The Bullhorn of SILVER BROWN

Now Playing: 11 and Maybe 12 (The Late Show)

An encore presentation of Chapter Eleven of SILVER BROWN awaits those who dare drink from the poisoned chalice that is Facebook. At a rate of one page a day, as usual. I might throw in the next chapter after that, if I feel like it.

On a somewhat distantly related note, the Zuckerverse brings to mind the Holy Grail scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, if we think of Dr. Schneider as a metaphorical personification of the platform’s now-infamous algorithm and rechristen her male Nazi colleague with the name of Karen. I totally get symbolism.


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

The Curious Case of Elmýr Garfield

My first apartment in Toronto was literally right next door to a Buddhist temple. Every Sunday morning, I could hear the sound of the gongs coming right through my walls. Never saw the inside of that temple, though. Mostly on account of the fact that it was a Theravada sanctuary catering to the diaspora, and I don’t speak a lick of Vietnamese outside of exactly one word. But I nevertheless appreciated the vibrations of those gongs every Sunday. After spending Monday through Friday (and frequently Saturday to boot) catering to the hyper-frazzled demands of The Machine, that weekly dose of sonic medicine was a most welcome reprieve.

The day those healing vibrations stopped came when my building was sold to a new owner, and I ended up getting renovicted. The next apartment after that was something I subletted from the company I was working for at the time. I only called that place home for a mere eight months, for it was inhabited by vast insurmountable colonies of bedbugs (and fleas!) and a handful of very cranky people. One woman who lived there told me the building was haunted. She was probably right.


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I recall a foursome of geriatric men who would spend the daylight hours sitting on lounge chairs in front of the Apartment Building of the Damned, wiling away their golden years complaining loudly about things their juniors would seldom think to complain about, occasionally yelling obscenities at random passersby just for the sheer hell of it. Like a cruder version of King of the Hill. I’m not a hundred percent sure if their demeanour was merely because of the bedbug problem or something that could be chalked up to senility (it was probably a combination of the two), but this meditation on cranky old geezerhood manifested itself into what would eventually become SILVER BROWN. Its chosen guise was that of an Eccentric Mentor with a mastery of cybersorcery and certain forbidden knowledge sought out by the main characters in their quest for the Secret Ingredient.

The warlock Elmýr Garfield was a cursed character from the very beginning, but after several rewrites his curses have only multiplied. In the second or third draft I introduced the idea that the story starts off with him being dead, necessitating a cybermagickal trip to the netherworlds of the Environment to retrieve his innate isness and bring it back to the Sea of Joy to reboot it. Yet he is not so much reanimated as he is reborn. The audience is first introduced to him as a seventy-five-year-old man in the body of a seventy-five-second-old infant. An allusion to old stories of Gautama Buddha that told of him walking and talking on the day he was born. Or to Baby Herman from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Either one works. Take your pick.



As a result of the cursed nature of his existence (or more likely, because Florys errs slightly when she casts the spell to bring him back to life), Elmýr ages very rapidly after his rebirth, advancing through all the different life stages over the course of several chapters before finally exiting the story as a withered lifeless husk. At an inopportune moment in the narrative that greatly inconveniences the protagonists. If his final wilting occurred at a more convenient time, it wouldn’t be much of a story.

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The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Those Little Extras In E-Commerce Packages

I’m currently in the midst of editing a Frankenstein of a passage in SILVER BROWN, stitched together from bits and pieces of chapters from previous drafts. Centered around a Big Reveal. One reminiscent of Neo learning the true nature of the Matrix, with respect to what kind of reaction it provoked in the protagonist. I’m personally not banking on the audience having a similar reaction. Never set out to make this book The Exorcist


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…which by the way is one of the all-time classics. If you haven’t seen this film, then you just don’t know culture.

While writing and rewriting high profundities in two different languages (English and JavaScript), I obtain at least half my needs from this here Internet thingy. At least. In the weeks that have passed since all these lockdowns started, some e-retailers have taken to throwing some much-needed extra love in their packages in the form of free merch. Like this particular publication I received with my usual shipment. A retelling of the first Harry Potter novel in comic book form, with an interesting new angle to it in which Lord Voldemort is reimagined as a police officer…


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