Sortmind Blog – Michael D. Smith

The World’s First Nuclear-Powered Dinosaur, by Mickey Smith

Posted on April 11, 2020 by Michael D. SmithApril 11, 2020

I’m not sure why my fifth-grade self chose to channel in this morning, but I awoke with this title and I knew I had to write this down. I had no idea what this would be about beyond the first couple paragraphs, but it was as if Mr. Fifth Grade guided the plot from then on. The story comes complete with fifth-grade memes, including the mention of an exact date and an exact city, a few spelling errors even where I knew better, and a quick happy ending. Then Mike asked Mickey to illustrate the beast in question as he so often did for his stories.

Chapter 1. Plans

Billy Thorsen knew that kids called him a twisted gernius, but he didn’t know what that meant, and he hated to use the dictionary so he didn’t.

What was important was his science project for Mr. Marshall’s science class. If he could get it to work, then it would be the world’s first nucleaar dinosauer.

Getting the uranium to power it was no problem, since his dad was a spy and had been stealing enrichhed uranium from the Iranians for years now. So Billy was actually helping his country at the same time.

He worked and he worked on his plans and soon he was done.

Chapter 2. The Monster Revealed

It was still dark when Billy went into the back yard right before dawn on Saturday, April 11 at 5:12 AM, and he pulled the big blanket (actually twenty blankets he sewed together in secret) off the Tyrannosaurus Rex which stood thirty feet high. Then Billy pressed the remote control switch which would activate the monster.

Chapter 3. The Destriction of Des Moines, Iowa

Soon the lumbering beast made its way across the town until it came to downtown Des Moines, Iowa. Someone had told Billy there was a new spaceport there but it was nowhere to be found, so the T. Rex, unable to figure out what to do next, stomped on buildings, cars, buses, trains and people until the entire city was in flames. Then it stalked out to find the spaceport.

Chapter 4. At the Spaceport

Billy knew that he needed to find his dinosaur so he figured it would go the spaceport like Billy had wanted him to. But he went so fast that he forgot his remote control.

Soon at the spaceport you could see millions of U.S. jets blasting the beast with bombs. The government did not want a nuckleat-powered dinosaur stealing their best ship, which was supposed to go to Mars today.

Billy found the monster eating an entire hanger full of U.S. jets and people screaming everywhere. He told the dinosaur to stop but the monster just laughed and said, “I AM GOING TO MARS.”

Chapter 5. On to Mars!

The men on the ship quickly got off once they saw a sixty foot Tyrannosaurus Rex climbing up the side of their ship. The monster had to wreck the whole inside of the control room to get enough space.

Then it fell asleep. This gave Billy time to go home and get his remote control.

But it was too late! The ship launchecd right on time with a giant Tyrannosaurs Rez at the controls!

Chapter 6. Into the Sun!

Billy had a radio attached to his remote control and he tried to talk sense into the scaly beast but the monster did not listen. Finally Billy said: “There’s not enough power on that ship to go to Mars! It will fall into the sun!”

At this the monster got afraid. “I will fall into the sun?” it asked anxiouassly.

“Yes, unless you use the nuclaar reactor inside you to power the ship!”

Chapter 7. Landing on Mars

The monster used his NULCARR RECATOR to power the ship. Soon the ship came to Mars and landed. The Tyrannosaurs Rex got out and liked what he saw. Little did he know that he had really saved the human race because he showed how to get to Mars.

When thousands of Earth people came to Mars the next day in a fleet of spaceships, they knew they had to be grateful to the dinosaur for showing them how to do it. They made a huge park for the monster to live in and they elected Billy president of Mars.

The End

The … 2020–Soul … Institute–Clean-Up!!!!!!

Posted on April 10, 2020 by Michael D. SmithApril 10, 2020

Computer technician Himal Steina realizes his dream of a mythic return to the sanctuary of a vast foggy university of Soul when he’s appointed Writer in Residence at the Soul Institute and falls in love with one of its numerous faculty goddesses, unaware that he’s blundering into a catastrophic jumble of power lust, romantic chaos, drug abuse, and gang violence.

The Soul Institute is my best work, my flagship novel. Last month, five years after its 2015 publication, I reread my paperback copy, still enthralled with how marvelously this story unfolds; in fact, it’s hard to believe I wrote this thing. Yet I also noted, in growing dismay, that some of my old writing habits, mostly over-punctuation, slowed me down or distracted me. The novel, I decided, needed a tune-up to more gloriously showcase its flagshippy essence.

I decided not to get into rewriting consciousness, though; no cutting sections, amplifying others, or eliminating characters. I knew the existing structure of The Soul Institute already worked very well, and that I could perfect the novel with the reduction of exclamation points as well as unneeded ellipses and hyphens. I’d allow for minor text changes for better expression and, obviously, for error corrections, but I wanted to keep this project simple. The 2020 update is a severe copyediting exercise, not a second edition. It’s essentially the same novel as 2015.

Where on earth do our literary foibles and bad writing habits come from? Why can’t we readily see around our own corners? It’s difficult to confess the existence of these old habits, but on the other hand, I am moving forward, and my recent work has benefited from these realizations.

And so, more aware of past idiosyncrasies, I began my Soul Institute Word edits with search-and-replace routines, but then discovered I was inadvertently creating fresh errors. That mandated two more close read-throughs, the kind of detail work that thoroughly reacquaints you with your story.

Exclamation points don’t belong in the narrative unless there’s a truly good reason. Though I’d reduced this old habit greatly by 2015, somehow it escaped me that it still persisted in 2015 narrative sections. Dialog is a different matter, because sometimes characters are shouting and upset, but even there, valid reductions can make the scene more real.

I found that changing the exclamation point to a period was usually easy and natural, and the result read much better. At other times, the original meaning seemed lost after the change. As a made-up example:

What did it matter? She was dying!
The original style, coming across as overdone.

What did it matter? She was dying.
Here changing to a period loses some force.

What did it matter? She was dying.
An italics workaround reinstalls some force.

What did it matter? She was dying, wasn’t she?
Revises into a slightly different mood.

As far as that fourth category goes, sometimes exclamation point removal forced me to rewrite much better sentences. This was all quite educational.

Where the hyphens and ellipses come in: from the vantage point of five years I noticed that my characters often indulged in dialog overkill. Although the following is an exaggeration, characters might say things like:

“Well … really … I–I–I don’t know … what I meant, really … was–uh … I mean … if you really … think that … wow, I mean, what–what I–I’m … trying to say … I–I mean …”

I cleaned that up!

I also corrected a few other older habits I hadn’t fully excised by 2015:

ALL CAPS. Sometimes, not terribly often, I had characters SHOUTING AT EACH OTHER IN UPPER CASE. This is simply not necessary. Exceptions are the chapters where a character is writing a story or an email; some of these character authors get pretty overwrought.
Overuse of italics. In 2015 TSI I’d already overcome a former attachment to italicized thinking. A small amount is a spice, but in some previous works I’d piled so much salt on the text that, well, you get the idea. This wasn’t really a problem in 2015 , but I found that some character thoughts did work better without the italics.
I also had one entirely italicized chapter of a character’s thoughts. That was hard to read, and I’m not sure why I stuck with that, because normally I’m disgusted by the entirely italicized chapter, which an author usually intends to be supremely meaningful, or spooky or dreamlike, or else to indicate a Really Important Flashback you better pay attention to. It was a no-brainer to render it into regular text, and the chapter emerged so much better.

2020 is in fact about 3,000 words shorter than 2015, but most of this is due to reducing ellipses (…), which count as a word, and eliminating the above-mentioned character nattering,

So the flagship novel is in much better shape. Again, it’s the same novel, with no scenes, characters, or plot changed. I’m extremely pleased with it. The updated version from Sortmind Press has been uploaded to all sales channels:

Amazon eBook
Smashwords eBook (which ports to other channels like Barnes and Noble)
Amazon trade paperback
lulu.com mass market paperback

TSI Background – and some alternate covers:

Ancient Predictions for Spring 2020

Posted on March 23, 2020 by Michael D. SmithMarch 23, 2020

Celestial disasters of the 2020’s set the background for my Jack Commer science fiction series. While I’m not offering direct comments about the COVID-19 crisis, I’ve been struck by the odd timing of my childhood predictions about 2020.

When my eighth-grader self wrote the unfinished rough draft of The Martian Marauders, Fall 1965 to Spring 1966, he unconsciously followed a useful dictum of setting the story so far in the future that he wouldn’t have to worry–so he thought–about discovering whether his predictions would ever come true. So he could offhandedly note: “In 2020 many famous asteroids were flung into the sun,” as the characters in the book face an incomprehensible breakdown of the solar system across a fear-ridden decade, ending with the improbable collision of Jupiter and Saturn and a war destroying the Earth itself in 2033.

When I decided to complete the unfinished childhood novel decades later, and in the early 2000’s extended the story through a Jack Commer series, I stuck with 2020 as the start of the breakdown, violating my own maxim of pushing the story far into the future. I guess I thought 2020 was the far future. I even toyed with the idea of writing an unrelated novel about what might happen if my science fiction predictions were in fact to come true–if I’d inexplicably channeled knowledge of future calamity through the Jack Commer series.

As 2020 crept closer, I began to realize that my SF series would soon become dated, but I really don’t have any interest in revising the books. The chronology is just too complicated and the first six books are published anyway, though I have to admit I’d like to get my hands on the first three for some editing and polishing. Last year I figured that some light finagling might let me start the disasters in 2024 instead of 2020, but I quickly saw that would just buy four more years and soon the books would be out of date again. My one concession to the approach of 2020 was to jump the chronology ahead in Book Four, Collapse and Delusion. By 2075 rejuvenation technology has enabled all the characters to age into their seventies, yet still look and feel as if they’re thirty-five.

The bright side is that my series can now be considered like the classic science fiction of the ’40’s and ’50’s, where brave space entrepreneurs have colonized Mars by 1970. Those are still enjoyable reads and I hope Jack Commer holds up as well.

In any case placing world-shattering crises in the far future may be too comfortable an exercise for the science fiction writer. How can we postulate how those hapless victims of future dystopias will really act and feel? Our books, films and TV series show impossibly gifted heroes tackling one civilization-annihilating catastrophe after another and coming back next installment for more. Wouldn’t they all be sedated in psychiatric wards by now?

I didn’t really think the whole world would face a shock similar to my Jack Commer 2020. As time-traveling 2036 Joe from Nonprofit Chronowar (first draft 2000, published 2013) tells the May 2020 Committee to End Suffering on Planet Earth:

Joe cleared his throat. “So … February 9, 2020. Just three months ago for you all. Minor planet Ceres suddenly drops out of orbit–and accelerates directly into the sun! All within a few hours! Nobody can believe it. The astronomers and physicists are baffled, to say the least. How can Ceres, the largest asteroid in the solar system, come a complete halt in its orbit and start accelerating into the sun? A lot more than just simple gravity’s involved. There’s no way Ceres would’ve fallen in on its own in just nine hours. There was deliberate acceleration …”

“Okay, what’s the point?” Ranna snapped. “They haven’t figured out about the asteroids yet, but I’m sure they will.”

“Do you have the slightest idea how much energy it takes to bring a 630 mile-wide planetoid to a dead stop in its orbit? Or to accelerate it down? The Reamers quoted one astronomer explaining this as a quantum possibility or some such crap, a one-in-a-googol event. Did he shut up on March 9, 2020, when Pallas, the second largest asteroid in the solar system, stopped dead–and shot down into the sun as well.”

The faces were gray with shock. Joe did recall feeling sick and scared when he heard about the second asteroid. Jack’s advice had been to treat the whole thing logically, to study his physics and prepare to move out into the solar system and study the phenomenon up close. Somehow Joe succeeded in following Jack’s example. He spent weeks grimly keeping a mounting panic at bay about what would happen when the Earth itself came to a dead stop in its orbit …

“Then April 9, 2020. Vesta, the third largest asteroid in the solar system, shoots straight into the sun!”

The audience was doubled up in mourning for those big balls of rock they’d never given a thought to but which, once lost, represented something like the loss of an arm, or a leg–or a cousin–or a child–

“We know, look, we know,” Ranna said. “We can only hope …”

“That your precious CTESOPE can do something?” Joe mocked the nonprofit lady, ashamed of his cruelty, unable to resist it.

“Dammit, I didn’t know about any asteroids, none of us did, I just wanted a Committee to End Suffering, was that so bad? Who the hell are you anyway, to wreck everything like this?”

“Today’s May 8th. Tomorrow’s May 9th. Anybody want to tell me the name of the fourth largest asteroid in the solar system?”

Silence again. Finally the Urside youngster said: “Juno. They’re saying it’ll be Juno … on the 9th.”

“That’s correct,” Joe said. “On the 9th, Juno goes into the sun.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh …” came from the audience.

I can’t get over February fueling a growing sense of unease, and March bringing full-blown alarm. And now Joe fills us in on April and May. Fortunately the Martians put the brakes on their first incompetent (and, unknown to them, software-hacked) experiments with Amplified Thought after May 2020. Yet more uncanny events were slated for the human race, and the deep disquiet grew.

Just to test fiction writers’ easy flirtations with apocalypse, consider my older blog post, Dystopias—And I’ve Written My Share. It does seem apt.

I seem to be asking compassion for the future. Is there such a thing?

Akard Draft One Art Objects

Posted on January 10, 2020 by Michael D. SmithJanuary 10, 2020

It must be highly unusual for an author to post a blurb for a book he emphatically does not want to sell. But I’ve been so pleased with how this four-part paperback version of Akard Draft One turned out that I just had to show off these pretty art objects. Somehow they turned out exactly as I’d imagined they would. I’m surprised how involved I got with this printing project, which also honed my publication technologies.

Why Did I Do This?

The rough draft of Akard Drearstone was my first breakthrough effort after two practice novels. I threw everything into this book, and its writing led me in undreamed-of directions. It’s odd to wonder what I would’ve been like, how many unanswered pressures I might still carry around, if I hadn’t spewed out 1,587 rough draft pages of Akard Drearstone from February 1976 to March 1978.

I had no backup copy of the rough draft. In the era of typed manuscripts I balked at photocopying 1,587 pages of something that over the years I rewrote over and over. But the typescript was psychically important and so, mainly to make a copy, in 2011-2012 I finally scanned and proofed a digital Akard Draft One, understanding I had to be leaving plentiful errors.

Then last month came the idea to use lulu.com to print Akard Draft One with all its flaws. Not for sale, just to print a couple copies and know it’s stored out there. I envisioned a single thick mass market volume with tiny type, but that proved impractical and, keeping a readable Times New Roman 10 font and having much fun making four separate covers, I made a four-part version.

I ran my current manuscript checklist on the 2012 scan, fixing hundreds of minor formatting errors, but soon realized there was no way I could readily make this thing perfect. The rough draft wasn’t faultless, and this digital/print copy isn’t either. Oddly, though, the text seems in basically good shape. I had to check the original typescript a few times, but mostly avoided that.

The master Times New Roman 12 double-spaced manuscript comes to 2,384 pages, 687,033 words. The four paperback mass market-size volumes are 650-700 pages each.

The Draft One Plot

A sudden rising star in 1977, Akard Drearstone wrecks his fifteen minutes of fame on the Johnny Carson show, then languishes as a bank clerk in Houston until the spring of 1979, when he meets sociopathic bass guitarist Jim Piston. Their collaboration rekindles his old fame and they set up an art commune north of Austin with two new band members. The novel meanders for fifteen hundred pages as the four rockers battle corrupt businessmen, freak out on psychedelics, get busted by mysterious narc agencies, stage demented concerts on the beach or at the scene of car accidents in Houston, debate the merits of the new philosophy of Exponentialism with a sexy writer for a Sunday rotogravure magazine, postpone working on their album in favor of a three-month-long videotape, write backbiting novels which get inserted into the narrative, and finally break apart in personality conflicts, psychotic violence, confusion and revenge trips.

The Basic Akard History

The idea of a hippie art commune was a vague life plan as I approached graduation from Rice University in 1974. But in getting married, moving to Dallas, and taking a dull, stressful insurance accounting job as I sought to start a writing career, I soon realized the cosmic impracticality of that idea. But I could write about the commune and create a universe of plot and characters around it. I could split my personality into four musicians and examine each part in depth.

Draft Two, May 1978 to December 1979, saw a much improved if still sprawling novel. Though I declared Akard Drearstone done and began typing a manuscript for submission to publishers, I aborted the effort in 1981, finally acknowledging I’d outgrown it. I had new writing to explore.

In 1985, after two more novels, I wrote the story “Chapter 32” to psychically end Akard’s thirty-one insanely long chapters. “Chapter 32” later served as the conclusion of a vastly altered 1994 Akard Drearstone. 2005, 2010, 2011, and 2012 revisions brought more perspective until 2017 pushed out the final published Akard.

I definitely don’t think of Draft One as the real writing. The final 2017 Akard is far superior, the karmically done expression. Consider that I would’ve had no motive in March 1978 to type up an exact copy of the rough draft. No, my desire was always to revise it into a workable novel. But this first foundation was an amazing experience to have lived through, and I find myself proud of the young man who dared compose it.

I took a lot of chances with the rough draft. I committed all the major literary crimes throughout, but the text does hold my interest despite the fact that I think of Akard Draft One as one good novel, one bad novel, and three mediocre novels maddeningly swirled together.

The 2017 published Akard Drearstone finally pulled out that one good novel.

The final 2017 Akard Drearstone

Akard Draft One covers

Sortmind Press at Smashwords End of Year Sale

Posted on December 21, 2019 by Michael D. SmithDecember 21, 2019

The 3rd annual Smashwords End of Year Sale runs December 25 through January 1, 2020. The eBook versions of my literary novels Akard Drearstone, Sortmind, and The Soul Institute, as well as my science fiction novella The First Twenty Steps, can be obtained for free from Smashwords during this time.

	Akard Drearstone A cinder block falls on Akard Drearstone’s head and he trades his print shop job for lead guitar. As the four members of the Akard Drearstone Group face the onslaught of national fame at their rural Texas commune, twelve-year-old Jan Pace nurses her crush for the narcissistic, paranoid bassist Jim Piston.
	Sortmind A startup company’s telepathic Sortmind app Mindwipes ten thousand users in the city of Canterra, and political factions battle in the streets over whether telepathy should be free or outlawed.
	The Soul Institute Himal Steina realizes his dream of a mythic return to the sanctuary of a vast foggy university of Soul when he’s appointed writer in residence at the Soul Institute and falls in love with one of its numerous faculty goddesses.
	The First Twenty Steps Just released from six years in prison, unsure how to meet basic needs, Harry finds a kindred spirit in Roberta, in thrall to a depraved motorcycle gang. But the motorcycle attack on the Dataflux computer building turns terrifying and surreal, and Harry and Roberta find themselves outgunned by another biker gang protecting a top secret hyperspatial supercomputer.

Paperbacks?

If you’d prefer paperback copies–not part of the sale–try these links:

Akard Drearstone – Amazon
Akard Drearstone – lulu.com mass market size
Sortmind – Amazon
Sortmind – lulu.com mass market size
The Soul Institute – Amazon
The First Twenty Steps – Amazon

My author page at Smashwords

Shackism v. Sortmind, Part Three

Posted on November 25, 2019 by Michael D. SmithNovember 25, 2019

The reader of the previous two blog posts must suspect that I’ve been building to some manifestation of Shackism v. Sortmind in my current life.

So I finally acknowledge a buried concept lurking for several years: the idiotic notion that I might only have one big novel left in me, one intended to sum up and justify my entire existence in suitably solemn tones, and that I must drop dead after finishing such a perfect expression.

God, that is stupid. An artistic poverty mentality, art gasping its last breaths in a long-term care facility, pitied by all. I am here to keep growing, keep discovering, keep expressing. There is no Final Stuff to sum up.

Thank you Mike of June 1971, and Mikes that followed, for reminding me about Shackism versus Sortmind. I’m a Shackist, here to work at each little aspect that comes along. No final Sortmind synthesis is needed. No life project or bucket list, no thematic or philosophical novel is called for. If I come up with interesting ideas as I keep exploring, they’ll just occupy appropriate spaces in the story. There is so much new energy here.

Yes, I want a long, evocative, expressive novel, but I can’t rehash the ones I’ve already done. I’ve caught myself unconsciously repeating myself, such as in my 2002 notes for another big novel that I finally realized would become a thoroughly dull ripoff of my flagship novel The Soul Institute.

For a couple years I’ve been compiling new novel notes, but though I enjoyed lifting some of them for Jack Commer Seven, Balloon Ship Armageddon, these notes have mostly adhered to Big Philosophical Summing Up consciousness, and have seemed grim and unwritable. They follow a somewhat amusing pattern in my note-making of positing a couple opening chapters with interesting action, and after that all is vague and boring.

I can admit that right now I don’t have any interesting characters. I don’t have a What If. But that’s got to be okay. I seem to have grasped the cork in the mind bottle that’s prevented me from really cutting loose.

Related to all the above is coming to the end of a long period of looking backwards. I date it as starting from a November 2006 evening rereading of what I thought was my glorious HTML version of Nonprofit Ladies, then gagging at its vulgarity and its unconsciousness. The shame I felt about that book led to a great revision into Nonprofit Chronowar, the unfolding of four more Jack Commer novels, and successful revisions of Akard Drearstone, Sortmind, and The Soul Institute.

Balloon Ship Armageddon as the last Commer novel dovetails with the end of looking backwards, though eighty pages cut from BSA Draft 1 could theoretically be a basis for a Jack Commer Eight. But if that ever comes about, it will be quite new.

The other recent theme is that so far publication from commercial publishers hasn’t led to sales/success/influence, and then again, neither has self-publishing. But now I’m not even sure what counts as a success. Have I ever been truly ready to have an influence or make a real contribution? My ego no longer seems to be in the way, and I do feel I’ve put some worthwhile stuff out there. If anything, The Soul Institute is out there.

Disparate themes seem to be tying together. That is intriguing.

The Soul Institute if anyone is interested

Shackism v. Sortmind, Part Two

Posted on November 24, 2019 by Michael D. SmithNovember 24, 2019

No reader can possibly be prepared for this blog author to include a snippet from a June 26, 1971 letter to my friend Sabin Russell. I didn’t realize at the time how important this paragraph would be in my life. It comments on a philosophy paper Sabin wrote at Yale, and refers to my just-completed story “Prom”:

My thought: In a short story I try to make a little aspect of life with which I am familiar clear, like the absurdity of falling in love with a teeny-bopper. But I can’t try to explain life because I’m not familiar with all of it. So I just work at every little aspect that comes along. That is art, “little-aspect-philosophy.” Big Philosophy tries to explain the world, and fails.

So my teen self really is the child father to the man. Here’s a take on it from eleven years later, 1982’s unpublishable novel Zarreich:

He stopped in front of a small wooden shack at the side of the road. There was no other structure near this place. The shack was more of a roadside display stand, it was open on the side facing the road, and a sort of primitive counter ran across the width of the shack. All the wood was black and rotting‑‑the carpentry of the thing hadn’t been precise even when this shack was new, Jim saw‑‑the counter, the walls, the roof, all were haphazardly measured and constructed. There was no sign on the place, but Jim had the feeling that it was some sort of foreign arts and crafts booth. He searched through the eighteen‑inch‑high layer of mud that swept up against the sides of the shack and ran through the tiny interior, and saw several pieces of pottery embedded in the soft brown mud. Brown pottery with black patterns in the brown mud in the black shack. Just then Jim saw a hand with three large rings on it.

His first dead body. Part of the forearm was visible‑‑a hairy man’s arm‑‑but the rest was buried. There was hardly enough space in the shack for the body to fit, Jim thought, but somehow this guy had managed it. A foreign craftsman. The rings were gold‑framed with stones of turquoise, crimson, and pale yellow. The place smelled of pungent clay. Jim stepped back from the shack, watching, feeling the sunlight fall all over the rotted sides and light up the soft mud. Some dragonflies hovered over pools of water, their dual blue wings shining. The brightness of the sun felt good on Jim’s eyes.

Jim loved this place. He began to think that the shack was a source of power for him. He had been drawn here, he had magically been stopped in front of it, he had admired the pots, he had found his attention focused on the hand with the rings. Superstitiously, Jim now wondered if he wasn’t seeing his own death‑‑that he had traveled through some sort of time warp to visit the scene of his drowning by mud some day in the future. Because certainly Jim might one day be a pottery craftsman with a shack on the outskirts of the city. It was certainly possible, and if so, this would be how he would go out. In the flashflood. After all, to be feeling this much power coursing through him could only mean that some sort of perspective on his own death was at hand. Besides, Jim was dreaming and all sorts of things were possible in dreams: time‑travel, one’s own death, shacks like this …

Jim turned to take in the whole wide desert. Recently washed by the flood, it was rapidly drying out again in the sun. A field of cactus stretched towards a series of mountains in the west. It was morning, his perceptions were totally new; he would have started running if the street weren’t so muddy. And he thought: now how did I know that this is all a dream? How do I know that? Is it the unbelievably intense beauty? Is it this power and death feeling? Is it some quality of my own thinking?

What does this all have to do with 2019? More later.

The Zarreich Blog Post

Shackism v. Sortmind, Part One

Posted on November 23, 2019 by Michael D. SmithNovember 23, 2019

Shackism: In the moment, flexible, aware, expectant. Creative disorder. Making pottery in a little shack at the side of an empty desert highway. Hit or miss power.

Sortmind: Deep intuition, synthesizing, order, explanations, philosophy, indexing. In harmonious contact with all aspects of existence. High power levels.

Two modes of consciousness collide in Sortmind when Edward Duce, urban terrorist and founder of the Open Telepathy Foundation, invades teenage artist Oliver’s apartment.

“You blew up the library? And–and all of downtown now?”

“Hey, I don’t buy guilt trips, Ollie. It’s just not me. Besides, you’re in this too. You’re now the executive officer of a terrorist organization.”

“But … I’m primarily an artist …”

“Don’t you think I’m not primarily an artist, too? Piss on it! And your salad sucks.” He leaned back to address the circles of oil lamp light on the ceiling. “Shit on this Sortmind. I’m losing access. You ask it a question–it screws up!”

“You … must’ve Mindwiped!”

“Not me, baby. Listen, man–we outfit you with a subscription when things die down. You and me, man–we’ll be invincible. Sorta like a Zen thing. Nobody’ll know where we’re coming from. This house’ll be like a meditation garden or something. We’ll call ourselves the Knights of Nothingness. And we’re plugged into Sortmind, knowing everything, or nothing, depending on your Zen quotient.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d be any good. I mean, I really hate that sort of thing. I still have flashbacks on the CTT trip, which was pure Sortmind.”

“That’s a bullshit attitude, Oliver. Change it immediately. How can we be the Knights of Nothingness if you’re such a pill? What’s wrong with goddamn telepathy?”

“Well … like the whole idea of having everything in the universe accessible like that, everything cross-indexed, and … I don’t know. I hate searching stuff. It’s so boring. I mean, there’s no room for creativity, I guess.” Oliver reddened. His meager opinions were so inarticulate in the face of Duce’s eloquence!

“That’s shitass shit. You’re afraid of a cross-indexed universe? That’s what mankind’s been aiming for since Day One. You ever download the Sortmind program itself? Man, that thing’s like a million DNA molecules all joined up. It’s mindboggling! It’s like God! And I know a trick or two about God, ’cause I was a minister. You gotta appreciate the whole universe, and it’s damn complicated, so you better get used to it.”

“But my approach has just been to … I mean, I don’t know if there really should be any sort of overarching philosophy. I know some people seem to need that, but I have this image, I guess, of how I work best.” Oliver waved at his paintings. “It’s like I’m just waiting by the side of the road, in this little shack, and things come along. I just work on things as they come, just one at a time. Like … like in a little shack, making pottery or whatever … waiting for things to come along …”

“Yeah, we’ll call your philosophy Shackism,” Duce sneered. “Well, lemme tell you, boy, it sucks! Shackism can’t ever compare to God! And your salad sucks, too! Tastes like puke! Gemme some real food, man!”

Oliver will require a long walk and another half hour to shake off his denial about his best friend’s death, and he’ll return to deliver a verdict to Mr. Duce.

More background on Sortmind the novel

Jump Grenade in Paperback

Posted on October 21, 2019 by Michael D. SmithOctober 21, 2019

Sixteen-year-old Billy Bolamme, Junior Dropout Basketball League star, joins shamanic forces with Guenevere “Uni” Ryder, fellow high school dropout, art gallery receptionist, and unwitting accomplice to thirty thousand murders. Berserk at missing his five hundredth point in a row, ridiculed by radio announcer Frank Chester over the arena P.A. system, Billy batters Chester and ties him up, leaving him to stare at two armed hand grenades on his desk. But then Billy sees that he’s left the P.A. system on, and that his threat has been conveyed to ten thousand witnesses. He proceeds to blow Chester up anyway, then destroys the entire sports arena to erase all witnesses to his crime.

In addition to its Kindle format eBook incarnation, this short and bizarre exploration of psychological Shadow is now available in two paperback sizes:

Trade: Amazon, 6” x 9”, 154 pages, $6.99
Mass market: Lulu.com, 4.25” x 6.88”, 210 pages, $5.99

Billy is huge, meaty, and psychopathic. He wears camouflage shorts with a dozen hand grenades at his belt. His father Hiram, coach of the team, is an ineffectual, dreamy art gallery owner who started the Junior Dropout Basketball League with his wife Madeline, director of the Bolamme Center for Hurt Feelings.

Jump Grenade is published by Sortmind Press.

Character images
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Sortmind Press

Jump Grenade – The Author Interview

Posted on October 10, 2019 by Michael D. SmithOctober 10, 2019

Q: So what’s this crap you’ve got now? Jump Grenade? And don’t give me any of those typical BS marketing blurbs.

MDS: All right, guy, let’s get into it. Basically the novel is about psychopathy, how much fun it is to win at any cost–and how surprised you are when you discover that the cost is karmic, stretching across thousands of lifetimes.

Q: Yeah, right. You’ve led everyone to believe it was about some kid basketball player.

MDS: Well, it certainly is. I had a lot of fun writing a sports story. I had to stretch a bit to do that. I wanted sports writing, visceral and sense-oriented. The casual insults and curses everyone hurls at each other evoke the mandatory ego-jockeying of the sport.

Q: Was the title intended to be stupid, or did it just come out that way?

MDS: The title is karmic. Billy has to meet a transformed version of his girlfriend at the end: a forceful and unknown Universe Ryder. Instead of a jump ball they contend with a jump grenade. His shamanic powers of winning and fame are finally throttled, but Uni’s powers of truth and responsibility are now growing.

The Draft One title was Ocean Singe Horror, the moniker Billy took right before he blew up the Baltimore arena. It’s an anagram of Orange Rhinoceros, and for more information, search for the term on my blog. I changed the title to Jump Grenade so we can figure out that the book is about basketball. Of course the cover should clue you in on that.

Q: Okay, the cover’s a decent image. You did the whole thing by yourself, didn’t you? Then again, maybe you should’ve hired a professional!

MDS: I was really leaning towards using camouflage spray paint on a basketball! Originally I thought using two basketballs would be too cute, evoking the relationship of Billy and Uni. But in experimentation, the two basketballs against the bright white background worked. It’s intensely three dimensional, with a lot of airy space, not the typical close-up of objects I’ve done for The Soul Institute, Akard Drearstone, or Sortmind. This does not look like my normal covers, which is also what I wanted.

Q: Yeah, but now I find that Jump Grenade’s based on another one of your old stories from childhood. C’mon, don’t you have anything new?

MDS: Jump Grenade is new consciousness. It has current energy that speaks to me, though it’s also connected with the past. Yeah, in 2008 I came across an old ninth grade story, “The Saga of Billy Bam, Basketball Star,” and it was so farcical that the idea of expanding it with modern themes instantly intrigued me. I didn’t care if it wound up as another story, a novella, or a full novel, I was just going to let it come out at its own rate even as I readied myself for other new writing.

After finishing the rough draft I let it sit while I worked on other novels. Then in 2014 I made an EPUB of the first draft so I could read it on my phone, and I found myself laughing out loud at it at D/FW Airport. I figured I owed it to the universe to get the novel in passable shape. The second and third drafts didn’t disappoint me; I still find myself laughing at my own novel. Maybe I shouldn’t, but the ludicrousness of this thing keeps hitting me.

I have a lot of old novels I’d never consider rewriting or publishing. They were just experiments. No energy resonates from those, and I seem to be done looking backwards to refurbish old works. The Core now understands there are no more old novels to fix up, that it’s time to embark on new paths. That isn’t balking me, although plot, characters, and structure for a completely new novel are still unknown.

Q: So here’s the standard stupidass question: where’d the idea for the stupidass book come from? Continue reading →