Reader's Life Magazine
Contents 3: Editors Note 4-10 John Cosper 12-14 Yovette Brooks 16-19 Gail Pate 20-24 Anne Carmichael Add subheading
Editor's Note This issue marks the 2nd anniversary of Reader's Life Magazine. Over the past two years we have worked with many amazing authors and have featured plenty of exquisite stories. But along the way we lost what made us different and special and that was the quality of our work and the down to earth articles that were written. So over the past few months we have focused on doing an over-haul and have brought in two amazing volunteer editors whom you may already know from previous issues, Tina DC Hayes and Jim Ringle. Both are extremely talented at writing and editing. As we head into the new year our goals will be to stay true to our original attitude of serving our readers and also to expand so that we can help touch more readers with our content. I thank all of our featured authors over the past year as well as our amazing editors. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and that your New Year is filled with blessings. Reader's Life Magazine Editor-Trisha Ratliff
A Conscientious Objector of Mars A Story By John Cosper
A Conscientious Objector of Mars
Krel had seen enough carnage to last a lifetime, and yet everywhere he turned, all he saw was more carnage. The Martian son of a Martian Senator curse the day he let his father talk him into joining the army. “Do something with your life,” his father had said. “Make a name for yourself, then come home and we’ll see that you inherit my seat.” Krel didn’t want his father’s seat. He wanted to go home and open a little cafe that served in equatorial Martian cuisine. He didn’t want to kill any more Earth people, and he definitely didn’t want to see any more dead Earth people or their dogs.
He really didn’t understand why the Martians were killing the dogs as well as the Earth people. It didn’t make any sense. None of this did. Krel looked down at the Vooloo .38 Special in his hands, the lethal weapon of choice of the High Overlord’s armed forces. The silver plated, snub-nosed laser blasted proved to be far superior to the ballistics used by the Earth people, allowing the Martians to seal a quick and easy victory and conquer what they all hoped would be a warm vacation paradise for all Martian kind.
“You have your orders, Private,” shouted his commanding officer, the voluptuous Sergeant Dannis. “Shoot to disintegrate!” Krel looked over at Dannis, dressed in her black combat boots, skin-tight slacks, and silver armored bikini top. Krel hated Dannis. Sure, she was the most attractive woman in the Martian invasion force, but she was no leader. What kind of moron wore bikini top into battle? Not that Dannis ever let herself get too close to the battle, but still…“I’m sorry, Sergeant, what was that?” he said.
Dannis smacked Krel in the back of the head with her own blaster. “The Death Walkers are scouring the forest now. If any stragglers make their way out, shoot to disintegrate!” Krel looked out into the lush, evergreen forest. It made him sad to think of those giant Martian war machines trampling these gorgeous trees in pursuit of helpless Earth survivors. He lifted his gun and aimed into the trees. “Right,” he said. “Shoot to disintegrate. Always disintegrate.” “Do you have a problem, Krel?” snapped the warrior woman.
“Yes, I have a problem,” said Krel. “I don't know what we're doing here, Sarge!” “You're here to pick off any runaways that escape the Death Walkers. It's a simple clean up job!” “I don't mean here, I mean this planet! Why did we have to come here? Why are we killing the Earth creatures?” “You would dare to question the wisdom of the High Overlords?” said Dannis. “You know how violent and dangerous these creatures are!” “And how are we any better?” said Krel. “We show up with superior weapons and we start massacring them.” “If you’re going to go into a kill fight, take the biggest gun,” said Dannis, quoting from
the Martian Scroll of War. “Did you learn nothing from basic training?” Krel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I just don't understand why we need to kill them. I know we want their planet, and goodness knows I enjoy the warmth here.” “They’re also sitting on a mineral rich piece of real estate that we desperately need as we've already used up the resources on our home planet,” said Sarge. “But they weren't bothering us. They don't have any weapons that can hurt us. So why are we here slaughtering them?”] “Look, we're not exterminating them all, okay? We have some representative
samples that we'll put some in zoos and keep them for study. They’re kind will go on.” “But this is their natural habitat!” said Krel. “This is where they live in cities and suburbs, and minimalls!” “And the zoos will exhibit them in a natural setting. Haven't you seen the Earth mini-mall set up at the Garmulac Zoo? It's breath-taking!” Krel shook his head. “It’s not right, Sarge! This isn't our planet. We have no business being here killing them and taking their land.” “That's not your decision, private!” snapped Dannis. “You are a soldier in the Martian Army!
You will take orders and do your job!” “Why?” said Krel. “Why should I take orders from you? What would happen if I set my gun down and offered to make peace? Huh? Would you really say no to peaceful co-existence and mutual understanding if the humans were willing to do the same?” “Make friends with humans? Are you insane?” said Dannis. “They can't even make peace among themselves!” Krel shrugged. “Maybe we can teach them.”Dannis turned to Krel, leaning her forehead into his and staring into his beady, Martian eyes. “You stay here, and you kill any human that comes in your sights, or you will be sent to the
the commissary and chopped up and eaten along with them at chow! You got me?” “Yes, ma’am, I'll do it,” said Krel. “I'll kill 'em all and let the River Iss sort them out.” “Good,” said Dannis. She glared at Krel a moment longer and then stormed off. Krel sniffed. “It’s not like we’re gonna survive the Earth germs anyway.” Dannis whipped her blue hair around and looked at Krel. “What was that?” “Nothing, ma’am!” shouted Krel. Dannis continued her departure, leaving Krel with his private, subversive thoughts. “Kill the humans,” he murmured to himself. “Heh. Give me one good reason. Sure, their country music sucks, but since when is bad art a reason for extermination? if that were the case,
He heard them before he saw them. A hundred meters or so into the greenery, four humans were moving closer and closer to him. The tall one looked to be a male, balding with gray hair and a gray beard, dressed in flannel and jeans. Two mature females were with him, both with long hair wearing tank tops and jeans, and one was holding hands with… “No, no,” Krel said. “Not a child too.” Krel motioned with his hand, trying to guide them silently away from him. They were going to die, but he did not - NOT! - want to be the trigger man. Not this time. He was done killing, and he just didn’t have the stomach. Especially a child!
The humans moved closer. “Don't come this way,” he said silently. “Go the other way! Run hide on the other flank, where the guys with no moral quandaries are. I don't want to have to shoot you.” The humans moved closer, closer. They were thirty meters when the older female spotted him and gasped. He saw all eight eyes widen in terror. “I’m sorry, girls,” said the male. “Please,” said the older female, clutching the child to her side. “Please, just let us go.” “Don’t kill us, please!” pleaded the younger grown female. Krel looked at each one in turn, youngest to oldest. He lowered his weapon.
“No. I’m not going to do it.” The humans looked at one another, shocked. “What was that?” said the male. Krel smiled at the humans. This was his chance to make a difference, to broker peace. To change the course of this terrible conflict. He was ready to seize it. “Why should I kill you?” he said. “You have just as much right to live your lives as we do. We never should have come here and started this. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can start over. We can do things the right way.” The humans looked on, mouths open in shock. Krel held up
his gun, the barrel facing away from his would-be victims. He tossed it aside into the tall grass at the edge of the woods. Krel extended his arms in an open gesture of love and charity. “What do you say, friends?” The humans stood silent a half an Earth minute longer. The male pointed at the Martian. “DIE, MARTIAN PIG!” Seconds later, Krel was on his back, looking up at one adult male, two adult females, and one female child of Earth as they stomped the living crap out of him. As the colors and lights of Earth faded from his vision and life slowly ebbed away, he took some consolation in knowing that the
peace-hating Earthlings who were even now stomping his brains out would soon die. Krel felt confident that his high pitched wailing death screams would attract the attention of of his fellow Martians. They would be too late to save him, but just in time to blow the Earth people's heads off. Krel wondered many things in his last few moments of life. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe this cruel, painful and slow death was his cosmic punishment for blindly following orders and participating in the extermination of the human race. Or maybe, just maybe, Earth people were big jerks like everyone said who really did have it coming.
Krel regretted that he would not live long enough to have his cafe on Mars, much less solve these seemingly unsolvable questions. His last thought, as the life faded from his eyes, was what terrible disease would ultimately befall that his commanding officer. Whatever it was, he hoped it involved diarrhea. Lots of it.
Yovette Brooks Hi, my name is Yovette B. Brooks. I would like to tell you I am a writer, but I feel it would be misleading. So what am I? I am a pen, just one of many pens being used by the Great Author of this life to capture your attention. My fiction always has a glimmer of truth running through it. Seek and find that truth and you just might find yourself. "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.� (Matthew 7:7-8) I currently have three books published with more on the way. Look me up on Amazon or check out my web page at yovettebbrooks.com.
Books, you can get so caught up in them. We want so badly to be pulled out of our ordinary lives and into the extraordinary life of the hero or the damsel being rescued by the hero that we spend hours in them.I am not different. Oh, to take the sword and slay the dragon, to find the gold, to have the best looking guy pick me for once, to find I have superpowers, the possibilities are endless.What we find in books is so powerful. They give us strength, power, and hope.Really good fiction, I believe, has just enough truth running through it to make it
possible and just enough fantasy to make you dream that it could really happen.When writing, I find I get just as caught up in the story as I do when reading one. The story starts with someone I can identify with. They are just ordinary, like you, like me, and then something happens.Their life plummets to the very bottom of a horrible existence and just when you think all hope is lost, in walks the hero—whether iit's a guy, a girl, or some mythical creature—and then . . . you're on the edge of your seat. The how and the why come in with fighting, romance,
or some horrible deception. Oh no, is there going to be a happy ending or is it to be continued? Whew, I get worked up just thinking about it. And now, with that being said, I would like to tell you what happened to me a few years back.My three kids talked me into reading a couple of book series. I couldn't put them down, life stood still.I found myself off in La La Land, as I like to call it, daydreaming about them and what would happen next.Then daydreaming about my own story. I had characters and the story line all laid out.
One day a small voice And finally, after a popped into my head, long search, publish it write it down. So I did, I did. But this is not I sat down where the story ends, at my computer and oh no. I discovered what was in my head something through this was nothing journey. compared to what came out. With each word I wrote, the sense of urgency to get it written down was clear. As I wrote the characters took on a life of their own and the story I had made up changed. The story literally took on a life of its own.After finishing the book, I sat it aside for a while, but the urgency in which I felt to write came back. Publish it, that small voice spoke to me once again.I spent more time looking for publishing companies than I did writing the book.
 Gail Pate
I wish that I could tell you my vivid imagination and love of writing comes from a loving childhood…where bedtime stories were whispered while being rocked to sleep.A childhood where dreams were encouraged and lessons taught that I could achieve anything if I tried hard and wanted it badly enough. Instead, my imagination grew from all the time that I spent alone, to escape the alcohol abuse and violence that cursed our family…it was in those times that I could go anywhere, be anywhere, a place where things were normal…where families were normal…where love was normal. A place where I felt safe.
I remember looking up at the stars at night and dreaming of a world much different than the world that was my reality. It was in those times that I discovered who I was…inside.
I am proud of the story and characters I’ve created in “The Light”…a main character who is strong and independent, yet somehow innocent and vulnerable… seeking normalcy in a A lot of my early world of confusion writings were poetic and change. words that spoke of Secondary characters the bitterness and who will frustrate and resentment of a young infuriate but will also girl. They would later bring stability and a turn to words of belief in fate. thanks. The Lord had been right there Above all “The Light” beside me in those is a mystery (with just times and He not only enough sci-fi/fantasy made me stronger and just a hint of through them, but, is romance) that it will now using me to keep the readers of encourage other all ages seeking young girls who may answers right be struggling with alongside them as some of the same the story takes twists family issues.
and turns all the while discovering that the impossible has becomes reality. This journey has been so awesome… the readers I meet, young and older, are so encouraging to me. They inspire me, so I’ll keep writing. I have a sequel almost finished…”Halo” should be out in 2018…and a prequel to follow. I love it when a reader tells me they loved the story told in my book, after all that’s why we write… but, what is most rewarding to me is when a young girl who is struggling… thanks me for sharing my life story, because something I said… even just a word… encouraged her.
Anne Carmichael
Late last year, as I was wrapping up my mystery novel, ‘Elderhaus’, I happened to see a photograph of an abandoned train station that immediately spoke to me. My inner voice, (who I have named Ernest, after Hemingway and because it is so earnestly persistent), was telling me this was to be the subject of my next book; but I was just beginning first edits of ‘Elderhaus’. That book took a full two years to write and I was exhausted. I filed the photo of the depot away and like a good Southern lady, promised to ‘think about it tamarrah’.
Of course, when ‘Ernest’ tells me it’s time to write, he seldom gives me any peace until I give him some indication that I’ve heard his demands and am complying; so, in my spare time, I started researching the source of the train depot photograph. I was never able to find out who took the photo, nor was the person who originally posted in on Pinterest; but I did find out the station is called Zugliet Depot and is in Budapest, Hungary As is almost always inevitable, my initial outline for ‘The Manifest’ was somewhat different than the final product you will see today.
I intended the station to be the destination for a ghost train, that would transport the souls who perished in train accidents throughout the world in all eras since the beginning of rail travel and that remained the premise throughout the book. However, my plan was to make the ghostly crew and passengers as sinister as possible and release the book at Halloween. But just as ‘Elderhaus’ went from being a thriller to a cozy mystery, so ‘The Manifest’ transformed from ghost story to an introspective on the afterlife. Clearly, although the current trend in genres is toward thrillers and sci-fi and books in
that genre would no doubt be more lucrative, it’s simply not in me to write such a book. I am now a member of several literary organizations that focus on guidelines and rules associated with a particular genre. I find those concepts curious. I’ve always found it impossible to think inside a box. I write whatever comes from someplace deep inside me. I write what’s on my mind and in my heart. I won’t color inside the lines. I can’t. Does that unwillingness to conform adversely affect the sale of my books? Probably. Does it limit my readership to only those who are willing
to follow my sometimes erratic thought pattern? Maybe. Am I so independently wealthy that I can afford to write only what pleases me. Certainly not. I began writing at age 62, when I was still working a full-time day job. It wasn’t easy writing all night and working all day. It wasn’t easy building a readership. I knew it would be nearly impossible for me to retire from a financial standpoint, but I felt compelled to give it a try; so in May of this year, I resigned from my lucrative job to write full-time. If I were to feel forced to write only what sells, I would still be working. As it is, I am doing something I love and about which I am passionate.
My books may never be on the New York Times bestseller list, but parents tell me their children read them over and over. If even one child who loves my books today reads them to his/her children one day, then I will have left a legacy that my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren can look to with a measure of pride. And if my adult novels give someone an afternoon or evening of pleasure or causes them to think about what I’ve said, that’s enough for me. ‘The Manifest’ ended on a note that opened up the possibility for another series. I am currently writing ‘The Manifest Page Two: Natural Disasters’,
but I’m not at all certain that I will finish it or that I won’t change the order of release and finish ‘Finding Joy’ first. I stopped writing Joy because as a biographical memoir of my life as an adoptee, the introspection that was necessary became painful. A day of writing became a therapy session. So, once again, at the half-way point, I decided that rather than continue writing the book from firstperson perspective, I may begin again and use pieces of my reality in a fictional novel. Stay tuned!