go to them, Willie. I’ll call 911 for help,” she said in a soft voice.

He took a step toward the dimly lit interior, then stopped and turned toward her. “I suck at this sort of stuff,” he said. “I lost it when she needed me. I felt like such a jerk for not being able to fix the battery and having no other car out here. We had just been to the temple so I prayed to the Colville, prayed for help, and then you showed up.”

That made Gabbi feel uncomfortable. ”I was already on the road when all this started, it’s not like I got a summons.”

“Maybe not, but I prayed and you arrived. Thank you.”

She nodded in tired bewilderment.

“You have to have faith in people,” he said and finally went to join his wife and child.

Gabbi called and made the report, assuring the concerned operator on the other end of the call that mother and child seemed fine for now. Her chore done and exceedingly tired, she took one last look at the new family and smile wearily. She got behind the wheel, now desiring a hot shower before a comfortable bed, and thought about Willie’s last words.

Kunula had challenged her lack of belief, which had resulted in her rejecting him and his fellow gods. She’d hit the road and suddenly came across this. Turning over the engine, Gabbi thought she’d start small then. She’d believe in the decency of her fellow man and see what happened next.

Summit, a motel, a shower, and a bed awaited her.

Gabriella Trotter’s earlier appearances can be found in ReDeus: Divine Tales and ReDeus: Native Lands.

Some Thoughts on DuckBob Spinowitz

By Roger Henry David Thomas (a.k.a. Tall) 

men-in-black-3-sunglassesI am not entirely certain who I offended when I was assigned to work with the subject known as DuckBob Spinowitz. The Grays, an extraterrestrial race, found something worthy in him and made him a sort of guardian of the galaxy. He was tethered to The Matrix, seeing all and responsible for keeping peace and order.

Our agency is sworn to help him and somehow I became his handler. Then his partner. Now, I suppose, I call him a friend.

When we first met, I considered him a juvenile delinquent, a lab rat, and a loaded gun, a menace to Earth and the universe as a whole. But then things happened and he accomplished things that I thought difficult nigh unto impossible. And he did it after having his human head morphed into that of a mallard, literally becoming DuckBob.

He’s lazy and is the textbook definition of a slob. Yet, he somehow manages to keep tabs on the myriad alien races populating the known universe. I can’t tell a Yridian from a May-bin-yo but he can and right there I can admire him.

I once described my job to him, “What we do, it’s dangerous. Really dangerous. We’re facing aliens all the time that’re bigger than we are, stronger than we are, faster than we are, smarter than we are, and a lot of ’em have way better tech than we do—and much bigger guns. We’re putting ourselves at risk every day, in order to protect the American people and their way of life.”

DuckBob has to worry about the entire universe.

And there are times I think the universe worries about him. I just got word, the universe apparently feels it owes DuckBob some kind of debt. They’ve found a way for him to do his job without being connected 24/7 to the Matrix. He’s been brought to Earth to taste freedom for the first time in years.

My task: keep him safe and keep him close because they may have freed him, but I also know the universe is a joker. Something’s coming for DuckBob and I have to keep him safe.

God help me, but we need DuckBob. And I need my friend (not that you need to tell him that).

DuckBob (and Tall) will return this fall in Three Small Coinkydinks.

Crazy 8 Press Celebrates 3rd Anniversary at Shore Leave

SL logoCrazy 8 Press will return to Shore Leave this weekend — and we have lots of exciting news to share! And a shirt to give away!

Not only will we be celebrating our third anniversary as Crazy 8 Press, but we’ll be unveiling our schedule of upcoming new books! Over the next year or so we have multiple titles set to come your way … and we think you’re gonna love ’em!

CrimsonKeep front coverIn fact … we’ve got a brand new book — Tales of the Crimson Keep — that we’ll be debuting at Shore Leave!

For the convention itself, six members of our author team – Russ Colchamiro, Peter David, Michael Jan Friedman, Robert Greenberger, Glenn Hauman, and Aaron Rosenberg – will be on hand all three days, participating in a wide variety of panels as befit their myriad professional experiences and interests. We’ll be talking books, and movies, and TV and everything fun and awesome that’s scifi.

Now let’s talk Tales of the Crimson Keep.

For the big unveiling … Friday evening from 10 p.m. until Midnight we’ll be a part of the Meet the Pros party where our first ever Crazy 8 Press anthology will be making its first appearance. This book is an outgrowth of the story “Demon Circle’, a creepy, funny, magical tale written by the Crazy 8 Press co-founders in 2011 as part of our team’s premiere event. We all took turns writing the story, based on an opening line contributed by Kevin Dilmore, another convention guest this year, in a tight, tiny public space, adding to the challenge. The original tale was released as an eBook with proceeds benefiting the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.

Tales of the Crimson Keep includes “Demon Circle’ as well as seven brand new stories set in this shared universe, along with an introduction from Dilmore. Print copies debut this weekend and Kindle and Nook editions should be available within the next week.

As a part of the weekend celebration, we  will be giving away a copy of Tales of the Crimson Keep though Goodreads.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Tales of the Crimson Keep by Robert Greenberger

Tales of the Crimson Keep

by Robert Greenberger

Giveaway ends August 21, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Our Crazy 8 Press panel will be held on Sunday at 1 p.m. where we will chat, make you laugh and even give away a Crazy 8 Press polo shirt.

As always, we’re excited to mix and mingle with everyone, because, let’s face it … the fans are what keep us going. And we’re proud to say our fans are awesome. :)

So come join us in the Concierge suite for a rollicking good time with Crazy 8 Press

See you there!

You Always Remember Your First

Romulan_StratagemA rule of advice to authors is to kill your darlings. You might love a line or a character or a scene but if it does not help the overall work, it should ruthlessly be excised without looking back. But, authors are infrequently asked about which of your darlings would you save. Who is your favorite? Most authors will tell you it’s like asking which of your children you love most. You love them all the same, you tell people.

The truth is we don’t love our written works with equal fervor. Recently, I addressed Time Station Berlin, a work I wish I had a chance to redo.  I’ve written books with zero editorial direction and while good, could have been better. Even with good editorial input I know I could have written a few better but circumstances interfered.  I’ve written books as a favor to the editor so it was a job. I wrote a book on desserts, easily the most boring book I’ve written, because no one else offered me work at the time. So no, I don’t love them all differently.

I’ve written some pieces to take on the personal challenge, as I did when I tackled The Nature of Energy. Not being a science guy, I figured if I could make sense out of it for myself, I can convey that to middle schoolers. A huge baseball fan, I wrote the biography of Wilt Chamberlain just so the editor could see what I can do and be in her mind when a baseball opportunity rolled around leading to the Lou Gehrig assignment.

Out of personal pride, I loved working on The Essential Batman Encyclopedia which may be a bit of esoteric for some but a labor of love and something I remain incredibly proud of. Similarly, I dove into the research with deep interest and feel out of all the young adult work I have done to date, the Bataan Death March was the best of the bunch.

But, do I have an all-time favorite?

Well, you always remember your first. In this case, it was my first solo novel, Star Trek: TNG – The Romulan Stratagem. Having cut my fiction teeth on collaborations, the time had finally come to write something on my own. I relished the notion that we had not really seen Jean-Luc Picard lose a conflict with an opposing race. From that simple concept, I spun a story that brought in the then-underused Romulans and even the emotionally charged figure of Sela. It worked out pretty well and I note over at Goodreads that it remains one of my best reviewed works, which I think still holds up.

And maybe the next one I write will bump that off the pedestal.

Robert Greenberger’s “Assessment” of the Crimson Keep’s Students

JLS_2814Writing a story for Tales of the Crimson Keep was something we bandied about last fall and committed to at Farpoint, meaning it would be my first fiction of note since becoming a fulltime English teacher. And sure enough, the idea of the Master, the ageless wizard teaching the kids how to wield magic, testing his charges was the first idea that occurred to me.

Initially, I wanted to call the story “Field Test”, sending two of the characters out of the Keep and into the world where the Demon War was still a serious threat. My idea was to take two teens that had been trained to practice magic and challenge them by having them complete an assignment without using their power.

Magic, like any weapon or tool, can become a crutch and a sign of how well people have learned is to take that away and see what happens. The Master, though, has seen to it the goal is fraught with obstacles that will force them to act or be injured. It is also a test of trust. Since, after all, this is a test during wartime where the conditions are vastly different than during periods of peace. Sometimes trust is the different between life and death.

With that in mind, I needed two students and it seemed fairly obvious that it had to be two of the three we introduced in “Demon Circle”. There was Belid, boastful, overconfident and the students’ BMOC (Big Man Of the Castle). Or there was Athis, a little bit of a doofus, a little awed by how east Belid makes things look, but a dedicated student. Then we have Klaria, perhaps the most accomplished of the current class but haughty, knowing she is better than most.

I decided to take the extremes, Athis and Klaria, and see what happens when they need to rely on one another’s skills, competence, and basic humanity. It was clear that Athis was smitten with Klaria so I wanted to see if that would get in the way or not. I then changed the title to “Assessment” and began thinking of the goal and backtracking, adding in the obstacles. The very first one was a true test of trust between the two, before they even leave the Crimson Keep, inspired to a degree from Martin Caidin’s Cyborg but under less extreme circumstances.

Once the beats were in place, the writing, largely done over a few sessions spread weeks apart, fell into place fairly quickly. What proved challenging was the tone, keeping it light at times, heavy at others, matching the prime story of our collection. Since I am editing the overall volume and crave others’ critical eyes, I asked Paul Kupperberg to give it the once over. And as you read this, he’s still at work so we’re all awaiting the results of my personal assessment.

Tales of the Crimson Keep will be available in print and digital formats on August 1.