And Hank Rockjaw tags along behind it.

Freedom Beer, the newest Hank Rockjaw serial, begins today. My publisher, 1889 Labs, is graciously hosting it for its run. I’ll be posting entries Monday, Wednesday and Friday from now until February 29th.

There will be fists, beer, mystery, beer, jet fighters, beer, intrigue and beer.

If you don’t like Valentine’s Day, then this book is for you.

And if you do like Valentine’s Day, then you should also like this book because you seem to be the sort of person that likes things.

Who is gunning for Hank and the brewery that’s been in his family for generations? Who is behind the mysterious Saint Secaire Brewery? Is it Josh, former sweatshop owner and former punch recipient, trying to exact his revenge on Hank for ending his exploitative business? Or is it Zelphia, Josh’s enigmatic attorney, who arrives unannounced at his home?

And why is this book cover so fucking awesome?

“You want to do what, again?” asked Farmer Shears.

“Inquisit!”

Farmer Shears turned to the village librarian, Ms. Kiwi.

“Is inquisit a word?”

“Of course it is!” Samuel said.

“I don’t think so,” Ms. Kiwi replied. “I think that you’re looking for the word ‘inquire.’”

“Oh, well that’s ok,” Farmer Shears said. He leaned back in his chair until it creaked and hooked his thumbs in his buttonholes while he let a magnanimous look spread across his face. “We’re happy to share information about our little village. What would you like to know?”

“Are any witches, demons or warlocks living in your midst? Has any villager signed a blood pact with one of the Grand Arbiters of Hell? Would each of you be willing to submit to a test to determine same?”

Farmer Shears’ frown descended from the very top of his head all the way down into his beard. “Of course not.”

“Right! You would say that! But as the natural philosophers argue, we cannot allow authority to replace a test!” Samuel said. “We need fact! We need observation! We need a repeatable experiment to be performed against each villager!”

“Like what?” Farmer Shears sat forward and folded his hands on the table.

“The first test is a burn test.”

“That can’t be what it sounds like.”

“But it is! You tie someone to a stake and light them on fire. Witches won’t burn.”

“And warlocks?”

“They burn too well!”

“And demons?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never found one.” Then Samuel brightened. “But today might be the day! One must stay positive.”

“The answer, of course, is absolutely not. You’ll not be taking a torch to any one of the villagers. Not only would you get a stabbing from a pitchfork – and you’d have to make sure not to ‘test’ the doctor first – but that test doesn’t prove anything besides how long that they were at the tavern the eve before.”

“Okay, I came prepared. I didn’t think that you’d jump at that test. Most villages don’t. I have more suggestions.”

“Here’s a suggestion: how about you leave?”

Ms. Kiwi put a hand on Farmer Shears’ arm. “Now, now. Maybe he has a less, er, strenuous test. Do you?”

“Yes! I have one where the warlock has to hold his breath for six days.”

“No,” Farmer Shears. He stood up, walked around the table and grabbed Samuel by the arm. “You’re done.”

“I have one that doesn’t involve fire or water! It’s called the finger test!”

Without pausing for a yes or no, Samuel pointed his index finger and shoved it into Samuel’s mouth between his molars and cheek.

“Demons have receding gumlines from all of the lies.” He massaged the gumline. “I’m happy to report that Farmer Shears’ has vigorous gums!”

Farmer Shears nodded.

“I know a thing or two about this myself. In fact, my family has devloped a very useful technique. It has driven many demons from our homes. Many malingerers cannot withstand it. They find it so hateful that they leave.”

“I would love to learn it!”

Farmer Shears slapped Samuel across the face.

“I call it the horizontal hand blessing.”

And Farmer Shears blessed Samuel all of the way out of the village.

The Moral: free speech does not mandate an unsolicited gum massage for your audience

Hank Rockjaw is in the same boat.

When a mysterious enemy threatens the Rockjaw family brewery Hank must use his wits and his fists to cut through a web of intrigue and betrayal. Who can he trust? Is it the beautiful and mysterious Zelphia Dipthong? Or Roland Wu, his mysterious gardener? Or the Cult of Aristaeus, a mysterious motorcycle gang?

Clear your calendars, because from February 1st to March 1st 1889 Labs will be hosting Hank Rockjaw’s latest serialized adventure: Freedom Beer!

It vibrated beneath her hand because his tungsten carbide cutting blades had wound up.

“But they’re sitting there staring at us,” Mining Unit 1041 crackled. “We have rights.”

“We do have rights,” Myrna said. While she tried to soothe him with one hand, she moved their lunch around on the table with the other to limit any collateral damage. “We have the right to sit here and enjoy a nice afternoon at the mall. I have the right to finish my chicken salad sandwich and you have the right to enjoy a nice, spicy fuel cube.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.” Mining Unit 1041 pushed his lunch away and sliced through the table like a water jet bisecting a piece of soggy bread. The new edges of the table sagged from the heat.

Myrna picked their food up off the floor and walked it over to the trash bin. She passed the young man and young woman who had been staring at them. On her way back, she stopped.

“It is very rude to stare, point and laugh. My husband and I are in love.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Destroying family values.”

“My husband and I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“Go suck a pipe.” The young man made a very rude gesture at her.

Myrna froze. He had gestured like he was pulling a plug from the wall. She knew what triggered her husband. Mining Unit 1041′s armored feet shook the entire foot court as he lunged towards the two young men.

“What did you say to my wife?!”

“Don’t you come at us! Do you know who my father is?” The man and woman cowered behind a plant made out of less organic parts than their assailant.

“Do you know who my dad is?”

“His dad is Senator Maxwell!”

“That’s right, Senator Maxwell!”

“Senator of the whole Pegasus-B planetary system!”

“Including the mining pits on the Qi planetoids where you belong!”

“And including this food court!”

“He’ll have you disenfranchised!”

“Dismembered!”

“Disengaged!”

“It would be a shame to revoke my right to vote. I voted for Senator Maxwell. I’m pleased to meet you.” Mining Unit 1041 extended one of his excavation pincers.

The young men took the hand. The pincers snapped shut. He yelped.

“That hurts!”

“I voted for Senator Maxwell because he supports the emancipation of mining robots like myself.”

“Stop that! Your pincers are sharp!”

“I only wanted to get your attention.” Mining Unit 1041 disengaged his pincer. He’d broken the skin. Except the hand didn’t leak blood.

A bit of hydraulic fluid fountained out from the pressure then slowed to a trickle. The young man snapped his hand over the wound, but it was too late. His lady friend had seen it.

“You made a fool out of me!” she stormed away, miscalculated on the small flight of stairs edging the food court, and took a spill. She smashed her skull open on the railing. Her metallic skull gleamed in the high-intensity mall lighting.

“No, wait, it’s okay!” the young man said. “It’s okay if we’re both robots!”

“No, it really isn’t, because you snore in your sleep,” said the robot woman, and she still broke his cold, mechanical heart when she walked away.

The Moral: robot or human, when at a food court do not dispose of the plastic trays or your protective outer layer

The Court’s opinion points to the Berne Convention of 1886, wherein member nations agreed to provide copyright reciprocity. The ruling ostensibly closes a gap of protection for foreign copyright holders.

I do not have an issue with reciprocal international copyright, but the explicit impermanence of public domain scares me. It is a slippery slope. Once public domain can be revoked for good reasons then it can be invoked for bad. And in this case, it is already bad as it is threatening the jobs of orchestra conductors, educators, performers, publishers and film archivists that depend on that material in the public domain.

Why is it imperative that the US follow Berne Convention when they merrily reject other international accords? The Berne Convention makes it easier for the Recording Industry to get support to prosecute copyright infringement in other nations by saying “we protect it here.” Despite Ginsberg’s statement that “in aligning the United States with other nations bound by the Berne Convention, and thereby according equitable treatment to once disfavored foreign authors, Congress can hardly be charged with a design to move stealthily toward a regime of perpetual copyrights.” In a contextless milieu, maybe. But the Supreme Court exists to work within context and set or explore precedent. Given the direction of SOPA, PIPA and other anti-culture legislation, Ginsberg’s statement falls on calloused ears.

Copyright’s purpose is to provide protection to encourage new cultural production. The dissenting opinion by Justices Breyer and Alito notes that fact and says that the decision “does not encourage anyone to produce a single new work.” This will limit derivative (read: new) works and does not provide any impetus to create new works, it merely provides retrograde protection for works that we have already incorporated into the public domain.

I am still reading the opinion but so far I have not seen any statement regarding the treatment of existing derivative works. Two options exist: nothing will be done to their creators, or their creators will be punished according to the retcon performed by SCOTUS.

The same media industry wieners have purchased some proposed legislation (it appears that the sponsor of SOPA, Representative Lamar Smith, has some rich friends in media). The US Senate considers PIPA and the US House of Representatives considers SOPA but the two are at least fraternal twins. Many excellent arguments have been written against both pieces of legislation by people much more knowledgeable than myself, including the Electronic Frontier Foundation and concerned law professors. And the European Parliament has weighed in on the matter with a resolution expressing their concern.

Culture isn’t mine, and it isn’t yours, and it isn’t theirs. It’s ours. Publishers may act as a steward and many do an excellent job in that role, but come on, how many damn fantasy stories have been written about stewards overreaching and acting like jackasses and then the real king comes back and is all like “you’re a dick sandwich, check out this sweet crown?” We’re the real kings, the media lobbyists are the dick sandwiches.

If you’ve picked up any published editions of my books, you’ll know that they were released under a Creative Commons license. I’ve gone ahead and added the comparative license to content on this site as well.