A New Release for February - In Search of the Creators

 

Just in time for 2022, here is February's offering of short stories for the price of only 99¢ US.

When humanity discovered they were alone in the cosmos, they returned to Earth and uplifted their animals, seeding them throughout the Milky Way. They then waited for their creations to evolve and relieve the loneliness of humanity.

But then the humans disappeared.

In Search of the Creators is coupled with Canticle of the Wolf, an SF retelling of the legend of Saint Francis and the wolf of Gubbio.

Enjoy these two parables of humanity's responsibilities when they uplift animals.

And please, if you purchase the eBook, please consider leaving a review.

Amazon US site and it will be available in all foreign Amazon markets on Wednesday, February 23rd if not before.

Summer Games: A Short Story

Summer Games

by Alan Loewen

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Collie and her father, Hunter, sat on a log in the light of a dawning West Virginia morning. Behind them, Foxrun Mountain reached into the sky, its wooded slopes punctured by rugged outcroppings of limestone. Before full sunrise, Hunter and his eleven-year-old daughter had carried buckets of water up from where a nearby spring bubbled out of the ground and filled a large, rough stone trough until it overflowed.

Hunter had a reputation of being a man of few words and Collie knew not to ask any questions until her father stood ready to speak. However, undone chores waited back at their log cabin home along with late peas ready to be picked and canned, so Collie’s unspoken puzzlement at this strange activity of filling this old trough with water grew by the moment.

Now with the job completed, Collie and her father sat quietly surrounded by an awakening forest. Hunter spat a stream of tobacco juice at a sprig of wintergreen, casually gazing at the rising orb of the sun as it made its way to full morning.

“When I turned eleven,” Hunter said, breaking the silence, ”my father brought me up here. Ever since then, the second day of every June, I’ve been here and now I’m ready to turn the job over to you.”

Collie stared at her father, the two sentences being the longest oratory she had ever heard her father speak.

“We’ve owned Foxrun Mountain ever since your sixth great-grandfather went and cleared some land for a corn patch. That year he saw ‘em and they’ve been seen every year since for nigh on eight generations. He didn’t know what they were or why they did what they did, but he carved out this trough for ‘em out of the biggest boulder he could find and ever since then, the oldest child in our family has gotten the farm and the job.”

His father gazed at the sun. “Any time now,” he said. A pause. “Yup. Right on time.”

Collie’s father had nodded down the hillside and Collie stared at the figures that suddenly appeared running up the slope. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them. About fifty or more people ran toward them, but their clothes seemed strange and their heads misshapen. As they drew nearer, Collie gasped as her father grabbed her shoulder. He whispered encouragement to be still.

The fox people came on, foxes running on human-shaped legs with human-shaped bodies, but covered in thick red fur, their bushy crimson and white tails streaming behind them. They raced toward them in a wave and as they drew nearer, Collie could see the intelligence plainly visible in their eyes. Red tongues lolled from open muzzles and as they drew near, they threw themselves down by the trough and lapped up water like dogs.

Collie stared in wonder at the milling crowd. Up to ten could drink at a time and while they drank, Hunter carefully refilled the trough from the buckets.

With an approving nod from her father, Collie picked up another sloshing bucket and carefully poured the water into the trough. Close to the creatures, Collie could feel the joy pouring off of them like a palpable musk, the excitement of just being alive, life and energy surging through their bodies.

Those who sated their thirst made room for those yet to drink, their deep, dark eyes scouting out the mountain ahead. Within minutes, the pack had drunk its fill and at some signal unseen by Collie, the fox people leaped away up the mountainside to disappear among the trees and boulders.

Collie stared in wonder. “Dad,” she finally managed to say. “Why?”

His father collected the buckets. “Can’t say. It’s just what they do, run up the mountain. I wonder if it’s sorta like them Olympics we do. Just be glad you get to see ‘em every year and be happy you play a part.’ He turned to look at his daughter, “Next year it’s your job though I’ll help you out gladly. Just remember that someday when your own child is ready for the job, he’ll be in charge. It’s our good mountain water they need.”

Collie stared up the mountain hoping to see a glimpse of carmine among the green. She remembered the joy she felt pouring from them and Collie made a quiet vow that someday she just might join the pack in its race up the mountain and see where the finish line stood.

(Graphic courtesy of pixabay.com and released under a Creative Commons license)

In Search of the Creators Released in a New Fred Patten Anthology

During Anthrocon 2018, FurPlanet released its new anthology, Exploring New Places, that contains my short story, In Search of the Creators. Coupled with 18 other short stories, the theme deals with anthropomorphic animals venturing into unknown places.

In Search of the Creators centers on Illatha, an anthropomorphic rabbit, and her crew searching the galaxy for the strange beings that uplifted her ancestors millennia ago before mysteriously disappearing. Exploring another solar system, they discover a planet that shows signs of habitation. Could it be, after fruitless years of searching, Illatha and her crew have finally found the answers to their genesis?

Exploring New Places is not yet available from Amazon, but can be ordered directly from FurPlanet.

Story Excerpt:

Illatha and her crew stayed in silent orbit waiting for orders from Homeworld. A subspace squirt took one week out and back and assuming a few days for the leaders of Homeworld to debate what they should do, a response was expected soon.

Illatha stared at the dots of light that speckled the night side of the planet, each one declaring the presence of a city. Sensors had shown the lights were not electrical in nature, but the glow from fires that appeared to be from natural gas.

One of the lights dimmed slowly and then brightened again. Illatha’s gaze focused on it.

It blinked again, twice in succession in a slow, but steady pattern.

Illatha’s furred brow furrowed in curiosity and concentration.

The light blinked again, three times in succession.

Immediately, the captain’s four-fingered hands flashed over the control board to put her ship in a stationary orbit.

Fascinated, she watched as it blinked five times and then went back and blinked once. And then twice, then three times and then five, cycling back to repeat the pattern of prime numbers in a base ten system.

Fear welled up in Illatha’s heart. They had been spotted.

Contact had been made.

Five More Poems For Your Enjoyment

More poetry that I have written over the years. Please remember that ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

Alice Remembers the White Knight

I would step through the mirror once again,” she said,
“As a sacrament
to unrequited faith.

And writing of you with compassion,
my words will spill on the pages
with all the might of snowflakes.

And when my pen is emptied,
I will walk into the sky to find my heart
for it is there you will be waiting.”

Jordan Draws

Ink flows and

an ebony line forms

a face, an eye, a mouth,

the artist's desire made

corporeal—a faint echo

of a Divine hand when

it sketched its heart

on the virgin soil

of Eden.

The Wizard and the Poet

Incantation muttered, the stars
Have gelled in positions ordained.
The candles lit, the words uttered,
Sacrifices made.

The adept pauses, but no
Reality bends to firm will.
With a curse, retorts are shattered
And symbols undone as are years of labor.

The poet pauses with pen in hand
Then writes worlds into existence.
Crafting reality with artful phrase
And creating universes with words.

No demon-haunted wizard can match this power
No mumbling incantation half as strong.
Impotent all before the writing poet
Who wields his words in majesty and awe.

Maiden With Horn

She walks among the roses, sunlight
Glittering off opal and pearl.
He sees through the blossoms
A delicate body of wreathed
Alabaster, distillation of sylph
And maiden.

“Alms!” he cries and the
Silhouetted vision pauses.
“Alms! Bless this poor man’s
Soul.”

A whisper returns, “Do you ask
Or give?

“May we not do both?” He weaves
His web of words, “Come and
Enrich my heart.”

Her retreat quickens his spirit.
He follows the shadowed vision
To a wooded glade.
Under an ancient oak, he sees
The body of a girl, the face of a myth.
Her spiral horn shines in the setting sun.

By wonder transformed, the
Novitiate lays his head, his
Life, his alms, in his
Mistress’s lap.

Where Unicorns Walked As Men

He sat at the bar with untouched drink
And babbled about lost lands of opal towers,
Perfumed air, and unicorns that walked as men.

We mocked this poet racked with fever-dream,
Lost in visions and rum. “And you returned to this?”
We asked.

Jenny, Sweet Jenny

Again, this is another Unicorn & Gryphon Pub tale from the universe where humans and other species attained sentience together and the bartender is human. The first tale is Sheila: A Morality Tale that I released yesterday and if this is your first U&G story that you've read from me, you might want to read the introduction and story there first. Again I release this, with some trepidation, in the spirit of Halloween.

Jenny, Sweet Jenny
A Tale From The Universe The Next Door Over
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

(Author's note: British mothers in the Middle Ages kept children away from the dangerous edges of ponds and streams by telling them of Jenny Greenteeth, an ugly fairy-goblin who waited just under the water to grab little children.)

Warm light and friendship illuminated the Unicorn & Gryphon Pub. A portly, mustachioed human bartender stood behind his bar and wiped wine glasses clean with a soft cloth. Around him, pretty barmaids of various species served ginger beer to dragons, gryphons, equines of all flavors, wolves, foxes, and other canines as well as the rare human who chatted amiably with lions, tigers, bears and ohmyes.

The evening proceeded like one hundred evenings before and would probably proceed like the next one hundred, but life, regardless of the dimension it finds itself, has a tendency to be unpredictable at best.

The first sign that something amiss loomed on the horizon presented itself as an overpowering odor of rot and decay. Conversation in the pub stopped abruptly as individuals began to gag and cough and look askance at their neighbors who blamed others for the phenomenon.

Suddenly, the door to the pub opened and in walked an apparition from a demented child's nightmare.

The creature looked as if it had laid in the bottom of a bog for the last decade. Copious strands of algae formed its only clothes as well as dangled from long, wiry arms. Wet, dripping hair failed to hide most of the waterlogged features of a ravaged female face.

Leaving scum-flecked puddles behind, it walked over to a bar stool and sat upon it with a loathsome, squelching sound.

"Bartender!" it croaked, "Service. Now!"

The pub remained silent as everybody simply stared.

The creature looked around at the shocked faces with some annoyance. "What? What?" it growled. "You never saw Jenny Greenteeth before?"

Nobody dared to respond.

"You never heard of Jenny Greenteeth or is it you just don't like me?" she cackled, a grin revealing the source of her name. "Oh, yes, we all like the foxes don't we? We like the horses and the tigers and the bunnies, but nobody ever likes Jenny Greenteeth, do they? Jenny's too scary, eh? She that eats little children that wander too close to the water's edge, eh?"

She put hands up in mock surprise, speaking a few octaves higher. "Oh my babies!" she squealed. "Don't get too near the water or mommy will worry and Jenny Greenteeth'll get ye!"

With a cackle, she turned back to the bar to come suddenly face to face with the bartender.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we can't serve you here," the bartender said firmly. "You see, it's just that I know what your kind likes to eat and all and we just don't serve children here."

"Pah!" Jenny said with an annoyed wave of her hand, "I had to give up on eating children. Doctors said they was too high in cholesterol and saturated fat. And the feisty ones give me heartburn something fierce."

She pointed to a large cookie jar. "Just give me one of them gingerbread cookies over there."

With a sigh, the bartender fetched her a large gingerbread cookie inn the traditional shape of a man. Not to often do gingerbread men form part of a normal pub's menu, but the foxes did love them so. He lay the cookie on the top of the bar in front of the fairy-goblin who eyed it hungrily, licking what was left of her lips.

With slimy, trembling fingers, she carefully arranged the gingerbread man on the bar, making sure it was precisely where she wanted it to be. Then she got off her stool and slid below the bar.

"Ooh," she said, her voice drifting up from the floor. "Does ol' Jenny Greenteeth hear a little child above me? Did some naughty darling disobey his mummy and wander too close to the water's edge? Bad, naughty, little boy!"

She peaked over the edge of the bar at the gingerbread figure ignoring the shocked patrons who stared at her, her watery, green eyes staring intently at the sweetmeat. "Ooh! He's a naughty little boy, isn't he? He's a scrumptious little thing, isn't he? Wandered too far from mummy and daddy to the water's edge, didn't he?"

With a roar that made everybody jump, Jenny leapt over the bar and grabbed the gingerbread man with both hands. Cackling shrilly with diabolical glee, she stuffed the large cookie in her mouth, spraying crumbs and pond water everywhere. Her high-pitched squeals brought tears to the eyes and pain to the ears.

After a moment, she stopped laughing long enough to glare at the barkeep. "Another one, please?"

Suddenly, one of the dragons spoke up. "Hey, Horse," he said the barkeep in a loud voice, " tell her about the life-sized gingerbread boy you have."

Jenny whirled about to face the dragon fast enough to miss seeing the puzzled look on the barkeep's face. "Gingerbread boy?" she asked. "Life-sized, you say?"

"Yeah," the dragon said casually. "It's kept in there." He nodded toward a thick, oaken door complete with large lock and key behind the bar. "You could say it almost looks completely lifelike."

Jenny spun about to face the barkeep. "I wants it," she demanded. "I wants it now!"

The bartender simply spread his hands with a puzzled look.

"Don't worry yourself, Horse," the dragon said. "Allow me." With that, he got up off his seat and walked behind the bar.

Jenny shook with eager anticipation.

"Now when I open this door," the dragon said in a stage whisper, "you run in and get him."

Jenny cackled, grinned, and rubbed her slimy hands together.

Suddenly, the dragon grabbed the handle and opened the door with a sudden jerk. With a shriek that froze the marrow of all those who heard, Jenny dove off her stool in a demonic leap right into the darkness beyond the open door leaving behind a puddle of brackish pond water and the cloying smell of decay.

The dragon slammed the door, turned the key, and leaned against the door.

The bartender walked up, worry etched in his face. "L.D.," he said. "Fun's fun, but I can't keep a customer in the walk-in freezer, no matter how obnoxious she may be."

He held out his hand for the key.

The dragon looked at the barkeep, then looked at the key. With a shrug, he tossed the key into the air, caught it between his jaws and swallowed. "Oops!" he said with a toothy grin. "Looks like you'll have to put the cost of the key on my tab."

Hours later after the barkeep removed the door, he found that Jenny's attitude toward the bar had grown cold...downright frozen, in fact.

The next October found the U&G pub the talk of the town. The celebrations of All Hallowed Eve were made even more complete with a life-sized ice statue of Jenny Greenteeth in disturbing detail.

Trapped in the icy prison of her own body, Jenny sighed with satisfaction. She might be cold and stiff, but she could still scare the kiddies.

Sheila: A Morality Tale

 I share this tale with some trepidation as it was originally intended for a very small group of people who would understand the milieu of the tale. Allow me to elucidate.

Written many years ago, Sheila: A Morality Tale takes place in a parallel universe where sentience developed among humans and various species of animals. Much like Zootopia they live together basically in harmony and all the tales I wrote about this universe center around a watering hole called The Unicorn & Gryphon Pub, probably the only bar in the world that sports busts of St. Francis and St. Patrick above the door.

So if you can handle Sheila being an anthropomorphic goat, please enjoy this little tale of hamfisted morality that is quite suitable for this Halloween season.

Sheila: A Morality Tale

A Tale From The Universe The Next Door Over

by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Sheila hit the play button on the CD and smiled as the guitars ground out the familiar intro. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, humming along with the ZZ Top tune that she adopted as her personal theme song.

Her hands smoothed her black, velvet dress along her perfect hourglass figure, the high hem showing legs that would have made Venus kill.

She's got legs, she knows how to use them. She never begs, she knows how to choose them.

A caprine face looked back at her from the mirror framed by a long, lush mane of glistening brown hair. Her archetype and face corresponded with a Toggenburg goat, but her figure would be recognized in any dimension as female. And as far as Sheila was concerned, her figure was prime regardless of her original derivation.

She's my baby, she's my baby, yeah, it's alright. She's got hair down to her fanny.

The phone rang and she let it go unanswered as she continued to primp in the mirror.

She's got a dime all of the time, stays out at night movin' through time.

On the fourth ring, her answering machine picked up. “Sheila? It’s Jackson. Why don’t you return my calls? Can we talk?”

Sheila smirked and let the poor slob talk himself out. Jackson had proposed two nights ago and that always signaled the end of the game and time to move on to another playing field. She paused before the mirror in thought. She had never tried dating a canine before. Maybe she could hang another different type of heart from her hemline.

She checked herself out in the mirror one more time and smiled at perfection.

Oh, I want her, said, I got to have her, the girl is alright, she's alright.

Her archetype may have been that of a vegetarian, but all her victims knew Sheila as something else. Sheila was a real man killer.

***

The Unicorn and Gryphon Pub sat on a lonely street and Sheila had hunted there before. She didn’t like to go to places where she might bump into old boyfriends with a grudge, but it had been over a year since she had hung out at the U&G. Surely, old boyfriends had moved on by now.

She walked into the brightly lit establishment secretly pleased by all the heads that turned and looked at her. Take a good look, boys, she thought to herself. It don’t come cheap.

Sheila mentally took note of the male population. Yes, this would be a good hunting ground.

She walked over to the bar and got her first disappointment of the evening. Sheila had forgot about the bartender and evidently he hadn’t forgotten about her.

His archetype was human; not that common, but not that rare. He walked over to her while she took a seat at the bar.

“Hey, Sheila,” he said as he set up a glass. “It’s been awhile. Brandy Alexander, right?”

“You’ve got a good memory ...” she paused forgetting the name.

“Friends call me the Horse. Inside joke.”

“Well, barkeep, you’ve got a good memory.”

The bartender smiled at the obvious affront. “Yes, I do. I also remember you dated Franklin for awhile.”

Sheila paused in an exaggerated pose of thought. “Franklin? Franklin? I don't seem to remember him. There are just so many men.”

Heavy poured brandy and coffee liqueur into a shaker followed by two scoops of rich vanilla ice cream. “He probably doesn’t remember you either. We hosted his wedding reception just two weeks ago. He married a beautiful girl.”

“That’s nice,” Sheila said absently, “but all the men here aren’t married.”

Heavy shook the tumbler, gave it an artistic twirl in the air and with a deft move, unscrewed the lid and poured the creamy contents into her glass.

“One Brandy Alexander, ma’am.”

Sheila sipped the concoction with a smile. “I will say this, barkeep. Nobody in town makes a better Brandy Alexander.” She looked up at him, a warm smile on her face. “Why don’t I just come over to your place tonight and you can teach me how to make these?”

The barkeep smiled in return. “I don't think my wife and three kids would appreciate that.”

“Well, you could come over ..”

The bartender stopped her with a wave of his hand. “I’m happily married. End of story.”

“That‘s not true for every married man.”

The barkeep chewed his lower lip in frustration. “You know, a bartender today is the same as a professional counselor. Let me give you some free advice.” He ignored Sheila’s exaggerated sigh of boredom. “You see that bust over the door? That’s Saint Francis of Assisi. Know anything about him?”

Sheila looked up at the marble bust above the door. Next to it sat a similar bust of Saint Patrick. “Do you take up an offering with the sermon?” she asked.

“Sheila, all I’m saying is that you can’t be a happy person and you ought to ask yourself what those men had that made them happy in their circumstances. There are men and women here of all different species that would like to be your friend. Just a friend.”

Sheila laughed in contempt. “I don’t want friends. I don’t need friends. Every female here is only competition. Every male here is simply prey.”

The Horse’s response was interrupted by a tiger dressed as a chauffeur. “Forgive me, madam,” he said to Sheila with a small bow. “My employer wishes to speak with you.” He handed her a note written on cream-colored bond.

Sheila opened the note and read the elegant script. A smile came to her face.

She turned to the tiger. “Please tell your employer that I will be delighted to make his acquaintance.” The tiger nodded mechanically and walked away toward the front door of the pub.

“It seems,” she told the bartender, “that a wealthy man is waiting for me outside in his limo wanting to meet me.”

The barkeep looked worried. “Sheila, maybe ...”

Sheila put up her hand. “I’ve already listened to your sermon and I don‘t need another. Anyway, I know what you’re going to say about danger and that I‘m a defenseless little girl.” She threw a bill on the bar to pay for the drink. “Anyway, do you really think a serial killer is going to ride around town in a limousine and have his chauffeur deliver his love letters?” She smiled at the bartender’s increasing frown. “It’s show time,” she said.

Sheila put her hair in place with a toss and walked toward the front door. Old men in limos meant old money and Sheila liked money. She especially liked old males with old money because old males normally didn’t live long.

Sheila caught her reflection in the glass of the front door as she opened it. Her caprine face looked back at her, perfect in balance and beauty. Oh, Sheila, she thought. You’ve entered the big time and tonight you’ll collect a heart that will top all your other trophies.

The white stretch limo sat alongside the far curb. The tiger stood beside the back door, holding it for her.

Though dark inside the vehicle, Sheila could dimly see two extended leather seats facing each other.

“Welcome, my dear,” said a rich, cultured voice near the front of the limo. “I’m honored you would meet with so old a man. Please join me.”

Sheila saw only a dim silhouette, but the cultured voice and the atmosphere of money put all fears to rest.

Gracefully, she entered the car and sat facing the figure. The tiger gently shut the door with a faint click. “I’m glad to meet a man of such obvious taste and culture,” she said. “Could we have a little light so we can see each other better?”

“Of course. Forgive me,” the figure responded. “Men of my status have an inadvertent tendency to be rude sometimes.”

Sheila heard the car’s engine turn over and felt it begin to pull away from the curb.

In front of her the silhouette leaned over and flicked a switch and a dim white light illuminated the car’s interior.

Sheila screamed once and dove for the door, but there were no interior handles.

“Yes, I can imagine it’s a shock to see me,” the cultured voice said. “We chupacabras are so rare that very few people even remember us. I‘m even honored that you recognize what I am.”

Crying in terror, Sheila backed away from the reptilian figure, its eyes reflecting back the dim light like green fire.

“I even wonder,” it continued, “if I may actually be the only chupacabra left, but it’s okay. There are so many goats...so many pretty, little goats to keep me occupied.”

Sheila spun around in her seat, screaming. Panicked, she ineffectively beat at the rear window.

“I don't think we need the interior light anymore, do you?” the cultured voice asked. With a click, the interior of the vehicle’s cabin was plunged into darkness.

Wailing, Sheila watched the lights of the Unicorn and Gryphon Pub recede into the night.

“So pretty,” the voice said behind her. Strong, taloned claws wrapped themselves around her slender waist and inexorably pulled her back.

“So pretty,” the voice whispered in her ear as Sheila struggled helplessly. Another clawed paw wrapped itself around her neck while another gripped a thigh.

“So pretty,” it repeated as four muscular arms held her in a powerful embrace.

“I could just eat you up.”

Discussing Cthulhu At Capclave 2016

From LEFT to RIGHT: Darrell Schweitzer, Tim Powers, A.C. Wise, and some other dude

Capclave 2016 is now a pleasant memory and I had the pleasure of moderating two panels this year:

An Animal World discussed the roles of animals, both normal and anthropomorphic, in genre literature and included such luminaries as Mike McPhail, Bernie Mojzes (pronounced "Moses"), Michelle D. Sonnier, and Lawrence M. Schoen (pronounced "Shown"). All of them have impressive publishing credentials.

However, the highlight for me was moderating Sunday morning's panel Cthulhu Wants You! For Breakfast! with some of the biggest names in the field:

Darrell Schweitzer churns out novels and anthologies in the field of Lovecraftian horror and other Mythos work like you and I sneeze. And when he drops the big names known in Lovecraftia, he isn't being grandiose. He knows them all. His Facebook account is here.

If you don't know Tim Powers, you are missing one of the best writers in the fantasy genre of secret histories. A true gentleman, he is erudite and knowledgeable and the amount of research he puts into his books before he puts hand to keyboard is astounding. His best known work in the field of Lovecraftian horror is Descent, a Cold War espionage thriller involving Kim Philby, djinn, and the Ark on Mount Ararat.

A. C. Wise is a prolific author and her short fiction has appeared in publications such as Clarkesworld, Apex, Shimmer, and the Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror 2015. Her latest journey into Mythos territory is her short story, When the Stitches Come Undone in Ellen Datlow's anthology, Children of Lovecraft.

So how does a hack like me best known for dark fantasy romances with a body count get to moderate a panel with such notable masters of the craft?

Well, let me tell you. Listen carefully 'cause I'll only tell you once:

You get on your hands and knees and you beg and weep and plead and sob and wail until they let you have the gig simply because you're being an embarrassment. 

But, hey! It works!

PS: My own foray into experimenting with Lovecraftian horror is my collection, Dark Dreams and Darker Visions. It is presently available as an eBook, but a reedited Kindle version will be coming out soon.

Dark Dreams and Darker Visions paperback (Amazon US)

Dark Dreams and Darker Visions paperback (Amazon UK)

Dark Dreams and Darker Visions paperback (Amazon Canada)

Dark Dreams and Darker Visions eBook (Amazon Australia)

Also, of interest, might be my chapbook Come Into My Cellar: Darker Tales From A Cerebral Vault, only available for the Kindle Reader also available from Amazon.

Capclave Schedule Is Now Final

Capclave 2016 will be held October 7th through the 9th at Hilton Washington DC North/Gaithersburg, 620 Perry Parkway, Gaithersburg, Maryland 20877.

Here is my official schedule:

Friday, October 7

I will be doing a public reading of The Shrine War at 4:00 PM in the Bethesda room. I will only have 25 minutes to read and it will be unlikely I will finish the entire work. However, I am a professional speaker and a former stage actor and radio personality. I promise not to bore you.

 At 4:30, I will be selling paperback editions of my books at the author's hallway table (location presently unknown).

At 8:00 PM, I will be moderating a panel entitled An Animal World with the description: Animal protagonists need to be a mix of animal nature and human level intelligence, not just people in animal suits. The panel will discuss the joys and pitfalls of working with these characters. Participating authors are: Mike McPhail, Bernie Mojzes, Lawrence M. Schoen, Michelle D. Sonnier

Sunday, October 9

At 10:00 AM, I will be moderating a panel entitled, Cthulhu Wants You! For Breakfast! with the description: Love it or hate it, the Cthulhu Mythos and its related arcs are a literary phenomenon here to stay. Whether it be the Dreamlands, the Carcosa Cycle, the related King in Yellow, as well as other sub-genres, many a writer has cut their teeth on cosmic alienation and horror. Discuss the best and the worst of the lot as well as its future. The authors are some of the best in the field: Tim Powers, Darrell Schweitzer, A.C. Wise

I truly hope to see some friends and fans there. Drive carefully!

The Shrine War Update

Have some updates on my new work in progress:

1. The working title has been changed from Kitsune vs. Inugami to The Shrine War.
2. I posted a very rough cut of the opening scene, but because the emphasis is to be on the Kitsune and Inugami, I have opted for a new opening with the Kitsune having a war council at their shrine and preparing to receive an emissary from the Inugami.
3.  In the story, Kitsune are anthropomorphic foxes and the Inugami are anthropomorphic dogs (nice foxies vs. bad doggies). In the story, they can trick the human mind to perceive them as fully human, but it's not true transformation. If they were to extend their hand to you, visually you would see a human hand, but to your sense of touch you would feel the fur. In the illusion they project, they have no tails, but if they were to suddenly turn around, you could get whacked by a tail you could not see. And as Ane, the head shrine maiden, has nine tails, you could find yourself on the floor without a clue as to how you ended up there.
4. Trying to find a picture of an anthropomorphic Kitsune and Inugami shrine maidens for reference is almost impossible. Either they appear way too human (basically human girls with fox ears and tails) or the picture is not historical. I did find one for the Kitsune. The artist's name is Koggg (that is not a typo) and his art account is here. Anyway, this is a great representation of my Kitsune shrine maidens without the human illusion in place: 

1. As for the Inugami, it took me the better part of two hours, but I found one that captures the spirit of what I'm trying to communicate. I did not want werewolves but anthropomorphic dogs, ones that are committed to the Black Arts and the destruction of all Kitsune and Imari, the kami the Kitsune follow. The artist of the piece below calls him/herself YUS-TS:

One of the delightful challenges of writing fantasy is finding the best way to communicate the exotic to the reader. Without the use of visual aids, I need to find the right combination of words, written simply and succinctly, so that what you visually see above, you can see in your mind's eye just by using the written word alone.

We shall see if I am up to the challenge.

Kitsune vs. Inugami Intro

Ever try writing about a place you've never been to? The research that went into the following took three days. Three days for a tad over 375 words.

ADDENDUM: Though I love this part, I realized this would make a terrible intro to the story. The emphasis is on the conflict between the Kitsune and the Inugami so I'm changing the introductory scene and starting right with the Kitsune at the Inari Shrine preparing for an invasion of Inugami and meeting with their representative.  Then, I segue into this part of the story introducing Brennan Woodbrygg.

Untitled Story
by Alan Loewen

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Brennan Woodbrygg slid the dish of lavender ice cream across the table. Around him, people chattered gaily in Japanese enjoying the open air cafe. The town of Kamifurano reeked of lavender as the locals and visitors celebrated the middle of the growing season and not only did the scent of lavender fill the air, everybody ate lavender ice cream and drank lavender-flavored beverages.

For Brennan, though he loved the exotic, he could find little appreciation of an entire town reeking of a lady’s boudoir.

His cell phone buzzed and he picked it up from the table top and flipped it open.

“Brennan here,” he said.

He listened for a few moments, thoughtfully chewing on both his bottom lip and his thoughts.

“I know, Alyssa” he said, his tone hinting at an air of impatience and irritation. “I already know the grant money is gone, but I’m on a great lead. I’ll pay for the expenses from here on out on my own and you purchased the return flight for me when you ordered the tickets and that’s the biggest expense so far and already taken care of.” He looked around to see if his English had attracted any attention, but conversations around the cafe had drowned out any ability to hear him.

“I’m on Hokkaido in the Kamikawa District. The town is Kamifurano. You’d really enjoy it here. Smells like that perfume you love so much. Alyssa listen to me.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think I have a lead on an Inari shrine near here that predates the 5th century. Yeah, well before Buddhism came to the islands. It’s in a forest near Mount Tomuraushi and it’s not even listed with the Jinja Honcho.”

He paused as Alyssa’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll wrap everything up with this trip. I’ll get some great pictures and you’ll get your book and I’ll complete my thesis, deal?

Again, he paused as he listened. “Okay and one other thing. I won’t have cell phone access at the mountain. I barely have coverage here. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow sometime. Bye.”

He flipped his cell phone closed, stared at his melting lavender-flavored ice cream and decided that the 300 yen was a suitable price to pay for just a taste.

Kitsune vs. Inugami Story

Kitsune (artist unknown)

Inugami (Artist: よっしー)

I announced my foray into Mirthstone Hall a tad prematurely as I have been approached by an anthologist to submit a story to his upcoming collection. After discussion, I will be writing a story of kitsune shrine maidens guarding a Shinto shrine against a band of invading Inugami shrine maidens. If you are confused by such strange names and words, click on the links, but they are all characters from Japanese mythology.

Anthology Editor Fred Patten Accepts My Story "To the Reader ..."

Anthology editor, Fred Patten emailed me Monday, May 2nd with the following good news:

Congratulations! (The anthology) Gods With Fur has closed (to submissions), and your "To the Reader ..." has been chosen for publication. The anthology will go on sale at Anthrocon in Pittsburgh on June 30.

I'm always delighted and honored to have any of my work appear in a Patten anthology. He has a fine literary ear and his ability to assemble a good anthology has been honed from years of practical experience.

"To the Reader ..." is a 200-word piece of flash fiction and will be the opening story of the anthology.

Here are the opening three paragraphs. Purchase the anthology after June 30th for more:

And so you have found me.
 
What? After all this searching, you hesitate? You draw back? You searched for a god and now you have found one and yet you clutch your electric torch in fear.

Is it that I wear the mundane form of a fox? Or maybe you searched for a god of greater power, one who does more than sit in some great underground labyrinth surrounded by books and scrolls and clay tablets?

Rock And Rule (1983): A Review

The war was over... The only survivors were street animals — dogs, cats and rats. From them, a new race of mutants evolved. That was a long time ago. Mok, a legendary super rocker, has retired to Ohmtown. There his computers work at deciphering an ancient code which would unlock a doorway between this world and another dimension. Obsessed with his dark experiment, Mok himself searches for the last crucial component: a very special voice. (Opening narration to the 1983 US version of Rock and Rule)

In the late 80s, watching late night television, I came across an animated film being broadcast called Rock And Rule. The story centers on a wannabe rock group consisting of four anthropomorphic dogs: Angel, Omar, Dizzy, and Stretch living in a future dystopian world where all the humans have died out. Angel comes to the attention of the super-rocker, Mok, who is in the declining years of his popularity. Determined to exact revenge on a fickle public, he has dedicated all his efforts to summon a demon from another dimension that will make his last show a real killer attraction. Literally.

And I was fascinated. I set out determined to find a copy and it was not until the late 90s, a friend of mine gifted me with a DVD of the production put out by Unearthed Films. 

Before I continue, one caveat. The Motion Picture of Association of America did not come up with the PG-13 rating until a year after Rock And Rule was released. The film, with its blatant drug references, fleeting nudity, use of strong language, and some fleeting disturbing images puts the film squarely into PG-13 territory. This is not a movie for the kiddies.

Let me be honest. Rock And Rule is a glorious train wreck of an animated film and for good reason. Nelvana, a Canadian animation studio, didn't have much of a script to go with and the story and characters were changed on the fly. According to my DVD's liner notes, the crew behind Rock And Rule went straight into production "without a solid story and a completed screenplay. Indecision on the part of the producers was rampant. Constant re-writes and script alterations invariably took their toll on everyone from animators to camera operators. Whole sequences were cut, leaving months and months of work lying on the editing room floor and the bottoms of dumpsters. Numerous retakes of both minor and crucial scenes became commonplace; characters were redesigned and completely reanimated from scratch, long after the scenes they were featured in were already shot."

And the story gets worse from there.

But here is why I love the film:

1. In its early years, Nelvana was one of the best quality animation studios on the block and a list of their shows can be seen here. Rock And Rule was the first feature-length animated film ever made principally in Canada.
2. The soundtrack features songs from Debbie Harry (of Blondie fame), Iggy Pop, Cheap Trick, and Lou Reed.
3. It was furry before furry became cool (and then ostracized).
4. Not made for the kiddies, even though the message of the film (love conquers evil) is as saccharine as you can get.
5. The film is unrelenting in its dystopian darkness (part of it takes place in Nuke York...that's not a typo).
6. Mok is clearly based on Mick Jagger, the character's full name being, Mok Swagger. Oh, yeah. That's subtle.
7. The animation is just fun to watch and some of the background art is exquisite.

 You can watch a documentary on the making of Rock And Rule here. Be aware this link may disappear. We are talking about the Internet after all.

Angel on keyboard, Dizzy on drums, Omar on lead guitar (and lead vocal) and stretch on bass guitar. And in case you're interested, they are all dogs.

This is Mok. He's the bad guy and, just so you know, he's a cat.

This is the demon Mok summons using Angel's voice, all because his last concert was not 100% sold out. Now I may be wrong, but in my humble opinion, this is not how one endears the fans to return.

Of course, Angel isn't doing this willingly. Mok drugs her and uses a special collar around her throat to force her to sing the demon up. Insert a snarky comment of your own on Mok's fashion sense.

Omar

Stretch and Dizzy (real name: Alphonse). Dizzy can't drive and ends up driving twice in the film. He wrecks both times.