• About
  • Book Reviews
  • Books & Stories
    • A Merchant in Oria
    • After Avalon
    • King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology
    • Monster Huntress
      • First 3 Chapters of Monster Huntress
    • Monsters: A TPQ Anthology
    • Quickfic Anthology 1
    • Sci Phi Journal, Q1 2016
    • Tales from Our Write Side: An Anthology
  • My Blog
  • Review Policy
  • Words Like Rain

Author David Wiley

~ Author of science fiction and fantasy stories, choosing to write the stories that he would love to read.

Author David Wiley

Tag Archives: short story

Author Spotlight: Harini Chakrapani

30 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by David Wiley in Books and Reading, Guest Post, Indie Author Spotlight

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

A Rebel is Born, Avon Etcetera, Harini Chakrapani, Indie Author, short story, The Secret of the Mantle

Welcome to a spotlight on Harini Chakrapani, author of The Secret of the Mantle. For today’s post she has offered to share a short story which is a prequel to her novel, so read on about this author and enjoy the short story!
Author Bio: 
apr.jpg
Harini Chakrapani wrote her first novel at 13, 

A Perilous Vacation.

At 21, she packed her bags to become a Bollywood reporter in Dubai.

She enjoys reading sci-fi, fantasy, thrillers, video gaming,and browsing dictionary.com

She is currently pursuing Master’s in Journalism in New York. 

The Secret of the Mantle cover.jpg

The Secret of the Mantle is her first published book.

Where to buy the book from:

https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Mantle-Harini-Chakrapani/dp/9385609386/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1477945787&sr=8-1&keywords=the+secret+of+the+mantle 

Social media: https://www.facebook.com/Harini-Chakrapani-214611125536899/

Twitter: @secretofmantle 

****

A rebel is born

By Harini Chakrapani

The snow lay thick upon the ground, the high trees, the hills and homes. All was white. White was all— the color of his robes, his boots, his disheveled mane. Even his eyes, were lacklustre, pale, just a shade darker than his cloudy, rice water colored skin.

His parents were so happy. They had borne the perfect specimen, an obscure little thing that blended with the snow. Unremarkable. He was the apple of their eye. The rest of the 14 that made their brood wasn’t given as much as a second glance. They were so proud, even though they would never admit it, as it was against the law, the signs were clear.

Every birthday, he was given new robes while the rest of his brothers and sisters wore old, ragged ones with mice chewed holes, just like all the other children in Utopia. Of course, his parents would never let him parade around in his fine, silkware, for the fear that their brood would find out it was less loved and harbor blasphemous dark feelings of jealousy and hate.

So, they would beckon him to a special room downstairs on his birthday. They called it the Witch’s lair, for it was black evil, had a mirror inside (mirrors were forbidden), with which he could stare at his reflection and find out how different he was from the others.

They would make him stand in front of the mirror, and coo over how his whitewashed appearance had made them a respectable family in town, privileged them to deliver sermons, moral rectitude, granted them access to the temple’s treasury and residence in a palatial house within the temple complex.

His great grandfather was the only one who despised him. Whenever his parents left him at his house to babysit, he would call him by a blasphemous word. ALBINO.

When Avon Etcetera was eight-years old, and saw it the first time, etched across the whiteboard he had cried till his throat was sore.  Back then, he didn’t know what it meant, but his great grandfather seemed to be filled with such hate, revulsion as he wrote the letters on the whiteboard and show them to him. Something within him told him the word was a reference to his existence and that his great grandfather wanted to rip him apart for it.

His great grandfather kept flashing the word at him, taunting him, until he learnt to run away from his room and hide in the closet out of fear that his great grandfather would kill him.

Of course, that had been six years ago. Now, the word didn’t hurt him anymore. In fact, it had made him curious to find out what it meant. He was certain it bore some significance, that it could provide a glimpse to Utopia’s past and empower him.

This overwhelming curiosity had made him sneak out of his haveli and brought him here to his great grandfather’s house, a thousand kilometers away from his home.

It was an igloo. Four fifths of Utopia’s population lived in these ice houses. His great grandfather, Avon Geld, didn’t call it that. He said his house was a morgue, a place where the dead lay frozen, devoid of thoughts, feelings, life. Exactly, what Utopia’s ruling class, the Enlightened wanted. They would never publicly admit there were the rulers, but that was the truth. They controlled everything.

Avon Geld was in front of him, slouched in his polar bear pelt wrapped chair. He looked different today. Well, he was older by six years since he had met him last. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t even the black woolen robes he wore that brought out the violet in his eyes, for he always wore these robes. There was something else.

A twinkle, a spark in his eyes, a wisp of a smile. He had never seen that. His face was always hard, tensed up, contorted by years of bitterness. Many, many years. For he was 120 years-old.

Did he sense something, perhaps his rebellion. And was that why he was happy?

He could ask.

“Where do you keep…the?”

Avon Geld smiled wider. The lines of his mouth reached his sunken, withered cheeks.

It seemed he didn’t even have to say the word. He knew. He pointed to an inner chamber, the sanctum.

Avon Etcetera wanted to know how his great grandfather sensed his vice—the pursuit of knowledge. But he didn’t ask this time around. The purpose of his visit was more important.

He turned around and with quick, nervous steps walked into the sacred space.

And…it lay in ruin.

The pictures of the Holy Hundred were either torn or scribbled upon. The hand carved gilded oak frames they were kept in lay chipped and broken upon the floor. Violence was meted out to the Vespian ivory statuettes as well. They were either beheaded or belegged.

The holiest book of the Utopians, the Ignorantia had been profaned. There was writing in its blank, white pages now.

The word was everywhere. ALBINO. Not just in the book, but the walls, the photos, the floor. All dripping with the black paint that had been used to write.

An outrage! Avon Etcetera froze. He couldn’t breathe. Moments later, he looked around for the Corestone. It was a white stone that every Utopian was expected to keep in the sanctum. It was imbued with white magic, used by the Enlightened to tap into the minds of Utopians and perceive their thoughts and actions. If ever a thought of rebellion popped up in a Utopian’s mind, the Enlightened began to surveil the dissident. If the thought converted to action, the dissident was buried alive.

The Corestone was nowhere to be found. Had his great grandfather disposed of it? That was a crime, punishable by live burying at the hands of the Carcerem.

His bowels turned to water. With trembling hands, he unrolled the raw, rubbery seal skin door flap*, shutting him out from the rest of the world, leaving him in complete darkness.

That’s when he found it. The Encyclopedia. It was called the Black Book in Utopia.

He gasped in horror. Black Books were forbidden. There were only 8 known copies, that the Enlightened was trying to track down and burn. The knowledge it contained was evil. It explained what words meant and provided historical information. It stirred the mind, made it think, question, reason, challenge the way of life in Utopia compared to the pre Utopia period, when the planet was called Sprabodh.

To think that Avon Geld had one, marked, not only him as a rebel, an insurgent, a threat to Utopia, but also his great grandson, Avon Etcetera, his parents, his siblings, by virtue of kinship. It was just outrageous.

He was drawn to the book. It glowed with a blue light. On the cover was the image of a hollow brain filled with gears, their teeth cutting into each other. Surrounding the brain were balls of different shapes and colors. Planets.

A word was embossed. Bodhbal. Knowledge is power.

Avon Etcetera felt something within him. The feeling was old, familiar — a hole, an emptiness swirling within him, that made him lightheaded, weak, everyday of his life in Utopia. There was only one thing that could fill this emptiness and it was right in front of him. With that he opened the book. The light shone in his eyes.

At length, he saw them — the Lūx, the founders of Utopia. There were seven of them seated in a row on wooden benches, clothed in white robes. They had white faces, white hair. The book named them as the Albinos. One of them had dry, coarse strands poking out of his head just like him. He could see the resemblance. They were namesakes. That he had known. But he had never before seen this picture. A picture in motion.

The Enlightened distributed very different pictures across Utopia. The representations showcased brawny, barrel-chested bodies with square jaws and narrow tipped noses. Symbols of strength.

Here, the Lūx looked weak and emaciated, with bones poking out of flesh, sunken cheeks, bulbous noses, fragile skulls. The eyes were horrid. Phenol colored pupils empty of any expression. They simply stared.

Shortly, a bearded figure wearing a long pointed cap and worn out black robes came upon the scene.

He made symbols with his hands and called upon strange verses. They had a hint of music with its ebb and flow. At once, his hands transformed into black, vaporous masses that began scratching the air and the ground. The demonstration required sizeable effort, for the figure gave out deep, guttural sounds as if his abdomen were being squeezed.

At length, a golden tower with its polished gleaming surface carrying the reflections of the sky, clouds, and other buildings  began to materialize,  spiralling all the way up to the clouds. It was a spectacle! Avon Etcetera hadn’t seen anything like it before.  Text flashed underneath the picture.

“This is CREATION, making something out of nothing.” The words jolted the fibre of his being. He kept repeating them over and over again, savoring them, drawing their essence.

Next, he learned that the robed figure was apparently a builder named Ojman Pratap.

The Lūx simply stared. Their eyebrows were flat against their foreheads. They stared as though, they could see right through the tower, as if it didn’t exist at all. That became clear, when his namesake mouthed, “sisa raghlone,” and the text flashed underneath the picture.

The language was Lapitis. Avon Etcetera knew the words. It was the tongue used by his forebears. Of course, the Enlightened forbade it in schools or anywhere in public. They believed it was full-fledged. Every thought, every emotion, every signal in the brain could be expressed with just the right words. It didn’t just stop there. The words had the power to draw other minds, make empathic connections. That’s what encouraged rebellion and led to the fall of Sprabodh according to the Enlightened. They didn’t want history to repeat itself and lead to the downfall of Utopia.

Still, his parents had books in the house and wanted their children to learn Lapitis. It was a part of their lineage, who they were. More than that, it was the language of the Lūx, helped them see right from wrong in building the perfect society for Utopians. It could not be forgotten.

Avon Etcetera loathed the expression on his namesake’s face. He, then studied the face of the builder, Ojman Pratap only to realize they both shared a look of pain, anguish. His mind felt heavy.

There was an upswell of thoughts….thoughts that needed to pour out of him with a great roar and crash…like a storm. So everyone around him could hear, feel the words…be touched…overwhelmed by them.

Avon Etcetera was desperate. He groped for the right words in Utopian to acknowledge his thought. But there were none. The only other language he knew was Lapitis…but he hadn’t practiced in so long because of school work and other house chores. Still, he knew he had to try with the limited knowledge he had of Lapitis. The thought had to be shared.

Thus, he began aloud a haphazard speech lacking verbs sometimes, or jumbled up verbs and nouns. But every word he uttered was pregnant with emotion.

Midway, he stopped. He couldn’t go on. The thought was still there, but he didn’t know the right words. He could still get it out but what was the point, if no one could understand what he was saying. The right words would move people, impel them to action. Perhaps, that was the builder’s intent.  No effort should go in vain.

His anger fomented. His face burned, showing color. It wasn’t the first time he was angry. But then again, he hadn’t ever been angry this way out of frustration…feeling helpless, constrained, shackled.

He gave a start. There was someone creeping up on him. His great grandfather. There was a smile on his face. This was the second time. It was a wide, gaping smile. He noticed gold teeth and a tongue cut in half that made him a mute.

Avon Geld hadn’t a reason to be happy in six decades. All those years of hiding, leading a double life, knowing the truth, but still denying knowledge of it, living in fear of losing his life….like a coward. No more. He had the strength to unveil that disguise. The cost would be death, but he was willing to pay it.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. Of course, he had never thought his great grandson could be a part of it. It seemed so unlikely given his remarkable resemblance to one of the Lūx… the one who had cut his tongue in half and robbed him of speech. Avon Etcetera.

No more. He would speak now. He would give his great grandson, the words. Words that would nourish his anger, set him on the path to find the truth and redeem Utopians. That was all that mattered. Many had undertaken to lead this journey before, but returned halfway. Perhaps, his great grandson was just like them.  A quitter. Perhaps he was not. But Avon Geld knew he had to try, when there was a flicker of hope. He could taste his great grandson’s anger. It was what made him confront the Lūx sixty years ago.

He closed his eyes, watched a few breaths, made a cross with his index fingers, touched his lips, feeling a soothing comfort as if he had been taking a warm shower, and chanted.

“Rohati.” He waited, breathing in and out for several minutes until he felt a sting in his tongue as though somebody had pinched it.

The wet moist thing began to grow, hitting the roof of his mouth and then his teeth. He had healed. He had been afraid to try this for sixty years and for good reason.

As soon as the flesh had materialised, he felt a searing pain in his heart.

As though a knife had cleaved out a fragment and his life energy or udarat were leaking out. The punishment didn’t stop just there.

He could feel a hail of stabs, rending several holes through vein and tissue and the udarat bleeding out. That was the price for channeling Dark Magic as designed by the Lūx. The fuel for Dark Magic was one’s own life energy. Every time a dark spell was chanted, one had to be prepared to expend his own life energy. Building especially was fatally draining. Do and die trying.

His face contorted, teeth bit into his lip, making it bleed. If he wanted, he could dwell in the pain, cry and feel weak. But his practice taught him otherwise. He breathed in and out. It didn’t help as much as he had hoped. His mind was distracted. He was yet to learn the Dark Way. Of course, there was the easy way out, designed for the more distracted monkey minds like his. So, he parted his mouth and sucked in the cold air, calming down his mind.

He had to give his great grandson the words to spark his mind, spark a rebellion in Utopia.

“You hate to see Avon Etcetera’s face don’t you? It’s just as how I had felt that day. Look at his eyes, they are blank. The lips are pressed against each other and the facial muscles are taut as if all the blood had congealed. There is no acknowledgement of the builder…no acknowledgement of what he has built…no acknowledgment of the blood, sweat and tears that had gone into his creation…no acknowledgement of that ambition that had driven the creation…as if all life was futile…as if life had no purpose…as if living was death,” he said in a mix of Lapitis and Utopian, certain that his great grandson couldn’t figure out the message otherwise.

Avon Etcetera looked flabbergasted. Clearly, he had processed most of the message.

“How can you speak Avon Geld?” he asked. But as his great grandfather began to reply, he interrupted.

“It doesn’t matter…what you said…is exactly what was on my mind. The thought was there but I just couldn’t put it in words. I feel so relieved now. It’s as if I have wanted to say these words ever since I learned how to speak. Is this what the Lūx thought of creation…that it was a wasted effort?”

His great grandfather nodded. His skin prickled with excitement.

Avon Etcetera felt his anger return, and with it the thought of strangling his namesake.

“Easy my child. And now I want you to remember this for the rest of your life.”

The words struck Avon Etcetera. His great grandfather had never before called him his own blood. And how had he been able to read his mind today?

Avon Geld lay down photo frames of the Enlightened wearing their neon white robes and masks with one roving pupiless eye.    He then tried to summon Dark Magic, watching his breath, rapidly making strange symbols with his hands and calling upon musical verses.

The scene was new yet seemed so very familiar. Moments later, a struggle followed. His great grandfather was in pain, yelling and crying.

The golden tower that he had seen in the Black Book began to shape up right in front of his eyes, breaking through the photo frames of the Enlightened and moments later, the roof of the house and bringing in a blast of cold air.

Could it be that his great grandfather was the builder Ojman Pratap himself? The revelation was astonishing.

Something told him Avon Geld was dying. His breathing was growing more laborious with every passing second. And then blood began to seep from his chest, coloring his clothes and then the ice.

Despite, his struggles, Avon Geld held his calm for one final demonstration. He would take a bow only after that. He would not go easily. In dying too there would be purpose. He wanted the Enlightened to realize that and reel in their graves remembering him when the time came.

The blood pooled around him. He could feel his nearly severed heart hanging by a limp vein. He kept trying to heal it with the aura of the Dark Magic, while feeling more of his life slip away in the process. He could envision the Enlightened rejoicing this travesty of Dark Magic that they had helped perpetuate.

But, he wouldn’t let them have the last laugh.

He staggered to his feet, defiantely pulled out the Corestone that he had been wearing around his neck, rubbed it against the golden tower  and pressed his palms together.

Then, he turned toward Avon Etcetera and said, “Find Yayavar Gen Vatra and tell him, “Cinotiham tarhi aham.” He will teach you the Dark Way.”

Before taking the final fall to his death, he stuck out the Corestone against his great grandson’s face making sure the Enlightened who monitored the Corestone knew what was coming their way. If his great grandson were indeed the prophesied hero destined to bring down the regime, then he would survive all the odds and pursue the darkness.

Avon Etcetera felt his heart throbbing in his chest. The Corestone had perceived it all. Now, it was buzzing with strange voices. Voices that sounded heavy and breathy.

They were coming for him. Coming for the rebel. He ran for his life.

Advertisement

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Book Release: Sci Phi Journal Q1 2016

17 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by David Wiley in Book Release, Books and Reading, My Writings, Sci-Fi

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Anthology, Book Release, Philosophy, Sci Phi Journal, Sci-Fi, short story, The First Martian Church of God

51denugs4hlIf you missed it earlier this year, I had a short story featured on Sci Phi Journal’s website. If pledging on Patreon kept you from reading this story, I have good news for you! They just released both the print and eBook version containing all of the stories published in the first quarter, which includes my story, “The First Martian Church of God” and many others. Be sure to snag a copy today, and read on to get an excerpt of my own story that is included in this collection:

Ebook: https://www.amazon.com/Sci-Phi-Journal-2016-Philosophy-ebook/dp/B01LY2LV2T/
Paper: https://www.amazon.com/Sci-Phi-Journal-2016-Philosophy/dp/0994516355/

cover-4

THE FIRST MARTIAN CHURCH OF GOD

David Wiley

“Did you hear the big news,” Smith asked Spender, “about how the NASA Colonization team discovered life on Mars?”

Spender stopped stirring his coffee, the black stick swirling in concentric circles on its own through the cloudy concoction. He set the cup down and licked his lips. His brown eyes glistened under the solar fluorescent lighting. “It was a matter of time before they either found the Martians or declared that Mars was truly devoid of life,” Spender answered, smiling. “What do they look like? The Martians, I mean.”

Smith grunted and shook his head. “That all depends on which channel you listen to. CNN4.0 says they look just like us and that we should begin an immigration program immediately to integrate some of them among our borders.”

“That would be their style,” Spender sighed.

“And Fox News2.7 has flashed pictures clearly taken from old Science Fiction television shows. Since most of today’s youth hasn’t seen those classics like Farscape and Star Trek, they are taken in by the images.”

“In other words, no one knows for sure?”

“That’d be my guess,” Smith said. He took a long pull of his coffee and Spender finished preparing his own drink. They drank in silence, sinking into plush ultravelvet chairs. An occasional hem or a hum cut through the silence like a subtle knife.

“Do you realize what this means?” Spender ventured at last. Smith looked over at him with raised eyebrows but said nothing. “It means that we need to have a meeting with our Missions team.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Smith said. “Do you really think that they are going to want to send us out to Mars as Missionaries?”

“I bet many churches are going to be having that discussion,” Spender said. “I would guess that the Catholics and the Baptists and all the others are going to want to be the first to plant a church on Mars. We should want to do the same.”

“We don’t even know anything for sure,” Smith answered. “For all we know the Martians could be hostile. Could speak a telekinetic language that we’ll never understand. Might have been a hallucination of the team. They probably already have their own religion.”

“But think of the possibilities, Jonah. We’ve spread the Word of God to every tribe and every nation on the earth now. Many of us believed that Christ would return when that happened and we’re still waiting. That must mean there is another nation needing the Gospel. What if the Martians are that nation?”

Smith harrumphed and rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway, not looking back at Spender. “Even if you are right, by the time you get the funds to fly out there and plant a church there will be dozens of others already there.” Then, he walked away.

In 2033, two years after the first Martian sighting took place, construction of the first church on Mars began. The Catholics had pooled together resources in order to fund the construction of a special shuttle designed to carry a dozen of their most devout and fervent missionaries into space. The news stations around the world unanimously heralded it as one of the most important moments in the history of the Catholic Church and the ground-breaking session was livestreamed to everyone’s telecast screen. The event brought a vibrancy and relevance to the Catholic Church that hadn’t been seen since the Middle Ages. Pope Imperius I enjoyed a surge in numbers, both congregational and financial, for months as the progress was regularly updated to the citizens around the globe.

No one expected the disaster to strike. A massive dust storm swept through the area as construction neared its climax, obstructing the view of every visual recording device and deafening the sound recorders. The storm raged for three weeks straight, abating on the day when the final reveal of the church was to take place. When the video came through at last, all that remained of the Catholic Church building was a pile of reddish rubble. Nothing more was heard from the expedition team. And the number of Catholics plummeted below where it had been prior to the expedition.

“Did you hear that they are making a portable machine capable of terraforming a patch of Mars?” Smith asked. He resumed his task of picking soggy bits of apple from his teeth with a fingernail.

“Are they now?” Spender asked with raised eyebrows. “What would be the benefit of such a device?”

Smith inspected a rather long sliver of apple, shrugged, and stuck it back into his mouth. “Apparently it would make that patch of land like the Earth.”

“What part of the Earth?”

“Hell if I know. The best part of it?”

“Well who decides what the best part is? Are we talking the jungles of the Amazon or the deserts of Egypt?” Spender set down the book he was reading.

“What does it matter, Spender? It isn’t like either one of us is going to be affected by it. They are certain this terraforming will prevent the same disaster from striking a second time. Word is that the Lutherans are going to be launching next.”

“No one else is planning on sending out a church planting team?”

“Not yet, and who can blame them?” Smith took a long pull from his coffee cup. Spender shook his head as half of it dribbled down Smith’s chin and clung to his unkempt beard. “After the failure of the Catholic mission no one was in a real hurry to be the second.”

“And then if this one fails, is that it? The Martians will be given up as unreachable?”

“Shit Spender,” Smith said. “You still got a thing for reaching these Martians, huh?”

“Someone needs to burn with a fire to reach the lost. God’s laws are written on the heart of every being on Earth. Why wouldn’t it be the same on Mars?”

“For all we know these Martians are little more than animals. I mean, we haven’t found a single building with all of our scans and satellite images for years.”

Spender was silent, thoughtful. After a while Smith got up and left the room, shaking his head and cursing under his breath. Spender began to pray.

Continued in the book. Click the links to purchase:

Ebook: https://www.amazon.com/Sci-Phi-Journal-2016-Philosophy-ebook/dp/B01LY2LV2T/
Paper: https://www.amazon.com/Sci-Phi-Journal-2016-Philosophy/dp/0994516355/

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Announcement: Upcoming Releases

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by David Wiley in Book Release, My Writings, Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

18th Wall Production, After Avalon, Anthology, Bushmead Publishing, david wiley, Monsters, Our Write Side, Pearls, short story

There are times, as a writer, when nothing happens. You write stories, edit stories, reedit stories, submit stories, and get rejection after rejection. It can be a long and weary process to take things through traditional methods.

Last August I was lucky enough to have two things hit around the same time, a short story appearing in an issue of Mystic Signals and one appearing in the King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology. The fall of 2016 is going to prove to be even more exciting, with my writing appearing in three different anthologies that are going to be releasing!

  1. After Avalon by 18th Wall Productions is planning to be released on August 12th, which is nearly a week away! I’m very excited about this one, which has stories based around this premise: King Arthur is dead. Camelot has fallen. Britain drowns in Saxons. These are the stories of what come after. My own story, “The Saga of Freydis Beastsbane”, is going to be a part of the anthology. You’ll enjoy the tale of Freydis, a young woman in Medieval Iceland who dreams of being a shieldmaiden, who embarks upon a quest to kill a frightful creature that has haunted her family for generations: the Questing Beast.
  2. Monsters by Bushmead Publishing is planning to be released on October 25th. This one has the following premise: What is a monster?  Not all of them lurk under the bed. Some terrorize us conspicuously, in the light of day.  The tyrannical boss forcing unpaid overtime on a Friday night?  That debilitating anxiety holding you captive in your own room?  The haunting whisper of self-doubt?  Or perhaps it IS just a creature in the shadows, waiting to rend flesh from bone. This one has my long poem, “Taking Down Goliath”, which follows an unnamed female monster huntress as she wages war against two foes: one internal and one external.
  3. Pearls by Our Write Side is planning to be released sometime in October. This one is a collection of stories from the staff and contributors at Our Write Side and should have an excellent assortment of entertaining tales within those pages. My story in there is a thrilling Sci-Fi story that follows a young man, Ezekiel, who is flying a taxi shuttle to pay his way through the Lunar Academy. But on his first day he gets a passenger whose actions raise Ezekiel’s suspicions and leads to a memorable fare.

So there you have it, three anthologies coming out in the next few months that you’ll want to get your hands on because I have no doubt the other stories selected are excellent as well. I’m pretty excited to have those hit the market, and will keep you posted as each one gets released and perhaps even preview the covers, etc. as the time gets closer.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

March Guest Posts

31 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by David Wiley in Book Review, Guest Post, King of Ages, My Writings, Writing, Writing Resources

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Book Review, Guest Post, King of Ages, Naming Characters, revision, short story

I had planned on writing about Revising vs. Editing here but, given time constraints and the desire to finish my current short story before the April 2nd deadline, I have instead decided to make this a spot with links to all the guest posts I have written and had published over the course of this month. The first of these actually does deal with Revision, and discusses in passing the difference between revision and editing, so that one will be worth visiting!

As an important note to begin, my first newsletter went out today! Sign up now and I will make sure you get a copy of it in your email. This newsletter contains a short article about authors, a spotlight on an indie author you should be reading, a preview of my short story, “Words Like Rain”, and more!

Improving Your Manuscript Through Revision – posted on 3/21 on Hijinksblog

Naming Characters: Fantasy Edition – posted on 3/21 on Our Write Side

Short Story: The Best Birthday – posted on 3/12 on Our Write Side

Book Review: Zeroes by Scott Westerfeld – posted on 3/13 on Our Write Side

Arthurian Adaptation – posted on 3/20 on Lavinia Collins Author Page

A Space of My Own – posted on 3/3 on T.A. Barron’s blog

And, in case you missed it at the end of February, one of my favorite short stories is up on Sci Phi Journal: “The First Martian Church of God” so be sure to check that one out and let me know your thoughts on it!

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Book Review – King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology

12 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by David Wiley in Book Review, Fantasy, King Arthur, King of Ages, My Writings

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Anthology, Book Review, david wiley, King Arthur, King of Ages, Merlin, short story, Uffda Press

514oemTP0GL__SX326_BO1,204,203,200_

King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology

 

Containing the following Short Stories:

“Unto His Final Breath” by Mike Morgan

“The Siege of Battle-Station Camelot” by Patrick S. Baker

“Arturia” by David W. Landrum

“Twilight’s First Dreaming” by Paola K. Amaras

“Arthurus Rex Tempus, Rex Eternae” by Alex Ness

“The Trek” by Philip Kuan

“If this Grail Be Holy” by P. Andrew Miller

“She Who Makes Us Free” by Joanna Michal Hoyt

“Lord of the Plains” by Doug Goodman

“The Challenge” by C.A. Rowland

“Pirate King” by Josh Brown

“The Saga of Artur Uthersson” by David Wiley

“The Breaking Dawn” by Dale W. Glaser

 

Published by Uffda Press on 8/2/2015

334 Pages (Paperback)

Blurb: A fresh take on a legendary tale, this anthology of thirteen short stories is a testament to just how eternal and timeless the story of King Arthur truly is.

One recurring aspect of Arthurian literature is the notion that he will one day return as a messiah to save his people. Another hallmark of the King Arthur legend is that Merlin—wizard, prophet, and Arthur’s most trusted advisor—lives backwards through time. What if Merlin was actually advising multiple reincarnations of King Arthur during various points, and places, in time and history? And what if this all began at the end of time?

King of Ages is an anthology like no other, showcasing stories that re-imagine King Arthur at several points in history, from the end of days all the way to the beginning of mankind.

My Take: All bias aside, this is an excellent collection of stories that re-imagine King Arthur through various time periods and acting in various situations. Some of the tales take on a traditional feel, while others are extremely innovative in their approach. Arthur and Merlin are the constants in every tale, although not always with those exact names, and many other gems of Arthurian legend are scattered throughout the thirteen stories in this anthology. It was almost as much fun picking out those references as it was reading the stories themselves, but that is my own love of Arthurian legend talking.

I absolutely love the concept behind this anthology, as it poses the idea of Merlin travelling backwards through time, with the first story coming at the end of the universe and working its way back to ancient times. There are a solid set of futuristic tales to begin the anthology and, honestly, I wished there had been more historical fiction tales in this anthology. I loved the pirate tale and, of course, my own, but the possibility of Ancient Rome, late-Renaissance or even Victorian-era tales are a glaring omission. Of course the publisher can only accept the stories that get pitched so that is no fault toward this anthology. It just would have been nice to see more tales taking place more than a century removed from our own.

As with any set of tales, there are ones I enjoyed more than others. There are some absolutely fantastic stories on display here, and I will state that even the stories that didn’t really appeal to my tastes at least had excellent writing. The collection of authors who are pooled together in this book are truly amazing and talented and I am honored to have my own story stand alongside theirs.

If you love Sci-Fi, if you love Fantasy, or if you love all things King Arthur than do yourself a favor and get a copy of this book. By the end you will agree that it was well worth the time invested to explore this interesting and fresh approach on the Arthurian legend.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

February Features

23 Saturday Jan 2016

Posted by David Wiley in My Writings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Fantasy, monster hunter, science fiction, short story, Writing

We are just over a week away from the calendar turning to February, and already I can announce some exciting things for that month. On Sunday, February 7th the first part of a short story, called “Midnight Flight”, will be published on My Write Side. The following Sunday the other half will get published, so it will be featured in two segments. This story is a fun and whimsical fantasy story that I think you will enjoy, so be sure to check it out when the links become available.

The other thing is that my short story, “The First Martian Church of God”, which has been accepted but without a scheduled publish date for ages, finally has a publish date! That will go live on Sci Phi Journal on February 25th and I can’t wait for you to read my most Bradbury-esque Science Fiction story to date.

In writing news, I have two short stories being written. One is the third Monster Hunter short story and the other is a dark Sci-Fi thriller. I also have a lot of brainstormed ideas about the direction I will be taking my manuscript that I hope to write this year. I think that, by the time I get these two short stories done, I will be ready to start in on that project and will have a clear idea about the major points the novel will follow.

I have made a new page at the top that tracks the books I am reading. So far I have only finished one, an audiobook, but that is because Monte Cristo is such a long read (which is over halfway done!) and my other audiobook I was listening to was also such a long one (and when it gets checked back in I can finish off the final 4-5 hours of that one!) so that list will start to grow sooner or later.

Watch for some reviews to get up on some of what I read this year, although I doubt I will commit to writing a full review for all of them.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

King of Ages is Available Now!

01 Saturday Aug 2015

Posted by David Wiley in Book Release, King of Ages, My Writings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

david wiley, King Arthur, King of Ages, short story, Uffda Press

kingofagesFor those who are interested, the short story anthology titled King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology by Uffda Press is now available in Kindle format on Amazon. At some point in time the physical copy will also be made available so stay tuned for an announcement once that goes live.

In the meantime check this great collection of stories out (don’t forget to check out my own contribution in there, “The Saga of Arturo Uthersson” while you’re at it)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B012RAX188

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Part 1 of Ogre Hunt is now live!

29 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by David Wiley in Monster Huntress, My Writings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Ava, Eat Sleep Write, Ogre Hunt, short story

This post will be brief and to the point: “Ogre Hunt”, a short story about a monster hunter named Ava, is being published in five parts on Eat Sleep Write. The first part of this story went live late yesterday and each of the remaining four parts will be released every Tuesday in August. So go check out how this story begins and check back every week for another installment.

Check out Part One by following this link.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

A Writer’s Favorite Word to Write

19 Friday Jul 2013

Posted by David Wiley in Monster Huntress, My Writings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Ava, end, finished, monster hunter, publication, short story, word, writer, Writing

There are a lot of words that a writer has at their disposal. In the English language alone there is a dictionary full of them, not to mention hundreds of other languages in the world. Some authors are even crazy enough to create their own languages, particularly in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres. Yet no matter how many words a writer uses, it is safe to say there is one they prefer to write above all others. It is the holy grail of words, signifying achievement.

That word is, simply, “END”.

Last night I reached that achievement. There is a big difference between completing a 1,000 word flash fiction story on this blog and a 10,000 word story. My serial blog series, Curse of Fierabras, was a longer achievement in terms of length but the satisfaction of concluding that was nowhere near the satisfaction from finishing my latest writing project because it wasn’t broken into fifteen posts.

That one word is the beginning of a transition, moving the project from an incomplete first draft into a work that is under revision. The easy task of writing the story is done, and now it falls on the writer and their beta readers to polish the rough patches of inconsistency and choppy dialogue.

But amidst the incoming waves of rejection (3 so far this month, including one just last night) there is a cause for celebration. It is a rejuvenating sensation that trickles through every fiber of my being, delighting in completion. The task of revision will come soon enough, but it can wait until I am done basking in this elation.

There are more stories to tell. Beta readers to recruit to read the story with a critical eye and offer honest input (a rare thing to find! Interested?). Smaller stories to revise and submit. And books to read. Always books to read.

But for now I shall share another sample from the completed story while I  revel in the joy that comes from writing one little word.

END

*   *   *   *

Ava squatted low to the ground, observing the prints from a distance. Edgar had been right in his description of the tracks, but something didn’t seem right to Ava. She crept closer, skirting along the edge of some thick mud near the prints. She strained, leaning in as far as she could, staring at the tracks for a missing sign. When she realized what it was, she sat up with a scowl on her face.

“These are fresh enough,” she said slowly, “but something isn’t right about them. Edgar, what do you see that is missing?”

Edgar crept closer, hesitating to get too close as he peered at the tracks in the mud. “I see two prints there before it disappears into the grass and bushes beyond. Nothing is unusual about there not being more prints.”

“True, but how could it make these prints along that edge without leaving more in this mud down here? It would have passed right through this, and left an obvious trail behind.”

“Maybe it jumped?” Edgar offered.

“Maybe you forged these tracks to get me down here,” Ava said. She stared at Edgar, a cold glimmer in her eyes. Edgar looked away, fidgeting under her stare. He looked up to confess when a deep grumble in the distance made them both pause. Ava raised a hand, signaling for silence as she turned toward the noise. The grumble repeated a few moments later, answered by a higher-pitched whistling noise. Ava slipped a knife from her belt, handing it to Edgar before unsheathing her sword. She motioned for him to follow, stealthily moving toward the noises.

They ducked behind a large rock when they were close, listening for a change in the sounds. Hearing nothing, Ava peeked around the edge. “Goblins,” she whispered to Edgar when she pulled back, “three of them are asleep in the clearing. They must be a scouting party.”

“Scouting what?”

“I bet they are checking out the village, to see if we’re undefended now that father is gone. We can’t let them report back or we’ll have the whole horde swarming down on us.”

“But there are three of them and only two of us.”

“There is one on the left, just around the rock. You take him, and I will get the other two.”

“I’ve never killed a monster before,” Edgar whispered back, concerned. “What if I miss and it claws my eyes out or rips my heart from my chest?”

“It is sleeping. It’ll be dead before it knows we’re attacking. My father will be surprised when he gets home and sees three goblin heads.”

Ava motioned for Edgar to circle around the rock. She clutched her knife in her hand, creeping toward the sleeping goblins. They were as hideous and disfigured as she had always imagined, having heard her father describe them in a dozen tales. Their skin was a pale green and looked like rough, bumpy leather. Their joints were knobby, sticking out at angles that looked painful. Thick, pointy ears stretched above the crown of their heads and a long, crooked nose jutted from their face. She watched one snoring, seeing the rows of small, sharp teeth that could tear the flesh off a man with ease. Small patches of wispy yellow hair were matted down atop their heads, making them all look as though they were going bald.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Flip Flop Fiction – Thieveses

07 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by David Wiley in Guest Post, My Writings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Alice in Wonderland, collaboration, Fantasy, Flip Flop Fiction, Gollum, Hatter, My Write Side, Neverland, short story, Writing

This past week I have been honored to collaborate with SAM at My Write Side on a tale for her new Flip Flop Fiction series. What happens is we work together on a story that takes a familiar literary character and flips them into another literary world. This transportation comes courtesy of the Hatter from Alice in Wonderland, and this week I chose to send Gollum from The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings into a new world. It was a lot of fun, and I hope you’ll check it out and leave some comments over there on this new story.

And while you’re there, be sure to check out on of my favorite ongoing works of fiction: The Elven Games. You’ll be hard-pressed to find better Fantasy Fiction on web!

Flip Flop Fiction #3 – Thieveses

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Tumblr
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...
← Older posts

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,295 other subscribers
Follow Author David Wiley on WordPress.com
Sign up for my Author Newsletter in order to stay up-to-date about new releases, promotions, and giveaways.

Click here to sign up!

Top Posts & Pages

  • Book Review: The Prince Warriors by Priscilla Shirer
  • Book Review: The Carnelian Legacy by Cheryl Koevoet
  • Author Interview: Werner Stejskal
  • Book Review: Dirty Glory by Pete Greig

Categories

Twitter Updates

  • Review of Saga, Volume 1 by Brian K. Vaughan, art by Fiona Staples authordavidwiley.wordpress.com/2022/05/07/rev… 9 months ago
Follow @AuthorDWiley
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • Author David Wiley
    • Join 278 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Author David Wiley
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...
 

    %d bloggers like this: