Dear y’all. It’s really happening.

Update your address if, perhaps, you’ve moved in the past three and 3/4 years. That way, you can be sure to get your copy.

Tausend Dank.

Hey, everybody. It’s been a long time but, rest assured, neither I nor the book have died. In fact, I’ve finally got some news for y’all, which is why I’m sending out this update. (It seemed counter-intuitive to send out updates when there wasn’t any news, hence the long silence.)

I just received the copy-edited version of the manuscript and—if we meet all of the deadlines—the book has been assigned a tentative publishing date during April, 2019. I am going to endeavor to reach every goal we’ve set for which I’m responsible, so I’m confident that, come April, this book will finally come to life.

It’s been quite the journey, I know. I didn’t expect it to take this long, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you have forgotten about it, and about little ole me, even, in these ensuing years. But we’re back, baby. Disintegration is happening.

I’ll keep you posted on any further developments. Watch this space.

P.S. Please be sure to update your shipping address, if you’ve moved some time in the last three years. :-/ 

Hi, all.

Here's a little taste of what I've written today:

***

In immediate response to the explosion, six blue flashes occurred almost simultaneously as Confederates dimensionally jumped in from the level above. It took a moment for them to materialize, coalescing from nothing into a fully formed corporeal being. That split second bought the Allies a moment to prepare.

Gardiner, Rivetti, Carina and Ray were each armed and ready, as were Lindner, Milner and Gray. Two of the other grunts, Burke and Nergaard, had their pieces drawn. Nergaard even backed up his gun with his knife, in his weak hand, ready for close combat if the need arose.

Corporal Macaluso tackled one of the Confederates as he materialized, using the momentary advantage as an opportunity to kill a man with his hands. He preferred to end someone's life intimately; he found guns too impersonal. Knives were better, but hands were best.

Macaluso was a big human—tall and broad, built like a bear and just as fearsome—and he was always well-prepared for a fight, even when off-duty. He believed that, during war, a battle could break out at any time, and he never wanted to be at a disadvantage. He was decked in a light exo-suit with armored mitts that increased the power of his punches by a factor of ten.

He wrenched the corren's helmet from his head and with one punch collapsed the man's face. For good measure, he kept punching until he cracked the correns skull and ruptured his scalp.

The Confederate's brains oozed out onto the floor like porridge from a broken bowl.

We're just one back of 17th, as of this moment. Who will be the one to bring Disintegration one notch farther up the leaderboard? It could be *your* mailman! (I promise, that's my last reference to letter carriers for the rest of my campaign. Maybe.)

Not much else to report. The contest ends on Wednesday and, if you've been hiding 350 or so readers in your back pocket, do have them sign up so we can win this thing. Otherwise, it's down to the long-haul: 1,000 copies by 12/13. We've mustered 226 copies sold, so far, so we're almost 25% of the way to our goal!

Here is an excerpt from what I was just working on. It's Daedalus being tender, for a change. Tender for him, anyway ... which is still brutal. But that's Daedalus.

EXCERPT:

The common room was brighter than the cockpit, though not by much. A small fire crackled along the starboard wall. Daedalus recognized the acrid smells of burnt flesh and hair. He reached for the beacon on his shoulder but found it broken and useless.

He made for the emergency supplies, sliding cautiously over the floor. His foot caught something soft and he tripped, grunting as he fell. He put out his hands to break his fall and sliced his left palm open. He sucked in a breath and cursed. The smell of burnt flesh gave way to nearer odors of feces, and iron-rich human blood.

Turning around, he groped about with his good hand for what tripped him amidst the debris and felt something putty-like and tepid. It groaned.

He snatched his hand away.

Rising to his feet, Daedalus continued to the emergency storage with new-found caution and conviction. He popped open the compartment. Two blankets tossed about in the crash were piled on the floor. He tore a strip from one of the blankets and wrapped it around his injured hand. He found a beacon amidst the tangle of spare jumpsuits.

The auxiliary systems whirred, diverting power, followed by the deep hiss of the fire-suppression system. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the thick, white fog snuff out the flames. The common room grew oppressively dark.

Flicking on the powerful beacon, he swept the beam across the room, revealing the two long tables protruding from the ceiling and floor, embedded there in the crash. Mechanical debris was strewn everywhere, more so towards the prow than the tail due to the incline. Gashes throughout the interior hull explained from where most of the mess had come.

Daedalus traced the beam across the floor near where he’d tripped to reveal a human hand, limp at the wrist, sticking out from a pile. He slowly moved the beam downward from the exposed hand. The body ended at the waist. Its legs and hips were missing. The torso rested against the table stuck in the floor.

With a quick extrapolation and flick of the wrist, Daedalus shed light on the missing legs. They rested against the wall to the right of the cockpit doorway.

“Help me…” rasped Adams’ muffled voice.

Daedalus swallowed hard and knelt down next to him. He cleared the wreckage from atop the private’s face, which was ashen and twisted with pain.

“Help me, please…” he whimpered.

Daedalus said nothing. He gently cleared away the rest of the ship-innards from atop the dismembered human. Stepping one leg over Adams’ torso, Daedalus straddled him across the chest and frowned. He put his right hand around the private’s throat and squeezed.

Adams could barely muster a struggle. He feebly swiped at Daedalus' arm. Daedalus closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. A slight frown ticked down the corners of his mouth.

Once Adams was dead, Daedalus got to his feet and dragged the torso out of the way. He screwed up his face at the smell of the man’s exposed and lacerated viscera, then resumed his damage assessment.