Monthly Archives: February 2009

Friday’s Post

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Friday’s excerpt of The Voyage of the Minotaur was a difficult one for me to write. It is the first time I tried to write anything that had to do with a child predator. I’ve rewritten quite a bit several times with feedback, and I hope I’ve hit it right– not too graphic, but still clear enough for the reader to know what’s going on.

The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 9 Excerpt

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Senta got up from her chair and found that her legs were decidedly wobbly, her vision was wiggly, and the two helpings of trifle in her stomach were not getting along with the toad-in-the-hole. She started for the door, but found her feet making an inexplicable turn toward the wall. One of the waiters took her by the shoulders and guided her back on track, opened the door for her, and closed it once she was in the outside corridor. It was a short trip from Miss Dechantagne’s cabin to the main deck, which was a good thing; because Senta didn’t think she could have made it much further. She grabbed hold of the railing and walked twenty or thirty steps until she came to the steel dragon, still in his animal carrier box. She sat down on top of it, and scooted down so that she could lie back across it. She closed her eyes on the bright myriad of stars looking down upon her.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, but eventually she had the feeling that someone else was there with her. She opened her eyes to see a pasty-faced man with a very round face and horn rimmed glasses looking down at her. His hair was slicked down and oily looking and he had a pinched expression on his face that made his mouth look unnaturally small. She looked at him for several moments and he looked back and blinked several times.

“Hello,” said Senta.

“Hello,” he replied. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

The man smiled without showing his teeth. His smile reached from his chin to the middle of his nose. His eyes, magnified by glasses, stayed the same. He had no facial hair or sideburns, but he had several small cuts on his face as if he had injured himself while shaving. His suit was charcoal colored, and slightly shabby; something that Senta wouldn’t have noticed a few weeks before.

“Do you want to try getting up?” he asked.

“Alright.”

Senta sat up and immediately threw up at the man’s feet. Most of the vomit splattered across the wooden deck, though a bit of it ended up on his shoes and pants cuffs.

“Gawp,” said the dragon within his carrier.

The man’s mouth twitched to one side, but all he said was, “Feeling better?”

Senta nodded.

“Good,” he said. “We should get you somewhere where you can get washed up. Do you know how to get to your cabin from here?”

“No.”

“Then, I’ll take you to my cabin.”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t want anyone to see you with vomit all over your shoes, would you?”

Senta looked down and, sure enough, she had gotten vomit on her own shoes too. The man took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She was still pretty wobbly. He began to walk slowly along the deck, pulling her along with him.

“Gawp,” said the dragon, louder.

They went in the doorway just behind the one through which Senta had exited, and walked down the corridor. Senta started to feel a little better. At the end of the hallway, a set of narrow steps led down to the lower deck. Senta didn’t really want to go down, but the pasty-faced man had her hand firmly in his.

“Senta!”

Senta and the man both turned to see Miss Lusk walking down the hallway toward them. Though she was the shortest of the women that had been at the dinner party that evening, Miss Lusk was almost the exact same height as the oily-haired man. Her hat, which was a large straw affair covered in pink chiffon with a flower accent, made her seem a bit taller than him.

“Where are you going, Senta?” asked Miss Lusk.

“We were just going to get her cleaned up,” said the man. “The poor thing got sick on deck and lost her dinner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Murty,”

“Good evening, Miss Lusk.”

“It was very kind of you to help out with a sick child.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he replied. They stood looking at each other for a very long moment. Senta looked from one to the other.

“Well, we’ll go on and get the child cleaned up,” said Mr. Murty.

“I think I should take it from here.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to take the child below.”

“Wouldn’t be appropriate?” he asked. “Why not?”

“Taking care of children isn’t a man’s job.” Miss Lusk took Senta’s other hand and pulled until the child had both arms stretched out in either direction.

“I really don’t mind. I love children,” said Mr. Murty.

“You’ll make quite a father one day, I’m sure.”

“Let me take her.”

“I’ll take care of her,” said Miss Lusk. “I am a woman.”

“Yes, I keep forgetting,” said Mr. Murty, letting go of Senta’s hand. “Um, what with your, um, mathematics skills and all.”

“Good night, Mr. Murty!” Miss Lusk hurried down the hall with the girl in tow.

Miss Lusk led Senta forward and then down a different set of narrow stairs. They went quickly down three flights and then up the corridor a short ways to a door, which Miss Lusk unlocked and entered, pulling the girl in after her. It was a small room, only half the size of that in which Senta and Zurfina stayed. It held a single chair and a single bed. The red-headed woman set Senta on the mattress and had her lie back.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?” She asked.

“No.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess – Chapter 5

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Chapter Five: Wherein I reveal the mystery of my family

“You said that you do not live far from here,” I mentioned, once we had finished the pies. One might say the purloined pies, but I would insist that they rightly belonged to us in recompense for our unjust confinement.

“That is correct,” said he.
“The pies rightfully belong to us?”
“No. I live not far from her. Are you carrying on some other conversation in your head about the pies?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “You are an orphan.”
“I am well aware of that fact. There is no need to keep rubbing it in my face.”
“What I mean is you don’t have a proper home any more now that you are an orphan.”
“Even an orphan may have extended family,” he explained. “Perhaps I live with them.”
“Do you?”
“One might suppose that I do.”
“One might suppose a great many things,” said I. “But would it not be better to base our future activities less on supposition than on actual remembrances?”
“One might suppose we should,” said he.
“You have an odd way of talking,” I commented. “You don’t quite sound orphanish at all.”
“Really? How many orphans have you known?”
“Quite a few actually,” I revealed. “The Queen of Aerithraine…”
“With whom you once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight.”
“Indeed it is so. The Queen of Aerithraine has a soft spot for orphans. Some years back she opened an orphanage called Elleena’s House.”
“Is that because her name is Elleena?”
“Why would her name cause her a soft spot for orphans?” I wondered. “No, I believe it is because she was an orphan herself.” “No. Is it called Elleena’s House because her name is Elleena? And how could a queen be an orphan? Doesn’t she have to be a princess? Or did the King find her in an orphanage and come to sweep her off her feet? That would be a lovely story.”
“Well, there is no king,” said I.
“Gah!” he exclaimed. “You are the worst story-teller in the world. You are messing everything up and making me confused.”
“Forsooth! I am the best story-teller in the world. I do not expect you to know so, as you are an unfortunate orphan without any knowledge of the world.” I looked over my shoulder at his pinched little face. “In truth I was not trying to tell you the story of the Queen of Aerithraine. If I had, you would be filled with wonder and excitement. I have made half my fortune from that story, and a better story, a truer story, a more profound story; you are not likely to hear in all the days of your life. But I was not trying to tell that story. I was trying to explain that the Queen of Aerithraine has a soft spot for orphans. In fact, I suppose that I do so myself, as I am almost an orphan.”
“You are almost an orphan?”
“Indeed.”
“How can you be almost an orphan?”
“Why couldn’t I be?” I demanded. “If anyone can be, I could be.”
“What I mean is…” He took a deep breath. “How can one be almost an orphan?”
“Oh. Well, it’s only that my parents aren’t dead.”
“I see,” said he.
“But they were kidnapped,” I confided.
“Are you sure they didn’t just run away?” he asked.
“It was a stormy night and I had been away from my parents’ home, which is to say my former home, which is to say Cor Cottage just outside Dewberry Hills, and I was returning for a visit. As I approached I heard a disturbance, though at first I attributed it to the sounds of the storm. Then I looked up at the cottage window to see figures silhouetted on the shade, locked in a grim struggle.”
“What did you do?”
“Why I rushed forward to aid my poor old mother, who as I recall smells of warm pie, and my poor old father, and my sister Celia, and my aunt Oregana, and my cousin Gervil, and my other cousin Tuki, who is a girl cousin, that is to say a cousin who is a girl, which makes sense, because whoever heard of a boy named Tuki.”
“They were all struggling by the window?”
“They may all have been struggling by the window, or some of them may have been, or perhaps only one of them was struggling by the window. I don’t know, because when I burst into the front door, they were all gone. The back door was open wide and the rain was splashing in.”
“What happened to them?”
“I know not.”
“Were there any clues?”
“Indeed there were.”
“What were they?”
“The table had been set for nine, which was two places too many.”
“Three places!” said the orphan triumphantly. “You thought I wasn’t paying attention. There was your father, mother, sister, aunt, and two cousins. That makes six.”
“They would also have set a place for Geneva.”
“Of course they would have. Who is she?”
“She’s my other cousin, which is to say Gervil’s sister, only she’s imaginary, but she wasn’t always imaginary, which is to say she died, but Gervil still sees her, so Aunt Oregana always sets a place for her.”
“What other clues?”
I listed them off. “There was a handkerchief embroidered with the monogram “P”. There was a knife stuck in Gervil’s bed. Floorboards had been loosened in several rooms. There were drops of purple liquid leading out the back door. And someone had hung bunches of onions from the rafters of the dining room. Most mysterious of all was the fact that the tracks led away from the house only fifty feet and then disappeared entirely.”
The orphan gripped me around the waist and squeezed. “How terrible,” he said, in a tiny voice.

The Oscars – Part I

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It wouldn’t be right to just let the Oscars slip by without a single comment, would it? It probably would– especially since I didn’t watch the awards show. I did see some of the movies though. The only best picture nominee that I saw was “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”. I liked it, but since I didn’t see the others, I don’t know how it compares. I want to see “The Reader”, but not until after I read the book.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if we were only allowed to see a movie after we had read the book first? Yes, I know some movies have original screenplays….

O Pioneers! – Movie vs. Book

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I watched the 1992 Hallmark Hall of Fame TV movie of O Pioneers. It was about as close to the book as a movie could possibly be. Jessica Lange was good as Alexandra, and interestingly enough, Heather Graham was very believable as a young Alexandra. David Strathairn is always great and was an excellent Carl, and while Anne Heche wasn’t my idea of Marie, she was passable. Reed Diamond, now playing in Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse (more about this excellent show in a later post) was Emil.

There were only one or two incidental scenes from the book that didn’t appear in the movie, and everything was very well done. I thought that it was a bit more obvious that Emil and Marie had sex in the movie (they had their clothes off) than in the book. If all book adaptations were this good then books might really be in trouble. Fortunately that is not the case.

Note: I have never claimed to be a good critic. As the saying goes, “I don’t know what’s good. I just know what I like.”

His Robot Girlfriend – Chapter 6 Part 1

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Two days later, Mike sat looking at an ad on vueTee. He had seen the commercial at least twenty times during the past week, and the possibilities presented had slowly gelled in his brain into a decision. When Patience came into the room, he looked up at her.
“After you’re done with whatever things you have planned for the day, pack a bag. We’re going out of town for the next three days.”
“Where are we going, Mike?” she asked.
“We are going to Vegas.”
“Las Vegas, Nevada. County of Clark. Population two million five hundred seventy five thousand one hundred seventy four. One hundred thirty one point two square miles…”
“Yes, that’s the place,” he interrupted.
“Why are we going to Las Vegas, Mike?”
“It’s too damn hot here, and I need a vacation.”
“The average median temperature in Las Vegas is significantly higher than that of Springdale.”
“Yes, but only on the outside. We can stay in. You don’t even need to go out of your room to go swimming.”
Mike fell asleep entwined with Patience, but he woke up alone. He got up, shaved, and showered, and was met at the bathroom door, as he expected, by his beautiful robot, toast and juice in hand, and a towel, warm from the drier, over her arm. He ate and got dressed and found Patience once again in the living room. She had already prepared the house for their four day absence, and packed the car with everything they needed. She had also driven to the filling station, fueled up the car, and checked all the fluids and systems. Mike put his hands on Patience’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. He kissed her gently on the lips.
“I am still unsure why you wish to go to Las Vegas,” said Patience.
“There are a lot of things to see there, you know.”
“Yes, I know. They have casinos, an indoor amusement park, a water park, a museum devoted to Liberace…”
“And the all new Star Trek Experience,” said Mike.
“The Star Trek Experience at the Las Vegas Hilton was closed almost twenty four years ago. That hotel isn’t even there now.”
“They’ve built a new one,” explained Mike. “A new Star Trek, not a new Hilton. It’s part of the remodeling of the Tangiers. I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”
“I can’t believe it either,” said Patience.
I-15 was a long road through the desert. It wouldn’t be fair to call it a lonely road, because it was almost as packed with cars as any single section of the Los Angeles freeway. It zoomed down one long, slow incline to the desert floor and then zoomed up one long, slow climb to cross the mountains, only to do the same thing again on the other side. And again. And again. The highway was so busy that there was a great deal of concentration involved in negotiating one’s path through the slower vehicles. That so many California drivers apparently did not understand that the left lane was supposed to be for passing only made it more so. By the time they had reached Barstow, Mike wished that they had booked passage on the Mag-Lev train that ran along beside the highway.
Mike drove with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand resting on the back of Patience’s neck. She was reading “Fodor’s Guide to Having Fun in Las Vegas ’32 Edition”, at a rate of about a seven pages per minute, which meant that she was studying it quite carefully. Mike was amused, watching her flip through the screens of her texTee, because he had never seen her read a book before, what with her having been apparently imbued with a seemingly endless store of information about every topic which she had approached. Whoever supplied that information, apparently hadn’t anticipated a trip to Vegas. Patience was more than capable of filling that void herself though.
Mike stopped to fill the tank in Baker. Nearby were half a dozen fast food restaurants, so he steered into the drive-through of Arby’s and purchased a Western Garden Salad and a diet Pepsi for himself, and a bottle of water for Patience. She quickly drank her water, then knelt sideways on the seat, and fed him his salad as he continued on to Vegas. She carefully inserted a fork full of lettuce, tomato, chicken, or apples each time he opened his mouth, with a large beautiful smile each time she managed to get it in without vinaigrette running down his chin, and a cute little pout when she didn’t.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon when they topped the final hill and looked down over the vast stretches of Las Vegas below. It wasn’t so much that it was a huge city, though it was much larger than it had been when Mike was there last. It was that you could see the whole thing at once, which was true of so very few cities. It seemed like quite a drive down the hill and into the valley, because Mike could drive the entire distance and never lose sight of his destination, but it actually only took about forty five minutes. He took the Flamingo exit and drove west towards the most phallic of all the hotels, the Palms.
Parking the car in the high-rise parking structure, they made their way in through a large door and into the vast, sparkling landscape of the casino. A golden pathway on the rug led through it to the hotel lobby. Along the way, Mike stopped and swiped his cashcard through the reader in front of a slot machine. Pressing the indicators below the slot, he bet five dollars and the pulled the one arm of the one arm bandit. The digital pictures that had long ago replaced mechanical wheels whirled around and came to a stop. There was a rocket ship in the first column, a naked woman in the second, and a banana in the third.
“No robots allowed in the casino,” came a voice behind them.
Mike looked back to see an armed security guard standing next to Patience. They were both a good five feet away from any of the gaming machines.
“She’s not playing.”
“Robots are not allowed in casino. It’s state law: Nevada Revised Statutes. It can pass through with you, but you can’t stop and play while it’s with you.”
Mike took Patience by the hand and led her through the far end of the casino and into the spacious marble-tiled hotel lobby. It took only moments to check in and receive their key.
“I didn’t like it when he called me an ‘it’,” said Patience, while they waited.
“No, I didn’t either,” said Mike.
Moments later they were on their way up in the elevator. Their room was on the seventh floor, which Mike took as a good omen. He had been tempted to get one of the custom suites. The Erotic suite, the g-Suite, the Sapphire Sundown Suite, and the Hot Pink Suite had all sounded like fun. But he reminded himself that he was still a teacher and had been living quite the high life lately. Despite the large bank balance that he had upon Patience’s arrival, he had only received one paycheck since that time, and he still wasn’t all that sure about Patience’s eBay money-making schemes. The “Superior” room, as it was called, had a king-sized bed, a big vueTee, a Jacuzzi tub, and a very nice sound system.
Mike plopped down on the over-stuffed, king-sized bed. Not twenty minutes later, the robot bellhop arrived with their luggage, and Patience unpacked and put all of the clothes in the dresser drawers and the closet. Mike smiled. He usually left everything in the suitcases. She finished quickly, then knelt down at the foot of the bed and gave Mike a foot massage. He sighed and relaxed and had almost fallen asleep, when she began to move up from his feet to the zipper of his pants.
“I find it amazing, Mike.”
“I don’t think it’s all that different from any other guy?”
Patience laughed. “I find it amazing that we are here hundreds of miles from where we were just this morning.”
“Pretty amazing,” he agreed.
Mike lay back and let Patience take care of him. At some point, he wasn’t sure exactly when, he fell asleep. When he woke up, Patience had already changed to go out for dinner. Even though she had purchased these particular clothes from Victoria Secret, they were not inherently sexy—at least no more than anything she wore was inherently sexy. She had a navy tube top that was cut asymmetrically across the bottom, but even the short side was cut below her waist. The blue jeans she had on with them seemed fairly tame too. The red leather Valkyrie strap-on pumps with the four and a half inch heels, on the other hand, virtually screamed “knock me down and do me”.
When Mike had been to Vegas many years before with Tiffany, he had eaten at the Circus Circus buffet. Circus Circus had put out a lot of food for fifteen dollars. A lot of food. Not good food, but a lot of food. The buffet downstairs in the Palms was called “The Fantasy Market”. While it was twenty times as expensive as the last Las Vegas buffet that Mike had eaten, it was easily twenty times as good too. He feasted on oysters, crab legs, and sliced prime rib, asparagus, garlic herb potatoes, and fried okra. He found that he filled quickly and didn’t have room for desert though. He didn’t have to pay for Patience. She was recognized as a robot by the robot at the counter.
“I understand one robot recognizing another,” he said. “But how did that security guard know? I don’t think most people at the beach could tell you weren’t human, and that was under the bright sun.”
“They have electronic detectors all around the casino,” said Patience. “I can feel the magnetic field they give off.”
“Really?”
“They want to make sure that a robot is not allowed to gamble. With a computer brain and heightened senses, I would not be fooled by the randomizing efforts used in gambling games. I would win.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess they can’t have that.”
Patience smiled.
After dinner, they walked through the casino and out the front entrance of the hotel. Mike didn’t want to bother with his car, so he had a robot valet hail a taxi for them. Once inside, Patience directed the driver, Mike recognized him as a Gizmo Servbot, to take them to the ‘finest gentleman’s club’ in the area. Mike knew that the driver would take them to whichever strip club paid the biggest kickback to the taxi company. He wondered if Patience knew that as well. Had they included that in her memory banks? Had she read it in Fodor’s Guide?

Books Everyone Should Read – Part 5

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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Not the first detective in fiction, but clearly the most famous, Sherlock Holmes definitely qualifies as a classic. Read this book. It’s great. It’s free. Download it HERE in a variety of eBook formats. This is the link to Feedbooks.com, but it can be downloaded from Manybooks.net and other purveyors of free eBooks.

Books Everyone Should Read – Part 4

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Carmilla by J. Sheridan LeFanu

Actually a novella, this vampires story predates Dracula. By far my favorite vampire story, it really plays up the predator-prey aspect of the myth, and of course there is plenty of lesbian subtext. Download it in several eBook formats for free HERE. This is a link to Feedbooks.com, but it can be found in a variety of sites devoted to free books.

Princess of Amathar – Chapter 9 Excerpt

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I swam back outside and reported the mystery to Malagor. He did not seem pleased. We left the meat cooking, and wrapped up a burning ember, some kindling and a couple of large sticks in a piece of fur, and swam back into the hidden room. Once inside, we climbed out of the water and onto the dry ground. The room was lit only by a dim glow from the watery passage. Malagor and I started a small fire in the hidden chamber. I had my doubts about doing so, since there was a limited amount of oxygen in the room, and I had no great desire to die of asphyxiation. However once we had the little fire burning, we noticed a small flicker of flame leaping in the direction of the wall. From there it was only a small step to the realization that there was a secret door in the wall right by where we had chosen to build the fire. Even with this knowledge at our command, it took some time for us to figure out how to open the portal. In the end, Malagor and I had to press on the wall in two different places to force a perfectly disguised panel to slide back, revealing a darkened passage. I wondered that Norar Remontar had been able to do it by himself.

Malagor and I each took a burning stick form the fire, and entered the secret passage. It bears mentioning that you can’t make a really effective torch with nothing but a stick. Having watched several hundred adventure movies in my formative years, I have seen many matinee heroes create torches with nothing but a flaming stick. In reality, it just doesn’t work. One needs some oily rags or something. The two burning sticks that my friend and I carried offered little more light than one might expect from a small candle, and after what must have been only several minutes, mine went out completely. Malagor was able to nurse his flaming stick in a way that it stayed alive at least enough for us to see the ground where we were walking.

The passage in which we found ourselves was a rough-cut cave like hallway that could have been natural except for the relatively smooth and level floor. It took us straight back into the mountain. Our footsteps made loud clomping sounds that echoed all out of proportion to the way we were carefully treading. After we had gone several hundred feet, we noticed that the walls, ceiling, and floor became more and more smooth and uniform. After another four or five hundred feet, we stopped to examine the walls again, which by this point had become completely smooth, with nice square corners where they met the floor or the ceiling. At that moment Malagor’s fire went out too.

“What do we do now?” Malagor asked.

“Let’s just wait a moment and see if our eyes adjust to the darkness,” I replied.

I said this just to have something to say, because as anyone who has ever done any cave exploring can tell you, your eyes do not adjust to complete darkness. The complete absence of light precludes any vision what so ever. Nevertheless, when we had waited for a little while, Malagor and I were both able to discern the shape of the passage ahead. There was a faint and indistinct light coming from far away down the corridor. We continued on our way.

As the two of us walked along, Malagor had tended to follow the left side of the corridor and I the right. It wasn’t long before we realized that we had moved farther and farther apart, and that the hallway was gradually widening. About the same time that we made this discovery, the surface of the wall changed abruptly from the smooth stone we had grown used to, to a bumpy soft material. It must have had a great acoustical quality, for I could no longer hear our footsteps. I was just thinking that the hallway had widened form its original five feet or so to well over twenty, when the hallway ended by opening into a huge room.

The size of this room was impossible to measure from our present vantage point. It seemed to be endless in any direction, and we could not judge the height of the ceiling either. I was standing there thinking about what to do next, when Malagor tugged at my sleeve. I asked him what the matter was, and in answer, he grabbed my head with his hands and turned it to my right. In the distance I could see a light. It was like a swinging lantern in the distance that blinked on and off occasional.

“I have an idea what that is,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Even though Malagor and I were both inclined to move quickly toward the source of the distant light, we didn’t move as quickly as we might have. The pervasive darkness was somewhat disorienting, and we could never know when there might be some obstruction that we might run into in the darkness. We managed to make a slow trot across this room, which now appeared to at least a mile across and possibly much larger. It didn’t seem long before we got close enough to the moving light to tell that it was indeed just what I has suspected it was– the swinging sword of Norar Remontar battling some enemy. We managed to reach him just as he had finished striking down the only remaining foe. His sword began to fade into darkness.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“This is a band of Kartags,” said Norar Remontar, turning on his small flashlight and pointing it at several prone figures. “They burst out of a hidden door while I was in the chamber alone, and knocked me out with a well placed blow to the head. I was lucky to regain consciousness before they were able to do whatever it was that they were planning to do to me.”

I looked at the beings lying dead in the circle of artificial illumination on the floor. They would have been about five feet tall when standing and they reminded me of a large rat, at least as far as their faces were concerned. They had legs designed for upright locomotion, and two sets of arms on their upper torso. Their dirty, wrinkled skin was a dull grey color, and hairless, reminding me quite a bit of the way rodents look just after they are born. Though they wore no type of clothing, they did wear simple leather harnesses upon which they carried crude hand-made stone tools.

“The Kartags are well-known to my people,” said my Amatharian friend. “They live by scavenging from more civilized beings.”

“I kind of got that impression from looking at them,” I replied. “It is lucky that you were able to rescue yourself. If it hadn’t been for the soul in your sword, Malagor and I would never have found you.”

I can’t write. I’m paralyzed by my own genius.

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Few people working in television deserve the title “genius” more than Buffy creator Joss Whedon. Listen to his interview on NPR’s Fresh Air here. His comments about storytelling have just as much merit in books and short stories as they do in teleplays and screenplays.