Tuesday, November 5, 2013

"River Path," a short story


Announcing the publication of my short story "River Path."

What do all avid bike riders have in common? The love of the road and the solitude that comes along with the long miles. Nothing is better than the feel of the wind caressing your face, or the smooth shift of the gears during a downhill run. And every once and a while you find the perfect path.

Ah, solitude. But sometimes the path is more than you bargain for and you have trouble finding your way home. That's what happens to Hanna Blake. Twenty years and counting and her husband James is still waiting for her.

"River Path" can be found in the inaugural issue of Phobos Magazine, Phobos One: Zugzwang at amazon.com  edited by Robert Corry, Luke St. Germaine, and Adam Guy Halterman. It is currently available in Kindle format at a special price with book form coming out soon!

Saturday, August 17, 2013

The Steam Emporium

As one who seeks out the odd and unusual, I hit the jackpot today while attending the  Mount Gretna Outdoor Art Show. One artist's distinctive work categorically rocketed above the rest, and I mean that literally. It impressed me so much that I must share it. The Steam Emporium caters to the speculative fiction genre in outstanding steampunk fashion. Rocket packs, time machines, Edison sound and light components, bells, ray guns, steam sabers, ... I even came across a steampunk rocket ship. Everything I visualized when I read Cherie Priest's novel Boneshaker, or some of China Mieville's novels, was there to see, touch, and activate.

For those of you unfamiliar with the genre, steampunk is a subgenre of speculative fiction set in an alternative Victorian world where steam-powered machinery exists. Think industrial revolution, Jules Verne style. Grit, grease, steel and steam cover the streets.  If you are a lover of speculative fiction, you will lose yourself in The Steam Emporium's imaginative gadgetry. And if you're not a lover of all things scifi/fantasy and the weird? Well, spending time exploring the collection just might convert you.

Ed Kidera is the mastermind behind all the wonderful gadgetry. That's Ed standing next to his steampunk jetpack. In typical steampunk fashion, Ed uses recycled material for the majority of his work. Digital components have been added to introduce light and sound. Because of this, no two pieces are alike. Ed's work can be found online, or at art/craft shows throughout the states.

Visit The Steam Emporium online at www.thesteamemporium.com or experience it live at the Mount Gretna Art Show in Mount Gretna, Pennsylvania, and plan to be amazed!




Friday, June 28, 2013

White Bread

                                                                        Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949



White Bread

A stale moment frozen in time,
Like outdated pie,
or feet too scared to dance.

Those monochrome days choked in the smoke,
Like unwritten lines,
Creating boundaries so oppressive to the soul.

Boring.

Like white bread.


                                   - T. M. Crone

***

White Bread was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by Stanley Kubrick's 1949 photo.

Friday, June 7, 2013

GATOR MEAT

Below is a snippet from "Gator Meat," my short story about space walks for the terminally ill. It explores social injustices in the future.

"Gator Meat" can be read in its entirety in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS, my anthology of previously published short stories found at amazon.com. in paperback or kindle format. This excerpt is well into the story after Becka Tubbs decides to leave her home in Florida's swamp land to accompany Baxter on his final adventure.

***

Leaving Swamp Town was the easiest thing Becka had ever done. It was Baxter's twenty-first birthday. After a brief celebration eating alligator jerky, she packed a small bag, nailed a plank across her swamp hut entrance to keep intruders out, threw half a decayed gator carcass onto the deck of her
least favorite neighbor, and then hitched a ride on a harvest truck with Baxter. Baxter didn't pack a bag.

They drove north up the coastline and then stopped when they reached the Cape. Becka helped Baxter off the truck, her faded khaki short spotted with peach pulp. Launch pads sat in the distance, a few with ships on them. Baxter led the way to a large steel complex with doors high enough for a mega giant's largest cousin to walk through. 

"All you need to do is stroll along like you own the place and nobody'll bother you," Baxter said.

***

Thanks for stopping by, and feel free to leave comments below.

Friday, March 1, 2013

SHATTER

Here is a snippet from my YA Urban Fantasy novel, SHATTER, for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday!  Making the final edits and will be querying soon.

SHATTER is a story about Rosilyn Piccolo, squatter kid extraordinaire, who unravels the mystery of her immortal boyfriend's disappearance with the help of an eclectic group of wharf-rat-wannabes and an ancient iron skillet. This is the opening.

***

Rosilyn Piccolo anchored her feet on the fringe of the alley and held the rock with a tight fist. Ahead, cloaked in light that emanated down from the lamppost, a sculptured lawn carpeted the ground surrounding the back porch of the house. Nothing physically separated Rosilyn from the yard, or her from the house, but still, she hesitated. 

Otto stood beside her, his gaze roaming through the dark alley. They had just finished their night shift at the Carbonics Plant, and the night had not ended well. Not that it ever did, but she wouldn't mind if just once work concluded with good news, or no news at all. She breathed heavily, wishing she were home, but the delay seemed fitting, considering.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Making Time for Christmas

The Christmas season has been upon us for some time now, and if you are like me than prioritizing obligations, family time and other activities becomes a challenge. There are Christmas tasks left undone, flour in the pantry that never finds the oven, Christmas cards in blank sealed envelops, decorations still in the crates.  A present forgotten at the store...  And oh, isn't it time to put up that tree? Let's not forget that it takes a day to find the right tree, and another two before it's fully decorated, and during this time you are reminded of responsibilities unrelated to Christmas that must be tackled.

Life Interruptus.

Sometimes I wonder why fight the traffic. Sometimes I think that the meaning of Christmas has dissipated into the seams of my purse. Sometimes I resent the interruption of my daily routine and question the validity of Jesus' birthday being in December in the first place. But these are fleeting thoughts, and actually, I cherish the interruption to my life.

Miraculously, Christmas chores get done, and that morning, sitting by the tree, everything seems right with the world and troubles are forgotten. There is nothing better than watching the eyes of my children come alive while I manage my third cup of coffee. It is one of the few times when traffic sounds disappear, savory smells linger in the kitchen and families everywhere are reunited. When I sit down to that splendid dinner in the company of family my angst vanishes.

Regardless of your religious denomination, Christmas is a season to celebrate God and family. That's what it's all about. This Christmas open your hearts to those who need your love, open your minds to new ideas, and cherish the memories.

Merry Christmas!

Monday, November 26, 2012

The Red Chair



What will remain when civilization is gone,
  When the trees shed their leaves on quiet ground,
     And whispers no longer travel in the breeze?
    What will remain when the shadows disappear,
       From our sights, from our hearts, from our minds?

So careless are we to make fortresses of stone,
Which linger long after caregivers die.
So careless of us to assume the remains
Will rot like dead flesh, and blend with the Earth,
in carbon like ribbons that shred over time.

What will remain when civilization is gone?
Where will our souls rest when our spirits get tired,
When our feet no longer wander too far?
Clothed in red vinyl unfit for the end,
The chair waits,
Alone by the window,
For us.

                                                - T. M. Crone
_____________

The Red Chair was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by the red chair.