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The next chapter of "GateKeeper's Secret" will be posted late today. My fault - brain fart.
My latest novel is now available on ZBookstore. "Gatekeeper's Secret" is a science fiction story set in near-present day Western United States. There are aliens, pickup trucks, aliens in pickup trucks, bodacious women and villains too. Yep. I will begin posting serially on SOL next week if not sooner.
Usually I acknowledge and thank my editors in the endnote of my stories, but in "Court of the Crimson King," the note of thanks slipped my attention. For the second time, CaptainPig has agreed to edit one of my story. As a editor, he is polite and easygoing about my mistakes, posing questions about my lapses when some editors have simply ripped into the bad writing. The Dance of the writer and editor is dynamic. The editor I needed when I first began a decade ago is not the editor I need now. When I see his name pop up as editor of other stories on SOL, I give a thumbs up to the screen.
When certain repetitive mistakes appeared in a previous tale that were made after the editing, Black Coffee, a known and named writer on SOL, offered his services as a reader. His offer came up in the Forum, which is a perk of the SOL universe at the other end of the menu bar. I took him up on his offer, for which I am grateful. His subtle fingerprints are also on the text.
My apologies to the two gentlemen who I did not acknowledge earlier. Their contributions were essential to the successful presentation of my imagination.
The first installment of a new novel drops tomorrow, "Court of the Crimson King." First, point your browser to your favorite music app and download/listen to the King Crimson tune that dropped in 1969. Sufficiently energized by a trip into nostalgia, you may want to consider purchasing the novel in full on the SOL rebranded book site, ZBookStore. Please, enjoy!
Imagine sitting in a "near bucolic" coffee shop alongside the Bronx River, about a quarter mile north of the sewage treatment plant. The woman standing before my table asked me if I won, and I told her my story won first prize for science fiction. "Well, you can take that prize money and buy me for a trip around the world." Her voice was like honey. I put back on my glasses because I am thoroughly nearsighted, and I was taken aback. The voice did not match the face or the figure. Her pimp was standing by the trash can, giving me the evil eye, because there was no way he was making bucks with this unpleasant example of humanity. The cop sitting in his squad car across the street was giving me a look too, probably wondering if he would be writing me another "drunk and disorderly" at 9:00 on a weekday. I managed to rise from my seat without spilling coffee, which had a faint tinge of methane now that I tasted it. With my head held high, I wished everyone a good morning and carried on down the street without stumbling once. Made my day, I tell you, made my day.
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