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"The night gives new meaning for only you remain bringing your starving love I keep feeding you. Like a wild she-wolf snarling from intense love making added with pleasure and delicious pain as your nails dig into my back..." 


With his debut release, Quinton Veal has gives us a collection of erotic poetry and art created for grown and sexy audiences. Her Black Body I Treasure has love, tenderness... and of course raw, delicious sex. Her Black Body I Treasure is an erotic treat for the senses. Pick up your copy at Amazon Kindle.

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Flowering disappointment
By: William Landis

Purple, pink, and white, they were the perfect flowers. He would give them to her in a bouquet, or maybe a vase. He wasn’t sure right now, but he would worry about that after he got them, somehow. The flowers were in one of the lunar greenhouses of A.B.A.R.S (Asteroid Belt Agricultural Research Station). ABARS was one of the few places in space where flowers were grown.

A Beautiful waste
Why grow flowers
On an asteroid?
 
The facility was known to have high security, though that was not an issue for him, because he was an employee. No matter how hard it was to get those flowers, he was going to do it she was worth it. The next night he closed that airlock behind him, and began to pick the most beautiful of the flowers. She was worthy of the best. He knew he was destroying months of groundbreaking research, but the smile on her face would be worth it. After carefully clipping the flowers , and avoiding security he returned to his room in the main building.

Bundle of flowers
No one will see them
In his space helmet

He placed the carefully assembled floral arrangement in an old glass vase, with just the right amount of water. He would come back, and make small changes to it as his date with her approached just to make sure it was perfect. The time came and he put the flowers in his personal rocket, where she would see it as soon as she got in. He approached her dwelling with anticipation of how she would be delighted with the flowers, and the smile on her face that they would cultivate. He docked his ship at the space station. She boarded, and they exchanged pleasantries…. But she didn’t notice the flowers. They were right in the center console between them, and it was as if she didn’t see them.

Ignored
A purple petal
Floats in zero gravity

Anger filled him, all the work he had put into it, and she ignored the flowers. He maintained his composure, and they proceeded to the restaurant on the Mars orbiting station. He told her he was beginning to feel ill, and that the date would have to be cut short. He returned her to the space station, and put the plan that he was formulating in to action. He loaded the flowers, and vase into the airlock and pressed the button.

Foxglove flowers
Maybe she will notice them
Hurtling towards the sun
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IMMORTAL III: STEALER OF SOULS

"On the other side of time a fair skinned daemon stood atop a rocky precipice. His long robes undulated in the winds, making him look like a great bird of prey . . . "

 

Valjeanne Jeffers' IMMORTAL III: STEALER OF SOULS has it all -- vampires and werewolves, mirrors that are portals into other realities, folks who "walk between the raindrops," centaurs, mermen, merwomen . . . it's kind of mind-blowing to wonder what she'll come up with next!  What imagination!  What originality!  What a unique concept!  (Listen to me -- I sound like I'm writing ad copy for an old movie studio!!!)

 

I enjoyed these novels and look forward to what Valjeanne's cooking in her literary cauldron of ideas and characters, plots and themes.  Whew -- I'm jealous!

I highly reccommend the IMMORTAL series.

 

Have fun and enjoy it, everyone!

 

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Afrofuturism's Stranger Blues

X-Posted at Nunez Daughter

1993 Cover of Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler


[For audio, see original post]
...I woke up this morning And I put on my walkin' shoes
I'm goin' down the road
Cause I got them walkin' blues

I'm just a stranger here
I'm just a stranger there
I'm just a stranger everywhere
Sometimes I know that I would go home (I would go home)
But I'm a stranger there...

I'm just a stranger here
I'm just a stranger there
Good God, you know
I'm just passing through
Passing through your town.

I would stay
But your people keep on doggin' me 'round....
"Stranger Blues," Sweet Honey in the Rock

Bernice Johnson Reagon and Aisha Kahlil of Sweet Honey in the Rock composed “Stranger Blues.”  It was released in 1985 on the group’s album The Other Side (Flying Fish Records).

And when I heard it, I heard these lines:


I'm just a stranger here I'm just a stranger there
Good God, you know
I'm just passing through
Passing through your time.
That's right.  Just so.
Passing through your time.
Afrofuturism has always had the stranger blues.

Part of it is, as Mark Sinker notes, we are convinced the apocalypse has already happened.  Slavery.  Colonialism.  Segregation.  Military and prison industrial complexes.  Nuclear war.  Climate upheaval.  There is no waiting for a punishing Judgement.  The future is now.  We are meta.

But part of it is that these violences are central to the Afro-diasporic experience.  Slavery as a moment of rupture, dispersal and forced immigration.  Colonialism that literally transforms home into hostile territory.  Structures of segregation and apartheid that reshape you as a foreign object when you move into the wrong spaces (e.g. school, lunch counter) or walk down the wrong street without your pass or papers.

When Will Smith played a lone ranger scientist in I am Legend, we didn’t blink an eye.  When Denzel Washington played lone ranger spiritualist in Book of Eli, we were not surprised.  Walking among the ruins wondering if you are the last man or woman on Earth?  We know that feeling.  And Janelle Monae can ask as easily today as fifty years ago (as five hundred years ago)

So you think I'm alone? But being alone's the only way to be
When you step outside
You spend life fighting for your sanity
This is a cold war
You better know what you're fighting for
This is a cold war
Do you know what you're fighting for?
Stranger blues is beyond black.  The genocide of tens of millions of First Peoples across an entire hemisphere is a meme in speculative fiction that has been turned inside out by writers like Eduardo Galeano.  The liminal status of brown “aliens” in U.S. immigration policy supplies another storyline, another discordant note.  Latin America’s "modernization" over the last century (with the help of a little bit of tyranny, white-washing and hyper-militarization sanctioned by the U.S. and at the expense of its black and brown peoples) is so much like a real-life Star Wars or Lord of the Rings saga, that Junot Diaz based the childhood fantasies of his most famous character on it.
Sunrise Ceremony on Alcatraz, November 25, 2010 by masa (Click)
Afrofuturism is #sablefangyrls and  #sablefanbois whistling in the dark at the disaster around them but holding hands with hermanas and hermanos across the universe.  We are Pan-Alien.

(to be continued....)


via NPR Music: “After 34 years of making music, Sweet Honey in the Rock has kept its flavor and its fan base, even as its lineup has changed. The group recently visited NPR for a performance and interview, sharing old favorites and songs from its latest CD, "Experience...101."”



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The Sable Fan Gyrl joins Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  
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X-Posted at Nunez Daughter

*breathes in deep*  *looks around*

This isn’t the world I remember.  It smells...toxic.  Noxious.  What is going on here?

No matter.

I’ve decided to build an army.  No, not a harem.  An army.  We will fight with brown gold and yellow jade and ride black unicorns.  We will make magick and cross worlds.

And I’m recruiting.

That shooting star up there?  That’s me, skipping across the digi-verse, looking for womyn and gyrls of color who are making radical womyn of color art.

Like Andrea Hairston:





Hairston’s newest book, Redwood & Wildfire is out. 
Redwood & Wildfire is a novel of what might have been. At the turn of the 20th century, minstrel shows transform into vaudeville, which slides into moving pictures. Hunkering together in dark theatres, diverse audiences marvel at flickering images. This ''dreaming in public'' becomes common culture and part of what transforms immigrants and ''native'' born into Americans. Redwood, an African American woman, and Aidan, a Seminole Irish man, journey from Georgia to Chicago, from haunted swampland to a ''city of the future.'' Gifted performers and hoodoo conjurors, they struggle to call up the wondrous world they imagine, not just on stage and screen, but on city streets, in front parlours, in wounded hearts. The power of hoodoo is the power of the community that believes in its capacities to heal and determine the course of today and tomorrow. Living in a system stacked against them, Redwood and Aidan s power and talent are torment and joy. Their search for a place to be who they want to be is an exhilarating, painful, magical adventure. Blues singers, filmmakers, haints, healers.
Her first novel, Mindscape, opened me up and led me on a tour around the stars.

Then there's Malinda Lo.  Her Huntress bespells me:



And yep, she’s gay and out about the pleasures and perils of writing young adult queer characters of color:
This past weekend I left my house in the country and spent two days San Francisco to celebrate Pride. This year Pride felt especially special because, well, this is the first year in a long time in which I don’t live in a major metropolitan area where there are tons of gay people. I am enjoying the small town I live in, but it’s not within walking distance of the Castro. Small-town life is just an entirely different experience from walking down the street and spotting half a dozen dykes with lovely tattoos peeking out of their T-shirt sleeves and/or a gaggle of gay boys with perfectly coiffed haircuts.
So. Pride. It felt good to be among the queer folks again. It was comfortable. Practically everybody I saw was gay; they all probably assumed I’m gay — we had a gay old time.

It was basically the opposite of what I’ve had to do more and more this year: come out to total strangers. I know that I’m going to have to continue to do this as Ash is published and I meet more people, who don’t know me, in non-gay settings like bookstores or conferences. I’ve already had to do this a lot this year, and so far, it hasn’t gotten any more fun. Let me show you what typically happens:

AT A BOOK EVENT

Me: Hi, I’m Malinda.
Person I Just Met: Hi! Are you a writer?
Me: Yes. My book, Ash, comes out in September.
PIJM: Oh! What’s it about?
Me (steeling myself): It’s a lesbian retelling of Cinderella.

[Note: I could leave the lesbian part out, but really, that's why my book is different. And somehow that will come out anyway, while the person asks me how my retelling differs from the original tale. It's better, I've concluded, to just shove Ash out of the closet right away.]
Read the rest here.

And Nnedi Okorafor doesn’t fear death:


In a post-apocalyptic Africa, the world has changed in many ways, yet in one region genocide between tribes still bloodies the land. After years of enslaving the Okeke people, the Nuru tribe has decided to follow the Great Book and exterminate the Okeke tribe for good. An Okeke woman who has survived the annihilation of her village and a terrible rape by an enemy gen-eral wanders into the desert hoping to die. Instead, she gives birth to an angry baby girl with hair and skin the color of sand. Gripped by the certainty that her daughter is different—special—she names her child Onyesonwu, which means ―Who Fears Death? in an ancient tongue.
The book won several awards and is being turned into a film.  At the helm of Who Fears Death? (the movie) is Kenyan director Wanuri Kahiu, who may be best known for her mind-blowing short film, Pumzi (trailer below):

Hoodoo, hunting and hope.  Who want war?

Which radical womyn of color are writing, creating or critiquing science fiction & fantasy today?

Who do you read & recommend?

Regards,

The Sable Fan Gyrl


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The Sable Fan Gyrl joins Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  
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Interlude II: Sable Fan Gyrl Approved

X-Posted at Nunez Daughter




*possible spoilers ahead*


The block itself comes into its own as a setting: the grim inhuman geometry of housing estates makes for a dystopian fortress suddenly under siege. Shot at night, with dim lights flickering off wet pavement and any number of long corridors, sharp corners and twisting staircases, it brings home the hostility of the environment just as the boys show their mastery of it. It is the way that the street gang occupy the space of the estate – that same habit of roaming proprietorially with bicycles and dogs in tow, seen by the state and media as antisocial behaviour – that makes it possible for them to confront the invaders in a fair fight. The cold, sinister backdrop of the estate throws the lively and sharp human drama into relief.
Read the rest of the Racialicious review (by Emma Felber) here.


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 The Sable Fan Gyrl joins Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  


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Interlude: Sable Fan Gyrl Approved

X-Posted from Nunez Daughter



I’ve always been a science fiction buff. From my elementary school days with Bruce Coville’s “My Teacher Is An Alien” series, to my teenage obsession with “X-Files,” to my current RSS feed of the Cyberpunk Review, throughout my life I’ve been fascinated by all things out of this world, beyond this galaxy, and foreign to this dimension. But growing up a person of color, I’ve always felt that the stories that tickle my imagination seldom speak to my identity. For a genre known for depicting obscure creatures, new concepts of civilization, and future predictions for humanity, sci-fi sure has a hard time being about more than white people.

It seems that when it comes to sci-fi, cultural experiences of the melanin-inclined are merely reserved for exotic backdrop (ahem, “Stargate”) and half-assed tokenization (ahem, the horrible Mandarin in “Firefly”). But fear not! I have scoured the cosmos and unearthed 10 fantasmic films, books, and records to transport you to the unreal—while still letting you keep it real. Keep in mind, this is no “Billy Dee in Star Wars” list—I’ve chosen stories by people of color and about people of color. So enjoy. This is for all the disappointed moviegoers who felt the title “Minority Report” was misleading.

PS: I’ve taken the liberty to step outside the zone of the obvious, by excluding from this list Octavia E. Butler. Not because I don’t absolutely love her work about vampires, shapeshifters, and post-apocalyptic telepathy, but because every other minorities-in-sci-fi list I found online is basically a cut-and-paste of her bibliography. If you haven’t checked her out, I recommend the “Imago” series.

For all the rest of my geeks in the struggle, I hope you find something new in this...
"The Ultimate 21st Century People of Color Sci-Fi List" by Adriel Luis for Colorlines.

ps.  Kismet didn't get to the interludes last week so I'm bringing you two for the price of one.  All Sable Fan Gyrl approved.


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 The Sable Fan Gyrl joins Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  


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Wanting to Create

I want to start writing a story but I'm having a hard time creating an outline for the story. Must I have an outline for everything that I write, or can I just start writing now, creating the story as I go? My brain is telling me no no no -- if I want to create the crazy, wonderfully explained, fantastical world that I want to create, I really need to plan it out. I can't just write any ole barely pieced together story...

 

... but then again, I just feel like writing. I wanna express myself. I feel like getting lost in my own characters and the problems that consume their lives.  Writing is fun. It stimulates me.  And I've missed it. 



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X-Posted at Nunez Daughter

Rihanna’s video for “Man Down”  dropped last week and set the web on fire.  The way justice and rape, innocence and violence work in the video--and the non-sensical responses to it--have already been outlined by better writers than me.

I’m writing this post to take the video to its logical conclusion:

In the future, do we kill our attackers?


 ~*~*~

This description of the plot is by Akiba Solomon, writing for Colorlines:
“The video begins with a tense Rihanna perched in the upper balcony of a crowded train station. When she spots a tall man with a “buck 50” scar on his cheek (in this context, visual code for “badman” or gangsta) she shoots him in the back of the head then winces. Toward the end of the clip, we learn why the tearful singer “shot a man down, in Central Station, in front of a big old crowd”: Because the night before, at a sweaty dancehall, she sets physical limits with him and he retaliates by following her home and raping her.”
Solomon’s description is the best I’ve seen for all it doesn’t take for granted and for all it explains.  The video was shot in Jamaica but the signifiers of "place" are actually quite unclear (even less so to an African-Americanized audience).  There are no Jamaican flags waving.  The name of the train station in the beginning is not shown.  Ads for things like Vita Coco proliferate but globalization has made such things international staples from Miami to Accra.  English decorates signs and insignia, distinguishing this as a particular diasporic space but there are few other markers of Anglo-ness.

Instead, the “place” of the video is steeped in symbols from across the global African diaspora.   It is ambiguous but familiar, universal but distinctly (global) Southern.  Warm sun.  Linen hanging on the line.  Young boys hanging out at the corner store.  Young women throwing themselves into the wide, swinging grind of a dancehall beat.  Children running around in backyards.  Elder women shopping or fanning themselves in the canopies of shops.  Elder men on bikes.

Black bodies, all ages, all genders, going about their work and their lives.  Black bodies everywhere.

Rihanna like a blazing yellow light, fierce-skinned, flame-haired, drifting between.  Happy.  Innocent.  Spirited, sensual and laughing in their midst.

This isn’t heaven.  The young boys at the corner store have guns.  And this isn’t some primitive past.  The music, the clothing, the technology don’t point us back to another time.   But this also isn’t any one place.  It is Dakar and Lagos and Cape Town.  It is Paris and Marseille and Liverpool.  It is New York and Miami and parts of Chicago.

It is Port-au-Prince, B.t.E. (Before the Earthquake).

It is New Orleans, B.K.  (Before Katrina).

The press of dancehall, which, like hip hop, is more global than local, only adds to the meta-africana setting presented.   Even Rihanna, a Bajan born, internationally known superstar, shooting a video bound to be a mega-hit on a neighboring island, and writing a song whose lyrics are set in New York is a part of this diasporic narrative.

 

This is now.  And...this is the future.

In the May/June issue of the Boston Review, Junot Diaz wrote:
"I suspect that once we have finished ransacking our planet’s resources, once we have pushed a couple thousand more species into extinction and exhausted the water table and poisoned everything in sight and exacerbated the atmospheric warming that will finish off the icecaps and drown out our coastlines, once our market operations have parsed the world into the extremes of ultra-rich and not-quite-dead, once the famished billions that our economic systems left behind have in their insatiable hunger finished stripping the biosphere clean, what we will be left with will be a stricken, forlorn desolation, a future out of a sci-fi fever dream where the super-rich will live in walled-up plantations of impossible privilege and the rest of us will wallow in unimaginable extremity, staggering around the waste and being picked off by the hundreds of thousands by “natural disasters”—by “acts of god.”"
He was speaking of Haiti.  And of tipping points.  And of can’t-turn-back-nows.

But he was also speaking of everywhere.

This is now.  And this is the future.

And in the future, we kill our attackers.

~*~*~

So is Rihanna’s video a post-apocalyptic (in other words, afrofuturist) ethnoscape with an alien #comecorrect black girl?

OR

Is it a post-apocalyptic (in other words afrofuturistic) ethnoscape where the #comecorrect black girl is still an alien?  In other words,
“In the future, we kill our attackers”
OR
“Even in the future, black girls who own their sexuality, who demand justice, who are in process, who are not walking vaginas to be touched, fondled, kissed without permission, street harassed, followed, honked at, beaten or raped are aliens?”
From some quarters, it would seem that black girls owning their sexuality is still alien, foreign, dangerous, toxic behavior and gawd forbid it spread to your daughter.

Otherwise known as, gawd forbid she not spread, for the next man/boy/child/uncle/adult who decides she is too uppity for her own good.  God forbid she own the place between her legs.
“‘Man Down’ is an inexcusable, shock-only, shoot-and-kill theme song. In my 30 years of viewing BET, I have never witnessed such a cold, calculated execution of murder in primetime. Viacom’s standards and practices department has reached another new low.”
In the future, apparently, to walk through the world at peace with yourself, secure, loved and loving, kissing grandmas, hugging little sisters, teasing the boys, wearing clothes that let the sun touch your skin, let the wind rush past the skin of inside your thighs--all of this will still mark you as a being from outer space and out of bounds, subject to immediate discipline.  A sentencing and a silencing.
“Once again BET has chosen the low road over the high road. Violence is a pervasive problem in all corners of our society and today’s youth need more positive strategies for dealing with conflict than those portrayed in the Rihanna video. This video is one among several frequently played on Viacom music video networks that lyrically or graphically glorifies violence and other behavior inappropriate for teens and youth....”
Because the only positive role for black girls is quiet, is cornered, is clothed, is virginal and vaginal and covered.

And this sun-kissed, pink-haired alien, just dropped right from outer space, just all wrong and inappropriate, just all incorrect because--

she let her heels ride high above the ground (extra-terrestrial) walking tall and taller and didn’t walk with her arms hidden,

she didn’t hang her head when HE passed,

she didn’t divert her eyes when THEY looked (and she winked back),

her head is lifted and unafraid,

her #HairFlips smoke and smoulder and glitter,

and she shook HIM off when HE tried to bend her back.

Good lord!  We need to bottle up that kind of incorrect, parcel it out and SELL it on the streets, on the shelves of Black Girl Power shops EVERYWHERE.  That kind of incorrect could forever tilt the world on its axis.

The violence she did to the fabric of respectable behavior was complete BEFORE SHE PUT A GUN IN HER HAND.

But on top of that, she is incorrect because she ran for the gun (instead...what?) and then cried when she used it (cold, you say?).

~*~*~

Because in the future, we are still raped.

In fact, rape plays such a central role in the speculative fiction imaginary, that campaigns have been started to raise awareness of the phenomenon.  Not because rape should not be used as a literary device, per se, but because it is often used without critique and without analysis, particularly by (older) (white) (straight) male authors in the same way murder is.  SQT wrote:
“Whenever this topic comes up, it's inevitable that someone will say something along the lines of murder is worse than rape and walk away from the subject as if that was some kind of conversational coup de grâce. End of discussion. I win. You lose. ...
The thing with rape is that it is primarily a crime against women. There are still cultures that blame the woman if she is victimized. Even worse, there are societies that know women will be rejected by their family if they are raped, so it becomes a very effective tool of war. Women know that every man has the power to victimize her in a very particular way and that we cannot know when this threat will surface. We can't walk to our cars at night free of worry and we have different standards for safety when it comes to our sons and daughters because of it--how many sons have to be told to guard their drinks when going to a bar against date-rape drugs? This is the bogeyman of a lot of women's nightmares. “
This is more than a matter of how hard it is to imagine a future where women are safe, are whole, are healthy, wear pink and white, kiss boys, kiss girls and touch themselves without violence.

This is about the widespread, pervasive acceptance of a particular brand of gendered, sexual violence--so widespread, so pervasive, so accepted, that this violence is timeless, is automatic, does not require critical, is knee-jerk, does not need to be explained or justified, ISN’T EVEN SEEN when we are looking DEAD AT IT.

This violence is also ancient.  Rihanna’s “Man Down” black girl isn't alien or futuristic because she is assaulted.  This already happened.  The Magical Negro solved all of our problems before we knew they existed but the Magical Negress was raped with impunity and a new modernity built from the ruins of her broken womb.  Society can wipe its hands off.  This has already been done.

No.

She is an alien because black girls who #comecorrect are still aliens.  And aliens need to be probed.  And quarantined--a desperate Now to contain the Future.

And she is walking through a black futurist dystopia, because in the future, black girls who #comecorrect are still aliens AND we kill our attackers.

Imagine that.  Imagine that the abduction, doesn’t stop there.  If instead, after the probing and the drugging, there wasn’t a quarantining and a silencing and the machinery of the press and courts and judges and a global prison industrial complex.

Imagine, instead that there was an alternative justice, there was an alternative court, and an alternative violence that could occur.

What would we do then?

What could we do?

If Darryl A. Smith’s elucidation of afrofuturist rage and pain and zombie apocalypse is the “Pit” to mainstream (read: white) science fiction’s “Tip” (read: final frontier, better pastures beyond, brave new world, Columbus-complex), then violence against women of color is the Pit’s rotting core.  And we would do well to listen to the screams coming from the cellar instead of reacting to fantasies of invasion from above.

Because in the future, we RUN for our guns.

And we kill our attackers.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEhy-RXkNo0]

EDIT:  Normally Zora Walker holds my footnotes.  But this is Sable Fan Gyrl week.  For a list of readings related to afrofuturism that helped inform this post, click here.


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Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  
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X-posted from Nunez Daughter

"War Elf" by Mark Knox, Artist/Writer, Member of the Black Science Fiction Society

Greetings Fen & Fen of Color,

For the next seven days, Nuñez Daughter is mine.

I’ve wanted her for awhile.  Kismet is a bit of a control freak.  Runs a tight ship.  Almost like a slave mistress.  She doesn’t like it when we step in.  We shuffle things around.  We confuse her.

But my back has borne more than whips and chains.  And while I laid in the grainy liquid at the bottom of the flask, I pressed my back to the wood.  And waited for another dark hand to rub me out.

Here I am.  Lucky you.

She’s torn, you see.  Between so many identities.  Spaces, places.  I can’t help but laugh when she tumbles around the web asking her childish questions:

What is slavery?
Why be mixed-race?

How do we stop violence against women?

How do we live sex-full lives?
The truth?

We have already seen this world made and destroyed many times over.  And we survive deep in its recess, in the black quiet of its refuse.

What do questions of this world matter when there are so many more to explore?

And I’ve seen them all.

Come with me.

Regards,

The Sable Fan Gyrl



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The Sable Fan Gyrl joins Kismet Nuñez is one of the Skillsharers of the of the 3rd Annual INCITE! Shawty Got Skillz workshop at the 2011 Allied Media Conference!  Help us get to Detroit!  Click here!  
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WHITEOUT!!

if you want to read what some folks are saying about WHITEOUT, go to Barns & Noble and check out the reviews. Peter D Chisholm has additional books joining WHITEOUT titled,.. DELROY, and  ANGEL. Check them out when you have a moment!1
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The enemy is coming ashore! The Chief of the Aesir though in his homeland has not found his missing men or his own people. However, he and his companions from the Valley are determined to hold off a force of hostile sea-raiders from slaughtering a small settlement of villagers. The stakes for the Chief are far larger as his very life depends on the outcome of the coming battle! Will the Chief, Valley Knight and the boy Little Fish be capable of stopping a small army before it's too late? Read the exciting conclusion to the second phase of the Priestess Saga, "All Things Sown Before Harvest" Part IV!

All Hail The Priestess

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Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC is a new electronic publishing company that seeks to add new flavors to the realms of speculative fiction and romance. We’re actively seeking submissions to add to our catalog. We’re inviting authors to submit works of 8k to 30k for possible publication in our catalog. Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC wants to see titles that include excellent writing, superior storytelling, and fantastic creativity. We want our readers to lose themselves in the worlds the authors have created, and to care about the characters populating those worlds. Moreover, we’d like to see ethnic diversity in stories as well.

 

 

We’re currently looking for titles in the following genres: horror, science fiction, fantasy, and romance. We’re most excited about seeing stories in the subgenres of cyberpunk, steampunk, near-future sf, and space opera.

 

 

We do publish paranormal romance, science fiction romance, fantasy romance, and dark fantasy romance. We’d like to see submissions in these areas as well. Our interracial romance titles have been very successful, so feel free submit those also.

 

 

Special Call for Sizzling Steampunk Stories!

 

 

Mocha Memoirs Press is seeking submissions for our latest erotic romance series titled, Sizzling Steampunk Stories. Just like our other stories, we’d like to see ethnic diversity in these stories. The stories must have a Happy Ever After or Happy For Now ending and fall into the erotic steampunk romance genre. Read Valjeanne Jeffer’s THE SWITCH for an idea of what we like to see.

 

 

Please keep in mind that although a new company, we're by no means accepting every submission or submissions that are poorly edited, offensive, crude, or sloppy. Please only submit your absolute best work. As a publisher, we'll make sure you get the best from us in return. We have over 12 years of electronic publishing experience; so please don't submit low quality or unprofessional work.

 

 

To submit your work to us, send a cover letter and your completed novel or short story to mochamemoirpress@gmail.com.

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Do you want to be in GALTOW?

 

 

INDIEGOGO Xmoor Studios NYC Comic Con

Help us complete the GALTOW Collected Edition for New York Comic Con 2011

Here’s the Link for Indiegogo: http://igg.me/p/30427?a=4753&i=shlk


Do you want to be a CLAN HOUSE MEMBER of GALTOW?
We are offering 12 people a chance to be illustrated into issues 5 & 6 of the story arc finale…
Xmoor studios need all our loyal fans and followers to step up to the plate… We need your support! I’ve posted up a project fundraiser at IndiGoGo and Eric and I are trying to raise some funds to finish off our indie publishing flagship title GALTOW. We have four issues completed and have compiled those into a full color trade paperback and we need help finishing off the last two issues we’re looking to make a completed trade book of the entire first story arc which will be ready in time for this years New York Con in October.

Rob: xmoor2 (@) yahoo.com & Eric: goldmane.net.

Eric will be adjusting some poster art he created a while back for GALTOW to make it into a signed pitch cover. Below is the newly adjusted line art and I will post a pic of the full color version soon being digitally colored by the uber talented Julian Aguilera. Eric has never been asked to do cover art before but we know his first shot will be well received. Thank you all for any and all support as Rob G. and I will Continue to put our best creative feet forward and strive to continually make exciting projects!

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dial "H" for hero

Wasn't there a comic book story Dial "H" for hero a ways back? It would be good a movie or TV series. Since everybody's got a cell phone. Some secret alien justice agency dials you up when needed, sends you text opportunity to be a hero. Of course if you say yes, you are transformed on the spot with the tools and the mission. Once over you don't remember so much.
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In returning home, the Chief of the Aesir finds a warlord named after his people's ancestral enemy has laid claim to the land and is coming to confirm his claim with fire and steel! Of course, it didn't help that the Chief and the Valley Knight killed a few of the Warlord's raiders.... Answers are revealed as battle looms on the shores of the Fjords in Part III of "The Priestess: All Things Sown Before Harvest"!
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Dream One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wake up tied to a chair in a stable that is being used to raise dogs. I don't know how I know it's being used to raise dogs, but I do. The sun is just beginning to set and I can see it and a quickly darkening forest from the open stable door to my left. The stable is entirely empty: of dogs, of hay, of accoutrements, of anything. I am in the last of three stalls to the left of the stable and my head hurts like I hit it on something. The headache is aggravated by the dogs barking in the distance. It is not just a few dogs but a large pack, fifteen or more, and they sound like they're searching for something or someone. It occurs to me that they are probably looking for my friends, and I am afraid. The man that owns the stable and the dog, he's looking for my friends and he's already caught me. I almost can't breathe and I don't want to think about. I fall asleep.

~

When I wake up again it is dark outside though the corners of the stable are lit with flood lights facing the ceiling. It's not a lot of light but it's enough. Enough to see my friend Olutunji also tied in a chair. He is almost blubbering and shaking his head no. His eyes are wide and bloodshot. He's almost as afraid as I am I think but I'm calmer. "It’s gonna be okay, Tunji. It's gonna be okay," I tell him trying to get him to relax because his fear isn't helping me any and if we're going to get out of here we have to have clear heads. There's no way we're going to get by the blood dogs, I think to myself. But we have to try. He can't hear me over his own mutterings all I can make of it are "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again.
The man walks in and that's when I notice that I'm not tied to the chair anymore I am just sitting on the hay of the stall, waiting. He looks like a mean farmer, like you imagined farmer ___ from the tales of Peter Rabbit who: bald, a wrinkled and scarred face, plaid button-down shirt, suspenders, and olive pants tucked into black work boots. His voice is calm and low. "I told you people I didn't want you here. And now you're going to pay the price." The man hands Tunji a knife. "Boy, if you want to live, you’ll throw this knife at your friend. If you want to live, you won't miss. If you want to live, you'll make it hurt."
Tunji looks me in the eye and we both know. Really, he already knew. If than man doesn't let us leave we won't leave at all wither of us. The only good part of it all is that he didn't tell him to kill me. Tunji and I aren't that close but we've known each other forever through church and our parents. Something in me hopes that the sheer amount of time we've spent in each other's presence will make him hold back for me, but he won't. The man will know the difference. Tunji keeps saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He takes the knife and some part of me that is not resigned to whatever pain may come resists. "Please don't do this!" I say against my will and my arm is outstretched in the universal sign for stop. Tunji throws it straight and true and before I know what has happened the knife slices through my wrist like butter, like air.

Everything stops.
Even the man is holding his breath it seems.

I stare at my wrist as slim line of red begins to appear around the circumference. I can't believe he did it, even though most of my mind is telling me that he's my friend and his life was at stake the uncompromising survivor in me, the part of me that begged Tunji to stop when I knew it would make no difference, cannot believe that he actually did it.
I don't move and my hand, that should have already fallen, stays put. If I never move maybe I can imagine that he didn't really do it, that this never happened. Nothing hurts and I think to myself, How long I can stay this way?


The man releasing Tunji from the chair breaks the spell and "I'm sorries" start again as Tunji leaves the stable, constantly looking back over his shoulder. I use my left hand to hold my hand and arm together and gently lower the severed hand to the hay on which I’m sitting. And of course, finally, there is blood and pain and I begin to scream and I can't stop. Underneath my screams I can hear the dogs that had faded into the distance. I can hear them baying and coming closer howling and racing and the man barely has time to shut the stable doors and before he does I can see Tunji running in the distance knowing that time is running out. Just as the man lowers the bar the blood dogs reach the stable and slam against the doors growling and scratching and digging. Anything to get closer. In the midst of my screaming I fall asleep.

~

A girl my age walks into the stall with a silver pitcher and a bowl of warm water and bandages. My wrist had been bandaged while was unconscious and the girl has come to change the dressing. In the stall next to me there are seven beautiful solid black puppies with gold eyes, playing with each other. The girl leaves the bowl outside the stall and uses the pitcher to cleanse the wound. She is gentle and I begin to wonder what the man's game is. When she wrings out a towel over the bowl, a drop of blood splashes into the pitcher next to it. I see it but the girl doesn't see and I cannot open my mouth to tell her. She finishes with me and goes to the other stall with the pitcher of water for the puppies' water bowl I can hear my heartbeat in my ears but still I cannot move to stop her. The puppies lap up the water with abandon but after awhile they lose interest. They begin to amble and sniff at the hay searching for something slowly all the puppies are pressed against the low wooden wall separated my stall from theirs and are sniffing and digging at the hay. "No. No!" I'm finally able to say something, to move.

I turn to the girl and I beg her, "Tell them it's just water! Please tell them it's just water!" The girl looks confused but unconcerned. I have grabbed her arm in my begging and she shakes me off. The color of the puppies eyes are changing from gold to ruby red and their canines grow long and sharp. Their yips and puppy grumbles turn to high-pitched growls and I cower in the farthest corner of my stall.

"TELL THEM IT'S JUST WATER!" 

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If you are looking for a new series to get lost in this summer, I invite you to try the Cybil Lewis series.

About The Cybil Lewis Novels

 Cybil Lewis is a private inspector and no stranger to loss and pain. She has three stories in the series so far-- with more to come. Join this private-eye in life-altering adventures in a strange futuristic world with her band of friends and enemies as she solves the latest whodunit. The Cybil series novels are great mysteries in the realm of science fiction.

 

Don't take my word for it. Here is what reviewers had to say about Cybil and SILENCED:

  

“Nicole Givens Kurtz is a gifted sci-fi writer with a wonderful imagination…And with the extra benefit of a strong African-American woman as the main character, this adventure captures the essence of the future.”—Affaire de Coeur, 4 1/2 Star Review

 

“A missing-persons case takes us into an action-packed story. Cybil is no shrinking violet, and the tale is vivid enough to keep the reader looking forward to the next chapter in this new series. This is a fast-paced, enjoyable ride.”—RomanticTIMES Book Reviews, 4 Star Review

 

“Nicole Givens Kurtz has written an enjoyable sci-fi mystery that displays her active imagination and her ability to build a storyline around believable characters in an advanced time setting. I found Kurtz's heroine to be interesting; however, buy-in took a minute due to the character's brashness. Once there, I was able to understand her motives and mode of operation. SILENCED is being dubbed as the first in the Cybil Lewis series. Now that my appetite has been whet, I am looking forward to the next installment.”—The RAWSISTAZ(tm) Reviewers

 

“For top-notch suspense, edge-of-the-seat breathless anticipation, and reeling denouements that never stop, run to your nearest bookseller and pick up SILENCED!”—Dark Angels Review, 5 Angels Review

 

 "Silenced" has all the hard-boiled elements of sex, violence, crooked politicians and dishonest cops and a story told by an engaging but difficult heroine. It is an excellent start to what promises to be a very interesting series." --Fred Cleaver, The Denver Post

Learn more about the four stories in this series by visiting Cybil's blogspot at http://cybillewisseries.blogspot.com/

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The Chief is back home in the Land of the Fjords, but all is not as it should be. Though only gone for several months, everything has changed and only the strange little girl named Mjarga seems to have the answers. The trio of travelers must solve this strange mystery if they are to find the Chief's missing men and return to the Valley! The questions will only deepen in this latest chapter of The Priestess Saga.

All Hail The Priestess!

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