Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
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Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
@semperbufo.bsky.social
670 followers 280 following 7.5K posts
Son of Dangerous Cliff; Hal's little brother; Bazooka Girl's guy; Potato Pup's human; Monkey's dad. (In chronological order.)

Esoteric outsider touring reality. All pronouns welcome (including yours!).

#actor #author 💙📚 #artist #tech linktr.ee/semperbufo
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semperbufo.bsky.social
Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟 @semperbufo.bsky.social · 2d
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 is on!

From now until the New Year, #LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more INFO, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To BUY 'em, follow the LINK BELOW… 👇

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords #books2read
#sale #BookSky 💙📚
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 is on!

From now until the New Year, #LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more INFO, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To BUY 'em, follow the LINK BELOW… 👇

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords #books2read
#sale #BookSky 💙📚
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
December 8, 2025 at 3:37 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "design"

As Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" opens, Sharon exercises a little caution before agreeing to take on a ruggedly handsome hitchhiker with a sign reading "Will Do Taxes for a Ride."

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] As it turned out, Timothy Kevin O’Boyle (who was clean-shaven and wearing a tie in his New York driver’s license photo) seemed pretty clean. Gary Brinks, another cop in the Silhouette Police Department—and a good friend of Mike Loomis’s—showed up just after Loomis’s mom and girlfriend. Mrs. Loomis was a tall woman with frizzy gray hair; the girlfriend was a cute, short redhead with some overly generous curves and a dazzling smile flanked by adorable dimples. Her name was Daria; her youth brought home to Sharon just how young Mike Loomis was himself, and she mentally laughed at herself as she let that half-hearted Harlequin Romance daydream go. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] At Loomis’s urging, Officer Brinks made a few calls for Sharon and pulled a few strings. There were no outstanding warrants on Tim, no crimes or misdemeanors logged at a local, state, or federal level. At least, nothing that twenty minutes of questions could dig up. The twenty minutes themselves, watching Tim O’Boyle smile disarmingly and politely charm the cops, Mrs. Loomis, adorable Daria, and even Doctor Egorov and the hospital staff, went a long way toward convincing Sharon that the guy wouldn’t be any trouble. He was soft-spoken and wise and clever and confident in a way that she thought only old knights who lived alone in caves in epic movies were supposed to be. The weird part was that he never took off his backpack or his cardboard sign (which was a hell of a conversation starter), and he never dropped his duffel bag. Like he was ready to bolt at the drop of a hat. Sharon was tempted to grab Gary Brinks’s hat and test that theory. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] With a general consensus reached that Tim was unlikely to rape and rob and kill her (in any given order) or generally behave in an ungentlemanly fashion, Sharon thanked officers Loomis and Brinks, said goodbye to Marina Egorov (again) and Daria and Mrs. Loomis (for the first time), and walked with Tim back outside, where the clouds had eased up somewhat and a little bit of last ditch sunlight glinted gray on the puddles pooled along the asphalt like mirrored craters in an alien landscape designed by H.R. Giger. She’d parked the Camry in the first row of spots; she pressed the clicker on her keychain—*doop!* said the car, flashing its lights—and got in the driver’s seat as Tim O’Boyle dropped his stuff on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat. “You can put those in back,” Sharon suggested as he sat down with his legs on either side of his bags. Tim shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said. “Plenty of room here.”
December 9, 2025 at 3:38 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "design"

Chapter 2 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" opens with a news report that sheds at least a *little* light on what the hell actually happened in that first crazy chapter.

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 2 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “That’s right, Peter,” said the reporter, her face coming alive like somebody had flipped the switch on an animatronic doll in a pinup-themed amusement park. “I’m here on Long Island, just outside the gates of the Green Briar Institute, suspected by authorities to be the source of the incredible surge that blacked out half the Eastern seaboard early this morning...leaving millions without light, power, or even *heat* in this late March cold snap.” She strolled casually sideways without turning her face from the camera; the cameraman followed like an obedient dog, panning with her to get a nice long shot of the facility. She stayed well aware of the other correspondents chattering away at their own cameramen, trying to avoid getting any of them in her shot. If she was in theirs, that was their problem. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 2 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “This isn’t the first time Green Briar has been in the news,” she continued. “As recently as four years ago, the institute made international headlines when they announced they were near completion on the construction of a new type of particle accelerator—a *supercollider* nicknamed the ‘Ball and Chain,’ describing its unique design and mechanical features. At the time, scientists warned that the *untested* design could have *disastrous* results if the accelerator were ever activated, some even predicting that the machine might create an actual *black hole*...with catastrophic consequences. The research team at Green Briar was quick to counter these claims, and the maiden voyage of the Ball and Chain went off without a hitch...two years ago this July.” Another police car pulled up to the gates, honking and flashing its blue and red lights to prod the gaggle of reporters out of the way. The beautiful reporter didn’t let it rattle her, and smoothly sidestepped the cops while providing the camera with a deeply concerned expression she’d faithfully practiced through four years of undergrad. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 2 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Now, however, this morning’s blackout has been tentatively traced right back here, to Green Briar, where officials say an *unprecedented* power surge overloaded the grid. The damage so far seems to have been minimal, largely due to the early morning hour. Most people were fast asleep in their homes...and woke up to blinking clocks after power had already been restored. We’ll keep you updated as this story develops, but as the events of this morning suggest, perhaps the scientists who predicted doomsday on Long Island weren’t wrong at all—just a couple of years...ahead of their time.” She replaced her deeply concerned expression with a flash of green eyes and dazzling lip gloss. “From the Green Briar Institute on Long Island, for Channel Twelve...I’m Sherri Sellick.” Her father had complained about the name the first time he saw her on the air, but she just didn’t feel she could make it in this business with a name like Cecilia Kirschenbaum. The sharper syllabic quartet, with its alliterative monogram, just sounded hotter.
December 9, 2025 at 3:38 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "design"

Chapter 3 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" introduces Billy Fish, whose very small world is about to get a whole lot bigger as he embarks on an entirely unexpected interstellar adventure.

#GrandTheftGalaxy🕳️🌌

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Jingle bells jangled cheerfully as the door of the Pig Stop opened. Ernie Maloney, the original owner, had initially intended to name his gas station and convenience store the “Pit Stop,” but thanks to a typo on the paperwork for the neon sign, a major back log of work at the signage company, and Ernie’s short temper, that wasn’t to be. The guys at the sign company tried to make it up to him by creating a glowing mascot, which unfortunately looked less like a pig and more like a pink bowling ball with ears, and it was about then that Ernie’s short temper caught up to him and a lifetime of fast food and red meat caught up to his heart, and he dropped dead in an apoplectic fit. The new owners were more than satisfied with the unique name and neon signs, and the place had been a fixture in an otherwise bland and boring Oklahoma town ever since. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Working the counter at the Pig Stop for the past four years, Billy Fish had only the vaguest knowledge of the convenience store’s illustrious history, and wouldn’t have cared much if he knew more. The Pig was just another in a long series of over a decade of jobs chosen specifically to get him a mediocre paycheck for as little actual work as possible. “Billy’s still finding himself,” his mother used to say. Unfortunately, Billy apparently had no idea where he might be. He’d checked the library, the supermarket, his dad’s plumbing supply company, the bakery, the bowling alley, the pizzeria, the Chinese restaurant, the other pizzeria, the drug store, and even the elementary school, in the custodian’s office. He hadn’t seen any signs of himself at any of these places. It seemed Billy was very good at hiding from himself. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] The reality, of course, was that each of these and dozens of others were employment situations carefully designed to bob and weave around the mystical figure of minimum wage so that Billy could continue to ignore adulthood, live in his sister’s basement, play some video games, and afford enough pot and booze to numb his soul to the fact that he couldn’t afford any more pot and booze. It wasn’t that Billy was stupid or lazy. He was the unfortunate survivor of a generation that had been raised by a prior generation that embodied the result of hard work and determination but which had tragically forgotten to teach its offspring the ingredients of their little slice of the American Dream. They’d made it look easy, and having been raised in a booming post-war economy, it *was*, for them. As luck would have it, though, the lessons of the middle of the Twentieth Century applied about as well to life in the early Twenty-First Century as a lungfish’s evolutionary advantage applied to getting a job in advertising, and that twist of fate left half a generation gasping on dry land and wondering why their parents made swimming look so simple.
December 9, 2025 at 3:38 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "design"

In Chapter 6 of "The Demon's Pawn," psycho killer Andy Trout receives a gift from his new employer: a very unusual knife capable of killing *places*.

Andy LOVES knives. Whatever they can kill.

#TheDemonsPawn🔪🩸

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 6 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] It was like no knife Andy had ever seen. The blade was a foot long, almost four inches wide from spine to edge, slightly curved, and violently jagged. The metal gleamed with an inner red light, broken only by the archaic designs etched into both sides of the blade. As part of the design, three irregularly shaped holes punched through the blade. The handle was simple and inelegant, jet black wood with four silver rivets and a temptingly crooked finger guard. The knife hummed with an otherworldly song, a tune that was overplayed before humans even evolved. Macheath dropped to the floor from Andy’s loose fingers; the chef’s knife *thunked* as it bit its blade a half inch into the linoleum and shivered. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 6 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] Andy reached out for the humming, glowing knife. Anytime did a quick flick (she was almost as good as he was) and held it to him handle first. As Andy grasped the black wood, a jolt of fire and brimstone thrashed his nervous system—he didn’t want to let go. He slashed through the air, and the knife’s ancient hum Dopplered a zap of buzzing thunder, like electric clippers coming too close to your ear for just a second—a glint of blood-hued light flashed in time with the rushing hum. “This is your knife, kid,” said Anytime. “Meet Azrael.” “Azrael,” said Andy, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes glowed in the dull gleam of Azrael’s blade. “Nice to meet you.” Azrael’s horrifically sharp edge nodded as Andy turned the blade over reverently.
December 9, 2025 at 3:38 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "design"

Chapter 3 of "David Earth" opens after a brief time skip, where we get to see what became of professional galactic scavenger Gamingo Blux and the little creature he picked up along the way.

#DavidEarth🌎🚀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "David Earth" (by me):] David the Snarkling opened his eyes with a start—the ship intercom was buzzing in the ceiling overhead. The ceiling wasn’t very high—the little room that served as David’s quarters began life as a supply cabinet—so David stretched up and opened the link. “Morning already?” he asked groggily. “There’s no ‘morning’ in space!” Uncle Blux replied gruffly, his voice crackling through the intercom. David yawned and stretched, scratching his grumbling belly. “Then why does it always feel like you’re waking me up early?” “There’s no ‘early’ in space, either,” said Blux. “And I wake you up because you sleep too much. It freaks me out. Why can’t you just go into a short annual hibernation state like respectable folks?” David giggled. “I’ll work on that,” he said. “Get up!” said Blux. “We’ve got incoming!” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "David Earth" (by me):] David jumped up at that, and quickly wriggled into a pair of bright blue coveralls Blux had picked up second-hand. The coveralls were made to fit a small bipedal species similar to David, though, unlike David, they had tails—a garishly patterned square of cloth patched the hole through which David had no tail to put. He zipped up the front of his outfit and hopped down from his bunk. He never bothered with shoes—a habit he picked up from Uncle Blux, which had the additional benefit of letting him use his feet as a second pair of hands, though not quite as adroitly as his first pair of hands, which were, after all, actual hands. He did, however, snatch his earbud transceiver off a shelf and slip it into his ear. The earbud was specially designed by Gamingo Blux to imitate real radio petals—it transformed electromagnetic input into audible output, which David was rapidly learning to interpret. Blux was teaching him a lot—and David was gobbling up knowledge and skills like a Deep Ocean Gigapus hunting down hapless fish with a billion poisonous tentacles.
December 9, 2025 at 3:38 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Saw a brief "cishet white guy humor JFC WTF 🤦" and it reminded me of probably one of my favorite sketch comedy bits that I was ever part of, which was improvised by my friend Doug on the spot because it was obviously going to play way better than the scripted version. 1/17
December 9, 2025 at 2:57 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Relevant to that last repost…
semperbufo.bsky.social Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟 @semperbufo.bsky.social · Jun 29
I feel like plenty of solid posts were never posted, because—in writing them—the poster realized all of the potential bad faith interpretations (even by those who'd actually agree with them), tried to add more detail to counter that, ran into the character limit, said "Fuck it" and clicked Discard.
December 8, 2025 at 3:57 PM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
travisteatime.bsky.social
Nothing can be discussed in context, and you will never not be ridiculed for expressing your feelings.

Least of all on social media, a medium that demands shorthand to comply with character limits but is therefore downright *begging* for malicious misinterpretation just for the sake of a dunk.
December 8, 2025 at 2:47 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 is on!

From now until the New Year, #LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more INFO, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To BUY 'em, follow the LINK BELOW… 👇

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords #books2read
#sale #BookSky 💙📚
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
December 8, 2025 at 3:37 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Years ago, Bazooka Girl grinched that most Xmas songs are repetitive and monotonous. As much as I love my Xmas playlist, she had a point, so I mixed this up special just for her. 😁

Feliz Navidad, everybody…! 🎄

(Listen to at least 30 seconds to get the idea…yeah, it's the whole song length.)
December 8, 2025 at 3:31 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Oof. Look, I'm not even an activist, just an invested observer, but seeing *another* Really Very Smart Person conflating UBI with "Basic" from The Expanse kinda leaves me numb 'cause there was already a whole article pointing out how completely wrong that false equivalence is 8 years ago.
The Expanse’s Basic Support vs. Unconditional Basic Income
How not to meet humanity’s basic needs in our automated future
medium.com
December 8, 2025 at 3:12 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "fourth"

In Chapter 7 of "The Demon's Pawn," twisted serial killer Andy Trout is haunted by his latest murder victim. No, literally. Her ghost won't leave him alone. Or shut up. It's driving him crazy.

Well…craziER.

#TheDemonsPawn🔪🩸

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 7 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] “You know it, right?” Ramona asked, feeling triumph and pity simultaneously. “You know you’re totally psychotic, right?” She looked almost sad for him. “I mean, seriously, Andy. You fucking kill people. You cut them up with knives. I’m not even insulting you, right? All I’m doing is saying it. It’s like: you’re white. Or: you’re a guy.” She used precisely the same simple, factual inflection, concluding: “You’re psycho.” His eyes flicked briefly in her direction. “Shut up,” said Andy through clenched teeth. “What are you going to do?” asked Ramona. “Kill me?” She wasn’t smiling; her eyebrows were raised in an insurmountable challenge. “Maybe I can do worse,” said Andy. “I bet Anytime could get me a flight to Peoria, whenever I want it. I’ve got your wallet. Think I can track down your parents from the address on your license? And your sister? Not too fucking hard, Ramona. So maybe you should just shut the fuck up.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 7 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] She stopped short and stared at him as he kept walking ahead. She recovered quickly and caught up again, shaking her head, staring at him with a mixture of awe and disgust. “The first time you use *my* name,” she said. “And it’s to threaten me.” She set her gaze straight ahead as they walked. “You really are a fucking psycho.” Andy kept his face coldly neutral, but his mind was burning with Missed Comeback Fever. There was nothing he could say, he knew, that would somehow establish his sanity or humanity; nothing that Ramona couldn’t simply twist around and hurl back at him like she was some kind of verbal ninja. The problem with arguing your non-psychotic status lies in the simple fact that any protest, from the nonchalant to the violent, simply presses the point home a little more. Like a maddening game of “Nuh uh!” with a towheaded fourth grader who actually has a point, there’s nothing you can say that can’t be neatly parried. Apologies just punch up the inconsistency of the psychopath; threats just punch up the violence; reasoning just punches up the penchant for self-justification.
December 8, 2025 at 2:55 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Playing "We gotta rescue Kermit!" for nearly an hour straight, my 3yo apparently learned the same lesson that TV series producers/writers learned decades ago: if you actually RESCUE Kermit then the whole thing's over, so that's the one thing you can never do.

Me? I rescued Kermit and got yelled at.
December 8, 2025 at 2:33 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
There are some songs that you'd normally never give the time of day and seem like the kinda thing your mom would hum along to while she was grading papers but because they hit the charts RIGHT when you were going through a messy teen relationship they have a goddamn iron grip on your heartstrings.
December 8, 2025 at 2:11 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "empty"

When a blackout hits in Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime"—right in the middle of some startling revelations—Detectives Charlie Gelman and Mae Tran can't help but wonder…

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] Pulling Detective Tran along behind him, Charlie stumbled through the diner. He smacked his knee hard against a table, got momentarily tangled in a chair, but finally bumped into the door and fondled it as awkwardly as a sophomore at the senior prom until he found the handle. “Charlie,” Tran said quickly, following him out the door. “Where are all the emergency lights?” She had a point. The typical red halos he would expect to see here and there during a blackout were missing. The diner was completely opaque, and nothing glowed outside. He could feel the sharp wind on his face, and his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see Mae Tran next to him, her black outfit standing out against the slightly less black brick walls of the diner. Far above, the sky shifted with silvery gray hieroglyphs outlining moonlit clouds. It was an odd sight—usually, the clouds over New York picked up the grotesque pink and yellow glow of the city below them, basking in the reflected glory as if even the heavens themselves knew who had the upper hand. Dark skies over a darker Manhattan felt too much like a fully sensible reason to panic. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] “Jesus Christ, Charlie,” said Mae Tran, scanning for a light source and coming up empty. He could barely make out her features in the heavy gray ambience trickling down from the clouds. He swallowed hard, but kept his bravado up. “Didn’t know you were religious.” “You put in a good word with Hashem, I’ll return the favor.” “I haven’t been to temple since my wedding,” Charlie replied. “Mae, seriously...you think this has anything to do with...?” He frowned at their topic of conversation without naming it. “Strictly common sense?” Tran paused. “That’s the most self-absorbed, narcissistic thing we could possibly think right now. But...” She squeezed his hand and looked up at the giant black towers silhouetted before the dark gray sky. “I’m freaked out enough to give us a pass if that’s all we can come up with for the moment.” “I’ll, uh, say the Sh’ma or something,” Charlie offered. “I’ll do an Our Father.” “Deal.”
December 7, 2025 at 6:04 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "empty"

In Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective," P.I. Henry Ingersoll puzzles out some clues with his ex-partner Pete Farrelly. It's just like old times—except Ingersoll's not wearing gray anymore.

#TaleOfTheZombieDetective💀🔍

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] Farrelly took a deep breath. “This is the first I’ve heard on Alice, sorry. But Recorp—they’re in the pipeline every day.” He took a gulp of beer, wiped his lips with his sleeve. “They’re in talks with Security, Defense, Foreign Affairs...even the Policy Ministry. They’ve got something going on. Something big.” “Yeah, I think I read something about that,” I said. “They’re lobbying Policy for some legislative improvements geared toward transference?” “Not just improvements, Hank,” said Farrelly. “They’re aiming for large-scale changes. Stuff that hasn’t even hit the streets yet. Stuff they’ll have a monopoly on for decades.” “The Administration wouldn’t accept that,” I said. Farrelly shook his head. “Wrong. In exchange, Administration gets dibs on some of the latest technologies. Exclusive deals, I’d bet.” “What technologies?” “That’s all still locked up,” he said. “We’ve only got guesses, and nobody takes them seriously.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “What’s your call?” I asked. “I couldn’t say for sure,” he said, taking another gulp and swallowing hard. “But I’m thinking copies. For Security, for Defense, Foreign Affairs. Labor, even.” “If the OLOBs caught that meme—” “Exactly.” The One Life, One Body proponents weren’t just a strong political lobby; they were fanatics. Most of them had a religious background and religious motivations, but the faction was much bigger than any one religion. I mused for a second. “Where would Recorp find empty bodies?” He shrugged. “The morgue, maybe?” “Even if they could get permission, cadavers would only last a few days, at most. The rider would have to be transferred again.” “And again, and again,” Farrelly agreed. “I didn’t say I had a solid lead. I’m just throwing out what I’ve heard.”
December 7, 2025 at 6:04 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 starts tomorrow!

#LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more info, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To find and buy, follow the LINK BELOW…

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
December 7, 2025 at 6:18 AM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
"So…you were bitten? By a radioactive spider?"

"…yes. That's how it happened."

"Really?"

"Y-yeah. How else could it—-I mean, yes. Spider. Radioactive. Bit me."

"That sounds implausible."

"No it doesn't."

"Peter, did you have sex with a spi—"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP NO *YOU* FUCKED A SPIDER!"
December 5, 2025 at 2:44 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance," Lu Volasko learns they've got video of the crime, thanks to Judah Berenbaum's obsessive personality, rebellious attitude, and Leet Tech Skillz™.

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Jeez, doc,” Mulray said. “You know you’re not supposed to bring in any unauthorized—” “Yeah, yeah,” Berenbaum waved him off dismissively. “I’m only the head of the whole damn *project* and all.” He smiled broadly at Lu Volasko. “So I kept it secret. I couldn’t move it, get all Spielberg with it,” he explained, madly spinning another screw free, “but it got pretty good shots of anything in line of sight...” The casing busted loose, and the two scientists eased it open. Inside, a small digital camera was securely screwed to a mount, surrounded by soft black foam and shiny square plates. Berenbaum flicked his fingers rapidly, unscrewing the camera and pulling it out. Three insulated cords dangled from it, noodling out from the case. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Cross your fingers,” said Judah Berenbaum. He flipped a switch. The display lit up, and they heard the soft whirr of the autofocus lens adjusting itself. “Yes!” Greer Bean clapped and laughed, celebrating. She hugged Berenbaum’s shoulder. Mulray sighed, smiling. “Well,” said the security guard, “guess I can’t get too upset about it...” “Wait,” Lu said, reining in the celebration. “Why would you leave the camera on if you shut down the accelerator for the weekend?” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “I didn’t,” Berenbaum replied simply, pressing buttons on the back of the camera. “But I couldn’t let *their* cameras,” he jerked his head at Mulray, “see me messing around with *my* camera, or they’d know I snuck it in here. So I hooked it up so it would turn itself on and start recording whenever the mains were on.” He tugged on the cords for emphasis; a small box with two tiny lights was clipped to one cord. “I sneak in when we’re not working and dump everything onto a flash drive, like, once a month.” “Doctor Berenbaum,” Lu said formally, “I think I’ll go ahead and give you the credit you’re due.” She grinned. “You’re a genius.” He giggled as he held up the camera. “That’s what it says on my business cards.” Bean frowned adorably. “I told you to take that off...” “C’mon, let’s watch!”
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective," P.I. Henry Ingersoll angles to find out just how much his new client—who's also his ex-wife's second husband—knows.

#TaleOfTheZombieDetective💀🔍

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] A pained look crossed Richard’s face. He took a sip of his coffee. “Henry, please,” he said. “You have to find her. She knew about this, she knew about all this. But she kept making accusations...” “About what?” “About...she said there were already copies on the market.” He almost sounded like he was about to break down in tears. “She said the technology I was working on was being implemented. Years before legalization. Years before it’s even ready!” “And is she right?” “No!” he said, loud enough that some other folks glanced our way. He took his tone back down. If he was trying to convince me he wasn’t responsible for his actions, he was doing a hell of a job. “No, she’s not. We’re not doing it, not yet. But she said it was already being tried on zombies.” “And you don’t know anything about that?” I took a drag as the waiter dropped another gin-and-tonic on the table and cleared my empty glass. The young Italian kid said nothing about my cig. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “I don’t,” he said. “I swear.” “But maybe it’s going on.” “If it is,” he said, fixing me with an earnest stare, “I don’t know anything about it.” I nodded, letting him off the hook. “But maybe Alice was onto something. Something you’ve been kept in the dark on.” He sighed. “It’s possible.” “Tell me about recombination,” I said. Partly just to demonstrate that I knew what I was talking about. He smiled ruefully. “You really do sound like Alice.” “We were a perfect match,” I said with an edge. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] He paused, and made a visible effort to ignore that remark. “Recombination is tricky,” he began. “That’s why the strictly commercial firms like Switcheroo are having so much trouble. A transfer removes material from one brain and then replaces it with new material. Even a copy isn’t such a big deal; you’re just duplicating the material in one brain and putting it into an empty one.” He was falling into Professor Mode; any time he started explaining his work, he fell into that trap. This time, I was counting on it, in case he might let something slip without thinking. “But taking material and actually appending it to a brain that already contains a full persona...well, it’s a problem. You might not have enough room. You might accidentally overwrite some existing data. You could disrupt the normal electrochemical flow in the destination brain, and end up with a damaged subject.” “A nutcase,” I suggested. He rolled his eyes irritably. “Yes, some brain damage can result in severe disability. That’s not the point.” I chuckled. “It might be to the ‘subject.’” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “The point is,” he continued without acknowledging my comment, “recombination has never been successful. Memory, motor skills...too many functions are affected, and we just don’t know enough about neurochemical fragmentation and reorganization to make it work.” “To your knowledge,” I said. Richard stared blankly. “What?” “Recombination has never been successful,” I clarified, “to your knowledge.” “Who do you think you’re talking to, Henry?” I hit him where it hurt—his intellectualism. “I’m the assistant director of research and development at the world’s foremost transference laboratory. If there had been successful test results on recombination anywhere in the world, I’d know about it.” “Whoa, cowboy,” I said. “I have a question.” “What is it?” he said curtly. “Was Alice going after all this for her piece?”
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week," Sharon's mention of her ruggedly handsome hitchhiking passenger grinds dinner conversation to a halt…but her daughter knows how to start it back up.

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

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[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] Joey asked: “Are you going to marry him?” There was a deep pause as Joey’s sprouts *splopped* back into his stew and splattered his chin. The only movement in the kitchen was his arm wiping across the droplets on his face, and steam rising from the four bowls. “Joey,” Sharon said reassuringly, “I’m not going to marry him. I’m not marrying anybody.” “We hope,” added Sophia. “Quiet,” Sharon whispered to her. She looked back at Joey and included Nikki with her eyes. “Guys, that’s not how this works, okay? You don’t just meet somebody and get married. And I’m not looking around to *find* somebody to marry right now. Or...well, not now, not for a long time, if ever. And,” she hesitated, but figured this might be the concern, “nobody’s going to be...I mean, *if* I do get married, to *anybody*, to whoever, well...he won’t be your father. I mean, your father will still be your father. We’ll just have a bigger family. More people to help take care of us, and who we care about.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] A bare moment passed, and Nikki said, “Well, *duh*, Mom.” “Yeah,” said Joey, “*duh*.” But he said it quieter. “This isn’t an After School Special,” said Nikki. “We’re not dumb. Whatever.” “Uh,” said Sharon, ignoring Sophia’s gleeful grin. “You wanna hook up with some guys, nothing serious, whatever,” Nikki went on. “I get it. This isn’t the olden days, like the Fifties or whatever. Nobody cares. Knock yourself out.” “Nikki!” “I’m just *saying*,” Nikki said with Valley Girl tones, “we all do it—” she caught herself and transitioned so smoothly, David Copperfield might have missed the trick “—women are allowed to do whatever they want, now. It’s not slutty. It’s just modern. You’re allowed to have fun!” “Can I be done?” said Joey, toying with his stew and not looking up.
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
If you ever saw either of the action shorts I did, you'd be fooled: I'm ambidextrous, lefty just works better sometimes to choreograph or frame the shot. 😉
chrissteller.bsky.social Chris Steller @chrissteller.bsky.social · 5d
If I am watching TV with you I will always point out when someone is left-handed
December 5, 2025 at 5:13 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime," Detective Charlie Gelman takes a call from the medical examiner and gives his trusty hat a chance to catch up on their murder case.

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

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[Excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] Charlie pulled into a questionably legal spot just up the block from Sunset Gardens, and put the Ford in park. “So that means...what?” “That Takach had *liquid* iron splashed on his face and clothes,” replied Helen, “and it probably cooled and solidified almost instantly.” “So how’d that happen?” “Not a clue. You’re the detective, Charlie. But I’ll run it by Ben Hendricks to see if he has any ideas.” “Okay,” said Charlie, unbuckling his seatbelt and patting himself down. “Helen—thanks a million. Lemme know if anything adds up.” “Of course, Charlie. Take care.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] She hung up, and Charlie tapped his phone’s screen and put it back in his pocket. His hat chimed in dryly: “So Takach is an eyeless mole man who works at a foundry.” Charlie grabbed the dark glasses and got out of the car, shaking his head. “Even if you *did* use the past tense, I don’t think so. If we’re going with Magical Wizard Murders—” “Is that what we’re going with?” asked the hat, a skeptic slant in its Humphrey Bogart voice. “You really *do* need to fill me in, chief.” “Sorry, yeah,” Charlie said, slowing his pace up the sidewalk so he could buy a little time before they reached Sunset Gardens. “Tran and I questioned his stuff. The story we got is...well, wizards. He was one. Lots of others, they say. We figure it’s some internal thing—Takach pisses off the wrong wizard, goes into hiding, they track him down and bump him off.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] His hat sounded unambiguously dubious. “Wizards?” “I’m not gonna debate the existence of wizards with my *hat*,” he said pointedly. “Fair enough, chief.” There was a distinct pause. “So if that’s your premise...maybe it’s not an isolated incident?” Charlie shrugged and nodded. “More Magical Wizard Murders? Sure. I thought of that already—could be.” He thought about it. “Huh. But maybe this isn’t the *first* one. Maybe I should look at some cold cases. Anything unsolved and...weird.” “Good plan.”
December 5, 2025 at 4:54 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy," Three checks out their new (stolen) ride as Billy Fish learns just a little bit about the local galactic community around them.

#GrandTheftGalaxy🕳️🌌

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[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Three finally came to a decisive halt after passing through a wide door into a roughly circular room. Consoles and screens lined the walls and hung down from the ceiling on telescoping pistons and cables. There were five distinct stations spaced evenly along the walls, with a sixth dead center. Each had a long, narrow cushioned seat with a high back; every seat faced the back of the room, where Three and Billy had come through the door. “Refitted for them,” Three remarked. “Custom job. Nice work.” He straddled the narrow seat in the center of the room and leaned his chest forward against the back cushion. It dawned on Billy that the seats actually did face front—the “backs” were the “fronts,” which would provide a perfectly comfortable seat for Pizza Head to straddle with his four legs and lean his broad chest forward onto the cushions. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Three’s words started trickling through Billy’s comprehension skills. “Wait...you mean it’s not their ship?” “It’s theirs,” said Three. “Just not their brand. They own the ship, but they didn’t make it.” As he spoke, he tapped away on several flat pads arrayed around his seat. A round screen lowered in front of him and began to slowly spin as glowing figures and diagrams swarmed across it. If any way was “up” on the screen, Billy couldn’t say. “So they, what...go over to the dealer and buy a new ship?” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] “Yeah, basically,” Three nodded, his eyes scanning the round screen. “Except their department probably does it for them. And probably orders in bulk.” Billy breathed heavily, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he took in the command cabin of the ship. “But that’s...I mean....” He tried again. “You mean there’s a whole entire *civilization* up there? All sorts of aliens? Out there—in outer space?” “It’s not as civilized as you’d think,” Three quipped. “But that’s the gist of it.” “And your planet’s at war or something with...with these guys’ planet?” Three’s shook his head. “I don’t have a planet.”
December 5, 2025 at 4:54 PM