Misc

Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Day


fantasy day badgeThis is not an official Hallmark thing, but today is the first, and hopefully annual, day to celebrate those of us who toil in the sci-fi/fantasy and subgenres of the writing world. I will celebrate with a short excerpt of my novel in progress which is now going under the working title of Sundogged.

 

*Chapter 1

We killed the first one with the Chevy Avalanche, sunburst orange metallic. Remy drove. I was shotgun. The radio tanned our eardrums with a blast of 80’s metal rock to such a degree that if it hadn’t broad-sided the truck bed with force enough to rock the vehicle, we’d have never known we’d made first contact.

Remy fought the wheel as the truck veered wide, hauling us back over the centerline before slowing to a complete stop on the sloping shoulder. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel as the other hand reached over and turned the music down. It was CCR now, Bad Moon on the Rise.

“What the hell was that?”

I opened my door, leaned out as far as I could without tumbling to the gravel below and peered back down the dark road. I couldn’t make out anything with clarity. In late June, between moonlight and perpetual sunglow on the horizon, the lack of streetlights on the old range road wasn’t a problem. But a storm threatened from the northeast and even the intermittent cracks of lightning couldn’t slice the darkness.

“See anything?”

“No, back up a bit,” I told him. I hung out a bit farther, one hand gripping the headrest and the other firmly planted on the door.

Remy put it in reverse and inched backwards, but that section of the road was thickly lined with tentacled trees and swollen bushes that swallowed the headlights like a leafy black-hole.

“Anything?”

He was worried we’d hit a dog. Remy was always in a twist about the dogs and cats that roamed this stretch of road. Strays that people from the city dumped near our little hamlet. The coyotes took in the dogs they didn’t kill, and the foxes were partial to cat, but neither could thin the herd.

“It might’ve got up and run off if it was just stunned,” I said.

And then we ran it over.

The squish was one of the juiciest I can remember hearing. Normally there is a fair amount of crunch and a bit of skidding, but this was all entrails and soft, spongy flesh.

 

*This is an original piece of fiction. All rights are reserved by the author – ME.

Credit Where it is Due


Maria Schneider wrote a couple of pieces not long ago about how crucial it is to have the support of loved ones when one is pursuing a dream, in her case the formation of her writing blog. I often write about Rob and his faith in me as a writer and his unwavering support which predates our romantic relationship even.

I wouldn’t have accomplished what I have in the last year had it not been for Rob, and though I spend a great deal of time writing about him and fashioning his virtual image in the constellation of the web like a Greek god in the heavens, I still feel remiss.

Thanks, baby.

Oh Yea, Friday


If you are reading this from work – shame on you – but know that we are on our way to the Canadian Rockies as you are reading. Wedding goodness awaits near Revelstoke, if not actual good weather. Warmer than home certainly, but nothing to crow about.

I am, by and large, putting on my happy face – which is neutral to an extreme degree and content to sink back into the shadows and observe without attracting attention. The whole “in-laws of my husband’s late wife thing” is fraught with awkwardness. No one wants to be unpleasant to my face because they know I am not the cause for Shelley’s absence, and yet no one is thrilled to have me around because it highlights the sad reality of her death. I so dislike being thrust into this position and am trying to zen my way through it, but the fact remains that I am neither welcome nor unwelcome, and it continues to be not easy for me to try and exist without being obvious about it.

The publisher of the new newspaper start-up in The Park contacted me the other day. He’d initially declined to offer me any type of position when I queried him a couple of weeks ago, but apparently my Mac experience appeals to him now. An interesting development.

I finally got the copy of Jack Kilborn’s (aka J.A. Konrath’s) new horror novel, Afraid. It’s gruesome but compelling so far as I have read. I will have the review up sometime next week. J.A. only asked for 75 words. I will probably give him a few extra.

If you friended me on Facebook, you know that my sister, DNOS, has been very ill. Double pneumonia. We have been quite worried because there were several deaths locally attributed to pneumonia this past month. She is mending but good thought would be appreciated.

The tomcat is still peeing on our front door. I had to buy new rugs for the entryway. It’s foul and I would be in favor of relocating that cat to its final reward if that were possible. The other cat hasn’t puked again … in a location I have stumbled across anyway. We have no one to care for him while we are away, which is another reason why we decline to acquire a pet of our own – it would hinder our mobility, so we filled up the water and food bowl and are hoping for the best. Best would be the cat not eating until engorged and barfing all over the garage thus rendering itself near foodless (unless you count vomit, which it will eat) until we return. During the warmer months we had the girl next door check in on it and fill the bowls, but we can’t depend on the kindness of neighbors when the temps are still brutal and the snow is knee deep. Seriously, we really can’t impose on the neighbors anymore where animals are concerned. It’s went past the point of “neighborliness” a while ago.

Night Dogs slinks along.

Yoga is going well. I can almost do a headstand. I cannot do the chupacabra (or whatever that fingertip/tippytoe plank thing is called). If I could hold that pose for 12 minutes a day, I would never get sick again – eventually. Or so the yogis maintain.

So, okay. That’s it. Good weekend to you all.