A teaser from the current WIP, working title 'Maroli Winter'.
The sensation of operating the breaching waldoe was an order of magnitude more intimate than the same experience within a simulation, and Myra Fowlkes knew why — the Anodyne virtual tutorial authored by the manufacturer was pathetic.
The machine’s vision was intensely sharp and focused, with more depth of field than delivered by organic optics. While waiting to deploy, she smelled silicone grease with sufficient precision to locate the source without taking a single step — it was on a flexible seal dovetailed into the spaceboat’s hatch opening.
The warbot felt like a neoprene wetsuit. Its hands were her hands, clad in half-finger diving gloves. Its feet wore hiking boots like ones she’d taken back to the store because they were too stiff, except these had so much traction she had to take weight off one ankle if she wanted to rotate.
Another teaser from a work-in-progress. 77,000 words and no title, yet.
Chapter 203
Anuraga, The Dust Cloud
Mason Fowlkes went straight from lunch to a partially shut-down docking terminal, its boarding passage absent of patrons, occupied only by a shipwright replacing airlock seals.
Mason told him, “I’m going out of slot five in a few minutes for a podcast interview. I’m cleared with the house, but …”
Portugal’s time zone was an hour behind Serbia, the sky still illuminated by the last rays of a setting sun; making it imprudent to land Advaita Vedanta in an alley, invisibility technology notwithstanding.
Brandon Lopez should have flown the van, a mistake painfully evident upon deboarding, unremedied by sending the spaceboat off to a parking slot in orbit.
Maryanne Orsa’s one-hundred-eighty-two-year-old English/Norwegian/AjJivadi mother, Lisbet Porter, met him at one end of the alley with a tiny dog on a leash and an admonishing tone in her voice. “Did I just see you land a spaceboat seven blocks from where I’m living?”
He cringed. “I’m an idiot.”
“That’s what you are.” She gestured. “Let’s get moving before the neighbors show up.”
Seriously. I’m at 43,000 words and I don’t have a title.Here’s a teaser from Chapter 109.
The White House, Washington DC
It was four miles from the White House to a bar and grille in Arlington, where an Ivy League educated economist had been ensconced for the past hour-and-a half.
Carmen boarded the same housekeeping maroli she’d used twice, once earlier in the day, for the purpose of signing documents in her own hand. The machine was off-duty, in a dark closet, sipping nutrition through a straw out of a crushable plastic box.
She wiggled her avatar into the maroli’s form factor, arms operating two large tentacles on the top row, saying, “Hello again. Are you finished with supper?”
It tossed the box into a waste bin. “This device has eaten.”
Reincarnation! It’s not just for Buddhists anymore!
In the solitary middle of his years, Glenn Mehrenholz begins to dream about the temple of Hera at Paestum in the old, old days when southern Italy was part of Greece. There, standing upon a shiny marble floor (not a ruin, like it is today), a furry, foxlike lady speaking Sanskrit says she knows him by another name.
Spooky, right? You might wonder, “Why Sanskrit instead of Greek or Latin?” If so, high marks. You must have paid attention in eighth grade.
Things happen. Exciting things. Things you’ll want to know about. For instance, aliens from another planet get themselves outed by the U.S. Air Force, whereupon they confess to having colonized Earth during the last Ice Age — although not in a bad way.
“Surprise!” say the furry aliens. (Remember the lady in the first paragraph?) “We’re here! Always have been. Sorry. It was a secret.”
In due time, the concept’s existential threats are trotted out. (1) Impending cosmic disaster. (2) A power struggle on nearby Jivada. (3) The Unseen are stirring in their nest, which could be a problem for everybody. According to authors I follow on the Internet, every tale needs tension. I made sure to include plenty of it.
So, by way of explainment, I refer you to what happened to the Dalai Lama, who was recognized as the reincarnation of the previous Dalai Lama when he was two years old. Right there, in real life, a person’s normal existence was replaced with a noble quest, whether he liked it or not.
This is what’s happening to Glenn. He’s a ghost of ancient Vidura, an instrument of destiny, a man with worlds to save.
Don’t say it’s preposterous. I just demonstrated, with facts, how it isn’t.
It’s an epic story. I should know. I made it all up myself. Are you shopping for books with happy endings? Our hero marries a neurologist ten years his junior, although that’s not actually how it ends. You still have to read the book.
Notwithstanding what I just said, Ghosts of Ancient Vidura really is literary Sci-Fi. All my titles are #kindleunlimited. Click below to read a few chapters for free!
After a few weeks working on the ninth (and presumably last) volume in the Anye Universe books, I’ve decided to give it a rest. The fourth book has lain fallow long enough for a fresh restart, so that’s what I’ll do until inspired to switch horses again.
Here’s a look at the first chapter of Vacuum Forged after some brutal cutting. Who knows what it’ll look like a month from now.
Part 1 – Chapter 0
First House, Planet Vidura, 70,000 BCE
Upon the sixth anniversary of First House’s instantiation, Master Sa summoned his three most important cub-school students to tell them what they were.
Spring was early in the Northern Reach. The scent of young blossoms drifted through parlor doors. Birdsong rang in the air. Tree pollen tickled noses. It was all, said Master Sa, an artful deception. “We call it the Anodyne Virtuality.”
Intelligent and entertaining stories developed for a thoughtful audience.
What if science was to prove the doctrine of the immortal soul? Amil Leyta intended to work in orbital manufacturing, but his studies have taken an unexpected turn. He’s built a device that images the essence of life, evoking the discovery that there’s more than one type of soul.
They appear on his monitor at deathbed vigils, shining bright across the boundary between dimensions. He imagines they’re angels, guiding spirits to the between-life, and wonders if the Gods will allow what he must do next.
A solicitation for a First Chapter writing contestcaused me to restart work on a Ghosts of Ancient Vidura follow-on — now at eight chapters, too sketchy to submit to a competition much less post any of it on my website, although that’s what I’m about to do.
Why? Because feedback is valuable, and one never knows where it’ll lead. As to the contest in question, even if the manuscript was ready-for-reading, terms of service didn’t stipulate sharing of judges’ notes with authors. Feedback is unlikely. I’ll save my twenty dollars for a better offer, but thanks for making me start writing again.
Meanwhile, I was curious enough to read the submissions of prior contest winners and runners-up, a reminder not to care a whole lot about what publishing gatekeepers are looking for in works of fiction. Thematically, not what I’m doing. In terms of voice, the experience left me uncertain about my approach.
I don’t wax lyrical in early chapters. I could. I know how to do it, but I don’t. In my view, and that of many authors, opening lines are best dedicated to arrival at the inciting event. Tell the reader what the grass smells like after you’ve dragged him into the story.
Here's my sketchy first chapter, first draft. The book is yet untitled. What do you think? Should this passage be more evocative? Tell me in the comments.
I haven’t been an avid consumer of entertainment since I started writing, partly because I don’t want other authors’ stories in my head during the process. But there’s also the matter of what to consume — in that the quality of legacy media appears to be on the decline.
Essayist Derek Thompson (Is America Really Running Out of Original Ideas, The Atlantic, December 2021) proposes that the sorry state of the movie industry is founded not in a poverty of creativity but rather upon market dynamics that no longer reward innovation. To wit, the public patronizes familiar stories above all others, giving Hollywood motivation to publish a tedious litany of remakes.
But Hollywood no longer has a monopoly on filmic art, and Amazon has revolutionized book publishing. We are bombarded with content from every direction, and the challenge for a consumer seeking original, creative and uncommon entertainment is how to find it.
The eBook edition of my latest novel is free today and tomorrow, February 9 &10 — an opportunity to try something completely different, whether or not you’re a follower of the genre.
Ghosts of Ancient Vidura is literary science fiction — action, adventure, and family drama against an SF landscape, with an underlying theme about what it takes to create a successful life. About the series, readers have said, “There’s nothing like it” and “Something for everybody”.
Helpful hint — If you’re not a fan of SF, the book really shifts gears in Part Two. But don’t skip. You’ll miss something important.
Elevator pitch —The year is 2025, and the aliens have arrived. Officially, not counting twenty-five-thousand years of under-the-table commerce, a secret that can no longer be kept.
John Dyer Writes 
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