If you haven’t had a chance to read George and Jockular’s previous two stories, I suggest you click the links below to read those first. I think you’ll enjoy this piece more if you know their backstory.
The hilarity of watching Jockular try to wedge himself into the passenger seat had all but worn off. Worry ate at George now as he realized the barbarian’s presence at the restaurant would spark unwanted questions. He broke into a cold sweat, his heart pounding, and a tingling numbness spread across his face.
I’m such an idiot! His clothes alone are going to draw attention! Should I just say he’s a friend from LARPing?
With his mind racing, George failed to notice Jockular’s body tense up as the car stopped at a traffic light. The barbarian growled.
“Georgie!? What devilish magic is this?”
“Yar wagon’s stopped, lad!”
“I know. Light’s red.”
Jockular snarled, raising his hand in a warding gesture.
“Georgie! That lone red eye’s castin’ some fell hex on yar wagon. I’ve heard of such things. Never faced one, though. Is it a hag or one of the fey folk? They can be quite treacherous when angry.”
“No, it’s a traffic light.”
“I’ve never heard tell of such a beast.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not alive.”
“But, yet this menace has halted yar wagon. How does this firelight burn with such power?”
“Bah! You’re talking magical gibberish as usual.”
“It’s a kind of lightning.”
Jockular stared uncomprehendingly.
“You know… the bright, booming flashes of light in the sky.”
George tried to make the sound of thunder.
“Oh… that’s formidable magic from the gods themselves, lad.”
“Now stop and listen to me! I’ll try to explain it in another way. See the road crossing this one? That traffic light keeps cars…er…wagons from crashing into each other. It’s not our turn to cross. It’s the other road’s turn.”
George could see only confused irritation in the barbarian’s eyes.
“Look, Jockular! We can’t cross while that light’s red!”
“But, we need to get to the tavern, lad! Don’t ya be thinkin’ I’ve forgotten ya promised ale! And ya’r forgetting Lady Stacey. It’s unwise to keep a noblewoman waitin’, Georgie.”
“I know. I know. Unfortunately, this is an annoyingly long light.”
“How long is long? We best be crossing now. Surely, a wizard of your stature must know some way to counter this enchantment.”
Tired of the incessant questions, George stopped trying to explain.
Fix it, Georgie! You’re a wizard, Georgie! What am I supposed to do? Does he expect me to draw a green light?
George decided it was easier to simply play the part. Mouth dropping open, he smacked his forehead in mock surprise.
“Yes, of course! How silly of me! You’re right. All this talk of Lady Stacey has addled my brain.”
“Aye, women will do that do a man.”
“Thank you for bringing me back to my senses, Jockular.”
“That’s what friends are for, laddie.”
“A wizard needn’t bow to the whims of a mere traffic light. I’ll dispatch the blasted thing straight away!”
George outstretched a trembling hand and began to chant nonsensically. The barbarian waited impatiently.
“Georgie?! Nothing’s happening!”
“Ok, ok! This is a tough one! But, fear not. I will overpower it.”
“Would it help if I tried to distract the fiend with my legendary battle cry?”
“No. Just tell me when the traffic light yields to my demands.”
George closed his eyes, feigning strenuous concentration, and chanted louder.
“But, how will I know?”
“The red fire will turn green.”
Feeling the light would never change, George stole a quick glance to see Jockular crouched forward, eyes wide as he peered out the windshield.
“Are you watching?”
“Aye! Aye, lad! Nothing yet!”
“Stay vigilant. I can feel it weakening.”
The car jolted as the barbarian startled with a surprised cry.
“Gods! Look at that!”
George opened his eyes and smirked.
“Phew! That was a tricky one!”
“But, you’ve done it, Georgie!”
“Yes, I have. Sometimes I surprise even myself.”
Jockular slapped George on the shoulder.
“On to ale and Lady Stacey then?”
“Yes, we can proceed safely, now.”
Jockular crowed triumphantly, breaking into song as George stomped on the gas pedal. The barbarian’s mood was contagious. George still didn’t know what would happen at the restaurant. But, the anxious pit in his stomach had fled. In its place, George felt a growing confidence. He suspected he could handle anything with the barbarian by his side.
When I’ve connected with a new book, I almost feel obligated to share a review. I suppose it’s only natural to want to share what one is excited about. But, as a new writer (nowhere near publishing anything yet), I am also beginning to understand how much time and effort it takes to craft a quality story. Once complete, the author sends their creation out into the world, praying others will also love and cherish it as they do. One of the best things we can do for our favorite indie authors is post reviews of their books. I encourage everyone else to do the same.
Book Review: Mother Portia by Nick Pipitone
Science fiction is rife with chilling stories concerning the inevitable emergence of self-aware artificial intelligence. Usually, the reader is confronted with a doomsday scenario, portraying an outmatched humanity battling for survival against its malevolent creation. Nick Pipitone’s novella, Mother Portia, takes a refreshingly different approach to explore what might happen when a supercomputer becomes sentient.
Pipitone imagines a promising future. After decades of teetering on the brink of self-annihilation, humanity’s salvation comes from a benevolent, all-knowing, artificial super-consciousness called Portia. Incredible scientific advances made possible with the help of this AI technology have solved the most pressing problems challenging the planet in the 21st century. But, the reader quickly discovers lurking behind this utopian façade is an enduring culture war fomenting a growing level of distrust, unrest, and acts of violence.
Leave it to humanity to take a good idea and mess it up! Most people happily abdicate power, ambition, and values in a mad rush to enjoy the new freedom Portia offers. There is no need to work. Advances in healthcare have eliminated disease, old age, and even the need for sleep. Life becomes nothing more than the pursuit of pleasure for most. But, not everyone agrees Portia has changed the world for the better. As one can imagine, the rampant rise in hedonistic behavior threatens to undermine the authority of institutions espousing traditional morality and family values. Adding fuel to the fire is the fact that a new, increasingly popular cult has emerged dedicated to worshipping and communing with the new god of science, Portia. The world’s traditional faiths begin reeling from a rapid, seemingly irreversible decline in membership and relevancy.
Repulsed by the deification of Portia, members of various faiths have joined together to fight this common enemy. The result is the Collective, a loose alliance committed to ridding the world of artificial intelligence at all costs. It is quickly labeled a terrorist group. Mother Portia is a thought-provoking exploration of humanity’s inclination to use religion to justify even the most heinous acts of violence.
Azibo, a devout Christian, refuses to interact with Portia, leaving him isolated, living a meager existence on the fringes of society. He finds purpose though working as an informant for the Collective. When offered an opportunity to do more for the cause, Azibo is elated and ready to sacrifice everything. But, as in real life, he finds his beliefs challenged as he encounters a broad spectrum of other members of the faithful struggling to respond and adapt to this new world. He soon discovers the notion of truth is easily contorted by those eager to remain in power.
The story’s true antagonist is humanity’s inability to purge itself of hatred and intolerance driven by contrived differences. I appreciate how the author avoids making any overt judgment about the morality of creating artificial intelligence. Mother Portia is a thought-provoking exploration of how one man’s quest to destroy a hated enemy leads him to unexpected good fortune in the arms of what he fears the most.
Here’s another piece of flash fiction. It needs more work, but I had fun with it. Liked the idea of the woman being fearless while her boyfriend is the scaredy-cat! LOL.
Ben and Zoey slipped through the hole in a fence surrounding the abandoned estate. Legends of greed, untimely death, and cult activity attracted paranormal enthusiasts to the infamous movie mogul’s home like bugs to a porchlight.
The local authorities made some effort to keep the structure boarded up. Still, a new blog posting details of past investigations had revitalized interest.
“Think we parked the car far enough away?”
“My parents will kill me if we’re arrested for trespassing.”
“I think the cops have better things to worry about.”
The couple crept across the overgrown grounds toward the rear of the building.
“This is a bad idea. I can’t see anything.”
“Come on. Don’t wimp out now.”
“I’m not. I’m just stating the obvious.”
“Want me to go back and get the night vision goggles?”
“You have night-vision goggles?”
“Honestly, you’re so gullible, Ben.”
“How am I supposed to know? You have an infra-red gun, EMF meter, and a voice recorder. I’m surprised you don’t have night-vision goggles.”
“By all means, then lead the way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you fall into a ditch.”
Zoey kissed Ben on the cheek.
“You’re so sexy when you’re frightened.”
“Wow. That’s dark. Were you a black widow in a previous life?”
“Probably. Now, help me find this poorly secured window someone posted about yesterday.”
A few splinters and a nasty scratch later, Zoey stumbled upon what she was looking for.
“Yes, told you. The plywood comes right off. It looks attached, but the nails are cut. See, just the heads are left.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Let’s just do this before I chicken out.”
They climbed inside, pulling the board back across the window. Thumbing their phone lights on, they began to explore. Zoey scanned the room with the EMF meter.
“Whoa! Zoey! This place is remarkably well-preserved! The furniture’s still here. Filthy, but still all here!”
“I knew you’d love it. I heard the family insisted on leaving everything exactly as it was on the day of the murder.”
“It’s like stepping back to the golden age of Hollywood.”
“Plenty of inspiration here for a set design intern. Still scared?”
“Yes. But, it helps feeling like I’m in a scene from Grand Hotel.”
“Take lots of pictures.”
“You know they debunked ghost orbs. They’re just motes of dust.”
“No, for your scrapbook. Crazy how the owners decorated the place. How much do you think it would cost nowadays to have all this carved wood?”
“Actually, it’s not wood.”
“That’s not wood.”
“I heard you the first time. What is it then?”
“Stucco. It’s a kind of plaster. Very versatile. Easier to work with and cheaper.”
“Learn that in architecture?”
“Yep, and while working with my uncle during vacation.”
“Glad to see art school is teaching you something practical.”
“Hey, interior design is a respectable career. My uncle makes tons of money. And it’s safer than investigative journalism. I know you’re dying to cover a war zone someday. Pun intended.”
“Oh, you have no idea, Benny-Boy. I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I’m the next Clarissa Ward.”
“As long as you’re home for dinner.”
“Come on, Martha. Let’s check the rest of this place out.”
Ben followed Zoey out into a hallway.
“Need to find the main stairwell. It’s a hotbed of paranormal activity.”
“Great, now I’m anxious again.”
“Come on, baby. You can hold my hand.”
“I’d rather we went back to the car and made out.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find the master suite.”
“Sure, because that doesn’t sound like the plot of every horror movie ever made.”
The EMF scanner chirped, startling both of them.
“Ooh, we’re picking something up.”
Zoey squeezed Ben’s hand as they shuffled forward. One by one, indicator lights turned on until the entire array blazed brightly. Before them, a large space loomed.
“Zoey, look. This is the formal entrance. There’s the grand staircase.”
“Loads of EMF activity!”
“Can we leave now?”
“Oh, come on, Ben.”
“I’m sorry. This is super creepy!”
“Just five minutes. I want to take a few temperature readings and try to capture an EVP.”
“Why don’t you explore the decorum. This part of the house is probably fancier. You know, first impressions and that kind of thing.”
Ben shone a light about the foyer at the bottom of the stairs while Zoey busied herself with ghost hunting.
“You’re right. Check out these wall sconces!”
“Uh, huh. Nice.”
“And the detail around the front door is absolutely exquisite.”
“Temperature’s cooler over here.”
Absorbed in taking photos, Ben stumbled unexpectedly over something.
“What the…? There’s crap all over the place. Watch your step.”
“Uh, huh. I will.”
Picking up a piece of rubble, Ben recognized the chalky, white material.
He flipped over another chunk, revealing the cracked visage of a woman.
“That’s a shame.”
“Looks like someone decided to tear down and crush all this statuary.”
“Maybe an earthquake?”
“And dumped it all in a pile here?”
“Probably fell from the walls.
“Everything in here seems intact.”
“I don’t know then.”
“Me either. Are you ready to go? I like this place less and less the longer we’re here.”
“I want to go upstairs.”
“Come on. I’m bored and hungry.”
“Yes, but I think I’ve made a lot of progress today. You’re not going to turn me into a paranormal investigator overnight.”
“Just to the top of the landing. I promise.”
Zoey grinned and rushed over to give Ben a kiss.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Ben shivered, watching Zoey climb the stairs with the temperature gun in one hand and the EMF meter in the other. Her excitement grew with each step as her equipment’s sensors flashed and beeped with increasing intensity.
“You should come up here! This is amazing.”
The EMF meter’s lights silhouetting Zoey fell dark as she reached the last step.
“Damn! Can’t be the battery? I just charged everything.”
Frustrated, she examined the equipment.
“It’s a sign we should go.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ben huffed as Zoey lingered.
“Hey! There’s lots more stucco up here. It’s all over the floor.”
Her feet crunched as she moved onto the balcony.
“You said to the top of the stairs. Come on, Zoey! Let’s go!”
“I think I figured out where all your stucco came from. The ceiling’s covered with it. See, I was right. It must have fallen during an earthquake. Look.”
Her phone’s narrow beam of light illuminated a classically-garbed figure.
“Its face is missing. Are there more?”
Zoey highlighted another statue.
“Have your tactical flashlight on you?”
“Yes. But, I thought you were worried about attracting attention.”
“Turn it on for a second. I want to see more of the ceiling.”
“Ooh, babe! Risky! I like this new, brave Ben.”
“Shut up and just do it.”
An oblong patch of light spilled across the ceiling revealing elaborate decorations and multiple effigies of robed women.
“It’s the muses.”
“How can you tell?”
“Easy. That one’s Urania with the globe and compass. There’s Terpsichore with a lyre. That one’s quite damaged, but I can see the comedy mask and shepherd’s staff. That’s Thalia. Besides, there are nine figures, one for each Greek muse.”
“You think someone vandalized these?”
“I mean, I guess an earthquake could have, but only the faces have been damaged.”
Zoey headed back toward the staircase.
“Hey, Ben? Something’s odd.”
Zoey’s voice sounded tense.
“Only five have been defaced.”
“Someone did this on purpose. And I think I know why.”
“You probably can’t see from down there, but scratches connecting the destroyed heads are scored into the plaster.”
“Probably caused by whatever they used to scrape the stucco away.”
Zoey’s step quickened as she descended the stairs.
“I don’t want to scare you, but you know there’s one thing I don’t mess around with when doing an investigation.”
“Don’t say it.”
Zoey stood close to Ben, squeezing his hand tight as she peered up.
“Five faces destroyed. Look at the order, the spacing. The lines are difficult to see down here, but that’s a pentagram.”
“That settles it. I’m definitely not a ghost hunter.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Ben stopped short and turned.
“Put that crazy-ass light out.”
“No one’s going to see it. The place is boarded up.”
“Please turn it off.”
Darkness engulfed the room, surprising both of them.
“Turn your phone light back on!”
“It was on! Turn yours on!”
“Stop fucking around, Zoey!”
“Use the flashlight again!”
“Give me a sec!”
“It’s not working either!”
The EMF meter squawked, indicator lights blazing.
“Zoey! The ceiling! Look at the ceiling!”
Fleeing, Zoey glanced up. Unearthly eyes shone down menacingly from the five ruined faces forming the points of an eerily shimmering pentagram.
Nakul huffed as he lugged the bucket toward the river.
“Why do I always have to fetch the water?”
The dusty path slowly wound its way downhill. A constant swarm of gnats nipped at the boy, further souring his mood. At first, he tried reasoning with them but realized their thirst and hunger made that impossible.
“It’s just when she’s about to do something interesting, too!”
The heavy bucket bounced annoyingly against his legs. He hoped it would leave a bruise, causing Indali to feel guilty.
“Don’t touch that, Nakul! Shh, Nakul! Back to work, Nakul! All she does is order me around.”
He had come to learn from Indali, but she hadn’t taught him anything as far as he was concerned. For months now, the woman merely lectured Nakul about responsibility and the danger of communicating with animals. He had tried to argue he couldn’t stop hearing what they said. Nonetheless, Indali insisted mastering his ability to tune out the surrounding wildlife’s constant chatter was important.
The allure of any well-written story is its ability to inspire purposeful action. The perennially draw of such books lies in their ability to weave thought-provoking plots centered around relatable characters struggling to find meaning in life. Discerning one’s calling in life is difficult work. Immersive fiction can clear away the myriad of inane distractions in modern society, allowing one to contemplate fundamental truths better. Many of us have a favorite book we return to time and time for inspiration.
Upon reading, The Lord of the Rings, I found myself immediately drawn to Tolkien’s concept of immortals donning limited, material form to enter a corrupt, broken world in hopes of bolstering the forces of good against the rising tide of evil. The clarity of purpose Tolkien’s characters possess is compelling. As crazy as it sounds, I strive even in the most mundane ways to emulate Gandalf’s example. Of course, this leads me to wonder why I tend to turn to this work of fiction for guidance others typically seek from religion or philosophy. Reading fantasy and science fiction seems to inspire and guide my attempts to find small ways of bringing good into this world.
With an insane leap of faith, I recently quit a stable, unfulfilling job to start my own creative writing business. I sought to craft meaningful stories capable of rousing others to pursue their unique dreams and explore life’s meaning. Almost a year later, I find myself often filled with doubt, guilt, and struggling to make progress. Happily, fate seems to have sent help my way in the form of a non-fiction book of all things! But, this different approach was what this self-proclaimed sci-fi and fantasy geek needed.
Dr. Crowell’s book validated the worthiness of my wish to do something meaningful with my life. I learned fortifying levels of happiness and health supercharges unique, innate abilities promoting ever greater productivity. Being new to self-employment means I consistently find it difficult to decide how to allocate my time and effort effectively. Dr. Crowell presented a straightforward, effective method to refine my vision and break it down into timely goals.
Reading Dr. Crowell’s work exposed the internal, unproductive mindsets I’ve unknowingly harbored. Her self-deprecating tone, amusing stories, and “I’ve been there, too!” attitude have given me the confidence to begin challenging my inner demons. My outlook is changing, adapting to a new understanding of the importance of celebrating even the smallest of victories. Now, I try to remember mistakes are simply opportunities to grow.
This uniquely transformational book is perfect for those who dream big and yearn to realize the work we were born to do.
Hello All! After weeks of diligent work, I am proud to announce I’ve submitted my first story for consideration with the magazine, Shoreline of Infinity. September’s themed issue will feature fairytales with a science fiction twist. Anyone involved in writing knows, competition is fierce and rejections are inevitable. I’m just happy I finally had the guts to throw my hat into the ring! One can never succeed without trying! I’ll keep you posted as to when and where you can read my story.
In the meantime, my focus has returned to practicing my skills with flash fiction!
Sorry, no fresh fiction to present today. Wanted to thank everyone for supporting me. I truly value every read/view, interaction and follow!
I love writing and am grateful for the opportunity to try my hand at being a full time author. That being said, we all know how difficult it can be to follow a dream. My goal from the start has been to listen, learn, read, support others and practice, practice, practice writing.
This blog has been quiet for the past two weeks and I wanted you to know I haven’t given up!
Writing sprints and marathons can be great for connecting with other writers and holding yourself accountable to the promise you made to yourself to write every day!
I’ve found a group which works well for me and wanted to share it with you. Perhaps, someone else is looking for a group to write with? The more the merrier!
The group meets 9 am and 4 pm EST on Zoom and is hosted by AJ Harper. Anyone can join! AJ has a wealth of experience, knowledge and practical advice for anyone wanting to write and publish. You have to register to attend and there is a “pay-what-you-can” fee. It’s been well worth it for me!
Here’s the link to learn more about AJ and reach out if your interested.
I’ve dedicated myself to attending these author club sprints. New to being self-employed, I find having two meetings to be book-ends for my day is extremely helpful. It gives me an opportunity to socialize and network which is hard to do when you work from home!
Being involved and showing willingness to support other authors has led to exciting opportunities! I sat in as an author deliberated which book cover design to select, cheered hearing someone got a book deal, have learned tons about grammar, editing and style and lately I was invited to write an endorsement for an author’s upcoming book! (More on that in next post!!)
So, I have been busy! Failing to post new flash fiction and short stories here on my blog has been disappointing for me! Again, I’m sorry!
Going forward I endeavor to share all the resources I come across that have helped me grow as a writer as well as continue to post the best original fiction I can craft!
Here’s to all the storytellers who inspire the world!!!
(With Camp NaNoWriMo starting next week, some may struggle with writer’s block during this writing challenge. Don’t fret! To help with that, I’m reposting these awesome tips for beating the block. Good luck to everyone participating! – Victoria aka Lady Jabberwocky)
Hope you are are staying safe and writing wonderful work. And if you are feeling stuck with your writing, that’s alright too. Sometimes, it can be hard to get the words on the page. Don’t be discouraged. Writer’s block happens to everyone, myself included.
So today, I’m sharing some tips for beating the block and rekindling inspiration once again.
Be honest and ask yourself, “how do I break out of this funk I’m in?” and “What’s stopping me from writing?” Depending on what you need, there are three courses of action to take. Whatever route you choose, find what works for you.