tired of the same old politics? Fed up
with candidates slinging so much mud it puts thong-wearing lady wrestlers to
shame? Have strategically-timed ‘gotcha’
videos turned you into a jaded cynic? Do
you want fresh ideas to revive your interest in social narrative and public
discourse gone stale? Do you want them
in an easy-to-digest pamphlet size that’s no bigger but no less incendiary than
Thomas Paine’s Common Sense? If so, then you won’t need terrabytes of
polling data to figure out that Politics
Unusual is the literary choice for you.
writers Patrick Lundrigan (L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future award-winning
author), J. Monell, Brian Pedersen and Neil Morris as they spin tales of fantasic contests in the civic arena: in Patrick Lundrigan’s The Political Machine, a master of old-fashioned realpolitik must
adapt to challenges posed by an artificially-intelligent candidate in a
technologically disorienting virtual debate; negative campaigning gets a taste
of New Age medicine in the battle for a young woman’s soul in J. Monell’s The Media Medium; Brian Pedersen’s Falling for a Presidential Hopeful features
an ambitious wife grappling with the possibility that her nominee husband may
not be of this Earth, while Neil Morris’ The
Living Document pits an anthropomorphic United States Constitution against
a Supreme Court Chief Justice in a debate over the most controversial issue of
readers, though, there’s simply no debate: whether you’re a nobody in the
ninety-nine percent or a one percent patrician, Politics Unusual will leave you wholly entertained.
I've always been a storyteller. I remember standing in the second grade schoolyard and captivating some classmate with the most outrageous string of, ahem, embellishments to the story I was telling.
A few years later I committed those stories to loose-leaf paper, with drawings and report covers. Next came attempts with typewriters.
Years later, I realized that there were such things as How-to books, and stocked up and read a whole bunch of them. But it wasn't until 2001 that I seriously started to write. By that I mean I took an on-line class in how to write, joined Critters, and I not only wrote, but keep track of what I was doing.
So back on May 10th, 2001, I wrote the first 380 words of my professional writing career. Since then I've written about a hundred stories and more than 700,000 words of fiction. Which means I'm still working on the one million words of crap they say writers have to produce before writing something good. But I have managed to sell six stories and win a few contests. Did I show any promise with those first few hundred words? You be the judge:
The Pierian Spring
Krane felt a lurch in his stomach as the lander dipped into the atmosphere. The steady keel of the carrier was long gone, replaced by the bobbing and weaving of this small craft as it descended. He could feel the thin wisps as they slowed the lander, and the wingtips began to glow. Weightlessness and inertia traded places, and he was pulled into his seat. Another swift turn, and the ocean below was revealed. Clouds, white like all clouds; waters, blue for the most part. Vast patches of greens and blues hugged the shorelines and equator. He accessed for a moment. These varieties of plankton were similar to species found thirty-two other worlds. Preliminary studies showed them to to quite unremarkable. Genetic makeup was closest to… He felt the beginning of vertigo, despite the momentary smoothness of the lander. Closing his eyes, he concentrated until the feeling, and the information, faded.
Krane looked over at the pilot. No queasiness showed, only an eager grip on the controls and the intense stare of concentration. His flightsuit bore colorful badges of rank and missions in contrast to Krane’s single insignia—a small stylized microscope.
“We’re coming up on the continent.” he said, acknowledging Krane for the first time.
Krane had seen the continent from orbit, of course. Now it was appearing on the horizon. The only major land mass on this planet, beside tiny outcroppings and volcanic chains of islands. He was about to access the tectonic and geological records, but hesitated. Later, he thought.
They were now over land, the descent moderated somewhat. The lander was now an aircraft, and Krane imagined the sonic booms below him. There was nothing to hear them, though, this area being devoid of any life on an already sparsely inhabited world. Those simple creatures, plants mostly and a few phyla of insects, had their fate in Krane’s hands.