Appointment Calendar

“We’re running behind today,” the receptionist told me.  “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.  You can wait over there.”  She gestured in the vague direction of the faux-leather couches and the elderly magazines.  I settled in the wooden chair, as the couch was occupied by a nine-hundred-pound grizzly bear, who was gnawing the armrest philosophically.

“So, what are you in for?” I asked jovially.

“He’s eating the doctor at two-thirty,” the receptionist interjected.

“But my appointment is for three,” I protested.

“Tough cookies,” she snapped.  “We can reschedule if you like.”

“Gnarrr,” said the bear.

"White as a Bedroom Door" at Pseudopod

My second full-length appearance at Pseudopod, the horror podcast, is "White as a Bedroom Door."  

Give it a listen, if you like.  

The Weight of What Has Gone Before

The chains had gotten a lot thicker since the birth, both of them shuffling with links thick as baseball bats around their ankles.  Suze, in particular, had a nasty iron padlock hanging from her neck that left her forever leaning forward.

“We knew going in it was going to be hard,” said Reg.  He rattled the chains on his wrist.  “I wouldn’t undo these even if I could.”

In the bassinet, the infant slumbered.  He’d opened his eyes, at least, and decided to stay in the world; I could see the first hair-fine chain dangling from around his tender neck.

Exploring the Known Words

The aphoristic engines flared as they penetrated the final barrier, emerging in a flash of non-light into a space that was not a space.

“We’ve made it!” cried Doctor Geisteskrank.  “We’ve abstracted ourselves!  We’re in the realm of pure logic.  Now to locate a suitable base camp.”

“What about that?” asked Bertram, pointing to a distant planetoid.  “It must be enormous, given the distance.”

“That one’s no good,” said Doctor Geisteskrank.  “It’s a falsehood.”

“How can you tell?”

“Lies have their own gravity.  It pulls things in.  The truth, on the other hand, sleets through the cosmos untouched and untouchable.”

Chasing Tails

“Once, sailing ships had major problems with rodents, and cats were a great way to deal with that.  I get that, and I understand tradition, but every ounce of fuel counts right now.  Why are we bringing that?”  Bik pointed to the small gray tabby, who groomed her tail dismissively.

“You know we’re testing the Keppler drive, right?  Experimental?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone tell you what it is?”

Bik shook his head.

“It’s a warp drive.  Space-twister.  Time-bender.  You know how cats chase things that aren’t there?  We need her because she’s the only one who can see where we’re going.”

A Hold Full of Sugar Cube

Once again, don't forget the Morning After giveaway.  Free anthology, people!  Who doesn't like free?

---

The black-sailed ship was perhaps twelve inches long.  It drifted to a stop on the kitchen table, where Bev was enjoying a cup of coffee in the quiet hours of the morning.  A minute man with a puffball of black beard around his head emerged onto the foredeck, waving a cutlass the size of a mouse’s whisker.

“Yar!” he said.

“What?”  Bev glanced around, unsure how to address a tiny pirate.

“Yar.  I am a pirate.  I’m here to pillage you.”

“You’re pretty small for a pirate.  I could drown you in my coffee.”

“I pillage very small things.  Yar.”

Testimony

Going experimental today.  :-P  It's longer than usual because phooey.

---

Look here & see Theodore Bartlett, a mid-level pharmaceuticals rep & businessperson.  He is not in himself particularly interesting yet is brought to your attention, here on the sidewalk as he walks to work to the subway station to the city because Theodore Bartlett is about to experience a miracle. 

The nature of the miracle will not be revealed; this would spoil the suspense.

It might be a pillar of fire or a booming voice, but might as easily be something else, something perhaps easily mistaken for happenstance and/or coincidence and/or Al Qaeda.  I myself once had a miraculous pimple.  It was small/red/in all ways unremarkable, and it burst after a week and faded thence from the memory of mankind, yet it was miraculous nonetheless, the hand of God acting directly in all of our lives, and that knowledge has changed me forever because, understanding as I do now and did not then the nature of the miraculous and the implications &c I am able to see Theodore Bartlett and show him unto thee that thou also might see and anticipate what it will be when he finds/encounters/becomes the miraculous and how it might change everything for him and me and all of us.  Please do not forget Theodore Bartlett as the doors hiss closed and separate the smell of rat pee from body odor and whisk him to his job where he will find a miracle and may or may not recognize it for what it is & keep him in your prayers because his miracle might be only a jar of mustard that he thought was empty having one more serving & he will never know, live and never know, die and never know.  Theodore Bartlett I wish you well Godspeed sir be safe and mind the gap.

The Floor of the Ocean

I think we're going to have to officially go to a "whenever I can" update schedule.  Between the day shift and the baby, my time to sit and write is sporadic and often interrupted.  Mirrorshards isn't going away, but it probably won't ever be back on a daily update until Archie is in school.  :-/

I sat beside the ambassador as he took his evening soak, the brackish water hauled at some expense up the mountain to soothe his amphibian's skin.  We looked out over the valley kingdoms and talked of their fractious politics.

"Of course," he said, "all this was ours once, and perhaps will be again."

"Surely you can't mean your people intend to make war?" I asked, half in jest. (Only half, for the magic of the water shamans is deep and subtle.)

His laughter made bubbly froth.  "Where oceans sink, they may one day rise.  My people remember, and can wait."

"Gastrophidia" at Ideomancer

My story, "Gastrophidia," is live in the September issue of Ideomancer.  It is the story of a man with a snake inside him.  I'm quite pleased with it overall (and the long-suffering editorial staff at the magazine help get the ending into a solid place), and getting into this venue has been a long-term project of mine.  (We're talking since about 2009.  I have modest goals, but at least I take a long time accomplishing them.)

Check it out; it's free.  Leave a comment.  Enjoy the magazine.  (I generally enjoy the stories there, and respect their editorial taste even when I don't care for a piece.)

ttfn
Nathan

Playing to Win

The robed man sighed and pushed one of his tiles into attack position.  "Not that it will do much good.  I think you've got this game sewn up, Lum."

The portly shape on the other side of the board grinned widely and took a swig from his ever-present jug.  "Yeah?  How about this?"  He slammed a tile to the board hard enough to rattle the other pieces in their places. 

The man peered down.  "That... but you could have locked me down.  I can take your key position and threaten a win now."

"Exactly," said Lum.  "Now it's interesting again."

The Time Traveller's Strife

Don't forget the book giveaway!  I was missing in action this past week, so the deadline will now be September 8 to post a comment and get in the drawing.

I meddle.  It's a bad habit, like biting your fingernails or chewing your beard, and I do both of those, too.

Oh, I'm not worried about temporal paradox or ending the universe or some such.  Time is pretty robust, and it's hard to shift much of anything.  What I can do is make splinters, send past versions of myself off into different trails of possibility. 

Mostly I tell them, "For God's sake, call her back."  Sometimes I add, "You idiot."

The more I tinker with these things, though, the more I wonder when one day I'm going to look up and see myself, older, more battered, climbing through a portal and glaring down at me, sadly shaking my head.

Masterpiece

Val turned the canvas around with a flourish.  "Ta-da!"

"What is it?"

"It's a picture of you, silly!"

"But it's blank."

"See, I started out by putting in what I like about you, and then I thought about what I don't like so much, and then some symbolism stuff, plus things that aren't like you at all but in interesting ways, and then you know how light when you add it all up it's white?  Like that."

"I think some nouveau guy did a blank canvas already..."

"Well," said Val, blinking slowly, "he can't see what I see in it."

Triangulation: Morning After

Parsec Ink's Triangulation: Morning After is out on August 27, featuring, among others, my story "All Unlooked For."  This is the second year running I've been in this anthology.  (Last year it was with "Boll Weevil," which later got picked up at the Drabblecast.)

Kindle and paperbacks will be available at Amazon.  I haven't gotten a chance to read my contributor's copy yet, so I can't really give my opinions on the rest of it.  

But!

I have an *extra* copy.

That means it's giveaway time!

Post your very worst pun below to be entered in the drawing.  I would say the most appalling pun wins it, but all puns are appalling, so I'll just pick someone with a random number generator.

Be sure to include a way for me to contact you and get mailing info in case you win.

The Dance

The piles of books were teetering precariously on the edge of his desk, threatening to spill over into the waiting piles on the floor.  He pored over one of the largest, age-yellowed and crumbling, his normally impeccable hair standing in sweat-darkened spikes.

"You've been working for hours, m'Lord," she said, drifting nearer.  "What problem vexes you so?"

"It's the land-grant case," he mumbled around a quill pen.

"But look!" she cried.  "That very tome holds your answer; the law is clearly with you in this."

"Yes," he said, smiling ruefully.  "I am trying to find a way to lose.  Gracefully."

Anything Worth Doing

The statue stood on the bluff near the house, a rough-hewn image of a man staring into the valley below.  After a week, the grass had grown noticeably around its platter-sized feet, where the caretaker couldn't trim it easily.  Birds built a nest on one shoulder.

Jefferson trekked to it each morning to watch the sunrise.  On the eighth day, the stone head turned to him.  "Yes," it said.

"Pardon?"

"You asked if we should invite the Tyrant's men to participate.  I agree.  It will be symbolically important."

"That was a week ago!"

"I wished to give it due consideration."

All's Fair

It's about persistence.  You can't give up; you gotta keep going.  No matter how bleak your chances, you gotta find a reason to push on.  Like if you're in a fight, and you can't get through in a frontal assault, you maybe duck to the side, or fall back and make 'em overextend.  You trick 'em, you know?  Whatever it takes, that's what you have to do to win.

That's what I believe.  That's how I live.

And that's why I know you'll love me one day.  I'll find a way.  Your defenses can't hold me out forever.

Nothing can.

Wyrd

I could escape.  Know that, whatever else may come.  If I say the word, I could have wings and be gone.

That is what he will not understand.  He will call it weakness, foolishness, a waste.  And perhaps he is right; I have never claimed great wisdom, for all that it is imputed to me.

I stand here, now, in the dark.  In the morning, I will face a dragon.  I harbor few illusions regarding the outcome.

But in the morning, I will still be here, and I did not have to be.

Remember me for that, if nothing else.

Edgewalker

She lurches to the side of the ring, leaking blood from her mouth, both nostrils, and – disturbingly – one ear. 

"You've got to call it," I tell her.  "You're taking two hits for every one you give.  You both look like you've been run over by trucks."

It's true.  Her opponent's in bad shape, but I'd be hard-pressed to say who was winning.  The word doesn't seem to have any meaning here.

Hawking a crimson glob to the floor, she leans over.  "I'm staying in."

"Why?  What do you think you're doing out there?"

She grins.  "Winning."

And she is gone.

The Focus

He closed his eyes and inhaled.  "Empty-mind," he reminded himself.

With a high-pitched hum, a mosquito landed on his nose.  "Whatcha doin'?"

He ignored it.

"Mind if I take a meal, then?  Just shake your head." 

The muscles of his face twitched as the mosquito's proboscis sunk in, but he said nothing.

 "This is great.  You're a lot easier to catch than a deer."  The mosquito clambered onto an eyebrow, looking for another likely spot.

His resolve broke.  "Please leave," he said.  "I don't want to squash you, but..."

The mosquito laughed merrily.  "Without me, what are you even accomplishing?"

The Time of Gods

"We have arrived," said the Wisest Stone.

Taku slid to the ground and stretched.  He looked around.  "You said you were to show me the murder of a god."

"And so I have.  You see that jagged stone protrusion?  How it approaches the cliff on the far side of the valley?  That is the spear of Ngatka, who murders his wife and mother, Blessed Istinu of the Soil."

"This is a fable, then?  Of things that happened long ago?"

"No," said the Wisest Stone.  "It is happening now.  Perhaps one day it will finish."  He paused.  "Best not to linger."