Book release tomorrow (in France)

http://www.amazon.fr/Magie-brute-Correia/dp/2841725901/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1337722038&sr=8-1

Coming next week

http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1451637845

Autographed copies here: http://www.unclehugo.com/prod/ah-correia-larry.php

Note on the Buy Stuff tab

On the Buy Stuff tab, just to clarify, the CafePress site with my logo stuff usually ships fairly quickly. The autographed books and patches come from me directly, and I’m a one man operation, so don’t expect it to go fast. I will usually make it to the post office every 2-3 weeks. That’s if everything is going smoothly and I’m not swamped by some deadline or problem.

Well, I can’t say one man operation, since I do get my daughters to address envelopes, but since they can’t drive, you’re still stuck waiting on me to get to the post office.

All of my books are available autographed and personalized if you want it, but I usually wait a little while before selling the newest books directly. The reason being is that I would prefer for you guys to buy them from stores when they first come out instead. The reason being that I get the stat boost for the bestseller lists that way. So if you want an autographed copy of The Monster Hunters which is coming out next week, your best bet is to order it from Uncle Hugos.  http://www.unclehugo.com/prod/ah-correia-larry.php

In fact, if you want an autographed book to give as a gift for something like a birthday that is less than a month away, try them, as they will actually ship it quickly, and have quite a few of my autographed books in stock.

 

Big interview with me over on The Colored Lens

http://thecoloredlens.com/?p=541  I was really talkative on this one.

Fun with Photos Time

Edit: WordPress is being really weird with photos lately. I had these seperate with captions on each, but that post got eaten. Well, we’ve got guns, guns, and more guns, lots of new MHI tattos and misc MH logos showing up in various places, all from fans.

I always say the same thing to anybody that wants to use my logo for anything. Go for it, as long as: A. it is for personal use and you’re not making money off of my stuff, and B. You send me a picture to put on the blog.

The tattoos are awesome. I’m not a tat guy myself, but more power to you if you are into that. I’ve got to say that as a writer, seeing somebody put your stuff on their body kind of blows my mind. That’s incredibly humbling.

The jersey picture is from Craig Outzen, who will be one of the shooters on 3 Gun Nation next season. According to Craig, I helped introduce him to 3gun competition a long time ago. We competed together a lot, but then I got busy/lazy and fell off, while Craig got better and better, and now he’s one of the top shooters in the country.  Note the happy face on the jersey however.

The mini was painted this weekend while listening to the Spellbound audiobook. I’m getting better at this hobby. I call him My Little Oni (he seems like a jolly guy), and I’m sure he’ll be menacing Writer Nerd Game Night soon enough.

The Burning Throne, Episode 28: City of Shrines

Continued from: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/the-burning-throne-episode-27-the-proper-end-of-a-bokken/ 

This week’s episode is from our GM, Dan Wells. (author of the Serial Killer series and Partials).  After Machio blundered himself into getting kidnapped, Zuko, the monk turned wanted criminal turned ronin turned Spider clan, went after him, but then wound up going off on his own. This was Dan’s way of catching us up on what that character was up to. Specifically this is continued from this one:  http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/03/02/the-burning-throne-episode-17-gisei-toshi/  Basically Zuko is a pawn in a cosmic game.

City of Shrines

Fosuta Zuko perched on the roof of the temple—not “the” temple, really, for there were dozens in this city, perhaps hundreds. Gisei Toshi was an enigma: a hidden city with high walls and no doors; a closed community that spoke only to itself, produced all its own food, and traded with no one. Its entire purpose seemed to be protecting its own secrecy—and its temples. Zuko had come to think of it as the City of Shrines.

Shrines that no one could ever visit, and that nobody but the monks who lived and died here would ever know existed.

But then who had planted the map, and how had Zuko found it? And what did the words mean, written in his own blood on the wall of a cave he’d never seen before:

My Death is Coming Soon.

Zuko touched the map, safely tucked in a scroll case, wondering again if any of his questions would ever be answered. He had scoured the City of Shrines, explored the greatest temples, and spied on the wisest of monks, but he was no closer to understanding any of it. The city had filled him with awe, then frustration, and now dread. It was a locus of a power in a world that hung by a thread. The people here, the power, the secrets—if they got out, he could only imagine what would happen. The Empire was besieged on every side, even as it tore itself apart from within. Was his map, and that blood-drenched message, an answer to their problems? Was it a key to his own power?

Or did it mean nothing at all?

The moon hung low in the sky, a wicked scimitar of light nearly shrouded in darkness. Zuko peered again at the map, then down at the temple before him. Seen one way, the map led only to the city, marked with a delicate kanji: “Here.” Seen another way, the map pointed at the center of the kanji itself, to a spot within the city. It had taken him days of study to pinpoint the spot, but there was no mistaking it. The shrine before him was dark and stunted, almost as if the city itself were afraid of it—or was trying to forget it. He glanced at the city, but no one was around. Night had fallen, and the city had gone to sleep. A single light burned in the shrine below him, faint and sickly. Zuko leapt to the ground and walked in.

“Ah,” said a voice, thick with age and phlegm. Zuko looked to the back corner of the shrine to see a fat monk, disheveled and greasy, his eyes milky white and blind. “Jiro, here already?”

Zuko said nothing. Let the old man talk; perhaps he’ll say something valuable.

“Quiet tonight,” said the monk, waving a flyswatter with one hand while scratching himself with the other. “Suit yourself. But tell me, Jiro, why is the moon so full?”

Zuko glanced back outside; the moon was a slim crescent. If anything it had been slim for too long—it was still waning, and had been for three weeks, as if it didn’t dare to disappear completely. He looked back at the monk and answered softly, wondering how the old man would react to an unfamiliar voice.

“It is not full, but nearly gone. Soon we shall have a new moon, and it will wax again and become full in time.”

“A new moon,” said the monk, swatting at his chest and neck. He mumbled again: “A new moon.” He sat blankly, staring at nothing with his round, white eyes. Zuko waited, wondering what the old man would say next, but after nearly a minute of silence Zuko grew restless. He walked to the side of the stunted stone building, peering at the grime-caked kanji that littered the wall like scribbles. He could read it, he thought, if he could only clear away the moss, but as he reached to touch it something stopped his hand—an inner warning; a deep-seated revulsion that drew his fingers back with an involuntary shudder. The wall did not want to be touched, and his body did not want to touch it.

“It is you,” said the monk, his voice changing in tone: still gruff and ill, but now curious and perhaps even…awestruck? Zuko couldn’t interpret it. He looked at the old man only to see him staring back, his eyes still dull and blank but his face pointed directly at Zuko’s own.

“What?”

“The full moon,” said the monk. “Walk back—all the way to the other side.”

Zuko frowned, shooting quick glances to the shadows in anticipation of an ambush, but he saw nothing. He shrugged and, curious to see what the monk was talking about, crossed back across the entryway to the far side of the shrine.

“The full moon,” said the monk again, grinning. Several of his teeth were missing. “I thought it was the moon, and then I thought the moon was you, but no. You have been touched by her, and her touch is there for those who can see it.” He grinned again, shaking his hand disapprovingly. “There are few who can anymore.” He settled back against the wooden screen behind his seat, leaning against it heavily. “You are not Hitomi, but you are not Jiro either. Tell me your name, moon-man.”

Zuko watched the old monk cautiously, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. “You speak in riddles.”

“The hardest riddles are those unintended,” said the monk. “I speak plainly, and it is you who chooses to confuse yourself.”

More riddles, thought Zuko, or truth I cannot fathom. He looked at the monk firmly. “Touched by the moon?”

“And sent by her, I’ll wager,” said the monk. He swatted idly at a fly on his face. “She is wrapped in darkness, and she is losing. If she has touched you, spoken to you, used you, it is because she needs your help.” His face grew dark, and for the first time Zuko saw a wave of fear pass over the man’s features. “What has she sent you to do?”

Zuko thought back through his story, piecing the tale together: he didn’t remember anything about the moon, but he didn’t remember anything else, either. He had come on his own volition, but only because of mysteries—or clues?—that he had found in that cave. Was he searching for the truth, or was he being manipulated for someone else’s ends? The thought gave him pause, and he glanced at the shadows again; the shrine seemed smaller than before, darker and more oppressive. The lone candle flickered weakly, and the fat monk leered from his corner.

“Sent by the moon,” Zuko whispered. He drew his katana and held it before him, half in menace, half in nervous defense. “This is no moon shrine, monk. What it is?”

“This is no shrine at all,” said the monk, “it is a tomb.” His voice was hoarse and terrified. “Here lie imprisoned the remains of Bunrakuken, the Prophet of the Dead Moon, who sought to raise Lord Onnotangu from the dead.”

Zuko advanced, katana firm in hand, his eyes glancing warily at the dank, grimy stone that surrounded him. “Why would you honor such a monster here?”

“This is no place of honor,” said the frightened monk. He leaned back as far as he could, his eyes locked on the looming blade made pale and yellow in the candelight. “This is a prison. Bunrakuken was a bloodspeaker more powerful than death itself. Some say he was not even born. If his bones are removed from this building—” He stopped, and Zuko thrust the katana against the sweaty folds of the old man’s neck. The monk whimpered and continued. “If his bones are removed from this building, and from the wards that contain him, he will rise again and return to his ritual.”

Zuko’s voice was a hiss. “And raise Onnotangu from the dead.”

The monk quivered, feebly correcting him. “Not Onnotangu, but the dead moon; the ritual was very specific. It referred to Onnotangu when the bloodspeaker created it, yes, but after tonight? Who can say?”

Zuko glanced behind him, to the moon so dark and low in the sky he could barely see it. The walls seemed to press close around him, almost as if they were reaching for him, hungry to clasp him close and smother him in darkness, just as the moon beyond was clutched in…he didn’t know. Something.

My Death is Coming Soon.

“The world is besieged,” whispered Zuko.

“The world is nothing,” said the monk. “The war in Heaven has begun.”

#

To be continued next week with another B Team game, which I even wrote haiku for.

There is much wisdom in this rant

I’ve never seen this blog before, but somebody sent me a link. That there is a fine rant about dumb female stuff from a female’s perspective.

http://krissyaguilar.blogspot.com/2012/05/im-femaleand-i-still-dont-understand.html

The Monster Hunters omnibus is out soon, with the most absurd eBook prices EVAR!!

And Uncle Hugo’s has signed copies. http://www.unclehugo.com/prod/ah-correia-larry.php (you can also preorder signed copies of Monster Hunter Legion there too).

If you want an eBook for your Kindle, Nook, or eReader: http://www.baenebooks.com/p-1618-the-monster-hunters.aspx  And that is only $6.

SIX DOLLARS for all 3 MH novels. That is HALF a CENT per PAGE!!!

I’m thinking about doing some sort of spread the word contest for this next week.

Hard Magic on the short list for British Fantasy Awards

Okay, I know absolutely nothing about the British Fantasy Awards, and the short list is rather long, and I have no idea who votes for these things, but just in case one of you voters reads this blog, there you go.

http://www.britishfantasysociety.co.uk/news/lists-of-members-recommendations-for-british-fantasy-awards/?PHPSESSID=19b83432fedf794be1b4b8c9277fcd00

EDIT: I’m the only Baen author on the list.

EDIT again: Actually it looks like there are only a handful of Americans on the list at all.

Final EDIT: Never mind, my Google-fu is weak. They have already released the final 6.

Gaspar Correia on the Battle of Chalons

If you aren’t familiar with it, Minimum Wage Historian is one of my favorite history pages on the web, and it really should get a show on the History channel. It would be a whole lot better than the Ancient-Hitler-Nostrodomus-Aliens shows they usually run (though to be fair the new Hatfield/McCoy movie looks pretty good).

http://minimumwagehistorian.com/?p=669

MWH has lots of great history, but presents it a little differently. Instead of just talking about historical events, he has a roundtable discussion about the events. Only the guest panelists made up of various historical figures (Most of whom are insane) and brought forward to today. (for example, Ceasar discovered a love of Hot Pockets, as he logically should, because come on… Hot Pockets are awesome).  Plus Napoleon trolls the comments.

Zach discovered that there was a conquistador/historian by the name of Gaspar Correia. He comes from the same area as my ancestors, but I have no idea if we are actually related. (Correia is a relatively common Portuguese name) However, he had a reputation of being the least reliable of any of the historians of that era because he pretty much just made crap up… Defeating entire nations with a couple dozen guys can get to be so ho-hum, so why not spice up that map with some gargoyles and maybe some laser beams?

And it wasn’t enough to just make up normal stuff, but his journals usually featured monsters and magical adventure.

“Hey, Correia, what’s on the other side of those mountains?”

“Well, Captain Vasco.. That’s where the Mole People’s City of Gold was melted by dragons.”

“Well how about that? Okay, let’s get back to work. This village ain’t gonna massacre itself!”

So MWH has added Gaspar, my ancestor(?), to the panel. Obviously, being another Correia that was fixated on making up stories about monsters, he is full of useful info.