Tag: Science Fiction

Disclosure

Another teaser from Elbert, in which the lady meets a fellow with large teeth. The featured image is a second pass at the cover illustration by Paul Trif at Twin Art Design.

South Dakota, 1928

The rented aircar arrived early, giving time for the three of them to dawdle while hashing out a plan. Doctor Falun ran out to the island off Mexico where his fellow space yacht owners tended to congregate, but nobody was there. It took two minutes to go the distance, which Elbert found astonishing. “But it’s not faster than light?”

Falun shook his head. “In theory, the vessel stands still for an instant and the universe moves around it.” He returned Elbert’s gaze without blinking. “I’m not kidding; that’s what they think.”

Tom got his pants wet walking in the surf. Everyone tracked sand into the car. Falun produced a hip flask of single-malt scotch; Elbert took a capful before realizing Charlotte might think he was drunk, then had another because it was too late to take it back.

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A new beginning …

While making up my mind what to write at the end of Elbert, now at 92,000 words, I've returned to the first chapters, intent on bringing the inciting event closer to the front. This is my first pass; a serving suggestion, if you will. Do you understand the setting? Let me know in the comments. The feature image is a first draft cover treatment. Francine, at the left, is overdue for a visit at the beauty parlor. Watch for a change in that spot.

One morning, in the wee hours before sunrise, Doctor Elbert Holland Harrison dreamed he met a lady Sasquatch — neither abominable, nor a fugitive from snowy climes, foxlike in appearance, having lovely hips and a full bosom.

He woke with her name on his lips, although he couldn’t quite speak it — the strangeness of it troubling him all day.

August, 1928 — The Lazy L Ranch, South Dakota

Francine was tired, her feet hurt, the past week of pregnancy hadn’t been agreeing with her, and it was the fourth time since breakfast that a guest asked what the ‘L’ stood for. “Lemur, as in The Lazy Lemur Ranch.”

The customer was a human from Jivada — Loka AjJivadi — probably descended from South Asians admitted into the Anye interstellar community 12,000 years in the past, thereby rescued from an existential threat she’d soon hear about if not careful. “We tell the locals it means lumberjack.”

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Fun to write

Another first-draft teaser from Elbert, posted because it was fun to write.

Shallow Harbor, Jivada

If Slim’s grandparents were wealthy, one wouldn’t know it from their house — a modest bungalow three blocks off the bay. Their space yacht hovered in the front yard, larger than anything in the neighborhood, patio deck extended below the main entry, awning deployed, aft ramp down and a sub-compact aircar parked halfway out of the garage bay — the latter a feature Charlotte hadn’t expected to see in a boat under 30 meters.

But the 23 Mirage had a wider beam than a 19 Townhouse, yielding enough interior volume to offset the garage bay, and then some. The top deck floor plan was familiar — command compartment in the bow, then airlock, master suite, master bath, triage locker, slow-time cabinet, spacesuit locker, airlock, and storage compartment.

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I gave away 54 eBook copies of Resilient

And it’s as though I’m holding 54 lottery tickets, each with a non-specific settlement date. Will anyone read the book? Will there be reviews? What will they say?

To make matters worse, I read a couple of chapters after submitting the promotion. It’s been 3 years since publication, and damned if I shouldn’t have put the inciting event closer to the first chapter. Not that I’m embarrassed; I’m still proud of what I did.

Until this week, Resilient had reached maybe 6 readers. Now, I guess, we’re going to find out about market acceptance. Did you order the book? Have you started reading yet? Comments invited!

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Staying relevant …

Another teaser from Elbert.

Novi Sad, Serbia

After a week visiting Serbia’s second-largest city, Adele was ready to move on. The Danube river valley was enchanting, but a movement to fold the province into the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was showing signs of being more controversial than advertised.

 She told him twice, “Let’s leave before the shooting starts” — but he was on a mission, dispatched by the Prefect of the SagGha, and their brief stop on the way to Jivada was turning into something else entirely.

Stefan’s mother, Jivada-born, ostensibly Hungarian, didn’t think there’d be a fuss over Serbia’s shifting borders. “What you and I need to worry about is how to counsel our husbands when they start alienating friends and relatives over this conspiracy business.”

Adele was cautious. “Will AjJivadi here be divided over it?”

“Of course, they will.” She led them to a barn where Adele’s Bugatti coupe was soon to fly in from Zurich, unpiloted. “Guru Orsa is naïve to think we’ll smuggle in Star Forge phosphates, double our farm production, feed Europe and Jivada, and nobody will notice. We’ll be exposed, and if we aren’t of one mind about what to do then …” They gazed together at a sky full of stars and uncertainty. “All will be lost.”

Getting her car back turned out to less of a pleasure than Adele expected. My mother-in-law is on the wrong side.

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Changes

If you still have an Amazon Prime account, there’s still time to read one of my novels for free.

However, I’ve disenrolled from Kindle Unlimited and my books will start to drop off the eligible list on February 15. By April, I hope, I will have moved to other platforms. Please look for me on Barnes & Noble, Kobo and iTunes.

https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B06XKCQ11L

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Another teaser from W.I.P.

Wine Country, France

Charlotte woke with a chime in her ear, a message from Roy saying he’d pick her up in 45 minutes — not the notification she expected, from a ride-hailing service, scheduled for an hour before dawn. Radium-painted hands on an alarm clock said it was shortly after 4:00 AM. Momo was breathing softly, dead to the world — and whatever opportunity there might have been for a passionate goodbye was out the door.

She gathered up her clothes, crept into the parlor, dressed under her drones’ watchful eyes, thought about subvocalizing a reply and changed her mind, deciding to call from the kitchen. Roy sounded chipper, like he’d been up for an hour. “Hey, boss-lady; do you have clothes for Boston?”

“What’s in Boston?”

“A railroader.”

“Oh; that guy.” Her eyes wandered to the table, where she found a note next to a white tube made from card stock. “Are we going to shoot him, or what?”

“Echelon wants us to ask a few questions first.”

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Undiscovered, but improving

I had a post occupying this spot until yesterday. I kept the headline because it signified what I originally intended to talk about, but the rest was an embarrassment — and not because I failed to express myself. No, I had my skirt over my head all right, displaying a poor attitude, complaining that after 4 novels published and 50 units sold, I’d only garnered 11 reviews.

But then I realized, considering how little I’ve done to promote the work, that might be an acceptable ratio — and the reviews were encouraging.

Joshua Grant described The Illusion of Gravity as ‘Sci-fi with substance’. Mary Jo Fletcher doesn’t read SF, but she enjoyed the book. (Mary’s a friend; I’m sharing it anyway.) Everyone liked Silken Thread (adventure/love story), although I’m told it was too fast paced, and the hero didn’t fail enough. Joshua Grant again weighed in on Resilient, praising the book for action, depth, an immersive quality, and creative use of linguistics — that last observation just tickling the heck out of me, because it’s something I think I have an ear for.

If one isn’t selling a lot of books, the Amazon dashboard allows authors to observe the habits of Kindle patrons. You can witness a reader giving up after X number of pages, which I haven’t seen a lot of. What I have seen is The Illusion of Gravity consumed in one sitting, followed by the next two books over a period of 3 days, then Silken Thread — again, in one sitting.

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Ghana, 1929

Another teaser from my WIP novel Elbert.

January, 1929. Broken Claw enforcer Stefan Tot takes our heroine Charlotte Banks along on a delivery run.

Nasia Basin, Ghana

The 5,000-kilometer flight into northern Ghana took all of five minutes, after which the shuttle dallied above the landing zone while Stefan and his men debated what to do about three locals squatting next to their truck.

Charlotte listened to the discussion with one ear, attention focused on the feed from a Raksa drone sent down to spy on the interlopers. Stefan chose his words carefully — mindful, she thought, of the pilot’s sensibilities. “They’re up to no good, but I don’t want to shoot them over something like this.”

She smiled to herself. You would, if it was just us. “What do we have to trade?”

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