My novel, Sunny and the Leopard People, has just been acquired by Sharyn November at Viking (for the harcover) and Firebird Books (for the paperback). Both are imprints of Penguin.About three years ago, I met this spunky little gangly girl. She was the daughter of a family friend. They were visiting from Nigeria. She was also strikingly albino. Imagine a girl with two fully Igbo parents who's facial features and hair are Igbo but whose skin is pale, whose hair is so blond it's nearly white, who's eyes were grey green.My daughter and I got to spend a week with her. She had this very animated personality. And she had an affinity for telling stories. She was a beautiful girl, inside and out.By the end of the week, I knew I'd write about her. Especially when she told me about the day she set her hair on fire. A priceless tale and the inspiration of a short story I wrote titled The Albino Girl (read it here).This short story turned out to be the first chapter of Sunny and the Leopard People, a fantasy novel set in Nigeria (time period: maybe a few years from now). It's technically a prequel to my second novel, The Shadow Speaker.Below is the link to an Angelique Kidjo video. This video very much inspired this novel, too. I saw this video years and years ago, but when I wrote this novel, the gods and spirits in this video came back to me. See it here.Needless to say, I'm ecstatic. :-)!!!!Tentative pub date: Spring 2010NnediRead more…
Posted by Dredwalker on August 27, 2008 at 10:15pm
Murder In Nufrika (Part III)Diana’s family home was in the middle of a Uganda safari, miles from modern civilization, although civilization was very evident in this well established mansion. Its structure was fashioned after the American White House. The house itself was deep purple, black and gold. Carter would joke that it could be seen from the same distance of a satellite. The front lawn was divided by a path of rubies to the front gate.Diana was born in New Orleans, United States. Her father was a gospel singer and minister. Her mother was an author who wrote many books. After many of his fans turning their backs on him for being “too secular”, he brought his family here and started a Yoruban choir. They travel all over the world while Diana’s mother traveled the continent so that she wouldn’t be to far away from their child. Of course they always use the holographic transporter from where ever they were stationed and transported their images home to keep Diana company.Diana, 15, has been here since she was nine. She was labeled privileged by her peers- even Carter. But she never liked being looked upon like that. Her family was rich enough to have a home in every continent. She cried every time they had a family reunion in New Antalaska. That’s a town in Antarctica that her family founded.So she often stayed behind in school to see what the kids were doing. That’s how she learned about the Yoruban culture and the Ghostbeat phenomenon. She met Carter about a year ago in a Ghostbeat match. Someone challenged him to a dance match and all the women went crazy over how he moved. By then she know how to ghostdance herself and she made him her partner. But now they have been more than just partners.Diana looked at Carter as he starred at panoramic wall that televised the news. The news recapped Tunde’s death and Diana was with Carter the last time he was alive.“Wanna talk?” Diana asked. They were both on the couch. Carter was motionless. He just stared. “Carter?” she was worried.“They found my DNA at the murder site.”“Huh?”Carter sighed. “They found . . . my DNA . . . at the murder site.”“How could they have done that? You were with me until you went home. By then we haven’t seen Tunde for hours.”“My father doesn’t think so.” Cater said with frustration. “I’ve always appreciated and supported the gift of technology, but even I know that it is only as limited as man allows it to be.”“We all do Carter. You me, Professor Penda, all our friends. Its part of why the next election is important.” Diana then had a thought. “Do you think his death had something to do with the election?”“Why?”“Tunde’s companies have a big influence in Nufrika. His fashions and accessories is pretty much the monopoly. You remember what Penda was discussing about Old Ashanti’s profits soaring due to the Ghostbeat generation?”Carter laughed out loud. “Ghostbeat Generation?! So now Ghostbeat is some political fad?”“Didn’t Tunde ask you about it the other day?”“Yeah, so? I love Ghostbeat music, but it isn’t some angry ancient hip-hop, or sleepy sad jazz. Ghostbeat music is about personal challenge--”“I know, I know.” Diana knew all too well. “Which is why our bodies become the beat themselves. But don’t you think that is what scares the elders? Personal challenge is what Penda is against.”“He wasn’t against it. He just saw that personal challenge is something to be taken seriously in a person’s life. Not to be some fad like Ghostbeat.”“It’s not a fad.”“Maybe not.” Said Carter. “But it’s not connected to Tunde’s death.”“So why was Tunde so nervous?”Carter thought for a moment. “Maybe it is connected to the election. Maybe it is more personal since somehow I’m connected. Who would know both me and Tunde?”“Most of Nufrika?” Diana suggested.They both laughed.The house audio system interrupted. “There is a visitor at the door.” It said. “It is holographic.”“It’s probably my father.” Said Carter.“House Computer, permit image into the living room.” said Diana.To their surprise, appearing before them was the holographic image of Rocky. Rocky was dressed in 20th century police uniform.“Carter Danjuma.” Said Rocky. “The correct greeting is Hotep, right?”“Hey Mr. Calhoun-““Officer Calhoun.” corrected Rocky.The need for Rocky to change the formalities was a clear message. “I have nothing to do with Tunde’s death.” defended Carter. “He was like family to me.”“I can witness to this.” Said Diana.“Carter, you know better.” Said Rocky. “And if you have listened to your father and I am sure you have, I am a hard ass. But I have some respect for your father, so I will contact him.”“You’re arresting me?” Carter asked.“For you, I will go against the book and bring you in as a friend. No cuffs, no reporters, no embarrassment. Just stay put for a half hour and I will arrive personally to pick you up. But don’t fuck me Carter. I will have every Bionic-Hound, every satellite, and every cop come after you like you shot the Prime King and the American President. Understood?”Carter and Diana looked at each other.“I’m coming with him.” Said Diana.“Fine.” Rocky said. “Let me get out of the best tub in the world so I can contact-” The holograph froze.A freezing holograph is usually a sign of a glitch in a computer. But soon the image regained animation. There was now a surprised look on Rocky’s face.“How did you do that?” Rocky asked.Carter was confused. “Do what?”“How did you get here so fast?” Rocky said.“I don’t understand” said Carter.Rocky stepped back. “Canes are outlawed Carter!”“I’m not holding a cane.” Said Carter.“He’s not talking to us.” Said Diana.Rocky’s hands went up in defense, swinging around as if he were being attacked. He screamed as it seemed to be losing the fight to an unseen attacker. Something struck him and he crouched down into a fetal position for protected. Whatever struck him did it again and again.“Somebody is in his house!” shouted Carter.Then the image dissolved into thin air.“Call the police.” Said Carter. “Get them to Rocky’s house.”-----------------------------------------------------I had a hard time looking at Tunde’s wife Ababuo as my holographic image stood outside the autopsy room. I was ashamed because I knew what she was thinking. My best friend was dead and I send a hologram to offer my condolence instead of being there myself. And somehow, a heart attack was not a good enough excuse at a time like this. I realized that when I saw her. I was alive. He was not. So I accepted her turning her back to me and continued into the room.Examining the body with a doctor, I saw many cane marks on Tunde's body. It was a clear cut case. Death by caning.Orisha, please bring calm to my people.Caning was outlawed well over a hundred years in Africa. It was one of those strange laws to enforce. If you bat or shot someone to death, you go to jail and serve life. But caning had a cultural message that proved problematic to the attacker. It stemmed from Madi’s method from keeping migrated African Americans in their place a hundred years ago. A new type of lynching; if you would. So today, if you were accused of caning, you would be lucky if you made it to jail. Often the police would have to protect the murderer from being snatched away by mobs. And often the mob was successful. So if you were seen with a cane, you were to receive heavy jail time.I looked at Dr. Elijah RaKeith of Ethiopia as he shook his head, examining the body. “I don’t know what to tell the public.” He said “I thought we as New Africans were past this.”“Hate wears new masks” I said.“All the time.” Dr.RaKeith agreed. “You are aware that this man was responsible for the Prime King’s previous election.”I laughed as I reminisced. “Tunde never wanted responsibility for that. All he did was dress the Prime King with fashion that identified with the youth. You don’t win an election for looking good.”“Why not?” Dr.RaKeith chuckled. “Happens all the time doesn’t it?”“I disagree. The people of New Africa have more depth than that.”“Of course Vinza. But you do realize image is everything. The Prime King’s fashion had a style that said: I may be old but I welcome fresh ideas. Just by wearing a Ghostbeat fashion jacket designed by Old Ashanti. He was the first to do it.The Prime King was already charismatic in the election. But that jacket secured his position.”“You’re talking crazy, doctor.” I said. “But you were not the first to ever say it.” I looked down at my friend Tunde before the doctor covered him. I pray to Orisha that Tunde has crossed over knowing that he will always be loved.My hologram left the room a few minutes later and I saw that Ababuo was still outside.“Ababuo. Please. You know he is my highest priority.”“Vinza. Stop being a cop for a minute and pretend to give a damn!” she shouted.“Why are you talking to me like this?” I asked. “I am sorry that I appear as a hologram to you, but don’t say I don’t care!”“Then why haven’t you called me! Why haven’t you called to find out what was going on! You care? Bullshit!” Ababuo started to then walk away.“Ababuo, stop!”Ababuo turned back to me. “Are you this ‘professional’ with your own family? Yurobans have heart. You didn’t call to say I’m sorry or anything.” She shook her head. “I pity you. Being Atraba’s Number One Sergeant has gone to your head.” She walked away again.I turned off the holographic transporter and crawled into my bed and stared at the ceiling, fighting my tears. I didn’t think I deserved what she said to me. And yet maybe there was some truth to her words.“Hotep Sergeant Vinza” Zula appeared before me. “DNA analyses have been confirmed.”“Let’s have it Zula.”“As confirmed before, the first DNA sample is owned by Carter G.W. Danjuma.”“The second?”“The second is owned by Fredrick Khufu Penda.”The name, at the moment was unfamiliar to me. “Who in the world is Fredrick Khufu Penda?”Ifama walked in with a man who I haven’t seen in weeks. He was my boss, Commissioner Calif Ali. I was surprised to see him here. And yet he and Ifama had a worried look on their faces.I got up from my bed. “Hello sir.”Calif sighed. “Hello Vinza.”I didn’t like suspense. “What’s wrong?”“Zula,” said Ifama. “Monitor my husband’s heart and stand by on yellow alert”“Vinza, a video is being downloaded into your computer.” Said Calif. “Officer Rocky Calhoun has been murdered in his own home.”I was more confused than surprised. “What? Two murders?”“By caning.” He said.“By caning???”“Please look at the video.” Said Calif.“Zula,” I said. “Play the recent video that had just been downloaded.”My window clouded and cleared into a screen. I watched with the greatest fear as a young man with a cane maliciously beat Rocky until he was dead. And then I fell to my bed when the man turned him face to the camera.The face was Carter’s.“Impossible.” Said Ifama. “He’s in Diana’s house right now!”“That may be true.” Calif. “Airbikes fly very fast.”“No!” said Ifama. “You don’t understand. He wouldn’t know where Rocky lives!”“I’m sorry.” Said Calif. “Carter is being arrested as we speak for two murders.”-----------------------------------------------------Reporters swarmed Diana’s house as four policemen cuff Carter's hands and shackled his feet. They lift him up and carried him out the house.“He’s being framed!” shouted Diana as she attempted to free Carter from the cop. But it was useless. Two of the policemen shoved her off them and she fell to the ground. She sprang back to her feet to try again but she was intercepted by another man who held her away from the chaos.“Diana, not like this! Stop it!” said the man as Carter was put into a police van. The reporters went chaotic. They took pictures of the arrest and overwhelmed Diana with questions.Diana looked to see that it was Professor Penda who pulled her away. “He didn’t do it!” she shouted. “He didn’t do it! He didn’t do it!”“Okay, he didn’t do it!” said Professor Penda, who was breathing heavily as if he was engaged in some exhausting activity. “You have to calm down, Diana. Let the courts handle this.”“Oh my lord Jesus!!” Diana cried.And the Satellites teleported to the minds of many citizens to watch the evening news of a Murder in Nufrika.Details at Eleven.TO BE CONTINUEDRead more…
Posted by Dredwalker on August 27, 2008 at 10:06pm
Murder In Nufrika (Part II)I slammed the phone down on Calhoun’s ear. His arrogance has made my blood boil. Although I am the Sergeant there is a level of respect that I got at the precinct that I could do without. Although they never made it blatant, half the officers resented didn’t respect me due to my American ancestry. I was not going to bring my son down to be subjected to Calhoun’s or other’s scrutiny. Not a madilover like him.“Zula, I want a video, audio, and bio recording of everything that goes on in my room until I say stop”“Recording activated.” replied Zula.May Orisha monitor my temperament. “Carter!” I shouted.Carter came into my room. “Yes father?”I didn’t know what to do. To interrogate my son is the scariest thing I have ever had to do. Only because of the answer I might get. “Did you see Tunde in the last 24 hours?”“Yes I did. At the Prime King’s party. I wanted to tell you about it but because of your condition-““Tell me about it now, what happened?”“Well, Tunde and I were debating about the influence of ghostbeat and its influence of Nufrikan law-““Son!” I didn’t have the patience of listening about any young ghostbeatting stupidness. “They found your DNA at the murder site. I need to know what went on last night that would make this possible!”Carter had a confused look on his face. “My DNA?” he was at a lost for words.“Answer me Carter!”“I have no answer!”“Why did you tap into Zula’s server this morning? What where you erasing?”“I didn’t erase anything. All I did was upgrade Zula’s language configuration.”“Zula, are you reading the heart rate of my son?”“His heart rate has steadily increased in all his responses. According to the sonic polygraphs emitting from him, his answers doesn’t correspond.” Replied Zula.“That means you are a liar Carter.” I said.“That means that you would believe a machine before you would believe me!” Carter shouted.“DON’T YELL AT YOUR FATHER!”While Zula babbled something about my stress level, Ifama came in. “What in the world is going on here!”“You think I got something to do with Tunde’s death!” Carter shouted.“What?” Ifama looked at me.“His DNA has been found at the site.” I said. “So when I started questioning him, his polygraph revealed him a liar.”Carter turned and rushed out the door.“Where are you going!” I shouted.“Shut up Vinza!” Ifama. “Orisha and Princess Candace Spirit, will you stop it! You just had a heart attack. Lay down! NOW!”“Stress level of Sergeant Vinza is now on code yellow.” Said Zula.“Zula, shut-up.” said Ifama. “End all recordings and just monitor his bio readings on mute. I’m the only one who gets to talk.”As I obeyed my wife and laid down, I heard Carter’s airbike engine start up.“You’ll drive our only son out the house and you into your own grave.” Ifama said. “You of all people know a polygraph hasn’t proved a thing since the day it was invented.”I heard Carter take off on his bike. “Our son has been implicated in the murder of our friend. Ifama, doesn’t that concern you?”“Yes it does! More the reason why we shouldn’t lose control. And more the reason why we should look to the Holy One for guidance.”“Well maybe Orisha shouldn’t allow me to have such a bad heart.” I said out of frustration.“Oh yes. It’s Orisha’s fault. Not the double mozzarella quarter pounder spicy buffalo steak with the special sauce they serve at the precinct everyday.”I started to say something but Ifama cut her eyes at me daring me to do so.“Rest.” She said. “I will talk to Carter when he gets back.” She then gave me a warning look as she left the room.I waited a half hour before I got out of bed again.“Zula, arrange my holographic transporter and send it to the coordinates of the south of the Nile River.”“15 minutes to image transportation.”“And keep it quiet, I don’t want Ifama to know.”The holographic transporter is used to create a life size image of me and transport it to any location around the world while I am in my house. This is used with the same satellite that transmits telepathy. With this transporter, people can see and interact with me as a hologram wherever I appear while I am doing other things, like staying sick in bed due to a heart attack.I had felt bad at the way I treated my son. I realized that part of my behavior was influenced by my resentment to Rocky Calhoun. He is a known Madilover.Madilover.Shackled Thinkers.I would imagine that if my 21 century American ancestors were to see into today, that they would rejoice in the notion that “nigger” has now become an archaic word and no longer was spewed from the mouths of anyone. It is true. But the word has not faded simply because of some miraculous awakening or unanimous revelation that has made a serious and ugly impact on a race of people. Sadly it has been replaced, and created here . . . In Africa.My holographic image was transported to the site where Tunde’s body was discovered. Controlling the hologram, I was able to “walk” around the site.There where two police cars and a few patrol air bikes surrounding the site. The men pulled out their holographic identifiers when they saw my image. The identifiers registered my signature and password. They were then pleased to meet me.“Hotep Sergeant!” said one of the officers.“Hotep” I said. “They removed the body, yes?”“Quite a few hours ago sir.”“Do you a have a video of the crime scene?”“I have it.” said a voice.I turned to see another hologram on the scene. It was Rocky Calhoun. “Hotep Rocky.”“Vinza!” Rocky smiled. “How’s your heart?”“I’m still in bed.”“I’m in the bathtub myself.” said Rocky. “You have to try this new invention that came from Ethiopia. You pour a powder into the tub, and the bubbles message your whole body! My girlfriend tried it last week and now she wants to break up with me because the bubbles touch her in ways she said I won’t. I was mad at her until now. Whoa!”I didn’t respond. I was just wishing I was that we were there instead of our holographs so that I can choke the life out of him.“Anyway,” Rocky went on. “When do we get to talk to your son?”“That’s not going to happen, Calhoun.”“Awwww!” Rocky said in mock despair. “Let’s not do this. I like you Vinza. That’s why I’m going easy on you. You’re going through a lot. But this is an investigation. And even you are not above Nufrikan law.” He let out a laugh. “Did you hear what I said? ‘Nufrikan’ law. I’m down with the kids!”“You said my son’s DNA was extracted from here?” I said over his attempt to be comical.“Yup. Blood.”“I saw no bruises on my son.” I said.“Maybe you didn’t check him thoroughly.”“So you think he did it?”“I’m saying with your friend’s death and your son’s involvement, it’s easy not to think clearly. I recommend this fucking bubble bath. You wanna talk about stress relief! Look I know your Yuroban believe is very strong and family bonding which is another reason why you are not in the right mind-"“Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t you disrespect me and my religion, Calhoun. I know how to do my job! I’ve been at this profession longer than you.”“Yeah I know. Who would have thought black people would have affirmative action on black people?”“You know what Rocky? I’m here to investigate a crime. But if you want to get nasty with me, we can turn off these holographs and we can meet each other face to face.”“Vinza, I would love to do that. But these damn bubbles are working something on me too good right now. So I’ll take a rain check.”“Whatever.”“100 year anniversary of New Africa. The more things change, they stay the same. I get the feeling you don’t need my help here. So I’ll come back when you are done. The video is being downloaded to your server right now. Oh yeah. Hotep.” He said with laughter.Rocky’s hologram disappeared. And I went and inspected the site.It was during the first union of Africa when the welcome “Come Home” campaign adopted the Marcus Garvey dream with its premise: A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots. Such words inspired and motivated many African Americans such as my great-grandparents to leave California and settle here in Atabra. However due to the massive migration and cultural differences, many people here were not comfortable with what they called an invasion of the American Black immigrants. In Banjul, Senator Madi Saikou sought foreign help with Libya, a country known at the time hostile to American affairs since Kaddafi and his successors. With underground Libyan financing he rose to create a movement called the (AAIP) Anti-American Immigrant Power. His movement was persuasive enough for five African countries to consider succeeding from this new union called New Africa.It was Princess Candace, who we Yurobans call the First Lady of Yuroba for refounding this continent’s largest religion who faced off with Madi.“The black American is poison!” Was Madi’s patterned speech. “And I say this out of pity! Because America has poisoned them! So they have nothing! Look at their history! American has bred them like mindless dogs! They betray each other! They cage each other! They kill each other! And why! Because their ancestors abducted from our land in shackles! Their president freed their bodies but kept their mind in shackles! And now they want to bring their shackled thinking back here! We’ve worked hard to unite as Africans to allow shackled thinkers to poison our rich culture. They want to come here but they don’t know what to do once they are here! Because they are too shackled to learn! They are too shackled to change! The land of opportunity bestowed them greatness we couldn’t dream! So why do they want to come here? To connect? To embrace??? They can’t help what they have become! Shackled Thinkers!”His speech branded us. “Shackled Thinkers” or “Estees – (S.T.’s)” rang throughout the continent like wildfire, and created a new civil war as six countries declared succession from New Africa.But it was only simple words of Princess Candace that made that ended the war and many opposing country see the error of their ways. “You who oppose the Black Americans oppose the African Diaspora. Because Africa is everywhere. It is the Diaspora that made New Africa possible! Long live Pan-Africa!”In time she led the repatriotism of the six countries back to the New African union. This angered Madi and what was left of his followers. So much so that he plotted to kill Candace. They have succeeded by throwing her off a twelve story building. And as history tells it, twelve days later Madi was found dead. The cause of death is unknown, but his body was found standing upright leaning face first against the door of Candace’s monastery.This was a century ago. Today people tell their rendition of that legend and what they make of it. People who followed Madi’s philosophy – the Madilovers – dismissed the whole story altogether.“Vinza.”As soon as my wife said my name, I turned away from the holographic transporter and looked at her innocently.“Carter is at his girlfriend’s house.” She said while her scolding eyes said I thought I told you to stay in bed.“Girlfriend?”“You didn’t know he has a girlfriend?”“You mean the Christian?”“She’s a nice girl." said Ifama. "What did you find out since you are being so stubborn?”“I’ve read the reports, and there are other traces of DNA whose owners are being scanned right now. I would tap into the precinct server for the data but it is so full of madilovers I’m skeptical of what they put into the data. So if Carter was there, he wasn’t alone.”TO BE CONTINUEDRead more…
Murder In Nufrika (Part I)Atabra, Sudan. February 23, 2216. Five days before the first centennial of “New Africa”, as the elder politicians still call it. The average citizen chuckle and scoff at the archaic pronunciation. The term was now “Nufrika” coined by the young and those who resist the conformed. Even my 15 year old son, Carter G.W. Danjuma (Because he was born on a Friday) finds such people – I included – Unhip. But he promised his mother that he would take part of the festivities.“But if they play that old music stuff called hippo hop,” Carter warned. “I’m going to rip my ears off!”Youth. They can’t appreciate a thing. Their idea of music is called ghostbeat. Ghostbeat as these kids described, is dancing to the beat that isn’t there.Yes, I know. It doesn’t make sense to me either. And yet billions of dollars have been invested in into, Ghostbeat.I laid in my lounge chair looking out the window into the Nile River. Old couples wind-sailed on the water and allowed the winds carry the boats about aimlessly. High over the river people coasted on their air bikes. Most of them were youths that couldn’t get enough of soaring through the air. 25 miles north of the river I was supposed to meet my friend of 40 years Tunde Hayes, son of Carl Darfur Hayes. Carl was the president of four companies, one of which was called Old Ashanti, a clothing design store Tunde ran that introduced a new fabric that is popularized by the rest of the world. Tunde and I were to go over security procedures for the centennial celebration for the hundredth time. Call it boasting, but I’m one of the most respected sergeants in Atabra. Tunde had always known this. But this year he seemed a little concerned, almost paranoid. I couldn’t understand why.“Internet” I said out loud. My window clouded into darkness and soon emerged a screen appeared in its place. The internet appeared in the screen and prompted a question: Which site please? “Old Ashanti.” I answered. I was ordering a new police suit in the site. The old suit was already six months old and the idea of using an iron seemed a little laboring. Synthetic material was cheap and fast nowadays. I punched in my size and design. Warrior patch was what I was in the mood for. And my wife Ifama lately liked me wearing that when we were intimate.That and Afriagra. But what do you want? I’m 54.As I got out the shower, Ifama yelled from the living room that my suit has arrived.“I don’t know why they took so long.” she said. “I thought it takes a half hour.”“Good African design demands the respect of time.” I quoted from an Old Ashanti commercial that my personal satellite beamed into my head when I slept. But my wife was correct. 45 minutes did seem unusual. It was big competitive business to get your fashion order to arrive in 30 minutes or less. But I didn’t complain.A hologram beamed out from the screen. Zula, my personal automated computerized administrative assistance service appeared. I programed her to appear like the 20th century actress Dorothy Dandridge.“Hotep, Seargent Vinza” said the hologram“Good Morning, Zula. What is the day looking like?”“Today in your part of Nufrika, it is 107 degrees”My wife came in with my suit as I was drying off. We both gave Zula a strange look. “I didn’t program you to say ‘Nufrika.’ I said.“Carter has tapped into my server at 6:13AM.” Zula replied. “Should I activate the system restore feature?”Ifama looked as me and laughed. “It’s your fault. You haven’t been spending time with Carter lately, so he had to find a way to get your attention.”I made a mental note to scold my son later. “No that’s fine.” I said to Zula. “Just remove his language plug-in and replace it with ‘New Africa.’”“Processing. In the meantime, will you be praying to Orisha today?”I found that question unusual. My family usually does Yoruban prayers at dinner and special events. “What’s happening today Zula?”“My data files indicated that you were aware of the news.”“What? What news? Retrieve the files that said when I was aware.”“Data files was erased as of 15 seconds ago. Details of data are no longer accessible.” said Zula. “All I have is that you were aware of the news that Tunde Hayes was found dead off the south bank of the White Nile this morning. This is why I thought you were going to prayer today.”“Oh god!” shouted Ifama.I clutched my chest and lost my footing. As I fell, Ifama grabbed me and took me to my bed. I couldn’t feel my left arm.“Zula!” shouted Ifama. “Activate the CPR Emergency Unit! Now!”I felt electric current channel through my bed and into my body as my wife placed an oxygen mask over my face. I then blacked out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Kasala, Sudan. Carter was having a debate with his teacher Professor Penda about the upcoming election for Nufrika’s Prime King (or Queen) when he had to cut it short and rush out of the classroom. Carter jumped on his air bike and soon was airborne at an altitude of 600 feet. His mother just telepathed the news of his father into his brain via satellite, and he was off. Ifama always warned him not to go faster than the speed of sound, especially a kid his age. It was the law in New Africa.Fuck Nufrikan law, he said to himself as he peered down at the Blue Nile below him. Following the path of the river was how he got home. As much as he loved Nufrika, these old politicians were nothing but ignorant shackled thinkers. Always wanting the young to give respect but give no respect in return. Take the Satellite Telepathy Order. These old fools want to ban them because of some “health risk.” Centuries ago the white man invented a cell phone that causes cancer in the head, and nobody cared! An African invents the S.T.O. and now people wishes to ban it because of reports of nightmares? Shackled thinkers! They are just mad because they didn’t come up with it! This was why he was taking up political studies. Here they are at the 100th Anniversary of “New-Africa” where they are the new world financial leader, but they are still stuck in the old ways. But Orisha is wise. And Orisha has chosen him to lead his generation into His light.There were important matters now. He had just seen Tunde the night before at the Prime King’s party. But thinking back closely now, Tunde seemed strangely quiet. But now he was dead and his father just had a heart attack. He should make it home in about two to three hours if the police didn’t stop him.Carter also decided that it wasn’t a good idea to bring up Diana. He really liked her. She shared as much passion for political issues as he did. And they both wanted to make a difference in Nufrika. So what if she was Christian? She liked listening to ghostbeat music and they both looked good dancing to it. But his father has his prejudice, and the Yoruban faith was important to him. But again Orisha is wise for He is not prejudiced._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Carter landed on the runway behind his house where his mother greeted him.“I tracked your trip” she scolded Carter. “How many times I told you a teenager your age shouldn’t be speeding through the skies faster than the speed of sound? I should take your bike away from you!”“Momma, you should be glad that I made it as fast as could.”“Not if it means crashing against a mountain!”“Fine, momma. I am sorry. Where is daddy?”“He’s awake with a lot on his mind.” said Ifama. “And you shouldn’t have messed around with Zula. You caused her to delete information that was important to your father.”“I am sorry momma.”Ifama calmed down and looked at her growing boy. It seemed like only yesterday when Orisha blessed her with his birth. And as different as he was trying to be with his strange “hip” clothes and that silly music with the beat that isn’t there crap, he was still like his father. Always challenging the status quo. “You know uncle Tunde is dead.”“Yes momma. Will we pray for him tonight?”“That’s up to your father.”I heard my son when he landed on the runway with his airbike. I regret the day I bought it for him on his 13th birthday. But then I remember when my father bought one for me when I was young. The New African police caught me speeding at mach 2.5 every month. I couldn’t fly again until I was 17. That was embarrassing.I used the telephone to contact my men at the state police station because, according to Zula, my body couldn’t handle satellite telepathy in its weak condition. I would have to wait for King Kendar, ruler of Ethiopia to give his personal doctor permission to rejuvenate my arteries. Ethiopia has excelled in medicine in the last 75 years to the point where every citizen is a commodity because of their medical knowledge. They were responsible for curing Aids, Mega-Aids, Inventing Afriagra, Extending human life expectancy 27%, Supers skin cell regeneration for burnt victims, and many other medical wonders. King Kendar was the best surgeon of them all, but as they say even a doctor needed a doctor.Ifama, was scolding him about his speeding, I was sure of it. But soon he walked in the room where I was resting. Zula was standing by my bedside monitoring my heart condition.“Hotep Daddy” Carter greeted.“Hello Carter.” I smiled.“Are you okay?”“I’m weak. Hopefully I’ll be better when King Kendar sends a doctor.”“We have our own doctors why do we have to wait for him?” Carter said in frustration.“Because my medical insurance pays for the best. So trust the Kendar Sheild.” - Another slogan beamed in my head some nights ago.Another problem with Nufrika, Carter said to himself.“Father I am sorry if I caused any discrepancies with Zula.”“That’s fine son. Right now we have to make preparations for prayer at the site where Tunde was found.”“We should pray now father. You are no condition to travel.”“Seargent Vinza,” Zula interrupted. “Your job is on the line. Detective Rocky Calhoun wishes to speak to you.”I sighed when I picked up the phone. My faith teaches me not to hate, but Rocky was a f**king son of a b*tch that brings out the worst in me. “Hello Calhoun”“Vinza!” Rocky shouted on the phone. “Wow, I forgot how these tell-a-phone thingys work! Hold on a second, a spider just crawled out of mine. Eeeew! Disgusting! Okay I’m back. Hey I heard about your heart attack! Hey things have been going bad here. Carl wants answers and he wants you!”“Yes my wife took the message while I was unconscious.”“Well I know what its like to have a heart attack. Had two myself! Good thing we got that Kendar Shield huh!” Rocky laughed out long and hard.“Lucky you.” I muttered.“What?”“I said what news do you have for me?”“We got a link! I think that’s why Carl wants to see you! Tunde was found dead with multiple stab wounds. Man you should have been at the crime scene. Half his body was buried in the sand- ““Calhoun!”“Huh?”“Focus. You said there is a link?”“Oh! Your son! We found blood with your son’s DNA. We need him downtown. Now.”TO BE CONTINUEDRead more…
I am here to day to tell youOf a step forwardOr maybe one backwardsIn space age technologyWhen you here what I sayYou may shutterThe coal powered space shuttleYou’ll get were you’re goingJust as fastBut slowerIts modern technologyFrom yesterdaytodayWho needs potent liquidWhen you have black rocksIt’ll be just like grilling in spaceBut in any caseIf its good enough for a trainIts good enough for a planeThat flies in outer spaceIt’s the technology of tomorrowFrom yesterdayTodayThe coal powered space shuttle
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This comment is for every single member on this page. I am proud to be a member of this page. It is beautiful to come into this site and see all the new members from all over the world joining in. The sENERGY that this page produces is radiating cosmic-ly. It is wonderful to connect to such creative people with amazing diversity. POWER to the members of BSFS. And from me I send nothing but beautiful, loving ENERGY to each and every one of you. Let's keep it going strong.
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Three hours earlier, Admiral McCray and First Officer Thorvald were ferried back to their ship on board the NeoAfrican cruiser, Douglass.Admiral McCray and the cruiser’s captain, Anita Johnson, had a pleasant conversation, while Thorvald looked on in his usual silence. When McCray and the captain parted it was with good cheer and the two Unity Expedition officers walked through the docking tube connecting the Douglass to the Admiral’s command ship Swiftstrider.“This is intolerable,” Thorvald hissed the moment he stepped foot inside the Unity ship.The Swiftstrider’s captain Trevor Whitlok, accompanied by Hedrik Jaffers, commander of the Drop Marine Contingent were present in the reception wing to greet their Admiral and First Officer.McCray responded joyfully to the officers’ greetings.Thorvald brushed past them in a venomous huff.“He seems to be in a good mood,” Captain Whitlok grinned.“Thorvald is a bit under stress,” McCray explained with a wink and a nod.“Being on a planet full of goddamn niggers is more than just a bit of stress for me, sir!” The First Officer blurted, his jaw twitching so noticeably it threatened to unhinge itself. “A whole goddamn planet full of bloody blacks.”Whitlok and the heavily muscled marine commander traded amused glances at Thorvald’s fury.“This is not the first time we have been around their kind,” said McCray as he and his officers embarked down a brightly lit corridor.“No Admiral, but it is the first time we’ve been around so many,” Thorvald emphasized with a distasteful grimace. “And they’re so damned smug, a bunch of inferiors claiming they built that civilization. White people founded that colony, created all that technology, not a bunch of goddamn niggers!”“Then what happened to the whites?” Asked Comander Jaffers.Thorvald scowled. “Either they left or those niggers killed them all.”The officers entered the bridge.A bank of display screens covered every area of bulkhead space, most showing real time visuals of Brookinsia, and its orbital network. The remaining displays showed images of the other six worlds that comprised the NeoAfrican Federation.Bridge crew remained focused on their terminal interfaces, hardly acknowledging the Admiral or their captain.McCray glowed with approval. He liked a busy crew.“In the end, it’s irrelevant how the blacks acquired their technology,” McCray said. “Some of their gadgetry and machinery will prove useful to us. It’s just a matter of discovering which.”“The sooner we make that discovery the sooner we scorch their filthy planets,” Thorvald insisted with a feral gleam in his eye.“Without a doubt,” McCray agreed. He eased down in his cushioned command chair. A small part of him disdained the chair’s comfort. He was a lifelong soldier, long accustomed to the hardships of duty. The soothing chair remained a difficult perk for him to accept even after several years of leading expeditions.A bridge officer approached the Admiral with a spherical device in hand. The officer held the device in front of McCray’s right eye and a chittering sound emanated from the object.McCray’s eye was not real. It was artificial. The eye did more than enable McCray to see, it was an imager and a visual recorder.The device wielded by the bridge officer extracted and stored the visual data captured by McCray’s eye. After ten seconds of extraction and storage, the officer inserted the device in an instrument panel slot for downloading. Almost immediately, images of the people and places McCray had seen appeared on the central display screen.The admiral ordered the officer to fast forward the sequence of images, then raised his hand in a stop gesture. A scene of the dinner with the NeoAfrican president froze on the screen.“That’s their so-called president,” said Thorvald, his tone laced with ridicule.Captain Whitlok curled his lip. “Good God, he’s blacker than my boot sole.”“A stupid, degenerate looking bunch if ever I’ve seen one,” Jaffers added.“You disparage them,” said McCray. “But keep in mind, they are a smart bunch of degenerates. Their instruments detected the power sources to our weaponry. Do you know what that means? It means they know how well armed we are. It also means that they are watching us and that they are not to be underestimated.”The air of mockery evaporated under the heat of McCray’s glare.Thorvald, Whitlok and Jaffers straightened, their expressions dutifully serious.McCray returned his focus to the screen. “There.” He pointed. “They call that machine a servor droid. Lt. Kobern, transfer that image to Sci-Engineering. I X rayed the droid, so Krindal and his staff will be able to study its inner workings.”“Right away, sir,” acknowledged the officer who extracted the data from McCray’s eye.“Pardon me, Admiral, but why are you interested in a harmless servant droid?” Asked a bewildered Thorvald.McCray spared an indulgent smile. “That harmless servant droid will give us some insight into how we can build very small attack drones with the ability to maneuver flawlessly through enclosed environments like buildings or space vessels. There’s much application that be derived from the mundane.”Thorvald nodded in appreciation of the admiral’s rationale. “Of course, sir.”“Admiral, Jolene did not accompany you,” said the captain.“She’s still on the planet,” McCray confirmed.Whitlok’s brow furrowed in a troubled look. “Sir, she’s down there among all those blacks, alone. I’m concerned.”“Jolene can take care of herself, Captain,” McCray replied confidently. “She has a job to do, as do we all. By the time we move on from this part of space I trust our efforts will have been met with resounding success.”Dr. Joshua Akobe indicated the holo image of the Unity ship that floated in the middle of the Noir House main conference room.President Dula, Minister Amari, First Commander Oden, Directors Vick and Dellums, Mensah and five other top level civilian and military officials were present in the room.As head of the Brookins Lab, the largest, most renowned institute for scientific research in the Federation, Dr. Akobe’s easy expertise of the topic he was presenting more than justified his exalted position.“The materials scan Captain Johnson conducted on the Unity ships revealed the standard superhardened metallics. However, the scan also picked up conspicuous traces of what I would refer to as dormant high energy layering the hulls.”“Dormant high energy?” said Dula, intrigued.“Yes, Mr. President. The reason I call it that is because my lab has been exploring the concept of combining energy and matter. You see, Mr. President, our warships employ energy shielding to preserve hull integrity during battle. The shield is generated from a power source within the ship. A hull protected by matter/energy shielding requires no external generation. Matter/energy automatically increases density when subjected to extreme stress such as a missile impact.”“Are you saying that the Unity ships have no conventional shielding?” asked First Commader Oden.“Oh, it’s possible,” Dr. Akobe speculated. “What I’m saying is that any conventional shielding they may have is likely a reinforcement of the probable dormant high energy shield protecting their hulls.”“If that’s the case, then their ships are practically invincible,” Minister Amari commented soberly. As a former Fleet officer, the Defense Minister was certainly no novice when it came to warship capabilities.“Dr. Akobe,” addressed the president. “You say your lab is studying matter/energy integration?”“Yes, Mr. President. The research is at a very early stage, but deep analysis of the scans provided by Captain Johnson should reveal data that will enable us to jump ahead several steps toward development.”“Very good, Doctor. While you’re doing that, I want you to find ways to neutralize a matter/energy shield.”“Of course, Mr. President.”“Thank you for your valuable input.”“My pleasure, Mr. President.” Dr. Akobe inclined his head to President Dula and departed the conference room.Dula turned to Mensah. “So, Robert, what is your evaluation of our guests?”“Admiral McCray doesn’t lack charm, Jolene Karsen is full of enthusiasm and Thorvald is about as vocal as a tree limb,” Mensah critiqued dryly.“Why did they want to go to the Technology Museum?” Asked Director Vick.“Was the museum on a list of sites that you recommended they visit?”Mensah didn’t care for the underlying implication in Vick’s question.Before the Chief Advisor could fling a verbal barb, Minister Amari jumped in. “What are you suggesting, Tirel, that Robert compromised our security by allowing our guests to visit a public building filled with relics?”“With respect, Defense Minister, our guests may find something in those relics which they might consider adaptable to their own technology.”“We have plenty of popular publications, historical archives, and academic journals for public consumption,” said Dula. “Any one of those sources contain material that is potentially useful to someone, somewhere. And McCray can easily access those those sources without ever stepping foot inside a museum. Needless to say, I am confident about our ability to keep classified information within the proper classified bounds.” The president’s statement on the matter was decisive, signaling an end to that discussion.Vick nodded meekly.“In two hours Admiral McCray is going to address the Senate,” Donovan Knightly, Minister of Information Affairs, stated. “The senators are as enchanted by these people as the public. They’ve become the darlings of the media.”“I understand,” said Dula. “We would be going against the grain of public opinion if my administration were to advocate a more cautious approach to McCray and those immensely powerful ships he commands.”“We just have to make sure that a viewpoint not so friendly to our guests is disseminated to the public,” Director Vick suggested.The president thrust a finger in agreement. “You are absolutely right. To those elements in our society who think McCray is akin to a messenger from the gods, rational, balanced thinking is sorely needed. I want you and Minister Knightly to work together, make sure our viewpoint is published widely in all the prominent and not so prominent dailies and weeklies.” Regarding Mensah with a lopsided smile: “In the meantime, Robert, continue to cater to our guests. Put on your best face, as we all must, until their intentions are deciphered.”
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Regally attired humans gyrated wildly to the beat of the latest pop tune. A few stumbled about with drunken abandon, others laid out on the floor, their faces locked in rigor mortis expressions of drug-induced bliss. Humans fight hard, party harder. With total victory over the Tacherins in our grasp, the rowdiness of the celebrants did not surprise me in the least.There were relatively few Vingin present. They tended to cluster in groups, forming little islands of calm amid the clamor of human excess.I thanked my Vingin greeters and ventured into the vast room.“Commander First Tier!” A voice rang out.I turned to see my second-in-command—former second-in-command—standing behind me.Kelte’s rock-featured face was softened by a wry smile. I didn’t know if that smile came from the potent ale sloshing around in the glass he held in his right hand, or from the buxom red-haired beauty he clutched with his left.“Kelte, I see you’ve found a partner for the night.” I nodded to the woman who I recognized as Lt. Ima Jiran, 3rd Demolition Group.Jiran returned the nod with an inviting smile. “He’s arranged for an intimate encounter with three others. You’re welcome to join us,” she offered.I wrenched my gaze away from Jiran’s appealing cleavage to catch sight of a tall woman in the crowd. She wore a shimmering red gown that captured every sensual contour of her flawless body. The contrast between the fabric’s fiery red and the cool, dark brown of her skin tone was more intoxicating than any mind altering brew available to this gathering.“I…appreciate the offer, Ima, but Kelte’s going to have to go it alone. I’ve already got a partner picked out, and with her I definitely don’t want any distractions.”Kelte followed my gaze across the room.My interest was making her way toward us.The lines in Kelte’s forehead crinkled in mock indignation. “Always leaving me to the hard tasks. The higher your rank the more you abuse it.”“A shame isn’t it?” I replied, taking a glass of ale from a passing Vingin with a serving tray.“I thought after your meeting with the general I’d be addressing you as Private,” Kelte stated seriously. “Lucky bastard…sir.”“Lucky?” I let out a bitter snort. “I suppose in the sense that it takes me out of action for the rest of this war. Unfortunately, that means that my replacement might turn out to be a slavish enforcer of DefenseCommand’s directives. I fear for your well being if that’s the case.”“Don’t fear for me, Lev. I’ll be damned if I get killed on account of some squeeze-ass, know nothing stiff.”Jiran arched a brow up at her intensely outspoken companion. “It sounds like you’re going to miss him.”Kelte’s fierce grimace melted to a warm grin. “I suppose I will. But I meant what I said about squeeze-asses!”By that time, the woman who so captivated me, appeared at my side. She wrapped a finely muscled arm around my waist.Her name was Tione Herlik, Unit Leader, TAT Special Missions. During the last operation, she went by another name: Dagger One.“We’ve got a new name for you, Tione,” said Kelte.Tione drew me close, planting a moist kiss on my lips, before focusing midnight dark eyes on Kelte. “And what name would that be?”“Tacherin-killer.”Tione cast an amused look my way. A black lock of braided hair dangled in front of her forehead. “Isn’t that what they’re calling you?”I took a sip of minty ale, and then ran my hand from the small of her back down the well rounded curve of her buttocks. “Well, I gave the order, but you led the teams that detonated the charges.”“Yes, but Jiran increased the yield in the charges.”While Jiran tried to repel the credit cast her way, I noticed General Ternal moving toward a dais that had been set up in the middle of the room. Accompanying him was a Vingin with blue-green membranes draping from his body. That coloring marked this particular Vingin as a person of distinction. In Vingin society, the color of membranes was an indicator of where one stood in their strictly hierarchical social structure.Ternal stepped on the dais and instantly the music ceased.The revelers were immediately drawn to the general’s presence, ushering in an all encompassing quiet that drifted over the hall. I saw more than a few inebriated humans swaying on their feet, their expressions rigidly attentive.Dour looking as all ways, Ternal spoke, his voice projected by hidden amplifiers. “Humans and Vingin, I bring wonderful news. Yinter has been liberated from the murderous yoke of Tacherin occupation.”Cheers exploded from humans.Vingin wagged their heads in their own native expressions of joy.Yinter was among the first Vingin planets to be conquered.“You think there are any Vingin left alive?” Tione asked as she clapped at the news.Her grim sentiment reflected my own. I went a step further, wondering if Yinter still had its original ecosystem.“Our forces continue to inflict catastrophic losses upon the enemy,” Ternal continued. “At the beginning of the year, DefenseCommand projected complete victory to be two, three standard years at the most. As we approached the midway point, and we discovered the enemy to be in a far weaker position than we anticipated, we changed our projections to a matter of weeks.”Another round of cheering.Much as I disliked the general, I couldn’t refrain from giving an enthusiastic yelp.Ternal raised a hand to still the happy commotion. “A moment of silence for those who died in our most recent, and successful effort to eradicate the Tacherin infestation.”Every head in the room bowed.I shut my eyes. I shouldn’t have done that. I saw too many dead comrades.The moment passed. I downed the last of my ale as if it were water.“Simply defeating the Tacherin will not be enough,” said Ternal in a tone that seemed to convey the barest hint of regret. “The threat that even one Tacherin represents to the well being of civilized species is a most dire one indeed. One Tacherin left alive is one Tacherin too many.”The implication in that statement was clear as a glass to me. I’m sure it was equally as transparent to everyone else.“And now, it is my privilege and an honor to introduce Utal er Con, Grand Spokesmaster of the Vingin Supreme Council.”Tione and I exchanged surprised glances. I knew this Vingin was important, but a representative of the Vingin’s highest governing body? Here?Utal er Con took Ternal’s spot on the dais amid human applause.I noticed the Vingin in the crowd bending their ephemeral bodies forward in a collective bow.The Spokesmaster waited for the applause to fade. When he spoke, his high pitch voice carried across the room like the graceful sound of a flute.“On behalf of all Vingin, I want to offer my deepest, sincere thanks to humanity for what you have done for us.” Utal er Con’s easy command of human speech was phenomenal. Few Vingin, especially those in the elite, could communicate with humans without the aid of translators. That a Vingin, of Utal er Con’s standing, had taken the time to learn our crude tongue could be considered the highest gesture of respect toward humans.I was personally flattered.“Several millennia ago, when our probes first detected, then ascertained the nature of the Tacherins, we, in consultation with our Ziran allies, considered migration. Our subsequent alliance with humans made that contingency unnecessary. Human resources, human determination and ultimately, human lives, contributed to the victory that we now celebrate. We honor you. We honor your goodness, your nobility…”The Spokesmaster’s lavishing of gratitude went on for nearly half an hour.During that time, I gulped down two more glasses of ale and was beginning to feel the floor moving beneath my feet.Finally, Utal er Con’s speech ended.General Ternal returned to the dais. “Before I permit the evening’s festivities to resume, I want to honor a few of the men and women whose bold leadership, fearlessness and unbreakable will exemplify the warrior spirit that propels our soldiers to victory after victory.”Somehow, Ternal spotted me in the crowd.I knew he couldn’t have been talking about me, although, I immodestly noted, those characteristics he named did apply to me.“Lev Gorlin, Commander First Tier. Please step forward.”Damn.“Must’ve really pained the general to say those nice things about me,” I mused as I moved a soft finger down the middle of Tione’s sweat-glistened back. We were in my quarters aboard a troop transport orbiting Uin. This was the first real R and R either of us had enjoyed in months. So far we hadn’t wasted a second of it.Tione nuzzled closer to me. “You’re thinking about him? Now? I’m beginning to wonder about you.”I tickled her lightly beneath the chin invoking a sweet giggle. Hard to believe this lovely package I was intertwined with was a hardened killing machine. I gave her a long, deep kiss. When our lips parted, her eyes peered longingly into my own. “You still wondering?” I asked playfully.“You still thinking about Ternal?”I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m a little uncomfortable being publicly celebrated by him even as he privately vilifies me.”Tione sat up, positioning herself to rest her chin on my chest. “Word has it that you’re popular with most of the brass.”“And where are you getting this word?” I scoffed.“I hear things.” She was being coy. “Now, I want you to put the general out of your mind, go to Strategic Planning and do the best job that you can possibly do. In the meantime, I’ve been slated to lead joint operations against Tacherin holdouts on Redeen.”“Joint operations? With who?”“The Zirans, who else?”I frowned, trying to digest this surprise. “The Zirans never did anything jointly with humans. Why now?”Tione looked as puzzled as I did, but I could tell she wasn’t interested in trying to figure this new development out. “Who knows?”She laid flat, her head framed by the pillow it rested on, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Right now, I’m thinking beyond that.”“Really. What are you thinking about?”She glanced at me. “Children. I’m thinking I’d like to have children.”“Oh.” I sat up, feeling faintly awkward.There was a reason why the prudish Vingin considered humans to be very promiscuous. It’s because we were. A few human males and females together in a room were almost certain to generate an orgy. Of course we needed to be sexually…open. Our ancestors were only a few hundreds of thousands when we encountered the Vingin. They needed to populate the four worlds the Vingin were kind enough to give us. The only way to do that was to loosen any strictures humans had on sex at the time and breed, breed, breed. The end result was what one would expect when a highly fertile species was allowed to do, well, one of the things it did best.In time, each human planet amassed a population approaching a billion. Now, it could be said that given our impressive population growth, excess promiscuity was no longer a necessity for humans. Wrong. There were three reasons why that was most definitely not the case. 1) millions of humans had died in the Tacherin War and it wasn’t over yet. We needed to replenish the ranks. 2) Old customs, old habits die hard. 3) The most important reason of all: children. There is nothing humans love and cherish more than children, for sentimental and practical reasons.Children are the hope for the continued existence of humanity. Children are our future. It was a matter of urgency that our ancestors conceived as many children as possible. That urgency was considerably less today, but a vestige of it was still present, magnifying our sexual instincts, stoking our little fears of collective extinction. And here I sat, next to the woman I wanted to be with more than any other, trying to think of some way to steer this discussion away from the topic of children.I knew many soldiers who had children. Kelte had five already. At this very moment I was sure he was vigorously working on his sixth, seventh and eighth. Lt. Jiran probably removed her contraceptive implant so she could embark on her second pregnancy.Tione hadn’t removed her implant. I suppose it was because I hadn’t removed mine. I leaned back, kissing her forehead. Then I stroked her braided mane as a way to disguise my guilty fidgeting. I couldn’t promise her children. Not that I didn’t want any. But I still envisioned a career for myself as a hipofran artist. Maybe I could still sire a brood and achieve my dream. Maybe children would be a distraction. I guess I didn’t really know why I felt the the way I did. What I knew for sure was that I wasn’t ready to be a father. “Someday,” I whispered, trying to inject conviction into my voice.Her eyes held mine for a minute or two.I saw disappointment in them, tinged with frustration.“Of course, Lev,” Tione acknowledged flatly. She turned over. “Someday.”
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Posted by Night Manager on August 22, 2008 at 3:00pm
WINTER GHOST P4We RunShe’s hurt, I say, but no one answers.She needs help, I say, but the door remains shut.I stare into the spy-hole and… I swear it’s staring right back at us. It’s a small dark hole in the old battered door set in the bowel of a nasty knot in the wood of the long twisted middle plank. A tiny ring a brass sits just inside the knurl, marking it as more than just a natural hole in the wood. But there’s no glass in it. The center is shadowy… gray… I can’t see anything beyond it.My breath shudders and I can feel my heart begin to hammer. Hot blood pulses up my arms and down my legs warming my hands and feet just enough… heating my skin just enough… to remind me how very cold I am. The hairs on my arms stand on end.The doorknob… it’s the kind that’s a handle with a thumb catch on top that you depress. The catch looks funny. It’s too low… almost like an invisible thumb is already depressing it.I glance back to the eyehole and then down again to the handle. Had it moved a little? I can’t tell… my heart is thumping behind my ears now.Something’s wrong. Why won’t… he… open the door?I take a slight step away.But… what about her? She lays quiet in my arms. This isn’t right. I know I should be trying to get her inside but I feel…… I feel like…I take another step, this one farther back and down a step. Snow slips up underneath my jeans, cuts through my socks and climbs up my ankles. The wind begins to whisper behind me, like the anticipation of a crowd about to roar. The falling snow begins to shift a bit, the thick fat little clumps spiraling downward sideways now.The eyehole continues to stare at me. Is it darker? I look away… I… don’t want him to know that I’ve noticed.NO! There’s nothing TOO notice. This is stupid. She’s cold… I’M cold; get her inside.I step up once again. I raise my hand to knock.The latch clicks.I run like hell.
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The Carl Brandon Society has a program in book advocacy: every ethnic heritage month we will be sending out a list of ten speculative fiction books, which are still in print, by authors of that heritage to bookstores and libraries so that they can feature these books and encourage readers to pick them up.The way we arrive at the list is by asking our members to submit nominations, and then by polling members to choose the top ten. Right now we're taking nominations of speculative fiction books by writers of Latino/Hispanic heritage (they don't have to be American) for Hispanic Heritage Month.To participate, you have to be on the Carl Brandon Society yahoogroup because we use the polling function there. Please go here and sign up: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CarlBrandonOnce you're on the list, you can simply send your suggestions to the list. These should include author, title, and a brief (one sentence) description of the book.Once the deadline for nominations has passed, they compile the nominations into a poll on the yahoogroup website and you will have time to vote for the top ten.So now, to the nominations! You will have until FRIDAY, AUGUST 29, AT 6 PM to make nominations. Please be sure to:include author and titleinclude a brief description of the book: this list will be advocatingfor readers to buy the book and we will be using your description, soplease make it enticing!check and make sure the book is still in print.This list will be used by bookstores and libraries, so they have to be able to get the bookseasily.
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I have a short story called "Spider the Artist" in a just released environmental science fiction anthology called Seeds of Change (Prime Books). Read an excerpt here.I hope you enjoy the anthology's book trailer (heh, that's my mom's voice you hear). Watch it on youtube here.I don't write many short stories that I feel really work; this one I'm proud of.Learn more about the book on the Seeds of Change website.Publisher's Weekly says the following about "Spider the Artist":"Considerably more powerful is Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu's "Spider the Artist," which combines African folk tales and advanced robotics in a chilling story about a rising social conscience in the Nigerian oil fields."
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UIDELINES FOR CLOCKWORK PHOENIX 2:more tales of beauty and strangenessCLOCKWORK PHOENIX 2: More Tales of Beauty and Strangeness is the next volume in the annual anthology series edited by Mike Allen, scheduled to be published by Norilana Books in July 2009. The anthology's literary focus is on the high end, and it is open to the full range of the speculative and fantastic genres.Editor Mike Allen says: "CLOCKWORK PHOENIX 2 is a home for stories that sidestep expectations in beautiful and unsettling ways, that surprise with their settings and startle with the ways they cross genre boundaries, that aren't afraid to experiment with storytelling techniques. But experimentation is not a requirement: the stories in the anthology must be more than gimmicks, and should appeal to genuine emotions, suspense, fear, sorrow, delight, wonder. I will value a story that makes me laugh in its quirky way more than a story that tries to dazzle me with a hollow exercise in wordplay."The stories should contain elements of the fantastic, be it science fiction, fantasy, horror or some combination thereof. A straight psychological horror story is unlikely to make the cut unless it's truly scary and truly bizarre. The same applies to a straight adventure fantasy or unremarkable space opera — bring something new and genuine to the equation, whether it's a touch of literary erudition, playful whimsy, extravagant style, or mind-blowing philosophical speculation and insight. Though stories can be set in this world, settings at least a hair or more askew are preferred. I hope to see prose that is poetic but not opaque. I hope to see stories that will lead the reader into unfamiliar territory, there to find shock and delight."Update for the second volume: "Over the course of reading for the first volume, I developed some criteria for stories that aren't likely to interest me (though exceptions are always possible). These include straightfoward retellings of well-known fairy tales; stories in which a Machine Discovers Its Humanity; stories that aim to prove Christianity/Religion Is Bad; stories about a Privileged Schmuck who comes to understand Oppression Is Bad; stories whose entire plot can be described as X Commits a Murder; stories of wish-fulfillment with little complication — i.e.: character longs for something; character is granted that something; end of story."My aim with the CLOCKWORK PHOENIX books is, somewhat selfishishly, to create books that satisfy my own tastes as a reader. And as a reader, I enjoy stories that experiment, that push the envelope, that dazzle with their daring, but I'm often personally frustrated when an experimental story ends without feeling complete, without leaving an emotional crater for me to remember it by. At the same time, I find myself increasingly bored with the traditional, conventionally-plotted and plainly-written Good Story Competently Told. For better or for worse, I envision the CLOCKWORK PHOENIX books as places where these two schools of story telling can mingle and achieve Happy Medium; where there is significance to both the tale that's told and the style of the telling."RIGHTS PURCHASED: First English Language Rights and non-exclusive electronic rights. The anthology will be published by Norilana Books in a trade paperback edition in July 2009, to be followed by an electronic edition to be produced later.PAYMENT: $0.02 a word on acceptance as an advance against royalties, then a pro rata share of royalties after earnout, plus a contributor copy.WORD LENGTH: Stories should be no longer than 10,000 words, preferably shorter. This is a firm limit for unsolicited stories.READING PERIOD begins August 23, 2008; ends Nov. 16, 2008. Any unsolicited stories sent before Aug. 23 will not be read until sometime after the reading period starts.SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS: Submissions are electronic only. Please submit your story via e-mail, as an RTF file attachment. Your e-mail subject line should say "Submission: Story Title". Include a brief cover letter in the body of your email. It should have your name, address, e-mail address, title of story, number of words, and brief biographical information in case we don't know you, with most recent publishing credits, if applicable. We are open to new writers and seasoned veterans alike.EDITORIAL ADDRESS: clockworkphoenix@gmail.comWe are looking for well-crafted, original stories from 2000 to 5000 words which involve Dia de los Muertos in some way. Other than that, subject matter is fairly open. There is a lot of room for creativity here and we want stories which explore this theme in a variety of ways. We like stories which are more literary in nature, but we welcome elements of fantasy and/or subtle horror, magical realism, etc. We are not looking for excessive blood and gore for this antho, although we are not opposed to some blood if done properly and appropriate to the story.Format/Submission Guidelines:Please use a 12pt. font such as Times New Roman or Courier New; manuscripts should be double-spaced and sent as an RTF attachment.Send your very best stories to:muertosantho at yahoo dot com.The subject field should read SUBMISSION followed by the name of your story. Please include a brief intro, as we like to know who you are, and don't forget to include your contact information--and pseudonym if applicable.Also send a brief author bio along with your story.No simultaneous submissions. Please wait until we respond before sending another story.Payment:Currently we are offering $25.00(US) flat rate + 1 contributor copy.Deadline: Submissions close August 31, 2008 or when filled. We will respond as quickly as possible to everyone and we are hoping to have sent all responses by the middle of October.For questions only: Contact us! For general information on Dia de los Muertos: Click here!http://www.elektrikmilkbathpress.com/submissionsMOTHER GOOSE IS DEADModern Stories of Myths, Fables and Fairy TalesMichele Acker & Kirk Dougal, EditorsE-subs & Info No web site as yetSubmission GuidelinesThink back to the days when legends walked the earth and tales of wonder entertained all that listened. Now take those stories and twist them, stretch them, or toss them aside and create your own."Mother Goose is Dead: Modern Stories of Myths, Fables and Fairy Tales" is looking for up-to-date versions of tales that have delighted and scared us down through time. Tell the familiar from a different view or warp the story until it stands on its head. Are you tired of the standard legends? Invent your own myths to describe the making of the world, the end of time, or anything in between. Make us suspend our belief and get caught up in your world whether it be a slightly skewed version of our own, the familiar wound around like a pretzel, or a place entirely your own.Accepted stories will be fantasy tales revolving around myths, fables and fairy tales. Submissions need to be between 3,000 and 6,000 words although variations may be made for exceptional pieces but do not press your luck. No poetry.The intended audience is adult with the idea in mind that Victorian-age fairy tales were meant to frighten children to teach lessons. Adult themes are acceptable but sex, violence and profanity should be included only as necessary support to the story and not present for gratuitous or shock purposes. X-rated material will not be accepted.Submissions must be received by August 31, 2008, though that may be extended if not enough submissions are received.The anthology will be comprised of between 15-20 stories. Authors will be notified by email within six weeks of their submission being received whether or not their story has been accepted. If by the end of the submission period a sufficient number of accepted stories have not been received (based upon anthology size), the submission process will be extended and opened up to the general public. In that instance, authors of accepted stories will be notified by email and will be given the option of withdrawing their story. Authors should note that once accepted, a short write up (50-75 words) of the history of your fable will be needed. Later, bios and head shots will be required as well.Submissions must be made by email (It is 2008 people). Submissions should be sent to the above e-mail address. Please embed all stories in the body of the email. All attachments will be deleted unread. Once accepted, the editors will inform authors where and how to send formatted manuscripts. Please include "Anthology Submission" and the title of your work in the subject line. Submissions will be acknowledged by email within 72 hours. If you do not receive an acknowledgement, please feel free to resubmit.All submissions must include the author's real name, street address, email address, and pen name if desired. Please send polished work only. Stories with spelling or grammatical errors will generally be unacceptable. However, if your story is exceptional we may ask for a rewrite to fix minor issues. By submitting your story for this anthology, you warrant that it is your own original work and that it has not been published anywhere, in any format, including any website. Sharing with a small critique group for peer review is acceptable. Exclusive submissions only. Multiple submissions are fine, but no more than two per author. The anthology will only accept a maximum of one story per author for publication.Payment will be by royalties, with each contributor receiving an equal share. Editorial work will also receive a share.Michele Acker and Kirk Dougal are the editors of "A Firestorm of Dragons," a new anthology released by Dragon Moon Press. Acceptance into the anthology does not guarantee publication or payment of royalties. Dragon Moon Press has expressed an interest in this project but a final decision will not be made until the final selection of stories is presented. Any questions about this anthology should be sent to the above e-mail address.25Jun08talesandmythsantho (AT) yahoo.comaterWood Press, a publishing consortium with editorial offices worldwide, will accept war poetry beginning May 1. Editor: James Adams (2007 Pulitzer Prize nominee).Submission guidelines:Original poems/poetry translations on war in any style.No PPW.1-3 poems per poet (3 copies per poem).No more than 30 lines per poem.Include SASE and cover letter.All entries postmarked by September 1.No fees.Mail (only) submissions to: WaterWood Press, 47 Waterwood, Huntsville, Texas 77320. Attn: 2008 War Poetry EditorFOOTPRINTS ANTHOLOGYScience Fiction anthology to be edited by Jay Lake and Eric T. ReynoldsPUBLISHER: Hadley Rille BooksSUBMISSION GUIDELINESTHEME: Long after our species and all its works have turned to dust, the moon landing sites will show evidence of our time here on Earth. Imagine future explorers from among the stars interpreting that. The astronauts' footprints should last longer than the fossils in the Olduvai Gorge have.LENGTH: 4,000 to 10,000 wordsNO SIMULTANEOUS SUBMISSIONSELECTRONIC SUBMISSIONS ONLY. Send as an attachment to an email message. Microsoft Word doc file is preferred, or rtf is okay (please contact us if you need to make arrangements for another format). Please virus scan your document before sending.EMAIL YOUR STORY TO: subs@hadleyrillebooks.com. Important: put FOOTPRINTS in the subject line.FORMAT: The standard manuscript format as shows herehttp://www.shunn.net/format/story.html, except that we prefer single-spaced rather than double-spaced. Please don't do any fancy formatting such as right-justifying, etc. – leave that to us. Please don't hit Enter (or Return) at the end of each line. Let your word processor wrap the text.SUBMISSION PERIOD: From August 15, 2008 through November 15, 2008.PAYMENT: $40 upon publication. Payment is by PayPalSubmission Guidelines: THE WORLD IS DEADEdited by Kim PaffenrothPermuted Press seeks short stories for its new zombie anthology, The World Is Dead, to be edited by Bram Stoker Award winner Kim Paffenroth and featuring tales from Jack Ketchum, David Wellington, and Gary Braunbeck. Stories should be set significantly after the dead rise (though of course reference can be made back to that event). The point of the stories should be to investigate and elaborate the ways people (or zombies) have developed to cope with the new situation of the living dead--not just strategies and tactics for killing the dead, but the kinds of rituals, institutions, and social structures that you envision in this kind of post-apocalyptic world.Reading Period: We will read stories from August 1, 2008 to August 31, 2008. DO NOT SEND SUBMISSIONS BEFORE AUGUST 1. THEY WILL BE DELETED UNREAD.Payment: Payment will be $0.01/word USD ($0.005/word for reprints), based on the final, edited word count from Microsoft Word rounded to the nearest hundred words, plus one contributor's copy.Submission guidelines: Stories should be 2000-8000 words, standard format, with the author’s name, email address, and word count in the upper left-hand corner of the first page. Stories should be sent as email attachments in Microsoft Word to theworldisdead@permutedpress.com.Return time: Rejections will be sent ASAP; if the story makes the first cut, it will be kept until the end of the reading period.http://www.permutedpress.com/worldisdead.phpSubmission Guidelines: THE WORLD IS DEADEdited by Kim PaffenrothPermuted Press seeks short stories for its new zombie anthology, The World Is Dead, to be edited by Bram Stoker Award winner Kim Paffenroth and featuring tales from Jack Ketchum, David Wellington, and Gary Braunbeck. Stories should be set significantly after the dead rise (though of course reference can be made back to that event). The point of the stories should be to investigate and elaborate the ways people (or zombies) have developed to cope with the new situation of the living dead--not just strategies and tactics for killing the dead, but the kinds of rituals, institutions, and social structures that you envision in this kind of post-apocalyptic world.Reading Period: We will read stories from August 1, 2008 to August 31, 2008. DO NOT SEND SUBMISSIONS BEFORE AUGUST 1. THEY WILL BE DELETED UNREAD.Payment: Payment will be $0.01/word USD ($0.005/word for reprints), based on the final, edited word count from Microsoft Word rounded to the nearest hundred words, plus one contributor's copy.Submission guidelines: Stories should be 2000-8000 words, standard format, with the author’s name, email address, and word count in the upper left-hand corner of the first page. Stories should be sent as email attachments in Microsoft Word to theworldisdead@permutedpress.com.Return time: Rejections will be sent ASAP; if the story makes the first cut, it will be kept until the end of the reading period.http://www.permutedpress.com/worldisdead.phpWe’re looking for stories--tales, if you will--that would be read by candlelight. If the power went out, night fell, and all you had left were candles, we want the tales that you would want to read. If that means something creepy, eerie, or haunting, so be it. If that means stories of other worlds beyond the stars, that works just as well. Even if it means stories of ancient worlds where castles still stand and knights still ride, that will fit. Anything and everything that could be read in the dark, with the storm raging just beyond the windows. Anything that could be read by candlelight.The anthology will be all about imagination. Horror, science fiction, and fantasy are all perfectly acceptable. And if yours is a half-breed of the others, so much the better. High fantasy will be taken--think Michael A. Stackpole or Robert Jordan--as will a more modern fantasy such as most of Stephen King’s work. Science fiction, whether military or hard, will be accepted. And horror, of course, of any kind--though we are much more interested in tales that get inside your head than tales with gratuitous violence. Think “Bag of Bones” more than “Cell.” To that end, if your story has a dark twist, it will be very well received. If it is creepy and makes you shiver with the lights off, if it makes you want to close your closet and lock your doors before going to sleep, it will be a great fit. Because candlelight implies a certain amount--a large amount, actually--of shadow.Submissions:Stories should be between 2000 and 5000 words.Simultaneous submissions are fine, as long as that is noted in the email. Multiple submissions are not; send one at a time, then wait for us to respond before submitting again.No postal submissions. Send your electronic submissions to the following:candlelightsubs(at)gmail.com Replace the (at) with @.In the subject line, put SUBMISSION: Story Title.All submissions should be in Standard Manuscript Format. Use Courier New as the font. Double space. Indent paragraphs. Put a word count at the beginning and make sure to put your last name, the title, and the page number on the top of each page. For an example of Standard Manuscript Format, go here:http://www.shunn.net/format/story.htmlAll manuscripts should be attached to the email, in either .doc or .rtf format. Feel free to use the body of the email as a brief cover letter, listing previous publishing credits (if any), your name, etc. Don’t bother with a further bio--we’ll ask you for one if we decide to publish your work.We are asking for First Publishing Rights for as long as the anthology is in print. When it goes out of print, all rights revert to the author.Unfortunately, we cannot afford to pay for stories at this time. But Candlelight will be published in a Perfect Bound Trade Paperback through lulu.com, and that’s something a lot of other publications can’t claim. Your list of publishing credits will be that much longer, and your story will be on the page in black and white, sitting on a bookshelf or coffee table or nightstand.Thanks for stopping by, and we look forward to reading your work.Jonathan J. SchlosserEditorBack to http://www.jonathanjschlosser.comSEPTEMBERCall for Submissions for Christmas AnthologyLinda Busby Parker, is starting a new press! Her first publication is going to be a Christmas anthology and she is accepting both fiction and non-fiction submissions for it.In search of well-written Christmas stories (fiction or non-fiction) for a new annual anthology, Christmas Is A Season: 2008. This anthology is being published by Excalibur Press and will be available early November, 2008. Short stories or works of non-fiction should have a Christmas theme and range between 700-5,000 (maximum) words in length. The deadline for submissions is September 20, 2008. The non-fiction pieces should take the form of a personal essay. Both fiction and non-fiction submissions should express some aspect of the spirit of Christmas: the meaning of Christmas; the religious significance of the season; the spirit of giving and receiving; peace; the meaning and importance of family at Christmas; Christmas charity; Christmas from a child’s point of view; the hustle-bustle of Christmas; the humor in the season; the sadness in the season; decorating for the holidays; the family feast; the Christmas blues; or any subject related to Christmas and what Christmas means or has meant to you. More than the narration of a single incident, each piece should tell a story, a complete narrative with an arc—building to a climactic moment and a falling away from that climactic moment in some form of resolution. The anthology will be paperback with a beautiful four-color cover.What: Christmas stories (fiction or non-fiction) for a new anthology titled, Christmas Is A Season: 2008 to be released by Excalibur Press, early November 2008.Word Limit: The stories and personal essays may range from 700 words to a maximum of 5,000 words. Longer pieces should be tightly edited and should offer considerable payback in terms of the quality and punch of the story or essay. (In longer pieces, every word should be essential!)Deadline for Submissions: September 20, 2008.Editor: Linda Busby Parker, Ph.D., MFA, author of Seven Laurels (a novel), winner of the James Jones First Novel Award and The Langum Prize for Historical Fiction.Address for Submissions: (Submissions should be mailed via U.S. Post Office)Excalibur Press3090 Dauphin Square ConnectorMobile, Alabama 36607Contact Information: excaliburpress@msn.comIn compensation for the short stories or essays published, each contributor will receive one copy of the anthology, Christmas Is A Season: 2008. Each contributor will also receive a price reduction for each copyhttp://www.wordstrumpet.com/2008/07/call-for-submissions-for-christmas-anthology.htmlFAIRY TALE REVIEWPlease note that our next submission period is April 15, 2008 - September 15, 2008. We will be accepting submissions ONLINE during that time, via a Submission Manager, accessible at that time from our website. We look forward to reading your work!http://www.fairytalereview.blogspot.com/http://www.fairytalereview.com/Fairy Tale Review is an annual literary journal devoted to contemporary fairy tales. The journal hopes to provide an elegant and innovative venue for both established and emerging authors of poetry and prose. Fairy Tale Review is not devoted to any particular school of writing, but rather to fairy tales as an inspiring art form.Fairy Tale Review is a co-publication of The University of Alabama Press. For recent news please visit www.fairytalereview.blogspot.comOCTOBERhttp://www.leeandlow.com/p/new_voices_award.mhtmlLee & Low BooksNEW VOICES AWARDSAbout the AwardLEE & LOW BOOKS, award-winning publisher of children's books, is pleased toannounce the ninth annual NEW VOICES AWARD. The Award will be given for achildren's fiction or nonfiction picture book story by a writer of color. The Awardwinner will receive a cash grant of $1000 and our standard publicationcontract, including our basic advance and royalties for a first time author. AnHonor Award winner will receive a cash grant of $500.Established in 2000, the New Voices Award encourages writers of color tosubmit their work to a publisher that takes pride in nurturing new talent. Since1993 we have published more than eighty-five first time writers andillustrators. Past winners of the New Voices Award include The Blue Roses, winner of thePaterson Prize for Books for Young People; Janna and the Kings, an IRAChildren's Book Award Notable; and Sixteen Years in Sixteen Seconds: The Sammy LeeStory, a Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People and a TexasBluebonnet Masterlist selection.Eligibility1. The contest is open to writers of color who are residents of the U.S. andwho have not previously had a children's picture book published.2. Writers who have published in other venues, such as children's magazines,young adult, or adult fiction or nonfiction, are eligible. Only unagentedsubmissions will be accepted.3. Manuscripts previously submitted for this award or to LEE & LOW BOOKS arenot eligible.Submissions1. Manuscripts should address the needs of children of color by providingstories with which they can identify and relate, and which promote a greaterunderstanding of one another.2. Submissions may be FICTION or NONFICTION for children ages 5 to 12.Folklore and animal stories will not be considered.3. Manuscripts should be no more than 1500 words in length and accompanied bya cover letter that includes the author's name, address, phone number, e-mailaddress, a brief biographical note, relevant cultural and ethnic information,how the author heard about the award, and publication history, if any.4. Manuscripts should be typed double-spaced on 8-1/2" x 11" paper. Aself-addressed, stamped envelope with sufficient postage must be included for returnof the manuscript.5. Up to two submissions per entrant. Each submission should be submittedseparately.6. Submissions should be clearly addressed to:LEE & LOW BOOKS95 Madison AvenueNew York, NY 10016ATTN: NEW VOICES AWARD7. Manuscripts may not be submitted to other publishers or to LEE & LOW BOOKSgeneral submissions while under consideration for this Award. LEE & LOW BOOKSis not responsible for late, lost, or incorrectly addressed or deliveredsubmissions.8. Dates for Submission: Manuscripts will be accepted from May 1, 2008,through October 31, 2008 and must be postmarked within that period.Announcement of the AwardThe Award and Honor Award winners will be selected no later than December 31,2008. All entrants who include an SASE will be notified in writing of ourdecision by January 31, 2009. The judges are the editors of LEE & LOW BOOKS. Thedecision of the judges is final. At least one Honor Award will be given eachyear, but LEE & LOW BOOKS reserves the right not to choose an Award winner.**************2009 Essence Short Fiction Contest Official RulesDream of being the next Terry McMillan or E. Lynn Harris? It just might happen. Start by entering our 2009 Essence Short Fiction contest. The winner will be announced at next year's Essence Literary Awards. See rules below.Write On!2009 ESSENCE Short Fiction ContestOFFICIAL RULES1. ELIGIBILITY: This contest is open only to legal residents of the United States and Washington, DC 18 years or older at the time of entry that have never had a work of fiction published in a major commercial book, or in a magazine with a circulation of more than 25,000. Void where prohibited by law. Employees of Sponsor and its promotional partners and their respective parents, affiliates and subsidiaries, participating advertising and promotion agencies (and members of their immediate family and/or those living in the same of household of each such employee) are not eligible.2. HOW TO ENTER: All stories submitted must be works of original fiction featuring an adult female of African descent as the main character. All contest entries must be typed, double-spaced, with one‹inch margins, on one side of 8 1/2 -by-11 inch paper and not more than ten pages or 2,500 words. The author's name, mail, email address (if available) and daytime telephone number must appear in the top right-hand corner of the first manuscript page. All subsequent pages must be numbered in the top right-hand corner and include the author's last name. Submit your entries via postal mail only in care of 2009 ESSENCE SHORT FICTION CONTEST, Essence Magazine, 135 W. 50th Street, 4th Floor, New York, NY 10020. All entries must be postmarked no later than September 30, 2008 and received no later October 7, 2008. Limit one entry per person. Sponsor is not responsible for lost, late, illegible, incomplete, postage due mail or entries not received for any reason. Entries become sole property of Sponsor and none will be acknowledged or returned. By entering, Entrant warrants that his or her entry is original and does not infringe the intellectual property rights of any third party and has not previously won an award. ESSENCE WILL NOT ACCEPT SUBMISSIONS IN THE FORM OF FAXES OR ELECTRONIC ATTACHMENTS. Entries will not be returned, and the contestant will only be contacted if her or his entry is chosen. Telephone, postal mail, email or fax inquiries will not be accepted and could cause disqualification.3. JUDGING: All entries will be judged by the editorial staff of ESSENCE and a select panel of publishing experts appointed by ESSENCE based on the following criteria: Originality (25%); Creativity (25%); Use of language (25%); and Appropriateness to contest theme (25%). First, Second and Third place winners and Seven Honorable Mentions will be chosen by the judges. In the event of a tie, an additional tie-breaker judge will determine the Winners from among all such tied entries using the judging criteria above. Incomplete and/or inaccurate entries and entries not complying with all rules are subject to disqualification. Decisions of judges are final and binding. Winners will be notified by telephone or email on or about January 10, 2009.4. PRIZES: One First Prize Winner will receive a cash prize of $1,000 and publication of her or his contest entry in a winter 2009 issue of ESSENCE magazine. The submissions of the First, Second and Third Prize Winners as well as those of the Seven Honorable Mentions will be featured on ESSENCE.COM during the first quarter of 2009. ALL TAXES ARE THE SOLE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE WINNERS. The prize is nontransferable and is awarded without warranty, express or implied, of any kind. ALL WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED AT THE 2009 ESSENCE LITERARY AWARDS.5. CONDITIONS OF PARTICIPATION: No transfer, assignment, or substitution of a prize permitted, except Sponsor reserves the right to substitute prize (or prize component) for an item of equal or greater value at Sponsor's sole discretion. Nothing in these official contest rules shall obligate Sponsor to publish or otherwise use any entry submitted in connection with this Contest. All federal, state and local laws and regulations apply. Entrants agree to be bound by the terms of these Official Rules and by the decisions of Sponsor, which are final and binding on all matters pertaining to this Contest. By entering, Entrant represents that any materials submitted as part of Entrant's Contest entry are original and will not constitute defamation or an invasion of privacy or otherwise infringe upon the rights of any third party, and that the Entrant owns or has the rights to convey any and all right and title in such entry. In addition, by entering, Entrant grants to Sponsor a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free license to edit, publish, promote, republish at any time in the future and otherwise use Entrant's submitted entry, along with Entrant's name, likeness, biographical information, and any other information provided by Entrant, in any and all media for possible editorial, promotional or advertising purposes, without further permission, notice or compensation (except where prohibited by law). Potential Winner, as a condition of receiving any prize, also may be required to sign and return an Affidavit of Eligibility, a Liability Release and where legally permissible a Publicity Release and confirmation of a license as set forth above within 7 days following the date of first attempted notification, certifying, among other things, the following: (a) entry does not defame or invade the privacy of any party; (b) entry does not infringe upon the rights of any third party; and (c) the entry submitted is original and has never won an award. Failure to comply with this deadline may result in forfeiture of the prize and selection of an alternate winner. Return of any prize/prize notification as undeliverable may result in disqualification and selection of an alternate winner. By entering and/or accepting prize, Entrants and Winners agree to hold Sponsor and its promotional partners, its directors, officers, employees and assigns harmless for liability, damages or claims for injury or loss to any person or property relating to, in whole or in part, directly or indirectly, participation in this Contest, the acceptance and/or subsequent use or misuse, or condition of any of the prizes awarded, or claims based on publicity rights, defamation, or invasion or privacy. False or deceptive entries or acts will render the Entrant ineligible. Sponsor, in its sole discretion, reserves the immediate and unrestricted right to disqualify any entrant or prize winner, if either commits or has committed any act, or has been involved or becomes involved in any situation or occurrence which the Sponsor deems likely to subject the Sponsor, entrant or winner to ridicule, scandal or contempt or which reflects unfavorably upon the Sponsor in any way. If such information is discovered by Sponsor after a winner has received notice of his/her prize and before the prize is awarded, Sponsor may rescind the prize in its entirety. If a portion of his/her prize has already been awarded, Sponsor may withdraw the remainder of the prize that has been fulfilled. Decisions of the Sponsor are final and binding in all matters related to this paragraph. Sponsor is not responsible for any typographical or other error in the printing of the official rules, administration of the contest, or in the announcement of the prize.6. GOVERNING LAW: This Contest is governed by the internal laws of the state of New York without regard to principals of conflict of laws. All cases and claims pertaining to this Contest must be brought in a court of competent jurisdiction in the City of New York, without recourse to class action suits.7. SEVERABILITY: If any provision of these Rules is found to be invalid or unenforceable by a court of competent jurisdiction or appointed arbitrator, such determination shall in no way affect the validity or enforceability of any other provision herein.8. WINNER'S LIST: For name of Winner(s), available after February 15, 2009, log onto www. Essence.com for a period of thirty days.9. SPONSOR: The Sponsor of this Contest is ESSENCE Magazine, 135 W. 50th Street, New York, NY 10020.RELATED ARTICLES:Find out what E. Lynn Harris's writing pet peeves are, in our exclusive interview »Read our preview and 30-second expert of Trading Dreams at Midnight »Check out the photo recap of the 2008 ESSENCE Literary Award »View the Nappily Faithful Book Club Guide »CATASTROPHIAIn Brief:Allen Ashley will be editing a collection of stories loosely themed around “Catastrophes, Disasters, Post-Apocalyptic Fiction”. Allen is looking for original, unpublished stories which deal in a modern manner with these classic Science Fiction and Social Horror based themes.Rights and Other Technical DetailsWe are looking only for original material - No reprints. We are seeking to acquire First British and First North American Rights for your story with a six month moratorium subsequent to publication. At the current exchange rate we are offering 3p / 6c a word up to a maximum payment of £100 / $200 per story. We expect to only publish one story per author. The book will be split 50:50 between solicited works and open submissions. The submission period is scheduled to open on 1st July 2008.How do I submit?The information in this section applies only to "open" / "unsolicited" submissions. It does Not apply to invited authors.Please note: To enable authors to fully develop their core catastrophe idea and their characters’ reaction and response to the disaster, we are generally seeking stories in the range of 6000 to 12000 words. We will consider shorter material but we are extremely unlikely to take a story longer than 12000 words long.Please note: Before submitting – before completing – your opus, you should email a 500-750 summary to Allen at:editorcatastrophia@hotmail.co.ukIf we like your idea or approach, Allen will then contact you with a request to see the whole manuscript.Allen will NOT be receptive to submissions without prior email contact and agreement on the synopsis. Your synopsis does not have to include every plot twist but should detail the specific catastrophe/disaster/problem and the setting (e.g. downtown LA, the London Underground, beginning in Madagascar and spreading across the world…).Stories should be in English and in a legible typeface (Times New Roman, Arial, Courier New). Stories will be requested as an email attachment compatible with Microsoft Word or Rich Text Format.What do we mean by catastrophes?In short, some event that rapidly changes the world social order, threatens the survival of Humankind or planet Earth, reduces people to a state of mere hand to mouth existence, puts the clock of progress back a couple of thousand years almost overnight, takes our attention off the exploits of celebrities, footballers and politicians and instead focuses it on keeping ourselves and our loved ones alive until sundown… you get the picture. To give a further flavour of what we want, here is a quote from Allen Ashley’s story “The Overwhelm” (Catastrophe = World is engulfed by fog): “Truly it didn’t take much for the veneer of civilisation to be stripped away.”We are taking a broad view of what constitutes a catastrophe / disaster / apocalypse. Please note, however, that we do not view catastrophe stories as an excuse for disgruntled authors to indulge in a pointless orgy of gratuitous rape and violence fantasies.A Brief History of Catastrophes:These sorts of tales have a long and prominent history within the genre and are amongst the first titles that spring to mind when listing SF classics. Discounting Biblical, mythical and similar precedents, this sub-genre probably commenced with:“The War of the Worlds” by H. G. Wells (Invading Martians destroy Britain) and M. P. Shiel’s “The Purple Cloud” (Polar toxins kill everybody bar protagonist).Brian Aldiss famously labelled many of these stories as “cosy catastrophes” but that certainly hasn’t got in the way of our enjoyment. Your editor grew up on these stories and with “Catastrophia” expects to reinvigorate the genre for the twenty-first century. Indeed, recent films such as “The Day After Tomorrow” (environmental disaster), “Deep Impact” (comet strikes Earth) and a re-make of “The War of the Worlds” suggests the desire is there to be faced with the apocalyptic all over again.Further Information and InspirationWant to get the feel for the nature of the catastrophe before writing and submitting?Here’s an “off the top of my head” list of catastrophe stories to add to those already mentioned:John Wyndham – “The Day of the Triffids” (Blindness and Killer Plants);John Wyndham – “The Kraken Wakes” (Marauding sea monsters);John Christopher – “Death of Grass” (AKA “No Blade of Grass”) (All grass / wheat / rice crops fail);J. G. Ballard – “The Drowned World”, “The Drought’, “The Crystal World”, “The Wind From Nowhere” – early quartet of psychological / environmental disaster novels from the master;Brian Aldiss – “Greybeard” (No children are born);Edmund Cooper – “All Fool’s Day” and Richard Matheson – “I Am Legend” (Benchmark post-apocalyptic last man on Earth tales);Brian Aldiss – “Barefoot in the Head” (LSD contamination causes social breakdown);Edmund Cooper – “Kronk” and Charles Platt – “The Gas” (Rampant venereal disease / sex plagues);John Christopher – “The World in Winter” (New Ice Age);Keith Roberts – “The Furies” (Giant wasps);Roger Zelazny – “Damnation Alley” (Mad Max started here).For a really modern catastrophe story in the short form, I recommend that you track down “Approaching Zero” by John Lucas (Contemporary lifestyles as catastrophe!), most recently available in “The Elastic Book Of Numbers” Edited by Allen Ashley (Elastic Press, 2005).Catastrophes for the New MillenniumWith the current prominence of “Green” issues, you may well decide to try your hand at environmental disaster, biological agents running amuck, responses to the future fuel and water shortages or similar themes…I’ve always quite liked the idea of the animal and plant kingdoms getting their own back on Humankind (See “The Furies’, “Day of the Triffids”, the film “Them”, etc…) – so I’d be quite receptive to an idea along those lines. No vampires, though, which have been done to death.Something based on our dependence on technology in the so-called Information Age. No cyberspeak gobbledegook, please, and no rehash of “Transformers”… but I’m sure there’s plenty of material to extrapolate from.Better still, come up with a fresh catastrophe idea, something that has not been explored before but is still close enough to the real world to convince as an extrapolation or a possibility.OK, enough of me broadcasting ideas – it’s now up to you fabulous authors out there to impress your humble editor.- Alleneditorcatastrophia@hotmail.co.ukNOVEMBERThe Phantom Queen AwakesA Dark Celtic AnthologyEdited by Mark S. Deniz & Amanda PillarIt may come as little surprise to the friends of Morrígan Books that Mark S. Deniz has decided to dedicate an anthology to the publishing company’s patron goddess, the Morrígan. The collection will be edited by Mark, with in-house editor, Amanda Pillar as co-editor.To date, Elaine Cunningham and Katherine Kerr have agreed to write for the anthology.The Morrígan is commonly portrayed as a triple goddess, but her tripartite nature is uncertain at best. This ambiguity shall be at the heart of The Phantom Queen Awakes.Please follow the link for some background on the Morrígan.The Phantom Queen Awakes, will focus on Morrígan’s tripartite nature. We want stories set in the ancient world of the Celts (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celt for some information), that talk of Morrígan. She does not have to be a central figure (although she must appear at least once in the tale), however we would prefer it if she was.Mark and Amanda are looking for stories that push the boundaries, for tales that resound with the reader long after they’ve been put down. Supernatural creatures are allowed, although they must be in tune with Celtic mythology. We do not want gratuitous violence or sex scenes. The editors would prefer stories of a darker nature, and are much more likely to take well written stories with this in mind._________________________________________________________________________Word Count: 50 to 6,000 (the lower word count being reserved for excellent flash fiction and poetry).Payment: $.01 per word for original stories, no reprintsDeadline: 1st December 2008 - we are implementing a new submission selection for the anthology but will let all authors know as soon as possible after the deadline day as to the decision regarding their story.Submission Format: Please write the title, your name, your address, email, contact numbers and the word count at the top of the manuscript submission. Please include the page number in the footer.Manuscripts should be in either the Courier New or Times New Roman font. Please make sure your manuscript is double-spaced.We will only accept manuscripts electronically and they must be in .rtf (rich text format).Submissions: Send submissions as attachments to: phantom.queen@morriganbooks.comPlease note: submissions open 1st August 2008 (please do not send your stories before this date).http://www.morriganbooks.com/?page_id=120Warrior Wisewoman is a new annual anthology series of science fiction featuring powerful and remarkable women, edited by Roby James.The first volume was published by Norilana Books in June 2008.The anthology was conceived as a sister volume to the classic Sword and Sorceress fantasy series originally edited by Marion Zimmer Bradley, with the main difference being that the story themes will involve science fiction instead of fantasy, and they will be intended for a more mature audience, allowing a mixture of serious contemporary issues and reasonable sexual content (but no erotica) in addition to action and adventure. The stories will have a stronger focus on the interface between scientific exploration and our sense of wonder.Editor Roby James says:"I am looking for stories that shed light on the truth of what it means to be female, that illuminate the wisdom and the strength of a woman, but not in cliché 'goddess' stories. I love action and adventure, grand space opera, thrilling discovery, and intelligent protagonists. Make the story thoughtful, wise, and surprising, not merely the same old metal spaceship hull filled with cardboard military uniforms with female names 'barking' orders and firing at aliens. In addition, the stories in the anthology should appeal to genuine emotions, suspense, fear, sorrow, delight, wonder. The science can be part of the background and the characters foremost, or the science can be central to the story, as long as the characters are realistic and appealing. It is strongly recommended you read the first volume to get an idea of what kind of material we're looking for."This is science fiction, but I also welcome stories of spiritual exploration, looking at the bond between the scientific and the divine. I want to see how a woman survives tragedy and disaster, overcomes impossible odds, achieves her true potential, or goes on to thrive in a marvelous universe of so many possibilities, using what is inside her, as well as what she finds in the laboratory, the alien planet, or space itself."The stories should contain the question of 'what if' on some level. And they should have a woman answer it."Read the editorial Introduction to Volume One.DECEMBER--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Guidelines for Volume #2 of the Anthology:RIGHTS PURCHASED: First English Language Rights and non-exclusive electronic rights. The anthology will be published by Norilana Books in a trade paperback edition in June 2009, to be followed by an electronic edition to be produced later.PAYMENT: $0.02 a word on acceptance, and a pro rata share of royalties, plus a contributor copy.WORD LENGTH: Up to 10,000 words, with longer stories having to be exceptional.READING PERIOD begins on August 1, 2008. Please do not submit your stories before then.DEADLINE: December 15, 2008.HOW TO SUBMIT: Submissions are electronic only. Please submit your story as a Word (.doc or .rtf) attachment to your e-mail. The subject line of your e-mail should say "Submission: Story Title, last name of author." Also, include a brief cover letter. It should have your full name, address, e-mail address, title of story, number of words, and brief biographical information in case we don't know you, with most recent publishing credits, if applicable. We are open to new writers and seasoned veterans alike.EDITORIAL ADDRESS:We look forward to reading your most inspired work.http://www.norilana.com/norilana-ww-guidelines.htmDelacorte Press Books for Young Readers is pleased to announceThe Twenty-Sixth AnnualDelacorte Press Contestfor a First Young Adult NovelThe prize of a book contract (on the publisher's standard form) covering world rights for a hardcover and a paperback edition, including an advance and royalties, will be awarded annually to encourage the writing of contemporary young adult fiction. The award consists of $1,500 in cash and a $7,500 advance against royalties.All federal, state, and local taxes, if any, are the winner's sole responsibility. Prizes are not transferrable and cannot be assigned. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO ENTER OR WIN.ELIGIBILITY1. The contest is open to U.S. and Canadian writers who have not previously published a young adult novel. Employees of Random House, Inc. and its subsidiaries and affiliates, and members of their families and households are not eligible.2. Foreign-language manuscripts and translations are not eligible.3. Manuscripts submitted to a previous Delacorte Press contest are not eligible.FORMAT FOR SUBMISSIONS1. Submissions should consist of a book-length manuscript with a contemporary setting that will be suitable for readers ages 12 to 18.2. Manuscripts should be no shorter than 100 typewritten pages and no longer than 224 typewritten pages. Include a brief plot summary with your covering letter.3. Each manuscript should have a cover page listing the title of the novel; the author's name, address, and telephone number.4. Manuscripts should be typed double-spaced on 8-1/2" x 11" good quality white paper, and pages should be numbered consecutively. The type should be at least 10 point. The author should retain a copy of any manuscript submitted.5. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper.6. Do not submit manuscripts in boxes. A padded envelope will do. Please do not enclose checks for postage. The publisher is not responsible for late, lost, misdelivered, or misplaced submissions.7. Please enclose a business-size stamped, self-addressed envelope for notification only. Please do not enclose checks for postage. Due to new postal regulations, the publisher cannot return any manuscripts. All submissions will be recycled by Random House after they are read.MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts sent to Delacorte Press may not be submitted to other publishers or literary agents while under consideration for the prize.2. Authors may not submit more than two manuscripts to the Delacorte Press competition; each must meet all eligibility requirements.DATES FOR SUBMISSION1. Manuscripts must be postmarked after October 1, 2008, but no later than December 31, 2008.2. Send manuscripts to:Delacorte Press ContestRandom House, Inc.1745 Broadway, 9th FloorNew York, New York 10019JUDGING1. Entries will be judged by the editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers. The prize will be awarded on the basis of originality, style, and creativity.2. The judges reserve the right not to award a prize.3. The decision of the judges will be final.4. The editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers will not be able to offer critiques of manuscripts or enter into correspondence about the manuscripts other than with the winning author.5. Writers will be notified between January and April as submissions are evaluated by the editors. Final contest results will be announced on our Web site on or around April 30, 2009.Winners of the Delacorte Press Prize for a First Young Adult NovelPAST HIGHLIGHTSFirst Place RecipientsCal Cameron by Day, Spider-Man by Night by A. E. CannonSquashed by Joan BauerUnder the Mermaid Angel by Martha MooreHonor Book RecipientsThe Romantic Obsessions and Humiliatons of Annie Sehlmeier by Louise PlummerChildren of the River by Linda CrewBest Friends Tell the Best Lies by Carol DinesJANUARYFEDERATIONSEDITED BY JOHN JOSEPH ADAMSFrom Star Trek to Star Wars, from Dune to Foundation, science fiction has a rich history of exploring the idea of vast intergalactic societies, and the challenges facing those living in or trying to manage such societies. The stories in Federations will continue that tradition.What are the social/religious/environmental/technological implications of living in such a vast society? What happens when expansionist tendencies on a galactic scale come into conflict with the indigenous peoples of other planets, of other races? And what of the issue of communicating across such distances, or the problems caused by relativistic travel? These are just some of the questions and issues that the stories in Federations will take on.Genres: Science Fiction only. Original fiction only, no reprints.Payment: 5 cents per word ($250 max), plus a pro-rata share of the anthology’s earnings and 1 contributor copy.Word limit: 5000 words. (Stories may exceed 5000 words, but $250 is the maximum payment per story, and stories 5000 words or less are strongly preferred.)Rights: First world English rights, non-exclusive world anthology rights, and non-exclusive audio anthology rights. See my boilerplate author-anthologist contract, which spells out the rights in detail.Reading Period: November 1-January 1, 2009Response Time: Most rejections will be sent out quickly, but stories that I like may be held until January 31 before a final decision is made.Publication date: May 2009Publisher: Prime BooksSubmission Instructions: Email your story in rich-text format (RTF) to John Joseph Adams at federations.anthology@gmail.com. Include the title of the story and your byline in the subject line of the email.ABOUT THE EDITORJohn Joseph Adams is the editor of the anthologies Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse, Seeds of Change, and The Living Dead. He is also the assistant editor at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and is the print news correspondent for SCI FI Wire (the news service of the SCI FI Channel). For more information, visit his website at www.johnjosephadams.com.http://www.johnjosephadams.com/?p=1630Highlights for Children will accept submissions to the publication's 29th annual fiction contest during the month of January 2008. The contest is open to anyone interested in writing for children and three winners will receive $1,000 each.For this year's contest, Highlights seeks stories set in the future. Under contest rules, any unpublished story is eligible, whether submitted by a professional or a new author. Previous winners have included both published and first-time authors.Contest guidelines state that all entries must be postmarked between January 1 and January 31, 2008. The stories should not exceed 800 words, and they may be considerably shorter for younger children. Stories glorifying war or crime or containing violence or derogatory humor are not acceptable.The three contest winners will be announced on Highlights.com in June 2008. Winning manuscripts become the property of Highlights and will appear in the periodical at a later date. All other contest submissions will be considered for purchase at regular rates and terms. A list of winners will be sent by mail if a self-addressed stamped envelope is included with submissions.Highlights also accepts the submission of articles, stories, and fillers throughout the year.For guidelines or additional information, go tohttp://www.highlights.com/custserv/customerservicecontent2main.jsp?iCategoryID=203&iContentID=1584&CCNavIDs=3,203MarchDelacorte Press Books for Young Readers is proud to announce theSeventeenth AnnualDelacorte Dell Yearling Contest fora First Middle-Grade Novel*The prize of a book contract (on the Publisher's standard form) for a hardcover and a paperback edition, including an advance and royalties, will be awarded annually to encourage the writing of contemporary or historical fiction set in NorthAmerica, for readers age 9–12. The award consists of $1,500 in cash and a $7,500 advance against royalties.All federal, state and local taxes, if any, are the winners sole responsibility. Prizes are not transferrable and cannot be assigned. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO WIN.ELIGIBILITY1. The contest is open to U.S. and Canadian writers who have not previously published a novel for middle-grade readers. Employees of Random House, Inc. and its subsidiaries and affiliates, and members of their families and households are not eligible.2. Foreign-language manuscripts and translations are not eligible.3. Manuscripts submitted to a previous Delacorte Press contest are not eligible.FORMAT FOR SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts should be no shorter than 96 typewritten pages and no longer than 160 typewritten pages. Include a brief plot summary with your covering letter.2. Each manuscript should have a cover page listing the title of the work and the author's name, address, and telephone number. The title should also appear on each manuscript page.3. Manuscripts should be typed doublespaced on 8 1/2" by 11" good quality white paper, and pages should be numbered consecutively.The type should be easy to read, preferably 12 point.The author should retain a copy of any manuscript submitted.4. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper. Partial or illegible entries will not be acceptable.5. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper.6. Do not submit manuscripts in boxes. A padded envelope will do. Please do not enclose checks for postage. The publisher is not responsible for late, lost, misdelivered, or misplaced submissions.7. Please enclose a business-size stamped, self-addressed envelope for notification only. Please do not enclose checks for postage. Due to new postal regulations, the publisher cannot return any manuscripts. All submissions will be recycled by Random House after they are read.MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts sent to Delacorte Press may not be submitted to other publishers or literary agents while under consideration for the prize.2. Authors may not submit more than two manuscripts to the Delacorte Yearling competition; each must meet all eligibility requirements.DATES FOR SUBMISSION1. Manuscripts must be postmarked after April 1, 2008, but no later than June 30, 2008.2. Send manuscripts to:Delacorte Yearling ContestRandom House, Inc.1745 Broadway, 9th FloorNew York, NY 10019JUDGING1. The Judges are the editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers.2. The judges reserve the right not to award a prize.3. The judges' decision will be final.4. The editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers will not be able to offer critiques of manuscripts or enter into correspondence about the manuscripts other than with the winning author.5. Writers will be notified between July and October as submissions are evaluated by the editors. Final contest results will be announced on our Web site on or around October 31, 2008.* Formerly the Marguerite de Angeli Contest
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Posted by Night Manager on August 15, 2008 at 3:00pm
WINTER GHOST P3THE DOORThe door is… so strange. There’s no screen door. The snow is piled right up against it. It’s wood, dark and weather beaten, in thick long planks from top to snow covered bottom. It’s not especially ornate and there is no window set in it but there is an eyehole with an old fashion knocker just beneath it. I don’t see a doorbell.Maybe the knocker is the bell.The snow rises in a mound the higher the steps get but with one foot on the first step it shouldn’t be too difficult. I have to lean and move carefully because as light as she is her added weight may pull me off balance. My foot smashes down through the snow and as soon as it finds the second step the wind suddenly quiets.So quiet now… the whole street. Without the wind the thick curtain of snow falls straight down, no longer swirling and churning. Maybe I should call out. If she has family here they might be able to hear us now.The steps are easy to find now. I rise closer to the door one careful step at a time. Without the gusts of wind stirring up the loose snow I don’t have to squint anymore.No one in Mt. Airy has a door without a screen door. Despite being exposed to the elements the dark wood still has a rich color. I can see a bit of red in it. Mahogany?I’m feeling more hesitant now. I turn and chance another look across the street. Are the other homes like this? No screen doors?The snow is still falling too heavy. I can’t see across the street.Another step closer… higher… and she stirs in my arms but she does not wake. Her brows knit together when a moment ago, in the alley, she was so peaceful.It’s cold… she’s cold… get her inside.Another step… I can reach the door now.Still keeping my arm under her shoulders I reach for the knocker and the wind returns. A howling angry burst screams up the street and rips into us. I pull her close to me… protecting her face with my own.The wind and snow bites hard, burning my exposed ear. My wrists freeze and ache where my sleeves stop and my gloves start. The wind blasts us with a cold so terrible that it turns my thighs to stone threatening to imprison us on these steps. And it’s not stopping… not showing any sign of weakening. We’ll freeze if we don’t move.Is that her scent?I inhale deeply, despite the cold, taking in a flowery sweetness that draws me in. A warm smell, almost soft, penetrates my head. Memories flicker in the back of my mind hazy and indistinct. Her soft breath brushes against my lips, slips past my teeth and over my tongue. It’s like… a the fulfillment of a promise made long ago. I could stay like this forever… let myself freeze in place just holding her.She shudders slightly. She’s cold.Worry wells up inside of me and again I reach for the knocker. Shame and guilt boil up too for delaying, for wanting to hold her… to……keep her.She’s cold.My fingers reach through the blasting wind and touch the knocker. It’s coarse… no… it’s rusted; I can feel the rough surface through my gloves. I shuffle my feet forward a bit and get a better look. It’s horribly rusted and now I see the rest of the door a little clearer as well. I was expecting… I don’t know… but this is…Exposure to the weather has done much to this door. The wood is worn and flaking. The edges splinter where the warped planks try and pull away from each other. There are cobwebs in the corners. Rust falls like pepper into the snow as my finger tips slide over the knocker.I don’t think anyone has used this door in a long time. Some homes are like that, I know, people using another door other than the one in front. But I didn’t see a side door.My toes curl inside my shoes trying to stave off frostbite. I set my feet and pull on the knocker.It doesn’t budge. It’s rusted to the door. I can’t even get my fingers all the way around it to get enough leverage to pull it free. There’s no door bell. How am I going to…DUMMY! I ball my hand into a fist and pound on the old wood.Once…Twice…Three times… once more and my hand comes back aching as though I pounded it until it broke.Instinctively I step back and listen. The wind is so loud I don’t think I’ll be able to hear anyone moving through the house, coming to get her. Someone has to be coming. Her family?Father…Husband?I don’t know why but I’m sure there’s a man in there. Something about the door makes me think…Again the wind comes to an abrupt halt and the street goes quiet. Still the snow continues to fall, thick as ever, still covering everything in a pure white blanket that if you weren’t knee deep in it, looks almost warm. It’s not warm though and I shiver and curl my toes.What’s taking so long?I shift her in my arms and again raise my fist to pound on the door.I hesitate, my fist held up, shivering slightly. Suddenly I’m nervous. It feels like I’m… disturbing someone’s peace… instead of helping this girl.Stop it! Just get her inside.I pound again and pain lances across my hand but I’m not stopping. Four more knocks and then I yell out…But my voice trails off as I hear how harshly it cuts through the now quiet air. There’s no sign that anyone hears me.I know someone is there.Now I look at the door frame, the big archway so different than I’ve seen before. Even though the door is warped I can’t tell if there’s a light on the other side. The door is set too deeply in the frame. On the other side of the doorway, on the opposite side of the house from the alley I can see a huge picture window. I shuffle my feet through the snow and lean hoping to see a light but the window is dark. There’s a thick curtain drawn closed inside.Now I’m just going to kick this door until somebody comes. First I call out again and this time my voice stays strong. I look down to check that I’m not to closed the edge of the steps because I don’t want to…Her eyes are open.But only for a second, I think, and they’re closed again. If she’s awake then maybe she can tell me if this is where she lives, or better; if there’s a way inside. Very gently I shake her but she doesn’t stir again. Great.If no one answers here maybe I should take her to another house. Back across the street the houses remain shadowy shapes hidden by bushes and tree cover. They’re singles though, I can tell that. But these houses were supposed to be twins.Carefully I turn back to the door and now the eyehole catches my attention. Something about it is spooking me now. It doesn’t look any different, but… something has changed. Is it darker?My jaw clenches and I hold my breath wanting to be able to hear even the slightest noise. It’s so quiet now… I stare at the eyehole and it stares back.I think… I think there’s someone behind this door.
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It was dawn in the Danakil desert. The sun rose above Erta Ale. Most people thought it was unwise to build a space aircraft launching facility near an active volcano, but other than the volcano the location was perfect. The landscape was mostly flat, and there was only a small local population because it was near an active volcano. The wild life weren’t a problem either. The Ostriches, Gazelles, and African Wild Asses lived as if the space center wasn’t even there.Though still this would be the last launch at Dr. Legesse Wotrou Space Center,due to fears of geological activity. Dr. Menelik watched a herd of gazelle graze from a window on the top floor of the space station. About a kilometer across the arid landscape stood the launch tower with the space shuttle loaded in. He looked on the TV covered walls of his office, and saw the happenings in the control rooms, launch tower, and astronaut quarters. Everyone was scrambling around making sure all was set for the launch. No one was walking in leisure. Everyone had a job to do. This is what they had been working up to for years. This is the day they would see the fruits of their labor.There was a knock at the door. “Come in” said Dr. Menelik. Two men walked in both carrying suitcases. “Mr. Engel” Dr. Menelik said smiling. “To what do I owe the honor?”“I just need you to sign some papers” Mr. Engel said opening his briefcase. “They’re just standard legal documents stating that you authorized the launch of the shuttle. This one says that you authorize the Selassie to began its mission.” He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and bent down to sign the papers.“Do I put the date of the Ge'ez calendar?” asked Dr. Menelik.“No just use the western calendar” Mr. Engel said nonchalantly. He wrote May 24 2085 on the paper. He looked at the other man in the room who was looking at the TV’s.“Who is this man that has accompanied you?” asked Dr. Menelik.“My name is Paul Tonui” said the man. “I ask you not to sign the papers just yet.” “Why not?” asked Dr. Menelik.“I was sent by some of the concerned members of parliament” said Paul Tonui. “Concerned about what?” asked Dr. Menelik.“Well, you see more than two trillion birr has been spent on this project to this date. That is more than six million over your allotted budget.”“Yes this is a costly venture” said Dr. Menelik. “Though I’m surprised that we are not more over budget than we already are. The budget parliament gave us was no where near enough, though we are grateful for what they have given us. They will see that this is a great investment in the long run.”“ The money could have been used for a more practical investment” Paul said. “Schools need to be built, research must be done, debts must be paid. Necessities must be taken care of first before we can invest in such luxuries as space colonization.”“Necessities” said Dr. Menelik chuckling. “By the way things are looking on this planet now space exploration should be at the top of Parliaments agenda. Polar ice caps are melting at an alarming rate. Eritrea is losing an average of fifty miles of land a year to the ocean. Within two decades the ocean will have reached Ethiopia. Half of Europe and the Americas are already in space because they know what is coming.”“But doctor that is not the point” Paul interrupted. “ The concerned members just believe the space program is moving to fast. Ethiopia is the first country on the continent to go to space and, build a space station. We are about to conduct a mission that the most powerful nations have only started attempting. They just believe that what you are doing is a bit too radical for….“For what” interrupted Dr. Menelik. “ For Ethiopia. It is sad that the same men who lead this country bound her with their doubt. The same men who weaken her with their corruption and greed. How dare they try to stop me when I try to bring hope to the people, and dreams of the future to the children. If giving hope to them is too radical. Then call me Dr. Radical.”“ Doctor I assure you that is not there intention” said Paul. “ They want only what is best for the people of Ethiopia. In wanting the best for the people of Ethiopia they believe it is their duty to intervene. They told me to tell you this only if you were not willing to change the direction of the space program. They are threatening to call for your resignation.”Dr. Menelik chuckled. “call for my resignation will they” he said grinning. “ Tell them to go ahead. But tell them to remember, I received my bachelors of science degree from Addis Abba University in astrophysics. My masters for NC A&T State university. My Doctorate from UCLA. Came back to Ethiopia became a tenured professor in astrophysics. I headed the department for the last five years. I have served as president of the Ethiopian Space Society. I have published multiple articles in scientific journals. I have conducted experiments on the international space station and on the moon station. I have been to space nine times. So tell them go ahead and fire me. Tell them good luck finding someone more qualified than me for the job. There is no such man in Ethiopia or even in the world perhaps.”The room went silent for a moment. “ Very well then” said Paul. “But please remember doctor that these are not my views or opinions, and that I am rooting for you.” With out another word he turned around and walked out the door.“Now where were we” said Dr. Menelik.“Signing the papers” said Engel. Dr. Menelik signed the papers.“Will that be all” he said handing the documents to Engel.“Yes” said Engel turning to walk out the door. “ But do remember that if the mission is not a success it could mean the end of your career and the end of the space program.” Engel closed the door.Dr. Menelik went behind his desk and sat down in his brown leather chair. He looked through the window at the spacecraft. Then he looked at the digital timer on the wall with a sign above that read time till launch. “10:35” the timer read. This mission must be a success he thought to himself. The people of Ethiopia depend on it.***The astronaut quarters was a windowless room. It had plane white walls with a white tiled floor and ceiling. There were a few lockers and a bench. It had no aesthetic function at all. You would have thought the room was useless if you had somehow managed to overlook the men in spacesuits.There were five of them sitting on the one bench in the room. Four sat motionless and quiet, while the other sat quivering. Everyone ignored him for a time until the one at the far left broke the silence. “Bekele what’s your problem?”“Nothing” said Bekele. “ I always get a bit nervous before a launch.”“ Well could you stop.” said the man at the far left. “You being nervous is making me nervous. This is only my first time going up.”“What” said the man second from the right. “you’ve never been up before and they’ve got you on this mission. You don’t know what the first five minutes will be like and you’re going to be up there for more than a month. You won’t last.”“ lay off him Mariam.” said the man second from the left. “ You heard him its his first time.”“Well if the boy cant handle this” said Mariam chuckling. “He certainly won’t be able to handle what goes on up there.”“Would you all just shut up!” the man in the center said obviously agitated. “Yes captain” the men said in unison. “ I can tell by your childish blabbering that none of you understand the magnitude of this mission. We are doing something that no nation has ever done before. We are going to a planet we only think exist and has god only knows what on it. And for your information Mariam I brought Ahmed on bored because he has skills in navigation and geography that are of a far greater value than yours on this mission.”The room was quiet. Not a word was spoken for what seemed to be an eternity. Then the door to the room swung open. Three men walked into the room.“Gentlemen its time” one of the men said. The astronauts picked up their helmets and stood up. “follow me” the man said walking out the door. They did as they were told and followed the man through the doorway. The other two men followed behind them and closed the door. They marched down the corridor. The only noise was the sound of their boots hitting the tile floor. They came to a door. The man turned around. “Gentlemen enjoy your fame while you are at earth.” He pushed the door open and a wave of camera flashes came rushing through the doorway. A legion of reporters stood lining the walkway to the next door. They weren’t asking questions just taking pictures. The party made its way through the parted sea of reporters. All was silent except for the sounds of cameras. They reached the next door and walked out. They stepped outside the building.The vehicle that would take them to space penetrated the sky like some space themed skyscraper. They walked toward it. “Get a good look men” said the captain. “This going to be the last time you see earth for a while.”“Or the last time we see it at all” said Mariam staring at Ahmed.When they reached the launch tower they all packed into an elevator and headed upwards. The space center came into full view as they ascended the tower. They saw the top of the building they had just exited and other launch towers without shuttles in them. They saw people and gazelles which were hard to tell apart at that height.The elevator stopped. The doors opened. They walked onto the platform. They looked out at the landscape in amazement. The people looked no bigger than dots. They felt as high as the mountains. On the platform there were five men waiting for them at the door of the shuttle. They walked towards them. They ushered them into the space shuttle. “Godspeed” said the men that had ushered them to the shuttle as he and the other two walked back to the elevator.The astronauts and the other men climbed into the cockpit. The captain sat in the pilots seat while the others sat in the other vacant seats. The other men began to strap them in. Once they were in the men wished them good luck and exited the shuttle. The count down timer read “50” and decreased by the second.“This is mission control” said a voice over the radio. “Countdown is in forty seconds, are all systems go”.“All systems are go” said the Captain. “The crew is ready.”“Excellent” said the voice from mission control. “ Lift of in twenty-five seconds, run your final check captain.” The captain flipped a few switches and pressed a few buttons.“All systems are go mission control” said the captain.“ nineteen eighteen seventeen” said mission control counting down. The captain began pressing some more buttons. “fifteen, fourteen, thirteen”. The captain pressed another button, the shuttle began to shake. “Ten, nine, eight”. the copilot pressed several more buttons. “Seven, six, five”. the captain flipped a switch activating the after burners, a loud roar came from the bottom of the launch tower. “Four three”. The shuttle began to shake. “Two one!”. All five men were pushed back into their seats by the force as the shuttle rocketed upward.“ Erta Ale” the captain said into the radio. “We have lift off.” Cheers could be heard on the radio from the control room. The captain held his hand over a switch. “Releasing auxiliary rocket boosters in five, four, three, two, one” he said into the radio. He flipped the switch. The two rocket boosters detached themselves from the shuttle, and went hurdling back to earth. The huge orange fuel tank soon followed suit.“Detachment was a success” said the voice from mission control. “ Stand by to enter orbit.”“Standing by” said the captain. The cockpit was quiet as it rocketed upward to the heavens. Everyone was calm except for Ahmed, who was griping his armrest as if it held the key to his survival.“ You think this is bad” Mariam managed to say chuckling. “Just wait until you get on the actual ship.” Ahmed acted as if he wasn’t there. As if his words blended in with the roars of the rockets.Time went on, and the spaceship rocketed upwards to the cosmos. The blue sky turned darker as the shuttle exited earths atmosphere. The ship rattled as if some great invisible force had taken hold of it. It seemed as if the shaking would never end. Then the shaking slowly subsided.“Powering down thrusters” the captain said flipping some switches. The thrusters went quiet. An eerie silence. The men began to unbuckle themselves from their seats. After they did so they glided to one of the windows. They sat there and stared. It wasn’t often that they got to see earth in such a way. Ahmed was the most amazed, his mouth hung wide open. It was his first time seeing earth like this. It was like a giant green, white, and blue marble.“Were moving out” the captain said floating to the pilots seat. “All systems are. What the hell!” the captain said looking out the window. The crew members rushed to the front window. They grinned. A soccer ball went floating past their front window as if it was the most natural thing in the universe.“Captain ,is all well” the voice from the space center said worried.“Yes, all is well” the captain said watching the ball as it glided toward earth. “Mission control” he continued. “What can you tell me about a soccer balls floating through space.”“What!” the voice from mission control said almost laughing.“Just forget it” said the captain. The soccer ball floated slowly towards the earth. The soccer ball began to go through the atmosphere like it was a meteor. It began to turn red until it burst into flames.The crew just stood there staring at the place where the soccer ball had once been. They stood puzzled by the occurrence that could only be explained by something that they had not seen yet.“Lets move out” the captain said sitting in the pilots seat. The puzzled crew went into the body of the shuttle to make sure all was well from the launch. The captain turned a few knobs, and pressed a few buttons. The shuttles rockets ignited, and it began to move forward.For about twenty minutes the shuttle coasted quietly through space. All that could be seen was the infinity of space.“Why are we launching the ship from the Ethiopian space station? asked Bekele.“Because the national space station doesn’t have the capability to launch a space ship of the size for a mission of this caliber. as the United Nations space station” the captain replied. “I think I see the station up ahead” he said pointing to what looked like a dot.
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This was an article I originally wrote for Christian Fiction Factor but it has some good points that fit spec-fic writers also.The Uses and Misuses of Inspiration.Carole McDonnell“The Lord gave me this idea.”How often I’ve heard a new writer say this? Often, this sentence preceded great stories. But just as often it introduced writings that were so half-baked I found myself searching for a tactful way to say “Please don’t blame the Lord for this.”Don’t get me wrong. I believe that God is an everflowing font of creative ideas. When I find myself stumped in the middle of a story, I will often –very often– shout out, “Father, help!” Then, taking it on faith that He has indeed helped, I resume writing with the confident hope that the new God-given idea will emerge. Sooner or later, it does. Either the idea comes gently as I sit at my computer, or it rides on a very apt coincidence, or it floods in on a creative torrent as I lie in bed at night. (Always remember to keep that notebook on your beside table!)As Creations of God, in whose image we are made, we cannot help but create. But God is an Author as well as a Finisher. He plants seeds, nurtures seedlings, sends water and sunshine, until the tree has grown sturdy enough to attract all kinds of birds to its branches. Unfortunately, the writings of many Christians seemed stunted, like perpetual seedlings. Quite often the seed needed better soil in which to grow, a soil mulched with technique and watered in discipline and mindfulness. But many Christian writers are such believers in the idea of Inspiration they think that if God has given them an idea, there is nothing more for them to do than to simply write the story. But writing is difficult, and many internal and external obstacles work against this idea of “divine inspiration.”From within the writer (affectations, unconscious mimicry, the refusal to touch an idea that “God has given,” lack of research) and without (publishing company guidelines, denominational requirements) come obstacles common to all writers. But the “divine inspiration” flaw is especially hard for a new Christian writer to shake. As a published fiction writer who critiques and reviews fellow writers, I have seen too many stories that fail because of the writers’ attachment to divine inspirationThey usually fall into one or several of these categories:The tendency to slavishly imitate a parable:Bible sermons, parables have much in common with novels, such as themes, characters, and conflicts. But while sermons and parables often preach to the choir, novels reflect a journey in which the soul and spirit of a writer argue against each other. Parables aim to teach one simple profound truth, a truth the hearer probably already knows. I’ve used the parable of the seed, for instance, throughout much of this article. There is nothing wrong with an old motif or idea.Parables, cliches and old motifs are perennial because they have power. Throughout literary history, great stories such as Steinbeck’s East of Eden have been written using the Cain-Abel or prodigal son motif. But consider that East of Eden does not slavishly mimic either the Bible story or the parable. Instead, complications abound in the characters, setting, and situations. The reader sees events through Cal’s point of view, thus reflecting the author’s own inner questions --attraction and repulsion– about the character of Cain. The novel’s emotional resolutions satisfy the reader because the ending seems valid and thoroughly examined; in addition, all the characters were loved and all were imperfect. Many a new Christian writer, however, fail because they rigidly refuse to depart from some minor aspect of a parable because “that’s not the way the story is told in the Bible.” When a writer says, “God was on Abel’s side,” she is blocking her own creativity.Banal storiesThe old adage states, “write what you know.” One of the staples of the Christian publishing world is the prodigal “return to self/home” story. Slice-of-life stories are hard to write, because they are about what everyone knows: everyday life and home. Life is full of wondrous moments crafted by a loving and Invisible hand. In the same way, a slice-of-life story must fulfill its creative purpose while adding conflict that entertains or enlightens the reader. A writer has to understand if the scene she’s describing is a burning bush, a dying fig tree, a stone of stumbling or if she is writing something that doesn’t resonate at all. Is the scene an episodic little event full of cute home-spun small talk that is simply taking up space? Is the author willing to change or delete the scene or will she argue that “God wants me to write it in exactly the way it happens”? It is amazing how much “truth” can be told even if the facts are changed. Another problem with slice-of-life stories is that they are conversion stories. A conversion story is notoriously hard to write. Imagine a successful worldly character returning home. She feels vaguely empty and rootless. At last, the homecoming to good kind-hearted and holy Grandma brings about a return to old-fashioned values, and the character comes to herself. These stories are always satisfying if done well, but what if they are not? And what if, once again, that old idea of “divine inspiration” has once again caused an obstacle?Stories that are simply unreal.While it is good to show the goodness of God and His people, many Christian writers rely too much on the sentimental, the melodramatic or the miraculous. This leads to over-emotional run-of-the-mill storylines, too-obvious allegories, black and white characterizations, simplistic conflicts, and Deus ex Machinas. Yes, praying patient Grannies often kneel before their homemade altars to pray for missing prodigals only to rise minutes later with new (miraculous) information – perhaps an address in another town where the prodigal lies in a drunken stupor-- but when I saw this scenario in a manuscript I recently critiqued, I knew I was in for a book of unreal, extremely perfect, godly characters ...and divine quick fixes. I was not disappointed. After the third miraculous escape, and the author’s declaration that “God does this kind of stuff all the time,” I realized the author did not care about the rules of fiction.Affectations and emotional entanglements:Another problem with this notion of Divine inspiration are stories written by people who are too emotionally or psychologically entwined with their works. These stories fall into four categories; speculative fiction which the writer truly believes to be prophetic, stories too imitative of the King James Bible, writings that aim to speak a new truth, and lastly, memoirs written by those who have endured profound sorrow. These are some of the hardest seeds to bring to fruition. Why? Not because God didn’t give the seed of these writings, but because the writer’s ego depends on getting the work done in exactly the way she has written it. As Christians, we don’t need to be told that we have problems with our carnal nature. We are humans and want to show others how poetic, wise, and wounded we are. But tried-and-true modern techniques exist to improve a story, and it is the story that matters, not the writer. This is especially true when a writing project is a memoir. Christians are always reading spiritual memoirs, parables, and miracle stories. We cannot help but be affected by what we read but we must be aware that the styles of these works can adversely affect our own stories. The writing styles of these books often are not like those of books in the marketplace. Aspiring authors don’t see the obvious: the Christian memoir they are reading was either self-published, written by a famous Christian personality, written years ago in a fashion that is now outdated, or was about an event that affected not only the writer but a large number of people. Sad but true, most people –even Christians– don’t want to hear about us, and they don’t want to hear our justification of our lives...not until we are famous. This does not mean the story should not be told or that the idea to write a book was not God-given. It does mean, however, that much watering and careful planting is needed.Lack of Research:Another problem in which divine inspiration butts up against reality -or is it realities?– is in historical fiction. The writer who chooses to write historical fiction has chosen a hard path. She must understand that cultures, ancient and modern, need to be researched and understood. Research is not easy and cannot be done with only a few clicks on the internet. A writer must immerse herself in that other world until she understands it. Style of dress, currency, names, architecture, geography, tribal laws and etiquette, governmental hierarchy are just a few aspects of culture that much be explored. This is especially important if the heroine is a passionate fiery feminist type. I once was asked to critique a story in which the main characters took a boat from Galilee to Rome. On their arrival, they gave an innkeeper a few “coins” to rent a horse, and then sat down to look at the menu. The story lost me when these Jewish main characters sat down to eat non-kosher food. With unwashed hands, no less. To say nothing about the unnamed coins, the “menu,” the fact that one of them was a woman traveling alone, and the horse rental. The story might have been half-way good (okay, maybe not) if the author had done something to root the story in a well-researched world.These problems are not uniquely Christian. Yet, in my experience, I’ve seen that many Christians begin to build a tower of works without first examining their building materials. They often use spiritual justification for not doing the hard work of writing. They will often say, “God will teach me to write.” True, God does teach us to write, but since He is a God of love he often leads us to an interdependence on other people. No man, John Donne puts it, is an island. Self-reliance or trusting only the Holy Spirit often are excuses used to avoid learning.Inspired or not, we must do our part. Although God loves humanity and has saved it by the blood of his Son, I am not truly saved unless I meet God’s gracious act with my act of faith. In the same way, an inspirational idea is graciously given to us but we are to water it and plant it in good soil. A successful Christian writer knows that hard work and inspiration go together. If a writer is inspired to write a story, she should do historical research, learn all the aspects of her craft, free her story from the burden of validating her life, study the denominational statements of magazine publishers, and work within publishers’ guidelines. Then if her idea is truly a divine inspiration, God will give her the ability to use it in a form and genre acceptable to the publishing world. Instead of using only half-baked stories, let us study to show ourselves as good workmen, fashioning the clay with as much care as the Universal Potter does.
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Hey dolls and guys: I decided to try my hand at erotic poetry with kind of sci-fi flavor and I wanted critques and comments from a group of writers I really respect. Be kind ya'll (smile) I ain't leaving it up for long lol, trust.Blue Light(for Q)Let your tonguefingers open mygardenwhat you find thereis yourstaste my blackberriesnibble my datetheir sweetnessis unparalleledjuicy enoughto satisfy your cravingand quench your thirstI surrender…my mouthhandsopen your gardenwhat I find thereis mineripe plumsto savorpapaya aplentyto feed my hungerlarge enough to mountas we ride intoEros's realmrocked by wavescradled in cries, whisperslong and deepthrough moist cavernsdark snug tunnelswet sugared valleysbetween caramel vinesJourney with me‘neath the blue lightof my dreamsamid sunset/sunriseWhat we'll find thereis oursCopyright 2008 Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson all rights reservedThanks one and all for your support!!!
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Hi all...just wanted to collect emails in preparation for the launch of my debut novel, Taste and my small press's website Blaqmermaid Press. Please message me your email addresses so that I can add you to my mailing list. Along with the novel, I will be running contests/giveaways, and conducting creative writing and self-publishing seminars! Feel free to poke your head around www.blaqmermaidpress.com which will be completed within the coming days. Thanks for your support!B. Sharise
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Gary stood at the starting line of the 400 meter dash event of the intergalactic games. On the staggered starting line ready to race him were some of the greatest athletes in the universe. This among other variables had him wondering what the hell he was doing there.In the other lanes stood other beings that differed greatly than those Gary had been accustomed to on earth. First there was a Tigon in the first lane. The mere size of the Tigon intimidated Gary. Tigons were extremely strong creature each having six legs which they also utilized as their arms. Gary was sure the Tigons would win the throwing events, hell they worked out with barbells the size of Gary’s house on earth.In the second lane to Gary’s left was the runner from Isisia. The Isisians were extremely tall by human standards. The Isisians usually stood at a height of seven feet five inches most of their great height coming from their extremely long and skinny legs. This particular Isisian was above average. He stood around seven foot seven and his legs were extremely muscular compared to many other of the Isisians that Gary had noticed at the games.All though things seemed as if Gary couldn’t get at any more of an disadvantage the thing that troubled him the most was in the lane to his right. There were three other creatures to his right. But only one posed any competition. It was not another creature with a great inhuman physical advantage over him as a matter of fact he was not even from another planet. It was Gary’s teammate from earth. His name was Octavius. Octavius was a six foot even muscular onyx skinned running machine. It was he who had won the gold medal at the last Olympics. Gary remembered it vividly, Octavius`s five seconds in front of him. Gary not being close enough to even grab one of Octavius`s locks that flowed gracefully behind him as he ran across the finish line.Since Gary had come in second he had earned a spot on the earth’s intergalactic team. He was amazed that he had made it this far. Hell he was amazed that he was able to run in college. In 3019 A.D. Gary had received a track scholarship to the University of Oregon. But before those years at the university Gary had not shown any potential in track in his early years of high school. It was not because he wasn’t fast enough it was because of what he was allergic to. Steroids were legalized in all athletic competitions in 2311 A.D. by the world athletic association so that the human species would have a chance against the more physically evolved creatures from other planets which earth had come in contact with in the last century. Gary attempted to use steroids during his freshman year of high school but soon found out he was allergic to them when his throat closed up and he had to be rushed to the hospital. Yet he kept at it staying on the track till 11 pm on some nights trying to get his times down. On his senior year he managed to earn all-state honors which led to the scholarship.Even in college he had to go above and beyond just to reach minimum standards athletically and even academically. He had never done well in school. His grades in high school had almost kept him from going to the university but he pulled them up enough to be admitted. Even in college he had to work at extremely hard and was able to pull out a few B`s even a few A`s. In collegiate levels steroids were used even more frequently than in high school so Gary had to put in extra effort to be better than his steroid injected competition. He ran his way up the track and field ranks until he found his self were he is now.Gary stood at the starting line holding his cross necklace (which had graced his neck since his freshman year) trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach making continuous attempts to rip him open. He knew that hard work and perseverance had gotten him here. He squeezed the cross necklace that rested upon his neck. He looked up into the stadium press box at the saddest thing ever mistaken for a reporter in disgust. The reporter glared back at him.They had just landed on the planet Ridon for the games he thought to himself reminiscing. He and Octavius were exiting earth’s team space craft when they were approached by what appeared to be a Heroxian. He was extremely fat with rubbery scaly skin and short legs. He had no neck which Gary found comical. “My name is Neb I’m a reporter from the planet Herox“he said when he had finally reached them. Even though he had short legs he stood equal in height to Gary. He wore a black pin stripe suit with a white shirt and pink necktie. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you fellows a few questions” he continued. “sure” they responded in unison. Neb turned to Octavius. “You are going up against the best athletes in the universe, how do you expect to hold up?” He asked holding his pen and notepad ready. “well” said Octavius. “I’ll do what I always do, do my best and pray for the rest.” “Great” said Neb writing something down on the notepad. “That will be all, thank you”. He turned around and began walk away.“Wait” said Octavius grabbing Neb by his fat shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask Gary some questions? “ Neb turned around and looked at Gary. He looked him up and down as if sizing him up. “Why?” he finally said “it’s obvious that he doesn’t stand a chance“. “What” Gary said looking angrily at Neb. “I’m simply telling things as they are” he continued. “You see we Heroxians don’t sugar coat things. We may be horrible athletes but we are some of the smartest beings in the universe. You see I’ve researched your species thoroughly and I’ve looked into the history of earths Olympics and I’ve found that ever sense you’ve allowed the first man from the Negroid breed named Jesse Owens to be in the Olympics their breed has dominated the games ever since. But as I turned through the pages of earth’s history I came across another interesting fact. The issue of how your breed of Caucasians treats the Negroid breed. First you enslave them and then afterwards you treat them like…. How do you humans say, o yeah, you treat them like crap”. At this time Octavius stepped in. “I think that’s enough, lets go Gary.”By this time Gary and Neb were standing face to face. Octavius grabbed Gary by the shoulder and pulled him past Neb who stood there and watched them walk away towards the stadium. “It doesn’t matter anyway neither of you stand a chance” Neb yelled at the two athletes. “The Isisian is going to whoop your water drinking carbon based asses.The thought of the interview fired him up. “What right did that walrus like loser Neb have to judge him?” Gary thought to himself. “Five minutes left till start” the official said threw the loudspeaker. He looked to his left and right and watched the various creatures stretching and knew that he didn’t stand a chance. “Why am I here?” he thought again. He held his cross tighter than ever before. He knew nothing else to do so he did the unthinkable. Gary got down on a knee and began to pray. The whole stadium watched him on his knees as if he was taking a piss. The athletes looked to their side watching him. They looked to Octavius as if they expected him to do something. Octavius looked down and watched his friend pray in front of thousands of creatures not knowing what to do. Then his next action came to his mind. He got down on his knee and prayed like his friend.“Thirty seconds runners to the line” the official said. The athletes approached the starting line and stood in their blocks. Gary could fell the butterflies more than he had ever felt them in his life. This was his single most important race ever. Then a warm uneasiness came upon him. He began to grin. “I’m not going to lose” he said to himself. “None of these guys have as much heart as me, they don’t stand a chance” He said looking at Neb through the corner of his eye. “Runners to your mark” the official yelled. Gary grinned. “Get set” Gary got in the starting position. “Go”.The runners sprang from their blocks with a great force. The Isisian, Octaivius and the Tigon got and early lead. Gary caught up and passed the Tigon. He had run 100 meters when he was five feet behind Octavius. He closed the gap. His legs were moving like lightning. Octavius looked to his side and saw Gary as he passed him. The look of surprise that had inhabited Octavius`s face then turned to an encouraging grin. He had run 200 meters and the Isisian was ten feet in front of him. He felt like he could not go on any longer and he was already running at top speed. He reached deep inside himself into his heart which was already running beyond healthy capacity. His body began to move at a speed even he didn’t believe he could move in and still he went faster. He had run 300 meters with 100 left to go. The Isisian was 3 feet in front of him. Gary was turning red his lungs felt as if they had taken a betting. His chest heaving like a ballon. Second place was beyond what he ever thought he could achieve. But he wanted first. Octavius had managed to catch up with them all three of them were running neck in neck at the last 50 meters. Gary could see the finished line approaching. Octavius was a foot behind him and the Isisian was neck in neck. He could have slowed down and gotten a well earned third or maybe even second but he wanted first. His heart was beating at an unimaginable speed. Ten more meters Gary was red as a tomato his body dripping wet with sweat his chest felt as if it had ruptured. Five meters to go the Isisian had managed to get a small lead. Gary was in excruciating pain but he dived for the finish line.Gary lay on the track panting and spiting up blood. A voice came over the loud speaker “first place goes to Gary Mcroberts of Earth. Octavius who was exhausted from the race came to help him up. “Dude that was amazing” Ocatavius said pulling Gary to his feet. Gary was dizzy his legs were trembling and blood was dripping down from his lips. “Did I break the world record?” he asked barely able to lift his head. “Did you break the world record?” Octavius said as if not believing what he had heard. “Dude even I broke the world record you came close to breaking the universes record!” he said excitedly. Gary looked up in the press box and saw Neb staring down not believing what he had just seen. Gary smiled. “Dude I fell like shit” he said as the first aid team came running to him. “Well you’re looking at this the wrong way” Octavius said grinning. “At least you don’t have to run the 400 meter hurdles“.
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