My Publishing History

From 1990 to the present day, I have enjoyed having a number of stories published and republished in several magazines and anthologies. This list does not include my own personal collections and children's novel published in all international Amazons. Many of these publications are still available through Amazon and can be found through your favorite search engine.

1. Roseanne, Elvis, and Us appeared in the April, 1990 of The United Brethren magazine. 
2. Olin G. Alwood (1905-1921): Faithful and Wise Steward (pp 106-114), the eighth chapter of the book, United Brethren Bishops from 1889-1997: Volume One edited by Dr. Paul R. Fetters, copyright August, 1996. 
3. The Substance of Things Hoped For published in PawPrints Fanzine: Summer, 1998 
4. Canticle of the Wolf published in PawPrints Fanzine: Summer, 1999 
5. Alice Remembers the White Knight (poem) published in Beauty For Ashes Poetry Review: Fall, 1999
6. Fox Hunt published in PawPrints Fanzine: Spring, 2000 
7. Coventry House published in PawPrints Fanzine: Fall 2001
8. Festival of Masks published in the Anthrocon 2003 convention book 
9. The Substance of Things Hoped For republished in Gateway SF Magazine: Winter, 2005 
10. Canticle of the Wolf republished in the Twilight Times Press Anthology Infinite Space, Infinite God as well as Mask of the Ferret, cowritten with author Ken Pick: Winter, 2006. ISIG won a 2007 Eppie award and was a Top 10 Finalist in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll 2007. Mask of the Ferret won an Honorable Mention from the 2008 Washington Science Fiction Association award. 
11. Night Mares published in Sam Dot's Publishing magazine, Beyond Centauri, October 2007 (Issue 18).
12. Dollmaker was published in the March 2009 edition of Aoife's Kiss from Sam's Dot Publishing. 
13. My Pretty Pony published in the April, 2009 edition of Ethereal Tales. 
14. The City of Sarkomand, A Guide for the Traveler, Chapter 32 was published in the July, 2009 issue of Ethereal Tales. 
15. The Vampire Mice of the U&G: A Tale from The Universe the Next Door Over was published in the October, 2009 issue of Ethereal Tales. 
16. My reprinted tale, Fox Hunt, as well as Down to Cathuria (a direct sequel to Mask of the Ferret and co-written with Ken Pick) was published in November, 2009 in the Different Worlds, Different Skins anthology from editor, Will Sanborn. 
17. My Pretty Pony has been released as part of an Ethereal Tales three-CD audio book collection, November, 2009.
18. Ethereal Tales published A Fairy Tale in April 2010. 
19. Ethereal Tales published Greengate in October 2010. 
20. My short story, The Pooka and the Redcap (formerly known as Fairy Tale) was released in the Static Movement anthology, Faeries, and is published by Pill Hill Press on January 1, 2010. 
21. Dyads, a novella-length sequel to Mask of the Ferret and co-written with Ken Pick, was published in the anthology Infinite Space, Infinite God 2 from Twilight Times Press (November 15, 2010). 
22. The Furry Con Mystery or My Fursuit is Hot (With Apologies to Dashiell Hammett) appeared in the anthology, Darker Than Noir, edited by Faith Kauwe. (August, 2011) 
23. Ethereal Tales published Storyteller in September, 2011. 
24. My short short An Incident at a Carnival was published in the March 2012 issue of Cover of Darkness magazine. 
25. Yew Manor was published in the Morphicon 2012 Convention book. 
26. My Pretty Pony was republished in Morpheus Tales' Apocalypse Special Issue on February 2013.
27. Morpheus Press published In the Father's Image in their Ethereal Tales Special Issue on February 1, 2014.
28. Dollmaker was republished by the anthology, Fossil Lake II: The Refossiling in February 1, 2015 
29. Fred Patten, accepted my flash fiction, To the Reader … for his anthology, Gods with Fur, published on June 16, 2016. 
30. Fred Patten, accepted The Shrine War for his anthology, Dogs of War published on January 13, 2017. 
31. Child of His Desire was published in Morpheus Tales #31 on November 26, 2017.
32. Through the Black Andes was published in Odd Tales of Wonder #7 on December 11, 2017.
33. Fred Patten, accepted In Search of the Creators for his anthology, Exploring New Places published on July 26, 2018. 
34. Canticle of the Wolf was reprinted in the anthology, Wolf Wanderings in January 20, 2024.

My Inspiration For All My Writing

My inspiration for all my writing

 

Back to Serious Writing ... Finally

With a sigh of relief, I can finally announce that I'm finally back to serious writing after at least two years of absence. The advent of Covid-19 four years ago did me no favors. I came down with the disease once, and I was fortunate. I cannot tell you the number of friends I lost to the disease.

That, and the advent of prostate cancer (now controlled by medicines) played a further role in the loss of morale.

Last Saturday, I was involved in a ZOOM meeting with my writing partner, Ken Pick, on wrapping up the first book of a science fiction trilogy, The Adventures of Jill Noir.

The other writing challenge is a dark fantasy short story exploring my fascination with cryptids, The White Thing.

With the latter, I have already played around with several scenarios, considering whether I want a first-person or third-person perspective, the setting of the story, how it begins, and, most importantly, how it ends.

I have mentally played with this story for at least two months now, and I have decided to use a first-person narrator to tell the story of his best friend, who lives in a cabin on the outskirts of the Allegheny National Forest. Summoned to the cabin, he finds his friend in severe straits, dealing with an almost daily visitation from what he calls the White Thing.

It is not a Bigfoot. I think that cryptid has been written into the dust. This a unique creature of my invention with peculiar reasons for terrifying the narrator's friend.

The picture gives an early impression of the White Thing, but I have already made subtle changes to its appearance.

Starting tomorrow, I start work on both projects. Wish me luck.

My Favorite Two Wolves Memes

Audio by Erin Broadhurst on TikTok

1. Inside you, there are two wolves. Neither of them are paying rent.

2. Inside you are two wolves and your proctologist is frightened beyond words.

3. Inside you there are two wolves. Congratulations, Mrs. Werewolf, it's twins!

4. I don't have two wolves. I have 8 badgers, two mushrooms, and a snake.

5. Inside you there are 2 wolves. Sorry about the transporter malfunction.

6. Inside you there are two wolves, so they have advantage.

7. Inside me there are two wolves. I need serious medical attention.

8. Inside you there are two wolves. One always tells the truth the other always lies... or something like that.

9. "Inside you are 2 wolves" “Jokes on you, I can fit 3.”

10. Inside you there are two wolves. The other twelve are patiently waiting their turn.

11. Inside you there are two wolves. I'd recommend calling 911.

12. Inside you there are two wolves. Must have been one heck of a party!

13. Inside of me are two wolves, one of them is hungry. The second one is... hungry. You are hungry.

14. Inside you, there are 2 wolves. Sadly, there is no room for dessert.

15. Inside you, there are two wolves … wait. Now there are six wolves.

16. Inside me there are two wolves. I was really hungry this morning.

17. The doctor-recommended number of wolves inside of you is zero.

18. Inside of you there are two wolves. One of them is Adam Sandler. The other one is Adam Sandler. You are Adam Sandler.

19. Inside me there are two wolves. I will be incredibly sore tomorrow.

20. Inside you there are two wolves. You are dead.

21. Inside of you are two wolves. One craves cement. The other craves cement. You are addicted to cement.

22. Inside you are two wolves. They keep eating all the counting sheep. It's giving you insomnia.

23. You are inside 2 wolves (wait a minute…)

24. Inside of you are two knees. One is good. The other is bad. You are old.

25. Inside of you there are two wolves. One is wrong. The other one is wrong. You are wrong.

26. Inside your nose are two nostrils. One is so clogged, you can’t breathe. The other is so open you can taste the color of the air.

27. Inside you there are two wolves. One is wondering how it got there. The other is eating your liver.

28. Inside of you are two wolves. Both of them are exhausted.

29. Inside of you are two wolves. One is a coyote and the other is a coyote. You lack basic knowledge of North American carnivores.

30. Inside of you are two wolves. They are both fed up with your nonsense.

 

A Momentary Diversion

A Momentary Diversion: An Experiment in Absurdity

by Alan Loewen

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Patrick sighed and sat on the park bench, letting the wood take his full weight. The chilly autumn air competed with the warmth of the full sun, and he folded into himself and let the sunlight sink through his suit coat to warm his bones.

The workday had been long and exhausting, and Patrick decided to walk another way home through a park he had never before visited. It wasn’t that he did not love his wife and daughter that kept him from rushing home, but he needed the quiet of the city’s park to shake off the stress of the day. He only wanted a moment to enjoy the quiet. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the autumn aromas.

Patrick felt somebody jostle the park bench, and he opened his eyes to see an elderly man in a business suit sitting beside him. “May I sit here?” he asked.

Patrick smiled, nodded, and closed his eyes again, hoping his visitor would take the hint that he was not interested in conversing.

His visitor ignored the hint. “So, are you here for the show?' the man asked.

Reluctantly, Patrick opened his eyes. “Show? There’s a show? I didn’t know anything about a show.”

The visitor laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought that’s why you are here. Every day at 5:30. It’s quite unique.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “Normally, I head home every day straight from work. This is the first time I’ve ever taken a seat here.”

The man nodded knowingly. “Well, that explains it.” With a grunt, he took out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “We’re early. Others will be showing up momentarily.”

True to his word, quietly, silently, others started appearing, either strolling down the sidewalk or walking out of the woods. The small crowd was a blend of humanity, and conversation was gentle and susurrant. Patrick looked around with growing curiosity. He sensed a growing air of expectation.

“Here they come,” somebody said.

Patrick craned his eyes toward the direction people looked and pointed. The next moment, he rubbed his eyes and looked again in surprise.

From around a bend in the sidewalk, initially obscured by the trees, two antelope came riding a tandem bicycle, their eyes intent on their path. They passed the group and, within moments, disappeared around another wooded bend on the sidewalk.

The crowd began to break up as people started to go their separate ways.

“What … what was that all about?” Patrick gasped.

His companion shrugged his shoulders. “Just a momentary diversion,” he said. “Nothing more.” He got up from the park bench, brushing off the seat of his pants. “Sometimes they are timber wolves ... or anteaters. Will I see you here tomorrow?”

Patrick spent a moment in thought. “Yes,” he slowly replied. “I believe you will.”

Incident at a Carnival: A Monologue

Incident at a Carnival: A Monologue
by
Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

INT. THE LIGHTS COME ON TO REVEAL AN ELDERLY WOMAN SITTING AT A SMALL TABLE FACING THE AUDIENCE. SHE IS DRESSED IN THE TRADITIONAL GARB OF A CARNIVAL FORTUNETELLER. A DECK OF TAROT CARDS IS OFF TO HER SIDE, WRAPPED IN SILK OR FINE LINEN. A BRANDY FLASK SITS OFF TO THE OTHER SIDE.

Hello, hello! Please come inside. Sit down there across the table from me.

SHE MOTIONS TO A NON-EXISTENT CHAIR IN FRONT OF THE TABLE

“My, my. What a pretty one you are!

“No, no, my dear. Don’t be concerned over a silly old lady like me. Sit! Sit!

“So, you want to know the future? Maybe the past? Yes?

“Well, of course, you already know the past! At least you think you do, but my cards have a way of helping you remember it.

“Ignore the noises of the carnival outside. Here it is just you and me.

“Now, I will unwrap the cards, and we shall begin.

SHE UNWRAPS THE CARDS AND PUTS THEM IN FRONT OF HER

“Yes, that’s natural silk they are wrapped in. I’m not some carnival hack, not Madame Gianopoulos. I have dealt these cards for over seventy years.

“What? Why, thank you. No, my child, I don’t look ninety years old, do I?

“Now, take the cards and just shuffle them the best you can. Any way is acceptable. The cards have to taste you.

“Yes, that does sound unpleasant, does it not? Let’s say they must know you, but listen to me prattle on.

“Very good. Yes, the cards do feel oddly warm. Ah! They are ready.

THE FORTUNETELLER TAKES THE CARDS AND LAYS THEM OUT AS DESCRIBED IN THE MONOLOGUE.

“Let me lay them out before you facedown. Four in the first row, three in the second, and one in the third row: the past, the present, and the future.

“Now let us look at the past, maybe a past you have forgotten?

“Oh, look! It is the Spring Maid in Flowers!

“What? You don’t remember the Spring Maid in Flowers being in the Tarot? Why, of course not. These are my cards. My special cards.

“Oh, look how young and pretty she is! How innocent! How she revels in the dawn of each new day. Ah, how it makes me remember my own childhood, but now we may not be as innocent? What a world of sorrow we live in.

“Here is the Summer Meadow, but it is inverted. Oh, the pretty little one is not living in a very nice place. How distressing. She had all that purity, but she lives amidst people and places that are not so uncorrupted. Let’s look at the next card.

“The Fiends of the Heart. Oh, this is dreadful. Look at the picture. Look how the child cringes from the beasts that crowd around here, the monsters that have been sown into her heart by those who were monsters themselves.

“No, child, you do not need to shy away. There is no need to cover your eyes. It is just a picture, see? It is just ink on a pasteboard.

“Let’s move on to the next. This may be a Cinderella story, yes?

“Ah! The Questing Youth!

“Now, now, how can the woman in the picture look like you? Her back is turned to us. How do you know what you look like from behind?

“Yet, she is looking for something. She is searching, but what is she questing for?

“The next card!

“Oh! The Blessing, inverted. Oh! Well, we need not talk of this one at this time. Let us look to the present, shall we? Let us do so. Quickly.

“The Lovers Slain. Oh. Oh. One moment, dearest. Yes, my hands do tremble so. Ignore them. I am an old woman.

“Let me have that flask there. The brandy inside will steady my hands.

SHE TAKES THE BRANDY FLASK IN TREMBLING HANDS AND TAKES A SIP.

“You are correct. The slain lovers are all men, and there they lay, the poor dears, in one large carrion pile. They dared to love somebody. Let’s see who that could have been.

“Ah, the Puppeteer!

“Yes, her eyes are not kind, are they? They have no love or tenderness within their depths.  Her marionettes lie limp on their strings. Used and now useless.

“Please do not look at me that way. See, now? There are just two cards left.

“The Vengeful Dead. Look how they reach out from the pasteboard!

“Please, my dear. Please put the knife away. Please. Look! There is just one more card. You have to admit the cards have power, don’t they?

“This last card is your future. Just let me flip it over.

“It is blank!

“Nothing but an eternity of whiteness, but look! Something takes shape within the card itself.

SUDDENLY LOOKS UP PUZZLED

“But my dear, where have you gone? Do you not want to see this card?

LOOKS DOWN AT THE CARD

The woman trapped within looks just like you.

THE FORTUNETELLER LOOKS UP AND AROUND AND THEN TAKES A LONG GLANCE AT THE CARD AND SIGHS

“I shall call this card A Broken Doll in Hell.”

THE STAGE LIGHTS GO OUT

Written permission must be given for this monologue to be performed with the following conditions:

1. I must be given credit as the playwright.

2. Admission may not be charged unless the organization is a registered nonprofit or educational institution.

3. A video of the performance must be sent to me either through YouTube or another video hosting service.

 

Fogbound

For Inktober, Friday, October 30, 2020. Prompt word: "ominous." Tuckerization: Gregory Salter

A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant's name. Other than that, no similar characteristics are implied. 

This story is a continuation of the city stories that began with Sarkomand in Some Would Call it Worthless and continued in The Library.

Fogbound

by Alan Loewen

Gregory Salter continued his trek toward the west, following the road until the city-sized library was merely a speck in the distance. Having escaped the ennui of Sarkomand, he left the Library behind to see what might lay ahead of him.

The plethora of books he read was fascinating, and he was enchanted with the hundreds of lives he had lived, but after a while, he noticed, to his growing horror, that his real life began to disappear in countless incarnations. When Gregory discovered the basement filled with living skeletons, impulsively grabbing and reading one book after another, he filled an improvised backpack with food and water and fled.

With the weather warm and comfortable, Gregory passed the next two nights comfortably on the eastbound road, using only the canopy of trees as his only shelter.

It disturbed him that he had met no other people on the road, and the woods bordering it were eerily silent, devoid of the usual sounds of animals and birds. However, he continued his journey, and on the third day, he found himself walking into a mist that soon turned into a thick fog. Still able to see the road under his feet, he wondered if he should turn back but decided to soldier on. To bolster his courage, he found a thick branch in the woods that doubled as a walking stick and an improvised cudgel.

To his relief, he came to a set of city gates set in a stone wall. The fog was so thick that it was impossible to guess their height. Cautiously, he stepped past the entrance, surprised to see no people on the cobblestone street before him.

It was only until he walked a reasonable distance that he saw people furtively moving through the mist. They occasionally glanced at him but continued on whatever personal missions they had. None of them seemed willing to stop and talk to him, even though he tried to stop a few to ask questions.

He decided to avoid the dark stores with large empty windows, and though he was tempted to knock on the doors of the brownstone houses, he continued his trek through the fog.

A sign above a door gave him hope of finding answers to this weird city that had entered. The Cobblestone Pub beckoned him, and when he walked through the door, the patrons, sitting at the scattered round, wooden tables or leaning against the bar, turned as one to stare at him. Within seconds, they lost interest in him and either returned to their whispered conversations or turned to stare sullenly into their mugs.

Wishing to stay invisible, Gregory made his way to the bar. He beckoned to the barkeep, who came and silently stood before him with raised eyebrows.

“Excuse me, sir, but …” Gregory began, but the man interrupted him.

“You came from the Library,” the barkeep whispered. “You should have stayed there or returned to Sarkomand.” Stunned into silence, Gregory stood there as the barkeep turned and filled a mug with a dark liquid.

“On the house,” the barkeep said. “You’ll have to find a job to pay for your livelihood. There’s a guesthouse just down the street. They’ll take you in until you settle. Just don’t be out in the fog when night truly comes.”

“But,” Gregory stuttered. “I’m just moving on.”

A grim smile came to barkeep’s face. “Bad news, newcomer. Those who enter this city can never leave. Surely, they told you at the Library that no one ever returns from following the eastern road.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Gregory snarled. “The gate I entered is just down the street from where I entered. I can leave anytime I want.”

The barkeep shook his head slowly. “When you walked through the gate, it changed into a solid, unclimbable wall. It was the same for all of us. There is no escape. Now, drink your beer and get to the guesthouse. We’re an hour away from nightfall. I have no rooms to let, and I don’t want you sleeping on a table.”

“What …” Gregory said. “What happens at night?”

The barkeep shrugged. “People just disappear. Sometimes, we hear screams when some idiot loses track of time and doesn’t find shelter. Now, let me be. I have work to do.”

The barkeeper turned away to check on other patrons, leaving Gregory staring at his own beer mug. Tentatively, he took a sip, and hunger and thirst made him drain the mug dry.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Gregory shouldered his knapsack and made his way to the guesthouse.

True to the barkeep's word, he was taken in and given a week to find a job and a place to live.

Also, the barkeep spoke truth about the gate. Gregory never found the entrance where he had entered or any way to leave. The stone walls surrounding the city were smooth as glass, and when he tried to talk to people about building a ladder to find the top of the fog-shrouded walls, they stared at him and passed on.

He found work with a mushroom farmer, as the various types of fungus were the only edibles that would grow in a city perpetually covered in fog. A two-room flat became his new home, and he quickly learned to avoid being out at night in the ominous fog. Occasionally, Gregory would be awakened by a distant scream of some victim of the night, and he would tremble in his bed until the morning, unable to return to sleep.

Countless years later, Gregory shuffled his way through the streets like the other citizens of the city. He never learned the name of the fogbound city. It was a mystery, a town without a name.

One evening, Gregory sat at his small dinner table and quietly spooned tasteless soup into his mouth. He blinked his eyes and shook his head. A sudden realization came to him. He hated this city more than anything. He hated his life, day by day, digging mushrooms out of offal and trudging home before the dreaded night claimed him.

He quietly put his spoon down and shuddered. Better an end to this nameless purgatory than another day of soul-crushing ennui.

Gregory got up, tucked his chair into its place by the table, and walked outside into the fog.

As night quickly descended. Gregory swallowed his terror and waited quietly.

He gritted his teeth until he feared they would crack under the pressure of his jaws, but he clenched his fists and refused to move, ignoring the other people fleeing to shelter.

Complete darkness crept upon him, and Gregory felt a cosmic cold envelope his body. He could not help it when a nameless dread made him turn toward his door for shelter, but it was too late.

He felt gravity reverse, and Gregory fell into the sky with a shriek.

He plunged heavenward, tumbling through the fog until he was above the clouds in a maddening fall upwards. He suddenly saw the stars. As he was swallowed up in their glory, Gregory, in his terror, abruptly realized he had discovered a way to leave the city after all.