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Hayward's Reach

From the ansible memoires of Exalted Scout, Glendale Mokoto, Hero of the Exodus Wars and the Fall of Earth. These are an amalgam of the earliest recordings before he was presumed lost one hundred years ago.

 

Two hundred years ago, I was nothing special. I had no extraordinary abilities or talents. I was not blessed with superhuman strength like members of the New Order, genetically manipulated to be the perfect human specimens, trained and bred to be the ultimate warrior protectors of the human race.

 

I did not augment my mind with sentient mechanical intelligence like the Cognoseti, who became human predictors of the future of man. It was their wisdom that discovered the Earth's greatest hidden secret; that we were not the first creatures on Earth to evolve into sentience. These human machine hybrids would later house the first true machine-descended intelligences in human history.

 

I did not mingle my DNA with those of animal species to garner advantages lost by the development of our bigger brains. The Transformed, whose malleable DNA allows them to absorb genetic traits of other species, would lead our Humanity in the exploration of new worlds after we lost our home in the Sol System.

 

You see, I was just a baseline human, good genes, nice teeth, good skin, and until it fell out in my fiftieth year, a nice head of hair. Two hundred years ago, I was also the most celebrated hero; indeed, I was the last hero of the Exodus of Man. They named a starship after me, they named a continent after me, they named thousands of children after me. And to me that is a strange thing, seeing how I did not actually survive the experience.

 

To ponder this, and to explain why you are now able to know any of this, you have to know a bit more about Old Earth.

 

I remember the stink of the war. It got up into your nose and never left. You could smell the burning flesh, the expended rounds, the fear, exhilaration, the bloodlust, the sheer terror of the Henrenki boiling up out of the ground in every major city on the planet.

 

I remember the fighting, the endless fighting, the bravery of those young men, their ceaseless dying, wheat before the scythe. When we retreated, the Henrenkai came, wave after wave, like the ocean filling in the beach of our dead. I remember them swarming over our positions, and even with machine guns blazing, bullets tearing into their nacreous, resilient flesh, they kept coming.

 

Things looked hopeless until the New Men appeared, with their mysterious talk about the Art of War, talk of the brush strokes of their weapons, their mastery of the battle-dance. In those days, all we knew of war was the spastic struggling of the uninitiated to battle. We had been too long at peace. Our struggles for survival, even before He came, all but absorbed our attention. But even after generations of peace, we were still a warlike species and returned reluctantly to the field of battle. Every man woman and child was armed because this was a war without quarter and without mercy.

 

When the Cognoseti revealed His existence, He rose from the oceans, the Ancient Enemy of all who live in our galaxy. We did not know He was legendary. We did not know what scars He and His kind had swept across the face of the galactic empire. We did not know what He wanted, only that He destroyed all that we had, with malice and forethought. We did learn one thing: when He rose from the Pacific Ocean, we realized the nature of our enemy, He had the might of an entire world, buried within our own.

 

Mechanically-sentient, He created weapons like the Henrenkai from His very flesh, the organo-mechanical body in which He fell to Earth billions of years ago and hid in the iron core of our planet. He hid because He was pursued by the greatest species our galaxy had ever spawned. He hid and waited until they passed away or forgot; we are not sure which. When He arose again, He had been all but forgotten by everyone in the galaxy. How could they not; nearly three billion of our years had passed while he slumbered.

 

So we were forced to fight Him on our own, tiny simians against a god-like machine who had tried to enslave an entire galaxy. He fought us on land, sea, air, and even in space. What could we do against an enemy so incredibly powerful? He destroyed a third of the human race and had barely awakened. We lost all hope.

 

Then we received a signal from space. It appeared on every communication band, every wavelength, every technology, all at once. If you were watching anything, listening to anything, it appeared and told you to be ready. A prophecy had sent them back to us, and it was now time to leave our world. They told us to gather as much of our world as we could carry. We did not understand, but we gathered our resources, every animal, every plant, every insect we thought we could find and catalog. We even set aside entire islands, marked with force fields to make them stand out.

 

We had no idea of what the Sjurani were capable back then. We did not know what to expect, but their message gave us hope, so we fought on.

 

I remember the first time I saw their ships. They blotted out the sun. We fought a retreating battle to their designated pick up points, and they gathered us up with tractor beams, entire cities, whole islands. It was rumored they took the entire African continent. They landed in their reptilian regalia and fought alongside us, as terrifying as the Henranki in their own way. Garishly colored in silks and metal, reptilian, festooned with gem-encrusted scales, loud, large, and boisterous; think of Old Earth fraternity boys armed with plasma cannons and rocket launchers and you will know something of the Rex, a warrior-breed of the Sjurani. They helped us hold the line against the Ancient Enemy while we fled. They claimed they were dinosaurs who had been born on Earth millions of years in the past. We were too desperate to care. And too foolish to realize why that was more important than we knew at the time.

 

Evacuation took two weeks, and I and my battle-brothers stayed and fought until the very last ships were leaving the planet. Hundreds of millions were moved to ships every day, each scarred with the loss of someone or something precious.

 

The Sjurani told us He was soon to waken. Once that happened, we would stand no chance at all. The Ancient Enemy had only one agenda, and that was leaving the Earth. And we could never allow that. Our planet's gravity well was the only thing that prevented Him from opening a gateway to another Universe.

 

But we could take the fight to Him: A suicide mission. We fought to reach the Ancient Enemy and infiltrated Him with the help of Sjurani technology. We carried into Him an antimatter weapon, created by the Sjurani, with the force of a billion Hiroshima bombs. A weapon far more powerful than anything Humanity could ever create. His arrogance in being shielded from outside, made him believe he was invulnerable. Once inside His armored shell, we could use short range teleportation to penetrate deep into His neural network. Three groups entered the alien machine. Even if all three were successful, they told us our weapons would not kill Him. But we could wound Him, perhaps even lobotomize Him, for a time.

 

This would allow the two hundred million humans who agreed to stay behind to cover the final retreat. The West Coast of North America was destroyed in this final battle. The Rocky Mountains are all that remain of that coastline. One billion humans left the Earth in that two week period with some of the most terrifying fighting ever seen in any war, any conflict.

 

Once the antimatter was placed, I, the last survivor of three dozen of the finest warriors of two races, made my way to the surface, killing everything in my path. I waited. The never-ending supply of Henrenkai continued to boil forth from the Ancient enemy. In that last moment before detonation, I lay down my exhausted weapon and the Henrenkai stopped, confused by the act.

 

With seconds remaining, I assumed the battle occurring in space had interrupted my teleport, and I resolved myself to dying, free of anger and the corruption of war. I vowed never to wage war again. My death would keep my promise.

 

I opened my arms and the battle-enraged Henrenkai charged me, their razor sharp talons poised to shred flesh from bones. In those final seconds, time slowed as I watched them. Close to me, I studied them in a way I had never before. Their anatomy was a marvel: Bones of carbon fullerenes, talons sharper than the sharpest steel. Wide, predator-set eyes, excellent for determining the distance to me, their prey. I could smell their hot breath, a cinnamon overtone, and I closed my eyes, ready for death. No fighting, no resistance. I felt the antimatter as it detonated. A shockwave swept through me. I could feel it in my very atoms.

 

Suddenly, I could see the blast wave of energy and could feel my atoms snatched away protectively within the teleport sheath. I felt my body dying as the waves of antimatter, converted to gamma rays and cosmic radiation, were transformed into the most powerful kind of destruction in our universe, in the perfect release, the ultimate annihilation of matter. No man can ever say he sat in the heart of a star and lived to tell others of it. Neither could I. It would have been breathtaking if I had a breath to take.

 

In that eternal second, I violated causality and was in two places at one time. I was trapped in the containment field, experiencing a quantum reality, existing in two places and in neither. I was onboard the ship in a viewing chamber teleported, so they thought, to allow me, with the remnants of my species, to see the death of my world. Such a weapon would destroy the Earth as we knew it. I watched, both detached at a distance and intimately aware of the death throes of my home planet.

 

For a moment, as I violated causality, I could be anywhere and any when; I moved through time and space, and I could see the Ancient Enemy's arrival on Earth three billion years ago, fleeing, He crashed into a small planet in an unidentified star system with a small yellow star. I could feel His terror, I could feel His near dissolution, His flesh, burned with a fire like a solar flare, tearing His substance apart. He submerged Himself into our planet, and the rocky surface extinguished those flames and His terror subsided. He sank into our world, and His screams grew quieter, until after an eon, He slept and forgot.

 

As I stood there in the middle of the greatest energy release since His arrival, I realized He would not die. He would survive just as He did before. Our work was almost in vain. His massive, nearly indestructible bulk would provide one benefit. Those who remained behind would not be wiped out from the weapon. They would be stranded on a world still trying to kill them. The thought was terrible, and the last thing I remembered.

 

I was the last human to leave the Earth two hundred years ago, an unwitting and unwilling hero of a war we all but lost.

 

I woke several years later on our way to Toranor, a system of Gaian super-worlds created by a race of highly-advanced beings called The Precursors. No other race in the galaxy has ever come close to their level of technological capability. They were as far beyond even our Sjurani benefactors as we were beyond ants.

 

The Toranor star system had trillions of sentients living in harmony in what was called the jewel of the Corvan Empire. Now homeless, Humanity and the Sjurani were offered a place on one of their lesser worlds. I knew I would never call this place home. I had seen too much, done too much. There would be nothing for me here.

 

All that I valued died with Earth.

 

I asked what a single man could do in an Empire of sentients with magnificent technologies, making our human achievements, even in the year of our Lord 2475, seem like children's toys? How could I distinguish myself?

 

By providing the one thing all Empires need: New boundaries. I became a Scout. I was told the role of a Scout was a solitary one. I would be provided a robot companion if I desired. My job would be to map stars toward the center of the galaxy for planets capable of being terraformed by the Mariovel at some point in the future. I was promised the knowledge of the Empire at my fingertips and all the time of my life to read and learn it.

 

It was then the Sjurani revealed to me that I had died during the teleportation. They had never tried to teleport during an antimatter explosion. No one ever had. My mind was able to be reconstructed, but my body had died. They took my mind and placed it within a robotic shell that mimicked my own form so well that I was never aware of the change at any time.

 

I was angered at first. I walked around for almost a year, on Galtan II, our new home, knowing something was different, but not knowing what. Galtan II was like all of the worlds of Toranor, beautiful, diverse, fantastic. The knowledge that all of these worlds were created by a sentient species that was not God, boggled the imagination. Imagine a star system with twenty habitable worlds. The knowledge would turn our ideas of science and religion on their ears.

 

Galtan II boasted a forest that spanned the entire equatorial band of the planet, one giant forest whose myriad trees were connected by their root system into one organic supercomputer, a single hive mind which could separate segments of itself to communicate with other forms of life. One of the most amazing world-minds in this part of the empire. Yes, there were others. Since the Botani did not choose to live in the colder parts of the planet, we were offered the other two thirds of the world to live responsibly on. With the technology of the Sjurani supporting our own, we could be good neighbors.

 

The Sjurani told me that what they did, they did for love of my heroic sacrifice. They created an entire technology around saving my life. I learned later they held my psychic resonance in an energy field that consumed the energy of a world for years. I felt guilty once I learned what was done on my behalf.

 

I learned that my condition, once successful, because of my heroic stature, spurred a whole division of baseline humans to make the transition to the robotic. We were called The Transcended. They gave up their flesh to become the first robotic-human hybrids. Were there consequences? Certainly, but none of them ever considered it an unfair trade, except perhaps for me. I would have liked to have had the choice.

 

When I was appointed a Scout, the Corvan empire made a starship for me; since I was no longer a living organic, they made something faster than had ever been created before. I named it Hayward's Reach after a small seaside town where I lived the quiet life of a writer before the end of the world came for us all. Before activating the ship, the greatest generals, admirals, and Sjurani Rex came to see me off. They said wonderful things, heroic things about me and my sacrifices. I didn't listen.

 

All I could hear was the loneliness. No, the alone-ness that space offered me. I thanked them. I climbed aboard my ship and synchronized my ansible to an ansible station here on Galtan II which would relay my reports. Since an ansible could only be paired once, something about quantum entanglement, it was the most critical thing I could do unless I wanted to communicate relativistically.

 

My pilot was a Conscentia, a sentient intelligence housed in the mechanical body of a woman. She was the first of her kind, a mechanical version of myself. I started life as a man and became a machine. She started a machine and became a woman.

 

Her name was Pele. She named herself after the mythical goddess of the legendary Hawaiian Islands that are no more. When I asked her about her name, she said once she had studied human history. The tale of the Hawaiians fascinated her, and she had taken it upon herself to study all of the notes on Earth's Polynesian cultures. Our ship was equipped with a distillation of all of the knowledge of the human race. We would also have an upstream of new ideas and achievements when time and bandwidth permitted. When I asked her why she was coming with me, she said since she would never get to see Hawaii, the next best thing was to discover a place like it somewhere else.

 

She arranged our path through the empire and indicated we would reach the edge of the Empire in as little as three jumps and three months using their Gate system. After that, we would be on our own, moving at approximately thirty-two times the speed of light. It would take us three thousand years to cross the galaxy. We would be taking the scenic route, flying through as many star- dense systems as possible. We were the fastest things in the Empire, streaking away from all that I knew, and I was glad to be doing it. It was unlikely we would survive the journey across the galaxy. The Sjurani estimated we might live for four hundred years with careful maintenance. We promised to change our oil regularly. Pele laughed. The Sjurani just looked quizzically at me.

 

Sitting down, I called up a data-screen. The words were queued up from earlier in the day, waiting for me. Pele was sitting at the nav station monitoring the ebb and flow of the aether. I read out loud as would become a tradition for the two of us in the decades to come: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."  

 

I had always wanted to read A Tale of Two Cities, and at that moment, it seemed appropriate. I never had the time before. Taking my companion's hand, this new season of light illuminated our souls as we fled into the core of the galaxy, to see things no man had seen before. I, once being the most ordinary of men, had transcended the human experience for something never done before. It was, indeed, the best of times.

 

Hayward's Reach © Thaddeus Howze, 2011, All Rights Reserved

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The Probe (excerpt)

Be careful what you wish for...

 

Allandra set her dials for landing. “This is the one
Leonardo! I can feel it! Just like the readings indicated!”

“Humph!” her partner retorted, but with a smile in his voice. “ITS says that
every mission. We've never find anything but plants – not even an
animal. And I had my heart set on a pet, space monkey... Why don't
you give it up, babe?”

She laughed throatily. “Now you know I can't do that.” Besides
this time they're right.

The young astronaut couldn't see Leonardo. But she knew he was there,
traveling parallel to her descent.
They'd been in space for a week and

both were ready for some R&R, even it was on the surface of an unexplored

planet. Moving through the crusty, mist-filled atmosphere, Allandra reduced

her speed: coasting the tiny ship in.

Her heart sank.

From a distance the dust that surrounded the atmosphere had  given off a
shimmering, mauve glow – hence the name:
Red Stone. But up close, it was an

ugly, crater-filled rock covered in red dust.

Intergalactic Space Travel's (IST) readings had been wrong.

The astronaut spotted a plateau between two boulder, a small valley, and
headed for it. She easily maneuvered the ship into a smooth landing.
She was operating a
probe: a craft roughly the same size as the small, private

planes so popular during the 21thcentury. Yet probes had the weapons capacity

and power of the much larger phoenix crafts. Allandra scanned the surface. With

the naked eye, it appeared to be mid-day.
Or whatever passes for mid-day on this desolate rock.

She pressed the blue button on her console, activating a test of the
atmosphere.

No readings of intelligent life species, no readings of other animal
species,”
a mechanized voice intoned. “Oxygen levels too low to sustain

human life. Analysis indicates acceptable levels of toxicity.”

That means it's safe for us to get out.
She activated her ship log, and began speaking. “This is Lieutenant
Allandra Rex, commander of Probe 12. It is 2600 hours Earth Time, Day
seven of the Probe mission. Lieutenant Leonardo Cash and I have
landed on Planet Red Stone. There is no sign of life.”

But we could still find something – oh, I hope so! 

“Preliminary analysis of the planet indicates that there's not enough

oxygen to sustain human life...” Keep it simple and straightforward.

She'd learned this the first year in the space academy.

 

                                *         *         *

 

She clicked on her helmet communicator. “How you doing
over there?”

“Copathestic baby,” Leonardo's bass voice responded.

“What about you?”

“Just making the rounds.” She pushed another button on her suit and
Coltrane began to softly play.

Allandra was a curvaceous, yet petite young woman with cafe au lait skin
gray eyes, and shoulder-length, black hair. Many of ITS astronauts
thought her beautiful. Leonardo was no exception. But she had no
interest in romance, unless it was casual.

She' d had her heart broken her first year at ITS Academy by Professor
Sidney Barnes, her mentor. Sidney was a slender, lithe man, ten years
her senior, with piercing blue eyes. He'd easily seduced the
wide-eyed young cadet, who hung on his every word.  Even now Allandra
could remember his touch [censored].

Professor Barnes was exquisite in bed and brilliant. He was also married

with four children – something he managed to keep from her until he'd
had her over and over, in every imaginable position.

Just the thought of him still hurts.

After Professor Barnes Allandra kept her eyes on the stars and the planets

beyond them. They would would give her what she yearned for.

And they would never leave her.

Allandra was born in 2065: 50 years after Planet Earth's decline. The same
year IST began building the probes: lightweight spacecrafts that
could humans could live in for years, if needs be; and that moved
fast enough to break the sound barrier – traveling millions of
miles within weeks.

In 2065, global warning had accelerated. The final stage in Earth's
destruction had begun. Temperatures of 150 degrees scorched the
planet. Tidal waves, monsoons and cyclones tore it apart.

Those who could afford it moved underground. Food became the

world's most valued resource. The rest were herded under domes.
Scientists scurried to genetically reproduce fruits and vegetables –
with horrible side effects.

Money still ruled the world. But money was becoming worthless. That's when

the government saw the writing on the wall and created IST... and the probes:

spacecrafts designed for one purpose, to seek out planets capable of
sustaining human life.

Copyright 2011 Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved

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Suicide

"I'm going to commit suicide..." she said.  "What?" was the murmur from the assembled crowd. 

She began to tremble.

"I can't do it anymore.  I.....don't know ANYTHING!  I don't know how I got here...wherever here is.  I just....was..."

"Come on now honey..." the one closest to her started.  "Stop that nonsense."

The trembling became more of a sway...back and forth. 

tick.....tock....

"I just feel like....I have to go.  I HAVE to leave this place.....make a sacrifice."

Just then, the sky opened.  The beam of light shone on her.

"See......it's for me!  It's my time....."

A great sigh permiated the air as she was lifted. 

The sacrifice...made.

 

She rolled down my face....that single tear......and helped my soul to heal.

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October is UK Black History Month!

Yes it is that time again! Some of us completely miss the point and say, "What we have a black history month?", "How come I never heard about it?" Okay maybe that was just me a few years back, because it wasn't publicized enough. In fact I remember the way I found out was though seeing a banner promoting it outside my family's local police station! The only other place after that was by visiting the local library where there was a small corner of black authored books that were put in a slightly more predominant position than usual, with a little sign above it. Well we have come a long way since then. I have come a long way by becoming one of those black authors myself, yay!

In celebration of black history, in celebration of black people proactively continuing to make ourstory, my little humble offering is to discount my book Hypknowlogy for the duration of October by 15% bringing the price down from £27 to £22.95! Now there are a few things you might be interested to know:

  • Hypknowlogy is actually a compliation of all three of by books in one. That's right, the whole trilogy in one book.
  • At the end of the book it has a Q&A section where all the questions were those sent in by fans/readers etc.
  • This book is currently only available online and even then only available for purchase through my personal online bookstore.
  • At this reduced price the purchase of Hypknowlogy is the equivalent to getting one book absolutely FREE.


So what are you waiting for?

(click image to purchase)

View book trailer:
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CILF (haibun)

It’s a trying day when your thoughts of superiority are proven false. When your races ego is crushed in an instant with just one message. It went to the United Nations during a meeting of the general body. How they knew when to send it is beyond me but of course these are smart creatures remember. The actual contents of the letter were never revealed but the gist of it was released by the media. It appeared that the Congress of Intelligent Life Forms (CILF) was going to annihilate all indigenous life forms on the planet earth in order to make way for the Intergalactic Monument for Interspecies Peace and Coexistence. Though as done in the case of their previous projects and the ecocides they would pick the top five species on each planet and relocate them to a reservation on another planet. The species would be judged on criteria of intelligence, efficiency, level of civility, and complexity. The leadership of humanity sat comfortably knowing full well that mankind was the most dominant of the species on earth and that the humans would no doubt be picked. “Why who else would they chose?” the politicians chuckled. Imagine their surprise when the listings were finally released.

Superior species:
Ants, bees, elephants, grass, trees…
No human beings

All of humanity was outraged and soon afterwards a committee was formed to appeal the decision from CILF. Not long after the committee was submitted the appeal, the committee disappeared and was never heard from again effectively ending all attempts at diplomatic solutions.
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United We Stand.....Divided We Fall!

Ok..I have been silent far too long about travesties going on in the comic and animation industries.  I am sick and tired of being handed “Black Culture” by non-black writers, non-black artist, and non-black animators!  We do not need anyone’s permission to be black!  Who can tell stories of Black Culture better than Blacks can? Example; many of the new DC and Marvel Black comic characters are written and drawn by non Blacks.  And to add insult to injury, many of the new so called black heroes are no more than black transformations of white characters, (Black versions of previous white heroes revised).  We accepted Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman and other white superheroes without question, with open arms.  Their race did not matter!  What did matter was their moral fiber, sense of justice and super abilities.

They showed the world theirs, now it’s time to show them ours!  Indy comics are the key!  WE DO NOT NEED THEM! Don’t beg companies like DC and Marvel to tell your stories!  YOU TELL IT!  They had their turn!  Now it’s our turn!  Black super heroes are here to stay!  United we stand, divided we fall.  Let us take our true place in creation as HEADS and not TAILS!  Because,…in the words of the great George Clinton of Parliament/Funkadelic “A tail is nothing but a long booty.”  It’s funny but true.  Please understand, I didn’t say these things to put whites down, I said them to lift blacks up!  Be encouraged, be creative and be cool.  Peace and Love!

Art Dawson

Doc & AJ Comics

 

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Police Brutality and the DocuMix: Download for FREE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Get the " PoliceBrewTolitarian DocuMix," from Melki the original documixologist. In a 2009 VoxUnion exclusive Melki, provides a most timely cookup of audio, funk, commentary and documentary examining the history and function of police brutality.  The beat of Police brutality goes on and on. The question remains, “will we be able to organize some effective responses and make real changes?”


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Short Story: The Potentials

I stare at the amusement park ride, remembering another contraption a lot like it. All this one did was go around and around, faster and faster, tipping as it rose up, to the delight of the riders. The ride stops in a few minutes, and the riders return to the ground, thrilled, with a happy memory, and the option to go again.

My boyfriend asks me, “Do you want to ride that one?” I hesitate. Do I? The sounds of the park quiet as I remember not all contraptions like this brought happy memories.

There had been a camp, out of the way as camps tended to be. But this camp was special, for special kids. Kids like I used to be, those who had “potential.” We would go to camp with many others, our special peers, take all sorts of tests they called activities, and if the Master Commander found us to be...extraordinary, he would choose us, and take us. Take us to the Planet of the Mines.

My last day on the Planet of the Mines was similar to the day I arrived there, in that I rode something like this amusement park ride. Only my emotions were different from the first experience to the last. That first time, twelve of us special kids were taken aboard a transporter, similar to the ride my adult eyes were now staring at, in a secret room in the main building at camp. It had seats and we were strapped in. It spun, faster and faster. We barely felt it, the way it was designed, and we were told it was a cool ride that would take us out of this world.

We thought that part was just a gimmick.

We had felt privileged to be the Chosen Ones, to ride the transporter in the secret room, with only a momentary disorientation at the darkness and spinning sensation. Then a humming, a slight jolt when the device “landed” on the Planet of the Mines, a stillness before being led out to another place.

We were brought to a world outside our own. A world that at first looked like a child's idea of heaven, with plenty of space to play, every favorite food a child would want, toys, cartoons, decorated rooms of our choice, to suit our individual tastes. There were children from all sorts of planets, cultures, and tribes. We were given “group guides” to show us the ropes and help us with any questions; they were cool, kids like us. No rules there, except to participate in the “activities” and to have fun. Paradise for the Potentials.

Soon, however, we were made to lie on special cots, and funny lights would shine into our eyes, onto our skin, and things would probe into open places on our bodies - embarrassing. We were told each time they were checking to make sure we were healthy. But the “treatments” were painful to our young bodies. We were forced to cooperate, and the weekly ordeal slowly drained us of some of our youth, our energy, our powers. We learned to detach.

When we were not being “treated,” we were made to work metals using our powers - which ranged from the ability to heat things up with our hands, eyes, or minds to melt the metals, to being able to use telekinesis to build walls, robots, lasers, and other odd machines. Some children who had been there long before us, barely had any special powers at all. Those were the ones only a few heartbeats away from the Sunlight.

The “guides” were good to us at first - friends, allies, confidants, comforters when the little ones cried for their parents - but soon turned to hard task masters, relentless and cold, and we discovered they weren't children or teens at all.

We were fed bounties in the beginning, but scraps near the end. Taken to nice rooms to live with a roommate our own age, then forced into cells, alone, with barely any room for movement. Nicely decorated walls turned into rust-colored metal boxes. And the air conditioning turned to heat. Water became scarce, baths were denied, grooming was non-existent, and those who were finally broken or disobedient were thrown out into the Burning Sunlight.

A demonstration of the Burning Sunlight was shown months after we had been taken to the Planet of the Mines - when the treatments became more painful, when the food became less and less, when the “guides” grew mean and cold toward us, and when some of us began to rebel. We had been gathered in a sepia-toned auditorium, along with many other kidnapped children, and forced to watch a child being thrown out into an above-ground hallway, where she fell on her face, and struggled to rise. But before she could really move, a sky-door opened above her, and the Sunlight came in, to shine on the disobedient girl. In seconds her skin began to burn, and her silent scream stilled as her body disintegrated, the blood and tissue evaporating, the bones becoming ash, then specks on the wind.

It caused a gasp all around the auditorium. Cries of the little ones rang out. The “guides,” cyborgs, we discovered, were stone faced. The Master Commander's face was all business as he looked at each one of us. The niceness ended completely.

Innocent children, Potentials, with all these abilities, and we were being utilized, dehumanized, then discarded.

When I later found a new friend of mine lying in a crevice - her body bruised, weakened, barely able to move because of her recent “treatments,” attempting with her last bit of strength to hide from her jailers - I became angry. This could not continue, and I realized we could stop it.

About two hundred children were delivered from a Master Commander who was in need of “special” resources, and weaponry. The Master Commander had to keep stealing pure and innocent power from children, because his body could not retain it for very long. He needed a steady supply, and had spent decades kidnapping children before he came up with the camp idea, where parents sent their children willingly, not knowing it would be the last time some would see them. He had just begun the camp on Earth.

But my group of recently captured Earth-children escaped, using the spinning transporter to go back to Earth. I led a second group to the transporter, using underground tunnels, so the sky-doors posed no threat. My brother and sister were afraid because I sent them on home, but stayed behind, to gather more children, to save them from torture and death in the copper colored walls of the Mines.

There was a war, a war of the minds. The cyborgs had physical advantage, but nothing else. Even in our weakened state, we kids were stronger. We were determined, and used our minds collectively to propel the Master Commander and his army back, as they advanced on us. We used our minds to force air into his body, until his ribs burst through his rib cage. His brain grew in size with the pressure we put on him.

The last thing he saw, even before seeing his own blood and tissue covering his sight, was my face.

After we had landed back on Earth, I'd helped the remaining children leave the transporter and the secret room. Upon seeing my little brother and sister outside the building, I walked to them. They broke into a run, tears in their eyes. The counselors stared perplexed, as all the children who had disappeared for months, for what was supposed to be a special camp activity, had returned haggard, beaten, broken, and telling a story of torture and dehumanization.

Now, years later, I take my eyes off the sky. The sounds of the amusement park return to my ears as I watch the spinning ride thrill the screaming children and adults. I stand amidst the sights and sounds, the people's delight and carefree laughter.

My boyfriend challenges me. “Are you scared?”

“No.” I walk to get in line. “I've ridden worse.”

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Ronald T. Jones is interviewed at ragebooks.com!

INTERVIEW WITH RONALD T. JONES, AUTHOR OF WARRIORS OF THE FOUR WORLDS.1) Can you tell us something about your book? Warriors of the Four Worlds is an action-adventure tale set in a far off future in a distant part of the universe. Humans are struggling for survival in the face of certain extinction at the hands of a brutally aggressive species. Warriors is narrated from the perspective of a hardened military veteran, Lev Gorlin, who is forced to take up arms once again to confront a new threat. Lev’s methods in defense of humanity are as merciless and aggressive as the enemy he battles.2) How did you come up with the idea? Honestly, I don’t remember. I do know that I approached this story as I’ve approached previous and subsequent stories. I wanted to present the best action and adventure that I could muster. I wanted twists and turns and peril aplenty in my story. I wanted to convey noble and perhaps not so noble heroics and the most dastardly, despicable villainy. Basically, I wanted to write a story that I would enjoy reading.3) When did you start writing and what inspired you to write? After gorging on a steady diet of Star Wars, Star Trek and all of the TV, film and literary science fiction that I could consume, an idea took form in my head and began flittering around inside my skull like a crazed moth attracted to light. It occurred to me that I don’t just have to watch this stuff, I can write it as well. So one day, back in the late 80s, I grabbed a pen, some paper and started writing.4) Why did you pick science fiction? It never occurred to me to write in any other genre. Science fiction was, is and will always be my passion. This isn’t to say that I’ve only read and written science fiction. But as far as fiction is concerned, science fiction has given me the greatest latitude to expand my imagination, to truly envision wondrous, strange and fantastic things.5) What do you want readers to come away with after reading your book? I want readers to come away with that pleasant endorphin-generated feeling you get after enjoying a wonderful movie, or a fine piece of chocolate or a great workout. I want my readers to feel good!6) Who is your intended audience? Science fiction fans, people who enjoy rip roaring action and adventure in any genre, anyone enamored of compelling story telling. Hopefully my work will attract any and all of the above.7) What writers influenced you the most? I’ve enjoyed the works of David Weber. His space operas are very engaging and his world building is truly epic. The same is true of fantasy writer, Imaro-creator, and godfather of Sword and Soul, Charles Saunders. There’s Steven Barnes and a host of other authors whose works I’ve enjoyed over the years.8) What are your favorite aspects of writing? I love creating characters and settings and situations. I love taking the raw material of my imagination and refining it into gripping prose.9) Do you have any advice for other writers? Write, write, write. Constantly hone your craft. Write regularly, even if you’re not writing something related to your latest novel or short story. If you’re jotting down a to-do list, you’re writing. The more you write the better you get. Read regularly. Reading proficiency is connected to competent writing. And read aplenty in the genre you’re writing in. You’ll pick up a variety of styles from a variety of authors and eventually your individual style will emerge. Lastly, enjoy yourself. The moment writing becomes a chore instead of something you love so much you’d do it for free (which many aspiring writers are doing anyway) then it’s time to reevaluate your craft.Review by Rage BooksPowerful, intense and unpredictableLev Gorlin is a highly decorated military soldier. He is a superb strategist and a war hero in a galaxy where Humans and Zirans protect the genetically docile Vingin through a tripartite alliance. . After a twenty year war with the Tacherins the humans begin a military drawdown, dismantling their lethal weapons that won the war. But in the eye of a promised peace, discord in the alliance breeds treacherous intentions. Lev Gorlin is pulled out of military retirement to lead the human resistance in face of a more aggressive and violent enemy.Ronald T. Jones delivers a knockout punch with this exciting tale of military might versus strategic cunning. Warriors of the Four Worlds reads like a Tom Clancy novel. Ronald has embodied the action, intrigue and excitement of Clancy’s Red Storm Rising and masterfully wrapped it in a believable science fiction setting. The combat scenes and the military tactics he describes are told like a combat veteran relaying a personal war story. The feelings are raw and the action is fast.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” PettewayAuthor of Osguards: Guardians of the UniverseOwner, Rage Books Publishing LLC

Check out my interview everyone!!

 

http://ragebooks.blogspot.com/2011/09/interview-with-ronald-t.html?spref=tw

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On October 1st, at 2 PM, 

The St. George Library Center Located at 5 Central Avenue  

 (near Borough Hall ) in Staten Island, N.Y. 10301

 ( 718-442-8560 ) will present a lecture entitled

“Comic Books and their Lasting Importance.” The Guest Speaker will be Winston Blakely, a Fine arts/Comic Book Artist who  has worked for Valiant Comics and Rich Buckler’s Visage Studio and who was also associated with Marvel Comics.

 

Directions by subway:

Take the 1 train to South Ferry. Take the Staten Island ferry. Walk or take  S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.

 

Or you can take the 4 or 5 to Bowling Green then walk to South Ferry. Take the Staten Island ferry. Walk or take S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.

 

Or you can take the R to Whitehall. Take the Staten Island Ferry. Walk or take S42 bus to the library from the Staten Island terminal.

 

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This, is why I write...

Isaac Asimov once said, "Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today — but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation, if we are to be saved at all.”

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From the Editors of Damnation Books:

Suddenly discovering that you’re different from baseline humanity is certainly the sort of thing that could change one’s worldview overnight, but that just isn’t interesting, especially since it’s been  done ad infinitum. How about the people that look out for ‘Number One?’ People with flaws? People with serious psychological issues? People that have been looking for a ticket out of their circumstances  and finally lucked into it? People who’ve devoted themselves to their success and have reached it, at long last? The nerdy kid who doesn’t have to be pushed around and isn’t willing to hide anymore? The  jealous girl that’s tired of being the ‘other woman?’ The disenfranchised homeless man? The bored housewife who wishes she’d made some different choices?
 
 To some, this just screams ‘supervillain,’ or ‘antihero,’ and in many cases, you’d be right. But usually, these are stock characters without much substance. They’re the “bad guys.” Real life isn’t that simple,  and even the meatier, more realistic metahuman portrayals out there are seen mainly in comic books; rarely in a prose anthology.
 
 Show me substance. Show me what would really happen if today’s people had superpowers.
 
" I’m looking for stories of 3,000 to 5,000 words that handle the topic of superpowers and metahumans from unique, interesting and realistic perspectives. There are no limits regarding historical eras or  futuristic settings, but remember to suspend disbelief. The stories don’t all have to involve bad guys or bad girls, but I do require that stories about heroes have a basis in something more than simple  idealism. Your protagonists don’t necessarily have to have superpowers, even (think Ozymandias, Punisher, Batman, Catwoman). Elements of thriller, horror, noir, erotica, and science fiction genres are all welcome, and if you have a good idea that doesn’t quite fit into those ranges, send that along too. And yes, there is room for hope, too…a little at least. After all, the title is in the form of a question. Does power corrupt? If so, is it absolute? Perhaps; perhaps not."
 
 Send your stories to subs@lincolncrisler.info in standard manuscript format (http://www.shunn.net/format/story.html). Submissions open on June 27th, 2011. Authors will be notified of acceptance soon after [the new deadline, December 1st, 2011]. Payment is in the form of  shared royalties (40% electronic, 25% print). The anthology is scheduled for tentative publication in March 2012 by Damnation Books (http://www.damnationbooks.com/).
 
 UPDATE: The deadline for this anthology has been extended to December 1st, 2011. Also, to address a couple of concerns: reprints will be addressed on a case-by-case basis, and we’re seeking one-time print  and electronic anthology rights with two-years exclusive right to publish accepted stories.
 
 UPDATE 30 JUL 11: I’ve accepted five stories to date. I have a War-on-Terror-inspired antihero, an imbalanced hero who’s also a villain, a guy with healing powers who thinks it’s a gift from Jesus,  an arrogant bastard with reality-altering powers and a stranger who’s healing powers may only scratch the surface of his potential. So…I don’t need any more stories about people with HEALING POWERS, but I’d love to see the following:
 

– I’d like a couple of mech stories (a metahuman gadgeteer, like Tony Stark, or maybe a normal guy who has someone making his gear…that could lead to some conflict!)
 
 – I’d like to accept 2-3 stories about TEAMS of metahumans (whether it’s a Justice League scenario, something smaller like Cloak & Dagger, whatever)
 
 – I like the idea of Superman… an alien crashed on Earth, raised by humans, etc…but grounded in today’s image, not the clean-cut Boy Scout Clark Kent. And yes, I know how hokey it is that an alien could land on Earth that could still pass for human…but suspend disbelief, huh? I could handle a couple different metas of extraterrestrial origin, if done differently and if modern human social mores and culture are part of their character.
 
 – I’d like to see a couple of stories with artifact powers, like Green Lantern, and of people gifted with power by someone else (again, Green Lantern, or DC’s Captain Marvel).
 
 – FEMALE metas. I have none right now. And hopefully, some female authors.
 
 – Superpowered siblings. Or families. I’d like one of each, ideally. They don’t necessarily have to agree on everything, wink-wink.
 
 – A SIDEKICK story or two. Sidekicks are an important part of superhero mythos, and I’d love to see them here.
 

 

Good luck everyone!

 

Regina:)

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Ok, it’s truth time. Deep down inside I secretly despised the tragic mammy. I know, my rage about the image was totally wrong, illogical, and unlike the normal me. I’m usually very accepting of all types but the whole Black mammy thing pissed me off. I was the kid who stared at the Aunt Jemima pancake box. I didn’t like that little woman with the red head rag. I ate my pancakes better when Quaker gave her a perm. And, that woman from Gone with the Wind, uggh, I wanted to slap her. She should’ve known how to birth a baby…

So, there I was in Borders several years ago, enjoying the Urban Fantasy section when this little white dude came up and questioned me. “Are you in the right place? Do you need help finding a book? Oh, I have this terrific book for you called ‘The Help.’” I politely told him that I most certainly WAS in the right place. I’d almost reached the section with Laurell K. Hamilton and I turned my back but that little dude would not leave me alone. I took the Help. I took one look at that yellow cover and read the back. Umm, no, this ain’t the book for me. I know, the Librarian judged a book by the cover.

 

To read more visit: http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/50-a-black-woman-sci-fi-writers-unfounded-rage-towards-the-help

 

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Equinox: Last Scion - Chapter 10

Lightning Strikes

 

"My dear Adam, I assumed you were told when you came here, that you would be surrendering the Equinox to me in return for being allowed to go back to your normal, if dull existence."

 

Heberon sat there looking at me. I could feel her eyes on me in the unnatural darkness. Until ten seconds ago, I didn't even know my Hat had a name. Now, it is staring at me with glowing eyes in a shapely face, I can barely see, in a room filled with an eldritch darkness born from a time before Man walked the Earth and threatening me with my total surrender? What am I doing here?

 

"Mayor Black? Is it okay if I call you that?" I tried to keep the quavering out of my voice. I took a deep breath and continued. "My Father died to transfer the Equinox to me. I could not trade it to you or anyone."

 

"So your opening negotiation point is one of nostalgia and filial duty." The voice in the darkness seemed to resonate around the room, snapping quickly from one side of the room to the other. "I find that an acceptable opening point to our negotiations. What would make your father's sacrifice worth the effort of transferring the Equinox to me? I am certain I would be able to do something you would find equitable."

 

I could see her shaking her head, her slightly less dark female form drawing my eyes, as I adjust to the darkness. "What could you offer me equal to the life of my Father?"

 

His laughter radiated from the center of the room and echoed off the walls. "What could I offer? I could offer you your father back from the halls of Death itself. Would you like that Adam? It is still possible."

 

Was it possible? It wasn't that long ago, just a few days. I had seen magic do amazing things, even with my limited exposure. But I also remember Ms. Hart's early lessons. Hard lessons. "You can't do that. No one can."

 

"You paid attention in class. My complements to your teachers. Zombification is such an elegant but imperfect science. You would have barely noticed the difference in him. My opening bid has been rejected."

 

Her head was dipped forward so I could not see it. But I could sense a smile in her posture, her energy was amused.

 

"Something amused you, my servant?"

 

"No, my Dark Master. I am simply pleased by the young Adam's scholarship. Please continue the negotiations."

 

"Adam, Scion of the Equinox, I await your next negotiation for the exchange of the Equinox from your hand to mine. What would you bid for that? Know that you will not leave this room with that Power, no matter what you may wish. It simply cannot be, there is more at stake than you know."

 

"And like everyone else who deems themselves in the know, you refuse to tell me why it is so important for you to have the Equinox in your possession, only that you must have it, and have it now." I was beginning to be a bit more than annoyed.

 

"Ah, a bid for exchange of knowledge. This I can respect. Knowledge is power."

 

Her eyes flash at me, tiny slits of green fire. Danger.

 

"I did not say that. I am not willing to exchange the Power for an answer to why its necessary. I simply want you to tell me why I should do this. It might change my answer and it might not."

 

"A clarification is requested." Mayor Black's voice seemed to come from right over my shoulder. It made me jump just a bit. "I do not have time for a history lesson. There are others who are here for your Power, and they unlike me will not negotiate for it. They will tear it from your cooling corpse."

 

"I am not sure what you were expecting, but I am certain of one thing. My father died to make sure the Light did not get the Equinox. I am sure that I will not be giving it up to anyone without a fight."

 

With that pronouncement, a crack of thunder rattled the building like an earthquake. "Our guests have arrived. You may have to do just that. Hyperion's lapdogs are here." 

 

Hyperion. I know that name. From Greek legends, a sun deity who preceded Apollo. There was more, but I think I was sleeping in class that day. Oh. Wait. Hyperion is a god or being associated with the Light. The people or things that killed my Father.

 

"Our negotiations are done, Mayor Black. I have a score to settle." I stood up but I felt like I was floating in space. There were no references besides the solidness of the ground beneath my feet.

 

"You plan to go down there and fight, Lightning and Thunder?"

 

"Yep, that's the plan."

 

"You realize, this will not be like fighting those puny Cherubim you and your friends handled."

 

"How do you know that?"

 

"Where there is darkness, I am. Where a heart is black. I exist. Where there is light, there is shadow, and I am again. I am the Keeper and Stealer of secrets. I am the Whisperer in the woods. I am the blackness between the stars."

 

"They why do you crave the Power of the Equinox? You seem pretty complete to me." That was the first time I felt Black had been honest in this entire conversation.

 

"My power is great for knowing, binding and creating prisons. It is poor for stopping enemies of my House." His hate was clear in voice. An inability to scratch a maddening itch. "With the Equinox, I would not have to negotiate, I would simply take what I wanted."

 

"Our negotiations as you have established them are at an end, Mayor Black. I offer you the opportunity to do something different. Something better. Are you interested?"

 

"Careful boy, this is no backyard pricking of thumbs for a boyhood pact. This is an Evil that has existed before your race walked upright." Heberon hissed across the room.

 

"Heberon, you wound me. I can be fair to those who are fair to me. Name your proposition, Adam."

 

"If you could defeat Hyperion, you would have done so already. And you are not sure I can defeat Thunder and Lighting. But they are standing outside your house and that means either Hyperion sent them to kill me, or to try and kill you."

 

"Do go on."

 

"If they kill me, you get nothing, and they will then kill you. If not now, as soon as they master the power of the Equinox. If I give you the Power, you can fight them but you cannot stop Hyperion, because if you could, you would have tried to kill my Father yourself. How am I doing?"

 

"Your acumen is astounding." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

 

"You gave Umbra, Heberon, years ago to keep an eye on my Father and Ms. Hart because you cannot spy on others who may be Power's themselves. And as far as I can tell, if you could know what was going on, you would not have made a bid for the Equinox yourself, or exposed yourself to a force that could potentially destroy you."

 

"Enough, out with it, boy. What is the game you are playing?"

 

I got him. "My Father used to tell me, you could tell a person by what they didn't have just as much by what they had. You have power, but it is limited by something in this place. Hyperion can't come here, and while Thunder and Lightning can, they can't force you out because this place is the center of your power. All the people who are here, are people on the fringes of society and their powers are yours. In exchange for someplace they can be truly safe. But I realized something. You are not safe here."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"If you were truly safe and in no danger, you wouldn't be trying to scare, coerce, or harass a kid into giving you a weapon that you are not sure you could control. Tell me I am wrong."

 

And there was silence in the room for more than a minute. No one said anything. Heberon kept her head down and her glowing green eyes out of my line of sight. 

 

"Damn you, boy. Well played. So how do you plan to escape my clutches? You do know you are in the center of my power right now? I could strip the flesh from your bones, make you writhe in agony for a hundred years, till you beg for death."

 

"You could do that. But it would not get you the Equinox. It would release the Power and it would rage once freed, and likely kill you and anyone who tried to bind it, wouldn't it?" I was going with my gut instincts. I did not know any of this for certain, but it felt right.

 

"I don't think I need to escape, Mayor Black. Yes, you are the elder evil that has terrified mankind since the dawn of time, but I am not one of those men. Right now, I embody a power that is your equal and I am beginning to think might be more dangerous than anyone should possess. Since it was given to me to guard, I will deny anyone else claim to it. Instead, I offer you the one thing you cannot force me to do.

 

"And what foolish boy, would that be?"

 

"I offer you, my protection, instead. Do I have your attention, now?

 

Heberon looked up, her eyes flashed and she smiled widely.

 

A shockwave of thunder rocked the building. I could hear the sounds of wood and metal shearing away under the sonic assault. A flash of lightning exploded and the roof of the building was blown away. Two men stood on the roof near the edge of the damaged timbers. One wore an outfit similar to a samurai of ancient Japan, decorated in orange, yellow and white flowers. In his outstretched hand, he held a lightning bolt, sizzling in the rain, which entered the hole in the roof. The other wore a similar outfit in reversed colors of purple, blue and black. In his hand, he held a bell of a black metal and had a small hammer in his other hand. The bell shown with a ominous darkness.

 

"Mr. Black, Lord Hyperion sends his regards and apologies. He regrets that he must break his previous negotiations with you, and hopes his apology will comfort you, on your way to your afterlife." Lightning spoke these words and his mouth crackled with electricity with each word.

 

"Equinox, Lord Hyperion, requests your presence and will not accept any answer other than acquiescence. We have been sent to ensure your cooperation." Thunder's voice was a musical score, it was beautiful and terrible as it rumbled its threat.

 

The rain continued to fall for a few seconds before Mayor Black spoke again. "Adam, I accept your terms."

 

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

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Some time in the mid 1960s:

 

                                          Chapter 09

    Chicago, the Windy City.  Not because of the biting, damp cold winds of winter, that whipped around downtown skyscrapers and could force you into oncoming traffic in the street if you weren’t careful.  No, it was named so because of it’s colorful politicians.  One may read about the source of its nickname deriving from the Columbian Exposition or its rivalry with Cincinnati, but school children were taught that the nickname came about based on the “windy” nature of those who lived and ruled there.
    Regardless of the origins of the name, Chicago’s summers were notoriously hot and humid.  And the large garage that the four transplanted young men from North Carolina were calling their headquarters, was like an oven during the afternoons and evenings while they worked.
    By the time Christopher had arrived from his cross-country trip with Chuck, Riley and Peanut had most everything set up.  They had an electronics shop set up that would have done any manufacturing company proud.  And with Riley’s experience with building communications gear, he and Peanut were quite confident that whatever Christopher demanded, they would be able to deliver.
    When Christopher had brought everything he owned into the small apartment Chuck had secured for them, he had Chuck bring him to the shop nearby.  When Riley and Peanut saw Christopher and Chuck walk in the back door, they both gave a whoop and ran to greet them with slaps on the back and laughter.
    They paused to ask what was in the sack Christopher was carrying, and laughed when they saw the Philco clock/radio.
    “Hey man, we already have a hi-fi in the office.  We even have a couple of speakers hanging on the wall out here,” Peanut admonished.
    “That thing looks like it’s seen better days, my man,” added Riley.
    “Just hang on gents, you know it’s rude to drop in on friends and not bring gifts,” Christopher countered.  “Riley, get me an extension cord and Peanut, you and Chuck find some way to attached the guts of this thing to that steel beam over there by the wall.”
    “Get out!  You mean you and Chuck brought the...the, thing inside that?” Riley said, pointing.
    “Can you think of a better way to hide it?” said Chuck. “I almost threw it in the trash when we were packing everything into his trunk.”
    The four quickly cleared everything from around the beam.  Chuck and Peanut found four industrial clamps to bind the device’s base to the beam while Riley waited to plug the device in.
    “Okay, now I need some insulated gloves, thick rubber ones,” Christopher requested.
    “Is it dangerous?” asked Riley.
    “No, but I’ve never touched it without gloves.  I’m just being careful.”
    Christopher took the end of the extension cord and plugged his device in.  As he moved to the device, the other three took an involuntary step back, chuckling as they saw each other mimic the action.
    When Christopher flipped a switch on the device, there was a slight hum that quickly died out.  Then he turned a small dial.  The heavy beam rose silently into the air, and when it reached chest height on Christopher, he backed down on the knob leaving the beam to hover silently in the air.
    “I’ll be God damned!” cried Chuck.  “If that isn’t the God damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what the fuck is.”
    Riley was silent as he approached the beam.  He reached out and barely touched it, seeing if he could feel the energy holding it aloft.  After he determined that there was no static discharge or arcing display that could, or would kill him, he applied a little push to the bean and was rewarded with a slow movement away from him.
    “Did you feel anything?” Peanut asked.
    “Hell no, not even a little vibration,” Riley answered.
    “Man, I couldn’t even lift one end of that thing off the ground, Chris.  That shit is unbelievable!” said Chuck, not able to hide his astonishment.
    The garage went silent, with only the noise of the traffic out on the street penetrating the air.
    “So now you know how I felt when I first turned the thing on,” Christopher said quietly.
    “Brother, this is so fucking big!  If The Man ever finds out about this, we are so fucking dead.”

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I came across this post and thought I'd share it with everyone:

22 Ways for Readers to Support Authors

I always get contacted by both authors and readers about how they can support authors or how authors can get support from fans. I don’t always have time to answer this accurately. However, I do have a method to my own madness. Therefore, I think that it is best share what I do in hopes that it will help both authors and readers connect.

There are many different ways to support the authors that you love to read. Although, authors reading this blog post may think, “Sheesh just buy a book already…” I believe that there are a number of ways to support authors that will ensure that the authors you love get the support that they need, the books you love get the exposure they deserve, and the authors get feedback on their work to create better work with each release.

I have been writing for about a decade. I currently have three children’s book releases out. However, with each book release my writing gets better. The reason for this is that I am not afraid to read critiques of my writing, and I depend on fans (mainly kids) to tell me what they enjoy about my work. The support and feedback allow me to push my own boundaries as a writer without fear. This way I can feel liberated to create work that inspires children to become creative, proactive, and adventurous. Below is some of the wisdom I accrued over the years of interacting with authors, readers, and fans about how to support authors.


22 Ways to Support Authors


 

  1. Follow an author’s blog.
  2. Buy one or all of the book releases by an author.
  3. Write a one or two line review of the author’s book on a blog, Amazon, social networking site, shelfari, etc.
  4. Follow your favorite author on social networking sites.
  5. Go out to book signings.
  6. Bring friends to the book signing with you.
  7. Host authors on your campus, in your church or at meetings.
  8. Recommend your favorite books to a friend.
  9. Ask a reference librarian to order all of your favorite author’s books.
  10. Host a theme night for your favorite book with your friends.
  11. Take a picture with your favorite author and post on-line (facebook, MySpace, blogs)
  12. Tweet an article about your favorite author’s interviews.
  13. Make a YouTube video of your favorite books.
  14. Start a blog about your favorite books.
  15. Start a book club to discuss your favorite books.
  16. Vote for your favorite author to win book awards.
  17. Ask bookstores to order copies of your favorite books for their stores.
  18. Host a literacy event and invite authors.
  19. Skype with your favorite authors.
  20. Host an on-line chat with your favorite authors.
  21. Listen to interviews or call in when an author is being interviewed on blog talk radio.
  22. Participate in contests held by authors.

 

I hope that this blog was helpful.


 

Tiffany A. Flowers is a reviewer, literacy advocate, the literary director foronixlink.com, and the author of three children’s books. You can find out more about her work by logging on to www.goldenbutterflypublishing.com or following her blog atwww.authortiffanyaflowers.wordpress.com.

 

 

http://black-authors-books.blogspot.com/2011/05/22-ways-for-readers-to-support-authors.html

 

Sometimes fans might not know how to support authors they like besides the usual ways--buy the book and tell a friend (which are still great ways to show support)--and I think this is a good list of ways to support.

 

Take care.

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