Wednesday, September 7, 2016

New Story in Print: Weapon

New story available through the publisher:

It's been a long time coming, and now it is out. Teaser is below.

by James L. Steele

The man on the operating table slowly opened his eyes. His pupils squeezed shut, trying to cut out the intense whiteness. White ceiling, white walls, white tiles on the ceiling. The room was so white he couldn’t distinguish where the ceiling ended and the walls began. His eyes wandered around the room for a while. Eventually he could make out the faint shadows that were the lines separating the walls from the floor and ceiling.

The man became aware of his arms. His legs. The slight chill that started at his armpits and spread across his chest, down each leg and arm. He tried to move his head, but it was held in place.

He moved his eyes back and forth, tried to look down his body. He only saw himself in his peripheral vision, but what he saw he recognized. He was naked on a padded, hospital bed. His wrists, ankles and abdomen were strapped down. He tried to move his head, but again something was holding it still. The more he felt the resisting force, the more it felt like a metal clamp. He balled his fists and tried to raise them. He tried to lift his legs. The restraints were so tight he couldn’t even lift them off the mattress.

The man opened his mouth and tried to speak, but his mind was moving in slow motion, and his voice was a bubble of slime trying to squeeze out of his lungs. He moved his mouth, tried to moan, but nothing was coming out. For some reason this made the man panic, though he wasn’t sure why.

He writhed under his restraints, trying to move anything, trying to reach the clamps that held his wrists with his fingers, but they were so taut he couldn’t even rotate his wrist. His chest was held down so tight he couldn’t arch his back. His breathing was partially blocked.

He could not look around the room. His only view was what was right in front of his eyes. The man writhed harder, trying to move, straining to speak, trying to reach out and feel something. He turned his head a millimeter in all directions and strained his eyeballs to look around the room. He could accept the restraints holding him down, he could accept his nudity, but he could not accept that he was blind to most of the room.

As he struggled and writhed and tried to look around, his mouth was working and his voice started to come to him.

“Wrrrrhhhh!” ... “Wwwwwwhhhhh” ... “WWWAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

The sounds weren’t much, but they were sounds, and he could still speak if he tried.


He continued exercising his mouth and vocal cords, teaching them how to work together, teaching his brain how to form words again. His struggle against his restraints matched his inward struggle to force his voice to work.

“WWWhhhhheeeerr aaahhhh aaaaayyyeeee.” He panted a few times.

“Wwwhhheere... ah... aaayye.” His body settled down now that his voice was coming back.

“Hellllloo... Heeellll... Heeeeelll”

He realized he couldn’t stop slurring his words. His brain was moving at regular speed but the rest of his body was still in slow motion, and this sent him into another frenzy of writhing and struggling under his restraints.


He relaxed again, completely exhausted. He wanted to scream out and demand to know where he was, who was there, what they were doing to him. As he pondered the words he wanted his mouth to make, he slowly realized that he really didn’t remember. He didn’t remember any circumstances that could have landed him here. He didn’t remember his name. The peripheral glance down his naked body was all he saw of himself, and now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure if he remembered what he looked like.

What was his name? What did he look like? Where had he come from? He sensed he should know these things, but he couldn’t force the memories. They were there. Answers to these questions were on the tip of his tongue, but they wouldn’t rise out of his subconscious.

He settled down on the bed again. He didn’t want to. Doing so implied he was lying down and accepting where he was. But he was tired. His body was moving slower than his mind sensed it should. He wanted to fight it, but as resilient as his mind was, his body was so tired. His mouth made weak noises, which his brain sensed should be loud enough to shake the room.

“Hhhheeeelll... sssmmmmnnn heellllll mmmm. Nnnnnnmmmm” and on and on. Over and over. He abandoned force and settled for persistence. Maybe if he kept it up long enough his body would catch up to his mind.

After a long time, he heard a soft clang from somewhere. He stopped talking and listened. Footsteps and crinkling plastic echoed around the room. The sounds came closer and closer. Then a plastic figure slid into his vision. The man recognized it instantly as a clean suit. Behind the person in the suit would be an accordion-like appendage connecting him to the world outside the room.

The figure in the plastic suit reached down his arm and did something. It held a needle up. The needle had a little blood on it.

“The I.V. slipped out,” came a faint, male voice inside the plastic suit. “Reinserting.”

The man struggled under his restraints again, trying to project his voice, but all that came out was more mumbles and slurred syllables. The plastic suit’s hand dipped below his vision, the man felt something slip in his arm, and a moment later he went black.


The man’s eyes flew open as he sensed something was in the room with him. He was lying on his back in the hospital bed, but this time there was nothing holding him down. He looked left--

His head wasn’t clamped in place! He took full advantage of his mobility and looked all around. A dozen plastic suits were walking around. Most were yellow, and these suits were accordion-attached to the far wall. Two suits were blue, and two others were red. These weren’t attached to the wall, but they were attached to tubes coming out of the ceiling. Surgical equipment lay on various tables, and he was under a very intense light. There was also a robotic surgical arm poised over his skull.

“He’s awake!”


Weapon now available in the Altered States anthology.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Another call for universal healthcare in the US

I'm on record singing the praises of the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare), and I take back none of those words, as I meant them at the time.

However, the course the program was on has not stayed true. Creating a level platform on which insurance companies must compete was supposed to encourage competition and thus reduce prices over time. Instead, the insurance companies have responded by merging. Insurance is required by law, and there are now fewer companies competing for customers, so industry has an incentive to collude and keep prices high. When they do that, they can then use losses as an excuse not to offer plans, even though the company as a whole is still profitable. If this is allowed to continue, the ACA will one day only offer crap plans for high rates, effectively killing it. They aren't even giving it a chance to work over the long term; they're reacting to losses now instead of giving it time to even out, likely because they don't want prices to go down.

My employer raised the threshold to qualify for their health plan from 23 hours/week average to 32, so after being kicked off my employer's plan for a year, my experience with the ACA was positive. Rates were good back in 2014, and my income was low enough I qualified for a subsidy, which meant I got an even better health plan for less than I was paying for my employer's.

Now, however, I make too much to qualify for that subsidy, and yet I still can't afford the rates for the good plans. The following year, I needed a stopgap insurance plan for a couple months until my employer's covered me again. I could no longer afford the plan I was on because premiums and deductibles spiked. I'm on my employer's plan again, but rates continue to rise as care continues to fall, and it's one of the good plans. Things have only gotten worse on the marketplace.

Recently I went to the doctor for a health concern. Needed an ultrasound and a visit to a specialist. Without insurance, just the office visits and the one test would have cost me over $2,000. With insurance, my cost was about $400, and they could find nothing wrong. 400 dollars I had to pay for nothing. It's better than going without insurance, but still! Healthcare bankrupts us even with insurance. I would like to go back and find out what's wrong with me, but that will require more tests, more visits, and more money. Even after I meet the deductible, insurance only pays 80/20 up to my out of pocket maximum. It's not worth going in unless it's for something dire. Otherwise, you're just wasting money.

Obamacare--the ACA--only requires people to have health insurance, and insurance companies to stop turning away people who need it. It should have made it more affordable by bringing more people into the system and creating a level platform for companies to compete for customers, but that's not what's happening. The root of the problem remains: our nation's healthcare system is for-profit, which means prices will always go up while quality of services goes down because investors and executives demand more profit.

What is the point of healthcare if nobody can afford it? What is the point of having the most advanced system in the world if it bankrupts even the people with insurance and we have to live our lives afraid to go to a doctor? The good plans are still with our employers most of the time, which makes us terrified to leave our jobs.

From the beginning I said the main thing I don't like about the ACA is that you have to take your employer's plan if you qualify, or lose the subsidy. It tethers us to our jobs more than ever now. Since health insurance is required by law, a lot of people have to sign up for temporary plans if they are between jobs, or if they criss-cross the cutoff point for their job's plan, as I had to. Having so many people hopping plans cannot be good for the system, and it would be so much more efficient if we could stay with our ACA plan despite what our employer offers.

More and more people are getting tired of trying to maintain our for-profit system. The Guardian published an article on doctors' call to abolish insurance companies in the US, and I think it's time to try it. Enough is enough. The only reason anyone would be against it is because he or she is making money with things just the way they are.

Realistically, perhaps it's time to offer a "public option." A nonprofit plan that will be able to compete with for-profit plans, give them a standard to live up to.

Unless the large corporations are scared of real competition.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

New story in print: Deity Theory

New story coming out, available through the publisher:

Very happy with how this story turned out and I'm glad to see it in print. Teaser is below!

"Deity Theory"
by James L. Steele

Abby twisted the cork from the glass bottle, shook a capsule into her hand and stared at her palm. She had taken one of these pills almost every night for the last fourteen years. Tonight she thought of all those people in the school, coughing and moaning and screaming at things that were not there. Nobody had died yet, but she had heard on the radio this morning that thousands had already perished in the plague sweeping the globe.

The scientists were at a loss to explain it. The population density was intentionally kept low to prevent the spread of disease, so by all logic and reason this plague should not exist.

Over the last few weeks Abby thought of the jackal while she listened to the news broadcasts. She remembered him prancing about Canvas, bragging about what he just made to the tiger and the cheetah and even the lion, arguing with them over how many of their plants and animals were dying, how it wasn't right to make something that affected what someone else created. None of it made sense then, but now it added up.

In her hand Abby held a choice: to sleep peacefully and wake up to a nightmare, or to visit Canvas again and find out if her intuition was right. She had not been to Canvas in eight years. This was the first time she wanted to go back.

She tipped the pill back into the bottle, corked it and set it next to the radio on the shelf. She removed her clothes. When she was a little girl, she often broke into hot sweats whenever she went there. The village only had electricity for six hours a day, and she didn't want to waste it laundering a few pieces of clothing. She could wash them in the river, but the scientists advised everyone not to risk it, as the plague might be waterborne. She thought she knew better, and now was the time to prove it.

She slipped under the thin blanket and lay her head on the pile of clean clothes. She used to have a pillow, but two weeks ago a stray dog had wandered in and chewed it up, along with several books and her winter blanket, and there would not be a supply train from the city for another month.

The sun was setting. The warm wind blew the curtain inward and waved it around. Her brother's mat was on the other side of the narrow room, empty. The farmhands were living in the makeshift village far away and dared not come back until the scientists could figure out a way to treat the plague.

The village scientists had been pleading with the city for extra electricity for days to expand their research, but their village was only three-hundred residents. Their labs were not expected to make any kind of breakthrough, which was ridiculous because it was Abby's village that had first isolated the proton more than a decade ago.

She was thrilled not to have to take night shift, but she shivered in the summer heat thinking about the sick she needed to tend in the morning. The spasms, the bleeding, the hallucinations, the mucus everywhere... The scientists insisted the plague was not airborne, but they also did not know how it was transmitted.

Abby knew. Her nerves calmed, and she began to slip across. The heat of summertime faded, and a new, more intense heat replaced it. The sleeping mat and the pile of clothes under her head now felt like sand. Canvas felt just as real as the world she left.

She opened her eyes. She was lying down in the desert this time. She rose to her feet, conjured loose clothing for herself, and took in her surroundings. There was nothing but majestic sand dunes as far as she could see in all directions. She was hoping to appear in the forest, but it seemed her childhood ability to be anywhere she wanted at will was weaker now.

Returning here after so many years was a strange sensation. As a child, this was her private playground. Now she felt like a stranger in an unfamiliar country. Canvas felt dangerous, and she disliked the change. She couldn't see them from here, but she remembered where the forest would be and ran in the direction of the trees. She glanced back and was relieved to see her bare feet still left no footprints in the sand.

When she was four years old, she had described the sensation to many doctors and scientists, but none could come up with an answer for why she was always so sleepy during the day. It wasn't until a few years ago she concluded that she never really went to sleep when she came here. She wasn't dreaming, but going to a real place where she was awake and alive, and yet Canvas also had dreamlike qualities. She could will things to appear, become invisible, fly--all the expected elements of a lucid dream

The doctors had diagnosed Abby with "chronic dreams," her being the very first to have the condition. The pills they prescribed inhibited them. Without the pills the doctors designed for her, she would never have been able to concentrate on her schooling. From her pre-school years all the way into her late teens she cheered every time the train arrived, bringing the raw herbs and chemicals the apothecary refined, distilled and combined to make the medicine that allowed her to sleep peacefully.

Now she was back. This had been her second home, and she had wandered these deserts and forests and mountains and oceans and observed everything that went on. She explored every corner of the place, completely invisible to all the inhabitants. When she knew the pills worked, she occasionally skipped her medicine just to come back. Now that she wasn't prisoner to Canvas every night and was free to come and go as she pleased, it was a playground as large as the imagination, all for her to enjoy in any way she wanted.

When she graduated primary school and had to help with the housework and the harvest, Canvas seemed like something she needed to leave in her childhood. She had taken her medication every night all through secondary school and grew up into a happy, normal young lady.

She heard voices over the next dune and crouched low as she climbed it. She peeked over the crest. The valley between the next two sand dunes was wet, and there was a giant snake with purple and green scales down there. He was coiled up and screaming at the heron flapping just above his reach.

"I told you to stop bringing rain here!" The snake's fangs were as tall as Abby. "This is the only place I can sculpt the sand the way I like it!"

As he shouted, the heron's wings created wind and blew the dry sand in Abby's face. The dunes on either side of them were visibly wearing away.

"And stop that! I wanted no wind here! It destroys my work! It took me years to mold the sand to look like this!"

"Your desert needs rain just as much as the tiger's forest. More so now that you have plants and animals to care for."

"Well, move the shark faster! Maybe it will only take me a few weeks to fix it all!"

Abby ventured to look to her left, the direction the heron's wings were blowing the wind, and sure enough it was raining on that side of the desert. She remembered the myth: the shark had a massive stomach and used it to swallow vast quantities of the ocean. She was unable to deliver it anywhere, but her lover, the heron, drew up the wind and cast her aloft, carrying her around the world so she could spread the rain.


Deity Theory now available in the Gods with Fur anthology.

Friday, May 20, 2016

Doom (2016): worthy of the name

Doom (2016) is a game worthy of the title.

It doesn't waste time telling a story we already know, as was the problem with Doom 3. All that tedious buildup to a revelation we saw coming before we got to the checkout line. There is a story in the new game, and it is different from the original Doom's setup, but not by much. Instead of experiments with teleportation opening a portal to Hell, Doom (2016) has the UAC building a power plant to harvest energy from another dimension (which happens to be Hell) and convert it to limitless power for humanity. Naturally, something has gone wrong, and demons are loose on the base. It's similar, but just different enough to need to know what's going on.

Doom 3 tried to be suspenseful and scary, and the whole thing takes place in dark, cramped corridors. You almost never go outside, and when you do, your oxygen supply depletes so fast you can't even look around. Doom 2016 is vast and open, much of the game takes place outdoors, there is no air limit, and the game doesn't try to be dark and scary. It opts to be an action shooter, and it works so much better.

The "slow and scary" method might have worked for Doom 3 had it been a new story, but since it was the same as the original games, it became tedious. Too much buildup for a revelation that wasn't a surprise. Doom 2016 doesn't fall into that trap. The original 1993 game got away with being slower and suspenseful because the graphics were so groundbreaking at the time. Nobody had made a game world look so real before, and it stood out. Doom 2016 does not give us anything new in the visual sense, so it was wise to emphasize the action instead of trying to be creepy.

Movement in Doom 3 was like walking with a ball and chain around your ankle. Doom 2016 features fluid movement, making combat feel silky smooth and beautiful. It does kinda succumb to the trap of modern gaming in that everything is built around waves. You come to an area that's obviously an arena, you fight a few waves of demons, the wave ends, and you are free to explore until you come to the next arena, where a new wave begins. Rinse and repeat. You find very few enemies between waves, and this becomes predictable and routine quick. The format still works because the battles are oh so satisfying, but Id missed the chance to create dread by putting more demons around the world who aren't in an obvious arena. It means you know when you are safe, and you know when you need to gear up for a fight. This works against what Doom was all about--you should never know you're safe!

I also wish the dossiers and the elements of the thin story were delivered more in-world. Much of the story is in written documents that appear in your inventory after you fight an enemy for the first time, or visit a location for the first time, etc. It comes across as infodump rather than progression. The developers went out of their way to scientifically justify everything in the game with Star-Trek-style technobabble, so why didn't they make acquiring this information part of the world as well? Can't these things be downloaded at story-appropriate moments instead of simply appearing after demon fights or visiting a location?

Otherwise, it's very good. Combat is exciting, challenging, and diverse. The enemies move in so many different ways they always keep you guessing. The Glory Kills are a nice touch, and they are context sensitive, so there are a lot of different ways to tear a demon apart with your bare hands. (I think they're obviously a nod to the "executions" in the Brutal Doom mod. There's even an achievement called "Rip & Tear.") I was thrilled to see the return of the Barons, and the Cyberdemon is badass this time. He was a disappointing final boss in Doom 3, but he's an intimidating mid-game boss here. The final boss is worthy of being the final boss, too!

And the chainsaw is awesome!

It changes the identity of the player from an ordinary marine caught in an invasion to a clone of Master Chief, essentially. It seems inappropriate to follow in the footsteps of Halo, but it does provide a story-based reason for you and you alone to be able to gain health from the demons you kill. It leaves a lot of room open for more interesting follow-ups. Maybe the next Doom game will take place entirely in Hell. Since you are not a marine, you are not tethered to Earth, so it's possible!

This is everything a game bearing the name "Doom" should be. The story is basically the same, but just different enough to avoid a complete repeat of what was already done before. It has surprising moments of humor in it, a nice reward for the players who take a break from fighting to read the documents that appear in the inventory. The combat is beautifully done, even if the game broadcasts when it's safe to explore and when it's time to fight a few waves of demons. I will be playing this more than once!

PS--I'm disappointed we didn't get to see Super Turbo Turkey Puncher 4! I've been waiting for the next installment for over a decade!!!!!

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Ratchet and Clank (2016): the game

[Update: thoughts on the movie are at the bottom]

Most remakes attempt to fix what isn't broken, and thus end up breaking it. Ratchet and Clank (2016) is no exception.

There's a difference between following a format and following a formula. Let's face it. After Crack in Time, the R&C games have been forgettable and mediocre at best. All their games through Crack in Time felt like a format, and each one told a new story and did new things with gameplay using that format. Ratchet and Clank (2016) is the first time the series feels like a formula. It is lifeless, going through the motions, nothing unexpected, watered-down gameplay for the sake of attracting a new audience. An unnecessary remake of the past that has no character progression, squandering a good story by telling it through infobots instead of interacting characters. It forgets to tell the story at all!

The problem I have with the new Ratchet and Clank is that it's a remake of the original PS2 game. I didn't want a remake. I wanted the story to move on. I suppose it's the safest thing to do when making a movie based on your intellectual property: adapt a game that's already out instead of coming up with a new game, but they did not tell the story better this time.

In the original 2002 game, Ratchet doesn't really care about what's happening. Chairman Drek is stealing pieces of other planets to make a new world for his people, and we find out at the end Drek's company polluted their planet in the first place, so he made money destroying the planet, and then sells them the solution. (This isn't a spoiler; it's explained in-game on the back of a trading card you find before you even reach the point in the story when it's revealed!) Simple, easy, we know it up front, but Ratchet isn't interested because it doesn't affect him. He doesn't start off as the hero, but as a rather selfish person living an ordinary life. It's only at the end of the story that he gets invested in what's happening and becomes a hero.

The new game's story is basically the same thing, but it tries to save the big plan for a reveal at the end. It could have worked, but Drek doesn't have enough of a presence in the game to be a good villain. The rest of the story is so rushed i barely knew anything was happening. You know it's phoned in because a character has to explain the reason for Quark's betrayal when it happens, and we all saw it coming a mile away.

And the twist at the end comes out of nowhere... If you've played the previous games, you have a feeling it's coming, but we don't know why it's happening here, what the motivation is, or anything. Hell, I barely comprehended what Drek was doing. The story is so rushed and poorly shown it may as well not even be there.

Ratchet and Clank do not get to know one another here. They rarely speak to one another, so there is no spark of connection between the two. In this remake, Ratchet starts off as a hero, and he never changes. He's young and naive, and he seems to stay that way through to the end. There's no progression of character, no development. Watching this Lombax change from a selfish jerk into a hero in the original game was way more satisfying than watching this new version of Ratchet fulfill his dream of being a soldier for the galactic army.

The humor is largely absent. What few jokes are in the game are stale and lack any timing. Most have been done before.

The in-game cutscenes are lifeless. Even the cinematic cutscenes are flaccid. They're not as animated as they were in the PS3 games. Hell, they had more life in the PS2 games! In the PS3 games, they are full of expression and gestures. The in-game cutscenes were indistinguishable from the cinematic ones the quality of animation was so good. In their first PS4 adventure, you can practically see the rigging that yanks the corners of their mouths up and down, and characters stand straight as poles as they talk! They are lifeless and rigid. This is supposed to be a reboot, but graphically it looks like a step back.

I don't understand how they could fuck this up. The story was already there! All they had to do was tell it as it was, maybe change it so Ratchet becomes invested in the story sooner, update the level design to make it more organic and less like an obstacle course, add strafe, and there's your game and movie!

They made a successful transition from PS2 to PS3 in Tools of Destruction. That was the first R&C game I played, and I liked it even though I was unaware of the events of the previous games. They could have done something like that for the PS4 transition: make a new game that doesn't rely so heavily on the events of the previous installments so new players can pick it up and play. Instead, they remade the first game, but instead of doing it better, they only did it halfway, relying on the formula to carry the game instead of using it as a format.

All the R&C games after Crack in Time have been a rush job. Ratchet and Clank (2016) is Hollywoodized in terms of story and watered down in terms of gameplay. I hope it made a better movie than a game.

I didn't want a remake of the first game. I am fucking sick of all franchises going back and remaking their own past! Stop rebooting and remaking what was already done and just move on from the past! Stop being Star Trek and be like Doctor Who!


As for the movie: it's typical, not very funny or clever. There's no creativity in it. No spark. No character. Just a bunch of generic sci-fi/action plot elements we've already seen in other movies.

We barely know why Drek is destroying planets, and the twist in the games isn't in the movie, that Drek's company caused the pollution that destroyed the Blarg homeworld in the first place, and now he's making money solving the problem his company created. There was opportunity for some depth there, but because some giant corporations were behind this, they probably didn't want to make a movie where a corporation is the badguy.

Quark's betrayal has such a flimsy foundation. So he helps Drek destroy a planet just to make Ratchet look bad because he's jealous of Ratchet's popularity as a new member of the Galactic Rangers? What's the point of that if everyone knows he's working for Drek now? His goal should have been to make himself look better, and it's never clear how working for Drek is supposed to do that! It's a weak setup for an even weaker clich├ęd betrayal/redemption scene every movie seems to have. (Yes, I'm still looking at you, Zootopia!)

And why does Ratchet feel guilty about it? He didn't fail; he didn't cause that planet's destruction; Quark did, so why does he go home and sulk? It doesn't make much sense, but the producers needed a hero-hits-rock-bottom-and-then-gets-back-up scene. It's probably required in all action movies to be appealing to the largest audience, so they have to include it. Hell, we don't know enough about Nefarious to understand why him turning out to be the real badguy is such a twist! They could have developed these characters and built the world, but they failed to give anyone any kind of identity.

Instead, it just goes through the checklist of everything an action/sci-fi movie must have: Ratchet is the small town kid who has big dreams of adventure; Authority denies him a chance to join the army/rebels; kid gets his chance to prove himself and gets in on his own merit; Authority tries to put him back in his place but kid rises up and threatens Authority's position; kid's mentor turns against him; kid suffers defeat, has pity-party; kid gets Speech of Encouragement from friends and gets back up to make things right; mentor changes sides again. Come on, how many times have we seen these plot elements?!

How many production companies were involved in this? Four or five logos at the film's opening, and Insomniac isn't even one of them?! I think that's the problem. Too many companies had a stake in this, and it was in their best interest to make it as generic and mass-appealing as possible. The result is a paint-by-numbers sci-fi movie with no creativity. It could have been so much more.

I prefer the original PS2 game story. This remake doesn't tell it better. Even the humor is weak. There's no timing, and they don't go far enough with the jokes for it to be anything more than tongue-in-cheek. What happened to the good writing the R&C games had through the PS3's Crack in Time?! The same rushed writing and lazy gameplay has characterized every game since, and now the movie matches the way R&C has been going.

It may be the best videogame to movie adaptation to date, but that's not saying much.

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Carpal tunnel

I've written a dozen books, lots of short stories, lots of blog posts and reviews and journal entries. I've pretty much lived at a computer desk since high school. In all this time, I have never had carpal tunnel syndrome. Now I'm typing with a brace on my right wrist and am contemplating buying one for my left wrist if the strain doesn't ease up.

I switched from my computer desk to putting my laptop in my lap and sitting on the couch downstairs, hoping getting away from the mouse and keyboard will help.

I don't know what I'm doing different. I've written many books at that desk and never had a problem. Roommate suggested it could just be age, and I can't discount that possibility. I'm a little embarrassed I let this happen. I kinda prided myself on 20 years avoiding carpal tunnel, and now here I am, in the middle of writing another book, I got this slowing me down.

Here's hoping this works and it doesn't get worse. I do not want to be crippled.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

New Story: Discus Dog

This is a sample of a published short story. Read the whole thing in “Claw the Way to Victory,” a new anthology of sports stories available on Amazon:

Sports... but with animals as the players.

(My story is actually part of the Kindle sample. Read a longer preview there!)

"Discus Dog"
by James L. Steele


Eighteen players jogged onto the field. Nine of them wore red and grey uniforms, the players a mix of three canines, four felines, and two reptiles. The logo on their shirts depicted a hurricane moving the continents out of its way. The Force.

The nine on the other team were all wolves. The logo on their black and yellow jerseys was an image of a salivating, canine muzzle snapping shut. The Pack.

The two teams met in the center of the field with the referees: two squirrels, one horse, one sheep, and one elk. The teams stood in opposing lines, facing one another, meeting each other's eyes. Nobody on either team was under three hundred pounds, and they wore no pads or helmets.

One wolf in a black and yellow jersey, labeled 24 Rett, stood in line with his team, sizing up the cougar across from him. The feline was grinning at him, licking his lips. Greg growled, hopefully not loud enough for the refs to hear. He didn't want to mess up on his first pro game.

The head referee had switched on his microphone and addressed the stadium packed with one-hundred-thousand spectators.

"Welcome, everyone, to Barnett stadium! Once again, it is Discus season!"

The stadium roared and cheered. Greg broke his eye contact from the cougar and observed them, probably looking like a real rookie on camera. It was his first time in a stadium this large.

"Back from training in the deep south, where the weather is hot and there is no rest for the weary, The Force!"

The team wearing red and grey postured in ways according to their species: some howled, others roared, others opened their mouths and hissed at the opposing team, who stood still and waited ceremoniously for their turn. Greg could barely keep his composure.

Five years in little leagues, twelve years on school teams, four years playing college level, and it actually happened. He had been recruited into one of the most exclusive pro Discus teams in the National Discus League. The Pack only recruited wolves, which meant he wasn't just playing Discus anymore. He was part of history. This was his childhood wet dream come true.

The equine referee now broadly gestured at Greg's team. "And back from training in the far north, where the only shelter you'll find from the elements is under your fur, The Pack!"

Now The Force stood at attention, and The Pack postured and howled together at the same pitch, making a sound that was audible even over the cheers and roars of the spectators.

The equine referee turned to all sides of the stadium. "Welcome to the season-opening game!"

Greg observed the crowd again. Canines, avians, equines, felines, rodents, ursines, and every other genus was in the packed stadium. Millions more watched by high-definition broadcast.

The referee continued the introductions, getting the spectators worked up. The stadium was full of energy, and it fed the players. Right now, Greg felt like he could tear a hole in the walls of this place. It took everything he had to stop himself from drooling in anticipation.

Greg grinned, feeling giddy as a puppy. He had been training hard for months, loving every minute of it, packing on forty pounds of muscle, building his chest, neck, and jaws. He'd been told bodybuilders envied his jaw muscles, and he would probably get some kind of endorsement deal for that alone, but first he had to prove he could play. He wasn't in doubt about that anymore.

The equine switched off his mic and walked up and down the gap between the two teams.

"All right, you animals, here are the rules. Blood happens, and claws and teeth are okay, but no intentional wounds above the shoulders. Do not use the coin as a weapon against another player. Do not use the stadium walls as a weapon against another player. Do not..."

The players pretended to listen. Everybody knew the rules, but NDL policy stated the rules must be stated at the start of every game. This whole time the players stared at each other, making subtle gestures of the ears, muzzle, tail, and any other part of the body they could get away with. Everyone had to stay still for this part, but they could make subtle taunts.

The cougar was licking his nose, raising one lip and flashing a single fang at Greg. The cougar's jersey label read 67 Agani. Greg countered by biting down on an imaginary coin, flexing his jaw muscles, showing them off. If Agani noticed, he didn't show it.

Finally the referee retreated to the sidelines, and out of the team entrance walked the emcee, carrying the coin.

As soon as he saw it, Greg drooled. Everyone on his team did. He'd learned to associate the sight and smell of that disc with pleasure and accomplishment, and already he wanted to run up to that fox, knock her down, and clamp his teeth on it.

The master of ceremonies this game was the state governor. The fox wore formal attire, a blouse and skirt. Greg wasn't sure how she was able to lift the coin without toppling over; she didn't look like she had an ounce of muscle on her. She was downright comical walking with that thing.

Governor Shields stopped at the sideline next to the referee and waved to the crowd. The equine addressed the stadium again. "Tossing the coin into play this game, Governor Paula Shields!"

The stadium cheered. Greg heard a few jerks booing. Greg couldn't take his eyes off the coin, which was covered in sponsor logos that would become illegible by the time the game was over.

Governor Shields waved to the crowd a few more times, then held the disc close to her blouse and cast. Greg was surprised she could throw it any distance at all. The disc sailed between both teams, flipped halfway over and hit the ground rolling.

The coin was in play.

Both teams charged one another and dove for it. The tiger on The Force bent down, opened his mouth and snatched it up in his jaws. He ran for the opposite goal, muscular arms shoving a couple wolves out of the way. All around him players rammed one another, raking each other with claws across the shoulders and legs and chest. Greg chased the tiger.

A wolf from The Pack leaped onto the tiger, hugged him around the arms and took him down to the turf, rolling, snarling and howling. The tiger's mouth popped open and the coin rolled. Greg had been running parallel to the tiger and veered to snatch it.

The cougar dashed up from the other side and bent over the coin. Greg growled, flashed his teeth and rammed the feline on the shoulder. He reached down and snapped the coin up in his jaws, never slowing down for a moment.

He didn't know why they called it a coin. It was an oblate disc the diameter of his head, and it weighed thirty pounds. Greg barley felt it in his jaws as he tore down the opposite end of the field. He ran with his arms close to his body to make it harder for anyone to latch onto him with their jaws or hands.

Around him, wolves collided with other canines and felines and reptiles. Claws swiped chests, dogs fell to the turf, and felines dropped and rolled. Greg veered away from a knot of approaching canines. He had the feeling he'd held onto the coin for long enough, so he wound up his neck and pitched the coin through the air. One feline leaped into the air and tried to intercept, but missed, and the coin came down. One of his fellow wolves leaped in the air, and caught the coin in his teeth, neck muscles bulging from the strain.

The action flowed away from Greg. Players caught up to one another, tackled each other, traded blows, separated, and ran after the coin again.

Something solid and feline slammed into Greg, knocking him down to the turf muzzle-first. His training had conditioned him to turn his head to the side so he wouldn't break his muzzle, and he landed with the weight of a built cougar on top of him.

A feline growl rumbled in Greg's ears. The wolf rolled over and shoved the cat off him. He leaped to his feet, crouched, and squared off with the cat. The cat continued licking his nose, loving his rookie scent. Nobody did things like this to him in the college games and it caught Greg by surprise, but the reaction was surprisingly natural.

Greg charged. Agani faked right, but Greg didn't fall for it. He plowed straight into the cat's chest, hugging him around the waist, and took him down. Claws gouged into Greg's back, ripping his jersey and gouging his skin. Greg howled. His first instinct was to go for the face, but he had to hold back. He raised a leg and dragged his claws against whatever flesh his foot was near. The cat snarled, raking his claws across Greg's back again.

Felines had an advantage over canines in how sharp their claws were. A canine's claws were meant to grip the turf while running, not to claw opponents. Agani had Greg right where he wanted him.

Greg rolled off Agani, dragging his own claws across his chest. He heard fabric ripping, and the wolf felt a little twinge of pride. He sniffed the air and found the coin. It was in a reptile's mouth, coming straight for them. He glanced at the scoreboard and saw neither The Pack nor The Force had scored yet. Greg tore across the field, straight for the reptile. Just above his own heartbeat, he heard the stadium cheering.

Every member of each team bled from somewhere. The smell of blood ignited something in Greg. He didn't understand it. Something about being in a group, fur matted with blood, made him wild with excitement. It's what got him into this sport, and it's what paid his way through college.

Black and yellow collided with red and grey. Reptiles, felines, and canines singled Greg out and tried to cause some kind of injury to take him out of the game. Sometimes he slashed them with his claws, sometimes he tackled, and sometimes he merely squared off with them, posturing and snarling and sometimes drooling.

He knew it would happen. As the rookie, they would of course be all over him. He was ready. Greg was three hundred and forty pounds of canine. He could lift one-twenty with his jaws alone, and not many canines could top that. Eventually, eight of the players on The Force realized Greg was no rookie to push around, and finally left him alone.

Only Agani remained. He was always around. Whenever Greg got the coin, the cougar was there, slamming into him, knocking him down, stealing it and his chance to score the first goal of the game.

A packmate tackled one of The Force's canines and sent the coin rolling across the field. Greg was there. He bent down, snatched it up in his jaws, and bolted for the goal. This time, he did not pass to someone running ahead of him. There were too many others around, too much interference. He clamped his jaws tighter and ran as erratically as possible.

Agani tackled him from the side, throwing Greg to the turf and lying on top of him. The coin popped out of his mouth and rolled. Agani licked the inside of Greg's ear and growled. Greg growled and shoved Agani off with one arm. The cat stumbled away, still licking his nose at Greg. The wolf wanted to rip that smile off Agani's face.

They took off running after the coin at the same time, keeping stride. Greg tried to lose the cougar, but the cat stayed with him. The wolf growled the whole way, letting the scent of the coin push his endurance to its limit.

One of his packmates snatched up the coin and ran for the goal line. Greg followed, cougar right beside him, knocking down everyone who came near him. He body-slammed the tiger as he tried to pursue, knocked down one of the reptiles, and kept pace. Greg kept everyone off his packmate except one. He couldn't shake the cougar. The cat matched him move for move and kept pace. Agani didn't even seem interested in the coin, only in staying with Greg.

A wolf in red and grey charged up the side with the cougar and slammed into Greg's packmate. The coin flew from his mouth and rolled. Greg dashed by the fight, bent low, opened his mouth, and grabbed the coin. Agani tackled Greg from behind. The wolf crashed to the ground, cougar rolling behind him. Greg did not let go of the coin.

As soon as the stadium stopped spinning, Greg stood up and found the goal line. Before he could take a step, Agani clamped his jaws on the other side of the coin and pulled. The cougar had a powerful grip, but Greg was not intimidated. He pulled back and anchored himself into the ground with his claws. Now Greg had the advantage. His packmates fought The Force, keeping them off him while he played tug-of-war for the coin.

Greg was so close to Agani, he saw his reflection in the cat's eyes. The cougar pulled. Greg pulled back. They spun in circles, snarling and bleeding from various places on their bodies. They raised their arms at the same time and clamped fists, trying to push each other away. The cat was strong, but so was Greg.

The stadium cheered, some chanting his name, and Greg let their cheers and screams feed his muscles. He snarled louder. He pushed harder. He dug his feet into the soil.

The feline suddenly twisted. Greg fell to the ground, still holding onto the coin. Their eyes were still locked, their scents mixed in his nose. The cat wrenched his neck again, and the coin slipped out of Greg's teeth. Greg snarled and rolled to his feet, chasing the cat's tail to the goal line.

His other packmates were busy taking out the other members of The Force. Now it was just Greg and Agani. Greg hated the cat's scent. He hated the cat's ugly pink nose. He hated his face, and that short, yellow fur. The feline was all that stood between him and the goal, and he had Greg's coin. It was up to him to keep Agani from scoring a goal, and Greg would not blow this chance on his first pro game.

The cheers and stomps and howls and screeches of the audience filled his muscles and quickened his legs. He closed in on the cougar. He caught up to the tail. Greg reached out, wrapped his arms around the cat's waist, and twisted to the side. He and the cat fell, rolled, and twisted together.

The cat was a threat, and he had to keep this threat from coming back and stealing their coin again. Greg opened his mouth and lunged for Agani's throat. The cat didn't scream; he merely went still. Greg felt relief. He stood up, followed his nose to where the coin rested, picked it up in his jaws, turned, and ran across the field to the goal. The stadium became thunder.

Greg crossed the line and stood at the goal, arms at his side, holding the coin in his muzzle, turning to all sides of the stadium. His first game in the professional league, and the first goal of the game was his--the first goal of the season. He lived it up. He tossed the coin in the air and caught it in his teeth again and again. The stadium cheered louder each time.

Greg turned down field. Both teams were gathered around Agani. The cat wasn't moving. The front of his throat was missing. Greg just now realized he had swallowed something while he ran to the goal. His muzzle dropped open. The coin fell from it and plopped on the grass between his paws. A bloody mouth-print covered some of the sponsor logos.

Both teams were glaring at him. Greg glared back. He swallowed again, tasting feline blood.


---read the rest in “Claw the Way to Victory” on Amazon.