Andy Remic on his latest novel, ‘War Machine’ (and Elvis…) : UK SF Book News

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Dec

5

Andy Remic on his latest novel, ‘War Machine’ (and Elvis…)

Posted in: UKSFBN Talks To on 5th December 2007 by Sandy Auden

Set in the far future, in deep, dark space, Andy Remic's War Machine [Amazon] is a novel that examines themes of betrayal, loss and retribution, as well as the concept of whether a lifetime of evil and can be overcome by one good deed.

The blurb tells us that ex-soldier Keenan is now working as a private investigator on a planet at the peaceful fringes of the Tri-Gal. Since his family has died he's run up debts and is a heavy drinker, but he cannot refuse business. When a prince from the Jervai Province offers him a case onto a dangerous colony world, but the royal also offers clues as to the murderers of Keenan's family. It is a mission he cannot refuse...

"The writing of War Machine over the past eighteen months was, truly, an arduous experience," Remic assured us. "No, really it was. I know all writers say that sort of thing, but for me this whole creative enterprise was a unique and mind-blowing experience. I will share it with you. But be warned, dear reader, this tale is not for the faint-hearted..!

"I was waiting in the local Chinese take-away for salt and pepper spicy chicken (and extra chillies) and soon trundled hungry through the smog. Whilst climbing into my VW (full leather, beautiful) a strong light filled the sky from horizon to jagged horizon! I reached over and cradled the half-finished manuscript of War Machine for comfort as a beam of green light shot from a spaceship the size of a politician's wallet and sucked me, and my manuscript, into a pulsating gyrating corrugated chamber.

"I stood, stunned, clutching my paper bundle- as you would when kidnapped by aliens. 'Welcome to my spacecraft, the Heartbreak Hotel!' boomed a melodious voice, and as he (it?) stepped free of a suckering puckering tentacle, I realised by God, that it was Elvis! He appeared, all glittery and white, black hair slick and trick and full of grease. 'Ahuh huh,' he added, quite unnecessarily I thought.

"'What do you want?' I quavered, and with some nervousness, remembering the photos of Marilyn Munroe not quite able to walk straight. I might be the new master of rock-hard science fiction (according to Solaris' marketing blurb), but not even I could fight off a raging, horny, ditty-expulsing Elvis with a weight surplusage like that.

"'You must teach us, human SF writer buddy, how you do this thing called writing.'

"'Sure,' I replied, recovering my composure a little and undeterred by the eighteen half-naked cyborg femme fatales who'd just sidled in through a wall-orifice. I eyed the spaceship interior more closely, and with a growing, growling horror. Indeed, the walls were full of eyes. And ears. An organic mish-mash of those who had failed before me!

"I rallied bravely! I puffed out my chest mightily! I set a square jaw woodenly! I would not be conquered! I would not back down! I would bestride adversity! I would show these alien beings what is was to write a novel! Thankfully, my half finished War Machine manuscript was beside me, and my mind full of ideas... they led me to a keyboard as we half-backed sinax loops out of the galaxy, the femme fatales taking to the spaceship's guns as attacking SPAWS spiralled outside with gnashing teeth, their huge pulsing worm-white bodies glowing through the darkness of trillion-mile space.

"I seated myself at an organic typewriter. It felt soft to the touch... because it was. It was made of human fingers. However, realising the danger of my situation, and with Elvis at one elbow, a constant drool from his metal jaws distracting me, and a rather scantily clad femme fatale by the other elbow, her fluttering alien eyelashes and rather generous bosom adding yet more to my disorientation, I touched the keyboard, finger to necrotic finger, and stuttered, 'You make me wish I had three hands!' as I delved in on the organic keys, realising instantly that I didn't have three hands... it was more like ten!

"And thus, in an atmosphere of charged violence, threat to life and limb, and with a deviant sexual distraction, I managed to create a story of, um, charged violence, threat to life and limb, and deviant sexual distraction. It was a long hard process! Every night I would be led into a purple pulsating chamber, slick and awash with curious pineapple jelly, and thence I would be force-fed the finest food and wine, my crazy captors imprudently believing this would bring about a superior act of writing on my part. My every fluid whim was served, my every craving craved, my every sense filled to explosion point as I was stuffed and fed and mauled and experimented with.

"Keanu Reeves in Bram Stoker's Dracula had nothing on me! His deviant adventure was a mere distraction compared to mine at the hands of these succulent alien beasties. However, bravely, nay, foolishly, I soldiered on with the challenging challenge that lay ahead. Filled to explosion point, satiated of every lust imaginable (and a few unimaginable), I forced myself day after day through the torture of creation writing humorous and dangerous characters, penning scenes of high adventure and adrenaline and hardcore kick-ass action, fingering the darkest of dark comedy for the delectation of my readers… and, thanks to my new captors, I thus had a volatile first-hand experience of the real joys of the Quad-Gal environment which I now expose to you dear reader, in all its reality!

"Trust me there is life beyond the stars and we are destined to a future of succulence and wealth and all you have to do to become a part of this multi-galaxy race, this deviant adventure, this utopia of organic fulfillment and satisfaction in aspects you never imagined possible in your wildest weirdest nightmares is to simply buy a copy of War Machine out now from Solaris Books, and hot damn it!

"I returned to Earth a drained man. Drained of fluid and pride for all eternity. And as you read the pages that your loving author, your humble servant (i.e. me) penned under extreme duress (and fine Chianti) you just know in your heart of hearts that Remic truly went to hell, the stars, and the darker side of the galaxy and back… risked his skin, his soul, and his nadgers, just to provide a little bit of entertainment for those brave enough to spend £10.99.

"Over to you..."

Aw, come on. How could you possibly refuse, after he went through all that? Get on over to Amazon.co.uk already!

For more information on War Machine, check out the Solaris Books website, or visit www.andyremic.com from where you might also find your way to the Remic blog at Wired, Weird and Wonderful, if you dare...

Source: Andy Remic

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