Haiku

Haiku
by Jess C Scott

the unicorn drinks
when hounds come near—in a flash
she’s gone—water’s still

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Jess C Scott is currently working on a short story collection. She runs a website collective, which can be found atwww.jesscscott.com
. Work has appeared (or is shortly to appear) in Yareah, an English-Spanish literary and arts magazine, 55 Words, Clean Sheets, FlashShot, Blink Fiction, Bare Back Magazine, AlienSkin Magazine, Word Riot, Every Day Poets, and UnMasked Online.

Where do you get the ideas for your poems?

Out of the air. Everywhere.

Struck by Beauty

Struck by Beauty
by Heather Kuehl

“You want me to do what?”

Mika’s mouth hung open as his sister repeated her words yet again.

“You need to kill Morgane. You’re the only one who can get close enough.”

He shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around the statement. His green eyes looked into hers and, seeing the finality in their depths, he sighed.

“I don’t understand why it has to come to this, Veronika. I just don’t.”

“She killed our prince and we just sat by and watched. The people are suffering under her rule, Mika.”

“So that means that we have to do something?”

“Someone has to.”

Mika sighed, running a hand through his thick red hair in frustration. The strands tickled his shoulders as he shrugged.

“Fine,” he growled. “When?”

“Petition a meeting with her tonight. Tell her that you want to discuss the advancement of men against the Seelie Court. She won’t deny your petition. She loves war.”

With a nod, Mika spun around and left his sister’s bedchamber. Veronika had always made the plans and Mika had always implemented them. Even after he joined the Unseelie Court’s army, he helped her with her plots and schemes.

But murder?

Queen Morgane had risen up by slaughtering her own family, a task that was not frowned upon by the other members of the Court. No one got in her way when she declared war on the Seelie Court. But once she killed her own son so that he would not ascend to the throne, the people started to worry.

Mika’s booted feet echoed down the cobblestone street as he walked up to the palace. His sister could use her sidhe magick to teleport anywhere she wanted. But Mika’s father was human and his mother fey. His vibrant red hair and sea-green eyes paired with his milk-white skin made him look human. His sister had the same red hair and green eyes, but her skin was the color of fresh mint. It was only his inhuman speed that made him a faerie and helped him travel up the ranks in the Unseelie Court’s army. No one was able to best him, and he liked to keep it that way.

The palace doors swung open for him, and Mika nodded at the guards in thanks. The kobolds turned away from him with the shutting of the gate, their grotesque faces watching the horizon for unwelcome visitors. He stopped by his bedchamber to put on the livery of the Court. Because he was Morgane’s most favored general, she granted him a room in the palace. Strapping his scimitars to his waist, Mika proceeded up an endless staircase to Morgane’s office. Morgane’s pixie assistant smiled at Mika as he entered, her pink eyes glowing with eager anticipation. The pixie had grown fond of Mika and, with a slight bow, used her magick to open the door.

“M’lady is awaiting you,” she said quickly. It took Mika a moment to figure out what the pixie had said.

“How did she know I wanted an audience?” he asked.

“She knows everything.”

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into her office. A large map of the Mist hung against the wall, big bold lines showing the boundaries between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Morgane sat on the large onyx throne that was the centerpiece of the room. As she stood, Mika dropped to one knee, lowering his eyes to the polished marble floor.

Morgane walked over to him, her bare feet never making a sound, until she was before him. Her lily-white skin was the only bright thing about her. Her black hair hung down her back, several strands moving of their own accord. Morgane reached out and tilted Mika’s head up, her black eyes penetrating his. Mika could see flecks of red in their depths. Her dress was like a cloud of gossamer smoke. It alternately clung against her body and hung away from her with every movement. She should have just been nude, the sheer dress leaving nothing to the imagination. As she knelt down it clung to her, pushing Mika’s desire up to the surface.

“What does my warrior want?” she asked. Her voice was as smooth as the finest silk. It caressed his skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

“An audience,” Mika breathed. He had come here for something, but his mind couldn’t remember what. He reached out a hand, wanting to caress that pale skin. She was so beautiful.

“You’ve got an audience, my soldier. What is it you wanted to tell me?” Morgane leaned against him, wrapped an arm around Mika’s shoulder, and held him against her breast. He breathed in, her scent intoxicating.

“You are so bright,” purred Morgane as she ran a hand through Mika’s hair. His body shuddered at the feeling, wanting her to touch his skin. “I had once thought of banishing you to the Seelie Court. What a powerful little soldier they would have gotten. My war would have failed without you.” Black stained lips pressed against his cheek, and Mika sighed. Pulling away, Morgane stood. Her eyes glared down at him. “But you have been a very naughty soldier.”

His breath hitched at her displeasure. “M’lady?”

Morgane flicked her wrist, and Veronika appeared in the room. Veronika’s eyes grew wide as she saw Mika on the floor, reaching out for the hem of Morgane’s gossamer dress.

“Mika?”

Morgane’s laughter pulled at things deep within Mika’s body. “You and your half-breed brother were going to try and kill me. But you know those fey, they can’t resist me.”

“What did you do to him?” Veronika growled. Mika could sense her magick mingling with Morgane’s.

“Not a thing. He is mine, Veronika. You can’t make him kill me.” A smile curved Morgane’s lips. “But…”

She turned to Mika and held out a delicate hand. “Come to me, my warrior.”

Mika wrapped his hand around hers and pulled himself to his feet. Morgane pressed the line of her body against him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Kill her,” she breathed in his ear. Her tongue darted out, drawing a wet line along the lobe. “For me.”

“What?” gasped Veronika. Her emerald eyes looked beseechingly into Mika’s, and she turned to run as she saw the determination within. Mika would do anything for the love of his queen. If she had only known, Veronika would have done the deed herself.

Unsheathing his sword, Mika turned to his queen. She draped herself on the onyx throne, the gossamer dress riding up on her thighs, and his imagination took hold. He shuddered as Morgane smiled. “Kill her, and that little daydream will come true.”

He rushed at his sister, lashing out with the back of his hand to send her crashing to the floor. Veronika’s lips moved as she flung out her hand. Nothing happened.

“No spell,” she breathed in surprise. “She doesn’t have you under a spell.”

Tears formed in her eyes as Mika grabbed a handful of red hair and dragged his sister to her feet. Magick rose within her, making her green eyes glow, as she tried to teleport herself out of Mika’s grip. Again, nothing happened. Morgane’s laugh echoed through the room, sealing Veronika’s fate. Wrapping a pale hand against her green skinned throat, Mika plunged the blade deep within her gut. Again and again he shoved the blade in until her middle was just a mass of meat and bone. He dropped her to the ground, her eyes gazing up at him in death.

Blinking, Mika looked down at his hands. Bright ruby red blood coated his hands, drops falling from his fingertips to the marble floor.

He turned to Morgane, who was still draped across the throne. Her laughter reached his ears and his body hummed with need.

“Come to me, my soldier,” purred Morgane. “Reap your rewards on my flesh.”

Mika stumbled over to the throne, his eyes never leaving his bloodied hands. Veronika’s blood.

“What did you make me do?” he asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t make you do anything.” Morgane held out a pale hand. “Come to me, Mika.”

His name on her tongue pulled at him, lust and desire mingling as one. He stepped over to her, bloodied scimitar still in hand, and she took his crimson hand in hers.

He blinked.

“I killed my sister.”

“That is the price you pay for plotting my death.” Her hand caressed his cheek as her lips came up to meet his. With a scream of desire, he impaled her with his scimitar. Morgane’s eyes went wide as he pulled out the blade and ran her through again. His mind replayed Veronika’s death over and over. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he kicked Morgane’s shuddering body to the ground. He stomped down, ribs breaking under the pressure. Morgane’s hand clawed at him, blood oozing from her black stained lips. Mika could see that she was trying to raise enough power to save herself, but it was too late. Her defenses had been down, thinking that Mika was going to take advantage of her in other ways.

Stepping back, Mika watched as her body stilled and the life left her eyes. He turned away from the bloody broken body of his former queen. The pixie assistant stood in the doorway, her transparent wings a blur of rainbow colors.

“Would you like me to call someone to take care of this, M’lord?”

Mika blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Would you…”

“No, no. I heard that. What was it you called me?”

“M’lord.”

“Why?”

“For that is what you are. You are King Mika, fey lord of the Unseelie Court.”

Mika nodded as he sunk to the floor, the realization of what he had done hitting him hard in the gut. The pixie flew away, and Mika sighed.

“Was this want you wanted?” he asked Veronika’s body as grief tore at his insides. “Did you want a fey lord to rule? Did you want me to rule? Answer me!”

The dead didn’t respond.

* * *

Heather Kuehl was born near the Great Lakes, but made her way to South Carolina where she lives to this day. She is currently working on the sequel for Fade To Black (Eternal Press). Please visit her at http://heatherkuehl.googlepages.com/malevolentdead.

What advice do you have for other fantasy writers?

The advice that I have for other fantasy writers is to keep writing. Don’t get discouraged by rejection. Also, grow a thick skin and learn to take criticism. Sometimes, an editor can see a plot hole in your story that you hadn’t noticed before.

Nonfiction

An Interview with D. Harlan Wilson
conducted by M. Arkenberg

Of your three recent/upcoming books—Blankety Blank: A Memoir of Vulgaria; Technologized Desire: Selfhood & the Body in Postcapitalist Science Fiction; and Peckinpah: An Ultraviolent Romance—which has been the most enjoyable to write? The hardest?

Peckinpah and Blankety Blank were equally fun to write. Both are set in places where I’ve lived—Grand Rapids, Michigan, and Celina, Ohio—although I changed Celina to Dreamfield, Indiana. Sounds better. And it’s more suggestive. Anyway, I was able to explore my experiences, for better and for worse, in those places, and I had a good time satirizing the people that lived there. Both novels involved large measures of research, but nowhere near as much as Technologized Desire, a book of cultural and literary theory, which was definitely the hardest to write. It’s a culmination of about twelve years of research, drafting and revision. In it, I study and analyze postmodern science fiction films and novels in an attempt to develop a “postcapitalist” theory of selfhood, technology, subjectivity and the body. My primary texts include Cameron Crowe’s Vanilla Sky, William S. Burroughs’ cut-up trilogy, Sam Raimi’s Army of Darkness, Max Barry’s Jennifer Government, and the Wachowski Bros.’ Matrix trilogy. I read these texts by way of a wide variety of philosophies and theories on electronic media, image-culture, postmodernism, etc. It was a big undertaking. Part of me can’t believe I ever finished.

Technologized Desire is a work of criticism. Is this a new genre for you? Why did you decide to write it?

I’ve been writing criticism for awhile now. Technologized Desire is a revision of my Ph.D. dissertation, and I’m a college professor, so criticism comes with the territory. I’ve published several essays, mainly on films, and I write lots of book reviews for academic journals. In the wake of Technologized Desire, I’ve been contracted to write a book on John Carpenter’s They Live for UK publisher Wallflower Press’s cultographies series. I’ve always liked the interplay between writing fiction and nonfiction; they feed off of and sharpen one another.

What first attracted you to Bizarro fiction? What is the writing process like for this kind of story?

The term “Bizarro fiction” is actually something that emerged around my writing and the writing of a few other authors. I didn’t find Bizarro, in other words. You could say it found me.

Different people are attracted to Bizarro for different reasons. Some people just like weird, funny stuff, and to varying degrees of success and technical application, Bizarro is almost invariably weird and funny. Good Bizarro, however, is not simply that way for the sake of it. Personally, with my Bizarro texts, I try to test the limits of narrative, create and entertain irreal characters and worlds, represent the absurdity of mediatized society and culture, explore the vicissitudes of unconsciousness and desire, and critique the nature of technocapitalist (pseudo)reality. Above all, though, I want to entertain readers, and I want them to laugh, or at least smile. If they don’t, I’ve failed.

The writing process for Bizarro is the same as any other type of writing, for me anyway. No matter what sort of narrative I’m composing, I write best in the morning with coffee. I don’t write for long periods of time, but I try to write every day. With novels, I construct fairly detailed notes and outlines that I usually diverge from, but they make for good scaffolding and security. I don’t consciously try to think up strange or wacky things. I just write what I like. In fact, a lot of the writing I do is for my own entertainment. Most stories and books bore me. I’m aware of my shortcomings and inadequacies as an author, but if nothing else, I do think my writing is unique.

What can Bizarro fiction do that other genres can’t? Do you see any advantages in other genres over Bizarro fiction?

The best thing about Bizarro is deigetic, thematic and stylistic freedom. There are boundaries, primarily in terms of editorial preferences and tastes, but Bizarro is not bound by the formulaic manacles of much genre literature, and it often combines elements from multiple genres. A narrative doesn’t have to be Bizarro to be multigeneric, though. Bizarro has been equated with darkly humorous cult films. I think this is true, although, as with many cult films, some Bizarro narratives are just gratuitously sloppy, juvenile, violent, sexual, misogynist, etc.—and not in a so-bad-it’s-good way. I prefer highly stylized and thoughtful narratives that are as humorous as they are compelling in terms of characterization, setting, dialogue and theme, if only retroactively. Like the Tarantino/Rodriguez Grindhouse films, I guess. But that’s personal preference, and by no means do my tastes account for all Bizarro.

Is there any specific action you’ve found helpful for generating ideas? How do you prevent or overcome writer’s block?

I don’t really get writer’s block. Honestly I don’t believe in it. Writers will write no matter what. And there are ideas everywhere. Look out the window. Or open a book. Or turn on the TV. Writing is tweaking, extrapolating, expanding and developing. I find a lot of my material watching CNN and FOX News. And I always carry around a small mohair-bound journal to record ideas, observations, etc.

Where can readers find your work?

My official website is probably the best place. There are links to places where my books can be bought online (e.g. Amazon, B&N, etc.) There are also links to select stories and interviews that have been published in online venues as well as reviews of my books, news updates, a complete bibliography of my work, and some other stuff.




Sha’Daa: Tales of the Apocalypse, edited by Edward F. McKeown
reviewed by M. Arkenberg

“Even in a field that prides itself upon being unique, Sha’Daa: Tales of the Apocalypse, is a most unusual book,” Mike Resnick says in the introduction to this outstanding book, and that is undoubtedly true. Part anthology, part round-robin novel (Remember long road trips with your siblings, where one of you began a story and the rest kept adding onto it until it was an unmanageable Behemoth? This is a version of that with self-control, and all the Behemoths are intentional), part apocalyptic fiction, part Lovecraftian cosmic horror, this is easily the most unique thing I’ve read all year, and I recommend it highly.

Every 10,000 years, the veil is lifted between our world and a world of demonic horrors; this time is known as the Sha’Daa. The idea is Michael H. Hanson’s, and Hanson created the outline for this anthology/novel, as well as writing the Prologue, Epilogue, and (what may be my favorite part of this book) the many and wonderfully creepy Interludes between chapters. However, while this book can be read all the way through as a post-apocalyptic novel, I find that for rereading, the individual authors’ chapters make fine stand-alone short stories.

My personal favorite is D. R. MacMaster’s “The Dixie Chrononauts,” the story of a group of Civil War re-enactors who are transported to the approximate time of the battle of Gettysburg. A mysterious character named Wraith makes the journey with them—and conjures gigantic monsters to hold back our heroes while he opens the portal of the Sha’Daa! This story was a lot of fun, with some highly memorable images. It will certainly make me look askance at the Confederate re-enactors at the local living museum next time I go!

Another highly recommended story is “Tunguska Outpact” by Deborah Koren. As if boyfriend troubles weren’t enough for Kate, her “broken” Rolex is counting down to the beginning of the Sha’Daa, and she must help a mysterious shaman hold back the demons that threaten to enter our world. The emotion in this piece is strong and well-rendered, particularly in the flashback scenes.

Finally, I must close with a few lines about The Salesman, a character who recurs in almost every story. It feels wrong to slap the adjective “quirky” onto an immortal, inter-dimensional being, I’ll simply mention that in Deborah Koren's “Tunguska Outpact,” he trades a Rolex that counts down to the beginning of the Sha’Daa for a teddy bear.

If that doesn’t make you want to read this book, what will?

Sha’Daa: Tales of the Apocalypse may be purchased from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Cyberwizard Productions.

For more information, see Michael H. Hanson’s Sha’Daa site.

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Megan Arkenberg is the editor of Mirror Dance and its sister publication, the historical fiction e-zine Lacuna. She is also the proud owner of a Sha’Daa: Tales of the Apocalypse autographed poster.