This just in! My entry into NECON Ebooks Horror Haiku contest was picked as a winner this month! Go to http://www.neconebooks.com/flash.htm to read my entry "Just Another Kaiju Sunday" and others. This make the third haiku contest I've won, one other for NECON last year and then for Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Have you ever written a haiku? Try it. It's all in the syllable count. Five in the first line, seven in the second, five in the last. Try it. Leave yours in the comments.
Be sure to check out my earlier post with my short story "The League of Intergalactic Grandpas" and my plea for other interested grandpas to help me make The League a reality.
As always, thanks for reading me.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Calling All Intergalactic Grandpas!
Are you a grandpa? Do you have an insane knowledge or interest in something that you'd like to share? Have you ever wanted to be part of a blog? Read on....
As you probably know, if you read any of these posts, I enjoy writing some odd and occasionally published fiction. Last Saturday night I hit "Send" on my entry into the NYC Midnight's 2013 Short Story Competition. I had entered with them before. A few years ago I took 8th place out of nearly 500 entrants, fortunately still placing in the money.
I really enjoy the concept for their contests. It's an elimination format. In the first round everyone is divided into 25 groups. Each group then gets a different genre, subject, and character. The judges review the entries and then the top 5 from each group advance to the next round. There are three rounds in this contest with the top 4 receiving from $1500 to $100. You never know what parameters you will receive. That's the fun part. It stretches you as a writer by drop kicking you out of you comfort zone.
My requirements for round 1 were an action/adventure, an alter ego, a grandfather. When I told my wife she just started laughing. Then I did to. I guess that's why I took a chance and decided to do something light-hearted, something fun.
So here's what I came up with?
As you probably know, if you read any of these posts, I enjoy writing some odd and occasionally published fiction. Last Saturday night I hit "Send" on my entry into the NYC Midnight's 2013 Short Story Competition. I had entered with them before. A few years ago I took 8th place out of nearly 500 entrants, fortunately still placing in the money.
I really enjoy the concept for their contests. It's an elimination format. In the first round everyone is divided into 25 groups. Each group then gets a different genre, subject, and character. The judges review the entries and then the top 5 from each group advance to the next round. There are three rounds in this contest with the top 4 receiving from $1500 to $100. You never know what parameters you will receive. That's the fun part. It stretches you as a writer by drop kicking you out of you comfort zone.
My requirements for round 1 were an action/adventure, an alter ego, a grandfather. When I told my wife she just started laughing. Then I did to. I guess that's why I took a chance and decided to do something light-hearted, something fun.
So here's what I came up with?
The League of Intergalactic Grandpas
A trio of
grandfatherly pop culture specialists attempt to defuse the theft of a prize
artifact, prevent the explosive death of hundreds of innocents, and still not
miss dinner. Well, two out of three is still pretty good.
Crazy, right? We'll see how the judges feel about it on April 9th, decision day. Round 2 starts April 10.
You can read my story in the previous post for this blog.
My story got me thinking. What if I actually created "The League of Intergalactic Grandpas"? What if the blog featured in the story became real?
Grandpas, I need your help
A regular blog is a vast complicated time consuming monster. You can see how regularly I post here. Sure, my intentions are great but... well, you know how it is. I am looking for other Grandpas to write a fun family oriented pop culture/ activity/ just about anything under the sun blog for grandfathers and their grandkids. We'll talk about anything and everything, movies, books, fun things to do or see, you help me come up with it, we'll write it.
To make it work, I mean really really work well I need a Divide and Conquer strategy. I'll never do it myself. I'm looking for other Grandpas to write articles for it with me.
Are you interested in sci fi? fantasy? horror? movies? books? the outdoors? fun activities to do and make? Do you want to make sure your grandchild turns into a nerd or a geek just like you?
Join me. Let's give our grandchildren the best of our fun, crazy, ridiculous knowledge. Leave me a post, drop me a line. If you aren't a grandpa, pass it on to one you know. That is the only requirement to be a part of "The League of Intergalactic Grandpas".
Let's do this thing.
Friday, March 8, 2013
The League of Intergalactic Grandpas
As some of you know I entered the 2013 NYC Midnight Short Story Competition. It is an elimination contest. In each round the writers are divided into heats and given a genre, an object, and a character. The top stories from each heat advance to the next round. One of the nicest things about this contest is that those entered can post their stories for the others to read, review, and comment. I post my story here for you, them, and and anyone.
GENRE: Action/Adventure
OBJECT: an alter ego
CHARACTER: a grandfather
So sit back. Disconnect your reality switch. I hope you enjoy my little adventure. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present...
"The League of Intergalactic Grandpas"
by
Bill Bibo Jr
“Assemble the League in fifteen minutes.
We'll make them pay for this insolence!"
Paul
threw back his black hood and laughed the laugh of evil revenge just as the
door opened and his wife tiptoed in.
"Sorry,
dear, you go on with what you're doing. I don't mean to interrupt," she
whispered and handed Paul a small piece of paper. "Just in case you're
going out."
Paul
waited until she tiptoed out before scanning the note.
"Captain,
make that thirty minutes. I have to put some gas in the Imperial Cruiser. And
remind me to pick up some milk and eggs on the way home."
The League of
Intergalactic Grandpas in “The Scone Wars”
The Grand
Ballroom of the Hotel du Saint Pierre was filled to capacity plus a little bit
more around the sides if anyone actually counted. At a table near the stage a
group of young wizards waved their wands chanting every spell they knew in the
hope that their diet sodas would change into something more profound for the
evening’s festivities. A troop of armored soldiers sat on either side of their
dark lord looking disappointed their weapons weren't allowed in the ballroom.
Nearby a table of trolls pounded their table calling loudly for their meal.
Paul couldn’t
take it anymore. The pounding was making him even more nervous. He had to ask
them to be a little quieter. He slid his chair back clipping the heel of a very
large and very muscular man dressed only in fur trunks and a feathered
headband. His body was tinted a deep orange with intricate patterns painted on
both arms indicating he was a barbarian mercenary from the planet Blombar. Paul
looked up into the warrior's face and he wasn't smiling.
"Amazing
costume," Paul said quickly. "My colleagues and I run a blog, 'The
League of Intergalactic Grandpas'. Perhaps you've heard of us? We're covering
the convention. I'd love to interview you later about your influences."
The barbarian's
growl turned immediately into a thin crooked smile.
"I'd love
to," he said. "You know I try to base my costume on the books of…”
Paul quickly
lost interest. He scanned the room. Kooks and crazies every one of them, but
they were his kind of people. Infinite-Con was the largest gathering of sci-fi
fantasy and pop culture devotees in North America. Tonight was the Annual Award
Ceremony. Paul and his two best friends were nominated for Blog of the Year.
Paul swirled
his black cape and held up a hand. The barbarian went silent.
“Excellent.
Can I tweet you when I have some free time?” Paul asked.
The barbarian
nodded and walked away smiling.
“Nicely
deflected, Overlord,” said Roger.
Roger's
specialty on the blog was super heroes, in the movies, comics, wherever you
found them. Paul felt sometimes he went a little too deep into the genre.
Tonight he was dressed in blood red tights, mask, and obligatory cape depicting
his online persona, Captain Redheart. He'd recently taken to wearing his
costume more days than not. Then again the ladies, especially those in
attendance this weekend, seemed to go for it as proven by the gorgeous young mermaid
at his side.
Paul looked
over to his companion for the weekend. Charlie, like most young kids his age,
was nose to his cell phone. Paul wished that Charlie would pay a little more
attention to what was going on. It wasn't every day that his grandfather was
nominated for a national award.
The third
member of The League was late. Terry covered the world of horror from blood
sucking vampires to brain eating zombies. He was also a conspiracy buff and
amateur ghost hunter. He told Paul that he had to check some equipment he had
placed last night. He promised he would not miss the award ceremony.
Three others
filled out the table. Dressed identically in white polo shirts, khaki shorts,
and something that looked like a camera around their necks, Paul could not
figure out what characters their waxy complexions were portraying. He tried
asking them but they wouldn't leave character. They smiled, nodded, and
whispered rapidly to each other. The middle one finally said, “You may call us
Bob.”
Paul spotted
Terry by the doors in the corner and waved. When Terry saw him he came running,
nearly knocking the tentacle off of a green octopod. He was out of breath when
he reached their table. He was clutching one of his recorders.
“Guys, you have to listen to this. I think
I've discovered something,” he whispered.
“Can it wait,
Terry? They're about to serve dinner,” Roger said.
“No, it
can't,” Terry said. He glanced around and bent down lower. “Something is going
on. You have to listen to this. Come with me. Now.”
He turned and
ran out the door. Roger shrugged, kissed his young mermaid on her gill, and
followed.
“Charlie, will
you be okay here?” Paul asked looking over to their table mates.
They all
smiled, nodded, and whispered rapidly to each other. The middle one said, “You
may call us Bob.”
“Why don’t you
come with me,” Paul said.
Out in the
hallway Terry waved them to a small alcove.
“Last night I
set this recorder in the exhibition hall near The Star of Oblivion. I checked
it a few minutes ago,” he said looking each direction. Determining it was clear
he pushed “Play”.
Silence. Static. A guttural noise, low and
dark.
“Now if you
think that is some ghost talking, I have a mermaid waiting…” Roger began to
move back to the ballroom.
Terry cut him
off with a look that hurt more than a slap. “Just listen,” he said.
More static.
Silence. A male voice. “The Star of Oblivion. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
A second voice, younger, also male. “Yeah, I
guess. But what is it?”
“Who cares? I just know it’s worth a lot of
money to a certain collector.”
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s grab it
and leave this freak show.”
“Not now. There are too many people about.
We’ll do it tomorrow night, during the awards. Everyone will be in the
ballroom. We’ll have it all to ourselves.”
“And then we blow this place?”
“Then we blow this place.” Static. Silence.
Terry shut off
his recorder.
“What do we
do? They're planning to steal The Star and kill everyone in the process,” Roger
said.
“I don't
know,” said Paul.
“The Award
Ceremony is going on now. By the time the police got here, it might be too
late,” Terry said. The recorder rattled in his hands.
Charlie looked
up from his phone. “Why don't you steal it yourself?”
“What?” said
the grandpas.
“If you take
it and hide it, the thieves can't get it. Maybe they’ll just leave and not blow
up the convention.”
“I like it!”
said Roger and started toward the exhibit room.
Paul grabbed
him by the cape and pulled him back.
“We need a
plan,” he said.
Roger pulled
his cape free and ran.
“We don't have
time for a plan,” he shouted over his shoulder. “We have to save the day.”
When the
others caught up Roger was standing behind a large palm tree. He motioned the
others to hide around the corner.
There was only
one guard, a chubby volunteer who had drawn the unlucky short straw to stay
behind watching over the entrance to the Star of Oblivion exhibit. A smattering
of applause bled through the doors of the ballroom and the guard looked over in
that direction. So did Paul. Both wondered what they were missing.
Roger gave the
others a thumbs up and ran for the guard.
“Captain
Redheart!” he shouted and hit the guard on the neck with what one might guess
was a karate chop.
“Ouch!” said
the guard, jumping to his feet. “What'd you do that for?”
Roger paced in
circles, clearly disappointed that his feat of physical strength had not
worked. Paul saw he was getting ready to attack again so he casually walked up
to the stunned volunteer.
“Sorry about
my friend. He gets a little wound up. He forgets his medication at these things.
I hope he didn't hurt you,” Paul said.
“No, I guess
not. But the exhibit's closed.” the guard said rubbing his neck.
“I know. We're
your replacements. You get to go in. There’s a spot at a side table being held
for you. Look for three guys dressed alike with cameras.”
“That's great.
I've never been to one of these conventions before.”
“New guy gets
the worst job. Happens all the time. Go on. We'll take it from here.” Paul said
dismissing the young man with a wave of his hand.
The guard
barely had “Thank you” out before he was across the corridor and into the
ballroom.
“He forgot to
leave us the keys,” Roger said.
“No problem.”
Terry took out
a credit card, slid one side to reveal a compact set of lock picking tools. In
seconds they were in.
The exhibit room
was dark with one spotlight in the center of the room illuminating The Star of
Oblivion. It was round, smooth, and entirely black with three stunted
projections. The official story stated that a Siberian farmer found the Star in
his field. He claimed it fell from outer space. When local authorities tried to
discredit him, the internet legend grew. Now here it was, inches from Paul's
out stretched hand.
“So we meet
again,” said a voice by the door.
It was the
orange-tinted barbarian mercenary from the planet Blombar and once again he
wasn't smiling. His partner, badly dressed as an ogre, or at least that’s what
Paul thought it was supposed to be, pointed a gun at Charlie's forehead.
“Sorry,
Grandpa,” Charlie said.
“Let's make this
quick. You give us The Star, we give you the boy.” said the barbarian.
Paul looked at
his grandson and then at The Star in his hands.
“Can I ask one
thing? Why blow up the convention?” he said.
The ogre looked
over at the barbarian. “What’s he talking about?”
“I have no idea.
We just want The Star. We have no intention of blowing up anything.”
“No, that would
be our intention.”
Stepping out
from the shadows were the Bobs. Each held their cameras out in front of them.
The ogre turned
his gun toward them.
“Stop right
there,” he said.
Arcs of orange
light leapt from the cameras striking the ogre. He crumpled to the floor. The
barbarian ran to his side.
Terry made a run
for the door but one of the Bobs blocked his way. He motioned Terry back toward
the others. Another Bob grabbed hold of Charlie pointing his camera at him.
“Now it is our
turn. Give us The Star and we shall give you this small human child,” said the
Bob.
Paul handed it
over.
“Now give me
back my grandson,” he demanded.
The Bob said
nothing but peeled back his hand as if he was removing a glove. Beneath the
disguise was a green tentacle. It rolled it around examining The Star and
pushed one of the projections. The Star attached perfectly to his camera.
The Bob set The
Star back in its display case.
“Now what?”
asked Paul.
“Now in fifteen
of your minutes The Star of Oblivion will ignite sending everyone in the
Ballroom to their own personal oblivion. I love it when a weapon truly does
what it says it will do,” the Bob said.
“But why?”
asked Roger.
Tentacled Bob
nodded to the others who removed their disguises as well.
“Half the
people in that room are not from this planet. They are visitors using your
convention as a cover. What better place for a large number of aliens to gather
undetected?”
“I knew it,”
said Terry.
Everyone
stared at him.
“We intend to
send a signal to the Intergalactic Alliance that we will not tolerate their
intervention.”
“You’re
nothing but space terrorists,” said Roger. His eyes narrowed and his fists
clenched. “Well, not on my watch. This is my planet, Mister. Captain Redheart!”
He threw
himself at the Bob knocking him to the floor. Terry and the barbarian jumped
the Bob by the door. Charlie bit the tentacle of the Bob holding him. It
screamed in pain and released him. Paul grabbed Charlie and they ran from the
room.
Paul threw
open the doors to the ballroom. The audience turned and seeing him began to
applaud.
A ninja next
to Paul said, “Wow, man, great entrance. Congrats on winning Blog of the Year.”
Paul and
Charlie wove through tables and well-wishers to the stage. Paul wondered how
they could get everyone out of the ballroom. He might have won the award but
how can you celebrate when across the hallway there were three aliens with a
bomb.
Thanking the
MC he took the microphone. “Thank you, everyone. We, The League of
Intergalactic Grandpas, are much honored. I’m sorry I’m late but I have to tell
you…”
Charlie
grabbed the microphone from his grandfather. “We just saw Joss Whedon and Neil
Gaimann in the bar across the street.”
In seconds the
Grand Ballroom of the Hotel du Saint Pierre was empty.
“Nicely done.
I almost regret having to do this.”
In the doorway
was a Bob. He aimed his camera at Paul and Charlie.
Suddenly he
folded forward and fell to the floor. Behind him stood Roger’s mermaid holding
a chair.
“Well, I
didn’t regret that at all,” she said.
“So you’re not
a volunteer but a Federal Agent?” Terry said.
The grandpas,
Charlie, and the mermaid sat around a table in the empty ballroom.
“That's right.
We knew The Star wasn’t naturally formed or of terrestrial origin, but we
didn’t know what its purpose was. So we staked out every place it was
exhibiting hoping to find some clues. Fortunately you got them to show their
hand, so to speak,” she said.
“And we missed
dinner,” Roger said.
“Fine. I'll
take you all out. My treat,” said the mermaid.
“This will
make a great blog post,” said Paul.
“I’m sorry,
you can’t tell anyone what happened,” she said.
“Not even if I
write it as fiction?”
One year later
Paul again stood on the main stage at Infinite-Con.
“I’d like to
thank everyone for making us your Blog of the Year two years in a row and your
choice this year for Best New YA series. I, and all Intergalactic Grandpas,
thank you.”
THE END
as always, thanks for reading me
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