I’m not talking about a baby… at least not that kind of baby.
My new fiction series, The 49, hit a milestone this week. I’ve published 20 parts since I decided to release it week-over-week as a serial on Substack in January.
Have you ever had a story you just had to tell? I almost couldn’t sleep at night or pay attention to people in conversations because this concept was always on my mind, growing, building, forming.
In the video above I break down key plot points, share some of the backstory, and basically just geek out over the process of creating the series.
The 49 is a supernatural and political thriller that takes place in the not-too-distant future. It’s a story ripped from tomorrow’s headlines.
Forty-Nine is the last President inaugurated in the US. It’s the span of terrible days after the global comms black out when the world was reshaped. It’s the number of strange supernatural phenomena that appear around the globe.
Let me be honest…
It’s a little terrifying to create and release original fictional content in this way. It’s a big story, and while I have much of it mapped out, so much of it is being created as subscribers read it! And, because there’s a deadline every week, I need to find the time and a rhythm to write it.
Some Mondays I’m white knuckling it and barely hit the deadline. But I’m proud to say I’ve hit them all so far (but did take Victoria day off).
The schedule is, let’s say, invigorating:
* On Mondays I release a new chapter of the story (that paid subscribers get first).
* I create the cover art for each episode and release it too.
* Tuesday’s a new audio version of a recent episode drops.
* Friday I make the post available to free subscribers.
* Then rinse and repeat each week.
As a thank you to all my subscribers, I wanted to give you access the moment each new chapter is released for 30 days.
Get premium access to The 49 for 30 days, for FREE! No charge, no strings attached.
Where did it come from?
The story was unexpectedly birthed out of Contesting, a story I wrote for the stage. If you subscribed to Things I Wrote Down from the very beginning, you may be familiar with it. It’s the story of two people who wake up in a room, with no memory of how they got there or who they are.
They slowly piece together the events of a tragic, shared past as strange objects appear. These objects prompt their memory. They realize they are contestants on The Game. And that one of them is guilty of a crime. The audience—watching on devices all through the Corridor where the contestants’ interaction is streamed—will decide who lives and who dies. Only one will survive.
The 49 emerged as I started to wonder what the world outside that small and terrible game show set was like. I wanted to explore the context of these two characters I fell in love with while writing their story.
Celebrating 20 parts and sharing one of my favourites so far
To celebrate hitting this milestone, writing content over the last five months, I wanted to share an exclusive excerpt with you that I enjoyed writing (and to give you a taste of what you’ll get if you subscribe).
The following is an excerpt from Part 17, in which we learn how Diez broke the story on pedo priests and came into possession of a famous sculpture.
Salvaged Nokias and Banksy's Cardinal Sin - Part 17
There were ways that information was passed between parties, secrets, even in the surveillance state of Corridor West. As the billionaire fiefdoms emerged around the world and the security state reached its peak, a new market of secrets emerged. The priesthood found a way around the invasiveness, became part of a flourishing, hidden network of ideas and communications that flowed around the world, between walled-off corridors, like a quiet, underground river.
There had been a resurgence of old tech, nostalgic devices before the blackout, when brains and feeds were flooded with so much messaging and information that people were hungry for a simpler day. And there was an entire black market of information that boomed outside the walls of Corridor Afrique where so many old, discarded devices lived in tech graveyards.
They were resurrected like an army of dry bones, brought to life through the rebooting of old Nokias and Motorolas. Flip phones with qwerty boards; pariahs that became desired. An order of African priests introduced the method of communication to Western priests, and an infrastructure of communication was christened.
Priests were good at secrets. The confession booth was a lair where they could flourish. While the method of communication was used to protect networks of believers from exposure, to relay messages of encouragement and scripture in areas where speech and ideas freely shared became dangerous to power-hungry despots, there were more nefarious priests who used the same tech.
Diez first got wind of these information networks when he first started writing Collars and Crimes. Pedo priests used the secret communication system too, hiding SIMs in crucifixes and rosaries. They salvaged old Nokias that didn’t connect to 7G, saved messages to SIMs. Read them on the off-network devices. It was outdated tradecraft that was a genius subversion.
Diez’s most viral article, before the blackout, detailed how the flow of information was passed globally, revealing guilty priests and politicians. Faithful bishops and priests shared scriptures of encouragement to a the remnant: which priests were trustworthy and which priests they should watch out for.
He, of course, never revealed names of the faithful priests. And he never disclosed how the SIMs were hidden. But every time he stripped before the guards and the cameras on set of the Games to meet a contestant and enter the confessional, he had himself to thank. The security precaution was meant to ensure information couldn’t be carried in or out of the room.
The strange veneration the Gov gave to the the cross—the almost superstitious honour among non-believers for sacred symbols because of the Phos and how the inexplicable power that God displayed on earth—allowed the secret delivery mechanism to continue to hide in plain sight. People in power like the Gov just didn’t want to mess with that power, especially since the Humbling.
Diez hung Jonas’ crucifix over the edge of the Banksy statue in the corner of his study. Keep hiding in plain sight, he thought. The owner of the modified 18th century bust–whose stone face was cut off and replaced with bathroom tiles had gifted Diez the piece as a thank you for his reporting on pedo priests.
The Cardinal of Sin bust was one of his favourite pieces in his growing collection. It was a constant reminder to Diez of who he was, where he came from, what’s possible when you speak the truth and what’s possible when you abuse the position given to you.
Diez hung Jonas’ simple wooden crucifix so that it laid over the stone cross on the sculpture, careful that it wasn’t in view of his webcam when he delivered his homily.
It had been years since Diez saw a SIM, back when he was a journalist. He himself had never received or delivered one as a priest. Even if he wanted to he didn’t have a device or a location to safely power up the old tech without detection.
Now he had some sleuthing to do.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.andrewkooman.com/subscribe
