An Acceptance

I just got an acceptance letter from Bards & Sages Quarterly.

WHOOP! WHOOP!

Is it still cool to whoop, whoop? I don't know anymore, at 34 I am starting to find I am past the age of knowing what is cool.

Hmmm…

Better question. Was it ever cool to whoop, whoop?

I'll have to look into that…anyway, its time for a short story update.

First, I will have a story in the January 2014 issue of Bards & Sages. The last couple of years it would have been kind of depressing to get my first story accepted in August. But this year I did not write my first short story until July so an acceptance letter a month later is actually pretty good.

With my limited writing time this year with the babies and school I have been working on novels whenever I get a chance to write. But we were on vacation for the 4^th of July and the urge struck me one night in the hotel room and by the time we got home I had two short stories in need of editing (which took me another few weeks). The story still in submission was over 8,000 words long, by far my longest short story.

I tried to approach the idea for that one like I would a novel, which was something new for me. The last year or so I have been using a loose outline for novels and discovery writing short stories. We'll see how this works. For me, short stories are always more about experimenting with different styles and techniques than the actually story. It was nice to play around a little with a couple of different styles.

Finally, for those of you wondering, yes; I still have a story I wrote for the last PHP shoot out in submissions somewhere too. I just received a 249 day rejection, did an edit and found a new place. I have to admit I was getting a little antsy for a reply on that one.

I started this blog to give updates on my writing, both shorts and novels, and it is nice to actually have something to report other than "I wrote another chapter this week" or "I am still working on my novel". Maybe I should write more short stories.

 

Free Fiction - Broken Coven

Today I have some free fiction for you. The story has been languishing in publication purgatory for awhile now. I wrote it back in 2009 and it has been accepted for publication twice and twice the magazines or anthologies went belly up before publication. It was kind of fun to read through it again, I can see that I know a lot more about story telling than I did then. This one relies heavily on action scenes to carry the story, I think I am a little creating a plot now, but it is a fun story. Anyway I’ll let you guys decide. Happy Reading!

 

Broken Coven

By Alva J. Roberts

 

The world was a wasted, burning Hell. The asphalt streets were cracked and pitted, the buildings burnt out husks that stretched like skeletal fingers toward the blackened sky. Ash formed thick grey clouds that blotted out the sun and fell like snow to cover the wasted landscape. Bodies lay strewn about the street, barely visible beneath the ash. Death had come quickly, most still lay where they had been standing, dying unaware of their impending doom. The fires flared brighter and brighter until they engulfed everything within sight.

Morgan sat up with a start, cold sweat pouring down her face, plastering her long shimmering black hair to her forehead. Sometimes being a witch was not all it was cracked up to be. Dreams of the future were all well and good, until you dreamed of the end of the world.

Her hand reached over to the nightstand, flicking on the table lamp. Her fingers dialed a number on her cell phone, seemingly of their own accord. No answer. She dialed again.

“This better be important! God! It’s three in the morning.”

“Madelyn, it’s time. Meet me at the house,” Morgan said, hanging up the phone. Maddy would know what it meant. They had not spoken for almost a century. There was only one reason she would call.

Morgan dressed in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt. She went to the closet and pulled out a small duffle bag. She dumped its contents, her gym clothes, onto the floor and filled the bag with items from the large chest that sat at the foot of her bed. Potions and items of magic quickly filled the bag.

She wished the bag could carry more but her days of altering the fabric of reality were nearly over. Her power was barely strong enough to keep her youthful appearance. She had little to spare for other things. A shiver ran down her spine. Her power had to be sufficient. She was the only one who could stop the coming cataclysm.

She took a long, deep breath to steady her nerves before leaving her small apartment. After more than a thousand years of life, she should have been ready for death, but fear churned in her belly and brought bile to her throat. But if you didn’t let fear overwhelm you, you could use it; bend it to your will. Fear could enhance your senses and keep you alive when nothing else would.

Morgan hurried down the hall of her apartment building. The elevator seemed to take forever to reach her floor and the ride down to the lobby even longer. The bottom floor of the apartment complex was thankfully empty, she needed no prying eyes. There was no doubt that an onlooker would have seen her for what she was, a woman preparing for war.

Morgan hurried down the street. There was no parking in front of her apartment complex. She had to park her car over a block away, near where a group of disheveled looking men lounged on the corner. The raw pungent smell of whiskey and unwashed flesh hung thick in the air near the men.

“Hey lady, you got any change?” A rough voice called out.

“No,” Morgan replied, without looking at the man. She didn’t have time for this.

“Maybe you got something else for me then?” The man focused a leering smile on Morgan. “You’re the prettiest lady I seen in a long, long time. If I can’t get no bread, maybe I can get a little sugar.”

The large man moved toward her. He wore stained dirty blue jeans and a thick brown coat that looked as if it had been salvaged from a garbage can. To most women he would have been an imposing sight on a dark street at three in the morning.

Morgan sighed. She had been dealing with bandits and outlaws for a very long time. Humanity had not changed a bit in all her centuries of life. Oh, they had advanced technologically, but at their core they were still animals, barely more than the viscously cruel apes that had evolved into an apex predator in the jungles of Africa. There advancement had only brought all new levels of barbarism.

“I do not have time for your impertinence. You will sleep now! May nightmares haunt your dreams,” she hissed. An eerie green light illuminated the corner for just a second, a by-product of using her power. Magic bent the light around it causing colored light, every witches magic bent light into a different spectrum of color.

“I will sleep now,” the man repeated in a stunned monotone. He dropped to the ground, asleep before he hit the pavement. The other men stared at her in wary fear, like wolves who suddenly found the deer they were hunting was a lion.

Morgan pulled out her keys as she stepped over the man’s prone form, clicking the remote start on her keychain. It was a chilly fall night. It would be nice to let the car warm up for a bit before she climbed in.

An explosion thundered through the parking lot, echoing off the nearby buildings. A ball of fire blossomed upward, appearing where her car had once been. The force of the blast knocked her off her feet. The men sprinted away; they wanted no part of what was to come.

Morgan rose slowly, watching as her car burned in the crisp air. She had expected an attack, but not a car bomb. It was unlike Maeve to use such mundane tactics. She was going to have to take a cab.

She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called a Taxi Service. The man on the other end of the line spoke in accented broken English, but she thought he seemed where to pick her up. Hopefully he really did what a bitter irony it would be if the world ended due to a language barrier.

A sharp pain tore through her shoulder. Her cell phone fell from nerveless fingers as her hand darted to the ache. The fingers came away covered in warm, sticky blood. Wispy tendrils of steam rose off the crimson fluid in the cold air.

“Hey, Morgan. That was a warning shot, for all the good times we shared. Go home! Just leave it alone,” a strange, vibrating voice urged.

She turned to look at the speaker. He was a short figure in a long trench coat. He held a ball of what looked like needles. Morgan knew that he was holding the end of his tail, and that he could fire those needles just like a gun. What little of his skin she could see was red and covered in scales.

“Maeve sent one of her experiments to deal with me,” Morgan said. She was offended. Did Maeve really think she was that weak?

“You know I don’t like to be called an experiment. I got a name.”

“I know, Bobby. I helped make you. She didn’t even tell you why she sent you out, did she? It doesn’t matter. You should have left when I did.”

Flickering green light flooded the area as fire erupted from the street.

Bobby screamed as the fire crawled up his long trench coat, he let go of his tail trying to beat out the flames. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Morgan felt some the tension drain from her shoulders. With his hands off his tail he would not be able to fire the deadly projectiles. He fell to the ground, smoke rising from his still form.

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” Morgan said. A wave of guilt assaulted her. Bobby was little more than a slave and in a way Morgan was his mother. She and Maeve had created the little man for protection during the Inquisition. It did not seem right; Bobby’s reward for centuries of service was painful agonizing death. She shook her head, trying to shake away the feeling. There was no time for guilt or sadness.

She needed to get to the house. If Maeve sent Bobby there would be others coming and not all could be so easily dealt with. She reached into her duffle bag and pulled out a bottle of thick, red liquid.

She swallowed the foul tasting concoction in a single gulp. The pain in her shoulder vanished. There was on odd tingle as her flesh knit itself back together.

 It was her last healing potion, she should have brewed more. But she hadn’t known the world was ending.

“Hey! What happened to that guy? I’ll call 911 you check for a pulse,” the cab driver yelled from an open window. She had not seen the car pull up.

“Stop! You have seen nothing. You will drive me,” Morgan called out, using her magic. Green light engulfed the cab driver as her enchantment flowed over him. A crippling wave of dizziness slammed into her, she stumbled and leaned against the nearby light pole.

She was using too much of her power. It had been years since she used so much magic.

“I have seen nothing. I will drive you,” the driver said in a cold, hollow voice.

Morgan climbed into the backseat of the black sedan, grateful to be sitting down. She felt weaker than she had in centuries. She had to keep going, but her body protested, demanding a large meal, a warm bath, and soft bed.

“Where we headed?” the man asked cheerfully, unaware of the smoking remains a few feet from his car.

***

Almost an hour later the Taxi turned onto a rural road, the lights of the city far behind. Trees cloaked the landscape in thick foliage and menacing shadows. They had made sure that the House was far from prying eyes.

“How much farther?” the driver asked.

“Not far.”

“You better be able to pay for this.”

“You will be more than adequately compensated. Just drive.”

The driver grunted a noncommittal reply. Morgan was feeling a little better. The car ride had provided her with a short rest. Morgan would need all the power she could muster. Confronting Maeve would not be an easy task; she had always been the strong one.

A loud thunking noise reverberated through the car as something struck the roof. There was another noise against the passenger side door, then the fender.

“What the Hell is that?” the driver asked, slowing the vehicle.

“Do not stop. If you value your life do not stop.”

“You threaten me? I been driving for twenty years! You think a hundred pounds of nothing, like you, is going to scare me? I got to see what that was. We better be close to where you’re going, cause you’re getting out real soon.”

“Don’t-”

“Shut up,” the driver, said. “You don’t like it you can call my boss and tell him I told you so. This car gets hurt and it comes out of my check.”

The car pulled to the side of the road. The emergency lights flashed, filling the night with a harsh red glow. Morgan watched him, knowing what was going to happen, but unable to tear her eyes away.

The driver made it two steps before his blood sprayed through the night air to splatter against the windshield of the car. His head rolled slowly down the rural highway, bouncing along like some kind of strange ball.

Morgan threw herself over the seat and jerked the car into gear. She steered awkwardly as he pulled her body into the driver’s seat. The engine roared as she mashed the gas pedal to the floor. A cloud of dirt flew high into the air, flung upward by the spinning tires.

A small shape smashed into the window next to Morgan. A spider web of cracks spread from the impact.

“Damn it!” Morgan yelled. She had hoped Maeve’s creatures would not find her. It was too much to ask.

Rocks pelted the car, a hailstorm of granite and limestone. Long, slender blades thrust their way through the roof of the car. Morgan saw long furry tails and black feathered wings flash through the beam of the headlights as she sped forward.

Flying monkeys.

With swords.

Morgan shook her head wanting to laugh out loud, but she was worried that her laughter might have a hysterical edge. Maeve had never had an original thought in all her long years of life, but that did not make the creatures in less deadly.

The car shimmed from side to side as it sped faster. The airborne simians had not been breed for swiftness. They fell behind, becoming small dots of brown in her rearview mirror.

A giant man-shaped figure stood in the middle of the road. Morgan could not stop the black sedan before it barreled into the shape, spinning out of control. Morgan’s head smashed into the cracked driver’s side window. Shards of broken glass showered outward. Blood ran down her temple and the world went black.

***

 Morgan’s eyes fluttered back open to the loud sound of crushing metal. A massive ten-foot tall man with the head of a bull smashed his fist into the hood of the car, denting the metal like a sledgehammer.

The monster smashed its fist into the hood again. Morgan gathered her thoughts, concentrating. She needed to act fast before the dumb beast realized it was her and not the car that hurt it.

Green light enveloped the beast. Frost formed along its arms and legs, growing thicker and thicker until the creature was encased in a solid block of ice.

Morgan stepped from the car and glanced around. The small stream and surrounding hills looked familiar. The last time she was here, over a century ago, there had been a small village. She was not far from the House. It was not by happenstance that the city had grown miles away. They couldn’t have that many people so close.

Memories of her life here came back to Morgan. She always tried to forget the places she lived, and the people she once knew. Remembering made it hard to move on. She had friends in the village, and even for a brief while, a husband.

Morgan fought off the urge to sink into memory. She glanced around noticing the faint red light that could barely be seen. Maeve was growing more subtle in her golden years, in years past she would have never set the magical trap. She had always preferred sheet blunt force to the more delicate forms of attack. Morgan would have to be careful.

She reached into her duffle bag and pulled out a long belt wrapping it around her midsection. The artifact would protect her from certain spells. A small revolver went into the waistband of her jeans. The final item was a long cane made of oak. Runes of power were carved deep into the aged wood.

She crept through the forest all her senses aware of the world around her. If Maeve cast a spell of memory then the next attack could be almost anything. But no attack came, instead Morgan spotted the tell tale glow of fire light.

The orange-red light of a gigantic bonfire loomed before her as she left the woods. Morgan could see the House silhouetted by the fire. Her former home had been ravaged by time. The roof had collapsed. The walls leaned inward, ready to follow the roof. Jagged, splintered wood stuck out from the ruins like teeth. Morgan slithered up next to the house, hiding in the shadows.

“Morgan, you might as well come out. Madelyn is already here,” Maeve said, her voice sounding like crackling leaves.

Morgan stepped from the shadows. Madelyn was hanging from her wrists in a nearby tree. Her head rested limp against her chest, her face drawn and haggard. Her chest still rose and fell, but the amount of blood that ran from her gaping wounds told Morgan she did not have long left to live.

“How sweet to have my dear sisters return to bask in my greatest glory. Have you two finally made up your differences?” Maeve asked. Her hair was white, her form hunched and fragile. Deep wrinkles marred her face.

“Time has not been kind to you, sister,” Morgan said. It was a petty insult, but anything Morgan could do to throw Maeve off would be a help.

“I’m not as vain as you and had better uses for my power.”

“Like ending the world? I know opening the rift will grant you eternal life, but at what cost? Your mad plans are why we left! Do you really want to spend eternity on an empty dead planet?” Morgan knew the answer but she needed to hear her sister say it.

“Yes!” Maeve screamed.

Bright red light flooded the clearing as Maeve used her magic. Fire surged forward, racing toward Morgan. Morgan held her staff in front of her. The fire struck Morgan’s thick green shield of protective magic, knocking her back a few feet.

“You were always the weakest of us. If Madelyn could not withstand my power, what chance do you think you have?”

Morgan fell to her knees; her only reply was a muffled grunt. Maeve was right. There was no way she could overpower her elder sister with magic. She struggled forward and nearly fell on her face. Maeve’s magic hammered at her shield.

“We knew you would do it, that someday you would be able to open the rift. We waited and planned how to stop you. But it has been for nothing...please sister…do not kill me,” Morgan said, forcing her voice to sound broken and defeated.

“Perhaps, I will let you live, just long enough to see me triumphant. It might be nice to have a serving wench to bring me wine as I watch the world burn.”

Morgan crawled closer. She dropped her cane, pulled out the revolver, and jumped to her feet. Six shots echoed through the night air. With each shot Morgan took a step forward.

Maeve laughed. “Did you think your insignificant weapon would actually harm me?”

“No,” Morgan yelled, sprinting the last few feet to her sister. Her shoulder slammed into Maeve’s midsection, a loud gasp escaping the ancient woman’s mouth as Morgan knocked the wind out of her.

Morgan crawled up Maeve’s unmoving body, her hands latched onto her sister’s throat. She squeezed as hard as she could and slammed Maeve’s gray-haired head into the ground.

Maeve’s fingers clawed at her arms. Morgan could see the light of desperation in her eyes. Magic required concentration. The panic that filled Maeve’s eyes spelled her doom.

Dark bruises formed on the flesh beneath Morgan’s fingers as Maeve’s struggles weakened. Morgan whimpered as she watched the light fade from her sister’s eyes. She didn’t let go until long after Maeve stopped moving.

Sobs wracked her body as she stumbled to Madelyn’s hanging form. A small magical green flamed flared, burning through the ropes that held her sister.

“Morgan?” Madelyn called out in a weak voice.

“It’ll be okay, Maddy. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Upadate

So I wanted to do a blog post, but I did not get enough sleep last night. I find myself unable to be witty, or funny so here is just a quick update, bullet point style. I also don’t feel like rereading this, so there is probably at least one typo, sorry about that:

• I sent out my witch story Broken Coven to the last publisher on my list. If this one is a rejection I am just going to post the story on the blog. The story has been accepted twice and sent back to me. It has gotten a lot of good feed back in my rejections so maybe some of you will enjoy it, if I end up posting it here. I am still crossing my fingers that it will get published.

• My writing production dropped drastically during the summer reading program, one of the draw backs of being a children’s librarian. I was so busy during the day that at night I kind of just vegged and watched tv with the wife and played video games after she fell asleep. I am going to try to write more but I am not sure how much time I am going to have considering the item on the next bullet.

• Finally and most importantly, we had yet another ultra sound and more doctor’s appointments this week. James is measuring 5lbs 15oz and Emily is measuring 5lbs 9oz plus or minus 13oz. This is supposed to be very good size for twins. The doctor set and inducement date if my wife doesn’t go into labor. So by August 7th I will be a father. I am super excited to finally meet my kids. It feels kind of weird considering I am essentially a thirty-three year old child. But that means I should get along pretty well with them.

So there it is. There is a very good chance that the blogs are going to slow down for awhile. I will try to post some pics of the twins after they are born, but I think we are going to be pretty busy trying to figure out how to be parents. I might squeeze in another post or so before August 2nd, if I am feeling particularly writer-ey.

Cemetery Moon #8

The Summer Reading Program kicked off today, fun was had by all at the "pajama picnic party". The real busy time starts Monday so while I still had time I wanted to mention that I had a story in the latest issue of Cemetery Moon. My story The Hell Spinner, about a demonic carnival ride graces its pages.

Buy it HERE

Note: I finished my writing goal early tonight. So I decided to work on the blog a little. Changed the look, etc. That light colored writing on black was starting to hurt my eyes.

My Pleasant Trip To Loserville

Well, I guess I had an off night. My story did not win the contest. On the plus side I got a very nice rejection letter, I know you’re asking yourself how can rejection be nice, and my answer is that you need to submit more stories cause eventually you’ll find a real stinker of an editor who tears you a new one for no apparent reason. My worst has been “Writing isn’t for everyone, maybe you should find a different hobby…”

This one talked about how great the story and the writing were, and told me again how I had made it into the final four. Then it went on to tell me that the content of the story might alienate a small portion of their expected readers. They wanted to be “pagan-positive” and my story had an evil witch in it. This was a unique reason for a rejection and I have nothing but nice things to say about the market.

On a completely different note here is a link to Patrick Rothfuss’ blog. It is a post about mother’s day and his mother who has passed away. The post really hit home with me and I thought I would share it. I lost my thirty years ago and my dad about eleven years ago. I didn’t realize so many people dreamed about their lost loved ones until I started to read the comments. LINKY LINK

Crossing My Fingers

I just emailed to ask about the status of one of my short stories that I submitted a few months ago. The market was only looking for one story and was offering pro rates. I got an email back saying I have one of the last four stories in consideration. I kind of feel like I am on a reality show and I made the finale. Crossing my fingers, that this might actually be my first published pro sale.

If I lose I need to remember to be gracious and thank the judges and shake the other contestants hands, after that the host will give me a big hug and tell me how great I am and that I just had an off night and tell me how I’ll get that record deal someday and…or um…guess it isn’t that much like a reality show, but it is still pretty cool.

Side Note: For those of you who remember and are wondering, yes I did have one other pro sale but the publisher went under after paying me but before my story was ever printed, leaving that particular story in a weird limbo.

A Story Published

Hey all,

I may have blogged about this already, I can’t remember and I really am feeling too lazy to scroll through my own blog and find out, my lack of motivation sickens me. Anyway I have a short story in the Horrorzine’s new anthology, A Feast of Frights. The story is called Spicy Thai noodle and it is about a vampire after zombogedon. Those of you curious about the story can head over HERE and buy it from amazon, if you are so inclined. Available in both print and kindle.

For those of you still reading here is the blurb: From the pages of The Horror Zine-the critically acclaimed online horror magazine-comes A FEAST OF FRIGHTS FROM THE HORROR ZINE edited by Jeani Rector. Featuring dark fantasy, mystery, pure suspense and classic horror, this book from The Horror Zine is relentless in its approach to basic fears and has twisted, unexpected endings. Come and find out what terrifying things can creep out of The Horror Zine to make your skin crawl. A FEAST OF FRIGHTS FROM THE HORROR ZINE contains fiction from such renowned masters of the macabre as Simon Clark, Graham Masterton, Joe R. Lansdale, Scott Nicholson, Cheryl Kaye Tardif, Joe McKinney, Susie Moloney, Tom Piccirilli, Ed Gorman, Trevor Denyer, and Jeff Strand. This book has amazing articles from John Gilmore, Deborah LeBlanc, Earl Hamner, Kasey Lansdale and Tim Lebbon, and a Foreword from horror great Ramsey Campbell. Here you will also find other deliciously dark delights from morbidly creative people who have not yet made the big time…but will soon. Each tale and poem, every article and artful rendering is a dark delicacy of its own, making this a true Feast of Frights!

Stuff and More Stuff

I have a bunch of stuff to write about today, sorry for the weird jumble of info. So in no particular order…

Item: Chicken Pox. I had them, it sucked. Why won’t people stay home when they are sick? Why do they all think the library is a great place to go when they are too sick to go to school or work? I could rant on this one for awhile, but instead imagine running a fever for four days with red itchy spots all over your body, now imagine that you know who did that to you and that they had told you “it is a good thing to take your kids out when they have the chicken pox. Every adult has already had them, and the kids need to be exposed to it.” Imagine what you want to say to that person, then pretend I wrote that.

Item: Twins. It is official we are having a boy and a girl. We had the ultra sound yesterday. It was really fun to watch them swimming around. At one point the ultra sound technician was trying to get a good view of the boy’s face, the girl promptly swam over and rubbed her bottom on his face until we looked at her again. I am not sure what that means but it has to mean something.

Item: Mile High Con. We won’t make it this year, for those of you wondering. Maybe next year but I do not want to try driving six hours with a pair of two month old babies.

Item: Short stories. I think I am done writing short fiction. The last three times I sat down to write one I hit the 10,000 word mark and decided “this should really be a novel”. I am not done forever but apparently the stories in my head have gotten a little more complex over the past few years. I am sure I will have an idea now and then that works better in a shorter format, but for now I am done. I still have five or six stories that haven’t been published, if no one picks them up you might see them here.

Item: Blood plague war. It’s done. WOOT!!! Just finished it last night. I am not sure if I will even put the time into editing it. I have known the story was broken for awhile I just wouldn’t admit it. Maybe if I sit it on a shelf for awhile I will come up with some ideas to fix it during the editing process. The problem is that about half way through the novel it switches from a book about a group of people dealing with a natural event (the blood plague) to a novel about people in the middle of a civil war. It feels like two completely different novels, maybe I can weave in some stuff to make it more uniform but I don’t really want to look at the thing right now. To put it another way, I kind of have a love hate relationship with the stuff I write, and Blood Plague is sleeping on the couch, and if it doesn’t watch it’s P’s and Q’s it might have to find a hotel for the night.

Item: New Novel. Okay, I agree. That is an awful title. But I am only two paragraphs and an outline into it, give me a break.

A Story Published

I have a story in the February issue of Static Movement called A Time For Heroes I wrote this one for one of the shoot-outs at Pill Hill Press. The theme was aliens and I wrote a story about super heroes during an alien invasion. I liked the characters so much I started a YA novel (Haven) based on this short story. You can read the short story here HERE.

Not a Pro

Well it has officially been one year since I signed my contract with Faepublishing to have them publish my short story, The Last Dragon. It was my first pro paying sale, but I am assuming the story will never get published now. Their website is gone and has been for months and I have found numerous blogs from authors who were accepted and never published.

Here is the weird part, at least in my opinion, I signed a contract, they did edits and sent me them to look at, and I got paid. I understand running out of money and going under, but they had at least one story paid for and ready to go. Weird.

The contract says that the rights to my story are mine once again, since the story had not been published in the one year since I signed the contract.

Oh, well I guess I have the rights to an unpublished story and $125. I just can't say that I have had a professional sale anymore. It is still the most money I have made off of any one piece of writing, but I really wanted to have a pro sale in my cover letter to other publishers.

As far as writing goes I am playing around with different ways of outlining and starting all kinds of novels just to see if I like them. I am still writing one main novel, which I really need to find a title for. My new years resolution is going well 400 words a day is a lot easier than any other quota I have given myself in the past, I have actually met this one so far and it is almost a month into the new year!

An Interview

Hey everyone, I am going to be in Big Pulp’s new Pirates and Swashbucklers anthology, coming out in September. One of the contributors Kameron M. Frankiln, did some author interview with all the contributors. You can stop by his website Pens & Swords to read my answers to such questions as :

When did you first realize you were a writer?

What authors influence or inspire you?

What book(s) have you read more than once? What drew you back?

In 25 words or less, how would you define “pulp” as a genre?

What made you decide to submit a story for the Pirates & Swashbucklers anthology?

How did you come up with the idea for your story? What is your writing process like?

Do you consider yourself a “pulp” writer? Why? Is there another genre you like to write?

Care to weigh in with your opinion of the e-book?

Where can someone find more of your work?

Shoot-Out Story Published

I’ve been talking about the latest PHP writer’s shoot-out over the past couple of weeks. These are just short story competitions that we have at Pill Hill Press, the rules change with whoever is hosting the event and some are competitions while others are more like writing workshops. No matter what the format they are always fun.

Anyway the time before this one I wrote a story called The Terrifying Legend of Jim, it was a horror story but one written with my own odd sense of humor. The result was what could only be called a horror parody. It got very good reviews during the shoot out. I shopped it around a few places and got some very complimentary rejection letters. Which is kind of a weird thing to say, but when a pro-paying magazine that you really, really want to get in, that usually only sends out form rejections, sends you a personal rejection that says they like your writing but the humor of the story didn’t quite fit the magazine and then they go into a few specifics about what they think would make the story stronger for another market, well that is pretty exciting.

But all I was getting was rejections and then my wife, editor in chief of Pill Hill Press, told me that Shane McKenzie(one of the other participants in the shoot-out) would like the story for an anthology he was editing for Pill Hill Press. When we first started PHP we published a few of our stories to fill in when someone didn’t provide a contract in time, but we try not to publish our stuff.

I made an exception for this when I heard that my short little story was part of what gave Shane the idea to do the anthology. The fact that I had (partially) inspired someone to…well do anything really, with my writing was a huge ego boost and I sent it off right away. Well the book is out!

If you are interested in fun horror parodies pick up a copy of It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

A Free Story: Across the River Styx

Hello all, as I mentioned in the last few posts I have been doing a writing "shoot-out" where we have a week to write a short story and then a week to score everyone else's story. I wrote this one for the last prompt which was courage. I really didn't have an idea, the prompt also said that we needed to write a meaningful story.

Any of you who have read my writing know that I don't write with a moral, or a meaning in mind. I write entertaining stories and if more can be read into then that is great.

Anyway, I don't really think this one is ever going to get published anywhere, it is missing a huge part of any story--conflict. There is practically no conflict, and what little there is, is barely dealt with but I did my best to mask that with a little humor. Anyway, that being said I actually got some pretty good feedback, so I'll let you decide if it is good or not. For your reading pleasure:

Across the River Styx

by Alva J Roberts

Charron sighed and scratched his dirty unkempt, beard. A family of fleas swarmed away from the invading digits, narrowly avoiding certain doom as their home of many years was destroyed. The father flea screamed curses and made a few obscene gestures at the demigod, but Charron barely noticed.

His thoughts were on other things, most notably his complete and total hatred of his job.

Though seldom seen at job fairs, escorting the souls of the recently departed across the River Styx into the afterlife was not a hard occupation, and it did have its plus side. The river was dead in every sense of the word. The oatmeal like texture of the water made it a breeze to oar across it. And he was outdoors, kind of, which was nice. And he met a LOT of interesting people, which would have been a plus had he been a people person.

But sadly, he was not a people person. In fact, he hated everything about people from the way they walked and smelled to the stupid way they talked.

“Oh, I am so scared. Where am I?” Charron mimicked out loud in a high pitch squeal. As he poled his boat back across the river.

“In terra conclusit os futuo tuum,” Charron said to the empty boat. It was his new favorite phrase, but it was still dangerous to utter to actual people. With the fall of the Roman Empire a few hundred years ago, it was a little safer to say, but telling someone that they were “In the land of shut your fucking mouth” could get him fired, no matter how elegant and sophisticated it sounded in Latin. And he didn’t want to lose his job; with the Celestial recession and all, it was a real rough time.

Three quarters of Olympus was out of work. People just weren’t worshiping locally anymore. Then you had your big super center divinities that would come into an area and put all the other divinities out of business and then jack up the piety. It made finding and keeping a job tough. For all its faults he had steady…well actually, very steady work. And that was something. But he dreamed of more.

Half way across the river he stopped and pulled out some leaves and slowly rolled them into a cylinder, which he placed into his mouth. A small flame appeared in his hand, his divine powers creating the flame from nothing. He raised the fire to the cylinder and he drew a deep lung full of smoke.

The nice Mayan fellow in feathers who showed him the trick of the tobac-co had told him it was only for ceremonial purposes, but he snuck off fairly frequently to the middle of the river, to have a smoke. He worked hard, and he was due a little break every now and again.

Besides, his shift was suppose to be over nearly a hundred years ago but there had been a mix up that fouled everything up. Apparently the guys over at Asgard Inc. had tried to start the Ragnarok the same day the Apocalypse was scheduled to begin. And to make a long story short, their little argument over who got to go first ended up turning into a full scale fist fight.

The whole thing ended with a lot of hurt feelings and Ares running away crying with a broken nose. So the matter was now tied up in litigation that was becoming even more complicated by all the layoffs. The trial was scheduled to end in 2012, but that was over a thousand years away.

Besides that, it was July, and he was sure that anyone who had ever come within a hundred miles of the River of the Dead in the middle of a heat wave would certainly understand his desire to destroy his olfactory nerves.

By the time his break was over and he made it to the shore, there was a huge crowd waiting. Apparently death waited for no man…or demi-god. His ferry slid into muck along the shore with a loud squelching noise. Before he said a word, the people started to swarm onto his ferry.

“Slow down. There is plenty of room for everyone. No, ma’am, I don’t know where your purse is. Trust me, you won’t be needing it,” Charron said. “You there, in the back, the one with all the chainmail, no pushing. This is not Valhalla; if you were trying to go to Valhalla you took a wrong turn at the last crossroads. The Valkyrie should have led you down the right path. You need to turn around and go back a few miles and take the left hand turn. Oh, yes, I will most certainly be giving the folks at Asgard Inc. a piece of my mind the next time I see them…”and so it went on, until everyone was seated in a more or less orderly fashion.

Charron took his own seat at the back of the ferry, careful to avoid eye contact with his passengers. The briefest glance and there was no doubt he would be subjected to twenty minutes of hearing about Aunt Marge’s surgery, or how the cousin in Carthage was doing, and small talk was the last thing he wanted.

But as he, rowed there was a slight shifting of passengers; suddenly, one of them was sitting fairly close. The man was covered in wounds: small wounds, large wounds, dozens of them all over. Blood covered his entire body. Only a few scraps of cloth hung on his ruined frame. One of his hands was completely gone.

He was sitting close enough that Charron began to feel uncomfortable about the silence, but he was so busy trying not to stare that it was hard to think of anything to say. He couldn’t deny his curiosity. After a little while longer, he decided to find out how the man got his wounds. But he had to be sly about asking; you couldn’t just come straight out and ask someone about something so personal.

“So...ah…how about them Vikings?”

“Yes, they were quite mistaken in thinking this boat would take them to Valhalla.”

“Yeah… so…um…how’d ya get all futuoier up? I have seen a lot of futuoier up people -- once I saw man that got attacked by a saber tooth tiger and ran away only to get trampled by a mammoth. He was pretty futuoier up, but mauris, you are really futuoier up,” Charron said.

“I am a hero. We were outnumbered and low on supplies. Rather than surrender, we charged bravely into the fray to fight our enemies,” the man replied, pride coloring his words.

“Really, and how’d that work out?” Charron asked. He had heard this story a time or two before.

“I died, but the bards shall sing of my bravery for all time.”

“Oh. Not to be a downer but um…did any of you survive?”

“Well, no…”

“Did the other side have a lot of respect for you? Very honorable, and all that?”

“The last thing I remember was someone pissing on my face,” the hero replied, his voice suddenly thoughtful.

“Oh. Well, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think anyone is going to be writing any songs about you. I know it isn’t much help, but you probably should have just surrendered, then paid someone to write songs about your bravery. That’s how all the real heroes do it.”

“What do you know of heroes?” The wounded man turned away from Charron to stare at the chunky surface of the river.

“Actually, sooner or later I meet them all. Most sooner. Heroing is a very high risk occupation. And heck, some of them don’t even wait until they’re dead. I can’t tell you all the paperwork I had to fill out when Hercules came down here…”

“What is paper-wark?” the man asked as he turned back to Charron. He looked like he couldn’t decided if he was going to be sick or start crying.

“It’s well…very civilized…I am sure it’ll catch on upstairs real soon. It’s--“

“It doesn’t matter,” the man interrupted. “You may or may not be right about heroes, but we did win a great victory. The Rock Eye Clan will hold the mountains for all time,” the man said. The sick feeling disappeared from his face. He looked tranquil.

“Rock Eye Clan? You fighting the Snake Clan again?” Charron hated to ruin the man’s tranquility, but he did have a right to know everything.

“Yes.” The man’s brow furrowed.

“Hate to tell you, but you guys been fighting over that mountain for a very long time. I try not to talk to the passengers too much, but it seems like every generation or two I get someone from one of your tribes telling me they will hold the mountains for all time. I hate to break it to you, but the Snake Clan will probably be fighting your grandchildren for the land.”

“I am only twenty years old. I have spent my whole life training for war. I have no heirs.” The man really did look like he was going to cry now.

Charron swallowed a lump in his own throat. He really needed to remember not to talk to his passengers. He hated people.

“Sorry to hear that. So…um…them Vikings sure are something, huh?” Charron asked. His job really didn’t seem so bad, it could be worse. At least what he did mattered in the big scheme of things.

A Story Published

Hey all. Just wanted to mention that my story “The Last Hero” is now available in Library of Horror Press’ Alienology: Tales from the Void anthology. This story was my first foray into superhero fiction. It tells the story of one of earth’s last superheroes after an alien invasion. I couldn't really tell  you a lot more than that, it was accepted waaaay back in September of 2009 and I haven't read it since then, and to be honest, I don't remember the story  very well. Which is kind of weird. Maybe in a few years I will be able to go back and read my early stuff and not remember it at all...then I could be my own fan or, more likely, my own critic. Hmmm...  Anyway, you can buy the anthology HERE

That leaves five stories that are waiting on publication and six stories that I am still trying to find a home for. I haven’t been writing too many shorts of late so this might be it for awhile. When I have time to write I keep trying to finish up Blood Plague.

Speaking of Blood Plague, I think I figured out that last little piece of the story that is setting up the conclusion. I am hoping to get those two chapters written this weekend and then after that, if I have time to write, progress should fly on Blood Plague. Until about mid July or so I am only going to be able to write on weekends so it’s a little up in the air how long it will take, my wife and I already have plans for this weekend and next, summer gets so busy. I am estimating that I still have around 20,000 words left, which I could easily get done in a month or so in the spring or fall, but it is going to take a little longer than that.

New Fantasy Story

I have a short story available in the May issue of Sorcerous Signals. The story is a prequel to my unpublished novel The Laws of Summer. It started out as just a few notes of back story for one of the characters Xander, and ended up being story in and of itself.

Here is the description Carol Hightshoe gives for the story on the Sorceress Signals website: Humans and Half-Elfs fight the wars the Summer Elves refuse to fight. What happens when the Summer Elves finally take the field against their enemies - the Winter Elves and what will be impact on the world?

You can read it HERE

Unquiet Earth available

Hey all,

Just thought I would mention that Static Movement’s Unquiet Earth anthology is a available for purchase. My short story, The Ugly Little Zombling is in this one. So if you got a hankerin' for some undead flash fiction, you can buy it HERE

A Story Published & A Glimpse Of My Nerdhood

Hi all, sorry I haven’t posted in awhile. I’ve been super busy doing stuff for my real job, as a children’s librarian, and I haven’t had time to do much writing. I do have a new short story out in the April issue of Bards & Sages Quarterly.

Here is the description from amazon:

Where else will you find angels, aliens, dragons, werewolves, talking crayons, and evil garden gnomes all in the same place? Each issue of the Bards and Sages Quarterly brings readers engaging, original speculative fiction from both new and established authors. Also in this issue: our writers talk about why they write speculative fiction.

The part about werewolves is me. Yep, that’s right I did one of the classics. I tried to put my own spin on it, by setting it in ancient Rome It also has a bit of a twist ending, but I think that is okay sometimes.

This one popped into my head when I was surfing the net and  came across Lupercalia, the ancient Roman holiday also known as the Festival of the Wolf…

I almost deleted that last sentence. I went back and forth. But I decided that I am okay with you knowing that I googled holidays in ancient cultures one day when I was bored. Yes, it is a glimpse of just how nerdy I am but hey, this blog is about sharing. Right?

Anyway a preview of Bards & Sages can be seen HERE, and a print copy can be purchased off of Amazon HERE

An Acceptance

My short flash piece The Ugly Little Zombling, was accepted for Unquiet Earth - An Anthology of Living Dead Flash Fiction from Static Movement. It is the story of the Ugly Little Duckling but instead of being a goose the little ugly creature is a zombie. Here is a very short teaser:

…Milly was very worried, as any mother of a child with an eating disorder would be. Not only was it not healthy for him it was not healthy for her other children. The ugly duckling was always chasing them, trying to eat their faces.

"Poor little ugly duckling!" she would say. "Why are you so different from the others?"

“Unnngghh” the duckling would answer as it snapped its blood soaked beak at her trying to rip her tender flesh to shreds…

I am very happy to have this odd little story see print. I keep you updated when the anthology is available.

A free story reprinted for your reading pleasure

I thought I would post some free flash fiction. This one is a fantasy parody. This story first appeared in the April 2010 issue of Bards & Sages Quarterly. It is one of the few stories that I can actually remember the day I wrote it. It was written on July 4th 2009. I like to think that I have improved as a writer since writing this piece. There is a large chunk of telling instead of showing  but since it is (I hope) a humorous narrative, I think it still kind of works, though I wouldn’t do it now. So without further ado, here it is:

Click On Image Above to Purchase the Magazine from Amazon

Thornpicker & Nab

By Alva Roberts

Daemon Thornpicker walked along the worn path, his fingers pinching his nose shut. It smelled bad, really bad, like a thousand gym lockers concentrated into one horrendous locker of death. It came with the territory when you were a Necromancer.

It was not as if Daemon woke up one morning and decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life around rotting corpses. He was a proud graduate of the University of Magical Studies. After a few semesters of drinking and general carousal, it came to his attention the ale was not a major. It was a surprising discovery, as most of the students of UMS spent their free time and most of their class time consuming large quantities of Wizbang, a famous ale made from left over cafeteria food, brewed in Hogshine Dormitory.

Therefore, under the gun and in need of a major, Daemon decided to study Necromancy. He had not chosen his course of study from any desire to learn the dark mystic arts. He chose his major because most practioners of black magic rarely got out of bed before noon, and having his earliest class at three in the afternoon was often a great blessing, especially when a new batch of Wizbang was ready to be sampled.

A few years later Daemon graduated with a Magchelors in of Arts in Necromancy, with very little memory of having actually earned it. He did have some fuzzy memories of a monkey in a dress, which he never investigated.

It was a struggle after graduating, there were very few career paths open to Necromancers. That was until Daemon discovered Balon Grimpin’s book: The Scourge in You: Starting Your Home Based Apocalypse for Fun and Profit. The book changed Daemon’s life.

He quit his job working as a bartender, and went to the local graveyard with a shovel. The graveyard was, of course, the best place to start a new life.

Now he marched on the City of Burnsolott with his horde of undead minions. There had been a few surprises and pitfalls, which was common when starting any home based small businesses.

First of all, there was the smell. No matter how many times he washed his robes, the smell simply would not come out. Daemon had not had a date since raising his army. Then of course there were the start up costs, the ingredients necessary to raise the undead were rare and costly.

The hardest part had been finding suitable corpses. His minions were not the most frightening of hordes, as they mostly consisted of elderly women in floral print sundresses. Nevertheless, they were undead and for the most part, they seemed to obey his commands.

“There’s the City!” Daemon shouted to his minions, breaking into a coughing fit as he attempted a maniacal laugh.

“Hey there what do you think you’re doing?” A voice called out.

Daemon looked over to see a small green figure marching toward him. A goblin. Daemon watched the creature in wonder, he never seen one before.

“I’m on my way to conqueror Burnsolott and then the world.” Daemon said his voice cold and ominous.

“You got your permit?”

“Permit? Who are you?” Daemon asked.

“My names Nar. I’m the Union enforcer. You need a permit from the Union of Villains and Evildoers. Can’t invade the city without it. And then of course there is the equal rights violation.”

“Equal rights?”

“Yeah. I only see zombies in your horde. There isn’t one troll, goblin, dragon, giant, elf, or ogre in the whole lot, there’s going to be some penalties for that.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do I need a permit to invade the city? I mean I have a horde I could just you know…go around you and stuff.”

“Because that would make the Union mad. Do you really want every warlord, evil stepmother, witch, vampire, and Shadow Lord in the kingdom upset with you?”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” Daemon said fidgeting.

“Bribery is against the law! And in this case rather expensive.” The goblin said with a greedy smile.

***

After hours of negotiations, Daemon had all the necessary permits, a new member added to his horde, and a lot of weight subtracted from his coin purse. His new minion was a goblin and a cousin to the little one named Nar. This one was named Nab.

“Okay, where was I? Oh yeah. There’s the City!” Daemon’s voice cracked as he attempted mad laughter. “They will soon learn to fear the name Thornpicker! Come my fiendish allies, we will crush-. Oh, damn it. You in the pink and yellow turn around. No picking at your wounds. Wait minute.” Daemon stopped, rearranging his horde by hand, as they were currently ignoring his commands.

“Let’s try this again. There’s the City!” Daemon giggled, a feat much easier than insane laughter. “What is now?” Daemon asked, looking down his new goblin employee who was tugging on the hem of his robe. “I’m in the middle of my villainous dialog, I have to finish before we can pillage and plunder the city.”

“That’s just it boss, I think we’re a little late.” Nab gestured to the city.

It was completely engulfed in flames. Huge scaly shapes flew over it on massive bat like wings.

“Dragons? But I had all the permits!” Daemon whined.

“You didn’t read the small print, the documents do not grant exclusive rights to said property, merely the right to invasion of the property. It’s first come first serve. Looks like you‘re going to have to raid a different city.”

“Damn. Damn. Damn it. I don’t have enough money to buy the permits. And I’m sure as hell not walking to the next closest city. Have you smelled the zombies? Looks like its back to bartending and making Wizbang for me.”

“Hey wait a minute. You know how to make Wizbang?”

***

In just a few short months, Thornpicker & Nab was one of the largest breweries in all the kingdom, with the legendary Wizbang ale as their top seller. When asked how he became so successful Daemon always replied, “Never underestimate the value of a good education.”