Sarah Avery is an escaped academic who taught way too many sections of freshman composition. After earning a doctorate in English with a dissertation on modernist poetry, she spent a few weeks driving around the Adirondacks blasting Tori Amos on the car stereo and asking herself, What would happen if I stopped holding back? The answer turned out to be a return to her first literary love, fantasy fiction. As a mildly entrepreneurial private tutor, she’s able to get almost all the best parts of teaching with almost none of the annoying parts.
Human Bones
John Giezentanner
Theod didn't like to think of it as depression that had him lingering by the tracks, readying to jump at the right moment. It felt more like advanced boredom, but neither did he like ennui, as the insufferably hip named it. He refused to join those ranks, and while he didn't really want to hurt himself, he wouldn't mind being dead if it meant he didn't have to get up and go to work in the morning.
So.
He jumped an instant too late to catch the brunt of it and instead of granting oblivion the engine merely clipped his forearm and deflected him back onto the platform. Yet in that moment of brutal physics he saw his arm hinge on a new joint, so he lay gasping on the wet concrete, viewing a vivisected forearm. It was open from the top of his hand almost to his elbow, the skin and connective tissue flayed, the muscle pulled aside to show the shattered bones beneath. Blood welled up, but there was no pain. Instead he felt giddy, his shoulders quivering with laughter. There was some fine white powder in the breaks, and small shards. He picked up one of the larger fragments with his good hand. It didn't look or feel like he expected. It was glassy on the outer surface and the edge was sharp. It was… ceramic, like a broken tea cup.
Bone China!
He collapsed in hysterics, pounding the ground with his good fist. He could barely feel it. There were people placing hands on him. Voices. His eyes watered and he was miserably hot and nauseous. In his last moment of consciousness he realized he was blind and panicked at the darkness.
Detached, he saw himself disembarking an automated train at a resource depot. The rust-red walls of the city were still visible, towers rising yet higher to a slate sky, yet there were no humans here. Instead, great harvesting machines worked, grinding up the old sprawl, returning heaps of concrete, steel and plastic to the depot. He hurried into a district the harvesters had yet to reach, losing sight of the city behind the ruins. Away from the noise pronghorn grazed above crumbled asphalt. The sprawl meandered pointlessly, endlessly via strips of dense sagebrush between boxy ruins. Lost in the labyrinth, he began to think of the tribes of cannibals and abominations they said still existed out in the sprawl. The sky turned red, and growing desperation goaded him into the open door of a two story building that had been some kind of domicile. He followed stairs down into the basement to hide, but was surprised to find a heavy steel door there. It swung on greased hinges and the stairs went down and down. The LED's of ancient computers still flickered in the dark, vast space, and he was drawn to a glowing screen. But a painful noise startled him, the roar of the harvesters biting into the house, bringing it all down, and there were shapes on the opposite wall, advertisements, a window, a bushy ponderosa outside, and he realized that he was the one moaning.
"Back with us?" someone asked.
It took some effort, but he nodded.
"Do you know where you are?"
He found himself in a tiny, sterile room with one door, one window, and a bespectacled, gracefully aging man in scrubs asking questions.
Grasping for words, he made a guess. "Hospital?"
"I'm doctor Athew. I had the pleasure of fixing you up today." He described the surgery that had mended Theod's arm in the few hours since the accident; it would soon be good as new. Reading off the charts in his glasses, he detailed the therapy and prescription that would be needed to speed his recovery, never inquiring about his mental state. He had probably not seen a suicide attempt in many years; people were mostly content since the Strife ended. Content with their jobs, their families, the city—even their goddamn ennui.
Theod's eyes hurt as he struggled to keep up with the doctor, so he shut them. The dream was still vivid behind his eyelids, like a deeply nested memory suddenly recalled. The words from the screen were still clear, though nonsensical. He spoke to take his mind off it. "I thought there was something wrong with me. My bones didn't look… real. Like they were made of some kind of… concrete or ceramic or something."
Dr. Athew smiled, bemused. "Well, there was something wrong with you—you were hit by a train. Don't worry, they looked perfectly real to me."
Theod nodded, and had to smirk. He looked down at his bandaged arm. Beneath the wrapping it was impossible to see that any harm had befallen it, and he felt only a dull ache. He reached out to touch it with his good hand.
"If you'd like we could arrange for you to stay the night—"
Something fell from Theod's hand, landing on his chest. He picked it up carefully, squinting. It was a white chunk half the size of his fingertip, rough and dense on the broken underside, smooth and shiny on the curved outer surface. The jagged edge was sharp as obsidian. He noticed the dried blood where it had cut into his palm. And the doctor staring past his glasses at it.
"—In fact, I might need to alter your prescription a bit. I'll have the nurse bring you something to help you rest." He forced a quick smile and left, closing the door behind him.
Theod sat up quickly, doubling over as his vision momentarily browned out. He anticipated roaring harvesters to wake him again, but there was the shard of not-bone in his hand and the doctor's lie. And the words on the screen.
We made you to be us in our absence.
His mind spun with confusion, repulsion, horror… everything but ennui.
Dr. Athew found the room empty. For the patient's safety, he had locked the door. But not the window.
© 2015 by John Giezentanner
* * *
If John Giezentanner were a dinosaur, he’d be either an Allosaurus or a Deinonychus. He lives in Denver and works in Boulder, Colorado (two places dinosaurs once roamed) removing invasive plant species from protected Open Space land. Invasive species are one of the biggest threats to global biodiversity, so, you know, it’s pretty important.
Bandit
John H. Stevens
I was mowing the lawn on my tractor when a raccoon jumped out from a line of trees. Luckily I stopped in time. The raccoon waddled to the side and I continued on. I was amazed to find the raccoon keeping pace with the tractor.
I decided to name the raccoon Bandit. It's not the most original name but riding around the lawn doesn't lend itself to creativity.
"Where do you live?" I asked. Bandit didn't answer. Raccoons don't talk but you knew that, didn't you. That didn't stop me from having a conversation with him.
"Are you married?" By the look on his face, I could tell he wasn't the kind that settles down. He was a wild one.
After I finished mowing, I fetched a peanut from the kitchen and offered it to Bandit. Bandit was leery of me at first but he decided a peanut was worth the risk. I told you he was wild. He stretched his little hand and took the peanut. He was about to go on his way but quickly came back and bit my hand. He's a wild son of a bitch.
The next week, Bandit came back. We mowed the grass together. Time passes faster when you have someone to talk to. I haven't had someone to talk to since my wife and son went away.
This time I was prepared for Bandit. After we finished, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a peanut. I learned my lesson and I dropped the peanut on the grass. When Bandit reached for the nut, I pulled out a gun and put a bullet in his head.
It wasn't a sad thing. I brought him inside and I had someone to talk to everyday that week. Unfortunately, Bandit started to get a smell to him. I tried to put up with it as long as I could—he was great to talk to—but eventually he had to go away.
I put him in the deep freezer. It wasn't
a sad thing. He has my wife and son to talk to.
© 2015 by John H. Stevens.
* * *
John H. Stevens lives with his lovely wife, Geraldine and daughter Katie in the suburbs of Chicago after growing up near Wrigley Field. During the day, he’s a mild-mannered Systems Programmer. At night, he tries to come up with ideas for horror stories despite his dogs’ demand to play with them. His scariest secret is he's a Cub's fan.
Graphic Story: Shamrock
Josh Brown & John Fortune
Interview with Author Jim Hines
Jim C. Hines' latest novel is Unbound, the third in his Magic ex Libris series about a magic-wielding librarian, a dryad, a secret society founded by Johannes Gutenberg, a flaming spider, and an enchanted convertible. He's also the author of the Goblin Quest series, the humorous tale of a nearsighted goblin runt and his pet fire-spider which actor and author Wil Wheaton described the book as "too f***ing cool for words," as well as the Princess series of fairy tale retellings, which features Snow White as a witch, Sleeping Beauty as a master martial artist, and a Cinderella with an enchanted glass sword. His short fiction has appeared in more than 50 magazines and anthologies.
Jim is an active blogger about topics ranging from sexism and harassment to zombie-themed Christmas carols, and won the Hugo Award for Best Fan Writer in 2012. He has an undergraduate degree in psychology and a Masters in English, and lives with his wife and two children in mid-Michigan. You can find him online at www.jimchines.com.
Q&A
Iulian: Jim, I can trace your first works to the early 2000s. Since then you've put 9 fantasy novels under your belt and lots and lots of short stories. How was your life before all that? How/where did you grow up, any particular influences in your life, and, of course, what jobs have you had/have alongside your writing career?
Jim: I grew up in Michigan, and when I finished high school I originally wanted to become a psychologist. Four years in an undergraduate psychology program killed that dream—too much emphasis on statistics and doing original, publishable research, and very little actual working with people. I did a Master's program in English, with a vague idea about teaching at the community college level. The lack of available teaching jobs led to a move to Nevada, where I learned how to fix computers. Those skills got me a job with the State of Michigan, which is where I work now, because unfortunately, writing novels doesn't come with benefits or a stable paycheck.
When it comes to writing-how did you start, what pushed you to in that direction, and when did you know that you were ready?
I dabbled in writing growing up. I'd write these horrible one-page stories, completely ridiculous, for the sole purpose of getting a laugh. As far as I know, only one friend still has copies of those, and I'm hopeful she'll keep them hidden until after I'm dead. But I loved that I could write something and make people smile and laugh.
Later on, in college, I started writing a few short stories about our Dungeons & Dragons characters. Yeah, I was that geek. But I found I really enjoyed writing fiction, and soon I was applying to Clarion and submitting stories to magazines and getting rejected all over the place.
As for really feeling ready, I'll let you know when it happens.
What can you name as main influences to your style, themes, motifs? I know you've mentioned before that playing Dungeons and Dragons in your youth had something to do with it. Where there any others?
I mentioned the D&D. I've also been a big SF/F reader for most of my life, so this is the genre that feels like home to me. I enjoy humor, and try to work lighter and funnier moments even into my more serious work. Once I was married and had children, I found myself writing about various family themes. If not for my daughter, I don't know that I would have ever started writing my Princess series.
Your style is different than what one would expect when thinking about fantasy. There's humor, likeable goblins, and badass princesses. How hard is it to write good fantasy humor (and we know it's hard because there's not a lot of it!)?
It's hard to write good fiction, period. Writing humor is a skill like any other. It takes practice, and you're going to fail sometimes. Just like I had to learn how to develop fantasy worlds and characters, how to invent magical systems, how to plot stories, and so on, I also had to learn how to create humor in a way that didn't derail or interfere with the story. Some of it is wordplay, some of it is setting up characters and voices that conflict in entertaining ways. And some of it is the fact that I've had 40 years' experience being a smart-ass, which gives me a lot to draw on.
What would you call the defining moment in your writing career, the moment when you knew you turned pro? What story, market, or anthology had a part in that?
There have been a lot of moments. Getting the phone call that I’d taken first place in Writers of the Future was huge. My first professional sale to a magazine. Selling a story to Esther Friesner's Turn the Other Chick anthology was a turning point, because I had always loved those books. To see one of my stories in a Chicks anthology was awesome.
Selling Goblin Quest to a major publisher was probably the biggest turning point. Looking back, that's where a lot of things changed for me.
But I also want to point to a moment in early 2001. There were no particular sales or milestones, but that's when I had come back from Nevada and was job-hunting here in Michigan. I ended up taking a job specifically because it would allow me to devote more energy to writing. I feel like I was making a conscious decision to stop messing around and really give this writing thing everything I had. It wasn't a dramatic moment, but it was an important one.
Tell us a little bit about the Magic Ex Libris series, and especially about Unbound which is about to be published on January 6, just two days from now?
Magic ex Libris is a modern-day fantasy series. Most people classify it as urban fantasy, even though the protagonist, Isaac Vainio, is from Michigan's Upper Peninsula, which is about as far from urban as you can get. Isaac has the ability to reach into books and pull out anything from the story that will fit through the pages. And he's a major SF/F geek, meaning he's running around with laser swords and disruptor weapons and magic potions and all sorts of fun stuff.
There's also Lena Greenwood, a dryad with a pair of wooden swords, Nidhi Shah, a psychiatrist whose job is to try to keep all of these magic people sane, and of course, Smudge the fire-spider.
In some ways, these books have been my love letter to the genre. They're also about hope and optimism. I've read a lot of grim and gritty fiction, and while there's nothing inherently wrong with that, I personally prefer more of that hope, that sense of wonder. Isaac loves magic. He thinks it's amazing in all its forms, and he's constantly searching for new ways of using it. It's let me have a lot of fun with the books.
There will be at least four books in the series, but book three (Unbound) wraps up a lot of things I've been working with. Isaac has had a pretty rough time of it, and he starts out in a darker place, trying to repair some mistakes from Libriomancer and Codex Born. There are monsters and thousand-year-old mysteries and lightning guns and battles at Fort Michilimackinac and all sorts of fun stuff.
It looks to me like you are focusing a lot on novels (correct me if I'm wrong). What is your current stance on short stories? Is this something that takes away time from novel writing, or is it a good vessel for stirring up your imagination? What are short stories for you?
I enjoy writing novels and short stories both, but the reality is, novels pay significantly better, and that's something I've got to consider. At least until we pay off the mortgage and get the kids through college. I still try to do a few short stories each year, and they're a great place to experiment and try new things. It's also nice to take a break from the world of the novels. I've spent three years writing Isaac's story, so it helps to step away and do a short piece about a fairy tale biker gang, you know?
You write speculative fiction (short and long), and non-fiction. What is your writing process, and how do you
manage to juggle so many things? Do you have clear goals set ahead of time, or are you more of a spur of the moment kind of writer?
I write every day during my lunch hour at work. I've found I can be pretty productive with those five hours a week. I also try to get some writing done in the evenings and on weekends. In the beginning, I could get through most of what I needed during my lunch breaks, but that just doesn't cut it anymore.
My deadlines certainly help keep me motivated, as well as giving me clear goals. I know I have to have Revisionary turned in by August 1 of this year, and I know I usually need at least three complete rewrites before I let my editor see a book, so I can do a rough estimate in my head and figure out that…
… aw, crap. I, um, should probably hurry up and finish this interview so I can get back to that book.
If you were to choose one favorite novel and one favorite short story from your own works, which one would it be?
My favorite short story, at least right now, is "Stranger vs. the Malevolent Malignancy," which is available online at Podcastle. I originally wrote it for a humor anthology called Unidentified Funny Objects 2. It's a story about a superhero with terminal cancer. It's probably the most challenging short story I've done to date, but I'm very proud of the results.
Favorite novel? That's harder to say. I love them all for different reasons. Let's just say whatever your favorite of my books is, that's my favorite too. See? We're bonding!
Who do enjoy reading lately? What was the last book that made a big impression, or, perhaps, a book you wish you could've written yourself? Oh, heck, let me go one step further: if you could chose an author to co-write a book with, who would that be and why?
Fantasy Scroll Magazine Issue #5 Page 8