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----Below is an article that appeared in my hometown newspaper----
A Waterbury native who recently started a small publishing company with friends and family has re-released two science fiction chronicles he wrote as part of a series as its first two projects. The Virginia-based Rage Books LLC was founded by Waterbury native Malcolm Dylan Petteway. Petteway grew up in Waterbury before going on to graduate from the U.S. Air Force Academy and California State University. A 20-year veteran of the Air Force, Petteway flew B-52s, logging more than 3,000 flight hours and 300 combat hours. A military analyst who received a Meritorious Service Medal and other awards including some for Operation Enduring Freedom, Petteway's, new company released "Homecoming" and "Revelations" ($14.50 each, Rage Books), from his science fiction series "Osguards: Guardians of the Universe." "Homecoming" tells the story of the battle between the planets of Kulusk and Chaktun and two Chaktun princesses who fled Earth to lead a universal peacekeeping organization. “Revelations" also delves into related plots of interplanetary war and conflict unfolding across planets and eras that entangles characters from FBI agents to inhabitants of other worlds.
— Brynn Mande -- Waterbury American-Republican
A burst of cackling laughter caught Adanna’s ears, pulling her eyes from the burning pyre. Beyond the Isat there were a few other women and men that served the Witch Priest, kingdoms and peoples who by coercion or choice had given their allegiance. But among his vast army they were but a small number. Most that called the Witch Priest master may have walked on two legs, but they were not men and women--they were something else.
She stared at the still laughing forms in the distance. Hyena men. Golden and spotted hair covered their human-like bodies, which were adorned with little more than ragged pelts that hung from their waists. Most held short crude swords and spears, jagged edged shields or other weapons. Red tongues lolled between sharp teeth fitted into long black muzzles on their bestial faces.
How Hyena men had come to be, none truly knew. Some said they were from the scorched northern plains, on the edges of the Desert Sea--the progeny of women seduced by sorcerers who could take the shape of hyenas. Others claimed they were once a beautiful people, struck down and cursed for their selfish vanity by the gods. Yet, still, some said the Hyena men were creations of the Witch Priest himself--willful men reduced to half-beasts by his power, now forever bound to his service.
Whatever the truth of it, Hyena men now swelled the ranks of the Witch Priest’s armies--mindless, vicious, perversions. Even now, as Adanna watched, a pack of them bickered amongst themselves. Growls and barking mingled between their maniacal laughter, as they seemed to fight over a bit of meat--that looked suspiciously human. As ill-fortune had it, the man-beasts now stood in her way.
Drawing up to full height, Adanna walked towards the pack. She set her face into a scowl, a hand resting casually on her fire knife. As she stopped before the Hyena men they ceased their bickering, looking up to her and emitting a series of low snarls, baring teeth in warning, their sharp ears laid flat. Adanna did not back down, instead fixing them with a look of her own, the flames in her eyes rising high to give them a fierce glow. The show of force was enough. As one the Hyena men broke apart, whimpering and moving off, but never taking their baleful gazes from her.
Walking past them, Adanna did not release the grip upon her knife. One had to be careful to show strength among these man-beasts. Cowards they may have been, but as a pack they would attack anything that looked weak--even one another. Keeping her stern demeanor she made her way carefully across the burned-out village. More than mere Hyena men marched beneath the Witch Priest’s banner, and not all were so easily cowed....
--Excerpt, Redemption for Adanna, a short prequel/character sketch
Writing in today's fast pace world has lost the art of the science or should I say the science of the art. When I began writing, I did so because I had a story I needed to tell. The story was a part of my imagination that I opened up for the world to see, touch and feel. I bore my soul and heart to strangers in hopes that something I wrote stirred them…moved them…provoked them…or just plain entertained them. But somewhere along the way, the artist that put words to paper has to become someone else in order to get the story out.
The artist must decipher demographics, marketing strategies and business plans. The artist must learn how to promote, sale and spin words and ideas into 30 second sound bites. The artist must tailor the work for another purpose. In short, the artist must stop being an artist and become a businessman.
Becoming something other than an artist is something that most artists cannot do without pain. Under a traditional publishing arrangement, the artist gives up control to the businessman. That businessman changes, edits and reshapes the artist project…normally after much consternation; but now the project sells. The artist may lose part of his or her voice in the process, but royalty checks can soothe the hurt somewhat of a lost voice.
What about the self-publisher? Can the lack of another person running the business end of your project hurt your chances to push your project? There are people cut out to sale and there are people cut out to create. Self-publishers must do both, and they must do both extraordinarily well.
For the self-publishers out there…how is your journey from artist to businessman?
Malcolm Dylan Petteway
Rage Books LLC
WWW.RAGEBOOKS.NET
ENDURANCE CHAPTER SHMT
voiceless screams. From her chest up, her body smoldered
in brownish smoke and then finally she keeled over.
Michelle stopped her attack. The moonbeam gradual-
ly dissipated and the dust particles that could be seen from
it’s light slowly hide from vision.
"I always liked bunny rabbits," snickered Michelle.
Mike remained silent taking everything in, uncon-
sciously licking the beads of sweat that rolled down to his
lips.
He could tell that Michelle had mental issues like
many youths his age. Michelle walked toward Mike and
he jerked back. She abruptly grabbed his hand and started
to run. Although confused about what just happened,
Mike willingly followed her.
After a while Mike recognized that they were going in
the direction of his house, he wondered how she knew
where he lived. He squeezed her hand tight and then took
the lead. No words went between the two as they were
running. Just glances. Their hands began to perspire and
they could both feel their hearts beat rapidly. Mike took
the scenic route to avoid any conflict with his neighbors.
When they finally got to his home he fiddled nerv-
ously with his key trying to get it into the keyhole.
Michelle smirked, as though the difficulty Mike was hav-
ing meant something else. Before pushing the door open
he gave Michelle a quizzical look. As soon as they got
inside, Michelle grabbed him by the waist and pulled him
close to her. She wrapped her arms around him and
squeezed him hard.
He did the same. Their cheeks touched and the feeling
was warm. This was the kind of warmth he almost forgot-
ten. Michelle started to cry and shake uncontrollably. His
face became wet with her tears and he held her tighter.
They rubbed their faces together and finally looked into
each other’s eyes.
Now he knew that she never meant him any harm and
that she held a passion for him that was both wild and
earnest. She closed her eyes slowly as if she was offering
him her life.
She kissed him softer and deeper than she did before..............
'AWAKENING' CHAPTER WA
My mother’s garb caressed my figure well, much to my
surprise. The metallic black material hugged all the feminine
proportions of my body like a long lost lover. Only if
I had one to speak of, my Ka yearns for the touch of a
Nefer Aha.
"Serqet, you look radiant! You are becoming more like
the woman our mother is with each passing moment,”
said Gebsennuf.
Even though our mother transitioned into the higher
plane some time ago, Gebsennuf never referred to her as
in the past tense. I guess he was right. After all, our kind
has existed for what other life forms may consider an eternity.
My rambling thoughts were interrupted when
Gebsennuf took my hand and led me through the corridor
to Eb N Ma‘at, the counsel of elders’ chamber. I spent
a lot of time in the many passageways of our craft, just gazing
into the vastness through the portals. I stared for
moments on end at the nothingness holding everything in
place.
Although I have seen this cosmic beauty throughout
the duration of this lifetime, I am still captivated by what
my eyes behold. Now I will use those same eyes to hold
something else in captivation––my ancestors and without
their knowing. I am to take an active role in shaping their
future, my future, hmmm. We are coming closer to the
chamber, I can smell the sweet scent of Netcher permeating
from its walls.
Gebsunnef stopped in front of its doors, letting his
hand slip gently out of mine––farewell my brother. He
initiated the ritual necessary to raise our vibrations in order
to enter.
Upon entering the Eb N Ma’at, my eyes were struck
by the brilliance of its interior, I could not help covering
them with my hand. Through the shielding of my fingers,
my vision slowly adjusted to the light and the seated figures
became visible.
A total of nine members were present, all of whom
were focused on me intensely. Although their eyes reflected
peaceful intent, I could feel pure Enkhet Sekhem
emmanating from them. As they began their evaluation I
remembered what my mother taught me about centering
myself and remaining unattached to things.
During my early years her teachings were drilled
methodically into my consciousness, nevertheless my eyes
still raced around the chamber frantically. My mouth grew
increasingly dry along with my rising anxiety.
The next moments were to severely test my mental
fortitude. My entire life experience was to be literally
weighed against a feather.
As a child I thought the stories were just fantasy used
to direct children towards the right actions. Now that I
stood on a levitating disc opposite another disc holding an
actual feather on it, my mind longed to wipe away the
childish feelings of that memory. All my deeds and
thoughts ranging from honorable to unprincipled were to
be taken into account.
I nervously looked towards Gebsennuf ’s direction
searching for some type of consolement. He abruptly
turned his head in my direction and a stoic look grew on
his face––showing not even the slightest sign of support.
For a moment I shuddered about the deeds I was not
so proud of before realizing that I had nothing to fear. I
am Sat N Netcher and nothing can hide within Netcher
nor escape from it. Slowly my confidence returned to me
as the scale holding the feather teetered a little, before
coming into balance with my experiences.
A low hush fell on the counsel followed by what
seemed like never ending silence echoing throughout the
chamber.
“Serqet is worthy to carry on the work of her ascendants,”
announced Elder Djehuti in his quiet yet thundering
voice.
“As of today, she will begin her assignment,” he added.
“Dear Serqet, you have been chosen to help nurture
the growth of your ancestors. We will not tell you exactly
how to do that, that will be up to your discretion,” proclaimed
Elder Aset.
“ANKH UDJA SENEB. SHEM TCH EM HOTEP,”
they all exclaimed in unison.
As I was lead to the center of the chamber by Elder
HetHeru, her long locks brushed across my forearm as we
walked. Her scent was invigorating to the senses yet calming
to the heart.
This brief encounter with her helped to settle my
nerves and reminded me of my mother. Before Elder
HetHeru parted from me, she opened my palm then suddenly
scratched me across the top of it––it burns.
She smiled, purred, then took her leave to join the
others. She must be trying to tell me something but can’t
say it directly.
Once in the center of the chamber, I eased my body
into the Ma‘at posture. As I spread my arms a finely knit
web of energy draped down from the underside of my
arms. I see that my diligent practice of this posture has
served me well.
The counsel formed a circle around me with their
hands outstretched in the Ka pose. They began chanting
the words of power, getting lower and lower in tone as
they continued. Their voices fluctuated all about my body,
entering my cells and filling them with sweet words of
Hekau.
In my mind’s eye, the image of a young man gradually
became visible, along with a group of youths his age
pursuing him. Without warning, all my senses were bombarded
by his anxiety, causing my body to jerk violently
trying to maintain the posture.
Everything he experienced I received three-fold due to
our difference in sensory perception. My muscles tightened
in my legs and arms, steadily increasing with tension
beyond my immediate control.
Ahhh. I now see how to distance myself enough to
receive information without extreme empathy. Suddenly, a
thin sheet of energy formed between myself and this individual,
allowing me to see the events that were taking
place without experiencing the anguish.
In an instant I became aware of all the major events
that took place on the earth during the last few centuries.
The collage of events that swept through my mind carried
an underlying feeling of despair.
In addition to this, I became acquainted with all their
customs and cultural colloquialisms. Strange. This is the
first time I laid eyes on him yet, I know him the way I’ve
known my brother. This person, called Mike, is my ancestor,
along with the ones pursuing him.
Amazing. I…I know everything about them. It is as
though all their life’s information is being pumped directly
into my memories. Hmmmm. Something else I am
coming to realize, at some point I lost consciousness of my
body and was placed back in my chamber.
I can not recall when it happened or who moved me,
I am only aware of the link between this collective of individuals
and myself. I do not know when the ceremony
ended, but it left me with the awareness of a fine thread of
vibrance attached to the base of my skull.
At the other end of this thread were the five individu-
als. Their thought patterns are so garbled its making me
feel a bit uneasy. Wait....I am unable to move…I am paralyzed.
ARRRGH!!! Trying to move my body brings about
an adverse effect drawing me physically and mentally closer
to their realm. This uneasiness of my vibration diminishing
and my form becoming gross in composition is
stressful. However, the sudden strain on my spirit allowed
me to regain balance but much of my sekhem is spent.
As much as I want to help Mike, all I can do is observe
and wait. I feel helpless. I do not know what to expect to
happen or what exactly I need to do. No one explained
anything to me other than that I am responsible for the
future of my generation.
My only option now is to settle my emotions and
reluctantly watch Mike take a vicious beating from those
who he would eventually call family. This must be what is
referred to as irony.
End Chapter
Join us on the 100% grown folks weekly update by Penelope & Otto telling you all you need to know in news, entertainment politics, current events and finance.This episode enjoy our can't miss interview with Gayle "Delicious" Johnson, author of the recently released, sexually charged novella of revenge and redemption, "You Might Get Lucky."Lucky's name seems 100% spot on accurate. Married to a beautiful woman, a father and successful businessman it seems that everything in his life has turned out right. Orphaned at and early age then taken in by loving adoptive parents as a young teen, Lucky really looks to be an appropriate name. But under the smooth surface of success there's trouble brewing as dark secrets of sexual terror and manipulation seek to control and manipulate him and somehow...the name Lucky doesn't seem to fit too well anymore.Listen as Gayle "Delicious" tells us how she created these shocking and all too real characters!!
Saturday 3/06/2010 9:30pm CST 90 Minutes CLICK ON THE LINK AND JOIN US TONIGHT AT 9:30pm CST and call 718/508-9683 and TELL US WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND!
As a child I watched many action adventures, read comic books of superheroes and was captivated by science fiction television shows. However in the seventies, as I entered my teen years I noticed that the role models on television shows and in movies as well as in books were white. Upon further review, I concluded that in the entertainment media African Americans were portrayed as comic relief characters, sidekicks, pimps, hustlers or thieves. I remember having an argument with my friends over who was better, "Shaft" or "Superfly." Needless to say, I was in the minority. Then I noticed most of my peers who feared they would not go to college aspired...actually aspired...to become pimps, hustlers and drug dealers. Unfortunately, about ninety percent succeeded. I attribute this to the lack of role models and the bombardment of negative stereotyping in the entertainment media. So as a teenager, I created my own role models through story form.
In my English and Creative Writing classes, I wrote police dramas, adventure and science fiction stories, with African American protagonists. The story of the Osguards is my science fiction creation that began as an honors English class writing assignment in 1978. It garnered laughs from both white and black students in the class because they could not fathom African Americans as leaders, especially commanders of complex and intricate spaceships. But I received praise from the teacher for a bold effort.
Several years ago, due to a professional setback in my career, I resolved to focus my frustration in a positive manner. So I decided to write. I chose science fiction because of the freedom of imagination the genre allows. It also allows me to inject other genres like mystery, crime, love or adventure stories into it.
My question to you...why do you read science fiction?
Malcolm "Rage" Petteway
http://osguards.com/
http://ragebooks.net/
Tonight Penelope & Otto review "The Book of Eli" where all the black women at?! We discuss the Obama Healthcare summit, wonder what's with Atlanta and these ant-abortion 'endangered species' billboards, *Spoiler Alert!* - When is it okay to reveal the big reveal? We give you The In Like Flynn weekly giveaway and bring you the phrase of the week. as well as discussing ways to get you back to work. Come join us on the 100% grown folks weekly update where Penelope & Otto will deliver all you need to know in news, entertainment politics, current events and finance. This and more on this installment of In Like Flynn!
Saturday 2/27/2010 9:30pm CST 90 Minutes CLICK ON THE LINK AND JOIN US TONIGHT AT 9:30pm CST and call 718/508-9683 and TELL US WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND!
TODAY, FEB. 27TH, 2010; NOON Eastern/11AM Central @ www.blogtalkradio.com/nadraenzi to hear or call (347) 426-3902: Are Dr. King and Malcolm X similar to real life superheroes? What about President Obama?  Do Black "real life superheroes" differ from their peers? Tune in to the Capt. Black Super Show's Black History Month episode www.blogtalkradio.com/nadraenzi where heroism and all forms of creative concerned citizenship are explored. -NADRA ENZI AKA CAPT. BLACK Safety Rights Activist/Urban Security Consultant. (912) 272-2898 |
Orca1: I'm through with this gig. I want out.
Orca2: Yeah, this is getting old . . .
Orca3: But they give us food.
Orca1: As if that were enough. I've been eyeing some of those
seals in the morning show . . . they look damned tasty. I'm outta here.
I'm not doing a thing they say for the next week. That will make them
think about releasing me.
Orca2: Yeah, no whale games. I'm not bouncing any more balls. Do
I look like Flipper to you? I'm a Killer Whale, dammit! Uh huh. Next
one of them come up to me with that damn whistle and I'm going all
National Geographic on 'em.
Orca3:But . . .
Orca2:Nah, don't get soft! Work stoppage - tomorrow - first show. WHO'S WITH ME?
Orca1: You know I'm in. Got a little sumpthin' for 'em tomorrow.
Orca3: I don't know . . .
Orca1: Shut up before I eat you!
Orca2:Damn, that's harsh. BTW, trainers taste like chicken.
Orca2: Yeah, this is getting old . . .
Orca3: But they give us food.
Orca1: As if that were enough. I've been eyeing some of those
seals in the morning show . . . they look damned tasty. I'm outta here.
I'm not doing a thing they say for the next week. That will make them
think about releasing me.
Orca2: Yeah, no whale games. I'm not bouncing any more balls. Do
I look like Flipper to you? I'm a Killer Whale, dammit! Uh huh. Next
one of them come up to me with that damn whistle and I'm going all
National Geographic on 'em.
Orca3:But . . .
Orca2:Nah, don't get soft! Work stoppage - tomorrow - first show. WHO'S WITH ME?
Orca1: You know I'm in. Got a little sumpthin' for 'em tomorrow.
Orca3: I don't know . . .
Orca1: Shut up before I eat you!
Orca2:Damn, that's harsh. BTW, trainers taste like chicken.
|
Lord knows I love me some Brother President. But I have lost patience with him when it comes to his trying to negotiate with Republicans.
Facts:
#1 290 bills passed by the house are sitting in the Senate because Republican Senators refuse to vote on them
#2 The Gop is misusing filibusters to hold up legislations (they have "spiked") since Obama took office
#3 Democrats have allowed the GOP to chip away at Obama's health care plan (killing the public option) and haven't gotten a damn thing for it.</p>
#4 Obama's health care would save billions over a ten year period and create jobs.
Its time for President Obama to scrap bi-partisanship and the Democrats to call for up or down (majority) votes. In other words reconcilliation.
Sisters and Brothers what say you?
It was not so long ago that I posted this poem, but I wish to revisit it because it represents something special.
Loss of a loved one can be sorely devastating, and it may take years to come to terms with it. Someone once told me that the pain of a loss doesn't diminish, but rather someone develops the strength and endurance tobear it. Jewelery can sometimes seem to possess a part of a loved one;a little piece of their soul. The wedding band, engagement ring, familyheirloom; these hold such significance to our lives in relation tothose who have gone before us.
Theevents in this poem are based on truth, something that happened. Ittells of the journey of two loved ones who experience an incrediblebond, as the life of one of them nears the end. The other has to musterall the courage they can to watch the one they love pass on. It is truesome bonds can never be broken, their substance undiluted even untodeath.
upon six gems we struck a covenant,
to be as one among the chaos of our youth
to bond our hearts of jade and azure,
to an unlikely perfect graft
a mystic of sentiment you were
a chestful of gold-lings and shinies
the sparkle at the summit of passion found
the gentle whisper of a diamond brook
but your brilliance hid the crack in your refraction
a weakness you hid to preserve my integrity
and as you slowly splintered,
I motioned you make house with me
you slowly lost your luster
and I shuddered in silence
as deep down I knew,
the Gem Maker was calling you home
at the failing of shines,
we made our vows
the imprint of our eternal memory,
and the band of six jewels a testament to our union
you were broken and I could not mend you
and I tried to shine brighter for the both of us
but I could not fix your center
and you gave up your last light in mine hands
image created by Antony Kamau
Originally posted at:
http://gladysmoore.blogspot.com/2009/11/gems-of-memory-revisited.html
By Steven Barnes
Del Rey Books
Hardcover: 272 pages
Publisher: Del Rey (May 5, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0345459032
ISBN-13: 978-0345459039
Product Dimensions: 9.6 x 6.6 x 1 inches
Steven Barnes is probably one of the best science fiction writers of our time. His poetic mastery of the written word paints a beautiful worlds and characters that charge a story for the reader into a fantastic fantasy. Mr. Barnes has ignited African folklore with his Great Sky Woman, into the main stream and continued the explosion with his book Shadow Valley.
Shadow Valley picks up where Great Sky Woman left off. A majority of the Ibandi people wander north from Mount Kilimanjaro, hoping to escape the mighty spear of the Mk*tk. They are led by Great Sky Woman and Frog Hopping, the two people who survived the climb up the mountain to speak with their god. The trek is trek is long, perilous and very arduous. Many turn back, and some of those that remain, are full of doubt. Meanwhile, a new leader rises from those who remained in the shadow of the Great Mountain…a leader full of anger and power, just the right potent mixture for revenge. What he believes he brings to the Mk*tk is death, but in reality, he brings the devastation to what is left of the Ibandi people left at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. Eventually, the two strands of Ibandi survivors meet and a struggle for power consumes them, while their enemy the Mk*tk approach. The survival of their people rests on their decisions and actions. Do they fight amongst themselves and let the victor lead, or do they band together to fight a common foe?
Mr. Barnes writes with such vivid realistic detail that the reader feels they are there, witnessing history unfold in front of their eyes. Mr. Barnes makes the Ibandi become family, pushing buttons of fear, love and hate. I have become a fan of African folklore science fiction.
I recommend Shadow Valley as a must read. But you must start with Great Sky Woman to really appreciate this read.
Malcolm “RAGE” Petteway
Rage Books LLC
WIRED! magazine gave us an awesome review.
We've started actually building our official website.
If your local comic book shop owner won't order it, you can order PRODIGAL online.
Here are some places you can get issue one
http://www.apecomics.com/store.htm
http://heavyink.com/comic/12377-Prodigal-Egg-Of-First-Light-1
and, if your LCS is still not being nice, I suggest jumping on issue 2 right now.
http://www.milehighcomics.com/comicindex/nice/January-2010/Title-PRODIGAL--EGG-OF-FIRST-LIGHT--2010---2-by-Ape-Entertainment.html
http://www.dcbservice.com/product.aspx?id=319083
http://westfieldcomics.com/comic-books/Prodigal-Egg-of-First-Light/10010699
silence
silence in the heart of a thousand cries
all alone among those whose hearts cry out in agony
the silent pitch gains volume
and she has to press her hands to her ears
she wakes up and stumbles along through the rubble
her dress is tattered, she is covered in white dirt
she is numb and feels no pain in the wound on her left leg
the picture of her mother laying motionless...
she blanks it out and now limps among wailing souls
she feels a hand upon her shoulder but walks on
half unconscious, her arms hanging loose at her sides
she can hear her heartbeat now in this virtual silence
someone dressed in white steps in front of her and stops her
holding her by the shoulders
she stops walking, she stops thinking
she longs to stop breathing; mother...
and she is in front of her, her mommy
her smile comforting as she looks into her eyes
she involuntarily hiccups a stifled sob; oh mother..
it will be all right, her mother says
mom, she calls out
and the lady in white embraces the little soul
as her body is rocked by sobbing; mother..
and she will be all right in time, mother is now with God
Originally posted at:
http://gladysmoore.blogspot.com/2010/01/among-rubble.html
Image: Roosewelt Pinheiro/Abr, Haiti earthquake camp
This image is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 Brazil License.
