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Welcome to Matthew S. Rotundo's home page. Matt is an award-winning writer of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. Read more about him here.

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Satellite Office
The Rotundo World Tour

2019

ConStellation 10
Lincoln, NE
April 26-28

Watch this space for updates!

Progress Report, in which I quote Han Solo

Apocalypse Pictures Presents is 5,000 words fatter, and Magic Meter is on the march:

What’s that up ahead?  Why, it’s the end of the first act.  Not sure if what I have in mind is going to work, but hey, that’s what first drafts are for.

As for the second act . . . at this point, it’s kinda like what Han Solo said while he was recovering from hibernation sickness:  “Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur.”

That’s progress, right?

OK, so Han was on his way to the sarlacc pit at the time.  So what?  Pipe down and enjoy your snippet:

The very notion of Animates chilled her on a level she couldn’t reach.  It did no good for her to tell herself they were just meat, no different in concept from simple puppets.  She remembered attending one of the first proof-of-concept demos, using a hand and arm the technicians had acquired from the morgue.  The motions had been fluid and lifelike–too lifelike for Catherine, as it happened.  When Ross had asked her opinion, she’d said, “I feel like we just hit the bottom of the uncanny valley.”

Ross had laughed at that, a rarity for him.  But he and the rest of the Council had been sufficiently impressed to give the go-ahead for a full body Animation.

Catherine had attended that one, too, but had spent most of her time gazing at the floor.  The whole time, she could only wonder what the pioneers of animatronics would have thought had they seen the direction their work had taken.  Most of the techs on the project, she knew, had worked for effects companies before the Fall.  They had learned their craft at the feet of visionaries who once had brought dinosaurs to life.  Even though CGI had replaced most of the need for animatronics by the time of the Red Death, the technology and the know-how remained, waiting only for someone to take the next step.

The magic of Hollywood had been replaced by the necromancy of the Hills.  To Catherine, it was an abomination.

No updates for Write Club.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends . . .

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