The old man shook with rage, “How could I be the only person who saw this coming?”

—

BTW, did you know “The Hidden Institute” is available for free at Amazon this weekend? Click on the image to check it out.

Michael was given the best deal one could imagine. Fame, riches, and no strings attached. The contract laid it out plainly. He would get everything he wanted, along with a “Get out of Hell Free” card. What could possibly go wrong?

Along with this story are two of my most popular short stories: “Worse than the Disease” and “Snake Skin”.

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DING It’s just past midnight on my birthday, which means I’ve leveled up. I am now a lvl 39 Neutral Good Paladin.

In honor of my birthday, I’m using my last day of KDP select free promotion to give all of you wickedly handsome people (and you are looking particularly good today. How do you do that?) a free copy of my most successful book “Tumbler”.

And what can you do for me? Tell you what. Buy a copy of “The Hidden Institute”, and give it to someone you love. Or, if you didn’t much like the book, give it to someone you hate. Throw it at them. Either way, I’ll thank you.

See, yesterday was also the day that I had to get an upper endoscopy. This is a procedure by which they take a camera, and shove it so far down your throat that they can see your intestines.

Part of this process involves putting the victim patient to sleep, because nobody can sit idly by while that’s going on. The thing is, it raised pressure locally, specifically, in my face. I ended up with several burst capillaries in my eyeballs, and pinprick freckles in the skin around the eyes. On the whole, it looked a little weird and kinda cool.

However, overnight the pinprick freckles spread out and congregated into a real bruise. So now I’m going back to work in a new place with a shiner I didn’t earn.

Allie and I think I should play it up. My favorite angle so far is, “Sure, it looks bad, but you should see the drummer for Nickelback. Oh, no wait, you can’t. They only allow family in the IC ward… All I’m saying is they won’t be coming back to Baltimore anytime soon.”

I bought this about a decade ago for about $60, and have had it in storage for a few years. Recently, I came across it and thought I’d check it out again. All that Sergio Aragones, all that Spy vs. Spy. These disks had fold out pages just like the covers, which let you simulate folding the sheets over. They would let you turn the page around and zoom in on sections so that you could read the border cartoons as well.

But I quickly found out that it also came with DRM. Windows 98 DRM. Non-portable DRM. They could have made the magazine out of images, and then built the wrapper around it. The content would outlast the viewer, but it would be portable and future-compatible. However, that’s not what they chose to do. They chose to lock it down so that only people who purchased the data and used it on that operating system would be able to view it. Maybe it made them a sale or two. We know it didn’t stop piracy, because they were just CD-ROMS, which were cracked before these disks were ever made.

On a lark, I did a search for “every issue of Mad Magazine”, and on the first page was a link to a torrent where I could get issues from 1952-2005. So, because I was an honest consumer, I got less than the pirates did, and paid for it. This is why SOPA and PIPA won’t work. This is why the MPAA and the RIAA are being slowly phased out. They insist on crippling their products, and making people pay for the right to be honest. There’s only so long people can take being penalized for their integrity.

(Let me take a moment to explain my thinking) I consider C4C something I created. No, I did not create Cthulhu. I did not create the mythos surrounding him. Hell, I didn’t even make the puppet. However, I did come up with the idea for the show. I came up with that interpretation for the character (how would you play the part of ultimate evil? Would you humanize it? Demonize it?). I came up with the Rapid Fire Round gag, I came up with the new interpretation for Xenu, I wrote every single line from that series. So while I didn’t make the character up, I did make the show the success that it has been.

I made a TV show about an ultimate amoral alien whose claim to fame was destroying humanity in violence and madness, and I did it without using any profanity. I did it without using buckets of blood or overt violence. I made a PG-13 version of ultimate darkness, and made it popular enough to have a fanbase. That’s something to be proud of.

So if someone comes along and can make something better out of it, they are a force to be reckoned with. I don’t mean that they’re a threat to me, but they are a danger. If I fight them, then my fanbase goes to see what the big deal is, and I lose the fans. If I ignore the threat, their quality will show through, and they will rise to greatness while I am left to antiquity. That’s what happens if someone can do the show better than me.

If, however, I embrace them, then they are my friends. I offer them access to the fanbase, and receive the benefit of their goodwill. I may learn how they do it better, and while they learn how I do my show, I can learn how they do theirs. A high tide raises all boats, and we would all do better for the effort. If, after that, they are still better than me, I can move on to other projects, knowing that I did a good job with my stewardship, and that there will always be another project.

So, that was my thinking at the time, and I stand by it. If anybody can take my characters, my storylines, my gimmicks, and make a better C4C than I can, I will help them. But let’s talk about what I’m seeing now.

There are people who have taken my show, and made WORSE shows with it. They put the puppet on YouTube, spewing hate speech (not against humanity, but against specific groups). They use profanity to the point that it dilutes any effectiveness. They have no set, no effects, no decent sound, no decent video. They put a puppet in front of a camera, then pitch shift their voices down, and go on racist, sexist tirades.

I’m not okay with that. I’m not going to call them out specifically, because I don’t want to give them that much notice. I want them to disappear in their well-deserved ignomy. But I do want to amend my statement. Let’s call this Brand’s first law of creative works: When you stand on the shoulders of giants, you must be taller than them.

So I’m going to try it again here. This is my wishful thinking schedule for the year. If I do it right, it will let me publish four new books this year.

Here we go:

January – Edit Discount Miracles (DM)
February – Send DM to editors. Record DM for Podiobooks. Edit Tumbler Sequel (TS)
March – Record DM for Podiobooks. Edit TS
April – Record TS for Podiobooks. Start New Project 1 (NP1)
May – Record TS for Podiobooks. Write NP1
June – Record Danny for Podiobooks. Write NP1
July – Record Danny for Podiobooks. Write NP1
August – Start New Project 2 (NP2)
September – Write NP2
October – Edit NP1
November – Write New Project 3 (NP3)
December – Finish NP3. Edit NP1

Now, you may be asking yourself, what are NP1-3? The answer is, I don’t know. One possibility is a sequel to The Hidden Institute, which is less Dickens and more Austen (The Silk’s Glove). Another possibility is a sequel to Discount Miracles (which I think people will be very interested in once they see DM). Also, there’s the chance we’ll do the Film Noir story of Hades and the Zombie Armageddon.

I suppose I’ve got a few months still to find out what those books will be. In the meantime, follow along with me while I try to publish two books this year and write two new ones!

I mean, the first ones were blatant – “BUY MOAR CHEAP WATCHES AND VIAGRA!!!”

After that, spam filters got better, so the commenters started avoiding obvious phrases – “BY MOAR CH3AP W4+(HES AND V1AGR4!!!”

This made the spam filters broaden their blacklists, and made it harder to read. Also, spammers ran into the problem where blog owners would read every comment, and the human filter was just too good to get around.

So the spammers found another tactic – Comment from BuyCheap@WatchesAndViagra.com “Really great post! I’ll be looking for more of this!” The flattering was effusive and varied. Unfortunately for the spammers, the human filter is way too good for this one as well, which culls a lot of their effectiveness.

So then they tried a more subtle approach – Comment from fred@WatchesAndViagra.com “That was a great post about <blog post title>. You’ve really opened my eyes about <random word from blog post> and it’s importance in all our lives.” This version was more difficult to track down, because if it is done well, it can seem like a very organic comment.

So the human filter was a little more suspect, but it was still able to recognize those where the drop-in portions didn’t fit with the rest of the sentence. The spammers also ran into a problem where it was more obvious that English wasn’t their first language (Spammers are generally based outside of English-speaking countries, which makes them more easy to spot).

So, time and again, I’ve seen the spam comments get more and more involved, more and more organic-looking.

Today, I saw this one as a comment on a blog post called “Body Swapping and Having a Soul”:

Now, seriously, how cool is that? I figure the bot scans my blog post, recognizes nouns and verbs from the text (which is actually based on some pretty cool open-source software called the Stanford NLP), then uses a separate search to pull out definitions for the words.

I mean, yeah, the human filter can generally catch these as well (if for no other reason than we can tell the URL is an ad). But this process is evolving, and it’s not showing any signs of slowing.

I look forward to the next innovation I’ll have to trash.

The Prime Minister made a spectacle whenever he moved. Each day Parliament was in session, he was surrounded by analysts, representatives, assistants, and the press. Lackeys and frantic petitioners pushed to gain his attention, and even inside his own office, his workers would vie for attention during that brief opportunity as he walked from one meeting to another.

This Prime Minister, Joran the third, discouraged the process publicly, but never threatened punishment. He answered queries amiably, smiled and shook hands, and generally received the attention with quiet dignity and kindness.

So it was that half a dozen men surrounded him as the guards opened Joran’s office doors. The room was large and spacious, with a long table in the center and sitting areas to either side. Dark tapestries hung between the tall windows, arrayed like a church sanctuary. At the end of the room sat a large desk next to the fireplace. The Prime Minister stopped as he saw the prince sitting at his desk. Joran took one moment to tamp down his response, then turned to his lackeys.

“A word with his eminence in private please.” He made shooing motions with his hands. They bowed and scraped as they backed out of the room.

The Prime Minister looked at the guards standing around the Prince. His voice was low and neutral, holding only a tinge of menace, “I said ‘private’.”

The Prince gave a quick nod to the leader of the guards, and they left without ceremony. Once they were gone, Joran’s smile returned, “My Prince, how wonderful it is to see you here!”

Prince Dayner Raeburn was thin and gangly, and never seemed dressed correctly. Thick bangs that he refused to cut fell across his eyes. When brought to court for important functions, the royal dressers managed to make him look presentable, but never without hours of cajoling and flattery. He slouched and pouted, refused his lessons, and fought every effort at looking like a true leader. Even as he sat in the Joran’s seat, he thumbed through papers with his feet on the desk.

“Did you do this, Joran?”

“Sir?”

“This!” He held up a fistful of papers, “You allowed the McLeans access to the wetlands that I was working on.”

Joran put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath, “My Lord, the McLeans have suffered a terrific drought over the last two years. They were beginning to threaten the Hutchins clan to the North.”

“But I was working with those wetlands. I was going to make something out of it. An adventure resort, you know? For vacations! Hunting in the swamps.”

“Yes sir. But those lands are largely unused, and I knew that giving the McLeans temporary development access to it would help defuse the tension between the warring factions -”

“I don’t care about that. That land was mine!”

Joran put his hands out by his side in a gesture of submission, “My Liege, all the land is yours.”

The boy blinked, then nodded, “Yes, well. I had plans for this. You had no right to take it away.”

“I was trying to stop a war, sir.”

“Then stop the war. Just go down there and tell them I won’t have them fighting. Bring the army if you have to.”

“Sir, an iron fist breaks more than a whispered promise. By avoiding -”

“I don’t care. That was my land.” The boy got up and walked over to Joran, “You’ve been telling me what to do my whole life. Now you’re promising my land to others without my permission. You’re using my name behind my back.” He pouted and scowled at the old man, “You made me look stupid in front of my advisers.”

The old man stared levelly at him, “It was never my intention, Dayner.”

“Quiet.” The boy kept his voice low, and beneath the sullen child’s pout, Joran could see steel, “You won’t have that power when I’m king. If you try something like this a month from now, I’ll make you regret it.”

Joran held his gaze for a moment, then cast his eyes to the floor. He turned to face the Eastern window and asked lightly, “Have you given any thought to the ceremony, your grace?”

The boy stood close to him, “I don’t care about that. I’ll have to put on some stupid robes and say some stupid words, and then I’ll be king.” He leaned in close to the Prime Minister, “More than that, I’ll be a god. My word will be law. My will, the will of the land and the air and the people. After that, if you ever countermand me again, I’ll have you arrested or worse. You’re not my father. You’re not my king. After my birthday, you’re not even regent. You’re nobody. And you don’t want to see what happens when a nobody fights with a god.”

Joran’s face flushed, though he refused to meet the Prince’s eyes, “As you say, my Liege.”

The boy stood and stared at him for a long moment, then threw the papers down, “After the ceremony, everything is going to change.” He stomped out of the room.

The old man muttered, still gazing at the bright horizon, “It certainly will.”

—

I’d like to remind you that I am a professional fiction writer, and each post I write takes time away from other writing. So please, if you’re getting something out of the blog, help fund my blogging habit. Thanks so much.