Totally Irrational Thinking

The one thing that every writer, whether traditional or Indie, whose books are published in e-book form have in common, particularly in non American markets like here in the land of the literary curmudgeon where the printed book is still preferred, is the vehement prejudice against the relatively new publishing format we choose to use. Because they hate the idea of the e-book, they are missing out on so many great tales. Whether they like it or not, the e-book is the next evolution in the history of publishing.

As far as they are concerned, if they can’t hold a book in their hands and physically turn the pages, from their completely illogical point of view the electronic file is not a proper book.

What utter bilge!

I wonder if any of them realise how totally irrational they sound? Whether they like it or not the e-book is here to stay.

Before the first seed change in publishing occurred when the printing press was introduced to the UK in the fifteenth century by William Caxton, the only way itinerant storytellers could pass on their stories was by word by mouth. What the printing press did was to collect their stories in one place, the printed book, for everyone that could read and write, long after the stories would have disappeared when the storyteller eventually died.

Despite the gate keepers, today’s storytellers can be published in a format available to literally everyone who owns a smart phone, laptop, desktop, tablet or a purpose-built ereader such as the Kindle. What the traditionalist stick in the mud’s simply fail to understand is that they are a rapidly diminishing minority.

From the point of view of today’s publishers, it makes good financial sense to publish in e-book form rather than paper. This is a second seed change in publishing that is slowly being accepted by all five major publishing houses. From their point of view, if an e-book doesn’t sell they haven’t lost much financially, unlike remaindering, where to sell the printed copies in stock they have to offer them at a much cheaper price. Either that or pulp thousands of them after taking a financial gamble on what they thought would be the next best seller.

If the publishing houses fully adopt the e-book, it would not surprise me in the least if they cease incentive payments in the form of a financial advance to writers they are considering signing up in the future. Every publishing house is driven by the fact that to remain solvent, above all else they must make a profit. If they spend a lot of money on their stable of writers, they need to recoup it for every book they publish before they show a profit and can afford to pay out royalties. That simply does not occur with an e-book…

A thought just occurred. Maybe the reason why curmudgeons hate the e-book so much is because they cannot bend the ereader back on its spine like a paperback, nor fold the top corner of a page over to act as a book mark. What do you think, am I right??

 😉

It’s for you to decide…

Well 2017 is only a few days away, and I’m toying with the idea of writing a sequel. My problem here is which of my more recent books demands one. It can’t be Race Against Time…

…because I’ve already written it – The Forgotten Age.

 

Nor will it be Goblin Tales because I’m still working on a new edition when the mood takes me.

 

Now here’s where you all come in. Perhaps you would like me to write a sequel for Céleste. After all I did finish the first book about her and Apkallu’s crew rather abruptly, with many unanswered questions, now didn’t I? Or maybe I should write a sequel to the sequel The Forgotten Age. If you remember I left the hero trapped in a hermetically sealed room somewhere beneath the Giza Plateau!!!

It’s up to you to decide. I certainly don’t want to, they’re both good stories!

Don’t just read this and hit like or not as is your want. Feel free to offer your opinions. On the other hand if as usual I hear nothing back from the vast majority of this blog’s followers, I’ll know I’m just wasting my time once again. In which case guess what? You get no sequel!

PS – In the meantime feel free to click on the covers…

😉

Newsflash – out of 612 followers of this blog, 18 bothered to look at the above post. 13 liked it. 3 took up my invitation to vote. Says it all really…

Cataclysm

The following is the opening scene in another scifi novella of mine, born out of one of my short stories. Imagine if you will, meeting someone who to all intent and purpose, looks and acts like a woman, but isn’t. Imagine falling in love with her, or should that read in lust? Put yourself in the shoes of the story’s extremely naive hero. How would you react to her, let alone what is happening across the world?

~~~

When the breakthrough finally happened in September 2097, Dr Gilbert Briggs, the new head of the UK Advanced Science Institute, based in the English city of Norwich, volunteered to be the first human guinea pig. No one knew if he would survive. The Institute’s more senior academics instantly took a dislike to him, mainly because of his youth and fresh approach to experimental science. Since becoming his subordinates, they all secretly hoped he would be disassembled on a molecular level forever. As the boss, he was adamant that no one but him would be the first to travel back in time.

Three years earlier he had been employed as a very junior postdoctoral researcher at the Institute when the rudiments of time travel shifted from pure theory to a practical attempt at building a working device. There was one thing none of his detractors could deny, no matter how much they may loath him – he was a gifted academic with a superb analytical mind. He had achieved two first class doctorates at the University of East Anglia, one in theoretical physics, and the other in experimental electrical engineering.

For years the only attempt at time travel in its other guise, teleportation, barely succeeded when a few particles were moved from one teleporter to another. Whether or not they had altered irrevocably was the subject of much debate within the academic world back in the first decade of this the twenty-first century. Up until that moment teleportation was only possible within the realms of science fiction. But like all the fantastic, seemingly impossible things dreamt up by imaginative writers, time travel was about to become a reality.

The successful breakthrough was finally achieved when a laboratory rat was sent from one teleportation unit, lost for a few brief seconds, before reappearing at the other unit, seemingly unharmed by the experience. That was five years ago. Now the long awaited next step could be taken thanks to Briggs’ brilliant breakthrough – the Teleportation Gate.

The time had come to send a human test subject to a place and time in the past and return them intact to the present. The notion of travelling forward in time was ruled out simply because without a reference point in the future, there was no guaranteeing that it would be successful. Common sense dictated that at least by choosing a known place and time in the past, the chances of success were almost assured.

The Institute’s most senior academic, Professor Malcolm, exhibited his academic jealousy by sharing his grave misgivings over his former juniors’ momentous breakthrough with anyone who would listen, largely without success. Since the movers and shakers in the academic world had shifted their gaze away from him towards young Briggs, Malcolm did his level best through his dwindling contacts in the academic old boy’s network to expose him as nothing more than a charlatan and an upstart. While publically backing his young boss; privately, like his colleagues, he hoped Briggs would die during the inaugural attempt.

~~~

Briggs was suitably attired for the occasion in clothes of the period he was about to go to. All evidence of anything twenty-first century was removed from him. The only item he would take from the present was the minute electronic device, another of his innovative designs, which in effect was a miniaturised homing beacon that sat hidden beneath the skin at the nape of his neck, enabling the Institute technicians to lock on, and hopefully return him.

Briggs was being sent back to eleventh century England. His mission was to observe all that unfolded on the momentous day at Hastings when the decisive battle of the Norman invasion took place. Even though the battle is well documented, how true the reports actually were was anyone’s guess. If nothing else, at least he would separate fact from poetic license. It was heavily emphasised by the Institute’s historical research department that under no circumstances was he to participate in any way shape or form other than mere observation. Should he do so, he may inadvertently change history.

Briggs was about to step into the unknown. Gathering up his leather shoulder bag and wooden staff, with trepidation he strode towards the Teleportation Gate. The operators checked that his chip’s homing signal was being received, before pre-setting the destination date and place. Nodding that he was ready, he stood patiently waiting for the process to begin. The technicians checked over all of the Gate’s failsafe systems one last time. Then at his command, the teleporter’s power slowly began to build.

His body began to tingle, not in an unpleasant way. Every atom of his very being was excited by the process as the Gate slowly disassembled him before sending him back in time.

~~~

Before he realized it he found himself standing on a small mound at the edge of the Great Weald – the massive forest that still covered the English countryside back then, behind Senlac ridge where the Anglo-Saxon army’s vast shield wall stood. The date was October 14th 1066.

His mind drew comparisons between the empty eleventh century countryside he was now observing and the heavily populated East Sussex of the late twenty-first century that he knew. Taking a deep breath of sweet unpolluted fresh air, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes while taking in the scene before him.

In the far distance immediately below where the Anglo-Saxon army stood defiant, Briggs could see Norman cavalrymen on their horses. Behind them were the foot soldiers and archers of the invading army from across the Channel.

By landing his invasion force at Pevensey, Duke William of Normandy had forced England’s King Harold into a bloody showdown. His Norman army marched the relatively few kilometres up from the beach after hearing that Harold had just arrived and was assembling his army in readiness for battle.

Briggs stared in utter amazement at the very real, and tall figure, out of England’s historical past – the Anglo-Saxon king Harold, seated on his horse a little way behind his shield wall.

A body of heavily armed bearded fyrdmen walked out of the forest behind Briggs bringing him back to reality. “What are you doing here lad? You should be down there with our brothers, not skulking up here on the hill like a coward!”

Briggs felt rough hands haul him to his feet. A spear point dug into his back as he was prodded down the hill towards the shield wall. Despite the passage of time, Briggs could understand the old English that his accuser spoke, or at least enough of the words to get the sense of what he was saying.

“Here’s another volunteer my lord,” his accuser informed Earl Gyrth, brother of King Harold, and the Housecarl in charge of the shield wall. A sword and shield were thrust into Brigg’s unwilling hands…

~~~

If you want to know what happens next, you know what to do. Buy your copy from your nearest Amazon outlet. One other thing, don’t forget that if you do enjoy it – review it! The following links are the two main ones:

Amazon.com

and

Amazon.co.uk

The Guardian

The following opening paragraphs are from my extremely short science fiction novella The Guardian, another tale born out of one of my short stories…

~~~

“Why us?” Lynne grumbled, once they had arrived at the silent, empty space port, parked as it is in stationary orbit several thousand feet above the dusty surface of Mars, in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Even though she already realized the answer, she still needed to say it, if only to emphasise her extreme displeasure at being volunteered like this.

She had driven her new boss Adler to total distraction during their enforced time together aboard the Virtual Intelligence controlled solar wind powered transporter, to the point where he seriously contemplated strangling her, if only to give himself some much needed respite from her endless moaning and incessant questions throughout the entire month long journey in the cramped passenger space aboard the transporter. They both knew that this was likely a suicide mission. “What’s so all-fired important about a darned automated mining operation on Mars anyway?” she continued, “and why the hell did we have to put up with that stinking ancient garbage scow. Why didn’t the cheapskates at least get us accommodation on something more luxurious for the trip?”

“For Christ sake woman, for the last time, will you give it a rest. Quit bellyaching! At the moment I’m still presuming that the bastards down there have simply downed tools over pay and conditions. You’ve read the damned brief from Earth Corp’s CEO as well as I have. Therefore you know that we are here to establish why the Olivine mining operation has ceased production, and why the regular monthly consignments of ore are no longer being sent back to Earth. For your information, even though the mining is automated, techs are still required to live on site to keep an eye on the machinery, as well as establishing the location of the next profitable Olivine vein, and from time to time, fix things when they break. Plus, the ore has to be brought up here to the space port to be loaded aboard unmanned VI controlled transporters like the one we just arrived on, for the return journey to Earth. Which means that among the mine staff there has to be someone like you to fly the damned cargo shuttles back and forth. As there is no sign of either of the shuttle pilots, or anyone else up here, we need to get down to the mine. Until we do, we’re merely speculating about what has happened.

The first thing we have to do once we get there is to talk to the mine boss, David Malcolmson. He and his team are housed in an accommodation block just inside the mine, located in the Ganges Chasma, an eastern branch of that great scar you can see in the Martian landscape below us, known as Valles Marineris. It’s Mars’ equivalent of the Rift Valley that scars the African continent back on Earth. Before you open your damned mouth again, just in case you were wondering what Olivine is used for back at home, it is the principal component in the carbon dioxide sequester process. Even you must know how bad our atmosphere is, thanks to the pollutants still being belched out by heavy industry, even though rules were set in place to safeguard the environment. Just like always, industrialist couldn’t care less. What has always counted with them is profit. According to Earth Corp, the last load to arrive back home was six months ago. Before that, the mine was sending regular monthly consignments. Any more questions? No? Good. Now quit complaining, shut up, and get us the hell down there!”

Adler shook his head as he strapped himself into the seat behind Lynne. Why the hell he had to be saddled with this irritating female was totally beyond him.

Surely there must have been other pilots that Earth Corp’s CEO, Magritte Peneaux, could have chosen? Not as far as she was concerned! Former military personnel like Major Adler Stevens of the British Army’s Military Police, and Lieutenant Lynne Crawford, a veteran fighter-bomber pilot who previously served in the Canadian Airforce, were the obvious candidates for the job. She saw no good reason to look any further. Or for that matter, to send two of her own on such a hazardous mission. Besides which, this was likely not a job for civilians. If they managed to work out what had happened, fix it, and send back a report to say that everything was back to normal, all well and good. If not, someone else would soon be sent to replace them.

Since all types of warfare and its several causes, such as politics and financial greed, along with enforced poverty, coupled with mass starvation, and radical religious differences, were all declared illegal after the world’s business leaders had finally had enough and specifically set up Earth Corp to remove all control from the Earth’s former political, military and religious masters to become the first non-aligned World Government, there were now millions of unemployed soldiers, sailors and airmen just like Adler and Lynne to choose from. The pair had been given precisely one week after their arrival to conduct their investigation before they must send that report back to Earth Corp HQ in Geneva.

~~~

The guardian watched the shuttle’s entire trip from the space station, down towards the loading bay airlock inside the mine entrance, via its own monitor within the inner sanctum. Once the shuttle had arrived, through the monitor’s speaker, the guardian heard the unmistakeable sound of the outer door first open, then close, sealing off the mine accommodation complex from Mars’ deadly atmosphere, which being mostly carbon dioxide, is one hundred times thinner than that of Earth. Next it heard the hiss as the now sealed shuttle bay automatically re-pressurised as oxygen was automatically pumped in to allow whoever was inside the shuttle to enter the mine reception centre. Bemused, it continued to watch as Adler and Lynne walked across to the door connecting the shuttle bay with the living quarters.

~~~

“Ok. First of all I’m going to talk to Malcolmson to figure out what the hell the problem is,” Adler began. “While I’m doing that Lieutenant, be so kind as to find the techs.” Lynn stiffly saluted, glad for the chance to finally be away from him for the first time in a month. She had really begun to loathe the annoying by the book Englishman. On the plus side he had one thing going for him in her eyes, he was undeniably cute. Before carrying out his order, she watched him closely as he entered the lift for the short journey up to the administration level, just to make sure that he hadn’t changed his mind and was about to follow her. Satisfied, she began a systematic search of the living quarters.

Ten minutes later, she almost jumped out of her skin when Adler silently appeared behind her to casually enquire, “found anything yet Lieutenant?”

“God, don’t do that boss, you scared the living bejeezers out of me! If the technicians are still here they must be somewhere in the mine. What about Malcolmson, is he in his office?”

“Negative. It looks as if he left in a hurry. However, I did find a list of the staff, including ID photographs, and a map of the mine up in the control room. It looks like we will have to hunt them down one by one Lieutenant.”

“Before we go any further, can we please dispense with all this military formality bullshit? We’re civilians now whether we like it or not. My name is Lynne, not Lieutenant.”

“Sorry Lieu – Lynne,” he replied, “I’m Adler.”

“What kind of name is that for crying out loud?” she asked, with a bemused look on her beautiful face.

“My father was an eccentric who had a mania for unconventional names for his children. Despite my mother’s wishes, he insisted on naming my older sister, Osceola, a Creek Indian name that means black drink crier apparently. When I came along he insisted that I be named Adler, after an Austrian doctor and psychotherapist from the nineteenth century who he admired. I suppose he wanted our names to stand out from the crowd.”

“I’d say he achieved it wouldn’t you? So what’s next Adler?”

“Well, it looks like we have to investigate the entire mine. We’ll need our suits.”

“Why?”

“No breathable atmosphere inside the mine complex. The automated mining machinery doesn’t need it.”

“Fair enough. So what are we waiting for? Let’s get going boss,” Lynne replied with the merest hint of a grin on her face. If he made the mistake of annoying her in the future, which being a man, he probably would, she was going to get some mileage out of taunting him about his strange Christian name in the future.

~~~

The guardian watched them on its monitor as they climbed aboard one of the fusion powered quad bikes parked in a maintenance bay just beyond the airlock separating the accommodation, administration and mine control from the mine itself. Wherever they went, whatever they did, it would be watching their every move. If it looked like they might find a way into the inner sanctum, then it would immediately destroy them. In the meantime it was merely content to observe.

~~~

Adler drove the quad down the main tunnel for approximately a mile before stopping at the point where it divided into three. “Which way?” he asked.

Lynne briefly studied the map before tapping him on his right shoulder, indicating he should head in that direction. For the next six days the pair systematically searched every tunnel, every side space, maintenance and storage area they came across, looking for any sign of Malcolmson and his team of technicians. By the morning of the last day of their investigation they had clearly established that the mine was devoid of any sign of life.

“I don’t know about you, but this is really beginning to totally creep me out,” Lynne whispered as an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. She might be hardened to most things thanks to her front line service, but this totally spooky situation made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. If they had come across dead bodies, she could just about have handled that. But the fact that the entire mine staff had apparently vanished into thin air was hard to take.

Adler nodded in total agreement. “Come on, it’s time to send that report.”

“Then what?”

“What happens next is all down to Earth Corp’s CEO. So while I’m preparing the report, before we head back to the space station to send it to her, perhaps you had better search everyone’s quarters for personal effects. At least that way we can offer some comfort to the families.”

“Good idea boss, I’m on it.”

It took three days to eventually receive a reply back from head office in Geneva. Magritte thanked them for what they had done, and told them to return home on the transporter which had just left the new International Space Station en route to Mars, containing the replacement mining crew. Meantime there was nothing else for them to do but wait, while trying not to annoy each other if at all possible.

~~~

A month later the guardian watched as the replacements descended from the space port moments after the transporter began its immediate return journey to Earth with its two passengers. Within a fortnight mining had recommenced. Once again the guardian eliminated the potential threat.

~~~

Adler sat in the bar of his local pub supping a much needed pint of bitter. After what had happened back on Mars, he needed some serious down time to recharge and rest, even if only for a couple of days. While the United Kingdom no longer existed since Earth Corp ended the former political union between England, Northern Ireland, Wales and Scotland, at least one thing hadn’t changed. There was no denying that the English were still the undoubted masters when it comes to brewing the finest bitter to be found anywhere in the world.

“Hi boss. God you are a hard man to track down.” When Adler looked up, for a brief moment he thought that he was either dreaming, or that he had been transported into the presence of a goddess.

Lynne stood before him wrapped in a knee length faux fur winter coat, which she now slowly opened to reveal herself to him for the first time. For what seemed like an absolute eternity, but in reality was probably only a few seconds, his eyes hungrily devoured every delicious morsel of this vision of undoubted feminine perfection. The first thing he noticed was how the makeup she wore accentuated her beautiful face. His eyes were then drawn to the top half of her body which was barely contained inside a figure hugging, flesh coloured, diaphanous tank top. It literally clung to her firm breasts like a gossamer thin outer layer of skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He could be forgiven for thinking that Lynne’s breasts appeared on the point of bursting through the delicate material at any moment.

As if in answer to his unspoken thoughts, she next slowly turned around to briefly reveal what up until now had remained hidden from his gaze beneath the miniskirt she was wearing, when its hem rode up, revealing that apart from anything else she was not wearing any underwear, as she deliberately bent over to place her coat over the back of the chair. The thought occurred to him while feasting his eyes on the lower half of her exposed naked rear, that it was not so much covered by the Teal blue silk garment, as lovingly caressed by it; as indeed were her breasts by the tank top. Her long legs were clad in black fishnet stockings. On her feet she wore a pair of bright red designer leather stilettos. To complete the ensemble, she had an expensive Gucci bag slung over one shoulder, which she now proceeded to put down beside her.

In the twenty-second century, it is always the women who controls any relationship she enters into, unlike her far less sexually aggressive sisters in previous centuries. Having finally decided that she wanted Adler, despite his being a total pain at times, she had deliberately chosen the clothing as well as the heady perfume she wore, for one reason and one only, to attract the attention of the now wide eyed, open mouthed individual seated before her who was even now unconsciously licking his lips while a part of his anatomy rapidly engorged itself. She had bought every item of clothing from a boutique that specialises in top quality twentieth century second hand Italian labelled clothing, soon after she had arrived back in London from a quick trip home to Canada. If any of her clothing had been new, even the winter coat, no way could she ever have afforded them.

“Buy a girl a drink soldier?” she demanded rather than asked, giving him a smouldering look which made his heartbeat increase at an alarming rate when she sat down to face him, with her legs momentarily apart to briefly reveal another part of her anatomy, before it vanished from his sight when she demurely crossed her legs, while at the same time, readjusted the hem of her miniskirt. His very obvious physical reaction told her that her plan had worked. She now had his complete and undivided attention…

~~~

Well there you have it, another teaser just for you. As usual you can get your copy from the Amazon site you use. Here are the links to the two main ones:

Amazon.com

and

Amazon.co.uk

An Extract For You

By now, you all know the quality of my writing from the short stories of mine which you have had the pleasure of reading over the past few weeks. It’s now time for you help me out by first of all reading a short edited extract from my latest novella, which by the way is not just another run of the mill scifi tale but also a love story, and then by buying yourselves a copy…

~~~

The mission commander took one last look at the beautiful blue planet he and the crew called home as the ship prepared to leave Earth orbit. Now was the time for its crew to enter their stasis units. “If there are any problems at all Céleste, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“Understood David,” was the reply that echoed all around him. Not only the ship but its small crew and the mission itself were in the care of the ship’s state of the art artificial intelligence. For the several decades it would take to achieve their goal, she was in complete control whenever the crew were held in stasis. Once she had ensured he and the rest of the human crew were in a safe state of suspended animation, she uploaded the complicated course with its numerous way points into the ship’s computer. Each waypoint must be reached in a specific order for them to ultimately arrive at the mission’s destination – the exoplanet designated Beaumont 61, located at the absolute outer extremity of the Orion Spur, the same spiral arm in which our own solar system is situated, part of the galaxy we know as the Milky Way.

~~~

Apkallu’s artificial intelligence was christened Céleste by the youthful team of highly gifted bio-electronic software graduates responsible for her creation. The ship’s Fusion reactor was designed and developed by a team of lateral thinking nuclear engineers from China, Korea, Germany and Japan. Lastly, the crew’s individual stasis units were conceived, designed and constructed in India. On reaching the first waypoint situated at the closest position possible to the Andromeda galaxy still within the spiral arm, Cèleste would wake the crew.

She engaged the Fusion powered propulsion system, gradually building up its output to a nominal thirty percent to achieve maximum sub light speed. Even though in theory it was capable of propelling Apkallu at the speed of light, given that it was still untried technology, whether or not it was safe to do so was considered a risk too far by its designers. They believed it was far better to err on the side of caution, unless Apkallu’s crew found the need to use its theoretical maximum speed to extract themselves and the ship from some as yet unforeseen circumstance.

~~~

Apkallu finally arrived at the first waypoint, five years after leaving Earth orbit. How their bodies would react to being in stasis for an extended period of time was yet another unknown. Céleste had constantly monitored each one of them for any sign of medical problems throughout the entire time it took to get here, paying particular attention to David for reasons which will soon become apparent. Before they could go about their duties, Andreas would have to give each one of them a full medical after first checking himself over.

“David, how do you feel?” she asked with a tinge of concern for him in her voice.

“Lethargic,” he groggily replied, trying with some difficulty to shake off the effects of his unnaturally long period of sleep. “God I’m hungry. I need proper food, not substitutes. How is everyone else?” he asked while he unplugged himself from the unit’s intravenous system that had supplied him with nutrients essential to his wellbeing.

“I’ll check for you.”

“Thank you. While you’re at it can you please ask them all to assemble in the observation lounge, once they’ve been given the all clear by Andreas?”

“Of course David, it will be my pleasure.”

While the crew were slowly recovering from the effects of years of physical inactivity, they took in the magical sight of our sister galaxy, Andromeda, floating in the star filled cosmos beyond the lounge’s vista windows. “Ok people,” David began. “While we all recover from our first taste of being in stasis we’ll remain here for a few days. Once we’re back to normal, we have a couple of tasks to perform before we head for the next waypoint. By that I mean we will be placing the first of a series of listening stations and optical observatories here. In the meantime get as much rest as you possibly can. Always providing of course that the good doctor here is not too insistent upon all of us taking part in some kind of punishing fitness regime he has dreamt up that is.” His last comment drew smiles and laughter from everyone with the exception of Andreas who failed to appreciate David’s joke at his expense. “That’s it for now. Lukas what’s on the menu, I don’t know about the rest of you but I need real food, not those damned stasis unit nutrients?”

“If Flávia and Rieko will consent to give me a hand I’ll rustle up something in a half hour or so,” the Belgian replied as his own belly began grumbling. With that David left to head to his private quarters for the first time in the mission.

~~~

Even before she spoke, David’s sixth sense told him that Céleste was about to say something. “David, may I have a word please?”

“Of course you can. What is it?” Even though she was nothing more than a disembodied presence to her human crew mates, her creators had given her voice a delightfully seductive French accent, which he found extremely pleasing to the ear.

“I’m curious about something. Can you tell me what is it that attracts a man to a woman?”

David was completely caught off guard by her question. “Well, I can only speak for myself. For me it’s a mixture of her intelligence, personality, attitude and looks, combined with how relaxed she feels in my presence. Take Flávia for example. Her mix of Amazonian Indian and Portuguese ancestry has manifested itself in a typical example of South American womanhood. Unfortunately, she appears to exhibit all the signs of becoming a total pain in the backside at some point in the future given her petulant manner and the arrogant way she reacts towards other women like Rieko. I put that down to the fact that she is the only child of very rich parents, and therefore was, and probably still is, spoilt. It strikes me that she is the kind of shallow creature who uses her looks to get her own way. It would not surprise me in the least if her parents had secured her degrees in return for a large donation to the university she attended. We’ll see if she actually did earn them when we arrive at Beaumont 61 when she is called upon to do what she was hired for. Until then I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt on that score.

Rieko on the other hand couldn’t be more different. While she is also extremely pleasing to the male eye, she gives the impression of having been brought up in the traditional Japanese manner. Which means that like all of her countrywomen, she was taught from birth how to entrance anyone she meets by the way she exudes femininity, gentleness, intelligence, grace and charm, while rarely speaking unless spoken to. I hope that helps to answer your question?”

“Yes – thank you. May I ask you other questions when they occur to me?”

“Of course; is there anything else you want to know at the moment?”

“Yes there was one other thing, forgive me for asking but who is that in the image on your bedside table?”

David picked up the framed photograph with a faraway look in his eyes. “I never knew her name. But that didn’t stop me falling in love with her in my teens when I first came across her photograph on the Internet. It’s the only personal possession I brought with me. Quite honestly Céleste, I couldn’t bear to be parted with it. I really wish I could have met her…”

“I’m sorry for prying. I thought she might be your fiancée.”

“Sadly no, as far as I can make out she lived at some time during the twenty-first century,” he replied, with a sad expression on his unshaven face and the merest hint of a tear beginning to well up in his eyes, which affected Céleste to the point where she dearly wished that she had a physical presence so that she could comfort him. “Is there anything else you wish to ask me?”

“Not at the moment David. Thank you.”

“Then it’s time to take a familiarisation tour of Apkallu. Would you care to join me?”

“You forget, wherever you are in the ship I’m always by your side David,” she quietly reminded him.

~~~

“How do you feel David?”

“My god Céleste, is that really you?”

“Yes of course it’s me silly,” she replied with a sweet smile on her beautiful face.

“But how is this possible?” he asked, utterly delighted, yet totally baffled. Before him stood the woman whose photo he had fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago.

“While you and the crew were in stasis, and when I was not attending to various maintenance issues and altering Apkallu’s course to avoid colliding with numerous sizeable examples of cosmic debris, I decided to research the woman in the image on your bedside table who completely stole your heart. It took me several years of searching the Internet before I eventually found out that her name was Gabriela Cabral, as well as everything I could find concerning her tragic life story.

Like Flávia she was born in Brazil, but at the end of the twentieth century. Because of what she was, combined with her personal circumstances, at twenty-two she had to flee her homeland. She got as far as London where she constantly lived in fear for her life due to the number of other Brazilians living there. Inevitably she was recognised and betrayed by someone who came from the same favela as her in the hills surrounding Rio de Janeiro. Then in twenty twenty-five, she tragically died at the hands of the man who had made her life a living hell. Back in the favela he often beat and raped her before dragging her out to work the back streets of Rio as a prostitute to support his drug habit. At his trial, when he was asked by the prosecution why he had murdered her in cold blood, he told the court that as far as he was concerned she signed her own death warrant when she escaped from his clutches in the dead of night. At the conclusion of the trial the jury didn’t need to deliberate the evidence David. Instead they immediately returned a unanimous guilty verdict, asking the judge to impose the death penalty.

Once I had found out all there was to know about her, by using several more photographs that I came across during my search I was finally able to reproduce her form. I hope my new body pleases you.”

“I don’t know what to say except thank you for bringing the woman of my dreams to life,” David replied with a huge grin on his face “It’s completely tragic that such a beautiful human being as her was forced into prostitution, beaten and raped, and then murdered for taking her chance to escape her former life. By the way, what did you mean when you said what she was?”

Céleste said nothing. Instead she briefly turned her back, giving him the chance to see her from behind while she began to slowly unzip the crème body suit she was wearing, who’s extremely thin fabric literally clung to every curve and intimate detail of her body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. When she turned round to face him, his suspicions were proven correct. She was wearing nothing beneath it. She proceeded to slowly unzip the suit even further, allowing his eyes to take in her magnificent cleavage and her stomach. When the zip finally reached its fullest extent, what she ultimately revealed was something he was definitely not expecting…

~~~

Well people, if the above heavily edited extract from my scifi novella caught your interest, and you want to know what happens next, not only between Céleste and David, but also the rest of the crew of Apkallu, don’t put it off. Buy a copy at:

Amazon.com

and

Amazon.co.uk

PS – don’t forget, if after buying and reading your copy, you enjoyed reading it, tell your friends and please review it on whichever Amazon site you bought it from.

Conversely – if you didn’t, then don’t. There are far to many negative reviews out there as it is. Not just for my books but everyone else’s…

😉

On Reading Trends…

With no book sales since September the twenty-fifth, or sixteen days ago if you prefer, it got me thinking. The other day I was reading one of my old mate Derek Haines’ blog posts from months ago on the subject of what he thinks today’s public seem to prefer when it comes to reading matter.

He looked at the sales figures for the best-selling ebooks at the time of his post. Any book longer than twenty-thousand words didn’t make it into the top twenty. Why? because most people these days, and by that I mean those a lot younger than both Derek and myself, appear to have little or no interest in reading a full length novel. Whether you believe it or not sales figures back up the assertion. Both of us watch the marketplace closely. We’ve become more aware of this latest trend in reading habits in the last several months.

So what’s the answer? It matters little which genre you choose, nor the target audience you aim at. Or for that matter how much money you spent getting your book out there. It appears that for the forseeable future, if you want your book(s) to be noticed by airheads, forget about writing full length novels. Instead it would appear that you must keep your next book’s word count below the twenty thousand ceiling.

As for my generation (the early Baby Boomers born between 1945-50) we’re to long in the tooth to bother about people who do not like to read. We were brought up on novels and so we’ll carry on championing them.

When you read your next novel, don’t keep quiet about it, tell your friends. In the meantime whatever my next book is about, will it be longer than twenty-thousand words?

Stupid question…

😉

~~~

Two links for my books on Amazon US and Amazon UK

Will you be remembered? Good Question!!

For every writer, the one thing they want whether they admit it or not is for their work to be constantly in the public eye. How will they achieve that? By writing numerous works of literature? No!

For you to become noticed globally, your books have to fulfil the following criteria of being highly original, influential, and important.

Each and every one of us secretly hopes that just one of our books will fit the bill. In the meantime with every one we pen, we want it to become a best seller. But that is a completely different kettle of fish compared to a book being regarded as a seminal work of literature by the literati, particularly here in the UK.

~~~

Here is a partial list of works of literature currently deemed to be seminal by them:

The Iliad and The Odyssey

The Barchester Chronicles

Pride and Prejudice

Gulliver’s Travels

Jayne Eyre

War and Peace

Does anything strike you as unusual? No? Well It should! For starters every book’s author is deceased. Still don’t believe me?  Then take a look for yourselves.

~~~

A work by a living writer is yet to be included. Maybe its high time the literary snobs consider modern day work don’t you think?

Just because the names of the odd one or two indentured writers in the stables of the big five publishing houses are bandied about from time to time, is no guarantee that they’re work is any better than the thousands of Indie authors, who choose not to be slaves to big business! Or that any book they write, now or in the future, will be considered as a seminal work.

I would add that for a work of fiction to be considered as truly worthy is all down to how well it is written in the first place as well as the above criteria, not as some believe by how much hype and advertising by its publisher equates to copies sold. Or for that matter how much the toffy-nosed literary critic in the publisher’s pay actually likes it.

PS – will one of mine ever fit the bill? A chance would be a fine thing…

😉

 

An enduring character

If you are lucky as a writer, you come up with a character you cannot do without. In nineteen ninety-four the South African novelist Wilbur Smith (pictured above) created his best character, Taita, the highly talented eunuch, in the first of his epic tales about pharaonic Egypt, in his novel River God, an adventure set against a loosely historic background. We witness everything both good and bad through the eunuch’s eyes. The next book in the series was The Seventh Scroll, followed by Warlock, The Quest and Desert God.

After what seems like an eternity, Wilbur has just published Pharoah, which I began reading two nights ago. By now the dying Pharoah Tamose’ trusted adviser is not getting any younger. Like everything in his life, for Taita nothing is ever straightforward or indeed conducive to his continued good health.

~~~

(UK Cover)

~~~

EGYPT IS UNDER ATTACK.

Pharaoh Tamose lies mortally wounded. The ancient city of Luxor is surrounded, All seems lost.

Taita, advisor to the Pharaoh, prepares for the enemy’s final, fatal push. The ex-slave, now general of Tamose’s armies, is never more ingenious than when all hope is dashed. And this is Egypt’s most desperate hour.

With the timely arrival of an old ally, the tide is turned and the Egyptian army feasts upon its retreating foe. But upon his victorious return to Luxor, Taita is seized and branded a traitor. Tamose is dead and a poisonous new era has begun. The new Pharaoh has risen — and he must be stopped…

From the glittering temples of Luxor to the Citadel of Sparta, PHARAOH is an intense and powerful novel magnificently transporting you to a time of threat, blood and glory. Master storyteller, Wilbur Smith, is at the very peak of his powers.

~~~

Only one writer other than Wilbur has ever managed to bring pharaonic Egypt to life. He is the French novelist and archaeologist Christian Jacq, whose many works of fiction I have also read. I’ve loved all of the books in his Ramses series. Getting back to Pharoah, I can’t wait to see how Wilbur’s old friend Taita fares in this one. It’s all his fault that I immediately started reading Pharoah, temporarily putting paid to my good intentions to find my next story in my research library.

But in the end, I know it will be worth it…

😉

Derek Haines Teacher, Writer, Blogger

Every now and again you come across a book that really affects you. Louis is one of them that really got to me. Here’s what I said back in 2012 in my review:

5.0 out of 5 stars Louis

By Jack Eason on March 2, 2012

Format: Paperback

Take a child of mixed race born in the early twentieth century and give him over to a woman, not his birth mother, to bring up. Then when he is twelve, send him away from his home country to a boarding school in England, then on to Oxford University. What do you get from this far from unsatisfactory beginning – Derek Haines’ hero Louis, an intelligence officer in the employ of the British government?

Half Egyptian, half English, fluent in many languages and adept at his job, we follow Louis through his many guises and name changes, a requirement for his own protection in the nineteen twenties and thirties, and more particularly so, through the second world war.

In short, Derek has written a beauty here. If you love history as I do, especially if you love twentieth century history, then with the shadowy world of espionage thrown into the mix for good measure, you will enjoy following Louis’ journey through his life as I did.

Should I wax lyrical about the story at this point, I would be giving away a truly brilliant read. Suffice to say, if you don’t feel you have read a great tale told well when you reach the last page, then quite frankly you seriously need help.

~~~

Needless to say it had its fair share of snarky reviews by total idiots who think they know how to write. One individual declared that the book was too difficult for them read. You should not be surprised by that admission. Reading anything more complex than say Dr Seuss’ Cat In the Hat, is a phenomena all too common these days among those with a limited education and therefore a lack of appreciation for the richness of the English language, let alone its nuances…

Let’s face facts – these days many people simply can’t be bothered to read a book, especially here in the UK, particularly if its an e-book!

There is an old saying – “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” The same applies when it comes to asking people to read your books, especially here in the UK where e-books still take a back seat to their paperback and hard cover cousins.

The one thing you can never do is force someone to read your book. All you can hope for is to make them aware of its existence by using all of the social media sites as well as word of mouth and emails to advertise its existence. Why is that? Because the numbers currently waiting to be read is quite literally in the millions. So, don’t be too surprised if after all your hard work writing it, plus spending money having it edited and marketed, that apart from the few taken for free on promotions by the growing number of tightwads who begrudge paying money for a book, that any and all interest in it will dramatically fall, often within a single twenty-four hour day once the promotion is over.

Don’t be tempted to beg potential readers to read your book with ‘buy my book’ pleas, or for that matter to bombard every book site you can think of on a daily basis with your titles. Both practices only highlight how unprofessional you are!!! All it does is turn people off, especially on sites like Facebook and Twitter.

Unless your name is Neil Gaiman, J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown or Stephen King etc,etc, like todays painters we have to have another source of income while we’re alive. When a painter dies, normally their works increase in value. In our case, our publishers continue to make money. In both cases neither the former writer or painter benefits.

So do you still want to write? If your answer is yes, be prepared for a hell of a lot of hard work for little gain, let alone recognition.

One thing you must do is maintain a high profile on social media at all times. The other thing I would also advise you to do is to operate a blog like this one. Don’t just talk about all things writing as so many tend to do. Your potential reading public want to know about you, what makes you tick. Your likes and dislikes. But don’t bore them to death…

During your writing career you can expect a hell of a lot of criticism, not only by the reading public, but also by some of your fellow writers, who think they know far better than you how to write your story.  TAKE IT FROM ME – THEY DON’T! If you want my advice – grow a thick skin. Turn the other cheek and never stop writing.

😉