Back to Brooklyn - an evening with the Brooklyn Speculative Fiction Writers

I'm reviving my Flash Friday today with a quick piece I wrote for last night's BSFW meeting. Who's BSFW? We're a writing critique/support/social group convening twice  monthly in a strange and wondrous land known as Brooklyn. The third Thursday each month is short story critiques, and novels (cut into digestable chunks) on Sundays. As a short fiction writer myself, I particularly enjoy the Thursday meetings. In addition to some much-appreciated feedback on my own work, I find that reading others' helps me to think like a writer.

It's also nice to discuss writing and speculative literature in general with like-minded people. Before last night's critiques we had a spirited debate on whether it is appropriate, inappropriate, or even a moral duty to support a writer whose politics one detests by buying his books. In particular, should one buy Orson Scott Card's books or even subscribe to his online fiction magazine "Intergalactic Medicine Show". (For those with no idea what I'm talking about, Card is the author of many well-known science fiction books, including the much-loved Ender's Game. He's also a member of the boar of the National Organization for Marriage and vocal opponent of marriage equality). 

On one hand, our interactions with a living artist can affect his choices which, in this case, may be a good thing. On the other, the work should speak for itself and Card's early work had consistent messages of tolerance for the other. His later work, sadly, seems to be tainted by his growing bigotry. In defending her choice to participate in a Card tribute anthology, World Fantasy Award winner suggested a separation between the personal and political. She also pointed out quite fairly that, while he is an insufferable bigot, Card was also very instrumental in helping others better learn the craft of writing. (Lest you think Kowal doesn't care about the political, see here for her reaction to the almost-publication of a blatantly racist novel in Weird Tales).

After all the spirited discussion, we had time for sharp, insightful critiques of the stories submitted for this week as well as a few minutes at the end to read the results of our Flash challenge for the month. Brad gives us one of these for each session, and it's a neat way to get the creative juices going. This week's prompt was a photo, which I included in the text of the story below. Those of us who finished the challenge read our work aloud at the meeting; I've read it here for you to at least somewhat repeat the experience. I included the photo prompt within the story.

The Right Doctor

by L. Czhorat Suskin

She'd nagged about the snoring for months, but I held firm, always waiting for the right doctor. A doctor like my father or his father would have seen. No, not their doctors. Not an old man with shaky hands, but one like they'd seenin the day. A man with a firm gaze and a firm grip and honest tools of stainless steel. Doctors these days? Skinny kids with limp hands and limp wrists suitable only frail, plastic toylike things. Women, even. I got nothing against women - I mean, I wouldn't put up with her nagging if I did. Still, if someone's digging in my head, my nose, my body ... that should be a man. It just should.

I didn't even believe her about the snoring, but still, once I found the right doctor I went, didn't I?  That's just part of what a man's gotta do. Nobody can say that I don't listen to my woman.

I knew that Doctor Roberts was the right doctor from the first phonecall. Firm, calm voice with just enough of a smart-guy accent to let me know that I wasn't trusting my nose to some rube. His location was weird - I mean, how many docs run their clinics on the docks in a decommissioned submarine - but like I said, a man's gotta do what he's gotta do. With rents so damn high I'm surprised more docs don't try it. Maybe Doc Roberts will start something.

So I walk the last few blocks, past shiny new apartmnent buildings of glass and steel, past the meat-packing district turned meat-market, past rows of squat, honest warehouses turned lofts and hipster nests and fancy little stores. To one of the last honest corners of the city, one of the last almost-working docks, to the doctor's pocket-size ship, a floating clinic clad in honest grey steel.

The doctor was smaller than I'd exected, with a lean sharp face like a city rat. One of them types you can't really place. Maybe Pakistani or Indian or Arab or something. He lead me into a little room, a strong room, all painted steel bulkheads and bare floors and bare lightbulbs.

"Please pardon my humility of office. You know how it is. Real estate."

I took his hand. Slender but strong. He had a good shake. "Don't I know it. And this is great. Feels honest."

A twinkle flashed across his eyes. "To business then, shall we? You don't seem to me to be a man who likes to be kept waiting, beating around the bush. You say you have trouble sleeping? You snore, yes?"

"So my wife says. What can you do?"

After the usual looking, poking, prodding, he stroked that pointy chin of his and pulled a shiny stainless-steel thing out of a drawer. A long wicked-curved tube narrow and gleaming, trigger like a gun, gently contoured handgrip. He pressed it in, into my nose, past that deep place where tobasco sauce goes if you use too much of it almost to the back of my eyeball he squeezed the trigger and his face reflected in the stainless steel looked stretched looked reptilian and I heard the hissing from behind my eyes and the burning inside of my nose and the the burning in back of my eyeballs and the top of my skull no it didn't burn it froze cold blew through my nostrils cold like winter like the winter wind through the canyons of the city and it rushed through my head screamed through my head

and my breath froze and

and silence.

In the silence

I heard the trigger on his device click off.

The glide of a drawer.

The clickclickclick of his fingerjoints clickclickclicking open as he set it down

carefully

reverently.

My breath was gone, leaving me silence. Enough silence to hear the click of the trigger and the drawer and his fingerjoints.

Silence enough to hear the voice of god. Whispering to me. His breath fills me now, feeds me now. He knows I did right.

And now, now that I have his voice in my ear - now that I found the right doctor I'll need not listen to her again. 

Ever.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's all I have for today. See you all next week!

Back to School (or why no book reviews lately?)

I've talked about AV, about writing, and about reading on here, but since April's review of Mary Robinette Kowal's Glamour in Glass there have been no new book reviews. There've been posts about my various AV training endeavors (with Crestron, Extron, and a trip way out west to meet the good people at Biamp), but that's just stuff; how things work and how to do them rather than stories, the best of which illuminate something deeper in the human condition. Have I taken two months off from reading? Been reading but neglecting to write reviews? Or is it something else?

As you likely guessed from the title, it's something else. I am slowly, perhaps belatedly, trying to make up for the weakness in the liberal arts part of my college education (I went to a school with an intense science, math, and engineering focus. Humanities classes were pretty much an afterthought). Why? First, a genuine love of learning. Second, I see it as a part of being educated, which is a good thing. It sets an example for my children of the value of learning for its own sake, and keeps me mentally agile by stretching parts of my mind that I would otherwise not use much.

A screencapture from PHI-181, of Yale Open Courses

One current stop is Philosophy 181 - the Human Condition from the good people at Yale Open Courses. Structurally, it's a lecture class in which reading lists are published online along with a video of the lecture. Production values are quite good, with crisp, clear audio and video quality more than adequate for its purpose. There does not seem to be a direct record feed from the room's AV system; instead,  content is viewable through a camera-view of what appears to be a front-projection screen. This gives the quality you'd expect; mostly intelligible, but visibly washed-out.

Reading lists, homework assignments and the like are provided in .pdf format. Students are, alas, on their own for actually acquiring the reading material and there is no interactive element; no grading of assignments, communication with instructor or staff, or anything else. As such, it's more an archive of a lecture course than an actual course. I had a strong "what you put in is what you get out" vibe from this, and so long as I diligently read the course material I feel that I'm learning something. Hats off to Yale for putting this online.
(As an aside, one of my last AV integration projects was the addition of tracking cameras to a lecture hall at another university. It uses a nifty system from the good folks at Vaddio which uses a fixed camera to follow infrared emitters on a lanyard presenters can wear around their necks. A control unit pans and tilts the tracking camera to follow the IR so the presenter is always in-frame. There's even an option to add a wireless lapel mic to the lanyard for either voice-lift or audio recording. I love seeing how the kinds of systems with which I work can intersect with my "real life")

Coursera's Cryptography Course

I've also been checking out some online courses from Coursera. These are even simpler technically, as there's no large-scale room system. Instructors have a camera, mic, and some kind of interactive touch-screen with annotation software. The majority of the lectures are just desktop slides plus annotations streamed along with the instructor's voice, although there's a Modern Poetry course which has a single camera with an operator who doesn't seem to realize that panning really fast makes people a touch seasick. Overall, they've done a nice job of fusing technology with content, and creating something that feels as if it's made for today's world.

I'll perhaps give a more complete review of the Yale course and the Modern Poetry course once I finish them. There are also, as always, more projects on the horizon. What's up with myself and others?

1. After a longish absence, I'm back with the Brooklyn Speculative Fiction Writers Group. Find us on the web, twitter, or Facebook. It's a terrific writing group, offering prompts, social meetings, and moral support in addition to sharp, intelligent critiques by some very talented people.
2. The latest collaborative blog-hop challenge is over. See Nicole Pyles here  for the conclusion. I'm not as nice as she; I'd have given a less happy ending. 
3. I've landed in a new spot in the AV industry! See my next pixels post for my transition to the consulting side of the world with the talented team at Shen,  Milsom and Wilke, and a good-bye to the hands-on part of my professional life. 
4. A shout-out to Steampunk Emma Goldman, who'se contributing to A Steampunk's Guide to Sex in which a talented group of writers puts some "steam" into their "steampunk". 

That's all for now. More, as always, to come.

Guest Post - Feedback - Taking It - Giving It - Enjoying It

Hi everyone! Today we have something a a treat: a guest-post from the talented author Sophie Duncan. Thanks for visiting, Sophie!

Thanks to Leonard for hosting me today.

Feedback - Taking It - Giving It - Enjoying It

O feedback, glorious and treacherous love of my life.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but any writer who says they don't love feedback is telling fibs. Any writer who says they aren't nervous about feedback is also probably not being totally honest either, because, like the Sword of Damocles, it swings above our egos ready to plunge down with the fatal stab of 'the one star review'. The old advice for authors never to read reviews is probably the best advice going, but, if, like me, you really can't leave well alone, then read on for my thoughts on the subject.

I'm both a writer and an avid reader, and since I have started publishing books, I have to say it has made me a more considerate reviewer. This doesn't mean I only put nice things in reviews, it means I actually think about reviewing a book that I have read. I don't need Amazon's auto-generated emails to ask me to go and review my purchases any more, I do it actively, because I know how much decent reviews mean to writers, especially those of us just starting out. I'm a Brit, I like to be nice, polite, it's the way I was brought up, so I don't go in for scathing reviews, but I do give what I hope is constructive criticism, i.e. I explain why I gave a book the rating I gave it. Naming no names in this post, but you can go and see my reviews on GoodReads and Amazon.co.uk if you're interested, there was one book which I gave 3 stars because I liked the story, but the author's attempt to set the scene in Scotland with a university post-grad failed because he didn't know the university system in the UK and, it being a murder mystery, he also didn't understand the police system in Scotland. Neither problem stopped me reading the book, although, if I was reading it in company my companions sometimes got an 'OMG No!' or a 'Not Like That!' running commentary, but it was a fun read and I recommended he get a Brit Picker for his book.

I have also left a 4 star review for a book I didn't finish and, before you start stamping and yelling at me for falsifying a review, let me explain. I found the book by browsing Amazon, I tried out the book and I got a significant way through it. However, despite knowing on an intellectual level that the book was well written and engaging, I just did not gel with the story or the characters, but I knew other people would. I was not going to penalise the author because the book wasn't to my taste and I thought it deserved recommending to those friends of mine who I knew would enjoy it.

Then there are the books I genuinely can't stop raving about, I'll post far and wide to let all my friends and acquaintances know I'm in love with a set of books. If you've been reading my other blog tour posts then you may have spotted one such set of supernatural books, since I've referenced them a couple of times. I even wrote fanfic for them!

I don't expect authors to get in touch about my reviews, but if they do, I don't mind engaging with them, since I never put anything in a review I am not happy to stand behind, after all, I'm not a troll. As an author, I don't generally engage with my reviewers, not on places like Amazon and Smashwords, except for maybe 'liking' the odd favourable review :). I do read my reviews, sorry, for those of you tutting, I'm am no where near famous enough, nor do I have nearly enough reviews to engage that professional detachment I'm supposed to develop. I like reading a good review, it makes me feel good, it gives me encouragement. I also read the bad reviews as well. Only one has made me want to spit tacks, because, well, it wasn't about the book, it was an objection to the fact I included same-sex romance in the book, the person even said they liked the story, but still gave me a 1-star because of the 'gay sex' of which there was none. Now, there's a mechanism on Amazon for getting 'malicious' reviews removed, and I might have had grounds, but I stepped back, I took a deep breath and I did not get involved. And, y'know what, it actually turned out to be a good thing, because I then had a collection of reviews from other readers with various levels of support for the book pointing out how wrong that review was. So, lesson learned, it didn't stop me from reading reviews, but it did underline the fact that, as the author, I should leave well alone.

Since we're talking about reviews, I'm going to touch on the fizzling issue of fake reviews that raised it's head again recently thanks to the NYTimes article on the subject. For those of you who haven't read it, the article interviews an entrepreneur who set up a company selling reviews to authors for a price, e.g. for $1000 he would provide fifty reviews for your book. This is not a new story, fake reviews have been around for as long as the review system has been there (please don't try and tell me 'professional' critics can't be influenced), but the internet has provided a scale of fakery unparalleled in history. There are also author groups where authors can trade reviews, some which maintain that the reviews must be 5-star. I'm going to put my stake in the ground here and say, this kind of thing depresses me utterly. I'm not talking here about authors who read other author's work and genuinely like it (I'm one of those, I don't expect anything for my review, even if the person is my friend, I don't feel obliged to be glowing in my review), I'm talking here about money or favours (i.e. an equivalent good review) being exchanged for good reviews. It's deplorable, pointless and undermines the system of customer reviews.

Some commentators have been suggesting that this has broken the system to the point where it's useless, but I don't agree. There are always those who try to beat the system, skew it their way, money does talk in all walks of life, but I don't think that means those of us who want to be honest and share our views should give up. In fact, the more of us that there are, the better. I encourage every genuine reader who has liked or disliked a book to go out there and leave their opinion. It doesn't have to long, it doesn't have to be a glowing endorsement, it just has to be your thoughts. I know, as a writer, I'm always grateful just to know someone is reading my books.

Leaving behind stars and reviews, that is not the only thing feedback is about. I come from a fanfic background and one of the things I really enjoy is discussing my work with an interested reader. There's nothing quite like chewing over the cud of your characters' motivations and your plot decisions with someone who is willing to challenge them and ask 'why'. For a start, it's nice to know someone took the time to read the story and then for them to consider enough of it to actually want to ask questions, well, it's an ego boost and it's fun. It's not something I get a lot of chance to do with my published work, well, not yet, here's to hoping that sometime in the future I'll make some contacts with book clubs and the like interested in these kinds of exchanges. I think these kinds of conversations are useful for a writer, because, sometimes, a perspective comes through that you'd never thought of, which can all be grist to the writing mill.

So, may I finish by saying thank you to everyone who has ever left a genuine review. You are stars, you have the gratitude of writers everywhere. We are a delicate bunch, our egos appreciate the boost and our drives for perfection need the criticism. Thank you for sharing.

Sophie Duncan

Sophie was born with the writing bug in her blood, boring her primary school teachers with pages of creative writing and killing her first typewriter from over use when she was thirteen. She began publishing her work on line while at university where she discovered the internet and fanfiction. It took another decade for Sophie to realise her long-time dream of releasing her own original fiction as an author through Wittegen Press.

Death In The Family (Heritage is Deadly #1)

Leaving a good London school with solid prospects, Tom Franklin has the world at his feet. Yet one thing has always haunted his perfect life: his dreams. When Tom discovers that the nightmarish images of dark places and even darker instincts are in fact repressed memories from his early childhood, he must face the heritage from his birth-father, a savage vampire known only as Raxos.

Realising his memories are his only hope of controlling his awakening instincts, Tom returns to, Coombedown, the sleepy, Cornish village in which he was born, unknowing that the night-breed in his veins will lead him into danger.

Death In The Family is a young adult, paranormal novel.

Death In The Family Literary+ Blog Tour Schedule:

• 27th August 2012: Is it the teeth? - vampires and why we like them. Host: Brooke Johnson
• 28th August 2012: Scare me, Shock me - paranormal fiction vs horror. Host: A. K. Flynn
• 29th August 2012: For Mature Eyes Only - when does romance become erotica? Host: JD Savage
• 30th August 2012: There were 3 in the bed... ménage, ewww or gimme gimme! Host: Tressa Green
• 31st August 2012: The Sidekick - plucky, loyal and just a tad annoying :) Host: Paul Carroll
• 1st September 2012:Feedback - Taking It - Giving It - Enjoying It. Host: Leonard Suskin
• 2nd September 2012: Mad With It - The Highs and Lows of A Writing Imperative Allisyn Bridges

Literary+ is a mar­ket­ing ini­tia­tive which was founded and led by Shen Hart. This is a time of evo­lu­tion and progress, the mar­ket is being opened up to e-books and self-publication. As a fel­low writer, Shen under­stands that self-publication is a hard and often lonely road. She started Lit­er­ary+ to bring together authors and related cre­ative spe­cial­ities with the goal of help­ing each other. With a tight knit, friendly and wel­com­ing com­mu­nity at its core, Lit­er­ary+ holds a strong focus on mar­ket­ing. As Lit­er­ary+ con­tin­ues to grow and evolve it will use inno­vat­ing, orig­i­nal and exper­i­men­tal mar­ket­ing meth­ods and schemes to get its member’s books into their reader’s hands.

Blog Hop! Gnat's Story, part the 8th. In which Gnat meets and old friend and learns a secret

Blog hop story time! Another collaborative story, continuing the adventures of "Gnat". Time travel and intrigue in this one.

Part 1 – by Carrie Sorensen

Part 2 – by Nicole Piles

Part 3 – by Yolanda

Part 4 – by Tena Carr

Part 5 – by Leonard Suskin

Part 6 - by Yolanda

Part 7 - by Tena Carr

And now, without further ado, the 8th part by your own pixel and ink-stained wretch.

Enjoy.

Part 8 - The Secret of Time Travel

There was another figure in the darkness, but Gnat couldn't make him out; years on the street had honed her senses, attuned her to danger, and danger was here. Their voices sounded reasonable, calm, but there was something sharp, angry, tightly coiled within them. Beneath reasonable voices asking how much longer until they found the key was anger, barely held in check. Gnat closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to find someplace safe.

To escape.

Something shifted. Gnat opened her eyes to the most empty room she'd ever seen; blank white walls, an off-white carpet and no doors or windows. The lack of means if ingress or egress, the confusion about where she was and how she got here would have been the most deeply shocking elements of the experience were it not for the room's other occupant. An small, iron-haired woman, some indeterminate age between fifty and a hundred sat half-lotus on the off-white carpet. The face was older, yes, but unmistakable.

It was her.

Decades older, yes, but the eyes which met Gnat's were her own. What more had those eyes seen? What did they think of her younger self?

Younger Gnat closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's true. I do learn the secret of time travel."

Her older self nodded. "Soon. You'll learn it soon."

The younger woman felt the muscles in her jaw tighten. She realized that ever since Freddy found her in the hotel room she'd been lead by people with agendas, people with secrets, people who knew more than she did. Even herself. She took a deep breath, looking for calm that wasn't there. "Then why the fuck didn't you go back to the fire? Why didn't you save them?"

The older woman shook her head. "That's part of the secret. Accepting what is and what was. Had it not happened that way, I'd not be here today. You'd not be here today."

Gnat was trembling with rage. "Look, I don't know when I learned to talk in riddles, but I don't like it. If you haven't gone back, take me to the damn time machine and send me back so I can fix it. Now."

The older woman - Gnat started to think of her as Naomi - sat silent for a moment. The faintest hint of a smile touched her lip but didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's part of the secret. There is no 'time machine'. Just this." She tapped her temple with two fingers. "Once you understand, you'll understand. And can, sometimes, make the trip."

That was rather a lot for Gnat to process. With so many questions, she keyed on the one most striking word. "Sometimes?"

Naomi nodded. "It's complicated. I was able to get you because, well, you're me. And there are some times and places I can go myself. And some, sometimes... well, it can be dangerous. You'll be using your mind in ways it wasn't meant to. I think that's part of what happened to poor Freddy."

There were still so many questions, but Gnat was afraid to let her older self off the hook. "The fire. I need to."

Naomi's eyes met hers. It might have been Gnat's imagination, but there seemed to be a hint of a tear - remembering? Or guilty about having not gone herself? Without another word, she reached forward and touched Gnat on the brow. The room faded...

...and opened to choking smoke, orange-hot flame, and the screams of dozens of women. "Fire on the eighth floor! Fire" screaming and vague sinister shapes barely seen through the smoke, engines and machines and broken glass and yelling and burning in her lungs and yelling and the shattering of glass and sickening thud of a body on pavement and

Gnat's childhood bedroom and Gnat's own voice - her much younger voice - screaming and still the smell of smoke. Someone yelling for Mr. Blank. And, in the bedroom, from nowhere, flames. The young Gnat sat bolt upright, hair matted with sweat yelling "save them... fire on the eighth floor.. save them" and the flames rose and they spread and young Gnat (still Naomi) got up from the bed and ran and the flames rose and there was nothing but smoke

..and she was back with her older self, in the empty, featureless room. There were certainly tears on Naomi's face now. "So now you know."

"Know what? You were supposed to take e before the damn fire started. You were too late."

Naomi shook her head. "I'd had a lesson at school that week about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, a century before.  It gave me nghtmares."

"I hadn't remembered that. I thought the nightmares were from my fire."

Naomi shook her head sadly. "You have it backwards. The fire is from our nightmares. The stress on the word caused by time travel, the power of your mind... That's another part of the secret."

Gnat felt the sane numbness she had right after the fire. It seemed too much to be real, too big for her even to build feelings around. She sat heavilly to the floor. "so.. what now? Freddy will miss me soon, won't he?"

Now Naomi chuckled with real warmth. "This is time travel. Freddy last saw you years ago. Or seconds ago. There's no difference. We have time."

"Time for what?"

Now the older woman's smile was broad, revealing deep laugh-lines around her eyes. "For  me to teach you the secret of time travel, of course. How do you think I learned it?"

"But.. if I learned it from you, and you know becuase you're me.. where did it come from?"

All part of the secret, darling.  And Naomi taught herself, for a long time hidden between ticks of the clock.

All the while, part of Gnat wondered if there was another secret hidden behind this one, one that she was hiding from herself. She was, after all,  good at reading when people were hiding something,

Book Review: "Dreadful Beginnings", by Marty Shaw

Those watching the publishing industry know that this is an exciting time for those who want to take nontraditional routes; with the ease of e-publishing and increased availability of tablets and smartphones, more writers are taking to the virtual streets themselves, bypassing traditional publishing houses. I've joined with the independent author's support/promotion/marketing group Literary+ for the occaisonal review and perhaps another surprise or too; today I'm reviewing Marty Shaw's novella "Dreadful Beginnings", the first of his "Penny Dreadful" series. Enjoy!





Review: "Dreadful Beginnings", by Marty Shaw 

Marty Shaw's new novella "Dreadful Beginnings" promises to begin his new suburban fantasy series,  "Penny Dreadful". It's a face-paced and fun story, marred by overly broad characters and a bit of a simplistic, straight-forward plot. 

We first meet our heroine, recent high-school graduate Penny Dire, as she's quitting a telemarketing job after only two days.  The initial impression of Penny is of a carefree and immature for her age young teenager who doesn't seem to care that her friends all have jobs and doesn't see to have or want a plan for the future. She also has a gothic style befitting her name, an artistic bent, and an affinity for cemetaries.  In one early scene, Penny visits one of her favorite tombstones: 

One ancient stone looked especially photogenic, but looks could be deceiving. I 
had used up a whole memory card on this ancient rock, trying all kind of different filters and lighting angles. In real life, the tombstone called out to me and made my skin tingle whenever I was close to it. But it was just a dumb slab of granite in the photos. For some reason, I couldn’t capture its essence on film. I knelt down and brushed away some of the grime, feeling the familiar electric tingle on my hand when I made contact with the stone. Maybe a charcoal rubbing or possibly even a foil casting was needed to really capture the spirit of the piece. 

This painted a nice picture of how Penny sees the world, and shows rather than tells us about her budding talents. Sadly, this picture of Penny as a budding artist who sees things more deeply than others doesn't recur through the story, nor does it figure in Penny's eventual training as a demon hunter. Her irresponsibility and shortsightedness don't factor either, leaving her eventual demon-hunting persona feeling somewhat generic. 

The initial buildup to the paranormal events is nicely done, with small magical effects giving the reader - and characters - hints that the world doesn't function quite normally before leading us to the climactic battle with a demon. There's just enough tragedy to make the threat seem real without letting the story sink into real "horror". When the final battle comes, it is exciting and suspenseful, with real stakes and a satisfying conclusion. 

Shaw's biggest weakness is that his reliance on archetypes makes it hard to really care about the characters. Penny's artistic talents and ambitions are forgotten, leaving us with a sassy demon-hunting teenage girl. She meets a mentor - the improbably named Doctor Horror -  who tells her just as much as she needs to know, with cryptic riddling hints before literally vanishing. An overprotective mother. A gruff magic-shop owner with a hidden heart of gold. I couldn't  escape the feeling that, even if I hadn't met all of these people before, I knew someone just like them from another book. It ends on a promisng note, with hints about the identity and nature of her mentor. 

In conclusion, while there isn't as much depth as one might hope for, "Penny Dreadful" is an entertaining, quick read with promises for more as the series continues. It is available from Amazon for your Kindle



Three stars

The HDBaseT adventure continues

HDBaseT has been around for a few years now and, to the likely disappointment of the initial HDBaseT consortium, appears to have settled into a role as a midpoint; it still isn't a format likely to be seen as the input or output to a device, but is widely used in distribution and switching. I had the chance to ponder and discuss this with some of my colleagues in the commercial AV industry at AMX's showroom during the two-day certification class for their HDBaseT system: Enova. It's striking to see how far this technology has come, and how different manufacturers can take the same underlying chip set to create very different-feeling solutions.
The idea for HDBaseT is a grand one; to have one and only one cable connected to each display.  That cable, a standard network cable with standard RJ45 connectors, would carry uncompressed high-definition video, audio, control, and even power. Yes, they expect to power your display via the same Cat5 jumper that carries everything else. One cable in this case literally means one cable. In real world applications, that isn't what's happened. For one thing, native HDBaseT inputs and outputs. Even if manufacturers want to use this kind of system, even mid-size displays in the 50 to 65 inch range outdraw HDBaseT's upper power limit by an approximate factor of 10. So, like a phone company  running fiber to the curb before converting to old-fashioned copper, we're left with easily-pulled Cat5e cables to a receiver-box giving way to good old HDMI cables for the proverbial last mile. We're not quite where we someday can be, but it's an improvement. Crestron's Digital Media is an HDBaseT solution, as is Extron's XTP and AMX's DXLink, the heart of its Enova solutions.
How do solutions compare? Not only does Enova have a different feel from Crestron, but AMX's DVX (a family of all-in-one presentation switchers) behaves differently from their DGX (more conventional digital matrix switchers). One thing I hadn't known - because I'm not in the habit of removing the case on expensive pieces of electronics unless I have to - is that while it looks like one seemless piece of hardware, the DVX is, in fact, card-based. My notes include a glimpse at its innards, highlighting the HDMI input cart swappable with a DXLink card for another model. It's a clever design philosophy which allows AMX to inexpensively and reliably use one platform to produce a suite of units with slightly different features. 
So how does Enova compare to Digital Media? At a glance they're similar; each has a presentation-switcher with built-in control processor, audio mixing, and an amplifier. Each line boasts a modular matrix switch capable of handling different video formats. Each has a series of Cat5 transmitters and receivers. Each handles HDCP key authentication, effectively eliminating any risk of running out of keys in large systems. Looking a bit closer, one sees differences.
The first distinction - of  which AMX is justifiably proud - is that each output on an Enova system has a built-in "smart-scaler" which reads the  EDID from a display and scales the image to fit. This means that even in a large system with many different displays each device will get an image at its native resolution. Their contention is that other practices, like choosing "best common", not only leave adjusting resolution to a device's onboard scaler, but fails to take advantage of the higher resolution in the largest display in a system. It adds a certain measure of cost, but AMX feels that they give value for it.
The second distinction is that each AMX matrix switch has a control processor built into it. This makes for a neater and more compact installation, but isn't a tremendous improvement over the inclusion of a standalone processor, and burying it in the switch gives you the new problem of having no local control ports. Unless everything in your system has IP control, you'll have to build out the system with varying add-ons. In all fairness, AMX has a nice suite of IP-based control port expansion modules, and seems to have a philosophy of preferentially using IP-based controls.

What about the distinction within the Enova line? At Enova training in AMX's New York showroom we got a demonstration of both the DVX presentation switcher and DGX matrix switcher.  The performance in switching speed is markedly different, with the DVX switching, I would estimate, twice as fast as its cousin. The difference was explained as a result of different engineering teams working on the two devices, and upcoming firmware updates to let the DGX catch up were hinted at. (it was further explained that the slower switch time - one and a half to two seconds - was a result of the switcher dropping sync when it changed sources. It is very interesting how the same hardware can have different performance given different firmware.
What about venerable switching manufacturer Extron? I don't have much to say about their XTP line; certainly until they start shipping the Cat5 input and output cards for their switcher, they can't be said to have a real solution available. Even given that, they're still behind the curve in not having a DMPS300/DVX style presentation switcher available. They have added power injectors to their XTP line, but it is, at the very least, unclear that these would work with other HDBaseT solutions.
Long story short? It's an exciting time in the commercial AV industry as we finally seem to have the hardware, software, and expertise to start making digital video work closer to the way it should; many of these solutions are, if anything, easier to use and more flexible than old analog solutions.

A side note: my adventure at AVI-SPL has come to an end, so I am open to new opportunities in the AV field. Anyone reading this is welcome to comment or drop me a line with any openings in the New York metropolitan area.

Stay tuned for a book review later this week.

Collaborative Blog-hop story - Part the Fifth: Message, Hold the Bottle

In my apparent inability to shy away from cool-sounding projects, I've joined the talented Carrie Sorenson, Nicole Pyles, Yolanda Lane, and Tena Carr for a pass-the-story collaborative effort. Part four ended in quite a cliffhanger, as our heroine discoverd... something. There's a tendency on these kinds of stories for people chapters to end right before an answer to some question, with the next participant having the pleasure/responsibility/option of giving the big reveal. With the story only half-over (we'll each get one more turn) I can't reveal too much, but to be fair to the reader we need to give something.

See earlier parts the first, second, third, and fourth (and, despite this being a time-travel story, I suggest you read them in that order):



And now, without further ado:

"Message, Hold the Bottle"

She was in a study or an office, dominated by an ornate desk of some kind of dark wood surrounded by stacks of notebooks and papers hapharzardly strewn about. There it was, carelessly thrown under the desk; a cheap, tiny notebook of the sort grade-school kids buy in Septembers and discard in June if their houses aren't burned down under mysterious circumstances. The pages were yellow with age, the binding crumbling, and the cover marred by an uneven crease - the same crease across the cover of the powder-blue notebook tucked into Gnat's pocket. A torn-off corner revealed a pen-and-ink drawing on the page below.

A wave of heat flowed through Gnat's chest and into her throat, Tyler's voice encouraging her to keep looking came from very far away, past ringing ears and a rush of vertigo as the floor seemed to twist under Gnat's feet. She sat heavily on the floor under the desk, and remembered.  Not the flame, but the time after in faux-homey offices with a fatherly looking bearded man with a notebook and a leather chair and questions and a notebook and not the flame but its memory and a notebook.

Gnat's first set of foster parents had believed in therapy, believed in her needing a sympathetic ear after what happened. At least for the first few weeks, until the trauma faded into the past and the forty-dollar-a-week copays started to add up. Dr. Blintain was a nice man, a gentle man, a bit like young Gnat's idea of what a college professor would look like. Or, for that matter, how a headshrinker should look. He listened a lot, asked a lot of questions about what her foster parents were like and what she thought about them and how she felt when she thought about her family and how she felt now. It was the last session - the last forty-dollars that her foster-mother would pay for Naomi's sanity - when Doctor Blintain finally helped her find the words for what was wrong in her life.

"My parents, my room, our house, my brother, they were all mine. They were me. And now, I'm, like, sharing. It's like I'm snatching bits and pieces of other people's lives and they aren't me."
Dr. Blintain handed her a little pocket composition notebook. He didn't slide it across the table, didn't toss it to her. He really handed it to her. His fingers might have even brushed against hers. "Make some space for yourself. Write poems. Draw pictures. However you want to express yourself, just do it. Consider it your therapy homework."

Gnat shook her head. "But I'm no good at any of those things."

"Not the point. Even if nobody else sees it, this can be your private space. Something yours."

That was her last session, and she was rarely without a notebook since. The little memo pad Dr. Blintain had given her, spiral books, marble composition books.   Even on the streets she'd buy one with rare saved-up pennies or, in desperation, shoplift them. The first thing she drew in that first notebook was the flame-imp; a malevolent little sprite that set fire to houses and killed families. It was short and twisted and hateful, with little lightning bolts in its eyes and crooked limbs. Drawing it made her feel less aweful about the fire, helped her forget the truth that there was no imp, but...

That didn't matter now. Now, in the present, she saw this impossible notebook with the half-torn cover. And underneath, in the visible page, was the imp.

As her head cleared, Gnat heard Freddy speaking to Tyler outside the room. "I knew this wouldn't work. It's desperate and crazy. Look at her."

Gnat carefully, surreptitiously palmed the little notebook as she stood up, tucked it into her pants alongside its twin. "I'm OK guys... just a little lightheaded. This is alot for me."

She slowly made her way room to room, her mind racing. What could she point to them that would satisfy them, at least long enough for her to read through that notebook herself. Because once she saw the imp's leering face, she knew she'd not share it. At least not right away.

She made sure to visit four more rooms, carefully looking under furniture and behind curtains for something she knew wasn't there. Finally, she came to a bedroom. Half-hidden under a bed was a snowglobe. Hrm.. complicated enough to hold a message, delicate enough that they might not crack it open right away... yes, this would give her some time to think.

"I found it", she said weakly. "This is it."

Freddy fixed her with a hard stare. "That? What do you think that is?"

Gnat swallowed. She knew he'd see through him; she just knew it. Still, she thought she knew the right answer. "It just feels right. It feels like it's a ... a message."

Freddy gingerly took the snowglobe from her hands, turned and gave it to Tyler.

His fingers did not brush against hers.