I prepared these for a friend who wanted to make a basic ebook from a text file. I figured they might be useful to some readers here in case they wanted to do something similar. This will provide a basic ebook without much in the way of formatting.
Save the document in .docx or .rtf format.
Download Calibre for your operating system.
https://calibre-ebook.com/download
Open Calibre.
Click the big green “Add books” icon.
Locate the file and click Open. The file will be added to the list of titles in the middle.
Find the title of the file you added and click once to select it.
Click the big brown “Convert books” icon.
Add the metadata on the right. Title, Author, Author Sort, etc.
Click on the little icon next to the box under Change cover image in the middle.
Select your cover image.
Change Output format in the selection box in the top right to EPUB.
Click OK.
Click once to select the title and either hit the O key or right click and select Open Book Folder -> Open Book Folder.
In the aftermath of yesterday’s blog post about Larry Correia, and the subsequent Arkhaven Nights stream on UATV, a number of people have asked me about the facts of the matter to which Larry was referring in such a dishonest manner to the editor of Baen Books and science fiction professionals. First, here is the email Larry sent out to JDA, Toni Weisskopf, Jason Cordova, Brad Torgersen, and Sarah Hoyt:
I’d say I hope you have a nice Christmas with your family, but you probably can’t because of that domestic violence restraining order. Now I’m gonna block this email like I have all your other accounts, you sort of human shaped blob of herpes.
Now let’s address the facts. You may wish to note that I have read the relevant documents, including the restraining and custody orders.
There was a restraining order filed against JDA by his ex-wife in 2023, two months after she filed for divorce. It was not filed on the basis of domestic violence, nor is there any mention of violence, domestic or otherwise, in the order.
The restraining order was requested on the basis of text messages that criticized his ex-wife-to-be’s physically abusive behavior towards their children.
The three-year restraining order was granted eight months later as part of the divorce settlement because the text messages sent to his ex-wife-to-be about her behavior made her feel bad and were characterized as something that “disturbs the peace”.
JDA did not contest the restraining order since a) doing so would be expensive and b) he was not interested in having any contact with his ex-wife over the next three years anyhow.
JDA never committed any violence, never laid a hand on his ex-wife, and was never accused by her or by anyone else of doing so. He was not even within miles of his ex-wife when the exchange of texts that served as the basis for the restraining order took place.
JDA was granted full custody of the children by the court.
JDA absolutely can, and will, spend Christmas with his family, which includes his children by his ex-wife, of whom he has had custody since the divorce.
In other words, Larry Correia attempted to falsely portray a married father who proactively defended his children, and still has custody of those children, as a violent wife-beater who is not permitted to be around his family at Christmastime. And in doing so, he encouraged dozens hundreds of people on social media and on YouTube, including last night on Arkhaven Nights, to post messages saying things like “why did you beat your wife” repeatedly throughout the the stream. I personally witnessed at least 20 of these obnoxious comments from at least four different accounts during the stream.
This is absolutely inexcusable and unprofessional behavior, particularly on the part of a self-styled conservative who purports to be a family man. And that cancerous behavior further exposes Larry Correia’s undeniable lack of character, which we first observed when he encouraged hundreds of Sad Puppies to spend $40 to nominate him for Hugo awards, then fled the field and abandoned his followers the moment the mainstream media took notice of him and started to call him names.
The damning thing is that Larry knew exactly what he was doing. In fact, ten years ago, he was angry about the very sort of behavior he is exhibiting now.
I’m angry. When people who haven’t talked to my wife since high school reach out to her, worried for her safety, because they read about how her husband is a wife beater, I get angry.
GUNS OF MARS, the newest novel from The Legend Chuck Dixon, has gotten off to a very good start. In case you’re not sure you’re interested in his excursion onto the dying Red Planet of Barsoom, please enjoy the following sample from the text.
Kal Keddaq rested his full ten-foot height prone on the slope of a ring of ochre sand that surrounded a shallow depression. His rifle was cradled in the crooks of his upper set of arms. Raised on four elbows, he lifted his head until his eyes cleared the lip of the bowl to scan the broad plain to the south. He was careful to tilt his head back in order that the protruding ears atop his head be less visible.
All he could see was an uninterrupted horizon against an orange sky. The sun was setting, and the cold would be upon him once more. The days were shorter and nights longer as he rode farther to the north. The sand was still warm beneath him. The last of the sun’s rays touched the thick green flesh of his back, a mottled mix of olive and jade. He might risk a fire later if he were certain he’d shaken the man pursuing him.
Kal knew, deep in his bones, that he had not lost the man who’d been tracking him over the dead sea floor for the past three days. His only chance to escape the bounty man was to keep heading north to one of the settlements that ringed the pole. Even that was a risk as he could run out of water for himself or his mounts before ever reaching one of them. And there was every chance his kind would not be welcome in the mostly human polar refuges.
He turned on his side to glance back at the two thoats grazing on patches of yellow lichen at the bottom of the bowl. The larger one was his saddle mount. The second was a pack animal bearing his remaining supplies and his last skin of water.
Before returning to his vigil, Kal removed a telescopticon from a pouch on his harness. He set his rifle aside and extended the scope to its full length before fitting an eye to the lens cup. Shifting from left to right he fixed his gaze on the uninterrupted line of the horizon. Dervishes of dust danced across the plain as the night winds stirred the talc surface. Kal blinked a few times and strained to sharpen his sight.
There, past the curtain of swirling sand, the last light of the setting sun caught a thread of dust rising in the far distance. Kal squeezed his dry eyes shut and pressed his better eye to the cup once more.
Through the haze he could make out a dark figure at the base of the golden column. A lifetime of living in the near featureless barrens of the Great Sand Sea had trained his eyes to recognize details that might be missed by another. More from the approaching shape’s motion than any details he could make out, Kal recognized it as a man riding atop a thoat. From that distinct swaying cadence, he knew the man rode his mount at a walk. Even so, he would reach Kal’s position by the time the sun set. Kal collapsed the spyglass shut and returned it to its pouch.
“Damn this man,” Kal muttered as he snatched up his rifle and slid on sandaled feet to the floor of the bowl.
He quickly untied the reins of his thoats from the rock he’d hitched them to. He secured the long rifle in the boot under his saddle alongside the scabbard of his long saber. His thoat croaked and bleated as he swung into the saddle. The animals were thirsty. Hell, he was thirsty too.
He kicked his heels into the flanks of his mount and it rose on its ten legs to canter in a general northerly direction, the smaller pack animal following at the end of a lead line of braided hide.
The rim of the bowl would serve to hide him from the pursuer for the next hour or so. The cracked clay surface of the dead lake would not raise any dust to betray his position before that. With any luck, Kal would be out of sight in the gathering dark by the time the bounty man crested the slope. Kal recognized that his run of luck was nearing its end after three days of riding hard with little rest and dwindling supplies. If he could only reach Argon or Samarium, one of the two settlements that lay north against the edge of the ice cap! Or perhaps a camp of fellow tharks where his name was not known.
He was Warhoon, a tribe not welcome among the more civilized of the tharks. There was no hiding his allegiance, as the signature bands of Warhoon tattoos about his arms attested. The distinction between tribes was less important the farther north he rode. The need for water sourced from ice melt erased the differences between tharks, and even between tharks and men. In this pitiless country, thirst was a greater concern than tribal or species loyalties.
And there was little chance his reputation had preceded him to the settlements. But word would soon follow him and then there would be more than just this single human dogging his trail. Until he found a place remote enough, backward enough in which to hide, there would be no rest for him.
All because he had dallied with the bitch Tagas, the first daughter of a Warhoon elder hetman. He’d only agreed to the arrangement because he saw advantages for himself in the union. A warrior of little distinction and less property, he had few prospects of ever being more than a handy sword and lance for the many conflicts the tribe engaged in.
Then the harpy Tagas had become taken with him for some reason. It was she who proposed they become mates. And, after consuming enough briga, a drink made from fermented tojan root, he agreed to the match. But there was not enough briga on Barsoom to make Tagas attractive enough for more than a few ruts. And so, Kal mounted up and rode off leaving his bride to wail at his absence and her father to roar himself raw with rage.
For most of the twentieth century, creative ambition followed a single script. You studied the field, polished a manuscript, hunted for an agent, and prayed for a contract.
If you were in film or music, the process was different in details but identical in structure: Everything hinged on the approval of an institution. Success came from being chosen. Talent mattered, but luck mattered more. Most creators knew it but kept playing the game because the alternative seemed unthinkable.
That expectation didn’t come from nowhere. It grew out of a period when the gatekeepers could actually elevate an unknown. They possessed the distribution networks, the advertising budgets, the corporate partnerships, and the capacity to manufacture stardom.
That pattern repeated enough times to take on the aura of tradition. If you wanted a career, you knocked on the same doors everyone else knocked on. The problem is that the doors stopped opening long before artists realized the hinges had rusted shut.
By the late 1990s, the blockbuster mentality had consumed the traditional institutions. Every division—publishing, film, television, and music—became obsessed with scale. Risk tolerance flatlined. Executives seeking hits that could justify their salaries clung to anything that produced reliable profit and panicked at the unfamiliar. Innovation came to represent risk instead of opportunity.
At the same time, audiences aged. The properties that kept the lights on were the ones that debuted thirty, forty, or fifty years earlier. Instead of cultivating younger talent, the corporations recycled the same brands over and over, hoping nostalgia would substitute for relevance. You saw endless sequels, remakes, reboots, and spin-offs. The cultural oxygen was consumed by dying giants.
Creators sensed something was wrong, but most didn’t grasp how deeply the rot ran. The old structures no longer had the ability or the interest to launch new creators into the mainstream. The institutions that once acted as kingmakers had lost the will and the means to fulfill that role.
Yet legacy outlets continued promoting the old discovery narrative because it kept the talent pipeline flowing. As long as artists believed salvation waited inside the old system, they wouldn’t look for alternatives.
This conditioning left scars. Many creators still cling to the hope that one good pitch or lucky submission will unlock a career. They believe someone in a skyscraper will pluck them from obscurity and grant them access to an audience. This belief persists despite decades of evidence that the system has no interest in fulfilling creators’ expectations.
Worse, some artists internalized the idea that bypassing the old gatekeepers equates to failure. Seeing independence as a last resort, they imagine legitimacy comes only from institutional approval, even though the institutions abandoned their curatorial role.
That psychology runs deep: Creators were trained to think of themselves not as people who produce value for audiences, but as supplicants waiting for an authority figure to validate them.
The irony is that while creators waited for help, audiences changed faster than the institutions could track. Once internet access became ubiquitous, people stopped caring about traditional pipelines. Their interests moved to quality and authenticity, not pedigree.
The challenge now is that the playing fields are not even close to level. How can a podcaster compete on YouTube or Spotify when he’s banned from one, the other, or as in some cases, both? How can an author compete when the A9 algorithm, or whatever Amazon calls the way it makes winners out of losers and losers out of winners, fails to favor him?
The answer, as we were forced to figure out much, much earlier than most, is direct sales and patronage. That’s why Castalia thrives while many other publishers, including the big ones, are struggling more and more every year. It’s because we were forced to rely on you readers early on, long before
There are still challenges posed by structural elements like the payment processors, but even those challenges are starting to fade as Russia, China, and the BRICS countries improve their financial products. And what that means is that independent creators don’t have to go down with the collapsing mainstream infrastructure.
As AI improves, as the number of options improve, it’s only going to keep getting better for true independents and worse for those who still cling to the idea that the gatekeepers matter, no matter how propped up they might be.
Speaking of the collapse of the mainstream gatekeepers, shame on all of you Rabid Puppies. Shame!
I was in a small bookstore just after the Hugo blow up, and this old guy was asking the clerk for recommendations. She straight face recommended NKJemison, “She won 3 years in a row, and it’s never happened before!” Poor guy.
And that’s why it only takes 11 votes to get nominated for a Hugo these days.
I’ve tried to give the big fat coward the benefit of the doubt for a long time, but it’s just not possible anymore. His behavior is just too absurd for polite words.
You should understand three things about Larry Correia. First, he doesn’t give a fragment of a rat’s ass about anyone or anything but himself. He left all the people he led into Sad Puppies hanging and abandoned them without a second thought because he’s a little pussy who couldn’t take the heat once the mainstream press got involved. You needn’t take my word for it, just ask him about it and watch him dance like a Riverdancer on a hot plate.
I told him directly and unequivocally that it was a terrible mistake to simply cut and run, and he told me that he didn’t give a damn about the fact that people were spending $40 to participate in Sad Puppies even though he encouraged them to do so. I even told him it was wrong, but he simply did not care. Not even a little bit. The only reason Rabid Puppies came into being was because Larry and Brad were TERRIFIED of being splashed by the mainstream media’s criticism of me.
They’re total fucking cowards. They always have been. The SF-SJWs never understood me, but boy, did they nail him correctly. The International Lord of Hate was actually just the International Lord of Hurt Feelings. One would never have imagined that such a large individual could be such a sensitive little pansy.
And that’s the truth, one that I’ve been concealing for his benefit for more than ten years. But not anymore, because he’s become such an complete and unadulterated prick who just can’t control himself whenever anyone gets more attention than he does. Look at his response to Jon Del Arroz informing Baen Books and the Baen crowd that Fandom Pulse interviewed one of Baen’s authors.
I’d say I hope you have a nice Christmas with your family, but you probably can’t because of that domestic violence restraining order. Now I’m gonna block this email like I have all your other accounts, you sort of human shaped blob of herpes.
I haven’t respected Larry Correia since he ran out on Sad Puppies. But he’s become more and more despicable over the years, and the fact that now he’s taken the ticket shouldn’t surprise anyone. Now he’s openly engaging in libel.
So, Larry, your wife and your family are fair game now. Don’t cry about it, you’re the one who went there and no one made you do it.
Second, Larry’s a coward. He loves to own the libs on Facebook, but he’s too much of a coward to ever stand up for anything that actually matters. He’d disown literally anyone and everything in order to protect his precious book sales, even though he’s never been good enough to get signed by a major publisher in his life. He was afraid to go solo even though I told him he should nearly ten years ago, because he needed the Baen security blanket until it became evident that Baen is not long for this world.
The third thing is that Larry is deeply and fundamentally insecure. That’s why he lashes out at people unnecessarily. That’s what originally motivated Sad Puppies. I don’t know why JDA threatens him, but it’s impossible to miss.
I’ve kept my mouth shut about the fat cowardly cunt out of respect for his past accomplishments, which are legitimate and real. But I think a decade of silence about his observable and undeniable shortcomings is more than sufficient, considering that his behavior is actually getting worse over time. And, as you may recall, I gave him fair warning the last time he spouted off for no reason.
NATO chief Mark Rutte has warned that war with Russia ‘is at our door’ as he urged European allies to prepare for action now or risk facing a conflict on the scale ‘our grandparents and great-grandparents endured’.
Speaking in Berlin on Thursday, Rutte said too many NATO members remained ‘quietly complacent’ about the threat posed by Moscow and insisted Europe must urgently ramp up defence spending and weapons production to deter Vladimir Putin.
‘We are Russia’s next target,’ he said. I fear that too many are quietly complacent. Too many don’t feel the urgency. And too many believe that time is on our side. It is not. The time for action is now.’
The only reason “the time for action is now” is because in five years, the USA isn’t going to be a member of NATO. NATO may or may not still exist as a rudimentary parody of a transnational military force, but regardless, time is not on the side of either NATO or the EU because in five years, both China and Russia are going to be stronger in both economic and military terms, the USA will be trying to survive its self-inflicted demographic shocks and maintaining its preeminence in the Western hemisphere, and the European militaries won’t even be able to control their own populations.
So NATO can lose now or lose later. It makes zero difference. The smartest thing these Clown World puppets could do is surrender preemptively to Russia and stop constantly poking both the Bear and the Dragon. Doing so is in the interest of them and the European nations alike. But they won’t be permitted to do so, which is why we’re going to have to endure this charade for another few years.
Chuck Dixon’s new ebook is now available from Amazon. I would argue that it is every bit as good as the John Carter novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs that inspired it; this is a project that has been at the back of The Legend’s mind for literal decades and it shows. For those who purchased the Signed First Edition, this ebook release is part of that process, as the ebook readers will help us eliminate as many typos as we can before we start laying out the hardcovers and the leatherbound edition. And, of course, a copy of the ebook will go out to all the Signed First Edition buyers before the end of this weekend. The cover of the ebook, and the coming print editions, features an original illustration by Joe Bennett.
On the dying world of Barsoom, where ancient seas have turned to dust and the last water on the planet is at the polar ice caps, Kal Keddaq is running for his life. A ten-foot-tall green warrior of the Warhoon tribe, he’s committed the ultimate blunder by violating a fatal taboo. Now branded an outcast by his own people and hunted across the merciless Martian wastelands, Kal must reach the settlements at the edge of the northern ice cap before his water runs out, his mounts die, or the mysterious bronze-skinned bounty man tracking him finally closes in for the kill.
Set more than one thousand years after a visitor from Earth first walked the deserts of the Red Planet, Chuck Dixon’s GUNS OF MARS plunges readers into a thrilling survival odyssey across the desolate grandeur of the Mars of Edgar Rice Burroughs. As Kal races north through scorching deserts and treacherous ice fields, his desperate flight becomes entangled with something far more dangerous than a mere personal vendetta. Is the relentless bounty hunter pursuing him his greatest threat, or his only ally, against forces that threaten every living being and tribe clinging to existence on the dying planet? Packed with breathtaking action, exotic alien landscapes, and the gritty frontier justice of the Old West, GUNS OF MARS delivers classic sword-and-planet adventure for a new generation. As the longtime writer of BATMAN and THE PUNISHER, comics legend Chuck Dixon skillfully combines a brutal battle for survival with breathtaking world-building, creating a page-turning tale where honor, desperation, and raw courage collide beneath the orange skies of a world breathing its last. A perfect book for fans of classic planetary romance, Westerns, and science fiction adventure.
As with DEATH AND THE DEVIL and OUT OF THE SHADOWS, the Signed First Edition of GUNS OF MARS will feature original chapter-heading illustrations from Arkhaven artist Ademir Leal.
The University of Michigan has fired Sherrone Moore following an investigation into a situation that transpired within and outside the football building, sources tell OutKick.
Coming off a season that ended with a loss to Ohio State, the Wolverines’ administration had been looking into alleged allegations levied against the coach. Over the past few weeks, Board of Regent members have met numerous times to discuss the allegations levied against the coach, which violate university policy.
Wednesday night, Sherrone Moore was detained in Saline, Michigan, and then subsequently handed over to police in Pittsfield Township, pertaining to an investigation that is now tied to the relationship.
Multiple sources tell OutKick that once the school found out about an alleged extramarital affair with a staffer through an outside tip, a decision was made to launch an investigation.
“U-M head football coach Sherrone Moore has been terminated, with cause, effective immediately. Following a university investigation, credible evidence was found that Coach Moore engaged in an inappropriate relationship with a staff member. This conduct constitutes a clear violation of University policy, and U-M maintains zero tolerance for such behavior,” AD Warde Manual announced.
It looks like Indiana and Ohio State are going to be cleaning up in the transfer portal soon.
Every man over the age of 40 is going to be backing the Colts for the rest of this season:
Stuck at EverBank Stadium, and waiting for a new charter home with mechanical issues sending the team plane in for repairs, Colts coach Shane Steichen and GM Chris Ballard were staring down a quarterback situation in apparent disrepair.
Starter Daniel Jones, already playing through a fractured fibula, had sustained a season-ending torn Achilles hours earlier, in what became a blowout loss to the Jaguars. Then, in the locker room postgame, rookie sixth-rounder Riley Leonard—who’d put together an admirable, hope-provoking three quarters—revealed to coaches the pain he felt in a knee that he tweaked during the second half.
Former first-rounder Anthony Richardson, who underwent orbital surgery in late October after a freak accident with a resistance band, was already shelved with no timetable for return. Veteran Brett Rypien was stashed on the practice squad. The Colts, quite simply, were long on problems and short on answers at the game’s most important position.
“What about Rivers?” Steichen asked, in the bowels of the stadium.
Ballard, taken aback, responded, “Would he do it?”
And thus began a wild 48 hours that brought eight-time Pro Bowl quarterback Philip Rivers, a veteran of 17 NFL seasons, back to pro football after a five-year retirement.
Success, needless to say, is unlikely. Joe Flacco may have come off his couch and played quite credibly to hold down the fort for Joe Burrows, but he’d only been out for a few months. Rivers has been retired for FIVE YEARS.
That being said, the fact that he’s been coaching and working out with pre-draft QBs does mean that he’s been mentally engaged with the game and knows he can still throw it. As for the rest, well, let’s hope we get to see for ourselves.
The reason there isn’t any post up at Sigma Game yet today is that every time I try to post, I’m running into “network issues” and told “try again in a bit”.
Since the site is still up and I was able to post on a different site from the same account, I don’t think there are shenanigans at work here, and it may well be just “network issues” but there are no signs of a general outage so we’ll have to see how it all plays out. In the meantime, stay tuned.
