I took some time away from writing that lasted at least six months, and in that time I had very little energy to keep this page up. In fact, had it not been for a gentleman reaching out to me to complain about my using one of his Rock Island photos without his permission, I may very well have forgotten this existed at all. Such is the life of an imbecile.
Meanwhile, I continued scouring the city for a decent lunch, while also remaining active with, what some might call, photography. I don't call what I do photography - I call it "taking pictures of shit I like to look at" and "archiving a vanishing history in a town that could give a shit but doesn't." In case you're wondering, in order for me to classify someone as a "photographer", they must:
- Go to school entirely too long and major in something pointless; i.e. Journalism, English, Liberal Arts, etc.
- Learn, and gratuitously display one's knowledge of, the increasingly esoteric minutiae of camera handling until most people are either bored or offended.
- Don't just take pictures - that's for chumps; take photographs.
- Be ready at the drop of a hat to easily and sincerely argue against digital photography because it's ruining the medium, while secretly harboring a deep seated lust for its convenience.
- Struggle with bills, find one's self under precarious circumstances taking 'photos', desire a coffee table book all of one's own, offer to do a few weddings but end up realizing you hate that kind of work, and all while trying to explain to your parents/ grandparents/ siblings/ spouse that you're going to make some REAL money one of these days, by god.
As you can see, I only fit a few of those and thus, I am no photographer. I'm a writer, and not a very good one at that. Besides, my friends who are photographers (I don't actually have any) would cuss me for pretending that my picture-taking was anything more than a self-absorbed escape. To which I would reply, "So is my writing." There's that.
So I've started writing a new story, which may turn out to be a novella, or perhaps a novel. This may feel like a foray into Cyberpunk, something I've enjoyed but never considered writing. The work is tentatively titled The Resurrectionist, and takes place in the near future; we'll say 2017-2019.
The HaniKama Entertainment System is all the rage, introducing a new kind of virtual reality gaming unlike any other. Tapping into players' neural networks directly, the HKES provides a playing experience for able-bodied, as well as disabled, players across the world, which is all at once immersive, emotional and physical. Even more exciting are the home-brew games created for the HKES, allowing everyone from big-money corporations to little Johnny in his parents' basement to create a game for you to play. However, like anything else fantastic, there's a seedy underside to the system's capabilities which unscrupulous programmers can exploit. Harmon is one such programmer who has figured out a way to shut people off while under the influence of this powerful system. But when he becomes tangled with a brutal organized criminal and attempts to reverse what he's done, he soon realizes there's more happening than a simple game. In fact, humans have found a way to tap into other dimensions, some of which contain sinister inhabitants already quite familiar with humanity; all of which are hungry for human pain.
Yeah, basically light summer reading for grandma. I'll post more as it comes. Meanwhile, I'll try to be a more frequent visitor and contributor. If you have friends (I know I don't), pass this website on to them. Get more people interested in my garbage. I'm sure if the American people can listen to Donald Trump and find a message, they might think I'm the messiah.