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:
 

Good luck everyone!

Regina:)

Hey Y'all!

This is a heads up: Next week I'll be at ISEA Istanbul presenting my paper titled,

Cybism and Decoding the Letter: Countering Mass Culture’s Reductional Breakdown Through Afro-futuristic Forms of Representation and Emergent Game Platforms

Basically, I'm overlaying my research into urbanized forms of Afrofuturism, as conceptualized by modern graffiti pioneers Rammellzee, Futura (formerly 2000), Kase 2/Case 2 and others.  These forms have influenced new media such as Graffiti Analysis.  Read more about it HERE and HERE.

Wish me luck!

The fate of dozens of worlds hangs on the words of two young commandos and the choices they must make.

"Don't you die on me!" 

Her breathing was shallow and slowed. I wasn't sure whether the patch would hold. The round had gone clean through but the bleeding was terrible. 
  
We were fifteen miles behind the Henrenkai lines. Our dropship was shot down and we were hauling the Henrenkai hive pupae in our ruck-sacks. Our orbital bombardments had worn this world down, but there were still too many worlds that we had lost to the Henrenkai and this was a vulnerability we could not lose. They only spawned once every two hundred years on a tiny number of their inhabited worlds. 
  
Intelligence reports gained through psychic torture revealed which worlds were spawning and how soon. In an act of desperation, Command bombed five of the six worlds and destroyed them completely, kill untold billions of humans and Henrenkai. On this one, they planted us. An extraction team, trained for infiltration.  
  
There were ten of us. We were creche-raised, five males, five females. Genetically created from the best DNA humanity had to offer, we were stronger, faster, smarter and trained as commandos. We were given psychic gifts to bind us together. We could sense the presence of each other over vast distances, we could read each other's thoughts, when allowed. It multiplied our fighting prowess by coordinating our attacks. We had the firepower of a regiment; perfectly attuned. But it also made it so we could never touch each other without protective clothing. The fusion of our minds could destroy us both. 
  
We were raised together, Califer and I, and I loved her more than anything. But she could never know. It was forbidden. Creche-commandos were allowed to intermingle with any other military forces except other commandos. This was for our own protection. 
  
In all other ways we were as close as two people could be. We trained together, worked together, and have been on nearly twenty sorties without any incident. Our team was one of the most highly decorated commando units in Creche-Command history. Now except for me, High Sergeant, Doro Vanimen and High Sergeant, Califer Prin, our tactical squad is dead. We had never infiltrated a Henrenkai hiveworld before. Our intel was simply insufficient to the task. 
  
"Calli, you have got to get up. We can't stay here. There is another LZ thirteen miles from here, but they are shelling to keep our pursuit down. You have got to get up." Her eyes are flickering. She must be glanding a dopamine derivative. 
  
"Ugh. Pupae?" 
  
"Got 'em."  
  
"How much time?" 
  
"About twelve minutes." 
  
"There is no way, I can make it like this. You have to complete the mission." 
  
"I am not leaving without you Calli." I was trying to sound casual. 
  
She looks at me with those beautiful green eyes and I knew I would do whatever it took. If I had to carry her myself. We are getting off this rock. "Set the pace." She picks up her maser, and stumbles. 
  
"Leave it." If it comes to us having to fight again, we're done, anyway." She drops it, relieved. I set a brisk pace and I can hear the status reports in my earbud. They are about to begin shelling again. She is keeping up, but her pace has lost the light step I loved so much about her. 
  
When we were young, she was always the best of our battle-sisters in fighting and dancing and I knew right then, there would never be anyone else for me. We would train in our nightsuit armor, skin tight and I marveled at her perfection, her essence and her ability to totally kick my ass, even though I outweighed her by thirty kilos. When we were done, we would sit back to back and rest and talk, her hair tickling my neck, smelling of sweat, and nothing was ever better than that. 
  
Her nightsuit had sealed up around her wound and pressure sealed the injury. It was a railgun round, so fast it simply overwhelmed our bulletproof nightsuits. We got hit by one of their skyships and we lost Carlto, and Marina then. Multiple hits tore them apart. She got hit as we jumped the last wall and then ran to the first drop point. I covered her when the wreckage of the dropship fell down around us. 
  
"Calli, I have something I want to tell you." I could feel the larvae moving around in my pack. It distracted me and I almost lost my nerve. 
  
"Not now. Have to focus on running." Her temperature was elevated. Her body was going to go into shock. She is running on pure will. 
  
I have to tell her now. "There has never been anyone else for me but you. Do you understand that?" 
  
"And you know that's forbidden. It is the only rule we have never broken. I have had others, haven't you?"  
  
"No. Never." She seemed almost shocked at my words. 
  
"What do you expect me to say?" She stumbles and falls to the ground. "That I am happy that you love me? That I am willing to die for you and I to be together?" She gasped in pain. 
  
I reach down to help her to her feet. She slaps my hand away at first.  
  
Then she takes it and I heave her to her feet. She throws her arm around my back and I put my arm around her waist. We start running again. The sound of the shelling has begun and is slowly creeping up behind us. The explosions echo around the strange rock formations common on this world.  
  
I look back over my shoulder and my optical enhancer detects movement about three miles behind us closing fast. The shelling is slowing them but they are not stopping. I think they know what we are carrying. Their larval Queen. The fate of their Race. The only Ransom that they will respect. 
  
"We have to move, Sergeant. Dammit, run for all you're worth. We can fight about this when we get home." 
  
"Okay." 
  
And for six long minutes we are running. She has let me go and seems to have found a second wind. For a few seconds, I am struggling to keep up with her. We are getting close to the dropship coordinates. Less than two miles.  
  
Ten thousand steps; we're going to make it.  
  
Then I hear the buzzing. Their skyships, giant insects with forty foot wingspans, carrying two of them on their backs. They are using their chemical weapons and splashes of acid rain down around us. 
  
I look back for a second and I can still see them coming. Its half a regiment now, and a shell destroys thirty or so, but they do not stop to care for the dead. They are here for their Queen. 
  
"Bravo Six, we are nearing the extraction point." 
  
"Understood, we are inbound in two minutes. The area is hot, we will not be landing." 
  
She looks at me. And then looks around. "You have to go. I can't do a hot pickup." 
  
"I'll carry you." I was past pride. I pleaded. 
  
"All of the Human Worlds rest on your back now. What's more important, me or them?" 
  
"I would let them all burn for you." I meant it. 
  
"Well, I won't let you." She snatches my maser from my arm and kisses me on the lips.  

"GO!" Her telepathic command blasts through my mental shields like they weren't there. She was my entire universe in that infinitely long second. All that she was, all that should could be was inside of me. 
  
She ran to a rock for cover and I turned and ran faster than I had ever run, tears flowing down my face. I could hear the maser, one of the fliers goes down. She was decimating them. Then it fades. And soon after stops. 
  
I see my dropship coming in dragging a line and it's gunners shooting in every direction. I have to time this just right. They will not be able to come back. They are being pursued in the air. Acid rains down around me but all I can do is see her face. The dropship pulls up to avoid a missile and the line leaves the ground. I leap and I feel her directing my movement, arching me. 
  
I hit the line, grab on and the dropship rises fast, speeding away from the planet's surface, nearly tearing my arms from their sockets. They don't dare shoot us down now. 
  
I am tempted to hurl the pack from the ship as we pull away. She stops me. 
  
Save them. You can save them all. 
  
But I couldn't save the only thing that matter to me, you. 
  
I will always be here with you. 
  
As our ship streaked away into the armada, I looked at the planet. The final resting place of all that I loved, my family. My creche. My Calli.  
  
I wept.

Runners © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

“Don't wear white after Labor Day” the old folks always said.

I didn't understand why when I was younger, but now, oh, I get it. Because I loved to stroll out at night, hang out with my boys, you know? But you see, white made you stand out like a beacon, and when the hungry ones would come, if they saw you all shining bright in white, they figured you were the sacrifice of the hour, and got you. They couldn't help it during a new moon. Especially if you were a kid, but it didn't really matter.

Now, when I was a kid, the old folks said it without explaining why we had to avoid that color after Labor Day. It was said, and everybody listened. Nobody wore white for months after that day. Well, I do remember a couple of older people who wore it, just as bold as you please, but not at night. No, buddy, not at night. Especially not with a new moon, man! Except for Trinni and Elder, who thought they were big and bad one night, and strolled outside, smoking cigs and talking junk, daring the hungry ones to come.

Trinni was never seen again, but one of his white high tops were, splashed with deep red and stinking of something like a garbage dump full of dead bodies and doodoo. Elder, well, he went nutso, speaking in that funny Jamaican sounding language about “it got him, mon, oh, god, de eyes!” Crying like a baby. They put him away, and then all we heard for years was don't wear white, and remember what happened to Trinni and Elder.

Ok, so I kinda took it all as legend as I got older, well, until I was twenty years old, and there was an incident, totally true. There were some girls, some kind of church function, where the kids had to wear white outfits for a play, and two of them were walking home after...I don't know. I know it was the night of the new moon, and they wore white and called themselves walking home, giggling and laughing over how nervous they were in the program, and what boy was watching them, and what boy they wish was there watching them.

Too bad they didn't take seriously what was really watching them that night.

But anyway, everytime I hear “Don't wear white after Labor Day,” every time, I feel a twinge in me. Not like it was when I was a child, but still.

Have I ever seen the hungry ones? Well, let me tell you a story, also totally true.

It was like this. My childhood friend Eric and I were headed to a party, totally ignoring the unwritten Rule of White. All I was thinking about was going to the club, to celebrate one of our other friend's birthday, and the white shirt Eric wore didn't even cross my mind.

We were twenty one, so you know we weren't thinking about my grandfather asking Eric before we left my house earlier that evening, if he was going to the party in that shirt. Eric, always cocky, was like, “Yeah, why not? Don't you like it?” Pleased with himself.

Granddad said to Eric, calmly but seriously, lighting a pipe, “You should change, boy. Not good to wear white after Labor Day,” and then fixed a stare on me, that I will admit hit a place in my gut, like ice. “New moon tonight,” he finished. I was like, “Well, he'll be inside most of the night, so...” kinda joking, not looking at him, picking and brushing imaginary lint off my own shirt.

He didn't say anything else, and when I glanced back at him, he was just sitting. Just staring at me, his bald head shining and thick gold hoop earring glinting. Staring, like I wasn't twenty one, grown, and in control, I thought. I told him that I would see him later and I left.

Eric and I had stopped by the store, just to get some snacks, so we wouldn't eat like pigs, and mess up that cool image we thought we had, and some mints - you know, for the ladies. Who was going to hang with us if we smelled? I was hoping to hook up with some sweet, innocent – or not so innocent – lady for the night, so I had to be at my best!

So driving along, it was pretty dark, and the club where our friend was having the party was out a ways, in the deep country, so it seemed. Around about eleven, I started to feel something inside, like forboding, a funny feeling of dread. I figured I was nervous, you know, I mean, it was the party of the year, and I was excited.

I tried to keep up with the conversation Eric and I were having as I drove, but that funny feeling was all over me and I kept looking all around the night engulfing us outside. Eric made a comment about me watching the road, a couple times, asked if I wanted him to drive. I started getting angry at him a little, because I was grown, and could drive and get us to a party without his help. However, I rolled down the window for some air.

I was starting to get the shakes and the sweats, though. So I asked Eric to pass me a bag of peanut M&Ms. I figured the sugar rush would help me, keep the shakes at bay. I could maybe get a drink once at the party to relax me. But the M&Ms didn't really help; I had to pull over. Eric got real serious, and asked me if I was ok. I told him I felt funny, and had to stop.

He made a comment about the country animal smell outside, and offered to take me home, and for a second I did want to go home, because this was getting really out of hand. But miss out on the party, all that flesh? I figured if I sat for a few more minutes, let the M&Ms do their thing...

Eric and I got out of the car to switch places, because there was no way I could drive. The smell got worse, like something real nasty. “Heck is that?” Eric asked, covering his nose with his arm. “I know, man,” I said, trying to hurry to the other side of the car. It was pretty dark, and I glanced up at the clear sky, the image of the black new moon.

And then...I didn't see anything at first; it was like a dream. I could smell them, along with the scent of blood, but everything else was unreal. Eric was screaming, yelling, calling me, crying. Then, as the smell of blood and guts got stronger, I very briefly saw a glint of gold and eyes the color of the new moon.

I only heard Eric for a few seconds, but all I could think about was that screaming, as I drove away.

Granddad walked in the house not long after I got home. He didn't say a word as he looked at my naked chest, the blood all over my skin. He just stopped, then watched me, my eyes. I felt calm, full of understanding, but sadness, too. My best friend had died tonight.

Granddad didn't speak for a while, and as I looked at him, at his gold earring and cold black eyes, I asked him, “Why him, Granddad? We were like brothers. I was trying to hold out for the party. I couldn't.” My grandfather said, “No, you couldn't. New moon tonight. And he knew not to wear white. Just as the girls you got last year did.”

My grandfather came to me, standing a few feet away, so the blood on his own body would not mix, despite all of it being Eric's. “They were warned, son. They knew not to wear white.” He paused. “Never liked that boy anyway,” he said, and headed upstairs to clean up.

I followed with a sigh, no longer hungry, wondering how my grandfather could be so cold.

So don't think you can just do what you want. When they say not to wear white after Labor Day, especially on a night of the new moon, they mean it. I can tell you for sure, those old folks know what they are talking about.

I met Nicole Sconiers at OnyxCon 3 in Atlanta. I immediately downloaded the Beckyville short stories and dug-in. I couldn’t stop reading them. The stories push the envelope of issues that pertain to African-American women such as issues surrounding hair, attitude, rage, and injustice. These stories are not for the faint of heart. Sconiers uses speculative fiction to share those internalized emotions and feelings that some Black women have towards being victimized and treated as if they are racially inferior but it’s done in a snarky, satirical manner. I especially love the stories that expose issues surrounding Black women’s hair. I know I am always asked about my Sisterlocks. LOL!

I had to interview Nicole after reading Escape from Beckyville and she graciously agreed to answer my questions. Please read her interview. Nicole, thanks for writing the Escape from Beckyville series and agreeing to interview with me. To read the rest of the interview, try this link:

http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/48-interview-with-author-nicole-sconiers-beckyville-has-the-snarky-racial-humor-of-undercover-brother-but-with-the-sophistication-of-the-invisible-man-

or visit www.aliciamccalla.com

It's a longer interview but really good.

Wanuri Kahiu (director of the Kenyan science fiction short Pumzi and the Who Fears Death movie) discusses African Science Fiction:

Also, you can purchase Pumzi here. It is also streaming on Netflix.

Innsmouth Free Press has Historical Lovecraft anthology on sale:

http://www.innsmouthfreepress.com/?page_id=10930. My story, "City of Witches" is in this anthology. Enjoy!

Though I don't have a story in the upcoming Future Lovecraft anthology (on sale Dec. 1st),  a young man from Nigeria, Ezeiyoke Chukwunonso, does. His story "Last Man Standing" will appear in Future Lovecraft published by Innsmouth Free Press:

http://www.innsmouthfreepress.com/?p=13847

Just finished reading Milton J. Davis' wonderful Meji Duology.  This is an epic tale of twin boys, Ndoro and Obseki, born under the sign of Sesu tribal superstition. Obaseki is chosen to die by the Sesu, because twins are considered an abomination, a curse. But Shani, the boys' mother, schemes to have Obaseki taken away to her people, the Mawena, where twins are considered a blessing. Ndoro struggles to win a place among the Sesu, to become a great warrior, win his father's blessing, and shed the stigma of his birth. Obaseki grows into manhood among his mother's people, the Mawena, but has a special, "magical" gift that alienates him from tribe and family.

This is a story of quest and power struggles, inter-tribal marriages and wars, magic and prophecy. This is also a very complex and well-plotted duology. Character-driven and truly epic in scale, this fantasy is totally original in plot and conception. Rich in texture, language, vivid landscapes, and set in an alternate Africa called Uhuru, we are treated to vast stretches of mysterious jungles, magnificent cities, sprawling deserts, and characters who live and breath, suffer and die. We are shown a wealth of culture and traditions rarely seen in fantasy novels, and rarely seen in this type of setting.  This is an exqusite tale, written with dash and eloquence, beautifully realized and masterfully told. It never disappoints, sucks you right into the lives of its characters, and suprises you at every turn. This is epic fantasy, grand sword and soul at its best. It has a heart and soul, love and romance, and friendships that are tested in the face of superstition and enemies. The story of this duology is unique --- and a duology is also something that is very unique in this age of neverending, multi-volume sagas.

Great job, Milt!  Keep on writing! I'll be posting a review on Amazon as soon as time allows.

Watch the debut episode of The Book Look here:

http://newsone.com/entertainment/books-entertainment/ccarneynunes/newsone-presents-the-book-look/

It's been a long time since I checked in with something to say. But last night on a local PBS station I was watching a travel show with guide Joseph Rosseno (I think that's his last name.) Well, he was in Rwanda, visiting the villages, observing their educational programs, how not only the silverback mountain gorilla has been protected from poachers, but how conservation of land and wildlife ----- flora, fauna, farmlands, and communities has become a new way of life. He said that something like 5 or so museums have been built since the horrible genocide of 1994 -- these museums honoring the over one-milllion victims of this horrendous chapter in Rwanda's history. Healing and forgiveness, according to Rosseno, have helped Rwanda rise from this awful tragedy. Communities of people are coming together in peace, planting trees and helping to protect the farmland, helping families and villages prosper and grow. I was touched by these amazing people and this incredible country. The beauty of it is awe-inspiring, and yet I saw signs of poverty that, God willing, will soon be overcome. I put Rwanda on my wish list of places I would visit, had I the money to do so. The people were lovely and friendly, open-hearted and open-handed. I felt like I was watching a role model for the way the world should be.  I pray that Rwanda becomes a beacon of light in a world that seems to be growing darker all the time.

On another note, I am nearly finished with voulme one of Milt Davis' incredible MEJI DUOLOGY. I will file a report as soon as I'm finished. I'll probably take a break to read another friend's novel, and then return to Book Two of Meji. I'm really impressed with Milt's writing in this one. Wonderful!

The Trans-Atlantic Fan Fund is looking for candidates for the 2012 Eastbound TAFF trip.  Candidates must be nominated by 5 SF fans known to the current TAFF administrators, John Coxon, Anne Gray, and Brian Gray. Three of those nominators must be resident in North America and two resident in Europe. In addition to their nominations, prospective candidates have to submit a written platform (not exceeding 101 words), a deposit of $20, and a pledge to take the TAFF trip in 2012 if they win. TAFF will send the winning delegate(s) to attend the 2012 Eastercon, Olympus, in London April 6 to April 9 (http://olympus2012.org/). TAFF delegates are also expected to write a trip report and administer TAFF for two years. The fan fund will pay for the trip and related expenses, as well as the publication of the completed trip report. Candidates will be voted on by interested fans from all over the world.

For more information, see www.taff.org.uk.  The North American TAFF administrators are Anne and Brian Gray; send nominations and other materials to them at 5006 Royene Ave NE, Albuquerque, NM 87110, USA or akg.netmouse@gmail.com. European nominators should send materials to John Coxon, either on john.coxon@gmail.com or by mail to 14 Chapel Lane, Peterborough, PE4 6RS, United Kingdom.

If you would like to take us up on this fantastic opportunity please find people to nominate you and let us know, since the deadline for nominations is September 31st! If you have any questions about what's required of you or how to acquire nominations, please feel free to get in touch with any of us and ask. We hope to see you running for TAFF soon!

Hello All,

I'm guest blogging and would like to hear your opinions:

Anyone with access to a word processor and the Internet can become a published author, but most do not become successful authors. We all know the publishing industry has changed drastically since the introduction of eReaders, but how many authors (traditional, self, or aspiring) truly understand the changes and how to navigate this new world?

Continue reading: http://readinnwritin.blogspot.com/2011/08/guest-blogger-deatri-king-bey-author-of.html

Thanks

Dee

A useful article for writers, authored by Mark Nichol.  Good guidance for freelance nonfiction articles as well as  fiction manuscripts.

Interview with Shawn Alleyne

If you are not familiar with this illustrator, you should. Professional and creative, read this post and he maybe your next go to artist for your next project.

360BEYOND is all about creativity & its creators - YOU! Here is post about Chicago Comic Con which was held a few weeks ago.

http://360beyond.blogspot.com/2011/08/walk-down-artist-alley-wizard-world.html