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F. P. Dorchak

Speculative Fiction (New Weird) Author

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Leisure

Tail Gunner

November 27, 2015 by fpdorchak

Tail Gunner, B-17G, Liberty Belle
Tail Gunner, B-17G, Liberty Belle

My first installment of short stories has a lot of history behind it, if you’ll pardon the pun. This story’s journey started way back in late 2009. It’s a metaphysical one, for sure. It was a story I just couldn’t shake. It eventually found itself published twice, once in the Oct 2011 issue #103 of The Black Sheep, and more recently in the 2012 Longmont, Colorado Public Library anthology, “The You Belong Collection: Writings and Illustrations from Longmont Area Residents.” This WWII story is near and dear to my heart and features a character, The Man With No Name, who is in two of my novels, Sleepwalkers  (you can get it cheaper here) and Psychic.

Tail Gunner

© F. P. Dorchak, 2010/12

1

All chatter was ripped from his ears.

The airman’s body slammed forward into the B-17’s twisting and turning airframe.

An explosion.

Ungodly ripping sound.

Had grabbed for something—but it’d been knocked from his hands.

Wind howled and screamed. Stability and straight-and-level had given way to

Falling.

Ground-sky.

Ground-sky….

Crazy spinning.

With some effort—his head feeling as if it had just gained a thousand pounds—the airman twisted it and watched as spent .50-cal machine-gun rounds, paper, and loose equipment were sucked out the gaping hole behind him.

He turned his head back around and found himself looking

Down.

His stomach lurched and the feeling reminded him of Coney Island roller coasters—or the Wonder Wheel—just as you rounded the top and were on the way

Down.

Ground-sky!

His body thrown forward, the airman shot his hands out to the frame of the

(roller coaster)

aft window before him.

Down…

Ground-sky!

Ground-sky!

Still going down….

Opened his mouth to scream—but, all expression had been brutally pulped out of him. Was buffeted by flak, exploding flak everywhere. All of his twenty-two years of life clenched up into his throat in one great, choking, knot.

Body pressed into the Browning machine guns and tail window, he looked into flak-filled airspace as he plummeted past the rest of the formation for German soil. He couldn’t breathe, only managing shallow, short, rapid gasps.

His eyes locked with the horrified eyes of the bombardier in the nose of another B-17 he just barely missed as he plunged past. Eyes he’d recognized. Eyes that’d shared cigarettes and stories and pictures of their girls the night before with a dozen or more other pairs of eyes at a dimly lit bar counter.

His vision swam. Blurred. Vertigo scrambled his senses.

Falling.

Couldn’t breathe!

Dropping out of the sky!

Plummeting!

Sunlight.

Sunlight traced a path where it shouldn’t have been able to trace a path. Ran across the now-exposed deck that now ran between him and 30,000 feet of oblivion.

His body shuddered and convulsed against buffeting the separated empennage took on its heretical plunge earthward. A sound escaped him that didn’t sound like anything he’d ever uttered during his entire short lifespan. Still couldn’t see straight. Stared down the short metal tunnel where there should be—by all rights—the body of a B-17 and nine other guys. Pilots, bombardier, waist gunners—

Nothing.

Gone! All of it!

If he could just jump…free himself from the anchor that was dragging him down. Parachute into—

No parachute!

Along with all the paper, shells, and loose equipment, he’d watched with soul-sickening horror as his parachute had also flown out that gaping hole. It had been knocked from his fumbling grasp after he’d been banged up against the bulkhead when the tail had separated from the fuselage.

A great weight pressed into him.

Unable to move.

Pinned!

This wasn’t supposed to happen! Was only supposed to happen to other crews—Germans, not his crew—not him.

It was over. All over!

Screamed down, ever down, out of the bruised and battle-damaged sky.

Down…

Ground-sky…

Down!

Again slammed against the bulkhead. The .50 cals.

Only seconds ago he’d been operating dual M2 Browning machine guns. Yeah, it had all been a game. Target practice, they’d called it. Get them before they got you. But they hadn’t been clay pigeons, had they? Towed targets? No, they’d been flesh and blood humans just like him. Also trying to get him before he got them.

Now he knew.

Knew what they knew.

What it felt like to be hit.

What it felt like to go down.

Ground-sky.

Ground-sky…

Wild, wicked, absolutely unhindered tumbling. Spinning and gyrating. End over end. No control.

Unable to breathe.

Unable to see straight. Focus.

Light.

A bright light.

Sunlight?

His folks…his girl…his sister.

He stared into the light.

What would it feel like to slam into scorched earth? Bombed-out buildings? Would he know it? The moment of impact? Would he feel the hurt?

What would it feel like to just blink out of existence? To one moment be alive and thinking and conscious and scared, and the next—

The light.

A hand emerged.

He grabbed it.

2

Noise…lots of screaming and yelling and howling and

Music?

“Ticket, please,” the middle-aged gentleman in flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots greeted, hand outstretched.

The airman looked down to his own hand. In its white-knuckled death-grip it held a ticket stub. His entire arm and hand—his body—were tensed and hurting and trembling. He wasn’t breathing, his body as if in the constricting grip of a giant, angry malevolence trying to squeeze the life out of him.

“Ticket, please,” the gentleman again asked, still reaching out.

The airmen handed it over. As soon as he relinquished the ticket, he inhaled long and deep. Collapsed toward the dirt and dust—when the ticket taker caught him.

“Welcome to Coney Island!”

The airman looked up incredulously and out of breath. It hurt to breathe. “Where am I?”

“Coney Island.”

“Where?” he again asked, swallowing hard and with great difficulty. His body hung limply in the ticket taker’s hold. He slowly got back on his feet.

“Why, you’re at Coney Island, young sir! The greatest amusement park on Earth!”

“I…I don’t feel right—”

The airman shook his head, then steadied himself; looked to his attire. It wasn’t much different than the ticket taker’s.

“Where’s…where’s my jacket, my—”

He brought a hand to his head. No leather shearling cap. “I feel like I fell…or am still—”

“Oh, you’re quite all right, sir. Just come on in,” the ticket taker said. “Everything’s A-OK!” He winked.

The airman looked beyond the smiling gentleman.

“Wow…haven’t been here since—”

“Forty-one. Nineteen-forty-one.”

“Yeah…nineteen-forty-one,” he echoed, still having difficulty swallowing and trying to catch his breath.

“We got all the rides! The Cyclone, Shooting-the-Chutes, Flip Flop, Wonder Wheel, the Human Pool Table! Come on in! Enjoy!” the greeter said. With a flourish of hands, he sidestepped to allow the airman entry.

“Place looks empty,” the airman said.

“Private party.”

The airman turned to the ticket taker. Just looked at him. His oddly smiling—calming—face.

“You might find some people you know,” the ticket taker enunciated deliberately, motioning him in farther.

Calliope music, flashing lights. The smell of hotdogs, popcorn, and cotton candy filled the air—

Boom!

The airman spun around.

Boom! Boom!

Detonations exploded all around him.

Concussions.

Unnerving. Distant. Behind everything….

The airman turned back around and

 

remembered sitting at a bar one day, talking to two kids, really, that’s all they were. Kids in uniform. Nineteen-year olds. Fires all hot and burning in their fervent, youthful eyes. Displayed not an ounce of fear. “C’mon,” they’d goaded, all full of righteous hubris, “it’s fun!” They’d been gunners, one a tail the other a waist gunner.

“Fun.” That’s what they’d said…the word they’d used.

Fun.

“Like shootin skeet, only it’s Germans!” they’d proclaimed. “Godless, evil, Krauts. Goddamned Jerries.”

They’d needed bodies, they’d told him, anyone willing to fly. Bombers.

He knew why, he wasn’t stupid. They were getting blown out of the sky.

That’s why.

Yet he’d volunteered. Long wondered about those two.

Flexible Gunnery School. That had been his next stop, since he’d already been in the Army Air Corps.

Aim well. Shoot straight.

That had been their motto. Las Vegas in the summer. Six weeks. They had to be good or they’d be dead. It was that simple. They’d started with BB guns. With shotguns, worked their way up through stationary and mobile skeet shooting. Went from blasting away off the backs of moving flatbeds to towed targets from behind AT-6 aircraft, at Indian Springs. Turret training.

Stripping a .50 cal blindfolded.

Aircrew training.

Deployment.

Berlin. Kiel. Kassel.

Hanover. Eberhausen.

Regensburg….

 

“Where am I, really” the airman asked?

He sat atop the Ferris Wonder Wheel, just before the zenith of its travel. The ticket taker sat opposite him. Intently eyeballed him.

“I can’t really be here. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh, you’re here, all right,” the ticket taker said, in a voice far more subdued—concerned—than upon their first meeting. “This is real, I assure you a that, son.”

The Ferris wheel moved up an increment…stopped.

“Last time I was here, I was with my family. Where are they?”

“Oh, they’re still where they’re at.”

“Why aren’t they here? Where’s my—”

“You’re girl? They’re all still where they are. They haven’t arrived. Yet.”

“But they will?”

The ticket taker nodded, keeping his eyes intently focused on him. “In time.”

“I used to love the view from up here.”

“What’s wrong with it, now?”

“It just doesn’t feel right.”

The wheel moved up another increment. They were now on top, wind caressing his face and whispering in his ears.

“It used to be fun,” the airman said, growing antsy.

The ticket taker continued studying him.

“Where are those two guys? You know?” the airman asked, leaning a little over the side as he looked behind and

Down.

He quickly sat back in his seat.

“Oh, they’re around. Someplace.”

The airmen nodded pensively. Couldn’t sit still. Chatter…there was chatter in his head…

“Three of ’em, one o’clock high—”

“Four planes nine o’clock—”

“They’re comin’ around—”

“Got my sights on him—”

“I’m on him…come on, you sonofa—”

Engine drone.

Buffeting.

The car began its descent, when the airman fumbled madly for something that wasn’t there and grabbed the side of the car.

Hyperventilated.

Instantly coated in sweat.

“Fighters at eleven o’clock, comin’ around!”

“I got ’em! I got ’em!”

“Two Fighters—six o’clock up! Comin’ in, divin’ at ya!”

Boom!

There was a sudden lurch and a much pronounced bump—and the wheel stopped in a harsh downward jerk, sending the car wildly oscillating back and forth—

Boom!

The airman stopped breathing and white-knuckled the swinging car. He looked to the ticket taker in wide-eyed terror.

Boom! Boom!

The ticket taker gave him a soft, sympathetic look, then looked off into the distance.

Falling.

Down.

Ground-sky!

Always down!

The airman closed his eyes.

Continued hyperventilating.

Wind.

This is it!

Tumbling.

It!

.50 cal pressed into his back…

Boom! Boom!

No chute!

Gaping hole into a damaged sky still full of released bombs and bombers and flak and falling airmen….

He opened reddened and tear-stained eyes and looked to the ticket taker.

“It’s over, isn’t it? For me! This is it! This is it!”

Continued hyperventilating.

The wheel advanced another position.

The ticket taker looked to him and smiled. Leaned forward and gently took a hand into his. Held it for a long moment.

“But you’re here. Look at me. Here.”

The airman’s breathing slowed, but not completely.

Distant concussions…explosions…ground-sky….

“But I’m also there, too, aren’t I? Still falling—o-or dead! I don’t understand all this—don’t know how—but it’s true, isn’t it? True.”

The ticket taker nodded.

“Why all of it? Why the need for any of it?”

The ticket taker said nothing.

The airman again swallowed. Wiped away tears with the backs of shaking wrists. Inhaled deeply.

They descended another position.

“It’s so sad, you know,” he said, finally slowing his breathing and clearing his throat.

“I know.”

“That we do…all that. The loss. The…the—”

“Pain.”

The airman looked out into the dark distance in silence. Tears streamed down his face. He did not wipe them.

“It wasn’t fun, you know. Not any of it. Not at all. Not for me.”

“I know.”

The car advanced several more positions and came to a stop at ground level. After a moment, the ticket taker smiled and stepped out of the car.

The airman looked to the feet of the ticket taker. Listened and watched intently as his heels impacted the earth and ground and pressed into dirt.

“It’s time, my friend,” the ticket taker said.

The airman blinked. Nodded. “Yeah. Suppose it is.”

“Nothing stays the same, son.”

The airman stepped out of the car. The instant he touched soil there was a loud concussion and his knees gave out. The ticket taker again came to his aid, but the airman waved him off. Straightened up.

“I’m fine—thank you.”

Fought back tears.

The airman ran his hands through his short, dark hair; composed himself. Looked around. There were lots of lights, music, running rides…the smell of grilled food.

“They’re around, here—somewhere? Those two?”

“Yup,” the ticket taker said. “They all are.”

“All of them? Even—”

“Everyone’s here, my friend. Both sides.”

The airman again stared off into the distance. Exhaled long and hard.

“So…what now? What’s beyond there?” he asked, still looking off into the night.

The ticket taker chuckled softly. “There’s no hurry. Walk around…take in the place. Enjoy a ride or two. Cotton candy. Meet up with some of your buddies…and others,” the ticket taker said. “There’s absolutely no hurry.”

“And after that?”

“After that…we can talk. Some more. We have all the time in world. All we have, here, is time.”

“Time.”

The airman reached out and the ticket taker took his hand. They shook in a firm, heartfelt shake that didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” the airman said, and

3

the tail section of the shattered B-17 oscillated and gyrated and spun end over end all the way down through 30,000 feet…until it landed in the bombed-out ruins of what used to be a German apartment building. The parachute-less tail gunner who’d been pinned inside had been far from alone as he and the empennage impacted.

 

Short Story Links

Links to all my posted short stories are here.

 

 

Filed Under: Leisure, Metaphysical, Reincarnation, Short Story, Spooky, To Be Human, Writing Tagged With: Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, Psychic, Short Stories, Sleepwalkers, Tail Gunner, The Man With No Name, Ticket Taker, Twilight Zone, writing

Short Stories

November 24, 2015 by fpdorchak

Do The Dead Dream? Dead Monarch Butterfly Oct 11, 2015
Do The Dead Dream? Dead Monarch Butterfly Oct 11, 2015

I started writing short stories (and some poems) at a single-digit age and have continued to write them throughout my adult life. Since I’ve taken to the long form (novels) short stories have taken a back seat (I’ve really missed writing them!)…but I’ve always wanted to post some of them, since becoming a blogger.

So, I will begin periodically posting some of my better work, here. Eventually, I do plan on compiling them all into a short story collection…but for now…

My first short story will be “Tail Gunner,” which had been published in the 2012 Longmont, Colorado Public Library’s anthology, “The You Belong Collection: Writings and Illustrations from Longmont Area Residents.”

Feel free to send the stories out into the world, just please attribute them to me with the copyright dates.

I hope you, too, enjoy some of the weirdness I’ve envisioned!

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Incredible Voice Review!

November 16, 2015 by fpdorchak

Voice. (© 2015, F. P. Dorchak and Lon Kirschner)
Voice. (© 2015, F. P. Dorchak and Lon Kirschner)

Writer friend Karen Albright Lin, who is a freelance editor, public speaker, screenwriter, and writing instructor—and is very “hard to please”—wrote up the following kick-ass review of Voice.

It floored me.
Thank you, Karen!
5.0 out of 5 stars Tangy and Sweaty
By Amazon Customeron November 13, 2015
Format: Paperback

Voice was a hard to define book. Amazon asked me to describe the mood and I was hard-pressed to figure out whether I’d categorize it best as suspenseful or dark or thoughtful….Sometimes it was even light-hearted. And sexy isn’t on the list, otherwise I might have checked that box. Mr. Dorchak has gone out on a limb with a quirky, sometimes irritating main character, seemingly cheating on all the beautiful women who come into his life – including the Voice in his head and his own (eh hmmmm) hand.

Voice is heavy on philosophy, challenging the reader to think outside of the worldly box. Like one of his previous books, The Uninvited, Voice explores the paranormal in a fresh way.

The writing voice in this aptly named book had so many shining turns of phrase that I bookmarked many of them to study them and figure out why they worked so well. Among other things, I admired his surprising way of depicting setting in which Ben experiences “the slumber-inducing roar and crash of frothy breakers” and ”the cushioned springiness of the forest floor.”

The women who haunt him are Bo Derek sexy, Winona Rider dangerous, and Kirsten Dunst enigmatic. They “crawl around inside him…” And there isn’t a part of him that they aren’t a part of. In fact there was a powerlessness in Ben when it came to his love objects. Their gazes stripped “away all that he was. Stripped away all the games, pretension. Stripped away all that society considered moral and immoral. Destroyed any sense of decency, valor, or guilt. Sense of right or wrong. Tore away everything down to one thing and one thing only. Desire.” This paragraph tells you much of what you need to know before buying this book.

Protagonist Ben notices in his lusty counterparts things most people wouldn’t. “The pores of her back—the emotion of her back…” one’s stare at the “hairs on one of Ben’s forearms.” Even the “bottleness” of Chardonnay pressed too tightly to his side as one of the temptresses lures him. At the heart of the book is the “Karma-sutric” nature of his desires.

And believe me, there are some crazy lusty scenes that I can’t describe here without censorship. Suffice it to say that the senses are fully engaged, “tangy and sweaty” smells lingering on fingertips after wild sex. R to X rated for sure.

Dip in, if you dare, and look forward to the surprising climax (pun intended). What happens in the end between Ben and the “erogenous tentacles” he’s obsessed over came as a surprise for me. Though looking back, it made perfect sense. I won’t spoil it for you. But if you like visceral sex and confused protagonists, this one is worth buying. For this I give Voice a 5-star rating.

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Kirschner Cover Art: Grace, By Howard Owen

November 13, 2015 by fpdorchak

Grace, By Howard Owen. Release Date October 2016, from The Permanent Press
Grace, By Howard Owen. Release Date October 2016, from The Permanent Press

Together with Lon Kirschner—who did my cover art for ERO and Voice—I’m launching a new series of posts that will discuss Lon’s cover art. I first ran into his efforts with The Grievers, a novel by Marc Schuster. Marc’s cover just grabbed me. Long story short, Marc put me in touch with Lon and I’d loved his work so much I’d commissioned him to do two of my covers. So, I thought, hey, why not highlight and discuss some of his work? So this marks the first in series of posts that will do just that. These may be bi-monthly…it may be quarterly…or it just may be whenever Lon and I can get-together to githerdone….

Today’s initial post is for Grace, by Howard Owen, which has an October 2016 release from The Permanent Press.

Originally, I was going to start out with another cover (but don’t worry, I’ll still get to it, and one of them is again another Howard Owen cover!), but as I reviewed the images Lon had sent, this one just jumped out at me. Continually. Maybe it was the key…maybe it was the desiccated wood grain behind it…maybe it was just having come off of Voice and the 1880s house I used as its setting…but it was probably all of it. When I looked at this cover over and over it was like I could actually feel that key…the rough, grainy wood. I have a key very similar to the one in the image from the Lake Clear, NY house I grew up in (that abovementioned late 1880s house served as the setting in Voice and ERO), and the wood in the image reminds me of the barn we had behind our house. How many times I’d run my hand over the barn’s weathered boards…caught a splinter or two…sandpapered it…painted it. Threw snowballs and rocks at it.

In short, it brought up all kinds of ancient memories. Memories that are getting ancienter and ancienter the older and older I get.

And isn’t that the point with cover art—or any artwork, for that matter? To illicit some kind of visceral experience? To trigger…a feeling? Any feeling?

To make us think?

Every time I look to this cover it slams me back to that barn. It’s darkened interior. It’s weathered and worn exterior. When I look at that key it takes me back to that house…to its original condition when we moved into it in the mid-to-late sixties before my dad gutted and reworked it’s interior. I am transported to that place and time…a displaced 1880s in my present time’s mind. I think I have wood splinters in my soul….skeleton keys in my heart. I had a great childhood there. Loved where I grew up. Think about it often. I incorporate so much of it into my work…and didn’t quite realize to what degree until I started publishing my novels over the past couple years….

But, that’s what Lon’s cover for Grace did and does to me.

Where it brought me—for good or ill—and whether or not my story has anything to do with Howard’s story behind that artwork…I don’t know—but, does it matter? If I saw this book on a shelf I’d pick it up and thumb through its pages and drink in its cover (in fact, I know I’d rub my hand over its cover, expecting to feel the wood grain, the metal key…).

Lon and I e-mailed back and forth a little about some of this, and here’s some of his responses:

“I had to smile when I read this [FPD: as in picking this cover as the first to discuss]. Grace is probably my favorite cover of the group and coincidentally, the easiest one to design. The manuscript had that Aha moment when I knew exactly what the cover would look like, it was one of those covers that ‘designed itself’ (referring back to my post on The Permanent Press blog).”

To this Lon also added about how the covers in this series of books:

“…organically morphed into a basically black and white design. When I did the first, I didn’t know it was going to be a series so that first cover is color and a bit more in the scary horror genre.”

The funny thing is Grace is not black and white…though Lon thinks of it as if it is!

Another funny thing is that I actually picked up on the above before Lon answered my question (i.e., that I figured he saw the cover as “black and white” even though it wasn’t; I mean, he could have said, “Yeah, I didn’t mean to write that, but…,” but he didn’t):

Me: Lon…but Grace is not black and white.

Lon: You are correct, Grace is in color but for me it functions as black and white. A dark background with a bright highlight. When I think of this cover, in my mind’s eye it is black and white. Maybe this is subliminal. You do raise an interesting point. I designed the cover and even I think of it as black and white. I guess we can persuade our mind to think of things very differently than what they are in reality. It brings to mind the story of police interviewing eyewitnesses to a crime. While all of the witnesses saw the same event, their stories and recollections can be very different. I didn’t even think twice when I referred to it as black and white.

Interesting isn’t it?

His reasoning is kinda “cousin” to my thoughts in the cover image itself. Our minds both went into tangential directions around the same cover….

And that’s a major point of cover art: to make you pick up a book. Purists (like me) will also say the point of cover art is to also give you something relating to the story, something to “hold” onto about the story within…[most traditional] publishers: they just want to get you to buy the damned thing.

Lon also went on to say that:

“Howard, who is usually fairly reserved, made a point of contacting me to tell me how much he loved the cover and thought it was spot on…has written me the most sincere and warm email about it.”

That—from my experience—is rare! We’re talkin’ tartare rare!

Most authors seem to take issue with their covers. Complain that many publishers “slap” on a cover with little to no thought incorporated. At least in the traditional publishing world. Usually a cover artist at a Big Five would get a brief description of what the book is about, maybe an outline, then they’d have to come up with something. Lon…is a different breed….and The Permanent Press is a different breed of publisher that allows Lon this “luxury”: Lon actually reads all of the manuscripts for the covers he does!

From Martin Shepard’s (head of The Permanent Press) June 17, 2015 blog post, Martin tells how he met Lon. Lon is not an employee of The Permanent Press, but is a “consulting creative director/designer.” This is how Martin remembers meeting Lon (and I do have Martin Shepard’s permission to use the following):

“Back in 1989, I received a flyer from Lon Kirschner and was mesmerized by his book cover designs. As I’ve said in a previous blog, I had my own art background. My beloved father, Mac Shepard, was an artist whose subway sketches are always featured on our catalog covers, while I was an art major at the High School of Music & Art in Manhattan during the late forties and early fifties. I was dazzled by his work, and Lon’s been designing covers for us for over 25 years. What a joy it is to both work with him and see what he comes up with. Any publisher, large or small, looking for a master cover designer would do well to get in touch with him by email.”

And that’s how I feel about Lon’s work: I am mesmerized…dazzled by it!

I am in awe of his work…which is why I’m highlighting him in my blogs. It all started with The Grievers, and it continues today (he did all my bookmarks and Voice book signing posters). In fact Lon told me that my review of The Grievers was the first time his cover art had ever been mentioned in a book review. I found that so hard to believe!

And if you haven’t yet read it, read The Grievers! It’s hilarious and had me laughing out loud so damned hard my mouth hurt. C’mon, Marc, write more funny stuff!

As I get to know Lon more and more through our correspondence these past couple of years, I am coming to find out what an absolutely terrific guy he is. We no longer just talk about writing and cover art or bookmarks and posters; our conversations have morphed into topics such as lawn mowing, trips, and movies. The man always tries to “do right” by his clients, and he’s so easy to work with. And, good God, is he talented. Maybe one day we will finally meet!

But for now, we trade e-mail, anecdotes—

And really cool covers!

*******************************************

Lon Kirschner may be contacted at:

Telephone: 518/392-3823

E-mail: info@kirschnercaroff.com

Site: http://www.kirschnercaroff.com

Filed Under: Book Covers, Fun, Leisure, To Be Human, Writing Tagged With: Art, Books, Cover Art, ERO, Grace, Howard Owen, Lon Kirschner, Marc Schuster, Marty Shepard, The Grievers, The Permanent Press, Voice

Some Books, Cats, and a Gift

November 11, 2015 by fpdorchak

The Bookman Book Signing, Nov 7, 20015
The Bookman Book Signing, Nov 7, 20015

Last weekend I held my first “dedicated” book signing in several years. By that I mean it was “all about me,” not a bunch of us at once, like at MileHiCon. It was weird.

“Hi! Look at me! Buy my books!”

Yeah, a little weird. I’d forgotten about that feeling. So I try to make it about the body of work, not the guy standing around with the stupid grin hoping you’ll come trade some cash for paper….

This was also the first book signing where I’d actively promoted it. Over a month out. All my other book signings had been more off-the-cuff things, maybe one prior one I’d put up a flyer somewhere the week prior…but I’d basically never done much to promote. But as I coordinated with Steffany, The Bookman’s manager, she kept wrestling me to the floor with Facebook. Telling me that she’s had authors do signings without being on Facebook and not selling a thing.

You Drew First Blood! First Customer! The Bookman Signing, Nov 7, 2015.
You Drew First Blood! First Customer! The Bookman Signing, Nov 7, 2015.

So, I had Lon Kirschner do up some really cool posters for me, and we’d put them up all over the West Si-iiide of town. Steffany had a mention or two on local radio. She also had a dedicated clientele…posters put up at all the local library branches.

Facebook, Frank, Facebook.

Arrgh.

I caved.

I’d had an account years ago and killed it. I mean did the “kill shot” that involved them totally getting rid of everything about you like you never even existed, where you e-mailed or wrote a letter to them and they “erased” you.

Very CIA.

So…I returned. And it is kinda fun that I’d reconnected with lots of my writer and non-writer friends I haven’t seen in the few years since. I’d quit a function a couple years ago where I’d normally see all these people, so it was nice reconnecting. So, Steffany’s prodding also had positive “unintended consequences”—thanks, Steffany!

Okay, so Facebook it is. I did the “Event” thing and annoyed my friends with “Come and See Me!” notices. I put up the posters. Handed out bookmarks. Mentioned it everywhere. Know what I found out?

The Bookman Signing, Colorado Springs, Nov 7, 2015
Hi, I’m Running For Office. Do You Have A Baby I Could Hold?

The only thing that brought in people…was Facebook. The ONLY thing.

Sorry, Lon.

Not one person showed up because of any poster I put up. Or the library put up. Or the radio spots.

Facebook.

I can safely say that because of everyone that bought books, only three were people I’d not previously known before…one guy was at the store shopping before the signing officially started, had been in Vietnam, and we “talked military.” He gravitated toward Psychic, my remote viewing conspiracy theory novel. Bought it. The other two were a “friend of The Bookman’s” and her friend. Everyone else were people I knew (okay, one friend brought her sister, who I also did not knooow…but I did know of her…)! And they’d heard of it over

Facebook.

Wow.

Fascinating.

The Bookman Signing, Colorado Springs, Nov 7, 2015
Let’s See…That’s R-o-…no, R-q-…no, R-y-…Dang It, I Need Another Book….

Now, that “friend of The Bookman’s” did say that she was going to go grab one of my posters from one of the storefront windows she’d seen it in, because it was such a cool poster and she wanted one! Thanks, Vanessa (and did you end up getting it?)!

But, all that aside…I was so moved by the support of my friends…and their excitement at coming down and being a part of this! I had so many questions thrown at me! One writer friend actually said she wished I’d had a presentation so she could ask more questions! How sweet, thanks, Ataska!

Afterwards (on Facebook) another joked about how she was observing all “my girlfriends”…and I’d joked, well, aren’t you one? She replied “Why, I certainly am!” But she brought up a point I hadn’t even realized at the time, but most of my friends who showed were female! There were only two dudes at the signing, three if you count Mark, who works at The Bookman.

My Books Are Cat Friendly! The Bookman Signing, Colorado Springs, Nov 7, 2015
My Books Are Cat Friendly! The Bookman Signing, Colorado Springs, Nov 7, 2015

The Bookman has a couple of “resident cats” who roam the place like they own it. Well, they do. And I liked that. I love animals. One of them was quite curious, as you can see in this photo! S/he hung out on the table top there for a few minutes. Sniffing around, checking out “the heads.”

So, as moved as I was by the support of my friends, there was another incident that also really touched me. Apparently, one of my “Virtual Friends,” who interacts with me through blog posts and comments, hadn’t been able to make the signing…but had stopped by the previous day…and dropped off a gift for me. As far as I know we’ve never met at a conference or anything, but we have interacted off-and-on over several years through blog posts. She goes by Kattywampus Books. She’s quite witty and intelligent. I never know what she’s gonna say, or how, but it usually grabs and amuses me. Asks probing and thoughtful questions. Anyway, she had left me “a little something” that literally had me speechless. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.

The Kattywampus Author Survival Kit™! No Author Should Be Without One!
The Kattywampus Author Survival Kit™! No Author Should Be Without One!

She left me the coolest “Author Appearance Survival Kit.”

I’m just gonna say it: holy shit.

I mean, this took some serious thinking. Took a little out-of-pocket expense…but, more so, it was the thought that went into this. The gesture.

I was really touched by her gift.

That she thought enough of me to do something like that. To go out of her way, create it, then leave it for me. Wow. It still brings a huge smile to my face every time I think about it!

When I opened the case…read the letter…I was, um, verklempt.

I mean (until I finished reading the letter I didn’t know who had left this), who do I know who would do something like this?

Mark and  Steffany must surely have been watching my expressions.

Wow. As much horror and fear that’s instilled in the media about the world…it’s nice and amazing to find that there are people out there who do things like this.

Read Kattywampus’s post…most of that stuff in her post is in my kit. And she’s right! You do need this stuff! As it was, I had brought four pens with me, and with her nifty Fisher Space Pen (and refill!), I effectively had six. She even included a mini-First Aid kit (“Papercuts happen.”)!

But, dang it, now I have to do more book signings just to show this thing off!

So, thank you so much, Kattywampus! That was extremely thoughtful of you! Perhaps one day we shall meet…or if we already know each other and you’re just playing up the whole “mysterious” aspect…well played! I like a little mystery!

Interior of The Kattywampus Author Survival Kit™
Interior of The Kattywampus Author Survival Kit™

So, there it is…my first Only Me book signing in a handful of years…and it was a success. I’d sold the most books I’d ever sold in one sitting (12). Maybe not a lot by other’s standards, but for me, it was awesome! And the important thing for me was that I’d had fun. My accountant might feel otherwise (yes there is that nice little check being deposited), but we’re all happy, even The Bookman—who is now carrying my body of work (Psychic was sold out, but I have ordered more; I’m trying to get more Sleepwalkers, but AuthorHouse is not playing nice). So do feel free to stop on by! I love their bookstore, it’s very cozy and crammed with books. And a couple of cats.

And if you’re an author, and a little lucky…maybe someone will stop by and drop off a really cool Kattywampus Author Survival Kit™ for you!

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Filed Under: Books, Fun, Leisure, To Be Human, Writing Tagged With: Author Signings, Author Survival Kit, Erotica, Hotline Psychics, Kattywampus Books, Lon Kirschner, Sleepwalkers, The Bookman, The Uninvited, Voice

MileHiCon47, a Knot, and a Head

October 30, 2015 by fpdorchak

MileHiCon47, Hyatt Regency Hotel, Denver, CO, October 23-25, 2015
MileHiCon47, Hyatt Regency Hotel, Denver, CO, October 23-25, 2015

Well, this past weekend was a blur!

I attended the 47th MileHiCon, in Denver, invited back for a second year—and hope I get the lifetime subscription! This is an absolutely incredible—flat-out fun—event that anyone with a halfway interest in fantasy, science fiction, and the bizarre should attend at least once!

My first time last year I was on a couple of panels, but this year not only was I on panels, but I also moderated:

  • Moderated Exploding Myths of the New World of Publishing
  • Panelist on Military SF Discussion and Readings
  • One of many at Autograph Alley
  • Movie discussion moderator for the 1973 movie, Soylent Green
  • One of several writers on The Reading Game (this was a blast!)
  • Panelist on Closer & Further Than You Think

Exploding Myths of the New World of Publishing

This was an informative panel to have been a part of! We had great discussions about the state of publishing and how it has so changed with the continued flourishing (yes, “flourishing“…) of Independent (Indie) Publishing. Also once known as the highly stigmatic “self publishing.” I Indie published my first novel, Sleepwalkers, in 2001. I caught a lot of grief about that from many writers and agents and editors in the traditional publishing world, if not in word in attitude. So much so that in one panel I had been part of at another conference I’d doubted that I’d ever self publish again.

But today?

Wow, it’s the thing.

People are making a living out of it like never before and no longer is it looked down upon by the masses. I just released my fifth novel, Voice this year.

On this panel were Kristi Helvig, Angie Hodapp, Gary Jonas, and the ubiquitous Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

Military SF Discussion and Readings

I’ve only written one military SF novel, and it’s my UFO conspiracy theory book, ERO (though Psychic could be considered a cousin to military SF, since it is also a part of that government conspiracy theory worldview, though no “uniformed services” are involved, like in ERO). Here, I was a panelist (not a moderator) and we discussed what we thought “made” military fiction military fiction, as well as various aspects of military fiction. We read from our works.

On this panel were Kevin Ikenberry (moderator) and Robert Williscroft—two gentlemen I kept running into over the course of the weekend—Sourdough Jackson, and Kal Spriggs. Kevin and I were later on the Closer & Further Than You Think panel. Kevin and Kal are Army and Bob’s Navy. I was Air Force. Sourdough was never military, though is an ardent student of the military, having studied naval history for some 50 years.

Autograph Alley

This is an en masse book signing for authors. As I discussed with my table mate, Angela Roquet, it is interesting to see who gets all the attention at this thing…and how it changes from year to year. This was only my second, so my observations were obviously limited. I didn’t sell any books (sold two later in the weekend as I meandered about the con) but had some fun conversation…especially about my mannequin head—which I’d carried with me all day Friday and Saturday…but more on that in a minute….

Interesting to note that my MileHiCon46 crush AaronMichaelRitchey (his name is to be uttered with great reverence and in one breath, one word…) was still (true to form) talking it up and drawing the crowds. I tried to emulate him this year with chocolate—but no one was having it. Everyone seemed to be on diets. How does AaronMichaelRitchey do it? The man is just magic. And tall. I swear he gained two inches since last year.

Damn, AaronMichaelRitchey.

Soylent Green Movie and Discussion

One of the fun things “they” (being “them”) do at MileHiCon is screen films, and I volunteered to moderate the Soylent Green movie discussion. So from 1 – 2:30 we watched the movie, then from 2:30 (or so) we discussed the film for about an hour. One really cool thing that came out of the discussion was that one lady had told us she had seen the original screening back in 1973 and ever since had wanted to be part of an actual discussion about that movie, because it so moved/scared her when she’d first seen it. So I’d felt quite honored that we had been part of her “bucket list,” so to speak, and had been able to fulfill her wish!

You just never know what you’re going to be a part of when you do things like this.

Point of order, however, but as I searched the Internet for “Soylent Green” for this post I found…it’s real!

Yes—Soylent Green is….

The Reading Game

This was such a cool idea! The premise of The Reading Game is like The Dating Game, but only with books.

It’s to help connect readers and writers! A reader sat on one side of a screen, while three writers sat on the other side. The reader then asked questions of the writers, and based on their answers the reader selected a writer they thought they might like to read. That author would give a book of theirs to the reader—and of course autograph it. I was one of the writers, and I was selected by a reader (most or all of the authors were selected by readers). My reader selected The Uninvited, my supernatural murder mystery and a “whydunnit” (versus a “whodunnit”). We all had a blast, on both sides of the screen. It didn’t have a huge audience, I think, because it was its first time offered and not well understood, so we hope next year it fills the room with roaring attendance! I feel this has huge entertainment potential on many levels! Afterward all readers were asked if they would post reviews of the books they read…and help publicize The Reading Game.

Closer & Further Than You Think

This was a discussion about what hard SF possibilities are actually right around the corner, despite being depicted as far out, and vice versa. Now, admittedly, I felt just a leettle out of my league, here, sitting on panel that sported Big Brain scientist types whose hands are still “in the pie,” as it were, so I went all conspiracy theory (I had to!)—and found a fellow conspiracy theorist in Dr. Tim Slater (knuckle bump!), of the University of Wyoming.

You see, whenever I talk about this kind of stuff it’s hard for me to not go all conspiracy theory! I don’t follow technology all that much anymore, but when I wrote ERO I had done a lot of conspiracy theory research and did try to keep somewhat up on technology…and what a lot of that “keyed” into me was that what we see and what might actually exist are three different things. And one of the books I’d read, whose author and exact title I couldn’t recall during the panel, but which I now present here for the Big Brains to pick apart, discussed about already existing hyperdimensional, anti-gravity (electrogravitics), faster-than-light travel. That book is Secrets of Antigravity Propulsion, by Paul A LaViolette, Ph.D. So, there you go, Kevin, Doug, Tim, and J. L., have at it! Love to hear you thoughts on the [anti]matter, if you’ll pardon the pun….

So, really, who can you trust when you talk about this stuff?

No one. Trust No One.

Other Sessions

I attended other sessions on which I was not a panelist:

Copyright for Authors and Artists

Trends in Publishing

Remember That Thing Called Privacy

The Year in Science (the tail end)

There is so much to say about these and the other panels, but this post is already long enough. All the sessions were quite informative. Except for MileHiCon, I’ve been out of the writer conference circuit for about two years, and I realized that I’ve missed it. There’s only so much an individual can do, and when you throw in trying to get your own writing done that really limits how “up” on things you can be. And of all the above sessions I attended, the Privacy session was perhaps the most unsettling…but I’d expected that…the so-called “eroding” of our personal privacies. There’s the “legal” definitions (a lawyer was on the panel, one who’d “argued” before the Supreme Court on just such issues) and what we think we understand to be our own human privacy rights. It’s a little unsettling. But the more we give away or “don’t care about,” the less we’ll have and the quicker it will all erode away. As long as there’s one guy or gal out there willing to create these kinds of technologies and actually use them…and gee, factor in the science and science fiction of technology, and well…

We’re all screwed.

Some arguments might well be made that it’s all only a matter of returning to where we all started…tribes and clans of everyone knew everyone’s business and there were no secrets so we’re really just coming full circle…but I could also use the argument that why don’t we just return to living in abject poverty and disease-ridden streets? Just “returning to a previous state” doesn’t make it “right.” No, I’m not of the mindset of “it’s just a return how it used to be.” Why are people so uncaring of all this? I enjoy my privacy. I know others who feel the same way. Call us Neo Luddites, we don’t care. I like having a little mystery about a person. I don’t want to know nor care to see how one wipes their ass or masturbates or picks their noses on a YouTube video, and, quite frankly, it disturbs me that others would want to know this about other people. Because—keep this in mind—what you’re seeing about other people…other people will also see about you.

When you continually enable Big Companies and the government by using things like Google (which I avoid—I’m told DuckDuckGo is as good at Google without the tracking) or smartphones without thinking about just what it is you’re doing…that bothers me. We all need our personal space. I don’t need to know your most-intimate of details. Yet we find all people continually posting all manner of minutiae on all manner of social media. I’ve talked to a few of those of other generations, and it is disturbing the “I don’t care” I get from some…”I don’t care if they track me going to the store.” Or “I don’t care if they track what I buy.”

Can’t you look beyond your desire for the latest smartphone to what you’re enabling? Can’t you look past your privacy nonchalance to the far larger picture? Are you really so self-involved you can’t see past your freaking iPhone?!

All kinds of arguments can be made for companies and governments having always been doing this, etc.—but does that make it right?

Think about your actions…their logical conclusions. Think.

Yet…I can also make the case that on a metaphysical level (yes, here I go…) such developments are also the physical manifestation of a kind of metaphysical and spiritual “singularity.” In this case, we are all approaching an “event” where we realize just how intricately connected we really are and how nothing is really hidden from another on an incorporeal level. So, our corporeal existence is more and more mirroring our incorporeal existence.

Transitions can really be a bitch.

Another conversation of note involved a panel I was on about the advancements in technology. In that discussion we touched upon the soul, the spiritual, and I was amused that science (well, one of our panelists) quickly went hands-off, and even went so far as to say that he wouldn’t touch that with a 10-foot pole (or words the effect)…yet “discussions” of physics and technology with an audience member who took issue with some of our panelists assertions were directly and most ardently faced head on.

I get it.

Certain things are more easily and apparently “proven” so “discussions” are considered useful.

But here’s the thing. And I said it in my own closing remarks on this particular panel: I worry about the advancements in technology without the corresponding advancements in ethics. Just because we can do something does not mean we should.

What is happening to our collective moral compass?

We do need to have more spiritual and metaphysical discussions bookending our advancing technologies…we should not shy away from them, ignore them, be unwilling to “touch them with a 10-foot pole”…yet continue to create more and more invasive and frightening advancements in technology that seem to stretch the limits of—hell, ignore—moral and ethical considerations.

MileHiCon48: panel for next year: the ethics of advancing technology.

We need to be more mindful of just what it is we’re allowing into our lives. Yes, the Government and Big Business is going to do what they do behind our backs, but let’s not make it any easier on them. A more aware public, or better informed and “ethically aware” (choose your term) public, is a stronger public that can actually push back on the nano-intrusions into our lives. At least make informed decisions. The unbridled advancements of “bombs and bullets and lasers” and all that involves. We create our reality…technology does not. I’m all for Human advancements…but to create advancing technology just because we can “finally get the numbers right” is not the answer. Is not a right. Let’s get the ethics right, too.

Let’s not destroy ourselves with our own hubris.

A Knot and a Head

Okay, to end on a lighter note!

Table For Two? Hyatt Regency Hotel Restaurant, MileHiCon47
Table For Two? Hyatt Regency Hotel Restaurant, MileHiCon47

Friday and Saturday, much like the Twin Peaks “Log Lady,” I wandered about MileHiCon47 with a mannequin head.

Oh, and this insane, Eldredge Knot.

I found it most curious that very few actually asked me about “my friend” (“the head” has a name, you know, had you asked: “Becka”). I’d even brought her into the hotel’s “Root 25 Taphouse and Kitchen” restaurant with me, and none of the server staff said a peep about her. And of all the panels I was on, I surely thought someone in the room—or at the very least on a particular panel itself–that of the Military SF Discussion and Readings—would have asked “Hey, dude—what the hell?”

But, nooo!

Becka In The Morning. MileHiCon47
Becka In The Morning. MileHiCon47

A few brave souls did inquire, however, one notable individual was author C. R. Asay. Christauna, which is her given name, came up to me as I hung out by a table in the hallway between Thunderpass and Bristlecone conference rooms, and asked straight out about what was the deal with the head? As we talked, she chuckled and told me she wasn’t sure what kind of response she was going to get from a guy carrying around a mannequin head! But she thought there must have been “something there” [mentally, we’re talking…] since I was dressed up kinda nice (bright, royal blue Kenneth Cole shirt and gold Jacob Alexander tie) and had this rather intricate tie knot (yea, verily, the mythical Eldredge Knot), and I wasn’t smelly, nor looking at all scraggy or disheveled!

This goes down as the coolest introduction EVER.

Sorry, AaronMichaelRitchey.

Well, here’s the deal: a character in my novel, Voice, sports a gold tie in an

A Girl And Her Coffee. MileHiCon47
A Girl And Her Coffee. MileHiCon47

Eldredge Knot, and another character in Voice  (let’s just say) “deals with” a mannequin head. That’s all I’m saying on the latter.

But, by the same token, it was so cool that I didn’t “freak out” anyone at MileHiCon (though a Facebook friend or two felt a little nervous about my sanity/apparent predilections…). Mainly because I wasn‘t the craziest looking thing out there that weekend!

And that was most amusing!

I mean, had I seen someone like me, I would have gone up and asked out of total curiosity! To me, that “presentation” would be a weird “look.” One not in line with a fantasy and science fiction convention (though I’d spotted a cross-dresser or two, here and there, not that there’s anything wrong with that). I’d be compelled to ask. So not being asked was both a pleasure and a curiosity, if you get my reasoning.

A Moment Of Reflection Before All The Crazy. MileHiCon47
A Moment Of Reflection Before All The Crazy. MileHiCon47

I’d actually fit in into the whole Weltanschauung that is MileHiCon!

And though I did get looks—just like every other costumed attendee—no one steered clear of me. And I did get quit a few smiles!

Originally I’d just intended to use the mannequin as a prop at Autograph Alley (not that that made any difference…), but when I thought about it, I thought, this be the perfect opportunity to well…play. And I so rarely do that. “Cut loose,” and do something weird like this—or even dress up on Hallowe’en anymore (I did it once at work in my entire adult life). I just don’t do that kinda thing. Yeah, go ahead, analyze. So, this was the most perfect place and time to do such a thing, and I decided to “let it all hang out”… and just “own it.” My story, that is. It was all for promotion of Voice, my newest release. I’m pretty sure someone will remember “that guy with the head” and Google/DuckDuckGo me to see what’s up w’dat.

So that, readers, was my Evil Plan. There you go, Robin and Kathleen.

I had a blast meeting up with my writer friends…making new ones. I had a great

Alas, Poor Becka.... MileHiCon47
Alas, Poor Becka…. MileHiCon47

conversation with Laura Deal and Leonore and David Dvorkin (and thanks, again, Leonore, for all of your support! You are so kind and gracious!). Her and David are also doing some book publishing efforts, and one of them sounds quite interesting is Red Eyes. I liked the look and feel of that book (she had a copy with her). A creepy feeling murder mystery. At this Con I met their son, Daniel, who’s been coming to this Con since he was a wee lad, but he’s “wee” no longer and now sat on some of his own panels. It was cool to meet them all.

How nice and sweet and kind were many I met and talked with! I know I’ve said it a lot already, but it really was pure fun!

There are so many to mention, so forgive me if I don’t specifically call you all out, but know I do value our conversations and friendships.

Angie Hodapp–you are so kind and gracious! Thank you for our conversation and for that “introduction” (be nice if it really pans out)! That was “funny” and well-timed, given our conversation only seconds prior!

C. R. Asay—again, I have to mention, yours was simply the coolest introduction EVER–“I wasn’t sure what kind of response I was going to get from a guy walking around carrying a mannequin head, but…!”

Ed Bryant and John Stith—so good to see and catch up with the both of you!

The Eldredge Knot et Moi. MileHiCon47, October 23-25, 2015
The Eldredge Knot et Moi. MileHiCon47, October 23-25, 2015

Bob Williscroft…wow, a fascinating life you’ve lived! Was a pleasure making your acquaintance, sitting on panels with you, and running into you multiple times this weekend!

Kevin Ikenberry—wish you well on your upcoming retirement! Also was a pleasure making your acquaintance, sitting on panels with you, and running into you multiple times this weekend! Wish you all the best on your  novel, next year!

Kristi Helvig—I’m sure we’ve met before at another writers conference—you are so familiar (could be a past-life thing…)—but in any case, it was fun talking with you (again)!

And to everyone else I haven’t specifically mentioned (Shannon, the other Aaron, J.T., Mario, Carol, Alicia, Matt, OMG, OMG, vapor lock! Vapor Lock!) thank you for taking time out of your weekend to chat and interact! I wish you all well with all of your efforts!

Thanks to Rose Beetem and ALL the volunteers! Awesome effort!

Man, I’m looking forward to MileHiCon48!

**************

Do try to make my first dedicated book signing for Voice, November 7, from 1 – 3 p.m., at The Bookman, on 3163 W. Colorado Avenue, Colorado Springs, CO 80904.

Voice is a sexy, emotional thriller about a guy who falls in love with a voice in his head (and there are mannequins…)…but is so much more. It’s about what defines “love”? What defines a “relationship”? How are we all connected? Yeah, I do get metaphysical on your asses, but I also get sexy, uncomfortable, and gritty. Come on, stop by…I can pretty much guarantee you haven’t read anything like this. But it’s not for the easily offended. Just sayin’.

“Keep up the great work. Your writing is unlike anything else I’ve read, and I mean that in a good way.” Joseph Reininger, former Book Seller.

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MileHiCon46…or This Blog is Really All About Aaron Michael Ritchey (fpdorchak.wordpress.com)

Filed Under: Fun, Leisure, Metaphysical, Space, Spooky, Technology, To Be Human, UFOs, Writing Tagged With: Aaron Michael Ritchey, Emotional, Hyatt Regency, Indie Publishing, Mannequin, Military, Science Fiction, Sexy, SF, Soylent Green, That guy with the head, Thriller

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