Contest: Science Fiction Blurbs

Contest! Want to win some free science fiction books? Read on…

Why isn’t science fiction respected as mainstream literature? Take a gander at these book blurbs, each of which was taken from the latest flyer for the Science Fiction Book Club. These are hilarious, and not in a good way.

Here’s a contest: Tell me which blurbs are real and which blurbs are fake. Whoever has the most correct answers by next weekend wins three books recently purged from my scifi library. (Please do not cheat. That takes the fun out of it. Just make your best guesses without any outside support.)

  1. Changelings — When a scientist gets wind of the shapeshifting ability of the Shongili twins, she plans to kidnap them for study and experimentation. They must flee their home on Petaybee, for though the planet is protected from exploitation, its people are not.
  2. Definitely Dead — When mind-reading cocktail waitress Sookie Stackhouse is summoned to be Queen of the Vampires in New Orleans, she’s more puzzled than worried. But that’s before all those folks start trying to kill her.
  3. In Fury Born — Aided by a self-aware computer and a Fury from Old Earth mythology, an ex-Marine seeks vengeance when raiders murder her family.
  4. Mammoth — When ruthless billionaire Howard Christian’s arctic team turns up a frozen mammoth, a watch-sporting 12,000-year-old man and a time-travel device, he can’t decide which he wants more. Until the device brings rampaging mammoths to Downtown L.A.!
  5. The Protector’s War — Nine years after the Change rendered technology inoperable only a few pockets of civilization remain. Two communities thrive in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. But the army of the Protectorate is coming for their priceless farmland.
  6. Dragon’s Fire — Pellar, a mute orphan boy, is taken in by Masterharper Zist and his wife, Cayla. They are concerned with the fate of the Shunned, particularly with the Red Star due to return soon. In time Pellar decides he must unravel the disappearance of Moran, Zist’s previous apprentice. Pellar also finds a reclusive community of watch-wher breeders, led by a half-mad woman named Aleesa. They were driven from their homes by the local feudal chief, D’gan, who hates the watch-whers. Pellar convinces the group to trust him and to allow him to take an egg away with him. The egg is extremely valuable. But is it worth the risks Pellar takes to transport it?
  7. The Ghost Brigades — Three alien enemies are moving toward war against humanity, aided by a turncoat scientist. Cloned from the traitor’s DNA, Jared begins to intuit his motivations. But time is running out…
  8. Queen of the Slayers — The forces of darkness are more eager than ever to regain dominance. As apocalypse draws near, the mysterious Queen of the Slayers emerges. She turns Champions against each other in her determination to claim the intoxicating Slayer essence.
  9. Promise of the Witch King — The assassin Artemis Enteri and the dark elf Jarlaxl search for the Witch-King’s treasure. At the gate of the Bloodstone lands, they find themselves in the midst of a struggle between the ghost of an evil lich and an oath-bound knight.
  10. Heir of Autumn — Ruled by eight Children of the Seasons, the city of Ohndarien falls to tyranny when Brophy, the Heir of Autumn, is accused of murder and exiled. Brophy must find a way past treachery — and the secret held within the dreams of slumbering child.
  11. Solstice Wood — When Sylvia meets the women of her grandmother’s sewing circle, she learns why she’s been called home: Lynn Hall is the door between this world and Faerie — a realm the circle seeks to bind with magical stitches. And Sylvia is now its heir…
  12. The Wizard of London — Two mismatched girls at an Edwardian boarding school reveal startling psychic gifts under the watchful eye of headmistress Isabelle Harton. But when a power-mad Elemental Mage also learns of their rarified gifts, Isabelle’s quest to shield them puts her on a collision course with the greatest Mage in England — the Wizard of London.
  13. Danse Macabre — Anita Blake should be thinking about the ardour, the sexual power that flows between her and Jean-Claude, Master Vampire and Richard, her werewolf lover. It is reaching new levels…perhaps evolving into something altogether new. The unexpected effect of this is that Jean-Claude’s own power as a master vampire have grown. Richard, always unpredictable is changing too. On top of all this, Anita may be pregnant. And while not knowing whether the father is a vampire or a werewolf or someone else is bad enough, life as a Federally licensed vampire killer is no way to raise a baby.
  14. High Druid of Shannara — Pen Ohmsford had paid dearly in his quest for the darkwand, the wand made from the ancient tanequil. His friends hide from Druids while the trolls are besieged by savage Urdas. Can the scattered friends join forces in time to defeat the evil.
  15. Southern Fire — On the Aldabreshin Archipeligo, magic is anathema. When magic-wielding savages terrorize a southern realm, warlord Kheda must act to save his domain. He turns to Dev, a man who is everything Kheda despises, a peddler of vice…and a wizard.
  16. Crystal Gorge — The enemy is close to the Treasured One’s secrets, while the Dreamers are in danger of delivering a nightmare to the Elder Gods. It falls to the humans to fight back the Vlagh…if the realm of Dhrall is to live.
  17. Crown of Stars — In the series finale, Sanglant fights to legitimize his rule with Liath as his queen. As the Ashioi sow discord among the humans, Lady Sabella and Duke Conrad try to seize the crown, while Liath seeks forbidden magic to heal the war-torn land.
  18. Memories of Ice — A new threat looms over beleaguered Genabackis. The Pannion Domin’s fanatical minions devour all who refuse its sadistic priest-king’s creed. When the city of Capustan is threatened, Dujek Onearms rebel army must forge peace with their old enemies.
  19. The Stardragons — Eons after humankind is gone, when the Universe itself is collapsing, only the Stardragons remain. They begin an epic quest to find the Birthplace — source of all life in the universe.
  20. Micah — A routine assignment turns difficult when Anita Blake must deal with her feelings for were-leopard Micah while raising the most dangerous zombie of her career.
  21. Geodesica — The post-human Exarchate controls both ftl technology and the Naturals of the far-flung system — until a mysterious alien construct threatens their rule. But Geodesica will prove more dangerous than anyone can imagine.
  22. The Anubis Gates — When a 20th-century scholar time-travels to 1810, he’s soon face to face with a the ka of an ancient Egyptian sorceror, a deformed clown of crime, and a body-stealing werewolf…all involved in a sinister plot to change history.

Each of the real blurbs was copied exactly — spelling, punctuation, and all. I think the Science Fiction Book Club needs to hire a new blurb writer. A couple of these are from well-known authors or are highly-regarded books, but you wouldn’t know it from these summaries!

“You know,” Kris said to me as I read some of the blurbs to her, “It’s no wonder they have to sell these five for a dollar.” And it’s no wonder that people don’t take science fiction seriously.

When the contest has finished, I’ll go through and post Amazon links to the real books. Have fun!

Re-Arranged

My startling transformation from a hoarder to a purger continues.

“I want to get rid of more books,” I told Kris last night.

“Which books?” she asked. She looked skeptical.

“Nearly all of them,” I said.

That was going to far, Kris protested. “You don’t need to get rid of any more literature,” she said. “If you want to get rid of something, get rid of your comic books. And the science fiction.”

Over the years, I’ve amassed a large science fiction library, one that takes up about 360 inches of shelf space. Maybe more. But I don’t read science fiction much anymore. I haven’t read a single book from my scifi library since we moved to the new house.

To make matters worse, the scifi books live on a pair of bookshelves in the guest room, a room that I keep complaining doesn’t give me enough room to work. (It doubles as my writing office.) I want to get rid of the guest bed, but Kris thinks I should get sell the science fiction bookshelves instead. We purchased them for $20 each from a disgruntled Borders employee. The shelves are angled so that the base rests on the floor several inches from the wall. They take up a lot of space. And they’re ugly.

“Yeah, I could purge some science fiction,” I said. “Maybe I could move the remaining books to a shelf in the other room.” We have a pair of bookshelves in our ‘cat room’ that we use mainly as storage for children’s toys. Since we have no children, these could probably be kept out of sight.

“Maybe I could move the small bookshelf from the media room into here,” Kris said. “Then we could put the kids books on it, and you could move your science fiction books over.”

“Could we get rid of the guest bed?” I asked, though I already new the answer.

“No!” said Kris. After a moment she added, “But we could move the guest bed into a corner, which would give you more space to work in.”

We’ve made a decision to re-arrange several rooms again. This happens once every few months, and I love it. I derive great pleasure from shuffling books between rooms, from dragging furniture to-and-fro. It’s as if we’re gradually seeking the ideal layout for every room in the house.

Spring Harvest

Late spring in the Willamette Valley — you know what that means: fresh strawberries. Some people tromp off to large farms to pick them. Kris and I harvest our own.

I’m particularly fond of our plants. The ones running wild in the rose bed come from the Gingeriches. They’re threatening to crowd out the flowers. The strawberry plants in among the raspberries came from Mac and Pam (who, in turn, originally got them from us — essentially, these are descendants of the plants I bought when we first moved into the house in Canby).

Our first strawberries of the season weren’t so good. We gave a batch of them to the neighbors, and it made me feel guilty. They were more “waterberries” than strawberries — they were flavorless from too much rain. Over the past week, though, their flavor has improved.

Last Friday, Kris picked five pounds from in and and among her roses. On Sunday, we put Will and Tiffany to work harvesting the fruit. There’s still more to come, too. Meanwhile, we’ve been snatching raspberries here and there. The berries aren’t very big, but they’re flavorful. (These raspberries are from Mac and Pam, too.) Our three highbush blueberries (transplanted from the neighbors) aren’t going to bear this year (they had a lot of fruit last year, even though they’d just been transplanted), but our two lowbush varieties are straining under the weight. Just a couple more weeks and I’ll be eating blueberries at every meal.

I’ve been eating fresh peas ever since the strawberries came on. Crunchy and delicious. They’re actually better after sitting in the fridge overnight, sealed inside a plastic bag with a bit of water.

There’s still lots more to come. We’re just getting started with the garden produce. Kris’ tomato plants are ENORMOUS! (I plan to climb one up to the clouds, where I’ll steal a harp and a goose and various other goodies from the giants who live there.)

Addendum by Kris: I am trying a new fertilizer this year, which may account for some of the tomatoes’ enormity. Also, we have six pears and countless apples, though they’re all quite small yet.

Meanwhile, other things are sprouting at the Cronk residence…

Swallowtail

I’m sitting on the back porch on a pleasant Saturday afternoon. I’m sipping a gin fizz. Toto is perched on the railing, surveying the yard. Kris is at work in the garden.

In the back hedge, a swallowtail butterfly alights upon the pale purple rhododendron, the rhododendron that towers nearly twenty feet above the ground. The scene is gorgeous — butterfly and blossom make perfect complements, framed by a forest of green. The swallowtail flutters from flower to flower. I’d like to take a picture, but it is only there for ten or twenty seconds before it breezes away.

In Dreams

Dreams are so strange sometimes. I’ve had some odd ones the past couple nights.

Earlier this week, I dreamed of my childhood friend John Kern. Or more precisely, I dreamed that he had a sister named Starla. Starla Kern had won $1,000,000 doing something unusual (the details of which are now sketchy — winning a reality show? defeating Godzilla?), and that she was all over Portland-area news stations. They referred to her as “Starla Kern, formerly of Wilsonville”, and parenthetically mentioned that her brother, John, had ghost-written Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October. (In non-dream life, John has served aboard submarines.) After the big to-do, I bumped into Starla at an ice cream parlor, and we reminisced about old times.

But that’s nothing compared to what I dreamed last night.

I dreamed that we were with Jeremy and Jennifer, staying in a yurt at the coast. From the campground, we could hear the ocean. Kris and Jenn had wandered off to look at some foxglove while Jeremy and I tended the kids. He and I were seated around a campfire, drinking Jack and Coke. The kids were running up a bluff to a cliff that overlooked the sea.

“Be careful,” Jeremy said as he poured himself another drink. Hank and Scout laughed as they raced up and down the slope. Then, without warning, brother and sister joined hands and leapt from the cliff to the beach below. Emma landed first, and she rolled out on the sand, giggling. Harrison landed with a sickening crunch as his legs snapped beneath him. He began to scream. Emma began to scream.

“Damn kids,” said Jeremy, taking another sip of his drink. The screaming bothered me, though, so I went over to see if there was anything I could do. As I neared them, a giant crocodile sprang from the surf and charged the children. Emma moved aside, but Harrison’s legs were rubber. The crocodile gobbled him down.

“Jeremy,” I shouted, “a crocodile just ate your son.”

“Damn it,” he said. He got up and strolled over, drink in hand. The crocodile idled at the base of the cliff, a big grin on its face. I could hear Harrison inside, screaming. Emma was clinging to my pants and crying.

When Jeremy reached us, he handed me his Jack and Coke and marched up to the crocodile. He wrestled with its jaws, but the animal only got a quizzical look on its face, and then gobbled him down, too. Or mostly down.

One arm still protruded from the beast’s mouth. In a valiant feat of strength, Jeremy forced open the iron jaws. “My drink,” he gasped. “Give me my drink!” I walked over and gave him his Jack and Coke. He drank the entire thing before the jaws snapped close again. The crocodile winked at Emma (who was still crying) and then sank beneath the surf.

I wonder what I will dream tonight…

Download This Song

MC Lars publicly denounces the record companies:

I’m telling you, this whole thing — me sitting on my laptop posting this bootleg video from YouTube about music piracy (and outmoded business models) to my blog — is so 2006 that it hurts.

But this is the future, folks.

This is now.

[via the ever-prescient Andy Baio, who says this is old, but new to him — it’s new to me, too, and probably to most of you, as well — mas aqui]

I *heart* Rick Springfield

Tiffany is the best sister-in-law ever.

When she met us for dinner last night, she slipped a CD across the table to me. “What’s this?” I asked. The label read 80s Hits Stripped.

“I think you’ll like it,” she said. “It’s eighties songs done acoustic by the original artists.”

I do like it. Or most of it. We listened to it in the car on the way home. The first two songs didn’t impress me, but Men at Work (“Down Under”) and Asia (“Heat of the Moment”) were pretty good. And when Rick Springfield started strumming “Jessie’s Girl”, I squealed like a little girl.

I kid you not.

I took my hands off the steering wheel, squeezed them into fists, closed my eyes, and jiggled, squealing the whole time. I loved Rick Springfield (a.k.a. Richard Lewis Springthorpe) as a teenager. I am completely in earnest when I declare that he’s the most under-rated recording artist of the 1980s. His concert was the best I’ve ever seen.

Here, for your edification, until I am forced to remove it (please do not link directly to this file from your own web page), is a clip of Springfield’s acoustic “Jessie’s Girl”:

Rick Springfield – Jessie’s Girl (acoustic)

My favorite Springfield album was always Tao (five stars at Amazon, and containing songs like “Celebrate Youth”, “State of the Heart”, “Written in Rock”, and “My Father’s Chair”), but you might be more interested in his hits Working class Dog (with “Jessie’s Girl”, “I’ve Done Everything For You”, and “Love is Alright Tonight”), Success Hasn’t Spoiled Me yet (with “Don’t Talk to Strangers”, “I Get Excited”, and “What Kind of Fool Am I”), or Living in Oz (which gets five stars at Amazon and includes “Human Touch”, “Affair of the Heart”, and “Souls”).

Of course, there are always greatest hits collections:

While researching this entry, I discovered the Springfield is still making music. The Day After Yesterday, released in 2005, is an album of covers. Rick Springfield says, “[These] have been favorites of mine for a long time. They are songs I wish I’d written.” Tracks include I’m Not In Love (10cc), Under The Milky Way (The Church), Life In A Northern Town (Dream Academy), Broken Wings (Mister Mister), Human (Human League), Holding On To Yesterday (Ambrosia), Baker Street (Gerry Rafferty), Waiting For A Girl Like You (Foreigner), Let’s Go Out Tonight (Blue Nile), For No One (Beatles), Miss You Nights (Westlife), Blue Rose (Lizz Wright), Cry (Rick Springfield) and Imagine (John Lennon).

Rick Springfield covering The Blue Nile? I’m so there!

For more about my never-ending nostalgia for eighties music, check out:

Tune in next time when I’ll rave about Styx.

The Write Stuff

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. And if a person is defined but what it is they do most often, what it is they love, I have, at last, become a writer.

I spend several hours each day writing. I write for this weblog. I write for Get Rich Slowly (which, for good or ill, is now my main blog). I used to write for Four Color Comics (which is not dead, I promise). I write even more for my own edification. In fact, I’d guess that only about half of what I write is ever seen by anyone but me.

If you had told me a decade ago that I would be a writer, but not for traditional media, I would have said you were crazy. But that’s what has happened. Custom Box is still my day job — no question — but writing is who I am, what I do. (I’m even beginning to make a little money at it!)

I haven’t had much time to write during the past ten days. We’ve been busy with friends and yard work. Yesterday I had finally had enough. “I’m spending all day Sunday writing,” I told Kris. “I’m finishing my chores tonight, and then I’m going to sit at the kitchen table all day. Writing.”

And here I am. And here I’ll be twelve hours from now.

I am writing.

I am a writer.

A Little Digg

One of my sites just got dugg, but not in a good way.

Many of you are probably familiar with the social bookmarking sites such as del.icio.us and digg and furl. These sites allow users to share links to interesting sites with other people. Each site employs its own method of ranking the popularity of links.

Well, yesterday I thought a link that sennoma posted was funny and might make a good change of pace for my personal finance blog. It was a guide to winning things from a claw machine, one of those attractions you see in a supermarket. I posted a summary of the original article and went on my merry way.

This morning, when I came in from mowing the lawn, I checked my site stats to find an extra-ordinary number of visitors over the past hour. “What the hell?” I thought. Get Rich Slowly had received 4,000 hits from digg. “Maybe they linked to my article on choosing organic produce,” I thought. No such luck.

Somebody had ‘dugg’ the claw machine article, which had made it to the site’s front page (that’s apparently a big deal, as my traffic numbers reveal). And many digg users weren’t happy about it. Here’s a typical comment:

This guy sucks. He stole content from other peoples website and didn’t even credit them. Then linked his crappy blog to digg to get ad revenue. This is how this c*cksucker is getting rich slowly.

sigh

I registered for a digg account and posted a comment trying to clarify things, but it didn’t really matter. People had already made up their minds: I was a spammer, had posted my own link, was trying to get rich by google ads. They responded to my comment by telling me I was full of crap:

Beat it, spammer.

Oh brother. It’s not like a two-minute session with google wouldn’t verify I was telling the truth — I have a very public presence on the web. No, it’s easier to just make unfounded accusations and move on. The thing is, I shouldn’t even have dignified these bozos with a response. I forgot one of the cardinal rules of the internet, something I learned back on Usenet in the early nineties: Don’t get involved in flame wars.

I’m proud of Get Rich Slowly. I’m trying to make it a useful site for people who are working toward financial independence. I spend hours each day searching for useful information. It sucks for it to get some negative publicity, but I need to remind myself that this is a very, very small thing, especially considering the other feedback I’ve received has been uniformly positive.

And how much did I make in Google ad revenue from those 4,000 digg visitors? Less than two dollars. Here’s a question for you, diggsters: would I really sacrifice my own reputation and the reputation of my site for a couple of bucks? Maybe you would, but to me that sounds like suicide. I want this site to be strong in the long-term, to grow into something useful for many people. Why would I kill it in its infancy?

(Ha! I just checked the profile of the digg user who posted this. He’s the #28 user on the site, and has posted hundreds of stories, many of which made it to the front page. That makes this situation even more ludicrous. Regular digg users should recognize his name.)

Why do I let myself get worked up over little things like this?

Telemarketers are the Scum of the Earth

It is impossible to be too rude to a telemarketer.

*ring*

J.D.: Custom Box Service.
Cathy: [Cathy has a quiet, thin voice further burdened with a deep southern accent. Also, the line quality is poor.] Hi, this is Cathy from QwestDex Media. I’m calling for Mr. J.D. Roth. Is this Mr. Roth?
J.D.: It is.
Cathy: Hi. I’m calling to speak with you about how your business should appear on Google and Yahoo! Do you have a business web site?
J.D.: We do, but I’m perfectly capable of handling this all on my own.
Cathy: But, Mr. Roth…

*click*

I mean, really: what the hell is QwestDex Media going to do to affect how our site appears in search engines? Give me a break. In the past I’ve had conversations with other telemarketers about how I spend more time working with web sites than doing anything else. They don’t give a rat’s ass. They still want to sell me stuff.

Have I mentioned recently that I believe telemarketers should be shot? I don’t think so, but it’s true. I have no patience with them and their games. I loathe them. I generally just hang up on them, but sometimes I’m lulled into staying on the line. I’m never polite, that’s for certain. I once had a woman call back she was so angry at me. Must have been her first day on the job.

Earlier today:

*ring*

J.D.: Custom Box Service.
Brian: This is Brian from the Yellow Pages. I’m calling to update your free local listing. Are you still located at…
J.D.: You know what? I’m sick of this shit. We don’t do business over the phone. Mail me something.

*click*

Seriously. Just like that, with the “shit” and everything.

It is impossible to be too rude to a telemarketer. Don’t think of them as people. All they’re after is your money. All you’re after is for them to go away. (In fairness, I should point out that I believe my problems with Verizon stem from me having been rude to a telemarketer. Bastards.)

(I have a friend who is a telemarketer. I have to consciously will myself not to openly condemn him for this choice.)