Tag Archives: Short Story

Announcing New Project: MINDWRITERS

I am pleased to announce the inception of a new project for 2011, one that has absolute blockbuster potential. Part “epic movie”, part heist, part X-Files, and all mindblowing.

It has far too much depth for a short story, which means another novel-length project. And one that will pack a much harder punch than FRAGILE GODS — even in the outline, I am starting to really love and fear the characters.

In addition, some of the “negative” feedback for THE WHISPER KIDS was that people wanted to know more. This strikes me as less of a complaint, and more like evidence I should consider novelizing it. While I haven’t put that much depth into THE WHISPER KIDS, these comments have put me back in the novelist frame of mind.

MINDWRITERS follows a team of telepaths who perform heists. Able to manipulate the minds of their subjects, they have been virtually unstoppable. But when they discover that others know of their powers — and are capable of countering them — the game turns deadly. They will have to outwit opponents who are more powerful, better informed, and better funded. “Survival” takes on new meaning when you can no longer trust your own thoughts.

It might just blow your mind.

THE WHISPER KIDS is finished.

My latest short story, THE WHISPER KIDS, is a short story about a clique of high school kids harboring a dark secret. Mark, a new transfer to Eastmont High, must unravel that secret lest it threaten his life or the lives of his friends. But things do not turn at all like he expects.

The free preview of this story will be added to the website this weekend.

The full version of the story will be sent out to frequent readers and is available to others upon request.

THE WHISPER KIDS completed first draft.

I have finished the first draft of my latest short story, called THE WHISPER KIDS.

It’s sent in high school from the perspective of your typical “new kid” who gradually learns that a secretive cabal made of only teenagers harbors a dark secret.

I’ll be sending it willing readers after a day or two of polish.

It’s FICTION, morons.

Holy smokes, new posts on consecutive days. And immediately after I resolved to blog less.

I warned you that resolutions don’t last, didn’t? April may be the average, but when your temperament is as weak as mine, even twenty-four hours is pushing it.

Some people, it seems, cannot tell the difference between fact and fiction. For example, if you think the news is fact, you are sorely mistaken. There are reports every time the stock market drops, but how often the market rallies do you see the major networks promoting it time and time again? Do yourself a favor, and look at the market values prior to a decline. Then look at the current values. Where were the announcements the market had recovered? Nowhere.

But that’s a relatively minor examples. Those that matter to me are from my own genres: Speculative fiction.

I let a co-worker read a short story with a dark ending. While not gory (gory is the poor writer’s substitute for plot), the story definitely enters the realm of “horror”.

After finishing the story, this particular colleague said, “I didn’t know there was that side of you.” Read More →

SECOND CHANCES gets rave reviews.

The feedback I’m getting for SECOND CHANCES, my latest short story, has been fantastic. Skeptical readers have liked it, new readers are urging me to give them more. Those of you who don’t know my friends might think this is flattery. But I am friends and colleagues with some very blunt people, and people with extremely high standards.

I want to take the opportunity to thank you, dear readers, for your support and encouragement.

I assure you that more work is in the pipeline and already underway.

Free Short Story Preview: The bullet from a Glock 17C.

It took 0.0039 seconds for the bullet from a Glock 17C to travel from its firing chamber to David’s skull and silence the world. It took David three weeks to realize that the silence was not complete.

First he heard the Music. Sometimes it was a flute solo, echoing in vast imaginary distances. Sometimes it was an orchestra, complete with the warmth of strings, sharp brass, and a full choir in eight-part harmony. Sometimes it was electric guitar in sweeping arpeggios and triumphant melody. Regardless of the instrument or theme, the Music was always hopeful. Real or imagined, David could have listened forever.

But there were other sounds. At first they were faint, hidden behind the Music. Gradually, David was able to distinguish them.

He expected the beeping of a heart monitor, remembered from television. Instead, he heard many loud hums, layered in subtle discord. These were punctuated by clunks of doors closing, the rapid clatter of typing in the next room, the measured step of hospital staff. Though it was unintelligible at first, David began to comprehend the most welcome sound of all:

Dialog.

“David, can you hear me?”

Yes.

“David, I love you.”

I love you too, Becky.

“Please come back to us, okay?”

I’m trying. God help me, I’m trying.

And then Becky would leave, gone to work or home to return the next day and say much the same thing. He liked it better when she explained things.

“The doctor says we should wait and see. There’s no reason to think you won’t recover.”

But there’s no reason to think I will, is there?

“Your chances of recovery decrease the longer this lasts, so wake up soon. Please? David?”

David ached to answer. It was worst when she cried, because he couldn’t reassure her, couldn’t hug her. All she wanted was for him to sit up and speak. But he couldn’t. He had no sense of his body at all besides the things he could hear.

Sometimes even the Music turned sad.

Free preview: Second Chances, a short story for Halloween

Every Wednesday, I offer a free preview of a current project. The excerpt below is taken from Second Chances, a short story I am writing for Halloween. I am pleased with this project and I believe it represents a leap forward in the quality of my writing.

When the peddler jostled Brian, inflaming his broken arm, Brian wanted to hit him so hard that his rotting teeth skittered across the pavement. It was the man’s face which stopped him. Bloodshot eyes bulged beneath droopy lids, scant strands of colorless hair clung to his scalp. His thin smile was predatory. Brian would probably go to jail for decking this geezer. He stepped away, wincing.

The man snagged Brian’s good arm with a withered claw.

“Wanna buy some souls?” His breath misted in the cold.

“Let me go,” Brian growled, trying to escape the codger and rejoin the throng of downtown Chicago’s pedestrian traffic. The peddler clung fast, his eyes hungry. Read More →