Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Thursday, June 13, 2013

On sharing the creative object you've been working on

When I was about 22 I started working on a novel.  I've mentioned it here from time to time with varying degrees of clarity about what I was up to, because even now, 16 years later, I still work on the thing, hoping to finish one day.

and I mourn the fact it will not have a cover by Robert Maguire


I mention the book for two reasons.

1.  I like to retain transparency, so I'll share that part of why I'm going on hiatus is to focus back on the book.  My personal life, work and a confluence of events have often kept me from spending my time just finishing the darn thing.  I like writing, and I like blogging, but as well as re-charging my batteries to talk pop-culture when I get back, I'd like to make time for this project.

2.  Wednesday evening pal JuanD was good enough to join me for dinner.  He'd read a good chunk of the book as it is to date.  I figure I've got at least 1/3rd to go.  He's still got some pages left to arrive at the point where I've written to, but he made a heroic effort.  He's read, I guess 2/5th's - 1/2 of where this is all headed.  And then, he was kind/ brave enough to sit across the table from me and tell me what he thought and ask questions.

He did some things I really appreciate.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Neverending Battle Fatigue

I recently attended a small Toy and Comic Expo here in Central Texas.  I say small, but it had major cast members of The Walking Dead in attendance* (I don't watch the show, and I still recognized them), the event filled a few ballrooms, and had a Batmobile (you saw the pictures.  No reason for me to show off further.).

But I also walked out without buying anything.

I've talked here before about how Cons are not my cup of tea, but at this Con, I felt like such an outside observer that I felt like I was at someone else's party.

how your comics blogger feels on the inside

I quit writing posts on how I was cutting back my DC Comics selections, and in short order, I will have stopped buying any new DC Comics.  I just can't buy the new Superman stuff (Scott Lobdell on both main titles, really?) just to bridge my collection, just as I avoid the 90's mullet-era Superman for the convoluted contortions the writers were going through as they wrestled with the Post-Crisis rules imposed on Superman.

I don't understand the enthusiasm for most of today's comics from DC and Marvel, but I do get my fix from other books - like the stuff coming from MonkeyBrain, some from Dynamite and IDW, but my pull list has shrunk to about 3-4 comics on a good week.  Last week I didn't pull anything, and I see about a week per month where that's true.  Looking at the solicits for an upcoming month tells me that stepping away means it would be work to even try to get back into any of these comics, and at the cost and high likelyhood of a comic at DC getting the axe, it's not really worth it.

Walking around the con, I could identify only a fraction of the costumes on the attendees, and then, mostly from commercials I'd seen for video games while watching shows aimed at a younger demographic, like Archer.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

How's Everybuddy Doing? Rambling about nothing.

I don't really have a topic tonight.  We've been all over the map of late, when it comes to content, and it's been a wild ride watching the hit count on various posts.

We did curiously great on the Christopher Reeve birthday post, the Amanda Palmer coverage got RT by Ms. Palmer herself, so we're at 460+ hits right now (a normal post gets between 20-40), and the Oreo Candy Corn taste test did shockingly well with almost 200 hits.  And some comics stuff does okay, too.  Opera?  Not so much (which is weird on a site that's usually about movies and science fiction and comics).

But, as has often driven followers of this site nuts, I have no specific agenda with The Signal Watch, so you're not going to see me talk a whole lot about one thing.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

So, sometimes I work on this manuscript

Hey, it's the weekend, which means nobody is paying attention.  So I'm going to talk about something that has nothing to do with anything we usually cover.

When I was a college freshman I wrote a 140 page manuscript in WordPerfect, I believe.  It's since been lost to time, formats and a lack of what we in the digital libraries world refer to as "forward migration".  And, frankly, I'm totally okay with that.  I gave up looking for a copy of it as far back as 2006.

I don't even really remember what the manuscript was about except that when I finished it I didn't really feel like it had actually been about anything at all.  I was just coughing something up.  Sure, it was a sort of novel-like thing, and it featured characters and had a beginning, middle and end.   Characters grew and changed, had conflicts, and resolved them amicably or otherwise.  But even as I wrapped it up, the lead character started echoing my own thoughts about the pointlessness of the narrative itself and the whole thing sort of ate it's own tail, which I'd like to report was a brilliant twist or comment on adolescence in the suburbs - but it was not.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Status, Reading, Grillmaster 2012, Writing

Status

Returned from Dallas this evening.

I like the UT Southwestern Med Center campus.  As with so much in Dallas, its very Logan's Run.  Its also crawling with young soon-to-be-doctors in scrubs and white coats all looking very stressed.

Reading

A long, long time ago AmyD suggested I read Michael Chabon's Manhood for Amateurs, and I am now listening to the audiobook.

I am, obviously, not a father (at least not to anyone I'm telling Jamie about), but I'd recommend friends who have taken the bold step to bring human life onto this miserable rock (either male or female) to give it a whirl.  Mr. Chabon's essays and observations are not all exactly something I agree with, but they're interesting, and I think they do an excellent job of exploring the headspace of us products of a generation raised on TV but who did not have the interets, play-dates and Pixar movies its now common practice for middle-class folk to foist upon their children.

Chabon's geek-media-fueled POV is of particular interest to me, even if many of his choices don't reflect my own.  But anyone who writes a paean to Big Barda gets my respect.

I am also finally reading The Jugger by Richard Stark (aka: Donald Westlake).  Its more Parker.  And its very, very Parker.  Nice to get back to Stark's punchy, brisk style.

Grillmaster 2012

For my birthday/ in order to engage in better living, I have finally moved from the charcoal grill to propane, something the me of 7 years ago would have found horrifying.  But the me of both Sunday and Wednesday evenings found absolutely fantastic.

Cooking meat inside your home is for chumps.  As is doing anything to vegetables but grilling them.  Especially when Matt T. Mangum pushes you aside on the maiden voyage of said grill and insists this is his show, and on Wednesday when Jamie wants to do this herself, so maybe you don't get to use that grill you bought, but you do get to just sit in a porch chair, watch the sun lower in the west and then enjoy a lovely dinner.

Writing

I'm at a very strange point in working on the thing I'm working on.

1)  To some extent, I'm now playing connect-the-dots with plot points I've always known were there, so I feel like I'm straying from character development, world-building, development of themes, etc... in favor of "let's get this told", which is a huge departure from where I spent several chapters/ years hacking away.

2)  Some items that popped up in the news were scheduled to happen within three chapters of where I'm at. Its both disarming and useful to see what actually happens in real life so I can see how close I was, and what the parties involved actually do.

3)  Writers, can you be kind to your protagonists?  It seems counter productive to raising the stakes or maintaining a certain goal or theme.

4)  Tween Vampire Fiction is fun to write.




Thursday, April 5, 2012

So, as an exercise, in 2001 Garcia and I thought up a blockbuster we could sell

So, like, way back in 2001, I was working in a video studio on UT's campus.  Why and what we were doing isn't relevant (distance learning), but we hired bright-eyed RTF students to help us out.  In fact, that's how I started there, actually.

Anyhoo, a student worker and I were kicking back one day and were wondering how one cooks up a plot to a movie like, oh, say... Armageddon, thinking of it as blockbuster movie bingo rather than a compelling narrative. In that, Garcia and I cooked up SP666.

SP666 was a movie in which a wrongly convicted Bruce Willis was serving time in the near/ distant future on a penal colony built upon an asteroid.  Of course the asteroid would house only the worst scum of the solar system, watched over by a tough-minded bureaucrat Andre Braugher and his worn-thin security crew headed by the cruel and disposable Eric Roberts.

Willis would arrive at the colony and befriend Robert Duval, the old, wise crook who regretted his crime and the life he'd led here at SP666 (Space Prison 666 - cause, you know, its like being sent to hell).  He'd show Bruce Willis the ropes, keep him alive and steer him clear of the very bad but intelligent bad-guy, probably Jimmy Smits.

In the second act the prisoners would riot/ mutiny and Bruce Willis would be forced to hatch a plan to try to survive.  Further, the stabilizer jets would now be on (turned on by a weaselly but technically savvy character actor like Steve Buscemi who had glommed onto Jimmy Smits to survive here in SP666).  Smits would declare his intention to return the prisoners to earth or ram the planet with the prison, killing millions.   Andre Braugher would be beat up some, and Bruce Willis would protect his sexy daughter (it was agreed it didn't matter who we cast here as she'd be forgotten by Hollywood in a year).  And, of course, Smits would do something awful and gross to Eric Roberts that you can only do killing someone in space.

Of course, Bruce Willis has to stop Jimmy Smits.  So, you know... lots of protecting the sexy daughter, lots of fighting space criminals.  Some danger tied to vacuum and space conditions.  And, of course, Bruce Willis's old pal played by Ed Harris is watching all this from Space Comm, back on Earth.

In the third act twist, we learn that Robert Duvall is actually the mastermind behind Smits, and he has no intention of slowing SP666, because he's secretly CRAZY.  Earth is going to pay for making him spend 40 years on a godforsaken rock (its also too sick to live).  Smits, who doesn't want to die, tries to stop Duvall who kills Smits while monologuing in front of a concealed Willis.

Bruce Willis tries to stop the engines, and confronts a well-armed Duvall in the engine room.  Willis wins, but they must evacuate the prison which the President (a semi-respected 50's-ish actor, probably a minority, will play) is going to destroy with nukes.  Ed Harris tries to give Bruce Willis more time, he succeeds when Willis slows the asteroid/ prison.  Our heroes escape in the shuttle flown by the sexy daughter and...  EXPLOSION.

Over the credits, we hear a washed up, but generally still popular band playing a ballad.

I don't know if Lockout is better or worse than SP666.  I do think our casting was better.

Its kind of weird to see this movie actually happen, but it tells me a bit about the writing process for feature films.  And that I should be a millionaire at this point.

I still think the 90's killed the action movie as we know it, partially because the audience seemed to come to awareness of the interchangeability of the moving parts that went into making a big, blockbuster action film.  That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it has meant that the audience became somehow even harder to please, and you're now left selling action movies to an audience that doesn't care that their movies are that predictable or who are sort of amazed every time they magician knows which card was theirs.

I dunno.  I just laughed out loud when I saw the trailer for Lockout.  

Monday, March 19, 2012

The weekend was utterly uneventful

I am travelling this week for work, and as I was a little concerned about how much  money I've spent of late, this weekend, Jamie and I really didn't do anything.  It was...  what is the word?

Ah, yes:  relaxing.

Friday was uneventful.  I wound up staying up way, way past my bedtime watching about 1/3rd of Boogie Nights on HBO (then had to hit the hay).  I had forgotten what an amazing movie that was when it hit.  Its not for everyone, but from a scripting and technical standpoint, and from a performance standpoint (I'm looking at you, the fantastic Julianne Moore), there was a reason the movie received so many accolades when it hit theaters.

I still can't believe it played at just the plain 'ol Highland 10 back in the day.  America's movie-going habits have most certainly changed in a short amount of time.  Of course, that particular megaplex always had an interesting mix of Weinstein-branded stuff and then, say, The Pokemon Movie.*

Saturday I visited my "stylist" (she's not a barber, as she isn't a 56 year old guy in a white smock, but "stylist" makes it sound like I'm like Travolta dealing with his hair in Saturday Night Fever), and I am now freshly shorn. I tidied the house some, and later the Admiral and KareBear came over as The Admiral and I embarked on a minor home improvement project that led to some seriously iffy decision making and creation of a dozen drill holes in my garage wall.  The good news is that we have now hung hooks upon which our various mops and brooms can be stowed.

Today, for some reason we slept in very, very late.  And I really didn't get much done other than re-hanging some pictures in the house and watching part of the Cubs/ Rangers game on TV.

found the right spot for the Wonder Woman print.  yes, that is my office.

I also started re-watching The Killers (1946), but didn't finish.

I've been trying to do some writing outside the blog this weekend (I finished a chapter - No. 15.  Everybody celebrate.), so that accounts for some of the time, I suppose.

Hope your Monday is going swimmingly.



*which Jamie and I saw on a particularly goofy evening when there was nothing else playing we hadn't seen.  We used to see a LOT of movies.  I also saw the first Power Rangers movie in the theater as I'd seen literally everything else.



Thursday, February 16, 2012

The Signal Watch Presents: What I Do Meme - The League

We love a good meme around here, and since nobody gives a @#$% what I do for a living (thanks for that), here's a look at that same meme from the point of managing my unstoppable media presence over the past 9 years.*

click for depressing full-sized

*yes. 9 years. In April.  God have mercy upon my soul.

Monday, December 19, 2011

It is remarkably hard to write a non-trite Christmas story

I had an idea that I would try something new this year and try to write a Christmas story. It turns out that, in the short story format, this is very hard.

Of course, the short story format is an enormous challenge to begin with, but add in the complication of the sentiment and sentimentality of Christmas, you can either go sweet and twee, or you can go dark and maybe just end up wallowing in an obvious bit of cynicism or horror that really doesn't get anyone anywhere.

One of the challenges that Hollywood faces, that I've become acutely aware of, is that the message of Christmas is a generic "believe" or "fill yourself with the spirit of Christmas", but what one is to believe, or how one defines the spirit of Christmas (or what that spirit should then encourage one to do), is never really explored.

Monday, November 21, 2011

A New Excerpt from The Great American Novel - From Chapter 41

I've made a lot of progress on my novel since last we discussed how it was slow going.  The chapters are averaging out to about 25 pages, but some have been a lot longer.  Turns out I have a lot to say on this topic.


Kaya has been through a lot by this point, and while its definitely unfair to drop all of this on you context-free, I think I need to share a little bit of my work so I know its not just me doing this all on my lonesome, and that it'll be worth it.  I figure I'm probably about to hit the 2/3rds marker and head into what my film school teachers called "the third act" (although I have no actors, so I may be misusing the term).  But this IS a bit about character development, and as we were so plot heavy last time, I wanted to give some hints as to Kaya's past, and give the reader a chance to see a pensive Kaya in a thinking, emotional moment.


So, without further ado...  (oh, this is about 6 pages into Chapter 41).  


Oh, and, yeah, there may be some spoilers.

    The screaming outside the reinforced steel doors was immeasurably loud, but nowhere near as loud as the voice in Kaya's head reminding her that this was nothing compared to the heartache she felt knowing Drumicus was out there, too.  She fought herself, wanting to run to the big, red button beside the door marked "OPEN", but if she did, these old women and children didn't stand a chance.  She might, but not these little ones who had not yet been hardened by the world, and certainly not trained, hour after hour.  Not like herself.
    Her mind flashed to the cool mountain green valley and the pond that gurgled and burped outside the rice paper doors of the dojo, and the silly cat that lived on the grounds watching her, year after year, transforming her body from that of a girl to that of a living weapon.  There had been endless days and nights of sparring, learning forms and movement, but that was necessary if one were to become Samurai.  Yes, she was a prodigy, and Sensei Atoki always said she was the finest student he'd ever seen.
    But she never finished the training, did she?  No.  She had a weakness then.  A weakness she would not give in to again.
    The old women watched her in silence, no doubt remembering when their own stomachs might have been as taught and trim, showing between a leather sports bra and the gun-belt that rode her hips.  And the children...  some of them could have been her own siblings (twins!, she recalled), looking up at her just as desperately now over the frustrated shrieks of the Vamps outside as her brother and sister had once looked upon her.
    Dammit!  Not again!  This time, they were all leaving.  All together.  Vampires or not.  Something she had not been able to do for Krista and Kyle, so long, long ago.
   "What are we going to do?" Bryan asked decisively.
   "Well," she shook her head.  "I don't know.  We have to get these kids out of here.  And the old women.  This door only opens to the outside, and we know what's out there.  I've got about eight charges left in my Faze-Pistol, and the Katana of Dancing Dragons is thirsty enough for Vamp throats, but I'm still just one.  I'd make it, and maybe you, but not all these old women and kids."
    Bryan nodded his head mournfully, the long locks at the back of his head tied back now in the warrior's ponytail, like some amazing lost medieval warrior. "Still, its weird how much these vamps want these particular kids and old women."
    "They're just hungry," Kaya shrugged it off.
    So much loss! she pondered, considering Elvis's strewn remains left behind.  How much more can we endure?
    Sure, he's been made of steel and wires and cogs, but, dammit, he'd been her friend.
    "Lady."  Kaya turned, feeling small hands pull on the fringed edges of her leather shorts, just above the smooth, tanned length of her leg.
    "We should take the hatch.  Then we can leave."
    "The what?" she asked.
    Bryan lifted an eyebrow.  "What damned fool thing is this?"

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The League's Guide for Incoming Freshmen

This week students are arriving on campus at the university where I work.  I work in a building (a library) where I studied as an undergraduate.  This building is across the street from the building I lived in with 2,999 of my fellow students, and where I now eat lunch about 2-3 times per week.  

When I left high school and entered the wide-world of higher education, it was quite a change for your humble blogger.  I was leaving a world in which I'd achieved academic success mostly by following the rules and bullshitting when I did not, but doing it with humility and a pleasing smile that seemed to keep me from getting my head lopped off on the many, many occasions that should have done me in.

College provided me with a new set of circumstances, new people with new perspectives, teachers no longer working from a regionally approved curricula nor with fear that saying things displeasing to the local moral majority would cost them their job.  But, I also left the comfy nest of a home provided me by KareBear and The Admiral, a place where meals were provided, laundry magically happened, and as long as I did my homework, promised to go to college, occasionally did the lawn and didn't get anybody pregnant, I was able to enjoy the benevolence of those who might smite me.  But it wasn't exactly training for college.

I attended the University of Texas, my incoming class becoming part of what was a roughly 48,000 person student body, which would jump to 51,000 before I'd departed with 5 years and 2 degrees under my belt and the perspective and philosophy that comes with time spent in a city-state dedicated to creating the educated individuals of tomorrow.  I never didn't love the institution.  Instead, despite the rough first two years I spent at the bottom of the GPA pool, I figured out how, at last, to get out of the school what it was offering.

And so, I offer up some helpful tips I wish somebody had told me when arriving upon the steps of the Ivory Tower of Education, some things that may help out the young The Leagues showing up at their own colleges and universities, all across the world this Fall.

Friday, February 11, 2011

My final days (as reported by social media)

A brief tale of social media and my final days, inspired by a conversation had with friends while watching the Super Bowl

-Ryan has checked in at St. David's Hospital (South) ER
-Ryan
"Ate some fish at the sushi place on Manchaca.  My face and toes are numb, and I barfed."
-Ryan
"I am tired of barfing."
-Ryan has checked in at St. David's Hospital (South) ICU
-Ryan
"Oh noes!"
-Ryan has checked in at St. David's Hospital (South) coroner's office
-Ryan has checked in at The Weeping Fern Mortuary
-Ryan
"Don't know if you guys have used LegalZoom, but I am way out ahead on this."
-Ryan
"Ok.  Jamie changed a bunch of stuff.  So no shrimp buffet, and they don't have coffins with airbrushed flames, but it should still be fun, so ya'll should come."
-Ryan
"Not many folks here yet, but we're going all night, so ya'll come on down."
-Ryan has checked in at The Pearly Gates
-Ryan
"Wow, this line is crazy.  Customer service clrly not a priority."
-Ryan
"Just noticed, I have no pants.  WTF?"
-Ryan
"This St. Peter guy is kind of judgy."
-Ryan has checked in at Firey Pits of Unending Perdition
-Ryan
"That went poorly."
-Ryan has checked in at The Hoary Hosts of Pandemonium
-Ryan
"I totally just saw Howard Taft."
-Ryan
"Just remembered, I was kidding about leaving my life insurance to @JefftheCat on the form.  I don't really have a corporeal form anymore, so someone should make sure that gets sorted."



and, scene

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Just to be clear

I was kidding. 

I am not actually writing an entire book about post-Apocalyptic vampires and the women who hunt them.

But that doesn't mean you will not see future segments from this book. People seemed to like it, so I think if we just post snippets from the imaginary book from time to time, in our collective imaginations, this will be the greatest sci-fi book that never happened.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Excerpt from the Great American Novel Part 1

As mentioned, I'm on hiatus as I'm trying to do some other writing at the moment.  But since you guys often show up here to read what I write, I figured it might be fun to share some of my work with you guys.  Now, I don't want to give too much away, so I'm going to just share a little snippet, mostly context free. This is from Chapter three, so you're getting into the story a bit at this point, I hope. And the main protagonist has been established, and we're getting to know her world, a bit better after the initial conflict has been introduced.

Bear with me, because my tendency is to write quickly, get the thoughts down, and then come back later to clean up the language, grammar, fix pacing, etc... I'm a little sensitive, as this is really putting myself out there (you try sharing a work in progress sometime), but I am going to leave the comment section open, and I would, honestly, love your feedback. If you feel that you would rather the messaging be private, please feel free to email me.

So, without further adieu:



Chapter 3

   The wheels on her El Camino skidded in the dust, locked solid as the rubber slid over yellow dust into the road's edge.
   Elvis was twitchy, but when wasn't he twitchy? This much sunlight could play havoc on the gears of even the most expensive robot, and this model could have belonged to her grandmother when she'd been a girl in hydro-curls.
   "Clean your gears, Elvis," she said, removing her sunglasses to look out over the horizon.
   "Auto Clean commencing," the metal man droned tonelessly, the whir of pneumatic tubes humming gently. Dammit, she thought. Where am I going to find robot cleaner out here?
   The remains of Old Dallas rose on the horizon, a twisted mass of girders, a paean to an age drunk with its love of power, industry, wealth, celebrity and professional sports.  She's been lucky to be born in the years when people weren't into stupid stuff like American Idol and phoney music, but when the masses had begun to really appreciate deep and meaningful music from artists who'd been underrated in their age, like Pink and Ke$ha.
   All of that was now forgotten, lost in the haze of the third Darkness War.  The beauty of music had become a luxury few could afford.  Dance, all but forgotten.  After dark, when she needed the music most, she could only slip her earbuds into her pearly ears and let the music overtake her.  But if they heard the music, if the vampires heard the music, they would find her out here, and it didn't matter then if Elvis was functional or not.  And no matter how she felt about Ke$ha, that wasn't the last sound she wanted to hear.  Except, for, of course, the music would be drowned out by the gurgling of a vampire on her hot blood.
   The sun was already getting dangerously low, and as much as the broken city before her scared her, the idea of being out on the road, exposed like this, after dark, wasn't a good idea, either.  "We're going to have to go into the city, Elvis," she sighed, putting her Ray-Bans back on and tightening her fingerless-gloved hands around the leathery grip of the steering wheel.  "A-a-ffirmative, Kaya," the robot droned.
   Stupid robot.
   She put the car into stealth mode, the engine bursting silently and the wheels making no noise on the broken asphalt as she pointed the car toward the wrecked skyscrapers.  Inside the streets, the auto-car seemed to move like a panther, from shadow to shadow.  She knew of a couple of places she could be safe, none of them great options, but the sun was sinking, and soon, the vampires would be rising from their ultra-coffins.
   The door was almost invisible, buried in the wall of what had once been the arena for the Dallas Lonestars, Texas' favorite professional paintball team.  Long gone were the millionaires of the sport, and the whooping crowds that had thronged the stadium.  Now, it was all just a dusty memory.
   A blue light appeared from a narrow slit, cascading over her sweaty, nubile body, outlining the curves she never bothered to hide.  "Dammit, Bryan, let me in!" she seethed at the door.  "It's Kaya!"
   A whir of pneumatic pistons and a heavy iron clang, and the door slid open, Bryan on the other side, clutching a sledge hammer.  "Heya, Kaya," he said.  In long days and nights on the road, she had tried to forget.  He was big, broad shouldered, handsome and had a penchant for these ancient myths told in stories called "comic books" that she didn't quite understand.  Their affair had been torrid and satisfying, but she knew hoping for more with a dangerous man like that was simply hoping for too much.
    "Get your ass in here," he said, a mighty arm swinging the sledgehammer up onto his shoulder.  "It's almost sundown."  She padded into the room, Elvis trodding in just as the massive metal door shut behind her.
    "How bad is it?" she asked, once he'd sat her down, given her a mug of grog and put something resembling food down in front of her.
    He looked around, blazingly intelligent eyes looking for the right words.  "It's real bad out there."
    "We lose anybody I know?"
    "About a half dozen per week," he nodded solemnly.  "Those damned vampire bastards.  Ever since their scientists came up with the ultra-coffins-"
    "I know," she said, cutting him off.  "I know."  Her thoughts drifted to her father before she pushed those thoughts away.
    The green light of Elvis's motion sensor lit, and Kaya leapt to her feet, the katana in one hand, the Faze-Pistol gripped expertly in her shooting hand.  Bryan let out a belly laugh.
   "I think," he said, stepping away from the doorway, "I need to introduce you to a friend."
   From the shadows stepped a man, but not a man.  After countless years stealthily fighting on the front lines, she knew him immediately for what he was.  His skin was too pale, his eyes too dark, and his front teeth too pointy, revealing his true nature. 
   "Kaya, this is Drumicus," Bryan smiled.  "He's a friend.  And he may just help us win this thing."
   Dammit, Kaya frowned, lowering the katana and pistol.  Did he have to be so good looking?


So that's it for the scene for now. I hope I left you hungry for more, and I hope I didn't reveal too much. Thanks for reading, and I really look forward to your feedback.