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TGE is COMPLETE!

The experimental project — an illustrated YA novel — is complete. One final edit and it’s off to submission land. If you’d like to beta read it — just comment here.

Dave Cline - lost and found

The Gribble’s Eye (TGE) is now officially complete.

All 50 images are in and shaded and added to the manuscript.

And to share one which really hallmarks the action, here is an image from the end of the book — a real dynamic scene.

46-SadieLioness

These two characters have names in the story — but you’d have to read it to find out. Isn’t that a great illustration? Yulian Mulyono did an excellent job on all fifty original artworks. I found Yulian on Fiverr. He and I worked out  deal and ONE YEAR LATER we are finally finished!

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What would you say to Hemingway?

If I could someday write like Hemingway, Steinbeck, or London, I’d die content.

Dave Cline - lost and found

What would you say to Hemingway?

The Idaho sun is, just now, rising above the treetops. The Sun Valley home you find yourself within smells of Hoppe’s, old leather, whiskey and sweat. He’s there, sitting in a stiff backed chair behind a desk. You’ve plopped yourself into a leather stuffed monster that nearly swallows you whole.

“Papa,” you say, “your stories are not — have never been — real.”

“Of course they were real.” The man slurs his words, from age or alcohol, it’s hard to tell which. His bearded face scowls at your assumption.

“I mean, to readers. To readers, they were always imaginings. They shut the book and their own lives came back into view.”

“Your point?”

“You could go on telling stories that even you, yourself, knew to be ensconced fully in the realm of imagination.”

The old man cleaned his teeth with his tongue. His jaw…

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I’ve got a glass eye

Dave Cline - lost and found

How big is The Gribble’s Eye?

Megan over at http://HandmadeGlassEyes.com could tell you… Or, as you can see for yourself, it’s about the size of a golfball. Maybe I should draw a socket and eyelid on my hand. It looks almost fake there. But it’s real, 50mm across and stunning.

eyeinpalm

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The Gribble’s Eye: Cover assembly

Progress with a capital “P”

Dave Cline - lost and found

The cover is taking shape.

StoneEyeCover

With the chiseled stone “Eye” that I tapped into the patio in the back, we’ve begun our trek that leads through the forest to the glade where there blooms a sun drenched pool of possibility.

The “Eye,” as Widowcranky has insisted, must be a real physical object, else the treatment will appear cheapened. I wholeheartedly agree.

Ergo, I’ve begun, and hopefully have found, a source for the “Eye.”

https://handmadeglasseyes.com/

Megan has told me she can create an “Eye” of the right color, size and intensity that will lend the cover image that “Whoa, this is real,” impression to readers.

So, I’m discussing the manufacture of such an Eye with an eye toward, perhaps, creating a channel to have Gribble’s Eyes available for sale to readers. Wouldn’t that be fun? For the 1.3 of you who have read the story (I have an epub or mobi…

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Fiction: knowledge kills it

I spend some time over on Scrib-O-defile (which is a pretty good collaborative community for getting your writing critiqued — among other things. The moderators are draconian and the owner is an enigma. Anyway…)

I batted around the concept of what irked me (or anyone) about Science Fiction tropes.

I happened upon a thought, my own, that pretty much boils down to: “the more you know, the less fiction is plausibly possible.”

My offering over there:

“Truth stranger than fiction” certainly comes to mind when it comes to Sci-Fi.

I’ve read a barrel full of Sci-Fi in my days. The stuff that was utterly outside the realm of reality — I loved that. But lately, as I realize the fallacy of “aliens” I’ve become more of a “probable” Sci-Fi kind of guy. What is the “probable” future of science and discovery?

Frankly, I lament my Sci-Fi youth. The 60’s – the 90’s were the “if you can imagine it, we can write it into a story,” period. Card, Foster, Farmer, Asimov, Laumer, Dick, and dozens of others filled my mind with fantastical beings and worlds.

Today? Bah! Starwars is just so much crap science and lame plots now. StarTrek? I enjoy the hell out of Chris Pine, but the reality of it? Ugh! Probabilistic bogosity.

It seems that the more we know, the less fiction can soar beyond our minds. Imagine once we know 1000 x’s what we know today (in about 20 years)? What “fiction” could we possibly entertain that didn’t feel completely false and contrived?


A poor wizard?

How is it possible that the Weasleys in the Harry Potter universe — are poor?

Most likely, Rowling didn’t pay enough attention to cogent world building. She told a great (7 great) stories, and that’s was enough.

Specifically for the Weasleys, of course they wouldn’t want to be poor, or seen as being poor (“Let me guess, hand-me-down robes… you must be a Weasley!”)

A true, cogent Potterverse would not support such income disparity — magic would cure this for everyone. And specifically for the Weasleys, as clever as they are (all of them, in fact), they would have figured out how to grow their wealth.

But Jeanne needed a poor, put-upon family, so, there you have it.

I’d say that Potter magic, above all magics in fiction, would be the least likely to harbor poverty, however one measures it. It’s just too easy to use magic, in some way, to better one’s life-style.


Holiday songs

I wrote a few songs and posted them last year. I share them again here.

Note, these are the lyrics to what never became songs. So, they’re tuneless. If you know someone with musical talent and they’d like to write the music… Feel free to share.

And because I’d rather not just repeat myself, I’ll tap out a new one…

~~~ Christmas Boxes ~~~

From the boxes in the basement,
from the attic, from the shelves,
come the treasures, and the trinkets,
of past Santa’s Christmas elves.

There are lights all snarled and tangled,
balls and baubles, and tinsel tied,
the colored candles and tarnished holders,
from last Christmas, stowed with pride.

And this box here, the one with ribbons,
has the snow globes, Rudolph dear,
but one has leaked, its glitter powdered,
we’ll get a new one, and shed no tears.

There at the bottom, a color riot,
ornaments both gay and calm,
with photos faded, and pasta mated,
a poem penned, a phrase, a psalm.

All of theses boxes, taped and beaten,
contain our memories, our stockings too,
Unpack the holiday, our decorations,
Happy Christmas from me to you.