User Interface Update

Note for readers: I have updated the "Most Popular," "Book, Film, Television, Food, and Concert Reviews" and "Short Stories" link columns down the side of The Earliad. 

USS Manitoba

This season on Star Trek: Lower Decks, one of the show's recurring characters was transferred from the show's "hero ship," the USS Cerritos, to the USS Manitoba, named for the province of my birth. Naturally I'm tickled, even though we don't actually see the Manitoba on screen, and the series' untimely cancellation after this season means we're unlikely to ever see it. 

Still, Manitoba represent! 

The Good, the Bad, and the Needs Revision

Midway through one of my political science courses at the University of Alberta, my professor pulled me aside for a chat after class. 

"What happened with this essay? You've done very well on your exams, so I know you can do better than this. It reads like a Time magazine article." 

For a second, I was confused. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of "Isn't that good?" 

"No, no," he said. It's well-written, but it lacks depth. There's no real analysis here, it's just a shallow summary of the subject matter. You need to dive deeper, think harder about the subject matter, do some extra research, develop your own thoughts." 

Those may not be the professor's exact words, but that was their spirit, and they hit me hard--because I knew he was right. Sometimes, when I'm not motivated or invested or I've left an assignment to the last minute, I can get lazy and produce material that doesn't reflect my full potential. It still happens on this very blog! 

A little over a decade later, my friend Bruce (then my supervisor), criticized a story I'd written for our gardening magazine in much the same way, comparing it to a freelance article I'd written about Superman. The words he used were different, but his point was the same--and like my professor, Bruce was right. 

During my time at the University of Alberta and at my corporate writing jobs across the years, I've written plenty of stories and speeches that I'm quite proud of. But there's also a large collection of pieces I know could have been better. 

I feel especially bad to have let my professor and Bruce down, back then, and I'm sure those weren't the only instances when a teacher or colleague or client was disappointed by my work. 

It makes you wonder if writers of, say, Hemingway's caliber have drawers full of old articles and stories that they look upon with a bit of self-loathing. 

On the bright side, it's a real pleasure when you stumble upon a work you've forgotten and think to yourself, "Hey, I wrote this? I did, and wow, it's pretty good." 

When I look back on my career, I hope I can say I wrote more good stories than bad. 

Jezebel Diamond

This Pulp Figure came with a microphone, so I painted the base as though it were a stage floor. White paint is lumpy here, but not as bad as it could have been. 

 

Cool Under Pressure

Another Occult Science Reservist. I painted all the minis of this type with speed paints. They are indeed speedy, but I'm not sure I like the look as much as...non-speed paints? 
 

Occult Science Reservist

What eldritch horror compels this man to rend his hair asunder? 

 

The Motion Picture

"Just a Motion Away," from Gino Vanelli's 1984 album Black Cars, tells the story of two people in the process of possibly reconnecting after many years apart. Perhaps they were former lovers, or merely potential lovers who remained apart for reasons unknown to us, the listeners. 

The point of view of the singer-narrator makes it clear he's hoping the person he desires feels the same way, and encourages them to leave the past behind and start a new chapter. To paraphrase some of the lyrics, "Chance is knocking on our door to open up our ailing hearts once more . . . it's just a motion away." 

Whenever I hear this song, I wonder about the nature of that motion, the one that will set our lovers on a new (and perhaps more fulfilling) path. Do they reach out to hold hands? Do they hug? Smile? Nod yes? 

For several decades now, I've thought of fictions, large or small, as simply things that really happen on some other plane of existence (or, conversely, whatever we imagine springs into being on those other planes). When a story ends ambiguously, or when it's missing key details, I can't help but wonder about these things. Because somehow, somewhere, they happened or will happen. 

Is that madness? 

 

Sylvia's Massager

This happened back in February. 
 

Fixing a Die Cast Eagle Freighter

 

Professor Rockstompin

In a rare reversal of fortune, I seem to have done a better job of painting the face than the body of a 28mm miniature. I'll take it. 
 

Cry, Little Sister

A decent face! Huzzah! 
 

Americano Mercenario

 

Zapatista Rifleman

 

Visitor Tanker

When the Visitors came to Earth, they pretended to be our friends. But they really wanted our water, and they used these tankers to steal it. Jeff spent hours 3D printing the pieces, and then I spent hours assembling and painting the model. I used an entire bottle of white paint--four or five thin coats--to achieve this look. I'm getting better with white thanks to these kinds of opportunities to practice. 
 

A Cylon Points the Way

 

Jungle Chimp

One of my better simians. I fixed the yellow bit atop his head after seeing the close-up photo. 
 

Watch the Dynamite Lady Blow Herself Apart

Many years ago, I remember laughing at a commercial for a monster truck show. The highlight was when the announcer screamed "Watch the Dynamite Lady BLOW HERSELF APART!" 

Feels like the Dynamite Lady really blew herself apart today. That I painted this miniature a few days ago is an odd coincidence or an unfortunate portent. You decide. 
 

Skyfighter

 

Visitor Trio

We three visitors from afar
Come to leave the Earth clad in scars
Water stealing, humans eating
We're green lizards in disguise

Oh, oh
Ship so massive
Ship of might
Ship to set your towns alight
Burning pyre civ's on fire
Humanity's endless night

NOT ANOTHER TIME LOOP! DRONETROOPERS TO THE RESCUE!

Cargo Snow Coach

 

Plane Crash

You're a Wizard!

Steve and I traded some miniatures, and I painted this one in earth tones. Looks decent, I'd say. 
 

The Creature vs the Invisible Man

SAVAGE GILL-MAN STRIKES AGAIN

4 DEAD IN EVERGLADES MASSACRE

Florida City--Four are dead in the wake of the latest attack of the so-called "Gill-Man." Names of the victims have not yet been released pending the notification of their loved ones.

The four were killed by the Gill-Man while sunbathing at Pelican Cay yesterday afternoon. None of the victims knew each other, according to eyewitness accounts.

"It came out of the swamp like a thing from hell itself," said Maribel Frost, a vacationer. "I recognized the awful thing from the newsreels. Those eyes! The claws! It tore through those people something terrible. Just sliced them up for no reason at all."

Citizens of south Florida are calling for more action from the authorities. Chief of Police Hayrock Tamshill says his department has called in a "special expert" to assess the situation, but refused to comment further . . .



"You're sure you know what you're doing?" asked the police chief. He had a hard time looking at the strange little man next to him, who must have been sweltering in his long overcoat and black fedora. The sun beat down mercilessly on the asphalt.

Jack Griffin tittered behind the bandages wrapped around his head. "Why am I here again?" he asked, his voice half-muted by the thick cloth.

Tamshill cocked his head down at Griffin. "The brass up at Miskatonic said you had the talent and the moxie to take care of the Gill-Man. You don't remember?"

Griffin clapped his bandaged hands together. "Ah! The creature from the black lagoon, yes! Gill Man, Gill Man, pray thee take a pill, man! Ha ha! Wondrous, yes. Take care of my things, will you?"

With that, Jack Griffin tossed his hat to the ground and shrugged out of his overcoat. Piece by piece, he removed his clothing: vest, shirt, slacks, shoes. Beneath these accoutrements his entire form was wrapped tight in those same white bandages; a pair of dark glasses covered his eyes.

Tamshill asked no questions. He'd learned it was best to stay quiet and obey orders when strangers came down from Miskatonic. If they thought this eccentric little man could rid Florida of the creature, he wouldn't argue.

But when Griffin handed over his glasses, Tamshill gasped involuntarily, staggering backward and nearly losing his balance. For where Griffin's eyes should have been there was only darkness.

Griffin tittered again.

"Look into a man's eyes and see his soul!" Griffin said. He reached behind his head and began unwrapping the bandages.

Griffin had no head! Tamshill took another step back. As lengths of cloth coiled on the road, more and more of Griffin's essential nothingness was revealed. He had no visible form at all, as if his clothes had been placed on a mannequin of perfect glass, glass so fine it reflected not, refracted naught.

"I'm the invisible man!" cried the nothingness where Griffin had once stood. "I'm the invisible man! Incredible how you can see right through me!"

There was a splash. Tamshill snapped his gaze in the direction of the sound, and saw ripples in the swamp water--ripples with no observable cause. After a moment, some air bubbles percolated to the surface; they popped silently, and then the water was still.

Tamshill sat cross-legged on the edge of the road. He'd been told to watch. So watch he would.

Gradually, the sun sank over his left shoulder, casting longer and longer shadows. Soon it was just Tamshill and the darkness and the silence; not even the insects were stirring.

Even at night, the heat was oppressive. There was no escape from it, so Tamshill stewed in his own sweat, his uniform sticky and cloying.

He fell into a fitful sleep, his head hanging down against his chest. He dreamed that his eyes were gone, but he could somehow see the empty sockets when he looked at his face in a mirror. His wife saw this and wailed, her body stiffening and then transforming into water, which held her form for a second and then crashed to the bathroom floor, washing down an air vent that was for some reason covered in moss.

Tepid water splashed him in the face, and Tamshill woke to horror.

The Gill-Man stood before him, shrieking in uncanny rage and pain. The monster's green skin had turned translucent; Tamshill could see thing thing's internal workings. Massive emerald lungs, a thick, dark, five-lobed heart, and a yellowish sac that was the stomach...which as now, too, turning invisible to reveal the half-digested parts of a human figure, a man--a man with a face frozen in terror, with bulging eyes, the freshly dead--

Griffin. The Gill-Man had eaten Griffin.

Tamshill couldn't move; he was frozen in the early morning heat, eyes agape as the Gill-Man stomped and thrashed and clawed at it's own head. Something in Griffin's body must have infected the Gill-Man not only with his invisibility, but his madness.

Was that Miskatonic's plan all along? Suddenly Tamshill knew it was so. But why? Why transform an already dangerous creature into something insane and unseen? There could be no hunting the Gill-Man now. It wouldn't be long before the Gill-Man was not merely transparent, but as utterly invisible as Griffin had been.

Tamshill drew his revolver. The Gill-Man had shrugged off bullets before, but there was nothing else he could do. Maybe he'd get lucky. He held his pistol in both hands, still cross-legged, aiming at the monster's left eye. Shooting at the creature's centre mass was futile; perhaps even the eyes were tougher than lead.

Tamshill fired. The bullet sang as it ricocheted off the monster's scaly skull. The creature roared even as it faded away to complete invisibility. Tamshill might get one more shot. He fired at where the monster had been. The bullet chased the horizon.

Tamshill scrambled to his feet. His only chance now was to dash for his cruiser, parked about a half-mile away where the road curved sharply from east to south.

The sun was rising in the east. At least he'd seen it one last time. One last caress from the divine before one last caress from the demon.

He could hear the Gill-Man's webbed feet slapping against the road in pursuit. He was only a few feet behind. No way could Tamshill dive into the cruiser before he was caught.

Sweat clouded Tamshill's eyes, stinging them, blurring his vision. He saw two lights suddenly hove into view behind the cruiser. A large vehicle--a moving van--

Tamshill realized he was running down the middle of the road. He dove aside with a scream.

There was a wet thump behind him as the van slammed into something. It careened off the road, burying its cabin in the swamp before bursting into flames.

Tamshill rolled from belly to butt, crawling backward toward his cruiser. The Gill-Man's wet footprints ended where the van's skid marks began. The van's engine sputtered and died, and then there was only the sound of crackling flames--suddenly broken by an anguished scream that ended with a bloody gurgle.

Tamshill fled to his cruiser. A moment later, he was gone.

Snow Coach

If you want to tour a glacier, see some polar bears, or search for the eldritch artifacts of Cthulhu, you'll need a well-equipped snow coach. 
 

New Varieties of Kryptonite

Readers of this blog (or readers of Superman comics) will already be familiar with the most common varieties of Kryptonite: green, red, blue, gold, and white. You may even be aware of some of the rarer varieties: orange, silver, jewel, anti-kryptonite, x-kryptonite, periwinkle, pink, and black. But even the imaginative minds behind the DC universe haven't yet exhausted the spectrum, which allows me to speculate on some new varieties . . . 

All of the following effects are temporary (lasting between a few minutes to a few hours) unless otherwise stated. 

Purple K: Causes excruciating pain when a super-powered Kryptonian uses any of their super-powers

Yellow K: Instills cowardice in super-powered Kryptonians. 

Ultraviolet K: Makes super-powered Kryptonians invulnerable to magic, but removes their super-powers. 

Indigo K: Turns the vision of ordinary humans upside-down. No effect on Kryptonians, super-powered or otherwise.

Turquoise K: Gives super-powered Kryptonians alien hand syndrome. 

Bile K: Creates insatiable hunger in Kryptonians, such that they must stop what they're doing and eat gluttonously until the effect wears off. 

Palladium K: Turns super-powered Kryptonians into obnoxious bourgeoisie snobs. 

Reverso-K: If brought into proximity of two super-powered Kryptonians (including animals such as Krypto the Superdog or Beppo the Super-Monkey), switches the consciousnesses of the two. 

Rubber K: Temporarily removes Kryptonian super-powers and replaces them with stretching abilities akin to the Elongated Man, Plastic Man, Elastic Lad, or Madame Rouge.