BLOGS

Today was hot. Kid #1 was a lunatic before bedtime. I think I want to cry. Too personal? Sorry. I think one of the hardest parts about starting any project is the research. I want to jump on here and lose myself in my own head, write what I see and hear in my brain, shock and awe! But I can't! It doesn't work that way! I can't write what I don't know. 

That means, I have to dial it back a bit. LEAVE the computer alone, (I love my Mac keyboard, how flat the keys are and the little clicks they make), and go pick up a book. Reading to write. My short story is basically a "spin-off" of another larger project, for lack of a better term. My husband is writing his own graphic novel, "The Godeater", and my characters will be the extras walking around in the background. Flash fiction. 

Is it necessary to feel a connection to each and every character in your story, long story or short? I would like to. I wonder is it realistic? Is it necessary? For me, I think, yes.

So my husband and I have teamed up to improve our way of life, and since we're both creatives, we have both decided to release our creative juices on the page.  My brain is a complete jumble, which seems to be the normal state of things once I sit down in front of the computer. But I have to fight through the jumble, right?

That's all for tonight. If I was boring, I apologize. I will improve with time. Check Out Hubby's Project!

I picked this book up yesterday at Barnes. How To Write a Short Story by SparkNotes. I always flip through before I buy, and I liked. I am already working on the first exercise. The book is only $7.95 and cheaper used from other sites. 

What else would I would like to share? Oh, yes. I learned right away that I don't need to put down as much material as I first thought. I learned the difference between a short story, a novella, and a novel. I was falling into the novella category, at first, but my true intent is to write a short story. Such a relief. This is the perfect starting point for an extreme novice like myself.

I was frustrated at first at not being able to sit down here at the computer and write immediately, but I find that I don't need to become a stressed out maniac and get it ALL done right away. I am just starting my adventure, I can't off myself at the very start. I'd be like that black guy who gets it right at the beginning of the first Jurassic Park movie. Pitiful. Then I would lose all motivation, and my short story book would find a nice drawer to live in. 

I am happy today because I got in this post before 8PM AND I am not drooping with exhaustion. I am excited because maybe soon I will have some actual material to share. 

ALMOST FORGOT!! I just discovered this today. If you have children, grown or not, you will appreciate this book, "Go The F*** to Sleep". I was about to pee on myself in the bookstore, I was laughing so hard. Sam Jackson delivers the narrative for the e-book version. If you've already heard of it, you can pass on the click. Enjoy!

Dear literary-minded folk,

I hope you are all doing well. Just writing in the interest of shameless plugging. I have a Kickstarter project! It can be found here: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1329246557/guerilla-fairy-tale-marketing-for-elwin-and-christ?ref=email Me and my fellow genre writer Christine Stoddard are working on a project based on the Ace science fiction double novels from the 1960s and 70s. One half of the book will be hers, the other half mine. We are in negotiations with Six Gallery Press, the publishing firm that produced my first book. Being a small press writer is not easy. There is much that you have to handle yourself, and we've got all sorts of ideas regarding marketing. Being highly independent people, Christine and I are trying to raise a modest $1000 with which to do independent promotion for a May 2012 release.
 
A bit about us:

Writer, performer, and artist Christine Stoddard has won recognition from USA Today, The Poetry Society of Virginia, The National League of Pen Women, The Washington Post, the International Cinematographer's Guild, and many other companies and organizations. Comicality, the magazine she co-edits with artist David Fuchs, appears in the permanent collections of The Glasgow School of Art and Virginia Commonwealth University. Two of her book art projects appear in Virginia Commonwealth University's permanent collection. Furthermore, Christine is the founder of The D.C. Indie Arts Festival and The VCU Reel Dame Film Festival. She is also the founder and executive director of Quail Bell Press and Productions, LLC, which operates Quail Bell Magazine.

Her side of the project is Once Upon a Body, a collection of fairy tale-inspired graphic work dealing with women's body issues. It was her project as a Cyberpunk Apocalypse visiting writer in 2010, and is the culmination of many years of graphic work.

Me? I am the author of The Jack Daniels Sessions EP, a collection of myth-based short stories that has received accolades from notable authors and critics. I have toured the country as a writer and performance artist and sat on literary panels at a number of genre conventions.

The Motley & Plume Players is my first novel-length work. Its foundations lay in a novelette I started writing in 2006, which has since expanded in many different directions. It is a story about love, obsession, memory, regret, the repercussions of words said and unsaid, and the magic of the theater. My good friend Vanessa Strickland is doing illustrations for it, so the spirit of collaboration is high. In this piece I have had the opportunity to further explore my interest in melding the domestic and the fantastic, and I feel it is my finest work.

Did I mention there are donor incentives? My personal favorite is reading the donor a story via Skype. They also include a free copy of my short story collection, the upcoming audiobook, original artwork from Christine and, another favorite, a short story written for YOU.
 
I am very excited for this project, and to have all sorts of launch parties and readings next spring. We are two up-and-coming authors who do things our own way, and any bit helps. Thanks!

Elwin Michael Cotman
Author. Performance artist. Storyteller.
www.lookmanoagent.blogspot.com
The Jack Daniels Sessions EP is out now!

http://www.amazon.com/Jack-Daniels-Sessions-Ep/dp/1926616170/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1295836458&sr=1-1
Facebook group:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/group.php?gid=274822316789
 
"The Jack Daniels Sessions EP is revolutionary, riveting and remarkable. Elwin Cotman's prose grabs you from word one, and you don't want it to let you go. This book marks the unveiling of a major new voice in science fiction and fantasy." — Charles R. Saunders, author of Imaro
 
"Cotman has an amazing voice, and his fabulist descriptions are so vividly communicated, they almost lift from the page and become three-dimensional beings that are impossible images to forget."—Savannah Schroll Guz, author of The Famous & The Anonymous
 
"Mr. Cotman’s interests are wide-ranging: Punk rock intersects with D.C.’s Dominican community, African American folktale intersects with Greek myth, Goth teen suburban angst in 1990s Ohio sits side by side with racist atrocity in the pre-Civil Rights South, and magic is going on. Yeah, there’s magic in some of these stories, but the real magic is in Cotman’s words themselves—stark and deadpan one moment, lushly descriptive the next."—Michael S. Begnal, author of Ancestor Worship
 
"In The Jack Daniels Sessions, folktales and modern landscapes collide, exploding and reforming in the form of an intriguing and intelligent collection. Cotman seizes the stories of tired tradition and galvanizes them, setting them to dance for us in wonderful, new interpretations."—Cat Rambo, author of The Surgeon's Tale
 
"Elwin Cotman is one of the most original new voices you will encounter—he is a synthesizer of the domestic and the fantastic, of soaring myth and the grittiest realities, of lewd dialect and high lyricism. His stories are profound engagements with suffering of every stripe—they will also make you hoot with laughter. I was amazed by the force of Mr. Cotman's pinwheeling imagination."—Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia! 
 
"With raw and sometimes shocking authenticity, Cotman turns the ordinary into the sublime. There is no pretension here, just a million-​​watt light shining into corners of the human condition that many people would prefer forgotten, with a large helping of fantastic creatures, classical myth, and modern mayhem."—Erzebet Yellowboy, Cabinet des Fees

Dee, how do I …fill in the blank with anything to do with publishing from research to the craft to formatting an eBook to self publishing to marketing to creating a website…? In the decade that I’ve been in publishing, I’ve answered the questions to the best of my ability and done everything I can to help my fellow authors, but since I began self publishing titles, the questions have increased ten-fold. I’ve been spending so much time answering the same questions for numerous published and aspiring authors that I decided to write a book. Now that’s a novel idea, an author writing a book. LOL.

I often teach workshops and learned a long time ago that I can’t tell you everything you need to know in the confines of a workshop. Same goes for a book. In order to tell you everything you need to know, I’d have to write an ever changing publishing encyclopedia. I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you enough to get you well on your road to Become A Successful Author.

I begin this journey with aspiring authors and work all the way through marketing of your brand. Yes, I said “brand” on purpose. I want you to be in the writing game for the long haul and building a reliable brand is the key. Below is the Table of Contents for Become A Successful Author. Once you all have your book, I know many of you who are published will be tempted to jump down to Chapter Eight where I begin explaining “How To” self publish. I’ve accepted that and tried to write in a way that if you skip around, you won’t miss too much. Go satisfy your curiosity, but then please go back and read the rest of the book, especially the Branding section and the Developmental Editing chapter. Actually, just read the entire book. It’s okay to review things you already know, and you may find new nuggets of information.

On this website, I’ll have guest bloggers from time to time to help you Become A Successful Author, so be sure to spread the word and sign up for the newsletter. The newsletter will be released a maximum of once a month. If there are topics you’d like covered or questions, use the contact page of this website and let me know.

The publishing industry has shifted 180° in the decade I’ve worked in it. The traditional route is no longer the only way to become a legitimate published author, and self publishing is no longer a dirty little secret. As an author, should you travel the traditional or self published route? Become A Successful Author does not tell you to pick one over the other or pit one against the other. Become A Successful Author gives you steps to capitalize on the strengths of both to build a strong brand readers can’t get enough of.

What is branding? How do you grow a large, loyal reader base? How do you break into traditional publishing? How do you publish your backlist? How do you format a book? How do you find your target audience? How do you market your books? It’s all in there and a whole lot more.

With the advances in technology, anyone can be a published author, but not all authors are successful. Keep your focus: Increase quality, credibility and visibility of your brand. Become a Successful Author.

Become A Successful Author Table of Contents

Purchase the eBook from Amazon or Barnes & Noble. The print version will be available February 2012. Don’t have an eReader and can’t wait until February for the print? Amazon and Nook offer free applications for reading eBooks.

Happy Writing,

Deatri King-Bey

http://www.BecomeASuccessfulAuthor.com

The Story Context: On a cold day in Brooklyn a father and son take a journey together to cure a cough.They not only encounter obstacles, but they have fun getting past them.

In this scene: "After me and my Dad prepare the veggies and fruits, we juice them and drink to our health. The juice is both delicious and invigorating making us feel stronger and lighter with each gulp". -Saj

To see some examples of the process check out my blog post.

Ever have the feeling that children today know nothing about history and what matters from the past?

How far would you go to change that? 

"Well Wishes," my contribution to Out of Our Minds: Tales from the Comics Experience, asks those questions of Denny Gallows, a milquetoast librarian who is just waiting for the clock to strike nine...

The story was written for The Comics Experience's "Introduction to Comic Book Writing" course taught by Andy Schmidt. Aspiring comics writers and artists should check out Andy's course offerings at http://www.comicsexperience.com. Andy's classes represent another way to network in a notoriously insular business, particularly if you participate in the Writers' Workshop. Andy routinely has comics professionals participating, so you could actually get your story critiqued by the likes of writers like Peter David.  

I'd like to think that the "The Twilight Zone"-inspired story is entertaining (if you don't agree, feel free to keep your opinion to yourself!), but I know that its stunning artwork is arguably its greatest strength. Silvio dB is a phenomenal Brazilian artist based in Recife. We advertised for artists on a number of boards and Silvio was my immediate choice. See why at: (http://silviodb.daportfolio.com/ or http://silviodb.deviantart.com/). My letterer, recommended by a contributor who lives in Australia, lives in the UK, so the story you will find below is a truly international production!

This is a prologue to a story I'd work on six years ago. It was for a class and it managed to get me a good grade. 

Feel free to read it and give me your honest to god feedback. Thank you and enjoy...

The Start of the Sugaar’s Unforgiving Curse: Prologue to Celestial Avengers

Long ago, on a distant planet known as Esther, there were many tribes that fought amongst each other and waged war against one another. They allied themselves with other Country Lords of their nation, who quarrel, bicker, argue, and debate against each under who should have total rule of the lands in order to expand their nation and their empire to add along with it. These Country Lords have paid the most skilled, trained, and militaristic trained tribes to infiltrate, espionage, assassinate, and attack other tribes in their jest for power, fame, recognition, and glory. The most skilled of the tribes have went along with being paid in order to gain more weapons, tools, and food for them to survive on. The numerous tribes created multiple battles that has caused many chaos, destruction, and bloodshed to give rise. One of the most dangerous of battles was the  “Battle of Puma”, where the infamous Felecia clan was against the Puma clan, to whom both share cat-like abilities but the boil of their ancestry would tear them apart. Their battle took place in the most remote places of places known as the “Muddy Creek”, where their battle suits consisted of corset-like clothing they used for their  battle. Despite the hours of fighting they put up against, the Puma clan eventually lost themselves out to the corset-like wearing Felice and they have officially lost since then. Meaning that the Felice’s name would expand from all around. 
But out of the most formidable and most sinister of them all, is the tribe known as the Sugaars, who resided in the Country of the Dragons. Together, with their descendant tribe, the Maju’s, the snake/serpent hybrid of elves who not only specialize in blade-wielding but also specialize in sealing away deadly opponents through learning the black arts that has been a part of their clan for a long time. Their also some of the very of the clan that can be able to access the full abilities of their ancient treasure that lives inside of them; the deadly eye technique, known as the Zulagan, the “Eyes of the Black Bird of Anzu”. With their powers in the eyes, as well as their ways of being blade-wielding specialist in their field, they aligned with the Sugaars through their leader,  Blazegon Maju, and with their union with the flesh-eating, sky dominating, fire-breathing Sugaars, they pillaged through the land and attack many other tribes with relative ease. Their ring leader, Sugaar Von Sugaar, along with his son Zula, has conquered the sky and attack many other people who has crossed them and decided to stand in their way. They ravaged many other structures and civilization with great ease until eventually they made it all threw way to the “Valley of Whimsical Peak”, where they had many other tribes who allied themselves in the attempts to stop them from conquering the world. Through their vitality, vigor, and the ability to fly, the Sugaars and the Maju defeated the ones who stood in their way and ate their bodies as a way of proving an example to those who dare stand in their way. Sugaar managed to make it all the way to the Sacred Arch Valley and through the many traps set for them, Sugaar Von Sugaar obtained the sacred and powerful orb known as the Orb of the Seven Dragons Gates; which has the power to control all five of the elements and the sixth element known as yin-yang, being able to give birth to imagination and reality as their own leisure. With this orb, Sugaar Von Sugaar became immortal and through his immortality, he obtained four powerful men who rival that of the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” as his fresh new henchmen due to not only their power but also their birthright as being direct descendants of the Seiryuu Dragon itself. They decided that they were destined to rule the world and have gone all across one nation after another in order to cause their destructive path for world conquest. Each and every other commander that has come across them, along with their men, have met their death at the hands of the flesh-eating Sugaars who have terrorized throughout the country where the nations resides and have continued their flesh-eating, massive killing carnage for the sake of doing everything that they so please.  The other council members of other nations realized that the flesh-eating Sugaar’s and the blade-wielding, sealing specializing Maju’s were growing too powerful and that they must be stop at all cost. Through the meeting and  explaining the situation of their dilemma, they decide to create multiple Military Militias that range from left to right. They had many polished warriors become their captain, commander, and even generals and proxy generals. Through their created military and their society, the Council would form themselves to be the organization known as the “Celestial-Heavenly-Justice of Esther” and the Heavenly-Celestial Joint Army of the Saintly Order; an organization made by numerous other surviving nations who allied with themselves and are bent of working together to stop the bloodshed that the Sugaars has created and putting an end to the destructive wars that they’d committed from all around the center of their world. Through their command, the generals and commanders lead their platoons, squadron, and their unit all the way to other strongholds that were taken away by the Sugaars themselves. They succeeded in taking back a few of them and have managed to secure one of the countries that was taken over by the Sugaars.However, just as they made it to the Goa Kingdom, residing in Temper’s Valley, they were overwhelmed by the number of Sugaar and Maju units and armies that were under the direct order of Blazegon Maju, who is later become the father of the major antagonist in the storyline. Blazegon allied with Sugaar Von Sugaar in the attempts to break the curse that Sugaar has cast amongst his family in exchange for helping him conquer the other lands. The commanders found themselves no match against the wicked and military rule of Blazegon as he had his men take down those who dare to oppose them. The Council were seeing such a thing and had no choice but to call forth their strongest asset in the mist of their battle against the Sugaars and the Maju’s; the Seven Saint Archers of Constantine. Together, with their leader, they traveled through the land and attack the Sugaar front hold in the attempts to stop the Sugaars from taking over the world. They were stopped by the forces of Blazagon’s person henchmen, the “Asura Paths of Death”. Through the work of his leadership, they intervened the Saint Archers and did battle with them. With only the results of the battle be left as a mystery. Sugaar, pissed off that his right hand man is no longer with him anymore, went on an bigger flesh-eating carnage and decimating numerous other tactics and raids that were made against him. The council members exhaust every material from the military in order to defeat this man and used every other tactics that exist in order to smash down the man and his loyal followers. The well-known leader known as Colonel William CornWallis was to lead the attack against Arch-Duke Sugaar Von Sugaar and make sure that they take him down in very way that they can. The men that followed with him were able to defeat a great number of the army that serves under Arch-Duke Sugaar Von Sugaar. As soon as William CornWallis finally comes face to face with Sugaar Von Sugaar, it was a very long and intense battle. Despite his best efforts and the very long battle that was along with it, William unfortunately met his hands at the end of Sugaar’s flesh-eating intent and eventually was eaten up in the result of it. With no more of their well-known and famous leader, the men were going to suffer the same fate as their brave leader has and throughout the whole battle in itself, they were sacrificed to the number of other Sugaars who were still alive and sought revenge against their enemies for trying to do them in. The sight that  most have seen was unbearable and many of those who survived were to be scarred for live for such images that they had to see and hopefully be able to retreat and survive, long enough to tell the council what has happened to them and their famous, well-known leader known leader known as “William the Hero”. This news was to shock a certain mother who loves her husband and her first born son as well. Having to deal with such sad turmoil that was displayed horribly across the battlefield.  Just when all hope seems lost, just from the jest of nowhere, four mighty, strong, courageous men came forth to the battlefield of the Sugaar stronghold residing in the Country of the Dragons, in order to  fight against the creatures who has pillaged their land. The four men came from the tribe known as Ken Slayer; the Tiger tribe that is best known for their immense strength, stamina, and regeneration, came forth to challenge the Sugaar and put an end to the carnage that they’d begun from across the land. Sugaar Von Sugaar sent forth his four best men to deal away with them, but as soon as they challenged the leader of the four men, Amon, they were easily defeated. Amon than presented the Orb of the Tiger's Paw and challenged Sugaar Von Sugaar to the battle of the death. Seeing his men defeated in such a matter, forced the man to come down and challenge the leader of the group himself. He acknowledged him an a mighty person, and it was because of this claim, is why he decided to put an end to them and kill them all. Amon had his men fall back as this was to be a battle of leaders. They got started with their battle and Sugaar used the Orb of the Seven Dragon’s Gates to summon the legion of storms at his side in order to do great damage against his opponent. Amon was strong enough to withstand the wicked storms that Sugaar created, thanks to the power of the Orb. He used all of his “Death-Swirl” series and caused great earthquakes to happen in order to further do damage towards his enemy. Therefore helping him win the battle. Both of them went at with everything they had, not backing down with what they believe in. Finally it was down to the final bout and both of them were at their last ounce of strength. Just as they were both about to use their final moves against one another, they both vanished, leaving only their treasures behind. Zazel Ken Slayer took command as leader for his old leader's status, took possession of both the orbs, and presented it to the Alliance in any hopes of being able to create peace and reconciliation. The other Elders and Country Lords went through the negotiations with them in any hopes of being able to show them the ways of their society and what they plan to succeed in teaching for the better good of mankind in itself. Through the reconciliation and reconstruction stage, they managed to come forth with a successful negotiation that would involve making further peace with the land and being able to make fair trades with numerous other counties for their pavements and for what else they hope to achieve in the result of it as well. Zazel and the other Ken Slayers held a special meeting with the other Country Lords of the Alliance and have asked that they would have partition for their tribe to attend the next summit, should the next country summit meeting were to begin and would involve other leaders to be part of the summit meeting as well. Through their higher authorities, they have decided to go along with it and have them partitioned for the next summit that is yet to happen. With the orb no more in the possession of its ruler, the Sugaars were forced to live in the corners of their country as punishment for their war crimes and for other persecutions that they were tried for as well. They were exiled by the Elder's Spells of confinement as punishment for their war crimes, their wrong doing, and the amount of damage that they have caused amongst the land. Making sure that they don't try to do the same thing like they did before. Around the time of the post-war, when other countries were doing their best to repair everything that destroyed, the rescue team known as the “Yon-Daemon-Omani”, which was led by the son of Blazeagon Maju, Hallde the name, was making it all the way to where their old teammate was. By the time they make it there, what they saw has left in them such a shock that none would want to ever want to consider to this to the wide public; knowing that such an epidemic would only cause severe and destructive damage from all around. The son of Sugaar Von Sugaar himself, has horrifying raped the holy priestess of the Maju Tribe known as MariVella, an in the result of it has created the hybrid of the flesh-eating, flying Sugaars and the blade-wielding, sealing specialist Majus. Just as Hallde could finish him off, the son of Sugaar suddenly has vanished, saying his last words that the world will know true terror cause now the hybrid of destruction, annihilation, and conquest was brought upon the world and will soon rule the world of Esther, like the Sugaars assured that he would. Wanting to protect the child and the person that he loves, Hallde has made a hard choice that would affect the whole entire course of history as it is.  About twenty years has passed and mysteriously, the Ken Slayers  have vanished, without so much as a trace of them left. This has reached the other Country Lords that were part of the “Celestial-Heavenly” Alliance as they were going to have them attend at the upcoming Summit meeting that involved the rising problem of the Sugaar hybrid itself. Just as the epidemic has reached the masses, suddenly the persecuted Sugaar and their nation, has mysteriously vanished as well. Just when all things were at a stir due to this disappearance of these major tribes, a dark and illuminating shadow awaits for the time to reveal a diabolical plan,  plan that’ll change just about everything in the world of Esther. It was around that time that the Majus, the snake/serpent tribe that has shared many characteristics with their Sugaar ancestry, were also slaughtered brutally at the time due to a horrifying event that went down, such as a traitor of their own tribe and nation and has caused animosity and stir amongst the other nations due to how dangerous this event was and how many people were killed in the process. The mysterious figure smiles under the shadows; seeing that everything was going according to plan and that sooner or later, the time to regain control over Esther all over again will soon be at hand and that it can rule the rule the world once again like before.  This is a story about two boys who are to know who their heritage is and find a way to break the curse that was cast amongst the world of Sugaar. Whether they will work together to find a way to beat this curse or fall victim to the curse’s unforgiving effect, will depend on the choices that they make, the future of others that depend on them, and the character of their nature as well. This is the story known as “Celestial Avengers”. Now, without further ado, let the story begin with the first of the chosen two...the one known as Horus.

Hi Everyone,

I would like to give some information. I Know a lot of you would like better internet ranking online. I felt in the spirit of giving I should give Black Science Fiction Society this eBook called Google Juice. Google Juice is a book on internet marketing and social media. It's great resource and we all should read. Check it out here @ Google_Juice_Final.pdf

Peace!

In case you didn’t know, my first novel in the Osguards series, Homecoming, received ‘Honorable Mention’ at the 2011 Hollywood Book Festival Contest. My wife, Karen and I, flew out to receive the award on the weekend of July 22, 2011. We were excited. It was our first award, and we were riding on the national 5-star review from Midwest Book Review. We felt like teenagers going to the prom.

We arrived at the airport, bright and early that Friday morning. We were booked on Air Tran, with one stop in Milwaukee. That’s when the trip from hell began. To make a long story short, I am 6’4.5” inches tall and my height is mostly in my legs. So I always ask for, and usually receive either an exit row or an aisle seat. The flight was full, so in order to do this, Karen and I had to be separated. After 30 minutes and $40 to check two bags, we received our tickets. Even though I had an aisle seat, the problem was, it was the last seat in the plane against the back bulkhead, meaning the leg room was cut in half. Plus the armrest did not lift, so I couldn’t swing my leg out in the aisle. This was painful. Luckily, Karen switched seats and was able to sit next to me on the first leg of our trip.

On the second leg, I was able to get an exit row, but Karen was unable to switch seats and sit next to me. Instead, I sat next to a rude man who upon landing began smoking an electronic cigarette. It looked real, so I said something. Well, I guess I left my diplomatic voice in Washington D.C. and he was already rude, so let’s just say the exchange was brief, but not polite.

Then upon arriving at LAX, I found my suitcase drenched. The few books, I carried with me for display during the ceremony and festival, were wet. I tried to lodge a complaint, but the baggage attendant kept calling it water condensation and claimed there was no damage. We had four hours to get our rental car, check into the hotel, get dressed and leave for the ceremony, so I dropped the complaint and left.

Yet, when we arrived at our hotel room, we pulled our clothes out of the bag, and they were soaked. I know it was raining in Milwaukee, but our bags looked like someone dumped them in a swimming pool and left them there for two hours. Rain should not have soaked all the way through the bag. Needless to say, my blood pressure must have jumped 20 points. I called the airlines and received no satisfaction. They wanted me to go back to the baggage attendant at LAX and lodge a complaint. Been there…done that…and got jack-squat!

Luckily the hotel was able to dry and press our clothes in two hours and I took the blow dryer from the bathroom and attempted to dry the books -- page by page. I also tried to salvage our promotional flyers. After two hours, I had two raggedy, but dry books and a handful, out of 500, flyers. We chose the best looking book to display at the awards ceremony, slipped the handful of flyers in my pocket, and left -- no longer feeling like teenagers going to the prom. When I put my book out for display, alongside the other winners, I almost felt like screaming. But I held my head up high and proceeded to mingle with the other authors.

When it was my turn to accept my award, I ended my acceptance speech with the quick story on how the airlines ruined our books and almost ruined our evening. I compared what our bags went through to the classic T.V. luggage commercial of a gorilla in a cage throwing suitcases around.

Well the rest of the evening was flawless, exciting and we met award winning authors from around the nation. The feeling of two teenagers at the prom soon returned. The next day at the festival was also good. The trip was well worth the agony. I also learned a lesson…carry-on…carry-on…carry-on.

But the feeling did not last long. On the way home, the ticket agent stuffed me in the window seat during both legs of the flight. Even after four days, my knees are still in pain. Maybe next time I win an award, I will shoot for First Class. I certainly won’t fly Air Train.

Malcolm D. Petteway,

Author, Osguards: Guardians of the Universe

Owner, Rage Books LLC

www.ragebooks.net

1.866.448.2585

SPRING
Chapter 2 - Spring on the Easter Seaboard

We started south after we passed through West Freehold in northern Jersey, the people there were as always, downright unsociable folk. Not saying they did not have reason to be cautious. This area was frequented by roving bands who escaped the fall of New York. It is one of the stranger things about the Arrival, that thousands of predator trees landed in the major metropolitan areas of Earth. It wasn't as if they targeted the cities, but for some reason the creatures found their way to major population centers if they didn't initially land there. So people were attacked both while they fled cities from the creatures at their back and once again by alien hordes coming into cities. This increased fatalities three fold in the earliest hours of the Arrival.

Survivors fell into three categories. Builders, people who found ways to turn the wealth of the Old World into a means of survival, building new much smaller walled cities and growing what they can when they can, raising animals if they are able to find them. The Feral, groups of humans who barely maintain any semblance of their humanity. They vary in technological competence from military effectiveness to dirty bands scrambling to live off the land or anyone not strong enough to protect themselves. And then there are the Moving. That's us. Our band is much smaller than most, right now, its just our family group, but we often join up with other Movers for protection in dangerous areas, sharing resources, ideas or helping Builders with the restoration of some of the Old World. The difference between the Movers and the warlike Ferals is we choose to move and choose to be non-violent if we can help it.

At West Freehold, we traded non-potable water for our vehicle's fuel cells. We would sterilize it later and make sure it was particle free when we had some time. We also managed to get some tough nu-potatoes and traded some high density batteries for their short range stunners used for hunting and repelling undesirables. For some canned extras, likely plundered from the major cities where no one would be willing to live, we gave them a windup radio we plundered from the outskirts of New York. There are still emergency broadcasts made on occasions depending on where you lived in the country. There is no effective government anywhere on Earth. Each area works to establish whatever can pass for a government and they seem to last for a while but almost always decay or are destroyed by Ferals or increasing populations of the predator trees or their other symbiotic life forms. It seems as soon as our populations start to increase in an area, word gets out and that area becomes more attractive to the aliens.

With the next bit of the road being some of the toughest, potatoes and other grub would be in short supply while we made the first dogleg south. We would make a stop in Philadelphia since there was a strong and thriving human community there. The trip to Philadelphia was long and circuitous because of the lack of decent roads in this part of the country. With building materials in short supply and active predators on the road, the people managed to build a decent barrier around the center of the city and do their best to keep it clear of the predator trees and their ilk.

We usually make a quick stop there, just long enough to trade some mail, rearm and if there was someone who needed passage south and can pay, we could take up to two more. Hopefully they could use a gun because this part of the route gets a bit hairy after Philly. Our route takes us from New York to the former capital in Washington DC. The direct route to the capital from Jersey would have taken a much shorter pathway but the roads were destroyed early in the offensives against the predator trees and their symbiotic allies by bombing runs. The roads were simply too effective at allowing the fastest of the creatures to move, so many were destroyed. It was against these very creatures we had to prepare for now. We called them tumblers. Scientists gave them some scientific name but what they resembled more than anything were tumble weeds. Except these did not roll harmlessly though old ghost towns. And they almost never rolled alone.

Our vehicle which doubled as our home, was full at the moment with my wife Martha sitting in the top turret, manning a fifty caliber rifle which had been added to our heavy vehicle, a military fast attack vehicle released at some point around 2013 called the Rhino. She is over sixty but a natural when it came to using the weapon. Who would have thought. We found the Rhino outside an army base that had been overrun a few years ago, and with just a few days were able to figure out how to load the fifty-cal and use it. Up until then, we had been using a solar assisted RV but it had been trashed by Ferals who had chased us onto that base. It had been small enough to have been missed by them and our luck had been to find active stockpiles of weapons still protected from the environment.

The vehicle resembled a Jeep except it was twice the size with none of the vulnerability. Hardened armor with the ability to add or subtract heavier armor plating we decided to ditch everything except for the lightest armor. We did not expect to run into any grenades, tanks, RPGs or bombs. Not too often at any rate. If it came to that, we would count on our speed and maneuverability to win the day. And the fact that Martha was a crack shot with the .50-cal.

Designed to be used by fast attack crews, it was designed exactly for our current lifestyle. Keeping it in ammo was the hardest part since the vehicle had been designed to run on a variety of power sources. It could be charged using plug in or generator electricity, it had a backup gasoline engine and had rechargeable and replaceable fuel cells. The greenest and cheapest method of keeping it powered was using the solar film and electrical system on the outside of the vehicle. Lucas, my grandson told me the vehicle was covered with a multiple layered solar mesh designed to capture solar radiation completely and super-efficiently. He said the mesh would reroute energy even if it took small arms fire damage. Then he mentioned something about nano repair capabilities and I stopped listening. The boy continued on for another ten minutes before he realized I wasn't listening.

It also had solar blankets which could be set up to enhance its recharge rate when it wasn't moving. With two hours of sunshine we could move at low speeds of fifteen to twenty miles per hour for over six hours. And if the sun shone on it while we moved, we could conceivably drive all day. We would stop two to four hours before sunset, so it could gather and recharge if we had to move at night. It offers us a good eight to ten hours of travel every day, so if we are not in a rush, we can travel almost entirely without using any of the harder to get fuels such as water or even rarer these days, gasoline. Setting up the solar blankets was generally only done when we were safe since they took time to lay down and pick up. We hadn't figured out a quick way to deploy or retrieve them yet and they were simply too vital to risk.

Their kids, Sharon and Lucas were riding in the back of the vehicle manning the two electronic gun ports. Using a sensor array and a display system they targeted the two swiveling guns on the side of the vehicle. The guns were targeted with six electronic eyes on the hull and a laser targeting system to enhance accuracy. It required a steady hand and a sense for shooting while moving. None of us like to admit it but the kids used them far better any of us old people. But to keep everyone on their toes, we all spent time using them and using to shoot our collection of rifles, machine-guns and hand guns and no one went anywhere unarmed or unescorted. Ever. The gun ports were accurate to about three hundred and fifty feet, making them our preferred method of violent problem solving since the 5.56 ammo they used was much easier to replace than the much more precious .50 caliber ammo.

During our normal operations, I was the rear door gunner. The vehicle offered the option of firing from a gun port at the back. It was not very large, so you had to be a good shot. And for any long range shooting, I was even with my slowly diminishing eyesight, the best shot of my family. But we always rotated the duties to make sure everyone stayed familiar with all of the weapons and their idiosyncratic behaviors.

My daughter's husband, Marcus, was driving and kept a fully loaded Colt Anaconda in his lap. He was very good with it and could shoot and drive at the same time, if he needed to. Since the Rhino had bulletproof windows, it was often better to keep them up in hostile territory. My daughter, Linda rode shotgun and used a fully loaded military combat shotgun. Army surplus was all over the country and no one to tell her she couldn't carry it. She had years of practice with it.

Our plundering of military facilities over the decade since the Arrival, has given us access to a wide array of military technology and we dressed the part, carried the gear and understood the language. We spent at least two summers training with military survivors who had the good sense to run when the Arrival started looking like a rout. They were hard on themselves but after a few years facing the enemy, it was clear, they were numerous, terrifying and deadly. It is only because we are very careful and exercise cautious thoughtful interactions we have survived where more heavily armed troops died. We had two rules: Rule One: think before you shoot. Rule Two: Bullets don't always solve problems. Shoot sparingly.

You would think we should have more rules, but living out here as a Mover, you learn too many rules makes it hard for you to be able to think on the fly. Since the Arrival, more creatures have begun to appear as the well fed predator trees continue to grow in size and strength. There are places now where the predator trees tower over one hundred feet tall and have whole ecosystems springing into being at their roots. With new creatures appearing every day, we have to be able to observe, learn and tailor our tactics. Having survived for ten years out here, our reputations as couriers, messengers, escorts and scouts ensured we were well paid, well respected and depending on who you asked, just a little feared. We didn't promote violence, but we certainly had an awareness of situations which might go south on you and a knack for handling violence effectively and permanently.

The world was now a very dangerous. It was no place for the stupid or the weak. Which meant knowing one more thing important thing if you planned on surviving. If you met any human on the road who had been there for a while, consider them the most dangerous thing you can run into. Yes, predator trees and their kin were always dangerous, but with humans you might drop your guard. That is a good way to end up with your throat slit. When consorting with humans, be even more careful than you are against any Arrival. Humans were simply too unpredictable with the fall of their world.

Leaving Philadelphia, we did not pick up any riders, but we did get a load of mail and goods needing to go to DC. The capital city was gone, completely overrun, but the Pentagon survived and continues to operate in a limited capacity as a hub of military deployment and intelligence regarding the Arrivals. Using brute force, the military keeps a clear path into and out of the city and what is left of the functioning government is found there. This government is in name only since it has very little economic, social or political clout. Since every other world power is functioning under the same handicap, the Arrivals have made the world a very equal place again.

Rumor has it we may get to meet the President with our latest deliveries. As we are leaving Pennsylvania, something seems wrong and Marcus stops as we approach the state line. I see it too.

"Pop, there is more blue than green. More black too." He pointed to the trees overhanging the road. They were not the symbiotic predator trees, they seemed to be more of the kudzu variety. Kudzu trees were capable of emitting a stupefying spore, which causes creatures to breath it and fall into a deep sleep. While sleeping the kudzu would have vine-like tendrils grab their prey wrap it up and consume it. Their only blessing was they could not move. Once rooted, they depended on prey moving toward them. They could also replicate other smells. I can personally attest to the smell of peanut butter, chocolate cookies, steak, pizza, and mangoes as part of their scent library. I am certain they can do others. One man said he was witness to a tree that could smell like the finest Chardonnay.

"Put your masks on. Check your filters. Go slow and lets see it a bit closer." After everyone was set, we moved up until we could identify more clearly what we were seeing.

My daughter, bless her sharp eyes, whispered, "tumblers."

Marcus stopped the car immediately and turned off the engine. Martha cleared the barrel for the .50. The kids cycled the long range gun ports. I grabbed two grenades from our stores, noting we had only fourteen left. This was supposed to be our supply stop.

I could see what had happened to the convoy. They did not notice the new black additions to this grove. If they had, they would have known that tumblers had taken up residence. Tumblers were fast growing, dangerous mobile seed pods. They could move on their own, without the need of wind. They attack prey they believe they can bring down, blasting it to bits with its own organic shrapnel with the force of a grenade. Tumblers attack in waves, with the earlier waves bringing down the food and later waves consuming it and bringing it back to the host trees. "I don't know what to think right now. I don't see any stragglers, so they may have already killed and eaten their fill. But that doesn't seem right. There are an awful lot of tumbler trees here. Far more than this tiny road should be supporting."

Martha looked down into the cab and said, "You don't think they may have grown in response to the Pentagon? It's the only thing that looks like a city nearby."

"If we are want to know, we need to go in on foot. The Rhino is only going to attract them. So who is staying here?" I will say this about my clan, their curiosity always gets the best of them. No one wanted to be left behind.

"Marcus, I need you here, Martha, he needs you on the .50. Back it up about a mile and set up a perimeter. You still have two of the small laser ranging bots. Put them out and keep your radio handy. Turn it on, every thirty minutes for two minutes. When we know more we will call in. Before you pull out, check for salvage here."

Everyone got their kit. One grenade, three clips of ammo, one small arm, with two additional clips. Masks and five filters good for eight hours apiece. So we have a day and a half to figure out what happened here. As we surveyed the military vehicles, there was food, water and weapons here, so they left in a hurry. There were tumbler explosions on all of the vehicles, low and into the wheel wells. Organic matter was caked up around every explosion. The only upside in dealing with tumblers is they are volatile and prone to explosion, so if you shoot at them and hit them, they tend to blow completely up and detonating their neighbors. This can work against you if you are amid their population when you start shooting.

Moving quickly and quietly we salvage the vehicles and the Rhino backs down the road. There is always that feeling of nakedness whenever the Rhino pulls away and we are not on board. But we had to know what had happened here; this was one of our primary drops and resupply points. If it was lost, the spiritual head of our government was dead too. We set out knowing it was at least a ten mile hike to the Pentagon from here; a hike through an area reclaimed by nature and the new Arrivals.

It was going to be a long walk.

In September 2010, 12 aspiring comics writers from North America and Australia completed Andy Schmidt's "Introduction to Comics Writing" course, producing original five-page stories. The writers then worked with artists from literally all over the globe to create Out of Our Minds: Tales from the Comics Experience.

It's available for purchase at:

http://www.indyplanet.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5687

 "Anytime people who are usually ignored decide to credit themselves with recognition, it’s a problem. If people who are often silenced demand a voice, extreme efforts are exhausted to suppress their cries. Whenever there is an emergence of unity from a socially neglected and once dismantled group, those in power scatter for an oppressive solution and attempt to revive the ever so popular “divide and conquer” method. Highlighting subtle differences in hopes to cause the newly proud people to bicker with each other, tear one another down, dismiss what connects us. 

 Our pride is so intimidating. Knowledge of our power is such a threat. Know that. Be aware of the strength that is held in unity. Don’t fight the urge to unite."
by Monochromaticblack
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

I was a little shocked this morning when I was checking emails and upcoming events and realized that I was in the future.

The new black is now.

If the “Attending” numbers on Facebook events are accurate, then tomorrow night the African American Arts and Cultural Center in San Francisco will be overrun with approximately 300 black/afro/futurist/punk/geeks and the people who roll with them. The opening of Black Diamonds Shining’s “The Black Futurists” exhibit and accompanying two month schedule of events, performances and film screenings sound like a love song that’ll lure in all sectors of the Bay’s black outlier culture. The ones usually only glimpsed on the deepest house dance floors, select street art installations and the most underground art events.

A couple weeks after that, the much YouTubed TED conference is getting the Black to the Future treatment, when Berlin based Afrofuturistsaxtechologist Onyx Ashanti takes the stage to show off the latest evolution of his Beat Jazz project-an open source, woodwind mimicking, motion sensitive, MIDI music system.

In September, South Africa will see the 4th installment of the annual Pan African Space Station, a 30 day music and arts festival and “cross-cultural and cyber-spatial exploration, bringing together diverse pan-African sounds from ancient techno to future roots.” The event features everything from musical tributes to Steve Biko and  Busi Mhlongo to performances by Doctor Philip Tabane & Malombo and Theo Parish.

And in true “seen it like a Zenith” steez, Black Rock evangelist, cultural curator and community catalyst Rob Fields recently announced that on October 17th he’s hosting theFestival of the New Black Imagination in, where else but the black planet of Brooklyn. The Festival sounds like a place where all the corners of black creativity can converge and add ingredients to the next serving of cultural cosmic slop.

If you’re looking for the next “It”, it’s here. If you’re looking for African diaspora folks who’re on something different, you really, really don’t have to look too hard. The forward thinking, tech savvy, community building tribes mainstream culture has been “searching” for-those “positive”, nuanced portraits of black folks-are being created in hyper real, augmented reality.

In my trip to the RWA National Conference in New York City, I witnessed a historic event. Trisza Leann Renee won the Golden Heart award for unpublished authors in the Paranormal Romance category. Suffice it to say, it's like winning an Emmy! The awards ceremony runs like a red carpet event. When I saw Trisza's manuscript as one of the top four, I was excited but when she won, it felt good. It's a little hard for African American's to win in any event but in paranormal romance, doubly so.  If you'd like to read my interview with her, please check it out my blog: www.aliciamccalla.com.

Chapter 2 -Umbra

"Get up, boy." His voice was rough, like a heavy smoker, husky with a slight country twang. "Get up, we have to go now. Where is your father?" 

"He didn't make it. Who the hell are you?" I tried to sound tougher than I was. Then I threw up. He moved. 

"It will burn all night. The Light makes for fine kindling. Gives us cover." He wore a black trenchcoat made from some strangely slick matte-black leather. It was thick, coarse and had a weird animal smell. His clothes were hard to make out as if they defied my ability to focus on them. His shoes were a serviceable boot with hard metal studs all the way to the kneecap. "Get it out, because in two minutes we will be in the wind." The firefighters gathered around the fire were not having any luck putting out the fires. 

"They have my governess. My father said I had to find her." I started to feel a bit better.  

"I don't care two bits about your nanny. Your father called me and told me to come and get you. I got you. My job is to keep you alive. You are my priority now." 

I did not appreciate his tone. I grabbed his jacket and pulled myself to my feet. I leaned in close. "She is the closest thing I have to a family. I don't know you and couldn't give a damn about what your job is. So you help me or I will do this by myself." My chest hurt but I could feel this strange power trying to gather itself. 

"Alright, there is no need for that kind of talk. Do you have anything that belongs to her?" I thought about it and reached into the holster on my hip.  

"This was hers." He took off his jacket and threw it to the ground. 

"Give me that." He snatched the gun from my hand and released the clip. Then he threw the gun on the jacket. I watched him move his hands and with a ritual movement he touched his jacket. It became dark, shrouded in shadow and then the shadow stood. It had the shape of an alligator or crocodile, low to the ground long and masked completely in shadow. Except for its exceptionally white teeth. The gun was in front of it and it was sniffing the gun. It turned as if to smile, showing off its teeth floating in a shadow body, then it shot off into the dark. "If she's still here, he will find her." 

"What do we do in the meantime?" 

"We hope they don't find us first. How much do you know?" 

"About what?" 

"The Life, boy. How much did your father tell you?" 

"Nothing he didn't have to. Which was basically nothing at all." 

"Did you get any schooling at all?" 

"Yes, I got plenty of education, can speak a dozen languages, can use basic magic signs and sigils. I can fly anything, drive anything, fix anything and shoot anything." 

"Okay, so you're not a complete idiot." 

"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" 

"Eventually, but now is not the time. I reloaded your gun. Do not shoot unless I tell you so. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Let's go. He's found something." 

"Your jacket?" 

"Yeah, kid, my jacket." 

We ran out of the alley away from the fire and the only home I would ever likely care about. Once we got to the street we didn't run but maintained a brisk pace as we headed toward the local boulevard. I could feel the tension draining out of me and I felt suddenly tired. 

"You know, I don't even know your name." 

"Umbra, kid. Keep up, pay attention. If you see anything out of the corner of your eye, you tell me, right quick." 

"Okay, Mister Umbra." He pulled up short and turned toward me. He towered over me and looked me in the eyes. His eyes, previously hidden under his hat were suddenly visible. There was nothing but darkness in them. No iris, no sclera, just an sense of a never-ending night with tiny glimmerings of light.

"Umbra, no mister, no title. Just Umbra. I know you are working with a lot of stress and handicaps right now but I need you to focus. You are a man now, and you are one of us. We don't take titles, we don't use 'em. We have our name and that is the most important thing about us. Your father was Equinox. And now, that is your name. Whatever he used to call you is not important." 

He turned and kept walking up the street, focused on something far away. "He didn't used to call me anything but Boy. I think I may have had a name we used when we introduced ourselves but it changed every time we changed towns." 

I was about to say something else when I saw it. There was a flickering in the corner of my eye. When I turned my head, I couldn't see anything, but as soon as I stopped looking at it, I felt a distinct awareness of something on the side of my vision. The boulevard was almost completely quiet, with only a few people coming home from their night jobs, heads down, focused on getting home.  

"Umbra..." 

"Good, you saw them. Get ready, they are surrounding us. She is up ahead and still fighting." In this section of the Bronx there was an overhead train system and there were pillars of steel holding the train above the city streets. I was able to ride the trains a few times. It was noisy but fun. There was a station ahead and she was still alive fighting there, but I could not see her, directly, only sense her. No one else seemed to see or hear her either. 

"You can't see them can you?" He stared at me and then grabbed my head. He turned it left, than right, looking into my eyes. "You have not had it long enough." He turned and bent over to pick up his alligator-cum-jacket. "Put this on. Its the only way you will be of any use to me. Don't take it off for any reason." 

I gripped the jacket like I expected it to come to live in my hands, but it seemed to have returned to its jacket state, inert and still creepy. As I slid into it, I noticed its coldness, its seemed to suck away my heat and sweat and re-sized itself to fit my much smaller proportions. It was only then I noticed how big Umbra was. I was also aware, I could no longer see anyone on the street. Okay, that wasn't true. I couldn't easily see anyone on the street. It was if I was seeing them through a gossamer veil. 

"Stop gawking. Get your head in the game." With just a few more seconds. I became aware of them. Then I wondered how I could have missed them. They were massive, much bigger than the things that attacked the house. They had that same alien feeling about them, but they did not have wings. They made up for that by having two sets of arms. They were also surprisingly fast, much faster than their size would have you think. Their bodies had that same luminescent mother-of-pearl look to them and they did not have any kind of clothing, armor or weapons, save their wickedly clawed arms; all four of them. 

Then I saw her; Ms. Hart. She was beautiful. And she still fought with the creatures. She wore a silver body suit, similar to the one she trained me in. While she had it on, she was faster and stronger than she had any right to be. I had never seen her as fast and as deadly as she was tonight. I realized she was always taking her time with me. She could have destroyed me, at any time during our training.

She looked tired. She was covered in blood, some bright red, some black. The blood of the creatures splashed on a nearby shadow person and they dissolved into a green and gaseous cloud, accompanied by a baleful scream of sheer terror.  

She was using a metal shod spear made of the same shiny silver, with a blade at the tip and whipped it around her slicing away the limbs of the much larger creatures. But the loss of an arm did not seem to incapacitate them as well as I thought it should. But they were not asking me. I would have suggested rolling around on the ground.

She saw us approaching and instead of looking relieved she appeared to be far more angry. Her rage cost three of the glowing giants their heads. She vaulted over their bodies she strode toward us as the creatures used her break to completely surround us. 

"What do you think you are doing?" Her voice was sharp like a knife. 

"Rescuing you," I began. 

"You stupid boy, I lead them away so you could escape." Her emphasis seemed to focus her will. Her words cut me. Literally. A slash opened on my cheek. Using my sleeve, I wiped away my blood and her rage. Where Umbra's jacket touched, the injury was just as easily healed. But it hurt. 

"And you, you ought to know better." Her gaze fell on Umbra, who lit a cigarette and apparently ignored her. 

The circle closed around us. The giants began to move toward us, a light in their eyes. The streets were clear, and a chill wind blew past me. I drew my pistol. 

"Feel free to shoot any time, kid." He blew out his match.

Jump to Chapter 3

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 1 - Equinox

Did I mention that I hated my father? 

No, I probably didn't. Lying face down in an alley would not give me much time to explain that. Okay, since we have a minute, I think I can give you the Reader's Digest version. 

I think my father was a demon or something. He did not explain everything. Okay, he didn't explain anything. He and I had not always had the best relationship, as far as I can tell we did not really have any relationship. Unless you consider pain a relationship. That was something we had in common. From as far back as I can remember, we did painful things together. I learned to walk in a week, and I remember it vividly. The whole time, he was right there pushing me. Things did not get easier as I got older. He was constantly there drilling me in everything. I didn't get to learn one language when three was better. I spoke six well by the time I was ten.  

I worked out every day of my life.  

Every day.  

On days when he was not home, he left me in the capable hands of my governess, Ms. Hart. She did not have one, though. She was even more cruel than he was. She would train me in fighting skills, endurance training, rock climbing, mountain biking, from sunrise to sunset. When he came home, battered, and bruised, she would bandage him, talk with him and once he was covered in bandages, he would see how much I had learned. By the time I was thirteen, I had broken nearly every bone in my body.  

Here is where it got strange. We never went to the hospital. They would take me into the basement, put me on a table covered with cuniforms. They would wrap my wounds and leave me there during the night. Come the dawn, I was whole again. He had no problem breaking me again the next day and would leave me with my pain until sunset. We would fight while I was broken, punishing me, pushing me until sometimes I think my mind would break as well. The Slab did nothing for that. 

My life progressed from that point forward, we trained, he broke me, he left, she trained me, she homeschooled me. I never went to a real school and rarely met the neighbors anywhere we ever lived. We would move every two years, so it was just as well I never met anyone. 

When I turned eighteen which was only a few days ago, we had been settled in New York City in the Bronx, hidden away in the poorer neighborhoods, where we were seen but not noticed. People avoided us and we avoided them. But not for the same reasons. I did not know what my father did for a living, but I began to realize it was more dangerous than I believed. I always imagined he was a secret agent or something but I never gave it much thought since we seemed to have everything we needed and while Ms. Hart was not my mother, she was the closest, scariest thing I had to one. She would occasionally even talk to me, when she was not trying to kill me or teach me to read Erdu. Life was relatively good and while my father and I rarely had long conversations, I did not think anything was out of the norm. Until today. 

He came into the house and locked the door. But when you lock our doors, we had a variety of mechanisms that needed to be activated. Deadbolts that covered all four corners of the door. Steel reinforced doors, covered in sigils. Each window was also able to be sealed with lightproof, bulletproof and layered glass. He was hurt bad. I had never seen the kind of injuries he had today before. Once he locked the door, he turned around and looked at Ms. Hart and she grabbed me and pulled me into the safe room below the primary household structure. This room also doubled as our weapons room and the walls were festooned with a variety of hand to hand and ranged weapons. A Special Forces operative would think he had died and gone to Heaven. 

"Take this." She handed me a beautiful handgun, covered in silver except for the black metallic handgrip. She pulled the clip and I saw the silver bullets, all fourteen gleaming in the clip. Driving the clip back, she pulled the slide and armed the weapon. "Take your time. Make every bullet count." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"You were my best student. Don't you dare die." 

That was the last time I saw Ms. Hart. She closed the door behind her and I could hear the muffled sounds of combat, bullets flying, explosions, and the sounds of something I have never heard before, a scream of unnatural proportions, it filled the room despite the fact it was outside of the locked space. The battle lasted for several minutes. Then it was quiet, but only for a moment.  

Then the door was being shaken. I could see the sealing sigils on my side of the door glowing brightly. And then one by one, they went out. When the last one died, I could hear the door being ripped off of its hinges by a hideous strength. I heard the footfall of something touching each step. And with each step, a flare of a sigil would flash and the creature would release a terrible sound, but it did not stop coming. As it approached I was less than fifteen feet from it. I could see it had been injured and I remember the first rule of fighting. If you can injure, you can kill it. So I waited. 

As it came down the stairs, and more of it came into view, the room grew brighter. I had always noticed, night had never been a hindrance to me. I never had a problem with darkness of any kind. When this thing came into the room, it was as if my vision was being blocked by its brightness. Would not stop me from putting a bullet in it. 

The creature saw me, turned its head as if it were surprised, roared and rushed toward me, with its strange wings flashing light, its wicked claws outstretched, its muscular but strangely proportioned body causing the ground beneath its feet to crumple with its weight. 

To me: it appeared to be moving in slow motion. 

Each shot was perfect. One in each eye. two in what ever passed for a brain, two in both sides of the chest, two in each knee. The gun was a thing of beauty, the shell casings flew through the air, hanging there as each bullet struck home. I dove to the side at the last second, holding my last six rounds. Each bullet struck the creature and when it hit, a black blood stood out against its radiant body and rained around the room. Where each drop of that blood struck, the object simply disappeared into a cloud of dust. The creature struck the wall on the other side of the room and lay still. 

Not dropping my guard or my weapon, I backed out of the stairwell and climbed to the top of the stairs. At least two dozen of these things were all over the building, ripped to shreds by bullets, or weapons or magick. I did not feel anything for them. Even dead, they caused revulsion but they reminded me of something. I just wasn't sure what. When I got to my father's study, I found him barely alive with six of the creatures lying around him. 

"You have to go. They weren't here for me. They were here for you." His breathing was ragged. His chest was ripped by the claws of these creatures down to the rib cage. I could feel his body's heat, he was like a furnace. "They were here for this." He points at his chest. 

"What?" I didn't see anything. 

"Equinox." He spits up blood.  "You have to find her. She is still alive. They can't kill her." 

"What is Equinox? Ms. Hart? I don't understand." 

"I thought we would have more time... Please forgive me. This will hurt."  He reaches into his chest, ripping past his ribcage with both hands. His scream fills me with more terror than anything I had heard this evening. Until today, I had never heard him make a sound related to pain. He pulls out a blob of darkness from his chest where his heart should have been; it felt sinister, terrible and alive. 

He grabs my neck with one hand and with the other presses the darkness against my chest. No pain I had ever felt even came close to this. It was as if everything I had ever lived though was happening at the same time. Every injury flared with renewed trauma, every break screamed a vigorous shout as if to say, "I'm back!'" I wanted to run, to push away, but there was nothing that could be done. I screamed until my voice broke and nothing but my whimpering filled the room. The last thing I remember was his warning. "Stay away from the Light." 

And that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in this alley. The building I was in was still within my line of sight and was currently burning down. In my hand was a small black stone covered in cuneiform. It felt heavy as hell.

Jump to Chapter 2

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

I highly recommend putting this on your “next book to read” list. Definitely five star material here.

This is available for Kindle, which is great, because you will definitely want to take this book with you and steal time to read it at every opportunity until you are done. Then you will want more.

Malcolm “Rage” Petteway

Owner, Rage Books Publishing LLC

This review is posted on amazon.com and www.ragebooks.blogspot.com