Creating a video serial of Judd Falcoln

Creating a video serial of Judd Falcoln

A few years back, I wrote a four part serial story called Judd Falcoln: Missionary to the Stars. It was published in a science fiction anthology (with the unfortunate title "Probing Uranus" - ugh!). Over the years since, I have played with the idea of writing a novel version, but I like the serial aspect a lot. Recently, I decided to rewrite and expand the story to be a full serial, meaning many more than four parts.

But I don't want to publish this all at once. I want it to be a true serial, so that one part comes out each week, and I want each as an illustrated story video. My dream is to get to the point where I feel comfortable putting up a Patreon page and seeing if I can fund more illustrations, but I think I have an artist lined up for at least a kick butt cover. Below this post is a video story I made a while ago to show both the intended look and give a small sense of the style of writing I will use, something I refer to as comic noir.

My purpose on this blog is to document the process for those curious. If anybody is curious. I'm guessing eventually somebody will be. Click on the Judd Falcoln label to see all posts.

Note: I have a better and better video editing software now, so the eventual videos will be better quality than this.

Poem: Après moi le déluge

Après moi le déluge
By Ben Langhinrichs

The crowd is vast and hogs the stage,
A thousand banners wide.
Their hearts and souls, I must engage.
Oh, heaven knows, I’ve tried.
My eager ears embrace the din.
I feel it pounding on my skin.
My eager ears
My eager ears
Assure me that my cause will win.

With single voice, they call my name
As I stride up the stairs.
Their confidence and joy proclaim
My heart at once is theirs.
I know the joy of brotherhood,
My passion’s drive for right and good.
I know the joy
I know the joy
Of working for the common good.

But all at once they’re deathly still.
I stare in shocked surprise.
Then screams cut through, both high and shrill,
Cacophony of cries.
I try to move to safety when
My legs collapse and only then
I try to move
I try to move
But never will I stand again.

The noise grows distant in my ear.
My vision starts to blur.
I catch a glimpse of Death draw near,
“Please come with me, monsieur.”
I struggle back through pain so vile;
He shrugs and says he’ll wait awhile.
I struggle back
I struggle back
To see once more your loving smile.

Past fearful faces streaked with woe,
I look the other way.
A futile search for you, I know,
You stayed at home today.
And yet I sense your presence there,
A loving touch like gentle prayer,
And yet I sense
And yet I sense
The faintest fragrance of your hair.

“Pardon, monsieur, but we must go.”
So, gently, Death persists.
The fragrance fades, my heartbeats slow,
Death takes me by my wrists.
As one, we rise above the crowd,
Their shouts and screams now not so loud.
As one, we rise
As one, we rise
And silence is my final shroud.

Poem: Enduring Flame

Enduring Flame

At seventeen, you caught my eye
My ardor burst in flame.
I wooed and won, you with a sigh
Ignited just the same.

My soul is kindled by your smile
Sad heart singed by your tears.
Some loves run hot, then cold a while,
Ours more than burns - it sears.

The glowing embers of our nights
Light up the days between
Hot passion every glance incites
Lust sparks against the screen.

But what cold future lies ahead,
A passion doused by time?
Fear not, we'll burn until we're dead
In ashes we'll recline.

Writing my first romance novel

For a while, I have been intrigued by the idea of writing a romance novel. I've written a few romance short stories, but I am very impressed by those who plot and plan their way to a good romance. Done well, it certainly rivals a mystery for planning, with a much greater demand for emotional intensity and understanding of human dynamic.

That said, I can't just write a contemporary romance. I need to pull in some of my other writing energies, so I am writing a gritty urban fantasy romance... with mermaids.

The working title is Deep Embrace. I am hoping to do this more transparently than some of my other writing, meaning occasional updates here on both progress and challenges.

Poem: A Distant Drum Roll

A Distant Drum Roll

We stand in full regalia
In solemn ranks under the sun,
All mindful of the same idea,
Our duty clear, we cannot run.

Though fear may gnaw inside each breast
No outward sign will brave men show.
What painful inner doubts attest,
We grit our teeth, let no one know.

The line stands firm, as each awaits
A distant drum roll, marching feet.
What lies beyond those stony gates?
Our victory, or grave defeat?

But hark, the drum roll beckons us
The rigid line begins to move
In quiet wonder, no more fuss
It's time for valor now to prove.

The gates are open, we approach
With heads held high and manner cool.
Our courage is beyond reproach.
We start the year at our new school.


* Across from my office window is the school where all 5th and 6th graders in Shaker Heights go, leaving their familiar elementary schools behind.  Every year, I watch as the brave new 5th graders wait in line for the opening bell.

Excerpt: Ragnarök (apocalyptic scifi)

Excerpt: Ragnarök (opening scene)

 

“Don Newton ragnacked last night.  Closed the garage door and turned the car on.  I can’t believe it.”  Ken stood in the sunny kitchen, telephone still in his hand, forgotten in the moment.

Carla shook her head, looking dismayed but not terribly surprised.  “Irene must be so upset.  I’ll give her a call later.”

“Don’t bother.  Don left a note.  Irene ran off with that piano teacher who’s been giving lessons to their daughter, Marcia.  What is the world coming to?”  

As if he had to ask.  Everyone knew what the world was coming to, and even when.  The mother of all asteroids, estimated by scientists to be six times bigger than the one that killed off the dinosaurs.  The astronomers called it Asher-Lev 14, but some joker had nicknamed it Ragnarök, and the name stuck. 

Within days, the name spawned its own vocabulary.  Rag off: run away from your spouse with a new lover or old flame.  Ragnabber: person who ransacked and looted to get things he or she had always wanted.  Ragnack: take your ending into your own hands.

“I don’t get it.  Three weeks to live, why kill yourself now?”  Ken stared at the phone, which had started beeping, and slammed down the receiver. 

“I understand it.”  Ken could barely hear her.  Carla leaned against the wall as if she couldn’t hold up her own weight.  She stared out the window at Lucy, playing in the back yard.  After a silence she continued, “It’s the waiting that’s so bad.  Waiting and knowing what’s going to happen.  Lucy’s the only reason I keep going, wanting her to have a last few happy weeks, but watching her…  She’s never going to get to grow up.”  Carla looked at Ken with tear-streaked eyes.  “She’ll never have a first kiss, or go to Prom, or have a baby of her own.  She’ll never know any of that.”

Ken crossed the small kitchen and put his arms around Carla.  While she cried, he murmured reassuring words he didn’t believe.  Mostly, he tried not to shake.  A couple of times a day, he found himself shaking uncontrollably, unable to cry, unable to do anything.  As Carla’s sobs subsided, he turned her to face him and said, “We need to get out of here.  Take Lucy and get away, away from all the craziness.”

Carla shook herself free, not angrily, but with determination.  “You know we can’t do that.  We can’t leave your mom; she’s too sick to travel, and she won’t leave her church now—she spends most her days there, praying.  Besides, Lucy needs to be near her friends.  This is all confusing enough for her.”  She wiped her eyes and put on a resolute, if lopsided, smile.  “Lucy’s not going to get a whole lifetime, but I’ll be damned if she can’t have a few happy weeks of normal childhood, or as normal as I can make them.  Besides, maybe the experts are wrong.  Maybe this is all a big mistake.”

Ken tried to smile, but couldn’t.  “Yeah, maybe it is.”  He knew it wasn’t, and she probably did as well, but why push the issue?  There were plenty of doubters, or had been when the news first broke on the internet. 

A couple of Chilean astronomers blogged about the asteroid, and nobody would have paid any attention if not for the U.S. government’s ham-handed efforts to deny the rumors.  By the third Presidential press conference in a week denying the reports and expressing simultaneous complete confidence in the U.S. military, everybody knew.  By the time the President admitted the truth, the internet was overflowing with evidence.  Somebody even set up a live astro-webcam at the Mt. Hamilton observatory in California.  Watch your doom approach in real time!

To read the rest of Ragnarök, visit Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/81721 or wait a day or two and it will be up on Amazon and B&N. Only $0.99, Ragnarök celebrates the ability of the human spirit to transcend the ultimate catastrophe.

Mistaken All Week - poetic paean to dates who are duds

Mistaken all week - a poetic paean to dud dates

(from the lady's point of view)

My life seemed boring, something seemed amiss
I craved adventure, so I told my Sis.
But Sis thought I was crazy, she said, “Hon!
You’re quite mistaken. Strangers are no fun!”

Limerick Letdown
On Friday, I went out with Mickey
Who thought he was terribly tricky
He felt it romantic
To fumble, quite frantic.
And end up the night with a quickie.

My Sis said, “Told you so!” without remorse.
So I went out and tried again, of course.


Haiku Hangup
On Saturday night
I discovered with sadness
That Hung Lo – wasn’t.

My sister laughed and said with bawdy wink,
“He was so short, sometimes you have to think!”


A Cinquain in the Park with George
Sunday
I dined with George
Whose eloquence promised
A night of sensitivity
…or not.

I’m glad to say that Sis was somewhat kind..
She’d dated George herself, “I liked his mind”


Acrostic between a Donkey and a Snake
L eonard asked me out on Monday
A nd I said I’d happily go,
R elieved ‘cause we went out for sundaes,
G oing well meant going slow.
E ventually we went to his place
B ut we still just sat and talked
U ntil finally we got started
T hen his lordly member… balked.
L usting for his apt proportion
I  tried things not taught in school,
M ade an effort, tried extortion,
P roduced naught but flaccid tool.

Well, I told Sis I’d stayed home, watched TV.
There’s some humiliation I don’t need.


Epigram Telegram
On Tuesday I went out with Ray.
Turned out he was charming and… gay.

My Sis, she harkened back where she’d begun,
“You're still mistaken. Strangers are no fun!"


Take me out to the Etheree
On Wednesday, I went on a date with Sam
He took me to the ball park to see
The Indians play the Yankees
We sat in the second row.
He drank way too much beer.
He tried to grope me
Out in public!
I slapped him.
Fuck off,
Sport!

I went back to my sister and I cried,
“I’m done”, I said, but thankfully I lied.


Thursday Sonnet
With heavy heart, uncertain and depressed,
I planned to stay at home and count my woes,
But then a call from Mike, whom I’d impressed
When he met me last week; my spirits rose.

He asked if I would come out to a play
He said he’d pick me up at half past eight
I felt like I did not know what to say
I dressed and paced ‘cause I could hardly wait.

I knew I should stay calm and circumspect
My failures of the week should sober me
But when he came he showed me such respect
My mind went blank – don’t know what came o’er me.

He held my hand and gazed into my eyes
And when we kissed, explosions lit the skies.

I must have looked like I had lost my head.
I grinned so wide and to my sister said,
“Dear Sis, I’m glad to say that I have won.
You’re quite mistaken. Strangers can be fun!”


* The contents here are fiction. They do not represent any real people or events, although they may reflect real emotions.

*Notes on formats*

A Limerick is a rhymed humorous or nonsense poem of five lines which originated in Limerick, Ireland. The Limerick has a set rhyme scheme of : a-a-b-b-a with a syllable structure of: 9-9-6-6-9.

A Haiku is an unrhymed verse of Japanese origin consisting of three
lines of five, seven, and five syllables (5, 7, 5) or 17 syllables in all.

A Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines.

An Acrostic is where the first letter of each line spells a word or multiple words, usually using the same words as in the title or relating to the title.

An Epigram is a short satirical poem, usually a rhyming couplet, ending with either a humorous retort or a stinging punchline.

An Etheree consists of 10 lines of either 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables or 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 syllables.

A Shakespearean Sonnet consists of 14 lines in iambic pentameter as three quatrains and a couplet, and rhymes abab cdcd efef gg.

The discussion between the sisters is in iambic pentamber couplets rhymed as aa bb ...