DAWN OF THE BLACK SUPERHEROESDEISELA scream like that of some tortured animal lanced out down South street from out of nowhere. Loud enough to immediately silence a usually very noisy crowd. The scream did not stop however, it continued on turning into a grinding motor-like sound. That's when the other screams started.Their cries rose in my mind like hot steam, and it took me a moment to adjust to the din. From the few thoughts that were clear to me I could only discern that something monstrous was coming.In true South Street tradition, the entire crowd began to run, pouring down the street like a river towards Penn's Landing. Only a few of the younger kids just coming to South Street for the first time, lingered a little, unsure of what to do.I was about to run myself when I caught a glimpse of what it was that was creating this mayhem; a truck, a huge truck. It was barreling down the middle of South Street smashing and grinding up the cars parked along the street. Cars caught ahead of it in the bumper to bumper traffic attempted to get out of its way by pulling off to the side, but the wide frame of the truck covered most of the street and sidewalk. Its oversized steel grill was merciless, turning newly painted, hot waxed, aluminum rimmed rides into smoking heaps of broken chrome and ruined frames.Again I was about to turn and run, when I noticed someone moving against the grain of the panicking crowd, someone who did not have it in his head to haul ass like the rest of us. He was easy enough to see as big as he was, towering above the hoochie-mamas and wanna-be-players that were running in the opposite direction. I stopped moving, a little stunned, and tried to sift through all the panicked minds to hear his thoughts but I could not.From his back all I could see was the long leather coat he wore and the tops of his white basket ball sneakers peeking out from underneath as he strolled right into the path of the monster truck. I tried to get a sense of what he was doing, why he was walking toward what everyone else was running from. The fear and confusion in the minds on South Street that night were too much for me to read through to any one person's thoughts.The gigantic semi bore down on him smashing the parked cars along the sides of the street and pushing them before it but not slowing down in the least. Still Leather-jacket did not move, he just stood there, waiting for this monster thing to devour him and grind him under like so much chuck.I considered sending him a thought burst, a mental message, trying to get him to move out of the way but I did not think that I could focus my thoughts together quickly enough to be more than just a distraction to him. So I watched, as the nightmare from Detroit met Leather-jacket in the middle of South Street.To my surprise, and the general surprise of those who were still watching as I was, “Leather-jacket” was not ground under the big black wheels, or thrown fifty feet into the air. Instead the mountain of a man took the charge of the beast like a 400 hundred pound offensive lineman, locking his hands into that wicked looking front grill with a loud clang. He leaned into the Diesel and set his feet against the ground, the thick soles of his high-tops starting to burn against the black tarred street.I realized that even though he had somehow survived the collision with the Diesel, that he would not be able to stop it. Once again I was going to turn and run finally, hoping to expand the rapidly shrinking distance between the monster truck and I. Then like a blast I felt the disaster, the panic and fear of two score human minds that saw the same dreadful sight, felt the same emotion...concern!! The singular thought was so similar and yet coming from so many different minds that I became dizzy for a second. I then turned trying to see the same image that I was now seeing in the minds of over twenty people, all generating a ripple of excitement and terror.Finally I saw her. Young, she could not have even been in high school for more than two years, one of the many kids who were really too young to be on South Street that late. She was wearing a tight form fitting dress and a pair of heels that proved that this was her first time on South Street. Anyone who has been there more than once knows that you must wear clothing that allows you to run.Focusing my mind I searched out her thoughts through what felt like the roar of a hundred screaming souls. She was terrified of course, and had turned both ankles because of those pumps she was wearing, (her mother's). I could feel her fear which was so intense that she could not make herself move or even look up.Without listening to another thought I ran out into the street. The girl was in-between myself and the approaching Diesel monster. I should not have stood a chance of reaching her in time much less getting her out of the path of destruction, but I could now tell that the huge mountain man was actually slowing the monster down.I reached the young girl who lay curled up with her eyes shut tight. The closer I got the more powerful I realized her fear was. The cars that were parked along the sides were all being pushed like train cars in reverse by the wide monster truck, locked together bumper to bumper, blocking any path off of the street and out of danger. I could not hope to get the girl to the sidewalk;We would have to outrun the damn thing!I grabbed her by the shoulders, intending to shake her out of her panic, only to be greeted by a bolt of terror from her mind so violent that I was dazed for a second by the sheer ferocity of it. Being a telepath has its down sides I have discovered.It takes a moment for her to realize that it is not the end yet and though still strong, her fear abates somewhat. So then I can think again and I hear a sound different than the roar of the diesel's engine. Then I felt something begin to pelt me on my back. I turn to see big baseball chunks of tar flying through the air. Leather-jacket had dug the heels of his sneakers into the ground so defiantly that they had begun to dig up the street rather than be pulled under the monster truck. So amazing a sight was it that I almost forgot my own predicament until I started getting pelted by larger bits of road tar.Good thing, the young girl turned out to be very light and picking her up was not a problem. The Diesel was almost on top of us by the time I get up and running. The train line of cars started to buckle and one car slid out onto our path in the middle of the street. I stumbled a little and ran around it still feeling larger chunks of tar hit the backs of my legs and seeing some flying past my head. The roar of the Diesel's engine was deafening as was the fear in the girl's mind which overwhelmed my own.So close was the machine behind us now that Leather-jacket's thoughts drifted into my mind as well. They were so focused, so concentrated and simple that I could not help but to hear. One single thought that ran over and over again much like a mantra;*JOHN HENRY - JOHN HENRY - JOHN HENRY*Another car swerved into the street and I ran around that too and chanced a look over my shoulder to see the broad side of that car slam into and bounce off of the big man's back.*JOHN HENRY - JOHN HENRY - JOHN HENRY*Then the ground rose up beneath us as a large slab of tar broke free of the street from the digging heels of Leather-jacket. We fell as the tar broke free, the girls pain mingling with my own, our fear rising as we were then pushed along on top of the slab by the Diesel which threatened to over run us.Then it began to howl, it seemed like. The machine began to shudder and let loose frightening grating noises and it actually began to slow. Leather-jacket howled in return as if he realized that this was his last chance and he seemed to dig in even more.We had been pushed almost all of the way down South Street past several onlookers who had escaped the truck via side streets, but we were trapped riding on top of a wave of ripped up street. Now Penn's Landing was in clear view and despite the fact that we were slowing we still had enough speed to be dumped onto the freeway, maybe even the river.But then as If he knew it was now or never the big guy took a breath and heaved and the Diesel slowed drastically, the grating noise growing ever louder. I could see the muscles in his back straining even through the leather of his coat. The beast slowed even more as bigger and bigger chunks of road bubbled up underneath us. The Delaware loomed before us and even the girl had opened her eyes to see.Then gratingly, shuddering, hissing, and grumbling, the Diesel came to a halt right at the end of South Street. A few more fits and growls and it seemed to die, collapsing over it's wheels as it did, sinking about four feet down. It had the look of some huge animal carcass, still staring at it's killer.The girl and I stared, mouths open, too shocked to make a sound. We watched as Leather-jacket pulled his hands out of the front grille where they had been embedded. He turned and looked at the two of us for a moment and I could swear I saw the beginnings of a smile. Then he stalked off, back up the path of the truck and soon all I could see of him was his black leather coat and the somehow still white backs of his high tops, that had withstood what the street could not.Sirens shrieked up upon us along with cameras and an even larger crowd. No one knew it then despite all that we had seen but that was it, the Dawn. We had seen the first of the dawn of the Black super heroes, and I was to be one of them.end?
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My nationally syndicated public television series Heavy Sedation will begin airing in Eastern Europe starting in August. It will be seen in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Lichenstien, Denmark, Luxembourg Serbia, Bosnia, Montenegro and Italy. If yout not getting it in your Hometown in the USA call your local public televsion station.PeaceShannonRead more…
Nicktoons Networks Animation Festivalhttp://nicktoonsnetwork.nick.com/home.htmlThe Nicktoons Network Animation Festival is back for it’s 5th year! An event founded in 2004 to showcase the diversity of worldwide animation filmmaking, The Nicktoons Network Animation Festival is the largest multiplatform animation festival in North America. The festival features the best animated shorts (10 minutes and under) from around the globe. Shorts selected for the festival have the chance to make it on-air, online and to be showcased at the live event in Los Angeles in October. All shorts selected to screen in the Festival are eligible for all these great prizes! The Grand Prize; the $30,000 Nick Development Award, the Grand Jury Award; $10,000 chosen by our featured 2008 judges, the Producers' Choice Award, the Online Viewer’s Choice Award and the Student Award in partnership with mtvU.2007 proved to be another great year for animation! Nicole Mitchell won both the 2007 Grand Prize and the 2007 Grand Jury prize last year with her charming short, Zoologic. Jiwook Kim won the 2007 Producer’s Choice award with her delightful short St. Laleeloo. Javier Barboza won the 2007 Diversity Award for his touching short, Feb. 18 2005 and Andy Lyon won the Student Award for his funny short Bare.This year proves to be bigger than ever with more ways to enter into the festival than ever before!For our budding young animators under 18 we have our Greater Creator Contest! Send in your idea for a character and show idea and you could win a trip to the Nickelodeon Animation Studio in Burbank for you and your family, as well as a Animation Academy to come to your school!New to the festival this year is the “I Got Game” Contest in partnership with AddictingGames. Send in your idea for a game character and you could win the chance to have it made into a free online game!And coming soon an exciting contest in partnership with LEGO.Festival winners are showcased on-air and the prize winners announced during the 'Nicktoons Network Animation Festival Best Of Special' in October. Shorts are also featured online where viewers can vote on their favorite shorts, and will be showcased at our exclusive live event in Los Angeles also in October.Nicktoons Network is the fastest growing kids' network* and offers a 24-hour schedule featuring programming such as the Nicktoons Network Animation Festival, Skyland, Kappa Mikey, The Secret Show and Martin Mystery, as well as a roster of hits that have defined kids' and animation lovers' TV, including Avatar: The Last Airbender, Invader Zim, Danny Phantom, SpongeBob SquarePants, The Fairly OddParents and The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius. Nicktoons Network is a part of the MTV Networks expanded suite of channels available for digital distribution. The new channels include MTV Hits, MTV Jams, Nicktoons Network and VH1 Mega Hits, expanding and strengthening MTV Networks' digital offerings to thirteen services.Nicktoons Network currently reaches 50 million homes via cable, digital cable and satellite, and can be seen on Cablevision, Charter Communications, Comcast Cable, Cox Communications, DirecTV, DISH Network and Time Warner Cable. Nicktoons, and all related titles and logos are property of Viacom, Inc.*Nicktoons Network was the Fastest Growing Kid's Network in the past year among K6-14, K9-14 and K12-17. Source: Nielsen Media Research, 01/01/07-12/30/07 vs. 12/26/05-12/31/06. (Live) US AA%http://nicktoonsnetwork.nick.com/nnaf/Read more…
Please criticize. tell me what you really think. any problems you see tell me. hope you enjoy.The doors of the oval office flew open. Ten men in military attire walked in with haste. “ Mr. president “ the first one through the door said carrying a laptop. “ we have a problem”. “Doesn’t any one knock any more “ the president said looking up from his desk. “An unidentified aircraft has appeared over Southern Ireland“ the man continued. “ok” the president said wondering what this had to do with him. “ keep me posted as the situation progresses” . “ Umm President Fisk I don’t think you understand the true magnitude of the situation” the general said standing in front of the resolute desk. “ the unidentified aircraft is ten times the size of a B52 Bomber and it just appeared on our radar a hour ago.” The presidents facial expression changed from a look of indifference to look of utter disbelief. “ Well what do we know general?” the president said. The general sat his laptop on the resolute desk.“ No country has claimed the aircraft it does not appear to be armed” the general said typing a password into the laptop. “ it appeared on our radar as it entered our atmosphere. Our sci…….”. “ Wait” the president said looking at the general. “ Are you trying to tell me this thing came from space?” the general looked at the other men in the room as if looking for direction. “ It appears so Mr. president.” The president sat motionless behind the resolute desk. Within the last five minutes General Waldo and his comrades had given him information that had made his three years of experience as president seem like ill preparation.The president covered his face with his hands. “Why didn’t we detect this thing earlier?” he asked frustrated. “ We don’t know” said a man in a air force uniform. “ Wedidn’t know this thing existed until an hour ago. We believe the craft has advanced stealthtechnology the likes of which we have never scene.” “ Do we have any idea who designed this thing?” the president said looking at another man. “ Maybe China or Russia” he said turning his head to the director of the CIA. ”Not possible, Russia’s space program all but collapsed after the cold war. They don’t have the capability to dream of things like this. China, no way. China building something like this is like giving your two year old a tooth pick and he conquers the world with it”. “ You still haven’t answered my question “ the president said getting increasingly agitated. “ Who does this thing belong to?” he said looking around the room. The room went quiet. The men held their heads down looking from one to another waiting for someone to answer the question each of them dreaded. General Waldo stepped forward and cleared his throat. ” Umm President Fisk we don’t believe that this craft came from a country on earth. Our theory is it came from space.”President Fisk sat dumbfounded behind the resolute desk. “ Space” he said to himself. Never in thirty eight years of existences had he heard or attempted to mentally conceive something so absurd. Had any other man who had sat in his position heard such words. George Washington didn’t have to deal with space ships. Did he? Wait he thought to himself. This is obviously some kind of joke. “I’m getting Punked, it all makes since now. In a few seconds a hidden camera crew will surprise me and I will laugh the rest of the day away with General Waldo and every one else who was in on it. In the morning there will be a huge headline in USA Today that says “ President Fisk Punked” and all will be well again. But no such thing happened. The grim faced military men stood aroundhim waiting for directions.“What is the location of the aircraft?” he asked the general. The general studiedthe laptop. “ It is moving southeast at approximately 250mph over the Atlantic ocean. It is expected to enter the Gulf of Mexico in three hours. “ Is there a way to deploy aircraft to the UFO before it reaches the coast.” “ Yes sir Mr. President” the secretary of the navy said stepping forward. “ The USS Enterprise is returning home from the middle east . She’s loaded with eighty FA-18`S ready for orders. “Well what are you waiting for?” said President Fisk now standing up. “ Get all of those planes in the air intercepting that what ever the hell it is. Do not use force if unless necessary. Where the hell is the director of the CIA, O there he is, get me a line to Russia and the United Kingdom.” “Yes sir” the men said in unison. Movement began in the room as the secretary of the navy and the director of the CIA went to carry out their orders.“Has this got into the news yet?” the president asked the general. “ No major news providers have gotten hold of the story yet.” the general said now sitting in a chair in the oval office. “I guest that’s a plus side.” the President said. “The press will find out eventually send out a press release telling them as little as possible. Make it seem minor send it to NBC they don’t ask many questions”.“Mr. President” the secretary of navy said. “ the planes are in the air and are in route. They should intercept it in five minutes”. “Good keep me posted” said the president. “ Where is my line to Russia are we the only country doing any thing about this. Where the hell is France?” “Mr. President” the director of the CIA said. “ TheRussian prime minister is busy at the moment but they are sending support to investigate the UFO.” “Fantastic” said the president . “Now we need to talk to Mexico are they prepared for this thing whatever it is coming to the gulf of Mexico.” The door flew openagain, in walked a Navy officer.” Mr. President the planes have a visual of the unidentified aircraft. We will send you a picture as soon as we receive them.” “ Excellent” said president Fisk. The officer walked out and closed the door. “ I want all air traffic suspended” the president said. “ I want the country on……” suddenly the door swung open as he attempted to give out orders. The officer that was In the room moments ago was back again. His expression had changed from one of confidence to one of a lack of understanding. “Do you have the visuals?” the president asked the officer standing in the door way. “ No sir” said the officer. “ Well what’s the problem?” asked the president. “ It’s the planes sir” said the officer nervously. “ What they’ve been shoot down already?” said the president shocked. “No” said the officer who was the center of attention in the room now. “ The pilots were unable to control the planes its like they have a mind of their on and now we’ve lost contact with them.” said the officer hardly believing his own words. “ What?” said the president.Suddenly the lights in the white house flickered. Every computer and TV screen went black. “What the hells happening?” yelled the president. The door swung open again. Another officer ran in. “ We’ve lost control of all the computers.” Suddenly the screen on the laptop that sat In front of the president changed. on the screen sat a figure in shrouded in the shadows. All the men in the room crowded around the laptop on the resolute desk.All you could see of the figure was its outline. “Inhabitants of earth” the figure spoke with the voice of a highly educated man. “ It is of me and my peoples greatest apology that we should intrude on your planets daily routines in such a rude manner. But we felt the message in which we are sending you is worthy of the inconvenience. I am sure you are allwondering who we are and why we have taken over your mass communication networks? Well first of we are Ekos. From the planet Noiz and we are hear to save you. You see my people are at least twenty five years more technologically advanced than the people of earth. So therefore we have had more experience with space exploration. We have been to galaxies your scientist have yet to discover. We have also studied earth and its inhabitants. We have studied the cultures your languages history and technology. That is why I am able to communicate with you today. The purpose of this unexpected visit is to tell you about a rather grime discovery. A few months ago we discovered a giant rock roughly the size of mars traveling at mach 5. We observed the object and calculated its path and we have concluded that in five years the rock will collide with earth. Upon discovering this information we worked feverishly to destroy the object but to no avail. But we thought of the next best thing. That is the purpose of our visit. The evacuation of earth. We understand that this may be hard to fathom but we have evidence that we are more than willing to present to your leaders. A ambassador from our planet will be sent to each of your countries leaders to present our evidence and our plan. Our plan being to transport the inhabitants of this planet to Noiz until other accommodations are made available. Ten spacecraft are in route to earth at this moment to began the transport evacuation. The spacecraft will accommodate only three hundred thousand people at a time. But manymore trips will be made. In order to board the spacecraft you must go through a scan. The scan will determine if you have any disease that could infect other humans or Ekos. If you have any such ailment you cannot enter the craft. The evacuation is strictly voluntary. If you wish to stay on earth we will not stop you. Though it is in your best interest to comewith us if you value your life. While we are happy to do this for the people of earth we require a small payment. Your planet has a mineral that would be useful to us. Jade as you call it is useful in the medical advancements of our people we recently discovered. We will require at least ten tons of it. We believe it a small price for saving the whole human race. In five minutes our ambassadors will met with your countries leaders. We hope no violence will come from this since we are doing this in your interest. I bid you farewell.”The screen went blank again. The men still watching it expecting it to do something else. The lights flickered and the computer went back to normal. The room was still quiet. The president stood there staring at the men who stared back at him. “so everyone in the united states saw that?” the president asked not directing the question to any one in particular. “ Yes” said the general. The door swung open again. “There is a unidentified aircraft approaching from the east.” said the officer. “ The ambassador” the president said. “Don’t fire on it” the general said. “ Don’t piss these guys of until we figure out what the hell their talking about.” “Get ready for the ambassador” the president said. “I want the director from NASA I want every astronomer scientist and every other guy with PHD that I should be talking to here ASAP.” The room filled with movement.The door swung open . “Mr. president” a grey haired man wearing a suit said. “ Riots are breaking out all over the country.” the door swung open again. “ Sir look out the window the ambassador is approaching.” President Fisk ran to the window. There he watched a aircraft no bigger than a Oldsmobile approach the white house front lawn. A phone rang. The general picked it up. “Ok” he said and hung up. “that was Canada their ambassador has arrived. The aircraft slowed down for a vertical landing. The aircraft was a grayishcolor. It had no wings or a jet engine. It looked like a giant mushroom. The windows were pitch black. The aircraft began to land. The wind from the aircrafts engine blew the trees and bushes nearby. The wind sent a brick flying towards the window of the oval office. The president ducked just before the brick crashed through the window. He stood back up as the aircraft had turned of its engines. As soon as they were off secret service agents surrounded it without guns drawn. The president watched as the doors of the aircraft slid open. A figure began to appear.
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I do not like the name: Snow White.No one could be that pure.But, accepting it, let us move on.Such purity,existing in a world as political as a castle,could be daunting, unnerving.And for a beautiful queen,learned in intrigue,reared in flattery,such purity would not only be daunting,but also an affront.I am thinking of a girl I met in college,an idealist at twenty,who wrote untouched,undiminished,unbroken songs,about white unicorns.This girl was hard to stomach.And not that I spent hoursin front of mirrors--but simply looking into the mirror of her songsshowed how diminished,broken and unwholemy songs were.This is not to sayI side with the queen.Only that I understand.
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2The GuideVye had only been submerged for a few seconds and already Dame believed. Her appearance was almost angelic as the thin rays of morning shone through the crystal clear waters, zigzagging playfully across her golden skin. He'd always admired her courage, her ability to fight. They’d shared a mutual respect over the years while noticing one another from afar and recently they’d formed a friendship he sensed would flourish under the new faith.Nearly twenty seconds had passed, nevertheless, The Guide held her down firmly. Fully comprehending her need to be "cleansed", she did not struggle. The white cloth she wore billowed underwater, dancing like a large jellyfish swimming casually with its school. Moments later, her eyes opened and three large bubbles escaped from her nose. He released her as she emerged to the surface with a soft splash. The witnesses bowed their heads in silent prayer.The Elder General glanced back at the vacated pyramid of vines before looking up in the direction of the salmon streaked sky. The weather today was tricky, unpredictable, and though clouds were absent, a light rain fell into the Mer Sea. This would not have been strange aside from the fact that it didn't rain on Ido except in the confines of the Rain Caves near the island's central core. Plant life found nourishment from plentiful underground lakes and streams while the various living creatures remained wholly dependant upon the Shine River, which, like a menacing blade, sliced the island in half.There was something about the baptism, or Wave's ambiance that made Dame's otherwise machismo demeanor more subdued. He struggled to shield his eyes from the splatter of seawater as another believer plunged below the pristine waters. His eyes itched and burned as he slowly licked the salt from his lips. He turned his head and waded a short distance away from the shallow pool he and the other Elders were standing in, allowing his eyes to rest a bit as his lungs filled with fresh air.The seriousness of yesterday's decision weighed heavily on his heart and mind. Fairness had always been a priority since he'd assumed the responsibility of General of the male Youth while at Nu and head of the Elder Clan since crossing into the Enlightened Lands after Taste. He recalled how ferocious his spirit had once been. Quick to anger and slow to compromise, he'd earned respect more out of bullying than anything else. Dame was as impulsive as he was intimidating and standing at nearly seven feet, many joked that his massive biceps and muscular torso had been sculpted from the solid rock of Triple Peak in the Western territories.Shamefully, he recalled how he'd enjoyed Taste twenty years before. Extremely attractive and gifted with charm, it had been easy for him to over indulge in the activities of the flesh for a large portion of his life. Not to mention, securing Imar, the most beautiful Ido woman at the time as his preferred partner had been the ultimate final frontier. Their union bore a daughter they named Onya who was as strong-willed as she was beautiful. He couldn't complain, however; she'd gotten the traits earnestly. He remembered her birth vividly. She'd entered the world fin first and swishing, a fighter from the start. He wondered what she was thinking after yesterday's jarring events. She could not have been happy. He'd seen the white flames of rebellion in her eyes after the interruption and his short speech. But surely she would see and accept The One Faith once she was exposed to The Guide, he was sure of it.The stranger had appeared suddenly and without warning one day. Had he not been accompanied by Ankh, the leader of the Sphinx healers and longtime Elder ally, they may have been more skeptical. Speculation regarding his identity was immediate. It was apparent that he was not a member of the Ido clan or The Painted Folk, though he walked upright and held other human-like characteristics. The intrigue surrounding his origins along with the habit of covering himself from head to toe heightened their curiosities. Some suspected he was a leper. Others thought him to be an albino or a diseased outcast from another realm. Soon they began to address him as The Guide, a deformed messenger from another land who could perform faith based miracles in front of their very eyes.Though forms of sorcery and magic were common on the island, only the seldom seen Djinn and Mer Ancestors held the ability to conjure in its purest form; even the infinitely wise and immortal Painted Folk were held to certain limitations. The Ido themselves were given the gift of transformation during certain intervals of their lives. However, their ability to shape shift was beyond their control, occurring only at three specific intervals; first in the womb, then at age seven, and finally upon death. The Guide referred to his own abilities as miracles gifted him by an entity he called The One, an omnipresent God with a distinct wrath far greater than their Ancestors and an affinity for love spanning the length of the horizon.The Guide's message had penetrated Dame's own hollow shell like a poison arrow piercing the heart of a worthy adversary and there was no turning back. Change is good, necessary, he told himself fervently. After witnessing the sheer power of the stranger along with his message, the Elders were convinced of the need for change. The final decision to abolish Taste, he was certain, had been the correct one. Still he wondered about the backlash. Would the Youth resist? Surely they would. How much time would pass before they took action? Should the Elder Army strike first? It would be an unorthodox move, yet a necessary one in order to ensure the spread of the Faith. They would all believe in the end.He turned once more toward the gathering. The Guide was now opening the tattered scroll he'd conjured from a handful of glittering sand. He read slowly as he held it up to the light, ensuring his audience’s comprehension of the sacred text. His voice shook with force and authority, yet somehow managed to lack intimidation. He was easy to listen to and even easier to trust. There had been a quiet confidence about him that Dame had respected since his arrival. He wasn't an overly assertive man, but the strength of his beliefs made him appear larger than life. The message he brought included the importance of moral discipline and the weakness of the flesh. The assembled believers hung on his every word until the last left his lips as he ushered the next devotee into the quiet waters. A massive wave of guilt flooded Dame as he listened from a distance. He was happy for the newfound hope and possibility of forgiveness brought to him by this man. Still unaccustomed to their new permission to show emotion, he swallowed his tears, inhaled deeply, pulled back his massive shoulders, and stood tall. Weeks ago, he'd been living in darkness, oblivious to the damning consequences of his desires and the traditions of his people. Now, he had been given the gift of eternal life, beyond Enlightenment and the confinements of Taste.Out of the corner of his eye he spied a lurking shadow. Just as he'd expected, the Ancestors were joining the gathering. Swimming toward him was Born, leader of the Mer. Half men/women, half fish, the Mer were deceased Ido who'd passed through Taste, The Enlightened Lands, and the Afterlife. The Mer represented the cyclical existence of the Ido people. Everyone was born Mer before their human transformation and would become Mer again in the Afterlife."Is this he? Is this the man they call, The Guide?" asked Born in a thunderous voice as he drifted nearer."It is," Dame replied simply, deliberately avoiding the old Mer's eyes. Born was everything The Guide was not: direct, domineering, and brutally frank. The Ancestors rarely spoke to the living except in the most urgent of situations. Having traveled beyond the boundaries of death, their powers were beyond limitation. Though they rarely exercised the right, an Ancestor could very well dispose of a life without explanation or consequence."I see it did not take much for you to turn your back on the ancient customs that were in place before your Ancestors' Ancestors inhabited these lands." He paused as if trying to choose his words carefully. "Tell me, what kind of leader leads his people away from the fabric of tradition and into the clutches of foreign ways? What kind of leader leads his people into an existence of thoughtless sheep?" he hissed in his ear. "Think!"Slowly, Dame turned to face him with narrowed defiant eyes. The old Mer's broad chest rose and fell rapidly. A thick, white mustache and beard framed a thin line of a mouth, bitter with disappointment, broken as if betrayed. The bushy white eyebrows arced in a menacing frown while his baldhead glistened with a slick finish. His skin was the color of cocoa butter and a gleaming blue-black fin of intricate scales where legs should have been bobbed freely in the clear afternoon waters. Close behind him, Dame saw more Ancestors surfacing, observing the confrontation with curiosity; many were lowering their heads as if shamed."I was voted leader of the Elder Clan for a reason," he replied with a defiant sneer. "Therefore, I was charged with the duty of leading my people where I see fit. We have long been slaves to traditions and customs that have begun to stagnate our kind. Our traditions are perverse, twisted! Change is necessary. The One Faith teaches restraint, The One Faith teaches love--"Born spat angrily and folded his arms across his chest, interrupting. "You fool. For all of your physical strengths, for all of your military genius, you have no reason. You are your traditions! A people must not be separated from their culture unless they wish to die! Mental Endurance. Enlightenment. Respect. These are the pillars of Ido tradition. They are rock solid ideals built for and maintained by the Ido people!" he exclaimed through flared nostrils. "Love is not solid. It can be bent and broken. It can crumble over time. Love cannot be restrained! There is nothing more unbridled or needy; nothing more lacking in discipline than love! With love there is emotion. With emotion there is weakness. We have survived for millennia because we respect one another. Respect cannot be shaped and molded into what we want it to be. It is rigid and defined. It is unchanging!" he paused for a moment and glanced at The Guide who was submerging yet another believer into the Mer Sea, then the old Mer's gaze swung back to Dame."Look at this!" Born exclaimed, teeth clenched tightly as he shoved an index finger in the air. "Rain! Rain on Ido? The balance is off... unnatural!"In spite of the intimidating rant, Dame stood his ground. He looked up in the direction of Born's angry finger, shaking with rage. "It is symbolic of the change we need---""Change is only necessary when stagnation has set in," Born cut in, his tone of voice strangely calm. "The Ido are a vibrant folk General, hardly stagnant and lost and perverted and... twisted. Do not dilute your people with the foreign faith of a stranger who has yet to prove the worth of his words."Before Dame could dignify his remarks with a reply, Born descended into the deep with a flip of his massive fin with the others following quickly behind. Having already been warned of what the Ancestors may say; he pushed Born's accusations to a remote area in the back of his mind. Somehow he felt his instincts had been correct. Slowly, he waded back to the ceremony just as it was signaled that his time had come. He waded toward the slim figure radiating all that was love and light and spiritually prepared himself for what he'd been convinced was right. With a snap of The Guide's long, bony fingers, the light rain sprinkling from above ceased. He held Dame firmly around the waist while he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.Soon, Dame thought, I will be cleansed of all wrongdoing. Change is necessary.
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Looking out the shuttle window, Mensah took in the sight of the Unity Expedition ship, Swiftstrider and blew out an awed whistle. Display screen images in no way adequately captured the immense size of this behemoth vessel. One had to view a ship of this nature in person in order to appreciate its scale.The largest NeoAfrican warship was barely a third the size of the Swiftstrider. How many of these ships did the Unity Pact have? Mensah wondered as his thoughts began to sober. He noted the dents and blackened abrasions that covered the hull in a chaos of patterns.“She must’ve been in a hell of a fight,” Mensah solicited, turning away from the window to face Karsen and McCray.“It looks worse than it actually is,” McCray explained graciously. “Those are the results of bad contacts as we call them. Our ships get bombarded from time to time. Mostly we withdraw in such situations, refraining from returning fire, unless the threat is major enough to force our hand.”Mensah nodded, giving the appearance that his curiosity had been satisfied. In actuality he wanted to ask the admiral about the Swiftstrider’s arsenal, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to appear too interested in weaponry when he should have been reveling in the tour he was about to embark on.The shuttle from the warship Douglass was a dust mite in the presence of a boulder as it settled beside the Swiftstrider.Mensah followed McCray and Karsen through the docking tube and became the first NeoAfrican to set foot inside a Unity Expedition ship.Captain Whitlock and the brooding first officer Thorvald were present.McCray introduced Mensah to the Swiftstrider’s captain and proceeded to escort the chief advisor to the bridge.“What do you think?” Karsen asked, looking up at Mensah as they walked past a series of semi-enclosed duty areas.“Impressive,” Mensah replied. Considering the worn look of the exterior, Mensah had not expected the interior to be so spotless.Bulkheads gleamed mirror reflective white. The gray floors were layered with a kind of rubbery surface that added a spring to each step. The corridors were wide, long and bustled with as many, if not more people, than could be found on a fairly active Niani street.When Mensah entered the bridge, it was like he stepped into a Church of the Ordained audience hall. Bridge stations were arranged in descending rows, like amphitheatre seating. Personnel sat at their stations fixated on terminals, their fingers blurring across keypads. Most of the bulkhead space was covered with display screens. Blue light panels embedded in the high arched ceiling lent a soothing glow of illumination to an intensely busy setting.“Welcome to the bridge,” McCray announced, extending a weathered hand toward the vast space before him. “The nerve center of this ship as well as the whole of our expedition.” McCray guided Mensah to each station where an officer assigned to the post gave the chief advisor a rundown on its operations.Mensah was allowed to see the astrogation, engine status, environmental, guidance and science analysis stations. What he was not allowed access to was any station relating to weapons. Mensah understood the omission. A Neo-African warship captain would have been equally as restrictive with non-authorized visitors. Nothing to raise Mensah’s suspicions on that point. He tried to conceal his intimidation at the interior’s daunting size as McCray led him out of the bridge. What was more striking to Mensah was the Swiftstrider’s crew. They were all as white as McCray, Karsen and Thorvald. In fact not a single one of the Unity representatives currently visiting the NeoAfrican worlds was dark complexioned. As he thought about it, Mensah wondered how peculiar it was to the Unity people that not a single NeoAfrican approached their skin shade.For the next two hours, McCray and Karsen had taken Mensah to every level on the ship. The final leg of the tour took Mensah to the ship’s library which was surprisingly small given the Swiftstrider’s enormity.Mensah realized why he’d been surprised at the library’s size. The Timbuktu Library on Niani was a huge, columned edifice, the first major building erected by third generation settlers. The library had been inspired by Brookins, whose fierce love of books was unusual in an era when books were rapidly becoming obsolete. Most of the knowledge and literature humans had accumulated were being downloaded into flat electronic pads called text slates around the time Brookins led the black migration from Earth. Current NeoAfricans read from text slates, but had not dispensed with books in homage to their founder.The Swiftstrider’s library consisted of three 6 by 9 feet shelves stacked with text slates. Chairs and tables took up the remaining room’s space.McCray politely excused himself to tend to other business.When the admiral departed, Mensah walked to a shelf and removed a dark blue text slate. He thumbed a button in the upper right corner and words glowed to life on the slate’s screen. But they were words Mensah did not recognize.He frowned and showed the slate to Karsen. “What language is this?”The anthropologist examined the screen. “That’s Timondrean, an off shoot of Yirmonian--which is a very distant relative of Finnish, an old Earth language. Just one of many examples of isolated humans developing new dialects, new languages.”Mensah reshelved the slate. “Fortunate for the both of us that we can understand each other.”“Well, I’ll put it this way, not having to negotiate a language barrier can only expedite the start of friendly relations between my people and yours.” Karsen ran her fingertips across Mensah’s forearm in a suggestive manner. “You and I are already doing our part to foster that relationship.”“We do what we can in the name of diplomacy,” Mensah said, refraining from touching the woman’s face. He stepped back, half turning to the slate shelves. “All the knowledge gathered by the Unity Pact must be in this room.”“Not all of it, but enough that we never lack for reading material on our journeys. If…you come with us, you’ll have all the access to this library that you want.”Mensah cocked a brow. “Other than you, I can’t think of a better lure to get me to embark on a grand Unity adventure…however…”Karsen raised a hand. “I know. Your answer is still no. We’ll be leaving within a week so my invitation remains open until then…”“Your invitation? Not the admiral’s?”“He’ll accept you on board if I ask him to.”Mensah regarded Karsen with a pinch of wariness.“Robert, there is so much to see in the universe beyond NeoAfrican space and you strike me as an adventurer who wants to see it all.”“My curiosity is boundless,” Mensah admitted. “But now would not be a good time for me to go on an extended vacation. Let’s wait until official relations between the Federation and the Pact is established. After that I’ll be willing to go wherever you want me to…pending the president’s approval of course.”A cloud settled over Karsen’s expression very briefly before evaporating. She smiled, but Mensah detected a strain in that smile.“Jolene?”The anthropologist blinked as if breaking out of a daydream. She bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about my childhood. Back then I wanted to be an astronomer. I always had my mind and my heart in the stars.”“What changed your mind?” asked Mensah.“Oh, circumstances.” Karsen made a motion of dismissal. “Maybe, I’ll elaborate someday. If we see each other again.”“If?”Karsen shook her head. “Come on. I’ll show you the hydroponics area.”Mensah had a stream of questions to ask, but kept them bottled up as he followed the anthropologist out of the room.Mensah spent the night on the Swiftstrider. The guest suite he was given would have been too luxurious an accommodation for the highest ranking of NeoAfrican officers. Mensah didn’t take in his palatial surroundings right away. Upon entering, he swiftly took a data input slate from his interior jacket pocket and began jotting down every speck of detail about what he’d seen on board the Unity ship. Facts and observations first, then commentary.When he finished his mental download, he encrypted the data, a precaution in case he somehow lost the slate or it was confiscated. Afterward, Mensah thought about Karsen and her tempting offer to him to accompany the expedition. The chief advisor still didn’t know what to make of that offer. Indeed, despite their previous coupling he still didn’t know what to make of Karsen. What he was sure of was that something bothered him about the woman, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Mensah had a feeling that the mystery of Jolene Karsen would eventually be solved. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? he wondered.
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MOTHER GOOSE IS DEADModern Stories of Myths, Fables and Fairy TalesMichele Acker & Kirk Dougal, EditorsE-subs & Info No web site as yetSubmission GuidelinesThink back to the days when legends walked the earth and tales of wonder entertained all that listened. Now take those stories and twist them, stretch them, or toss them aside and create your own."Mother Goose is Dead: Modern Stories of Myths, Fables and Fairy Tales" is looking for up-to-date versions of tales that have delighted and scared us down through time. Tell the familiar from a different view or warp the story until it stands on its head. Are you tired of the standard legends? Invent your own myths to describe the making of the world, the end of time, or anything in between. Make us suspend our belief and get caught up in your world whether it be a slightly skewed version of our own, the familiar wound around like a pretzel, or a place entirely your own.Accepted stories will be fantasy tales revolving around myths, fables and fairy tales. Submissions need to be between 3,000 and 6,000 words although variations may be made for exceptional pieces but do not press your luck. No poetry.The intended audience is adult with the idea in mind that Victorian-age fairy tales were meant to frighten children to teach lessons. Adult themes are acceptable but sex, violence and profanity should be included only as necessary support to the story and not present for gratuitous or shock purposes. X-rated material will not be accepted.Submissions must be received by August 31, 2008, though that may be extended if not enough submissions are received.The anthology will be comprised of between 15-20 stories. Authors will be notified by email within six weeks of their submission being received whether or not their story has been accepted. If by the end of the submission period a sufficient number of accepted stories have not been received (based upon anthology size), the submission process will be extended and opened up to the general public. In that instance, authors of accepted stories will be notified by email and will be given the option of withdrawing their story. Authors should note that once accepted, a short write up (50-75 words) of the history of your fable will be needed. Later, bios and head shots will be required as well.Submissions must be made by email (It is 2008 people). Submissions should be sent to the above e-mail address. Please embed all stories in the body of the email. All attachments will be deleted unread. Once accepted, the editors will inform authors where and how to send formatted manuscripts. Please include "Anthology Submission" and the title of your work in the subject line. Submissions will be acknowledged by email within 72 hours. If you do not receive an acknowledgement, please feel free to resubmit.All submissions must include the author's real name, street address, email address, and pen name if desired. Please send polished work only. Stories with spelling or grammatical errors will generally be unacceptable. However, if your story is exceptional we may ask for a rewrite to fix minor issues. By submitting your story for this anthology, you warrant that it is your own original work and that it has not been published anywhere, in any format, including any website. Sharing with a small critique group for peer review is acceptable. Exclusive submissions only. Multiple submissions are fine, but no more than two per author. The anthology will only accept a maximum of one story per author for publication.Payment will be by royalties, with each contributor receiving an equal share. Editorial work will also receive a share.Michele Acker and Kirk Dougal are the editors of "A Firestorm of Dragons," a new anthology released by Dragon Moon Press. Acceptance into the anthology does not guarantee publication or payment of royalties. Dragon Moon Press has expressed an interest in this project but a final decision will not be made until the final selection of stories is presented. Any questions about this anthology should be sent to the above e-mail address.25Jun08talesandmythsantho (AT) yahoo.comSubmission Guidelines: THE WORLD IS DEADEdited by Kim PaffenrothPermuted Press seeks short stories for its new zombie anthology, The World Is Dead, to be edited by Bram Stoker Award winner Kim Paffenroth and featuring tales from Jack Ketchum, David Wellington, and Gary Braunbeck. Stories should be set significantly after the dead rise (though of course reference can be made back to that event). The point of the stories should be to investigate and elaborate the ways people (or zombies) have developed to cope with the new situation of the living dead--not just strategies and tactics for killing the dead, but the kinds of rituals, institutions, and social structures that you envision in this kind of post-apocalyptic world.Reading Period: We will read stories from August 1, 2008 to August 31, 2008. DO NOT SEND SUBMISSIONS BEFORE AUGUST 1. THEY WILL BE DELETED UNREAD.Payment: Payment will be $0.01/word USD ($0.005/word for reprints), based on the final, edited word count from Microsoft Word rounded to the nearest hundred words, plus one contributor's copy.Submission guidelines: Stories should be 2000-8000 words, standard format, with the author’s name, email address, and word count in the upper left-hand corner of the first page. Stories should be sent as email attachments in Microsoft Word to theworldisdead@permutedpress.com.Return time: Rejections will be sent ASAP; if the story makes the first cut, it will be kept until the end of the reading period.http://www.permutedpress.com/worldisdead.phpSubmission Guidelines: THE WORLD IS DEADEdited by Kim PaffenrothPermuted Press seeks short stories for its new zombie anthology, The World Is Dead, to be edited by Bram Stoker Award winner Kim Paffenroth and featuring tales from Jack Ketchum, David Wellington, and Gary Braunbeck. Stories should be set significantly after the dead rise (though of course reference can be made back to that event). The point of the stories should be to investigate and elaborate the ways people (or zombies) have developed to cope with the new situation of the living dead--not just strategies and tactics for killing the dead, but the kinds of rituals, institutions, and social structures that you envision in this kind of post-apocalyptic world.Reading Period: We will read stories from August 1, 2008 to August 31, 2008. DO NOT SEND SUBMISSIONS BEFORE AUGUST 1. THEY WILL BE DELETED UNREAD.Payment: Payment will be $0.01/word USD ($0.005/word for reprints), based on the final, edited word count from Microsoft Word rounded to the nearest hundred words, plus one contributor's copy.Submission guidelines: Stories should be 2000-8000 words, standard format, with the author’s name, email address, and word count in the upper left-hand corner of the first page. Stories should be sent as email attachments in Microsoft Word to theworldisdead@permutedpress.com.Return time: Rejections will be sent ASAP; if the story makes the first cut, it will be kept until the end of the reading period.http://www.permutedpress.com/worldisdead.phpWe’re looking for stories--tales, if you will--that would be read by candlelight. If the power went out, night fell, and all you had left were candles, we want the tales that you would want to read. If that means something creepy, eerie, or haunting, so be it. If that means stories of other worlds beyond the stars, that works just as well. Even if it means stories of ancient worlds where castles still stand and knights still ride, that will fit. Anything and everything that could be read in the dark, with the storm raging just beyond the windows. Anything that could be read by candlelight.The anthology will be all about imagination. Horror, science fiction, and fantasy are all perfectly acceptable. And if yours is a half-breed of the others, so much the better. High fantasy will be taken--think Michael A. Stackpole or Robert Jordan--as will a more modern fantasy such as most of Stephen King’s work. Science fiction, whether military or hard, will be accepted. And horror, of course, of any kind--though we are much more interested in tales that get inside your head than tales with gratuitous violence. Think “Bag of Bones” more than “Cell.” To that end, if your story has a dark twist, it will be very well received. If it is creepy and makes you shiver with the lights off, if it makes you want to close your closet and lock your doors before going to sleep, it will be a great fit. Because candlelight implies a certain amount--a large amount, actually--of shadow.Submissions:Stories should be between 2000 and 5000 words.Simultaneous submissions are fine, as long as that is noted in the email. Multiple submissions are not; send one at a time, then wait for us to respond before submitting again.No postal submissions. Send your electronic submissions to the following:candlelightsubs(at)gmail.comReplace the (at) with @.In the subject line, put SUBMISSION: Story Title.All submissions should be in Standard Manuscript Format. Use Courier New as the font. Double space. Indent paragraphs. Put a word count at the beginning and make sure to put your last name, the title, and the page number on the top of each page. For an example of Standard Manuscript Format, go here:http://www.shunn.net/format/story.htmlAll manuscripts should be attached to the email, in either .doc or .rtf format. Feel free to use the body of the email as a brief cover letter, listing previous publishing credits (if any), your name, etc. Don’t bother with a further bio--we’ll ask you for one if we decide to publish your work.We are asking for First Publishing Rights for as long as the anthology is in print. When it goes out of print, all rights revert to the author.Unfortunately, we cannot afford to pay for stories at this time. But Candlelight will be published in a Perfect Bound Trade Paperback through lulu.com, and that’s something a lot of other publications can’t claim. Your list of publishing credits will be that much longer, and your story will be on the page in black and white, sitting on a bookshelf or coffee table or nightstand.Thanks for stopping by, and we look forward to reading your work.Jonathan J. SchlosserEditorBack to http://www.jonathanjschlosser.comDeadline late 2008 or when fullDelacorte Press Books for Young Readers is pleased to announceThe Twenty-Sixth AnnualDelacorte Press Contestfor a First Young Adult NovelThe prize of a book contract (on the publisher's standard form) covering world rights for a hardcover and a paperback edition, including an advance and royalties, will be awarded annually to encourage the writing of contemporary young adult fiction. The award consists of $1,500 in cash and a $7,500 advance against royalties.All federal, state, and local taxes, if any, are the winner's sole responsibility. Prizes are not transferrable and cannot be assigned. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO ENTER OR WIN.ELIGIBILITY1. The contest is open to U.S. and Canadian writers who have not previously published a young adult novel. Employees of Random House, Inc. and its subsidiaries and affiliates, and members of their families and households are not eligible.2. Foreign-language manuscripts and translations are not eligible.3. Manuscripts submitted to a previous Delacorte Press contest are not eligible.FORMAT FOR SUBMISSIONS1. Submissions should consist of a book-length manuscript with a contemporary setting that will be suitable for readers ages 12 to 18.2. Manuscripts should be no shorter than 100 typewritten pages and no longer than 224 typewritten pages. Include a brief plot summary with your covering letter.3. Each manuscript should have a cover page listing the title of the novel; the author's name, address, and telephone number.4. Manuscripts should be typed double-spaced on 8-1/2" x 11" good quality white paper, and pages should be numbered consecutively. The type should be at least 10 point. The author should retain a copy of any manuscript submitted.5. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper.6. Do not submit manuscripts in boxes. A padded envelope will do. Please do not enclose checks for postage. The publisher is not responsible for late, lost, misdelivered, or misplaced submissions.7. Please enclose a business-size stamped, self-addressed envelope for notification only. Please do not enclose checks for postage. Due to new postal regulations, the publisher cannot return any manuscripts. All submissions will be recycled by Random House after they are read.MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts sent to Delacorte Press may not be submitted to other publishers or literary agents while under consideration for the prize.2. Authors may not submit more than two manuscripts to the Delacorte Press competition; each must meet all eligibility requirements.DATES FOR SUBMISSION1. Manuscripts must be postmarked after October 1, 2008, but no later than December 31, 2008.2. Send manuscripts to:Delacorte Press ContestRandom House, Inc.1745 Broadway, 9th FloorNew York, New York 10019JUDGING1. Entries will be judged by the editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers. The prize will be awarded on the basis of originality, style, and creativity.2. The judges reserve the right not to award a prize.3. The decision of the judges will be final.4. The editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers will not be able to offer critiques of manuscripts or enter into correspondence about the manuscripts other than with the winning author.5. Writers will be notified between January and April as submissions are evaluated by the editors. Final contest results will be announced on our Web site on or around April 30, 2009.Winners of the Delacorte Press Prize for a First Young Adult NovelPAST HIGHLIGHTSFirst Place RecipientsCal Cameron by Day, Spider-Man by Night by A. E. CannonSquashed by Joan BauerUnder the Mermaid Angel by Martha MooreHonor Book RecipientsThe Romantic Obsessions and Humiliatons of Annie Sehlmeier by Louise PlummerChildren of the River by Linda CrewBest Friends Tell the Best Lies by Carol DinesOur vision is to collect essays (creative nonfiction) that describe one's spiritual journey towards God. We envision the essays to focus on a specific incident that made the writer "find God" or that drew the writer closest to God. We have a preference toward a writing style that uses elements as scene and dialogue. The editors realize people's spiritual journeys are unique, and such journeys may be rocky or smooth. The editors respect individuals' experiences. The guidelines in the Call are simply to give Contributors ideas. The editors will also read shorter pieces.The editors are looking for articles that are lively, specific and visual – articles that address questions such as:Have you ever felt abandoned by God or felt your life in shambles, then realized that God was there all along?Did you ever have a close encounter with God? How? What circumstances surrounded such an encounter? Describe how such an encounter happened, in specific terms – where, when, how old were you, how did you feel before the encounter, and how did you feel after the encounter? How has your life changed from such an encounter?What specific situation was it that made you realize there is a God and that He is close to you?Take us on that journey: make us see you and those around you; make us feel what you had felt when you felt abandoned; make us feel what you felt when you discovered God; and make us see how your life has changed after finding God.Early submissions are welcome. Please include your bio (approx. 150 words) in people-friendly narrative form, and all contact information (email address, mailing address, telephone number).Deadline for submission is July 15, 2008.Deadline: 07/05/08Submit to: Parabola. Editor. 20 West 20th Street, 2nd Floor, New York, NY 10011, or e-mail to: editors@parabola.org. For more complete submission information, please visit Web site http://parabola.org/content/view/14/39/Theme: Justice; MUST BE about myth, religious, spiritual, or social issues.Type: Articles (3,000 words MAX).The Book of TentaclesWelcome to a new anthology from Sam's Dot Publishing. This one will be called The Book of Tentacles. The editors are Scott Virtes, Edward Cox, and Susan R. Campbell. We'll remain open to submissions as long as necessary, but we're hoping to have this one in print by April 2009. We will issue periodic updates in our Current Events newsletter, which you can read at http://www.samsdotpublishing.com/currentevents.htmThe premise of The Book of Tentacles is very simple. We're looking for original science fiction, fantasy, and darker stories and poems that have something to do with tentacles. That's it. The interpretation is up to you.The stories must be well-crafted, with characters we care about, and with plots and subplots and themes and layers. Stories must feature proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation. We are not open to first drafts or other unspeakable shash. Send us your best work. Good enough will not be good enough.No single genre will dominate the final selections. Undoubtedly, many of you will try your hand at horror. This means the competition will be extremely difficult for this genre. Others of you will try your hand at Cthulhu or Cthulhu sex stories. Again: no single genre will dominate the final selections. Your chances for landing a story with us will probably be better in the genres of science fiction or fantasy. A word to the wise . . .Formatting: all stories and poems are to be submitted either as Word or rtf attachments or in the body of the e-mail. Text should be double spaced, and paragraphs should be indented five spaces. If submitted as Word or rtf, italicize those words you want italicized. If submitted IBOE, indicate italics with underscores. Include your contact information at the top of the first page of the attachment and in the e-mail itself.Now let's talk specifics:1. Story length should fall between 2,000 and 7,000 words. We'll pay 1/2 cent per word plus one contributor's copy upon publication. We'll probably accept between twelve and fifteen stories. No simultaneous submissions, please. No multiple submissions--wait until we respond to your first story before you submit your second.2. Poem length should not exceed 100 lines. We'll pay $5.00 per poem plus one contributor's copy upon publication. We'll probably accept between five and ten poems. Please submit no more than three poems at a time.3. Submissions process: submit all work and queries to bookoftentacles@yahoo.com . We will respond to queries within 2 weeks. We will respond to submissions within 2 months. If you have not received a reply to your submission in 3 months, please query.And if you have any questions, please ask.http://www.samsdotpublishing.com/tentacles.htmAUGUSTLace and Blade is accepting submissions for its second anthology of "elegant, sensual, romantic fantasy, emphasizing sharp verbal repartee as much as sharp pointed weapons, rapier rather than broadsword." Editor Deborah J. Ross is interested in "characters - both men and women - with vibrant personalities, complex, dashing, and very sexy. I'm particularly interested in stories that have magic and action, but in which conflict is resolved not by violence but by insight, creativity, and compassion. I'd love to see "win-win" endings, sense-of-wonder, plot twists and turnabout. Alternate sexuality is welcome; eroticism a definite plus; exotic, non-Western European settings also encouraged. Please read the first volume to see what I'm looking for." The deadline for submissions is August 1, 2008. There are no minimum or maximum lengths, though Ross says longer stories must be "extraordinary." Ross will pay a 2 cents a word advance against royalties. The book will be released Valentine's Day, 2009. Complete guidelines are available at http://www.norilana.com/norilana-lb-guidelines.htmRIGHTS PURCHASED: First English Language Rights and non-exclusive electronic rights. The anthology will be published by Norilana Books in a trade paperback edition on Valentine's Day, February 14, 2009, to be followed by an electronic edition to be produced later.PAYMENT: $0.02 a word on acceptance, as an advance against a pro rata share of royalties and foreign or other sales (per word, not per story), plus a contributor copy.WORD LENGTH: No maximum, although longer stories must be extraordinary.READING PERIOD begins April 1, 2008. Please do not submit your stories before then.DEADLINE: August 1, 2008HOW TO SUBMIT / FORMATTING: You may e-mail your story as .rtf attachment or mail a hard copy with SASE and a CD containing an .rtf file. Do not send a .docx file as I cannot open them! If e-mailing, please format without headers or footers, 12 point Courier, italics instead of underlining, and put your full name, mailing address and email address on the upper left corner of the first page. I will determine final word count according to my standard formatting.The subject line of your e-mail should say "Submission: Story Title, last name of author." The story file itself should have your full name, address, e-mail address, title of story, and number of words. We are open to new writers and seasoned veterans alike.EDITORIAL ADDRESS:or:Deborah J. Ross14775 Virginia AvenueBoulder Creek CA 95006We look forward to reading your most inspired work.SEPTEMBERPlease note that our next submission period is April 15, 2008 - September 15, 2008. We will be accepting submissions ONLINE during that time, via a Submission Manager, accessible at that time from our website. We look forward to reading your work!Thanks,FTRhttp://www.fairytalereview.blogspot.com/http://www.fairytalereview.com/Fairy Tale Review is an annual literary journal devoted to contemporary fairy tales. The journal hopes to provide an elegant and innovative venue for both established and emerging authors of poetry and prose. Fairy Tale Review is not devoted to any particular school of writing, but rather to fairy tales as an inspiring art form.Fairy Tale Review is a co-publication of The University of Alabama Press.For recent news please visit www.fairytalereview.blogspot.comFairy Tale Review will have a table in the AWP bookfair. If you're planning to attend AWP, please stop by and take a look at the Violet Issue, Pilot (Johann the Carousel Horse) by Johannes Goransson, and The Changeling, by Joy Williams. You'll have a chance to meet Kate Bernheimer, Editor, and Assistant Editors Christopher Hellwig and Andy Johnson. We'd love to talk to you about our journal, the next issues, and fairy tales.JANUARYHighlights for Children will accept submissions to the publication's 29th annual fiction contest during the month of January 2008. The contest is open to anyone interested in writing for children and three winners will receive $1,000 each.For this year's contest, Highlights seeks stories set in the future. Under contest rules, any unpublished story is eligible, whether submitted by a professional or a new author. Previous winners have included both published and first-time authors.Contest guidelines state that all entries must be postmarked between January 1 and January 31, 2008. The stories should not exceed 800 words, and they may be considerably shorter for younger children. Stories glorifying war or crime or containing violence or derogatory humor are not acceptable.The three contest winners will be announced on Highlights.com in June 2008. Winning manuscripts become the property of Highlights and will appear in the periodical at a later date. All other contest submissions will be considered for purchase at regular rates and terms. A list of winners will be sent by mail if a self-addressed stamped envelope is included with submissions.Highlights also accepts the submission of articles, stories, and fillers throughout the year.For guidelines or additional information, go tohttp://www.highlights.com/custserv/customerservicecontent2main.jsp?iCategoryID=203&iContentID=1584&CCNavIDs=3,203Check out the guidelines at: http://www.sorceroussignals.com/Guidelines.htmlSorcerous Signals is a quarterly Fantasy electronic magazine.Each issue we hope to "print" short stories, poetry and flash fiction that meets the following guidelines:My primary guideline is simple:Write a good Fantasy story.What I am NOT looking for - erotica / slash / or other such stories.Although well written love scenes that are IMPORTANT to the story may be considered on a story-by-storybasis.1) Stories should be no longer than 10,000 words.However, tell the story - if it takes more than 10,000 words to tell the story properly so be it.Just try to cut it down if possible - but remember the story is the important part.2) I will accept reprints as long as it has been at least 1 year since the story was previously published, rightshave reverted back and you tell me where it previously appeared.3) Please keep the graphic gore down to a minimum (only what's needed for the story).4) Please keep the obscene language to a bare minimum (again, only what's needed for the story).5) Humor similar to what has appeared in the "Chicks in Chain Mail"; series of Anthologies will also beconsidered.6) Simultaneous Submissions will be considered IF:a) You tell me up frontb) You inform me immediately if the story has been accepted elsewhereIf I have too many occurrences of finding out a story was accepted somewhere else when I contact an authorto tell them I would like to accept their story for Sorcerous Signals - I will no longer accept simultaneoussubmissions.7) Please do not send multiple submissions. I will only print one piece by a particular author in a single issue.I am partial to Sword and Sorcery style Fantasy stories,but will consider anything that fits into the fantasy genre.All stories received will be considered first for Sorcerous Signals and also for The Lorelei Signal.Please do not submit to both e-zines.FORMATTING:If you have a Fantasy story you think meets the theme of this magazine then send it to me via email in plaintext as part of the message body. Even though I have decent anti virus software on my computer - if you sendme an attachment you are risking me deleting your email unread. I will not respond to emails deleted for failingto properly follow the guidelines.Your work should be as professional as you can make it, as if you were presenting it to a professionalmagazine for publication.Do not indent.Please single space with a double space between paragraphs and use _to indicate italics_.RESPONSE TIMES:I plan on waiting until the end of each of the reading periods before reading the stories that have come in. So ifyou submit early in that period you will have to wait a few weeks before I start on the submissions.Each submission should also receive an acknowledge email within a few days of it being received by the editor.Response times will depend on the number of submissions being received, my personal time schedule as wellas any writing deadline's I may have. However, I do hope to keep response times down to less than 2 months.I will make every effort to respond to each story with something other than a form letter.RIGHTS:Author's grant to Sorcerous Signals one-time rights to publish in electronic format.We request 6 months exclusivity, after which they are free to market the story elsewhere.Authors are also encouraged to post a short excerpt on their own website with a link to Sorcerous SignalsPlease note if you are not sending a reprint this does constitute first electronic (and 1st serial rights) for yourstory if it is accepted.Sorcerous Signals also requests non-exclusive print anthology rights for possible inclusion in an end of yearAnthology issue.If an author's story is selected for this anthology they will receive $10.00.If an author's story is not selected for the Anthology covering the year their story appeared, Sorcerous Signalsno longer has any claim to the anthology rights without the permission of the author.SUBMISSION:Please provide the following information in a "cover letter" at the beginning of your submission:Your name (pen name if desired) / e-mail address and web-site if you have one.Also let us know if you are open to receiving feedback from readers. If so we will provide a link to your emailaddress with your story. If not specifically stated we will assume you do not want the feedback link. Please titleyour email as SORCEROUS SUBMISSION: (the title of your story)Something to be aware of, stories used in magazines such as this, are a matter personal taste.While I may not accept your story for the magazine, it does not constitute a personal rejection of you -- onlythat your story may not have met my personal vision for the zine.REVIEWS:Sorcerous Signals is also looking for reviews of Fantasy.Please title your email as SORCEROUS REVIEW: (the title of the story you are reviewing).There is no payment or donation button for reviews.Reviews may be submitted outside the normal reading periods.PAYMENT:We're trying an experiment. Each story will contain a PayPal donation button, so readers can show theirappreciation to the author. Money received through this method will be split 60/40 between the author (60%)and the magazine (40%). Authors will be paid at the end of the quarter in which their story appeared. As issueswill remain archived for a period of one year after publication, authors will again be paid when the story isremoved from the archive if it generates any new revenue.Authors will receive an initial advance of $5.00 for stories and $2.00 for poems and flash (<1000 wds) fictionpieces within 30 days of receipt of signed contract.I am hoping to publish an anthology at the end of the year which will feature the best stories from each issue.A poll will be set up to allow readers to vote for their favorite stories each issue. The fan favorites will be theones selected for the anthology along with some picks from the editor.Authors will be paid $10.00 for the rights to print their stories in the anthology.Payment will be made at the time the anthology is prepared for printing.All payments will be made through PayPal.ARTWORK:We are also looking for artwork that fits the theme of the magazine.Payment will be made the same way as the stories - with links for reader appreciation donations to be splitbetween the magazines and the artist.Any artwork used in the anthology will be paid the same $10.00 fee.Please send samples of your work to the editor (yes, I will accept these as attachments).If I like your samples you will be offered the chance to do an illustration for an upcoming story.READING PERIODS:Sorcerous Signals is currently a quarterly magazine scheduled for publication during the following months:February / May / August & NovemberOur reading periods will beFeb 15th - Mar 15thMay 15th - June 15thAug 15th - Sept 15thNov 15th - Dec 15thMarchDelacorte Press Books for Young Readers is proud to announce theSeventeenth AnnualDelacorte Dell Yearling Contest fora First Middle-Grade Novel*The prize of a book contract (on the Publisher's standard form) for a hardcover and a paperback edition, including an advance and royalties, will be awarded annually to encourage the writing of contemporary or historical fiction set in NorthAmerica, for readers age 9–12. The award consists of $1,500 in cash and a $7,500 advance against royalties.All federal, state and local taxes, if any, are the winners sole responsibility. Prizes are not transferrable and cannot be assigned. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO WIN.ELIGIBILITY1. The contest is open to U.S. and Canadian writers who have not previously published a novel for middle-grade readers. Employees of Random House, Inc. and its subsidiaries and affiliates, and members of their families and households are not eligible.2. Foreign-language manuscripts and translations are not eligible.3. Manuscripts submitted to a previous Delacorte Press contest are not eligible.FORMAT FOR SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts should be no shorter than 96 typewritten pages and no longer than 160 typewritten pages. Include a brief plot summary with your covering letter.2. Each manuscript should have a cover page listing the title of the work and the author's name, address, and telephone number. The title should also appear on each manuscript page.3. Manuscripts should be typed doublespaced on 8 1/2" by 11" good quality white paper, and pages should be numbered consecutively.The type should be easy to read, preferably 12 point.The author should retain a copy of any manuscript submitted.4. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper. Partial or illegible entries will not be acceptable.5. Photocopies are acceptable if readily legible and printed on good quality white (not gray) paper.6. Do not submit manuscripts in boxes. A padded envelope will do. Please do not enclose checks for postage. The publisher is not responsible for late, lost, misdelivered, or misplaced submissions.7. Please enclose a business-size stamped, self-addressed envelope for notification only. Please do not enclose checks for postage. Due to new postal regulations, the publisher cannot return any manuscripts. All submissions will be recycled by Random House after they are read.MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS1. Manuscripts sent to Delacorte Press may not be submitted to other publishers or literary agents while under consideration for the prize.2. Authors may not submit more than two manuscripts to the Delacorte Yearling competition; each must meet all eligibility requirements.DATES FOR SUBMISSION1. Manuscripts must be postmarked after April 1, 2009, but no later than June 30, 2009.2. Send manuscripts to:Delacorte Yearling ContestRandom House, Inc.1745 Broadway, 9th FloorNew York, NY 10019JUDGING1. The Judges are the editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers.2. The judges reserve the right not to award a prize.3. The judges' decision will be final.4. The editors of Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers will not be able to offer critiques of manuscripts or enter into correspondence about the manuscripts other than with the winning author.5. Writers will be notified between July and October as submissions are evaluated by the editors. Final contest results will be announced on our Web site on or around October 31, 2008.* Formerly the Marguerite de Angeli Contest
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I'll be in Hotlanta next weekend to attend and work at the National Medical Association yearly conference (no, not a dr. - a techie with a biomed engineering background). The last weekend in July has both the Blogging while Brown convention and the National Book Club conference. .I'll be attending the National Book Club conference and will try to represent for my Sci Fi brothers and sisters. If you are in the Atlanta area, I'd like to catch up with you during the week (I have downtime Wed and Thur.).
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1Incident in Vine CityIt was early evening as the sunset wrapped its rays around the anxious women. Deepest hues of ebony, coffee, and chestnut blurred with the golden sunlight seeping through the translucent clouds above. Vine City, coveted for its unique beauty, brimmed with a mischievous allure while the waters of the Mer Sea lightly kissed the surrounding shore. From above, the small metropolis was a gathering of peaks stabbing unapologetically at the sky in declaration of its grandeur. The city's structures were sturdy and twisted like emerald webs forming triangular tents on the sand. The focus this evening; however, was the twenty-foot high canopy set closest to the sea enclosing one hundred male and female Youth inside.Onya inhaled deeply before she and the others stepped onto an elevated platform beneath the canopy. The warmth of the sunlit planks beneath her feet triggered some calm amidst her pre-Rite jitters. She breathed out hard, her nerves like wet noodles sliding from a heaping spoon. Aware of the importance of first impressions, she pondered what awaited them on the opposite side of the large partition directly in front of her. The possibility of a thousand disapproving eyes, open and unimpressed flooded her mind. Tiny beads of perspiration gathered at her temples as she stood with the others, waiting for the vibrating gong that would determine the rest of their lives.“Ready?” asked an upbeat voice at her side. “It’s now or never… and you know what they say,” the woman said with a playful nudge. “This is the hardest part anyway.”“I hope so Lyn.” Onya sighed vehemently, raked her fingers through her shoulder length locs, and turned to face her longtime friend. “Before you know it, we’ll be Elders ourselves.”“Yeah, but I plan on really enjoying the time leading up to that!” she responded slyly. Onya shook her head in agreement as her best friend added a facetious wink, tossed a few small, reddish brown braids over her bare shoulder, and adjusted her mask.Lyn wasn't the only one looking forward to the onset of Taste, a cornerstone of Ido tradition for centuries, and here they were, teetering on the precipice of its arrival. Savoring the final moments of adolescence, Onya shut her eyes and allowed her memory to drift back to her upbringing in Nu.The females and males were immediately separated after birth in preparation for the Mer to human transformation at age seven. Then, at opposite ends of the village, the Youth raised themselves. At age twenty-one, the sexes were intimately reintroduced during the sacred Warming Ceremony, a self-pleasuring Rite held two days before the sacred Rites of Taste.It seemed it was only yesterday that she and her tandem of playmates had explored the endless beaches of coastline just outside the village. Stubborn shellfish, slippery emerald weeds, and the roaring surf had all been integral parts of their playground as the girls discovered the beauty of their surroundings. The corners of Onya's mouth upturned into a nostalgic smile as her memory jogged toward some of their interesting escapades on the outskirts of the dangerous jungles of Three Wood. Even then they had shown no fear. The daughter of one of the most prominent Ido Generals of all time, Onya had always been looked upon as a leader. Many assumed the trait had been embedded in her genes and it was certainly no surprise when she, along with close friends Eesha and Lyn, had been voted one of the three Generals of the female Youth. Together they formed a triad of feminine strength, cultivated intellect, and military expertise.Like their male counterparts, the female Youth were trained in the Ido martial art of Bgongo as well as in the mastery of weaponry. The thick, solid muscles surrounded by less than twelve percent body fat were living proof of the grueling sessions she'd survived. Eyeno and Dame had been the Elder gurus in the martial arts back then and they'd trained the Youth well. The intermittent spells of guidance provided by the Enlightened Ones insured their self-sufficiency at an early age. Along with her Bgongo lessons, she briefly recalled the lectures introducing concepts of Enlightenment, Respect, and Mental Endurance afforded them by the Mer Ancestors and their visiting parents, now Elders residing in the Enlightened Lands. It was understood that Enlightenment was their ultimate goal, and Taste was the path they were required to travel in order to attain it.Allowing the memories of her childhood to wash away, Onya breathed in deeply, glanced at her glistening mahogany skin one last time, and prepared for womanhood. Jaw set in a rigid line, she carefully gathered her fraying nerves and mentally stitched them into a solid seam. A shrill gong caused her pulse to quicken as she pulled a blue, beaded mask over her eyes. It was official. The ceremony had begun.All at once, the drummers began a rich staccato. Obediently, the women’s hips swayed in unison with the djembe. One by one they snaked around the tall divider and into the open space on the platform. In no time, the looming spectators in their wake released a collective breath of approval. On cue, the rhythm accelerated as the women began a sensually charged dance. Their torsos and extremities dipped between the syllables of the drum effortlessly, sliding through each individual tone like a smooth word oozing from the tongue.Aside from the custom-made turquoise and silver jewelry, intricately beaded masks, matching waist-beads, and assorted pairs of calf-high vine boots (heeled shoes made from intersecting patterns of dyed vine), the female Youth were completely naked, their exposed breasts gleaming with scented Raha oil, a sweet perfume extracted from the trees of Three Wood. Each woman wore their tresses in a single braid to the middle of the spine, partially covering the large ceremonial tattoo etched between her shoulder blades. Much of the ceremony’s allure involved pinpointing a potential preferred partner based upon the impressions given during the ceremony. Though the women made the final choice, it was an unspoken rule that the man they'd chosen would have to be in agreement.Loose limbs displayed their flexibility, swinging, curling, and sashaying in time with the pulsing tune as the women swayed and looped their bodies in patient, fluid motions. As if under the influence of some preordained spell, the hands of time bent passively inside the canopy. Onya felt the moisture releasing gradually from her pores as her heartbeat became one with the seductive rhythm. The quickness of her pulse carried her on an excited whim as she wound around the perimeter of the stage, eyes closed. A dull crescendo guided them into a single line in front of their audience, a throng of Ido males totally nude aside from the ceremonial chains around their necks and a beaded cloth sac enclosing their genitals. Onya noted that most of the sacs were now nearly bursting at the seams. She smiled inwardly with smug approval and her own concentration quickly shifted to arousal as they approached the climactic finale.Though nearly naked on an elevated platform in front of 50 pairs of eyes, Onya felt her inhibitions melting away like a single ice cube left in the blistering sunshine. Before her stood an endless field of broad shoulders, pulsing biceps, and glistening abdomens in every shade of brown imaginable. Warm rays of goldenrod and tangerine drenched their skin, causing hues ranging from hazelnut to midnight shimmer with a sun kissed sheen. It took everything in her not to stop short and gawk at the possibilities. Never before had she witnessed such unscathed beauty. Quietly, her eyes scoured the fine musculature and tapered waistlines seemingly sculpted from stone. Her nostrils flared gently as she attempted to inhale their collective strength through her nose, taste their anticipation on the tip of her tongue. Mesmerized, she wound her body in wide circles before lowering her gaze to the multitude of bulging silk sacs girding the males' heaving organs. The beat slowed simultaneously as they turned their backs to the audience, their round buttocks gleaming in the light of the setting sun. One by one, the women arched their backs forward and stretched each hand to the platform below.Looking through her open thighs into the crowd behind her, Onya slowly rose to her full height in time with the others. In unison, they turned their bodies forward, slowly, sensually. Falling to her knees, she caressed her thighs with intensity before lifting her fingers to the neatly trimmed V just below her waist beads. Careful to evoke the correct visual, the women threw their heads back as one. The djembes embraced a slow syncopation now as they parted their moistened lips, gently rubbing the enlarged center peeking through a delta of fertile ground.Immediately, the males revealed rock hard shafts of all shades and sizes. Some stood erect at beautifully odd angles while others hung handsomely to mid-thigh. A minute few nearly kissed the knee. Instantly, they began stroking their hardened members in rhythmic time with the accompanying drums.Enticed, the women responded accordingly. Onya drew her hands above her waist, locating a pair of erect nipples attached to a set of soft, small breasts. She held them delicately in her palms and caressed the stiff flesh in small semicircles while swinging her wide hips and ample buttocks boldly from side to side. Little by little, she felt a fierce confidence rising from within as she exhaled all that was feminine, sexy, and assertive.Carefully she lifted her gaze and, within seconds, stood face to face with one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Her lashes fluttered as she attempted to mask her surprise. It was only a matter of time before the totality of his presence swallowed her whole. Mahogany skin reminiscent of royalty and stature set off perfectly sculpted features while a groomed mustache lined a set of full lips curved in an aroused smile. Glistening droplets of sweat gathered in the grooves of the eight ebony cinderblocks of his abdomen before sliding toward his narrow waist and thick, muscle-laden thighs. Noticing her sudden preoccupation, he paused and winked as a twinkle of interest glittered in the center of his deep brown eyes.Tallish with short, dark hair thick with defining waves, the roiling fire in his gaze penetrated all of her defenses. The two exchanged an intense stare as he ran his tongue across his top lip with a deliberate passion. Onya felt her heartbeat skip when brazen desire spread through her like a red-hot combustible flame. With every fiber of her being, she wanted this man to want her. Never before had she witnessed such an epitome of perfection until now. In an instant, all thought evaporated into steam.Careful not to lose her concentration, she held his piercing gaze as it saturated her thrusting hips while she pulsated in time with the hypnotic drumming. Moving as if she were in a trance-like state, she stretched her arms overhead and closed her eyes, an imprint of his profile tattooed beneath her eyelids. A broad smile spread slowly across his face. Overcome with awe, she wondered if she'd ever experience anything more pleasurable than this moment. Their eyes locked again as her wandering index finger traveled back to her enlarged bud. His eyes followed obediently as if he were willing, no, daring her to climax. After a slight quiver, a tiny moan of exhilaration escaped from her mouth as she prepared to explode.“Stop! I said stop!”The dancing and drumming came to an awkward, screeching halt. Arms flailed and legs landed awkwardly on the wooden planks while heads swiveled wildly in the direction of the commotion. A few feet from where she stood, a strange man climbed through the large, door-like opening in the canopy of vines. His appearance was unlike any she'd ever seen. A hooded cloak concealed his entire body aside from the tangled mane framing his thin face. Hastily, the women covered their nude bodies as the men formed a protective barrier around them. In surprised confusion, they turned their attention toward the prominent Ido Elder at the stranger's side. According to tradition, interrupting the Warming Ceremony was forbidden, and allowing a foreigner in their midst was an unforgivable abomination. An angry hush fell over the crowd as the Elder stepped forward. Onya looked on in absolute shock. The man venturing to the center of the crowd was Dame, the head of the Elder Ido Clan, and her father.
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PrologueBeneath a sweltering noonday sun, the prickling sensation in her fingertips began to spread. Profuse sweating and violent hallucinations followed as the world around her swirled in the purplish haze of a narcotic high. Time slid to a sluggish halt as she closed her eyes, helplessly watching the blinding blue dance with screaming red behind her eyelids. Phase One of the shape-shift brought about a hurt so intense that all thought quickly became a dizzying distortion of memory. Painless movement was no longer an option. The splintering feel of tiny sand granules beneath her skin became an extrasensory nightmare. Simple breathing was a labor all its own as she prepared for the inevitable wave of agony. The tortured moan never escaped her lips when a blistering surge below her navel descended through her large fin etched with thick, overlapping golden scales. She attempted to steady her shallow breaths when an oddly pitched tone joined the ringing in her ears. A horrid visual affirmed what she'd already known; she was ripping in two. White heat coursed through her thinly stretched veins while layers of skin pushed out of the scales in droves only to absorb them again and finally diffuse into dark brown pigment. Muscle enveloped itself over the soft cartilage now hardening into bone as joints slid and popped in place with an unknown precision.Eyes closed tightly; no energy remained to watch the remainder of her transformation. Heartbeat racing, she gagged on the acidic bile coating her tongue and attempted to home in on the song in the distance. Mental strength prevailed as her erratic breaths matched the melodious tune, riding it peacefully like the wind. Slowly her body's temperature lowered, stabilized, and cooled. Strands of wet hair clung to her cheeks, ears, and forehead, partially obstructing her view of the sea nearby. She fought to open her eyes. The familiar, five-foot wide golden-scaled fin was gone and a foreign pair of legs and feet had taken its place. Carefully, she turned her head, lifting it just centimeters from the sunbathed beach. Peering cautiously into the blinding sunlight, she observed the countless bodies lying in recovery on the white sand. Clarity slowly penetrated her hazy thoughts; and from the looks of it, the others were just as out of sorts as she. Lying back down with a soft thud, she drifted. It was time to heal.
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Taste: An Erotic Fantasy Seriesby B. Sharise MooreLove is forbidden....Pleasure reigns...Taste the fantasy...On Ido, island of cocooned cities, Mer people, and butterfly dragons; love and monogamy are strictly prohibited, physical pleasures abound, and a brewing civil war pits youth and virility against age and experience.The Ido Youth seek the preservation of Taste, a set of carnal sex rites beginning in the 21st year and ending with climax, Enlightenment, and Elderhood. Meanwhile, the Elders vow to obliterate the old traditions in favor of The One Faith, a religion of love, marriage, restraint, and discipline under the direction of a mysterious foreigner known simply as, The Guide.At the center of the war is Onya, the seductive and beautiful daughter of the shrewd Elder General Dame. Though dedicated to both Taste and tradition, she begins to question the very core of her beliefs when she falls in love with Quince, co-General of the Youth Cause. Together they must navigate otherworldly pleasures, the savagery of war, an intrusive religion, and their own forbidden love.
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Posted by N.T. Gaubert on July 14, 2008 at 12:00pm
I realized I hadn't posted any of my publications here, one is in print the other on the web and I'm actually pretty proud of both of them.I have a review of the novel Empress by Karen Miller up at Fantasy Magazione: here!And my essay: Colonialism...In...Space & On The Ground appears in the WisCon Chronicles 2 from Aqueduct Press and can be purchased here!Hopefully more coming soon!
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It's not a perfect review (mostly positive), but I'm ecstatic to be reviewed by the New York Times. What an honor.Weapons of Mass CreationBy DONNA FREITASPublished in the New York Times, Sunday July 12th
THE SHADOW SPEAKERBy Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu.336 pp. Jump at the Sun/Hyperion. $16.99. (Ages 12 and up)It’s easy to name a dozen fantasy novels set in England but, save for Nancy Farmer’s futuristic book “The Ear, the Eye and the Arm,” difficult to think of one set anywhere in Africa — just one of many unexpected pleasures in Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu’s novel “The Shadow Speaker.”The book’s 14-year-old heroine, Ejii Ugabe, lives in a dystopian Niger, changed not only by nuclear war but by “Peace Bombs” — weapons developed by a militant environmentalist group to “create where the nuclear bombs destroyed.” These sent a “vast green-tinted wave” across all seven continents, ushering the world into the Great Change — a time when magic was unleashed all over the planet, and earthquakes and their aftershocks tore holes in the atmosphere between worlds. Some children are now born “metahuman,” with special gifts. Ejii can speak to shadows, while Dikéogu, the boy who will become her truest friend and companion, can pull rain and lightning from the sky. The two are strong enough to save the world, or destroy it.When she was 9, Ejii witnessed her father’s beheading by the warrior queen Sarauniya Jaa — but far from being traumatized, she was overjoyed; her father had become a tyrant, and she was relieved he was gone. When Ejii learns of Jaa’s belief that she is to become Niger’s next warrior queen, she decides to follow Jaa into another world, embarking on a perilous walkabout in the traditional quest of shadow speakers. “To travel is to court death and greatness,” writes Okorafor-Mbachu, an American whose parents moved to the United States from Nigeria.Despite a story that begins with tragedy and drama, that has a fresh and interesting setting and follows two main characters, a girl and boy, on the cusp of events that will change their lives forever, “The Shadow Speaker” can be difficult to enjoy and even more so to finish. The writing is polished till it gleams, but unfortunately, no amount of good writing can hide the fact that something essential is missing. The story and its characters lack emotional pull; they feel flat on the page. Even when it looks as though Ejii has died — her new powers overwhelm her, and she succumbs to the shadows — it seems like just another event among many.Still, there are creative touches here that fans of fantasy will not want to miss, like the book’s unforgettable scenery. Following Ejii and Dikéogu’s journey through the parched Sahara, they cross into Ginen’s Kingdom of Ooni, where plants grow into houses and where a room might smell like lilacs and have “bright blue spiders, transparent-skinned geckos, lizards with long metallic-looking nails and all sorts of beetles,” even “a tiny red-orange monkey clinging to the ceiling.” And there is magic too in the character of Queen Jaa: when she speaks, “a red flower with glasslike petals” falls from the sky to accompany her prophetic words and war-mongering tactics.This novel — like the author’s first, “Zahrah the Windseeker” (2005) — leaves little doubt that Okorafor-Mbachu’s imagination is stunning and that she can lay the groundwork for a successful fantasy. But ultimately a novel must captivate, wrenching us from our world into its own. On this level, at least, “The Shadow Speaker” falls short.Donna Freitas is an assistant professor of religion at Boston University. Her first novel, “The Possibilities of Sainthood,” will be published in August.Read more…
Back in the day, when I was calling myself “educating” people about Africa’s place in folklore and mythology, I wrote an article about the continent’s unknown beasts and mythical beings for Dragon magazine. Dragon was published by the people who were behind the renowned Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game. I never was a gamer myself, but the article nonetheless had some influence. It was published in the June 1987 issue of Dragon, under the title “Out of Africa.” But I think “Into Africa” is a better reflection of what the article’s about. Here it is:Long before science-fiction writers began to populate outer space with bug-eyed aliens, the bards and skalds and other story-tellers of pre-industrial Earth peopled our own planet with imaginary beings of incredible number and variety. Regardless of culture or clime, human beings have dreamed of imaginary counterparts in unknown lands beyond the mountains and over the seas. These counterparts have become so embedded in human culture that today, even though the mountains and seas have been explored extensively without having found any mythical beings, those beings continue to exist in symbolic fashion. From the heraldic dragon to the boogeyman that hides behind the closet door at night, the beings imagined by our ancestors are still with us.Over the past two decades, there has been a resurgence of interest in the fabulous beings of the ancient past. In part, this resurgence is connected with a general revival of interest in fantasy as a literary genre. As well, it can be attributed to the advent of the fantasy role-playing game. Mythical beings are an integral part of these games, and volumes of compilations of monsters of the world are perused by Dungeonmasters who seek new perils for their underground realms.Sometimes, it seems, however, that the current interest in mythical beings is confined to those associated with the cultures of Western Europe, with a smattering of Oriental creatures added for good measure. The imaginary output of the cultures of North and South America, the Pacific, and Africa is omitted from most compilations of mythical beings. Such omission is especially apparent in the case of Africa.There are various reasons for these omissions. In some cases, the compiler deliberately leaves out products of the so-called “primitive mind.” One such compiler is Heinz Mode, who wrote in Fabulous Beasts and Demons (p. 13):“It may have been noticed that no mention has yet been made of ancient America or ancient Africa, the South Seas, and Australia. That these areas may in fact be largely left out is due to a fact already stated: namely that the idea of monsters arises at a relatively late stage of cultural development. The ancient American civilizations do show some rudimentary – perhaps independent – composite forms, but these are for the most part ill-defined and it is often difficult to distinguish between monsters and human figures masked or disguised in animal skins. Ideas of magic, totemic customs, and animistic equation of different natural spheres may have led to some of the ideas underlying the shapes that interest us here. But it seems that these never brought about a true creation of new beings in a distinct visual form. For this reason, we shall largely have to leave out these areas of civilization if we want to keep to our subject, though in individual cases reference will be made to possible connections. The observation that monsters were not created originally by the so-called ‘primitive’ peoples, as one might have expected, but are in fact to a large extent the product of highly developed civilizations is surprising enough.”Mode’s surprise might have been even greater had he met the chemosit of East Africa. The chemosit is described as part human, part bird. It has one leg and nine buttocks. Its red mouth shines like a lamp at night. Whatever else it may be, the chemosit is unquestionably “a new being in distinct visual form.” Not only that, but the name chemosit is also given to an animal that seems to be an amalgam of ape and hyena. We will meet this second manifestation of the chemosit later in this essay.The chemosit is not unique. As you will see, there are many other mythical beings in Africa that fit Mode’s (or anybody else’s) definition of a “monster.”Descriptions of some of these beings may be found in such compilations as Perle Epstein’s Monsters, Peter Costello’s The Magic Zoo, and Jose Luis Borges’ celebrated The Book of Imaginary Beings. None of the above volumes, however, mentions more than a scant few of the imaginary inhabitants of Africa. Also, in the Costello and Borges compilations, the African beings they cite lack true African provenance. Creatures such as the Catoblepas, a bovine with a head too heavy to carry upright, and the Amphisbaena, a snake with heads at both ends of its body, are products of the European imagination rather than the African.The search for true African mythical beings must, therefore, begin with African sources. The beings have always been there; as the continent continues to emerge from its centuries-long nightmare of slavery and colonialism, the true extent of the output of the African imagination will become apparent to the fantasists, scholars, and gamers of this part of the world. This essay represents only one small scratch on a vast surface.Unknown BeastsAt first glance, a distinction between “unknown beasts” and “mythical beings” may seem superfluous. Aren’t both kinds of creature equally products of the imagination? The answer to that question is, “Yes and no.”In the lore of most African cultures, there are two categories into which beings we consider imaginary may be sorted: natural and supernatural. The natural category would include animal species that have not yet been described and classified by zoologists, but are nonetheless considered by Africans to be as much a part of the local fauna as lions and leopards. These elusive beasts of river, forest, and plain could be considered in the same light as the Loch Ness Monster of Scotland or the Sasquatch of North America – animals whose existence has not been verified scientifically, but are still more likely to fall into the purview of biologists rather than anthropologists. Supernatural beings belong more to the realm of folklore and mythology.Often, natural and supernatural beings are lumped together as products of ignorance and superstition. Still, as Belgian zoologist Bernard Huevelmans points out in On the Track of Unknown Animals, zoos all over the world now contain specimens of the gorilla, the okapi, and the pygmy hippopotamus – all of which were once dismissed as products of native superstition. There may be others …Africa is a continent of rivers, with the Nile, the Congo and Niger systems ranking among the largest in the world. There are also several great lakes surpassed in size only by those in North America. These bodies of water teem with a countless variety of fish, as well as hippopotamus, crocodile, and water birds.Formidable as the hippo and crocodile are, even they are sometimes forced to retreat when confronted by the unknown beasts that share their environment. One dangerous rival is the dingonek, a fifteen-foot-long creature with a head like that of a lioness or otter; long, saber-like fangs; thick scales like those of an armadillo; and a long, broad tail. The dingonek’s body is covered with leopard-like spots, and its bulk rivals that of a hippo. Its feet bear reptilian claws.Even more impressive than the dingonek is the chepekwe, which appears to be part rhinoceros and part elephant, with little or no trace of the reptilian in its makeup. The chepekwe is as big as a small elephant. Like the Indian rhinoceros (but unlike the African), the chepekwe bears a single horn on its nose. Its habitat is the swampy regions of the Katanga district of Congo (formerly Zaire).A similar water-beast is the nzefu-loi, which dwells in the Lualaba River. Although its name means “water elephant,” the nzefu-loi does not look like an elephant. The shape of its body is comparable to a hippo’s, but unlike the hippo it ha a long neck surmounted by a relatively small head. The head is armed with short, heavy, downward-pointing tusks. Despite its saurian configuration, the nzefu-loi sports a long, hairy tail like that of a horse.The nsanga looks very much like the Komodo monitor lizard, which is officially the world’s largest lizard, growing to a length of ten to twelve feet. The nsanga beats that record, as some of them have been reported to stretch as long as fifteen feet. Its lifestyle is similar to that of the crocodile, which the nsanga sometimes chases from choice feeding-grounds. Although the nsanga does not possess the fearsome jaws of a crocodile, it compensates with agility and razor-sharp claws.The badigui lives in the Ubangi-Shari river system in what is now the Central African Republic. The grandfather of all snakes, the badigui has sufficient size and strength to crush a crocodile in its coils. When it ventures out of the water, this gigantic serpent leaves a track as wide as the body of a Land Rover. As for length, one witness saw only the upper portion of a badigui – and that was twenty-five feet long!Not all of Africa’s unknown water-dwellers are reptilian or pachydermal. The morou-ngou is decidedly feline in form. At ten to twelve feet in length, the morou-ngou appears to be an oversized panther adapted to an aquatic environment. Its smooth, otter-like coat can be either striped or solid-brown in hue. Although the previously mentioned animals are not directly dangerous to humans, the morou-ngou is very inimical indeed. Often, it will go out of its way to drown hapless humans in the deepest part of the Ubangi-Shari.Like the other beasts discussed thus far, the morou-ngou is amphibious, capable of surviving out of water. But the lukwata of Lake Victoria is strictly aquatic. Indeed, the lukwata may best be described as a gigantic catfish, twelve to fifteen feet in length. With its wide, gaping mouth surrounded by twisting barbels, the lukwata would be a terrifying apparition to an unwary fisherman.The last water-beast to be described here does not live in any of Africa’s rivers or lakes. The silwane-manzi is a sea-dweller that sometimes leaves its three-toed prints along the beaches of Natal, South Africa. Zulus who have seen this creature say that it is larger than a crocodile, walks on its hind legs, is covered with scales, and has a head that resembles that of a turtle. Although the film was made years after the Zulus’ first descriptions of the silwane-manzi, the sea-beast bears an uncanny resemblance to the Creature from the Black Lagoon!Water is not the only habitat of unknown beasts in Africa. Remote forests, mountains, and savannas harbor creatures that have yet to appear on the Wild Kingdom TV program.Conventional zoological wisdom tells us that there are no bears in Africa. What, then, is the nandi, a marauder that has harassed East African shepherds for centuries? Lacking other terms of reference, Africans who have encountered the nandi say it looks like an overgrown hyena. But when photographs of bears are shown to these witnesses, they invariably change their minds. Indeed, one variant of the chemosit is the duba, whose name is Arabic for “bear.” Although it is a huge, fearsome creature, the nandi/duba appears to confine its depredations to domestic animals.The chemosit, also called the getiet, is an altogether different proposition. As mentioned earlier, there are two versions of the chemosit. The half-man, half-bird monster is more of a demon than a natural creature. The other version is a rapacious predator that seems part-hyena, part-ape and one hundred percent deadly. Entire villages have been known to have fled the fury of the chemosit, which has the unsavory habit of tearing off the tops of its victims’ skulls and dining on the exposed brains. In its own way, this second version of the chemosit may be even more demonic than the first.Related to the chemosit is the engargiya of Uganda. A large, shaggy, slope-backed creature, the engargiya has been identified by Huevelmans with the chalicothere, a prehistoric animal that had the anatomy of an herbivore combined with disproportionately large claws on its forefeet. Although the chalicothere became extinct during the Pleistocene era, Huevelmans speculates that a relict population may have survived in the East African bush.The njenge is an omnivorous animal about the size of a sheep. In pre-colonial days, njenges made nuisances of themselves by raiding farms and gardens. Although it is said to eat meat as well as vegetable food, there is no mention of the njenge being dangerous to humans. Its body is covered with hair like that of an English sheepdog.Great cats like the lion, leopard and cheetah are virtually symbolic of African wildlife. But there are two large feline species that are just as spectacular and dangerous as the cats trophy-hunters seek. One is the nunda, a feline larger than a lion and far more difficult to kill. In Swahili legend, the nunda has a thick tail, small ears, a bulky build, and a coat marked like that of a civet. It is interesting to note that paleoanthropologist Louis Leakey once excavated the fossil of a cat that seemed more tiger than lion. The nunda could represent a survival of this prehistoric species.The other unknown feline seems almost at the threshold of scientific recognition. Known locally as the marozi, the cat is about the size of a small lioness. Travelling in pairs, marozi are most frequently seen in the Aberdare Mountains of Kenya. Although the males do not boast the full mane of a lion, they do have a whiskery ruff like that of a lynx or bobcat. Also like a bobcat, the marozi’s hide is spotted. However, its tail is as long as a leopard’s. For a time, a pair of marozi-skins was on display in Nairobi.Thus we complete our survey of unknown beasts. The listing is by no means exhaustive. Like the okapi and the pygmy hippopotamus, some of the above creatures may one day be displayed in zoos. But … what zoo could contain a determined badigui or chemosit?Mythical BeingsWe are now ready to look at Africa’s supernatural entities. Their existence is rooted in the realm of folklore, myth – and, yes, superstition. Disassociated from physical reality, supernatural beings are nonetheless part of the spiritual reality of the cultures of which they are part. Although they are not by definition evil, these beings do tend to be associated with the conjurations of sorcerers and witches.Virtually all cultures have created supernatural beings. There seems to be a universal core of awe of the unknown that impels us to mold that awe into something with shape and substance. If the unknown can be visualized and named, it becomes easier to cope with.Based on their different origins, there is an important contrast between the behavior of natural and supernatural beings. With a few exceptions, the natural beings are not a direct menace to humans. Like other animals, they will leave you alone if you leave them alone. More often than not, however, the supernatural beings are dangerous to the people whose imaginations create them.It is almost a cultural universal that people who share their environment with large predators will develop a tradition of were-beasts, or humans who can turn themselves into animals. Africans are no exception to this rule.The most common kind of African were-beast is the irimu, or were-leopard. Irimu can also be lions, depending on the locale of the myth-makers. Like the European werewolf, the irimu assumes beast-form when the moon is full. But its bite does not infect its victims with a similar curse. The condition is induced by the spells of unscrupulous sorcerers, though sometimes the sorcerers are unable to control their creations. The irimu are not to be confused with the Leopard Men of West Africa, who disguise themselves as leopards for ritualistic purposes.There are also were-loins and were-hyenas, known respectively as chiwanda and makishi. These beings differ from the irimu in that they are beasts that can become human, while the irimu is a human that can become a beast. Entire cycles of folklore in Central and Southern Africa revolve around the theme of the “Demon Bridegroom.” In these stories, a makishi or chiwanda will come in human form to a village and seduce the local beauty who haughtily rejects all other suitors. The demon marries the maiden – then, on the wedding night, the demon reverts to its natural form, with predictably terrifying results.The vampire is another supernatural entity that appears in cultures all over the world. The Central European version of this blood-drinking monster is the most prevalent – hello, Count Dracula. But there are other cultural variations on the vampire theme.At least two types of vampire have been reported in Africa. One is the tyerkow, which haunted the Sahelian city of Timbuktu. The tyerkow was a normal human being by day, but at night is would shed its skin. By that process, it became a vampire with most of the attributes of the European variety. In its skinless state, the tyerkow drank the blood of sleeping citizens of Timbuktu. To destroy a tyerkow, one must hide its skin so that it has no safe haven to return to by daylight. Of course, the vampire is very careful about saving its own skin …The other type of African vampire is the mwanga. The best description of a mwanga would be “a person who turns into a beast that lives on blood.” In some ways, the mwanga is a combination of vampire and were-beast, with the mindless ferocity of the latter linked to the blood-drinking habits of the former. Unlike the tyerkow, the mwanga is vulnerable to ordinary weapons, though it takes a lot of killing to dispatch one.“Little people” are yet another worldwide folkloric phenomenon. Gnomes and leprechauns have African counterparts, such as utechekulu and the kitunusi, among others. The above-named dwarves tend to be dangerous, and are better left alone. The utechekulu are about three feet high, have ebony skin and tangled hair, and possess a long, sharp blood-red tooth that they use to kill their victims. Their favorite prey? People.The kitunusi, on the other hand, is somewhat ambivalent. Even its status as a dwarf is not clear, as some stories say the kitunusi is of normal size, but hitches itself about in a sitting position. Whatever its stature, the kitunusi wears a magic cloth called the kaniki. If a traveller is bold enough to tear away a piece of the kaniki, great riches will be his. But failure to face down this gnome results in illness, paralysis and eventual slow death.Where there are little people, there are also giants. All over the world, legends persist of races of giants that preceded humans on Earth. One African variation on this theme is the story of the Rom, who once inhabited northern Ethiopia. They were so large that the cattle they herded were as goats are to normal humans. Their water-vessels were made from the entire hides of bulls, and for firewood, they ripped up entire groves of trees. For a time, the Rom coexisted peacefully with humans. They ultimately died out through a combination of infertility and competition with the smaller – but brighter – ancestors of the Ethiopians. Even today, lost cattle are sometimes thought to have been stolen by the vengeful ghosts of the Rom.Another race of giants is the Sao, who settled in the region of Lake Chad. They are described as having bright, sun-like eyes and prodigious size and strength. Indeed, accounts of the prowess of the Sao bring to mind tales of Paul Bunyan and Finn MacCool. Their bows were the trunks of palm trees, and their stature was such that they could carry an elephant on their shoulders. Unlike the Rom, the Sao were highly cultured, and were willing to pass their knowledge on to the “little people” they encountered. Also unlike the Rom, they did not die out in competition with normal-sized humans. One day, the Sao simply moved on, and were never seen again.Elves are yet another worldwide mystical phenomenon. Sometimes elves are confused with dwarves and gnomes. But strictly speaking, an elf is a being that operates on a higher spiritual plane than do humans. The sidhe of Ireland are one European example of this perception of elves. For the Bantu-speaking people of Congo and other Central African countries, the equivalent of the sidhe is a race called the wakyambi, or Heaven People.The “heaven” concept is not to be confused with the Christian paradise. The name was translated as such because the Congolese said the wakyambi live “in the clouds,” or “beyond the sun.” They have been known to conjure “heaven-cattle” for people upon whom they looked kindly. On the other hand, the wakyambi are also known to be harbingers of disaster. In appearance, these elfin beings are very much like other Africans – the primary difference being that the wakyambi have tails. Contrary to some expectations, the tail of the wakyambi is not considered a sign of evolutionary degeneracy.Thus far, we have looked at creatures that are part of a universal series of mythic archetypes. Vampires, werewolves, dwarves and elves are represented in folklore from all corners of the world. There are, however, mythic beings in Africa that have few – if any – counterparts in other continents’ cultures.For example, there’s the ngojama, a demon that haunts the forests of the Tana country. The ngojama in manlike in appearance and has human intelligence. But it also possesses long, iron-hard claws that grow from the palms of its hands. The ngojama lies in wait for unwary hunters, who quickly discover that they have suddenly become prey.The Zulu speak of two man-like races that may be found in their hill country. One is the unthlatu, or serpent-people. An unthlatu is human in form, but is covered with smooth, slippery scales like those of a python. Unthlatu tend not to interfere in human affairs, but when they do, one can never predict whether their interventions result in good or ill. In one instance, an unthlatu saved the life of a Zulu maiden who was abducted by a river-demon. On the other hand, the serpent-people are not above the stealing of cattle from time to time – a cardinal sin in Zulu protocol.Less benign than the unthlatu are the ingogo, which are a cross between human and baboon. The Zulu believe the ingogo to be the degenerate descendants of an exiled clan. The ingogo walk on all fours and have tails, although their faces are still human enough. Although the ingogo have retained the ability to speak, their dietary habits have declined considerably, as their favorite meal is Zulu flesh.The mangabangabana has an impressively long name – but it is, in fact, only half a man, with one arm, one leg and one eye. Despite their truncated form, the mangabangabana is more dangerous than the ingogo. Not only is this grotesque half-thing a man-eater; it also possesses the power of flight. From its remote forest haunts, the mangabangabana swoops down on women and children, and caries them off to a horrible fate.Great Zimbabwe, now a collection of stone ruins in the country that bears the same name, had its share of supernatural inhabitants. One was the mhondoro – the spirit of a semi-divine ancestor that has the power to possess a descendant and infuse him or her with all the attributes that led to that ancestor’s renown. The possession is only temporary, and when it is over, the medium is left considerably depleted, if not dead. Mhondoro are thus summoned only in dire circumstances.The zombie, or reanimated corpse, is perhaps the best-known of all African supernatural beings, having made its way across the Atlantic to Haiti and other parts of the New World. Less well-known is the fact that there are other types of walking dead in Africa.The tuyewera – a specialty of the Kaonde people of Zambia – is a Frankensteinian combination of an exhumed corpse and an enslaved soul. To create a tuyewera Kaonde sorcerers first procure the body of a person who has been slain by witchcraft. The legs of the corpse are then severed at the knees, and its tongue is cut out. Then the sorcerer animates the tuyewera with the soul of an ancestor who was known to have practiced witchcraft.The result of this procedure is an unkillable fiend that can steal, cause illness, and kill at the sorcerer’s command. At night, the tuyewera is invisible. It moves by hitching itself on its hands and the stumps of its legs. It kills by sucking the breath out of its sleeping victims. The only way to stop a tuyewera is to invoke an incantation that will induce the spirit of the witch-ancestor to leave the revived corpse. At that point, the maker of the tuyewera loses control over his creation, and the corpse quickly decomposes. Kaonde sorcerers used to sell tuyewera to people who sought the services of a quiet assassin.We will close our supernatural safari with a look at Isikukumadevu, a Zulu variation of the “swallowing-monster” theme. Isikukumadevu is a huge, bloated, mossy creature that once lived in a river that no longer exists. As the proper form of address for Isikukumadevu is “Madame Monster,” it is safe to assume that the entity is female. Politeness is, indeed, a virtue when dealing with a creature that once swallowed an entire village because one of its inhabitants offended her!Thus ends our sampling of the unknown beasts and mythic beings of Africa. As mentioned before, we have only scratched the surface of a vast array of entities. In some cases there are several variations on a theme, such as reptilian water-beasts and shape-changing were-creatures, as well as other types of resuscitated corpses. Brief as this survey may be, it may still provide an inkling of the depth and fertility of the African imagination.SourcesA Treasury of African Folklore. Harold Courlander, New York: Crown 1975.African Folktales and Sculpture. Paul Radin, editor, Kingsport: Kingsport Press, 1966.More “Things”. Ivan T. Sanderson, New York: Pyramid 1969.Myths and Legends of Africa. Margaret Carey, London: Hamelyn 1970.Myths and Legends of the Bantu. Alice Werner, London: Cass 1968.On the Track of Unknown Animals. Bernard Huevelmans, London: Granada 1972.End NoteLooking back, I can’t believe I omitted the mokele-mbembe – the famous “African dinosaur” – from this compilation! Looks like I’m going to have to do an updated, expanded version someday.
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At last, the Nigerian edition of Zahrah the Windseeker is available for purchase. The publisher is Kachifo LTD, which has brought the works of so many of my favorite writers to Nigeria, including Sefi Atta, Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Ben Okri, , and Chimamanda N. Adichie.I love this edition of Zahrah the Windseeker because it includes some wonderful illustrations (in addition to the ones that are already in the book). It’s a lovely well-made book.Here are two of the illustrations:
WINTER GHOSTAll I know of her is her voice, it quietly whispers through the blowing snow, which still falls. Her voice, it quietly calls for help, and cries in pain, drew me from my path and onto this chase through the snow filled streets of Mt. Airy. She always seems to be near, around the corner, behind that fence, just over that hill, but I never draw close enough to find her, never come close enough to see her.*help*Again I hear her voice and I twist in the piling snow, my eyes straining to see through the thick never ending curtain of falling white. Pushing on in what I think is the correct direction I notice that, in the snow, which is up to my calves now, the only tracks I see are my own. I listen for any sound, something that would help me to find her, but all I hear is the peaceful silence of the snow-blanketed streets. It's the worst blizzard this city has seen in a decade and I could be home nice and warm but here I am following a ghost.*please*Closer this time and I have to turn again; she has me going in circles. So I sprint (if you can call it sprinting in knee-high snow) around one snow capped set of bushes and up a back driveway, only to find more swirling snow. This is getting ridiculous and I want to just go home but her voice is so frightened, so compelling, that I can't. Yet it is so cold, and my thin jacket and jeans aren't cutting it in this storm, and my feet are starting to feel like blocks of...Wait! What was that? Something moved in the small alleyway between the homes just ahead. I lunge forward, hopping through the snow trying to get to the breezeway before she was gone. The steps to the alley are covered in snow and I stumble as I try and find the foot purchases. Once again I find nothing, no woman, no footprints, no trace. Am I crazy? She's not here, nothing was ever here, but I was so sure. Then I see it, up past the houses, by the front steps between huge twin bushes, something flutters in the blizzard's gale. I stomp through the thigh high snow to claim my prize. Just a bit of cloth, fragile and so thin that it was almost transparent. It was hers, it had to be. Perhaps it was part of a scarf or maybe it was...was...bait. The thought hits me harder than the snow biting into my skin. Why did I...*here*From behind me there comes a strong gust that drives the loose snow into a blinding cloud. I brace my unprotected face against the assault, covering my eyes until it is over and I can see again. I turn and there is something lying in the snow of the alley that I had already searched. It's her, the woman whom I had been searching for. She's wearing a shear nightgown made of the same material as the cloth I found and she lay, unmoving, partially covered by the snow. I kneel beside her still form that is radiant against the cold white snow. Hesitantly I reach out and touch her arm and I can feel her warmth even through my gloves. At my touch her eyes open and look weakly at me with a small hint of recognition. Her lips part meekly but the only sound is the howling wind...
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A great division occurred after the creation of the human species. The first division happened when Lucifer, Prince of the Morning chose to defy creation and the Celestial Hierarchy. The second occurred when the Order of the Watchers, chosen to assist the human species defied the rules and engaged with them. The Celestial Hierarchy was made up of several orders, each with different status, positions and task. One of the Orders was the Powers, the Guardians of Universal and Cosmic order.Lilliana from the Order of Powers is summoned to observe the human species. For many ions the Powers have visited and observe the human species since the division. However, it is Lilliana’s proximity to the planet that heightens the primal nature of all beings on the planet; mortals and immortals alike. The Celestial Hierarchy is concerned with the course of human species has taken; according to their own history they have entered the beginning stages of the ‘end of days’. This has unleashed the demons, werewolves and vampyre’s to expose their existence to the human species ─ even the immortals were affected by her presence.The Power takes to the high ground, watching over the city at night. Lillie camouflages her energy into the flesh so she can blend in with the humans. She takes to going out in the evening, frequenting the gothic clubs. In the clubs she discovers and interacts with the flesh eaters and soul stealers. Lilliana is drawn to the music and the sounds of the night but she also defends the helpless and collects the dead. In one of her nightly journeys she comes across the Pure Blood Demetri. Demetri comes to the Americas from his homeland of Italy to put distance between him and the woman he loves the slayer Elizabeth. The slayer Elizabeth follows Demetri to the Americas and meets a distance cousin, who is also a slayer. Again, since the arrival of the Power Lilliana, vampyre’s are exposing themselves to humans. In her pursuit of the Demetri, Elizabeth is now on the trail of the notorious killer of slayers, the Pure Blood Colin. Colin has followed the slayer Elizabeth to the Americas to mate with her and create a new breed of vampyre. The myth of the slayer was they were created with incredible strength to defend the humans. Lilliana intervened when the slayer was taken hostage by Colin. However, along the way she would experience for the first time, emotions. The Power sparks a relationship with both Demetri and Colin. Her actions are questioned by members of the Celestial Hierarchy, namely archangels Michael and Gabriel. They notice a difference in Lilliana’s behavior and send the Watcher Adina to assist the Power in her task of observing the humans.In enters Chandler, at first he is assisting the slayers but his real agenda is shrouded, since he befriends the Pure Blood Colin. Whatever it is Chandler is up to, you get the feeling he is out for himself, as is Angelica. She is the mistress of the mansion, who is smitten by the new Lord of the manor Demetri. Angelica is very clear or so it seems of what and who she wants. The Vampyress sees the human as food and nutrients for her species. The mansion is used to lure humans as donors, to be willing participants in the food chain. But, the mansion holds many secrets and it are those secrets that will unravel when Elizabeth, the slayer goes missing. It is up to the Power to save her.But, in this world even the Power needs some help and she goes in search of a historian. They are the ones that write the history of the planet for the Hierarchy, the mystics, shaman, and sorcerers. The Power finds the enchantress Morgan who is linked to an ancient sorceress.For centuries the humans believe that the fight between good and evil was for their immortal souls. This couldn’t be further from the truth. In the end the humans will be in the middle of a power struggle between the immortals. No longer will they be able to ignore unexplained occurrencesExcerpt: from Book I - Pure BloodDemetrios woke early and went down to the study. He found the mansion quiet except for a few donors lying around. He decided to go out to explore and drink from a young dark haired girl slumbering in front of the fireplace. Dusk was upon the city and he wanted to see the attraction. He strolled along a main avenue but he was not use to the chaos of traffic. He was about to give up his wandering when he spotted a cemetery. Demetri loved strolling through the cemetery at home, he enjoyed reading headstones of the dead. He bobbed and weaves through the decrepit headrest when a soft breeze enticed him. The fresh smell of cut blades always reminded him of a newly dug grave and he ventured towards the park. He found an isolated path to be primitive. The darkness of the woods covered him from those passing by as he frolicked unnoticed. As he strolled, he noticed a strange vibration in his step. Demetri became aroused by its mere stealth. Only in his canine form does it grab his attention. He fell into rhythm with the entity as it stopped, so did he. He could not make out who or what it was through the darken trees but he knew it stood upright like a human but not. The hair behind his ears sensed familiarity. He tried to get a closer look. The creature suspected its prey but how with his fox like prowess. His sweat glands let out his essence to lure but his prey cunningness eluded. He lurked amidst the foliage as it went into the clearing, never exposing its features. Demetri observed as the human reveled in the dusk. He smelled the air, for it had a distinct scent of woman. He stood up on his hinds and brushed of his attire. Demetri waited for night to sweep across the sky, it would soon be time to prowl.The skies went from day to night in an array of colors instantly. The hues of orange, blue, purple and green gave way to the entrance of blue black. The eyes of the sky showed forth with an ominous cloud surrounding it. The creatures of the night stirred as they gloried at the appearance of darkness. It was the first hint of winter, there was a strange chill in the air and the leaches were out in force. The change of season was due for some time but still brought out the faithful. It was the time of the year the night had a slivery tone in the landscape.Lillie took on the night; to any layman she was the mere wind, whistling high in the sky. Tonight she observed the primitives, no more being caught within their web. She rode the ambiance of twilight enjoying the sweet nectar of freedom. Tonight she would be anything and everything, honing her hearing to the whispers of deceit. As she swept around, Lillie found her familiar stance atop the peak she called home and waited. She could hear the music from down below, as it traveled its way up to her. She knew with club Death Strike out of commission, the lost souls of the night would find another place to haunt. As she hovered in the atmosphere, her ocular view passed over the crevices of the streets. There it was Club Razors Edge, calling and inviting all to enter at their own risk. Lillie paused and wondered if it was safe. She waited and watched. She held back and then descended for a peek. She was intrigued when she spotted Liz and her two associates walking into the grotto. Lillie materialized wearing her usual black attire and her cloak as cover to hide her weapons. She followed into the club like night wind, undetected. Chandler spotted her as she converted instantly, like water shaping to a glass. He wanted to know about her and Lillie zeroed in on his stare as if he knew she would show. The music was more gothic than Death Strike but it was undeniably taking hold of her. She owed herself a night of dance and her core dragged her off to engage. As the music pulsated, she took hold of the rhythm and her pelvis gyrated seductively. Liz was surprised she delighted in human pleasures but took noticed to how she moved. Liz decided to join her and Chandler felt it was the perfect time to make his move, inviting a ménage et tois.Demetri and Angelica entered with their caravan as they all spotted the interesting display unraveling in the center as before. How surprised he was to see Elizabeth as Angelica pointed her out as the other slayer. However, his interest lies with the dark haired beauty dancing with Liz and he wanted in on the clique. He eased out on the dance floor, moving ever so close to his desire. Liz spotted Demetri and waited for him to get close enough to stake him. He moved behind Lillie, as her senses got blurry. She ignored it thinking it was the call of the music. Liz moved closer and he showed his tips. Lillie was enthralled in the rhythm and her hunger was being satisfied. Demetri scaled her body with his massive hands. He was intoxicated by her tang. Lilliana sensed a familiar and came face to face with Demetri. As the music became more intense they slowly fell into each other’s rhythm and he refrained from showing his fangs. Chandler and Liz stayed close just in case Demetri tried something but Demetri was enjoying an earthly pleasure. Angelica and the other’s stood by and watched how easily he could bring one into his rapture. When the song was over Lillie left Demetrios and strolled off the dance floor and turned around to glance at her dance partner. Chandler caught up to her and cornered Lillie, “I can not believe you danced with him!” he exclaimed.“Danced with whom?” Lillie asked.“You were dancing with the soulless one,” Chandler stated waiting for a reaction. “Demetrios, is the one that claimed the life of the slayer.”Lillie followed his point to see an attractive man dressed in a blood red shirt and black pants. He was still on the dance floor and found another to seduce, Liz. Gates walked over and joined them, “Should we get out there?” he asked.“No, if she needs us, she will beckon for back up.” Chandler stated.Gates turned his attention to Lillie, “You and the Vampyre looked pretty intense out on the dance floor,” he mentioned.“Yes, it was very human.” Chandler added.Lillie was bothered by Chandler’s comment, however he was also bothered. Chandler wondered what a Watcher was doing earth bound. Lillie decided to take her leave but not without removing her existence from their thoughts. As she was ready to leave, Liz came to join them and this made her task of erasure easy. Lillie headed for the door leaving the three of them dazed and confused, trying to remember what they were discussing. Lillie spotted the red neon sign, ‘EXIT’, as it screamed out to her silently. She made her way through the crowd of bodies when she sensed something familiar, a soul in need of her. She could hear the puncture of the skin as the fangs made passage through the flesh. The sound of the heartbeat throbbed in her ears as she searched for the soul that was fighting to resist. It relaxed and the fear was over. The thought of blinding so many to save one was a reluctant thought. Lillie breathes a sigh of relief and resumed her journey to the exit to stretch her wings. She took flight undetected to the crowd outside. Demetrios took off in hot pursuit of the essence he felt in the club but she was gone by the time he reached the street.After a quick sweep of the city, Lillie retrieved some souls in need of her and then retreated to the coastline. Lillie enjoyed the ocean and she stood on the edge and transmuted. She became one with the sea, listening to the sounds of the waves. She could hear every living creature in the depths of the waters and she transported back to the time of creation. As the Power basked in the thought of creation, she trailed back to the beginning when the Collective Consciousness was one. She watched as the universe took form, took shape and life evolved. Lillie was immersed in the rapture when she felt a disturbance. She was shaken out of her revelry by an intrusion that invaded her peace. Lillie needed to know what it was that was cold and void of life. As she lay over the water, her eyes peered through the mist as she formed to see the intrusion. On the shore Lillie spotted something or someone, interesting. She sensed a soul stealer or something more. She wondered if it had followed her from the club. What would a soul stealer be doing out here so far away from shelter with twilight soon upon the land? Lillie knew of no soul stealer that reveled in the twilight but here she saw and that intrigued her. As she heard the morning sun about to make its claim she realized she had to leave unnoticed for council. She arched towards the sky and swept up star born bound as a soft breeze, reaching upward like the cathedral. As she broke free towards the atmosphere, she sensed something familiar.
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“Those ships are huge,” Von Dellums, Director of Fleet Intelligence voiced in a subdued tone. “How much do you think they mass?” He turned to look up at the very tall man standing beside him.Robert Mensah, Chief Advisor to the President of the NeoAfrican Federation blew out a thoughtful breath. “Hmmm. I’d say they’re twice the size of a Sofa Class Assault Cruiser. How well armed they are remains to be seen.”Both men were in a surveillance room inside the Command Complex, a military headquarters building located in the NeoAfrican Federation city of Niani. With a population in excess of 24, 000,000, this sprawling city was the Federation’s capital.The ships that blazed vividly across the table top holo grid appeared almost saurian. They were gray, bloated aberrations, unlike any configuration seen in NeoAfrican space. Their smooth hulls bore no identifying markings.Mensah, who had an eye for space vessels, locked on the forward ship and signaled the young officer on the opposite side of the grid. “Magnify that particular ship, if you please, Lieutenant.”The officer nodded and tapped commands on the grid keypad.The image of the selected ship expanded until it covered the grid display’s surface space.“The central section is so much larger than the forward and rear,” said Mensah, sweeping the image with an analytical eye. “That section either houses smaller craft or troop compartments.”“Or civilian quarters,” Dellums inserted with a speculation of his own. “Could be colony ships. Not necessarily military.”Mensah smirked, casting a dubious look Dellums’ way. “We both know colonization and military go hand in hand.”“True,” conceded Dellums with a smile. “But whatever those ships are, there are only three of them. We can safely assume that they’re not a threat.”Mensah settled his gaze back upon the holo image. “That too remains to be seen.”It was a ten minute commute by executive jet tube to the Noir House.Mensah exited the tube, where he was met by a man and a woman, both crisply attired in the uniforms of the Presidential Detail. Beneath the glitz and splendor that their bright gold tunics and matching slacks conveyed lay the keen ruthlessness of soldiers prepared to go to any lengths to protect their president.Mensah always joked that he was careful not to make any sudden movements in PD’s presence. Reality did not lurk far beneath the surface of his humor.The Noir House was an enormous manneresque building, tan in color with a black dome on top that radiated the sun’s reflection like a dark crystal. A gleaming needle of a pole protruded from the summit of the dome from which a black, green and red flag fluttered in the breeze. There were two entrances open to the public. Mensah was escorted through an underground walkway accessible only to officials with high level security clearances. Once inside the building, he stepped in an elevator that whisked him 30 floors up. When the doors opened, Mensah entered a spacious office.The first sightings that always caught the Chief Advisor’s eye were the breathtaking mounted wood carvings lining every wall in the office. The carvings were of faces and figures. The faces were holo realistic, each one distinguished from the other as if based on real individuals...which they probably were. The figures were less detailed, more abstract, but no less powerful an expression of an art form dating back to a preindustrial ancient Earth.One piece of art hung in the office that dwarfed the rest. It was an oil painted portrait, more than a thousand years old. Regular nano-regeneration kept the portrait looking as if it had been painted the day before. The portrait was that of a cinnamon complexioned man in his 60s. His starkly gray hair was closely cut, eyes dark and intense, jaw line rigid, the set of his mouth uncompromising, almost challenging.Mensah’s erect posture somehow became straighter.That was the kind of reaction the figure in the portrait still managed to evoke two thousand years after his death. For without the brilliant vision and direction of Kyle Marcus Brookins, NeoAfrica would never have come into being.Finally, Mensah took notice of the man beneath the portrait, President Ibrahim Dula, and the five military officers and cabinet ministers standing around his half-circle desk.“Mr. President,” Mensah addressed, approaching the desk.President Dula stood, extending a welcoming hand to the Chief Advisor. “Come in, Robert. We were just discussing our visitors.”The president was a large man with a neatly trimmed goatee speckled with white.. As a university student he had been a strength athlete. His bulky physique, though a little soft in the middle, still retained the raw power of his youth.Mensah greeted the guests as he took his place among them.Everyone, except Dula, then filed toward a long table at the corner of the office and took their seats.The president tapped a button on his desk, bringing to life a shimmering display void that floated a little higher than head level.“Now, we move from speculation to certainty,” said Dula.The face of a Fleet officer appeared on the display void. “Mr. President, unidentified ships are ten seconds from maximum communication range. A direct transmission feed has been established from your office to the coordinates of the incoming ships.” The officer paused, her attention captured by activity beyond the display void. She returned her focus to Dula. “The first ship has just entered comm. range, Mr. President, you may initiate contact at your leisure.”Dula beamed a gregarious smile. “Leisure is what I could use a good dose of these days. Thank you, Captain.”The officer’s image nodded and vanished from the void.“Director Dellums’ people will be monitoring your contact, Mr. President,” announced Mensah.“Very good, Robert.” The president fixed his eyes on the display void and spoke.“Unidentified ships. I am Ibrahim Dula, President of the NeoAfrican Federation. I bid you welcome.”No response.Dula was about to repeat his address when a man’s face materialized on the display.It was a pale face. Very pale. The hair was yellowish and straight, the nose extremely narrow and the lips thin to the point of nonexistence. The man’s complexion bore a pinkish tint off set by a pair of deeply set blue eyes.Mensah was fascinated. He had seen humans like the face on the display in historical texts. Never had he encountered one in person…so to speak.“Greetings, President Dula,” the man on the display announced, revealing a politic smile. His poet’s voice was infused with the robustness of one accustomed to leadership. “I am Admiral Gregor McCray, commanding officer of the Unity Expedition.”“Welcome, Admiral McCray,” said Dula, folding his hands on top of his desk. “How may we be of assistance?”Admiral McCray ran an idle finger along the bottom of his smooth shaven chin. “May we meet, sir?”The president raised his brow. “Certainly. It is not often visitors come to our part of space. Captain Johnson will escort you to a docking station in orbit. From there you will be ferried to my location.”“Thank you, Mr. President.” McCray inclined his head, and then his image faded.Defense Minister Cinthea Amari shook her head. “A white person. I’ve heard rumors that they exist.”The others around the table chuckled.“What do you think they want?” Tirel Vick, Director of the Analysis Bureau wondered.Mensah stared at the AB officer with hidden suspicion.The Analysis Bureau, like Fleet Intelligence, was tasked with covertly protecting the Federation from internal threats. Mensah, however, was concerned that the AB was trying to take on the role of king maker. Attempting to influence the outcome of the last presidential election (as the AB was rumored to have done, which Director Vick would no doubt have denied, if pressed) certainly fell far outside the bounds of the AB’s mandate.“The same thing we want,” President Dula replied, leaning back in his chair. “They want to know who we are. We want to know who they are.” The president gestured to the Defense Minister and the Minister of Internal Affairs, a small, wiry man named Kea Obasanji. “Cinthea, Kea, please receive our visitors at the docking station. Robert, you go along, too. Let’s give them a good first impression.”“Sir, with me present, I don’t know how good that impression will be,” Mensah quipped.Dula grinned. “There’s a risk in everything we do.”1,000 docking stations formed a loose-linked orbital ring around the planet Brookinsia. The most important of the stations hovered in geo-sync, directly above the capital city. The visitors’ ships were not allowed to dock there, however. Not only were they armed, as subsequent sensor sweeps discovered, but their size alone prohibited them from being anywhere within a half system of Brookinsia.Captain Anita Johnson of the Inceptor Cruiser, Douglass, had the visitor delegation transferred to her ship. From there, they were taken via shuttle to the docking station where they underwent a thorough scan search followed by decontamination.If the visitors, two men and a woman, felt any discomfort at being subjected to so rigorous an introduction, their gracious demeanors betrayed nothing of the sentiment. The visitors entered the VIP chamber, a large room with a window that offered a striking panoramic view of the planet below.Minister Obasanji was the first to speak.Minister Amari and Chief Advisor Mensah stood on either side of him. Four PD soldiers wearing gold colored cloaks observed the meeting from all four corners of the chamber. Their weapons, hidden beneath their cloaks remained out of sight so as not to unnerve the visitors.“Greetings,” said Obasanji, sounding a little nervous, in keeping with his jittery personality. “I am Kea Obasanji, Minister of Internal Affairs.” Obasanji gestured to the tall, regal woman to his right. “This is Defense Minister Cinthea Amari, and to my left, Robert Mensah, Chief Presidential Advisor.”Mensah took note of the visitors, particularly the older, shorter of the two males, the one called Admiral Gregor McCray. Until today, Mensah’s awareness of the range of complexions within the human race had been academic. Looking at these three strangers, now, it was almost shocking to him how light their skin was.The lightest NeoAfricans were shades darker than the pinkish hue of these people. The whites’ hair color and texture were radically different. McGregor, who appeared to be in his mid to late fifties, had a yellowish mane with a touch of gray on the sides. The taller, younger male had slightly darker hair, while the woman’s shoulder length light hair bore a highlight of red.All three visitors wore brown uniforms with overlapping dual circle insignias stenciled on the upper right portion of their tunics.McCray introduced himself, then indicated his companions. “My first officer, Erik Thorvald, and Jolene Karsen. She is a contact anthropologist.”“Contact anthropologist,” said Minister Amari, appraising the woman. “I take it encounters like this one are common occurrences for you.”The anthropologist smiled, “increasingly so, Defense Minister.Mensah’s eyes traveled across the woman’s body.Karsen was young, fit and appealing in an exotic way. If only her lips weren’t so damned thin.Obasanji waved a hand toward the chamber exit. “Shall we? The president awaits.”“By all means, sir. Lead the way,” said McCray.
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Brown convention and the National Book Club conference. 
.I'll be attending the National Book Club conference and will try to represent for my Sci Fi brothers and sisters. If you are in the Atlanta area, I'd like to catch up with you during the week (I have downtime Wed and Thur.).
