Blackjack Hero Journal #8

Wow, I let a month pass between posts. Sorry about that guys, but I guess now I'm turning into a real blogger, no? "I'm neglecting my blog," I can say at wine and cheese parties. Seriously, though, I'm sorry and have no excuse. I'll be here more in the coming year.

Blackjack three is coming along, most importantly because I've made real headway with the plot and I think I have a clear way from the first to the last page, a driving force that will take Blackjack through our story. And a new (and old) villain that will be a bit out of left field. I'll explain my thinking in the acknowledgements, for now just hang tight.

As far as act one, I read it over and it's shit. And not shit in the way that some people get all puffy and defensive so other people can say, "no, you're not fat at all, you're SVELTE." No, it's crap. The idea is there, and some of the stuff is pretty decent, but the writing is garbage, it's not ready for the morning edition, much less primetime. In any case, I'm going to share a scene that maybe new to some of you. It's unedited crappy nine pages that I may have released prior, but it's what I think will open the book, setting up the story to come.

The idea isn't to do a finale to a trilogy, where the Lightbringers fall out of the sky like Mass Effect-ish Reapers or Halo's Covenant and we have one last battle to protect humanity, but instead to embark on a longer series, with our miscreant wannabe hero, sometimes villain Blackjack squarely in the lead. Read on...

Excerpt from Blackjack Hero:

"See the problem with your sorry ass is that all your great moments, no one's ever been there to see them,” Moe said sitting at the edge of my bed. A small, portable chess table sat atop my chest, which was wrapped with a heavy cast while I recovered from my fight with Lord Mighty. “Your worst moments? Them shit's televised. What do you want to move?"

"Pawn," I said, making the effort to move it, but unable to due to my full-body casting.

"Nah, man. I'll take your bishop. Move the other bishop here." Moe shifted my bishop forward, taking one of his pawns.

"Okay."

"So that's a bad thing," I asked.

"The bishop?"

"No, that you got shit backwards. People that make decisions, write the checks and shit, all they know is Blackjack's the bad that threw Pulsewave off a building. And that makes people not trust you," he said moving a pawn.

"I bet," I said.

"That's a bitch you have to live with," he said, shaking his head. "But it’s also something you have going for you."

"The powers that be hate and distrust me and that's a good thing?"

Moe laughed, "That's what I'm saying. See, being good with the cops is one thing, but being good with the people, that's what you want."

"How does people liking me keep my ass out of jail?"

"Nigga, you'd be in jail already," he said dismissing me. "Look at you. Now's the time to put your ass away, not later when you're all good. Take like twenty guys like me to put you down."

I chuckled, "Or one little old lady with a funny looking machine."

"Excuse me?"

I shook my head, "Nevermind."

He stared at me, still thinking about my "old lady with a machine" comment before shaking his head and going on.

"Well, I'm talking about acceptance, public opinion and shit. That's what you gauge it on. And with you being a former villain? Man, that plays real nice. People want those stories of redemption. Badass motherfucker pulling cats out of trees and shit. I saw a poll the other day on TV where you had 53% approval rating. Only 29% hate your guts. You gonna move or you want me to move for you?"

"Wait, 53%?"

He nodded. "Move your bishop here now," he added, moving my bishop across the board.

"That and 29% only makes 82. Where”s the other 18%?"

Moe shrugged, "They don't give a fuck 'bout you one way or the other. But those are good numbers man. Get you in some good hands, some good PR people and you can have your own doll and shit. Make some serious money."

"Come on.”

He stood waving his arms to emphasize his point, "That's right, I said it. Money. Don't be turning into some dumb shit don't like money, or is like, that shit's not what I'm about. You gotta worry about it, you know what I mean? You gotta. Don't be some stupid ass homeless hero. Ever seen one?"

I shook my head as much as the casts would allow.

"Well, come to Brooklyn. Few of them walking the streets, picking food outta garbage cans and shit. Ask one motherfucker what he can do. Nigga can fly. Imagine that. He can fly and he's homeless. It's sad as fuck. Can't have no homeless Blackjack walking the streets of wherever the fuck it is you're from."

"Modesto," I said.

"Say that again?" he said, most of his attention on moving a knight into dangerous territory near my king.

"Modesto. It's in California."

"Don't matter where it is, poor motherfuckers be homeless all over and that’s for damned sure. If there’s people there, then there’s folk falling through the cracks, suffering. That ain't gonna be you, you hear me? I’m gonna hook you up with some people that’ll do all your marketing. I’ve got them on my hair products line and my comic books.”

I laughed at the thought of “Super Moe” comics.

“I’m gonna send you a case, see if you can do something about your hair. Shit’s like sticky and oily. You Italian, right?”

“No, American,” I said. “And move my pawn out against the knight.”

“Fucking American, he says,” he laughed. “Nah, that pawn won’t do shit there. Move this rook here, and you’re good. See?”

“You have your own comic?”

He nodded. “Self-published. We do like 20 ‘kay’ issues a month. It’s me against my nemesis, a black chick called Evil Lucy. She’s got big-ass tits, and fights with a whip. I’ll send you one of the trade paperbacks.”

Moe moved his knight, taking one of my pawns thanks to him moving my rook out of the way.

“That’s convenient,” I said.

He shrugged, “I was gonna do that anyway, nigga. Anyway, I know you think you got shit straight with Apogee and whatever. I mean, I know she’s rich as fuck, but you don’t wanna be one of those held-bitches.”

“Kept men,” I corrected. “Move the rook back, take that knight.”

“Whatever you call them,” he said. “Take the knight? You stupid? I’ll checkmate you if you do.”

I strained my eyes, trying to see what he meant, but for now my king was fine.

“In like five moves, dog. Come on, man,” he said, moving one of my pawns across the board from where his knight was threatening. “You gotta start thinking of shit like five, ten moves ahead. If not you get eaten alive. And whatever you call it, you can’t have your woman paying the bills. You need your own money. Clean money, now, not the shit you were doing before.”

I chuckled, and it hurt deep in my ribcage, just behind the sternum.

“You with Apogee, right?” He stared at me with amazement, as if he, too, was as taken with her as the rest of the world.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Moe shook his head, “Was too good to be true,” he said. “I didn’t figure she’d just leave you here a whole week without reason. Not with you all fucked up like this.”

“I lose the cast today,” I said, the prospect of being free of the full body cast causing me to get excited at just the mention.

“So where is she?” He let the question linger for a moment, his head cocked to the side as if emphasizing the point. Once satisfied, he moved his queen to a perfect position to threaten my king with support from his knight. “See what I mean that you need your own shit? Can’t count on anyone these days. She might be the biggest heroine and shit, but that don’t mean anything to you and putting food on the table. Paying rent. Be your own man, goddammit.”

“I hear you,” I said

“You even get any from that woman?” he said, his voice dropping as if being coy. At the same time, he moved one of my bishops, the illusion of his helping me now completely gone as he played alone.

I shook my head.

“I’ve been here a week,” I said. “Like this.”

“Damn shame. Well, you had your chance. Woman like that you gotta have something to offer. Like-“

There was movement outside the modular light walls of Superdynamic’s medlab. A few people were approaching the door, pausing Moe and drawing both of our attentions.

Then she walked in.

She’s known to the world as Apogee, and she’s the woman I love, the woman that saved me. The only person to ever trust me, to give me a chance. To me she’s Madelyne Hughes. To me, she’s the world.

There were other people, a doctor and some nurses following her, but they were almost blurred as if in the far background. Apogee wore her uniform, and it looked dirty and torn, as if she’d been in a scrape. The medical staff were after her to check her condition, as it looked like it had been a rough fight, but she shrugged them off and came toward me, her eyes cradling me like a baby.

“There he is,” she said, smiling as she, like me, focused and noticed big Moe next to me. “You’ve been keeping an eye on him Moe? Make sure he doesn’t get frisky with the nurses?”

Moe chuckled, excited to have a woman of such beauty talking to him, but also thrilled for me by what Apogee’s arrival and her attitude meant.

“Trying to teach this big bastard how to play chess, but all he wants to do is talk about you.”

She smiled and cocked her head, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Is that a fact?”

Moe stood and took the chessboard off my chest, placing it on a table beside my bed. “We finish this shit later, dog,” he told me.

“Maybe I let you win next time,” I said.

“You fighting Primal or something, Apogee?” Moe said moving past, using the excuse of her rough shape to ogle her as her attention was set on me.

“I wish,” she said, exhaling with exhaustion at the mention of her recent scrape. “Better one big, dumb lug to fight than a dozen stupid villains, all trying to rip your damned costume off.”

Moe beamed, “That’d be a damned shame. Next time you head out with your boys, ask me along.”

She turned to regard him, as he left the room, having come almost to my bed, and I was rewarded with an angle shot of her unearthly figure.

“I might take you up on that, big guy,” she said.

He paused at the door, facing her and suddenly struck with a bout of bashfulness. “Well, I leave you two lovebirds. My work here, is done,” he said, bowing and walking out with a flourish.

She turned back to me, with a smile and reached over for a chair, pulling it up so she could sit beside me.

“So,” I said.

“So,” she said. “Sorry about being AWOL.”

“Super Dee told me something about an uprising in Brazil the other night, but I think I was on some heavy meds.”

“It’s still hurting?”

I tried shaking my head, “I so medicated I can’t feel my legs.”

She giggled, reaching forward and taking my right hand. Only my thumb shot out of the full body cast, and I did my best to grasp her hand with it.

“It’s coming off later,” I said, motioning to the cast with my eyes. “Then I’ll get a lower body one and one for each shoulder/elbow joint. Oh and a separate one for the neck and back.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, unable to look at me.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Apogee…”

Madelyne smiled, a pained grimace dancing across her face until she lowered her gaze, again unable to look at me.

I knew what it was. We needed to have “that talk”, the talk where she told me what’s what. A few moments of weakness, when I was near dead, wasn’t enough to warrant an immediate love affair. That kind of crap only happens in the movies, and I’m no Robert Redford. Hell, she was Apogee, the world’s best known and most beloved heroine. She’d been around over a decade, everyone wanted to be with her. What chance did a crippled former villain have with a woman like her anyway? A fool’s chance.

“I know Apogee,” I said.

She looked up.

“About us, it’s just-“

“Huh?” she said, her face changing.

“I don’t expect anything,” I went on, trying to give her a way out, trying to ease her pain. “I know that it was kind of a crazy run there, but I don’t have expectations of-“

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Goddamnit, let me finish.”

She sat up, not liking being talked to that way.

“I know what you said, when I was…you know-“

“Dale-“

“-about to die and-“

“Dale!”

“What?”

“Just don’t say anything, okay?” she said moving closer, putting both elbows on the bed beside me.

Madelyne waited for me to nod in acknowledgement before even trying to speak. She was torn, almost breaking into tears, and I knew what was coming. “Hey, it’s a nice dream, kiddo, but I’m with some other guy.” Or, “I don’t date assholes that killed my friends.”

“We got ambushed,” she said. “I think Haha set the whole thing up. Chen got captured by Baron Blitzkrieg.”

Chen was Mirage, super hero and as close to a real father as Madelyne had these days. He also hated my guts like no other person alive, but for Apogee’s sake he was behaving these days.

“Apogee…” I said, overwhelmed by both the news of her friend’s abduction, and by the implication of Blitzkrieg returning to action. The Baron had to be 120 years old and still going strong, and despite the recent influx of villains into the scene, he was still one of the top threats against the world.

She nodded, tears finally coming, wiping her face.

“Damage is hurt pretty bad,” she said, mentioning another member of her reformed group, The Revolution. “Probably will never walk again. He’s downstairs.”

Damage was a density controller, and one of the deadliest men on the planet. The list of people who could face down Baron Blitzkrieg and live to tell the tale was short, but Damage’s name had to be at or very near the top.

“How?” I asked.

Apogee spread her fingers, bewildered.

“His suit is new, like nothing we’ve ever seen before. And he has like fifty followers. In the end, we had to run. I grabbed Dominus and Damage and ran.”

“What about Hyper?” I asked of the remaining member of The Revolution, who served the purpose of tank and bruiser. Kind of my role only a big fat guy.

She shook her head bitterly, indicating that he hadn’t made it.

“Jesus,” I said.

Reaching out, she took my hand again.

“I felt like a rookie out there, Dale,” she said. “Slow and weak. It was awful.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to take her into my arms, hold her and tell her it would be okay, but I couldn’t even move beyond micro gestures. These people were more than just teammates and acquaintances. Her relationships with Damage and Dominus were over a decade long, and twice that with Mirage, and to have her team of friends manhandled easily was too much for her to bear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, though I hated how feeble it sounded.

She lifted her tear stained face, and smiled, “We have to get you out of this crap and back on the streets.”

“I’m working on it. I feel like you guys put me on the shelf.”

“I’m kidding, Dale,” she said. “Take your time and get well. I need my man in tip top shape,” she added, probably the best words I’ve heard in my whole life, coupled with a fiendish smile she flashed that was filled with promise.

But something about what she had said ate at me, and my mind raced back to it.

“What did you say about his armor?”

“Blitzkrieg’s?” she asked, surprised I would bypass the touching moment with talk of work. “Yeah, it’s different. Some strange glowing blue armor that protected him against anything we threw at him. Damage’s powers didn’t work on it, and my fists just bounced right off.”

“Glowing blue…” I said. “Madelyne, was it blue like the dagger?” I asked, referring to a weapon she and I were very familiar with, a weapon that in the hands of my former nemesis Dr. Zundergrub had almost killed Apogee. A weapon that had caused scars on my arms, shoulders and face. Wounds that never fully healed.

Apogee shrugged, giving it some thought, before the horrible realization hit her and she nodded severely.

“He’s been to Shard World,” I said, knowing there was only one place that rare metal ever existed.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “And Haha’s helping him.”

Blackjack update - kinda

Blame my partner Josh.

It's his fault, okay? Not mine.

Yeah it's his fault so little progress took place on Blackjack. The guy calls me, tells me that Interstellar Overdrive is on his mind. We spend 35 minutes chatting about it, and he sends me on a tailspin that occupied most of my week. I'm like Dug in Pixar's Up. "SQUIRREL!"

So we're reworking it to be a little smaller per episode because we found some nicer beats, and also it looks like 60 pages is a more standard number for some of the serialized stories we're seeing. Wool, the biggest and best of them (Ridley Scott's directing the movie!) is 58 pages for its first issue. The good news is that with the new paradigm, we'll be able to get started on publishing the series sooner rather than later.

The problem is I've got to get act one of Blackjack to you guys. I still threw down about 10 pages, specifically some scenes in the Tower with Blackjack, Apogee and Superdynamic (a little Ruby thrown in there). I need another 5-10 to finish the sequence, and give it the importance and message I'm looking out of it. Then it's back to KC and a sequence that I envisioned almost two years ago, a superhero BBQ, then some stuff with the former Lady Despoil, now known as Lillith, and finally a 20 page action sequence that'll make the Hashima and D.C. stuff look like child's play.

And that'll be act one. In reading over it, I'm seeing tons of holes to fill, and a scene or two that are more "telly" than I'd like, but everything is in rough order.

All in all an act one that'll please people more than the one in book two. I know, there was a point to all of that, I had a plan for Blackjack and it doesn't really pay off until the end. But I can understand that some folks were put off by it, especially with how he starts to behave when faced with the frustrations of the dream world. I always figured they'd drop you into a Matrix-like world, where you had to fight and struggle for everything you wanted, even though it was just at the edges of your outreached fingertips. The idea is to keep your mind busy for years, keep you focused and moving so you never have a chance to question what you're seeing and experiencing. Anyway, that was my idea. Some folks had a problem with Shard World as a whole. For most folks, the best parts of books one and two were the "real world" parts, and I can understand where going off to Lala-land can be off putting. But I did it for a reason. There was a goal.

Despite that, I understood and heard the complaints. I totally get it, and my intention is to do a Blackjack that's what people want.

In drama, they tell you to start as late as possible, as close to the actual conflict as you can. Well, in a way, Book 3 is sort of the beginning. The previous stuff, while awesome to write for me, and enjoyable to some of you to read, is the quick flashback (with a Morgan Freeman voice over) at the beginning of the movie, before the "real" stuff starts to happen.

Blackjack's made an interesting transformation for me. From a guy who was clueless and aimless to a guy who knows what he wants and won't let anything get in his way.

Anyway, back to work!

Blackjack Hero Journal #7

The working title is Blackjack Hero, because he's trying to remake his life. But this is Blackjack, after all, he'll find a way to ruin things, while at the same time saving the day and getting the girl. Anyway, the "hero" moniker might change. I'm not sure if it fits exactly. If Blackjack makes it through this book in one piece, he won't be a hero in the traditional sense of the word.

As far as progress, act one is coming together nicely. I have a good head of steam going and lots of good ideas. The funny thing is when you come up with something later on that you have to backtrack later. In this case, I've just decided to involve Dale's father. It was going to happen, and I think I've made no bones about it, but I've got to put it in there from the beginning. I'm also debating taking a different angle to the thing. I just don't know if there's time. Same thing with Jason Mckeown. Remember him? The temptation is to make him secretly one of the many heroes I've mentioned, like Paladin. He'd fit perfectly as a dude in heavy armor, his face concealed by a helm. But it'd be interesting to try something different, something unexpected. No, Jason's not secretly Epic...COME ON!

Anyway, I plan on releasing an in-progress act one when I have it put together. I love hearing your ideas and thoughts and act one will have a pretty sexy cliffhanger. As of right now, it's at 97 pages (after dumping a lot of crap) in Kindle formatting, and it needs another 40 between plugging in gaps/transitions and the grand finale of the act. Again, it'll be a total mess and not indicative of the final product, but I know you'll see past all my stupid mistakes and spelling errors. Like when I had to change the first name of one of the new heroes Blackjack is working with, Red Quiver. I called the guy Roy, because...well, because. I liked it. Guy feels like a Roy. But I'm informed by my partner Josh, after he read a battle scene between Blackjack, Roy and a few others against a huge dinosaur/T-rex monster thing, that Red Arrow of DC fame is also called Roy. My subconscious screwing with me? Maybe. But when I did a quick find/replace, it replaced the word "royal" with "Ianal". Roy's new name is Ian, you see...

I caught that one, but some strange & weird stuff gets past me.

Okay, so when? Give me a week. I'm going full speed, finally, after a slow/lazy summer. Sounds good? One week and act one's ready.

Crap, pressure!

Blackjack Hero Journal #6

Procrastination, you have to love it. Notice how the last couple of Journal updates haven't had anything substantive? It's been the same re-hashy crap, with me expressing my feelings as if I was in some support group ("This is Ben. Ben had bitch tits...").

Well this week I have updates. First of all, the Lightbringers are getting pushed out of book three. I know, Ben's stretching it as much as he can go to sell as many books as possible, that bastard. But actually, I'm running into a bit of a wall with them and there's another elephant in the room; Mr. Haha.

We have to deal with him, one way or the other and I don't want to leave that out there. THAT would be stretching things out. So book three is going to be all about Haha, all about what Dale wants, now that he's been given a new lease on life (that he almost died to deserve, mind you), and it's about how he and Apogee get to know each other. Simple and clean.

Complicating things are Haha, of course, who wants to use Blackjack's new-found fame to make a social commentary on how weak humanity is, how unworthy of intellect. Remember what Haha said at the end of book two, first he wanted to build Blackjack up, then he was going to tear him down.

Also, there's the escaped villains from Utopia, making a mess of themselves. I threw out there a lot of names in book one and we'll get to see a few of them in full action this time around. Curious about Baron Blitzkrieg and his Dogs of War? Did they survive Hashima? What about all those names from the ending list? There's a lot of guys there that we're going to play with. Same with book two. Know who I want to see again? Capt. Miraculous and Bad Karma. And FTL and Mirage. You have to figure Lady Vexille will be a bit upset to see what Blackjack's done with himself. So will Razor, Delphi and Serpentis. Think you've seen the last of them? What about the remaining Original Seven? We never did deal with Global, and Lady Jade survived the mess at Hashima, what do they know about the original experiment? (see, we're not avoiding the Lightbringers altogether). And the Superb Ten? Hell, what happened to Epic after that beat down he got?

So I've got plenty to work with. Going straight into the Lightbringers would force me to cast aside some of the cooler things I want to do with Blackjack and I don't want to. We've got time. The books are averaging 650 pages, so we have time.

What about the update?

Well, he's back in Mali, getting himself checked after the beat down HE got from Lilith. You guys read that, right? Something's wrong with his new bones and its scaring the hell out of him. But first, Superdynamic gets the fun idea of going out on an overnight safari. Just SuperD and his girl, Blackjack and Apogee. Yeah, some private time for the big guy, finally. After that it's a testing/training MONTAGE (insert 80's Survivor music here), then back to KC with Powermaster and the boys. Except his presence there has not gone unnoticed.

Think about it, is there anywhere in the world where Blackjack could hide from the ultimate A.I. gone mad?

Blackjack Hero Journal #5b

I just took a moment to reread that scene, for the first time in almost a year and wow, that was pretty good. Yeah, THAT'S what book three's going to be about, especially, the last part.

Blackjack Hero Journal #5a

So, the weekly journal turns into a monthly, huh? That's what you're telling me?

Well, there's a reason: I hit a wall. A virtual wall with the idea. I thought to rush into the Lightbringers, amp up the tension to ELEVENS, and it didn't work. It's too much, too fast.

Here's what I think book three should be about; Blackjack's come back.

We showed him going wrong in the first book, then his spectacular fall from grace in the second. Now it's time to see him make it, but in typical Dale fashion.

As an example of what I want to do, I'll share the first version of the ending of book two. It was similar. Blackjack beats Mighty, somehow, and manages to save the day, again. The Zundergrub final fight happens in the middle of the White House, so everyone sees it. Instead of leaving him in semi-coma, boneless state, he weathers it better, and a few days later, he's out of the hospital. The guy from the NSA (my NSA, not the real NSA - National Supers Agency), Braxton, comes and gets him and takes him to a rooftop where Apogee gets flown in and....Hell, I'll just let you read it. It never got edited so don't laugh at my first draft junk. And sorry for the crappy formatting.

Anyway, I'll continue my comments in another post and let you read...


Zundergrub dug himself out of the mountain of rubble, almost too fast for his weak little frame, with too much strength than I had ever attributed to him.  He looked at me with an almost emotionless, placid face, though he was comical, even pathetic, so small and weak, swathed in a small cloud of dust that followed him as he rushed the President.
For her part, President Frost was just as surprised as I was, though she didn't just watch, like a stupefied spectator, as I did.  Frost raised her weapon and fired the nine-millimeter with the deadly skill that had allowed her to survive two tours to Afghanistan, while at the same time inching back to avoid Zundergrub's momentum.  I know a few of the shots were true, but I was finally out of my funk, moving towards the President as well, and my vision blurred, as I fought through the crashed remnants of the fallen Oval Office.  Braxton was firing too, but his weapon was empty after only a few shots.  Zundergrub somehow survived the hail of bullets and reached the President first, clutching her tightly around the elbows, so hard she shrieked in agony, dropping her weapons.
"This is far from over," he muttered as I neared, readying a haymaker that would send him into orbit.  But a closer look at his grasp showed a strength that was beyond him, his hands tearing into the bone and flesh of the President's arms, nearly ripping through her elbow joint.  He was somehow strong enough so his grip held him fast to President Frost and if I hit him with any serious force, I'd send him flying, and the President as well.  But there was something about Zundergrub's face, so calm and still, so emotionless as he forced President Frost to the ground before him, it made me pause.
Then I knew.
"Let go asshole or you're fucking dead," Braxton threatened, having reloaded his pistol and putting it to Zundergrub's temple.
"No," I said as Zundergrub turned his face to look at me.
I don't know how I knew it, but I did, this Zundergrub was no man.  It was some sort of automaton, and it was now a bomb.  Zundergrub wouldn't go this far, bet everything, without having a backup to the backup to the backup, and this was final failsafe.  This wasn't Zundergrub, but a robot and one that was about to blow us, and perhaps the entire District into oblivion.
And I knew I didn't have seconds, like "five, four, three, two..." I had to something, NOW.
I karate chopped down across Zundergrub's arms, tearing through the elbow joints, drawing another horrible scream from the President as Zundergrub's grasp tugged again at her.  My move was clumsy (I don't know Karate), but it tore through Zundergrub's mechanical arms, revealing sputtering wires that sparked in my face and freeing the President, who fell away into Braxton's arms.  I didn't hesitate, grabbing Zundergrub by his neck, and firing off my boot rockets, pressing my heel as hard as I could, opening up the throttle completely.
And boy did I fly.
I rose so fast it didn't matter I had taken off at an odd angle.  The wind in my face exploded my pores outwards, and in a tenth of a second I felt a shattering boom surround me as I broke the sound barrier, then another which I couldn't explain.  I knew how to fly with these boots now, I knew to steady my feet beneath me, to press the boots together to stabilize the thrust, but this was something different, something I hadn't expected, and, daring a look downward, I saw I had risen far above the city, in just a few heartbeats, and soon high over the Eastern seaboard.
Then I was swathed in flames that licked at my eyeballs, nostrils and ears and I screamed, almost releasing the Zundergrub automaton.  With my free arm I covered my face, but in a second I was free of the burning fire, and through, clear of Earth's atmosphere, and still I flared the rockets on my boots.
How fast had I flown?  I had no idea, but looking down I saw the planet Earth, whole and entire beneath me, and I had made the trip in but a few seconds.  I released Zundergrub, angling away from him so his momentum would carry him free of me, but an instant later, he blew.
It was a flash so bright it completely enveloped me in silent flame.  The burning licking at my tough skin, eating and licking at the clothes I wore, the hair on my body, and somehow I had the sense to ride the pressure wave with my upper body and angle away from the blast, letting my rocket boots carry me free from the billowing explosion.  So powerful were my boots that I was safe in an instant, and once clear, I could see how devastating the explosion would have been had it occurred on land.  It had been a nuclear device of some sort, intended to finish what he had started.
I felt the first pang for air at that moment, as the scream when I had broken through Earth's atmosphere had cost me precious oxygen, and now I had to try to make it back.  I dared a quick look at myself, and saw that Zundergrub's devastating explosion had shredded my clothes, leaving me half-naked, blackened the silver coating on my boots and burned off most of the hair on my body, including my eyebrows I was soon to discover.
I shut down the rocket boots and just soared for a second, unsure if I had the power to return, nor how it would work.  My lungs were starting to burn, so I had little time to waste, but I knew I couldn't just fire the rocket boots at the same speed and hope I could survive the brutal impact with the surface of the Earth.  Hell, even hitting water would be like landing on concrete, and the planet was over 70% covered in water.  I'd have to time it right, firing at full strength to get me through the atmosphere quickly, then shut off, reverse my form, and fire again, this time facing downwards to the surface to slow my descent.  All in just a few seconds.
For a second, I thought of the Mercury 7 Astronauts, of John Glenn in particular, and his harrowing Earth re-entry affair with a loose heat shield.  Of those nervous few moments when no one knew if he had made it or not.  And here I was making the same trip, in essence, with only my face as a heat shield.
But there was no time for further rumination.  I twisted around, aiming myself at the planet, and fired the rockets.
It took a second longer for the thrust to push me forward, as I didn't have the ground beneath me and was firing off into the void, but after that brief pause, I rushed back, faster than ever before, returning to my beloved planet Earth.
That bastard Zundergrub had tried to destroy it twice now, and I was all that had stood in his way, saving the globe and everyone that was in it.  Here I had started as a villain, and now saving the planet was just par for the course.  I would have laughed if I had any oxygen, but my lungs were on fire and I had to fight off the urge to take an empty breath.
The planet neared as my speed grew and grew, and I started to worry that I might not have enough time.  High as I was away from Earth, the atmosphere would be but a sliver of the distance, and at my present speed, I'd cross that gap in just a few seconds, like a meteor burning bright.  Yet I was afraid of reversing and firing off the rocket to slow myself too early, lest I stop still outside the atmosphere and bleed off all momentum that would carry me back to earth.
And I had to breathe; I was ever so desperate for air. My hands shook and I felt like screaming, and then I thought of something; in space, without the air of the atmosphere to serve as friction, I'd be going faster than before, free of anything to slow me.  I looked ahead and saw the planet widening in my view, filling the whole landscape, and growing faster at such a rate that I knew I would be there in just a few seconds.  I faltered, easing off the throttle, just as I felt a warming sensation before me.  This time ready for it, I threw my arms forward, covering my face and hope they would serve as good as John Glenn's heat shield had served him.  Again the flames licked at me, but it was so fast, so brief, that before I was able to scream in pain, I was free.
And I shut down the boots and tried to spin myself, seeing a great big sea open up beneath me, to aim my boots down.  But it was a clumsy move, the pressure of my speed conspiring against me, trying to keep me from the maneuver.  Beneath the sea was closing at a horrifying pace.  I was dead, and I knew it.
I tried one last thing, for I was an instant away from a quick death, which was to curl into a ball, trying to use the momentum from my legs coming up to my chest to spin me around, and it kind of worked, but there was the water, I was about to hit.
So I fired the rockets again, and then struck, then it was all dark.


I know now how he did it, how his forces found me in the middle of the Australian outback, how he kept track of me the whole time, and how he made a robot that was realistic enough to fool anyone.
It was Haha.
At first, when I came to the realization, I was furious.  Haha had been there with me through it all, he'd been there on Hashima Island when Zundergrub had betrayed us all, and almost destroyed the planet.  Haha had stood beside me, when all the chips were down, when I had stopped Zundergrub from genocide, and now he had turned on me.  But later, after much thought, I understood why the robot had gone to such lengths, why he had stayed with me, making sure I left Claire and returned to the world, returned to my destiny and faced off with Zundergrub.  Mr. Haha wasn't concerned with saving a planet, or the people or anything so benevolent.  Haha was designed to watch, to learn, and to study contention and strife between people, and in me and Zundergrub, he had his perfect case study.
The robot didn't take sides, nor did he have an angle.  He just wanted to see us facing each other, fighting to whatever end, and the conflict alone was enough for him to get whatever data it was he was searching for.
Once I had decided to ride off into the sunset with Claire, Haha left me, knowing he couldn't change my mind as stubborn as I am, and went looking for Zundergrub, and helped the old man find me.  Oh, he'd left something of himself still inside me, so he could track me and guide me towards the good doctor, setting up the final conflict in Washington.
The robot didn't care about Zundergrub, and his plans to destroy the world, he probably fomented them, eager to see me and the old man face off, and knowing that the doctor was no match for me physically, he had generated a robot automaton that could, for a time, match me for strength.  But all that effort meant that he had to know I would somehow get past Lord Mighty, and it made me wonder to what level my strength and toughness would continue to grow.  I was replete in bruises and I shuddered to wonder what my face looked like, but I had taken the best Lord Mighty and Epic had, and they were as strong as they came.
But beyond yanking my own chain, there was a hard truth to face; Zundergrub was still out there, now aided by Mr. Haha, and I had to stop them.


My eyes flashed open and I tried to breathe but I got a mouthful of water, and coughing only made it worse. It was an instinct that led me to fire off the rockets, and I rose from my reverie deep in the water powering through the surface and high into the air.  I shut off the rockets, lest I fire back through the atmosphere, and fell back down, racking with coughs to get a clear breath of fresh air.  I landed back in the water, and rose back to the surface, filling my lungs again, and lolling with the heavy seas.
It was day, though I had no idea where I had landed.  The re-entry was just a blur, and I hadn't even been able to see where I was going.  But the water was icy cold, as was the air, and I knew I had landed in the northern hemisphere somewhere.  But how far north?  And how much fuel did I have left in my boots?
In my mind, I went through modifications I would make to the throttle valve, and ankle controls to make the powerful rocket boots something I could control.  But first I had to live, I had to find land, and I had to get back home.
I figure blurred overhead, faster almost than I was able to discern it, then it flashed back, spinning with an unearthly agility, and coming to a stop while floating just above me.
"There he is," Superdynamic said a wide smile on his face.
I almost wept.
"You are one crazy bastard, you know?"
He came lower and got a good look at me.
"Oh my God, man.  You ok?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
"Oh God," he said again, lifting me off the water.  For some reason, I couldn't move, near paralyzed, but I could feel the sloughing of my destroyed clothes along my belt, along the edges of my boot cuff.
"You alright, Blackjack?" he said, once he had me in the air, adjusting his grip under my armpits.
"Dale," I said, but it came out like just a cough, and I couldn't be sure he heard me.
"Alright, we'll take it nice and slow," Superdynamic said, flying me away.  "Nice and slow."


I fell asleep in his grasp, despite the aching of my armpits from his tight grip, despite the cold wind on my naked body, despite a racking shiver that shook me from head to toe.  It might have been shock, but as I descended into sleep, I didn't care if I awoke.  I had finally chosen a side, and no longer would I be the villain.  It wouldn't be easy, to sway the minds of people who would always be convinced of what I was, of what I had been.  I might have done the right thing on Hashima Island, but I had made all the wrong choices prior, I had made every mistake in the book, and people had died because of me.  Pulsewave, Influx, all those heroes on Hashima.  I was to blame for them, whether directly or not, because my bad choices had led to me being on the wrong side time and time again.
But that’s what I had to face, that was my penance, to stand in the face of public opinion and somehow prove to everyone that I wasn't the bastard they thought I was.  Now, that was a challenge worth fighting.  I had been motivated by my desire for Apogee, by my hope that she could see past all that, but I didn't understand that she already did.  The real test would be to somehow try to do good, despite what had happened, and what everyone thought of me.
That was the one thing that flew through my mind as I slept, the distant thought that someday, somehow, I would be worthy.


Superdynamic got me the help I needed, as my wounds were far more serious than I had realized.  I had lost most of my skin and hair, and my eyelids had burned off, as had most of my nose and ears.  But I heal fast, and wherever SuperD took me, they were specialists in taking care of supers.
In a week I was off sedatives, and in two I was on my feet, my face back to normal, and my the hair peeking out the top of my scalp.  Even my eyebrows were growing back, which one of the doctors said might not happen, but they were only barely starting to come back by the time a nurse came into my room with a suit she hung on the back of the door.
"Time to go," she said, leaving me alone again.
I walked over to the door and saw that it was a black, two-button Brooks Brothers suit, and tailored to fit me.  No sooner was I dressed than Braxton himself knocked on the door and let himself in carrying a small shoe box.
"Not bad," he said, fighting the urge to light a cigarette in the hospital.
I stood in front of a mirror, looking at myself.  I was pasty, bald, and thin.  It wasn't a pretty sight.
"Didn't think you'd make it."
I shook my head, "me neither."
He handed me the box and I laid it on the table, opening it.  It was a pair of shoes, also Brooks.
"Nice," I said.  "We going to a funeral?"
"Someone wants to see you," he said, his face completely devoid of emotion, almost like the Zundergrub robot right before I had torn its arms off.
"Tell the President, that thanks but no thanks.  I don't need any medals, or-"
"It's Apogee," he said, interrupting my crappy attempt at humor.
I felt a tightening in my throat, and my heart begin to race.
"Serious?"
He nodded.
I sat on the bed, nervous, excited and apprehensive all at once, fumbling with the shoe laces, almost unable to put the damned thing on.
"She wants to see me?"
Again he nodded.
"You got that?" he asked, noticing my difficulty.
I just slammed the thing on and worked on the shoelaces, standing again, and looking at my hideous face.  The skin had grown back, so I didn't look like a burn victim any more.  I had my enhanced healing to thank for that, and my tough skin to thank for surviving the ordeal to begin with.  But I was a shadow of myself, of what she had last seen.  I was so thin, ever so thin, and my hair was just a brief stubble.  How could I face her like this?
"The window of opportunity for this is closing fast."
I turned around, swallowed hard, and said, "Let’s go."


We drove through the a small town of what I soon discovered was Hinckley, Illinois to a regional airport and onto a helicopter that took us into Chicago, just a few miles away.  The pilot sat alone in front of Braxton and I, steering the chopper through the city, towards the red-painted CNA Center building that lay just in the shadow of Chicago's two larger structures, the John Hancock building and the Trump tower.
I could feel Braxton staring at me the whole trip, playing absent-mindedly with a cigarette that he lit the second we landed and left the helicopter.  I followed Braxton off the pad to a small landing and watched the helicopter take off and soar away.
It was a bright summer day, thought the sun was beginning to dip in the horizon, and it was a bit warm for the suit I wore.  But I couldn't feel the sun, nor the ground beneath the soles of my feet.  I leaned against a railing watching the Chicago skyline, wondering what she would do.  Finally free of Zundergrub's control, free of his mindjob, this would be Apogee at her most honest, and it made me apprehensive, afraid.  But she had asked for the meeting, right?  Why ask for a meeting if none of it had meant anything to her?  Why go through the trouble?
It could just be to thank me.  She was dutiful like that, and she would perhaps want to just thank me for saving her life.  But was that it?  Was that all?
"You should try to relax," Braxton said, taking a long drag off his cigarette.
"Easy for you to say."
He laughed.  "I'm not the one that fucked up my life, you know.  I would have told Retcon to fuck off."
"If I recall correctly," I said, surprising myself with the level of venom in my voice.  "I was the one that saved the day back then.  I did pretty good with your boss a couple of weeks back too."
"And that's why we’re here just you and me, and there's not a bunch of capes with us.  It's why I agreed to this whole stupid thing."
He eyed me closely.
"You earned yourself a pass.  Like in Monopoly?  You have this one chance and it's all because of this one lady right there," he said, pointing out into the distance behind me.
I turned to see another helicopter coming towards us and whatever composure I may have had just left me.  It was hot, suddenly, and I had to check my breathing as the chopper came down on the helipad.  I could see her then, just as it was touching down.  Her hair was straight, shorter than when I had last seen her, and she wore large glasses and a light tan trenchcoat.  She thanked the pilot and opened the door herself.  Madelyne wore a dark medium length skirt and black patent leather pumps, and she gripped the railing tightly as she came down the stairs to meet me and Braxton.
And I doubt I even took a single breath the whole time it took her to walk towards us, because she didn't look at me, she didn’t face me at all.  That, and the conservative clothing and makeup told me all I needed to know, and my heart sank.
"Hello William," she said, her voice sweeter than I had remembered.
"Hello Madelyne," he responded and said "You have five minutes," as he walked away.
I swallowed hard, watching her as she saw him go, then finally she turned to me, her lovely face right before me.
"I thought I'd never see you again," I said nervously, and instantly regretted it.
She looked down bashfully, and I knew this had been a mistake.  I saw how hard this was for her, and how much courage it had taken her to come here, to face me, and to tell me what was so obvious, what everyone knew but I didn’t.  That this was all a lie, that she felt nothing for me.
"I'm sorry about everything."  Again, I wished I had said nothing, I wished she would just leave.
"I'm sorry too," she said looking up at me, and just then a flash of the dying sun slipped past my shoulders and lit her face, letting me catch of glimpse of her pained expression, the anguish in her green eyes.
I fought the overwhelming desire to just weep, to bow to the shame I felt for how I had disappointed her, and everyone else.  How pathetic my whole life had been.  I felt like nothing, like a wasted space, and worse because of the pity she had taken on me, of the love she had shown, it showed how wonderful she was, what a shining star she was and how bright she shone amongst the inky blackness of the sky.  A blackness in my heart.
Her hand touched my cheek and I shuddered from the gentle touch, her caress a warm welcome that made all the sorrow and shame fade.
"No," she said.  "Please don't.  Or I won't be able to hold myself."
But I couldn't stop the tears that welled and rolled down my cheeks, I couldn't bear to face her.  After all this time, after all I had been through, this was too much for me and seeing her cry as well was more than I could bear.
"I'm so sorry, Madelyne," I sobbed, lowering my gaze, wanting to turn away.  "For everything I put you through."
She placed her hand on my chest, overwhelmed herself, and took off her glasses.
"No," she said, but she couldn't speak, she couldn't get past the tears.  "You saved my life."
I shook my head, looking up at the dying sky.
"You saved mine," I whimpered, and closed my eyes as she stepped forward into me, and I held her.
"I'm sorry too," she muttered from deep in my chest clutching me as tightly as I held her.  I buried my face in her hair, overcome by her touch, by her fragrance, by the feel of her body pressed against mine.
She separated from me, though I had hoped we would hold forever, and smiled, reaching up to wipe my tears away.
"If they could see you now," she said.
I laughed, though I didn't know why.
Apogee pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face, taking care to not ruin her makeup.
"I love you," I wanted to say, to just put it out there, to not have any regrets left, but she spoke first and never gave me a chance.
"So," she began, taking a moment to compose herself.  "If I recall, you invited me to eat a place called Pancho's."
"What?" I said, but more out of nerves than anything, because it took me a split-second after I had verbalized to remember my offer to take her to this little place down in Baja California.  I had said it, out of restless energy, as we were facing the full weight of the world coming down on us on Hashima Island.  During a brief moment of peace before all hell broke loose, I had made the invitation.
Madelyne smiled as I came to the realization of what she meant, more so than just a date, what she was implying, of the new world she was opening up for me.
"We gotta cut it short," Braxton snapped in, his right index finger digging into his hear as he listened to his small earphone.  His voice was like a dagger piercing my heart.
"But..." I managed and I saw the pain in Madelyne's face, as if she knew this was coming.
"I know," she managed placing her hand on my chest again.
I looked at Braxton angrily, and back at Apogee.
"Zundergrub's still out there, kid," he said waving his arms to the chopper pilot, who dove into the machine and readied for takeoff.
"Dale, I have to protect my mother."
I nodded, feeling the ground fall beneath me, the promise fading away.
"She really liked you," she said.  "And I told you she was a tough cookie."
"I love you," I said, unconcerned with Braxton standing next to us, with the price that would be paid when she wouldn't respond in kind.
She cocked her head to the side, eyeing me closely, then smiled and said "I love you too," before diving into my arms and kissing me.
Her lips were tender and her caress overpowering to all my senses.  She brought her arms up around my shoulders and held me tight as we kissed and kissed, and I felt transported upwards and away, like that empty feeling in your stomach when I had fired off the rockets, carrying Zundergrub up through the atmosphere, that breathless momentum that drove the oxygen from my lungs and sent me soaring.
She separated from us again, caressing my cheek.
"Please understand," she said, again crying.
I nodded, "I do."
Madelyne looked over at Braxton and dug into her pockets for her glasses and stared at me for a long time.
"I want you to know," she started, pausing as she searched for the right words.  "I want you to know how proud of you I am."
Then she left me, a shattered mess, turning towards the helicopter that would carry her away while I wiped the tears from my face.
"Thanks," I told Braxton after she had entered the chopper and it lifted off.
"Well, it's not that easy," he said.  "Everything has a price."
I looked at him.  "And I'm ready to pay it."
"Good, that's real good," he began.  "So first we're going to drop the whole Blackjack moniker.  Then we'll come up with something else, and roll you into a small regional group.  You'll do 'hard time' as we call it, and you'll like it."
He meant to leave the past behind, to wipe the slate clean.  But I couldn't.  That was my penance, that was the price I had to pay.  I had to go on as I was, with everyone knowing who I had been, to draw a stark contrast with what I was going to become.
"We do that for a few years, and you prove yourself-"
"Braxton," I said, interrupting him.
"Huh?"
"If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do this my way."  I looked at him for a moment, making sure he understood, then I jumped off the building, leaving behind an uncertain future, soaring towards the promise of a new tomorrow.
And for the first time in my life, I felt alive.

Blackjack Hero Journal #4

Okay, back from a one week getaway with the family that we do every year. Well, going on 3 years. Last year Villain was out, and July was the month when it took off. I'd look at the numbers for the sales at dinner time and freak out. I mean, this isn't the kind of book that should sell, much less sell well.

Last year I was also mid-Wayward and on a mission. I dedicated 5-7 hours a day and came home from the 5 day trip with over 100 pages of first draft stuff.

This year I blew it. I had plans, I had a bunch of started scenes that I planned to pickup...This was a 6 day trip, and I hoped to do at least as much as last year. I did fifteen pages. One Five. No excuse or particular reason, I'm just working on a different kind of story this year, and unlike 1 and 2, I don't have the end.

I work that way, with a final goal, mostly in chronological order, adding missing scenes later as they're needed. I have the ending, which for Villain was an rpg game I had run. For Wayward, I had the entire finale in my head, plotted out to the last detail. I knew what I wanted to do, and then it was just question of having the free time to sit down and do it.

Three is different. I don't know the ending. I mean, I have two ideas for the final act, but neither gets me hot and heavy. So I'm working with a fully plotted first act, a partially envisioned second, and no idea about the end. It's real important to do something different than what's expected, which would be a head to head throwdown with Epic, engineered by Mr. Haha. Hell, that's what I want, too, but how full of shit would that be? I mean, we saw them go at it already, what's Epic going to do? Learn some Brazilian Ju Jitsu?

It's different because I want to do it different. Different is what's worked with Blackjack until now. Know what would be more painful and real than that kind of perma-anymosity? Have them have to work together. Now that would suck, but it'd be awesome at the same time. THAT's what I'm looking for about the ending. I don't want to just have some crazy fight among the heroes, then everyone stops, looks up and sees the Lightbringer's New Army (tm) arriving on Earth to take us over...

...actually, that doesn't sound so bad.

Okay, two related pet peeves. Why do aliens always have to land in the United States? Specifically LA or NYC? If you see images of population distribution, they'd be much more interested in the area around India than in us. If I'm an alien general with even a slight bit of military knowledge, and the goal is to subjugate/destroy the population, I drop my ships there. It's mentioned in one of the funniest lines of Monsters vs. Aliens, but they keep sending their Chitauri to NYC as if that would settle the issue. Silly aliens.

But say they get wise, and instead of land in the US, they go after India or China, places where population density is nearly off the charts. They find a nice open field, land their dropships and muster the troops in nice even rows...THEN GET OBLITERATED. I hate that movies totally disregard our conventional military save for an F-22 flyby so it can fire an AIR TO AIR missile into the huge Kaiju or alien dropship, only to get crushed 30 seconds later. I loved Pacific Rim, but those Kaiju would last 30 seconds against a flight of AC-130H Spectres. I have a cousin that flew those suckers, their 105s have a range in KILOMETERS. The Kaiju might not ever actually see the planes hurling 105mm shells into it's chest cavity, sending it back to Hell.

Then there's the B-52. We have dozens of them in our inventory and they can drop 20,000+ lbs of bombs, cruise missiles and anything else we can think of. Imagine a flight of those coming overhead as the alien army is forming up. Ground beef, that's what you'd get.

I know, they had some reasons for them being unwilling to fight the Kaiju with conventional weapons, namely their blood, and the Chitauri in Avengers came by surprise, overwhelming everything that was available at the time. I imagine that amazing final sequence of the Avengers must've taken place over the course of an hour at the most, little time for any reasonable response. But it drives me nuts when they do that. I'm a huge fan of mecha since my father got me a Mazinger Z 3 foot tall figure when I was eight. I mean, I wrote mecha in both books and I had my whole clan frothing at the mouth, waiting to see Pacific Rim...but some of these things tend to add up.

I'm ranting, I know, but this stuff pisses me off. They never do it right. They've either got no time cause it's a movie, or don't spend the effort to make things more realistic. In stories like Fallen Skies, V and others, it's up to a small band of "the resistance" to do what billions of dollars in conventional weapons cannot. Why is it always up to F-22 air to air missiles, and not everything else that we have in our arsenal (I'M TALKING TO YOU MICHAEL BAY). Hell, if you were to believe the Transformers movies, our army only has M-16s or the odd Bradley. Do people know that Bradleys can fire 30mm depleted uranium shells? So does the A-10 with it's Avenger cannon. Imagine Megatron getting a belly full of lead from a flight of A-10s. Or pegged by SABOT rounds by a column M1A2 Abrams tanks?

That's what bothers me. I know why they do it, whether plotwise, or because that's the story they've chosen to tell, but to me our military is something wholesome and honorable, in particular the soldiers of all ranks that risk everything for us, and I hate that they're thrown aside as incompetent for the purpose of a plotline. When are we going to see a book or movie that takes their effort and work seriously, without over-glorifying or drowning it in bullshit?

Maybe in Blackjack three, though I'm not sure how exactly. I think it's going to be an invasion, sure, but after that I'm at a loss.

How about this: Blackjack, Apogee, SuperD...the whole bunch of them...come in hard and fast to stop the alien landing. You figure they'd be able to respond much faster than any military unit in the world, right? The author gave SuperD a plane that's as fast as plot needs it to be :) Anyway, they come in and they get CREAMED

How about that? What if we have to rely on the boys and girls in fatigues to fight this one for us? What if the supers are more of a distraction than anything...maybe going for the leadership, for the Lightbringers themselves?

Hell, I think I have my final act, after all.


And if you're wondering what I think about them:

Pacific Rim 9/10
Avengers 10/10
Transformers series 3/10
Falling Skies 4/10
V 7/10
A-10 Warthog II 100/10 :)

Blackjack Hero Journal #3

A lot of comments I'm getting about book 2 tend to regret the lack of Apogee. Even at the end, where she appears, it's just for a glimpse. I'm glad for that, you guys liked her as much as I did to write, but her absence in book 2 was deliberate. I wanted Dale to go on a journey of self-discovery and to realize that she's only one of the rewards from crossing the finish line.

I know the relationship and his/her feelings are idealized, in a world that isn't. In a way, it rather doesn't match, but that's sort of what we go through when we meet someone, or am I wrong? We're taught through BS movies and TV that love is some holy concept when in truth it's much grittier (and screamier), and so much better than that crap.

So a large part of book three is crossing that gap, from what we idealize, what we envision out of a relationship, and the harsh realities of one. I don't know about you guys, but that was a huge learning experience for me, and I think it will be for Dale. He's kind of a man-child that never had to grow up. Now he wants to but doesn't know how. I can relate from personal experience, and I know a lot of guys do too. It's sort of the Tyler Durden syndrome - we're men who don't know how to be men. Most of us just pretend and get by.

As far as Apogee, I realize now that what I intended was good, but not having her made the book worse. She's really shining in book three, and appears from the first couple of pages and throughout. Writing them falling in love was pretty easy and a lot of fun, writing how they get to like each other, to know each other, is turning out to be quite difficult, and the greatest time I've had thus far as a writer.

Oh, and getting into the Apogee mythos is turning out a lot of really cool and fun characters. Think about it, a girl like her's been in the business awhile, and in that time, she's made some enemies...and I bet some of those were stuck on Utopia when Zundergrub let the whole lot loose.

Blackjack Hero Journal #2

Bad week. Little sick, but no excuses. Added another twenty pages to the mix, good stuff. Reintroduced Powermaster (remember him?), but with a surprising new spin. Finally got around to writing the Midwest All-Stars, who are more fun to write than they should be. I had no idea what I was going to do with Red Quiver until I literally got to that page. Yes, the Midwest All-Stars have two archers (since Superdynamic made Blackjack pickup his bow again).

I had a contest over on Facebook to change the name of Despoil (which by the way, I HATE. Have I told you guys?), and the response was pretty awesome. I ended up falling in love with Lilith in part cause of Cheers/Kramer - LILITH! - but also because the way the character is coming about, she's not an established character with a full name yet, despite the fact that she's the first Class-X super since the Original Seven. Besides that one, I loved most of the other names you guys came up with, so I'm going to add them to my list. Look for most of them to make the book in one way or another. Some of them were pretty damned clever.

Another thing that made my output a little crummy this week is that I was beset with doubt. Not about Blackjack, but about some of the other projects I'd like to work on. It's a funny/strange thing to have too much to do, then you get all depressed and then you don't accomplish anything. Are those stage two and three of procrastination according to the DSM-IV? I'm suffering from "wanna-do-too-much-itis" and its killing my focus.

See, with the time I had after I was 'done' with Blackjack 2 and the time it took to get polished by my writing partner Josh, I started screwing around and wrote a few things. One was Heart of the Jungle, an adventure fantasy inspired by the Indiana Jones movies, and the Tomb Raider and Uncharted games. I wrote about 100 pages of it, before time ran out and I had to turn my attention back to Blackjack, but as I was finishing that first act, I came to an epiphany on the whole idea, discovering an ancient Inca "code" that would serve my story. I'm dying to return to that book. I love writing Tommy Walker. The guy just speaks to me and tells me what to put down on the page. And Alicia? It shouldn't be so natural for me to write a uber-rich, cover-girl debutante trying to renew herself after a decade of drug abuse and sexual excess. I know how to channel my inner Paris...

Then, I had another pause while my editor finished the book and came up with another idea, something shorter and serialized, something futuristic, but trying to show the dark veneer beneath the utopian bullcrap. It's based on a story I wrote ages ago, but more defined, and as I started to put together the first episode, much darker than anything I have ever written before. It's called Interstellar Overdrive and the idea is to do it quarterly, as long as it doesn't interfere with the other works. It should be a shorter work, maybe 80-120 pages per episode, in an ongoing story that we're looking to wrap up in a dozen or so episodes. When done, we intend to put together a show bible and pitch it to the TV networks.

IO is as close to a buddy cop movie as I'll ever do, uniting two friends who are veterans of a recent intergalactic conflict, who have no one else to count on but themselves as the past comes calling with a vengeance. We have episode one almost done (it's out of my hands except for tinkering), and I finished the final touches of episode two Friday night.

The fear is straying to far from Blackjack. I owe you guys and I'm not going to leave you hanging. Blackjack is my number one priority and will continue to be, while at the same time pulling away from it for little bits when I need a change of pace. Episode one of IO took me awhile, but Episode two came together in a couple of weeks, working on the side, so I think I can do both for now.

Blackjack 3's outline is kind of in the air at the moment. I have a strong acts one and two, but my five act structure might not endure. In part, it's because of some of the awesome comments and suggestions you guys have been throwing my way. It's impossible to get such good ideas and discard them outright. This week, I plan on finishing act one of the third book, and try to finish the epilogue. When I have those two done, I'll get them online to you like I've done before. It's a hell of a nasty cliffhanger, if I can manage to get my ideas down on paper properly, and I know you'll like it.

As far as Dale himself, things are changing. As you saw above, or maybe you've read in a book 3 teaser I spread around a few months back, Superdynamic is kind of "in charge" of Blackjack, and in order for him to take the next step in the transition from villain to hero, is making him jump through some hoops. For his part, Dale will do whatever it takes, he's ecstatic about the possibility and for the first time, he's playing nice, being a good boy...but that never works for Dale, does it? His most positive kindness and good deed has a way of turning around and biting him in the arse.

The world might be willing to forgive our transgressions and trespasses if we show contrition, or go through the long process of redemption, but that is usually the exception to the rule. As we've seen many times with misdeeds of people like Charlie Sheen, Chris Brown, Michael Richards, Lindsey Lohan and now Paula Dean, beware when you anger the populace.

Okay, enough pontificating. Next week, Sunday, act one of Blackjack 3...now to think of excuses for my impending failure!