Coyote Christmas, a Story by Twitter

So, what's going on today?



Today, on the twitter feed, there will be a new short story.  It'll start at about noon, and end at four.  At the end of the day, all of the story will end up here, but if you want to know about it first, you'll have to visit twitter -- the twitter link is at the right side of the page.



So, subscribe while you can.  The party will start soon.



This story takes place in the twitter feed of Sean AP Ryan.  A security consultant, a mercenary, and someone who is possibly quite, quite mad. He has faced people who are NOT Fred Phelps of the WBC.  He has dangled someone off of the Empire State Building. He has bargained his way out of an LA jail.  And this is just in the short stories that have appeared on this site. (Linked to in the left hand column.)



The story is finished!  Read below the break





Coyote Christmas, a Story by Twitter



The following is from the twitter feed of Sean AP Ryan. Security consultant. Events occur in modified real time.



New client! Tiffany Stacker, Fullerton. She has $ and a problem with the neighbors. Sounds good to me. Muahaha



Humming Angels We Have Heard On High, mostly to keep from killing something. Tackiest gated community ever! Where are the pink flamingos?





Homes are pretentious. Big, trimmed in silver, columns in front of their doors … Drug dealers watching Miami Vice have better taste





Their gate has nothing No electrical shock, or motion sensors. If they think they need my expertise, they need to up their system.



Holy heck, is that a frigging coyote?





Yup, coyote. We had a brief stare down. I think we came to an agreement. Back to work



The door chime is a full orchestra Chorus of the Bells. Oh look, Christmas time, we have to show off who has the most toys. God save me.





Butler doesn't like me. Go figure. Can't guess how I infiltrated the community. after that supermax with the MS-13 guy, this is easy.





MS-13: Mara Salvatrucha. An LA / Latino gang that could give Al-Qaeda a bad headache.





This family has more dollars than sense. Foyer carpet too expensive to be near muddy boots / door. This may not be fun.





Jeeves looks like he wants to grab a can of Raid and spray me like the pest I am. Decided that would be uncouth. Gone to fetch his masters.





“His masters.” I would be better off if I cut back on the PG Wodehouse.





The client, Tiffany Stacker: bleached botoxed, augmented. Well past her exp date. She has as many original parts as 60s Disney animatronics





People outside the community are "picking on poor little boy.” Either TS spawned late in life, or hiding a middle-age loser in the basement.





Don't kill the client. I should charge her for gas mileage. Considering I basically drove an armored Hummer, that would teach her.





Calling me a rent-a-cop is like calling a mushroom cloud a really neat special effect.





Private security means that I protect against actual threats; threats that I can touch and get my hands on … preferably around their throats





Outside the house and halfway down the block. Calm now. Few people had ever heard O Come, All Ye Faithful hummed angry.





Ask me to play “pest control,” will you? Fumigate your own bloody children. Grrr.





Annoying little yappy dog that thinks it's a Doberman. New York street rats could take out this little ball of fluff and fury.





Coyote darted from bushes, grabbed dog in jaws, and RAN. I knew I liked that coyote for a reason.



At car … found someone else's car trashed. 90's Japanese POS I wouldn't be caught dead in. It would be crap against bullets. That'll hurt.





Ran into old friend: Fullerton author. Still cleaning up after that visit. Not my fault some people just leave their explosives lying around





Trashed car happens “Every once in a while,” when momma cuts off guy's marijuana allowance. The guy? Spawn of Tiffany Stacker.





Author & Friends can't join up and beat this sucker so hard, they find him detoxing in the gutter. Two reasons: one "my soul'd get sticky"



Reason 2: Car owner a (legal) immigrant. If anything happens to Mommy's Precious Little Boy, author's friend will be deported





Hmm … Are these people big fish, or is this a small pond? Author's answer: “I wouldn't say we're a pond, really. None of us are very coy.”





Considering that this is a standard POS model older than me, thus author's friend isn't well off. Also, a crappy car with a shiny radio. Hmm





Yes, I am all kinds of perceptive.





My point: wrecking a car steals most of her food money for months. Author's friend doesn't have two nickels to rub together, & he stole one.





Yeah, I'm pissed off now. When I'm done, he'll wish that he HAD been left in a gutter somewhere.





Righteous indignation? No. I drove all the way out here, might as well do something fun. Yes, my "fun" is some people's "mass murder." Heh.





Author looked me up. Asked if I'd blow up the whole community, or just small parts of it. I must find those leaks and plug them





Stacker's 1st reply on seeing me? “Don't rape me!” Please, I have standards. Give her my "hostage negotiator" smile. See if that'll work





I'm a 5'6” in Hollywierd, she thinks I approve of bullies? I want her kid arrested, in jail, then rehab, and not the Lindsay Lohan plan.





Detcord around Christmas tree = awesomeness. And property damage. A Lexus and an Aston Martin dead. Score! She said do my worst ....



Saw author again. I ruined one of her takes A trailer for her book. "Actors" paid in tacos, apparently



I ruined her trailer filming because “That explosion was you, wasn't it?” Heh. I don't self-destruct. Don't believe the internet rumors.





Curses, video on Youtube. Damn, now I need to threaten someone who owns YouTube. Google, isn't it? Hmm, did they get my good side?





The author's answer: “Well, it was hard to tell. You were covered in ash at the time.” Ah, that one. Good times.



Apparently, it's not a Christmas tree. It's a 'holiday tree.' Gated communities have planning committees. Grr.



Oh look, cops. Gee whiz, I wonder what caught their attention.



 I'm out. Payback time.



Author suggest cat treats. They are “coyote crack.” Good to know, but why is she telling me?



Her answer: “the more I help, the less property damage you'll cause.” Yeah, keep thinking that



Charlie Stacker (the son) looks like he's from an Occupy Wall Street rally: college age neo-hippie, all of his clothes bought from Old Navy.



The Son on one side of a fence, smothered in cat treats, bound in Detcord. Coyotes finally showed up. Time to chat



I “wouldn't dare” touch him. His' mommy'd sic the federal government on me. Maybe if I hadn't handed Israeli's a terrorist plot recently …



He doesn't want to go to jail, or rehab. I knew the family was stupid; but this is qualifying for a Darwin award. It's feeding time!!!



Darn coyotes won't eat him. Fun fact: coyotes don't eat the bodies of meth users. And, he has an empty house on his iPhone address book



Fourth coyote is staring at me while the others lick the cat treats up. Okay, he can tag along, but can't eat anyone unless I say. Period



Meth labs smell to high heaven, thus many are in rural areas, where other people can't take a whiff; and they can very easily be blown up.



A foreclosed house in the middle of a cluster of foreclosed houses = meth lab.



Found house. It has a guard. Tossed cat treat at guard's feet, and coyote won't go. Looking at me like I'm stupid. Thanks a lot.

Took out meth lab guard myself with the tactical baton. He has MS13 tats all over him. WTF have I gotten into THIS time?



Apparently, using illegal female sex slaves to make your meth cuts down on your risk of being blown up or poisoned by the gasses. #HulkSmash



Half a million dollars in property damage later. I feel better. Illegals cut a deal. Arrests soon now. Current tune: O Come All Ye Faithful.



The author likes my armored Hummer. She's taking notes. She's cute. Though I'm not in the market to train a new girlfriend.



Yes, I said train! Training someone to handle a gun proficiently takes work. I can rely on my girlfriend for cover fire.



Crap! People are shooting at me. MS13 has a good response time. ARs with barrel drum magazines. 200-300 shots per. God bless armored cars.



I have enough weapons in the trunk to level the surrounding area. I don't think I can talk my way out of a collateral-heavy counterstrike.



I hope this next trick works. Before you throw grenades, you throw rocks.



I tossed a bag of cat treats. Coyote jumped one gunman, I shot the other in the knees. Bad gangbanger. Sit. Stay.



FAQ: Yes, I threw someone off the Empire State Building, attached to a bungee cord. He's just lucky I remembered to attach it this time.

Hmm, apparently, a terrorist attack in Bethlehem – only a Palestinian Authority security guy had been killed.



Always nice to do a favor for someone.

Current tune: Angels We Have Heard on High, at max volume, to counter the noise of pounding from the trunk.



The MS-13 shooter in the trunk is getting annoying. When I find out who sent him, he'll be home for Christmas. In very small boxes.

Review: Karina Fabian's "Neeta Lyffe: Zombie Exterminator"

You might remember that, a while back, I had been involved in a Catholic Writer's Guild online conference. I ran a workshop on fight scenes, and ran a discussion on creating a villain. During the course of that latter chat, I mentioned that it helped if the villain had the brain. Mindless, shambling zombies were not really that much fun, as villains go … Then I remembered that one of the people in the chat was Karina Fabian … who had written – surprise – a book about a Zombie Exterminator.

Now, if I had had my wits about me, I would have noted how, in zombie films, zombies are generally NOT the main bad guys. They set the scene, they act as cannon fodder (for an action franchise like Resident Evil, where the real villains are the Evil Corporation du jour), but most zombie movies are more about the people in the Zombie Apocalypse du jour rather than about the zombies. The zombies are window dressing.


Instead, my witless wonder moment had me hasten to add "Though I can't speak for every zombie storyline, I have yet to read Karina Fabian's." I think I inserted a smiley and went on from there.

Within two minutes, I heard an email click. I had just received an e-copy of Karina Fabian's Neeta Lyffe: Zombie Exterminator.

See, when I shoot from the lip, I have no idea what'll happen.

Neeta Lyffe: Zombie Exterminator, takes place in the 2040s, several decades after the zombie outbreaks started. There are no zombie apocalypses here.  It never happened. However, the undead can be annoying, so exterminators have to be called in -- exterminators with chainsaws.  Zombies are attracted to certain strong smells, and they don't like standard household cleaners.... don't ask.

Neeta Lyffe, a second-generation exterminator (motto: "I want to be buried like my mother, with my head cradled in my arms") is sued after an extermination call went into property damage. Now, in order to generate income, she's agreed to do the most terrifying thing in her life..... host a reality show.



Yes, you read that right. The reality show Zombie Death Extreme, where Neeta is stuck with a handful of exterminator wannabes, training them to re-kill the occasional nests of undead that threaten LA (then again, if parts of LA were turned into shambling mindless hordes, would anyone notice?). Also included: re-grief training ... for when you have to mourn for loved ones a second time, when they come back; and flash cards to tell the difference between a stroke victim, a drunk, and a zombie.  And you can probably guess, this has a sense of humor, unlike most zombie films ("We throw the grenades on the count of 3. 1, 2, 3."  Second person shouts "Five," and throws the grenade ... sorry, Monty Python joke.).

The cast looks like it should be stocked with the standard cliches: an ex-marine, a farm boy with a stutter, an African-American woman from an urban environment, an Afghan emigre who's first language isn't English (he speaks it perfectly well, but the producers want him so speak more like Hasan from a Bugs Bunny Cartoon). The Producer of the show is the standard two-dimension cardboard cutout, which means he's drawn very accurately -- however, he's never had to negotiate with someone who carries a chainsaw on a daily basis, including the occasional brainstorming session for the show.



All of the characters are vivid and brightly drawn ... and heavily mocked, in some cases. Everything you have ever hated about reality television is skewered ruthlesly, and wonderfully.



Possibly one of the best parts of this book (and there are plenty to choose from), use the running excerpts from a documentary on the rise of zombies, detailing a somewhat funny look on the matter, down to and including Darwin Award winners who tried to play tag with a zombie. That was fun.



In short, it's one part satire, one part action, and all parts fun.



Coming Soon, Netta Lyffe: I Left My Brains in San Francisco.

Saved by a superhero

And here I thought I would have nothing to talk about, I'm saved by Rebekah.

You remember Rebekah Hendershot, don't you?  You may not, it's been a while since I wrote about her, and her strange, strange little universe of Masks. News items and essays she dealt with have inspired a few blog entries, and even a few stories .... my story "God Hates ... Superman?" is actually stolen from her original blog title of the same name. Masks has appeared all over the blog, including: “So, you want to be a writer?” and Disasters to Marvel At: A Comic Discussion, and others.

Madam Hendershot inspired my Writer's Rules For Villains; and The Masks Blog beat up on Fred Phelps before this blog did.

Masks also made a brief appearance in one of the first stories on this page, Boys of the Old Brigade.  As well as the direct sequel, Coyote Christmas.

Now, what the hell is Masks?

Masks is a novel series written by Rebekah Hendershot, who has been a friend of this blog and its supporting pages since day one. Seriously, she provided the first comment on the entire blog.

Masks is, essentially, what would happen if you had someone who wanted to seriously write an original novel about superheroes. She's it. Unlike some novels, like Soon, I Will Be Invincible, or other novelists who spend more time making fun of the genre than actually enjoying it, Rebekah is having fun with it. Imagine if Jim Butcher wanted to write an original comic book, you get Masks.

Masks also tries to make superheroes "real"-- rule one, NO SPANDEX.

It's a book written for those people who want something more edifying than Twilight, and without a retarded fanbase... Rebekah is far too polite to beat up on Twitards. Obviously, I don't have that problem.

Her premise: Something killed off the superheroes of Los Angeles. And it's still there. Cue Dracula theme.

Now, the only thing standing between the civilians of LA and supervillains is .... a sixteen-year-old girl with a snark function permanently set to "kill." She has allies ... after a fashion. She's aided by a screwed up Tim Drake meets Winter Soldier, she has a demon coyote who's stalking her, and a cowboy grim reaper seems to have an interest in her as well.

There's a love story in there as well, but I can only cover so much.

Over the last few years, she has supported gamers, comic books, and Young Adult fiction that men can read (YA fiction that isn't Twilight.)

When you check out her blog ... and what are you still doing here reading mine? .... you might notice some common themes between her blog and this one. A lot of writers are similiarly warped. We're weird that way.

And Lord knows that any fantasy elements in Masks is about ten times better than any fantasy used in Star Wars recently.

One day, Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden will come up against a mad scientist, and it'll look a lot a Masks novel. Or, Butcher, or even Laurell K. Hamilton, will try to write something that is a solid mystery, and it may be as good as the Agatha Christie-like Zephyr Street.

All in all, it's a fun ride. If you have the time, you might want to get on. And buckle up

Because her book is released!!!!

Now, go buy it. You're welcome.

Month in Review, December, 2011

Well, that was a fun year, huh?  In fact, 2011 was so fun, let's just do it over again, and skip 2012, so we can wake up and election season will be over.



Oh well, can't have everything.



December was a bit of a mixed bag, and the year wasn't all bad. With luck, 2012 will be better. Apparently, after my rampage through Stumbleupon.com, making my November blog traffic spike through the roof, I retained nearly a thousand new visitors, who knew?



Then again, I had some aid in this from a strange and unexpected source -- actually, about three or four different times.



To start with, my tale Coyote Christmas, a Story by Twitter, was a strange success, viewed by over a hundred readers in the first month, and that's without having to post it all over the internet.  Even Coyote Christmas: the full story, written in standard prose, took in a goodly number of readers.  Who knows, I might have stolen someone's title without knowing it -- that would explain why I had a lot of readers looking for "the author of Coyote Christmas" in search terms.



And, did I mention that Rebekah Hendershot has been published?  Muahaha.



I suspect the success of these blogs had to do with Rebekah's novel, and my ties to it ... but I could be wrong.  But then again, you can never underestimate the power of a good death trap.



I had some nice music blogs, mostly because of a recent discovery on my part: Lindsey Stirling, and her epic violin. Seriously, this woman was awesome.  Not to mention that her Celtic Christmas was beautiful. And her rendition of Silent Night, it worked ... so, yes, I was probably saved by Christmas, and tripping over Madam Stirling.



Though there was one good thing in 2011 I wouldn't change at all, my new Self Defense column (which you can see reviewed for all of 2011 right here). And my Catholic column -- which is even newer.



And this year, well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Not many, but I'm working on it.

Troubles and Tribulations

REVIEWS OF BOOKS YOU (PROBABLY) NEVER HEARD OF. PART 2: Tribulations

Reporter Susan Randall is going through the worst time of her life, as is LA. It begins with a typical ride-along with a local patrol car, usually a serene, boring assignment; and it is, until she gets shot. It gets worse: a serial killer is having a fun time in Los Angles, slicing through the homeless population. Each victim is mutilated in a less-than-typical fashion: their hands are sliced in such a way that they riffle like a deck of cards when touched. Susan wants the case, and gets it and everything that comes with it.

“Everything” includes not only the killer sending her e-mails, but a man named Raymond Weil, who keeps showing up: first at the crime scenes, then at the funerals of the victims. Despite his claims of demonic involvement in the murders, Raymond knows more than the police do about the serial killer and makes for a great lead for the story. 

That is, until Susan suspects he knows too much.

As the search for the killer proceeds, Susan becomes intrigued by Weil’s life and his continued persistence in relating the demonic to a serial killer. Before too long, she discovers an unnerving secret that causes her to suspect Raymond shouldn’t know some of the things he knows, especially as the City of Angels slowly becomes more like a city of Hell.

Joseph Michael Straczynski is the creator of the television series Babylon 5, wrote over one hundred episodes of miscellaneous TV programs, ran Amazing Spider-Man and Thor for several years, and will soon take over writing for Superman and Wonder Woman comicbooks. Straczynski’s style is often marked by creative wit and a keen observation of society at large. Tribulations is no exception. Throughout the novel, he uses his years of experience in Los Angeles with his graceful wit and driving narrative that forces the reader to push on. Despite his claims of atheism, one would hardly suspect it with his knowledge of past demonic incidents—both in theological and pure historical terms.



There is one mistake you should not make before you continue reading: that this is a spiritual novel. Whether you are Freud, the next generation, an atheist theology major, or a Catholic priest, you can enjoy this book. One might say Straczynski is part Walker Percy and part Jeffery Deaver: humorous, thrilling, and just dark enough to make you look in the closet, just to be safe. Straczynski uses his considerable talents to merge psychology, sociology, and theology into a story that unites profiles of serial killers, the sociology of a riot, and a profile of evil.

 

Truly something for everyone.