A Truly Epic Interview

Have you ever wondered what your favorite authors would discuss if you put them in a room together? I used to.But now, since I'm living the writing/editing life myself, I imagine that their topics of conversation would be pretty much the same as mine with my local writerly friends... Just like any other professionals who work in a common field, our conversations tend to veer toward work.

Sure, we have friends and families, good times and bad, problems and advice we all discuss, but the common bond that brings us together is literature. The writing of it, the reading of it, the breakdown, structure, grammar, passion, heartache, and joy of allowing it to consume us...

But if you want a more in-depth look at a discussion between two writers, you should take a look at this five-part epic interview. My dear friends Tony Healey and Bernard Schaffer sat down for a Q&A recently. Granted, it's more a one-sided interview than it is a friendly conversation, but Tony is a master interviewer, and Bernard is an excellent interview-ee.

It's well worth sitting down with a warm beverage and your electronic device of choice to get some insight into the mind of a writer. Huh. Maybe with enough views on the sight, we can convince the boys to start a regular vlog or hangout. Then everyone could pick their brains.

Until then, check out the interview and then stop by Amazon to check out their latest collaboration.

Happy Reading!

A Blast from the Past, Dreams of the Future

Three years ago this week, Bernard Schaffer and I came together to begin the Kindle All Stars. Hand in hand, we produced an anthology (Resistance Front) with the intent of paving the way for new, independent authors to find a place to showcase their work. Some have continued to write and enjoy much success; others have chosen to take different paths.

Many of us who continue to work in publishing, be it as writers, editors, or small scale publishers, also continue to keep in touch via social media. One of those writers, possibly the most impressive, is Natasha Whearity.

When I read Natasha's submission to the Resistance Front* project, I demanded that Bernard find a way to use her short story. She was a seventeen-year-old high school student from the UK whose talent, in my opinion, surpassed every other writer whose work I'd seen. There were other brilliant, creative minds who also became part of the group and have thrived, but Natasha stood out as the youngest.

So how could I not invite her to talk to you about Amazon and its affect on her as a young writer as well as her own anthology compiled for charity? This is how the Kindle All-Stars pay it forward.

We Are Such Stuff . . . is available on Amazon

You hear a lot of negative things about independent publishing platforms such as Amazon. A lot of people believe that it is ruining the publishing industry because anyone can publish anything they want to. But for me, Kindle Direct Publishing is a fantastic platform for writers, especially emerging ones, such as myself. What is great about Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing is that it gives aspiring writers and editors the opportunity to say that they have been published.

I’m not saying that publishing houses aren’t fantastic at what they do, because they are brilliant. But there is nothing wrong with Amazon allowing writers the freedom to publish their own work themselves – which is something they might not be able to do through a publishing house if their work is tossed onto a pile of no’s.

If it weren't for Amazon, I would never have had my first short story, "Endgame" published in the Kindle All Stars anthology: Resistance Front, which raised money for a charity supporting missing and exploited children. If it weren't for Amazon and that opportunity, I would never have been able to publish We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On, which is the anthology of work I have just published.

Through publishing We Are Such Stuff, I have had the opportunity of not only raising money for a charity extremely close to my heart (all the proceeds made from the anthology are going to the charity Epilepsy Action UK) but I have been able to use Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing as a platform for my writing, editing, formatting and publishing skills.

If it weren't for Amazon and the opportunity I was given by Bernard, Laurie, and the Kindle All-Stars, I would never have been able to publish work, not only by myself, but by some really fantastic and innovative writers. I have learned so much from publishing this anthology, not just about how important it is to support emerging writers, but how much I love creating and making books. I hope that this project is the first of many.

You can buy a copy of We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On for only £1.53 (or $2.57) and all of the proceeds go to Epilepsy Action. Not only will you support an amazing charity, but the work of some brilliant and blossoming writers.

*Resistance Front and its successor, Carnival of Cryptids, are both still available on Amazon. All proceeds benefit the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Happy Reading!

Catfight and Hell Kitten . . . Really? Really!

Hey y'all! I'm beginning to think there may be a lot of writers in my life (and I will confess that sometimes it seems as though there are too many, but I love them all). I'm fortunate enough to call many of them my friends. I'm also fortunate that when I don't have time to put together a quality blog post for you all to read, they seem to have projects they want to talk about.

So, cutting to the chase, Joshua Unruh has an amazing new project in the works that I will be editing, but he's asking for help from readers of all ages, shapes, sizes, and any other distinction you can imagine. I'll let him tell you the rest while I go work on that project that's been back burnered for far too long.

Oh, and while you're here, check out the artwork he sent me to show off a couple of new characters. Also, stay tuned to the end of this post for last-minute info Josh gave me regarding a contest!

Meet Catfight.

So here’s the deal: I love superheroes and have for most of my life. I will not apologize for this. I know that some of you are wondering why I’d have to apologize. If that’s you wondering, it’s probably because you are very young.

I mean, sure, these days superheroes are making bajillions of dollars on screens across America every summer. But back in the day, I got ridiculed when I had them folded in half and stuffed in my back pocket.

Right now you don’t believe me. And you shouldn’t because that statement was a lie.

Because I would NEVER fold a comic and put it in my back pocket! You keep those damn things in Mylar bags with cardboard backs so they don’t get wrinkled and tell yourself they’re going to finance your college education one day.

Anyway, I love superheroes. But they haven’t stayed as lovable as I’d like. I once read a quote on the internet that went something like, “comics used to be for above average kids, but now they’re for below average adults.”

That statement isn’t entirely true, but it hits close enough to sting. It’s not that there’s too much sex, it’s that there’s too much sexism. And it’s not that there’s too much violence, it’s that the tearing off of arms is celebrated. And it isn’t that all the characters are white…well, actually, it is that all the characters are white. Or all the ones you can name, anyway.

So I’ve decided to do something about it. Now, I can’t draw for crap, but I can write my ass off. So my plan is to serialize prose superhero stories, one a month just like comic books. These stories will star heroes who are women and maybe even (gasp) not white. The stories will be appropriate for all-ages, which is totally different than “for kids.” And if you can’t tell the difference, then you’re the one with the problem.

Most of all these stories will be about heroes.

Somewhere along the line, it became cool to be cynical. Like cynicism is the most reality based way to see the world. Like how you’re naïve or simple or childish if you see the good in people.

Well screw that. Cynicism is the easy way out. Looking for the good in people? Seeing the hopeful possibilities for the future? That is HARD. Damned hard. And we need more examples of it, even fictional ones. So I’m going to write some. And every kid who needs reminded of how worthwhile selflessness and optimism are should see somebody who looks like them making it so.

Say hi to Hell Kitten.

So that’s my grandiose plan. But I’m a working writer. I have to eat. So to make this plan work, I’m using Patreon. Patreon is like an ongoing Kickstarter. You pledge a certain amount of money, and you get dinged for it whenever I publish a story. You can set a limit, though, if I start getting too prolific.

And then, you know the best part? I release that story into the wild for anyone to read for free whether they were a patron or not. Why? Two reasons. First, because I’ve already been paid. Second, because I want people who need to see heroes that look like they do to read my stories. Giving the stories away seems a good way to make that happen.

If you think that sounds worthwhile, then please visit me at www.patreon.com/pulpdictionpress. There are goals to add new things into every story, which are like rewards for my readers. And there are rewards for those who patronize as well.

Superheroes are ordinary people who use their gifts to do the extraordinary. You can be that for me with a click of the pledge button. The cape and tights are optional.

Here's that last-minute contest information I promised you: Josh has a few copies of his already released teen female superhero book, TEEN Agents in the Plundered Parent Protocol, that he has pledged to sign. So here's what you do . . .

If you choose to pledge to Josh's Patreon project, simply return here and leave a comment saying you did so. Your name will be entered into a drawing to win a paperback of the TEEN AGENTS book in addition to receiving the new comics as they are released. He doesn't have a ton to go around for this blog tour, so your chances of winning are obviously based on how many participants there are.

Thank you, Josh, and Happy Reading everyone!

The Bloody North

Well, we've done it again. Tony Healey wrote it; I edited it, and now it's available for your reading pleasure. The first title in Tony's The Fallen Crown series, The Bloody North, is now live on Amazon. It's also only 99 cents for the e-book right now, so grab it! Anyhow, Tony has a bit more to say on the subject, so I'll let him do the rest:

ON WRITING 'THE BLOODY NORTH'

My first exposure to fantasy was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. I saw the old BBC adaptation of it (which I still think stands head and shoulders above both the animated movie and the more recent Disney motion picture) and then found a copy of it in paperback at a car boot sale. I was about nine at the time. I spent months afterward trying to track down copies of all the others. I succeeded, never paying more than about fifty pence for each one. Eventually I had all seven Narnia books lined up on my shelf, each one from a different edition.

A year or so later, I found a box set containing all seven, with cover art to match their respective BBC adaptations. I used that as my excuse for reading them all again from scratch. I still have that same box set now.

In my teens, my uncle loaned me a copy of Spellsinger by Alan Dean Foster, and I proceeded to bug him for the other five, tearing through them at a rate of knots. A few years back, I had the honour of having a short story of mine published alongside Mr. Foster. In that anthology (see: Resistance Front by Bernard Schaffer, Alan Dean Foster, Harlan Ellison, et al.) I dedicated my story to Alan, thanking him for Spellsinger.

If the work of C. S. Lewis had introduced me to fantasy as a genre (at the age I was when I read it, I honestly didn't pick up on all of the religious notes – it was just a good story), then Spellsinger showed me you could take traditional fantasy and inject it with facets of modern life.

From a very early age, we'd had three films on VHS I'd constantly watch, over and over again. The first was The Goonies – recorded off of the TV with commercials included. The other two were Watership Down and The Lord of the Rings.

After reading Spellsinger, my mind turned to those two cartoons I'd watched as a small child. So I read my way through Watership Down, and then tackled The Lord of the Rings at about the same time as The Fellowship of the Ring came out at the cinema. With Watership Down, I got to see world building on par with Narnia, but done in an entirely different way. Set in the world of rabbits, with their own language, their own beliefs, their own mythology. I found it completely fascinating.

The Lord of the Rings was a slog most of the time, but I have happy memories of the experience. It was a long work to tackle in my teens, but I managed it, just about. A recent attempt at a reread failed miserably. I simply lost interest. A lot of that comes from the books I am used to reading now as an adult. They're faster, more concise. To my mind, Tolkien's opus is a must-read for anyone. But I don't think many will delve back in for a second go. It's a huge undertaking. The Lord of the Rings is a classic work of fantasy that truly established a gold standard for the genre at the time. And there have been many attempts by other writers at recreating Middle-Earth in their own work, to varying degrees of success.

Coming out of my teens, The Dark Tower series and J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter were hugely influential to me. What Stephen King accomplishes with The Dark Tower is something he has tried often and succeeded at rarely. That is, telling a long story and holding the reader's attention from start to finish. Some – novels like The Stand and IT – have worked brilliantly. Others . . . ugh. But for whatever reason, The Dark Tower grips you from the first tantalizing sentence ("The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed . . .") and never lets go. It's a little crazy, it's a bit of a mash-up of multiple genres and sources, but that's okay. You take it in your stride. The Dark Tower is King's greatest work. A rich, hugely entertaining epic.

The very same can be said for Rowling's Potter series. I read them one after the other (luckily the last, The Deathly Hallows, was just coming out as I finished The Half-Blood Prince). My habit with those was to sit on the kitchen floor at night, cup of tea by my side and read into the early hours. I lived in a house with six other siblings at the time, so really the kitchen at night was about the most peaceful place for reading.

She did a fantastic job of world-building, of plotting each book out so that it was its own self-contained story, yet progressed the overall plot piece by piece. Readers were literally spellbound (forgive the pun) by the interactions between the characters and the relationships that developed along the way. By the progression of a plot that grew steadily darker and darker – and by what had happened in the past, before the books take place. Certainly the greatest, well-rounded character of the series is not Harry Potter himself, but Severus Snape. Dumbledore's machinations become somewhat omnipresent by the end, whereas Snape comes into his own in what is a truly heartbreaking series of revelations.

Recently, I found myself browsing the kindle store for something new to read when I came across The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie. I got the sample, devoured it in one sitting, and bought the rest of the book.

The next day, I found myself in town buying the whole trilogy in paperback and proceeded to read them one after the other. Abercrombie takes the conventions of the genre and turns them on their head. First of all, he does away with the stilted writing of the past and brings his contemporary voice to Fantasy – complete with swearing, sex, and some of the most complicated characters I've ever come across. Each and every one of them broken in some way.

Glokta, broken in body but not in spirit. Logen Ninefingers, broken inside as he tries (in vain) to turn away from the man he used to be. These two characters begin the story broken and end up whole by the end (though not necessarily better people as a result) whilst the character of Luthar begins whole and is steadily broken first in body, then in spirit. Abercrombie writes a kind of fantasy that critics and readers alike have come to coin "Grimdark." I guess it had its beginnings in the work of Robert E. Howard way back when, and I reckon there were the seeds of it in the dark deeds that went (mostly) unseen, in the background, throughout The Lord of The Rings. If Aragorn and company spent the majority of those books fighting nameless, faceless hordes of Orcs with little repercussions for their deeds, Abercrombie makes every kill resonate.

Men fight men, with all the horrific slaughter and detail involved. And when the fight is over, when most of them have died, the survivors are left with their guilt and their shame and their hurt. Left to deal with it all on their own.

It's no wonder, in Abercrombie's fictional setting, that Logen turned out the way he did.

But what some reviewers of The Blade Itself have criticized it, and its sequels, for is its lack of hope, and I have to disagree there. I found plenty of hope in The First Law trilogy. It's there, trust me. What Abercrombie does is to counter-balance these moments, these flashes of characters achieving the positive, with the darkness. If a character is winning in one chapter, the next time we meet them, their luck has taken a turn for the worst.

Is that fair? Probably not. But is it realistic to what we experience in real life?

Yeah.

I took a similar approach in The Bloody North, by having a character consumed with grief to the point where he'd almost stopped living. He just existed – until, that is, his company is slaughtered in front of him and he's left on his own. What ensues is a bloody path of vengeance as Rowan comes to terms with all that he's lost and his quest to destroy the man who took it all away from him. Along the way we get to know some of the world in which The Fallen Crown series takes place.

This just the first small chapter in a truly epic story. If you think The Bloody North sets the stage, well . . . wait till you read Book 2. Boy, oh boy, is it going to blow your socks off.

Next level doesn't cut it.

Thank you, Tony.

Happy Reading!

To Beta or Not to Beta. . .

That's my question.

I'm not a big user of beta readers when I write. My editor is the toughest critic of my work, next to me, so when I'm soliciting feedback, the most important opinion is his.

That said, if I send out a beta copy of my own work, I'm not usually looking for editing advice; I'm simply asking for a review.

But most of the writers for whom I edit are quite different from me. One doesn't use betas at all. He puts out a "call to arms" on twitter if he needs reviews, so he doesn't always get the same readers. One uses betas solely for review purposes and generally ignores any other suggestions. But one. . .sigh. . .seems to be afraid to make any sort of move without approval from a few excellent beta readers with whom she's worked for several years.

It works for her. She is by far the most successful author I've edited. But at what cost?

The others are so free, creatively. However, she worries herself sick over some of the tiniest little details.

I do that as well sometimes, but that's my job. If a book sucks, many readers these days blame the editor.

Perhaps I'm overthinking as my latest editing project sits in the hands of beta readers.

Writers: I'd love your opinion on this one.

Happy Reading!

Survey

Hey y'all! This week's post comes from my need to settle a debate between one of my favorite authors and myself. It is 100% self-serving, and I am fully aware of that fact, so please don't leave any negative comments to chastise me. ;)

I would like to know what my readers think about my writing vs. my editing. I mean, if you didn't like my editing, you wouldn't purchase the books my clients produce, so I have some idea of what you all are looking for when it comes to putting out a piece of fiction. But this time, I'm looking for a bit of feedback regarding bylines.

Have you read Tony's FFH series yet?
This collaboration is set in the same Universe.

Some of the books I've helped produce in the past couple of years required little more than a quick proofread and feedback session; others have required a complete rewrite. In fact, I sent back one novel recently that I did completely rewrite because the author just did not seem to be "getting it."

Having said all that, I'm going to let you in on the big secret. I've teased you a bit with my latest writing project. (No, I do NOT mean my latest crochet book.) I am collaborating with Tony Healey on what will likely become a 90K-word novel, sci-fi, of course.

In the past, my work with Tony (We fondly refer to them as Healiberte productions.) has received only editorial credit regardless of my level of involvement. Some pieces were super-quick and got barely a once-over because he was able to bang them together with ease; a few required much more effort on my part because I know his style, his potential, and his standards.

This latest is a true collaboration right out of the gate. It's 50/50, give or take. Now, I'm not a person who requires, or even wants, the spotlight, but I was working and thinking this morning, and I wondered which would sell better: a book bearing Tony's name as writer and mine as editor, or a book that showed both of us as co-writers.

So please, take a moment to chime in and give me your feedback below or in an email to kindleallstars at gmail dot com and let me know what you think. Are you more or less likely to purchase a book that has BOTH our names on the byline?

Happy Reading!

Call Me a Tease if You Must . . .

. . . just so long as you call me. ;)

Hey all! I've been sick, and working, and working, and sick. Right now, my priorities include projects with Tony Healey, Bernard Schaffer, Reeni Austin, and a newbie by the name of Tony DePaul. However, we all know I try to squeeze in some crochet time whenever I can because it maintains my sanity.

Of course, crochet for me is more than just pleasure; it's work. Rarely do I crochet only for the love of the craft. Chances are, if you see a hook in my hand, I'm working on a gift for a friend, an item for a craft show, or a sample for a new pattern.

Over last weekend, it was a sample called "Movie Night." I actually sketched out the design two or three years ago and then it sat, waiting for me to get back to it. The problem with the creative process, whether designing crafts, writing music, or writing prose or poetry, is that when it rains, it pours.

Once I get started, I can't stop. I sketched out about fifteen designs all at once and this one got lost in the shuffle, but it's always been in the back of my mind to finish it. I even bought the yarn for the sample way back when.

You see, the reason I named it "Movie Night" is that it was inspired by the red-and-white striped boxes that the old theatres used to serve popcorn. The basic design will be on a plane of white with red stripes in the form of post stitches and embellished with yellow popcorn stitches.

I've only reached the point where the pattern for the towel is worked out and written, but I'm pretty excited about it.

Meanwhile, the latest crochet book is well on its way to being finished. All of the samples are done except for one which needs pictures to be taken step-by-step for part of the pattern. And the clearer, more formal writing of the instructions and formatting need to be laid out.

So what else could I possibly have going on? Well, there's a serial I'm co-writing with Tony Healey that I hope we'll be able to reveal officially next month, and a couple of story ideas I'm developing with/for Reeni Austin that I hope we'll be able to publish within the next couple of months. That one's been slower going than I expected. Friends, a word of advice: writing is fairly easy, but writing romance is HARD!

Anyhow, I'll keep you posted, so stay tuned.

Namaste.

A Day Late, But Well Rested

My apologies, folks, for yesterday's SNAFU. I woke up early, got a little work done, then closed my eyes, "just for an hour or so." I slept, quite soundly, for the next twelve hours. Then I got up, microwaved dinner, watched a bit of TV, and went to bed.

Such is life with chronic fatigue and a drive to get things done. I have a tendency to push myself past my limits and then pay for it when my body finally says, "no more." Welp, I pushed myself on Saturday and figured I could just drop the blog post into place a few hours late on Sunday, and all would be well. Wrong.

Anyhow, I guarantee it was worth the wait because the official launch of my pal M. L. Adams's first novel Cyber Dawn is tomorrow, but you get a double sneak peek. You see, as Mike's editor, I get access to the finished manuscript which means I get to post the first few pages here for you to sample. AND I happen to know the full book, both Kindle and paperback are already loaded to Amazon just in case you want to read the rest.

While Cyber Dawn is an excellent stand-alone novel, it may very well end up as first in a series. So read this, then we'll tell you a bit more about the author.

**********

Prologue

The eleven-year-old boy stared wide-eyed at the sleek silver and black cybernetic leg. He'd seen mock-ups of course. Even tried on a few as they worked to get the sizing just right. 

This is the real thing, he thought. That's my new leg.

His heart raced at the thought of being whole again.

He tore his eyes away and looked around the surgical room. The stainless steel furniture, bright lights, and adults wearing hospital scrubs, all reminded him of his last surgery. It even smelled the same – like when his house was freshly cleaned. But to the boy, it felt different. The last time he'd been in a room just like it, they had taken his leg to keep a cancerous tumor from spreading. Something the oncologist called a synovial sarcoma. Now, they were giving him a leg back. 

An even better one.

He gazed down at the end of the bed and stared at the single hump his left foot formed under the sheets. When he'd woken up from his last surgery, groggy and disoriented from the anesthesia, his eyes tried to focus on his missing foot. His brain told him it was there. He could still feel it as part of his body. But his eyes saw something different. Where there should be two humps, there was only one.

Later, the doctors told him the sensation he felt – of his leg being there when it wasn't – was called phantom pain. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out the phantom part. The pain sure felt real enough.

He pushed the memory to the back of his mind and stared at the ceiling. He wouldn't look down again until after the surgery. Not until there were two humps.

"Okay, it's time," said a nurse from somewhere off to his right. "You're already an old pro at this. Should be a piece of cake."

She pulled a piece of surgical tubing tight around his arm. She then tapped the skin with the back of her fingers and inserted the needle. The prick used to hurt, but now it barely registered.

"You'll feel a warm sensation flow into your arm and then throughout your body," she said. "When I tell you, start counting back from one hundred."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

A few moments later, he felt the warm liquid flow into his veins. At the nurse's prompt, he began to count backwards.

"100 ... 99 ... 98 ... 97 ... 96 ... "

1

Six years later

The CyberLife Industries Non-Disclosure Agreement I signed contains a long list of forbidden activities. Near the top, just under you will NOT attempt to access or otherwise modify your cybernetic system, are the words: you will NOT participate in contact sports. Of course, the second my parents hopped on a plane to Europe for two months, I forged the permission slip to try out for my high school football team. 

For exactly forty days, it was the best decision of my life. I made the team, started three games at wide receiver, and met a ton of new friends. I even scored a date with the head of the cheerleading squad. For the first time in six years, life was normal. Instead of a lab rat, I felt like an actual teenager.

That was all before the helmet-on-helmet hit.

The medic at the game on Friday night diagnosed me with a concussion. But I knew better. I knew right away what it was. The hit screwed up my neural cybernetic augment. 

* * *

By early Monday morning, the headache was so bad I called Megan, my cybernetic systems technician. Not surprisingly, she totally freaked out. After a half-dozen or so expletives, she demanded I meet her right away. 

For almost three hours, I'd been lying on a cold, stainless steel surgical table in a secret underground laboratory at the CyberLife headquarters. Normally I didn't mind our early morning appointments. Three hours was a lot of time for a nap or, in extreme cases, to cram for an exam or finish a homework assignment. With a midterm starting in less than an hour, I actually needed to study. My headache wouldn't allow it.

I looked over at Megan. She sat at the lab's lone workstation, hunched over a laptop. Her fingers moved rapidly, filling the otherwise quiet space with the sound of clattering keys. A light blue CyberLife lab coat covered her slender body. Her long, blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her blue eyes sparkled from the light of the laptop screen. Despite the boredom, and the pain, I smiled to myself. Even mad, she sure is easy to look at, I thought.

Megan tried to hide it, but I knew she was watching me in her peripheral vision. I could feel the anger flowing from her eyes. Anger because I disobeyed her direct orders. Anger because I woke her up at three in the morning. But most of all, anger because I let her down. 

"Megan, how much longer?" I asked.

Without answering, she stood and walked in my direction. She stopped at the bank of diagnostic monitors sitting on a wheeled cart near my table. The monitors, connected wirelessly to my various cybernetic components, displayed the status of my heart rate, blood pressure, and other vital systems – human and cybernetic. Placing both hands on the cart's handle, she began to push it back toward her workstation.

"Almost done?" I asked.

With a heavy sigh, Megan stopped the cart and turned to face me. "Benjamin, you do realize I'm in the process of repairing your brain?"

I swallowed hard. 

"Keep distracting me," she said as she pointed at one of the monitors. "And I might accidentally make this little zero here a one. The next thing you know, Ben's taking first-grade math again."

"And that's a downgrade?" I laughed. "You know I suck at math."

Megan opened her mouth to respond, but instead shook her head and stormed back to her workstation.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

Idiot.

I spent the next ten minutes looking around the small laboratory in an attempt to focus on something – anything really – other than the pain in my head. Up until earlier that day, I thought I had been in every lab at CyberLife. Both at the headquarters in Brookwood, Colorado, where I'd spent all morning, and the secret research campus in the mountains west of town, where I spent most of my teenage years. However, this one was new and, in my opinion, barely qualified as a lab. It was dimly lit, had no heat, and was four stories under ground. The only furniture was Megan's workstation and my cold, stainless steel, surgical table. The room seemed more like a medieval dungeon than a place where she should be performing high-tech surgery on my brain.

"Why are we down here?" I asked, determined to strike up a conversation. "Is this even a lab?"

Megan walked over and set her laptop down on the table next to me. "If you must know," she said. "We're down here because my idiot teenage patient decided to play football, got himself smacked in the head, and just about scrambled the cybernetic augment attached to his brain."

I sat still, suddenly wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.

"And, so Dr. Merrick doesn't find out," she continued. "I decided we should meet down here this morning instead of in my office, which is two doors down from his."

Megan folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. "Make sense?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, makes sense."

"Good." She turned back to her laptop. "Now shut up so I can finish."

"Any idea how much longer?"

Megan sighed and shook her head. "You're impossible Benjamin."

"I have a math mid-term at eight."

She glanced at her watch and resumed the rapid fire typing. "Lucky for you, I've figured out the problem. Just need to upload a new software build."

I groaned. New software meant new bugs. The last thing I needed was a system malfunction during mid-term exam week. Then again, being virtually stabbed in the foot every minute during an exam would do little to help either. Instead of arguing, I lay back down on the table. Wearing only my boxers and socks, the cold metal surface sent a shiver up my spine. 

"You look cold," she said. "Want to borrow my coat? I just need to tweak a few more things before we get started with the upload."

"You read my mind," I said. "It's freezing in here."

Megan slipped off her lab coat and placed it over my legs. She wore a tight, light blue sweater and khaki pants. The outfit provided enough of a distraction that I didn't notice her hands slide under the coat. She wrapped her ice cold fingers around my bare leg.

"Megan!"

I shot forward and tried to push, pull, and claw her hands off me. It was no use. I had learned long ago that the cute, blue-eyed blonde was freakishly strong.

"Your hands are freezing!"

Her grip tightened. "Oh, they are? I had no idea."

I tried to punch her shoulder, but she dodged out of the way, and I almost fell off the table.

"Not funny Megan!"

"Oh, don't be such a big baby." She let go and tucked her lab coat tight around my legs. "There, is that better?"

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled. "You cheated and tweaked the temperature sensors in my leg, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Her grin widened.

I shook my head and cursed the CyberLife engineers who had made my leg so damn realistic. Not only was it nearly impossible to detect visually, its lifelike synthetic skin could sense touch as well as a range of temperatures and relay the associated sensation to my brain. 

"How's your head?"

"Still hurts."

"You sure?"

Several moments later, I let out a deep sigh of relief. The headache was gone. Cute, strong, and ridiculously good at her job, I thought. "Thanks Megan. You're the best."

"No problem," she answered. "And while I question that your brain is still intact and functioning correctly, my tests revealed no major damage."

"So what happened?"

With a shrug, she said, "I think the impact occurred just as your augment was feeding stored Cytoxinol into your system. The process was interrupted, and a software bug kept it from starting again. The lack of Cytoxinol caused your headache. To be honest, I'm surprised it didn't result in more problems. You were lucky."

I whistled softly. Cytoxinol was a CyberLife-manufactured drug I took daily. I didn't know the details, only that it somehow kept my body and my cybernetic system in balance.

"What if I didn't call you to get it fixed?" I asked.

"You'd have been dead in two days."

My mouth fell open as I waited for the punch line. When one didn't come, I said, "Dead?"

"I'm serious Ben," Megan replied. "You're taking Cytoxinol for a reason. Without it, your cybernetic augments would poison you." 

I let out a deep breath. Joining the football team now seemed like a pretty dumb idea.

Megan squeezed my arm. "Now you know why I was so angry?"

"Was angry?"

"Am angry. Don't push your luck." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a black data cable. "Since you're in a hurry, I'll use the wire. It transfers data a hundred times faster." 

Before I could protest, she bent down and slipped her hands up my boxer shorts. I tensed, both because I expected her hands to be cold and because she had her fingers wrapped around my upper thigh.

"Easy there Benjamin," she said.

"Geez Megan, a little notice next time?"

"Oh, like you're not used to it," she joked. "I've been putting my hands in your pants for three years."

My face flushed red. "Megan, seriously?"

She laughed, tucked her fingers under the synthetic skin, and rolled it down past my knee. My cybernetic leg's rigid, titanium alloy shell and flexible Kevlar fabric muscles made it look like something out of a science fiction movie. Even now, six years later, I had to look twice to convince my brain it really was my leg.

After plugging in the cable and entering a series of commands on her laptop, Megan sat on the corner of the table and crossed her arms. 

"Okay Benjamin, you've got ten minutes," she said, a serious look on her face. "Start talking."

"Talk?" I replied tentatively.

She scowled and leaned in close. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Tell me why, of all the things you could possibly do, you decided to join the football team? Not the golf team. Not the debate team or the chess team. The full-contact football team." 

At that moment, I realized the true downside to the sparse, underground lab.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

**********

About M.L. Adams

M.L. Adams was born in the Midwest and raised in Colorado. His parents, both avid readers, instilled a love for books at an early age. His 3rd and 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Watson, encouraged a passion for writing. Cyber Dawn includes many of his experiences as a childhood cancer survivor and amputee. He still lives in Colorado with his wife and two children.

Feel free to contact him at: author.mladams@gmail.com

For news and more information: www.mladams.com

And You All Thought He Was Done

My pal, Tony Healey, and I have been working on the Far From Home series for such a long time that it's gotten more and more difficult to leave with each installment. This novel/novella was not supposed to be written, or released, for several months, but Tony couldn't help himself. After finishing the twelve-part serial, he thought he was ready to move on to something else for a bit. [spoiler alert] That's why the initial serial had a tight ending with very few loose ends.

But I guess Jessica King and her crew kept calling his name. So here it is, the first in a trilogy set in the Far From Home Universe, and you all get first peek at the first chapter. The book's Official Launch is today although hardcore FFH fans are already buying kindle copies.

**********

1.

Starbase 6 was a welcome sight as it loomed into view. The Defiant slowed from the tremendous speeds of exiting the Jump. As it approached the huge Union space station, Lieutenant Kyle Banks handled the helm controls of the ship with consummate skill.

Feels good to come back here, Captain Jessica King thought to herself. Like coming home.

After more than a year away on a mission of exploration, they had returned to Station 6 for some much needed supplies and minor repairs. The Defiant had also been promised a few upgrades, and Jessica fully intended on making sure she got them.

The old girl could use them, she thought. And the much needed rest . . .

"Starbase control has made contact, Captain," Ensign Olivia Rayne reported from the comm. station, her hand to her earpiece.

King nodded. "Patch me through."

She waited a few seconds for the connection to be made. "Captain Jessica King, Union Starship Defiant."

"Please state your prefix number," an artificial voice said.

"T.U. zero-one-one-three-eight," Jessica said.

There was a brief delay, then the voice announced that they were cleared to dock. "Docking bay three. Please do not exceed standard thruster speed."

"Close channel," King said.

Just like old times . . .

She looked ahead at the large, circular space station. Tall centrifuge at the centre, spokes extending out at the middle to form a wide outer ring. Along the ring were enough docking bays to accommodate up to twenty vessels, with many of the bays currently occupied.

Lieutenant Banks brought the Defiant – an old but well-kept Archon class battleship – to a relative crawl and lined up the port side with the slowly rotating docking ring. At one time, Archon class vessels had been the backbone of the fleet. Now they were little more than relics. While the Draxx war raged, they still had a purpose. But now, in this newfound era of interstellar peace, the Archons were slowly being taken out of service.

Decommissioned. Scrapped. Thankfully, there were no such plans for the Defiant.

Yet.

The thought of her being dismantled, ending up as salvage, made Jessica shudder.

"Aligning to dock," Banks reported, his voice taut with effort as he concentrated on the task at hand. Starbases were not designed to accommodate simple and easy docking manoeuvres.

"Keep her steady, Lieutenant. You know the drill."

"Aye," Banks said. His hands flitted over the controls, the Defiant edging to the left to butt up against the station. "I could do this with my eyes closed."

Jessica smiled. "Well, please refrain from doing so on this occasion, Banks. I'd like my ship kept in one piece for the time being. It'd be a shame to crash just before we park."

"Yes Ma'am," he said with a chuckle.

"Less than two metres clearance," Commander Chang reported from the science and tactical station to the Captain's right. The Defiant nestled up to the dock with a slight bump a moment later.

"Good job Mister Banks. Commander Chang, activate all moorings and equalize atmospheres," King ordered. She got up from the captain's chair. The Defiant was now under the momentum of the station itself, like a very heavy passenger on a merry-go-round. "Power down all non-essential systems. Commander, observe standard protocol."

"Yes Captain," Commander Greene said as he relayed her orders to the rest of the ship. Every department would shut down those systems that weren't needed while the Defiant underwent any repairs and refurbishments that had been scheduled for her.

"When the bridge is cleared, come and find me," Jessica told him.

The Commander nodded. Jessica ran her eyes over her team – Kyle Banks at the helm, Olivia Rayne at the comm. station, Lisa Chang at the science and tactical station, and Del Greene by her side as her second in command – and all she could feel was pride at having the fortune of serving with such a fine group of men and women.

"I'll be in my quarters," Jessica said as she left the bridge. "Well done everyone."

Click here to find Enigma on Amazon.com

**********

Huh. I thought the first chapter revealed a bit more than that. I suppose you'll just have to check out the book while you're waiting in those long lines at the mall.

By now, you all know Tony's bio. He's from England. So please, stop asking him to fire me because I don't catch his spelling errors. He writes in the Queen's English. They spell funny over there. ;)

Happy Reading!