Stormhaven Rising: The world is about to end – but no one is telling…

Okay. Mindbending. And so possible. Another one of those books that has you looking over your shoulder. But. Exquisitely written. I may be in love.

Jane Jago.

Stormhaven Rising is a multifaceted story based around the prospect of an Asteroid hitting the earth at breakneck speed and the lengths that could be taken if something like that were to happen. The story is told from several perspectives, from a political and scientific standpoint.

The plot was slightly reminiscent, and please don’t judge me for comparing a book to a film (or films, in this case), but it reminded me of a cross between Deep Impact and Armageddon…but only in places.

There was a fair bit of dialogue in this story, which was really well done. I love a book with a great dialogue and this one ticked all the boxes. I have to say, this is probably the longest book I’ve ever read, but by no means was it boring…in fact, it was the complete opposite. I found it difficult to put down, but I knew I would get the sack if I didn’t XD.

Long story short, if you like epic, well written Sci-fi novels, with the odd reference to Star Trek…yes, I did notice the references =)…then you’ll love this book.

L.N. Denison.

Prometheus and the Dragon – A book with maximum impact

“Does anybody else feel like we’ve just been made responsible for the entire future?”

‘Prometheus and the Dragon’ is the aptly named second book in the ‘Atlas and the Winds’ series and follows up on ‘Stormhaven Rising’ with a powerful continuation of the story.

Antu is coming – a lump of rock which will destroy human life on earth. Instead of co-operating to meet the challenge, the world has fragmented and there are various nations attempting individual projects to deflect it. But some seem to think the chance of those efforts failing is high and prefer to invest in lunar colonies – or in repositories of genetic material: human, animal and vegetable.
The technology exists to deflect Antu and is already doing its job. Given just a reasonable modicum of good fortune the world will be saved. But a string of accidents and disasters could still seal the fate of Planet Earth and bring disaster instead of survival.

“If it weren’t for you, we’d have no hope at all”

The people most at home on the moon are Colton Taylor’s future-tech company. They already have solutions to many of the problems the other lunar colonies have yet to even think about. I liked it that in this book that we get to know their people (and AI) in a bit more depth and start to see the reality of the man behind them. They are the real heroes of this story and it is their people we shadow most closely and come to care most about – except possibly the US President whose ‘pink fuzzy slippers’ moment is one I cherish.

This book has insight and insanity, humour and horror, courageous feats and catastrophic fiascos, it shows humanity at its finest and its most feral. And as with all good literature, it turns the mirror back on those who are its readers, challenging them to consider where they would stand or how they would fall.

“We’ve still got work to do out here. Suck it up for now, and let’s get through what we’ve got in front of us. We can both fall apart later.”

So what is not like? Not much – very little in fact. I still struggled a bit with what I felt was an overlarge cast of characters, leading to frequent shifts in viewpoint and all too often it seemed we only met someone so they could die horribly a few pages later. I also found the description of the logistical detail a little overwhelming – but I do recognise that this is something another reader could find adds verisimilitude and solid foundations to the story. But these minor issues were not enough for me to be taken away from the roller-coaster ride of immersion in a storyline which put a bit extra into ‘existential’.

This is a very well written and compelling book and if you enjoy political thrillers, near future dystopias, apocalyptic sci-fi – or seek a thought-provoking and plausible insight into one way humanity could react in the face of such an extreme crisis, I would recommend this book wholeheartedly. But I would also recommend reading ‘Stormhaven Rising’ first or you will miss out on some valuable scene setting and a thundering good tale.

For myself, I am looking forward to seeing how the story continues and develops in the next book which I hope will be out in the not too distant future.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

Stormhaven Rising and Prometheus and the Dragon are the first two books in the Atlas and the Winds series of books by Eric Michael Craig.

Oh what is this buzzing my dear
And why does it fill me with fear
Is it mere susurration
Or colonisation
Of flesh-eating insects, I hear

© jane jago 2017

Amanda Siegrist

Jane Jago

Bea Cannon

Dwayne Fry

Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Lyra Shanti

V.M. Sawh

David M. Kelly

Kimelene Carr

C.B. Archer

Christina McMullen

If I tweet
Will my feet
Compete

If I fart
Will the art
Depart

If I sneeze
Will my knees
Freeze

If I poo
What will you
Do

If I twitter
Is the babysitter
Bitter

If I read
Will I need
Feed

If I critique
Will I speak
Greek

If I rhyme
May I waste
Time

© jane jago 2017

Please note this short story has adult themes.

Underneath the blanket, the girl was mother naked. She shivered lightly, but whether it was fear or excitement she couldn’t tell. She watched her new master as he walked around the room. He too was naked and the firelight placed on the flat planes of his stomach and the corded muscles in his arms and legs. She swallowed nervously and closed her eyes, peeping through the forest of her eyelashes as he turned and come towards her.
“Do you feign sleep?” his deep rather lazy voice mocked her.
“I feign nothing. I just don’t want to see…”
“See what?”
“See your… Your.”
He laughed, but this time the laughter wasn’t mocking.
“Have you never seen a naked man before?”
“No.”
“Well open your eyes and look.”
She shook her head and screwed her eyes tighter shut.
He put one big hand under her chin.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking into a pair of bright amber orbs. They were amused, but also seemed to her to be understanding of her predicament.

He took his hand from under her chin.
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
She sat up, clutching the rough blanket to her small breasts.
“I don’t exactly know.”
“Well roughly then.”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “About seventeen,” she hazarded.
“And how close is that likely to be?”
“I’m a slave lord. Nobody takes any notice of what age a slave might be. I started to bleed two summers ago, and they thought about selling my virginity. But then Madam said not. Said to keep me untouched until somebody with money came along.”
He looked into her eyes, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him.

“Drop the blanket then.”
The girl obeyed and her master’s eyes roamed her smooth pale skin.
“Very pretty,” he said and reached out a hand to caress her throat.

She swallowed and his smile became feral. He bent his head and nipped the tender skin beneath her ear. She drew in a shaky breath and his mouth roamed lower.

Some considerable while later, the girl stirred in her master’s arms. She stretched like a cat and made a small sound in the back of her throat.
“Master,” she said quietly.
He grunted encouragingly.
“Master, what is Eden?”
He sat up and grasped her shoulders.
“What do you know about Eden?”
His hands were biting into her flesh and she flinched, but he did not loosen his grip.
“Eden,” he demanded harshly.
“They brought me here. Madam and the sergeant of your guard. And I heard them. He laughed and touched my face. It’s a waste, he said, she’s a pretty little thing, and he’s destined for Eden.”
He let go of her shoulders and laughed.
“Oh. That’s what he thinks is it? We shall see.”
He rolled over and pinned the not unwilling girl under his heavy body.

After another interval, he lay on his back, with the girl draped across his body. He ran a hand down her spine.
“Will you help me?”
She lifted her face and smiled down at him.
“If I can.”
“Oh. You can. But you will need to be brave.”
“I think I can be brave. What do you need?”
“I need the sergeant in here.”
“Will he come if I start screaming?”
“He will. But then…”
“But then what?”
“Then I have to kill him.”
She lifted a shoulder.
“And there is a bit more to it. I will need to paint some symbols on your body with his blood. And make love to you whilst you are painted.”
She shrugged and showed him her small, white teeth.

And then she started screaming.

The door burst open and the sergeant rushed in with his sword drawn. The girl stood up, giving him a view of her white nakedness. Her master kicked the door shut and his knife took the sergeant beneath his chin cutting the arteries in his throat. The girl dropped a heavy bar into slots in the door and turned to watch the soldier with bright pitiless eyes.
“Does Death not worry you, little one?”
“I’m a slave. I’ve seen death all my life. How should it worry me?”
The man dipped his finger in the pulsing red blood and began to paint the girl’s naked body with oddly disturbing symbols.

When he had finished he tumbled her to the mattress and took her roughly. At the moment when her eyes became blind in her own ecstasy he slipped his long, thin knife between her ribs.

“Eden” he cried in a great voice, and when the girl’s spirit left her body he saw for an instant a white and golden angel who took that spirit in his corded arms and ascended into the light.

The master dressed himself meditatively and slipped out of the window into the ever thickening darkness of the night.

© jane jago 2017

After a most satisfactory hug, which included a wildly wagging dog, the four of them sat down to Anna’s boeuf bourguignon with softly creamed potatoes, followed by ice cream with chocolate fudge sauce. At the end of the meal, the grown-ups got coffee, and Bill had a mug of warm milk. He patted his little round tummy.

“Thank you Anna, that was lovely. I was very hungry.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. When we’ve had a bit of a sit, you can take Bonnie into the garden for her wees, then we’ll pack the camper and be off. It’s past your bedtime you know.”

“How is that? It isn’t even dark. Your clock must be wrong.”

Anna and Sam drunk their coffee, while Rod explained about the north, with its long days in summer and short ones in winter. Bill was particularly enchanted by the thought of the very far north and twenty-four hour daylight in the summer.

“I don’t really understand it, but it’s most interesting. I’d like to see a night where it stayed day.”

“Well, you shall then. I’ll bring you to see some friends of mine who live at a place called Lerwick on an island called Shetland. They have a daughter of about your age and she can show you all sorts of wild creatures. Would you like that?”

“Oh. I would. I would.”

“Then it’s a done deal.”

Soon after that, they got up from the table and made ready to leave. Bonnie got her play in the garden before Sam, Rod and Anna donned cotton tracksuit trousers and loose tops. “We can sleep and drive in these,” Sam explained. “But you aren’t driving, so Anna has some jammies for you.”

“Good. I was wondering what I was going to wear in bed. Grampa Cracksman sleeps in his vest and pants, but Mummy says that’s unsanitary. Can I have my softy jumper in bed with me?”

“You can,” Anna said. “And Bonnie, and one of us.”

“Oh that sounds fun. Which one of you?”

“We will take it in turns. It will be Rod first.”

Rod looked as if he was about to argue, then changed his mind and yawned hugely. He grinned at Bill.

“You better not snore.”

Bill pulled a cheeky face.

“You neither.”

When everyone was ready, they trooped out to the camper. As they were about out of the door, Rod fished in his pocket for something he shoved under the coffee pot on the kitchen table.

“Just a tip for the cleaner,” he said.

“Rod,” Anna sounded a bit scandalised. “That’s a fifty.”

“And?”

“Oh. And nothing, I suppose.”

He laughed and patted her.

“Let’s get this show on the road. I’m shattered. C’mon Bill. What side of the bed do you want?”

“Me and Bonnie would like inside, please.’

“Good enough. If you want to make wees in the night you wake me up and I’ll help you out of bed. OK?”

“OK.”

By the time Anna and Sam had settled themselves in the camper cab, Rod, Billy and Bonnie were already in bed. Billy had Bonnie by his feet, and was cuddling his cashmere jumper.

“Night Bill.”

“Night Uncle Rod.'”

Billy snuggled his back against his uncle’s side, gave a tiny sigh and was immediately asleep. Rod laid a huge hand gently on the little boy’s head and promptly fell asleep himself.

Anna smiled at Sam.

“I’ll drive first, if you like. Do you need to sleep?”

“Not for a while. I’m not as exhausted as Rod; he had a rough time of it. Worrying about Bill, and holding it together has been hard on him. I had it easier. I was worried and disgusted, but I hadn’t met Bill until we got him out. So I  wasn’t as emotionally involved. Until now. You must be pretty wiped out.”

“Not as bad as Rod. He’s a good deal more imaginative than he seems, and he is very, very close to Billy. Me? Life has taught me to hold my emotions in check. Though I expect I’ll have a meltdown after we get the little man home.”

He smiled at her.

“I know. When I think of what could have happened it makes my stomach go cold.”

“Yes. Rod dropped the theory he wasn’t meant to survive in my lap. Do you buy into it?”

“Oh yeah. Not just that, but they intended him to suffer before they ended him. There were all number of nasty things in the room where they had him, plus video equipment to record his suffering. It was vile.”

“Good god. I didn’t know people could be that evil.”

“Oh. They can. I found that out when I was working with Medecins sans Frontiers. I spent two years helping kids who had been rescued from the sex trade. It still leaves a nasty taste. But at least it means I have a good idea of how to look after little Bill.”

“Yes. And thank goodness you do. His parents are hugely grateful.”

“No need. It’s what I do. Though I’m an orthopaedic surgeon by trade, anyone who worked in Thailand can’t help having an interest in children’s health and wellbeing. But talking about Bill’s parents, I do need to talk to them before we get him home.”

“You can call them now, if you like. My phone is on the centre console there. They are in the book as Jim and Pats.”

“I will. Thanks. While those two are very deeply asleep.”

He picked up the phone.

“Hello. Jim Cracksman? I’m Sam Henderson. Bill calls me Doctor Sam. Don’t mention it. But there are a couple of things you need to know before he gets home. First. He just told me how he was taken. Yes. That’s what he said. The au pair. Bitch. Done a runner has she? Oh how surprising. Now. To how Bill is coping. Basically, he’s good, but he will have wobbles. He may seem a bit clingy and babyish for a while, but just cuddle him and accept it. I will wear off. If he needs a cry, you have to let him cry. If he wants to shout and swear a bit, let him do that. If he wants to talk about what happened to him, let him do that too. It’s normal. Don’t let anybody tell you it’s not. Your mother is a wise woman, and she’s right about the others. You do need to tell them. Yes. I know you would rather not, but for Bill’s sake you have to. They need to know that he could be wobbling, and why. School? No. It’s only a month or so till the end of term. If it was me I’d not send him back until September. He’s bright enough for it not to matter. Yeah. I’d be more than willing to keep an eye on him. He’s a great kid. Yes. I’ll see you then.”

Jane Jago

You are old, will you please tell me this
When was the last time you were kissed?
It was late Saturday
Having my wicked way
With a body too good to be missed

© jane jago 2017

Bonjour mes enfants,

It is I, the exquisitely lubricious Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. Ivy to one’s chums and Moons to one’s deliciously outre Maman. I am, of course, the pen behind that seminal work of imagination and anal rectitude ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ and the unimaginably enormous and generous intellect behind this programme of tutorials on the art of putting one’s soul onto paper.

I know you are all in awe of the crystalline perfection of my prose, and the lyrical lusciousness of my verse, and I know deep in my artistic soul that I cannot ever hope to raise the standards of your poverty-stricken scribbling to anywhere near the opalescent splendour of my smallest mark on paper. But it is my sacred mission to teach you little minnows sufficient that you may become sharklettes in the murky ponds of your own miserable literary existences.

With which in mind we shall proceed.

Lesson 11. The Write conclusion

Or, as Mama might say, “Famous last words, Moons. Fucking famous last words.”

You will, of course, be racking your teeny weeny little minds for the reason why the last words in a work can have any importance at all. I shall elucidate, beginning in the world of the moving picture theatre, a podium not dissimilar to the efforts of the literary genius…

Some examples:

Should one pronounce the phrase:

‘It was beauty killed the beast’

all of you will prick up your little ears and a spark will kindle in the dullness of your crania. Upon some basic level, too elementary to be called thought, you will know that ‘King Kong’ is being evoked.

Similarly:

‘tomorrow is another day’

brings to the screen behind the dullness of your eyes the face of Scarlett O’Hara and the flavour of ‘Gone with the Wind’.

Do you begin to discern my meaning?

And so to literary conclusions.

One will admit to being less than a fan of Mister Dickens’ turgid Victorian drama but he did possess the ability to pen an ending that etches itself into the consciousness.

There is no need whatsoever to have read ‘A Tale of two Cities’ to know that it concludes thus:

‘…it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known’

Equally it is true to say that not one in a thousand of those who quote Tiny Tim’s valedictory speech at the end of ‘A Christmas Carol’ will have so much as opened the book. Notwithstanding this fact ‘God bless us. Every one.’ has become just as much a symbol of the festive season as brandy butter and Boxing Day divorce.

Boiled down to its very essence, today’s message is both excruciatingly simple and exquisitely obscure. If your last few words are as strong as Sampson, as sexy as Rod Stewart, and as breathtaking as a sussurating sunset, it matters not a jot what the rest of the endeavour is.

Oh yes, my hopeful scribblers. A memorable last line will enshrine your work in the canon of literary excellence…

Consider your options carefully and remember the final words of my own magnum opus as Fatswhistle lays his heart and his fortune at the feet of Buchtooth:

“Piss off Fats, I’m dying for a crap.”

Craft carefully mes estudas. Next week. The cover….

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

…I take the book and shove my Marlboros into my pocket with a small red lighter. I see light brown hair hanging over the back of an armchair. Ron Wilson is reading the news on Channel 10. I sit on a couch to the left of the armchair, opposite the windows. I look at a young girl in jeans and a light blue t-shirt. I guess she’s about eighteen or nineteen and when she turns to look at me I see those steel-blue eyes again. She has an oval-shaped face and the eyes are clear like the sky now. She’s slim and wearing black runners. She has a wide mouth with full lips. No lipstick. A black mole above her right eye sticks out and she smiles at me.
‘You recognise me from last night,’ she says. I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement. I feel myself blushing and hate it. She smiles again and says, ‘My name is Kelly Landry. How old are you?’

‘Thirty. And my name is Benjamin.’
‘But Ben is okay, right?’
‘Right.’
‘When you looked at me last night I couldn’t quite tell how old you are. You look old around the eyes, some strong lines but you have a young face.’
‘Yeah, I remember you,’ I manage to say.
‘Hey, what’re you reading?’
‘Twelve by Nick McDonnell. Do you know it?’
‘No. Have you read Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami?’
‘Yeah, I have. Um, that’s about the last thing I thought you’d ask me.’
‘I wanted your full attention. Do you know my favourite part of that book is when Midori
gets angry with Toru because he didn’t notice her new haircut? Is that stupid? With all the drama going on that conversation sticks with me, always.’

I look at her for a few long seconds trying to work her out and then say, ‘No, I totally agree. No wait. I need to think about something like that. It’s important.’
Nothing gets said for a minute. Ron Wilson tells us about some bushfires in the Margaret
River region and I say, ‘Have you read Murakami’s After Dark?’
‘Yes. He’s my go-to man at the moment. I went through a Kerouac phase and I carried Girl, Interrupted around with me for a year or so but at the moment it’s Murakami.’
‘Is that the book they based the film with Winona Rider and—?’
‘Yeah, the book is by Sussana Kayson. You’d like it if you like Norwegian Wood. Another
crazy girl.’

‘I’ll try and find it in a bookshop. You should read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest if you
like crazy people and sad stories about them.’
‘I will. I bet you’re surprised you’re talking about all this; you know, about books and things, here in this pub in Geraldton with a skimpy girl.’ She’s made me turn red again but this time it’s because I’m a little ashamed that she could read my mind and how puerile and small-minded my thoughts were.
‘I guess I am. I … by the way how old are you?’
‘By the way I’m twenty-eight. I have to go to work now. You can come and talk to me there if it doesn’t embarrass you.’
‘Maybe not. Say, is there a good beach here? I mean there must be. Somewhere along the
road that runs by the ocean? Come to the beach with me tomorrow.’

‘Alright, I’ll knock on your door. You do know we’re the only two people living here.’ She
gets up and walks out and I see the line of her frilly light blue knickers above the back
waistband of her hipster jeans. I think about the beads of perspiration I saw on her stomach and breasts. Wow. She rocked me. She’s beautiful and smart and her eyes, they seem to change colour with her mood. In the bar, cold and blue but here, talking with me, they became calm and sky blue. I put my feet up on the small coffee table, pretty happy that it’s just the two of us living here. I shake a Marlboro Light out of my soft packet and light up, blow smoke into the roof and smile. She likes, no, she loves books. I butt my cigarette and go downstairs.

Sean O'Leary is a writer from Melbourne, Australia. His fiction, non-fiction and interviews have been published in Quadrant, FourW, Page Seventeen, Bravado, Takahé, Wetink, Famous Reporter and @ www.crimetime.co.uk. He has published two short story collections, 'My Town' and 'Walking'. His novella, 'Drifting' was the winner of 'The Great Novella Search 2016' and was published in September, 2017 by Busybird Publishing.

Q1: You win either a house on the beach or a house in the mountains. Which do you accept?

By the sea, because you can swim in summer and the beach in winter is also great because it is deserted and brilliant for walking. I go to Apollo Bay on the Great Ocean Road in Victoria a couple of times a year and I lived in Bondi Beach for a decade in the 90’s.

Q2: If you had to write under a different what would it be and why would you choose that name?

Um, I think, Dekker. It is the name of Harrison Ford’s character in Blade Runner, which is one of my all time favourite films. I love the scene where Rutger Hauer dies.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe...”

Q3: For you, which technology is the closest thing to real magic?

Q3. Virtual Reality. I think that this technology is just going to go ballistic. It has good and bad implications. For people with a disability it could change their lives, they could experience things that they never thought possible. It could also hugely change the porn and recreational drug use industries…for better or worse…it’s already here and going to get bigger and wilder, so get ready.

You can catch up with Sean O’Leary on Goodreads and on his website.