I Write Like Chuck Palahniuk

Paste some of your writing into this handy analyzer, and it spits out the name of a famous writer.

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

I’ve seen Fight Club the movie (and loved it, but who doesn’t?), but I’ve never read any of his novels. Maybe I should. Especially since I got this result four out of five times, using different parts of two of my books. My third try got Ian Fleming.

Thanks, Monica Lee, for posting this. Fun stuff.

Boy Wonder

Best movie I’ve seen in a long time. Best revenge movie ever. Tension, story questions, and a hook that will grab you in five minutes. One of those movies that has you begging the hero to do things… and he does them. And it’s awesome. It’s a masterful use of an anti-hero. The violence is tastefully done–it adds to the story, doesn’t detract from it by making you wish you could unwatch it.

Yeah, I’m not the greatest movie reviewer. Just watch it.

Now I must work to make my hero as conflicted and badass as this guy is…

“Beware the Hero” indeed.

Recommended Reads: SONG OF SCARABAEUS by Sara Creasy

It’s really hard to find the blend I like in fiction: just enough action, just enough sci-fi/fantasy, just enough of a love story.

SONG OF SCARABAEUS is one of the few novels I’ve found with that perfect blend. Toss in a captivating plot, great characterization, realistic dialogue, and several fresh story ideas that I wake up in the morning pondering, and I’m disappointed I can’t erase my memory of this book just so I can read it again. Maybe slower this time, so it can sink in more.

One of my favorite elements was the masterful male/female interaction. One example–the hero’s trigger finger is a bit eager even though the gunshots seem to do nothing to scare off a threat. The heroine says, “Save the bullets, Finn. There are hundreds of tons of biomass up there. Clearly it doesn’t want to have a hole carved through it.”

And at the end of Chapter 28? I actually put down the book and said aloud, “Oh my god. Awesome.”

I can’t wait to read the sequel.

SONG OF SCARABAEUS by Sara Creasy
Amazon | Goodreads | Sara Creasy’s website

Infinity in Pieces

I didn’t intend to contribute to Inspiration Monday this week, but this one just popped in there without my consent. Can anyone find the word with the double meaning?

* * * * *

I was inspecting the puncture in my chest armor when something slammed me from behind. My body joined the others on the ground, and I rolled until I found the hard flat surface. I grabbed the side of my helmet–a reflex, to fling it off. To breathe free air.

Your world is your suit. Anything outside your suit will bring death until proven otherwise.

This air was not free, and I couldn’t afford what they were charging. On my back, through the dust on my helmet’s visor, I watched the largest moon’s moon, its visible spin, its tarnished brown surface rolling to brilliant pink. Moons of moons. I wanted to go home, to my single, unencumbered moon, my one reliable piece of the infinity of space.

My head swam when I braced my elbows against the ground and pushed up, and wet heat crawled down my arms and back. I moved my eyes to Suit.Status on my helmet’s control panel. Status normal. No breach. All strength left my arms and I fell back, into a slough inside my suit.

My training officer had warned of death outside my suit, never of one inside it.

How Did You Get in Here?

My contribution to this week’s Inspiration Monday.

* * * * *

I round the fender of the car and power on my scanner. Just a chick fumbling with her keys. Nothing to see here. The car chirps twice, disarmed. I get in and push the ignition button. The dash lights up all around me like a miniature city at night. The engine growls–a surprised grizzly woken early from deep slumber. Easy, boy. And all this in less than ten seconds from the bushes to the driver’s seat. I owe Shayd for his new program. How I’ll pay him? TBD.

Shove into first, and the car squeals out of there. Let them hear. At zero to sixty in three point five seconds, it’s far too late for them anyway. I check the rear view mirror, and that’s when I see it hunkering in the shadows surrounded by tinted glass. A bent form. A shoulder. Human hair. Buzzed short, like a man’s. I have no weapon, not even some lousy pepper spray. Be cool. If he was supposed to be here, he wouldn’t be hiding. If he was going to attack me, he already would’ve.

“How did you get in here?”

Clothes rustle against the seat. His eyes appear in the mirror. “Same way you did.”

“Yet I’m the one driving it away.”

“I thought you were the owner.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

He reaches to the front seat and picks up my scanner. “This doesn’t look like the factory key.”

I snatch it from him. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

He laughs. “Not so fast. I was here first.” Arms, head, and torso shove between the headrests and into the front passenger seat, then legs, too long for such a maneuver but he does it anyway, all without kicking me in the face. “Seems there’s one thing we both want.”

“No, there’s something I have, and something you want.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s waiting for me to look at him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

He raises both eyebrows. Smiles. “Are we still talking about the car?”

Point System

“Spelunking sounds fun. And a good excuse to get out of the house often.”

He motions to the bartender for another round. “Yep. I try to go every weekend.”

Every weekend? I bet the gear is expensive, too. Buying accessories for a hobby is almost as fun as the hobby itself. All points forfeited. You lose, buddy.

I grab my purse. “Do you know where the ladies’ room is?”

He points, then picks up our drinks. “Should I get us a table?”

“Sure.” I head in the direction of the restrooms but take the stairs instead to the second floor bar. After five minutes of looking wistful with my strawberry daiquiri as my only company, a tall-blond-and-handsome elbows his way next to me against the bar and orders something on tap. The foam clings to his upper lip with the first sip, but he notices quickly and licks it off. One point. Oh, and what’s that? A tingle in my stomach from the sight of that skillful tongue? One extra point.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He offers his hand. “Daniel Rivers.”

Another point for an easy to spell last name. I take his hand. “Rebecca Robertson.” And I could keep my initials. One more point. Plus one extra point for a straightforward greeting with no pickup line. “Do you go by Daniel?”

“Since I was eighteen.”

“Can I call you Danny?”

He smiles. Good smile. Good teeth. And that stomach tingle again. Three points. “Depends on the circumstance.” And two more points for a sense of humor. “Can I get you another drink?”

“If I have another, I might need a ride home.”

“No problem. I can take you home.”

Let’s kick this up a notch. “I might have some friends joining me. I’m usually the designated driver.”

He smiles again. Wow. Five more points. “Well, that might be a problem. I drive a pick-up.”

Oh. A truck. Even better than a sports car. He’s practical, and probably handy. And can deliver that chest of drawers I’ve had my eye on. Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner.

Unwanted Promotion

Begin Program C783.
Delete Program C782.
Locate the red suit hanging on the back of your cabin door.
Remove the red suit from the hanger.
Put on the red suit.
Locate your boots and weapon and place them inside your combat bag.
Proceed with your combat bag to Quadrant 2, Station 74.
Report to your new team leader.
End program.

The command module’s speaker clicked off. I stared at the chip in my open palm.

Jévok jerked the bandage tight on my arm. “Ready?”

He took the chip out of my hand. It plunged next to his into the glass of ninety eight point six degree water as he and I plunged into the air circulation duct.

The Devil’s Throne (My Brother’s Descent, Part 6)

Part 6 of the series. The full series is here.

* * * * *

“Do it,” you say again.

This end is too perfect. Too deserved. And if this ghost of your brother is the real deal this time, then this end is poetic justice.

You open your eyes. The gun has tipped slightly, so it now aims, lazy and uninterested, at your upper lip instead of your forehead. Your brother’s attention is fixated on the ground next to you.

The kid you used to know would pause, wouldn’t have the courage to pull the trigger. He’s not that kid anymore. He’s not any kid you know. He’s a young monster with a big gun. An adolescent Tyrannosaurus Rex–wild and impulsive and more frightening than the adults of his species. And you know it’s not his fear tipping that gun down because you can taste the power in the air around him. You recognize the flavor–it’s the dirty kind, gained from squashing others. Causing suffering. Taking souls. It’s a power not granted by that gun, or those two-hundred-dollar sneakers, or the gang of guys behind him. It comes from inside him.

You did send him to hell. You sold him to the devil, and he ripped out the devil’s heart and took the devil’s throne. He doesn’t see what he’s become. And you are the only one who can save him.