Novelista

After receiving an obscene down payment of lons  to begin his search  for the elusive Naria, Dirk takes his ship to Doran—considered an insignificant planet by many—to pick up some regulars for the hunt and then some. From Chapter 9 of Where Pirates Go to Die : Bars and scorpions littered the dusty streets of New Arizona.   Dirk passed the General Store without a peek through the grit-laden windows.   New Arizona was a well-worn city, although no one would admit to ever being there.   It did not have the glitz or glamor of Galaxis.   No fancy boutiques lined its unpaved avenues.   People traveled there to get away from the prying eyes of the Patrolbots and savor more unsavory delights.   A battered wooden sign swung over Dirk’s head.   Reading, “Fox and Hound,” he entered.   An older woman greeted him from behind a desk in a cozy, sterile lobby.   “May I help you?” she asked with a smile.   “I have an appointment with two-two-three,” Dirk said.   The woman p

A monologue from a main character in my upcoming space opera, Where Pirates Go to Die . Name:   Dirk Occupation: Bounty Hunter I know what you’re thinking.   How is it possible to be a Bounty Hunter in this day and age? DNA tracing just shows where a person has been, not where that person actually is.   Full or partial facial recognition doesn’t give you much unless you know the person’s pattern.   Thermal imaging can’t tell exactly who is there. All this data that tracks our every move needs interpretation.   Sure, there are algorithms and all this other schmact that I don’t care about to analyze our thoughts and future actions.   However, they can’t do my job. When a Patrolbot enters a less than reputable den, criminals scatter like cockroaches.   I enter like I’m one of them.   And they always give up information for the right price. Not everyone is cut out to be a Bounty Hunter.   My connections keep my stick tabs full of lons and my ship flying

The Blue Angels against a blue sky. The roar of engines tearing through the blue. The smell of jet fuel mingling with sunscreen. Fighting against the tidal wave of the hordes. Yesterday, I attended the Air Show. The flying was amazing. What I learned: What people can train their bodies to endure is incredible. 5 Gs? Most of us would have passed out well before. In a large crowd, half will be pushing strollers. The only shade lies under the planes on display. Unless you have a hangar into which to duck. Everyone holds up their phones or tablets to take pictures. No one uses a real camera anymore, including yours truly, unless equipped with a telescopic lens. The only thing that surpasses my not so great picture taking is my attempt at video taking.  (My brother took the pic above.) I should invest in a portable phone charger. Just by watching how the planes do those tricky moves, my mind begins to roll. I am very excited to get my pen gliding acros

There’s a lot of flying in a space opera.   (I know, you’re shocked.)   Where Pirates Go to Die mainly centers around one non-Galaxy-regulated ship, the Tigerlily.   To watch some spectacular flying in person, I’m heading to the Air Show this weekend.   As many of you know, my brother is a pilot.   The aviator’s club to which he belongs gave Air Show VIP passes and is throwing a hangar party all afternoon and into the evening.   And, as a good sister, I get to go, too!   (Yay me!)   There’s a rumor that the Blue Angels will be guests at the hangar party.   Their flying is nothing short of awesome.   (Need to remember to bring earplugs for when those jets pass.)   I hope the rumor is true.   How cool would it be to meet them?   Hopefully, they will be able to give me some of their limited time to ask them plenty of questions about flying those fighter jets.   What I won’t do for research. I’m hoping to pick up a few good moves for Wretch (the Tigerlily’s pilot) to use, especi