SFP Indie Issue 3
Cover
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SFP Indie Issue3
SFP Indie Emagazine vol 3
STAFF LIST ASMSG ASMSG FOUNDER AND ADMINISTRATOR: R. Grey Hoover MEMBERSHIP DIRECTOR: R. Grey Hoover ASMSG ELECTORATE COORDINATOR: Melodie Ramone ASMSG ELECTORATE CO-ADMINISTRATOR: Danielle DeVor, Karen Prince TWITTER ACCOUNT COORDINATOR: Christoph Fischer TWITTER ACCOUNT DEPUTIES: Amber Easton, Katherine Logan, Maer Wilson SQUEAKY TWEET TEAM COORDINATOR: Maria Lenartowicz, SQUEAKY TWEET TEAM DEPUT: Christoph Fischer TWEET TEAM: Duncan Whitehead, Maria Lenartowicz, Christoph Fischer ASMSG NEW MEMBER OUTREACH: Katherine Lowry Logan CO-ADMINISTRATORS:Dianne Harman, Kirstin Stein Pulioff YOUTUBE PAGE ADMINISTRATOR: Maer Wilson CO-ADMINISTRATOR: Melodie Ramone PINTEREST ACCOUNT COORDINATOR: Maer Wilson FACEBOOK PAGE COOORDINATOR: Natasha Johnstone W.O.W. EDITOR IN CHIEF: Mike Barnett THRILLER & MYSTERY HUB MODERATOR: Khalid Muhammad SFP INDIE MANAGING EDITOR: Travis Luedke SFP INDIE COVER & LAYOUT: Joseph Murphy. Cover: Original images purchased from Fotalia. Fiction Section Graphic uses stock image from Direwraith and IndigoDeep on DeviantArt. Review section graphic uses stock images from Isostock on DeviantArt and Fotalia. SFP HUB MODERATOR: Travis Luedke, Joseph Murphy, Maer Wilson Submission Guidelines Submissions open only to active members of ASMSG. Material must be in fantasy, science fiction, or paranormal genre. Preference will be given to editorial pieces. To ensure you’re inclusion please ensure you only use graphics for which you have legal rights to use. If you cannot find appropriate graphics, contact magazine staff. They MAY be able to assist you in finding graphics. SFP Emagazine vol 1 Issue 3 Copyright © August 2014
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Available on Amazon http://smarturl.it/Rogue Genesis
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FREE: AVAILABLE NOW ON SMASHWORDS. CLICK HERE FOR YOUR COPY: A WORLD OF TERROR SFP Indie Issue 3
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SFP Indie Issue 3
CONTENTS ARTICLES
Light Behaving Badly What’s a Story Molecule
PG. 6 6 8
Guardians of the Galaxy: Science Fiction or Fantasy
11
Lucy: Asking the Wrong Question
13
Time Flow in Speculative Fiction
15
In the Spotlight: Tammy Salyer
17
Why All Writers Should Do Book Review
20
FICTION
PG 22
Hers to Claim – Excerpt by Patricia A. Knight
23
Moth – Excerpt by Sean P. Poindexter
27
The Policeman – Short Story by Drew Avera
29
Unexpectedly Mated – Excerpt by Milly Taiden
33
REVIEWS
SCIENCE BEHIND SCIENCE FICTION
LIGHT BEHAVING BADLY PG. 6
PG 35
The Cat Wore Electric Goggles by Ian Hutson
36
Beyond the Black Sea by M Joseph Murphy
36
Snow Blood by Carol McKibben
37
Sight: Dream Chronicles Book Two by David Bruns
37
Tin Men by Amalie Jahn
38
TIME IN SPEC. FICTION PG. 15
SPOTLIGHT ON TAMMY SALYER, AUTHOR OF THE SPECTRAS ARISE TRILOGY PG 17 5|P ag e
SFP Indie Issue 3
Marcha Fox Originally Posted Here: Light Behaving Badly Last time covered how sometimes light behaves like a particle and others like a wave along with how the double-slit experiment was used to demonstrate these properties. For example, if a steady light comprised of numerous individual photons hit a plate with one tiny slit to allow them through, rather than getting a line that matched the slit on the opposing wall it would be spread out in a pattern that was concentrated toward the center and fuzzy around the edges. (See picture to right.) When they used a plate that had two slits a single photon would leave a dot, as expected, but by continuing to release them one at a time they would eventually form an interference pattern, the same as what resulted from a steady light source. It was as if each photon had a mind of its own yet collectively they would arrange themselves in a certain pattern.
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While exactly where each photon would arrive couldn’t be predicted, the pattern itself could be, based on the wavelength of the light. Thus there was a certain probability that a photon would arrive in a certain place, some more than others, but which exact one would go where was unknown. It was apparent they couldn’t predict exactly where a single photon would land but if it was a discrete particle of light then it followed that it would go through one slit or the other. (Remember that the interference pattern resulted because there were two slits so the waves could overlap.) Thus, scientists, the first of whom was Thomas Young (1773-1829), decided to find out which slit of the two choices each photon went through. To do so they polarized the light going through each slit in a different way with the detector on the
SFP Indie Issue 3 other side capable of telling the differentce. The photon could still theoretically “choose” which slit (or both) it would go through, but they would be able to tell which one by its polarization when it arrived on the detector. Sneaky. But outsmarting Mother Nature is not an easy task. Much to their surprise, when they sent one photon at a time toward the slits where it was polarized the interference pattern did not emerge! Whoa! Instead, they got random spots of light which indicated individual particles. Polarizing the light did not destroy its ability to build interference patterns so this didn’t make sense. The results implied that when they set things up so that they’d know whether the photon went through one slit or the other that the individual photons lost their right to choose and behaved like a particle. In other words, the probability wave function had collapsed when the final result would be determined. In other words, the photon can change from a wave to a particle when someone is trying to figure out exactly what it’s going to do. When someone is watching, it behaves like a particle that not only goes
through one opening or the other but loses its wave properties as well. Say what? Back then the expression WTF? didn’t exist yet, but something along those lines was definitely what was going through numerous scientific minds. By all appearances, if someone was watching, i.e. measuring the outcome, then the probability wave collapsed and the photons acted like particles. Thinking perhaps this was because they were polarizing the photons before they went through one slit or the other, even though they knew that didn’t stop the light from forming an interference pattern, they rigged things up to determine which slit it had gone through afterwards. Much to their surprise they got the same result as before, a rain of itinerant particles, as if each photon had either known in advance or perhaps even went back in time, deciding how to behave. This introduced the concept of an observer affecting the outcome. Suddenly consciousness was part of the mix, or at least seemed to be since there was no other explanation. Of course, physicists who deal exclusively with the physical world were
less than enchanted by all this woo-woo stuff. Thus began the philosophical notion of whether or not a tree that fell in the forest made a sound if no one was there to hear it. May I remind you that these are very intelligent people we’re dealing with here and while some of them may not be wrapped to tight as they walk the geniusinsanity interface; nonetheless, they are a whole lot smarter than the rest of us. Einstein called this “spooky action at a distance” and didn’t believe it, even though he was the one who theorized that energy and matter were essentially the same as expressed by his famous equation E=mc2. To this day people are still arguing about this aspect of quantum theory with different conclusions. Is it possible that an observer or some form of consciousness can influence physical matter? Do we, indeed, create our own reality? What do you think?
Photos from Wikicommons and Pixabay
About the Author: Marcha Fox is a prolific writer who has addressed a wide variety of subjects but her favorite is science fiction. It began as a love of astronomy which eventually led to a bachelor of science degree in physics from Utah State University followed by a 21 year career at NASA's Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas where she held a variety of positions including technical writer, engineer and eventually manager. Her NASA experiences included trips to Cape Canaveral in Florida, visiting other NASA centers in Mississippi, Alabama and Maryland as well as trips to the European Space Agency in The Netherlands but the most memorable was the sad task of helping to recover space shuttle debris in East Texas following the tragic Columbia accident in 2003. Her Star Trails Tetralogy Series incorporates her knowledge of physics and space travel within a family saga set on a primitive planet where survival is an ongoing struggle which is further complicated by political intrigue.
Marcha Fox on Amazon Marcha Fox on Facebook
Marcha Fox on Twitter Marcha Fox’s Official Website
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What’s a Story Molecule?
Click Here for a larger version of the picture above.
Kayelle Allen
Originally Posted Here: What's A Story Molecule? Like me, my friend Melissa Snark likes the TV Tropes website. What are tropes? They’re devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members’ minds and expectations. On the whole, tropes are not clichés. The word clichéd means “stereotyped and trite.” In other words, dull and uninteresting. The TV Tropes site isn’t about that. It’s about the creative use
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of these mega-themes. The Periodic Table of Storytelling is a site that makes good use of these themes. By putting together all the basic tropes and assigning them a range of colors and letters, it’s possible to create a “story molecule” using the themes of the story.
TRAILING KAIWULF: STORY MOLECULE Melissa had an idea. Why not take the TV Tropes website and figure out how to apply its amazing concepts to her own story? She hit upon an even better idea. Why not invite other authors to do the same thing? Adding icing to the cake, she contacted the TV Tropes site and asked if they’d like to
SFP Indie Issue 3 take a look. They did, she did, and a group of us got together to share the idea of creating a story molecule. Mine is the last one in the series, so I’m doing my best to make it awesome. I hope you’ll check it out. The book I’m featuring is Trailing Kaiwulf. Why not head over there and take a look? It’s amazing what she put together. Click here: http://is.gd/kaiwulf_molecule Find an invisible man in another dimension? All in a day’s work at TRAIL.
Travel to a godforsaken planet on the outskirts of space. Check. Hold intrusive military types at bay. Check. Find an invisible man in a different dimension. Check. Finish out the vacation TRAIL yanked you back from to do it? Easier said than done. TRAILING KAIWULF Yanked back from their first vacation in ages, Jee and Dane get handed a top priority mission. The pay is better than any they’ve earned before as agents for the Trace, Rescue, and Identification League. With this much money,
they might not need jobs. They’re the best there is, and the item, person, or secret hasn’t been invented that these two can’t recover. Until now. Locating this quarry might be a bit past even their considerable skills. After all, how do you find an invisible man in another dimension? And who, exactly, is footing a bill this steep? Certainly not the archaeologist in charge. The military wants to get involved, but they have no monetary stake either. So who — or what — is behind the request to trail Kaiwulf?
Excerpt hwww.kayelleallen.com/exckai.html Amazon is.gd/SciFiAdventure_Kaiwulf This is a Trace, Rescue, and Identification League story. Download the official TRAIL Facebook cover and other goodies: http://is.gd/kaiwulf_excerpt Learn more about the Periodic Table of Storytelling here: http://designthroughstorytelling.net/peri odic/
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SFP Indie Issue 3
M Joseph Murphy Originally Posted Here: Guardians of the Galaxy: Science Fiction or Fantasy?
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY
editors, the only people who care about the distinction between science fiction and fantasy are science fiction fanboys. So why do they care? Superiority. They want you to believe that science fiction is inherently better than fantasy. Any fantasy author or reader knows this is ridiculous. In fact, fantasy, as a genre, may be the older genre of storytelling. (source: The Difference Between Fantasy & Science Fiction)
“While science fiction draws on and extrapolates from what we know about reality and science, fantasy invents what does not (and likely could not) exist in our reality.” Source: What’s the difference between science fiction and fantasy?
Although many become fanatical discussing the difference, I tend to agree with Guy Gavriel Kay (see side bar).
In science fiction, the science or technology needs to be integral to the plot of the story. As Asimov “If you can take the Science out of the Fiction and still have a viable story in another genre, you did it WRONG.”
1. Is it Possible and Plausible?
For some, this is a touchy subject. Some get downright fanatical about the difference. For example, Star Wars, they say, is pure fantasy while Star Trek is pure science fiction. The distinction between the two depends on whom you ask. Here’s one definition:
WHY THE DISTINCTION? If we’re honest, aside from submission
SCIENCE FICTION VS. FANTASY QUIZ Well, it’s as plausible as anything in Star Trek or Asimov’s Foundation series.There is no magic in Guardians of the Galaxy. Starlord has various technical toys but is essentially Indiana Jones with better tools. Rocket is the result of genetic manipulation and cybernetics.
“I doubt there’s anything heroic in the category fetish. We need them, as consumers (and by extension, publishers – and agents and authors – need them as suppliers) and I’ve never agreed with those who suggest that a straight alphabetical shelving system for all fiction in bookstores in the way to go. Having said that, it seems only common sense to note that many books will blur borders, many authors will shift categories, sometimes with reckless abandon (to the chagrin of marketing departments everywhere), and many readers will endlessly debate definitions of categories.”
- Guy Gavriel Kay
(Guy Gavriel Kay – Official Website )
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SFP Indie Issue 3 The only elements that appears mystical are the Infinity Stones. In the movie they are forged by the interaction of multiple universe. So, in a sense, their origin is tied to our current understand on quantum physics. Sorta.
The ear piece is an example of how worldbuilding done properly. It is there for the people that are looking for it but doesn’t get in the way of the story. Over-explanation can ruin a story. Need I mention midichlorians?
For more on the Infinity Stones click here: Infinity Gems by Comic Vine
The Real Problem with Midichlorians
2. Is the Science/Technology Integral to the Plot? Absolutely. The central MacGuffin is a piece of technology. Every character in attempting to gain control of the Infinity Stone uses space-aged equipment to retrieve it. It could be said that one of the main characters is Starlord’s mix tape, an old form of technology that keeps us tied to Earth even in the deepest part of space.
CONCLUSION
Based on these guidelines, Guardians of the Galaxy is best described as science fiction. However, you classify it, it is one of the best movies I’ve seen in years. I can’t recommend this movie enough. If you haven’t seen it yet, get off your computer, put away your phone, and go see it. You can thank me later.
LINKS TO GREAT ARTICLES ON THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN SCIENCE 3. Does it Extrapolate from Known Science? Every device we see is an extension of a currently existing one. It FICTION AND FANTASY gives the movie a very grounded feel. Again, the only item that appears unimaginable is the Infinity Stone…and it is supposed to defy explanation.
IT SHOWS THE SCIENCE BUT DOESN’T EXPLAIN IT
Science Fiction & Fantasy: A Genre With Many Faces The Difference Between Fantasy and Science Fiction The Blurred Lines Between Science Fiction and Fantasy Definitions of What Science Fiction Is and Is Not
One of my favorite parts was something subtle many may have missed. Throughout the entire movie, we are SHOWN that Starlord wears a small black device behind his right ear but it is never discussed in conversation. This is a nod to a universal translator that allows various species to communicate with each other. But no one talks about it because it is a common, everyday part of the culture. If you think about it, when was the last time you had a conversation with your friends about the technology and purpose behind a phone. Everyone knows what it is so no one talks about it. Similarly, in Game of Thrones, no one talks about the lack of moon in the sky because no one has ever considered there should be a moon in the sky.
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History of Science Fiction and Fantasy Guardians of the Galaxy – Official Website
SFP Indie Issue 3
L UC Y : Asking the Wrong Q ue s t i o n Stephen Ramirez
I saw the much-anticipated ‘Lucy’ last weekend and, before going into my review, I’d like to make a few preliminary comments. First, I am a huge fan of Luc Besson. Ever since ‘La Femme Nikita,’ I was convinced this guy could do no wrong. Second, I am in love with Scarlett Johansson— don’t tell my wife. Third, I’m very aware that no matter what I say here, this movie will make a ton of money. So that said, what’s my take? I was disappointed.
Originally Posted Here:Lucy - Asking the Wrong Questions
SPOILER ALERT! THIS WAS TWO MOVIES Apparently, ‘Lucy’ couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. On the one hand, it is a smart, funny, bloody sci-fi thriller that doesn’t skimp on the action. On the other, it’s an vfx-laden treatise on the history of man and his ability to utilize the untapped potential of his brain. Judging by the official trailer, I was promised the former. And I was getting it in all its Luc Besson glory until Lucy finally meets Morgan Freeman’s Professor Norman in Paris. There was an upside to the mindy, spacey stuff that takes us from man’s beginnings with the original Lucy to the wonders of
the universe. I enjoyed the visual effects— especially when Lucy stops Time with a wave of her hand. Sure, that’s cool. And the movie came in at ninety minutes, which meant we weren’t saddled with a slow-moving second act. But when the screenwriter stops caring that Lucy is on the lam and an evil Korean guy is after her, and opts instead to focus on her morphing into a frickin’ computer made of giant Nutella-like tendrils, that’s when you lose me. EVERY HERO NEEDS AN ARC This is a basic tenet of screenwriting. As we’ve learned over the years, it’s the Hero’s Journey, people. The hero—or the protagonist—reluctantly sets off on a journey where a bunch of stuff happens.
Whether it’s good or bad stuff doesn’t really matter. In the end it’s life changing. And there’s always a final battle, which the hero must win. Then he returns home changed and tells the others what he learned. The model may be old, going all the way back to Gilgamesh, but it works . So what happened to Lucy? Well, she didn’t come back! Instead of an arc, we got a trajectory. She never gets to have the final battle with Mr. Jang—that’s left to the battle-weary French cop Pierre Del Rio. Once Lucy’s brain reaches a hundred percent utilization, she trips off somewhere beyond Time and Space, probably meeting up with an alternate universe version of herself, which is the OS from ‘Her.’ Seriously? What am I
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SFP Indie Issue 3 supposed to do with pure energy? I invested a lot of my emotions in this woman, and now she just disappears? And just like Professor Norman, I am left with nothing but a thumb drive with a bunch of ones and zeroes on it. Great. I guess I should start that backup now. Oh wait, she melted all the computers. HOW MIGHT THIS HAVE WORKED? The movie already has the elements of a great sci-fi action thriller—bad guys, experimental drugs, exotic locations and a woman who, though she graduated Phi Beta Kappa, starts out dumb as spit when it comes to choosing men. Speaking of bad guys, the only thing better than a Korean bad guy is pairing him with an English bad guy. Bravo, Luc! As I said before, I was good with everything until the fateful meeting with Professor Norman. Previously, she had only spoken to him by phone or video screen. He was becoming her Alfred. But once she meets with the good professor and other scientists, we’re transported to the Science Channel as Lucy’s brain utilization increases and everyone discusses the nature of Time and Space. At this point, I wouldn’t have been surprised
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if everyone adjourned to a nice restaurant and spent the next five hours discussing Sartre or the symbolism behind clowns in horror movies. Here’s my idea for a third act. When Mr. Jang and his army arrive at the university to kill Lucy, she is already starting to lose her powers because the drug is wearing off. That, coupled with a blinding headache and other side effects from the drug, it’s a question of whether she can still take out the bad guys before they can kill her. A massive final battle ensues where everything—the university, everything—is destroyed as Lucy battles with Mr. Jang and his men while becoming weaker and weaker. At a critical moment, Mr. Jang shoots Lucy. Weak and bloody she still manages to send him to hell. Then she collapses as the professor makes his way to her. As the professor examines her, he realizes that she is once again human. How? Well, her irises appear normal. Working fast, he and Del Rio get her to the hospital, where surgeons operate on her and she recovers. Epilogue. Lucy is standing outside the airport with Del Rio. She’s going home to see her parents. He says, “I guess we’ll never know what would have happened
had you hit a hundred percent.” Just then, a toddler drifts into the path of an oncoming taxi, his mother running after him and screaming in French. Suddenly, the taxi stops completely, as if Time itself had stopped. The crying mother retrieves her child as Del Rio stares at Lucy in amazement. “What?” she says, smiling. Then she kisses the cop on the cheek and walks into the terminal. Setup for a sequel? You bet. THE WRONG QUESTION Every great movie asks a question at the beginning that must be answered at the end. In ‘Lucy,’ the question appears to be “what would happen if we could access our whole brain instead of just ten percent?” To me, that’s the wrong question. It has nothing to do with a hero’s life. What happened to Lucy could have happened to anyone—the conniving boyfriend, the French cop or Professor Norman. I think a better question is, “Will Lucy become the person she is meant to be?” With my ending, I think the movie would have answered that. It still would have been a kick-ass story and we would have left the theatre satisfied that Lucy completed the hero’s journey.
SFP Indie Issue 3
Ceri London
Originally Posted Here: Time Flow Premise for Rogue Genesis I’ve pressed the publish button on Rogue Genesis and am contemplating the science points raised in some of my advance reviews. The clues of speculative mad science are in the book blurb.
belief—a requirement for most science fiction, science fantasy and fantasy.
It’s changing position in the universe relative to everything else.
However, I am happy to explain my initial thinking on the premise. I have put clues to most of this in the story.
One man. Two worlds separated by a universe. Space-time warped by black holes. In the passing of seconds on Earth, Major Niall Kearey has witnessed the birth and death of generations on Astereal. Astereal is in decline, the dueling forces of black holes threaten extinction. Time is running out as Astereal races towards annihilation and temporal alignment with Earth.
1) DIFFERENT TIMEFLOW It’s theoretically possible for different timeflows to exist throughout the universe. But I wanted a solar system/galaxy where time starts flowing faster relative to the rest of the universe eons ago. NOT SLOWER!
4) A CLUSTER OF BLACK HOLES It’s possible a cluster of black holes is creating a situation where combined gravitational forces keep an otherwise doomed solar system in balance and weird effects on time. Don’t believe the first is possible? Check out http://www.newscientist.com/article/d n21081-astrophile-the-sticky-starcluster-thats-mostly-black-hole.html Okay, what about weird effects on time? Well, why not, in my fictional world?
It is speculative fiction. It is a mad plot, and it gets crazier, and that’s why it was so much fun to write and, I hope, fun to read for those willing to suspend
2) MAKE STUFF UP Is it a plot device still to be revealed in the series? Maybe. Maybe not.
Not as much plot fun in that. What supports a faster time flow in addition to 1 above?
3) CHANGING POSITION
5) LOWER MASS THAN EARTH Time could flow faster on Astereal simply because it has a lower mass than Earth, plus its distance from the central mass of the universe. I wasn’t convinced by that, so didn’t really use it.
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“It’s theoretically possible for different timeflows to exist throughout the universe” Ceri London I also needed time to start slowing down on Astereal relative to Earth. Alignment. That’s easier. If Astereal exists in a faster timeflow to start with, then being on the edge of the universe means an accelerating velocity, and faster velocity slows time. The cluster of black holes gaining mass over time will also slow time down, and, if this occurs in a way that alters the combined Since
writing this I came
gravitational balances, it could also start to undo whatever side-effect increased the rate of time in the first place. Or perhaps my plot device in 2) is running down. One black hole increasing mass quicker than the others provides both a reason for time slowing and an extinction event. One of my betas pointed out, Astereal’s disintegration could take a very long time, maybe billions of years. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long at all for that solar system to stop supporting life. That will happen well before the solar system breaks apart and very quickly.
across the following
I threw in a shifting universe for good measure. ‘Alignment’ sounds good when I have wormholes linking two planets together. I need that link to get stronger, so aligning galaxies and timeflows makes for a nice device and ties in with prophecies and provides a potential source of dark energy. That basically is my premise for timeflows. There is more that I won’t discuss for fear of spoiling the story, but yes, the speculative science and the case for abusing the General Theory of Relativity increases. I used some artistic license. I couldn’t find out what happens when wormholes link different time flows across the universe, so I made it up.
article! http://www.livescience.com/39159-time-travel-with-wormhole.html
DISCOVER BOOK IDEAS BY DEAN R. GILES The secret to creating books that sell on Amazon is to write them around topics that currently capture the attention of the masses and that have the chance of being discovered by people hungry for the information. Most authors don’t know where to find the right ideas for writing books, so they flounder with books that only sell a few copies or none at all.
DISCOVER THE SECRETS In this book you will find the very best places to get ideas for nonfiction books and learn about why those topics are the best selling. There is a discussion on source after source of incredible ideas for books and validation techniques that should keep you in the best categories. There are many reasons for writing a book, but every author wants to see their book become a best seller. As a #1 bestselling author, I bring my experience to the table and demonstrate how you can become a bestselling author also. There are few disappointments in life that compare to writing a book that no one is buying. I know, because I have been there and done that. The result was no-holds barred pursuit of what made some books popular, and others very lack luster. The results were quite surprise-ing to me, but they revolved around finding topics that were already popular.
OPEN YOUR MIND AND YOUR POTENTIAL This book has the potential to open your mind and your potential with a plethora of ideas that can be the basis for many very popular books that you could write. The methods are straight forward and easily reproducible. You could be on your way to your own bestseller within a couple of hours. Start your amazing journey today by downloading the book.
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GET YOUR COPY HERE: DISCOVER BOOK IDEAS: WRITING BEST SELLERS
SFP Indie Issue 3
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Maer Wilson Originally Posted Here: In the Spotlight: Tammy Salyer Today we welcome Tammy Salyer to the blog along with her Sci Fi Thriller, Spectras Arise. The third book of this trilogy is the recently released Contract of War. Let’s find out more about Tammy and her newest book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tammy writes a bit, reads a bit, and frequently races cars across intersections from the saddle of her bike. Consequently, you could probably crack walnuts shells on her thighs, but she hopes no one ever tries, because … awkward. Find her on her blog or Twitter, or sign up for her newsletter to be the first to know of contests, new releases, and special events you might enjoy. She’s currently working on a prequel to the trilogy and another project that has something to do with space Vikings. She hopes you enjoy reading her works and welcomes your reviews.
everything once resembling order has been leveled. Scattered enclaves of survivors dot the worlds, living, however they can, in snarled lawlessness. Aly and her crew have carved out a niche of relative peace, doing their best to go on with their lives through salvaging, scavenging, and stealing. But with no force left to keep the lid on the pot, the pressures of chaos and discord soon cause conflicts to boil over. As enemies close in from all directions, even, sometimes, from within, the crew once again must fight—not just for survival, not just for their way of life, but this time for a future that can finally lay to rest the system’s bloody and savage past.
ABOUT THE SERIES
ABOUT THE BOOK
Contract of War begins in the aftermath of the system-wide war between the Admin and Corp Loyalists and the noncitizen population of the Algols, where
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Contract of Defiance, Contract of Betrayal, and Contract of War follow heroine Aly Erikson and her crew of anti-Admin smugglers through an everescalating glut of life-and-death adventures and the trials of a living on the side of liberty and freedom— whether they agree with the law or not—in the far future of the Algol star system. As former Corps members, most are no strangers to fighting and dissent, but more than anything, they want to spend their lives flying under the radar without control or interference from the system’s central government, The Political and Capital Administration of the Advanced Worlds. But the Admin’s greeddrenched dualism of power and corruption has other plans, and
throughout the series, Aly and her crew are reminded of one lesson time and again: when all other options run out, never let go of your gun.
NOW LETS SHINE THE SPOTLIGHT ON TAMMY Maer: Thanks for joining us to tell us about your new book, Tammy. Tammy: Hi Maer. Thanks so much for featuring me on your site and giving me a forum to do what authors love to do—talk about themselves! Er, I mean, talk about writing, of course. Maer: I’m very happy to have you here ,Tammy! Let’s jump right in. What is the funniest or oddest thing that has happened to you as an author? Tammy: I’m not sure if this qualifies as funny or odd, but one of the most miraculous things that has happened to me as an author was meeting my biggest fan, and then marrying him. I know, there’s probably some kind of rule in the International Author Guidelines and Standards manual about not doing this, but sometimes you just have to be a rule-breaker. A few months before I published my first full-length novel, Contract of Defiance, I met my muse and now husband through a music website. We became great friends and running partners and spoke on a near daily basis. He read my book as soon as it came out, then gushed and gushed about how much he enjoyed it. Flattery is apparently my kryptonite, and the rest, as they say, is history. Maer: That is a great story! Do you use beta readers, and, if so, what qualities do you look for in a beta? Tammy: Oh yes, I rely heavily on my beta readers to keep me in check. I have several friends who read for me, and they all fit into different categories. Some are general readers who simply enjoy science fiction, my primary genre; some are professional reviewers who bring a wider understanding of the genre and the market to their critique;
SFP Indie Issue 3 and lastly, several are author friends who base their feedback more on the crafting and plotting of my books. The combination of all these different perspectives really gives me a wide range of feedback, which I can synthesize to produce stories that (I hope) are strong in all aspects. Maer: What is a one-line synopsis for your book? And is this a stand-alone or part of a series? Tammy: One-liner: In the aftermath of a system-wide civil war, Corpsdeserter and ex-arms smuggler Aly Erikson and her crew face threats of chaos and disorder at every step as they attempt to rebuild a life in the midst of the devastation. Contract of War is the final book in the Spectras Arise Trilogy. Contract of Defiance is the first book, and Contract of Betrayal is the second. The first is easily a stand-alone, but the trilogy is best read in order. Maer: Which character, other than Aly, is one of your favorites to write and why? Tammy: In all three novels, my favorites beside the protagonist, Aly, have been the villains. Writing bad guys is giving yourself permission, in a way, to be bad yourself. It’s always given me a vicarious thrill. Maer: If you had to pick a color to describe Aly what would that be and why? Tammy: Red, definitely—she’s very volatile. Maer: You gotta love a volatile heroine! So, who are your favorite authors to read? Tammy: This is such a wonderful question! But it always makes me pine for some free time to go pick up one of their books. The shortlist is: Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Neal Stephenson, and lately, Ceri London. Her Rogue Genesis novel is absolutely captivating. A visionary work of science fiction.
Maer: Some of my own faves there. And I have Ceri’s novel on my TBR list. Can you share a bit about the project you’re working on now? Tammy: After I finished writing my trilogy, I had every intention of shifting to a new series that can only be described with these words at the moment: Vikings and galactic shifts. But I guess my subconscious wasn’t ready to let go of the Spectras universe just yet, and I’m currently writing a series prequel that will either be a novella or a collection of novellas featuring many of the different characters involved throughout the series. Maer: I love prequels! What do you do when you’re not writing? Tammy: I am endlessly passionate about the written word and make a living as a freelance editor (here’s my editing site). When I’m not writing or taking time off to pursue my hobbies of running and cycling, I’m eyeball deep in others’ books. It’s a rough life, but you know, someone’s gotta do it Maer: LOL. What influenced you to write in your genre? Do you write in others? Tammy: There are so many things that inspired this series and in this genre, but I’ll try to be brief-ish. First is that I grew up loving science fiction movies with strong female protagonists (Aliens being my all-time favorite movie), so there was never a question as to who my protagonist would be. Second is the fact that I am ex-army and wanted to create a world and story that explored to some degree the
military mindset and effects of a military life—but in a more Heinleinien setting. Space marines, ooorah! Not to mention that I needed a world where it was not only acceptable to use a lot of foul language, but almost compulsory. In that respect, my characters’ pottymouths are an extension of my own, at times. And finally, I love a story where you can’t help but root for the underdog, and the crew of the Sphynx, which is a transport ship that features heavily in the first two books of the series, is definitely that. I also dabble in other genres, but not to the same degree as SF. Maer: What music, if any, do you like to listen to while writing? Tammy: Oh yes! I love listening to epic movie soundtracks when I’m writing or editing, but often I’ll put on SimplyNoise.com to the sound of rain, too. Maer: I’ll have to look into that website. We don’t get much rain in the desert and I like the sound too. Thanks again for joining us today, Tammy. Do you have anything you’d like to add? Tammy: I always welcome comments or feedback from readers and fans and would love to have more beta readers for my next novel. Anyone who subscribes to my newsletter will receive a free copy of Contract of Defiance, so I encourage everyone who loves explosions and action to sign up here. Thanks again, Maer! Maer: It was definitely my pleasure. Thanks for a great interview. I’ve added your books to my TBR list.
Grab all three novels in the trilogy while they’re on sale for 99 cents each through mid-August at these retailers: Amazon Barnes & Noble Libiro
Apple Kobo PayHip
You can find Tammy at these links: Tammy’s Blog Tammy on Twitter
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Why All Writers Should Do Book Reviews David Bruns Originally Posted Here: Why All Writers Should Do Book Reviews
I never gave much thought to book reviews until I became a writer. Recently, a chance encounter on Goodreads made me reflect on the topic more deeply. I clicked through to the blog “Supposedly Fun – for the love of a good book” and ran across a post entitled “On Ethics and Book Reviewing (No Sock Puppets!)” The author focused on what I’ll call “soft sock puppetry,” where he suggests that bloggers who have a relationship with a publishing company will be more likely to write positive reviews. He’d surveyed the Amazon discussions boards and came to the conclusion that bloggers would “rather not post a review than post a bad one.” I am one of those people. That realization made me think about book reviews and why I do them at all.
IT’S KARMA, BABY Reviews on Amazon are the currency of social proof for potential book buyers. It tells your customers that others have
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taken the plunge with this piece of work and the water’s fine. As a writer, I ask for reviews all the time.
In the back of all my books, I ask my readers to visit Amazon and leave a review. If someone emails me with something nice to say about one of my stories, I ask them to leave a review.
SFP Indie Issue 3 I’ve contacted a slew of book bloggers with queries and gotten into their review queues. But here’s the thing: if I’m going to ask for something from the readers/reviewers out there, I feel like it’s my obligation to give something back to that same community. I didn’t always have this attitude. Before I became a professional writer, I had a Goodreads account and did the odd review as a way to (1) keep track of what I had read and (2) show how smart I was as a discerning reader. It wasn’t until I started asking for reviews that I realized the great imbalance that exists between books and reviewers. An imbalance that I can do something about. IT’S NETWORKING FOR WRITERS Writing is a lonely business. The amount of positive reinforcement that comes your way before, during, and after the birthing of your novel is pretty scarce. And that’s just the beginning of your journey. Once that baby is released into the world you need to market it, and to market your book you need reviews. As I’ve done with other writerly problems, I pondered this question while wearing my business hat. What do business professionals do when they’re stuck or need support? They reach out to their network.
Try this experiment: buy an indie author’s book, read it and post an honest review on your website. Then email the author and tell them the good news. I can almost guarantee you will get a message back from the author. A few things to keep in mind: 1. Aim for a newer author. If you are the 1000th reviewer of WOOL, does your review really move the needle for anyone? (Although, for the record, I did review one of Hugh Howey’s short stories in an anthology and got a personal thank you from him!) 2. This is not a quid pro quo arrangement. Do the review as an act of generosity, without any expectation of gain. 3. Only post a positive review if you really liked the book. Otherwise, you’re no better than a sock puppet. IT MAKES ME A BETTER WRITER You’ve heard the old saw: if you want to be a better writer, be a better reader. It reminds us to seek out new voices as we sharpen our own craft. James Scott Bell had a great post on The Kill Zone blog last week in which he applied some basketball wisdom from coach Bobby Knight: “Practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.” Writing a book review requires you to articulate why you enjoyed the book,
and in doing so you will add to your understanding of the craft. PLEASE DON’T SEND ME YOUR BOOK
After all this thoughtful commentary on book reviews, you might be tempted to send me your book. Don’t. I am not a book reviewer. I read because I love to read and I want to improve my craft as a writer. If a book review shows up on my website, it’s because I liked the book and I want you to hear about it. But let’s get back to where this all started. Yes, I am one of those people who would rather not leave a review than leave a bad one. Does that come from some deep sense of altruism toward my fellow writers? No, the reason why I don’t post negative reviews is because if I don’t like a book, I don’t finish it. I’m not about to write a review on a book I didn’t read.
David Bruns is a writer from Minnesota, and creator of the sci-fi series The Dream Guild Chronicles. Check out his website for updates, new releases and a free short story. Connect on:
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SFP Indie Issue 3
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Hers to Claim Patri cia A. Knight BLURB: Scornfully rejected by her desert lover and uncertain of her place in the world, Adonia travels an arduous road fraught with peril to the fabled mountain-city of Nyth Uchel. She wishes to heal their sick and dying, but in the arms of Hel—their highborn prince—Adonia discovers where she longs to belong. Noble born, a descendant of the greatest kings their planet has known, Hel willingly bears the burden of his dying city and its people on his massive shoulders—alone. But forced to watch helplessly as a dark evil attacks the very soil under his feet, he crushes his pride to summon help. He is staggered to discover the answer to saving his city and perhaps all Verdantia might lie behind a heavy fall of chocolate hair and shy brown eyes. As their entire planet faces encroaching black death, Hel and Adonia, two seemingly disparate individuals, forge a partnership of love and sacrifice that alters their future forever. More? Here are the first two chapters: CHAPTER ONE The nails in the worn heels of Prince DeHelios’ boots clicked against the stone as Hel climbed the stairs, and then softened to a rhythmic thud as he strode the carpeted hall to the small corner of the castle still maintained as a residence. He looked neither left nor right and ignored the signs of prosperity dimmed—room after room empty and dark, rooms where laughter and love once abided. He stared sightlessly past the shrouded portraits of his longdead ancestors, the first kings and queens of Verdantia, now ghostly rectangles adorning a poorly lit hall. A melancholy sorrow pierced his heart when he passed the empty nursery—it’s fleeting pain as biting as the cold outside, but he shrugged it off with a grim discipline. “Thank the Goddess, you are back.” A stooped, elderly man accosted Hel as he entered a cozy chamber where a fire radiated warmth and candles lifted the gloom. Heavy tapestry curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows and prevented any draft. From the bookcases lining the walls crammed full of leather-bound tomes, the room had served as a library or office in an earlier time. Now, the pale bodies on low pallets arranged about the room testified to another use—a sickroom. “Bernard, give me a moment.” Hel shrugged his steward off and nodded at an older woman attending one of those ill. “Sara, how is Rolly?”
She shook her head. “He won’t last the night, my lord.” Hel disguised his pain at the news. The man was a friend. “I’ll come sit with him. Give me a moment.” He turned to Bernard. “I got your message. I came directly.” Hel pulled one of the squat, upholstered stools close to the fire and sat holding his hands out to the warmth. The icicles in his heavy black beard dripped onto the floor as they began to thaw. Bernard hovered over him radiating anxiety. “We must have a skilled medicus and more briteweed. I am unlearned in the healing arts, my lord—all of us are. We do our best, but…” The elderly man closed his eyes and seemed to shrink. “We lost Edgar today— another good man who was hale and hearty two months ago. The perimeter you set last month on the western border has failed. I don’t understand why. We could always count on at least eight months, but we will have no wheat fields come spring if the blight cannot be pushed back.” As if the burden of feeding and housing his people was not sufficient, an unfamiliar, insidious blight, a black sickness, seemed to affect both the animate and inanimate on his mountain. One by one, his people had succumbed to a disturbing affliction that sucked their vigor, their anima, until they surrendered any attempt to live and just faded into death. The same contagion that afflicted his people drained the life from his land. The blight attacked the very soil under their feet, rendering it putrid, barren, unable to sustain life. 23 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 Hel sighed and hunched closer to the fire. His shoulders bowed as if every word from Bernard’s mouth added yet another weighty burden to their width. His steward’s voice faltered but his recount of the latest catastrophes continued. “Julian Goodman asked for the makings for brite-weed tea today. He said his wife was sickening. I told him to come back later. I couldn’t risk the panic should he learn we had none.” At the old man’s words, Hel straightened and raised his eyes to Bernard. “Tessa? Tessa is fading?” Bernard nodded. Hel’s body tightened when he remembered the sweet, erotic surrender of the woman. Ah, Tessa. Together, they had performed the sexual rites to clean Nyth Uchel of an ugly remnant of the Haarb wars, soul wraiths—though Hel preferred the term ‘leeches’. Warm, giving Tessa—he could not let such a gentle soul die. His thoughts went to that day in the windswept courtyard when he had requested a partner for the rites and Tessa had answered, over her husband’s vocal protests. Her gentle voice carried in the quiet of the courtyard. “Julian, please reconsider. Lady Athena is dead and our lord has no one else. I have enough aristocratic blood to be of use to him. It will save all of us. It is just the temporary use of my body.” Her gentle eyes had shamed her husband and he’d turned away with a snarling, “Do as you will.” Julian avoided Hel from that day forward. With regret, Hel considered he had made a lifetime enemy of the man; but Tessa, sweet, sweet Tessa had been a revelation, such a contrast to his dead wife who was cold even in life. Hel felt a presence at his back and the woman tending the sick room quietly addressed him. “My lord, you best come now. I don’t think he has long.” Hel rose and moved between the ill to a chair pulled beside the pallet where Rolly lay covered with blankets. Vivid, suppurating sores covered his scalp and face and his flesh hung slackly as if melted onto his skull. “Rolly.” Hel sat, then bent over his former gamekeeper and spoke his name gently. “Rolly, it’s DeHelios. I’m here with you.” The man moaned and moved slightly but otherwise gave no sign he had heard. Anger born of impotence rose in Hel’s gut. He wished there was something he could do for the man. Of course, he wished many things and thought again of Tessa and all those whose lives depended on him. Breath rattled in Rolly’s lungs, and then he fell silent. His chest no longer rose and fell. Hel listened intently and watched for any sign of life. “I think he’s gone, sir,” Sara said. The effort not to scream or pound his fist through a wall left him rigid. When he was certain he could control himself, Hel stood and faced Bernard. “My damnable pride, my refusal to ask the Tetriarch for help has brought 24 | P a g e
us to this. We need the radiance of our sigil tower to blaze forth once again and kill this dark contagion. For that, I need a magistra. Tessa was an incomplete substitute for my wife. A tender, willing heart cannot replace the genetics and the schooling that make a magistra a true conduit for power. I have wasted precious time that might have brought an end to this nightmare.” “My lord, the corruption beset us on multiple fronts. You made the best decision at the time. You couldn’t have known the blight would spread with such speed and devastation.” Bernard’s words didn’t lift his sense of guilt. “Tell the people I have gone to the new capital, Sylvan Mintoth. I will return with a magistra, a healer and more brite-weed. I will beg for charity on my knees if I must.” ~~~ After a long week of arduous, perilous travel, Hel reached his destination. In a surge of force, he stiff-armed the immense double doors to Queen Fleur Constante’s audience hall. Boom! The thick, metal-strapped doors flew open and rebounded against the walls of chiseled stone. The resonating crash silenced the hum of voices and pulled all eyes to him. The only noise came from the papers fluttering down from overbalanced stacks on a trestle table. The table flanked a throne-like upholstered chair on an elevated dais at the end of the hall. A group of half a dozen or so men and women clustered in conversation with a diminutive woman seated in the chair. Their conversation ceased and their heads raised as if a herd of chital at a waterhole alerting to a predator. His keen senses absorbed the large chamber of polished stone floors and rugged walls before he took a second step into the audience chamber. Heavy beams of entire trees supported and braced a roof rising at least thirty feet. Clerestory windows ranging the length of each long wall flooded the audience hall with natural light. As befitted the first noble house of Verdantia, the crimson DeHelios banner, his banner, with its rampant white stallion surrounded by the rays of a sun, hung beside the purple and gold crowns of the currently ruling House Constante. Below them hung the banners of the thirty lesser noble Houses of Verdantia. He shed his heavy coat and hat of icebear pelt as his aggressive, confident strides took him down the center of the great hall. The mass of previous supplicants fell away in silent recognition of a superior force to allow him unfettered passage. “I am Prince DeHelios of the standard that hangs by privilege of rank beside your own. House Constante will provide me a skilled healer, a magistra level five or higher, and ten pecks of brite-weed. Time is of the essence. My people are dying.” In the unnatural silence, his resounding baritone carried his demands to the furthest parts of the audience hall. Immediately, three men—and a woman dressed in battle leathers—stepped in front of the upholstered chair and screened the queen’s person from him, a living
barricade. Their hands rested on the pommels of their swords. Assorted palace guards hastened to encircle the queen in a ring of bristling weaponry. Hel snorted. “I have not forgotten all civilized behavior. I come unarmed.” A man dressed with austere elegance in close-fitting black leather stepped forward. “I am High Lord Ari DeTano, Primo Signore of the Second Tetriarch, and Consort to Queen Constante. You may address your concerns to me.” His bearing and commanding voice conveyed the expectation of obedience. Hel casually examined the High Lord of Verdantia. So, this man led the forces that defeated the Haarb. “I heard the Constante queen had taken two lovers. My words are for our monarch, not the men who warm her bed.” DeTano stiffened and his cool gaze became arctic. A tall, blond man of ethereal beauty moved to stand beside the High Lord. “I am Visconte Doral DeLorion and Segundo Signore of the Second Tetriarch—the other lover. Who in the seven hells are you.” The blond’s quiet voice held menace. If Hel wasn’t mistaken, the man had palmed a throwing knife into his right hand, poised for a lethal strike. Hel suspected either man would prove formidable in combat, but something about the slender blond suggested the killing edge of a well-honed razor. He must be DeTano’s assassin. A third male crossed his arms over his chest and with a low rumble of laughter, relaxed his stance. “DeHelios. Ha! The last time I saw you, you sprawled unconscious in a shrub leaving a lovely piece of horseflesh in need of an owner.” Hel studied the speaker. He knew that laconic drawl—but its owner was a criminal with no love for Verdantian nobility. What was this man doing here? “Ramsey DeKieran, you nefarious thief! You owe me the price of that fine horse. You fell on me from a tree, you coward. I never had a chance.” Ramsey snorted. “Still an egotistical ass. You should be grateful I took only the horse. Your head is still nicely attached.” He caught the eyes of the other two men. “Gentlemen, that tower of smelly fur is ‘Hel’. You may know him by a different name. The Haarb called him bás dtost—the silent death.” Ramsey rolled his eyes. Hel raised his lip in a snarl at Ramsey’s mockery. “Such illustrious company, DeKieran. Your status in the world seems to have risen—but then it could hardly have fallen lower.” Ramsey grunted. “Unlikely, eh? You may address me as Lord DeKieran, Fifteenth Earl of House DeKieran, and the striking redhead preparing to unman you from ten feet away is my wife, Lieutenant Colonel Steffania Rickard of the Queen’s Blue Daggers. Be careful with your words, Hel. My vixen is wicked with a throwing knife and takes insults to me personally.”
SFP Indie Issue 3 Hel arched an eyebrow in surprise and nodded at the glorious redhead measuring him with amused golden eyes. “Ma’am, my condolences on your marriage. I assume you had no choice.” The stunning mercenary hid laughter turned to cough behind a closed fist. “So the bás dtost was real. I was never certain,” the blond assassin murmured to High Lord DeTano. Hel swung his regard to the queen’s second lover and snorted. “I’m real enough.” “I thought you dead on that pile of ice you call a mountain,” said Ramsey. Hel paused before answering. Many nights, alone with his memories and tormented by dreams, he thought death might be a kindness but he refused to take the easy way out. “A few of us still fight to survive.” A soft feminine voice caught Hel’s ear. Behind the men blocking his access to the queen, Hel noticed movement. A tall, handsome woman, a brunette with strong, angular features cocked her head as if listening then bent down out of sight. Her warm brown gaze, alive with intelligence, had locked with his for a tangible moment. A pulse of electricity ran down his spine and his instincts jumped to alert. By Her light, who are you? Hel casually lifted his head hoping to catch a further glimpse but she had retreated behind solid bodies. The women’s whispered conversation carried just enough to hear. “Adonia, with your height what do you see? Describe it.” “A rather large man, Your Majesty, at least, I think there is a man underneath all the hair and pelts. A black beard and mustache obscure his face and his hair hangs in ratted clumps down his forehead and back. The only thing I can tell with certainty is that he is a hulking lump with gray eyes and desperately in need of a barber.” Hel laughed inwardly. Yes, “hulking lump in desperate need of a barber” probably described him well. He heard a sigh and a creak from the upholstered chair then the lilt of a melodious voice. “Ari, Doral, Lord Ramsey, please move aside so I may speak with, ah…DeHelios.” With obvious reluctance, the High Lord and his assassin made an opening. Ramsey stayed where he was, arms crossed, but turned to allow Hel room to pass. Hel climbed the steps of the dais toward a delicately beautiful blond woman, a mere pittance in the upholstered chair. Her weight barely dented the cushions in spite of her advanced pregnancy. The addition of a padded step stool prevented her legs from dangling. She arranged her arms across her belly as if somehow she would shield her unborn babe from danger. Pain at the thought she would consider him a threat to her child softened his aggressive stance. His steps paused several feet from her, and he gentled his manner. “Your Majesty is with child.” 25 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 Clear blue eyes held his and her smile radiated joy. “Yes. It will be our fourth.” She pushed up on the arms of her chair and shifted to another hip. “And she cannot come soon enough. I find the waiting a little…burdensome.” “My wife complained of the same. Four children? You are truly blessed, Ma’am. I wish you a trouble-free birth and a healthy babe.” He softened his gruff tone and finished with a respectful bow. He had issues with the Constante ruler on the Verdantian throne, but the utmost respect for motherhood. “Thank you.” She studied him for a long moment. “House DeHelios—the first kings and queens of Verdantia. The First Tetriarch. Hmm. Your House and the mountain city, Nyth Uchel, are so revered by the common people you are almost fable. All Verdantia grieved the loss of Nyth Uchel and the radiant Torre Bianca. We thought your line dead and Nyth Uchel razed in the Haarb massacres. I give heartfelt thanks to know we are in error. What brings you down from your mountain, Sir?” “Ma’am, it is a dire and complicated story. I suggest my tale is best discussed somewhere more comfortable for you.” The queen moved her gaze to her consorts who stood protectively at either side of her. “Ari? Doral?” High Lord DeTano nodded. “The children will be running riot in our apartments but my office should be comfortable enough. I would like DeKieran and Steffania to join us—and Medica Corvus—attend the queen, please.” His eyes caught the tall woman who stood behind the queen’s chair and the brunette nodded. “All right.” Queen Constante wrestled her ungainly body to a stand. “Shall we?” Hel stepped back and held out his arm to assist her down the steps but the beautiful blond man moved forward and swept the slight figure of the queen into his arms. The two exchanged a look of such love that Hel felt
he intruded on an intimacy and he immediately turned away. The young queen must have seen his discomfort. She reached out and touched his arm and Hel turned back to her. “Prince DeHelios, my Segundo dislikes seeing me ‘waddle like a duck’ and finds it too painful to watch my slow, ponderous steps. He says it is necessary to carry me and I must confess—I rather like it.” Her playful grin pulled an answering quirk of lips from Hel and an arched brow from Doral. “My preference, my Queen, is that you forgo walking at all and stay in bed these last two weeks, but I am just a poor male whose wishes you blithely disregard.” Doral descended the steps and carried his queen out of the audience hall followed by High Lord DeTano, Lord Ramsey and his wife, Steffania, and the woman called Adonia. Hel trailed all of them but clearly heard the queen’s gentle gurgle of laughter. “I just like the feel of your arms around me, my love.” Hel found it difficult to continue his dismissal of this sweet-natured, loving young queen as “that upstart Constante woman.” Perhaps he should have come down from his isolated mountain sooner. He acknowledged with bitter honesty that he envied Ari DeTano and Doral DeLorion. They possessed what he yearned for—a warm, passionate woman to love and bear him children. He’d even settle for what he’d had before—a marriage of cold respect if the nursery held children once more. Light and warmth, the delectable smells of baking bread and savory roasting meats and the lift of happy voices wafted through the palace halls. Hel contrasted the inviting interior of this palace with the silent, cold gloom of Nyth Uchel. He promised himself, again, that he would labor until the city and his home reclaimed their former majesty and pulsed with vibrancy and life—no matter if it took him the rest of his life to accomplish it.
Pre-order Hers to Claim Verdantian Series Book 4 Here. Available Sept 12, 2014
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Moth Sean t. poind exter
excerpt- Chapter 1
“Don’t you usually come in pairs?” Officer Unruh smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.” Max grinned. “You just get out?” “Yes, sir. US Marines.” “Ah…yeah, I recognize the haircut.” It wasn’t just that. Max stood a foot over him at six feet, but the patrolman made up for it with broad arms and a big chest. He didn’t look like he needed a partner. And then there was this “sir” business… “Have you been doing this long?” “I’ve been with the Joplin PD for five months. And you?” Max drummed his fingers on the bag hanging from his shoulder. “I’ve been a social worker long enough to know which house on this street we’re going to, even without looking at the numbers.” It was the one without siding, just bare insulation boards nailed to the outer wall. “Yes, sir.” Max didn’t resent Unruh’s presence; he just didn’t think it was necessary. He’d taken cops with him lots of times, and on a few of those instances, it turned out he’d needed them. But Brian insisted the workers take cops with them anytime an allegation of drugs was involved in a hotline. It irritated him for a number of reasons, not the least of which happened to be that Brian’s job used to be his. That was another story… The lawn was overgrown and the wooden porch sagged, but they arrived at the door without incident. Max knew the drill. The burly young policeman stepped to the side of the locked screen door and knocked. A few seconds later, an interior door opened and a man’s face appeared behind the filthy fly screen. Max had been expecting a woman. “Is Donna here?” The man looked at Max with bulging, bloodshot eyes that darted back to the cop as though expecting a friendlier face. Whatever look Unruh gave, it wasn’t what he’d hoped. He returned to Max, who repeated the question. “She’s not here.” It was eight thirty in the morning, so if she worked she might have been there. Max didn’t have employer information for the mother. Also, he kind of doubted she had a job. Unruh rattled the latch a bit, but it didn’t budge. “Sir, could you unlock the door please?” “What’s this about?”
Max stepped to the screen and held up his plastic ID badge. It said Max Hollingsworth in big letters under a rather unflattering picture of him. The bulging-eyed man looked at the ID then back up at Max. He looked surprised. He shouldn’t have been. “Sir,” repeated Unruh, “Could you unlock the door please?” He looked back to Unruh and nodded. After a click, the door swung open. Max and the patrolman entered the home. The look on Unruh’s face implied disgust. Max grinned, he really hadn’t been doing this long. The home was a mess, but Max had seen worse—far worse. In a very short time, so would Unruh. Places like this would become normal for him. Max remembered when this kind of mess would have bothered him, too. The term “shithole” was tossed around so much, but it wasn’t that bad. The awkwardly rectangular living room smelled like dog and had a few plastic microwave food boats piled on an old coffee table. Despite the smell, there was no dog in sight. The most expensive piece of furniture in the room, probably the house, was a flat screen television. It was paused on an image of a video console football game. The wireless controller rested on a ratty couch covered by a slightly less ratty blanket. “Donna’s sleeping—” “You said Donna wasn’t here.” Max glanced over his shoulder. The man wore dirty grey boxer shorts and a plaid robe. He’d forgone the courtesy of a shirt, so his guests were treated to ribs poking through the molespeckled, pasty skin of a man who rarely left the house. 27 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 “Yeah,” he replied with a dirty chuckle. “I saw the cop and said that.” He looked at Unruh like he thought the cop would be amused. The cop was not, so he looked away. Max produced a small notebook and pen from the bag hanging at his side. “Who are you?” “I’m Jim…I live with Donna.” “You sleep on the couch?” He gestured to it. Jim shook his head. “Only in the day.” Must be nice, Max thought, sleeping in the day. “You work nights, then?” Max had perfected the art of over-tact, being a complete dick without getting punched. The people he dealt with didn’t tend to get subtlety. Unruh’s grin showed he got it—the cops usually did. They both knew the answer already. “Naw, I’m what you’d call unemployed.” He thought about asking him to elaborate: What exactly do you mean by, unemployed, sir? But that might be overdoing it. White trash will only tolerate so much subtle condescension. “Would you call Donna unemployed?” Max asked, after collecting pedigree information; Jim’s last name, date of birth, social security number. Max was always surprised when people gave all that to him, especially the social security number. “No, she works at Macey’s.” That was not to be confused with Macy’s, the retail giant. Macey’s was a chain of convenience stores/gas stations. Joplin had ninety of them or something. “Is Madolla in her room?” “No, she sleeps downstairs.” Max crooked an eye. “Donna or Madolla?” “Madolla. She’s around the corner, in the kitchen.” Max stopped writing. “The baby sleeps in the kitchen?” He looked at the entrance to the dining room. Presumably the kitchen was beyond that, behind the stairs. “The baby keeps us up if she’s in the room.” “Yeah, they’ll do that.” Max walked around the corner. The stairs were wooden and covered with peeling brown paint. A few of them were cracked. They ended in a carpeted second floor. The dining room lacked a table, and the kitchen beyond was full of dirty dishes and flies. A few feet from a neglected refrigerator sat a playpen, apparently doing double-duty as a baby bed. “Let me get Donna’s ass out of bed…” Unruh stepped in from of Jim as he tried to leave. “Not just yet.” Max approached the pen. Jim followed, but Unruh stopped him at the dining room entrance. “I think Donna should be here, I can’t just let anyone see her kid you know—” “I’m not ‘just anyone’...I work for the State.” “She’s sleeping.” He seemed to be gauging his chances of darting past Unruh without being tackled…or 28 | P a g e
perhaps his odds of survival if it occurred. He chose the prudent path. “If you wake her up, Donna’ll be pissed. She cries a lot.” “They’ll do that, too.” “She was crying for like, hours last night.” Aside from the slight dirty-diaper smell, Madolla and her pen were clean and well taken care of. The report said she was six months old, but she looked like a newborn. She was lying on her belly, still and peaceful. Max started to smile… “She was bawling all night, until about four this morning.” “When was the last time you or Donna checked her?” Max lowered his hand into the pen and pressed his fingers to her little scalp. “Checked her?” “To see why she was crying.” “I turned up the TV and she cried herself out.” “When?” “When what?” “When did she stop crying?” Jim scratched his scalp through greasy brown hair. “Like three or something. It usually takes longer.” Max withdrew his hand from the pen and wrote all that down. The tap of pen on paper competed evenly with the soft hum of the refrigerator condenser. “Officer Unruh, can you call an ambulance please?” Jim’s eyes widened. “Ambulance?” Unruh didn’t ask any questions. The distraught look on his face showed he didn’t need to. Unruh stepped away from Jim to the living room and pressed the button on his shoulder communicator. “Oh, shit… Should I wake Donna?” Jim stepped closer to Max so he didn’t interrupt the stream of ambulance-summoning cop jargon. “That would be a good idea,” Max kept his voice as flat as possible, but under the circumstances his bile filter was a little taxed. “Shit! What do I tell her? Is Madolla okay?” Max turned his eyes to the pen. “She’s dead.”
Sean’s Links: Website: http://www.seanpoindexter.com/ Goodreads: Sean T. Poindexter on Goodreads Moth on Amazon.com: Moth on Amazon
SFP Indie Issue 3
The Policeman A short story in the Dead Planet Series By D rew Avera I could feel my communicator buzzing in my left breast pocket as I strolled through downtown Archea. My intent to ignore the call was secondary to my need to finish my assignment. To say that I didn't have time for this was putting it lightly. In the last year of working with the Agency I have put down at least twenty hits, most were a standard procedure of tracking and killing, but this one was different. My target was a woman who was a newer member of the Syndicate, at least for now. My brief had stated that she had been embezzling money through a series of contracts in order to build up her wealth. Apparently personal growth and success in the organization known as the Syndicate, a group of business class criminals was a no-no. The hardest part of tracking this woman was that she bore a resemblance to my sister, Kara. I had seen a holographic display of Ms. Taggert and it had caused my blood to turn cold...briefly. My programming had kicked in and dulled the personal attachment that I was associating with my target which would allow me to focus on the task at hand, to kill her. Downtown Archea was alight with activity. The solstice festival which was underway was a week-long celebration that had roots to our earthly beginnings. I'm not sure of the significance, but it gave most people an opportunity to lay back and consume copious amounts of alcohol and opiates. The party atmosphere was both distracting due to the sights, as well as making it hard to find Ms. Taggert, whom may or may not be dressed in festive costumes like most of the people in the square. "You see anything?" my associate Thom asked as he appeared from behind the shadows of an overhang. He was fresh out of training and had been assigned to me as my protĂŠgĂŠ. Mentoring in the Agency was something liken to a big brother program for at risk youth. It was designed to serve a noble purpose, but most mentors misused their authority and destroyed the relationship between themselves and their fellow policemen. I felt a responsibility to do things differently, though. Perhaps it was part of my consciousness that was still intact from before the brain washing known as programming. "Nothing, You?" I asked more as a way of reassuring the fact that he had done everything in his power to track our target. Sometimes a question that you fail to ask yourself can be the difference between turning over all of the stones, or just turning over the wrong ones.
"No, sir," he said. "I even took the opportunity to survey Pontiff White's Palace to see if he had any guests," The possibility of White taking an opportunity to host a lovely woman in his Palace was not out of the question, though given the fact that he was little more than the Syndicate's puppet made me wary to think that he had the audacity to aid a fugitive. He was usually the first to know about hits filed through the Agency, unless of course he was going to be the target. "Very well, let us go back to Taggert's home. Maybe she will be returning soon," I said as I shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my uniform jacket. The gauntlet on my right wrist made it a tight fit, but I was used to it. "Are you sure? She most likely knows about the hit by now," Thom said with concern shown upon his face. I could tell that he was going to take failure personally. It was just a part of the programming he received as a prospect of the Agency. I had the same reactions early on in my career, it was a notion that dulled over time, but would never really go away. "We don't have much choice," I assured him as I turned to walk back to her apartment. It was an unusually large complex in a luxurious tower that overlooked the Archean Sea. Thom followed me the five blocks towards Taggert's home in silence. It was rare for two policemen to engage in work conversation in public due to the sensitive nature of our work, the strategic killing of political targets, 29 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 targets assigned by the Syndicate and carried out by policemen who worked for the Agency. We arrived in the lobby of the apartment building about twenty minutes later and the entire lobby was adorned with shimmering crystals that reflected the lights in the ceiling. I came across a mirror that rested between two elevator doors and I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. My cheeks were sunken in and my raven black hair rested in an unkempt fashion atop my head. The image actually made me realize that I was hungry and hadn't taken the opportunity to eat anything since yesterday. Kara had mentioned the fact that she felt that there was something wrong with me, like maybe I was depressed and starving myself. I had assured her that was not the case, assured her, not myself. "Are you all right?" Thom interrupted my selfloathing as his reflection stepped closer to mine. He looked much healthier than I did, with his plump cheeks and red hair that was combed back and held in place with product. We looked like opposing sides of the same coin. Our black jackets hung off of us and dangled at an angle behind us. It was the fashion of the day, but it was a useless design beyond that. The elevator dinged and the doors opened, drawing my attention to the fact that I had been staring at our reflections and failed to answer Thom's question. "I'm fine," I lied. The truth was that I was tired of waking up each day for a job that I hated. I knew that I should not have those thoughts about my job, not because it shouldn't be true, but because my programming was supposed to have removed those types of thinking from my mind. A certain amount of fear resided because of that knowledge, something I would have to take to the grave, I figured. No need to show the Agency that I was flawed or else risk losing everything, which wasn't much to be honest. I only had my sister, Kara. It was a cardinal sin within the Agency to maintain contact with our families. I did so in secret and kept it to myself. I had only shared my secret with one other person, Thom, whom I trusted most. We entered the elevator and I watched as he pressed the touch screen and typed in the number sixteen which would lead us to that floor. I could feel the gentle rise of the elevator beneath my feet and if I struggled to listen I could hear a slight whirring sound that emanated from outside pulleys and cables guiding us to our destination. The stop was just as subtle as the rise had been and the doors opened automatically to reveal a lavish hallway adorned with framed paintings of the men and women who had owned the apartments, I was certain that more than one of them had been members of the Syndicate themselves. I wondered how many of them had died by a policeman's gauntlet. Those questions would have to wait until later. We moved through the hallway to the door that led into the suite where Ms. Taggert was reported to live. I noticed instantly that the door was slightly ajar. This had 30 | P a g e
not been the case a few hours ago when we originally scoped the area. I made a nod towards Thom to silently alert him to what I had seen and he shook his head in acknowledgment. This could mean one of two things, either she was home and neglected to close the door properly, or another policeman had been assigned to the case. There were only a few times that I could recall multiple policemen being tasked with the same target, usually that was reserved for severe cases where the Syndicate feared the person was a flight risk. Usually a single policeman was assigned a job and was only relieved if he could not get it done. I reached down to the silver gauntlet that resided on my right wrist and used the touchscreen to adjust the dial setting. The gauntlet was powered and controlled through small needles that were injected into my skin which connected to the nearest nerve endings in my muscle tissue. This allowed me to control the rate of fire much like a person can control their grip on an object. The nerves would receive stimuli from the brain and trigger whatever effect the person desired. The electronic impulses from the brain also allowed a trickle charge to the gauntlet which powered the touchscreen where I adjusted the intensity of the laser and could turn the sight beam on and off. I adjusted the gauntlet to full force, no need to milk the woman's death. I had nothing to gain in doing so. I nudged the door open and winced at the slight creaking noise that followed. I much preferred the advantage of stealth like movement when stalking a target. Not many of them fought back, but you never truly knew who you were up against. Thom followed me inside and we made our way through Taggert's home as quietly as possible. I could see a few holographic pictures that illuminated above the entertainment center. It appeared that she had a brother who was a few years older than I was and her mother was around my own mother's age, at least if my mother was still alive. I buried that thought as quickly as I could. I needed to focus on the task at hand, not on the past. I could hear sounds coming from the bedroom of the apartment, it had to be her, and it sounded as if she were speaking with someone. I eased closer to the dark mahogany door that led presumably into Ms. Taggert's bedroom and placed my hand on the doorknob. I gave it a gentle, quiet turn and pushed it open while keeping my eyes open for any potential threats. I was correct at assuming this was a bedroom, but there was no way it belonged to a woman. It had a dark, sullen look and it was far too cluttered to belong to a wealthy woman who based her life decisions on perceptions from other people. I let loose of the doorknob and walked in, a little off guard much to my detriment. It wasn't until I heard the lurching sound coming from Thom's throat that I realized that we were under attack. I spun around to see Thom dangling by his neck by the man I had seen pictured with Taggert in the other
room. This man was about my height, but seemed to have the strength of four men. I leveled my gauntlet at him, but with a sweep of his arm he leveled me. I grasped the side of my head from the blow and recoiled into the fetal position when he drove a booted foot into my sternum. I felt pain like I had not experienced since my time as a prospect. I looked up to see the man throw Thom across the room and into a wall. The Sheetrock buckled under Thom's weight and he smashed through the wall and fell limp to the ground. I knew I needed to move, but the sharp pain in my chest prevented me from doing so quickly. I struggled to breathe. There was nothing else I could do as Taggert's brother drove his foot down onto me again. This time I knew there would be broken ribs involved, the evidence of it protruded from my ribcage and punctured the skin on my right side. I gasped for whatever amount of air could replenish my aching lungs and labored as my chest cavity expanded with each attempt. "Linnis," I heard a woman shout barely over the ringing in my ears. I tilted my head up to see my target stand there with dark hair that rested above her shoulders. She was dressed in a pant suit with gold adornment along the edging of the jacket. I could see the look of shock on her face, but was it because her monster of a brother was attempting murder in her home, or was it the fact that two policemen were in her home? She could surely put two and two together and deduce why we were there. She was targeted by the Syndicate. Linnis stood down from his attack and crossed his arms in a defensive pose. It was clear his older sister ruled his small little world, but I was unsure to what extent her control over him would last. I could see Thom move slightly out of the corner of my eye which was a small relief in a rather bleak introduction to the Taggerts. "Forgive my brother," she said as she extended a hand to help me up. I grasped it with my right hand and the blue beam that shown from the diffuser of my gauntlet illuminated upon her shoulder. She stared at it for a moment before speaking, "It would seem that Linnis interrupted a rather important assignment, Mr.?" she paused and waited for me to say my name. "Blackwell, my name is Serus Blackwell," I said with a rasp. I could barely stand, let alone talk due to the pain. "Well, Mr. Blackwell, to what do I owe the honor of the momentous occasion?" she asked after dropping her arm from my grip and walking slowly to a plush navy blue love seat that was nestled against a gray wall. I noted that this was the most respectable piece of furniture in the room, a room with dirty laundry and electronics strewn about haphazardly. "I think you are aware of that by now," I said. "Yes, well, I can only assume at this point that someone in the Syndicate has it out for me. The reason‌
SFP Indie Issue 3 you may be more privileged with that information than I am," she said as matter-of-fact as she could. She was a strong woman. That was for damn sure. I exhaled deeply and retrieved the communicator from my pocket. The missed calls were stacked up in the queue, but I ignored them. I didn't have time for returning them. I scrolled through the assignment list and opened the file for Mira Taggert, I scrolled down the holographic image that appeared above my communicator and found the supposed reason for the assignment. "Apparently someone believes that you have been embezzling money from your business and stocking up your wealth. There is evidence that points towards fraudulent account transaction and misrepresentation for expenditures through your corporate entity, Taggeris Incorporated." Taggeris was a company founded by her great grandfather about a century ago which was the leading manufacturer of the electromagnetic plates and nano-fiber used to repair our artificial atmosphere. They had revolutionized the technology that otherwise had not changed much since its initial inception. Now the service life of each plate was extended by four times the previous models service life. To put it in layman's terms, they are more efficient and more reliable than the previous competitors out there. It was also much more expensive. "That's nonsense!" she stood exasperated. "Our company was founded on integrity and I would never do anything to jeopardize my family's company. It means everything to me," she said. "That's not my problem, Ms. Taggert," I said coldly as Thom, who was now sitting upright against the crumpled wall that Linnis had thrown him into looked up at me. His face was bruised and a small amount of blood was dried under his nostrils. "Do I not at least have an opportunity to confront my accuser?" she was stalling. I could tell that she had noticed the extent of my injury and planned to leverage it against me in order to make her escape. "You know it doesn't work that way," Thom said sourly. He knew the system and how it worked, just as much as she did. Mira looked down as Linnis stepped behind her and draped his arms around her. "I know," she replied as she curled into Linnis' arms and placed a delicate hand around his neck. Her face drifted into his shoulder as she waned from the reality of what was to be her end. Linnis looked up at Thom as a barely audible whisper escaped her lips. I was not attuned to reading lips, but based on the cold glare when Linnis stared at Thom I could see that this family was not going to go down without a fight. Without any type of physical warning Linnis lunged at Thom and bore his full weight into Thom's stomach. I could hear the air escape in a solid burst of air that reminded me of a balloon bellowing the air as it was squeezed free from its confinement, even to the staccato bursts at the end of the exhale. 31 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 Mira caught on to my distraction and leapt towards me with an ornate spear that had been resting against the bedroom wall. The glistening ivory of the shaft was engraved with some kind of writing that may have been traceable to her family’s ancestry before colonizing Mars. Or it could have been decorative, either way it would impale me to a certain death. Not one that I was particularly interested in experiencing. I brought my left hand down as the spear approached. Her hesitation at the last minute had given me just enough time to grip it tightly with one hand and to shove my fist into her shoulder knocking her to the floor. The effort took a bit out of me and I could see blood dripping from my body to the floor at a steady rate now. "You son of a bitch, do you understand who I am? Who my family is? You will be killed for what you have done to me!" she screamed before choking on a sob that was caught in her throat. Her makeup was running down her face and it reminded me of one of the masks I had seen at the Solstice Festival earlier in the evening, as the red and white lights danced against the plastic exterior of the woman's face in the square. Mira ran her sleeve across her face and she sat on her knees and waited for the blast from my gauntlet that would end her life. I looked up at Thom to see that he had killed Linnis with the silent killer that rested on his own arm. Mira did not follow my gaze. She knew the silence that filled the room answered the question that poured from her heart. What about my brother? She would feel the question more than ask it. I knew because I had felt the same when my mother had passed. I watched above as her head fell into her hands and muffled the anguish of her loss. She would not feel it much longer as I lifted my arm and pointed the beam in her direction. I was only following orders in the same detached way I had been trained to do, but I felt something more this time. You could call it a connection, or a twinge of sympathy that had no business clouding my mind. The programming kicked in as my emotions entered the equation, rational thought was smothered by my training and I braced myself for that simple, controllable act, and fired. It was over, another assignment that ripped the tethered soul that rested somewhere deep inside the monster that I had become. The monster I should not
recognize as a monster because of the programming, but yet it still reared its ugly head. I lowered my arm and turned away from Thom who was watching me, learning from me, as was his lot in this relationship. I could not bear to allow him to see me struggle with this assassination, wounded or otherwise. It was not the death, but the life that it resembled that tore at my mind. Mira bore such a close resemblance to my sister Kara. I could not help the fact that my association with the two entered my mind as the laser blasted through my targets head. It was done, there was no going back. Even if I could take it back, another policeman would be assigned to carry out the execution. I swallowed bile and the burn in my throat brought me back to reality. I inhaled deeply before walking away, holding my side and grimacing in pain. "Are you all right?" Thom asked with concern coloring his face. "I'm fine," I lied. The only way I was going to get through this was to remove the emotional attachment that I carried with me always. I knew what needed to be done. I had to distance myself from my only surviving relative. I had to destroy my family before the monster inside of me destroyed it for me. "Can you file the report, Thom?" I asked in an effort to take some time to myself. "Of course, Serus," he said behind me. "Good. I've got something I need to take care of," I said as I left the Taggert residence and reached for my communicator. Kara's number was the fourth one from the top, and I slid my finger over her name and waited for the sound of her voice to greet me on the other end. I had known for some time that this day was inevitable. It was for her own good, and mine. The part that hurt most was that I knew it would be for the last time. I had to let go of the past in order to survive the future. I just hoped that she could understand that and not hate me for it later. This genuinely was an act of love, even if it did not feel like it. "Hello," she said into her communicator. I hesitated, trying hard to delay the inevitable, the hurt and the heartache. "Serus, are you there?" I couldn't wait any longer. "Kara, it's me. We need to talk," I said finally. And that was how I was to put the past behind me, with death and depression.
If you enjoyed this preview, email at drewavera@gmail.com and he will send you a PDF version Dead Planet Book One: Exodus for the low, low price of FREE! Thank you for reading! For more Drew Avera: Drew Avera on Amazon or Drew Avera on Smashwords
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SFP Indie Issue 3
Unexpectedly Mated Milly taid en
EXCERPT FOR CRYING OUT loud! Nicole Acosta tugged the earpiece out and glared at it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emma, heck, most of the time she pretty much ignored her friend. Emma was just…bossy. Yeah, bossy. But tonight, that wasn’t the problem. She glared into the darkness. There better not be any mosquitoes or she’d go ballistic. Already her skin crawled with the thought of what could be in the area. She shoved the ear piece back in. “It’s only for a little while,” Jordan said. “We’ll be out of here in no time, Nic.” Right. Not frickin’ likely. She bit her lip to swallow the yell she wanted to throw at her friends. There were bugs all over the place and she and bugs did not mix. She’d have to buy new trainers after this. There was no way in hell she’d wear those mud-covered ones again. “It’s not the end of the world,” Emma whispered. “We all agreed to come and do this for Ellie. Just suck it up.” Suck it up? Easy for her to say. Emma loved the outdoors and all that stuff. Outdoors to Nic meant the park. Or the pool. Now here she was, like a deranged teenager, spying on a scent ritual that was sacred to Ellie’s people. All for what? To catch a glimpse of Jake Wolfe. That philandering mutt. She couldn’t help herself, she peeked over the ceremony site where Mrs. Wolfe or as she preferred to be called, Barbara, motioned the guys into the woods. Ellie said they’d be on watch. Something moved on Nic’s leg. Oh God. Was it a snake? She peered into the darkness and swatted away whatever crawled on her. The things she did for her insatiable crush on Jake. It’d been that way from the first time she’d met him. And what a way to meet a man that had been. If first impressions were everything, Nic got the best first impression of Jake ever. She’d visited Ellie’s house for a weekend sleepover when they’d been in college. Their gazes met and she swore she’d been electrocuted. She’d been rooted to the spot like an idiot, staring at his hunkiness in all his wet and naked glory with stars in her eyes. Well, that’s what he loved to tell her. From that moment on, Nic knew she couldn’t let Jake get to her. He was the world’s biggest flirt, used to women falling to his feet. And while she wasn’t familiar with the whole love thing, she knew all about lust. He’d smiled one time. That’s all it took. For him to show her that dimple
she
adored and her girly bits had readied for surrender. Not to mention her brain cells had gone AWOL. It was pathetic. It was also the reason why she’d let herself get talked into sitting on a picnic blanket, with her knees to her chest. She still couldn’t figure out what made the noise in the grass. Maybe Ellie was wrong. What if there were snakes there? A firefly zoomed around her. She watched the tiny bug light up the dark with its yellow glow, zipping and buzzing back and forth in front of her. Some bugs weren’t so scary. From far away. Her attention shot down to the blanket in the darkness. She’d swear it moved again. Her mind ran on overdrive and she knew the likelihood of her seeing shit that wasn’t even there was big. She took a deep breath and sighed. Her muscles ached from how tense she held herself. The night’s coolness did nothing to stop the heat from the earlier part of the day. Her tank top stuck to her back. She yanked on the front part and blew on her boobs. Thank goodness she was alone or she’d look so stupid doing that. The others had gone silent. She wondered what they were up to. Where they as freaked out as her? Probably not. She’d bet Emma would live in the damn forest if she got a chance. Leaves crunched from a nearby bush. With an agility she knew she didn’t possess, she got on her knees on the blanket. The noise in the trees increased. Fear froze the blood in her veins. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears along with the sound of the harsh breaths that 33 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3 struggled in and out of her lungs. There was a wild animal near her. Holy. Shit. “Oh, hell no!” There was no way she would sit around to find out what the heck was in the bush. She struggled to her feet. Her leg had gone numb so she had to put her weight, which was not just a couple of pounds, on her other leg. Screw the video, she’d return in the morning and remove the camera. She bent and yanked her bag from the blanket. Something poked at her ass. She turned on her heel to run. Her knees hit a big lump of…fur? Her body did a full flip over the big furry body and she landed on her back with a thud, half on and half off the blanket. “Ouch!” Within seconds, a furry face she knew all too well came into view. “Jake?” The big wolf lowered his head down to her face and licked her cheek. Figured. He was such a horndog. Even in his animal shape, he was still a flirt. “Jake, I’m sure you have better things to do than scare me half to death.” Then, when she remembered where she lay, she scooted up to sit on the blanket. “I need to get out of here before something else crawls on my leg.” Jake growled. She widened her eyes in disbelief. “Did you just growl at me you big mutt?” The wolf prowled around her in a full circle. She couldn’t figure out what the hell Jake thought he was doing, but she had to get off that grass. There was shit in it and she couldn’t see it for the life of her. She lifted a hand to her ear. The others were much too quiet. Her hand touched a small diamond stud. She’d lost the ear piece. “Fuck!” Jake growled again. “Shut it, mutt. If you’re not here to help me, then you better go,” she hissed, then tapped the massive wolf’s nose and turned. Now on all fours, she tried to peer into the darkness for the ear piece. “This is the shit I get into for minding other people’s business. If I’d have stayed home and bought shoes online, this wouldn’t have happened,” she mumbled, feeling along the blanket for the small piece of technology. “I could be having a nice Apple Martini or a Cosmo and watching my man Vin Diesel riding the streets in his latest flick. But no, I had to come here to see what all the fuss was about with mating between shifters.”
She didn’t care that she continued to ramble while Jake, in the form of a wolf, stood behind her. The idea of him as nothing more than a possible pet was easier to handle than his sexy human face. Or those big arms. Or those washboard abs. She gulped. Crap if she continued to think of him as a man, she’d end up all kinds of turned on. If she started thinking of him naked she’d be in all kinds of trouble. That had been the worst way to meet a man. Although with his body, it was probably the best unexpected nudity she’d ever come across. Her first time in the Wolfe household and she’d opened the wrong door to see Jake. A very wet and naked Jake that had just showered. Her mouth had dropped open, ready to apologize, but then he’d smiled. She’d been a goner ever since. So many years had passed and he’d never let her forget that day. From then on he’d flirted endlessly with her and did his best to taunt her into seeing him as more. Only with Jake, more came at a price. From what she knew he wasn’t interested in anything long-term, much less a serious relationship. Not that Nic wanted long-term commitment either. She wouldn’t mind long-term fun though. And Jake the dirty-talker could probably make her come with just the things he said to her. Christ. Most of the time their conversations ended with her rushing home to take a cold shower…with her vibrators. Jake was another story. According to Ellie he didn’t even have a cell phone on contract because he didn’t like commitment. That spoke volumes of him. It didn’t stop the fact that Nic had developed some feelings for Jake. Feelings she didn’t like to think about most of the time. Emotions were dangerous. She wasn’t familiar with them much and preferred to keep them as far away as possible. “Nic…” Hearing Jake say her name made her squeal. Before she could catch her breath, his hands were on her hips, pulling her back into him. Air caught in her throat. He gripped her waist. Held her captive. The hard bar of his cock pressed at her butt, the thin spandex from her yoga gear no match for his hardness. “Jake…” What? Her throat went dry. She didn’t know what to say, only that she really liked how good he felt holding her. How wet it made her to feel him pressing on her ass. “God, Nic,” he growled softly. “I love how fucking good you smell. You’re hot for me. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Buy Links Amazon.com: http://goo.gl/m1v07Y B&N http://goo.gl/nsWpNp Add to your Goodreads To Read List Unexpectedly Mated on Goodreads ARE Cafe: http://goo.gl/DY0eTa 34 | P a g e
SFP Indie Issue 3
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SFP Indie Issue 3
“The Cat Wore Electric GoGGles” by Ian Hutson By Christoph fischer (WEBSITE)
“The Cat Wore Electric Goggles” by Ian Hutson is an inspired, absurd, hilarious and witty selection of highly amusing short stories. Whether set in space or in the English Countryside, expect the unexpected and enjoy as the nonsensical makes oddly sense. It would be hard to pick a favourite story. I loved Captain Faraday and his cat in space, Mister Stringer and the consequences of choosing the proper water for his tea and the British attempt at travelling to the moon. All of them sparkle with ideas and originality, some louder than others, but all very entertaining. Hutson’s humour is great fun but it has a profound basis in English culture and human nature. It is light-hearted but behind the silliness there lies a mind capable of sharp and true observations. His ability with the English language is superb; his style is elegant, confident and magical. A truly excellent selection, highly recommended. According to sources close to the author’s cat walker the aim was to write oldfashioned science-fiction with lots of rocket ships and chaps doing splendid stuff but buried amongst it is the usual humour with an attempt at some serious commentary on the meaning of life too… Age range of the book is from “just weaned” to “pensioner in nappies”.
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THE OFFICIAL BLURB GOES LIKE THIS: Twelve mildly amusing fictions in vague science from an old-fashioned English gentleman who believes wholeheartedly in the cast iron foundation of rocket ships, good manners and always firing a warning shot over the heads of any belligerent mob before sending in the memsahib to duff ’em up. If variety is the spice of life then this collection is a damnably splendid curry of improbable human conditions and improbable human beings. The ingredients include a spot of gentle medieval scifi, proper rocket ships, alien invasion of England, secret government satellites crashing and releasing stockpiled dinosaur DNA, insane Cold War time travel, groovy Victorian orang-utans in space, the televising of England’s first Moon landing, a very rude first contact, young Mr Darwin’s explanation of evolution placed in startling juxtaposition to flora and fauna on a distant planet, one or two maritime ghosts, a terrifying new virus and a detective with a serious career problem. I refrain for obvious reasons from mentioning here the elderly ladies in fur bikinis, and the least said about the AustinMorris Motor Car Company’s robotic labour relations the better. Suffice it to say that the man from the past isn’t happy, and all’s well that ends well, provided that you’re a whale.
Operational Research Systems Analysis, then an M.A. in Industrial Relations. Thrown out of the Civil Service, worked for a few multi-nationals such as ITSA, EDS, AVIVA. Thrown out of the multi-nationals, started own businesses. Went splendidly bankrupt, ended up in County Court in front of a seriously lovely Judge and lost house, car and valuables but not liberty, to the banks and to Her Majesty’s Official Receivers. Now lives in uber-serious penury in a corner of a field in Lincolnshire, England, as a peacenik, vegan, non-theist hippie and when not writing spends his time wandering the lanes ranting at sparrows and the occasional passing tractor. Is a very lucky, and a very happy chappy indeed. Next book(s) will be ‘The Dog With The Bakelite Nose’ (scifi collection) and some updated, mangled legends and fairy-tales. Amazon link -http://smarturl.it/TCWEG iTune link - http://smarturl.it/iTCWEG Smashwords link -Ian Hutson on Smashwords My previous feature on Ian
“Beyond The Black Sea” by M. Joseph Murphy Travis luedke (website)
You won’t be a better person for having read this collection, but you will have a very respectable frown and a ruddy good permanently raised eyebrow under which to secure your monocle. Life is such utter nonsense. Short author bio: Born during tiffin at halfpast nineteen-sixty. Grew up initially in Hong Kong speaking only Cantonese, then bounced around living some really boring places (Air Force bases) and some brilliant places, such as the Isle of Lewis in Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. Lived in seventeen different homes as a child, attending twelve different schools and missed one complete year at age nine years, while living in Banham Zoo in Norfolk. Home there was between the monkeys and the bears, looking out over the penguins and the wolves (these latter two were in separate habitats of course). During the eighties was recruited into the British Civil Service, studied for a B.A. in
Those naughty little half-demon bastards are at it again! Wisdom, a genie and time-traveler extraordinaire, is back with all the usual suspects, for round two of the Activation saga. The mythology delves deep
SFP Indie Issue 3 into the very origins of humanity, birthed from the decadence and decline of Atlantis. Plots hatched millenniums ago are coalescing into the endgame … and the end of mankind. In short: Earth is screwed. The only thing standing in the way of Armageddon is a gang of half-demon bastards, the last people you’d ever want tasked with saving the world. Antiheroes abound in this short, intense tale of a bad situation gone to hell faster than a jail cell fills with drug addicts. Its X-men on crack, complete with doomsday devices, wizards, winged lizardmen assassins, dragons, shapeshifters, body-snatching demons, and of course, undead cybernetic solders that catch a scent and hunt their prey to the ends of the Earth — all the old favorites. Fans of dark fantasy, urban fantasy and horror should love this fast-paced novel chocked full of mayhem, chaos, destruction, and snappy one-liners. Joseph Murphy at his best.
My rating: 5 of 5 stars Our main character, Snow Blood, is the best vampire guard dog ever!! If I turn into an undead, I want Snow Blood covering my back! This story is along the lines of unconditional love like the author’s last book “Luke’s Tale” but “Snow Blood” is more epic! We get to see things through the eyes of a dog watching the love of Brogio’s life walk in while the jealous god that cursed him tries to rip the lovers apart. Snow Blood has none of that and seeks to help Brogio and Selene be together! Fun, fast read! Snow Blood on Goodreads
SIGHT: The Dream Guild Chronicles – Book Two by David Bruns CERI LONDON (WEBSITE)
Grab it on Amazon OR Add it to Goodreads. Check out my review of the paranormal badassary of Joseph Murphy’s first novel, Council of Peacocks.
Sariah is adopted into the boy’s clan as the Fountain of Dreams, the mysterious girl from the stars who brought them the gift of dreams. But superstitions run deep in the clan and not everyone is happy with the new freedoms, especially Nisador, the tribe’s Sacred Mother. Sariah learns the ways of the clan are harsh—even deadly. My rating: 5 of 5 stars Not too long ago I reviewed Irradiance, Book One in The Dream Guild Chronicles, and had been eagerly awaiting the next book in the series. So when David gifted me Sight, I tucked it away for my holiday! What decadent pleasure - the Tuscany sun, a shaded terrace overlooking rolling vinyards, a glass of wine, and Sight. In Book One of The Dream Guild Chronicles, I was captivated by one family’s fight to escape a sophisticated society, a commune of telepaths, whose leaders are prepared to commit any atrocity and ignore any danger to preserve their way of life. In Sight, the second book in the series, Maribel and Reese are searching for a home for their daughter, Sariah, and they believe the inhabitants of an Earth-like planet can provide Sariah her destined future. Sight is Sariah’s tale and her immersion into her new adopted family reveals a fascinating culture. I stepped into Sariah’s new world and watched a girl grow into a young woman, torn between her heart and duty as layer upon layer of clan history is slowly divulged.
Snow Blood BY CAROL MCKIBBEN STEPHANIE MCKIBBEN (WEBSITE)
In the exciting sequel to Irradiance, it’s been four months since the six refugees fled the dystopian Community of Sindra, and already the Joined adults are showing signs of sickness. In their search for a new home, time is not their ally. A routine planetary survey goes horribly wrong, leaving a native boy near death. In a desperate attempt to save his life, the boy is given a transfusion of Sariah’s blood—and the crew makes an amazing discovery.
David Bruns creates a world of dream bubbles and inner sight, mystical orbs and Sacred Mothers. This society that has taken Sariah into its midst has a ranking system that promotes jealousy and competition as well as courage and compassion. But when the powerful do not abide by the code of honour at its heart, Sariah becomes a victim of envy and suspicion as traditional laws turn young love into a dirty secret and allow her elders to dictate her life under the guise of duty for the common good. As the story reaches its dramatic conclusion, the source of the Sacred Mother’s rule over the clan alters Sariah’s life forever. The ending is quick and signals the start of a new chapter in the character’s lives, a signature of the author I am
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SFP Indie Issue 3 discovering. Fortunately, there are questions still to answer as the fate of Reese, Maribel and Sariah’s twin, Gideon, remains unknown. Roll on Book Three! Add Sight to your Goodreads To Read List
TIN MEN by Amalie Jahn By Christoph fischer (WEBSITE)
I consider myself very lucky that I managed to get hold of an ARC of “Tin Men” by Amalie Jahn. After reading “The Clay Lion” I couldn’t wait to see where she would take her young adult time travelling series and Jahn did not disappoint me at all. In “Clay Lion” Brooke tried to save her ill brother through time travel, this time the focus is on her boyfriend Charlie, who at the funeral of his father, finds out that he is adopted. The opening scene at the dreary funeral and the emotions that follow are portrayed with her usual sensitive, warm and empathetic style. Even if you have not read the “Clay Lion” you will feel for the wonderfully kind lead characters with their problems, choices and feelings. The discovery of an old picture in his father’s belongings sets in motion the question of identity and a search for Charlie’s real family. Again, Jahn handles a difficult subject matter with sensitivity, grace and depth. As Charlie and Brooke play detectives the subject of adoption gets highlighted from different angles, leaving plenty of food for thought with this reader. The series is set in a time where Time travel is possible and legal, yet heavily regulated and restricted. Brooke persuades Charlie to use his ‘once-a-lifetime’ time travel trip to
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find out more. From here Jahn takes us into a cleverly plotted sequence that puts Charlie towards tough choices. The novel explores the logical implications of time travel and cause and effects brilliantly and had me quite in awe of the twists and turns that this brought with it. At the heart, this is a story of love and family, about family values and deep emotional ties. The bond between Charlie and Brooke is strong and beautiful to see, as is the bond between Charlie and his sister Melody. The characters in this book are all very engaging and serve the story and its message of true love very well. This is every bit as accomplished as ‘The Clay Lion’ was and Amalie Jahn is a talented, thoughtful and kind-hearted author whose books will bring tears to your eyes but will leave you moved, warmed and full of hope. The book on your Amazon site
SFP Indie Issue 3
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