GI JOE: RETALIATION (The Scribes Go to the Movies)

Friday afternoon, Cloudy Scribe and I took a couple of hours off from World Domination to take in a bit of good old-fashioned American Cinema: GI Joe style. I mean, everybody needs some downtime, now and then...

In the 110 minutes we spent watching explosions, subpar dialogue, The Rock (I might’ve drooled a little there), and Adrianne Palicki’s cleavage (Cloudy definitely drooled. A lot), we found more than a few flaws with the Real American Hero sequel... Most of which didn't really bother us. Hell, most of them made the whole experience better. Here are just a few examples…

There's a hint here about our real problem with the movie, but read on...

[SPOILER ALERT – because you’re really worried we’re gonna ruin this one for you. The good guys win. Oops, you probably hadn’t figured that one out yet, had you?]

And Now, a Taste of Things to Come...

UPDATE: a preview of Chapter 2: Spin, Rita, Spin has been released here.
Okay, sheeplings, we get it. By now I'm sure you're all seriously wondering what we're doing here. We're entertaining, sure, and we're witty and adorable (in a ruthless-killing-machine kinda way), but what the hell are we doing? Well, here ya go. First taste's always free. Enjoy...

It's not all selfies of our editor, we swear.

And don't worry. All your questions will be answered... In time.

1. THE GAMES CHILDREN PLAY

IN THE WAR ZONE

Juan Madrigal froze, staring across the fire. The machine drew a long, thin spike, dripping with gore, from Raul’s slumped corpse. Whatever this thing was, it didn't make a sound. Not as it appeared out of the darkness beyond the campfire. Not as it drove that spike-arm through the top of Raul’s skull, into the ground between his legs.

Paralyzed, Juan stared at the dark form. It took a step towards him. He must act now or die. But how had this happened? Why? Just moments ago this had been a normal night. He’d been laughing at old wives’ tales and cooking rubberized MRE “chicken” over the open flame in front of him. What the devil was this thing, this angel of death?

Want more? Buy this chapter on Amazon at oSWAT: The Games Children Play!

Public Transit as Post-Apocalyptic Inspiration

I don't own a car.  I traverse this southern city with the help of my feet, a collection of bicycles (not at the same time.  I'm talented, but not that talented), benevolent friends, and a somewhat stilted public transit system.  I could go on about the coming death of the personal automobile, but one Dr. Maurie Cohen's done a lot more research on that than I have, and I'm not here to take your guns or your cars (except, maybe if they're real pretty, and only for personal use.  I'll give 'em back.  Promise)...

But taking the train, especially in Atlanta, can be kind of a wet dream for a speculative fiction writer and editor, especially one with a bent toward the apocalyptic, especially on a rainy day.  Take, for example, this picture I snapped while sitting on the platform...

The calm before the first Molotov was thrown...

The day dawned warm, heavy, and gray... At least, I assume it dawned.  If there was a sun behind that TV-static sky*, I didn't see it...  As the hours crept by, the air turned colder.  The clouds gathered down closer to the skyline...  Around 5:00 PM, I left the office, compact purse umbrella in hand, ready for both doom and gloom.

The Evolution of Your Editor

The True Story of One Woman's Decent into Technology-Induced ADHD...  Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Smart Phone...

I have a confession to make...  I wasn't always Editor-in-Kill -- I mean, Chief -- of ESP (or anywhere else, for that matter).  Not too long ago, I was just a writer-for-hire.  I spent hours every day, scanning through sites like Craigslist, Elance, and Freelancer.com to find nuggets of work to pay the bills.  In winter, I huddled next to a space heater because turning the gas on in my uninsulated apartment would bleed me dry.  In summer, I stripped down to my underwear and kept a towel next to me to mop up the sweat before it poured all over my laptop.  Whenever I wasn't writing, I was running off to one food service job or another, pulling dogsitting and babysitting jobs whenever I could to make it to the next month without eviction...

In my head, my life was like...

Nice robe, lady.  What's in the cup?

In reality, it was a lot more like...

3.14159265359

Happy Pi Day, kids!

At ESP, we're celebrating March 14th with a slice of physics news (Higgs-boson, yeah!), coffee, sharp objects, and projectiles...  So yeah, it's a pretty typical day in the office.

The good folks over at ThinkGeek, though, might have us beat this time, with their pi ice cube tray, the only way to chill a pi-tini...

What do you think?  Caffeine, physics, and weapons... or irrational ice cubes and booze?  Maybe we should join forces.

Word Ninjas, Coffee, and Doom

Welcome to Electric Sheep Press, powered by the Electric Sheep Scribes.  Now, you may be asking yourself, having stumbled here out of the ether, what is this place?  Who are these people?  I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you...  Just kidding.  Sort of...

A tightly-knit trio with one goal in mind, the Electric Sheep Scribes want nothing more in this world than to kick the crap out of traditional publishing and leave it bleeding in the dirt and calling for its mama.

Think of Electric Sheep Press (ESP -- ain't we clever?) as a jacked-up, armored and gunned Humvee.  The Scribes roll up, load out, and lay waste.

On today's morning meeting agenda:
What happens when you give a Scribe Bulletproof Coffee?  Meet our new Editor-in-Kill.

Yeah, we're not your average publishing house.