Category Archives: Speculative Fiction

NaNoWriMo – Chap 8 & 9 Black Magic Bullets

Day four of #NaNoWriMo and I’ve made wordcount. Anyway, this is a rough draft. I continue to course-correct without going back to fix the previous day’s work. Feel free to tell me what you think. Don’t worry, I have a very thick skin.

BLACK MAGIC BULLETS

An Urban Fantasy

David North-Martino

Working as an Inhuman Resources Recruiter is no walk through the cemetery, especially when you’ve been cursed and your head is filled with stollen secrets from one of the most powerful occult groups in Boston. To survive, you might just need a few…

BLACK MAGIC BULLETS.

Chapter 8

I have to admit, the Storeroom was a lot different than I expected. Instead of a closet filled with supplies, it turned out to be the whole lower level of the Dreadstone building.

Before we grabbed the equipment, Kenzi brought me to the Human Resources office.

The HR Generalist quickly listed my title as administrative and made my employment legal for the federal government and the state of Massachusetts. In this way, everything appeared above board and I wouldn’t have to find a way to launder the money I’d receive for services rendered.

“I passed?” I finally asked Kenzi, genuinely surprised. I hadn’t thought of asking Stone. The whole day had been one big whirlwind with little hope of returning to sanity.

“You survived,” Kenzi said. “That’s more than can be said of the previous candidates.”

That’s when I realized just how dangerous the situation in the ritual room had been. I also noticed the effects of the gas had dissipated. That was good, I didn’t need any distractions outside the ritual room.

Peal arrived for what they simply called the employment ceremony.

“I want to make this absolutely clear,” Peal said, looming over all in the tight confines of the generalist’s office.

I had a hard time concentrating. My mind kept intruding with thoughts that only a few minutes earlier I had been standing naked with this man in a pentacle, and a vengeful spirit——who almost killed me by the way——stalking around outside trying to find a way in.

I rubbed at my throat absentmindedly, it felt tight but would be sore tomorrow.

“Once you’re bound by the contract, you’re required to keep everything we do here confidential into perpetuity. If you break the deal, your life is forfeit.”

I studied Peal for a moment, his smooth almond skin, Alister Crowley haircut, which is to say he had none and powerful build which made him look more than formidable and belied his executive status and realized that I never wanted to cross this man.

I needed the job so I nodded affirmation.

Peal placed what looked like some sort of handheld device on the desk. Flicking a slider on the side of the unit, it took only a second for the device to flip open revealing two square halves. On one side, a sharp barb stood wickedly erect. On the other, a screen flickered and then came to life with a jaundiced glow. I didn’t have to wait for Peal to feed me instructions, what needed doing was painfully obvious. And I mean painful in a literal sense.

Placing my finger over the barb, I pushed down. The needle bit into my skin. My finger throbbed but I kept my countenance stoic. From this moment forth, weakness wouldn’t be abided.

Peal grabbed my thumb with one powerful hand and then rolled the digit over the display on the other side. The procedure reminded me of when I had applied for a firearms license. It’s not hyperbole to say I felt like a common criminal. I felt the same now.

Blood——my——blood, pooled on the screen, then became the shape of my thumbprint, with all its ridges and indentations, before total absorption into the device.

“Remember,” Peal warned as he scooped up and placed the device into his suit coat pocket, patting it for effect, “you are now subject to the constraints of the bargain.”

My thumb still smarting, Kenzi took me, by elevator, to the labyrinthine lower level of the Dreadstone building.

I still had no idea how we would find Dedra’s body, and what we would do with it once we had.

Hopefully, we could provide her a proper burial, affording her some closure. From what Kenzi had told me, I wasn’t too confident in achieving my desired outcome.

“Everything has to be done with an eye toward the bargain,” Kenzi said in answer to my inquiry. “This is a quid pro quo business. Dreadstone gets something and Dedra gets something. Nobody gets everything they want, or there would be no need to make the deal.”

“You’re saying we have to keep her wanting so she completes her end of the bargain?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Kenzi said. “If not, she’d have no need to stay on this plane of existence. Then where would we be?”

I didn’t like it. The whole thing seemed exploitive and cruel. I needed to wait, though. Bide my time and see how things washed. I didn’t want to be too rash too quickly. Not completing my end of the bargain could mean my death.

I followed her down a dimly lit echoey hallway past other suit-wearing denizens of the lower dark.

“How do we even find where her body is located?” I asked, my voice sounding hollow. The whole thing seemed like an exercise in futility. What did we have to go on? Her first name? How far would that get us?

“With this,” Kenzi held up an evidence bag with a torn piece of cloth protected inside.

“Where did you get that?”

“Mr. Peal pried it out of your hands after your skirmish with the entity.”

I looked at her dumbfounded. Searching every quadrant of my mind, I couldn’t remember ripping a piece off of Dedra’s rags.

“You went into fight or flight,” Kenzi said. “It’s normal not to remember the whole incident. Believe me, I know.”

I was sure she did. Yet, I didn’t really know who this woman was or the extent of her position within the company. I figured I’d learn soon enough.

Kenzi led me through a beaded entryway on the right. Inside, An Indian woman sat on a cushion in a lotus position. She wore silken robes dyed purple and trimmed in gold. Her raven hair done up with Japanese kanzashi hair sticks. The room smelled sweet of frankincense and sandalwood. The light scent spoke of quality, the kind Phantasmagoria, a shop in Amherst, produced. Asian tapestries and rugs adorned the walls and floor, giving me the image of a magic carpet dealer. Part of me wondered if Dreadstone had a fleet of flying carpets. After the day’s events, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had.

“This is Chavvi, one of our resident physic mediums,” Kenzi said as we approached. I felt uncomfortable for not knocking before entering. As far as I could tell, Kenzi held no such reservations or feelings.

“I’m——,” I began as I held out my hand.

“No don’t tell me,” Chavvi said as she rose to greet us. She clasped my hand in hers, closing her eyes. Her hand felt both cool and soft against my skin.

“I see a rosebush. Now a single rose, the stem. Thorns.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Am I close?”

“I’d say.” Chavvi had truly impressive abilities. Compelled against reason, I lifted her hand to my lips and gave it a kiss. “My last name is Thorne. Harrison Thorne, but my friends call me Harris.”

“This one’s a charmer, isn’t he,” Chavvi said giving a wink to Kenzi and taking back her hand.

Kenzi’s expression didn’t change. If some women were thought of as cool drinks, Kenzi was ice-water in a frosty glass. I didn’t mind that, though. Something about her frozen exterior was appealing. Perhaps she was hiding some torment under that arctic exterior, a hot pain cordoned off by a wall of ice. I’ve always been a sucker for a mystery.

“I need you to enter the Collective and find out everything you can. Names, places, dates.I’d like to take action today if possible.”

“You never ask for much, do you?” Chavvi said stifling a giggle. “Okay, come back in an hour or two. I should have something then. Do me a favor: bring your friend. I like him.”

Chapter 9

With time to kill, Kenzi buzzed us into an oblong room painted battleship gray. Weapons both modern and archaic lined the walls and waited in cases. Tucked into each corner of the room stood heavy iron vaults I could only imagine held much of the same.

“Welcome to the armory,” Kenzi said, the upturn of her lips was the closest she had come to a smile.

“You need all this to protect yourselves from ghosts?” I asked. There was enough firepower here alone to equip a small army.

“Dreadstone is involved with a lot more than just inhuman resource recruiting,” Kenzi said, and I guess I had imagined as much. “Besides, when we go out into the field we’re not just dealing with what’s in the Collective.”

“The author Richard Connell knew that humans were the most dangerous animals on earth,. Maybe they’re the most dangerous entity in any dimension as well,” I added. Kenzi didn’t seem impressed by my factoid.

“They’re dangerous,” Kenzi said. “That’s why we prepare for the worst. You never know who you’re going to run into out in the field. And until you’re up to speed performing wizardry in the Collective, our weaponry is going to have to do double duty.”

Then she looked at me straight in the eye.

“Have you ever fired a gun before.”

“I used to go hunting with my dad,” I said.

“So, in Mass, most likely shotgun,” She said. I nodded. She was right. With the state so heavily populated, most hunting with firearms was relegated to shotgun season. Rifle rounds traveled too far to be safely fired in most areas.

“What about handguns?” She asked.

“I’ve handled them,” I said.

Kenzi retrieved a Colt 1911 from the case.

“Show me.”

To be continued…

NaNoWriMo – Chap 3 & 4 – Black Magic Bullets

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This is only my second day working on my NaNoWriMo novel. I wasn’t sure about joining in on the festivities, but after writing a short 800 words yesterday, I felt like I might be on to something. Also, had an encouraging Twitter comment from a very kind reader comparing my scant pages to Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. Wow! Those are big shoes to fill! Although very flattering, and it certainly made my day, I won’t let it go to my head.

I got up early and after helping my wife get off to work, and feeding our cat, I wrote the 1st draft of the 3rd and 4th chapters. I made word-count easier and quicker than expected. Sometimes it works out that way. I’ll take it. While I might write more later, I still have the 3rd draft edits of an 80,000-word horror thriller on my plate and some short story work I need to revisit.

While I have you here, I wanted to mention I’m now officially listed as receiving an Honorable Mention in the 3rd quarter of the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. My story ended up in the top 2% of all submissions. This is one of the most prestigious contests in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genre with thousands of entrants every quarter. A contest like this can make your career. If you write SF&F, you will be well served to enter this contest. Bring your A-game and strive to be better every submission. And like Han Solo famously said, “Never tell me the odds!” If you want to see all the contest winners along with the Finalists and Honorable Mentions, click the link here.

I know I owe you another The Scribes Arcanum blog, where I talk about short fiction sales, and I hope to post more shortly.

Now without further ado, the next first draft chapters of Black Magic Bullets. Click here to read chapter 1 and 2. Let me know what you think in the comments or on social media. I wish you all the best with your writing.

BLACK MAGIC BULLETS

An Urban Fantasy

David North-Martino

BLACK MAGIC BULLETS.

Chapter 3

As I approached the elevator bank I caught sight of a young brunette, very well put together, very corporate, stepping out of the cab. She stopped for only three-tenths of a second. Gave me a once-over and then headed out to, I could only imagine, a trendy restaurant for her lunch break. Almost a full foot taller than me, I mussed that dancing might be out of the question.

Feeling like a geek all my life, I was taken aback. Did that girl just check me out? I wasn’t used to it, but I couldn’t say I didn’t like it. Must be my new suit.

They were waiting for me when I stepped off the elevator. It wasn’t the 666^th floor but the ascent felt like it. My ears popped more than once on the way up.

“Jasmin Stone, Executive Vice President of Human Resources,” the woman with the black silk skirt suit and the morticians smile greeted me with a cold handshake and spidery fingers.

“Harrison Thorne,” I said

“Do you go by——?”

“Just Harrison,” I interrupted. Hate is not the word for what I think of nicknames.

“I’m not a fan of names with three syllables,” she said with a wink.

“Harris,” I said, trying not to sound exasperated. Seemed like a fair compromise.

“Well then, Harris,” She said splaying her fingers palm up, directing them toward a man in an equally shiny silk suit. “This is James Peal III our Director of HR. We’ll be conducting the interview. Come this way please.”

Instead of a cold clinical corporate headquarters, the expanse of hallways and offices exuded warmth and reflected the refined taste of the CEO and executive management. Yet, instead of classic prints or success platitudes, oil paintings that can only be described as ghoulish adorned the walls. I wondered if they had been purchased from a serial killer’s estate sale.

The conference room held nothing out of the ordinary, a long mahogany table, set with a water pitcher and glasses on a tray in the center, with plush crimson chairs surrounding, and a 75-inch flatscreen obelisk hanging on the wall, as reflective as any mirror.

They sat across from me, my puny resume placed in front of them. I had no experience to speak of and very little education. What did I have to offer?

“We don’t care about your resume,” Jasmin said as if reading my mind. If the rumors were true about Dreadstone, maybe she could. She tore the paper in half leting it float back to the tabletop.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. My heart raced and my palms felt clammy. I placed my hands below the table to wipe them on my pants.

“What Ms. Stone means,” Peal said interjecting to break up the silence. “Is we’re not interested in your previous work or schooling. We want to see if you can recruit for us. It’s a very special type of recruiting that only those who have spent time in the environments you have could accomplish successfully.”

“How will you know?” I asked. It was no idle curiosity. I had a very bad feeling about what was going to happen next.

“We’ll test you,” Stone said, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“How?” My mouth went dry and I found it hard to wrap my lips around the word. I pointed toward the water pitcher. Stone nodded. I waited a beat but when it didn’t look like Stone nor Peal were planning on playing gracious host, I reached for a glass and helped myself.

She sat patiently until I’d hydrated before continuing.

“There is a… place we call the Collective. The old joke is that you can’t get there from here. That is more than true. You can’t walk there or call an Uber. No bus, train, or plane can reach that destination.

“It says here that you have martial arts training,” Stone said, pointing to the ripped resume before her.

Not having much work experience I had listed my black belt and assistant instructor status, but I was really pushing it with that. The assistant instructorship wasn’t anything formal.

“Have you pursued mediation?”

“Yes,” I said, then qualified, not wanting to oversell myself. “A little.”

“Good,” Stone said, a smile coloring her voice. “The best and safest way into the Collective is through transcendental meditation, but it will take time for you to develop the skill.”

“What do I do until I gain the ability?”

“I’m glad you asked that,” Peal chimed in. “You might not be, though.”

With that, they led me out into a hall and to another room.

A placard read: RITUAL 667.

What was I getting myself into?

Chapter 4

The ritual room was more refined than any I had visited. In my teenage years, I hung out at The Chasm in North Hampton. Even in the wilds of Western Massachusetts, the owners went to great pains to hide the place from the inquisitive and the hostile.

Normals fear what they don’t understand and during The Chasm’s early years someone threw a brick through the decorative plateglass window. After that, the owners had cast a masking spell around the store.

A friend I had met at another occult shop had given me the procedure to get in.

I would pull up on the opposite side of the street, and shut off my mother’s Hyundai. Looking across the way, I’d see a cluster of businesses accordioning in on themselves.

My retinas didn’t register The Chasm. It stood all but invisible until I closed my eyes and relaxed, pushed away my desire to visit, and remained still.

As my mind quieted my body calmed, my heart rate slowed, and once I opened my eyes again, I’d see The Chasm as if it had materialized out of nowhere.

Maybe I wasn’t giving myself enough credit.

The ritual room in the basement had been outfitted similarly but was more utilitarian. I had only walked through the ritual space at the Chasm, never having the confidence nor the courage to do more than observe some basic wizardry or a local coven celebrating the change of the seasons during Samhain or Beltane. The sexually charged Beltane rituals were always my favorite. Can you blame me?

Here the ritual room had been tiled, the same as the hall, in a rich black stone. A ubiquitous pentacle had been etched into the floor, porcelain white over ebony granite.

Dim red recess lighting kept the place dark and reminded me of a photography darkroom.

Yet, the glow remained bright enough to reveal all the tools of the trade: a small portable altar, stick incense–I could see that it had been hand-dipped, the kind of quality and attention to detail that relieved the inhaler of headaches caused by caustic additives–very expensive–a bakers dozen of double-sided antheme blades, a bowl for the creature of water, and another for the creature of salt. A solitary black candle waited on the alter for the creature of fire, and a red, blue, green, and yellow candle stood on pedestals at each cardinal compass point.

A dozen-plus suit valet lined the far side of the room.

Why are those here?

I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

“Undress,” Stone said simply as she and Peal to-the-third-power led me over to the valets.

“What?” Had I heard her right? I didn’t see a changing room.

“What, are you that modest?” Stone asked before her crimson lips upturned into a devious smile. “I was under the impression that anyone who made time at The Chasm or Phantasmagoria would have no problem disrobing around others.”

My mouth went dry again and all I could manage was a nod.

Sure, I had observed Beltane rituals, one of the few nights where outsiders to the covens were allowed to watch the Alexandrian or Gardnerian witches do their thing skyclad, but I had never been the one disrobing.

When in Rome, I suppose.

Averting my gaze as much as my curiosity would allow, I tried not to stare at Stone’s porcelain skin or her chiseled curves. I didn’t want to embarrass myself.

Now with all of us metaphorically clad only by the sky, Peal removed a portable breathing mask connected to a canister from a draw in the valet.

“You’ll need this if you hope to enter the Collective,” he said, handing it to me.

“What’s in it?” I managed, not relishing the idea of inhaling some unknown substance.

“Ethylene gas,” Stone answered. “You’re holding a concentrator. Turn the valve one turn widdershins when you’re ready and breath deeply. No more than that at a time. This is the same inhalant, with a couple extra additives, used by Pythia the Oracle of Delphy. If you over concentrate you’ll end up babbling gibberish and will be no use to us. Not only will you fail the test, but you could end up dead. No pressure.”

Yeah, no pressure. Sure.

To be continued…

NaNoWriMo – Black Magic Bullets

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While I’m finishing the 3rd draft of a horror thriller, I figured I’d add more to my plate and join the NaNoWriMo fun. The working title for this novel is BLACK MAGIC BULLETS and is an Urban Fantasy. I only have a little over 800 words drafted, but it’s a start. If you want to buddy up, I’m listed as dnorthmartino on the website. #NaNoWriMo

Meanwhile, here’s a first draft of the opening pages. It’s very rough but will give you a good idea of how my first drafts look.

BLACK MAGIC BULLETS

David North-Martino

CHAPTER 1

Everything was going wrong in my life. Magic is a more subtle thing than movies have led people to believe, and so are curses.

First small things begin to break down, then large. Your car breaks down, you crack a tooth requiring a root canal.

All of these things add strain not only on your finances but your relationships. Believing people you once loved would do something like this to you is hard so you push it all away unbelieving, chalking it up to bad luck. I believed it was all bad luck until I saw the demon standing in my magic room (come up with a name). Then I began to put it all together.

To explain what happened I have to go back to the beginning. My stories always have to start at the beginning. That’s a family curse all its own, one that my father passed on to me. So settle in, grab a mug of coffee or a cup of tea and we shall begin.

My childhood was spent reading grimoires both widely circulated, available at book stores and those that had been privately published. Sometimes, understanding my interests, my parents would bring one home to me. Mostly they found them at curio shops and the occasional flea market. The occult in all its forms fascinated me and this led me to delve deeper in my teenage years. At that time it was all academic, I never dared attempt a spell and I certainly never acquire the ingredients necessary to make one successful.

School held no interest for me and I spent my days daydreaming. Being the geeky type, I suffered bullies relegating my nights to martial arts classes. I found a school teaching a combination of original Tae Kwon Do and western boxing mixed with more than a splash of Taoist philosophy and Yin & Yan (light and dark) magic.

My weekends were spent at the occult shops in North Hampton and Amherst. The college towns were the perfect venue for the avant-garde and anything alternative to mainstream society.

I still accompanied my father from time to time during a hunting expedition or a trip to the range, helping me keep at least one foot in the natural world.

Once high school ended I found myself free and eager to begin my real life. The bullies had been beaten back, the classes survived, and the ink on my diploma had dried. Now what? I didn’t know what to do with the rest of my life.

Returning to the mundane world, I only had thoughts of how I might eke out a living and get a place of my own.

I began reaching out to my network at the occult stores and some friends who practiced shamanism and witchcraft put me in contact with the Dreadstone Compay. Dreadstone was looking for an Inhuman Resources Recruiter and they were willing to train. I was eager to learn.

This is as good as anyplace for the story proper to really begin.

CHAPTER 2

The Dreadstone tower rose impossibly tall, dominating the Boston skyline. No one could remember when the building had been erected and although many considered it an eyesore it had become the type of anomaly that ordinary people forced themselves to forget. They knew the structure was there but they never talked about it, and if you happened to ask them about they would feign a type of absentmindedness where it was easy to believe they had never seen the building before, had no knowledge of its existence.

Inside, the floors and walls had been decorated with a dark tile, immaculately cleaned and polished, that created a mirrored reflection that was easy to believe could transport you to another world.

Security here was different than I had ever noticed before. I looked at the guards behind the reception desk with an unconscious understanding that something wasn’t quite normal about them. They dressed the part smiled and frowned at just the right moments but it was like the flesh that stretched over their frames hid something other than blood, tendon, and bone.

Nevertheless, I sat in the lobby, balancing a clipboard on my lap while filling out an application as best I could. When I had finished scribbling on the form, wondering why they didn’t just let you use a computer, I returned the horrid thing to the first guard who smiled as he took it.

“You can go right up,” he said handing me an access badge. “They’re waiting for you.”

To be continued…

The Scribe’s Arcanum: Anatomy of a Sale—Graven Image: Part 2

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In 2007, marketing my short fiction had taken a back seat to everything else going on in my life. I was still planning on opening a small business, and I was working toward earning my bachelor’s degree.

I continued to plug away on a novel, along with writing and submitting short fiction as time allowed.

It had been about three years since my short horror story, “Graven Image,” had been published at The Swamp, and the year before, I had made my first paid sale by winning a contest at Dark Recesses Press. I decided to try to sell “Graven Image” as a reprint to a webzine called Afterburn SF.

Graven Image ended up rejected by Afterburn. I put the story aside to await another viable market, and for a time it was out of sight, out of mind.

Not long after, I received an email from Afterburn SF asking if the story was still available. Turns out, the owner sold the webzine and the new publisher/editor, having found a copy of Graven Image among the paperwork he had acquired, read the story, like it, and decided he wanted to publish it!

What an amazing surprise! I just felt happy it wasn’t sitting in some other magazine’s slush pile (that’s an old term for unsolicited manuscripts that used to litter the floor of publishing houses in the days before email and submission websites).

Even more surprising, he paid me six times as much as I would have received from the previous editor. I agreed, of course, and not long after had my third publishing credit and my second paid story.

After selling Graven Image, my focus went back to my studies. I wouldn’t make my next sale for another four years. Graven image would later be adapted for audio. I’ll get you a link soon.

After graduation, I’d take a story I wrote for an advanced creative writing class, and turn it into my next writing credit.

I’ll tell you more about it next time.

Wolves of Vengeance FREE today and tomorrow!

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My novel is FREE on Amazon today and tomorrow. I’d love for you to grab a copy. Trick or treat? You tell me. If you read it, I’d love to know what you think. Honest reviews on Amazon and Goodreads are also welcome. Thanks for your support.

THEY ARE COMING…

In high school Jack was a bully, an alcoholic, and a drug abuser. As an adult, he’s turned his life around. But his past is catching up with him. His old friends are dying of a curse cast all those years ago. Now Jack must return to his hometown to stop an ancient evil that is hunting him.

THEY WILL SHOW NO MERCY…

Captain Amanda Rann has a failed marriage, two little girls that she loves, and the toughest black ops mission of her life. But Rann doesn’t run. There are creatures headed for Wellington Massachusetts, and when they come she’ll be locked and loaded.

AND BEFORE THE NIGHT IS OVER THEY WILL DRAG TWO OF THEM TO HELL…

Katty LaRocque played the tough rocker chick in high school. Now Fifteen years later she’s looking back on her dreams unfulfilled. Then Jack comes back to town and brings an excitement with him that she thought was gone forever. But it’s what else he brings that just might get her killed.

WHO WILL DIE?

Detective Adrian Callahan misses his wife and can’t find a new meaningful relationship. A young woman has disappeared and he’s determined to find her before the investigation goes cold. But then Jack returns, along with a string of wild animal attacks, threatening to take him off the case permanently.

WOLVES OF VENGEANCE

Free Anthology!!! Limited Time!!!!

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Extinct Doesn’t Mean Forever is FREE on Amazon today! Includes my story, “The Language of Ice.”

The Extinct Anthology will also be free on March 12th and April 10th 2012. Don’t miss out!

http://www.amazon.com/Extinct-Doesnt-Mean-Forever-ebook/dp/B004SUOWMU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1329306095&sr=1-1

From Amazon:

Echoes of yesterday touch the lives of ordinary people in extraordinary ways in 18 provocative stories by some of the best up-and-coming authors of mainstream and speculative fiction around the world.

1. Jase was her ghost in the machine, a shaded memory captured in synthesized pixels. Near enough to see, too distant to touch. Could they still connect? – LAST SEEN by Amanda le Bas de Plumetot

2. She didn’t realize how deep her loss ran, until a saber-tooth cat helped heal the past and point her toward a future she didn’t know she needed – PAST SURVIVORS by Sarah Adams

3. Vesna discovers from an unexpected source just how old the dance of love truly is – FOOTPRINTS ON THE BEACH by Aleksandar Ziljak

4. John doted on the French touring car he’d lovingly restored. Can his dead wife teach him other things are worthy of his love too? – THE RESTORATION MAN by Simon John Cox

5. When a single mum returns home to Tasmania with her young son, her efforts to settle back in take a strange twist – A DARK FOREST by Jen White

6. Keeping a baby dinosaur secret from prying TV people and scientists is no easy task, except when your family have been keeping sacred traditions secret for generations – MY OWN SECRET DINOSAUR by Jo Antareau

7. When a Neanderthal skeleton arrives at her museum, Cassie learns a woman dead for thousands of years still has something to teach the living – THE LANGUAGE OF ICE by David North-Martino

8. With human hunters closing in, Kerg concocts a desperate plan for survival. Just one problem: he isn’t the only one looking out for family – TWILIGHT OF THE CLAW by Adam Dunsby

9. Lucia doesn’t believe in angels — but she might believe in a little boy cloned from a forgotten race – THE ANGEL GENOME by Chrystalla Thoma

10. Geri’s father finds the remains of an alien culture, proof we’re not alone. But he leaves Geri feeling more alone than ever – IN RING by Scott Thomas Smith

11. Had it been left to protocols rather than human ingenuity, Commander West’s expedition might have overlooked one of Mars’ greatest treasures – BONES OF MARS by D Jason Cooper

12. Endless Power, Inc prepared Angel for the physical dangers of harnessing a new energy source. But no one prepared him for how to cope afterward – HUNTING THE MANTIS by Adam Knight

13. Bridges of meaning built through symbols alienate as much as connect. But the Virtual Bridge Sri plans could reconnect the lost hopes of a dying civilization – CONNECT by Kenneth Burstall

14. Fleeing with the last remnants of the Oshen race, Indigo has only one chance to ensure his people are never forgotten – INDIGO’S GAMBIT by Adam Israel

15. When his pampered world loses the technology it depends on, extinction looms faster than lonely survivor Levo could ever expect – BLOOD FRUIT by Shona Snowden

16. When a new bio-weapon in the wars on drugs and terror gets out of control, can the supplier really be held responsible? – A THORNY DILEMMA by Rory Steves

17. Capturing mammoths was all in a day’s work for Deke. The saber-tooth cat, though, was going to require something bigger than an elephant gun – INVOICE H10901: 3 WOOLY MAMMOTHS by Robert J. Sullivan

18. After George makes a momentous discovery, the distractions start piling up. His wife cooks up a surprise to remind him love is always worth sacrificing for – DISTRACTIONS by Peter Dudley

Guest Author: Chrystalla Thoma

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Chrystalla Thoma, author of Rex Rising: Book One of Elei’s Chronicles, a YA Science Fiction e-book, is my guest today. She discusses her new book, and gives us some insight into how she comes up with her story ideas.

Dave: Hi Chrystalla, welcome to my blog. Can you first tell us a few things about yourself?

Chrystalla: Hi dear Dave, thanks for having me over. This is one of those questions that is vital and yet hard to answer – what is important about me? So let’s see… I’m a Sagittarius, and I read somewhere that people born under this sign always travel but give their heart to only one person, and both have been true of me. I am Greek Cypriot but have lived outside Cyprus since I was eighteen, only returning to settle in my old neighborhoods quite recently. I have lived on stories ever since I can remember and writing since I was ten. I love cold beer and hate raw meat. I have a fascination with magic and science, the boundaries of which blur a little in my mind, and am married to a marine biologist. I love the sea but I get seasick on boats, am Greek but write in English, write poetry but also fast-paced action prose, love cats but don’t own one. Strange, you say? Authors can be like that. 🙂

Dave: We have both published short stories in the anthology “Extinct Doesn’t Mean Forever”, edited by Phoenix Sullivan and published by Dare To Dream press. Can you tell us what your story is about?

Chrystalla: The Angel Genome is one of my favorite self-written stories. What if the legends of angels arose from an extinct human branch? Lucia doesn’t believe in angels – but she might believe in the cloned child of a forgotten race.

I wrote the story more than two years ago and it was one of those tales that demand to be written. I’d never imagined a call for stories would come along where this story would fit so snuggly – although I’ve had people hesitate, then tell me, “but angels never existed. So, how is this science fiction?” Aha! 🙂 Although we don’t know whether a human race ever existed which had special traits and which was later remembered as a race of “angels” as we think of them today, many branches of the human tree have been recently discovered, which survived until relatively recently (for example the Homo Floresiensis). What science fiction explores is not only which races could have been brought back to life, but what else science could bring back – what else we don’t know about – and here is where imagination comes in. We had ancient ancestors that were tiny, or huge, or ate only fruit on the trees. What if we also had ancestors who had wings?

Dave: What is your most recent writing project?

Chrystalla: I write sci-fi and fantasy in equal measures, therefore it is only due to the law of probability (or fate?) that my most recent project is a sci-fi as well. Rex Rising is a Young Adult Science Fiction novel about Elei, a young aircar driver in a world where parasites create new human races. He leads a peaceful life — until a mysterious attack on his boss sends him fleeing with a bullet in his side. Pursued for a secret he does not possess and with the fleet at his heels, he has but one thought: to stay alive. His pursuers aren’t inclined to sit down and talk, although that’s not the end of Elei’s troubles. The two powerful parasites inhabiting his body, at a balance until now, choose this moment to bring him down, leaving Elei with no choice but to trust in people he hardly knows in a mad race against time. It won’t be long before he realizes he must find out this deadly secret – a secret that might change the fate of his world and everything he has ever known – or die trying.

Dave: What inspired this story?

Chrystalla: When I say “parasites”, many people shudder. Yet, when you read sci-fi and paranormal fiction, many “conditions”, even vampirism, being a zombie, or having supernatural abilities, can be (and sometimes are) attributed to parasites, be they viruses or other kinds. Truth is, we humans have many symbionts – we happily (and often unhappily) live together with many other organisms inside our bodies. Our bodies are so used to having parasites, that lack of them has caused certain diseases of our era – auto-immune system diseases (like Crohn’s disease) and allergies, which are due to the fact that the body, finding no parasites to fight as it has used to do for thousands of years, turns upon itself and starts to destroy its own tissues. Recent research has found out that for patients with Crohn’s disease the best therapy is often the introduction of hookworms and other relatively harmless parasites.

I highly recommend a book by Carl Zimmer, called “Parasite Rex” to anyone who would like to read more about this fascinating topic.

Dave: Interesting! Thanks for coming over, Chrystalla. Where can one find you on the internet and read your stories?

Chrystalla: You can follow my ramblings and news about my writing and stories here: http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com

You can find Rex Rising at the following distributors:

Watch the book trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-6Gxf8oQas

Chrystalla’s short story “The Angel Genome” can be found in the Extinct Doesn’t Mean Forever anthology (click on image!):

You can also find her short story separately (click on the Image!):

Writer’s Announced for NEHW’s First Anthology

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Writer’s Announced for NEHW’s First Anthology.

I’m extremely excited to announce that my story “Malfeasance” will appear in the New England Horror Writer’s inaugural anthology: Epitaphs. The anthology is slated for release on 11/11/11.

Jeffrey C. Pettengill “To Sleep, Perchance to Die”
Paul McMahon “The Christopher Chair”
Kurt Newton “A Case of the Quiets”
Scott T. Goudsward “Build-a-Zombie”
John Goodrich “Not an Ulcer”
B. Adrian White “The Possesor Worm”
John M. McIlveen “Make a Choice”
Michael Allen Todd “The Death Room”
Rick Hautala “Perfect Witness”
Holly Newstein and Glenn Chadbourne “Stoney’s Boneyard”
Trisha J. Wooldridge “Kali’s Promise”
David Bernard “The Sequel”
David North-Martino “Malfeasance”
Stacey Longo “Private Beach”
Christopher Golden “All Aboard”
L.L. Soares “Holiday House”
Steven Withrow “Lines at a Wake”
K. Allen Wood “A Deeper kind of Cold”
P. Gardner Goldsmith “Alone”
Roxanne Dent “Pandora’s Box”
Michael Arruda “Chuck the Magic Man Says I Can”
T.T. Zuma “Burial Board”
John Grover “Windblown Shutter”
Stephen Dorato “Cheryl Takes a Trip”
Philip Roberts “The Legend of Wormley Farm”
Peter N. Dudar “Church of Thunder and Lightning”

U.S. Writer Saving Tassie Devil

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For Immediate Release:

US WRITER SAVING TASSIE DEVIL

It might seem a long way from home, but U.S. author David North-Martino has joined with 18 other writers worldwide in an initiative to help save one of Australia’s most beloved and endangered species, the Tasmanian devil.

From July 1 to 15th, all proceeds from their anthology EXTINCT DOESN’T MEAN FOREVER, published by Dare to Dream Press, are being donated to the Save the Tasmanian Devil Appeal.

“We have several Australian writers featured in the anthology and when we were looking for a charity to sponsor, they told us about the plight of the Tasmanian devils,” says Phoenix Sullivan of US-based Dare to Dream Press. “We immediately decided that we had to get involved.”

EXTINCT DOESN’T MEAN FOREVER features 19 provocative stories by some of the best up-and-coming authors of mainstream and speculative fiction around the world. Here is the description of David North-Martino’s story “The Language of Ice”: When a Neanderthal skeleton arrives at her museum, Cassie learns a woman dead for thousands of years still has something to teach the living.

Tasmanian devils are threatened by Devil Facial Tumor Disease, which is passed from devil to devil by biting. According to the Save the Tasmanian Devil program, a partnership between Australian and Tasmanian Governments, there has been an average 80% decline in devil sightings across Tasmania from 1992-95 to 2003-06. The program aims to see the Tasmanian devil again thriving in the wild through population monitoring, disease diagnostics, wild management and an insurance program – building a population of healthy devils that might eventually be released into the wild.

EXTINCT DOESN’T MEAN FOREVER is an e-publication and is available from Amazon, Smashwords and Barnes & Noble online. The Save the Tasmanian Devil Appeal can be found at: http://www.tassiedevil.com.au/tasdevil.nsf/.