Greg Mitchell's Blog, page 4

Free Short Fiction--"Company Man: Part Three"

Welcome to the third installment of an all-new Rift Jump short story, exclusive to this site. In "Company Man", we explore the origins of the villainous Hooded Man from the original Rift Jump novel--now on sale in the new Revised and Expanded Edition .

Click here to read Part One of our tale.
Click here to read Part Two!



PART THREE


Michael stepped aside as Rip entered his apartment. Rip whistled, looking around. “This is it?” Michael took a moment to consider his sparse living quarters. Like his cubicle, everything was white or soft grey, with no sharp edges or textured surfaces. The robots didn’t allow for personal effects: pictures, mementos, posters. A drone like Michael had to be ready to leave one apartment for an identical one halfway across the continent without hesitation or time spent gathering unnecessary items. “This is home,” Michael shrugged, not finding the place all that bad. He hurried into the adjoining kitchenette. “Can I get you a drink?” “You got beer?” Michael blinked. “Is that alcohol? Alcohol is—” “Prohibited,” Rip grumbled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah.” Spotting Michael’s small couch, Rip flopped down on it, dust pluming off his filthy clothes, and propped muddy boots on the nearby coffee table. Michael gasped. Rip saw him. “Let me guess. No feet on the furniture?” “You’re leaving a mess.” Rip chuckled. “That’s me. Leaving a mess wherever I go.” Michael poured himself a drink of purified water, rich in nutrients, and gaped at his strange visitor. He was about to ask something—though he had no clue where to begin—when Rip said, “Let me ask you a question, Mike. You like living here?” Michael shrugged. “Where else would I live?” “Damn, man,” he huffed, and Michael’s heart hitched at the curse word. “This whole planet sucks. And trust me, I’ve been to some crappers before, but this ranks right up there on the scale of dimensions that are better off getting blacked out. I’ve only been here a couple hours, and this place is already about to drive me nuts.” Michael furrowed his brow. “A couple hours?” Rip stood, stretching his arms with a crack. “Looking for you, dude!” He clapped his calloused hands, then stretched his arms over his head. “But now I’ve found ya. So let’s get out of here, huh? This place gives me the creeps.” Michael set his drink down on the counter as Rip gestured for the door. “I’d say pack your stuff,” the old man said with a snort, “But I guess you ain’t got none to pack.” “Wait, what? Where are we going?” Rip narrowed his eyes. “You mean, you don’t know? Not a clue?” Michael balked. “I…” “You been getting the dreams, right? The one with all the colors, man.” Michael stiffened, his mind snapping back to a thousand dreams of rainbow-colored lights, calling to him, urging him to follow. “The dreams… The light!” “Yep. That’s the one. Well, let’s just say I’m here to make your dreams come true. There are more worlds than these, little brother. It’s my job to take you to them.” Michael stepped closer, breathing harder. “Why me?” “Who’s to say? Just the way the Boss wants it.” “Who’s your Boss?” Rip snarled and waved his hand. “Look, we’ll talk more about that later. Right now, all you gotta know is that you ain’t meant for this place, brother.” The shaggy man stood and observed the tidy apartment with obvious disdain, sticking a tongue to a canine. “This place is like a cage. You’re a tiger, Mike. A killer tiger, and it’s high time you got out and stretched your legs.” A mad glint crossed his beady eyes. “It’s time you hunt.” Michael shook his head, shrinking back into his kitchenette. “I don’t know what… That’s not me.” He gestured to the four walls that hemmed him in place. “This is my home. It’s all I’ve got. It’s all…” He slumped. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” Rip took two wide steps forward, invading Michael’s personal space. A rage flashed across the old man’s bearded face, and Michael feared an attack. Instead, the wiry man railed, “Ain’t you sick of this place? Come on, dude, you gotta feel it, all bottled up inside! You got a dark thinginside you, Mike. Those blasted machines—they’ve taken that away from you, but you gotta get it back!” Michael shook his head, more furiously. “No. This is—” Rip sent a backhand whizzing through the air, catching Michael hard on the chin. Dazed, for he’d never been hit before, Michael staggered back, his senses tingling. And something else tingled, too. A fury churned in his gut and his hands trembled. Rip barked, “Did you like that? Lets you know you’re really alive. Felt good, didn’t it?” Michael reached to his lip, touched, and pulled back a spot of red. He looked down to his chest, where another drop dotted his white shirt—the only spot of color on him, in his clothes, his room, his world. Beautiful red, just like Sara’s hair. He grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, it kinda did.” Rip reached out and Michael raised his hands in defense, but the wild man just wrapped tightly coiled arms around him and gave him a squeeze. “Ha, ha! Welcome to the fold, little brother!” Rip parted and gave Michael’s arms a strong pat. Michael beamed with pride.
* * *
Michael’s smile didn’t leave him, but remained fixed to his face the next day. Rip had stayed a while longer, talking at length about cryptic things like far off adventures and worlds to explore. Whenever Michael asked him directly about his origins and purpose, Rip dodged his questions. The best Michael could guess was that Rip was from the Wilds, and had every intention of taking Michael with him when he returned. They talked well into the night—well past curfew—until Michael had finally fallen asleep. He’d dreamt that night of other worlds, other cities, where the robots didn’t rule, where men and women walked freely at all hours of day and night. Where men and women met and fell in love. Everywhere in those dreams, the rainbow trailed like a ribbon, worming its way through every world, whispering promises to him of self-discovery and release. When Michael woke that morning, Rip was long gone. He instantly missed the old man, but didn’t fear. He knew Rip would be back. Michael caught a little more sleep during the ride to the tower, but still felt the effects of his long night. His co-workers remained stiff and attentive, but he slouched through the day, his writing sluggish, his mind distracted. His eye continued to drift toward his window and the city outside—and beyond that, the Wilds. His home, where he belonged. The grin broadened and he felt tears moisten the corners of his eyes. Whirring motors, a clank of mechanized feet stopping. A female voice asked, “Scribbler Morrison, Michael A. Detected increase in heartbeat, rise in adrenaline levels, and slight endorphin boost. Do you require assistance?” He faced the large photoreceptor on the robot, holding its cold gaze. “No, ma’am. I’m doing just fine. How are youtoday?” Every pencil squeaked to a halt. The oxygen left the room and Michael realized that everyone within hearing distance had stopped to stare at him, mouths hanging open in shock and alarm. Michael smirked, looking to the robot monitor again, waiting for an answer. The robot stood frozen, no doubt processing the question. After a moment, the pleasant female voice replied, “Invalid request. Please rephrase.” Michael set down his pencil and stood, straightening. It was then he realized how much taller he was than these androids. A few gasps accompanied his rise to his feet. He felt his co-workers’ eyes on him, sensed their fear. He was breaking the rules, changing the routine. It felt great. Resisting a laugh, he propped his hands on his waist, sucking in a deep breath. “Too tough? Howabout this one, then? Howabout you get off my back?” One woman nearby yelped and clamped a hand over her open mouth. Michael sneered, stepping closer to the robot, towering over it now. “I’m tired of you looking over my shoulder every minute of every day. You regulate what I eat, and when I eat it, when I sleep, when I wake up, who I can and cannot  be friends with—and I’m damn tired of it!” More cries from the crowd of spectators, a crowd that continued to grow as others across the room caught onto the scene. The robot merely leaned back, its single lens expanding and contracting with a comical buzzing noise as its processing unit worked to keep up with the confrontation. “Vulgar vernacular is not tolerated, Scribbler Morrison, Michael A. This is your first warning. After your second warning, you face a reprimand.” Michael laughed in the robot’s lens, exhilarated. Then he glimpsed three more monitors making a beeline his way. He blanched, his throat suddenly parched. Swallowing hard, he felt beads of sweat emerging on his forehead. His co-workers leaned over into other cubicles, whispering about him, murmuring about what had caused him to snap. Fear gripped him, strangling his throat, and Michael thought to apologize. To return to his numbers. To blend in. But he was done with that. Michael let loose a roar and lunged, shoving the robot into the others as they approached. Someone screamed at his outburst, and he raced for the door, yanking papers off desks and hurling them in the air. “Yaaah!” he exclaimed like an idiot, flinging pencils and garbage bins every which way, trashing the place as he made his dramatic exit. Behind him, the four robots worked to untangle their gangly limbs and give pursuit. He exited the room, looking either side in the hallway, trying to plot his next move. A chime sounded overhead and he anticipated a tower-wide announcement that they had a drone on the loose. Much to his amusement, though, he realized it was the lunch chime. Doors opened all along the hall as the conveyors started up. Drones exited in tidy rows, as usual, suddenly gawking at Michael as he stood still, sweating and out of breath. “Cease and desist all efforts to escape,” the monotone female voice commanded. He whipped his head about, spotting the droids shuffling out of the office, trying to navigate through the lunch lines to get to him. He grinned savagely. “Bring it on! Come and get me!” He let loose a throaty laugh, but gulped when he heard his name called. He turned and saw Sara amidst the countless drones, her bright red tresses separating her from the sea of white. “Sara!” She gaped at him, just as stunned as the others, but the hint of a smile upturned the corners of her lips. “What are you doing?” Michael shoved his way toward her and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of line. “Come on! We’re getting out of here!” She caught her breath, looking at him with wide fearful eyes. Fearful, but excited. “But-but where would we go?” “To the Wilds!” He laughed. Sara anxiously looked to either side as her co-workers paused to watch her reaction, frowning in disapproval. From behind, Michael heard the robots gaining ground. He took Sara’s other hand, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Sara,” he spoke softly. “Don’t you want to see what’s out there?” She lowered her head. The robots’ warnings grew louder. Closer. Michael knew he needed to run, but he couldn’t—not without her. At last she held his gaze, a devilish smile coming to life on her porcelain face. “I do,” she said, then giggled. He giggled, too, like a fool, and wrapped his arms around her, leading her away. “Come on!”

Copyright 2015 Greg Mitchell

Tune in Thursday, March 12 for the next installment!

Free Short Fiction--"Company Man: Part Two"

Welcome to the second installment of an all-new Rift Jump short story, exclusive to this site. In "Company Man", we explore the origins of the villainous Hooded Man from the original Rift Jump novel--now on sale in the new Revised and Expanded Edition .

Click here to read Part One of our tale.



PART TWO


A pleasant chime sounded once and the Scribblers vacated their cubicles in an orderly fashion, following the conveyor belt down to the cafeteria. Michael remained in his spot in line, collecting his pressed and recycled paper tray filled with his allotted rations of organic foods and purified water. No one spoke as they awaited their turns, quietly taking their arranged meals and finding their assigned tables. More robot monitors patrolled, doing their best to remain gentle observers and not interfere with the humans’ movement.Lunchtime was the different divisions’ only time to see anyone from another floor. The robots believed that humans were more productive when their brains received the stimuli of seeing a different face for a limited amount of time. Their lunch break was timed so that they had just enough interaction with their co-workers to promote a healthier outlook on their lot in life—but not too much time, lest they grow lax in socializing.Michael navigated through the narrow aisles, moving for his table. Already, he spotted her vibrant red tresses, and his heart quickened.Sara Theresea was already seated, eating her lunch. In a sea of white and light grey, her beautiful hair served as a startling splash of color. The robots discouraged color, perhaps because they were unable to fully appreciate the concept themselves, leaving the world drained of life and light. In Michael’s dreams, he saw brilliant rainbow-colored light, reaching out to him, entreating him to draw near.In the waking world, Sara was his rainbow.“Hi,” he greeted exuberantly, sitting across from her.She brightened, her wide blue eyes coming alive as though an internal switch had been flipped. “Hi. How are you?”“Fine. You?”“Good.”He nodded sheepishly, then began to eat. The two of them exchanged pleasantries, careful not to get too animated in their conversation. The robot monitors didn’t like that and were sure to break up any conversation they deemed too lively and unproductive. Nevertheless, Michael enjoyed his short time with Sara over the years and felt she did, as well. At least, he hoped she did. He and Sara both—everyone in their particular building, in fact—had been designated by The Company at birth to remain celibate. Their genetic structure had even been tampered with en utero, sterilizing them. Breeders were kept far away from drones like him. Children remained with their parents in familial camps until they reached the age of sixteen, then they were shuttled off to whatever branch The Company had selected for them. All parental contact was severed at that time, for fear emotional attachment would be detrimental to production. Michael hadn’t seen or spoken to either his mother or father in two decades. Every once in a while he thought of them, remembered his father’s reprimand to blend in, to not stand out.Not much of a legacy to leave one’s son, but it was the only legacy The Company allowed.“I saw something strange today,” Michael said after finishing a bite.Sara leaned closer, her face glowing with excitement. “Was it that paper outside earlier?”“Yes!”They leaned even closer together over their food, speaking in low conspiratorial tones, attracting the disapproving glares of their co-workers. “What do you think it was?” Sara asked in a whisper.Michael shrugged, still smiling. “I don’t know. Maybe it was like an advertisement for something? I saw moving pictures on it.”A chime indicated lunchtime was over. Immediately, the Scribblers gathered their trays and shuffled off to re-form in their lines. Michael and Sara, though, continued to sit for a moment more, their smiles slowly fading.“Well,” Sara began, a melancholy resignation in her voice, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Same place, same time?”Michael offered a smile, but failed to make it convincing. “Yeah.”They looked to each other, and Michael drank in the sight, knowing it would have to last him a day. At last, Sara waved and stood, joining her co-workers. Michael rose to his feet, watching her leave, those bright red tresses trailing after her.“Move it, Morrison,” one of his fellow Scribblers bellowed behind him. Michael gnashed his teeth in frustration, but quickly submitted, heading back to work.
* * *
Michael reclined in his single-seater car as it hovered on auto-pilot through the transit tubes. He watched the other drones returning home on pre-designated paths programmed into their vehicles. As they often did, his thoughts drifted to Sara, and he wondered where her vehicle was taking her. They’d been seated across from each other for ten years, but never spoke long enough to discuss where they lived. In fact, all he knew about her was that she worked on the thirty-sixth floor.That, and she was very pretty.But beauty didn’t factor into it. They were drones, not meant to be together. Feeling a rush of anger, he formed a fist before the familiar woman’s voice that was programmed into all of the machines soothingly chided him from the console. “Adrenaline levels spiking. Do you require assistance, Scribbler Morrison, Michael A?”He sighed. “No, ma’am.”Michael released his fist and cooled, closing his eyes for the rest of the trip home.
* * *
When he arrived at his apartment, Michael stepped out of his vehicle and watched as the compartment in the street opened, swallowing the car into its parking space until tomorrow morning when he was scheduled to leave for work.The Company had a fixed curfew in place in order to guarantee that their human charges achieved the maximum amount of sleep. Michael still had a couple hours before then that he could call his own, though vehicle travel was strictly prohibited in that time, to lessen the chances of an automobile accident—though that seemed unlikely since the machines operated all vehicles by remote, but Michael had learned to stop asking questions.Seth was likely coming over tonight for dinner. Michael saw his younger brother an average of four nights a week. They had another, elder brother Edward, but he had been reassigned to another city, and, per the robots’ orders, communication was entirely severed. Michael enjoyed spending time with Seth, though recognized that, at a moment’s notice, they could be separated by work—or, worse, liquidated if they proved unproductive. Michael had learned early in his life that everything was transitory, and it was best not to invest himself in anything or anyone.Another lesson from his father.He stepped up to the building door, ready to ascend to his apartment, when he heard someone clearing his throat, off to his side. Mildly curious, he looked up and beheld a most strange sight. He saw a man, but unlike any he’d ever seen before. The older man wore dark clothes, worn and dirtied pants and boots, with a slick black jacket. Under the jacket, the man was shirtless, his tanned skin adorned in mysterious markings—tattoos—that seemed to twist and swirl in the light. The man’s white hair and beard were long and braided and, in his cracked lips, he held a cigarette.The man was the living antithesis of The Company’s parameters for acceptable dress.Michael balked, sweat beading on his brow. “Um…hello.”The man cracked a grin, revealing extended canines. “Hey, there, Mike.”Michael looked behind him, to his side, then faced the strange man again. “Come again? Do I know you?”“Hell, little brother,” the man guffawed, stepping closer. “We’re like family!”“Cursing is prohibited,” Michael stammered, bewildered. Then he rambled, “So is smoking, long hair for males, tattoos, and exposing your skin.”The man stopped cold, clenched the cigarette in his yellow-stained teeth, and held out his hands, as if in surrender. “Ya got me, dude. I’m a regular law breaker.”Michael wasn’t sure what to do, his hand still hovering inches from the pad to unlock his apartment building. The man surprised him by jutting out a gnarled hand for him to shake. “Name’s Rip.”Michael eyed the hand suspiciously, wondering what germs might lurk there. Hesitantly, he reached out and shook the proffered hand. “Michael Morrison.”Rip chuckled. “Don’t you mean Scribbler Morrison, Michael A? Damn, little brother, what’d they do to you? Turned you into a regular pencil neck.”Michael shot worried glances over his shoulder, fearful that a monitor would be along at any moment, and catch him talking to this rugged fellow. Why is here? Why is he talking to me? Where did he come from?Then the realization struck. Michael exclaimed, “A-Are you from the Wilds?”Michael had only heard of the Wilds in his youth—a place far from the cities and the robot overseers, where trees and grass and animals still populated the Earth. According to fables that children tell each other, some humans actually left behind The Company and ventured out to the Wilds, to forge their own paths.It was his most favorite story. Needless to say, his father quashed such tales.Over the years, Michael had all-but forgotten about those bygone fairy tales, but if they were true—if a place like the Wilds really existed—then this smelly, dirty man before him must hail from there.Rip paused for a moment, then shrugged. “You could say that.”Excited now, Michael stepped closer. “Do you want to come in?” Now Rip sneered. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Copyright 2015

Come back Monday, March 9 for the third installment!

New Short Fiction--"Company Man: Part One"!

Hey, all. Last week saw the re-release of my multidimensional romance science fiction thriller extravaganza Rift Jump--now in a Revised and Expanded Edition. To help promote the release, I've got an exclusive never-before-seen Rift Jump short story--just for you, for free. For the next couple weeks, I'll post a new installment every Monday and Thursday, and I invite you to read along and gain some insight into the mysterious "Hooded Man" character that is found in the pages of Rift Jump.

As a Historian's Note, this story takes place before the events in Rift Jump, so consider this a nice little sampler of the ride in store for you in the book. And, as always, you can pick up the Revised and Expanded Edition in print and Kindle!

 
 PART ONE 

The Hooded Man stuck his hands in the deep pockets of his torn and dirtied long coat to combat the wintry wind. His hood kept his ears warm while concealing his upper facial features. He felt lost in the hood, cold and alone. Good. It was good to feel that way, isolated with his thoughts, his misery.He watched the log cabin burn out there in the Wilds, breathing in the thick smoke, watching as black swirls billowed high into the gray-cast skies. The flames of the makeshift funeral pyre warmed his face, but only made his heart icier. Meaner. It’s better this way. I can’t run from who I am anymore.All he had now were memories of that old life, and the events that led him here.
* * *
Fifteen Years Ago
Michael Morrison had been with The Company since he turned sixteen, the same as his peers. In the beginning, it had been slightly frightening, trying to please his robotic masters, producing his daily quota efficiently. But as with everyone in the cities, he’d been conditioned since birth to take his place in a white-washed cubicle with every other man and woman. At his father’s request, he’d done his best to not be exceptional at anything. Instinct told him to strive for greatness, but his father—a wise man—told him the machines didn’t like excellence, as it only served to make The Company uneven. No, it was better for all involved to remain as mundane—as average—as possible.Michael had rebuffed his father’s wishes for the longest time—the pride of youth talking—but now, at age thirty-six, he saw the value in blending in. The robots favored monochromatic. Everything, from the buildings, to the furniture, even down to the humans’ trim nylon long sleeve turtleneck suits, was stark white or slightly variant shades of light grey. Glancing across the aisles at all the other quiet and dutifully working Scribblers in the meticulously arranged row of cubicles, it was near impossible to distinguish identity.That day he sat at his own cubicle on the fortieth floor, busily scratching down the afternoon’s numbers. The entire floor was a perfect hush, the same as every other floor in the expanse of glass towers that glimmered along the carefully constructed cityscape. Michael glanced out his window and absently wondered what the other towers were working on. Indeed, he had very little understanding of what even the floors above and below him did all day. But the silent understanding persisted amongst everyone in The Company that they didn’t need to know. One simply had to fulfill his or her part of the operation and turn figures in on time.Only the soft scraping of pencils on paper disturbed the inhuman quiet. That, and the purring of motors as the robot overseers patrolled the aisles, their faces occupied only by a single fish-eye lens that contracted, zoomed, and observed the humans’ work.Michael concentrated on the world beyond, his mind drifting to thoughts of the past, before the machines ruled. By now, that bygone era was relegated to myth, but he wondered what it might be like to own your life—to be whoever you wanted to be.Up ahead, he noticed something fluttering on the breeze, passing by his window. Leaning closer, he squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the glass towers. It looked…well, he didn’t know what it was. A piece of paper? Litter was strictly forbidden and heavily policed. How odd that, perhaps, this one sheet of paper had escaped the notice of all the robots in the city, to soar unhindered on the wind.Free.The paper twirled in his sight, impossibly halting in the breeze, dancing there right before his eyes, as if putting on a private show for him. He marveled as he saw images within the paper, like a holomovie. He strained his sight, trying to decipher the flickering visions, wondering what they showed. What they meant.Then, just as strangely as the paper paused, it took off again, riding another gust of wind, out of his sight. Michael nearly stood to follow it with his eyes, fascinated by the odd thing, but stopped short. He sensed one of the machines approaching his work space and stiffened, turning away from his daydreaming look out the window, resuming his work and trying to maintain his composure.The robot stopped, its servos whirring. From chest speakers, a sickeningly pleasant female voice spoke, “Scribbler Morrison, Michael, A. Sensors indicate an increase in visual stimuli, resulting in decrease of motor functions. Do you require assistance?”“No, ma’am,” he muttered, his heart picking up. He huddled even more over his desk, trying to concentrate on his work.“Detecting agitated heart rate.”“I-I’m fine,” he stammered. “Just…it won’t happen again.”The robot inclined its head, that large bulbous eye regarding him coldly. “Continue function.”“Yes, ma’am.”Internal gears turned and the robot carried on, continuing its patrol of the cubicles. Michael felt a flush of heat warm his cheeks, and saw the Scribbler across the aisle shoot him a scolding look.Michael frowned and continued his function.But his mind remained on that strange sheet of paper…

Copyright 2015 Greg Mitchell

See you on Thursday for Part Two!

Release Day!

Today's the day! Available now in print and ebook is the brand-new Rift Jump: Revised and Expanded Edition !

This new edition has been updated with expanded scenes, some all new scenes, deeper insights, and a richer mythology--all leading up to this summer's big release of Rift Jump, Volume 2: Sara's Song!

As part of our relaunch, starting Monday I'll be posting an all-new Rift Jump serialized story right here on this very blog--for free, yo! Be sure to come back for that.

In the meantime, read more about the Expanded Edition right here, and head out to buy your copy today! Available in print, Kindle, and Smashwords.

ABOUT THE BOOK: A sinister threat is growing in the void between realities, and Michael Morrison has been recruited to stop it. Ripped from his own violent life, he is sent rift jumping to other worlds, seeking out the agents of the Dark and putting them to an end by any means necessary. After rescuing restless daydreamer Sara Theresea, Michael brings her along as he battles Civil War spaceships, sea serpents, superpowered humans, and even his own duplicate from a parallel timeline. But the darkness Michael fights is growing within him too, calling him to some dark destiny. If he is to change his fate, he must learn to love and let the Man in the Stetson guide him to become the warrior of the Light he was always meant to be.

New Interview at Phasmafic!

Writer and pal TW Johnson (check out his weird and creepy new ebook Othveria ) has interviewed me over at his site, Phasmafic about my latest release HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murder . It's a pretty intense interview, delving into my musings on horror, my relationship with self-publishing, but mostly about some of the more "controversial" elements of HITMEN (at least from a Christian perspective). I asked TW not to pull any punches and I think the dialogue that came out of the exchange is an important one to have. Not sure we came up with any answers, but it certainly produced some food for thought.

Head over there to check out the interview and, while you're at it, why don't you order a copy of HITMEN ? It's available in print and on Kindle.

Major Announcement: "Rift Jump"--Revised and Expanded Edition!

2015 is shaping up to be a big year for me. In case you haven't heard the news, I've got my second Syfy Original Movie set to premiere this summer (more on that as we get closer to the debut). Not only that, this will be the year that I wrap up my sci-fi/action adventure Rift Jump series.

As you may or may not know, Rift Jump began as a series of stories I wrote in high school. Over the years, I added to the mythology, never intending to publish; it was simply something that amused me. But, back in 2012, I began collecting those old stories and giving them a fresh polish and the first volume of Rift Jump was published by Splashdown Darkwater.

Once I made the decision to publish Rift Jump, I knew it was going to be a two-parter. I had a very definite story that I wanted to tell, featuring my star-crossed inter-dimensional lovers, Michael and Sara. Later this year, I'll be releasing Rift Jump, Volume 2: Sara's Song (check out the sweet cover art by Thomas Mason here).

Leading up to that release will be a few surprises: the first being today's big announcement--In a few weeks, I will be re-releasing the first Rift Jump novel under my own banner, Genre Experience, and it will be a Revised and Expanded Edition! Here's your first look at the (slightly altered) cover:


"So why a new edition?" you may ask. I'm generally hesitant to re-visit my work, but in the writing of Sara's Song, I found myself taking some twists and turns I had not anticipated when writing the first book three years ago. Looking back, there were some things I wished I'd built up a little bit more in that original tale in view of what was to come in the concluding installment of Michael and Sara's journey across the multiverse. Grace (at Splashdown Darkwater) and I had been talking about moving Rift Jump over to my own line (that began with last year's release of HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murde r) and I decided that, if I were going to be making the move and creating a new edition anyway, now would be the perfect time to go in and make those subtle--but important--changes to the original book.

So what's in the new edition?  A few brand-new scenes, some expanded scenes, some expanded characters, and a richer mythology that should excite fans of The Coming Evil Trilogy ... Also, the new edition will include a new introduction written by me, and conclude with an excerpt from the upcoming Sara's Song. I'm confident that, together, these two books will make a very complimentary coupling--much like the heroes whose story they tell.

What's NOT in the new edition? Sadly, to make room for the new material--and to streamline the overall product--I'm losing the appendices found in the original edition: namely the completely unmodified original "Rift Jump" short story I wrote way back in high school (it's hysterically awful :)), and bittersweetly, the humorous send-up "Rift Jump: Ninjas" written by my superbly talented wife Meghan. Cutting these was a hard decision and not made lightly, but ultimately, I feel, the right one.

All is not lost: that first edition of Rift Jump, complete with those rare short stories, will be available for just a little while longer. At least a week or so--but likely longer, until the release of the new edition. So consider this your final chance to pick up the soon-to-be-out-of-print first edition of Rift Jump from Splashdown Darkwater. You can get it in paperback or Kindle while the gettin's good.

As for the Revised and Expanded Edition, stay tuned here for the big release as well as a couple of surprises--all leading up to the end of an era (at least for me), Rift Jump, Volume 2: Sara's Song !

Something's On the Horizon...

Got a big announcement tomorrow--here's a sneak peek:

New Anthology Out!

I know what you're thinking. You got a little bit of cash for Christmas and you're thinking, "Greg, what do I do with this?" Well, I'll tell you :) Just in time for Christmas, the new superhero vs monster (in this case, robots) anthology Metahumans vs Robots from Lion's Share Press has invaded Kindle.


I'm excited to see this anthology hit the streets as it features my short story "A Whole Other Animal" starring my own superhero creation Light Sphere. Light Sphere played a minor role in my 2012 sci-fi actioner Rift Jump and has a cameo in the next (and final) Rift Jump adventure. And speaking of Rift Jump, only a couple days ago I wrote those blessed words "The End", signaling the end of Rift Jump, Volume 2: Sara's Song . Sure, there's editing to be done, but the book is written.

I started writing Rift Jump (and Light Sphere, for that matter) stories back in junior high/high school, and to wrap up the adventures of Michael and Sara in Sara's Song about 20 years later was bittersweet. It's a massive tome and a wild, emotional ride through the multiverse and I can't wait for you to check it out. But that's next year. In the meantime, pick up your copy of Metahumans vs Robots and follow Light Sphere on a darker, more introspective adventure. I've got at least one more Light Sphere story lined up in another monster-fightin' anthology, so stay tuned for that.

Merry Christmas and thank you for all the support throughout the years. As a parting gift, in case you missed it last week, here is the epic cover art for the upcoming Rift Jump, Volume 2: Sara's Song as done by Thomas Mason!

Coming in 2015!

Season's Greetings, yo! Where has the year gone?

Lookin' around the blog these days and things are lookin' pretty sparse, but fret not. Things are hopping over here. I've got a handful of short stories due out any minute now in some fantastic trades, and I've written (and, this month, gone to the set of) my second Syfy Original Movie, slated to air next summer. It has been a crazy time with deadlines, notes, and rewrites, but in the midst of it, I'm still plugging away on next year's big novel release: Rift Jump Volume 2: Sara's Song ! Not ready to say too much about it yet, but, seeing as how it's Christmas and all, I'm putting on my Santa hat and bringing you this exclusive cover art for the new book, as done by comic book artist Thomas Mason! Behold!


Cover Art for "Rift Jump Volume 2: Sara's Song"--art by Thomas MasonI've been working on this bad boy for a couple years now and it's shaping up to be an insane ride through the multiverse. More monsters, heroes, aliens, and worlds-shattering events than you can shake a stick at! I'm nearing the finish line and even though I've had the major outline of this story in my head for fifteen years, it continues to surprise me. Lots of twists and turns. A lot of fun.

"But what's Rift Jump?" you might ask.

Rift Jump is my 2012 sci-fi/action novel, released by Splashdown Darkwater. It tells the story of lone inter-dimensional traveler Michael Morrison as he seeks to eradicate the servants of the enigmatic "Rage" that exists in the void In-Between the worlds of the multiverse. Michael's battle is two-fold as he's also been called by the Rage to lead Its army of monsters. Burdened by his dark destiny and his own sinister impulses, Michael eventually shares the weight of his quest with Sara Theresea, a fearful girl who reminds Michael of his long lost innocence--but is also a painful reminder of Michael's darkest secret. The two fall recklessly in love and set off across the multiverse, battling monsters and aliens, while also trying to overcome their own insecurities and personal demons.

Really, you should just go buy and read it, right? After all, it's available in print and Kindle!

Rift Jump Volume 2: Sara's Song is the direct follow-up, and will also conclude the series, but I'm making sure we go out with a bang. Volume 1 was, in many respects, a prologue to the Rift Jump story that I've always wanted to tell, and Volume 2 hits the ground running.

Not only does Sara's Song serve as a time-bending finale to the Rift Jump sequence, longtime readers will also start to see threads from my other stories--including The Coming Evil Trilogy and this year's big release HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murder --coming together. In case you haven't noticed, I've got a mega-myth developing across all of my  novels (so far) and most of my shorter tales and, yes, we're all building towards something. Sara's Song is the key to unlocking a lot of those larger story elements and will lay the groundwork for the next original novel that I'm already knee-deep in as we speak.

Now that you're all excited, it's the perfect opportunity to get caught up! Books make great Christmas presents! :p

Sales pitch, aside, Merry Christmas, ever'body and, in case I don't see you before then, Happy New Year! 2015 is already shaping up to be a big year.


"Snakehead Swamp" DVD Available Now--And An Announcement!

Happy October, ever'body! No secret that this is my favorite time of year. The air turns crisp, the leaves change beautiful shades of red, orange, and yellow--and Halloween is finally upon us: The one night a year where everyone sees the world the way I see it all year long :p

Already this is shaping up to be an eventful October for me. The wife and kids and I made our yearly sojourn to nearby Pumpkin Hollow where we perused the pumpkin patch (no Great Pumpkin sighting as of yet, but I remain hopeful), went on a hay ride, charted the corn maze, and sampled the fine pumpkin pie cuisine with an apple cider smoothie chaser. I've got a stack of monster movies to work my way through this season, watching in a darkened living room by light of an electric jack-o'lantern. And, of course, we're all preparing for The Big Night around the Mitchell home, stocking up on candy treats to hand out to our neighbors.

On top of such seasonal goodness, today marks the street release for my first Syfy Channel Original movie--Snakehead Swamp! The killer fish flick is now for sale at Amazon (and stores, you know) and also available to rent through Redbox. You've gotta see it to believe it! To read up on the movie, read my earlier blog post.

In related news--I'm writing my second Syfy feature as we speak! It's still too early in the process to go into specifics, but I've just turned in my first draft and I'm having great fun working on it so far. The road to making a movie is a long and winding one, though, and everything is subject to change, so I can't say much with confidence right now except to say that, no, it's not a sequel to Snakehead Swamp, but a whole new concoction of B-movie terror. I hope you'll all check it out once it finally airs (sometime next year, is the current plan). More on that as soon as the red tape is lifted. But for now--top secret!


In the meantime, go and check out Snakehead Swamp, or pick up a copy of my latest monster novel release HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murder ! Both are fun treats, especially for this time of year.

But, most importantly, enjoy the Halloween season. As the wind blows cold and the days grow short, this is a perfect time to hold your loved ones close by a warm fire, share fanciful stories of mystery and suspense, and drink a nice mug of warm cider together.

Don't waste it :)