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    • CommentAuthorkjelshus
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008 edited
    Hello, this here is a drunken rambling from an old soldier in a sci-fi graphic I'm working on called "Extinct Gods", still a work in progress, but it helps set the atmosphere...

    "We were ready; they even gave us bayonets. We charged the desert as the planes fought above. We raced as fast we could, man. I wanted to taste the blood as it splattered me! Then, we just stopped. I could have kissed the man in front of me we were so close. My body was still pumping hard from the amphetamines I took earlier. Every one of us just stopped. It seemed like we were staring at each other for days. But really it was all of fifteen seconds before we threw down our guns and walked away. Both sides! Even the friggin' planes landed. The pilots got out and walked with us. The C.O.'s didn't say shit, its like were in some trance. This was supposed to be the big battle to turn the tides on whoever was the bad guy this week. We just went home and that was that. The governments of the world apologized, and we all disarmed. It was unreal. Even Japan was talking about reopening their borders. Which thrilled me, I heard real deal Sake was something to die for. So there we all were, E.U., the Union Alliance Corp. in Asia and the U.S. of A working together to make this place "safe once again for future generations". The Midwest U.S. was so fucked it wasn't even worth it. Nothing would ever grow there again. And besides the Fed's couldn't afford to clean it up and rebuild. So they decided to focus what we had left to tidy up our port cities, the coasts. They enlisted all of us Vets into civil services. We dismantled the weapons factories and retrograded them to make Civy' stuff again. We were at peace, but who knows for how long. Anyone who believed in religion died out a long time ago. We worshipped the only thing that was real to us, the 7.62mm, baby. The one thing we knew would reach out and touch someone. See this tattoo, that bullet with "X 52", that’s my score! Anyway, I mean come on, there are few of these religious types in Arabia! If there are any others I sure the shit don't know any. Not personally anyway. But I did hear at the bar the other day that back in NYC, down in the old down town area, that there is a "Preachers Row". Real wierdos yellin' about some old gods and shit. Mesopumerian or somethin', other freaks too, snake cults, Devil worship, even some old school Christians. My great grandma was a Catholic! But, I mean, I take it all with a grain of salt, I never seen this place, and it kind of sounds like bullshit. But you never know these days. Anything can happen, this is a new world. Even it is fuckin' broken."
    -Taken from Gunnery Sgt. Kowalski U.S.M.C. (ret.)
    © 2007 Yarns, Arcane Presents...
  1.  (1253.2)
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    Spiraltwist, thank you very much. I get more and more excited about this project everyday!
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    Waiter? Check please. =P

    - Z
    • CommentAuthoraspeed
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    I have a novel at the publishers right now, and I feel I've jinxed it by mentioning it on a forum, and they'll decide they don't want it after all. Well, fuck it.

    I have a serial fiction site, where I publish a chapter a week: The latest story running is Freefall, one of the Infected series, which is about a gay detective in a world where a werecat virus is both a modern plague and a new religion. Hey, you're getting a new chapter a week, so don't bitch.

    But amongst the other series are Alone With The Dead, where a normal guy finds himself possessed by poltergeists who mostly want revenge on the living, and Troubleshooter, where a former MI-6 agent who faked her own death is living off the grid and trying to get by as an unconventional investigator, with a brain damaged former hockey player as a sidekick. In the random "other fiction" category, there's Warped, about a truly odd group of space pirates; Jingle Hell, which is probably best described as "The Night Before Christmas" meets "The Evil Dead"; and Manger Massacre, which turns a slightly Cthulu like God and a disgruntled Joseph into the most mismatched buddy cop team ever as they hunt down a psychotic Jesus Christ. It's even worse than it sounds.

    In published stuff I can talk about, I had a short story called The Blackburn Legacy published in Rex Libris #9 (I have a book review in #10), I wrote the introduction to Bomb Queen: Dirty Bomb, and I have a comedy piece in this year's Prism Guide to Comics. So there you go. Check me out if you'd like.
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    Name's Green. DC Green. Gonzo global-jaunting surf journalist turned children's author of books such as...

    Stinky Squad

    Oztrailer has mysteriously turned into a nation of brain-eating zombies! President George Boof wants to bomb the entire country back to the Stone Age!! The world’s only hope? A team of loser teens who have developed revolting superpowers like acid vomit and super-sticky pimple pus: Stinky Squad!

    ‘One hell of a ride... A fart-fest with a surprisingly warm heart. Stench is an INSPIRED character.’
    – Sally Odgers, children’s author.

    ‘DC Green has keyed into what children love to read. This is a best seller... truly truly truly truly great!’
    – Carol Roach, Storytime Tapestry.

    ‘Stinky Squad is the best Australian children’s book. Ever.’
    – Stab magazine.

    ‘This is the novel equivalent of a manga comic, a classic super hero tale on a global scale – albeit with a freaky twist. It’s fast and furious and VERY funny.’
    – Sandy Fussell, children’s author.

    Available online through publisher Barrel Books or in good bookstores throughout Oz. I'd be stoked to hear from any canny non-Oz publishers!
  2.  (1253.7)
    My name is James Daniel Ross, I am the author of The Radiation Angels: The Chimerium Gambit.

    This novel focuses upon Captain Todd Rook, the leader of the mercenary team: The Radiation Angels. Betrayed by his employer, Rook seizes an opportunity to get even. He and his team spend the rest of the book trying to survive. Flavored by the author's love of action, adventure, and pulp style detective novels, it is a fast paced race to survive.

    It is classified, by those that do such things, as military scifi.

    Main Website, read the first chapter for free.
    You can buy it here

    I have submitted the sequel, The Radiation Angels: The Key to Damocles and I expect a response from the publisher, it being a publisher, just before the next ice age. A Radiation Angels short story (First Drop) should be released in ebook format from Mundania sometime soon.

    Radiation Angels: Not One Word appears in Breach the Hull put out by Marietta Publishing .

    I have short stories, running the gamut from hard scifi to urban fantasy, coming out in the anthologies Cry Havoc (Marietta), So it Begins (Marietta), and Bad Ass Faeries 2 (Marietta). I should be submitting my first fantasy novel at the end of spring.
    • CommentAuthorJShilpetski
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008 edited
    Unfortunately for humanity, I've begun a (probably short) novel. I'm calling it The Land of the Free for now, but I'm sure that will change by the final chapter. I don't even know how this thing's going to end. I'm serializing it on livejournal. I only have the first part up at this point, but I have a bit more written and a little more after that planned out. Just realized I haven't given the guy a name yet. Maybe I won't.

    I imagine it's not very good, but as Brian K. Vaughan once said, every writer has 10,000 pages of crap in them. This is just me getting out a few of those pages.
  3.  (1253.9)
    I've written a couple of novels, and am finally getting around to submitting one of them to publishers and agents.

    This is the first paragraph.

    Dave often daydreamed about abducting the President of the United States of America and subjecting him to extensive anal probes. It wasn't a politically motivated fantasy. Dave just thought it would be funny. He never thought he would get the chance.
    However, he was wrong.

    If you happen to be an agent or publisher, I can be contacted through my website. :)
    • CommentAuthorSearn
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    Oh, so many people with so much more material amassed than me. sigh.

    Anyway, I do not have a novel proper as I have time issues. Mainly devoting time to it.

    So, here is my newspaper work.

    Mostly concert and movie reviews done in the dregs of the failing US newspaper business and various other articles to drum up hits on the site.

    Will post links for substantial work when I have it.
    • CommentAuthorChaosHippy
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008 edited
    I like to call myself a novelist, but I'm really a procrastinator in disguise. I'm about 150 pages into my first novel and (hopefully) picking up steam again after a lapse of more than one year. I'm working in modern fantasy. My working title is Devil's Dance. I'd love to share some of it, but I noticed that the forum rules say I shouldn't do that.
  4.  (1253.12)
    Howdy, I'm Sheatiel Sarao and my first novel's called The Irrelevant Redemption: A Steampunk Fairytale. It's illustrated by my partner in crime, Cody Vrosh, and we self-published it last year.

    It's a cyborg coming of age fable, and steampunk of the fantasy realm variety (rather than historical).

    You can read an excerpt and check out the illustrations on our site The book is also available for purchase in our online shop.

    Here's a snippet of a snippet :) :

    She followed him outside. The cavern opened onto a ledge, high on a cliff overlooking a faultless ocean. Nested in the sand below was a great and glowing city, radiant with activity. "This is Morphos," he said proudly. "Come on!" he yelled, as took her hand and led her down the cliff side.

    "Where did we just come from?" inquired Emma, looking back at the cavern.

    "Oh, those are the Caverns of Never," he replied detachedly. "Nothing ever goes on there."

    But everything went on in Morphos.

    Once inside, Emma did not know where to look. They were greeted at the gates by a prophet whose visions spilled forth from a floor-length tongue of bright blue silk. He insisted that they each cut a strip of cloth for luck. She spied Matter Hatters playing hopscotch on hypercubes. She watched as a barren woman crafted origami children from photosensitive paper and taught them to perform ancient operas when struck by bright light. She tried on a coat that had been woven entirely from the halos of discontinued saints. When she grew tired, the boy took her to a delightful eatery, where she feasted on split atoms and dumplings of Planck energy. He had cinnamon chocolate pancakes for dessert.

    As dark fell, the boy led Emma to his home. He made her a bed of perfumed feathers so that her sleep would be more soothing. All she needed was an occasional recharge but somehow it didn't seem important to tell him that. He would not stay the night with her but assured her that she would see him again tomorrow. She asked him where he was going.

    "You must stay here until sunrise. You must not ask why and you cannot follow. Ever," he warned. "Swear this, please," he insisted.

    He returned early the next day, with a clever songbird in hand to sing her good morning. The second day passed much as the first. They saw more strange and charming sights, sampled more pleasing sensations. A seashell that whispered the sidestepped promises of broken gentlemen. A girl made of mirrors waltzing with the ghost of a man who had died waiting for himself. A god who moonlighted as a swing shift typesetter so he could sneak bogus ads into the personals so that people wouldn't run out of stuff to believe in. Daytime in flux delirium left no instant for worry but at night when they parted, the urgency for definitives returned.

    On the third day, they picnicked on an airship fueled by tears shed falsely. Stitched into the sails were the severed lovelines of women who betrayed their lovers. Emma could no longer contain her frustration.

    "How can I fix what's wrong when I have no reference point for what right should be? The context keeps changing," she said at last.

    "Maybe that's the point," suggested the boy. "There are no determined value sets for happiness."

    "Then how do you know if you've got it?"

    The boy shrugged.

    "Maybe that's what you're here to find out." Emma seemed confused at this point so he continued. "Maybe your good intentions are being sabotaged by your lack of understanding. You can't help someone find happiness never having known what it is yourself."

    "But I already know what happiness is," Emma protested. "I have the software for it and everything."
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    i'm ben peek, and my novels are twenty-six lies/one truth and black sheep. i'm currently writing a book called 'across the seven continents of the underworld', which should be finished by end of march, mid april.

    here's a quote from it:

    Matthew Brady was transported at the age of twenty-two for murder.

    He considered it a black piece of humour that he had been convicted for the death of one man since, at the age of sixteen, he had been part of the Shibtri Isles Army. For nearly six years, he had fought in campaigns across dry, burnt soil that lay beneath empty red skies. When not fighting on the land he had been born, he traveled, and fought on soggy, sodden, yellowed half grown fields beneath the same sun; or in the long tunnels of the Queen's Empire, where the only light was provided by phosphorescent stones and moss. In these campaigns, the dark, maroon uniform of Brady's native country remained the same no matter his antagonistic of defensive roll, though he questioned neither. The military was the only employment that he had ever known. He had joined, not through of a sense of patriotism or duty, but rather because the dangerous and violent nature of the work offered was attractive. He wasn't like his brother, Alex—Alexander—who had the natural gift of intelligence and interest in study and who was offered a morticians apprenticeship at the age of thirteen—the offering of which had allowed him to leave the orphanage and underfunded public school system that they were both stuck in. No, for Brady, life existed in the physical, the tangible, and the pleasures that were offered through these experiences, and so when the recruiters stood in their maroon uniforms in the middle of the broken cement quadrangle of the school he attended and told him that he could have a life with money, food, and travel in addition, he did not hesitate to sign up. That he was to be part of campaigns that resulted in the deaths of men and women with whom he had no personal connection with did not bother him. Likewise, he was similarly unconcerned by the destruction that was caused to towns and cities and countries that he visited. Why should he have been? The question of why he was there had been made before the army was sent into battle, and he never saw a reason to question them—until, that is, the day he killed William Morris.

    Killing Morris was different to any death that Brady had been responsible for. When his knife slipped out of the other man's stomach, when the blood flowed over Brady's hand, when the strength seeped out of Morris' body with it, when his breath against Brady's neck stuttered and stopped...

    When he was dead.

    When he was dead, in short, Brady felt a pleasure that he had never felt before.

    Which, of course, was the problem. When his lawyer arrived, the neat, non-tattooed (clean skinned was the slang) young man took it upon himself to explain to Brady that he could not kill the people he wanted to kill. He did not use those words, of course: the lawyer had the sentiments couched in long, twisting sentences, relating to morals, social standards, and other curiously frail arguments that, in the end, argued that it was fine—indeed, encouraged—for Brady to want to kill the men and women who were the enemies of the Shibtri Isles. That those enemies changed as the political climates did was not up for debate. They were the enemy. They were a danger to the prosperity and freedom of the country. You could not argue that their deaths did not serve a purpose. William Morris, on the other hand, was a citizen of the Shibtri Isles, and in additional, a valued member of the military. He had a wife and daughter, both of who were innocent, and both of who had to live with the tragic results of Brady's actions.

    William Morris, it was explained to him carefully, slowly, as if he were a child, did not deserve to die.
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008

    It's good to see you here. The pages I've seen of your work (and Cody's of course) really are stunning.

    - Z
  5.  (1253.15)
    Greetings everyone.

    The most recent thing I've done is published The Anti-Bodies: Heaven Can Wait which can be looked on as "Ghost" meets "The Sopranos" :)

    Next up: a book collecting my Superhero Parody serials, scheduled for May 08!

    Mike Aragona
    Savage Enterprises Publishing
  6.  (1253.16)
    I somewhat consider myself a graphics desidner and I also have my own t-shirt line.


    • CommentAuthorTobiasAC
    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008
    My name's Tobias Carroll; I'm currently working on the second draft of a novel, and have had a couple of short stories see publication in the last year.

    "Spencer Hangs Over Newark" (THE2NDHAND no.23)
    "Every Night is Bluegrass Night" (featherproof books light reading series)
    "Party Able Model" (

    Links to these along with book and record reviews I've written (and my blog) can be found on my site as well.

    • CommentTimeMar 4th 2008 edited
    THIS is a lot of excerpts and nonsense and research involving my novel. My novel is called THIS IS A WORLD.

    It's metaparaquasifiction about alternate reality gaming, unrequited loves, dreams, tall people, hoodies, short folks, sex, drugs, violence, piety, The Void, infinite parallel planets, time travel, magic, magick, magik, ghosts, daemons, homunculi, avatars of ancient gods, the Emerald Tablets of Thoth, Nicholas Flamel, Giordano Bruno, Phillip K Dick, Gnosticism, extra dimensional aethyric parasites, art school, isolation chambers, parties, vandalism, corporate greed, orgies, pyramid schemes, compartmentalized guttersnipes, Albion, Crow City, Phantasmopolis, and other fictions inflecting/infecting reality. I'm currently reviewing publishers. If you're interested in reading or reviewing it, send me an email address at my site, asking politely.

    Cheers, kids.
  7.  (1253.19)
    My latest novel is called "Adopted Son", It was published by The Invisible College Press and you can get it on

    My first novel was a real hard novel to sell because it didn't really fit into any genre (although now it's the DaVinci Code genre I suppose). So I decided to write something that'd be easy to sell, and what sells better to internet geeks than Sci-Fi! So I wrote my version of a sci-fi novel, which probably isn't very sci-fi because I don't read books like that, so it's just my approximation of the genre. I like to tell people that this one is sort of like the movie Independence Day only without all the sucking. Although nominally a story of alien invasion based on Roswell Incident and the stories of 'abductees', it touches on a lot of today's social and political topics including; racism, terrorism, xenophobia, war, the intelligence community, bio-warfare, love, peace, family, genetic engineering, militarism, government bureaucracy, and what it means to be human. Here's the back cover text:

    The invasion has begun...

    An invasion not from the stars but from within our wombs. All over the world children are being born...different. Their features are alien, their DNA isn't human, their loyalties are unknown. As scientists, spies, and regular citizens race to make sense of this new disease they find themselves asking the same question: Is this the first wave of an alien assault on Earth?

    Celebrated fiction author and bioterrorism expert Dominic Peloso weaves a complex tale of alien invasion, environmental catastrophe, and societal upheaval, in a world not too removed from our own. Adopted Son perfectly blends hard sci-fi with biting political and social commentary to create a truly modern literary masterpiece that transcends genres.

    If there is anyone out there with a blog or something who wants a free copy to review, I'm happy to send you one. Just send me an email to
  8.  (1253.20)
    I don't have a novel, but I do have an anthology: Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse

    Here's the cover copy:

    Famine, Death, War, and Pestilence: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the harbingers of Armageddon — these are our guides through the Wastelands…

    From the Book of Revelation to The Road Warrior; from A Canticle for Leibowitz to The Road, storytellers have long imagined the end of the world, weaving eschatological tales of catastrophe, chaos, and calamity. In doing so, these visionary authors have addressed one of the most challenging and enduring themes of imaginative fiction: the nature of life in the aftermath of total societal collapse.

    Gathering together the best post-apocalyptic literature of the last two decades from many of today’s most renowned authors of speculative fiction — including George R.R. Martin, Gene Wolfe, Orson Scott Card, Carol Emshwiller, Jonathan Lethem, Octavia E. Butler, and Stephen King — Wastelands explores the scientific, psychological, and philosophical questions of what it means to remain human in the wake of Armageddon. Whether the end of the world comes through nuclear war, ecological disaster, or cosmological cataclysm, these are tales of survivors, in some cases struggling to rebuild the society that was, in others, merely surviving, scrounging for food in depopulated ruins and defending themselves against monsters, mutants, and marauders.

    Complete with introductions and an indispensable appendix of recommendations for further reading, Wastelands delves into this bleak landscape, uncovering the raw human emotion and heart-pounding thrills at the genre’s core.

    The anthology contains stories by Stephen King, George R. R. Martin, Orson Scott Card, Cory Doctorow, and many others. The website features three free stories, by Cory Doctorow, M. Rickert, and Richard Kadrey.

    Warren, if you'd like a copy, I'd be happy to send you one. If so, just drop me an email at johnjosephadams[---at-sign----]