Trailer Parks In The Stars

The survey ship dropped out of hyperspace and took an awkward polar orbit around the distant planet, whose magnetic field interfered with the electrogravitic reactionless thrusters that propelled the vast saucer through the darkness of interstellar space.

The crew were sapient arctomorph felinoids from a yellow dwarf star in the Pleiades cluster. This was one of their first ventures outside of their isolated star cluster.

The planet beneath them was suitable for colonization, with a temperate climate, plentiful water, and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Gravimetric surveying revealed that the planet was deficient in heavy and precious metals, and had numerous anomalous mass distributions. One scan showed an artificial meander in an underground river; there, what appeared to be the ruins of a villiage was found.

The leader of the expedition, a formidable sorceror, approached the town square. An obelisk flared to life, and he was caught up in a beam of pink light.

Four humans sat before him. They were dressed in the clothing of the American Colonial elite, and gathered together at a round table inside a Masonic lodge in Richmond, Virginia.

Much time passes. A long-haul space trucker, carrying a load of bug bombs to the planet Suburbia, checks the ship's autopilot, downs the ice-cold contents of a garish aluminum can, and rises, obviously inebriated, to relieve himself loudly in the head next to his sleeping quarters.

"Hey, Bob! Wake up!"

A drowsy voice comes from the darkened room.

"Whu-?"

"Your shift. I'm needing to crash."

"Did you make coffee?"

"Sorry!"

"What's on TV?"

"Honor Guard reruns."

Filling The Void

No, you probably don't know me. Reading this blog probably won't help.

This is a place for me to start writing again, in front of a small audience. I have been making fitful attempt at writing a comic book epic for years, undeterred by the fact that I can't draw and nobody likes superheroes, especially without the pretty pictures.

Reactions thus far have ranged from "I liked it, you have great ideas (but I didn't really read it, so I can't give you any feedback)" to "I hated it and though it was cliched (and I didn't even have to read it to know)" to the most honest null answer, "I don't read things like this."

Actually, the very best reaction was when I sent my draft scripts to a science fiction fan who worked as an editor. I got them back covered with red ink, with comments like "The Order of the Solar Temple were a real organization, using this tragedy in this way is exploitative and in extremely bad taste!" and "Why did she shoot J.F.K.!?! He was a hero to my generation!"

I wish I'd kept those pages dripping with red ink and outrage, but I had to throw it away when I got married, along with a complete run of Grant Morrison's Doom Patrol.

I'll start posting bits and pieces about my story as time permits. Perhaps it will be the next vanity press bestseller...