A History Of Violence (Marlowe-verse)
This story is set in the Marlowe-verse. Or Spacewoman-verse. MnS-verse? I'm not sure what to call this universe yet. I'm open to suggestions. Suffice it to say it's the same universe as my novels Marlowe and the Spacewoman and Balloons of the Apocalypse (neither of which are available...yet – I'm working on it). Here we get a glimpse into one of the formative episodes of Marlowe's childhood. Poor Marlowe. His life gets funnier later. I promise.
A part of Marlowe's brain recognized and dimly noted that he was having the dream again. Despite having it regularly for over thirty years, it was still the nightmare that terrified him most. And he had plenty of other nightmares to contend with. Dr. Eliza had recommended he embrace the dream in order to get used to it, to diminish its impact. Didn't work worth a damn. Overt desensitization my ass, he'd thought at his last session, when Eliza asked how that made him feel. He'd ended the session after that asinine question and deleted the Eliza program with extreme prejudice. The other alternative, REM suppressives, left him a psychotic wreck after only a few dreamless nights. So he had no choice but to endure the Hounds dream.
Flower Shop (Contemporary)
I think most writers have that infamous 'first novel', the one you slave over for years, carefully tapping away at it, then you print it out, read it, and shove it in a desk drawer never to see the light of day again. This is an excerpt from my 'first novel'. The book is hopelessly flawed, but there are a few scenes in it I like. I was reminded of this scene recently by a friend's blog post on inspiration. I'd been blocked, and went to a coffee shop to write while feeling zero enthusiasm about it. Still, I forced myself to do it, and as I wrote, struggling to figure out where to go next, Sylvie emerged, wholly unexpected. And I really, really liked her.
Seeing as how the universe had seen fit to bestow some free time upon me, something I wasn't used to on a Saturday, I decided to spend a part of it with Kay. She only expected me on Mondays, and never this early in the morning. Perhaps she'd enjoy the surprise. The trip required only one detour, and not much of one at that as it happened to be on the way. I strapped myself into my convertible and twisted the key, always a moment of truth. My trusty chariot, an aging Triumph, rumbled hesitantly at first, then coughed to life.
I'd left the top down in a reckless fit of optimism the previous night, perhaps remnants of the afterglow left by Holly. However, the deities obviously felt magnanimous, as no rain had fallen, nor did it look likely to do so now. Given that my work situation left me generally unaccustomed to daylight, the cool winter sun felt hot on my face, save under the bandage. Occasionally I wondered what a normal, nine to five job would be like.
Girls' Night Out (Dream'verse)
This is a bonus story in the Dream'verse, setting of my novel Knight Errant.There's a handy chronology post over here on kdsarge.com.
In a star-spanning union after a long and bloody war, survival comes hard for many. Aboard the freighter Pendragon's Dream, though, it's a team effort. Captain Eve Marcori, former Marine, rescues as needed—a war-torn doctor here, an abused rentboy there, next a pre-teen pickpocket with a big mouth and bigger ego. All she asks of her rescuees is the same promise she gave—to pass it on.
Sometimes, though, she just sits around, having a quiet drink.
Lonesome Hearts (Contemporary)
The band and I rolled into some dusty little town on the edge of the foothills in midafternoon, with enough time to get settled in the motel and wander down the street for a drink at the bar where we'd be playing later. We were midway through the tour, and it showed. I felt hung-over all the time. Gord, the accordionist, Tom, the drummer and spoons player, and Ian, the double bass, stuck their noses out of the van just long enough for a smoke and then wandered off with glazed eyes to check in and grab a nap. But the damn new girl, forty years younger than the rest of us, bounded out of the van with a big smile on her face.
"Neil, just look at that sky!"
"I'm lookin'," I said, tilting my Stetson back enough to avoid a lie. Didn't look like nothing special to me, just the regular deep, deep blue of late summer. I guessed it was kinda pretty over top of the shops that made up the main drag, for all they'd lost most of their paint and black ribbons were fluttering on all the doors for no reason I could fathom. Close behind them loomed the foothills, gentle curves not at all like the mountains beyond. That was, except for the nearest one, whose face was all cliff, a startling white against the evergreens.
