Curmudgeon's Lair

I just passed the 50k mark on the final draft of Blood Hope. It's looking good. My editor likes what he has seen so far.

The Shadowed Princes and Kady's Vengeance are still sitting on the highest rated in dark fantasy list at Fictionwise. These things can be very ephemeral.

I hope to have Blood Hope finished by Monday and turned in for the final editorial go through.

I burned my breakfast when I lost track while working on a scene. I'm beginning to think that I'm back to the point of being able to burn water.

Johnny Horton is one of my favorite singers. These lyrics are very old. I'm listening to Johnny Horton sing it right now.

Now if you want to get the right idea, just put the words "legion of nitwits" in the spots that say the Bismark.

JOHNNY HORTON lyrics - Sink The Bismark


(Johnny Horton and Tilman Franks)

In May of nineteen forty-one the war had just begun
The Germans had the biggest ship that had the biggest guns
The Bismark was the fastest ship that ever sailed the seas
On her deck were guns as big as steers and shells as big as trees

Out of the cold and foggy night came the British ship the Hood
And evry British seaman, he knew and understood
They had to sink the Bismark, the terror of the sea
Stop those guns as big as steers and those shells as big as trees

We'll find that German battleship thats makin' such a fuss
We gotta sink the Bismark 'cause the world depends on us
Hit the decks a-runnin' boys and spin those guns around
When we find the Bismark we gotta cut her down

The Hood found the Bismark and on that fatal day
The Bismark started firin' fifteen miles away
We gotta sink the Bismark was the battle sound
But when the smoke had cleared away
The mighty Hood went down

For six long days and weary nights they tried to find her trail
Churchill told the people "Put ev'ry ship a-sail"
'Cause somewhere on that ocean I know she's gotta be
We gotta sink the Bismark to the bottom of the sea

We'll find that German battleship thats makin' such a fuss
We gotta sink the Bismark 'cause the world depends on us
Hit the decks a-runnin' boys and spin those guns around
When we find the Bismark we gotta cut her down

The fog was gone on the seventh day and they saw the mornin' sun
Ten hours away from homeland the Bismark made its' run
The admiral of the British fleet said "Turn those bows around"
We found that German battleship and we're gonna cut her down

The British guns were aimed and the shells were comin' fast
The first shell hit the Bismark, they knew she couldn't last
That mighty German battleship is just a memory
"Sink the Bismark" was the battle cry that shook the seven seas

We found that German battleship was makin' such a fuss
We had to sink the Bismark 'cause the world depends on us
We hit the decks a-runnin' and we spun those guns around
Yeah, we found the mighty Bismark and then we cut her down

We found that German battleship was makin' such a fuss
We had to sink the Bismark 'cause the world depends on us
We hit the decks a-runnin' and we spun those guns around
We found the mighty Bismark and then we cut her down

I am certain that everyone is familiar with my temper. The only thing that comes close to matching me is a half-starved junkyard dog.

The roll call for the Legion of Nitwits is:

Lawrence Dagstine
Nickolaus Pacione
Nicholas Tillemans
Mike Philbin
Kristy Tallman

Small press authors whose egos are larger than their (non-existent) talent.

One in particular has been hassling me of late: Kristy Tallman.

I am copy-pasting this across my blogs to be certain that she sees it. She has labeled me many nasty things, including a "meth/coke addict." She did that because I discussed the fact that I have been clean for 20 years in comments at Rusty Nail.

Here's what GUD Magazine said about her novel All Soul's Faire

Kristy likes to make her betters appear small. So she posts that picture of me that i have on my website. Well, I’m in my mid 50s and there is no hiding it.

There is no way that I’ll ever look Kristy’s age again. But there is a new picture up at my website (it's at the bottom of the bio) of what i looked like at the start of my professional career. Amazons had just won the World Fantasy award for best anthology and I had sold a trilogy to a publishing company that i would later work for as an editor.

You will not see any of the hard-eyed meanness that you see in all of Kristy’s photos of herself.

My looks have faded with age, but you can’t take away from me the fact that I was attractive enough in my youth that Asimov kissed me. Nor can you take away my talent that has grown better over the years.

I want to challenge Kristy to go back to my website where she stole my picture from, take the worst piece of my writing she has found there, and compare it to the best piece she has ever produced. One full scene each.

There’s plenty to chose from, Kristy. There’s even a couple of typos if you look hard enough. So give it your best shot.

Come on, Kristy. Let me help you. There are two stories on my website that have some tiny flaws in them. I switched one story from first to third and did not manage to correct all the pronouns when I decided to alter the story from one to the other. The other story was switched from third to first.

And again, I missed it in two places. Now, I could go back and fix those, but I want to be fair about this.

Go on and grab them and show EVERYONE how much better you are than I am.

We could post both samples at a neutral spot and have an open poll posted.

You pick the samples, Kristy.

Hatred is a sorry emotion. It doesn't play nice with the one who experiences it and the one it is directed at.

I ought to hate a lot of people. I have had a difficult and violent life -- violent emotionally and physically.

The only person I truly hate is Nickolaus Pacione.

The reason is that I have managed to escape from all the other people who treated me badly. I ran away and hid in Massachusetts, putting a continent between us. But the internet is structured so that no one can truly run away.

The fact that there are several large states between Pacione and myself is meaningless, because of the immediacy of the internet. So he dogs my footsteps when I try to ignore him. And I reply in kind.

I try not to devote too much time to him these days because I'm very busy with my life and my work. Yet he turns up like a bad penny, raging and making baseless accusations of E Pie ratical behavior on my part.

Well, I'll take the pie, draw an E on the crust and eat it with tea. But I'm not sharing it with the rats.

Just the Bear Facts, Ma'am.

I have been trying to stop referring to Pacione on this blog and keep it to other things that I find more satisfying.

Since early this year, Pacione has attempted to threaten people with his "memoir." The memoir is out now, self-published. I had been saying for a while that there would be nothing harmful in it because Nicky knows absolutely nothing about the publishing industry or the horror community.

To be threatening, something must come from an industry insider, someone who knows where all the bodies are buried and can prove it since truth is the only protection against accusations of libel.

There are no harmful revelations in his memoir. There is nothing there that can be taken seriously. The book is composed of a pattern of whine, whine, whine, I'm so dangerous, whine, whine, whine.

He claims that he's dangerous because he studied the "Marquis of Queensbury" style of boxing. First off, the name is Marquess of Queensbury. Marquess of Queensbury Rules

he Marquess of Queensberry rules are a code of generally accepted rules in the sport of boxing. They were named so because the 9th Marquess of Queensberry publicly endorsed the code.

From Wikipedia: "The boxing code was written by John Graham Chambers in 1865 and published in 1867 as "the Queensberry rules for the sport of boxing". This code of rules superseded the Revised London Prize Ring rules (1853), which had themselves replaced the original London Prize Ring rules (1743) of Jack Broughton. This version persuaded boxers that "you must not fight simply to win; no holds barred is not the way; you must win by the rules" (17, sect. 5, pt. 1)."

There is no such style, form, or school. Queensbury was a dreadful little man who lent his name to the rules that were codified as part of what eventually became called the Amateur Athletic Association of England.

Nicky's attempt to describe a judo throw he was supposedly good at is horseshit because what he is describing does not exist in judo. He allegedly took a semester of judo in high school and that made him a master. I took a semester of judo in college and a semester is not enough time to master anything. The handful of throws I learned over the years of my youth and employed came from my Marine Corp uncles and not from that class. One of my uncles was a golden gloves champ when he was in high school and he taught me how to hit long before I studied martial arts. Nicky clearly has no idea about boxing or even fighting. I'm no expert when it comes to martial arts, I was more of a street fighter, and the reason I got into it in high school and college was for the physical benefits it could give my bad leg in the way of exercise. I worked with a sensei who had frequently worked with the disabled at a time when no one else was doing so.

Nonetheless, Pacione has clearly never done any kind of martial arts, American or Asian. He can't get his terms right.

If he spoke to people in high school the way that he says he did in this book, I would have to wonder how he got out alive.

He alternates between trying to present himself as a nerd and a jock. He's neither.

He whines about how much he suffered for months after breaking his finger. HIS FINGER! Broken bones hurt. I broke my wrist in a car accident in 1987. Despite that I met my deadlines without complaining. I have had a lot of muscular pain and difficulties because of having polio, but I never let that slow me down. I pushed through it all without complaint and kept going because I still had to earn a living. I would probably be better off physically today if I had not always tried to bull my way through my physical challenges; however, having done so all my life, I find that listening to a fuckwit like Pacione complain like a little girl because he broke his finger is irritating -- he is such a pantie-waist about it.

So he has labeled his new self-publishing venture the angry guinea. I am forced to ask whether he means that to represent an angry guinea pig, a guinea foul, or a guinea hen, or a coin that was left on the railroad tracks, run over by a train, and left in pieces.

Kady's Vengeance

57,536 / 75,000 (76.7%)

Kady's Vengeance started changing from notes into final draft on August 11. I think I'm not writing fast enough?

Dear Mr. Noticeably Porky,

For the past twelve days you have produced an ungodly amount of abusive posts, comments, and emails to people who never did anything to you.

You have sullied the names of authors that you are jealous of and you have debased the small press by your actions.

You have failed to pay your authors until humiliated into doing so. You have failed to provide contributors copies that you promised would be given.

You have stalked and attempted to terrorize my daughter, my only child.

You have spread lies about me.

"sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind."

Engarde, Mr. Noticeably Porky.