Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Excerpt from "Winds for my Wings"

Winds for my Wings is believed by many to be the greatest example of the "Contemporary Unicorn" genre of literature. Written in 1989, the book still holds up to this day.



      Pepper sat across the long mahogany table, staring at the man in the crisp, white coat.
      The man spoke in a deep voice, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, Pepper, just respond as honestly and quickly as possible, Ok?"
      "Alright", Pepper said, noticing how thick her Canadian accent was. She hoped the man could understand what she was saying.
      "Let's begin. How do you feel about missions?" the man asked.
      "I like them accomplished." Pepper responded.
      "And how do you feel about missions?" He then asked.
      "I'm not very religious..."
      "I see. How do you feel about lying?"
      "Couldn't sleep if I didn't do it."
      "And how do you feel about lying?"
      "Couldn't sleep if I did do it."
      The man in the white coat scribbled a note into the official-looking folder he was studying. "How do you feel about Michelangelo?"
      "I'm a fan."
      "How about the other Ninja Turtles?"
      Pepper swallowed. "Don't care for them."
      "What are your thoughts on hot dogs?"
      "Wouldn't be fourth of July without them!"
      "And what about hot dogs?"
      "I don't know... Goofy's wife is pretty cute."
      "And how about hot dogs?"
      "I don't think you should leave any animals in a car with the windows up."
      "And what are your thoughts on flies?"
      "Picnic ruiners."
      "And flies?"
      "Seems to be the best way to make your crotch available quickly."
      The man in the white coat stopped and began to flip through his papers. "Oh I'm sorry, this one was files not flies. how do you feel about files?"
      "They keep my nails smooth."
      "Alright, I'll just add up the numbers, and we should know if you're crazy in the next six to eight weeks."
     


Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Excerpt from "500 Marks"

Written in 1801, 500 Marks tells the story of an Imperial Prince and his untimely death. The book didn't sell well in Russia, due to it being "too optimistic and happy", nor in America, due to it's poor translation.

        Ice snow crunched beneath his boots of leather as Marquis marched through courtyard. He gripped hilt of sword with left hand and clenched right into fist. A rage was building inside him; fire consumed soul, burning into him and turning heart black, like piece of wood in wood-burning oven.
        When he looked her, he then pull sword from scabbard and aimed it at woman, which go against everything he taught in chivalry class. But this was not any woman. This was that woman, he thought to he.
         "Marquis! What...? What do you have that sword in your hand? Why are you doing here?" Jessasandra spoked.
         "How could you, Jessasandra?" 
          Jessasandra turned away, shameful. She not know how she could have eaten all of apple turnovers in a sitting of one, but she had. "You must to believe me! I am not to be knowing what came over I! Suddenly I was eating and eating and I had no way of stop! I had to consume them! The way I'm going to consume your soul..."
           Marquis looked at Jessasandra. "Wait, what now?"
           Before Marquis could finish thought, Jessasandra had reached into his body with mind, seeking out man's soul so that she might consume it. Which she did. 
           The next day, the Winter Ball went on as scheduled, and since it was masquerade, no one knowed where Marquis was.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Excerpt from "Occurring or Situated Between Stars"

The sci-fi novel, Occurring or Situated Between Stars was mostly overlooked when it came out in 1997. Many people found the definition-heavy title to be off-putting and "sleep-putting" to their brains.

       "Alright, alright, alright." Captain Mahonahay said in a smooth, relaxed and slightly southern draw. "Let's kick this puppy into high-gear..." he continued, while kicking an actual puppy into the higher gears of the Equinox's loud, pumping engine. The puppy let out a terrifying yelp as the gears of the space shuttle crushed it's sweet, three-day-old puppy skull. 
       "The blood of that innocent baby puppy should lubricate those pistons for another hour or so," Mahonahay said calmly, while strapping himself into the captain's seat. "Let's hope we can find a planet to land on before we've crushed you all in the pistons."
       The pile of cute puppies that Captain Mahonahay was talking to on the bridge of the Equinox just stared back at the laid-back man cutely. The little one, Pip, squeeled with delight, standing on his hind legs for attention, wanting to be loved. "Alright, alright, alright." said Mahonahay, reaching for the puppy. "It looks like you need some love, Sugarcake. I think I'll throw you in the turbines, next." And with that, the Captain made his way back to the engine room, tickling Pip under his soft, furry neck the whole time. The whole time. Yes he did. The whole time. And Pip wuved it. Yes he did. He wuved every second of it didn't he? That's a good puppy. 
        Pip was then hurled mercilessly into the grinding gears of the space shuttle's engine, splattering another coat of red across the room. 
        "Alright, alright, alright." Mahonahay said as he walked back to the bridge to find forty-five fully grown German Shepherd's foaming at the mouth and growling at him. "Oh, no!" Mahonahay said quick as lightning, "We must have flown through a disturbance in time and space and somehow it only affected the bridge of the ship, causing these once lovable and innocent puppies to grow instantaneously into adult dogs with an understandable hatred of me." 
       Mahonahay blinked but once before the dogs descended upon him, tearing him apart like a child of seven opening a gift on her birthday. As Mahonahay died painfully, he thought of humanity, and how they, too, would now die a painful death, since he had not found a planet suitable for humans to live on. That was his one job.

(For more sci-fi excerpts check out Voyage to the Crimson Moon Excerpt #1 and Excerpt #2)

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Excerpt #4 from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn"

The fourth excerpt from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn", book 3 of the epic 79 book fantasy series, "The Spheres of Larnitha", takes place in the Great White City of Qwoo, where Aesh'orn has been taken.

       The Common Knight slowly opened his eyes. They burned as the light seared into them. Above, were flowing banners of white and yellow, made from paper-thin silks. The walls, and floors, and ceilings were all the purest white, carved from the fabled Snowstones of the Western Isles. Aesh'orn looked down and noticed that he was no longer wearing the studded, rough-spun surcoat over dull and rusted mail that he had worn every day of this cycle. In its place were turquoise linens and below were ornate silk breeches for covering his naughtiness. 
       On the turquoise linens, thousands upon thousands of dragon's turds were intricately inlaid. There were dragon's turds of all colors and shapes and sizes. Golden turds from the Mandel Dragons of the North, crimson turds from the Dragons of the Pine, lavender turds from the Lotus Dragons, turds of pink and lemon yellow from the Dragons Beyond the Sea, there were bright green turds and dark green turds, both from the Eastmond Dragons, and from the Goj-ee, there were dragon's turds that sparkled brighter than diamonds. Along the sleeves of his silkened tunic, he noticed rows of turds that had been mixed together. Turd cocktails of blues and browns and silver and auburn and a hundred more, each more wonderful than the last. 
       His belt was the softest leather, sheepskin, a black darker than night.
       On the back of his silk tunic were even more dragon's turds, adorning the soft, sheer fabrics. Tiny turds from the Spring Dragons of Montha, in all the colors of the rainbow and arranged in beautiful patterns. The turds were too small to have come from anything larger than a baby dragon. Along the walls, however, were the bigger display turds. Massive dragon shits that had come from full-sized adult dragons with a healthy diet. They shimmered in the late-day sunlight as Aesh'orn slowly walked among them, fingering the dimples and dents and mounds and curves of each of the solidified fecal piles.
       The Common Knight had never seen anything as beautiful in his life. He searched the great empty hall, but apart from the gorgeous piles of dragon waste, there was no one. Aesh'orn realized he was alone. All of the dragon's turds in the world were useless in a city with a population of one...

(Other excerpts from The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn: Excerpt #1, Excerpt #2, and Excerpt #3)

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Excerpt #3 from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn"

[In the third excerpt from the epic fantasy novel, The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn, Little Webbly and Lord Wolfe finally reach the Triplets and the Army of Orphans is broken apart by the use of the unspeakable word...]


       The Triplets, three matching towers guarding the Pimple-Neck Pass, loomed over Webbly. He looked up at the ancient structures, their shadows covering Webbly like a ragged blanket of Ice Cotton. Little Webbly reached into his food sack, retrieving his last bit of hardened milk-bread, " Mmmmm. Hard, milk-like bread..." He said, eating the hard and milk-ish bread. 
       "Webbly," Lord Steppen Wolfe pointed at Webbly to make sure he knew which of the twelve Webbly's of various sizes he was talking about, "Lil' Webbly, the only thing worse than the stale, milky bread going into your mouth are the stale, milky words coming from it." 
       "I'm sorry, m'lord," Webbly said, with a mouth full of stale bread. 
       "Seriously, stop talking." Lord Wolfe said.
       "Seriously, I'm sorry." Webbly replied.
       "Alright, I'm going to kill you." the Lord said, as he pulled his long sword from it's scabbard.
       "But Ogana, the One-Eyed Crowen said that if you killed me, all of Larnitha would perish to the evil darkness that is Garadun, the Black Wizard of Sadness, Despair and Small Children."
        "Fine," Lord Wolfe sheathed his sword, and bit his lip. "I suppose I could always kill you after we've used your unwavering child innocence to destroy the final Sphere of Larnitha." 
        "Yeah, just do that." Webbly smiled. 
        "Oh, I'm going to," Lord Wolfe retorted, "but in the mean time..." Lord Wolfe reached out and in one quick swipe, smacked the boy across his stupid face. 
        "You cunt," said Webbly, his hand now resting over his dumb cheek.
        "Whoa. Hey. Whoa. Hey. Whooooooooa. Hey now. That's not cool." Lord Wolfe responded. 
        "Wait, it's cool if you smack a seven year old child," Webbly said, "but, it's not OK for that seven year old child to call you a 'cunt'?"
        With the second mentioning of the unspeakable word, Lord Wolfe gave the child another backhand across his idiotic face. "You're only seven?"
        "Seven and a half, m'lord." 
        The Lord of Wolfetin slapped the dumb child a third time. "Half years don't count you fat, overgrown man of a child."
        The third slap was not only all his dumb face could take, but also all his dumb pride could take, "I'm telling Ogana the One-Eyed Crowen on you!" Webbly said as he began to sob and run through the woods. Lord Wolfe turned to face his remaining three hundred followers who had been politely waiting for the altercation to end and after a moment said, "Finally... Am I right?"

(Other excerpts from The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn: Excerpt #1, Excerpt #2, Excerpt #4)

Friday, August 29, 2014

Excerpt from "Wines and Pines"

[The 1978 novella Wines and Pines took readers on a journey to New York City, as they followed the trials and tribulations of professional wine drinker Stewart, while he tried and tribulated things.]

        Stewart looked out through the frosted glass at the single metal trash can in the street. He stared at it with great fear. What did this mean for my wine-drinking business? He thought to himself. An unaccompanied trash receptacle, just sitting in the middle of my lane as if I were living in the bad neighborhood on Sesame Street? Why am I paying $350 a month for an apartment with a view to, what can only be described as a "hellish landscape of anger and fear"? What does this mean for my neighborhood? Will I have to move out, now? What does this mean for planet Earth? Will I have to move out, now?
        "Kristen!" Stewart yelled, never breaking his gaze from that mesmerizing, lone trash can.
        "What is it now, Stewart?!" Kristen screamed back from the next room.
        "Well if you're going to be like that about it, maybe I don't need anything." Stewart said in an expertly passive-aggressive fashion, which he had learned from his mother, and she from her mother before her. It was tradition; even their family crest bore the words Numquam Passivus, Non Ferox, Semper or "Never Passive, Never Aggressive, Always Both".
        "Alright, then. If you do need something, just holla!" Kristen replied.
        "I was lying, I do need something, Kristen. Could you fetch the phone book? I intend on phoning the police about this trash can situation." Kristen suddenly burst through the door, weapon drawn. "I knew it..." Stewart said, "You've been an undercover assassin all along, haven't you? You were just pretending to love me for the last 45 years..."

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Excerpt from "A Hallow Feeling"

[This surrealist novel was controversial when it was first published in 1987. The San Quentin Prison Times called it "deeply disturbing" and "fun for the whole family".]


        Timothy walked into Franz Kafkaesque Mall with a skip in his step and marched straight to the food court's newest addition, Soup or Man?.
        The tall woman behind the counter stared at Timothy. Timothy politely returned the stare. The tall woman rudely threw it back. Timothy then picked it up and stored it away to be used later, with a smile. 
        The tall woman finally spoke, "Welcome to Soup or Man?, can I interest you in a bowl of soup? Or a man?" 
         "I'm sorry, a man?" T-Dawg replied, curiously.
         "Yeah. Or soup."
         "Like slavery?"
         "Well, we prefer to call it not slavery, but yeah," the tall woman responded.
         "Is this legal?" Tim-Tim replied.
         "It is when you call it not slavery." Slenderwoman responded.
         "Hmmm. I have to admit, when I came up to you, I was assuming that you mainly sold just soup, perhaps also some condiments..." said Timmy.
         The tall, pole-like woman looked at Timid-Tim with disdain in her evil, tall eyes. "Yeah, well...I mean, it's right there in the name...Soup or MAN. I don't know how much clearer we could make it."
         "Well you could add something to the bottom, like: Soup makers and slave sellers."
         "That's just beating the idea to death, don't you think?"
         "I don't think it's a good idea to begin with."
         "Yeah, well..."
         "Well..."
         "Well...do you want some soup?"
         "Yeah. And a slave."