U.L. Harper's Blog

Review of Hollow Road/interview with author Dan Fitzgerald

I want to talk about Hollow Road, Book one of the Maer Cycle, by Dan Fitzgerald.

It’s a fantasy novel, I went into it knowing it would be three books. As a matter of fact, the follow up books are available now in some form or fashion at most major retailers. What sold me on picking it up was the concept of the Maer—mysterious beings who are said to be dangerous, have returned.

“This is the story of their return”.

Let me start with the craftmanship. Fitzgerald is smooth in delivery. It’s clear, yet subtle world building throughout this—what folks call low fantasy—novel that distinguishes it. The novel is fundamentally sound, not concerned with what readers think should happen. From the first line, you trust Fitzgerald to guide you forward.

“Carl cradled the contract in his left hand, careful not to crush or wrinkle it as he circled the empty streets of Wells.”

In this opening line of the novel, Fitzgerald does in his first line the exact thing I love in a first line. Meaningful movement from a main character. That’s it folks. All you need to do. And just to rib y’all a little. No prologue. He just jumps in.

It feels a lot like a time piece. The language fits the characters and their background. You trust the world right from the start, and you do so without a lot of extra. Instead of adding a ton of details, Fitzgerald leans on timing and pacing and language to settle you in. It’s not that there aren’t many details, it’s that he doesn’t lean into them.

After we settle into the story, we finally get on to the journey. By this time, we meet our three main characters and we’re off to discover what Fitzgerald has to offer.

But let’s talk about what I thought was the core of the story.

The Maer are a mystery. When we finally meet them, we see what the story is truly about. At the same time, without spoilers, when we really meet them, it’s when we see where Hollow Road draws a line. A social theme is interjected, and how it’s presented, you start to see the main characters in a different light. From that point on, the novel—for the most part—is about how they’re going to treat these creatures. We see what the main characters standards are, morally, and how far they’ll go on the spectrum of being pretty damned cool or certainly not cool.

There are other creatures in this world. Crazy lizards. Giants. We have an army, and individuals with special abilities. It’s all here. They travel through a lot of dirt, and they do it slowly. They walk truly far distances without complaint. It’s a fantasy story. Nobody is in a hurry and they’re mostly always on the brink of death.

I read this both in a paper back that I won, and simultaneously on Scribd. A little past halfway done, I realized we weren’t going to have definite resolve at the end. To me there are two ways to do a trilogy—make the arc over three books or make the novels independently build off the other. Hollow Road is the beginning of the story, and you can feel that in the pacing. This story is not just about how the characters treated the Maer; it’s about the Maer becoming the icon that moves the broader story. As much as you hang on to the main characters in the beginning, there’s a kind of passing of the baton from them to Maer as the story builds to its end.

All that being the case, it always remains character focused.
To help discuss Hollow Road, I’m bringing in the author Dan Fitzgerald to shed some light on things.

U.L. Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald. Good to have you here. Let’s talk about the Maer for a second. In the review I didn’t want to give away their appearance. To me, it’s unique. Tell us a little about their physical appearance.

DF: They look exactly like humans, but with more hair. I had some sketches done for publicity purposes, which I can share if you like, but it was funny—the artist really did not want to put hair and beards on the faces of the female Maer. The Maer have hair covering their entire bodies, say the amount you’d find on a deer, but they have more hair in the same places as humans: top of the head, armpits, privates, and beards--even the females have those.



U.L. Tell me about what brought you to the style of writing in Hollow Road. Let me convolute the question. Do you consider yourself a fantasy writer or did you happen to have this fantasy trilogy ready to go?

DF: I have always loved reading fantasy and playing fantasy-based RPGs, but I wrote urban crime novels for quite a while before I tried my hand at fantasy. And honestly I was inspired by the fact that I love role-playing but in D&D and the like, it often ends up being more about the fighting than the narrative and the interactions.

And when I asked my D&D group for suggestions for fantasy books to read, the books they suggested were very old-school, very traditional. There were no queer characters; there were evil races; misogyny was rampant; everything was really over the top epic. I wanted to write something that represented a low-level D&D campaign, with all the gritty, real danger, all the wonder, the limitless possibility, but with less fighting and more role-playing.

When I signed with Shadow Spark last March, Hollow Road was pretty much ready to go, The Archive was drafted, and I was halfway done drafting The Place Below. That’s why I was able to publish all three within the space of six months.

U.L. Your three main characters bring a unique skill to the story. Tell us about them and their skill, and what they add to the novel.

DF: The three childhood friends who come together when they are hired to bring an old friend’s body home for burial are named Carl, Sinnie, and Finn. Carl is a soldier, Sinnie is a circus archer, and Finn is a fledgling mage specializing in a discipline called Bodily Control.
Carl is the straight man of the group, both literally and figuratively. He is in some ways the weakest character, or the least obviously interesting at least. He has some complexity buried beneath his grumpy exterior, but he’s a basic fighter at heart. No reader has said Carl was their favorite character, but he’s the glue that holds the group together. He’s the perfect foil for the other two characters. Without him, this journey would never have begun, and his expertise helps them survive.

Sinnie is a free spirit who never stops moving. When she heard about the job, she was glad for a change of pace from the circus. She’s damned good with a bow, but that’s not what defines her for me. It’s her determination and sense of empathy that make her maybe the main character.

Whereas Carl leads the group from the start, once things get messy after the group encounters the Maer non-combatants, Sinnie takes charge of the situation, and no one’s going to get in her way. As a side note, she's the first asexual character I have written, and I was inspired to write her as aromantic asexual because of the many ace folks I met on Twitter and some novels I read based on their recommendation. I did get some help reading passages where her identity is most relevant, and I was nervous as hell about it, but it seems to have come off well, based on the reviews.
Finn is the most popular character among readers, which I find interesting, since I felt his character development was the weakest. I think it’s his magic that interests people the most, and I’m proud of how that came out. I am a yoga practitioner, and I wanted a magic discipline based on yoga and martial arts. He can control his body to an extent beyond what is possible in the real world, but I wanted it to feel almost plausible. So, he can harden his skin to repel blows, leap great distances, and push back opponents with an invisible force that extends a few feet beyond his body. But at the beginning of the book, his powers are a little unreliable and they take a lot out of him. I can’t stand overpowered magic, so I don’t write it. I will say that by the end of the trilogy, his power is quite impressive, but he’s still quite vulnerable, as events in The Place Below show.

U.L. When you say “overpowered”, do you mean when the magic seems like too much for the content or that it’s too much power for a character to have? I have a loose magic system in my upcoming novel, so I’m curious about this.

DF: I’m talking about large-scale magics, huge, showy, impressive stuff. World-affecting magic. It’s just not my cup of tea. It can be done well—I like the Eye of Sauron for example, because it’s a little nebulous, and still limited despite its great power. But I’d rather read a character punch a hole in a wall with magic than bring the whole wall crumbling down. Human-level stuff.

U.L. Nicolas stood out to me. He’s the one who seemed to represent something negative in our real world. Am I close, or just making it up in my head?

DF: Nicolas’ actions definitely show the worst in us, but I hope we can also empathize with him a little. He lost several close friends to the Maer, and he sees them as murderous monsters, so his actions should make sense, even though we see them as morally wrong. Another side note: he is trying to follow in his father’s footsteps, step up and be a man, defend his village, all of that, but he’s like 16 years old. He’s a fool—a dangerous, deadly fool, but he’s still a kid in some ways.

U.L. Craft question. I mentioned in the review that I felt in the pacing that I could feel when I knew it wouldn’t be wrapped up after this novel. Now, my impression is that Hollow Road was written as a first act, rather than meant to stand alone. What went into making that decision?

DF: The Maer Cycle is called a cycle for a reason. There is a larger story, and Hollow Road is definitely the first act. The main story is complete: humans meet Maer, some fighting and killing ensues, and there is some level of reconciliation. But the larger story of the Maer has just begun. Over the course of the trilogy, the humans fade into the background a bit as the Maer become more important. There are 13 POV characters in The Archive (I know, but trust me, I do the work to help keep it manageable), and only three of them are human. We also get to see that the Maer, who are seen as monsters by the humans, have other groups they discriminate against and see as the other. Because that’s what the trilogy is about: examining how we see difference, and how it can be turned around, with great effort, and some blood and tears shed on all sides.

Race is the elephant in this room, but as we know it’s as much about power, culture, and history as it is about pigmentation. In the real world, our specific history has defined how we perceive race and how people of different groups have been treated throughout history and into this very day. I know I’m going off topic here, but I think it bears discussing, and I’d love to hear your take on it. I’m a 50-year-old middle-class white man in America, so I have all the privilege in the world. I think about and care about how discrimination is born, how it plays out, and how it can be combated. So, on some level, this is my sideways look at race and history, from a completely fictional world, where the specifics of the fictional history may show parallels to our own history, but hopefully give us the distance to look at things differently.

I don’t know how well I handle this topic in my books, but it’s first and foremost in my mind, and if you eventually read the whole Cycle, I’d love to have the conversation again with the end of the cycle in mind. There are probably some things I’ve done that show my biases, and I’ll need to hear about those too. I would rather try, and fail, and learn from my mistakes, than never try or risk anything at all and learn nothing.

U.L. Discrimination is a hell of a thing. Insidious. I find combating discrimination more difficult than doing something for its opposite. There are righteous individuals who FIGHT AGAINST racism, and I stand next to them in spirit. But I find wisdom and friendship in those who struggle FOR equality. Doing something for an issue versus against it sounds like simple wordsmithing but they are different approaches.

As an example, imagine going into a relationship with the goal of not getting hurt by this person. Now imagine going in with the intent to give the best part of yourself, despite everything imperfect. No, you don’t need to stay, but you arrive differently. It’s an approach and a mindset.

I’ll tell you what bothers me. The whole, we need to sit down and talk about racism. No, we don’t. For me, the discussion is over and been done. You’re either moving to help others or you’re not. Sometimes there’s really not a lot to talk about.

U.L. Do you have any interesting news to share? Hell, it doesn’t even need to be interesting.

DF: I just signed a contract with Shadow Spark for a duology called the Weirdwater Confluence, which will be independent of the Maer Cycle but also with some subtle connections, so a reader of the Maer Cycle will pick up a few Easter eggs, but a new reader will hopefully just enjoy the wild ride. It involves a meditation-based magic system, alchemy, and a magical form of social media, among many other things.

U.L. Did you want to add any comments about The Maer Cycle Trilogy?

DF: Each book is very different. The first book is small-scale stuff. The Archive ramps up the scale, and it’s also structured differently with the POV handoffs and the wide-ranging cast. It also has some pretty heavy sexual content, compared to Hollow Road. There’s a mystical surrogacy, so that scene is pretty intense, and once that happened, the other sex scenes became a little more intense too. Because I have different types of couples, and I didn’t want the straight sex scenes to have too much more detail than the queer ones. It’s quite a departure, but one I hope readers will appreciate. It was hell to edit, and even though I worked with a sensitivity reader and two excellent editors, it still keeps me awake at night sometimes worrying about how it will be perceived.

The 3rd book is totally different too—The Place Below switches POV between the protagonist, a half-Maer half-human scholar, and the antagonist, who is an undead thing like the Ka-lar in Hollow Road, but intelligent, and curious, and with goals. And there’s no sex at all in that book. I really wanted readers to have three different experiences in each book, but still with the same intimacy with the characters.

U.L. Can you do me a favor and add an links that might add to your lore? Social media, website, anything like that?

DF: My website is www.danfitzwrites.com. It’s got buy links, maps and art (which you linked above), a blog, and some reviews and press releases.

To buy the books one would go to https://shadowsparkpub.com/dan-fitzge..., where one can get paperbacks, signed or standard, or ebooks in various formats.
My Twitter is https://twitter.com/danfitzwrites?lan..., and I do mostly writing and reading related posting there. It’s my home away from home.

My Instagram is https://www.instagram.com/danfitzwrit..., and I do a ridiculous amount of photography posting, mostly nature stuff, and a little bookish stuff as well.
Thans for taking the time to interview me! It’s been a pleasure, and I love your format. It’s nice to have a proper conversation in a print interview.


Legends describe the Maer as savage man-beasts haunting the mountains, their bodies and faces covered with hair. Creatures of unimaginable strength, cunning, and cruelty. Bedtime stories to keep children indoors at night. Soldiers' tales to frighten new recruits. The Maer have long since passed into oblivion, lost to the annals of time. This is the story of their return.

Carl, Sinnie, and Finn, companions since childhood, are tasked with bringing a friend's body home for burial. Along the way, they find there is more to the stories than they ever imagined. Their travels are fraught with dangers at every turn and discoveries that will change them forever.

Is there truth to the legends? Are the Maer the darkest threat in the mountains?
Travel down Hollow Road to find out...

Interview: Miranda Armstadt

A week or so ago I finished reading and wrote a review of Cut Back to Life, the debut novel from Miranda Armstadt. I realized I had some questions for her about the story and some of her background. Here's a chance to get to know a little about her and the novel before jumping in.



U.L. Cut Back to Life features characters with diverse backgrounds. What in your personal history informed your writing, and what research did you do to prepare for this novel?

MA: I had no plan to even write a novel, let alone this one. I literally started writing it the day after I met with a self-publishing friend for lunch. I’d had spinal fusion surgery just four-and-a-half months prior. My own professional background includes a lot of show business stuff: singing, TV spots, acting. I’d lived in SoCal for a long time. I know what auditions and producers are like. **smirks**

As for the characters, I’m sure Anna has some pieces of me in her, and the doctor is very representative, I believe, of this super high-achieving level of surgeon. The discipline it takes to do this work is incredible, and hopefully I portrayed that these guys are kind of superheroes of skeletal reconstruction.

Roger, the personal trainer, well, we’ve all met people who could have the world by the tail, but they’re kind of their own worst enemies. And that’s Niles: he just can’t stop screwing up his own life.

U.L. This is, for the most part, a romance novel. I mean, we’re dealing with these folks trying to get together when we get down to it. What’s your ideal romantic relationship like and is it at all portrayed in the novel?

MA: Great question! As a matter of fact: I would say to some degree, it is.

In a novel, we are spared so many mundanities that inform real-life relationships – that's the key differential. We’re not seeing Mark unsure which kind of cream cheese to pick up at the supermarket when Anna gives him a “to buy” list, after all.

But a man who is there in times of crisis, and one who can handle my past (which isn’t like Anna’s per se, but has plenty of its own baggage) -- yeah, I want that, definitely. And hope to offer it back as well.

U.L. Let’s talk characters for a minute. Anna, to put it mildly, has a dark past. By the time we meet her she’s in her 60’s, years beyond when the initial trauma occurred. Talk about the thought process of having a main character her age.

MA: Oh lord—well, the whole “OK Boomer” thing, and TV spots that show people with white hair who are retired and in jog suits: I don’t know anyone like that.

Let’s just say I am Boomer-generation, and even my friends who are retired aren’t sitting around. The majority of us can’t afford to retire, and maybe that’s not all bad. We are at the top of our game, and many are in great shape and very attractive. The story ain’t over for us yet. Yes, we are still having hot sex! Surprise, kids! Lol.

So I wanted to show that. My guess is, it’s going to be a whole genre unto itself.

U.L. Mark is a successful surgeon. He’s successful even for a surgeon, actually. What makes his romance with Anna, considering her past, so intriguing?


MA: So here’s this man who wants for nothing, not even the potential to bed beautiful women much younger than he is. Most men's’ dream, right? But is it really?

I think guys are a little deeper than we sometimes give them credit for. I know men like Mark. He’s incredibly intelligent, obviously, but his emotions are stuck. Anna is less inhibited in many ways, even though it’s not stemming from anything that was her choice. She isn’t wanting him for his bankroll. She doesn’t need his money-- she is already rich in her own right.

So they are equals that way, and that makes for the best partnerships, in my opinion. Yet they complement each other's strengths and weaknesses. And let’s face it, they’re both hot as hell. No one is sacrificing looks for personality—they're getting both.


U.L. In a way, the setting is a character in Cut Back To Life. Talk about how Hollywood and Los Angeles play a role in the novel.

MA: Yeah, that’s something I wanted to take issue with in your Goodreads review. You said I glamorized Hollywood, and I don’t think I did that at all.

The only thing I showed was the fancy real estate in certain areas, and I even Googled Zillow for real homes up for sale in the parts of L.A. mentioned. See, there is “Hollywood” the concept: where movies are made in people’s minds. And then there is geographical land-map Hollywood, which I agree is seedy as hell.

But I don’t think I ever said anywhere in this book that Hollywood—where they make movies -- is anything but a very tough business, all about profit and looks. We see Anna worried that she is at the tail-end of her career, based on her age. And she’s probably not wrong, unless she wants to just do cameos. That’s why her agent is discussing lucrative infomercials with her.

U.L. Let’s get into some nuts and bolts of writing. I was surprised it wasn’t told in first-person or third-person close. From previously speaking with you on the subject, you didn’t seem too concerned with the point of view of the narrative, but what are your thoughts on your approach to the storytelling?

MA: I guess I don’t understand why you were surprised. What advantage would writing from one character’s perspective have? Maybe it’s my news writing background, but I like to tell the whole story as if we are looking at it from all angles. I don’t even know what “third-person close” means. I’m not into all these terms. I just write the story I want to tell, and I write it the way I want to.


U.L. I’m always curious about process. I’ve noticed that, as an author myself, I stopped paying attention to word count and kind of just make sure I’m not being lazy with my time and I stay focused. How do you approach time management and goal setting in your writing?

MA: I wrote and published Cut Back to Life inside of five months: I didn’t know it’s not possible😊 That was while working a full-time job and recovering from spinal fusion myself. My self-publishing guru – who gets a shout out in my acknowledgments – told me to make it 50,000 words to be a novel, but beyond that, just to make it as long or as short as it needed to be to tell the story.

I have no time management. My entire life is the “just-in-time" manufacturing model. If it’s not bleeding out, it’s probably not happening. But I get to decide what has to wait on a gurney in the hospital hallway.


U.L. Now a slight shift. What’re your goals for reading? Do you do a lot of reading, a little reading? What are you reading? When do you read, assuming it’s something you do? Yeah, all that.

MA: I grew up reading all the classics: Tolstoy, Dickens, Thackeray, Shakespeare, Hugo, Dostoevsky. And a few 20th century writers like William Styron and Harper Lee.

Not Stephen King. Have never read a word he’s written, which seems to make me some kind of heretic in the current Twitter writing community. I honestly hadn’t read much in terms of classic literature in decades when I wrote Cut Back to Life, but those authors I mentioned above are in my cranial stem cells.

Now, I read mostly for stress relief. I am addicted to the slightly erotic Regency romances. As strange as I know it sounds to most people, they reflect many pieces of my own upbringing, which obviously was not typical by any standard. A little sex, when part of the plot, is spicy. When it’s just there to be there, not so much.


U.L. I follow you on Twitter. You mention an upcoming novel that involves plenty of research, and it sounds somewhat personal. Tell us a little about that.


MA: Yes, it’s called CIA Princess. As the title implies, it’s a play on the old “Mafia princess," where a girl is raised in splendor, but largely shielded from what her daddy does to make his money. This is the other side of that, because the good guys live in just as much secrecy as the bad guys, and it affects their families and so many aspects of their lives also.

I don’t want to give everything away, but years after my dad passed, me and my siblings started finding these trails, and they all pointed in the same direction: that what we had always assumed was a US State Dept. gig in Yugoslavia during the Cold War was actually almost certainly a cover for his real work with the CIA.

There’s no way to definitively prove this stuff. But we just found so many markers that indicated that is what he did. So that is the loose premise for the book.

But it will be fictional, and the protagonists will be the adult (yes, Boomer!) daughter of the now-deceased operative exploring her past along with her lover: a sex-addicted Southern lawyer whose own father was a Holocaust survivor. There are whole bodies of psychology on how that affected parenting, so it will create a really fascinating relationship dynamic.

It’s going to be minimum a year yet for this one. It’s massive, both the historical research and my own family archives to sift through. I think it will be worth it, though.


U.L. Parting words? Anything to add?


MA: Buy my book. READ my book. Cut Back to Life

By the way, guys have been loving my book, even though it’s labeled “romantic suspense.” I must be hitting some chords with them, which is really cool. But women like it, too.

Definitely not a traditional romance novel, you said that in your Goodreads review, and I appreciated that. I will not be insulted by anyone calling my writing “literature.” That’s as good as it gets.

Prologues: Here's the Issue

Raise your hand if you remember watching The X-files.

I watched the hell out of some X-files. The first scene of the show would always be the introduction to the story, really. I loved it every time. But if you missed that opening scene, did it matter?

No. Same story. Same timing of the story. The same process to let Scully and Mulder figure out the mystery or not. Another of my favorite shows, Breaking Bad, did something incredibly similar with their opening. Ironically, with a bunch of the same writing crew from the X-files. The opening shot would do something intriguing, but the story worked without it.

To me these were the equivalents to a prologue of a novel. They worked by themselves but added tone and context. It’s something you take with you into the story, an extra layer that is provided. You can take it out, because it works without it, but why would you do that?

Nowadays when I read a prologue, it’s usually the stronger beginning of the story, or an item missing from the story that the author couldn’t work in properly, or even worse, a summary to get the reader started. Sometimes, I see prologues because the beginning of the novel is slow, and the author or whomever wants more gripping content up front. Basically the opening of the book is boring and they’re trying to cover it up.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly fine with an introductory scene, but why not attach it to the ensuing sequence of events to get the novel going?
Because of how prologues are done these days, when I see the word prologue I just flip on by it. With that being said, off the top of my head, I can’t think of a prologue to a novel I like. I’m sure I’ve read one or heard of one, but it’s not coming to me.

Here is my suggestion: be compelling, not necessarily exciting. Action doesn’t always mean movement. I understand the pressure to try and compete with television and movies and YouTube and social media, but the best way to do that is with good writing, not finding shortcuts like a prologue to get the reader into the story faster. It’s high time to realize identifying with the reader will win the day, if the writing is authentic, timely, and has purposeful style. To say it differently, the idea is to engage the reader on multiple levels rather than to pacify on only one.

So here’s the thing. If you like a nice prologue go ahead and let me know. I’ll tell you why you have issues. Just kidding, but seriously, point me to good prologues. I want to see what they look like.

And don’t even get me started on an epilogue.

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Mind Your Audience

A character in my work in progress said that the invading aliens could “Invade my nuts”.
To my dismay, a much older member of my writers group honestly asked me what I meant by that phrase. “What does invasion mean to you?” is what he asked.

A voice in my head yelled, “What do these nuts mean to you?” Instead I told him that if he didn’t understand the phrase then it’s not for him.

Several other older members of the group chimed in and said they didn’t understand the phrase either but that it was clearly a colloquialism with negative connotation. I had never felt so naïve and taken-aback in a workshop setting. I felt on display. How could I explain “my nuts” to my older counterparts?
Here’s the point.

You have to remember your audience. Sure, I’m talking about writing, because that’s what I do. But, in general, anybody and everybody has to mind their respective audience. If you don’t, no matter how much sense you make, no matter what angle you take, you will be misunderstood. The joke won’t hit. The analogy won’t make sense. The metaphor will be lost. You have to keep your audience in mind to communicate in a way so they can hear you.

Through tone and possibly advertisement, and even in diction, you have to audience in mind.

It’s kind of like going to a movie. If it is advertised like a comedy, I’ll prepare myself to laugh. If they say it’s a drama, I’ll prepare myself to be anxious and sad and junk. Man, if you go into a movie thinking you’re about to watch Dumb and Dumber but instead find yourself watching Silence of the Lambs, you’re going to be disappointed, not because Silence of the Lambs isn’t a quality picture but rather you wanted comedy and Silence of the Lambs has zero laughs. Jim Carrey as Hannibal Lecture might draw a crowd, but that’s another topic.

Speaking your opinions, and being creative in a way that adheres to your current audience sounds like obvious advice, like no duh. However, all I can say to that is “my nuts”, and here’s why: everything you do carries your language with you, even incidentally. In a written story, what you write filters through the tone of the work in the same way words filter through an individual’s body language. Check your body language before you speak and act. Adjust the context.

Getting back to “my nuts”, if I would have executed the tone of the scene properly and set-up the scene adequately so readers could understand it, older dudes and all, they might have engaged it to my liking. But I didn’t set it up the best. I basically yelled “my nuts!” in a crowded room and thought, damn, you old people just don’t get it.

Realistically, for the tone I wrote it in, it was all wrong. Then I used language that no reader outside of a handful would readily embrace, even if they understood. As a revision I might write: Tony grabbed his groin, and sneered. “This is what I think about aliens invading.”

The revision might not be how I originally wanted to express the moment, but it’s the same moment, and still the same character, but this time, hopefully people other than myself will appreciate the character grabbing his nuts.

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THEM

THEM is an action adventure, with a rather dark and foreboding undertone.

While it thrives on the physical strengths of its characters, it damns the world around its characters to being weak and ignorant.

Our Hero, Devon, is an ordinary, successful, energetic business sort with a fantastic wife who fills in the proverbial gaps of his life with respect and caring. His life is simple, until he puts on some sort of special glasses he received in the mail. This moment changes his life, presumably forever. This will undoubtedly be a series, so who knows what’s going to happen to him.

The glasses enable him to surf the web, are even voice activated, which is pretty cool, and among other things, he sees people with the headset who are peculiar. Enter the world of THEM. THEM being a proper noun, the name of a specific being of sorts.
Once you get to the end of the short story, it’s clear that it’s an installment of a much, much bigger piece. I would go as far as calling this an origin piece of a super hero, if our protagonist winds up being an actual hero. If not, maybe the origins of an anti-hero. The reason why it does more than just hint at being an origin piece, is its arc. Sure, it’s beginning, middle and end format, but its focus is delivering the basis for the beings and people you’ll be running into, and getting the reader acclimated to some of the sci-fi that must be ingested; the storyline, plot and drama is starting here but about half way through you can feel it’s not meant to wrap up tightly. Also, to be honest, such a short story for such a big idea. Not meant to be completed in its hundred or so page length.

THEM is a fun piece of fiction reading and writing. Author M.G. Hardie does justice to his approach but does not take himself too seriously. He moves you through scenes of borderline torcher without forcing you to squint, because that is not the point here. We’re supposed to recognize the violence but not get bogged down in it. That plays well in the paragraphs. To add to it, where our protagonist is a simple dude with a job who is thrown into the fire of the plot, our antagonists and those of the same ilk are from, well, everywhere and nowhere. They’re not from space or other countries. Nope. They’re not demons or angels. Nope. They’re from somewhere else. Again MG doesn’t give a huge origin backstory on them. Instead, they serve their purpose for the story, with their function being to have our lead grow. The result is that THEM moves quickly and introduces us to the world being rebuilt for us through Devon’s eyes.

THEM comes with a deeper point, however. THEM are moving the structure of society, secretly, and in a way, as herders. More than a few times the human race is implied to be ignorant and basically sheep. Think of the Illuminati or any number of “secret” society’s that are supposedly the true Sheppard’s of the world. THEM is portrayed as having that sort of influence. It’s Devon’s eyes which are now open to this, but he needs to get over himself and move away from his old reality to help that old reality in any way possible. Devon is, in many ways, the chosen one, and at the same time, the everyday man, being represented here.

Although I consider THEM fun, it’s devoid of punch-lines. The work is asking for its readers to open their eyes to the world around them and see, as Devon does. The question the reader is left with is this: does Devon make the change; are his eyes finally open. It’s going to be up to the reader to decide. I for one say…yes.

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Chapter 1: The Reinvention of Man

In Blackness: The Reinvention of Man

This is the first chapter of The Reinvention of Man, the second book in the In Blackness trilogy. The three books together detail the quick rise of a near worldwide wide utopia and how it quickly ended in complete dystopia. This is an introduction to new creatures. Not vampire or zombie, and not quite complete alien. This is the beginning of something new, something more...human.



They have returned, and we’ve offered them…our flesh



Chapter One


Lenny sipped from a cup of coffee at his booth. The Best Little Road House, a diner in Salem, Oregon, was warm, dry and safe. Most of the tables were filled, with only a few waitresses helping serve everyone.

All these people eating and ordering food as if nothing was wrong. Like The Visit never happened. He couldn’t begin to forget, couldn’t shake the moment when dozens of people were beheaded and skinned right in front of him. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he’d helplessly replay the event in his head.

Because of the experience during the invasion four weeks ago, Lenny had been fueled by fear. The aliens that slaughtered so many had subsequently given him the mission of bringing people who had been given implants like him back to San Pedro.

His stomach muscles tightened. This happened for one specific reason—his implant affected him physically when another person with one was near. The other person didn’t necessarily know they had an implant. It took him his entire life to find out that he had one. He had followed the signal into the diner. Hopefully whomever he followed, they would become obvious.

At the beginning of his journey he wondered how long his trip to find subjects for the aliens would be. How far would he have to go? Realistically, his small amount of money would dictate the length of his travels. All of his savings from his pizza delivery job was spent on meals, motel rooms and gasoline.

A girl about eighteen, his age, exited the restroom. She had on hiking boots and an oversized backpack. Her partial dreadlocks fell over her shoulders. Heading his direction down the aisle, she stopped next to him and made eye contact before taking a seat at the booth next to his. Leaning forward, she wriggled her arms out of the backpack straps. The look she gave him made him self-conscious. Did he look as dirty as he felt? He didn’t normally grow a lot of facial hair but when he did let it grow, like he did now, it grew in patches of peach fuzz.

“Are you okay?” he said to her.

She showed him a weak smile. “Just need to sit. Looking for a ride.”

“To San Pedro?”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s a hell of a guess. How would you guess something like that?”

She was definitely the one. “Crazy you come sit right next to me. Go figure.”

“Yeah, go do that. You’re heading to San Pedro too?”

“About to split town.”

“Then I’m Celeste. I can get a lift, yeah? I travel light.”

“You just have that?” He nodded to her backpack.

She picked up the bag with one hand and then let it drop. "Jesus, a ride would be nice. Where are you from?"

“Washington, actually.”

“Where in Washington? I’m from there.” The pitch of her voice became high when she mentioned Washington. Her bad grooming led him to believe she had been traveling for a while.

Celeste moved across the aisle to his booth, leaving her backpack in the aisle. “You seem all right."

"I pass the murderer test?"

"I mean you seem all right." She leaned forward and whispered, “I haven’t eaten all day. Can I drink some of your water?”

“Have at it.”

She drank down half the glass. “So what part of Washington are you from?”

“Lowery, originally. Small little place, right…”

“I know Lowery. My dad was born there.”

“Lowery doesn’t have a hospital,” he said. “Nobody’s actually born there.”

“Delivered in the kitchen, I shit you not.” Although she seemed embarrassed by the fact, she chuckled.

“Well damn. I was there up until I was nine or something. Maybe ten.”

She finished off his glass of water. “I need to get there.”

“Need to? To San Pedro?”

“I guess need is a bit heavy but, yeah, whatever. I need to.”

“Did you hear what happened there during the invasion? You wouldn’t want to go there if you knew about it.”

“It didn’t only happen in San Pedro. Plenty of people suffered.”

“Did you lose anybody?” he said.

“Everybody.”

“A lot of people lost everybody.”

“I’m one of them,” she said. “You lose everybody too or is this your idea of small talk?”

“I’m just saying why San Pedro? I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Still, San Pedro?” She didn’t know she was going there to have a meet and greet with the aliens and probably be killed. He’d help her get there, nonetheless. It didn’t feel right but he had to do it.

“Why are you going?” she said.

“Family.”

She gazed at the ceiling and then looked around, avoiding eye contact. “Just a feeling I have. I can picture myself there. You know?”

He leaned back in his seat. If she knew him better she’d know that guilt had taken him by surprise.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” he said. “A sandwich?”

“You’re offering?”

“Only this time.”

“Ham and turkey. I’m vegetarian but fuck that I’m hungry.”

“I’m Lenny. Good to meet you, Celeste.”

“Thank God I met you, Lenny. Thank goodness for rides. Lucky.”

“I wouldn’t use that word luck too loosely.”

She unzipped the big pocket on her backpack, looked inside it and then zipped it back. Then she unzipped a smaller pocket, looked inside and closed it, too.

He knocked twice on the wood table. “You have gas money?”

“I thought you were already going there.”

“It’s still gas, right?”

A waitress stopped at their table and asked to take their order.

Moments later a turkey and ham sandwich with mustard and mayonnaise oozing from the sides of it was set on the table.

With her mouth full of sandwich, Celeste looked like a rodent storing nuts in her cheeks.

She spoke a garbled, “Thank you. Starving.”

This might have been what it was like feeding the homeless on skid row.

Once she finished her sandwich they prepared to leave.

Outside, his four-door hatchback waited for them in the wet parking lot.

Celeste tossed her backpack in the back seat as he started the engine.

“Here we go,” he said.



***

He hid his dread of being inside the motel room from Celeste. For the time being, he had a hard time in the dark, in enclosed places. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking, thinking of his experience during The Visit. If he could make it all the way back to San Pedro without sleeping he would. Since that wasn’t the case they had stopped for rest. No way would he let her drive his car. She seemed cool but why trust her?

She drifted to sleep, leaving him alone on the end of the bed to stare at silent news clips on television. One of the clips enticed him to turn up the volume. In the clip, the alien ship slowly fell through high puffy clouds and blocked out the sun. Daunting in scope, the ship had spanned from San Pedro to Washington. The sight of it would be talked about for generations and then some. His biggest fear was right there on the screen.

“Have you seen that before?”

He hadn’t realized she was awake. “Oh, no. Never seen that. Don’t know why. I guess in the few weeks since it happened I haven’t stopped to really… Wow.” The television showed another visual similar to the one he had looked at seconds ago. This time the amateur video caught news helicopters flying far underneath the ship, really nowhere close to it. During the time the footage was taken, he and Saline were in Lowery, Washington, being captured and shipped to San Pedro. On the news is what the general public had seen. What the living public didn’t see were the aliens. Basically everyone who had seen them had been murdered in the slaughters.

Looking at the screen she said, “Does this feel like the end of the world to you?”

“I think it’s the start of something.”

“So it’s the beginning, not the end?”

“My thought is that nothing can go back to how it was. Not completely. I don’t think so.” Then he lied down, accepting the consequences of closing his eyes.

"You don’t think the worst happened?”

“I saw people getting their heads chopped off. We were in a room with people getting skinned. Just… Crazy like you don’t want to know or see.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to picture it.”

“I’ve never heard… How’d you get out? You escaped?”

“Just thinking about it screws me up.” He held his right hand out for her to observe its shaking.

“I’m sorry.”

It was nice showing someone how much of a basket case he had become. It felt like confession. All this despite the fact that she’d be dead soon.

Someone knocked on the door.

He dragged his feet over to it and stuck his eye to the peephole. A woman in her early to mid-forties was smiling at him. She waved, and then knocked again, in her jeans and black hooded sweater.

He unlatched the lock and cracked the door open.

The woman kicked the door into him, smashing him in the forehead so hard that he saw stars. He fell to the floor grabbing his face with both hands. The intruder slipped past him.

With his face to the dusty carpet he heard two gunshots and then the thud of what he thought was Celeste hitting the floor. He looked up at a handgun aimed at his skull. With the gun at his head, cowardice took over. “They made me do it.”

“Wha...” The woman gazed at him in disgust and slightly confused.

She still had the gun pointed at his head but he figured second thoughts about harming him had entered her mind.

He turned his head and got a glimpse of Celeste’s motionless ankles and legs. Breathing heavy, he turned his attention back to the gun aimed at him.

“Who made you do what?”

“The aliens. They made me get her.” He hoped on everything he loved that she respected the notion.

After some consideration the woman lifted her weapon and smacked him over the head with it. She hit him again with a fist to the cranium, and then kicked him in the stomach. Still catching his breath, he coughed as she ran out the door.

Curled in a ball and in tears he let the initial pain run its course. Attempting to push himself to his feet, he placed both hands on the floor, groaning.

The woman rushed back into the room. “We’re pulling that implant out of you.”

“Wait! Wait!”

She shut the door behind her. “Yell again and I kill you.”



*** In Blackness: The Reinvention of Man

The woman had a metal syringe in one hand and a gun in the other.

She dropped the gun and plunged the syringe into his shoulder. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you dead right here.”

The injection made Lenny’s arm feel like it would explode. Stars circled his peripheral and he became so uncontrollably limp that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. At first he purposely kept his eyes shut because it seemed to help prevent her from striking him and causing more harm. After a few minutes, he realized he couldn’t open them, couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t move his mouth. What was she doing to him?

“Don’t bother struggling,” she said. “Stop struggling damn it. Lay there. Flopping around and shit. Don’t even try to move.”

The volume of her voice gradually faded until he couldn’t hear her anymore. He laid there on an island in his head. Inanimate objects and green silhouettes of people, demons and aliens lunged for him. The visual didn’t mean anything, merely his mind staying busy. Proof of being alive. What if she kept him in this state?

After a lengthy amount of time he started feeling vibrations under his back. He wiggled his feet. The faint sounds of traffic. Whatever she shot him up with was wearing off. He still had his life in front of him, something Celeste didn’t have. Someone would find her dead in that motel room and not know what happened to her, why she got shot to death. When he got a chance, he’d go back and make sure the authorities knew she was a victim and nothing else.

Hands were gripping his wrists and ankles, carrying him, setting him down on a cold, solid surface.

In not too long he regained the ability to open his eyes. He found himself staring up at three, dim, buzzing lights hanging in a row from the ceiling. A basement. His first thought was that she had taken him to be slaughtered. He anxiously searched around for body parts, for blood, indications of his upcoming demise.

The woman stepped into view, looking down at him. “I’m Michaela.” She had tied her hair in a tight ponytail, still wearing the hooded sweater. “You’re scared, right? Make sure you hurry up and get over it.”

Not yet able to fully move, he began rolling back and forth like a fish too lazy to flop. She stirred away from him, giving him space.

After turning over on his belly, he started pushing his recovering body up off the floor. "Oh my God."

“I want you to take it easy. Nobody is going to hurt you. Would have already.” She squatted next to him. "I removed your implant,” she whispered.

He swallowed and flipped over on his back, so he was staring her in the eyes.

"From right here," she said, lifting his shirt.

Just to the right of his upper abdominal muscles was a not too deep cut. The blood made the shirt stick to him. He gently tapped the vulnerable and raw area. “It doesn’t hurt. There’s not a lot of blood.” She’d have to prove she removed his implant. It was too big a deal to take her word on it. “I have a cut and that’s all? Not a lot of blood.”

She flashed what looked like a wet mushroom in his face. How she held it, it might as well have been a magnificent diamond. "Guess what this is."

He focused on it, trying to ignore his blood drying on her hands.

She closed her palm, making the wet mushroom disappear in her fist. "It's your implant."

It didn't look as it should. He had pictured a transmitter of some sort, something obviously electronic, something smaller, not organic.

"Clearly not what you expected.” After dropping his implant on the ground, she stepped on it as if it was a lit cigarette butt. With a rag she wiped the blood off of her hands, like a mechanic might wipe grease from his fingers.

For her to think of removing his implant, she most likely, at some point, had one. "Who removed yours?" he asked.

"Nobody. I know they don’t give assignments. Tell me exactly everything that happened.”

The aliens obviously gave assignments, and to top it off, by her bringing him here and not killing him he knew that she already believed him, so what did she mean? “What do you want me to say?”

“You’re an idiot. Details. Is there something about you? I’m trying to piece this together.”

He could think of no reason why he and Saline were any different than anyone else in that slaughter room. “Outside of the implant I don’t even think I’m interesting.”

“There has to be something.”

“My parents are dead. Does that mean anything?”

“Doesn’t mean shit. What else?”

He shrugged.

“Give me some details, then. Exactly what it was like? What happened?”

He didn’t have a problem with the request. He got comfortable sitting there below her, not sure if standing at her eye level was a good idea yet. He told her about how they had been in the room in the newly built police station when the huge aliens came through large doors and started beheading people and skinning them and stacking them in piles. He told her about the guts on the walls, how they weren’t the first, and then he went into detail about how the killing stopped just in time for only his sister, Saline, and himself, to be escorted down to a basement where they were given orders from aliens over twice their size. Saline was charged with finding people who were religious and bringing them back to Pedro. He was supposed to find normal people like him with implants and bring them back. Someone else was told they would become a pet. Others were let go.

Michaela shook her head. “So they took you from the killings to another room. And they let others go. None of that sounds right.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“No, I believe you,” she raised her hands as if to say hold on right there. “I’m just trying to picture what’s going on. If you’re not what’s different then the aliens are.”

“Different from when?” He braved a real question to his captor, almost ready to stand up.

She closed her eyes and craned her head back. “I’ve never tried to explain it to anybody.” She put both her palms to her forehead. “Good fuckin question.” When she brought her hands back down, her eyes were still closed. She opened them and said, “I’m an alien.”

He turned his head to the side. What did she mean?

“We all are,” she said, coolly. “There is no other way to put it. We’re fucking aliens.”

She said it so naturally and so simply, she must have been a slice of bread short of a sandwich. Everything started to fall into place. Bitch was nuts.

“Get rid of that stupid look on your face,” she said barely opening her mouth. “I’m not crazy. Listen here. That implant you had. It’s alien, right? Remember that big ass ship. Alien, right? You watched aliens hack people up right in front of you. Okay, then why am I crazy?” She waited a second for a response. “Now that that’s out the way, the implant you had, it’s more like a brain then anything.” He just stared at her, frowning. A part of him had started believing her and had fear to go with the knowledge.

She said, “Given enough time the will of the implant changes you. I am the implant inside of Michaela, not necessarily Michaela.” She paused. “Seeds from the ship are what’s implanted inside of you.” Another part of him believed her but still questioned her motives.

She wandered towards the stairwell. The yellowish lighting sucked any chance of positivity out of the room. Pipes ran along the ceiling above the light bulbs. The wood walls were attached to a concrete base. Several wood beams held up the ceiling.

“Why didn’t I turn into an alien?” he said.

“Yet. Each seed is different. Maybe it matters how you received it.”

He took a deep breath, recognizing that aliens weren’t going to kill him right now. Another deep breath as he set aside the initial shock of her being of alien nature.

“So I’m telling you,” she said, “I’m telling you… We don’t give assignments.”

What she implied by saying “We” don’t give assignments made his heart sink. She had lumped herself up with the tall aliens that butchered people. This wasn’t a person who killed someone. This was an alien who killed people, who probably didn’t give a shit about human life.

“Will they kill you too?” he said.

“I think we’re recognized more as human than alien every day. If you’re food then we’re food too. It’s the same thing, and it’s fucked up. If they’re letting people go, for whatever reason, then we plain old need to find out those reasons. And here you are saying that they said to bring back people like you with implants. You mentioned religion. I’m half thinking to just bring myself back with you.”

“You’re not like I was,” he said. She was the seed added to a human. The aliens hadn’t given her a mission.

She casually strolled back over to him. “We’re not the same. I sure as shit know that.” She leaned over and firmly grabbed his wrists, pulling him to his feet. “Get up.”

He struggled to rise, first tripping on his own foot and then the complication of gaining balance.

“Get up,” she said, still pulling him up and forward.

Only a few feet in back of her were the stairs leading to an upper level. He didn’t have a plan but he couldn’t wait for her to find a reason to kill him. He might have been safe from tall aliens here, but from her he didn’t know for sure. Once she realized there was nothing special about him then she’d think of him as only a threat. He took a few quick steps in an attempt to get around her. Almost past her, she punched him in his healing wound. A piercing pain, like sewing needles had jabbed him from the inside, brought him to one knee.

“You have every right to be scared. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t kill that girl. We have reason to be scared too.”

“Celeste didn’t threaten you,” he said with a grimace.

“Her implant made her a threat.”

“Then mine would have made me a threat.”

“If I didn’t believe they gave you an assignment you’d be dead too.”

Behind Michaela a tall lanky guy with a scruffy, uneven beard leaned in from the steps. “Are we going up?”

“Yes, we’re coming. He’s fine, I’m sure.”

“That’s bullshit,” the lanky guy said. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

“We’ll find out won’t we.”

“I already did. He’s fine.”

“You’re reckless, Michaela.” The guy headed back up the stairs.

“That’s Soren,” she sighed. “He has every right to be an asshole about you. Like I was saying, your implants can make you dangerous.”

He rose to his feet. “You have to believe I wasn’t tracking you guys. Celeste either.”

“See, you don’t know shit. It could have been you. Not now because you don’t have an implant. It could have been Celeste. Not now though. She’s dead.”

They heard the basement door open. Footsteps of several individuals shuffled down the stairs. Soren led the group, followed by a woman a little shorter than him, and a burly stocky dude. A male with a pot belly holding a beer brought up the rear. They all fanned out into the basement area.

“This is him?” the woman said.

“This is Lenny,” Michaela answered. “Lenny, this is Lynn, you’ve met Soren, sort of. Cash and Mike.”

“He’s good?” Lynn said.

“His implant is out,” Michaela shrugged. “He’s good.”

Mike took a swig of his beer. “Where is it?”

Michaela pointed at the smashed implant on the floor. “Right there.”

Soren said, “So The Man has more of a chance of coming through us than him.”

“Yeah,” Michaela nodded. “So don’t talk shit.”

“Why are we meeting him?” Lynn said.

“Because he’s staying with us,” Michaela answered.

“I don’t see how that won’t complicate things,” Lynn added.

“I’m not staying with you guys,” Lenny said.

Mike had one hand on his pot belly and one hand holding a can of beer. “He’s just a kid. Explain to a brother why he’s not dead yet.”

“Something is different,” Michaela said. “He should be here, maybe until we figure out what.”

“You completely believe him?” Soren said.

“He’s alive, right?” Michaela glanced at Lenny as if to ask him if he was lying.

“Because I don’t believe your theory,” Soren said. “All I know for sure is that if The Man comes, it’ll be on us to protect him.” Soren looked Lenny up and down.

“The Man won’t give a shit about him because he doesn’t have an implant,” was Michaela’s response.

“Don’t worry about me,” Lenny said. “I’m not going to stay.”

They ignored him.

“If The Man comes, he kills everyone, don’t you think?” Lynn said. “He’s not going to be like, well, let me make sure not to hurt the kid.”

Mike sipped on his can. “There’s the chance we’re overreacting. Personally I’ve always thought The Man wanted something specific.”

“You’ve said that before,” Lynn said. “Unless you can tell us what…”

“When I was with the other group I remember it saying--”

“You keep telling us this,” Soren said. “It said it was none of you. Guess what though. Aren’t you with us because they’re all dead? So I wouldn’t worry about what it wants, unless we have what it wants, and don’t know what that is so...”

“Why involve him,” Cash said. “Seriously, if he doesn’t want to be here let’s not hold him hostage.”

“They want him to come back and report to them,” Michaela said. “You don’t think that means something.”

Mike said, “I’m just worried that we’re going to start removing everyone’s implant. We don’t have the resources. No offense, Lenny.”

“You guys are a bigger risk than I am,” Lenny started. “Didn’t someone say that?”

Lynn took off her glasses and straightened herself. “For your information Mr. Lenny, if what happened to you is true then we don’t know what they did to you. You could have two or three implants for all we know. It’s you we have to worry about.”

Then it crossed his mind that maybe the aliens meant for him to bring back the likes of those like Michaela and Lynn and Cash and Soren. But he didn’t need to do so, because he no longer had an implant.

“You know he doesn’t have two or three seeds in him,” Michaela said.

By how they spoke about The Man, Lenny gathered The Man was tracking them, but he couldn’t put together how it would get to them through Celeste or even himself, even if he had an implant still. But at least he had them thinking. They were all murderers when they needed to be. When he got his chance he’d escape.

Soren coughed and then dry-heaved into his hands, cupping his vomit as it dripped from his bottom lip. “Let’s talk about what it means…to be…human,” Soren said, shuffling backward towards the stairs. “How is being human…good enough?” Soren stared down everyone in the room. “It is none of you. Then let’s make sure it stays none of you.”

As Lenny took notice in the sudden difference in Soren’s cadence, the others backed up to the outer edges of the basement, away from him.

Again Soren vomited into his hands, violently lurching forward and hunching over.

Lenny was closest to Soren. Mike was on the other side of Soren with a clear path to the steps. Mike glanced at the staircase.

“What’s going on?” Lenny said.

Mike dashed for the stairs. Soren flung yellow and chunky vomit at Mike, hitting him in the face. Mike yelled out, grabbing at his own face in pain. Soren grabbed Mike by the shoulder, spun him his direction and then expelled a stream of vomit onto Mike’s face. Mike screamed as if his insides were being torn from him. Soren threw Mike to the floor. Lenny backed up against the wall, watching Mike tightly holding his face and writhing on the floor. Soren began stomping Mike in the throat and chest and the back side of his head.

Soren turned to the rest of the room. “One at a time,” he said, not bothering to wipe the dripping yellowish spittle from his lips. “Everyone in here dies.” The vomit was eating away at Soren’s own mouth and hands. His mouth rapidly deteriorated, causing his bottom teeth and gums to show. While his tongue jutted in and out like a snake’s, Soren started saying something unintelligible.

Cash ran for the stairs, and successfully made it out.

Soren didn’t even look over at Lenny. Soren again cupped his hands, gathering drooled puke. He then flung it at them. It missed Michaela altogether but it got Lynn on her upper torso and face. She swiped at her face and started taking off her clothes.

Soren cupped more of his vomit in his disintegrating palms. As he threw up, Michaela made for the staircase. Lynn started behind her but by that time vomit was being slung at her. She backed against the wall, screaming for someone to help her, all the while Soren repeatedly splashed her with puke that Lenny thought he heard sizzling.

Not able to watch this happen, Lenny took a few powerful steps and jump-kicked Soren in the back, making him stumble forward. Lynn ran over to the far wall, as Soren focused on Lenny. “One at a time.”

Soren paused, his body trembling. For a second he closed his eyes, and then he opened them and started after Lenny.

Three gunshots, each letting off violent explosions, pierced Soren twice in the chest. His head jerked back from another shot. He stumbled once and then hit the floor. Michaela had reentered the room, wielding a handgun.

“Get to the damned bathtub!” she shouted to Lynn.

Lynn started moving and then couldn’t continue. Michaela tossed the gun and then jogged over to Lynn. “Help me get her to the bathtub upstairs. Come on, let’s go!”

Lenny hurried to them. He grabbed Lynn from under her arm pits. Michaela had her by the ankles. They desperately carried her dead weight up the stairs, through an incredibly clean kitchen, and then down a hallway to a small bathroom. They managed to get Lynn halfway in the tub before pushing her all the way in.

Michaela twisted on the water. “Get her clothes off.”

First he took off Lynn’s shoes, and then he undid her belt to take off her corduroy pants.

Michaela worked on her upper half, removing her sweater and then her blouse. “She’s going to be okay.”

No way would she be okay. The spots where the vomit connected with her were terrible. Her chest was littered with widening wounds. There was exposed muscle on her face. Spots on her legs, he could see down to her bone.

“We got this,” Michaela said, before rushing out of the bathroom. She came back moments later with an 8 x 11 sized black box. She dumped the silvery liquid content of the box into the tub with Lynn and the hot water. “Don’t even think twice about it. We got this.” She adjusted the cold water, evening out the temperature of the bath. In her other hand she had a syringe.

“What is that stuff?”

Staring at the tub Michaela said, “It’s what I shot you up with when I removed your implant. It healed you too. Almost the rest of what we have though, so...” Michaela injected Lynn into her shoulder, and then set it in the box. She then tossed the box out of the bathroom and into the hallway. She took the wash rag that hung on the faucet and dipped it in the water then used it to dab the open sores on Michaela’s face.

“Everybody’s okay?” Cash was standing in the doorway.

“Oh yeah, fuck you very much, motherfucker,” Michaela said, rising to her feet, a beast awakening. “If I had my gun on me I’d shoot you right here.”

“What, was I supposed to die down there?”

“You were supposed to come back, you piece of shit.”

“You know damned well that’s not what you would have done.”

“Motherfucker that’s exactly what I did. That’s exactly what I did.”

“It’s your fault anyway.”

Michaela knelt and put her ear to Lynn’s face. “You’re lucky she’s breathing.”

“It’s still your fault,” he said from the doorway.

She stood again. “What are you talking about?”

“You brought him. If he’s with you I’m not.”

“Clearly you don’t have my back.”

“I have to have my own back first.”

“Get this. If you have your own back then nobody has yours. What do you think about that?”

“This is too fucked,” Cash said.

“And.”

“So what’s your plan?

A pause.

“You don’t have one,” he said, “and we’re dying because of this stupid risk you’re taking. We can’t say it enough. You’re too reckless.”

“The Man wanted nothing to do with him. Not down there he didn’t.”

“Soren was The Man?” Lenny said, dumbfounded.

“The Man is a thing, a thing,” she said, and then inhaled deeply. She focused again on Cash. “It got to Soren and made an effort for us. It wanted nothing to do with Lenny. Basically nothing. So it can’t be because of him.”

Cash stomped away muttering to himself.

She dropped to her knees, turned off the running faucet and cried into Lynn’s bath water. The few wrinkles in Michaela’s cheeks were more prevalent with tears streaming down her face. Strands of her hair were stuck to her cheeks and were pushed into the neck of her sweater.

“Can what happened with Soren happen to you?”

“Don’t worry about that. It wants nothing to do with you.”

“But it would if I still had an implant?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.” She had her eyes closed, breathing deliberately. “I just don’t see another way,” she blurted. “You’re coming with us to San Pedro.”

To E-ink Or Not To E-ink. That's the Question

Scribd and Oyster Books are missing out on an opportunity to put one over on Amazon.com.

In case you don’t know, Scribd and Oyster Books are book subscription services. More than a few media sources are calling them the Netflix for books. Amazon recently jumped on the book subscription service bandwagon and has to be looked at as a major competitor for the incumbent start-ups.

Now, just the idea of a Netlix for books that is not run by Amazon makes me drool with delight. But I’m brought back to earth when I see how Scribd and Oyster Books are going about their business of getting people on board.

Someone explain to me why they don’t support e-ink. Why in the world don’t they make their store searchable with dedicated e-readers?

Here’s the deal. When I’m reading a paper book for entertainment, in no way do I want it printed on bright white paper. That’s just me. Plenty of people would argue that they like the black ink on bright white paper. Not me. When in the sun I get those green spots. I prefer books with a crème shade to them. I think similarly about reading e-books on an e-ink device versus a device with a neon background. Why in the world would I choose the neon for reading a novel? Magazines, sure. Comic books, why not? Short reads at the DMV, maybe. Sitting down and reading for about an hour? Hell no, man. Just no.

Scribd and Oyster e-book subscription services, to my surprise do not offer a way to read e-books on e-ink devices. I asked them both, at first, about the Amazon Kindle. My thought was that they would allow you to use the internet on the e-ink device and peruse their stores and be able to read that way. The thought seems silly now but I figured that they must have really put some thought into it and were able to make it happen. To me it made sense. But both said their respective services aren’t compatible with the e-ink Kindle device. The Kindle Fire, yes. The dedicated e-reader, no. My thought was that, well, it must be because the Kindle uses different formatting, but the Barnes and Noble Nook device still used epub, which is most likely what the service is compatible with.

If it was compatible, I was ready to switch over to the Nook. No question. It’s cheap enough and with the subscription service it would have far more titles that I would want to read than Amazon and its new service.
Nope. Both services said they would do nothing with the Nook e-reader.
Why not? Again, I figured they could work something out with Barnes and Noble. Somehow.

Instead, you can read the books off the website, which for me is a flat out hell no. Or you can use the app, which is actually kind of an average to lame reading experience. I mean, why would I choose a glow in the face over no neon in my eyes?

In another post I’ll talk about how publishing companies are failing at selling their own books. Right now I’ll focus on how it’s probably better to just keep getting your e-books from the library. I currently use Overdrive for plenty of e-book reads. Sometimes I have to wait for a book but it’s free and I can get it to whatever device I want. Kindle or Nook, e-ink or not. Isn’t that what Scribd and Oyster should be doing?
Amazon on the other hand, well, as much as I don’t want to like them, they have the right idea. Although they won’t start off with the selection I would like, I can still get library books through them and be appeased by reading on my e-ink device.

Not trying to only support the really big, huge company, but when they simply have the better idea, how in the world do you not?

And, um, don't forget about the new novel

The Reinvention of Man AS64H

I don’t know if this is the best way to use a blog or social media but it’s not wrong so I’m going to go for it.

August 15th In Blackness: The Reinvention of Man comes out in ebook format, basically everywhere important. But you can pre-order it at those same places. I’m saying to download a sample here on goodreads. Or download it at the link below at Smashwords. If you like what you read then use this code Aug 15th over at smashwords AS64H https://www.smashwords.com/books/view... and download it for free. Just put the code in after you click to buy it.




There. If you read this short blog post you earned a free book. The original In Blackness novel is discounted a dollar. It’ll be $1.99 for a while, at least.
Now by all means, share this article to, I don’t know, every one you know. Put it on facebook, twitter, pinterest it or whatever pinterest people do. Tumble it. Reddit it or something. You get the idea.

Here is where you can sample it from goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/ebooks/down...

Paper Books Will Survive! (maybe)

For better or worse, paper books are here to stay, and I’ll tell you why.

Although I love paper books, I tend to not talk them up too much. They’re hard to hold or are too heavy. You know the phrase “I couldn’t put it down”? Well, not if you’re talking about a hardback. Most of the time, the weight of them will make you put them down or risk injury. I find that I like the process of turning actual pages but the simple action of doing so shouldn’t cost me twenty-five or thirty dollars.

I like going to a bookstore, new or used, and perusing, discovering, opening up title after title and smelling them and touching them. After that I down load the ones I want to purchase, because I simply don’t have the space on my bookshelf and I can’t get another bookshelf. Not enough space. Seriously, of all the things Barnes and Nobles sells nowadays, why are bookshelves not one of them? If I open a book store like I’ve long wanted I’m going to name it Book and a Shelf, and, yes, in the back I’m selling and raffling off shelves. I hate the idea of storing my books at some online storage place at Amazon or in Amazon. I don’t even know how to present that idea, but I hate the idea of not storing them at all even more.

For me, one of the best features for a paper book is the font. It’s one of the first things I look for when deciding on purchasing a novel. If I don’t like the font, I’m not reading it. Period. Same with the font size. If it’s too small forget it. For that matter, if the book dimensions aren’t to my liking I won’t read it, let alone buy it. I’m that picky, which leads to my next point. When I get the e-book I can change the font, the size of the font and every book I get I already know that I’m going to like how it feels. Oh, and one more thing (I’m talking to you, publishers). Don’t print on white paper. It’s not a deal breaker but reading outside is brutal with white pages. Why don’t you know guys know that? Don’t you people read books in the afternoon?

With all that said there is no way paper books won’t be around basically forever. Here is the reason. There are too many floating around in public for their influence on readers to disappear. Let me put it a different way. If all bookstores closed, and online retailers stopped shipping paper books and all the libraries closed, we’d still be reading paper books. There are literally (no pun intended) enough books that have already been printed to last us the rest of our lives. With the hypothetical conditions I’ve mentioned, it might become hard to find a copy of some Harry Potter books but I bet you’d be able to find one, no matter what. Let’s say you’re looking for a novel by, I don’t know, Franz Kafka—chances are you’re going to find it. Eventually. It’s going to take you a while, and it won’t be convenient, but you’ll find it. But, you know what, it’d be easier if you could just download it.

Feel free to tell me what you think. All about the dialogue, people. All about it. And oh yeah. The new novel will be out August 15th. In Blackness: The Reinvention of Man. Shameless plug ya'll. I mean super shameless.