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The Fern Flower Summons (2 of 5)

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This is the second installment of five. Here is the link for part one for anyone who missed it.


The Fern Flower Summons”(Part Two)

1800 hours, June 19, 2433 

“Connor! You’re home!”

Connor’s little sister tackled him as he entered their family’s modest living quarters. 

“Hey, Phoebe.”

“Please help me with my presentation! Mom’s useless.” 

“Sure, what’s it about?”

“How interacting with parallel universes will change society.”

“Really?”

“Hey! I’m not little anymore. I’m learning important stuff.”

“Relax, I know. It’s just we also talked about Para in literature class today.”

Phoebe beamed triumphantly. 

“I’m catching up to you! We’re studying the same things!”

“Guess you should advance your application to Bright Star Academy now. Well, only if you can stomach spending time with condescending jerks.”

Phoebe frowned.

“Is anyone nice there?”

“The teachers can be.”

“Oh, Connor.”

Her genuine concern touched him.

“Don’t worry. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’ve got an idea for my presentation!”

“What?”

“Contact with Para means we can travel to all sorts of parallel worlds. Nobody has to live in space anymore!”

“Always the optimist. Hope you’re right.”

“If you set your mind to it, you can do anything.”

“Can you convince Mom and Dad to give me money for transport to the surface?”

“The surface?! Wow! Why?”

“School outing.”

“Where? To do what?”

“Professor Dabrowski thinks myths and folklore about fairies are based on actual historical encounters with dimensional rifts into Para. He wants to use the school’s dim-scanner to prove his theory.”

“I wish I could go! You’re so lucky!”

“Not if I can’t get money for the fare.”

“I’ve saved some money from babysitting. You can have it if you pay me back.”

“Let’s see what Mom and Dad say first. Hopefully, I can use the money I’ve saved working during breaks. Supposed to be for university, but this is a school trip. They might say yes.”

Connor’s mom looked apprehensive. Rarely on the surface, being outside frightened her. 

“I don’t know, Connor. Is this trip safe? You’ll be in the wilderness? I’ve read about animal attacks.”

“I’ll be with a bunch of people.”

“Still makes me nervous. School’s providing transport?”

“No. We have to arrange our own ride.”

“What about the school’s private transport your scholarship provides?”

“I asked. It’s only for travel to and from campus.”

“Can’t someone offer you passage?”

“Everyone lives on the surface, Mom. They’ll already be there. No one’s going to make a special trip up for me.”

His father balked at the cost.

“Ship fare’s a month’s worth of wages.”

“I have the money.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Connor! That money is for university.”

“Mom, please! I can work extra shifts.”

“Your mother’s right. That money is for school, not entertainment.”

Frustrated, Connor gave up.

“Mom, you always say breaking into surface society requires good connections.”

“Phoebe, your point?”

“Everyone at Connor’s school treats him differently. This is a chance for him to fit in.”

“I’m sure he has friends. Don’t you, Connor?”

Connor shrugged, staring at his feet. 

“And Dad, you’re always preaching that we should stand up for ourselves and force others to acknowledge us. You say things will never change if Orbitals keep floating around up here, manufacturing everything for the elites below.”

Their father smiled proudly at Phoebe, nodding his head.

“This idea of crashing a surface-dweller’s party is beginning to appeal to me.”

“Honey? I don’t want Connor getting political.”

“No, this is perfect. He can wear my union protest gear.”

 “Dad, that’s not going to help Connor fit in.”

“Well, he could wear a slogan. How about Celebrate Climate Restoration! Bring Everyone Home!

“Dad, stop!”

“I’m serious. I could ask the action committee to pay for the trip. Think of the publicity!”

Connor hated the idea. But desperation got the better of him.

“I’ll do it.”

“That’s my boy!”

“Honey, no. This isn’t fair to Connor. I’ve money tucked away for emergencies.”

“But, Babe?”

“I won’t have him used as a political pawn. Connor, you can go. But, I expect extra help around here while your father and I work overtime.”

Phoebe jumped gleefully as Connor hugged his mother.

1300 hours, June 20, 2433

After waiting in line for close to an hour, Connor managed to find a seat on the commercial Earth-bound shuttle. A throng of people swarmed about the cabin, filling the space with noise, odors, and clutter. 

“Connor. Mind if I sit with you?”

Professor Dabrowski struggled to stow several cumbersome bags before dropping into his seat. 

“Professor? What are you doing here? Why all the luggage?”

“Traveling to our campsite.”

“But, I thought….”

 “And… you’ll have to wait to see what I’ve packed for our expedition.”

“What are you doing in New Seattle?”

“Just because I teach at a prestigious school on Earth doesn’t necessarily mean I live on Earth.”

“You live in New Seattle?”

“Used to. Visiting with family for a couple rotations. My wife and I live on Manchester Station.” 

“I’ve never seen you on the school transport.”

“I stay down in staff quarters on campus when school is in session. But, when I do travel, I prefer commercial ships. They’re more interesting than stuffy, private shuttles.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, come on, Connor. Humanity is enriched by diversity. In some respects, you’re better off than other Bright Star Academy students.”

“Sorry, Professor? How could I possibly…?”

“No, I’m sorry, Connor. I forget how limiting it is to grow up in orbit. I, too, dreamed of living on Earth. I remember feeling cheated by my circumstances.”

Professor Dabrowski’s admission piqued Connor’s curiosity.

“How did you do it?”

“What? Oh, you mean, how did I avoid an unfulfilling, low-wage job in an orbital manufacturing plant?”

“Yes.”

Professor Dabrowski took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Just like you, I studied. I aced my exams and earned a scholarship to a school on the surface.”

“Why don’t you and your wife live on Earth?”

“Connor, there’s more to it than making enough money. The elites living below have a plethora of unspoken rules. Life there is restrictive, stifling. I prefer to keep a wider perspective.”

“What restrictions? Surface-dwellers have everything one could want!”

“And they don’t appreciate it. They’re bored, trapped in a scripted world of endless leisure.”

“Sounds great to me.”

“You’re lucky to be able to think outside of the box. You can take risks because you have nothing to lose.”

Connor flinched.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be so brusque.”

“No, you’re right. Thanks to the government, my family has just what’s necessary, but nothing else. Opportunities to get ahead are scarce. Earning my scholarship to Bright Star Academy was a dream come true.”

“And what do you intend to do with this opportunity?”

“Become filthy rich, move permanently to the planet and never come back.”

“You’ll leave your family, friends, and countless others like you behind?”

“I’ll never abandon my family.”

“Well, a word of caution, the privileged like to talk about equality and rewarding hard work, but there’s very little they want to change or share when it comes to action.”

“But, you’ve been able to work and live on the surface.”

“Yes, because I’m an amusing oddity. Think of me as Bright Star Academy’s mascot for charitable contributions.”

His conversation with Professor Dabrowski unsettled Connor. Excusing himself, he lingered in the crowded dining compartment, only returning to his seat just before their destination. 

“Ah, Connor. I feared my pessimism scared you away.”

“No, not at all. Just grabbing snacks.” Connor lied.

“I remember those days. My father contemplated getting a second job to buy food!”

Connor felt guilty hiding. He really did like Professor Dabrowski. Discovering their common background made him realize he had unexpectedly found someone at school who understood how he felt.

An announcement sounded, indicating the shuttle had reached Krakow. Connor prepared to disembark, eager to finally visit another part of Earth. After navigating through security, they found themselves standing in a waiting area jam-packed with boisterous reunions and the shrill calls of vendors hawking souvenirs. Extensive lines queuing for refreshments, lavatories, and taxis branched about, creating a chaotic maze of people. 

“There’s our ride. Come on.”

Connor briefly caught a glimpse of a man leaning against a hovercraft, holding a sign for Bright Star Academy.

“Glad you’re leading, Professor. I’d be overwhelmed on my own!”

During the ride, Professor Dabrowski and the driver chatted amicably. At the same time, Connor gawked at the rolling pastoral landscape and immense country estates. Witnessing firsthand the stark contrast between life in orbit and that on the surface angered him. He knew he’d do anything to live here. 

“Oh, excellent! Professor Dalton has already built a lovely bonfire.”

Connor’s heart leapt into his throat, seeing his classmates frolicking about the encampment. He felt the weight of his awkwardness return. Even more than at school, he felt like an intruder here.

“Dabrowski! How good of you to join us! I was beginning to worry. Trouble with public transport?”

“Never fear, Dalton. I am here. All is well. Traveling with the masses may be slow, but I find it exhilarating!”


This tale was inspired by a submissions call from Shoreline of Infinity Magazine for their upcoming September 2022 issue themed around science fiction fairytales. Hope you check it out. I’m eager to read what made it in!

Celebrating Rejection!

While perusing the news recently, I came across a top-ten list of glitzy jobs, which can, in reality, be quite horrible. Top of the list was publishing/writing.

Yep!

Beyond entertaining us, I don’t think the reporter hoped to dissuade anyone from pursuing a demanding, onerous career. But, the cautionary article reminds us there’s a reason we refer to one’s profession as work. 

I love writing and equally hate it. But, I cannot ignore the call to create.

Submitting stories to publishers for consideration is a rite of passage for aspiring authors. Experiencing rejection is inevitable. Knowing this helps, but it still stings. 

After thinking it over, I decided to post the first story I felt brave enough to submit for publication. It also holds the distinction of being the first rejection! It will forever remind me of dipping my toe into the maelstrom of professional writing for the first time. Ha! Perhaps I sound dramatic, but I’d ask you to forgive me for indulging a freshly bruised ego! 

This past Monday marked the beginning of August and the ancient Gaelic holiday, Lughnasadh. It’s midsummer, and the harvest times have arrived. I often revisit Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream around now and consequently find myself musing about faeries. It seems to be an apropos time to share my sci-fi/fantasy mash-up tale about a twenty-fifth-century young man’s strange encounter with the fey on the summer solstice.

The original short story is a bit long to post all at once on my blog. I will dole it out over a series of shorter episodes. 

Enjoy! 



The Fern Flower Summons”(Part One)

1900 hours, June 20, 2507

The orbital cities encircling Earth dominated the twilight sky like a bejeweled girdle of brilliant light, occulting even the brightest stars. Beneath them, an old man gazed blissfully across a meadow, admiring the fireflies.

“More this year. A good omen.”

 Peering beyond to the forest, he frowned.

“Jeeves, Alfred, I’ll continue on alone.”

The servant droids waited with the luxury hovercraft. 

“What’s this about?”

“Superstition.”

“Regarding?”

“Faeries and flowers.”

“Seriously?”

“Sir has solemnly observed solstice for eleven years now.”

“What does Sir seek in the forest?”

“I know not, but he always returns disappointed.”

0600 hours, June 19, 2433

Earning the opportunity to attend an elite academy on Earth had been difficult. But Connor had succeeded. Knowing most people struggled to afford even a brief once-in-a-lifetime vacation to the planet underscored his good fortune. But, before long, Connor realized obtaining a scholarship to Bright Star Academy didn’t equate to earning social parity with his surface-dwelling classmates. After weeks of failing to fit in, ignored by most and taunted by some, he became increasingly self-conscious about being the only Orbital at school. 

Catching the academy’s private shuttle down to campus in Buenos Aires required waking a couple hours early, but Connor didn’t mind. He thought that being able to ride aboard the luxury transport made up for it.

“Good Morning. How’s New Seattle’s future poet laureate?”

“Morning, John. Tired and hungry.”

On the first day, Connor thought the shuttle pilot was teasing him but soon realized the man spoke with a sense of comradery. John explained Orbitals had to stick together when navigating amongst the surface folk. 

“Hop in. Tonya’s serving up coffee and the usual surface-style breakfast.”

Connor noted only one other person in the cabin, an unfamiliar professor, sipping coffee and reviewing his papers. He settled into a plush, spacious seat next to a large window. Connor loved observing the stark, inky contrasts of space gradually morph into the hazy, soft blue of the planet’s atmosphere. While selecting something from the menu, he heard a warning chime. 

“Unexpected magnetic field disturbance. Possible solar wind uptick. Departure delayed approximately twenty minutes.”

“Damn!” Connor muttered.

He hated being late; it only accentuated that he lived in orbit. Two of his classmates relentlessly bullied him because of it. Connor fretted, anxiously watching the minutes pass until the shuttle gained permission to leave. 

“Finally! I just might make it in time.”

As the shuttle neared Earth, Connor saw the Andes looming far off in the west. Below, green, gold, and brown patches of farmland spread across the extensive Pampas. Buenos Aires lay further off with the Rio de la Plate estuary glittering behind it. Connor longed to explore these places, but his travel documents only allowed him to attend school. 

He grew up with stories about a dark past when people fled a toxic, used-up planet for an artificial sanctuary in space. Time and technology promised a chance to return one day, but most were still waiting. His father, like many, argued against continuing the draconian resettlement restrictions. Connor wasn’t interested in politics, but the flights back and forth to school had opened his eyes to the vast disparity between life on the planet and that above. 

After landing on the school grounds, Connor sprinted to class, eager to get there on time. Just outside the door, he paused to catch his breath. Hearing disorderly chatter, he peeked inside, finding no sign of Professor Dabrowski. Confused, he checked the time only to discover how late he was. Quietly entering, Connor tried unsuccessfully to avoid attention while taking his seat. 

“Incoming! Falling from orbit fast!”

“Meteor?!”

 “Nope, space junk.”

Snickering percolated the unsupervised classroom. 

“Hey, Orbit. Trouble landing?”

Connor sunk further into his chair, reddening. 

“Security quarantine you again?”

“Probably took one look at your face and sent you to decontamination.”

Connor ignored the taunts knowing any reaction only prolonged the harassment. Relief washed over him seeing a disheveled man jog into the room. 

“Class, sorry I’m late!”

“Good morning, Professor Dabrowski.”

The salutation stopped the old man short. Warily scrutinizing the room, he smiled.

“Yes, it is a lovely morning. I confess I had my doubts.”

Shuddering dramatically, he scowled.

“Administrative meetings. Wretched things.”

Post-apocalyptic literature heartened Connor, giving him a reason to continue attending Bright Star Academy. While his privileged classmates sneered at Professor Dabrowski’s antiquated mien, Connor basked in it. The old man’s appearance harkened hundreds of years back to the 21st century. Eschewing modern fabrics, the teacher’s clothes consisted of scratchy, natural fibers incapable of acclimating to the environment. The man actually endured perspiration. 

“Before beginning, I’m delighted to inform you of a last-minute opportunity to earn extra credit this weekend!”

The class groaned. 

“Now, none of that. I expect you’ll feel differently learning what Professor Dalton introduced to the faculty today.”

“What?”

“A dimensional scanner.”

Pandemonium erupted.   

“No way!”

“How’d the academy pull that off?”

“Aren’t dim-scanners classified?”

Professor Dabrowski raised a hand for silence.

“Fortunately, our headmaster worked intimately with the scientists involved in humanity’s first contact with Para, our interdimensional neighbor.”

“Professor, didn’t Dean Choi lead the Orbital Collider Project before coming to Bright Star?”

“Yes.”

“Professor, what’s the Orbital Collider Project?”

Disbelief punctuated the air. 

“What? Am I the only one in the dark?”

“Probably not; I applaud your bravery in admitting it. Allow me to illuminate. The Orbital Collider is where astrophysicists first created a stable micro-singularity, making it possible to interact with parallel universes.”

“Oh yeah! Like Para! I knew that.”

“Yes. Well, done. Now, due to these connections, Dean Choi’s been invited to join the I3 Taskforce.”

Someone raised a hand. 

“Yes, sorry. The Interdimensional, Interspatial, Intertemporal Agency.”

“Can I use the lavatory?”

Rolling his eyes, Professor Dabrowski nodded.

“Professor, how does this relate to the dim-scanner?”

“The headmaster’s tasked the faculty with finding ways to incorporate this new technology into the curriculum. Professor Dalton and I volunteered to pilot using the dimensional scanner with students.”

“How?”

“Well, upon hearing communication between worlds is possible, myths and fairytales immediately came to mind.”

“Those are children’s stories, Professor.”

“I’m convinced there may be a kernel of truth to them. Let’s consider. Is it possible stories of fairy circles, hidden kingdoms, and magic portals were simply primitive attempts to make sense of frightening encounters with interdimensional beings?” 

“The dim-scanner, Professor?”

“Oh, yes! We’ve organized an excursion to my ancestral homeland of Poland, during which we shall endeavor to reenact the ancient rituals of the summer solstice. Professor Dalton will assist students in deploying the scanner to capture fluctuations in dimensional radiation throughout our visit. I, for one, am quite eager to learn if any of the old customs will have any measurable impact.”

Connor’s pulse quickened, wondering where he’d find the money to go on the trip. He knew he’d have to find his own way to the surface. Unlike his peers, his family didn’t own a transport.


This tale was inspired by a submissions call from Shoreline of Infinity Magazine for their upcoming September 2022 issue themed around science fiction fairytales. Hope you check it out. I’m eager to read what made it in!

Flash Fiction: “The Outsider” (Director’s Cut)

Ever bemoan cutting favorite elements from a story to keep within a word limit? What is an author to do? Rise to the challenge of course! But sometimes it’s gratifying to indulge oneself and post a lengthier “director’s cut”. If filmmakers can do it, why not writers?

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“The Devil Is In the Details” (Author’s Cut)

Brody Quade cursed, hearing the sharp rap at the door.

“Police! Open up!”

Brody marveled at how quickly they had managed to locate him. He made a mental note to better research this world’s technological capabilities.

“Half a moment! I’m coming!” Brody lied.

He quietly gathered his essentials and keyed on his transporter.

“Come now, Mr. Quade, the gig’s up! Surrender peacefully! This doesn’t have to end with violence!”

Brody could hear their attempts to override the lock.

“Alright! Alright! No, need to destroy my door!”

Casting a longing look at his collection of stolen goods, Brody lamented all the hard work, now wasted. Shame to lose it all so close to the end, he reasoned. Rummaging about, he greedily stuffed a few odds and ends into his pockets.

“Time’s up, Mr. Quade! Any blood spilled is on your head!”

Before he could respond, Brody detected the sound of a barrier-breacher powering up.

“Blast! They’re quite insistent! No, time for calibration.” Brody muttered.

Perspiration blurred his vision as he hastily inputted the obscurest coordinates he could recall off the top of his head.

“A valiant effort, Inspector! But, I remain as always one step ahead!”

Brody laughed manically as the authorities disintegrated the door just in time to see him slip into another dimension.

He endured an unusually long and rough transit before the transporter finished relocating Brody.

“Phew! That was cutting it too close.”

Swiping his brow with a handkerchief, he paused to orientate himself to his new surroundings. Brody smiled, recognizing the crowded café. The aroma of coffee mingled with the dry, desert heat creating an inviting atmosphere he knew would soothe his frayed nerves. He wove his way in and sat at a table being cleared.

“Triple espresso, please.”

Looking up, the server huffed and hurried off without any response.

“Rude.”

He waited, preparing a scathing rebuke. But indignation turned to shock when the waiter returned to seat an elderly couple at Brody’s table.

“Voila, Monsieur, Madame. A moment while I fetch your drinks from the bar. Apologies for the delay.”

As they proceeded to sit at his table, Brody experienced a bizarre whirl of force whisk him abruptly from his chair onto the floor.

“Well! I never!”

Clawing at the table, he pulled himself back up.

“Mind your feet, Mario. You’ll upset the table.”

“I haven’t touched the table.”

“Well, something did.”

“Perhaps, a tremor. This local’s suspectable to such activity.”

Brody glowered, hands on his hips.

“I say! What the devil has possessed you to assume you can just barge in and hijack my table? Waiter!”

The woman looked up from her menu.

“What’s that, Mario?”

“I didn’t say anything, Harriet.”

“You were muttering something, dear.”

“I most assuredly was not.”

Blood drained from Brody’s face. He pulled out his transporter, unsurprised to find an error notification flashing across the screen. Opening the message, he swore as he read the details.

[INSUFFICENT DATA. TRANSFER INCOMPLETE. LOCATION OUTSIDE STANDARD DIMENSIONAL PARAMETERS.]

“Blimey, stuck in between again!”


Read Original 75 Word Version Written for Chronicles’ July 75 Word Challenge.


Prompt: The Outsider

Word Count 500

Micro Fiction: “The Outsider”

An exceedingly short piece of speculative fiction!

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Some of you know, I enjoy the challenge of writing a story with as few words as possible. Definitely an acquired taste for only some writers and readers! Below is what I entered for Chronicles’ (A Science Fiction and Fantasy Community) 75 Word Challenge for July.

There were 41 entries this month!

I encourage everyone, who loves science fiction and fantasy, to check out this website. Great way to connect with other writers and fans! Perhaps, you might entry next month’s challenge?

The prompt this month was “THE OUTSIDER”. Genre was author’s choice of horror, speculative, fantasy or science fiction. Hope you enjoy my entry below!


“The Devil Is In the Details”

Desperate, Brody hastily inputted coordinates to escape back into his own dimension.

Frazzled, he sought solace at a favorite café.  

A couple approached to join him. Before he could protest, eddies of nausea swept him onto the floor. 

 Brody stood up, hands on his hips. 

“Excuse me! But this table’s mine!”

“What, Mario?”

“I didn’t say anything, Harriet.”

Disquieted, Brody checked his transporter. He blanched, observing the error message. 

[INSUFFICENT DATA. TRANSFER OUTSIDE DIMENSIONAL PARAMETERS.]


Prompt: “THE OUTSIDER”

Word Limit: 75 words.

Flash Fiction: The Tyrannical Traffic Light

A “Barbarian and the Dishwasher” Story.

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.



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Episode 3: “A Wizard Suffers Not a Slow Changing Traffic Light”

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?”

“Huh?”

“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?”

“Electricity.”

“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. 

Gold for Indie Authors? Book Reviews!

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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.

Follow the links to download and read: Mother Portia by Nick Pipitone

Check out more of Nick Pipitone’s writing at his website: Fiction and Ideas

Flash Fiction: Cracked Stucco


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.

“Sinister Muse”

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?”

“Yeah, relax.”

“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?”

“No, stupid.”

“Oh.”

“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.”

“You’re stalling.”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.”

“Ah, fine!”

“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.

“Stucco.”

He flipped over another chunk, revealing the cracked visage of a woman.

“That’s a shame.”

“What?”

“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.”

“And scared.”

“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.”

“Fine.”

Zoey grinned and rushed over to give Ben a kiss.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

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.”

“I’m good.”

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.”

“Let’s go.”

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?”

“Yeah.”

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.

“What?”

“Only five have been defaced.”

“So?”

“Someone did this on purpose. And I think I know why.”

“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.”

“Maybe.”

Zoey’s step quickened as she descended the stairs.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to scare you, but you know there’s one thing I don’t mess around with when doing an investigation.”

“You mean…?”

“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.”

“Happily.”

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.”

“Ok, ok.”

Darkness engulfed the room, surprising both of them.

“Turn your phone light back on!”

“It was on! Turn yours on!”

“I’m trying!”

“Stop fucking around, Zoey!”

“I’m not!”

“Use the flashlight again!”

“Give me a sec!”

“Zoey!”

“It’s not working either!”

The EMF meter squawked, indicator lights blazing.

“Zoey! The ceiling! Look at the ceiling!”

“Just run!”

Fleeing, Zoey glanced up. Unearthly eyes shone down menacingly from the five ruined faces forming the points of an eerily shimmering pentagram.


Word Count: 1500

Word Prompt: cracked stucco

Courtesy of The Twiglets. Great site for writing prompts and inspiration. Check it out!

Nakul and Indali

Hello!

I still can’t get the sound of the otters trying to convince Nakul to slide into the river out of my head. LOL.

I’ve written about Nakul and Indali before way back last July. Here are links providing a quick jump to those older posts for those interested. Enjoy!

I’m curious to learn more about these characters. I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up featuring in future pieces of flash fiction.

Flash Fiction: Doing What You Want Instead of What You Otter.

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Here is a quick piece I had fun with in response to April 25 Your Daily Word Prompt. Great Site. Check it out.


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.

Continue reading “Flash Fiction: Doing What You Want Instead of What You Otter.”

Wondering How to Achieve Your Dream? Read This Book!!!

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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. 

Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to conduct an advanced reading of Dr. Amanda Crowell’s book, Great Work: Do What Matters Most Without Sacrificing Everything Else. I tend to believe things usually happen for a reason. Consequently, I wasn’t surprised to find much-needed advice in this book.   

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.

Please visit the book’s pre-order site at Barnes and Noble and take the time to explore Dr. Crowell’s website

I am a firm believer in supporting fellow authors! Perhaps, in this post, I can connect someone else like me to this great book while also helping Dr. Crowell reach a wider audience.