Issue 20

Issue 20, September 1, 2012

Dear Readers,

Ray Bradbury passed away on June 5th of this year at the age of 91. One of my first and greatest influences, Bradbury's masterpiece The Martian Chronicles taught me that poetry and prose could be one and the same. I wanted to write just like him. I wanted to make my sentences sing and my stories bring the reader to laughter or tears or both, just like his. A timeless classic. He wrote hundreds of short stories and nearly fifty books. To explain his career, Bradbury said, "I am half a lover of movies and half a lover of libraries."

Bradbury's works are some of the very few for which I will reread individual sentences simply to re-experience their lyricism. I eagerly bought a ticket to see him speak when I attended Fresno State in 1988, and years later when he came to San Diego I couldn't wait to listen again. Mostly confined to a wheelchair, after the 90 minute speech he nevertheless signed my copy of The Stories of Ray Bradbury, and took the time to write my name when he had well over a thousand people waiting for his autograph.

Speaking with the Southern California Writers Association, he said, "So the secret of writing is love. If you're not doing what you love, then you're in the wrong business. If you're trying to please someone for money, it can't be done.

"Stay away from the studios. They're all idiots."

Some people criticize Bradbury for not really writing science fiction. That's essentially true, though I don't understand the criticism. Bradbury wrote what he wrote. In his speech in San Diego he said he wrote "science fantasy," and the only real science fiction book he wrote was Fahrenheit 451.

If you haven't read Bradbury's work I recommend starting with his short stories. Golden Apples of the Sun is a great collection, and The Martian Chronicles is basically a themed collection, though it certainly makes a complete tale. Bradbury wrote many things, from screenplays (Moby Dick) to television (The Ray Bradbury Theater, The Twilight Zone episodes), to plays and books in genres ranging from mystery to horror to fantasy to science fiction. But I think at heart he was a short story writer. His advice to short story writers is to write one a week for the first two years of your career, send it off and write another. At the end of two years keep writing one a week for the rest of your life.

If you want more wisdom from one of our grandmaster writers, read Zen and the Art of Writing. Read anything by Ray Bradbury. You will come away richer for it.

Enjoy,

Scott T. Barnes, Editor

Table of Contents

Fiction

Separation Anxiety by J.C. Conway

Judge Bell pushed the stack of files to the end of his mahogany desk, buzzed for his clerk and slipped into his black robe. He glanced down through half-open horizontal blinds in his window. The noisy crowd below chanted, "Stop Playing God!" and waved signs displaying slogans like "Quantum State? Police State!"

Godblocker by T.D. Edge

Stephen knew she kept the aircar low for his sake. Heights made his nerves scream, reminded him for some reason that for good or bad he was free of what he once had been. Even his real name.

Strong Enough to Shatter by J.T. Glover

Cyrille stepped away from the bench, grateful for the breeze that carried the rank odors of bitumen and tar off into the night. The cries of dying golems still came from every corner of the field hospital, but the fresh air left him feeling almost human again. When he heard the cry of Corpsman! from the entryway, he waved the green paddle over his head.

Triple Bind by Nick Tramdack

On deck it was far below freezing. Propellers thrummed, struts creaked. A black wind flayed the skin between Bart Pillar's goggles and his mask. One last time, he checked the straps that secured his chute and longsword to his back. He braced himself on the safety handholds above the drop-door and watched the darkened lightbulb in its cage overhead.

Flash Fiction

Moon Magic Eclipse by Daniel Ausema

The visible moon moved slowly in front of its invisible sister, blocking the dark moon's magic. Taq felt its power draining from him, as if the light were dimming. The brilliant white of the fortress below was mere illusion, compared to the shadow cast over all magic by the eclipse.

Strings by Jason Sturner

A young man in shabby clothing drops off the edge of a dark, windswept cliff. Flashbacks tear through his mind: the catching glimpse of Kate’s eyes in the city park; their first kiss on a summer beach; her handkerchief waving him off to England; the final, pleading letter he failed to answer. Other flashbacks reveal what led to his irreversible despair: the empty streets of London’s entertainment district, the men having gone off to war; a dark figure scampering off with his puppet cases; coins panhandled and later spent in bystreet taverns.

NonFiction

Surgery in History by Joyce Frohn

How can a writer determine what level of surgery a historical or fantasy culture had? Some things go in nice straight lines of gradually increasing technology or interconnected webs of trade. We can figure out that a medieval level culture is not going to have a pool table because the technology to make very flat slabs of stone hadn’t been invented yet and there was no way to transport large fragile goods. But could that society have the ability for your warrior to survive a stab wound? That’s more complicated.

Poetry

Progress Report by Leslie Anderson

The Surreal Staircase by Bruce Boston

Old Dog and the Greys by T.K. Cowen

Quince by Samantha Henderson