Dreamspell Nightmares is now available in both print and ebook formats! My short story "Security System" is in this book (see a sample in one of my earlier posts), along with many other great stories by other authors. Available at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Omnilit, and Fictionwise. Follow the link for more information on the book and where to buy it. Get your copy today!
http://www.lldreamspell.com/DreamspellNightmares.htm
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Excerpt from short story: "Is Fear Itself"
Note: This story is being published in the L&L Dreamspell "Dreamspell Nightmares 2" anthology, coming out soon! (http://www.lldreamspell.com/DreamspellNightmares2.htm)
A deep space salvage crew boards a derelict ship. Their mission: to prep the wreck for towing. But something onboard may wreck their mission instead.
As Scavenger 17 closed the distance to the derelict ship, a vibration ran through it. A metal panel buzzed. The ship shuddered, shaking the crew in their seats, then rocked as though struck by something.
“Chrissake!” Talbert shouted.
“Cheng?”
“Heavy solar flare, Captain,” Iris Cheng reported. “There'll most likely be more. Star in this system is a hyperactive gee-one.” Brushing some of her long black hair over an ear, she gave Talbert a deliberate gaze. “Hot sector.”
“Aw, you rock my world, Cheng.” Talbert shook his head, a goofy grin on his scruffy mug.
“One thousand meters,” Devereux said. “I have the full ident: N'Sabi, D-S-one-seven-zero-one.”
“Okay, focus people,” McInchak said. There was already one snafu because of the solar flares and he wanted his crew sharp. “Kennicot, start crawling. Cheng, run a hull integ on it, and try a biologic scan while you’re at it. Dev, open me a channel.”
The cramped cockpit cabin of Scavenger 17 became a hive of activity, with the crew rustling about in their consoles, busy with their specific duties.
McInchak rubbed his square chin. N’Sabi. He vaguely recalled some media buzz on her about six or seven years back, something about it being the first zoological transport to make a hyperspace jump with “live cargo.” Big news at the time, especially since she’d been commissioned only three years prior, and up to that point it was a feat no one else had been able to accomplish, the usual result being what was termed critter fondue.
“You’re on,” Dev said, as the com unit crackled to life.
McInchak cleared his throat. “D-S-one-seven-zero-one, this is Captain Ewan McInchak of the salvage ship Scavenger Seventeen. Do you read?”
Only static emitted from the com unit speakers.
“Com could be knocked out, Cap,” Dev offered, brushing his dark moustache with forefinger and thumb. “By the looks of her, she’s been through hell.”
McInchak grunted. He could almost feel the worry lines around his eyes burrowing deeper.
A deep space salvage crew boards a derelict ship. Their mission: to prep the wreck for towing. But something onboard may wreck their mission instead.
Is Fear Itself
As Scavenger 17 closed the distance to the derelict ship, a vibration ran through it. A metal panel buzzed. The ship shuddered, shaking the crew in their seats, then rocked as though struck by something.
“Chrissake!” Talbert shouted.
“Cheng?”
“Heavy solar flare, Captain,” Iris Cheng reported. “There'll most likely be more. Star in this system is a hyperactive gee-one.” Brushing some of her long black hair over an ear, she gave Talbert a deliberate gaze. “Hot sector.”
“Aw, you rock my world, Cheng.” Talbert shook his head, a goofy grin on his scruffy mug.
“One thousand meters,” Devereux said. “I have the full ident: N'Sabi, D-S-one-seven-zero-one.”
“Okay, focus people,” McInchak said. There was already one snafu because of the solar flares and he wanted his crew sharp. “Kennicot, start crawling. Cheng, run a hull integ on it, and try a biologic scan while you’re at it. Dev, open me a channel.”
The cramped cockpit cabin of Scavenger 17 became a hive of activity, with the crew rustling about in their consoles, busy with their specific duties.
McInchak rubbed his square chin. N’Sabi. He vaguely recalled some media buzz on her about six or seven years back, something about it being the first zoological transport to make a hyperspace jump with “live cargo.” Big news at the time, especially since she’d been commissioned only three years prior, and up to that point it was a feat no one else had been able to accomplish, the usual result being what was termed critter fondue.
“You’re on,” Dev said, as the com unit crackled to life.
McInchak cleared his throat. “D-S-one-seven-zero-one, this is Captain Ewan McInchak of the salvage ship Scavenger Seventeen. Do you read?”
Only static emitted from the com unit speakers.
“Com could be knocked out, Cap,” Dev offered, brushing his dark moustache with forefinger and thumb. “By the looks of her, she’s been through hell.”
McInchak grunted. He could almost feel the worry lines around his eyes burrowing deeper.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Excerpt from short story: "Security System"
Note: This story is being published in the L&L Dreamspell "Dreamspell Nightmares" anthology, coming out this summer. (http://www.lldreamspell.com/DreamspellNightmares.htm)
Cole Renier peered down at the foreboding building from his crouched position on the wet, sloping ground that ran down from the railroad tracks. A shiver went through his lean frame as he studied the huge, lifeless structure spread out below him, some fifty yards away. Until recently, it had been the site of the thriving A.B.T. Research facility; but now the place looked desolate and seemed to shun even the meager light offered by the stars. Wind rustling through some shadowy trees whispered a caution in Cole’s ear.
“What’re we waitin’ for?” Angelo said, his voice a little too loud for Cole’s liking. “Let’s get down there already. We wanna be first ones in, don’t we?”
Annoyed, Cole glanced at his stocky, dark-haired friend, who was squatted next to him in the underbrush. Angelo Cirelli was somewhat of a loose cannon—fearless, with too much adrenalin at times—but he was a good friend, and definitely made their urban explorations more interesting.
Cole knew that Angelo was fired up about this place. With its recent unfortunate history, the site held great promise. The urban legends surrounding it had created quite a buzz within the urbex community. Word was the building still had a heartbeat. But to Cole’s knowledge, none of the other urbexers had breeched its imposing, windowless walls, though it was rumored that a group called The Interlopers had plans to infiltrate the place. “First ones in” gave you bragging rights online.
Security System
Cole Renier peered down at the foreboding building from his crouched position on the wet, sloping ground that ran down from the railroad tracks. A shiver went through his lean frame as he studied the huge, lifeless structure spread out below him, some fifty yards away. Until recently, it had been the site of the thriving A.B.T. Research facility; but now the place looked desolate and seemed to shun even the meager light offered by the stars. Wind rustling through some shadowy trees whispered a caution in Cole’s ear.
“What’re we waitin’ for?” Angelo said, his voice a little too loud for Cole’s liking. “Let’s get down there already. We wanna be first ones in, don’t we?”
Annoyed, Cole glanced at his stocky, dark-haired friend, who was squatted next to him in the underbrush. Angelo Cirelli was somewhat of a loose cannon—fearless, with too much adrenalin at times—but he was a good friend, and definitely made their urban explorations more interesting.
Cole knew that Angelo was fired up about this place. With its recent unfortunate history, the site held great promise. The urban legends surrounding it had created quite a buzz within the urbex community. Word was the building still had a heartbeat. But to Cole’s knowledge, none of the other urbexers had breeched its imposing, windowless walls, though it was rumored that a group called The Interlopers had plans to infiltrate the place. “First ones in” gave you bragging rights online.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Writing a Book Is Like...
Having spent a year researching, planning, writing, revising, rewriting and editing my first novel, expending no small amount of time, energy, blood, sweat and tears, one would think that the hard part was over. Au contraire, mon frère.
The actual writing of a novel is the fun part, the "easy" part; what comes after is the "not-so-easy" part: finding an agent. If you're of the squeamish ilk, then you'd better grow a thick skin--fast. Nothing can be so discouraging as the consistent chime of your "new email" alert nonchalantly apprising you of the form rejections dropping callously into your Inbox:
"Please be assured that we have given your project careful consideration. Unfortunately we don't feel the manuscript is right for us at this time."
Etcetera.
Then it's back to more agent research (GLA, online agent sites, the Jeff Herman Guide), putting together and shipping out Query packages, and waiting for more (most likely) rejections.
Etcetera.
But then one day it happens: an agent offers to sign you. Glory be! Now you're on easy street, right? Not by a long shot. Now comes more revisions and editing, until both you and your agent are satisfied. Only after that does the agent begin trying to sell your manuscript to an editor at a publishing house (hopefully one of the big six). And IF (notice that's a big "if") an editor offers to buy? Then comes even more revision and editing, more back and forth...
Etcetera.
Do you get the impression there exists a great deal of these "etceteras"? Uh huh. But hey, whoever said getting a novel published was easy? Probably the same folks who tell you that you can get rich quick in Multi-Level Marketing schemes.
No matter. If your passion is to write, then write is what you'll continue to do, whether you get paid for it or not. Of course, we all dream of having our words reach multitudes of readers with the hope that maybe--just maybe--we can touch those readers with the magic of our stories. Until then, we dangle an enticing carrot in front of ourselves and stretch for all we're worth.
And of course, we diligently put our butts in our chairs every day, and we write. And write. And...
Etcetera.
The actual writing of a novel is the fun part, the "easy" part; what comes after is the "not-so-easy" part: finding an agent. If you're of the squeamish ilk, then you'd better grow a thick skin--fast. Nothing can be so discouraging as the consistent chime of your "new email" alert nonchalantly apprising you of the form rejections dropping callously into your Inbox:
"Please be assured that we have given your project careful consideration. Unfortunately we don't feel the manuscript is right for us at this time."
Etcetera.
Then it's back to more agent research (GLA, online agent sites, the Jeff Herman Guide), putting together and shipping out Query packages, and waiting for more (most likely) rejections.
Etcetera.
But then one day it happens: an agent offers to sign you. Glory be! Now you're on easy street, right? Not by a long shot. Now comes more revisions and editing, until both you and your agent are satisfied. Only after that does the agent begin trying to sell your manuscript to an editor at a publishing house (hopefully one of the big six). And IF (notice that's a big "if") an editor offers to buy? Then comes even more revision and editing, more back and forth...
Etcetera.
Do you get the impression there exists a great deal of these "etceteras"? Uh huh. But hey, whoever said getting a novel published was easy? Probably the same folks who tell you that you can get rich quick in Multi-Level Marketing schemes.
No matter. If your passion is to write, then write is what you'll continue to do, whether you get paid for it or not. Of course, we all dream of having our words reach multitudes of readers with the hope that maybe--just maybe--we can touch those readers with the magic of our stories. Until then, we dangle an enticing carrot in front of ourselves and stretch for all we're worth.
And of course, we diligently put our butts in our chairs every day, and we write. And write. And...
Etcetera.
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