L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 35

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Isobel offered no resistance as Urquhart stared at the equations written on her body. Belgrum had called it a nonsense proof, little more than schoolboy doggerel. It began with a definition of unity and, through a series of convoluted equivalences, demonstrated that its terms summed to zero. In other words, a proof that one equals zero. That was absurd, of course. Somewhere deep in the manipulated formulae there was a subtle falsehood, like a magician’s sleight of hand.

  Belgrum didn’t doubt Urquhart would easily spot the deception. Urquhart had the depth of learning, a connoisseur’s instinctive grasp of arithmos—but he was still an addict for all that. And what addict could resist such a curious puzzle, a purported proof that one equals zero?

  But where was the falsehood hidden …? Urquhart frowned, drawn in by its challenge.

  Belgrum used the back of a chair to haul himself to his feet. Then he used the chair itself as a weapon, swinging it high in an arc. Isobel’s graffitied body had bought him the necessary few seconds of distraction after all.

  “Childish,” Urquhart was saying, eyes sweeping across the symbols as he searched for the falsehood. “I see it!” Then, sensing danger, he turned raising one hand instinctively against the descending chair. He staggered, parrying the blow, and his bladed fingers sank deep into the wood. But Urquhart was powerfully built and Belgrum was no match for his strength. With comparative ease, Urquhart used the chair to drive him back across the room, thrusting him hard into the wall. Urquhart bore down on him forcing the back of the chair against his bruised windpipe. Choking for breath once more, Belgrum twisted the chair free with the last of his strength and Urquhart screamed in pain as the finger-blades, still deeply embedded in the wood, tore free of his flesh. Blood ran from each ruined fingertip as Urquhart sank to his knees, cradling his wounded hand, screaming obscenities.

  Belgrum threw his jacket over Isobel’s shoulders and they fled. They raced into the night, dodging through alleys and darkened streets, drawing on all his secret knowledge of the city. He had no idea where they were headed. All he knew was that there was no safe place back where they had come from, nowhere Urquhart would not find them eventually.

  They walked for hours, until their feet were sore and blistering but Belgrum wouldn’t let them rest. “Father has money—” Isobel began.

  “Money won’t keep you safe. Money will be a trail that leads straight back to you. And once there’s a trail, Urquhart will follow it.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll help you disappear. We must reinvent you as someone else. I don’t know of any other way.”

  Hours later, they stopped to rest at the side of the road on the outskirts of a little village far beyond the city. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east. Belgrum slipped an arm round Isobel’s shoulders as she began to shiver.

  “You’re safe here, at least for a little while. No one knows us in this place.”

  She pulled away from him sharply. “Safe? How can I ever be safe? Who can I trust when I carry such a terrible thing—such an evil thing—inside me? I’m like a book waiting to be read. All anyone has to do is open the cover …”

  “It doesn’t change who you are. You’re still a good person, Isobel.”

  “It changes everything! The evil is a part of me. It’s something I can never cut out. And he will never stop looking. Not while I live.”

  Somewhere deep in his own heart Belgrum knew she was right, but he was too tired to argue. There were men and women who would think nothing of taking a life to glimpse that dark equation, to drink in the purest arithmos, and taste its power. Even the thought of being within touching distance of that knowledge sent a little tingling thrill through Belgrum. Would he have the reserves of strength to withstand such a thing? Would he dare test himself to such limits? He imagined the skin peeled back, the rib cage parted, the still-beating heart exposed and that dark scar tissue spelling out its terrible secret to hungry eyes …

  His head jerked up with a start after the brief slumber he’d slipped into. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was here.

  Of Isobel, there was no sign.

  Advice for Artists

  by Rob Prior

  * * *

  At a very early age, Rob Prior knew he wanted to be an artist by profession. After his father revealed that the bionics in the Six-Million Dollar Man were just science fiction, he developed a fear of losing the use of his dominant hand and spent several years training himself to use both hands for everything he did in his daily life, including his art. Rob has been a published artist since the age of thirteen, when he worked for a local publishing company creating illustrations.

  Rob’s passion for art and music have made him notorious as the ambidextrous artist who creates masterpieces in record time, painting with both hands at once, and often with his eyes closed. His live painting sessions are a mesmerizing combination of art, entertainment, and excitement for audiences as small as two and as large as several thousand. Rob’s art has traveled far and wide, and his works have been exhibited in museums and galleries across North America, Europe, Asia, and Africa.

  With a comic artist background, Rob has worked with Marvel and DC, but his most notable credits include work on Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Terminator, Deep Space 9, Game of Thrones, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Rob is also part owner of Heavy Metal magazine. When he is not in the studio or on the road painting at an event, he is highly sought after as a director and producer of movies and music videos. He and his family reside in southern California. Rob’s motto is: “You can do anything you want to do, if you want it bad enough.” www.robprior.com

  Advice for Artists

  Many young artists ask me similar questions. I’ll share some experience and advice that has helped me and can help you, too.

  Really, the biggest issue is that young artists tend to give up very easily. Probably the question I’m asked the most is, “How did you make it?” I always say that you have to keep trying. You don’t know if an art director woke up on the wrong side of the bed or he’s seen fifty portfolios or a hundred portfolios that day and yours happens to be 101. If you try ten times, it’s not enough. If you try twenty times, it’s not enough. You have to keep sending your work out. Just send it.

  Most people in the professional world get paid to tell you No. That’s just how it is. They reject artists out of habit. If you can, go to them and get their advice. Ask them, “What can I do to make my portfolio better?” Most artists never ask that. They get the rejection letter. They get depressed and their productivity goes down—ending a career that could have been. My advice is to just stick it through. If you have to send your portfolio out a thousand times, then do it, because you never know if that thousandth submission is going to be the one where people say “That’s what we want to see.” Learn from your rejection letters. Just keep getting better.

  Most artists will approach a project with their own agenda and ideas. When you’re painting covers and working in the real world, you must understand 5% of that is work for yourself and 95% is for and through other people. So, if you want to get published, get out of doing something your own way. You have to understand what your client wants and create that.

  Other questions I’m consistently asked are, “How do you not stagnate? How do you get rid of artist’s block?” And my answer is this: I don’t have artist’s block. I don’t have writer’s block. I work on five or more projects at a time, well actually more, but I always suggest people work on three to five projects consistently. Because when you hit a wall on one and you just can’t go any further, you bounce to another. And you may come up with solutions on project #3 that won’t work for #3 but they might work for project #1 or they might work for project #5. Work on multiple projects—as many as you can handle—and don’t let laziness get in the way (artists tend to be very lazy).

  I think artist’s blo
ck or writer’s block is an excuse to not go forward. And artists should never have an excuse to not continue on. You should push through anything and everything. If you’re an artist—it’s how you breathe, it’s how you live, it’s what you love—then create art.

  Work on your craft consistently. Attempt everything you can to be good at every aspect. Every day, I tell the apprentices in my studio: study and learn. If you don’t know how to draw trees, go buy books with trees in them, go to a forest, or go somewhere there are trees. Draw them consistently over and over again. If you have trouble drawing hands, draw hands.

  Prepare yourself for what is about to come. Remember that you can’t only be able to draw eyeballs and expect to get a job. You’ve got to be able to draw anything. This happened to me: I’m better at drawing people than I am almost anything, but my first job in Hollywood was storyboarding for a Jeep commercial. And I hate drawing cars. I hate it. But I said, “All right,” and I went out and brushed up on drawing cars until I could draw them perfectly. When I went in for the job, I was ready.

  I always say, “Believe in yourself, but while you believe in yourself, feed your artistic self, the artist within you.”

  People ask me about computer art. And I’m all for learning to master that medium. The computer can be a great tool. However, when people just take photos, apply twenty-five filters, and think it’s art, then I have something to say about it, because that’s just wrong. That’s being a button pusher, not an artist. Instead, learn to use the tools that are on hand. If you’re a good painter, but you’re not so good at chalk, pick up some chalk and study it. You never know when something is going to come in handy. The more well-rounded your skills, the more chances you have of being hired.

  So the question all artists have whether they ask anyone else or not is, “How good does a piece of art need to be?” And L. Ron Hubbard gave some advice that I agree with: “Technical expertise itself adequate to produce an emotional impact.” And that’s how good a work of art needs to be.

  You have to boost your technical expertise up to the level needed for the job. Most people just throw too much into a project, and sometimes minimalism is the best. Any illustration starts with a good layout. But don’t create just one layout, especially when you are starting out. For everything I paint, I make dozens of little tiny layouts. Study the old masters. Their layout sense was impeccable. The tricks after that are about what’s going to have the most visual impact.

  Paint a picture to the best of your ability and then step back from it: Okay. Is it visually pleasing? Is it crowded? (It tends to be crowded most of the time.) Does it tell a story? Convey an emotion?

  I rely mostly on my artwork to convey emotion. That’s why I use splatter. But I’m very particular about how I use it and what kind of splatter per piece. You want to pull an emotional response. Make sure that your artwork is technically excellent for the audience that you are aiming for.

  Another piece of advice—somebody said this to me once and I’ve done it ever since—make friends as best you can. Be nice on the phone. Send coffee to the assistants of the people you want to work with. Send them flowers. They have direct contact to the person that you need to get to, so the friendlier that you are with them, the more chance you have. A guy was asking me about this the other day. He said he likes to drop off his portfolio in person, but apparently the receptionists are nasty. Well, he has to figure out how to win those receptionists over, or he’s never going to be seen. His work is going to the bottom of the pile. Whatever you have to do, make sure that you are friendly to the people who are the conduit to the person you need to get to.

  A big problem most artists have when they put a portfolio together is they throw everything in there: the kitchen sink, things they drew when they were ten. The more choices you give an art director, the more chances they have to say, “No.” Compile your five best pieces into your submission and call it a day. If you need to show different styles, don’t include more than eight. The recipient will lose interest on more than that. Most likely, they are not even going to be paying attention by page eight. Try to capture them with the first three to five pieces. That’s what you need to create interest in your work.

  As for getting your art out there, figure out what you want your discipline to be first. If you want to illustrate, then go after book publishers. If you love Photoshop and you’re really good at it, send a portfolio to movie poster companies—they’re everywhere now, not just in Hollywood. Video game companies need covers for games and other things. Board games, there are thousands of them out there. If you want to do graphic stuff, you can just start designing people’s business cards and things like that. And if there are contests, enter contests. Enter Illustrators of the Future. These contests are the greatest thing I’ve ever seen for artists because it’s a chance to be published—that’s so important. It’s rare—in fact, I don’t think there is any other group that does what this Contest is doing.

  You can find the companies you’re looking for on the internet. When I was starting out, you had to go to the yellow pages and actually required some detective work. Now you can just look a company up, find the creative art director, and send them your portfolio.

  Think of smart ways to send your art so that it will be seen. When I sent a portfolio to Random House, I included Christmas lights. I got a big battery pack. I put the battery pack on the Christmas lights. I turned them on. I plastic wrapped it and overnighted it. They received a blinking, glowing package—of course, they were going to open it. Get inventive. Be creative. Think about something that’s going to get you noticed.

  I try and come up with just crazy stuff to attract attention. If there’s something that I really want, like if there’s a certain gallery I want to get in, I’ll target and I’ll figure out something to get in there.

  I really wanted to work with a specific game company. I had been published by several of the top game companies, and I could never get this one company. So I found a picture of the art director and I did a photo-realistic cartoon of him and myself. I was asking “Hey, would you, please, get back to me on my portfolio,” and his picture was saying, “Of course I will, Rob.” So I sent that in. About five days later, I got a phone call and I ended up working for them.

  I just did it with the movie company I’m going to work with. I had already been talking to them, but they hadn’t gotten back to me. So I made a little recording on an iPod, and I sent it with a big note that said, “Listen to this” and they did. It was me describing why I should be doing multiple pictures, why I needed to sign a three-picture deal. It was funny and they passed it all around the office. Shortly after, I signed my three-picture deal.

  Another thing that got a lot of attention, sort of by accident, was my chicken head. I hide a chicken head in every single thing I create. And I began doing it because somebody said that they would fire me if I put a chicken head in anything. So I hid one in there. But now, I get hired or people seek me out because of this stupid chicken head.

  Just be creative. Be yourself. Work hard and come up with some things that’ll attract attention to you. If you want a job bad enough, then dress up in a clown suit and go deliver your portfolio. They’ll never forget you. Come up with your own ideas. And persevere.

  Yellow Submarine

  written by

  Rebecca Moesta

  illustrated by

  DAVID FURNAL

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rebecca Moesta (pronounced MESS-tuh) is the bestselling author of forty books, both solo and in collaboration with her husband, Kevin J. Anderson. Much of her writing focuses on teens. Her solo work includes A Christmas to Remember, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Junior Jedi Knights novels, short stories, articles, ghostwriting, and editing anthologies. With Kevin, she has written the Crystal Doors trilogy, the Star Challengers trilogy, the Young Jedi Knights series, movie and game novelizations, lyrics for r
ock CDs, graphic novels, pop-up books, and writing books, such as Writing as a Team Sport. Rebecca and her husband are the publishers of WordFire Press. www.wordfirepress.com

  ABOUT THE STORY

  In America, getting a first car is a rite of passage for many teenagers and a source of great anxiety for their parents. Though the future may bring changes in technology and society, there will always be some similar rite of passage to give young adults joy and parents ulcers. This story is set in an underwater city, to explore the idea that teens will always be teens, and parents will be parents.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  David Furnal, from San Jose, California, started drawing at an early age, gaining inspiration from comics, anime, video games, and cartoons.

  David graduated from Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California in 2011, and has since been doing freelance illustration and commissions for a number of clients.

  He loves to create original stories using his art, and is working on completing a graphic novel in the near future. He is happy to have the opportunity to draw and paint on a daily basis.

  David is a former quarterly winner of the Illustrators of the Future award. His artwork was published in L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 33. www.artstation.com/davidfurnal

  Yellow Submarine

  Life with a sixteen-year-old is never short on melodrama.

  “But Mom,” André groaned, rolling his eyes, “you can’t expect me to drive that. It’s positively prehistoric. That’s what moms drive. I’d be laughed out of school.”