[Note from Steve: Due to supply chain issues—my time will be in short supply as I dedicate more of it to my writing—I will reduce the number of articles posted to this blog to two in the future. Wednesdays will feature an article about reading, writing, or publishing, and Fridays will be dedicated to free short fiction, continuing the “Friday Fiction” series. Thank you for your understanding.]

In books about writing fiction (often much wordier but saying less than my own little course available as a free download), I’ve never seen this topic mentioned (my course doesn’t either, but I might include the topic in a future edition). “Who!” you say. “That’s not creating new fiction if you reuse characters.”

Wrong. Fiction writers recycle characters all the time. That’s what series do. While creating believable and interesting characters is important, more fresh material is always found in the plots and doesn’t have to exist in the characterization, except for the development of characters in time.

And why stop with series? Consider my arch-villain, Vladimir Kalinin. Books in three different series, “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco,” “Esther Brookstone Art Detective,” and “Clones and Mutants Trilogy,” along with two bridge books between them, needed an evil villain (although he has some redeeming qualities in No Amber Waves of Grain, the third book in the trilogy). Ergo, he’s present, creating problems for multiple protagonists.

Because these books move along an extended timeline, you could argue that they represent one huge series, but a series generally recycles the good guys, not villains—that’s how we define series! (The same observation might make you wonder how old Vladimir lives for so long. That question begins to be answered in Full Medical, my very first novel and first book in the trilogy.)

But outside a series, should the good guys be recycled? Why not? Esther Brookstone and Bastiann van Coevorden, protagonists in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, play important roles in the detective series. (I often call them cameos, but they’re really more than that. Cameos are what I give myself!) Turn-about’s fair play, so sometimes Chen and Castilblanco appear in the “Esther Brookstone” series, most notably Chen in Palettes, Patriots, and Prats.

All of this has to make sense, of course. I’ve worked hard to make that happen and like the results. You might have fun trying it as well.

***

Comments are always welcome.

Origins: The Denisovan Trilogy, Book One. Perhaps you’re familiar with A. B. Carolan’s sci-fi mysteries for young adults (and those adults who are young at heart!). If you’re a science fan as well as a sci-fi fan, you’ll have heard about Homo denisaovan too. What’s that got to do with A. B.’s new trilogy? Read the first book in the trilogy, filled with thrills and suspense, and see. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold, just not on Amazon.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: Let’s hope this “Black Friday” doesn’t involve illegal gun sales–we have enough guns in the US. This story, which ends today, is about them, though–they plague the British too! My British-style mysteries to date probably are more influenced by Dame Agatha and other authors’ creations rather than the hard-boiled American school, probably the major influence for my “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series (the Tums-chewing Castilblanco is as hard-boiled as lollipop-sucking Kojak, to be honest). After a bit of reflection about that, I decided to write a story about a hard-boiled British DI. Okay, he has Irish blood, so maybe the stereotype of Irish NYC cop also holds true with him? You decide.]

Arms Control

Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Seven

At the twenty-second hour, the team came together with Hal and Jay present. They’d discovered that Art and Doug shared a flat, and the two were driving other residents in the building and neighbors in the area crazy with their visitors’ going and coming, mostly during late evenings and early mornings. The team also had some grainy CCTV records from a nearby pharmacy that backed up the residents and neighbors’ stories. Unfortunately the video quality was too poor to run facial recognition software.

“We’ll have to go in with this,” Alan said. “Worst case, we let them go and put surveillance on the flat, although they’ll probably just entertain their guests somewhere else.”

“An old lady in the same building,” Hiram said, “gave our artist enough to make a good drawing, right down to a facial scar, mustache, and goatee. Other residents and neighbors saw the drawing and said that person was one of the frequent visitors.”

“Still not enough for facial recognition?” said Jay.

“Iffy. In any case, there was no match in HOLMES. That scrote might be a foreigner, or just someone clever enough to be without form. Hal shipped it off to Interpol, MI5, and NCA.”

“That will take a while,” Hal said. “We won’t have anything in time for the second interrogation.”

“I suggest we threaten them a bit,” Alan said. “Say we’ve checked and the Home Office wants MI5 to take over their case, and they’d be much better off with us?”

Hal smiled. “That might put a little more pressure on them, assuming they’re intelligent enough to know what MI5 is.”

“And they might call your bluff,” Jay said, “or their lawyer will.”

***

Judy and Alan filed into the interrogation room while Jay and Hal entered the room behind the one-way window once again.

“You’ve had more than enough time to think about your plight,” Judy began. “And we’ve had enough time to make things worse for you.”

“What do you mean?” said the barrister.

“MI5 would like to question your two clients now,” Judy said. “They’re interested in arms trafficking because of the terrorist angle. They suspect your clients are involved in arming terrorists. We’d love to see them pin that on your clients. They’d be in the nick for a lot longer.”

“They can’t do that!” Art Simons said. “Buying a few things doesn’t make us terrorists. We’re as patriotic as the next bloke.”

“So…” Alan said with a smile. “Who did you buy the vests and weapons from? J&M or someone else?”

Art glanced at Doug, who nodded. “Okay. J&M outfitted us.”

“And you’ve continued to deal with them, considering all the visitors at your flat. What are you planning? Or are you now helping them distribute?”

“We just socialize a lot,” Art said, and Doug nodded.

Alan laughed. “With some rather shadowy characters.” That wasn’t a lie. The witnesses and video evidence hadn’t been good enough to identify anyone, but they were grainy and shadowy on the video. The best they had was a drawing! “You can either give us their names, or give them to MI5. I’d think you’d prefer the first option. MI5 doesn’t have to allow any legal representation, so they can do what they want.” That was only true for people accused of treason, and only in the initial stages, but the scrotes wouldn’t know that. Would the lawyer?

“I need a break to confer with my clients,” he said.

Time for tea and cakes, thought Alan, but not for that trio.

“Any change of opinions?” Judy said twenty minutes later after returning from that break.

“As far as we know, there’s only one bloke who’s with J&M,” Art said.

“The one with the facial scar, mustache, and goatee?” said Judy, taking an educated guess. At least he looked different from the others and foreign, which didn’t mean much in England or the UK as a whole anymore. Now both Art and Doug nodded. “What’s his name, and what were you doing for him?”

“Helping him outfit customers,” Art said. “He threatened to turn us in to NCA or MI5 if we didn’t cooperate. We didn’t want to go back to prison, so we helped out. Not a bad deal. Paid better than armed robbery, to tell the truth.”

As if these two know what truth is, Alan thought. “His name?” he said.

“Ivan Stoyanov. We think he might be Bulgarian.” Art looked from Judy to Alan and back. “We helped you out. What’s going to happen to us?”

“The Crown Court will take that all into consideration. It can’t hurt your case. It’s not like you were on the straight and narrow, but yes, you helped us.”

“And MI5?”

“We’ll keep you here for now.” Alan slid legal pads and biros to the two. “Your lawyer can help you edit your confessions. Seems like he’s not good for much else.”

The lawyer did nothing but glare at Alan.

Chapter Eight

The manhunt for Ivan Stoyanov had success two days later. They brought him in as a murder suspect for arranging the murder of Sam Duncan. A uniformed constable’d spotted him buying liquor in a small shopping center not far from Art and Doug’s place. Ivan had thrown a bottle at the constable who had the good sense to step aside. That’d been enough to motivate the young constable to pursue Ivan. Knowing the neighborhood well, the copper took a shortcut. The Bulgarian ran right into the constable’s outstretched arms while looking in the expected direction of pursuit. The constable put him down and cuffed him. Alan chugged the constable a bit by commending him for a job well done.

Judy and Alan entered the interrogation room once again.

“I’m a legal resident of this shite country!” were the first words they heard. “I know my rights. I want to lodge a complaint about police brutality!”

Alan smiled at the bloke’s Crown-appointed lawyer. “Better get your client to settle down. He’s not helping his cause.”

“He says he’s not an arms trafficker,” the lawyer said, examining his nails as if he didn’t care.

“We have proof he is. As a legal resident of the UK, he’ll be the guest of the king in a maximum security prison for at least five years, maybe more.” Alan now focused on Ivan, who’d become very quiet upon hearing that. “That will occur unless you can provide us some useful information. Let’s talk about J&M, Ivan. We know you, Art, and Doug work for them…worked, in their case, and most likely past tense for you as well. We want details about their operation.”

Ivan sighed. “I’m just a go-between. Those two and others work for me. I don’t know much about the details. J&M’s organized like a spy network, each layer not knowing much about the one above but everything about the next one down.”

Read the rest of this entry »

In Trump’s Shadow. David M. Drucker, author. This book was mostly a waste of my time, but I can classify it as reading to “know the enemy.” (The author might be in that group?) The author goes through a list of potential contenders for the Good Ole Piranhas’ presidential nomination in 2024. The only one I can give a slight nod to is the governor of Maryland, Larry Hogan, who’s a bit conservative for this progressive looking for a candidate who’s not VP Kamala Harris. (I doubt Biden will run, or can run, again for the Dems.)

Sen. Ted Cruz, for example, is one of the author’s potential candidates. He recently showed he’s one of the world’s biggest asses by dissing Big Bird’s getting the Covid vaccine, and the rest in Drucker’s list go downhill from there.

If you’re a Good Ole Piranha still adhering to some logic and reason (an endangered species these days!), you might like the parts about the Never-Trump movement. Otherwise don’t bother to spend your good money on this trash. (I received it as a gift.)

“DI Tom Mariner” Series. Chris Collett, author. I continue my binge-reading of British-style mysteries, sometimes entire series, in fact, and this was a new one for me. It’s not among the best I’ve perused, but it’s definitely different. The main character’s a bit of a loser and loose cannon, a Detective Inspector in the Birmingham PD (that’s Birmingham, England, of course). He doesn’t know how to commit with women, and they find him to be too much a loner, but he’s no James Bond either. His sidekick Knox is even more a loser, although he’s “reformed” as the series progresses. It’s almost as if the author is trying to paint all coppers as losers with a lot of baggage. The best character is an “Asian woman” Millie.

It’s all a bit sleazy at times (Mariner’s ED problems, for example), but many times better than anything you’ll find on streaming video. Try a novel and see for yourself.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone!

***

Comments are always welcome.

Looking for more British-style mysteries? My collections Sleuthing, British-Style, Volumes One and Two contains some of my own! Volume One is available on Amazon, and Volume Two can be downloaded for free—see the list on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page at this website (More can be found in the “Friday Fiction” archive and will eventually end up in PDF downloads found in the list.) As explained above, I’m binge-reading these, and they’re influencing my short fiction as well as the last novels in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series. They’re a great way to learn about the milieu and culture of our friends across the pond!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Dramas aren’t the only literary works that have scenes. They naturally occur in short fiction and novels (maybe even biographies?). Authors can, in fact, forget about outlining if they move from scene to scene, not that this is necessarily recommended because other story elements are important too.

If a newbie author trying to figure out where to break the prose into chapters and sections when point-of-view (POV) doesn’t do that naturally, scenes can help make that determination. In fact, readers might get upset by abrupt scene changes within a section or chapter as much as they do with abrupt POV changes (often called “head-hopping”), so both can help authors decide where natural breaks occur. Moreover, scene changes and POV changes often go hand-in-hand: Different scene, different POV, because the scene features a different character.

Even when settings remain the same in flashbacks or back story, there’s a scene change because a scene involves time as well as space. A setting might remind a character of what happened in that flashback or back story, yet there is a change even though the setting is the same: A jump into the past in the character’s mind. This also presents two opportunities: First, to show how the character’s mindset has changed over time; and second, to provide a pause in the action.

Does this seem complicated? It’s really not. It all comes naturally the more fiction you write. Like riding a bicycle or driving a car, once learned, it becomes second nature. But that shouldn’t stop old hands from reflecting on what was just written. Even old hands can improve their prose!

There are some things to watch out for, of course. Just like in drama, what occurs in a scene needs to be meaningful. For example, a gratuitous sex scene might be an effective hook at the beginning of a story, no matter the genre, but it must mean something farther into a story.

Another example that’s a bit difficult to pull off is the scene where a character dies. An editor of Son of Thunder, for example, reacted strongly when I killed off a character whom she liked. Perhaps I should have built up to that scene in a better way? The same thing happened in Aristocrats and Assassins when a reviewer reacted strongly after I killed off a character. In the first case, I might have built up the character too much; in the second, I thought my character description was a bit more ambivalent, so there’d be no problem. Of course, both negative reactions are anecdotal and don’t represent a valid statistical sample.

Of course, both scenes could be justified by their shock value. Twists in fiction scenes, especially mysteries, thrillers, and sci-fi, can please readers like surprises from a pinata. That has value too.

Settings are often confused with scenes. The latter is a more general concept because scenes have their own plot, characters and their POVs, dialogue, and settings—they’re miniature, self-contained stories for the most part.

Authors can put drama into their stories with scenes, so the better they are, the better the drama.

***

Comments are always welcome.

Even short fiction employs scenes! My collections Sleuthing, British-Style, Volumes One and Two contains quite a few. Volume One is available on Amazon, and Volume Two can be downloaded for free—see the list on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page at this website. (More can be found in the “Friday Fiction” archive and will eventually end up in PDF downloads found in the list.) I’m binge-reading others’ British-style mysteries, and they’re influencing my short fiction and their scenes as well as the last novels in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series. They’re a great way to learn about the milieu and culture of our friends across the pond!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: My British-style mysteries to date probably are more influenced by Dame Agatha and other authors’ creations rather than the hard-boiled American school, probably the major influence for my “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series (the Tums-chewing Castilblanco is as hard-boiled as lollipop-sucking Kojak, to be honest). After a bit of reflection about that, I decided to write a story about a hard-boiled British DI. Okay, he has Irish blood, so maybe the stereotype of Irish NYC cop also holds true with him? You decide.]

Arms Control

Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Four

“I almost couldn’t find this place,” Hal Leonard told Alan as he slid into the pub’s booth to sit opposite the inspector. “I’m still getting used to driving in London, you know. Even with my GPS, I get lost, especially in the burbs…or detoured by construction the satellites don’t know about.”

They were about the same age; that meant old as far as coppers went. Amanda had dragged Alan to a party a few month’s earlier—he rarely went to such functions because he wasn’t any good at small talk—and there the inspector had met Hal. The American fit Alan’s stereotype of an old hippy, although his beard was limited to the more fashionable scruff seen on much younger men nowadays. His standard apparel consisted of a polo or Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and trainers. But brief conversations at that party and over the phone later signaled to Alan that the man was no one’s prat, and he could be serious without being maudlin.

“Easy to do,” Alan said. “Probably doesn’t help that you’re switching between left- and right-handed driving all the time going from Paris to London and back. How’s everything going, mate?”

“Good. Ma belle cherie is back on the job, so she’s more content; me, not so much. Chunnel makes the trip easier, but Brexit makes it harder, mostly at the French-EU end. Probably revenge for Brexit. I try to organize things so I have a week with her and a week in London. Not ideal, to say the least.”

Alan winked at him. “Aren’t Yanks used to long commutes?”

“I haven’t been much of a Yank since I was nearly killed in a firefight in Juarez.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that in a less-hurried chinwag over more than one beer. You Yanks do like your guns. Funny how they’re your specialty now.”

“Illegal ones, and that’s probably a segue for the reason of the present chinwag?” Hal said with a smile.

Segue? Sounds like an erudite local. His use of chinwag was also amusing. “You got it. I think I’m up against a dealer, code name J&M Enterprises, Limited. Ring any bells?”

“Yes, but I can’t help you much, bro. We’re trying to bust them. Hard to do when you don’t know who they are. Can’t seem to get anyone undercover in the organization either.”

“Agreed. ‘We’ meaning MI5?” Hal nodded. “We’ve nicked some of the front end of their supply chain. Bloke named Sam Duncan had a cargo-hauling and construction business that delivered arms and ammo to J&M from Southampton to sites in London. And don’t ask which ones. We’re lucky to know the merchandise was destined for sales in London. Shipping invoices for the under-the-table payments  aren’t specific, and Duncan is no longer alive to give us more details. Doubt he’d have known exactly where in London shipments were destined without the help of the invoices to jiggle his memory anyway. Not the brightest scrote there ever was, old Sam.”

“I see. Want to work together? I can convince MI5, especially if you’re willing to share data.”

“That has to go both ways, mate, and my DCI might not be too keen about too much MI5 involvement. Apparently not too much love there, and he’s always looking to glorify himself.”

“Young ass on his way up?” Alan nodded. “Know the type. Believe me, MI5 has them too.”

“I’ll have to work on him. Get back to you?”

“D’accord, monsieur. I’ll check and make sure my VIPs are okay with it too, not that they can tell me what to do. I just want to inform them so I have access to MI5 data. I already have that with DGSI’s and Interpol’s databases, the advantage of being a free-lance consultant. You do realize that J&M is probably only a distributor, right? They take orders and then deliver them somewhere.”

Alan nodded. “Must be real upstanding business people, eh?”

Hal smiled. He raised his glass. “Cheers, Alan.” He knocked down half the glass and made a face as if it were bitter medicine. It was bitter…and warm. “God, I hate your tepid beer!”

***

Alan and Judy were huddled in planning mode when Jay dropped by.

“How’d it go with Hal Leonard?” he said.

“He’s basically telling the MI5 brass he’s going to work with us, whether they like it or not. Wants a to-and-fro on information, though…just between him and us, of course.”

“Sounds like he’s a loose cannon.”

“More like he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about inter-agency politics, just capturing the bad blokes.”

Jay frowned. The DCI’s no prat. He knows the hidden meaning contained in that statement.

“Keep me posted. As long as it stays between him and us, I’ll be okay with it. Any joy with the barrister?”

“I insinuated he called J&M based on what our constable overheard,” Judy said. “I’d wager a good sum that he told them Duncan had cooperated with us.”

“Too bad we can’t nick him for that.” He eyed his two detectives. “Can we?”

“Only if we come at him from the J&M side. When we nick them, they might grass on him.” Alan shrugged. “Patience isn’t one of my virtues. Yours either, I presume. But we have to be patient. We might be able to make a clean sweep later.”

“Keep me posted. I’m off to dinner with the super. Business, though. We’ll be talking about an upcoming reorganization.”

“Another one?” Alan said.

“Home Office, etcetera, etcetera, keeps making budget cuts. Welcome to my world.”

“You can have it, sir.”

“Think we’ll be hit hard?” Judy said after Jay left them. “I rather like the makeup of our team as it is.”

“One can only hope it goes the other way. How many times have I had to steal personnel from other teams for a big case?”

“Too many. But back to reality. How do you want to proceed?”

“We visit with Hal, offering what we have, and he does the same for us. Hopefully MI5, Interpol, or DGSI has a better idea about who J&M might be.”

“And what about the barrister?”

“What you and I said to Jay. We can’t nick him coming from the Duncan side, but we might be able to do so from the J&M one. For now, let’s also consider he might not be J&M’s informant. There’s a whole cast of characters among Sam’s cohorts.”

“And including our team.”

“Yes, unfortunately. Be discreet. Many people knew Sam Duncan. Doesn’t mean they knew what he was up to.”

“I doubt anyone who liked Sam would grass on him. I only knew him from a few drunk and disorderly charges when I was on patrol. That was a long time ago.”

“Understood. As I said, be discrete. And put it on the back burner for now. The barrister is my number one suspect for the leak, but he’s on the sidelines for now. I’m going to need your help working with Hal.”

“So tell me about him,” she said with a smile.

“Easy, lass. He has a French girlfriend, and she works with DGSE, so she can kick arse.”

She smiled. “So can I. No, I’m just curious. I don’t know many Americans.”

“He’s more a rogue of the world than any specific nationality…from what I know about him.”

***

That evening, Alan made it up to Amanda. He took her out to a new Argentine restaurant he’d seen on the way to his pub meeting with Hal. She had similar tastes to his and was an omnivore—no vegetarian or vegan extremes for her—so he figured his predilection for a Buenos Aires-style bife with all the bread and salad you could eat washed down with red Argentine wine would suit her just fine too.

“What’s that they’re dancing?” she asked once they were settled.

“A raunchy tango—the dancing’s raunchy, not the music. Tangos are sung or played, and you can dance either way, if you’re not as old as I am.”

“How do you know so much about it?” She was smiling,.

Caught you, you fool! “Dated an Argentine bird at college, if you must know. Don’t worry.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger. “Not nearly as smart or pretty as you are. You know there were women before you.”

“We both have backgrounds, Alan. Most people do. But you’ve never danced with me.”

“Didn’t with her either. Not good at it, to be honest. Too damn clumsy. I enjoy the music, though.”

“We could take lessons.”

Read the rest of this entry »

They are rarely provided by governments now as huge conglomerates spread their tendrils around the world to strangle all competition. I’ve just considered Facebook, that online behemoth that has damaged everything from our youth to our democracies, yet is allowed to compete with other online services by swallowing them up in its evil maws. That’s one place that pisses this reader and author off. Another is found in the publishing industry.

The Big Six publishers were reduced to the Big Five when Random House gobbled up Penguin. Now Penguin Random House wants to swallow Simon and Schuster. Where are the antitrust and anti-monopoly protections?

There are two problems here for a reader like me. First, the huge publishing conglomerates emphasize hardbound, print books over ebooks because that’s where they can scam the reading public most efficiently. I hate print and avoid it wherever possible. You have to wait forever to get an ebook version for the rare good book published by one of these conglomerates, for one thing; and that rare, good book is rarely kept on my bookshelf because they’re doorstoppers that take up to much space and make the shelves sag.  I only read hard-bound books when relatives or friends give them to me, or they’re the only published version available when I write a review (those are often free, but the price tags are usually around $30—I can buy up to ten ebooks for that price, although not from the Big Five).

The latter indicates the extent of how the book-publishing conglomerates flaunt the antitrust and anti-monopoly laws. Let’s consider the last four of my reviews of hardbound books: Klobuchar’s Antitrust, Leonnig’s Zero Fail, McMahon’s A Good Kill, and Woodward and Costa’s Peril. All were free (or I wouldn’t have read them), and all are involved with one of those nefarious Big Five conglomerates, Penguin Random House, in one way or the other. This beast publishes about 15,000 books per year. Let’s ignore for the moment that most of those books, including three of the four I mention, would mostly be lost to average readers who don’t keep up on the new books. (I do, whether I read them or not.)

Klobuchar’s, published by Borzoi, which in turn is part of Alfred A. Knopf, now owned by Penguin Random House, illustrates the problem. This monster publisher is huge! Ironically, and for obvious reasons, Klobuchar mentions how big publishing conglomerates are eating up smaller publishers, an example of what she rails against in her book, making me wonder if she’s truly serious about protecting consumers against trusts and monopolies. Apparently her fat contract received because she’s a celebrity politician muted her critique; or worse, her publisher, kept her from saying too much. A bribe leading to muzzling? I wouldn’t put it past Penguin Random House.

Leonnig’s Zero Fail is the only book published by Random House in my list and not one of Penguin Random House’s imprints (unless you now call Random House an imprint of Penguin Random House?). McMahon’s A Good Kill, the only fiction in the list (it’s a thriller), is published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, one of the old publishers that, you guessed it, is now part of Penguin Random House. Finally, Woodward and Costa’s Peril is published by Simon and Schuster, another old publisher that will be consumed by Penguin Random House, unless the latter’s voracious appetite is stopped.

I don’t know if all this isn’t some giant conspiracy by the big publishing conglomerates to maintain control over the book industry. They fear self-publishing and small presses alike. They eat up the latter if they’re successful, a la Facebook. They can’t do anything much about self-publishing. Self-published authors are the ones I read most because that’s where the good books are usually found! Twenty-five to one would be my estimate. And those are the books I keep (as ebooks on my Kindle or laptop).

Of course, the Big Five aren’t the only ones playing these monopolistic games. Amazon wants to play in that space too, beating them to the punch by gobbling up Thomas Mercer, for example, which is as snooty and against self-published books as any Big Five conglomerate. Things can only get worse, and readers will continue to suffer all this monopolistic activity.

The Biden administration has sued to stop Penguin Random House from swallowing Simon and Schuster. I hope they succeed, but I fear it’s too late, that we’re beyond the tipping point, as is the case for many multinational corporate enterprises. I will continue to fight these monopolistic trends as much as I can. I might have parted with my own two small presses, but I hope they can remain independent. I doubt they will be able to do so, though.

***

Comments are always welcome.

Death on the Danube. While you shouldn’t consider this the last novel in a trilogy (as the publisher of the first two books in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series wanted—there are two more novels in the series, making it into a “pentalogy”), it represents an inflection point in Esther’s long life. In the first two novels, Esther and Bastiann are older lovers, both a bit hesitant about a twilight marriage; but they’re married in this story and on their honeymoon, a riverboat cruise down that famous river. They can’t escape their past as accomplished sleuths, though, because Interpol agent Bastiann must lead a murder investigation onboard the riverboat. For a visual preview, see the trailer. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold, and there’s also a print version.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Mark “Sugar-Mountain” Zuckerberg, thinking he’s some kind of god in control of the internet, continues to annoy me, to say the least. From the moment I created my Facebook author page (the URL is https://www.facebook.com/authorStevenMMoore for those interested), I knew he and most of his minions at Facebook were greedy SOBs. Every post on my author page is followed by advice to reach out to more Facebook users by creating an ad! And anyone accessing that page is hit by ads as well (not mine). They (and Google as well) make all their money that way. Sorry, Mark, I won’t let you exploit me! I know you will bury my posts about my books, if only with other ads, and make my readers furious, because I won’t play your games. I don’t give a damn now. (Well, I do about my readers, but Zuckerberg can go to hell.)

I created that page because many pundits and a few author friends recommended it. Same for using the social media aspects of Facebook. All social media is similar to more insidious versions of PR and marketing whose gurus want to take authors’ money. Most of the those gurus  pay homage to the Amazon god by exclusively playing Bezos’s game (Penny Sansevieri’s AME is a prime example.) While social media has the positive of allowing me to keep in contact with some internet friends, it’s useless for book marketing. (So is Amazon. The only thing their bots did for me was to confuse two books in “The Last Humans” series, If B&N can keep them straight, why can’t Amazon? (That’s why the links in the ad below go to B&N. You won’t see many links to Amazon here anymore.)

I’ve thought many times about completely cancelling Facebook (even for my social media). Old-fashioned email seems effective enough to maintain contact with relatives and friends, fellow authors included (spam from everyone else is treated accordingly). Election meddling aside (Facebook will take anyone’s money, including Putin’s), the whole Facebook edifice is just built on sand, volcanic black sand steaming with corporate greed. No, not sand, but quicksand. One sinks into it and disappears, burning as if you just passed across the river Styx. It’s much torturous than drowning.

And what’s this about that name change to “Meta”? Sugar-Mountain says it’s short for “Metaverse.” Now I know old Mark has no real interest in physics—he probably flunked all of high school science—so I don’t buy his reasons for the name. (I’m just happy I used the string theory term “Multiverse” instead of “Metaverse” in the title for my sci-fi rom-com, A Time Traveler’s Guide through the Multiverse). What he really means is VR, short for “virtual reality.” As much as I think Harari is a charlatan (a history prof popping off about past and future science who has no business doing so, and makes tons of mistakes doing it), he has warned us enough about VR and AI. Facebook’s current algorithms are AI—they study users and then target them with ads (which I ignore, of course)—and Meta indicates a future where Sugar-Mountain plans to turn everyone on planet Earth into a VR avatar, a conspiracy to create a worse world than the one in Neuromancer.

That famous and brave whistle-blower (I won’t mention her name, not wanting her to be attacked by crazies) has exposed a lot of Facebook’s shenanigans that I’d only suspected by observation and without solid proof that would hold up in court. The transgressions, in my opinion, are sufficient to close down Facebook and ban it for good, whatever it’s called. They’ll never learn and are too arrogant to change, especially Sugar-Mountain and his close confidents. (I’d never “lean on” one, for example; she’s luring us into that hot quicksand.)

I’ll play along with the internet’s Goebbels for a while longer until I’m so sick of Mark and his cronies that I can’t stand to use Facebook anymore. You might want to consider using my email steve@stevenmmoore.com now, though, because you never know when Facebook puts me over the edge. Or they ban me. In any case, my days there are numbered.

***

Comments are welcome.

The Last Humans: A New Dawn. For a short time, the first novel in this series was the bestselling Black Opal Books’ novel on Barnes & Noble. This second novel continues Penny Castro’s adventures in a post-apocalyptic world. What remains of the US government forces Penny and her husband Alex to participate in a revenge campaign against the country that caused the apocalyptic pandemic…by kidnapping their young children! Just as thrilling as the first novel but independently readable, this Draft2Digital ebook is available wherever quality ebooks are sold (just not at Amazon, Black Opal Books, or Smashwords).

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: My British-style mysteries to date probably are more influenced by Dame Agatha and other authors’ creations rather than the hard-boiled American school, probably the major influence for my “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series (the Tums-chewing Castilblanco is as hard-boiled as lollipop-sucking Kojak, to be honest). After a bit of reflection about that, I decided to write a story about a hard-boiled British DI. Okay, he has Irish blood, so maybe the stereotype of Irish NYC cop also holds true with him? You decide.]

Arms Control

Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore

Chapter One

Alan Galbraith wasn’t a patient man, and he was less patient the older he became. He was waiting for a bloke with the bad habit of being late most of the time. If he didn’t need information from the prat, he would have gone home to his girlfriend and dinner instead of sitting in a foul pub, nursing a beer. His third one! He stared at the sorry-looking peanuts in the little chipped dish and decided they were a poor substitute for Amanda’s homecooked dinners, few and far between because her work schedule was almost as bad as his.

Where Amanda had a full head of red hair and green eyes that made her look Celtic (she wasn’t), Alan was balding, a fact that made his blue eyes all the more piercing beneath his wrinkled brow (he had Celtic roots). The Detective Inspector knew he was well past his bird-watching prime, but Amanda didn’t seem to mind his ubiquitous slovenly appearance except when they went out. He always tried to tidy up a bit for such events just to please her.

The two had been in a relationship for almost two years. He knew that she might ruin that by asking for more commitment, but so far their intense work schedules had kept that from occurring. Any day now, he supposed she would tell him she didn’t want to play second violin to a copper’s addiction to work. Of course, she was as addicted to work as much as he was, running a graphics arts company mostly from her place.

Finally Ralph Hodges appeared and slid into the booth opposite Alan; he pointed to Alan’s pint glass. “I’ll have that,” the twit demanded.

Alan called for the waiter, asked for another lager, and added two bacon and cucumber sandwiches to the order. “Ye look a bit gaunt, Ralphie, and I’m a bit peckish. Unless you’ve got something for me, both sandwiches are mine.”

“You asked ’bout Sam Duncan of Duncan and Sons Trucking, right, Inspector?”

“I feared you were under the influence when I asked for that. What did you do? Find out who makes the king’s fancy white shirts instead?”

Ralph laughed. “No, I remembered correctly, Guv. Just got rumors for you, though.”

“I can work with rumors. Proof for the Crown Court can come later. Worth the pint and ten quid. We know Duncan’s lorries are making a lot of extra trips. Can you tell me why?”

***

Up to that time, the only form Alan and his team had on Duncan was drunk and disorderly, which had resulted in a night in the nick to sleep it off.

“One rumor is that he’s dumping garbage illegally.” Ralph shrunk away when he saw Alan’s furious scowl. “That’s just one rumor, Inspector. Another is that they’re moving drugs, ‘nother kind of garbage.”

Better, Alan thought. “Okay.” He gave Ralph his due. “That’s useful. Maybe. Can you take a peek inside a lorry for me?” He’d probably need a warrant for that, and judges and Alan didn’t get along too well.

“Too dangerous. My friend Herb tried to do that just out o’ curiosity, and two of Duncan’s drivers gave him stick, they did. He’s a guest of NHS now.”

Yeah, that figures. Duncan was a thug and only hired thugs. “Did Herb report that to us?”

“You mean to you coppers?” Alan nodded. Who else? “‘Course not. He’s not suicidal, Guv.”

Alan sighed and eyed the limp sandwich when it arrived—limp cucumbers making the toasted bread limp, which was hard to do with good country bread. He took another sip of lager after trying a bite and decided the rest was too risky. He shoved the sandwich over to Ralphie, who had already tucked in like he hadn’t grazed for a while.

Will my DCI consider a raid? Alan had turned down various offers of promotion to remain a DI, a position he loved. As a consequence, he now had a boss half his age who took few risks. Alan would put it to him like, “Jay, I’ve got information that Sam Duncan’s lorries are delivering drugs.” But with that DCI, that mightn’t be enough. And with Alan’s bad luck, only a few lorries would regularly carry drugs. And why lorries?

He’d have to try. He knew Duncan was dirty and up to no good…felt it in his gut.

To Alan’s surprise, the DCI agreed to call for a raid. Maybe I finally won his trust? Of course, the pillock only worried about closing cases to pad his resume, always looking for the next promotion, so maybe trusting Alan wasn’t a great motivation. He didn’t call out the SCO19, though. Considering what they found, that might have been a good idea.

Three of the seven lorries inspected were carrying illegal merchandise all right, but they carried weapons, ammunition, and bullet-proof vests instead of drugs.

Jay congratulated Alan. Sure, for him it’s still a win! But the DCI didn’t wait long to take the joy out of that.

“Now you only have to discover who are the buyers of those arms. Maybe some ISIS sympathizers?”

“I’ll get on that, sir,” Alan said, although he’d already thought about that eventuality. The case no longer involved Duncan; it was bigger than that scrote. Alan doubted it involved ISIS, though. Sure, there were ISIS sympathizers in England. One group had even gone to Syria, earning the nickname “Beatles.” But Sam’s lorries had been headed northeast, from Southampton towards London. Liaison with the Yard might be required. Or, even MI5, if Jay was right. He’d hate both.

He went home to his girlfriend Amanda.

***

The following morning, Alan’s sergeant approached his desk carrying a mug of coffee for him along with hers.

DS Judy Benson was almost as tall as he was. She’d introduced him to Amanda and was already the best sergeant he’d ever had. She wore her dark black hair short, framing her face nicely, which was rather plain and without makeup but often showing a comforting smile. Best of all, she was as smart as an owl and just as quick to pounce on a clue as if it were a scurrying field mouse. They often bounced ideas off each other, about cases and life in general. She was his work-Amanda, and Amanda and Alan had often double-dated with Judy and her boyfriend, an interesting quartet to be sure, because there were nearly twenty years’ difference between the pairs’ ages.

“Late night, Guv,” she said, putting the mug on his desk. “You still look knackered.”

“And you slept like a baby, I suppose. Your beau is off to Scotland, right?”

She nodded and smiled. “You know, I thought last night would close the Duncan case.”

“Might’ve been closed if the cargo’d only been drugs like Ralphie said. I’ll bet the buyers of those weapons will take their business elsewhere now.” He took a sip of coffee and smiled at his sergeant. “We’re back at square one, lass. We’ll get the team together in a bit, but sit yourself down. Let’s be creative. How the hell are we going to find out who those buyers were?”

“Beats me. I’ve got nothing beyond what our DCI said, and I find it hard to believe that ISIS sympathizers were the buyers. They don’t need all those weapons, just a few bombs in lorries or scimitar-waving fanatics willing to be martyrs.”

“You’re a woman with too much imagination. Um. I just had a niggling thought.” He leaned back in his chair—it received a lot of punishment as his pounds increased with age. He took another sip of his coffee. “What if we get Sam Duncan to tell us where he keeps paper records for his weapons smuggling? The bloke doesn’t know computers from cantaloupes. Said he keeps it all in his head and he’s not telling us. Bollocks! The scrote’s much too dumb to have much in that hard head.”

“You mean, make a deal with him? Would Jay go for that?”

“Maybe. Closing down Duncan’s operation plus nicking the buyers would be twice as good for our beloved DCI to achieve his aspirations for another promotion. Keep that in your thoughts for now. Let’s see what the team says. They’re not shy about voicing opinions even when they’re worth crap.”

Chapter Two

Both DCI and team had liked the idea.

It was the second time Alan and Judy faced the heavyset Duncan with the bulldog-like jowls. He looked a bit more deflated and weary this time. So did his barrister, an oily, pasty-faced, hawk-nosed arse with beady eyes who was dressed in a striped suit that made him look like a poor imitation of a gangster in a 1930’s movie.

Judy went by the book, getting the barrister and his client to agree to recording, reading Duncan his rights again, and then announcing for the record all who were present.

Alan thought they might get a bit more joy this time. We already have him for arms smuggling, although we need to know the port of entry for the arms. That wasn’t a big deal. If it came up in the interrogation, well and good, but the detective was more interested in who the buyers were.

“Checked with the VIPs, and they said we can make you an offer, Sam: A reduced sentence if you show us records of who purchased all those weapons and when. Maybe even a sentence cut down to a few years instead of the minimum ten the Crown Court likes.”

“Need it in writing,” Duncan said.

Judy shoved three copies toward the burly man. “We’d need you to sign them all.”

Duncan handed them to his barrister.

“My client and I will need time to study the offer,” the lawyer said.

“Got it,” Alan said. “You gentlemen need tea or coffee?”

“I already choked on that swill you call tea,” Duncan said with a growl. “I’ll try your coffee.”

“I’ll get by with a bottle of water, if you don’t mind,” said the barrister, probably taking in consideration Duncan’s critique yet figuring the coffee might be worse.

“Back in ten,” Alan said.

The two coppers filed out of the interrogation room.

“Think they’ll go for it?” Judy said as Alan watched her prepare the refreshments.

He didn’t mind the cakes, but he agreed with Sam about the tea. He would also make do with coffee, although that was a gamble as well.

“Document’s still about minimum sentences, but two years is a lot better than ten. If I were Sam Duncan, I’d go for it.”

“Unless the buyers have threatened him already. You know: Grass on us, and we’ll kill you.”

“Sam’s company is still a going concern, and he can run it from jail. I doubt he gives a rat’s ass about buyers and their threats.”

“Unless they really are ISIS. That ugly head wouldn’t look too good atop a pike.”

Alan smiled. Judy could be as gritty as he was sometimes.

“I’m imagining a middleman who sells to London gangs. The Yard is seeing more and more guns since Covid. They’re coming from somewhere. I’m betting old Sam is the first link in a chain. Bringing the weapons in from the south, east, or west coasts for that middleman.”

“We’re not able to go after all the gangs, but you’re looking for the middleman?”

“Yes. And whoever works for the scrote.” Alan looked at his watch. “Time to continue our little chinwag.”

***

When they reentered the room, the barrister handed Judy all three copies. “Signed and dated by Mr. Duncan, and initialed by me.”

Judy waved a hand to the tech behind the one-way window. “Please state, Mr. Duncan, that you signed these documents with no coercion from us and upon being advised by your legal council to do so.”

“I signed without any coercion from you coppers, following my barrister’s advice.”

“To close the deal then,” said Alan. “Where do you keep your records for your little smuggling business?”

“My sister-in-law’s place. She lets me use one of her bedrooms as a second office. They’re in a safe there.”

“Is she involved in the smuggling?”

“No. I pay her rent for that office. Works for me; works for her, ’cause she’s a bit cash-poor since my brother passed on. She thinks I’m just doing normal record-keeping there.”

“I’m sorry for her loss,” Judy said.

“She’s not. My little brother was a violent little weasel.”

And he’s not? thought Alan. “Okay. Let’s have the combination to the safe then. We’ll also need you to okay a visit to that office since you lease it from her. I assume she’ll let us in?”

“If I say so.”

Alan sent two detective constables to the sister-in-law’s place. They brought back four boxes filled with orders and invoices. The safe had actually been a heavy steel filing cabinet with a combination, like one might find for Top Secret documents at MI5 or MI6, something limited local police funding didn’t permit.

He called a team meeting to divide up the paperwork load and put Judy on closing the case with Sam Duncan. He saw the dour man being led out by two uniformed constables who would be taking him to jail. Alan waved and smiled; Sam glared at him. The lawyer just stared ahead. Probably trying to figure out how to up his fee? Or even get paid? The barrister had been on Sam’s retainer; he wasn’t Crown Court appointed, so someone paid for him. Someone besides Sam? Alan put that question on the back burner. He didn’t trust the lawyer, so Alan would give one of the team the job of finding more about him.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve dissed NaNoWriMo aka “National Novel Writing Month” before. Let’s forget about the poor choice of November for this annual writing frenzy. (Thanksgiving in the US is a major travel holiday that can take out a big chunk of writing time!) That’s not an important criticism. (For all I know, authors take advantage of holidays to write, especially if they otherwise have demanding day-jobs.) No, my main criticism is that no one should write a novel in a month! Or even think they can.

So…you’re not one-third of the way through the month. Have you finished one-third of your great American novel? Maybe you have sixty thousand words in an MS Word file and even an outline for everything, but in the twenty day left, it’s almost impossible for you to turn even that into a novel. NaNoWriMo is a sprint, while writing a novel is a marathon. You’re winded now? You have seventeen or eighteen miles to go!

Having written a few novels, I have a large statistical sample that I can extrapolate to say, “The odds are against you.” I’ve never written a novel in a month. I’m lucky to finish a short fiction piece in a month! I don’t want to discourage writers or dampen their enthusiasm—after all, I’m an avid reader who’s always looking for a good story—but steady writing a bit each day over months or years is much better praxis than fits and starts for a writing project. Authors are the captains of their writing voyages, and “steady as she goes” is always better advice for a captain to follow than “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” The latter is likely to end in a shipwreck, and the author can go down with the ship.

I have speedily written a few novels. The Midas Bomb‘s  words just spewed, page after page; The Secret Lab‘s prose went quickly too. Maybe that was because The Midas Bomb was my first mystery/thriller and I had two new characters, a crime-fighting duo, to spur my interest; and The Secret Lab was my very first YA novel with a lovable mutant cat as a main character. But that speed had consequences: The Midas Bomb required a second edition to make it better and align it with other books in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series; and The Secret Lab also had a second edition, a bit of makeover by A. B. Carolan to prepare for more YA sci-fi mysteries to follow.

Mind you, the first two editions of those novels were good, modesty aside, but the speed in writing and publishing the first editions left me dissatisfied. And, even with that speedy writing, I didn’t finish them in a month!

Because my writing technique involves content editing as I go, that speedy writing was due to the stories nearly writing themselves, so there wasn’t much need for content editing. In fact, self-analysis tells me that my writing speed is determined by how much content editing is required. Or, to put in another way, how well-formed the entire story is in my mind (I don’t do outlines because they constrain me).

That’s my writing technique, of course. If yours is getting a fast first draft done with editing only in subsequent drafts, I suppose it’s possible to get the first draft done in a month like the organizers of NaNoWriMo encourage you to do. But, if you do no self-editing after that month, you’re being unfair to your beta-readers and other editors who’ll read the manuscript. In fact, no acquisition editor worth that title will want to receive an unpolished manuscript. Whether self- or traditionally published, your tale will need polishing before anyone else sees it, and that’s impossible to do in a month!

***

Comments are welcome!

The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. Here’s another example of what I mean by the above post: This bargain bundle of three epic sci-fi novels, none of them written in a month, should provide many hours of entertainment for any reader interested in sci-fi. Survivors of the Chaos starts in dystopia with multinational corporations dominating both the Earth and the solar system, maintaining order with their corporate militias. First contact occurs in Sing a Zamba Galactica as friendly ETs are discovered on the third planet colonized by human beings; a further contact with more ETs is not so lucky, and some collective intelligences out there in intergalactic near-Earth space just might blow your mind. Finally, if the first two novels represent my First and Second Foundations, Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand! features my Mule, an autocratic psychopath who is out to control near-Earth space with psi armies. This bundle is a bargain you can find wherever quality ebooks are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Isaac Asimov made androids and robots famous long before the Star Wars movies did. He took some ideas from Capek’s seminal play and created sci-fi tales that revolutionized the genre, even inventing the three laws that they had to follow so people could get past their Frankenstein complex. (Mary Shelley’s monster was neither an android nor a robot, of course; today it might be called a golem or zombie.) As a tween reading Asimov’s stories (in the early days of the computer age), I often wondered how those three laws could be programmed. I still do.

But I digress. Androids and robots are only some of the elements of sci-fi. Asimov didn’t have ETs in his stories, just humans and mechanical men. (I can’t ever remember an android or robot with female characteristics in his stories, so that last is politically correct.) My sci-fi stories have both but probably more ETs (even some with matriarchal societies).

And sometimes all the fancy technical stuff, once explained, is assumed. Castilblanco talks about NYPD-issued PDAs but really means smart phones, considering the timeline of the stories in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series. The implant in a person’s head that allows a direct link to the internet first appears in Survivors of the Chaos, the first novel of the “Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection,” but it’s taken for granted in later books. And FTL travel, once discovered in Sing a Zamba Galactica, the second novel of that trilogy, is rarely mentioned again. All that tech is still there, of course, but I don’t want to bore or distract readers by mentioning them over and over.

Androids and robots appear more sporadically than ETs or futuristic tech in my stories. In my “Future History” timeline (Chen and Castilblanco start that, and it continues through many stories, all the way to the Dr. Carlos tales), some cultures have them, others don’t. There are cyborgs too (although I call them MECHs, but the “Mary Jo Melendez Mysteries” don’t fall on that extended timeline), as well as clones and mutants (the “Clones and Mutants Trilogy” is on that timeline). The ultimate distillation of all those programmable beings is the disembodied AIs that play multiple roles, some that HAL could never imagine even in his wildest dreams.

Sometimes I mix up things in new ways. In A. B. Carolan’s Mind Games (that takes place on that timeline too), I, rather he, asked, “Could an android or robot be given ESP or psi powers?” Asimov didn’t consider that, as far as I know. I don’t think any sci-fi author had ever asked that question before. I won’t give away the answer here—you’ll have to read the novel.

So…what’s my point? I think old Isaac could have had a lot more fun with androids and robots than he did, by adding ETs and other sci-fi elements to his stories. I’m not being critical. He was a pioneer, after all. But modern sci-fi authors can be like fancy bartenders, mixing and matching these elements as if they were inventing new cocktails. I’d like to think that Isaac wouldn’t constrain himself now; he’d be doing just that. Maybe he’d even be writing a few British-style mysteries too! He loved the mystery genre, even though he had very few sci-fi mysteries. (All of A. B. Carolan’s books can be considered sci-fi mysteries.)

Combining the mystery, thriller, and sci-fi genres with all their different elements is a lot of fun. I’ve enjoyed doing that.

***

Comments are always welcome.

The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. This bargain bundle of three epic sci-fi novels should provide many hours of entertainment for any reader interested in sci-fi. Survivors of the Chaos starts in dystopia with multinational corporations dominating both the Earth and the solar system, maintaining order with their corporate militias. First contact occurs in Sing a Zamba Galactica as friendly ETs are discovered on the third planet colonized by human beings; a further contact with more ETs is not so lucky, and some collective intelligences out there in intergalactic near-Earth space just might blow your mind. Finally, if the first two novels represent my First and Second Foundations, Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand! features my Mule, an autocratic psychopath who is out to control near-Earth space with psi armies. This bundle is a bargain you can find wherever quality ebooks are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!