I’m generally one to rant passionately about things that I love that disappoint me. In fact, I will rant much more if my expectations are smashed than if I didn’t love it.
Disclaimer: I have never reviewed a music album before and so have no idea of the jargon or conventions of the form. You have been warned.
Warning: I say ‘awful’ a lot. Sorry about that.
[Update 21/9/2014: I’m positive I cut-and-pasted my quote from the 100PercentRock review verbatim, but I can’t find that exact quote anymore in the link I used, so I’ve cut-and-pasted the paragraph that is there now]
So! My first reaction to the unfortunately titled ‘The Ocean at the End’ (unfortunately, because Neil Gaiman wrote the excellent ‘The Ocean at the End of the Lane’ which will forever appear in web searches above this album) was not great. I’ve listened to it a few more times now in its entirety, although at one stage I was playing interleaved tracks from this album and the immeasurably better ‘Transmission’.
I’m constantly spending money on nerdy and/or wanky crap, and then reviewing it on this site. I even do it constantly without any payment or free things from the manufacturers, can you believe it!
This time, I’m gushing about my latest Kickstarter arrival. For those of you who haven’t switched a computer on in a while, Kickstarter is one of the largest crowd funding sites out there. The Lumio was funded on March 15, 2013, and I received mine in the mail on Friday 14, 2014. I think, for a project of such ambition, that is more than reasonable. I waited longer than that (I think) for my Pebble.
Fair warning: this review is mostly awesome* photos.
TL;DR: If you have $160-$200 to spare (depending on postage) and you like books and portable lights and functional art, don’t bother reading this and go buy one here now.
*I am not a photographer.
I don’t like spiders.
Well, what does that mean, really? I should paraphrase and say that I don’t like things larger than about an inch across, that are brown or dark brown, and that move rapidly from point to point, out of the corner of my eye. The visuals are of primary importance, and although of course sound can be terrifying, too, the revolting susurrus of chitinous legs scrabbling around the cornices of a room and across my expensive electronic equipment is usually drowned out by the dull, terrified beating of my heart.
When I talk zombies online, I inevitably talk zombies with my Twitter pal Nyssa Harkness, who is writing (and apparently finishing it before she dies) a Masters thesis on zombies in literature and film.
Oh hey! Today Nyssa joins me to talk about zombies in film and literature! I’ve marked my text in black and hers in indented, bloody red. I hope it’s enough!
Also I’d like to thank Gary Kemble for the banner picture – that’s from Brisbane Zombiewalk 2011, with me and my son there on the right! I think I zombie-kidnapped him.
I’m not really a zombie expert in terms of having watched every classic zombie movie, but it seems from our discussions that I have at least some contribution to make in this area, specifically by throwing a sabot into the finely tuned semantic engines used to frame a discussion on zombies.
You may recall my ranting from such earlier posts as It’s not me, It’s Hue, but I’ve now grown a few months older with my wifi-enabled Hue bulbs, and can make some firmer statements.
There, now I’ve got your attention.
As part of my loose effort to write something every day this year, I’m reflecting on my experience playing Bioshock Infinite in a single game session while I was sick, on the first day of 2014 (Yes, I have a huge pile of shame full of acclaimed games I’ve not played.)
There will be massive spoilers.
Now, I want you to know that this is just my opinion, coloured by my perspectives and whatnot. This doesn’t invalidate your own experience, or your own personal opinions about how amazing this game is. Do we understand each other?
Good. So now let me explain why you are wrong to like this bad game.
What a year! A year of professional triumphs and personal failures. And at the end of the year, just before writing this post, I saw this entertaining aphorism pass by my twitter feed:
Always give your all. If you set yourself up for failure, make sure your failures are spectacular.
– via @Pribblicious
I ran through my memory and photo album to highlight all my achievements and failings of the year 2013. Read on, stalkers!
This is the final step of my 3 part (and one introduction) series on setting up your own shop of digital short fiction. It’s much shorter and easier than the other parts. You’ll need the links to your products that were generated by FetchApp in the previous step.
A thing to bear in mind
This is the $0-dollars-invested version of setting up your own shop. I’m sure there are much better (read: much shoppier) ways to set up your digital shop, but I don’t think there is a better way to do it for free. I’m aiming my cost/benefit analysis at what I think is an optimistic estimate of at most $5 of sales a month, until you start making a bit of a name for yourself. So anything that costs you more than $5/month is going to be a money sink, in my opinion.
So this is my $0 solution.
We’re onto Part 2 of our exciting adventure. The amusing header image here is courtesy of http://onlyhdwallpapers.com
Time to Build a Shop
By now you should have a handful of short stories converted into .epub, or at the very least one short story, from Part 1. If not, that’s cool, too. Stick around, and, uh, make yourself at home.
I looked around at several online store options, but most of them cost around $10-$15 a month for the basic plan (eg. Shopify.com) and that is just for a minimal plan of 10-20 items. You can fill that up pretty quickly. Frankly, I don’t expect to make that much in a month, certainly not to begin with.
What to do, what to do?
Well, how could you resist an article with such a sexy, non-technical title?
Part 1 – Converting a .doc file into clean HTML
To go back to the main article, click here.
The first part of our walkthrough is the hardest: finding a story you can sell. I’ve chosen to sell only previously published stories, which requires me to make sure that I have the rights to reprint them. Usually when you sell a story to an anthology, you are not allowed to reprint or resell that particular story for a given period, generally a year or more. You should check your individual contracts.
Of course nothing is stopping you from selling your unpublished work right alongside your published work.
I’ll explain my personal process here, which you can choose to ignore. This tutorial will help you just as much, regardless of your approach.
I will be alternating between Windows and Mac version of the system, as I’m writing this article on different computers. Hopefully it won’t be too confusing. Most of the steps are the same.
This is a long article, and I hope it mostly makes sense. Ask away in the comments or on the social media provider of your choice (that I am also on), and let me know what works and what is confusing. There’s a lot to go through.