And I’m tired!
There ya go.
Stuff I just make up stuff about: science fiction, and warfare!
Huzzah!
The Tom Vargas story was rapidly becoming a novella. Job Along the Borderlands is a Fermi Resolution story that will appear in the short story collection, mind you. So: feedback is welcome.
(Crossposted to Kickstarter)
If you’re a backer for FROZEN DREAMS, you should be getting an email with a link to the short story sampler at any moment. It’s in .mobi, .epub, and .pdf form. A few things to note:
And that’s mostly it. Next up: the books! They’re supposed to arrive any day now.
I got six short stories that need to be read and critiqued. Well, actually I have quite a few more, but these are the ones that are going to be part of the Kickstarter short story sampler, so they’re higher priority. For each of them I need an idea of what worked, what didn’t, and what needs fixing; and I need them gone over in the next three to four weeks. If this sounds interesting, let me know and I’ll send ’em on over.
Thanks in advance and don’t worry if this isn’t your sort of thing.
It is done. 8,287 words, if you’re curious.
https://moelane.com/tag/the-house/
If you think you understand power, you do not. If you know that you understand power, then you still do not, but at least you have the self-confidence needed to push your way through when your understanding fails. In the end, it is about somehow surviving when forces beyond your comprehension manifest. If doing that require a lie, well, that is much more commendable than using blood.
Poor Wayne and his people would have used an imaginatively cobbled-together ‘ritual’ to free the Owl from the house. Which is what I had done, of course; in fact, I had a copy of one written up, on the off chance that the cultists had been truly foolish and simply murdered me on the spot . The difference between me and them was that I was self-aware enough to know that all rituals are meaningless, and that what really mattered was intent. My intent was to free the Owl, without wrecking the neighborhood.
https://moelane.com/tag/the-house/
Wayne frowned. “That was easy,” he said.
One of his cultists stirred. “Too easy,” she said. “There’s some kind of trick going on.”
This time I did laugh, if only to see them wince. “Very well. I will not do the ritual, then. I assume someone will take these handcuffs off before you all leave? It is not like I invited any of you here.”
https://moelane.com/tag/the-house/
Forgive me, for I have never written much about the basement before now. There was always something about it that made me wary. I was never frightened of the basement, even after the dreams started. I could go down there and do laundry and change the filter on the furnace and the rest of it. But I always felt like a not unwelcome guest in that space, and I instinctively comported myself accordingly. So naturally, Wayne and his fellow cultists (I assume) simply clumped down the stairs with me in tow, and with all the solemnity and dignity of a flock of pigeons.
https://moelane.com/tag/the-house/
I had not invited Wayne to the house on Halloween night, but I was unsurprised when he arrived anyway. Neither was I surprised to discover that he had brought friends with him; a half-dozen in all, with the air of men and women who wished that they were wearing hooded cloaks. But I admit to a certain amount of outraged startlement when they seized me.
