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Chat Anyone?

Hello everyone,
I see a few brave souls have joined us on in our Black Science Fiction virtual online space on small worlds. Make sure to sign the guestbook when you login. If you need help just send me a quick note. I want to start the weekly chat sessions back up and this would be a good place to do it. Send me your suggestion for a convenient time to have the weekly chats.
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"BLACK AGE XII"

We at ONLI STUDIOS are glad to say that "BLACK AGE XII" was a success from every point of view. It opened doors, built bridges, and entertained all who were there. I have always maintained that the Black Age was the most independent movement in the game. Resistance is futile. We rock! We come! We conquer!We have pioneered a complete genre and support system all in one. It is no mystery that the growth area of Sci-fi, graphic novels, and games will run right through the Black Age. I look forward to meeting y'all at the nearest Black Age event next year.The best, illustrators, writers, and new characters are in the Black Age.Respect us.....collect us!Onli

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Traditional vs Self-published

Last week I became embroiled in this hot debate over whether it was prudent for authors to self-publish vs. going through the traditional publishing route. The debate was spirited, but it did bring to light the prevailing thought among many why self-publishers are loathed in the writing community. First of all, many I debated referred to the self-publishing business as vanity press and not small press or even self-publishing. This in itself indicates their position that those who self-publish do so just to see their name on a book. In fairness this is probably true for some of the people that take the self-publishing approach, but not all.Those I debated made many compelling arguments against self-publishing. However, I will boil down their arguments into one issue. The opposing issue I took from the debate is that there is no policing in the self-publishing field. What do I mean? Well, it is simple. Policing assures quality, or at least adherence to the standards of writing. What I call the gatekeepers (e.g. agents, publishers and editors) are conspicuously missing in the self-publishing industry. There is no one to offer critical critique or check your grammar and spelling. To compound the issue, the advent of the computer has given false security to writers that they are producing quality work.I’ve learned the hard way, computers and word processing applications can cause more harm than good; especially the auto correct function on most processors. All in all, the lesson learned is, writers cannot rely on the computer or themselves to edit/proofread manuscripts. Unfortunately, many self-published products are a result of self-editing efforts. Thus, those I debated last week concluded, the quality of work of “all” self-published writers could not withstand the scrutiny of the traditional publisher.My argument is with the scrutiny the gatekeepers are applying. I forward the idea, the gatekeepers of the traditional publishing community use the explosion of the computer as an excuse not to delve into an author’s submission and really examine if the story is marketable or not. As soon as they see one spelling or grammatical error in a manuscript, it goes into the reject pile. When I started out writing my manuscripts, I read that the gatekeepers were not looking for pristine work, but for marketable stories written by authors with high potential. Granted the author has to exhibit sufficient writing skills in the manuscript so not to detract from the story. But I think a few misused words, misspelled words, or grammar errors should not kill a manuscripts chance for acceptance. Today’s gatekeepers only accept a flawed manuscript when it comes from famous people. Because the famous people have marketable stories, they are willing to attach a slew of editors to those projects. No, I am not advocating that each manuscript that comes through can be riddled with mistakes as long as it is a marketable story. I’m just saying manuscripts should be judged on the story and not on a few…catch what I write here…a few errors. Don’t get me wrong, quality is appreciated and warranted by the system. The writer still needs to make every effort to present his best product to the gatekeepers.With that said many authors with quality projects do become frustrated trying to get passed the gatekeepers and decide to go the self-publishing route. Although, this affords the author more control, it also increases the risks. The author has to act as agent, editor, publisher, advertiser and owner of his own business. With so many hats to wear and probably working only part-time on the book, many errors, problems and mistakes insidiously slip into the final product. This is where those I debated have a solid argument against self-published work. Until there is a mechanism to assure quality work, the self-publishing industry will continue to be spat upon by the so called “writing community” as frustrated no-talent hacks that couldn’t withstand the scrutiny of the traditional publishing process. As an independent author, I reject the notion that all that use the self-publishing process are frustrated no-talent hacks. I just believe the gatekeepers of the traditional publishing industry sometimes get it wrong.They get it wrong because they have a checklist to follow. This checklist is too rigid and inflexible and not visionary enough to recognize a new voice…a different voice…cutting down the ivory pillars of what the book industry believes is necessary to make money. Today, artists write the same old story, just with a twist, because the gatekeepers stifle imagination. There is a formula and no one can alter it. The formula is (known writer + publisher defined audience = success). Emerging stories do not see the light; new ideas never get to grow; and young writers never mature because of this formula. I promote the formula should be changed to (creative writer + dynamic audience = success). In other words the writer needs to be able to capture the reader’s imagination and that the publisher’s paradigm of who the audience is, needs to be challenged. The old way of defining an audience by just demographics is outdated. Demographics only work in census taking. Today, reading habits, personal experience and raw attraction is what should define an author’s audience.For example, the gatekeepers regulated my manuscripts/novels, Osguards: Guardians of the Universe, to black readers only, which in their opinion are only attracted to multi-cultural, exotic romance novels. They are wrong on both counts. First, just because my books have black protagonists, doesn’t mean I’m writing for a black audience. The audience I’m writing for love to read military adventures, have experience with disciplined organizations, and are attracted to science fiction. Second, regulating the reading habits of one group of people without consideration for anything other than demographics is somewhat offensive. Now, I admit this is not always the case. Steve Barnes, Octavia Butler, Samuel Delany, Tananarive Due, Walter Mosley, Jewell Gomez and Ishmael Reed, to name a few have been very successful in crossing the gatekeepers’ threshold. So I have hope that my forage into the writing community was met by an anomaly from the gatekeepers rather than the rule. I may once again make that journey to push my work through the traditional means. But for now I remain an independent author.However, independent authors like me are at a disadvantage. Because of this notion of being frustrated no-talent hacks, it is difficult to get wholesalers and distributors to carry our work. Foremost it is impossible to attract book reviews from media outlets. To fix this, independent authors need a dedicated book review process embedded in main stream marketing. The industry needs a review process that is able to dive into the trenches and weed the chaff from the wheat. There are reviewers that do so, but they do not stand on the same level as those reviewers that critique traditionally published works. Until this happens, marketing a “quality” self-published book will be like pushing a wet noodle up the hill with your nose.Finally, I understand the reluctance of many to disregard anything tagged with self-published stink on it, but I feel they are losing out on some of the best contemporary works in writing today. The question I have yet to sufficiently answer is with the stigma surrounding the self-publishing industry how can independent authors assure their quality novels get fair attention in marketing and distribution.
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Friends and Links

Hello Everyone,I am in the process of creating a "Friends of Kandake" page on my website so I was wondering if any of you would be interested in posting links to your blogs, interviews, websites, bookstores, etc. It's just an additional way to share your links with the public. If anyone's interested, send me your banner or link in an email to kandake@live.com and I will announce the launch of the page as soon as it's completed. Thank you!
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I thought I'd give everyone a peek at the story that I'll be submitting to the My Africa Diaspoa short story contest. I really had to tone down the violence in this one. Kind of like a crackhead being required to do half a pipe. LOLOLOLOL!!Ahem...anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!Skyboat StrangersByRonald T. JonesEveryone knows when the white men arrived. No one in all the empire that was Benin had ever seen the likes of one. Light of skin, almost pink. Hair that looked like grass spouting from their scalps. They wore shiny armor and carried strange looking sticks called muskets that made thunderous noises and spat out little projectiles in blooms of smoke and fire. Time quickly eroded the whites’ novelty. Pale skinned as they were, the whites were still recognized as men.Then rumors floated to the Oba’s palace one hot afternoon of the arrival of more strangers. Whites? The Oba wanted to know. The messenger who brought word said that these strangers were neither white nor human.Were they gods or demons? The Oba demanded. The messenger could only shrug. Who knew? They could have been one or the other or both.Not satisfied with answers that revealed nothing, the Oba sent me, Ewu, to lead an expedition to the frontier of mighty Benin to discern the nature of these strangers.My military title is Ezoma. That makes me the third in command of the army of Benin. I gathered 5,000 men for the expedition. I did not want to chance rushing into an unknown situation at less than full strength. There were additional disturbing rumors that these gods or demons were burning villages, and slaughtering their inhabitants. Part of our army was dealing with a rebellion in the west. The Oba enlisted the aid of white mercenaries to crush it. I would have loved to have had some of those whites with their muskets accompanying my force. I would have valued more so Benin soldiers trained in the use of muskets. But the whites’ religious leader forbade the sale of firearms to black men. So be it. A Benin soldier with a shield and sword is worth more than a dozen whites. I only wanted the whites’ muskets. I resolved to do without. I marched out of the capitol at the head of a formidable host.For three days we were on the move, winding through forests so thick, night and day were indistinguishable. A day long march across a vast grass covered plain quickened our pace. We consumed our rations, lived off the land, and finally the generosity of the occasional village we came across. Whether the villagers’ willingness to share their provisions was generated by love of the empire or fear of its armed servants was a question that I entertained and abruptly dismissed. I had a mission to focus on.As we were preparing to leave a village weighted with supplies for our journey, my senior officer, Genogbe approached me. In his company was a withered, bent old man, who looked ancient enough to have witnessed the rise of the first Oba.This elder has something to say, Genogbe told me with an odd look. My senior officer stepped aside and the old man spoke. I had more than an inkling to dismiss the honored elder’s tale as the product of a diminishing mind. Except, the man’s tale, accorded with rumors floating around the capitol. The clear headed manner in which the elder recounted his story spoke of first hand experience. A boat falling from the sky in a blanket of fire. Strange creatures exiting this skyboat spreading across the land, pillaging, killing, destroying.We sped up our departure and, on the old man’s word, headed north to where this skyboat supposedly landed. Trepidation gripped the ranks. According to reports from my junior commanders, the men were becoming increasingly unsettled. Some were convinced that gods were walking the Earth. Or that the ancestors were unleashing their wrath upon their wayward descendants. Or that we were marching to our doom. I honor the ancestors and worship the gods, but I cannot see nor touch them. As such, I cannot truly devine their purpose. But I know the ways of men. I was determined to make sure that my soldiers knew my ways. I authorized my commanders to execute any man who voiced fears about this mission. After that, I heard no talk of Earth walking gods and avenging ancestors.We passed a number of blackened acreages that used to be villages. Scattered bodies of villagers provided sustenance for ubiquitous carrion birds. The smell of corruption assaulted the nostrils. Men, women, children, even animals lay among the dead. The skyboat strangers spared no one.The men marched with a new energy. I could feel it. It was an energy fueled by our rage, sustained by an itching desire to exact retribution from those responsible for these dreadful incursions into Benin territory.Two days after we left the last razed village, we met the enemy. It was in a valley of swaying grass, dotted with gnarled trees that looked like malformed old women. The skyboat strangers must have been awaiting our arrival, because they were formed up into a solid mass. Upon first glance, it was unnervingly clear that the strangers were not men. They were short of body with long slender arms and legs. Their faces were shaped like yams and every bit as parched looking, with black dots for eyes, nothing indicative of noses, and vague, creased suggestions of mouths. They wore green attire that covered their awkward forms from neck to feet. There was nothing fear-invoking in their appearance. Not even their weapons, which were little more than skinning knives, warranted much concern from me.It was when the skyboat strangers released a collective howl that the depth of their unearthliness was driven straight to my bones. Then they charged, their long strides closing the gap between our armies at speeds the fastest man could never hope to challenge. I shouted for us to hold firm, counting on my voice and my steady presence to strengthen my men’s resolve.Benin archers darkened the sky with projectiles. The arrows hit home numerous times, staggering the enemy’s advance. Scores of skyboat strangers tumbled to the ground, arrows protruding from their bodies like grisly frills. Next, Benin spearmen flung their iron-tipped spears, impaling more enemy soldiers. The skyboat strangers, even as their ranks thinned, sustained the crashing momentum of their charge until it collided into the solid wall of our shield bearing infantry. For an eternity wrapped in minutes, a serene valley churned violence. The skyboat strangers exhibited frenzied aggression combined with a frightening facility in the use of their modest weapons. More than a few Benin soldiers fell to skillfully delivered blade slashes and thrusts. I was very nearly sliced across my neck by a blade-wielding skyboat stranger. Only my nimble reflexes in conjunction with a timely intervention by my personal guard stayed death’s hand. My guard cut the skyboat stranger down with a single sword stroke and moved on to engage the next foe. The skyboat strangers fought with a tireless fury despite being outnumbered three to one. They should have retreated. Even as their numbers dwindled beneath the pitiless teeth of Benin swords and spears the enemy never broke. We pressed in on the skyboat strangers from all sides, hemming them in with our shields while we hacked and stabbed like madmen. Enemy dead fell precipitously at our feet. We closed the circle, reducing a sizable army into a ragged knot of holdouts.It was after the last of the skyboat strangers was killed that I noticed that their blood was deep yellow in color, like a thicker version of piss.We spent part of the aftermath mourning our losses and tending to our wounded as best we could. Then we moved on. I wanted to see the strangers’ skyboat.A half day later, we discovered the skyboat. It was in the middle of a forest perched on ground that had been scorched to ash by the vessel’s descent. I hardly knew what to make of this gray, round, smooth skinned behemoth. Its immensity overwhelmed. The skyboat was larger than a cluster of villages. Its flawless craftsmanship put our best iron forgers to shame. Utterances of awe and fear wafted from the men. I dredged up the courage to approach the vessel. No, Genogbe, warned. I ignored his plea. Something compelled me closer to the vessel…coercive magic? Insanity? Or, perhaps, simple curiosity. I placed my hand on the strangely cool surface of the skyboat…I woke up to looks of agitation from my soldiers. Genogbe told me I blacked out. All I know is that the skyboat spoke to me. It spoke of beings from another world coming to our world to conquer. The beings had weapons that could have erased my expedition in a single sweep. How fortunate for us that those weapons did not work on this world. Rather than return to their home in failure, the beings chose to continue their mission, knowing they would die.We swiftly cleared away as the skyboat rumbled to life, rose from its crater, and soared into the sky.The skyboat strangers died well.We headed home.
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Listen to In Like Flynn on internet talk radio

Click on the icon and join Penelope and Otto to discuss all things social and sexual from the week's headlines and blogs including the Nobel committee's selection of Barack Obama as the Peace Prize recipient! Serena Williams in the "altogether"! ESPN's Body issue features as cover model Serena Williams! And why it is that Anglos don't believe black people have a sense of humor, Getting ready for Halloween - Yes it IS that kind of party, and the best revenge...what was the best revenge you ever took? So join us in the Chat room and Call in at 718/506-9683 for this and more on Saturday night's In Like Flynn!http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=4526351
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CreateSpace Report Card

Bottom line Up Front (BLUF): I released the first book, Homecoming, of my science fiction series Osguards: Guardians of the Universe on 8 Oct 09 through CreateSpace.com. This blog is to respond to Veronica Henry’s question on how I liked dealing with CreateSpace.com.I have published three of the four books prior with Iuniverse.com. I thank Iuniverse for extending the opportunity to me, but I felt like I was doing all the work and they were reaping all the benefits. Even though I have severed my relationship with them, I still see my books trading, although slow, on-line. Therefore, I decided to branch out on my own and start my own small print publishing for my books.A few months ago, I asked the group about CreateSpace.com as a business to produce my books. Responses were mixed, but I decided to go with them anyway. CreateSpace allowed me to publish under my own brand, so I decided to publish my Osguard series under Rage Books.The process was long, due to my pace. I didn't want to rush into things. I really had only one problem. That was the production of the book cover. I initially was going to use their cover program (which was quick and easy), but since I'm paying for both my daughters to go to college to learn how to do things like that (one is a digital animator and the other is in graphic communication) I charged them with doing the cover. That took more time. Unfortunately, the instructions on how to use their template for self-produced covers were not clear when it came to the bleed zone. It took me five attempts and even after that three proofs to get it right.Other than that, excellent knowledge of Microsoft word and how to set up a page was most helpful. The interior was accepted on the first try.However, I must tell you, there is something exciting about putting your book together from all perspectives, rather than just handing someone the manuscript. I thoroughly enjoyed it.So I would have to say I give CreateSpace.com a four out of five so far. Now, let's see how their support will be during marketing. Today, I placed the book live on my websites: www.osguards.com and www.ragebooks.net. The book is also available on the CreateSpace.com website. It will take a few weeks before it gets to www.Amazon.com. The beauty of that is I will also try to market the books on the kindle application.Oh yeah, if you do it all yourself (writing, production, art etc) it is free. However, I paid about $40 for the pro plan which allowed me to keep more of the sale price as royalty. So if you are a perfectionist...this is the way to go. It can’t do you any harm to check out createspace.com.Malcolm “RAGE” Pettewaywww.ragebooks.net
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Flight Check (cross post)

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your co-captain speaking, flying the passenger plane metaphor until the wings drop off.As we approach cruising altitude, we thought it would be a good idea to start things off with some discussion of how to start things off. A flight check, if you will. Now, I know, it's normal to do the flight check BEFORE one takes off and, technically, we already did one, but, on GENRE 19 AIR, we like to live both dangerously and cautiously. Hence, flight check #2.So, what do you need to get started? I bet you're thinking "An idea!" right?No. Ideas are good but the brutal truth is everybody has them and, in themselves, they don't stack up to much. You can't own an idea, for instance. You can't copyright or trademark an idea. Ideas are for entertaining people at parties and wasting time at your local comic book shop. Can Superman actually beat Thor? (Kurt Busiek says "yes.")Todd and I had a lot of ideas for what our first official joint project might be. We spent a long time discussing them- pros and cons, marketing stuff, all that- but nothing actually happened until he called me up one day and said, "Okay. Today's the day. Write the script."So, forget that nonsense about million-dollar ideas. There's no such thing. An idea isn't even a blueprint. A script is a blueprint and that is what you need to get started.I'm going to assume, if you're still here, that you've written the script for at least the first issue of your magnum opus. If you haven't, go do it now. We have some time before we level off. Okay? Back? Script written? Good. Moving on.If you're comfy with your artist and letterer and already have a working relationship with them, your script can be "off model," written in a sort of shorthand that the three of you understand. If, however, you do not know the artist and letterer well, it's best to use one of the three or four established scripting formats for comics. (No, I won't post them here.) The various styles break down into two large categories.1) FULL SCRIPT: This is the comic book version of a movie screenplay. There is a lot of detail in the scene descriptions and there is dialog. This is my preferred method but it is not the "best" way.2) "MARVEL" Style: I don't know if this is true anymore but, at some point, Marvel Comics had a house style, an established format for how their writers were meant to script books. Essentailly the writer would write a detailed plot breakdown, often page by page, and hand that off to the artists who would then turn it into a comic book. Once the pencilled pages were handed back the writer would add dialog to the panels that, until then, he had not seen.I don't much like this method, personally, but it is a perfectly valid way to go. Find what fits for your team and use it.You can find examples in several very good books written on the subject and in pretty much any "director's cut" of a popular comic. Find the format that works best for you and use that but be VERY clear, when writing for people who don't know you, that you are both succinct and descriptive.It's no good telling your artist Overboy looks at Petra Parker unless we know HOW he's looking at her, WHERE from and what the look is meant to convey.Now, writers, it's your job to figure out the best way for you to actually convey those things for yourself. Within the format structure, find your own style. No one can really teach you how but there are clues in any good script that should guide you in writing yours. Deciphering the clues yourself and interpreting them your own way will make you a better writer more quickly than any teacher in any class anywhere. I promise.There's also a delicate balance in how specifically you write as well. People often ask me why I didn't draw PRODIGAL myself. The answer is simple, "I want people to buy it." I can draw. I'm not bad. But Todd is a master and, as such, often puts more into a shot or a design than I could have pictured in a million years. Most writers cannot draw at master level and so should not try to second guess or micro-manage the artist who actually can. Conversely most artists can't write and so should not try to muscle the writer by drawing the story they want to tell rather than what is written.Todd likens his role to that of a film director and cinematographer and I agree. His job is to fully realize the words I scribble, to interpret them in the most interesting way he can. I trust him.More than that, I trust that he will do his work without trying to "steal the book" or take it in some direction it wasn't meant to go. These days it's very very rare that I'll write a shot SO specifically that Todd is locked in to even where the camera is placed.Respect the abilities of your artist enough to give her or him enough to work from and enough creative space to do the amazing things he or she can do. And, artists, if you could write, you would. You mostly can't, most of you, so accept that you can't and respect the words on the pages you're given as much as you want the writers to respect you. It's all about respect.So: Script = blueprint. No more. No less. Artist = Director/Cinematographer. Yes? Respect each other. Build trust. Got it? Good.Okay. The seatbelt signs are off. You're free to move about the cabin. Not sure where you think you're going but movement is allowed. We'll get back to you at meal time with some thoughts about choosing your team.
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Driver to the Starting line (cross post)

Hi, Folks. Geoff here. I'm the writer half of Genre 19. Todd, like all illustrators in comics, does the real heavy lifting by drawing the wacky stuff I put in the scripts. We thought, since the BIG ANNOUNCEMENT is about to, well, be announced, that it might be fun, at least on this blog, to talk about how the comic book, PRODIGAL: EGG OF FIRST LIGHT came to be.This won't be a discussion about Story or Plot or Character; there won't be any spoilers for the book (because that will come later, when we start releasing pages from the first issue).It's just that so many people ask us about the nuts and bolts of creating a comic and, since we're not household names and don't have the giant machinery of the Big Two or the Slightly Smaller Three behind us, smoothing things over (though we do love our publishers at APE. They work hard for the money, just as we do), we thought it wouldn't be bad to talk about some of the Hows and Whys of making. At least as far as our process, which is not the same as those of others. What we do, how we do it, may work for you; it may not. We hope some of the bumpier aspects of how we got this thing going will at least help those of you who might think making a comic book is impossible to stop thinking that and get on with telling your own tales. There's room for everybody, right? We think so.So, I'm Geoff; I'll be your captain for this flight. Our co-pilot is the lovely and talented Todd. He mostly will sit around looking pretty unless there's some drawing to do, at which point I will sit around looking slightly less pretty until the drawing talk is done. Questions are welcome but there are no guarantees on the answers having any value. We do have a plane to fly.There will be refreshments coming once we hit cruising altitude. You all know where the exits are, of course, so, in case of turbulence, you know what to do.We're just completeing our pre-flight instrument check. once it's done, we'll take off. Until then, feel free to watch the video. Courtesy of this airline and the good folks at YOUTUBE.com.
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back to work

The past few days have brought several observations.Little things: like wondering why I was not hungry at all during Yom Kippur. If anything, I was a little zoned out. I finally came home and drank some coffee because I was afraid that I would fall asleep during the performance that the choir—that I am a part of—was giving. I wish that I could say that I was occupied in prayer. No—I just wasn’t there at all.I’ve been spending money, which I normally hate to do: buying a new sleeper sofa, buying a new comforter set for the back bedroom, buying fall decorations. I am trying to be a proper host for the coming Thanksgiving when family comes in. Now, if only I can find a maid. Everything hurts, right now, and I haven’t even done that much. I had to sit down and rest after replacing the old spread on the bed.Meanwhile, the Internet and TV has been a drug to keep me away from most writing. That was obvious over Yom Kippur when I swore off using the computer at all for 24 hours. Hard to do! I managed, and I have tried to stay away for a while. I am being dragged back in. I shall put myself on a Facebook diet. That has been the real drug in the past few weeks.
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Harlequin

A clock-work doll sits atop a wobbly mountain of rubble. He has dry, empty sockets where his eyes should be. His smile is wide and full of teeth. A fat tear hangs in suspended animation, mid-dribble down one dirty cheek. The aging sun is going down on the distant horizon, casting its purple gaze across the broken remains of a barren metropolis. There's a tentative click, then the sound of slowly grinding gears.Suddenly, a sharp melody explodes into the air - a relentless, one-man merry-go-round of a carnival. It's that kind of song; the kind of song that spins you round and around in your nightmares before grabbing you by the throat and squeezing the breath out of your lungs. How many times has he played this tune? He has no one left to applaud his remarkable musical wit; no comrades, no culture.The ones who built and broke this continent have long since been forgotten by the insects that buzz there. Even the scum clawing its way up out of the ocean knows little of its sordid origin. Nothing animal moves in this derelict town without first, listening intently for the distant sound of thunder. All creatures here know that a certain rumbling in the sky always precedes the flapping of many gargantuan wings. They arrive, hawkish cries drowning out the mechanical man's tune. A seething cloud of arcuated eyes and rapacious beaks, they darken the sky. They descend in droves, adopting the military precision of the freight-trains and torpedoes of an era, long gone. In the heat of the hunt, they stir up chunks of history mingled with gritty particles from bones they already picked clean a hundred years ago.One majestic crow swoops down upon a crumbling spire and regards their sagging kingdom from his dusty perch. His menacing gaze fixes upon the blind harlequin, the jerky motions of its wiry hands; the pneumatic, spinning mechanism lodged in its skeletal chest. Its head tilts, one black eye reflecting the rising moon and the stirring stars. The crow contemplates the faint, alien sound threaded into the cacophony of winged beasts. It spreads its massive arms and dives down into the rising dark for the kill. The earth shakes. The music stops. It takes flight once again. The doll's iron bones stick in the crow's craw. The red wetness raining from the sky goes unseen. Darkness has filled the whole, wide world. The great beast plummets awkwardly to the stony ground, a multitude of bones cracking.The winged emperor now knows he will not live to see another ghostly dawn. He utters one long, mournful cry. The eager swarm hovers overhead, a pulsating mess of gleaming eyes and snapping beaks. They know no remorse, the voracious giants feasting on the flesh of their kin. They have not changed since they first dominated the earth, millions of years ago. This world was made for these birds. They've known that since the dawn of time.
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Postings at BooksofSoul.com

Books of Soul (www.booksofsoul.com ) has posted interviews with multi-award winning author, Sharon M. Draper, and first-time author, Michele L. Waters.Sharon M. Draper is a highly regarded educator and author. She has been honored as the National Teacher of the Year, is a five-time winner of the Coretta Scott King Literary Award, and is a New York Times bestselling author.Similarly, Michele L. Waters has achieved success in her own right as an entrepreneur. She has now struck out in the literary world with her first novel, Can't Let Go.These interviews, as well as interviews with new authors and with noted authors -- Shelley Parsons, Cheryl Robinson, Laura Castoro, Pamela Samuels Young, Leslie Banks, to name a few -- can be found at http://booksofsoul.com/category/author-interviews/.In addition to our listings of new and soon-to-be-released books, a monthly bestseller lists of black books is featured. This month's special feature is the top-selling mysteries of the year.Check out BooksofSoul.com for upcoming releases of black books and other literary works and to promote your new book.
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Prodigal sons

So this has been a crazy year. Not worth going into.Ups and downs; you know.So here's an up.My partner and I created a company called GENRE 19 which just means the two of us making comics together.We put together this thing called PRODIGAL which is jut straight up actiony fun. No superheroes. No super villains. No spandex. No secret IDs.Here's the cover of #1

It's officially coming out in February from APE ENTERTAINMENT. Two GIANT issues (48 pages each), one AWESOME story.
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The Planet Star - Unfolding Prophecy

THEMATIC QUESTION(S)If events are permitted to occur naturally, would prophecies become realities? Can a prophecy be changed by manipulating events? Perhaps prophetic revelations come to fruition when a sequence of events is manipulated, and that prophecy is, in fact, contingent upon those alterations.SUMMARYA young widow leaves her home planet, heading out into the galaxy to a planet that will help her to reestablish her life as well as that of her young son. Unknowingly, she enters the snare of an evil lord who has, for many decades, been searching for “the prophesied widow”, whom he believes holds the key to The Planet Star that would destroy his empire. Shortly after the widow and her son arrive at their destination, they are brutally kidnapped by those in collusion with the evil lord, but his plans are foiled when his archenemy, King Ewlon, daringly rescues the widow and her son. Together, the King and widow cross the galaxy to his home planet and to his home which is the only place The Planet Star can be activated. However, their footsteps are continually dogged by the evil lord and his minions.Footnote: Throughout most of the book, the widow is unaware of the fact her rescuer is a king.Notation: kilo-tran is a little more than 1/2 mile.tran = 3.2 feetI have actually ( ) these calculations below. However, in the actual book the conversion is not given. Since the need to convert these measurements are so few, I have given that notation in a Reader's Description of Terms at the end of the book.Opening scene:Chapter 1 A NEW BEGINNINGShreela Bakra – Widow of TimaShreela Bakra leaned against the doorpost of her home,gazing at the purple dorfa tree saplings. Her long brown hairbillowed in the cool gusty wind and made her shiver. Wrappingher soft gray cloak tightly around her petite frame, she againrested against the doorpost so that she could spend a few moreprecious moments to enjoy her last sunrise in her belovedhome, gazing at the shimmering autumn scene.Shreela’s home located in the Province of Aurel onParamon’s moon, Tima, is about eight parsecs beyond thefringe of the Milky Way in the Gena Solar System. The hills andvalleys of the northern most area of Aurel were clothed in themulti-colored splendor of fall. A cool intermittent wind blew infrom the northwest causing the falling leaves to make a faintsnipping sound as they fell upon the crisp leaves already pilingup on the ground.This gracious Bakra estate lay sequestered deep within theAcacia Forest, isolated from the nearby town of Kalinif, overfive kilo-trans (approx. 3 mi) away. Despite the partially barren trees, thedensity of the forest kept Shreela’s home hidden from pryingeyes. Sounds of small woodland creatures skipping across thecarpet of dry leaves filled the air. A well-trodden pathwayleading to the mansion was covered with purple, blue, red, andorange leaves shed by the towering trees surrounding the home.Shreela looked up for a moment, watching the puffs of smokerising from the chimney, then quickly swept away by a gentlebreeze. Finally, she descended the front steps to take a shortturn around the house. Stopping for a moment and shading hereyes, Shreela watched the early morning sun rays stipplethrough the wall of trees on the southeastern side of themansion, revealing several large teardrop windows, recessed inthe sand-colored brick structure, highlighted by three toffeecoloreddoors. This majestic main entrance door, standing threetrans high (about 9.5 ft), was magnificently covered with handcrafted woodenreliefs.At the time of his death, Jor Bakra was a well-knownastrophysicist, and Director of Research and Development forAstrofi, a large science and aerospace engineering company onTima. Jor also ran his own private aerospace design businesswhere he developed and produced satellite containmentchambers. He was well paid for his services, both corporate andprivate, and Shreela lived a very comfortable life.During the second year of their eight-year marriage, Shreelaleft her career job as a full-time linguist, to give birth to theironly son, Soren. Since small in-home businesses werecommonplace on Tima, Shreela started her own business as alanguage consultant contracting with several small companies.In the beginning, her business kept her quite busy, but as theprice for translator equipment dropped, her business dwindledto almost nothing.Shreela went back upstairs and began pacing the veranda.With her head bowed, eyes closed, and arms folded across herchest, she thought about the drastic changes in her lifefollowing Jor’s death and argued with herself, justifying herdecision to leave Tima. I’ve spent almost all of the savings and creditsto pay off creditors for loans secured by Jor and for supplies necessary for hisresearch projects, she thought. Now I’m nearly bankrupt. Since I cannotreturn these supplies, I can only sell them for half the price which leaves mewith just enough credits to cover payment on this house, and maintenance,for about two cycles - three at most. With one-hundred-eighty cycles left topay, how can I carry the load without financial support?Shreela realized that she needed retraining before she couldreenter the professional job marketplace. She had already puther home on the market, hoping there might be some creditsleft after expenses. Shreela soon learned that she would still nothave enough left over to pay for the program on Tima, andsupport herself and Soren. However, there would be enough topay for a similar program on the planet Thesbis – the planet ofwidows - in the Unian Solar System.The particulars on the book are as follows:Title: The Planet Star – Unfolding ProphecyAuthor: C.M. ChakrabartiISBN-13: 978-1-58982-454-6ISBN-10: 1-58982-454-7Distribution: amazon.com, barns&noble.com, pdbookstore.comPublisher: American Book PublishingAs you know, the opening chapter is always the most difficult. I felt the need to allow the reader to see the environment of the widow, and understand her loss. Her change in status is acute. It is not uncommon that women who leave the workplace to stay home for a while with their children discover that when returning to the work place, even after a short span of time, they have become obselete. There are no social programs on Tima to help Shreela. She has no family on that planet. What can she do?
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Vision (by Valjeanne Jeffers & Quinton Veal)

Listen:Last nightI dreamtsensous and terribleof a man who cherished a womanwith every beat of his hearthe listened carefully whenshe whispered love --sexuality innocentas untouched snowAnd of a brotherwho plotted the destructionof them bothHis spirit was redeemedby glimpses from thepast:offeringschildrenembracethey speed togetherunitedacross timeacross galaxiesto fight...Is this memoryfrom my collective unconsciousa prophecy of our racedivine murmuringor only a dream?You tell meCopyright Valjeanne Jeffers & Quinton Veal 2009
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Nnedi in SF Signal's Mind Meld

Excerpted from the latest Mind Meld:

Q: What book introduced you to science fiction?

Nnedi Okorafor

Nnedi Okorafor is a science fiction and fantasy novelist of Nigerian descent. Her books include Zahrah the Windseeker (winner of the 2008 Wole Soyinka Africa Prize for Literature), The Shadow Speaker (An NAACP Image Award Nominee) and Long Juju Man (winner of the Macmillan Prize for Africa). Her novels Who Fears Death (DAW) and Akata Witch (Penguin) and chapter book, Iridessa and the Fire-Bellied Dragon Frog (Disney Press), are scheduled for release in 2010.


The book that introduced me to science fiction was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It remains one of my all time favorite novels. I even give it a subtle (well, not that subtle) shout-out in my first novel, Zahrah the Windseeker. I was about twelve when I discovered The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

When I was growing up, I wasn't aware of the categories of science fiction and fantasy. However, I naturally gravitated toward books with speculative elements. I also liked nonfiction science books. My introduction to Isaac Asimov was through his nonfiction science books, not his science fiction. I picked up The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in the library because it had that green circle monster with the big grin on it.

This creature highly amused me. I thought it was cute, funny, mysterious and strange. I didn't know what the book was about at ALL. I've never been too fond of stories about people on spaceships. They make me feel claustrophobic, as does the very idea of space travel. But this wasn't the case with the story of Arthur, Ford, Zaphod, and Trillion.

There was lots of breathable space in this novel, even within the ship, ha ha. When I picked up this novel, I was really really into all the animal field guides. The idea of the Hitchhiker's Guide, a constantly evolving field guide about everything...I LOVED that; the very idea sent my mind soaring.

Also, my strongest subjects were math and science and even back then, I had a love for illogical logic. I went on to read all the books in the series, of course. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was the first book to make me laugh really hard out loud. And I thought hard about the Infinite Improbability Drive.

The whale and the petunias...priceless on so many levels. I played that scene over and over again in my head for years. Because I wasn't familiar with the science fiction tradition that the book was mocking, I read the book in a different way. It wasn't a satire to me, it was just this really f*cking weird hilarious novel that was different from everything else I'd read. Oh and I have to mention that because it had lots of aliens, I felt included. I was reading tons of novels (genre and non-genre fiction) and none of what I was picking up had any people of color in them. This bothered me on a subconscious level. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxywas about BEING alien.

Arthur lost his whole planet and then he was thrust into a "world" bigger than his earth and it was full of truly diverse "aliens". It was a refreshing read for someone like me. I first read it as a library copy. It was not until I was in my late teens that I got one of those copies with all the books in one volume. I now own several copies of the series along with an old original cassette recording of the BBC radio series (used book sales can be so awesome!). A few days ago my 6-year-old daughter said, "I really want to fly! Mommy, how do I fly?" What did I tell her? "Anyaugo, just throw yourself at the ground and miss!" That kept her busy for about an hour. Ha ha ha! Lastly, YES I plan to read the forthcoming And Another Thing... by Eoin Colfer, the sixth installment in the series. It's not Adams, but it is Colfer doing Adam's characters, so I'll bite.

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eve of Jewish New Year

I am trying to feel “Happy New Year” when so much hate is creeping across the land. After all, I know so many good people. Even my workshop members who I drive batty.I got another call begging me to write or call my senator about health care. Done that 2 or 3 times already. I guess that I will take a page from my elders’ notebook and do it again--even if I don’t think they are listening. On Facebook, I pasted a phrase from Sh’ma which came, the essayist says, from Kotzker Rebbe: “Only God can fix the world using broken tools”.So here I am, broken. Use me well.
Tonight begins a new year.
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