Consistency: Not Mr Upstream's strongest point

It was recently pointed out that Mr Upstream's rating 'system' may be somewhat, er, muddled.

This is true.

Sometimes Mr Upstream feels the need to rate in 'middle fingers'. Sometimes he does not. He may, in some dim and distant future, decide to rate in pink fuzzy bunny hugs. This, it should be noted, is the remotest of remote possibilities, unless Mr Upstream decides to start rating booze. Or hookers. Or orthopedic shoes.

The main point here being if Mr Upstream is rating in insulting things like middle fingers or candy-sprinkled turds (not likely, and probably reserved for self-help titles), then the author would almost certainly like to have fewer of them. Two candy sprinkled turds are certainly less awful than ten, or so goes Mr Upstream's reasoning at any rate. And if Mr Upstream finds some gem to review that is, if not flawless, then at least worthwhile, well then he will find some other means with which to indicate his approbation.

Now Mr Ustream must get back to mixing mai tais and listing to Deano. It's Tiki Friday at Mr Upstream's house, and citronella is in the air.

The greatest work of fiction, ever.

The first sentence of Delina Delany, by Amanda McKittrick Ros:

Have you ever visited that portion of Erin's plot that offers its sympathetic soil for the minute survey and scrutinous examination of those in political power, whose decision has wisely been the means before now of converting the stern and prejudiced, and reaching the hand of slight aid to share its strength in augmenting its agricultural richness?

No, Mr Upstream can honestly say that he has not.

Review: The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) by Glenn Thater

Hoo boy. This book made Mr Upstream very very thankful for the 'sample' button that ebooks feature. It also made Mr Upstream thankful for cheap alcohol.

Mr Upstream believes he will let Mr Thater's work speak for itself. Here area few examples of the (appropriately empurpled) prose inflicted upon the unsuspecting reader in The Gateway:

A grayed Lord and his lieutenants stood at the fore of a small wedge of armored soldiers, veterans all. Malignant, clinging mist wafted about, sickening the men and clouding their vision. With the mist came a thunderous cacophony that consumed the night, piercing the very souls of those unfortunates within its demesne. A maleficent, skirling, bestial sound, akin to naught in nature and much in nightmare. A preternatural wailing it was, and in its wake bounded death.

So the sound might not be so nice. This was the first paragraph, in case you were interested.

On to part II!

Angry wood screamed [really?] as the stairwell door burst open. Brother Claradon Eotrus's hand went to his sword hilt as several figures flew through the portal onto the tower's roof. Par Tanch spun toward them, death flaring in his eyes and blue fire licking the apex of his staff. But the wizard lowered his ensorcelled weapon, and his aspect softened at the sight of Sir Ector Eotrus's haggard face. At the young nobleman's heels were his diminutive comrade Ob and a glity-armored leviathan known as the Lord Angle Theta. Behind them came one Dolan Silk, a wiry man of sickly pallor and strange ears.

Rarely in Mr Upstream's long reading career has he seen such overwrought fiction. It's not quite to the level of, say, The Eye of Argon, but not for lack of effort.

And that, dear readers, is why Glenn Thater has earned the inaugural Upstream Independent Fiction Review Purple Prose award.

(Rating: 7/10 middle fingers)

Reviews: 'Zombie' by Johnny Smith & 'Darkness Stalks the Night' by Bruce Blake

Mr Upstream recently experienced what some might call a 'heavy flow' and so he went out and bought an iPad2. Having no money left after this purchase, he was forced to load up on all the free downloads available from the iTunes iBookstore (Mr Upstream not being a huge fan of the first person singular pronoun, you can only imagine what pain it causes him to write iTunes iBookstore. Or perhaps not).

In any case, Mr Upstream decided to dip one grimy, withered toe into the water by sampling a couple of free short stories. Here are the results:

'Zombie' by Johnny Smith

At roughly 20 tiny little electronic pages, 'Zombie' doesn't have much meat on its bones. It's a sparse story, told in a sparse style that reminded Mr Upstream, favorably, of a Hemingway short story.

Unfortunately, Johnny Smith decided to get a little too artistic with the chronological order of the events of the book, leaving Mr Upstream rather confused as to who did what to who and when. Now that might just have been the gin talking, but Mr Upstream rather doubts it.

Also, no zombies. WTF? If you call your artistic endeavor 'Zombie' and then proceed not to make with the zombies, unless your name is 'The Cranberries' you can rightfully expect some shit to be slung your way.

The Upstream Independent Fiction Meter rates this one a 5 out of 10 possible middle fingers.*

The next short story Mr Upstream Sampled was 'Darkness Stalks the Night' by Bruce Blake:

There are oh, so many vampire stories out there, and this is one of them. On the plus side, no sparkly vampires, or vampires that feel the need to dress in black leather. More plusses: lots and lots of foul language. Mr Upstream is a big proponent of foul language. Also boobies. Viscera not so much, which this story features, but Mr Upstream is willing to let that slide.

What Mr Upstream is not willing to let slide is sloppy logic. Gather round, ye aspiring indie writers, and listen to the wisdom Mr Upstream is about to impart: Traditional publishers are fond of saying 'Don't write in first person point of view'. Now Mr Upstream favors third person in all things, but even he would say to those traditional publishers 'Go fuck yourself'. First person is perfectly fine - EXCEPT if your point of view character dies at the end. If he or she dies, then who the hell is telling the story?

Mr Upstream doesn't want to shock you, but in 'Darkness Stalks the Night' the first person point of view character dies at the end, which is why this story gets seven middle fingers out of a possible ten.

* Middle fingers no good. You no want middle fingers. Middle fingers bad. You no want see Mr Upstream's ten middle fingers (yes, Mr Upstream's hands are solely populated by middle fingers. Yes, his parents lived very near a nuclear facility during his gestation). Ten middle fingers means you suck ass.