Category Archives: Stories & Writing

Violence in New Eden


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A couple weeks ago I quit my job after realizing I needed a break from programming for a little while. Now I am happily unemployed and for the next month or two, am not going to be thinking about writing code. Hopefully this will give me the chance to do a mental reset and regain my passion for development.

My latest book of EVE Online stories.In the meantime I’m working on my writing. I finished compiling and editing my fourth book, called Violence in New Eden: 4 Brutal Tales in the World of EVE Online and published it on Amazon Kindle. I have also nearly finished my fifth book which I’m calling, The Water Glass Collection: 10 Regular Old Short Stories. This will be a collection of my non-science-fiction shorts. I’m hoping to get that published by next week when I go away to a five day sex party in the woods. After that I go back to a novel that I’ve been working on since my teenage years.

Anyway, Violence In New Eden is EVE Online fan fiction so the players are the target audience but the stories should be understandable to most science fiction fans.

I am in need desperate need of reviews. People don’t like to buy books on Amazon unless they can read a couple reviews. If you want to read my books for free and promise to write a review on Amazon, I will be happy to send you a free copy. Just contact me and ask. This goes for all of my books on Amazon until I get, lets say, 10 reviews per book.

If you don’t want to contact me or write a review, you can download this book to your kindle for free on these dates:

  • July 31, 2014
  • August 1, 2014
  • August 29, 2014
  • September 12, 2014 (I intend to make all my books free on this date)
  • October 17, 2014

The Pioneers: My Latest Book


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Earlier this week I released a new novella called The Pioneers, about a group of children who are born from an artificial womb and raised by robots so they can colonize a distant planet that could never be reached by living humans. It’s time for their first trip to the planet’s surface and our main character, Sophia, is getting nervous. Meanwhile, some of the other kids are inventing conspiracy theories about the aliens they think might live there while the others are just trying to survive and be kids.

thePioneersI don’t recall exactly where this story idea came from but it might just be my favorite out of all the stories I’ve written. It does have one major flaw that I see, even though nobody has pointed it out to me yet, which is the question, “why didn’t the system designers just program an advanced autopilot instead of making the kids fly the dropship?”

So to that I say, “Shhhhhh… It’s just a story.” Focus on the other messages and don’t worry about that.

This is also the first time I’ve hired an editor, which I think I should probably do again once I have released the other two books I plan on putting together in the coming months. She made a whole lot of minor changes.

If you do read it, I would love it if you could take a few minutes to review it on Amazon as just a review helps out a lot.

It’s only 99 cents on Kindle, but if you’re like me and think everything should be free, I will be running free promotions on the following dates:

  • 5-29-2014 and 5-30-2014
  • 6-12-2014 and 6-13-2014
  • 7-11-2014

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KEY4GZ2

Kalin is an Author, not a Blogger


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A while back I really started thinking that I wanted to make a change to this website and my writing endeavors. I’m not under any delusions here: I know no one is reading these blog posts. I decided to really start promoting this site and bought a couple audio books on the subject to give me some ideas. One was called Kill Your Blog, a tiny little book written for authors. It had some good points about why a blog just isn’t the best way for writers to get readers. It helped remind me that the book format has always been my preference and this blog has just been about keeping myself writing and isn’t properly goal-oriented. I have wanted for a long time to put my stuff together and start selling it on Kindle. I haven’t done it in the past, partially because of laziness and partially because I have this idea that it’s just wrong to try to make money off art. In the long run I still believe that but in the short run, if I want to make a difference in the world and actually have people read the things I write, I need to be an author, not a blogger.

So I went on elance.com and hired a designer to make some book covers.new-beginnings_cover04I then put together Stories of New Beginnings: 10 Science Fiction Short Stories I Wrote in High School, taking the stories I had on this website and putting introductions for each, describing how they affected me and my life during that period. 

Next, I hired a copyeditor to help clean up a novella that I’ve been sitting on for a couple years called The Pioneers. I intend to release that in a week or two… or three… after I go through her edits. After that I will be compiling another book called Violence in New Eden, a collection of four short stories and novellas set in the universe of EVE Online, though those stories are currently available here on this website but will be removed once I start trying to charge money for them. After that I’m going to put together the non-science fiction stories into an anthology called The Water Glass collection. Then I’m going to go back through all of those books, hire an editor for each, and clean them up a bit. After all that, I will either start compiling my true stories into a collection in one or two editions that follow my path to becoming an anarchist, or I will go back to writing the novel that I’ve been working on since I was 15.

I’m still going to try to keep up with the facebook and twitter thing, since it’s actually pretty easy using the buffer app to queue a bunch of posts while I’m on the bus. I never stopped to think about just how many anarchist and atheist memes are out there and just how many little articles you can find about our government and police doing messed up things.

I still need to make some adjustments to this website to reflect my change in priorities. I’m still gonna keep blogging, but I’m probably going to keep it to about one a month, just to maintain a presence. I still have a big backlog of stuff to post and I want to get around to that, but not before I finish my books… but now that I look back over this post, I think maybe I shouldn’t try to force myself to make entries here as I think this one turned out kinda boring.

That gratifying sense of justice


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Today I posted a new true story called The Jalapeno of Justice. This is something that happened around 1996, when I was a junior in high school.

So this post contains a spoiler so I suggest reading the story before reading any further as it’s not too long and I think it’ll give a few perspectives that I’m not going to get into in this post.

So basically, the story is that I was at a party that didn’t allow drugs and alcohol, but one person refused to stop smoking pot so some dudes anally raped him with a jalapeno. The really fucked up part of this is that I totally supported the rape, though of course, I did not see it as rape. I saw it as simple justice for the horrible crime of smoking marijuana.

I’ve been hesitant to write and post this story all these years that I’ve been writing true stories on this blog, for obvious reasons. It makes me look like a complete, sadistic asshole, which in this situation, I absolutely was. I don’t think many people want to admit that they have the capacity to be a truly horrible person, but this is what I must do.

But I don’t think I’m unique here. I think the majority of people around me have a similar capacity for sadistic behavior. You might say that getting raped with a jalapeno for smoking some weed is a little harsh but if you stop and think about the things the Partnership for a Drug Free America and other anti-drug individuals and organizations support, anal rape really is not a big deal. The person in this story no doubt would have preferred that over being chased down by a police officer with a gun, having his life threatened, getting thrown in jail for a night, and possibly getting kicked out of school. Anal rape as punishment for marijuana and pro-drug advocacy can be considered mild in comparison to many of the things our criminal justice system is already doing on behalf of the drug war.

I have a recurring theme in this blog that I like to talk about and that I don’t think gets enough attention in popular media and psychology. This is my theory that human beings enjoy watching each other suffer. This seems obvious considering the popularity of horror movies, but people almost always forget about how this may cause us to be bias when talking about political opinions.

I believe in our current society we have targeted specific criminals like drug dealers and sexual deviants with our hatred. I think deep down we understand that the punishments and hate we force upon these people are ultimately not going to make the problems go away. Thousands of years of laws and punishments have proven that we are going to have criminals one way or the other, yet we continue punishing and imprisoning. I don’t believe we are doing this because we really think it’s making us more secure, or even because it’s giving us the illusion of safety. We punish criminals because we enjoy knowing that they are suffering. Simple as that. It would be so easy to change our strategies to help people, to show compassion and to find real and effective ways to change the state of criminal behavior today, but we don’t because that desire for vengeance is so powerful.

The police distance us from these occurrences, keeping us naive. The general public never feels that gratifying sense of vengeance when a criminal is apprehended, so it leaves us wanting more. On the other hand, we are never exposed to the pain and horror that a punished individual actually feels, dramatically muting our compassion. Police officers, on the other hand, become addicted to the power, vengeance and sadism. The whole system then becomes a self-perpetuating cycle of hatred, revenge and cruelty. And we’re all in denial about it.

Dave’s Looking At Porn


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I don’t know why I’m even posting this, honestly, except that I just don’t like throwing away old writings. Just a stupid story I thought was funny at the time.

I sat at my desk writing code like any other day at work when my boss Dave stepped out of his office and said, “I have an announcement, everyone. I just want everyone to know that I’m not looking at porn–” he shook his head nervously. “I mean, I am looking at porn, but I’m doing it for legitimate reasons… so if anyone hears any moaning from my speakers or sees naked people in my window, I’m looking at porn for the company… I just didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea… I’m not doing anything nasty back here.”
Chris swiveled around in his seat. “Um… that’s gonna require a little bit more explanation… like what kind of porn, and how do I get on board with this project?”
“I’m checking out this guy’s portfolio–we’re thinking about hiring a new designer–and this guy is pretty good but he’s done a lot of work for porn sites so I have to go check ‘em out and see what he can do.”
“So did he give you a bunch of usernames and passwords to these sites?” Chris asked.
“Yeah, actually. He gave me about half a dozen different logins.”
“Dude! Hook me up!”

Yuck! Kalin is promoting Kalinbooks


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I heard about this product called buffer, which is a twitter and facebook client that allows you to post to both simultaneously but it keeps the entries in a queue and posts them at specific times per day, so it queues them up for several days in advance. I decided I’d give it a shot since most of the successful writers on the internet these days are leveraging social media. I’ve never been one for self promotion and all the nonsense on facebook and twitter has always bothered me, like photos of what you had for dinner and whatnot. However, I think I’m gonna try to stick with it for a while, making two or three posts a day. It’s pretty quick and easy. I can do it while I’m riding the bus to work.

It’s harder now it seems. I used to spend 20-30 bucks a month on advertising on google, but that didn’t seem to bring in too many new readers. On my old website, Get to Know a Marijuana Dealer, one $50 per month ad on HighTimes.com made my site explode and I actually had lots of people commenting… though that was back in the days before we even had MySpace… like around 2001 or so.

People say that a successful blogger puts 80% of their time into promotion and the rest of their time into writing. That seems just backward and wrong to me, so since I started this blog in its current WordPress form back at the beginning of 2010, I’ve probably spent about 98% of my time on actually writing, which to me seems like the way it should be. Alas, this is a world full of advertising and promotions and I won’t be able to compete unless I do something to promote myself.

So I added links to follow me on facebook and twitter to my left sidebar and intend to keep the micro posts coming steadily. I even bought some ads for the facebook page which will come out in about a month, giving me time to build up a collection of posts before I start blowing money on likes.

On Twitter today I spoke with someone from worldlibertynews.com and offered to write articles on the subject of our current police state. They’re looking for news stories, which I don’t normally do, but I figure I can give it a shot. There are certainly a plethora of stories on police brutality and ridiculous laws out there right now.

Anyway, I don’t know what I’m saying in my rambling. I guess that I’m finally going to try to branch out away from this website to actually do some self-promotion.

Wierd Al vs MC Hammer


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This a true story I wrote years ago but I’ve just been hanging onto it, not posting it, because, well, it’s just kind of silly and pointless, but because I just can’t stand it sitting in my drafts folder any longer, i’m just going to go ahead and post the damn thing. Here it is. Wierd Al vs MC Hammer.

I was on vacation with my mom, aunt and cousins in Hawaii, driving around in our rented mini-van when the current number one hit, Can’t Touch This, came on the radio. My cousins all shouted “Turn it up! Turn it up!”.

We grooved to the song and my cousins made some comments about how brilliant and hip MC Hammer was. I was definitely an MC Hammer fan at the time. In fact, MC Hammer was the first CD I ever bought, but I still decided to say “I don’t understand why everyone loves this song so much. I mean, it’s cool but why’s it so special? There’s nothing really different or inventive about it, yet everyone’s going nuts over it.”

“Yeah, this coming from the guy who carries around Wierd Al tapes,” said my cousin Brad, and everyone had a good laugh at my expense. “MC Hammer has something called talent. He’s the future of rap, Dude. Wierd Al just rips off other songs and makes stupid jokes.”

“Well, I think Wierd Al will be around longer than MC Hammer,” I said.

They burst into hysterics. “Dear Lord, Kalin, you have a lot to learn about music.”

Originally I thought this was one of those classic “I told you so” moments, but then I looked up MC Hammer and discovered that he has continued putting out albums every couple years ever since his old “Please Hammer, don’t Hurt Em,” and continues making music today. It still remains to be seen who will be around longer.

“According to members of Nirvana interviewed for Behind the Music, when they saw the video [Smells Like Nirvana], they laughed hysterically. Additionally, Cobain described Yankovic as ‘a musical genius.’” -Wikipedia

New Sci-Fi – The Day She Started Counting


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Today I released a new story called The Day She Started Counting, an EVE Online fan-fiction piece about a little girl in the Amarrian Empire who murders a police officer in an attempt to protect her father’s illegal hobby of assisting runaway slaves. I wrote this around 2010 I think and it’s one of my favorite fiction pieces that I’ve ever written. The editor of EON magazine told me that he would find a way to put this in the magazine even though it was twice their maximum length. His only complaint was the title: I Killed Him, Daddy. I hated that title too and totally agreed that it needed to change before we could publish it. I eventually realized The Day She Started Counting was a much better title. I hope that’s not why they never got around to publishing it, but now the magazine is out of business so I’m finally just going to post it here.

This is another one of those stories that depicts criminals as heroes. It’s funny just how common that is in books, movies and TV, and even when they’re anti-heroes like Walter White, we still identify with and root for their success. I find that so strange about our society. But the moment these same kind of criminals appear in real society, we suddenly hate them and want them to suffer and refuse to admit that they may have had real human reasons for committing their crimes. I mean, how many people really wanted to see Walter White thrown in prison and his family’s future destroyed? But that’s exactly what most people wish for when those exact same people exist in our real-world society… unless… of course, that criminal in the real world is someone we know personally. Nobody ever sees their own friends and family as being criminals. We look right through their crimes and we make excuses for them in the same way we do criminal characters in fiction stories. It’s only with the people we don’t know that we can be cold-hearted and genuinely support our criminal justice system.

Now, The Day She Stared Counting is about people rescuing slaves. Sure, they’re criminals, spitting in the face of their culture and established social order, willing to murder for their beliefs, but I think most people would read this and understand where they’re coming from and tell me these characters are different because they’re trying to rescue slaves, and nobody can support slavery.

Except that most Americans do support slavery. Most of us would never stand for the American version of the characters in this story. Our criminals in penitentiaries are basically used as slave labor these days. Would anyone really support someone who went to break them out, murdering a couple of police officers along the way, even if they were only releasing the non-violent criminals? No, we would hate them just as much as the Amarrian society hates my characters regardless of what we claim we believe about slavery.

And everyone knows that child slaves are being used over seas to produce much of our clothes, toys, nearly all our cell phones and God knows what else. Sure, we all say we’re opposed to slavery and are ashamed that we used to have slaves in this country, but the moment we have to pay a little more for our electronics, we forget all about that. Imagine if some corporate big-wig at Nike or The Gap were murdered in an attempt to stop those companies from keeping slaves in their manufacturing. Only the anarchists could stand for something like that because we’re so ingrained in our society’s distorted view of right and wrong and cause and effect. We’re only capable of seeing our own lives, our own wants and desires. We know logically that other people are suffering, and we claim to care about them, but we have no real empathy, so the moment we have to suffer in any way for their cause, all of a sudden we consider them monsters.

So it’s funny how fiction writers can get away with some really outlandish messages sometimes. I once saw an episode of The Drew Carey Show… at least I think that’s what it was. It was one of the only episodes of that show I ever saw, but it was a story of how he had sex in his early teens with a teacher, but he spent much of the episode talking about how much the experience had helped him socially and had actually been a significant benefit to his life. I could not understand how he could get away with so blatantly portraying child molestation in a positive light on network television. It’s strange how if you come out and say a message like this, it would be found horribly offensive by society, but if you bury it within characters that those same people can get to know, all of a sudden it’s acceptable and they will make whatever excuses they can to still see that character as being fundamentally different from the very same people in the real-world.

I think that’s one reason I love writing fiction. You tell lies in order to get to the truth. It allows people to get out of their own perspective and see things from a new perspective. The problem is that it’s so rare for people to carry that perspective over into the real world, to recognize that Han Solo and Luke Skywalker are terrorists, and that the real-world terrorists have reasons and justifications just as the Rebel Alliance had. We need to learn to make that connection, but I think in our modern society, we are so quick to get offended by things, so quick to deem someone as a horrible monster for the things they say, that we separate the moral values of our fictional world from our real world, and build a wall between them, when in reality, the lives of people and the development of our societies of our fictional stories work just the same as our real-world ones.

These Four Walls


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In 2011, I started writing a story about a woman living in a house who is being visited by demons every night and getting raped by them. This was inspired by a friend who was (and probably still is) having to live through this. After I wrote the first couple sections here, I wound up getting a roommate and my social life kind of exploded and I just haven’t had the time to come back. Now I’ve forgotten a lot of the mood that I wanted to portray with this. I still remember the actual events I was going to write out to conclude it but I can’t quite remember how I wanted it all to feel, so I decided not to return to this story.

However, yesterday I was looking through old drafts and found this and was surprised that I really like what I’ve done with it so far, so I figured I’d post what I have and finish it off with the outline I had in mind.

This story is kind of told from the perspective of the woman’s house. You still see inside the characters heads and you still have only one POV character at a time, but all the events of the story occur in the home and I think my plan was that in the end she would have some kind of communication with the house and it would help heal her of the delusions she was so convinced were real demons.

So here it is:

2011.

After midnight the demons would make contact and promise they were about to rape her. Most nights she would fight, her soul crying out in fury, but blocked deep in sleep. She would rise and walk to the living room to stand motionless for unknown periods of time, staring at Simon’s urn above the fireplace, blocking every other part of her mind. She would pray to wake, plead for morning, but remain, seemingly for hours, in a daze, aware she was dreaming and sleepwalking, but unable to do anything about it. She would awaken exhausted, sometimes on the couch in the living room, sometimes in the den, the porch swing, and occasionally, David’s old room.

Other nights it would prove too much and Susan would give up, prepare for the pain and humiliation, then wait for it. The spirits would invade her from the back of her mind, manipulating, distracting and tricking her with her own emotions. She would lie, half asleep, quietly sobbing, pleading with them to stop, but the more pain she felt the more they would laugh, the more they would tease, until finally, she had no choice but to bring them in, to ask them to get it over with, to sink into that helpless reality and accept that God had handed her soul to the demons for their pleasure.

They would refuse, telling her she had to beg for it. She had to want it. She had to need it. She had to fall into that pit of demonic desires and forgo everything good and pure, and allow her mind to become that of a slave. The spirits promised that someday the torture would prove too much for her, and she would fall, broken and sobbing to her knees, pleading for the revolting act that would provide that final release of acceptance at becoming a simple, degraded servant to the darkness that dwells at the bottom.

She would awaken terrified, exhausted, telling herself it wasn’t real, but forever thankful that she never took that final step. She would stagger to the kitchen, hit play on her husband’s video cassette, then sit at the computer in a daze to accept her gifts and tend her crops, pushing everything from her mind to think of nothing but gaining gold and experience on her farm.

Later in the day she would think about her nightmares. She would hear David screaming at her, attacking everything she cared about, telling her she was delusional, that all these experiences come ultimately from the church, from God, and the destructive conflicts that religion brings to the minds of believers. He told her the very thing she loved the most was a lie that had caused all the pain she was now experiencing. It was all just mental processes gone wrong, damaged and distorted from years of obsessive spirituality and prayer.

Perhaps there was no point to all this, there were no demons to blame, no angels to look toward. Perhaps all this was just her own thoughts. …and the rape… just her own blocked desires, buried through years of repression and an acceptable but unsatisfying marriage, from years of playing it safe, trying to be good, avoiding carnal pleasures, and for choosing sacrifice and devotion to God instead of embracing life. The torture could all be her own doing, all based on simple science and psychological processes.

But that demon was too horrible to be true.

——————————-

His father’s tortured screams echoed through his childhood home as David sat, rapping his fingers on the kitchen table. “Are you gonna play FarmVille all day, Mom?”

“I’ve just got to collect my gifts and harvest and visit some friends,” she replied absently, her eyes glued to the screen as though she needed to become one with the monitor.

“That’s gonna take you two hours. I thought we were gonna go out to eat.”

“I can make you grilled cheese and soup.”

He sighed. “No, I can make it myself. Don’t want you to lose out on any farming time.” He stood, but stopped to stare for a long moment at his father on the television in his hospital bed, his face contorted as he whimpered, burying his face in the pillow.

“Do you need anything?” Susan asked.

“Can I turn this off?”

“Why?”

David watched for another long moment. “I don’t like watching Dad dying. No wonder you see demons.”

“If I had a better video, I’d play that, but it never occurred to me that I’d lose him until he was lying there in the hospital. This is all I have of him.”

“Pictures,” David said.

“It’s 2011. I need more than pictures. I need to hear his voice.”

“But he’s in so much pain…”

“Yeah, but his voice still comforts me.” She glanced over her shoulder toward him. “Why do you need to criticize everything I do?”

“It’s just so… morbid. And I worry what this stuff might be doing to you.”

“Fine,” she replied. “You want to turn it off, then turn it off.”

“No,” he replied, stepping toward the refrigerator. “If you like it that much, I can deal… but…” he chuckled nervously. “Why can’t you watch Jeopardy like normal moms your age?”

“I’m not smart enough for Jeopardy.”

“Oh, don’t say that…”

“You know it’s true,” she replied. “I can be honest about it. You of all people should understand I don’t have the brain for that kind of thing. My mind is broken, like you always say.”

“I don’t say that. What I say is that we’re all imperfect products of evolution–”

“Here we go…”

“Our brains developed over millions of years of randomness, confusion, and animals bumping into each other. We’re never going to be perfect–we’re never even going to be rational–but we can find ways to deal with our minds the way they are if we have the courage to admit to ourselves how our lives really work.”

“It’s all about brains and chemistry to you.”

“We need to recognize that much before we can understand who we are and where we’re going as human beings.” He stared into the refrigerator. Nothing looked good. He wasn’t here to eat anyway.

He stood in silence for a long moment, listening to his father’s heavy, pained breathing, the background static of the video and the hum of the refrigerator.

“I like watching the video,” Susan said absently, followed by a long pause. “Maybe I can find a clue.”

“To why he was walking in the road?” David asked.

Another long pause. “Yeah.”

David slowly shut the refrigerator. “This isn’t Scooby Doo, Mom. Sometimes accidents happen. He just wasn’t thinking, wasn’t paying attention. It’s been three years. It doesn’t matter at this point.”

“I want to know.”

“I know you do.” He sat back at the table with a sigh and a scrape of the aluminum chair against the floor.

“I know you’re trying to find some way to blame it on our beliefs.”

David sighed as he stared at his mom’s back. She didn’t hate him. He knew that. She did, however, believe he might be sent from hell. Perhaps this was why she refused to look away from Farmville while in his presence. “I’m not trying to do that at all. Everyone makes mistakes, regardless of what they believe.”

“I feel like you’re always trying to pick away, to find something you can criticize about the church, like how you’re constantly blaming my nightmares on the church.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “And I stand by that one. That’s why I don’t get nightmares, because I don’t believe in the supernatural.”

“Hmm…”

“What do you think about going to see someone, like a professional?”

“I’ve talked to a lot of people about this.”

“At the church?”

“Yeah,” she replied.

“Well, I think it would be good for you to get an opinion from someone outside of the church.”

“Hmmm…” she replied.

“Did anyone ever come forward about the money?”

“The money?” she asked.

“The six hundred dollars they left on the porch?”

“No. I’m sure it was just someone from church trying to help out.”

“Yeah, probably.”

 

So I think so far you can see the woman has a son who is an atheist, and this is a point of contention between them. She’s addicted to FarmVille and a handful of other online games. (Retired women are now technically the largest demographic for video gaming, playing mostly facebook style casual games). She also has a video

In the next section I’m going to go back to about 2009 or so, and show the father befriending a few teenagers who are clearly trying to take advantage of him. He gives them money for something, twenty bucks here and there, telling him its for the church or something. We see that on some level he knows he’s being used, but he wants to believe so badly that these are good Christian kids and keeps giving them money, unbeknownst to his wife, who does not like them. Their lies become more and more outlandish, and each time, one part of his mind believes them and another part can clearly see they’re lies. At the same time, however, he has some very deep conversations with the kids about the meaning of life, God, the meaning of being good. I think there may have been a scene where the woman finds out he’s been giving them money and they have a fight about it, and the man talks about how important it is to give people the benefit of the doubt and have faith in the good within all humans, even if it’s hard to see sometimes.

But then one of the kids takes the religious manipulation a bit too far and tells the man that to prove your faith to God you should close your eyes and step blindly out into traffic. God will protect you, and you will prove yourself worthy… I don’t know, I had a plan on how to make all that sound plausible but can’t quite remember how I was gonna do it. The man doesn’t believe them and realizes they’re just messing with him, especially because the other kids are suddenly saying the guy is crazy… but over the next couple days, the man can’t get the words out of his head and in a moment of passionate prayer, the man decides to go for it, closing his eyes and stepping out into traffic in front of their house. Since the story is told from the house, all we hear is the screeching of the tires and a woman screaming for someone to call 911.

When the woman hears her husband is in the hospital and probably won’t make it, she realizes she has nothing to remember him by, pulls the old VHS camcorder out of the closet, not stopping to think her cell phone could probably get a better picture, and sets it up to record him, but he’s in so much pain that she never gets to hear his real voice. Of course, we don’t actually see the hospital room, and only the things that happen in the home. She watches the video over and over, thinking that it’s close enough to the real him, and in a weird way the video comforts her, at least on the surface, but in reality she’s watching him die over and over, which doesn’t help with the nightmares.

I think in the end she gives up and lets the demons overtake her instead of fighting them, and at the same time, allows herself to embrace her son’s perspective, which she views as a demon as well, but finds that the demons don’t feel nearly as demonic as she thought. I think her son’s perspective inspires her to think the house is the problem, like it’s haunted and she just needs to get out, which isn’t really the case, but at least she’s thinking in some kind of real-world cause and effect way, so she sort of merges her religion with her son’s perspective and it leaves it implying that she’s on the way to exorcising these demons. There was supposed to be something about the house itself subtly helping her along with this idea, but I can’t remember how I was going to do that.

There was also supposed to be a scene in the son’s childhood but I completely forgot what that was about. Also, shortly after the dad’s death, the kid who told him to do it, comes back and leaves the money on the porch.

I dunno… it woulda been cool if I’d finished it but the outline doesn’t do justice to the vision I had :)

Adding a New Story Called The Atrocity Planners


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I just posted another science fiction story that I wrote a few years ago, called The Atrocity Planners. This is an EVE Online fan fiction piece. I got this published in EON Magazine, issue #22, back in 2011. I call this my first publishing experience since I don’t count those two fetish porn shorts that I still don’t talk about outside of Fetlife. I decided to publish it here finally, figuring they’ve had their proprietary hands on it long enough. They didn’t pay me anything and I didn’t sign anything promising not to publish elsewhere and the magazine has gone out of business anyway, after issue #30, so they shouldn’t be mad at me :)

It surprised me that they were willing to publish it considering the message of the story, where I generalize that police are atrocity planners and portray them as the bad guys. It surprised me that some people who support and believe in criminal justice also enjoyed the story. It’s like normal people separate their real-world morality from their story-time morality, allowing them to see terrorists like Luke Skywalker and criminals like Han Solo as heroes, when if they actually lived in that universe, they would hate them the same way we hate Al-Qaeda. In the same way in this story, we see the terrorists or pirates (I never totally explain which they are) as human beings, and we care about their family and want their children to get away and maybe even kill a couple cops along the way. It’s like most people enter a different world when they read this kind of fiction, one where morality works totally differently.

A couple of the folks at the No Safeword Writers Group helped edit this for me in one of their sessions and I’m not sure if I would have gotten it published without them. One of them even suggested the title, which now is one of my favorite aspects to the story, the title and its meaning.

Because police are our atrocity planners. Criminals don’t really plan atrocities, at least not nearly as often. Most violent criminals do not plan their crimes, and even if they do, only a few of them are doing so out of a deliberate desire to cause someone to suffer. At worst, criminals commit crimes to punish someone, the same way the police do. This is different with police. Their whole job is to make people suffer. That’s their purpose for being. We call it a deterrent, and it’s not going to work as a deterrent when a criminal is overflowing with emotion or looking at a potentially huge profit from committing a crime, unless it’s a truly horrible thing the law is doing to them. That’s how it works. Society wants criminals to suffer. We say it’s to keep them from committing again, when in reality it’s because we enjoy knowing they are suffering. The police make all this possible as they sit around planning their raids, taking only a moment to justify it by listing off a few crimes, rarely caring about who they are or their motivations, then they plan their attack to break down the door of someone’s home, then haul them off to prison where their sole intention is to make them suffer and to destroy their lives.

You can argue that planning the atrocities is necessary. You can argue that there’s no other options because some criminals are just so awful. The government must take control and commit horrible things in a controlled manner to keep the majority safe. But in a literal, real world manner, you can’t tell me police are not atrocity planners, and yet when we meet police or talk about police, we always forget this simple fact and insist on viewing them as heroes of wondrous virtue… until, of course, they come breaking down our doors, or the doors of our family, and we meet, face-to-face, the fact that they are, every day, in a planned and systematic fashion, going out and providing people with some of the most psychologically damaging events of their lives.