Phil Giunta's Blog, page 79
October 19, 2014
Book Review: Larry Niven's Convergent Series
Convergent Series is the second Larry Niven anthology I've read over the past month and I enjoyed it far more than Tales of Known Space.
In terms of quantity, there were more stories in Convergent Series (twenty-one to be exact) with several only two or three pages long. One or two could arguably be considered flash fiction ("Mistake" and "Cruel and Unusual") though I did not actually perform a word count. Five of the stories are from his popular Draco's Tavern series.
Some of my favorites from this anthology include:
"Bordered in Black" - Two astronauts scouting an alien world detect a strange black border along the shoreline of the largest ocean. Theorizing that it's dead algae washed ashore, they land to investigate--only to discover just how horribly wrong they were!
"The Meddler" - Targeted by a wealthy crime boss named Sinc, private eye Bruce Cheseborough decides to confront the kingpin on his own turf. Accompanied by a shapeshifting alien anthropologist, whose function is merely to observe, Cheseborough confronts Sinc in his mansion, only to discover a surprising connection to the metamorph.
"Dry Run" - As practice for murdering his ex-wife and dumping her body in the ocean, a man kills her dog--then ends up in a car accident on his way to dispose of the carcass lying in his trunk.
"Convergent Series" - An anthropology student takes an interest in dark magic and accidentally conjures a demon inside a pentagram drawn on the basement floor. Now, how to outwit the beast and send him back from whence he came...
"Singularities Make Me Nervous" - After exploring the space near a blackhole, astronaut George Cox returns to his apartment to confront...himself! This is no surprise to him, as Cox has traveled back in time in before in the same repeating loop. His younger self, however, is unsure how to handle the situation--until the pair conspire a scam that could make them millions.
"Mistake" - After dosing on sedatives to help him survive a lenthy spaceflight, Commander Elroy Barnes is confronted by a telepathic alien named Kthitslmup, who attempts to probe the commander's mind with little success thanks to the drugs. The alien then resorts to verbal questioning. In order to answer, Barnes must take another pill to clear his mind, which holds an interesting consequence for Kthitslmup.
"Night on Mispec Moor" - A contract warrior in a corporate-sponsored battle abandons the fight and takes refuge atop a large rock formation--until nightfall when the dead soldiers rise from the mists of the battlefield to stalk the living...
"Wrong Way Street" - A team of scientsts is sent to the moon to study an ancient, deserted alien base and spaceship. Aboard the ship, one particular machine perplexes Mike Capoferr. He has his theories, which are proven correct when he finally learns how to activate it...regrettably.
Next up is one of Larry Niven's most popular SF novels, A Gift from Earth.
In terms of quantity, there were more stories in Convergent Series (twenty-one to be exact) with several only two or three pages long. One or two could arguably be considered flash fiction ("Mistake" and "Cruel and Unusual") though I did not actually perform a word count. Five of the stories are from his popular Draco's Tavern series.
Some of my favorites from this anthology include:
"Bordered in Black" - Two astronauts scouting an alien world detect a strange black border along the shoreline of the largest ocean. Theorizing that it's dead algae washed ashore, they land to investigate--only to discover just how horribly wrong they were!
"The Meddler" - Targeted by a wealthy crime boss named Sinc, private eye Bruce Cheseborough decides to confront the kingpin on his own turf. Accompanied by a shapeshifting alien anthropologist, whose function is merely to observe, Cheseborough confronts Sinc in his mansion, only to discover a surprising connection to the metamorph.
"Dry Run" - As practice for murdering his ex-wife and dumping her body in the ocean, a man kills her dog--then ends up in a car accident on his way to dispose of the carcass lying in his trunk.
"Convergent Series" - An anthropology student takes an interest in dark magic and accidentally conjures a demon inside a pentagram drawn on the basement floor. Now, how to outwit the beast and send him back from whence he came...
"Singularities Make Me Nervous" - After exploring the space near a blackhole, astronaut George Cox returns to his apartment to confront...himself! This is no surprise to him, as Cox has traveled back in time in before in the same repeating loop. His younger self, however, is unsure how to handle the situation--until the pair conspire a scam that could make them millions.
"Mistake" - After dosing on sedatives to help him survive a lenthy spaceflight, Commander Elroy Barnes is confronted by a telepathic alien named Kthitslmup, who attempts to probe the commander's mind with little success thanks to the drugs. The alien then resorts to verbal questioning. In order to answer, Barnes must take another pill to clear his mind, which holds an interesting consequence for Kthitslmup.
"Night on Mispec Moor" - A contract warrior in a corporate-sponsored battle abandons the fight and takes refuge atop a large rock formation--until nightfall when the dead soldiers rise from the mists of the battlefield to stalk the living...
"Wrong Way Street" - A team of scientsts is sent to the moon to study an ancient, deserted alien base and spaceship. Aboard the ship, one particular machine perplexes Mike Capoferr. He has his theories, which are proven correct when he finally learns how to activate it...regrettably.
Next up is one of Larry Niven's most popular SF novels, A Gift from Earth.
October 15, 2014
Flash Fiction Friday - "Scattered Pearls"
This week's flash fiction contribution comes to us from Melissa Carta Miller. I met Melissa at the 2014 Write Stuff conference in Allentown, PA and we've since become friends.
Melissa Carta Miller has been writing for as long as she can remember, her early stories usually involving a unicorn, or a horse, and a dying princess. She studied Art History at Moravian College and upon graduating spent seven years helping to raise and train racing sled dogs in both the Interior of Alaska and Eastern Pennsylvania. After "retiring" from dog handling, she began focusing on writing again, as well as parenting two daughters. She has had two personal essays published with Babble.com focused on international adoption. Presently, she is looking for representation for her novel Sycamore, and is writing a new novel, as of yet unnamed. As with her first stories, someone usually dies in her novels, which her children thinks is hilarious.
Scattered Pearls
by Melissa Carta Miller
It started with one. The color of a ghost hovering in the corner of the room in an old photograph. Smooth yet gritty, like the irritation that was its catalyst. She cupped the pearl and let it roll around in the palm of her hand, opening and closing her fingers over it so that the sun would catch and wink in its luster. She had found it deep in the seams and forgotten crumbs of a sofa the color of a dirty camel. It was her habit to run her hand beneath the musty cushions of chairs and love seats in the shade of tents at the flea market, hoping to find some change, a pretty barrette, a mate to a lost sock. But she hadn't found a pearl before that day. After that day, they began to show up everywhere, as if a dying spirit had held tight to a treasured strand and, caught between heaven and earth, the necklace snapped and sent pearls out into the world like scattered hail that bounced and rolled until each found its own resting spot.
She found one in a cracked teacup that sat in a tottering stack on a folding table. An ancient woman sat with an even more ancient dog on her lap and watched her.
"It's for sale as is," the dog-woman warned.
So she bought it for two dollars, saying nothing of the pearl settled in the stained basin of the cup. It was part of the as is after all.
The next one was hidden deep in a basket of yarn balls that were tossed together without much thought. A sort of itchy field bouquet, half weeds, half roses. The next in a stack of neatly-folded embroidered handkerchiefs. She took the pearls home one by one and put them in a rusty tin box that had been full of bits of string, paper clips, rubber bands, and a porcelain doll's arm. These things she dumped into a drooping shoebox and replaced them with the pearls, which made a satisfying click when she tilted the tin like a small boat and the pearls rolled back and forth on gentle waves.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Click, click, click, click. She came to expect them, and she never panicked if one was particularly well-hidden or shy to reveal itself. She was patient. Talked to no one. Her mind completely trained on the tiny ocean soul that waited for her somewhere in the clutter of antique shops and markets. Somewhere in the clock parts, faded puzzles, books, and nicked marbles with colored swirls running through their centers. But then she found one in the corner of a locked, glass-topped jewelry display of turquoise and silver. It cowered on the purple velvet in a corner of the crooked wooden case. She pointed to it, but the man with the black braid that hung all the way to his belt seemed surprised. He had never seen it before. It wasn't from any of the pieces that he had collected. It wasn't for sale. She watched him, as he pinched the pearl in his thick fingers and held it up so he could get a better look at it. Her breath was snagged with thorns in her throat. "Huh," he grunted.
"Please?" she said, holding out a shaking hand.
The man with the braid looked past the pearl and into her open, aching face. He didn't seem all that convinced, but eventually he shrugged. "Prob'ly fake anyway. One of them genuine faux jobs." He grinned. "Take it."
He put the pearl in her hand and she clutched it tightly, relief washing over her in a cool breeze. She didn't feel completely at ease until she got it home and put it in the tin with the others. When she could line the pearls along her tape measure to a length that fit around her neck and balanced lightly on her collarbone, she put the tin of pearls in her purse along with rolls of quarters, nickels, and dimes she had dug from hundreds of couches. Holding the purse close to her chest, she took it to the stooped man at the estate store tucked in the alleyway, the one with the blue door peeling of its paint and the faded sign above. She placed the tin and the rolls of coins on the counter. She took a deep breath and pushed them toward the man. He inspected the pearls with the hinged magnifying glass that he always wore strapped to his forehead. He murmured, pleased, and cocked his head.
"Two weeks?" he said, one eye distorted through the magnifying glass into a huge, rummy brown iris and dilated pupil. His eyelashes, like spider’s legs, were so large she swore she could hear them slam shut when he blinked.
She nodded and walked away slowly away, pausing outside the door before turning toward home.
She didn't sleep well without the pearls and when she woke up in the middle of the night her gaze rested on the empty, rusted tin on her bedside table. Sometimes she would reach out from beneath her moonlit sheets and stroke the top of it, the disintegrating metal dusting her fingertips and turning them brown. However, two weeks did pass, however glacially, and when she walked back to the estate shop her heart was pounding. Platelets and cells roaring giddily past her eardrums. The stooped man smiled when he saw that it was her entry that had rung the silver bell on the door. He reached under the counter, bringing up a threadbare, green jewelry box with rectangular doors that met in the middle and latched with a brass hook and eye. He let her open it, standing back to give her space.
It was breathtaking.
She ran her fingers over each small orb like the beads of a rosary, her pearls finally bound tightly together. She tilted the green box back and forth in her hands. The necklace listed only the slightest bit to the left and then to the right and made no sound at all.
The man, in his satisfaction, failed to notice how pale her face had suddenly grown, or how swiftly her breath came in and out between her lips. He didn't realize until later that she hadn't even thanked him.
She went straight home, knuckles white in their grip on the green box. She went directly to her room and sat on the edge of her tidily-made bed. She leaned down and took the sharp, silver shears from the sewing box at the base of her bedside table. Gingerly, she lifted the strand of pearls from the smooth hooks they were looped over inside the box and she let them rest on the wool weave of her skirt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have known."
And she slid the silver shears between two of the pearls, brought the blades together and severed the thread with a snap. With each snap, she released another pearl and one by one they rolled into her lap to create a milky cluster like a gathering of frog’s eggs. When it was over, she picked away the bits of string and scooped all the pearls into the cup of her hands and rolled them back into the tin box. Then she sighed deeply and smiled, the color returning to her cheeks in a blush of pink.
"There," she said.
And she rocked the tin back and forth, from side to side.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Click, click, click, click.
Melissa Carta Miller has been writing for as long as she can remember, her early stories usually involving a unicorn, or a horse, and a dying princess. She studied Art History at Moravian College and upon graduating spent seven years helping to raise and train racing sled dogs in both the Interior of Alaska and Eastern Pennsylvania. After "retiring" from dog handling, she began focusing on writing again, as well as parenting two daughters. She has had two personal essays published with Babble.com focused on international adoption. Presently, she is looking for representation for her novel Sycamore, and is writing a new novel, as of yet unnamed. As with her first stories, someone usually dies in her novels, which her children thinks is hilarious.
Scattered Pearls
by Melissa Carta Miller
It started with one. The color of a ghost hovering in the corner of the room in an old photograph. Smooth yet gritty, like the irritation that was its catalyst. She cupped the pearl and let it roll around in the palm of her hand, opening and closing her fingers over it so that the sun would catch and wink in its luster. She had found it deep in the seams and forgotten crumbs of a sofa the color of a dirty camel. It was her habit to run her hand beneath the musty cushions of chairs and love seats in the shade of tents at the flea market, hoping to find some change, a pretty barrette, a mate to a lost sock. But she hadn't found a pearl before that day. After that day, they began to show up everywhere, as if a dying spirit had held tight to a treasured strand and, caught between heaven and earth, the necklace snapped and sent pearls out into the world like scattered hail that bounced and rolled until each found its own resting spot.
She found one in a cracked teacup that sat in a tottering stack on a folding table. An ancient woman sat with an even more ancient dog on her lap and watched her.
"It's for sale as is," the dog-woman warned.
So she bought it for two dollars, saying nothing of the pearl settled in the stained basin of the cup. It was part of the as is after all.
The next one was hidden deep in a basket of yarn balls that were tossed together without much thought. A sort of itchy field bouquet, half weeds, half roses. The next in a stack of neatly-folded embroidered handkerchiefs. She took the pearls home one by one and put them in a rusty tin box that had been full of bits of string, paper clips, rubber bands, and a porcelain doll's arm. These things she dumped into a drooping shoebox and replaced them with the pearls, which made a satisfying click when she tilted the tin like a small boat and the pearls rolled back and forth on gentle waves.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Click, click, click, click. She came to expect them, and she never panicked if one was particularly well-hidden or shy to reveal itself. She was patient. Talked to no one. Her mind completely trained on the tiny ocean soul that waited for her somewhere in the clutter of antique shops and markets. Somewhere in the clock parts, faded puzzles, books, and nicked marbles with colored swirls running through their centers. But then she found one in the corner of a locked, glass-topped jewelry display of turquoise and silver. It cowered on the purple velvet in a corner of the crooked wooden case. She pointed to it, but the man with the black braid that hung all the way to his belt seemed surprised. He had never seen it before. It wasn't from any of the pieces that he had collected. It wasn't for sale. She watched him, as he pinched the pearl in his thick fingers and held it up so he could get a better look at it. Her breath was snagged with thorns in her throat. "Huh," he grunted.
"Please?" she said, holding out a shaking hand.
The man with the braid looked past the pearl and into her open, aching face. He didn't seem all that convinced, but eventually he shrugged. "Prob'ly fake anyway. One of them genuine faux jobs." He grinned. "Take it."
He put the pearl in her hand and she clutched it tightly, relief washing over her in a cool breeze. She didn't feel completely at ease until she got it home and put it in the tin with the others. When she could line the pearls along her tape measure to a length that fit around her neck and balanced lightly on her collarbone, she put the tin of pearls in her purse along with rolls of quarters, nickels, and dimes she had dug from hundreds of couches. Holding the purse close to her chest, she took it to the stooped man at the estate store tucked in the alleyway, the one with the blue door peeling of its paint and the faded sign above. She placed the tin and the rolls of coins on the counter. She took a deep breath and pushed them toward the man. He inspected the pearls with the hinged magnifying glass that he always wore strapped to his forehead. He murmured, pleased, and cocked his head.
"Two weeks?" he said, one eye distorted through the magnifying glass into a huge, rummy brown iris and dilated pupil. His eyelashes, like spider’s legs, were so large she swore she could hear them slam shut when he blinked.
She nodded and walked away slowly away, pausing outside the door before turning toward home.
She didn't sleep well without the pearls and when she woke up in the middle of the night her gaze rested on the empty, rusted tin on her bedside table. Sometimes she would reach out from beneath her moonlit sheets and stroke the top of it, the disintegrating metal dusting her fingertips and turning them brown. However, two weeks did pass, however glacially, and when she walked back to the estate shop her heart was pounding. Platelets and cells roaring giddily past her eardrums. The stooped man smiled when he saw that it was her entry that had rung the silver bell on the door. He reached under the counter, bringing up a threadbare, green jewelry box with rectangular doors that met in the middle and latched with a brass hook and eye. He let her open it, standing back to give her space.
It was breathtaking.
She ran her fingers over each small orb like the beads of a rosary, her pearls finally bound tightly together. She tilted the green box back and forth in her hands. The necklace listed only the slightest bit to the left and then to the right and made no sound at all.
The man, in his satisfaction, failed to notice how pale her face had suddenly grown, or how swiftly her breath came in and out between her lips. He didn't realize until later that she hadn't even thanked him.
She went straight home, knuckles white in their grip on the green box. She went directly to her room and sat on the edge of her tidily-made bed. She leaned down and took the sharp, silver shears from the sewing box at the base of her bedside table. Gingerly, she lifted the strand of pearls from the smooth hooks they were looped over inside the box and she let them rest on the wool weave of her skirt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have known."
And she slid the silver shears between two of the pearls, brought the blades together and severed the thread with a snap. With each snap, she released another pearl and one by one they rolled into her lap to create a milky cluster like a gathering of frog’s eggs. When it was over, she picked away the bits of string and scooped all the pearls into the cup of her hands and rolled them back into the tin box. Then she sighed deeply and smiled, the color returning to her cheeks in a blush of pink.
"There," she said.
And she rocked the tin back and forth, from side to side.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Click, click, click, click.
October 13, 2014
Moravian Book Shop Signing!
I’m excited to announce that I will be joined by fellow authors Amanda Headlee, Susanna Reilly, and Stuart Roth to sign copies of our new SF, fantasy, and paranormal anthology, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity!
Where: Moravian Book Shop, 428 Main Street, Bethlehem, PA
Date: Saturday, November 1, 2014
Time: 3-5PM
Click here to view Moravian Book Shop's calendar of events
Located in historic downtown Bethlehem, Moravian Book Shop is the oldest bookstore in the country with a fantastic selection of titles and genres. Their gift shop contains ornaments, stationary, and confections to suit every taste. Hope to see you there!
Thank you for supporting small press writers!
Phil Giunta
Author, By Your Side and
Testing the Prisoner
Editor, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity
Write Stuff 2015 Con Chair
Where: Moravian Book Shop, 428 Main Street, Bethlehem, PA
Date: Saturday, November 1, 2014
Time: 3-5PM
Click here to view Moravian Book Shop's calendar of events
Located in historic downtown Bethlehem, Moravian Book Shop is the oldest bookstore in the country with a fantastic selection of titles and genres. Their gift shop contains ornaments, stationary, and confections to suit every taste. Hope to see you there!
Thank you for supporting small press writers!
Phil Giunta
Author, By Your Side and
Testing the Prisoner
Editor, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity
Write Stuff 2015 Con Chair
October 10, 2014
About This Writing Stuff...
This week, I'm grateful to Amanda Headlee, not just for her piece on self-editing, but for introducing me to the wonderful blog of writer Melissa McPhail. Through Melissa's articles below, I found a kindred spirit whose methods mirror my own, specifically the concept of organically developing characters and of capturing scenes that pop into your head in advance of writing the story. Melissa is almost completely in step with how I often prefer to write.
Additionally, Jody Hedlund examines the benefits of writing novellas. Since I just submitted my first novella to my publisher last month, I found the timing of Jody's article impeccable. From the Kill Zone, Jodie Renner explains the proper use of the hyphen while on Writer Unboxed, Erika Liodice talks audio books and Cathy Yardley discusses the importance of defining your genre.
It seems that I cannot post a collection of articles lately without mention of Amazon. Franklin Foer thinks that their monopoly must be brought to a swift end and Barry Eisler responds.
All that, and a little more. Enjoy!
Pantser or Plotter: 4 Steps to Writing Organically (and the Science Behind Why You Should) - Part I by Melissa McPhail
4 Steps to Writing Organically, Part II - Viewpoints, Mimicry, and Imagination by Melissa McPhail
How to Avoid Cliches (or the 4 Things You MUST Know Before Starting a Novel) by Melissa McPhail
I Am My Own Worst Editor, Because I Am a Perfectionist by Amanda Headlee
Amazon Must Be Stopped by Franklin Foer
Franklin Foer: "Stop Amazon, Keep Publishing Exactly As Its Always Been!" by Barry Eisler
Book Marketing The Old Way Versus The Way That Works Today--Part 1: Book Reviews by Beth Bacon
Self-Published Books Topped 450,000 in 2013 by IndieReader
The Growing Popularity of Novellas by Jody Hedlund
To Hyphenate or Not To Hyphenate? by Jodie Renner
9 Easy & Inexpensive Ways to Promote Your Audiobook by Erika Liodice
Why Genre Matters by Cathy Yardley
Additionally, Jody Hedlund examines the benefits of writing novellas. Since I just submitted my first novella to my publisher last month, I found the timing of Jody's article impeccable. From the Kill Zone, Jodie Renner explains the proper use of the hyphen while on Writer Unboxed, Erika Liodice talks audio books and Cathy Yardley discusses the importance of defining your genre.
It seems that I cannot post a collection of articles lately without mention of Amazon. Franklin Foer thinks that their monopoly must be brought to a swift end and Barry Eisler responds.
All that, and a little more. Enjoy!
Pantser or Plotter: 4 Steps to Writing Organically (and the Science Behind Why You Should) - Part I by Melissa McPhail
4 Steps to Writing Organically, Part II - Viewpoints, Mimicry, and Imagination by Melissa McPhail
How to Avoid Cliches (or the 4 Things You MUST Know Before Starting a Novel) by Melissa McPhail
I Am My Own Worst Editor, Because I Am a Perfectionist by Amanda Headlee
Amazon Must Be Stopped by Franklin Foer
Franklin Foer: "Stop Amazon, Keep Publishing Exactly As Its Always Been!" by Barry Eisler
Book Marketing The Old Way Versus The Way That Works Today--Part 1: Book Reviews by Beth Bacon
Self-Published Books Topped 450,000 in 2013 by IndieReader
The Growing Popularity of Novellas by Jody Hedlund
To Hyphenate or Not To Hyphenate? by Jodie Renner
9 Easy & Inexpensive Ways to Promote Your Audiobook by Erika Liodice
Why Genre Matters by Cathy Yardley
October 6, 2014
It's No Small Coinkydink that DuckBob Spinowitz is Back to Save the Galaxy!
Award-winning writer Aaron Rosenberg has just released
Three Small Coinkydinks
, the third installment in his "DuckBob" SF comedy series! I had the pleasure of beta-reading this and I can honestly say that I enjoyed it immensely. Unique and memorable characters, along with solid pacing, makes this a fun interstellar romp from beginning to end.
From Amazon:
Bob Spinowitz was an average guy—until aliens abducted him and gave him the head of a duck. Then they asked “DuckBob” to save the universe, since their modifications meant he could. Talk about a backhanded compliment!
Amazingly, though, DuckBob did it. And thus became Guardian of the Matrix, which protects the cosmos from further invasion—as long as he’s plugged in. Literally.
But alien techie pal Ned just made the Matrix User Interface wireless. Suddenly, DuckBob is free again—the whole universe is at his alien-altered, webbed feet! Only problem is, could being unplugged mean he’s out of a job?
As a pick-me-up, Ned takes DuckBob to his homeworld—which looks just like Brooklyn. Odd changes are afoot, there, however—ones with potentially cosmic repercussions. Soon DuckBob finds himself struggling to stay alive. And to find lunch, which is equally important.
Can DuckBob conquer his doubt, rein in his freedom, and help save Ned’s world? Or will our avian-esque hero’s first unrestricted flight be the last—not just for him but for us all?
Praise for DuckBob:
“Aaron Rosenberg has that rare quality of making other writers read his work and earning their undying hatred because he’s coming up with stuff they wish they’d thought of.” —Peter David, New York Times bestselling author and bon vivant
“If you liked Douglas Adams, this is right in your wheelhouse!” —Michael Jan Friedman, New York Times bestselling author
“. . . a novel that should not be missed by anyone who considers himself a fan of humorous science-fiction.” —Unreality SF
From Amazon:
Bob Spinowitz was an average guy—until aliens abducted him and gave him the head of a duck. Then they asked “DuckBob” to save the universe, since their modifications meant he could. Talk about a backhanded compliment!
Amazingly, though, DuckBob did it. And thus became Guardian of the Matrix, which protects the cosmos from further invasion—as long as he’s plugged in. Literally.
But alien techie pal Ned just made the Matrix User Interface wireless. Suddenly, DuckBob is free again—the whole universe is at his alien-altered, webbed feet! Only problem is, could being unplugged mean he’s out of a job?
As a pick-me-up, Ned takes DuckBob to his homeworld—which looks just like Brooklyn. Odd changes are afoot, there, however—ones with potentially cosmic repercussions. Soon DuckBob finds himself struggling to stay alive. And to find lunch, which is equally important.
Can DuckBob conquer his doubt, rein in his freedom, and help save Ned’s world? Or will our avian-esque hero’s first unrestricted flight be the last—not just for him but for us all?
Praise for DuckBob:
“Aaron Rosenberg has that rare quality of making other writers read his work and earning their undying hatred because he’s coming up with stuff they wish they’d thought of.” —Peter David, New York Times bestselling author and bon vivant
“If you liked Douglas Adams, this is right in your wheelhouse!” —Michael Jan Friedman, New York Times bestselling author
“. . . a novel that should not be missed by anyone who considers himself a fan of humorous science-fiction.” —Unreality SF
October 5, 2014
Flash Fiction Friday - "Man to Man"
I recently completed my first flash fiction story and thought I'd share it here. Hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave feedback in the comments. Thank you!
Man to Man
by Phil Giunta
How do you walk up to a guy and confess that you’re in love with his wife? That’s exactly what I was about to do. To say that I was anxious would’ve been an understatement. It wasn’t as if I ever had a conversation like this before. I suspected that he already knew about Ally and me, yet I felt compelled to offer an explanation. After all this time, it seemed the honorable thing to do.
It started raining lightly just as I sat down to speak to him. I didn’t mind at all. The cooler temperatures were a welcome respite from the mid-July heat wave.
I rubbed my hands on my cargo shorts as I began talking. I’d rehearsed most of my speech on the way here, but that didn’t make this any less awkward. “Hey, Jared, I hope it’s OK that we meet like this. I just ask that you hear me out. I realize you never knew me, never knew the kind of guy I really am, but I think you do now. At least, I hope so. I feel I owe you an account of how all of this started between Ally and me.
“Three years ago, when she and I worked together, we had a little misunderstanding. It was completely my fault, but it triggered feelings for her that I didn’t expect. She started flirting with me at a happy hour after work one day, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. At the time, I dismissed it. I thought it was just the booze talking, but in the months that followed, she continued to make little comments here and there.
“I became so confused and distracted that I finally had to take her aside and talk about it. To be honest, part of me hoped there was something behind her words. She was mortified that I took her remarks as anything more than innocent fun.
“Believe me, Jared, the idea of stealing your wife was the furthest thing from my mind. I just had to know the truth. Did I want to believe that Ally had feelings for me? I won’t lie. The heart wants what it wants, but I was wrong. In the end, I was just a sympathetic ear in a stressful work environment. Ally would never have left you.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the moisture on my shoulders as the rain soaked through my polo shirt. I didn’t care. All that mattered was this weight on my chest and the only way to release it was to see this through to the end. “It took me two months, but I finally left the company and once I was gone, I never saw or contacted Ally again. But I missed her.
“Then, last summer, we ran into each other on the boardwalk at Rehoboth Beach. We talked for about twenty minutes, just catching up. I was genuinely sorry to hear what happened, Jared. Honestly, I was. You think some couples will be together forever. As it turns out, Ally missed me, too. The longer we talked, the more we realized how much we enjoyed each other’s company. As I’m sure you know, we’ve been together ever since.
“Look, Jared, I came here because I respect what you and Ally had together and maybe I have a bit of guilt, too, I don’t know. What I do know is that I love her. When she’s with me, nothing else matters. Ally has my heart. This past year with her has been wonderful.”
My vision clouded as tears welled up. Not sure why. I thought I’d talked through all the hard stuff. “Look, Jared, if it’s not asking too much, I came here to get your blessing. I’m going to propose to Ally tonight.”
I leaned forward and put a gentle hand on the gravestone. For a moment, I stared in silence at the inscription. Jared Henriksen, 1970-2012.
“Cancer took you far too young. I realize I can never replace you, but I promise I’ll love Ally for the rest of her life.”
Man to Man
by Phil Giunta
How do you walk up to a guy and confess that you’re in love with his wife? That’s exactly what I was about to do. To say that I was anxious would’ve been an understatement. It wasn’t as if I ever had a conversation like this before. I suspected that he already knew about Ally and me, yet I felt compelled to offer an explanation. After all this time, it seemed the honorable thing to do.
It started raining lightly just as I sat down to speak to him. I didn’t mind at all. The cooler temperatures were a welcome respite from the mid-July heat wave.
I rubbed my hands on my cargo shorts as I began talking. I’d rehearsed most of my speech on the way here, but that didn’t make this any less awkward. “Hey, Jared, I hope it’s OK that we meet like this. I just ask that you hear me out. I realize you never knew me, never knew the kind of guy I really am, but I think you do now. At least, I hope so. I feel I owe you an account of how all of this started between Ally and me.
“Three years ago, when she and I worked together, we had a little misunderstanding. It was completely my fault, but it triggered feelings for her that I didn’t expect. She started flirting with me at a happy hour after work one day, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. At the time, I dismissed it. I thought it was just the booze talking, but in the months that followed, she continued to make little comments here and there.
“I became so confused and distracted that I finally had to take her aside and talk about it. To be honest, part of me hoped there was something behind her words. She was mortified that I took her remarks as anything more than innocent fun.
“Believe me, Jared, the idea of stealing your wife was the furthest thing from my mind. I just had to know the truth. Did I want to believe that Ally had feelings for me? I won’t lie. The heart wants what it wants, but I was wrong. In the end, I was just a sympathetic ear in a stressful work environment. Ally would never have left you.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the moisture on my shoulders as the rain soaked through my polo shirt. I didn’t care. All that mattered was this weight on my chest and the only way to release it was to see this through to the end. “It took me two months, but I finally left the company and once I was gone, I never saw or contacted Ally again. But I missed her.
“Then, last summer, we ran into each other on the boardwalk at Rehoboth Beach. We talked for about twenty minutes, just catching up. I was genuinely sorry to hear what happened, Jared. Honestly, I was. You think some couples will be together forever. As it turns out, Ally missed me, too. The longer we talked, the more we realized how much we enjoyed each other’s company. As I’m sure you know, we’ve been together ever since.
“Look, Jared, I came here because I respect what you and Ally had together and maybe I have a bit of guilt, too, I don’t know. What I do know is that I love her. When she’s with me, nothing else matters. Ally has my heart. This past year with her has been wonderful.”
My vision clouded as tears welled up. Not sure why. I thought I’d talked through all the hard stuff. “Look, Jared, if it’s not asking too much, I came here to get your blessing. I’m going to propose to Ally tonight.”
I leaned forward and put a gentle hand on the gravestone. For a moment, I stared in silence at the inscription. Jared Henriksen, 1970-2012.
“Cancer took you far too young. I realize I can never replace you, but I promise I’ll love Ally for the rest of her life.”
October 2, 2014
Let's Go To The (Blog) Hop!
I was recently nominated by writer pal Aaron Rosenberg to participate in a blog hop by answering the four questions below. Additionally, I must pay it forward by electing at least three other writers. I could only find two who were willing. They are listed at the end of this post.
What am I working on?
I'm excited to announce that we're proceeding with the followup anthology to Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity , which was just released in August. All of the contributors have agreed to return, and three new writers have been invited to contribute. I look forward to the same diversity of SF, Fantasy, and Paranormal tales as we have with the first book. We're planning for a late 2016 or early 2017 release. I already have a story finished for this and I understand that two or three of the other writers do as well.
I am currently developing a science fiction novel that will tell the tale of an overpopulated and depleted Earth and the need for humanity to seek its salvation off world.
I recently submitted a paranormal thriller novella called Like Mother, Like Daughters that chronicles the further adventures of psychic-medium Miranda Lorensen (Testing the Prisoner, By Your Side). Thirty-six years after encountering the ghost of a Puritan girl named Camille, Miranda returns to Salem, Massachusettes hoping to learn more about her. In doing so, Miranda is nearly killed while uncovering a startling truth not only about Camille, but also about herself. Meanwhile, Miranda's daughter, Andrea, begins to manifest her own psychic-medium abilities when the spirit of a murdered college friend seeks her help in solving her murder.
As a member of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, I submitted both a story and an essay to two anthologies slated to be published by the group next year. One will be a collection of essays on "Why We Write" and the other, strictly fiction. Both anthologies will launch at the Write Stuff conference in March 2015. As conference chair, I look forward to it!
Finally, my first attempt at flash fiction, "Man to Man", will be posted for free on this blog on Friday, October 10 to kick-off an occasional feature called "Flash Fiction Friday".
How does my writing differ from others in my genre?
I strive to create memorable characters and situations that will at the very least move or excite readers if not challenge their notions on a particular topic and open their minds to a different way of perceiving themselves and the world at large. If my work can both entertain and edify, without preaching, then I have done my job as a writer. For example, my first novel, Testing the Prisoner , tackled the disquieting topics of child abuse and family dysfunction and was extremely well-received by readers who were touched by the hero's plight.
Why do I write what I do?
I think I partially answered this with the previous question. The fact is, I live to write. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without the act of putting words to paper and connecting those words to form the kinds of tales that I also enjoy reading. While it is true that humans have an innate desire to tell stories, I write with the added intent of conveying a message, one that I hope will remain with the reader long after they have turned the final page. I find the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and the paranormal to be replete with unique and powerful storytelling potential. The exercise of creating an original universe—with its own inhabitants, environments, and rules—brings nearly unparalleled satisfaction for me. As a writer, few things are more thrilling than developing both character and story arcs.
There is also a selfish reason as to why I write. Simply put, I do not wish to die forgotten. If I can leave behind a legacy of quality work that will be read and enjoyed for generations to come, then I will have achieved that ultimate goal shared by all writers.
How does my writing process work?
Once I come up with an idea--or it comes to me--I usually jot down a few paragraphs to begin fleshing it out. Often, I'll develop characters immediately, which is an extremely important step, as is defining clear arcs for the protagonist and perhaps one or two other characters. That is certainly true for longer fiction. My short stories may not always have a character who changes from beginning to end, but I always ensure that my main characters are memorable, whether heroes, villains, or somewhere in between.
For novels, novellas, and some short stories, I create an outline to map out the plot. It will frequently include lines of narrative and dialogue that will end up in the story. For me, the outline is a living document. As I write, it provides general direction, but does not restrict me. There are many routes to get from point A to point Z. I believe that writing is an organic process, especially when the characters take over and decide on their own course.
When that happens to the benefit of the story, I will then update the outline accordingly. Similarly, if I think of a better idea than what I'd originally plotted out, I will again revise the outline. At the start of each writing session, I review what I wrote before and sometime edit and tweak it before adding new material.
The next victims, er, I mean, writers in the chain are:
AMANDA HEADLEE is fascinated with the macabre. Therefore, it is not surprising that most of her written material stems from waking nightmares. It was not until she attended Kutztown University, to major in Professional Writing, that she realized she could share her terrors with the world by writing it all down. When she is not contributing to The Sarcastic Muse or cycling through the rural hills of Pennsylvania, she can be found penning worlds full of monsters, demons, and mayhem.
STEVEN H. WILSON is the creator of the Mark Time and Parsec Award-winning podcast series The Arbiter Chronicles, as well as the author of two novels spawned by the series Taken Liberty and Unfriendly Persuasion. He is also the author of Peace Lord of the Red Planet and three short stories for the ReDeus series from Crazy 8 Press. He has written for DC Comics and Starlog, and is publisher for the Maryland-based Firebringer Press , whose seventh and latest book, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity, collects tales of science fiction, fantasy and the paranormal by Mid-Atlantic authors.
What am I working on?
I'm excited to announce that we're proceeding with the followup anthology to Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity , which was just released in August. All of the contributors have agreed to return, and three new writers have been invited to contribute. I look forward to the same diversity of SF, Fantasy, and Paranormal tales as we have with the first book. We're planning for a late 2016 or early 2017 release. I already have a story finished for this and I understand that two or three of the other writers do as well.
I am currently developing a science fiction novel that will tell the tale of an overpopulated and depleted Earth and the need for humanity to seek its salvation off world.
I recently submitted a paranormal thriller novella called Like Mother, Like Daughters that chronicles the further adventures of psychic-medium Miranda Lorensen (Testing the Prisoner, By Your Side). Thirty-six years after encountering the ghost of a Puritan girl named Camille, Miranda returns to Salem, Massachusettes hoping to learn more about her. In doing so, Miranda is nearly killed while uncovering a startling truth not only about Camille, but also about herself. Meanwhile, Miranda's daughter, Andrea, begins to manifest her own psychic-medium abilities when the spirit of a murdered college friend seeks her help in solving her murder.
As a member of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, I submitted both a story and an essay to two anthologies slated to be published by the group next year. One will be a collection of essays on "Why We Write" and the other, strictly fiction. Both anthologies will launch at the Write Stuff conference in March 2015. As conference chair, I look forward to it!
Finally, my first attempt at flash fiction, "Man to Man", will be posted for free on this blog on Friday, October 10 to kick-off an occasional feature called "Flash Fiction Friday".
How does my writing differ from others in my genre?
I strive to create memorable characters and situations that will at the very least move or excite readers if not challenge their notions on a particular topic and open their minds to a different way of perceiving themselves and the world at large. If my work can both entertain and edify, without preaching, then I have done my job as a writer. For example, my first novel, Testing the Prisoner , tackled the disquieting topics of child abuse and family dysfunction and was extremely well-received by readers who were touched by the hero's plight.
Why do I write what I do?
I think I partially answered this with the previous question. The fact is, I live to write. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without the act of putting words to paper and connecting those words to form the kinds of tales that I also enjoy reading. While it is true that humans have an innate desire to tell stories, I write with the added intent of conveying a message, one that I hope will remain with the reader long after they have turned the final page. I find the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and the paranormal to be replete with unique and powerful storytelling potential. The exercise of creating an original universe—with its own inhabitants, environments, and rules—brings nearly unparalleled satisfaction for me. As a writer, few things are more thrilling than developing both character and story arcs.
There is also a selfish reason as to why I write. Simply put, I do not wish to die forgotten. If I can leave behind a legacy of quality work that will be read and enjoyed for generations to come, then I will have achieved that ultimate goal shared by all writers.
How does my writing process work?
Once I come up with an idea--or it comes to me--I usually jot down a few paragraphs to begin fleshing it out. Often, I'll develop characters immediately, which is an extremely important step, as is defining clear arcs for the protagonist and perhaps one or two other characters. That is certainly true for longer fiction. My short stories may not always have a character who changes from beginning to end, but I always ensure that my main characters are memorable, whether heroes, villains, or somewhere in between.
For novels, novellas, and some short stories, I create an outline to map out the plot. It will frequently include lines of narrative and dialogue that will end up in the story. For me, the outline is a living document. As I write, it provides general direction, but does not restrict me. There are many routes to get from point A to point Z. I believe that writing is an organic process, especially when the characters take over and decide on their own course.
When that happens to the benefit of the story, I will then update the outline accordingly. Similarly, if I think of a better idea than what I'd originally plotted out, I will again revise the outline. At the start of each writing session, I review what I wrote before and sometime edit and tweak it before adding new material.
The next victims, er, I mean, writers in the chain are:
AMANDA HEADLEE is fascinated with the macabre. Therefore, it is not surprising that most of her written material stems from waking nightmares. It was not until she attended Kutztown University, to major in Professional Writing, that she realized she could share her terrors with the world by writing it all down. When she is not contributing to The Sarcastic Muse or cycling through the rural hills of Pennsylvania, she can be found penning worlds full of monsters, demons, and mayhem.
STEVEN H. WILSON is the creator of the Mark Time and Parsec Award-winning podcast series The Arbiter Chronicles, as well as the author of two novels spawned by the series Taken Liberty and Unfriendly Persuasion. He is also the author of Peace Lord of the Red Planet and three short stories for the ReDeus series from Crazy 8 Press. He has written for DC Comics and Starlog, and is publisher for the Maryland-based Firebringer Press , whose seventh and latest book, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity, collects tales of science fiction, fantasy and the paranormal by Mid-Atlantic authors.
September 29, 2014
About This Writing Stuff...
This week, Aaron Rosenberg differentiates between endings and closure in a series. NYT bestselling writer Lee Child responds to Joe Konrath regarding the ongoing Amazon-Hachette battle. Jody Hedlund concisely lists the rules of POV while Jami Gold shows us how to balance emotions. Kristen Lamb likes those lying characters and Bob Mayer tells certain writers to quit whining!
From Writer Unboxed, Bill Ferris waxes comedic on why we should write a series. Dan Blank advises us on how to create greater capacities. Sarcastic Muse's Michelle Mueller instructs us on the proper use of italics.
All that a bit more. Enjoy!
Ending Without Closing by Aaron Rosenberg
Lee Child Chimes In by Joe Konrath
7 Point-of-View Basics Every Writer Should Know by Jody Hedlund
Showing Emotions: Finding the Right Balance by Jami Gold
Generate Nerve-Shredding Story Tension--Power of the Secret-Keeper by Kristen Lamb
Why You Need to Write a Series by Bill Ferris
Creating Capacity by Dan Blank
The Content Flood and Authors Whining by Bob Mayer
Wattpad: Digital Storytelling With a Social Twist by Beth Bacon
Writing Fluid Fiction: How to Use Italics by Michelle Mueller
From Writer Unboxed, Bill Ferris waxes comedic on why we should write a series. Dan Blank advises us on how to create greater capacities. Sarcastic Muse's Michelle Mueller instructs us on the proper use of italics.
All that a bit more. Enjoy!
Ending Without Closing by Aaron Rosenberg
Lee Child Chimes In by Joe Konrath
7 Point-of-View Basics Every Writer Should Know by Jody Hedlund
Showing Emotions: Finding the Right Balance by Jami Gold
Generate Nerve-Shredding Story Tension--Power of the Secret-Keeper by Kristen Lamb
Why You Need to Write a Series by Bill Ferris
Creating Capacity by Dan Blank
The Content Flood and Authors Whining by Bob Mayer
Wattpad: Digital Storytelling With a Social Twist by Beth Bacon
Writing Fluid Fiction: How to Use Italics by Michelle Mueller
September 28, 2014
Book Review: Larry Niven's Tales of Known Space
Larry Niven's Known Space series of anthologies and novels covers a vast timeline of spacefaring adventures encompassing 10,000 years. This particular volume contains 13 stories. While it was interesting to see how richly populated and developed Niven's universe is, only about half of the tales in this collection appealed to me. All were interesting in their own way, but I found the other half to be anticlimactic. My favorites included:
"Eye of an Octopus" - Human explorers on Mars discover the corpse of a Martian and a strange well made of diamond bricks. How are the two connected? The answer is explosive!
"How the Heroes Die" - A murder occurs in the human "Bubbletown" settlement on Mars and a dangerous chase ensues across the surface of the red planet.
"Intent to Deceive" - At the Red Planet restaurant on Mars, robot waiters run amuck! You can never have too many shrimp cocktails...or can you? Maybe it's all just a fable...
"Cloak of Anarchy" - In San Diego's parks, anything goes--except violence, which is stictly punished by the all-seeing "copseyes" that patrol the parks, but what happens when every one of these hovering spheres loses power at once? Who will maintain law and order?
"The Borderland of Sol" - Beowulf Shaeffer is stranded on the deep space colony Jinx, until he comes across old friend Carlos Wu. Carlos offers him passage back to Earth aboard the Hobo Kelly, a starship belonging to wealthy trader Sigmund Ausfaller. The problem: ships have been disappearing in alarming numbers just beyond Earth's solar system. Could there by a ship-devouring entity lurking in interstellar space?
"Safe at Any Speed" - Our hero's test car is swallowed whole by a giant bird--with our hero inside!
Overall, Tales of Known Space is an enjoyable, if not entirely inspired, anthology.
"Eye of an Octopus" - Human explorers on Mars discover the corpse of a Martian and a strange well made of diamond bricks. How are the two connected? The answer is explosive!
"How the Heroes Die" - A murder occurs in the human "Bubbletown" settlement on Mars and a dangerous chase ensues across the surface of the red planet.
"Intent to Deceive" - At the Red Planet restaurant on Mars, robot waiters run amuck! You can never have too many shrimp cocktails...or can you? Maybe it's all just a fable...
"Cloak of Anarchy" - In San Diego's parks, anything goes--except violence, which is stictly punished by the all-seeing "copseyes" that patrol the parks, but what happens when every one of these hovering spheres loses power at once? Who will maintain law and order?
"The Borderland of Sol" - Beowulf Shaeffer is stranded on the deep space colony Jinx, until he comes across old friend Carlos Wu. Carlos offers him passage back to Earth aboard the Hobo Kelly, a starship belonging to wealthy trader Sigmund Ausfaller. The problem: ships have been disappearing in alarming numbers just beyond Earth's solar system. Could there by a ship-devouring entity lurking in interstellar space?
"Safe at Any Speed" - Our hero's test car is swallowed whole by a giant bird--with our hero inside!
Overall, Tales of Known Space is an enjoyable, if not entirely inspired, anthology.
September 22, 2014
Local Authors Night at Barnes and Noble in Easton, PA!
I'm ecstatic to announce that I will be participating in Local Authors Night at Barnes and Noble in Easton, PA on Thursday, September 25 from 7 to 9PM. Approximately 35 authors from the Lehigh Valley and surrounding area will be present to sign copies of their books purchased at the store on this special night.
Click here for more details!
If you live in the area and are in search of something new to read, please consider stopping by or at least spreading the word. Thank you for your support!
4445 Southmont Way, Easton, PA 18045
(610) 515-0376
Click here for more details!
If you live in the area and are in search of something new to read, please consider stopping by or at least spreading the word. Thank you for your support!
4445 Southmont Way, Easton, PA 18045
(610) 515-0376
